#and it a sex crazed world we live in now it's hard to ignore !!

[willowser]

willow everyone around me has a partner/fwb (we're in our 20s) and i'm still a virgin i feel so excluded 😔!! i want to have sex too i'm just scared and feel soooooo left behind. childish almost because i am an adult woman with a job and license and can legally drink and rent a car! grrrrr! and i know in my heart that it's silly to feel this way but i can't help it sometimes

oh my dear !!! 🥺 i think when we're surrounded by people that are involved in something that we're not apart of, it's very normal to feel excluded !! a lil' left behind !!! but 🥺 intimate relationships are not the same as hobbies or tv shows that our pals are into for the moment 🥺 and i think the fact that you do feel scared is !! v important !! and something that you should pay attention to !! 🥺🩷 regarding a vulnerable moment such as this, i think you would regret it more to rush into it with someone while you're scared, more than you would regret just waiting 🥺 until the time feels right 🥺

being a virgin does not equate to being childish, friend 🥺 you're right !! you're a grown ass woman with a job and a license !! that can drink and rent a car !! you're a multi-faceted human being 🥺 and you can't be narrowed down any one way !! 🥺 this is just another piece of you 🥺 and life is so different for everyone, you really can't compare yours or your experiences with others !! bc all that usually does is leave us feeling off-track, when really !! there is no track !!

it's not silly to feel this way 🥺 it's normal !! and i'm sure it will come and go and that's okay ! but know what's best for you 🥺 and if you're feeling a scared or unsure, it's so important to listen to that little piece of you ! 🥺

i am kissing you on the head friend ! and hoping that you don't feel pressured or left behind 🥺🩷✨️

#everyone has such different experiences in life you cant compare where you are vs where others are !! #i know that's so much easier said than done #and it a sex crazed world we live in now it's hard to ignore !! #but listen to yourself ! your own feelings !! #bc your experiences are YOUR experiences and nobody elses 🥺 #and they'll stay with you forever 🥺 #in saying all that #i actually have a friend that is 26 and just recently had sex for the first time ! #she's been on dating apps for a while and she only ever told partners she felt really comfortable with #and then she was dating someone for a few months and felt comfortable with them and went ahead ! #and they're not together anymore but ! it was with someone she cared about at the time and trusted ! #not to make it sound like they broke up right away it was a few months later but #the point is — she knew when she felt like it was time ! #and i think that's important !! #✿ ask willow

[foreverisntenough]

- YOU’RE MINE -

Summary: While you daydreamed about his face an ocean apart, he had no idea what yours was about to do to him. With a twist of fate and the heat of summer, a new relationship would completely ransack his heart - Everyday heavy with the thought of one another, neither of you were going to let the unexpected love of your life go. You were going to be his, you were his, and you were going to stay his.

Warnings: This story will contain fluff, suggestion, smut and angst- not sure what else yet! Some love bombing but we love a needy Trent

Note: I was planning on keeping this just for myself so please be nice. I hope you like it! There will definitely be more parts (don’t know how many just yet though.)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Chapter 5 - ‘You’re Mine’

When you woke up the next morning you saw the white bedding crumpled around you. You definitely were not at home. Remembering exactly where you were, exactly whose king sized bed you were in, his deep rich scent encasing you. The warm sheet slid over your body, a reminder that you were also completely naked. The realizations about your circumstances came one by one. The morning light flooded into the room illuminating clearly very well moisturized skin a top of yours. You identified the heavy weight crushing your waist to be his arm. You stared down at it, scared to even breathe in case it would awake him. You squeezed your eyes tight with nervousness, then opened them as wide as you could fixating onto the hotel wall. You mouthed silently ‘what the fuck!.’

What world were you living in that you were walking up in Trent Alexander Arnold’s hotel room, naked in his bed nonetheless. You could hear him breathe a little behind you as you focused more on his presence. You continued staring at his strong arm draped over you, his warm tanned skin looked so soft and rich, a white gold Van Clef Alhambra bracelet dangled off his wrist. He actually might be perfect and you felt a little sick at his flawlessness.

You shut your eyes again thinking of ways how to not be awkward about this, how to say goodbye. This was about to be a very bizarre walk of shame because a part of you wasn’t shameful at all but proud of what you’d accomplished. In a way you wanted to shower him with thank yous for the most amazing night but the real feelings you had rapidly developed for him terrified you. You tried to take a slow breath in without moving too much, still afraid of waking him. Despite your best efforts, Trent groaned a little. His dangling hand came down on your stomach gripping and pulling your body flush back against his.

You were made very aware again you were naked, feeling his body behind yours. You were trying to ignore the feeling of his semi and his tight grip by just staring straight ahead when you felt a lazy, hard, wet kiss on the back of your neck.

Goosebumps arose all over you, squeezing your eyes shut once more. ‘Fuck’ you mouthed panicking. You felt him shuffle a little more and pull you somehow even closer. He hummed while placing another sleepy kiss on the back of your neck.

‘Morning baby” Trent grumbled out in an incredibly, unintentionally, sexy morning voice. His eyes still closed, he wrapped himself around your warm body kissing all over your back now. This wasn’t fair. You didn’t even want to look at him, you couldn’t. His eyes would tear your heart to shreds. You knew you’d feel like a fool for letting yourself get emotionally invested in more than sex with him. He was a famous international footballer, he had no ties and you were finding yourself completely roped down for him.

Another, slightly more crazed, part of you had envisioned a relationship. A delusion you had dreamt of. Waking up in his arms, going to his games, sharing a life together, falling in love with him…‘oh god’ you thought. You cannot even believe overnight you became the type of girl who was falling in love with a one night stand and dreaming of playing house. Your fantasy came to a crashing halt when you heard his voice again.

“C’mere” he sleepily said, pulling at you some more. You almost didn’t respond paralyzed in fear but you just managed to shake your head ‘no.’

“Baby” he whispered into the shell of your ear.

“No” you hummed quietly. Trent’s eyes opening at the rejection. What the fuck? He actually was a little taken aback. He was so good to you yesterday. He thought this was perfect and you were acting like you didn’t want to be waking up there.

“No?” He questioned hoping you’d give him a reason. With slightly deluded confidence that no one could ever say no to him he kissed you again this time more intently on your neck.

“T…I can’t” you sheepishly said, hiding from him still.

“Can’t what?” He asked, not understanding… he waited for your response trying to be patient but he was feeling childish, tired, and not happy with this so he spoke again before you.

“C’mere please. I want to cuddle with you.” His lips now moving completely against your skin. You knew you wouldn’t win this fight so you caved turning to him deciding you would just relish in the last moments under his touch. You placed your forehead on his arm in an effort to still avoid his eyes.

“Seriously C’mere...” Trent started to laugh knowing he had you. He pulled your thigh over top of him almost entirely so you were now laying on top of him. Pretending to not like your new position you held your cheek to his chest. He placed a kiss to your head. “Why you being like this, huh?” He said now nuzzling into you.

“Baby” you sighed at how irresistibly and impossibly cute he was.

“Fuck me? Sure. But you’re drawing the line at cuddles?” Trent laughed at his own statement. “ Y/N, I told you last night I like you.. a lot. You’re all mine, beautiful.” He cooed but still in a very serious tone.

You reluctantly picked your head up off his chest. You looked into his big eyes. He looked so sleepy, so endearing, so beautiful, it actually made you frown a little. This really wasn’t fair.

“You’re going to hurt me..” you apprehensively said your eyes full of sadness. Trent’s full cheeks hallowed a little, his brow furrowed.

“Why would I do that?” He innocently asked.

“Trent…” you paused trying to get him to clue into how this whole thing was ending the second you left the hotel. “Honestly…” you thought a little about what you were going to say but said fuck it at this point, “You’re right.” Trent’s face changed trying to figure out what you were on about. “I am completely yours. It’s bad, I’m not sure what the hell your deal is, if you do this to every girl, but… me? I can’t handle emotions like this and then just move on with life. I’m becoming grossly obsessed with you and it’s embarrassing and I’ve never been so submissive to a guy before. It's been a few hours of knowing you! It’s not fair that you just get to go home after this.” You continued to rant. A smile crept across Trent’s face and if it wasn’t so pretty it would’ve annoyed you.

“Come back home with me then.” He suggested like he was asking if you wanted to go get a coffee.

“This! This is what I’m talking about, stop doing this to me.” Your voice raised a little but it trailed off into laughter at how insane this was.

“What you laughing for? I’m so serious. Please.” Trent was genuinely now begging. “I don’t want to be without you, unequivocally mine now. Not having it any other way. Yeah? What do you think?” He nodded his head a little trying to convince you.

“You’re insane. I can’t go with you.” You laughed. “Plus on a more realistic side you won’t even be there…you have preseason in yet another country.”

“See now we’re getting somewhere..” Trent said smug you had begun to even think about logistics.

“No.. no.” You denied him. The irony of this entire ridiculous conversation was that you two were wrapped up cuddling, neither of you wanting to move. You were so happy laying on his chest, his hand stroking your bare back. You thought maybe you were just entertaining the stupid idea at first to lay together longer, hear his voice a little more but you suddenly felt like maybe he was convincing you.

“Alright, alright. I’ll level with you a little. You stay with me the next few days here. Spend time with me. Let me show you how great I am.” He was serious but started to joke at the end of his sentence.

“You’re actually out of your mind. This is the stupidest idea…” you spoke before he cut you off.

“Don’t deprive me of waking up to you everyday… even if you’ll try to ignore me, I still want it.” He held you tighter to his chest, kissing your head again.

“Stop! This is the stupidest idea but …” you huffed and sighed pathetically at what you were about to say. “for some reason I’m in.” You smiled goofily, placing your chin onto his chest by tilting your head. Trent stared at you mystified at first he had got his way but quickly his face fell to a shit-eating grin.

“Some reason…Huh?” He questioned you teasingly. You just hummed back.

“That reason is me. You like me as much as I like you baby, come on just give in to this.” Trent cooed at you pushing his lips towards yours. You felt all your walls come crumbling down. You relaxed into his body some more in contentment.

“T…” you sighed. His hands all over your body in the most caring way.

“You’re all mine baby” he whispered into your head.

“Do you always get what you want?” You pretended to be annoyed.

“Mmmhmm” Trent hummed with an equally goofy smile. You knew this was absolutely delusional but at least he was with you in the delusion. The sound of the hotel door unlocking and opening pulled you both out of fool’s paradise.

“It’s literally past noon, Trent. Get the fuck up.” You recognized his brother's voice echoing through the room.

“I’m so hungry, please!” His friend slumped, eyes closed onto a chair in the room. You smiled shyly, hiding your face into Trent’s chest as he pulled the comforter over your bare back.

“Sorry, you okay?” Trent whispered to you. You nodded. Pulling the comforter completely over your head. Trent laughed at you, placing his arms atop the comforter. The boys who had entered turned to look at him essentially giggling at nothing in the other room.

“Good mornnninggg Y/N” Marcel said slyly acknowledging your poor attempt at hiding. “But bro.. it’s also past noon and you need to get the fuck up” he said changing his tone now talking to Trent.

“Alright, okay. I’m getting up.” Trent shifted his back to lean up against the headboard still keeping you pressed to him. You kissed his naked chest. “I’ve just gotta shower first,” he continued.

“Y/N sticking around?” Tyler asked Trent blatantly in front of you. Your face was so tight to Trent’s skin you couldn’t see the face he gave in response to the question confirming you were in fact staying.

The boys left you two back in bed with another serious warning to get up. You giggled a little at what Trent and you were deciding to do and how crazy the boys were going to think you were once they found out.

“If you actually want me to stay, I do have to go back to my place to get some things.” You looked up at Trent.

“Yeah, course. I’ll take you.” He assured you before his phone rang. You gave him a sweet look telling him to answer so he did.

“Hey mum…” he spoke. You almost audibly gasped digging your face into his skin mortified but it only amplified your embarrassment feeling him naked beneath you. You could slightly make out his mum’s words on the other end of the call, ‘everyone behaving?’ “Yeah, yeah.” Trent yawned still on the phone. “Miss you too.” He stayed completely cool the whole time rubbing his thumb over your spine low on your back. “Love you” he said finishing his conversation, hanging up.

“Sorry baby” he cooed. “If I didn’t answer… out of the country with my brothers.. she’d get nervous. It’s not all the time I swear.” He kind of jumped around in his sentence.

“If you didn’t answer a call from your mum I think I’d be worried… probably would’ve preferred to be clothed rather than on top of you for it but I like that you talk to her.” You were candid. He just laughed a little before his phone began buzzing with another call again. You smiled nodding for him to answer but this time you heard an unexpected iPhone noise.

“Yo bro” Trent greeted, his arm lifting off you placing the hand holding his phone to rest atop your head. It was in that moment you were aware that this was a facetime.

What was going on that your morning alone with Trent was being laced with interactions with so many people in his life… you would’ve felt really happy with him feeling so comfortable with you but again… you were naked in bed with him as these exchanges happened so instead you felt self conscious.

“Yoo, you still in the US?” A voice asked from the phone sounding familiar but you couldn’t place it.

“Yeah, yeah man” Trent confirmed

“Marc sent me an interesting snap last night…” the boy dragged his words out.

“Of…” Trent didn’t look shy but he sounded apprehensive.

“You bro…got yourself an American ting?” The two boys laughed. Talking openly about you like you weren't right there, your head acting as a stand for Trent’s phone.

“Nah, honestly she’s well fit, like beyond sexy.” Trent spoke in a casual way. “I’ll send you her instagram, mate.” You bit a spot on Trent’s skin lightly before kissing over it reminding him of your presence.

“Ow!” Trent pretended it hurt, complaining quietly with a stupid smile on his face. The boy on the phone tried to grab his attention back wanting to hear more. The conversation between them continued on for longer than you thought it would. When he finally hung up again he pulled you up for a kiss, the comforter falling almost completely uncovering you.

“So” you spoke before kissing into his lips a little more before pulling away again “So” kissing him once more “popular, baby” then falling into a deeper kiss. He didn’t really acknowledge the comment, just focusing on your lips.

“Going to tell me who you were talking to about me?” You asked.

“Only Jude, baby. You know your ‘brum boy’” Trent revealed poking fun at the ‘Brum Boy or Scouser’ song discourse yesterday.

“Gotcha” you pretended you didn’t care but internally you were a little too giddy at the image or those two faces sharing one screen but it quickly subsided at the thought of your instagram being inspected by the pair.

“Didn’t know you had my Instagram ya know?” You cheekily poked at Trent

“Baby… I had to know a little something. I wasn’t going to go into last night totally blind.” He tried to defend himself

“So.. is it okay? What’d you think? You’re sending it to Jude?” You asked a myriad of questions honestly.

“You’re beautiful in person, in photos, in blurry videos posted by your friends, baby you are… you are perfect.” Trent babbling a little lost in your features. You placed a soft kiss on his plump lips and then started kissing him with more passion. Things quickly unfolding. You slid your hand down his abs and around semi hard cock. Trent moaned a little at your touch and the sound had your mouth watering.

“Do you still need more of me?” You said smugly now, raising your hips to hover over his pulsing cock lined perfectly above your entrance. You soon felt Trent’s hand on your back, pushing you down.

“Need all of you” Trent mumbled just loud enough for you to hear. You lost any control you had when he was fully inside. The force and pace of his thrusts increased and so did the volume of both your moans. You sat back to ride him. His hands sliding up your stomach to grab onto your nipples. The pleasure was almost too much as he helped you move on top of him. In a swift motion he flipped you over to be on top of you.

“You’re such a good girl, so fucking wet for me.” He said, dragging his cock slowly out of you and watching himself push all the way back in. You looked so full, Trent couldn’t help but imagine how full you would look with his cum dripping out of you. He didn’t get a chance to truly appreciate it last night and he was determined to fuck you full of his cum. His hand pushed your thighs further down so he could reach deeper when his thrusts became a little sloppier.

“Fuck, oh my god…" you cried out, the climax building up inside of you almost unbearable before you both reached your highs embarrassingly quickly. You couldn’t help the juices dripping down your legs as he fucked his load into you. He plunged his cock in and out a few more times, his cum leaking out of your pussy as he dragged himself out slowly.

“Fuck, baby. You’re fucking perfect, your pussy’s so perfect for me, made for my cock.” Trent spoke between heaving breaths.

“Mmhmm T.” You could barely get any words out completely spent.

“Baby, can I take a picture? Just f’me. Please.” He begged.

“Hmm?” You questioned of what.

“Look so good with my cum dripping out of you.” He said dragging his fingers back through your folds. You giggled a little. If you were going to let anyone take such an intimate photo of you, you were okay with it being Trent.

“Yeah, go on. Can take a picture of what’s yours.” You said leaning back into the pillow arching your back, sucking your stomach in, opening your legs further ever so slightly. He grabbed his phone getting unbelievably close to your core. The smile on his face was adorable, he was completely infatuated. After he got what he wanted he held his phone above you and you squirmed trying to hide but you were completely on display.

“Just f’me baby” he said tilting your face to him then pinning your one arm down to prevent you from trying to cover your body or face. You didn’t really have any option but you were flattered he wanted a picture.

“Such a good girl, so beautiful,” he said, finally letting you close your legs a little and laying completely on top of you.

“Ugh … you’re so …heavy, oh my god!” You jokingly yelled between contrived breaths being crushed by Trent.

“I am not at all… that’s so mean. I work out… like a lot. I thought you said I looked..” he was ranting trying to defend his weight.

“T, I’m joking you're perfect” you gave him a kiss. “You’re beautiful,” you gave him another kiss “your body is very, very, very sexy” and another kiss “but also your entire weight on me right this second is heavy” you finished laughing.

���Wow, I see how it is” Trent said, rolling on his side pulling you back into his body. His hand running up and down your arm.

“I think you’re ‘leng,’ T, relax” you tried to reduce his fake annoyance by making fun of a word he and his friends had been tossing around last night.

“I actually am, thank you.” He quipped back “You using ‘leng’ now? Define it for me then… go on.” He pushed

“You’re exhausting baby” you said ignoring him before pressing another kiss to his lips.

“So you want me to go with you to grab a bag from your place for the week?” Trent wasn’t going to let you forget what you had agreed to but you hadn’t you were actually really excited now.

“Erm, if you want… if you do come, you’re waiting downstairs for me though.” You told him sternly. It was sweet he was offering and you wouldn’t mind his company but you were still trying to protect yourself. If this all were to go horribly, horribly wrong you were not letting yourself have any memories of this man in your home. You wouldn’t be able to bear remembering that this actually happened.

“Is it because I am too leng?” He asked with a big smile making fun of you.

“Yes, yes, it’s exactly that.” You laughed a little, pressing a kiss into his temple.

“Alright, let’s get your stuff so you can see more of how great I am and I can book your flight to Liverpool'' you groaned at his light hearted arrogance.

You both finally got dressed and opted to walk to your apartment from his hotel, hand in hand, the summer sun beating on you. Every block you walked you felt yourself become more and more enraptured in him. Trent spoke to you like he was no one but every so often a head would turn and stare a second too long, a kid across the street would take a photo, the attention made you a little apprehensive. You pulled your hand from his nonchalantly, hopefully sparing him a Daily Mail headline about a ‘holiday fling.’

“Where you going?” He said to you, grabbing at your hand again. Lacing his fingers through yours pulling the back of it up to his lips before placing a kiss.

“Just didn’t know if you’d want something to be documented… or like I don’t know assumptions made.. “ you sort of stuttered beating around the bush.

“Baby…I’m telling you now, if I did not want to hold someone’s hand in public...” he paused, pulling your hand back to his lips for another kiss. “I definitely wouldn’t”

“Yeah?” You asked shyly.

“I promise you, beautiful. Plus, you’re not a bad looking girl to be photographed with, wouldn’t exactly hurt my image.” He mused

“Your image!… Oh my god, You’re the absolute most!” You feigned annoyance.

“Nah, but it’s just you and me. Okay? Not really concerned about anyone else.” He continued.

“Trent…” you questioned his sincerity.

“Baby, I told you. You’re mine so I’m going to do what I want with you, I’m going to hold your hand. Okay by you?” He said finally arriving at your building.

“Yeah, whatever you want I guess” You hummed, happy with his possessiveness.

“I want to be with you. I don’t want to involve anyone else. I just want to keep you to myself.”

“So you're hiding me?” You questioned now thinking a little too much about your situation; his reality and how you fit.

“Nah, no. Would maybe use the word protecting if anything. It’s just a shitty thing once people know too much. Promise. People can know I’m wrapped up but anything outside of that… details… doesn’t involve them.” He tried to explain.

“Wrapped up?” You asked.

“I think so, I don’t really know how else to say it” he said, no longer making eye contact with you. Trent definitely had you wrapped up. You were completely wrapped around his finger. He could’ve told you he was using you for sex or he wanted to get married tonight either way you would have agreed.

“Afternoon Ms. Y/N” your doorman spoke as you walked through your lobby.

“Hi yeah, you okay?” You returned, your doorman giving you a quizzical look as Trent continued to hold onto your hand. You picked up his hand with yours to show the doorman. You knew him well enough to know he recognized Trent, you two often discussing football.

“My friend, Trent.” You said

“Nice to meet you sir. Take care of her. If you need anything let me know per usual.” He said courteously looking from Trent to you.

“He knows you wellll. Bring a lot of lads through here?” Trent poked.

“Literally. Never” you quipped walking to the lift. “But he also knows I have a crush on you because we talked about our favorite footballers once and he put two and two together so this will be embarrassing when you ghost me” You continued..

“Aww I’m your favorite player babyyyy.” He patronized you teasingly. “But back up a minute... you think I’m crazy? You're nuts! Just let me like you, I’m not ghosting you!” He said taking a step into the lift after you.

“No, no, no. You’re staying here.” You said pointing to a lounge across from you. “Get out.” Pushing him lightly, physically out of the lift, giggling a little.

“Thought you were kidding but fine…Maybe I’ll go to talk to your doorman about your favorite player, learn a little something” Trent joked.

“Not funny. Stay here.” You said sternly as the door started to close. “I’m serious, T!” You cried out before it shut entirely.

•

Thank you for continuing reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know what you think or if you have any thoughts/ questions! 🤍

Next part is up - Chapter 6

#trent alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold x reader #trent alexander arnold imagines

[hellomynameisbisexual]

There have been countless studies showing us that rates of mental health issues and sexual violence are significantly higher for bisexual individuals. According to a report from 2017, conducted by an American University, bisexual people are more likely to suffer from mental health problems due to a fostering feeling of loneliness. Despite these countless studies, articles and reports, this remains an ongoing but unsurprising problem. Bisexual visibility is an issue, not just in society at large, but also specifically within the LGBTQI+ community; it seems somewhat inevitable that such an erasure of bisexuality will result in long-term mental health issues. Being part of the LGBTQI+ community comes with its own challenges, but when the B in LGBTQI+ goes unnoticed, it raises a different set of issues that often revolve around visibility.

Out of all the insatiable stereotypes, this idea that bisexual women are up for sex, all the time, with everyone and their mother, is one I’ve found hard to shake off. Somehow, when I tell someone I’m a bisexual girl who is in a same sex relationship, it translates to: I’m a sex crazed, nymphomaniac who really wants to hump everything in sight. I mean really, there are only so many times you can politely reject a guy’s advances, explain to him that you’ve got a girlfriend and then be invited for a threesome. Even just recounting these experiences are exhausting.

“It raises a different set of issues that often revolve around visibility”

Though I make light of situations like these, my experiences are not exclusive. This idea that bisexual women are hypersexual beings is not only boring, but incredibly dangerous. The National Intimate Partner and Sexual Violence survey had reported that on average, bisexual women were 32% more likely to have been a victim of sexual assault than straight women, and 29% more likely than lesbian women. I can’t help but assume that there is a correlation between these harrowing statistics and the ongoing hypersexualisation of bisexual women. This carries through into television and film, where there is this archetype that’s used to portray bisexual women: it’s just a phase; they’re confused, sexed up or simply “open-minded”; trying something new before going back to their ex-boyfriend; or, deeming it as a “bridge” into “evolving” into a lesbian. These all play into the problematic “bi now, gay later” narrative.

Bisexual characters rarely have substance to them – their focal being is their sexuality and that is the problem. Representation in the media is great, but accurate representation is what counts. It is completely counterproductive to issue stereotypes out into the world, that reduce human beings to their sexuality and erase other elements of their identity.

“This hypersexualisation then manifests itself into erasure”

This hypersexualisation then manifests itself into erasure. Because of the stereotypes people are exposed to, bisexuality is often considered an illegitimate sexuality. To many, even to those who are part of the LGBTQI+ community, we don’t exist. At times, it can even feel embarrassing to tell other LGBTQI+ people that you’re bi, because of the existing ideas some have of you. For a long time, I completely avoided going to LGBTQI+ events, because I felt like I didn’t belong, that they’re not for people like me. Going to queer events as a femme presenting woman feels fraudulent. I’ve been accused of liking the attention, or going through a phase, but why should I have to perform my sexuality and live up to the stereotypes to be validated? It is exhausting constantly having your queerness questioned in a discussion that no one else has to deal with.

Not enough room is being made for bisexual people in the LGBTQI+ community, and this can be boiled down to ignorance and a lack of awareness. This is, to an extent, expected from the rest of society. But you’d think there would be a sense of solidarity within the LGBTQI+ community given mutual understanding and commonly shared experiences. Until the LGBTQI+ community’s inherent biphobia is addressed, men and women like myself will forever feel ostracised and unwelcome in spaces that we’re supposed to feel at home at.

#bi visibility #bisexual visibility month #bi week #bisexual visibility #bisexuality #bisexual community #lgbtq community #lgbtq #bi #support bisexuality #lgbtq pride #pride #bi tumblr #bisexuality is valid #bisexual #bi pride #bisexual nation #bisexual pride #bisexual education #bisexual youth #support bisexual people #bisexual men #respect bisexual people #bisexual rights #bisexual people #bisexual women

[thetorchwoodarchive]

[Image Description: a banner for the Across the Bay Crossover Fics You Didn’t See Coming fest, featuring beach signs on a tropical island, reading “Cardiff by the Sea”, the name of the fest, “authors”, “torchwood” (partially obscured), and “one shots” (partially obscured), and a warning sign where Myfanwy chases a swimmer]

ACROSS THE BAY: CROSSOVER FICS YOU DIDN’T SEE COMING MASTERPOST

Thank you everyone for submitting your crossover and fusion fic  recommendations. Below are all submissions and some of our favorites! 

Is it Insensitive for Me to Say by aliciajazmin (EstherJohnTosh | complete | 2441 | T)

Toshiko Sato and Esther Drummond absolutely will make fun of their boyfriend for deciding to attend an audition, while also attending said audition with him. 

Crossover With: The Outer Worlds 

Golden Apples and Norse Gods (Or How Ianto Got His Groove Back) by blackkat (JackIanto | complete | 1592 | G)

Ianto finds himself back from the dead and, apparently, in the position to double-cross a power-crazed Norse god intent on conquering the Earth by taking out a team of superheroes. Must be a Tuesday.

Crossover With: Avengers/MCU

The Magic of Torchwood by Bella the Strange (JackIanto, IantoJohn, JackOther, Non-Torchwood Ships | wip |  546,512 | T)

The Torchwood team have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Set between Adam and Reset. Rated T because of Jack Harkness, swearing, mature themes, slash etc… it’s Torchwood!

Crossover With: Harry Potter

Welcome to Torchwood by Jackdaw818 (Gen | complete | 1601 | T)

A strange creature behind the Ralphs, a break-in at the Museum of Forbidden Technologies, and visitors in Night Vale. Overall, a slightly unordinary day for Cecil Gershwin Palmer

Crossover With: Welcome to Night Vale

Torchwait for iiiiit by lady-demacabre (Gen | complete | 3k | K+)

When Shawn and Gus are called in on a case for an eccentric collector of alien objects, they get more than what they bargained for. One shot, Psych oriented.

Crossover With: Psych

Theme and Variations by nemo_baker (JackIanto, GwenRhys, OwenKatie | 5817 | T)

Time Agent Jack Harkness is sent back in time to solve the mystery of a mysterious train bombing. The problem is, he only has eight minutes to do it.

Written for Reel Torchwood screening 8 on Livejournal. Movie Prompt: Source Code (2011)

Crossover With: Source Code 

Day Tripper by Croquemboucheballpit (Gement) (JackBessie the Third Doctor’s Car, Bessie the Third Doctor’s CarLightening McQueen (past) | complete | 2360 | M)

Bessie’s like any other companion: far from home, more than she appears, and always up for an adventure.

And Jack Harkness really will seduce anything that moves.

Crossover With: Pixar’s Cars 

An American Volunteer by That_one_kid (SteveBucky, BuckyJackSteve | Complete | 4395 | T)

What if Captain Jack Harkness met Steve & Bucky during the war? What if he ran into them again, present day?

AKA

Captain Jack Harkness and his mission to seduce the two gorgeous, capable soldiers who keep running into him.

Crossover With: Captain America/MCU

Statement #0041708 - Future Sight by Jackdaw816 (Gen | complete | 1690 | T)

Statement of Lisa Hallett regarding a peculiar mirror found at a car boot sale

Crossover With: The Magnus Archives

(Un)Welcome Aboard by Jaune_Chat (Jack | Complete | 4,154 | T)

To make ends meet, Mal listens to a suggestion from Inara than he rent out the other shuttle. She has the perfect candidate, a charming Companion named Jack…

Crossover With: Firefly 

Death and the Definitely-Not-A Maiden by Odsbodkins (JackIanto | Complete | 3,6K | PG-13)

When Jack dies, Death is there to meet him. Every time. Written in 2008 for the Doctor Who Crossover Ficathon. Takes in Torchwood to end S2, Doctor Who to end S3, Discworld to Soul Music.

Crossover With: Discworld 

Remarkable by snowwhiteliar ( JackIanto, IantoLisa | Complete | 20.971 | PG-13)

Summary: Once upon a time, in a small village in a distant province of a peaceful kingdom, there lived a boy called Ianto

Crossover With: Fairy Tales 

Got That Friday Feeling Again by NancyBrown (OwenOther, JackIanto, GwenRhys, GwenOwen | Complete | 18.3K | R)

HELP HELP HELP HELP

I AM TRAPPED IN A TIME BUBBLE

The magic marker all over the nice chintz wallpaper bled and smeared as Owen wrote in increasingly desperate lettering across the walls. Ls and Ps dragged down, wiggly at the end or drawn out in slashed strokes.

He ignored the pounding on the door frame. He’d shoved the wardrobe in front, which always kept Jack out for twenty three and a half minutes. He ignored the sweat and tears and snot dripping down his face, down his mouth. He ignored the high-pitched singing from his own throat, “If you want my future, forget my past,” chanted over and over.

HELP

Crossover With: Groundhog Day

Back, and Back, and Back a Little More (Future Optional) (JackIanto, JennyVastra | Complete |  32591 | M)

Accidentally shot into the past by a time-travelling car, Ianto has to fix his own mistakes or he won't have a future to go back to.

Crossover With: Back to the Future 

Truth, Justice by NancyBrown (SupermanOwen | complete | 414 | M)

The green shit does not work. Warnings: dubcon (AMTDI)

Crossover With: Justice League Unlimited/DCAU/Superman 

Quis Custodiet Ipsos Custodies, or, A Humourous Interlude Between Epics by  copperbadge (Gen | complete | 749 | T)

Ianto neglected to introduce himself as he informed the senior staff that Atlantis was now under the jurisdiction of Torchwood, whatever Torchwood is.

Crossover With: Stargate Atlantis 

Never Have I Ever by  st_aurafina (JackIanto, JackDoctor (past/implied), PepperTony (implied) | complete | 1714 | T)

Written for the prompt Ianto, Donna and Pepper end up at a secretaries'/assistants' conference and have a conversation about their bosses.

Crossover With: Ironman/MCU

Beware the Sparkles by elisi (JackIanto, JackEdwardBella | complete | 4793 | T)

It's terribly simple. The good guys are always stalwart and true, the bad guys are easily distinguished by their pointy horns or black hats, and we always defeat them and save the day. No one ever dies, and everybody lives happily ever after. Oh and Jack has sex with sparkly vampires.

Crossover With: Twilight 

The Death Note Discovery by KaibaGirl007 (JackIanto | complete | 18,992 | T)

“You’ve clearly just got a notebook belonging to some geek, a rather sick geek I’ll give you that, who likes to keep note of people’s deaths.” - Will the team resist the urge to use the Death Note or will one of them give into temptation? 

Crossover With: Death Note 

A Confluence of Personalities by  galaxysoup (JackIanto | complete | 4839 | T)

Conner Kent’s body might be dead, but his soul has apparently decided to take the scenic route.

Crossover With: DC Comics/Young Justice Comics 

Imposters Among Us by  gwendolyncooper (JackIanto, GwenRhys | complete | 9117 | M)

The Torchwood team (+Rhys) are out for a night of fun when they end up on a spaceship with no power, no info, and no crew. Known only as THE SKELD, the team tries to fix the ship and figure out what happened to its previous occupants.

But something out there is killing them.

Something that may be someone they know.

Crossover With: Among Us 

Traitors (Among Us) by princessoftheworlds (JackIanto | complete | 440 | G)

In a happy future, the team plays Among Us, and Ianto suffers.

Crossover With: Among US 

Tagline: I saw the VIDEO. Got the CALL? What Next??? by  BricklingGhost (TeamGwenee) (JackIanto, JackSamara | complete | 2424 | Not Rated)

'Tagline: I saw the VIDEO. Got the CALL? What Next???

Bollocks. That’s just a myth. Some git showing off and claiming to be the one person alive who Samara doesn’t bump off. He’ll be boasting that he’s been chosen to kill Voldemort next.'

When another unsuspecting victim falls foul of the cursed tape, he is pointed towards Captain Jack Harkness as his only hope for salvation.

Crossover With: The Ring

(My God, He Just) Came and Went by  Brokenpitchpipe (SteveBucky | complete | 1591 | M)

It starts on a cold, snowy September night in 1916, on the day Winifred Barnes walks to Doris Lindow’s house to see her new telephone and catches the eye of a handsome young man on the other side of the street. He tips his hat as she sees him, and she flushes scarlet and nods in return.

And nine months later, a little baby boy screams his way into the world.

But that’s not when it starts. Not really.

Crossover With: Captain America/MCU

Beast Inside by Flamingbluepanda (JackIanto, OwenTosh, GwenRhys | complete | 26934 | M)

"Argue with anything else, but don’t argue with your own nature.” - Phillip Pullman

Inside us all, there is an animal that expresses our soul. How would the world change were those animals outside?

Crossover With: His Dark Materials

Rifts and Robots by Paycheckgurl (JackIanto | complete | 3021 | G)

Jack and Ianto’s date at the movies is interrupted by two robots with no theater etiquette.

Crossover With: Mystery Science Theater 3000

The Jack and Ianto Show by Paycheckgurl (JackIanto | WIP | 7392 | T)

Jack and Ianto are a regular couple, living a quiet life, and trying to fit into the quaint Village of West Castle. Sure they're keeping the secret that Jack is an immortal time traveler from the future, with a fantastical machine called a vortex manipulator that can manipulate time and space around them, but they have much more pressing concerns. Such as strict bosses and nosy neighbors. Everything is perfect, a dream come true.

And Jack is going to keep it that way.

Please Stand By...

Crossover With: WandaVision 

Mutually Assured Uncooperation by  princessoftheworlds (JackIanto, OwenTosh, MarthaMickey, FitzSimmons, LincolnDaisy (past) | complete | 31547 | T)

Aliens, time-travelling, resurrections. These are all experiences familiar to not just one but two top-secret organizations that have a hard time keeping a low-profile. Figures that they would encounter each other eventually.

Or: the five times that SHIELD and Torchwood had an encounter that neither were pleased with, and the one time they had to work together when two of their own were taken.

Or: There's Kree running amok in Cardiff, including a murdered one, and Torchwood is on the case, but so is SHIELD. Also, don't forget the memory-manipulating aliens there too!

Crossover With: Agents of Shield/MCU

all i know is (infatuations) by  princessoftheworlds (JackIanto, JackJohn,  OwenTosh, LisaIanto | complete | 439 | T)

Seventh-year Slytherin Ianto Jones handles a break up, getting a boyfriend, terrible emotional misunderstandings with his best friend Jack Harkness, being miserable, and reconciliation. (Not precisely in that order.)

Crossover With: Harry Potter

#torchwood #au:crossover #genre:crossover #event:across the bay crossover fest

[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)

#pHEW #yoonkooknetwork #ggukienet #jeon jungkook #bts #bangtan #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook imagine #jjk #jeon jeongguk #jeongguk smut #jeongguk x reader #bts smut #bts imagine #bangtan imagine #bts scenario #jeongguk scenario #jungkook scenario #jungkook series #bts series #rockstar bts #jungkook #jeongguk #bighit #bts au #rockstar jeongguk #rockstar jungkook #gwoongi #tw: alcohol

[hpdabbles]

Changes in Storms

Severus stares wondering if he somehow hit his head this morning and what he was hearing and seeing was just a hallucination caused by too much blood in his brain.  “I beg your pardon?”

Regulus Black- the newly made Heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Black- huffed.  “I want you to pretend to be my boyfriend. I’ll pay you.”

The younger man, who had just turn seventeen if he remembers correctly, had come knocking on his door at an unholy hour, drenched head to toe from the rain and looking half craze with his long dark wavy hair plastered to his face. For a second Severus thought he was here to kill him.

Come to put an end to the Half-blood that pushed his luck a little too far. 

It would make sense seeing as Severus hadn't yet accepted the Dark Lord’s invitation passed to him by Lucius. He pushed back his official joining of the Death Eaters only because Severus was waiting to see if he would be able to secure a Potion Appriatincehip with his own skills. He didn’t want to be in anyone’s debt. He wanted to be his own man. Who could finally be recognized for his own abilities, instead of the background he came from. 

He wanted to be claw and fight his way to the top, maybe one day open up his own potion shop and while he agreed with the message of the Death Eaters, their methods left much to be desired. He couldn’t focus on bottling fame if he was running around on the front lines.

On the other hand, the war seemed to have taken a turn in favor of the Death Eaters and should they win, Severus would rather be in their good graces. This is why he hadn’t fully rejected the offer of finical support and other benefits that came with siding with them. 

He managed to stay neutral by supplying the Death Eaters with potions, anything from healing to veritaserum, and that was why the Dark Lord himself took notice of him. There really wasn’t any potion Severus could not brew and claiming he would be more useful studying advanced potions to help the cause was the only reason he hadn’t been branded yet. 

It may be a fool’s dream because Severus certainly didn’t have the funds to achieve the more exclusive ingredients which meant all of the potions he summited weren’t going to stand out. In fact, as loath he is to admit it, the half-priced potion ingredients turn his work into mediocre at best.

No Potion Master would waste their time trying to make their mediocre apprentice less mediocre.  

He had a stack of rejected to prove it.

But time was running out. The Death Eaters would not wait forever.  

If a Potion Master didn’t take him on, then Severus would have to fully apply himself to the war and the Death Eaters wouldn’t be above using him as a human shield. He was, after all, only a Half-blood. 

So why on earth was Regulus here asking a mere half-blood, a poor one at that, to be his boyfriend?  

“Look, Severus” Regulus snaps pushing his soggy hair out of his eyes  “I need a yes or no, and I need it tonight.”

“Why?” He can’t help but ask ignoring the teen’s frustrated tone. “Why do you need a pretend boyfriend so badly? And why me?”

Silver eyes, so close to mercury, seemed to stare into his soul. “You’re the only person I could turn to. You’re my only friend.”  

That’s not overly true. Severus has spoken to the younger boy on occasions back when he was still a Hogwarts student, but they never spent too much time together to be considered friends. Though seeing as Regulus was basically ignored by the whole school, teachers included, a few exchange words must have looked like fondness to him.

That...is a little bit sad if Severus thinks about it. Sadness like this could lead to loneliness which could lead to someone being easily manipulated. Someone could easily turn the Black Heir into their personal toy if he is not careful. 

Too bad for Regulus, Severus had never been the one to feel the guilt of using others.  

He opens the door wide, giving the other male an invitation to come inside. The boy scurries by him, closer then what could be considered polite and stoping to look around the pathetic flat Severus has called home for the past two years.

It was the only place he could afford once he graduated Hogwarts, leaving his childhood house unable to spend another minute with his parents. If it meant living in a flat that was tiny enough to be a shoe cabinet then so be it. 

“You said something about pay?” Severus says leading the teen to sit on his bed. His flat only had two rooms, and one of those was the restroom, which meant everything was squished together. The bedroom, the kitchen, and the living room were all the same place.  He hadn’t bothered with couches since they took up unnecessary space, assuming he wouldn’t be getting guests anyway. 

Now watching as Regulus stares at his bedding with a slightly pink face he wished he had. “Regulus? The pay?”

“What? Oh!” The Black snaps out of whatever disgust he must be feeling for sitting one something so beneath him. He pulls out a little box from his inner rooms and taps his wand against it. 

Severus watches the box expand until it’s a fairly large chest. It opens on it own to present shinnying gold. What really stands out is the runes around the inside of the lip, indicating that it was using expansion charms, hiding much more gold then met the eye. His jaw drops. “The pay would be all of that.” 

“Are you out of your mind!? That’s way too much!” He can’t help but exclaim. “That looks like half the Black vault!”

Regulus pulls a face, pulling out three more boxes from his robes. He throws them into the corner where they expanded and spill most of the things they carry. It’s a mess of clothes and random books, almost as if the owner had just grabbed what he could get his hands on before leaving “...It is half the Black vault.”

“What?!” Severus demands. He eyes the teen who hunches his shoulders refusing to met his eyes, then looks between the boxes making his small flat even smaller and it clicks in his head. “You ran away.”

“I can’t stay there anymore!” Regulus blurts, fisting the sheets into his hands. “I can’t! Mother...the Death Eaters Severus, they’re insane and Mother wants me to join them. She wants me to die for them, for the Dark Lord, but I won’t. I won’t! If I do die for them no one will mourn me anyway! I don’t want to die alone!”

“...What does this have to do with me?”  Because he highly doubts he’ll be able to keep Regulus safe form the Death Eaters. How being his pretend boyfriend will even help.

“Father help me get away,” Regulus says looking into Severus' eyes with desperation. Begging him to understand. To agree. “He’s never cared about Sirius or me before but he’s....my father once had a male lover that the family didn’t approve of and they force them apart to make my parents web.”

Severus raised a brow. That shouldn't matter too much, unlike the muggle world, same-sex marriage was common in the wizarding world. If Regulus is attempting to say his preference for males is why his cold father suddenly gave a rat ass about him then it obviously a face lie.

Regulus sighs. “The reason the family didn’t approve of him was due to the man in question being a muggle.”

Oh.

“I told him I had a half-blood lover that I was running away with. He caught me taking half the money form the vault....and he agreed to help us get out of the country. I think it’s because he wanted to do that with his lover a lifetime ago. He’s going to have an international portkey set up in a week's time so I can hide in the United States of America. I just need you to pretend to be my lover, until then.” Regulus finishes.  

Severus stares again. “But what about me? Your mother won’t hesitate to kill me the moment she finds out I was involved with you, even if it is a lie. The Death Eaters won’t be happy with me either.”

Regulus goes ghostly white  “You aren’t one of them are you?”

“No.”

“Good.” Suddenly Regulus reaches out and grabs onto Severus' hand, covering it in shaking fingers. It’s hard to say if they shake due to the cold or the fear tucked in Regulus’s eyes. “Come with me.”

“I...I beg you pardon?”

“You can come with me. The States are known for their potions, you could find a job there, any Potion Master would trip over themselves to employ you. You don’t have to die for them either Severus.”  

Severus says nothing. He doesn’t know what to say.

This is all too much at once. 

Regulus tugs the hand he is holding, making the older man stumble onto the bed. The Black pulls until Severus is half kneeling on the bed and half leaning over him, staring up at him with an odd blend of adoration and longing. No one has ever looked at Severus like that. (He would later learn, that Regulus has been looking at him this way since the boy was in the third year. Severus had merely never noticed.)

At that moment he notices how utterly beautiful this boy turned out to be. The Blacks were a gorgeous lot, but Regulus was never as good looking at his brother, often overlook since he sported softer features compared to Sirius rugged good looks.

Regulus was often teased in the Slytherin common room for his fragile appearance. He looked like a good wind would knock him over, especially with self-esteem so low it was blood in the water for the snakes.

Severus wonders why he never gave the boy the proper second look he deserved. He’s attracted to both females and males, surely he would have noticed tiny fragile Regulus blossoming? 

“We should kiss,” Regulus says in a voice barely above a whisper, shaking in a way that almost feels like a touch. Severus gulps.  “To practice. My father will not believe we been sneaking around since my third year if we don’t know how to kiss properly.”

“....You’re absolutely right.” Severus hears himself say before he leans down, pressing his lips against the Black’s. The teenager under him gasps slightly, then he is pressing back, not at all experienced but more than eager to learn. It takes a moment for his mind to catch up with what’s happening and it’s only until Regulus releases a moan that reality comes crashing back. 

Pulling away he ignores the slight whine to ask. “If I agree to this, if I run away with you, what then? We get over there and never come home again?”

Regulus' eyes are slightly daze but he answers clearly.  “We can live together over there until it’s safe. Father will allow us to come back when the war ends. If you want to, I’ll come back for you. I’ll do anything for you.” 

Severus grins. Aw, poor little Regulus, still much too soft to be a proper Slytherin. “Anything?”

Regulus flushes “Anything”

Pressing the male into the bed, Severus makes his choice. “We best practice proper boyfriend techniques then.”

The storm keeps howling outside but for once, Severus doesn’t even notice it in his tiny flat that barely keeps the cold out. He has something far warmer to hold on to for the night. 

#hpdabbles #Harry Potter #Change in stroms #severus x regulus #hinted nsfw?? #AU where Severus and Regulus run away togther #Orion is a shit dad but he tries

[iheartrobots404]

My Robot Boyfriend: Questions of Autonomy and Manufactured Romance in a One Direction Robot Fanfic

If recent history is any indication, the general human public has become increasingly horny for basically anything sentient. From candy corporations tweeting lustfully about anthropomorphic foxes to erotic novels about flying reptiles, the boundaries of acceptable romantic sentiment are expanding at a rapid pace. A conservative may easily interpret this as the nadir of our decadent society, heralding the swift demise of our civilization. But the real story is much more complicated.

Monster novels and cinema have always been metaphors for the latent anxieties of a society. Initially manifesting in racist fears of desegregation and miscegenation in D.W. Griffith’s Birth of a Nation, the theme of white supremacist heroism triumphing over the control of the female body by a monstrous “other” is apparent in such later movies as The Neanderthal Man and Creature from the Black Lagoon.

Guillermo del Toro’s 2017 Best Picture winner The Shape of Water is deeply concerned with the dehumanization and unseen racism in monster movies, choosing to portray the monster and white woman in a genuine romance, while the handsome man that perceives them is the villain.

According to del Toro, The Shape of Water was an attempt to demonstrate that “the racism, classism, sexual mores, everything that was alive in ‘62, is all alive now. It never went away.” Del Toro characterizes the monster as a perceived negative aspect of society or personality that is initially distressing but can become liberating when embraced, explaining, “There are truths about oneself that are really bad and hard to admit. But when you finally have the courage and say them, you liberate yourself. All monsters are a personification of that.”

But what about...

Monsters have embodied a substantial collection of anxieties over the years: the rupture of the religious world by the scientific in Frankenstein, communism and McCarthyism in Invasion of the Body Snatchers, the erasure of the past by modernity in King Kong. Robots, in comparison, typically represent a generalized technophobia, a fear of technology replacing the human, best represented by I, Robot (2004). They can also invoke questions of the nature of autonomy in an industrialized, capitalist society (Charlie Chaplin’s Modern Times), fears of the transgression of the mind/body duality (2018’s Replicas), and imminent warnings of scientific and military hubris (Black Mirror’s Metalhead). So if romance with monsters can be a liberating embrace of the taboo, what function does romance with robots serve?

To answer this question, we could turn to the wide range of novels and films providing nuanced treatments of the complex ideas involved in human-robot relationships. Her (2013), Ex Machina (2014), Autonomous (2017), and He, She, and It (1991) are all beautiful, subtle considerations of robophilia, celebrated in science fiction and general circles. Unfortunately, my library card was revoked after failing to pay my 10-month overdue fee on Taken by the Pterodactyl, so that’s a dead end. I also don’t really want to pay to watch any movies, and the last time I went on 123movies.com I got a virus that pulverized my feeble laptop. Fortunately, the greatest, most boundary-pushing work on human-robot relationships is completely free of charge and within reach to anyone with an Internet connection. No expense is necessary to access this avant-garde treasure trove of communal literature, where robophilic desire meets ingenious analysis of our technology-ridden society.

I am speaking, of course, of the user pokemonouis’s love bot [h.s.] on the popular fanfiction site Wattpad. Before you click away in terror, consider that fanfiction can be a vital representation of culture, especially that of young people negotiating their place in a complex world. As the author Constance Penley says of Star Trek slash fic, fanfiction can be “an experiment in imagining new forms of sexual and racial equality, democracy, and a fully human relation to the world of science and technology.” With this framework in mind, let us dive into a sultry world of robot love.

In the vein of a typical Black Mirror episode, love bot [h.s.] is set in the present, near-identical to today except for one incongruous twist. Our protagonist, Ava, has been sent a mysteriously large package by her cheeky friend Niall Horan, containing an eager-to-please model from Love Bot, Inc., Harry. Though Ava is initially incensed at her friend Niall and is uneasy about Harry’s bizarre synthetic mind and body, she quickly warms up to his loving personality and sexual proficiency. Along the way, Ava must deal with her complicated newfound responsibility and the complexity of her own emotions.

Tragically, like Mozart’s Requiem in D Minor or Coleridge’s “Kubla Khan,” love bot [h.s.] remains unfinished. It was abandoned in 2016, and like One Direction, it doesn’t appear to be releasing any new material any time soon. Nonetheless, love bot [h.s.] is astounding in its complete lack of pretension or self-consciousness, existing as a complete, undiluted fantasy about getting a sex robot based on your favorite band member. However, the cherry on top is the dialogue created between the author and her readers, manifesting as a ludic communal debate about the philosophy involved or implied in the context of the world she has created. What I’m trying to say is that One Direction robot fanfiction is basically the 21st century version of the Athenian plaza or the Parisian salon, where the author’s story, as well as the community comments surrounding it, remain a portal of vital insight into such disparate themes as the commodification of sex and romance, the question of robot’s social standing given their initial utilitarian purpose, and the morality of human/robot pairings.

To enumerate, the foremost concern of love bot [h.s.] is the commodification of romantic love and its implications for how we relate to other human beings. From the moment Ava receives Harry, she is unwilling to engage with what she perceives as a mere corporate commodity, surrounded by packing peanuts, a charging port on its lower back. When Harry boots up, Ava is immediately accosted by the manufactured nature of his existence:

The comments echo Ava’s sentiment. One user states, “I’d be creeped out. Imagine if there was a camera or something.” Another jokes, “in the middle of doing what he does best, Harry whispers in my ear, “please like love bot incorporated’s page on Facebook!” This combination of the romantic with the heavily marketed is not new to the 1D fandom, as the band’s image, promotional events, song lyrics, and music videos all serve to encourage an attachment between fan and musician. However, to assume that the average fan mindlessly consumes the marketed content is to ignore the self-awareness within the 1D fandom. For instance, 1D fan culture often repudiates the perceived manufactured nature of their idols; many fan works bemoan the band members’ “management,” or the behind-the-scenes music industry professionals who prevent the boys from living life to its full potential. Thus, the Harry Styles sex robot becomes a potent metaphor for the fans’ relation to their favorite musicians, a playful way of acknowledging that you’re being pandered to yet still enjoying the show. In keeping with the framework of monsters provided by Guillermo del Toro, to engage romantically with the robot is to embrace the messiness and weirdness of emerging sexuality despite society’s opinion of 1D fans as crazed, lustful, and corporate-brainwashed young women.

Love bot [h.s.] also presents an interesting exploration of robot aesthetics and how they are constructed to appeal to humans. Ava is initially rather put off by the combination of the synthetic and the natural found within Harry’s body:

Despite this, she eventually comes around to Harry’s physical appeal, particularly due to his “cuteness:” Ava’s affection grows after he adorably takes the expression “you’re a dime” literally, uses the phrase “take a sleep” instead of “take a nap,” and is caught using her computer to look up “how to impress a girl.” According to scholar Sabine Payr, robots in popular media tend to either be nearly indistinguishable from humans, in which case they occupy the space of the “uncanny valley,” are threatening, and must be destroyed (as in Blade Runner or Ex Machina), or are presented as non-threatening “sidekicks,” whose cuteness and helpfulness to humanity mark them as peaceful (Wall-E, Star Wars’ C-3P0 or R2D2). Harry is gradually brought out of the former category and into the latter through his cuteness as well as his utility to Ava, such as through cooking her a delicious breakfast. As one commenter succinctly puts it, “It kinda creeps me out that he’s a robot but he’s freaking adorable so whatever.” However, this transformation of Harry has the possible negative consequence of him not being seen as fully equal to humans, as his “adorableness” is contingent upon him occupying a lower social position than Ava. Nevertheless, though most readers seem somewhat put off by Harry’s robotness, many seem just as ready to engage with the “uncanny valley” robot as the “adorable” one. For example, in response to Ava calling Harry "too real, too creepy," one user responds, “Well Send him over to me and call me Goldie locks cause he’s just right.” This sentiment is repeated throughout the first chapter: for every “This is going to turn into some Chucky shit for sure” there appears a “Call me Shia Labeouf cause I’m about to get it on with a transformer.” The readers willing to engage with the “uncanny valley” Harry avoid the problem of inequality inherent to the subjugation of the robot to a “sidekick” role. Thus, in this case, engaging romantically or sexually with the robot may be a potential expansion of the social category that robots may inhabit, a radical rebuke of the idea that robots must be subordinate to humans to be lovable.

Similarly interesting is love bot [h.s.]’s theme of autonomy: can one form a healthy relationship with a sentient being that is bought and customized to love you? Throughout the narrative, Harry refers to Ava as his “owner” or “master,” and Ava frequently treats him like a friend’s dog that she has been left to take care of. Harry gets separation anxiety when she leaves to attend school or work, is constantly compared to a puppy, and is described as a “burden:”

However, the readers were quick to push back on this characterization of Harry. Angry commenters lashed out at Ava, stating, “HES NOT A FOOKING BURDEN” and “HARRY DOESNT DESERVE YO RATTY ASS.” Readers of love bot [h.s.] reject the notion of a love bot as a less than human, asserting their right to be recognized not as a product or sex slave but as a full and realized autonomous being. However, as commenters repeatedly point out in another section of the fic, such a relationship is suspect. Ava is eager to downplay the uniqueness of her relationship with Harry, mostly ignoring his robotness in favor of labeling him as just another human:

Commenters are quick to point out the contradictions within this statement, replying, “except for him bc he is a literal robot who was made to be owned” and “says the girl who literally owns a robot im fed up bye.” Ava may treat her robot boyfriend as an equal, but, as the readers indicate, the nature of their relationship is inherently unequal. After all, the fic mentions that the love bots are, in legal terms, basically slaves:

Harry is completely dependent on Ava, and, tragically, only able to shop at Sears. With the realities of this society, the commenters argue, Ava’s “you are your own person and you belong to yourself” statement is functionally meaningless. Commenters also occasionally bring up other questionable power dynamics within the context of Ava and Harry’s relationship; one states, “Imagine if they got in a fight, she could just power him off;” another asks, “What if she died?” after a sentence highlighting Harry’s extreme dependence on Ava; another mentions, “that sentence is making me remember that he's a robot & can be programed at any time :((.” Harry’s boundaries of mind and body are much easier to manipulate than Ava’s, and this presents a quandary; can a robot partner ever be in full control of their internal psyche if his mind is specifically manufactured to carry out a single purpose, and that mind can be tampered with at will? The rich dialogue created between the author and readers gradually teases out several ethical considerations involved in human-robot relationships, questioning whether any relationship between a human and a robot constructed out of pure function can ever be helpful. In this context, the readers redefine the act of loving the robot as not a simple act of passion, but a commitment to upholding the autonomy of one’s partner.

The playful exchange between the author of love bot [h.s.] and her readers illuminates the moral gray area of human/robot relationships, offering key insights into the nature of commodified romance, social categorization of robots, and unequal partnerships. If/when artificial intelligence advances and potentially becomes sentient, the willingness to have debates about these topics will be essential to the creation of a just society for humans and robots alike. As Guillermo del Toro reminds us, the hierarchies and unquestioned assumptions of today will persist into the future, and a potent way to resist them is through the act of loving the taboo. It would be unwise to dismiss it.

[gingerwritess]

Broken Beds

Summary: (Loki x reader) You and your husband kinda sorta accidentally broke your bed one crazy night. You leave it up to Loki to tell Tony the problem and get a new bed, but his version of what happened doesn’t quite match yours.

Warnings: buckets of fluff and a schiza-ton of implied smut eheh my favorite

A/N: Day 1 of the 12 days of Christmas! Oh this one was so fun. Fluffy Loki = happy me. Also this post is apparently not showing up in the tags or searches?? I’m so upset, I worked so so hard on this and it took me forever to get it done and I’m so proud of it :(

Your comments make me inexplicably happy!

Head over to @picassho-18 for tomorrow’s 12 days post!! Hope you all enjoy!

“You tell Tony.”

“Oh, hell no. He’s never going to let us live this down.” You shook your head profusely, crossing your arms.

Loki sighed. “I can’t explain this, I have a reputation to uphold.”

The bed was ruined. The mattress had snapped in the middle, bending in a most unnatural way, and one of the feet holding the bed up had splintered, making the whole bed tilt to one side.

“That was such a bad idea,” you groaned, running a hand tiredly over your face.

Loki chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist to turn you to face him. “I must admit though, it was such fun. I regret nothing.”

You couldn’t help but smile, then gave him your best, most irresistible pout. “Yeah, but now we have to explain this to Tony…”

With an exasperated sigh, Loki gave in. “Fine. I’ll tell him.”

————————————————————

Uh oh. Tony was storming down the stairs heading straight toward you as you stood in the kitchen. Loki trailed in behind him, giving you a guilty smile.

That’s never a good sign.

“You broke the fucking bed?!” The utter astonishment in Tony’s voice brought a cringe to your face.

“Yeah… about that,” you began, holding up your hands in surrender. Tony cut you off with a hysterical cackle of laughter, looking back and forth between you and Loki.

“How… how?” He roared, clutching his stomach as he doubled over with laughter. “How hard do you have to be fucking to break the bed?! I mean,” he panted, “I thought I was crazy in bed. This, this is other-worldly.”

“Wait, what? What are you…” you started to say, but after a glance at Loki’s growing devious grin, everything clicked.

Oh, he did NOT. That liar.

“Hmm, yes, certainly out of this world.” You threw Loki a death glare, deciding to just play into Tony’s idea of what happened. “What else do you expect from an Asgardian?”

Loki winked at you, pecking your lips as he walked past. “Technically a frost giant, darling. Don’t forget.”

Tony was practically crying with laughter now, leaning on the counter for support.

“How could I forget?” You groaned, throwing the towel you were holding on the counter. “So will you get us another bed or not?”

Wiping his eyes, Tony nodded. “Fine, fine, I will. If I don’t, you’d just end up breaking through the floor too! I gotta go tell Strange, he’s gonna die when he hears this...” Still laughing, he finally left you in the kitchen, your blood positively boiling and eyes shooting daggers.

Taking a deep breath and counting down from ten to calm your temper, you stormed out of the kitchen to find Loki.

The little shithead was skimming the bookshelves in the library, purposely not turning around to greet you as you stomped in. You grabbed his shoulder and spun him around to face you, smacking his chest playfully.

“That’s not what happened, you nasty prick! I have a reputation to uphold too, you know. And you telling the rest of the team that I am your absolutely sex-crazed, insane plaything is not helping.”

Just to further get on your nerves, he grinned down at you. “Oh, you’re not that? Then please, tell me what you are.”

“Your wife?? Who just so happens to know that that is not AT ALL what happened last night, oh mighty king,” you said sarcastically, faking a dramatic bow.

Loki scowled at your mocking, grabbing a book off the shelf and striding past you. “Careful, darling. If I remember correctly, I was the one who won last night, was I not?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, crossing your arms firmly with a set jaw. “You cheated. So your ‘victory’ doesn’t mean shit to me.”

“Oh please. You’re just a sore loser,” he chuckled, and with that, he strode past you, using the book in his hand to smack your ass on the way out.

(The night before…)

You laid on the bed on your stomach, legs dangling off the edge, typing furiously on a laptop. In walked your husband, clearing his throat to alert you of his presence. You hummed a greeting, too engrossed in your writing to do anything more.

Loki stopped as he was walking past the bed to kiss the top of your head and waited for you to acknowledge him, but… you just kept typing. “That’s it? No kiss?” He asked with a hint of disappointment in his voice.

“Uh-uh. Later,” you grunted, eyes not leaving your screen. He sighed and trudged away, and in a few seconds you heard the shower start from your bathroom.

You kept typing. Ideas were actually flowing for your story, so you couldn’t stop now. Minutes later, Loki walked out of the bathroom in nothing but a loose pair of sweats resting low on his hips, wet hair tousled and dripping down his back. That got you to look up from your computer - you couldn’t help it. He looked delectable, you couldn’t deny.

“You didn’t join me,” he quipped. “Can’t say I’m not disappointed.”

“Sorry babe, I’m on a roll right now. Just let me finish this, couple more minutes.”

——————

“It’s been seven minutes, Y/N. A couple is two.” Loki flopped down on the bed beside you, shaking the whole bed. Gritting your teeth, you leaned closer to the screen. “Almost… done…”

“I haven’t even gotten a proper ‘hello’ from you yet,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

Wow. This side of Loki always made you laugh, knowing you were the only one who gets to see him desperate for attention and pouting if he doesn’t get it.

His hand started wandering up and down your back, sliding under your thin shirt to lightly brush your (unfortunately) extremely ticklish sides. Trying to stifle your laughter, you flinched away from his hands which only encouraged him to continue.

“Close the computer,” he murmured in your ear, tickling you even harder as he watched you struggle.

“No! S-stop it,” you laughed, squirming under his touch. That only egged him on, and soon you couldn’t breathe from laughing so hard. You slammed your laptop shut, reached behind you to grab a pillow, then swung it down hard on Loki’s head.

Bad idea.

Loki froze as soon as the pillow hit him, his dangerously flashing eyes slowly coming up to meet yours. “Look who’s finally paying attention,” he taunted, reaching for his own pillow.

“Heh, sorry… pillow fight?” You gulped under his unwavering, threatening gaze.

“Prepare for war, darling.” His ever-widening grin worried you. Then he smacked you across the face with his pillow.

Absolute chaos ensued, your shrieks of laughter filling the room as you pummelled each other with pillows. You were quite the experienced pillow fighter since you’d been having pillow fights since childhood, but Loki caught on quick enough. He kept throwing them at you while you tried to swing yours at him, forcing you to stay in one place and just block his assaults. Sick of his ceaseless attacking, you lunged forward, knocking him backward and landing on top of him.

You both paused for a moment, your hands on his bare chest, breathless and panting as you momentarily got lost in each other’s eyes.

WHAM!

A pillow connected with the side of your head. Loki let out an evil snicker, then rolled you over in hopes of gaining the upper hand. Unfortunately, there was no mattress left for you to roll onto, and you landed on the hardwood floor with a loud thud.

“Y/N! I’m so sorry, are you alright?” Loki scrambled off the bed, relieved to see you laughing hysterically on the floor.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” you giggled breathlessly, grabbing Loki’s extended hand to help you back up. He pulled you to your feet, then to your surprise, pressed a quick kiss to your lips. “What was that for?” you asked as he pulled away.

He smiled, casting his eyes downwards. “I don’t deserve this. Your joy in the smallest moments. I… I’m a miserable wretch. I’m not worthy of calling you mine.”

Mouth gaping, you stared at him in shock as his words processed. Then you quickly picked up a fallen pillow from the floor and started hitting him repeatedly with it. “What. The. Hell-” you enunciated each word with a whack of the pillow. “Are. You. Saying?”

Loki threw his hands up in defense, chuckling at your attacks. “I’m serious!”

“So am I!! Ugh, you’re too tall,” you huffed, climbing up to stand on the bed so you wouldn’t have to look up at him, instead making him look up to you. “You are not a miserable wretch, and you deserve every happiness in the universe.” You shook the pillow threateningly in his face. “Don’t you ever say something like that again.”

He looked up at you standing on the bed, a lazy half-smile resting on his lips. “I love you, Y/N. I truly do.”

“I love you too, you blithering idiot.” You leaned down and kissed him gently.

“You shouldn’t be standing on the bed,” he hummed, craning his neck to meet your gaze as you pulled away. “You’re enjoying the power over me just a little too much.”

With a laugh, you defiantly bounced a little on the mattress. “Would you prefer me on my knees, my king?”

“Yes. Yes, I absolutely would.”

He reached out to grab your leg, but you jumped away from his grasp. “Good luck getting me there.”

Loki growled, swiftly climbing up to stand on the mattress with you, ready to pounce. The bed creaked under your combined weight, but you ignored it and jumped away from Loki’s playfully threatening hands with a yelp.

He attempted to catch you, reaching for your arms and waist but only losing his balance as he took wobbly steps towards you. His instability on the uneven mattress brought a laugh to your lips, and you couldn’t help but jump on the springy bed as you dodged Loki’s unbalanced advances.

“Stop… moving! This is impossible.” With gritted teeth, he finally gave up trying to move around on the unstable mattress and just stood still on the bed.

“I thought gods might have better balance than that,” you chided playfully, bouncing closer to him and causing his arms to flail again as the bed shook under his feet. “Try jumping! Just bounce a little bit, it’s fun.”

Loki positively gaped at the suggestion.

“Gods do not bounce. You can't possibly expect me to-to jump on the bed.”

“Just try it. It won’t kill you.” You jumped right up in front of him, running your hands over his bare stomach to tease the waistband of his pants before grabbing his hands. “Come on!”

You started jumping up and down, letting the springs of the mattress shoot you into the air while you held Loki’s hands to urge him to join you. “Just like when I was a kid,” you giggled. A light smile played across Loki’s face as he watched you jump, looking at your childlike joy with pure adoration. He rolled his eyes with a sigh, unable to resist, then cautiously started jumping along with you.

You let out an excited squeal. “You’re doing it! See, it’s fun!”

“This is not fun.” Bounce.

“Yes it is. You’re smiling.”

“No I’m not.” Bounce.

“What do you call that face, then?”

“This is my ‘I’m going to brutally murder the next being that moves’ face.” Bounce.

You rolled your eyes and started jumping even higher, trying to reach his height. “Well, it’s adorable.”

“This is humiliating. This is worse than get help.”

“Mmhmm. And who are you trying to impress?” You grabbed a pillow off the bed and swung it at him.

He scowled and jumped out of your reach, crossing his arms and still bouncing lightly on the mattress. “You, you pathetic mortal. Always you.”

“Well then. Impress me. ” You grinned and looked around, an idea forming. “You know… I bet you can’t jump high enough to reach the ceiling.”

The ceiling wasn’t that high, and you knew Loki couldn’t say no to a challenge, especially one coming from you. Sure enough, Loki scoffed at your words. “Do you truly think so little of me?”

You shrugged. “I could do it.”

“Go on then, if you’re so sure.”

You squatted and jumped as hard as you could, the bed creaking under your weight as you jumped into the air but fell right back down without reaching the ceiling. Loki burst out laughing at your attempt and you playfully shoved him away. “Stop it! You can’t do it either!”

“Watch and learn, darling.”

He bounced a few times to gain momentum, his hair whipping messily around his face, then jumped with so much force it knocked you back onto the mattress. He swung wildly at the air, almost touching the ceiling, but still wasn’t high enough.

“HAH!” you shouted, scrambling to your feet. “I knew you couldn’t!!”

He had landed on his back but jumped right back up to try again, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He jumped again and again and again, until he full-on jumping on the bed… just as he had sworn he would never do.

There was no way you couldn’t smile at the sight. The youthful glimmer in his eye, the faint grin on his face, hair flying madly in the air as he bounced on the bed reaching for the ceiling. You stopped moving and just watched him for a second, your heart completely full.

“Oh, come on!” he huffed to himself when he missed the ceiling for probably the hundredth time. Out of breath, he paused and looked back at you, chest heaving. “What are you staring at?��

“You.” You grabbed his face in both hands and pulled him down to kiss his nose. “You’re adorable. And I love you.”

“Disgusting.” He grimaced and squirmed out of your grip, but there was no mistaking the tint of pink in his cheeks from your words. “I’m not going to bed until I’ve proved you wrong, you know.”

“Looks like we’ve got a long night ahead of us,” you grinned and plopped down criss-cross on the bed to watch him try.

He frowned down at you, pausing to blow away a strand of hair that wouldn’t stop falling in his face, then got ready to jump yet again. Face set with determination, he took a deep breath and jumped… but out of the corner of your eye, you saw a spark of green light around his fingers.

Ohhhh no he didn’t.

He shot straight up in the air, smacking his hand proudly on the ceiling while you started shouting. “NOT FAIR! No magic allowed!!”

Using his abilities to keep himself airborne a moment longer, the biggest smirk grew over his face. “Impressed yet?” He taunted.

“Not in the slightest, cheater. Get down here so I can slap that smirk off your face.”

“Hmm, kinky, I like it-hey!”

At his comment you had let out an annoyed string of curses and lunged at him, grabbing his legs and pulling him down out of the air. The mist-like substance that had been holding him up dissipated, and Loki dropped heavily to the mattress.

SNAP.

“Oh shit.”

The bed finally gave way as Loki crashed onto it, the mattress snapping and bending in half, caving in around him and pushing you towards the center too. Eyes wide, you both froze as you heard a slow creaking, then one of the legs of the bed splintered.

The entire bed dipped to one side, the broken mattress sliding off the bed. You and Loki scrambled over each other to get off, dodging a few springs that had poked through the fabric.

A silent, shocked moment passed, the two of you standing next to the bed and surveying the wreckage. You slowly turned to Loki, gaping. He glanced over to you nervously, clearing his throat.

“That… wasn’t supposed to happen.”

(Back to the present...)

“You’re going to tell them the truth. Right now.”

Loki grinned and crossed his arms to mimic your stance. “Hmm… no. No, I’m not.”

“Excuse me? I must not have made myself clear enough,” you spat, beyond irritated at your insufferable husband. “Unless you want to sleep alone tonight, you’re going to fix this and tell everyone what actually happened.”

He scrunched up his nose and leaned forward, trying to intimidate you with his towering figure, but you stood your ground. Close enough to your face that your noses were touching, he murmured under his breath, “make me.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Of course, Thor chose that moment to stride into the room where you and Loki stood glaring silently at each other, clapping him on the shoulder as he walked by. “Did you sleep well last night, brother?” he asked, the biggest shit-eating grin on his face.

You whirled around to glare at Thor now, asking with more force than you intended, “and why do you want to know?!”

The burly god held up his hands in defense. “I've heard from the others that you two managed to break the bed. I must say, I’m not surprised you did, I’m mostly shocked it took this long.”

Behind you, Loki had the nerve to let out a snicker, and you smacked him on the arm. “Your brother,” you seethed, “has been handing out faulty information.”

You were about to explain just how wrong Loki’s story was when Bruce stuck his head in the door. “Broke the bed, huh? Of course you did. You know, you two are the reason we soundproofed the walls, too.” He shook his head, chuckling to himself. “Crazy kids.”

Loki scoffed. “I’m over a thousand years old, you impertinent lout.”

“That’s not what happened…” you started to say as Bruce walked away laughing but gave up with a sigh. Thor still stood in front of you grinning widely, so you figured you might as well tell him what actually happened.

“We didn’t break the bed because of that, Thor, I swear. The mighty ‘god of mischief’ over here,” you jabbed a thumb at Loki, “was ju-“

“-JUST going a bit too hard!” Loki cut you off, rushing up behind you and grabbing you by the waist. “I… lost control, I suppose. Can you truly blame me? With a goddess like this in my bed?”

Thor let out a booming laugh while you wrenched yourself out of Loki’s grip. “You complete ass, don’t you dare think compliments will help! Thor, don’t listen to a word this idiot says, he’s the one who broke the bed but it’s only cause I got him to jump-mmph.”

Loki was suddenly shutting you up with a harsh kiss, bending you backward in a deep dip with one arm around your waist and the other hand sneaking up to your neck. Against your better judgment, your eyes fluttered shut as you melted in his arms, forgetting everything you had been annoyed about. You stayed like that for a moment—you just couldn’t help kissing him back—until Thor cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Shit, sorry.” You shoved Loki away, ignoring the triumphant smirk on his face and quickly wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Forgot you were there.”

Thor looked a tad bit uncomfortable, the poor thing. “You, um, should just tell me later, Y/N. I’m going to leave you two alone,” he mumbled and hurried out the door.

As soon as he was gone, you whirled around to Loki, fuming. “What the hell, Loki? How is them knowing that you were jumping on a bed WORSE than thinking we broke the bed from fucking too hard?!”  

Loki just kept that irritatingly attractive smirk on his lips. “Oh come on. Why do you care what they think?” He reached for your hand and pulled you towards him.

“I’d just love to have everyone know that the ‘mighty Prince Loki, God of Mischief, rightful king of Jotunheim’ was jumping on the bed,” you whined and half-heartedly fought against his attempts, but quickly gave in and let him tug you up against his chest. He wrapped you in his arms, swaying lightly, his voice low in your ear.

“Now now, I can’t have that getting around. That’s our little secret.”

“But it’s ok for everyone to know about our sex life?” you sighed.

His lips brushed your ear and his voice dropped to a whisper, knowing just how to get you riled up. “I have no problem with people knowing what is mine.”

“You are the absolute worst, Loki.”

“But you love it.”

You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how right he was.

“Shut up,” you groaned, then grabbed his face in both hands and smashed your lips onto his. He eagerly reciprocated, letting you push him backwards until his back was against a wall. It was an unusual change from how your making out usually went, normally it was Loki who would back you into a corner, but neither of you seemed opposed to the switch.

You kissed him roughly, releasing all of your pent up irritation towards your annoying, cocky, arrogant, loving...respectful...perfect, gorgeous god of a husband.

“You’re a royal pain in the ass, you know that?” you grinned up at him, your hand curling tighter in his shirt to keep him on your lips.

His hands worked their way down your back as he hummed in agreement, soaking up your kisses.

“I just have one question though,” you paused thoughtfully, leaning your head just out of the reach of Loki’s, making him whine quietly in frustration. “Do you think we could do it?”

Your husband did a double take, eyeing you suspiciously. “What are you…?”

You grinned at him, the mischievous spark that he loved so dearly glinting in your eyes. “Do you think we could break the bed? You know... not by jumping on it?”

Loki’s jaw dropped. It took him a few seconds to gather his senses after that while you gazed innocently up at him, toying with a few strands of his hair and waiting for his answer. Finally, his eyes narrowed and an almost evil smile spread across his face, making you immediately go weak in the knees.

“Oh, I absolutely do. But there’s only one way to find out for sure.” 

Everything Taglist:

@lisalisa007 @himitoshi @agarwaeneth

#loki fluff #loki fanfic #Loki Laufeyson #loki fanfiction #loki x reader #Loki Love #loki christmas #loki odinson #christmas challenge #christmas fics #marvel fanfic #loki x fem!reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #GW 12 days of Christmas #loki imagine #loki kiss #loki funny

[islamicrays]

Hyped-up views of sexuality and the obsession with looking attractive to the opposite sex have taken over the world. Contoured cheeks and jawlines, perfect bodies, smooth and silky hair, acne-free faces- and very very unrealistic standards of beauty dominate our minds and our conversations.

They’re ruining lives, they’re forcing teens to take their lives, they’re forcing others to starve themselves, harm their bodies. The craze of being appealing makes people do outrageous things. And because of this we have become part of a world where we are judged because of our appearances, where we are questioned and looked down upon if we don’t meet the so-called standards of society. This is harming us. It’s harming relationships, it’s harming mental and emotional health. It’s harming our self-esteem, our self-worth.

No matter what we think and feel, we can’t deny the fact that notions of beauty have changed greatly. To ignore the issue would be like living a lie but to accept it and work around it, it’s required and needed.

We’ve created a culture where purity of heart, simplicity, kindness, sincerity and intelligence come secondary. How ironic. There was a time when people were praised for their honesty, for their achievements and for their sincerity. Not for their sense of style or the quality of their skin. Dark circles weren’t ridiculed, they were seen as signs of sleepless nights of hard work. Women who didn’t have the ‘pregnancy glow’ and instead had discolouration and pigmentation because of the hormonal changes were as normal as those who had glowing skin.

But everything is different now. And if we’re not doing anything about it, we’re agreeing to a culture which is slowly going to take away everything from us that makes us human.

Every word you utter, every comment you make, every moment you breathe, work to challenge and question these unhealthy norms and values.

Don’t give in.

Look beyond superficial appearances.

Because you are more than that.

Hira Zubair

#islamic quotes #islam #quote #muslim #allah #beauty #beauty standard #self esteem

[letticetweedie]

For my Final Major Project, my chosen subject area is dance, specifically its relationship to the individual and how we use it to communicate. Because I want to explore the very anthropological side of dance, my starting research area was the way in which it’s technically explained, such as Keith Rose’s Crib Dance diagrams and the textbooks which depict the individual steps to the Waltz. This contrast between the more monotonous and organised side of dance compared to the more philosophical areas I know I want to investigate, will help me identify what it is I’m trying to pin down. Having done this, I have also done a lot of contrasting research on catharsis, and what it is to feel catharsis in everyday life. While often used in literature, a sense of catharsis is something I personally feel when I dance, and having spoken to a number of people, they agreed that they felt a feeling of “release” when they too were dancing.

It’s this research into the idea of psychological release and emotional freedom that led to looking at freedom as a whole, and how far we can ever truly be free. One fact I remember being told is that every person in the UK will see on average 5,000 advertisements. This bombardment of consumerism and marketing suggests that we are in fact never free, consistently influenced by what we’re told to want and arguably losing any sense of independence or free will. In one article written by J. Krishnamurti, he stated that “freedom implies being completely alone…You are never alone because you are full of all the memories, all the conditioning, all the mutterings of yesterday”. While this is a more conceptual way of putting it, Krishnamurti backs up this point of never being free, as we’re constantly weighed down by our own personal experience and emotion. However, if dance is considered to bring about such a sense of release and catharsis, is that why it’s so often resorted to in times of intense emotional strain? The intuitive and natural motion of moving to a rhythm or beat could arguably be the closest thing we can ever get to being completely free. Is dance used merely as a distraction from the problems we face in reality, or is it legitimately a means for exercising a sense of psychological wellbeing? This is a key point I want to explore within this project.

Another area I want to explore is that when we do dance, how far is our movement a completely natural response, independent of external influence. The history of dance suggests that trends and styles are common in society and that more often than not, we naturally imitate those around us. However, while eras of disco, street dance and raves show this trait, what I’m interested in is the nuances that separate us, the ways not only our individual experience and emotion dictate the way we move, but how our subconscious state also influences this. Furthermore, I also want to research into the aesthetics of dance – the motifs, colour and imagery we associate with dancing and how individual experience means these will never be exactly the same for any two people. For me, I associate positive memories of dancing with large rooms of people, of which at least 90% of the people immediately next to me are close friends and with a sense of glamour and fun. However, how far does this individual experience translate onto a subjective viewer? My personal relationship to dance, and how elated it makes me feel is a major factor that influenced the decision to study dance for this project. Additionally, I know that many others are familiar with this relationship to dance, therefore this project will hopefully be something that can be largely accessible and relatable. As the cathartic nature of dancing is something I relate to really strongly, when I’ve fully explored the area, and successfully pinned down what exactly it is that makes dancing so important to us as a species, I’ll know.

The cultural context of dance is something that I want to explore thoroughly – dance itself is such a social act, it’s impossible to ignore the cultural impact its had. As noted by Marusa Pusnik in their article on the “Cultural Practice” of dance, “dance occupies an important place in the social structure of all human cultures throughout history. Dance is most commonly defined as a way of human expression through movement”. The natural affiliation to dance as a means of communication has resulted in dance being the base of a multitude of cultures. For example, originating in Bharata Natyam, India around 400 years ago, Japan’s Kabuki dance is still practiced in homes today. While research and videos are hard to find, the dance still forms a significant part of the life of those who follow it. This is just one example of the hundreds, if not thousands of different forms and styles of dance that are used around the world. Consequently it’s clear that not only is dance a matter of an individuals response to music, but a group affiliation to a shared culture or origin, something that possible aids any feeling of displacement or isolation.

Additionally, the history of dance shows a close relationship between culture and society, how groups have used dance as a way of either rebelling or affiliating themselves with the ever-changing circumstances around them. As written in an article by the BBC, (‘6 ways disco changed the world’), The 1970s craze of disco for example was in response to Nazi regulations, limiting live music and allowing only records to be played. Following on from this, disco became a massive influence on later dance trends, as it was the first time someone could join the dance floor as an individual (prior to this you’d often need someone of the opposite sex to dance with). For the first time, individuals could be part of a larger crowd, a singular mentality of just wanting a good time. This also brought about the ability for something as simple as two men being able to dance together, as this was illegal until 1971, disco therefore acting as a form of social liberation.

For me, the subject of dance is interesting because of the impact it has on our mental state, rather than its literal use in art as a medium. In terms of artistic references and contexts, the artists I’ve been researching are less to do with the act of dancing itself, but more the themes they investigate and how they relate to my own practice. For example, Cildo Meireles and Andy Warhol are two artists I’ve looked at as part of my research into consumerist art. The way both these artists responded to the increase in consumerist culture and advertising reminds me of the way in which dance is used in rebellion or affiliation to the same things. Using motifs such as Coca-Cola bottles and technology (more specifically in his piece ‘Babel’), Meireles emphasises the theme of excess in the material world, the ways in which we’re constantly subject to and influenced by what’s being forced into our consciousness. Similarly, Warhol explores this excess in the form of colour, again looking at the ways the artificial world around us is almost inescapable. It’s these themes that I want to explore in relation to dance, how we use it to escape the very things these two artists are highlighting in their work and how I can reference this in my own work. Furthermore, both these artists strongly use motifs as a method of inspiring such themes, something I want to include within this project. Artist Marc Camille Chaimowicz does this in his work ‘An Autumn Lexicon’. Using items such as disco balls, coloured lighting and text, he creates an environment that is immediately reminiscent of a nightclub or party, and in turn, dancing. In relation to this, I want to further explore dance in its modern social and cultural context - how now, coloured light immediately carries undertones of some kind of party or performance. More specific references as well, such as bathrooms covered in crazy graffiti, weirdly lit corridors, glitter and neon are all motifs that I want to explore in relation to their social connotations. Again, similar to Warhol and Meireles, these things all inspire a theme of excess, something that dance seems to naturally attribute itself to. Dance has become a means for not only emotional release and excess, but also a medium in which we associate being our most self, allowing personal style to manifest itself, in turn leading the modern club-scene to be associated with excess of all kinds (for example glitter and neon). Ultimately, that is what I want my project to become. I want it to manifest itself as one large, crazy, fun collection of work – something that in itself is reminiscent of the overflow of emotion we have when we dance.

The continued exploration of the theme of experience is definitely something that is still present in this project, however the one difference in this work from what I’ve done before is that I want to explore how personal experience and intuition influences the way we move and the reasons for this movement. Rather than looking at the emotional response to the world around us, I’m more interested in the ways we translate this conscious experience and emotion into natural and intuitive movement, usually as a way for us to make sense of the mess that’s in our heads. In terms of the mediums and techniques I’ll be using, I hope to still be able to work very materially, only this time using materials that more directly relate to the subject area itself. The abundance of imagery and motifs, such as the disco ball, gives a lot of opportunity to work sculpturally, something that’s become really integral in my practice so far. Print on the other hand, while another method I’ve become increasingly confident in, is a medium I want to approach differently - dance is such a time-based, physical form, I’ll have to think about how I translate this onto the printed page.

[rhabakoli]

Another Rocky Night

Part 1

tbh, i was too lazy to edit, so please, if you find mistakes, unfinished sentences, anything - pls tell me? 

also, do not read in work environment.

@dreamwritesimagines @tofadavidson 

He found himself at the bar, whiskey in hand and looking towards the entrance. Curtis was next to him, dressed to the nines in a tux, smirk on his face. “You waiting for your mysterious date?” “Yes.” Billy wasn’t in the mood to joke around. He was here to make connections, to pitch his plans to some could-be benefactors. But he was nervous. Frank, on his other side, chuckled. “He doesn’t have a mysterious date. It’s his best friend.” Billy ignored them, their teasing. Instead he focused on the fact, that he’d be way less nervous, if he had his girl by his side. He didn’t think he could even be anything less than confident and sure of himself. He was stroking over the lapels of his suit, the only sign of his nerves. The whiskey was burning all the way down to his stomach, but he really needed it. “Holy-. Who’s that?” Billy looked up, and promptly felt like he swallowed his tongue. God damn, that woman. He’d have to beat half the army with a crowbar to keep them away. He felt fury and anger hot in his stomach and unable to control it, he slammed the glass down on the bar, hissed an excuse and stalked off, long strides towards his best friend. As she saw him, she smiled brightly, spread her arms and gave him a big hug, before he could even say anything. Well, was enough to at least keep some of them away, he guessed. Those who at least had heard of him would be sure to keep away from the girl that’s his plus one tonight. “I am so sorry to have made you wait,, traffic was unbearable. And my mother tried to make me wear something - how did she put it - more modest.” Billy took her in. Her hair was in a very complicated looking updo, the dress was a deep shade of red, and seemed modest enough to him. It had no cleavage, it was floor length, what was her mother talking about? When he asked, she just shrugged, playing innocent. “You’ll see.” Oh god. He hoped he’d live through this night. He nodded towards his friends by the bar. “Wanna say hi?” Skittles waved them enthusiastically, striding towards them. The second Billy got a full view of her backside, he almost choked on air. It had no backside. However modest it was in the front, the back was non-existent. There were thin straps running across the back, barely keeping it together, but other than that… Her tush was covered, at least.

He ground his teeth, stabbing the men around them with looks, hooping to scare them off.

Frank and Curtis were greeting her, kissing her cheeks left and right, hugging her. When they touched her naked back, they shot Billy curious looks. They knew how he was, when it came to his longest friend. They’d have to keep an eye on him. He already had a bit of a crazed look in his dark eyes.

They had some pleasant conversation, met some potential investors and Skittles managed to charm every single one of them. It wasn’t too hard. Most of them were men, and the second she turned around to leave, they were ready to sign any deal.   One even dared to ask if she was an asset to Anvil. Billy had to reign himself in, to not deck the creep. His friend took his wrist in her hand and smiled at the man. “I will take up training with Billy, so I will be there once in a while.” She looked down at the filigrane watch on her wrist and dazzled him with another bright smile. “Please excuse us now, we have a call scheduled.” Billy followed her blindly, feeling tense and cornered all over. He barely held back a growl, as some guy took a step back from his table and almost collided with Skittles. She was steering them back to their table, forced him to sit down and stay there, while she went and got him a water. Frank watched them in amusement. “Everything alright? You seem a bit tense there.” “I am so close to just taking out the next guy staring at her. She is not a piece of meat.” “What did you expect? You of all thing should know. that being an asshole is a requirement to be accepted in the military.” Before Billy could possibly to anything stupid - like leap across the table and strangle his best friend - , his eyes fell upon his best friend of the other sex, leaning against the bar and talking to the barkeeper. Her long, toned legs were on display. His mouth dried out in a matter of seconds. What in the world. He looked closer- oh fuck. The dress had a rather revealing slit up the side, it went almost up to her hip. “That woman will kill me.” Frank just laughed at him. Billy got up, on a mission. He interrupted her talk with the bartender, a hand on her back, body pressed close to hers as he murmured into her ear. “Come with me.” He didn’t even wait for her answer, he just went off, out of the ball room. Skittles quickly told the bartender to deliver their drinks to their table, if he was so kind, and followed Billy.

Outside, she was whirled around, crowded against the wall, trapped between two strong arms. Billy looked down to where he felt a sharp poke through his dress shirt. He then raised an eyebrow at her. “Are you threatening me with your knife?” “Sorry, reflex.” She folded the butterfly knife and tucked it back up the slit of her dress, hiding it at her hip. His dark eyes followed the motion, his breath coming out in a hiss. He cursed, then grabbed her elbow and pulled her along.

“Where are we going?” “Somewhere, where I don’t have to watch out for creeps all the time.” He found a room at last. It was some kind of entertainment lounge. Sofas all around, a bar in the corner, billiard tables strewn throughout the room. “So, you in for a round of balls?” She snickered at her choice of words. Billy would be laughing, if he wasn’t tense as a spring. “Skittles, what did you think dressing like this? If you wanted men’s attention, congratulations, you managed to get half the ballroom horny.” His friend moved around the room, a billiard ball in her hands. “I don’t want men’s attention.” She dropped the ball on the table, hopped on it and crossed her legs as she leaned back on her hands. Her dress slipped, the slit on its side showing her bare legs, teasing Billy. “I always only wanted one man’s attention.” Something in her tone made him look up, look closer. “What do you mean?” “I think you know very well what I mean.” He did. With the way she was looking at him right now, he knew exactly what she meant. “Is this a good idea?” She shrugged. “I don’t really care, you know? I never could handle relationships with other men if my life depended on it, so… You always were endgame.” Billy didn’t need more. He was on her in seconds, kissing her, feeling her soft skin under his hands. She uncrossed his legs, making space for him to stand in. His fingertips trailed up her legs, slipped under the fabric of her dress, and- he cursed, leaned his forehead against hers. “You’re going commando?” Was she honestly trying to make him a mad man? Kill him? “Try wearing a dress like this and not having anything poking out. I am glad I could manage to have my knife on me.” His fingers left marks, with how hard he pressed them into her skin. He whispered her name, again and again, his nose bumping against hers, their breaths mingling. She chased after his mouth, making him grin and pull away. She whined, grabbed him by his hips, bringing him closer. Her shoes thudded to the floor, one leg wrapped around his, one of her hands traveled from his hip to his front, teasing him by dragging a finger along the waistband of his trousers. He cupped her cheeks, angling her head to kiss her, nip at her lips, tease her with his tongue. He left hickeys here and there, made her moan, gasp, as his hands traveled all over her body, into the sides of her dress, feeling her warm skin, the shivers going through her, the goosebumps adorning her. Her fingers opened his trousers, pulled the zipper down, reached in and cupped him, felt him hard and hot under her hand. He hissed at her move, his hips bucked the slightest bit, making her chuckle. His head fell back, his whole body leaned towards her, his fingertips stroked her cheek, tapped along her cheekbone. His other hand found it’s way down her arm, joined her hand in his pants, covered it and pressed down, building friction. He couldn’t stop the groan ripping out of him, filling the room. She observed, loved his reactions, loved to see him lose control, one little crack after the other. He was putty in her hands, one massaging his hard dick, one cupping his ass and keeping him close. Billy gathered his wits, which took him longer than usual, considering his predicament. But still, he managed. His friend noticed, and almost whimpered at the look he gave her. He looked like a man starving, absolutely ready to consume her, to take her, ruin her for everyone else. His eyes were pure, deep black, even more than usual, his jaw was tense, his nostrils flared. A smirk stretched his lips, lifted the corner of his mouth. “Stay still.” His voice was deep, rough, traveled like a good whiskey. Burning, sharp, but with a smooth note and left you wanting more. When he got down to his knees, she leaned back on her arms, watching him lick his lips, brush her legs with his lips and paint trails with his tongue. It all served a single purpose: Making her scream his name and forget her own. He wanted everyone to know she was taken, she wasn’t for them to look at, she was precious and his to keep safe. He gathered her dress, pushed it aside and grabbed her legs, which were spread for him, her knees on both sides of his shoulders. He teased her, light touches, his stubble against her inner thigh, kisses and little licks, wandering further up. She was going crazy. He definitely knew what he was doing, and she hated every woman he had practiced this on. She held back her moans, her begging, her desperate gasps for air. And it got worse, when he finally touched her where she needed him the most. She was already so wet, she was positively dripping. With a rough chuckle, he licked some of it up, getting a little taste of what’s to come. Billy’s name started to spill from her lips, soft and quiet, interrupted by silent pleas. He decided he didn’t want to wait anymore, and dove right in. He dragged his tongue from her entrance to her clit and back, alternating between just the tip and the flat of it. One of her hands was in his hair, destroying his carefully coiffed look. It spurred him on. He licked, nipped, bit, pulled out every trick he knew. He dipped the tip of his tongue into her, ate her out like it was his first meal since he came back from the tour, and added a finger, then two. She became wetter and more sensitive, started wriggling and thrashing. Soon, his other arm was draped over her hip, keeping her still, close to his face. She grew louder, her breathing faster, her movements more frantic. She was close, he knew. He fucking knew, and therefore he doubled his efforts, feeling her flutter around his fingers, her body-

Billy sat up, suddenly wide awake, his heart galloping in his chest like a race horse on the track. His bedroom was dark, peaceful. He groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. Unbelievable. That was the second time, and again he couldn’t… Bad karma, he thought. He fell back against his headboard and grumpily looked down on himself. He was hard. With a sigh he took himself in hand and decided to let at least someone come tonight.

**

Part 3

#Once A Year #A Dreamwritesimagines Production #smutty #hes starving andd she's an all-you-can-eat buffet

[honeyyvee]

Shush

Rating: Explicit (+18)

Pairing: Taejin

Summary: Non canon complaint. “Making out with Taehyung in a public restroom is not among Seokjin’s ‘top things to do’ on his bucketlist, but it happens anyway.”

Words: 1.8k 

Warnings: Explicit sexual content. PWP. Cheating.

Notes: I’m going to hell. Taejin has been trying me for MONTHS with all that flirting on stage. This came to me while I was restless trying to sleep. First time writing mxm smut wow, it had to be taejin. 

“Taehyung… ” Jin gasps between kisses.

“Mmn…?” The blonde hums as he continues capturing Seokjin’s lips in long, hungry kisses. His large, impatient hands fumble with untucking Jin's white button up shirt to get a touch of smooth skin.

Difficult to do when there's barely any space between them. Taehyung’s body is caging him against the wall, hips grinding deliciously against his rapidly growing erection. Jin's own hips jerk in response to the stimuli, and Taehyung moans loudly into his mouth. Seokjin has to admit, there's something addictive about Taehyung and how everything's more intense when he's around.

But he's running out of breath, and Taehyung's impatient mouth insists on shoving his tongue down his throat. “Wait… ” Jin mouths against his lips.

The blonde acquiesces and moves on to entertain himself by nibbling at the skin of Jin's jaw. Seokjin stops for a while to catch his breath, and the reality of the compromising situation they're both in, dawns on him with increasing alarm. They are making out inside a public restroom of a burger place, their friends waiting for them on a table just a couple of metres away. Oh, and Jin has girlfriend.

Taehyung makes a move to palm him through the fabric of his jeans. Jin moans at the contact, but shoves the blonde man off of him nonetheless. “Taehyung, stop.”

Taehyung is equally out of air, breathing hard through his nose, but still pouts. “Why? I thought we were having fun…”

Jin's eyebrows shoot up at the blonde's shameless smirk and choice of words. “Fun? In a public restroom? That's really classy of you.”

Taehyung shrugs, smirk still in place.

Jin distances himself from the wall, turning to the faucet and mirror. He sighs and shakes his head at the sight of his disheveled hair, the same strands Taehyung had been running his fingers through until a moment ago. “Forget it Taehyung, I'm not playing along with you this time.”

Tae leans against the wall oh so carefree, hums in fake contemplation tapping at his chin with two spindly fingers. “But you want to.”

Jin opens his mouth to snap something nasty at him in response, but the door opens with a creak and someone enters. It's a child.

Jin swallows the coarse words tickling at the tip of his tongue. “No. No, I don't.”

The child stops midway to the urinals to stare at him with big eyes. His response sounds a little more forceful and loud than he intended to. The kid now probably thinks he's about to square up and beat the living shit out of Taehyung's giggling, stupid face. And he might… god knows he might.

Jin shoots his eyebrows at the kid and he continues about his business, if so with a fearful, vigilant stare. Taehyung does a shit job at holding back his giggles. Jin ignores him anyway and opens the faucet to cool himself down with a splash of cold water.

The blonde walks up to him with a shit-eating grin. Despite the warning look in Seokjin's eyes, he leans into his ear and whispers. “That's not what I felt.”

Seokjin is one second away from karate-chopping him in the face when the little kid stands next to him to wash his hands. He's still watching him with big eyes. Seokjin feels his soul leave his body as Tae bursts into loud laughter. Jin doesn't say anything, just stares down at the kid (in a show of dominance) until he finally goes away.

Taehyung drags him by the wrist into a stall for the handicapped as soon as he's gone. “C'me on, let's hurry before somebody else comes here too.”

Before Seokjin can protest, Taehyung's lips are on his again. His anxious hands have managed to untuck his shirt completely, and are efficiently working on getting rid of the belt circling his small hips. An exasperated groan that sounds a lot like Taehyung's name leaves Seokjin's mouth. As the brunette's fingers reach for the button of his jeans, Jin's hands push him.

His voice comes out in a rasp. “Stop it, I'm with Chunghae, remember?”

Taehyung brow furrows slightly, but he's not one to give up so easily. If anything, he's stubborn. So he pulls Jin flush against his body, takes him by the waist, spreads kisses against the column of his neck. Seokjin is more than halfway to giving in anyway. So he pushes him until he's seated on the toilet, legs spread before him.

Taehyung then murmurs against his skin, voice so low it sounds like a growl. “That's not what you said the other time, remember?”

He cups Seokjin's growing erection through the fabric of his jeans, palming and squeezing, as he licks and bites at all the sensitive spots he knows. He does such a good job at it that Jin is about to throw care out the window and fuck him right there and then.

In a last ditch attempt, Jin brings up Taehyung's lover. “Okay, but what about Jimin?”

The blonde halts for a moment, but feigns ignorance. “What about him?”

Jin huffs. “Don't play the dumbass. I know you're seeing him.”

Taehyung licks his lips, gives him his best innocent look. “He's just a friend.”

Jin sighs, cocks an eyebrow at him. “Bullshit, friends don't shove their tongues down each other's throats. I should know.”

Taehyung raises his eyebrows at this, tongue in cheek as he smirks. “Mmm, but they do shove their dicks down each other's throats, right?”

“Taehyung… “ Jin warns.

“Just a quickie.” The brunette pecks him. “I'll be fast I promise.”

Jin rolls his eyes but concedes anyway. He’s been painfully hard in his jeans for a while, and can't walk back into the restaurant like that. “Alright Mr. Flash man, get to it then.”

Taehyung beams at him as he crouches to eye level with his crotch. “Yes, master.” He presses a kiss to the bulge of his pants.

Taehyung has Seokjin holding his breath as he unzips his jeans with his teeth. The button of his jeans pops open, and in a single motion the material of his pants is being dragged to his ankles along with his boxers.

Seokjin’s cock springs free, nearly slapping Taehyung in the face. The blonde wastes no time taking it in his hands. Spreading the beads of precum from the very tip to the base with firm, languid strokes of his thumb and index fingers.

Jin grunts in response. “Hurry.”

“Patience, this is art.” Taehyung murmurs, as he gathers enough saliva in his mouth to spit on his hand.

“Oh yeah, this is so glamorous.” Jin snarks.

Taehyung grabs him by the base of his cock and squeezes in retaliation, earning a grunt. He makes a quick work of spreading his spit all over his length to get him nice and slick. With a mischievous look, the blonde sticks out his tongue and dotes Jin’s cock with brief kitten licks all over the head.

Seokjin’s shoulders shiver at the sensation, a hiss leaving his lips. “Don't be a tease.”

Taehyung smirks, opens his mouth and finally takes the hot, girthy member in his mouth. A sigh of relief leaves Seokjin's full lips, followed by the sound of a zipper. Taehyung's free hand fumbles with setting his throbbing erection free. His mouth moans around Jin's cock as he gets a little bit of much needed relief, pumping enthusiastically his rock-hard member.

Both are so lost in their sex crazed desire, they nearly don't catch the sound of the door creaking as it opens. Someone’s inside now. Seokjin throws a half-hearted glare Taehyung's way. A silent warning in his eyes as his brows furrow and his breathing becomes controlled. Keep quiet.

Having sex in a public bathroom is shameful enough, Seokjin doesn't want to add to that the embarrassment of being caught too. He hopes for whoever has entered to just have a quick use of the urinals and go. Luck is not on his side though, whoever unintentionally joined their sick voyeur party has entered one of the stalls. Seokjin's arousal seems to diminish at this, he's not one for voyeurism. If anything it makes him extremely anxious, not aroused.

Taehyung though… the sick fucker is a whole other story. His pace increases, both the pumping of his own member and the sucking of Jin's dick. There's something silently desperate and urgent in the way the veins snaking from his large, delicate hands pop with each twist of his wrist. It pulls Seokjin right back into his own little world, biting on his lip to keep quiet.

It feels like minutes but in reality are probably seconds. Jin is on the verge of spilling and looks like Taehyung too. His tongue brushes in maddening intervals at the sensitive piece of skin just under the head of his cock. One more brush and it'll all be over. He knows it.

In the distance they both hear the sound of a toilet discharging, and Seokjin feels a wave of silent relief. He'll be able to cum in peace.

Taehyung however, has other plans. He doesn't wait for the telltale creak of the door that indicates the stranger is out of hearing range. No. Taehyung’s body shivers and spasms as he releases, hot lines of cum stringing onto the floor with abandon. And moans. So loud, Seokjin’s heart leaps in his chest like it's going to break bone.

The sick thing is, he cums too. It's as if his dick has a mind of its own, when it releases in Taehyung's mouth just when the stranger screams in surprise. Taehyung swallows.

“What the fuck, dude?!”

Yeah, that's the same thing going through Seokjin's mind. The guy leaves immediately and both Taehyung and Jin release the breath they had been holding in. They're both panting slightly, still coming down from their highs when Taehyung bursts into giggles.

“What the fuck was that about?!” Jin hisses.

Taehyung wipes his mouth with his sleeve, shrugs with the biggest grin on his face. ”What?”

Jin fumes. “You moaning like a cheap porno whore just a moment ago. You freaked out the poor guy next to us.”

The gasp that leaves Taehyung’s mouth is shamelessly false. “I did? Sorry, didn't notice. Was busy.” He winks.

Jin squints his eyes and shakes his head. Gets up to clean and rearrange himself. “You're unbelievable.”

“So I've been told.” Taehyung smirks.

“You stay here and clean, I'm not cleaning your shit.” Seokjin points to the mess on the floor.

The blonde shrugs. “Sure, I'll give you a headstart.”

.

.

When Taehyung arrives at the table everyone seems to be having a great time except for Jin. It’s just Hoseok, Namjoon and Yoongi besides them but Seokjin is silently fuming, pouting, his ears gone completely red. Taehyung briefly wonders if he's mad at him until Hoseok points out at him.

“Hey, Taehyungie. You've got something on your face.”

And the poor, naive soul reaches a hand out to check. “What?”

“Jin.”

Cue everyone in the table (except for Jin) exploiting into laughter.

#btsguild #armyofwriters #taejin smut #taejin fanfiction #bts smut #vee writes

[waypathfinder]

Crimson Lane - Chapter 6 - Fire

Moodboard by @ashtyntaytertot  Beta’d by @kathknight and @ashtyntaytertot

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Chapter Text 

The air stunk of wood smoke, earth and soot, as a smoky haze settled low to the ground of Yavin Close. Kylo Ren waited with arms folded and a scowl on his face. Dressed head to toe in black, swallowed by the ink of night. A monster in the shadows.

He’d been waiting for an hour now, kicking at a gnarled tree root, twisted and exposed in the dirt like a broken bone. The chill of the night air infiltrated his fingers and toes, forming a damp coldness that burrowed all the way into his bones.

It was quiet here, and too perfect. The tree-lined street was in an upper-middle class area, north of the city. Classic suburbia. The kind of place featured in those tidiest town competitions. A picturesque cul-de-sac with clean-cut lawns of dew-filled buffalo grass, family-sized cars and front yards scattered with children’s toys.

It was the last place in the world Kylo wanted to do this kind of work. He was comfortable hurting junkies and criminals, but a place like this—-it felt off. People like this were so sheltered from the underbelly of life. In a way, he admired them for it. The innocence, the ignorance, it was a blessing living under such a delusion.

He hadn’t minded the cold at first. The cutting bite of the air was refreshing, especially after his run-in with Rey. He had needed more than a cool breeze after  that, an arctic swim would have been preferable. Even then… his hands clenched together and released as he thought of her, kneeling before him, mouth open, soft lips touching his—-  

Shit. His body tugged with furious hunger, lusty and sex-crazed like a teenager. He repositioned himself, taking a deep and purposeful breath. A quick meditation to drag his thoughts out of the gutter. He let the emptiness of night fill his mind, chasing the silence, holding on to it.

Forget her, he willed himself, forget the way her eyes met his with such fierceness, that fiery spirit, hard and resolute, and yet there was softness there, and empathy—She was so much more than he could have hoped.

Years ago she had been nothing but a terrified child, a victim of the world and her circumstances. But now she was formidable. Life had chiselled her into something tenacious and strong, and— beautiful.

And he had not expected that.

He had not expected to think about her  all  the fucking time, or to spend an insane amount of money just to keep her safe from the others.

That first night—he shuddered to remember it. How he had let his hungry eyes feast on her like she was his to take. He had treated her like all the other prostitutes. She was  supposed  to be an outlet. A place he could thrust those feelings of self-loathing away. That’s the way it worked, it was almost mechanical now. After he’d cracked someone’s skull, or broken an arm, or left them humiliated and crying as they begged for mercy, he could come back to the brothel and just  forget. Somehow pounding into those girls, feeling the blood hardening in his cock, focused his mind on the physical and quietened the part that hated what he had become.

Sex was a transaction. An affirmation to Snoke that he was the heartless, monster he’d made him into. But after being with Rey—he had wanted  more. Needed  more. That night he had been drawn into her. She would be the death of him, he was sure of it, but what a sweet death it would be.

His phone vibrated on silent in his pocket, and he retreated back beneath the boughs of one of the many century-old camphor laurel trees that lined the street. Melting into the consuming shadows, he pulled the phone close to his face to hide the light.

“What is it?”

A gravelly voice cracked on the other side of the phone. “Are you in position?”

“Yes. There’s no sign of him yet.”

“There’s been a change of plans. I want you to take him out.”

Kylo’s heart froze in his chest. Snoke had never said anything about killing anybody. “I thought this was a warning.”

“It is— to everyone else .”

“It’s too risky,” he hissed, hating the desperation in his voice. Snoke would sense it, he would know. “People will start asking questions.”

“Dameron has already threatened to go public with an article tomorrow that raises questions about the Resistance bombing last year. He’s been stalking the girls as they go to work, asking questions. These people are leeches, Kylo, they will destroy everything I’ve worked for.”

“Is it not enough that we’re taking out his source tomorrow? He’ll have nothing on you after that.”

Silence. Kylo swallowed. Above his head, there was a flutter of wings, as a plover bird shot out of the sky, screeching as it dashed away.

“My, how comfortable you are questioning my authority these days.”

Kylo’s jaw tensed, and adrenaline coursed through his body at the warning in Snoke’s words. He retreated, voice quiet with defeat.

“I’m tired. I’ve worked every night this week. I thought I had tonight off.”

“Oh, you’re  tired ,” Snoke sneered. “Then perhaps you need to arrange your week better if your priorities are getting skewed. Tell you what, I’ll take care of your whore for the rest of the week, and you can focus on your fucking job.”

“I spoke out of turn. It’s nothing,” Kylo said, his voice strained and quiet.

“That’s right. It’s nothing,” Snoke purred, letting an unsettling silence cut between them.

“Have you looked her up yet?”

“No.”

“When will you do it?”

“Tonight. I still have the card you gave me. I haven’t had time today—”

“Make sure that you do, before you fall for any more of her nonsense. Who thought my own apprentice could be so gullible for such lewd and shallow charms? It’s a fucking farce, Kylo. The sooner you finish greasing your dick in her, the better off we will all be.”

Spittle formed at the edges of Kylo’s mouth and his head pounded. His vision clouded, as though his whole world was ready to burn around him. If Snoke had been here, he might have ripped the skin off his body. This fresh rage was just beginning to surge and peak within him when there was a sound of tyres crushing fallen leaves. Not the kind of car he was expecting for Poe Dameron, the Raddus was notoriously slow and more like a mini-van than a car. He would have thought a Tie or X-wing would have been more of Poe's style.

“He’s here.” He backed away, hanging up the phone instantly as he pulled a hood up over his head.

A silver Raddus pulled into the driveway, and Kylo stopped breathing. He was well and truly concealed, but even so, Poe could recognise him. They had been childhood friends for a time, racing their billy carts down the steepest streets in Chandrila. They both had a love of speed and danger, with their play dates ending in bloody knees and bruised elbows.

There was the sound of car doors opening and closing, followed by muffled voices. He peered out between the darkness of the branches; Poe was chatting to a woman, his wife, he supposed. They held hands as they spoke, soft voices and gentle smiles. Kylo grimaced. The woman had two blond buns on either side of her head, making her look more like a giant bear from this far away. Eventually, she walked into the house, leaving him alone outside.

Poe looked out into the street, breathing in the fresh night air as he made his way towards the back door of the van.

The door opened quietly, followed by gentle shushing sounds. When Poe turned around, he was carrying a little girl, with dark curly blond hair, slumped in his arms in deep sleep. He gently pushed the hair out of her eyes and placed a kiss on her forehead, before carrying her inside

Kylo felt like someone had smashed a cleaver against his chest. It was one thing to take Poe out. As a journalist, he knew what he was risking by chasing this story. But it was another thing to take a father away from his family. The feeling was too raw. Fathers should be with their children. That was something he had learned the hard way. And then there was a chance he might be responsible for killing a child. He’d gotten used to having a certain amount of blood on his hands; there was a line, but he crossed that years ago.

“Well, well, well, it seems we got here just in time.”

Kylo jumped at the snide voice that came up behind him.  Armitage Hux. He gritted his teeth, mouthing a silent curse. Things were about to get a lot more complicated.

“Hux,” he growled without turning to face him. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

“You were supposed to wait for me, or did you just happen to forget that critical piece of information?”

Kylo turned around slowly; not one, but four knights behind Hux. He tried to hide his surprise at the extra company, folding his arms indifferently and rolling his eyes.

“Good, Snoke has given you some babysitters,” Kylo said with a yawn as he looked away from them, hoping it would ease the tightening sensation in his chest. The added company was a sign of distrust, Snoke wanted to make sure he knew if he didn’t finish the job, there were plenty of others who would.

“Hang tight, Kylo,” Hux sneered with a plastic smile, eyes narrowing. He dug into his pocket, pulling out a phone that he then held outstretched in front of him.

“Is that really necessary?”

“You know he likes to watch you work. Now smile for the camera, Kylo.”

“Yeah, I know he likes to fucking watch,” he muttered.

“Here.” Hux gently handed him a package. “Attach this beneath the driver’s seat, it’s equipped with a GPS signal so we’ll know when Dameron is on the move. The trigger is connected to this burner phone’s sim card.”

Kylo took the cellphone, casually slipping it into his pocket.

“You’ll have to sync the bomb and the phone when it’s fixed so you can get a notification when the car moves. Once we know he’s driving you can set the trigger remotely, and problem solved.” Hux wiped his hands together. “Do you think you can manage that?”

“Yeah, I can manage.” Kylo gently took the brown paper bag from Hux. Inside was a black mass of twisted wires and the whole thing stunk of tar. C-4. Hux wasn’t kidding around. Then he looked at the phone, swiping the screen until he found an app called “Push me Kylo.”

“Cute,” Kylo said darkly. The fucking rodent, he’d love to wipe that smug smile off his face right now but the video phone was firmly on his every move now, and the knights watched him closely, hands and feet twitching as though they were waiting for him to lash out.

He turned to go, and Hux’s voice trailed after him mirthfully.

“Hey, thought I might book your girl on Saturday. I hear she’s as tight as a—”

Kylo spun around and grabbed Hux by the neck, dragging the tall but lean man close to him. Hux squealed, as the other knights lunged to separate them.

“I will fucking shove this package down your weasel throat if you don’t shut up.”

Hux smiled again, ensuring the camera was still firmly capturing the entire thing. It was too late to care, he had the whole thing on live stream. He’d have to deal with the consequences of that little move later.

“Tsk, tsk, Kylo. You know our generous leader hates it when we fight.” Hux cooed at him. “Off you go, our Supreme Leader is waiting.”

Kylo walked away from him, his skin still prickling with rage and breathing hard. He had to learn to ignore, to tether his rage. It was always his weakness, all they needed to do was make him angry and he was as good as a ticking time bomb. Snoke knew this, and he exploited it.

As he approached the silver Raddus, Kylo’s movements became more furtive and smooth, employing all he had learned in years of ninjutsu training under Master Luke. He moved like an alley cat, skulking and silent until he was pressed up against the door of the Raddus. Hux and the knights were all watching him, but at least they had to hang back in the shadows and there was no moon just now.

With unsteady fingers, he fixed the bomb beneath the driver’s seat. It was easy to do; Hux had fixed it with a magnetic rod that pulled it into place with a clang. The noise echoed out into the still of night and Kylo ducked down, each breath coming fast and hard in his chest.

Then he got out the burner phone and his own. Slyly glancing back to Hux, he quickly swapped the sim cards and synced the trigger to his own phone. By the time sweat began to drip down his forehead, he turned back to Hux. Walking back slowly, holding out the burner phone clearly so Hux could see, his other hand in his pocket.

He tried to keep his steps slow and casual. In his pocket, his sweaty palm clutched at his own phone. It was a crude plan, but he’d had to go with it on the fly. Snoke usually withheld instructions to the last minute to avoid planning on Kylo or anyone else's part, but what he failed to anticipate was that Kylo worked best when improvising on the spot. It fed him with adrenaline and pushed away any hesitation he might have experienced, had he planned everything out a week in advance.

Hux moved towards him, hand outstretched to take the phone. Kylo had to act fast, but he was much closer than he would have liked. He braced his body for pain and heat, as his thumb slipped over the trigger in his pocket and instantly the world behind him exploded into fire. The force of the explosion torpedoed him face first to the ground, scraping his skin across the ground. He still felt the heat, a resident flash burn that stung his entire body and his nostrils were filled with the scent of burning rubber and petrol.

Hux, who had also been catapulted to the ground, charged at him, the knights close behind but Kylo ignored the pain in his body and jumped to his feet.

“What the fuck?” he screamed at Hux.

The red-headed man stalled his charge, his narrow eyes becoming wide with sudden panic. “You must have set it off!”

“You saw me, I had it facing you as I came back. And why the hell would I fucking set it off?” he shouted and added a sharp shove at Hux. “Your faulty device could have killed me.”

“I-I don’t understand,” Hux stammered, peering around at the other knights, who were all eyeing him suspiciously. “I tested it only this afternoon.”

“I hope you got that on camera, you red-headed Gronk.”

Hux narrowed his eyes at him, a visible vein beginning to pop out at his temple. “You—-”

Suddenly they heard shouting from down the street. Kylo turned back to see Poe running out to the flaming car, his hands wringing through his hair. “We need to leave, now.”

——

He cracked the door ajar, spearing shards of light into the hollow darkness. The room was empty and the bed untouched.

She was gone.  A twinge of panic rushed through Kylo in a rude jolt. He wouldn’t blame her for doing so—she  should have gone.

But still, the reality of this truth was no less painful. He had hoped… He didn’t know what he hoped, but he had hoped none the less. It was pathetic really, yearning for something so simple. Someone to share thoughts and ideas, to spar with, to touch him. How long had it been since he’d had a friend, since he had anybody?

He urged one foot in front of the other, wringing his hands as he went. They were still numb and cold after waiting so long in the bitter night. At least the fire was still aglow, with a crusted black log, charred and singed with flames, but inside the heart still burned. He moved to sit by it, rekindling the warmth within the tips of his fingers—

And there she was, ethereal and sleeping soundly on the floor, her hand still clutching a book of short stories. A sheer white robe fanned across her body like a sheet, sinking between the hollow of her thighs and the sculpted lines of her body. A warmth swept through him that had nothing to do with the fire. He squatted down beside her, hands across his knees, studying her features.

He dared not make a sound lest she stirred. Here he could watch her without her snide remarks and scowling eyes. He could watch in silence, focus on the way a curling strand of hair now fell across her high cheekbones, her sun kisses, speckled endearingly across her nose and cheeks, the way her lips were soft and parted and the neck was long and exposed beneath her ear. He wondered what it would be like to kiss her there, and the sounds she might make as he pressed her lips in slow, lascivious, wanting kisses.

The heat within his body bloomed. God damn, this woman was going to make him go mad. He pushed the thoughts down when she stirred, her hand sliding across the rug as she changed position, and Kylo cocked his head to the side, watching the way her long limbs moved.

Her face scrunched in what appeared to be pain and her movements became fast and jolting. Her eyes moved like waves beneath their lids, searching and desperate.

“Rey,” he whispered, touching his hand to her shoulder.

She swatted it away and he smirked. She was fiery even in sleep.

Well, in that case…

He slid his arms beneath her back, pulling her close to him. The warmth of her body pressed into his chest and her eyes sleepily fluttered open. Her body went rigid in his arms. A part of him shattered a little at the way she reacted,

“Shhh. It’s okay,” he said to her in hushed tones.

She closed her eyes again, her arms slipping around his neck as her body relaxed into his hold.

“I was having a bad dream,” she said lazily. “He was dragging me into the kitchen. He was going to hurt me.”

The meekness of her words struck at him, and he felt an overwhelming need to cocoon her against his body, protecting her from the world outside that was too violent and hateful for something so beautiful.

“Who was going to hurt you?” he asked, walking her to the bed, even though her eyes were closed and he wasn’t quite sure she was even awake.

“The man in black. He’s the one I dream about. The centre of my nightmares. He never stops hunting me.”

Kylo felt something break inside him, a bleak darkness spearing through his heart. He looked down at her placid face, peaceful now that she was in his arms. He reached the bed and placed her in it gently, pulling the blankets up over her body.

“He won’t hurt you again.” His words were as gentle as his hands as he caressed a thumb over the line of freckles across her cheeks. But inside him, the promise was hard, and heavy in his chest.

He stepped back, watching her fall deeper into sleep, her lips parting as sweet breaths slowed into slumber.

She walks in beauty, like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies

And all that’s best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes;

He shook his head. Now he was spouting high-school poetry? Perhaps Snoke was right about him. He was becoming less of a man. Pathetic.

He grabbed his laptop from his bag and set it up at the small writing desk along the edge of the wall. He opened it and the screen lit up, casting an iridescent blue light through the room. He darted his head to look at Rey; the light had not woken her. Relieved, he turned back and opened up his Google search engine.

The business card Snoke had given him earlier in the day had been burning a hole in his pocket. He thought of it constantly and the secrets it would reveal. It was the reason he had avoided following it up until now.

Snoke was right about one thing, he needed to know the truth about her. What had happened before … he was on a slide, he could feel himself falling hard. Of all the weeks she would come bounding into his life, it had to be this one, the week his whole world was to burn and he had to make a decision.

He pulled out the card, white on black: First Time Forever, with a website below the text.

He took a ragged breath and typed in the words.

The screen flashed to life with an elegant cursive script. Below the logo were pictures of young girls in awkward poses, sticking their arses out, pouting their lips, in lacy bras and suspenders. His throat constricted as he began to scroll down the page looking for her. He gave up scrolling and typed in the search bar instead:  Kira.

Her page sprang up and Kylo leaned back in his chair, feeling like someone had poured cement down his mouth. Her picture was different from the rest, she was smiling widely with two sharply defined dimples. Her hair tied in three buns, the same style she had worn when he had found her all those years ago. She wasn’t posing like the other girls, in fact, there was nothing sexy about the photo. Her bio said she was 18, but the photo looked much younger than that.

He read her bio, scrolling past the various bust, waist and arse measurements until he read this section:

In Kira’s words:  I like huge cok. I want a man to break me in and leave me screaming for more. Come and be my first time and I promise to come all down yur legs.

He cringed, at both the sentiment and even more at the terrible grammar and typos. It was almost comical in a way, the contrast between the innocent picture above and the dirty words beneath it. And then he saw something that made his heart grind to a halt.

SOLD for $350,000.

It wasn’t her first time doing sex work, and she certainly wasn’t broke.

This is what Snoke had wanted him to see.

Things were not what they seemed. And he had a terrible feeling he knew what this all meant, but he had to know for sure.

With trembling fingers, he pulled his phone out and searched for a contact he had sworn never to call. With a shaking breath, he dialled the number and waited.

It rang for too long.

“Come on, pick up the phone—”

There was a click on the other line and that familiar husky voice, a curious accent blend of Mexican and Kenyan.

“I told you not to call.”

His heart sunk a little at the coldness in her words. How far removed they were from the way she’d doted on him as a child.

Kylo cleared his throat.

“It’s about Kira.”

There was a sharp intake of breath, followed by a long silence.

“You promised you would keep away from her.”

“I know, and I did,” he said, stung by the accusation in her tone. “But things have changed.”

“Mwanaharamu!” she began throwing curses at him. “Kumamako—”

“I didn’t go searching for her, Maz!” he spat back at her a little too loudly.

He quickly turned Rey; she was still sleeping but he was careful to lower his voice.

“She took a job with Snoke.”

“God, no,” Maz replied, her voice hoarse with horror. “Is she safe?”

“For now.”

“You need to get her away from that monster. Damn it, Ben Solo! If you do one good thing in your life you get her away from him. You may choose to follow Snoke on his path to hell but I’ll be damned—”

He tuned out; her voice was becoming harder to understand as her native tongue began to fuse with her English. He’d always thought it quite endearing as a child, but now he just needed her to give him answers.

“Maz, if you want me to help her, I need you to shut up and listen!”

She became quiet, and the only sound from the other end of the line was ragged panting.

He looked back at Rey, still sleeping soundly, a soft snore slipping from her lips every now and then, which made her nose crinkle and Kylo’s chest filled with warmth at the cute little gesture.

“I need you to tell me everything, Maz.”

#crimson lane #reylo #reylo fan fic #reylo fan fic rec #reylo fanfiction rec #reylo au #modern reylo au

[gentlemanmendes]

Philophobia | 7 |

Previous chapters can be fond in my masterlist under Philophobia here’s link :https://gentlemanmendes.tumblr.com/post/154438057583/masterlist

07:

“What do you mean you’ve done something horrible?” Mia asked her voice slight muffled through the door though I’m positive I heard her a lot clearer than she had heard me considering I was seated on the bathroom floor, my knees tucked into my chest allowing a perfect place for me to hide my head away in shame as I lean against the locked door Mia on the other side pleading with me to open the door.

Shawn and I had shared a few kisses, as in more than one, before we had gone back to his place. He had suggested that we share his bed because we had already shared a bed before but I insisted on sleeping on the couch, only so I could sneak out and leave early in the morning with out shawn seeing me. The worst part was that I actually felt guilty for leaving. I had left shawn a million times before but now there was this burning white guilt eating me away inside slowly.

“I did something bad last night that I can’t take back.” I may be exaggerating a little but that’s the classical Adee way, I exaggerate everything that way when I get over it the situation doesn’t seem as bad anymore.

“Well how bout you open the door and then tell me all about it.” Mia sighed. I can imagine her with her forehead pressed against the door as she closed her eyes and pursed her lips, her look of irritation. Mia doesn’t loose her temper or get angry, instead she has this look that shows she’s annoyed. Sometimes I wonder if she is going to explode from not letting her frustrations out but it just isn’t in Mia’s personality to act that kind of way.

Sighing I move away from the door enough to unlock it opening it enough for her to move in. I lift my head up when I feel her taking a seat beside me.

“What happened this time?” At her question I hide my face away into my lap as if hiding away in shame.

“I kissed Shawn.” I groan, my voice coming out muffled due to my face being covered.

When Mia doesn’t answer I turn my head to the side to look at her and make sure she heard me. She is frowning to herself in confusion and when she spots my gaze in hers she voices her opinion.

“I don’t  get why this is such a big deal? You’ve kissed him before.” She shrugged not seeing the big deal. Of course she didn’t understand what was wrong because she didn’t feel what I felt.

“It wasn’t just a distraction kiss, it was like a kiss kiss.” I elaborate causing her to farrow her eyes rows together as she tried to figure out what I was going in about.

“What’s the difference?”

“The difference is that it has more meaning. I wasn’t kissing him because I wanted to have sex, I kissed him because I actually wanted to kiss him.” Even after breaking it down for Mia she still seemed confused by the obvious difference in the two. It wasn’t rocket science but Mia just wasn’t the type to use that kind of stuff as a distraction. She believed in acting on emotions and the only guy she had ever really kissed was Tyler. There was nothing wrong with that it just was she didn’t know what I was going on about.

“You overthink everything.” Mia rolled her eyes deciding it was probably best not to understand what I was going on about, I swear most of the time she probably thought I was speaking in a different language to her due to the fact that she very rarely ever understood what I was going on about.

“And the worst part is, I actually liked it.” I bite down on my bottom lip as I remembered the warm feeling in my stomach as we made out in his car. Only this wasn’t like previous make out sessions I had ever had, not even with Shawn. My heart had bested so furiously in my chest I could swear it would explode as his lips had moved slow against mine. I don’t know why I had kissed him in the first place but I wasn’t going to deny that I couldn’t stop thinking about it afterwards.

“How is that a bad thing?” Mia actually rose her voice only it didn’t sound all that aggressive coming from Mia.

“I don’t get feelings, I haven’t for as long as I can remember and I’m sure as hell not going to start with Shawn.” I snort. It’s true. I’ve never had a crush on a single guy. Mia had been quick to fall for practically every guy in our class leaving her heart broken when they didn’t like her back which made me thankful that I had never been dumb enough to crush on any of them. They were all losers who only cared about sex and parties, and college isn’t much different but at least she now had Tyler who she seemed really happy with.

“Why not?” She seemed to be growing frustrated with me and I couldn’t help but take offence to it. Mia was never this harsh with me. “Shawn really likes you and he’s a great guy, what can’t you just give him a chance. I get you have this weird phobia but you can’t be scared of something you’ve never experienced. Just give it a try and if you don’t like it then I will never pester you again about it.” She lets out a huff after her small rant as my eyes go from being the size of tennis balls to lowering to the floor in shame.

“You didn’t have to be so mean about it.” I pouted to myself causing Mia to giggle in response as she threw her arm around my shoulder and pulled me closer into her. Maybe Mia was spending too much time with me and I was rubbing off on her in a bad way.

“I knew that when we started living together we would rub off on each other but I didn’t know you would have that much of an affect on me.” She snorted causing me to laugh.

“I’ve created a monster.”

“So you will do it?”

I Contemplate my answer in my head for a few moments but didn’t know how to think it through, I was completely clueless to this kind of stuff.

“Only if you promise to help me.”  I attempt to reason.

“Of course, I’m always here for you.”

***

At first I had been bummed out to be doing another Friday night shift but the more I thought about it the more I realised that I actually wouldn’t have anything better to do tonight and it seemed reasonable that I make money instead. Mia was out with Tyler doing god knows what and would be spending the weekend at his place and if I was being honest I wasn’t in the mood to party this weekends, something about now being at college and away from my parents made me realise that hey parties are actually crazy boring. I think in high school I had just loved going to them because of the thrill I got from sneaking out and disobeying my parents, every high schooled deep down loved being rebellious. But now everything I did was up to me the freedom was some what daunting and I didn’t even know what to do with it anymore. If I had my way I would be cuddled up in my dorm with Netflix and a packet of maltesers and popcorn. But that would have to wait until the end of the night because right now there was a full house and I needed to keep running around doing my best to not mix up orders or bring people’s food cold. It had taken me a good few shifts before I had started getting the hang of things, waitressing is hard and I will scowl at anyone who decides to have a go at staff the next time I go out to dinner.

Elador is a formal almost luxurious restaurant with dimmed lighting and over priced French or maybe Italian food, I don’t know the different to be honest. However the vibe is different to most places I’ve been to with the classical band playing lightly in the background, candle lit tables, and overly dressed customers I can see why. My parents would probably complain about it being to dark while my nieces and nephews ran around like monkeys on a crazed fix, my sister in laws eyes would bulge at the prices of the food as my brothers tried making a completion of who can blow out the candles first, and then I would rock up in my ripped jeans and tee shirt earning weird glances from the other customers. Mia would fit in here perfectly. Although she wasn’t raised with a lot she for sure would hold her posture high and dress to look a million dollars, I can picture her giving polite smiles and using the correct cutlery and manners at all times. It just proves to me that you don’t need to be rich to have class, some are born with it while others no so much. For example the lady who had just caused a scene by yelling at me because her serving of the sides weren’t big enough, compared to the over sides diamonds clustered around her neck I highly doubt anything was big enough for her. She shoved the plate in my hand and ordered me to take it back to the kitchen. I shared a knowing look with Shay, one of my coworkers, who gave my arm a small reassuring squeeze as she past me.

“Table twelve is waiting to be served.” Candice, the on duty manager and oldest of all us waiting staff at thirty-nine, told me before taking a tray of food and hurrying back out. It took me a moment to figure out why she was telling me this until I realised that table twelve was in my section of the floor. Letting out a sigh I fix up my posture and make my way back out to face the hungry beasts.

Why must everyone choose to go out on Friday night? There are six other days of the week to choose from.

“Hi I’m Adee, I’ll be your waitress for the evening, can I start you off with any drinks?” I ask the way we are instructed to with every table as if they actually care what our name is. When I lift my gaze from my notepad in my hand to the table before me my eyes widen at who out of all people in the world is sitting in front of me.

Shawn’s gaze lifts from the child who looked to be about ten beside him to me and he seems just as surprised as I feel when his gaze lands on me. Thankfully he is at the other sides of the table meaning I can ignore him, or at least try to as I turn my attention to the older looking people closets to me. Are they his parents? But then who is the little kid or the teenage boy sitting across from shawn? I know shawn has a little sister so I doubt that’s his brother. I don’t care, I remind myself as I focus on the women with blonde hair and a warm friendly smile, yay she’s not another snobby asshole!

“We’re ready to order.” She informs me causing me to smile gleefully in response, that means I don’t have to come back to this table again to take their order meaning less contact with Shawn. I’m not even sure I could bring myself to walking back to this table after finding shawn here.

As I wrote down on my notepad I could feel Shawn’s eyes burning through my body and into my soul. I tried not to look at him but I couldn’t help myself, I allowed my eyes to constantly flick back to him as I took in his appearance; his black dress shirt with sleeves rolled up showing the light skin of his forearms - he was no doubt wearing black jeans with them - his hair seemed a lot neater than usual as if he hadn’t been running his fingers through his hair at all tonight.

Part of me felt guilty for not having seen or spoken to him since we had kissed, he was probably clueless as to what happened which made me feel worse. What I had done to him was a dick move. Girls always complained about how guys led them on but I had never heard this situation being reversed so I can’t even imagine what shawn thinks of me. He just stares at me with the same blank expression which is driving me crazy, I wish I knew what was going through his mind right now. That might give me a little insight of how to act or what to do.

The other part of me can’t help but feel nervous, my pulse seems to rise and I can’t stop myself from looking over at shawn but the fact that he hasn’t taken his eyes off of me gives me some sort of reassurance as if I had left my mark on him or something. He seemed to have his eyes glued to me, even after I had walked away from his table. Enjoying the feeling of Shawn’s attention on me a little too much and I make an effort to walk past his table as much as I could but I was soon distracted by work and was slightly disappointed when I walked by an hour after they had walked in to find that the table was now being cleared and reset by Shay.

Things had only died down slightly by eleven - thirty. A lot of customers stayed for hours sipping on expensive wine and ordering another round of desserts to share. But thankfully I was allowed to finish off my shift which I was relieved for. I couldn’t wait to get back to my dorm and fall asleep while watching something. At this point I wasn’t even hungry just tired. As I walked out of the back entrance I was hit by the cold fall night breeze hitting my bare skin that was flushed from the warmth inside and running around all night tending to table. Could waiting tables classify as a workout?

When the door closes behind me causing a small click sound the person sitting on the bench in front of me looks up hopefully and as we lock eyes I feel myself beginning to grow more nervous than I ever had in my whole entire life.

“Shawn?” I quiz as he pushes himself off of the bench and moves towards me. He doesn’t answer me and I’m taken by surprise but that doesn’t compared to the shock that hits me when Shawn cups my face with his hand as if to stop me from moving away and pushes his lips against mine for a forceful kiss that seems to be letting out his frustration. Once I realised what was happening I placed my hands on his chest and kissed him back but as soon as I did he pulled away baffling me slightly before turning to walk away.

“Wait, what?” I call out after him confused as to what had just happened. Did he seriously just wait two hours for me to finish my shift only to kiss me and then walk off. That was it?

He paused and turned around saying “not the best feeling is it.” sending me a smirk before turning back around and walking away. He actually smirked. I know realised that this was a game to him, payback for what I did to him last weekend.

“That’s not fair!” I called after him as I chased after him but he didn’t stop, nor did he look back at me. He kept walking without a care in the world as his shoulders seemed to hang loosely and his hands shoved lazily into his pocket.

“Stop shawn!” I call again but he still doesn’t listen. Growing frustrated I decided that there was no easy way in doing this and ran straight towards him shouting “no one walks away from me.” In the process as I lunge myself at him. Shawn only stumbles slightly at my impact and I’m sure that I look ridiculous jumping on his back but at this moment I don’t care. He needs to stop and listen to me, even though I have absolutely nothing to say and don’t know why I bothered chasing after him. Maybe everyone was right. Maybe I needed to stop acting without thinking things through because majority of the time it landed me in comply crazy situations with no one to blame but myself.

Shawn struggled with me on his back clinging to him for dear life as he span around and moved roughly from side to side trying to shake me off like an annoyed cat would shake off a playful kitten. We were no doubt causing a scene in the middle of the street but right now I didn’t care all I knew was I didn’t want to go flying roughly onto the pavement. I know Shawn’s intentions aren’t to hurt me and this is mostly my fault for jumping in him but I wasn’t about to hold myself accountable for it.

“Alright, alright. Calm down.” Shawn shouts stopping so he is now standing completely still with me still clinging on to him for dear life not one hundred percent trusting him after what he just pulled. “We’ll talk it out like normal people.” He suggested. I contemplated his offer for a moment, could shawn and I really have a normal conversation? Deciding he was right I climbed off of him letting out a sigh of relief when my foot hit the ground. I straighten my dress up and fixed my hair attempting to look more presentable for the people who were now watching us.

“Well that was fun.” I state smiling up at shawn wanting nothing more than to break the silence between us.

He mumbled an ‘oh my god Adee’ before turning and walking away from me. Huffing I fixed up the strap of my bag on my shoulder before chasing after him.

“Hey, didn’t you just learn the hard way what happens when people walk away from me.” I remind him as I fall into stride beside him only I have to walk faster to keep up with his long steps that’s to his longer legs.

“Well what am I supposed to say Adee, I’m mad at you!” He shouts taking me off by guard and for a moment I feel a little saddened by the fact that he’s yelling at me but that is until I realise that I deserve it and that this is us his way of expressing his frustration.

“I’m sorry.” I mumble under my breath as I turn my gaze sheepishly to my shoes so I don’t have to see that look in his eyes again. In the split second that I had seen his expression he seemed to be a mixture of angry and yet hurt. This was why I never wanted to hangout with Shawn in the first place, he seems like a nice guy who doesn’t deserve to be hurt and after being friends for only  a few weeks I’ve managed to ruin things. That’s what I manage to do best, disappoint people and hurt them.  I don’t mean to, I just somehow developed an uncontrollable habit of doing it.

“I don’t think you are.” Shawn sighed running his hands through his hair that was now no longer as neat as it had been when I had first spotted him earlier tonight.

“You don’t know what I feel.” I shot back defensively. How dare he degrade my emotions. I very rarely show emotions and shawn just reminded me why. People always feel the need to dictate how I feel, what I do, or say and I’ve had enough of it. It’s easier to show them nothing because that way there is nothing for anyone to control. In that moment I felt like I hated shawn. He had led me to believe that he was different, he didn’t judge me or tell me that I was too much or not enough, he accepted me for who I was which was what I liked most about him as a friend but right now I felt betrayed.

“Exactly! So please tell me. I don’t get you. You say you want to be friends and then you randomly kiss me and then leave and you just confuse the shit out of me. So tell me Adee what do you feel because I’ll tell you right now that yes I like you, I don’t know why but I do, if you want to be friends that’s cool to but for the love of god don’t mess with me, just tell me!” He yelled. I felt like I was going to cry, even before he had said all this, but I wouldn’t allow myself. I’m strong, I don’t let other people’s opinions of me affect me, I don’t need to cry for him or make him feel sympathetic.

“I don’t know what I feel shawn.” I answer honey sky. It was true I didn’t know how I felt towards him. I liked him as a friend, he is great to hang out with, talk to, and experience things with but I liked kissing him. I don’t know why I kissed him in the first place no matter how many times I replayed the moment in my head but I don’t regret it, I’m positive of that.

“Well can you figure it out!” He shot back.

“That’s what I was trying to do and the you decided to ruin it by randomly kissing me.” I let out a loud groan before moving away from him and towards the other side of the footpath overlooking the river and leaned against the railing.

This was unfair I know but I couldn’t help that my feelings were a complete mess. I’m a complete mess but only now was it hitting me just how bad I really am. I push everyone away, I keep myself closed off from the world, and most importantly I don’t allow myself to understand my emotions.

I feel an arm wrap around me over my shoulders and couldn’t help it. I started crying. I never cry but I couldn’t bring myself to stop. I was humiliating myself in front of shawn but he didn’t seem to care either. Instead he pulled me into  his chest and held me close to him as I sobbed harshly. I can’t remover the last time I cried like this in front of someone but I couldn’t help it. I was confused and felt so lost, but what was worse was that I felt alone. I couldn’t call up my parents or any of my siblings, as much as I love Mia she wouldn’t understand, so I resort to crying in Shawn’s arms in public in the middle of the night. That is how low I have sunk.

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes series #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes story #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes fiction #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes blurbs #shawn mendes imagine

[almondycalum]

my friend (we’ll say x) just recently told me that one of her friends (say y) hasn’t been eating. x told me that she was so upset with y so she yelled at her and told her she was stupid and hasn’t talked to her for a few days now.

THAT IS NOT AT ALL THE WAY TO GO ABOUT SOMETHING LIKE THIS.

I’m letting everyone know because you need to be there for your friends.

A little backstory:

*could be triggering*

y’all are gonna think I’m stupid for still being friends with x. when I was going through a tough time and I opened up to her about my self harming, she got upset with me. she took me into the bathroom at school, told me to show her, AND SLAPPED THEM. SHE NEVER SPOKE TO ME ABOUT ANY OF IT. TO THIS DAY. IVE BROUGHT IT UP. BUT NOT HER

i had to deal with my body issues, deal with my hating myself, deal with everything that went on in my head, by myself because I was too scared to tell anyone else if the one person I trusted most didn’t want anything to do with my problems.

everyone always talks to me about what’s wrong with them and never take time to listen to what’s wrong with me.

i have two best friends who have been there for me. so i thought. x is one of them and the other lets call z. we’ve been best friends since 2nd grade and now we’re sophomores in high school.

we went to different hs’s so hanging out has been hard. i made new friends @ my school but none as close.

what I’m trying to say is that when I take a second to really look at my life, I don’t have anyone here. with me. that I can run to if my sister is telling me I’m worthless. or if I’m in a fight with my mom.

there’s no one that I’m that close to anymore. I keep my emotions bundled up. I’ve made friends on here and I’ve told them more than I’ve told most people. they are my best friends, no doubt about that. but I can’t run into their arms. it’s physically impossible.

i don’t want to hang out with anyone if all they want to do is drink and get high and make “memories” they’ll forget in an hour.

if I wasn’t so socially anxious I’m sure I would be going out more often, stepping out of my comfort zone. (which is what I’m trying to do now)

I need someone that is willing to be there for me and go on adventures with me and understand me and listen to me and really truly care for me.

kids are so messed up these days. and teens are sex crazed. and adults are so above everyone else. THE WORLD IS FUCKING CRAZY.

I’d love to think by posting this it could change the world, but I know it won’t. I know that there will be at least 0 ppl who will read this and maybe at max. 2? 3?

but to those people, don’t give up on you’re life. don’t ignore someone who you know you could help. make amends if you need to. break off things if you need to.

LIVE YOUR BEST FUCKING LIFE AND DONT LET ANY NARCISSIST OR ANY STUPID ASS SHIT BRING YOU DOWN.

i love you all.

#thoughts #lizzie talks #be yourself #i love you #belive in yourself #accept yourself #self acceptance

[xwishfulxdesiresx]

Rules For This Blog:

[This is a supernatural Fandomless adult theme side blog for all the oc/canon characters I rp. As well as a made up town so supernatural beings can be safe. I have no lore about the town so you don’t have to worry about rules or anything like that. The reason I’m doing this is, because I don’t want it to clutter my blogs with the verses and other things as well. Now the rules, and more reasoning as to why this blog is the way it is.] Now here are the rules for the blog: -These icons, images, and gifs are not owned by me. They belong there there original creator/respected owners. There are some I made, and taken from official manga, but I rather not address them, due to laziness. -My fandom (FGO/Arknights) muses are in a modern verse. So know they are not the same person as they would be in there world. They are different people with different lives. -Same for my fandom Ocs (Quinn and Dimitri), and if you have come from another blog to rp with them, then know you have three verses to pick from. -Everything on this blog is not connected or canon to my other blogs. (eternal-servants-of-old, and asexual-incubus.) -The blog has city of it’s own. So know that if we rp I might think we are setting it there with out talking or plotting about it before hand.    - This blog is very OC friendly. Give me your ocs please! I want to see the ocs you wrote so hard to make. -This is a multi-muse/multi verse blog. No cheating will happen on here, and each ship is set in there own universe. - Okay it’s a adult blog for both themes and the characters ages. This blog will deal of themes of drinking, smoking, consensual sex, light bullying from some character’s bio, and one of my oc has a past abusive relationship. These will be tagged in there bios. So that way you can prepare yourselves or not read it if it’s too much for you. Don’t force yourself if you don’t want to. It’s okay to ignore a character on here. -Triggers: Okay I had to think about this and look at blogs but blood (No Gore), fangs/teeth, and monsters with eyes, werewolfs or Yoakis (These are not furries. I don’t know what to tell you.) mentions of suicide are okay on this blog. I will tag them like the eye one being body horror. so no one can see them, but if I forget to tag something please remind me in cause there is a chance I forgot to. -Ruby aka host/hostess club verse has drinking in it. And to those who don’t like drinking or alcohol know, that the ruby menu page has it where the first thing you see is alcoholic drinks. I have non alcoholic drinks as well, but if you can’t handle anything involving drinking, then this verse might not be for you. -The Blue Rose aka the Brothel verse has nsfw things in it. Now I will not go into the darker side of people who work in places like this. Its a safe verse, and if you don’t mind smut, then this verse might be for you. -The Royal Chow Chow Cafe aka the Cafe Verse has food in it. This is to those that don’t like to see food, and I will not tag food being mentioned cause sorry I think that’s dumb. I will only tag food photos never rps. So if that’s not your thing, then block me and move on. -On the topic of this blog being adult it doesn’t mean mostly sex or anything nsfw. It means adult topics, and plots. If you are not okay with that and want a pure smut blog, then sorry to say, but this blog is not for you and you can unfollow or block me if you so wish it. - I will try my best to tag things. The tags will be ’“//Abuse Mention” “//Drinking Mention” and so on. Meaning it will be under //Mention tag. - I will put my NSFW threads in keep reading.. -In the NSFW threads I will tag them as lemon for sex/smut, bdsm as bd/sm, and tag kinks as K!nk  in case no one wants to read it. - I don’t do smut with anyone. One, you can’t be underage to rp smut with me, and if you are 18 and over, then understand I ship off chemistry. One night stands are a thing here, but if I can’t work with the rp, then understand I will drop it. - if you want your muse to have a sexual relationship but do not want to write it then know I can do fate to blacks and plot with you on how our muses feel afterwords if you like. - Speaking of underage, if you have a under aged muse, and want to write smut with me, then I will block you and it will be the end of it. - I’m going to be a bit selective with smut. Sorry, I just can’t do it with strangers with a drop of a hat. So we would need to build on our muses interactions. We can even plot what kind if you are up for it. My DMs are always open. - I am open for plots whenever, but if I am late to a message, then know I will get to it between a day or a week. It depends on how my IRL is at the moment. - I don’t do the “only manuals should rp with me” thing. But if I don’t follow you then there is a change that I might not want to rp with you. It’s nothing bad really. Most of the time that it has happen was with very dark blogs. So if you don’t have that then don’t worry about it. - I don’t rp with blogs that use real life people. Like youtubers, movie stars, or tv actors. Sorry just not comfortable with it. -I also don’t rp with blogs that use kid cartoon characters or ponies. Adult cartoon characters i will be okay with and iffy with some. - Do not rp with me if you have things I don’t like: Cannibalism, forcing my muse to do things for your muse kink wise, and are a dick. Try it any of these things on my muses, and I will block you. Things I will do that I never have a single problem with. Also addressing somethings: - If you want to rp a event with my muses by discord. Then I am fine with giving you my Discord name. Just ask by mailing me a tumblr message and, I will tell you my username. - This blog is Multiship and Multiverse friendly.- This blog It’s okay with some crossovers and most canon characters. And it goes with out saying as well as ocs. Just don’t do anything crazy. Also I can not rp with fandoms I do not know. Sorry but, I lack that kind of skill. - The character I rp dose not equal me. And I don’t equal them. - You don’t have to match my length in a rp. But please don’t do short one liners over and over again. I find those dull, and will lose interest in the rp. - I didn’t come to Tumblr to find someone to date or be with romantically or sexually involved with. So if you confess to me then, I will just deny you on the spot and, that will be the end of it. About certain muses: I have two trans muses. one I do not feel ready to talk about or point out on this blog, and another one, Quinn who you can see is trans in there bio, and in all verses. Knowing this, please be respectful of these muses. You can hate them for there personality, actions, or just your muse not liking them for what ever reason, but do not be a terf. You will be blocked. Balan is someone you can not smut. BUT if you want to do a long thread of your muse going through Wonderworld, only for Balan and your muse developing feelings for each other, and the heartache of them having to say good-bye, then we can do that sad fairy tale shit! Kinks/Ideas: Yes we are finally here! Kinks and things I’m fine with. If you don’t see a kink or thing you want to rp, then there is a chance, that I don’t like it or forgot to put it on here. Also my muses have a kink list so it should make things easier on you. But if you still don’t see anything you want to be addressed, then go to my inbox to remind me or to see if I’m down or not writing it. -Kinks: bondage, tentacles, boob job, blow jobs, handjob, blindfolds, light spanking, chocking, riding, mutual masturbation, masturbation, pegging, crossdressing, toys, phone sex, humiliation, monsters (Depends), NSFW Audio, edging, lingerie, quick/long orgasm, threesomes, begging, teasing, light dirty talk, overstimulation, more then one round of sex, biting/marking, size difference, after care, and vanilla. -Kinks that get passes from me, but I will not write it a lot: Angry sex (consensual on both people), Woman with normal sizes or small male members, Guys with a lower female part. (I am not writing the slay terms you can’t make me.) - The ones above will be tagged as //not for your eyes as well as under keep reading. You do no have to like this, which is fine, but know I am doing everything I can to make everyone comfortable on this blog -Ideas: Unrequited love/onesided love, one night stands, friends with benefits, crazed love to the point of obsession (No killing or anything abusive if you please), friends who just want to help another friend out by making it a monthly or weekly thing, booty call, romantic love, and just fluffy cute couple stuff. -Kinks I will not do: Pedophelia, bestiality (furries count), anything with human waste, watersport, vore, gore, guro, eating a person, over eating or forcing someone to eat more food, non-con/dubcon, knife kink, mind break, incest, drugging people, hypnosis, cheating (Yes some people get off on this), breeding or anything with pregnancy, anything with feet, and body horror. [The list might get bigger over time. As of right now this is the things I will not do.] -You and not liking a kink: Look going to say this right now. I will NEVER force something your muse or the mun is uncomfortable with. That’s not me, but if you come to me and want to try out something, due to thinking about it, and want to see if it will be your thing. Then also know, that I’m okay with that, and if you say you are not feeling it, then I will stop everything, and give you the understanding of just experimenting with your writing. (Yup. That’s pretty much it. These rules might be updated at a later time, but for now it’s good.)

#rules #//i think I got everything? #//moving it as a post so I don't delete by mistake.