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kaz11283 · 3 years

Text

Of Course I'm Here

Characters: Come on you know by now how this goes (Loki x you) (Team x you, platonic)

Warnings: None. And really if you ever see anything that I might need to able as a warning please let me know... I'm the person who forgets there are people out there that get offened by the word F*** if that is an exapmle of anything.

Summary: Mid battle and the avengers keep looking for an answer as to why the God of Lies hasnt showed up yet. Of course you have no idea but at least he proves them all wrong.

ANNOUNCEMENT TIME: hey guys Im back, I know it hasnt been long but I also know I havent been posting every single day like I was, i got into a weird little funk where I didnt want to do anything, I was just feeling completly drained, and I felt bad because I have my little and I didnt even want to play with her because I have just been so TIRED, but I'm feeling better. Work has been kicking my ass here lately and ive been working over 50 hours a week so ive literally been coming in, eatting / feeding the little, getting us ready for bed, and crashing as soon as she falls asleep. But im here now. I will probably be more active on weekends than during the week because I have more time to spend working on stuff but I will be posting also during the week just not daily. At least until after state comes. Thank you so much for the reblogs, likes, comments, follows, and messages please keep them coming! If you would like to be tagged please ask or message, and requests are open. Love you guys so much! 💚💚💚💚💚

Loki Masterlist

~~~~~

"Y/N, BACK UP I NEED BACK UP! EYES IN THE SKY!" Tony yelled from above, you and Clint stood back to back on a roof top shooting as many bad guys as you could. Clint took aim at another carrier, shooting at the engine causing the entire thing to blow up raining debris and hot metal around you.

"Damnit Clint! Farther away make sure they are farther away!" You yelled popping him on the head with an arrow before aiming it at the thing that was chasing Tony.

"Where is lover boy at? You.sent him the location right?" Nat asked into the com.

"Yes I sent him the location, no I dont know where hes at." You mocked.

"Did you send him the right location?" Sam asked.

"One time, one dam-"

"Language!" Steve chimed in causing everyone to groan. Gun shots where ringing all around you and you could here metal on metal paired with Hulk screams coming from another building over.

"Language." You mocked muting your com son that no one but Clint heard you. "I am a 26 year old woman, I think I'm old enough to cuss if I want." You drew back your bow and sent another arrow flying into another goon that had Nat trapped aginst a wall. She shot you a thumbs up before running off. You hit unmute on your com.

"Jesus, 26? Baby, you sure you don't need to be at a babysitter instead of on a building killing things?" He laughed.

"Dont worry Hawk, when we get done here I've already booked you a nice nursing home to be put into." You put your bow around you and stood on the edge of the building. "I need a better view." You looked round, the top of a taller building caught you eye. "There Hawk, we can cover a better radius from up there, get closer to the action."

"DOES ANYONE KNOW WHEN THE GODS ARE GOING TO BE HERE? WE NEED MORE HELP WERE GETTING TIRED AND OUT NUMBERED!" Tony came over the coms screaming.

"How do we get up there? Or do I even wanna know?" Hawk came to examin where you were talking about.

"Im jumping, you cant tell me that someone wont catch me." You shrug.

"GODS WHERE ARE TH- Y/N DONT YOU DARE JUMP!" Tony stopped and hovered right were you was standing.

"Then take us over there. We need higher ground, we cant cover everyone from down here." You crossed your arms.

"Where are the gods at y/n?" He asked again

"I. Dont. Know. Jesus you guys act like I'm suppose to be there keeper!" A simultaneous you are came from everone through the com causing you to roll your eyes. "Hes gonna be here I swear it! Now take me to the building or I jump. 1.....2....-" Tony grabbed you by the collar of your jacket and flew you to the building.

God these things were everywhere and you were starting to run out of arrows. After shooting another ship and causing it to blow you heard what was unmistakably pounding on the roof top door leading to where you currently was at.

"I have some univited guests about to join my party. Anyone available for some assistance?" You yanked out the two emerald green and silver daggars that your boyfriend had given you not long after you had started dating after throwing your bow around you.

"Buy some time kid, I'm on ground level right now but I can try to get up there as fast as possible." Bucky called over the com.

"Buy some time? Ok. I can do this. I work better from afar but a little hand to hand never hurt anyone, just easier to get stabbed this way." The first of the things busted through the door running straight at you. You jerked out of the way missing his staff by just a few inches. Quickly turning you flipped the dagger like Loki had showed you and stabbed him in his side causing him to fall to the ground before the next one tried to impale you.

"I have two daggers and they have freaking staffs! Back up! WHERE THE HELL AR-" you were interupted by static in the air and a bright light. The bitfrost had just opened up leaving to gods standing in front of you and taking out the remainder ofnthe bad guys. "HES HERE! I TOLD YOU GUYS THEY WERE COMING AND THEY'RE HERE." You pulled two extra coms from you pocket and gave them to Thor and Loki.

"Always a pleasure to battle beside you Lady y/n." Thor smiled takkng the com and putting it in his ear before taking off again.

Loki sauntered over to you and put his arm around you waist, you put the com in his ear as he rolled his eyes. He leaned down and gave you a quick kiss.

"You got a new outfit." You smiled at him. God the way he looked in his battle clothe always did something to you, the horned helment was a plus.

"You like it." He smirked down at you pulling you closer.

"Your wearing your horns to." You reached up and brushed a peice if hair behind his ear.

"STOP. STOP NOW. WE CAN HEAR EVERYTHING AND ITS GROSS." Tony yelled causing you both to roll your eyes.

"Quick run down, bad guys everywhere, no end in sight, and I'm out of arrows pretty sure Hawk is too." Loki waved his hand over your quiver making more arrows appear.

"I see you had to use your daggers. I am sorry for not being here. Are you hurt anywhere?" He asked stepping away from you to examin you.

"Small cut on the side, nothing I havent dealt with before, Ill be fine. You go make sure Hawk is fully stocked up and help the others. I got a birds eye view of you right here." I leaned in kissing him one more time before smiling at him and pushing him away. He kissed his two finger before placimg them over his heart and you did the same, "always." You both said before he disappered.

You could hear Thor laughing at the chaos going on and Steve trying to direct the god of thunder on what to do. You had learned earlier to just let him do his own thing and he would be fine. Tony was still trying to micromanage everything when you heard Loki mumble something in an old language and his com cut out. You had figured it wouldnt have stayed on to long though but at least you had tried. It had calmed down up on your end so you decided to finally go back down to where Clint was at shooting an arrow with heavy duty rope you glided back down next to him to watch what was going on.

"Hello, earth to y/n." He snapped his fingers in front of your face. You had been to busy staring at Loki and that damn helmet. "I dont even understand why were friends." He rolled his eyes propping up on the ledge watching as the rest of the team secured the last of the bad guys.

"Because we both shoot arrows, because we are both the best in the team, or because we both know we are the best looking one on the team so we have to stick together." You laughed jumping up so you could sit on the ledge.

"The birds can come out of their nest now." Bucky called over the coms causing you both to sigh.

When you and Clint had reached the bottom you walked over to Thor theowing your arms around the big goof ball.

"You are amazing during battle as always." He beemed patting you on the shoulder.

"As always? Thor youve only fought with her twice." Steve said beside you.

"I had a week off. Went to Asguard, spent time with the boys. Someone had to keep them in line." You shrugged like it was no big deal.

"She was amazing!" Thor went on telling the story of the fight you had all gotten into.

"Mothers been asking about you by the way dear. Wants to know if you've decided to come stay for a while." Loki leaned down and whispered in your ear.

"I think I'm leaning toward a yes. I can't stand being away from you, you had been gone forever this time." You reached for his hand as you both walked to the quinjet.

"I was making arrangements to have our room redone. I figured you would come with me." He gave you a knowing smirk as he reached up to take off his helmet.

"Leave the horns on. I have a suprise for you when we get home." You pulled his hand away from his head and smacked his butt.

"You are a little minx." He laughed chasing you into the jet while the rest of the team groaned and rolled their eyes.

"Even if you wasnt moving i would be kicking your ass out! I am so sick of the PDA between you two." Tony hollared after you.

"Leave them alone Tony, they are courting. Im just glad my brother is happy and not trying to stab me." Thor clapped Tony on the back.

~~~~~

Tag List:

@kgirardin

@sophlubbwriting

@supbeeches

@high-functioning-lokipath

#loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki #loki avengers #loki daily #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki x reader #loki fluff #loki x y/n #lokilaufeyson #loki one shot #loki (marvel)#loki imagine #loki masterlist #loki and thor

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bubblesuga · 3 years

Text

Mahina || Part 2

Summary: You're a mystery to Jungkook. His newfound interest in you continues to grow, and he's determined to learn everything about you. genre: smut, fluff, angst word count: 5,216 tags: idol!au, fantasy!au

PART 1

This was probably a mistake.

Jungkook hasn't stopped thinking about you, dreaming about you. Your scent leaves him absolutely intoxicated and he's not willing to go without you for much longer.

Herein lies the problem: Jungkook hasn't had a moment alone with you since the day in the gym. It's only been a week, and shortly after you left him he found himself longing for more. It's the closest he's ever been to high, he's sure of it. Because of that, every time he sees you he has to hold himself back from dragging you away and taking you in the nearest empty room.

Your interactions together have been predominantly professional. You finished the rest of the solo shots and have been around to film Bangtan Bombs, taking pictures whenever you feel it would be appropriate. You've maintained your composure in front of him, not for lack of hurting Jungkook's feelings. He feels dumb for feeling like you're uninterested now, but every time you use words that don't give any indication of your attraction to him, he feels as though you're over it. Maybe you are, it wouldn't be the first time a woman left him after the first night.

Jungkook can feel that he's spacing out, his eyes are wide but he can't draw them away from the floor. His head is spinning in circles with thoughts of you. Both memories of the other day and the potential his fears have to coming to fruition.

He hears his name being called, so he tries his best to shake himself out of the trance he's in. Glancing up, he sees you.

Nearly jumping out of his skin, he scoots back and stands from his chair, doing a mid bow, "H- hey! How's it going?"

"Calm down Mr. Jeon, there's no need for the formalities." you giggle, grasping an apple from the bowl of fruit on the table. The commons area is empty, the only sound being the water cooler bubbling occasionally as it refills.

Jungkook furrows his eyebrows, "You just called me Mr. Jeon but don't want formalities?"

"Because you're my boss," you shrug, "I'm supposed to call you Mr. Jeon."

"Well, stop. It makes me feel old." Jungkook has to hide his grin when he notices the concern on your face. So you do still care.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you upset." your lips are turned down in a frown, your shoulders slumping slightly. Today, you're wearing a white T-shirt, your red bra showing slightly through the thin material. It's not something that's extremely noticeable, only if Jungkook stared. Which he did, he couldn't help himself now that he's seen you without clothes.

Sympathy crosses Jungkook's face, "Oh no, _____. You didn't upset me, I was just teasing you."

Your frown twitches, "That's mean."

"You're mean." Jungkook retaliates.

"How am I the mean one here?" you fight, your jaw dropping and arms flying up in question.

"Because you haven't spoke to me normally since we fu-" Jungkook doesn't have the chance to finish his sentence, because your hands fly to his mouth. This is the first time you've touched him in a week, and he is reeling instantly.

"You can't just say that," you whisper, your eyes watching the door, "someone could hear you. Then what? I get fired?"

Jungkook didn't think about that.

"Listen. I like you, Jungkook, but we can't go around announcing what we did. My job is on the line if others find out, but you'll get a slap on the wrist," you finally move your hand, and Jungkook's skin burns where you once rested, "just think about that before staring at me like you want to devour me in a meeting full of higher ups."

"I did that?" he feels his face burn red.

"You practically undressed me with your eyes. That's why I haven't been interacting with you much." your words are scolding but your tone is light. Jungkook feels like he's in trouble but doesn't expect a punishment, much like when his mom would find out he sneaked candy into school when he was younger. Nothing is actually going to happen to him. He kind of wants something to happen to him though.

"You liked it though, didn't you?"

Bold, he thinks to himself, good job, Jungkook.

Your stance falters for a moment, a glint shining in your eye, "Liked what?"

"The fact that I can't stop thinking about you," Jungkook starts, reaching his hand forward and stroking your cheekbone with his thumb, "the fact that your wet cunt is the greatest thing I've ever felt, and I can't wait to be inside you again."

He sees your eyes widen, glancing over to the door again. Jungkook suddenly feels a sense of jealousy, the fact that your mind is somewhere other than with him causes him to whine audibly. He keeps his ears trained for footsteps, dragging your attention back to him. "Don't look at the door, look at me."

Your eyes move from the door, straight to him. His thumb moves to your lips, "Such a pretty girl. I want to kiss you so bad."

His earlier fear has disappeared, replaced with a sudden need. He doesn't want you, no. He needs you. He needs to feel you against him, to hear you moan, to whisper your name in your ear as he cums. He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your lips. Because despite desperately wanting to bend you over the table and fuck you into oblivion, your job is more important. He doesn't want to get in the way of your career.

"You think I'm pretty?" you whisper against his lips.

"Ethereal." he responds.

He begins to kiss you again, this time with much more need than before. How could you ask such a silly question? Of course he thinks you're gorgeous. So gorgeous, in fact, that he questions whether you have some sort of otherworldly disposition, like an angel sent from above. He's never come across someone as inherently perfect as you.

Just when your tongue slips into his mouth, Jungkook hears heavy footsteps. He pulls away abruptly, slipping his hand from your face to behind his neck, scratching nervously.

You back away and pick up your camera, pointing it at Jungkook. He looks at you, and he smiles. A simple one, hiding the thoughts behind his eyes. He makes sure his teeth show, because he knows everybody loves his teeth.

"Perfect, Jungkook," you say as Seokjin enters the room, "now if you come up with any other domestic or casual themes just let me know."

"Domestic or casual?" Seokjin laughs, "Jungkookie, what are you telling this poor woman?"

"What?" Jungkook chuckles nervously, "I can be domestic."

"Perceived, maybe. But actually be domestic? Impossible." Seokjin fills up a glass of water and chugs. Jungkook glances toward you and you raise an eyebrow. He decides he'll explain later.

"Hey, _____. You should take a picture of my reflection in a spoon." Seokjin holds up a large spoon, staring at the concave reflection.

"Why would I do that?"

"For the humor! Come on, you need to lighten up." Seokjin turns the spoon around and Jungkook glances at you, before shaking his head with a laugh and walking out of the room.

~*~*~

"So you have a thing for the photographer?" Yoongi suddenly asks in the dorms that night, causing Jungkook to swallow.

"What makes you say that?" Jungkook's immediate defensiveness doesn't seem to make him sound innocent. Yoongi tosses his head back and lets out a breathy laugh, "Because you licked your lips in her direction like 30 times today."

"I didn't have any chapstick."

Yoongi shakes his head, "I get it, she's hot, but is she 'ruin-your's-and-her's-career-for-some-pussy' hot?"

"That's awfully derogatory, Hyung." Jungkook bites back his jealousy.

"For real, though. If you're gonna risk it, you might as well stop being such a wimp about it." Yoongi usually isn't one to offer his advice unwarranted. When Jungkook was younger, he saw Yoongi as this mysterious-sensei like figure that only spoke when asked questions he found interesting. Similarly, whenever Jungkook was struggling morally, Yoongi was his go-to. He certainly had to trek to his studio and beg to be let in for any advice.

"Nah, I'm not into her," Jungkook lies through his teeth, "she's pretty and all but she's all work and no play."

"Really? She seemed pretty playful in my studio the other day." Yoongi mentions casually, taking a sip of some nasty lager he ordered from Germany.

Jungkook grips the edge of the couch, taking a subtle breath when he notices a glint in Yoongi's eyes. "Really?" he tries his hardest to hide his annoyance, "what happened?"

"She was bent over the table, playing with all the knobs and buttons on my mixer," Yoongi smirks, "asking me all sorts of questions. 'What's this one do?' and 'What about this one?'" he raises his tone mockingly, "such a curious girl. Sometimes I wonder if she's seen technology at all."

"Yeah, it's like the only thing she knows is her camera." Jungkook fakes a laugh.

"Makes me wonder if I should ask her to take playgirl pictures of me for my own keepsake. I wouldn't mind her seeing me naked."

"Alright! I'm going to bed. Nice talk, Yoongi."

Jungkook stands abruptly, moving to step over Yoongi's legs, but he's stopped by Yoongi's hand gripping his calf. "I knew you had a thing for her!"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Jungkook shakes his leg from Yoongi's grip, crossing his arms over his shirtless torso. Yoongi stands up, "I saw you two making out in the commons room today."

Jungkook feels his entire body go numb, "We weren't making out," he scoffs, "she had something in her teeth."

"So you were trying to get it out with your tongue?"

"Yoongi!" Jungkook is never the one to scold, but he can't stop himself.

"Relax buddy, your secret is safe with me. I even stalled Seokjin from interrupting you two." Yoongi seems so casual, like he's not currently holding life-altering information in his hands.

"So you don't want her to shoot you naked?" Jungkook's embarrassed that this is his first thought.

"Nah I wouldn't do that to you." Yoongi grins, his eyes disappearing behind his happiness.

Jungkook pouts, "No one can know."

"I know, I heard the conversation."

"You listened in on us?!" He raises his voice, quickly quieting down once he realizes how late it is.

Yoongi laughs, "Yeah."

~*~*~

Ten hours later, Jungkook is back at the Hybe building. He managed to get some sleep after the conversation with Yoongi. If anything, he feels slightly better that someone knows and therefore he has someone to talk about it with. Jungkook has wanted nothing more than to talk about it, and since it's so difficult to catch you, Yoongi was his best bet. He spends a while talking to him about how weirdly connected he feels to you. Like it goes beyond lust, but he's not exactly sure what that beyond is.

Yoongi encourages Jungkook to speak to you about it, but Jungkook is still unsure. He's only known you a week. A glorious week, but a week nonetheless. Jungkook fears an admission of how he's feeling will scare you away and push you into nothing more than just a photographer. As he spoke to Yoongi, he realized that in his copious amount of spacing out and Maladaptive Daydreaming, he's pictured himself taking you out on a date. No sex, no lust, just good food and wine.

This is how he knows there's a connection.

So, as he rides the elevator up to the 13th floor, he nervously adjusts his button up. Deciding to skip his work out this morning, he's dressed himself in torn skinny jeans and folded his sleeves up to look as suave as he can. He realizes that his muscles clearly show beneath the silk fabric of his shirt, and he smiles. He hopes you like it.

Wandering down the hall after a grueling 3 minute elevator ride, he arrives at the office you claimed. He's never been in here, nor does he know what you do in here, but he's excited to see how you've made it your own.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

No answer.

Knock knock knock.

Nothing.

He presses his ear to the door and can hear you. You're whispering to someone, your voice sounding urgent and annoyed.

"I know, Mother. I am trying but there's only so much I can do in this form."

"Well you need to try harder. Earth is wearing on you." Another voice says, and it sounds as if they're in the room. Jungkook doesn't recognize the voice as any of the staff.

What are they talking about?

Knockknockknock!

He tries once more for good measure and hears you gasp, then a loud thud. You scramble to the door, and Jungkook backs away just in time for you to open it.

Your hair is wild, and for a moment Jungkook swears he sees your skin a slight blue tone. Blowing a stray strand of hair out of your face, you smile, "What's up, Jungkook?"

He raises an eyebrow, "What, uh- what's going on in there?"

"Oh, nothing. Zoom meetings, you know the drill." a small burst of wind comes from behind you, shaking the loose shirt around your torso. Weird, he didn't think you'd open the window with how hot it is outside. You bite your lip, "What can I do for you?"

Jungkook feels nervousness at his trembling hands. He glances down the hallway and sees a door beginning to open, "Can I come in?"

You glance behind you, then nod, opening the door wider.

Jungkook slips in quickly, closing the door behind him.

"So, what's up?" You plop down onto your chair, an editing software Jungkook is unfamiliar with displayed on your monitor.

Jungkook lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding in. Softly, he speaks, "Can I make you dinner?"

A grin stretches across your face, "Like a date?"

"Yes, like a date." Jungkook mirrors your grin.

"Then obviously," you move from your chair and straddle his thighs, on the couch he placed himself on, "I would be thrilled."

"Oh yeah?" Jungkook brings you down to his mouth, his tongue massaging against yours. The heat from your body sears into his, trapping him against the couch. He thinks he may faint from your proximity. His hands roam your back, his fingers dipping beneath the hem of your shirt to play with your hot skin and listening to the sounds of content coming out of your mouth, slightly muffled by his own.

As he brings his fingers up your back, he feels the bottom of the scars he saw the last time you were in this position. Just as he's about to ask about them, he feels you grind onto his thigh. He flexes, and you gasp into his mouth.

"You like thigh riding?" Jungkook murmurs, his voice deep and rough. He can hear you whimpering as you move your hips again. He glances down and sees your jeans rutting against you. Sliding his hands to the button of your pants, he undoes it, "That can't be comfortable, baby. Take your pants off."

You gasp as he unzips your jeans, "I don't want to get your pants wet."

He bites back a moan at how incredibly dirty that sounds. You already sound fucked out, as though he's made you cum 5 times. It seems the affect you have on him aligns with the affect he has on you.

"I'll take off my pants, too. I want you to get yourself off on my thigh."

You both move quickly to pull off your bottoms. The moment you're free, you place yourself back on Jungkook's thigh and begin riding. His lips travel up and down your neck, stopping at the base of your collarbone and nibbling gently. The moan you illicit is so hot that Jungkook almost pulls you off of his thigh and directly on his dick. Almost.

He can't bare to remove you from your pleasure as your face contorts into complete and utter bliss. Smiling, he makes sure his hands roam close to your inner thighs, flexing his thigh every once in a while for an added amount of pressure against your wet cunt. He doesn't think he's ever been this hard before, watching you with eyes as wide as saucers while you come undone above him, your orgasm giving you literal chills. Goosebumps rise on your skin while you call his name out repeatedly.

"Fuck." Jungkook whispers, "Get on your knees. Now."

"Yes sir." you breathe, falling to your knees in between Jungkook's thighs.

As you reach forward, Jungkook slaps your hand away.

"One touch and I'm coming, so make it count."

Your cheeks are warm against his hands, your eyes blown out as you still tingle from your release. You reach forward, slipping his boxers off of his waist and licking your lips when you see his cock spring free. There's a sudden cuteness to your expression, as though you've never had your tongue this close to a cock before. However, the moment you place your lips around the tip, he can tell that isn't the case.

"God damn it, baby," he instantly thrusts upward, causing you to gag. He looks down with a sheepish smile, "I'm sorry."

You shake your head, "Choke me with your cock."

Jungkook is in utter euphoria. With one swift thrust, he is releasing down your throat. You sputter around him, your throat contracting repeatedly as you swallow his cum.

"Holy shit." He whispers as you pull off, a string of saliva connecting you to him.

You pull yourself to him, resting your head on his shoulder. He strokes your inner thigh, his large hand enjoying the thickness of your thigh. He loves having something to hold on to.

"I got all dressed up for you and you managed to get me half naked in less than 10 minutes." Jungkook jokes, feeling your hand stroke his chest.

You giggle, "Next time it'll be all the way naked in 5 minutes."

~*~*~

Jungkook has never prepared a meal as good as the one sitting on the table in front of him.

He spent hours creating pasta from scratch. Mixing the dough, watching it proof, cutting it by hand (because he really couldn't figure out how to attach the extension to Seokjin's way-too-expensive mixer), and boiling it to a perfect Al Dente texture. He created the sauce entirely from scratch as well, staring with a heavy cream and adding Parmesan and various seasonings until it somewhat resembled an Alfredo sauce. He's not entirely sure how he ended up here, but he watched a video about it like 3 years ago on one of those nights that he just couldn't fall asleep and it has stuck with him ever since.

Now that's steaming on the table, he anxiously awaits your arrival.

He rented a small house on the country side, the private beach just behind the fancy Air BNB being the main attraction to him. He hasn't swam in the ocean in years for fear that someone could recognize him, and he misses the feeling of the salty water against his skin. He hopes you're willing to join him for a dip later on in the evening.

After consulting Yoongi on what his plan should be, he said you seem like the type of person who enjoys simplicity. So, he made the most simple meal he could think of, while simultaneously throwing as much work into it as he could.

Just as he begins to worry about the food going cold before you arrive, the doorbell rings.

He runs to the door, before pausing at the floor length mirror by the shoe closet and checking his appearance. His movements stutter for a second, and he reaches his hands to the buttons on his shirt, undoing the top three. Smirking, he turns and opens the door.

And his jaw drops.

The dress you wear is floor length, silver sequins shining all the way up to the 'V' line, exposing just enough cleavage to be sexy. Your skin glows beneath the setting sun, a smile on your face that's bright enough to blind Jungkook.

"Flies are gonna get in your mouth if you keep it open like that, ya know." you step into the doorway, taking 2 fingers and lifting Jungkook's jaw up. He swallows the little bit of saliva he began to feel collecting on his tongue.

"You look gorgeous." he says after a moment of collecting himself, stepping to the side and allowing you to walk all the way in.

Your eyes trail Jungkook's body up and down, stilling at his skinny jeans.

"Sorry," you breathe, "I just got flashbacks of yesterday in my office."

Jungkook hides his victorious smile, "If you're a good girl and eat your dinner, I'll let you do it again."

"I'll do whatever you say, sir." your voice is low, seductive. It carries through Jungkook's ears like a soft whisper, and it excites him immediately. He swallows his excitement, though, because tonight is about getting to know you.

So, as you sit at the dining table and watch Jungkook begin to plate your food, he speaks, "Where are you from?"

His question seems to shock you and your quiet for a moment. Raising his eyebrow, he plates his own food and sits across from you.

"Here." you say simply.

"Where's 'here'?" Jungkook retorts, watching as you twirl pasta around your fork. You take a big bite, and Jungkook prays you enjoy it. When your face lights up, Jungkook releases a breath he didn't even realize he was holding in.

"This is so good Jungkook, where did you get it?" you ask, digging in and taking another bite.

"I made it." He replies proudly.

"Nuh-uh," you tease, "this tastes like it's straight from Italy. Ain't no way you didn't use your fancy BTS powers and get this flown here straight from Gordon Ramsey's kitchen."

"Fancy BTS powers?" Jungkook laughs.

"Yeah! You're, like-" you gesture wildly, "thing you got going on. The whole 'I'm a celebrity and everyone gets on their knees for me' thing that you can do."

"What are you talking about?" Jungkook asks incredulously, humor lacing his tone.

"You know what I mean." you pout, pushing more pasta into your mouth.

Jungkook takes the quick silence to take his first bite.

Okay, he did a good job.

Swallowing, he licks his lips clean of sauce. He doesn't miss the smile on your face when his tongue pokes out. "Don't think you've distracted me from the question. Where did you grow up?"

You roll your eyes, "I grew up in a regular old house. Nothing special about my childhood."

"You're lying."

"What makes you say that?"

"You can't be as incredibly talented as you are without having something interesting happen to you as you grew up." Jungkook knows his theory has flaws but he's hoping his words are enough to make you feel comfortable enough to open up to him more.

You mull over his words for a moment. Jungkook is trying his hardest to read you, because for the first time since he's met you, you seem nervous. You're tenser than usual, your legs crossed and your hand gripping the fork hard enough for your knuckles to turn white. Why on Earth would a simple question cause you this much distress? He doesn't know what to say, and he's scared to opt for changing the subject. So, he waits.

"My parents are from two entirely different back rounds," you begin, setting down your fork and loosening your posture, "like, really different. My mom has always been better off than my dad was. When she was younger, she wore a crown on her head that was completely encrusted in diamonds."

Jungkook's eyes widen, "So was she really wealthy?"

"Still is," you explain, "but she's really branched off on her materialistic possessions. She often craves for her children to be as prepared and well off as she was."

"Oh," he says, a minute response now that he's getting what he wanted. He just wants to hear more, "you said 'was' when speaking of your dad, did he pass?"

You smile sadly, "Ages ago."

"What was he like?"

A beat of time passes and Jungkook feels his heart thud. He's aching for you, for your loss. He's watching as painful memories cross over your features.

"Like I said, he grew up completely different from my mom. He was a Shepard and worked really hard to get as far as he got. He met my mom when he was 17 and immediately fell in love with her, and not long after she got pregnant with lil' old me." you grin brightly, hiding your earlier sadness and posing with your hands beneath your chin.

Despite your cutesy pose, Jungkook feels his curiosity growing, "How did he pass?"

"Jeeze, all these questions," you laugh sheepishly, and your sadness returns, "My parents separated shortly after I was born. I spent the spring and summer months with my mother and fall and winter with my father. One Spring, I got a call that my father had been in an accident. It was really long ago so I can't remember details, but he died shortly after that."

"I- I'm so sorry." Jungkook whispers, "that's horrific."

"Life goes on," you inhale through your nose, "enough about me. Tell me how you chose BigHit when all those companies were after you."

Jungkook allows the subject change to roll through, nervous that his curiosity may have offended you. He tells you about his early years, explaining that he's always had a dream of becoming a singer. His parents struggled financially when he was a kid, so he insisted on getting rich so he could help them out. Now that he's an adult, and he is rich (though he hates to label himself as such), he doesn't know what to do with his money. He paid off his parents' house and bought them both new cars, he makes sure that all of their wants are taken care of.

At first his mother tried to refuse his gifts, stating that he had earned it himself therefore he should use it on himself. At this point they were 4 years into the band, the first little while they didn't make nearly as much money as other idol groups did. As soon as he got his first decent check, he immediately spent it on his parents. He's grateful for his mother's concern, but he always told him he was going to take care of them. His parents have learned to just accept the gifts he brings them, but they still haven't blatantly asked for help.

You laugh when Jungkook says he has to become a private investigator when he wants to know how his parents are doing. If there's ever a problem, he has to figure it out for himself because his father has too much pride to ask for help from his son. Jungkook knows they are grateful for everything that he has done for them, but he doesn't want gratitude. He wants them to be happy.

The rest of the meal goes smoothly after that, laughter being shared as you both speak about your lives. It seems as though your earlier admissions about you family life has eased your discomfort with talking about yourself. You tell Jungkook a story about how your mother came down to your father's farm for a week while she was pregnant, just to see how he lived his work life, and was quickly bombarded with 12 sheep as he opened the gate.

When the plates are cleared, Jungkook glances towards the beach, "Want to go on a walk?"

You smile, "Please."

He takes your hand and leads you out of the house and onto the beach. You don't seem to mind that your dress drags in the sand, because you're quick to kick off your heels and sink your feet into the ground.

"Ah," you sigh happily, "I love the way the Earth feels."

Jungkook can't wipe the smile off of his face while he scrunches his nose, "As opposed to Pluto?"

"Yes!" you give his hand a squeeze, "Pluto is too cold to enjoy, even for me."

Jungkook swings your hands together while you approach the water, "You speak as though you've been there."

You seem shy for a moment, "In my dreams."

"So, in your dreams," Jungkook humors you, "you've been to Pluto and stayed long enough to develop a negative opinion about it?"

"If you felt the things I felt, you'd hate Pluto too." you defend, taking your hand away from his and plopping onto the wet sand. Your dress, albeit expensive and pretty, looks even better on you when wet. Jungkook doesn't hesitate to sit in the small waves with you.

"NASA hated Pluto enough to declassify it as a planet, so at least someone agrees with you."

You scrunch your nose, "You're a dork."

Jungkook fakes offense, pushing your shoulder lightly.

You fall backward, dramatically splashing into the water. Jungkook gasps, jumping forward and grabbing your arms, pulling you out of the water. "I didn't mean for you to fall in!"

You let out a giggle, before disappearing under the water again. You slip from Jungkook's hands and swim away, Jungkook losing sight of you under the foamy waves. He swims further out, far enough that the water stands to his chest, and twists around to look for you.

A dark shadow appears just beside him, a clear human shape. He chuckles, leaping forward to capture you but just before he goes under the water, he hears you whisper his name behind him.

"Jungkook~" you sing when he pulls himself out of the water.

He whips his head towards you but there's no one there. He feels a tap on his shoulder, then he sees you on the opposite side of him. Wiping the water off his face, he forces himself to process the last few seconds.

"How did you do that?!" he asks loudly.

"Do what?" you feign innocence.

"You were there," Jungkook points behind him, "then you were there," he points to the left of him, "and now you're here."

"I swim fast." you shrug, dipping beneath the water once more.

Jungkook doesn't get a chance to question you more because as you pop up from the water, your arms lock around the back of his neck, and you press your lips to his.

His mind goes blank, and all he can feel is you.

He pushes your dress up far enough to free your legs, your thighs moving to wrap around his waist. His hands hold you up, and you continue to kiss while he walks the two of you up to the beach. Collapsing onto the ground, he holds himself up above you as you disconnect your lips.

"Thank you for everything tonight, Jungkook."

Jungkook can't help his face turning red, "Anytime, baby."

With that, he connects your lips again and revels in the feeling of your body against his.

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galaxierowls · 4 years

Note

The Great Gatsby

F. Scott Fitzgerald

Then wear the gold hat, if that will move her;

If you can bounce high, bounce for her too,

Till she cry "Lover, gold-hatted, high-bouncing lover,

I must have you!"

—THOMAS PARKE D'INVILLIERS

Chapter 1

In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since.

"Whenever you feel like criticizing any one," he told me, "just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages that you've had."

He didn't say any more but we've always been unusually communicative in a reserved way, and I understood that he meant a great deal more than that. In consequence I'm inclined to reserve all judgments, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores. The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men. Most of the confidences were unsought—frequently I have feigned sleep, preoccupation, or a hostile levity when I realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quivering on the horizon—for the intimate revelations of young men or at least the terms in which they express them are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions. Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope. I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my father snobbishly suggested, and I snobbishly repeat, a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth.

And, after boasting this way of my tolerance, I come to the admission that it has a limit. Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes but after a certain point I don't care what it's founded on. When I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; I wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart. Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction—Gatsby who represented everything for which I have an unaffected scorn. If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away. This responsiveness had nothing to do with that flabby impressionability which is dignified under the name of the "creative temperament"—it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person and which it is not likely I shall ever find again. No—Gatsby turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily closed out my interest in the abortive sorrows and short-winded elations of men.

My family have been prominent, well-to-do people in this middle-western city for three generations. The Carraways are something of a clan and we have a tradition that we're descended from the Dukes of Buccleuch, but the actual founder of my line was my grandfather's brother who came here in fifty-one, sent a substitute to the Civil War and started the wholesale hardware business that my father carries on today.

I never saw this great-uncle but I'm supposed to look like him—with special reference to the rather hard-boiled painting that hangs in Father's office. I graduated from New Haven in 1915, just a quarter of a century after my father, and a little later I participated in that delayed Teutonic migration known as the Great War. I enjoyed the counter-raid so thoroughly that I came back restless. Instead of being the warm center of the world the middle-west now seemed like the ragged edge of the universe—so I decided to go east and learn the bond business. Everybody I knew was in the bond business so I supposed it could support one more single man. All my aunts and uncles talked it over as if they were choosing a prep-school for me and finally said, "Why—ye-es" with very grave, hesitant faces. Father agreed to finance me for a year and after various delays I came east, permanently, I thought, in the spring of twenty-two.

The practical thing was to find rooms in the city but it was a warm season and I had just left a country of wide lawns and friendly trees, so when a young man at the office suggested that we take a house together in a commuting town it sounded like a great idea. He found the house, a weather beaten cardboard bungalow at eighty a month, but at the last minute the firm ordered him to Washington and I went out to the country alone. I had a dog, at least I had him for a few days until he ran away, and an old Dodge and a Finnish woman who made my bed and cooked breakfast and muttered Finnish wisdom to herself over the electric stove.

It was lonely for a day or so until one morning some man, more recently arrived than I, stopped me on the road.

"How do you get to West Egg village?" he asked helplessly.

I told him. And as I walked on I was lonely no longer. I was a guide, a pathfinder, an original settler. He had casually conferred on me the freedom of the neighborhood.

And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees—just as things grow in fast movies—I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.

There was so much to read for one thing and so much fine health to be pulled down out of the young breath-giving air. I bought a dozen volumes on banking and credit and investment securities and they stood on my shelf in red and gold like new money from the mint, promising to unfold the shining secrets that only Midas and Morgan and Maecenas knew. And I had the high intention of reading many other books besides. I was rather literary in college—one year I wrote a series of very solemn and obvious editorials for the "Yale News"—and now I was going to bring back all such things into my life and become again that most limited of all specialists, the "well-rounded man." This isn't just an epigram—life is much more successfully looked at from a single window, after all.

It was a matter of chance that I should have rented a house in one of the strangest communities in North America. It was on that slender riotous island which extends itself due east of New York and where there are, among other natural curiosities, two unusual formations of land. Twenty miles from the city a pair of enormous eggs, identical in contour and separated only by a courtesy bay, jut out into the most domesticated body of salt water in the Western Hemisphere, the great wet barnyard of Long Island Sound. They are not perfect ovals—like the egg in the Columbus story they are both crushed flat at the contact end—but their physical resemblance must be a source of perpetual confusion to the gulls that fly overhead. To the wingless a more arresting phenomenon is their dissimilarity in every particular except shape and size.

I lived at West Egg, the—well, the less fashionable of the two, though this is a most superficial tag to express the bizarre and not a little sinister contrast between them. My house was at the very tip of the egg, only fifty yards from the Sound, and squeezed between two huge places that rented for twelve or fifteen thousand a season. The one on my right was a colossal affair by any standard—it was a factual imitation of some Hôtel de Ville in Normandy, with a tower on one side, spanking new under a thin beard of raw ivy, and a marble swimming pool and more than forty acres of lawn and garden. It was Gatsby's mansion. Or rather, as I didn't know Mr. Gatsby it was a mansion inhabited by a gentleman of that name. My own house was an eye-sore, but it was a small eye-sore, and it had been overlooked, so I had a view of the water, a partial view of my neighbor's lawn, and the consoling proximity of millionaires—all for eighty dollars a month.

Across the courtesy bay the white palaces of fashionable East Egg glittered along the water, and the history of the summer really begins on the evening I drove over there to have dinner with the Tom Buchanans. Daisy was my second cousin once removed and I'd known Tom in college. And just after the war I spent two days with them in Chicago.

Her husband, among various physical accomplishments, had been one of the most powerful ends that ever played football at New Haven—a national figure in a way, one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty-one that everything afterward savors of anti-climax. His family were enormously wealthy—even in college his freedom with money was a matter for reproach—but now he'd left Chicago and come east in a fashion that rather took your breath away: for instance he'd brought down a string of polo ponies from Lake Forest. It was hard to realize that a man in my own generation was wealthy enough to do that.

Why they came east I don't know. They had spent a year in France, for no particular reason, and then drifted here and there unrestfully wherever people played polo and were rich together. This was a permanent move, said Daisy over the telephone, but I didn't believe it—I had no sight into Daisy's heart but I felt that Tom would drift on forever seeking a little wistfully for the dramatic turbulence of some irrecoverable football game.

And so it happened that on a warm windy evening I drove over to East Egg to see two old friends whom I scarcely knew at all. Their house was even more elaborate than I expected, a cheerful red and white Georgian Colonial mansion overlooking the bay. The lawn started at the beach and ran toward the front door for a quarter of a mile, jumping over sun-dials and brick walks and burning gardens—finally when it reached the house drifting up the side in bright vines as though from the momentum of its run. The front was broken by a line of French windows, glowing now with reflected gold, and wide open to the warm windy afternoon, and Tom Buchanan in riding clothes was standing with his legs apart on the front porch.

He had changed since his New Haven years. Now he was a sturdy, straw haired man of thirty with a rather hard mouth and a supercilious manner. Two shining, arrogant eyes had established dominance over his face and gave him the appearance of always leaning aggressively forward. Not even the effeminate swank of his riding clothes could hide the enormous power of that body—he seemed to fill those glistening boots until he strained the top lacing and you could see a great pack of muscle shifting when his shoulder moved under his thin coat. It was a body capable of enormous leverage—a cruel body.

His speaking voice, a gruff husky tenor, added to the impression of fractiousness he conveyed. There was a touch of paternal contempt in it, even toward people he liked—and there were men at New Haven who had hated his guts.

"Now, don't think my opinion on these matters is final," he seemed to say, "just because I'm stronger and more of a man than you are." We were in the same Senior Society, and while we were never intimate I always had the impression that he approved of me and wanted me to like him with some harsh, defiant wistfulness of his own.

We talked for a few minutes on the sunny porch.

"I've got a nice place here," he said, his eyes flashing about restlessly.

Turning me around by one arm he moved a broad flat hand along the front vista, including in its sweep a sunken Italian garden, a half acre of deep pungent roses and a snub-nosed motor boat that bumped the tide off shore.

"It belonged to Demaine the oil man." He turned me around again, politely and abruptly. "We'll go inside."

We walked through a high hallway into a bright rosy-colored space, fragilely bound into the house by French windows at either end. The windows were ajar and gleaming white against the fresh grass outside that seemed to grow a little way into the house. A breeze blew through the room, blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags, twisting them up toward the frosted wedding cake of the ceiling—and then rippled over the wine-colored rug, making a shadow on it as wind does on the sea.

The only completely stationary object in the room was an enormous couch on which two young women were buoyed up as though upon an anchored balloon. They were both in white and their dresses were rippling and fluttering as if they had just been blown back in after a short flight around the house. I must have stood for a few moments listening to the whip and snap of the curtains and the groan of a picture on the wall. Then there was a boom as Tom Buchanan shut the rear windows and the caught wind died out about the room and the curtains and the rugs and the two young women ballooned slowly to the floor.

The younger of the two was a stranger to me. She was extended full length at her end of the divan, completely motionless and with her chin raised a little as if she were balancing something on it which was quite likely to fall. If she saw me out of the corner of her eyes she gave no hint of it—indeed, I was almost surprised into murmuring an apology for having disturbed her by coming in.

The other girl, Daisy, made an attempt to rise—she leaned slightly forward with a conscientious expression—then she laughed, an absurd, charming little laugh, and I laughed too and came forward into the room.

"I'm p-paralyzed with happiness."

She laughed again, as if she said something very witty, and held my hand for a moment, looking up into my face, promising that there was no one in the world she so much wanted to see. That was a way she had. She hinted in a murmur that the surname of the balancing girl was Baker. (I've heard it said that Daisy's murmur was only to make people lean toward her; an irrelevant criticism that made it no less charming.)

At any rate Miss Baker's lips fluttered, she nodded at me almost imperceptibly and then quickly tipped her head back again—the object she was balancing had obviously tottered a little and given her something of a fright. Again a sort of apology arose to my lips. Almost any exhibition of complete self sufficiency draws a stunned tribute from me.

I looked back at my cousin who began to ask me questions in her low, thrilling voice. It was the kind of voice that the ear follows up and down as if each speech is an arrangement of notes that will never be played again. Her face was sad and lovely with bright things in it, bright eyes and a bright passionate mouth—but there was an excitement in her voice that men who had cared for her found difficult to forget: a singing compulsion, a whispered "Listen," a promise that she had done gay, exciting things just a while since and that there were gay, exciting things hovering in the next hour.

I told her how I had stopped off in Chicago for a day on my way east and how a dozen people had sent their love through me.

"Do they miss me?" she cried ecstatically.

"The whole town is desolate. All the cars have the left rear wheel painted black as a mourning wreath and there's a persistent wail all night along the North Shore."

"How gorgeous! Let's go back, Tom. Tomorrow!" Then she added irrelevantly, "You ought to see the baby."

"I'd like to."

"She's asleep. She's two years old. Haven't you ever seen her?"

"Never."

"Well, you ought to see her. She's—"

Tom Buchanan who had been hovering restlessly about the room stopped and rested his hand on my shoulder.

"What you doing, Nick?"

"I'm a bond man."

"Who with?"

I told him.

"Never heard of them," he remarked decisively.

This annoyed me.

"You will," I answered shortly. "You will if you stay in the East."

"Oh, I'll stay in the East, don't you worry," he said, glancing at Daisy and then back at me, as if he were alert for something more. "I'd be a God Damned fool to live anywhere else."

At this point Miss Baker said "Absolutely!" with such suddenness that I started—it was the first word she uttered since I came into the room. Evidently it surprised her as much as it did me, for she yawned and with a series of rapid, deft movements stood up into the room.

"I'm stiff," she complained, "I've been lying on that sofa for as long as I can remember."

"Don't look at me," Daisy retorted. "I've been trying to get you to New York all afternoon."

"No, thanks," said Miss Baker to the four cocktails just in from the pantry, "I'm absolutely in training."

Her host looked at her incredulously.

"You are!" He took down his drink as if it were a drop in the bottom of a glass. "How you ever get anything done is beyond me."

I looked at Miss Baker wondering what it was she "got done." I enjoyed looking at her. She was a slender, small-breasted girl, with an erect carriage which she accentuated by throwing her body backward at the shoulders like a young cadet. Her grey sun-strained eyes looked back at me with polite reciprocal curiosity out of a wan, charming discontented face. It occurred to me now that I had seen her, or a picture of her, somewhere before.

"You live in West Egg," she remarked contemptuously. "I know somebody there."

"I don't know a single—"

"You must know Gatsby."

"Gatsby?" demanded Daisy. "What Gatsby?"

Before I could reply that he was my neighbor dinner was announced; wedging his tense arm imperatively under mine Tom Buchanan compelled me from the room as though he were moving a checker to another square.

Slenderly, languidly, their hands set lightly on their hips the two young women preceded us out onto a rosy-colored porch open toward the sunset where four candles flickered on the table in the diminished wind.

"Why candles?" objected Daisy, frowning. She snapped them out with her fingers. "In two weeks it'll be the longest day in the year." She looked at us all radiantly. "Do you always watch for the longest day of the year and then miss it? I always watch for the longest day in the year and then miss it."

"We ought to plan something," yawned Miss Baker, sitting down at the table as if she were getting into bed.

"All right," said Daisy. "What'll we plan?" She turned to me helplessly. "What do people plan?"

Before I could answer her eyes fastened with an awed expression on her little finger.

"Look!" she complained. "I hurt it."

We all looked—the knuckle was black and blue.

"You did it, Tom," she said accusingly. "I know you didn't mean to but you did do it. That's what I get for marrying a brute of a man, a great big hulking physical specimen of a—"

"I hate that word hulking," objected Tom crossly, "even in kidding."

"Hulking," insisted Daisy.

Sometimes she and Miss Baker talked at once, unobtrusively and with a bantering inconsequence that was never quite chatter, that was as cool as their white dresses and their impersonal eyes in the absence of all desire. They were here—and they accepted Tom and me, making only a polite pleasant effort to entertain or to be entertained. They knew that presently dinner would be over and a little later the evening too would be over and casually put away. It was sharply different from the West where an evening was hurried from phase to phase toward its close in a continually disappointed anticipation or else in sheer nervous dread of the moment itself.

"You make me feel uncivilized, Daisy," I confessed on my second glass of corky but rather impressive claret. "Can't you talk about crops or something?"

I meant nothing in particular by this remark but it was taken up in an unexpected way.

"Civilization's going to pieces," broke out Tom violently. "I've gotten to be a terrible pessimist about things. Have you read 'The Rise of the Coloured Empires' by this man Goddard?"

"Why, no," I answered, rather surprised by his tone.

"Well, it's a fine book, and everybody ought to read it. The idea is if we don't look out the white race will be—will be utterly submerged. It's all scientific stuff; it's been proved."

"Tom's getting very profound," said Daisy with an expression of unthoughtful sadness. "He reads deep books with long words in them. What was that word we—"

"Well, these books are all scientific," insisted Tom, glancing at her impatiently. "This fellow has worked out the whole thing. It's up to us who are the dominant race to watch out or these other races will have control of things."

"We've got to beat them down," whispered Daisy, winking ferociously toward the fervent sun.

"You ought to live in California—" began Miss Baker but Tom interrupted her by shifting heavily in his chair.

"This idea is that we're Nordics. I am, and you are and you are and—" After an infinitesimal hesitation he included Daisy with a slight nod and she winked at me again. "—and we've produced all the things that go to make civilization—oh, science and art and all that. Do you see?"

There was something pathetic in his concentration as if his complacency, more acute than of old, was not enough to him any more. When, almost immediately, the telephone rang inside and the butler left the porch Daisy seized upon the momentary interruption and leaned toward me.

"I'll tell you a family secret," she whispered enthusiastically. "It's about the butler's nose. Do you want to hear about the butler's nose?"

"That's why I came over tonight."

"Well, he wasn't always a butler; he used to be the silver polisher for some people in New York that had a silver service for two hundred people. He had to polish it from morning till night until finally it began to affect his nose—"

"Things went from bad to worse," suggested Miss Baker.

"Yes. Things went from bad to worse until finally he had to give up his position."

For a moment the last sunshine fell with romantic affection upon her glowing face; her voice compelled me forward breathlessly as I listened—then the glow faded, each light deserting her with lingering regret like children leaving a pleasant street at dusk.

The butler came back and murmured something close to Tom's ear whereupon Tom frowned, pushed back his chair and without a word went inside. As if his absence quickened something within her Daisy leaned forward again, her voice glowing and singing.

"I love to see you at my table, Nick. You remind me of a—of a rose, an absolute rose. Doesn't he?" She turned to Miss Baker for confirmation. "An absolute rose?"

This was untrue. I am not even faintly like a rose. She was only extemporizing but a stirring warmth flowed from her as if her heart was trying to come out to you concealed in one of those breathless, thrilling words. Then suddenly she threw her napkin on the table and excused herself and went into the house.

Miss Baker and I exchanged a short glance consciously devoid of meaning. I was about to speak when she sat up alertly and said "Sh!" in a warning voice. A subdued impassioned murmur was audible in the room beyond and Miss Baker leaned forward, unashamed, trying to hear. The murmur trembled on the verge of coherence, sank down, mounted excitedly, and then ceased altogether.

"This Mr. Gatsby you spoke of is my neighbor—" I said.

"Don't talk. I want to hear what happens."

"Is something happening?" I inquired innocently.

"You mean to say you don't know?" said Miss Baker, honestly surprised. "I thought everybody knew."

"I don't."

"Why—" she said hesitantly, "Tom's got some woman in New York."

"Got some woman?" I repeated blankly.

Miss Baker nodded.

"She might have the decency not to telephone him at dinner-time. Don't you think?"

Almost before I had grasped her meaning there was the flutter of a dress and the crunch of leather boots and Tom and Daisy were back at the table.

"It couldn't be helped!" cried Daisy with tense gayety.

She sat down, glanced searchingly at Miss Baker and then at me and continued: "I looked outdoors for a minute and it's very romantic outdoors. There's a bird on the lawn that I think must be a nightingale come over on the Cunard or White Star Line. He's singing away—" her voice sang "—It's romantic, isn't it, Tom?"

"Very romantic," he said, and then miserably to me: "If it's light enough after dinner I want to take you down to the stables."

The telephone rang inside, startlingly, and as Daisy shook her head decisively at Tom the subject of the stables, in fact all subjects, vanished into air. Among the broken fragments of the last five minutes at table I remember the candles being lit again, pointlessly, and I was conscious of wanting to look squarely at every one and yet to avoid all eyes. I couldn't guess what Daisy and Tom were thinking but I doubt if even Miss Baker who seemed to have mastered a certain hardy skepticism was able utterly to put this fifth guest's shrill metallic urgency out of mind. To a certain temperament the situation might have seemed intriguing—my own instinct was to telephone immediately for the police.

The horses, needless to say, were not mentioned again. Tom and Miss Baker, with several feet of twilight between them strolled back into the library, as if to a vigil beside a perfectly tangible body, while trying to look pleasantly interested and a little deaf I followed Daisy around a chain of connecting verandas to the porch in front. In its deep gloom we sat down side by side on a wicker settee.

Daisy took her face in her hands, as if feeling its lovely shape, and her eyes moved gradually out into the velvet dusk. I saw that turbulent emotions possessed her, so I asked what I thought would be some sedative questions about her little girl.

"We don't know each other very well, Nick," she said suddenly. "Even if we are cousins. You didn't come to my wedding."

"I wasn't back from the war."

"That's true." She hesitated. "Well, I've had a very bad time, Nick, and I'm pretty cynical about everything."

Evidently she had reason to be. I waited but she didn't say any more, and after a moment I returned rather feebly to the subject of her daughter.

"I suppose she talks, and—eats, and everything."

"Oh, yes." She looked at me absently. "Listen, Nick; let me tell you what I said when she was born. Would you like to hear?"

"Very much."

Thank you.

#she speaks #ria ur so funny

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