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jackrrabbit · 4 years

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Clean /// Sakusa x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: [College dorm AU] Sakusa can’t stop thinking about you in the shower.

A/N: Indirectly inspired by @seita and @bakatenshii, who made me think about soap and Sakusa’s cum in conjunction…thanks guys :P

Tags/warnings: masturbation, mild cleanliness fetish if that’s a thing?, Sakusa wants you and is in deep denial about it

It’s not like he started doing it on purpose. Not at first.

On weekdays, you wake up at the same time that Sakusa gets back from the gym: 7 AM exactly. He timed it that way because they clean the dorm bathrooms at 6:30—they’re still revolting, but they can’t be as bad as the ones at the gym. He can avoid touching the stall walls if he has to, and…he has to. 7 is the perfect time—even the students with 8 AM class can’t be fucked to wake up that early, so he gets the row of mirrors and stalls to himself.

Except for you.

Your room is right next to the stairwell; when Sakusa jogs up the stairs (two at a time, blood still pumping from his workout even though the sweat is already cooling on his back) he can hear your alarm through the thin wall. Always 7 on the dot: your phone blares an obnoxiously loud ringtone, there’s a muffled protest from you and your roommate curses at you to turn that shit off, it’s seven fucking AM. By the time he’s standing at the bathroom sink brushing his teeth, you’re usually pushing through the door in your pajamas, holding your towel in one hand and rubbing your puffy eyes with the other.

So it’s not like Sakusa plans this. It’s a coincidence. Mostly.

“G’morning…Kiyoomi.” You interrupt yourself with a yawn in the middle of the sentence. Your voice sounds heavy with exhaustion and he wonders, not for the first time, why you bother waking up so early. You don’t seem like a morning person.

The toothbrush is still in Sakusa’s mouth, so he just nods to greet you. You smile sleepily and then bend down to reach your bathroom locker, and—fuck, fuck, you’re wearing the shorts again, the threadbare cotton ones you wear whenever the weather gets a little warmer. They’re thin (so thin he can see the high cut of your panties underneath when they’re stretched over your ass, not that he’s looking), and they’re short.

Do you know how much you’re showing off when you bend over like that to rummage through your locker? You’re basically showing your ass off, the smooth muscle of your thighs rising up into those perfect cheeks, and between them, the dingy cotton stretched tight over your mound—

He’s not looking. He shouldn’t be looking. Sakusa lowers his gaze in the mirror to spit the toothpaste into the sink.

“Hey, can I borrow some of that?”

You’re standing at his elbow now, blinking up at him. Pleading. When he wordlessly hands over the tube, you grin, eyes crinkling up at the corners like he just offered to take your hand in marriage rather than letting you have some toothpaste that he wasn’t going to miss anyway. “Thanks! You’re the best.”

You barely know him. Sakusa’s pretty sure that these early-morning bathroom encounters are the only times you two interact.

“How was your workout?” you ask when you’re done brushing your teeth.

Sakusa has to grip the edge of the counter to tear his eyes away from you when you spit it out—white foam dribbling out of your mouth and down your chin—but that’s beside the point. “It was fine.”

“Yeah? Did you run or go to the gym?”

“Gym.” Why are you so curious? You’re too friendly.

You hum appreciatively, rubbing foamy circles of cleanser into your skin. The smell of it is light—floral, but barely. Lavender, maybe. That’s step one of your morning skincare routine, which Sakusa’s pretty certain he knows as well as you do by now. Next will be toner, and then you’ll save the rest for after your shower—but before you reach for the next little bottle in the row you’ve lined up on the bathroom counter, you turn toward him. “I should get back on a regular gym schedule too. Maybe one day I’ll go with you?”

“If you can wake up that early.” The remark must come out harsher than Sakusa intended, because you raise your eyebrows and your mouth drops open—but a second later you’re smiling again, turning back to the mirror so you can pat the toner into your skin.

“You’re probably right. I don’t know how you wake up at six in the morning every day.”

5:45, he wants to correct. But if he keeps talking to you, you’re going to notice he’s staring. So he just finishes washing his face without answering, puts his stuff back into the locker, and makes his way over to the shower stalls, leaving you and the scent of lavender behind.

There are five stalls. All open, of course. Second from the left has the best water pressure, and the one on the far right has a removable shower head and heats up the quickest. But Sakusa chooses the middle stall. For no reason. Not because he knows exactly which stall you’re going to pick, and he wants to be sure he’s in the stall next to yours when you do. He takes his time—undresses slowly, folding his dirty gym clothes even though they’re going straight into the laundry; sets his shampoo and conditioner and body wash out on the bench in the order that he’s going to use them; turns the knob to just the right angle to get the right temperature and waits for it to heat up until he can see the steam saturating the air.

By the time Sakusa’s under the water, massaging shampoo through his hair and feeling the sweat slough off his skin along with the shower spray, you’re done with your pre-shower skincare, padding over from the sinks to the stalls and picking—predictably—the one next to his. He has to strain himself to hear it over the sound of splashing water but he does hear it: your cheap pink flip-flops slapping against the tile floor, the relieved yawn in your breath as you stretch (you always stretch) and the soft rustling of fabric as you take off your clothes and deposit them in a heap on the bench.

Sakusa tilts his head up into the shower spray and feels the stray drops clinging to his eyelashes and wonders how much he’d be able to see if the walls were made of glass.

Today is Wednesday, and that means you’re going to wash your hair today because you always wash it on Wednesdays. Sakusa can already smell the shampoo you use filtering into the air. What is it? Sharper and more bitter than mint, medicinal almost—he’s considered asking you a few times what it is, but he can’t figure out a way to phrase the question.

Hey, (Y/N), tell me what product you use to wash your hair. Ever since I started jacking off in the shower to you, I can’t get off unless I’m smelling it.

That probably wouldn’t go over well.

Fuck, he’s already hard. The heat of the shower is nothing compared to the heat of his blood pumping down to his cock. Sakusa rinses through his hair quickly, freeing up his hands so he can palm his shaft and give it a tentative stroke.

Through the shower wall you give a light, soft sigh of appreciation, and Sakusa feels his cock jump in his hand. You prefer your showers hotter than he does—white puffs of steam are rising up over the gap between the stall divider and the ceiling, and you always come out flushed. The heat must feel nice, hm? He can almost see you, standing naked under the shower head in just your stupid pink flip-flops, letting rivulets of water drip down from the crown of your head to flow lower…over your shoulders, your back, your tits; your fingers lathering the shampoo through your hair, soap bubbles washing the grease away from you, draining away yesterday’s grime so you’re all fresh and squeaky clean.

You sigh again, and your voice is pushing out behind the breath. A moan, almost. Do you ever touch yourself in the shower? He’d be a hypocrite to think you shouldn’t be able to take advantage of this rare moment of privacy…it’s so hard to get time to yourself in the dorms, he can sympathize… So maybe you let your hands dip lower while you wash, shift your thighs apart so you can fit your fingers between them. Pet that puffy little cunt, push your fingers inside, feel your slick wash off in the water just to be replaced with more.

Sakusa wraps his fingers around his cock and slides his hand up the shaft, moving slowly so he can savor the light friction. Your hands would be soft, wouldn’t they? Softer than his. You don’t have calluses like he does—all that lotion you use must be doing you some good. And your hands are a lot smaller than his are…you’d probably have trouble getting one hand all the way around. You’d have to use both hands to hold him, hold his cock and pump him, jack him off…

If your hands are too small for him, what about your mouth?

The shower is so warm and you’re so close. Sakusa closes his eyes so he can breathe in that sweet medicinal smell and imagine you in here with him.

Your mouth. Soft lips, no makeup, just your natural color dampened from the water and your spit and his precum, closed around him, stretched around him to accommodate for the mass of his cock sitting in your mouth. Little pink tongue flicking out to tease the tip, lapping flat at the underside and then kissing it. You’d be a tease, a fucking tease. Looking up at him with those eyes, batting your eyelashes over your dewy-wet cheeks as you try to swallow him a little deeper. He’d tangle his fingers around the back of your head, push the strands of wet hair away from your face, pull your mouth up and down on his cock while the water splashes down around the two of you—

There’s a click of a cap popping shut and your shoes smacking wetly against the floor while you reach over to grab another bottle. You’re humming to yourself—a song Sakusa’s heard on his friends’ playlists and at parties but he doesn’t know the lyrics. Sometimes you sing in the shower (always softly, under your breath, so quiet he’d barely be able to hear if he wasn’t listening) but today you just hum. Maybe you’d sing out loud if he wasn’t there?

You’re probably being considerate to him...you do seem like the type. After all, you must be as aware of his presence three feet away from you as he is of yours. You probably think about him in the shower too.

Sakusa’s hips buck forward, pushing his dick through his hand as he pumps it with no real technique or rhythm, just trying to match the pace of his breathing to what he can hear of yours. The heat of his impending climax is coiling low in his belly, even though it hasn’t been long—it never takes long when he’s thinking about you. You’ve practically become a part of his own morning routine, to the point where he couldn’t even get off when he went home for spring break a few weeks ago. When the two of you move out of the dorms and go your separate ways, it’s going to be annoying. He should really stop this, wean himself off you while he can…not that he really wants to.

Your voice isn’t bad when you sing, but it’d be a lot better moaning his name.

People fuck in the showers. Sakusa knows that, he’s heard them himself and always been acutely disgusted at the filth of it all. Dorm bathrooms are notoriously foul—there’s a reason people wear shoes when they’re showering, and the thought of people actually fucking in here makes his skin crawl. But with you? He can see it, he can feel it—the soft fat of your thighs in his hands, skin dimpling under his grip as he holds you up; your arms twisted around his neck hugging into him; the hot water streaming over both of your bodies as his cock slaps into your pussy, burying into that tight wet heat.

Sakusa grits his teeth to stifle a groan and wonders if you heard it, and then he’s feeling around for the memory of your sleepy “Good morning, Kiyoomi” and warping your voice in his mind until he can almost hear your lips wrapping around his name, panting it, whimpering it, choking it out between pleas for him to fuck you harder—Kiyoomi, please, fuck me fuck me just like that, fuck my little pussy til I can’t walk straight Kiyoomi I need you!

God, he wants to hear it, he wants to say your name, wants you to know he’s jacking off to you. Sakusa’s hand speeds up and his hips are thrusting into his fist, the water making wet clicking noises every time his cockhead moves up past his fingers as he imagines fucking you right here in this shower. He’d make you cum, make you clench and tighten around him, make you wake up the entire goddamn floor with your screaming, and—fuck, he’s mouthing out the syllables, and then he can hear his own voice out loud and he’s saying your name—

“K-Kiyoomi?”

Your actual voice—lifted, high and clear as a bell ringing even stifled by the stall and the rushing water hits Sakusa and he flinches—and cums, cock jerking under his grip as the sticky white fluid shoots out to coat his hand. It’s good, so good, so fucking good, you said his name, you said it, fucking perfect—the release passes over him so forcefully that he has to hold his breath to bite back the stuttered hiss of pleasure from deep in his throat.

“Kiyoomi?” you ask again from the other stall, voice uncertain. “Did you say my name? I thought I heard you…”

It takes him a long moment to catch his breath, and another to work up enough control to straighten and raise his hand to the spray, letting the cum wash off his skin and down the drain in cloudy white trickles. “I didn’t.”

“Oh, sorry! Guess I imagined it.” You’re back to your cheerful self, humming that brainless melody and soaping yourself up without a care in the world. So gullible. Like always. And it’s not like Sakusa wanted to get caught, but…he can’t help wondering what you’d do if you knew.

Maybe you’d hate him. Maybe you’d call him a creep, stop showering when he does, avoid his gaze when you pass each other in the halls.

Or maybe you’d be into it.

Sakusa finishes his shower at the same time you do, so he can catch you just as you step out of the stall. “Oh—“ you start, barely keeping yourself from bumping into his chest. “Oops!”

Your face is stained pink from the heat of the shower…or maybe it’s the way you’re staring at his bare chest that’s making you blush. Sakusa’s not flattering himself—he knows he’s good-looking, knows what the years of athletics have done for him, and you are staring—but just for a moment before you catch yourself and right your gaze back up to his face, absently watching him towel off his hair. The fact that you let your eyes stray a little gives him permission to do the same, so he takes a moment to examine the lines of your shoulders, your soaked hair sticking to your neck, the dip of your cleavage under the fluffy white robe you’re wearing.

You smell good, all soft and wet and clean. Sakusa can’t help imagining if you taste that good, too.

“Um…s’cuse me,” you say after a moment when he doesn’t move to let you pass through the walkway. You could try to skirt around him, but he’s so big.

“What shampoo do you use?”

You blink and pat your hair self-consciously. “It’s, uh, tea tree oil? It has peppermint and lavender and stuff too I think, it’s really good for waking up in the morning—sorry, I know some people don’t like the smell—“

“No, it doesn’t bother me.” Sakusa’s eyes narrow before he steps out of the way to let you walk past.

I like it, he wants to add. But he doesn’t.

#sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #hq x reader #haikyuu #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa #hq #haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu!! imagines #hq imagines

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kpopfanfictrash · 4 years

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Raise the Barre (Ch. 7)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Jimin / Reader

Rating: 18+ (Eventual Smut)

Genre: Enemies to Lovers / Dance Academy!AU

Warnings: mention of vomit, intense physical training, blood blisters

Word Count: 6,829

Summary: You and Park Jimin have been rivals for as long as you’ve known one another; ever since he tripped you in the front row of your first dance convention. When you graduate from high school and enter Russet Ballet Academy, you tell yourself you’re leaving all past quarrels behind. The main problem with this though, is that your past seems determined not to leave you alone.

Worse still, the obstacles you face while out in the real world might prove more challenging than anything your enemy has to offer.

Fifteen minutes later, Jimin pulled to a stop at the edge of the curb.

Stepping from the sidewalk, you hastened to the passenger side and opened the door. Your wait had mostly been uneventful, but you hated standing alone in the dark for any longer than necessary. Sliding into the passenger seat, you pulled the door shut and turned sideways to face him.

“Thanks,” you exhaled, seeing him for the first time tonight.

Jimin looked sleepy, as though your call had woken him up – which it probably had, since it was near 1:30 AM. Yesterday when you spoke, Jimin had said he planned on going to bed early. He was dressed in what Noelle would’ve called a groutfit – grey sweats, grey hoodie and silver-framed glasses. You blinked at these, not having realized Jimin wore contacts.

“No problem.” Jimin stifled a yawn. “Seat belt.”

“Huh?”

“Put on your seat belt.” He nodded at the strap by your side.

“Oh – right.” Hastily, you pulled this across your chest. “Thanks.”

Silence fell as you did, the awkwardness increasing with each passing second. Usually, you were better about things like car safety, but everything about this moment felt surreal. Jimin had given you his number barely twenty-four hours prior – you highly doubted this was what he had in mind when he said he’d call.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted, unsure what to do.

Jimin’s lips twitched. “It’s fine, Y/N.”

Glancing his way, you found Jimin’s profile dimly lit by the streetlights. He sat spread-legged in the driver’s seat; one hand placed casually on the shift. When he caught you looking, Jimin arched a brow and shifted the car into drive.

Pulling from the curb, he merged into traffic headed away from the club. As the bright lights of Excelsior disappeared into the rearview mirror, the cars on the road became few and far between. You drove in silence, city lights striping Jimin’s profile in black and white.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “Is everything okay?” Jimin asked, too casual to be normal.

It took you a moment to answer.

Usually, you would’ve responded yes even if it weren’t the case, since no one truly wanted to hear about your problems. Asking someone how are you? in the city was the same as a nod hello. It wasn’t genuine interest in another person’s well-being.

Tonight though, your usual responses caught in your throat. Tonight, you felt tired, frayed and dangerously thin at the seams.

Everything was not okay, and you weren’t sure how to say otherwise. Your usual walls had been torn, leaving you with this sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. Your fight with Finn had been a big one, even worse than the argument a few weeks ago.

Still, Jimin was a newer friend to you – if you could even call him that. It wasn’t fair to unload all your problems on him. Especially at such a late hour and especially not when he was the one doing you a favor.

“Yeah,” you said at last. “Everything’s fine.”

Jimin paused, as though he knew this to be bullshit.

“Let me rephrase,” he said, shifting in his seat. “Anyone’s ass I should kick?”

You laughed a little, surprised by his threat. “No, no,” you said, shaking your head. “Nothing like that.”

“Good.” Jimin’s smile faded. “So, what happened then? How’d you get stranded?”

He didn’t ask why you called him, but the implication was clear in his voice. Honestly, it was a question you had no good answer to. All you knew was when you were standing on the curb, staring at your phone and wondering who to call, Jimin was one of the first people to pop into your mind.

“I was out with my boyfriend,” you sighed. “I said I’d go to the club with him and his friends, but it got late and we have class tomorrow, so I told Finn I wanted to leave. He… didn’t.” Pausing, you swallowed. “I ended up leaving, but I didn’t realize the trains had stopped running. Uber surcharge was ridiculous, too.”

“Oh.” Jimin’s grip on the wheel tightened.

“Anyways.” You slouched lower in his seat. “You’re the only person I know with a car, so…”

“Ah. Right.”

Curious, you glanced sideways. Although Jimin was responding in one-word answers, they seemed somehow loaded, as though they contained hidden meaning. Even his profile seemed cautious, full of a tension you couldn’t quite place.

Jimin frowned. “Your boyfriend just… let you leave like that?”

“He didn’t let me,” you said as you straightened. “I can make my own decisions, Park.”

“I know, I just…”

“You just what, Park? Spit it out.”

“I don’t know.” Jimin shrugged. “It just seems kind of cold. That’s all.”

“Yeah, well.” Truth be told, it seemed cold to you, too. “I’m not exactly… thrilled with the situation, either. He turned off his phone,” you muttered, turning to face the window.

In the reflection, you saw Jimin grimace.

“Sorry,” he said quietly.

“What for?”

“That just sucks, that’s all.”

“Yeah. It does suck.”

Jimin made an indiscernible noise of agreement before lapsing into silence.

It was strange to be in a car with him at this late an hour; oddly intimate for a multitude of reasons you pushed aside.

The last time you’d seen Jimin dressed so casually had been when you walked in on him with Sabrina. It had been nearly a month since then, but you hadn’t heard any gossip of them being together on campus.

Maybe this was something you could’ve asked Jimin, but it wasn’t like you had that type of relationship. Sure, you were ballet partners and sure, you’d been getting along lately, but you didn’t usually interact outside of class. Yet another line you’d crossed by calling Jimin tonight.

Thus far, you’d mostly managed to keep Finn and Russet separate. Noelle had met Finn a couple of times – you’d gone to dinner once and gotten coffee together another time, but otherwise, nothing. Finn wouldn’t have wanted to come to one of your Grace Hall rom-com marathons or take a pilates class on Sunday morning.

Mixing personal life and dance felt strange to you, as though two separate halves of yourself were colliding. It was odd to see Jimin outside of Russet’s walls. He seemed more at ease in his car, like the lines of him had blurred more from dancer to person.

Something about the nighttime made things seem fuzzier. Tired from the day and just beginning to thaw from the cold, you found your lips and mind looser than usual.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Jimin said, interrupting the silence. “But I didn’t even know you had a boyfriend.”

With a humorless sort of laugh, you turned to face him. “Yeah, well. I do.”

“Huh.”

Hearing his skepticism, you insisted, “I do!”

“I believe you!” Jimin chuckled. He paused. “Is it new, then? I don’t remember anyone coming to watch your dance competitions in high school.”

Warmth spread through your body, realizing Jimin must’ve kept tabs. He’d watched you at dance competitions. He knew your usual crowd of supporters.

“Finn isn’t new,” you said slowly. “He just didn’t come to a lot of competitions. They got repetitive, you know? Lots of waiting around for three minutes of watching me dance.”

“I guess.” Jimin shrugged. “I used to go to my ex’s tennis tournaments all the time, though. That was the same thing, except no AC.”

“Right,” you laughed. “You’re right, at least our competitions had air conditioning.”

Jimin turned on his blinker to switch lanes. Pulling onto a side street, he glanced in the rearview mirror. Another moment passed, and then –

“We broke up before college.”

Surprised, you glanced in his direction. “Oh. Okay.”

You stared at his profile, wondering if you were supposed to say something more. You could think of many questions to ask, but they didn’t seem appropriate coming from you. You hadn’t realized Jimin was dating someone in high school – although, come to think of it, you did seem to remember a blonde girl cheering for him in the audience at Applause Dance Competition.

“It seemed like time,” Jimin continued quietly. “She went to a school across the country and we just never assumed we’d stay together. That sounds bad,” he said with a half-laugh. “I kind of figured though, if we were meant to be, we’d figure it out. The fact that we didn’t try spoke volumes.”

“That makes sense. Honestly,” you said with a sigh. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if me and Finn had been long distance.”

As soon as the words left your lips, you blinked. The statement hung before you in mid-air, forcing you to consider it for the first time.

This wasn’t something you’d allowed yourself to imagine before; what would’ve happened if you’d gone to a different school. Going to college so close to Finn had just seemed like a sign. You didn’t have the college break-up talk because you’d simply assumed you didn’t need to.

“Yeah.” Jimin sighed. “It’s hard, right? Everything is changing so quickly. You want things to stay the same, but isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? Change. Grow. I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Everyone keeps telling me change isn’t a bad thing.”

“Sure seems like it, sometimes,” you said softly.

Jimin nodded. After a moment, he reached out for the stereo. A familiar song filled his car and something uncertain unfurled in your stomach. You weren’t sure what you were even talking about anymore – change was a dangerous topic without Finn around.

When the chorus of the song kicked in, you smiled.

“I love this song,” you said, turning to Jimin. “I almost choreographed my solo to it senior year.”

“Really?” Jimin glanced at you in surprise. “Same.”

“No way!” you laughed. “Wow – that would’ve been awkward. Imagine if we’d both had the same solo.”

“It would’ve made us even more competitive.”

“Not possible.”

“You’re probably right.” Jimin smiled. “We were really at each other’s throats for a while, weren’t we?”

“Yeah, we were.”

Settling back in your seat, you couldn’t help but frown.

Something about this statement bothered you, although you couldn’t put a finger on what. Maybe it was what Jimin had said yesterday about your mutual competition pushing each other forward. Maybe it had something to do with that night in Danley Hall, when Jimin stopped by and said he loved watching you dance.

If you really stopped and thought about it, Jimin was the sole constant in your dancing career. Every year, at every dance competition, you’d make sure you were available to watch Jimin’s solo. You told yourself this was because he was your competition but really, you just loved watching him dance.

You could remember the cool air of the theatre as you snuck in, sinking into a plush, velvet chair and hoping you wouldn’t be seen. You’d loved watching Jimin near the front, close enough to see his facial expressions but not close enough to be seen from the stage.

If your solos were close to one another in timing, you tended to watch Jimin from the wings. This had been a different kind of intimacy, hidden behind the first leg while you watched him dance. Lights dim, you recalled Jimin’s silhouette while he would walk to center. The opening notes of his music would sound, and you’d stifle a shiver while you watched him, entranced.

As it turned out, Jimin had been watching your solos as well, but you hadn’t known this for some time. Not until he’d told you the other night.

Suddenly, you turned in your seat. “You know I think you’re talented, right?” you blurted. “There was a reason I was always trying to beat you.”

Jimin’s brows shot up so high, they nearly met his hairline.

“I – uh, no,” he said. “You’ve never said that to me before. In fact, you kind of said the opposite. You told me the only reason I won was because I’m a guy.”

Hearing your words thrown back in your face, heat began to creep up your neck.

“Listen, about that –”

“I’m kidding.” Jimin shot you a smile. “It’s fine, Y/N.”

“I – okay.”

“Look, I know men have an advantage in the dance world.” Returning his gaze to the road, Jimin’s smile disappeared. “I’m not dumb. I know we have higher centers of gravity, and all that. It’s just… you’re also talented, Y/N. People love to watch you dance, myself included. Don’t sell yourself short.”

Staring at him over the console, you felt oddly moved by this speech.

It was strange; many people in your life had called you talented. Your parents, your teachers and Finn, of course. Each of those compliments had meant something to you, but this one felt different. It felt different coming from Jimin – more important, somehow.

Maybe it was because you admired him most of all. The realization didn’t shock you as much as it probably should’ve.

“Thanks,” you said quietly.

Jimin nodded, continuing to scan the road. His car was clean, you realized as you glanced around. There were no water bottles on the floor, no napkins hastily stuffed into the glove compartment. The only sign of being lived-in was a keychain dangling over the dashboard; a small, plastic photo frame with two people inside.

“My parents,” Jimin explained, noticing where you looked.

“Oh,” you said, bending a bit closer. “They look nice.”

He laughed, unable to help it. “I’ve always thought so. My dad is the one who encouraged me to be a dancer, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Fondly, Jimin smiled. “He’s always loved music. When I was a baby, he loved to hold me and jump around the living room to songs on the radio. My mom has tons of videos of it.”

You smiled at the image. “That sounds adorable.”

“And embarrassing. My dad’s not that great a dancer.”

Without meaning to, you snorted.

Hearing this, Jimin’s smile widened. “When I started memorizing all the dances I saw on TV, my dad convinced my mom to put me in classes. Things kind of spiraled from there.”

“That’s nice,” you said, settling down in his seat. “My parents have always been my biggest supporters, too.”

Jimin nodded, about to respond but then a blast of AC hit you and you shivered. You’d nearly forgotten what you were wearing – or more accurately, what you weren’t wearing. The thin tank top you had on did little to hide the bare skin underneath.

Jimin’s gaze darted sideways. “Are you cold?” he asked, reaching out for the heat. “You can have my hoodie in the backseat, if you want.”

“Oh. No, that’s okay.” Hastily, you untied your cardigan from around your waist. “I have this,” you said, sliding both arms into the sleeves. “Completely forgot about it.”

Silently, Jimin nodded – and then his lips twitched.

“What?” you demanded.

“Nothing!” He shook his head, fighting to keep his face even. “It’s just… you wore a cardigan out to the club?”

Glancing down, you felt your cheeks begin to heat again. “Yes,” you said, somewhat defensive as you looked up. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing. It’s just, you know.” He paused. “My grandma has that sweater.”

“Well, your grandma sounds like a cool lady.”

“Without a doubt,” Jimin assured. “Not much of a clubber, though.”

Leaning your head to the window, you smiled. “That makes two of us then.”

You knew the city well enough by now to recognize you were only a few blocks from Grace Hall. Somehow, you found yourself not wanting the car ride to end. Talking to Jimin outside of dance practice was nice – even fun, you realized with some surprise.

It was a shame it’d taken you so long to recognize this.

“Seriously, though.” Jimin laughed. “Clubs can be a good time! There’s dancing, there’s music… rumor has it you like dancing.”

“Not that kind of dancing,” you sighed. “That kind of dancing is just a dry version of a lap dance for people who don’t know what to do with their hips.”

Jimin hid behind a smile. “Ouch, on behalf of your boyfriend.”

“Oh!” Straightening, you glanced at him in alarm. “That’s not – I didn’t mean…”

Stricken, you realized the obviousness of what you had said. Forget about your face heating, your entire body felt like an inferno. You had just told Jimin, in so many words, that Finn didn’t know what to do with his hips.

Jimin waved this admission aside. “Don’t worry about it, Y/N. I’ll forget what I heard the instant I get home. Up until tonight, I didn’t know the guy existed, right?”

“Right,” you agreed, settling back in your seat.

Rather than reassure you, this only gave you further pause.

It didn’t seem possible Jimin hadn’t known about Finn. Racking your brains, you tried to think of a time they would’ve crossed paths – only to come up short. Finn hadn’t ever stopped by the studio to pick you up, he hadn’t ever come to mutual hangouts with your Russet friends. Admittedly, Jimin had only recently started attending the same ones as you, but it still seemed unthinkable.

You and Finn had been dating for over two years. Finn’s name should have come up at some point and yet, it hadn’t.

Before you could respond, Jimin pulled to a stop outside your dorm. Glancing over the console, he smiled and again, you were struck by the image.

With his grey sweats, mussed hair and those glasses – you swallowed. It was a side of Jimin you hadn’t seen and something about the visual made your stomach lurch. Before you could launch into full-blown panic, Jimin raised a brow.

“Here you are,” he said with a grandiose wave. “Home sweet home.”

Glancing past him, you took in the steps of Grace Hall.

“Thanks,” you said, pushing open the door. Before exiting the car, you paused and looking over your shoulder. “Seriously, Jimin, thank you. I don’t know how I would’ve gotten home without you.”

In the darkness, you saw his expression soften.

“Anytime,” Jimin said.

You could tell he meant it. There was something to his gaze which made you nod. Jimin wasn’t the type to mince words or say things he didn’t mean. Just like when he said he loved your dancing, you knew Jimin was telling the truth. When he said anytime, he meant it.

Nodding, you resumed exiting the car. Waving goodbye, you stood on the curb until he was out of sight.

Once Jimin disappeared, you sighed and turned towards the building. Grace Hall was silent this late at night – it was nearly 2:00 AM and again, you were thankful Jimin had answered his phone. As you let yourself in and climbed the steps to your room, your thoughts began to race with all the what-ifs.

What-if Jimin hadn’t answered, what-if you’d had to walk home alone, or walk to find a cab. Pressing your eyes shut, you shooed these thoughts away. None of that had actually happened, so it wasn’t worth worrying about.

As soon as you got upstairs, you stepped in the shower – the stickiness of that girl’s drink continued to linger on your skin. After changing into fresh pajamas and brushing your teeth, you wearily climbed into bed. The last thing you did before falling asleep was call Finn again in case he’d returned home.

His phone went straight to voicemail though and, with a sinking stomach, you rolled over in bed and turned off the light.

After sleeping until the last possible moment, you managed to roll yourself out of bed around seven the next morning. This only left fifteen minutes before you needed to leave and even then, you felt like a zombie as you rushed out the door.

Grabbing coffee at the place down the street, you and Noelle entered class with barely ten minutes to spare. Jimin was already present but he was talking to Louis, so you stuck to your side and didn’t interrupt. You wanted to thank him again for his help, but all this flew out the window when a familiar woman followed Mr. Vlad into the classroom.

“Class.” Mr. Vlad set his things down by the window. “You remember Anna Hodelle, I presume – principal dancer at the New York City Ballet. She’s in town for a different master class and has graciously agreed to lead ballet this morning.”

The news was simultaneously exciting and nerve-wracking. Anna had taught a master class several weeks prior which left you sore for days following. Her classes were exciting though, and she was Anna Hodelle, one of the youngest principal dancers for the New York City Ballet in at least forty years – so there was that.

Her introduction didn’t require any response. Scrambling into place at the barre, the class waited while Anna shed her warm-ups and Mr. Vlad left the room. As soon as the music began, you found yourself grateful you hadn’t drunk the night prior.

Similar to her last master class, you found Miss Anna relentless in her pursuit of perfection. Her expectations were high and as a result, everyone gave their best effort – and then some. By the time you broke for water, no less than three students had already run for the bathroom.

It wasn’t pretty, but vomiting was something which happened with dance. Class could be such a grueling workout that occasionally, younger students pushed themselves past their limits. If you ate a big meal before practice, it was increasingly likely you might throw it up after.

You could count on two hands the number of times this had happened to you in high school. There had been some days you practiced so hard, sweat ran down your forehead and blinded your vision. On other days, the floor was so slippery, your bare feet couldn’t grasp the floorboards. Dance, despite being hailed for grace and glamour, tended to be exactly the opposite.

One of your teachers used to say you weren’t using your muscles if they weren’t shaking by the end. Ballerinas were seen as delicate, but this couldn’t be further from the truth. Ballet only looked effortless – this was a carefully cultivated image for the audience. At all times, all muscles in a ballerina’s body were engaged, yet even when sweat dripped down her brow, she had to smile.

You’d seen dancers finish their combination, give a sweeping bow, walk gracefully offstage and vomit into the nearest trash can. Everything was for show, everything was for the audience – one of your favorite parts about dance was knowing the brutal behind-the-scenes effort everything took. It made you appreciate the final product all the more.

By the end of class you were exhausted but happy, wiping sweat from your brow while you applauded the teacher. After Anna’s dismissal, you immediately exhaled and trudged towards your bag. Noelle chattered on about a TV show you were watching, reminding you to catch up before Monday.

As you picked up your bag, you felt its front pocket vibrate. Fishing inside for your phone, you pulled this out and felt your eyes widen.

Five missed calls and eight missed texts. Once you opened your phone, you saw they were all from Finn.

Finn: hey [8:18 AM]

Finn: Y/N, I’m so sorry [8:19 AM]

Finn: I don’t know if you’re ignoring me because you’re angry, or if you’re in class right now [8:25 AM]

Finn: you’re probably in class [8:30 AM]

Finn: if you’re not though, please call me back [8:31 AM]

Finn: fuck [9:01 AM]

Finn: I was such an ass last night, Y/N. I’m sorry [9:03 AM]

Finn: … please call me [9:35 AM]

With each text you read, you felt your heart sink. Up until this point, you’d gotten through class by pretending last night hadn’t happened. Now though, you were forced to remember every detail of the night prior.

Finn had left you at the club.

He’d stormed away from your fight, turned off his phone and left you alone. Each time you remembered the night, your fury only grew. This morning when you woke, you’d still been pissed off – even more so, when you turned on your phone and saw zero texts from Finn.

Had your roles been reversed, you never would’ve done the same to him. Sure, it had been a bad fight but who did that? Just took off in the middle of a conversation and shut everything down. The worst part was him turning off his phone. As soon as things didn’t go as planned, Finn simply washed his hands of you.

That was what hurt most of all, the shame burrowing deep into the crevices of your heart.

Beneath everything was a strange twinge of guilt at having called Jimin to pick you up. This was easily brushed aside, though – Finn had left you stranded. If anyone had a right to be mad here, it was you.

“Y/N? You okay?”

Noelle’s voice pulled you from your reverie. Blinking, you lowered your phone and realized you were alone. The rest of the room had cleared out after class – this probably wasn’t the first time Noelle had said your name.

“Shit, sorry!” Hastily, you shoved your phone in your bag. “Yeah… yeah, everything’s fine.”

Noelle gave you a look. “Really?”

After a moment, you sighed. “No,” you said, turning to walk towards the door. “Why pretend? It’s Finn.”

Following you from the classroom, Noelle fell into step alongside you.

“He’s not hurt, is he?” she said carefully.

“Unfortunately, not.”

Noelle snorted. “Okay, so he’s in the doghouse.”

“Yep.”

“Want to talk about it?”

At the top of the stairs, you paused. “Finn and I got in a fight last night,” you admitted. “He wanted to stay at the club, and I wanted to go home – so he told me to leave. I did, but then I realized I had no way to get there.”

Noelle’s mouth dropped. “Are you fucking kidding me? He just… left you there? Wow. The next time I see your ‘boyfriend,’ I’m going to – wait,” she said, pulling up short. “How did you get home, then?”

“I – uh, well… Jimin picked me up.”

Noelle stared at you a moment longer. “Huh. Didn’t expect that.”

“Neither did I,” you said, beginning to walk down the stairs. “Finn turned his cell phone off, so I couldn’t get ahold of him and by then, the trains stopped running. Uber was surging and Jimin is the only person I know with a car, so…”

“Ah, gotcha. That makes sense.” Noelle nodded. “Nice of him to come get you.”

“Yeah, it was nice. Anyways, Finn’s been texting me all morning.”

“Oh!” Noelle groaned. “That was your phone! I kept hearing something vibrating while I was waiting to go across the floor.”

“Yep, that was him,” you said glumly. “Apparently he’s sorry.”

“Of course, he is.”

“He said he was an ass last night.”

“Of course, he did.”

“… I’m still pissed at him.”

“Of course, you are!” Noelle cried, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “Listen, tell him you got home alright – not that he deserves that much, mind you – but you need some time to cool off. He can wait until you’re ready to talk, right?”

Nodding, you saw sense in what she was saying. “You’re right.”

Despite Noelle making sense though, part of you didn’t want to wait.

Part of you wanted to call Finn back right now and give him a piece of your mind, but you knew if you did that, things wouldn’t end well. He deserved to be cussed out, but you were completely exhausted. The idea of fighting with your boyfriend left you feeling drained.

Noelle was right – Finn could wait until you were ready to talk, whenever that was.

Pulling out your phone a second time, you texted Finn you were safe and that you’d talk when you were ready. Once he responded okay, you shoved your phone in your pocket.

Noelle looked sympathetically on. “Why don’t we have a girl’s night?” she said, arm back around your shoulder. “We can invite Irene and Ari and just watch dumb movies and eat brownie batter in fancy lingerie. You know, like every guy’s sleepover porn fantasy.”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed. “Sounds like a plan,” you said with a grin. “God, what would I do without you?”

“Be super bored, probably.”

You snorted, but the thought stuck in your mind as you left the building. It really would be awful without Noelle by your side. Without meaning to, your thoughts strayed to Sabrina. Aside from Katie and Allison, you had no idea who she hung out with.

It had to be lonely for someone like her. Russet was intense enough without a support system. You quickly pushed these feelings aside – even if Sabrina was lonely, she had no one to blame but herself. You’d offered the olive branch enough times by now to know when to stop.

“I guess only one question remains,” you said slowly.

Noelle glanced your way. “Oh, yeah? What?”

“How dumb are the dumb movies we’re watching? Like, From Justin to Kelly dumb – where it’s a guilty pleasure? Or, more like The Kissing Booth dumb – where things are just bad dumb.”

“Why choose?” Noelle shrugged. “Let’s do both!”

“Deal!”

As you climbed the steps to Grace Hall, you continued to ignore Finn’s texts in your bag. He could wait until tomorrow, at least. After what he put you through, a single night of not knowing what you were thinking seemed appropriate.

When you finally gave in and called Finn the next day, you weren’t sure what you were hoping for. Finn had already texted his apology, so at least he knew he’d been in the wrong. As to what degree he was aware, you didn’t know, but you got a fairly good idea once he picked up the phone.

Short answer: very wrong.

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” Finn blurted, as though afraid you might cut him off. “I was such an ass to you Friday night. I – I don’t even know what to say. I don’t even know where to start. I fucked up so bad, Y/N and I’m sorry.”

Silence followed this outburst as you frowned, leaning back on the bed.

Noelle had graciously left the room to study at the coffee shop on the corner. Secretly, you knew this was mostly to flirt with the barista, Namjoon, but you couldn’t begrudge her for that. Namjoon did have the most adorable dimples you’d ever seen.

Focusing your thoughts on Finn, you played with a stray thread of your sheets. “I mean… that’s a good start, I guess,” you muttered. “But what are you really sorry for, Finn?”

His sigh was soft. “Everything.”

“Specifics would be good.”

“I was drunk,” he exhaled. “That’s not an excuse, but… I honestly don’t remember everything that I said to you. I remember the gist of it though, and I know it was terrible. I know you didn’t deserve it.”

You remained silent, even though you agreed with him.

“I wanted to stay out,” he continued. “That doesn’t really matter, though. I was a dick. I was stubborn and angry, and I took that out on you. You’re the last person I would ever want to hurt, and I just… I left you. Something could’ve happened to you. God, if something had happened, Y/N…”

Finn trailed off and you heard his voice crack but forced yourself to stay silent. Hearing him break was hard, but you reminded yourself what you’d felt Friday night – all the anger and terror when he completely disappeared.

This memory hardened you enough not to melt at his apology.

“Yeah, well,” you said tightly. “You’re right – something could’ve happened. The trains weren’t running and Uber was crazy expensive. I couldn’t get back in the club. I ended up waiting outside for nearly twenty minutes before someone came to pick me up.”

“Fuck.” Finn sounded strangled. “Fuck… Y/N, I’m sorry…”

In your mind, you envisioned him shoving a hand through his hair. Finn did that when he was stressed or upset and right now, he sounded a little of both.

“Yeah.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Who picked you up?”

Immediately, you stiffened. “Do you seriously think you deserve an answer to that?”

“No, no, I – you’re right, it doesn’t matter. Thank them for me, okay?”

You remained silent and again, Finn sighed.

“Are you… are we going to be okay?”

It was a loaded question. Closing your eyes, you leaned your head to the wall. In all honesty, you didn’t know the answer to that.

On the one hand, you loved Finn. That hadn’t changed. On the other hand, it was becoming more and more apparent your problems weren’t going away. It would be foolish to pretend otherwise – but all couples had problems, didn’t they?

In the back of your mind, you couldn’t help but think a break-up should be more obvious than this. A break-up should be something big, something irreversible. You were beginning to wonder though, at what point were problems considered insurmountable. Everything about this seemed grey and right now, you really needed black and white answers.

Both your lives were changing, as Jimin had said. Freshman year was a cacophony of change; in order to succeed, you and Finn needed to learn to grow with each other. Hiccups were to be expected, bumps in the road were to be expected, but if you wanted to stay together, you needed to learn how to fight for this relationship.

“I think so,” you said, opening your eyes. “I think we’ll be okay. I just… Finn, you really hurt me that night.”

“I know.”

“It can’t happen again.”

“It won’t.”

“You know… I want to spend time with you, right?”

“I… do.”

He paused for longer than you would’ve liked, but you brushed past it. “I know you like going to clubs and all that,” you said. “But that’s not really me. Maybe next time we can do something different. Something a little more low-key.”

“Yeah.” Finn chuckled. “That sounds nice, honestly.”

“Good.”

“At least my friends really liked you.”

Taken aback, you snorted. “Oh, come on, Finn. I was barely there.”

“I’m being serious! Ben told me he thinks you’re funny.”

“Ben,” you groaned. “Has all the humor of a wet sock.”

Finn laughed and this time, it sounded like him. His laugh had been watery before, a restrained version but now, his true mirth broke free. As soon as the sound hit your ears, you began to relax. Truthfully, you hadn’t been sure things would be okay until then. Hearing him laugh, you knew Finn meant it. He wanted this, too.

“You’re right,” he agreed. “Ben sucks, but at least he has the taste to know that you don’t. Next time, we’ll do something more fun.”

“Next time,” you agreed.

“Next time.”

Despite your conversation having gone as well as it possibly could’ve, uncertainty continued to linger in the back of your mind.

You spent Sunday evening watching TV, but still slept restlessly before your class the next morning. Mr. Vlad’s ballet was definitely not one you wanted to arrive at ill-rested, but Monday you showed up with bags under your eyes.

You tried to push all negative thoughts from mind while warming up at the barre. By the time class broke for water, you were feeling marginally better. Ballet was soothing that way. The repetitiveness of barre helped to put things in perspective. Your ankle had almost completely healed by this point and now, two weeks after the fall, your technique had finally begun to improve.

No longer were you the last one to catch onto combinations and Mr. Vlad only yelled once about your turnout at barre. This was a marked improvement from the start of the year and although you still were far from the top, you felt relatively good about your standing. You had a feeling once you and Jimin began to practice, the moves would come even easier.

The first combination at center was a slow adagio. It wasn’t particularly difficult aside from a lift in the middle, but despite the familiarity of the moves, Jimin was being oddly hesitant.

Mr. Vlad showed the combination with his dance assistant, Mina. After they demonstrated a particularly difficult lift, they gave everyone time to practice – which, in your and Jimin’s case, turned out to be necessary.

“Ladies, pique to arabesque!” Mr. Vlad called from the front. “Lift your leg higher and – the man lifts! He walks you in a promenade. Then you’re lowered, exhale – and bourrée!”

Brian immediately raised his hand for help, so Mr. Vlad left to assist in his corner. The lift was proving itself to be tricky – it required most of your weight balanced against Jimin’s side while he gripped your thigh, lifting you up.

You and Jimin began to practice, but no matter what you did, nothing seemed to be working. After the fourth failed attempt where Jimin nearly dropped you on your ass, you shakily landed and whirled around.

“Alright,” you said, both hands on your hips. “What’s going on?”

Jimin’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, how’re you supposed to lift me if you’re barely touching me? Look at Sabrina and Paulo!” you said, gesturing in their direction. “He’s got his whole fucking hand under her leg!”

Jimin’s cheeks turned red. “I – uh, right. Yeah. Let’s try it again.”

Staring at him another moment, you nodded and returned to your spot. Jimin settled into fifth position, jaw clenched and looking as though he were in pain. You stared at him in the mirror, considering calling him out before thinking better of it.

Taking a deep breath, you piqued into arabesque. Leaning your weight to Jimin, he reached again for your thigh – only to falter, leaving you hanging.

“Jimin!” you half-laughed as you slipped down his leg.

“I’m sorry!” Jimin blurted, stepping away. Looking thoroughly distraught, he shoved both hands through his hair. “It’s just… well, I…”

“It’s just what?”

“You have a boyfriend,” he said, a bit pained.

In response to this, both your eyebrows shot up. That had not been the answer you’d expected.

“I… okay?” you said, failing to grasp the point. “So what?”

“So.” Jimin glanced furtively around. “I don’t know, it’s just weird! I don’t want to… overstep my boundaries, or anything.”

“But…” You stared. “I had a boyfriend last week and it wasn’t a problem.”

“Okay, but last week I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

Again, you looked at him as though he was crazy.

“This is stupid,” you said, stepping closer. “Ballet is our job, Jimin. It’s the least sexy occupation on the planet. Right now, I’m bleeding from three different blisters inside my pointe shoes. I’m sure my deodorant has long worn off by now. Would you just fucking get over yourself and grab my thigh?”

Jimin’s upper lip twitched. “Well. When you put it like that.”

“I am putting it like that,” you said with a grin. “Now, let’s go again.”

Nodding, Jimin followed when you walked backwards. Taking another deep breath, you piqued to arabesque and this time, Jimin didn’t flinch when your weight transitioned to his. Hand sliding beneath your thigh, he lifted you easily into a promenade.

As soon as you turned your head, you caught Jimin’s gaze and felt – something.

Something other than the white noise of the room. Something other than the thud-thud of your heart, other than the music on the stereo and Mr. Vlad yelling counts from the corner.

Despite what you had just finished saying, something unknown seemed to bloom in your chest. In the middle of the lift – blood blisters and all – you felt an errant spark where Jimin’s front pressed to yours.

You barely had time to recognize this before the moment was gone. Slowing his walk, Jimin set you back down – and you wobbled.

This time it had nothing to do with his technique.

“Ah, shit.” Jimin frowned. “That’s my bad – I can do better! Let’s try it again.”

Nodding, you felt a bit wooden as you followed in his footsteps. When Mr. Vlad started the music, you fought the surging tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm. It had been nothing, you told yourself. Nothing of importance, anyways.

Shoving whatever you’d felt in a box, you pushed this to a corner of your mind and firmly shut the door. Forcing a smile to your lips, you lifted your chin as you began the combination.

It was lucky everyone else found you a talented performer, since beneath all your smiling, all you could think about was what was hidden in the box.

Something unknown, something tentative – and something which could be dangerous, if it ever came to light.

Author’s Note: I was so close to re-writing this chapter with Mr. Vlad picking her up LOL just kidding, but thank you for reading! 😊 New chapters of Raise the Barre are posted weekly; dates are listed on the series Master List. Requests for updates will be deleted.

RAISE THE BARRE MASTERLIST

#bangtanarmynet #btsbookclub #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #jimin writing #bts writing #jimin au #jimin series #bts au #bts series #jimin dance au #bts dance au #jimin e2l #bts e2l

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ezgithechaotic · 3 years

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The Parent Trap | Chapter Six; to love someone else

pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

AU: The Parent Trap, dad!harry

series summary: Identical twins Benjamin and Edward, separated at birth and each raised by one of their biological parents, later discover each other for the first time at summer camp and make a plan to bring their wayward parents back together.

chapter summary; There are so many thing to say, but so little time for Harry and Y\N.

author note; well hello there, ı’m back. It’s been really long and I’m so soryy about it. But I guess you guys are used to it. I will try to write the next chapter soon! Don’t be shy to send me a message if you would like to talk and be friends. I don’t bite, I promise!

I’m sorry in advance if I have any fault. English is not my first language. My askbox is always open if you want to talk. Please leave a comment about what you think, love you.

Taglist is open. Please send me an ask or comment if you want to be tagged! (22\30)

The Parent Trap Masterlist, main masterlist

Life had a funny way of bringing people together, and it had no interest in their desires. Sitting on one of the blue couches, a coffee in her hand, the only thing Y\N wanted to do was run away and never look back. But she wasn't eighteen anymore; she had learned that running from your problems only circled you back to them. So, she did what every reasonable person would do, stayed put. But now, seeing her hand shaking while holding the silver spoon, Y\N was questioning every decision she ever made that brought her to this point.

So much for getting over him Y\N, well done.

"You look good."

The moment words left his mouth Harry cursed himself silently. You look good. Of course, she did. Is that what he all had? After almost nine years, Y\N still made him tongue-tied. He wasn't the Harry who stood in front of thousands of people to perform; he was a boy again, and he hated it. He was eighteen again, seeing his producer's sister and thinking, maybe he is capable of love. Despite feeling like it was yesterday, Harry wasn't eighteen anymore. He didn't have the opportunities to be stupid and in love. It had been a long time since Harry had lost that chance. Wishing he could say sorry and explain anything wasn't going to solve anything, and it surely wasn't going to bring him his old Y\N, who was naive enough to fall in love with a worldwide star. She knew better now. So, maybe the only thing he could come up with was you look good.

Even though a moment of sadness passed her face, Y\N was quick to pull herself together. She put a kind smile on her face, the way she did when one of her customers made her feel tired, but she still had to keep going. Harry had seen that smile before when he told her he had to cancel one of their dates, again or when he told her that they couldn't be seen together in public.

"You look good too."

There it was again, her velvet-like voice. Y\N had always amazed Harry; she could be kind to everyone no matter what, even when the person across her was the reason for her broken heart. Neither of them dared to ask about their sons and each other. How would you ask about someone you chose to leave behind?

"Can I..." Y\N could feel her anxiety riling up. She took a deep breath and tried sitting more straight. "How is he?"

Harry's heart almost skipped a beat. He couldn't decide if he was stupid to send him away. Would it be less awkward if Benjamin was there, or would it be a dread to explain to him why his mother was standing in the middle of their guest room?

"Look, I know we had an agreement." Y\N sighed. Harry didn't realize how much time it took him to come up with an answer until she spoke. "I only want to know how he is."

"He's... Well, he's good."

Harry apparently lost his ability to form any good sentences that day, but it looked like he was talking to a brick wall. Y\N left her cup on the coffee table, now leaning and resting her elbows on her knees.

"I feel like I'm doing a terrible job." Eyes fixed on the ground and watery, head between her hands, Harry couldn't remember the last time he had seen Y\N so vulnerable. "Edward is the sweetest boy, I swear. He's the perfect kid any parent could ask for. And I feel like I'm the worst mother for tearing him apart from his brother, for not giving him the life he deserves. And the only thing I can think of is would he be happier if he were with you." She was up suddenly, pacing around the room.

"And how much I missed from Benjamin's life. Will, he ever know me, or Edward ever know you? Will they ever know each other? Will they ever forgive us for what we did?" She stopped, looking at Harry. She couldn't remember how long it had been since she looked into his green eyes. She wanted to keep going. Scream, shout, cry. But she stood there, looking at him, waiting like he could give her an answer.

Will I ever forgive myself for letting you go?

Y\N wanted to keep asking, but there was no point. She stopped a tear before it could reach her jaw, quickly. "God, I don't know how long I've been holding that in."

Harry was dying to apologize, to ask if she was missing him as much as he was missing her. He was dying to fall at her feet and beg for forgiveness. Instead, he sat there, like an idiot.

"We were young, Y\N. We did what we thought was best. Wrong or right, there is no undoing it right now."

Hearing her name roll off his sweet mouth woke something inside Y\N. She had so many things she wanted to say but didn't know where to begin. Her mouth was frantically opening and closing back again, but nothing came out.

Sarah and Mitch were just outside the room, trying to listen to the conversation. "I swear he's so stupid," Mitch whispered. "Just say something!"

"Hey, be quiet. I'm trying to listen."

Before Mitch could say anything, he heard key sounds coming from the front door. He quickly turned to Sarah. "Camille wasn't visiting today, right?" He was praying that it wasn't Camille, but there wasn't anyone outside them who had keys to Harry's house.

"Shit."

"I know you're a great mother, Y\N; I know that. And I know we did wrong things, but that doesn't mean you're failing."

"I feel like I am." Y\N was still standing there, her fingers fidgeting with her white shirt. She wanted to yell, how could he possibly know what kind of mother she was? He was never there. Harry stood up with a purpose to walk to Y\N and maybe to hold her. But his actions stopped when the door to the guest room opened.

And there she was, Camille Rowe with all her glory. Blonde hair sitting on her shoulders, red-colored lips, and long lashes, she looked like she came straight from a runway. And Y\N tried with all her might, but she couldn't hate her. Even though her pants were horrible, even though she always used her beauty to get away with her cruelty. And, true, the diamond ring sitting on her finger was no help, but still, she had no hate for her. It wasn't Camille's fault that she was at his feet, basically asking Harry to fix everything because she was too vulnerable.

How Y\N wished she could love somebody else that wasn't Harry. She wished she could move on as he did. But it was stuck, her whole life was stuck since he left her without any explanation. Sometimes she would feel so ready to love someone else, to find anybody willing to take her this broken. She tried so hard, lying to herself, making everyone believe she got over him. She didn't listen to any of his songs, watch anything that could be related to him. She was running away for the last nine years, not once stopping and looking back. Well, look where it brought her to now, sitting in the same room with him and his fiancee, who had no idea how much history they had.

"I honestly love everything piece you do." Did she? Y\N couldn't tell if Camille knew everything or not. But if she did, she was a damn good actress. And Y\N was terrified of what could come after this if she didn't leave that house right now. "I would love it if you worked on my wedding dress."

Y\N's whole world was upside down at that moment. Her hair on her neck stood on end. Her whole body was shivering; she didn't know if it was rage or hurt. Still, the smile came up again.

"I'm afraid I'm too busy with my new collection."

"Well, I will have to find someone else, I guess." Camille laughed, her hand sneaking up Harry's leg. Y\N was burning, her blood felt like it was boiling inside her veins. She needed to get out of there, quick. "But I'm so glad Harry could reach somebody. He had been looking for that cardigan for days, now. I thought he was going crazy." She laughed again, unlike everyone else in the room but, apparently she didn't care.

"It was no problem, honestly. Jonathan is a dear friend of mine; I was just doing a favor." Y\N couldn't believe how calm she sounded. Maybe she should have chosen to be an actress.

"I'm sure you're very busy, but we would love to see you at the wedding. Right, honey?" Camille turned to Harry, waiting for his approval. Harry quickly nodded as if he was waiting to agree to everything she was saying. "Of course."

"I'll have to see, I guess." Y\N didn't know how much longer she could pretend like everything bathed in sunlight. So, she got up, ignoring the shaking in her legs. "I should go, my team is probably waiting for me."

"It was lovely to meet you." Camille held her hand out. Her grasp was hard like she was telling Y\N to start running and never look back again. Still, Y\N stood her ground, firmly taking her handshake and smiling. Her eyes meet Harry's for a second. There were so many things she wanted to say, but she didn't think anything that she could say would turn this around. So, she lied instead.

"Congratulation on the engagement. You two make a lovely couple."

Y\N couldn't believe she could lie so effortlessly, without any trembling in her voice. Still, shaking Camille's warm hand and seeing her next to Harry with a diamond on her hand made her want to get in her car and run away to somewhere very far away that she could throw up. So, she did that.

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innuendostudios · 3 years

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Thoughts on: Criterion's Neo-Noir Collection

I have written up all 26 films* in the Criterion Channel's Neo-Noir Collection.

Legend: rw - rewatch; a movie I had seen before going through the collection dnrw - did not rewatch; if a movie met two criteria (a. I had seen it within the last 18 months, b. I actively dislike it) I wrote it up from memory.

* in September, Brick leaves the Criterion Channel and is replaced in the collection with Michael Mann's Thief. May add it to the list when that happens.

Note: These are very "what was on my mind after watching." No effort has been made to avoid spoilers, nor to make the plot clear for anyone who hasn't seen the movies in question. Decide for yourself if that's interesting to you.

Cotton Comes to Harlem I feel utterly unequipped to asses this movie. This and Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song the following year are regularly cited as the progenitors of the blaxploitation genre. (This is arguably unfair, since both were made by Black men and dealt much more substantively with race than the white-directed films that followed them.) Its heroes are a couple of Black cops who are treated with suspicion both by their white colleagues and by the Black community they're meant to police. I'm not 100% clear on whether they're the good guys? I mean, I think they are. But the community's suspicion of them seems, I dunno... well-founded? They are working for The Man. And there's interesting discussion to the had there - is the the problem that the law is carried out by racists, or is the law itself racist? Can Black cops make anything better? But it feels like the film stacks the deck in Gravedigger and Coffin Ed's favor; the local Black church is run by a conman, the Back-to-Africa movement is, itself, a con, and the local Black Power movement is treated as an obstacle. Black cops really are the only force for justice here. Movie portrays Harlem itself as a warm, thriving, cultured community, but the people that make up that community are disloyal and easily fooled. Felt, to me, like the message was "just because they're cops doesn't mean they don't have Black soul," which, nowadays, we would call copaganda. But, then, do I know what I'm talking about? Do I know how much this played into or off of or against stereotypes from 1970? Was this a radical departure I don't have the context to appreciate? Is there substance I'm too white and too many decades removed to pick up on? Am I wildly overthinking this? I dunno. Seems like everyone involved was having a lot of fun, at least. That bit is contagious.

Across 110th Street And here's the other side of the "race film" equation. Another movie set in Harlem with a Black cop pulled between the police, the criminals, and the public, but this time the film is made by white people. I like it both more and less. Pro: this time the difficult position of Black cop who's treated with suspicion by both white cops and Black Harlemites is interrogated. Con: the Black cop has basically no personality other than "honest cop." Pro: the racism of the police force is explicit and systemic, as opposed to comically ineffectual. Con: the movie is shaped around a racist white cop who beats the shit out of Black people but slowly forms a bond with his Black partner. Pro: the Black criminal at the heart of the movie talks openly about how the white world has stacked the deck against him, and he's soulful and relateable. Con: so of course he dies in the end, because the only way privileged people know to sympathetize with minorities is to make them tragic (see also: The Boys in the Band, Philadelphia, and Brokeback Mountain for gay men). Additional con: this time Harlem is portrayed as a hellhole. Barely any of the community is even seen. At least the shot at the end, where the criminal realizes he's going to die and throws the bag of money off a roof and into a playground so the Black kids can pick it up before the cops reclaim it was powerful. But overall... yech. Cotton Comes to Harlem felt like it wasn't for me; this feels like it was 100% for me and I respect it less for that.

The Long Goodbye (rw) The shaggiest dog. Like much Altman, more compelling than good, but very compelling. Raymond Chandler's story is now set in the 1970's, but Philip Marlowe is the same Philip Marlowe of the 1930's. I get the sense there was always something inherently sad about Marlowe. Classic noir always portrayed its detectives as strong-willed men living on the border between the straightlaced world and its seedy underbelly, crossing back and forth freely but belonging to neither. But Chandler stresses the loneliness of it - or, at least, the people who've adapted Chandler do. Marlowe is a decent man in an indecent world, sorting things out, refusing to profit from misery, but unable to set anything truly right. Being a man out of step is here literalized by putting him forty years from the era where he belongs. His hardboiled internal monologue is now the incessant mutterings of the weird guy across the street who never stops smoking. Like I said: compelling! Kael's observation was spot on: everyone in the movie knows more about the mystery than he does, but he's the only one who cares. The mystery is pretty threadbare - Marlowe doesn't detect so much as end up in places and have people explain things to him. But I've seen it two or three times now, and it does linger.

Chinatown (rw) I confess I've always been impressed by Chinatown more than I've liked it. Its story structure is impeccable, its atmosphere is gorgeous, its noirish fatalism is raw and real, its deconstruction of the noir hero is well-observed, and it's full of clever detective tricks (the pocket watches, the tail light, the ruler). I've just never connected with it. Maybe it's a little too perfectly crafted. (I feel similar about Miller's Crossing.) And I've always been ambivalent about the ending. In Towne's original ending, Evelyn shoots Noah Cross dead and get arrested, and neither she nor Jake can tell the truth of why she did it, so she goes to jail for murder and her daughter is in the wind. Polansky proposed the ending that exists now, where Evelyn just dies, Cross wins, and Jake walks away devastated. It communicates the same thing: Jake's attempt to get smart and play all the sides off each other instead of just helping Evelyn escape blows up in his face at the expense of the woman he cares about and any sense of real justice. And it does this more dramatically and efficiently than Towne's original ending. But it also treats Evelyn as narratively disposable, and hands the daughter over to the man who raped Evelyn and murdered her husband. It makes the women suffer more to punch up the ending. But can I honestly say that Towne's ending is the better one? It is thematically equal, dramatically inferior, but would distract me less. Not sure what the calculus comes out to there. Maybe there should be a third option. Anyway! A perfect little contraption. Belongs under a glass dome.

Night Moves (rw) Ah yeah, the good shit. This is my quintessential 70's noir. This is three movies in a row about detectives. Thing is, the classic era wasn't as chockablock with hardboiled detectives as we think; most of those movies starred criminals, cops, and boring dudes seduced to the darkness by a pair of legs. Gumshoes just left the strongest impressions. (The genre is said to begin with Maltese Falcon and end with Touch of Evil, after all.) So when the post-Code 70's decided to pick the genre back up while picking it apart, it makes sense that they went for the 'tecs first. The Long Goodbye dragged the 30's detective into the 70's, and Chinatown went back to the 30's with a 70's sensibility. But Night Moves was about detecting in the Watergate era, and how that changed the archetype. Harry Moseby is the detective so obsessed with finding the truth that he might just ruin his life looking for it, like the straight story will somehow fix everything that's broken, like it'll bring back a murdered teenager and repair his marriage and give him a reason to forgive the woman who fucked him just to distract him from some smuggling. When he's got time to kill, he takes out a little, magnetic chess set and recreates a famous old game, where three knight moves (get it?) would have led to a beautiful checkmate had the player just seen it. He keeps going, self-destructing, because he can't stand the idea that the perfect move is there if he can just find it. And, no matter how much we see it destroy him, we, the audience, want him to keep going; we expect a satisfying resolution to the mystery. That's what we need from a detective picture; one character flat-out compares Harry to Sam Spade. But what if the truth is just... Watergate? Just some prick ruining things for selfish reasons? Nothing grand, nothing satisfying. Nothing could be more noir, or more neo-, than that.

Farewell, My Lovely Sometimes the only thing that makes a noir neo- is that it's in color and all the blood, tits, and racism from the books they're based on get put back in. This second stab at Chandler is competant but not much more than that. Mitchum works as Philip Marlowe, but Chandler's dialogue feels off here, like lines that worked on the page don't work aloud, even though they did when Bogie said them. I'll chalk it up to workmanlike but uninspired direction. (Dang this looks bland so soon after Chinatown.) Moose Malloy is a great character, and perfectly cast. (Wasn't sure at first, but it's true.) Some other interesting cats show up and vanish - the tough brothel madam based on Brenda Allen comes to mind, though she's treated with oddly more disdain than most of the other hoods and is dispatched quicker. In general, the more overt racism and misogyny doesn't seem to do anything except make the movie "edgier" than earlier attempts at the same material, and it reads kinda try-hard. But it mostly holds together. *shrug*

The Killing of a Chinese Bookie (dnrw) Didn't care for this at all. Can't tell if the script was treated as a jumping-off point or if the dialogue is 100% improvised, but it just drags on forever and is never that interesting. Keeps treating us to scenes from the strip club like they're the opera scenes in Amadeus, and, whatever, I don't expect burlesque to be Mozart, but Cosmo keeps saying they're an artful, classy joint, and I keep waiting for the show to be more than cheap, lazy camp. How do you make gratuitious nudity boring? Mind you, none of this is bad as a rule - I love digressions and can enjoy good sleaze, and it's clear the filmmakers care about what they're making. They just did not sell it in a way I wanted to buy. Can't remember what edit I watched; I hope it was the 135 minute one, because I cannot imagine there being a longer edit out there.

The American Friend (dnrw) It's weird that this is Patricia Highsmith, right? That Dennis Hopper is playing Tom Ripley? In a cowboy hat? I gather that Minghella's version wasn't true to the source, but I do love that movie, and this is a long, long way from that. This Mr. Ripley isn't even particularly talented! Anyway, this has one really great sequence, where a regular guy has been coerced by crooks into murdering someone on a train platform, and, when the moment comes to shoot, he doesn't. And what follows is a prolonged sequence of an amateur trying to surreptitiously tail a guy across a train station and onto another train, and all the while you're not sure... is he going to do it? is he going to chicken out? is he going to do it so badly he gets caught? It's hard not to put yourself in the protagonist's shoes, wondering how you would handle the situation, whether you could do it, whether you could act on impulse before your conscience could catch up with you. It drags on a long while and this time it's a good thing. Didn't much like the rest of the movie, it's shapeless and often kind of corny, and the central plot hook is contrived. (It's also very weird that this is the only Wim Wenders I've seen.) But, hey, I got one excellent sequence, not gonna complain.

The Big Sleep Unlike the 1946 film, I can follow the plot of this Big Sleep. But, also unlike the 1946 version, this one isn't any damn fun. Mitchum is back as Marlowe (this is three Marlowes in five years, btw), and this time it's set in the 70's and in England, for some reason. I don't find this offensive, but neither do I see what it accomplishes? Most of the cast is still American. (Hi Jimmy!) Still holds together, but even less well than Farewell, My Lovely. But I do find it interesting that the neo-noir era keeps returning to Chandler while it's pretty much left Hammet behind (inasmuch as someone whose genes are spread wide through the whole genre can be left behind). Spade and the Continental Op, straightshooting tough guys who come out on top in the end, seem antiquated in the (post-)modern era. But Marlowe's goodness being out of sync with the world around him only seems more poignant the further you take him from his own time. Nowadays you can really only do Hammett as pastiche, but I sense that you could still play Chandler straight.

Eyes of Laura Mars The most De Palma movie I've seen not made by De Palma, complete with POV shots, paranormal hoodoo, and fixation with sex, death, and whether images of such are art or exploitation (or both). Laura Mars takes photographs of naked women in violent tableux, and has gotten quite famous doing so, but is it damaging to women? The movie has more than a superficial engagement with this topic, but only slightly more than superficial. Kept imagining a movie that is about 30% less serial killer story and 30% more art conversations. (But, then, I have an art degree and have never murdered anyone, so.) Like, museums are full of Biblical paintings full of nude women and slaughter, sometimes both at once, and they're called masterpieces. Most all of them were painted by men on commission from other men. Now Laura Mars makes similar images in modern trappings, and has models made of flesh and blood rather than paint, and it's scandalous? Why is it only controversial once women are getting paid for it? On the other hand, is this just the master's tools? Is she subverting or challenging the male gaze, or just profiting off of it? Or is a woman profiting off of it, itself, a subversion? Is it subversive enough to account for how it commodifies female bodies? These questions are pretty clearly relevant to the movie itself, and the movies in general, especially after the fall of the Hays Code when people were really unrestrained with the blood and boobies. And, heck, the lead is played by the star of Bonnie and Clyde! All this is to say: I wish the movie were as interested in these questions as I am. What's there is a mildly diverting B-picture. There's one great bit where Laura's seeing through the killer's eyes (that's the hook, she gets visions from the murderer's POV; no, this is never explained) and he's RIGHT BEHIND HER, so there's a chase where she charges across an empty room only able to see her own fleeing self from ten feet behind. That was pretty great! And her first kiss with the detective (because you could see a mile away that the detective and the woman he's supposed to protect are gonna fall in love) is immediately followed by the two freaking out about how nonsensical it is for them to fall in love with each other, because she's literally mourning multiple deaths and he's being wildly unprofessional, and then they go back to making out. That bit was great, too. The rest... enh.

The Onion Field What starts off as a seemingly not-that-noirish cops-vs-crooks procedural turns into an agonizingly protracted look at the legal system, with the ultimate argument that the very idea of the law ever resulting in justice is a lie. Hoo! I have to say, I'm impressed. There's a scene where a lawyer - whom I'm not sure is even named, he's like the seventh of thirteen we've met - literally quits the law over how long this court case about two guys shooting a cop has taken. He says the cop who was murdered has been forgotten, his partner has never gotten to move on because the case has lasted eight years, nothing has been accomplished, and they should let the two criminals walk and jail all the judges and lawyers instead. It's awesome! The script is loaded with digressions and unnecessary details, just the way I like it. Can't say I'm impressed with the execution. Nothing is wrong, exactly, but the performances all seem a tad melodramatic or a tad uninspired. Camerawork is, again, purely functional. It's no masterpiece. But that second half worked for me. (And it's Ted Danson's first movie! He did great.)

Body Heat (rw) Let's say up front that this is a handsomely-made movie. Probably the best looking thing on the list since Night Moves. Nothing I've seen better captures the swelter of an East Coast heatwave, or the lusty feeling of being too hot to bang and going at it regardless. Kathleen Turner sells the hell out of a femme fatale. There are a lot of good lines and good performances (Ted Danson is back and having the time of his life). I want to get all that out of the way, because this is a movie heavily modeled after Double Indemnity, and I wanted to discuss its merits before I get into why inviting that comparison doesn't help the movie out. In a lot of ways, it's the same rules as the Robert Mitchum Marlowe movies - do Double Indemnity but amp up the sex and violence. And, to a degree it works. (At least, the sex does, dunno that Double Indemnity was crying out for explosions.) But the plot is amped as well, and gets downright silly. Yeah, Mrs. Dietrichson seduces Walter Neff so he'll off her husband, but Neff clocks that pretty early and goes along with it anyway. Everything beyond that is two people keeping too big a secret and slowly turning on each other. But here? For the twists to work Matty has to be, from frame one, playing four-dimensional chess on the order of Senator Palpatine, and its about as plausible. (Exactly how did she know, after she rebuffed Ned, he would figure out her local bar and go looking for her at the exact hour she was there?) It's already kind of weird to be using the spider woman trope in 1981, but to make her MORE sexually conniving and mercenary than she was in the 40's is... not great. As lurid trash, it's pretty fun for a while, but some noir stuff can't just be updated, it needs to be subverted or it doesn't justify its existence.

Blow Out Brian De Palma has two categories of movie: he's got his mainstream, director-for-hire fare, where his voice is either reigned in or indulged in isolated sequences that don't always jive with the rest fo the film, and then there's his Brian De Palma movies. My mistake, it seems, is having seen several for-hires from throughout his career - The Untouchables (fine enough), Carlito's Way (ditto, but less), Mission: Impossible (enh) - but had only seen De Palma-ass movies from his late period (Femme Fatale and The Black Dahlia, both of which I think are garbage). All this to say: Blow Out was my first classic-era De Palma, and holy fucking shit dudes. This was (with caveats) my absolute and entire jam. I said I could enjoy good sleaze, and this is good friggin' sleaze. (Though far short of De Palma at his sleaziest, mercifully.) The splitscreens, the diopter shots, the canted angles, how does he make so many shlocky things work?! John Travolta's sound tech goes out to get fresh wind fx for the movie he's working on, and we get this wonderful sequence of visuals following sounds as he turns his attention and his microphone to various noises - a couple on a walk, a frog, an owl, a buzzing street lamp. Later, as he listens back to the footage, the same sequence plays again, but this time from his POV; we're seeing his memory as guided by the same sequence of sounds, now recreated with different shots, as he moves his pencil in the air mimicking the microphone. When he mixes and edits sounds, we hear the literal soundtrack of the movie we are watching get mixed and edited by the person on screen. And as he tries to unravel a murder mystery, he uses what's at hand: magnetic tape, flatbed editors, an animation camera to turn still photos from the crime scene into a film and sync it with the audio he recorded; it's forensics using only the tools of the editing room. As someone who's spent some time in college editing rooms, this is a hoot and a half. Loses a bit of steam as it goes on and the film nerd stuff gives way to a more traditional thriller, but rallies for a sound-tech-centered final setpiece, which steadily builds to such madcap heights you can feel the air thinning, before oddly cutting its own tension and then trying to build it back up again. It doesn't work as well the second time. But then, that shot right after the climax? Damn. Conflicted on how the movie treats the female lead. I get why feminist film theorists are so divided on De Palma. His stuff is full of things feminists (rightly) criticize, full of women getting naked when they're not getting stabbed, but he also clearly finds women fascinating and has them do empowered and unexpected things, and there are many feminist reads of his movies. Call it a mixed bag. But even when he's doing tropey shit, he explores the tropes in unexpected ways. Definitely the best movie so far that I hadn't already seen.

Cutter's Way (rw) Alex Cutter is pitched to us as an obnoxious-but-sympathetic son of a bitch, and, you know, two out of three ain't bad. Watched this during my 2020 neo-noir kick and considered skipping it this time because I really didn't enjoy it. Found it a little more compelling this go around, while being reminded of why my feelings were room temp before. Thematically, I'm onboard: it's about a guy, Cutter, getting it in his head that he's found a murderer and needs to bring him to justice, and his friend, Bone, who intermittently helps him because he feels bad that Cutter lost his arm, leg, and eye in Nam and he also feels guilty for being in love with Cutter's wife. The question of whether the guy they're trying to bring down actually did it is intentionally undefined, and arguably unimportant; they've got personal reasons to see this through. Postmodern and noirish, fixated with the inability to ever fully know the truth of anything, but starring people so broken by society that they're desperate for certainty. (Pretty obvious parallels to Vietnam.) Cutter's a drunk and kind of an asshole, but understandably so. Bone's shiftlessness is the other response to a lack of meaning in the world, to the point where making a decision, any decision, feels like character growth, even if it's maybe killing a guy whose guilt is entirely theoretical. So, yeah, I'm down with all of this! A- in outline form. It's just that Cutter is so uninterestingly unpleasant and no one else on screen is compelling enough to make up for it. His drunken windups are tedious and his sanctimonious speeches about what the war was like are, well, true and accurate but also obviously manipulative. It's two hours with two miserable people, and I think Cutter's constant chatter is supposed to be the comic relief but it's a little too accurate to drunken rambling, which isn't funny if you're not also drunk. He's just tedious, irritating, and periodically racist. Pass.

Blood Simple (rw) I'm pretty cool on the Coens - there are things I've liked, even loved, in every Coen film I've seen, but I always come away dissatisfied. For a while, I kept going to their movies because I was sure eventually I'd love one without qualification. No Country for Old Men came close, the first two acts being master classes in sustained tension. But then the third act is all about denying closure: the protagonist is murdered offscreen, the villain's motives are never explained, and it ends with an existentialist speech about the unfathomable cruelty of the world. And it just doesn't land for me. The archness of the Coen's dialogue, the fussiness of their set design, the kinda-intimate, kinda-awkward, kinda-funny closeness of the camera's singles, it cannot sell me on a devastating meditation about meaninglessness. It's only ever sold me on the Coens' own cleverness. And that archness, that distancing, has typified every one of their movies I've come close to loving. Which is a long-ass preamble to saying, holy heck, I was not prepared for their very first movie to be the one I'd been looking for! I watched it last year and it remains true on rewatch: Blood Simple works like gangbusters. It's kind of Double Indemnity (again) but played as a comedy of errors, minus the comedy: two people romantically involved feeling their trust unravel after a murder. And I think the first thing that works for me is that utter lack of comedy. It's loaded with the Coens' trademark ironies - mostly dramatic in this case - but it's all played straight. Unlike the usual lead/femme fatale relationship, where distrust brews as the movie goes on, the audience knows the two main characters can trust each other. There are no secret duplicitous motives waiting to be revealed. The audience also know why they don't trust each other. (And it's all communicated wordlessly, btw: a character enters a scene and we know, based on the information that character has, how it looks to them and what suspicions it would arouse, even as we know the truth of it). The second thing that works is, weirdly, that the characters aren't very interesting?! Ray and Abby have almost no characterization. Outside of a general likability, they are blank slates. This is a weakness in most films, but, given the agonizingly long, wordless sequences where they dispose of bodies or hide from gunfire, you're left thinking not "what will Ray/Abby do in this scenario," because Ray and Abby are relatively elemental and undefined, but "what would I do in this scenario?" Which creates an exquisite tension but also, weirdly, creates more empathy than I feel for the Coens' usual cast of personalities. It's supposed to work the other way around! Truly enjoyable throughout but absolutely wonderful in the suspenseful-as-hell climax. Good shit right here.

Body Double The thing about erotic thrillers is everything that matters is in the name. Is it thrilling? Is it erotic? Good; all else is secondary. De Palma set out to make the most lurid, voyeuristic, horny, violent, shocking, steamy movie he could come up with, and its success was not strictly dependent on the lead's acting ability or the verisimilitude of the plot. But what are we, the modern audience, to make of it once 37 years have passed and, by today's standards, the eroticism is quite tame and the twists are no longer shocking? Then we're left with a nonsensical riff on Vertigo, a specularization of women that is very hard to justify, and lead actor made of pulped wood. De Palma's obsessions don't cohere into anything more this time; the bits stolen from Hitchcock aren't repurposed to new ends, it really is just Hitch with more tits and less brains. (I mean, I still haven't seen Vertigo, but I feel 100% confident in that statement.) The diopter shots and rear-projections this time look cheap (literally so, apparently; this had 1/3 the budget of Blow Out). There are some mildly interesting setpieces, but nothing compared to Travolta's auditory reconstructions or car chase where he tries to tail a subway train from street level even if it means driving through a frickin parade like an inverted French Connection, goddamn Blow Out was a good movie! Anyway. Melanie Griffith seems to be having fun, at least. I guess I had a little as well, but it was, at best, diverting, and a real letdown.

The Hit Surprised by how much I enjoyed this one. Terrance Stamp flips on the mob and spends ten years living a life of ease in Spain, waiting for the day they find and kill him. Movie kicks off when they do find him, and what follows is a ramshackle road movie as John Hurt and a young Tim Roth attempt to drive him to Paris so they can shoot him in front of his old boss. Stamp is magnetic. He's spent a decade reading philosophy and seems utterly prepared for death, so he spends the trip humming, philosophizing, and being friendly with his captors when he's not winding them up. It remains unclear to the end whether the discord he sews between Roth and Hurt is part of some larger plan of escape or just for shits and giggles. There's also a decent amount of plot for a movie that's not terribly plot-driven - just about every part of the kidnapping has tiny hitches the kidnappers aren't prepared for, and each has film-long repercussions, drawing the cops closer and somehow sticking Laura del Sol in their backseat. The ongoing questions are when Stamp will die, whether del Sol will die, and whether Roth will be able to pull the trigger. In the end, it's actually a meditation on ethics and mortality, but in a quiet and often funny way. It's not going to go down as one of my new favs, but it was a nice way to spend a couple hours.

Trouble in Mind (dnrw) I fucking hated this movie. It's been many months since I watched it, do I remember what I hated most? Was it the bit where a couple of country bumpkins who've come to the city walk into a diner and Mr. Bumpkin clocks that the one Black guy in the back as obviously a criminal despite never having seen him before? Was it the part where Kris Kristofferson won't stop hounding Mrs. Bumpkin no matter how many times she demands to be left alone, and it's played as romantic because obviously he knows what she needs better than she does? Or is it the part where Mr. Bumpkin reluctantly takes a job from the Obvious Criminal (who is, in fact, a criminal, and the only named Black character in the movie if I remember correctly, draw your own conclusions) and, within a week, has become a full-blown hood, which is exemplified by a lot, like, a lot of queer-coding? The answer to all three questions is yes. It's also fucking boring. Even out-of-drag Divine's performance as the villain can't save it.

Manhunter 'sfine? I've still never seen Silence of the Lambs, nor any of the Hopkins Lecter movies, nor, indeed, any full episode of the show. So the unheimlich others get seeing Brian Cox play Hannibal didn't come into play. Cox does a good job with him, but he's barely there. Shame, cuz he's the most interesting part of the movie. Honestly, there's a lot of interesting stuff that's barely there. Will Graham being a guy who gets into the heads of serial killers is explored well enough, and Mann knows how to direct a police procedural such that it's both contemplative and propulsive. But all the other themes it points at? Will's fear that he understands murderers a little too well? Hannibal trying to nudge him towards becoming one? Whatever dance Hannibal and Tooth Fairy are doing? What Tooth Fairy's deal is, anyway? (Why does he wear fake teeth and bite things? Why is he fixated on the red dragon? Does the bit where he says "Francis is gone forever" mean he has DID?) None of it goes anywhere or amounts to anything. I mean, it's certainly more interesting with this stuff than without, but it has that feel of a book that's been pared of its interesting bits to fit the runtime (or, alternately, pulp that's been sloppily elevated). I still haven't made my mind up on Mann's cold, precise camera work, but at least it gives me something to look at. It's fine! This is fine.

Mona Lisa (rw) Gave this one another shot. Bob Hoskins is wonderful as a hood out of his depth in classy places, quick to anger but just as quick to let anger go (the opening sequence where he's screaming on his ex-wife's doorstep, hurling trash cans at her house, and one minute later thrilled to see his old car, is pretty nice). And Cathy Tyson's working girl is a subtler kind of fascinating, exuding a mixture of coldness and kindness. It's just... this is ultimately a story about how heartbreaking it is when the girl you like is gay, right? It's Weezer's Pink Triangle: The Movie. It's not homophobic, exactly - Simone isn't demonized for being a lesbian - but it's still, like, "man, this straight white guy's pain is so much more interesting than the Black queer sex worker's." And when he's yelling "you woulda done it!" at the end, I can't tell if we're supposed to agree with him. Seems pretty clear that she wouldn'ta done it, at least not without there being some reveal about her character that doesn't happen, but I don't think the ending works if we don't agree with him, so... I'm like 70% sure the movie does Simone dirty there. For the first half, their growing relationship feels genuine and natural, and, honestly, the story being about a real bond that unfortunately means different things to each party could work if it didn't end with a gun and a sock in the jaw. Shape feels jagged as well; what feels like the end of the second act or so turns out to be the climax. And some of the symbolism is... well, ok, Simone gives George money to buy more appropriate clothes for hanging out in high end hotels, and he gets a tan leather jacket and a Hawaiian shirt, and their first proper bonding moment is when she takes him out for actual clothes. For the rest of the movie he is rocking double-breasted suits (not sure I agree with the striped tie, but it was the eighties, whaddya gonna do?). Then, in the second half, she sends him off looking for her old streetwalker friend, and now he looks completely out of place in the strip clubs and bordellos. So far so good. But then they have this run-in where her old pimp pulls a knife and cuts George's arm, so, with his nice shirt torn and it not safe going home (I guess?) he starts wearing the Hawaiian shirt again. So around the time he's starting to realize he doesn't really belong in Simone's world or the lowlife world he came from anymore, he's running around with the classy double-breasted suit jacket over the garish Hawaiian shirt, and, yeah, bit on the nose guys. Anyway, it has good bits, I just feel like a movie that asks me to feel for the guy punching a gay, Black woman in the face needs to work harder to earn it. Bit of wasted talent.

The Bedroom Window Starts well. Man starts an affair with his boss' wife, their first night together she witnesses an attempted murder from his window, she worries going to the police will reveal the affair to her husband, so the man reports her testimony to the cops claiming he's the one who saw it. Young Isabelle Huppert is the perfect woman for a guy to risk his career on a crush over, and Young Steve Guttenberg is the perfect balance of affability and amorality. And it flows great - picks just the right media to res. So then he's talking to the cops, telling them what she told him, and they ask questions he forgot to ask her - was the perp's jacket a blazer or a windbreaker? - and he has to guess. Then he gets called into the police lineup, and one guy matches her description really well, but is it just because he's wearing his red hair the way she described it? He can't be sure, doesn't finger any of them. He finds out the cops were pretty certain about one of the guys, so he follows the one he thinks it was around, looking for more evidence, and another girl is attacked right outside a bar he knows the redhead was at. Now he's certain! But he shows the boss' wife the guy and she's not certain, and she reminds him they don't even know if the guy he followed is the same guy the police suspected! And as he feeds more evidence to the cops, he has to lie more, because he can't exactly say he was tailing the guy around the city. So, I'm all in now. Maybe it's because I'd so recently rewatched Night Moves and Cutter's Way, but this seems like another story about uncertainty. He's really certain about the guy because it fits narratively, and we, the audience, feel the same. But he's not actually a witness, he doesn't have actual evidence, he's fitting bits and pieces together like a conspiracy theorist. He's fixating on what he wants to be true. Sign me up! But then it turns out he's 100% correct about who the killer is but his lies are found out and now the cops think he's the killer and I realize, oh, no, this movie isn't nearly as smart as I thought it was. Egg on my face! What transpires for the remaining half of the runtime is goofy as hell, and someone with shlockier sensibilities could have made a meal of it, but Hanson, despite being a Corman protege, takes this silliness seriously in the all wrong ways. Next!

Homicide (rw? I think I saw most of this on TV one time) Homicide centers around the conflicted loyalties of a Jewish cop. It opens with the Jewish cop and his white gentile partner taking over a case with a Black perp from some Black FBI agents. The media is making a big thing about the racial implications of the mostly white cops chasing down a Black man in a Black neighborhood. And inside of 15 minutes the FBI agent is calling the lead a k*ke and the gentile cop is calling the FBI agent a f****t and there's all kinds of invective for Black people. The film is announcing its intentions out the gate: this movie is about race. But the issue here is David Mamet doesn't care about race as anything other than a dramatic device. He's the Ubisoft of filmmakers, having no coherent perspective on social issues but expecting accolades for even bringing them up. Mamet is Jewish (though lead actor Joe Mantegna definitely is not) but what is his position on the Jewish diaspora? The whole deal is Mantegna gets stuck with a petty homicide case instead of the big one they just pinched from the Feds, where a Jewish candy shop owner gets shot in what looks like a stickup. Her family tries to appeal to his Jewishness to get him to take the case seriously, and, after giving them the brush-off for a long time, finally starts following through out of guilt, finding bits and pieces of what may or may not be a conspiracy, with Zionist gun runners and underground neo-Nazis. But, again: all of these are just dramatic devices. Mantegna's Jewishness (those words will never not sound ridiculous together) has always been a liability for him as a cop (we are told, not shown), and taking the case seriously is a reclamation of identity. The Jews he finds community with sold tommyguns to revolutionaries during the founding of Israel. These Jews end up blackmailing him to get a document from the evidence room. So: what is the film's position on placing stock in one's Jewish identity? What is its position on Israel? What is its opinion on Palestine? Because all three come up! And the answer is: Mamet doesn't care. You can read it a lot of different ways. Someone with more context and more patience than me could probably deduce what the de facto message is, the way Chris Franklin deduced the de facto message of Far Cry V despite the game's efforts not to have one, but I'm not going to. Mantegna's attempt to reconnect with his Jewishness gets his partner killed, gets the guy he was supposed to bring in alive shot dead, gets him possibly permanent injuries, gets him on camera blowing up a store that's a front for white nationalists, and all for nothing because the "clues" he found (pretty much exclusively by coincidence) were unconnected nothings. The problem is either his Jewishness, or his lifelong failure to connect with his Jewishness until late in life. Mamet doesn't give a shit. (Like, Mamet canonically doesn't give a shit: he is on record saying social context is meaningless, characters only exist to serve the plot, and there are no deeper meanings in fiction.) Mamet's ping-pong dialogue is fun, as always, and there are some neat ideas and characters, but it's all in service of a big nothing that needed to be a something to work.

Swoon So much I could talk about, let's keep it to the most interesting bits. Hommes Fatales: a thing about classic noir that it was fascinated by the marginal but had to keep it in the margins. Liberated women, queer-coded killers, Black jazz players, broke thieves; they were the main event, they were what audiences wanted to see, they were what made the movies fun. But the ending always had to reassert straightlaced straight, white, middle-class male society as unshakeable. White supremacist capitalist patriarchy demanded, both ideologically and via the Hays Code, that anyone outside these norms be punished, reformed, or dead by the movie's end. The only way to make them the heroes was to play their deaths for tragedy. It is unsurprising that neo-noir would take the queer-coded villains and make them the protagonists. Implicature: This is the story of Leopold and Loeb, murderers famous for being queer, and what's interesting is how the queerness in the first half exists entirely outside of language. Like, it's kind of amazing for a movie from 1992 to be this gay - we watch Nathan and Dickie kiss, undress, masturbate, fuck; hell, they wear wedding rings when they're alone together. But it's never verbalized. Sex is referred to as "your reward" or "what you wanted" or "best time." Dickie says he's going to have "the girls over," and it turns out "the girls" are a bunch of drag queens, but this is never acknowledged. Nathan at one point lists off a bunch of famous men - Oscar Wild, E.M. Forster, Frederick the Great - but, though the commonality between them is obvious (they were all gay), it's left the the audience to recognize it. When their queerness is finally verbalized in the second half, it's first in the language of pathology - a psychiatrist describing their "perversions" and "misuse" of their "organs" before the court, which has to be cleared of women because it's so inappropriate - and then with slurs from the man who murders Dickie in jail (a murder which is written off with no investigation because the victim is a gay prisoner instead of a L&L's victim, a child of a wealthy family). I don't know if I'd have noticed this if I hadn't read Chip Delany describing his experience as a gay man in the 50's existing almost entirely outside of language, the only language at the time being that of heteronormativity. Murder as Love Story: L&L exchange sex as payment for the other commiting crimes; it's foreplay. Their statements to the police where they disagree over who's to blame is a lover's quarrel. Their sentencing is a marriage. Nathan performs his own funeral rites over Dickie's body after he dies on the operating table. They are, in their way, together til death did they part. This is the relationship they can have. That it does all this without romanticizing the murder itself or valorizing L&L as humans is frankly incredible.

Suture (rw) The pitch: at the funeral for his father, wealthy Vincent Towers meets his long lost half brother Clay Arlington. It is implied Clay is a child from out of wedlock, possibly an affair; no one knows Vincent has a half-brother but him and Clay. Vincent invites Clay out to his fancy-ass home in Arizona. Thing is, Vincent is suspected (correctly) by the police of having murdered his father, and, due to a striking family resemblence, he's brought Clay to his home to fake his own death. He finagles Clay into wearing his clothes and driving his car, and then blows the car up and flees the state, leaving the cops to think him dead. Thing is, Clay survives, but with amnesia. The doctors tell him he's Vincent, and he has no reason to disagree. Any discrepancy in the way he looks is dismissed as the result of reconstructive surgery after the explosion. So Clay Arlington resumes Vincent Towers' life, without knowing Clay Arlington even exists. The twist: Clay and Vincent are both white, but Vincent is played by Michael Harris, a white actor, and Clay is played by Dennis Haysbert, a Black actor. "Ian, if there's just the two of them, how do you know it's not Harris playing a Black character?" Glad you asked! It is most explicitly obvious during a scene where Vincent/Clay's surgeon-cum-girlfriend essentially bringing up phrenology to explain how Vincent/Clay couldn't possibly have murdered his father, describing straight hair, thin lips, and a Greco-Roman nose Haysbert very clearly doesn't have. But, let's be honest: we knew well beforehand that the rich-as-fuck asshole living in a huge, modern house and living it up in Arizona high society was white. Though Clay is, canonically, white, he lives an poor and underprivileged life common to Black men in America. Though the film's title officially refers to the many stitches holding Vincent/Clay's face together after the accident, "suture" is a film theory term, referring to the way a film audience gets wrapped up - sutured - in the world of the movie, choosing to forget the outside world and pretend the story is real. The usage is ironic, because the audience cannot be sutured in; we cannot, and are not expected to, suspend our disbelief that Clay is white. We are deliberately distanced. Consequently this is a movie to be thought about, not to to be felt. It has the shape of a Hitchcockian thriller but it can't evoke the emotions of one. You can see the scaffolding - "ah, yes, this is the part of a thriller where one man hides while another stalks him with a gun, clever." I feel ill-suited to comment on what the filmmakers are saying about race. I could venture a guess about the ending, where the psychiatrist, the only one who knows the truth about Clay, says he can never truly be happy living the lie of being Vincent Towers, while we see photographs of Clay/Vincent seemingly living an extremely happy life: society says white men simply belong at the top more than Black men do, but, if the roles could be reversed, the latter would slot in seamlessly. Maybe??? Of all the movies in this collection, this is the one I'd most want to read an essay on (followed by Swoon).

The Last Seduction (dnrw) No, no, no, I am not rewataching this piece of shit movie.

Brick (rw) Here's my weird contention: Brick is in color and in widescreen, but, besides that? There's nothing neo- about this noir. There's no swearing except "hell." (I always thought Tug said "goddamn" at one point but, no, he's calling The Pin "gothed-up.") There's a lot of discussion of sex, but always through implication, and the only deleted scene is the one that removed ambiguity about what Brendan and Laura get up to after kissing. There's nothing postmodern or subversive - yes, the hook is it's set in high school, but the big twist is that it takes this very seriously. It mines it for jokes, yes, but the drama is authentic. In fact, making the gumshoe a high school student, his jadedness an obvious front, still too young to be as hard as he tries to be, just makes the drama hit harder. Sam Spade if Sam Spade were allowed to cry. I've always found it an interesting counterpoint to The Good German, a movie that fastidiously mimics the aesthetics of classic noir - down to even using period-appropriate sound recording - but is wholly neo- in construction. Brick could get approved by the Hays Code. Its vibe, its plot about a detective playing a bunch of criminals against each other, even its slang ("bulls," "yegg," "flopped") are all taken directly from Hammett. It's not even stealing from noir, it's stealing from what noir stole from! It's a perfect curtain call for the collection: the final film is both the most contemporary and the most classic. It's also - but for the strong case you could make for Night Moves - the best movie on the list. It's even more appropriate for me, personally: this was where it all started for me and noir. I saw this in theaters when it came out and loved it. It was probably my favorite movie for some time. It gave me a taste for pulpy crime movies which I only, years later, realized were neo-noir. This is why I looked into Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang and In Bruges. I've seen it more times than any film on this list, by a factor of at least 3. It's why I will always adore Rian Johnson and Joseph Gordon-Levitt. It's the best-looking half-million-dollar movie I've ever seen. (Indie filmmakers, take fucking notes.) I even did a script analysis of this, and, yes, it follows the formula, but so tightly and with so much style. Did you notice that he says several of the sequence tensions out loud? ("I just want to find her." "Show of hands.") I notice new things each time I see it - this time it was how "brushing Brendan's hair out of his face" is Em's move, making him look more like he does in the flashback, and how Laura does the same to him as she's seducing him, in the moment when he misses Em the hardest. It isn't perfect. It's recreated noir so faithfully that the Innocent Girl dies, the Femme Fatale uses intimacy as a weapon, and none of the women ever appear in a scene together. 1940's gender politics maybe don't need to be revisited. They say be critical of the media you love, and it applies here most of all: it is a real criticism of something I love immensely.

#film noir #neo-noir #criterion channel

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realcube · 4 years

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class 1-A’s love languages headcanons 💕

tw// swearing, crying, she/her reader

Yuuga Aoyama

his love language is words of affirmation

like tell him that he looks fabulous but he is also a talented hero

and. he. will. die.

of happiness ofc 🥰

and whenever you are feelin’ insecure he’ll do a pretend fashion show with you to boost you spirits (o゜▽゜)o☆

Mina Ashido

her love language is physical touch

but not in a *holds your hand 🥺* *kithes🥰* sorta way

but rather in a

“YOU’RE SO FKN CUTE, (Y/N)!!!” *aggressively pinches your cheeks*

and whenever she kisses/hugs you, it’s always a surprise attack form behind

she is also 159cm in height (almost 5″3)

so if you are shorter than her, she’ll sprint up to you and before you have time to react, she’ll engulf you in her arms

if you are around the same height as her, she’ll sneak up to you and try to jump onto your back, peppering you in neck kisses

and if you are taller than her, she’ll grab your hand and place a kiss on the back of it

Tsuyu Asui

i think her love language is gift giving

but not typically gifts from the store

it’s usually cute flowers or any sort of pretty flora that she finds on her walks

and she’ll sometimes come to your room just before lights-out and hand you a shiny rock or a colourful flower like “hi, (y/n). i found this flower in the park a nd it reminded me of you. so here, i hope you like it.”

then you cry (❤´艸｀❤) it’s too precious

also when she visits your dorm, she notices that you have a jar filled with all the flowers she’s every gave you and shE BRAIDS THEM INTO YOUR HAIR

and if you don’t have hair, she makes you a flower crown out of them

Tenya Iida

the king of gifts periodt ✋

to him, gift giving is kinda like a sport and if it was, he’d definitely be winning

he’ll be out getting groceries or sumn then he’ll pass the candy aisle and just *flashback to 3 months ago when y’all were studying together and you randomly said you were craving sour patch kids*

then he buys two packs of sour patch kids (❤ ω ❤)

so obviously excels during holidays like christmas, valentines day or your birthday

and if you make it explicitly clear that you need something (ex. water, medication, cutlery, soap etc.) and you will go get it in x amount of day(s)

expect it to be in your hands within 1-9 hours

“Iida, you didn’t have to rush out to get me Ibuprofen - I was going to go get some in a few days anyway.”

“Yes, but as a hero in training, you must agree that seeing your partner potentially suffer to due a preventable cause would be inhumane.”

“I-..”

Ochaco Uraraka

her love language is probably quality time

OR words of affirmation BUT ONLY ONLINE

like irl she loves going on lil’ picnic dates with you or dates to go watch the sunset or star-gazing..or literally anything where she gets to spend as much time in your presence as possible

you could literally take her on a date inside the sewers and she’d be like 🥰

in the moment (during the date) she just looks at you and wants to tell you how beautiful you are but she is way too nervous

but as soon you leave she texts you sumn like ‘OMG >< YOU ARE SO GORGEOUS 😍 AND I WANTED TO TELL YOU SO BAD BUT I COULDN’T 😩’

also, hypothetically, if she had a phone which supported social media platforms like Instagram and Snapchat

she would definitely be the sort of girl to post cute candid pics of you on any special occasion and i mean ANY

like she doesn’t want to just random post pics of you bc she thinks that’d be weird so she looks for any excuse she can

deadass she’d post a beach pic of you and her on her insta with a caption like, ‘happy pancake day to @y/n.l/n 🥰💖 on our first date we shared a stack of pancakes so this is a really special day for us 💓 i’m so blessed to have a stunning, smart, amazing gal like her by my side always 💕’

Mashirao Ojiro

he’s a physical touch kinda guy

sometimes he’ll randomly drape his tail over your shoulder to pull you close

or he’ll pat your head with either his hand or tail when ever you do anything remotely impressive

“ooh, i’ve apparently taken 17k steps so far today, ojiro.”

then he’d be like “that’s good” *pat pat*

he also gets butterflies whenever you hug his arm or tail while he is talking to someone

AND HE WILL KISS YOUR WOUND BETTER IF YOU GET A PAPER CUT OR SUMN

Denki Kaminari

bb is blushing profusely when you hand him a pikachu plushie , saying it reminded you of him

before that, he was probably a physical touch sorta guy but once he realised how awesome and special that simple action made him feel, he became a gift-giver

however, 99.9% the gift is a plushie and the other 0.1% it’s a doll

(he literally bought a whole fkn barbie bc you owned a dress similar to the one the doll was wearing)

“it looks exactly like you!”

“i don’t think so..” “it literally does!”

anyway, whether he is at the mall, in the town, in a gift shop or at the carnival, if he sees something that he knows you’d like or that reminds him of you, he’ll stop at nothing to get his hands on it

flashback to that one time at the carnival, there was a stall that had a huge fkn Kuromi plushie up for grabs

so he asked the lady running the stall if he could have it and she said it was all his, if he could get a ball into the basket 3 times in a row

-- my man was sTANDING THERE DESPERATELY TRYING FOR 30 MINUTES STRAIGHT 😭

and once he figured he couldn’t do it on his own, he got the bakusquad to help him out

(bakugo was all like ‘i’m not helping you, dumbass’ but kirishima convinces him to give it a shot and as soon as he misses on the third shot, he is livid.)

(”YOUR STUPID PARTY GAME MUST BE BROKEN, LADY!”)

anyway, after an hour of holding up the line, the lady just gave the plush to kaminari for ¥1000

but it was all worth it after he saw how thrilled you were 🥺

he came round to your dorm one day and noticed every plushie he had ever given you, sitting on your bed

you told him that they help you sleep and he just..died..

IT MADE HIM SO FKN HAPPY TO THINK THAT YOU TREASURE HIS GIFTS SO MUCH (≧▽≦*)

Eijirou Kirishima

his love language is words of affirmation imo but with a sprinkle of physical touch

like whenever he sees you looking nice or sumn..he’ll just tell you

he has no shame and why should he? he’s just telling the truth

if you walk into the room looking ✨immaculate✨ he will tell you

he’s just like ‘if nobody else is going to say it then I will.’

when your face lights up after he has just told you that you’re beautiful or that you’re one of the most likeable people he’s ever met; it makes his day every. single. time.

the sprinkle of physical touch is because he tells you what he is thinking all the time

and he thinks you’re stunning even when you are lounging around the dorm complex in casual wear and no makeup

so he’s aware that he might’ve watered down his compliments a bit by saying them too often

(even though he’s telling the truth every time)

so he likes to give you hugs and kisses to express his affection without seeming like he’s buttering you up

Kouji Kouda

honestly, idek which category he falls under bc he does so many different things to show his love

like, he’ll use his quirk to get a butterfly to land on your head so you can take the perfect photo for instagram

he always holds your hand in crowded areas so y’all don’t lose each other

(he would end up crying in the corner of a Hot Topic or sumn if he couldn’t find you tbh)

he writes mini-love notes v. late at night and uses his quirk to get an insect or bird to carry it up to your room

religiously takes you out on dates to the park

or library/study dates (p≧w≦q)

Rikidou Satou

acts of service but mostly to do with baking

if his s/o doesn’t like sweet treats then..it just..can’t work

he’s very good at noticing when you are down and what he bakes depends on the severity of the situation

like, if you’re just a bit bummed because you got a bad mark on a test, he’ll bake cupcakes and leave a few outside your dorm

obvs accompanied by a cute lil note abt how proud you make him and how you’re the most diligent person he’s met so he knows that you’ll succeed if you just persevere

and as soon as you come to him with your improved mark, he’ll bake you a cake with ‘congratulations, (Y/N).’ written on it

Mezou Shouji

acts of service. but like..service service

he treats you like royalty-

he is the kind of bf to give you his jacket if you’re cold

he can and will use his quirk to form more arms just so he can hold your bags along with his own

if you enter is dorm and he doesn’t offer to take your jacket immediately then i’m sorry to inform you but that is not shouji..that is toga in disguise

you’ll never have to open a door if you are walking next to him and don’t you dare even try to

just an overall gentleman tbh

sometimes you try to get him to stop being so kind bc you’re afraid ppl will think you treat him like a butler

so he’ll be like “sure ..

i’ll hold just your gym bag rather than your gym bag and school bag.”

“don’t hold any bags, shouji..”

Kyouka Jirou

her love language is definitely quality time

there is nothing she loves more than vibing with you in her room - whether y’all are studying, cuddling, playing videos games or something else - while chill music plays in the background, either from a playlist or from her playing it herself on one of her instruments

and sometimes when she’s feeling especially comfortable, she might hum a tune or sing some lyrics to match the mood

she asks you for suggestions for music to put on bc she loves introducing herself to new music

but when you’re concentrated, she doesn’t want to disturb you so she just puts on a playlist she made prior

she doesn’t create a new playlist each time you hang out but there is at least 10 new songs added to it every day

the playlist is called ‘lazy days w/ (y/n) 💕’

anyway, she just loves hanging out with you bc you’re one of the very few people who don’t annoy tf out of her

also - she’d never say it aloud but - she thinks you’ve got a very comforting presence and you make her feel so exhilarated whenever you laugh (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

Hanta Sero

Sero loves spending as much time with you as possible - hence, he’s a quality time sorta person

but i also think he’s barely a quality time guy bc he expresses his affection in so many different ways

he’s like a mix of 4

( not gift-giving, whenever it comes time to get you gift for whatever occasion, he’s always stumped and ends up asking someone for help)

he preforms acts of service in a sense that if you are both cuddling on the couch and you are cold - even if he seriously can’t be assed to move - he’ll force himself to get up and bring you a blanket

he is really good at compliments bc he barely has a filter so if he sees you looking good, he’ll straight up tell you

plus, he loves seeing your reaction - especially when you get all flustered

and physical touch bc..cuddles :)

to him, there is just something reassuring about having you in his arms

Fumikage Tokoyami

a quality time man mwah

he doesn’t play music on speakers when y’all hang out though, he just likes to sit with you and either mindlessly chatter or chill in comfortable silence

he also doesn’t put in earbuds bc he thinks it’s rude

(you assure him that you don’t mind if he puts his earbuds in but he is always like..no..)

he just loves your company bc he seriously can’t think of somebody he’d rather spend his time with

also he is convinced that he does things 10 times better with you around

when he’s not with you though, he misses you- like- seriously

sometimes he’s just out with his friends or watching a movie with his family and he is just like ‘this’d be more fun if (Y/N) was here-’

and you said that you missed him too when y’all weren’t together

so he did the reasonable thing and made you a playlist for you to listen to whenever you missed him ( •̀ ω •́ )

he sent you the link and your heart stopped bc it was literally called ‘i love you 🖤’ AND THAT WAS THE FIRST TIME HE’S EVER TOLD YOU THAT AAAAA

‘you’re so sweet, tokoyami 🥺 i love you tooooo’

and good thing that was over text bc otherwise you would’ve seen him blushing profusely (= ╯▽╰ = )

as for the contents of the playlist; it’s probably quite diverse

some alt pop, some indie, a bit of R&B, pop rock and a lot of Metal/Rock

Shouto Todoroki

his love language is acts of service

most of them are school related though

he can easily tell if you’re struggling with the coursework and asks you if you want go on a lil study date at the library or in his dorm

he also helps you with homework or explains the material to you if you don’t understand it

and he’s the best teacher since he’s extremely patient and well-spoken

if you’re feeling under the weather, he’ll head to your dorm to fetch your notebook so he can write the class notes for you

and he’ll put in the effort to make them as similar to your other notes as he can

so he flicks through the pages and (for example) if you have a highlighting code, he’ll look for the legend and highlight the notes he took accordingly

once school is over for the day, he goes to your dorm to drop off the notebook, putting it back in the respective part of your bag

and the next day when you open your notebook to check the notes, you notice that he wrote a little note for you;

‘get well soon 💛’

it was a simple, kind gesture but the small details like how he coloured in the heart with a glittery yellow highlighter he must’ve took from your bag had you blushing (^///^)

also, whenever you’ve scheduled a study date at his dorm, there is no way in hell you’ll walk into his room and there isn’t 2 bowls of fresh soba sitting on the desk

no way. impossible.

(or if you don’t like noodles, then two bowls of rice.)

Tooru Hagakure

physical touch bb

she just likes you to know that she is there

also she loves how soft your skin is ^^

she really likes surprise hugging you from behind and you’d think that she’d be very good at that considering that she is.. invisible.. but she’s really not

she has very unique and recognisable voice

and whenever she creeps up behind you, she’s always snickering quite loudly

but you like seeing her happy when she thinks she surprised you so you just think to yourself ‘get ready to pretend to be shocked’

so as soon as she wraps her arms around you and goes ‘boo!’, you jump and always say the same stupid line you wish you would stop using but it just comes out naturally

“ope, didn’t see you there, tooru.”

but it makes her laugh every time so maybe it’s not such a bad habit

Katsuki Bakugo

he’s definitely a physical touch kinda guy but tries to be an acts of service man..y’know?

he doesn’t want you thinking that he likes hugging, cuddling, kisses or any of that none-sense bc..he is a big macho king explosion murder

and he knows that if he gets to comfortable with showing affection through physical touch, it’d become a habit then he might do it in public and the last thing he wanted was a rumour coming out that ‘king explosion murder is actually a huge cuddle-bug dork!’

so he hides it the best he can and expresses his love by like letting you wear his hoodie and not cussing you out when you do something stupid

but the fact is, nothing makes him feel better than holding you in his arms - under a blanket or not - with your face buried into his chest and your arm lazing draped over his shoulder

he usually does a good job at resisting his urge to randomly kiss you or take your hand in public

but there was that one time

luckily, it was on a date rather than on a school outing so it was only you who knows about it

it was probably around 6 months after y’all first started dating and he took you on a date to the carnival

there was a gang of boys who looked around a few years older than y’all and they were chatting amongst themselves until they approached the line you and Bakugo were waiting in (to get onto a ride at the carnival) and the group of boys stood behind you in line

at first everything was alright; they were just chatting while you were raving on about the ride to bakugo but he kinda tuned you out after he heard one of the guys say something along the lines of

“she’s kinda hot- a bit young but so fit. i think she’s from the UA too.”

that comment was enough to make his blood boil but a separate comment from one of the other guys tipped him over the edge,

“yeah and look at the guy she’s with. he’s the feral guy that needed to be put in chains at the sports festival - how embarassing.” he snickered, which was genuinely one of the most annoying noises bakugo has ever heard

his voice was low, in a whisper so they probably didn’t expect bakugo to hear it over the background noise of the carnival along with the girl yapping in his ear

but he did

and when i tell you this man was livid

in that moment he seriously considered just turning around and burning each and every one of those guys into a crisp

but the law-abiding citizen and hero inside him said no

instead, he fiercely snaked his arms around your hips to pull you into his chest and looked over his shoulders to shoot literal daggers at the guys

he led you out of the line for the ride in silence and you followed him without question - having heard the things those guys said but choosing to pretend as if you didn’t

“What was that about?” You finally asked as he brought you over to a bench, pulling you onto his lap

“Nothing.” He said, oddly calm as he stared into the void

“Okay.” You rolled your eyes, deciding not to pry as you obviously already knew what provoked him to do that. “I’m gonna go get some cotton candy then. Do you want some?”

“No.” He replied monotonously, allowing you to hop off his knee but immediately grabbing your hand, preventing you from going any farther than arms length from him.

“you needy cow.” you giggled, playfully kicking his shin, “I’m so hungry - let me go!”

“No.” He replied in the same monotone voice. “I can’t be assed to move.”

You leaned back, pulling your whole weight backwards to try get Bakugo to release his grip on your hand and eventually he gave in and got up, sluggishly following you to go get cotton candy

you gleefully popped some of the delectable fluff into your mouth before sneaking some into bakugo’s mouth too.

“are you gonna let go of my hand any time soon?” you asked, wanting to hold the bag of cotton candy for yourself but instead having one hand interlocked with his and the other being used to rip small pieces off as Bakugo held the bag in his spare hand

“No.”

[(a/n): not the over-used jealousy trope 🙊]

Izuku Midoriya

definitely a words of affirmation kinda guy

bc he knows what it’s like to have to go through life with barely anyone besides your mother telling you that your great and that you’re worthy. it’s depressing and traumatic and he wouldn’t wish that misery on his worst enemy

so he’s like your personal hypeman :)

making sure that you always feel appreciated, confident and loved

during the sports festival or anything similar, he’s always louder than the cheerleaders when it comes to your turn to shine

“GO, (Y/N)! YOU’RE SO POWERFUL, YOU CAN DO THIS! I BELIEVE IN YOU! REMEMBER TO BREATHE!”

slightly embarrassing for him but when he sees you smile confidently back at him, every ounce of embarrassment melts away and he is just filled with joy

he gets really emotional sometimes as well

but not like ‘you just faced an opponent and won bc one all your hard work and training - i am so proud of you’ sorta emotional

but like ‘omg you walked into his dorm wearing a new dress and you look really beautiful and you smiled at him so emotions wash over him and he just cries bc he realises how lucky he is to have you.’

he loves to receive words of admiration from you too though

one time you wrote him a birthday card and signed it off as ‘the future wife of the #1 pro-hero’

and as badly as you wanted to just sign it as ‘from the future pro-hero 😘’

you didn’t bc you knew how happy the other option would make him

Minoru Mineta

idk perversion ig?

wait no his love language is titties and/or ass

Momo Yaoyorozu

gift. giving.

like you have no idea how much serotonin she gets when she sees you overjoyed at gift she gives you

bc in her mind she knows that it was her that made you that happy and no amount of trophies will ever compare to how accomplished she feels for being the reason behind your smile

she’s a QUEEN 👑 UGH 😩💓

310 notes · View notes

whenyouknowyouknow · 4 years

Text

Harry the Womanizer

This thing started because I find the whole womanizer image of Harry absolutely disgusting and wanted people to see how utterly bad and wrong it was.

Please be aware that the following does not reflect Harry’s personality but it shows us the image their label wanted him to be seen as.

Some disclaimer about where the data comes from

written, digital coverage (no print, 1-2 videos, no radio)

google search “Harry Styles”, I looked through the first 20 hits each month but didn’t read all of them ( headlines usually are a dead giveaway if an article contains a new “conquest”)

I did not list every woman that was mentioned in the same article as Harry. Also not those that showed interest in him. But most of those that were said he showed interest in (I might have skipped a few in the worst years just bc it was so freaking disgusting)

Often articles contained offhand comments about his pulling power or unrelatedly recounting his latest conquests in any given article to enforce the womanizer image. These did not make it into the list.

Deleted articles are of course not included (as of Aug 2020)

Some of the women turn up again for a round 2 (or 3 or 4), I only mention them once a year tho

I put the women into the list on the date the news coverage happened/started because many articles date back things by saying “pics have circulated since…” “They have been reportedly seen together since…” or simply tell a story that supposedly happened a few years prior

Some dates overlap. Thats either bc they pushed several woman at once (very effective to drive the whole womanizer image home) or its bc one woman was seeded in while the other was happening.

Because this is a freaking long post, I’ll put it under the “read more”

About the list

split by years

each year has Harrys age for that given year in brackets

each data set has in brackets the age, occupation and date of news coverage for the woman (if available)

winter gf get their own category as they sometimes overlap with other woman

Some of the woman get brought back up (not just mentioned in passing), those are listed at the end of each year with the dates when they where brought back up

“again” is for those who dated him again

Women linked to Harry

2010 (16)

5(?) girls from bootcamp

Cher Loyd (17, txf fellow contestant, Oct)

unnamed girl fan (13.11.)

2011 (17)

Adele (23, singer, 27.09.)

Sarita Borge (record executive, 29.11.)

2011-2012

Caroline Flack (31, txf, 23.10.-27.01.)

2012 (18)

Pixie Geldoff (21, 09.02.)

Alexa Chung (28, model, 16.02)

Alexandra Burke (23, txf, 20.02.)

Jo Wood (56, ex of Ronny Wood 21.02.)

Denise Welch (54, actress, 21.02.)

Georgia May Jagger (20, Mick Jagger daughter, 21.02.)

Sarah-Louise Colivet (24, photographer, 11.04.)

Lily Halpern (19, singer, 11.04.)

Jillian Harris (32, reality TV star, 13.04.)

Emma Ostilly (18, actor for Gotta be You MV - 22.04.)

Ellis Calcutt (18(?), friend, deniedm, 30.04.)

Emily Atack (22, TV star, 20.05.)

unnamed girl (Article about her one night stand with H, 06.06.)

Lucy Horobin (32, radio presenter, 24.06., dated back to Aug-Oct 2011)

Caggie Dunlop (23, TV star, 12.07.)

Allyssa Reid (19, singer, 23.07.)

Blond girl with pink bag (from a night out, 26.07.)

Cara Delevingne (19, Model, 05.08.)

Natalie Imbruglia (37, singer actress 28.09.)

2012-13

Taylor Swift (22 singer 19.10.-07.01. (fling dated back to April 2012 then getting back together)

2013 (19)

Hermione Way (27, reality star, 08.01.)

Millie Brady (18, actress, 24.02.)

Shaniece Nesbitt (fan, 11.03.)

Yvette Fielding (44, TV presenter, 11.03.)

Fia Litton (niece of Preston Mahon (security), 14.03)

Chelsea Ferguson (25, stripper, 14.04)

Kimberly Stewart (33, confirmed by Rod, 27.04.)

Camilla Foss (18, fan in oslo, 09.05.)

Kara Rose Marshall (22, model, 03.07.)

Alexis Allen (19, fan, 21.07.)

Cara Delevingne (20, model, 11.09.)

Paige Reifler (17, model, 30.09.)

Sjana Earp (18, model, 25.10.)

Samantha Armytage (36, TV presenter, 27.10.)

Daisy Lowe (24, model, 01.12.)

Caroline Flack (brought back up, 01.02./11.09.)

2013-14

Kendall Jenner (17, model, 21.10. - 23.02)

2014 (20)

mystery brunette (20.01.)

Alison Mosshart (35, singer, 07.03.)

Daisy Lowe (25, model, 11.04.)

Larissa de Macedo Machado (21, brazilian popstar, 08.05.)

Lou Teasdale (30, hairdresser, 26.05.)

Sinitta (45, Smons ex, 22.07.)

Paige Reifler (18, again, model, 25.07.)

Meghan Trainor (20, singer, 27.08.)

blond woman (at Coldplay concert, 18.09.)

Katy Perry (29, singer, 01.10.)

Erin Foster (31, 08.10.)

Kate Moss (40, model, 03.11.)

two blond woman (leaving a club in LA with H, 30.11.)

Taylor Swift (brought back up, 12.02./02.03./20.08./14.10./04.12.)

Emily Atack (brought back up, 23.03.)

Caroline Flack (brought back up, 26.03.)

2014-15

Nadine Leopold (20, model, 20.12.- 12.03.)

2015 (21)

Emma Watson (24, actress, 14.01. dated back to 26.12.14)

Suki Waterhouse (23, actress, 05.04.)

Joy Muggli (23, talent agent, 12.05.)

Sara Sampaio (23, model, 15.06.)

Georgia Fowler (22, model, inspiration for Kiwi, 15.10.)

Nicole Scherzinger (34, singer, 17.10., dated back to 2013)

Taylor Swift (brought back up, 15.01./13.02./10.03./08.05./13.10./28.10.)

Caroline Flack (brought back up, 24.05./11.10.)

2015-16

Kendall Jenner (again, 30.12.- 31.01.)

2016 (22)

Pandora Lennard (28, model 31.01.)

Lindsay Lohan (30, actress, 10.03., dated back unspecified)

Kendall Jenner (again, 05.09.)

Kara Rose Marshall (brought back up, 07.10.)

Suki Waterhouse (again + dated back to 2013, 11.11.)

Taylor Swift (brought back up, 01.02.)

2017 (23)

Tess Ward (26, food blogger, 09.05.)

Townes Adair Jones (20s, 17.05., dated back to 2014)

Camille Rowe (31, model, 31.07.)

Sjana Earp (22, again, 05.12.)

Taylor Swift (brought back up, 18.04./12.05./03.09./09.11.)

Kendall Jenner (brought back up, 31.01.)

2018 (24)

Delta Goodrem (33, voice coach, 27.04.)

Camille Rowe (ends 31.07.)

Kendall Jenner (brought back up, 15.07./12.12.)

Taylor Swift (brought back up, 21.03./)

2019 (25)

Kiko Mizuhara (28, denied by K, 12.01.)

Camille Rowe (brought back up, 22.11.)

Kendall Jenner (brought back up, 11.12.)

Taylor Swift (brought back up, 23.08./04.11./13.12.)

2020 (26)

Daisy Lowe (brought back up, 20.06.)

Taylor Swift (brought back up, 02.03./24.07.)

data from here on is not included in the graphs, I will keep adding when things happen

Tracee Ellis Ross (48, actress, 28.10.)

The age differences

The graph shows clearly how

the age gaps are very big in the beginning, likely to attract an older audience in addition to the usual target audience of teenage girls

the amount of woman linked to Harry gets smaller each year because in later years, articles could just reference his history with woman

the amount of woman linked and mentioned in regards to Harry gets significantly lower after hiatus started

A rough timeline of women that where connected to Harry over the years

Why give Harry the womanizer image?

Would the image of a womanizer not damage the image of 1D?

If they’d portrait him as a sleeze it would have surely damaged the overal image of 1D. But Harrys image portrait him as charming, a bit quirky and overall an airhead that likes people and doesn’t want to be tied down. Thus giving the illusion of being potentially available to every woman and showing them a good, no strings attached, time. Which is a massive selling point for boybands to increase the age range of their fans.

In addition, all his conquests would be used to stir up drama or simply generate attention at crucial times to get 1D in the press without mentioning their current promo focus in every headline.

The winter girlfriends had a special role as they were the only ones actively worked as continuous dating. To build some attachment, have a continuous storyline that could be tied to the just released album and bridge the holiday pause, and when the relationship ended generate more drama to be used for promo.

Harry did keep on using his womanizer image to promote both his solo albums but in a very controlled manner. The numbers of new woman linked to him declined to 1 in 2019, for now we are at 0 (1) in 2020

HS promo used 3 woman as inspirations for songs (Towns, Fowler, Swift) and a tour gf (Rowe)

FL promo only uses the previous tour gf as now ex to push the storyline of a breakup album

He is very visibly changing his image while still maintaining a level of connection to his old image. Whether that's due to contractual restrictions or a strategy to not alienate to many fans is unclear

Jeff Azoff

For what I’ve seen Jeff and Harry seem close (the Azoff family having him on family pictures, posted by Jeff’s brother)

Looking at the timeline of Jeff and Harry

2014-03-25 first mention of Harry at Azoff family home in an article about Irvin

2014-04-23 first pics of Harry and Jeff at a sports event (Jeff named as a friend, no name or position yet)

2014-12-22 Jeff not named yet but identified as his agent

2015-01-10 first time Jeff being named and being the link between Harry and a woman

2016-03-07 Jeff leaves CAA as a music agent and launches his own company Full Stop Management

2016-03-11 Harry confirmed to have joined Full Stop Management

Jeff likely took over as Harry’s agent in early 2014. In 2015 Harry’s image change starts to become aparent and changed drastically after hiatus.

Harry choosing Jeffs management firm as soon as he left Modest is a clear indication that he feels Jeff will represent him how he wants

The Timeline - Women connected to Harry and Promo

I started the visual timeline in end 2011 when his womanizer image started to take off

The instances before where likely used as seeding for this image (first instance was a segment in txf where he was linked to 5 of the girl contestants and funny enough one older guy)

purple - women from the entertainment industry

pink - fans/no-names

lilac - winter gf

dark burgundy - thos who date him again

dusky pink - brought back up

light blue - single release

royal blue - album release

mid blue - other releases

dark turquoise - tour legs

Adendum: a few numbers analyzed,

#Harry Styles #womanizer #masterpost #aug2020 #womanizer timeline HS

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princip1914 · 3 years

Text

A few thoughts on writing longfic

I’ve had this post brewing for a while and I figured since today is a Friday I might as well let it out into the wild.

First off, this is not writing advice. I don’t feel qualified to give writing advice. This is a few observations I’ve made over the course of trying to write something that feels, well, long. Fandom is full of excellent authors writing long chaptered fic, but I don’t see a lot of people talking about how they go about producing such fics. I remember feeling like long fic was really out of reach for me when I started writing again in the summer of 2019 after not writing for years and years and I wanted to talk a bit about how that changed for me. Of course, this post comes with all the caveats that there is no need to ever write long fic if you’re not feeling it. Some of my favorite authors write mostly or only oneshots! But, if you are interested, here’s my lengthy, self indulgent, and entirely personal take on ~the longfic process~ below the cut.

First, to get this out of the way: long fic is anything that feels long or complicated to you, the author. “I’m working on my long fic” can mean that you’re branching out from microfiction to write something that’s 2k long, or it can mean you’ve got a multi-part 800k epic. There’s no objective measure of if something is “long fic,” Your own personal definitions can also change as you grow in confidence or change your focus as a writer (a little over a year ago when I finished Doubt Thou the Stars are Fire topping out at 31k, that felt very very long to me. Now it feels….still long, but not very very long.)

Here are a few specific things that helped me write something long. I don’t know if they will be interesting for anyone else, but at the very least writing these down has been a fun way for me to reflect on my own process.

Practice exercises. Ok, this is going to sound exceedingly obvious, but writing one shots prepares you for writing chaptered fic. Here’s what I mean more specifically: if you know you want to write (as a totally hypothetical example) a chaptered fic set in America in the summer that relies heavily on a nature metaphors, is written out of chronological order, and features a melancholy tone--it helps to write a few one shots like that before you embark on the Big Fic. Just like artists tend to do sketches before starting a big piece, it’s very helpful to write something small that gives you a feel for the ~vibe~ of what you’re trying to do in the long fic. It’s helpful for all the usual reasons--you get to know a specific version of the characters which helps plan out a character driven plot for the long fic--but it’s also helpful because you will learn if the tone and mood of the fic has enough staying power to capture your interest for the long haul. For instance, I have a few unfinished chaptered fics that have a humorous tone. I wish I had done more short humorous fics before starting them, because I would have realized that I don’t currently have the mental stamina to hold up a humorous tone for the length of a chaptered fic (hopefully that will change and I will finish Last Days some time this century!).

Plan it out ahead of time. I used google sheets for The False and the Fair. I do not think God intended google sheets to be used for fiction, but that was not going to stop me. On a more serious note, I think the best tool for planning fiction is the one you’re the most comfortable with--the notes app in your phone, handwriting, word, google drive, sheets, chalk board, summoning circle, the blood of your enemies, etc. The reason I chose to use sheets is that I knew from the very beginning that I wanted certain things to happen at specific places in the story--for instance, I wanted the first kiss to happen at the end of the first third of the story and I wanted the “reveal” about the mine accident to happen at the end of the second third of the story. But, I didn’t know what was supposed to go in between those elements. A traditional outline for a story at this point in development might have looked like:

Meet cute

Kiss

Reveal

Ending

But, what my brain needed was to preserve the blank spaces in between these story elements, and specifically to preserve the right amount of blank space between these story elements so that it didn’t end up, for instance, that the first kiss was halfway through rather than a third of the way through. In this way, I found google sheets an invaluable tool for pacing in the early parts of the planning process. I simply made 30 rows assuming 30 chapters, and started plugging in the elements I knew I wanted in the locations I wanted them. Then I filled in the blank spaces by asking myself “how do we get from X plot element to Y plot element in Z amount of chapters.” I’m not a mountain climber, but I’ve often thought about the first things that go into the spreadsheet in terms of mountain climbing terminology. In climbing, a crux move, which can be anywhere along the route, is the most difficult move of the route: if you can’t do it, you can’t do the route. I think of the first things that go into the planning spreadsheet as the crux moves of the story, the most important pieces around which everything else turns. It was not an accident that those were also all the first scenes of the fic that I wrote; if I couldn’t do those scenes, I couldn’t do the story the way I planned it so I wanted to know early on if I needed to make changes.

Make changes if you have to: even though it helps to have things planned in advance, don’t resist the story if it tries to change on you while you’re writing it. Usually the feeling that you have to make changes stems from having a plot that is not entirely character driven. As you write the story, the characters reveal themselves and sometimes the plot has to change to change with the characters’ motivations. Here’s an area where fanfic writers have a leg up on everyone else: if you write fic, you already know the characters really well. That means, (in my experience anyway) it’s less likely that you’ll have a surprise character development which leads to a rethinking of the whole plot. Less likely, but not completely unlikely, unfortunately.

Lie to yourself: The False and the Fair was supposed to be 90k words. I thought that sounded reasonable, a little less than 3x the longest fic I had ever written. Now it's 161k and will probably top out a little over 170k. Ooops. But I never would have set out to write something that long. I wouldn’t have thought I could do it, even though anyone more experienced looking at my plans for the fic probably would have laughed at the idea I could cover all those plot points in 90k. Ignorance is bliss. Protect your ignorance.

Scrivener: Long fic for me means “fic that is long enough you can’t hold all the parts of it in your head at once.” That’s where Scrivener comes in (or another app if you’d rather, but I really like Scrivener for the ability to see the project either linearly or as condensed notecards). You can put together an organizational scaffold in Scrivener that allows you to move back and forth between the forest and the trees. So, for instance, you might be going for a jog and come up with the perfect line of dialogue for chapter 27 when you’re only up to chapter 5 in terms of writing progress. With Scrivener, you can go home, and put that dialogue in the “bucket”/index card/whatever for chapter 27 without compromising your ability to see chapter 5 clearly or muddying up your google doc. You can then use the fact that you’ve started writing bits and pieces of the later chapters in conjunction with the tool of lying to yourself that, actually, you’ve written a lot more of the fic than you realize and that when you get to chapter 27 it won’t be as hard as chapter 5 because you’ve put in the groundwork already. In my experience, this lie turns out to be true about 50% of the time, which is better than 0% of the time.

Digestible mini arcs: The False and the Fair was originally broken up into thirds. I thought it would be 90k and 30k was the longest I had written, so thirds seemed to make sense. Also, 3 is a nice, time honored storytelling number. I think it’s good to give yourself seemingly achievable milestones along the way to completion. These milestones (for me anyway) lined up well with the “crux moments” I’ve described. If you’re someone who likes to write out of order, writing your way to an already written milestone can feel like sailing to an island where you get to rest for a bit from the stormy seas before setting out for the next island in the archipelago.

“It's all part of the process”: I’m categorically incapable of describing things without resorting to running metaphors, and so I apologize in advance, but I am now going to do the insufferable thing of comparing writing a long fic to running a marathon. Here’s the thing with a marathon. You are not going to feel good every step of the way. We all know this. It’s a marathon, it’s supposed to hurt a little bit, especially at the end. In the same way you literally cannot write something novel length or even novella or long short story length without, at least at some point, feeling bad about yourself and your writing. But you also can’t run a marathon if the whole thing is agony, and for most people, it’s not--your meat sack shuffling along the course is subjected to the slings and arrows of all sorts of weird body chemistry that only happens when you push it to its limits. So, you’ll be in agony and then the endorphins will kick in for a while and you’ll be thinking “this isn’t nearly as bad as everyone said,” and then you’ll drink some water at a rest stop and feel like a God for half a mile before you crash and you’re in agony again until that one perfect song comes up on the playlist...and you get the idea. Writing something long, for me at least, is a bit like that. There are massive ups and downs. The key for me is to just understand it’s all part of the process, a necessary step on the way to the finish line. If the fic is 10 chapters long, at some point you have to write chapter 5. Just like you have to write chapter 5, at some point you also have to go through a bit of despair before reaching the end. It is unfortunately non-optional. In fact, despairing is something you can check off your list each time you’ve done it. Cut dialogue tags, check. Feel awful about my writing for thirty minutes, check. Write ending section, check. Often I feel that the stress and shame and fear that come with bad emotions while writing are worse than the bad emotions themselves. It really helps me to remember these emotions are all part of the process and nothing to worry about. If I didn’t have them, then I would worry!

I certainly have plenty more to say about writing, but this ramble has gone on long enough. If you’re interested in any of this stuff, please feel free to send me an ask.

I would also love to know more about everyone else’s writing processes, so feel free to pop into my ask box to talk about your own approach too! I am very interested in this stuff!

#long post #writing #fic #princip's fic #princip writes #princip's musings #longfic #how make words go

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spencereliotwinchester · 3 years

Text

Red Stud (Part 1/3)

Title: Red Stud

Author: Kat

Reader Gender: N/A

Word Count: 8700

Summary: A look at how Jensen met Misha and began their journey. Partner to Submissive but can be read by itself.

Warnings: AU, Sub!Jensen, Dom!Misha, Humiliation!Kink,

A/N: Seriously, not for the faint of heart. No hate. Inspiration belongs to @impala-dreamer

Thank you to @deansbxtch for being my beta

Character: Jensen Ackles x Misha Collins

Tags:

@dr-dean @drarina1737 @zombitch-cas @teamfreewill92 @winecatsandpizza @bees0are0awesome @sierra-grace1227 @chenshemesh1 @weepinghollywoodatsupernatural @im-in-every-fandom-fangirl @rosescarlett @pandazombie69

“What are you doing this weekend, Jensen?” Jared asked as they walked to their ten a.m. biology class.

“Nothing. Maybe doing that ‘American Ideals’ paper for the capstone class,” Jensen responded, heaving his backpack into a more comfortable position. “Why did we take half our classes on Friday?”

“To have Mondays and Tuesdays off,” Jared laughed. “Anyway, there’s a rave happening at this club I know of. Wanna go?”

“A rave? Like, an actual rave, not a house party?”

“Yeah! They have strippers until Midnight, then it turns into a Rave. It goes until the morning I’ve heard. They also have some BDSM rooms, supposedly, but you have to be a member to go in there.”

“What’s the cover?” Jensen asked.

“Fifty,” Jared said.

“That’s cheap for Vegas.”

“That’s the whole point! Anyway, what do you think?”

“As long as you don’t kidnap me into a BDSM room, I’m fine,” Jensen joked.

“Ugh,” Jensen groaned. The taste in his mouth made his stomach turn over. It was like something had crawled in there and died. He sat up, careful to extract himself from the unknown man in his bed. His ass still had a dull throb from the previous night.

Slowly getting out of his bed, careful not to wake up his partner from last night, Jensen made his way to the bathroom of the apartment he shared with Jared. He could hear the sounds of throwing up from inside.

“Jare, I’m coming in to brush my teeth!” He hollered, opening the door.

Jared wasn’t the one in the bathroom. A brunette was heaving over the toilet.

“Oh, shit, sorry!” He said. She looked over at him.

“You’re naked,” She stated.

“Sorry,” he said again, and shut the door.

The door to the apartment opened and Jared came down the hall with a drink holder of coffee. He handed one coffee to Jensen, who took it with a word of thanks and took a drink.

“Still throwing up?” He asked, nodding to the bathroom.

“Uh, yeah,” Jensen responded. “I’m gonna go put on pants.”

As he pulled on a pair of soft sweatpants, the man still in Jensen’s bed stretched and then sat up. Jensen handed him his coffee. The man took a deep drink and handed it back.

“Thanks,” he said, getting up and stretching again. “What a party, eh?”

“Wild,” Jensen agreed. The man’s deep voice and electric blue eyes brought a memory of last night to Jensen’s mind.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard. I’ll bet that’s all you want, filthy slut!”

“Yes, Sir! Please fuck me!”

“Oh, fuck, it’s nearly three!”

He stood up and quickly dressed, gathering the pieces of clothing that had been tossed into various parts of the room.

“Got any cologne I can borrow?” He asked.

“Yeah, on the dresser,” Jensen responded, watching the man get dressed. When the man came up to him, Jensen realized he was nearly as tall as he was, with dark, disheveled hair, and those electric blue eyes that made Jensen feel as though he could see right through him.

“Thanks for last night,” He whispered, Jensen smirked and they kissed.

“See ya around,” Jensen said when they broke apart, though he knew he wouldn’t.

“That party was insane,” Jared said as they sat down on the couch in the small living room.

“I don’t remember much,” Jensen grunted.

“You’ll get some pieces back like usual.”

“Did we… Take anything?” He asked.

“Besides a shit load of alcohol? I don’t think so,” Jared responded absently, scrolling on his phone. “Why?”

“Just wondering.”

“We gotta do that again,” Jared sighed, happily.

“I won’t,” a female voice said. The girl had come around the corner, purse in her hand. “Sorry for spewing my guts out.”

“You okay?” Jared asked.

“Yeah. I’m gonna go,” She turned to Jensen. “You should get on a pole more often.”

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t remember?” She asked, then continued. “You got up on stage and swung yourself around the pole like you’d been doing it for years.”

“I did what?” He asked, incredulous. Jared snickered.

“It was pretty awesome,” Jared muttered.

“Shut the hell up!”

A few days later, he got a text from an unknown number. He was studying in the library.

I can’t stop thinking about you stretched around my cock, those green eyes rolling up into your head.

He looked around, worried, but no one was nearby.

Who is this?

It could be any of his one night stands from the last few weeks.

I’m offended, we had such a good time the other night! - Sir M

It must be that blue eyed man he met at Frenzy. What did he say his name was? It had been something strange. Another message came through.

You were such a good slut for me. I’d love to have you for myself. - Sir M

Jensen blushed to himself. He didn’t usually sleep with the same person twice. He thought briefly about making an exception. It had been an amazing night. Most of the pieces of the night had come back. The blue eyed stranger had dominated over him, easily taking complete control of their time together. Jensen had thoroughly enjoyed it. As the memories floated to the forefront of his mind, Jensen could feel that his cock was hardening. Another message.

I’ll bet you’re so hot and bothered right now, thinking about the way I owned you. - Sir M

Jensen finally texted back.

Yes, Sir.

It became tradition, each month Jensen and Jared would go to a Rave night at Frenzy. They would stay until the place shut down at 5 a.m. and then crash until late afternoon. Sometimes they brought dates home, sometimes not. Sir M and Jensen continued to message each other. Sir M could be very domineering, even over a simple text and it sent thrills of excitement through Jensen’s body.

About a week after his one night stand with Sir M, Jensen walked into the studio shyly, it was his first time here. He’d been curious about pole dancing ever since that girl had told him how well he’d done.

“Shoes off please!” The teacher, Jaz, behind the desk said sharply. “No outside shoes on the studio floor. Please sign this waiver and set your yoga mat down next to one of the poles.”

Jensen ended up loving pole dancing, going to class three times a week in between his college classes and working a part time job. One day after class, about six months later, Jaz called his name as he was walking out the door.

“Yeah?” He said, walking over to her, his bag slung over his shoulder and a yoga mat in his hands.

“You’re still pretty new, but I know you like to go to Frenzy every so often. They get a lot of their talent from this studio and they’re holding closed auditions for a new male act. I was wondering if you wanted to audition? You’re one of my only male students and I think I have just the song for you.”

Jensen stood there for a moment, his mouth hanging open.

“Oh, I don’t know,” He said eventually, “I mainly do this for fun-”

“Strippers there, especially males, make upwards of $500 a night.”

That was more than Jensen was making now, way more. He thought for a few moments, then relented.

“Let me know what to do.”

Three Saturdays in a row, he practiced one on one for three hours with Jaz. On the fourth Saturday, they ran through the entire routine twice. Jensen was sore, tired, and out of breath.

“You’re ready,” Jaz said excitedly. “I think you’ll take the job easy.”

“You… Sure?” Jensen said between gulps of air.

“I’m damn sure. You’ll knock ‘em dead this afternoon!” She gave Jensen a quick hug and began to ready the studio for her next class. “Make sure you drink plenty of water-”

“And eat plenty of protein,” Jensen finished, rolling his eyes in mock annoyance. “I know.”

That afternoon, Jensen arrived outside Frenzy at 1:30. Auditions started at 2. He showed his paperwork to the bouncer at the door and was let in. The place was a little unnerving when it was mostly empty and the lights were all on. He made his way towards the Rave Hall and saw a check-in table. He walked up to the two women. One looked up as he approached.

“Here for an interview for the bouncer positions?” She asked.

“Uh.. no,” he said, caught slightly off guard. “I have an audition for pole dancing.”

“Oh,” she said, surprised. “Sorry! Um, name?”

“Ackles,” He said.

“Got it. Locker rooms are that way,” She pointed. “Follow the signs. They’re still doing female auditions, so they may be running slightly late. Do you have a song?”

“Yeah,” he handed over a CD with his name and audition number on it, then made his way to the locker rooms.

As he got dressed, his nerves started to send butterflies to his stomach. He pulled on a pair of tight black cycling shorts and a plain black t-shirt. He had decided to go barefoot for this audition. From the information he had received, there would be a panel of judges and they would ask him a few questions before he danced. Jensen noticed as he waited for his name to be called that most people were doing slow and sensual songs, sometimes even emo. This made him slightly more nervous since Jaz had chosen a fast song for him.

“Next up is Ackles! Ackles to the stage!”

Jensen took a deep breath and then stepped out of the curtain onto the stage. He stood next to the pole and blanched slightly. It seemed like most of the auditioners were staying in the room after they’d auditioned to see the rest of the performers. Jensen only saw three other men in the audience. Then he looked at the panel of judges. Two men and a woman sat there.

The man in the middle had electric blue eyes. Electric blue eyes that made Jensen feel as though he could see right through him. Electric blue eyes that Jensen recognized. Sir M. It knocked the breath clean out of him.

“You used your real name?” The bearded man asked, rolling his eyes. “What’s your stage name?”

“I..I don’t have one,” Jensen stuttered, shrugging.

“Oh boy,” he said in annoyance. “Any tattoo-”

“Red Stud,” the blue eyed man interrupted.

“What?” the bearded man snapped. “Collins, are you in-”

“No, I’m just giving him a stage name. Red hair and just look at those muscles! Yummy.”

“Red Stud, I guess it works,” The man turned back to Jensen. “Tattoos?”

“N-No,” Jensen sputtered, he started to think this had been a mistake. He grabbed the pole, noticing it was on spin. He could do the routine either way, but doing it on spin was harder.

“Why do you want this job?” The woman asked, speaking for the first time.

“I love to dance,” Jensen said smoothly, he was aware his voice had become more even and slightly huskier. “I can dance, and I want to make money doing what I love.”

“Well, I think we’d love to see!” Sir M clapped his hands together. “Go on.”

I saw him dancin' there by the record machine

I knew he must a been about seventeen

The beat was goin' strong

Playin' my favorite song

And I could tell it wouldn't be long

'Til he was with me, yeah, me

And I could tell it wouldn't be long

'Til he was with me, yeah, me, singin'

As soon as the music started, Jensen felt right at home. As if he were back in the studio practicing with Jaz. The loud guitar strums and drum set blasted through the speakers and Jensen opened “I Love Rock N’ Roll” by flexing his biceps, rolling his hips, and showing off his muscles, visible even under the t-shirt, to the various parts of the room. People started clapping along with the beat. When the lyrics started, he climbed the pole to the top, stopping at the end of each line to do various hangs to show off his strength, flowing with the hard rock.

I love rock n' roll

So put another dime in the jukebox, baby

I love rock n' roll

So come and take your time and dance with me

Once he reached the top of the pole, the chorus started and Jensen folded over and around the pole, holding an attitude position before quickly hip-switching to a sundial. He pulled up and inverted into a Fang, spinning quickly with the music before doing a cartwheel dismount.

He smiled, so I got up and asked for his name

"That don't matter", he said, "'cause it's all the same"

I said, "Can I take you home where we can be alone?"

And next we were movin' on

He was with me, yeah, me

Next we were movin' on

He was with me, yeah, me singin'

He pole walked once, before unveiling his next climb. Jaz had spent the majority of their first session teaching him this complex no legs, hand-over-hand climb until Jensen could do it perfectly without falling. Jensen was surprised to hear cheers. He climbed, doing a pull up at the end of each line of music until he was at the top of the pole again. He quickly maneuvered into a cross-legged sit so his arms were free.

I love rock n' roll

So put another dime in the jukebox, baby

I love rock n' roll

So come and take your time and dance with me

Jensen tore his shirt in half splitting it down his chest, then took it off and flung it at the blue eyed judge. He then inverted into a crucifix and nose dived down the pole. Jensen gracefully dismounted as the music faded. He took a bow to the cheering audience before turning his attention towards the judges. Jensen became all too aware of the sheen of sweat covering his face and chest and felt his cheeks reddening - it had nothing to do with the workout he’d just done and everything to do with Sir M staring at him.

“I...I thought Jaz said you were new to pole dancing,” the woman said in awe.

“I mean, I’ve only been pole dancing for about six months,” Jensen responded, shrugging. “Should I go?”

“Can you dance like that tonight?” Sir M asked, his voice deep and vibrating.

“I- What?”

“Can. You. Dance. Like that. Tonight?” He asked again, more slowly, like Jensen was hard of hearing.

“I’d need a new black t-shirt… but yeah, I can,” Jensen felt even more blood rushing to his face.

“Then the job is yours. You’re on at midnight,” the bearded man said. “Be here no later than 11.”

As he was walking out, he heard his name called. Turning, he was shocked to see Jared.

“Since when do you dance?”

“Six months or so,” Jensen said, looking away from Jared.

“Dude, you’re insanely good!”

“Uh...Thanks. Why are you here?”

“Got hired as a bouncer!” He said excitedly.

“Dude, that’s awesome!” Jensen exclaimed. “I gotta go call Jazzy and tell her I got the dance slot and then get ready for tonight.”

“I’ll see you tonight! It’s my first night too.”

Jensen was able to meet most of the other dancers that night in the locker room. It turned out that there were only three other male dancers, so everyone shared one locker room. A girl came up to Jensen. She was dressed in a red thong and red corset. She had blonde hair that was curled in large spirals. He recognized her as the female judge from earlier.

“Hi, Red,” She said, smacking some gum and winking at him.

“Hey,” He nodded.

“Come on, I’m gonna show you the ropes and rules. I’m Cherie by the way. So, tonight. They’re just going to have you open the Rave with your routine, but people will still throw tips at you. Each of us also has a jar at the bar where people can place tips, too. Don’t forget to empty it before you leave for the night. If you have any problems with patrons on the floor, grab one of the bouncers. After a couple weeks, you might do some dancing for tips, or they might have you out on the floor to do lap dances and such. I dunno, Mish will let you know.”

“‘Mish?’” Jensen asked.

“Misha Collins?” She looked at him incredulously. “Big blue eyes, stubbled jaw, orgasm inducing voice?”

“Oh, him.”

“Yeah, him. Let's get some makeup on you.”

Jensen fidgeted as midnight approached. His butterflies were even bigger now and he worried he’d mess up the entire routine. As the acts neared his, the music got faster. Cherie was just before him in the lineup, her song started, ‘Cherry Pie’ by Warrant. Jensen warmed his body and put grip aid on his hands. Cherie came through the curtain. She had removed the corset during her act and was down to her red thong and pasties.

“Good luck, Red,” She winked at him.

He swallowed hard and entered the stage through the curtain. A few whistles met him.

“Please welcome to the stage, our newest dancer. His debut performance right here, right now! RED STUD!” the emcee announced.

‘I Love Rock N’ Roll’ started and Jensen began his routine. He only slipped once and it was barely noticeable. Cheers and applause met him and he bowed. Then, he quickly picked up the cash tips that had been tossed onstage and exited. He’d made nearly $250 from tips he’d picked up off the stage.

Jensen made his way to the bar after he put on another black shirt from his locker. The lights shut off completely and black light turned on. Glow sticks lit up the room. A thumping bass beat blared through the speaker. Jensen sat down at the bar in an open seat and waited for the bartender to see him. The bartender came over to him.

“What can I get ya?” He yelled over the thick bass beat.

“Shot of whiskey!” He yelled back. As he went to hand over a ten, a hand caught him. Jensen turned to see Misha standing right next to him. He was wearing a red t-shirt that was a size too small and stretched dangerously over his shoulders. Up close, Jensen was able to see just how handsome the man- Misha- really was.

“On the house!” He yelled to the bartender. “And make it two!”

Jensen and Misha tapped glasses and took the shots together. After four more shots each, Jensen was feeling much more free and relaxed. Misha tapped his hand against his shoulder.

“Come with me!” He yelled.

Misha dragged Jensen into the Rave and they began to dance together. After the second song they were both drenched in sweat and the alcohol was really hitting Jensen’s head. He hadn’t eaten anything in a few hours. Misha raised his hand to his mouth and swallowed. Then raised his hand to his mouth again. This time he grabbed Jensen’s face and began kissing him. Jensen opened his mouth in surprise and Misha shoved his tongue in and Jensen felt a small pill. Guessing what it was, he swallowed and continued to make out with Misha.

Within ten minutes, the drug was taking effect. Jensen began to feel remarkably loose, happy and floaty. Misha was grinding against his ass and Jensen didn’t mind one bit. The music thrummed heavily through his head, his heart speeding up to match the rapid music. The bass beat dropped and Misha was reaching around palming Jensen’s half hard cock through the shorts he was wearing. His moan was lost in the music as he leaned back into Misha’s solid body.

Then, Misha was pulling him along, through the waves of people. They reached a door on the other side and Misha pushed him through it. They were in a back hallway and Misha pushed Jensen into another room. The lights flicked on. Noise was completely silenced when the door closed but Jensen’s head pounded with the remnants of the bass line.

“Should we be in here?” Jensen asked, eyes widening as he took in the sight of the room. It was a smaller room, but it was beautiful and dangerous. The walls were red, the carpet was plush and black. A few sex toys were scattered around and Jensen could only imagine what was in the armoire at the other side of the room. There was also a double bed in the corner behind the door.

“It’s my private room,” Misha said.

“A private room?”

Misha came up behind him and began kissing and nipping at his neck. Misha grabbed the hem of Jensen’s shirt and dragged it over his head before going back to kissing his neck. Jensen moaned lightly.

“Owning the place does have its perks,” Misha growled, his voice low and lust-filled.

Jensen turned to face Misha and pulled the other man’s shirt off. Misha pulled Jensen over to the bed and pushed him down on it. As Misha kicked his jeans off and leaned down on top of Jensen, something clicked into place.

“Are you a Dom?” Jensen asked.

“You could most certainly say that,” Misha laughed.

“I’ve never really… Except that night with you and I don’t remember everything.”

“Well, it’s up to you, but I promise I’ll make it worth it if you stay, Boy,” the voice slipped down a few notes and Misha reached a hand into Jensen’s hair and pulled lightly. A rush of pleasure flowed through his body. Jensen moaned. “What are your limits?”

“Nothing too crazy, I’m, uh, pretty vanilla you could say.”

“Vanilla it is, but next time we do things my way,” Misha smirked before kissing Jensen again. Blood rushed to his face and his cock, making his brain spin. He laughed into Misha’s mouth, the feeling of euphoria enveloping him again.

As Jensen began to swim into consciousness, he squeezed his eyes shut more tightly. His head was pounding, his muscles ached, his ass hurt, and his mouth was as dry as the deserts surrounding Las Vegas. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked around the room. He had no idea where he was. The room was lit softly through thick curtains. The walls were a cool grey and matched the bedding. An unopened water bottle was sitting on the nightstand and Jensen grabbed it, cracking it open and taking a deep drink.

“I was thinking I was going to have to come wake you up. It’s nearly five,” Misha’s voice startled Jensen, and he looked around to see Misha standing in the doorway.

“I’d have been up at three if you hadn’t slipped me Ecstasy,” Jensen grumbled. “Where are my clothes?”

Misha walked over to the closet and stepped inside. He threw a shirt and a pair of jeans on the bed.

“You only had on those pole shorts when we came home,” Misha answered. “Take those. They should fit okay.”

Jensen got out of bed and stumbled sideways. Misha caught him. He became suddenly dizzy and shut his eyes trying to clear the feeling before it made him hurl.

“You okay?” Misha asked.

“Just a bit dizzy… Stood up too fast,” Jensen grunted. He slowly put weight back on his legs and got dressed in Misha’s clothes. They smelled like leather and cologne. An image of Misha pushing his cock into Jensen’s mouth came to mind.

“We should get some food in you,” Misha said. “Do you want to have dinner with me?”

“Sure,” Jensen said, his stomach snarling at the thought.

“Everything okay?” Misha asked.

“When you said ‘have dinner’ I thought you meant a dive bar or a diner or something…”

“Oh no, Sweetness, when I dine, I dine in style.”

“I’m not really appropriate-” Misha cut him off.

“Nonsense. Come on.”

The maitre’d greeted Misha by name and led them all the way to the back of the restaurant to a private booth. A waitress dropped off water, smiling at them before gliding away to the kitchen. Jensen fiddled with the menu, slightly uncomfortable.

“What’s wrong?” Misha asked in his low, gravelly voice.

“Just nervous,” Jensen mumbled.

“Listen, about last night-” It was Jensen’s turn to cut off Misha.

“I don’t regret anything.”

“Well… Good, then,” Misha said. “Are you good to go on tonight?”

“Of course,” Jensen waved a hand at Misha.

The waitress arrived with an appetizer.

“The usual, Sir?” She asked Misha. He nodded, then the waitress turned to Jensen, but Misha interjected.

“Let me order for you.” It wasn’t a question.

Jensen, shocked, nodded at him jerkily. Misha whispered into the waitresses ear and she gave him a nod before vanishing again. He turned back to Jensen, and put a hand on his scruffy face. Jensen suddenly had butterflies in his stomach again.

“So what are you into?” Jensen blurted out the question.

“Huh?”

“You know, like you have a private room at Frenzy- Hell, you OWN Frenzy. You’re a Dom, you asked my limits…” Jensen trailed off.

“I’m into things you couldn’t even dream of,” He said, darkly. Jensen shivered. It was strange, the way Misha could make him feel both scared and aroused at the same time. “But for the most part I’m into Dom/sub.”

“Like, whips and chains and ‘Master’?” Misha chuckled at the look on Jensen’s face.

“I’m more into the relationship, the power exchange, not the punishments, and I prefer to be called ‘Sir,’” He responded. “You know nothing of BDSM if you’ve just watched porn.”

Misha began explaining the mechanics and the true BDSM scene. Jensen became much more interested, and aroused, as Misha explained the true relationship between Dominants and their submissives. He never figured this sort of scene would be up his alley, but the way Misha had made Jensen beg for release last night…

“You’ve barely touched your food,” Misha stated. “Eat.”

Jensen did so. Misha smirked at him, his eyes were filled with lust and approval.

“What?” He asked.

“You absentmindedly enjoy being told what to do. I just had a very intriguing thought,” Misha said in a hushed voice.

“What?” Jensen was even more confused.

“Let me introduce you to being submissive. I think we’d be a good match. We like each other and damn you’re just yummy. I can’t get enough of you.”

Jensen looked down at his mostly empty plate, his mind was hesitant, but his cock was thoroughly interested in the idea of having sex with Misha again.

“Try it,” Misha pressed. “If you don’t like it, no harm no foul… But I think you’ll fall in love with it.”

“Fine,” Jensen relented, telling himself he could try something new. “We should get going. I need to go home and shower. I also need to work out a little. I missed my afternoon class today.”

“Want a ride home?” Misha asked.

“That would be welcome,” Jensen whispered.

Jensen finally got back to Frenzy at ten pm. He opened his locker and saw a jar of tips. The jar from the bar. Jensen groaned, knowing he would probably be in trouble with the bartender for forgetting to pick them up. He then pulled his phone out of his locker to check it. He had a message from Sir M.

I need you to open and close the dance acts next weekend. Open with a slow, sensual song for me? Then close with your regular routine. Next week you work Wednesday thru Sunday. W & Th & Sun 7p - 3a.m. Fr & Sat 7pm - 12:15 am, then you’ll join me in the Member’s Club -Sir M

He immediately texted Jazzy to find out if she could help him with a new routine.

We can practice this week, I’ve got a good one for you. I’m here btw! To see you perform.

That week was one of the hardest of his life. He even skipped a few classes at the college trying to get some rest between the club, school, practicing a completely new song, and texting Misha. He barely even saw Jared except at Frenzy.

Friday evening came and Jensen was a ball of wrecked nerves. He was exhausted, but got a jolt of excitement at the thought of performing a slow song just for Misha. The emcee was beginning to announce the acts and Jensen’s whole body buzzed with nervous excitement.

“Let’s open up with Red Stud!” The emcee yelled.

Jensen took the stage and a few whistles broke out above the chattering crowd. He sat down in front of the pole, back pressed against it and nodded toward the emcee. “You’re the Best” by Wet played through the speakers as Jensen began to go through the choreography Jazzy taught him. It was slow and sensual, just what Misha had asked for. Most of the choreo had him on the floor, using the pole as just a prop, instead of being on it the entire time. He ended the song on the floor, in a shoulder mount with his legs split. People clapped, cheered, and whistled. Jensen collected the money on the stage and went back to the locker room, to rest and get ready for the closing act.

After the closing act, Jensen got a t-shirt on and went out into the now Rave Room. As he approached the bar, he saw Misha talking to a few patrons. One girl was draped over his shoulder and a hotness spread through Jensen’s body. Jealousy. They had never said they’d be exclusive, Jensen reasoned, but he still wanted to toss the girl into what was now becoming a mosh pit.

He grabbed a couple shots from the bartender, downing one right after the other. His eyes were trained on Misha at the other end of the bar, the jealousy burning through his veins, just like the whiskey he’d shot down. He finally shoved himself from the bar, deciding he could play the same game. He disappeared into the rave to find a partner for the evening.

As he was grinding with a stranger, he felt a hand fist the back of his shirt and yanked him back. Jensen was shocked, he looked around and saw Misha was the one who had his shirt. He was surprised at the roughness and then saw the look on Misha’s face.

His jaw was clenched and eyes were narrowed in anger. There was fury written into his face. He caught Misha’s eye for just a moment and saw only rage in the flashing blue. Misha shoved him through the same door as last weekend and into his private room.

“Think you’re funny?!” Misha spat as all other sound was drowned out. Jensen opened his mouth but a single flash of Misha’s eyes and his voice died in his throat. “Grinding on some stranger right in front of ME? You’re mine!”

Something strange happened at Misha’s words. He was slightly scared, very much confused and then a shooting feeling of arousal coiled through his belly. Jensen found his voice.

“You had women all over you at the bar! We never said we were exclusive,” He strained his voice to keep it level.

“I wasn’t the one out on the dance floor practically having sex!”

“You were last weekend!” Jensen cried, aware that his words were making less sense.

“You’re MINE, Boy!” Misha barked. The arousal came back, harder and stronger than before.

“Promise?” Jensen breathed.

Anger melted from Misha’s face. He looked confused, then a grin broke across his face.

“What?” Jensen snapped, but the anger was melting completely and being taken over by desire.

“You liked it.”

“Liked what?”

“Being called names. When I called you ‘boy’ I saw your cock jump in those tight shorts. You like being humiliated,” Misha looked at him fondly. “I’ll tuck away that information for later.”

They ended the night a lot happier than it had started, the fight completely forgotten, like the clothes all over the floor.

Jensen was sitting at Misha’s kitchen table. A laptop, books, notebooks and folders were spread out around him. Jensen had his forehead pressed to the cool wood. He’d spent the better part of three hours trying to write a paper for his english class. What does each room color symbolize in Mask of the Red Death? Discuss. Jensen then thought of the two ten-page papers due at the end of the semester. A Topic of Your Choosing Using Compare and Contrasting Methods and How are American Ideals Still Relevant in Today’s Day and Age?

He groaned and lifted his head up. He found Misha standing against the counter to his right. Misha was wearing a suit, crisply ironed, with a khaki top coat over it. From the looks of it, Jensen figured it was probably cashmere.

“Looks like a tornado came through,” He indicated the mess on the table.

“More like a typhoon. I’m drowning in this.”

“I wanted to talk to you about some things, but it can wait if you’re too busy.”

“Please, I could use a break from this.”

“Now that we’re going to delve into this relationship, I want to lay out a couple rules for you to follow,” Misha sat down at the table and looked at Jensen seriously. Jensen nodded. “Number One, you call me ‘Sir.’ Number Two, you don’t cum unless I say so. Number Three, do not lie to me, EVER. And Number Four, is this.”

He took a small, leather-bound book from the inside of his topcoat and set it in front of Jensen. Upon further inspection, it was a journal with lined pages. Jensen cocked an eyebrow at Misha.

“I want you to keep a journal. At least one page per day, more if you feel like it. On the first page,” Misha flipped the book open, “I’ve written some prompts I’d like you to start off writing about, so we can hone and mold our relationship together.”

“So, I’m drowning in homework… And you give me more?” Jensen said, indicating the haphazard papers that littered the table.

“I guess so, yeah. Got a problem with that, Boy?” Misha’s voice dipped into a commanding voice.

“No,” Jensen responded.

“No, what?” Misha’s voice dripped with venom.

“Uh, no, Sir,” Jensen looked down at the table.

“Failure to follow my rules will result in punishment, and trust me, punishment does not equal pleasure.”

“Yes, Sir,” Jensen said, nodding his understanding.

“That’s my good slut,” Misha said, patting his hair. Misha and Jensen had found out fairly quickly that the pet name turned Jensen on to no end and Jensen felt a swell of happiness each time Misha used it. “I have a meeting. Be good.”

As Misha left, Jensen looked at the table. He rolled his eyes in frustration and grabbed the journal. Opening it to the first page, he saw Misha’s handwriting. It was slanted, neat, almost calligraphy

What are your likes and dislikes in the bedroom? Discuss.

How are you currently feeling about our relationship? Write this subject weekly

What do you want from a sexual partner?

What do you need from a sexual partner?

There was a hard line penned into the page

Only Jensen may write, unless he gives permission for me to respond.

This is Jensen’s safe space to write what he needs.

Jensen will never be judged for what is written.

Jensen looked between the journal and the three college papers he was working on. He groaned and pulled the laptop towards himself, deciding to write a little more about Mask of the Red Death before trying to fill out his journal.

The first room is blue, which symbolizes Poe’s own depression…

“You know, maybe he just liked the color blue!” Jensen yelled at the empty house. He tossed The Works of Edgar Allan Poe across the kitchen.

I’m honestly not sure how I feel about the relationship with Sir. I’ve barely met him but I feel like I’ve known him for a long time. I’m nervous and scared, but also aroused…

Jensen felt extremely weird writing in the journal at first, but once he got the first few sentences out, a bunch more were written. He ended up with three pages. By the time Jensen finished his journal as well as the Poe paper, it was nearing 5 pm. Jensen stood and stretched. It was Monday, so he didn’t have work and he didn’t have class: college or pole.

He felt like he hadn’t seen Jared in forever. At least, the last time he saw Jared outside of work or school. They never really had time to talk while busy studying and working. Jensen texted Jared.

Where are you?

Video Games was the response.

Jensen was getting ready to head over to his apartment when a thought struck him. He quickly texted Misha.

I’m going over to the apartment to hang with Jared.

Home by 2am came only a few seconds later. Jensen set an alarm on his phone to go off at 1.

Jensen had only been by the apartment a couple times in the last two weeks and that was only to grab some clothes, his toothbrush, and school things. Jared hadn’t been home. He was splayed across the couch, playing COD. Jensen grabbed a controller and joined the game. As they played, he couldn’t help but feel a sort of tension between them. After about half an hour, Jared shut the game off.

“Drink?” Jared asked stiffly.

“I’m gonna drive back to Misha’s later,” Jensen said. “Is something up?”

Jared finished his own beer and grabbed another one from the fridge. He scoffed.

“What?” Jensen pressed.

“You know, dude,” said Jared, turning to him. “I don’t even know what to say. You get this job at Frenzy, end up in the back room WITH THE OWNER, and then disappear for three weeks. What the fuck, Man?”

“It’s not like that-” Jensen started before Jared cut him off.

“That’s how it looks from my angle! You’ve never been that kind of whore! Tell me, is it true? Are you Collins’ new bitch? I have never known you to sleep with a partner more than once, but now that it’s some rich dude...”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Jensen tried to explain, but he realized Jared must have been drinking most of the day; he wasn’t usually this hurtful. “What?” Jensen was taken aback as he comprehended the last sentence.

“That’s what I heard. That’s what everyone at Frenzy is talking about. You hopping in bed with the owner. Man, I knew you liked to sleep around but this...”

“Jared, I’m sorry, dude. Let me explai-”

“Explain what? Just answer the question, Jensen!” Jared yelled.

“We’re in a relationsh-” Jensen started to yell.

“It’s been three weeks and you’re basically moved in with him! Do you know how worried I’ve been? I would’ve called the cops if I hadn’t seen you at Frenzy!”

“I’m fine, Jared! What? Can’t bear me actually being happy?!”

“You’re a goddamn idiot! You have no idea what this guy’s intentions are! Sure, we’ve all done one night stands, but this… This is a whole new level, even for you,” Jared had gotten right into Jensen’s face. Jensen didn’t back down. The hurt was pumping through his body and he stabbed Jared right where it hurt.

“You’re the one who almost killed yourself over Gen leaving you!” Jensen shoved Jared hard. He didn’t react fast enough to the fist that connected to the side of his head.

“Get. The fuck. Out,” Jared snarled.

Jensen had to sit in his car for fifteen minutes before the dizziness finally passed enough for him to drive to Misha’s...To home. When he pulled into the driveway, he could see the lamp on in Misha’s bedroom. He felt relief at the sight, not wanting to be alone after his fight with Jared. He let himself in the house and went down the hall to Misha’s room. He hesitated for a few seconds before knocking on the door.

“Enter,” Came a distracted response.

Misha was propped against the headboard, wearing only his boxers. He was reading Things Fall Apart by an author whose name Jensen couldn’t begin to pronounce. He felt that, in a way. That his life was falling apart around him. The room began to blur and shift and Jensen clenched his hands at his side. It had been a long time since something like this had happened. His head began to buzz loudly, like angry bees.

“Jensen?”

The room began to come back into focus, but then thoughts of the night and the last month of his life overwhelmed him and the room spun wildly, his heart raced, and tears fell from his eyes. Misha was at his side, steadying him.

“I need. My medicine,” Jensen was almost hyperventilating. “In my bag.”

Jensen curled up on the floor, holding himself until Misha came back with a prescription bottle. He popped it open and handed Jensen one pill. When shaking hands, Jensen put the pill into his mouth and swallowed. It would take about ten minutes for the effect to settle in and calm him down. With arms stronger than Jensen imagined, Misha scooped him up and set him down in the large bed.

“Shh, just breathe,” Misha soothed.

As time passed, Jensen felt his heartbeat begin to slow and his breathing evened out. He became aware of Misha holding him with one arm, the other carding through his hair. The feeling was soothing, comforting. When he felt he could, Jensen sat up and faced Misha.

“Panic attack?”

Jensen nodded.

“That may have been something you should have told me about.”

“I haven’t had one for two years,” Jensen whispered.

“Did it have something to do with the bruise that’s darkening on your face?”

“I had a fight with Jared,” He explained.

“Obviously. What about?”

“This. Us,” Jensen said, apologetically. “I should go lay down. The medicine makes me insanely tired.”

“Stay. I want to keep my eye on you.”

Jensen hadn’t stayed the night in Misha’s bed since their second night together. Jensen felt a swoop of anxiety, but then Misha brought a hand to his face, and it melted away. He leaned into Misha’s touch.

After a moment, Misha got out of bed and beckoned Jensen to do the same. He set the book carefully on the nightstand and pulled the covers back. He indicated to Jensen to get into bed, then slid in after him.

“Why do you have panic attacks?” Misha asked.

“When I was little, and my Mom and Dad were still together, they fought, like, all the time. Downright screaming matches. Their fighting started causing panic attacks. So, now whenever there’s arguing it can cause an attack.”

“I guess the fight just really affected me. I shouldn’t have said some things,” Jensen sighed deeply.

“We’ll have to be careful. Everything will be okay,” Misha soothed.

The light clicked off and Misha spooned Jensen, his arm wrapped around his waist comforting him. Jensen pushed himself back into Misha’s chest and within minutes, the exhaustion from the day as well as the medicine pulled him into sleep.

Jensen woke the next morning, groggy and feeling like his head was too heavy to lift. He was alone in Misha’s bed. Slowly, he sat up. He noticed a small piece of paper on the nightstand on top of the book that Misha had been reading. He grabbed it.

I will be in my office when you wake, taking care of some work. Eat some eggs and toast and meet me when you’re through. -Sir

Jensen went to the guest room he’d been calling his own. He slipped into the bathroom attached and did his morning routine. He then made his way to the kitchen, wishing he knew where Misha kept the Tylenol.

As Jensen ate breakfast, he scrolled through his phone lazily. The group chat he was in with the other guys and girls had blown up the previous night. Jensen scrolled through quickly, getting the gist of what had been discussed. He paused, however, when the chat shifted.

Cherie: It’s almost Mish’s Birthday y’all. What are we doing this year? Another showcase?

Brad: Maybe, he never gets tired of watching us dance.

Ariel: What if we did a choreographed routine with all of us? We could do it on the weekend of his birthday.

Michelle: Ooo I like that. Unless @Red Stud has a better idea?

Brad: That’s a good idea. Everyone meet at noon at Frenzy tomorrow. Come with song ideas.

Cherie: Great idea! See everyone then?

Shit. It was almost eleven now. He quickly finished breakfast and packed a bag. Then he went to Misha’s office. Jensen knocked on the open door.

“Enter,” Came a reply.

Misha was sitting behind a large carved desk, looking through a stack of papers. He glanced up at Jensen.

“Where are you off too?” Misha asked.

“Uhh,” Jensen hesitated, not knowing if the birthday party was a surprise.

“Don’t lie to me,” Misha reminded him suddenly, fixing him with a blue-eyed stare that seemed to read his mind.

“Okay, I’m meeting the other girls and guys at Frenzy-”

“Ah, yes. My birthday,” Misha rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I just wanted to give you this and ask you to fill it out. I’m filling one out, too. We will compare them and make necessary changes before signing.”

Misha slid a thick packet towards Jensen. He walked to the desk and picked it up. Standard D/s Contract - Misha Collins was the title. Jensen felt his cheeks heat up.

“Okay,” Jensen said, slipping the contract into his gym bag.

“Okay what?” Misha snit.

“Sorry. Yes, Sir,” He amended. Jensen walked around the desk, so he was directly next to Misha, who had gone back to his report. He gave Misha a soft kiss on the cheek which he accepted.

“Tell the girls and boys not to worry too much. I think I’ll be getting exactly what I want for my birthday already,” Misha threw him a quick, dirty look.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Be good, Slut.”

Jensen closed his eyes for a moment, letting the heat pool in his belly. Then, he left to get to Frenzy. He seemed to be the first one there, surprisingly. He changed, then warmed himself up quickly. He walked out to the stage and placed his phone off to the side, hitting the “Play” Button on the song he wanted. The slow guitar started and Jensen began swaying his body to the music, body rolling on the pole, doing slow spins.

Whenever I'm alone with you

You make me feel like I am home again

Whenever I'm alone with you

You make me feel like I am whole again

Whenever I'm alone with you

You make me feel like I am young again

Whenever I'm alone with you

You make me feel like I am fun again

“I think Red should do the choreography!” He heard the yell, it startled him and he lost grip on the pole, landing painfully on his elbow.

“I have no idea how to do choreography,” Jensen said tersely, sitting up and rubbing his aching elbow. He looked around and saw Brad, Cherie, and Michelle, who seemed to be the one who’d yelled.

“Yes, you do,” Cherie said. “I know you can. Just by watching that performance, I know you can.”

Everyone filtered in and then Cherie called for silence.

“I think Red should do choreo,” Michelle said again.

“All in favor?” Cherie asked. Everyone except Jensen yelled ‘Aye!’

Jensen groaned.

“Now, what song should we do? Fast or slow?”

“Slow,” Jensen said. “I’m a lot better at slow choreo. Jazzy’s the one who usually choreographs for me.”

It took nearly an hour before they’d settled on a song. Jensen huffed, it wasn’t a very slow song, but he could work with it.

“Give me a half hour to figure out what we’re doing,” He grumbled, grabbing a pad of paper from behind the bar.

Jensen played Breathe on Me at least five times, stopping and starting and writing the choreography on the pad. He called Cherie over and went through it with her. That way she could teach group one and he could teach group two. After about two hours, Jensen called it quits for the day.

After a long shower, Jensen settled down at the kitchen table to do his homework and try to go through the large contract Misha had given him that morning. He’d gotten his english paper done, his journal written in, and was just staring at the front page of the contract when Misha arrived.

“Slut,” He greeted, flashing a smile his way.

“Sir,” Jensen nodded at him, a smile spreading across his face.

“I’ll be in my room. Have fun.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Jensen, in his limited free time, had been doing a lot of research into proper BDSM etiquette and rules. As Jensen read through the contract, filling in the blanks, he was all too aware of his cock hardening. He palmed himself as he went through the listed kinks and fetishes and circled ones he’d be willing to try. One line of the contract kept playing through his mind.

Above all, the primary duty of this submissive is to please.

Jensen grinned to himself. He had a sudden idea, and it sent warm heat through his body as his heart sped up. He hoped this would work, because if not, he’d be having a hard time following Misha’s rule not to cum without permission.

He walked down the hallway, his heart pounding in his chest. The door to Misha’s room was open and Jensen dropped to his knees just outside the threshold. He put his hands on his thighs and bowed his head, closing his eyes. He’d seen this pose on a website as one of the accepted sub poses. He itched to call out, call attention to himself, but he pushed the urge down, stubbornly. Jensen waited.

A calmness washed over him. His breathing and heartbeat slowed, the thought of pleasing Misha helped him ignore the numbness in his knees. Finally, Jensen heard an intake of breath and the swish of sheets rubbing against pajama pants. Jensen kept still, unmoving. He fought the urge to snap his head up. To meet those blue eyes that could read his mind.

“How long have you been here?” Jensen couldn’t help the shiver that ran through his body at the soft, loving tone. Misha was right next to him. A hand rested on Jensen’s head. Jensen leaned slightly into the touch before remembering to keep his pose. Words were lost to him.

“Speak,” Misha’s voice was still soft, but had an authoritative tone that Jensen couldn’t ignore.

“I don’t know,” He answered honestly. It could have been five minutes or three hours. The time had melted away, had become meaningless.

“What do you need?” Misha asked.

“To please you,” spilled from his mouth.

“Good Slut.”

A sense of pride swelled inside him and a jolt of arousal coursed through his cock.

“Crawl in here and take your position,” Misha guided him to an open space in the bedroom.

When Jensen had resumed his pose, he listened intently, trying to figure out where Misha was and what he was doing. Misha’s hand curled into his hair, lifting his head. Jensen struggled to keep his eyes closed, but his lips parted slightly as his breathing quickened. The soft, velvety head of Misha’s cock brushed lightly against his lips. A shiver went down his spine. Sure, he’d sucked guys off before, even Misha, but never like this.

“Is this what you want?” Misha asked, his voice low and growly.

“Yes, Sir,” Jensen whispered.

PART 2

#jensen ackles #misha collins #jensen x misha #cockles #dom!misha #sub!Jensen #humiliation kink

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p1harmonyofficial · 3 years

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[📰] Get to Know the Members of K-Pop Group P1Harmony With These 10 Fun Facts! (Exclusive)

P1Harmony is a rising global K-Pop troupe, but we wanted Just Jared readers to get an exclusive chance to know them a little better!

The talented six-member boy group first arrived on the scene back in October of 2020, embarking on their international music career with the release of their first mini album DISHARMONY: STAND OUT and feature film, P1H: A New World Begins, which positioned the group as a force to be reckoned with in the music scene.

Amid the pandemic, the group continued to make new music for their fans with the release of their second mini album, DISHARMONY: BREAK OUT, including their slamming, hip-hop infused title track “Scared,”” along with an accompanying music video full of street-style dancing and intense visual effects.

Watch “Scared” and check out these 10 Fun Facts about P1Harmony inside!

INTAK

1. I have more eyelashes on my right eye than my left. Right after my debut, I didn’t really know how to remove eye makeup, so for a while, I used to just rub my eyes really hard with soap and now, I have more eyelashes on my right eye than my left. 2. I used to love oysters, but now I cannot eat it. I was an oyster fanatic, until very recently. I ordered raw oysters after watching a TV show at night with JONGSEOB, and after one bite, I couldn’t eat it anymore. The taste of the “sea” was so pungent. Now, I’m too traumatized! 3. I saved a man’s life. I went chestnut picking with my dad, and found a guy hanging on a cliff and struggling to get back up. We immediately helped him get up. He was really grateful and I remember feeling so proud to have saved someone’s life! 4. I have a small horizontal scar on the right side of my face, and I kind of like it. I got this scar when I was about four or five, and although it’s not that visible now, sometimes I like it because it makes me feel like a charismatic, bad guy! 5. I love dogs. I love dogs, so I have been watching a lot of dog-related videos but I’m terribly allergic. I can’t stop myself from petting them when I see them on the street, and always regret it afterwards because I turn all puffy and itchy! 6. I fantasize a lot about time travel. I even tried and feel like it can really happen one day! I lie down in my bed, put my blanket over my entire body and focus really hard on the idea, but this brings me nowhere but to the future. [Laughs] 7. I have a gold tooth. 8. I have a brown spot (mole) on my middle finger. 9. I love my Crayon Shin-chan character earphones. I get happy just looking at it. 10. I go to the convenient store so much that there isn’t anything I have not tried!

THEO

1. My right shoulder is more developed than my left. I used to play volleyball and would strike with my right arm, so my right shoulder is more developed than my left. 2. I have a red mole. I recently got a red mole on the side of my right neck, but I have no idea where it came from and why but it’s not going away! 3. I can’t burp, literally. I don’t know how to burp and have never burped in my life 4. I only drink carbonated drinks. I rarely drink anything that is NOT carbonated. 5. I don’t like lettuce and tomatoes in my burgers. 6. I had a burst appendix and didn’t know it for a while. I was hospitalized for two months, because they couldn’t find my appendix. Apparently, my organs are shaped and structured differently. 7. I love slippers. Unless I am going to an official engagement or doing promos, I am always in slippers, (even during winter)! 8. I have never cried in front of people until I turned 20. I was watching a very emotional episode of “Animal Farm,” and got caught crying in front of KEEHO, SOUL and JIUNG. Since then, I think I’ve gotten more emotional. I once cried watching JONGSEOB cry, too. 9. I can’t stay still when I’m on the phone. I have to walk around or do something when I’m on the phone. 10. I love singing songs to my friends over the phone.

JIUNG

1. I love Tonkatsu (pork cutlet). I have been addicted to tonkatsu these days and have been eating it almost every day for the last few months. 2. I have the same birthday as my younger brother. My younger brother and I share the same birthday, which is Oct. 7. We were also born around the same time. 3. My younger brother and I have a similar birth time as well. I think he was born like 8 minutes before me or after! 4. I love raw garlic and don’t like kimchi. 5. I only drink flat coca-cola. I purposely decarbonate my coke by shaking it and letting the air out multiple times until the bottle doesn’t expand anymore and the coke is completely flat. 6. I still fit into my hats from my adolescent years. My head is so small that I still fit into all my hats from elementary school. 7. I think too much. I make daily memos and write down almost everything to organize my thoughts. 8. I like to dance and sing when the streets are empty. When no one is around and I’m in a good mood. I love walking down the empty street thinking I’m shooting a music video. I sing, dance and act. Last time, I bumped into someone and I ran away in full embarrassment! [Laughs]. 9. I have a scar on my eye. 10. I may look picky, but I’m not a picky eater! I love trying a lot of different cuisines.

KEEHO

1. I love collecting sunglasses and glasses although my eyesight is near perfect. I love wearing glasses even though I don’t need them to see. I also have been collecting a lot of sunglasses lately. 2. I talk during my sleep, apparently! According to my members, I sleep-talk a lot (almost every night), but I don’t remember any of it and I never have dreams. 3. I have the same birthday as my dad! 4. I can eat salads all day. I love salads! I love eating vegetables, especially celery and carrots, and prefer dressings like ranch and oriental. 5. I am not good at smiling. I have a hard time smiling so I’m still in the process of learning how to smile naturally! I have to make sounds out loud to smile [during photo shoots]. 6. I used to hate wearing sweatpants. I don’t know why but I hated sweatpants and never wore them when I was younger― even if I had to wear something more uncomfortable like slacks or jeans.. Now, I wear them all the time! 7. I rarely cry alone or in front of people. The only person who has seen me cry is INTAK. I was going through something heavy and was alone at a park by myself when INTAK came to pick me up. He started crying as soon as he saw me, and that made me cry. 8. I used to pull all my loose baby teeth. I hated having something loose in my mouth, so instead of waiting to go to the dentist, I used to pull them out on my own. 9. I have a light (barely noticeable) mole on my big toe. 10. I have curly hair, so unless I blow dry it, it goes wild.

SOUL

1. I used to collect beetles. I think I had up to 30 beetles in one big box. 2. I only wear Air Jordans. I only wear Jordans and my favorite design is the Air Jordan 1s. 3. I love dolls! I love buying and collecting dolls. I like anything that is cute and fuzzy. 4. I don’t like taking pictures of humans except KEEHO. I only take pictures of nature, architecture or like a beautiful scenery. The only time I would take a picture of a human is of KEEHO. 5. Me and my younger sister found an important historical stone artifact. We were just digging stuff up and found a stone artifact. We later learned it was a historically valuable artifact, so we donated it to a museum. 6. I wear my pants backwards. 7. I don’t like electric fans. I don’t like when wind blows in my face 8. I once had the same dream three times in a row. I had the same dream three times in a row, but every ending changed depending on the choices I made [in my dream]. 9. A bird pooped on my head while I was on my way to school. Without having much reaction, I just walked to school and waited until I had to go to the bathroom to wash. 10. I don’t get scared or surprised easily. I used to get yelled at for bowing down and saying hi to all the actors playing zombies, monsters or ghosts at haunted houses in theme parks.

JONGSEOB

1. I like books that are thick and with small letters for no particular reason. I tend to buy books that are thick, whatever the genre is. I think it’s because I’m a fast reader. 2. I never had cavities! I love eating sweets like jellies and candies. I can go through a whole pack in one sitting, but I’ve never had cavities! 3. I have something called a “knee hyperextension and/or back knee. My knee bends backwards in a straightened position unlike many people. 4 I love the dark. I usually don’t turn on the lights unless I really have to. 5. I could sleep for long periods of time. I once slept up to 16 straight hours, and I barely have dreams. Maybe like five times a year?! 6. I don’t like/eat seaweed or seagrass. 7. I love walking into a room that is super cold. I turn on the A/C and close the door for about 30 minutes so it can be ice cold before I walk in. 8. I want to learn how to play bass guitar one day! I watch random videos of jam sessions, and one day would really like to play bass guitar. 9. My eyesight is different on both eyes. I am near-sighted on one, and far-sighted on the other. 10. I am pretty good at playing games on my phone.

#p1harmony #ot6 #t:news #era:disharmony : break out #210430

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leeknowsredeyeliner · 4 years

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break up - choi hyunsuk

hyunsuk x fem reader x yoshi (?)

summary: you finally confront your boyfriend and get everything off your chest. how does it result into a break up?

genre: college au, break up au

word count: 3.8k+

warning: minor cussing, mention of anxiety, minor anxiety attack (passing out), mention of anxiety pills/meds, break up

note: the first sad fanfic i’ve ever written so i hope you enjoy :)

You're trembling at the sight of the audience from backstage, basically the entire university is present. Having anxiety and dreaming of becoming a performer is obviously not the best combination, you always need to have your pills ready in case of an emergency. You're completely used to performing in front of your classmates and a large crowd but they opened the theater until every seat was filled, you can barely see the people in the back.

The only thing that keeps you going is your best friend, he's always front seat at your recitals and other performances. Even when Yoshi's not physically there to cheer you on, you know he's watching from a FaceTime call with your moms. You've been best friends since freshman orientation, you've even thought you would end up together but there was someone else that caught your eye -- your current boyfriend, Hyunsuk.

Most people suspect that Yoshi's your boyfriend because he's always seen around you, but you don't blame them, it logically makes sense. Even you sometimes feel like Yoshi treats you as more than just a best friend. Hyunsuk tends to be busy on weekends which is totally understandable, you just wish he'd make the time and effort to see you perform just once. He's never been to any of your performances or recitals, you wouldn't be surprised if he was unaware of them. Your moms are concerned for your relationship but you repeatedly remind them it's no big deal to you and he's just a busy guy.

"30 seconds," one of the backstage staff whispers passing by you. You mentally prepare yourself for your last performance of the year. 'I can do this.' Is all you repeat in your mind. The only way you can survive is by searching for your silver haired best friend in the audience and he'll give you all the encouragement you need.

"You’re up," the same person from earlier whispers from beside you. You take a deep breath in and out to slightly calm down the rollercoaster of nervousness mixed with puke in your stomach. You make your way on the stage and before the song starts, you don't hesitate to distinctively skim the first row. Your eyes stop near the middle as you see Yoshi with a big smile on his face. He gives you his iconic thumbs up of motivation and the song starts.

You sing your heart out to the audience but caught yourself looking at Yoshi a bit too often. Then again, he's the only one out there that came for you. Not even your moms could make it because of how close the performance is to the holidays.

[7:09pm]

You gather your belongings from the dressing room and speed walk out of the hall. Opening the door to the main hallway, Yoshi is leaning against the wall holding a box of chocolates. You run up to him as his arms open wide, ready for you to tackle him. Your bodies clash together, pulling him into a tight hug. His head nestles into your neck as he mumbles, "You killed it as always, (Y/n)."

"Only because of you. You know I can't do anything without you around," you giggle. You both pull away from the hug then he takes your bag away from you, slinging it over his shoulder.

"What? Am I like your lucky charm?" He jokes and you both laugh but in the back of your mind you take it seriously, he technically is. Whenever he's watching over the phone, you make the slightest mistakes and just pray the audience doesn't notice. His live presence is much more comforting to you. "These are for you. I know you hate flowers because you consider them a waste of space in your apartment." He hands you the box of chocolates -- your favorite box of chocolates.

"Thank you. I'll finish these tonight. Do you wanna go for some cheesecake?" Yoshi and you celebrate after every performance with food or if he's feeling generous, he takes you out to go shopping.

"Ooh, I can't. I'm going out with Asahi and Jihoon. I'll make it up to you tomorrow though."

"There's no need to make up for it, the chocolate's enough." The two of you don't always need to celebrate with food afterwards. Maybe going back to the apartment and spending the rest of the night with Hyunsuk will be better anyway.

"You don't need a ride home?" He asks as you make your way outside of the building.

"It's across the street, I can walk." Perks of living close to the university means saving cash for food.

"Alright, you be safe. And don't forget to take your anxiety meds once he get home," he orders, throwing your bag at you. You say your goodbyes then part ways.

[7:32pm]

You unlock the door to your apartment and while taking your shoes off, you see Hyunsuk's daily pair. It seems like he casually threw them onto the floor with no care in the world. You neatly place them in an available cubby and put your shoes away in their rightful spot.

You walk into your room to see Hyunsuk passed out across the bed. You clean out your bag, putting your belongings away where they belong. While getting dressed into your house clothes, you hear movement from outside the bathroom. Walking out of the bathroom, you throw your hair up into a ponytail.

"When did you get here?" Hyunsuk asks as you join him in the kitchen.

"Around 10 minutes ago? How long have you been home for?"

"I came here straight after school. Where were you?" He casually responds, grabbing a popsicle from the freezer. "Out with Yoshi again?" He asks with a hint of annoyance in his voice, but maybe you're just annoyed with the words that came out his mouth. It's obvious he doesn't listen to a word you say. He really had no idea about your performance? Also, what's the reason for bringing up Yoshi in that way?

"I had my monthly performance," you bluntly say. If he really had no clue, there's no way you'd be able to tolerate his ignorance. The list of things he does that piss you off keeps growing longer and longer.

"Since when do you have monthly performances?" Your eyes follow his body moving from the kitchen to the couch. The TV flickers on and you notice his interest beginning to fade away like in any conversation you've had in the past.

"Can you please turn the TV off when we're talking?" You order him like you're his mother. Does he have even the slightest drop of respect? He treats you like his sidepiece, like you're there to entertainment him whenever he feels like it.

"Don't worry, I'm still listening," he responds with his eyes glued to the TV. His eyes haven't met yours since you've arrived.

Hyunsuk is your first boyfriend. You were never the type to date before college because the only thing occupying your mind was school. Although you started off clueless in relationships, after being with Hyunsuk for a year, you eventually learned the attributes to a toxic relationship and how certain behaviors are formed.

In the beginning, it was never like this, Hyunsuk did anything and everything just to gain your attention for more than 20 seconds, trying to win you over every day. You loved playing hard to get with him, testing his limits. One day, you gave in to him and his constant courting. The two of you became the happy couple everyone aspires to be.

"But I don't want coffee today!" You whine and jump a bit in place to show how desperate you are. "Ice cream please."

"Fine, only because I love you." The word 'no' doesn't exist in his vocabulary, at least when it comes to you. He feels bad when he sees how disappointed you get when things don't go the way you want. You and Yoshi walk through the campus on your way to the ice cream parlor nearby.

Acting like a child is a natural instinct to you. You're the youngest in the family so you were babied the most and those behaviors never faded away. You enjoy your foot to stay in the squares, never touching the lines as you walk along the sidewalks. Yoshi found your actions interesting and would sometimes copy you when he felt like it, other times he'd watch you from behind as your pace quickens.

"Do it with me," you say. It was supposed to come out as an order but the baby side of you stopped yourself. You take Yoshi's hand in yours to line him up to your speed. As you hop over each line, Yoshi walks beside you looking like a loser. "You're so lame. You owe me two ice-"

"Hey, (Y/n)!" Hyunsuk chirps from beside you, cutting you off. Hyunsuk's been convincing you to let him take you on a date for too long. Every day it's the same thing, 'How does this weekend sound?' 'Just one date.' It's not that you didn't want to go out with him, you'd actually enjoy it very much. You just want to test his patience, see how long he can last, and to what extent he'll go to.

You let go of Yoshi's hand and bring your hands to the straps of your backpack. "Uh, hi?" You act totally uninterested. You like to see him stutter and think of ways for you to say more than four words at a time.

"Did you tell Yoshi you want two ice creams? I can buy you two ice cream cones, if that's what you want." If someone is willing to buy you more than one of any kind of food, you're not passing up on that opportunity. Hyunsuk willing to pay for the food just to win you over is quite worrisome though, it's a sign of easy manipulation.

"I guess," you keep your response short.

"It's okay, dude. I can buy for (Y/n)." Yoshi says from the other side of you. He may have not gotten the message that this was a test for Hyunsuk.

"I just got paid, paying for her ice cream won't hurt," Hyunsuk throws a sassy smile at Yoshi. Hyunsuk runs in front of you to get to the ice cream parlor before you and Yoshi.

"You really got him using his money for you, huh?"

"Yup! You know, he seems to like me a lot," you state the obvious.

"Really? Hm, I don't know. To me, it seems like he doesn't even want to be around you," he sarcastically says.

"I kind of like him now," you blurt out.

"A Hyunsuk confession to me? That's a shocker." He's known about who you felt about Hyunsuk for a few days now. He was neither happy nor upset about the news, he must've seen it coming. "What? Are you finally going to answer him today?" He laughs with no idea that you've already created a plan before today.

"Um, yeah." Yoshi stops in his track but you continue to walk, not caring if he gets left behind or not. "Can you walk? I have ice cream waiting for me."

"You're going to tell him? Today?" He sounds absolutely shocked. It's hard to tell whether it's because he's afraid you'd abandon him or maybe he'll feel bad if things don't work the way you'd want.

"Is that not what I just said?" You walk back over to him and wrap your arms together. "Now, let's go."

The two of you walk over to the ice cream parlor and Hyunsuk's already waiting at a table with your two ice cream cones in hand. Yoshi orders his ice cream while you sit with Hyunsuk. "Thanks," you say as he hands you both cones.

"Yeah, no problem. I remember you always had strawberry ice cream at uni so that's what I got you," he flashes a cute smile.

"Do you not have some for yourself?" You ask and he shakes his head. A frown forms on your face, it's unfair that he's bought you dessert but left himself empty-handed. You extend your arm out and force him to take your extra ice cream cone.

"Are you free this Saturday night?" You blurt our before taking a lick of your ice cream.

Hyunsuk's taken by surprise, you're never the one to initiate any conversation that demonstrates interest but you had a sudden burst of boldness. His eyes widen and he begins to stutter, "Oh. I- Well- It's a weekend- Uh-"

You cut him off, his stuttering's cute but you want a straight up answer, "If you're not free, just tell me. We can figure out another day."

"Thursday night?"

"It's a date."

The date is what initiated your relationship, it was a new beginning as a couple and for you as an individual. By the end of the date, Hyunsuk's impatient self had asked you to be his girlfriend and you proudly said yes.

You can't put your finger exactly on when your relationship went downhill, all you know is leading up to your one year anniversary, things changed.

Hyunsuk started off sweet, caring, a whore for your attention but turned into an unsupportive and distant boyfriend. He never takes you out on random dates, walks with you to school in the morning, and most importantly, you don't sleep in the same bed anymore and if you were, there'd be a line of pillows separating you. You're the only person putting in the effort nowadays and it's tiring.

You snatch the remote from beside him and turn off the TV. "What the hell? Give me back the remote!" He slightly raises his voice but it doesn't bother you. He's done it way too many times for it to have any sort of effect you.

"Oh? You want the remote back? Here, take it." You rip the batteries out from the back and slip them into your back pocket. Mercilessly, the remote is thrown onto the couch next to him.

"What the fuck was that for?" He yells yet again. His eyes meet yours for the first time, his eyebrows furrowed and face burning red.

"I can't take this anymore! I've been taking your shit for way too long. What happened to you the past few months, huh? You are a whole 'nother person. You're not the Hyunsuk I met in literature class my freshman year," I scoff. "The old you would do anything to see me, spend time with me. Please, just tel-"

"What do you expect? People change, (Y/n)! Do you want me to stay the same for the rest of my life?" He has a point, people change but never to the extent where they begin to lose interest in their girlfriend's life.

"I expect you to act like my boyfriend! You're never there for me. I'm always at your dance recitals and soccer games but never have you been to one of mine." Your vision becomes blurry because of your teary eyes. "I- I'm so fucking tired. Tired of- of having to look in the crowd and not see my boyfriend's face. Do you know how helpless I feel up on stage? You're supposed to be my number one supporter."

"You have never mentioned your performances before. How was I supposed to know?" This is his excuse? That's the fattest lie ever made on the planet.

"What do you mean?" You raise your voice. Your voice is very unstable and so is your mind, you could break at any second. "I've been bringing it up even before we started dating. I'd tell you every month, 'I have a performance next week. Do you want me to buy you a ticket?' You always have an excuse, it always has to do with work or going out with your friends. Do you just not have time for your girlfriend?"

"No! I don't! I have a social life and I need to pay the bills. All you do is go out with that stupid Yoshi boy!" He had absolutely no business bringing him into this. Is he using Yoshi as an excuse to ignore his own girlfriend?

"Pay the bills?" You quietly say to yourself before repeating it as loud as possible, "Pay the fucking bills? Your money goes straight to drinking with your friends. I am the only one paying the bills here. Me!" His head lowers down from embarrassment because he knows he's wrong. Yes, he makes money, but where does it all go? To food and drinks with his friends the night after earning it. It's a complete waste of money and a complete waste of your time. Because of how much money he spends, you end up working night and morning shifts to earn the money that he's responsible for paying off.

"And what the hell does Yoshi have to do with this? The only reason why the two of us are together so much is because he actually makes the effort to support me. He's my best friend and you're supposed to be my boyfriend. Instead of being a jealous brat, bringing up his name in an argument that has nothing to do with him, why don't you try to act your part?" You say all in one breath.

Just then, you break down into tears. You were holding it all in for too long that the pain and frustration hit you all at once, bringing you down into a ball of tears. Your breathing was obviously uneven as you were crying but it soon became hard to breathe. Hyunsuk stayed quiet the whole time, not knowing what to say or do. Was he supposed to comfort you or let you cry on the floor by yourself? After listening to your constant hiccuping and sobs continuing for god knows how long, he kneels in front of you.

Your cries were longer than usual and from the sound of his voice, he was concerned. "(Y/n)? Di- Did you take your pills when you got home?" You shake your head in response. This is why Yoshi is always there to remind you to take your pills, he knows you tend to forget at night.

"Okay." Hyunsuk disregards everything that's been said the past few minutes to focus on you and your health, "We're going to stand up and get you to the bed." He holds you up from your armpits, lifting you up from the floor. Once all of your weight is on your feet, nothing.

You see absolutely nothing. Pitch black.

[9:12pm]

You open your eyes to face the ceiling and stretch your arms and legs. "You're awake," a voice from beside you says.

"Yo- Yoshi. What are you doing here? What time is it? Where's Hyunsuk?" The questions flood out as you have a hard time remembering what happened to you.

"A lot of questions, huh? It's a bit past 9. Hyunsuk called me and told me about the fight you had and how you passed out. He didn't know how to handle you so he asked me to come over and help. He also didn't know how you'd feel if he was the first person you saw," he lets out a soft giggle at the end.

You forgot about your fight with Hyunsuk. Everything's coming back to you: The annoyance, the slight confusion of his words. You know if he were to walk through the door right now, you wouldn't hesitate to pounce him.

"You forgot to take your medicine when you got home, didn't you?" He breaks your train of thought. He knows you so well.

"Ho- How did you know?"

"Who's the one to call you at 7:40 every night to remind you?" He asks pulling out your phone to show you a missed call from him at exactly 7:40pm. Sometimes, you learn new things about yourself, like how high maintenance you are to the point where you need another person to remind you of what to do every single day.

"I didn't have to take my meds. I just shouldn't have went off on Hyunsuk, then this would've never happened."

Yoshi sighs and gently pats your head, "We both know it was bound to happen. There just needed to be something to trigger it." Again, he knows you so well, a bit too well.

"Can you bring him here? I want to finish my conversation from earlier." Maybe you won't pounce him, you have absolutely no energy for that. But you do need this weight to be lifted off of your shoulders.

"Only if you promise to not attack him or yell at him," he holds out his pinky. You connect your pinkies and do your quick handshake.

"Promise."

Yoshi leaves the room and shortly after, Hyunsuk walks through the door sending you a soft smile. You pat the spot next to you on the bed and he respectfully and quietly sits, waiting for you to say something.

"I think it's time," you softly say. You avoid eye contact with Hyunsuk because you knew if you were to look into his eyes, all it'd reflect is pain. Even though he wasn't the perfect boyfriend, maybe didn't even act like your boyfriend at all, he loves you and no matter how he acts, you both knew that. You never stopped loving him despite how many times he angered and tested you.

"Can we please try again? I swear I'll be the perfect boyfriend to you, (Y/n). I- I was thinking while you were asleep, looking back at the past few months. You put up with so much shit that you shouldn't have had to go through and I'm truly sorry. I want to make it up to you by making things right," he says with hope in his voice. "Please, (Y/n)." You look up at him, he genuinely is sorry. The regret and pain in his teary eyes are strong, no one could see past it.

You take a deep breath to quickly recollect your thoughts, "I'm sorry, Hyunsuk. I'm not happy in this relationship anymore. This could be the time to better ourselves." You keep it short, not wanting to hurt his feelings even more.

"I- I don't get a second chance?" A tear rolls down his face.

"I've given you more than just a second chance these past few months. Maybe in the future we'll have a chance to try again together." You still love Hyunsuk. There's no such thing as a perfect relationship, there's bound to be mistakes and obstacles in the way to drive you apart. If the two of you are truly meant to be then you'll meet again.

"Maybe," he softly says. "Or maybe it's Yoshi that should be given a chance."

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melisa-may-taylor72 · 4 years

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Accolades such as “greatest single long-playing achievement since Sgt. Pepper” and “the most important record album ever made” fall over Queen’s latest album as easily as butter melting on a hot potato—but few realize what a hot potato the album actually was in its pre-release days. It took a bevy of high-powered attorneys, some low-life finagling, and more than the usual amount of wheelerdealing just to get the album out without its being hacked to death by defamation-of-character suits.

Guitarist Brian May explains: “I’m in real difficulty here because I’ve been threatened with libel because our old management had a good go at stopping the album coming out. They thought “Death on Two Legs’’ was about them. They wanted us to take the track off and we nearly had to, and in fact they got a load of money out of our publishing company because it supposedly was libelous, but it’s never been proven. It’s all very stupid—they wanted to sue Freddie, the band, the publishing company, and the record company.”

All very dramatic stuff, but a band like Queen survives not on operatic finesse alone, but on gut-level melo- dramatics in the business department as well. When you produce your records, write the songs, play all the instruments, and do everything yourself, chances are you’re going to have to pay some legal dues, too. But ah! the rewards—such as the single, “Bohemian Rhapsody,” hanging into the #1 spot in the British charts for seven weeks in a row!

“We’re a bit more in the public eye now, we’re starting to get recognized a lot more,” says Brian May. “We’re carrying on working just as we did before, but obviously we’re very pleased with how the record’s doing. It’s sold more than a million copies in England— can’t believe it.” But it’s true: Queen’s stature in England has risen from that of The #1 teenage hard rock band to that of the-group- that-made-the-single-that-every-house- wife-knows-by-heart”.

What propelled Queen in that direction is their Night at the Opera album, a slight departure from what Queen fans know to be the Queen sound. The hard rock screams have temporarily subsided, replaced by experimentation with different voicings of instruments and production tricks. Those who found Queen’s approach overdecibelled can relax to the quiet “ ‘39” or “Good Company” and tap their feet to “Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon” without fear of being gui- tarred to death. “It’s just what came out,” says Brian. “They’re offshoots of our main direction. There’s plenty of time for the rock.”

“The album wasn’t really supposed to go in the direction that it did, it was just the songs we had. While we were making it we were thinking, ‘Yeah, it is getting a bit light,’ but rather than fight against it we decided to do it properly and then think again afterwards. So instead of trying to heavy up the lighter things, we pressed on. We had a few things we didn’t use, but we’re getting more demanding of ourselves. There are a few heavy things kicking around, but we may use them on the next record.”

The two strongest forces in Queen have always been Brian and Freddie. With A Night at the Opera, where experimentation and branching out in new directions are the most obvious characteristics, the personalities of the band are often obscured by the newly emerging elements. “Sometimes I feel that Freddie and I are going in different directions, but then he’ll come up with something and I’ll think, ‘My God—we do think alike.’ When I’m working on one of his things I can tune in very easily to what guitar part he wants, and vice-versa. In terms of what we’re trying to do in songs, we are moving in different directions, but I think that could be a good thing.”

QUEEN II: Critical response to the band is now almost unanimously favorable in both Great Britain and the United States, which is quite phenomenal when you stop and think of how anxious many critics were to pan them two years ago.“I’m not going to take it too seriously,” Brian says, “because I remember what the critics said about Queen II. It would seem that everybody is beginning to like us. … very much. I can take it at that level, but there’s no doubt in my mind that sometime in the future there’ll come a time when we get slagged for everything. Queen II is still my favorite of the Queen albums, certainly the most daring. Especially for the time. I think we’re still finding our feet now, and the way I feel about the new album is that we’re searching for new directions and most of them are sort of half-formed. We’ve got the Queen II feel in some places, and in others we’ve got the Sheer Heart Attack polish. I don’t think we’re quite sure where we’re going”.

“This album, at the very least, negates all the comparisons to Led Zeppelin that we’ve been living with for the past three years. I think Physical Graffiti is amazing, by the way. I saw Zeppelin at Earls Court, and I met Pagey afterward, for the first time. It was great, he was very nice and gentle. I respect him a tremendous amount for “Kashmir” and “The Light,” for being able to put his brain on record—- it wouldn’t matter if he couldn’t play a note.”

Economic criticism has been less favorable, however. A Night at the Opera was widely rumored to be “the most expensive album ever made” when it was released, a point which Queen’s management denies. Nevertheless, Queen has been taken to task by quite a few English journalists for spending so much money estimated at £30-40,000—making one record. Brian has a retort: “We wouldn’t have spent so much money if the studios weren’t so bloody expensive!

The album was recorded in seven of them, sometimes three at once.” We weren’t mucking about for any of it, it was four months of solid work. It came down to having the equipment available for four months, and we didn’t begrudge the amount of time spent in the studios, but it comes to a fair amount of money. There’s a lot of things that seem light, like “Good Company,” which actually took a great deal of time and care. All those trumpets and clarinets being fashioned from guitar sounds—I took it quite seriously because I wanted to do it right, even though it was a lighthearted thing. We worked too hard for our own health, we got a bit down and depressed.”

While Queen was laying about England between record and tour, a few of them got going on some independent projects. Brian and Roger produced an R&B group’s single, but there were some record company hassles and it may be some time before the record gets released. And on the eve of the American tour, Freddie Mercury went into the studios with a singer/songwriter managed by the Rocket Organization (which manages Queen as well) to try his hand at production. “Eddie Howells is the guy’s name, and he’s managed by David Mead, and they’re doing a single for Warners. I’m playing some guitar on it.” Brian restrained himself from going out on any limbs before the American tour in order to get himself physically fit. His health had been a crucial problem on an earlier American tour, and he’s not particularly anxious to spend time in hospitals when he could be onstage instead. “I actually get more tired offtour than ontour,”he admits. But I am in good health.”

HAIRY LEGS: Once the English leg of the tour did get started, word started to flow very quickly back to the States about Queen’s dramatic stage show—a stage show to end all stage shows, with Mercury donning short-shorts to add a bit of the hairy leg to Queen’s otherwise pristeen presentation. “The show is the same, but different,” Brian says confusedly. “We’ve merely developed what we did before with some new material from the new album. It’s a bit of reshuffling. Plus we do “Doing All- right” from the first album, which we’ve never done onstage before. And “Seven Seas of Rhye,” which we’d do in England but never in America before. It’s quite a lot different, actually.”

American audiences got their first chance to sample the new presentation on January 27 in Waterbury, Conn., when the first concert of Queen’s scheduled 32-date, 21-city American tour got underway in the Palace Theatre. After arriving in the States at Kennedy International on January 20 and spending a couple of days in New York for interviews, Queen began five days of rehearsals at the Palace to ready their show for American fans across the country.

After Waterbury they dove headfirst into the intensive six-week tour, which featured extended runs in New York, Philadelphia, and Los Angeles before its scheduled end March 12 at the San Diego Sports Arena.

Despite the novel direction of the new album, onstage Queen proved to be the same rocking outfit they’ve always been, letting loose with the same kind of guitar-bass-drums-piano barrage they’ve delivered in the past. “We don’t do “39” or “Lazing on aSunday Afternoon” in our show,“ Brian explains. He seems a bit defensive of Queen’s rock spirit, which is kept intact in the live set by “BohemianRhapsody,” “Sweet Lady,” “Prophet Song” and the deletion of the “experimental tunes” from A Night At the Opera.

By the by, those who missed Queenon earlier tours but want to see how they’ve changed now have the means. Queen bave joined the prestigious ranks of the Zeppelins, the Beatles, and the Rolling Stones whereby sorne illegal entrepreneur has issued a boot leg album of one of their American concerts. “I hate those things-they rarely give an accurate picture of the group,” Brian states unequivocally, and in this case he’s right. The Queen bootleg has transistor radio fidelity, and the only truly audible members of the band are Brian and Freddie. Yet the fact that a bootleg exists confirms the fact that Queen is now well on their way to the top.

CIRCUS MAGAZINE, APRIL 1975

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#Circus Magazine #Queen article

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gingwrites · 4 years

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And they were soulmates - taegi soulmate au

Soulmate au where once you meet your soulmate, you get sick if you’re too far away from your soulmate for too long. Soulmates Yoongi and Taehyung meet, but don’t realize it, and Yoongi, who is part of the group Bangtan, leave for a worldwide tour. The two start to feel sick, but don’t realize the cause. It’s then up to their friends to find out that they’re soulmates!

A/N: this was supposed to be a short one shot, but here we are 10k later. not sorry. I will also be posting this on ao3, so if you’d rather read it there, my ao3 is linked on my masterlist.

Yoongi sometimes wondered if fate hated him. He was 27 and still hadn’t found his soulmate. The one person who fate had created just for him. But then again, neither had the other two members of Bangtan, so he wasn’t exactly alone.

He didn’t know if being world famous was a curse or not. On one hand, he traveled the world and got to meet all kinds of people. People who could potentially be his soulmate. On the other hand, since Bangtan was so famous, he had trouble meeting new people that weren’t work-related or weren’t just after him for his fame and money.

When a person met their soulmate, it was said that they would feel unconditional love for the other person. And if that wasn’t enough proof for people, then if you were separated from your soulmate for a long period of time, both soulmates would get physically ill. Of course, the distance and time had to be great. Soulmates wouldn’t get sick by going to the store, or even a business trip.

Soulmate sickness, as it was so eloquently dubbed by scientists, wasn’t the same for everyone, but there was an estimate on distance and time for most people. For the most part, if soulmates didn’t see each other for around a month and were not within a couple hundred miles, soulmate sickness would set in. Soulmates would start to grow physically weak, their appetite would slowly vanish, they would be tired all the time. On top of that, they would usually have fevers, throw up, and sometimes be delirious.

If soulmates were sick for a long enough period, they would fall into a coma. If the soulmates couldn’t be reunited, they would die.

Luckily, soulmate sickness was pretty rare. Soulmates usually tested and knew their distance and time restrictions and didn’t travel outside their bounds. Soulmate sickness was usually caused by accident, or by unforeseen circumstances, like natural disasters.

Yoongi wondered if he would ever meet his soulmate. It would be hard enough since he was an idol and people would lie all the time, claiming to be his soulmate. The thought that maybe he didn’t even have a soulmate crossed his mind too many times for him to care for.

“Time to go, Yoongi!” Hoseok yelled from the door, forcing Yoongi to finally look up from his phone and pull his slumped form off the couch. “Fans are waiting! Let’s go, let’s go.”

“You have too much energy for this early in the morning,” Yoongi grumbled, though still following Hoseok’s direction’s and trailing behind the other rapper into the hallway where Namjoon and other staff members were waiting.

Bangtan was about to head to the stage for their latest fan meet. Yoongi loved fan meets. If it weren’t for their fans, Bangtan wouldn’t be where they were today, and they would never be able to give enough thanks to the small amount of fans they got to know during each fan meet.

“Are you ready to meet Bangtan?” a muffled voice came from the behind the door to the stage. A roar of cheers was heard, which brought a small smile to Yoongi’s face. “Well here they are! Kim Namjoon, Min Yoongi, and Jung Hoseok!”

A staff member then opened the door and the cheers became much more clearer and louder. The three members then made their way onto the stage, ready to meet some of their devoted fans.

“If you make me late, I will delete your Overwatch account,” Taehyung yelled up the stairs.

He then heard a squawk and running footsteps.

“You wouldn’t dare!” Jungkook cried, hand over his chest in disbelief.

“Try me.”

Jungkook huffed while slumping down the stairs. Taehyung swore he heard the other man huffing about how he was just about ready anyways.

“Don’t make me out to be the bad guy! You want to see Bangtan just as much as I do!” Taehyung said on the way out of their shared apartment. “I know you’ve been dying to meet Namjoon. Don’t deny it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jungkook muttered, heat rising to his cheeks. “Let’s just get this show on the road so you can go meet the man who you have a shrine in your bedroom to.”

This time, it was Taehyung who let out a squawk.

“Excuse you!” Taehyung argued. “It is not a shrine! I just happen to have a lot of posters and pictures of the love of my life, Min Yoongi.” Taehyung let out a love-struck sigh.

Jungkook smiled and just shook his head. His best friend really was a piece of work.

The two friends made their way to the bus, thrumming with excitement at the chance to finally meet their favorite idols.

Arriving at the theater 30 minutes later, Taehyung could barely contain his excitement. In a few short minutes, he’d be in the same building as Min Yoongi. And not long after that, the same room, and entirely not soon enough, they’d be face to face.

Ever since Taehyung had stumbled upon Bangan’s pre-debut Soundcloud, he’d been in love. He’d loved everything from the beat of their songs to the flow of their raps to the meaning behind the lyrics. And when he’d first heard the low, gravely voice of one Min Yoongi, Taehyung knew that that rapper would be his bias and nothing could change his mind.

Jungkook and Taehyung made their way in the small theater, along with all the other lucky fans who had tickets to the fan meet, and found their seats. The pair were in the back, which meant they’d have to wait longer to meet their idols, but it meant they got to watch them interacting with fans and the other members, which was always a sight to see. Taehyung loved watching videos of fan meets because the members of Bangtan always showed such love to their fans. And of course it helped that sometimes they acted like idiots while on stage, always bringing a smile to Taehyung’s face.

Taehyung’s leg was bouncing with excitement and nervousness. While waiting for the meet to start, Taehyung and Jungkook talked with each other and made small talk with the fans around them, leaning that one girl had been to every single fan meet that Bangtan had (which Taehyung thought was a bit excessive, but he guessed if that’s how she wanted to spend her money, that was on her).

The girl sitting on Jungkook’s side hadn’t been to a fan meet before like the two boys and was gushing about how she couldn’t wait to meet Namjoon.

The small room, now packed to the brim with fans, had slowly gotten louder as the clock ticked closer to the start of the event.

A screech from the microphone rang out across the room, causing Taehyung to flinch. The room got eerily silent.

“Are you ready to meet Bantan?” a voice sounded from the speakers.

Taehyung and Jungkook, along with every other person in the room, screamed with excitement.

It’s finally happening! Taehyung thought. He felt like his heart might beat out of his chest. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. The members of Bangtan were just normal people, just like him. Yeah, except they’re insanely talented, and they’re super famous and super rich, Taehyung thought.

“Well here they are! Kim Namjoon, Min Yoongi, and Jung Hoseok!” the voice spoke again.

Before Taehyung could even think, the entire room was on their feet, cheering for the three men entering the stage, Taehyung right there with them, screaming his lungs out.

The first on stage was Kim Namjoon, leader of Bangtan. Taehyung knew pictures wouldn’t do the man justice, but still, he wasn’t prepared for how Namjoon looked in real life. The rapper smiled out at the crowd, and Taehyung just about swooned. Even though Namjoon wasn’t his bias, he could still write poems about the dimples that graced Namjoon’s face.

The next to enter the stage was Jung Hoseok, dance captain of Bangtan. Again, Taehyung was struck with how pretty the man was in real life. How had BigHit managed to find such attractive men to be in the same group? Hoseok looked at the crowd and waved, causing quite a few people in the crowd to squeal.

Finally, Min Yoongi entered the stage. The moment Taehyung’s eyes landed on the man, he felt his heart grow 10 sizes and burst. If he were in a cartoon, Taehyung knew he would have heart eyes. He couldn’t believe he was finally in the same room as Yoongi and actually looking at the rapper with his own eyes. Taehyung’s whole chest felt warm, and he felt the need to kiss Yoongi all over his face (but honestly, Taehyung always wanted to do that).

Just like the other members, nothing could have prepared Taehyung for what Yoongi looked like in real life. He was both hard lines and soft curves. Yoongi had on what Taehyung thought looked like the softest pastel sweater on the face of the earth. Yoongi had a serious look on his face, but once he looked out into the audience, his signature gummy smile took over his face. He looked like the softest boy on the planet and Taehyung just wanted to squish his cheeks. But, he knew if Yoongi was handed a mic, he would be throwing out hard raps that no one else could ever dream to perform.

“Thank you for coming to our fan meet!” Namjoon spoke into his microphone as he and the other two members took their seats at the table. The crowd cheered again. “We can’t wait to meet you all!”

The MC then took over and called the first row up to get in line.

The next hour passed way too quick and way too slow for Taehyung. He watched Namjoon listen intently to fans as they talked about how Namjoon’s lyrics help them get through tough times in their lives. He watched Hoseok get the brightest smile on his face when a fan told him she had named a star after him. He watched how Yoongi put on all the flower crowns and headbands that fans gave him and let them take pictures before moving on. He watched the three talk about a goof that happened during their last performance. And he watched them act crazy and silly, sometimes throwing things, like stuffed animals they were given, at each other, all with the biggest smiles on their faces.

Finally, the last row was called to get in line. Taehyung bounced on his toes, unable to believe he was finally here. Jungkook, who Taehyung almost forgot was here with him in all the excitement, squeezed his shoulder, looking just as excited.

Taehyung and Jungkook happened to be at the end of the line, so they had to wait a bit more. The line moved at a very slow but steady pace. Before Taehyung knew it, he was at the front of the line.

“Hi! What’s your name?” Namjoon asked, a smile taking over his face.

“Taehyung.”

“Well, Taehyung, it’s so nice to meet you!” Namjoon replied. “Did you have anything you wanted me to sign?”

“Oh, yes! Of course!” Taehyung quickly pulled his copy of Bangtan’s latest album out of his bag and handed it over. He was still in shock at being this close. He thought seeing Namjoon’s dimples from across the room was bad, but seeing them this close made him want to just reach over and poke them.

Namjoon quickly signed the album and handed it back.

“I just wanted to say, thank you so much for all you do,” Taehyung started while taking back the album. “I’ve been following Bangtan since before debut, and y’all’s music has helped me through so much. You all are really such amazing songwriters. You really know how to write lyrics that make a person think and feel.”

Namjoon’s cheeks were now dusted with pink.

“Thank you, but we really should be thanking you!” Namjoon replied. “Without fans like you, we wouldn’t get to do any of this, so thank you. We really appreciate it.”

Now it was Taehyung’s turn to blush. He looked down at his feet, trying and failing to keep the massive smile off his face.

“Next!” a voice called. Taehyung looked up, realizing it was time to move on.

“It was great meeting you, Taehyung!” Namjoon called while he moved on. “I hope we can meet again!”

Taehyung nodded and stopped in front of Hoseok.

“Hello!” Hoseok smiled cheerily, immediately putting Taehyung’s nerves at ease.

“Hi, I’m Taehyung!” he replied, shyly handing over his album.

“How are you doing today, Taehyung?” Hoseok asked while signing the album. “Are you having a fun time?”

“Oh, yes! It’s been great!” Taehyung nodded.

“Is it your first fan meet?”

“Yes! I’ve been a fan since before Bangtan debuted, but this was the first time I’ve been able to get tickets for a fan meet,” Taehyung replied.

Hoseok nodded and handed the album back over.

“Well, I’m glad you could finally make it!” Hoseok smiled. “We really appreciate your support! I can’t believe you’ve been following us since before debut! That’s a long time!”

“It’s not that hard to support when y’all put out such amazing music,” Taehyung said.

“Well, I’m happy we got to meet!” Hoseok replied as the voice came back over the speaker and called for the line to continue moving.

Taehyung shyly waved bye and moved down the table. He didn’t dare look up yet. Yoongi was the last and most important and Taehyung felt like he might have a heart attack at seeing Min Yoongi this close.

Taehyung stopped in front of Yoongi’s spot and unzipped his bag, pulling out the gift he bought specifically for the other man.

“This is for you,” Taehyung said while shoving the gift forward, still afraid of looking up. He was afraid Yoongi wouldn’t like the gift.

“Aw, Yoongi got a Kumamon plushie!” Namjoon spoke, surprising Taehyung into looking up. The older man was draped over Yoongi’s shoulders. Taehyung quickly glanced down the line and realized that the line had ended, so Namjoon didn’t have a fan to talk with.

Taehyung finally looked at Yoongi, who had pink cheeks. Namjoon turned his head and realized the other man was blushing and reached to pinch his cheeks.

“Aw, look what you did, Taehyung! You made Min Yoongi blush!” Namjoon cried dramatically.

Yoongi quickly pushed the younger man off his shoulders while grumbling about going back to his own seat and Taehyung swore he heard something about knowing where Namjoon slept.

Once Namjoon had made his way back to his own spot, Yoongi finally spoke.

“Thank you. I love it.”

“Really? I was nervous that maybe you already had enough Kumamon plushies from fans or that maybe you already had this one or maybe you wouldn’t like it,” Taehyung rambled.

Yoongi laughed and Taehyung felt his heart stop at hearing it in person. His laugh sounded so comforting, as odd as that sounded. The laugh sounded very loving and Taehyung would love to make him laugh again.

“Yes, I really love it,” Yoongi smiled. “I actually don’t think I have this specific one, so it’s perfect.”

“Oh, that’s great!” Taehyung smiled back, pink still dusting his cheeks from his earlier rambling. “Oh! I have my album for you to sign!”

Taehyung quickly handed it over.

“I’m glad you got to come today, Taehyung,” Yoongi said while signing the album. “Meeting our fans is always so much fun, though it was probably more fun for you because you got to watch us act like idiots with each other up here on stage.”

Taehyung giggled, nodding along.

“Well, I’m glad I got to meet you, Taehyung. Maybe we’ll get to meet each other again some time!” Yoongi continued, handing Taehyung his album back.

“I really hope so,” the younger replied.

“Next!” the voice that Taehyung was starting to dread called. He stuck the album back into his bag and waved to Yoongi before turning toward the door. Taehyung’s cheeks hurt from smiling so much, but it was so worth it to finally meet Bangtan.

Taehyung made it out into the hallway and sat on one of the benches that lined the wall, waiting for Jungkook to join him. Since they were basically last in line, there weren’t too many people left hanging around, which Taehyung was glad for because he was still sure his face was pink from talking with Yoongi.

“We just met Bangtan!” Jungkook cried as he threw open the auditorium doors. “I can’t believe we just did that! And I talked with Namjoon! And you talked with Yoongi!”

Taehyung stood up from the bench, a smile still stretching over his cheeks. The two made their way outside to the bus stop, catching each other up on what they talked about with each member.

By the time they reached their apartment, the two had shared their stories and were walking in comfortable silence as they made their way inside. Taehyung felt the happiest he had ever been. He had been stressed lately because of work, but he forgot all about those worries now. He felt like his life was complete now and his heart was full.

The next few weeks passed by with nothing special. Taehyung went to work everyday and came home and hung out with Jungkook. Now that he had met Yoongi and the rest of Bangtan, Taehyung felt like something in his life was missing.

It’s probably all just in my head, Taehyung though. This isn’t some Y/N fanfiction. It’s not like I was going to attend the fan meet and have one of the members fall in love with me by just looking at me. Plus, they have soulmates out there somewhere. And so do I. Who knows when I’ll finally meet them, but they’re out there somewhere.

Taehyung had never really thought much about his soulmate. He knew he had one because everyone did, but he didn’t really think much past that. He figured when the time was right, the universe would put that person in his life and he would know exactly when it happened and he would be in love.

Growing up, it was impossible to go through life without hearing soulmate stories. People would talk about the moment they laid eyes on their significant other, the moment they knew they were in love. Most people said it was hard to explain what it felt like to find their soulmate, but that you would know when it happened to you. You would get this overwhelming love for this other person and you’d never want to let them go.

Taehyung couldn’t wait until that moment, but until then, he was content with going through life not worrying about it.

“Hey!” Jungkook called when he came home one night after work, a pizza box in tow. “Did you see that they finally published the pictures from when Bangtan left for their tour last week? I’m pretty sure Hoseok had to do a punishment based on the outfit he was wearing at the airport.”

“Oo! I wanna see!” Taehyung quickly pulled his phone out of his pocket and pulled up Twitter to look at the pictures. “Oh my god, I can’t believe he wore that to the airport. I would never be able to do that.”

“This is why we love them.”

“Because they’re huge dorks?” Taehyung raised his eyebrows.

“No,” Jungkook laughed. “Okay, maybe. But also because they’re confident enough to do things like this. And they’re okay with looking like idiots sometimes if it makes their fans happy. And it made me happy.”

Taehyung just shook his head before grabbing a slice of pizza. The two spent their night watching crappy dramas on TV while finishing their pizza.

The next morning, Taehyung woke up feeling like he didn’t get any sleep, which he thought was odd because he had gone to bed at a decent time. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up and stretched his arms out. Today was going to be a long day if he felt this exhausted already. Maybe he could squeeze a nap in during his lunch break.

“Morning!” Jungkook chirped as he entered the kitchen. “Have a hard night?”

Taehyung just grumbled into his large coffee cup. He was in no mood for Jungkook’s cheeriness this early in the morning. Taehyung despised morning people.

Jungkook shuffled around the kitchen, grabbing a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal.

“Seriously, are you okay?” Jungkook asked once he plopped down in the chair across from Taehyung and finally got a good look at the other man. “You look like death. And I mean that in the nicest way possible. Did you stay up playing Overwatch without me last night or something?”

Taehyung shook his head.

“I don’t know what the problem is,” Taehyung started. “I went to bed at a decent time last night, but I woke up feeling like I didn’t get any sleep. Today is going to be hell. I have a presentation to give to the museum curator today, and I don’t think he’d appreciate it if I passed out during it.”

Taehyung brought the coffee cup back up and drank half the cup in one go. Maybe if he downed another cup of coffee before he left, he’d feel better by the time he got to work.

“Well, don’t push yourself too hard. Maybe you picked up a bug somewhere,” Jungkook reasoned. “Take it easy today and go to bed early tonight and maybe you’ll feel better in the morning.”

Taehyung just nodded, focused on drowning himself in coffee.

The day went just as Taehyung had predicted. Crappy. Taehyung had filled a thermos with coffee before he left for work and downed it on the bus ride to the museum. He had felt a little more awake by the time he made it in, but his head was starting to hurt. Taehyung worked all morning finalizing his presentation for that afternoon, but by the time that rolled around, he had a massive headache and couldn’t concentrate on his computer.

While giving the presentation, the curator actually stopped him to ask him if he was okay. Taehyung of course said he was fine and continued with the presentation. Luckily, after it was done, it was almost time to head home. On the bus ride home, Taehyung’s headache got worse, which he didn’t think was possible, and by the time he got off at his stop, his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

Okay, early bedtime it is.

Taehyung quickly made his way home and headed straight to the bathroom, where he quickly swallowed a few painkillers. Hopefully that would help with the stuffiness.

The rest of the night was spent lying around the apartment, and Taehyung kept true to his word and went to bed early.

Hopefully this will all go away and I’ll feel fine in the morning, Taehyung thought as he drifted off.

Yoongi’s alarm went off way too early for his liking. Touring was great and all, but dealing with time changes and constant traveling was hell on his body.

“Ugh,” Yoongi groaned, rolling over to slap at his phone to turn the constant blaring off.

As soon as the alarm was turned off, a knock sounded at the door. Of course. If it’s not one thing, it’s another.

Yoongi slowly made his way out of the hotel bed, grabbing a blanket to wrap around his shoulders before heading to the door.

“What?” Yoongi grumbled, throwing the door open.

“Good morning to you, too, sunshine,” grinned Hoseok. “I just came to wake you up before they started putting breakfast away. I know you like your sleep, but I know how grumpy you get when you miss out on a meal. And based off how you opened the door, I would say I was right on time, Mr. Grumpy Pants.”

“I hate you,” Yoongi replied with no real heat behind his words. “I’ll be down soon, just give me a minute to get changed.”

Hoseok nodded and turned on his heel, heading back down the hallway. Yoongi shut the door behind him, feeling a little more awake than he was when he opened the door. Hoseok really was like his portal battery.

Ten minutes later, Yoongi made his way into their private dining room at the hotel where breakfast was being served for the group and their staff. Making his way through the buffet line quickly, Yoongi spotted Namjoon and Hoseok easily as the room was almost empty because it was so late in the morning.

“Are you ready for the concert tonight, hyung?” Namjoon questioned once Yoongi sat down.

“Of course. Are you?” Yoongi shot back. Namjoon laughed and nodded the affirmative. Namjoon then turned to Hoseok and started up the conversation they were having before Yoongi arrived, and Yoongi turned toward his food.

After taking the first bite, Yoongi suddenly felt nauseous. He quickly put his chopsticks down and grabbed a drink of water.

“Hyung? Is everything okay?” Hoseok asked, glancing over at the older man.

“Yeah,” Yoongi said, nodding his head. “I don’t know what happened. I thought I was hungry, but I just suddenly felt really nauseous. I don’t think I’m going to be able to eat anything. At least not right now.”

Namjoon leaned over and felt his forehead.

“You don’t feel warm. Are you feeling sick other than feeling nauseous?” Namjoon questioned, looking Yoongi over quickly to make sure there weren’t any noticeable signs that the other man wasn’t feeling well.

“I feel fine, other than that. I don’t know what the issue is. Maybe it’s the jet lag. Or just eating too close to waking up. I’ll be fine in a little bit,” Yoongi reassured. He didn’t know what the problem was, but he knew that he was going to do everything in his power to make sure he was better for their soundcheck and concert later. He couldn’t let their fans down. “I think I’m just going to go lay down for a bit. I’ll eat something before we head to the venue. Come get me before it’s time to leave?”

Namjoon and Hoseok just nodded, concerned for their friend, but unable to do anything for the other man. Letting him rest was their best option for now. Unfortunately, feeling sick on tour because of jet lag and exhaustion was common. Sleep and eating healthy were the only ways they had ever found to help combat them.

Yoongi quickly made his way back up to his room, falling asleep almost the second his head hit his pillow.

A week later and Taehyung woke up feeling like he had been hit by a bus. His body ached from head to toe, his head felt completely stopped up, and no matter how early he went to bed, he was always yawning.

Dragging himself to work had become a chore. The barista at the coffee shop a block from the museum had become his new best friend, already having his order prepared by the time he made it to the front of the line. After work, Taehyung used to play games or watch TV with Jungkook. Now, Taehyung felt like going straight to bed as soon as he walked in the door.

“Taehyung, I really think you need to go to the doctor,” Jungkook finally broke on Friday night. “I can’t just sit here and watch you like this. I know you’ve been getting enough sleep, so there has to be some other issue. I hate seeing you like this.”

The two roommates had been sitting on the couch, eating takeout and watching a crappy reality show on TV, like their normal Friday night. During a commercial break, Jungkook had finally broken the silence with his plea.

“I’m fine, Kookie,” Taehyung reassured. “It’s just a bug or something. Maybe a cold. I’ll be fine in a few days.”

“You are not fine!” Jungkook argued. “You’re tired all the time, even after you chug two cups of coffee, which is not healthy at all. You’ve complained about headaches every day this week, and it doesn’t seem like the painkillers are helping. You haven’t been eating as much, either, and I know it’s only been a week, but it looks like you’ve lost weight, and your complexion has become super pale.

“I just- I can’t sit here while it looks like you’re wasting away. I’m your best friend, Taehyung. I love you, and I don’t like watching you like this.”

Taehyung sighed, finally setting his plate on the coffee table and turning toward the other man.

“Go to the doctor, please,” Jungkook cut Taehyung off before he could say a word. “If it’s just the flu, then it’s the flu and we’ll know. I’d rather overreact about the flu than find out it’s something worse later on when you become more sick. Please, Taehyung, for me.”

Taehyung sighed. He knew there was no way he was getting out of this. Truth be told, he wouldn’t mind going to the doctor. He had actually been thinking about it before Jungkook had said anything. He really didn’t think it was the flu. He’s had the flu before and it didn’t feel anything like this. Taehyung felt like he was wasting away, like something big was missing in his life, and if he didn’t get it back, he’d turn to dust and blow away with the wind.

“Alright. I’ll make an appointment on Monday,” Taehyung agreed.

“Thank you,” Jungkook sighed in relief. “Now that we’ve covered that, can we please turn off this crappy show and talk about Bangtan? They’ve been on tour for over a week, and we haven’t discussed any of the photos or videos from the concerts!”

Taehyung’s heart skipped. He’d talk about Bangtan any day.

“Do you even have to ask?” Taehyung scoffed. “Get your laptop! We need to watch all the videos!”

Jungkook leapt off the couch and ran to his room to grab his laptop.

“Here are some pictures from last night from someone I follow on Twitter,” Jungkook said, pulling up the photos.

The two spent the next twenty minutes scrolling through the photos and gushing over their favorites.

“Does Yoongi look tired to you in these photos?” Taehyung pointed out after a couple of Yoongi pictures in a row. “It looks like he’s got bags under his eyes. It doesn’t look like even makeup can cover them up.”

“Maybe it’s just the lighting? Or maybe it’s just jet lag from traveling,” Jungkook reasoned.

Taehyung just shrugged, still a little worried about Yoongi. He may only be a fan to the rapper, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t care about his health.

The two then moved on to videos from the latest concert, which was the night before.

“Wait, go back a second,” Taehyung interjected a few videos in. Jungkook quickly complied. “Do you see that? He looks… I don’t know, but he doesn’t look okay. He looks like he’s going to be sick or something.”

Jungkook scrutinized the screen, playing the short clip over and over again.

“Yeah, I guess he does look kind of like that,” Jungkook said after a moment. “Like I said though, maybe it’s just jet lag. Or the lighting. Who knows? No use speculating though.”

Taehyung hummed in agreement, though he wasn’t so sure.

After another hour of scouring Twitter for photos and videos, Taehyung decided to finally head to bed. He still felt terrible, but hopefully he’d figure out what was wrong next week. As he drifted off to sleep, the video clip of Yoongi looking unwell played on repeat behind his eyes.

“Come on, Yoongi. We’re here,” Namjoon shook Yoongi’s shoulder, waking the older man up from his short nap. The group had just arrived at the venue for their concert. Yoongi didn’t really have any idea where they were, he just went where he was told. The past week, or he thinks it’s been a week, of touring had been crazy. From performing a show every night, traveling to different countries, visiting different TV shows to promote their album and concerts, and adding jet lag on top of that, Yoongi hadn’t been feeling the best.

The group headed inside the venue, making their way to the dressing room. Once inside, Yoongi plopped himself down on one of the couches, planning on making himself sink into the couch until he was required to be somewhere for soundcheck.

“How’re you feeling?” Hoseok sat down next to Yoongi, disrupting his plans of falling back asleep. “I know you like your sleep, but you’ve definitely been sleeping more than you normally do on tour. Maybe you should talk with our doctor. We’re worried about you.”

Yoongi groaned. He did not want to do this right now. Hoseok was right. Of course he was right. There was no denying that something besides jet lag was wrong with Yoongi, but he hoped if he put it off long enough, it’d go away on its own. But, if it was enough for his friends to actually say something to him about it, maybe it was serious.

“I’m okay, Hoseok,” Yoongi finally answered. “Maybe I’m just not as in shape or healthy as I normally am on tour. And there’s nothing wrong with sleep! Sleep is good for you!”

Hoseok just raised his eyebrows.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ll talk with the doctor.” Hoseok’s eyes lit up. “After the concert.”

His smile dimmed slightly, but he would take what he could get. Yoongi was a stubborn man, and getting him to agree to talk with their physician on his own must really mean the older man wasn’t feeling the greatest.

“Good. We love you, Yoongi. We only want the best for you. Plus, it’s no fun calling you a cat if you're not around to hear it and complain," Hoseok teased.

"I am not a cat," Yoongi grumbled.

"See, there's my best friend," Hoseok smiled.

"Alright, boys. Time for soundcheck!" a manager called, as he stuck his head in the room.

The three members of Bangtan followed the man to the stage, grabbing their mics from a stagehand along the way.

"We only need to go through a couple songs to get everything set, but you will need to do choreography so the techs can get an idea of how it sounds while moving around the stage," the manager instructed.

Hoseok, Yoongi, and Namjoon all nodded, stepping up to their places for the first song.

The moment the first beats flowed through Yoongi's in-ear pieces, he fell into what Hoseok called his "stage mode." It didn't matter that it was only soundcheck, Yoongi would give it his all.

The three moved through the song flawlessly, hours of practice and other performances paying off.

The second the song ended, Yoongi started gasping for breath. He leaned over and put his hands on his knees, trying to suck in as much air as possible to steady his racing heart. He knew he had been feeling like crap lately, but he didn't think one song would make him feel this bad. Maybe it was a good idea Hoseok had convinced him to see their physician.

"Hey, you good?" Namjoon asked, placing a hand on Yoongi's back.

Yoongi only nodded, still trying to catch his breath. A water bottle was suddenly thrust into his line of vision, which he gladly grabbed and chugged.

"Maybe you should take it easy," Hoseok, who was now on his other side, suggested. "This is only soundcheck, after all. I know you'll want to go all out for the concert tonight, and you can't do that if you tire yourself out now."

Namjoon hummed in agreement, rubbing his hand up and down Yoongi's back in comfort. He hated seeing his members and best friends sick. He was the leader and would fight for them to the ends of the earth, but there was only so much he could do about physical illnesses.

"I'll be okay," Yoongi tried to reassure after finally catching his breath. "We've only got one more song to run through, and then I can sleep until the concert. And then I'll talk with our doctor after. I'll be okay."

Hoseok and Namjoon looked like they wanted to argue, but the manager was calling for them to get set for the second song. Plus, they knew Yoongi was stubborn and that they wouldn't be able to change his mind.

Yoongi stood up, threw the empty water bottle to the side, and went to his starting position, the other two following.

The song started, and Yoongi still gave it his all. He was moving through the motions, albeit a little wobbly, but he was making it through.

See, I told them I was okay.

As soon as that thought passed through his head, Yoongi stumbled, but luckily he caught himself before he fell completely. He continued the choreography, but quickly glanced around to see if anyone had noticed, which it didn't seem like they did.

Yoongi's verse came up, and he moved to the center of the stage, glad that he could stop dancing for a moment while he rapped. He would never admit it, but spots had started dancing around his vision, which probably had been the cause of him stumbling.

By the time his verse was over, the spots had cleared, and Yoongi was grateful. He quickly moved back into the choreography, letting Hoseok take over the song.

Of course, as soon as he thought he was in the clear, the spots returned. Yoongi chose to ignore them. The song was almost over and then he could go and sleep it off. That's all it was, right? He just needed a little more sleep and everything would be okay in time for the concert tonight.

Famous last words, Yoongi thought as his vision turned darker and he stumbled again, this time making it all the way to the knees before catching himself.

He barely registered the music stopping. He thought he heard someone call out his name, but he couldn't be too sure. He was too focused on trying to get his vision back to normal and keeping himself upright. It all became too much, and Yoongi finally gave in.

Maybe Hoseok was right and I do need to get help sooner, was Yoongi’s last thought before giving in to the darkness.

"Bangan's Min Yoongi has collapsed during soundcheck before a show in England."

" Taehyung! Get in here!" Jungkook called from the couch. He had been switching through channels and happened to land on the news when he saw a picture of Bangtan.

"What? I was just about to go to bed," Taehyung grumbled, trudging into the living room, blanket wrapped around his shoulders. It was now Saturday night, and even though he had spent most of the day in bed, Taehyung was ready to get more sleep.

"Look!" Jungkook pointed to the TV, where a picture of Yoongi was on the screen.

Taehyung felt his heart lurch.

"They said he collapsed at a soundcheck!" Jungkook recapped. "You were right when you said he looked tired."

Taehyung then felt his heart fall to his stomach.

Is Yoongi going to be okay? He has to okay! I can't live without him! Wait, what am I saying? I'm just a fan. We've met once. I'm not a crazed fan. He has his life, and I have mine. I'll be okay. He'll be okay. It'll all be okay.

Sitting down on the couch next to his roommate, Taehyung stared at the TV, waiting for the news anchor to give more updates.

"An ambulance was seen leaving the venue by fans, which prompted an outcry from fans online, demanding to know if the members of Bangtan were okay.

"BigHit released a statement shortly after, stating Min Yoongi, the oldest in the group, had collapsed during soundcheck and that he was being treated at a nearby hospital. They did not give any indication as to his current status or what caused him to collapse. The concert for tonight has also been canceled.

"Fans from all over the world are now sending in messages of support for Yoongi, hoping the rapper recovers soon.

"This is a breaking news story; we'll keep you updated as we receive more information."

The room was silent as Jungkook muted the TV. Taehyung knew he shouldn't feel this upset about his favorite idol being sick, but he couldn't help it. He felt the need to hop on a plane and go and take care of the man himself. Which was obviously out of the question, and only something that an obsessed fan would do.

"Hey, he's going to be okay," Jungkook tried to reassure.

Taehyung just nodded, curling himself further into his blanket.

"It's probably just exhaustion. You know he likes to work, and with them being on tour, it probably didn't help," Jungkook reasoned. "Hey, maybe it's a sympathy sickness. He knew his biggest fan wasn't feeling so great, so now he's feeling a little under the weather, too"

Taehyung didn't laugh at Jungkook's attempt at a joke, but his lip did twitch.

"I'm going to head to bed," Taehyung finally spoke up a few minutes later.

Slowly dragging himself off the couch, Taehyung made his way toward his room, all but collapsing on his bed.

The next morning, Jungkook woke up early and decided to make breakfast for him and Taehyung. He hoped he could cheer the other man up. First, he'd had a crappy week at work and had been feeling sick, and now Yoongi getting sick. It was just not Taehyung's week.

"Taehyung, I made breakfast," Jungkook lightly knocked on the older man's door.

Silence.

"Tae Tae? Are you up?" Jungkook tried again.

More silence.

"I made your favorite! You can't stay in bed all day!"

Silence again. Now Jungkook was starting to get worried. Taehyung wasn't a super heavy sleeper, and usually knocking on his door would wake him up.

"I'm coming in, so I hope you're decent," Jungkook tried one last time before slowly opening the door.

All the lights were off, and the blinds were still closed. Jungkook could still make out a Taehyung-sized lump on the bed, covered in a mound of blankets.

"Taehyung?"

No answer.

Jungkook walked to the bed and carefully put a hand on what he thought would be Taehyung's shoulder under all the blankets. He shook the man slightly, hoping to get a response now.

"Taehyung, it's time to wake up. I made breakfast."

Still no response. Not even a slight movement from under the blankets.

"Taehyung, this isn't funny. Come on, wake up."

Jungkook shook the man a little harder. There was no way he could still be asleep after all that. Jungkook's heart started racing. Something had to be wrong. Quickly, Jungkook started grabbing blankets and throwing them over his shoulder, not caring where they landed.

Finally, Jungkook saw a fluffy head of hair peeking out from the final blanket.

"Taehyung," Jungkook tried one last time, shaking his shoulder again. Still no response.

Jungkook quickly pulled the last blanket down. Taehyung laid on his bed, eyes closed, unmoving. Looking over him, Jungkook didn't see any physical injuries that would cause him to be in this state. Luckily, he did see Taehyung’s chest moving up and down.

Trying one last time, hoping that this was all some stupid prank or that he was still sleeping, Jungkook called his name and shook his shoulders, even tapping the older man's cheeks lightly to see if it would cause the man to stir.

No response.

"Oh God, Taehyung. No, no, no. Please be okay. Please be okay."

Jungkook quickly ran out of the room to grab his phone to call an ambulance.

He has to be okay. He has to be okay.

“What do you mean soulmate sickness? He’s never met his soulmate!” Namjoon argued with the doctor.

After Yoongi collapsed on stage, he hadn’t woken up, so an ambulance was called. Namjoon, Hoseok, and one of their managers had been waiting at the hospital all night for the doctors to tell them what was happening with Yoongi. They hadn’t been told anything all night, not even if he had woken up.

“All the signs and symptoms point to soulmate sickness, I’m afraid,” the doctor repeated. “If he doesn’t know who his soulmate is, it will make it that much harder for him to get better, I’m afraid.”

“How long do we have to find his soulmate?” the manager spoke up. Namjoon’s vision blurred from tears he refused to let fall. How could he forget? If two soulmates weren’t reunited within a certain time period, then both would die.

“I’m afraid he’s probably only got about a week, based on his condition. Unfortunately, since soulmate sickness is different in everyone, we can’t be completely certain how long it will take,” the doctor replied.

Namjoon fell into the cheap chair he’d been sitting in for the past eight hours. He heard a loud sob from the chair next to him.

Hoseok.

Namjoon quickly wrapped his arms around the other man, trying to hold his own tears back. He needed to keep it together for the both of them. At least long enough to finish hearing what the doctor had to say.

“What can we do?” the manager kept the conversation going, even though he looked like he was ready to be sick or cry or both.

“You need to find his soulmate. The closer they are together, the more time you’ll give him. I’d say it’s been a little over a month since he met his soulmate, so if that helps you by knowing where he was then. Once you’re able to find his soulmate, we can move either Yoongi or his soulmate, who is probably also in the same condition, to be with each other. Once they’re in close proximity, like the same room, they should start healing,” the doctor explained.

“Thank you, doctor,” the manager replied.

The next few moments passed in silence, barr Hoseok sobbing into Namjoon’s chest, while the manager pulled out his phone to look at Bangtan’s schedule.

“The fan meeting!” the manager called out in surprise.

“What?” Namjoon asked, shocked.

Hoseok, curious, pulled himself away from Namjoon’s chest, wiping away his tears.

“The fan meeting!” the manager repeated. “It was a little over a month ago! That had to be where he met his soulmate. I don’t know how he didn’t realize it, but that had to have been it. You all weren’t really doing much around then, just a few interviews here and there. I can reach out to the people from the interviews to be sure, but I’m positive it had to have been from the fan meeting.”

Hope bloomed in Namjoon’s chest. They could do this. They would be able to find Yoongi’s soulmate, and he would be okay. He had to be.

“This has to be a prank. He hasn’t met his soulmate. There’s no way it could be soulmate sickness,” Jungkook argued.

“That’s what all the signs are pointing to, I’m afraid. Taehyung must have met his soulmate and not realized it,” the doctor replied. “If you can’t find his soulmate soon, there’s not much we can do. Based on the level of his symptoms, he’s probably got about a week left, give or take.”

A sob wracked it’s way out of Jungkook. No. There was no way he was going to let his best friend die.

“Based on that information, I would say that he met his soulmate a little over a month ago, if that helps you find his soulmate. Please let me know if I can help in any way,” the doctor tried to reassure.

Jungkook kept his scoff inside as the doctor walked out of the room. Sitting down next to the bed where Taehyung laid lifeless, Jungkook felt a tear slide down his cheek.

“You can’t leave me, Taehyung. I won’t let you,” Jungkook said, grabbing the other man’s hand. “I’m going to find your soulmate. I don’t know how, but I promise you, I’m going to find them. I won’t let you die on me. You’re not allowed. You have to get better for your soulmate. And for me. And Min Yoongi. You have to live to see him in person again.”

Jungkook laughed dryly.

Wait.

Min Yoongi.

The fan meet was a little over a month ago.

Yoongi also collapsed recently and the band had not said what was going on with him.

Bangtan had been on tour and had been far enough away from Taehyung that it would cause soulmate sickness.

Oh.

My.

God.

Taehyung’s soulmate was Min Yoongi.

It had to be. There was no other option.

“I hate you, you know that? You lucky bastard. You get Min Yoongi as your soulmate,” Jungkook spoke into the quiet hospital room. “Now how the hell am I going to get you two together?”

The next 24 hours passed in a blur for Namjoon and Hoseok. Yoongi was transferred to a hospital in Seoul, since that had to be where Yoongi’s soulmate was. They were reassured that once the two soulmates were in the same city, they would have a little more time to find each other, but it still wouldn’t be forever.

Once they arrived back in Seoul, their tour on hold indefinitely for the time being, Namjoon and Hoseok quickly got to work. They obtained a list of everyone who bought tickets for the fan meet, along with any contact information they had given. Their manager also set to work reaching out to the few interviewers they had made contact with that week, but hadn’t had any luck.

“How are we supposed to know who his soulmate is? It could be anyone! And, if they’re in the same position as Yoongi, how would we even get ahold of them anyways?” Hoseok questioned, trying to not give up, but it was hard when there was such a bleak outlook.

“It’ll be okay,” Namjoon reassured the other man. “We’ll find his soulmate, and it’ll all be okay. We can do this.”

Namjoon didn’t know if he was trying to reassure Hoseok or himself. He didn’t want to give up, he had to keep going for Yoongi, but it was hard like Hoseok said. They didn’t know everyone that had attended the fan meet, and plus, his soulmate would also be sick, so if they had collapsed like Yoongi, it would be that much harder to find them. And on top of that, they weren’t even sure if Yoongi’s soulmate was at the fan meet. For all they knew, he had passed by them on the street or on the subway. Seoul was a big city, afterall.

Namjoon and Hoseok got to work calling all the numbers they had available. They only stayed on the line for a few moments, mainly just to confirm the identity of the person and see if they were able to pick up the phone. They didn’t say who they were or who they were with, they not only didn’t have the time, they didn’t want any word getting out around why they were calling people.

Two hours and fifty phone calls later, no progress had been made.

“Ugh, this isn’t working,” Namjoon slammed his phone down on the table. So far, everyone had picked up the call and had sounded fine.

The rest of the afternoon was spent making phone calls, but Hoseok and Namjoon didn’t have any luck. They made a list of about ten people who hadn’t picked up with the intent to call them another time, but there was no guarantee that Yoongi’s soulmate was one of those people.

Realizing there was nothing further they could do at the moment, Namjoon and Hoseok went to the hospital, wanting to keep an eye on Yoongi.

They both spent the night on the small chairs in the room, wanting to be there in case something happened. Namjoon woke with a crick in his neck, but he didn’t care.

That day was spent the same as before, Namjoon and Hoseok searching for Yoongi’s soulmate with no luck. At the end of the day, the two made their way back to the hospital. Yoongi’s complexion was slowly getting paler, and he was getting noticeably thinner. Namjoon didn’t like it.

The next morning, Namjoon decided he’d spend the day at the hospital, searching for Yoongi’s soulmate from there.

Namjoon left the hospital, intent on grabbing his laptop and the fan meet attendee list from his studio and heading right back. He didn’t want to leave Yoongi for long.

Walking through the front doors of the building, a commotion at the reception desk caught his attention.

“Please, you have to help me,” a man pleaded. “My friend, he’s sick. He’s Min Yoongi’s soulmate. He’ll die if I don’t get him help. Please.”

Could it be?

Namjoon froze. This had to be it. No other explanation was possible (besides maybe a crazed fan), but based on the look on the man’s face, Namjoon believed he was telling the truth.

Running over before security could throw him out, Namjoon called out to the reception desk.

“He’s okay, let him be.”

The man looked over, and Namjoon could see tears running down his cheeks. He had dark purple bags under his eyes like he hadn’t slept in a week. Namjoon now fully believed the man was telling the truth. He couldn’t believe it.

“Follow me,” Namjoon waved him over, turning and heading toward his studio.

The man quickly followed.

“I’m Namjoon, but you probably already knew that,” Namjoon said, turning toward the other man after closing the door behind them in his studio.

“I’m Jungkook,” Jungkook said, nodding. “Please, you have to help me. My best friend is Yoongi’s soulmate, and he’s dying. I can’t watch him die.”

Namjoon gestured for the two to sit on the couch.

“Can you tell me why you think so?” Namjoon questioned, wanting to hear his story before making any rash decisions.

“Taehyung, my friend, and I attended Bangtan’s fan meet last month,” Jungkook started. “When y’all left for tour, Taehyung started to feel exhausted all the time and like he had a cold or flu or something. I didn’t put all this together until a few days ago, when I found him unresponsive in his bed.

“When the doctor at the hospital told me it was soulmate sickness, I happened to think about the fact that Yoongi had also collapsed, and when the doctor said Taehyung likely met his soulmate about a month ago, I realized the two must be soulmates. Everything matched up, including the distance and when y’all left.

“You all sure are hard to get ahold of,” Jungkook laughed wryly. “I’ve been trying for days, but everyone just thinks I’m a crazed fan or something. I promise, I’m telling the truth. God, you probably think I’m crazy or something. But I have to do something. Taehyung probably only has a few more days left. He’s started declining, and I couldn’t just sit there and watch.”

Jungkook rubbed his hands over his face, attempting to gather his thoughts. It had been a long few days, and finally, he had gotten ahold of someone at BigHit. And it was Kim Namjoon of all people.

“I believe you,” Namjoon spoke a moment later.

Jungkook’s head snapped up.

“You do?”

“Yes,” Namjoon reassured. “Yoongi also has soulmate sickness. We haven’t released that to the public, so unless you made a really, really lucky guess, you’re telling the truth. I believe you.”

Jungkook sagged into the couch, feeling like he could finally breathe for the first time all week.

“Okay, so what do we do now?” Jungkook asked.

“Now, we get Taehyung and Yoongi to the same hospital and to the same room, and then hopefully, they get better.”

Moving Yoongi and Taehyung to the same hospital turned out to be an easy job. The hospital quickly moved Taehyung via ambulance to the hospital Yoongi was in. Not even two hours after Namjoon made the first call, Taehyung’s hospital bed was rolled into Yoongi’s room.

“This is him?” Hoseok asked, quickly standing up where he had been sitting vigil beside Yoongi’s bed.

Namjoon and Jungkook followed behind the hospital staff pushing the bed.

“Yes, this is Yoongi’s soulmate, Kim Taehyung,” Namjoon replied. “Hoseok, meet Taehyung’s best friend, Jeon Jungkook.”

The two bowed to each other, but quickly focused back on the hospital staff. Nurses were running around the room, getting Taehyung hooked up to the new machines, keeping the two hospital beds as close together as possible.

A few moments later, Yoongi’s doctor walked in.

“Hello, everyone. You must be Jungkook, Kim Taehyung’s friend? I’m Dr. Choi,” she said, turning to introduce herself to the Jungkook. “I’ve been treating Yoongi since he’s been here this week, and I will be taking over Taehyung’s treatment as well.

“Today is a good day, and to be frank, really good timing. If you hadn’t found each other within the next 24 hours, it might have been too late for either of them. But, none of that matters now because they’re both here.

“Treatment from here on out shouldn’t be too medical. Their bodies will recognize that their soulmate is near and start healing on their own. It shouldn’t take more than a few hours for them to wake up, and no more than 24 hours for them to fully recover. We’ll leave you all alone, but once they wake up, please let us know,” Dr. Choi finished.

She bowed and left the room, the nurses following behind.

“Oh my god,” Jungkook sighed in relief, plopping down in the chair next to Taehyung’s bed. “I can’t believe he’s going to be okay.”

“You can say that again,” Hoseok said, moving to the chair next to Yoongi’s bed.

The next few hours passed rather quickly for Jungkook, Hoseok, and Namjoon. The three spent the time getting to know each other, learning about each other’s lives, Jungkook talking about his job as a graphic designer, and Namjoon and Hoseok telling Jungkook about what being part of Bangtan was really like without all the cameras.

Jungkook hadn’t let go of Taehyung’s hand since he’d sat down, so when a finger moved, Jungkook felt it right away.

“Taehyung?” Jungkook squeezed the other man’s hand, cutting off Namjoon’s story about the time when he ruined his studio computer by tripping and spilling his coffee all over the desk. “Can you hear me?”

This time, a couple of Taehyung’s fingers moved, causing Jungkook to scoot his chair closer to the bed.

“Come on, Taehyung, you can do it,” Jungkook urged.

Taehyung’s eyes started to slowly flutter open as he let out a small groan. Jungkook squeezed his hand again, afraid that what he was seeing wasn’t real. It had been a rollercoaster of emotions the last couple of days, and Jungkook never wanted to go through this again.

“What’s going on?” Taehyung slurred out. Luckily, Jungkook had heard enough of Taehyung’s just-woke-up voice to understand him easily.

“You’re in the hospital, Taehyung,” Jungkook replied.

Taehyung’s eyes slowly wided, finally looking around the room. When they landed on Namjoon and Hoseok sitting across from him, looking on earnestly, his eyes widened even more, which Jungkook didn’t think was possible.

“What?” Taehyung mumbled.

“You had soulmate sickness, Taehyung,” Jungkook explained. “You met your soulmate, and I found you passed out in your bed. You’ve been here ever since.”

“Soulmate sickness?” Taehyung asked, finally seeming to fully wake up. “But, I didn’t-”

“You did,” Jungkook interrupted, pointing to the other bed.

Taehyung turned, finally looking at the man in the other bed.

“That’s Min Yoongi. Oh my god, that’s Min Yoongi,” Taehyung whispered. “My soulmate is Min Yoongi?”

Taehyung turned back to his best friend, shock written all over his face. Jungkook grinned and nodded.

“You lucky bastard,” he replied, laughing. “You get Min fucking Yoongi as your soulmate. Which, maybe you don’t deserve because you didn’t even know you’d met him! And, if you ever do this to me again, I’m going to kill you myself!”

Jungkook tried to keep his tone light, but the last few days had been weighing heavily on him. He’d had to watch his best friend almost die.

Taehyung opened his arms for a hug and Jungkook threw himself on the bed.

“It’s too early, why is it so loud in here?” a grumbly voice came from the other bed.

“Oh my god, Yoongi!” Hoseok screeched, jumping out of his chair.

Jungkook pulled himself off Taehyung slightly, still holding on to his best friend, but helped him sit up so he could see Yoongi waking up.

“Hoseok? Why are you here? Wait, where is here?” Yoongi asked, finally opening his eyes and looking around the room.

“You had soulmate sickness,” Namjoon explained, then going on to explain how Taehyung was Yoongi’s soulmate and how they found each other.

“So, you’re my soulmate, huh?” Yoongi asked, looking over at the other bed.

Taehyung blushed and nodded. He really couldn’t believe it. Maybe his life really was a Y/N fanfiction.

“So, how exactly did this happen? I thought it was easy to tell when you met your soulmate?” Yoongi questioned.

“I actually have a theory for that,” Jungkook spoke up, still attached to Taehyung on his bed. “Since Taehyung was already a big fan of Bangtan and of you, Yoongi, when you two met, it didn’t really change much for him.”

“Way to make me sound like a crazed fan, Jungkook,” Taehyung interrupted.

“I think it’s cute,” Yoongi said.

Taehyung felt himself blush again. If this is what it was going to be like when he was around Yoongi, his face was going to be permanently red for the rest of his life. But, maybe he was okay with that.

“But what about Yoongi?” Namjoon asked.

“I actually had some trouble with that,” Jungkook replied. “Once I realized it was probably Yoongi, I went back and looked at videos from the fan meet. When Yoongi first saw Taehyung, Namjoon came up behind him and said something, so I guess in all the excitement of the day and whatever was said, you must not have registered the feeling, Yoongi.”

“So this is all your fault, Namjoon,” Hoseok teased, lightly slapping the other boy on the shoulder. Namjoon looked at his hands sheepishly.

“It’s okay, Joonie,” Yoongi reassured. “It’s all okay now, and I have my soulmate, and we’re all going to be okay now.”

Yoongi reached across the bed for Taehyung’s hand, which he gratefully took.

“I’m going to go get the doctor,” Namjoon said, standing up. “She said to let her know when you both woke up. Jungkook, Hoseok, why don’t you come with me?”

Jungkook seemed reluctant to leave Taehyung, but he knew Namjoon was trying to give the two new soulmates a few minutes alone to get to know each other. The three made their way out of the room, the door clicking softly shut behind them.

“So, soulmates, huh?” Yoongi spoke first.

“Looks like it,” Taehyung replied. “I feel really weird since I was a fan before.”

Yoongi hummed in acknowledgment.

“How about we start over?” Yoongi suggested. “I obviously know nothing about you yet, and what you might know about me as a fan doesn’t even scratch the surface of who I am.”

“How do we do that?” Taehyung asked, confused.

“Hi, my name is Min Yoongi, and it looks like you’re my soulmate,” Yoongi said, pulling his hand away from Taehyung’s, just to lift it, ready to shake the other’s hand.

Taehyung giggled, but shook Yoongi’s hand.

“I’m Kim Taehyung, and you’re my soulmate,” Taehyung replied.

“Nice to meet you, Taehyung,” Yoongi grinned. “Tell me about yourself, soulmate. My life is boring. I’m just a songwriter and rapper, nothing too interesting. I want to hear all about your life.”

Taehyung laughed, heart swooping at the word soulmate. He started telling the other man about his job at the museum and his life, Yoongi listening intently.

Neither knew what would happen once they left the hospital, but they were content to know they had found each other. They survived soulmate sickness; whatever life decided to throw at them next, they knew they could handle it since they had each other.

I had to make the end super cheesy. No other option, sorry. Let me know what you all think!! I spent way too long on this fic, but I’m really happy with it! Also, if you have a prompt for a fic or social media au, let me know! I now have no works in progress, so I’d love to work on something else! :)

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phantom-curve · 4 years

Text

find the strength, find the melody pt. 7

lmfao I love how I posted an update 2 days ago like “this fic will have sporadic posts! idk when they’re coming!” and then I spent the last two days writing this. when that insomnia inspiration hits ya gotta just go with it!

this chapter went in a completely different direction than I had planned on soooo yeah...honestly not sure where this is gonna end up! the characters from my OC novel that I’m loosely basing this story around didn’t have a connection before they ran into each other so when Julie gave me this I almost cut it because I genuinely wasn’t sure where it was going. I think I’ve almost figured it out and I’m pretty sure I know how this will end. and now we all get to laugh at me together because it’s definitely gonna be more than 3-4 chapters. it might even be more than 6. Luke’s POV will have roughly the same amount of chapters I think, possibly longer because boy oh boy does he have A LOT to say (most of it about Julie). fair warning: this one has an awkward cut off because of the way I need to set up the next chapter. sorry about that.

and now something I probably should be embarrassed to admit: I don’t remember writing the part where I managed to sneak an “I’ve Got The Music” reference in so now we know for sure this show has infiltrated my brain. it’s fine, I’m fine, at least I WILL BE WHEN WE GET A S2!!!! KENNY!!!! SAVE ME HERE!!! MAKE MY UNHINGED OBSESSIONS WORTH IT!!!!!

taglist: @blue-hat-girl, @lwhoscribbles, @bluefyoto94, @5sosmukefan, @moonlightxnder, @leahthewonder, @kat-maybe-not, @lukewearingbeanies, @imastrugglingartist

It was no small miracle that Julie made it through the afternoon without Ray asking for details about her supposed ‘plan’ to play with the Sunset Curve boys. She didn’t think she would have been able to pull off spinning a story quite as well as Luke had earlier. She had expected at least a small amount of interrogating about when she had started playing again, but apparently the news that she was playing at all, let alone with other people in front of an audience, was enough for Ray to ignore all of the other plot holes involved in this scheme. He seemed to have almost forgotten the meeting with Principal Lessa entirely, humming on the drive home, kissing her forehead and turning her loose to freak out alone in her room while he sat down to work on his computer in the dining room. Julie took full advantage of the time alone to restlessly pace her room and send Flynn a 911 text. Her bestie’s contact photo lit up the phone screen 30 seconds later.

“Okay, I’m hiding in the basement girl’s bathroom, so you’ve got exactly 5 minutes before I get too grossed out to stay here.”

Julie’s chest loosened at the sound of Flynn’s comforting voice. There wasn’t anyone else in the world that loved her the way Flynn did. It was reassuring and made it easy for Julie to let loose.

“Lessa told Dad about the music program and then You-Know-Who ambushed us outside of her office and basically forced me to agree to perform with them.”

“Voldemort was at Los Feliz?!”

Flynn’s gasp was overflowing with sarcasm.

“Flynn!” Julie whined. “Be serious! Luke showed up out of nowhere again! And he did the thing again! The charming his way into getting what he wants thing! And now I have to play with his freaking band! What the hell am I supposed to do?”

There was silence for a moment. When Flynn spoke again her voice was softer, more serious.

“You don’t have to play with them, Jules. You can tell them no, and they’ll have no choice but to respect that. The only person who can make you do anything is you. But...I kinda think you might want to play with them.”

“What?! No!”

Julie’s exclamation was a second late. Flynn didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. Julie sighed.

“Okay fine. There’s something about Luke that makes me want to play again. Are you happy? He gave mom’s song back to me when I thought it was lost forever. He’s the only person who’s heard me perform it, and he...no one else has ever made me feel that good about my music before.”

Julie thanked her lucky stars Flynn wasn’t in the room to see her blush. There was a long moment of contemplative silence on the other end of the line. When she spoke again, there was that extra note of take-no-shit in Flynn’s voice that made Julie sit up and really listen.

“I think you should give it a chance. Who knows, maybe this is some sort of sign from your mom. You said it was a miracle he would have even found that song in the first place. You said it felt like she was there with you when you were playing. Maybe she made sure it would find its way back to you when you were ready for it.”

Julie didn’t say anything, just worried her bottom lip with her teeth. Her heart beat a little faster in her chest. It had felt a little too perfect to be just a coincidence. The way Luke kept appearing in her life at the exact moments she needed him someone or something to help her keep moving forward. Flynn sighed.

“Look, I’m not saying it is your mom. But I’m not saying there’s not some kind of greater power out there that keeps pushing the two of you together. I think you should give it a chance. If nothing else, you can get back in the music program and we can bring Double Trouble to life in time for our Junior Showcase!”

Julie couldn’t help laughing. Her eyes felt misty, love for her best friend welling up in her heart.

“I never agreed to that name you know. But thanks, Flynn. I’ll think about it.”

“Good. Now. I gotta get the fuck out of this grimy ass bathroom. Love you, bye!”

Flynn waited for her to return the sentiment before hanging up. Julie flopped back on her bed, letting her breath out in a loud whoosh as she hit the comforter. A glance at her phone told her she only had a couple hours until Luke and the other boys would be out of school and on their way to her house. She tried her best to ignore the way that thought made her stomach roll with a type of nervousness she would rather not name. It was easier to blame it on nerves over playing with new people rather than nerves over playing with Luke. Except...now that she actually thought about it, she had played with Luke before. Her head spun, eyes fluttering shut as she remembered the one music class she had shared with Luke last year.

She had only been a freshman, stuck in a lowly Introduction to Composition class. It was supposed to be for new songwriters. Julie had a little more experience than the rest of the class, after all she’d been kind of composing with her mom for a few years now, so when it had been time to write a duet for their final big project she had gotten paired up with the classmate whose skill level most matched hers. It was supposed to be a way for them to challenge each other and grow as writers instead of one person doing most of the work. Julie had been paired with Luke.

He’d been a grumbly sophomore, held back for failing his last semester of Intro to Comp the year before. He had been stuck there only for the second semester, forced to double up between their class and his second year Composition class. Julie hadn’t been all that excited about partnering with him. He hadn’t really seemed to care about the class at all, and even though Julie also sometimes felt like it was holding her back a little bit, she never once voiced that thought. It was a privileged mindset, and Julie was well aware that she had an advantage over her classmates since her mother was a professional songwriter. Luke, on the other hand, had made it well known that he felt like he was wasting his time just waiting to get through the semester so he could move up to the Advanced Composition class that he felt he truly belonged in. Julie could usually do no more than roll her eyes in those moments.

It was true that Luke was talented. His guitar playing was impressive, his lyrics were heartfelt and sometimes even downright poetic. Julie just didn’t think anyone deserved specific things in life because they happened to be naturally talented at something. Their songwriting experience had been...interesting to say the least. And short. It had ended abruptly when Julie’s mother had died 5 days later. In the end, they’d only worked together for two 40-minute class periods before she had been lost in the fog of grief that consumed her in the weeks following the loss of her mom.

Julie shot up in bed, eyes wide. She didn’t even fully remember what had happened with the half-finished song they had been working on. Errant notes echoed in her head, like a song that had only existed in dreams until now. She absently wondered if Luke had held onto that as well. It was no wonder she had kept that particular memory suppressed all this time. That time in her life had been particularly painful. Luke had been gentle with her though. Almost all traces of his typical arrogance gone in the two short class periods they’d had to work together. He had kept things light, steering their songwriting in the direction of a rock ballad more than a true duet. Julie hadn’t minded. She had been floating through classes by then anyway, on edge every second she was away from her mom’s bedside. It had been easier to work on something that didn’t have as many sappy emotions attached to it.

She groaned, burying her face in her hands. No wonder Luke had been so sweet with her. He must have had a front row seat to her breakdown throughout the last year. She hadn’t even realized it. Had never before seen the way he watched her from a distance, checked in on her during class. She should have. Now that she was thinking about it, trying to identify every instance, she could name a million. How had she missed it for so long? How had he gone so long without saying anything? The Luke she remembered was terrible at keeping his mouth shut. He had always been ready to speak his mind, never afraid to start a discourse. It didn’t track that he had been holding himself back. Unless...it was more about her musical ability than anything else. She remembered now; Luke had been thrilled to partner with her for the duet. He had made some remark about how her sound was the perfect complement to his. Maybe he only cared about the ways they would mesh as songwriters. She could only hope that’s what his words had meant.

She felt more secure in her footing as a musician when it came to dealing with Luke than she ever had as a simple teenaged girl. If it was just about the music she could compartmentalize better, keep herself from getting too emotionally invested. Music had always been a safe zone, neutral. She breathed in and out deeply, remembering the technique Dr. Turner had taught her to slow her breathing and recenter her mind. She could do this. It was just about the music. They would play a song together, Julie would get back into the music program, and life would move forward much in the way it had before. Except Julie would actually participate in class this time. She had the music back in her soul, she wasn’t ever going to let it go again. On her next exhale, she heard the doorbell ring. Showtime. Julie zipped down the stairs, ripping open the door before her dad had a chance to get more than three feet away from his computer. Luke, Alex and Reggie all stumbled back a step as she tumbled outside, pulling the front door shut behind her. The three teenaged boys shared a look.

“Studio. Now.”

Julie raced down the path to her mom’s studio before they could react, not even waiting to see if they followed her. If they were smart, if they truly wanted to do this, they would. She hauled the garage doors open, only turning around when she had the piano at her back. The wood felt warm and solid, almost like she had her mom as a support behind her instead of an instrument. The boys appeared seconds later, Luke leading the way. He stopped a couple feet inside of the studio, studying her with wide open earnest eyes. She let out a deep breath. Reggie spoke up before she could get a word out.

“Woah, Julie, this studio is so cool! It’s like a tiny home! A musical tiny home in a botanical garden!!”

His green eyes were wide, expression awed as he spun to take in the space that Julie and her mom had spent countless hours turning into theirs.

“How did you get chairs on the ceiling?! Are you, like, a witch and a siren?!! Man, you and your mom must have made some serious magic in here.”

Luke’s arm shot out faster than lightening to backhand Reggie’s bicep. Reggie cringed away, a soft owww! just barely audible over the loud sigh Alex let out as he buried his face in his hands. Reggie shrugged, looking back and forth between his bandmates before giving Julie a confused yet apologetic glance. What had he said wrong this time? The giggle that bubbled out of her was as unexpected as it was welcomed. Warmth blazed in her heart, memories of the time she had spent in here with her mom washing over her with a kind of hazy bliss she hadn’t ever experienced before. She gazed at Reggie, letting that same feeling of motherly love from the night before fill her up. It was all she could do not to react to Luke’s jaw dropping when she gave Reggie a soft smile.

“We did. We made so much magic in here.”

The words were gentle and filled with a kind of genuine love that overshadowed all other feelings of awkward nervousness. Alex and Luke relaxed instantly, Reggie’s face losing all traces of uncertainty as he beamed at her with a smile so large it almost looked painful. Julie couldn’t help but let herself return it, just a little bit. The silence that settled between them was more comfortable, the tense moment from earlier broken. Julie studied the boys in front of her. She hadn’t ever thought of them as friends per se. They knew each other, would say hi if they encountered one another outside the walls of the high school, but at the same time, they didn’t actually know each other. Julie’s little run in with Luke the night before had made that painfully obvious. She wasn’t really sure what to make of them.

“Are you guys actually serious about this whole Showcase scheme? Did Luke even tell you about his dumb plan?”

“Hey! That plan is genius. Even your dad agreed. He seems pretty cool.”

Julie couldn’t help the fond way she rolled her eyes. Alex was quick to reassure her that they did, in fact, know about the plan.

“Not that I actually think it’s a particularly well thought out plan.” He stated with a lingering glare at Luke’s back.

The planner in question did his best to ignore the skeptical look on Julie’s face.

“Julie, you really don’t deserve to be out of the music program.” Reggie’s voice was soft and sincere. “You have the voice of an angel. If we can help convinced Ms. Harrison and Principal Lessa to give you your spot back it will be so worth it. And even if we don’t, it’ll be worth the looks on their faces when we rock the pants off that crowd!”

Julie laughed in spite of herself, slightly reassured even as she chewed nervously on her lip. Luke took a few bouncy steps forward, pulling her attention to him completely. His eyes locked on hers and she was sure she was drowning, throat tightening at the look he was giving her.

“You got this. I wouldn’t have come up with this idea if I didn’t believe it 100%.”

Honestly, that was what scared her the most about it.

“We don’t even have anything prepared.”

Her voice was barely a whisper, unsteady and wavering. Luke took a few more steps towards her, Reggie and Alex ghosting along silently a few feet behind him. Julie didn’t even notice, so laser focused on the brunette boy in the cut-up tank top in front of her. She watched his muscles flex as he reached into his back pocket, flicking out a piece of folded up paper in a move scarily reminiscent of when he had given her mom’s song back to her. He bit his lip, head ducking a little to be closer to hers as he unfolded the worn sheets of scrappy notebook paper. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, focusing on the messy handwriting in front of her.

“I thought you would say that.”

The smile on his face was so soft and sweet it should have been illegal.

“It’s called ‘Bright’. It’s a Sunset Curve song that we never performed because it’s missing something. Look,” his bare shoulder brushed hers as he shifted to point at the notes, warmth seeping through the thin material of her t-shirt, “it’s perfect for your range. I was thinking, if we add a little bit of piano here and here,” fire blazed a path up her arm as his fingers traced along the opening notes and chorus, forearm flexing against her own, bare skin brushing in teasing licks, “it’ll be perfect.”

Julie forced herself to focus on what he was saying, eyes roving across the paper. She hummed a little under her breath, hearing what he described in her head. His eyes lit up when he saw her get it, feet springing up and down as he dipped even closer towards her and started to sing.

We will rise, through the night

You and I

We will fight to shine together

Bright forever

His voice vibrated in her chest, the sound filling her with an emotion she couldn’t fully identify. Alex and Reggie bobbed along behind him, Reggie’s fingers plucking out the baseline on an invisible guitar while Alex nodded along to an unseen beat. Julie could envision the way the song would sound with a complete band, could practically see herself fitting seamlessly into the mix with her piano and vocals. She couldn’t help the smile that curved her lips as she joined in, reading the lyrics off of the page.

And rise through the night,

You and I

We will fight to shine together

“Go up high.”

Luke cut in, fingers twirling towards the ceiling. Julie automatically made the adjustment in notes to harmonize her voice with his for the last line, holding the final syllable for a beat longer than him.

Bright forever

“Yes!”

Luke’s arm pumped up and down, bicep flexing and distracting Julie momentarily. She dropped her head shyly, trying to hide her blush. When her cheeks cooled a moment later she looked back up at the boy in front of her. His eyes were glowing, smile stretched a mile wide as he stared at her. Unconditional belief in her was practically oozing from his pores. She felt her face soften as their eyes locked, giving him her own sweet smile that was meant just for the two of them. She thanked him with a gentle murmur, heart melting as he simply bit his lower lip and nodded.

A throat cleared in the background, and Julie was snapped out of their private bubble by the sound. Her entire face felt engulfed in flames as she looked over Luke’s shoulder to see Alex and Reggie still standing a few paces behind him. Reggie’s face was bright, his sunshine temperament back in full force. Alex was a little more guarded, but he was giving her an encouraging smile and there was cautious optimism swimming in his sage green eyes as he fiddled with one of his drumsticks. She inhaled deeply and let her breath out in one smooth exhale. The same sort of peacefulness from the night before settled over her.

“Okay. Okay, so we’re doing this.”

Luke’s whoop was so loud both her and Alex jumped. Reggie raced forward with a cheer to sling one arm around Luke’s shoulders and the other around Julie’s, pulling them so close to his chest that their noses nearly touched. Julie saw the blush staining Luke’s cheeks and felt her own warm to match. Alex coughed again.

“Reg, c’mon. Let it settle for just a sec before you go all human octopus on the poor girl.”

“Oh, right! Sorry, Jules!!”

Reggie released both of them quickly. Julie flicked her gaze between the three boys, enjoying the glimpses at their band dynamic. Alex’s words had sounded a bit exasperated, but there was a fondness running through them as well. He gave a half-hearted roll of his eyes at Reggie’s abrupt movements and reached his own long arm out to pull the dark-haired boy close.

“Help me unload the van? I still don’t trust our little Lukey boy with my kit.”

“Hey! That was one time!”

Luke sounded downright offended. The dark look Alex leveled at him in response had Julie choking back a laugh with a badly disguised cough. Clearly once of whatever he did was enough. Luke pouted, arms flexing as they crossed over his chest.

“You put your foot through my bass drum, and you think that isn’t reason enough not to trust you with it ever again?”

Luke sputtered, eyes flicking to Julie and back to Alex as his ears reddened.

“I told you I didn’t see it!”

“It’s the biggest part of the kit, dumbass. Literally the hardest thing to miss.”

Alex’s voice was as unimpressed as it was dismissive. Luke threw his hands in the air as the other boys headed out of the studio, laughing amongst themselves. It was clear this was a regular argument between the two, no heat or anger left in it, only a loving sort of tease. Like the way Carlos still brought up that time she accidentally gave him a concussion double-bouncing him off of their neighbor’s trampoline when he wanted something from her. Or the way her Tía would still laugh as she remembered the time her mom had almost gotten them both arrested for a bar fight on her 21st birthday, Ray affectionately filling in the parts that she tried to leave out. Warmth bloomed in her chest. This wasn’t just a band, wasn’t just a ragtag trio of friends. These guys were brothers. This was a family. And they were letting her into that intimate circle.

The thought was both humbling and nerve-wracking. This Showcase was a big deal. It wasn’t just some school assignment. This could impact their future as a band career-wise. They were all trusting her with this, fully believing in her, or at least, fully believing in Luke’s faith in her abilities. She wasn’t sure anyone had ever believed in her like that. Not anyone that hadn’t known her since she was in diapers. Her head swam, knees feeling a bit weak. She stumbled her way over to the couch, collapsing onto it with a barely audible huff. Luke was in front of her instantly, crouched down so they were face to face. His hands twitched in his lap, but he didn’t reach for her.

“Hey. Julie. Breathe.”

She sucked in a breath, zeroing in on nothing more than his face. After a few seconds she realized he was breathing in and out slowly, just loud enough for her to hear over the jumble of thoughts running amok in her brain. She matched her own inhales and exhales to his, the room slowly coming back into focus as her head cleared. He gave her one of those soft smiles she was starting to think of as hers.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. But I wouldn’t have stopped you in school if I didn’t think you were gonna rock it. I heard you last night. I listened to you for years before last night.”

His chin dropped in embarrassment for just a second before he pulled his gaze back up to hers. Julie felt like she was on the edge of a cliff. Not for the first time she wished she knew how long this version of Luke had been lurking under the surface. It took everything in her not to let herself step off that ledge and fall.

“Music is in your soul. It’s a part of you. Not everyone is like that, but you are. Your life without music...”

He tapered off like the thought was physically painful to him, eyebrows furrowing in a slight wince.

“Living without music would be like living in a world without stars: dark and empty and uninspired. You deserve galaxies, Julie. You deserve the chance to shine exactly like the star you are, and the world deserves the chance to hear you. Please, just...have a little faith?”

She saw it then. As he gazed at her with those bottomless ocean eyes, with that special smile on his lips and sincerity bleeding through every word, she knew. Luke was like her. Luke got it. In a way that no one else except her mom ever had. That’s what this was. They were kindred spirits, two sides of the same coin. And that feeling? The wind rushing through her hair and stealing her breath away while her limbs all turned to jelly feeling? That was definitely her falling head over heels off of the cliff and into Luke Patterson completely.

“Okay.”

She breathed out, and his answering smile set off the butterflies she thought had finally left her stomach. He stood up and held a hand out to her, easily pulling her to her feet in one smooth movement.

“You know,” his smile turned rueful, “eventually you’re gonna have to answer one of my questions with something other than ‘okay’. That’s a pretty passive word, and I’m not really a passive type of person. I wanna start hearing some ‘hell yeah’s and ‘awesome’s pretty soon.”

Julie rolled her eyes, moving away from Luke to set up her keyboard. He gave her a bouncy little shrug of his shoulders, and she let the levity of his joke wash over her, releasing the last bit of nerves. She could do this. Luke believed in her. Her mom believed in her. Hell, Alex and Reggie believed in her and she barely even knew them. She could do this, just like her mom had said.

Noise from the other boys making their way up the driveway had her rushing to pull both doors to the studio open so they could haul in Alex’s drum kit. The three of them left together to grab amps and guitars, Julie finishing the rest of the set up in the garage. Before she had time to overthink things or freak out again, they were all settled into their spots and Alex was counting down for their first run through. Fingers against the keys, Julie breathed out, opened her mouth, and began to play.

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