#station eleven has had a hold on me for so long and if u like joel ellie boy will u like jeevan kirsten!!!

[watney]

if u like tlou go read/watch station eleven PLEASE im serious u wont regret it

[the196thbattalion]

star wars human! high school! au

i’ve seen so many headcanons circling throughout the star wars tumblr about high school au’s, so i wanted to share my bit with all of you :D

anakin skywalker

five words: REBEL CHILD ON A MOTORCYCLE.

he doesn’t like riding the school bus because it makes him feel extremely claustrophobic, so he scrapped and scavenged up parts to make his own customized motorcycle, which he lovingly dubbed artoo.

the blue and silver detailing was the joint effort of ahsoka and obi-wan, because anakin doesn’t know how to paint.

if he can catch up to the bus, he’ll ride alongside it and flip off the students on it before revving on ahead of them. (the freshmen think it’s the funniest thing in the universe)

probably one of the most well-known juniors in the entirety of temple high school (mostly because of his shenanigans but partly because he’s dating padme fuckiNG AMIDALA, PRETTIEST GIRL IN THE DAMN SCHOOL)

he always wears this worn-down leather jacket his mom gave to him before she passed away, and refuses to take it off, even though it’s somehow “a violation of the dress code and should be outlawed.”

his hair alone has seduced eight different students (boys and girls)

sometimes during study hall, ahsoka or padme will get a hold of his hair and style it into little braids or make a super rad ponytail.

he really likes iced coffee with milk and sugar. he puts in the milk to make it nice and light (it’s aesthetically pleasing, obi-wan!), and then like eight tablespoons of sugar to make it actually taste good.

his favorite class is mechanics, taught by kit fisto.

anakin spent months on a mechanical arm project to replace his clunky plastic prosthetic, and he was so freaking happy when it was finished; he almost cried. (he did cry and ahsoka got it on video)

obi-wan kenobi

a mixture of the soft™, pretty™, hippie™, grunge™, vsco™ and nerd™ tropes.

he really likes peppermint tea with lots of honey but takes his coffee black.

he has had too much tea.

someone needs to stop him.

almost all of his classes are ap courses, and if cody hadn’t been watching when obi-wan was making his schedule, all of them would be.

him, cody and padme have ap english with mace windu, and cody knows how much his classes stress him out, so he lets obi-wan sleep during class and sends him the notes

the only ap class obi-wan doesn’t take is mechanics, and he shares that class with anakin.

anakin and obi-wan are super close with each other. kenobi was there when ahsoka was adopted, and anakin was there when kenobi got his cat. (they were like 5 okay)

“NAME IT C3PO OBI-WAN, OR I SWEAR TO FUCK-” “what kind of name is that, and why would i - anAKIN PUT HIM DOWN!?”.

mr. fisto constantly has to split them up for disrupting the class, but it’s almost like they can communicate telepathically, and the teachers have a running bet

mace windu literally bet $50 on these fucking nerds so you know it’s for realsies

in reality, they’ve just gotten super creative with passing notes.

kind of off topic, but he has these brown harry potter glasses that he uses (kinda for reading???? but mostly so he can do that anime pushing up glasses thing)

cody thinks it’s the funniest shit ever

whenever cody is feeling stressed, obi-wan just does the thing™ and BOOM! happiness.

people think he’s a goodie two shoes, and honestly, it’s really easy to think that. if the iconics are trying to do something stupid, he’s usually the voice of reason.

but parties?

…

you know what, just ask anakin for the video footage.

ahsoka tano

this hs!au ahsoka tano turned me bisexual confirmed ✔

okay before i go into her style, which is mainly what made me drool over my computer, can i just put skatergirl!ahsoka out there?

spray painting of the rebellion symbol all over the bottom of her board and on items in a couple of the places where she skates the most (like the back of an abandoned car yard)

her instagram is filled with these super cool vhs-tape recorded skate videos (u know)

lots crackhead 3am visits (starring anakin, rex, kenobi and barris) to a gas station to get slushies and grind the shit out of the curb connecting the store to the parking lot

trying to teach anakin how to skateboard but he just can’t figure it out? uh yes

“try to balance skyguy!” “HOW DO I MOVE? DO I SCOOT? SNIPS THIS ISN’T FUNNY AND I WANT TO GET OFF – GUYS, STOP LAUGHING!”

okay okay okay i’m done

for now

anyway, her style???? is so???? fucking????? cool!!!!!

her genetics gave her a 80% of having vitiligo, so it really wasn’t a surprise when patches of her skin got lighter, but it still freaked her out a little bit.

basically, went like this: “DAD, I’M TURNING WHITE!” “???? oh my gosh ‘soka, no.”

she has long braided dreadlocks she dyed a super bright orange with various colored beads woven into them with the help of anakin and padme. she usually styles them into little space buns atop her head.

her entire clothing wardrobe consists of fishnets, neon bomber jackets, at least 11 bisexual beanies™, handmade patchy jeans, white tank tops, and light-up platform shoes.

she doesn’t give two flying fucks about the dress code, and – IN THE MIDDLE OF THE MOST BUSY HALLWAY - punched principal sidious over whether or not she “could wear shorts that short” (anakin may or may not have cheered when she broke his nose).

the fetts (chuck have mercy)

*cracks le knuckles* i’ve put it off long enough

we have: fox (24), wolffe (19), cody (17), rex (17), echo (16), fives (16), boil (15), waxer (14), hardcase (13), jesse (12), longshot (8), kix (6), tup (3), gree (2) and boba (9mo)

wolffe is off at college - fox already graduated and moved out, that cheeky little fucking shit - but both still keep in good contact with the fam, and it’s a constant clamor between eleven of the siblings of who gets to talk to them first

fox majored in government/politics, bly is majoring in space/astronomy, and wolffe is majoring in police/law enforcement shit (i don’t know how college works, so sue me)

cody and rex are juniors, and despite their similar looks, the amount of schoolwork each of them completes drastically varies

cody is the honor roll student, valedictorian, whatever you want to call it

rex kinda just either does the work really well or 9/10 times gets distracted by anakin or ahsoka sending him some nice spicy memes

cody tried to tutor rex but it ended up almost landing tup in the hospital

“that’s really simple, actually. if you – vod? rex, are you okay? what are you oH NO TUP DON’T PUT THAT IN YOUR MOUTH-”

fetts on the varsity football team is like a right of passage in the family

right now, only the juniors of the fett family are on the team, but the coach has eyes on fives and echo for next years team

SPEAKING OF

echo, fives and boil are the infamous sophomore trio that pulled the milk bucket prank on the gym teacher, pong krell.

they had to help the janitor (99) clean up afterwards, but they genuinely enjoyed 99’s company, because he’s rad as shit and knows all the secret school passageways.

to be honest, not one person (except maybe sidious) was complaining

that motherfucker makes everyone run like eight laps during gym class

even mr. windu gives them a small smile in the hallways after that

boil says he was blackmailed into it

waxer is a freshman (the poor dude, i’m so sorry), and he always looks out for the nervous freshies

if someone is having a bad day, he’ll give them a lollipop (he carries around a whole bag), a place to sit during lunch, and a shoulder to cry on

all you need to do to find waxer is to locate this long ass line of children

the school counselor, plo koon, sometimes brings his niece numa into school during the day because he can’t find a babysitter, and waxer. fucking. loves. her. PERIOD.

w+n pull these tiny little pranks on teachers, and the staff pretends not to notice, but numa always giggles and gives them away.

boil has a soft spot for numa too, and sneaks her rice krispies.

bonus shit i want to add in but can’t figure out where to put it (or i’m just gonna add it on and shit)

plo koon adopted anakin after his mother died (him and anakin’s mother were good friends), and found ahsoka on the side of the street, shivering like a maniac.

he doesn’t know where ahsoka came from, but he loves her so gOD DAMN MUCH.

he’s the school counselor, and still keeps in touch with a lot of students even after the graduated (he thinks that majoring in law enforcement/police is a bit dangerous for wolffe but he still supports his unofficial but basically son 100%)

yoda is the super old but radically rad english teacher.

his entire point of existence in my mind fic is to troll the shit out of palpatine.

a recent conversation starring yoda and palps: “did you give the students the mountain of extra work i assigned them?” “for the students, that was?” i’m sorry. my bad, that is.” “this is the seventh time, yoda.”

okay but for real

mace windu violently roots for the school football team.

“BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF HIM, CODY! YOU TOO...OTHER CODY!”

“THAT’S A HOLDING! THAT’S A HOLDING!”

“REF IF YOU DON’T COUNT THAT TOUCHDOWN THEN I SWEAR TO SAMUEL L. JACKSON I WILL COME DOWN THERE AND BEAT YOUR SORRY PINSTRIPED ASS!”

[angrylizardjacket]

i’ll be in the front row {Joe Mazzello}

Anon asked: lil prompt I thought of while doing my laundry: imagine meeting Joe while you’re both doing your laundry at a laundromat. it’s nyc, so apartments with full wash & dryer are hard to come by. joe is always running lines with himself, and you both sometimes loan each other quarters when one of you runs out.

Anon asked: tbh I don’t have anything specific to request, but I am begging you to please write more for Joe. srsly you write him so well & he deserves more content!!! 🐚 

A/N: 3269 words. my little garbage brain had to yell at me not to write this like the laundry scene from Dr Horrible. BIG FLUFF. set around undrafted. hope you enjoy. PLEASE leave feedback!! i love this so so very much omfg.

----

You always see him on Sundays, eleven in the morning, like clockwork. Dark sunglasses, fancy backpack, but nondescript clothes; sweater and jeans, baseball jersey and jeans, laundry day clothes if you’ve ever seen them. He’s a little familiar, but you’re not sure why. Sometimes he’s wearing a cap, but not with any sort of consistency, at least not in the six months since you’d been coming there. 

For the record, you’re not staring, he’s the only person who comes in at the exact same time as you, give or take fifteen minutes, and he, like you, always waits for his laundry. It’s only been in the past few months that you’d even started recognizing each other, smiling and giving the other a wave across the machines. It’s harmless, it’s people watching, it’s routine.

One morning, he’s sitting on his washing machine, with a pen in his mouth and a stack of papers in one hand. His usual sunglasses are propped up on his head, which isn’t an unusual occurrence when he reads - is it weird that you know that? Kind of. He’s highlighting something, mouthing whatever he’s reading too fast for you to catch, and anyways, you’re trying not to stare. You’re half paying attention to a kitschy game on your phone since your washing is almost done, and you heave your damp clothes into the dryer.

“Damnit,” patting your pockets again, and searching through your change, you can’t help but scowl and come to an annoying conclusion. All you have is a fifty, and the change machine in the laundromat only spits out quarters.

“You okay?” It’s the guy with the script, your quiet laundry buddy, looking at you with slight concern, pen still in his mouth.

“Yeah,” you huff a sigh, putting on a strained smile, “two quarters short for the dryer.” Usually you had smaller bills, or just remembered to bring the right change, “can you watch my stuff while I go to the gas station to get change?”

“I can cover two quarters,” he offers easily with a slight smile, pulling the pen from his mouth and putting it, the highlighter, and the stack of papers, onto the dryer after he jumps from it. You stumble through trying to brush him off and refuse graciously, but he’s already elbow-deep in his backpack, telling you it’s no trouble.

“I owe you,” you say with half a laugh, and he shares in your amusement.

“Yeah, I’ll hold you to that,” he replies with an amiable sarcasm, which has you laughing. After you start the dryer, however, you turn back and he’s regarding you with a frown, leaning on the washing machine with his stuff in it.

“Do I have something on my face?” You ask with surprising uncertainty, and he’s quick to clear the frown from his face as he shakes his head.

“No, it’s just kind of weird that we’ve been coming here for so long but never... like, spoken.” He muses, and you feel yourself growing surprised. He offers his hand. “Joe.”

“Y/N,” you say, shaking his hand firmly, and he quietly repeats your name back to himself, like he’s committing it to memory. Something warms in your chest, and you can’t help but look at the stack of papers he’d been focusing intently on, “may I ask what you’re working on?” And he looks confused for the barest moment, quickly followed by excitement, and then what you recognize as him very deliberately restraining that excitement into something more polite.

“It’s a script,” and he kind of sounds... apologetic?

“And...?” You prompt, before backpeddling, “I mean, if you don’t wanna talk about it, that’s fine, I mean we technically just met -” and he’s waiving you off goodnaturedly.

“No, I know, I know,” he assures, “I just... another white guy writing a script in New York?” He makes a face, “get a real personality, am I right?” He laughs self-deprecatingly, but it seems to hit a little too close to home for him, and his expression falls. It’s a sentiment he’s been on the receiving end of far too many times.

“What’s it about?” You ask, gentle and genuinely curious, and his eyebrows raise in surprise as he meets your gaze. Tentatively hopeful, he explains that he’s on the fourth draft of it, that it’s loosely based on his brother’s experiences trying to make it into the Major Leagues in baseball. Most of it goes over your head, but you can’t help but be intrigued. 

“I’m not super big into baseball,” you admit as he’s winding down, “but it sounds awesome, dude; let me know when it’s in theaters and I’ll be in the front row.” He grins at that.

You exchange phone numbers a month later, the pair of you getting take out at the fast food joint across the road from the laundromat, so you could still at least keep somewhat of an eye on your clothes. He’s in between drafts of the script, and they’re actually in preproduction, and you realise oh, he’s actually serious about this.

“See, that’s the difference,” you tell him, leaning your elbows on the table and pointing a finger at him, “the difference is that you follow through.”

“What?” He laughs, not yet following your train of thought.

“Every other white guy in New York could write a script, but none of them would follow through and get it made; you’re ambitious, Joe.”

“I’m not ambitious, I’m just lucky,” he shrugs, a blush creeping up his cheeks, but you won’t let it slide.

“Luck will only get you so far,” you tut, and he gives you a strange look.

“Have you... never seen Jurassic Park?”

“When I was younger,” you shrugged.

“Or The Social Network?”

“I’ve really been meaning to, why?” 

“No reason,” Joe shakes his head with a disbelieving grin, and doesn’t bring it up again.

A few weeks later, he’s late by almost a full half an hour, which you’re not particularly bothered by, you get the impression that he’s a busy guy, but he runs in, laundry basket in hand, apologizing breathlessly. 

“No need to apologise,” you tell him with a bright smile, putting your phone away, “everything okay?”

“Budget meeting ran late,” he explains, gracelessly lumping his clothes into the washing machine and throwing a few tide pods in along with them, “filming’s so close, I just lost track of time.”

“Oh, shit really? Wait have you already cast it?” You asked with a surprisingly genuine excitement; over the weeks, you’ve become rather invested in this project.

“Yeah, didn’t I tell you?” He asked with a grin, “casting was finalized two weeks ago; we start rehearsals next Saturday.”

“That’s so exciting!” You enthused, before laughing, “anyone I’d recognize?” And it’s mostly a joke, but Joe gives pause, evaluating you before he pushes start on his washing machine.

“I don’t know,” he answers genuinely, before conceding, “I mean, apart from me -”

“Acting, writing, and directing; does that make you a triple threat?” You asked coyly, and he breaks out into grin.

“And producing,” he reminds, and you make an impressed noise, nodding.

“Quadruple threat, excuse me.”

“But honestly, I don’t know if you’d recognize them; do you know,” and he goes back to the topic at hand, frowning a little, “Aaron Tveit?” You’re a little speechless, before answering.

“Not personally,” you find yourself answering, which gets Joe to laugh, “shit, dude, from Broadway?” And Joe’s wearing a proud little smile when he nods in confirmation, “and the Les Mis movie?”

“The very same,” Joe agrees, and your mouth hangs agape, “I told you, this is a real movie, I’m not filming this in my backyard,” after a beat, he licks his lips and jumps to sit on the washing machine, “have you seriously never googled me?”

“Why would I?” You asked, and he huffs a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head again in that way that you don’t quite understand. “Should I?” You finally ask, and Joe shrugs, smiling bright and carefree. He’s even swinging his legs, ankles crossed.

“I’m not a murderer, if that’s what’s got you worried,” he muses with a surprisingly carefree grin, “I mean, I’m kind of glad that you haven’t, it means you actually like me for me, you know?”

“Of course I do,” you answer automatically, and Joe’s expression turns fond, “I really like you, dude,” you explain, “I’m kind of in awe of what you’re accomplishing.” And you mean it with your whole heart, “if you’d prefer I didn’t google you, I won’t; I don’t make a habit of googling my friends, I won’t start with you.” When you say this, something about him relaxes, and he hops off the washing machine.

“Wanna grab lunch?” He asks with a smile, which you mirror without hesitation, and agree.

They’re filming out of state, which Joe tells you the week before he leaves, and you hadn’t realised how much you would miss him until the first Sunday rolls around, and you’re sitting in the laundromat alone.

Your phone goes off with a notification at exactly eleven.

It’s a photo of Joe and Aaron Tveit in baseball jerseys, covered in dirt, grinning.

[HOLY SHIT] you send back, following it up with [IS THAT] and then you wait a moment before adding [QUADRUPLE THREAT JOE MAZZELLO??] 

[christ 😳😅🥰] he sends back, and something about his restrained but still obviously flustered response has your heart skip a beat. [is it weird that i miss the laundromat?]

[yes 😂]

[and you of course i miss you too] he’s quick to follow it up with, and your own smile grows wider. You take a photo of the empty laundromat and draw in a terrible stick figure impression of him and send it back.

[miss u too haha] and you give pause before sending [hey if u ever wanna send other prod photos.......] [u don’t just have to send them on sunday]

[you haven’t signed an NDA 😂]

[joseph who am i gonna tell??]

[your other friends idk]

[my lips are ZIPPED 🤐] [photos for personal use only]

[personal use????? 😘😘]

[dont be GROSS]

[but i wanna be gross!!]

So now you’re flustered in the middle of the laundromat, completely at a loss as to how to respond to that. 

[are u flirting with me joseph?] you send back, and you watch the three little typing dots as they hover for a very long time.

[only if you’re into it]

Oh. 

[the FIRST WEEK YOU’RE AWAY FROM THE LAUNDROMAT AND YOU’RE PULLING THIS SHIT] [i AM into it but fuck 😳😅]

[I’VE BEEN FLIRTING WITH YOU FOR WEEKS]

Oh!

[OH]

[THE FIRST WEEK I’M AWAY FROM THE LAUNDROMAT AND YOU FINALLY PICK UP ON IT???]

[go direct ur baseball movie 🥰😅] you send, and tuck your phone away, feeling rather like a fool, but a pleased fool nonetheless, and you’re grinning for the rest of the day.

Photos are exchanged often after that, usually selfies, or photos of where either of you were, what you were doing, the flirting turning absolutely less subtle with each day that passes until you’re just complimenting each other, and mentioning occasionally how you miss the other.

When he sends a photo of himself posing against the fence of the dugout in a way that showed off his ass, you can’t help but make it your lock screen, though it’s quickly followed by a video and a text that reads [i was told i have to send you this too,,, for context].

“This feels undignified,” says a strangely familiar voice from off-screen, presumably filming, while Joe was trying to ask for opinions on how he should pose.

“This is undignified,” comes someone else’s response, and the camera swings around to reveal an amused Tyler Hoechlin, opening a water bottle, “this Y/N must be real cute.” In the background, a few others, vaguely recognizable, all in baseball uniforms, snicker.

“They are!” Joe answered defiantly, grinning, one leg up against the wire, looking over his shoulder, “are you filming me?” The camera flips around and you get a pretty glorious angle directly up Aaron Tveit’s nose.

“No -”

The video stops abruptly, and you’re all but wheezing with laughter, though all you send back is;

[so worth it] [ur ass *chef’s kiss*]

[THANK YOU] [you get it] [knew there was a reason i liked you so much]

The moment he gets back to New York, he asks you out to dinner. Of course you say yes.

For your third date, he offers to cook you dinner, and watch a movie, prefaced with a question that you’re surprised he still asks; have you really not googled me? And the honest answer you always give: no.

His apartment has a lot of movie posters, of movies you’ve heard of but never seen, or seen when you were very little.

“Big movie buff, obviously,” you note with a little smile, and he raises his eyebrows in amusement at your observation. Even moreso when you excitedly coo about how you haven’t seen Jurassic Park in so long when he suggests it.

“Your self restraint is godlike, babe,” he snickers, and you’re not quite sure what he means, you’re kind of just happy to be here. 

He cooks dinner, and you both sit down in front of his alarmingly big TV, and you feel a warm rush of nostalgia at the opening. You’re eating quietly, watching with rapt attention, but you can feel Joe watching you expectantly. 

“What’s up?” You ask, turning to him, confused, and his smile grows a little wider, and his gaze flicks to the screen for a moment, and then back to you.

“Just waiting for it to click.”

“For what to click?” 

“Babe,” and he says it like he can’t quiet believe it, his gaze now focused on the screen where the kids, Tim and Lex, were being introduced, “that’s me.” And follow his gaze and holy shit. A lot of things start making a lot more sense.

He’s not sure what he’s expecting your reaction to be, but the way your face lights up, and the unbridled enthusiasm and compliments that pour out of you, was not it, but he’s definitely not complaining. 

“Wait!” Your eyes sparkle as you look around his apartment, the movie posters he had everywhere now having a completely different meaning, “all these...?”

“Every single one,” he agrees, a little abashed, suddenly humble, and you grin when you finally look back at him.

“I didn’t think I could be more awed by you, but dude,” you enthused, “that’s cool as hell! You’re cool as hell!” But you take a deep breath, putting your plates onto the coffee table, sitting as close to him as you could, “but I would have thought the world on you even if you hadn’t done any of this,” and he tries to brush it off, but you’re adamant, “no, I mean it, I like you for you, Joe, not for what you’ve done, but... for who you are.”

“You’re gonna make me blush,” he shoots for serious, but misses entirely thanks to his pleased little smile.

“Good,” you tell him seriously, and kiss both of his pink cheeks before kissing him. Your dinner might get a little cold after that, but you can always reheat it. 

You comfort him over the weeks it takes to edit him film, Undrafted, though he’ll never let you see too much of the final product; he wants you to see it in cinemas first.

It’s still kind of surreal to you that Joe Mazzello is both a movie star, and your boyfriend. He’s still friends with Laura Dern, and he also spends eight dollars a week at a laundromat to wash his clothes. Bizarre. But you kind of like how down-to-earth he is. 

What’s more bizarre is when he invites you to the red carpet premiere of his movie.

“Me?” You squeaked, and he seemed a little confused at your hesitation, his hands on your shoulders.

“You,” he nodded slowly, not understanding why you’re suddenly nervous.

“For real?”

“Yeah, of course I want you there; you said so yourself, you’d be in the front row, right?” He smiled a little and you could feel your heart melt.

“You remember that?”

“Of course I do,” he tells you gently, “it’s one of the reasons I liked you in the first place.” He’s so earnest; you agree easily.

The red carpet is a whole other world, you find, dressed to the nines, styled by someone you don’t know, cameras flashing in your face -

“Is this Y/N?” Tyler Hoechlin is saying your name. What universe is this? Joe was blushing furiously with his arm around you as the cast made their way over.

“Finally, a face for a name,” and that’s Aaron Tveit; you have to remind yourself not to get star struck. Instead, you smile and offer your hand to them both, which they shake, smiling and greeting you warmly. 

“Don’t embarrass me, you assholes,” Joe warned, though his tone was amused, and the others chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Mister Director,” Aaron assured.

“You’re good at doing that on your own,” Tyler added, and Joe gave him the finger, but held you a little tighter. 

“Did he send you the video of when he asked me to take that photo? You know the one,” Aaron asked, and you straightened your posture, grinning brightly.

“With an ass like his, I don’t know why you’d think it’s undignified,” you said loftily, and there was a beat as everyone took in what you said.

“I fucking love you,” Joe half laughed, pulling you in for a kiss.

“You’re good,” Tyler snorted, shaking his head with a grin, and Aaron was just straight-up laughing. The rest of the cast took to you easily, though most of the in-jokes among them went over your head, by Joe’s side, you never really felt left out. 

The theater itself was cool and dark, but you could feel the whole cast and crew thrumming with excitement and nervous energy, and Joe gave your hand a squeeze where your fingers were interlaced. 

It’s clear he’d poured his heart and soul into the movie, his fingerprints were all over every aspect of it, and you couldn’t quite believe you were watching it all finally completed; it had been almost a year since you’d first asked him about it, and now, here you were, hand in hand with him at the premiere. 

As the credits rolled, as the crowd clapped, and you along with them, you found yourself speechless. Joe, quiet and surprisingly nervous, turns to you.

“What’d you think?” His voice is quiet, uncertain, and you all but tackle him across the armrest, kissing him until you’re both breathless.

“I’m so proud of you,” you gasp against his lips, “I’m so fucking proud of you.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” his voice is gentle as he takes your face in his hands, but you shake your head.

“You could have, babe, you absolutely could have, you’ve got so much ambition and talent -”

“I didn’t want to do it without you,” he admits in a rush, and you freeze, eyes on his, “I mean it.” And you’re kissing him again, hoping he can feel the pride and love that’s flowing through you. There’s an afterparty to get to, drinks with the cast and crew, and a comfortable bed waiting after that, you know, but you can’t help but bask in this one moment together, just a little longer.

[gwoongi]

dancer in the dark (pt. 1)

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

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

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

BIRTH OF DEVILS. (LONDON)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE DEVILS ARE DANCING. (VENICE)

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

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

Sejin’s right- it does sound good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“New face?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gets like what?” Jeongguk asks, scoffing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You like The Clash?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm,” you offer, feeling mortified.

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

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

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

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

“Something like that,” he nods.

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

“We’re called August Blue.”

“No, I meant your name,” you laugh.

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

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

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

“Is it?” he questions disbelievingly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, what the fuck?”

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

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

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

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

“He’s family.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

So he walks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod genuinely. “It happens.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then come,” he blurts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(LOS ANGELES)

“So. You’ve decided to be late.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His reply is instantaneous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, you!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The hug is genuinely short, but it feels eternal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll force you outside,” you reply.

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

DEVIL IN THE DARK. (HOLLYWOOD)

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

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

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

The triple dots are constant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cassie,” she throws in.

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

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

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

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

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

“We met in passing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pause, “Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You knew?”

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

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

“It will get worse, always does.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mm.”

“Mm yes, or…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lemme finish,” Jeongguk requests.

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

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

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

“You’re faking,” he accuses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Got it.”

“Mm, you did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sent those at three.

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

There is a short silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jeongguk, you up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(LOS ANGELES)

Things begin to change quite suddenly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve picked the movie,” he starts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I won’t. I’m not going anywhere.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nah. Greedy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(HIDDEN HILLS)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yoojung shrugs, “Poetic cinema?”

“Keep dreaming, cabbage patch baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You glare at him.

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

“No, Mom. Nobody.”

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

“That’s a lie,” you gape.

“Is it?” he shrugs. Is it?

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

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

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

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

“And he’s famous?” Axel asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know him?” asks Axel.

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

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

“Romantic,” your mother sighs honestly.

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

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

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

“Hair isn’t a type,” Miyoung snaps.

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

“So, he’s a player?” Axel grunts.

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

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

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

“I can feel my ears burning.”

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

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

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

“Jeongguk,” says Miyoung, smiling wide.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeongguk watches him. “Yes, sir.”

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

“Step father,” you cut in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did I?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he says gently.

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

“I thought he wasn’t family.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The sound of your phone fills the room and pulls you out of the bathroom, which connects to your family bedroom back in the house your family live at currently. Yoojung’s party had ended hours earlier, the grand finale with Jeongguk helping bring out her cake, fireworks on the evening, a hand on your waist.

Rubbing at your wet hair, you sit on the bed and reach for your phone, glossing over the messages, smiling.

[23:40PM] You: hey now [23:40PM] You: i don’t think my family like me either [23:41PM] Jeongguk❣️: wanna run away and be my family? [23:42PM] Y/N: where are we running to? [23:42PM] Jeongguk❣️: idk yet [23:42PM] Jeongguk❣️: somewhere nice [23:43PM] Jeongguk❣️: far away [23:43] You: omg yes [23:44PM] You: kinda wanting to go to hawaii...what are your thoughts on hawaii, gukkie? [23:45PM] Jeongguk❣️: hawaii on a first date? imagine that….. [23:45PM] Jeongguk❣️: u DO dream big [23:45PM] You: i tried [23:46PM] Jeongguk❣️: it’s not exactly hawaii [23:47PM] Jeongguk❣️: but how about a late night rendezvous at olive garden

(At the same time…)

[23:47PM] Jeongguk❣️: omg … as if i just spelt that word right [23:47PM] You: autocorrect, u cant fool me [23:47PM] You: and omg sure…..,,,,,, [23:48PM] You: something tells me ur already here and thats why you’re asking

(A honk outside your window.)

[23:49PM] Jeongguk❣️: 🤪 [23:49PM] You: my hairs wet 🥺 [23:50PM] Jeongguk❣️: i’ll roll down the windows?

(A sigh.)

[23:50PM] You: pls give me five minutes

Jeongguk had been parked up outside, his car hidden half in the shadows by a flickering streetlight, inconspicuous and with the inside lights on. It had taken all but three minutes to find his car, and another three for you to warm up to talking to him inside the car. Slipping into the passenger seat with the sound of Magnetic Moon on the AUX and the shining smile from Jeongguk had been nerve-wracking, perhaps nerve-wracking is even an understatement. Nonetheless, the song had rolled to an end and just before Tiffany could transition into the smooth vocals of Lana, Jeongguk said his first few words beyond “hi”.

Olive Garden was a few miles away from your neighbourhood- small and pushed to the side with a selection of palm trees scattered outside, like a postcard for Malibu. Like most, if not all American’s, you’ve been here before, already have a go-to on the menu. Jeongguk drives into a parking bay near the shrubs and opens the doors for you, pulls out chairs, goes the extra mile ordering wine in advance in a private section of the restaurant that you didn’t know existed. You’ve only ever been here with Yoongi and Yoojung, two celebrities who sometimes have the luxury of leaving the house and not getting immediately noticed.

“What do you wanna do after?”

Jeongguk, halfway through cutting his sirloin steak, glances up with an honestly surprised expression. “You still want to hang out after?”

You shrug, taking a sip of the wine. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because our first date since I got back from tour is at fucking Olive Garden,” Jeongguk states.

“I like Olive Garden…” you mumble, which he hears.

After swallowing a large mouthful, he sends it down with a gulp of wine. “Well, I’m not gonna complain. Shall we go for a drive? You ever been to the beach at night?”

“I live in LA, who hasn’t been to the beach at night?”

“Okay, true,” he replies. “I used to do it all the time in Busan, too. Lived right across the road, could see the sands from my front porch.”

Once dinner is over, and once Jeongguk has quite finished coercing you into sharing an ice-cream sundae with him, Jeongguk takes you up on the invitation to drive to the beach, the night sky like looking into the eyeball of a stuffed animal, the stars like specks of dust on an Afterlight edit. The boulevard is lit up by circular bulbs, tiny attractions for moths, bright like close up stars. Jeongguk drives smoothly, the window slightly down and occasionally his eyes glanced over at you; your hair is messed in the wind, the sound of Kim Petra on the AUX sending your body into little bops, something Jeongguk wants to remember for the rest of his life.

“So much for letting my hair dry.”

Jeongguk laughs from the back of the car, closing the boot and bringing out some spare towels to hand over to you. They’re yellow, like fresh little buttercups, and slightly wrinkled, smelling like faint juice and sea-salt. Regardless, you take the towel off him and begin to quickly rub it against your hair, once again trying to even out the wetness, less than the shower back home, enough to still drip on your arms and legs.

“You splashed me first,” Jeongguk replies, standing outside the door whereas you sit with your legs hanging out, sideways on the backseat. Behind him is the beach, dark and the sound of the ocean lapping like television static, the faint sound of the amusement arcade down the prom. His body is wet too, the ankles of his jeans clinging to his skin with ocean water.

You turn your head to him, smiling. “Guilty.” When he laughs, you continue to speak and bring the towel back down to your lap, “Okay, it’s what they all do in the movies. What else are you supposed to do on a beach at like...midnight. Wait, what time is it?”

“I dunno, like, three?” he guesses.

“No way.”

“Feels like three. Check the front.”

You lean over to check. “It’s definitely not three.”

Jeongguk shrugs boyishly, that same grin creating dimples near his chin. “Not far off. It was a guess.”

“Good for a guess,” you assure. Jeongguk wrangles the towel from your hands politely, wringing it out and throwing it back into the boot. Your hair can dry again in the wind when Jeongguk drives away, the same way it did when he picked you up. He has this theory on his mind as he walks back around to the open door, although the words leave him when he returns, having found that he has nothing at all to say now it’s come down to it.

Jeongguk moves back in, his body shoved between your legs slightly as he moves closer. You gaze up at him, the light behind him making his body glow dark, sighs like whispers in the quiet ambience.

“I really had a lot of fun tonight,” Jeongguk says, like it’s a secret. “Even though this morning your family almost had a heart attack discovering that we were, well, whatever we are...I still had fun.”

You hum in agreement, watching his face as it moves into the light. “Yoojung had the best time. I haven’t seen her that happy since she met Paul Rudd at Disneyland, and that’s seriously impressive.”

Jeongguk laughs quietly. “Paul Rudd.” He almost can’t believe that.

“As for us,” you continue, stress on the ‘us’ which brings Jeongguk’s attention full circle and back entirely onto you in the backseat of his ride, “well...what are we?”

For a few moments, Jeongguk doesn’t say anything. “I have the fantasy and the reality.”

You nod, encouraging, and so he continues. “The fantasy is that we give it a go. We try it, really try. Y/N, with every small inch of my delicate, precious body-” (giggles are delivered by you as he speaks)- “I absolutely adore you. And I never knew I could feel like how I feel with you. I only ever wanted the sex, and even then, I didn’t want it that badly, and then you wandered into my life and everything feels so...so...I don’t even know a word. I just know it feels amazing when I’m with you- I feel amazing. And, of course, the reality is that we’re two sad early twenties rich kids who are pining and don’t know what to do about it.”

And it’s true, it’s so true. The sad reality of it all was that unless either one of you stepped up first, this dynamic of uncertainty would continue on as the norm. Where you were too shy to be bold and make a move, Jeongguk felt too insecure to step up.

“Well, then…” you start, chewing the inside of your cheek, thinking. “How about we try making the fantasy our reality?”

Nothing.

Jeongguk blinks and cocks his head in bewilderment. “Really?” You nod. “You want to?”

“If I didn’t want to, why the hell would I leave my house with wet hair to go eat at Olive Garden and lovingly stroll on a beach at midnight?”

Jeongguk’s eyebrows raise in amusement. “Oh, so it was loving?”

“I was definitely feeling some kind of way,” you confirm.

At long last, Jeongguk smiles wide, shuffling closer. His hands wrap around your face gently, like holding a delicate bird in two palms, and his fingers brush against your ears, tickling the skin, nails fingering your hair.

“That’s good to hear,” he replies, “Great, actually.”

“Yeah?”

Now, Jeongguk hums, his trademark reply for when his eyes are too lost for words to be conjured up to describe how he feels about what he sees. He is, what one might recall to be as “lost for words”. His teeth clip at his bottom lip as he questions what he’ll do next, and for a brief moment you catch his tongue darting out in nervousness as he leans closer, smell of mint on his breath as his lips touch yours, and the heavens open.

Metaphorically and literally, so. As Jeongguk brings you closer to him, his lips still pressed on yours, his heart elevates into subspace, his body light and euphoric. At the same time, the sky grumbles, hungry, and it begins to pour, tiny droplets on the roof of the car and on Jeongguk’s back. He winces, doesn’t pull away, and quickly separates himself from you to squint at the sky.

He sees nothing, because it’s way too dark, but he feels it. Sighing briefly, Jeongguk turns back to you and nods his head upwards, miming for you to shuffle backwards into the car. A rush of something hot creeps down the middle of your body as you do so, feeling Jeongguk’s hand on your calf as he climbs in after you, his ankle caught on the door bringing it to a close, but not fully. The red alarm light is bright and begging for attention but Jeongguk pays it no mind.

Instead, he crawls back to you, eager to pick up what he left. It’s welcomed, warm and inviting, as Jeongguk holds you back closer to him and returns the kiss, hot and open mouthed. Something clicks inside of you, a moment of realisation as Jeongguk sets himself over you, his thighs like a cage and his hair tickling your eyebrows. When this feeling simmers, you grin, something Jeongguk is only mildly surprised about. He doesn’t ask questions, he doesn’t really need to.

In fact, Jeongguk doesn’t really say anything at all; he doesn’t need to, and he actually can’t, given the volume of the rain now it comes down heavier. It’s so loud, almost deafening, which you almost thank out loud for. The rain at least covers up your breathy moans as Jeongguk’s hands wander, pulling at the bottom of your dress and fisting it into a ball, the fabric rising higher.

When Jeongguk finally pulls himself away, it is selfish. He pulls back and sits down, in the middle seat so there’s a window view from every angle, his feet in either footwell. Jeongguk shakes his head and hair out of the way, his hands making their way back to you to bring you up and over into his lap. This time, Jeongguk accepts a kiss from you, his cheeks cupped almost by your hands which gives his hands free reign to smooth across your body, swiftly lifting the bottom half of your dress up, wrapping it like a belt across your hips. If the rain were silent, he’d like to have heard you, heard the way you whimper as the bulk in Jeongguk’s jogging bottoms brushes against your pussy, the fabric of your underwear making it hypersensitive and ten times more exciting.

Jeongguk’s lips widen, his mouth open and inviting for you, accepting tongue when you bring your lips back to his after a short break. His eyes flutter and roll backwards, the tickle of your breath through your nose on his skin as he holds you closer, as if you can get any closer than what you already are. Then, when you quite suddenly bite down onto Jeongguk’s tongue and lips, he groans, pleasured, his hands moving beneath your skirt to grab your ass, lifting you up and down on his very attentive boner.

If Jeongguk or yourself ever thought that the first time you’d have sex would be near the public beach in the back of his car in the middle of a very thunderous rainstorm, you might have laughed, or said there would be more to it. In actual fact, it’s just how it is- Jeongguk shimmies himself out of his bottoms soon enough, reaching into the back side of the car to pull out a condom, since he always has some in case of emergencies, like most guys do. He’d like to not use one, but he knows it’s not safe- he doesn’t know if he’s got something, or if you’ve got something. Either way, he rolls it onto his dick in a record speed and sinks you down onto him all within the same ten seconds, and, yeah- it’s not what he expected to happen, it’s not what anybody expects to happen, but it feels right, feels great. When he’s fucking somebody as good and as lovely as you, he’s not allowed to be picky on the location.

He can’t allow himself to be picky- he knows that he’s wanted you ever since he saw you swirling to Dancer in the Dark, he knows that things are meant to be how they play out. Actually, he doesn’t mind it. He likes the risk of someone seeing, likes the way the windows fog up and how the car rocks slightly, obvious to people outside. Jeongguk relishes in that excitement, crossed with the pleasure and arousal coursing through his body when his attention is pulled out of hit thoughts and back onto you. The rain quietens down and he hears you, feels his hands grip tighter around you and his guided pace quicken, all with a breathy high tone in his ear, occasional breaches of rain and roars of thunder, an orchestral accompanying each of you through the sex, until gushing sounds of rain are what he hears when he sees white in his eyes and over his dick, a melting handprint in the condensation on the window.

[02:34AM] You: def just heard something on my balcony so if i die, pls tell yoongi that it was ME who lost his left airpod and it was also me who stole his signed Nirvana album it’s on my shelf im sorry [02:35AM] Jimin 🦶🏽: um  [02:35AM] Jimin 🦶🏽: wtf….. [02:35AM] Jimin 🦶🏽: u really just gonna die and not leave anything for me???? [02:36AM] You: SSKSSKKSKSKSK [02:36AM] You: u can have my bank account details + contents [02:36AM] Jimin 🦶🏽: !!!!!!!! [02:37AM] Jimin 🦶🏽: omg rip y/n <3 u will be missed omg…..omg cant believe ur dead

All jokes aside, you stare for a long time at your balcony doors, going insane at the sight of nothing at all through the glass and your curtains, slightly see-through to allow the sun in the mornings.

The night burns on your eyes, flashing swirls of colour taking over as you stare for too long at seemingly nothing at all. Quite possibly, it is the wind, or an animal that has climbed onto the balcony from out of one of the trees. It’s happened before- one time, a family of raccoons migrated onto your balcony during the September months of last year, and stayed there for so long that you forgot your balcony had doors. Those same doors are locked, like they always are on a nighttime, but the bedroom window remains open, slightly pushed out to allow in a breeze to circulate the room.

Knowing that it’s probably nothing, you settle back down into bed, drifting back into sleep remarkably fast for somebody previously quite concerned with being killed. This fact is startling- not just to you, but also to Jeongguk, who cocks a leg over your balcony rail and then through your window. What also shocks him was how easy it was to do all of this, now that he’s standing in your bedroom with nothing to say given the fact that you’ve fallen back to sleep.

Jeongguk sighs softly. It’s been about a week and a half since the beach, and the car, and the rain and the first time, but it feels like it’s been months. Jeongguk had to leave for a few days, three at the most, to film some puppy interview for Buzzfeed and continue other solo interviews while the rest of the band settled for a break in their LA residence. Every moment away felt like agony, so painful that Jeongguk found himself back outside your house, surprises stored in emails on his phone.

He steps quietly over towards your bed, wincing when his weight on top of the comforter causes a loud rustle and squeak. Still, you don’t wake, not until Jeongguk lays himself over you with his hands near your shoulders, his voice quiet and murmuring your name, hair tickling your face, lips on skin.

“Wha-Jeongguk?” you ask quietly, your voice groggy. “How’d you get in here…?”

“I think you need security, urgently,” Jeongguk replies quietly. When you roll over onto your back, he smiles gently and wraps hair from out of your face around your ear. “And you need to start locking your windows. You make a robbery look very easy.”

You sigh. “Oh. I thought it was okay.”

“Just be glad your intruder is me and not somebody else,” he says caringly. “Sorry I woke you.”

“No,” you say, rubbing your eyes. “I was awake...and then I closed my eyes for a bit. Hey, was that you out on the balcony?”

Jeongguk grins. “Knew you saw me.”

“I didn’t. Well, I did, but I thought I was being overly paranoid,” you tell him. You yawn away from him, “What time is it, babe?”

Jeongguk purposefully ignores the feeling in his chest. “It’s two fourty.”

You groan. “Are you stopping the night? Get in, I’m tired.”

Jeongguk brings himself down to kiss you once. “No. No, no, you can’t sleep right now. I wanna go out.”

“Now?” you ask, aghast.

“Yeah. Let’s go somewhere.”

“At like three-am?”

“Yeah, sorry, it was the only time I could get it. I wanna take you somewhere special.”

Once Jeongguk is finished speaking, you open your eyes wider and observe him. It’s only then that you notice his clothing; over his upper body, he wears a large oversized grey hoodie, slightly worn out and wrinkled with the drawstring missing, and as always, dark jeans that blend in with the night. A frown worms its way onto your face, your expression unreadable to Jeongguk’s eyes.

“Get it? Get what, babe?” you mutter.

Jeongguk hums, like shrugging.

“Where are we going?” you ask, starting to sit up which forces Jeongguk to roll over on the bed, until his feet swing over the side and hit the floor. He wants to stay quiet for the sake of yourself, considering he’s not looking forward to accidentally waking up your family. You’ve been staying at your parents' place for the entire week, abusing reading week for sleeping in, going out for something to eat, and returning home to watch Glee rather than finish your art assignments. Naturally, Jeongguk doesn’t want the whole family to reject him just because he woke them up at three in the morning to collect you from your room.

“Hm,” Jeongguk starts, straining to hear if anything outside your bedroom catches his ear. He faintly hears the sound of claws across the wood, remembering you once mentioning that your family had a dog. “How about we go to Paris?”

You whip around to look at him, making out his silhouette in the dark. “Paris? Are you fucking with me?”

“Why, what’s wrong with Paris?”

“There is nothing wrong with Paris,” you affirm, gasping. “I just...really? Paris?”

“Yeah. Thought we could stop by The Louvre to see that dude Maxine tried to set you up with.”

You snort quietly, moving to turn on a lamp which brightens the room into shades of orange. “How did you even know about that?”

“I hear things,” he says, shrugging. Jeongguk then shakes his head and looks back at you, making his way to the bottom of the bed. “No. I just really wanna take you out somewhere special.”

“The beach was special to me,” you tell him.

Jeongguk smiles, “Me, too. But...Paris.”

Laughter bubbles at the back of your throat. “Okay. Let’s go to Paris. Why not?”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk agrees, laughing also, “why not? Need help packing anything? You won’t need a lot, I can take you out when we get there.”

You pull a face, looking back at Jeongguk. “Wow...our first vacation together and you’re already going to spoil me?”

Jeongguk grins widely, “Well, on our first date I humped you, so I guess we’re pretty unconventional.”

You have nothing to say in reply to that.

(PARIS)

One thing you never thought you’d get the chance to do is take a trip on a private jet, holding up the scheduled flight times of other aircraft at the airport. That changes the second that Jeongguk pulls up outside of LAX, his hand carefully and tightly clamped around your own as he escorts you whilst also being escorted by his own small handful of security right into the large building. Thankfully for him, the airport is empty, occupied by sleeping flyers who wait on hard, metal chairs, the tinny sound of music playing at volume three.

His jet is small, yet luxurious; it’s everything out of a movie set, decorated in mocha creams and whites, clinking glasses of champagne waiting to be swallowed. His pilot knows him by name, and there’s a handpicked air hostess who looks bored and old, her lock screen a picture of her children. Jeongguk smiles at her, even addresses her by name and introduces you with a chirpy tone. The lady looks surprised, covering it up with a tight smile of nervousness. Maybe you’re the only girl Jeongguk’s ever brought on the plane before. Maybe you’re another girl he’s brought on the plane, you don’t know for sure.

After take off, Jeongguk spins in his recliner seat and drums his fingers in his lap. You sit opposite, looking meek, your gaze out the window at the dark clouds and sky. As you continue to fly, the sky opens up, into ombre colours that fascinate. One is looking at the beauty of nature and the other is looking at the beauty of a woman. Neither says a word.

When the plane reaches touch down, the airport is quite bustling and energetic, thankfully again no fans who caught an air of mystery from Jeongguk’s suspicious tweets at one in the morning, when he spontaneously booked tickets without even getting the green flag. Money to waste, risks to take, is what he’d say. Jeongguk helps you carry your small bag to the hired vehicle, an inconspicuous black car with black-out windows. He’s half expecting the vehicle to give him away, but nobody present actually gives a fuck about who is in the car and who isn’t. So, he climbs in without being noticed, his hand in yours, right up until the doors close and you’re hotel bound.

“Fuck, jet-lag.”

Jeongguk dives onto the bed, his back on the duvet and nose tipped up to the ceiling. Presently, you’ve been in Paris for a few hours, staring at the roads below with tired and sleepy eyes, heavy shoulders, a day indoors. Jeongguk’s been to Paris before, quite a few times actually - you haven’t, seeing the city in glimpses outside your balcony. To his right, the bathroom light clicks off and you shuffle out, a towel wrapped around your body as you cross the width of the room.

“Right?” you agree with a small frown. You crouch to pick up a fallen jacket off the back of the chair, tucked underneath the white vanity. “I almost fell asleep in the shower.”

“Yeah? You tired?”

“Exhausted,” you say honestly. “Once I’m dry, I think I might head to bed.”

Jeongguk hums in reply, maybe agreement. He lets you do what you need to do; of course, he takes a peek, because he’s a boy and he can’t help himself. You’re dressing by the window, staring out at the pretty Eiffel Tower who shines, lit up for the evening. The room is dark, dressed in midnight tones, the only light outside and the glow of one of the lamps upon the table top. Jeongguk is so wordlessly in awe that he doesn’t care about not being able to see. He sees your silhouette against the light of the city, curved and beautiful, hidden away by a long button up that you picked out of the wrong suitcase, not that he cares. His cheek is pressed against the pillow and he feels his body lifting up off the bed like he’s levitating. God, his chest is so light, it hurts, he wants to scream, he wants to cry, laugh, smile, leap up and yell. You finish buttoning and turn and he returns to the mattress.

The bed dips as you crawl up onto it, your knees by Jeongguk as you sit next to him on the bed. Instantly, Jeongguk’s hands move to your hair to move it away from your face as you look down at him, one hand on your knee also. On command, the smile on his lips widens softly when you brush away his fringes off his face, humming and then reaching down for a kiss, stealing one from his lips without warning and another off the slope of his chin.

“Paris is pretty,” you tell him. Jeongguk hums. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

He shrugs awkwardly. “Sorry it’s not the Maldives, baby.”

“Whatever. Paris is better,” you say. “Our view is gorgeous.”

You look back at the window. Jeongguk does not. “Yeah, it’s beautiful.”

“Must have been expensive as fuck,” you exhale, turning back to him. His hand that was once on your face drops to your back, wandering until it’s found on your ass. It feels nice, you can’t complain.

“Rich kids of LA come to Paris to make noise and take tourist photos by the Eiffel Tower,” Jeongguk replies, joking but sounding serious, which is a talent of his. You laugh, so he knows it’s something you recognise. He laughs too. “It’s actually in Yoongi’s name. Just asked him if I could use it for a weekend away.”

Your brows curve upwards in amusement. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m a fraud, it’s not my apartment,” he sighs, “but, at least we’re here. Like it enough, and I’ll buy us a house here.”

“Are we really there yet?”

“Might be,” Jeongguk theorises. “Wanna try it for a bit longer?”

Nothing is said. Outside, a car honks and you sigh at the same time, through your nose, playing with your fingers with Jeongguk’s locks of hair that grow longer over his face. His head hasn’t moved, still squashed against the pillows, his earrings tangled and most likely stuck to strands of his hair, a difficulty for when he decides to move. He feels your hand on his face again, comforting, and he inhales your familiar scent and knows you’ve come closer by the time you’re there, pressing your lips to his.

It’s fleeting, fast. You pull away right as Jeongguk comes to terms with what you’re doing, and so he follows you up as you move away. He’s sitting up, his hands on your elbows as he moves to kiss you again, finish what you started.

A bar door outside opens and music spills out, just as Jeongguk’s hands move from your elbows to your ribcage, his heart in his throat when you reach up to tenderly hold his face, fingers near his ears on his neck. This is euphoria; your hands drop, Jeongguk moving once more to prod and palm. As he kisses you, his thumbs gently massage around your breasts, in circular motions, soft and cradling and exploring. Into his mouth you groan, quietly, like a vocal moan that lasts for a few seconds before being captured by his lips again. Jeongguk’s left hand claws at your boob, grabbing, reaching up to your neck. Now he’s holding you, his hair in his eyes tickling as he guides you. On your cheek, you feel his thumb grazing, holding you close to him even when you pull apart for a modicum of a second to capture your breath. Quite possibly, he could be sick out of nerves - your hands fall limply to his wrists, then down as his hands hold the damp back of your head. After a little longer, Jeongguk pulls himself away, his eyes half-lidded and yours closed entirely.

He admires what he’s done and what he sees. Once more, he kisses you, dragging it out until he’s moved away again, simply admiring. You’re far from done, though; you pull him back after catching your breath, your eyes now open and slightly fuzzy. Jeongguk smiles, warmly, gently. You might cry. As his hands drop from your head to the top of your shirt, fiddling with his fingers around the buttons, your lip gets caught between your bottom teeth and Jeongguk’s eyes are drawn to the sight. He might make a comment, might not. He decides not to. Instead, he moves back in and bides his hands time to undo your buttons.

The cool silk of your shirt drops as he undos the buttons, sliding like rainwater down your shoulders and arms, until it pools around your elbows. Thankfully for him, Jeongguk’s only in joggers and a button down, something he can easily slip himself out of. You’re wearing next to nothing, now that the shirt’s out of the question; all that decorates underneath is underwear, which Jeongguk doesn’t care for anyway. His hands paw at the shirt, trying to undo the last button without pulling away but it feels impossible. Frustrated, he huffs and moves away, his gaze locked on the final button above your pantline and he flushes when a laugh leaves your lips, something small and delicate and girly. He twitches.

“You, too,” you say, once the shirt is removed and you’re only in underwear, which is next on Jeongguk’s list of things to remove. He looks up with mild surprise, having the audacity to be confused by what you’re talking about. It is only when your fingers curl around the waist of his joggers that he smiles, like an idiot, and hums charmingly.

“Shuffle back for a minute?” Jeongguk asks, and you do, excited and buzzing when Jeongguk quickly pushes the joggers down his thighs. When they bunch around his ankles he kicks furiously, like a child, grunting - and you’re laughing, giggling like a school-girl, drunk on the residue of his lips. Of course, he smiles too, because happiness is a goddamn drug. He inhales with exasperation, muttering “아이씨” under his breath. He finishes it up with a chuckle, a voiceless laugh out of his throat, and then he kisses you again.

Jeongguk eventually ends up lifting you, one arm flush against your waist and his other hand graciously ripping down your underwear, careless and selfish when he hears the fabric tear. Your eyes widen, having heard it too, but you’re too dazed to mention it. The undies are tossed towards the balcony door and Jeongguk settles you back on his lap, for a brief moment. He kisses you again, pulling himself snug against you and then, he lays you down.

“So pretty,” Jeongguk comments, his hands sliding down your sides.

“You can’t even see me,” you say.

Jeongguk shrugs, shuffling down the bed. His elbows pinch into your thighs, locking his arms over them and his chin is on top of your groin. “Don’t need to. I just know.”

You slightly laugh, finding it endearing. Jeongguk chuckles too, pressing a kiss to your stomach and then his hands push up at your calves. With your legs up into arrow shapes, knees to the sky, Jeongguk kindly peels them apart, planting himself right in between.

“Jeongguk,” you breathe his name. He grins, you can feel his mouth extending against your skin. He doesn’t reply.

Situated between two smooth legs, Jeongguk’s head dips and dives. A groan is rasped out of you, followed by a string of moany exhales as Jeongguk’s tongue lays flat, covering every inch of your pussy further with sucks and nips that make your toes curl. Jeongguk’s not done this to you before. He feels slightly anxious, because he wants it to be good for you. He wraps his arms around your thighs, burrowing his head in.

“Mpmf- Jeongguk,” you gasp, your head hiding in the comforter. Jeongguk’s on his stomach, nonchalant. Jeongguk licks everywhere he can, kitten licks that stretch out into long ones, exploring. Your mouth drops. Jeongguk moves one hand away from your leg, his fingers curling up to your pussy to stretch out your labia, one finger lazily brushing against your clit. Each brush is exciting, teasing, sensitive. He hums. He’s heard you. He wants to hear more.

He doesn’t do more, because Jeongguk doesn’t want you to cum yet. He has his fun, feeling your thighs lock around his head and quiver when his fingers swipe on your nub, his tongue inching into your cunt, driving out sounds from your lips. Jeongguk entertains that for a few more minutes, hard and throbbing by the time you’re begging for him to stop, rather than keep going.

When he pulls away, your legs shake, quivering like being left out in the cold for too long. He lays down flat instead, tapping your body for you to make a move when you’re ready, which doesn’t take long. Soon after, he feels the brush of your wetness against his leg as you haul yourself up and onto him, hovering over his middle, your hands on his chest.

Jeongguk cocks his head thoughtfully. “Want to?”

You bite your lip. “Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Hair falls over your shoulder. “Do you have a condom on you?”

“In my bag, somewhere,” Jeongguk suggests. He glances to the pile of bags near the door, “But it’s so far away. Are you on the pill?”

“No,” you frown. There’s nothing for a minute. “Want to anyway?”

Jeongguk hesitates, “Yeah. Do you?”

“Yeah. I do,” you tell him. Just as you’re about to take his dick in your hand, Jeongguk reaches out to stop you. You look up at him, finding the glimmer in his eyes in the dull light, “what?”

“What if I cum?” Jeongguk asks.

“I’d like you to.”

“What if I cum inside of you?”

A short silence. Jeongguk drums his fingers impatiently against your thigh. “Whatever,” you settle with. His heart trembles when your hand wraps around him. “I’d be a good Mom.”

Jeongguk laughs, then, his other hand joining the other on your waist. “If it happens, I’ll look after both of you. You can be unemployed and pampered if that’s what you want.”

“God, that’s fucking sexy,” you sigh.

He’s kidding, so are you, but the risk is still great. Jeongguk swallows a thick lump down his throat and settles his hands on your hips, embarrassed to be nervous with the build up of you rising up on your knees, planted either side of his waist. A tremor of coldness makes him shudder as your hand touches the base of his dick, hypersensitive without the rubber. For a brief moment, he catches your gaze, slightly hidden away behind fringes of hair that cast over your eyes.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, nervous and rubbing his hands against your skin.

You dip your head. “Yeah. Are you?”

“Mhm. I just - just want it to be good for you,” he confesses. “Don’t want it to hurt you. Don’t want you to regret it.”

“Well, are you clean? I got tested not too long ago, did it before my last pill. I’m clean.”

Jeongguk shifts. “Did it on tour with Hoseok. He was going because of Rosie and I was going because he suggested it for us. I’m good. That sound alright for you?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “It sounds perfect for me.”

And so it’s perfect for him, too. Jeongguk questions whether this is right, whether he should stop, but right now he can’t think properly. Not when he can feel himself growing rigid in your grasp, the bristle in his body when you slowly rub your clit across the head of his cock, vibrations. He grunts under his breath, his fingers shaking against your hips. Looking up at Jeongguk once more between your hair, catching the pull of his bottom lip in the scarce light and feeling his body rising beneath you, you shake your head over your shoulders and position yourself. And then you sink.

Paris is a gorgeous city, bustling with life. Across the narrow road, where another small apartment sits with a bay window and a balcony decorated with plants, the lights flicker in strobe patterns, neons bleeding into dulls seeping into pastels. A party, a parade, an applause when the size of Jeongguk adjusts inside of you. He can’t hear you, not over the noise of the party that has suddenly birthed in the moonlight hours. Perhaps Jeongguk is thankful for this, and the way it covers up his noises also.

Jeongguk groans inwards when you clench around him, familiar with the way it feels, remembering the unaccustomed sting and burn. After some time to adjust, you relax, making your first movements up and down, testing the waters, building a rhythm. Jeongguk can’t breathe, his mind paused, his breathing lodged in his throat, his lungs singing. You keep it up, the momentum, finding a pattern in the beat of the music in the background; the bass is your routine, each bump a drop onto Jeongguk’s hips, the brush of his head against your inner walls, euphoric.

“Oh my - fuck,” Jeongguk hisses, his voice barely heard. You catch it though, like a faint whisper, the sound burning your face with embarrassment. His grip tightens, nails digging into your skin as his palms slide from your hips to your ass. He holds like handles of a motorbike, guidance.

You’re slouching, hunched over with your hands on Jeongguk’s chest. He feels a pressure, not sure if it’s your hands pushing down or if it’s his own body, forcing down an orgasm he doesn’t want to have too soon. He sees purple behind you, your dark silhouette cast over him like an angel. With every slap against his body made by your ass, Jeongguk groans, grunts, borderline moans. When he strains to hear your gasps of air something in the background masks them, a sabotage.

“Feel good?” Jeongguk asks. His hands move to your wrists.

You whimper, thoughtless.

“Babe, does it feel good?”

“Mhm.” Your head falls to the side, cheek on your shoulder: “Mhm, feels good.” Something moany comes out of your lips, something muffled and whined. Imploring, spoiled. “Fuck, Jeongguk, that feels so good - keep….keep it like that.”

Jeongguk thinks it over, familiarising himself with his own movements. His grip squeezes around your wrist.

“Like that?” He follows with his body slowly thrusting up, like he would move if he were grinding the air, like inching his hips up under the covers to feel his dick on the duvet.

“Yeah,” you breathe. Even though he can’t see that well, you glance down at him: “can you - can you hold my hands?”

Jeongguk feels his stomach sink and rise, flipping, the butterflies. “Sure, baby.”

When you feel Jeongguk’s hands in your own, you hum to yourself, rising with your fingers interlocked. Jeongguk lets you do what you want with them, obliging when you slightly part his arms, hands locked on either side in the air. You sink, and rise, and sink, and rise, and Jeongguk is lost in the stars. Red, orange, blue, magenta- the rainbow appears as your wings, Jeongguk’s eyes trying to adjust in the dark on your face, on your tits, on the bits that are grainy in his vision. He imagines instead, based off memory of the beach, and the rain. When he feels your cunt clench around him again and your hands slip away to fall back behind you, Jeongguk curses into the air and lifts himself up, his arms wrapped around your middle.

“You feel so good,” Jeongguk says, his lips ghosted over yours now that he’s sitting upright. “Mhm? Hear me? Fuck, you feel so fucking good right now-”

You whimper. Jeongguk seals it up, steals it, captures it with his mouth as he kisses you. His hands are all twisted and searching, one between your shoulder blades and the other on your ass, his mind reeling when you put your palms on his cheeks, absolute bliss. It’s loud, or it would be if he could hear over the sound of the music in the apartment over, and Jeongguk picks up pieces in between the basslines, vocals and harmonies stripped apart so he can find your voice underneath. He pulls his mouth away, latching it to your neck, where your mouth is near his ear, right where he wants it. A hot flush runs up his body when he feels your breath on his ear, hears your needy moans and groans, feels your hands clawing at his back.

“Ugh- umf, Guk, I’m - I’m close,” you pant, his reply a bite to your neck. He sinks his teeth in, like a vampire with dull teeth, and you cry out into his ear. His cock twitches inside of you, the ridges of his cock smearing against your walls. He hums, not sure if you’ll hear it. You don’t. He pulls away and mouths the bite.

“Cum when you want to,” he says sweetly, moving his mouth to your ear briefly before moving back away. His hair is soft against your neck, his head angled to kiss at your skin, covered in a glow.

“What about you?” you ask.

Jeongguk smiles, his teeth present on your skin. “Don’t worry about me. I’m right behind you.”

He nuzzles his face into your neck, his eyes closed serenely as he holds you tight, holds you as you bounce up and down for the finale. Above him, your body trembles.

“Tired,” you laugh breathlessly, and Jeongguk makes a confused noise, like he hasn’t quite heard you correctly. After no reply, he sniffs, collecting you in his arms to hold you tighter than before, using his energy to move you. You may as well be paralysed, a fucktoy for him as he bounces you up and down, basking in the moans in his ear, pornographic and nasty and lewd and heard over the music that has changed tempo.

“Ah!” Jeongguk grunts into your ear with every slam onto his dick, feeling his body seize up in warning. “Gonna - I might…” He doesn’t finish the sentence. You’re not listening to it. All you can focus on is the feeling in your stomach, pressing your nails into Jeongguk’s skin.

Jeongguk saves his own release for later. He focuses, instead, on you and making you feel good, slowing himself down in the race so that you can come first. His lips press back to yours, tongue hot, and he stops bouncing you. One arm is tight around your waist and the other snakes to the front of your body, between your legs where around your thighs he finds your clit, rubbing with his thumb. He can feel your body tense and dither over him, a tightness clenching around him as you squirm, Jeongguk’s hips tiredly thrusting upwards in a slow and steady rhythm.

“Ah - Jeongguk,” you cry, words sinking into his mouth. “Baby-”

With one final flick upwards, Jeongguk lets out a throat-forced grunt into your mouth right as the pot spills, and down the length of Jeongguk’s dick trickles white. You can’t see, it’s dark and blurry, and everything feels numb. It’s nothing like the beach, which was sweet and tender and a rainy haze. This time, it’s a burning that feels dull until it races up your body, like hot goosebumps, until it washes over your body like the drop from the tallest roller coaster. Jeongguk milks it up, his own hands shaking as he grunts wordlessly, until he stutters, his toes curling.

“Umf- babe,” he pants. He moves his hands, you’re attempting to move for him but you feel stuck. Instead you clench, hard and soft, Jeongguk squirms. “Gonna- I’m-” He’s silent. One moment, you hear the laughter and a cork pop outside, and the next moment, Jeongguk’s moans are in your ear, his hands rubbing up your thighs as he moves twice upwards, as if storing his cum in safe spots inside. And then, as if on cue, he pulls out, stuffing his hand where his dick was to feel the cum drip out, like a melting ice-cream.

On his forehead he feels your lips parted and breathing and he fiddles his fingers around, non-sexually, curious. The cum stains his fingers, dressing them, and he laughs from his chest, lost of breath.

Jeongguk sighs, slotting his fingers into your mouth quite suddenly. He can barely see you, the light is still dim behind you but it’s enough for him to make it out, the grain obtrusive. He feels your lips close around his fingers and your tongue on his fingertips, a dazed smile across his face.

He sighs again. “Shit. You’re incredible.”

With a wet sound, he moves his fingers out. Despite cumming, his dick is still semi-hard, on it’s way out. Jeongguk preens when your arms wrap around his neck, his mouth needily on yours for a brief kiss. “So good.”

“Yeah?” you ask quietly.

“The best,” he confirms. “Where’ve you been all my life, hm?”

You laugh through your nose, quiet. “Wasting money at Uni and working for my cousin.” He laughs too, a small one that makes him sound small. You play with the hair at the back of his head, “Sorry for making you wait so long.”

He shrugs. “Was worth it. You’re worth the wait.”

You hum in reply, too tired to move.

“Sticky,” you say with a frown.

Jeongguk’s arms tighten around you, acknowledging your words. “And you just got clean.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll shower in the morning.”

After a short while of sitting there, you slowly untangle your arms from around him. Jeongguk has the nerve to be confused, a small hum in question as you climb off him.

“Where you going?” he asks.

“I’m going to pee,” you reply. “To be safe.”

“Oh. Okay, pee on.”

“Sorry,” you say. Leaning up to kiss his lips, Jeongguk smiles into it and all the while as you move to hurry towards the bathroom. The sound of the toilet seat being lifted, and a slight squeak from the toilet that Yoongi desperately needs to consider replacing, and then Jeongguk settles down onto the bed with a happy sigh. His chest rises and falls as the party goes on outside, fireworks behind the Eiffel Tower.

He could get used to this.

Something wakes you up with the sunrise, twisting into soft orange colours that stretch across the agriculture of Paris. It barely lights up the city, enough for shadows to still be drawn across the mocha coloured buildings, the stone still cold in the shade. You wriggle inside the sheets slightly, discomfort between your legs and very slowly, your eyes adjust to the slight light brewing in the bedroom.

The patio doors leading out onto the small balcony are drawn open, the see-through curtains swaying like slow hips in the wind. Beside you, the bed is cold, untucked and open where Jeongguk has climbed out. Mentioning Jeongguk, you notice that he sits on the end of the bed, facing the sunrise and the Eiffel Tower with a notebook in his hand. The pages are folded over the spine, bulking it up, and he taps a pen against his ear quietly. The sound is all you can hear alongside the early-rising birds, a car honk outside and the next door neighbours hanging out of their window with chocolate bread and strong coffee.

“Mmm. Guk?”

Your voice is slightly hoarse, bedirdden, and Jeongguk manages to hear it as he turns his head over his shoulder. A smile dawns on his face and he shifts, one hand on the bed and the book closing shut on its own. “Hey, baby. Sorry, did I wake you up?”

You yawn, rubbing your eyes. Some mascara rubs off onto your hand. “No, you’re okay.” He doesn’t say anything at first, there’s no competition for the next word. When your vision finally settles onto a visible image, you see Jeongguk’s face and the book in his lap. “What are you doing…? Wait, what time is it…”

“It’s about five thirty,” Jeongguk estimates, although he’s not sure. He’s actually not far off, it’s five fourty one. “And, um...not much.” For a moment, Jeongguk sounds bashful. He shrugs, hiding the book and smiling at you. “You can go back to sleep if you want. I’ll be quiet.”

“Kinda hungry,” you admit. You inhale the air, “Oh my God, those fuckers next door have coffee.”

“Chocolate bread, too. Caught a glimpse when I opened the doors.”

You groan. “What the fuck…”

Jeongguk laughs, genuinely. His head turns back towards the Eiffel Tower, in awe, and after a few minutes of nothing but morning silence, you sigh and clamber over the sheets. They’re cold, crisp and wrinkled, and Jeongguk looks up at the noise. He frowns, only because you’re wearing barely anything.

“You’re gonna get cold,” Jeongguk points out, his hands reaching for the bed throw that had been kicked onto the floor during the night. “Want me to close the window?”

“No, it’s pretty.”

“It’s cold, though.”

You push your face onto Jeongguk’s shoulder blade. “Whatever.”

He chuckles, resigning from the conversation. You’ll win anyway. A tiny bird lands on the patio rails, and you inhale the morning air, planting a kiss on Jeongguk’s shoulder.

“You sure you’re okay?”

This makes Jeongguk look up. His eyes wear confusion and adoration, round and searching as he looks over his shoulder. “Yeah. Why, why wouldn’t they be?”

“I worry about you, ‘s all,” you reply quietly. “All the time.”

Jeongguk’s heart breaks.

“I’m...I’m good,” he replies honestly. “Really good. I haven’t been doing this great in...well...I don’t know, forever? Call it cringey, or whatever, but having you in my life...Fuck, it’s changed everything.”

You gaze up at him. “You’ve made a pretty big difference in my life, too, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“And I’m here for you. Always.”

Jeongguk doesn’t miss a beat- his hand wraps to stroke your hair, curled from the shower earlier, pressing a little kiss to your nose. He nods, and his hair brushes against your face. “Yeah.” He nods, confident, “Yeah. Actually- LOL,” he laughs, “I. Um, I wrote something.”

“Oh? Yeah, what did you write?”

He reopens the book. The pages are littered with lines of writing, alongside small doodles in the margins, words like arrows shooting across the lines. His hands flip to a page that has the corner marked down, the numbers “23” in bold outline at the top of the page. You inhale, nervous, your eyes lazily looking at the lines.

“Just a song,” Jeongguk explains. “Woke up, looked over at you, just got the idea. I had to write it down as soon as I thought about it. Got the melody and stuff worked out, just need to make a note and tell the guys when I get back.”

You hum, genuinely enthralled. You quickly look at him, “Can I hear some?”

If it were light enough, you might have caught a blush across his face. He clears his throat, shy.

“I’m fadin’ away off some kind of drug, maybe it’s lust, maybe it’s love,” his voice is quiet, almost as if speaking the words is something wrong, “I know I said I’d straighten a week ago, I feelin’ though, bout to reach my peak, you know. This city’s got me fallin, now, I’m fading away, I’m losing my head…” He mutters the lyrics, singing quietly. As he skims over what he’s got scribbled down, you can feel your heart thudding, soaring, feeling numb and soft and warm and everything else.

“It’s about you, called 23,” Jeongguk says. At some point, you’ve missed the rest of the lyrics, intent on gazing at Jeongguk like he is God’s angel sent down from Heaven. He is so beautiful, so kind and pure. “Sound okay?”

You nod, and maybe Jeongguk sees tears pearling in your eyes. “Yeah. Fuck- it sounds beautiful, Guk.”

A smile immediately reaches across Jeongguk’s face. It lights up the room better than the sun, now reaching higher into the sky. “You’re beautiful. I wanna make you so happy.”

“You do make me happy.”

“Yeah?” he asks, laughing, his eyes turned into moons. “Well...Look. I’ve never had to ask anyone, so it’s awkward as fuck right now, but...like…” He laughs, and you do too, because you know it’s coming, “Do you, like...wanna be my girl?”

“Your girl?”

He laughs louder. “Fine - my girlfriend! Y/N L/N, the light of my small and sad life, will you please be my girlfriend?”

Once your laughter has calmed down, and Jeongguk’s hand tiredly slips from your hair down to the bed next to your own, you really, honestly look at Jeongguk. Above everything else, you can’t quite believe that you are here with him; with somebody you never thought you had a chance with, with somebody who you would do absolutely anything for. The way you presently feel about Jeongguk is overwhelming and dangerous, so strong that sometimes you feel afraid by it. You bite your bottom lip, amusing the idea of actually thinking about it, and then you nod.

“Sure. Of course,” you agree, kissing his shoulder. His head follows you, his breath on the bare skin of your shoulders as he ducks his head to kiss the side of yours. “You’ve got me.”

Jeongguk feels like he could quite honestly burst into tears. “I’ve got you.”

(“I’m not 23 though,” you say to him once the love has died down. He cracks a smile and pushes you back onto the bed, returning to look at the Eiffel Tower.)

part two (final)

[theaurorfileshq]

R I L E Y   M E T Z E R  /  A U R O R   C A D E T

AGE: Forty

BADGE NUMBER: U81J33

BLOODSTATUS: Halfblood (No-Maj Born Father, Wix Mother)

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Trans Man, He/Him

IDENTIFYING FEATURES: That Sweet Sweet Louisiana Accent, Plaid Shirts, Dog Hair on Nearly Every Belonging.

STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES:

(+): Seer (Post-Cognitive, Almost Useless), Vehicle Proficiency, Animal Skills.

(-):  Extremely Weak Magical Ability, Avoids Conflict.

BACKGROUND:

(tw: mentioned alcoholism, murder, vague transphobia )

(i.) – childhood.

Their mother left early on, and when Riley was young their father hated him for the resemblance. He looked too much like her, even when he carved out a new body for himself, to better fit his shape. He’s the eldest child yet somehow the second son, always lesser somehow in his father’s eyes. There is a sense of otherness that haunts him through the years, one he can’t dwell too much on as he lays in his cramped bed, brother not more than a foot away on the other tiny twin mattress, in their tiny box room. Riley always blames the cramped circumstances of his upbringing for planting his anxiety in him, for making him afraid of big crowds and wide open homes.

He does his best to learn to live life on his own terms, to take care of himself and his brother and leave their father unbothered. Riley learns to cook dinner, and help with homework, and smile strained smiles at the grocery store clerk. Their father teaches him things young, leads by example. He tells Riley that if he insists on being a man, at least he’d better not be some kind of priss. He drinks too much and passes out early, and Riley learns to ignore the stench of beer on the couch, and learns to hide the way he looks at other boys.

His brother is special. They learn that young too. At eleven he’s secreted away to a world that Riley doesn’t get to be a part of. Magic school. He takes after their mother in a way that Riley seemingly doesn’t. Sometimes, he feels like he’s missing out on something. He feels like he missed a moment of revelation, like something should have changed when he was younger, but he wasn’t paying close enough attention. Sometimes, he wonders if he could ever be special, hopes and dreams to be something more than he is.

He gets a job as a teenager and contributes to the family, and lets his father teach him how engines work, how to drive. He has an anxious heart, and he’s a fucking weirdo, he knows it. People don’t like him, and he doesn’t want them to. Riley gets bullied at school, and bullied at home, and he swallows it all down and forgets it.

He regrets his wishing that he could be more, when it starts at sixteen. The… visions? He doesn’t know what to call them, but he learns to tell when they’re coming. They build like a vicious and sharp migraine behind his eyes, leave him dizzy and half blind, and after they hit he breaks out in sweats and usually empties out his stomach. His father doesn’t even notice, and the school nurse tells him he’s fine, nothing out of the ordinary. But he sees bloody phantoms, strange things he can’t explain. He sees Nancy Walker cheating on a math test that happened two weeks ago. He sees the Ryan boys playing ding dong ditch last halloween. Useless things. When he tells his brother, the reaction isn’t good. You’re making shit up, you just want to be special like me. He doesn’t know how to explain them in any other way, so he keeps his damn mouth shut, just like daddy taught him.

Their father disappears when he’s eighteen. It isn’t a surprise, and he’s done it before. A weekend long bender here, an extended trip away. Riley doesn’t think anything could have gone wrong, until a full week passes and he doesn’t turn back up. It leaves Riley feeling hopeless and helpless. He considers the police, what his father would say if he told them and everything was actually fine. He considers missing person’s reports, and people eyeing him with scrutiny, and he freezes up a little. Anxious heart beating fast, body aching with nerves. Sometimes, he can’t make words come out of his mouth, can’t form sound. When he’s nervous, he goes quiet. A defense mechanism, a last line of support. He picks up the phone to call the police, and can’t get the words out, so he just hangs up.

Riley figures that everything will be fine. Dad will come  home soon, and they’ll go back to the way things were. School ends and he skips graduation, glad to escape high school, glad to work more hours at the gritty and dirty mechanics down the street from their tiny cramped house. His brother comes home from school for the summer, and he imagines that everything will be fine, and then he has a vision. A hold up on the road out of town, where the land becomes wild again, swampy land and his father’s car, his father’s blood. They do go to the police, finally, but it’s his brother that does all the talking.

(ii.) – an education.

He strikes out on his own, after their father dies. Tries to, at least. His haunting little problem only gets worse, and his anxiety stops his heart more often than not. He’s a broken shadow of a thing, a strange man that makes people uncomfortable. He loses his job at the mechanic shop, and then at the grocery store, and then again at the other one across town. He stops and wonders why he’s doing this, why he’s staying in this town where no one likes him and no one needs him.

It’s a flight of fancy that has him selling his father’s house and moving out, moving away. He packs up everything they owned and sells everything he doesn’t want, everything his brother could do without. He finds pictures he’s never seen before, his mother with shining eyes, and she does look like him. There’s another man in the picture with her, and he looks like her too. A twin. He scours through the rest of the tucked away boxes, finds a letter from her tucked away inside one, and wonders if the address on it is still good.

He isn’t sure what he expects from her, when he finds her. He isn’t sure if he should be angry that she left, or glad that she never had the time to learn to hate him. Mainly, he just wants answers from her. He just wants something. He finds the apartment from the letter, on the west coast, and decides not to write ahead, not to warn her of his imminent arrival. A letter is a lot easier to ignore than a son on your doorstep.

She isn’t there, when he knocks. But the other man is. The uncle Riley never knew he had. His name is Alastair and he looks at Riley with sad eyes, and he has a kind smile, and he explains that she died a long time ago. Years and years ago. Before Riley ever knew where to look. Riley turns to leave, but Al invites him inside and lets him stay the night, lets him stay for a week. When Al asks if he can do magic, at all, Riley shakes his head. There’s nothing magical about him. He’s a squib, that’s what Al says, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t part of the magical world. But even that much isn’t right.

He’s at Al’s when the visions shift. Ever since his father, they’ve taken on a bloodier edge. No more math tests. No more ding-dong-ditch. Riley is the eternal victim now. He’s attacked, murdered, more than once. And apparently that means he might not be a squib after all. There’s magic in him. Just a bit. Just enough, and he’s very special indeed. Al gets in contact with an old professor, who gets in contact with an expert in the field of seeing the future, who gets in contact with an expert in the field of seeing the past. Riley reports the crimes in his head to the police, to the aurors, and forgets how to sleep at night without dreaming of death.

Riley learns magic from his uncle. It’s too late for school. He’ll always have missed something formative, something necessary. But he wouldn’t have thrived there, wouldn’t have blossomed. He learns all the theory, but he can’t manage most of the actual magic. A few spells here and there, but the rest is beyond him. He can boil a kettle, open a door, turn on a light. He can’t make a shield, he can’t throw his body across time and space, he can’t turn a teapot into a turtle. So, he doesn’t expect to go far in life. He gets a job in a diner and for some reason, Al lets him stay in the spare room of his apartment, his mother’s old room. There are pictures glued to the wall that he can’t get off, attached with magic that he’ll never be strong enough to counter. He could ask Al, probably, but he doesn’t have the heart to.

(iii.) – career progression.

Things go as they always do. He lives. It isn’t quite happy, his existence, but for a brief few years it’s the best it’s ever been. He has an uncle that loves him. Someone to count on. But Riley Metzer isn’t a person who is allowed to have comfort, and everyone he loves turns to ash eventually. Al dies, just like everybody else. Well, maybe not. It’s an accident, brutal in its simplicity, one of those strange things that could happen to anyone and everyone. He leaves Riley some money, and he’s gone, grief left in his wake.

Riley buys himself a trailer he parks out in the woods, and buys himself a dog. Tiny little thing named Titan, sweet and comforting, unlike any human he could fill his life with. He gets a job in the nearest city, at an all night diner, and tries to cope as best he can with existence.

There’s  this problem he has when he can’t ignore the things he’s seen. He’s become an eternal victim, and there are horrors unfolding before his very eyes. But he’s also the kind of man who hates to be seen, to be noticed, to be scrutinized. He knows now that his visions are real, but they’re still difficult to deal with, especially when it comes to no-maj police. It’s hard to walk into a station and give information about a murder no one is aware of, to give details that have never been supplied to the public. If he doesn’t want to be mistaken for some kind of weirdo serial killer, he has to do better than that. So he becomes the master of the anonymous tip. Phone calls from old, practically defunct payphones. Notes written on random scrap paper.

It’s easier with the Aurors, who understand at least in the vaguest sense that Riley gets his information through traumatic recollections of things that never happened to him. They understand he knows the details because he lived them, because when he sees a murder he lives in the victims shoes for a day. He’s been strangled, stabbed, and left for dead. Once, he was buried alive. He knows he can go to them and for the most part, they’ll get it – but he’s still strange, still  unusual, as far as seers go, and he still hates it when they talk to him for hours at a time. So he tries to cheat that system too, uses Al’s old owl to send notes to headquarters and hopes that they never track him down for further comment.

Of course, someone does track him down, eventually.

They appear in the diner in the middle of his shift, order coffee with too much sugar and a slice of pie. Sol LeRoux has kind eyes and what must be the brightest smile in the world. He must be a few years older than Riley, but he looks younger. Something sweet and bright and innocent inside him that sets him apart, where the opposite is true for Riley, old beyond his years. He flashes a badge that says he works for Central Squad, and Riley thinks his heart is going to beat right out of his chest. Sol is there for him, because of something that he saw, because he’s the man with the insider knowledge, and there’s a serial killer on the loose. Riley helps in every way he can, but there’s clearly more than that going on.

Sol looks at him like he’s something sad, but something with potential, and his heart doesn’t stop beating too fast. They stop a serial killer, and Sol tells him that he’s wasting his life, tells him that he could do so much more if he put his mind to it. Apparently, Riley’s tips have helped them close a dozen cases on the big squads. When he points out that he did all that anonymously, that he’d be useless as an auror, that he can barely do magic anyway, Sol smiles at him. He smiles and he shakes his head, and he looks at Riley with kind eyes. The words stay with him for a long time: well, i’ve seen your future, Riley Metzer, and I think you’d do pretty damn great.

Sol gets him into the academy somehow, and he passes as best he can. By the skin of his teeth, or by the grace of god, he does become an auror. Riley calls his brother to share the news, and the conversation is tense, the way it always is. Part of them will always know that Riley isn’t meant for this world, that no matter what anyone else says, he’s a pretender through and through. Still, Riley wants to hoard it selfishly, wants to be part of it for as long as he can, before they realise their mistake and take away his badge again. They assign him to the squad in Louisiana, and then to Washington, and then to Tennessee. He never expects for more than that, to be passed around to where he’s needed most, to be loaned out whenever he has a vision that might help.

He doesn’t expect MACUSA or Pacific Squad to come calling. But eight months ago they did, and then he began a life of bigger and better things. He moved his trailer and his dogs to the west coast for good, moved into a big office with way too many people, and had to fight just to make himself say a word. He’s still waiting for them to realise that he doesn’t belong, he’s still hoping that they never do.

[artificialqueens]

Houroubing to Aruba, Chapter 1, (Branjie) - Blackhighheels

They are off to Aruba for their first vacation together

Belongs to the “For they know what they do now”- verse

Chapter 1 : Pepito

“You got everything? The presents, wallets, cellphone?” Brock asks and looks around the room, making sure they don’t forget anything important. They are in Orlando, their first quick stop on their way to Aruba, because Jose decided it would be a good idea to visit his grandmother and Alexis. Therefor instead of just changing planes, they stay for the night and then continue their flight tomorrow. Not that Brock minds, because he’s all for splitting up the close to 14 hour journey. It helps a lot with his nerves and anxiety.

“Yup, packed everything. You got the car key?"

Brock holds it up to show it to him. "Alright, then let’s go or we’ll be late.”

“Calm down, boo, it’s just a twenty minute drive from here and also it’s just my grandma. She knows I’m always late.” Jose tells him and closes the door of their hotel room behind him, follows him to the elevator.

“Really just twenty minutes? I thought it’d be farther.” Isn’t it also another town, he wonders.

“Nope, we gonna go south on Jeff Fuqua Blvd, which becomes Access Road and then stay on and we’re basically there.”

“It’s kind of weird that you suddenly know your way around and can even name the streets. Usually you need navigation to find the Starbucks around the corner from our house,” Brock teases him.

“Bitch, I grew up around here,” Jose turns around in the elevator, facing him and taking his eyes off the mirror for once. “And I find the Starbucks without navigation… now.” He admits with a chuckle. Brock makes use of the otherwise empty elevator and pulls Jose close by his suspenders for a quick kiss.

“You wanna drive?” he offers, which is unusual, because he hates being a passenger when Jose is driving in L.A, or anywhere for that matter. If Brock had the power, he would have already confiscated Jose’s driver’s license. It remains a mystery to him, how his boyfriend doesn’t get into car accidents on the regular, his driving erratic and sometimes even careless. The only reason he’s been without a driver’s license his several DUIs.

“Nah, you good. I’m just gonna pretend I’m Siri and tell you where to go. Maybe that could be a new business idea? Miss Vanjie navigations?”

Brock laughs. “Turn right… no the other right, bitches. Imma tell ya what to do now… and I look good doing it,” he tries to imitate Jose’s Vanjie voice and makes him laugh.

“You better not do Vanjie at Snatch game ever, boo. You suck! Oh, and it’s a toll street so we’ll need quarters. Dunno, if they accept credit cards now.” They get out of the elevator.

“I think I got some. Can you check?” Brock unlocks their rental car that they’ve reached by now. They both get in and buckle their seatbelts before Brock drives out of the garage while Jose digs through his backpack, looking for Brock’s wallet.

“Yup, should be fine.” He states when he has found it. “Your wallet weighs a ton. What have ya got in here?”

“Still got the tip money from the last gig,” Brock shrugs. “Left here, right?”

“Yeah, it’s a one way street, so you need to do a u-turn here,” Jose confirms after looking up for a second. Then he focusses back on Brock’s wallet and checks each compartment, takes the papers out and looks at the cards.

“What are you doing?”

“Snooping.” Jose admits it with a bratty smirk and isn’t ashamed at all. “Got something to hide? Better confess it now.”

“Not that I know of.” He knows that there’s nothing in there that he needs to hide. Not that hiding anything from his boyfriend is ever a good idea.

“You got a condom in there? No, wait, two? What’s next? Lube?"

"Of course, I got condoms in my wallet. Where else would I keep them?” It was kind of obvious. But then he remembered that his boyfriend stashed them wherever convenient, sometimes even his cellphone cover, under his hat or in his shoes- Brock wasn’t sure how save that really was. Yet, the easy access was the reason why Jose was in charge of these things.

“Where were they when we needed them that time in London, when everything was closed and we were desperate?”

“They were most likely already in there, but I was too drunk to think of it.” Brock tries to remember what happened back then, but the nights in London during their first tour together, are still kind of a blur.

“Child, I will remember from now on! Won’t happen again,” Jose huffs and puts his feet on the dashboard of the car, after he threw the wallet back in the backpack.

“Yeah, just one thing,” Brock grins and quickly looks at him before concentrating back on the traffic.

“What thing?”

“We stopped using condoms months ago?! You remember the testing and discussions?"

"Took us long enough to rid off these romance killers,” Jose rolls his eyes, but can’t hide the small smile.

“You think it took us long?” Brock asks curiously.

“Yeah, we’ve been back together eleven months and we stopped using them like what? Two months ago?”

“Bit more. I remember we discussed it right after your birthday and then got tested just to be sure. We didn’t bring any condoms on tour. November maybe? So more like four months.”

“Mmh.”

“How long did it usually take, until you stopped using protection with your ex boyfriends?”

“Never… like… No wait. With one I did, but then we broke up shortly afterwards. But the others were always cheating… or I thought they were cheating and then it turned out later I’d been right.”

“Oh, ok.”

“What? I won’t let any fuccboi gamble with my health. If I wanna fuck that up, I can do it on my own. Don’t need anyone tell me about love and trust and shit and then stick his dick somewhere without a cover.”

“You know I agree with you.” Brock points out. He’s never been one to skip protection the few times he actually had real sex with a random guy. And since he’d never had a boyfriend before Jo… and he still got tested regularly.

“I do. And I trust you, so no raincoat needed… well, other than for practical reasons.” The smirk is back on Jose’s face. “We can throw ‘em out?”

“We probably should anyway. I can’t remember when I put them in there. Better check the expiration date,” Brock laughs.

“Not like one of us can get pregnant, cause if we could… girl. We’d have grand-babies by now.”

“No, but if they rip, it kind of defeats the purpose, no matter which one we might have in mind.”

Jose wrinkles his forehead, then nods. “Turn right here on the 417 and the toll station should be right ahead.”

“Ok, papi,” Brock nods and does what he is told. “Can you hand me the quarters?”

***

They reach their destination fifteen minutes later, park the car and both get out. It’s a narrow street with small houses left and right and an apartment complex at the end of the cul-de-sac. Children’s toys seem to sit on nearly every free strip of lawn, along with grills, chairs and the odd dog on a chain. It’s obvious that it’s not a rich neighbourhood, but Brock doesn’t feel unsafe either.

“You grew up here?” Brock asks and looks around.

“Lived over there for a while,” Jose points in the general direction of a couple of houses. “But we moved a lot. Longest house we stayed in was on the other side of the lake. Five years, maybe?” He takes Brock’s hand in his and leads him down the street.

“Because of the divorce?”

“Divorce, break-ups, money or the wrong people around us. My mom didn’t want a repeat of what happened with her brother, so she tried to keep us out of trouble.”

“You know I’m glad my parents are finally divorced because they weren’t good for each other and everything, and are much happier now, but the whole moving thing is a reason why I’m glad they didn’t get divorced until we were all grown up.”

“Yeah, it sucked sometimes. Not always.”

“Any last warnings?” Brock asks then when they reach a small blue house. He is suddenly overcome by nervousness.

“Just do you, boo,” Jose smiles and they exchange a quick kiss before he knocks on the mesh screen door, because the main door is already open. “Abuela?” Jose yells.

“Come in, Pepito,” a female voice calls from the inside.

“Lita!” Jose exclaims when they walk inside and a tiny, dark haired women rushes towards them once they have crossed the small living-room and reach the kitchen.

“Pepito!  Cariño!” She squeezes him tightly and holds him, tears in her eyes. “It’s been so long”

“Yeah, it’s been a while,” he agrees, wipes his eyes and sniffs. “Grandma, this is Brock,” he introduces them. Before Brock can react he is pulled downwards and into a bear hug. The small elder woman has a lot more strength than he suspected.

“So nice to  finally meet you,” he tells her when she lets him go.

“Que hombre bonito,” she says to Jose, but Brock understands enough to blush.

“He not too bad,” Jose teases with a nonchalant shrug and winks at his man.

“Neither are you, Pepito,” Brock teases right back, because he hasn’t heard this nickname before, even though he spends a lot of time around Jose’s mother.

“Oh, stop. Only my abuela is allowed to call me that.” He turns back to his grandmother. “We brought you a little something something. The green one is from us and the pink one from mom.” He hands her the wrapped gifts that are still for Christmas.

“Thank you, mi corazon.” They both get kisses on the cheeks before she sets the gifts aside without opening them.  "You want something to drink before we leave?“ she asks the both of them.

"We leave? Where to?” Jose is as puzzled as Brock.

“The BBQ spot by the lake. The others will be here in a minute, food is done.”

“The others?” Jose doesn’t look too happy.

“Lita?” another male voice yells from the front door and then steps can be heard coming towards the kitchen where they are standing. Brock can feel Jose tense up even though they are not touching. He looks like he might run any second and shrinks into himself. “Oh, you already here,” the man says. He is about Jose’s height, maybe a bit taller with tan skin, dark short curls and Jose’s eyes. Tattoos cover his hands, arms and what can be seen of his chest and his neck. He is wearing Nike’s, grey baggy sweats and a white wife-beater. Two little girls are by his side.

“Yeah.” Jose just nods.

“Uncle Jose!” one of the girls storms towards Jo and jumps up to hug him. That’s when Brock finally understands that he’s just met Jose’s older brother.

“Vicky! You so tall now, girl! Look at that! You nearly as tall as Brock here,” Jose jokes as he holds his niece, her legs slung around his stomach. Her skin is a bit lighter than Jose’s, but the family resemblance is uncanny. Her dark curls are done in complicated braids on her head.

“Hi!” The girl smiles charmingly up at him, still in Jose’s arms and Brock smiles back. She’s really cute and Brock realises she has bright green eyes.

“Hi,” he replies and then turns to the man staring at him. “Hello, I’m Brock,” he holds out his hand. It takes a moment but then Jose’s brother shakes it.

“Hi, I’m D. Heard a lot about you, man. Mom sure can’t shut up about your house with the pool and all the other rich shit.”

“We just rent it.”

“Hey, Feli, do you remember me?” Jose puts his older niece back down on the ground and crouches down in front of the younger one, who seems to be about four or five. She looks a lot like her sister, but her eyes are as dark as Jose's  and her hair is simply pulled in a tight pony-tail. She shyly shakes her head and clings to her father’s hand more tightly, hides partially behind it.

“That’s uncle Jo, Feli. Miss Vanjie!” her sister informs her.

“How do you know about Miss Vanjie, little lady? How old are you?” Jose puts his hands on his hips and plays it up for her amusement.

“Everybody knows about Vanjie. You famous now, uncle J! And I’m ten!”

“Ten? When did you turn ten? Wasn’t it just yesterday that we played with your my little ponies and braided their hair?”

“You’re silly.” She giggles. “Look, I’m even wearing mascara and nails!”

“I can see that,” Jose smiles, but the look he gives his brother is disapproving. Then he holds up a hand towards Brock. “Help me up, boo?” he asks and Brock knows it’s only because his knee is still hurting after the six hour flight earlier in the morning. Brock pulls him up.

“Lita, you riding with us or Jose?”

“You can ride with us, if you want,” Jose offers.

“Ok, then we’ll meet you at the park.” Without another word Jose’s brother takes his daughters by the hands and leads them out of the house.

“Esper… we need to take the arroz con guandules,” grandma sighs.

“In the caldero?” Jose’s eyes widen and he looks over to the oven where a huge metal pot is standing.

“Can we even lift it?” Brock laughs when he sees the size of this thing.

“You a tall man, mi amor. You can do it,” Jose’s grandmother seems to have confidence in him and the term of endearment doesn’t miss its’ aim either. He walks over and tests it, manages to lift the heavy pot off the stove.

“Pepito, ven aqui,” she waves Jose behind her and when they come back they each hold two large  bowls with even more food. “Let’s go!” she smiles and follows them out to the car.

***

“That your ride?” Jose’s brother asks Brock when they reach the picnic area at a lake not too far away from the grandmother’s house. He doesn’t help with the heavy pots though.

“Rental. We’re only here for a day.”

“Only a day? Why’d you even come here then? Or you owning your own jet now and just don’t care?” he laughs, but Brock recognises a dig when he hears one.

“It made sense to stop here or in Miami, since we need to change planes here anyway on our way to our vacation.”

“Where you going, man?”

“Aruba.”

“Sweet.”

“Yeah, we think so.”

“Must have cost you a couple of coins.”

“A couple. The flights and part of the stay is paid for, however. I won it on the show.”

“The show?” he seems puzzled for a moment. “Ah, right. You’re one of those as well.”

“One of what?” Brock stands up to his full height after he’s finally managed to put the pot down on one of the tables. He tries not to be offended and give him the benefit of the doubt, but Jose’s stories about his brother combined with the way he just said it, rub Brock the wrong way.

“Hombre!” A loud scream interrupts them and they turn around. D smiles and walks over to the ten to twelve men coming his way. Behind them a couple of women follow, most of them with children in tow. Brock feels like he’s watching a documentation about hispanic gangs in the Bronx or something. For a second he wonders how many of them are armed, but then he pushes the thought away as quickly as he can. As a Canadian the thought of guns all around him always freaks him out.

“Fuck, he brought his whole posse,” Jose mutters and shows up beside Brock, but doesn’t touch him.

“They’re family, too?”

“Some of them are cousins, yeah. Rest friends. All of them as fucking dumb as my brother.” Jose seems angry. Or annoyed?

“You ok, papi?”

“I’m fine… just… ignore everything they say and remember we’re only here for today, k?” Jose looks up at him, a strange look in his eyes.

“Same goes for you,” Brock points out and wraps one arm around Jose’s shoulder and pulls him into his side. For a moment the tension leaves his body as he melts against Brock’s body.

“Oy, loca!” Another scream from one of the guys and the tension is back in Jose’s body, fists clenched.

Brock holds him tighter and massages his shoulder with the one hand resting there. “Breathe.”

***

A while later Jose and Brock have sat down to eat, Jose’s grandmother at their table, his nieces there as well. The other men have retreated to a table at the edge of the picnic area and Brock can’t say that he minds in the least. The longer he’s been around them, the less him likes them. The women left after a while, taking most of the kids with them after they’ve served their men with drinks and food.

“Oye, Jose!” a guy that was introduced as Tivo, a friend of D’s, yells over without getting up.

“What?”

“Bring me another beer.”

“Please,” Brock adds with quiet sarcasm, can’t help it. He waits for Jose’s sarcastic reply to the unfriendly request, but he just gives Brock’s leg a squeeze underneath the table, then gets up and brings him the requested drink. There is some laughter at the table when Jose gets there, but Brock can’t hear or understand what’s being said. When Jose comes back with an empty plate, he refills it and carries it back over. Brock can see that he’s still slightly limping, his knee still acting up.

“Sit down, babe, I’m gonna get you some ice,” Brock decides and gets up himself to fetch some ice from where the drinks are. He places the cubes on a towel and then hands it to Jose.

“Thank you, boo,” Jose replies and pecks Brock’s lips a couple of times. Wolf-whistles can be heard from the other table.

“Jose! No delante de mis hijas!” Jose jerks back from Brock at his brother’s angry command, the ice falling to the ground.

“What did he say?” Brock questions.

“Nothin’” Jose mumbles and tries to pick the ice back off the ground.

“I’m gonna get you some fresh ice,” Brock shakes his head, takes the dish towel, gets up and refills it.

“Jose! Bring the bread over.”

Brock isn’t even back at the table yet when the new command comes from the table of guys and the whole table erupts in laughter. Brock had the feeling before that they were doing it on purpose, making Jose serve them, since their wives and girlfriends were gone, but now he knows. And he is furious.

It also puzzles him why Jose is obliging them and doesn’t say a single thing. His usually so feisty and hot-tempered boyfriend is acting like a scared little kid, which adds even more fire to Brock’s anger.

He stops Jose from getting up by placing a hand on his shoulder. “Stay, I’ll do it. Put the ice on your knee.” He grabs the bread and marches over to where the guys are sitting. “Here,” he pushes the bread in the hands of a guy whose name he has already forgotten. “And now get the rest yourself."

"Ooooh,” the other three men howl and laugh.

“Mind your own business, sissy.” More boo-ing, more laughter. “We not talking to you, white boy.”

“Sissy? Fine by me, but maybe you should man up. You can’t even get your food or drinks yourself.”

“Jose! Your loca is running her mouth!” One guy calls.

“We can, we just don’t want to. That’s what you guys are for,” another one says. Brock looks at Jose’s brother, who hasn’t said anything and doesn’t holler and laugh as loudly as the others. But neither does he stand up for his brother and stop this.

“Mmh, and apparently we’re also here to pay your phone bill debts, right D?” Brock knows and addresses him directly. “How about you earn your own money first and stop relying on your little brother? How’s that for man-ing up?” More howls, boos, this time directed at D.

“Fuck off, maricon!” Brock knows that word. If there is one thing every gay man knows, it’s insults and slurs in all kinds of languages, the cruder the more familiar. And this time it came directly from D.

“What did you just say?” he asks unnecessarily, dares him to repeat it.

D gets off the bench and stands in front of him. D’s best friend Felix does the same, steps closer and puffs out his chest. “Chupa mi huevos, maricon!”

“I’m gonna fucking kill you!” Jose’s furious threat echoes  as he rushes over, already halfway there, even limping. He must have started his way over when they called him. Brock holds him back though, when he basically flies towards his brother and Felix, ready to tackle them. With both arms wrapped around his waist from behind, he is reminded how strong Jose really is. He has trouble holding him back, his boyfriend set on a physical fight with all ten of them, if he has to.

“J, you really wanna try me again?” his brother laughs, comes closer and steps in front of Felix. Brock knows that even though he doesn’t have any experience in fist fights, he will step in front of Jose and try to protect him, before he will stand idly by and watch them hurt Jose even more than they have in the past.

“Siétate! Ahora!” Suddenly Jose’s grandmother is by their side, glaring at his brother and his friends. They obey and no one dares to laugh this time. A fast rant, that Brock doesn’t understand a single word of, starts and at the same time she waves him and Jose away, signalises them to go back to their table. Brock isn’t sure if that’s a good idea though, grabs more ice as they pass the drinks and leads Jose away from the picnic area and towards a small park by the lake side.

“You ok, papi?” Brock asks when Jose is still silent once they reach a wooden bench underneath some trees, hidden away from sight.

“Did they hurt you?” Jose asks instead of answering the question.

“No, they didn’t even touch me.” Brock pulls him down onto the bench and into his lap, then places the ice on Jose’s knee for the third time. “Has it always been like this?”

“No, not when we were younger. I always wanted to be like him, all manly and cool and shit. But when he found out I was gay… at home it was ok and when we were alone, but when his friends found out…”

“Did they hurt you? Physically?”

“Sometimes.They thought they could beat the gay out of me or some shit. Until my mother found out. Then she beat the crap out of them.”

“I can imagine,” Brock chuckles, because he can imagine well how that went down.

“She took my side and he thinks she loves me more, like, I’m the favorite. When the Vanjie thing happened and they moved to L.A. for me… D really hates me now.” Jose slumps sideways against Brock’s chest. For a while they just sit there, Brock rubbing Jose’s arm and placing kisses on his forehead from time to time. Jose is deep in thought.

“You wanna go back?” Brock asks when Jose starts responding to his caresses and starts sucking on his neck.

“Mmmh, I wanna talk to my grandma some more.”

“But Jo? If they start bullying you again, we’re leaving. I will not sit idly by and watch it. We’ve come too far in our life to go back to who we were ten or fifteen years ago.”

“Thank you.” Jose kisses him gently before they both get up and walk back to Jose’s family, their fingers tightly linked. They haven’t reached their table yet when D walks towards them. Brock slightly steps in front of Jose. The fact that he is already injured makes him protective in a way he usually isn’t. Or maybe it’s just the company they are in?

“Mira… Jose, can I talk to you?” Jose looks to Brock.

“You want me to come with you?” he offers.

“Nah, we gonna be fine.” He decides and looks around.

“Stay where I can see you, please?” Brock requests quietly.

“Will do, boo.” Jose gives him a small smile and then points to a swing set not too far away. His nieces are playing there now and Brock thinks that hopefully they won’t get too intense in front of the kids. When he looks around he sees that the other men have left and only Jose’s grandmother is sitting at a table.

“They gonna be fine,” she tells him when he joins her and refills his cup.

“Thanks for stepping in. I’m not really good at fist fights,” he tries to joke.

“Tu sabes, D is here 'cause he wanted to talk to Jose. It wasn’t my idea. He’s changed a lot since they all left, his mother, his brothers… his girls. He only sees them once a month.”

“Mmh.” Brock makes, doesn’t really know what to say.

“You found a house yet?” She changes the topic.

“Not really. But we’re in no hurry. The lease isn’t up for another there years, so we’ve got time to wait and see what comes up. First we needed to hash out what we even want,” he explains and smiles, remembering their different ideas about what they wanted to buy.

“Send me some pictures when you found something. I’d like to see where he lives.”

“You could always come and see us. We have a guest room.”

“I know, my daughter told me. But the long flight… it’s expensive, you know?”

“We could book it for you. Both Jo and I have so many points saved up we barely know what to do with them. Would be first class, too.”

“Points? No entiendo.”

“Like, when you fly with certain airlines you get points for flying with them and rewards. After a certain amount of points you get better rewards, don’t have to pay certain fees, get free food and drinks. And because we’re always flying somewhere, we can basically never use up all our bonuses.”

“So you don’t pay money for my flight?”

“No, we wouldn’t.”

“Ok, I will think about it,” she finally accepts and Brock is impressed by this very proud and humble woman. “I could cook for you when I visit you. You’re both too thin.” She adds and Brock knows that he will have to tell Jose that his grandma is going to visit them soon. This is as close to accepting the offer as it gets.

They are interrupted when Jose, his brother and the girls come back. Neither is hurt, but Brock can see the storm of emotions in Jose’s eyes. He looks upset, but not angry, which he takes as a good sign.

“We should get going, boo. Have to get ready for our night out with Alexis,” Jose tells him quietly. “You got this here, D?” He motions to the pots and plates everywhere.

“Si, you go. I take care of it,” his brother confirms and his tone is much softer than before.

“K, bye Lita. Talk to you soon.”

“Bye, Pepito. You tare care.” They hug for a long moment. Brock is next, gets the same bear hug he was greeted with earlier that day.

D holds out his hand when they pull back. Reluctantly Brock takes it, not sure yet what to make of it. He is pulled in a manly hug, with a couple of pats on his back. “I’m sorry about before. And please take care of him, man. His knee really doesn’t look good.”

“I will,” he vows, surprised by the concern, the apology and the approval.

After saying goodbye to the girls, they make their way to the car in silence and Brock has to turn on the navigation, because Jose keeps staring out the window, deep in thought.

“Baby, you’re ok?” he asks him when he can’t take it anymore and touches one of Jose’s hand with one finger.

“Yeah. It was good, the talk and all. Just… a lot. He apologised for the shit he’s done to me and for not protecting me. I told him he needs to apologise to mom, too, for all his fuck ups. It was hard on her. But he doesn’t feel like he part of the family no more and … he done a lot of work, did some therapy, has his own Dr. Laurie. He’s always been a bit of an ass, but he my brother, you know? He’s family, even if he don’t get me or why I’m gay and why I’m so extra all the time.”

“Sounds like a good start,” Brock comments.

“Said he should come to L.A. and see us all. I wasn’t sure if you want him at the house though.”

“I’m not sure either. He’s kind of scary.”

“He wouldn’t do nothing. He still on probation.”

“What?” Brock squeaks and does a double take. Maybe he should have been given that info before he nearly got into a physical fight with the guy.

“Long story with a mug shot and all, y'all.” Jose chuckles.

“Talked to your grandma; she might want to visit us too. Maybe they can come together? We take your grandma and your mom can take your brother?”

“You talked my abuela into visiting us? I’ve been begging her to come see us since I moved to L.A. How’d you do that?”

“I can be charming, too, pepito.” Brock laughs.

“Haha! Baaabe!” Jose laughs loudly, his scream echoing through the car. “I think I’m gonna call Alexis and tell him we not coming tonight. I don’t feel like clubbing anymore. That ok with you?” Jose surprisingly asks when he has calmed down.

“Sure. We’ll see him in L.A. in a couple of weeks anyway.” Brock agrees and stops at the tolling station.

***

Jose remains unusually quiet when they get back their room. They each take a shower and dress more comfortably and chill on the bed before ordering room service later that night. Jose isn’t really hungry, but Brock makes him eat, since he didn’t eat much during lunch either.

Once they are done, they retreat back to the bed and start the next episode of whatever show they are watching in Netflix. Brock doesn’t pay attention.

He doesn’t really know how to deal with a quiet Jose. He’s asked him several times if he’s ok, but beside a short confirmation, he hasn’t added anything to what he said in the car. He calculates how late it is in L.A. and if they should maybe call Laurie, but then decides against it, because Jose moves closer to him and places his head on his chest.

“Today was the first day I felt like that fucking kid again, the one who fucks up at school and goes to therapy for his ADD and knows he’s gay and who is weird and loud and shit. My own brother didn’t want to be around me, 'cause I was so not cool. And now, we here and you… the hottest guy I’ve ever dated, saw all of that shit today.”

“You scared I don’t find you cool and hot anymore?"

"Dunno. Do you?” He looks up at him, a small smile on his face that is also a bit insecure. And Jose should never ever feel insecure about Brock’s love for him.

“How about I show you?” He smiles and presses his lips against Jose’s for a moment, pulls back with a loud smack.

“Starting the romancing early? We not even in Aruba yet, hot stuff.” Jose kisses him, a bit longer, but just as intensely.

“Got a problem with that?”

“No, you go ahead, boo. Show me.” The next kiss leaves them both breathless. When Brock teases him with the tip of his tongue, runs it over Jose’s lips, he lets out a soft laugh before he moves up a bit more, slips his tongue in his mouth and gives back ten fold.

Brock rolls them over, so that Jo is underneath him, lying on his back. Without breaking the kiss or looking, he slides one hand underneath his shirt and moves upward, the fabric bunching up on his wrists. Brock enjoys the feeling of his smooth, hot skin underneath his palms, muscles contracting where his light touch tickles.

He clutches the white shirt, breaks the kiss and pulls it over his head, Jose’s arms lifting on autopilot. While he’s at it, he loses his own shirt and dives back down to kiss him some more. Jose’s lips are always plump, delicious and the little noises he makes shoot straight to Brock’s groin, making him painfully hard.

They pant slightly and look at each other when they have to break the kiss again.

“I love how you always gasp when I do this,” he says and places a kiss in the middle of Jose’s chest; smiles when he hears the sound he just talked about. “So hot.”

A lick of his nipple follows, then the other, the same sounds filling the room as Jose’s hand tangles in Brock’s hair. Next he drags his scruffy cheeks down across his stomach and watches the slight red, that colours the tan skin. “I love it when you’re loud and shit,” he repeats his earlier words back at him. “Tell me what you want… talk to me."

Jose groans loudly. "Your tongue… your teeth,” he says and directs Brock’s head up. They’ve been doing this often enough that he knows exactly what his man is after. He has a go at his nipples, knows they are incredibly sensitive. Jose groans again, his voice high pitched and needy as he raises his torso off the bed, apparently stuck between wanting to pull away and pulling Brock more to him. He sucks, licks and even bites a little as Jose moans, swears and even half-laughs. Brock can feel him hard and hot through his sweats, against his leg.

He slips his hand in Jose’s pants, pulls them down with one tug as he raises his hips without prompting. The sweats join their shirts on the floor.

“How do you want me?” Brock asks him. “What do you want me to do? Suck you? Fuck you? Let you fuck me?” His right hand is wrapped around Jose’s hard shaft, teasing him further with slow and steady movements.

“You’d let me fuck you? Feeling like being a bottom today?” Jose teases and pulls Brock’s shorts down over his hips, pats his naked butt cheeks before he runs his hands over them, squeezes.

“Today I’ll do whatever you need me to do, to show you that you have the power now. No one can tell you what to do anymore, no one can talk down to you or bully you.” He rests his chin against Jose’s chest and waits for his verdict. Giving all the power away is kind of sexy too and Brock has troubles keeping his hips still.

“There’ll be enough time for me to fuck you. Maybe on the beach? Or against a palm tree?” Jose muses, clearly teasing Brock now. “I just want you to fuck me… been waiting all day… got ready while you were in the shower,” he confesses and makes Brock scramble up and get out of his pants in seconds. He grabs the lube from underneath the pillow, where one of them always puts it, and is pushed on his back. He grips the bottle hard when Jose’s wet, hot mouth suddenly surrounds his hard dick, his tongue teasing him. He sucks him, the sounds loud and obscene as he doesn’t hold back. He watches him bop up and down, cheeks hollow from time to time and sometimes his tongue peeks out, swipes over his head, tastes him, before he takes him deep again. Brock’s hips lift off the bed and he hopes he’ll hold out long enough and not come in his mouth. Saliva is covering his dick when Jose finally stops and takes the lube from him.

“You so fucking sexy.” The bottle hits the floor and Brock hopes he closed it properly, the stain disaster on a carpet not something he wishes to repeat. “Should I get the condoms or ride you like this…?” Jose asks, even though they both know it’s not really a question. The intimacy of going bare something they discussed in detail, after they had both been surprised by the effect it had on them once they’d done it the first time. For Brock it was the proof he didn’t know he’d needed, that Jose trusts him and knows he is being faithful.

Jose climbs on top of him and then slowly sinks down with a loud groan.

“God… fuck, papi.” Brick grips his hips tightly and digs his fingers into Jo’s skin. There are no more thoughts about the past, the family, nothing. Just this, his beautiful man on top of him, dominating and directing, trusting him with his body the same way he does trust him.

“I fucking love you fucking me… love you!” Jose leans down for a wet kiss, tongues battling. When he sits back up, taking him fully, he starts moving, eyes closed. “You feel so fucking good!” He gets louder. Brock starts pushing up, making the thrusts harder, deeper. “Yeah! Fuuuck!”

“Jo, yes.” There is no way he can form a full sentence. A couple more thrusts and he’s reduced to simple moans and rhythmic grunts that are drowned out by Jose’s enthusiastic and filthy commentary. That’s the confidence he knows from him, all sexy and not holding back. That’s how he wants him, no needs him, to feel every fucking second of every fucking day. Just when he’s about to come, Jo slows down, then stops and grins at him. He knows exactly what he’s doing, little shit.

“Not done with you yet. I want to come first. Show me you can get me there. Make me come! And maybe I’ll let you come, too. Might be in a giving mood.” Brock pushes up, as hard as he can and surprises him, makes him yelp. For a second he’s scared he’s hurt him.

“Yeees!” The scream is enough to make him repeat the movement, slam him down by his hips.

Their bodies glistens with sweat and he has no idea how long they’ve been at it. The muscles in his legs are shaking and burn, and he knows he can’t keep going for much longer or he has to change their position. Jose wouldn’t approve, though. He lets go of his hips with one hand and wraps it around Jose’s leaking cock, strokes him in the same rhythm as he’s riding him, as Brock’s slamming up into him.

Two, four, eight… “Fuck, yes, Brock!” Jose comes all over his stomach and chest and Brock follows him, still deep inside of him.

“Fuck,” Brock pants, giggles, his arms falling to his sides. Jose lifts his hips and lets him slide out, then moves up, lays down on top of him and kisses him, just once, because they are both still too out of breath for more.

“This was a worthy first fuck for our first vacation together.” Jose sighs into his shoulder and rests his head there. Brock just laughs and wraps his arms around him. They lay like this for a moment.

“You know what this reminds me of, us going away for a break after all of this goddamn mess today?”

“Mmh?”

“When I was still living with Alexis, Jeffrey used to watch these Arabic series sometimes. They like telenovelas but shorter. I got sucked in with one, 'cause the actress was so fucking gorgeous. It was about a woman in Lebanon, who had so much shit going on with her family that she didn’t know up from down. And then her handsome hero came in, swept her off her feet, but her family didn’t like it. And child, that guy was hot! Her brother was an asshole and all… and then they just ran off to Paris for three months and called it 'Houroub’. That was also the name of the show. Jeffrey said that means 'escape’”. I feel like that what we doing. Houroub-ing from drag and our families and fans and every day shit… I think we earned it.“

"Yeah, we do, papi,” Brock agrees and closes his eyes. “Houroub-ing to Aruba.”

Jose makes an attempt to sit up, but Brock tightens his hold around him and keeps him there. “Bitch, if you think we going to sleep with cum glueing our chests together, while I’m leaking all over the place, you better think again. You wanna be lazy like this afterwards, we better go back to the whole condoms discussion.” Jose untangles from him and cleans himself a bit with his shirt. They also had this talk before, more than once.

“I’m exhausted. You just fucked all energy out of me.” Brock sighs.

“You wanted me bossy, you get bossy: Get up! We taking a bath.” Jose decides and tugs on Brock’s arm until he reluctantly sits up.

“You gonna be bossy in the tub, too?” he asks as he follows him into the bathroom and swats his naked ass playfully.

“Maybe. But maybe I just want you to hold me,” Jose shrugs and starts the water.

“Whatever you want, papi. Whatever you want.” Brock tells him and pulls him into his chest as they watch the tub fill with water.

“When’s our flight leaving tomorrow?” Jose breaks the silence just before he turns the water off.

“Twenty past one. We should be at the airport around eleven.” They both climb in, Jose finding his spot, sitting between Brock’s outstretched legs.

“Thank god, mama. We can sleep in and get breakfast at the airport. I’ll need my beauty sleep to be ready and repeat our performance in paradise, as soon as we get there.”

Brock laughs. “You have this all planned out already? What happened to checking in, unpacking and then explore your surroundings a bit?”

“Oh, I’m gonna be all Dora-explorer on your dick, boo… all over our room and bed.” Jose’s boisterous laughter fills the room and Brock presses a kiss to his temple. What a great way to start their vacation.

TBC

[astronomical-fog]

born to sweet delight

Carry On Countdown Day 5: Carry On Prequel

Read it on AO3

Summary: It’s fifth year at Watford School of Magicks, and Simon Snow and Agatha Wellbelove have just started dating.

No one is exactly happy about it.

AGATHA

When I was eleven years old, I told my parents that I didn’t want to go to Watford. That I’d rather go to a Normal secondary school with my Normal friends, than learn to be a mage. They were horrified, of course, and I obviously didn’t get my way. I’ve been trying for four years not to be bitter about that, because if I got angry with my parents over every bad decision they made that they thought was right for me, I’d never be done being angry with them.

I’m fifteen now, and in my fifth year at Watford, and I still think I had the right decision when I was eleven. But I suppose it could be worse--I can still see Minty and all my other Normal friends when I go home for the holidays. And she isn’t the same, but I suppose I have Penny.

And Simon. Simon Snow, the Chosen One, the Saviour of the entire World of Mages.

Simon who, as of about a week and a half ago, is my boyfriend. And, really, I should be ecstatic about that, right? That alone should be enough to make up for everything that going away to Watford forced me to leave behind. Simon is the most powerful mage in the world, and he’s brave and selfless and noble and everything a fairytale hero should be. And who wouldn’t want to be loved by a hero? I know many girls (and a few boys) who would scramble to take my place.

But should I let them? I don’t know. I don’t love Simon, but I do like him. It could just be that love will come later. But I do know that Simon loves me. Or, rather he doesn’t yet, but he could and he wants to. And we just started dating and Simon has done everything he’s supposed to--I can’t break up with him for that.

I also know the reason I said yes to Simon when he asked me out. It’s because although I don’t know if I can love Simon the way he deserves to be loved, I believe that he deserves to be with someone who can love him with everything they are.

And if I care for Simon, and I’m the one he wants to be with, don’t I owe it to him to at least try?

A big part of the reason Simon and I got together is that my parents have been letting him stay with us over the Christmas holidays since we were eleven. As a result, my mother has been overly invested in our relationship since forever. Both of my parents adore Simon. (And not just because he’s the Chosen One and the Mage’s Heir--he’s also the perfect golden hero, remember?) Our one-month anniversary falls just a few days before the start of term break, and I know both of my parents are thrilled to have him over again, this time as my boyfriend.

I’m not. Thrilled, that is. And I don’t really think that Simon is either, which makes me feel better and worse at the same time.

As I wake up on the day we all leave for the holidays and go down to breakfast only to be greeted by a haze of Simon’s nervous magic, it’s definitely leaning towards worse.

“Simon, take a deep breath please. You’re going to go off if you don’t calm down.”

Judging by the reproachful look Penelope aims my way, this wasn’t the right thing to say. Simon winces and drops his butter knife onto his plate with a loud clatter, but his magic does retreat some. I can’t stop myself from glaring at Penelope. She doesn’t even attempt to look apologetic.

“S-Sorry, Agatha,” Simon says, attempting to smile.

I look away. “It’s just my parents. You’ve met my parents before.”

“I--y-yeah, but not as your boyfriend,” he blusters. “What if they decide that I’m not good enough for you?”

I know what I should say. That he’s being ridiculous--that of course my parents aren’t going to decide that they dislike him. They love him, and they’ve been waiting for us to get together for years.

Penelope, I know, would take me not saying so as just another chance to be cross with me. And it isn’t even like disbelief is the thing holding me back--I know my parents will be nothing but thrilled with Simon.

Also, the question isn’t ever going to be if he’s good enough for me. It’s always going to be the other way around. And the fact that I don’t know the answer to that question for sure is bothering me a lot less than I think maybe it should.

I don’t give Penny the chance to glare at me again. I very obviously check my watch, then gather my plate and push my chair back as I stand. “It’ll be fine, Simon. Now, let’s go. We’re supposed to meet my parents in twenty minutes.”

Simon nearly knocks his own chair to the floor in his attempts to follow me. There’s a snicker from across the hall, and my heart catches in my throat, because I know who it was from.

Simon is glaring, and I don’t even have to turn to imagine the look on Basilton Pitch’s face right now.

I turn anyway. And just as I thought, he isn’t glaring or snarling like Simon is. (Snarling, honestly.) His face is blank, and I can’t tell what’s going on behind his eyes.

Once he sees me looking, he breaks away from his staring contest with Simon to glance at me. It’s only a glance, though--fleeting, like he can’t make himself look away from Simon for more than a second.

I don’t know why I’m disappointed. It isn’t like I want for Simon and Basilton Pitch to fight over me. (They don’t need any excuses to do that.) But right now, the two of them are so focused on each other that it’s like they’ve forgotten that everything else exists.

Basil had been spooning sugar into his tea, and now the sugar’s falling from the teaspoon onto the table because he’s forgotten that he’s holding it. And Simon has forgotten that he’s standing in the middle of the dining hall and making a scene when we’re supposed to be meeting my parents.

With a sigh and an exasperated, “Come on, Simon!”, I grab his arm and yank him forward. He jumps as he breaks from his trance, and starts blustering through an apology as he dashes after me.

Right before I go through the door of the dining hall, I glance back at Basil. He looks away as soon as my eyes find his, but he had been glaring at me.

I’m still trying to figure out what that means when I meet Simon outside on the Great Lawn. He’s got a bag slung haphazardly over his shoulder, the jumper he’s wearing is bunched, and he’s breathing heavily like he ran all the way from the Weeping Tower to Mummers House to here.

Judging by how long he stood there antagonising Baz, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d had to run in order to make it on time. I try not to let it bother me. I was right, before, that he won’t be able to make my parents dislike him. But based off of what he’d said, I’d hoped that he would put in a bit more effort, for once.

Mum and Dad, of course, don’t care one bit. My mother steps out of the Volvo, and she’s hardly finished hugging me before she’s rushing at Simon.

“Oh Simon, you look so handsome,” she coos. She hugs him tight, and he’s back to looking supremely uncomfortable.

“U-um, hi, Mrs. Wellbelove,” he stutters back, and I turn away to hug Dad. (He only offers Simon a smile and claps his shoulder, and I think we’re both relieved.)

A few minutes later, my parents have stowed Simon and I’s bags in the boot, and we’re sitting side-by-side in the backseat as we head towards the motorway. My mother asks Simon a few questions about his summer, but that’s a topic he never likes to talk on. Eventually, she gives up in favour of talking to my father, leaving the two of us in silence.

Simon gets carsick when he has to sit in the back, so he’s turned his upper body determinedly towards the window. I’m relieved at the chance for quiet.

I think he can tell. He turns away from the window for just long enough to offer me his hand, and he’s smiling softly.

It’s my favourite smile of his. I’m smiling back before I even realise it, and I reach out and take his hand.

We each turn back to our respective windows, and we stay like that for the rest of the ride.

BAZ

“Simon Snow. Really? Him? Why’d it have to be him of all people?”

For the past twenty minutes, my dear cousin has been outlining for me in excruciating detail the absolute tragedy that is the relationship that’s sure to become Watford’s new Golden Couple. I’ve wanted to throttle him since the beginning of this adventure, of course. But since I’m disturbed, there’s a part of me that can’t help but take amusement from Dev’s rant.

“Couldn’t Agatha have chosen to fall in love with literally anyone else?”

Because replace Agatha with you, and it’s the same question I’ve been asking myself for weeks now.

I’m in love with Simon Snow. I figured it out a few miserable weeks ago, and I’d give anything to go back to the time before. The time before I realised, that is. I don’t think there was a time before I both knew him and loved him.

And isn’t that the bigger tragedy?

“I don’t think that one can choose who they fall in love with, Dev. That’s the whole point.”

It’s comical, almost, the way he gapes at me. He stands there for a long time before saying, “Baz… are you defending Simon Snow and Agatha Wellbelove?”

Fuck. I’d forgotten, for a moment, where I am. Who I’m with. That there’s nowhere I can be, and no one I can be with, where I won’t have to hide this.

“Of course not. But if W-Agatha could choose who she fell in love with, do you really think she’d pick Snow?”

Dev laughs, and just like that, everything is forgotten. “You’re right. She definitely wouldn’t. Who would?”

Me, I don’t say. Even though I’d like to. Just once. Just to see what would happen.

Although I suppose it isn’t true. Simon Snow is golden and noble and deserves to be loved more than anyone. But if it had been my choice, he wouldn’t have been by me. I can’t think of anyone who would want to love or be loved by their enemy. (Other than me, of course.) As if being gay weren’t enough of a slight against my station.

Not, of course, that any of my family knows this about me. I’ve thought about telling Niall and Dev before. I probably will eventually. As I stand and listen to Dev moon over Agatha Wellbelove and throw barbs at the boy I love, I’ve rarely thought about it more.

I’m almost glad when my father comes to pull me away. If I’d been kept there much longer, I’d be liable to confess my being gay in front of my cousin and every influential member of the Families that’s at the club’s holiday party.

Glad, that is, until Father leads me away from Dev and I get a look at the expression on his face. He looks visibly disproving, which for a man who almost never makes it clear what he’s thinking, is everything.

I do an excellent job, in my own opinion, of not letting the terror I feel show on my face.

“How may I help you, Father?”

His eyes narrow. “I couldn’t help but overhear, Basilton, your conversation with your cousin.”

Something about the tone of his voice immediately sets me on edge, but I’m not sure, yet, why I’m nervous. “Oh?”

“About Simon Snow and Agatha Wellbelove.”

I’m still not sure where this conversation is going, but the way he says my Simon’s name makes the swirling anxiety in my gut worse.

“Yes. It is rather unfortunate that someone such as her made the poor decision to pick him,” I somehow manage to say.

But my answer seems to please my father. His stance relaxes, a little. “I agree. Doctor Wellbelove is on the Coven, so it would be beneficial to have them on our side. If we could sway Agatha Wellbelove, we might be able to convince her father. And that brings me to another concern I have for you.”

By now, I think I know what he’s going to say. It isn’t the first time he has. Like all the other times, I picture Simon Snow’s face in my mind. Only this time, I know why I’m doing it.

“You are the last living heir to the Pitch line, Basilton,” Father says. “It is important that you pass on your mother’s name. You only have three and a half years left at Watford--it’s time for you to start looking for a wife. And I would like for you to consider Agatha Wellbelove. If you marry her and unite our two lines, it would be very beneficial to our family’s cause against the Mage.”

Minus the part about marrying Snow’s girlfriend, I’ve heard this speech before. In the past, I’ve held the image of blue eyes and bronze curls in my mind and told my father that I’m too focused on schoolwork to look for a relationship. So far, he’s accepted that answer--he knows how important academics were to my mother. But with Snow’s tragic display of his pathological heterosexuality, I know that excuse won’t work now.

Just for a moment, I imagine it. Not even a moment--a split second. But I imagine giving my father a dramatic sigh and saying, “Apologies, Father. I would, except not only am I too focused on schoolwork, but also am I flamingly homosexual and deeply in love with Simon Snow, the Chosen One, the Mage’s Heir, and the boy you have been grooming me to kill since I was eleven. Not that I have any intention of doing so, you understand.”

What I do say is, “Of course, Father. I understand. I shall keep that in mind.”

He nods, looking like I’d done the only thing he ever bothered to consider me doing. “I shall leave you to the festivities.”

He walks away, and I watch him. Once he disappears into the crowd, I take another moment to picture the smiling face of the boy I know I can never have.

And then, with a deep breath, I plunge back into the depths.

SIMON

Normally, spending Christmas with the Wellbeloves is one of my favourite things. I get to spend time one-on-one with Agatha, receive gifts, eat good food, and watch as many reruns of Doctor Who as I want. Watford is my home, but their house over the holidays was the first place I ever felt like someone cared for me.

I’d expected it to be even better once Agatha and I started dating. We’d get to do all the same things as before, only now I’d have an actual claim to be there. I’d really, truly, belong, instead of just playing at it the way I do with everything else in my life.

I think that the only reason it isn’t actually better is because there’s something wrong with me. There must be--no one else has done anything wrong.

I was afraid that Agatha’s parents wouldn’t think I’m good enough for her, and that I might have to prove my intentions to win back their favour. As it turns out, I needn’t have worried about that--they seem happy about our relationship.

I’d expected hostility, and I’d made a list of things I could do in response to it. I did not make a list of what I could do in any other circumstance. I hope that my nerves about being thrown into something I didn’t expect are a big part of what’s making this harder.

Every year, the Wellbeloves and some of their neighbours put on a travelling Christmas party. It isn’t Christmas yet, of course, but it’s close enough to that people keep popping in and out of their house to help Mrs. Wellbelove get ready. On top of the people like me that the Wellbeloves always invite into their home for the holidays, it’s a kind of organised chaos that reminds me of the homes, except that I’m warm and happy instead of cold and scared.

Over the years, I’ve met most of the neighbours, even though Agatha and I usually stay in the den for most of the party. When we arrive, I stop to give a hug to the Wellbeloves’ housekeeper, Helen, and in that time, several of them descend on me.

Most everyone seems happy to see me and while I’m sure that some of it is because of what I am, I think some of it is genuine. I get pulled away from Agatha as I hug and shake hands and for a while, I forget that I’m nervous.

“Simon, I’ve heard that you and Agatha are dating now! That’s absolutely wonderful, dear. I always knew you two were perfect together!”

At least, until that happens.

It isn’t disapproval either. Obviously. The only person I know who actually disproves is Baz, and it makes sense that he does, because he’s Baz and this is something good that’s happening to me.

No one who I actually care about has responded with anything other than support. I’d prepared for if they hadn’t, and in some ways, I almost wish that they hadn’t. I remember fighting about Agatha with Baz, and the nervous, itchy feeling I’d get when he told me I’m not good enough for her is similar to how I’m feeling now.

It doesn’t make sense. I know I should be thrilled. On the drive, I’d spent time convincing myself that being nervous was fine, because obviously it’s fine when you’re faced with people who are reacting badly. And because I didn’t know what was going to happen. Now I do, so I can’t say that. Now, I need to figure out a way to fix whatever’s wrong with me and making me see things this way.

But I don’t know what’s causing it, so I don’t know how to fix it. Instead, I do what I always do. I stop thinking about it.

It doesn’t take me very long to realise that that was a bad decision. Maybe I should have expected that it would be--I’m a shite liar, after all. Which isn’t helped by knowing that this isn’t something I should be lying about.

It takes me almost an hour before I’m able to get away from all the Wellbeloves’ neighbours. I just want to watch some Doctor Who with Agatha, so I’m wandering around the house looking for her when I run into Doctor Wellbelove.

He didn’t speak all that much on the drive out here, and I’ve not seen him since then. But right now, Agatha’s mum is out with Helen and another woman, so it’s just him and me in the kitchen. I immediately want to leave, but I also don’t want to be rude.

We stand in silence for several minutes. I focus on the nearly-empty glass of water that I came in here to get. When Doctor Wellbelove suddenly clears his throat, it startles me.

He looks almost as uncomfortable as I feel, but he still says, “Simon. Would it be okay if I speak with you for a minute about my daughter?”

I think it’s the wrong reaction, but his question relaxes me. I’m expecting that now’s when he asks me about my intentions towards Agatha. If he does, we’re back on familiar ground.

My voice is steady when I reply, “Of course, sir.”

But what he does say is, again, not what I was expecting.

“I just wanted to let you know how glad I am that you and Agatha are together now. You’re a very good person, Simon, and I know you’re capable of loving my daughter the way she deserves to be loved. I just wanted to make sure you know you have my approval.”

Instantly, any semblance of calm evaporates. My chest suddenly feels like someone is standing on it. (Or like Baz has pinned me up against the wall and is crushing my sternum with his arm.) I can’t think about anything except air and how much I need to get out.

But Doctor Wellbelove is still here, and he’s staring at me expecting an answer. I spit out something that I intend to be grateful and about going to find Agatha, but am afraid comes out closer to a jumble of nothing, and run from the room.

Instead of going to find Agatha, I race from the kitchen down the hall to the loo and throw the door open. I don’t even take the time to flick on the light before closing the door and sliding down against it.

The very first time I saw Agatha, I wanted her. She’s beautiful to the point that it doesn’t even feel real, sometimes. There was a part of me that was afraid I’d break her if I got too close, but a bigger part of me that was determined to protect her from other people who might try and do the same. I’m supposed to be the Chosen One--something like that should be the least I’ll have to do.

When Penny and her boyfriend, Micah, started dating last year, he was all she could talk about from the beginning. And being around him made her happier--she even let me go on about Baz and his plots for way more than 10 percent of our conversations, sometimes. Agatha and I have barely been dating a month, but that isn’t how I am about her, I don’t think.

But Micah left to go back to America at the end of last year. Penny hasn’t seen him for months. I see Agatha every day. It makes sense that I’d talk about her less in that case, right? Plus, it’d be weird to talk about her when she’s right there. And unlike with Baz, I don’t want to do so anyway to make her angry.

I’m not in love with Agatha, I don’t think. It’s definitely not like the way Penny feels about Micah. But that’s okay, right? I don’t have to fall in love right away. That hardly ever happens, anyway. And Agatha and I have been friends for years, but that’s different from being together. I can still learn to love her.

I killed a dragon when I was eleven. Falling in love with my beautiful girlfriend should be easy in comparison.

I can do it. I will do it. Because no matter what Baz or anyone else thinks, we’re meant to be together. It’s destiny.

Everyone I’ve spoken with agrees, even Agatha’s parents. That’s enough, right? Someday, if Baz or the Humdrum don’t kill me, the two of us will ride off into the sunset and have our happily ever after.

I repeat this to myself in my head until I’m finally calm enough to rise to my feet and leave the loo.

And if there’s a small part of my brain that doesn’t quite believe it, it’s easy enough to ignore.

[ohrosalinds]

katherine mcnamara. genderfluid. they/them.  ／  rosalind cox just pulled up blasting fly by hilary duff — that song is so them! you know, for a twenty-four year old singer & actor, i’ve heard they’re really -capricious, but that they make up for it by being so +gregarious. if i had to choose three things to describe them, i’d probably say plaid shirts open with a white shirt underneath, thrift shop knick knacks, the smell of cinnamon, and childhood stardom. here’s to hoping they don’t cause too much trouble! ( vc: hilary duff, bridgit mendler & ana golja )

rosalind’s basically the same as they were the last time i played them, but i’ve edited a couple of things.  so here’s their new intro u know the drill like this to plot w them.  

rosalind’s 24, their birthday just passed at the beginning of the month.  

rosalind was born to laurel whittmore-cox on august fifth during a summer rainstorm.  rosalind’s father died months before their birth and they still to this day do not know much about him.  but they never minded.  their mom, and their maternal grandfather gus were more than enough.  

rosalind was “discovered” at the age of two.  they were at their mother’s office ( laurel’s a producer for movies & tv shows ) and it started a career for the redheaded baby.  mostly print ads for a while, a couple of tv shows and movies but nothing big.  that is until rosalind was nine years old and was cast as the titular role in disney’s lizzie mcguire.  and they dyed their hair blonde for the role. 

honestly, it was a dream.  rosalind’s mother was an executive producer and rosalind really loved playing lizzie.  it was her favorite thing.  she was excited to go to work every day.  her friends were great.  she loved her tv family.  and it was fun playing a role that really felt at home, as she was going through similar things as lizzie at the time of the show.  since rosalind was in middle school at the time when lizzie was airing.  

when rosalind was eleven years old ( and four months, not that that’s a needed detail ) they were going through this period of discovery.  figuring out who she wanted to be, as lizzie’s final season was filming.  they had just found music as an outlet and were working on writing and coming up with their own things, hoping to release something after lizzie ended.  

during this time rosalind read something and was watching a lot of television and something struck the blonde.  following research and time of discovery, rosalind found out about the term genderfluid.  and after reading about it and learning more.  it was like a lightbulb moment and they were like “this is it.  that’s me.”  and they decided to start using they/them pronouns because it felt right. 

rosalind told their family over dinner one night and while both laurel and gus were confused, they adjusted well.  it took laurel until rosalind was seventeen years old to finally not use “she/her” accidentally.  

but rosalind had this whole show riding on their shoulders and they just knew that this coming out was not going to be good.  people would talk and things would not end well for them, it could ruin the end of the series.  it was going to be a scandal, because it went against what the producers and execs wanted for their show’s star.  and, of course, lizzie was one of the number one shows on children’s programming right then too.  while everything was going on, still working on the final season, the problem was also that rosalind didn’t want to not use their pronouns because it’s who they are.  

so rosalind came out to the cast and the crew, to people whom they considered family.  it was a slow thing, not a big announcement, and people were mostly accepting.  by the end of the series filming, most of the people they worked with every day had adjusted to using the proper pronouns most of the time.   

rosalind thought they were finally free of the station and the pushy execs who only wanted their agenda pushed forward, other than working still with their record label for this music they had been creating.  but, as luck would have it, the producers and executives had gotten together to bring about a feature film for the show.  

and rosalind couldn’t say no, lizzie was still very much a part of who they were.  and getting to work with the people again ( even so soon after saying goodbye ) it was something they wanted to do.  

so after the small “break”, almost thirteen year old rosalind went off to italy to film this movie.  ( fact: they turned 13 while filming in italy ).

and while they were there with the cast and crew and people who loved and supported them, someone back home leaked their gender pronouns and caused a big stink.  

executives flew in when they were almost finished with filming and it was a big to do.  rosalind was scheduled to go on a tour after the film finished filming since their album was almost completed.  but the executives were nervous about what everything would be.  it was a lot of meetings and rosalind had to deal with the pressure of filming the movie and worrying about their own future and if the film they, and everyone else, worked so hard on would be released.  

the company did what they do best and decided that after the movie, rosalind should go on tour for their music right away.  so rosalind was rushed to a local studio to finish the final touches of the album, which was released before the film had finished.  

despite the immense pressure, rosalind was happy.  they were doing what they loved, writing music, acting, and singing.  

of course, going on a big tour meant rules and guidelines from the corporation.  a lot of them restricting what rosalind could say and talk about in interviews, which they had done before, but never to this same degree. now rosalind was completely restricted.  in fact, they had to read from a script and they had a personal handler from the company with them at all times. 

it didn’t help that they were touring for music on top of doing press for the lizzie film.  

it should have been the time of their life.  it really should have, but alas.  it was a time where rosalind was sleeping less and less every night and working on finding themself in the little spare time they had.  

it was building up a lot, taking a toll on the young teen.  

rosalind’s biggest personal problem with the press was that everyone who interviewed them was using she/her pronouns and completely ignoring the fact they’d even stated a preference for using they/them.  

it led to them having a bit of a …. MELTDOWN during an interview when they were asked a pretty terrible question.

footage went viral on tmz and mtv of rosalind pulling off their microphone in the middle of an interview, irate and yelling at who people later found out was their disney appointed handler,  “i’m sick of using the wrong pronouns for this bullshit! it’s not fair!”

the footage can still be found on multiple websites, and people tend to talk about it a lot still.  

the next thing they knew, the second half of the tour was cancelled, “creative differences” had been cited.  however, rosalind was still under contract with the record label, and even though they were basically blacklisted from working for quite some time, rosalind had to work on new music for a company that didn’t want them.  

rosalind released a second album soon after the end of the tour.  once their duties in the contract were finished and all obligations filled--rosalind left the company and went to “normal life”.  

the teen -- a redhead now, the blonde hair finally gone ( people called it shedding the disney baggage ) -- left los angeles to live with their grandpa gus outside of boston.  they maintained a job working at gus’ thrift/antique shop the little things.  and did their best to maintain a regular teenage existence.  which is hard when you spent your childhood on film.  

for a while, rosalind did a youtube channel in their later high school years.  sometimes they still post, but it’s sporadic if anything.  they used to do a lot of q&a videos.  they would often talk about working on music and talking about their gender identity and sexuality ( they’re pansexual ).  they wanted to have a voice for themselves, and doing something like that was the best way to do that. 

with everything, rosalind kept from saying anything outwardly bad about their old parent company.  people never understood why--when it was clear that they had been terribly unhappy and troubled at the old company.  

recently, rosalind has opened up about it.  they experienced a lot of wrongdoings from the company in their childhood, given the company’s outright display of their gender identity and how it didn’t fit with the image.  but rosalind still wished nothing but the best for the people whom they’d worked with.  there was nothing that the cast & crew had done wrong to them.  the people with whom they spent so many hours of their formative years were nothing but excellent and kind and hardworking people.  

they’re a people person, loving to be around other people.  but they’re also always a bit nervous about big crowds.  idk what it is.  one on one they’re amazing and chatty, but crowds make them nervous?  but stage stuff is wonderful? they can definitely hold themselves in a crowd or captivate a room.  

they’ve done a handful of made for television movies in the recent years.  recently they’ve released new music after a long period of nothing.  they did an extended play belong and a full length album then & now.  ( rosalind’s early music is canon hilary duff ie metamorphasis and hilary, which for rp purposes is called rosalind )  

rosalind is currently labelless.  they haven’t been with a parent label since everything at their old one blew up.  

they have a fear of being controlled by any company if they were to work for a specific label again, so they haven’t cared to look for one.  

maybe they’ll tour again in the future?? who knows.  

rosalind was recently cast to play DAPHNE BLAKE in an upcoming live action scooby doo television series.  

[jaehyunpeachy]

i am you // you are me - yoonkook - 5k

some weird soulmate shit happens.

read: yoongi keeps running into this cute cashier boy. and they keep matching?

(music to listen: 1. belief - mabinc 2. i am you you are me - zico 3. soulmate - zico ft. iu)

man, seoul has a completely different atmosphere and air to it - way different than in daegu. literally, the air smells different here and yoongi thinks it’s not necessarily a bad thing, but the fact that he notices this small and random detail just makes him a little more depressed because he longs for his cozy home back in good ole d-town.

he’s lounging in a flimsy lawn chair on his apartment balcony and distastefully sniffs the stuffy seoul air again. his mind wanders back to old, familiar places - the bustling family restaurant, his mom’s soothing voice, his father beckoning him to taste the family’s famous galbi-jjim , his brother’s annoying method of showing affection via noogies when yoongi grudgingly accepts his chores for the day.

the fond memories in his head are juxtaposed with the outside sound and sight of the bustling nighttime atmosphere. everything in seoul is so,fast-paced , even the night life, which he can clearly see from his vantage point. he hasn’t really gotten used to it all, more like, barely tolerating it. he’s kinda stubbornly refusing to settle completely which serves to make him more homesick and then he’s stuck in this cycle of stubbornness and nostalgia and longing and stubbornness and nostalgia and longing.

yoongi breaks his nostalgic reverie when he stands up, the chair loudly scraping against the floor. if he’s going to drown himself in memories and be a sad, depressed sack he might as well do it right - with some alcohol.

he checks the fridge to grab a can of beer but fuck - he’s out. all that’s left is a pack of sliced turkey meat, a sad pile of lettuce, a lone half-empty gallon of milk, and a fully empty carton that used to hold eggs.

damn, his produce is mocking him.

just a few hours ago when he opened his fridge he saw the same turkey, lettuce, milk, and egg carton and the word minimalism smugly appeared in his head. yoongi prides himself on not being wasteful; he’s able to use each and every one of his ingredients until they’re completely gone, thank you very much.

but seeing as he’s in a less than ideal mood to be holed up at home and he has a dire need of alcohol, yoongi tears his eyes away from his sad produce, grabs his wallet and keys, and wrestles himself into a big sweater to combat the chilly night-time seoul air. he grumbles as he steps out of his apartment complex. daegu was always on the warmer side. who knows, maybe the seoul air will help clear his head. maybe.

yoongi finds himself deep in thought as he’s walking, a result of his melancholy mood and the atmosphere of night probably. as a result, he doesn’t realize that he’s actually not walking in the direction of the nearest 7-eleven. when he hears the distant sound of a car angrily honking five times - goddamn, chill - he’s shaken out of his thoughts and glances at his surroundings.

nice. he’s in a random alley.

well, way to go min yoongi. this night is just continually fucking with him and becoming more and more disappointing. he takes a minute to inwardly curse at himself for his obliviousness before he has the smart idea of grabbing his phone out his pocket. he googles the nearest convenience store. the top result is ten yards from his current location.

he rounds a corner and walks a few paces before he spots it. only a single neon sign that reads “ level” adorns its storefront and he assumes that’s what the store is called. yoongi power walks toward it, through the front door, and straight towards where he thinks they should be keeping the alcohol because dammit, he is a man on a mission.

somewhere on the other end of the store, which isn’t actually far from where yoongi stands now, the clock goes from 11:59 to 12:00.

yoongi surveys his surroundings. he’s bombarded with neon colors from every angle, which makes the store feel bigger than it actually is. from the outside, it looked cramped and dull and drab and not colorful. due to this very misleading outward appearance, yoongi immediately thinks that this is exactly the type of store that is empty seventy-five percent of the time and will most likely be out of business within the next month.

okay, it is midnight, but yoongi can tell when a store is being frequented or not, in this case: not. it’s the only possible explanation as to why his sneakers squeak so unusually loud on the unusually pristine tiles.

he strides towards the refrigerated area and for some reason, he feels a strange sense of familiarity, like he’s been here before; a type of vague awareness that comes from something like a dream.

actually, yoongi’s seen stores like this before. namjoon has a very cultured and particular sense of tumblr aesthetic and this store fits the bill perfectly.

yoongi chalks that niggling feeling as a latent reaction to all the posts he witnessed namjoon reblogging to his tumblr, as they sat on the couch on their respective phones. he’s suddenly bitter again because now, with his current situation and location , he can’t even call namjoon out for trying to be hipster because he’s too far away to even see namjoon or his stupid hipster-aesthetic-whatever tumblr in person.

yoongi spots the alcohol, finally, and grabs two - he hesitates and turns around - three bottles of the brand he likes and walks to the checkout station.

well fuck, he was hoping for a some sort of self-checkout machine - this is seoul, the largest metropolis of korea after all - but he should have known not to expect anything when he set foot inside.

god, he’s too impatient and drained and sad to deal with another human being but sucks up his feelings once again as he steps up to the counter. no one is actually there and yoongi spots a bell and rings it twice. a couple more times, more insistently, for good measure. suddenly he feels his phone buzz in his pocket. he checks and sees it’s from namjoon.

at that moment someone stumbles out of the ‘employees only’ door and utters a quick apology for making yoongi wait.

yoongi quickly glances up from the phone and sees that the cashier is a young twenty-something boy. all he sees is a mop of soft brown hair and just under it, a pair of soft brown eyes which he unwittingly makes eye contact with. but suddenly it is broken - the cashier beginning to ring up yoongi’s items, and yoongi looking back at his phone.

dance monster [12:10 am]

hyung

you’ll never guess wat happend today

me [12:10 am]

what

dance monster [12:11 am]

so u kno that tattoo i got a while back ????

me [12:11 am]

joon ur gonna have to be a little more specific

dance monster [12:11 am]

ok ok that one on my wrist !

the moon one !!1!1 !

me [12:11 am]

so...what

dance monster [12:11 am]

idek hyung like

ok fuck

this sounds so weird but like

for some reason i woke up this morning

me [12:11 am]

a goddamn miracle

dance monster [12:12 am]

shut up hyung

anyway i woke up

and now i have a new sun tattoo

me [12:12 am]

wait

what

dance monster [12:12 am]

idk !!! hyung idek wats goin on ajoer

i think it’d be better if u called me

asklejroijga

“excuse me?”

right, yoongi still needs to pay for his things. he jams his phone into his back pocket and fishes for his wallet. he awkwardly fumbles for some bills, “ah, sorry - here you go,” and all but flings them on the counter in his haste to get back to his conversation with namjoon and to go back home and avoid strangers altogether, let alone semi-attractive strangers.

it looks like his original plan of drowning in sorrow will have to be put on hold. nonetheless, he welcomes the new interruption in the form of his dear friend.

right as yoongi’s about to exit the store, the cashier calls out to him.

“um,” he pauses cutely, “nice sweater.”

yoongi looks down. it’s an old number, one that jimin got for him as a christmas present. it’s kinda not his style because it’s colorblocked - well, color in general - but it’s the first thing he found as he left his apartment and it’s oversized and it’s a gift. from jimin. so.

he looks up again and sees the exact same sweater on the cashier.

o-kay. what a coincidence.

at this moment, yoongi gets a really good look at the twenty-something cashier boy. well, as good of a look as he can seeing as half of cashier boy’s body is obscured by the counter.

the cashier is clearly taller and bigger than yoongi but the sweater still looks oversized and his fingers just barely peek out from under the sleeves. yoongi gets a good look at cashier boy’s doe eyes and button nose and his whole look just screams soft.   fuck semi-attractive. this guy is possibly the most attractive guy yoongi has ever seen. the most attractive person in seoul, by far. at least to yoongi’s standards. and this is only the visible half - yoongi gulps - doesn’t even want to think about anything lower than that.

he eloquently chokes out a word. “cool.”

real smooth, min yoongi.

well, time’s up. yoongi’s just about done with social interaction and he’s itching to get home and he wants to maybe forget this whole thing because goddamn, he’s awkward and the cashier is cute.

cashier boy blinks and fuck, yoongi can see his eyelashes from here. and then, cashier boy smiles , all twinkling eyes and soft lips, “have a nice evening, sir.”

yoongi bolts out of the door.

/

jungkook just barely managed to keep his fluster in check. he tried to not to stare at the strange man’s silvery hair, or at his sharp profile, or at his attractive piercings, three silver hoops on each ear - fuck, since when did jungkook find piercings on anyone but himself attractive?

but the thing that caught jungkook’s attention the most was the sweater. not the fact that it was so large that it swallowed the man’s entire frame but still made the entire fit scream effortless and attractive. not the fact that the color palette complimented his silver hair.

they had the same fucking sweater?

taehyung, who is privy to jungkook’s unique tastes, had carefully chosen the very sweater as a christmas present. he claims that he happened upon it in some random thrift store and thought it screamed jungkook and bought it even though christmas wasn't for another three months.

jungkook thinks otherwise. the sweater is just. so nice. taehyung probably bought it at a non thrift shop last minute, which would explain why jungkook ran into another person also wearing it. yeah. that would explain the coincidence. it’s definitely embarrassing, but people are bound to be caught wearing the same clothes, seeing as they’re mass produced for that reason - to be worn.

as he starts cleaning up, jungkook silently thanks himself for choosing the night shifts at level supermarket because 1. he likes staying up late 2. he gets to meet interesting and colorful characters like that one sweet ahjumma with cotton candy pink hair that comes in every day at 9:36 pm sharp to buy a bag of lollipops and nothing else, for example.

jungkook’s checking the inventory for the third time - it always helps to be extra thorough - but his mind begins to wander back to that silver-haired man.

a small - admittedly very small - part of him wants to never see that man again because he was a stranger, a very attractive stranger, and jungkook acted like such a freaking loser. god he’s blushing again. but the bigger- much bigger - part of him wants to see the silver-haired man again. like, he was fucking attractive. but also something about a frustrated looking man coming in a store at midnight that hardly anyone ever comes to just.

he’s like a novel jungkook is itching to read.

jungkook just wants to know.

jungkook wants to know. jungkook wants to know how this man likes his eggs cooked. does he have any tattoos? is he a morning person? okay, maybe not that because he’s up and about at midnight.

what is his opinion on soulmates? does he listen to dean? what does his smile look like? does he like smiling? is he a smiley person? is he doing okay?

because most of all, jungkook wants to tell him that things are going to be okay. something about this man seemed - lonely and jungkook has an urge to reach out and be like, me too, i understand, i hope you’re okay.

but. jungkook shakes his head to clear the thoughts. he’s doing it again. he’s getting ahead of himself and he’s doing that fantasizing thing he tends to do. at his core, jungkook is a very kind and empathetic person and the times he does feel good about himself he wants to meet people and reach out. back at his small hometown, the people were very friendly and accepting, and this made it easy for him. and with the town being so small, eventually jungkook knew everyone and everyone knew him and he was very comfortable with this.

however, this is seoul. and after making the difficult decision to leave the comfort of his town to pursue his dreams in the form of a dance degree, jungkook has learned that not everyone feels the same way in this city.

‘city people’   he thinks with distaste - but mostly - disappointment.

jungkook closes and locks the store’s front door, as well as his hopes for seeing the silver-haired man again. he’s no stranger to how this kind of thing works. nothing good happens when he gives into wishful thinking.

/

as soon as yoongi is back in the safety of his apartment he calls namjoon. “joon, what’s up?”

“okay, so. like. yeah. i don’t know, hyung!” yoongi goes to open a bottle of beer, his silence prompting namjoon to continue.

“i just woke up and now i have a new sun tattoo on my wrist! honestly, it looks pretty good paired with the one i already have of the crescent moon.”

“well, as long as you’re happy with it joon, i guess it’s cool.” yoongi takes a long gulp, “could’ve been worse. could’ve woken up with the word ‘penis’ tattooed in large letters instead.”

namjoon cackles heartily and yoongi smiles at the sound. “yeah, you’re right hyung.” he laughs again, “this is like some weird soulmate shit.

yoongi elegantly swallows some beer down the wrong airway. “yeah,” he coughs a few times to clear his throat, “come to think of it-,”

on second thought, maybe yoongi will keep cashier boy to himself. what happened earlier that night still felt - unreal. yoongi feels like he’ll break the enigmatic anonymity of the attractive cashier boy if he says anything.

“hyung?”

“no, nothing. nevermind,” yoongi changes the subject, “how’s that new track going?” and namjoon enthusiastically explains his progress.

/

the next day, yoongi finds himself slouched at his desk, pen tossed somewhere to the side. he’s looking down at what he can only call organized chaos atop his desk. this is usually how his song production process starts anyway. he scans some of the lyrics he just scribbled all over and he sees stuff like ‘ enigma and mystique ’ and ‘ eyes that hold stars ’ and ‘ deer in headlights... i’m struck by your beauty mystery loveliness- ’

uh-huh. yup.  okay. yoongi stands up and gathers all those loose leaf papers in a pile and goes to deposit them in the wastebin.

he pauses and throws them in a random drawer in his nightstand.

he needs to get out. he grabs his leather jacket draped across the back of his desk chair and power walks his way out of his apartment.

yoongi finds himself wandering the city again and wait. it’s that store again. what the fuck? did he just subconsciously make his way to back to the store and it’s attractive cashier-

shit. yoongi sees said cashier boy through the front windows, presumably stocking a shelf. he gets up and starts walking back to the counter, but as he’s doing that his body faces the front doors, which probably puts yoongi in his plain sight.

yoongi quickly backpedals, hoping he hasn’t been spotted.

he stands in place for a beat.

he refuses to acknowledge how hard his heart is hammering.

after much internal debate, yoongi decides that fuck it. he’s already here and he sees a huge jar of cheese puffs from where he’s standing and he might as well get that. because. he needs. inspiration.

he walks in, trying his best to put confidence in his steps and not looking at the cashier - who is now sitting at the counter with earphones and bobbing his head to a beat and is he humming?

yoongi walks down the chip aisle, deciding that he needs to have different flavors on hand when he gets tired of the cheese puffs.

over the top of the aisle, yoongi can see cashier boy stretching and fuck. his shoulders look good in that leather jacket too.

yoongi reaches the end of the aisle and is about to stroll into the next one, but almost trips on his shoelaces of his black converse. he kneels down and glances at the counter, seeing that the cashier is now standing. they make awkward eye contact and yoongi quickly goes back to tying his own shoelace, not before seeing a flash of black converses disappearing behind the counter.

when yoongi goes to pay for his items, cashier boy has taken off the leather jacket, leaving him in a simple white tee with a simple supreme logo. and now his incredibly toned biceps are out on display. wow. is it getting hot in here? yoongi sees the veins in cashier boy’s arms when they flex to hold the large container of cheese puffs. yoongi gulps.

it’s too hot - yoongi strips off his own leather jacket and slings it over an arm. eyes looking anywhere but the cashier, he taps his foot and waits for cashier boy to state the price and yoongi can pay and then he can leave.

except. cashier boy hasn’t said anything for a little while. yoongi chances a quick glance upwards. cashier boy is staring at - yoongi’s chest? fuck, did he wear his kumamon jammies out or something?

but like, if this boy has something against kumamon, yoongi has a serious bone to pick with him.

yoongi glances down at his own shirt. then back up at cashier boy. then back at his own shirt.

weird. yoongi’s wearing a supreme shirt. cashier boy’s wearing one too. cashier boy squints, like he’s suspicious of yoongi or something.

yoongi clears his throat, “uh - can i pay for my things?”

this seems to shake the cashier out of whatever stupor he’s in, “ah - sorry.”

yoongi pays for his things and goes to grab the bag the cashier is holding out for him to take. yoongi overshoots a little; okay, maybe he’s a little flustered and accidently knocks his hand against the cashier’s.

there’s a little clink as yoongi’s ring bumps against cashier boy’s.

okay. fuck. they’re wearing matching rings too?

they both face each other with similar looks of shock and confusion. before either of them have a chance to say anything, yoongi books it out of there real quick.

/

something weird is going on and jungkook doesn’t know what to do.

he’s just minding his own business, listening to offonoff’s new album while doing his math homework at the register to keep an eye on the store in case anyone does come in. it’s midnight but still.

then, jungkook sees movement in the corner of his eyes and realizes that someone has come in without him noticing.

it’s the silver-haired man again. and shit, he looks really good. he’s standing in front of the snack shelf, with his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and he’s wearing this large leather jacket.

jungkook does not salivate.

but wait. jungkook looks down at himself. how is he also wearing a leather jacket?

it must be another fluke. jungkook hurriedly stands up and takes his jacket off, pacing around for a bit.

he looks over at the silver-haired man again and sees him tying his right shoelace.

jungkook looks down at his shoes.

his left shoelace is untied.

a mixture of mild horror and panic starts thrumming through his body, but he refuses to tie his shoelaces and resumes his nervous pacing.

he turns around and jumps slightly. the silver haired man is right in front of him, fidgeting with his hair.

jungkook goes to ring up his purchases, which are all comprised of various family size chip bags. he goes to ring up the last item, a jumbo container of cheese puffs, and pauses. the silver-haired man has taken off his leather jacket and. why. is he wearing a supreme shirt. like jungkook.

jungkook stares dumbfoundedly at that stupid supreme logo and the man’s prominent collarbones before he clears his throat and asks for jungkook to ring up the total.

right. jungkook hurriedly bags everything and thrusts them towards the man, hoping he’ll leave quickly.

the man accidentally knocks his hand against jungkook’s and this time jungkook does not hide his shock.

you've got to be fucking kidding. they have matching rings. it's like they're a couple or something.

what. is happening.

/

the next night after his shift at the local coffee shop, yoongi actively seeks out level convenience store, as well as its resident attractive cashier. he’s wearing this ostentatious, bright yellow, furry thing. it’s so. loud. and lowkey ugly. hence the reason why he’s out at night.

however, yoongi swears his sweater is bright enough that he’s probably glowing in the dark.

but, yoongi also needs to prove a point. whatever cosmic fuckery is going on, whatever deity is fucking with him, yoongi just wants to prove to himself that this is all bullshit. running into a cute stranger repeatedly is enough, and yoongi doesn’t need any other unexplainable shit happening.

/

jungkook is tapping his foot, a habit of his that surfaces only when he’s nervous or anxious. jungkook is definitely focusing on math homework and definitely not looking out for a certain silver-haired stranger.

he rubs his nose with the sleeve of his sweater and almost sneezes. geez. jungkook had asked taehyung to lend him his craziest article of clothing at the moment, seeing as taehyung’s fashion style is overall - crazy. so, taehyung tossed him the first thing he laid eyes on in his closet, and it was this gucci sweater. gucci my ass, jungkook thinks. this sweater is just a very good excuse to cosplay as big bird.

jungkook just wants to figure out what is going on. like, he meets some cute stranger and-

holy shit. he sees said stranger standing outside on the sidewalk.

okay, somebody up there must hate jungkook because - he looks down at himself just to make sure - both of them are once again, matching.

like, how does the stranger still look striking in such an ugly sweater?

jungkook can only stare as the stranger swiftly turns around and bolts down the street.

/

yoongi slams the door of his apartment closed, breathing heavily. he looks through the peephole to make sure no one had followed him. he’s not taking any chances.

that’s it. something is up and yoongi’s solution is to - hole himself up in his apartment.

wait, can he do that? oh yeah, it’s friday. and he doesn’t have any shifts until monday.  fantastic. he can devote himself wholeheartedly to his unfinished tracks over the weekend.

yoongi wakes up saturday afternoon, but allows himself the luxury of lounging around in bed for a few more hours. this effectively brings the start of his day well into saturday evening. he fishes around for some spare instant ramen packets, and begins working as soon as he gives himself some salty sustenance.

his weekend goes by like this: immersing himself with writing lyrics and producing elementary beats for a few straight hours and then taking short naps in between. he eats if he remembers. or if namjoon reminds him.

all in all, he does a good job of not thinking about the weird stuff that’s been going on, and especially about the soft-looking cashier boy.

except.

yoongi stumbles out of his bedroom, finally succumbing to his stomach’s urges, as well as namjoon’s rapid texts.

he fumbles around for a cup of ramen - his last one, he’ll have to refill - and goes to find a scissor to cut off the plastic wrap.

his fingers slip and he ends up cutting himself.

he sighs as he looks down at his bleeding finger. he dabs at it lightly to try to clear away the blood, but it just keeps oozing out. he grabs a tissue and presses on the fresh wound, waiting for it to clot, but the blood just keeps coming.

what the heck? he didn’t cut himself that hard.

ah, shit. he doesn’t have any bandaids.

he checks his phone. 2:55 am. is there a store open at this hour-

there might be one.

before yoongi thinks about it too hard, he wraps a clean tissue around his finger and books it out of his apartment. he’s not about to hold a tissue around his finger for the rest of the night to keep it from getting infected.

as he fast-walks to level convenience store, yoongi thinks about cashier boy again for the first time in awhile (a couple days.) maybe whatever matchy-matchy curse or spell or shit is over, since yoongi hadn’t seen or even thought about the boy. wow. an achievement.

cashier boy probably isn’t even there, seeing as it’s so late.

whatever, yoongi just needs to grab some bandaids and then he’s out.

he heads into the store, notices that the register is unattended, and goes to grab a box of bandaids. while he’s at it, he stops by the ramen aisle to refill his stock.

as he makes his way to the register, he sees someone now sitting behind the counter. yoongi stops in his tracks. it’s cashier boy. he looks as stunning as ever. and he’s fiddling with one of his fingers, which happens to be bandaged. he looks up and only then does yoongi continue walking towards him.

none of them say anything as cashier boy rings up his items, but he does raise his eyebrows slightly when he notices the blood-soaked tissue around yoongi’s finger.

after he pays, yoongi doesn’t leave right away. instead, he rips open the box of bandaids and slaps one around his finger.

“how did you hurt yourself?”

holy shit, even cashier boy’s voice is attractive - what the fuck - with a soft, lilting tone to it.

“uh, i cut myself trying to get some ramen.” god he sounds stupid.

“wait, really?” cashier boy’s doe eyes widen - yoongi sees his eyelashes, - “me too! i was doing inventory and had to refill some ramen for the shelves and yeah.” he gesticulates with his injured finger.

yoongi is silent for a moment. they even have matching wounds.

“this shit is real, isn't it?”

cashier boy tilts his head. “oh. you mean the weird clothes thing-”

the lights in the store flicker and then suddenly fade out completely.

yoongi panics for a second as his eyes adjust to the darkness, but that initial shock instantly goes away as soon as he sees cashier boy’s big eyes reflecting the street lights outside.

he finishes cashier boy’s sentence. “...yeah. the weird clothes-matching thing.”

“well, my best explanation is that the universe continually derives pleasure from fucking with me.” cashier boy pauses, “n-not that it's always a negative thing! i mean, this time wasn't so bad!” he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, “i-you - sorry! i didn't mean to make that sound like an insult to you.”

yoongi chuckles, “hey, it's fine. the universe likes fucking with me too.”

cashier boy shyly ducks his head.

yoongi looks around the store, now shrouded in complete darkness. “should we maybe find the fuse box or something..?”

cashier boy sits down on his stool. “nah, it’s fine. this happens quite often, actually. i don’t even know why you bother coming here when there are plenty of 7-eleven’s,” he sighs, “this store is pretty shitty and rundown.”

“i don’t know. i kinda like the warm, colorful vibe.” yoongi thinks, also, it’s because you’re here.  

“well, the longest the power’s been out was like, thirty minutes.” cashier boy unlocks his phone and begins scrolling through, “um - you’re free to leave..? i have everything under control.”

yoongi makes no move to leave and hops up to sit atop the counter. in doing so, he’s inevitably brought himself closer to cashier boy. when yoongi turns his head, he sees cashier boy up close, ensconced in moonlight, the contours of his face highlighted by shadows.

yoongi stares at cashier boy’s dark eyes, and at his eyelashes as they fan across his cheeks when he blinks slowly.

yoongi’s eyes are immediately drawn to his lips when he worries them between his teeth. if they begin leaning into each other’s orbit, none of them are the wiser.

suddenly, yoongi feels a sharp sting on his forearm. at the same time, cashier boy jerks away, hissing in pain.

something is etching itself into yoongi’s skin and he squeezes his arm to try to take away some of the pain.

his arm is still searing when the lights flicker back on.

“god, what the fuck was that-” yoongi looks down at his right arm, all red and puffy, and sees a tattoo.

it's a lock.

yoongi looks up in shock.

cashier boy has a similar look on his face. and on his left arm, is a tattoo of a key.

there's still specks of blood on cashier boy's fresh tattoo and yoongi grabs a nearby napkin and slowly dabs on it.

cashier boy flinches slightly, but yoongi places a hand on his upper arm to comfort him, to ground him. yoongi traces the boy’s tattoo lightly with his thumb and looks back at his own. a perfect match.

“i’m yoongi. min yoongi.”

cashier boy smiles softly. “jungkook.”

/

me [12:01 pm}

joon

quick question

so like

did anything weird happen

before ur tattoo appeared

dance monster [12:15 pm]

i mean

not that i can think of ??

hyung just cuz u and jungkook had some storybook soulmate romance doesn't mean smt like that happened to me

me [12:32 pm]

well what happened that day

dance monster [12:44 pm]

nothing really

i just had a study session with jin

me [12:49 pm]

‘study’

what exactly were u two studying

dance monster [12:50 pm]

hyung

need i remind u that jin is my metaphysics and epistemology tutor and wait wat were we studying ?

oh yea !!!

~metaphysics and epistemology~

me [1:00 pm]

you think he's cute, don't you

dance monster [1:05 pm]

im not answering that

me [1:06 pm]

im sensing a blush

dance monster [1:10 pm]

actually

now that i think about it

i came into that session late that day

as i was leaving my apartment i somehow

hit my knee on the doorframe

and fell

and dropped all my stuff

left a nasty bruise

also got a paper cut across my right palm as i was tryna pick up all the books in a hurry

me [1:16 pm]

you would

i fuckin bet smt like that happened to jin

hello

joon?

/

yoongi is rudely awakened by big bang’s ‘bang bang bang’ - why did he let his boyfriend pick his ringtone?

said boyfriend stirs in his sleep, burying his face deeper into yoongi’s shoulder and wrapping his arms tighter around yoongi’s waist. “mmph - hyung. make it stop. let’s nap more.”

yoongi turns his head and places a kiss atop jungkook’s forehead, “sorry baby. just let me take this real quick.”

he blindly grabs around for his cell phone and sees namjoon’s caller id lighting up.

“what.”

“hyung! what the fuck. what is happening.”

yoongi groans. “yes, what is happening. please enlighten me.”

“me and jin have matching bruises! even cuts and everything! i met up with him today and remember that cut i got on my palm? he had one too, and then we realized we have the same injuries!”

yoongi tries to process this information as fast as he can with a sleep-addled brain. “so, he’s a masochist?”

“no! god, no. he’s the one with the sun tattoo! remember how my sun tattoo appeared? well, he’s the one that had it, and he said that a moon tattoo appeared on him! like mine! hyung, we’re matching!”

“well, congratulations.” yoongi sounds grumpy, but he means it. “though i feel bad for jin. you’re a fucking klutz. don’t kill him before you ask him out officially.” he yawns. “i’m going back to sleep.”

with that, yoongi hangs up and turns back to wrap himself around jungkook.

“hyung, what was that about?” jungkook murmurs with his eyes still closed.

“nothing. just some weird soulmate shit.” he buries his nose in jungkook’s fragrant hair. “let’s go back to sleep.” ~

[lovelacemagazine]

Nine 2018 Richmond, VA Projects That You Should Check Out

We are halfway through the year and there has been plentiful content being produced from the Gritty City. There has been a constant production of great content from some well-known artists as well as some that are on the rise in the city of Richmond. I made this list of projects based on projects that are released on January 1st, 2018 all the way to June 21st, 2018. Here is a collection of nine Richmond projects that you should definitely listen to.

1.) Michael Millions- Hard to Be King

The year started with the release of a jazzy, soulful project from Michael Millions. His project ended up on XXL and his music video for Sirens, which is on the album, was featured on Revolt TV. Hard to Be King is produced by a variety of people from his brother NameBrand, to fellow Association of Great Minds member Nickelus F, JL Hodges, Bandolero, and many more. The nineteen-track project focuses on Michael’s journey to happiness. In Sirens, Michael talks about the city he grew up in and some of the challenges that he faced growing up in Richmond. The tracks transition smoothly as the instrumentals gradually change in range, making it sound like it’s a long, beautiful story. Some tracks to check out on the project: Moor Hustle (feat. Melodic), Blacksugar (feat. Fly Anakin and Nickelus F), and Happy. You can follow Michael Millions on Instagram and Twitter (@michaelmillions)

2.) AARNXBRWN- Jailbird On Walton

AARNXBRWN created a buzz in the last year with performing at shows like FaceMelt Friday and Flora here in Richmond. The Equals7 collective he’s in even holds shows that happen weekly on Thursday nights. His most recent project that dropped June 2nd, Jailbird On Walton, gives any new listener a solid introduction to who he is as an individual. Jailbird On Walton is a nineteen-track project that has a balance of party songs and darker, more introspective tracks. This project shows his perseverance in his trials and tribulations. Some tracks to check out on the project: Taquito, Frankenstein (feat. OG Illa), and Wake Up. You can follow AARNXBRWN on Instagram and Twitter (@AARNXBRWN)

3.) Radio B- Jesus Never Wore A Suit

This project had almost a year and a half of anticipation in the making thanks to its precursor project, Sunday’s Best back in 2017. The level of cathexis Radio was showing into manifesting Jesus Never Wore A Suit as a study for understudies to borrow from is displayed in caring for the ones close to you. Here’s an excerpt from one of the songs on JNWAS, I Got U to show what I mean: “We all see something different. We all see different pictures, but you a masterpiece. I wanna buy you wineries and cabins. Let you lavish in all your favorite things. Go to paradise and play on the swings. Share our fears and share “highdeas”. So what we talking’ bout?

When you call my name…I wanna make it where you call our name…No fault no shame. No shift no blame. I’ll share your pain. I’ll share my soul. You make me whole.”. Some tracks to check out: Cursing In Church, I Got U, and Freedom To Live. You can follow Radio B on Instagram and Twitter (@RadioBlitz)

4.) Milo Case- Pillow Talking Weather

An up and coming artist from Richmond and recent UVA Alum, Milo Case, has been doing music ever since his days as a child. Pillow Talking Weather is a fifteen track mixtape that covers topics from the usual “Netflix and Chill”, college adventures, and black love to conscious societal issues such as police brutality and underfunded education from where he lived at in his younger days. Milo Case displays his versatility in sound through his rapping and singing to his overall beat selection. He was at episode three of the RVA Lyricist Lounge and finished as the runner-up. His presence in the RVA Lyricist Lounge and rising popularity in the city lead him to work on a track with Michael Millions that’s coming out later in the year. Some tracks that you should check out: Kickback, Vivadellis, and Hack (Bonus Track). You can follow Milo Case on Instagram (@milo.case) and Twitter (@MiloCaseMusic).

5.) Nickelus F- Stuck

The legendary rapper hailing from Southside of Richmond dropped Stuck to celebrate his graduation from VCU. Stuck is a fourteen-track project that explores his struggles in dark, introspective tracks that fits this lyricist’s style. Recently on a WRIR radio interview w/ artist Black Liq, Nickelus F said that the second track, Sleazie Wonder, a beat that he made for the deceased Richmond artist, Sleazie Wonder. On that track, he shouts out people who he respects greatly. He also debuted a new name, Horace Hardbody The Statue, which is the thirteenth track on Stuck. It’s a reflective project that’s strictly produced by Petey (which is also Nickelus F by the way). Some tracks to check out: Mids, Trill Burr, and Horace Hardbody The Statue. You can follow Nickelus F on Instagram and Twitter (@nickelusf).

6.) Fly Anakin & Ohbliv- Backyard Boogie  

Two members of the Mutant Academy collective released a collaborative project back on April, 20th. The sixteen-track project was strictly produced by Ohbliv and has Fly Anakin on every track. Backyard Boogie is a bar filled project that covers a variety of topics over a diverse and elegant beat selection by Ohbliv. The project has several features from Nickelus F, fellow Mutant Academy members Henny L.O. and Koncept Jack$on and more. Some tracks to check out: Thug Bachata, Several Blunts Later (feat. Koncept Jack$son), and The Prototype (We Got All Night). You can follow Fly Anakin and Ohbliv on Instagram and Twitter (@flyanakin) & (@ohbliv).

7.) Tuamie & Henny L.O.- Emergency Raps: Volume 2

Mutant Academy makes the list once again with another tag team project. Emergency Raps: Volume 2 is strictly produced by Tuamie and features Henny L.O. on twelve of the thirteen tracks. It’s another bar filled project over an extravagant beat selection from Tuamie. Emergency Raps features M.A. members Fly Anakin, Koncept Jack$on, Big Kahuna OG, and Richmond artist Monday Night. Emergency Raps: Volume 3 is already in the works and is on the way soon. The date for that project has yet to be revealed. Some tracks to check out: Exhibit M (feat. Henny L.O. and Monday Night), Love 3x, and Light Years (feat. Henny L.O. and Fly Anakin). You can follow Tuamie on Instagram (@tuamie_) and on Twitter (@Loop_Samples). You can also follow Henny L.O. on Instagram and Twitter (@hennyldot).

8.) Peter $un- Valencia

The Richmond native Peter $un collaborated with producer Lasik Beats to create the Valencia EP. The EP pays homage to his new home in Los Angeles. Valencia is influenced by Playboi Carti as $un would listen to Carti frequently during the cultivation of Valencia. It has a unique modern west coast influence as the instrumentals are more upbeat and playful that anyone can vibe to. Some of the tracks to check out: SUM MOE, VALENCIA, and EVRY THNG NVV. You can follow Peter $un on Instagram and Twitter (@holapedroxx).

9.) ĀR RÄ- The Sun Tape

ĀR RÄ is an artist from Southside of Richmond that has been making his own wave. He has done so from having his own radio station to being on DTLR radio to having giveaways of Adidas shoes, and more with his sun themed music. The Sun Tape is an eleven track project that describes his past that he’s adamant and honest about. The way that ĀR RÄ plays with many sun references in how he presents not just his trap music, but as a brand, definitely shows that he has a bright future ahead of him. Some tracks to check out: Sun Beam, Sun God, and Sun Tan. You can follow him on Instagram and Twitter (@arraoso)

-

Written by Jay Guevara

[magistralucis]

Breakbot + Busy P + MYD + Alan Braxe + Borussia @ XOYO, 26 May 2018  [Review]

A fantastic reward for the comedy of errors that is my life.

Been a while since I did a review of a gig! Technically, I should have done one for Justice last September, but given the amount of content I gained from that performance, I keep thinking that one has to be several gifsets and a video upload instead of me rambling on. I’ll get to it in a billion years;;; Over the weekend I went to this all-nighter and didn’t sleep for like, 30 hours? And I’m still recovering. So much like the TBB review last year, this is going to read super disjointed, like a bunch of random stream-of-consciousness notes I took over several hours. (Which 70% of this review actually relies on.) There are pics and a few lil’ gifs, all splendidly red-tinted to reflect the lighting in the club, but the tl;dr is essentially:

The Journey

As previously stated, I do not live in London. London is not easy to navigate. I do not have the strongest sense of direction and frequently map out walking paths and exact number of turns and landmarks nearby my intended destinations, which works for me 9/10 of the time - but this means that when things go bad, they tend to go really bad holy fucking shit under the influence of certain factors XOYO is the hardest fucking club to find in the entire universe. I have never had this much trouble finding a single location despite having such clear directions from multiple sources. It’s not the club’s fault, of course, thousands of people find it just fine - the stars just utterly refused to align for me this particular weekend, turning what should have been a straightforward path from A to B to over an hour of running around.

To attend to this spectacular all-nighter, I took the train from my university city to London, alighting in King’s Cross St. Pancras around 7pm. XOYO is located about a minute away from Old Street Station, which as you can see from the above image of the Northern Line is only two stops away; I could have been at the club in less than ten minutes. Because of this, I was slow to take the Tube when I initially arrived, instead stopping for a snack and some adequate hydration at King’s Cross (also tutting at Platform 9¾ which is not that impressive a display but that’s neither here nor there); I don’t think that was unwise in itself, but it was a decision that I ended up regretting, because it meant I didn’t find out about the spanner in the works until it was almost too late. 

ffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff

A five-minute journey on a single subway train from A to B was all I was asking. Well it turns out I couldn’t do that!!! Because fucking engineering works!!!! All the Northern line service bilboards and directional posters were papered over and the information being given was often deeply counterproductive (or outright incorrect). First I was directed to Euston to try to make a switch there, but no Northern line services were running at all. Then I came back to King’s Cross and subsequently tried out Moorgate on the Circle/Metropolitan line, which was running Northern line services - but nothing northbound, like I needed! This was exceptionally infuriating because Moorgate is only one stop away from Old Street station. I was delayed for nearly an hour purely trying to solve this problem, because even past 7-8pm the stations were s t u f f e d with people all trying to navigate this Northern line dilemma in their own way. This line splits along the way, too, so depending on where you’re headed to and where in the ‘part closure’ your intended destination sits, you could be lost in utterly infuriating bullshit like I did, being only 1-2 stops away from where you are and being unable to get to it unless you walk or take overhead transport. 

And, you know, those people had already paid and gone past the barrier when they found out about the closures. Most of that info could only be had inside. At King’s Cross St Pancras, the only info available outside the barrier were announcements on rail replacement buses - confusingly worded at that, all three of them entirely northbound from King’s Cross St Pancras (I needed southbound for Old Street). The London Underground isn’t obscenely expensive, but it’s not disposable money either! There’s a bus directly from King’s Cross to Old Street Station (which I ended up taking in order to return) - but if you paid and entered the Tube station, you’re going to want to solve the problem before signing back out of the barrier! 

fml in the end I just walked. 7-8 mins from Moorgate and then XOYO itself is hidden in an alley between two massive building complexes with naught but a red neon sign to point your way. It’s not a big neon sign. On one hand maybe it was a good thing I was held up traveling. I arrived about 5 mins after the club opened and was let in straight away. If things had gone as I’d planned I might have ended up camping out in front of XOYO for an extremely awkward hour or whatever. There was no queue; despite it all, I was that early, and was amply rewarded for my earliness. But man. 

On the other hand, I was dehydrated all over again.

Hour-by-Hour Review

Contrary to the anguished nature of the vent above, most of the night was damn excellent and the review below is the main meat of the experience. I recollected this through small notes I was making on my phone - mostly of timestamps and a single keyword, like what songs were playing at the time - and some videos I took, the position of each photo, and my own memory from yesterday. They are patchy notes, but they are as detailed as I can make them, and largely accurate. Essentially: if you’ve read this far, I invite you to come live the night with me all over again! :D

9:30PM - 11:00PM: I was the only person seeking entry to XOYO when I finally turned up, though music was already playing inside. “You here for an event?” The guard asks, and I produce my ticket and passport. “Just so you know, there’s a band playing in there at the moment - the actual, uh, techno, that’s not going to start until ten o’clock. You can go in now, but once you’re in, you’re in - you won’t be able to come back out and back in again.”

I just look at them. “What am I going to do outside for half an hour. That’s fine.”

Ticket scanned, passport checked and confirmed, bag check occurs. I read that XOYO has airport-security level bag checks, but that was not my experience. I might just have been too damn early to raise any alarms. I’m let in, visit the bar, buy some water, visit the bathroom, tidy up a bit, tie my jacket around my waist to conceal my bag, etc. Around 9:45PM I peer down at the main room downstairs to check out this band, although I come back up shortly to prepare for the main experience...

... which, uh, doesn’t take place until eleven. After the band leaves around 10PM, what actually happens is that the main room is sealed off for DJ setups while in Room 2 upstairs Joshua James plays. I had the choice of saving my energy for later and resting on the bench, or going to see him; I chose the former. Security guy lingering in front of the main room says it might open in ‘half an hour’ when I ask him on the dot at 10PM. My guy that’s the longest damn half hour I have ever waited in my life. At least I can people-watch and save my place because like always, I want to be at the front when the doors open.

11:00PM: The main room finally opens and Borussia is in the house. The dancefloor is very empty for about half an hour while he gets the crowd going. Ushers frequently come by, brandishing red penlights to take away glasses and empty bottles and lost property and the like. XOYO only has a max capacity of 800~ people and I’m fairly sure that’s spread across two rooms; the glasses are like, proper solid pub glasses, too, actual breakage hazards. I imagine it’s because it’s a small and intimate club that the choice of glasses makes sense; even in Electric Brixton they gave out plastic, and that one holds close to 2000 people. I saw several toppling over or rolling on the ground before someone came to snatch up the whole stack of them. I applaud their diligence. 

11:10PM: Also this dancefloor is incredibly sticky. Pedro is visible on the left. He talks to a backstage fan before disappearing.

11:23PM: There’s a girl next to me with her boyfriend. We meet eyes. This girl will recur a few more times during the night. Swig of water taken. 

11:30~PM: A note about the stage structure of XOYO.

As mentioned previously, XOYO is a two-room club, one upstairs and one downstairs. Downstairs is the main and the top one’s for opening acts and smaller shows; the downstairs has a dancefloor, a bar off to the side, and an elevated stage. Now the important thing about this stage is that you can get on it. There are no barriers between audience and DJ in a XOYO set, except for the ready-built DJ booth and all the speakers and equipment set that may or may not be piled around it. There is a steel mesh of sorts to separate the sides of the DJ booth from the stage/dancefloor viewing area, but aside from that, it is entirely possible for you to mount the performing stage and be about two feet from the DJ at any given time. Around this time is when people begin to mount the stage and like. Dance. But sparsely.

I will return to this stage later. I’m currently parked in front of the DJ booth.

11:40~PM: 

Pedro pops back into the scene briefly. He doesn’t linger for long there, but he’ll be back for the switchover. This is the best photo I could get ffffff

11:40~PM (not long after the above): Borussia puts Gorillaz’s ‘DARE’ on and the room goes fucking wild. The girl returns. This time we meet more than eyes and actually dance together, her boyfriend hitching her up on his back for about 30 seconds midway. This is the first point of the night that Borussia starts smiling and I’m taken by how sweet his smile is.

11:54PM: You know what I think Borussia kind of looks like Gesa if you squint

12:00~AM: Pedro in the house. He takes over slowly from Borussia, who exits amidst thunderous applause. For some reason, Pedro did not look awfully happy for most of the show. Compared to the last time I saw him DJ (opener for Justice) he seemed like... stoic? Like he had a lot in his mind. He was capable of cheer when need be, man knows how to drive a crowd, but like... the air about him was different. I have no explanation for this. It may just have been my perception.

12:00 - 12:30AM (?): I genuinely cannot remember when this first happened, only I remember Pedro being at the forefront and giving the people involved an amused glance at some point in the night. So it goes here, even though they might first have appeared during Borussia. Two incredibly scantily dressed and also gorgeous dancers, one male and one female (visibly), rolled out of the backstage area and began dancing on the elevated stage around the same time e v e r y o n e began piling on. I’d kill for the ability to dance on the heels they did holy fuck

12:13AM: I CAN SEE IRFANE OFF TO THE SIDE YES HE CAME AFTER ALL I know he’s officially part of Breakbot now but the XOYO description made it sound as if only Thibaut was coming. False alarm! The duo lives on.

12:28AM (?): Girl I was dancing with earlier + her boyfriend reappears from the bar direction. She mounts the elevated stage and disappears into the crowd.

12:30AM (?): THIBAUT AND SO-ME SPOTTED I WANT TO ATTACH THE PHOTO OF THIS MOMENT but it’s too blurry fuck shit

12:34AM: With a grin worth a million pounds Pedro puts on ‘Audio, Video, Disco’. Lighting changes to bombastic yellow and everybody just about dies for the next five minutes to follow. This was universally the reception whenever anything Daft Punk or Justice came on (Pedro also played ‘D.A.N.C.E.’ immediately after) - many people, Thibaut included, had Justice shirts on and earlier on the 26th Justice played a set on All Points East, so this was understandable.

12:39AM: Fuck it. I’m going on the elevated stage. I just hitched myself up.

12:40~AM: I can see so much better from here.

There’s a bit on the stage where the steel mesh barrier ends, and the DJ set curves away from the rest of the stage, where you can see everyone in the booth really clearly. Currently this spot is occupied by a dude and a girl who I progressively come to realize was getting increasingly drunk/high - she was clinging onto the sides - so I just gravitate towards the steel mesh instead, neglected by most people. For most part my view is blocked by people hanging around from backstage but every now and then they vacate, and I get a good side view. Not long after I settle in, Thibaut pops up for a short while, swigging from a bottle - and the girl I was dancing with from before almost crashes into the mesh shouting her hellos at him. (This is when I realize that she’s French.)

And, uh, I mean. What can you do when a thing like that happens. I join in, of course. Thibaut did not hear either of us before slinking back, but this did have the effect of the girl patting me on the shoulder for our first real conversation:

French girl: [Muffled something]

Me: Ah?

French girl: [After a few tries through the noise] You like Thibaut?

Me: Yeah! Came to see him mostly!

French girl: 😍💖😍💖😍 I’M THE BIGGEST FAN 😍💖😍💖😍

The oddest thing is that during this exchange, the boyfriend guy with her kind of gently takes off my hat and tries to put it back on me backwards. I have no idea what the fuck and I give him a look that conveys that I have no idea what the fuck ‘cause like... dude why are you taking my hat exactly??? Am I missing something??? I replace it and carry on. The girl’s swept away towards the bar again.

12:40~AM: Pedro is the only person who can pull off LeLe’s ‘Breakfast’ in a DJ set without it descending into narm territory imo 

12:40~AM: MYD IS HERE MYD IS HERE

1:00AM: Thibaut and Irfane take over at last, the latter first, then Thibaut more fully. Mama P stays at the back, watching over the situation, before silently withdrawing. 

The stage is so crowded I can barely breathe. French girl does not return. Ushers begin to move about the dancefloor carrying large foreboding black bags, not for glasses but for lost property.

1:00~AM: J E S U S 

1:10~AM: So-Me is the third one in the booth. I wish people would announce it properly whenever he turns up - I didn’t think to expect him at all, as he was not there with Pedro when I saw him open for Justice and his name wasn’t on the guests list. He feels like a lottery treat ; w ;

1:10~AM: Usher on the elevated stage. He finds a credit card on the floor and flashes an exact 🤨 look in my direction, as I was the closest to him. “Not mine,” I mouth at him, and he stashes the card in the lost property bag before vanishing into the crowd.

1:11AM: Come to think of it I’ve seen people lose some seriously scary shit on dancefloors. Like when I went to see TBB and Justice, on both occasions I’ve seen someone lose their foreign identity card. I’d be fucking terrified for my life if that happened to me - and given that I’m toting my passport around (some places don’t seem to accept BRP...?), which I cannot afford to lose whatsoever, I enter a state of brief panic while I check that nothing has been thieved from my bag. All clear.

1:23-25AM: Jesus Christ Irfane is so touchy-feely with Thibaut they’re in love I’m literally crying

1:30~AM: Because of the above mentioned affection-shenanigans, I stop dancing in order to get some photos and videos of the pair. One of the backstage fans notices. “Do you want me to take a picture for you?” He shouts through the mesh; I hesitate, because I’m not in the business of giving my phone away to strangers, but I take the risk. It turned out he made this offer during a period of very weird lighting and it wasn’t a good time for photos, but this is the best out of several attempts from him:

“It’s not a good time,” he shouts as he hands my phone back over. “sorry.”

“Thank you anyway,” I holler through the bars. He flashes a grin and we carry on.

1:30~AM (after the above): Remember the scantily dressed gorgeous dancers? They’re back, dancing on a bunch of speakers (?) next to the side view. Drama with the (drunk?) girl hogging the side view; she gets into a conflict with one of the dancers and it gets really fucking tense. I’m not 100% on what happened, but I can imagine that something that wasn’t meant to be touched was touched or that she was giving the dancer some serious attitude - like the girl was literally grabbing the (drunk?) girl by the face and telling her to get a fucking grip. The dude with her eventually leads her away and the dancers dismount the stage, disappearing into the crowd - I didn’t see them return again, which was a right shame. 

tl;dr I took the empty spot and was able to photo marginally better than before.

1:35AM: 

Jesus God this is heavenly

1:41AM: 

Best quality: his wiggles

(He was mouthing along to ‘Why?’.)

1:40~AM: I keep thinking I stepped on something. This continues for some five minutes before I finally look down and yep whoops I was stepping on something all right. It was a hefty croc leather wallet/purse thing, all black, very sticky from the floor. I set it down in front of me and handed it over to an usher less than two minutes after. Another swig of water. Thibaut’s wiggles do not in any way pale next to Irfane’s.

1:50AM (?): Yet another event I know happened but can’t remember where exactly to place. ‘My Toy’ comes on. I hear this one is a fan favourite and while I can think of better songs in Still Waters, I get to see for myself just how true this statement is. In fact, Breakbot played quite a few of their stuff - not a lot, but enough to bring on significant cheers whenever they did. ‘Back For More’ was the starter and ‘Fantasy’ came on at some point but ‘My Toy’ was easily the most popular of the lot!

2:00AM: Alan Braxe takes over. Irfane and Thibaut continue to linger, as does So-Me, but I’m beginning to see Myd far more often - he must provide the climax to this all-nighter. He had a vinyl signing earlier on the 26th; he’s greeted with cheers whenever he’s visible.

2:00 - 4:00AM: A broad sweeping observation to indicate that my phone is dying a horrible death by this point of the night. I brought an external battery and had it going again once I left the club, but fuck trying to fumble with that in the middle of a club. All those photos did it, especially the videos, and burning the battery on that so quickly was not a good idea because I wanted to take more of Alan and Myd boo

2:20~AM: Alan’s set is considerably darker in tone. Probably more like what I’m used to before I got into EDM, in fact. I consider him responsible for the mild whiplash I got from headbanging.

2:24AM: XOYO’s smoke machines are at their peak performance around this time and I can barely see a thing. Not being a big venue, this is a problem. Irfane and Thibaut and So-Me pop back up for a selfie with one of the backstage fans and rope Alan into participating; he does so exactly once and turns back, as professional as always, while the other stay on for a second and third go. 

2:30~AM: wHAT’S THAT I HEAR???? CRESCENDOLLS?????

2:30~AM: IT’S CRESCENDOLLS

2:35AM: Hey remember when it took Irfane 10 years to figure out the Very Disco = Veridis Quo pun

2:40~AM: By this point I’m getting super hungry and I’m just about out of water. Water in XOYO is expensive. Something like 2.50 for a 300ml bottle. The DJs had a stack of these bottles by the side and were powering through them at alarming speed when they weren’t drinking other things. It’s my policy to go early and buy a bottle of water at the bar of wherever I attend a gig or concert, pretty much always. It’s my first time running out with more than an hour to go, though, but despite this I keep dancing with the empty bottle clutched in my hand. I don’t actually remember why. Maybe I thought I’d fill it up after the show or something. Spoilers: I didn’t

2:55AM: Right as Myd is taking over some dude pokes me and asks to have a sip of my water. I should not have been dancing with that empty bottle. He looks disgruntled when I tell him it’s empty and moves on. Sorry my dude I only wish I’d have been able to spare even a drop but I was genuinely out;;;;;

3:00 - 4:00AM: I hate having to sum it up like this but due to aforementioned factors (dying legs + low battery + lack of water) I do not actually remember much of Myd’s set. This is a great injustice to the man and it’s pretty much entirely my fault for not taking any time to rest (seating was provided near the bar) or not buying myself another drink; next time he’s in the UK, wherever he may be and whoever he might be with, I shall make the effort to hunt him down and give him a proper listen. What I remember of his set was brilliant, cheery but mysterious, coupled with Daft Punk’s ‘Rock n’ Roll’ somewhere in the middle. Please enjoy this terrible picture of him taken with my phone’s dying strength.

3:18AM: I can timestamp this accurately because it’s on the last video I took of the night. Enjoy some Myd wiggles

3:30~AM: This was roughly when ‘Rock n’ Roll’ was on! Irfane chatting away in the corner. So-Me lending a hand. Five minutes in he leans over and distributes stickers (I think) into the crowd. I was sadly on the other side and did not get a chance to receive any.

3:40~AM: People are beginning to hunker down on the elevated stage or leaving altogether. The night is drawing to a close. 

3:55AM: Phone blinks out completely at this point. XOYO is open from 9:30pm-4am on Fridays and Saturdays (also 21+ years only policy, which I appreciate) so I figured Myd should be winding down about now. Every DJ participating so far has switched out/bowed out after an hour, after all. Myd might need a minute more to think about it.

4:03AM: Myd might need three more minutes to think about it.

4:04AM: Myd might need four or five more minutes to think about it.

4:10AM: Myd why are you doing this. Myd it’s past closing time. Myd my guy you’re pouring ambrosia upon the unworthy. Myd ple

4:15AM~: In the end I leave a few minutes early. I have to stress that this had absolutely nothing to do with the quality of Myd’s set nor that he was playing beyond closing time - encores and extra content are extremely good! It’s just that my legs were dead! ;A  ; I limped upstairs and washed my face etc and he was still playing when I came out. That’s dedication. 

The End

As soon as it’s actually over, cheers went up - and as I’m sitting at the bench near the entrance of the club just trying to get my shit together, everyone files out all at once to a bunch of weary-looking security guards wishing us all a good night.

I join the line. It’s bright outside already. Some of the guards offer to call us a cab and some of the people take them up on it. I myself walk out of the club, turn left, and down Old Street Yard to examine the bus stops. One of the bus lines are 24hr and go directly to King’s Cross; as I reach one of the relevant stops and lean around, trying to figure out the times, the French girl from earlier recognizes me and pats me on the shoulder. “You were the girl dancing next to me, right?”

“Yep, that’s me.”

“How are you?”

“I’m good and so exhausted I could melt into the floor.”

She giggles and bids me goodnight as she moves to another bus stop. I didn’t get to ask her about Thibaut, as she wasn’t by me when he came on, but I can only assume she had a good time too. Soon the 214 comes along and I hop on towards King’s Cross. The sun is rising and the white noise in my legs dissipates, just a little, only to be gone completely some twenty hours later. Feels good man.

[gwoongi]

𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗎𝗌 ✰ taehyung (7)

𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗎𝗌 kim taehyung / reader genre: zombie apocalypse au words: 4228

It felt shit to feel thankful of someone’s screaming. Mostly, Taehyung was happy it was them and not him.

a/n: funny story, i submitted this chapter as part of my creative writing portfolio and the prestige uni i sent it off to loved it and accepted me :D hopefully thats a nice indication on whether or not this is good :S

warnings: extremely graphic content, sexual pain, graphic torture, gore, violence, death, Humans Suck

01. denver ↝ 02. holiday with me ↝ 03. sad forever ↝ 04. surely ↝ 05.scorpion ↝ 06. shakespeare ↝ 07. thrones ↝ 08. moon motel

The group leave the trailer park three days later.

Bundling everything of use into the back of the truck, which seemed darker in colour since the last time it was used, you had found you enjoyed leaving more than you did settling in. Packing everything into correct places had always been such a bore, even at a young age. You remembered when you were eight, and moving in to your grandparents’ home in the outskirts of Denver. Was this really Denver? It was a small town, barely noticeable amongst the cluster of trees and ferns, but nonetheless peaceful, ‘perfect for a new place to start fresh’. Yeah, it only took around an hour and a half to get to school every-day, but don’t worry, it’s a fucking perfect place to live, aged eight, as an orphan. It took you around eleven months to finish emptying each box.

But four years ago, throwing everything into a backpack and into the boot of a car you nicked from down the road, it had been so easy. It was so easy to throw everything out and keep what you really needed. Easy to forget to pack a jacket you had been given for Christmas off an aunt you barely knew, easy to remember to pack all the knives out of the kitchen and the forbidden gun your grandfather used to hunt deer in the winter. It was rather symbolic- pretending people were deers as you shot them between the eyes.

“That everything?”

Namjoon stood, risen off the ground, his hand on the bar of the roof of the truck. Taehyung stepped down the plastic steps from the trailer, not bothering to lock the door, knowing nothing in there was of any value. At one point, the rainbow-glassed fruit bowl might have been of value, sentimental value or something. Now, it was worthless, with a lightning bolt crack down the middle.

“Yeah, good to go,” Taehyung replied, hovering when you climbed into the back to join Kyungmin. He waited, not knowing what for, only mildly embarrassed when you turned to see him staring. “You okay?”

You nodded once with a smile. “Mm. Are you?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I-”

Somehow, he hadn’t realised you shuffle to the open back doors to pull him in for a simple kiss. It was that quick and simple that he almost missed it. His eyes opened to the sight of you in front of him, your hands holding his face, rubbing the stubble around his jaw.

“You’re holding us all up, you know.”

“You’re holding me up,” he muttered, peeling your hands off his face and pressing a kiss to your knuckles, somehow finding the strength to let go and at the same time, make his way to the front of the truck. The whole vehicle shook as you pulled the back doors closed, submerging Kyungmin and yourself in familiar darkness.

“You got a map anywhere?” Taehyung fuddled in the glove compartment as Namjoon started the truck up. He pulled out a worn map, the same one you had used to direct the both of you out of Denver. Namjoon didn’t care for the quality, muttering a hasty thanks and peeling it open, staring at the lines and faded colours. “Keep heading East, as if we’re going to Georgia. Hopefully, we’ll catch Seokjin and his crew of fans on the way there.”

“And if we don’t?” Taehyung asked. When Namjoon fell silent, Taehyung’s lips pulled into a tight frown, “I’m just asking for the future. You’re not coming to Georgia. We’re going. I wanna know what our plan is before we put ourselves in danger in the middle of nowhere.”

Very aware of the compartment slider down, Namjoon found it was difficult to pick a solution that would best suit everybody. Kyungmin wanted to stay with Taehyung and yourself, forgetting Korea entirely and heading straight for the islands off the coast. Namjoon knew you wanted to go to Georgia with everybody, hoping to stick together as a four, but if there was no other option, you’d go to find a plane. Taehyung wanted to get to Georgia with you, but wouldn’t be opposed to finding Seokjin. As for himself, Namjoon wanted to take the jeep to Virginia, leaving Taehyung and yourself on the road.

Everybody made tough calls. Those words echoed in his head. Above all else, Kyungmin was his priority.

“I wanna take the jeep,” Namjoon said slowly, aware of the frowns, “but I can help find a vehicle for you and Y/N to use to get to Georgia. When that happens...we’ll go our separate ways. Half to Virginia. Half to Georgia. Fair, and square.”

Kyungmin fell with a thud and a sigh in the back of the jeep, and Namjoon did his best to ignore it.

“Alright,” Taehyung agreed, believing there was no other way around it. As long as you and him were safe, he didn’t care how it happened. “Whatever you say goes.”

14TH MARCH, 5 YEARS AGO.

Jiyong: i’ll be round at like 7:30ish. lost my weed bag and i’m a junkie and cant leave without it

Y/N: i hope it kills you

Jiyong: watch me actually die

Jiyong: don’t cry at my funeral you fake friend

Y/N: KIDDING!!!!

Y/N: is...seunghyun coming

Jiyong: fuck off

Jiyong: hes banned from seeing you

Jiyong: i cant believe my best friend is fucking my other best friend

Y/N: i like to call it woohooing and we’re being safe

Jiyong: i cant believe this is happening

Jiyong: why seunghyun?????? why not youngbae he treats women nice

Y/N: idk!!! we just hit it off a lot

Jiyong: you’ve known him for like 5 minutes

Y/N: it’s literally been like 5 years but whatever

Y/N: can’t you just be happy for me? i’m living life getting laid being happy n shit

Jiyong: i respect it but i’m not coming to urs expecting to have fun watching goblet of fire for the millionth time only for you to give seunghyun a sweaty bj right in front of me

Y/N: that was one time Let It Go

Jiyong: one day i’m gonna fucking die and you’ll realise how badly you treated me

Y/N: stop you’re my best friend :-(

Y/N: what are you like jealous that im banging him and not you???? wanna join

Jiyong: yeah i’d literally rather fuck the girl from the ring

Y/N: kinky

[03:45am]

Jiyong: woah did you hear about the north korea shit

Y/N: im literally being pounded into Cant this wait

Jiyong: we’re gonna die because kim jongun wants to nuke us and all you care about is seunghyun’s 3 inches

Y/N: it’s just fake news dont worry about it

Y/N: how many times has he threatened nuclear war

Y/N: he should hurry up and do it before exams

Jiyong: just wanted to check up on you because ur nan is fucking mental and she’ll probably collapse tomorrow morning and panic buy loaves of bread

Y/N: stop omg

Jiyong: anyways stay safe love U please bring me my weed tomorrow morning me and Jennie are gonna get high and try anal

Y/N: sweet thanks

SOMETIME LATER.

Leaving the world behind through the back windows of the jeep, you were oddly reminded of the time you left everybody behind during a Summer many years ago. It had been a spur of the moment decision, something you never expected to do, but found yourself doing anyway.

It felt like a lifetime ago; you had almost forgotten about it, until now, until seeing a sign graffitied with a smiley face, reminding you of the “GRIME SIGN” back in your hometown, renowned for being the most graffitied sign in the city. Whether or not that's true, you never really found out. Seunghyun and Jiyong had come along too, for the moral support of being alone on the road. With Jiyong in shotgun and Seunghyun in the backseat, it had felt like something slap-bang out of a teenage coming-of-age movie, titled “3 delinquents on the road to God knows where”, directed by Quentin Tarantino. You didn’t even know how to drive. It was pure bliss.

“Any luck with the radio?”

Kyungmin rattling the small radio that had been picked up from the trailer park startled you, the memory of driving nowhere and everywhere at the same time suddenly gone like the wind. As your vision readjusted to the dark, you noticed that Kyungmin was pressing all the buttons and turning all the dials, a frown on her lips jutted outwards.

“Not yet,” she replied. “Just give me a few more minutes, I can probably get this thing working.”

Namjoon let out a soft curse, swerving the truck slightly to move around a left behind Volvo, the cars open like wings with a dried trail of dragged blood leading into the thick forest. Things like that were common accessories, famed like tourist attractions. Namjoon now thought of what the world was really like- could Paris be any worse than America? What was Iceland like these days?

“Nearly there, now,” Namjoon said vaguely, and Taehyung debated whether or not to reply, if there was even anything to reply with at all. That’s how things went now, short replies or simply none at all. When the world died, so did words. Namjoon thought that was funny, how the collapse of society could mean the collapse of communication and language.

“We’ll need to stop for gas,” Taehyung said, his voice barely above a third volume. From the back of the van, you sat with your face looking out towards the left behind road, your eyelids growing heavy at the sound of Kyungmin pressing buttons, and the hum of the van beneath your thighs. “We’re running on fumes.”

Namjoon grumbled a reply, mentioning something about a gas station a couple miles ahead, near the clearing in the woods, just off the road. It didn’t take long to approach, only around ten minutes if Taehyung were to count. At least three songs had played since then. Taehyung couldn’t believe he was now counting using songs.

The station was large, decaying and it looked unsafe. Taehyung didn’t exactly care about the safety of the building itself, just caring about how safe it would be in the long-run. Safe enough to hide inside? Safe enough to step inside? Safety in architectural design didn’t matter anymore. If it looked rusted, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

Namjoon pulled the truck into the station, immediately noticing a few canisters of fuel that was left for the purpose of using, a sign reading “STAY SAFE” stood up, stuck with black masking tape. The letters were dripping onto the concrete, a small pool of chalky white near the drain where a plant was starting to sprout.

“Are you feeling okay?”

Kyungmin’s voice made you look over from the canisters, a wrinkle between your brows. She smiled, generously, and waited for your reply. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

She was talking about the Great Escape the other day. You already knew that.

“Just curious,” she replied, the smile never wavering. “There’s not many people left in the world, you know. Next to Namjoon, you and Taehyung are all I have.”

A silence fell on the two of you, and all you could hear was the sound of Taehyung dragging a barrel across the gas station, dipping his head underneath a broken window and scanning the interior of the gas station.

“I’m here for you,” Kyungmin continued, her voice significantly quieter. “You know that, right?”

“Of course I do,” you replied, and your hand came up to stroke her forearm, a smile on your lips. For a moment, it didn’t feel like the apocalypse. In that moment, it felt like two best friends, reunited after a Summer break, the pine trees isolating them from the world, a Studio Ghibli film, released 2019.

And yet Kyungmin moved away, her gaze lowered as she passed across the gas station to meet Namjoon, already lifting canisters of gas towards the car to refill. Taehyung had emerged once again, his bag refilled with cans and cigarette packets, surprisingly a bottle of liquor in his hands as he stepped back into the bitter wind. Inhaling a breath, Taehyung crossed the width of the station and opened the passenger door to the vehicle, setting down his bag and the bottle, as if they were small children.

“There’s no way we’re making it to Georgia on time.”

Taehyung paused, throwing you a look over his shoulder. “What?”

“Let’s think realistically,” you reasoned, tugging at the cloth over his elbow. Above all, you didn’t want Kyungmin to be upset if she overheard. “It’s been...how long? Since we left the warehouse? I haven’t exactly been keeping up with the dates, but it’s been too long, Tae. Normally, it takes less than 24 hours to get from where we are- wherever we are- to Georgia. And yet, we’re still not near. I’m just-” you sighed, raking your hands through your hair. In the dim light, the grease was visible. “I think we’re out of time.”

“Y/N, they’ll be there,” Taehyung said. He didn’t know what else to say, frowning, “I thought you wanted to remain optimistic?”

“I do, but I can’t afford to hope to get to Georgia and find them there. And what?” you continued. Your voice had raised slightly, not enough to make Kyungmin or Namjoon ask questions, but enough to make Taehyung’s nose cringe at the increase. “We get there, and find them. Is anything gonna be the same? What if we get there and they’re gone and there’s no boats? What if we get there and something happens to any one of us? Tae, I can’t have that on me. I can’t have that on my conscience. Not again.”

Not again. “Yena wasn’t your fault, Y/N, you have to know that-”

“I don’t fancy being out on the road all night.” Namjoon stepped into view from around the front of the van, his hands shoved into the pockets of his distressed jeans. “Thinking we keep driving, turn in when it gets dark to the first place we see.”

“Isn’t that a little risky?” Taehyung asked, mentally making a note to continue your conversation later. “I mean, we have to really check the place before we head in.”

Namjoon frowned. “I know that. But, Kyungmin’s feeling kinda travel sick, and I don’t wanna overdo it, you know? Nights like back at the trailer park...I want more of them.”

Already moving to the back of the van, you pulled open the double doors and slipped inside, keeping them open in time for Kyungmin to crawl in after you. Her skin was a shade of ivory, whiter than earlier, as if the sickness had come suddenly like a simulation glitch. Wasn’t that what you were now? A glitch? An error in coding.

Namjoon shut the drivers door, groaning at the loud sound.

“Hey, man, you okay to drive?” Taehyung asked quietly, looking over from shotgun. “Look, if you’re tired, we can switch the orders around.”

Namjoon looked over weakly- “You’re sure?”

Taehyung unbuckled his seatbelt, dumping his jacket in the footwell with a sniff of stuffy air. “I’d prefer if you slept if you’re tired. ‘Specially when they’re in the back. Don’t wanna hurt them.”

He made a sort of grunt as a reply, switching seats with the younger. When he was sat in the passenger seat instead of the drivers, he let his head lull back onto the windowpane, feeling the chilly glass cool the back of his head. It was as if resting his head had added extra weight to his eyes.

“‘m gonna drive straight-ish,” Taehyung said with his tongue between his lips, backing up the van slowly and carefully. Namjoon opened his eyes slightly, squinting.

“Can you drive?”

Taehyung changed gears. “Yes.” 

If Namjoon noticed that Taehyung paused, he didn’t mention it. In-fact, he closed his eyes again with a shrug, a half wriggle, resting his forehead against the glass, pushing towards the cool touch.

Taehyung had been driving for hours, for sure.

The time in the van was unlikely to be reliable, reading 5:19pm when the sky was as black as squid ink, the dim street-lights that somehow worked- probably solar - beckoning the group forward. In honesty, Taehyung had no idea how long it had been since the gas station, just long enough to give him a crick in his neck, the back of his thighs numbed. All things considering, Taehyung thought he was getting better at driving.

He flinched slightly as the divider to the back came sliding down, and your face popped out slightly, peering out the front window with sleepy eyes. If he had a free hand, Taehyung would have wiped the sleep from the corner of your eye, and he turned back to the road, oddly afraid of crashing the car with all four of you inside. Like yourself, he didn’t want that on his conscience. Like yourself, he couldn’t have it on his conscience, not again.

“Are we stopping soon?” you asked quietly. Namjoon shifted, making it known he wasn’t sleeping. He groaned, grinding the heel of his palm into his eyes, unbothered when dust and dirt smudged on his skin when he pulled away. He could look worse, he thinks.

“Nearly,” Taehyung replied. “I don’t know where to go from here. Last road was blocked, so, I’m trying to get out of here.”

Namjoon shifted, cracking his shoulder loudly. “You tried any back-streets?”

Instantly, Taehyung thought of the woman earlier in his trip. The way she screamed at the car, scratching at the rusty paint job, her eyes bloodshot and her skin a lime colour. He gulped the hot lump in his throat, “I’d rather avoid them.”

“It’s safer,” Namjoon continued. “Out of the way-”

Somewhere outside of the van, there was a loud crash, similar to the way you sound when you drop something at midnight when your parents are sleeping. The volume was loud, louder than anticipated, and Taehyung unintentionally stalled the van. Kyungmin jeered forward, hitting the underneath of her chin on the seats opposite, sending out a string of foreign curses to Taehyung in the driver's seat. He avoided the stare of Namjoon, deciding he didn’t want to see the deathly glare.

“What the hell was that?” you asked, cradling a throbbing pain on the side of your face after catching it on the separation between front and back. “Is someone here?”

Namjoon stayed silent for a moment, staring darkly into the outside. Taehyung didn’t know what to do except wait, ready to jump into action when Namjoon made a noise of surprise- or was it shock?- and slapped Taehyung’s hand with great panic, “Fucking pull up somewhere. Turn off those fucking lights. Fuck, fuck, fuck-”

“Jesus,” Taehyung cursed, doing exactly that as you leaned back to switch off the lights, submerging Kyungmin into darkness as the blood pooled in her mouth from earlier. She groaned something between her lips, holding her chin with her left hand as she picked herself up to lean over into the front, staring out at what Namjoon was watching across the small street. With the van now in darkness, away from the streetlight, you were invisible.

It wasn’t hard, locating the source of Namjoon’s panic.

Across the street, a flood of artificial white engulfed the street, barely missing the pull-in that Taehyung had moved into moments earlier. Namjoon slouched out of instinct, keeping his eyes on the road as he noticed three people dashing out into the darkness, the explosive lights following them as if they were automatic. They probably were, turning on as they stepped further and further away from the door they ran from. As they hurried past the hidden van, another noise pulled away your attention.

A large garage door screamed as it opened, in desperate need of oil, chains clattering against the metal interior. The light suddenly changed to an eerie green, something you saw in documentaries about weed farms. As it slid further up into the building, Namjoon hitched a breath as the sight of three sets of human legs came into view, dressed in stunning ebony, large guns by their hips. One of them smoked a cigarette, the smoke rising up like old Native smoke-signals. The middle guy pulled up his mask, covering his nose and lower face, and loaded the large Heckler Koch HK MG4 MG 43, aiming it swiftly at the little piggies running away from the slaughterhouse.

Taehyung knew that gun- the Heckler Koch never missed a target. He barely flinched when the gunman hit the kneepits of the runners, sending them to the ground instantly, their bodies buckling under the loss of legs. The screams were loud. Mama has the bacon, now.

The other two gunmen laughed loudly, approaching the pigs and picking them up to drag them back into the garage, a trail of blood marking the concrete like paint. He said something, the main gunner, and the two spares were taken away, possibly to die, maybe to a waiting room where they would await their death, as casually as they would waiting for a doctor’s appointment. The last runner, a man who looked to be in his mid-thirties, with already greying hair at the top, was pulled to the side of the room where three more men emerged, a woman amongst the pack with her hair sprawled out to her elbows, in mermaid curls. She was gorgeous, nobody could argue against that, with her body in a glamorous dress, something too glamorous for the apocalypse. On her feet, heels that presented her perfectly painted toes, a peachy shade.

“What’s happening?” Kyungmin asked. It was rhetoric. Everybody knew the answer.

The woman dressed in glam approached the slumped body of the runner, crouching to cup his face and stroke a thumb across the bags under his eyes, bleeding out with veins a bright red, the red of a freshly picked apple, the red line under a spelling error. She closed her eyes and leaned forward, putting her thumb over his lips and kissing her nail, before retreating and nodding curtly at the men around her. It was a signal, for they picked up the runner and began to tear off his clothes, leaving him stark naked, covered in purple bruises, tiny flowers on his skin.

Taehyung had seen things like this before- he was no stranger to the way the men beat the man with clubs and their boots, laughing at the way he retreated into his own skin, recoiling at every kick and screaming with every sickening club, until he accepted the fact that his body was their plaything. He watched, in morbid wonder, as they dragged him by his swollen balls to the center of the room, where a sharpened hook hanging from a chain off the ceiling swung threateningly, a bone being wagged in the face of a dog. The man whimpered, his eyes hurting, only barely making out his destination before his body shook violently.

The man picked him up as if he was a sack of sugar, with one hand around his neck, promptly planting him on the hook as if it were a throne. Now Taehyung had to close his eyes.

It was curling upwards, sharply, scraping every wall and nerve and good spot that ached. Yet, the men watched with wonder and satisfaction, clapping when he thrashed like a fish out of water. His legs were immobile, moving inches and with every movement came a grunt of pain, flashed with panic and agony from his rather pointy throne, and then the passing pain of his arm being cracked upwards.

The crack was loud.

From behind him, Taehyung heard Kyungmin make a small wheeze, hurrying into the back of the van, where Taehyung watched you pick her head up off the seats, your thumbs in a pool of vomit around her mouth. You didn’t even care about the sick on her knees, or the smell in your nose. Namjoon looked through the slot, dragging the divider up before the sound of retching made him sick, too.

You stopped listening to the retching, quietly shushing each whimper as Taehyung slowly started the van back up, grateful that he was covered by the sound of someone screaming in fucking agony. It felt so wrong, to be thankful of a tortured man. Cock and all, Taehyung was thankful he was screaming. The tyres of the van slowly rolled along the road, in the shadows, at a sluggish pace. Namjoon wiped away a line of sweat on his forehead, unable to look away from the man, thrashing like a pig, hanging like a sack of meat in a slaughterhouse, blood pooling now at the corner of his mouth, his eyes, his nose, dried blood at his ears.

It felt shit to feel thankful of someone’s screaming. Mostly, Taehyung was happy it was them and not him.

[writteninsunshine]

Let Your Colors Fill My World 001/003 - Axel/Zexion - SFW

Title: Let Your Colors Fill My World

Author: Donnie

Fandom: Kingdom Hearts/Final Fantasy VII

Setting: Various

Pairing: Axel/Zexion

Characters: Axel, Zexion, Vexen, Reno, Xigbar

Genre: Romance/Humor

Rating: T

Chapters: 1/3

Word Count: 4323

Type Of Work: Chapter Fic, Part of the Run To Me series

Status: Incomplete

Warnings: Gay, Slash, Yaoi, MLM, Secret Relationship, AU - Modern AU, AU - College AU, ABO Dynamics, Mating, No major smut, Vexen is Zexion’s Father, Xigbar Adopted Axel Reno and Marluxia

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything except Axel’s cat Pandora and Zexion’s cats D’Artagnan and Hamlet.

Summary: A thirty kisses meme for Axel and Zexion with an ABO college AU.

AN: Hey guys, it’s me again! Just thought I ought to say, if you want vague updates and to talk to me more, I have Twitter and Tumblr, too! Twitter is Sunshinecackle, and Tumblr is Writteninsunshine! I also have a writing Discord that is currently pretty dead. xD I can PM it to people who want it on FFN, for everyone else, it’s here: https://discord.gg/FyaWw25

I really got into this ship on accident after rping with my husband and it happened on accident. I really can’t help myself, I needed more of them. I hope you guys don’t mind. Here we go!

Let Your Colors Fill My World Chapter Two

Kingdom Hearts Fic Masterlist

Chapter One: Reminded Of Your Pretty Eyes

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

(1. Look Over Here)

“And then you-- Axel?” Zexion passed a hand over Axel’s face with a frown, before finally leaning forward and kissing him. That seemed to help get his head back in the game, and the elder man leaned in to chase his lips. Zexion nipped him softly with his teeth and shook his head, “How much of that did you space out for?”

“Huh?” Axel blinked a little bit, staring at him, “What do you mean?” 

“You were zoning out. You’re as bad as Roxas.” Zexion rolled his eyes, smiling slightly as he leaned forward, “No wonder you have to be tutored. Apparently you can’t focus unless I touch you. You’re so tactile.”

“What’s that mean?” It wasn’t like Zexion didn’t insult him occasionally, but he didn’t think right now would be the best time. Was that even an insult? Zexion’s entire vocabulary was way higher than his, despite the younger man being three years younger than him.

“You like to be touched.” Zexion stroked his bare palm over Axel’s cheek and the elder man purred, causing him to roll his eyes again. “You need to focus or you’re going to fail this class. You can’t go into accounting if you can’t even pass the basics.”

“I don’t really think I’m going to fail just because I--”

“If you can’t handle the basics, you will fail.” Zexion sighed, straightening up from where he had settled to lean against the table. Crawling into his lap, he scooted into the best possible position to continue. “Will you listen, now?”

“I-- Y-Yes.” Axel murmured into his hair, pressing his nose to the nape of the other’s neck, “I can do it.”

“Then let’s try again.” Zexion took a deep breath. “Now, let’s see… We’ll start back here,” He began, pointing to a page he turned to in the other’s textbook. Axel knew he was in for a long afternoon.

(2. News; Letter)

[Text To: Fire In The Hole] You are never going to guess what happened.

[Text To: Sexion] Wut? Good or bad?

[Text To: Fire In The Hole] What do you think?

[Text To: Sexion] It’s hard 2 tell with u.

[Text To: Fire In The Hole] Meet me at the fence.

Axel was in his backyard in a matter of minutes, and he could almost hear the vibrating of the sixteen-year-old on the other side. Pushing back the broken plank, Axel’s jade eyes met wide cobalt as the younger teen grinned at him.

“Woah, you look bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.” That was something Xigbar had definitely taught him to say. “What’s up?”

“Radiant Garden accepted me to join the Biochem program.” Zexion kept his voice down, but he nearly looked like he could jump for joy. “I’ll be able to begin working in the lab Vexen works for in my second semester.”

“That’s great, Zex,” Axel grinned, crouched in the corner of the yard, “I’m really happy for you.” Even if that meant his boyfriend would probably have to take even more time away from him for studying. 

“You sound sad. Didn’t think you’d be my main focus forever, did you, Axel?” He teased, sitting on his knees and scooting close, “Do you need reassurance?” Axel often needed his attention to prove that he was important. 

“For what?” Axel tried to laugh, rubbing his hair down against his neck as he scooted closer to face him better, “What are you going to do when you start going to school? Get drunk and mate someone else your first day?”

“Oh, hardly,” Zexion cackled, hiding his amusement beneath his hand, “You’re the only person I can feasibly see myself being even remotely nude around, so you shouldn’t worry. Come here.” Pushing more at the loose plank, he pressed the bridge of his nose to the top of the hole. 

Axel eagerly scooted closer, kissing the smaller’s lips and melting into the feeling of it. That was probably better for easing his worries than anything Zexion could have said. 

“Anyway, don’t you go to RGU? What sort of partying have you been doing?” Zexion accused playfully when he pulled back, leaving Axel wanting, chasing his lips.

“Getting tutored by a sixteen-year-old.” Axel replied, “And I’m in the math department. Biochem is on the opposite side of campus.”

“Well, we’ll have to meet in the middle for lunch.” Zexion told him, “I’ll let you know what my schedule is when I get it. Maybe we can even talk Vexen into letting you be my ride.”

“I doubt it.” Axel chuckled, “But a little hope never killed anyone.”

(3. Jolt!)

How long had he been sitting outside of McDuck’s Ice Cream Parlor, now? Zexion was sure that he was going to be waiting all day. If Axel kept him there alone much longer, he’d be forced to start eating before he arrived. Sighing, he placed his elbow on the table and his head in his hand as he closed his eyes, pulling a small paperback of Of Mice And Men from his jacket pocket and began to read. The pressed flower bookmark he had had in it made him smile. A birthday gift from Axel when he’d been eleven, something he had kept in pristine condition all this time.

After a few minutes’ worth of reading, he glanced at his phone. Axel had said that that was where they were going to meet… Maybe he was waiting inside. Sighing again and starting to get up, he jolted instead when he felt hands on his hips.

“There you are.” Axel grinned, happy to take the elbow to the chest that had been apparently waiting for him. He chuckled, unable to help himself.

“Hey! Don’t do that!” Zexion exclaimed, frowning, turning fully to face him and placing both hands on his hips, knocking Axel’s grubby hands from them. “You know I detest being surprised!”

“I couldn’t help myself!” Axel chuckled, holding his hands up in a placating gesture as Zexion bopped his shoulder with his palm. “Okay, okay. At least I didn’t use this?” He held up a pen that suddenly looked menacing.

“What is that?” Zexion asked, unamused.

“It’s one of those shocker pen things. Reno boosted it and got me with it.” Axel explained, earning a bristled scowl from Zexion, “I wouldn’t do that to you, Bunny, don’t worry.”

“You had best not.” Zexion answered easily, “If you want me to buy you lunch, still.” 

“I won’t, I won’t.” Axel laughed softly, leaning down to kiss his lips. Zexion knocked his hair into his face, leaving Axel to kiss it against his cheek, and he sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be for even considering it.” Zexion flipped his hair back, looking up at him and finally smiled softly, “Let’s get your ice cream. I can’t believe your dad lets you eat that for lunch.” He chuckled, knowing that Vexen would have his head for even thinking about it.

“Okay, okay.” Axel smiled, leaning down again and surprising Zexion with an actual kiss on the lips, “Let’s get lunch. Plus, this place has burgers and stuff, so we can get real food, first.” But only if Zexion made him.

“You and I both know that Vexen won’t think of that as food.” Zexion laughed, pushing at the elder’s face and turning to enter McDuck’s Ice Cream Parlor. Axel was quick to follow, taking his hand once inside the building.

(4. Our Distance And That Person)

It wasn’t every day that Zexion was allowed to get a ride home from someone other than Vexen. Axel had taken Xigbar’s wood-paneled station wagon to Radiant Garden University, and Vexen was working late. Zexion had simply told him he was getting a ride home from a fellow student and that he would be waiting when he arrived with dinner ready. That seemed to be enough for Vexen’s hesitant approval, and the ride home with Axel had begun.

Standing on Vexen’s front porch, with Xigbar’s station wagon parked in his own driveway, Zexion spoke in a flurry of hand motions uncharacteristic to his usually quiet demeanor. Axel hadn’t heard the end of the supposed idiot in Zexion’s Shakespearian Literature class, and it didn’t seem like it would let up any time soon. Catching one of Zexion’s hands, Axel tugged him in for a gentle kiss that caught him off guard and stopped his tirade for the first time in twenty minutes.

“I get it, Zex,” Axel said softly against his mouth, “But didn’t you tell me that more than fifteen minutes of talking about stuff that pisses you off is unproductive?” He remembered it being something about being detrimental if one continued to obsess.

“Mn… And you seek to stop me?” Zexion teased with a soft smile, wrapping his arms around the other’s neck to tug him in tighter. Axel lifted him by his thighs, walking him to the porch swing and sitting down. Holding him close, he guided the smaller to tilt his head and lapped at his lips, easily being accepted as the pair kept contact, Axel’s hands sliding to his hips. With both knees folded on the sides of Axel’s thighs, Zexion scooted in until his knees touched the back of the swing.

It went on like that for a while, until Reno poked his head around the seven-foot-tall privacy fence and spoke.

“Dude, Vexen’s definitely on the block. Scatter!” 

Axel deposited Zexion on the porch swing with one final kiss and vaulted over the porch railing in record time, bounding to his side of the fence when the silver Acura NSX pulled past their other neighbor’s mailbox. Once it was parked safely in the driveway, Zexion had already gone inside to start dinner, making a rather decent run of it by chopping as fast as he could. Their chicken carbonara would be done before Vexen was ready to eat, for sure. 

Axel watched warily through a hole in the fence as Vexen paused on his doorstep, key in hand, and sniffed. The other Alpha shook his head and entered the house without a word, leaving him sighing softly, sinking down the fence.

“That was close.” Reno commented absently, arms crossed as he looked down at his twin, “I’d say it’s time you convince Zexion to convince Vexen to let him get a dorm room. Maybe then you wouldn’t have to run away every time he got close.”

“I’d still have to run if he came to visit.” Axel replied, “And you can bet that Zexion would get his own room to himself, too. Vexen’s program is incredibly pricey, I hear.”

“Except for the one kid he ushered in without a test.” Reno reminded, “So Zexion’ll get a cozy little love nest for you two that Vexen has access to. So I guess just be careful and don’t take off your shoes.”

“My-- Reno!” Smacking his twin in the thigh, Axel hoisted himself up to his feet and started for the house. “Shut it, you and I both know Zexion wouldn’t tolerate dirt in his room.” Shoes weren’t allowed in his house, they wouldn’t be allowed in his dorm room.

“I know, I know. Clean freak begets clean freak.” Reno paused, “Did I use that right or are you going to go full ham on me?”

“Oh my God,” Axel groaned, “I think you used it right but I’ll be sure to ask.”

“Dude, no!”

“Then don’t try me.”

“I totally helped you, dude, you guys were playing tonsil hockey and you would have gotten killed with an icicle if Vex would have caught you.” Reno murmured, crossing his arms, “So you should be thanking me.”

“Thanks for saving my life.” Axel started, “But you’re being an ass. The dorm room thing is a good idea, though, so I guess I’ll give you that.”

“Finally, point Reno!”

“Yeah, Reno, one, everyone else, a lot more.”

“Shut it, Axe.” Reno groaned, pushing open the door, “Pulled him off the neighbor, dad, we’re good to go for dinner!”

(5. "Ano Sa…" ("Hey, You Know…."))

“I’ve been thinking about moving out to campus.” Axel began one evening, dipping his french fry in his chocolate milkshake and taking a bite, “What do you think?”

Zexion took a long draw from his coffee malt, pursing his lips around the straw and frowning finally when he swallowed and it dropped from his lips. After a moment, he looked over the red lacquered table, their homework spread beside their blue baskets of burgers and fries, sighing heavily.

“So you’d elect to move away from me?” He asked, already regretting the question when it left him. Axel looked heartbroken for a split second before trying on a hesitant smile.

“Well, it would give us more time to be together.” Axel told him easily, leaning forward animatedly, “You could come by my room and we could do whatever we want.” Winking playfully, he waggled his eyebrows and Zexion snorted.

“Provided your roommate doesn’t complain.”

“Well, I'll have to deal with that, not you.”

“What if he says something to the school? Vexen will find out--”

“Vexen won't find out. Trust me, babe, this will be better for us.” Axel tried, reaching across the table and taking his hand. Zexion held it limply, not convinced. Anxiety permeated his scent and all Axel wanted to do was scent him to calm him down.

“I suppose it’s something to think about.” Zexion acquiesced finally, sighing softly as he closed his eyes and took another sip of his malt. After a squeeze to Axel’s hand, they fell into relative silence, seemingly as Axel started to think.

“Hey, you know…” Axel began around a bite of his burger, a glare from Zexion making him swallow before he continued, “What if you got a dorm?” 

“What?”

“You’re sixteen now, and Vexen’s on the school board.” Axel told him, “I doubt he’d let you share a room with a stranger, he doesn’t even let you come over to my house.” He pointed out, “So you wouldn’t have to worry about a roommate unless you wanted me to stay over with you.”

That thought had Zexion chewing over his thoughts, another bite of his burger behind him before he spoke once more. Axel found it endearing that he always chewed thoroughly and swallowed before he spoke. That wasn’t common in his house.

“I suppose you have a very valid point.” He finally admitted, drinking down more of the coffee malt he’d found was his favorite at this establishment, “Though convincing him to let me get a room here might be a bit more difficult.”

“How many times have you made and presented Powerpoints to him that have worked?” Axel asked with a sly grin, leaning over the table and nearly uprooting his milkshake in the process, “I know you can do this.” He kissed the other’s cheek, then his lips, and sat back on his side of the booth. “You’ve got this, babe. I wouldn’t steer you wrong.”

“Perhaps not on purpose.” Zexion chuckled, wiping absently at his lips with a napkin. “Very well. I will begin work tonight when I am home. This should be interesting, surely, because Vexen has as of yet decided that I will live at home until I’m his age.”

“You’re never going to catch up to him.” Axel laughed softly, rolling his eyes, “Well, maybe we can convince him that you need to spread your wings, test out being on your own. He won’t be around forever, after all.”

“Indeed.” Even if Reno often said that he was older than dirt. “I’ll have to talk him into it.”

“If anyone can do it, it’s you, kid genius.”

(6. The Space Between Dream And Reality)

“I can’t believe it.” Zexion told him through the fence, leaning on the back wall of it as he sighed dreamily, “My own dorm room, sans medical equipment and a parental figure.”

“It’s going to be so great. I can help you decorate.” Axel sounded more relieved than anything because maybe this was the real start to this five-year-long relationship. Their anniversary was coming up, and he thought it would be good to try and do something for it. Maybe this year they could actually celebrate. 

“You can move in, if you want.” Zexion laughed softly, trying to keep his voice down, “I wouldn’t mind having you as a roommate.”

“Vexen would flip his shit.” Axel chuckled, “But I’d like to stay with you as much as I can. I can’t wait to get you to myself.”

“I suppose one Powerpoint was an awfully cheap price to pay for a little freedom and a lot more time with you. But it had better not interfere with my studying and work.” Zexion leveled a finger and wagged it at the other’s face through the hole in the fence.

“You look just like him when you do that. I’m sure he’s proud.” Axel rolled his eyes playfully, scooting towards the broken plank and pressing his cheeks to the wood, pursing his lips. “I won’t, I promise.”

“And you’ll seal it with a kiss?” Zexion chuckled, moving to his knees to place a soft peck on the other’s lips. “Then you had best not fall through on this promise. I need to maintain my studies.”

“I know, I know.” Axel leaned in for another kiss, “You have to maintain contact with me, too. Maybe you can study in my lap, and I’ll just hold you while you work.”

“That… Sounds rather nice, actually.”And brought a heavy blush to his cheeks, to boot.

“You’re beautiful,” Axel said that way too often for Zexion’s comfort, but he accepted the compliment with a tilt of his head to hide his face in his hair. “I honestly think I could--”

“Zexion! What are you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be packing?” Vexen’s voice signaled the end of their rendezvous, and Axel dutifully closed the loose plank so that he wouldn’t be seen. 

“I’ll text you.” He whispered before disappearing into his house, and Zexion rose from his spot behind the strawberry bushes to enter the house.

“Yes, I know, Vexen. I was just taking a moment in the backyard, I needed some fresh air.”

“Well, you should know better than to take breaks before your toiling starts,” Vexen began, guiding him into the house with a sigh. The screen door slammed shut behind him, but he closed the inner door gentler, leading his son to his room, where boxes awaited him. He was going to have to take his time, even if he wanted to throw everything in the boxes. If he didn’t, his OCD wouldn’t give him a break.

(7. Superstar)

“No, no, no.” Zexion frowned a little bit as he placed his hands on his hips, weight shifting to his right foot, “That isn’t going up.”

“Oh, come on, Zex, he’s a good musician. Have to support our friends.” Axel pouted, holding up the poster that he and Demyx had made together so he could feel special. “He’s a regular superstar.”

“And he doesn’t get along with me very well.” Zexion pointed out, “I’m not going to stare at Demyx while you’re not here. I said ‘no’. Demyx is your friend, not mine.” 

“Okay, okay, jeez.” Axel rubbed a hand through his hair, “I just thought--”

“You thought wrong.” Zexion crossed his arms, “Plus, I know he likes you. That doesn’t help.”

“He does?”

“He does.” Crossing the room to where his poster of the elements had hung up a minute ago, he placed it back on the wall and tacked it back into place. “And I don’t want the reminder every time I look at this wall.”

“Okay, I see your point.” Axel sighed, rolling the poster back up and putting it in his bag. “I’m sorry.”

“...You don’t have to be. I know he’s your friend.” Zexion crossed the room to his bed, sitting down. “Come here.”

Axel listened, walking to him and sitting beside him, head down. Zexion carefully reached over, taking his chin in hand and bringing him forth for a kiss. 

“I'm sorry. I just… We really don’t get on well and I don’t really want to see him every time you’re here…” And if Axel got used to staring at Demyx, he might leave. Zexion was always anxious about that because Axel had so many options that were probably better than him.

“It’s okay, babe, I promise. I don’t want to stress you out more.” Living by himself was already bothering the younger teen, and Axel didn’t need to add to that. “I promise, it’s okay.”

“Okay… Thank you for understanding.”

“Of course.” Axel smiled softly, holding his free hand and kissing him again. “Try not to worry so much. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

(8. Our Own World)

The fairie lights around the bed were a good touch, and even Axel could appreciate them. They made Zexion’s cobalt eyes sparkle as he looked at up Axel, laying in his bed laden with pillows and blankets like the veritable king he was in his palace. He lay with his head on a cat-themed pillow, one hand curled by his face and the other on his hip. It was a beautiful look on him, and Axel’s breath was caught in his throat. 

“Axel?” Zexion asked softly, head tilting a little bit, “You’re staring.”

“You’re beautiful.” Axel purred happily, reaching forward to brush some hair from his face, “You made your room pretty beautiful, too.” 

“Thanks.” Blushing a little bit, Zexion nuzzled his nose against Axel’s hand and kissed his palm.

“I love you,” Axel said softly, leaning forward to kiss his lips. “I really do.”

“I… I love you, too.” Zexion replied against his lips, and he nuzzled their noses together, “I’m so glad that you do.” He was always thankful for it.

Despite Vexen trying to tear them apart, the couple was happy to float in their own little world, oblivious to the elder man’s attempts to drive them away from each other.

(9. Dash)

Zexion opened the door to his dorm with his bag on his shoulder, only to find Axel fumbling with his keys. Blinking a couple of times in rapid succession, he looked up at him with a curious glint in his eyes.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was coming to see you between classes.” Axel replied, “But you look like you’re leaving?”

“I have a class in fifteen.” He replied, laughing softly, “So it’s a bad time. I’m not missing Vexen’s class.”

“Oh, shit, yeah..” Rubbing his hair, Axel blushed slightly, “I’ll come back, then.”

Leaning up on his tiptoes, Zexion pursed his lips, and Axel leaned in to kiss him lovingly. 

“Gotta run.” Patting his shoulder, Zexion laughed softly as he made his mad dash to Vexen’s class.

“Wait,” Axel started, sucking his own lips into his mouth, “I could walk you most of the way to class?” He offered, clearly wanting to spend at least some time with Zexion. He liked to see him off to class, anyway, making sure the younger man got to class safely. 

Zexion considered it, tapping his lower lip with his pointer finger, and finally nodded. “As long as I’m not late, I don’t mind.”

The pair walked together in companionable silence, Axel humming a song stuck in his head as he held the other’s hand. Leading the way to the science building, Zexion leaned his head on the other’s arm, closing his eyes for a second. The crisp fall air was chilly and he was thankful for his scarf, even if it was almost too big and chunky.

“I love the fall.” Zexion murmured, a couple leaves crunching under his boots, “It’s so relaxing…”

“Plus, you love Halloween.” Axel pointed out, “And all things spooky.”

“I do, don’t I?” Zexion chuckled, shaking his head as they arrived at the building. Leaning up on his toes, he delighted in Axel leaning down to kiss him again.

“You do,” Axel replied against his lips, holding the other close as they shared in another long kiss. Zexion didn’t realize how long they had been kissing until his phone began to sing, reminding him that he had a minute left to make it to class. Eyes popping open wide, he pecked Axel’s lips once more before ducking around him.

“I’m almost late! See you later!” He called over his shoulder, rushing into the building to try and make it to Vexen’s class on time.

(10. #10)

“I can’t believe Luxord won’t bet against you. He bets against everyone.” Axel sighed softly, shaking his head. “It’s like he’s scared, he was so adamant about it.”

Everyone had gathered at Luxord’s house for poker that night, and Vexen had brought Zexion along. He played the game like Luxord did, counting cards and folding a lot in the beginning, but in the end, he’d left with everyone’s munny. 

“I think he just knows my tricks to play, he knows I’m the best and he won’t take the bet against me because we’d never finish playing.” Zexion smiled slightly, flicking his hair out of his face, watching Axel as he adjusted something on Zexion’s desk.

“You were cheating, weren’t you?”

“I still won the pot.” He replied, shrugging slightly as he placed a few more books on his desk. Zexion was always reading in his spare time, and Axel liked how he smelled like an old library all the time. But he was giving a nonanswer, and Axel knew that that meant that he had definitely cheated.

“That you did.” Axel chuckled, slouching slightly as he paced the room towards the other, taking his waist with his hands. Turning him, Axel kissed him softly on the lips. “But did you have to take all my munny, too?”

“Yes. That’s the point of poker.” He chuckled, “I’ll buy us dinner to celebrate?”

“Yeah, that sounds good. I think I want pizza.”

“Pizza sounds excellent.” 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

AN: There we go, part one is finished! It took a little longer than I’d like, but I still like how these are coming out. I hope you guys enjoyed it!

Prompts: Thirty Kisses Theme Set 1

[toevenexist]

I have a prompt for u or for anyone who wants to write Omelia fluff:) They are on their way somewhere and Owen or Amelia gets carsick so they take them to the hospital and they find out (amelia is pregnant or Owen has cancer something like that. )

Pulling Over

Thank you so much for this prompt! I consider myself a preggo pro now so I thought I’d bang this out in one night. I hope it is what you had in mind and that you like it! 

Please give me some feedback! I love to hear from you. Like and reblogs are so so appreciated. 

Enjoy xxx

“Okay so I’ll drive first?” Amelia said, grinning, holding the keys against her chest. He grinned back, chuckling at her as she ran around the car to the driver’s seat, leaving him with the bags. He popped the trunk and could hear the radio playing.

 “What have you got in here Amelia?” he called through the car. She beamed back, eyes shining, “All the essentials” she said, shaking her head, turning back and starting the engine. Rain started to fall as Owen closed the trunk. He looked up at the overcast sky, squinting. Amelia honked the horn once, “Come on, stop daydreaming we’ve got a conference to talk at!” Amelia bellowed jovially from her window.

Owen chortled, speeding around the car and jumping in, just as the rain began to pour.

“Okay” he huffed, out of breathe from his hurry into the car. “Let’s go.” She nodded sharply with a wide smile and pulled out of their drive.

“What time tomorrow are we speaking?” Amelia asked, eyes fixed ahead on the road. Owen lifted the booklet he held, “Er… eleven thirty, it starts at nine AM”  he grimaced.

“Still a bit of a lie in” Amelia said, pouting a smile. He nodded, sighing, relaxing back in his chair. “When shall we swap?” he said, twisting the dial to change the radio.

“Erm…” Amelia widened her eyes on the road and swallowed hard. “Err…” she inhaled sharply and blew out a long steady breath. “Amelia?” Owen stopped his hands and looked to her, concerned. She forced a smile, “Maybe at the next gas station?” she said, shakily. Owen furrowed his brows, moving his hand to rest on her thigh, startling her slightly. She looked down at his hand and relaxed, allowing herself to revel in the warmth of it. “We can pull over here if you want to switch now?” he said.

“No, no it’s okay, I just need to drink something, what do we have? Something sugary?”  

“Yeah… this one?” he said, holding up a can of mountain dew. She nodded, her smile lopsided as she dried to push away the sick feeling that was creeping up on her. “Here…” he passed her the open can, watching her drink from it with a shaky hand.  She sensed his concern and smiled, “I had a long surgery today, only ate this morning and then again before we left.

 She set the can into the cup holder and gripped the steering wheel. “If you had to pick another specialty and never do trauma again… what would you do?” she said, glancing quickly between him and the road. He twisted his lips and sat back in his chair, he hummed. “I think cardio… still a little trauma’y, and I like the thorax” he nodded, looking to her. “How about you?” Amelia swallowed, trying to shake her lightheadedness.

“Err… I think… trauma” she said, smiling.

“Yeah? Yeah, I can see that… you getting your trauma on” He chuckled, nodding. Amelia laughed, eyes fixed on the road. Rain began to hammer down and she turned up the window wipers to the maximum. “I’m sorry about Edwards… I never got the chance to say. I know you really liked her” Owen spoke, watching how a sadness seeped into her being at his words. She smiled slightly, glancing at him. “I did, she… she had a lot of potential… she’s going traveling, she said she’d send me postcards” Amelia beamed tearfully. Owen observed her, light moving across her face from the street lamps, setting her eyes aflame. She bit her bottom lip and grimaced.   

“I… need” she began, switching on the indicator, and pulling over. “Can we switch now?” she let go of the steering wheel, realising then how tightly she’d been gripping it. 

“Yeah…” Owen cupped her shoulder, squeezing it, trying to get her to look at him, but she avoided his gaze, bringing her hand up to her forehead and closing her eyes. 

“Amelia… what’s wrong?” Owen shifted in his seat, turning to her. “Nothing, I just… feel weird… its okay” she said, opening her door and swivelling her feet out. She pulled herself out, into the rain and began to walk around the car. Her legs felt like jelly. Owen jumped out, he couldn’t see Amelia.

 “Amelia” he screamed as he ran around the car. She was on the floor, on her side. Owen dropped to his knees beside her and rolled her onto her back. “Amelia… sweetie wake up, Amelia” She began to flinch as the rain hit her face, she panted.

 “Owen” she whimpered. Before she could even begin to wonder what had happened Owen scooped her up and ran her around the car, sitting her in the passenger seat. 

“Owen” she said again, squeezing her eyes open and closed, rubbing her hand over her face, letting Owen fuss around her. He reclined the seat back and put on her seat belt, coming up to her face and holding it between his hands. Rain droplets fell from her lashes and ran down her face like tears, though her eyes looked wet enough to produce them.

“Owen… what…” she uttered, squeezing her eyes shut again. He dropped a kiss against her forehead and moved back out into the rain. Running around to the driver’s seat.

“I want to take you to the hospital” he said, once they were on the road again.

“No” she said, reaching to pick up the soda. Owen blindly picked it up and handed it to her. “I just need to eat, I’ll be fine Owen… Please” his expression following her words was one she was used to seeing. Frustration. She knew he just wanted to care for her. “Please” she continued, wrapping her arms around herself, feeling uncomfortably drenched.

 He kept looking at her, eyes darting between the her and the road. “Okay” he sighed. “Reach down behind my chair, underneath” she shivered in reply and reached down pulling out a thick wool blanket. She wrapped it around herself and pulled it tight, closing her eyes and laying back.

Owen frowned, unhappy with Amelia’s stubbornness. He turned up the heating and released a long breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding in. “Thank you O” she whispered, lolling her head against the seat belt, and closing her eyes.

Amelia had been asleep for roughly an hour when she shot forward, pressing her chest to her knees. She groaned, Owen could hear a rustling of plastic. “Amelia, what’s wrong?” he was met by the sound of her retching, and then she vomited into the plastic bag that had previously held drinks and snacks.  “I’m pulling over” he said, turning the indicator on again.

“No” she managed to say. He ignored her, pulling over and turning off the engine. The overhead light blinked on.

The silence gave way to the sound of Amelia expelling her stomach contents. She wept, shakily sitting up, holding the handles of the bag. Owen opened his door and jumped out. In seconds he was opening her door and taking the bag from her, disappearing and returning empty handed.

“We’re going to the hospital” He spoke firmly. She turned onto her side in the chair and pulled the blanket around herself again. She didn’t argue, she just closed her eyes. “Can you pass me the water?” she whispered softly. He moved quickly, her demeanor sparking more worry.  

“I’ll get a wheel chair” Owen said, as they pulled into a parking space. Amelia shook her head.

“No Owen, I can walk just fine” she said, looking across the lot to the lit up entrance of the unfamiliar ER. Owen relented again, climbing out of the car, meeting her as she stood, unsteadily, from her seat. ‘What the fuck is wrong with me?’ she thought and she held onto the car door to prevent herself from losing her legs from under her. She met Owens eyes and found the same question there. “Come on then” he said, supporting her away from the car and locking it.

She smiled up at him sheepishly, holding onto both his hands. “Flash forward to us as an old couple” she said. He chuckled and shook his head.

“I’ll lose my mobility before you do. It’ll be the other way round, you’ll be keeping me up” Owen said, as they walked through the doors to the ER. “We can go around on scooters” she said, smiling brightly though she felt like shit.

“How long until we get the results back from my wife’s blood test?” Owen called out from the door to Amelia’s room.

“Amelia?” The nurse asked sweetly. Owen nodded and moved over to the desk, waiting as the nurse typed into the computer. “Results are back, the doctor needs to have a look at them and will be in to discuss them soon. Does Amelia need anything? Is she comfortable?” The nurse spoke as she rounded the desk, walking him back to Amelia’s room. “Yes she’s…” he stopped at the door and observed Amelia, sleeping with her back to the door, an IV tube lying across her waist, running into the back of her hand. “She’s sleeping.” 

The nurse smiled kindly, and walked ahead of him into the room, checking Amelia’s blood pressure and temperature, writing it in her chart.

“Hello, erm Mr Hunt, is it?” a short gentleman greeted Owen from behind him.

“Hi, it’s Dr Hunt” Owen replied, shaking the man’s hand.

“Mrs Shepherd Hunt” the doctor spoke to Amelia. Owen moved to her side and laid his hands on her. “Amelia” she stirred, looking around the room at all the faces. She reached for Owen’s hand and squeezed it, rolling onto her back. “I’ve had a look at your results just now and I have a couple of questions for you.” The doctor said, sitting on a stool beside the bed. Amelia nodded, eyes wide with fright. “Have you been having your menstrual period as normal?”  he asked her and both Owen and Amelia drew back at the words. Amelia’s hand became clammy in Owens.

“I… I’ve been having them at the normal time” she said, eyelids fluttering open and closed in quick succession.

“Normal flow?” he said, writing a quick note on the clipboard in his lap. Amelia watched his pen wiggling in his hand. “No…” Owen looked at her sharply, mouth hanging open slightly. “They’ve been light” she said.

“Is she…” Owen found himself saying, they all looked his way, “Is she… pregnant?” the words felt foreign as they left his lips. The doctor smiled quickly and closed the file. “I believe so” he said, turning to the nurse, “Nurse will you fetch a sonogram machine please” he said and the nurse hurried from the room.

Amelia had frozen, holding onto Owen’s hand with unfaltering strength. “You have extremely high levels of  hCG in your blood, leading me to believe that you are in fact pregnant. Now I want to do a scan because your levels are very high, and you are clearly not ‘very’ pregnant, so…”

“You think we’re having more than one?” Owen said, eyebrows raised in shock. Amelia slowly moved her other hand to hold Owens as well. She gazed up at the ceiling in disbelief and bit down on her lip.

The nurse came in then, rolling the machine along side her on squeaky wheels. The doctor stood up, moving the machine into place. “Mrs Shepherd-Hunt, could you lift your shirt?” Amelia looked to him, a confused expression painting her face. She inhaled sharply, looking to Owen, who smiled tightly, stroking her hair back. The doctor pulled down the blanket and lifted her shirt.

“It seems my suspicions were correct” the doctor pressed the transducer against Amelia’s abdomen and she winced, a single tear falling from her eye. 

She pouted, looking away from the screen, over Owen’s shoulder. She heard the doctor speak, “See” he said, Owen gasped, running his hand up and down Amelia’s arm. “Are they okay?” Owen asked, and Amelia tightened her hold on his hand, grimacing. “They are. Just perfect, about nine weeks” Amelia looked then, with frantic searching eyes.

 The doctor saw this and pushed the screen closer to her, smiling sympathetically, he had read her medical history. He zoomed in on each of their heads, lingering there until Amelia relaxed. “Okay?” he said, looking between the couple. Owen nodded, wearily, Amelia held onto the transducer, still fixated on the screen, mouth agape.

“Amelia” Owen said, pulling her eyes from the screen. She stared straight at him, eyes drilling into his. Her face was sad for a moment before breaking into an exhausted smile, laughing softly. He beamed back, tears slipping from his blue orbs. The nurse cleared away all the equipment and laid paper towels against Amelia’s stomach. Owen leaned forward and captured her lips with his, tasting her salty tears.

“I don’t know where you were heading but I recommend you head on home, rest up until you get over this sickness bug. You are pregnant with twins, which means you need to take extra care now. Especially if you are sick.” Owen and Amelia nodded, both feeling more overwhelmed by the second.  “Go and see your OB/GYN as soon as possible so they can be familiar with your case” he stood, sitting her folder under his arm. “I’ll get you some prenatal vitamins and then you are free to go.”

Amelia and Owen were left stunned to silence.  Amelia still held onto Owen’s hand with both of hers. Tissue paper clung to the gel on her stomach, and it rippled with every harsh breath she took. Owen chuckled again and shook his head, gazing into Amelia’s eyes, he dropped a kiss against her lips and she kept him there, finally letting go of his hand to pull him closer, deepening the kiss. “I love you so much” Owen spoke against her lips.

“I love you” she said, muffled by their kiss. Owen stood up straight and looked at her stomach. Amelia followed his gaze and watched as he wiped her clean, drawing out the strokes as an excuse to have his hands there.

She sat up, curling her legs under her and pulled Owen onto the bed, into her arms. “Let’s go home Owen” she held onto him tightly, feeling the cloth of his shirt against the bare skin of her stomach. “I want to go home.” Owen nodded, depressing a kiss into her hair, inhaling her scent.

“Home it is” he said, with a gentle smile, climbing off the bed without losing contact.

It struck him hard as he watched her pull down her shirt and stand, feeling her rely on him to help her stand; his painful love for her, the sheer panic he felt at the idea of anything happening to her. He swallowed and clenched his teeth. “O, what’s wrong?” Amelia said, slipping on her shoes and taking his hand. He smiled, shaking his head gently, “I’m just realising now, what a pain in the ass I’m going to be to you” he blurted and she stopped, staring up at him before grinning. “Oh I know” she said, looping her arm through his. He chuckled again, kissing her again as they walked from the room.

Fin.

[apartments4rent]

The Letter

so i had a twitter poll back in february to write a “fic” for valentines day starring a pair that yall got to choose!! and lucwill won!!! so here it is haha it got kinda long, i hope u guys like it :^)

Lucas had a quiet life.

Keyword: Had.

He used to go to bed at 6am every day, wake up at about 6pm, head to work at 10pm, and come back in time go back to sleep. To some, this sounds pretty boring; and to be honest, sometimes it was. But Lucas liked it that way, it was routine. Familiar.

Now. Now, things were much different.

Ever since that scruffy-looking, hot headed, motorcycling kid came into his life.

They met in the mini mart.

Lucas was used to seeing a lot of strangers. He worked at the only gas station near the highway for miles. They would come in, usually use the bathroom, buy their stuff, and leave. There were a few regulars from in town that Luc would see; only a couple of night owls here and there.

One chilly November night, he came in. A cute kid - couldn't be older than 20; shaggy, dirty blonde hair and freckles. He grabbed a chocolate protein shake and three bags of almonds, then promptly left after asking for the time: half past eleven.

Luc was intrigued, but thought nothing more of it. After all, Luc was used to meeting strangers all the time.

But he came in again the next night. Same thing: a chocolate protein shake and three bags of almonds.

“D’ya have the time?”

Then, gone.

Again and again, night after night.

Till one day, he didn't show up at all. A couple nights passed with no sign of the handsome stranger and Luc figured that was all they would be seeing of each other. But, after the fourth night, Freckles came in again, as usual, as if nothing happened.

And this became their routine; almost every night, they would see each other, until they wouldn't, again and again.

After too long, Luc needed to know just what was going on.  

He didn’t know this would lead to opening up his home to the kid. It's not like you know him that well, he laid awake that night, thinking, how could you be so stupid, there's no way this is gonna end well.

Lucas always was the worst worry wart.

Turns out, things would go wrong, but not in the was he was anticipating.

No, it was much, much worse.

Things were still quiet in the beginning, it was awkward for them both; two virtual strangers, now living under one roof. They mostly kept to themselves, each not wanting to bother the other.

Then they started to open up to each other, started to learn new things about each other. They found out they had such good chemistry and a lot in common, too.

Soon they became almost inseparable. Will would make Luc get out more, actually explore things around the neighborhood; “You've been in this town for six years and you never once been to the boardwalk amusement park?” Luc would show Will all the things he loved doing indoors, introducing him to new tv shows, movies and videogames; “What do you mean you've never even heard of Majora’s Mask? It’s a classic!”

When they first met, Lucas knew he felt some type of way about Will; some way that interested, if not frustrated, him. Getting to know Will; the real Will, his flaws, his hopes, his dreams; it made Lucas realize exactly what that way really was.

And it terrified him.

A crush.

Lucas had a crush on Will.

As a few months passed, Lucas hoped the feelings would wither; if he pushed past them long enough, they'd go away, right?

Alas, it was not the case. Surprisingly, spending more time with someone who has your heart in the palm of their hand will not make you like them any less. Who knew.

“Sounds like you've got it baaaaad,” Ollie, ever the realist, was doing their best to comfort Luc in these trying times.

Luc let out a groan of agony and forcefully rested his head on Amber’s dinner table, “I don't know what to do, man. This is really getting out of hand.”

“Why don't you tell Will? Y’know, since it kinda concerns him too?”

This snapped Luc back upright in his seat, “Excuse me? Are you nuts? I can't just… tell him!” Luc was baffled at the thought, almost speechless. “We’re…” Luc searched for the right word, and couldn’t come up with anything better than, “We’re bros. And roommates! It would only make things... weird. Plus, Will isn't the best when it comes to romantic advances.”

Ollie blinked and furrowed their brow.

Luc sighed, “He's dense. And just plain uninterested in romance. Which is understandable, seeing how utterly bad this feels right now…” Another groan and he was back on the table, face buried in his arms.

After a moment of silence, Amber, who’s apartment the two were borrowing for this impromptu therapy session, returned from running a few errands.

“Hey, Amber,” Lucas said, muffled through his arms and the table.

“Oh,” she said, “Lucas, how lovely of you to stop by. What’s got you resting on my table like that?”

Just as Lucas was about to excuse himself from her apartment, not ready to share the truth behind this visit, Ollie blurted out, “Lucas finally admitted he has a crush on Will.”

“Ollie!” Luc shot out of his seat. He was beyond offended that Ollie would betray his trust so easily.

Amber seemed to ignore Luc’s protest, “Oh, that's beautiful Luc! You two make a lovely couple.” She sighed dreamily, “It's been so long since I've seen sweet love blossom!”

“Ew,” Ollie said.

“Please don't say things like that,” Luc crossed his arms, “this isn't a good thing. These feelings need to stop.”

“What? Why?”

Luc groaned again and turned away from Amber, “You don't understand, it's not simple ‘sweet love,’” he collapsed onto her couch, “it's complicated.”

Amber paused for a moment, thinking. She walked over to the couch and sat down next to Lucas. “Sweet love is rarely so simple.” She stroked his hair reassuringly, “Wanna tell me about it?”

Lucas hated to admit it but, if anyone would be able to help him out, it'd be Amber. He sat up, ready to tell her everything. And it was everything. He didn't know what it was about her that made him spill his guts; maybe it was the physical contact or maybe it was the Trustworthy Mom Voice.

Whatever it was, after about 30 minutes she was all caught up, and then some.

A long thoughtful pause after a solemn nod made Luc a bit worried.

“Want some tea?” Amber offered.

Tea did sound good right about now. Luc nodded, surprisingly exhausted after pouring out his heart twice in one day.

She got up and hurried into her kitchen. Opal, Amber’s cat, rubbed up against Luc and looked up at him. Luc smiled. The cat hopped up and curled into his lap. They say stroking a cat has its health benefits. Luc wondered if it included mental health.

Amber returned with two warm mugs of tea, “You wanna know what I think?” she continued without waiting for an answer, “I think you should tell him.”

Luc’s heart sunk. He could think of a million and one reasons why that was a horrible idea. How could she think that was a good solution?

“Now, now,” Amber could read the betrayal all over his face, “Let me finish.” She sat down.“I think you should tell him, but I understand the trepidation. ‘You could ruin what you already have,’ I get it, it's all too much. But you need to let this go somehow and a confession is the most effective way to do so,” she paused, expectantly.

A lot of things were going through his mind but absolutely none of them made sense. Amber hung her head in exasperation, as if it was his fault he couldn't read her mind.

“Write him a letter!” she said, as if it were obvious.

Luc cocked his head.

“Confess to him in a letter, address it to him, just don't give it to him! You know how helpful it is to write your feelings; you will definitely feel better after writing a love letter,” she said so matter-of-factly.

“Sounds kinda dumb,” Ollie voiced Luc’s opinion from across the room.

Amber scowled, “I wouldn't expect you to understand.” She turned to Luc with a hopeful look, “At least try it? You never know what might happen.”

Her smile was so warm and genuine, Luc almost felt better about the whole situation.

Almost.

Luc left the apartment feeling better, but only marginally. He slowly shuffled to his apartment, only feeling more confused than before. So many things were still swimming in his mind.

I guess writing them down couldn't hurt…

When he got to his apartment, he opened up his laptop and stared at the blank word document for what seemed an eternity.

Maybe I should do it freehand?

He shoved his computer off his lap went to hunt for one of his many notebooks.

Dear Will…

He chewed the cap of his pen. What was he supposed to say? “Hey bro, I think I love you?”  That was way too heavy handed, and he didn't even know if that was true.

It was gonna be long night.

Luc decided, since Will wasn't going to read this anyway, he could say whatever he wanted. Once he got past that barrier, it was actually a lot easier to write. No inhibitions, not holds barred, just his feelings and the paper.

It was a stream of consciousness of sorts; he just wrote what he was thinking, even if it didn't make sense.

And he did feel better. A lot better.

He quickly scanned over the whole two pages, front and back.

Wow, I've got a lot of issues.

He ripped the papers out of the notebook and folded them up. He wasn't really sure he had an envelope in his house.

I'll just hide it somewhere, it'll be fine.

Indeed it had been a long night and, luckily, he wasn't scheduled to work either. Absolutely exhausted, Luc decided to crash early and quickly drifted off to sleep.

The letter helped Lucas organize and understand his feelings but, as months passed, those feelings all but faded. One could argue they only grew stronger.

Valentine's Day was right around the corner and it got him thinking about some… things.

One particularly chilly night, on a whim, Luc Googled, “how to confess to your best friend”. For absolutely no reason at all. He went through almost every article on the first page of results. He almost went to the second page but no, he wasn't that desperate.

The thought of confessing still wracked him to his core, but the thought of living his whole life keeping these feelings in agonized him even more.

I’m going to to do it, he decided.

I'm gonna tell him.

“You're really gonna do it?” Ollie sounded particularly enthused by the idea.

“Yeah, I am,” I hope.

“Oh, Luc, I'm so proud of you,” Amber was beaming. “I guarantee you’ll only feel better after you do.”

Luc wasn’t sure he actually believed that, but it’s what he kept telling himself.

“The only problem is… how should I do it?”

“On Valentine's Day, of course!”

“Yeah, but… how?”

“Hold up a boombox playing his favorite song outside his room window,” Ollie suggested.

“I don’t have a boombox,” Luc laughed, ”and I don’t think it’ll have the same effect if I use a Bluetooth speaker.”

“Meet him at the airport and confess just before his plane leaves.”

“What? Why is he at an airport? Where’s he going?”

“Oh! A confession in the rain is always romantic! Everything’s all wet...”

“Don’t listen to them, they’ve been watching too many romcoms with Opal,” Amber said, “You could send a bouquet of flowers with chocolates and a sweet note.”

“That’s too- wait,” Luc interrupted, “Note…”

Amber seemed to get the idea at the same time. “The letter,” They said in unison.

“Thanks for the support, guys!” Luc was out of that apartment faster than you could say, “Lucas and Will, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

He had put the letter in the safest place he could think of in his room. Someone would have to be VERY lucky to find it. Shoved between two random books in his bookshelf, it took even Luc a good while to find it.

Reading over the letter, in its entirety, surprised Luc. I wrote this? It was so honest and so deep, this came from my mind?

No, this won't work, he decided, this is way too much to lay on Will all at once. Plus, it barely makes sense, even to me.

He felt the room’s temperature drop.

“What’cha doin’?” Ollie said in an oddly sing-song voice.

“I'm going to rewrite the letter,” Luc said, looking for another piece of paper.

“Why? I thought it was pretty good…”

“You what?”

“I liked it?”

“You read it!?”

“Yeah…”

“What!? But I- How? Wh-” Luc groaned and pulled at his face.

Why am I even surprised, at this point?

“Ok, Ollie,” Luc took a deep breath, “Please don't read my personal writings from now on, okay?”

Ollie crossed their arms, “Alright…”

“Now, could you please leave? I don’t want you breathing over my shoulder while I rewrite this private letter.”

“Fine…”

Lucas turned away from the ghost and the room’s temperature went back to normal.

Oh, boy. Here we go.

It took quite a few tries to get it right; several crumpled up pieces of paper lay strewn about his room. He managed to get everything on only one piece of paper, now that he knew exactly what he wanted to say.

Luc scavenged for a proper envelope and slipped it in, putting it back between a couple of books along with the original letter. Maybe he’d want to look back at it one day and laugh.

Now we wait.

With only about a week until Valentine's Day, Luc had plenty of time to worry about whether this really was a good idea or not. Several times he contemplated throwing out the letter; if he gave up, there would be no chance of it going terribly wrong.

No, you have to. You can't keep ignoring your feelings. You have to do something about it!

So the letter survived till Valentine's Day, a Tuesday. Will was working at the garage till the late afternoon.

All day Luc hyped himself up and contemplated all the good things that could come out of this experience while simultaneously pushing away all that bad things he would think of.

Will would be home any minute. It was time to put the letter on his bed. Luc walked right into the room; Will hardly left his door closed anymore.

Oh God, here we go. He could feel his palms get sweaty; they were almost shaking, too. He gently put the letter on the pillow, as if an alarm would go off if he made too much noise.

Deep breath.

He couldn't get out of that room fast enough.

Minutes passed, though it felt like hours. Luc was starting to get worried; he was pacing in his bedroom and Will still hadn’t gotten home. Was he always this late? Luc could have sworn he had always come in just before 3:30pm and it was already 3:50pm.

Just then, he heard the gentle click of the door unlocking. Lucas emerged from his doorway to greet his roommate.

“Hey,” Luc said softly.

Will whipped around to look at Luc, “Oh, hey! You're awake?”

“Couldn't sleep,” he shrugged. This whole ordeal kept him up all morning. “How was work?”

Will gave a sympathetic smile then rolled his eyes, remembering his day in the garage, “Oh my god, you wouldn't believe the morning I've had.”

Luc laughed to himself and followed Will as he made his way around the apartment, venting about his day and going about his afternoon ritual. Luc got more nervous every time Will got close to his room; he did a number of fakeouts before he finally went in. He was still really into what he was talking about, so he didn't immediately notice the letter.

Wait, thought Luc, what am I gonna do when he finds the letter? Oh my god, why didn't I think of that? I can't just stand there while he reads it; that would be so embarrassing. Oh god, oh, oh n-

“What's this?” Will held up the letter.

Shit.

Luc didn't know what else to do, so he ran.

Ran to the only place he knew he could go. “Lucas?” Amber opened the door after an urgent barrage of knocks. “Aren't you supposed to be with Will?”

“I panicked!”

“You gave him the letter, right?” She opened the door wider to let him in.

“Yeah, he has it, I just didn't know what to do after that… I panicked! So I came here.”

“Now Lucas, how are you supposed to see his reaction to your beautiful, heartfelt words if you’re not down there with him?”

“Oh! He can use your crystal ball!” Ollie appeared suddenly, surprising both.

Amber scowled at the ghost.

“You have a crystal ball? For real?” Luc almost lit up at the idea.

Amber sighed, “I wouldn't call it that but yes.”

“You gotta let me spy on Will.”

Amber bit her lip, clearly uncomfortable do the idea, “Well…”

“Come on,” Luc was exasperated and desperate, “What else do you use it for, if not to spy?”

Amber huffed, “Fine! I don't condone this ridiculousness, but fine.” She went to go get the crystal ball from a very secret place-

“Underneath the sink? Why would you keep it there?”

She just shushed him and placed what looked to be a simple hat box on the coffee table. The three sat on the couch and gathered around as she pulled a dazzling crystal ball out of the box. Amber whispered some stuff under her breath and closed her eyes as a faint image of Will reading the letter on his bed started to appear.

“Oh my god, it's working!” Luc started to hop up and down on the couch, then moved in closer for a better look.

Will was just sitting there, reading the letter very intently. He was looking all over the paper, even going back and forth between the pages.

Pages.

Lucas cocked his head to the side.

“Is that… two sheets of paper?”

The other two moved in closer, too.

“Oh my god.” Luc whispered, eyes very wide.

“What's the problem?” Amber asked, looking between the crystal and Luc.

“Oh my god,” he said again, standing up.

“Lucas.”

“That's the letter.”

“Luc?”

“The first letter I wrote! The original? I rewrote it because it didn't make sense, it was too rambly, it was so… so much!”

He started to pace, thinking, biting his already short nails.

“Lucas, it's okay.” This was not going to end well.

“I rewrote it, I am sure I did! It was only one page, I know it was. How could it have- I wouldn't have- Oh, god. He's gonna laugh.” Luc couldn’t keep it in; it was like word vomit. Everything was just coming out again and he was powerless to stop it.

“Now, Luc, please listen,” Amber wanted desperately to soothe Luc’s nerves but she knew it would be futile; nothing she could say would help. Luc’s nightmare scenario came true and there was no bringing this boy back from that reality.

“No, worse! He's gonna tell everyone about it and get the whole town to laugh. He'll leave town and tell his home town friends about his dorky, desperate roommate that was madly in love with him. God, I'm such a joke.”

“Luc…” Amber’s heart was breaking for the poor kid; he was reacting so badly to this turn of events. She could relate. Sometimes screw-ups like this really did feel like the end of the world.

“I can never show my face around him again. Maybe I should leave town.”

“Alright, Luc!” Amber grabbed her panicking house guest by the shoulders, holding him squarely in place, “That’s enough. Lucas, you have to think clearly. You know none of that is true. None of it. Will isn’t like that, he would never,” she sighed and gave him a hug. “You can go lay down in my room, ok? Clear your head.”

So Lucas did just that. In fact, he may have even took a nap - he had been up for almost 20 hours already.

After a little less than two hours, Amber came in to check on him.

“How’re you feeling, dear?”

Luc’s moan was muffled by a pillow.

Amber sighed and sat down on her bed. “You should give him a chance.”

He curled into himself more.

“Really, you should.” She paused, clearly withholding information. “You know you left you phone out in the living room?” She held out his phone so he could clearly read it.

5 missed calls.

3 texts.

Hey where are u

Hello?

Meet me in the garden before 6 pls

Luc sat up in bed and clutched his phone, reading the messages over and over. He looked up at Amber, worry written all over his face.

She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently. “It's almost six.”

Lucas didn't want to go.

But his feet were taking him downstairs already.

Every fiber in Lucas’s being was telling him this was a bad idea, that this was bound to end poorly.

But he kept going.

He stood in front of the doors that led to the garden for hours, days even, or maybe it was only a few seconds.

Deep breath.

When you count to 10, you'll open this door.

He closed his eyes.

With a hand on the door handle ready to turn, a sudden force pushed to door open seemingly out of nowhere.

“Lucas,” a surprised yet relieved voice said, a voice that Luc never got tired of hearing. The way that voice said his name made almost every fear and anxiety melted away.

“Will,” Luc had to force the words out of his mouth; he felt breathless.

They spoke at the same time.

“I was beginning to worry you weren't gonna-”

“I'm really sorry I didn't come sooner, things just-”

They laughed.

“We can,” Luc gestured,  “go back outside, if you want…”

Will smiled.

Amber laughed, all alone in her bedroom. Lucas had left so fast, it was hard to believe he was moping in here just a few minutes ago. He was worrying so much about what he thought would happen, he couldn’t let himself think about what actually would happen.

Or what did happen to bring them to this point.

Amber sighed.

Ollie.

She stepped out of her room to see the guilty spirit, still looking into the crystal ball.

She cleared her throat and put her hands on her hips, “Well?”

Ollie sunk further into the crystal ball, clearly invested in what they were looking at and not at all trying to avoid the gaze of the angry witch standing above them.

“Ollie, I know you were they one who switched Lucas’s letter.”

“You have no proof!” The ghost sat up defensively.

“Oh, come on, who else could it have been? No one but Lucas had any reason to be in his room, let alone know where those letters were.” Ollie was about to defend themself but Amber didn't let them, “Hold on, hmm… who do I know that can access any room in this building that they so please?”

“Listen, sister. He made it so easy! He didn't even seal the envelope the letter was in! How could I resist?”

“Ollie, we've been over this. You can't meddle in other people's business. It's rude! And contrary to your belief, you don't always know what's best for everyone.”

“Come on,” Ollie gestured to the crystal ball, still focused on Will, who was now talking to Luc in the garden, “look at how well this turned out.”

Amber sighed. Anyone could see that this was exactly what Luc needed - a push out of his comfort zone.

“That might be true, but my point still stands. You really freaked him out. I'm 89% sure he was having a panic attack.”

Ollie knew she was being serious but they couldn't help laughing a little. Luc was really freaked out.

“It's not funny, Ollie. He was really heartbroken.”

“Nothing happened.”

“Ollie.”

Amber’s voice reached a tone Ollie always hated hearing.

“Alright, I get it,” they got up from the couch, “I won't do it again. Jeez.”

“Ollie, please. I know you haven't been alive in a long time, so you may have forgotten what it's like to have feelings, but you have to be more sensitive to how you actions can hurt others.”

“Ouch,” they placed a hand over their chest, “I'm pretty sure you just hurt my feelings.”

Amber sighed a deep sigh. It was going to take a while to get through to this one, she could feel it.

“Hey, look what's going on in the garden!”

“So what I guess I’m trying to say is…” Will looked especially nervous, which was surprising as he had gone through this whole conversation pretty smoothly otherwise, “Marv gave me this extra ticket to, uh, the Valentine's boardwalk fair? Did’ya wanna go with me?”

Lucas’s head was running a mile a minute at that moment. After all, he had just heard that his roommate, and crush, had been harboring the same sort of feelings for him. For almost as long as he did!

Will said he didn't know what to make of those feeling because he had never really given much thought to anything related to romance ever, so he just brushed them aside. But, because of Luc's silly little love letter, Will knew he wasn't alone; that these feeling were real and valid, that he didn’t need to hide them anymore, that they could figure things out together.

And now, they were going out.

On a date.

With each other.  

Before Luc knew what he was doing, before he could stop himself, he tackled Will in the tightest hug. The force of the hug made Will spin with the momentum to avoid toppling over.

It was a warm hug; a good hug, a hug with promise.

It was the beginning of something beautiful.

Will pulled out of the hug and grasped Luc's hand tightly. He pulled Luc forward and started running towards the beach boardwalk.

They were both still very unsure about what hey had just done, but didn’t regret a single thing. Because, as long as they had each other, they knew they were gonna be alright.

[stopsubstanceabuse1-blog]

A+ 220-802 Exam Lab - Pass exam with high marks

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A+ 220-802 Exam Lab - Pass exam with high marks

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