#ugh I totally forgot about the photo clients

[writethehousedown]

Bottled Up Feelings, Chapter Two (Cheryl/Blu) - Zyan

a/n: chapter two is here! this time, we’re seeing things from blu’s perspective. The POV will change with each chapter :) again, thanks to Frey for beta-ing. You can find me over at @chachkisalpaca ~

Chapter Two: Playing Cupid

Being a genie wasn’t the easiest job out there, nor was it as amazing as Disney had made it seem in Aladdin. Blu would know - she’d been one for quite a long time now.

She wasn’t really sure how she ended up being a genie, though; like most things in her life, it just happened. She had very few memories of her life as a human, the main one being that she was from somewhere in Ireland and that her name wasn’t actually Blu, but she couldn’t remember it, so she’d given herself a new one.

When she wasn’t granting wishes, she usually hung out with genies from all around the world. Humans would be surprised to know the lamps were actually portals to their realm, where they lived in peace, and language barriers didn’t exist.

It was a normal day for Blu, she was having lunch with some of her friends, telling them about this couple that acquired her newest lamp, but they hadn’t summoned her yet, which she found really weird, but it wasn’t as if she was complaining.

“It’s been so long since anyone summoned me, I don’t think I can go back to dealing with humans,” she commented, taking a bite of her sandwich.

“Oh, I totally get you,” Dearis replied, “Last time I was out of my lamp a wish I granted got me suspended. How was I supposed to know they’d added wishing for a baby to the Don’t List? It literally happened while I was out!” She complained, folding her arms.

“Well, at least y’all have the opportunity to be found. My lamp’s been lost since the Titanic drowned, and I can’t reclaim a change until two more years. I’m tired of training new genies,” Scarlet added with a scoff.

Blu was about to reply when she disappeared from the table and transported to her home, the distinctive signal that someone had summoned her. How convenient. She looked at the portal and sighed as she crossed it, praying this time she wouldn’t have to grant any wishes that could harm her owner or herself.

The portal made her fall on a table, landing on her butt. She coughed a little when she tried to breathe and inhaled smoke instead.

“Shit, I forgot this was part of the deal,” she complained, trying to dissipate the smoke.

Once it cleared out, she looked around to face her new client, only to find, possibly, one of the prettiest women she’d seen in her very long life.

“Who are you?” She asked, clearly afraid. Blu hopped off the table and offered her a smile.

“My name’s Blu without an E, and I’m the genie of the lamp. I’m here to grant you three wishes,” she introduced herself and the woman blinked repeteadly.

“I think that tea Vinegar gave me had something on it, ‘cause I must be hallucinating,” she replied, stretching an arm with the intention of reaching for her. Blu stood where she was without moving an inch. The woman poked her arm, and that was enough to make her look absolutely terrified within a second. “Oh my God, you’re real, aren’t you?”

Blu snorted - she hadn’t gotten that reaction in years; majority of people screamed in happiness, jumped all over the place, or said their first wish right away, without thinking on it much.

“I mean, I will disappear once you run out of wishes, but for now, I’m very much real.” She shrugged, there was an awkward silence for a few moments.

“I can’t think of anything to wish for right now,” she confessed, scratching the back of her neck. “Maybe just eating dinner without another stranger arriving un-invited to my home.”

“Hey! You invited me the moment you bought my lamp, so, really, you set yourself up for that,” Blu pointed out, wandering off to the living room, the blonde coming right behind her.

“That makes sense, I guess? No. Nothing about this makes sense,” she said, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen. “Please, don’t break anything while I have dinner; I don’t wanna go back to Vinegar’s shop and end up buying yet another genie lamp or something.”

“Fair enough, we can use anything to hide in, to be honest,” Blu commented while she looked at the woman’s pictures. She stumbled across a frame with a photo of her wearing a graduation robe that read “Cheryl”. She read it out loud and she poked her head from the kitchen. “You have a lovely name.”

Cheryl’s cheeks got a slight rosy tone. She gave a small smile and mouthed a ‘thank you.’.

*

About an hour had passed since Blu had appeared in Cheryl’s home, and she hadn’t wished for anything yet. It was weird, but then again - she could be thinking about what to wish for. Every other decade Blu would get someone like her - someone that thought well on their wishes. After all, three wasn’t nearly as enough to wish for everything they wanted.

Cheryl was taking a shower after having explained Blu how to use the remote of the TV, only for her to deadpan, “I was already an adult when these were invented, I know how to use a remote.” Cheryl had cocked a sceptical brow and left in silence, though Blu was pretty sure she heard her say something along the lines of 'Okay, boomer’.

She was watching a weird show called The Bachelor, when Cheryl sat next to her, wearing pyjamas, and trying to untangle her wet hair.

“Let me see if I understand correctly,” she said, while still battling with her hair. “I can wish for anything, without any conditions?”

“Well, there are some rules, like - you can’t wish for someone’s death, nor to have a baby, you can’t wish for someone to love you, huge amounts of money, or winning a competition unfairly…” Blu listed and Cheryl listened carefully to each word she spoke. “I think that’s basically it — unless The Council is redacting new laws as we speak, it has happened before.”

Cheryl’s interest seemed to spark when she heard the latter, but didn’t ask about it.

“So, exceptions aside, I can wish anything without any consequences?” She asked again and Blu nodded. “I wish some of the mothers of my junior students would stop acting as if they’re on fucking Dance Moms — like, goddamn Nancy, why can’t you understand that if your child didn’t get the main role was because someone is better than them?” Cheryl complained, making Blu laugh loudly.

Well, she certainly wasn’t expecting that.

“Okay, um, you should definitely word that better if you want Nancy to stop being such a pain in the arse,” she suggested making Cheryl laugh.

“Oh, God, no. Even if I want that, that’s not my wish. Can you imagine? It’d be such a waste; no amount of magic can change Nancy, she’s just the worst,” she said, stifling a yawn. “Let me think of what I actually want and then I’ll come back to you.”

Blu pursed her lips and knitted her brows together in a frown.

“You do realize that I have to follow you around until you make your final wish, right?” Cheryl’s eyes widened in fear.

“Oh no, I can’t have you over at the studio, I’m already incredibly busy with the Valentine’s Day show!” She rubbed her eyelids, feeling tired and in need of a good sleep. “Ugh, listen, it’s been a long day and I have no energy left to try to understand you and your genie quirks. I’ll bring you a blanket and some pillows, and tomorrow we’ll sort out that following me around thing. All right?”

Blu wanted to tell her that there wasn’t any need for the pillows and blanket, she could just go back to the lamp and sleep there, but Cheryl was out of the room before she could open her mouth.

She sighed. Cheryl seemed to be one of the strangest clients she ever had the pleasure to have, but at least she was a charming woman.

*

“Miss Cheryl, who is her?” Cheryl gave the kids a nervous smile and Blu was already having the time of her life.

After waking up and nearly having another heart attack because she forgot for a moment Blu was sleeping on the couch, Cheryl had made breakfast for them and asked every single question that had to be asked.

Was it really necessary for Blu to accompany her throughout the day? Yes, it was a strict rule made to avoid anything bad happening to their clients; countless times there had been a genie stuck in the human world because their human had unexpectedly died before running out of wishes. It was to be safe.

Did Blu know anything about ballet? No, she didn’t. But what was magic for?

So there she was, at Cheryl’s studio, wearing one of Cheryl’s ballet attires, ready to help her out with today’s class. The moment she noticed the kids wouldn’t stop staring at her hair, Blu knew this was going to be the funniest thing she’d done in a while.

“Kids, this is Miss Blu, she’s going to help me prepare all of you for the Valentine’s Day show. Be good to her,” she said, and immediately all the kids surrounded Blu, saying hi and asking why she had orange hair. “Oh Lord, I’m already regretting this,” she whispered.

On Blu’s side, she was over the moon with all the attention she was getting from the kids; she had always loved them, thinking they were the purest thing in the world.

“Alright, that’s enough, give Miss Blu some space. We’re gonna start in five minutes. Get ready, please,” Cheryl announced, the kids obeyed a bit reluctantly, but soon scattered around. “I’d say they’re like this ‘cause you’re new, but they’re like this every day. You get used to it at some point.” She shrugged, looking at them with a smile.

“Oh, don’t worry, I actually don’t mind. I love kids, I think they’re adorable.” Cheryl turned to see her with the same pretty smile she’d been giving the kids.

“Good, now let’s see if your magic can get the boys to line up and be en pointe when they get their cue.”

The class passed by in the blink of an eye; the kids absolutely adored Blu, laughing at all of her witty comments and obeying her quite easily. To say Cheryl was impressed was an understatement - she was completely blown away by the fact that even her feistiest student behaved well this time.

Perhaps Cheryl could wish her kids behaved that well on the daily; it would be like a dream come true.

The students were entertained by Blu’s funny stories as Cheryl talked with their parents about the show, the cost of the costumes, and whatnot.

“Miss Blu, how did you meet Miss Cheryl?” One of the kids asked, Blu chewed the inside of her cheek.

“That’s a good question,” she said, thinking of a somewhat believable story. “I was looking for a job, she needed help, and we just agreed to help each other out. We’re basically living together now.” All of the kids gave a collective gasp, though Blu didn’t know why.

“Are you Miss Cheryl’s girlfriend? My mommy told me only couples are allowed to live together,” a little girl piped up and Blu froze.

“Goddamn, Nancy,” she thought.

“No, we’re not girlfriends exactly—”

“You’re wives?” Another one asked, followed by a gasp. Blu’s cheeks got as red as a tomato.

“No!” She exclaimed, the kids around snickering. “We’re neither wives nor girlfriends, we’re just friends. That’s all.”

The kids were about to go on with their cheesy questions, when they heard Miss Cheryl calling for several of them and they finally left Blu alone. She sighed in relief, never in all her years as a serious genie she’d let a bunch of kids get to her her like that.

“Hey, you okay over there? Your cheeks are really red, is it possible you have a fever?” Cheryl asked, coming closer. “Let me see.” She placed a hand over Blu’s forehead. Blu thought her hands were as soft as they looked. “You’re hot.”

“Thank you,” she replied without missing a beat. Cheryl rolled her eyes, withdrawing her hand. “I don’t have fever, that’s not possible. It’s just that those students of yours were asking me some weird questions,” she explained, an amused smile spread across Cheryl’s face.

“What have they done now?” She asked between giggles. Blu was about to tell her that her students might think they’re dating now, when a girl tugged on Cheryl’s skirt to catch her attention.

“Miss Cheryl, my aunt’s here.” She pointed at the entrance and Blu could tell something changed in Cheryl’s expression upon seeing the girl’s aunt.

“Of course, love, stay here with Miss Blu while I talk to her,” she said, leaving shortly after.

Blu looked at the women for a moment and she could tell there was tension of all kinds between them.

“You got nice hair, Miss Blu,” the girl complimented, Blu looked back at her with a smile.

“Aw, thank you, love! Your hair is really pretty too,” she said, “What’s your name, honey?”

“Lily West.”

Blu chatted with Lily for a bit, learning in the process that she was seven years old, had been doing ballet since she was five, and she liked Miss Cheryl so much she wished she was her auntie too.

“I’ve asked my auntie Vivienne if she wouldn’t like to go on a date with Miss Cheryl so she can be my aunt too, but she said it’s not that simple. Do you know why it’s not simple, Miss Blu?” Blu looked over at the pair. She was ninety nine per cent sure they hadn’t just “had a date.”

“Sometimes people just don’t have the time to date someone. You can’t force your aunt to date Miss Cheryl if she doesn’t want to.” She shrugged. Lily seemed to think about it for a moment, until she ultimately sighed overdramatically in defeat.

“I guess you’re right.”

“Lily! C’mere, love, we’re going home,” Lily’s aunt called, and the little girl immediately said goodbye to Blu with a smile, saying she’d see her the next class.

Blu was probably leaving by the end of the weekend back to her lamp, but of course she couldn’t say that out loud.

“So, what’s the deal between you and Lily’s aunt?” Blu inquired, once they were walking back to Cheryl’s apartment.

She stopped dead in her tracks and looked at Blu as if she’d just offended her mother.

“Nothing worth remembering,” she simply said, resuming with her walk. Blu cocked a brow.

“Was she that bad in bed?” Cheryl almost snapped her neck with the speed she turned to see Blu.

“Fuck you, Blu,” she replied with her cheeks getting red. Blu let out a loud laugh.

“Oh, c’mon, you can vent to me, I won’t judge, I’ve seen it all.” And it was true; aside from being a genie, sometimes she served as a therapist for her heartbroken clients.

Cheryl bit her bottom lip, unsure if she should tell her or not. In the end, she gave in with a sigh and proceeded to tell her the story of her relationship with Vivienne.

For starters, it wasn’t even a relationship. They just hooked up once, and later it turned out to be that Cheryl was Vivienne niece’s ballet teacher, making it a little awkward when she went to pick up Lily for the first time since they slept together.

After that, they just kept bumping into each other wherever they went, their interactions awkward until Vivienne got tired of it and brought Cheryl home again. And again, and again, and again. They kept hooking up, and at some point Cheryl caught feelings.

But Vivienne clearly did not. She’d made that very clear when on New Year’s Day Cheryl had asked if she wanted to go on a date, like a real date, after roughly six months of sleeping around. Vivienne said she’d think about it, and she had yet to give Cheryl an answer.

“… And that’s how I kicked off the year by losing my dignity,” she concluded, causing Blu to whistle in amazement.

“Honestly, your life sounds like a soap opera, or a bad cliché novel written by a teenager. Whichever you prefer, but it’s bad.” Blu shrugged, making Cheryl laugh softly.

“Yeah, I know, my friends have already told me. Vinegar once said to me 'Your favourite song is New Rules, then why can’t you apply it to your life?'” She mocked, imitating her friend’s voice. Blu had no clue what New Rules was, but she laughed either way.

“It’s a shame I can’t make people fall in love, I think you’d benefit from that,” Blu commented, but Cheryl wrinkled her nose.

“I could, but I don’t think I’d want it. I want someone to love me for me, not because of a magic trick a genie pulled on them,” she admitted, and Blu thought it made sense; she wouldn’t want that either.

Suddenly, an idea hit Blu. Well, more like last night she’d seen a movie close to what Cheryl was going through and the way the protagonist had solved her problems was genius.

“But, you know, there’s nothing written about helping your clients with their love lives,” she suggested, but Cheryl didn’t look one bit excited about it.

“Blu, I appreciate that, but I’m a twentyeight going on twenty nine years old lady, I’m past the age of wanting that kinda rom-com nonsense.” Cheryl rolled her eyes, but Blu didn’t lose her optimism.

“Well, but it’s not as if my help counts as a wish, and you still have time to think on what you want in the meantime.”

Cheryl narrowed her eyes, thinking about Blu’s words. She was too old for this nonsense, but then again - she had nothing to lose; she’d already lost what was left of her dignity on New Year’s Day.

She massaged her temples before agreeing, knowing she’d very much regret this in the near future.

“It’s been a long time since I played Cupid, this is gonna be so much fun!” She exclaimed, linking arms with Cheryl as they changed their destination.

“Lord, please have mercy.”

[thebrainrack]

January 1st, 2018: The Dirty Clothes Rat

You have to understand, I’ve been very busy. When I was promoted from assistant to manager, of course I was thrilled, but being rocketed into a job where I’m working for my clients instead of working for a boss has been a whole big to-do. Don’t get me wrong, I love the come-up: nicer food, nicer car, living alone. Ugh. It’s a true dream. But what people don’t tell you about living alone (because you don’t really talk about living alone) is that it can begin to feel a little eternal--there’s nothing to shake you from the routine that you build yourself. So you get busy, you keep moving, you continue down the path of least resistance, because without anybody else to resist, there’s no need to stop. Right? So yeah, my laundry built up. And even when I’m free to do laundry, why would I waste my time sitting in front of a machine? 

Implementing the sweater rule has been nice when all my clothes are dirty. Throw on a thin sweater, you get at least another day out of the shirt--two days if it’s colder. And the only thing more important than looking presentable is looking like an adult, and there’s nothing more adult than a sweater. Well, maybe cigarettes are more adult than sweaters. Actually, a lot of teenagers smoke cigarettes, so I guess sweaters are more adult. 

Anyway, my clothes have been fuckin’ piling up, so sue me, Christ. And one long weekend (Veteran’s Day weekend, my first 3-day weekend as a manager, and dear lord do I now see why politicians long ago made official decrees to say “let’s all work less”), I finally had the time to take care of myself before my very capable stable of talent. So boom, time for laundry. But would you believe it, I had SO much of it that I couldn’t even do it in one load. And believe me, I tried to cram it all into one load and the washing machine totally buckled under the pressure. Unbelievable. I have never and would never buckled under pressure like my fucking apartment complex’s laundry machine. Fucking pathetic.

Anyway, I go to the dirty laundry corner of my room, which is like my whole room at this point, and I pick it up, and you’re not gonna believe this, but under my laundry was a rat. A FUCKING RAT. Truly a nightmare scenario. It’s not that I hate rats, but like, I don’t like them. They’re obviously gross as hell. And for them to be in my CLOTHES? That I PAY FOR? With my MONEY THAT I MAKE FROM MY NEW MANAGEMENT JOB? Some nasty lil disease-carrier is enjoying my J-Crew shirts and my EXPRESS pants? Are you fucking kidding me?? I thought I lived in Santa Monica, not RAT CITY. And I thought I lived alone, not with A RAT. 

When I saw the rat I screamed bloody murder and closed my eyes. But then, when I opened them again (still screaming), I looked back down to realize that the rat is still fucking there. This birdbrain shithead won’t goddamn move and it’s just staring at me. Then I’m no longer scared, because I’m like, okay the rat’s up to something. Now I’m curious. 

Taxes, taxes are probably more adult than sweaters. I’d say taxes, sweaters, cigarettes. Sorry, just had to say that before I forgot. Anyway. 

The rat, still staring at me with this look that I swear is like “check this”, crawls into one of my Tom Ford suits that’s crumpled up on top of some old sheets. The suit’s a mess, really--covered in mustard stains because I was out with a client, you know, and they ordered mustard on their burger so of course I had to get mustard to show that, you know, I’m like them. After this rat disappears into my suit, I hear what’s like a tiny sneeze, and all of the sudden my suit shrinks, like it’s being vaporized or something. There’s a quick snap, whip, and some swift movement, and before I know it, I’m staring down at this goddamn rat wearing a tiny version of my Tom Ford suit. Can you GODDAMN FUCKING BELIEVE IT?! The rat turned my suit into ITS suit! 

Now don’t get too carried away--the rat wasn’t standing up and like winking and finger-gunning at me or anything. It was still a rat. This wasn’t a Disney movie or anything (I met Disney’s daughter at a party, did you know that? Total bitch). Anyway, this goddamn rat was now in my suit, just staring at me intently, and I’m seriously dumbfounded. I pulled my phone out to get an Instagram video of it but then my phone said I had to update Instagram before I could take a photo and I hate that shit so I just put it away. When I look back down, the rat’s gone, and so is my suit. 

I chock it up to being stressed out and forget about it. Honestly, weirder things have happened, right? (I don’t really mean that, but I just say that phrase when I don’t know what else to say) Anyway, I take the rest of that laundry, throw it in the machine, and come back to chill and wait for my laundry which should take so much faster than it does. We have movies in our phones--why does laundry take 50 minutes? Anyway, when I’m back, so is the rat. I’m not scared anymore because I already saw it, but I did say, “what’s up”?

The rat does a little spin, I hear another snap, whip, and movement, plus that weird sneeze again, and my suit is suddenly full sized, and the rat scurries back into another pile of clothes before I can do anything. The suit looks completely normal, mustard stains and all, like nothing ever happened. I pick it up to really see, and inside the suit coat pocket, I found a Del Taco wrapper. On the wrapper, was, get this: a note. 

Dearest Owner of This Clothing,

How do you do? I’m that rat you saw. My name is Fershke. Do you have that name in your species? (We don’t obvi) I’m sorry I can’t speak to you face to face, but you don’t speak my language and you definitely couldn’t hear me if I spoke yours, but trust me, I can. 

 I wanted to let you know that your clothes have been a true boon to my life. All rats have the power to turn anything they want into our own size so we can do with it what we want, you see--and when I was walking around here looking for any old thing, and I stumbled upon these beautiful duds, why, I was aghast. 

What’s more, your clothing is perfectly aged and filthied for the exact specifics that rats truly love. Like this suit--covered in mustard? Something like that says to all the rats “I’m a million-crumb-aire”. It’s truly a blessing, and although you might not appreciate my lifestyle, it is a true gift.

What I propose is this: you continue to let me wear these clothes, and not only will I cause you no harm, but I will bring you the riches that your species desires. A being of my size has access to just about anything we’d like--diamonds? Rubies? Gold? All of that can be yours, just as long as you allow me to wear your dirty suits.

I’ll return them within the hour. It will be no problem. But before this, I was just a stinky old rat. No other rats would talk to me. “Fershke” was synonymous with “clean mouse”, which to us is the worst thing you could be. 

I think we can arrange something beautiful. And I think this could be the beginning of something wonderful. Please. Consider and speak. I am waiting. 

-Fershke

I was fucking dumbfounded. Seriously. I didn’t know things like this even happened, craziest of all a rat being able to get that much readable English onto a Del Taco wrapper. 

For once in my rich, cool, famous-people-filled life, I was speechless. I look down and the rat, Furry Ski or whatever, is sitting right there. 

I stare down at the rat. The rat stares at me. And I nod at the rat. 

Then I stomped on it and kill it. It was FUCKING GROSS so then I had to clean it up. WHAT? I’m VERY BUSY. And I work hard for that money--I’m not gonna let some rat steal my clothes. Besides, it was a holiday weekend, I didn’t wanna spend it making deals, ugh. 

Remorse. Remorse is more adult than sweaters.

[victoria-rose13]

God of Destruction Pt. 1

"Ugh..." Great. Well this is what you get for partying last night despite having to work today: a wicked hangover. You reach over and turn off your alarm. Ever since you got this job it's been nothing but a giant pain in the ass. The clients are almost always self-absorbed jerks, the commute is 45 minutes one way, and you're pretty sure your boss has it out for you. At least the paycheck is nice. After getting out of the shower, it's time to get dressed and put your face on. It's crazy, you're just the one behind the camera, the one no one ever sees, and you still have to be super chic, stylish and made up everyday. Sometimes you just wanted to pull on pair of sweats and hoodie n call it a morning. Was that too much to ask? You realize by now that you've got about five minutes before you have to leave and snag a bagel on your way out the door. Was it always this bright outside? You forgot to take some Advil for your splitting migraine. May as well take it now, you thought. Traffic was being slow for the time being so you throw back some Advil you have in your glove box. Oh, yeah. There is supposed to be some "big shot" coming by the studio today to get updated head shots, or something like that. Great. Yet another uppity jerk with an ego entirely too large for their own good. You get to work and you're actually early for once. Maybe the day won't be so bad after all. Despite being early you see your coworkers are all already here. Geez, just who is this client that's going to come in today? You've just about finished making sure everything is set up in preparation for today's client when you hear the door to the studio open. It's still very bright outside compared to the general lighting inside this building so all you can make out is the silhouette of what appears to be a tall, somewhat lanky man. Eh. He didn't look all that special or different from other clients so far so you can't really be bothered. Your opinion of this unknown person begins to change when you turn around a little while later and see him walking over to you, make up, hair and clothes already on point. You can't put your finger on it, but there is something different about this guy. He is, in fact, tall, chic, physically fit, and very handsome. And, yes, he exudes confidence and charisma. But no, none of that was it. "Hello, I'm Kim Namjoon," he says in a deep voice, accompanied by a bow. Such politeness and formality. When he stands straight up he looks at you and smiles a cute, dimply smile. "Oh, hi! I'm (y/n). I'll be taking your pictures today." What is this feeling and why are you feeling it? It's almost... Giddy? How irritating. "I'll do my best, so I hope you'll be pleased with your photos." "I trust you." Cue dimply grin. "I have no doubts about your capabilities of pleasing me." He winks at you, smiling even wider. Pause. Did he just wink at you? And flirt with you? Geez... "Okay, well it's almost time to start shooting. I'll see you afterwards so we can go through them together and pick out the best ones." Great now you're being awkward because he flirted with you. "Okay, see you then." He walked off to go practice his poses. He's young, early twenties, but he seems so familiar with the process already. How long had he been-- wait, ...you never actually found out what he does. Oh, well. It takes about an hour to get all the scenes/wardrobes changed and to get plenty of photos to choose from. "Okay, Mr. Kim, let's take a break and look through what we have." You sit on a stool in front of your computer as he walks over. "You know," he starts "I don't really like being called 'Mr. Kim'." He steps nonchalantly from next to you to immediately behind you and whispers on your neck, "I want you to call me 'Namjoon'." Then after a pause, "Say my name." Is this guy for real? Strangely enough, though, you find yourself feeling compelled to do so. "Namjoon..." Gah! What is this sorcery?! You were sure you had more control over yourself than this, but for some reason it seems to abandon you whenever he speaks. How embarrassing... Does he do this to everyone? "There now, was that so bad?" When you turn around to look at him, you see him grinning. But not innocently like he had just a few hours ago. Now his face was plastered with a naughty, satisfied grin.  His wide, toothy, dimply smiles are absolutely contagious. "Sir," you start giggling, "we're supposed to be going through your pictures." "Aww, that's no fun," his smile fades, "But I guess you're right." While going through his pictures, he places his hand on your shoulder and passes it off as trying to lean in for a better look. This makes your heart skip a beat. Seriously, what is going on with you today?? Nevertheless you don't say anything and finish up picking out the best pictures. Before it's time for him to leave he asks for your phone number and if you're busy later that night. You really don't have anything planned but whether or not you feel like going out was the real question. "Let me check my schedule for tomorrow." After what you woke up with today, you don't want to have that happen again, and there is no way to know yet what kind of night this is going to turn into. You flip through your planner and see you have off tomorrow, (thank God), and let him know. "Cool. There's this new restaurant I've been wanting to go to. Wanna go with me?" You don't immediately answer, you just stare at him while you think it over. "I won't bite," he starts off, smiling, "unless you want me to." You decide to play his game. Why not, right? "Okay Namjoon, I'll go out with you. I've still got work to finish up here, though. It'll have to be later tonight." ~ Around five o'clock you get a text. Namjoon. N: Hey babe you free to go out yet? Hm. Babe. You aren't sure whether you like it or not. That aside, you have been home for about half an hour at this point. Y/N: Yeah, just got home not too long ago. About to jump in the shower. When do you want to go out? Before you can get undressed you hear your phone ring. "Hello?" "Hey, babe. I figured calling would be faster than texting." "I guess... But, yeah, I was about to get a shower, so should I be in a hurry, or can I take my time?" "Oh, please, take your time. I was thinking of picking you up at around 8pm. Is that okay?" "Yeah, that's fine. I'll text you my address after my shower." It was nice he didn't totally perve out over you being naked or in the shower. "Okay, I'll be waiting for your message then. Later, (y/n)." Before you can say anything, he hangs up. You aren't sure but you felt like something was up. Of the few times you had talked to him, this time seemed the most off. Maybe not enough for a lot of concern, but you were still going to keep an eye out. After your shower, you text him your address. "What to wear..." You want to look nice, but also don't want to dress beyond the occasion. You settle on a cute white graphic tee, some jeans, and your favorite, red, high-top converses. This should be simple and comfortable enough for a first date, right? You finish off your look with your hair up in a high, slightly off-center ponytail and a minimal amount of makeup. Perfect. He picks you up exactly at 8 and you head over to the restaurant. ~