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pipedream-darling · 3 years

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Live a Little

My piece for Day 2 of TGGTVAV Week! @tggtvav-week

Dreams | Historical AU | Side Character (Read on AO3)

This party is giving me a tremendous sense of deja vu. It’s the after-party for this year’s Annual Sportspeople of the Year Awards. Monty and I were both nominated for Best Footballer and for Best Media Personality, whatever that even means. Neither of us won either. I don’t care, not really (The player that did win Best Footballer scored two-thirds as many goals as Monty this season… but again. I don’t care.)

The same old formal wear, the same faces. I feel like I’m always at this bloody party. I’m standing in a corner with Monty, who is frowning down into his alcohol-free cocktail. I give him a consolatory nudge.

“Next year.”

“Hmm?” He looks up at me, then laughs. “Oh god. I don’t care. I’m just wondering who on Earth came up with the idea of a virgin mojito.”

“You could always drink tap water, you know.”

“Thrilling.”

I roll my eyes and he sidles up to me, pressing himself against my chest so that he has to stretch his neck to look up at me.

“Let’s go hooooome.”

“Why do you even bother coming to these events if you get bored after an hour?”

“Because I get to see you all dressed up, mostly.” I laugh and he pouts. “Next time, we stay home, and you put on a tuxedo anyway.”

“That would be a waste. You’d take it off within minutes.”

“That’s the fun of it!”

I smirk and lean down to kiss his forehead. “We won’t stay late. It’s good for me to do the rounds at these things. For the Foundation.”

“I suppose,” he says with a sigh, but he doesn’t move away, just buries his face in my chest.

I smile and stroke his hair, then I look up as someone walks over— my heart sinks. Richard Peele. The only man on Earth who doesn’t manage to look attractive in a tux. I nudge Monty slightly and he stands up straight.

“Incoming,” I mumble as Richard approaches. Monty turns to see him, then swears under his breath.

“Boys!” Richard says, his grin as cocky as ever. His aftershave is overpowering. Not for the first time, I wonder how Monty ever hooked up with him without gagging.

“Richard,” Monty greets him, more politely than he deserves.

“Congratulations on your awards!” He fake gasps, clutching his hands to his chest. “Oh wait! You didn’t get any.”

“Peele…” I raise an eyebrow at him. “You weren’t even nominated.”

He shrugs. He looks drunk. “Wouldn’t have wanted a nomination. Whole thing is shit anyway.”

“Well, we’re agreed there.”

“So, what are you two doing hiding away in a corner? Up to no good? What’s the current favourite, Montague? Coke? Speed? I remember your speed phase fondly. You used to be able to go for—“

“Oh, piss off Richard,” Monty cuts in, trying to look unbothered. But I know he isn’t. “Don’t you have any actual friends to talk to?”

I put my arm around Monty’s waist, protectively, and he leans into me. Richard rolls his eyes.

“Got plenty of friends, thanks. Just wanted to check in on everyone’s favourite couple.”

“Well, now you have.” I say, giving him a pointed look. “See you around.”

He curls his lip at me, stepping closer. He’s taller than Monty, but not taller than me. I have a couple of inches on him, but he’s clearly too wasted to be intimidated by this fact.

“You don’t scare me, Newton. We’re not on the pitch now. You can’t accidentally elbow me in the face this time.”

No, but I can definitely punch you on purpose, I think to myself.

I don’t say anything. He huffs, then turns to Monty. “If you ever get bored of this fairy,” he points to me. “And fancy a go with a real man again, you’ve still got my number.”

Monty blinks at him. “I’ll bear that in mind. Cheers.”

Richard gives him a leery look up and down, before giving me one last glare, then stalking away. I can feel Monty’s shoulders tense up where he’s leaning against me, and I’m not much better myself, so I take a deep breath and try to relax.

“Christ. He’s like a cartoon villain.”

“Was he always that ugly?” Monty looks up at me. “I swear he didn’t used to be that ugly. I categorically do not sleep with ugly people.”

“Maybe your standards just got higher after you met me.” He laughs slightly. But it sounds stilted. I squeeze his waist. “Don’t let him get to you.”

“I’m not.”

I raise my eyebrows at him.

“Okay! I am. Slightly.” He sips his drink, pulling a face. “It’s hard not to be bothered when one of your most shameful regrets can walk and talk and embarrass you at parties.”

“He’s just someone you hooked up with. It’s not that big of a deal.”

He scoffs. “You look like you want to scream every time his name is mentioned.”

“Well… he’s…”

“Rude? Obnoxious? Untalented?”

“He makes you feel bad about yourself. I don’t like it.”

Monty pauses at that, reaching out and squeezing my hand.

“You’re the one he called a fairy.”

“Fairy and proud,” I say with a shrug. Monty laughs.

“I love you.”

“Love you, too.” I tug at his hand, pulling him away. “Let’s find you something less disgusting to drink”.

We’re standing at the bar, Monty trying to get the perfect selfie while the bartender makes our drinks. He leans into me, trying to get my face into the photo and I smirk.

“Aren’t people bored of seeing me on your Instagram?”

“Why would anyone ever get bored of seeing this face?” He gently bites my cheek, taking another few photos, then finally brings the phone down to review the results. “God, we’re hot.”

I laugh. “Is that what you’re captioning it?”

He starts typing. “Well, now I am.”

I grin and nudge him, then frown when I spot something on the bar a small distance away. A set of keys. I reach over and grab them.

“Someone left their keys.”

“Mmm,” he replies, still busy making his post. “Hand them in.”

I shrug, about to get the bartender’s attention, when Monty glances up then gasps, grabbing my arm.

“Wait.” He snatches the keys from me. “Look!”

He holds them up in front of my face and I frown. “What?”

He huffs, then points at the car key. It has a very tacky leather tag hanging off it, with a gaudy metal Lamborghini logo.

“These are Peele’s car keys!”

I laugh. “God, he really is drunk. We should probably keep hold of them so he doesn’t try to drive home”

Monty winces slightly, and I immediately feel bad, but then he shakes it off. “Don’t you see what an opportunity this is, Perce?”

I give him a look. “Opportunity?”

“Yes! We have that prick’s car keys!” He looks at them, sighing happily. “His beloved Lamborghini.”

I laugh. “And?”

“And! We could play all sorts of tricks on him. We could break into it. Leave his lights on. Drain his battery.”

“You are truly wild.”

He huffs. “Well, what’s your suggestion?”

“My suggestion was handing them in!”

He rolls his eyes, dumping them on the bar again and returning his attention to his phone. I pick up the keys, turning them over in my hands, and I think back to ten minutes ago, when Richard dragged his eyes over Monty’s body. My Monty’s body. Suddenly the need to piss him off is overwhelming.

Why do I always have to be the sensible one?

“However…” Monty looks up at me, raising an eyebrow. “I have always wanted to drive a Lamborghini.”

* * * *

We manage to sneak out without drawing too much attention (and without spotting Richard), taking the lift to the car park beneath the building.

His car isn’t hard to spot. Bright yellow amongst the sea of silver and white Mercedes and BMWs. We walk over to it and Monty looks unimpressed, leaning down to scrub at a little scuff with his sleeve.

“This car is a midlife crisis.”

I laugh. “He’s 26.”

“Well, it’s definitely compensating for—“

“I don’t want to know,” I cut in, leaning down to look in the windows. “I think it’s gorgeous.”

“Really?” He folds his arms, tilting his head at the car. “It’s no Porsche.”

“I swear you love that car more than you love me.”

“Absolutely not.” He walks over and leans down to where I’m crouching to kiss me on the cheek. “But it’s a close second.”

I smile, then hold up the keys. “So? Shall we?”

He frowns. “You were serious?”

“Why not?”

“Well, for a start… you can’t drive, Perce.”

I scoff, pressing the key unlocking the doors. “I’ve had some lessons. And I haven’t had a seizure in a year. Anyway, it’s an automatic. How hard can it be?”

I start to climb into the driver’s seat and Monty grabs my arm. “Perce!”

“Come on!” I grin at him. “Live a little.”

He furrows his brow, but then lets me go, and I slide into the seat, pulling the door shut behind me. A couple of moments later, Monty opens the passenger door and climbs in, mumbling to himself.

“I’ve lived plenty. This is just stupid.”

I look around the car, taking it in. Monty’s car is gorgeous, but this is next level. Every bell and whistle included. It’s a shame it smells like Richard’s pungent aftershave.

I put the key in the ignition and Monty flinches.

“Are you sure, baby?”

I start the engine, and then I grin at him. It must be contagious, because after a pause, he grins right back at me.

“Go on then,” he says, with a resigned shrug. “Show me what you can do.”

I surprise myself. Driving is… surprisingly easy? And this thing can go fast. The roads are thankfully quiet, and I’m pretty sure I’m speeding, but the adrenaline rush is impossible to deny.

Monty is watching me, laughing at the look on my face as I narrowly avoid hitting another kerb. Okay, maybe driving is sort of hard.

“Jesus, Perce!”

“Oops.”

“I hope you’re enjoying your little crime spree. It might be the last thing we ever do.”

I laugh. “Oh, he’s wankered. We’ll take it back in a minute and he won’t even know it was gone.”

“True. As long as you don’t—“ He gasps as I very barely avoid scraping someone’s wing mirror at the side of the road. “Damage it!”

“I won’t!”

“You know what, I resent that you’ve turned me into the reasonable one tonight, but I think I should probably drive us back. Just in case.”

I pout at him. “Five more minutes? Oh, wait! I have an idea.”

I take a left, so sharply that Monty has to grab onto the car door to keep his balance. He shoots me an annoyed look, but I don’t acknowledge it. I’m trying desperately to remember a certain spot I know of around here, and I think I’m vaguely headed in the right direction.

Monty stops trying to object. I think he’s enjoying this really— watching me cut loose a bit. I glance at him and he bites his lip, giving me that look that usually ends with at least one of our trousers around our ankles. I look back out of the windscreen and grin to myself when I see what I was looking for.

I pull up in a parking spot, braking far too aggressively, and we both jolt forward.

Monty takes a long, deep, relieved breath as I put on the handbrake.

“See? No one died.”

“I’m definitely driving us back.”

I shrug, then motion out of the window. “Do you recognise this?”

“It’s a hill, Perce.”

I frown. “It’s Primrose Hill. Remember? We had a picnic here.”

He pauses, then smiles. “This is where you asked me to move in with you.”

“Yep!”

He looks at me. “Baby, you really are a wonder. Combining a bit of grand theft auto with a romantic trip down memory lane.”

I laugh. “The duality of Newton.”

“This is very sweet.” He reaches out and squeezes my knee, giving me a fond look. “Thank you.”

“I just… I don’t like it when people drag up your past. Like it’s all you are. You’re… this. You’re picnics, and house keys, and romance. You’re all of it.”

He swallows, looking surprised. “Baby…”

“Don’t let anyone ever convince you otherwise, okay? Especially not Richard sodding Peele.”

He nods, and his eyes look a little wet, then he reaches for my hand, holding it up to his lips and kissing my fingers. “Okay.”

We share a smile, then Monty turns away. I stare at him. He takes a while to notice, too busy gazing out of the window. When he finally turns back to me, he starts slightly.

“What?”

“Did you and him ever…?”

He frowns. “I thought we’d already established this, darling.”

“No. I know.” I nod towards the backseat. “In here?”

He turns a little red, then looks away again, which is answer enough.

“Great. Nice.”

Monty huffs, looking at me with a sheepish look on his face. “Only a blowjob or two...”

I roll my eyes, tapping my hands on the steering wheel and staring out at the view in front of us for a few seconds. Then I shrug.

“Then we’ll just have to do more than that. Won’t we?”

He pauses, then frowns. “Eh?”

I lean over the centre console and take his face in my hands, kissing him. After a brief pause, he sighs against my lips and kisses me back harder.

“You really—“ he speaks between kisses, breathless. “Want to?” He stops to nip at my jaw. “Right here?”

I groan. “More than anything.”

“Revenge shag?”

“Revenge shag,” I confirm, starting to pull his shirt out of where it’s tucked into his trousers.

“There’s…” He sighs as I start to kiss his neck. “People could see.”

I bite down slightly and he gasps. “The windows are blacked out.”

“There’s not much room.”

“I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

He gasps as I find the lever on his chair, pulling it until he’s practically horizontal, and then I clumsily clamber over onto his lap, my legs either side of his.

He laughs in surprise, putting his hands on my thighs. “What the hell has gotten into you tonight?”

“Nothing.” I grin. “Yet.”

After, I lie on Monty’s chest and I can feel the dopey smile on my face. He’s gently twisting one of my curls around his fingers as we catch our breath.

“That was fantastic,” I say with a sigh. It’s stating the obvious. It’s always bloody fantastic.

He kisses the top of my head. “Obviously.”

I look up at him. “Better than Peele?”

“Peele who?”

I laugh. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I. Never heard of him.”

“Damn right.”

I lean up to kiss him and he gently strokes my cheek, then we both jump when we hear a buzzing sound. Monty grimaces, fumbling around on the seat around us trying to find his phone.

“Who calls people?” He finds it and holds it up. “Ooooofe.”

He grimaces and turns the screen to me. Peele is calling. There’s an eye-roll emoji next to his contact name.

I grimace back at him. “Shit. Why would he be calling you?”

“Perhaps because he pissed us off and then his car disappeared?”

“Should you answer it? Maybe you should answer it.”

He scoffs. “And say what? Oh, your car? Yes, we stole it and just did something filthy on the expensive leather.”

“Well, no. You can lie. I’m pretty sure you’re capable of lying.”

“Ouch! True. But ouch.” He takes a deep breath, then answers. “Richard!”

I hear muffled, angry talking. Monty bites on his lip to stop from laughing, before trying to get a word in between the ranting.

“Richard, I— What do you mean? Which car?” The muffled talking gets louder and Monty grins. “Oh, that car! Well, how did you manage to lose that? Seems pretty irresponsible.”

“Very careless,” I whisper in agreement.

Monty puts a hand over my mouth, still smiling, then suddenly his face falls. “Tracking device?”

My eyes widen. Shit. Shit shit. Of course, there’s a tracking device. This car is top-of-the-range ridiculous.

“Well, that’s good then.” Monty continues, somehow managing to sound calm and collected. “You’ll find it easily. Good luck!” He hangs up. “We need to get out of here. Immediately. He’s waiting for a cab and he knows where the car is”

I scramble off of him as quickly as I can, climbing back into the driver’s seat and looking for my clothes. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Monty does the same, laughing. I shoot him a look.

“What’s so funny?”

“You. Panicking. Naked.”

I find this shirt and throw it at his face. “Twat.”

I find my boxers and pull them on, and Monty picks his own up from where they were discarded in the well of the passenger seat. I suddenly have a thought, and reach out to grab his arm before he can pull them on, too.

“Wait.”

I snatch them from him and he gives me an extremely confused look. I lean over into the back seat and place them on the leather, stretching them out so that they’re nice and displayed.

“A departing gift for our gracious host.”

Monty cackles, throwing his head back. “You’ve completely lost your mind.”

I grin at him. “Is it a problem?”

He pulls me in for a wet, sloppy kiss. “Absolutely not. Now come on.” He pushes me away again and starts pulling on his suit trousers. “We have to clear out of here before—”

There’s a sudden, loud sound, like fabric ripping. We both freeze. I look down and see that the button of Monty’s trousers has caught on the corner of the passenger seat. The leather has torn dramatically, showing the foam underneath. Turns out even the most expensive, luxury cars are no match for Monty’s clumsy streak.

I look up at him. “Before what, love?”

He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “Well, this has turned into a very expensive night out.”

“We can afford it.” He opens his eyes, then narrows them at me. “I’m aware that’s not the point.”

“This was your idea, you know. You decided to have a naughty streak, and now we have to buy— No. Actually. You have to buy Richard bloody Peele a new car.”

I scoff. “It’s just a little rip. It’s not like we’ve trashed it.”

And then… I picture it; Richard, hopping in an uber to where his little tracking device is pointing him, furious, that spiteful face all red and flushed. He gets here and Monty and I are long gone, his beloved Lamborghini is… trashed. The windows are smashed. The seats are ripped to shreds. And Monty’s Tom Ford pants are on the backseat.

I smile.

“We should trash it.”

Monty laughs, pulling on his shirt. “I’m cutting you off. No more carnage. We’re going to go home, you’re going to have one of your sad little sleepy teas, then we’re going to bed.”

“Montttyy,” I whine, and he gives me an incredulous look. “It’ll be funnnn!”

“Of course it would be fun! It would also land us in prison.”

“No one would know it was us!”

He points to the underwear on the back seat. “Have you never seen CSI?”

“Since when were you such a spoilsport?”

He stares at me, one eyebrow raised in challenge, then slowly reaches down and tugs at the rip in the seat, making it even wider.

“Oops.”

I grin, turning around in my seat and looking for something to break. I look back forward, spotting the rear view mirror, then I lean up and grab it, yanking at it hard until it snaps off in my hand.

Monty gapes at me.

“Holy shit.”

I grin at him. “Shall we see what else we can break in the next five minutes?”

The answer is quite a lot, apparently. The seats are torn to shreds. The dashboard is cracked. Monty has scraped a key all along the exterior. And I’m currently working on burning holes in the leather seats with the dashboard lighter, still wearing nothing but my underwear.

Suddenly, I hear a very high pitched shriek. I abandon the lighter and scramble out of the car to check on Monty, who was halfway through trying to pull off one of Richard’s wiper blades. He’s now ducked down, hiding behind the bonnet of the car. I quickly join him.

“What?”

“He’s here! I just saw an uber.”

“Shit. How did he get here so quickly? Maybe we were shagging longer than we thought?”

He hisses at me. “Not really relevant right now, Perce. More worried about getting out of here without him seeing us.”

I grimace. “I left my clothes in the car.”

“Then I guess you’re streaking. Come on.”

He quickly glances over the hood of the car, then once he decides the coast is clear, he grabs my hand and pulls me up.

And then we immediately collide with Richard Peele.

He seems to have snuck up from the other direction and well… he doesn’t look terribly happy.

“What—“ He’s so angry, he can barely get his words out. “In the name of fu—“

“Richard!”

God bless Monty for attempting to be charming, even at a time like this.

“Awful news! Someone was trying to damage your car. Me and Percy scared them off.”

“How stupid do you think I am, Montague?”

“I don’t think you want me to answer that.”

Richard hisses through his teeth, stepping closer to Monty, and I decide it’s time to intervene, standing in front of him protectively. .

“Don’t even think about it.”

He curls his lip, looking me up and down. “Why are you naked?” He glances back at the car, then at me again, his face turning white. “Did you two...“

I smirk. “Twice.”

(It’s a lie. But he doesn’t need to know that.)

He looks like he wants to throw up. Then he pulls back his fist— but he’s still tipsy, and his reflexes are slow. So, I take a step back to dodge his punch, before reeling my own fist back to throw one of my own.

It connects with his nose. Hard. Kickboxing is one of my favourite workouts and I’m twice as strong as he is. The result being that his nose starts to bleed instantly and he staggers backwards. Monty yelps behind me.

“Shit!”

He tries to pull at my arm but I ignore him.

“Not bad for a fairy, right Peele?”

“Perce!”

“Monty, it’s fine.”

“No! Percy! The car!”

He pulls my arm even harder and I finally turn around. The car. The fucking car is on fire.

“Jesus! What happened?”

“Not sure, but shall we try and figure it out somewhere further away from the flaming car?”

I let him drag me away and we take off at a sprint. Richard isn’t far behind us, trying to keep up.

“The lighter,” I shout to Monty. “I dropped the lighter on the seat!”

The amount of serious crimes I’ve committed today is becoming difficult to keep track of. Car theft. Reckless driving. Public Indecency. Assault. And now apparently a bit of semi-accidental arson. But are they really crimes if the only victim is Richard Peele?

“Save it for court!” Monty replies.

When I think we’re a safe distance away, I stop, pulling Monty to me. We’re both gasping, out of breath. I hear Richard coughing nearby. He must have inhaled some smoke.

I ignore him, pushing Monty’s hair out of his eyes, then cupping his face in my hands.

“Are you okay?”

He takes a deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?”

I grin. “I’m amazing.”

He smiles back, exasperated. “You’re a lunatic is what you are.”

“I love you.”

He shakes his head, then puts his hand behind my neck, pulling me down into a kiss. I lean into it, my hands sliding to his waist and dipping him slightly, making him laugh against my lips.

And then… there’s a loud bang.

I don’t get the chance to glance over at the car before we’re being thrown into the air by the force of the explosion.

* * * *

I wake up with a flinch so huge that the bed shakes. I hear Monty groan next to me.

“Baby, what…?”

Jesus Christ, that was vivid. I can still smell the smoke.

Monty rolls over to face me with a huff. “Perce?”

“Sorry.” I rub my face. “Sorry, I was…”

“Dream?” he asks, mid-yawn.

I pause, then smirk. “Dream.”

He stares at me for a second, then snorts. “Oh god, not the car one again.”

“The car one.” I shuffle over to him, pulling him closer so that our noses are touching. “It was a good one. This time I punched him.”

He gives a sleepy laugh. “This dream almost makes me feel sorry for the man…”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “Monty…”

“I mean. Your subconscious is regularly ruining his life! Just because he used to give your boyfriend the occasional hand job after a game…”

“Perhaps the next dream will be the one where I finally murder him.”

He laughs, leaning in to kiss me and placing his hands on my chest. “Your heart is still pounding.”

I blush. “It was fun. There was an explosion.”

He rolls his eyes. “We’re never watching Die Hard before bed again.”

I laugh, rolling on top of him and making him yelp.

#tggtvav #tggtvav week 2021 #the gentleman's guide to vice and virtue #tggtvav fic #my fic #fic rec #fic writing #this is so silly #enjoy

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bubblyani · 3 years

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Back for Good

(Jim Davis x Reader)

A Jim Davis One Shot

Movie: Harsh Times (2005) by David Ayer

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Alcohol use, Swearing, Violence and Sexual Content

Word Count: 9k+

Summary: Your spirits are lifted when your older boyfriend Jim Davis returns from the Army for good. As the lovers passionately reunite, you begin to reminisce the first encounter, and the unforgettable event that sealed your fate with Jim, possibly forever.

Author’s Note: One of the fantastic Balehead Accounts on Instagram once posted a photo of Jim Davis with a caption more so along the lines of “…Older boyfriend Jim visiting you at College…”. It was too irresistible to ignore. So this story was born. @tammykelly You are an angel to even show some enthusiasm towards this, even before I started, Thank you for the encouragement ! Hope y’all enjoy!

P.S: If anyone want to be tagged in specific Bale! Character fics please do let me know. And if you wanna be removed from anything NOT BATMAN, please feel free to let me know. I understand completely.

Three.

It costed three people. Merely three for this nightmare scenario to enter reality.

A tall young man panted fast, his right hand assuming full responsibility for the broken bottle, not to mention the intense bleeding that resulted from it. All the while he stared down at his finished product: a much younger man. He watched the figure groan for his dear life, laying defeated and thoroughly bruised; as a weak stream of blood appeared prominent from his head as well, adding a splash of bright color to the dark and dusty pavement. Only in that moment, realization and bitter reality coupled up to surprise the standing man, with a sucker punch.

Which was transparent enough for the young woman beside them, the witness. Violence, Danger, her trembling heart sensed it all. For that was what his strong aura emitted. However, never did she flinch. Never did her heart consider retracting from him. On the contrary, she was compelled to trust him even further.

Especially when she sensed complete safety in him, above all others.

“Let’s go”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

(Present)

The dusky skies appeared just as serene over South Central Los Angeles as anywhere else in the country, filtering over the streets and the neighborhoods. Cruising through in favorable speed, Mike Alonzo finally took his eyes off the road, permitting them to land on the tall, young man sitting beside him on the passenger seat: his best friend, Jim Davis.

His downcast expression was evident, with his tall frame sunken into the seat. He stared right ahead, while he sipped his bottle of beer in his suit. This posture was nothing short of a surprise for Mike to glance upon. If he had squinted his eyes, he swore he could imagine Jim as the rebellious teenager he once was. Only with a new buzz cut. Otherwise, it seemed that nothing had really changed.

Except it had. Older and forced to be responsible, they were facing times considered very harsh. And Jim just had a taste of it.

“Sorry, dude”

Mike began, looking back at the road. Shaking his head with disbelief, Jim sat up in slow motion as his teeth began to grind.

“Man! Fuck…this...shit!!”

Jim drawled with disappointment, enunciating every word whilst holding up a piece of paper, “I’m so done with this cop hate bullshit!” He added, taking another sip of alcohol. Mike nodded:

“Yeah, dawg. Forget about that! ” He smiled, smacking his friend on his shoulder in a playful demeanor, “Hey, Syl is cooking tonight…You wanna join us, bro?”

The possibility of his girlfriend Sylvia agreeing to this, was at an all time low. Mike was well aware. Yet, he was certain it was a question worth posing to his friend in need.

“Nah, man! I got plans”

Hitting the brakes in front of the stop lights, Mike looked at his friend again with surprise, “Yeah?” He inquired, looking quite pleased. Finally flashing a proud smile, Jim nodded:

“Yep! Gonna go see my woman soon…” he answered. Eyes widening seemed appropriate for Mike at that very moment.

“Yo, No shit!” Mike cried out with excitement, finally stepping on the gas, “The chick from UCLA*? You…you still with her?” He inquired.

“Yeah, Homie! ”

“Dawg!…” laughing with sheer amazement, Mike looked at Jim, “I’m impressed…really” he added, proceeding to chuckle, “Look ‘atchu…my boi Jim....going steady with the fine ass college chick…”

“Whoo!” With his soul finally returning to his body, Jim howled, “Finer than fine, dawg!”

“Hell yeah!”

Given the state of hyped energy that erupted in the car between the two young men, it would be nearly impossible to guess how sombre it was just before. “So…so…” Mike continued, holding on to the wheel as they kept driving, “… where you gon’meet?”

“Well…actually…” Jim looked at him, licking his lips, “….it’s a surprise” he added with a playful smirk. To which Mike could not help but laugh, “What?” Mike paused, “You didn’t tell her you’re back for good?”

Seeing his friend shake his head like a naughty schoolboy forced him to laugh harder, “Ohohoho!! this is gon be one hell of a reunion, dawg” He added with sheer enthusiasm, “But seriously though, she’s a real good one too, bro…” Mike opinionated, as soon as his laughter died down, “ I mean, even Syl liked her”

“Shit! For real?”

“Yeah yeah yeah…” Mike answered immediately, “And you know Syl, she ain’t easy to please”

Gulping down the remnants of the bottle, Jim exhaled and stared out through the window, “Shit man!” He exclaimed, “I’m really gonna see her again, huh?”

With his tone growing deeper, his eyes began to burn with a flame that could only be categorized as lustful. Sensing the vibe that did not seem so new, Mike chuckled:

“Oh yeah! My homie’s gonna get it tonight! Salud*”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The buzz, the chatter of young adults was consistent in the hallway outside. It served as background noise when the door of the toilet cubicle burst wide open, spitting a rather young woman out of it with haste. Only then did the mirror managed to identify her: You.

With your hand clutching on to a bra, you let out a relieved sigh. For within a few seconds, your body experienced a new form of liberation. And you managed to savor it on your own in a public ladies washroom. Wearing a soft smile that was easily reflected in the mirror, you stuffed the piece of lingerie into your shoulder handbag.

“Seriously?”

You jumped with a yelp. Being so wrapped around in your own thoughts, you did not even notice Yara, your friend standing there. With her arms folded and eyebrows raised, it was clear that her face was rife with judgement.

“What?” You inquired breathlessly, “Auntie Flo* is about to visit…and the twins were just swelling to …get some parole time” you added with a playful smirk, pointing at your chest with no shame. The curves of your now-freed bosom seemed more visible through your cardigan top, “And fuck! it feels so good” you exclaimed, as you washed your hands. Yara however, scoffed with amusement:

“So you’re saying you were squirming in your seat the whole time to let the puppies out?”

“What? I had to pee too!”

“Well, You could have just left right then!” She insisted with a seeming annoyance, as you grabbed a tissue.

“…and miss Mr. Linney’s Final Notes? Uh uh! No way, bitch!” You waved your index finger with disapproval as you both exited. Students had flooded the hallway by then. Evening lectures at UCLA finally had drawn to a close, and Friday night was about to make its entrance. Youth in all shapes and colors, gathered in bunches all over the campus area, even beside the beautifully lit Royce Hall. Suffice to say, all were relieved to have some time off in the weekend.

“So…you coming, right?”

You looked at Yara upon her casual inquiry with confusion, “For what?”. Scoffing again, this time in disbelief, Yara's eyes widened looking at you: “Dinner?…tonight?”

She stressed, taking a step out of the campus building, “Last week you promised you’ll join me and Chase” with her arms folded and foot tapping on the ground in pure restlessness, she was a clear visual of a loanshark. However, that impatience left her system the moment her eyes fell behind you,“…and speaking of Chase…Baby!”

With her face lit up, her tone grew affectionate as Chase, her boyfriend rushed over to her.

“ ‘sup babe!” The tall, young blonde greeted, pulling his ebony goddess of a girlfriend for a passionate kiss.

Folding your arms, you could not help but avert your eyes. All the while you drew circles with your foot on the ground. Chase and Yara’s relationship certainly was a refreshing one to glimpse upon in the campus premises. You approved of it with sincerity, even when you looked away in awkwardness. It was not on spite. Truthfully, PDA was nothing you disapproved of. You were certainly not envious of the joy they possessed as their lips played with one another, quite similarly to a steamy MTV music video. You merely looked away, for any display of affection was a sheer reminder of him.

It had been months since you last saw him, possibly 6. And constant communication was not exactly convenient for him. Not in his situation. Was he alive and happy? The sheer reminder of gunshots and helicopter whirring forced your heart to race, which was nothing short of new. Granted, you had learnt to ‘compartmentalize’, a term you recently came to knowledge in your psych minor class. Yet, you were young and only human to have those concerns return to haunt you even for a few seconds. The sound of Yara and Chase’s lips smacking urged you to look up. Finally, you thought.

“So?” Yara inquired, casually wiping the smudged lipstick off her face, “You coming?”

Carefree, yet extremely inconsiderate, that was what she exuded. A knot of anxiety formed in your stomach. For oddly enough, the sight of the happy couple managed to drain your energy out tonight. You longed to run away.

“Honestly…” you began with a sigh, “I don’t really feel so good tonigh-”

“¿Qué pasa, guapa?”

What’s up, gorgeous?

That voice. That deep, spine tingling tone was a reminder of your mere existence. The tone that tempted every hair in your body to stand at attention. Turning around in a flash, you covered your mouth, shocked to find the person you prayed to see all this time.

“JIM??” You cried out in a muffled tone, “Oh my GOD!!-”

Squealing in pure joy, you sprinted towards Jim Davis before jumping into his arms. Seemingly extremely pleased, Jim let out a hearty laughter. Suddenly the energy you were drained had returned in the form of a shot of adrenaline when he picked you up and spun you around, kissing you without hesitation. And you swore the feel of his lips on yours added a couple of years into your life.

“Wait, you didn’t tell me you were coming back so soon” Breathless, you pointed out when he finally put you down.

“Well, I’m back for good, baby” Jim replied, extending his arms outward with pride. Your eyes widened: “What? You serious?”

“Yep…” he grinned nodding, “Honorably discharged…and all yours”

You sensed his tone morph into a low purr the moment he pulled you close to him. And you would be lying if that did not fill your stomach with butterflies. After ages.

“Umm….”

Yara’s voice emerged. You and Jim turned back, to find her and Chase appearing the most confused, “…you mind telling us who this is…?” She inquired with raised eyebrows.

Finally in realization, you chuckled. For introductions were in order.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The aromatic scent crept into your nostrils, only to soon disappear out of the lack of attention provided. All the while an uptempo Latin Pop track playing in the background mingled with Yara and Chase’ voices, but unfortunately faded away into mere mumbles. For none of that seemed to be the key focus for you tonight. Not when Jim Davis was around.

Even seated at a crowded Mexican Restaurant, he mattered the most to you. Even when platefuls of delectable Taquitos* were served to the table, your eyes did not leave his irresistible side profile. And when his sense of expertise noticed and his eyes caught your gaze, you were breathless. You wondered if it was the romantic in you surfacing, for all seemed to appear in slow motion. His eyes remained seductive, washing all over you that it was certain your panties might melt and diminish into thin air. Those eyes were truly sorcerous, that your eyes suddenly had lives of their own to the point you could sense their figurative cheeks heat up with heavy blushes. For his eyes, they were proficient in the dirty talk as much as his mouth was. Breathing in his cheap cologne with depth, you suddenly grew aware of his touch, and the fact he had his arm wrapped around your shoulder all this time. Being lost in his eyes was definitely an out-of-body experience.

“Hey!”

Your soul reunited with your frame upon Yara’s call.

“Mmm?” Looking over at the couple sitting across the table, you and Jim were unfazed.

“Aren’t you two gonna eat?” Yara inquired with raised eyebrows while Chase had began to gobble. Her gaze questioned both your sanity. To which you and Jim could not help but chuckle in response. Shaking her head, Yara scoffed:

“It’s so weird…” she began, “…seeing you like this”. Wiping the crumbs off his mouth, Chase joined in with confidence, “Yeah! How did you guys even meet anyways? I mean, no offense but…we never thought she’d be the one…” he stressed, pointing at you, “… to have an older boyfriend who’s a Marine-”

“-Army Ranger” Jim corrected. His gaze and tone was dominant, enough for Chase to wither with intimidation.

“Yeah…” Chase nodded with a gulp, “…what you said…”. You would be lying if you admit you did not enjoy that sight.

“Actually…” you finally began, “We met a year ago” turning to face your boyfriend, “ He was back in LA during his break. We met at a bar”

“Hold up! ” Raising her hand, Yara was wide eyed, “How come I didn’t know about this?”

“Cause this happened a year ago, hun. Calm down” you chuckled, “Actually, this was even before Cin transferred. Hah! you didn’t miss much…Don’t worry” you assured upon seeing Yara’s pout, “It was a small bar, but I loved the Pistos*-I mean…” you paused with a smile, “….the beer there…” Your pause caused Jim to chuckle alongside once again. Safe to say it was a chuckle that encompassed a shared memory. A sweet reminder of your first ever meeting.

“And?…that’s it?” Chase inquired with amusement, with both hands resting on the wooden table, “You both meet at a bar one night and…” he whistled, “…then sparks flew?”

Looking at them both, you could sense the suspicion in their eyes. You longed to answer, however it was not so easy to do so. Pausing, you struggled with a response.

“Absolutely!”

Jim answered for you with nonchalance, while his grip on you tightened. For a split second you both exchanged a gaze of reassurance. And you had never been more relieved. The secret was safe.

“So…”, Turning towards the couple, Jim began, “How did you lovebirds meet then?”

Hesitation was certainly not in Yara’s vocabulary when she offered to speak. Leaving her sight, your eyes darted towards the the chilled beer that Jim placed on the table. You smiled to yourself. They were certainly filled with memories.

Reminiscing your first meeting with Jim Davis, never failed to be exciting every single time. Before Yara ended up in your life, there was Cindy. Noticing your evident sadness due to her surprise transfer to USC*, Cindy was hell bent in comforting you, thus suggesting you join her and her boyfriend Ray for a night out in South Central. You agreed, being desperate enough to spend the final few days with your roommate. Situated at the suburbs, this bar was small, intimate and seemingly inhabited by those who knew Ray, which resulted in a welcoming atmosphere upon arrival. Though the place was mostly filled with gangsters, you did not care for the slightest, when especially you found yourself falling for the unexpected; The beer.

Chilled to perfection, the beer there was unlike any that you had tasted before. And it was certainly a surprise, given they were the usual brands. You could not fathom the refreshing sensation that trickled down your throat with the first sip. That sensation tempted your hips to sway, urged your feet to move in rhythm. All in syncopation with the music that played in the jukebox under the dim lights. Until finally bumping into a man woke you from your intoxication. A man you were fascinated with in an instant:

Jim Luther Davis.

Such a pity that Yara’s gusto-filled story barely reached your ears. For reliving a memory simply seemed sweeter for you. Thus, you continued to do so.

Fortunately, Jim Davis did not end up being a handsome stranger that you simply bumped into, for coincidence had other plans. Especially, when he and Mike Alonzo turned out to be Ray’s mutual older drinking buddies. You were ecstatic. Internally, of course.

With the entire group packed together in the booth table, it was one loud but engaging hangout. Except for you. Somehow you preferred to sit right next to Cindy in silence, being distracted by two things: Beer, and Jim.

Blame the chemicals embedded in your system, for you simply found yourself drawn to him. Truthfully, it did not seem so difficult to begin with. Not when he turned out to be your type in appearance. You found yourself watching him. The manner in which he listened to others with swagger and confidence, the manner in which he held himself ; They all brought a certain air to him. Your attention had pierced through all manner of secrecy that he would occasionally end up catching your gaze. And then you would look away, quick and embarrassed. Though you must admit, it was a game you thoroughly enjoyed playing. But at the same time, you felt idiotic and childish.

“Cat got yo tongue, baby?”

You blinked, looking up. Fabio, one of Ray’s friends threw the query over to your direction, all of the sudden. And with that, the table grew quiet. All the eyes landed on you, except for Jim’s. A surge of embarrassment rushed towards you when awkward silence filled the booth. For you were definitely distracted to the point you did not follow the conversation. With you struggling to form an answer, Fabio snickered:

“Yo Cindy, What’s up with yo friend? She deaf or somethin’?”

“Easy, homie”

Before Cindy could respond, Jim’s quick reply arose. And you swore your eyes caught the sight of his hand ball into a fist as his eyes had grown dark. Oddly enough, that was the comfort you needed right then.

“Don’t mind me, Fabio…” you shrugged with confidence, “I’m just a girl hooked on her Pistos” you said, enunciating the Spanish word before taking another sip. You may have smiled at him, but you knew how much you feigned it. Awkward silence remained intact. But Ray managed to save the night, by changing the topic of conversation. Slightly embarrassed, Fabio shot you a look. All before he leaned towards his friends, muttering some words in Spanish.

“You speak Spanish?”

Jim’s low query made you turn to him.

“N-No…” you answered with nervousness.

“Well…” he began, “…you should” Though his tone was of seriousness, he did not fail to flash you a soft smile that comforted you even further.

Thus, the evening progressed. And you began to notice Jim in much detail. The more you did, you discovered a warmth that seemed to trickle down your heart. For you realized, you would not be able to stop yourself from falling for him. Hard.

You smiled to yourself, relieved Yara still did not know you were drifting away in your head, stuck in a memory.

Unable to stop obsessing over him since that first night, you remembered how you found yourself returning to the same bar the following night, alone.

Stepping into the venue, you suddenly were aware how unprepared you were. Even while placing an order at the bar counter, you remembered covering your mouth with embarrassment. Was this a mistake?

“Hey Baby! ”

Jumping in your barstool, you sighed with annoyance when you realized it was Fabio sneaking up on you.

“Just…” you feigned a chuckle, “Don’t call me baby, okay?”. Evidently ignorant, Fabio seemed to have chosen to stay. To your dismay. Sporting gold chains on his neck and wrists, Fabio was on a dire attempt to emulate a thriving gangster, when he actually was just another college kid like Ray.

“So, whatcha doing all by yourself, baby? Don’t tell me…you’re here to see yo boi Fabio?”

Keep telling yourself that, you thought. Exhaling in frustration, you maintained a tight smile, “I uh…just waiting for someone” you struggled. Flashing a mischievous smile, Fabio leaned in closer. You prayed he would not notice how your nose scrunched up by his heavy cologne with disgust. And how your body tightened when his eyes scanned you from top to bottom, licking his lips by the sight of your choker and your red, floral short dress.

“Who are we kidding?” He sniggered, “You wanna piece of this, huh? Come o-” “No!” You cut him off, “I’m really…” feigning a chuckle once again, “…waiting for someone…Thanks” you said, extending your hands in defense. Given the reaction of those around you, it may have been a louder response than expected. For Fabio turned red, making it his queue to slither away. You sighed deep. Luck did not seem to get on with you from the moment you stepped in here. Was this a mistake? When you felt a finger tap you on your shoulder, you rolled your eyes and turned around. For you were ready to give Fabio a piece of your mind.

Except, it was not Fabio.

“Hey…”

Jim greeted you, his deep tone announcing his arrival. Standing at an appropriate distance, he stood tall with a hint of swagger. Your body began to finally relax by the sight, especially when your eyes were refreshed by the open plaid shirt worn along with his white vest and baggy pants.

“Hey…” breathless, you began, “Hey!” Confidence finally became you as you repeated with a smile. The bartender caught your attention the moment he placed a chilled bottle of beer on the counter before you.

“Make it two, Hermano* ” Jim said, handing the man some cash. All the sudden, guilt washed over you as you gasped: “Oh I-”

“I got this…” Jim assured, seeing you reach into your bag. Grateful, you nodded, “So…” he began, “Can seem to get enough of them Pistos, hmm?” An inquiry left his lips the moment he received his own bottle. Smiling shyly, you bit the side of your lower lip. The manner in which that word rolled out his tongue caused excitement. Besides, his mouth suddenly seemed more delectable. Oh, his mouth.

“Yeah…” you admitted, “Can’t get enough…and I hope I never will”

You added, gazing directly into his hazel orbs. It simply was a mistake to do so, given how those eyes burnt with curiousity, urging you to blush in return, “And er…” pausing, you looked down, “ I was kinda hoping I’d catch you around” you said, looking up again.

“Yeah?” Jim inquired, genuinely surprised, “Why?”

That was when you froze. He was right, what exactly was your intention of seeing him tonight? Unfathomable on how you gathered courage to blurt that silly line in the first place. What if you dragged yourself all the way here to be rejected? What if there never was a form of enthusiasm from his corner as you hoped? What if this ends up being the story of a silly sophomore college girl, having delusions over an older man?

You chuckled with a nervous tone, “Well I-…” you paused, as your pulse began to grow loud within you, “Sorry…” you muttered, sliding off the stool, “This was just a stupid idea. I should go-”

“Wait!”

You turned upon Jim’s call. Showing his bottle, he shrugged:

“These Pistos aren’t gonna get finished themselves, hmm?” He dared to pose that inquiry with a playful grin. Smiling back involuntarily, you knew you had no comeback for that.

You remembered the chill outside the bar that night. The breeze that caressed your exposed skin of your legs were still fresh in your memory. Gazing at whatever stars your eyes could make out amidst the city lights, you and Jim sipped on the chilled alcohol from the porch. Given the fact there were little to none outside, the evening was unexpectedly intimate.

“Your uh…” clearing your throat, you finally broke the surprisingly comfortable silence, “Your friend not with you tonight?”

“Mike?” Jim inquired, to which you nodded, “Nah! he’s got his hands full” he answered with a smile.

“You guys close?”

“Hell yeah…He’s my homeboy, ya know? Since we were kids”

“Sweet. Must be nice.” You smiled in return, looking back at the sky, “I uh…remember that you serve. Iraq, huh?”

“Yes, Ma’am. Fallujah* ” Jim answered with a nod, looking at you.

“Whoa…” you breathed in wonder. Silence took over once again while your tongue savored the beverage.

“And you?…UCLA?” Jim spoke before wiping his mouth, “Man! That’s some fancy ass shit right there”

“Yeah well… it ain’t a walk in the park…” you contradicted in a shy tone, forcing him to shoot you a look of concern. To which you chuckled, “I’m on scholarship, I mean…” you added, helping him come to realization, “Hehe yeah…I had to nerd my way into that gig” moving side to side, you could not help but take another sip,“But, I know…what a good thing I got going on. And I know… if I screw it up, then I’m FUCKED” you enunciated the end, which drove him to laughter. You adored how it soothed you somehow.

“Well…” he began, “…whatever fucking takes, right?”

You nodded, “Hell yeah…Here’s to…uh…positive shit! Hah!” You laughed as you both clinked the bottles together. The more alcohol that chose to settle in your system, the bolder you became:

“What’s it like?”

“What?”

You fully turned to him, “Being out there…in Iraq…” you continued, “I mean…I’m guessing you’ve seen some shit…” you inhaled, “you know…shit you can’t forget, right? I mean, shit like that…” you scoffed, “….that shit can fuck…you…up…” at that moment you could not help but find yourself lost in thought.

But Jim’s surprised expression made you pause. You chuckled in embarrassment.

“I’m just…guessing…” you muttered, sipping once again. Perhaps you went a tad bit too far with the blabbering. For your cheeks began to heat up with worry. Until Jim spoke:

“Well…Shit or no shit…Follow orders, that’s what we do” Instead of a frown, Jim replied, taking a huge gulp from his bottle.

“Yeah…I get it” you nodded in a fast pace. Robust, and straightforward, his attitude was to be admired. Funny you found yourself staring at his side profile long enough, his face could easily be compared to that of a statue. Perfect in proportion, your mouth began to dry out. You were attracted to him, shamelessly so.

“I-”, You paused, suppressing a grin, “…never mind”

“What? What is it?” He asked, looking at you. To which you shook your head frantically.

“Nah, it’s really silly…”

“Come on!…tell me” Fully turning, Jim insisted with a smile. His voice had its way of being persuasive. And his voice had its way of tearing your defenses down, or so it seemed. Taking a deep breath, you began:

“I kept thinking about this but…” you paused, “Last night, you said I should learn some Spanish… Why?”

Desperate for more interaction, that was your excuse. Jim responded with a shy chuckle. Certainly was worth it.

“I mean, we just met and you barely knew me…” you continued with a smile, “So…why?” As your question grew more confident, your inner desperation grew strong. Taking his last sip from the bottle, Jim surprised you by taking a step towards you:

“You really wanna know the truth?”

“Try me” , You replied, quickly finishing your own bottle, all without breaking away from his gaze.

And thank goodness you finished it. For you would have surely dropped it. Especially when Jim stood dangerously close to you, causing you to be immediately aware of the muscles between your thighs contracting. Even more so, when his irresistible eyes traveled from your very own all the way to your alcohol stained lips.

“Cause…” he purred, “…you have no fucking clue how sexy you sound”

You both may have chuckled to his line, but that did not mean your pulse did not quicken. Which increased in speed the moment his eyes took hold on yours once again. Seduction, he certainly was proficient in it. And you, were a witness. A witness who suffered from internal combustion of frustration.

You inhaled deep, “Really?” “Yeah…” he breathed in a sultry manner.

Just when you thought no force on earth could break this eye contact, the door burst open. Some men exited. Breaking away, you looked at your watch watch in an instant. You sighed. Real Life was calling you.

“I…I gotta go…” downcast, you muttered with guilt, “Class tomorrow…” adding extra guilt, you knew that excuse certainly did not put you in a good light.

“Lemme drop you then…”

Jim’s nonchalant and nonjudgmental reply urged you to look up with relief. Smiling in agreement, you watched him enter the bar with the empty bottles. And in that very moment, a tingling sensation filled with thrill washed over you, leaving no inch unattended. Butterflies returned to your stomach, fluttering harder than ever before in your life. Were you being hopeful? Could Jim Davis be desiring the same? Goosebumps traveled through you when that tingling sensation returned with much detail. Too much detail to be specific.

Until you realized it was real. And Jim’s hand was directly at fault here.

Blinking back to the present reality, your eyes caught the sight of Jim’s chilled fingers on your leg. They ran over over your inner exposed thigh in circular motion, thus, inciting the tingling sensation. Of course, no wonder the detail was accurate.

Yara and Chase were oblivious to all this, for they were caught up in their own love story as she kept yapping. But that was only the fact Jim kept on such a convincing focused face. He may be ‘listening’ to your friend, but his hand was evidently not. The longer his fingers lingered on your skin, the more you were reminded of him. And the more you began to tingle and sweat in the most unexpected places.

You were young, and unapologetically shameless. 6 months. It was exactly 6 whole months since you were last physically intimate with your boyfriend. And with studies piling up along with the expectation of a scholarship holding sophomore, ‘getting yourself off’ was never an option. Not with a roommate around.

The tingling sensation grew even stronger. And you began to hear your own quickening breath. Jim Davis’ elongated fingers, they spoke of pride. You longed for them to travel to locations far more adventurous and private than your thighs. Especially when they were rife with experience. Truthfully, it was a fact that his hands and his delicious lips and tongue were fluent in your body than your own self. Being pleasure deprived for too long, the mere thought of him ravishing you, aroused you even more. Aroused, and certainly very starved. The kind that food simply could not satisfy.

“...and under the stars…” Yara continued, holding on to Chase with lovestruck eyes, “…he told me he loved m-”

“Excuse me!”

Cutting her off, you cried out as you stood up in an instant.

“What’s up with you?” Chase inquired, whilst Yara looked offended.

“Just I gotta…pee…” you lied, eyes landing on Jim, “…now”

“Okay…” you heard Chase mutter in kind as you left the table, “…TMI, but whatever”

In all fairness, being judged was the least of your concerns. With every speedy step you took, the faster your heart began to beat. Storming into the empty ladies room, you found yourself staring at a mirror once again, with a heaving chest and noticeably flushed cheeks. It was plain to see, you were engulfed in the flames of pure arousal, and the fire needed to be put out.

And when the bathroom door opened up once again, you turned to find the fireman enter. Wearing a serious expression, it was slightly difficult to decipher his thoughts.

“I…” you struggled as Jim strode towards you, “I didn’t know what else to do-” Except he knew. When he attacked you with a passionate kiss.

Jumping into him was reflexive. Wrapping your legs around his waist seemed almost choreographed. Finally resting on the washroom sink, it was quite safe to admit how both of you were very much relieved to be the only occupants in the room. For there was no intention of holding back. Your denim skirt hiked high up, revealing your thighs in completion under the white fluorescent lights as Jim stood between your legs. And they were much cared for, as his hands gingerly rubbed them back and forth while his lips indulged yours with hunger.

“You think they know I lied?”

Breathless, you inquired with innocence. Except you did not receive an instant reply. Not when you found yourself gasping when he pulled your head back by your hair with a growl. With liberated access to your bare neck, Jim celebrated by placing equally starving kisses all over, resulting in your surprising moans.

“You think I fuckin’ care?” He chuckled into your skin, to which you could not help but chuckle back:

“Oh no, you bad boy” you purred in tease.

“Oh yeah, baby girl …” purring back, his reply incited a giggle out of you before he kissed you once again.

“Ay Papi*!” You breathed into his lips before he snatched up yours for good. Surroundings were simply irrelevant the moment the kiss turned intense, as his tongue crashed in like the rude boy he was, and grabbed onto your own tongue in a passionate embrace. They clashed against one another in frenzy, him claiming you as his. As the kiss grew deeper, your moans grew louder. When he pulled away all the sudden, whimpers left your lips with desperation. Teasing you so, Jim took a good look at you:

“¿Como esta tu Español?” He breathed low. And you were pleased that you actually understood.

How’s your Spanish?

Pressing himself against you, he began to slowly grind. You grew excited. Listening to Jim Davis speak Spanish was simply erotic in the first place. And since you have been studying it on your own for past few months, you were certainly impatient to show him.

“Yo…” you began, finding the words “…estudio pala-sorry…” with a nervous chuckle, you looked down, “..I know I suck-”

“No no…keep going” Jim insisted with a smile, bringing your chin up for a reassuring kiss, “Now say it again…” he added, maintaining eye contact with ferocity. Taking a deep breath, all the words clearly appeared in your head. Thus, you flashed a mischievous grin:

“…estudiando palabras…muy importantes”

I am studying…very important words.

Gasping was all you could do when Jim picked you up, carrying you into the nearest toilet booth. Thankfully with this restaurant being surprisingly hygienic, you did not mind. Life barely was embedded in your legs the moment he put you down, locking the door behind you to push you against it.

“Oh yeah?” He inquired, panting, “¿Cómo cuál?”

Like what?

Panting alongside him, you stood up straight, “Por ejemplo…”

For example…

Amidst his pants and his impressed expression, you grabbed his hands, placing them over your buttocks. All the while you looked at him with eyes, heavy with lust:

“¡Haz lo que quieras!”

You could not believe how confident you sounded. Smiling with equal lust in his eyes, Jim kissed you in approval, definitely pleased with what he just heard:

(Do) whatever you want!

Growling with effect, his animalistic nature was exuded as his hands gripped onto your buttocks with passion. His big, generous hands felt through every cheek with familiarity, as if they just reunited with a long lost friend. But that did not mean he forgot about all the other friends, the rest of your frame that had missed him as well. Moaning with pleasure, you began to unbutton his white shirt during in haste.

You simply adored his hands, for they were as passionate as his Spanish was. As he proceeded to hold on to your hips, your own hands roamed over his torso over his white vest. Except you froze the second his hands landed on your chest. Shaky breaths exited your lips as you shivered by his touch, for your breasts were at its most sensitivity even through your thin cardigan top. Palming them generously, Jim groaned into your lips:

“Fuck! I missed you, Guapa”

“I missed you more, Papi”

Confessing in return, you kissed him once more. Moans of desperation mixed into your kisses the moment his hands dipped inside your cardigan crop top, only to make direct contact with your untethered bosom. You winced involuntarily, even from his touch so gentle. Jim chuckled with seeming victory. And you were not afraid to admit, how you were simply in the palm of his hand.

Usually, during the peak pre-menstruation, you dared not let anyone come close to you, let alone touch you. But when it was Jim Davis, those rules halt by the door. He was a man who could maneuver his touch. However, he certainly was no good boy. Proceeding with his sweet torture during kisses, you were relieved to have a door to keep you balanced. For his long fingers, they flicked, encircled and pulled your now-sensitive nipples, keeping them fully erect and thoroughly visible even through the clothes.

Gripping his vest even tighter, you pressed your thighs together, for intense levels of pleasure and sensitivity crashed within you, akin to an avalanche. In truth, it simply was an overdose, and you could not handle. You were a mere animal trapped in this cage of frustration. But like an animal, you managed to set yourself free. You pushed Jim back with such force, that he ended up sitting on the closed toilet seat behind him. A surprised expression adorned his face when you straddled him in the process. Peeling your cardigan off your torso, you hinted your need for him. Which immediately was motivation for him to unbuckle his pants. However, his eyes did not fail to leave your sight while he did. For his eyes revealed nothing but pure amazement and hunger. He inhaled deep:

“Fuck!” He uttered, while his hand dipped into his hardened manhood.

“Yeah, that’s right Papi…” you breathed, maintaining the ironclad gaze. All the while you permitted his hand to feel the intense dampness of your opening, “Fuck me!”

And thus, public decency went flying out the window the moment the lovers fully united. The manner in which his hands rested on your bare back; whilst you moved upwards and downwards in syncopation to his thrusts, it drove you wild. The manner in which his generous and erect shaft felt so familiar inside of your tight walls, was too intoxicating as always. His mutual desperation and hunger translated well, as his lips savored on your swollen and sensitive bosom as if they were treasured food rations. Tingles were divided into million branches, impacting every form of stimuli in your system. But even in the midst of these endless waves of pleasure, that certain question from Chase yet lingered in your mind:

“And?…that’s it? You both meet at a bar one night and…then sparks flew?” “Absolutely!”

For in truth, it was not just a night of drinking and playful flirting that caused this relationship to blossom. And just like that, You could not help but recall further.

And peek into the moment that remained stored in the deepest corner of your mind. In the form of a secret.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

With arms folded, you kept on waiting. Long enough for the chill outside to grow stronger. Long enough for you to begin pacing nervously. Even long enough for several men to exit the bar during. Given its cabin exterior, it became more and more evident that this was more of an old fashioned bar. You sighed. Jim was certainly taking a little bit too long inside.

Paranoia knocked on your heart’s door, forcing you to welcome it inside with reluctance. Thus, several questions began to occupy your thinking space. Was there trouble inside? A possible Bar Fight? You shook your head, for you were surely being delusional. Or worse, was this a part of his plan all along? The player type to ditch you for someone else? Perhaps with someone better looking that he just met. Envy formed in your heart towards a woman that possibly may not even exist. Your stomach turned in a merciless fashion. When the door opened again, a surge of hope grew in you. Could it finally be Jim?

Except it was not.

“Baby! You still around huh?”

Fabio said, in a pleased tone, exiting the bar. Clicking your tongue in an involuntary fashion, you turned away with frustration. For he was the last person you hoped to lay eyes upon.

“Hey-Wha-What’s the matter?” Fabio cried, “Can’t look at a friend?” Whilst he tapped you on the shoulder repeatedly. Alcohol was strong in his presence. And the fact he stood uncomfortably close certainly turned your stomach even more.

“Well, technically you’re not my friend” With a forced smile, you turned to him, “You’re Ray’s friend, OKAY? ” a snappy tone exited your lips. And for a split second, there was genuine offense painted in Fabio’s face.

“Just tryna be nice, jeez!” He muttered low, with arms lifted. Coming one’s senses, you finally drew in deep breath while letting your arms loose.

“I…I’m sorry, dude” you said, in a soft tone, staring the droopy eyed young man. Being Cindy’s friend, your last intention was to cause friction Ray and his friends. Your tone seemed to have been convincing enough, for Fabio flashed a soft smile in return:

“It’s okay…” he replied, to which you were relieved.

But that relief was short lived. Especially when Fabio leaned forward with puckered up lips in an instant, forcing you to gasp.

“What the hell, man?” You inquired, pushing him back with aggression.

“Ah come on, baby…” he drawled, chuckling in a playful manner, “Just one kiss…I mean, look at you! You still waiting out here. For who? I know… you really came here for me” with open arms, he went in for an embrace. Scoffing, you pushed him back again. That was when your pulse quickened again. To the point you hoped to flee.

“That’s it! I’m leaving! ”

You snapped, darting away from the entrance. The concern of leaving Jim behind or finding a cab did not seem problematic anymore, for all you needed was to get away. However, a painful cry left your lips when you felt your hair being pulled back. Your eyes widened. It was an angry Fabio.

“Ugh! Why you being such a Puta* right now, huh?” He said through gritted teeth, pulling you closer “Oh wait I forgot…” he snickered, “….you don’t understand Spanish, right bitch?” turning you to him. The alcohol had certainly rendered him more maniacal than ever.

“Don’t’ be a jerk, Fabio…” You cried, as you began to swing desperate punches towards his direction. But your defenses were lowered and moot, the moment he grabbed you tight by the wrists. You gasped, “..let… me… go! HELP! ”.

However, despite your cries, no one came to your aid.

This feeling, certainly was the ‘stuff of nightmares’. This feeling, had haunted you every now and again in imagination. To have it form into reality, was worse. No matter the force you exerted to free yourself, it seemed moot. For Fabio had the upper hand with his strength. And you were overpowered with intimidation. With the heartbeat increased in record speed, your heart was on the verge of exploding with fear. For the first time, you feared for your life. You despised the fact there was no one around, the fact this bar was on the outskirts. Almost close to tears, You heavily despised the fact you may be getting hurt in more ways than one tonight.

Until you heard a bottle shatter. Loud.

Glass fragments dripped from Fabio’s head as he cried out with immense pain. His grip on you loosened before he dropped down to the ground. Only for you to find Jim Davis standing behind him, with with a bottle broken in hand, and sheer rage in his eyes.

Rolling over, Fabio caught the sight of the man, “Jim??” He groaned, “What the hell, man? Why you helping this bitch-ARGH!”

A kick in the stomach was Jim’s choice in response, which incited more cries from the fool.

“THE FUCK YOU TOUCH HER FOR, HUH?” Jim yelled, his loud voice piercing through the tension like high pressured flames. However, the question seemed rhetoric, when he continued to kick Fabio, aggression growing more and more evident, “FUCKING…ASS…HOLE!” With tightened fists, he enunciated with each kick, “MOTHERFUCKE-”

“JIM!!!!”

You cried in an instant. And that very moment was when he finally froze. That fateful moment, you watched his face change, for his expression was clear as day. As if a wave of realization washed over him. As if bitter reality surprised him with a sucker punch.

All the while he stared down at his finished product: Fabio. He watched the the young man groan for his dear life, laying defeated and thoroughly bruised; all the while a weak stream of blood appeared prominent from his head and his mouth, adding a splash of bright color to the dark and dusty pavement.

Which was transparent enough for you, the witness.

You regretted being frozen with shock. If it only was for you to control. Thankfully a shred of it reached when you finally mustered the strength to call for him out from a potential murder. Violence, Danger, your trembling heart sensed it all. All from Jim. For that was what his strong aura emitted. However, despite your shock, never did you flinch. Never did your heart consider retracting from him or running away.

On the contrary, you were compelled to trust him even further. Especially when you sensed complete safety in him, above all others.

“Let’s go…”

You found yourself uttering those words, as you took his hand in urgency. Pulling him with haste, you both fled from the scene. Adrenaline coursing through the veins whilst running away, leaving a wounded man laying in his own mess before anyone could find out.

You remembered how Jim drove. Quiet, but focused. He drove and drove, until the bar disappeared from your sight. He drove to the point you both found yourselves ending up at a remote beach. And finally, time had returned to its normal pace once again.

Calming sounds of the ocean waves filled your ears, while the sight of the foamy waters barely were visible in the darkness. You watched Jim slowly take his hands from the wheel, rubbing his face. Your eyes widened, when you noticed his hand bleeding slightly. Perhaps from the broken bottle. You longed to speak, however no voice was present. Pushing the seat back, Jim slowly crawled over to the back of the car. Silence overpowered for too long, which urged you to clear your throat and speak:

“A…Are you ok-”

“You’re right, you know…”

You paused, upon hearing Jim’s interruption. Looking back from the front passenger seat, you found light finally shining on his face. Much to your sadness, cracks formed in your heart by the sight of his expression. Especially when silent tears streamed down his chiseled face. As if his mask of bravery was stripped away. Or even melted.

“You’re right…shit’s been crazy over there…” he chuckled with sadness, “…worse, shit’s crazy over here too…” he said, pointing at his own head.

Joining him in the backseat, you took the bandana off your head without hesitation.

“The thing’s I’ve seen…” he continued in mid-whisper, “The shit I had to do. The shit I wanted to do. It’s fucked up…so fucked up”.

It was unfathomable. Witnessing emotions of Jim Davis on variant scale in one single night, including him unveiling his vulnerability, you did not know where to begin processing. Simultaneously, those cracks in your heart, they could not help but form deeper to the point you ached inside. For a second, you were filled with an overwhelming desire for this misery in his heart to disappear. You longed for him to smile again. You froze. Were you tasting a slice of pure affection? Perhaps even, love? For him?

“It’s too fucked up…I’M fucked up-”

“Hey…hey…”

Your voice cracked when you finally began, leaning towards him, “Shhhh…It’s okay…” you said in comfort, while rubbing his forearm, “…its okay…I’m here” you said, as you occupied yourself with tending to his bleeding hand as a coping mechanism. The bleeding that he did not even notice.

With his hand on yours, the heart did feel heavier in comparison. As if his hand was magnetically powerful enough to keep you nearby. Thus, forming an attraction. Not the type that stirred the loins, but merely the kind that longed for you to wail on behalf of him. The kind to carry the pain for him. As if you did not wish to carry on another minute of your life, without knowing he would be well. And you would be lying if you did not want to show him that.

Your trembling hand reached out for his surprised face, turning it towards you with patience. The deep breath you took, it occupied your lungs in completion. Butterflies exploded in your stomach , causing a riot before you moved close. Close enough to feel his breath on your face. And close enough to press your lips on both his cheeks.

You tasted his salty tears, that stained his face. Pressing your own lips together, you hoped you could share his pain this way. Your eyes were smart, urging your voice to take a breather, whilst they gazed at his lips. Those lips that turned you greedy the moment you saw first laid eyes on them. And his trembling breaths of despair were enough for you to finally dispose of any form of hesitation.

For you finally moved to kiss him ever so gently on the lips.

With your kiss, you were there for him, in spite of it all. In spite of the violence and the tears. And the moment you instantly felt Jim kiss you back, you knew you were hopelessly his.

All the sudden, a dose of sweetness was infused with the salty kisses, weakening the flavor of the beer that lingered in his mouth. Selfishly, the need for comfort vanished. For all you needed was him. In every possible manner. Safe to say, Jim wholeheartedly agreed.

A sudden injection of passion entered your systems, setting your bodies in its entirety, in flames. Which also included the loins. Powerful enough for you to straddle him, powerful enough for Jim to flip you down to hover over you. And certainly powerful enough for the both of you to make love.

You treasured it all. The manner in which his fingers were precise, hooking on to your panties to gingerly peel them out of your frame. The manner in which his eyes gazed upon your own, then traveling all the way south to take in the sight of your now exposed opening, that dripped with wetness, blushing in its own means and begging him to explore it. Thus, it was to be expected, when you welcomed him inside you effortlessly. As if it had waited for him all your life.

Even for the first time, Jim was fast, and was rough. Yet surprisingly, you did not care. You knew where it originated. And it seemed most apt.

While he moved in body, he fled in heart. Away from the horrors, away from the pain. This resulted from his need for a distraction. Amidst the syncopated moans that filled the car, you cupped his face. Looking right into his hazel orbs, you witnessed his need. His need for a distraction. And at the peak of climax, you witnessed his desperation. His desperation, that urged you to never him go.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

(Present)

“I failed the test…”

Jim uttered low, capturing your attention. With your face buried in his neck, you heard it louder than ever. Tilting your head, you sat up straight to face him, confusion taking over. After reaching climax following a session of passionate and exciting love-making in a restaurant toilet booth, there you both were in recovery. Never did you expect him to break the silence with a statement such as this.

“What do you mean?” You inquired in a half whisper.

“The Psych test…” Jim elaborated, while you proceeded to put your cardigan top back on, “…for the LAPD gig” sighing, he was downcast “I failed that shit…”

“No….” You breathed. The disappoint that was rife in his tone, somehow pierced through your heart. Thus, ushering in a wave of sadness that came crashing in, “Baby, I’m so sorry…” you said as you embraced him tight. To your surprise, Jim held you tightly in his arms in return. For when he buried his face on the crook of your neck and remained in silence for a mere few seconds, it was evident that was what he was required of. A rush of butteries attacked as you gently cupped his face. You loved this man, and your heart was the witness.

“Fuck the cops if the they can’t relate” you said through gritted teeth, before kissing both his cheeks, “Fuck ‘em! Cause something better is comin’ ” you added with a soft smile, while your thumb ran over his upper lip, “We just gotta ...keep our heads straight”

To your relief, Jim seemed amused, “Speaking from experience?”

You smiled with pride, “You could say that…”

Both of you chuckled. “The point is…” you continued with a deep sigh, and huge smile, “I’m glad you’re back for good, baby”

Except for his own smile, it vanished right then. And in turn, his eyes watered and they shone, reflecting nothing but desperation and vulnerability. You took pride in being the one to witness it, just as you did that fateful night a few months back. Stroking your head with both hands, his forehead gently touched yours:

“¡Eres mia!” He breathed deep.

You’re mine!

How dare he? Expanding with immense warmth and impatience, it did not take long for your heart to gain rapid pace, as it was your very first time.

“¡Si, para siempre!” You answered with confidence. For it was simply the truth.

Yes, Forever!

——————————————————

Index

UCLA : The University of California, Los Angeles Salud: Spanish term for “Cheers!” Guapa: Spanish term for Beautiful, Gorgeous Taquitos: A Mexican Food Dish Pisto: Mexican slang. A general term for an alcoholic beverage (usually beer) USC: University of Southern California Fallujah: A city in Iraq Papi: Spanish Term for Daddy Puta: Derogatory Spanish term for bitch, whore

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arckook · 4 years

Text

around and around - seven

pairing: cho seungyoun x reader, kim wooseok x reader

au: idolverse

warnings: more swearing than ususal

wordcount: 7.5k

description: you’ve had a one-sided crush on your close friend seungyoun for who knows how long, but things don’t stay so black and white when he introduces you to his new groupmate kim wooseok.

a/n: please listen to falling by harry styles and different by woodz for maximum emotion

“But doesn’t Y/N seem like the kind of person to have their future wedding all planned out?” Jimin asks, smiling over at the younger girl adoringly. “I feel like she knows exactly what she wants.”

“I wish,” you groan, pushing your hair off of your forehead. It’s sticky with sweat- the three of you are sitting outside, and it’s summer. “I only know a few things.”

“Tell us,” Seungyoun says, thinking to himself that he should have offered you a sip of his drink. You’ve already turned to Jimin and nicked some of hers.

You hum, setting your chin on the palm of your hand. Your lips pull into a pout, and you stare up at the umbrella above you, seemingly in thought. “My mom always told me never to date a musician, so I’ll probably follow that. She said they always end up breaking your heart.”

“Ouch,” Jimin laughs. “So never date one of your friends.”

“I know, right?” you reply with a lighthearted giggle. “And… I think my dad would like someone clean-cut. No tattoos and stuff like that. He’s kinda conservative in that way. Oh, and there’s one thing for sure.”

“Let me guess,” Jimin leans back, pointing knowingly. “Rich.”

You laugh.

Seungyoun always thinks you’re prettiest when you’re laughing.

“Nah, not rich,” you wave your hand, still grinning. “But like… kinda has their shit together, you know? I mean, to a degree, but. You know what I mean.”

“I do, I do,” Jimin nods. She looks to Seungyoun, lifting her chin. “So, Youn, you know anyone like that? This girl has not had a boyfriend since like fifth grade.”

You smack Jimin lightly on the arm. “Stop bullying me.”

“I am not!”

Seungyoun lets a smile pass with his lips pressed tightly together, fingers tapping quickly on the table. “None come to mind.”

“Ah,”

Seungyoun winces as soon as the bright light hits his eyes, rolling over and pressing his face into the pillow. “Stop,” he whines, muffled.

But nobody answers.

For a moment, he’d forgotten that he’s alone.

Seungyoun shifts, one eye opening to peek at where the light is coming from. He’s squinting and can’t see clearly, but he thinks it’s probably the curtain in front of his bed, slightly pushed to the side. And now it’s late enough that the sun has moved to glare straight through that small piece of the window.

Once the one eye has gotten used to the light, he sits up, rubbing both with his fingers. He winces- the headache that’s already blooming getting worse with the sun striking his face. Seungyoun feels around blindly for his phone on the nightstand, eventually finding it.

One in the afternoon.

A fuck ton of missed calls.

He sighs deeply, setting his phone in his lap and putting his head in his hands. He starts to groan, but that hurts, too.

Eventually he’ll have to get up and find some advil, but for now, that’s a lot to think about.

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz.

Seungyoun really groans this time, picking up his phone again to see who could possibly be calling this early in the-

Not morning.

Right.

And of course, it’s the only person who calls him often nowadays.

“Hello?” Seungyoun grumbles quietly into the phone, cringing at the volume of his own voice.

“Yah!” Sahee shouts, loud enough that he has to pull the phone away.

“Wait, please be quieter,” Seungyoun interrupts, pressing his other hand to his forehead. “Hangover.”

“Do you know what you did last night, Cho Seungyoun?” Sahee snaps violently, ignoring his request. “You made a fucking shitshow out of your friend group. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for hours so you can figure your shit out!”

“...What?” Seungyoun mutters, a deep frown settling into his face.

“I need to know what you want, Seungyoun,” Sahee says, a desperate tone lacing her voice. “Why can’t you ever give anyone a straight answer?”

Seungyoun hesitates.

“I’ll talk to you later,” he says, and hangs up.

He sighs again.

Seungyoun runs his thumbs over the phone screen, turned off. He must’ve drank enough to completely forget most of last night- whatever Sahee is talking about, he has no clue. The last thing he remembers is leaving the barbecue place to go pick her and Wooseok up in a taxi.

Ding!

The screen lights up with an instagram notification.

y/n.ing just posted a photo.

Seungyoun hums your name aloud, wondering why it brings a sick feeling to his stomach. He swipes on the notification, opening the instagram app. It takes a moment to load up. He wishes that wouldn’t make him so nervous.

It’s a picture of you from the chest up, lying down on what looks like the floor of a dance practice room, hair splayed out around your face, skin glistening, a bright smile on your face. The kind of smile where your cheeks pull up high, and joy twinkles in your eyes. He can’t see that kind of detail in the photo, but Seungyoun knows that expression. He has it memorized.

One swipe to the left, and there’s a video autoplaying.

“You make me feel special!”

You’re singing and dancing to a song that he knows you loves- extremely dramatically, with your limbs loose and your voice turning the pop song into opera. Your group member Eunmi is visible in the mirror, filming on your phone, and clearly dying laughing. The other two members, Jiseo and Soohyun, are sitting on the couch in the back of the room, smiles evident on their faces.

You tend to do that- light up the room.

Seungyoun scrolls down to read the caption.

‘Team bonding? #Jiseo-unniedon’tkillme #IpromiseI’llpracticemoreseriouslyinthefuture’

He chuckles, scrolling back up to watch the video of you again.

“L/N F/N,” he repeats.

“L/N F/N,” Seungyoun says, finally seeing you after searching the whole surrounding area of the restaurant. “This isn’t the bathroom.”

“...I know,” you say, looking awkward, tugging at the sleeve of your sweater. You talk softly, almost like you don’t want him to hear. “I couldn’t find it.”

“Ah,” Seungyoun cringes, grabbing his head. What is he thinking of? Was that… was that last night?

What the hell was Sahee talking about?

He exits out of instagram and opens messages instead, scrolling down to find your name. When he taps on the conversation, his stomach drops.

Y/N

Seungyoun-oppa… please stop calling me and take care of yourself instead. Have Wooseok-oppa take you home and drink lots of water. If you call your mom I’m sure she’ll bring you some soup tomorrow. Goodnight.

Seungyoun reads the message a hundred times over, his eyes catching on every piece of every word.

He remembers.

He kissed you.

And you left.

Seungyoun looks to the side, catching the way Wooseok’s head is dipped close to you, mumbling something quietly that’s making you smile.

“Yah yah yah!” Jimin shouts, thrusting an accusing finger at you and Wooseok, her cheeks flushed red. “These two look a little suspicious!” she slaps a hand on your shoulder. “Whatcha talkin’ about over there?”

Seungyoun’s eyes narrow as you point nervously to yourself. “Who? Me and Wooseok-oppa?”

Even then, you’d referred to Wooseok that way. When did you start doing that? He hadn’t spent too long thinking about it last night, especially with the way the conversation turned, but Seungyoun is sure that you’d never called his friend and groupmate that before. Why would you have started? Sure, the two of you had seen each other a few times at gatherings where Wooseok tagged along with Seungyoun, but you’ve never been one to throw around casual language without knowing someone well.

Why did you have to call him that?

Slowly, Seungyoun sets his phone back down on the nightstand. He lies down in bed again, putting one of his pillow over top of his head to block out the light.

He feels sick, and it’s not just from the alcohol.

Maybe it’s cowardice… maybe it’s shame. But he can’t face anyone now. Not Sahee, not Wooseok, and not you.

He’ll ignore it, for now.

“Just hang in there a little bit longer, okay?”

You hold your phone next to your ear, curled up in your bed, blankets tucked under your chin.

“Give it a week, and we can go.”

“...Okay,” you respond, your voice croaky. You’d made it through today faking that everything was fine, but as soon as you got into your bedroom, it had all come spilling out in painful, long bouts of tears.

“Y/N-ah,” Wooseok’s voice is comforting, as grating as it sounds through the receiver. “You’re a strong person.”

You hold in the whimper that tugs at your throat. “I don’t feel that way right now.”

“That’s okay,” Wooseok says, and you can imagine the way he probably looks as he’s talking. Kind, always reserved, but tender. “It’s true whether you feel it right now or not. You’ll be alright. Just put your heart into the comeback for now.”

“Okay,” you repeat, unable to come up with much more. “Promise me we’ll take a day off in a week.”

“I promise.”

You sigh in relief, pressing your face into your pillow. “Okay. Thank you. Make sure to eat dinner.”

You hear a semblance of laughter, subdued. “You too. Fighting, L/N Y/N.”

A small smile rises on your lips. “Fighting, Kim Wooseok.”

Seungyoun twirls the cup ramen around with his chopsticks repeatedly, zoning out, letting the noodles get bloated and cold. He stares at the clock on the microwave over the stove. It’s 7:23pm now.

He wonders what you’re up to today. If you’re doing alright. If you’re thinking about him kissing you, or if it didn’t faze you at all. He can’t remember exactly how you reacted. All he knows is that you didn’t kiss him back. He remembers that- the feeling of rejection.

Seungyoun wasn’t expecting it. Maybe that’s why it was so painful.

The two of you have been friends for a few years now. At the beginning, you clearly had no interest in him romantically. He was probably just Jimin’s older guy friend to you- just someone who was funny and nice and fit in well with the group of friends you were building up. Seungyoun remembers when you used to openly talk about other idols you thought were really good looking or charming. He remembers when you even (albeit somewhat jokingly) asked Vernon to set you up with his groupmate Mingyu, since he was “just so handsome, and clean-cut, and kind… what kind of human can be like that?”.

And Seungyoun remembers when things started to shift. When it became clear that you weren’t looking for Vernon to give his group member your number anymore. When you started brushing off Jimin’s teasing about getting a boyfriend, since you’ve been historically solo. He remembers when you started looking at him with a more pensive, adoring expression. Like you were memorizing things about him. Like you were taking everything in that you could.

Seungyoun knew the expression well. It’s how he looks at you, when you’re looking the other way.

You’re not subtle. You’ve never been, in all the time that Seungyoun has known you. In virtually every situation, you’re talkative and fun and supportive- you make yourself known and you make your thoughts clear. Sometimes it’s embarrassing, but most of the time, it’s endearing. He thinks that might be why you’re so popular, among your fans and the public and other idols, too.

But you started to become quieter around him. Careful, like you only wanted to show the best parts of you. A little nervous, like you didn’t want his opinion of you to change even a fraction. It was unlike you.

You’re not subtle. Seungyoun noticed your feelings for him not long after they must have developed.

He doesn’t have enough fingers to count on his hands the number of times that he has looked at you- whether it’s across a table, a room, or on the screen of his phone- and thought that he has to tell you soon. It happens often. Whenever you set your chin on the palm of your hand, and look up at him from underneath your eyelashes. Or when you laugh at something he said. Or when he catches the way that someone else looks at you when they’re interested. But he has never said a word.

And he never planned to.

Seungyoun sighs, twisting the ramen up and taking a bite. It’s definitely unpleasant now. Too much time has passed since he poured the boiling water in.

He has always thought, from the first time that you sat down in front of him, that you are like the sun. Vibrant, energetic, full of light. You are someone who loves fully and absolutely. You are someone who dedicates their entire heart to the things you love and enjoy. You are bright, and you shine without anyone else’s influence.

Seungyoun is like the moon. He can only reflect your own light back at you. And there is a cold, dark part of him, that will only ever drag you down.

Seungyoun has always thought, from the first time that understood who exactly you were, that he is not good enough for you.

“Again,”

Haeyoung’s voice strikes out into the dance room. You quickly reset, and when she counts off, repeat the eight bar section cleanly.

“Good job, Y/N,” your dance coach compliments. “Everyone, follow Y/N’s lead on this one. She’s at the center so the rest of you can relax a little, just make sure to hit count five sharply, there’s a beat in the background of the music that it’ll emphasize if it looks perfect.”

The four of chorus back a yes, ssaem, and reset when she directs you to.

You started dancing when you were barely five- your mom signed you up for ballet classes because her friend’s daughter was doing them too. You hated it. Absolutely hated it. It was boring to you, just learning how to take soft steps with pointed toes, one hand on the barre that was placed in the center of the dance room. It felt like that was all you did for ages.

But your mom forced you to stay in it, telling you that since she paid for it, you were learning ballet for the six months she signed you up for. You complained and complained, but when it came time to decide if you were going to continue, for some reason, you asked your mom if you could stay.

As you got older, learning contemporary, hip-hop, jazz, you realized that there was something about being on stage and performing out to an audience that made your heart race. You loved the feeling of immersing yourself in movement, of letting the music carry you and pull your body in every direction.

When you became a trainee, you weren’t the greatest singer. You could hold a pitch, could sing the easier songs at karaoke, could push out a couple of high-ish notes when prompted. Your lack of skill dug a feeling of fear, inadequacy, anxiety into you. You often felt unsatisfactory, and like your position among the trainees was constantly being threatened. You spent your days in high school rushing from class to the company building, late but present to vocal lessons that weren’t required.

On the day that the president of the company made the final decision on the members of the new girl group, you were late, too.

You were nearly in tears by the time you made it into the room with the other trainees. You’d been held up by the bus you took to get to the company breaking down. You couldn’t afford to take a taxi, so you ran.

You were so afraid, then. Terrified of not being chosen. You felt sick to your stomach, standing in the back of the room, brushing sweaty bangs off of your forehead, hearing the president choose the third member, your friend Soohyun.

You were barely listening. You could only hear muffled voices, like you were underwater, and the pounding of your heart.

“The final member is L/N Y/N. Everyone else is dismissed.”

Those words, you will always remember.

Over time, the snotty comments and criticisms from the other trainees that came as soon as everyone began to file out of the room have faded in your memory. Your shock and overwhelming relief shut them out back then too.

The president wanted to speak directly to the four of you. You were still dazed and weren’t really comprehending what he was saying until he said your name.

You can’t remember now, the entirety of what he said to you. You just remember that he went on about something vague, that you were unpolished and unreliable, that you were not the 4th choice for the other board members and coaches.

“You need to prove yourself,” he said.

“To you, sir?” you asked.

“No,” he shook his head. “To everyone else.”

You stare at yourself in the mirror of the dance room, feeling like your eyes are someone else’s. Jiseo, Eunmi, and Soohyun move around you, grabbing water and talking while everyone takes a break.

You look so tired.

It’s more than just the dark circles under your eyes and dull skin. It’s more than the exhausted posture of someone who has been working the whole day. It’s more than the sweat collecting above your brow.

You just look so tired.

Are you proving yourself? Have you done it already? If you haven’t, are you getting close? Will you ever?

Your feet sweep around lightly underneath you, gaze unfocusing as you go through the steps of the choreo again. You do it mindlessly, limbs following the memory that’ll be imprinted in your mind for years. You still remember routines that you learned when you were 12.

“Y/N-ah?”

You stop when you feel Jiseo’s hand on your upper arm, and turn to look at her, bringing your vision into focus like you just put glasses on. Her brows furrow.

“Take a break with the rest of us.”

“Hm?” you tilt your head. You’d realized that was what they were doing. Why didn’t you join? “Okay.”

You follow Jiseo to the couch at the back of the dance room, sitting down and taking a sip out of your water bottle. You stare at yourself through the mirror. You still see the image of yourself dancing.

You need to prove yourself.

To everyone else.

Seungyoun sits on the couch in the dorm. The kids are at school, and it seems like Seungwoo and Wooseok are both out and about. He came here because he was tired of being alone, but he’s just as lonely anyway.

Sahee keeps calling him and he keeps ignoring her.

Seungyoun looks at the recents list on the telephone app, his old friend’s name the first twenty at least. It’s been a few days. She still seems desperate to get in contact with him. Before her numerous calls are a few from his manager, Seungwoo, and Jimin. All of them went unanswered.

He has to scroll down pretty far to see your name.

The last time he called and you answered was when you told him that Sahee was in love with him. He doesn’t know how he never realized. Maybe it’s because he had been so focused on you and your feelings for him- his longtime composer friend having romantic feelings for him hadn’t even seemed plausible or relevant.

You cried that day. He could feel your guilt and anxiety through the call, without ever seeing your face. He knew something had happened when all of you were at Jimin’s house, he had assumed that as soon as Sahee came in from the balcony without you. He just hadn’t expected it would be something that weighed down on you so heavily you would snap at him not once but twice. Seungyoun has the feeling there was more to whatever Sahee said to you than what you relayed to him, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to ask now.

Seungyoun’s thumb hovers over your name. If he calls you now, what would you say to him? He’s desperate to know. It’s been clinging to him ever since he remembered what happened. A part of him doesn’t want to believe that you would really reject him. Even if he did make his move while wasted, that doesn’t mean you would suddenly stop liking him, right?

He groans, his head beginning to hurt with all the thoughts flying around in his head, and presses your name.

Immediately, the call screen pops up, and he presses his phone to his ear as the ringtone blares.

It only takes a few seconds before a robotic female voice rings into his ears. “Line busy. Would you like to leave a message?”

Seungyoun sighs, pressing the red button that will hang up the call. It’s probably better that you didn’t answer anyway. He slumps back against the couch.

“As long as you’re getting through it,”

Seungyoun lifts his head, watching Wooseok come in through the front door, phone to his ear.

“Yeah, I’m okay too. I just got home.”

Wooseok doesn’t seem to notice him, locking the door behind him and slipping off his shoes.

“Yeah, see you soon. Bye.” he chuckles, then adds, “Don’t worry, I will. Bye.”

Seungyoun stares at his groupmate, brows furrowing. Finally, Wooseok realizes that someone is there, and with a slight step back in surprise, lifts his brows.

“Oh, Seungyoun. I didn’t know you came back.”

“Yeah, I did this morning.” Seungyoun can’t keep the apprehensive expression off his face. “Who were you on the phone with?”

“Ah,” Wooseok pauses for a moment. “My mom.”

Seungyoun nods but doesn’t say anything. He’s not sure why, but there’s a cold tension in the air between them.

Wooseok begins pulling off his coat, continuing to talk. “She wanted to make sure I’m eating well, that’s all. And you know she doesn’t like to hang up easily.”

A smile cracks on Seungyoun’s lips. He does know that. Wooseok’s mom is notorious for making him late in the morning before schedules.

“There’s soup in the fridge. I had some earlier.” he says, pointing to the kitchen. “There’s some extra scallions I chopped up next to it too, you should add that.”

Wooseok nods, one corner of his lip barely lifting up. “Thanks. I’m gonna go shower. Text back Seungwoo-hyung, I don’t know if he’s coming back from his parents’ house tonight or not.”

Seungyoun nods. “Yeah, sure.”

Wooseok sets the things in his pockets on the counter and heads down the hall, presumably to the bathroom.

Seungyoun replies to the leader’s questioning text from last night as he hears the water start to run in the bathroom. He quickly goes back to the call list, a frown drawing together on his face. For some reason, he can’t get rid of the strange feeling in his chest. Something just seems off.

He presses your name again, pressing the speaker button so that the call just rings out loud.

It doesn’t cut off this time.

It rings and rings, and you don’t answer.

You don’t have a voicemail message, like most idols. It’s a way to try and prevent sasaengs from being sure that they have the right number when they call. All that comes out of the speaker is that same automated voice, asking Seungyoun if he’d like to leave a message after the beep.

Seungyoun’s eyes drift up to Wooseok’s phone, sitting flat on the counter across the room. He hesitates.

Then he shakes his head, shoving his own phone into his pocket. Seungyoun gets up and walks over to the kitchen, pulling the soup out of the fridge and pouring it into a pot to start heating it up.

“I really appreciate you meeting with me.”

You don’t bother matching the gaze of the girl in front of you, instead choosing to look out over the balcony of the bar you’re at. It’s a penthouse space on a moderately tall building near a few parks. The view isn’t bad, even at night.

“I can only stay for fifteen minutes,” you tell her, tapping your fingers on the table. You don’t explain why.

“Still,” Sahee says, her voice earnest. “I appreciate it.”

“What is it that you want to say to me?” you ask, getting straight to the point. You realize that you might be being excessively harsh in your word choice, but you’re tired after a long day of preparations for the comeback, and you don’t really want to be here. You only agreed to meet her because pretending like nothing ever happened was beginning to weigh on your conscience.

“I just want you to know what happened that night,” she says, becoming quieter. “After you left.”

Your jaw is tight. “I don’t really care to know.”

Sahee’s eyes flare. “Really? You know more than just me and Seungyoun are involved, right? Jimin and Vernon and Hyunggu were there too. Your friends. And Kim Wooseok.”

“I know who was there,” you reply bitterly.

“Then you should realize that it matters, what happened,” she snaps back. Then, after a moment of silence between you, Sahee settles back into her chair and seems to cool off. “Sorry.”

“Whatever,” you mutter.

“Seungyoun came back from looking for you drunk as fuck, crying, and wouldn’t explain what happened. He just kept trying to take shots even though Vernon was trying to stop him.” you cringe subtly at the thought, and Sahee seems to notice, her eyes narrowing. “Out of nowhere, he went off on me and Jimin, saying that it was all our faults, because I love him and because Jimin knew you and Seungyoun both had feelings for each other but never said anything to either one.”

You flinch. Seungyoun having feelings for you. You still don’t think it’s something you really believe.

“Anyway, the boys tried to stand up to him for Jimin and I, but Seungyoun was wasted out of his mind and having none of it. He tried to throw a punch at Vernon and broke like three glasses on the table.” Sahee shakes her head, sighing. “Wooseok grabbed him and I guess that calmed him down enough, but by that point Jimin was yelling at him and the owners were coming by to see what happened. It was a fucking disaster.”

Your eyes drift off to the view to your left again. “...Okay.”

“Okay?” Sahee repeats, sounding borderline astounded. “Don’t you feel any shame at all? He wouldn’t ever done this if you hadn’t-”

“If I hadn’t what?” you round on her, unable to hold in your frustration any longer. “What is wrong with you? You don’t know shit about me! You just keep interfering in my life and in Seungyoun’s life and in my friends’ too. It’s not my problem that you love him and he doesn’t love you, okay? It’s not my fucking problem!”

“I just don’t understand why you would give him up after all that time treating him like he was the love of your fucking life,” Sahee hisses. “You had the audacity to act all innocent when in reality you were just playing around with his feelings.”

“Don’t you think I felt that way too?” you exclaim, palms slamming onto the table. “Don’t you think I felt like he was playing around with my feelings? If it was as obvious as everyone is making it seem that I loved him, and he just let me think that he didn’t know and nobody else did either, while still doing things that made me feel like there was a chance he might love me back- don’t you think I felt like I was getting toyed with? I felt like my heart was breaking every time he said a word about our friendship, I felt like such an idiot because I could never move on. You think I’m the one who had the audacity to act a certain way? Don’t just throw all the blame on me because it’s easy!”

“I’m blaming you because it’s your fault,” Sahee emphasizes, and you let out a laugh of astonishment.

“You’re fucking delusional,” you tell her. “You should be embarrassed of yourself.”

“I don’t care what you think of me,” Sahee says, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair. “I just want you to answer Seungyoun so you can clear up the air about you not caring about him anymore.”

Your jaw drops, and another short laugh escapes your lips. Is she serious? “What, are you thinking he’ll suddenly fall in love with you if I tell him I’m not interested? Where did you get the idea that I don’t care about him anymore?”

Sahee doesn’t answer, seemingly stewing in her anger at you.

You shake your head, grabbing your bag and standing up. “I hope you stay healthy and find happiness, Sahee-ssi. Please never contact me again.”

You don’t stick around to hear if she says anything under her breath about you. You just leave, walking to the elevator and getting in alone, hearing the ding of twelve floors as you go down. You glance at your phone and see the notifications of two missed calls from earlier. Both Seungyoun. You sigh. You shut your phone off, and exit the building.

And you go back to pretending like nothing ever happened.

Wooseok thinks you look the prettiest when the sun strikes your face. He hasn’t been able to see you that way very often, because of the situations that the two of you have to meet up in. Always at night, or in dingy lighting in small restaurants that nobody really frequents. Nonetheless, the few times he has been able to see the way light shines across your skin and sets a fire in your eyes, he always thinks to himself that you look pretty.

Truthfully, he has always thought you were, even before the first time that he met you. Sure, Soohyun was the more active model and brand ambassador in your group, but you still appeared in your fair share of advertisements and TV shows. Wooseok had seen you around for a while before ever being introduced to you.

You’re smiling now, with a childlike innocence lacing your expression. Your fingers sift through the sand, and the breeze lifts your hair, curling it across your cheeks.

Wooseok feels something tug at his heart. He wants to tell you. How pretty you are. But your words from months ago ring in his head whenever he thinks about saying anything.

“Am I wrong for wanting him to say that I look pretty in a photo? I hear it often, but I just want to hear it from him.”

It won’t matter to you, whether he thinks you look one way or another. It’s Seungyoun who you want to hear those words from. He doesn’t want to confuse your heart any further. So he stays quiet.

“Isn’t the beach so nice?” you ask, looking over at him. Wooseok smiles back.

“It is,” he agrees.

You warned him that the two of you won’t be able to see each other for awhile after today. You were able to sneak out for the whole day thanks to your group members’ efforts, but going forward, you’d be far too busy with actual promotions to make time for Wooseok. Or anyone besides the group, for that matter.

Like the two of you had planned, you came back to Busan. Wooseok knows that you need it. He can feel the heaviness in your touch when you grab his hand, in your voice when you talk, and in your features when your expression changes. He thinks something else may have happened yesterday too, since you seemed especially weighed down when he met you at the bottom of your apartment building this morning. But he doesn’t want to bring it up for fear of upsetting you, not when you’re supposed to be relaxing.

“Thank you, Wooseok.” you say out of the blue, shuffling so that you’re lying down completely on the beach towel beneath you. You shut your eyes, a content smile resting on your lips.

“What for?” he asks, looking down at you. You open one eye to peek at him.

“For being there for me.”

Wooseok isn’t sure how to respond. “...You’re welcome.”

Your eye shuts again, and you stretch your arms out in front of you, the smile fading from your face. “I’m not a bother, right? You know you can tell me if I am.”

Wooseok frowns. “You’re not.”

“I’m just not sure I’m good enough for you.” you chuckle, but it sounds somewhat bitter. “Or anyone, for that matter.”

“Of course you are,” Wooseok replies simply, although his teeth tug at his bottom lip.

“Are you sure?”

He knows you’re somewhat insecure. It seems to permeate so many parts of your life. He just hates to confront it. It reminds him of the person he had been once, too.

“Y/N-ah,” Wooseok says gently. “I’m happy being with you.”

He worries for a moment, that he might have said too much. Not in terms of the number of words, but of what the words he did say reveal.

Your response is croaky. “I’m happy with you, too.”

Wooseok’s heart swells again.

How could he ever have imagined this? The first time you talked to him, he was cringing internally at how awkward and desperate you seemed. You were clinging to his groupmate’s every word and action, and it nearly made Wooseok feel sick.

But there was always something endearing about you. About the way you seemed to try so hard to see the good in others, and to live up to others’ expectations. You tried hard at everything.

Wooseok never thought he would come to care about you this much.

His mind drifts off when you go quiet again, the only sounds around him the soft rhythm of your breath, seagulls cawing, and the crash of waves against the shore.

He wonders, sometimes, if it’s fair for him to even feel this way. If what happened just over a week ago is anything to go off of, Seungyoun actually does love you. Wooseok had just never cared enough to notice, since his friend and group member never explicitly mentioned it. He doesn’t know the details on why Seungyoun kept his feelings to himself when it was so obvious that you felt strongly towards him, but evidently, the feelings are there. If he knew how Wooseok thinks about you, probably in the same way that he does, could they even maintain their friendship?

Wooseok glances down at you again. You look more peaceful now, maybe since he’s reassured you. Despite how obvious you had been about Seungyoun, he can’t tell what kind of feelings you harbor for him. He wants to believe they’re more than platonic, but then again, you never treat him like you’d treated Seungyoun.

He sighs, then lies down next to you, putting one arm under his head as he shuts his own eyes, letting the sun graze over his skin.

The wind is cool. The sun is hot. The ocean spray lightly lands on him, enough to feel good.

Your hand bumps into his. He thinks it’s an accident, until you lace your fingers through his.

“Thank you,” you repeat, sounding sleepy this time. Wooseok opens his eyes to turn his head in your direction. Your chest is rising and falling slowly, with the beat of drifting off to sleep.

He squeezes your hand in response.

It’s late at night when Wooseok finally returns to the dorm. Seungyoun hasn’t looked at the clock for a while- he’s just been on his phone, scrolling through social media.

Wooseok tries to be quiet when he comes in, but still ends up making enough noise to draw Seungyoun’s attention.

“Yah,” he calls quietly. “Where were you? We all had dinner together tonight. Seungwoo-hyung was hoping you’d make it.”

Wooseok takes a while to respond, only doing so once he has made it into the living room. He shakes off his hair, though Seungyoun isn’t sure why. “I just went to see a friend for the day. I’ll apologize to the kids and Seungwoo tomorrow.”

“Oh, who?” Seungyoun asks, trying to make casual conversation. He can’t help but feel that things have been stiff between him and Wooseok since whatever went on that night that he kissed you. He can’t remember how he got home or what happened after you drove away. He gets the feeling it was a lot to deal with for Wooseok.

Wooseok hesitates to answer. “Just… just someone.”

Seungyoun frowns, but doesn’t press it.

“I’m gonna go change,” Wooseok says, and heads down the hall.

“Do it quietly,” Seungyoun calls after him, hearing a Wooseok make noise of understanding following his words.

Seungyoun tries to go back to scrolling on his phone, but now he feels super awake again, and his awkward position on the couch isn’t helping. He turns his phone off and stretches out his limbs with a groan, standing up for the first time in hours. He makes his way over to the kitchen, opening the cupboard to find a glass so he can get some water.

Ding!

Seungyoun frowns, looking down at his phone, but he didn’t get any notifications.

He pulls a glass down from the cupboard and shuts the door, looking across the counter to where Wooseok’s phone is once again sitting face down on the counter.

Ding!

It goes off again, light peeking out from between the screen and the countertop.

Seungyoun shakes his head, knowing it’d be wrong to look at his groupmate’s phone. He walks over to the fridge, setting his glass under the water dispenser and letting it fill up.

Ding!

“What the hell,” Seungyoun grumbles, setting the glass down on the counter and walking over to Wooseok’s phone, flipping it over with the intention of just turning the ringer off.

He freezes as soon as he sees the screen.

Y/N-ah

oppa seriously you’re so lame…

why did you leave money in my jacket, i told you i would pay since i asked you to come >:|

oh well guess i have to see you again to give it back~~~!!!

Seungyoun stares until the screen fades to black, and all he can see is the reflection of his face, dark and blurry.

“Ah,” he says to himself, his voice barely there, just a hollow sound more than anything. “A friend.”

Ding!

The screen lights up again. Seungyoun’s eyes drift down to your name again, although the new notification is unrelated. He feels something tighten around his heart- something like a vine, or a rope, squeezing and tearing into him, clenching and binding in his chest. It starts to suffocate him, a stifling pain deep inside as he reads over your name in Wooseok’s phone again, as he reads the message, and understands exactly what it implies.

His head is spinning. It doesn’t feel real. He doesn’t want it to feel real.

Seungyoun’s fingers clench around the phone, and he finds his way to the unlock screen, typing in the password he’s seen Wooseok use a thousand times.

He lets out a bitter laugh once he sees what the background of his friend and groupmate’s home screen is.

What else could it be?

There you are. It’s a candid image- you’re wearing the pink coat that he remembers you buying about a year ago now. You’re not wearing makeup and he hates that that seems unfamiliar. You always seemed to want to look clean and dressed up whenever you were around him. Are you more comfortable with Wooseok? Your hair doesn’t look done either.

He wonders where exactly the two of you went today. Why Wooseok was gone from the early morning to the late night.

Seungyoun opens the photo gallery, a heavy feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.

Another short, astonished laugh leaves his lips.

“What are you doing?”

Wooseok’s voice rings out clearly, and he sounds a lot less friendly and quiet than before. Seungyoun glances over his shoulder, but can’t bring himself to make eye contact. He doesn’t answer, either, focused on the first image in Wooseok’s photos.

“Cho Seungyoun,” Wooseok says with a warning tone, and punctuates every word. “What are you doing?”

“I should ask you the same thing,” Seungyoun says sourly, finally turning around and holding up Wooseok’s phone. “What exactly were you doing with Y/N today? She’s ‘just someone’? She doesn’t look like ‘just someone’, if I had to guess-”

“Are you serious?” Wooseok’s face is cold as he cuts him off. “You’re looking through my phone?”

“That’s what you’re bringing up?” Seungyoun lets out a bemused puff of air.

“Yes,” Wooseok replies, walking forward and snatching the phone out of Seungyoun’s hand. “You should know better. It’s not your business.”

Seungyoun knows that he’s right, and that he can’t argue with whatever is on Wooseok’s phone not being his business. But it feels like his business, because you’re involved. He can’t help the snarl on his lips when he jabs a finger into Wooseok’s chest.

“What are you doing with Y/N? Taking her to the beach, taking couple pictures with her? What are you fucking doing?”

Wooseok laughs then, too. Shortly. “What does it matter to you?”

Seungyoun clenches his fists and talks through grit teeth. He’s never wanted to hit someone so badly. “What do you fucking mean by that?”

“You got too used to having Y/N give you all her love and never giving any back,” Wooseok bites out at him. “How is anyone supposed to believe that you actually care about her? What have you ever done that proves that you do? You just let her cling to you and adore you without being there for her. You let her destroy her own self-worth just because you didn’t have the courage to say that you loved her, even when you knew she felt the same way. So what does it matter to you, if I do all the things you never bothered to?”

After Wooseok finishes talking, there is nothing between them but empty space and empty noise and tension so thick it would take a sharp knife to cut through.

Seungyoun stares at Wooseok, feeling like in this moment, both of them are unrecognizable. He never intended to drag this many people into whatever was going on between the two of you. He never planned for it to become like this, where he and one of his closest friends are butting heads over you, fighting in a dorm where nine other people are sleeping. Nine people who rely on them.

It was always supposed to be just you and Seungyoun, until the moment when you would inevitably fall out of love with him and peacefully move on. Then it would just be Seungyoun.

Instead, it was you and Seungyoun, and Sahee, and Wooseok, and Jimin and Vernon and Hyunggu, and the members of your group, and the members of his, too. All of them had been affected.

“Fuck,” Seungyoun sobs, turning around to set his elbows on the counter so he can put his head in his hands, raking his fingers through his already messy hair. “Fuck. Fuck!”

“Seungyoun,” Wooseok says, but Seungyoun just shakes his head.

“Fuck,” he repeats, aching in pain, feeling his throat close up as tears well up in the corners of his eyes.

He feels a hand lightly land on his shoulder, giving him what he thinks is supposed to be a comforting pat. “Try not to stay up too late. I’m going to sleep. We can talk tomorrow.”

Seungyoun doesn’t reply. That only made it worse.

Once he has heard the door to Wooseok’s room shut, he crumples to the floor, trembling and crying, trying to muffle it all so that the younger members won’t wake up and hear him.

All he can think is why. Why did he do this? He did this to himself.

Seungyoun is still in love with you. And now, he will never have you.

#aaa #cho seungyoun x reader #cho seungyoun #seungyoun x reader #kim wooseok x reader #wooseok x reader #kim wooseok #x1 x reader #x1 imagines #x1 scenarios #x1 angst #x1 fluff #x1 au #i love pain and suffering :)

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years

Text

Title: Rumor Has It {10}

Chris Evans x Famous Reader Uriah “Riah” Tyler-Evans

Warning: Plot, Cursing, Angst, Slight embellishment of actual real-world media

Word Count: 2.2K

Summary: You and Chris have been married for four years after a whirlwind romance. You are both happy and trying to navigate marriage in the public eye while balancing your successful careers. In the entertainment industry, not everything is as it seems, the flash of a camera lens impairs vision. As scandal and flashing lights put a strain on your once fairytale marriage is it possible your Hollywood marriage can stand the test of the rumor mill?

**Inspired by a video seen of Chris and his co-star Ana De Armas on their press tour for Knives Out at TIFF where she kept touching his chest and face standing about five inches apart.

**NOTE: A WORK OF FICTION. NOT CREATED TO GARNER HATE OF ANY SORT.

**Loosley Edited/Proofread**

**Interactive**

Thank you guys for reading!!!! If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG. 😊 ❤❤

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What’s not to like about photoshoots? Nothing really. You get to wear designer clothes, get your make up done and get pretty pictures taken. Sounds great. Unless you’ve been doing it for almost ten hours. That was your predicament. You’d been shooting pictures for your album cover for the better part of a day and there was no end in sight. You’d tried to keep your energy up, tried to remain in the zone but it was harder than it looked. You were quickly descending into the land of grumpy. All you wanted was your bed a bottle of wine and one of Chris’ shirts.

“All right Uriah, that’s it. A few more shots and I think we’ll be good,” Boris shouted from behind the camera as he continued to snap away. Using that as some solace you held tightly to your resolve and pressed on.

Twenty minutes turned to forty and forty turned to two hours. After three and a half hours Boris finally called wrap. You were exhausted. You sat down with the crew and went through the three hundred plus images hoping to mark your favorites and eliminate those that just didn’t go well. The final decision was going to be left up to you and the record company, but you knew how to make your voice be the final one. You, after all, were the talent. You’d gotten far enough in your career that you held plenty of weight.

You didn’t get to crawl into bed with one of Chris’ shirts and a bottle of wine until near three in the morning. Taking comfort in his scent and the alcohol your unwind was easy. Once the bottle was finished you found yourself nodding off until Chris called. Once you saw his face, you lit up.

“You look tired.” Scoffing you nodded.

“I’m exhausted. Yet another photoshoot for the album. Hopefully, we finally have the album cover art.”

“Okay, that’s great. Are you happy with them?”

“They’re fine. I’m happier to be done with it. How are you?”

“Good, finally getting in.” You watched him set his phone down and peel his shirt off in the frame. Sighing you sunk deeper into the covers and watched the show. It was like he didn’t realize what he was doing. After he’d discarded his shirt his pants followed until he was only in his underwear. You laid there and admired your husband. You’d never get tired of this view.

“It is a shame to be so damn fine.” As if realizing what he’d done he snorted and laughed then took up his phone and carried you with him to another room.

“Me? Have you looked in the mirror lately Mrs. Evans?” You smiled then sighed.

“Is that my shirt?”

“I miss you,” you defended. His groan was long. You heard the rustling of sheets and once the motion of the camera stopped there he was laying in the bed with a sweet smirk on his face.

“I miss you too, dragonfly.” You changed your position in the bed not caring that now his shirt had risen up to your hip exposing your bare thigh to him. You watched as his eyes raked over your skin then back to your eyes.

“I’ve been thinking, after the premier and the hoopla we should take a vacation. You, me, no phones, or work, just us,” Chris proposed. It sounded blissful.

“My god that sounds so good. I think we’ve earned it.”

“I think so too, sweetheart.” The two of you laid there not saying a word just staring at each other. Your connection felt stronger than ever. Therapy had done what it was supposed to. You guys were better than ever. In fact, you were so much better you’d completed your last session with Dr. Danquah feeling incredibly optimistic and pleased with how successfully you’d been.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to fall asleep with each other still on the call with one thought to fall asleep to. Life was good.

-Two Days Later-

“Sounds like a plan,” Zora responded once you’d finished going over your plan for the next three months.

You and Chris had made such great progress in therapy that you felt more hopeful about the probability of your marriage surviving and not just surviving but thriving and becoming better than it ever had been. You’d both learned so much and every day the two of you were diligently working to put what you learned into play. He made a conscious effort to make you feel listened to and not just heard. You made an effort to give him the benefit of the doubt more times than not. Now after successful completion of near nine weeks of therapy, you both felt closer to each other. The love you felt for him had grown when you didn’t think it was possible to love him more.

The rest of your team left your office and it left you, Zora and Kizzy. Zora perched on your desk and watched you sign off on the rest of the contracts that needed to be couriered out. The next three months were setting up to be busy. You’d taken all the time you could and so had Chris. He was now in Los Angeles for meetings and interviews. It was his time to actually be present for the press centered on Knives out especially with it opening in a week.

“How’s Chris doing in LA? This is the first time in weeks you two have been apart.” You nodded at Zora’s inquiry.

She was right. You’d gotten so comfortable having him so close. You’d created a routine that you fell in love with, a routine that you now missed. It had been a week since he’d been gone, and you felt his absence to your core.

“He’s doing good. He says he’s trying to acclimate back into press touring and being away but it’s hard.”

“Uugh, you two are so stinking cute I can’t deal,” Kizzy groaned out. you couldn’t help but smile.

“I’m glad you guys are doing better and found a way back to each other,” Zora added.

You stood and handed her the folder. Once she took them and she nodded and got to work on her laptop scanning them for your records. The next step was sending a copy to your lawyers before sending them back.

Your phone rang loudly in your home office. When you looked at the screen you saw your mother’s name pop up.

“Hi, mama.”

“Uriah, who the hell is this white woman?”

“Uh—what white woman, mama?” Kizzy and Zora both looked amused, they knew your mother’s antics and the way she spoke. They often got a good laugh from it.

“This woman I’m seeing on The Wendy Williams show.”

Your confusion took over. You sighed then groaned. “Mama, I don’t have time to walk you through the who is who of the celebrity world. Try googling her.”

“Uriah Letecia Tyler-Evans. You better know who this woman is. From the things I’m hearing from Wendy, you should have her as top priority on your to-do list. By to do list I mean beat down list.”

Kizzy was the one to snort loudly. You gave her a look that had her clamping her hand over her mouth in an effort to stop any others from escaping.

“Mama, what are you talking about?”

“Turn on The Wendy Williams show now!” Zora approached with the remote and turned the tv on then proceeded to find the right channel. Once Wendy’s face filled the screen the volume increased. You were just in time to hear the audible gasp and “ooh” from the audience.

“Okay mama Wendy is on. What is so important?”

“Wait for it and listen,” your mother instructed.

“So, I don’t know what kind of marriage they have but if this were my marriage, and I know what you’re going to say my marriage fell apart from the same thing—an easy, trifling’ homewrecking whore.” Again, the audience gasped and “oohed”.

“Yeah I know, if you live in a glass house you shouldn’t throw stones but look y’all. In no world is this okay.” A video played of Ana wearing the sweater Chris wore in character in Knives Out. It was evident she had on nothing else but the sweater. She danced around while giving her best sexy eyes to the camera. You didn’t hear a thing else, not from Wendy or the audience, or even the music that was playing on the video. The video stopped and flipped to a picture of her posing in the sweater. You zeroed in on the caption.

“That was weird, anyway what I wanted to say is go see knives out. Also, thanks Chris for the sweater. I think it looks better on me this way, but you can feel free to come and take it and prove me wrong.”

As if you were a bull in the pen you saw red.

“This bitch!” Yours, Kizzy’s and Zora’s voice all merged into one as the three of you said the same thing, at the same time the same exact way. You looked at them and the looks on their faces made you wonder if you looked the same way. Pissed.

“First of all, this is all levels of inappropriate. I may be jaded and reading into things too much but ol’ girl didn’t have to put his sweater on with nothing else on. She posted this for a reason besides promo for their movie. Second, this is a thirst trap if I’ve ever seen one, now it’s not as extreme as others but a low-level thirst trap is still a thirst trap. This is a thirst trap of testing the waters. This is definitely flirtatious. Also, the caption, girl.” Wendy’s face said it all.

“Girl you know you not slick. This is disrespectful on all levels to this man’s real wife Uriah Evans. Again, I don’t know what kind of marriage they have but this isn’t the first time I’ve seen some suspect behavior from this woman toward Chris Evans. I get it he’s hot, he is a fine piece of white chocolate. The draw of a married man is appealing it’s like a competition but girl no. This man has a whole wife. Back off.”

The audience clapped and cheered.

“Do you see now Uriah. Now, who is this woman? You better tell me this isn’t the same trollop that tested your marriage a few months ago.”

“Mama I’ll call you back.” You hung up and prepared to dial Chris but before pressing the green call button you paused and thought about what you were about to do and what you were about to say. Every instinct in your body was saying blow up and rain hellfire on him, but thanks to the last months of work in therapy, part of you hesitated.

“Fuck!” You hit the desk and took several deep breaths. “This bitch really is grinding my last fucking nerve!”

“For good fucking reason. What the hell is that? Did Chris really send that to her?”

You had no idea. He very well could have. Again, you stopped and thought about things. He wouldn’t dare, not after everything you’d been through these last months, not after everything you came so close to losing. Still, there she was wearing the sweater. You looked back to the paused tv and examined the freeze frame of the picture. She looked so damn pleased with herself. Before you could fester anymore anger your phone rang again. This time it was Chris.

“Give me a minute, guys.” Kizzy and Zora walked out giving you a little privacy before you answered your phone.

“Hey, baby. I miss you,” Chris said with a smile on his face. You took another deep breath and tried to push away any ill will.

“I miss you too.”

“Are you okay?” He was walking around making you dizzy. When he finally stopped he sat down in perfect lighting.

“Yeah, I’m good. How are you? What’re you doing?”

“I just finished up wardrobe here in San Diego, getting ready to do yet another interview.” He leaned back and sighed.

“Okay, cool.” You couldn’t find anything else to say. You didn’t want to blow up at him or even ask him because you didn’t want to give him the impression you didn’t trust him. You understood now, you trusted him you just didn’t trust her.

“Are you all set to come out? I can’t wait to see you.”

“Uh, yeah, I’ll be on a flight day after tomorrow. I’m just finishing up some loose ends.” His smile was bright, and a glimmer caught your eye.

Squinting your eyes, you locked in on it then looked back to the tv at her background. Your eyes went back and forth for several moments before you felt the pit of your stomach fall. The backgrounds were one hundred percent identical. Her picture and video were taken from his room.

~~~~~~~~~

***If you want to be tagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!! ❤️❤️

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#rumor has it fic #Chris Evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #Chris Evans X black reader #black fanfiction #chris evans x uriah

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remingt0nleith · 4 years

Text

thorns | remington leith

try & find the hidden palaye royale song title in the fic! & additional A/N at the end.

A/N: hi wow long time no write :( SORRY! I have ideas and I try to write then my brain just doesn’t want to put the ideas on the word document. + y’know having depression doesn’t help things bleh... BUT I did write a full something finally (yay bare minimum author things!) This was requested! gonna keep trying to turn out requests & work on dark cherries also my birthday is on thursday and i’m turning 24 (wow im getting old help) & also the bastards comes out the day after so yay! lets chat about it when its out ok?

Request: Where Remington cheats on the reader and she finds out, but he does everything he can to get her back?

Thorns - A Remington Leith one-shot. || 1.9K words || under cut.

The catalyst for a ruined night came in a round of shots. Emerson poured the amber liquid into hot pink shot glasses that the boys had picked up days prior. Remington wasted no time in downing his, barely flinching at the bitter taste that now coated his tongue.

“Slow down there, cowboy”

Sebastian laughed before throwing his own shot back, placing a hand on Remington’s cheetah print covered shoulder.

“We can’t have our lead singer fucked up out of his mind, can we?”

The eldest brother chided playfully as he took the bottle from Emerson and poured more shots.

As the brothers drank and talked anxiously about their first show of a new tour, Remington’s phone buzzed in his back pocket, taking it out he suppressed an eye-roll at the message filling his screen;

My Love <3: HEY BABY JUST WANT TO WISH U LUCK TONIGHT YOU’LL KILL IT. LOVE U.

He wasn’t sure what had gotten into him lately, usually, he’d be thrilled at the love and adoration his girlfriend of three years was showing him. She was always cheering him on, listening to his music, and supporting his band in every way she could. Although she was unable to come to most shows due to a fast-paced work schedule she always made a point to let the band of brothers know they had her support. That should’ve been enough to keep Remington happy but recently he had become cold towards his girlfriend and as he put his phone away without responding all thoughts of her disappeared as well.

Remington headed backstage after the show still high from the performance. The adrenaline from the encouraging crowd and kick-ass concert his band delivered had Remington feeling happier than he had in months. Once in the dressing room, the boys quickly changed out of their sweaty stage attire into more relaxed outfits, and like clockwork, shots were once again being handed out.

Once everyone had a decent buzz going the boys and their crew headed out to a nearby nightclub to celebrate the success of the show. Remington realized halfway to the club that he had forgotten his phone in the dressing room, a fact that didn’t phase him, in fact he was happy to be rid of the constant ringing.

Once inside the packed club, Remington waved goodbye to his brothers and made his way to the bar. His buzz had diminished slightly in the car ride and that was a no go for Remington so he ordered a drink, which quickly became two, then three before he headed to the dance floor.

Packed in a sea of bodies the singer danced to the music, enjoying the happiness that came from the night’s events as well as the alcohol in his system. When a manicured hand grabbed him and pulled him close, he didn’t object, instead, he wrapped his arms around the dark-haired beauty.

The pair danced together to the techno music blaring overhead, strobe lights illuminating their faces, hands roaming freely over each other’s bodies before the woman leaned in and planted a sloppy kiss to Remington’s lips.

If there was a moment of panic, a spark of recognition somewhere in the sober part of his mind, Remington ignored it. Instead, he deepened the kiss with the gorgeous stranger, when the pair eventually pulled away from the kiss, they headed to the bar for more drinks.

When Sebastian came to let Remington know it was time to head to the hotel, the frontman wasted no time in asking this new girl if she’d like to go with him. Much to the dismay of the older (and wiser) brother, she said yes and everyone piled into the van and were chauffeured back to the hotel to continue the party.

Morning light filtered through the window a sign of a new day, but as Remington opened his eyes the gravity of last night hit him. He was alone in his hotel bed, the white sheets crumpled and covered in streaks of makeup (his or hers, he wasn’t sure). Flashbacks of last night filled his mind and all at once he realized the hickeys on his body were from a stranger, the realization filled him with shame and dread.

He found his phone which had been placed on his nightstand by one of his brothers or their touring manager (who always cleaned up after the boys’ wild nights) and on it were several unread texts and calls which came in at varying points of the evening.

[9:13 pm] My Love <3: It should be time for u boys to be on stage! I’ll be stalking twitter for updates and vids love u

[12:02 am] My Love <3: Watched a ton of vids that are already being posted! Get back to me when u get this my love so proud of u xx

[3:56 am] My Love <3: Guess your phone died or your out celebrating a great night. Call me when you see this or wake up. I love you.

[10:20 am] 5 missed calls

[10:27 am] *attached photo* REMINGTON.... FUCK YOU.

The photo on his phone screen displayed the girl from last night under the covers as a passed out Remington slept beside her. The caption didn’t say anything besides a winking emoji and she tagged him and his band’s account.

Instantly, he was dialing his girlfriend’s number, hands shaking as he paced around the spacious hotel room desperately waiting for an answer.

“Hello?”

Rose answered, soft voice hoarse from hours of crying.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry..”

Remington started to explain, words tumbling out of his mouth faster than he could form them.

“Save it”

Rose snapped before continuing her voice harder and more assured now than it was just moments ago.

“I never thought you’d do this even as the band started to gain an audience, I told myself that I had nothing to worry about. All the pretty girls and boys didn’t matter because what we had was strong but it sucks being proven wrong huh?”

Remington’s sudden surge of tears prevented him from speaking as the pain in his chest grew with each word. The saddest part of it all was that she was right and that ripped him up inside.

“Rose I-”

he whispered, voice barely audible even to himself.

Instead of an answer he was left hearing the sound of the call disconnecting.

The tour passed by in a daze for Remington and while his brothers desperately wanted him to be more present, they understood. He’d get on stage and sing, forgetting about the pain in his heart for that hour or so, as soon as the curtain closed the ache in his chest was back, a cruel reminder to the life-changing mistake he’d made.

Rose had cut off all contact with her now ex-boyfriend instead choosing to go through Emerson to inform him she was moving out of their shared apartment in LA.

Each night in his hotel bed, memories of the past three years filtered through his brain until he exhaustingly cried himself to sleep.

Remington used Emerson’s phone to send a series of texts to Rose to apologize, to accept full responsibility but the only reply he received was instructions to give Emerson his phone back and to leave her alone.

Just as quickly as the tour started it was now coming to a close a few months later. The boys were back in LA for a sold-out show in typical Los Angeles fashion. Remington never stopped trying to get ahold of Rose -- he sent flowers to her new address, letters where he begged for her back, apologizing and pleading for her forgiveness yet he was never awarded a reply. He didn’t blame her at all but that didn’t mean the pain hurt any less, he’d do anything for a second chance.

Shots of vodka were taken, cheers and high fives were given and the boys hit the stage. Remington gazed out into the crowd, a see of silhouettes behind bright stage lights. After a few songs, Remington sat down at the end of the stage, dark boots quietly thumping against the side.

“Y’know fans like to think we’re perfect”

he stated which earned a chorus of “I love you’s” as well as cheers from the crowd.

He smiled before continuing,

“As much as I love to hear it, it’s not true and sometimes we royally fuck up. I fucked up and these past few months have been hell so I wrote this song.”

The crowd applauded as they watched their favorite singer head to the piano, the spotlight shining on him as he sat down.

“This song is called Thorns,”

Remington began to play a hauntingly slow ballad about losing the love of your life and how apart of you is lost as well.

The pain in my heart is defeating me

Cracking me open for all to see

I’m numb to life, deep inside

Needing you to realize, you’re the better part of me

An illusion of love is what I fear

Taking each step is now unclear

A rose garden in my dreams,

You leaving now in front of me

Take my heart it’s filled with thorns

A rose trapped inside a perfect storm

Throw me to the wolves I’m on my knees

Begging for my rose to please believe

I made a mistake that I can see

Yet this pain without you is deafening

My heart of thorns cuts me deep

Paralyzing me and making me weak

Please my rose I beg you, have sympathy.

The rose garden in my dreams,

But you’re leaving right now in front of me

Take my heart it’s filled with thorns

A rose trapped inside a perfect storm

Throw me to the wolves I’m on my knees

Begging my rose to please believe

I love you Rose it’s all I know, I’m sorry for all my sorrow

By the time the song ended, Remington had tears blurring his vision. He was so wrapped up in playing the song he didn’t realize he had started to cry but to the audience that just made it so much more beautiful.

After the show, Remington hurried off the stage in order to collect his emotions but in the dressing room sat Rose. Her blonde hair was curled and she wore a red dress and in a true movie moment a dozen roses sat in her lap.

“Rem that song…”

she started but before she could finish, Remington ran over and threw his arms around her, hugging her to make sure she wasn’t just a figment of his imagination.

“I’m so sorry”

he whispered once she hugged back.

“The flowers were from Seb”

Rose mumbled, green eyes flicking down to them after their hug. Sebastian must have ordered them because he knew what Remington was planning. That was his older brother alright, always playing the papa bear role.

The singer’s mind was racing a mile a minute, he had a million questions but all he could do was apologize.

Rose shushed him with a chaste kiss before speaking,

“By no means have I forgiven you completely. That song however beautiful doesn’t make everything go away but I’m willing to work on us”

Remington nodded, happy she was here and willing to give their relationship another shot.

“I’m willing to do whatever it takes,”

he whispered, wrapping her in another hug.

They knew it would be a long road to get back to where they were before but Remington was happy he had his Rose back in his life.

A/N: omg that song was not that good I came up with it on my own though and I’m not a lyricist lol hope u enjoyed xx

#remington leith fic #remington leith imagine #remington leith #request #palaye royale fic #palaye royale imagine

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death-himself · 4 years

Text

Could You Meet Me Beyond the Grave?—Chapter 12

Summary: On this episode of "Virgil is Bad at Peopling" we tune in on Virgil attempting to have a conversation with one of his soulmates and, despite how horrible he is at it, it somehow ends okay

Pairings: LAMP (mainly Moxiety in this)

Word Count: 1,627

Warnings: Awkwardness, mentioned gore, lots of talk about death, talk of discrimination, talk of religion (specifically paganism and implied Catholicism), I think that’s it? This chapter talks about kinda dark stuff

previous next (AO3 Link)

“So, uh...”

“Hey...” I looked over at Patton, letting out an awkward laugh. “Hey...” We went silent again, unsure of what to say. I heard him shifting from one foot to the other uneasily.

“So do you, uh...” I gestured inside vaguely, clearing my throat, “wanna come in, or just...stand there?”

“Oh, yeah!” He followed me in hastily, taking a seat across from me at the dining table. I pulled my knees up to my chest, his gaze feeling like laser beams burning through my face.

“Nice place you have.” Patton tried to start a conversation. I quickly tried to come up with a response.

“Yeah, I bet it looks a lot better now that you’re not...tied up and stuff.” Oh god, I wish I had just gone to hell like a normal human. Patton went silent. I was fully ready for him to realize that he wasn’t safe here and make a run for it.

He tapped on the table a few times, before speaking again. “Anyway! How have you been?” We don’t talk about the kidnapping, got it.

“Could be worse, I guess. I could be dead.” I wanted to smack myself. I was already dead. “How—How about you, Patton?”

“Been doing pretty good.” He answered quickly, seeming to want to turn the conversation as fast as possible. “I’ve been really busy with work lately, so I haven’t really had any time to visit.”

“You actually wanted to come to this place?”

“Well...this is your home, isn’t it? I wanted to see you.” I felt my cold heart flutter in my chest. I tried to hide my face from him, standing up and heading to the fridge.

“Do you want anything to drink?” I opened the fridge, being met with the smell of iron and rotting flesh. I slammed it shut. Oh yeah, there was a dismembered body in there, stuffed in between some red bull and alcohol, the only other things we really kept in there. I turned to the counters, hoping something on there would save me. “We have, uh...water?”

Patton seemed to understand what was going on and said in a high-pitched, squeaky tone, “Yeah. Water sounds nice.” I grabbed two water bottles out of our supply, hands trembling and face burning.

“Hey, how about we go talk somewhere else? I mean, this area is great, but...it’s a little stuffy.” I nodded stiffly. “Yeah, sounds good.”

Patton led me outside, opting to sit with his back against the tower wall. I took a seat a few feet away from him, pulling my hood over my head in shame.

“Hey, Vee?” My throat dried up.

“Yeah?”

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but I’ve been kinda curious. So...how did you die?” Every muscle in my body tightened, the choker around my throat feeling as if it were growing tighter and tighter.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” I mumbled out.

“Okay! That’s fine! I won’t ask.” Patton was quick to try and soothe me, the grass and dirt under him rustling as he moved. I huffed, taking a small sip of my water to try and calm myself.

“Is it alright if I ask about the others? Or would it be better if I just asked them myself?”

“Eh. They don’t really mind.”

“Okay...then, how did they die?”

“Remy was stabbed outside of a strip club by his ex. He makes jokes about it now, but when he first became a Willow his main goal was revenge.” I snickered, trying to hide it behind my hand. “It was wild when we met his ex while we were hunting. He had so much fun torturing him.” I could only imagine the horrified look Patton was giving me, but hey, I was just describing how things really were. How dark we were (and still are).

“Emile had colon cancer; it wasn’t really caught until it had progressed too far for any real treatment. He was in pain for less than a year, and he died surrounded by his loved ones, so he doesn’t feel as bad about his death as the rest of us did with ours.” I hesitated for a moment, wondering if Dee would be okay with me talking about his story.

“Dee was alive in the 1800’s. He was also studying witchcraft and paganism. In a very...not so open town. A friend of his found an altar to one of the deities he worshipped in his room and promised to keep it a secret. But then he went ahead and told some people about it, and suddenly Dee was getting beat to death by his own parents.”

“Ouch.” Patton winced in sympathy.

“Yeah. After he became a Willow, the first thing he did was hex the guy, and every time he tells me this story he hums something about the three-fold law being bullshit; I have no idea what that is—it might be a personal belief—at this point I’m too afraid to ask, but yeah.” I fidgeted with my sleeves as the words fell out of my mouth.

“I guess that’s why he didn’t like us too much...being human and all.”

“Eh. Could be one of the reasons. I mean, it’s been 200 years and he still doesn’t even allow us to watch him do any of his stuff. Pretty sure he keeps his altars hidden in his closet or somethin’.” I shrugged, pulling my jacket tighter around myself. The air had begun getting cooler—the sun must have been setting.

Before I could point it out to Patton, he asked another question. “What do you usually do for fun around here?” I rubbed the nape of my neck, head tilted to the sky. “Just...stay in my room. Read, watch some movies, go on the Internet. Stuff like that.”

“You have internet here?”

“At this point, I basically am the internet. My powers are the only thing keeping the electricity running, and I’m the only one smart enough with modern tech to figure out a way of connecting to the Internet. Which is weird, considering I was raised in the 1960s.” Patton hummed, drumming his fingers on his thigh as he thought.

“You have Netflix?”

“You mean that Netflix and chill thing Remy talks about?” Patton laughed, before pulling out his phone and tapping my arm with it.

“Why don’t we just hang out and watch some shows? Inside, it��s getting kinda dark, and cold...and scary.”

I sighed, standing up. “Alright, if you’re okay with it.” He hopped up enthusiastically, taking me gently by the arm and allowing me to lead him to my room, acting only a bit like a mother hen as we climbed up the stairs.

I blocked the door off with a chair once the two of us stepped in. “Hey, Virgil?”

“Hmm?”

“What happened to your window?”

“An...accident flew through it.”

“What kind of accident?”

“Remy. Remy was the accident.” Patton whispered a small oh, before slowly drifting over to my bed, sitting down and supposedly looking through his phone for something to watch. “Let’s just go with Voltron.”

“The fuck is that?” I laid down on my bed behind him. I heard some sort of opening begin playing, and he shifted, lying down next to me and holding his phone up between us.

I felt my face begin burning again as I felt his shoulder against mine, trying my best to focus on the audio instead while my brain continued to scream about the warmth of his body next to mine.

His arm had dropped onto my chest, the show having been long forgotten. His breathing was slow and steady. His head was tucked into my chest, a bit of drool seeping into my shirt. He was asleep. Around me of all people. We had only been three episodes in, too; he must have been tired.

I carefully reached for his face, fingers meeting the plastic of his big round glasses, and slowly pulling them off of his face, putting them on my bedside dresser.

A ding came from both of our phones, a text in our group chat, I guess. I checked my phone; Roman had begun spamming the chat asking where Patton was, followed by Logan asking him to calm down, and Roman spamming even more because of that. You said you’d be home and safe by ten! It’s eleven! Please tell me you’re okay! You’re okay, right? They didn’t kill and eat you, did they?

I sighed, texting back explaining what was happening. As if I believe you! What have you done to my poor prince? I groaned, causing Patton to mumble something, and me to go silent again. I thought for a moment, before going to my camera and taking as best of a picture of Patton as I could, sending it to Roman with the simple caption of He’s asleep, dipshit. Roman went strangely quiet after that.

Kiss him goodnight for the two of us. I blinked, asking Siri to read the line again and again, before coming to the conclusion that it was indeed real. I turned to Patton, running a hand slowly through his soft hair. I bit at my lip, before slowly bringing my head closer to his.

With a gentle peck at the top of his head, I whispered a soft, “Goodnight, Pat.” I then turned back to my phone and, in my flustered state, answered with “The deed is done,” resulting in multiple concerned messages from Roman.

I simply turned mine and Patton’s phones to silent, carefully running my hand through Patton’s hair again, and slowly drifting off to sleep myself, feeling warm and content for the first time in years.

#sanders sides #willow!au #virgil sanders #patton sanders #tw death mentions #tw religion

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shirtlesssammy · 5 years

Text

4x13: After School Special

Then:

Sam and Dean were once kids, and they had a pretty crappy father.

Now:

High school, amirite?

A joyous time where friends call you “slut” so you turn around and call a nice helpful classmate a “fat, ugly pig”, only to have the nice helpful classmate turn around and swirly you to death the next day in the bathroom. Plus your parents set your curfew at 9 pm on weekdays.

April, the girl who murdered her classmate, is in an institution. No one believes her story, but Sam Winchester in white scrubs does. Sam asks about sulfur or black smoke, but April just thinks he’s crazy.

Back in the Impala, Sam tells Dean that he believes April’s story and thinks they’ve got a case of demonic possession. The only thing off about it is that she didn’t see any black smoke. Time to check out the school. Dean sarcastically agrees. “Truman High, home of the Bombers.” (Oof, I’m surprised there wasn’t a referendum in that town to change that mascot!)

(And because I paused the video and was granted this aesthetically pleasing shot, I will share with the class)

It seems that the brothers went to this school once upon a time. Dean wants to know their cover. “FBI? Homeland Security? Swedish Exchange students?” Sam’s got an idea.

Cue Foreigner’s “Long, Long Way From Home”, porn shots of Baby, and a flashback to Sam and Dean’s first day at Truman High. A) Baby Sam in his little Carhartt just is the cutest thing ever. B) For all the math nerds out there, the caption says “Truman High School, 1997”. Sam says that it’s November. So, do the math and Dean should have graduated in the spring of 1997. We all know he didn’t because he got his GED. So, the question remains, was Dean held back in school (a VERY real possibility considering his extreme intelligence and extreme dislike for book learning, and all the monster hunts and moving and being a full time parent, etc.) or is he going through the motions of school just to watch out for Sammy? I don’t know which is worse.

Sam and Dean are introduced to their respective classmates. As Sam plops his stuff down on his new desk, his butterfly knife falls out. Millhouse Barry, another student that will soon become friends of sorts with Sam, notices.

Dean, meanwhile is pressing hard on the condescending, misogynistic bravado that we all know isn’t him at all. I really love this tidbit of information that Jensen gave to Brock Kelly, who played the flashback Dean in this episode.

In Sam’s classroom, while the teacher discusses an essay assignment, Barry gets bullied by another classmate. Sam Fucking Winchester tells the bully to knock it off. Sam, who hasn’t hit his growth spurt yet, is called a midget and Sam, gifted with the self-confidence of a boy that has his tribe (albeit small) and an outsider’s assurance that fitting in won’t matter to his drifter lifestyle (and that butterfly knife in his pocket, no doubt), challenges the bully. The bully flinches.

Present day Sam wanders the halls of Truman High as a custodian. He just walks past his old English class when his old English teacher, Mr. Wyatt, comes out.

Present day Dean is A LOT. He’s dressed as the substitute gym teacher. And well, we all know how much Dean loves to dress up. When he leans into an act, he leans into an act.

He tasks his poor underlings to the art of the Dodge while reconvening with Sam. Sam shames Dean’s outfit, and Dean’s slight look of abashment is so sad. The dude loves to LARP. Sam has been all over the school but not one clue. Maybe there isn’t a case after all.

Meanwhile in Home Ec, Male cheerleader threatens his table partner with a fist to his throat if he doesn’t share his homework. So, the other dude does what any sane person would do and takes said fist and pushes it into a whirling food processor. Sam is there to see the cheerleader whisked away and the other kid fall to the floor, black goo oozing from his ear.

While the school has a non-violence assembly, Sam and Dean have free reign to search the school for EMF and ghosts.

They’re dealing with a seriously pissed off ghost. Dean already did a little searching in the principal's office and found out that there was one suicide back in 1998, Barry Cook.

Flashback to this gem of a school banner:

Mr. Wanek is the art teacher. ALL THE HEARTS.

We’re shown more bullying of Barry with Sam coming to help. Sam learns that Barry wants to be a veterinarian. “You like animals?” dog loving Sam inquires. “They’re a lot nicer than people.” We also learn that Sam is adorable in his little brown striped hoodie.

Dean, meanwhile, is making out with a fellow student in the broom closet. This whole scene is a gold mine for Dean analysis. Needless to say, the more Dean tells the girl about his life, the more her alarm bells are going off for him. You’re life isn’t normal or healthy, Dean bby.

Sam and Barry run into Barry’s bully, Dirk, in the hallway. Sam tells Barry to run while Dirk threatens Sam. Sam just stands him down, and starts to walk away before Dirk punches him. His English teacher breaks it up.

In the present day, Sam and Dean burn Barry’s bones and leave town.

Sam laments the fact that if he could have stayed at Truman High just a little longer, maybe he could have helped Barry. Dean tries to console him, and tells him that it was a good thing they got out of there so soon. Sam doesn’t think it was all bad.

Flashback to Dean raging about what Dirk did to Sam, but Sam doesn’t want Dean’s help. He wants to be normal. They’re stuck in this town for at least another week (MY GOD, JOHN WINCHESTER. This. Is. Child. Neglect.) (Sidenote: Dean tells Sam that Amanda wants him to meet her parents. He then says he doesn’t “do parents” and well, we know he met Cassie’s mom and he met Cas’s dad, so sometimes he’ll meet the parents. Just saying, and welcome to my world where I can make literally anything about Dean and Cas.)

Back in time, Mr. Wyatt pulls him aside to ask him about a “non-fiction” essay he turned in where he describes how he and his family killed a werewolf over the summer. Sam’s only somewhat abashed. He’s clearly taken on the mentality that whatever he does in class won’t matter since they’ll be moving on soon. But the teacher tells Sam that his work is good enough that he could be a writer someday. Sam shuts him down: he has to go into the “family business.” (Hey Sam, you can always write on the side, baby.) The teacher asks him if he wants to go into the family business. “No one’s ever asked me that before,” Sam says. SAMMY. While I weep over Sam’s childhood, the teacher encourages Sam to make his own choices in life.

For Pretty Patterns Science

In the present, Sam heads back to find the teacher who encouraged him when he was a child. Standing nervously outside the door, he’s interrupted by a girl who asks him for directions. “Thanks, Sam,” she tells him when he helps her and then she STABS HIM OH MY GOD. “You got tall.”

She starts beating him up, ectoplasm oozing. Sam shoves a handful of salt into her mouth and expels the ghost.

Back at the car, Dean mirrors the school scene from earlier. He feeds Sam alcohol while he rages about ripping out the ghost’s lungs. “Or, you know what I mean.” They realize that all three of the attacking kids rode the same school bus.

Cut to Dean stalking through the suspect school bus with his shotgun, as one does.

They’re looking for hair, for skin, for anything that might tie a ghost to the bus. Dean finds the bus driver’s recent certification; he started the route 2 weeks ago. He’s the dad of Dirk, Sam’s youthful tormentor.

In the past, Sam confronts Dirk for beating up Barry. When Dirk attacks him, Sam’s had enough. He pulls out his raised-from-birth fighting tactics and quickly beats Dirk to the ground. “You’re not tough. You’re just a jerk. Dirk the jerk.” The nickname spreads like wildfire.

Sam and Dean talk to Dirk’s dad. Dirk died when he was 18 of an overdose. Dirk Sr. tells them that Dirk was poor and bullied. When he was thirteen, his mom got cancer and Dirk took care of her while he dad worked three jobs. As a cloud of guilt descends on Sam, Dean asks for Dirk’s burial site. Unfortunately, Dirk Sr. had him cremated. “All of him?” Dean asks. Dean. Bean.

It gets the job done. Dirk Sr. keeps a lock of Dirk’s hair in the bible on his bus.

That evening, the bus ferries a load of (presumably) football players to a game. Ectoplasm oozes out of the bus driver’s nose. The bus rams over a set of road spikes. I’m asking the screen WHY there are road spikes when Sam Winchester approaches the bus driver. Yeah, motha fuckahs, it’s a Winchester trap. (Related: they keep ROAD SPIKES in Baby’s trunk? Ooookay.) Dean ties up the bus driver, aka Dirk, in salt-soaked rope and then heads into the bus to find Dirk’s remains. He gets recognized as the gym teacher but Dean deflects: He’s 21 Jump Street, man. This ain’t nothin’ but a drug bust.

Dean finds the bible, but there’s nothing in it. Dirk falls into his villain monologue. In his experience, Sam and the popular kids are the bullies - they’re evil. “I’m not evil,” Sam protests because he is CUT TO THE CORE by being called evil. (Me: remembers that this is Season 4 and nods knowingly.)

“We were scared and miserable and we took it out on each other...that’s high school. But you suffer through that and it gets better.” Sam’s words don’t convince Dirk, who bursts free of his bonds. He gets shot out of the bus driver’s body and possesses one of the students. While Sam’s getting the crap beaten out of him, Dean searches everywhere for the hair, eventually finding it in the bus driver’s shoe.

Dean fumbles with his lighter (MY GOD invest in better lighters, boys) and then lights the sheaf of hair on fire. Dirk bursts free from the student and dissolves into flame.

And...we’re in flashbacks again. Dean’s kissing a different girl in the supply closet. Amanda walks in and Dean very, very poorly tries to cover.

Amanda delivers a scathing analysis of Dean: “I thought maybe underneath your whole ‘I could give a crap,’ bad-boy thing, that there was something more going on. I mean, like the way you are with your brother. But I was wrong. And you spend so much time trying to convince people that you're cool...but it's just an act. We both know that you're just a sad, lonely little kid. And I feel sorry for you, Dean.” This devastates Dean, of course. We close the episode with Sam riding an absolute high, beloved by the school and Dean at his lowest. John Winchester shows up just in time, or way too soon, depending on your viewpoint. They climb into John’s car, Sam waves goodbye to Barry, and they leave town.

In the present, Sam finally heads in to talk to Mr. Wyatt. (Sam’s still bruised and cut from the fight so...awkward.) He thanks Mr. Wyatt for the advice he gave him years ago. Sam admits that he made his own choices for a little while but got pulled into the family business in the end. Oh, Sammy. <3 “You took an interest in me when no one else did,” Sam tells him. “That matters.”

“The only thing that really matters is that you’re happy,” Mr. Wyatt tells him. “Are you happy, Sam?”

And...fin.

Rollin’ with the Quotes:

You got your lunch? Books? Butterfly knife?

The whistle makes me their god.

I have to go into the family business.

There may be three or four big choices that shape someone's whole life, and you need to be the one that makes them, not anyone else.

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #spn 4x13 #After School Special #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural season 4

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whorderofthepheonix · 6 years

Text

Sacredly Scarred: Chapter 26 || Erik Killmonger

A/N: YERRRRRRRRRRRR, I know y’all finna get turnt for this chapter because YA BOI IS BACK! And the return of a character y’all ain’t heard from in a minute 👀👀👀 ALSO I wanna do a competition.... I’ll venmo $10 to whoever sends in the most interesting Character Ask Questions (this may become a regular thing, we’ll see 🤷🏽)

Also, a huge, massive shout-out to @vikkidc @pand-pand-panda @desireatatyana @forbeautyandlife @sup3rn0va13 for coming to my aid early this morning to help me through one of the worst anxiety attacks of my life ❤️ thanks guys ❤️❤️❤️

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: Swearing, Illegal Activities

Alyssa’s POV

Ayana was washing off her face mask as I scrolled through our joint instagram feed.

“Hey, how many followers have we gained since we post that picture with Kim?” She called from the bathroom.

“30,000. But she just followed us back so we should be expecting more,” I grinned. I kept scrolling and came across a picture on The Shade Room, which almost killed me. “Oh, my god... OH MY GOD! AYANA! YENAI IS ON THE SHADE ROOM!”

“WHAT?” She screamed, running over to me without drying her face. “LET ME SEE!” I turned my phone to her and showed her the picture of her and Drake, cozied up at Playhouse. The caption reading. ‘TSRBaeWatch: @champagnepapi looked boo’d up at Playhouse earlier tonight with a mystery lady friend 👀 #Roomies is this just a cozy coincidence or is Aubrey off limits?’ We both screamed as Ayana grabbed her phone.

“I’m calling her right now!” She squealed. After a few seconds she hung up the phone with a strange look on her face. “That’s weird, she’s not picking up...”

“You don’t think she had a breakdown because of what happened do you?” I asked, worriedly. We just gave each other a look before sprinting to the elevator and basically breaking down, Nai’s door.

“YENAI?” We shouted out. She was definitely here. The apartment was cleaned earlier and yet, there was a pool of vomit on the floor next to the broken house phone. Ayana pulled out her gun, just in case.

“Really? A gun?” I rolled my eyes.

“Better to be safe than sorry,” she insisted. We entered the bedroom and heard movement from the closet.

“Yenai?” I asked opening the closet door. We walked in and Yenai was silent, sitting in front of the mirror, her eyes black from dripping mascara.

“Hi guys,” she croaked. “Nice gun, Ayana.”

“Put that thing away,” I hissed. She unloaded the gun and stuck it back in her robe as we walked over to Yenai, sitting on both sides of her. “Yenai, are you okay?”

“Was it too soon to come back ot the apartment?” Ayana asked. “Because you can come back with us right now-”

“The apartment’s fine,” she giggled. “It’s just a shame that I can’t stay here anymore.” She pulled a blunt out of her pocket and sparked it up.

“What are you talking about?”

“My dad’s getting out of prison next week,” she explained. “And so is Mr. Leonard Gregg.”

“Who is Leonard Gregg?” Ayana questioned.

“Doesn’t matter,” Yenai shrugged, blowing the smoke from her mouth. “He called me just now. They know where I am and they’re coming to kill me. It’s not like I can go anywhere, either. They’ll find me. They’ll always find me...”

“Yenai... You’re scaring us,” I said. She looked me in the eyes.

“You don’t think I’m scared?” She whispered. “I never thought I’d ever have to see them again... And now they’re getting out. They want blood. My blood.” Then she laughed, shaking her head. “Oh well. It was nice knowing you guys. I won’t bothering writing a will. You guys can just have all of my stuff... Oh, and tell Vogue that I’m sorry for dying before I could make the dresses.” She picked up her phone from in front of her feet and scrolled through Instagram. “Hey! Look at that! I’m on The Shade Room.” Me and Ayana looked at each other.

“Yenai, would you like to come back to our place tonight? You know, to feel safer?” Ayana asked.

“Sure, why not?” She sighed. “I’ve got 7 days left on Earth, might as well make them count.” Then she looked at her phone again. “Whoops. Make that 6 days. It’s past midnight.” We helped Yenai off the floor and got her back to the apartment. By the time her face hit the pillow in the guest bedroom, she was out. I pulled Ayana into the guest bathroom.

“Do you have any idea what she was saying?” I asked. “Who is Leonard Gregg? Did you have any idea her dad was in prison?”

“No, but Alyssa she was also stoned out of her mind!” Ayana pointed out. “Who knows if anything she said is reliable?”

“Well... We know one person who’d know...” I suggested.

“...Alyssa... No! Are you crazy? She’d kill us! And we hate him remember?” She hissed.

“Yenai, could be in danger Ayana!” I frowned. “What if someone really is trying to hurt her?” Ayana thought about it.

“We don’t even know where he is...”

“We can find out... You still dating G?”

“Kinda,” she grinned. “We’ve been on a couple of dates but I haven’t seen him since our last raid 6 weeks ago.”

“Doesn’t matter. Call him. He’ll find him.”

An hour later we got the address from G. Ayana also got an invitation to go sailing on a yacht date next weekend 🙄 I typed in the address and Ayana’s eyes almost popped out of her head.

“Redding?! That’s liked 9 hours from here!” She gasped.

“Well, I guess we should leave now then,” I sighed. “We’ll get there by midday.”

“Ughhh, can’t we just fly?” Ayan groaned. I glared at her. “Ugh. Fine! I’ll pack.”

“Not too much, just the straps and masks,” I advised. We gave Dorota specific instructions not to let Yenai leave the apartment under any circumstance. And we told the front desk to question and hold anyone who they’ve never seen before. We packed up our mini cooper and I got in the driver’s seat.

“Put the place in Maps, please,” I told Ayana as we buckled in. She searched the place and scoffed.

“Sandial Summers Treatment Center. Is this a treatment center or a country club?” She rolled her eyes.

“Well I always felt better after coming from Daddy’s country club so, what’s the difference?” I joked.

Erik’s POV

“How are you feeling today, Erik?” Jacqueline asked.

“Great,” I said, honestly. “I actually had the urge to talk in group yesterday.”

“That’s excellent news!” She smiled jointing down notes. “Does that mean you’ll join us for a run later? Or maybe take a dip in the pool?”

“Woah, I said I had an urge... I also had an urge for opioids a few days ago, so I won’t get ahead of myself,” I warned.

“Understandable,” she laughed. “It’s not permitted but a few of the guests manage to get ahold of drugs and/or alcohol while they get treated. When is the last time you consumed alcohol?”

“I haven’t touched a drink since the night before I checked myself in,” I admitted.

“An what about recreational drugs?”

“Nope,” I shook my head. “I was serious about getting my shit together. I never wanna be that person again.”

“When is the last time you thought about hurting yourself?” She asked. I thought about it.

“Um... A couple of days after being here. I just kept thinking about Yenai and... And how I hurt her. I hate myself for what I did...”

“You were in a horrible state of mind WHILE intoxicated. While that does not excuse your actions, they should be taken into serious consideration,” she informed me. “When you told me what your scars represented, I was worried. But then you shared where your mind was during that time. Again... Not excusable but understandable. You are making serious progress here, Erik. And you are free to leave whenever you feel ready. There’s no rush. I’d still like you to open up more in group but if you feel your time here has been effective, I’ve already written your discharge papers and can have them filed whenever.” I smiled.

“Thanks, Jacqueline but I’d really like to go back to what we were saying a few weeks ago about possibly reaching out to Yenai... Maybe writing her a letter?” I suggested.

“That’s definitely a possibility,” she nodded. “We can talk about it more in our next session.” We stood up and shook hands and I left the office. This place was incredible. I haven’t felt like great since... Ever. I didn’t feel the need to hide or keep secrets. I was free so to speak. As I approached my room, a nurse was waiting outside the door, looking worried.

“Oh, Mr. Stevens! There you are!” She quivered. “Your tea cart was delivered just moments ago.” Oh right, forgot to mention. I drink tea and shit now.

“Cool, thanks,” I said walking into the room. I closed the door behind me but stopped dead in my tracks when I saw Alyssa and Ayana sitting on the bed, sipping tea.

“Hey, Erik!” The sang in unison.

“Nice room, you’ve got here,” Ayana complimented, blowing her tea.

“Yeah, but FYI, tea is served at 4. Not noon,” Alyssa pointed out. I turned to the nurse by the door.

“The one on the right had a gun,” she quaked pointing to Ayana. “T-They- They threatened me!”

“You can leave now,” Ayana smiled.

“And remember what we said, keep your mouth shut,” Alyssa added. The nurse scurried away.

“Um, it’s not that I don’t appreciate seeing you guys... It’s just... What the fuck are you two doing here?” I asked.

“We need your help,” Ayana said.

“It’s Yenai,” Alyssa finished. I cleared my throat and poured myself a cup of tea.

“Is she in trouble?” I worried.

“We don’t know.”

“That’s why we’re here.”

“Well, I’m sorry but I can’t help,” I shook my head.

“E, don’t do this, we need your help,” Ayana frowned.

“With all do respect, you guys don’t even know if you need my help or not. And I love Yenai but I’m actually doing better here! I’m trying to move on and get better and...” I took a breath. “I don’t know what’ll happen if I just drop everything and leave for her. I’m sorry but y’all gotta leave.” I turned and reached for the door.

“Yenai’s father and someone named Leonard Gregg are getting out of prison next week,” Alyssa said from behind me. My hand froze. “We don’t know who that is but she said he called her and said he knows where she is. Said he threatened to kill her.” I felt my blood boil. “Who is he Erik?”

“He’s the guy that raped her when she was 12... And her dad let it happen,” I told them.

“Oh HELL no!” Ayana yelled standing to her feet. “Yo, what we bouta do?” Then it was like all the zen in me had gone out the window. The FUCK did this nigga think he was? Threatening MY girl. Aight, bet.

“Give me your phone,” I opened my palm and Alyssa handed me her phone. I dialed a number quick. “Yo, G... Yeah, nigga I’m good. Look I need a plane out in Redding. You got a guy up here?... Bet. Tell him imma be there in an hour.” Then I hung up.

“A plane?” Alyssa asked as I popped my hospital band off. “Where we going?”

“New York.”

Yenai’s POV

Dorota basically kept me hostage all day. It wasn’t so bad though. She served me my meals in bed and I just kept myself company by watching tv all day. I couldn’t stand to watch Lifetime without Erik so I just watched old Nickelodeon shows. It was nearly 10 o’clock at night and the Twins STILL weren’t home. I took out my phone and texted Ayana.

Me: Where are u??

They haven’t been answering my calls or texts all day! I just flopped back down on my pillows watching Kenan & Kel when my phone started ringing. I got excited when I thought it was the girls calling me back but it wasn’t. This time it was a 704 area code. I didn’t know where it was coming from. It couldn’t have been Gregg or my dad, right? Probably a scam call. I answered it.

“Look, I’ve already accept Satan as my Lord and savior okay-”

“Yenai?” The familiar voice on the phone said. My stomach dropped.

“Raina?!” I screeched. “What? How? What the fuck? Why are you calling me?”

“I wouldn’t have called if it weren’t important,” Raina whispered. “They’re talking about you on the news...”

“What? Because of the Drake thing on The Shade Room? Jesus, there are people that are dying-”

“No, not because of that! Look... Your dad’s name is Marvin George, right?” My heart started racing.

“Why are you asking me this?” I quivered.

“Just... Just turn on the news,” she insisted then the line disconnected. My hands trembled as I picked up the remote and changed the channel.

“And for those just tuning in, disaster struck New York City’s prison, Rikers Island, as a riot started due to uncertain circumstances. There have been 7 confirmed deaths and 11 prisoners have escaped.” The anchorman said. “We go live with Janet Matthews in New York City. Janet?”

“Thanks, Tom. I’m standing outside of Rikers Island prison where just hours ago, where 3 masked assailants broke into the prison and opened fire on several correctional officers.” Janet said. “Most of the escapees were imprisoned for minor drug charges except two. 51-year-old Leonard Gregg and 50-year-old Marvin George, both men were charged with 1st degree rape of a minor 12 years ago, when the latter allowed Leonard Gregg to rape his 12-year-old daughter, Mackenzie George. The 3 assailants, as shown in this security footage obtained by state shows, are seen grabbing the 2 men and exiting the prison, shooting anyone who gets in their way. If you have any information about the 3 assailants, we urge you to reach out to authorities-” I turned off the tv. My heart stopped when the footage played. No... It couldn’t be... They wouldn’t do that to me... They wouldn’t. The walls were closing in on me. My breathing got shallow and I felt like passing out. The door opened slowly and Dorota looked inside.

“Ms. Yenai... You have visitor,” she told me. This is it... This is the day I die. Let’s just get this over with. I took a deep breath and slid off the bed, following her into the living room. But, it wasn’t my dad or Mr. Gregg. It was-

“Erik,” I whispered. Erik turned around and faced me.

“You need to come with me,” he insisted.

“What did you do?” I whispered, tears falling from my eyes. “WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?!” I charged at him hitting his chest. “What did you do?! They’re gonna kill me, Erik! What did-”

“Yenai!... I know you have no reason but I need you to TRUST ME,” he said. “And I need you to come with me.” He extended his hand. I nodded and took it.

“Okay... Okay, I will.”

~~~

A/N: I wonder what’s gonna happen 👀👀👀 in the next chapter 👀👀👀👀 you know what to do 😏😏😏 See you in the next one! xoxo CHARACTER ASKS ARE OPEN! READ A/N AT THE TOP!

Tag List: @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @shame-full-love @wakanda-4evr @destinio1 @queenartistica @starbucksnapkin @hold-me-like-a-heart-beat @beymonger @goldenratiophelia @sociallyawkward18 @pandagirl200 @chelledallas @thatbish27 @janellemonaenae @blaq-gyal @ironsquad @godhatesyouandi @bigdaddythraxxx @cocooned-butterfly @someareblindtoitsbeauty @84eix @sincerelyroxxie @i-am-shee @thadelightfulone @depressed-little-shadow @vikkidc @keonaforever21 @keairadiamond @plushthighs @itsjustshanie @ovohanna24 @getyourfandomon @kzmiaz13 @marysxo @forbeautyandlife @blackandfair @imdiirtydan @theunsweetenedtruth @maya-leche @fromthebaytola @jennxgold @supernovaah @hidden-treasures21 @queenshxt-only @cutewylie @pupyluv247 @elegantd @namelesslosers @tntnv (Did I forget anyone? I’m so sorry! LMK!)

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turnipradish8 · 4 years

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Using the Perfect Social Media Program for You

It's absolutely exciting to discover a young adult's opinion on the appeal of each different social app. Offers a distinct interpretation from the reports connected with each software use and exactly how is being used each day. This report will not reduce the objective of every social networking app, it offers a particular viewpoint, an adolescent daily use guideline, should you will. I believe the best way to tackle this is going to be to split by online social network and the findings and views I've gathered over time. Facebook Basically, Facebook is undesirable for some young adults. Facebook is a thing we all got in middle school because it was cool however now sometimes appears as a clumsy family social gathering we can not really abandon. It is odd and can even be demoralizing to possess Facebook sometimes. That said, unless you have Facebook, that is a lot more odd and infuriating. Weird due to the cultural pressure and frustrating because you'll have to reply that to just about everybody in classes you meet who makes an effort to be your friend or find you on there. Facebook is quite often used by us generally for its group functionality. I know a lot of classmates who just go on Facebook to check the groups they are part of and rather quickly sign off. In this part Facebook stands out-groups do not have the same challenging rules in it that the news headlines feed does. It is very easy to just see the brand-new information posted over the group without having to sift through tons of posts and advertising you do not really value. Messages on Facebook can be popular among our generation, generally because they offer the methods to talk to those individuals who you are not really comfortable with requesting their quantity but comfortable enough to send out them a pal request. Facebook is often the jumping-off stage for many people to attempt to find you online, simply because everyone all around us has it. Any time I met you onetime at some kind of party, I'm not going to make an effort to check Twitter to learn who you are. Preferably, many opt for the ease of Facebook and the highly effective search capability that provides you results of individuals who you truly have a chance of understanding (unlike Twitter, whose search features, although it improved somewhat within the last update, leaves very much to be desired). Snapchat Snapchat is so quickly transforming into the most utilized social websites application, especially with the advancement of attaching your Snaps to a brief history feed. In the event that I may break down a party for you in social networking terms, here's how it could pan out: You update yourself planning for the party, going to the party, having fun at the dance, leaving at the end of the special event, and getting up in the morning after the special event on Snapchat. In Facebook you post the adorable, posed pictures you took together with your friends on the party (definitely zero alcoholic beverages in these pics). On Instagram you choose the prettiest one of the collection to create to your network. Snapchat is where we can really be ourselves while being mounted on our social identification. Without the constant social pressure of the follower count number or Facebook close friends, I am not really continuously having these random people shoved in front of me. Instead, Snapchat is a somewhat close network of friends who I don't care if they find me at a party enjoying yourself. No other social media (besides Twitter perhaps) it is tolerable post a uninterested picture besides Snapchat. There aren't likes you have to stress about or responses, it is most taken away. Snapchat has a great deal less public pressure mounted on it compared to every other popular social media network out presently there. This is exactly what makes it therefore addicting and free. If I don't get any likes on my Instagram picture or Facebook post within a quarter-hour, I will delete it. Snapchat isn't like that whatsoever and really focuses on creating the storyplot of a day time in your daily life, not some cleaned, transformed, handpicked focus on. It is the real you. One other quick apart about Snapchat, We only know a handful of persons (me included) that think Snapchat does erase your photographs. Almost everyone else I understand is convinced that Snapchat offers some top secret data source somewhere with all of your images on it. While I will save that debate for a later date, it is safe and sound to say that whenever photos are released or in the event that there may be controversy about security within the app, we honestly usually do not really care. We aren't mailing photos of our store cards here; we are sending selfies and photographs with us having 5 chins. Twitter In all honesty, a lot of us simply do not understand the idea of Twitter. There's always a core clique at nearly every school that would make use of it extremely frequently to tweet and one more clique that uses it to merely watch or retweet, but besides that many avoid it. In addition, it isn't incredibly easy to find friends on the website and many simply use it to complain about school in a setting in which their parents or family members (definitely not bosses) tend not to look at it. Twitter is a location to follow or be followed by a couple of arbitrary visitors, but still have your identity end up being attached to this, this difference will be valuable later on on. Your tweets may also be easily searchable on Twitter which is good but not great if you wish to be yourself rather than have it follow you around when you're trying to property a job. Hence, to others Twitter can be used like Facebook, users post with the assumption that your company will discover it one day. You will find after that 3 main groups of Twitter users: the ones who use it to complain and express themselves, the ones who tweet with the assumption that the prospective employer will eventually see whatever they say, and the types who just take a look at other Tweets and do the occasional retweet. Instagram Instagram is the most used social website app outlet for young adults. Please be aware the terminology right here, it's the most used social media application venue. Meaning, however the many people are on Facebook, we in fact share stuff on Instagram. It's always thrilling to me to visit a friend with fifteen hundred close friends on Facebook only get 24 loves on an image however on Instagram (where she gets nine-hundred supporters) she gets 295. I now have a handful of thoughts as to why this might come up. I am not really worried everytime I like an item on Instagram that it'll arrive in anyone's newsfeed and they will possibly screenshot which i liked it or research it later. The same applies to commenting. I am much less pressured to check out a friend or relative back in Instagram, that suggests that my feed is almost always made of articles I actually want to experience. That said, I'm going to return and browse through a program that has content material I love instead of those where I have to find the uncommon precious stone disguising. The articles on Instagram is consistently of top level of quality. Many people take the time to edit their photographs with filters, employ varied lighting and contrast settings (it's also among the actions to publishing an image), etc., to make the photos seem the best they possibly can. This translates to the content on Instagram is normally better (image-wise), therefore i am more likely to go back to the application. Instagram was not flooded with the older era yet (not everyone owns an Instagram profile) meaning its fresh and fascinating to younger masses. But, it is popular enough that if you have a smart phone it's nearly unheard of for you not to possess Instagram, if never to take images, though to perhaps tag users in photos. An extra feature: tagging. I don't have to constantly open Instagram to make sure I was not tagged in any shameful or negative photos. That is simply because you can't very easily identify them inside your newsfeed, designing the full experience appear far more private. Am I seeking weird in a picture you uploaded? Who cares. I could just delete the tag if I actually am that annoyed about it without dread that my close friends from another online circle (who do not follow you) are certain to get to it first. I am sure Facebook has the capability to enable you to check every single image tagged of you just before it appears on your own account, nevertheless plenty of people I know do not have that enabled or understand it also exists. Users do not publish 10000 times each day on Instagram. Almost everybody is a lot more polite about publishing, sometimes doing daily, several times weekly, etc. This means that there isn't a frequent amount of content being jammed down my throat every time I open the app, which is possible to be caught up with my Instagram newsfeed. You can find no hyperlinks on Instagram, this means I'm not being frequently spammed by the same advertisement, horrendous gossip updates, or news posting about the "29 Impressive Items for Your Pet You Had No Clue You Wanted". These are a number of points why nearly everybody my age tend to use Instagram a lot more than they are doing Facebook. Everything about the software helps it be less commercial and more focused on this content, meaning that more teenagers tend to visit it.

Every time we do visit the program, it's a much more interesting experience therefore we are more willing to Like and connect to the posts more. That increases our relationship with the program, so that we use it a bit more. Facebook gets all of the shots we shot, the great one, and the nasty one, while Instagram just gets one that undoubtedly summed up the festival we visited. It is much more selective, and truthfully users spend more time for the captions to create them focused or witty. you could try these out In Facebook we just throw up all sorts of things we got therefore users can tag one another and display our friends that we're still alive. Many of those younger than myself (9-15 years old) who I have talked to concerning this situation don't even have a Facebook profile. Instagram is everything that they need. The Others Here are other social networking that some teens work with still that might not actually demand a full-length discussion. LinkedIn: We need to obtain it, so we got it. A lot of folks wait around until university to understand this (as they probably should, it is not because of this demographic anyways). Pinterest: It's generally female-focused and it is for people who have an artistic type or folksy concentrate. Not too many persons discuss it. Kik: Is basically a messaging app that is largely employed for messaging users in Twitter, I guess? I don't know any person who makes use of this application. WhatsApp: Users download it when you go out of the country, you use it there for a little bit before going back again to iMessage and Facebook Messenger, you then delete it. I know plenty of people who use it to communicate with friends they found in other countries, but I feel like Messenger is definitely beginning to surpass it. For international college students, nevertheless, WhatsApp can be a pivotal device that I've heard is actually practical. GroupMe: The most used group messaging software in college. Everyone seems to have one, would make use of it and adores it. GIF support, the capability to like others messages, even trivial issues such as being able to switch your moniker between group chats all get this to both a good and interesting application. GroupMe also works for actually any telephone or system just like a desktop, iPhone, Android, and could very well operate over text aswell for individuals who may not possess a smart phone.

#smartphones

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emotionalsupportaudino · 6 years

Text

For @nuciablue for the @mkrholidayficswap! I’ve had you as my recepient two years in a row so I, uh, really hope you’re okay with my writing, lol. Anyway, a dippy AU about why you should never give Umi alcohol and why Ferio is a Bad Friend. (No it’s a shipfic I promise)

Drinking with Umi somehow always wound up… regrettable. And on this, the Ryuuzaki family’s giant fly-to-the-Alps, rent-out-a-ski-lodge, relax-for-a-week annual holiday vacation, it had been no different. Until, of course, Hikaru and Fuu had lost track of Umi, who may have drank a few glasses more champagne than could be advised. They’d scoured their rooms for her and had no luck until, they checked the balcony. There, they had been powerless to watch as Umi came down the slopes on a snowboard that was decidedly not hers, that she did not know how to use, wearing her evening gown and jacket, with almost all the lights out and almost nothing to see by, and flung herself from a ramp into a snow bank.

Still clad in party attire, Fuu and Hikaru had thrown on their snow boots and dragged Umi out of the snow and into their rented car. Being the only sober driver (Hikaru still had not learned), Fuu had helped her to the car and told Hikaru to set up Umi’s room for when they returned before driving off to find the nearest ER.

And that was how she was here. She sighed, her body sagging forward in the plastic waiting room chairs, watching the door for the nurse who had taken Umi back not too long ago. Glancing at her phone screen, she saw it was 11:30 on December 24th. She was resigned, then, to be spending part of Christmas in the ER. No wonder it was so quiet. When she’d come in there’d only been on other person waiting. A young man, dozing on a chair near the back. She’d lost track of him somewhere between helping Umi register at the desk and her being brought back, and now the room was empty and it was supremely lonely. She hadn’t even had time to pack a book. She noted that she was still in her party dress and boots and she shivered, closing her eyes. Now that things were calming down, she was cold.

“It’s a little clod to not be wearing a jacket, you know.”

Fuu glanced up at the young man who’d been here before them. He was holding two paper coffee cups and a plaid fleece blanket that smelled unmistakably like car. “Well, it was an emergency, after all.”

He offered one of his cups to her, and she took it gladly. It smelled sweet and warm and, at the moment, like pure comfort. Setting the other cup down, he unfolded the blanket and dropped it over her shoulders. She sipped at the drink and enjoyed the flavor of hot cocoa just cool enough that it didn’t burn her tongue.

“The last thing you want is to be back here tomorrow morning with a cold, right,” his voice was playful and his eyes were shining with some level of mirth that Fuu couldn’t quite gauge.

“I appreciate it. We left in such a hurry, I didn’t even think of it. Are you here with someone?” She could be conversational, and honesty, it was nice to not be alone while she waited.

“Yeah, a friend.” He blushed a little, looking away. “I, uh, might’ve given him a few holiday drinks. Didn’t realize Ascot was allergic to peppermint…”

Fuu winced at that. “Will he be all right?”

“Oh, yeah. He’s fine, they’re just keeping him to watch another few hours. I saw your friend go in… seems like an interesting story.” He smiled and judged her.

“She might’ve taken a few holiday drinks of her own.”

“And then went skiing?”

“Snowboarding.”

The young man barked out a laugh that he didn’t seem to anticipate. Fuu couldn’t help but giggle along with him.

“I’m Fuu, by the way. Fuu Hououji. It would be rude to not introduce myself if we’re going to be talking.”

“You can call me Ferio.” He winked at her. “It’s nice to meet you, Fuu Hououji. It’s a shame we haven’t shared a drink elsewhere.”

Was he flirting with her? Was that a flirting wink? Fuu had gone to an all-girls school through her entire middle and high school careers, and even now, as she was finishing her first year of University, she had no idea how to handle something like that. Instead, she sipped again at her hot chocolate, avoiding his eyes.

Maybe it was from the late hour, but she had to admit he was handsome in a roguish kind of way. His hair was all tousled and his eyes were this bright kind of gold He had a few light scars on his face, and they were charming in a way. He was sprawled pretty confidently, too, wearing a too-big dark green sweater and a pair of old jeans. He was relaxed but still came off as almost, well… regal. She wouldn’t exactly mind if he was flirting with her, but… she was probably taking it wrong.

“Hm? Did I say something?”

Ferio peered at her over the cup and she jumped. She’d been silent too long. She cleared her throat and tried to ignore the blush she felt rising on her cheeks.

“Not at all. I was just lost in thought, for a moment. … It’s a shame you have to spend Christmas Eve in the ER, though.”

“Honestly? I was just going to be at a big boring party, otherwise. It gave me a good reason to get out.”

“You don’t like crowds?” Fuu tilted her head quizzically. He seemed quite charming, after all. He must be good with people.

“It’s not that. It’s just that I don’t like the expectations… besides, my sister’s the one who does all the entertaining. I’m just there out of obligation.”

“You dislike it more than the Emergency Room…” She raised an eyebrow.

“What can I say. If it gets me a conversation with a cute girl, Fuu Hououji, then I won’t say no to it.”

She almost choked on her drink, her face burning red. And she could hear him laughing over the sound of her heartbeat in her ears.

“I-I—”

“Though I have to say, the evening dress and snow boots really add to your look. You might be onto a new trend.”

“Well! I told you, I couldn’t help it!”

“Come on, don’t be mad.” Ferio nudged her, playfully. “It’s not something you expect out of someone in the ER. And you’re cute when you blush.”

“That’s more than enough of that!” Fuu wished more than anything she could learn to control the heat in her face.

The night was long and quiet in the ER, and Fuu was sure she saw the nurses give them more than a look or two as he continued to tease her and she continued to protest. But it was good natured and after a few more rounds, it was easy. Outside of shooting off a few texts to Hikaru, there was really nothing else for Fuu to do, but talk to him.

And they talked. Hours of chatter, from playful banter to a discussion of her first-year philosophy class, to moments on global politics that Ferio seemed to be particularly well aware of while shrugging it off while saying he didn’t enjoy it. Somewhere around 4AM, though, the pair had begun to drift off, Fuu sinking down without thinking onto Ferio’s shoulder. He hadn’t protested, leaning his head on hers and falling asleep not much later.

Fuu awoke to familiar snickering and blinked awake, feeling his weight lift off of her. She straightened herself and blearily recognized Umi in front of her, on crutches, with a cast on her foot.

“Cozying up to a boy while I’m in the hospital, huh?”

“Umi-san! Oh, I—” She frantically shook her head, looking at Ferio with her face red again. “I’m so sorry, Ferio, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

He only chuckled. “It’s all right. Let me walk you guys to your car.”

As Umi hobbled to the car, protesting any offerings of help, Fuu followed along, searching her bag for her keys. Ferio watched them with that same playful grin he’d had all last night right until Fuu took the crutches and packed them in the backseat of the car so Umi could shut the passenger door. Before she could get into the driver’s side, though, he took her hand, slipping a scrap of paper he’d torn off one of the hospital brochures into it.

“You don’t have to use it, but… I’m in town for the next few days.” He winked at her again and his grin widened at the sight of her blush.

She scrambled for a moment and pulled a business card from her bag. She was always told they’d come in handy, but she never expected it to be like this.

“Wait! Um—please take this.” She handed it over with shaking hands. “I’ll be busy helping Umi-san today, so please… feel free to use it.”

“I certainly will.”

She hesitated. She didn’t necessarily want to say goodbye but she really did have to get Umi home. “Maybe we’ll see each other again?”

“Hopefully.” With an elegant bow, Ferio caught her hand again, pressing it to his lips. “It was nice to meet you, Fuu.”

Words couldn’t even come to Fuu’s mind as her heart seemed to stop. He finally let her go with a chuckle.

“See you soon!” He lifted a hand as he turned to head back inside and Fuu, startled, held her hand close to her chest. He was definitely flirting with her.

She sank into the driver’s side seat, still processing and looked at the number on the paper. He’d actually given her his number? Oh, she was going to have to use it…

Umi nudged her from the passenger seat, smartphone in hand. “Hey, Fuu.”

“Yes… what is it?” Her voice was still airy and dazed.

“So, I thought that guy looked familiar and—” She held up her phone to show Fuu an article. Something about foreign royalty visiting the town they were in. Ferio’s picture, next to a girl with a crown. It was captioned ‘The Princess and Prince.’ “You exchanged numbers with a prince, Fuu. Look at you! And I thought you’d be single your whole life—”

Umi getting drunk was always regrettable in some way shape or form. And as her phone chimed, she saw his number pop up.

‘Dinner 2nite?’

A glance in the rearview mirror showed Fuu that he was leaning on a column in front of the door, watching the car with a smile on his face and the phone in his hand.

Well. It was time to get Umi home. She needed to get some sleep if she was going on a date with a prince tonight.

#mkrholidayficswap #nuciablue #fuu hououji #ferio #fuurio #magic knight rayearth

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bxebxee · 7 years

Text

Easy Woman

Note: cannot believe this is finished wow dude. title and concept based on a specific scene in the drama Another Miss Oh. Also, this is very much reader-centric rather than member-centric. I hope you’ll still like it though.

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader Genre: Romance Warnings: none (but if we’re being real, internalized fatphobia, insecurity, slut-shaming if you squint) Word Count: 7582 Rating: E, for everyone (but caution because it’s a romance, and there are kissy-kissy times)

“The problem has nothing to do with how you look. None of that really matters- well actually it does kind of matter, but you don’t have to worry about the looks portion, seriously…” Yoongi pauses, eyeing you cautiously as if you’d explode at his words. “You’re too easy.”

Your kneejerk reaction of incredulous disbelief blooms into heated indignation on your face, and Yoongi holds up his hand to stop you from releasing a seventy-two-words-per-minute rebuttal. You are, probably, the purest form of Extra Virgin Olive Oil at your age; and you haven’t even gotten to the point of kissing someone in bed let alone sex (“At Your Age! At Your Age!” your brain likes to shout at you), so how Yoongi can call you “easy” is beyond logic – if anyone was asking you.

“I mean,” he clarifies, with a tired sigh, “You are way too easy with your heart.”

Another year, another break up. You would think that after Break Up Number Four you would feel a little less shitty about the same, damn conversation happening at the same, damn place.

It always happens at a coffee shop.

You want to line up your exes and ask them one by one why they always picked coffee shops to dump you. Was there some sort of national shortage of public venues that you should be aware of? Because it has come to the unfortunate point where you now associate coffee with heartbreak and abandonment; which is a terrible shame that leaves you disgruntled given that you are an addict who needs a large cup of caffeine tar every morning before 9AM to function.

It never gets easier.

Namjoon is direct and to-the-point, not wasting words on sparing your feelings, but not going out of his way to be cruel to you. He’s going for the clean break. No, the two of you will not remain friends; he’s just aiming for a definite end with as little bitterness as possible. He’s not trying to hurt you, but everything hurts all the same.

“Stay warm,” Namjoon says after a short pause. The two of you have now agreed to call it quits, and you’ve gotten moderately good at pretending it doesn’t hurt as much as it does. “Don’t get sick.” And he gets up and leaves. What a way to spend a Saturday afternoon.

Six hours later as you lay in your bed, you wish that you had the strength to be the one to leave first. At least you didn’t have to change your facebook status to read “single” again. Namjoon was the type to be blasé, near ambivalent, about SMDA (Social Media Displays of Affection), and as much as it irked you when you were in a relationship with him, you’re a little grateful for it now. There is less mess.

You reach for your phone on the side table, thumb ghosting over the lockscreen from muscle memory. You ignore the red 300+ notification from your messenger app because the people in your College Buddies group chat never shut the hell up. Instead, you browse through restaurant listings and reviews because you have a need to gorge away the upset. Unfortunately, your mood worsens because every place with a decent rating is advertising a couple special or deal.

As recently un-coupled, it’s akin to getting salt rubbed on your wounds.

“Fuck this,” you mutter, lips curving upwards into a bitter smile because Namjoon disliked it when you cursed. “I hate how we’re so fucking obsessed with shitty-ass couple aesthetics. Give me a fucking break.” It feels good to say it even though no one is listening. “Fuck.”

It’s with ire and not a little hunger that you end up in tent for some street food. You couldn’t bear to go to a restaurant right now, by yourself, and have to eat dinner while couples canoodled with each other.

“I’ll have one of everything,” you tell the middle-aged woman manning the shop while she eyes your artful ensemble of pajamas crossed with a leather jacket. “And a bottle of soju please.”

“You’re going to eat one of everything?” she repeats, blinking away the skepticism. “You don’t get a refund just because you can’t finish something.”

“I know, I know,” you sigh, “But I got dumped today, and I’m hungry. I was on a constant diet while dating that bastard, and I just want to eat.” You’re oversharing, and if it were any other day you’d probably be embarrassed.

The woman just shrugs and hands you a bottle of soju. “Pick a spot.” There are many. “I’ll bring over your food.”

You’re not kidding in the slightest when you said you were on a constant diet while dating Namjoon. He never said anything about it, and you could have been projecting, but the inferiority complex had hit you hard when you saw what his exes looked like. There wasn’t much you could do about your face, but weight was one thing you could control. And for months you oscillated between eating clean for week and then relapsing into your regularly scheduled carbs.

Despite periods where you truly feasted, you could remember how hungry you felt all the time, hungry for food and for affection, neither of which you could comfortably find with Namjoon.

You crack open the bottle of soju and thank the lady as she brings over bowls of food and shot glass.

“When you throw up, make sure to do it outside,” she tells you matter-of-factly.

“I will…thank you for the concern,” you respond.

“I’m not concerned.”

Harsh. It’s fine though because you dig into Bowl Number One, and it tastes like salt, carbohydrates, and artificial flavoring, a.k.a. Heaven. Your mouth is alive from the heat and the spices, and it feels like a near religious experience when each gulp is better than the last. You wash it down with half a shot of soju, and, fuck yes that’s the stuff. That’s the Good Stuff.

And you’re in such a good mood from being fed and watered that even your intense desire to die after the break up feels less pronounced. You open up the snow app and choose a cutesy filter, one that would hide the ugly acne marks on your face. One selfie collage and Instagram story update later, you inform your followers through caption that you’re done dieting, and you take another shot, and then another, and then another, until you’re calling for one more bottle of soju. (She hands you a bottle because it’s money, but she sincerely hopes your puking will happen outside of her establishment.)

“Fucking hell…” A familiar voice calls your name after a while, distracting you from digging into the rest of the food splayed around the cramped table. You look up mid-chew, cheeks puffed from stuffing your mouth too full of food.

“Yoongi,” you greet, your cheeks warming up from the shots. Because your mouth is full, his name ends up sounding more like “nnn-gi” when you wave. You swallow, uncaring of how the food was not chewed enough. You simply wash it down with a little more alcohol. “Come here, come here!!”

And you actually get up, take his hand, and drag him to sit down at the table on the chair in front of you.

“What the hell- Are you eating all of this?” he asks, face scrunched in mild confusion.

“Yup!” you answer, lips popping over the syllables because you’re on your way to drunkenness. “Did you see my Instagram story?” you ask in rapid-fire, “Is that why you’re here? To check on me? You’re such a good friend. Are you hungry? Do you want some-”

Yoongi can’t get in a word edgewise, and it’s not until a whole group of your mutual friends from the same graduating university class pour into the tent that you realize, that no, he wasn’t here for you. It was probably a group meeting you skipped out on because you didn’t read your messages.

“Oh…”

Eunji spots you and waves excitedly. “I thought you weren’t coming! Guys let’s just eat here for old time’s sake.” (Old time’s sake meaning back when all of you were broke college kids.) Your face falls because you’re not in the mood, and they’re going to pry about why you’re eating like a pig and drinking all alone while dressed in your Ryan pajamas. And then you’d have to tell them about being dumped, and then they’d try setting you up with Loser Woohyuk who’s also here with the same, beady little eyes and suspicious intentions.

Before you can prepare to put on your Happy Face, Yoongi gets up from the chair abruptly, letting the plastic drag across the floor in a loud, screeching sound. “Are you crazy? I suffered for four years in college eating street food and ramyeon, and I’m not eating a single bite willingly if I have to. Can we please just get meat like normal people?”

He chances a glance at the Lady of the Tent, who doesn’t look offended at all. There are murmurs of agreement, and it’s with relief that the entire group plus Yoongi leave. Thank heavens for solitude.

“Ahjumma, one more?” you ask, holding up your empty soju bottle. This would be your last bottle because you know your limits. “Pretty please?”

“Don’t act cute,” she deadpans, handing you bottle number three.

“Of course not,” you chirp, acting cute anyway. Your stomach feels like it is three seconds away from bursting. You pick at the rest of your food with a little bit of regret because you did order way too much to handle by yourself. And you couldn’t even take it with you.

“I cannot believe you.” You look up to see Yoongi is back again, and this time without the whole crew. He’s frowning as he takes in your glassy eyes and attire, and plops back down to sit in the spot he vacated just a few moments ago. “I had to lie that I had diarrhea in front of Sooyoung-noona to get them off my back for ditching.”

It’s not your stomach that’s about to burst, it’s your tear ducts. As soon as Yoongi gives you one of his looks trying to figure out what’s wrong with you, you feel your eyes well up. You’re not even embarrassed about the tears because you think you did a pretty good fucking job of holding back the upset this whole day.

“I got dumped,” is your watery response. You’re just about to crack open the new soju bottle, but Yoongi confiscates it.

“You okay?” he asks, knowing full well that you’re the furthest thing from okay, but having the emotional insight to know that maybe, just maybe, you might want to rant.

You wipe your tears away and try breathing through your nose to calm down. It wasn’t a lot of tears so you’re able to control your breathing and find your chill. And when you open your mouth to vent, Yoongi listens to one hour of Post-Break-Up Rant. He’s a good friend.

“I should have dumped him first,” you grumble again for the third time because you’re running out of things to say.

Yoongi has eaten all of whatever you couldn’t finish, and the table is a lot less cramped without all the bowls spread out. He’s stacked them to the side neatly so that the older woman could come collect it later.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snorts. Yoongi has done his duty as friend and listened to your rant, and in his humble opinion, it was getting to be too late in the evening to continue Namjoon-bashing.

“For once I would like to be the one doing the dumping,” you huff, “And how am I being ridiculous?”

Yoongi raises his eyebrows and plays with the cap of the unopened soju bottle. “You could never be the one to dump someone first. It’s not in your nature.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh because you know me so well.” The moment you say this, it doesn’t escape you how dumb you sound because…

“Yeah. Yeah, actually I do know you that well.” He cracks open the soju with a smug look. The older woman wordlessly brings him a shot glass, and he thanks her with a little bit of the charm that keeps him popular. Min Yoongi probably knows you the best out of anyone that’s not you at this point.

Despite having met him later in life during year two in university, you had discovered that a friend you purposely kept in touch with during adulthood somehow meant more than the friends you grew up with. And Yoongi had been there for all of the momentous, important things in your adult life, and you had shared in his moments as well.

“Okay, so maybe I wouldn’t dump anyone,” you concede, holding out your own shot glass so that he fills it. “But then, what is wrong with me? Why do people always leave me? What the hell is the problem? No, not the problem, My Problem? It’s because I’m fat and ugly-” Yoongi glares at you, and you reign in your self-hatred after a sip of alcohol. “Okay, okay. I know I’m pretty above-average when it comes to looks, and I’m just saying this because I’m mad and I want validation. But seriously, what the hell?”

He sighs, and you know you’re not going to hear what you want to hear.

“I mean,” he clarifies, with a tired sigh, “You are way too easy with your heart.”

Well. There is that. He’s not wrong.

“I can’t help it,” you reply bitterly, “I’m a fucking softie.”

Yoongi nods. “It’s not a bad thing though.”

You scoff because a fat lot of good it’s done you. “I wish I could be cool like you. So that I can, like, break people’s hearts and not feel bad about it.”

“Don’t. You’re perfect as you are.” And you physically let out a raucous laugh at that piss-poor attempt to cheer you up. Yoongi kicks your chair because he’s being serious, and here you are taking him lightly. “Also, I would never break someone’s heart and not feel bad about it. I’d feel very bad.”

“But you’d still break their heart,” you quip, “And I wanna do that.”

“It’s a lot less fun than you think,” Yoongi lectures, “All of a sudden they’re crying in front of you because you said you didn’t like the way they chewed. And then three weeks later they send you an essay about how they’re perfect for you.”

You purse your lips. “Um, don’t eat bread in front of the hungry. I’m still mad over Namjoon, and it sounds like the fucking dream to have him cry in front of me and send me emo texts after I crush his heart and ruin him for all women in his future.”

Yoongi doesn’t respond to you this time. Instead he refills your glass and his. “Let’s drink this and get you home. You look embarrassing.”

“That’s because these are his pajamas,” you tell him, refusing to use Namjoon’s name again. “Cheers.” You clink glasses and throw back the bitter alcohol.

Yoongi takes you home when you’re a staggering mess after five bottles (yes, count them: one, two, three, four, FIVE), and you wake up the next morning with a pretty mild hangover because you never drink this much even though your tolerance is pretty good.

“Morning sunshine,” he yawns when you stumble out of your bedroom and see Yoongi hovering over the coffeemaker.

You nearly freak out when you feel your face and realize that you never washed your face before passing out. “Who told you you could stay over?”

“You did. You even held onto my leg when I tried to leave.”

You have zero recollection of any of this, but you’d take Yoongi’s word for it. After all, people have told you in the past that you get affectionate when drunk.

“Thanks for listening to the wishes of a drunk girl then. Hey did you make coffee?”

It feels good not to be alone, and you’re secretly grateful beyond measure that Yoongi stayed over. Having to deal with a Sunday morning hangover while obsessing over the dumping would not have been fun to tackle all by yourself.

“No offense but... you need a shower,” Yoongi tells you in a bland tone, as if commenting on the weather. “You smell like depression.”

“Shut. Up.” Despite the way you roll your eyes and glare at him half-heartedly, you do as he says because he’s right. You needed to shampoo your day four hair anyway.

In the shower you cry some more. You only got to cry a little yesterday, so you let yourself draw in deep, shaky breaths as the hoarse sounds of your weeping echo against the bathroom walls. You let the water run over your hair and face while your head is slumped over, and despite the tears that leak out you can see the whorls of water filtering down the drain the clogged bits of hair you’ll need to scoop out later. The tile feels cool when you lean against it, and you promise yourself that you’ll try your hardest not to wallow too much.

Yoongi hands you a glass of water wordlessly when you come out of your bedroom after the longer-than-normal shower.

“You didn’t leave?” you croak, wincing at the post-ugly-cry voice of yours.

His eyes soften as you gulp down the water. “What and leave you to drown in the shower? I don’t think so.”

It’s precisely these moments in which you marvel at the pure luck you had for fate to pave your way towards meeting and befriending Min Yoongi. And while you know that first impressions weren’t everything, you’d never forget his cool way of handling disrespect from the first boy who dumped you prior to even knowing you at all.

(Sometime Ago In Those Distant College Years: It was only four days after Joonyoung kicked you to the curb, so to speak, and he was already hitting on every single girl around you during one of the mandatory department mixers. No one had the guts to speak up about his abhorrent behavior except for Yoongi, a newcomer to the department, and therefore, wholly unaware of all the nasty, complicated particulars. It felt so damn good to watch him chew out your ex with only a few words.)

“You’re a really good guy, Min Yoongi. You know that?”

“Of course I do.”

Getting over Namjoon doesn’t happen overnight.

Yoongi eventually leaves you on that Sunday morning post-breakup, having been called to an emergency at work. (”Sucks to work at a start-up,” he had sighed.) But you feel at peace in the solitude because his company had already lifted a large weight off your shoulders.

Still, there are many days when you find yourself functioning on autopilot, body and mind moving in rote memory. Wake up, wash, work, drink, home; it felt like an endless, monotonous cycle. Some days you miss Namjoon; other days you miss being in a relationship with anyone at all.

You’re not as young as you used to be, so daily drunkenness takes a toll on your body. Your skin suffers, and adult acne makes a comeback. There are three angry pimples lining the fine lines on your cheek, one smack in the middle of your forehead, and another at the border between your neck and chin. This breakup is a disaster.

But you’re not yet out of your destructive mood, and Yoongi reluctantly agrees to come meet you out for drinks. He’s not keen on seeing you drink away your liver, but he’d much rather you do it under his supervision than alone. And you’re not without a conscious, so you feel horrible, downright awful, that you monopolize Yoongi’s time like this. He still meets you for drinks at least a couple of times during the week and always on Fridays, without complaint.

“I’m lonely, but I don’t know why or what I even want,” you sigh on another Friday evening at the Tent, frowning at the shot glass with the logo of a beer company fading away. You’ve been to other bars and restaurants, but you like the anonymity and casual comfort the street food tent gives you. Plus, now that you’re a “regular” the older woman supplies you with a plate that’s a little more full than other people’s bowls.

Yoongi nods, sympathizing but not egging you on. “That’s normal,” he tells you, “Every one of us on the cusp of thirty is going through an existential crisis right now.”

“I’m moping here,” you huff, and Yoongi’s laughter is enough to make you consider closing up shop for the Misery Brigade for this evening.

Yoongi feeds you a piece of hot rice cake without you asking for it. “Then by all means,” he tells you, the laughter still not out of his voice, “Mope away.”

“At first I thought it was because I wanted friends. But you’re here with me all the time, and I participate in the group meetings - sometimes, and nothing’s changed,” you start, emboldened by his permission. “And then I thought it was because I wanted to be in love, but that was so not it. Nothing I do leads me anywhere, and it’s frustrating because I still want so bad not be feel this way....”

Somewhere along the lines, the break up with Namjoon had dug up old fears, old regrets. You are at a point where you don’t know if all of the crying and raging is because of Namjoon, or because of the fact that you wanted something to fill the growing void in your life, and nobody wanted in. Your rational mind tells you it’s the latter because the notion that you are unwanted is enough to get you gulping down half a bottle of soju real quick.

“Maybe,” Yoongi starts, “Maybe you should stop focusing on where you’re going to end up. You don’t need to get to any place.” This is said gently, tactfully, and accompanied with a soft “cheers” and a toast.

“What does that even mean?” You have a guess, but you’d rather him tell you because Yoongi’s voice was always a ten out of ten.

He sets down his glass. “Did you love Namjoon?”

“No,” you answer immediately.

“Do you want to be with him again? Start over?” he continues, not quite explaining his point.

“Fuck no,” you answer even quicker than the last response.

Yoongi gestures as if to say “there you go”. “If you didn’t love him, and if you don’t want to get back together with him, then he’s not important. You may not know what you want right at this very second, but at least you know it’s not him.”

“That’s a start,” you murmur. Maybe. “Process of elimination.”

Yoongi smiles. “That’s my girl.”

You smile back, and yours is considerably faker than his. “Would Sooyoung-unni like to hear you call me that? Hmm?”

Much to your disappointment, Yoongi neither blushes or deflects. “Probably not considering she wants to date me, but I’ll risk it.”

Your mouth falls open from the sheer confidence behind his words. “Min Yoongi,” you hiss, lips edging upwards into an admiring smile, “You’re bad. Have you been...?”

“Have I been texting her? Yeah.”

You lean closer to him, intrigued. “Like dirty stuff?”

“No, you giant pervert. Just talking about normal shit, jeez.” Yoongi is more conservative than he lets on, and you love that about him. It makes teasing him all the more fun.

You tap your glass, signalling him to pour another for you. “I’m impressed. Wasn’t she like the most popular upperclassman among the guys?” Her legs were, and are still, legendary.

Yoongi nods, “Yoona-noona was a close second though. She texted me too, by the way.”

“And? What did you even talk about?” You lived for other people’s drama.

He smirks in shy, happy cockiness. “I told her I’d love to go her gallery opening and that Sooyoung-noona had already invited me as her plus-one. She left me on read.”

“You’re so unexpectedly popular,” you muse, picking up your chopsticks to play at the small bits of vegetables floating around in the spicy sauce. The rice cakes are all gone now, and neither one of you likes the vegetables too much.

He rolls his eyes, not the slightest bit offended because he’s had the same thoughts as you. Sooyoung and Yoona (and Eunji, and Joohyun, and Chaeyoung, and few others more) were impressive, beautiful women, and he had no idea what they saw in him.

“You know... I used to have the biggest crush on you,” you chuckle all of a sudden, interrupting his thoughts. You recall the short period in time where you nursed heart eyes for Yoongi after he so viciously and satisfyingly ruined your first ex-boyfriend. You down your shot with a satisfying cringe and hiss. “Did you know by any chance?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Of course I did. You’re really obvious. Do yourself a favor and never play poker unless you feel like giving money away.” You cover your face with your hands at his response, mortified for your early-twenty-something year old self but finding the whole situation hilarious in all its uncomfortable glory.

“Oh my god…” You pull yourself out of your Five Second Pity Party when a thought hits you. “Hold on. I call bullshit!”

“What the hell are you yapping about now?”

You narrow your eyes. “There’s no way you knew I liked you.”

“Oh trust me, I knew,” Yoongi snorts.

“But you were so… so… so… normal with me. You didn’t act any different or treat me like I was weird.” Yoongi had always been your good friend, a near constant in your life.

“And why should I? Yeah, I knew you liked me. So what? You were still my friend.”

You blink in surprise. “But weren’t you weirded out by it?”

“At first, yeah, a little,” he admits, “But who you like is your choice, your business. And you never confessed to me, so I figured that was my answer.”

“It wasn’t a burden?”

“Nope.” Yoongi’s answer is easy because it’s truthful. “Not once. Listen, none of us choose who we like. Our hearts are wholly ours to deal with. Since we have to take responsibility for how we express our feelings, we have the right to feel however the hell we want for whomever or whatever.”

Well damn. Here was Exhibit A of why you liked him so much back then. Min Yoongi was, and still is, so fucking cool. You could definitely see why Sooyoung would spend her time texting him when she’s had literal celebrities asking her out.

“And I didn’t want to be That Guy,” Yoongi continues quietly. He pours himself a shot and downs it quickly. “I didn’t want to be a piece of shit that abandoned a friend because of something outside of anyone’s control. What is so wrong about having feelings for a friend? Is it a crime? Is it a sin?”

“But what if I did confess to you?” you ask, burning with curiosity for what might have been.

Yoongi smiles and shrugs. “Fuck if I know. Maybe we would have dated.”

You gape at his flippant answer. “Y-you… You can’t just-” You make a choked noise of frustration and yank the bottle of soju out of his hands. “I can’t believe you,” you mutter and dump the rest of the alcohol into your shot glass.

Yoongi laughs openly at your flustered annoyance and orders another bottle of soju as you shakily tip the contents down your throat. “Don’t get so worked up. I said maybe. Don’t tell me you still have lingering feelings...”

You shoot him a look. “I’m being serious, Yoongi.”

“So am I,” he responds, thanking the older woman who brings over a fresh bottle of soju. “A lot of things could have happened. Truth is…I don’t know what I would have done. Everything is a maybe.”

“You are so lame,” you groan because Of Course he would give you a complete non-answer. That is so like him. “You think you’re being all deep or some shit, but you’re just so, so, so, so lame, Min Yoongi. I take back everything good I said about you. Sooyoung-unni deserves better.”

You mean none of this. He’s still the Coolest in your book.

“But you love me,” he replies in a sing-song voice while smiling ear to ear. You don’t trust that smile one bit.

“Don’t push it,” you snort, your heart beating just the slightest bit faster. You reason that it’s the alcohol and trip down memory lane.

And that is how you get over Namjoon and your existential crisis bit by bit.

You are big enough to admit that this reliance on Yoongi’s company may look weird to outsiders entrenched in the belief that there was no such thing as friendship between men and women, a grossly heteronormative, stone-age assumption. If you liked Yoongi as more than just a friend, would you have encouraged him to go on a few dates with his long-time crush from university? You’d say Hell Fucking No given your propensity towards possessiveness and insecurity.

You give him your blessing to continue talking to Sooyoung, even giving him tips on how to respond.

Yet when Yoongi cancels a Friday drinking session with you in favor of going to the movies with Sooyoung, there is an uncomfortable sensation that swirls around your gut. You spend the rest of the night uneasy and sober. (And maybe, you think, maybe it’s because suddenly it’s Real that he’s out there not giving a damn about you that has you feeling wonky and out of sorts. This is the ugliest feeling, and you try your hardest to wipe it from existence.)

He still meets up with you for the regularly-scheduled lunch date on Saturday, and he tells you all about the movie, and nothing about her.

Yoongi speaks, and you hear him loud and clear, but your gaze drifts down to his lips – something that hasn’t happened in a long, long time. You find yourself distracted by the shape and the color, blinking softly at how sensuous Yoongi’s lips look when he speaks in that slow, soothing drawl. It’s the small hitch of your breath that catches at the back of your throat like a cough and the warmth that bubbles up from your chest up to your neck that alerts you to the fact that you’re fantasizing about your friend.

The pieces fall into place almost too perfectly once you’ve identified that nagging feeling you’ve had for a while every time you looked at Yoongi or saw him text Sooyoung. Denial is a powerful tool for crushing feelings, but it can only go so far. With a racing heart and a sickening sense of déjà vu, you realize history is repeating itself, and you’ve already fallen again for Min Yoongi.

You might be moving on from Namjoon, but he’s just getting started with Sooyoung. The timing is absolute shit, and you hate how fucking easy it is for you to fall into someone after they’ve been nice to you.

You make the decision that you need to distance yourself as you watch him slurp ramyeon noodles happily. What was it that he told you before? Men don’t eat messily in front of girls they want to date?

Flecks of soup stain his shirt, and you are so, so fucked.

Yoongi takes a breather from his noodles to ask you a question. “No but seriously... should I even be doing this?” His face looks too serious for you to make any jokes.

“What do you mean? Doing what?”

“Dating Sooyoung-noona. We’ve met a few times, but should I really start something serious with her?” Yoongi asks, and your whole body freezes up.

Without thinking, as if some demon came around and possessed your body, you actually nod and answer, “I think you should. She’d be good for you.”

Yoongi blinks at your quick response.

“Okay.”

Stupid. It’s not okay. It’s the furthest thing from okay.

Sooyoung posts a picture on instagram of Yoongi sipping coffee, and you want to physically hurt something. It’s a visceral reaction of jealousy that feels so ugly and wrong. You know you have no right to be feeling this way when it was your own fault to begin with, but that doesn’t stop you from ignoring Yoongi’s texts and telling him that you’re too busy to see him these days.

He’s a man of action and consideration, so you don’t know why you’re so surprised to see him fuming in front of your apartment door one evening.

“Are you dead or dying?” he inquires when you let him in. “No, scratch that. Have you been fully incapacitated with no access to any communication devices for the past two weeks?”

“What the fuck are you on about?” you shut the door slowly to buy yourself time for the inevitable, ugly confrontation.

“Can you cut the bullshit and just tell me why you’re avoiding me?” Yoongi snaps, neck red with anger. When you open your mouth to answer, he cuts you off, “And don’t say you’re busy with work! Because we both know that’s a lie.”

“It’s not,” you argue, trying your hardest to stick to your story. “I’ve been getting slammed with projects.”

Yoongi’s jaw clenches as he just stares at you after hearing your lame excuse.

“This is about Sooyoung,” he says, hitting the nail on the head. Five hundred points to whatever the fuck his pottermore house was. “You’ve been acting weird ever since I started dating her. I’m not a fucking idiot. Spill. Why? Is she a psycho or something? Do you know something about her that I dont?”

If mortification was turned into a human being, she would take on your form because that’s all of what you’re feeling at this very second.

“I,” you swallow, “I don’t kn-”

“Tell me.” Yoongi rarely demands anything from you, but he is adamant at getting honesty. He has a feeling as to what you think of his potential girlfriend. Being friends for more than ten years during adulthood would do that to a person.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” You have no idea why you chose to say that, and you kick yourself from the stupidity. You should have just made something up and moved on instead of alerting Yoongi that you had some Serious Opinions when all it was was you pining over him.

Yoongi reacts with predictable curiosity. “I’ll deal with the hurt. I just want to know.” His heart pounds heavily, and he finds it hard to push down the anxiousness mixed with hope that bubbles up from his chest.

“I…” You falter when Yoongi stares you down with so much sincerity. You worry over his heart, and you worry over your own heart too while you consider what to tell him. “I don’t think she’s right for you.”

“Bullshit,” Yoongi grinds out through his teeth. “Try the fuck again – with a little more honesty this time.”

You despise the position he’s put you in – this vulnerable, awkward, contentious position where you’re forced to show your hand or fold. It is a terrifying feeling to realize you are on the cusp of being caught red-handed over unrequited love by the object of your affections. And there was no way Yoongi hadn’t noticed; he wouldn’t act this way at all if he didn’t have evidence to support his suspicions. You recall your tipsy late night conversations with him and how he let you manage your youthful, collegiate crush over him by yourself so that you wouldn’t have to risk humiliation.

But he’s not doing that now. Yoongi stands before you with eyes boring into your own as if to hypnotize the truth out of you.

“You already know,” you mumble, wishing you could look away from his piercing stare. “Don’t make me say it.” Don’t ruin this, is what you’re really saying.

And for a tense seven seconds all you can hear is the sound of quiet breathing.

“You really know how to give a guy mixed signals,” he finally says with a scoff. “Do I have to remind you that you were the one who suggested I give her a chance?”

No, he really didn’t need to remind you of that painful fact because you had regretted it every day since the words left your mouth. You had already kicked yourself more times than you could count. You had also fantasized a great deal about what it would have been like had you understood your feelings and confessed to him instead of being buried in feelings of inadequacy and fear. It was an exercise of masochistic self-flagellation, but you liked to imagine that maybe things would have been different if you were a different person altogether.

“I thought you weren’t into me when you told me to go after her,” Yoongi continues. “I thought I was losing my goddamn mind because I thought- fucking hell…” he trails off and runs a hand through his hair in frustration.

Your heart feels like it’s being compressed, and suddenly it becomes very difficult to breathe properly.

“Of course I’m into you,” you whisper, wishing your voice was louder, but whispering is all that you can manage right now. Your throat feels clogged and tired.

“Then why the fuck would you even-”

“Because I thought you would reject me.” The words sound ugly and pathetic to your ears, but it’s probably the most blatantly honest thing you’ve said to him today. It also sounds like an excuse. You see the muscles in his jaw tick as he grits his teeth together, his face an unreadable mask of “Min Yoongi Has Entered Thinking Mode, Everyone Fuck Off For A Second.”

He could curse you out right now, and you wouldn’t blame him. Thinking about it now, you’ve probably played with his feelings just as much, and you had been too obsessed with protecting yourself that you had hurt him in the process. Or maybe that was some sort of projection of your own selfish desire to remain relevant to him by thinking you had some sort of emotional hold over his thoughts. Maybe he didn’t care at all.

“You said that you’re into me,” Yoongi repeats, and you nod. “So, that means you’re still into me. Not past tense.” You nod again because nodding is easier than saying yes. He exhales loudly, and it’s more than a sigh. It’s like he deflates, and Yoongi looks tired beyond measure.

“I’m sorry,” you finally say after a pause. Yoongi raises his eyebrows at your words. You acknowledge that it sounds ridiculous at this point, but you really are sorry. “Listen, you can… you can reject me, or cut me out, or whatever. But just know that I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not what I want.” That has never been what he wanted.

Yoongi takes one step towards you, but one step is enough to cross the line between safe, polite distance and invading your personal space – not that you minded. He places one hand on top of your head, the weight a familiar feeling from when he’d mess up your hair from time to time. Your heart aches from how fast it’s beating, and try as you might, you cannot kill the hope that grows.

He is right there in front of you.

“What do you want?” you ask.

Yoongi smiles because that is the right fucking question. He takes another step towards you, and the two of you are almost touching from the proximity. He moves his hand from your hair to cup your face, and you can feel your temperature skyrocket from the touch.

Fuck your insecurity. Because there’s no way you’re misreading him when he’s bending his head slowly to kiss you just like how it happens in those goddamn romance movies he loves to tease you about. You can feel him breathing; you can see him blink as he maintains eye-contact with you.

Your eyes widen when he pauses just short of actually kissing you, and it’s because he wants you to do that stupid percentage thing you went on and on about months ago. He’s already come more than halfway. Before you overthink this, you close your eyes quickly and press your lips on top of his in a manner that’s surprisingly graceful and, dare you say it, perfect.

Your heart beats too fast and too hard for you to enjoy the kiss properly, and it’s really more of just one pair of lips smushed on another pair of lips than any sort of passionate display of emotions. But inside you are flying. And it’s not even a dream.

Yoongi pulls away first, his face much more relaxed than before.

“Don’t make me do everything myself,” Yoongi says in an exasperated plea. You see the corners of his eyes crinkle while the ire continues to fade from his face. It’s hard to pay attention to what he’s saying exactly because you’re still reeling from the knowledge that your feelings are, in fact, reciprocated. Yoongi’s lips move like slow motion as a smile spreads across his face while he continues to talk, and you think you catch some words about liking you for a long time (or something).

This is real. This is actually real, and it is happening.

You don’t let yourself think too much anymore. With a thumping heart and a surprisingly clear head, you cup his cheek, mimicking his actions from just a moment ago. Yoongi pauses mid-sentence, eyebrows flitting upwards for a millisecond in mild surprise before his expression evens out again. You allow yourself to run your eyes over the gentle arch of his nose down to his lips – the same lips you’ve kissed so many times in your dreams, but only once in real life. It feels thrillingly voyeuristic to look at him without fearing that you’ll be caught. (He’s already caught on, and he’s into it – into you.)

Don’t make me do everything myself.

You slide your hand over from his cheek to cradle the back of his neck and pull him gently towards you, not that he needs much encouragement. You see Yoongi’s lips tilt into a smile disguised as a smirk, and you smirk right back when you feel those pretty lips press against your own in a soft touch, waiting for you to act.

Try the fuck again – with a little more honesty this time.

You smirk because you’re going to kiss that look right off his face. You feel the boldness spurring you to action, and you realize that you can’t wait to kiss him senseless. He won’t know what hit him.

“I really, really, really like you, Yoongi,” you murmur, letting your lips drag the indentations of the words straight onto his lips. “But you know that, right?”

You take the moment when it presents itself, and you nip at his lips as he parts them in true surprise this time.

“I-You-I-” he stutters, eyes fluttering shut when you suck on his lower lip and place a hand on his chest.

There’s little response after that other than the way he circles his hands around your waist and holds on because that is the only thing he can manage. You own the kiss; he did tell you not to let him do all of the work himself. You move slowly, pressing against him with purpose and deliberation in each glide of your tongue inside of his mouth. It’s the type of kiss you’d give a guy when you wanted to go further, and you could truly count on one hand the number of times this has happened.

But this is your first kiss with Yoongi, and it already feels like you’ve kissed him enough times to know what would make him lose it. There’s a sound that bubbles up from his throat, something like a cross between a groan and a sigh. Yoongi presses his thumbs down hard on the dips of your waist when you let your mouth pull away only to settle on his neck. His pants are like music to your ears, and you’re near giddy with excitement to know that you have effectively reduced Min Yoongi to a hot mess with one kiss.

You go easy on him, pressing baby kisses up and down the column of his neck to calm him down more than anything.

“I’ll be more honest with what I want,” you tell him, kissing his jawline. “Just be patient with me?”

Yoongi gulps, lips feeling numb with pleasure. His face is a mask of incredulity and bemusement. “You have me in your pocket.”

“I am the luckiest girl in the world,” you hum after he takes his turn to kiss you senseless. Your body is thrumming with exhilaration and heat.

Yoongi snorts quietly, smugly. “Happy?”

“I’m fucking elated,” you answer with hooded eyes before pulling his head down to meet your lips once more.

Yoongi is pretty fucking elated too.

(Way Later: Sooyoung’s not surprised when she gets an essay from Yoongi apologizing profusely regarding some recent developments. She tells him not to worry, and to send over a bottle of wine if he’s that set on repenting.)

(The Follow Up)

#bangtan bookclub #noonanet #CMBNetwork #yoongi fic #suga fic #yoongi scenario #suga scenario #genre: romance #member: yoongi #i am alive with happiness

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lauraramargosian · 5 years

Text

The man who took Mac Miller’s life has been arrested.

Football season is upon us and I just can’t help but think of one person who would be about as stoked as I am.

Mac Miller loved football and that means one thing, he wanted The Pittsburgh Steelers to win with every new year, which is why we thought of Mac Miller and his favorite Football team.

The last time we were blessed with Mac’s presence was while he was watching a game with friends before he crossed the bridge.

Miller is literally, such a positive influence. He always spoke up to raise awareness, he loved his fans because he felt as though they could understand him better than most people.

In fact, he said that those who listened to his music deeply knew him better than some friends in his life.

Fortunately, that did not mean he didn’t love his friends. He loved all his family, friends and fans. That’s exactly what makes losing Mac Miller to opiates so sad.

With that in mind, we know Mac was battling demons and he had friends that did as well. For example, Frankie Grande.

Reddit community carries on Mac Miller’s legacy.

It’s no secret that Miller always tried to help those battling similar demons. But what Frankie shared was going above and beyond. It’s the truth and the life Mac Miller lived, that man would give the shirt off his back to anyone in need of help.

“I am beyond heartbroken over Malcolm’s death. He was a good friend and was wonderful to my sister. He was the reason I went to the rehabilitation center where I was detoxed safely from all of the drugs alcohol and medications I was taking when I couldn’t imagine living without them. It was the place where I found the community of support that showed me that living life without drugs was a possibility and I would never have discovered that if it weren’t for Malcolm. I remember when I would get 30, 60, 90 days clean and Malcolm would be there with a gift and a card and words of encouragement… telling me that he knew how hard getting sober is and how impressed he was that I was succeeding.

Addiction is a TERRIBLE disease… many people are suffering from addiction like I am and many many of them are losing. Those of us who are struggling with addiction must stay strong. We must continue to work HARD on ourselves every single day and help each other. Our disease is strong but WE ARE STRONGER and I vow to work every moment of my life to keep myself sober so that i may be there for others. This is a difficult road but YOU DO NOT HAVE TO TRUDGE IT ALONE. To anyone who needs help, help is there. you just need to have the courage to ask, which I know can be EXTREMELY difficult… but when you do I GUARANTEE support will be there. do not be ashamed if you are losing the battle against addiction, shame feeds the disease, humility defeats it. please ask for help! you are NOT ALONE! I am here… and I will continue to be here… for you…

Ariana Grande will always love Mac Miller.

Malcolm my friend, you will be dearly missed. and I know you will be looking down on me from heaven, proudAF for every day I live my life clean and sober… 453 days and counting… Thank you from the bottom of my heart

AA: (212) 870-3400 NA: (818) 773-9999 Suicide Prevention Lifeline: :800-273-9255”

After Mac Miller’s passing his family also took to social media to share their love those who lived in the world of Mac Miller.

“Malcolm McCormick, known and adored by fans as Mac Miller, has tragically passed away at the age of 26. He was a bright light in this world for his family, friends and fans. Thank you for your prayers. Please respect our privacy. There are no further details as to the cause of his death at this time.”

Presently, it was announced that FINALLY someone was arrested for selling Mac Miller opiates that were laced with fentanyl.

According to Mirror who reported on the case, the man seems to have no remorse.

He allegedly said: “I think I should probably not post anything… just to be smart.” When asked how he was, Pettit allegedly responded: “I am not great … Most likely I will die in jail.”

Reader question: What if you could have interviewed Mac Miller?

With that in mind, let’s all celebrate Football season the right way, wishing love to all teams including The Pittsburgh Steelers.

Good luck to every team but here’s a huge shout out to the Pittsburgh Steelers, Macs family, friends and fans.

Most importantly, a big f*ck you to the dude arrested in taking one of the most loving souls on this planet away from the world.

Mac Miller – The Star Room (Feat. Delusional Thomas)

youtube

Mac Miller and Dylan as kids.

Photo by: Christaan Felber

The post The man who took Mac Miller’s life has been arrested. appeared first on Positive Celebrity News and Gossip.

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morganbelarus · 5 years

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Homeless deaths ‘up 24%’ over five years

Image copyright Getty Images

Almost 600 homeless people died in England and Wales last year, according to official figures published for the first time.

The figure represents a rise of 24% over five years, according to the Office for National Statistics.

These are the first official estimates of the number of deaths of homeless people, which show 84% of those who died were men.

Charities say the numbers confirm what they are seeing locally.

The ONS figures show that there were 482 deaths among homeless people in 2013, rising to 597 in 2017. A detailed breakdown shows:

more than half of the deaths were because of drug poisoning, liver disease or suicide

deaths increased throughout England but fell in Wales

London and north-west England had the highest proportion of deaths

the average age of death was 44 for men and 42 for women, compared with 76 for men and 81 for women among the rest of the population

Image caption Jonathan Billings with a memorial to homeless people who died in Stockport

At The Wellspring charity for homeless and disadvantaged people in Stockport, staff and volunteers have created a mural in remembrance of those who have died.

Chief executive Jonathan Billings says he personally knows nine homeless people who have died in the past year alone.

He has worked there for 17 years and, while 10 years ago there might have been a few dozen people on the books, the numbers now run into hundreds - and more of them are dying.

"Almost certainly, over the five or six years, it has become much more prevalent that people we are working with are passing away."

Homeless death figures: 'Life is difficult and dangerous'

Spice: The drug 'causing deaths' among the homeless

How do we count how many people are homeless?

Each death is shocking, he says, and there are a multitude of causes, ranging from murder and suicide to drug and alcohol overdoses.

"Homelessness is just a symptom of something else. It is often a real concoction - a real mix of different issues that have caused that homelessness, and people's deaths are often a mix of different things, different factors," he says.

Mark Urmston, who visited the centre for some lunch, says his brother Luke, 31, a rough sleeper, was found dead on a bench earlier this year after a suspected drugs overdose.

They were in and out of care as children, he says, and both struggled with their mental health as adults.

"Everyone in my family has mental health issues but I think his might have been worse," he says.

"I think he was taking more drugs than he was letting on."

Image caption Mark Urmston (left) says his brother Luke was found dead on a bench earlier this year

He says his brother became homeless because of his drug use - but being homeless made it very difficult for him to get off the drugs.

Ben Humberstone, head of health analysis at the Office of National Statistics, said: "What's striking about these figures is how different they are to the general population - 55% of the deaths of homeless people are related to drugs, suicide or alcohol, also known as the diseases of despair, compared to just 3% of deaths from these causes among the general population."

The ONS says the deaths of homeless people were identified from death registration records, and statistical modelling was applied to estimate the most likely number of additional registrations not identified as homeless people.

The definition of homelessness used by the ONS included rough sleepers and people in emergency accommodation such as night shelters or hostels. People in bed and breakfasts or sleeping on friends' floors or sofas were not counted.

The ONS says these are experimental figures which means they are not yet fully developed and are still subject to testing - but it says the method provides "a robust but conservative estimate, so the real numbers may still be higher".

Greg Beales, campaign director at Shelter, called the deaths a source of national shame, "a consequence of a housing system which fails too many people".

Crisis chief executive Jon Sparkes called on the government to fix the root causes of homelessness, "like building the number of social homes we need and making sure our welfare system is there to support people when they fall on hard times".

And Labour's shadow housing minister, Melanie Onn, called the figures shameful and said a Labour government would end rough sleeping within five years.

Image caption Homeless charities say pressure on their services is increasing

Communities Secretary James Brokenshire responded: "No-one is meant to spend their lives on the streets or without a home to call their own. Every death on our streets is too many and it is simply unacceptable to see lives cut short this way."

Mr Brokenshire said the government was committing £1.2bn to tackle homelessness, with £100m earmarked to halve rough sleeping by 2022 and end it by 2027.

He added that councils were now required to provide early support for people at risk of having nowhere to live, "boosting access to affordable housing and making renting more secure".

However, the Local Government Association, which represents councils in England and Wales, said this was becoming increasingly difficult as homelessness services faced a funding shortfall of £100m next year.