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#i have three quick changes in a twenty minute ballet

river-bottom-nightmare · 3 years

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i want dick grayson to be annoyingly perfect in the smallest of unimportant ways. and i want it to irritate the living hell out of everyone around him

every now and then, jason and dick will go to different chili dog carts around the city, and dick will sit and nod in agreement as jason nitpicks the food, occasionally offering his own two cents. the conversations are tense and if the topic strays from anything except food jason books it, but it’s progress, and dick’s grateful. but he doesn’t understand why jason always growls at him when he’s preparing his chili dogs, chalking it up to jason’s obsessiveness about that food in particular. dick figures he’s probably doing it wrong. until one day, jason bites out a rough question, asks him how he did that. dick’s confused, until jason points out, “you tear open the top of the ketchup packet in a perfect line every time. and you get all of the ketchup out of the packet in one smooth squeeze, and you never get any on your fingers, and i don’t understand how.”

roy was, arguably, a better archer than ollie. green arrow had been birthed from the island, from the trauma of survival. roy, however, had been practicing since he was a kid, and now that he was well into his twenties, he could safely say he was one of the best shots in the world. he could beat all his friends at darts, shoot an apple off wally’s head, and was generally pretty awesome. or, he would be awesome, if only dick fucking grayson would stop making every single shot of anything he threw in a trash can. no matter what he was throwing away, no matter the angle, no matter the wind or rain, as long as the trashcan was in eyesight, anything dick tossed would inevitably end up inside the garbage. sometimes, dick barely even glanced at the damn thing, just took note of it a threw the trash, expecting it to land in the proper place. and it always did. the worst part was, dick didn’t even seem to notice it. he wasn’t actively trying to make every shot. when asked, dick just shrugged and said “we had some pretty good knife throwers in the circus.”

tim’s memories starting out as robin were a whirlwind, a push-pull of bruce’s mistrust, then bruce’s acceptance, of dick’s fear and hesitation, then of dick’s love. he still remembered dick making the two of them hot chocolate in the kitchen after a day of training, tim’s muscles sore and entire body aching but the feeling of pride, because he was good enough to be robin, he knew he was. he hadn’t expected that to happen anytime soon again, given the way their relationship had fractured after tim had left dick’s batman, a terrified fury in his eyes. yet, he’d been proven wrong when, after a particularly rough arkham breakout, alfred asked both dick and tim to stay instead of returning to their own apartments. just because the manor brought back a feeling of warm nostalgia, however, doesn’t mean it kept the nightmares away. he came down to the kitchen and saw dick already up, moving around the stovetop. with a knowing look in his eyes, dick grabbed another mug to make tim some hot chocolate. tim was washed over with a feeling of relief, of acceptance. dick slid the mug towards him and tim took a sip, letting the rich chocolate warm him up from the inside. it was delicious. his little sigh of pleasure must have been audible, but then he remembered something he noticed. “dick. did you use alfred’s recipe for this?” and dick laughed, responded with, “nah. too much work. i just sort of tried to remember what was in hot chocolate, and eyeballed most of the ingredients. i’m glad it turned out good though. no clumps too, that’s good.”

donna didn’t care how old she got, playing in the park with dick never got old. as one of her oldest friends, the two of them could just walk around the park, in companionable silence, just letting themselves relax and enjoy the moment. so, of course, dick would break the silence and ask if she had any earbuds, because it was getting to quiet for him. donna laughed, and reached inside her pocket, fingered past the keys, and grabbed the headphones. the tangled little ball that came out made her sigh, and she pulled on an earbud to loosen it, only managing to make one of the many knots tighter. then, dick took the headphones out of her hands with a here, i got it, and with a few quick tugs, the tangled monstrosity unraveled easy as breathing. then, completely unaffected, he handed her an earbud, putting the other in his own ear. “i’m the one who’s got a lasso,” she said, ignoring dick’s snort and quip about how earbuds and a lasso are two completely different things, donna.

cass hadn’t expected to enjoy such a gentle, graceful form of athletics, but after a few lessons, it had become apparent that ballet could be far from gentle. it pushed her, made her practice and strengthen herself, and she’d fallen in love with the art quickly. however, the most frustrating part of the entire thing had little to do with actually dancing. the school bruce had helped pick out was prestigious, which meant a strict dress code, which meant her hair had to be in a bun. unfortunately, her hair never seemed to want to cooperate. after her latest attempt, falling into a mess of hair at her nape that had so many locks falling out, cass contemplated how mad the teacher would be if she showed up in a ponytail. at that moment, dick peeked into her room, having heard her frustrated noise, and asked if he could do anything to help. cass pointed to the mess of hair, not even remotely contained by the hair tie, and blew a strand out of her face. dick smiled with understanding, then came into her room, grabbing the comb on her bed and standing behind her in front of the mirror. he smoothed her hair with the comb, then pulled it this way and that, twisting and turning and wrapping until, two minutes later, a picture perfect bun sat atop her head. cass blinked with surprise. “first try,” she said, staring up at him, but he just shrugged and said, “it’s not that hard. you want me to drop you off?”

bruce could admit that he rather enjoyed undercover missions. it was an extended game with high stakes, a test of his own acting skills. with makeup changing his face, an expertly made wig, and a demeanor completely different from both brucie wayne and from batman, he swept through the crowd of greasy men, looking for a specific contact. then, he caught sight of someone specific indeed, though they weren’t his contact. eyebrows raised in a what are you doing here? gesture, he slid onto a barstool. from behind the bar, dick offered him a blinding smile, cleaning a glass. he tapped his wrist twice, a clear message. undercover, same as you. then, dick grabbed a couple bottles from underneath a shelf, flipping them in his hand and pouring with grandeur. bruce noticed he hadn’t put any alcohol in his little mixture, only making it seem as if he had. the flashy moves were entertaining, bruce could give him that. dick slid him the drink and bruce took a sip, eyebrows raising in brief surprise. “this is good. bartending?” dick put the bottles and the lemon away, unimpressed. “it’s not like it’s hard. just mixing a couple ingredients. no biggie.” bruce was fairly certain bartending was more difficult than that, but just then, his target came into view.

steph understood some of the bats’ frustration with dick, she really could. he hadn’t exactly been a welcome and opening batman, that’s for sure. regardless, as the few masks left in gotham had to work together, and she’d gotten to know the man pretty well. and she enjoyed his company as nightwing much more than batman. she dropped onto his balcony in his bludhaven apartment, announcing her presence in that loud-subtle way. dick was nestled in a couple blankets on the couch, going over a couple files, apparently just back from patrol if the small bandage on his neck and bags under his eyes were any indication. nevertheless, he brightened when he saw her and she nodded when he asked if she wanted to spend the night. he moved some of the papers to make room for her on the couch, but she flitted into his bathroom, going through the nail polish bottles she knew he had, and grabbing a shade of red that caught her eye. she tossed him the bottle and put her fingers in his lap, talking aimlessly about a movie she watched with cass. dick seemed to relax amidst her jabbering, and he shook the bottle a couple times before opening it and focusing on her right hand. but as he started, steph paused her rambling and focused on him instead, holding her hands gently and brushing paint onto her nails. he managed to cover her entire nail in three easy strokes, smooth and glossy, not a hint of paint on her skin. the nail was practically perfect. oh god she was jealous. “got a lot of practice with this, grayson?” she asked, and laughed at dick’s mock-offended of course not!

damian wasn’t one for photography, and he could grudgingly admit drake was far better at that particular skill than he was. however, his art class had promised to cover all types of media, and had upheld that pledge. the next two weeks were dedicated to photography, and their final project for the unit had to be a small collection of photographs. animal photography, of course, was damian’s chosen subject, and the knowledge that animal photography was one of the hardest skills to master only had damian wanting to do it more. days later, however, he could admit that it was trickier than expected. how had he never noticed how active his animals were? they never sat still, and every single picture came out blurry. grayson, upon coming across him in the manor grounds, noticed his futile attempts and asked if he could help. damian acquiesced the camera to grayson, who looked through the lens, finding the right angle and background, adjusting the focus settings slightly. then, he let out a sharp whistle and snapped his fingers. in nothing short of a miracle, damian’s pets pasued to look at him, only for a second, and the shutter clicked furiously. damian flipped through the photos, a good many of them clear and wonderful. damian snapped in irritation when dick ruffled his hair and said, “now you try!” it definitely wasn’t as easy as grayson made it look.

babs didn’t really know what she was expecting when she broke up with dick. there was hurt on both ends, and distance for a while, and she had no idea how much she’d miss him. but after a couple months of working together, of remembering that underneath the romantic tangles, their friendship was strong, she’d gotten to the point of dick randomly dropping by her apartment again. the downside was, dick kept randomly dropping by her apartment again. he stole her snacks and messed up her filing system and was so irritating that barbara almost forgot how relieved she was at having one of her best friends back. fortunately, it did come with benefits, because when he was bored, he did some of her chores for her. pausing in the doorway, she smiled at the sight of dick folding her clothes and putting them away. the gesture was platonic now, but no less appreciated. she pushed her wheelchair forward, and in greeting, dick told her how much he wanted to steal all her patterned socks. babs reminded him they wouldn’t fit, and laughed at his pout. dick grabbed one sock off the top of the laundry basket, then dug his hand into the pile of clothes randomly, coming up with the second sock in an instant. folding them together, he repeated the process for each pair. “that...that was fast. you got all of them?” babs asked in confusion. “yes? why, did you expect some to be missing?” was dick’s reply as he shook the wrinkles out of a sweater.

wally was never surprised. he knew dick better than probably most people in the world. he’d gone from frustrated and jealous of dick’s random talents, to admiring and appreciative, to just accepting them as a fact of life. dick’s phone never cracked if he accidentally he dropped it. dick never buttoned up shirts wrong, aligning each button with the right hole perfectly on the first try. dick could plug in usb ports the right way. dick always remembered which light switch was for which room, no matter whose house they were at. dick could pop a cd out of its case without ever smudging the disk, holding it by the rim perfectly. and dick always seemed to know when wally needed a day off, to just visit their old haunts, grab some ice cream, and spend the day talking away on a rooftop. that was just something his best friend could do. and wally would never tell dick, but underneath his fake irritation at it, but he loved him for it.

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zee-writes-and-draws · 3 years

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Truly Important

Summary: A look at some of the more important birthdays that Saw Paing has had, and the one he celebrated right after the tournament.

A/n: It's still July 8th, so I'm on time w/this. Nonetheless, I slept five hours so I apologize for lack of proofreading.

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The first birthday that Saw Paing truly considers important is his fifth one, the day he gets to start Lethwei training for the very first time. He comes home covered in scratches and bruises and a trickle of blood running down his forehead. His father fusses a little and his ma doesn’t let him up until she bandages every little cut and bruise but nothing can spoil his good mood as Ne Win Paing puts him in a headlock and their little sister congratulates him on the start of his training.

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Most birthdays to Saw Paing aren’t majorly important beyond the fact that even as a fighter Pa Paing did his best to see every single child on their birthday every year. But some are important because there’s new people in his life, people who aren't’ there, certain benchmarks and events that are important in and of themselves, but are easier to tie to years and dates and celebrations.

Saw Paing’s sixteenth birthday is remembered fondly only because it is one week before he meets his eternal rival for the very first time, a boy named Gaolang Wongsawat.

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Seventeen. Nothing particularly important. Current youngest brother starts his training that year.

Eighteen. Important solely by the freedom it grants in travelling. Almost all countries recognize eighteen as an age of majority, an age where you can do a lot of things that would be illegal otherwise like go somewhere without an adult’s supervision or rent a car so you have your own transport. Going to places outside of Myanmar and Thailand is the most interesting he’s done in his entire life.

Nineteen. He finally gets a job outside the village. The weapons corporation that hired him is run by an old man and a teenage girl with a vicious streak longer than the destruction radius of the missiles she’s designed. Still, they hired him to safety test things and work to rescue people in afflicted areas, not attack them. It’s Togo Tomari’s brilliant ruthlessness that causes him to end up in the same place as Muteba for a month. Another friendship struck up with someone he’s fought against. A birthday gift of an absolutely gorgeous button-up with twelve patterns and wild color is dropped off at his door that year. Even though the gifter will likely never see it, Saw Paing wears the shirt with pride as often as he can for the next few years.

Twenty. Barely important but it was Gaolang’s eighteenth birthday that year and the time the title ‘God of War’ starts creeping into people’s thoughts about him. Saw Paing cheers his rival on whenever possible.

Twenty-one. Nothing. Little sister asks out crush, dates her for seven months and change before they have to break up because the crush’s family is moving. He and Muteba have each others numbers saved and text between missions.

Twenty-two. He and Ne Win Paing get to fight outside of legal matches for the first time. It’s exhilarating. Their father hugs them both afterwards and tells them how proud he is.

Twenty-three. The first birthday in their family celebrated after Pa Paing passes. It’s somber. Saw Paing would rather have skipped the day entirely if not for how his youngest siblings all seemed determined to follow traditions for at least the illusion of normalcy and he’s not about to ruin their coping process just because he’s sad. With Ne Win Paing travelling nearly full-time and recovering when he’s home, Saw Paing is the de facto leader of the family and he’s not going to let them down so easily.

That night there’s a card delivered to him by a hassled-looking mail carrier. It’s from Gaolang.

I heard about your father’s death, Saw Paing. My deepest condolences to both you and your family. Take care of yourself. Do what you must to feel more stable.

To anyone else the writing would be cold and impersonal. Saw Paing re-reads it over and over until a drop splashes onto it and the crinkling of paper registers and then he hurriedly folds it and drops it onto the desk in his room so it doesn’t get destroyed.

If in two weeks when they next see each other, Gaolang relents and truly fights Saw Paing for twenty minutes before declaring a defeat form boredom, neither of them acknowledge the change in routine anymore than they acknowledge that Saw Paing’s yelling is more like loud talking and that Gaolang had made an extra plate of his favorite fish seemingly just in case.

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Twenty-four. Saw Paing meets Sayaka for the very first time that year, a bright and sunshine-sweet teenager who screams out his intro and doesn’t seem to mind that he’s super-loud or that his opponent throws him into the commentators box and nearly crushes her by accident.

When he had apologized she made a joke about it. He made one back. A friendship stronger than any other he’d made was started that day. Sayaka reminds him of his little sisters, friendly and upbeat and ready to take on the world if she has to and come out with a smile, sharp wit and keen mind concealed under a bubbly layer that requires no lying to maintain.

That year his birthday includes a surprise delivery of a completely new set of cookware with a small note attached.

Happy birthday, Saw! Sorry I couldn’t make it, dad scheduled fifty matches for this week alone so I’m not even sleeping, but I hope you like it! See you in May (PS I’m secretly rooting for you!)

That night Saw Paing makes dinner for everyone with said cookware and an unflappable grin on his face.

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Twenty-five. Nothing.

Twenty-six. His little sister is now formally competing on a near-national level. His brothers, no longer so small but always little in his eyes, work hard to bring in food and water and trade with the local villages and Saw Paing never stops feeling proud of them.

Twenty-seven. More and more fights in the arena. He leaves Tomari’s contracts behind but keeps in touch with Muteba. A chance metal concert allows him to meet Yoshiko, who in turn introduces him to Sawada. Saw Paing mails him several CDs of traditional Burmese music for the other man’s birthday. Gets a collection of ballet remixes in exchange. Listens to the collection every night for weeks and weeks on end until he can whistle half the songs without thinking. Smiles at how many small reminders he has now of the people he cares about.

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Twenty-eight. The coldest and harshest one yet. Ne Win Paing is not there that year. Everyone’s energy is lower than usual. Saw Paing spends the day mostly taking care of the youngest siblings and visiting the graves of those he’s lost. He can feel the wrongness of this land on his skin, it’s Yoroizuka’s home and that’s better than the alternatives but it is not his home or their home or the home that his family deserved and had grown up in and lost because of Ne Win Paing or maybe because Saw Paing should have noticed sooner, should have caught onto the damage his brother had taken.

Sayaka leaves twenty voicemails and thirty texts, all reassurance and compassion and kindness that Saw Paing is beginning to doubt he deserves. Sawada had arranged for several boxes of their favorite sweets from all over the world to be delivered to his house. Muteba messages him a list of names and places if he needs to fight the emotions out or to talk to a professional specializing in fighters and loss of loved ones and tells him to cherish the rest of his family.

Gaolang visits that evening, sleeplessness evident in his posture and eyebags. It’s rarer and rarer for the two of them to see each other now, between the jobs they both hold and duties they’re bound to. Saw Paing’s first priority will always be his family, just as at the end of the day the Thai God of War is not that but the bodyguard of Prince Rama of Thailand. And yet here they are, sitting next to a firepit just outside a house that was not truly meant for Saw Paing’s family, in a country outside of Gaolang’s own.

“Are you alright?” Gaolang asks him. Saw Paing looks up.

I’ll be fine, he wants to say, thinks instead because even things like talking feel like too much right now. He settles for a nod instead, one that feels too slow and tired to really be him but has to be because who else could he be? Gaolang does not look reassured by this. He sits down next to Saw Paing and talks. That quiet voice, normally at least partially twinged with annoyance and exhaustion, now flows with an undertone of gentle energy. It’s not the fire that Saw Paing usually feels running through his veins. Nor is it Ne Win Paing’s quick fury or Pa Paing’s ruthless confidence.

No, it’s the other kind of energy, the kind that Gaolang always emits though it’s hidden under the day-to-day life’s mundaneness. Gaolang tell him about fights, about what guarding Prince Rama has been like for him, some recipe his parents love and he despises because of how annoyingly spicy it is and how Saw Paing would probably like it. And then he talks about staring into a fire.

“Look,” Gaolang motions at it. “It moves so incredibly, alive and unalive at once.” Saw Paing looks into the fire, watches the moving flames flicker and dance in and out of existence. Next to him, Gaolang smiles.

“It reminds me of you sometimes. The difference is fire burns out. I truly hope you never do.” They sit next to each other, watching for a while until something in Saw Paing’s chest undoes itself, letting some feeling back in. Gaolang notices.

“Tell me about Ne Win Paing,” he asks, shoulder brushing against Saw Paing’s own, warmer than the air around by just enough to be noticeable without feeling too off-balance. And so he does, spilling out every little detail he can remember about his brother and all of the memories that were crafted for as long as he can remember. The sky is light when he finishes, still tired but somehow lighter. That something that had unwound a bit earlier is almost completely gone. He’s still saddened by the loss of one of the greatest people in his life, but things look a little better.

Gaolang leaves then, apologetic but unable to stay. Saw Paing nods at him again to say it’s alright and it must come across sufficiently this time, because Gaolang’s smiling softly as he walks to his car and drives back to his too-loud and too-busy life for such a quiet man and yet a life that couldn’t be anyone else’s.

Saw Paing’s younger siblings are slowly waking up, coming out to check up on him and start their day. He hugs them, feeling his spirit coming back to something normal.

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Twenty-nine. Still a tad colder than before but mostly better.

Thirty. A year with little occurring beyond the increasing amount of kengan matches and the frequency that he gets to see old friends like Sayaka. The tournament that happens later in the year is undoubtedly something unforgettable that he;ll treasure for the rest of his life. So many new friends made, so many bonds forged and strengthened. He makes it a point to keep correspondence with all of them, even the more quiet ones like Karo and Rei. They clearly need the company if they're quite that quiet.

Thirty-one. He wakes up expecting another birthday that’s rather insignificant. His sisters and brothers in college call and Skype and do whatever else they need to say hello first thing in the morning, yelling through the screen loud enough that he can her the dorm’s complaints through the call. The siblings still at home whether from sentimentality or youth wake him minutes before that by running into his room and wishing a happy birthday to him at the top of their lungs. He’s so proud of their lung training being quite so successful.

He checks his phone after all of the younger siblings hang up out of habit. There’s another twelve messages from various members of the assassin clans he’s befriended, a missed call from Cosmo, a notification about a post from Adam, and an alert of the local post office telling him about several packages that are addressed to him.

On the journey to the post office and back he gets six more calls. As he’s balancing reading a short ‘happy birthday!’ texted to him from Cosmo and a rambly congratulation courtesy of Okubo that is interrupted by an incoming call from either Hanafusa or Yoshizawa, a wonderfully familiar voice calls out.

“Saw! Over here!” Sayaka stands by the edge of the road, looking as red carpet-ready as always, except for the small trolley of boxes and bags she’s keeping from rolling away.

“HEY SAYAKAAAA!!!!!” He yells to her as he runs over. She’s hugging him so there’s no reason not to complete their usual greeting by picking her up and spinning in several circles.

“Happy birthday, Saw!” She laughs as he puts her down. “Sorry I didn’t warn you, but there was a lot of last minute stuff and everyone wanted to send something to you and it was ‘one more thing’ this and ‘oh wait here!’ that, and it’s so great to see you again! Here!” the packages he was holding until two seconds ago are now in Sayaka’s hands, traded for a fancy-looking photo album.

“It’s for you. I wish I could stay, but Retsudo’s been flipping out for six hours and he threatened to send a SAR squad again, but I promise i’ll call this evening, kay? See ya soon, Saw Paing!” She runs to the familiar figures of Takyama and Misasa, waving the whole time they drive away until she’s out of his line of sight. Only tnen does Saw Paing turn his attention to the trolley and the photo album.

Getting everything home requires ignoring messages and calls so his plan to find out what these things are that everyone was so determined to send to him has to wait another hour or so but then he finally has the time to check everything out.

There’s two gorgeous shirts that fit perfectly, bright greens and yellows combining with the soft fabric and reminding him of his old shirt but nicer. This, he knows without even needing to check the card, is a gift that only someone like Muteba would have gotten him. A thick book of various recipes from several different regions in Japan, along with an impressively full binder of leaflet instructions for dishes made in the mountains is sent courtesy of Sekibayashi and Haruo.

A sharp-looking knife that seems to be more familiar with intestines sliding across its blade than vegetables is gifted by the Kures he’d met after Hayami’s rebellion, right next to several ‘free assassination’ coupons Reichii and Fusui must have snuck in as a half-joke and and half-true gift.

Most of the things are actually quite small, just fragile and packaged with an insane amount of cushioning, he realizes. It’s nothing particularly fancy, but they’re all things that will remind him of the senders, be it the scalpel that Hanafusa mailed him with instructions on how to DIY surgery or the old shogi set Kaneda gifts along with a book on most famous shogi strategies played throughout history.

Saw Paing moves everything to where it should be once everything but the photo album has been looked through. The cookbooks go to a specific shelf in the kitchen that no one else can reach. The weapons are hidden in a small box under his bed to avoid any incidents. Muteba’s shirts go onto hangers, Sawada’s fancy candies are set on a plate for eating while looking at this final gift, and then the album is opened.

The first photo makes him smile, a perfect snapshot from one of his earliest fights in the Kengan matches, capturing the moment they had both gone from enemies to friends mid-blow. A date, presumably of when the photo was taken, is written on the border in Sayaka’s neat writing. The second one is of Ne Win Paing from seven years ago. This time, the date is in heavier, blockier writing, not unlike Hollis’s. Saw Paing flips through the album a little more, taking it in. there’s plenty of photos of his various friends, fellow fighters, and even some family from the tournament and before it, but there’s also old photos of his brother and father, and even one of his mother back when she had fought in occasional matches, along with candids of some of the more stoic people. They must have been collected over several months, and not just by Sayaka.

Saw Paing already knows what will happen this evening. Gaolang will come over with some kind of small yet so deeply personal way of also saying happy birthday. Sayaka will call again, most likely throwing a small party in the Katahara house and inviting everyone she can. Rei might stop by and even if he doesn’t, he’ll Skype before the sun sets because he’s a punctual person by both nature and training.

But that’s still hours away, and in the meantime, Saw Paing decides to keep looking at the beautiful snapshots of the past, enjoying the present to it’s fullest.

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END.

#happy birthday to my all-time fave #saw paing yoroizuka #sayaka katahara #gaolang wongsawat #ne win paing #pa paing #kenganverse #kengan ashura #kengan #fic #fanfic #my writing #I wrote this in one sitting please if you like it leave a comment or rb or somehting

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heynikkiyousofine · 3 years

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It’s a little late, but it’s still Sunday, so Chapter 2 is up and going, where we see Inuyasha and Kagome meet, but not the way you expect. Let me know what you think!

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Love and Flowers Chapter 2

Inuyasha gritted his teeth as the chilled November air hit his sensitive nose and shoved his hands into his pockets to stay a bit warmer, tugging the jacket around himself for warmth. His idea to walk to lunch sounded like a good idea until he realized how cold it was outside. Fall was heading into winter fast, he mused as he laid his ears down under his black beanie when another gust of air breezed past him. Feeling his phone vibrate in his back pocket, he decided he was close enough to the cafe where he was meeting Miroku, he could wait to answer it. He wanted to think more about this soulmate mark situation. It wasn’t exactly something he could hide, he knew that for sure, especially in the arena. But what about the other person? Would they want a hanyou for a soulmate? Why did he get a mark? It wasn’t like they were common anymore, most people deciding that they would find the love of their life on their own instead of waiting for so called soulmate mark. He knew so little about, so talking to his dad later might help, might not. Picking up his pace, he was so engrossed in his own thoughts, he didn’t see the young woman until it was too late.

“Ahhhh!!” A loud shriek filled the air, causing Inuyasha to pin his ears even farther down. The young woman hadn’t even looked up at him, focused on the hot coffee now all over her cream blouse and plum scarf. “Oh great…” she muttered. “Uh, I’m really sorry. I should’ve paid better attention. Uh, are you, okay?” He stuttered, ashamed and afraid. “Oh!” Her grey eyes quickly looked at him, a small blush forming across her cheeks. “I’m okay, I promise. I’m always running into people, did I get any coffee on you?” Inuyasha just shook his head, not knowing what else to say, afraid she might become even more disgusted at him., while she continued to ramble on. “Well good, I’m glad. I’m sorry for running into you.” “You’re good. Uh, I need to get going. You gonna be good?” He asked a little more confidently, not looking away from her gaze just yet. Those eyes were something else, he thought, shaking his head quickly to focus on the situation at hand. “Oh yes! I’ll grab a shirt from my friend inside, thank you.” She smiled at him brightly, her grey eyes shimmering. Nodding, he quickly turned away and headed around the block when he felt his phone vibrate once again in pocket. Where did that thought earlier come from? I didn’t even know that woman. Pulling it out, assuming to be Miroku again, he swiped up on his screen to see a text from him dad. “Your mother would like to know if you want to come over for dinner?” Responding a quick yes, he noticed the other text was from Miroku, saying he was running five minutes late and to go ahead and grab a seat. Sliding his phone away, he turned the corner to the brick cafe, as the young woman behind him rushed back into the coffee shop, both forgetting about the other for now. After changing into an extra shirt Sango had at the coffee shop, Kagome exited the public bathroom just as her phone began to ring in her purse. Quickly pulling it out, she swiped across the screen when she saw her mother’s contact appear. “Hey mama! What’s up?” She smiled to herself, always loving her conversations with the older woman. “Hello dear, I was wondering if you were still planning on coming over Saturday evening for dinner like usual?” “Yes! I’ll head over after my shift at the hospital, around 7, is that okay?” “Of course! Kagome? Is everything okay? You seem a bit frazzled.” Concern clear in her mother’s voice. Sighing a bit, Kagome began to tell her how she had yet again spilt coffee on her blouse while she was out running errands. Looking up as she finished her story, she saw Sango at the counter handing out drinks to customers, smiling. Waving quickly, mouthing a quick thank you to coffee shop owner, Kagome turned her attention back to her mother. “Oh my, well it’s a good thing you had extra clothing dear. Get to your errands, I’ll see in a few -“ “Mama?” Kagome interrupted before she hung up the phone. “Yes dear?” “Do you know anything about soulmate marks?” “The same stories you do, why do you ask?” Biting her lip, “Oh nothing, I was wondering a few things. Do you think Gramps has any books on the subject?” “I’m sure he does,” she began laughing quietly, “He has many folklores and legends in the shrine. Just ask him on Saturday.” “Thanks mama, I’ll see you Saturday.” Hanging up, Kagome signed, before wrapping her scarf around her neck again and waved goodbye, before heading out into he cold air once again. “Ah Inuyasha, thank you for waiting on me!” Miroku smiled at the grumpy hanyou as he settled in the seat across from him. “Should we go ahead and order, my friend?” “Yeah, yeah. How’s the wife and kids?” The silver haired man waved at him to go ahead as the waitress walked up. “They are good. The girls are turning three soon, of course, you’ll be invited to their party. Kin’u and Gyokuto asked about you this morning actually.” He responded, laughing heartily. The waitress returned with two steaming bowls, asked if they needed anything else and walked away, giving the two men some privacy. “Alright, alright. What did you wanna discuss?” Inuyasha asked as he began to dig into his ramen, while Miroku reached for his spoon. Ignoring the rudeness of his client, they began to discuss business details and Saturday’s upcoming fight against a certain wolf demon. “Koga’s gonna try and deter the fight isn’t he?” Inuyasha rolled his eyes as he asked. “Yes, he thinks he’s going to be beat you easily, since you’re a half-demon and all. He thinks this will be an easy win. You have been training correct?” “Yeah, Totosai’s been keep my training rigorous these days. The wolf’s got nothing on me.” “Good, good. Say, Inuyasha, when did you get a tattoo?” Looking up, golden eyes watched as indigo towards his neck, at the branches that had began to peek out from underneath the jacket. Quickly zipping his hoodie back up despite it being warm inside, he looked around to make sure no one heard their conversations, ears flicking beneath his beanie. Deciding it was safe, he leaned forward. “I got one a few days ago, it covers my back. I wanted to ask you about it. It won’t be a problem for Saturday will it?” “Not at all my friend, I was just curious.” Miroku responded quickly, his hands raising up, a mischievous smile spreading. “This won’t be a problem.” “Okay, I gotta go, lunch is on me. I’ll see you Saturday.” Inuyasha threw a couple of twenties on the table, slapping the grinning man’s shoulder as he headed towards the door. He headed south, towards his apartment, needing to change into something more acceptable before heading to his parents this evening. Kagome sighed as she once again stood in front of her mirror, after changing for the third time. She twirled around in her forest green dress, knowing she would just wear a sweater over it, but couldn’t figure anything to do with her hair. She decided wearing it down might be best, so she could cover the mark that was high up on her neck. Looking at herself, she couldn’t help but study her appearance. She didn’t think she was anything to look at. Her eyes were always an odd color, but had always attracted attention. So why did she get a soulmate mark? What was so special about her? It was almost time for her to leave to make it to dinner with her boyfriend. All day, she had managed to avoid his texts, saying she was busy with errands. She technically was, but she didn’t like lying to him. She had decided early this morning that she would straight up ask him about soulmate marks, if he had received on too. She liked the guy. Bankotsu was good to her, made her feel cherished. When he wasn’t flying as a pilot, he made sure he took her out on the town. She was afraid of how to break up with him if he didn’t have a mark, knowing how she felt inside. To her, love was passionate and meant to be. She saw love from her parents, before her father had died when she was young, in their actions and gentle smiles towards each other. She saw the love in Sango and Miroku expressions whenever they play fought or shared a special secret. She was hopeless romantic at an early age. Her high school boyfriend, Hojo, was sweet and caring, but she ultimately ended it with him because there was no passion in it. Heading off to nursing school, she had met Hiten, and had that fiery passion, losing herself to him many nights. In the end though, he only cared about her body, not her feelings and had reveled he slept with most of the dance squad while they were dating. Starting her most recent job at the local hospital, she met Bankotsu one night while he was in town at a bar with Sango and Miroku, they had been together on and off for a few years, Bankotsu never stepping forward with commitment. Kagome didn’t think she wanted to marry him. Maybe it was time to end things with him indefinitely anyways, soulmate mark or not. Sighing to herself, she slid into her black ballet flats before grabbing her purse, cashmere sweater and black scarf before heading out the door. Kagome reached the restaurant quickly, despite her taxi getting stuck in traffic. Reaching for brass handle, she saw Bankotsu inside, gathering herself, she stepped inside.

#inuyasha #inuyahsa #kagome #inukag #inukago #soulmate #soumateau #inuyasha au #new wip #wip #love and flowers #love #romance #eventual smut #happy ending

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smoochkooks · 4 years

Text

—make it right 1 (m.)

⟶ pairing: jung hoseok/reader

⟶ genre: smut (coming in second part!), angst, fluff

⟶ word count: 19k+ (this part)

⟶ tags/warnings for part one: hip hop dancer!hoseok/drummer!hoseok, ballerina!reader, enemies to friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, slowburn, mutual pinning, sexual tension, course language, drinking, hoseok’s hot bandmates, oc rolling her eyes at hoseok every five seconds, some banter and sarcasm, etc.

⟶ summary: he was a punk, she did ballet, avril lavigne sings, but truth to be told, there’s so much more than meets the eye about jung hoseok besides his drums, killer dancing skills and unexplained hatred for tattoos and piercings. because, under the layers of leather jackets and washed out joy division shirts, he’s still just a boy who tries to find his place in this big world.

or, alternatively: ballerina meets certain hip hop dancer slash musician who’s on a mission to win her heart with coffee dates and drumming lessons.

⟶ read second (and final) part here

The first time you met Jung Hoseok, it was raining.

September had just begun, welcoming the citizens of Seoul with copious amounts of not-so-summer-like weather. And at this point, after three days of non-stopping rainfalls, you were convienced that mother nature was trying to drown the whole city.

It was Saturday afternoon, last remains of August were still in the air, hidden underneath greish clouds covering the whole sky. That didn’t seem to be any problem for the tourists though, emerging from every single corner with smartphones glued to their hands.

You were running late for your ballet dance teaching class with an umbrella in one hand and your gym bag in another, maneuvering between puddles in white trainers, praying to whatever gods that existed not to soak them through and cursing yourself for constant bad outfit choices when it came to weather. Scorching hot afternoon with friends? Let's wear something black, your brain would suggest. Rainstorm? White converse highs is a great idea!

Your mother would choke you with bare hands probably if she saw you right now.

On your way to the studio, you bumped into some old lady carrying bags of groceries. You threw quick apologies, ignoring the screams of “watch out!’’ along with deathly glares that other people were sending in your direction you, until you finally reached your destination. Exactly five minutes before the time.

Just Dance dance school, located approximately twenty-five minutes long underground ride from your flat (which as a broke college student you highly appreciated), appeared in front of your eyes.

It was a modern building, situated in a part of the city that smelled like soy sauce and burnt meat, but during four months you had been working there you got used to it. There was a nail salon on the first floor and tailor on the second, but the whole third floor belonged to the school.

You started working there on Fridays and Saturdays a while ago, after completely coincidentally stumbling upon an offer found online. The school was looking for someone who could teach kids ballet on weekends. A young, energetic person with experience and, obviously, great patience and sympathy for children.

The only thing you were lacking of was background in teaching. But the manager, Choi Jisoo, did not mind that at all. A row of gold medals and trophies sitting on your shelves was enough to convince her you’re worth giving a chance on a probationary period. After few weeks of proving your skills as the best ballet teacher miss Choi would ever think of, you had got in.

And that was how you dumped your part time job at the petrol station to teach kids at Just Dance twice a week. Friday evenings and Saturday afternoons for a decent amount of money for a college student struggling with real life shit called university fees and rent, that even scholarship couldn’t entirely underwrite.

Now, climbing up the stairs with the speed of light, you knew you couldn’t bring yourself to lose this job because of your silly daytime nap that made you run late for classes.

You bursted into the locker rooms quickly, practically undressing in a hurry. After short examination in front of the mirror and fixing your usual mess of a bun, you spared a quick glance one last time at the clock. Four minutes of delay.

“Fuck!” you muttered to yourself, jogging to the practice room.

The halls, usually quite, now were filled with child-like chatter and bubbling. You frowned. That's strange, you thought to yourself. Your astonishment grew even bigger when you reached your destination, spotting a group of kids, your kids, in front of the practice room, bickering with each other.

“Hey!’’ you shouted, silencing them effectively. “Why aren't you already warming up and stretching inside?”

One of the kids, a little girl named Jiyho, stepped forward. “The room is occupied by some other group, miss. They were here when we came.” she said.

You raised your eyebrows. Did you perhaps messed up schedules and forgot there were some changes? No, that couldn’t be it. “What do you mean ‘occupied’?” you asked. “That's impossible, we've been having this classes every week here, in this room, for three months. I would know if there were any changes.”

Kids looked at you helplessly, shrugging their shoulders.

You sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, of course it's not your fault. I had a really crappy day and now this,’’ you drawled, pointing your hand at the door to the practice room. “Wait here. I’m gonna try to explain this quickly.’’ you added, smiling reassuringly at them.

When you opened the door, loud music filled your ears; some newest Drake's track you couldn’t remember the name of was playing from the speakers. Inside there was a group of kids, slightly older than the ones you were teaching, practing some hip-hop choreography.

Their teacher's back was facing you so you couldn’t distinguish if it was someone you knew from the school's crew. His dark hair with blonde highlights weren't familiar to you though. He was swaying to the rhythm of the music, counting the moves.

You cleared your throat loudly and there was no response. Of course no one could have heard you, not over the loud bass blasting through the speakers. You spotted the cause of your problem, a mobile phone charging in the corner of the room, so you went there and turned off the music entirely just before Drake could sing the chorus.

You cleared your throat again and this time everyone, including the dance teacher, heard you without a doubt.

Kids stopped dancing immediately and turned around, wide-eyed with heaving chests. Their teacher looked in your direction too, and now you were sure he had to be a new employee.

He was not much older than you, probably around your age. There was a thin layer of sweat on his forehead he wiped out with the back of his hand, his white t-shirt with the name of some punk rock band you didn't recognize was slightly sticking to his toned chest. He was good looking, you couldn’t deny that, and there was something devilish in the way he eyed your figure up and down with a smirk plastered on his lips.

You almost blushed under his gaze.

“Is there any problem, miss primaballerina?’’ he asked first, not even hiding his mocking tone.

You straightened up, ignoring his choice of words. “A problem?” you scoffed. “You and your group took the room where I have my classes every Friday and Saturday, so yeah, there is a problem.”

“The room was empty when I came here, so I just took it, it's not a big deal.” he answered, shrugging his shoulders.

“It is a big deal. Are you blind? This room is made directly for ballet dances. See this thing beside the wall?” You pointed behind him. “It's called barre. We used that for stretching in ballet. Of course you don't know that, how an ignorant hip-hop choreographer wanna be like you would know.” you snorted, chuckling to yourself.

In the corner of your eye you saw your kids peeking through the door, clearly interested in this unusual situation.

He narrowed his eyes. “I know what this is used for, princess,” he countered. You rolled your eyes at the pet name he used for you. First primaballerina and now this? Touché. “But I still don't see the point of your outburst.”

You were slowly losing your patience. The amusement in the eyes of his dancing group started to get on your nerves. It was a battle for the life and death and you weren’t used to backing away and losing. You had kids to take care of, rent to pay and new season of RuPaul's Drag Race to watch.

So you picked up a new strategy.

“Are you perhaps new here?” you asked, startling him.

“I am, why are you asking?”

“Because if you weren't new, you would know that there is only one practice room with barres in our school. This one, which also happens to be the room where I have my ballet classes every week.” you said triumphantly with a glint of not-so subtle satisfaction in your voice. “So, can you kindly take your kids and go somewhere else?”

That's it, you praised yourself in your thoughts. You got him, he doesn’t have anything up his sleeve.

The guy, however, seemed very much unaffected by your words. If anything, he was even more pleased, making your stony facade broke in seconds as you were losing your former confidence.

“No.’’ he said simply.

You gaped at him. “What?”

“I said no, princess. I need ten more minutes to finish this practice and I’m done.’’ he replied, reaching for the water bottle standing beside the wall. “Ten minutes, and you will have your bars or barrels all to yourself.”

You ignored an urge to correct him, taking a few tentative steps until you were right in front of him. He outstanded your height for a few solid centimeters, making you feel even smaller than you already were.

In addition, you hated him even more for looking this good even up close.

“Ten more minutes?! I should have started my lesson fifteen minutes ago! My kids are waiting!” You outstretched your arms in the direction where your group was watching the situation cautiously. They looked like tennis match spectators, turning their heads left and right as the argument progressed.

“So are mine,” he snapped back in calm tone, his lips twitching in an amused smile. Your nostrils flared.

“Miss? We could use another room today. We don't mind.” one of the girls from your group, Jihyo as you assumed, proposed shyly.

“But I do mind! I’m not gonna leave it like that!’’ you said firmly, still looking straight into your new rival's eyes.

“Geez, loosen up your primaballerina skirt a little maybe.”

“It’s called tutu, you ignorant assh–!”

“What on Earth is going on here?” the manager, Choi Jisoo asked, entering the room. She was a middle-aged woman, once a contemporary dancer, now leading the school on behalf of her husband. Her red high heels were clicking loudly on the polished parquet surface as she was coming up in your direction. “I heard shouting, so I came to check. Can someone explain me why aren't you having your classes now?”

You immediately rushed to the manager, taking her hands in yours. “Miss Choi, I will explain everything. This man right here,” You pointed at the cause of your anger with distaste written all over your face and he simply rolled his eyes. “took my practice room and I have no place to have my classes.”

Miss Choi turned to look at the choreographer as well. “Is that true, Hoseok?’’ she asked.

The guy, Hoseok, nodded. “This room was empty, so I just took it. I didn’t know someone was supposed to teach here later.”

You scoffed. “There's a graphic hanging on the wall when you enter the building, you should've just–”

“Silence!” miss Choi said loudly and you stopped speaking, face flushed from the embarrassment of being scolded like that by your boss. “Jung Hoseok is indeed new here, so I will let that situation pass. And you, Y/N, will take another room for today’s practice.”

“But–”

“There's no buts. I’m sure Hoseok will know from now on in which room he should have his dance lessons. Go back to your groups, you are dismissed.” she added and left the room, leaving you to stare at her disappearing figure with wide eyes.

You clenched your fists by your sides, breathing deeply to calm your nerves. “Kids, go to the room 23.” you uttered, eyes focused on Hoseok.

He smirked, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “See you around, princess.” he half-whispered and winked.

Beginnings are always tough, and that was why after your first encounter with Jung Hoseok, you were certain you absolutely, undeniably hated his guts.

The second time you bumped into Jung Hoseok, it was Friday evening two weeks since ‘the accident' and you were walking out of locker rooms after your practice.

When you opened the door and heard strangled cry of “Ah, fuck!” you rushed to blurt out quick apologies to your victim. “Oh my God, I’m so–” you started but immadietly shut your mouth when you saw the person who you just hit.

Jung Hoseok, in his full glory of another The Clash t-shirt (you googled their music your first encounter with him and the only nice think you could say about them was that Jonathan played their song in Stranger Things first season) and yes, grey sweatpants (did he even own other clothes?) was standing before you, grinning in the most annoying way you could ever think of.

You wished you could wipe his smug expression off his face with sand paper.

“Fancy seeing you here too, princess,” he trailed off, leaning against the door and making you roll your eyes like every time you saw him on the halls of Just Dance. Even though you were avoiding him like a plague, he seemed to appear wherever you were. A true pain in the ass.

Maybe you were too stubborn, maybe it was your shitty coping mechanism, but decent conversation with someone like Jung Hoseok wasn’t your favourite part of the day, not after the way you were humiliated in front of your boss and underaged students.

Last week you walked past Hoseok's group and some of them giggled. You could swear they were already making jokes and memes about you behind your back.

And, the worst of it all, an absolute peak of your devastation, was the fact that even your own kids, those who were looking up to you, started to be more reserved around you. Jihyo baked some muffins because she had birthday the other day and didn’t treat you. Jihyo, the girl who once had told you she wanted to be like you in the future.

But none of this anymore.

You turned on your heels and started to walk away but Hoseok followed your footsteps. “Hey, it's rude not to apologize. My right hand hurts now, you know? I need you to kiss it better, princess.” he called, again in the same mocking tone he had used before.

And that was the moment you decided that if choking people to death had been legal, Jung Hoseok would have been already lying dead on the floor.

You ignored his words the best you could, acting like he was invisible. Avoiding the problem wasn’t the best idea you could ever think of, your mum would say but she wasn’t there, so you concluded it was better to act like Hoseok and the situation with practice rooms two weeks ago had never happened.

Hoseok, on the other hand, had very much different outlook on this. “Are you still mad about this thing with practice rooms?’’ he asked, looking at your right profile. You clamped your mouth shut, staring forward. He chuckled. “Christ, I didn't know you're that picky. Are all primaballerinas like this? Right, you are giving me silent treatment, I forgot. But can you please stop and listen what I have to say for a moment?”

After hearing his last words you actually stopped in your tracks, causing Hoseok to do the same.

You sighed heavily. Maybe he was right after all. You were a bitch sometimes, you couldn’t handle the defeats well and above all, you had probably the worst coping mechanism ever.

That was not the end of the world, somebody would say. Don't worry, be happy, Bob Marley would sing if he hadn’t died. Sparing one minute for Jung Hoseok wouldn’t make the ground to open in half underneath you.

“Go on, I’m listening,” you said, choosing casual tone of absolute unbotherness.

Hoseok took a deep breath, before he started speaking. “Listen, I’m sorry about what happened two weeks ago. It wasn’t intentional, I swear. As you know, I’m new here and you can argue or not but people sometimes deserve second chances,” he remarked, observing your reaction. You should stop rolling your eyes at everything that came off his mouth. “So, I thought we can go for, uhm, a coffee maybe? Tomorrow, after our classes.”

You raised your eyebrows, gawking at him.

“It's all on me. As an apology.” Hoseok added sheepishly.

A coffee? With Jung Hoseok? A hip-hop dancer who didn’t know what barre was? You opened your mouth to snap “am I joke to you?” but you stopped eventually.

To be fair, you had nothing to lose. He wanted to apologize after all, he was the first one to approach you and maybe that was how adults should act.

You looked at him once again, more intensely this time, trying to find any sort of fake politeness in his expression. But in his eyes there was nothing but genuineness. Maybe Jung Hoseok really just wanted to treat you in lieu of apology.

Finally, after a minute that seemed to last forever, you softened. “Fine.”

Hoseok's eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yeah, really. Stop staring at me like that or I will change my mind.” you grumbled and he grinned at you boyishly, in the way he probably made people fall for him. Because with that kind of aura he emitted, it was hard not to. Thank God you could easily resist his charms.

“That's settled then. Wait for me after your practice in front of the locker rooms.” he said, while walking away backwards. “See you tomorrow, princess!”

When he disappeared behind the corner, you muttered to yourself, “See you too, asshole.”, adjusting the straps of your gym bag.

It was a good while after that day when you realised that some people really did deserve second chances.

And Jung Hoseok was one of those kind.

Your third meeting with Jung Hoseok was a date. Actually, it wasn’t a date at all. You called it ‘coffee for the peace’. United we stand, divided we fall, they said.

Or to paraphrase Fergie: little coffee never killed nobody.

You found yourself standing in front of the mirror in the locker rooms, eyeing yourself with contorted look. Your hair was a mess, which you blamed the weather for. Even though mother nature stopped bombarding the city with rainfalls, the humidity was still there, lurking around the corners and waiting for the right moment to attack. You didn’t even know why you cared so much about your appearance. It was just a coffee, nothing more, nothing less, for God's sake.

With a sigh, you bent over to tie your shoes, and then you heard a voice coming from behind you. The same low, teasing tone that could only belong to–

“Didn't know you've been hiding this under your ballerina skirt all time,” Hoseok mused. “What a waste.”

You twirled around with a speed of light, facing him with slightly pinkish cheeks. It wasn't everyday that someone non-explicitly talked about your ass, especially someone like him. It wasn’t even on full display because you had your leggings on and you knew he was joking but still, your face felt hotter.

“What are doing here? You aren't supposed to be here, it's ladies locker room!” you hissed.

Hoseok shrugged his shoulders. “You’ve been here forever, so I decided to check if you didn't slip on your point shoes and died.”

You raised your left eyebrow. “Very funny. Now give me a minute and we can go wherever you want.”

“Watch your words, princess, beacuse I might take your offer seriously.”

He couldn't see you but you rolled your eyes hearing him say this regardless. You took your bag from the porch and turned around to face him with a bored expression written all over your features.

“Don't act like you're doing this as a punishment. You won’t regret, I promise,” After climbing off the stairs, Hoseok opened the door and you embarked on a street. “This place isn't far away from here, just a ten minutes walk.” he explained, choosing a direction you didn’t know.

To distract yourself a little, you started to observe the neighborhood. It was less crowded here, the usual smell from cheap restaurants was less palpable now. You were walking down the street you weren’t familiar with, you hadn’t had a chance to explore it like that yet.

It was dead quiet between you despite the hustle of the city. You weren’t used to this kind of silence and even though you certainly weren’t a master of small-talks, at least you had to try loosen up the heavy atmosphere a little.

“So,” you trailed off, “You seem to know this part of the city pretty well.”

Hoseok hummed, taking another turn that seemed to be some kind of a cutoff. “My old dance school I used to go is here, in this area,” he said. “I moved to the boarding school in Seoul from Gwangju when I was sixteen beacuse I wanted to pursue dancing. My parents weren’t very fond of it, but I told them that high school I chose had a very promising programme for kids who wanted to be business majors in the future as they wanted me to be.”

“And did you do something with that? Business, I mean,” you asked.

He scrunched his nose. “Nah, not really.” He looked like he didn't want to elaborate on that more, so you didn’t press him further. “Enough storytime for now. We're here.”

There you stood in front of a simple coffee shop like many others. Blue Side, signboard said in swirly fonts and English spelling. There was nothing distinctive about it, just an ordinary place you could find in neighborhoods like this in every single city, but you knew places like this one sometimes had living souls inside, telling their own stories.

Blue Side indoors looked exactly like the name was saying: azure walls, paired with modern white chairs and tables, grayish cloths adoring them. Classy, tasteful decor, someone would say, but one thing seemed completely out of place: big, framed pictures of sunflowers, your favourite plants, hanging on the walls like on a blue sky.

There was something bizarre about it, they didn’t match the rest of the decoration at all but at the same time they seemed to fit perfectly. They were bringing strange kind of calmness and halcyon aura to the place, marked with cold tones but broken through the yellow warmth.

Hoseok lead you to the table by the window. There wasn’t a lot of people beside you here, so a young looking waitress with dyed pink hair approached you pretty quickly, handing menus. She grinned broadly at Hoseok, too courteous for your liking, and for a moment you wondered just how many coffees the waitress served him before. Probably a good amount, judging by the way he returned the smile.

You looked through the positions briefly, before deciding on a simple espresso. Hoseok didn’t even open his. Regular customer, you thought to yourself, flesh and bones.

Awkward silence fell between you again and this time Hoseok was the one to break it.

“It's weird seeing you without your ballerina outfit,” he said, startling you. “And your hair isn’t in a bun today,” He pointed at the top of his head, tracing invisible circles in the air.

“Is that a bad thing?’’

Hoseok’s smile was smug when he spoke. “Not at all. You look good like this. Not so dramatic.”

You huffed. “I'm not dramatic.”

“Says the person who almost kicked me and my kids out of the practice room, and called me hip-hop choreographer wanna be.”

You opened your mouth to snap a witty response at him but the pink-haired waitress came to collect the orders. Maybe you were losing your mind but you could swear her lips weren't tainted in fuschia before.

“Just an espresso for me,” you said, sending the waitress a forced smile.

“Caramel frappuccino with–” Hoseok started, but the waitress interrupted him.

“With extra cream, got it.” she finished his sentence, clearly proud of herself.

You bit your bottom lip, trying to suppress an urge to chuckle. Hoseok sent a polite smile to the girl and averted his gaze to you. The points of his ears were slightly flushed in red.

“So yeah,” he uttered, scartching the back of his neck. “Where were we?”

For a moment you thought about teasing him a little more, but eventually you resigned. He looked enough flustered right now and you’re not that devil as you had thought.

“We were talking about me looking dramatic with a bun and tutu on,” you prompted instead.

“You know that's not what I meant.”

You ignored him. “Anyway, you too don't look today like a hip-hop choreographer wanna be.”

That was true, he didn’t remind you of the sweaty Hoseok in grey sweatpants you were seeing every Friday and Saturday on the halls of Just Dance after blasting Spotify Global Top 50 for a whole hour.

This Hoseok who was sitting in front of you was wearing ripped jeans and leather jacket paired with ankle boots you wouldn’t mind buying for yourself in a smaller size. Daredevil, that was a good word to describe him. Dangerous, daring, and maybe d–yeah, dumbass, your brain suggested.

Yet, one thing was still the same about him.

“What's with you and those t-shirts?’’ you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Hoseok snorted at that. ‘’I like the band, so I wear t-shirts with their name on. It's as simple as that, princess. But I don't expect you to understand since you probably don't know who Joy Division is.”

You placed your palm on your chest, more offended by his words that you would like to admit. ‘’Of course I know who Joy Division is. I'm ballerina, not stupid,” you scoffed. ‘’Love will tear us apart is their song, isn’t it? I’ve been through this edgy phase on Tumblr in 2015. I know what I’m taking about.”

Hoseok looked at you with raised eyebrows and there was something in his eyes you couldn’t put your finger on. Was it amusement? Curiosity?

You didn’t have a lot of time to think about it though, because the waitress was back with your orders. Again starstrucked by Hoseok. Again smiling sweetly like kpop female idols on music shows.

While she finally put your coffees on the table (she spent definitely too much time doing it) and walked away, you spoke once more.

“I don’t get it,” you said and Hoseok muttered “what?”, taking a sip of his coffee. “I’ve never seen someone doing a choreography to Drake's song and be dressed like cliché rock band member the next day.”

Hoseok placed his cup down and looked at you with a smirk. “I have many faces you don't know about yet, princess.” he warned. Dangerous, daring, dumb–

“And when am I going to find out?” you countered.

“If you keep going for a coffee with me after our practices, I might reveal more of myself to you. As long as you are going to do the same in return.”

At that, you raised your eyebrows. Hoseok's eyes were challenging, asking you to pick up the dare and get to know him more and more, slice him layer after layer. Your subconscious was telling you there was so much more than meets the eye about Jung Hoseok than his annoying retorts and edgy t-shirts. And you were there to witness all of it.

“Fine,” you finally agreed, eyes narrowed. “We can hang out after classes. Sometimes.”

Hoseok grinned. “Great. Now, let's start getting to know each other!”

You're eyes widened comically. “Woah, slow down, boy. You know my name, know that I teach ballet and that I like espresso. What else should I tell you on our first dat–meeting?” you corrected yourself quickly. Date was a sacred word. Definitely not reserved for a man like Jung Hoseok.

“Oh, please. I also know it's better not to get on your nerves,” he pointed out. Smartass. “Tell me about how all of this happened. How did you become a ballerina.” he suggested.

You took a big sip of your coffee. “That's a quite long story,” you said languidly.

“I don't mind. We have time.”

You stared at him for a moment. He looked slightly out of picture, sitting in a quiet coffee shop, drinking a cup of the sweetest drink you could ever think of, while wearing clothes that made him look like he belonged to shady bars, where he could be surrounded by sleazy people sipping on their scotch whiskeys. There should have been a cigarette caught between his lips and fumes of smoke swirling around his features, but there was solace and the smell of caramel. Jung Hoseok, with a picture of sunflowers behind his back looked like no one you had ever met before.

And this kind of enigma that was this boy inflamed a strange curiosity in you.

So you picked up a dare.

“Well,” you began, “It all started when I was in kindergarten. You know how it is, when you are five years old and your parents want to divert their unfulfilled ambitions into you. You could say I was this type of kid, kinda. My mum was a ballerina when she was young, so was her mother, but when she got pregnant with me in very early stage of her relationship with dad, she had to stop her career and took care of me. Dad was constantly working, travelling here and there to gain as much money as he could for us,” you explained.

“Mum always told me that my grandparents weren’t quite fond of their relationship. Especially my mum's. You know, dad used to be some kind of a bad boy back then,” you chuckled, remembering the pictures mum showed you. Leather jackets, motorbikes and self made cigarettes. “Grandma constantly blamed him for ruining mum's dreams, for debauching her and then, I happened,” you paused to gulp a sip of your coffee and continued. “So yeah, my grandma never forgave dad. However, after years she had grown to tolerate him to the point she didn’t throttle him during Christmas.”

You smiled, thinking how your dad and grandma avoided any unnecessary conversations between them. It was all civil, good mornings and goodbyes spoke in casual tone, but the tension was so thick that any sudden impulse, like dad talking about old times after a few glasses of wine, could break everything they had built through years.

“It was actually my dad who took me to the ballet classes first. My mum never wanted me to follow her footsteps but dad somehow tried to, I don't know, redeem himself? He felt responsible for a long time and when I think about this now, he just wanted to make his daughter a next little ballerina so my grandma could be pleased.”

Suddenly Hoseok interrupted you. “But don't you think it's unfair your parents did that to you because your mum couldn’t, you know, continue her career anymore?” he asked and you were pleasantly surprised to see him intrigued by your little story.

You hummed, contemplating this for a second before you answered. “You’re right, maybe it is slightly unfair but I actually grown to love ballet while the years passed. And seeing my mum happily watching my performances is enough for me.” you said. Ballet was your whole life, it always had been, there was no point of denying it.

“What about your grandma then?”

“She died a few years ago. But I think she was proud of me. She never told me that verbally though. She was pretty bad at expressing feelings, but I know she was proud. I saw it in her eyes after my first big étude.”

It was in middle school, back when you were living in your hometown. Your group was performing Tchaikovsky's The Nutcracker and you got one of the leading roles. You never forgot the look in your grandma's eyes when she approached you after the performance.

“And what now?” Hoseok asked and you looked up at him. “What are your plans for the next, few years?”

“Now, I still have a couple of years to double major from ballet dances and psychology. And what would come after, we will see. I have a big performance in January that will determine something really important for me. And as for the future-future, teaching kids ballet seems really nice.” You smiled lightly.

You didn’t like to talk about your big performance aloud, since you weren't quite sure of what future was going to bring. It determined if you would get into four-months-long international scholarship in Russia or not. Only one person could win this. And you were strong-willed to at least try. You dreamt about it your entire life. To finally dance on the stage of Bolszoy Theatre, maybe go on a whole tour around the world with their crew. But that was for now a matter of your own luck and abilities.

“Wow,” Hoseok mused. “You have this all planned out, princess.”

You rolled your eyes. “That's just a goal, not actual plans,” you grumbled sheepishly. “What about you? Are you really a hip-hop choreographer wanna be?’’ You giggled but stopped abruptly when you saw his expression seemed to have changed. Gone was cocky, grinning boy he was just minutes ago. Now in Hoseok's eyes was some kind of sadness and melancholy that wasn’t there before. It didn’t suit him. He was smiling, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“No plans. I’m just living the moment.” he said matter-of-factly, like he was trying to play it the most casually he could. It was strange behavior.

Maybe Hoseok was right. He did have a lot more hidden underneath the layers he put on everyday. He just didn’t want to show it. Not yet.

The atmosphere condensed between you. It was thick and heavy with strange tension. You tried to loosen up it a little. It was probably your personality trait your friend would directly connect with your zodiac sign. “So,” you chimed in, “for how long this waitress has been giving you heart eyes?”

Asking that was completely unplanned but you had to think about something quickly, offhand. Hoseok’s features brightened a little and you didn’t know if it was because the question was about the girl or because you were the one asking him it.

Ironically, you hoped for the latter.

“Chaeyoung, you mean?”

Oh, he knew her name. Interesting.

You tightened your grip around the cup unconsciously. “Is there any other waitress here who has a crush on you?”

Hoseok smirked after hearing your snarky remark but chose not to answer that. “Actually I’ve never had more explicit conversation with her, unless it was about the coffee. Maybe I should try, what do you think? She seems nice.” His eyes wandered for a moment to the place where the waitress stood, talking to a customer.

You smiled but there was no true politeness in this. Why though, that was something to think about on another occasion. “Yeah, you should. Totally.” you gritted through clenched teeth.

“Yeah, totally.” Hoseok agreed, nodding.

For a minute it was mute but then he glanced at your empty cups and a small smirk appeared on his face. “So, where are you taking me next?” he asked out of the blue.

You blinked. “What?”

“I treated you this week, your turn is next.”

‘’I’m not gonna buy you food, the fuck. You treated me as an apology! I don't-” You stopped your outburst when you saw him snickering at you. “Why the hell are you laughing?’’ you snapped. There was probably a blush on your cheeks and you cupped them briefly with your hands to cover it.

“Because I was kidding. You don't have to buy me anything, I can pay for myself. Relax, princess.” Hoseok grinned. He didn’t seem to be as uneasy as before, so you scoffed at him. “But honestly, where are we going next weekend?” he asked, entirely serious.

“What makes you think I want to go anywhere with you?” you challenged.

He just sent you his signature, cocky grin. “Am I that bad company?” he teased.

“Decent. You’re decent company, Hoseok.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Don't be. That's just me trying to be civil.” you warned, pointing your index finger at him.

“Great, I’ll text you about it soon then, princess,” Hoseok announced simply, ignoring your surprised expression. He reached for the menu still lying on the table and opened it. “They serve good lemon tarts here, want some?” he proposed, going through the other positions briefly.

You furrowed your eyebrows, still processing what he had said earlier. “You don't have my phone number.”

“I do, actually,” Hoseok mumbled and his lips twitched.

Your eyes narrowed into slits. “How did you get my number?”

“Soyeon. I asked her and she gave me.” Hoseok answered simply, shrugging his shoulders.

A shocked gasp left your lips. “Soyeon, the receptionist? You swooned her over to get my number? She's married!” you exclaimed, staring at him in disbelief.

Now it was Hoseok's turn to roll his eyes. “Not my fault she couldn't resist my smile and sweet words.”

You sighed heavily. He was really testing your patience.

“Well, what about those lemon tarts?”

You tossed your head back, groaning in frustration that was probably heard by every single person passing by the coffee shop on this September afternoon.

However, you missed the way Hoseok's lips stretched out in a warm, sincere smile.

You did end up having those lemon tarts that day.

You couldn’t explain why or how, but in some way coffee meetings after dance lessons on Saturdays were no more just them. They turned into late dinners on Fridays and random text messages when you were bored during your lectures, which most times were eventually escalalting to Hoseok sending you tiktoks and memes you had saw million times before yet you laughed at them anyway.

It was a start of promising friendship, someone could say. Unexpected, with not so smooth beginning but blossoming into something much more than simple hanging out in your free time. But none of you seemed to notice it, not yet.

Before you could even blink, summer was officially over and fall started to make her way into the weather. Warm cups of coffee started to feel more and more reasonable with each passing day and one time you found yourself holding one while visiting Hoseok at his work.

It was Wednesday, you didn’t have any classes at uni that day and he texted you if you could come to the address he had sent. And you did, ignoring the cold wind and forgetting about the warmth between your sheets you had to leave. Which had been surprising even for you; a sacrifice for someone like Jung Hoseok, but again, you weren’t categorizing it like that yet.

That’s how you found out about Hoseok's other job. He worked at the Suga's Record Shop, where, as he had described it: you could buy legendary pieces of music while listening to another million dollar hits. He’d said he took the position at Just Dance because the actual interest in buying vinyls unfortunately wasn't increasing, so the guy who owned the shop, Min Yoongi was his name, had decided to reduce Hoseok's salary.

The shop looked like pulled out straight from 80s movies, with tons of records of probably every single artist you could think of. There wasn’t anyone beside you inside, so Hoseok walked you around, picking up different albums, classics, as he had said and showing them to you. He kept talking about them with true admiration written on his features, babbling about how Joey Ramone and his band invented punk rock and you found yourself watching him with amusement glittering in your eyes.

Days, weeks passed and it was already October approaching, turning green parks into wide range of colors that could only be described as autumnal.

You kept discovering more and more similarities between you and Hoseok than you would like to admit. One of them being your laicsm when it came to manga and anime. The solidarity was made one Friday after practices, when you both agreed on not understanding the hype after seeing some poster hanging out randomly on the street.

Music taste however, was another cup of tea. It was something Hoseok took his pride in, that was why he kept sending you various tracks encouraging you to listen to some good stuff until one day, with raised eyebrows, he learnt how wrong his previous assumptions about you had been.

“Oh my God, my song!’’ you exclaimed, when The Neighbourhood’s Softcore started playing while you were sitting at the Blue Side. It looked like the pink-haired waitress was absent, so were the latest k-pop tracks she constantly played in the coffee shop.

“You know them?’’ Hoseok asked, looking at you with bewilderment in his eyes.

You snorted at him. “Told you I had that edgy vibe in 2015 when everyone listened to Sweather Weather. The t-shirts are long gone but my love for Jesse Rutherford stays untouched.”

You started mouthing the lyrics but Hoseok interrupted you. “I thought you would be into some k-pop type of shit.”

He received a roll of your eyes in return. “Hey, don't disrespect k-pop like that! There are nice songs out there, people just choose the worse ones usually and complain how trashy they are.” you said, pointing your index finger accusingly at him.

Hoseok lifted his arms in defending pose. “Fine, fine, don’t cancel me. What about classical music then. Since you are dancing ballet and all,” he drawled.

“Do you want to know a secret?’’ You leaned over the table and whispered, earning a nod from Hoseok. “Most ballerinas know nothing about classical music unless they are pieces we use for our routines. Ask them about their favourite and the answers would probably be Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake. I'm most ballerinas.”

There was a moment of silence before you both erupted into laughter.

For people looking at you from the distance, laughing together until tears formed in your eyes, teasing and throwing playful snorts, you might have looked like you had known each other for years.

Something was ending, leaves were falling off the trees and sun hid behind the greish clouds but in the warm embrace of a small coffee shop two people found themselves in a hold of affection they couldn’t escape, no matter how hard they tried.

Because love sometimes comes into people’s lifes unannounced, tearing apart their souls and making them vulnerable for others’ healing touch.

It was late evening on Friday, when you were sitting at your favourite ramen place, bonding over food like it was the most natural thing to do, talk between next chews, bites and occasional slurps of Hoseok's mouth.

Miss Lee's ramen was cheap, not fatty and what was the most important – not popular among other residents of your neighborhood, so not many people decided to show up that evening as well. That became the reason why you had suggested meeting there with Hoseok after your lessons.

You were in the middle of playing 100 questions game, a new found way of getting to know each other better. It was completely Hoseok's idea because he seemed to be the most eager man to learn more about you that you had ever met in your entire history of dating which, sadly, wasn't impressive.

Last time someone asked you so many questions, you were doing personality tests on Buzzfeed.

Now it was your turn to ask something and after discovering that Hoseok poured milk before the cereal, liked green the most from all colors and was scared of needles (that's probably why he didn’t have any piercings, you thought to yourself) you decided you were really bad at this game.

But then, you recalled the interview you had recently watched with some k-pop group and after swallowing a generous amount of pasta, you aimed the target.

“What's your most prized possession?’’

Hoseok, however, answered without a second thought. “My drums.”

Your eyebrows furrowed and you looked at him in confusion. “Drums? Like the instrument?”

“No, like the cannisters.” he snorted sarcastically.

“So you can play?” you continued, ignoring his witty retort.

“Yes, I do. I started learning when I was a kid. My dad owned a music shop. He was renovating old instruments from time to time and that's how I was gifted drums on my 10th birthday. The same ones I have till this day.”

You hummed. “So you’re hip-hop dancer slash drummer? And what, you play in a rock band too?” you laughed but stopped right away when you saw his serious expression. You gasped. “Oh my God. You do play in a band! And you didn’t tell me sooner?!” you exclaimed loudly. Young couple sitting few seats from you sent you deathly glares. You mouthed “Sorry!” and directed your attention to Hoseok again.

He simply shrugged his shoulders. “There wasn’t an opportunity before,” You shook your head in disbelief at that. “Told you I’ve got a lot more to reveal.” He smirked and fuck, you hoped the blush that covered your cheeks right now was from the spice noodles you had eaten.

So Jung Hoseok and his love for leather jackets and old bands wasn't unreasonable. You hated yourself for wanting to see him play, sweat covering his forehead and lips bitten in concentration. What a sight it could be. Truly mesmerizing.

You had to stop your brain from wandering through such dangerous territories.

“So,” you started after clearing your thoughts, “Are there any other hot musicians in your band?” you asked, regretting your choice of words as soon as they left your lips. You wanted to slap yourself mentally.

“Did you just call me hot?”

“In your dreams. Now tell me about your rock band,” you blurted out quickly and let out a shaky breath afterwards. That was very much close to a catastrophe.

Yet you didn’t miss the way Hoseok's lips lifted up in amusement, trying to hide the laughter blossoming in his throat. “We are actually a punk rock band. There’s four of us. Namjoon, electric guitarist and the leader who sticks us all together since 2016. Jimin, in charge of vocals and bass guitar, and the youngest member, Jungkook, vocalist and bass guitar player as well.”

“How did you all meet then?’’

You weren’t even hiding your curiosity at this point. You justified yourself by thinking it was your only chance to be as close to the real (punk) rock band member you would ever be.

“You probably won’t believe me, but we all met at the university. I was studying business for a year before I dropped out of it and that's how I met Namjoon, who’s been my roommate ever since,” Hoseok said. “I met Jungkook and Jimin through Namjoon. He introduced them to me saying they all took part in some underground concerts for amateurs and after that they started hanging out together. You might say it was a coincidence we all met like that but I don't believe it. I think we were meant to come across each other eventually, you know, to save punk rock together.” He laughed to himself after finishing his little story.

You smiled at him genuinely and there was no mockness in this, it was true sympathy and probably something else, not so easy to describe.

You imagined four boys, with head full of dreams and hearts filled with raw passion, doing something the world didn’t believe in, but they had enough faith in themselves to prove everyone wrong.

“So how’s the band called?” you asked.

“Punk’s Not Dead.” Hoseok responded, cheeks bright red with mortification.

“Punk’s Not Dead,” you mused to yourself. “Sounds nice. Clever, I would say.”

“It's actually a name of the movie. It was Namjoon who made it up. He's the smartest from our group. After all he isn’t studying law without a reason.”

Your eyebrows lifted in interest. “A future lawyer playing in a punk rock band? I thought nothing is gonna surprise me after hearing you, hip-hop choreographer wanna be, are also a drummer. What about the others? Doctors? Stripteasers?”

Hoseok chukled lightly. “No, none of that. Jungkook and Jimin both work together as mechanics,” he answered, reaching for his now empty ramen bowl. You gaped as his calloused fingers adored with rings curled around the item, moving it to the side. Hoseok had pretty hands, you noticed. Hands of musician.

Sudden idea popped up in your head. “So when am I gonna hear you playing live?” you asked, smirking at him.

“Soon actually.”

“Soon?”

“Yeah, soon. We are having a gig next Saturday at Namjoon's brother bar. You should come.” Hoseok suggested.

What kind of hollywood movie plot it was, you didn’t know, but you found yourself enjoying the main female protagonist's role probably too much.

“Next Saturday,” you mumbled to yourself, counting days in your head. Right, it was the day your best friend was coming back from Los Angeles and you had to pick her up from the airport.

You bit your lip. Ah, fuck it.

“Fine. I’ll come,” you said. ‘’But can I bring my friend as a company?” you added and Hoseok smiled broadly.

“The more people, the better.”

It was a while after the concert when you learnt it wasn’t entirely a good idea but right now, with Jung Hoseok and his cocky grin he was flashing you, nothing else mattered.

Incheon International Airport was a place utterly unfamiliar to you.

Last time you had visted it, was when you had been in ripe age of ten, welcoming back your aunt Jia from her ‘life journey’ to Tibet.

Aunt Jia was an extraordinary lady, she had proved it announcing the whole family her departure to Tibet for a six months long ‘detox’, nearly giving your mother heart attack when she had talked about bonding through the nature and finding her inner peace in a temple among Tibetan monks.

But it was years ago, now aunt Jia was older and her interest in buddhism was way more sustainable, limited to buying different Buddha figurines in art decor shops.

So today, you were at the Incheon International Airport for the second time in your life, again welcoming, this time your best friend Hana from her almost two years long stay in United States.

You met three years ago, both freshly graduated from your high schools and starting a new, adult life in Seoul as roommates. You had become close friends pretty easily, sticking together through ups and downs of dealing with real life shit, as you used to call it.

Ballerina and soon to be actress, both too dramatic for this world but getting along just fine through a whole year, until one day Hana had announced over a bowl of cereal she had received an opportunity to go on an international scholarship in USA she had always dreamt about. A lifetime chance, one in a million, as she'd said. Learning acting from American professionalists, walking down the never ending sunshine streets of California. Something only outstanding people can experience.

That was how Hana had ended up in Los Angeles, the City of Stars and the world's factory of make-believe. Thousands of kilometers away from home. Today, she was going to step on her country's ground for the first time in two years since she had been gone and you were more than thrilled to see her again in person.

She hadn’t exactly told you why she was back, neither she had explained for how long or, what was the most important and disturbing: why this was happening all of a sudden. And something was telling you it was all too suspicious, a perfectly wrapped half-lie.

Hana said someone from her old friends from acting school had told her that the National Theater was preparing to do Victor Hugo's Les Misérables and suggested she should try her luck with castings, since she had played the main role while being abroad. It sounded convincing though, how wouldn’t, she was a good actress after all.

That was Hana’s version of events. How really was, you didn't know, not yet. But you were sure something about this whole situation was too strange to be true. And you were determined to find out exactly what.

It was late morning in Seoul, foggy and with definitely too much humidity in the air. You were standing in the arrivals hall holding a self-made sign, produced out of boredom and your true love for DIY Pinterest ideas. Besides your friend’s name, you had painted palm trees on it and added glitter that was still stuck to some parts of your bedroom floor. You probably looked ridiculous holding it in your hands but you didn’t care, shifting from left foot to right. Waiting.

When you were about to check the time, you saw people coming up in your direction with suitcases in their hands. And then, among a crowd of nameless passengers, you saw a familiar blonde pony-tail and black polka-dot suitcase that could only belong to one person.

You could feel the roll of your best friend's eyes before you actually saw it, Hana shaking her head and chuckling to herself because of the absurd sign you were holding.

When Hana was approximately ten meters from you, you cleared your throat and half-yelled in flat english, “There she is! My California girl!”

People around looked in your direction with both distaste and amusement but Hana only sighed, until breath was knocked out of her lungs from the sheer force of your hug.

“Oh my God, I missed you so much!” you mumbled into the material of her grey coat.

“We talked and face timed each other practically everyday,” Hana grumbled but deep down, even if she didn’t say it, she missed you too.

“That's not the same!” you protested. “Lemme look at you properly,” You pulled away from the hug, putting your hands on Hana's shoulders and eyeing her carefully. She looked skinnier than three years ago when you had met but that was a question for another occasion. Her skin, gingerly touched by Californian sun, made her look like she had just come back from holidays abroad. “You're definitely too tanned for October,” you pointed out, earning a chuckle from her.

“Come on,” Hana said, tiredness clearly apparent in her voice. “Let's get away from here.”

Back in the Uber that was driving you to your place, the atmosphere seemed to shift. Unspoken questions were lying at the tip of your tongue and you wanted to let them out instantly but you knew better. No rush, one information at the time. So you started from the simplest one, or you just thought it was.

“Did you tell your parents you're back?” you asked and Hana visibly grimaced after hearing it. Of course she didn’t, there was no point of lying.

“Not yet.”

“When are you going to tell them then?”

There was a pause on the other side of the seat and followed by a heavy sigh, Hana responded. “They still think I’m in California because my scholarship physically ends in two months. I will visit them home as soon as I’ll settle down in Seoul again.”

Settle down? You furrowed your eyebrows. She was going to stay for good here?

“So what are your next plans?’’ you wondered aloud.

“Go to that try-out in the theatre next week, see if my stay in America was actually worth something,” Hana chuckled dryly, almost bitterly. “I was also thinking about finding some part time job so I could afford a place on my own once I get back to acting regularly in theatre. I don’t want to overuse your kindness.”

“You're not using–” you started to protest but Hana cut you off.

“I am practically throwing myself at you because I don't have a place to live. But don't worry, that's not for a long time.” She smiled lightly and you reciprocated the gesture. Hana then turned her head to the window, looking out of it for a while as you passed the streets. She murmured something about the weather that you didn’t hear well because your thoughts were somewhere else.

You tried to digest all the revelations your friend had just told you. It looked like Hana wasn’t planning on coming back to Los Angeles any time soon or she wasn't going to do it at all, but that wasn’t the most puzzling issue about the whole situation. It was strange because she’d never said anything about staying abroad for longer, not even once, until she met him. That happened to be some kind of an anchor for her, a reason why she had started questioning openly her further life choices. Had something happened that she changed her mind completely?

You caught in the corner of your eye the sight of Hana absentmindedly playing with the ring on her finger and you decided it was now or never, you had to ask her or you will never be able to muster up the courage.

“What about Taehyung?” It seemed out of the blue, vocalized so suddenly but deep down it wasn’t. And Hana knew that. Her fingers ever so slightly tightened around the ring and then pulled away. “Does he know you’re staying?”

She didn't visibly flinched, didn’t scrunch her eyebrows or purse her lips, didn’t protest. Maybe it was because she had been taught how not to show any emotions, maybe it was because she didn’t want to show any emotions at all. Her face was blank when she spoke, eyes distant and thoughts probably far away from the small space of the car.

“Taehyung recently got a role in some new Netflix series. One of the main roles actually, so it's going to take him some time to finish recording.” she said, not answering the question and she was well aware of it. It was right there on the tip of her tongue but she hesitated. Maybe the realization was too much to handle for her.

“So he seems to enjoy his stay in America,” you trailed off, watching as Hana smiled lightly but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Yeah," she nodded. “He is.”

And that was enough of an answer for you.

You had been watching Hana falling for Taehyung for solid two years since she had left grey streets of Seoul to drown in Californian paradise. They met in acting school and got the scholarship together. The most divine, the most talented students the school had. Somehow over the thousands of kilometers of homesickness they started dating. And you were happy, you couldn’t be more glad seeing your beat friend chasing her dreams with a person who cared about her by her side. But the news about engagement few months ago had come as a shock to you, although you had not said anything. Hana's smile when she had showed you the ring had been enough to convince you of her happiness.

Right now, sitting by her side and listening to her talking about it so emotionless, so blankly, you were sure that in every single Hollywood fantasy there was a crack.

“So, here we are.”

After opening the doors to your apartment there was a slight pause, before you spoke again. “I know it's nothing special but for that price and in location so close to my uni I couldn’t find anything better. It's small but–”

“Can you please stop rumbling for a second?” Hana interrupted you abruptly. She was literally standing in the door with the suitcase still in her hand because you didn't let her in any further. “I told you it's okay. You allowed me to stay here even though there's barely enough space here for one person.”

“But still, the bathroom is like the smallest I have ever seen... Oh, and there's a soy sauce stain on the wall in kitchen because I still haven’t figure out how to remove it and–”

The door banged loudly and you jumped from the sudden noise.

“What the fuck! You know how easily I get scared!” you exclaimed, placing a hand on your chest, calming your rapidly beating heart.

Hana shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve had enough of your stupid complaining. Now, show me where will I sleep beacuse I feel like passing out any second now.” She placed her suitcase on the floor, taking off her coat and kicking off her boots.

When you were living together as roommates, Hana was the one who organized the chores and yelled at you after making a mess and not cleaning up. She had been doing it as a matter of habit even during her absence.

“Sleep, yeah,” you muttered to yourself, shrugging off your coat as well. “Technically there’s no second bed here but you’re going to sleep here,” you explained, pointing out at the small sofa that was standing in a place you called ‘living room' just because it was connected directly to the kitchen. Beside the sofa, it consisted of the lamp and a tiny glass table where usually was a mess of your belongings but right now it was all cleaned and polished.

Hana slumped down on the sofa, closing her eyes. “God, I missed that. There was some yelling kid on the plane and their parents couldn’t shut them up,” She sighed tiredly. “Now I can nap for the rest of the day. And night.”

You bit your lip, looking at her slumped body. Today was Saturday, the day of Hoseok's band concert you had been invited to and you still didn't prepare your outfit or, what was the most important, for the whole week you hadn’t messaged Hana about the fact that she was, in fact, invited too. You felt guilty asking your freshly out of twelve hours long flight friend to come with you but you had no choice.

“Hana,” you started and it already sounded pleading, not casual. She cracked one eye open. She knew when you had some buisness to her and it seemed like that now. “I know you’re tired, jet lagged and all but what would you say to a power six hours nap and going to a punk rock concert tonight with me?” you blurted out quickly.

Hana opened her eyes completely and now was looking at you dumbfounded expression on her face. “What?” she stammered out.

You moved to sit next to her on a sofa and took a deep breath. “So here's the thing. You know I work at the dance school now right?” you began and Hana nodded slowly. “I met a guy there. He teaches kids hip-hop. His name is Hoseok and he actually isn't only a dancer, he's also a drummer. And it might sound stupid but he plays in a band too,” you explained, avoiding her burning gaze you could feel on your skin. However, if you looked in her direction, you would see the soft smile adoring Hana's features. “We kinda started hanging out about a month ago and recently he invited me to his band's concert. And I really want to go but I thought you could accompany me cause I don't wanna be there alone all the time so, yeah.” you trailed off sheepishly.

There was a bit of silence and you were waiting for Hana to scold you but instead you received reaction you weren’t expecting at all.

“You’re dating some guy and you didn’t tell me?!” Hana bursted out. She had a mixture of disbelief and probably a little bit of betrayal written across her face.

You held your arms up in defending pose. “We aren’t dating!” you protested, scandalized someone could ever put words dating and Hoseok's name next to yours. “It's just some casual hanging out after work, just friends. Friends.” you repeated.

Hana rolled her eyes at that. She knew you better than you would like to admit but she decided not to tease you about it any further. “So, is he hot? He must be, he's a drummer after all and they are hot in theory,” She wiggled her eyebrows, nudging you with her elbow while you groaned in frustration.

“If that will make you happy, yes, he is good looking,” you sighed. There was a tiny bit of blush covering your cheeks. “But as I said, we’re just friends!” you emphasized the word again, looking at Hana intensely like you were trying to embed it in her brain so she wouldn't think something else.

“Will you go with me then? Please? I need emotional support.” you pouted. “Besides you owe me for letting you stay here.” you added and it might have been a little unfair move to maake but you didn’t care about that.

Hana sighed heavily, like she was really contemplating the decision even though she had made it a while ago, just to keep you in suspense for a little longer. She fought and urge to ask about said emotional support while Hoseok was only a friend and instead she nodded her head.

“Fine, I’ll go,” she said, lifting her index finger before you could crash her body in a hug. “But I need to take this nap first.”

You grinned at her. “Thank you, thank you,” you kept mumbling, cuddling her body tightly against her protests.

“Now lemme wash and sleep.” Hana grumbled in annoyed tone but you knew she wasn’t mad at you at all. Deep down, even after layers of well trained, measured actions she had a good heart.

“Punk’s not dead? What kind of name for a band is this?”

You were standing before the door to the bar, side by side, watching as different people, mainly young, were passing you and coming inside. Hana eyed the pink poster that said ‘Free entrance!’ with her arms crossed over chest.

“That's the name for the punk rock band.” you said with a glint of annoyance in your voice, not even sure why somehow affected by your friend's words. You liked the name, it wasn’t obvious and sounded catchy. For you at least.

Hana snorted. “I hope they are worth my jet lagged self that I’m sacrificing here for you.” she sighed, averting her gaze from the poster hanging on the window and pushing the door inside.

The bar, Dionysus, was Namjoon's brother’s property, as Hoseok had explained to you. They played their mini concerts here since they had met, actually gaining money from this because the owner was letting them take some part of the earnings from alcohol buying. Also, there was always a small box on the bar counter where people could throw their money inside if they wanted to support the group directly.

Inside, there was a respectable amount of people already standing before the stage where everything seemed to be set up, except for the actual band members that weren't present, apparently hiding at the ‘backstage’ until their main entrance. You spotted drums standing at the back of the stage and you suddenly felt not so sure of yourself.

“There's a whole stage here? Geez, they didn't come to play,” Hana wheezed to herself, taking in the surroundings. “Do you want to drink something first?” she whispered into your ear.

You glanced at your phone to check time before answering. “I don’t know. I kind of want to be by the stage when they start playing.”

Hana nudged your side. “Relax, I will push my way through those girls in leather skirts for you. Come on, let's warm up a little.”

You looked in the direction of the stage once again but eventually gave up, letting her drag you to the bar. Maybe the drink wasn’t a bad idea. You didn't quite know if you could survive the evening completely sober.

The tall, handsome looking bartender smiled at you cheekily when you sat with Hana by the bar.

“What can I get for the lovely ladies?” he asked, eyeing you both misheviously.

“What do you recommend?” Hana leaned her head on the hand, smiling at the man as well.

“I could make you my absolute speciality: Aphrodite’s nectar.” the bartender suggested.

“Go on, surprise us.” Hana said, earning a confident smirk from the man before he turned around to make your drinks. She rolled her eyes, pulling a few bills from her purse and throwing them to the self made money box with ‘Thank you for the support – Punk's not dead’ caption.

“I could pay for myself, you know,” you muttered under your breath but loud enough for Hana to hear.

“Shh, don't say anything and let me support your friend with a generous tip before the actual show. Hope they’re worth it.” Upon her words, the bartender handed you your drinks with “Here you go.” followed by the cocky grin.

Hana frowned when she saw pinkish liqueur poured to the vodka-size glass. “Seriously? This is his speciality? Pink coloured vodka? Isn’t that supposed to be called sex on the beach?” she scoffed and drank the substance in one go, flinching after she swallowed. “I've had better.” she commented dryly.

You followed her actions, drinking up the alcohol as well. You coughed a few times before you asked, “Can we go now?” It sounded like a childlike pleading but you didn’t care.

Hana nodded after exhaling loudly and you both made your way to the stage, like she had said earlier – pushing through the crowd of other people. There were shouts of swears and insults thrown at you from every side but Hana didn’t give a fuck, practically dragging you by your hand while you were muttering quick apologies to every single girl in leather skirt.

When you reached very front of the stage, Hana grinned at you. “See? Told you we’ll be in first row. God, I haven’t been to punk concert for a very long time.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “You've been to a punk concert before?” you asked, confused with her words. Hana seemed to be taken aback by this question, like she just realised she had said something she hadn't indent to.

“Yeah. In high school. Like I said, long time ago.”

“Why didn’t you–” you started but immadietly stopped, when the lights went out followed by the oooh! from gathered people. “Oh my God it's happening,” you half-whispered, clutching Hana's hand.

“Youjust referred to The Office without watching it.”

“Shut up!” you muttered, ignoring Hana's giggle.

Next thing you knew, sharp lights shimmered and few, firsts accords of electric guitar resonated through the bar. You absentmindedly squeezed Hana's hand tighter. Then, more lights flashed, along with the thumbing sound of drums and the whole stage illuminated with bright, silver colors.

You didn't even realise you were holding your breath the entire time. You eventually got back to your senses when one of the boys started singing an unknown to you song, probably self-written by them. His hair was pink and you recognized him as Jimin, remembering the photo Hoseok had sent you where he had captioned everyone. Jimin was leaning towards the micstand lazily, like he was purposely doing it this way. His guitar was dropped on his back nonchalantly.

Next was Jungkook, the youngest in the group. His mop of black hair was nodding along to the rhythm of the music, his eyes and attention solemnly focused on his guitar. He didn’t wear any jacket and his muscles on ink-covered arms flexed with his every move.

On the other side of the stage stood Namjoon, the one who Hoseok lived with and referred as the leader of the group. He also had some tattoos on his forearms but not as many as Jungkook. He smiled lightly at the crowd when someone shouted his name, showing the tiniest of dimples on his cheeks.

And there it was the last member. Hoseok.

Your breath hitched in your throat. You had seen him dancing a few times before in Just Dance, ever so passionate but this was different kind of passion. He was fierce, completely devoted to what he was playing, hitting the notes like his life depended on it. He didn’t had any tattoos adoring his skin and his ears weren’t pierced like his friends' but he had an exeptional energy in him, power that he emphasized with every move, every tap of his drumsticks. For you, he was the most divine of them all, the brightest spot on the stage. A born performer, flesh and bones.

The song was catchy, something quite similar to the ones Hoseok had sent you after many ‘pretty pleases' from you. Jimin and Jungkook's voices were blending together just fine and you found yourself bopping to the rhythm of the music until you felt Hana's hand on your shoulder. You turned around in her direction with a smile that quickly disappeared when you saw her expression. She looked like she had just seen a ghost. Even in the dimmed lighting you could distingiush she was paler than before.

She leaned towards your ear and half-yelled, trying to outshot the crowd, “I need to get some fresh. I don't feel well.”

You looked at her with worriedly. “I'll go with you,” you declared but Hana stopped you.

“No, stay here,” she protested firmly. “Enjoy the show. I'll wait for you outside until it's over.”

“You sure?” you asked, earning a nodd from her along with a light smile that didn’t look much convincing but before you could say anything else, Hana was making her way through sweaty, bouncing bodies again. You watched anxiously as her blonde hair disappeared between the mass of nameless people and then, the song was over. You released a long breath and glanced at the stage.

Namjoon took the mic and tapped on it a few times. “Ehm, hi. We're Punk's not dead, as you know probably,” he chuckled lightly, making you smile, despite the uneasy feeling in your chest about Hana. “I'm Namjoon and I’m the leader of the group. I thought it could be nice if I introduce everyone before we start so... here we go. On the left, there's Jimin,” He pointed at the pink-haired man and audience, mainly female attendants, cheered loudly. Jimin smirked lopsidedly.

Namjoon continued, “Next there's Jungkook,” The youngest lifted his head and smiled boyishly in bunny-like manner, scrunching his nose in process. He looked familiar, you thought to yourself. Strange.

“And, our amazing drummer: Hoseok!” Namjoon presented and you screamed upon hearing Hoseok's name before you could realise what on Earth you were doing. Hoseok stood up from his seat and grinned broadly, waving to the crowd. Then, miraculously, his eyes landed on you and if that was even possible, his smile visible widened. You thanked whatever gods that existed he couldn’t see the way your cheeks flushed.

“Thank you for coming here today. I hope you'll have a great time,” Namjoon said. “And now, we are going to play our new song called Cigarettes after sex*, written and self-composed by Jimin. Enjoy.” he finished, nodding to his friends.

The song was beautiful, it carried the lash of melancholy and sadness behind every single word that Jimin sang and he visibly felt it too, making it seem even more real by the sheer emotions of heartache written on his beautiful features.

They played a few more songs after that one, some of them were covers of the bands you were familiar with thanks to Hoseok and his signature t-shirts. Before you could blink an eye, it was over and Namjoon was thanking everyone one more time for coming and then they disappeared behind the black curtains after receiving a loud applause for their performance.

You stayed like that for a while, still basking in aftermath of everything that had just happened, humming to yourself some melody from one of the songs you had heard tonight. You turned your back to the stage, watching other people leaving the bar. Lost in your own world, you definitely didn’t hear footsteps behind you.

“Did you enjoy your time, princess?”

You jumped in your place, twirling to the direction of the voice you knew so damn well. Hoseok was smirking at you while crouching down on the stage. His friends were also there, behind him, packing their stuff.

When you calmed down your breathing enough, you shouted, “What the fuck, Hoseok?! I told you to not do things like that to me!”

He only chuckled in response, smiling cockily at the furious flush on your cheeks. “I asked you a question,” he reminded.

What was it? Ah, right, he asked about the concert. You pursued lips, crossing your arms over chest. You wanted to say it was showstopping, spectacular and all those adjectives Lady Gaga had used in that famous meme video of hers but you didn’t.

“It was decent.”

A smirk appeared on Hoseok's face. “Decent, huh? Wouldn't say so, after seeing you cheering so loudly in first row,” he teased. ‘’I'm flattered. I’ve never had such devoted fan of myself.”

He thought that pink blush which colored your cheeks was cute. Fuck, you were cute, trying to cover your embarrassment with an unamused expression.

“I cheered for your friends, you know? Not you.” you mocked but it was pointless, he was already standing up from his position, knowing what was the truth.

“Come on, let's go to the backstage,” He made quotation mark on the word backstage while saying it. You grimaced. “There’s nice after party setting up there,” he tried again, this time pouting slightly and you eventually gave up. You had promised you would come, after all. Hoseok grinned when you followed his footsteps, walking to the supply base at the back of the bar.

“Jungkookie!" Hoseok shouted before he twisted the knob, whirling around for a quick moment. Jungkook lifted his head up in Hoseok's direction. “Don't forget to close the door when you finish packing!”

The youngest member nodded, going back to his previous work.

Beside you and Hoseok's bandmates, inside the ‘backstage’ was the same handsome bartender from earlier, Namjoon's brother as you assumed, and a woman with dark, shoulder-length hair that stood next to Namjoon, leaning into his body. He had his arms wrapped around her, talking to his brother about something. She introduced herself as Minhee, Namjoon's girlfriend, extending her hand to you in friendly gesture when you approached them with Hoseok.

“Oh, we met before, by the bar. I’m Seokjin, the owner of this lovely place.” Namjoon's brother, Seokiin, said, shaking your hand.

“Hyung, you can't give it a miss, can you,” Namjoon grumbled behind his back but Seokjin ignored him. That wasn’t probably the first time he flexed about owning a bar, you thought to yourself.

“How did you like the concert, darling?” Seokjin asked you suddenly.

You rushed to reply. “Oh, it was really nice! I’ve never been to anything like that before but I enjoyed it very much.” you responded. Hoseok muttered something about you being a liar under his breath but you acted like you didn’t hear him. “I really liked the second song, the slow one.” you added, averting your gaze to Jimin who was sitting with his head bowed down in front of the vodka bottle.

Seokjin patted him on the shoulder. “Yah, did you hear that Jimin-ah? You’ve got a fan of your sad songs here!” he said, breaking into laughter but Namjoon stopped him by sending his brother a warning look. Jimin though barely even acknowledged his or your words, lifting his head up for a brief moment and eyeing your figure without any emotion on his face. Then he got back to the glass of alcohol again, pouring the substance into his mouth in one go.

“He broke up with his girlfriend like six months ago or something and still hasn’t quite move on,” Hoseok whispered into your ear. You let out an “Oh,”, sending one last apologetic smile to Jimin, even though he wasn’t looking at you at all.

Hoseok motioned you to sit by the table with others and you positioned yourself between Namjoon's girlfriend and Hoseok. The only absent person seemed to be Jungkook who was probably still fumbling with packing their stuff.

The conversation was oscillating around the concert. Hoseok mentioned that the audience had been much bigger than the last time and Namjoon kept babbling about some technical issue with his guitar that you couldn’t understand.

“Don't worry. I've been with him for three years and I still know shit about what he's talking about too," Minhee said to you, probably after seeing your clueless expression. You both bursted out into laughter.

You were supposed to ask her how had she and Namjoon had met but Seokjin interrupted you, walking in with a bottle of champagne.

“Where the hell is this kid Jungkook?” he grumbled. Hoseok quickly explained he was packing their stuff on stage when he last had seen him. Seokjin hummed and placed the bottle on the table. “And what about your blonde friend, darling?” he directed next question to you.

You froze in place.

Holy shit. You completely forgot about Hana.

You didn’t respond to Seokjin, so he assumed you hadn’t heard him and went back to opening the champagne bottle.

You pulled out your phone from the pursue and cried out in mortification after seeing the messages.

[22:11pm] Hana: I was at mcdonalds across the street lol im heading to the bar now

[22:11pm] Hana: come up for me please

[22:15pm] Hana: ???

10 minutes ago.

“Fuck!” you muttered under your breath, frantically typing a response.

“Is everything ok?” Hoseok asked, his voice laced with concern.

You shook your head. “I forgot to come up for my friend after the concert. She wasn’t feeling well so she left and stayed outside.” you hastily explained, already standing up from your seat, clutching your phone in hand. Hoseok followed after you.

You pushed the door open, although the sight you saw behind them wasn’t anything you could ever expected. The surprised words escaped Hoseok's and your mouth simultaneously.

“Hana?”

“Jungkook?”

They stood facing each other, looking like they were interrupted by you mid conversation, probably in too close proximity for people supposed to be strangers. Hana's astonished face leaned out from behind Jungkook's tall body in the direction of the voices. Slowly, like she didn’t expect to be caught this way. And that was weird, beacuse she looked like she didn’t want to be seen in Jungkook's presence by the others, like their close proximity was something that shouldn't have been acknowledged.

Jungkook turned around as well, however ever so recultanty. And then, when you saw his face clearly now, jet-black hair and inked arms, it all crashed you like a wave. That was why he seemed to look so familiar. You knew him, maybe not personally, but you knew who he was. The boy from Hana's photograph she had pinned to her cork board when you had been living together. A beach with crystal blue sea behid their backs, the same boy yet with less tattoos than now, carrying your friend on his back, both grinning to the camera like it had been the happiest moment of their lives. Until one day Hana was gone and so was the photograph.

You felt like you were interrupting something too intimate for you to step in with your shoes like that. You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but Hoseok helped you out instead. And you thanked him for that mentally because you weren’t sure of your mouth anymore.

“Looks like your friend is safe and sound.”

Hana snapped out of her previous shocked haze upon hearing his words and automatically composured herself. She took a few meassured steps away from Jungkook. Gone was the slight shock on her face, she was back to her calmed persona. “Yeah, I'm all good. I was about to text you I’m going home.” she said, her words directed to you. She then exchanged quick glances with Jungkook, glances that could look the simplest from other people’s perspective but not for you.

Hoseok though, fortunately, didn’t seem to feel something was apparently off here. It was for the better he thought like that. “So you won't stay to celebrate with us?” he asked Hana.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched ever so slightly. He was still standing there, unsure of what to do

Hana shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. I’m still tired and jet-lagged from my flight so I will just wish you great time and go.”

“You sure? I can go with you too, if you want,” you suggested after containing yourself enough to finally vocalize some thoughts. But Hana only smiled at you. Forcefully, which didn’t miss your attention.

“It's okay. I want you to have fun. I already called a cab for myself anyway” she reassured.

Hoseok protested. “Someone could drive you home. I’m sure Jungkook wouldn't mind–”

“It's fine, really.” Hana said firmly and you knew by the clench of her fists she was slowly losing her patience. At the same time, Jungkook's eyes flickered ever so slightly after hearing his hyung's words and then went back to his previous unreadable stare.

Seeing Hoseok opened his mouth to protest, you took his wrist, hoping he would take the hint and not add anything more.

“I must really go now. Take care of Y/N and have fun.” Hana smiled politely, looking at Hoseok and he reciprocated the gesture. She didn’t really acknowledge Jungkook at all, even though he had somehow his gaze fixated on her the whole time. But Hana did that all pursposelly, so Hoseok couldn’t suspect anything. She wasn’t stupid after all. Well crafted actress knew how to act.

She came up to you, hugging you briefly. “We'll talk tomorrow.” she whispered into your ear because she knew that you couldn’t be fooled so easily, that you felt something was not right from the very beginning since she had announced her comeback from the States.

Hana waved one last time to you, exiting the bar. You could swear Jungkook's eyes lingered on her figure a little too long to be considered unbothered, until he turned around and went back to the stage. You prayed Hoseok wasn’t going to ask him what had he been talking about with Hana or why did he even decide to approach her like that.

“Come on. Let's go back. Jungkookie will close the door.” Hoseok said instead.

You listened, letting him take your wrist and walk to the supply base for the second time tonight. You wondered for a moment if Jungkook was going to chase after Hana, but you shook your mind from those thoughts. It wasn’t your life to make decisions and judge them.

A little while after you sat on your seat again, Jungkook came back as well and you somehow felt the rush of relief swimming through your whole body. He slumped down next to Jimin on the couch and said something to him you couldn't make out exactly, but pink-haired man laughed bitterly at that, filling his best friend's glass to the brim.

Next two hours you spent there passed like a blurr. You kept talking with Namjoon's girlfriend practically the whole time. You found out Minhee was studying medicine and she had met Namjoon through some discussion club she had joined in her freshman year. It had been attraction from the first disagreement, as she described it cheekily.

When Namjoon called for Minhee to talk about something on the side, you averted your attention to Hoseok who was sitting in front of his empty glass and scrolling through the phone, clearly discontent with you intentionally avoiding his attempts to tease you about something you had said, or avoiding him in general.

“Aren't you drinking anything?” you asked him with raised eyebrows.

Hoseok snorted. “Someone has to drive you home, princess.”

“Bullshit. I can take the cab.”

“Well then, I don’t feel like drinking anyway.”

You eyed him carefully and then it hit you. “Oh my God,” you blurted out, trying to stifle the giggles blubbering in your throat. “You are not drinking because you are a lightweight!” you accused, not even hiding your amusement now.

“That's not true,” Hoseok grumbled but his red ears gave him away. He was a bad liar.

You pushed his chest with your index finger. “Admit it!”

Hoseok looked at the ceiling and sighed heavily. “Fine, I am. And what about it?”

You giggled. It was probably some champagne mixed with wine you had drank with Minhee speaking through you but you didn’t falter when you said, “Nothing at all. That's cute.”

Hoseok frowned. “Cute?”

“Yeah, cute. You're cute when you're flustered.”

Hoseok parted his lips in both disbelief and annoyance because relatively speaking, you took it out from his mouth. It was his remark, for God's sake, he was the one supposed to say things like that to you. He hadn't drunk even a drop except one, symbolic glass of champagne yet he wanted to argue with you about it like five years old child. Because if anything, you were prettier and yes, cuter than him, and he had a sudden urge to spell it out for you.

Yet he faltered for a moment after hearing abrupt glass crashing from the other corner of the room. You looked in that direction too, seeing half-conscious Jimin slumped down on the couch, Jungkook sitting next to him and saying things to him you didn’t hear. You could make out only “hyung” and “please, calm down” falling from younger's mouth.

Jimin seemed like he had no idea about what was going on around him. When he opened his eyes for a moment they were bloodshot and glassy, probably from too much alcohol he had drank before, or maybe even from something else entirely. Then he murmured something to Jungkook and black-haired boy sighed, standing up from his position and approaching Namjoon and Minhee furiously talking about something in the far corner of the room.

“Here we go again,” Hoseok breathed next to you and you scrunched your eyebrows, focusing your attention on the scene in front of you.

“Hyung, please–”

“No, Jungkook. We can't do that again.”

“Please, I swear it's the last time. He won't let me take him home unless it's with her,” Jungkook pleaded. “It'll worsen anytime soon. I don't want to see him like this."

Namjoon pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you think I don't know that Jungkook?! Last time was supposed to be last. And now it's happening again. We can’t continue it like this,” he said, looking in Jimin's direction where Seokjin was trying now to convince him to let go of the half empty vodka bottle Jimin was clutching tightly to his chest.

“Hyung...”

“Stop arguing. I already texted her like 20 minutes ago when I heard he started talking about her again. She's on her way,” Minhee interrupted. “But this has to end. He–they can’t live like that.” she said and Jungkook breathed out heavily with relief, thanking her over and over.

Hoseok hummed next to you, making you jump slightly on your seat from the sudden sound so close in your proximity. “What's happening?” you asked him and he let out a long sigh.

“I don't think you want to see that. I should take you home.”

But before you could answer, someone banged loudly on the back door. Seokjin moved from his seat and opened them, letting inside a girl around your age, dressed in all black. Her hair was dyed in red and she didn’t have any make up on, assuming by the ungodly hour she might have been woken up or she hadn't gone to bed at all.

“Who’s that?” you whispered to Hoseok’s ear.

“That's Nari,” he answered simply, like her name was carrying all the needed information without giving into other details. “Jimin's ex girlfriend and probably the only source of light in his life.”

Nari moved automatically, like it definitely wasn’t the first time she was in similar situation. She crunched down on the floor in front of Jimin's slumped body and touched his thigh lightly, murmuring his name. Jimin's eyes snapped open at that and he blinked a few times, focusing on the sight before him, like he couldn't actually believe she was there, with him, like his head was messing with him and betraying the bloodshot eyes.

“Nari,” he muttered and it sounded unsure, pained. “You're here. You came.”

“Yes, I’m here.” she replied with a soft smile, standing up to sit next to him on the couch.

Jimin's hands reached for her, cupping her face in his shaky palms, thumbs stroking rosy cheeks, checking if she was really here, flesh and blood. “You dyed your hair,” he said softly with croaked voice, putting a strand behind her ear. “You look beautiful.”

It all felt too intimate for you, like you were stepping into a scene you weren’t suppose to be in. You quickly averted your gaze somewhere else. In the corner of your eye you spotted Jungkook looking at what was happening in front of him with blank expression. He had seen it probably many times before, after all. Suddenly, strangled sobs echoed through the room and everyone involuntarily snapped their heads into direction of it.

Nari was hugging Jimin's shaking body, rocking him back and forth as he cried out words into the material of her jacket.

“Please, don't leave me.”

“I won't. I’m here. It's okay,” she kept murmuring to his ear until his breath slowed down enough so she could say, “Let's go home.”

She motioned for Jungkook and he obliged, helping her lift Jimin's limp body from the couch like he weighted nothing. They left without a word, just like that, and heavy silence fell in the room. No one was in right mood to continue celebrating, not after everything that they had just witnessed.

Namjoon was the first one to break the silence. “We will be going. It's been a long day.” he said, placing his hand on Minhee's waist.

“Indeed.” Seokjin agreed. “I’m gonna go upstairs to my place too. I’ll clean up in the morning.”

Hoseok also stood up from his seat, putting his palm on your shoulder. “Come on. It's time for us too.”

You nodded, rushing to bid everyone goodbyes.

Outside, in the middle of the night, where all the demons had left humans bodies making them vulnerable for the bracketing world, you took Hoseok's hand in yours. It was warm, despite the coldness of the air.

“What would you say if we took a walk by the river? I need to clear my mind.”

The puffs of air around your face when you spoke were telling you it was a bad idea, but Hoseok smiled in response.

“I’ll lead the way.”

Long walks by the river were meant for warm summer nights when sun set lately and rose in the very morning before you could blink an eye open. They were meant for the steamy nights, when people didn’t have to worry about the coldness, when they could wander under the starry sky with bare shoulders and heavy eyelids.

October absolutely wasn’t reasonable time for the walks in the middle of the night but this time he weather was kind, merciful. There was no sight of the frost and even though it wasn’t the most pleasant aura, even though hands had to be tucked deep in pockets of the jackets, everything could be bearable.

Maybe somehow, when you reached that point in your life, circumstances stopped being the most crucial, as long as you were with the right person.

Boulevards by the Han River were common spot for the citizens and tourists but not in this time of the year, not when fall was threatening everyone as a trailer of the winter. Colorful lights illuminating themselves on the surface of the water were always the same, no matter which part of the year it was; always mesmerizing, always spectacular even for the people seeing them every single day.

This night however, they seemed to shine not as bright as the stars.

“I feel bad for Jimin and this girl,” you said, breathing out the puffs of air in the process. It had been silent between you and Hoseok since you had left the disaster of a party until this very moment, when you finally gathered up enough courage and inhaled cold air to clear your mind and vocalize your thoughts. “Do you know why did they break up?” you asked Hoseok.

“I don't know the details, just overall,” he answered, keeping his gaze ahead of him. “The only person who knows the truth is probably Jungkook but he had never told us anything.”

You hummed, digging your fists into the pocket of your jacket deeper.

Hoseok continued after a while. “I didn’t lie when I said she was the only source of light for Jimin. Beside her and music, he has nothing to cling onto in his life. There's no Jimin without music. Always has been.”

The images from the previous hours shimmered behind your eyelids. Jimin onstage, feeling himself, singing like he wanted to burn his throat dry, playing the guitar like he wished his fingers grated on the strings. A fierce passion in his eyes, as if he wasn't doing it out of the habit; losing himself in the drumming rhythm because that was his only ability. Then you saw the energy slowly draining away from his body, you saw a broken man, vulnerable to the world he had never had any intention to care about, now caring about him.

You wondered about the others. Was music their one true love and burden?

“What about your friends then? Is music really that important for them too?”

Hoseok thought about an answer for a little while until he decided to respond. “Jungkook grew up with Jimin in the same hometown. Childhood friends, always sticking together through ups and downs, younger doing exactly the same after the older. Jimin always took care of Jungkook and now Jungkook is watching by Jimin.”

You let your mind wander for a moment to Hana. How did she meet Jungkook? There was no doubt they knew each other before she had become your roommate. Did she know Jimin too, if they were raised in the same town? Another couple of questions you were yet to ask but this could wait for now.

“The band and music it's their whole life. They aren't like Namjoon, level-headed with actual plans after he finishes his law studies. Music is just a hobby he's going to put off once he's out of uni.” Hoseok added and there was some sadness about the way he did it, like they were another words at the tip of his tongue he wouldn't dare to say aloud because when unspoken, they hurt less.

“And you?”

Hoseok raised his eyebrows. “Me?”

“Yeah, you. Who am I talking to?” you sassed lightly. “How do you see yourself in three years from now?” you asked and Hoseok chuckled the same way he did when you questioned him about it a month ago in Blue Side. Bitterly.

You motioned for him to sit on one of the benches standing by the boulevards.

“Do you have everything planned for the next three years?” Hoseok countered instead of actually answering you. He waited for you to roll your eyes but you did the exact opposite.

“Well, my mum always tells me that it's good to set up your goals. Even though sometimes you might disappoint yourself when they turn out all wrong.”

Hoseok chuckled. “There's a ballerina speaking through you, princess. And motivational speaker, too.”

“Maybe, but that's not my point,” you fired back, twirling around on the bench so you could sit cross-legged in front of him. “So, Jung Hoseok, hip-hop choreographer wanna be and passionate drummer, will you tell me what are your plans for the future?” you asked again. When you saw him hesitate, you added, ‘”Come on, pretend it's like our 100 questions game. I asked you a question and you shall answer.”

Hoseok sighed heavily. “I think I told you once that I just live the moment,”

“But everyone has some dreams,” you complained. Go on, tell me something boy, are you happy in this modern world,” you sing-songed, breaking into loud laughter in the process that made him chuckle shortly.

Hoseok stared for a few seconds blankly into the calm surface of the river before him, watching as colorful lights changed from blue to green. Sadness blending into hope. He took a deep breath before he spoke.

“Remember when I told you I had moved to Seoul to attend dance school there?” You nodded. “And how I told my parents I was going to study business really hard so they could allow me to learn dancing?” Another nod. “Well, my parents were never quite fond of my passions. First it was drums but they knew from the beginning I treated it more like a hobby than a future career, so they let me do it. Then dancing came. I found something I really wanted to pursue in my life and they, how to put this, never quite accepted my choice.” he said, looking at his hands folded on his lap.

You had never seen him more uneasy, the smiling Hoseok who teased you and and spoke about music with glint in his eyes was long gone and you didn't like this version of him at all.

“You know, I’ve got an older sister. She was-is the apple of my parents eyes. The better child, the best daughter they could ever imagine. She studied abroad, speaks English and Japanese, has a well paid job that makes her afford a nice apartment in Seoul on her own. They wanted me to be like her too, but I guess I never came up to their expectations.” The words he never willed to tell, slipped from his mouth just like that, leaving a bitter taste on his tongue.

There was a sadness coming from his voice and you found yourself wishing you could swipe it off his face because it didn’t suit him, because gone was Hoseok that made you laugh and played his drums like his life depended on it. Hoseok who conveyed his fierce passion for dancing to the kids he was teaching. All the layers he was putting on every day were slowly slipping off him.

And in that moment you thought how unfair this world was. Your parents gave you wings to fly, to make your dreams come true but his parents were trying to cut them off his whole life.

“I went to the university so I could finally please them, so they would say: ‘Hoseok-ah, we’re so proud of you!’ but I eventually realised it's not for me. That I can't live like this. I met Namjoon, then the rest of the boys. We made a team and I've never felt more free,” Hoseok confessed and for the first time this night, he looked you in the eyes honestly, deeply. “So if you asked me, what's my dream, I would say I just want to be happy. I’ve never wanted to be the best. I just wish I was doing what I love the most, dancing and music.”

You opened your mouth to say something but he raised his hand, stopping you. “If you want to pity me, don’t. I don’t need this.” he said, but it was your turn to shake your head.

“No, I want to say something,” you firmly protested. You lifted your index finger up, pointing at the blackboard sky. There was determination in your voice, a need to convince this boy he was worth much more than he thought. “See those stars? There are literally millions of them on the sky, looking exactly the same from our perspective yet we all admire them. And I’ll tell you more. Every single one is different, special on its own terms,” you said, all the time beating the air with your hands. You ignored the way Hoseok stared at you with raised eyebrows and continued, “Now think about the sun. Yes, it is the biggest star, giant thing and the centre of our solar system but it’ll burn your eyes if you look at it for too long. Those significant stars won't do it and we all wish our dreams to come true while looking at them falling, not at the sun.”

A small smile appeared on Hoseok's face and you reciprocated that, sighing softly. “What I’m trying to say is that you don't have to be the greatest to be admired and respected. You are your own star.” you trailed off, almost whispering the last words like you were afraid of vocalizing them.

You were staring into each other eyes for a whole minute, before you got insecure and looked away with flushed cheeks. “I'm sorry. That was my probably still a little drunk self speaking, don’t mind me. Hana would say it is also my zodiac sign's personality trait.” You put your hands on your cheeks, finding them warm from embarrassment despite the coldness of the night.

If you glanced in Hoseok's direction, you would see him grinning broadly. Who was this girl, he had no idea. He just felt she was going to be someone special for him. His own green flashlight illuminating on the clear surface of the water.

“No, it's okay. I really appreciate that. Thank you.” he said, making you hesitantly turned to face him with raised eyebrows.

“You're welcome. I guess.”

“So,” Hoseok drawled, pointing his chin at you and then on the sky. “How do stars align tonight for Aquariuses?” he asked out of the blue. You thanked it was the middle of the night, so he couldn’t witness the way you furiously blushed.

“Why don't you look for yourself?” you whispered, staring up at the dark, starry sky.

But why would he look at the stars, if for him all of them hid in your eyes?

At some point, next weeks turned into a blurr while gloomy November was approaching, blending everything into grey reality. Life seemed to move on its own and it could be thought that things went back to normal again but deep down, behind set up facades, there was so much more left unspoken than revealed, lying bare and exposed on the table.

You balanced your life between classes at the university, ballet rehearsals after hours and doing your part time job on weekends. With the midterm exams getting closer and closer, you somehow still managed to find time to hang out with Hoseok.

It was weird for you, to spend so much of your free time drinking coffees at Blue Side, eating ramen after practices on Fridays or just listening to him babbling about some other hilarious story involving him and his friends as you walked together to the underground station, with your hand in his under the umbrella, referencing to Rihanna's song probably too many times than necessary.

And normally, looking at you from afar and up close, seeing the intimacy you shared in your stares and muffled laughters, someone could swear you were already dating, that this hanging out carried so much more meaning than you would like to admit. But for some reason, neither Hoseok nor you wanted to speak about this aloud, to give your relationship a label much more bigger than simple friendship.

People around you noticed, obviously, it was hard not to. Some of them teased, others decided not to bring up the subject for the sake of not starting a storm in a teacup.

And life went on like that, day by day, as fall was cleaning the world from the last remains of summer, behind blurry windows a new spring was blossoming for two people.

In the middle of November Hana moved out from your appartment after composing her life enough to afford a place on her own. She got a role in a theater, doing rehearsals every weekend and keeping her mind busy with work during weekdays, because she indeed had a lot to handle since she had come back. And certain raven-haired boy being present again in her life wasn't helping in this situation at all. If anything, his position in the equation made everything much more twisted and complicated.

While your friend was burried deep in her scripts and old blurrs of memories, you were equally engulfed with paper work for your exams. You would have been probably still staring at the same pages for the whole night, if you hadn’t received a message from no one other than Jung Hoseok himself.

[18:56pm] hip hop choreographer wanna be: get your ass up from the couch and go out with me today

[18:56pm] hip hop choreographer wanna be: theres some punk rock concert today organized on the campus of YOUR uni

[18:58pm] hip hop choreographer wanna be: namjoon gave me his tickets since he cant go with his gf

[18:59pm] hip hop choreographer wanna be: actually im surprised you didn’t tell me anything about this concert. shame on you princess

There was a string of emojis after the last text and you rolled your eyes, ignoring the way your heart fluttered in your chest when you read go out with me, but you eventually composed yourself. Because after all this time, you thought it meant nothing. Simple hanging out, nothing more, nothing less.

[18:59pm] me: fyi i need to study

[18:59pm] hip hop choreographer wanna be: come on one free night wont make a big difference

When you weren’t responding for a while, leaving him on read, he typed:

[19:03pm] hip hop choreographer wanna be: pretty pleaseee

But he didn’t know you were already in the bathroom, notes long forgotten on the couch.

“They were sooo bad!”

“Hey, don’t be mean. At least they tried!”

“Oh please, I’m not punk rock expert but I know this Paradise City cover sucked.”

You were walking out of the small campus venue for the concerts, laughing until your lungs burned and cheeks hurt from smiling. The concert didn’t last long, just a few covers and one self composed song, more was actually happening right when you decided to go, leaving the ongoing party behind your backs.

“But they organized free beer. I think I might forgive them,” you added, slurring your words a little and occasionally bumping into Hoseok in the process of trying to stay steady on your feet.

Drinking wasn’t probably the smartest idea you could think of after considering two facts. One: Hoseok hadn't drunk even a sip beacuse he was driving. Two: you had an awful habit of becoming too honest under the influence. And combining those two things was like sitting on a bomb and waiting for it to explode any minute.

You sat in Hoseok’s car with heavy exhale of relief. “Remind me to never drink that much again when I have to study the next day.” you mumbled, closing your eyes and leaning your head on the window.

“Noted.” Hoseok sat down as well, smirking to himself. He reached for the keys but your next words stopped him.

“Can we like, stay here for a while? In your car I mean.” you asked with hesitation in your voice and Hoseok's eyebrows rose high.

“Why?”

“Because it feels nice here. And maybe I don't wanna go back just yet.” The words slipped out from your mouth so casually that you didn’t even noticed the change in the atmosphere. To hell with consequences and aftermaths, to hell with becoming vulnerable when alcohol was swimming in your veins.

Hoseok smiled, even though you couldn’t see him. “Fine. But puke in here and I swear to God–”

“Geez, I hadn’t drink that much,” you snapped, opening your eyes. “Turn on some music, mister drummer. Hit me with that punk rock hits.”

Maybe you had drunk that much after all.

Hoseok chuckled to himself, opening his Spotify and connecting it to the car's radio. “What do you have in mind?”

“Do I look like an expert?” you retorted for the second time this night and Hoseok rolled his eyes. “Just put it on shuffle and I’ll tell you what I like.”

He did as he was told and soon the heavy beats of something that said Stairway to Heaven lighted up on the screen in front of you. You scrunched your eyebrows. “Stairway to Heaven, Highway to Hell, what’s next? Freeway to Purgatory?”

There was a moment of silence before you erupted into laughter. “Fuck, that was funny. Admit it.” you said, wiping the tears that had gathered in the corners of your eyes.

“I'm pretty sure someone had come up with this joke before.”

“God, you’re no fun. Only intellectuals can understand this type of humor and unfortunately, you aren’t one.”

Hoseok ignored your words, changing the song and this one you recognized more than well. “Leave it!” you blurted, causing him to smirk.

“Ah, right. I forgot you’re that original,” he said in mocking tone.

Your lips turned into a scoff. “Hey, don’t disrespect Arctic Monkeys’ AM album this way. That's a masterpiece of modern discography, better than your ‘classics’ sang by old dudes. Alex Turner is hot at least.” You pointed your index finger at him accusingly. When he was about to disagree, you added, “Besides, you have this on your playlist, so don't try to bullshit me right now. You like it as well.”

Hoseok sighed in defeat. “Okay. I wanna be yours it's a nice song. I admit it.”

“Yeah. It is,” you breathed, closing your eyes for a second, basking in the moment. “I always wanted someone to fuck me to Arctic Monkeys.”

Before you could stop yourself, the words escaped your mouth and your heartbeat immediately quickened in panic. Fuck, had you really said that out loud? The look of pure surprise mixed with amusement on Hoseok's face were telling you that you indeed revealed that you wanted to get dicked down while Arctic Monkeys played in the background. And of all people you knew, you had to do it in his presence.

Screw your drank thoughts and fantasies, screw stupid string of fate that always played games with you, even now.

You tried to compose yourself a little, acting completely nonchalant about what had just happened. You wore a disguise of unbotherness as best you could (which was pointless, your flushed cheeks and uneasy way you squirmed on your seat said it all for you).

You wished Hoseok didn’t react, that he somehow had misheard your drunken rumbling but it was all foolish hopes.

“Careful what you wish for, princess, because you might just get it.” he whispered and you could swear his voice was lower now, it carried husskiness that weren’t there before. It wasn’t a warning.

It was a threat.

You gulped, your face heating up instantly even more, if that was possible. Suddenly it was hard to breathe in a limited space of his car and you wanted to get out, to run away from him as fast as you could muster and hide, not standing face to face with him ever again.

But at the same time you couldn’t shake off the thought how good and right would it feel if you pressed your lips against his now, run your tongue through the seam of his mouth just to hear him groan in response, just to feel his teeth nipping the skin on your neck while his fingers were digging marks on your hips.

You wanted him, oh, God how much you did, but you had to stop yourself before you made a big mistake.

The atmosphere was thick and heavy with unresolved tension, ready to snap in a minute if only someone made a wrong move. His words rang in your head and you wished you had never left your house that night in first place. Was he for real? Or had he said that only to make fun of you after?

You were too scared to look in his eyes but if you did, you would see in them the raw desire swimming in his dark orbs. And if you did, you would know just how sure of his words he actually was.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you regained your composure as best as you could and muttered, “I don't feel well. Can you drive me home now?” Your tone wasn’t probably much convincing, if anything it sounded weak and strangled, so you added to lighten up the mood, “You don't want me to puke in here, do you?” and forced out a chuckle.

Hoseok only nodded in response, reaching for the keys and turning on the engine. If he was disappointed, he hid it pretty well. After a few minutes of ride back to your home, there was mute between you, except for the music still playing from the radio. His words not even for a second left your head and you replayed them again and again just to make you more and more confused with each time you tried to understand the hidden motive behind them.

Hoseok was hard to read, you realised that since he had became strangely silent after you asked him about his plans for the future on your first coffee meeting at Blue Side. Now you knew why. He’d said he had a lot to reveal about himself yet, after all.

When you bid him short goodbye and finally reached the doors of your apartment, you crunched down on the ground after closing them and shut your eyes tightly. Somehow, tears started to ran down your face and you found yourself clutching your phone and dialing the only number you could think about in this moment.

“Why are you calling me in the middle of the night?” Hana's voice was hoarse, she had been woken up from her slumber without a doubt. “You know I go to sleep earlier than you,” There was a sniffle on the other line and she changed her tone immediately. “What's wrong, bub? Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying,” you tried to protest shakily but there was no point in denying when you sounded like that.

“What happened?” You heard Hana asking softly.

Another wave of tears jolted your body, smearing mascara all down your cheeks and when you calmed down enough to speak clearly, you mumbled, “I told Hoseok that I always wanted someone to fuck me to Arctic Monkeys.”

“Okay…? And how did he react?”

Another sob. “He said I should be careful what I wish for.”

There was a bit of silence before Hana sighed on the other side of the line. “That's not the end of the world. You’ve done worse things in your life.”

“But that's different this time.” you cried out hysterically.

Hana smiled to herself even though you couldn’t see her now. She knew why it was different. She was aware for a while now, but she needed you to say this out loud.

A loud cry echoed through the quiet apartment before you finally said what had been lying on the tip of your tongue for a while now.

“It's different because I think I really like him.”

And fresh fall of tears streamed down your cheeks.

---

a/n: aaaah! it’s finally here! i was supposed to post this by the end of february but my laptop got broken and i got a new one yesterday so im sorry for the delay:( i hope you like it!

ps. second part is coming in two or weeks! love you, julia. xx

#hoseok smut #bts smut #btswritingcafe #ksmutclub #bangtanarmynet #smutcentralnet #btsbookclub #bangtanhq #btswriterscollective #hyungsmutsociety #hoseok fluff #hoseok angst #bts scenario #bts fanfic #hoseok x reader #hoseok fic #my writing

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godkilller · 3 years

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@izzabizz139

I wanna hear you rant about the Gin vs Hitsugaya anime fight bc I love seeing your pov and you clearly write better than whoever extended that scene :) pretty please

out of character. DON’T ENABLE ME SO MUCH !! No but I cackled when I first saw this ask because oh my god, clearly you saw a taste of my annoyance about the anime adaptation -- no, adaptation implies it was accurate, I’ll say the anime’s take was “inspired by” the manga’s quick run-in. I’ll start by saying this moment is supposed to be a bit important considering, via the audience’s point of view, THIS IS THE FIRST WE SEE OF TWO CAPTAIN-RANKED SHINIGAMI CLASHING. The only other captain-involved fight we’ve seen thus far in the manga is Kenpachi ( who is an outlier and should not be counted... no, I joke... but, still, Ichigo was not an equal to him, his sword was sliced through like butter. ) The whole reason I enjoyed this encounter between Toshiro and Gin was simply this; it wasn’t some fancy multi-chaptered fight. IN THE MANGA, THERE ARE ONLY TWO BLOWS MADE. One, by Toshiro, to begin the fight. The second, to end it, is Gin’s strike.

I want you to know that I’ve rewatched this specifically to answer this ask, and only due to this, as I wouldn’t have ever sought it out otherwise. HONOR MY SACRIFICE.

Read more for length. I’m merciful.

In the anime, they monologue at each other, and it’s mostly a combination of Toshiro making three separate death threats ( he starts this off by saying “I’ll kill you before Hinamori arrives” and then goes on rewording it each time, and then also repeats the death-threat he gave Gin prior to this conflict about “I’ll kill you if Hinamori bleeds” ) and then also Gin and Izuru talking about how truly powerful and amazing Toshiro is -- no, this isn’t me being bitter or petty, I literally shit you not, Gin has a line that is legit “AS EXPECTED FROM HITSUGAYA TOSHIRO, CAPTAIN OF THE TENTH DIVISION, A CHILD PRODIGY OF TH' SORT THAT ONLY COMES ALONG ONLY ONCE EVERY FEW CENTURIES. HOW VEEEERY DANGEROUS. YOU’RE SERIOUS, AIN’T YA?” like don’t get me wrong, love a good sarcastic little shit comment like that, but the amount of times the anime pumps Toshiro up like he’s their shinest new cash cow ( and he is, at this point, it is not even 50 episodes into the series and they’ve realized everyone likes him and he’s jumped to high ranks in popularity polls... earning him filler spotlights, and eventually his very own non-canon movie ) so everything coming out of Gin’s mouth feels like more bullshit than necessary. Izuru’s already literally monologued, internally, how powerful and amazing Toshiro is anyways. Why this ?

Not to mention that, prior to saying that long-winded shit, Gin’s haori changed length three times ( and once it was longer than his entire body by several feet, and no not in a ‘to show motion’ way ) and most importantly Shinso was drawn, consistently, at katana-length for the duration of their little spat where the following, too, happened: Gin frog-leaps after doing a backflip, Toshiro gives Gin two (2) haircuts, Gin ruins some floorboards and gives Toshiro at least one splinter in his arm, Toshiro whilst wearing socks lands on Shinso’s blunt edge and pushes the sword down with his footsie because that’s how that works, there’s another backflip somewhere in there that Gin doesn’t need to be doing, twirl, twirl, and ballet, Gin’s face elongates until his chin is bigger than his face, Gin spends ten+ seconds purely dodging very close strikes to his face as Toshiro is the only one making breathy growly and ‘tsuuaaah’ sounds, there is a brief moment of no gravity as Toshiro keeps hacking at Gin midair and Gin blocks it over and over again but they still stay in the air but they’re not standing or jumping or using reiatsu they’re just like, momentum-locked I don’t fucking know, Gin frowny faces as he blocks because like somehow this kid who doesn’t even have more reiatsu than him, whose arm strength should not be an issue, is like. making him nervous?? as sword sparks fly. if you know me at all you know I hate when they fuckin’ firework sparkler-ify swords clashing.

Anyways, all of this happens whilst Shinso is the wrong length and Gin’s hair is getting purpler by the second and this entire thing is somehow a big jack-off to Toshiro’s immense strength even though he’s screaming and wailing at Gin like a child and Gin’s just a vessel at this point to Enhance Toshiro, which, fine, okay, but at least be more accurate with it god damn. ANYWAYS,

THEY JOUST. They literally run at each other, swords centered, and run past / to the side of one another. Jousting. “Cause that’s how that works. No slashes, no cutting motion. Just swords centered, because the animators were like “no worries guys I know swordfighting basics that’s a legit pose” yeah it is WHEN STATIONARY. Not rUNNING IT DOWN.

And then Gin’s sleeve is cut, somehow, from the Jousting, because wow Toshiro wow wow wowowowow, and then Toshiro comes back and starts wailing at Gin again and Gin blocks it, again, and it’s all very annoyingly repetitive, and Gin’s frowning and sparks are flying and Gin’s using Shinso, the katana-length wakizashi I guess, with two hands because like I said, the animators knew basics and basics are “katana are used two-handed” like. Okay, you’re not wrong, but I cannot stress this enough: SHINSO IS NOT A KATANA. It’s shorter and meant to be used single-handed!!!! sTop!!! So then Gin rips off the tattered part of his sleeve and throws it at Toshiro, who swipes it away from his face using his Zanpakuto because that’s intelligent and a piece of cloth was definitely threatening enough to use your sword to bat it away ( btw, Hitsugaya wasn’t holding his sword with two hands at this precise moment, so he could have just... used his other hand ) and then Gin goes in for the classic “stabby stabby rapidly at you while the animation gets a little breather because we repeat this cycle a few times with flashy bgs and phew money made” ... WE ARE FOUR MINUTES AND THIRTY SECONDS INTO THIS FIGHT BY THE WAY. Gin does this for seventeen (17) agonizing seconds straight. Yes, I counted. That was sixteen and a half too many seconds for me, personally.

Toshiro somehow lassos Shinso whilst Gin is stabby stabby-ing with Hyourinmaru’s chain component. I say component like it’s somehow some type of beauty guru’s lipstick holder, but really am I that wrong ? When else has he ever used this feature ? Anyways, he lassos Shinso because yeehaw I guess, god I’m falling apart at this point can y’all tell????? I need a drink.

and so, because now Toshiro has Gin’s sword somehow trapped with chain even though it’s just looped around it, he backflips over Gin for a cool trickshot, no blow issued, just vibes, and Gin uses a big brain moment to tug Shinso and the chains slide off. okay now what. We’re past five minutes into this fight, nonstop.

SOUNDS LIKE A GOOD TIME FOR GIN TO PAUSE AND APPRECIATE TOSHIRO AGAIN! “I see, I shouldn’t have underestimated you, HItsugaya Toshiro” I’m starting to have a feeling Gin’s VA was told to just wing these lines because the amount of times he fills silences / Gin’s mouth movements with Toshiro’s long-ass name is astounding, he’s definitely drawing blanks here but he sure as hell knows one thing: that damn ice-boy’s name. He continues by saying “I suppose I’ll end up regretting it afterwards.”

Toshiro says that’s not enough, and it’s really dramatic and cool. His eyes even glow all icy and blue and pretty, like his flowy reiatsu. Aesthetic points were gifted entirely to Toshiro’s animations in this scene. Gin was finished in MS Paint and each new scene they had to draw Shinso from memory and try to remember what hue of purple his hair was at gunpoint. Toshiro lets off a big wave of reiatsu and then it vanishes, and he jumps up reaaaally high. like this guy’s flying. his eyes arent glowing anymore that’s sad. Bring Back Glowing Eyes For Strong Shinigami 2k21.

Toshiro releases his Shikai, and it’s badass, the sky darkens, Izuru looks distinctly more worried than usual, and Gin’s frowning with his teeth out like Bugs Bunny’s having a bad day, all is right in the world. Toshiro and his released Shikai have a nice moment for the Pics, and a big epic freeze frame blur moment happens with it all coiled and swirling around him. Wrow! ( click the ‘wrow’ it’s a link to my exact reaction ) Izuru narrates for the third time about how powerful Toshiro is, his reiatsu, his Zanpakuto being a deity who is only unlocked every few centuries. The strongest ice-type sword. Pardon the pun, but that’s... you could say, so cool.

It can even control the weather. So hey, next time it’s rainy, cold, icy, or snowing and you’re unhappy, it’s time to direct a big fuck you at Toshiro.

Gin dodges the first dragon, and blocks the second with Shinso because blocking water and ice with a sword makes sense right? This actually takes a solid amount of seconds as Gin cuts through the entire length of this ice dragon noodle. Things dissipate, and pause, too, to really drag this out. Surprisingly, this reveals that Gin’s made a boo-boo, his left arm’s frozen, which doesn’t even mean anything because Gin is right-handed, and Toshiro teleports himself behind Gin in true fighty fashion.

We have arrived at seven minutes and just under twenty seconds of this fight, and Gin turns, DOES THE UNTHINKABLE, gasp! He opens his eyes. His red, dull, evil, gray-eyebrowed with purple hair eyes, and shoots Shinso through its hideout spot behind his haori. This nearly takes off Toshiro’s eye and upwards of his head, but the little guy dives down fast. The rest happens in slow motion, supposedly, because it takes an eternity and people talk entire full sentences in its span of time.

Gin asks Toshiro if he’s sure he’d like to dodge that ( it’s a little late for that ) and says that Momo’ll die if he does. SHINSO SCRAPING ALONG AGAINST HYOURINMARU STRANGELY MAKES NOT A SINGLE SOUND. Mute. Even though before they had no problem animating and adding sounds to them smacking blades earlier. There are soundless sparks though, so there’s that. Yay. Can you tell how exhausted this’s made me? I need a nap.

Shinso is already more than halfway towards Momo, still unconscious, she most definitely has a serious concussion via Toshiro backhanding her midair consider she’s been unconscious for longer than ten minutes. Toshiro has time to get up off the floor where he dropped to dodge, realize with a shocked gasp, turn, shout her name, and watch as Rangiku arrives in a random glow of gold which never happens ever again and blocks the attack with Haineko. Haineko almost cracks on the impact, and continues growing in damage as Rangiku holds Shinso there, implying that she’s stopped it from reaching one-hundred sword’s lengths to pierce Momo. Yes I’m including that implication / note in here because we love to see Rangiku succeeding in life and being Not-Helpless, all while potentially damaging Haineko severely if it wasn’t able to hold him off. Yikes, Gin!

Rangiku threatens to join the fight if he doesn’t withdraw his sword. Gin smiles, withdraws it, and then Shunpos away.

Whatta mess. Oh, and the anime fight was pretty fucked up, too.

This is a long post, but here’s the manga version:

Toshiro leaps into the air,

This is where the fight actually starts between them:

And end.

Five pages. Two blows. Does not equate to ten minutes of non-stop fighting and monologues. Sometimes, and I mean this in the most unbiased way possible, less is more.

#[ out of character ] masquerade; hide your face #me: i wanna reply to things!!#also me with eyes glowing red: no.#long post #LOOOONG POSTTTTT...#4 pages.#of text.#im so sorry.

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consultingsister-aa · 3 years

Note

five times kissed / bash ( any verse )

this meme for: @theasteriae verse: happy verse

Celia has never seriously dated before. There were boys but they had little to no interest in getting to know her. They just wanted to fuck her. People were always saying she was too pretty for her own good and she was starting to think that was true.

Only Basher Moran didn’t seem that bothered about how pretty she was. Although she assumed, that was what drew him to her in the first place. It was silly and unrealistic to say otherwise and she certainly fancied him from the moment she saw him. It had nothing to do with her laugh and everything to do with his jawline. It wasn’t true anymore now.

It had been one of the best summers of her life. She could hardly believe she had been tempted to turn Alex down, to return to Surrey, alone and melancholy. Sherlock has said he would come up but would have likely cancelled last minute. Cee has never spent so much time with people apart from at school and it took a while to get used to all the sibling and cousin dynamics. It was like something from one of her books; The Chronicles of Narnia or The Famous Five. They all had inside jokes and pet names and moved around each other like a choreographed dance. She knew her bothers well enough but she rarely had to deal with a cramped kitchen and sharing bedrooms. They knew each other differently than the Morans.

It had been a fantasy of hers to live like this. When she was young and it was just her alone in that big house, she would daydream about having lots of brother’s and sister’s and cousins to play with. Adventures at the beach; caves and pirate treasure. She imagined herself into their childhood and al of a sudden, felt a lump in her throat. It was more than jealousy; it was something like grief. Greif for that lonely little girl who would always aways be alone.

“What’s up?” Bash interrupted her thoughts. Clearly, her state of mind has shown on her face.

“Nothing. I’m just a little sad to go back to school after all this.”

Bash sighed knowingly, turning back to look out over the water. Even though she had come with Alex, Celia was spending more and more time on the beach with Bash. They sat in the dunes, a blanket around their shoulders, watching the sun fall into the freezing water. Even in the height of summer, the water was freezing. “Yeah, I’ll miss the beach,” he agrees.

She turns to look at his profile, shoulder bumping into his. “I’ll miss you.” She didn’t quite mean you individually, she meant you as a family, but she was glad he took it that way.

He turned to look at her and then leant in to kiss her for the first time, both their heads moving in the opposite way so they didn’t bump noses, as if it has been rehearsed. Cee had never been kissed like that before but it was almost exactly how the songs and books and poems described it. It was like seeing fireworks. But perhaps more wonderfully, when he kissed her like that, she didn’t feel so alone.

II.

It had felt like a long time since that first kiss, although it has only been seven years. In the prospect of a lifetime together, that was short. But she couldn’t help but think about that moment, as she stood at the waters edge, champagne glass in hand, breathing deeply in the cool evening air. Behind her, her specially built carnival glows, reflecting in the dark waters.

She’s changed from her wedding dress into a short ballet style tutu skirt, which stopped a little north of where her father, new husband and aunt-in-law might have liked. Long legs end in bare feet and she lets the water lap up against her ankles.

“Hey, Mrs Moran-- there about twenty million people wanting to see you back there.”

She turns back with a smile, just in time to see Bash - messy hair, jacket long gone, shirt sleeved rolled up - before he wraps his arms around her from behind, pressing a kiss into the side of her face. “There are not twenty million people, you’re such a drama queen.”

He laughs. She does too. Then they relax into silence and both watch the waves. After a moment, Cee begins to cry.

“Hey, hey,” Bash moves to turn her round, concern on his face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing-- I’m just-- I’m just so--”

“What? Oh god, you’re regretting it already. I said, if you weren’t ready, that we could--”

“Happy!” Cee interupsts him with laugh, “Bash, I’m happy. I am so happy.”

He looks so relived, it only makes Cee laugh again; more happy tears spilling onto her cheeks. He pulls her close, a deep kiss, just them. Maybe the big party was too much. She was danced out; talked out; laughed out. She just wanted this. And the best bit was, she had it, and she had it forever.

III.

“Twins!?”

“Are you fucking serious?”

Cee can tell the nurse wasn’t expecintg that reaction from her, but she couldn’t care less. One more baby was enough of a shock, but two more? She looks over at Bash, who’s grinning and offers a look as if to say ‘what are you smiling about, you bastard’.

“I am very serious Mrs Moran. You can see one heart beat here,” the nurse points to a black mass on the monitor, “and the second,” another black mass, “here.” Cee will just have to take her word for it. She got very upset when she couldn’t see what the nurse was talking about with Beua but she’s over it this time. She’s already over being pregnant this time and now it’s just going to be two times worse? Well, it was always two times worse but now she knows about it. “I’ll leave this up and give you a minute,” the nurse smiles at the parents and leaves the room, closing the door behind her. Cee’s face is full of panic.

“What?” Bash moves into the side of the hospital bed, taking Cee’s hand in his.

“What do you mean, what? Bash-- I can’t handle three kids. You’re away all the time. I didn’t even know if I could do two but three babies? I’m out of my depth here.”

“So what are you saying? You want to-- not--”

“No, no, I’m just-- it’s a lot, Bash. Twins. That’s twice the baby!”

“And you,” now he moves his hands to her face. Eye contact is key with Cecelia, pyshical contact and looking her in the eye. “Are twice the woman. You can do this. You can do anything.”

Cee takes a calming breath and nods. “I love you,” she manages and leans forward to kiss him softly, just in time for the door to reopen. They never get a moments peace anymore.

IV.

Celia closes the bedroom door very gentle behind her. It feels like having babies again; a house full she doesn’t want to wake up. Bash just smiles up at her, taking off his glasses. He’s only been in the job four hours and he’s already bringing work to bed.

“Do they love their new rooms?”

Celia pulls an apoletic look, pulling off her dressing gown. “Immy says she wants to go home.”

“To Suffolk?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s knows she’s now living in Downing Street, right?”

“You know that a ten year old could not care less, right?”

Bash just laughs, laying his arm out over her pillows so she can snuggle in next to him. For a moment, they just sit there, head leant back against the headboard, drinking it all in. They had been working towards this for over ten years and now? The real work was just beginning. She can already feel her eyes getting heavy. “You’re happy here though, right?”

“Mm,” she hums. She’s not sure yet. Suffolk is her home, more than she ever though it would be. It was where the boys all grew up, their childhood rooms even though they were all grown up and out the house now. It was where Immy was born, where they played capture the flag and five aside football when the rest of the family came over.

Downing Street might be a symbol of how far they had come, but it wasn’t home and she doubted, no matter how long they were here, it would ever feel like one. She already had plans to nip back to Suffolk the first weekend they could. “Yeah, this is what we’ve wanted for so long. We just need to settle into it.” Cee looks up to Bash, smiling at the fine lines already marking his face. But his eyes look the same as they did when he kissed her for that very first time on the beach. He’s so good to her, always.

She kisses him, the sort of kiss they haven’t had in a while. Five kids, two demanding careers and a whole country wanting his attention tends to lead to pecks of affection and quickies whenever they can get it. But they have a moment now. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispers, lips still touching his. “I’m so proud of us. For everything, not just this job. I love you.”

They had been in rooms like this so many times over the years. The bad lighting, the round tables, the stage. Only, rarely for her. She had, happily, she wanted to add, taken a back seat for most of her life. Her skillset was better suited to a life of support and planning; organising and committing herself to the task at hand. Whether they was her husband’s career, or her children’s lives. How could she call them children now though? Immy sat next to her, one arm lazily draped across her own baby bump, the other reached out to hold her mother’s hand.

All heads had turned to the stage as a larger man in a ill-fitting suit took to the podium. His welcome speech was short and sweet, something Cee appreciated. She had told anyone who she could that she wasn’t bothered; even to be nominated was an honour but she was bothered. Her stomach swam with anxiety in a way it hadn’t done in years.

“And the winner, of the twenty-forty-eight Booker Prize goes to... Cecelia Holmes.”

The table around her, well dressed and well mannered, rose with celebration; clapping together hands together and whooping. Immy kissed her cheek, Beua was quick to follow but she wouldn't get around them all. Although, she couldn’t forget one of them.

Bash had sat across from her for most of the night. Although it was her night, it was also the first time in months all the family had been together in one place. Well, not all the family. You could fill the whole room with all the family. They were on stand-by, waiting for the news. They could have a party anyway, Immy had said, but they’d take down the banners if she didn’t win, though she suspected they wouldn’t have to. That had made Cee laugh. All the family tonight mean the six kids. Beua, Cass, Edmund, Perc, Immy and Hugo, ranging in ages from early forties, to twenty-two. Her children. Fuck the books, these wonderful, clever, funny, thoughtful kids were the best thing she had ever done with her life. And it was all thanks to Bash. They had caught each others eyes all night and it had made her feel young again. Like when they used to catch each other eyes over the dinner table at Nettle Cottage.

She was aware there was a room full of people waiting for her but she was hungry for the kiss. Her hands reached for his face and she wasn’t that surprised to see a tear in his eye. “I’m so proud of you,” Bash managed, although years of shouting in Westminster had left his voice a little hoarse. She kissed him again, although she could feel the ever secible and dependable Beua trying to take her arm towards the stage.

“Of us,” Cee corrected him, before allowing her oldest son to resort her to the edge of the stage. She hadn’t prepared a speech but she thought she might mention that first kiss, under a tartan blanket, on a beach in Suffolk that inspired a lifetime of literary work.

#theasteriae #( i. message )#( i. save )#( vi. ceebastian )#( v. happy verse )

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chaoslaura · 3 years

Text

Tchaikovsky or Led Zeppelin (or both?)

Ballet!Reggie Fluff with his friends

Warnings: None

Word count: 2,693

„Hand on the bar, chin up, shoulders down, stomach in, looking straight ahead. Don’t forget to straighten your inner leg at all times, most important before you go into relevé. Toni, leave you heel flat on the floor. What kind of arm movement is that supposed to display, Marcus?” Mrs. Petrow gave a few tututut noises while going around the room, inspecting every student, attentive for every minimalistic mistake.

‘The arm is not round enough, point the foot more, pay attention to where the little toe points, the gaze follows the arm.’ Every little detail was observed by Mrs. Petrow and nothing escaped her even with twenty students scattered around the room. She found something to complain about with everyone, like every lesson, every week, for years. You get the notion. When she reached Reggie, she merely put her index finger under his chin und lifted it up a bit, otherwise saying nothing and Reggie felt proud he didn’t make a mistake for once. Rare occurrence.

Clapping her hands once, the dance teacher signalled the end of the exercise “You all have to focus more, the performance must be perfect, but in the current state you’re all in I would never let you on stage.” Mrs. Petrow was as kind as always, never holding back with her dissatisfaction, Reggie sighed.

“Now to the grand battement jeté, hurry up. And one and two and three.” With every jeté she clapped her hands in sync with the piano music. Reggie loathed this exercise, his leg wouldn’t comply with going higher, no matter how often Reggie trained, and he knew his teacher wasn’t satisfied either.

After their exercises on the bar they would go over to routines in the middle of the room, alone or pairing up with the girls. Pirouettes were Reggie’s passion. He could spin and turn around the room and would never stop when his head wouldn’t complain at one point, getting dizzy and his vision turning with the room. But there was something so deeply connecting him with the music, how his body would sway with the rhythm, letting it fill his mind. He could follow the moves with his eyes closed, concentrating on every little muscle, the emotions flowing through him to the tips of his fingers.

But today they would train for their performance in pas de deux and Reggie looked out for his partner Toni. She came over with a smile on her lips, ready to gossip about their teacher when she wasn’t looking. It was their favourite activity to pass the time and a way to get rid of the stress. Mrs. Petrow would be lecturing them for their giggling in no time. Too much fun wasn’t allowed withing these walls. It was a tragic story and their faces had to portray that too, each little smile was out of place.

But with Toni he didn’t mind. She was as goofy as him outside of practice and they had gotten along really good since the beginning when he started dancing at age 7 and she was 8. Now he was 17 and still going.

For their teacher’s sake both of them pushed their jokes to the back of their minds and got to their start position. Reggie always loved how the men were playing an essential part as a supporting role for the women and weren’t in the spotlight for once unless they had a solo, but they could never reach the level of gracefulness female ballet dancers achieved.

So, he picked Toni up with his hands on her waist and lifted her up, her legs straight while she moved her arms around in a precise manner. Letting her down again he twirled her once before she got into an attitude. When she was on her point shoes, she protruded him just two inches, but she never stopped teasing him about it since he hit his last growth spurt and would never catch up with her again. (Him and Luke had gotten in enough fights over their heights he didn’t need another person teasing him about it.)

When they were finally allowed to leave, his white shirt clung to his skin, sweat running down his back. His muscles were tired and riding his bicycle seemed like an impossible task. His body was all mushy from the stretches but at least he had a pause for two days before the cycle began again.

Changing into his street clothes and packing his shirt, tights, and ballet slippers into his bag, he met with Toni at the entrance again, they were always waiting for each other for a quick chat.

“You feel like grabbing a bite? Training put a hole in my stomach, I was afraid Mrs. Petrow would hear it grumbling and scold me for it, for making the act unbelievable.” Toni asked him, her own bag slung over her shoulder.

Reggie shook his head, regretting his last minute made plans. “Well, I would love to, but I also have practice with the band in a minute. No time, sorry.”

Toni gave him a bewildered look. “Now? After training? Sometimes I wonder how you fit everything under your hat. Must be a pretty big one. No wonder you like cowboy hats.” As everyone else of his friends Toni picked up his passion for Country pretty early but never made fun of him because of that. Might be another reason why he liked her so much.

“There should really be a cowboy themed ballet. Imagine a magical story between a cowboy and his beloved horse, going on an adventure together, maybe meeting a woman along the way but in the end he realizes that his one true love is his freedom and his horse.”

Toni let out a loud laugh, holding her stomach and laid a hand on Reggie’s shoulder, squeezing it shortly. She was clearly amused. “You watched Brokeback Mountain one too many times I would say.”

Reggie gave a scandalized look. “I said freedom not men. Don’t read between the lines where there is nothing to be found.” He scoffed once again but he knew Toni was just making fun of him.

Taking her hand back from his shoulder, she instead pulled him into a hug as a goodbye. “Well then, have fun tonight, say hello to the boys and Julie for me, haven’t seen them in a while.”

Reggie put his arms around Toni’s waist and gave a last squeeze before letting loose. “I’ll bring them to the premier if they want to or not. They’re in debt after the accident at the pier and I will use this favour to drag them to the show.”

“Can’t wait. Bye Reg, I really have to go now or my stomach will eat itself.” As on cue a grumbling was heard, and Toni clutched at her tummy before continuing in a dramatic voice “See, it’s too late. I will die a horrible death, tell Alex that I always appreciated his advices, and Bobby’s dating tips, Julie is just amazing and has great style, and most importantly tell Luke he’s a dumbass.”

Reggie chuckled at the last comment. “Will do, but what’s with me? Don’t say I wasn’t important enough to get a last goodbye. I never let you fall when I held you, you should appreciate that” A pout decorated Reggie’s face and he was ready to sulk at such injustice.

“Oh thanks Reggie, really. Thank you for not harming me, the bare minimum. You won’t get a thanks for that and now go before your boys start searching for you.”

“Alright, kiss a meatball sub for me. “ With a last wave Reggie turned around and walked in the opposite direction, he wasn’t entirely sure if he locked his bike over there, or maybe around the corner? Oh thank god, there it was, he was in no condition to walk to their studio or how Alex would call it ‘a rundown garage at best’.

The wind that passed him as he paddled down the road, cooled down his flushed skin, and left him feeling more alive than half an hour ago. The lights at the garage were already on when Reggie turned into the driveway, leaning his bike against the wall and grabbing his bag. Luckily for him his bass had found a permanent residency at the studio, the thought of having to drag it around too, no thanks, his arm muscles were aching enough.

He opened the creaking door to reveal his four bandmates standing around the room, doing various things. Luke looked up from his notebook, what else would he be doing.

“Toni said I should tell you you’re a dumbass Luke.” Reggie said as a greeting and slumped down on the couch, feeling the soft material and sighed at how comfortable it was.

Luke sputtered and gave him a confused and questioning look, coming over and joining him on the couch, instantly crossing his arms and started pouting. “What did I do?”

Luke seemed really upset and Reggie felt sorry for saying it like that. “Luke, it was a joke! You know how Toni is, we were just joking around.”

Luke had gone from sad back to upbeat in a second and stood up again to retrieve his notebook, a pencil was still clamped behind his ear. “Oh good, and I thought I forgot something I did.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Ales smiled sweetly at Luke from where he was already seated behind his drum kit, giving a snickering Julie a bro fist, who was always in to drag Luke. It was their little game. How everyone else but them could see how much it counted as flirting was astonishing, but well, what could they do besides follow the play?

“Back to Toni. How’s it going with her?” Bobby asked then, repeatingly raising his eyebrows in a seemingly suggesting manner, a lopsided grin plastered on his face.

“What do you mean?” Reggie was seriously confused at that question. “She’s fine if that is what you wanted to know.”

Alex groaned in the background. There was oblivious Reggie again, how they knew and loved him. Luke sprung in, helping Bobby out. “What Bobby wanted to know is if you finally made a move on Toni. You know, like asking her out on a date?”

Reggie’s mouth popped open. He had never been thinking about going on a date with Toni, not even considering it. That concept was weird, they were just really good friends. “Why would I ask her out? She’s just a friend.” He said so.

Julie put the mic she had been holding until now into the stand and turned to Reggie. “First of all, you know each other for 10 years. Second, you two have the same personality and interests, you two fit so good together. When she’s around, your happiness is bouncing off the balls, much like Luke after a gig. And to wrap it up, she looks gorgeous, you love her style, you said so yourself.” Great, now Julie had conspired against him too.

Reggie raised an eyebrow, was that it? “And? We all share interests, we’re in a band together, and Luke and I have known each other since we’re 10 and I can say with confidence that you all look good, but have I asked any of you out yet? No. So why would I do that with Toni?”

“I’m honoured for being called good-looking.” Alex said. “But Reggie, if you don’t want to you don’t have to ask Toni out. We just thought you two really liked each other, we thought it was obvious, sorry.” Reggie couldn’t stay mad long at Alex; he was just too sweet. He sighed, stood up from the couch and doubled over, stretching his knees. It was never a good idea to sit down after training.

“I will never get over how flexible you are.” Reggie looked up and saw Bobby staring at him with amazement.

Reggie grinned at the hidden compliment. “If you wouldn’t skip PE all the time, you might get there one day.”

Julie hollered, satisfied with where this was going. “Yes, call him out for what he is, a lazy pazy, abandoning us in gym hell.”

Luke meanwhile stopped scribbling in his book again and gave an annoyed expression. “Guys, we said no school talk during band time.” There was nothing new with Luke’s hate of school. For him it was just another distraction in his music career, another way to waste precious song writing time.

Reggie stretched his arms a last time, rolling his shoulder blades, and made a beeline for his bass. He loved practice time with his friends, but he was ready for this day to be over, but hoped it wasn’t too obvious. Not that his friends got the impression he didn’t like spending time with them. Luke picked up on his exhaustion though.

“Why you seem so tired today? You look like you’re done with the day and it’s only 8.”

Reggie wasn’t sure if that was a serious question and needed a second. “You can try giving your everything in ballet with Mrs. Petrow for two and a half hours and see how fresh you’re looking afterwards.”

Luke’s eyes got soft again. “Sorry, didn’t know you had practice beforehand.” He apologized and then as another thought crossed his mind “- Wait, didn’t you were at practice two days ago?”

“I have practice on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. It has always been like this before a performance.” How could Luke had never catch up on that?

“What?? You’re training three days a week on top of schoolwork and band practice almost every day a week?” Bobby let out like it was implausible, showing the same baffled look as Luke.

Reggie was looking between the two. “Yeah?” He wasn’t sure what they wanted him to say.

All four seemed impressed at that and Alex sympathetic smile greeted him when Reggie looked his way. “When you’re tired, we can call it off for today and just watch a movie or something.” He proposed and everyone else agreed, even Luke, who pushed them the hardest.

Reggie was quick to jump on that opportunity and before someone else could chime in with ideas he picked up a DVD from his Star Wars collection, hearing a collective groaning behind him, but he didn’t care. It was his feel-good escape.

Bobby tousled his hair when he walked past him where the TV sat and laughed at Reggie’s disgruntled look. “You don’t look as threatening as you want, you’re just too cute.” Fantastic, just what he liked to hear. Pulling his hair back again that had fallen in his face from Bobby’s action, Alex called out to him.

“Hey Reg, do a pair of spins to the TV.”

Reggie didn’t need to be told twice before he started turning to where he wanted to go, fixating a point on the wall, his leg going into a passé on every turn. Landing in perfect position in front of the older telly, he gave his audience one bow and got applause in return, eliciting a smile from him.

When they were all seated on a pile of cushions and surrounded with blankets, a cuddling mess on the floor, Reggie remembered what he wanted to ask them. “Hey, would you like to come to the premier? It’s in two weeks. It’s okay if you have plans already, it’s not as important, I wouldn’t be mad, I just wan-“

Alex hand was placed on his arm, interrupting his nervous rambling. “Of course we’ll come Reg. Right guys?” The other three were quick to agree and Reggie beamed at them.

“I’ll sit front row and whistle every time you come on stage.” Luke added. Reggie was not keen on finding out if Luke was serious and made a mental note to place Luke in the back of the venue.

When the credits scrolled down on the screen later, Reggie was already fast asleep, laying between his friends, who just pulled the blanked higher on him and tried to be as silent as possible while chatting quietly.

#Julie and the Phantoms #jatp #jatp fic #reggie peters #luke patterson #alex mercer #bobby wilson #julie molina #mine #my fic

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etherealwaifgoddess · 4 years

Text

A Good Night’s Sleep, Pt.3

Main Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: After your date with Bucky things heat up quickly.

Warnings/ Content: Aaaaaand here’s the smut you’ve all been waiting for :)

Word Count: 3.8k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies, this is the final installment of this little series. Once again tagging @marinaaniseed since the idea for this was hers. I hope you’ve enjoyed this as much as I have.

Here are parts ONE and TWO if you missed them. XOXO - Ash

A Good Night’s Sleep, Part Three

Bucky’s living quarters are larger than you expected. The common area; a spacious living room, dining room, kitchen set up, made you think that the individual rooms would be just that: a room only. What you find behind Bucky’s door is a small apartment of sorts. He has a kitchenette with a table to eat at, a living room, and two doors down a short hallway for a bedroom and bathroom. You follow his example, toeing off your shoes at the entryway, slightly amused by the sight of your ballet flats sitting next to his assortment of combat boots, sneakers, and the dress shoes he takes off. It’s so painfully domestic. The carpeting under your bare feet is thick and soft, you’re officially glad for his no shoes rule. Digging your toes in, you have to resist the temptation to lay down on the plush carpet.

“Right this way.” Bucky motions to the door at the end of the hall. You follow him down to his bedroom where he flicks on a light illuminating the small space in a golden glow. “It’s not much, but it’s mine. I was thankful Steve got me a place here after everything that happened. New York has changed so much since I lived here last, but it’s still home.”

“It’s nice. Mine isn’t much different, honestly.” You look around the bedroom that’s decorated in various shades of blue and white. There’s prints and posters framed on his walls, all depicting some type of space themed art. The bed against the far wall looks huge and soft, covered with a small army of pillows and a fluffy navy blue duvet.

Bucky catches you staring at it and smiles, chagrined. “I might have gone a little overboard with the bed.”

“You don’t say?” you tease.

“I really like having somewhere soft and warm to sleep. It’s nice after so many years of… well, you know. I didn’t realize how crazy it was until I was done. It started out buying an extra pillow so the bed looked balanced. Then I needed a duvet to keep warm and that came with decorative pillows. After that I found those fuzzy pillows over there that looked nice and then the ones with constellations on them. Within two weeks I went from a single pillow and a quilt to that. Once I spent a night in it I was done for, it’s amazing and I regret nothing.”

“It looks amazing.”

“The mattress is unreal too. Tony got these memory foam gel things for all the beds here, it’s like sleeping on a marshmallow. Here, get comfy and I’ll set up the projector.”

You take a seat on the edge of the bed, the softness of the bed inviting after the long day you’ve had. Bucky moves around setting things up, making small adjustments to the device on his desk before finally going over to turn off the lights. The room is only dark for a moment before the ceiling lights up with a starry sky. “Lay back, you’ll get the most out of it that way.” he instructs as he joins you on the bed.

You follow his lead, stretching out on your back on the bed next to him. Bucky’s hand slips into yours and entwines your fingers, waiting to see if you’ll allow it, and you do. He clicks a small remote in his other hand and the light show starts up. The ceiling is alight with simulated stars, rolling through the different major constellations and stars; each one lighting up before it’s name appears across it for a moment, then moving to the next. It rolls through the seasons as well, showing the different positions and constellations that appear based on the time of year. It’s magical in a way and you get lost in the moment.

It can’t have been more than ten minutes and Bucky has been oddly quiet the entire time. You glance over, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He seems at peace watching the series of stars. You wonder how many times he’s watched the show before and if it always brings him peace.

“About a hundred. And yeah, that’s why I bought it.” Bucky replies, making you realize you had spoken your musings out loud.

“Sorry, that was supposed to be an ‘in my head only’ thought.” you give him a lopsided smile in apology.

“You can ask me things, that’s okay. I’ve always been fascinated by space and being able to see the night sky is something that grounded me. Even when I was the Soldier, I remember feeling better when I could see the night sky. Didn’t understand why at the time, but I did. I like how it’s always the same, no matter where you are, no matter how the world changes below it.”

“With everything that’s changed in your life, I can see how you would like that. Thank you, for showing it to me.”

“This is nice.” Bucky rubs a thumb across the back of your hand, a soft smile playing on his lips.

You can’t help but stare at his lips a moment, you want to feel them on yours, against your skin. It’s still your first date and you resign yourself to maybe getting a quick kiss later if you’re lucky.

Bucky notices your staring almost immediately. It would be so easy and you seem willing. He wonders what’s holding him back, what’s keeping him from taking what you’re freely offering. There’s always something that’s stood in the way of what he wanted. The financial crash of the depression, the war, HYDRA, recovering from seventy years of brainwashing, being an outlaw for a while, going back into Cryo. His life has been an endless stream of if only’s and Bucky has had just about enough of it. He’s adapting to his life in the twenty first century, he has friends, a place to live, a sort of job, and enough money that he doesn’t have to worry about it for at least a hundred years. There’s nothing standing in his way anymore except for himself. Bucky props himself up on his elbow, leaving his hand entwined with yours. He looks from your lips to your eyes, waiting in silent permission. You nod, eyes locked back in on his lips, and he leans forward instantly. He’s done standing in his own way.

Bucky’s lips collide with yours, searing hot and insistent. You had expected him to be more hesitant but he’s pouring himself into the kiss and all you can do is hold on and keep up. He doesn’t let his hands roam, just exploring your mouth with his own while his body blasts heat like a furnace pressed up against the side of yours. You don’t bother reigning yours in, letting your free hand glide along the lines of his back and tangle gently in his hair. He lets out a throaty noise when your nails rake across his scalp and you make a mental note to repeat the motion later to see if elicits the same response.

You can’t tell if the kiss has gone on for hours, days, or minutes. It’s all consuming in the best possible way and when Bucky finally pulls back you’re both breathing hard. “Um,” Bucky begins with a bright blush, tucking his head against the curve of your shoulder, “We need to stop. Or slow down at least.”

You furrow your brow, worried you’ve triggered some unpleasant memory for him by accident. “You okay?” you ask.

“Yeah, more than okay. I just… I don’t know how far we want things to go and I’m about to have a problem if we keep going like that.”

“Oh.” realization dawns, “That’s okay. If you want to stop we can, or we could keep going and then I could help you with that problem when it arises.”

Bucky shudders. He wants you, desperately. It’s liquid fire in his veins and he doesn’t want to keep ignoring his desires. “I think.” he starts and stops. “I think I’d like to keep going. If you want to.”

“Oh, sweetheart, of course I do.”

Bucky resists the urge to preen at the endearment and you shift up to claim his lips with yours. Tangling your hand back in his hair you trail kisses down his throat, nipping lightly at the bow of his collarbone before trailing back up to his mouth. Bucky is a mess of over sensitization, your hands in his hair and your lips against his skin while your body curves against his so soft and beautiful. You can guess that it’s been a while for him, he had alluded to you being his first date since before the war during one of your text chats. He’s so responsive to your affection and you want to make it as good as it can be for him. Your favorite part of sex has always been figuring out what makes your partners see stars and Bucky is making it so easy for you.

You run your hand down his chest, feeling the wall of muscles under his soft sweater, letting it rest a moment on his belt buckle before you start tugging the sweater up and off. Bucky helps you get it off him and then tentatively skims his hand along the neckline of your blouse. You pull your top off easily, willing to go tit or tat with him if gets you both naked quicker. You’re both fumbling with pants next, quickly depositing your jeans on the floor with your tops.

Bucky looks pained as he looks down at your body, clad only in your powder blue satin lingerie. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” he whispers reverently as he kisses the tops of your breasts where they threaten to spill out of the cups of your bra.

“You’re not too shabby yourself, Barnes.” you tell him affectionately.

A chuckle rumbles in his throat and it reverberates against your skin. You let your hands continue their explorations, not really meaning to rush but you’re dying to get your hands on him. You ghost your palm across the front of his tight boxer briefs, getting the slightest feeling of the hard length straining under the soft fabric. Bucky’s hips stutter against the contact and he gasps hard.

“That okay?” you check in, wanting to ensure you’re not moving too fast.

“More than,” he rasps.

You smile widely, pleased by his response, and let your hand slide over him again.

Bucky thinks you’ll be the death of him as your hand presses against his aching cock, the pressure more intentional this time. He’s afraid he won’t last very long, he hasn’t been with anyone intimately since before the war and getting himself off pales in comparison to being with someone else. He hasn’t even done that all that much since thawing out. Bucky curses himself, he’s going to blow his load like a teenager before he can even ensure you enjoy yourself. For all of his bravado in his teens and twenties, he only had the occasional partner. Sure he could charm girls and guys alike but he was, at heart, a hopeless romantic. He knows what to do, but he feels inexperienced while you seem instinctively able to light his body up like fireworks.

Determined to make this about him, you slowly push against his chest so he’ll lay back and let you steer things for a bit. Bucky complies and you help him shimmy out of his boxer briefs once he’s on his back. From the gentle caresses over his clothes you had guess he would be gorgeous but the sight of him has your mouth watering. You exhale heavily through pursed lips, letting your excitement be known and Bucky has the good graces to look shy at the sound. This is going to be a stretch you feel for days. You slip your bra and panties off quickly, wanting to give him full access to your body like you have his. Bucky swallows thickly, thanking every god above that he met you.

You carefully take him in hand, letting the silky heat of his erection slide easily against your palm. He’s holding himself rigid with tight control and you lean forward to kiss him again, wanting him to relax a little and just let himself enjoy this. Pre-come drips from the blunt head of his cock and his hips jerk involuntarily. “What do you want, sweetheart?” you ask him softly. He gasps but doesn’t respond so you try checking in again. “Do you want to just do this, or I could use my mouth. Or I could get on top of you, if you’re okay with going that far. I need you to tell me though.”

Bucky shakes his head to clear his scattered thoughts. “I don’t think I could handle your mouth right now.” he admits honestly. He practically came at just the thought of your lips wrapped around him. “I want to be inside you. Please.” The request is breathy and desperate, a tone he’s not familiar with coming from his own mouth.

“Okay, sweetheart. Thank you for telling me.” You kiss him lightly in thanks. Despite how responsive his body is you know you need to check in with him frequently to make sure you’re not pushing him too much or triggering something. Slowly you rise up on your knees, your lips exploring his torso to keep the two of you connected while you swing a leg over his hips to straddle his thighs. You arch up, grasping his heavy cock in your hand to get it right where you need it and then you sink down on to him.

Bucky grasps his duvet so hard it creaks, threatening to tear in both his metal and flesh hands. The tight, wet, heat of your body engulfing his straining erection brings pinpricks of tears to the corner of his eyes. It’s too much and not enough all at once.

You let yourself settle on top of him, giving you both a moment to adjust to the sensation. You gently unclasp his fists from the sheets, moving them up to your breasts so he can palm and knead them instead. “You good?” you check in one last time before moving.

“Yeah. So good, doll. You’re fucking perfect.” he grits out.

Spurred on by his enthusiastic consent you start grinding your hips against his, getting the friction going slowly so it doesn’t overwhelm either of you right away. He feels like steel inside of you, so incredibly hard and thick. The way he’s responding so easily adds to the heady mix and you’re reeling that this is real life right now. It’s so much better than you ever could have imagined. Bucky’s hands fly down to your hips as you start sliding up and down on his shaft, letting the drag of his cock hit all the right places for you both. It’s incredible, all consuming, and you can tell by his glassy eyes and the sheen of sweat on his brow that it won’t take long to push him over the edge. You take his right hand into yours, unsure of the limits of dexterity in his left, and move it down to the apex of your thighs. Carefully you guide his fingers between your folds, mere inches from where your bodies are joined.

Bucky’s foggy brain realizes what you’re doing as you rub two of his fingers against the tiny bundle of nerves between your folds. Moving your hand away you let him do the rest, rubbing small circles around the tiny bud as your body shakes in pleasure. This he knows how to do, even as he’s fighting for rational thought at the feel of your body grinding on top of his. Your orgasm builds rapidly, his skilled fingers bringing you quickly to the edge until you’re shuddering and clenching down around him, choked off cries spilling from your lips. Your whole body is shuddering as you come back down from your climax and you increase your pace, helping him chase his own release. It’s barely a minute later that Bucky’s muscles clench up, going perfectly still before his vision whites out and he comes, lost in the hurricane of his own pleasure. Your name is a desperate plea on his lips as he comes, hips locked firmly against yours as they shake.

You’re painstakingly gentle as you bring him down, making sure you don’t move while he comes back into his body bit by bit. You can see the moment his head clears and his eyes open back up, blearily look up at you like you’ve hung the moon. “Hi.” you say quietly, pressing your lips together to hide your satisfied smirk.

“Hi. Wow.” he mumbles, raking a hand through his sex mussed hair.

“You okay if I hop off?”

He nods quickly, “Yeah.”

You slide off and the hot gush between your legs reminds you that in your haste you forgot to use protection. You’re never that careless and are immediately thankful you’re on the pill. “We forgot a condom.” you point out with a cringe. “I’m on the pill though. And I’m clean.” you’re quick to assure him.

“I’m clean too. I’m sorry though. Next time we’ll be more careful.”

“Already planning a next time?” you ask with a smirk. You locate a box of tissues on his nightstand, quickly cleaning your combined releases from your inner thighs.

Bucky somehow manages to blush brighter, even on top of his flushed cheeks. “I hope so. Maybe in the morning?”

“Did you just invite me to say the night?”

“If you want to. You can borrow some of my clothes if you do.”

You look at him, he’s sleepy and sated and the draw of spending a night wrapped up in his arms has you nodding in agreement. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

“I have nightmares.” Bucky blurts out, embarrassed but needing to warn you.

“I mumble in my sleep.” you tell him with an indifferent shrug.

“No, really. I might wake you. I really want you here, but if I wake you, just give my shoulder a shake and wake me up.” He’s never been violent waking up, thankfully, so at least he doesn’t have to worry about hurting you, just possibly scaring the shit out of you. He wants to try though, he thinks if anyone will understand and accept him it’ll be you.

“Okay, I will. Let’s get under the covers, you can be the little spoon.”

“Little spoon?”

You chuckle, “I’ll show you.”

The two of you slide under his heavy blankets, the cool sheets soft and slippery against your bare skin. As soon as you’re settled you roll him onto his side facing away from you so you can curl your body around his, an arm thrown over his waist and your head nestled on his shoulder.

“I like being the little spoon.” he tells you in the darkness.

“Good, now try to get some rest.” you press a kiss to his shoulder and lay quietly until you hear his breathing even out and you allow yourself to drift off.

Sunlight is filtering through the curtains of Bucky’s bedroom, tiny dust motes floating in the air like glitter. You let out a sleepy sigh as Bucky shifts to get more comfortable and he feels momentarily guilty that woke you. Since you’re awake, he rolls over so he can face you, not caring about morning breath after the night you shared. “Morning.” his voice low and sleep hoarse.

“Morning.” you echo sleepily, “You slept well?”

Bucky realizes it’s the first nightmare free night he’s had in years. He can’t remember a single dream and feels rested for the first time in forever. “Yeah. First time in a long time.” He wonders if it was the sex or just having you in bed with him or both. It doesn’t really matter, it was a fucking marvel that he finally made it through the night. He also wonders how he can persuade you to stay over more.

“I’m glad. I did too.” You lean into Bucky’s hand as it curls through your hair, your brain slowly waking up and still sleep hazy.

Quiet minutes pass, both of you letting yourselves adjust to being awake slowly.

“Want to go get breakfast? I don’t have stuff here but the team kitchen is fully stocked. Everyone is probably already up and off for the day.” Bucky offers, finally breaking the comfortable silence.

“Sure, want to grab a shower first though?” You’re feeling a little grimy and a shower will help you wake up more too.

Bucky is quick to agree and shows you to his large walk in shower. It’s heaven on your sore muscles and you take turns washing each other, careful not to start up anything you can’t finish right then. Once you’re clean and dressed in a pair of Bucky’s sweatpants and a tshirt, you follow him down the hall to the team kitchen. It’s huge and Bucky wasn’t exaggerating about it being fully stocked. There are dozens of packages of pre-diced vegetables in the fridge along with bags of shredded cheese and several large flats of eggs. You pull out a little of everything, figuring you can whip up omelettes pretty easily while Bucky starts on making a pot of coffee.

“Hey Buck!” you hear a friendly voice call out, “No nightmares last night?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says but his tone is awkward.

“That’s great pal. I’m so happy for you.”

“Good for you, Barnes.” another male voice chimes in. “So what finally worked?”

You hear Bucky let out a squeak, trying to clear his throat. Not willing to leave him to flounder, you take your arm load of ingredients and shut the large fridge doors with a thump, making your presence known.

Two sets of eyes, one blue and one brown, snap over to see you standing in the kitchen in Bucky’s clothes, damp hair falling all around you, and the faintest bruise on your throat where Bucky got a little over eager. You have exactly zero shame about the amazing night you’ve just had and your expression makes that abundantly clear.

Steve’s eyes are saucers and Sam has to cover his laugh with a cough into his hand.

At seeing your unabashedness Bucky feels the tight panic in his chest loosen a little. It’s going to be okay, and he feels more certain of that than he has in a long time. He feels like he can handle just about anything by your side. With a cocky grin he takes a sip of his coffee and shrugs at his friends, “Looks like you were right, Wilson.”

~The End~

#Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes feels #bucky barnes x reader #nightmares #PTSD #original female character #reader insert #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fandom

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claudia1829things · 4 years

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"THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK" (1977) Review

"THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK" (1977) Review I have seen my share of movie and television productions that are based on novels and plays by Alexandre Dumas père and his son Alexandre Dumas fils And for some reason, I never get tired of watching them - over and over again. And one of them is the 1977 television movie, "THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK".

Directed by Mike Newell and adapted by William Bast, "THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK" is loosely based on Alexandre Dumas père's 1847-50 novel, "The Vicomte of Bragelonne: Ten Years Later". The novel was the third and last of the author's "The d'Artagnan Romances" literary trilogy, following "The Three Musketeers" and "Twenty Years After". The movie begins with Philippe Bourbon being snatched by a group of mysterious men from his small French estate and imprisoned at the Bastille. It turns out that the men behind this kidnapping is King Louis XIV's finance minister, Jean-Baptiste Colbert and the head of the Musketeers, D'Artagnan. Aware that Philippe is the twin brother of the king (and the rightful monarch of France), the pair plan to conduct a bloodless coup to eventually switch Philippe with the corrupt and malicious Louis. However, their plans are stymied when the Chevalier Duval, an aide of the also corrupt Superintendent of Finances Nicolas Fouquet, stumbles across Philippe. Fouquet, via instructions from Louis, orders Duval to take Philippe from the Bastille and install him in another prison on the coast. Fortunately for Colbert and D'Artagnan, they learn of Philippe's fate from Louis' reluctant and disenchanted mistress Louise de La Vallière and plot to rescue the royal twin and continue with their plot to replace him with Louis. When I saw "THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK" for the first time, I thought it was perfect. Flawless. And it became one of my favorite Alexandre Dumas adaptations and television movies for years. After my recent viewing of the television movie, I now realize that it is not perfect. I feel that screenwriter William Bast had changed one aspect of Dumas' novel, "The Vicomte of Bragelonne: Ten Years Later", that had an impact on the 1977 movie's narrative. The novel had portrayed Louis as the older twin and rightful king of France. For some reason, Bast had made Philippe the oldest twin. Why? I have no idea. To justify Philippe's theft of the French throne? Unfortunately, this narrative change left me wondering why Philippe, as the "older twin" was not allowed to be his father's heir and later, successor. In one scene, Colbert explained that former French minister and lover of the twins' mother Queen Anne, Cardinal Mazarin, had Philippe taken away following the latter's birth, in order to manipulate then King Louis XIII. This explanation struck me as lame and confusing. And Bast should have never changed this aspect of Dumas' plot. Many moviegoers have become increasingly critical of any production that have not closely adhere to its literary source over the years. I have no idea how many of them felt about this 1977 television movie. But I have a pretty good idea how I feel about it. Although I found the major change mentioned in the above paragraph troubling, I had no problems with many of other Bast's changes. I have read Dumas' novel. It was interesting . . . to say the least. I have no problems reading or watching a story with a downbeat ending if it suits the narrative or if I am in the mood to embrace it. I have never been in the mood to embrace Dumas' 1847-50 novel. Which would probably explain why I enjoyed the changes in this adaptation a lot. But wait . . . extreme changes had been made in other adaptations of "The Vicomte de Bragelonne". What was it about this particular adaptation that I enjoyed? I found it better written than the other adaptations. For me, "THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK" was a tight and well-written story that did not drag or rush the movie's narrative. Which is more than I can say for Dumas' story. Most Dumas' adaptations tend to be part-dramas/part-swashbucklers. "THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK" - at least this version - seemed to be eighty-five percent drama and fifteen percent action. In fact, the only real action sequence in this production turned out to be D'Artagnan's rescue of Philippe from the coastal prison. And if I must be honest, I thought Mike Newell's direction, Freddie Young's cinematography and Bill Blunden's editing made that sequence a tense, yet exciting affair. However, the meat of "THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK" centered around its dramatic scenes. Thanks to Newell's direction, Bast's screenplay and a talented cast, the television movie featured some very memorable scenes. Among my favorites are Philippe's discovery that he is the King of France's twin brother, Louis' malicious reaction to his failure to impress Louise de La Vallière, a tense conversation between Philippe and Queen Marie-Therese, and the last verbal duel between Colbert and Fouquet. If I had to select my absolute favorite scene, it had to be the one that featured Louis' "Sun King" ballet, Louise's failure to be impressed and Louis' malicious act of using the Queen as a scapegoat for his embarrassment. As I had earlier stated, the dramatic scenes in "THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK" would have never been fully satisfying to me without its top notch cast. Yes, there were solid performances from the likes of Denis Lawson, Hugh Fraser and Brenda Bruce. But I found myself impressed by other members of the cast. They include Vivien Merchant, who did an excellent job in conveying Queen Marie-Therese's mixed emotions toward her emotionally abusive spouse - whether it was desire, resentment or a combination of both. Ian Holm was excellent as Minister Fouchet's aide, the Chevalier Duval, who seemed to be brimming with cunning intelligence and stealth. I would never associate Louis Jordan portraying a swashbuckling figure. But I must admit that he made an excellent man-of-action in his portrayal of the experienced, competent and quick-thinking D'Artagnan. Jenny Agutter gave a sublime and passionate performance as Louise de La Vallière, Louis' reluctant mistress who ended up falling in love with the latter's twin. Ralph Richardson's portrayal of France's finance minister Jean-Baptiste Colbert struck me as one of the more entertaining performances in the production. I found Richardson's Colbert cunning, intelligent, patient and more importantly - at least to me - witty. I have seen Patrick McGoohan in several heroic and villainous roles. But I must admit that his Nicolas Fouquet struck me as one of the most subtlety portrayed villains I have ever seen on screen. McGoohan's Fouquet could put Sheev Palpatine from the STAR WARS saga when it comes to subtle villainy. And I like subtle villains. I find them more dangerous. If I had to give an award for the best performance in "THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK", I would give it to its leading man, Richard Chamberlain. Mind you, Chamberlain had to portray two characters - the decent, yet slightly hot-headed Philippe Bourbon; and the vain and egotistic King Louis XIV. Mind you, I thought Chamberlain did an excellent job of conveying Philippe's sense of confusion, anger and passion. But the actor's portrayal of Louis literally knocked my socks off. Chamberlain's performance was not over-the-top. He did a subtle job of conveying Louis' villainy. And yet, he managed to inject a great deal of - how can I put it - joie de vivre quality in his performance that I found truly entertaining. There was no doubt that Chamberlain's Louis was a villain. But his Louis proved to be one of the most entertaining villains I have seen on screen. I realize that I have yet to discuss the television movie's production values. We are talking about the 1970s. Although I can recall a good number of television miniseries with first-rate production values, I cannot say the same about several period television productions from both sides of the Atlantic. And "THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK" is a television movie with a 100 minutes running time. However, I thought its production values were first-rate. Despite being a made-for-TV movie, "THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK" was shot on several locations in both France and Great Britain. Thankfully, Freddie Young's photography did an excellent job in enhancing those locations. John Stoll took advantage of those locations and skillfully re-created France and Louis XIV's court of the late 1660s or early 1670s. I am not an expert of 17th century fashion - in France or anywhere else. I have no idea whether Olga Lehmann's costume designs or Betty Glasow's hairstyle are historically accurate. But I cannot deny that I found the hairstyles satisfying and Lehman's costumes beautiful, as shown below:

In the end, I am happy to state that "THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK" remains one of my all time favorite adaptations of an Alexandre Dumas père novel. Despite my quibble of one of William Bast's changes in Dumas' story, I feel more than satisfied with his other changes and thought he had presented a first-rate story. And my satisfaction also extends to Mike Newell's top-notch direction and the excellent performances from a cast led by the always superb Richard Chamberlain.

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scni · 4 years

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chicago’s very own addison sani has been spotted on madison avenue driving a rolls-royce wraith , welcome ! your resemblance to greta onieogou is unreal . according to tmz , you just had your twenty fourth birthday bash . your chance of surviving new york is uncertain because you’re reactive , but being tenderhearted might help you . i think being a virgo explains that . 3 things that would paint a better picture of you would be walking out of a casino with double the money you walked in with, sunkissed skin all year round, drunkenly dancing on a table . ( my dad has ties to the mafia and when things started getting out of hand my mom forced him out of our lives what she doesn’t know is that i meet him for lunch every week ) & ( cisfemale + she/her ) + ( taylor , twenty , she/her , est )

wow ok guys , this took me alot longer than i expected ? i’m TIRED , lol . i’m taylor though , hi legends ! i’m 20 and live in the est + go by she / her pronouns . a little about me before we get to my lil baby — i spend too much time in the timewrap that is youtube where i’ll watch a ricky thompson video one minute then daily vlogs of a raccoon to mgk’s kelly vision vlogs true story , this MAY have happened while i was supposed to be getting this intro up 🥺 i’m a total music whore and love everything that has a good flow idc if it’s rap or country if it’s good it’s lit ! also heads up i have the attention span of a squirrel so if i don’t respond to a thread or ims it’s because im a dumb hoe , i still love ya . anyways , enough about me lets get this intro rolling ! give this a like if you’d like to plot . ALSO ? i know the background is a lil long it was honestly mostly for me to really flesh addison out and give me something to look back to , so if you wanna get to the point of the intro just skip the background ? there is a tl;dr after it followed by her personality / secret / stats + some basic wcs toward the end of the post !

* 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 !

addison mikhailovna sani , was born in saint petersburg , russia where she grew up in a home too big to even be referred to as a house . she wasn’t the first child of ivanka and mikhail but she definitely was their first planned child . a couple that met early in their twenties , had their moments but at the end of the day they loved one another . both extremely traditional and their beliefs , they were given no choice but to accelerate their love story when they turned up pregnant with their son . he was a beautiful and happy little boy , but posed a threat the ivanka and mikhail’s pretty storybook life they wanted to set up for themselves . obsessed with staying on some sort of timeline , ivanka began her campaign for her budding political career . then she turned up pregnant again , with their second child , a daughter this time . in their eyes their daughter was just another bump in their perfect life . they held a sort of resentment against the kids for that , especially given that ivanka had lost her window of political popularity . she’d resigned to the life of a socialite and stay at home mom and they decided the best way to fill her time up was with another child . this time , one they truly wanted . her parents would never admit it , but they hadn’t seen the true “ sani potential “ in their children that wasn’t until they had addison . her parents truly doted on her . from her point of view life was perfect . silver spoon life did her well . that was until the perfect facade the sani’s held up was beginning to crumble before their eyes . her father , a wealthy international real estate investor comes from a crime family , it was a world he hid in the shadows but things grew rather messy and the family was posed with a choice (a) leave russia and start up life somewhere else or (b) stay in russia and chance mikhail going to jail for the entirety of the kids childhood . of course they chose to leave russia , on the one promise to ivanka that mikhail was done with the life of organized crime .

they made the move to chicago , illinois when addison was just ten years old . luckily for her she’d grown up speaking three languages russian , nigerian , and english and so coming to america was made just a bit easier for her as she wasn’t completely fluent but was able to get by and converse with others . her parents quickly integrated themselves into the elite society within chicago’s wealthiest families , which wasn’t too hard with her father’s up - and - up line of work of real estate investing and her mother’s status as an heiress . the same could be said for the kids at school , each one integrating fairly well into their own friend groups . like at home stayed the same , they may have been in a new country but her parents love or obsession with addison knew no borders . she had everything a little girl could ask for and more , plus her busy parents actually made time for her - that was much more than her siblings could say . addison knew the dynamic , she was a smart girl and picked up on it quickly . often apologizing to her older siblings and offering up her own support for their lives in place of their parents . as she grew older the pressure from her family started taking it’s toll . when ivanka and mikhail sani thought you were destined to be great , they really pushed you and placed the highest of expectations on you . addison carried around the fear that one day they’d look at her the same way they did her siblings and so she worked herself in all aspects of her life to be the perfect daughter . she excelled at everything she did - academics , ballet , student government , and even becoming a debutante .

it wasn’t until she was sixteen that the toll really started chipping away at addison . she’d spent a month on a downward spiral; popping pills , drowning herself in alcohol , losing her virginity , and throwing parties . it all came to a head when she stole millions from her father’s secret stash and booked a private jet with a couple friends . the three went missing for nearly two weeks before they were spotted at a resort in ibiza . her parents brought her home only to send her away to an inpatient program for a little over a month . addison spent that month really digging deep , finding out who she was and what she actually wanted . her therapist had told her for her to get out of the dark place she was in she’d need to separate her thinking from her parents and let go of the perfectionist act . when she came back home it was like the last few months had never happened , her parents ignored it all . to them , the issue was fixed and now it was time to sweep it under the rug but for addison it broke her heart . she realized over that next year that her parents didn’t see her as a person with her own choices but instead some sort of maniquin for them to play some weird version of real life sims with . despite this realization she couldn’t help but to fall back in line .

senior year of high school came quick and the four years of student government , mock trial , equestrian , and perfect grades was nearly over but not before addison’s whole world crumbled before her . no matter how perfect she tried to be the sani’s could never run from the truth . they weren’t this perfect family , when her mom caught her dad tied up with the russian mafia within the city of chicago it was over . by the end of the night ivanka was kicking him out of the house , with the threat that if he so much as looked in the direction of her and the kids she’d have him sent to jail for the rest of his natural life . the threat was enough to spook him , he’d known her well enough to know she wasn’t bluffing . just a few months later he moved out of the state leaving secret letters for the children to let them know he loved them . but of course , addison wasn’t allowed to so much as miss a beat . ivanka was still on her like some crazed momager and when she landed multiple acceptances in some of the top schools across the country the two inevitably made the decision for addison to attend yale . secretly she wanted stanford but bit the bullet . she studied finance with a major in philosophy . joined a sorority and mock trial . in truth she took a liking to connecticut and the change of scenery helped her forget about everything happening back in chicago .

during her senior year at yale , her mom broke the news of the family making the big move to new york city . which really just meant addison and her mom were moving to new york city because her brother had started a family in his college town of durham , north carolina + was also playing for the carolina panthers while her sister traveling the world on some sort of instagram model high . her mom rambled on for week about how the move was perfect since addison would be attending columbia for law school so now the two could see one another more often . even at twenty two addison couldn’t put her foot down when it came to her mom and so for the millionth time in her life she held back what she really wanted to do ( finally going to stanford , for law school ) and committed to columbia law .

* 𝐭𝐥;𝐝𝐫 !

basically , addison is the baby of three kids . born in st petersburg , russia but grew up in chicago . she was always the favorite of her parents ivanka ( a russian heiress + philanthropist ) and mikhail ( a international real estate investor ) as she grew older she realized their love was more of a obsession with control + perpetuating a picture of a perfect family + daughter . the pressure to a toll on addison during highschool and she had a break down that led to a major downward spiral landing her in an inpatient facility for a month . when she got out , her parents ignored all the issues within the family and went back to treating addison like some sort of puppet + addison continued to go along with it , as she didn’t really know how else to be . today she struggles with being who she wants to be and who her mom wants her to be . she and her siblings have always gotten along , even though their parents never treated them all the same they were all able to see the struggle in how each one was treated and able to bond through their messy parent situation . as of now addison’s trying to play up a double life sort of situation . having fun + being the perfect daughter . she’s also on the path to becoming a big time lawyer . she’s in her 2L of law school at columbia + also works as a paid intern at the district attorney’s office .

* 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 !

addison has always been full of love and unlike her parents her love isn’t conditional maybe delusional sometimes but never conditional . don’t worry , after a nation wide search i’ve found the first girl who doesn’t suffer from resting bitch face . instead you’ll always see a smile on her face , to the point where if you ever see her not smiling be worried . something life shattering has happened . she’s the type to say she “ hates drama “ but perk up the minute she hears about drama going on in some else’s life . don’t worry though , after she done being nosy she’ll do all she can to help fix the issue even if you don’t want her too . hey , she may make things worse in the process but atleast she cares , right ? maybe not , i don’t know . incredibly loyal and loves to have a good laugh , she’s incredibly witty and a lover of corny jokes . very talkative . wants everyone to like her and if you don’t like her get ready for her to try at every chance to win you over . very much so the “ pardon me , but you really hurt my feelings “ type . she’s really just a soft , smart rich girl trying to navigate through this big world . also she falls in love quick , although she’d never had a real relationship . not because she’s a T H O T , she’s not , well , she doesn’t mean to be atleast . she just finds her befriending guys more than becoming their girlfriend . despite her naturally affectionate behavior , she just has this weird “ no boyfriend “ curse going on . maybe she’s pushing them away when things get close to serious in fear of losing the guy from her life . on a negative note , addisons hands down worst quality is her inability to control a situation she is incredibly reactive / volatile . she’ll easily fall into a screaming match or crying fit . never the type to walk away . a true virgo , y’all , the girl can and will argue until you’re blue in the face .

* 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 !

so basically , her dad is apart of the russian mafia . he was heavily involved while they lived in russia but when the government was catching onto his actions the family fled the country before they could dig any deeper into the case . he was supposed to cut ties when they moved to chicago but it was a way of life he simply couldn’t let go of . when addison’s mom found out she forced him out of their lives threatening to turn him in if he so much of looks at his children . despite this when addison and her mom moved to new york he reached out to addison . they’ve been meeting for lunch once a week for almost a year and a half behind her moms back . absolutely no one but those involved with the mafia know about her dad being within the mafia , which is exactly how he’s always wanted it , which is why her mom could never find out addison and he are continuing their relationship .

* 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 !

full name : addison mikhailovna sani age : twenty - four date of birth : september 7th place of birth : saint petersburg , russia zodiac : virgo label : the facade pronouns : she/her gender : cisfemale orientation : bisexual , biromantic height : 5′8″ weight : 132 lbs ethnicity : nigerian , russian hometown : chicago , illinois occupation : law student , intern @ the district attorney’s office more : allergic to apples , hates takeout food , has an affinity for adult cartoons and stand up comedy, lives for alternative music , believes cuddling is a natural human interaction , loves video games , graduated valedictorian of her high school , loves painting .

* 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 !

soooo i know these are pretty basic but im just throwing things at the wall here and hoping they stick , okay ? im down for really anything so we can take inspo from these ideas ? expand more on them ? or just brainstorm something completely different ? whatever works ! , best friends , GIRL squad , drinking/party buddies , we’re just friend or at least that what we say but i always bring you as my date to big events type of deal , flirtationship , sibling like friendship , someone who has a crush on her , they don’t like her and she’s always trying to get them to change their mind , someone who tries to talk her into standing up to her mom , a confidant , someone she has a crush on , booty call maybe she initially wanted something serious from them but just fell into this booty call dynamic and she wont say anything otherwise because she likes having them around , someone she has a crush on , an ex friend who probably broke her trust .

#wealthyhq:intro #( 🍒 ) a look 𝓫𝓮𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓭 the mask — ooc #rehab tw

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vexedtonightmares · 5 years

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last dance (elu ballet au)

Lucas is in his final year at the Paris Opera Ballet School and he’ll be damned if he lets his former friend-turned-rival Eliott steal the lead role in their production of Swan Lake.

aka- lucas and eliott are rivals who are forced to room together for their final year of ballet school before they try to enter the company. we can all see where this is going.

Even after years of training, the Paris Opera Ballet School was still everything Lucas had dreamed it would be. Sure, there were days where he wondered if all his training had amounted to absolutely nothing, but then there were days were one of his instructors would compliment his posture, or use him as an example in class, and he would remember why he had worked so hard to get to this point. Dancing had always been like breathing to Lucas, came more naturally to him than anything else he’d ever tried.

Arriving back at the school for a new year Lucas felt like he could exhale in relief. The months away from the school during the summer holidays were always difficult for him, given his tense family situation. Luckily, that summer, one of his best friends from school, Manon, had invited him to stay in a flatshare she had in the city with her cousin and another friend. It had been nice, actually, to live that summer of bliss, training whenever possible with Manon and not having to worry about his parents.

They were starting their final year before they would try to enter the company, one of the most defining years of the rest of their lives. It was a bit intimidating, if Lucas was honest with himself. Whoever scored the lead roles in whatever show they performed that year were shoo ins for the company, so the pressure was higher than ever. He wondered what show they would be doing, hoping there would be a great lead male role that he could try for. He wanted a real challenge.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Manon said to him as they walked in together, finding their room assignments. “Only one more year? In some ways I’m glad, but in others I wish we never had to leave.”

Lucas rolled his eyes at her, even though he knew exactly what she was saying, felt the same way. “You’re never going to have to leave, you’ll be in the company before the year’s out, principal in the company before you’re twenty.”

“Oh shut up.” She nudged his side, but her eyes sparkled with possibility. Manon was easily the best dancer in their year, in the whole school now that Lucille and Charles had graduated. No one could do ballet like Manon Demissy, and everyone knew it but her.

“When’s Yann getting here?” she changed the topic as they ascended the staircase to the residence wing.

Lucas shrugged. “I don’t know, actually. Maybe he’ll be in the room when I get there.”

Normally there were three students to a room, but Lucas and his best friend Yann had gotten lucky the past few years, due to the uneven number of students, and had a room to themselves. It was always weird, getting used to one space for the whole year and then having to move into another one the next year, but Lucas was excited this year. The students in their final year generally got the best rooms. “Which number are you?” he asked Manon once they started to make their way down the hallway.

“412. You?”

“416.”

She pouted. “I’ll miss living with you. Are you sure Yann doesn’t want to switch?”

Lucas choked on a laugh. “And what if you end up rooming with Emma?”

Emma was Yann’s ex-girlfriend, and even though the two of them were friendly with one another, they still had a bit of lingering awkwardness around each other. Manon shivered, then laughed, “Ok, you have a point.”

Manon reached her room and was accosted by a loud squeal as someone jumped and gave her a huge hug. Daphné. “Come in, come in! Imane’s already here! I feel so bad for Emma, she has to room with Ingrid. And Chloé, but she’s fine. Hi Lucas! Are you with Yann again?” Daphné always spoke a mile a minute and while he’d like to say he hadn’t missed her, he had. He did feel bad for Emma, though. She and Ingrid had been really close once upon a time, but then she’d sort of stolen Yann from Ingrid and their relationship soured. It had gotten better over time, but it was still awkward.

“What about Alexia?” he asked.

Daphne’s grin turned sad. “She left the program. Apparently ballet wasn’t her ‘thing’. She’s at the same school as your friend Basile and Imane’s brother now.”

“Oh.” That was unfortunate, he’d really liked Alexia. Not that they would never see each other again, especially if she now went to the same school as Basile.

“Still up for that swap?” Manon whispered to Lucas.

He laughed and backed away, leaving her to move in. “In your dreams!” he mouthed back, causing her to flip him off before he made his way to his own room. He smiled once he got to the door. Not only did he now know for certain that it was a two person suite, but it was also a corner suite, one of the largest. Manon would be pissed when she found out.

There was already a bag on the floor when he entered, so he assumed Yann must be there already. He made his way to the bedroom off to the left of the living area, he always took the left and Yann always took the right, and halted in the doorway. A jacket was draped over the bed, suitcases yet unpacked by the door. Ok, apparently they were switching things up this year.

Someone knocked on the door one before barging in, and Lucas was surprised to see both Yann and Arthur, yelling in excitement as they laid eyes on him.

“Lulu! Holidays treat you well?” Arthur grinned, pulling Lucas into a hug.

He pulled away after a moment, turning to Yann and giving him a quick hug as well. “As well as expected,” he shrugged, “How about you?”

Arthur launched into a wild explanation of his summer, from going on vacation to hooking up with a thirty-four year old woman-- something Lucas was fairly certain was illegal-- Arthur’s tale was full of so many wild twists and turns that Lucas would have thought his friend was making everything up if he didn’t know him so well. Arthur was the type of person to take everything and nothing seriously, which is why, while he was easily one of the most talented dancers there, he would never get any of the lead roles. He never even seemed to care either. Sometimes Lucas envied him for not caring, sometimes he wanted to yell at him. Lucas would have given anything to be born with the kind of talent that Arthur had.

Yann, on the other hand, was on a pretty even playing field with Lucas. They hadn’t known each other before starting at the school, and they hadn’t talked much the first year or so because Lucas had a different best friend going in, but they had started to grow apart as Lucas’ friend became the star pupil and Lucas had begun to resent this new rivalry forming between them. Every year Lucas hoped his ex-friend wouldn’t come back, but he always did.

“Yo, dude, why’d you take the lefthand room?” Lucas teased once Arthur had finished recounting his summertime escapades.

Yann furrowed his brows. “What are you talking about?”

Lucas gestured vaguely to the room behind him and Yann’s eyes widened in comprehension. “Oh… you don’t know yet?”

“Don’t know what?” He wasn’t one for surprises on a good day, and this was turning out to be not as good a day as he would have hoped, based on Yann’s expression. Before Yann could speak the door opened again, revealing just the person Lucas would rather have jumped into a pit of lava than see again.

“Oh. Hi. I didn’t expect you all to be in here,” Eliott Demaury said, running a hand through his unruly hair.

“We were just leaving,” Yann said, and, finally, Lucas realized what was going on. No, no, no, no, no. This couldn’t be happening to him. Anyone but Eliott fucking Demaury. Maybe he was there to help Sofiane move in? Maybe Sofiane was Lucas’ roommate?

“No, no need, I can just go to my room and unpack,” Eliott said, glancing once at Lucas before stepping around them to what Lucas had assumed was Yann’s bedroom. Lucas turned to look at Yann with murder in his eyes.

“Tell me you’re joking,” he said with false calmness.

Yann bit his lip and looked to Arthur for help. “I don’t know why they changed it up this year, man. Sofiane’s with us, me and Arthur, and Eliott’s with you.”

Lucas looked over his shoulder into Eliott’s room, meeting Eliott’s eyes for a brief moment before grabbing Yann and Arthur and pulling them into the hallway, shutting the door behind him. “Can I switch with Sofiane? You know he’ll be fine with it he’s like, the nicest guy in the world.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Come on, Lucas. Eliott’s not that bad. You forget I’ve been living with him since we all started here.”

“I’m not rooming with him,” Lucas stated adamantly. Eliott wasn’t that bad his ass. None of them knew Eliott like he did. They’d vowed when they were five to be best friends forever, but Eliott had forgotten all about that promise when the instructors started favoring him in classes, giving him all the best solos, roles, and compliments. Eliott hadn’t seen why Lucas was upset, told him he’d just have to work harder, as if he wasn’t already working five times harder than Eliott to even try to be on the same level as him.

Over the past year Lucas had started to get more attention from their instructors and choreographers, proof that all his hard work was paying off. He wasn’t about to let Eliott flounce back into his life and ruin it all for him.

Yann braced his hands on Lucas’ shoulders. “Lucas. Seriously. You need to put this whole rivalry with Eliott behind you. All it’s going to do is hold you back, and I know that’s the last thing you want.”

Lucas shrugged out of Yann’s grip, folding his arms across his chest. “You don’t understand. Eliott and I… we were never meant to be anything other than ‘rivals’, if that’s what you want to call it. I’ve made the mistake of being his friend in the past and I’m in no hurry to do it again.”

“I’m not saying to be his friend, I’m just saying why make a shitty situation worse? You know damn well that if any of the teachers catch wind of you switching rooms they’ll make your life hell,” Yann tried to reason with him.

Lucas still wasn’t having it. “My life will already be hell.”

Arthur let out an exasperated sound and raised his voice slightly, quieting after a moment so he wouldn’t draw attention. “Lucas! You always talk about is how hard you have to work to be seen the way people like Eliott and Manon are naturally, and now you are. The teachers love you. Would you really throw that away over the prospect of sharing a kitchen and bathroom with Eliott? You don’t even have to share a bedroom for Christ’s sake! If you’re going to be in hell either way, stick with the hell you know.”

As much as Lucas hated to admit it, Arthur had a point. He didn’t want to have to share anything with Eliott, but if the alternative ruined his chances of getting a lead role in whatever show they put on this year or a chance at entering the company, he would never forgive himself.

“Fine,” he agreed grudgingly.

Yann raised his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Lucas grumbled, leaning his head back against the door. This was going to be a long year.

“Well in that case,” Arthur spun on his heel, pivoting to walk down the hallway, “We have unpacking of our own to do. Try not to murder Eliott while we’re away. Please. I need some food or something before I can cover up a murder.”

Lucas rolled his eyes and flipped off his friends as they made their way back to their own room. He hesitated in front of the door for a moment, not quite ready to enter back into the room he’d have to share with someone he hated for a full year. Hopefully he could just lock himself in his room most of the time and just avoid Eliott at all costs. He got up earlier than everyone to start training, so there was a minimal chance he’d ever see Eliott in the mornings anyway.

He should really go back into the room.

He should really go back into the room, but he couldn’t. His hand hovered over the door handle still, and he knew that he would look like an idiot if anyone walked down the hall and saw him standing there staring at the door.

Fuck it, it was his room too. Eliott couldn’t monopolize that as well. The door opened easier than he had expected, or maybe he’d used a little bit too much force on it, because he stumbled back into the room much less gracefully than he’d intended to. Eliott was standing by the small counter they had in their kitchenette, unloading a box of mugs and dishes. He looked up at Lucas in surprise.

“I didn’t think you’d be coming back in here.” It was hard to tell if Eliott was trying to make a joke or not. His tone said he was teasing, but his face was serious. Lucas tried not to remember how it used to light up every room he walked into. Maybe it still did, but Lucas had stopped noticing.

“Well, it is my room too,” Lucas said, just as ambiguously. Eliott nodded but said nothing further, turning his attention back to the items he was unpacking. Lucas walked past him and into his own bedroom, slamming the door shut and flopping down on his yet to be made bed. This was going to be a long year.

The best he could do for the time being was make his room as him as possible so that he would enjoy spending as much time in there as he planned to. With any luck, he’d be able to hang out in Yann and Arthur’s room a lot as well, especially because Sofiane would probably want to hang out with Eliott. Lucas actually liked Sofiane, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why someone as nice and talented as Sofiane would waste his time on someone like Eliott.

As far as Lucas was concerned, there were two type of people in the world: those who preferred petite allegro, and those who preferred grand allegro. Lucas himself was the former, as was Sofiane. Petite allegro required precision, sharpness, focus. It was one of the most difficult exercises of a ballet class, but, if you pulled it off, the satisfaction was worth the struggle. You couldn’t get by on natural talent in petite allegro, it was one of the only exercises that actually put everyone on an even playing field, at least at first. If you succeeded it was because you deserved it.

People like Eliott preferred grand allegro. Grand allegro was all about showing off. Yes, there was still precision and focus required, but it also required absolute perfection of the sort that you were either born with or weren’t. That wasn’t to say that someone couldn’t be good at grand allegro if they weren’t born with the same natural ability as someone else, but their chances of securing the roles and positions granted to those who flourished during grand allegro were far lower. The petite allegros were the underdogs and the grand allegros were the stars.

Of course, there were always exceptions. Manon was like him, but she was also a star. She was the only person in their class that ever topped Eliott in the eyes of their instructors, but Lucas didn’t resent her for it. He knew how hard she worked for everything she got, and it was clear from the moment that she’d walked into their first class that she was destined for a career that most of them would only ever dream of.

It was partially due to being partnered with her the previous year that their instructors had begun to take notice of him. A star was only as good as their partner allowed them to be, so Lucas had worked even harder than normal the entire year prior to make certain that neither he nor Manon would be overlooked. It was actually how they’d come to be so close in the first place, not really interacting much beforehand. Lucas had mostly steered clear of Emma and her friends after all of her relationship drama with Yann, but had really enjoyed becoming so close with Manon over the past year. If they hadn’t, he wouldn’t have lived with her over the holidays, and his life would have been hell.

Of course, he would take that living situation any day over what he was forced to deal with now, for the entire year. He had to pick his battles, he knew this, but also-- what was the issue in picking all of them, really?

There was a knock on his bedroom door and Lucas poked his head up, wondering if Yann had come back to talk to him or if Eliott was really trying to come into his room. A few steps and an open door later, he realized it was the latter, wishing he would have just stayed on his bed and ignored the knocking.

“What do you want?” he asked curtly, not even bothering to pretend to be polite. Eliott knew Lucas didn’t like him, and Lucas was more than certain Eliott didn’t like him either. That much had been made clear the minute Eliott had been hailed as a prodigy and hadn’t spoken a word to Lucas for nearly the entire year following. Lucas nearly scoffed to himself, wondering how they’d ever been best friends to begin with.

Eliott was just staring at Lucas, hadn’t said a word, hand finally falling to his side from where it had been poised to knock on the door. Lucas raised his eyebrows. “Hello? What do you want?”

Eliott blinked and looked away, gaze falling to the floor. “Sorry, um, I was just wondering how you’d like to decorate the living room?”

“Seriously?” Lucas crossed his arms over his chest. Decorating the living room was really the least of their worries, in his humble opinion. Had he and Yann ever even decorated their living room?

Eliott bit his lip and shrugged. “It could be nice.”

“Nice,” Lucas repeated slowly. He opened his mouth again to speak before closing it and furrowing his brows, unsure of how to respond. “I don’t really give a shit, I guess. I’m here for ballet and ballet only, I don’t care what pictures are hanging on our walls.”

“Just ballet? That will be unfortunate when we have to take our modern, hip hop, jazz…” Eliott trailed off, gleam in his eye. Lucas used to know that gleam, used to smile when he saw it. Now it mocked him, shining with the light of everything Eliott knew that he was and Lucas wasn’t.

Lucas didn’t even want to give in to Eliott’s attempts to rile him, so he just rolled his eyes and moved to close the door once more, stopped by Eliott’s hand right before it closed. “What?” he hissed through his teeth.

Eliott pushed the door back open tentatively and flicked his gaze to Lucas’ eyes once before averting them again. “I was also wondering what you’d like for dinner?”

Lucas scoffed aloud and slammed the door in Eliott’s face, leaning against the back of it once the door closed. He slowly slid down until he was sitting on the floor with his back still pressed to the door. There was a dull thud on the other side of the door that Lucas might have thought was Eliott doing the same if he didn’t know better.

Knees pulled up to his chest, Lucas folded his arms on top of them and buried his face. Since it seemed Eliott would be occupying the kitchen, Lucas would not be venturing out into their shared living space for the night. Whatever. He would have to be up at quarter to five the following morning anyway to get his pre-class warm ups in, so it was probably best that he unpacked and tried to get rest as soon as possible. If it was even possible, given his awful sleeping habits. It wasn’t his fault that he averaged about three hours of sleep a night, it really wasn’t.

He popped his head up at the sound of something clanging before he realized it must be Eliott making himself something to eat. Unable and unwilling to acknowledge the boy in the room over, Lucas put in his earbuds, cranking the volume as high as it would go without bursting his eardrums and got to work, opening up one of his suitcases and searching for his sheets.

He fell into a steady rhythm, sometimes dancing along to the beat of his music as he worked, finding the monotony of unpacking to be rather calming. He nearly forgot about the fact that he was hiding from his roommate, that his roommate was Eliott, and that he didn’t know how he’d survive the year like this. Nearly.

There was a sound at one point that may have been another knock, but this time Lucas ignored it, chalking it up to the drums in the song he was listening to. If it had been a knock, he supposed he didn’t much care if the door went unanswered.

Finally, after who knew how long, everything was in its proper place and Lucas could lie back on his fully made bed, sinking into the warmth of his comforter. He checked the time and realized it was almost midnight, giving him a total of maybe five hours of sleep if he fell asleep right that moment, which, given his history, wasn’t going to happen. Wonderful.

He still had to move his toiletries to the bathroom, something he’d been avoiding doing because it involved leaving his room. There hadn’t been noise from outside since he’d taken our his earbuds, which was promising enough that he rallied himself enough to open up his door.

As he stepped out into the darkness of the living area he almost tripped on something resting by the foot of his door. Bending down to inspect, he realized that it was a bowl with a note in it.

I made pasta, the leftovers are in the fridge whenever you’re done unpacking. Sorry if you don’t like pasta, you slammed the door on me before you could tell me what you wanted for dinner. -Eliott

Great, now Eliott was probably trying to poison him. He made a point of throwing the note away, leaving it on top of all the other garbage, and returning the unused bowl to the cupboard instead of washing it under the guise of use.

Standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom a moment later, Lucas took in his reflection, from his nearly untameable hair to his wide eyes to the stern set of his jaw. This year he wasn’t going down without a fight. When they announced the production the school would be putting on tomorrow, he would fight tooth and nail to secure the lead role, leaving Eliott in the dust behind him.

It was probably hard for Eliott to imagine what the bottom was like from all the way up on his high horse, but Lucas would make sure that he knew. It was one thing to start at the bottom and work your way up, but there was no coming back from falling when you were at the top.

Tomorrow was the start of a new day, a new year, and a new Lucas. The ballet world was one of see or be seen, and Lucas was finally ready to be seen. He was not about to let Eliott ruin things for him ever again.

#skam france #elu fic #elu #lucas lallemant #eliott demaury #will be cross posted on ao3

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jawnjendes · 5 years

Text

shawn meets... | aria

SUMMARY: in the life of a rockstar, shawn mendes comes across some unique people. sometimes, things stray from the norm. (AU, shawn x every one of my oc’s)(continuation of goth gf)

AN: time jump lmao. sry in advance.

***let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist

previous chapter

aria’s [abandonded] origin story | aria’s playlist | masterlist

Eight months later.

Shawn was beyond tired. Shawn was not allowed to be tired. Shawn, the sun has almost gone down and we still have so much to do today! Stop sleeping and pay attention!

Honestly, nobody was keeping track of how many interviews had been done today. Shawn should have kept track, that way he would know how many were left before he was done for the day. He was only half listening to what his manager Andrew was saying.

“A lot of Internet stars want you these days,” he said. “This girl was the only one who had something interesting to do with you. Good thing you stayed in your sweats today.”

Oh yeah. A majority of the interviews Shawn did today were done over the phone. For some goddamn reason, he and his whole team had to move from place to place for each one. This was annoying, and this was Hollywood, apparently. At least he didn’t have to change for this interview, whatever it was going to be.

Andrew was leading the team through a plaza somewhere in Los Angeles. Shawn was just on autopilot at this point. He took a dinner break a couple of hours ago, but he just wanted to be done already. He wanted to go to bed, even if he wasn’t planning on sleeping. He couldn’t really sleep these days, and it was by choice.

The team stopped in front of a door that said “DANCE STUDIO” in white letters. As usual, Andrew made Shawn wait outside with Jake the bodyguard while the rest of the team went inside. It was a moment to let things sink in and breathe while he was almost alone. Shawn had to put on his happy mask once again, even if it was the last thing he felt.

“How you holding up?” Jake asked, watching him carefully.

Shawn knew what he was asking, but shrugged it off. “Just a little tired.”

“Nightmare,” he said with a nod.

“What? No, I don’t have those anymore.”

“I wasn’t asking, I’m telling you.”

He stayed quiet. It’s not like anything could be done about it right now. There’s other things to worry about. Andrew always told Shawn just to not think about it. Think about happier things, like walking into this damn studio.

Andrew came out of the room after a few minutes, gesturing for them to enter. Here goes another round of answering the same questions he’s been asked all day.

There were two studio lights stood on either side of a camera set up in front of the mirrors that spanned across the wall. It wasn’t the huge Hollywood set up he had gotten used to. There were chairs lined up against the wall away from the camera, and there was no crew either, just two girls handling everything. The life of YouTubers.

A blonde girl in glasses was fixing the lens on the camera, but she looked up and smiled at Shawn when he entered the room. The other girl with curly brown hair was doing the splits in the middle of the hardwood floor. She looked up as well, and was quick to get up and greet him.

"Hi! I'm Aria Mercer, it's so nice to meet you!"

Aria was very short, given that her head was tilted up to look Shawn in the eyes. She was in red sweats and a One Direction tee, making him feel better about his drab appearance.

"And I'm Sophie Jensen!" said the blonde as she approached the group. "We've heard so much about you! We love your music!"

Shawn grinned. "Thank you, it's nice to meet you too."

"So, you showed up in the appropriate attire, that's good," Aria said. "You ready to dance?"

Shawn's eyes widened. "That's what we're doing?"

"Your people didn't tell you?" Aria shot a mock disappointed look to his team, who had all collectively went to sit in the chairs against the wall. "But yeah, I'll be teaching you a few simple moves. Nothing dangerous or strenuous."

Sophie went back to the camera, looking into the viewfinder and pressing a button. "It's recording. Whenever you guys are ready."

For once, Shawn was glad Brian wasn't here to witness this. Lucky bastard got to go back to the hotel early. Still, he was going to see this in the foreseeable future, and that was enough to make Shawn nervous.

"Gotta warn you," he said to Aria, "I'm a huge klutz."

"It's okay, we'll have fun!" she reassured, and she reached over to rub his arm.

Her tiny hand left so many tingles on his skin. Shawn resisted the urge to scratch it away as Aria greeted the camera.

She didn't obnoxiously project her voice like other YouTubers. She wasn't like the rich socialites who were running the platform these days. She was a dancer, and she was bubbly and full of energy.

"Have you ever danced before?" she asked Shawn.

"I literally fall over twenty times a day," he replied. "Dancing feels out of my element, but I'm down to learning."

Aria giggled. "And you've got me as your teacher, so everything will be okay."

The first thing she taught him was the formation for a simple ballet turn. Shawn learned very quickly that standing on one leg with your toes pointed was challenging, to say the least.

"Okay, stay like that," Aria said, stepping towards him. "Let me fix your posture."

Shawn wanted to laugh, but he would lose his balance. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, Aria circling his body.

"Okay, relax your shoulders," she said, patting the area, "but squeeze your back muscles, it'll keep you straight. And squeeze your butt muscles too, it'll keep your legs straight."

She didn't touch that area, but her tiny hands were low on his hips. "Hm, so broad. You definitely have a dancer's body."

"Thanks?" he strained out.

"Elongate your neck as well, chin up."

His muscles were starting to hurt, clearly not used to having them flexed this way. He quickly gave out and lost the position.

"You do all that just when you turn?" he asked Aria.

"Claro que sí! And that's just the surface. There's spotting so you don't lose balance. And then there's the art of making it looks graceful and effortless."

With that, she did the turn. No, she did a pirouette, maybe five turns in a row. Shawn had a new appreciation for dancers now.

Aria taught him more moves, like the five positions of ballet. They were simple enough, but Shawn felt like his ankle might pop off during fifth position. He felt quite goofy with his arms up in the air, but Aria looked, as she said, graceful.

"And back to fourth, and plie," she said, bending her knees.

It looked easy, Shawn never skipped leg day. But with the position his feet were in, he was far from elegant. He couldn't help but laugh at how ridiculous he looked in the mirror.

"I take it you've danced your whole life?" he asked her.

"I have. And back to first."

"What's, like, the craziest move you can do?" he asked, now curious. He also wanted to see how flexible this girl was.

Aria tapped her finger to her chin as she thought about it. "Huh… good question. A fouette, I think. Either that, or an aerial."

"I have no idea what either of those things are, you have to show me."

An aerial, he quickly learned, is a no handed cartwheel. Aria took three large steps and practically did a front flip. Again, she was graceful as hell and made Shawn feel inadequate even though this wasn't a profession he planned to pursue.

A fouette was an incredibly complex turn that left Aria panting after she did ten in a row. She was a fucking champ.

When the video was done, the team was quick to rush Shawn, surround him, and get him to the next location. For once, he wasn't having it. He was quite taken with Aria after the short 30 minutes he spent with her.

"Wait!" he snapped, yanking his arm out of Jake's grasp. "Can't I thank our lovely host?"

Aria, who had quickly occupied herself by talking to Sophie, looked up in his direction.

"We have to go!" Andrew strictly told him.

"Just give me a minute!" Shawn said back.

With several stern looks, the team backed off. Shawn then approached Aria with more confidence than he should have had after being brutally humbled by the art of dance.

He put on his best smile. "Hey, just wanted to thank you for the experience."

"No problem." She smiled. "Showing people the way of dance is kinda my thing."

"Well, you're really good at it."

"Aw, thanks!"

Shawn looked at her, then at Sophie. Then, he gently took Aria's shoulder and led her away from the other girl. He cleared his throat before speaking again.

"Look, uh, tell me if this is too forward, but… I was wondering if you wanted to come by my hotel later tonight."

Her brown eyes widened, and then she looked down. "Dio mío. ¿En serio?"

Shawn blinked. "You just spoke Spanish."

"Sorry, I'm just a little thrown off. You're being serious?" She was blushing.

"Yeah. Kinda wanna see what else you can do with those legs." He smirked.

"Me va a dar algo," Aria mumbled. Then, she caught herself. "This is crazy."

He tilted his head. "How so?"

She chewed her lip as she looked at him. There was a look in her eyes that held the answer to his request. "You ever had like… a free pass? Like, you and your significant other talk about your crushes and which celebrity you'd go for. You're my free pass."

Shawn raised his eyebrows, flattered. "So that's a yes?"

Confliction spread on her features. "How long are you in town for?"

"I leave tomorrow." His heart started to race.

"I'll message you on Twitter later, okay? I, uh, need to see if I have something already planned."

"We have nothing planned!" called Sophie, obviously eavesdropping.

Aria's cheeks went even more pink as she looked at Shawn. "Okay, I guess I'm free!"

"Awesome. I'll send you the address." Shawn winked, even though he wasn't very good at it.

Still, Aria was beaming as she went back to her friend.

The only person who was supportive of this impulsive decision was Brian. It was a good thing Shawn brought him along on this weirdly wonderful journey. Shawn told him everything over dinner with the team, leaving out some details of the dancing part.

Brian high fived his friend. "It's about time you come back to your old self! Shawn the bachelor, revived!"

Shawn couldn't quite remember his old self. He hardly had any time to think about it. Brian sometimes reminded him of that old self, it was good to have him here.

"She was really hesitant," he said, "she might not even show up."

"But you took the initiative, and that's a good sign! Besides, if she ghosts you, it won't be hard to find someone else."

That was mildly comforting. More fish in the sea, and Shawn's sea recently expanded.

"Gotta get under someone to get over someone," Brian added.

Shawn couldn't argue with that. This Aria Mercer girl was a good place to start, given that she was completely different from the last girl he was with. This girl was smaller, and more bubbly. Flexible. Amazing curly hair. Shawn could definitely get down with someone who wears more than just one color.

If only he could find beauty in color again.

It wasn't until he was back in his hotel did Shawn start getting nervous. He sent Aria the address and his room number through a Twitter DM, forgetting to add a cheeky "can't wait to see you." After that, he jumped in the shower. Sure, it was just a measly hookup, but he wanted to be clean at least. He even made the effort to order a bottle of patrón to the room.

The bottle was delivered by the time Aria notified him of her arrival. Shawn thanked the room service person with a crisp twenty and quickly ushered them out. Shawn placed the patrón and two glasses on the table, and then checked his reflection in the mirror.

He took a deep breath to calm his nerves, but still jumped when there was a soft knock on the door. Maybe he should have waited an extra thirty seconds, because Aria still had her fist up when Shawn wandered.

She quickly put her arm down and grinned. "Hey."

"Hi. Come in," Shawn said.

His heart was pounding wildly when the two of them were officially shut inside the hotel room. Aria walked in front of him, making him get a look at her bare legs in tiny pink shorts. She placed her tiny backpack on one of chairs at the table.

Shawn noticed the golden lightning bolt and two clear circles on the pack, piquing his interest.

"You like Harry Potter?"

"Hm? Yeah!" Aria said. "I'm obsessed."

"What house are you?"

"Hufflepuff! You?"

Of course the first girl he hooks up with in months is the same Hogwarts house as-

"Gryffindor," he replied.

"Cool."

Silence fell between the two of them as they stood in front of the bed. Aria looked around the room, biting her nails. Shawn couldn't figure out how to step into the next part of this night. He wasn't typically nervous or awkward, but that was only because before this, he was getting intimate with the same person consistently. There was no reason to be nervous then.

"So, uh…" he trailed off.

"Do we just…?" Aria asked, taking a few steps closer.

Neither of them remembered hookups being this awkward.

"Do you want a drink?" Shawn asked, but Aria spoke over him.

"Come closer."

So he did, feeling his heart in his throat. Nervous energy radiated all over, it was almost suffocating. It wasn't the fun type of nervous.

"Closer," Aria said softly.

There was an inch of space left between them. Shawn was looking at her, but she wouldn't return the gaze. He gently placed his hands on her upper arms, slowly moving his head closer, bending more than usual given the height difference. This was like a bandaid that needed to be ripped off. Once that was done, then everything else could come naturally.

"I can't do this," Aria said when their noses were touching, her voice slicing through the silence like a knife.

He moved back, removing himself from her completely. His body suddenly felt much less tense, almost relieved. Before he could even think of anything to say, Aria kept talking.

"I thought I could do it because you're my free pass, and you're insanely gorgeous. But I need to be honest - I have a boyfriend."

Shawn felt his stomach drop. "You-"

"But he gave me his blessing!" Aria frantically interrupted. "I texted him, and he sent me a voice clip of his approval! You can listen if you don't believe me!"

She hurried to her Hogwarts bag, opening up the zipper and digging inside. Meanwhile, Shawn sat down on the bed, his mind spiraling.

He wouldn't have been able to do this either. Come to think of it, he wasn't even that attracted to Aria. He hardly knew her, apart from the fact that she posts dancing videos on YouTube. Hell, he didn't even think about what he wanted to do with her, he just went through the motions.

Aria turned back to Shawn, phone in hand. She stopped in her tracks, noticing his hunched shoulders. "Are you okay?"

Shawn didn't really speak of the ache in his heart to anyone. Again, there was just no time. Sometimes he was tempted to call Camila on the rare days off, but she was just as busy these days. He thought about texting Alessia, but she didn't speak to him anymore. Shawn didn't talk about it, but keeping it in wasn't doing it anymore.

"You were honest with me, so I owe you just the same," he began. "I only wanted to do this because I'm going through a breakup."

He expected her to scoff, or make some comment about how pathetic he is, but Aria simply sat down next to him. Her brown eyes were soft and sympathetic.

"Getting over someone by getting under someone." She echoed Brian's words. "I've been there."

"Hey, I'm sorry for putting you in this position-"

"It's okay," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, I did the same thing when I was twenty years old. Actually, the guy I'm dating now was one of my rebounds."

Shawn cleared his throat. "Is that how you ended up together?"

"Nah, that's a whole other story. But while we're being honest, I have to tell you. Sleeping around isn't gonna heal your broken heart. A wise man once said that numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it."

Ain't that the fucking truth. Shawn felt the ache deep in his bones. It hurt so much it knocked the wind out of him.

"Did you love that person?" Aria asked after a moment.

Shawn couldn't stop himself. "I was so in love with her. She was the first person I ever loved, and it was everything I could have asked for."

"And it feels like you'll never find that again," Aria continued, rubbing his back.

Shawn nodded and took a breath. "Look, I'm sorry I'm dumping this on you. This is probably the opposite of what you expected to happen."

To his surprise, she grinned. "You're lucky I'm nice and have a need to protect heartbroken individuals. If you had hit up my friend Sophie, she would have kicked you while you were down. Besides, sometimes it's just easier to vent to a stranger."

Well, she wasn't wrong about that. Shawn felt more ramblings bubbling up the longer he sat with her. So maybe he would end up spending the night with Aria Mercer.

"Tell me about you, though," he told her. "I don't want this whole thing to be depressing."

The two of them sat up against the headboard, chatting for a while. Shawn learned a little bit more about Aria. She's been dancing since she was a toddler, but she took a hiatus from it after graduating high school. Her favorite color is red, she's a Virgo, and she graduated from that fancy university for vloggers two years prior. That's where she met her first love.

"I got really lucky that the first guy I dated was my first real love," she explained.

"The guy you're with now?" Shawn asked.

"No. That's Joe. My first love was named Dan," she said. "I gotta say, it's been almost five years since we broke up - and I'm very happy with Joe - but a small part of me is still soft for my ex."

Shawn nodded his head as he listened. "Why did you guys break up?"

Aria opened her mouth to answer, but she gave him a look. "You first."

"Fine, but we're opening that patrón."

She giggled. "Okay. I'll pour the glasses, you start talking."

For a moment, Shawn thought about it, thought about Ann. He hasn't seen her since the breakup. He has been back to Toronto in the four months they've been apart, but he never went looking for her. Why would he?

"She… she's insanely private," he began as Aria returned to the bed with two glasses. "She didn't want me talking about her in interviews, or even to my friends. I mean, people in our circle knew about us, but she always thought I was going to tell everyone her secrets or something."

"So paranoia was the cause?"

"I wouldn't say paranoia. I know she wanted her privacy, and I tried very hard to respect it. But people still managed to find her social media and some went to the extent of following us around in public."

Aria made a face. "Oof. I know what that's like."

"Yeah. I kept waiting for her to ask me to stay before they flew me out here. Kept waiting for her to tell me to drop everything and stay with her. But she never did. She pushed me to pursue this, and she chose to stay behind."

"That shows that she really loved you. She wouldn't let you give up all of this for her. We all make sacrifices for our careers."

Those words sunk in as they both took a drink. Shawn screwed his eyes shut momentarily as the bitter taste consumed him.

"Isn't all of this supposed to be worth it?" he wondered. "I know she's not the only girl out there, and she was incredibly different from me. But I haven't gotten the studio time I was promised. I haven't written a song in weeks. All I've been doing are photoshoots and interviews!"

Aria shifted in her seat, kicking off her shoes. "Hey, it will be worth it! Look, me and my ex broke up for kinda the same thing. He's also a YouTuber, and he was gonna go on tour. He asked me to go with him, to drop out of uni, but we were already falling apart. I just knew there wouldn't be room for me in his world. So we broke up, and I stayed in school. In that time, I formed a dance group, I got to interview one of my favorite bands, and I protested the shutdown of our campus."

Shawn took another sip of his glass. "Have you talked to your ex since?"

"Nope! Actually, he came out as gay last year, and I sent him a congratulatory tweet. He didn't reply." She chuckled sheepishly before draining her glass.

The two of them looked at each other for a moment. Then, Aria made a face, screwing up her eyes.

“We’re not pretending that this is good, right?” She held up her glass.

“Hey, it cushions the blow,” Shawn replied.

She scoffed and began typing on her phone. “You like slushies? Tacos? I’m postmating Taco Bell.”

Soon enough, they were munching on a 12-pack of mediocre tacos and putting patrón in their large Mountain Dew slushies. The mood lightened a lot quicker, and soon they were talking about other things. Soon, Shawn was laughing and half the patrón was gone. Boundaries and walls were coming down.

“What band did you interview?” Shawn asked.

“Five sauce,” Aria said. “It wasn’t even an interview. I made a dance to one of their songs and taught it to them. It was a jokey-joke video, but I got to talk to them and thank them for making amazing music.”

She pulled up the video on her phone and showed it to him. It was pretty hilarious to see the members of 5 Seconds of Summer try to dance as well as Aria did. It was like the video she did with Shawn today.

“I wanna meet them,” he said wistfully. “And I wanna meet Niall Horan.”

Aria gasped. “I love One Direction! Is Niall your favorite?”

“Honey, you have no idea.”

They talked about celebrity crushes. Aria’s were Demi Lovato, Liam Payne, and, still, Shawn.

“And I still didn’t make the cut,” he joked.

Aria smacked him shoulder. “We got this far. But evidently, I love my mans too much.”

“More than your ex?”

“Oh yeah.” Aria grinned to herself.

“You said his name is Joe, right? Is he a YouTuber too?”

That was when they fell down a YouTube rabbit hole. Aria showed Shawn her boyfriend’s videos, the ones she was in prior to their relationship. Apparently, they were friends for five years before becoming an item last fall.

“I don’t wanna talk too much about my love life, though,” she said. “Y’know, knowing that yours is…”

Shawn waved it off. “Hey, I’m feeling a buzz. I love love, even if I don’t have it. Tell me, girl.”

Aria thought for a moment. “Okay, here’s a fun fact. Me and Joe saw Bella’s video that had you in it.”

He gasped softly. “Really?”

“Uh-huh! So Joe looked you up on Spotify and, and it was raining too! We had a cozy day with blankets and kissing and stuff and we listened to your music. And…” She paused, smiling softly. “When You’re Ready was playing the first time I told him that I love him.”

“Dude… that’s fucking beautiful.” Shawn placed a hand on his chest and sniffed. “I wrote that song about my ex.”

Aria scoffed. “Well, now it’s about me and Joe! It’s a Jaria song!”

Shawn was going to remember that. It’s a Jaria song.

“Why don’t you just go to him now?” he asked her.

“He lives in London,” she replied. “I want to live with him, but neither of us can agree on a place to live. He likes it hot, I like it cold. I don’t wanna be too far from family. We’ve still got our careers to think about.”

“But you were going to hook up with me?”

“Because he told me I can! Look!” She picked up her phone again and played a voice clip.

A male, British voice filled the room. “Well, how often do you get to say you fucked Shawn Mendes? Go on, love, have your fun. But if Dianne ever comes round again, I’m shooting my shot!”

“Who’s Dianne?” Shawn asked.

Aria waved it off. “No one. But do you see? I was telling you the truth. Joe and I fucked a lot in the past and fucked other people too! It’s kind of an open relationship, or… it was. I need to talk to him about that now.”

“Wow…” A memory came to mind. “My ex wanted to fuck one of the girls from Little Mix.”

Aria sat up on her knees. “I love Little Mix! I’ve choreographed so many dances to their songs!”

“Show me!”

If Aria was sober she might not have done it. She stood up in front of the bed and performed little snippets to four different Little Mix songs. She was so passionate and happy. If only she was single, and if only Shawn wasn’t hung up on some flowers…

They didn’t sleep together, but they shared a bed. They both woke up early the next morning to loud knocking on the door. Having been through this for a few months, Shawn didn’t have to guess what it was. He was probably running late to something, or the team was just in a hurry to get the day started.

“I’m sorry,” Shawn sleepily mumbled. “You’re gonna face my manager.”

“Fun,” she mumbled back.

She rolled out of bed quicker than he had anticipated. She grabbed her shoes and stumbled to her Harry Potter bag on the table. Then, she gave Shawn a salute.

“See ya round, rockstar.”

“Hey,” Shawn called as he sat up. “Thanks for sticking around. I know you didn’t have to, and I really appreciate it.”

She smiled. “Let me know when you’re in LA or London or something. Maybe you’ll get to meet Joe.”

“Yeah, I’ll let you know.”

“And listen, don’t let your people push you around all the time. They work for you. Demand more studio time if-”

More sharp knocks. Aria sighed.

“You have more power than you think,” she continued. “Demand more studio time. Demand counseling if you really need it. Don’t let them take advantage of you.”

Shawn nodded, feeling a pit in his stomach. “Thank you, Aria.” He stood up and went for a hug, his chin barely touching the top of her head. Who knew a girl that small could be so powerful?

Anyway, Aria made a quick but polite greeting to Andrew as she exited the hotel room. As soon as she was gone, the team filled her absence. Tiffany walked in pulling a clothing rack with today’s outfit choices. Anna came in with her bag of makeup and hair products, gesturing for Shawn to come sit in the chair by the table. Jake walked in looking strong and mighty as hell. Brian was the last one to enter, two coffees in hand.

He had an eager grin on his face as he approached his friend. “How was she?” he asked, handing him a coffee.

Before Shawn could answer, Andrew piped up.

“Speaking of women,” he said, “since you want to get over someone, we got someone else for you to theoretically get under. I talked to Justin on the phone last night, and he thinks it’s time everyone saw the romantic side of Shawn Mendes.”

“I don’t want a girlfriend,” Shawn said. “Actually, I have some stuff I wanna talk to you about.”

Andrew said nothing as he typed on his phone. When he finished that tasked, he disregarded everything his client had said. “You’ll like this girl. She’s a friend of yours, after all.”

next chapter

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taglist: @normalcyisoverrated-beyou @justordinaryjen @chillingbythesea @iloveshawnieboi @shawnsunflower @someoneunimportantxx

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes smut #shawn x oc #shawn meets fic #hehehehehehehehehehehehe #things are gonna get wweird after this

27 notes · View notes

the-canary · 5 years

Text

Heartbeat, Heartbreak - B.B (4/8)

Summary: Three musketeers until you started to fall in love. But, have you been living since then? (Modern!Reader/Bucky Barnes).

Prompt: “That’s disgusting. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

A/N: This for @notimetoblog‘s writing challenge. this is getting so dramatic but please enjoy. no bucky in this one, but finally some nat.

Feedback is always welcomed.

“All spare you the mundane details of that time, but, it all came full head after the 10th grade summer break. Bucky went to some space camp, Nat went to a ballet workshop -- her dad made her. And I volunteered around until my family went on our summer annual trip. When school started...something was different, they left making googly eyes at each other, spending time together without me -- they had been trading letters all summer, something I didn’t think until much later. I started feeling left behind, than that happened---”

Thor gives the two of you a skeptical eye. You were sitting in a wet dress with a bandage around your hand, the red head -also wet- sitting to his right had a bruise swelling on her right cheek. You were look at the table and she was looking at you, but what grabs your attention is the blond man looking at his phone with a smile before turning to look at the mess that you are right now.

“I’ve already called Jane,” he explains, as you give him a weary smile, “Will you be alright if I leave for my meeting and when she comes?”

“I can manage,” you say with a dry laugh as the tree of a man pats your hand gently before getting up. Dual colored eyes move from looking at you to the Natasha, as he give you that look of call me and i’ll come rushing over. You nod and with a wave he is out of the mini medical ward housed in Stark Industries.

It’s when he’s finally out of earshot that Nat speaks: “He really cares about you.”

You bite your tongue in bitterness, semi-sure of what brought her here and completely unsure about the other half. You were sure she just could have talked to James to stop what he had been doing, if she really wanted to, unless they swung that way as a married couple. You frown at what the years could have done to these two, but maybe they have always been rotted to the core?

They certainly treated you that way when they saw no more use for you.

“Are you just going to pretend I’m not here?” Nat ask, as you move just a smidgen so that you are staring at her black boots. An annoyed sigh leaves her, as you lean onto the armrest a bit more, to alleviate the pain from the hit you took rushing through the side of your body.

“Can you wait for Jane to get here?” you groan out, as you bite back -- much to her pleasure since she hadn’t heard that voice in years, “When she gets here, then you can dish whatever it is you want to -- about you, about James, whatever. Just shut up for now, please.”

You don’t see Nat’s eyes widen at the sound of your voice crack and how it gets a bit more harder to talk for you, as you mention her name and Bucky’s. Her heart drops as she watches you slide further into the chair, as if you’re trying to protect yourself from whatever may come next. She had seen it once or twice before when you were younger, a defense mechanism for when you got scared and Bucky started to tease you, though Nat never thought it would directed towards her.

Nat straightens up a bit more, as she decides to ask: “Who’s Jane exactly?”

You let out a shuddering sigh thinking of the shorter woman for a moment --the one who worried too much and had even tried to set you up with her eccentric brother-in-law once-- as you finally look at Nat. She probably knows who Jane might be, but you strike the killing blow either way.

“She’s my best friend.”

Green eyes look away, as you place your head in the plush headrest, closing your eyes and wondering how exactly you got to this point.

You’re sure its a couple of days after that lunch meeting that you ran out of and had promptly excused yourself in front of Pepper and Tony for later on. They are the first thing that you see in the morning three days after you last seen James and there were really two people in the world that knew which flowers you liked and the meaning behind them, and you were sure that Loki wouldn’t seek you out from all the way in England -- hell, you hadn’t even made it past the first date.

No, there is only one person --from that summer when you were just too into the new flower shop up the block and reading too much into Alice in Wonderland-- who knew that the bouquet of flowers meant to you. You let out a shuddering sigh, trying to stay calm and level headed --though that was becoming more difficult the more you dealt with James Barnes.

You weren’t going to deny it was nice gesture, but deep down the image of him, Natasha, and the baby she had with her that day lingered and festered in your heart like an open wound. You move a bit closer, chest feeling as heavy as cement, as you see a small note between the lilies and gardenias

Please...I just want to talk.

It’s all the note says and with that you grab the vase and throw it into the closest trash bin. You walk back out and ask the floor’s receptionist to not accept any flowers on your behalf.

The flowers keep coming everyday until the front desk seems like a well-tended garden. However, you keep moving forward without a glance towards them.

Sam keeps telling you that James won’t close the deal without talking over the final details with you. However, you keep saying no, that he can close it without you like he had done a handful of times before.

Chester Phillips eventually enters the picture and though he gives you some sterns words, he knows by now that your silence isn’t something that is so easily gained. And for a moment, it even worries the older man.

“You know, this isn’t just about the deal,” Sam tells you one day when he decides to buy you lunch in a cafe not that far from the Tower,”All that anger and sentiment that you feel towards James and this Natasha, it might just wash away when you get closure.”

You eyes turn to him, as he gives you, before taking a bite out of his burger, a smile that sinks your heart at the sight that someone --and in extension so many people-- care about you and your well-being. You shake your head.

“I wish that things like this were easier to let go of though,” you murmur before going back to eating your meal.

You think it’s only a matter of time before Natasha finds out what James has been doing and towards who it had been directed towards and while you think you are prepared to see the redhead face-to-face. It is a completely different thing when you see her waiting by the fountain area of Stark Tower, as you walk briskly and hoping that she didn’t see you or even didn’t recognize you.

“Hey!” the call of your name echoes in your ears for a moment, as you walk a bit faster than before. All the anger you might have felt decides to leave you at that moment as a cold stone causes you to run in to the building and that’s where security stops her, as you only glance for a quick second before you head to the safety of your floor.

You obviously don’t remember that Natasha was as stubborn, even more so, than you as you head outside for lunch only to see that she is still waiting near the fountain area while playing on her phone and for brief moment, you wonder where her baby could be. Though, you are sure that James made enough money to hire a good, if not permanent babysitter.

You remember what Sam told you a while back and while you couldn't stand looking at James for all he had done, Natasha --the silent variable in your dilemma-- is a completely different story, a different sort of pain that came with being a friend betrayed and thrown aside.

She probably knows that you are heading in her direction before anything else, but chooses until you are standing in front of her to look up.

“What do you want?” you asks, as green as take in your form for a moment. The changes in both of you were obvious, but it had been that red hair and green eyes that caught your attention -- Natasha had always demanded your attention in some way.

“To talk, catch up,” she states, making light of the situation in her own way like she used to. And while years ago a younger you might have laughed at that, this time --the last thing you remember before Thor pulled you out of the fountain area-- you end up pushing her straight in the freezing water behind her.

Jane come in after twenty minutes of silence between the two of you, as she glances at Natasha before huddling over on you and asking everything that had happened and if you were all right. You just nod numbly, already placing that layer of numbness over your emotions that Jane had gotten used to seeing over the years, as you give her a shaky smile.

“Are you alright —“ Jane pauses, waiting for her name even though she already knows it.

“Natasha Romanoff,” she states and while you are mildly surprised that there is no Barnes at the end of it, you wouldn’t be too surprised if she had decides to keep her maiden name. Life was so much more easier that way.

“And you are?” Nat asks back, as Jane smiles completely unaware of how the poised smile might be hiding something underneath.

“Dr. Jane Odison,” she states just as proudly as you briefly remember how pretty Jane looked the day of her wedding.

After pleasantries are exchanged a thick silence hangs between the three of you because you aren’t willing to ask what Nat wants and she seems to be assessing the situation, as Jane looks between the both of you for more than a moment.

“I didn’t know that Bucky had asked you out that night,” she admits and you scoff, making sure to show that you don’t believe her in any sense of the world. She grips her hands to her jeans.

“That certainly didn’t stop you once you found out,” you bite back, as she is thrown into silence because it’s true -- in the long run, Nat choose James in the end and without an explanation stopped talking to you all together.

“There’s more to it than that,” Nat tries her best to explain as Jane keeps a hold on your hand, “I know I never got to explain it, but I want to do so now.”

“Why so you could—“

You start off with all the bitterness and anger spilling forth ok the tip of your tongue, as Natasha slams her hand on the table in front of her causing both you and Jane to jump.

“Whatever illusion you have stuck in your head from seeing James and I that day isn’t true,” Nat says in a sort of desperation, years in the making, that you have never heard from her before, “I’m not married to James and he isn’t Rosie’s father.”

You bite your bottom lip and hold onto to Jane’s hand just a little bit tighter than before. However, the words seem to be stuck in your throat, but Jane has known you long enough to know what you might be thinking.

“If we could find somewhere calmer to speak about all this,” Jane’s blue eyes find green ones as you lay your head on her shoulder, “Then I’m sure she would be willing to listen. I’m can safely say it would be best for all three of you to get closure on this.”

Natasha sighs and agrees, as you simple nod. The two of them eventually pick a place and time that is between the Stark Tower and where you could only guess she can live now, but with so many questions and emotions running through your head, you don’t say anything as Natasha gets up after calling on a carshare, or whatever she was doing on her phone --that miraculously didn’t get destroyed-- as Jane bid her farewell a bit tersely.

“Let’s get you home,” Jane pushes you gently, as you simply nod, “Don’t worry, we can forget all about today, maybe get some movies and ice cream.”

“Sure,” you say letting out a dry laugh, as she helps you get up and you make it through one of the many hallways and into the underground parking that leads to her car.

However, it wasn’t an easy thing forget, but whether you liked it or not -- it was time to move on.

#notimetoblog550 #james buchanan barnes #Bucky Barnes #james barnes #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes modern au #bucky barnes ceo #bucky barnes childhood friends au #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fan fic #series: beat and break #fabiola trying to write

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

Pink & Purple Lipstick - Part Seven (Trixya) - Lost Imp

TW: Mentions of suicide and depression

Katya didn’t really sleep anymore, or eat much, or leave the house. Not since she realised that no matter how many times she rang her own phone from Trixie’s, no-one was going to answer on the other end. She had resigned herself to her bedroom, school becoming a foggy possibility that seemed like it existed in an alternate universe, a blissful universe where Trixie was still a part of her everyday life and everything she felt wasn’t merely numbness and self-loathing. Margarita spent her days attempting to rouse a semblance of motivation in her daughter, pleading with her to consider the idea of getting help, or getting out of the house or just getting up out of bed.

After about three miserable weeks, nothing had changed in the Zamolodchikova household and Katya’s mother was becoming desperate. She sent message upon message to the Mattels, asking them to reconsider moving Trixie away from her school district, insisting that she would keep a closer eye on their daughter, promising it would be better for everyone if the two girls remainin the same schoo together. Unsurprisingly, nothing ever came from the messages.

Friday afternoon came and went much like the last two had, uneventfully. That was, until the evening time when the doorbell rang, not once, but three times, almost in a musical fashion. Margarita moved quickly to answer the door, while Katya, who heard the noise from her bedroom, didn’t move a muscle. A soft, smiling face greeted the Russian woman in the hallway.

“Hi, Mrs Zamo” Danny said, immediately wrapping her in a quick hug.

“Hello Danny, come in” Margarita smiled.

“Thanks” Danny kicked off their scuffed converse, long hair falling in front of their face, “I just thought I would come around and check on my girlfriends.”

“Oh”

“I mean, I know I didn’t say I was coming or anything, I hope it’s cool. I just wanted to say hi, because, you know, they haven’t been in school for a while. I called here last week too, but no-one was home” Danny explained.

Margarita thought back to last Friday when she had left the house for half an hour to buy the still uneaten food that she thought her daughter might like. Katya obviously hadn’t felt the need to open the door.

“Is everything ok? I mean, are Trixie and Katya here? Are they safe?” they asked, looking slightly anxious.

“Katya is upstairs in her room. I think she should explain” Margarita said softly, “you go ahead, you know where to go.”

This feels weird Danny thought, climbing the stairs, there’s no Dolly music or horrific Russian ballet playing. They reached the top of the stairs and knocked tentatively on the bedroom door, opening it slightly when no response came from inside.

“Kats?” Danny questioned softly, spotting a mop of messy blonde hair on a pillow, “it’s me”

Rolling over in a pile of blankets to face the door, Katya opened her eyes, sitting up when she realised that it wasn’t her mother.

“Hi Dan” she mumbled, “what are you doing here?”

Danny moved to sit on the edge of the bed, “you haven’t been in school for weeks, Kats, and neither has Trixie. The last time we talked it was like, one in the morning and you were upset. I was worried.”

Katya felt a pang of guilt at the thought of bothering someone else with her problems. It’s not like she deserved any sympathy.

“Where’s Barbie?” Danny asked.

“Gone” Katya replied simply.

“What do you mean gone?” Danny’s eyebrows knitted together, trying to figure out what the hell was happening.

“She’s in Texas”

“Why? What the fuck is going on Katya?”

“Jesus Danny, I don’t know. My best fucking friend is gone to live with her bigoted, homophobic parents on a military base in Texas because they figured out that she isn’t a boring fucking straight, Christian, robot who does what she’s told when she’s told like we’re in the nineteenth century. And I don’t know how to function anymore and I haven’t showered in days and I can’t remember the last time I ate or changed or left the house or even fucking felt something” Katya blurted out, unable to restrain herself from vomiting out a string of words that gave an abbreviated, though somewhat accurate summary of the last few weeks.

“Ok, wow, Kats, you have to calm down for a second” Danny instructed, noticing how immediately laboured her breathing had become, “you have to breathe, babe,” they said, moving to sit next to Katya, coaxing deeper, slower breaths from her.

They sat together for a while, Danny’s arm around Katya’s shoulder as she leaned into her friend, copying a familiar breathing pattern that she had been through countless times with Trixie by her side.

“Honey, when was the last time you slept?” Danny asked quietly when they could finally get a closer look at Katya’s face, dark under eyes and red tinted pupils staring back at them.

“I don’t know. I nap here and there” Katya admitted, covering her own face with her hands and rubbing her eyes roughly.

Gripping her wrists gently, Danny met their friends gaze once more, “I want you to know that I say this with all my love”, they began, “but girl, you smell like shit.”

Smiling softly for the first time in weeks, Katya actually laughed, “you bitch, I smell how I feel.”

“Russian hooker?” Danny teased.

“Fuck off.”

“But seriously, this can’t be healthy, babe. You need to look after yourself first, then we can talk. Why don’t you shower and change and I’ll get food?” Danny bargained, hoping that they could get somewhere with Katya. It was blatantly evident that things in the Zamolodchikova household had gotten to a bad place.

Becoming more subdued again, Katya’s demeanour shifted from the momentary glimpse of her old self back into the depressed mess it had been a minute ago, “I don’t want to” she mumbled.

“I know it’s hard, honey, but I need you to try. You can’t live like this, it’s so far from healthy for you. And I’m worried.”

“No, Danny, I can’t” Katya reiterated, curling her legs into her chest.

“Why not, Kats? Just a quick shower, five minutes, I swear.” Danny pleaded.

“I don’t deserve it”

That sentence caught Danny off guard. They had never seen Katya like this and strongly doubted that she had ever behaved like this before.

“Katya, I really need you to hear what I am saying to you, that is bullshit. Whatever had happened to you, and whatever has happened to Trixie, nothing is bad enough to warrant you thinking that you don’t deserve to take care of yourself.” Danny said firmly.

“But –“

“No buts. None. If we’re going to help Trixie and work all this out, you need to have washed, eaten and slept. You’re not going to die on me now, Zamo, I’m too emotionally invested.”

Realising that fighting with Danny was going to get her nowhere, given that they were even more stubborn than she was, Katya nodded slowly and lifted herself out of bed.

“Easy peasy” Danny smiled, “five minutes in the shower and I’ll grab you clothes and order a pizza, ok?”

“Ok”

Danny was right. Ten minutes later and a damp-haired, exhausted-looking Katya opened the door to the bathroom, swamped in an oversized hoodie and a pair of leggings. She was wrapped in a tight hug as her friend took her hand and led her down the stairs, sitting her on the couch.

Margarita walked into the living room from the kitchen and looked as if she had seen a ghost. She gave Danny a look of awe and moved to give her daughter a quick hug before she could stop herself, needing some form of release for all the relief she felt.

“Can I get you anything, Любовь моя?” Margarita asked her daughter, who hadn’t descended the stairs in four days.

Katya just shook her head.

“Actually, Mrs Zamo, I kind of ordered a pizza for us and –“

“Oh, how much does it cost? Thirty, or forty, no, fifty dollars? Did you order enough? I can make something for you as well?” she rushed to grab fifty dollars from her purse.

“Twenty dollars will cover it, no problem. And don’t worry, I got plenty” Danny smiled.

“Thank you” Margarita mouthed.

Danny grinned back, returning to sit beside Katya, who looked as though she could fall asleep at any moment. She melted into her friend, curled into a tight ball desperate for the comfort that Danny’s presence brought her, where she stayed until Margarita came into the room with two large pizza boxes.

“I got veggie and plain cheese,” Danny said, opening up the cardboard and pulling a slice from one of the pizzas for themselves.

Reluctantly, Katya took a piece of vegetarian pizza and nibbled on the bottom of it, realising just how hungry she was, given that she was eating her first food item of the day at six thirty in the evening.

“So you want to explain to me what happened after Christmas?” Danny asked through a mouthful of crust, “because whatever is going on here is just not right. I’ve never seen you like this, Kats, no matter how bad of a day you’re having.”

Slowly but surely, Katya obliged, telling Danny about Mrs Mattel overhearing the messages read aloud from their group chat, Trixie talking about dying her hair and sleeping in Katya’s room. This all sounded completely normal to Danny, but they tried their best to comprehend the reaction that Trixie’s mother would have had to the situation. Katya strategically neglected any mention of kissing or sexuality, deciding that that was a conversation for another time. She then explained what had happened the following morning, Trixie feeling so ashamed that she had let her parents down by living a life that made her happy.

“So now Trixie is stuck somewhere in Texas without a phone or anything, and she doesn’t want to see me, or I don’t know, she thinks she should be there, I’m not sure. I can’t fix this.” Katya finished her sentence as she finished her third slice of pizza that she had unconsciously been eating as she spoke.

Danny took a minute to process all the information they had just received, but something just wasn’t sitting right. They could understand how Trixie had felt ashamed of herself while her parents were there, or even how she felt she needed to leave with them. Her parents had immense control over her once they were all in the same room together. What Danny couldn’t work out was how Katya, who was usually so energetic and enigmatic, had been reduced to a shell of herself, too depressed to function in her everyday life. They weren’t being shown the full picture but were hesitant in pushing for more answers.

“Ok, so Trixie chose to go with her parents?”

“No. Yes. I mean, not really. She told me she had to go. But that’s because they made her feel horrible about herself and her life.” Katya explained.

“Ok,” Danny paused for a minute, “and did something else happen to you in all this?”

Katya visibly tensed.

“Because, its just that the last time we talked, you called me and something was wrong, Katya, and you didn’t tell me what was going on. You promised you would talk to Trixie, did you?”

Katya shook her head slowly, recalling the slew of texts that had bombarded her phone that night when she couldn’t have piled even more of her shit on Trixie as if she hadn’t made her best friends’ life confusing enough without adding her abusive ex to the mix.

“I think you need to talk to me, babe. Something just isn’t right with you. Trixie being taken away, that’s awful, and we’ll figure out how to help her, but I don’t think that’s what caused all of this” Danny admitted, motioning to Katya herself, “and it’s scaring me how unhappy you are. You’re not ok” they finished, pulling nervously at the rip in the knee of their jeans.

Katya knew Danny was right, but it suddenly all felt too much for her to handle. The pizza wasn’t sitting well in her stomach and she had a funny taste in her mouth and her wet hair was damp on her back and Danny was asking too many questions and she felt disgusted that she had let herself give them this much information and she couldn’t stand herself any longer.

“You should go now, Danny, please. I don’t feel good. This pizza is making me sick.” Katya blurted, standing up from the couch and running towards the bathroom, locking the door firmly behind her.

Leaning over the toilet, she felt her stomach lurch. Look at yourself Katya thought, this is absolutely disgusting. You are so sick of yourself that you are physically vomiting. She could hear Danny knocking softly on the door, pleading with her to let them in.

You absolute fuck up, all you’re doing is hurting everyone around you.

She remained locked in the bathroom until she finally heard Danny leaving, fifty minutes later. Dragging herself up the stairs and back into her room, Katya took a long look at herself in the mirror before crawling under the mountain of dark blankets that had become her new home. She let her mind wander to the thought of her best friend, laying alone in a bed on the other side of the country, hurt and confused, all because of her.

Maybe if I’m lucky, I won’t wake up tomorrow morning, maybe this world will finally let me die.

#rpdr fanfiction #trixya #lost imp #trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #tw mentions of suicide #tw mentions of depression #submission #pink and purple lipstick #high school au #lesbian au

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rylie-barton · 5 years

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⌜ CIS FEMALE, SHE / HER | the hearse by matt maeson, gryffindor, infp ⌟ ⏤ meet RYLIE NATALIA BARTON ; a TWENTY TWO year old who kind of resembles WILLA HOLLAND, don’t you think? she originally hailed from NEW YORK CITY where she lived with her parents, CLINT BARTON & NATASHA ROMANOFF ( MARVEL ), but word is that she’s been making strides to rejoin shield and finish her law degree this past year. she’s always been pretty AUDACIOUS & COMPASSIONATE, but has gotten way more CODEPENDENT & PRIDEFUL since she woke up. maybe her ability of WEAPON PROFICIENCY and power of INNATE COMBAT can help in taking down the dome. you can check out her stat page HERE& her pinterest board HERE.

i was a woman who thought only of dead things ( all the time ). i couldn’t HELP it.

part one of two : the backstory. ( trigger warnings for talk of death, drug / alcohol abuse.

born on july 21st, 1996, to clint barton & barbara morse. the youngest of three children, lewis and callum were five and nine respectively at the time of her birth.

her mother and brothers died in a house fire when she was just three months old ; the files concerning the accident are blacked out and encrypted, and the story given to rylie amounts to ‘your mother went missing in action.’

understandably, she’s always wanted to know more ; unfortunately, she’s never had the means in which to find anything out.

raised by clint. really loved, but vaguely overprotected. ‘aunt nat’ was in her life from minute one, essentially, a shoulder for clint to lean on and a motherly presence that rylie found she craved. in time, they got married. it never felt anything but natural.

she was raised alongside the rest of the next gen ; troy banner, dan rogers, calder thorson & phoebe stark. they were and remain the closest thing to siblings that rylie has ever had, and as the youngest, she got to annoy them endlessly and still be assured that whatever may have happened down the line, they would always have her back.

as a little girl, rylie’s dreams amounted to little more than being the prima balllerina of her company. if she couldn’t be that, she would have settled for being an award winning pianist. she was a remarkably ordinary little girl, the only thing completely out of the norm about her being the fact that her father had her trained from the time she could walk to use a weapon, and her stepmother had her taught well how to fight.

her time in school was... tough, to put it mildly. she was homeschooled at certain points, and moved around a lot for others. kids could be cruel, and rylie’s self esteem was never destined to be that good.

rylie’s lift changing can be pinpointed as the moment that shield enlisted her, along with the rest of the next gen. she was just a LITTLE KID - playing dress up in between recitals, saving the world before she’d ever really even lived in it. they were kids trained for war. how could any of them have ever been well adjusted?

she dropped out of ballet. she stopped attending her piano lessons. the only thing that mattered was working with her team. how stupid she feels, now, to have been so caught up in trying to be an adult that she forgot to have a childhood.

her friends meant EVERYTHING to her.

she started attending the same school as phoebe because the other girl made a strong case to clint for rylie, so she wouldn’t have to go through another year of torment. she didn’t just LOVE her. she wanted to be her. to compare to the beautiful and intelligent and utterly flawless phoebe stark was something that she always knew would be impossible, but tried to do, anyway.

troy was her BIG BROTHER. he still is. when she was scared of storms, he would stay awake and hold her through the night to help her through. they teased one another mercilessly, but at the end of the day, they always knew just how much they loved one another - it was all in good spirit, and at points, it was what both of them needed.

daniel, the voice of reason - not just for rylie, but for everyone. she always looked up to him, both as a leader and as a friend. he made good calls. he tried to do right by everyone. it wasn’t easy to do - and looking back, rylie hates how it all rested on his shoulders when he was just a KID - but he did it anyway.

and calder...- she’s always loved him, even when it was difficult. back then, it wasn’t. he was always a stoic, but how much he loved them all was evident. he was her training partner and best friend, always present, even when he didn’t know what to say, or do.

the five of them were like some kind of mismatched breakfast club, but no one in the world understood what it was like to grow up with heroes for parents as well as they did.

and then PHOEBE died. rylie was sixteen years old. the rest of them weren’t much older. loki attacked avengers tower while their parents were away on a mission, and she tried to protect calder ; it wasn’t anybody’s fault except loki’s that she fell that day, but they all shouldered the guilt regardless. rylie never was the same.

in the months after, rylie tried to numb the pain, the responsibility. she couldn’t sleep, so she took pills that were meant to help. when they didn’t, she took more. the subsequent overdose was swept under the carpet, the choice to send her to wda alongside the rest of the guys their way of trying to bring some life back to her, after. it was phoebe’s dream they were living, after all. maybe being there with them would help.

believe it or not : it DIDN’T. walt disney academy was living under the threat of the darkness at the time, and rylie was one of many students who fell victim. while on a mission with shield in late 2014, she was shot ; it was a horrible event that weakened rylie more than just in her resolve, and months later, the darkness took hold. under its influence, she hurt people that she didn’t know, and she hurt one’s that she did, too. her freedom was temporary, she and many other students were taken over once more, and troy saved the day by drawing out the good ; but enough had been enough.

rylie turned to alcohol. the rest was history. she drank to sleep. she drank to get herself through the day. she drank when she was happy, when she was achingly sad, when she was just trying to feel something. she would go on weekend benders that bled into the weeknights when the littlest inconvenience happened, and drunk, she made some truly horrible decisions with some truly terrible people. she kept hurting the people she loved. she kept ruining her relationships. it became a cycle, wash and repeat.

whatever she might have had with emmett wicks, a rock she leant on during the early darkness saga, was gone as quick as it came. rylie got too involved too quick with alexander kaligaris, with disastrous results. we know how unhealthy that particular relationship turned out.

shield suspended her from active duty in early 2017. she was over the legal limit to drive and still thought she could go on a mission for them, and she could have gotten her whole team killed. she didn’t, but it didn’t matter. they were right to do what they did, but rylie took it personally ; she lashed out. she made bad choices. she had lost the ONLY thing she really had left. her father wanted to pull her from school to try and help, and she point blank refused. it caused a rift between them, for understandable reasons. without her dad, without her family, without many of her friends - rylie just got worse.

in the summer of ‘17, the school suffered from an earthquake during prom. rylie took a hard fall, and the resulting head trauma damaged her eardrum. it wasn’t her father coming back to support her during the subsequent operation to try and fix it that gave rylie a wake up call. it was her pregnancy, discovered a few weeks later ; rylie always loved, and alex always left. one mistake from the two of them caused a bigger one that spooked her. rylie made the choice to have an abortion. she took control of her own life, for once, instead of allowing it spin even more out of control - and she started attending alcoholics anonymous, almost immediately after.

part two of two : what u missed on glee.

rylie has been sober for 21 months and counting. it’s as hard for me to believe it as it is for you all, i’m sure ; but she’s been doing BETTER. she’s been back training, brushing up on some old skills that she let get rusty. she’s healthy, too, the sallow look to her skin that everyone got accustomed to long gone. to say it was easy for her, or that she didn’t have moments of doubts, would be... totally incorrect. she’s just been fighting through.

she was one more bad month away from flunking out of her law degree, the last time y’all saw her ; but she’s picked up in the past year, really knuckling down to try and catch up, for one, and do better, for another. she’s still worried that she’s going to have to do an extra year, to finish, but she’s dedicated to doing so if she’s GOTTA.

her relationship with her father? fixed. clint has always put rylie above all else, and never would have even required the apologies she gave, really. likewise with the relationship she has with natasha. both of them forgive her for her weakness, though it’s unlikely that rylie ever will. we love on ( 1 ) girl with a guilt complex.

the one thing that ISN’T fixed is her hearing, at least not 100%. she has a loss of fifty nine db in her right ear, and that’s probably never going to change. it makes her and her father even more alike, though i’m sure clint would have rathered the similarities not be so much.

as of right now, she’s prepping for a hearing with the board of directors at shield on whether she should be reinstated as an active agent. she’s passed all of the physicals, and she’s been in therapy for about as long as she’s been sober, working through her issues. she’s still got miles to go, but they’re certainly optimistic. rylie moved past feeling hard done by a long time ago, and now she just... wants to be a part of the agency, again, in a way where she can actually be of help.

#wda: intro #do u know how hard it is to abridge rylie's life #it's so unfortunate #about rylie

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