#I don’t have cheese in the house now so no cheese stealing for baby

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

So, I am hesitantly starting to believe that this new food is working for my cat. After the last time I tried to change his food I’ve been nervous. He used to be able to switch brands and types whenever, but he’s older now and has a pickier tummy, and I can’t trust what he decides to eat because the last time he was excited about a new food it turned out he was violently allergic (but luckily not in an anaphylactic shock way) yet he still ate it so fast and picked the new pieces out of the mix of new and old food because he loved the flavor so much 🤦‍♀️ I can’t trust what his reaction to new food when it comes to eagerness because he acts like those lactose intolerant people who still eat ice cream.

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Hey! I love your writing. Could I please request a fluff piece when Iris is till a baby and Joel is on dad duty? Idk just something really fluffy where he just enjoys being a dad and also Sarah helping?

Dad Duty

pairing: elementary!joel miller x f!reader

rating: F (no outbreak au, talks of diapers and poop because infants are a mess, elementary!joel being the best dad/husband in the world, talks of being drunk/alcohol consumption)

wc: <1k

a/n: sorry for the delayed wait on this, anon! i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless 🫶🏼

series masterlist | joel masterlist

“Are you sure you’ve got everything?” you asked, standing by the front door in a “going out” outfit for the first time since your daughter had been born six months ago. “I can cancel.”

Joel shook his head sternly as he and Sarah sat on the couch, Iris fast asleep in his arms.

“It’s your best friend’s birthday,” he said. “I won’t hear the end of it from her if she suspects you cancelled all because you don’t think I can handle a six-month old.”

“Of course I think you can handle it,” you said, offering him a sweet smile as you grabbed your purse. “I just feel guilty—“

“Baby,” he sighed, tilting his head at you. “Iris ain’t gonna remember you goin’ out one time when she was six months old.”

“I know, but—“

“No buts,” he said. “Get your fine ass out there, and take a couple shots for me while you’re at it.”

“Besides,” Sarah chimed in, pulling your eyes to hers. “I’m here as backup. Go have fun for once.”

Letting out a deep exhale, you nodded, agreeing to bury your guilt over leaving your daughter behind for the first time. “Fine. But if you need me—“

“Baby,” Joel chuckled. “We got it. Go get hammered.”

Walking over to him, you leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Thank you. I love you.”

“Love you more,” he said, tilting your chin so that he could steal a quick peck on your lips, careful not to smudge your lipstick. “Go on now before they start honkin’ and wake baby girl up.”

“Alright,” you said, walking over to the door. “Sarah, don’t let your dad try to cook anything. I’d hate to come back to ashes.”

“Already on it.”

“Sarah!” Joel called from the upstairs nursery, Iris on the changing table in front of him making the biggest and grossest mess he’d ever encountered in his tenure as a father. “We got any more wipes?”

Sarah was already laughing when she walked in, carrying a new pack of wipes in hand before she witnessed the scene in front of her and started to gag.

“I’m never having a kid,” she said, covering her nose with her t-shirt.

“This ain’t the usual,” Joel said, shaking his head as he tried his best to clean up his very wiggly daughter. “Stay still, baby girl. It’s—Jesus, Iris. How’d it get in your hair?”

“I’m not even sure a bath will fix this,” Sarah said, looking disgusted. “I think we have to take her back and get a brand new baby.”

“Your mom would notice,” he said. “Otherwise, ain’t too bad an idea.”

After a thorough cleaning that left Joel scarred, Iris was set down in her activity chair down in the living room, her favorite nonsensical cartoon on while Sarah helped Joel cook some mac and cheese for dinner, her babbles filing the home.

“And to think she thought the house would catch on fire if I tried to cook,” he said, smiling at the thought of you.

“Well, in fairness it has almost happened before,” she said, earning an offended look from her father. “You don’t remember the fork in the microwave incident?”

“Shit,” he cursed, shaking his head. “You’re right. But in my defense, someone left it in my takeout box.”

“Yeah, you.” Joel chuckled, amused by her wit. “But to pad your stats, we can lie and say you made dinner tonight.”

“No, she’d expect me to start cookin’ then,” he said. “I may have pulled a miracle tonight, but my battin’ average ain’t great. Do you want to take the chance of house burnin’ down?”

“Good point.”

“Exactly. You’re takin’ the credit for this work of art.” Joel pointed at the pot of artificial cheese goodness. “How in the world am I hungry after cleaning up Iris’s shi—“

“Dad,” she winced. “I just got the image out of my mind.”

“If I gotta remember it, you do too, baby girl.”

It was midnight by the time you stumbled in, waving your best friend and her designated driver-slash-husband goodbye as you cracked the front door open before heading inside. To your surprise, Joel was still awake and rocking Iris to sleep in his arms, though judging by the heavy blink of his eyelids, he was barely hanging on.

“Hey baby,” he said with a smile as you stumbled your way over to the couch as quietly and gracefully as you could to sit down beside him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “How was it?”

“I’m drunk,” you confessed, your voice raspy from singing along to the club’s music. “And hungry.”

“Well, lucky for you, Sarah made dinner,” he said, standing up with Iris and setting her down in her rocker before holding his hand out for you. “Come on, you drunkard.”

“How were the girls?” you asked, clasping your hand in his as he guided you to the kitchen table to have a seat while he warmed up tonight’s leftovers.

“A piece of cake,” he said, shooting you a smile from over his shoulder. “Iris had one very messy diaper incident, but besides that, she was an angel. Just like her mom.”

“Hey, I won’t be having any messy diaper incidents for another fifty years or so,” you joked, earning another grin. “You gonna love me when I’m wearing a diaper?”

“Baby, I’m older than you,” he reminded. “If you’re wearin’ a diaper, so am I.”

“Oh, I can’t wait,” you mused with a wide, drunken grin. “You can save your payback for then, have Iris see how it feels.”

“I like the way you think, baby,” he chuckled. “But I love her too much to make her go through what I went through earlier. I think I’m gonna need therapy after that.”

You stood up, finding your way over to him to wrap your arms around his waist and hug his back, too in love with him not to touch him.

“Thank you for tonight. I didn’t know how much I needed it,” you said, humming as Joel’s hand lowered from the pot on the stove to run over your forearm wrapped around his middle. “How about next weekend I watch the girls so you can have a night out?”

“Maybe one of these days we’ll both get to go out,” he chuckled. “Until then, I’m good stayin’ at home with my girls.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Carpe Noctem 21

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, gaslighting, manipulation, violence, blood, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (short!reader)

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

As you come home, the house is seemingly empty. You sneak up to the guest room and tuck your bag beside the bed, your apron buried inside. After a long day of steaming milk and trying to perfect your latte art, you don’t have the energy to reveal the truth. It’s better he doesn’t know. He’d agree, he probably doesn’t even care.

That’s your real problem. You just need to accept that other people don’t care as much as you. That’s not a flaw in you, it just means you need to adjust your expectations. Or maybe just see things for what they are. Honesty would save you a lot of disappointment.

You go downstairs and lazily pluck out ingredients from the pantry and fridge. You always found cooking relaxing. A clear goal with small steps. Not to mention, the kitchen is much bigger than your boxy apartment. You’ll enjoy the luxury while you can.

You fill the pot and the aromas mingle fragrantly, tugging at your stomach. Even after tasting nearly every dessert in the cafe, you’re starving. You stir the mixture and open the bag of tortilla chips nestled away in the cupboard.

“Don’t eat those all,” Lloyd startles you.

You look at him over your shoulder, “won’t. They’re just to go with the soup.”

“Soup?” He glances at the stove and you pull down two bowls.

“Tortilla soup. My specialty.”

“Really? I was just going to order from The Duke.”

“That’s expensive,” you say, “there’ll be lots of leftovers so–”

“Leftovers?”

“Save some money–”

“Not really something I’m worried about, baby cakes,” he crosses the kitchen and sniffs emphatically at the stove, “tomato-ey.”

“Well, if you don’t like it, I can freeze it. I’ll take it for lunch–”

“Why are you doing this?” He asks abruptly.

“Why am I… cooking?”

“Yes.”

“Well, because we need to eat,” you say as if it’s obvious.

“We? You’re… not my mother. Or wife.”

“Clearly,” you agree. “I’ll replace the ingredients. Sorry, I just thought… maybe a nice gesture since I’m staying here.”

“Nice gesture. I got a few of those in mind but they don’t include a hot stove.”

You glance over at him. Right, yeah, you’re a body to him, not anything else. You realise now, it was the same with Johnny. You were just a thing to him. You cleaned up, you cooked, but he never really looked after you.

“The soup won’t take long,” you assure him.

He takes a breath and sighs, drawing close, looming over you as you take out the cheese shredder. He watches as you unwrap the cheese and grate it. You don’t know what else to do but keep going. You feel like you’ve crossed some line you can’t see.

“I just want us to be clear,” he taps his fingers on the counter, “this isn’t… serious. Us, I mean. There’s no us. Not outside the bedroom. Got it?”

You frown, “I know that. I’m not stupid. And I certainly am not interested in that.”

He’s quiet as he drags his hand off the counter. He exhales, “good to know. We understand each other.”

“We do,” you nod.

You wrap up the unused cheese. As you do, he reaches to steal a pinch of the shredded cheese. You instinctively swat his hand away and he recoils.

“Eh,” he shoves the cheese in his mouth.

“You didn’t wash your hands,” you accuse him.

“You’ve had worse than my hands near your mouth–”

“Jeez,” you huff, “you’re going to make a mess.” 

You move the plate of cheese across the counter and tidy up the few stray pieces across the counter. You toss them in the pin and take a cloth to wipe down the marble. He lurks, pacing around the kitchen.

“I’ll have extra chips with mine,” he nears the door, pausing as you sense him watching you but don’t look. “I’ll figure out dessert, baby face.”

🍷

The next day you don’t bother making yourself coffee. You’ll have more than your share at the cafe. You dress and leave at the usual time, parking a block away from the shop and walking the rest of the way. 

As you approach, you see Cole ahead of you. He unlocks the front door and glances over with a smile. He waves as he tugs with his other hand. He turns his attention back to the door and struggles to dislodge the keys.

You come close and watch him wiggle and jiggle the key ring.

“Dang thing gets stuck every day,” he shakes his head.

“Can I try?” You offer.

“Sure,” he steps back,throwing his hands up in exasperation, “not as strong as I look, I guess.”

You don’t comment. He’s tall and even under his corduroy jacket, you can tell he’s in good shape. You grab the end of the key and give it a small wiggle, sliding it out easily. Not much force, just a bit of finesse.

“You don’t have to be strong,” you offer him the keys, “just have to coax it a little.”

“Thanks,” he takes the keys, his fingers brushing yours, “you’re a godsend. I swear. I think… call me crazy, but last night I was telling my ma that you were sent to us for a reason.”

“You did?” You ask as he reaches around you to open the door, waving you in ahead of him.

You enter and he follows, pulling the door shut to lock from the inside.

“Oh, yeah, I mean, I’ve been interviewing like crazy. Most of the staff lasts a day and gives up but I can tell… you’re committed,” his sleeve touches yours as he passes, putting his passenger bag on the countertop as he stretches and looks around, “well, you want a coffee before we go through opening?”

“I’d love that but I can wait if–”

“Nah, we got plenty of time,” he interjects, “besides, that’s one of the steps. We do a batch medium and dark roast before opening so we’re ready to serve when doors open.”

“Oh, makes sense,” you peer around and set to taking the chairs down of the tables and set them right.

“I’ll get those,” he insists, “please. Lady’s shouldn’t be doing all that.”

You hesitate as you place another chair on its legs. You glance over at him as moves behind the counter. The comment isn’t exactly HR friendly but you don’t think he means anything. He’s just the type who likes to wear shining armor. 

“I don’t mind.”

“I do,” he insists as he approaches the till, “come on. Let’s make the coffee.”

You step away from the tables. He is your boss. You go around the counter into the narrow space behind it. You forgot how cramped it is here.

“You wanna put your stuff in my office?” He asks as he prods the bag slung from your shoulder, “I’ll get this warmed up.”

“Oh, I guess…”

Here, the brass key,” he hands over the keyring, “you can leave those on the desk.”

“Right.”

You take the keys and go through the kitchen and turn into the small hallway between that and the storage room. You go to the office door with the peeling paint and the worn side that reads management. This place needs a lot of work.

You let yourself into the office and set the keys on the corner of the desk. You put your coat and bag in the chair against the wall, eyeing the picture of a younger Cole and who you assume are his parents. The backdrop is grassy and bright. He’s smiling that same sunshiny smile. You wonder how he’s held onto that.

You close the door behind you as you head back. You can hear him humming as you come down the hallway. Is that Frankie Valli?

[anincompletelist]

hi friends! :D

if you were looking for even more opinions on the internet today, you've come to the right place! jfhgsjhgf thank you for all of the tags, I'm giving you a big hug underneath the cut <3

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[ Cakegate or the Great Turkey Calamity | Red Room or tack room | strumpet or biscuit | Don’t Stop Me Now or Your Song | Yes, good, carry on or We all must learn and grow | Prince Buttercup or Hoe Dameron | Henry runs on NYE or Henry runs from the lake house | I am very, very gay or Bisexuality truly is a rich and complex tapestry | fire under your ass for no good goddamn reason or bottom of the pie crust chat | baby or sweetheart | The whole bloody time or set me on fire | Empire Strikes Back or Return of the Jedi | AN INCOMPLETE LIST or your body comes back to me in dreams | burgundy velvet suit or midnight-blue bomber jacket | bad metaphors about maps or hometown stuff | obtuse fucking asshole or then fucking have me | America: He is my choice or Never tell me the odds | sería una mentira porque no sería él or history, huh? | I’m never gonna love anybody in the world like I love you or I love him on purpose ]

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thank you so much for the fun game friend! and for the folks who tagged me as well:

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xx

[catindabag]

Some extra “facts” and interesting weird info about a certain self proclaimed tiger lady house cat in my TBOSAS on Crack!AU.

One of my great THG buddies was asking about Tigris Snow and her weird cheese addiction. So I just had to write some things down before I write my next short take.

Tigris Snow is extremely addicted to cheese. She’s a certified cheese addict and “cheese thief” since the day she and her little cousin (Coryo) lost their marbles after the war ended.🧀

No one knows why, but little Tigris Snow claimed that the “cheese fairies” came to her in a dream one day and saved her and her little cousin from death and starvation.

Don’t worry. Crazy Coryo Snow doesn’t mind that his poor cousin is addicted to cheese and believes in some “mythical” cheese fairies. He has his own addictions (cabbages) and problems (Highbottom & Dr. Gaul) to worry about.

In truth, Coryo’s “mythical” cabbage deities and lima bean elves commanded him to ignore the “calling of the cheese” in order to stay pretty for his sugar daddy (Sejanus).

At least both of them inherited their family’s rare ability to bargain with wild animals. They can even converse with “sacred” rabid raccoons, poisonous snakes, and wild squirrels without getting attacked.

Meanwhile, the Creeds can talk to sewer rats and fat chinchillas for some reason.

And the Ravinstills have a rare ability to command an army of Bichon Frisé puppies to do their dirty jobs for them.

Sadly, Tigris was recently fired by Fabricia Whatnot for secretly stealing and eating expensive cheese cubes and cheddar chicken sandwiches all day.

She said that her cheese fairies made her do it. A food sacrifice must be made before the “hour of the owl” in order to satisfy the ancient cheese deities of the “Golden Arches” (McDonald’s) who once ruled Panem (America) even before it existed.

Moreover, our sweet tiger was actually sewing and hiding little cheese cubes inside some of the dresses on accident purpose without Fabricia noticing. Her co-workers didn’t even know about the cheese cubes until some unfortunate lady complained about the smell.😔

That’s why our dear Tigris Snow is currently unemployed and living her best happy-go-lucky “house cat” life in Corso.

But crazy unemployed Nero Price is her worst nightmare. He’s a self proclaimed werewolf who howls at the moon all night.

She’s a poor skinny cat and Price is a crazy werewolf who runs around the city (like a wild dog) looking for rabid raccoons and Peacekeepers to fight. So it’s better for the tiger to stay home with the Grandma’am.

At least her little cousin (Coryo) buys her the best cheese tarts and sugar sticks after school (using his rich sugar daddy’s money of course).

So yeah. Tigris Snow is now the NEET (not in education, employment or training) Cat Queen in this weird universe.

However, the Grandma’am doesn’t mind. She already has big plans with old Strabo Plinth to rule Panem from the shadows after Coryo marries into the Plinth family and their fortune.

And yes, our poor malnourish looking Cabbage Boy (Coryo) is actually the real breadwinner of the family.

Coryo marrying his long time sugar daddy boyfriend (Sejanus) was the best decision he and his family ever made.🥰

At least love-struck Sejanus Plinth was willing to pay for his poor sugar baby’s bills, rent, and groceries.

So after Coryo and Seji Pie got married and had their 24 (and more) babies, crazy cat auntie Tigris decided to finally settle down and became an official cheese merchant in Corso.

She (now) even has the time to talk to her mythical cheese fairy friends without being interrupted by evil Fabricia Whatnot.

She, along with Ma Plinth also like to spend old Strabo Plinth’s filthy money on the sweetest cheesecakes and weird looking clothing hangers every weekend.

Unfortunately, Ma Plinth is the only sane person who believes in Tigris Snow’s little cheese fairy friends.

Ma even joined Tigris Snow’s little secret organization called ✨The Cult of The Golden Arches✨. But to be fair, crazy Palmyra Monty and Festus Creed are the only other official members of her cult.

Too bad. Nobody could see those little cheese fairies except for Tigris and Coryo.

However, poor crazy Coryo likes to ignore his cousin’s mythical “beasts” because he claims that his cabbage deities and lima bean elves don’t want him to bow and worship some weird annoying creatures who divided the old world with their “Golden Arches” (McDonald’s).

Reject the cheese! Bow before the cabbage!

Yeah, I know. The poor Snow cousins are unashamedly crazy and delusional with their cheese fairies, ancient food deities, sacred animals, talking cabbages, and lima bean elves.😂

But don’t be sad. Our crazy cheese tiger is still into fashion and making clothes for her little cousin and his 24 (and more) gorgeous children with Sejanus.

But selling and eating cheese is her true passion and calling (in this life anyway).🧀

[d1g1tald1saster]

A lot of QSMP incorrect quotes

prepare yourself

Slimecicle: I would never say that my wife is a bitch and I don’t don’t like them. That’s not true… My wife is a bitch and I like them so much!

Foolish: Yum, thanks! 

Kidnapper: *puts more tape over their mouth* I said stop eating it. 

Etoiles: The ‘how the fucks’ and 'why are you so dumbs’ don’t matter. All that matters is that I have a new gun. 

Jaiden: I'm a nice person, but I'm about to start throwing rocks at people. 

Bad: Underestimate me. That'll be fun. 

Slimecicle: Well, if you're not at least a little bit gay for your friends, then what kind of friend are you? 

Philza: My knee just cracked so loudly that I half expect it to glow in the dark tonight. 

Forever: *slowly pushes a cannon into a 17th century bank* Okay everyone, be cool. This is a robbery. 

Roier: My life isn't as glamourous as my wanted poster makes it look. 

Cellbit: I only have two emotions: exhaustion and stress. And I’m somehow always feeling both simultaneously. 

Jaiden: My aesthetic is "would be suspected of witchcraft by small town citizens." 

Slimecicle: Operation no more distractions is a go! 

*not even 10 seconds later* 

Slimecicle: Oh, look! A butterfly! 

Roier: Drink your school, stay in drugs, and get 8 hours of drugs. 

Bagherra: The only thing I'm guilty of is being adorable... ...and also assault with a deadly weapon. 

Quackity after the show: I have been tricked, I have been backstabbed, and I have quite possibly been bamboozled. 

Bagherra: What, I can’t be in a bad mood? It’s like people think, “Oh, Bagherra is such a nice person, Bagherra is so happy-go-lucky! Bagherra can’t be in a bad mood!” Well, you know what? Bagherra CAN be in a bad mood. And right now, Bagherra IS be in a bad mood. 

Forever: If I make you breakfast in bed, a simple "thank you" is all I need.��

Forever: Not all this "how did you get into my house" business. 

Badboyhalo: My expectations were low but holy fudge. 

Quackity: When I see initials carved into a tree with a heart I think it’s so romantic. Two lovers on a date... one of them carrying a knife for some reason. 

Quackity: Assert your dominance over your friends by kicking them in the face, and then giving them a little smooch on the forehead! 

Slimecicle: The waiter at Olive Garden has been grating my cheese for 6 hours now, waiting for me to say when. Customers are screaming. Three people have died. 

Slimecicle: I will not yield. 

Badboyhalo: I just learned a way to get furniture cheap. Steal it! 

El Mariana: I love saying 'fuck me' because it can either be sexual or self-loathing and those are two things that describe me perfectly. 

Etoiles: *cocks gun* Go to Bed. This is no longer a request, This is now a Threat. 

Badboyhalo: I'd roast you, but my mom says you can't burn trash. 

Badboyhalo: *slow-mo walks out of the room* 

Roier: I can't believe there's a cat somewhere in my house. Amazing feeling. Love cats. And he's here, in my house! Somewhere! And I may encounter him! What a treat. 

Etoiles: I’m sick and tired of being called 'mortal' like, you don’t know that. Neither do I. I have never died even ONCE. Nothing has been proven yet. Stop making assumptions. It’s rude. 

Jaiden: I am free of all prejudice. I hate everyone equally. 

Foolish: If we were in prison you guys would be like my bitches. 

Roier: Why are you on fire?  Badboyhalo: This is just how my day is going.

Slimecicle: Murder literally doesn’t hurt anyone! 

Wilbur: What are you talking about? Of course— 

Etoiles, holding out a hand to shut Wilbur up: No, no, they have a point— 

Badboyhalo: Well, Forever and I finally did it! 

The rest of the squad: *gasps, shocked expressions, etc.* 

Badboyhalo: That's right... We held hands! 

Roier: To everyone who has treated me poorly; I am sexier than you. 

Roier: Wait, if baby oil dissolves condoms, what does it do to babies? 

Cellbit: Believe it or not, babies and condoms are made of different materials. 

Jaiden: It’s like rock paper scissors. Baby oil defeats condom, baby defeats baby oil, condom defeats baby. 

Bagherra from across the room: Rock also defeats baby!

Philza, holding a kettle: Coffee or tea? 

Forever: Tea, please~

Philza: Wrong. It's coffee. 

Slimecicle: I’m gonna die alone. 

Wilbur: Slimecicle, you’re not gonna die alone. 

Slimecicle: Mariana, was my safety net, okay? We got divorced and now I have to get a snake. 

Quackity: Uh-huh. Why is that? 

Slimecicle: If I’m gonna be an old lonely person, I’m gonna need a thing, you know? A hook. Like that guy in the subway who eats his own face. 

Slimecicle: So I figured I’ll be “Crazy Man With A Snake”, you know? Crazy snake man. 

Slimecicle: Then I’ll get more snakes, call them my babies. Kids won’t walk past my place, they will run! RUN AWAY FROM CRAZY SNAKE MAN! 

Forever I got us matching friendship bracelets, and you say I don't care about our relationship. 

Badboyhalo: These are handcuffs. 

Forever: Yeah, 'cause we're partners in crime! 

Badboyhalo: I want to be like a caterpillar. 

Forever: Explain?

Badboyhalo: Eat a lot, sleep for a while, wake up beautiful. 

Forever: You know they have a lifespan of a week, right? 

Badboyhalo: 

Badboyhalo: That's just another highlight! 

Bagherra: My stomach growled super loud in French. 

Bagherra: I would like to clarify, my stomach did not speak in French. It growled during a meet up with the French creators. 

Badboyhalo: Bonjour. 

Cellbit: Le growl. 

Forever: Hon hon hon, feed me a baguette. 

Foolish: *sucking on a popsicle* 

Roier: Pfft, you practicing for when Vegetta gets here? 

Foolish: *takes a huge ass bite out of the popsicle* 

Roier: *Concern* 

Badboyhalo: Hey, if you type in your password, it'll show in stars. 

Badboyhalo: ********* see! 

Foolish: hunter2 

Foolish: Doesn't look like stars to me. 

Badboyhalo: Foolish: ******* 

Badboyhalo: That's what I see. 

Foolish: Oh, really? 

Badboyhalo: Absolutely. 

Foolish: You can go hunter2 my hunter2-ing hunter2. 

Foolish: Haha, does that look funny to you? 

Badboyhalo: Lol, yes. See when YOU type hunter2, it shows it to us as ******* 

Foolish: That's cool. I didn't know this site did that. 

Badboyhalo: Yup. No matter how many times you type hunter2, it will show to us as ******* 

Foolish: Awesome. 

Foolish: Wait, how do you know my password? 

Badboyhalo: Er, I just copy pasted YOUR ******'s and it appears to YOU as hunter2 cause it's your password. 

Foolish: Oh, ok. 

Etoiles: Slash gamemode creative. 

Bagherra: Dude, this isn't Min- 

Etoiles: *starts levitating* 

Jaiden: Who else is hiding in the laundry room trying to listen to Max and Quackity's convo? 

Badboyhalo: Me. I'm in the laundry basket. 

Jaiden: I'm in the washing machine. 

Foolish: I'm in the closet. 

Badboyhalo: We accept you Roier. <3

Foolish: No I'm literally in the closet. 

Badboyhalo: Love is love. <3 

Badboyhalo: I've connected the two dots. 

Foolish: You didn't connect shit. 

Badboyhalo: I've connected them. 

Bagherra: Bagherra! For the love of god, please turn down that music. I have a hangover. 

Forever: *blasting the mii theme at full volume* That sounds like a you problem, not a mii 

problem. 

Philza: I’ve become a bread crumb dealer to four crows at the lake. They pay me with a bit of everything. Like shiny things, fabric, or pens. But recently they paid me with a 20 dollar bill they found somewhere. So I decided to buy them some more expensive bread. They loved it. So they understand what to do. Give me money. I’ve probably racked up about 200 dollars at this point. Is it morally wrong though, I mean. They’re the ones who steal the money from others. Or perhaps they just have a big pile laying somewhere. Should I keep on doing this? 

Badboyhalo: You sound like the start of a Batman villain. 

Philza: So, Wilbur is no longer allowed to take the trash out at night. 

Chayanne: Why? 

Philza: Because I've caught them trying to train raccoons to fight five times in a row. 

Wilbur, arms crossed and pouting: You'll be thanking me when the third raccoon battalion saves your ass. 

Roier: We need a diversion. I say Cellbit gets naked. 

Cellbit: No. 

Roier: I could get naked. 

Everyone: NO!!! 

Badboyhalo: Sometimes I wonder if I’m hearing voices. 

Badboyhalo: Then I remember that’s the last bit of sanity I have trying to get me to fall asleep at a reasonable time. 

Slimecicle: Hello, McDonald's, I would like to purchase 130 chicken nuggets. Prepare yourselves. 

[agirlwithbigdreamsforher]

THE SANDWICH

THE NANNY: ONE SHOT

THE SANDWICH

Pairing: Andy Barber x Pregnant Annie Johnson (OFC)

Summary: Annie didn’t get her favorite sandwich and calls Andy to vent about it.

Warnings:  none. This is just fluff, soft and silly.

A/N: As usual any mistakes are my own.

Word count: 766

Disclaimer: I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied, used, translated nor reposted anywhere else but here on this blog. Do not steal what you didn’t work for. Minors and ageless blank blogs don’t interact with me or my works. Reblogs and likes are always welcome. Thank you for reading this work of fiction.

GIFS not mine, you can find the credits in each gif :)

                                     ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

Annie was on the deli down the street from the children’s cottage during her break. The place was a bit full. Her mouth watered at the thought of her hot sandwich, a layer of mayo, turkey, cheese, tomato, and her now favorite craving, pickles.

“Annie!” the man behind the counter called.

Annie made her way among the other costumers. Grabbed the paper bag and went back to her job.

She walked into the teacher’s lounge and sat on the table. She open the bag, took out the package and open her sandwich just to find out it was a tuna sandwich. The smell made her gagged, and soon her eyes became watery.

“Don’t cry, don’t cry…” And of course that made her cry. “This is so stupid!” She sniffed and then got angry because she was upset.

She took a deep breath and called Andy. The poor man had to deal with her mood swings so much lately, that Andy always felt he was walking on thin ice with her. She dialed his number, praying Andy will take the call.

Meanwhile, Andy was in his office eating the sandwich Annie packed for him that morning when his phone lighted up with the picture of her lovely and very pregnant wife.

“Hi, honey!” He sounded very cheerful for his own good.

“Hi…” Andy could her the breaking in her voice.

“Is everything ok?” He knew it was a stupid question. “What’s wrong?”

“They gave me the wrong sandwich!”

“Sandwich? Honey, take a deep breath and explain to me what happened.”

“I went to the deli to get a sandwich…”

“Hold on, you had a sandwich this morning, I saw you made it and put it in your bag.”

“Well I was craving for another sandwich, ok?!” she sniffled.

“Yes, ok.” Andy pinched the bridge of his nose, “take it easy, Barber” he thought. “So what happened next?”

“Then they called my name and took the bag that was on the counter. But when I went back it was not my sandwich! It was a tuna sandwich!” she sobbed.

“Oh, no! Not tuna!” Andy knew how much she hated tuna these days.

“Yes, tuna!” and then she fully began crying.

“Ok, honey. Don’t cry, I’m sorry that happened.”

“It’s so stupid!”

“It’s not stupid if it’s making you cry.”

“It’s a fucking sandwich!!!!”

“You want me to come over?”

“No…” She sniffled, “You have work.”

“And so do you.” Andy looked at his watch, “Baby girl, it’s almost time for you to come back to class, you haven’t eaten and the kids will notice you were crying. So listen, eat the sandwich you packed this morning and try to calm down, so you can come back to class.”

“Yeah,” She inhaled deeply.

“You want me to stay in the line while you eat?”

“Yes, please.”

And he did. He stayed with her until she finished her sandwich and it was time for her to go back in the classroom.

“I’ll see you later today, honey.”

“Thanks for listening to me.”

“No problem, always happy to help; and hey, my sandwich was really good.” Annie giggled on the other line. “Bye, Honey. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

--------------------------(     )--------------------------

Annie was sitting on the dining table with Jake while they made Jake’s homework.

“I’m home!” Andy voice sounded in the house.

“We’re in here!” Annie answered. Andy walked in, kissed both and sat right next to Annie. He was happy when he saw her smile. “How was the rest of your day?”

“Good. Calm. How was yours?”

“Better after I called you.”

“Good! I brought dinner.” Andy put a brown paper bag with a familiar logo.

“No, you didn’t.”

“Of course I did!” Andy pull out 3 sandwiches, one per each, “I promise you none of them is tuna.” Andy passed a sandwich to Annie and when she opened it her eyes began to water, “Don’t cry! I bought them to make you smile!”

“These are happy tears!”

“Argh,” Jake said, “You always making her cry!” he rolled his eyes.

“Hey, watch it with the attitude.”

The sandwich was perfect, mayo, turkey, melted provolone cheese, tomato and pickles. Toasted with garlic butter. She bit her sandwich and moaned.

“I love you.” She said with her mouth full.

“The sandwich or me?” Andy said in a teasing tone.

“Ammm…” She bit the sandwich again, “I’ll let you know.”

Andy let out a gasp, putting his hand over his heart, “you wound me, honey!”

“I love you all three.”

“Is she really counting the sandwich?” Jake said.

“Apparently.”

[consumed-by-fandom]

Every Postal 1 Voiceline cuz I’m a fucking nerd

I couldn't find any actual written collection of the voicelines from the og game, so I uh. Transcribed them myself. For no reason. So here you go if anyone wants them, and I might do redux after I play it.

Warning the list is really long so like don't click read more unless you're in a new tab or you don't mind scrolling lmao.

Taken from this very helpful video (check it out for optimal reading experience): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T6usSBZeMWA

“Bleed.” (Twice)

“Let’s blow something up.”

“Buckwheat!”

“Burn.”

“Burn, baby, burn.”

“Buttsauce!”

“Smells like chicken.”

“Ooh, hole in one!”

“Sorry, I’m out of hot towels. Will this do?”

“This won’t affect my tip, will it?”

“You’re gonna need a massage after this.”

“You should’ve gone to Disneyland.”

“I could really kill for a massage right now.”

“Get ‘em, they’re stealing all the tennis balls!”

“Sorry, he checked out already.”

“Who peed in the pool?”

“Ah, alternative lifestyles.”

“Awh, rip the birthday suit.”

“Nudity is offensive.”

“Some people have no sense of decency.”

“You must be freezing, lemme warm you up.”

“Watch it wriggle, rich bastards.”

“Now do you agree that the customer is always right?”

“Forget the brown bag, you need a body bag.”

“Shut the ten items or less crap, bastard.”

“What do you mean this lane is closed? Now it is!”

“What do you mean this lane is closed? It is now!”

“I can’t stand bastards with coupons.”

“Sorry, no refunds ma’am.”

“Would you like a free sample?”

“Clean up on isle five.”

“Now that’s a blue light special!”

“Here’s your low price guarantee.”

“Proudly made in the USA, baby.”

“What do you mean you don’t take plastic?”

“What? You don’t sell Postal?” (Twice)

“Ugh, smells like sour milk.”

“Ahh, nothing like the smell of burning government cheese in the morning.”

“Listen. Can you hear the property values going up?”

“Gotta love welfare reform.”

“Do it quietly. Wouldn’t wanna wake up the neighborhood, would ya?”

“You maniacs, you blew it up! …Oh wait, that was me.”

“You should remain still when injured. Here, lemme help you.”

“What a mess… we can’t have anything nice.”

“What? You’re pinned down? Lemme help.”

“Shake it up, baby!”

“Wow, this grenade works great!”

“I’ll see you in hell. (Laughter)”

“Aww, do you have a boo-boo?”

“Eat lead, sucker!”

“Today is a good day to die!”

“The exterminator’s back!”

“You’re gonna pay for that.”

“I am the angel of death.”

“Show no mercy.”

“Damn, I’m good.”

“Death is my master.”

“Death is my friend.”

“Do you smell something burning?”

“Feel my wrath, dog.”

“Die like the dog you are.”

“Mmm, I love a good barbecue.”

“Judge, jury and executioner.”

“Is it hot in here, or is it just me?”

“Killing is good for the soul.”

“Die, weakling!”

“Wussy.”

“All must die.”

“Prosecution rests.”

“Case dismissed.”

“Checked out early.”

“Keep the change.”

“Satisfaction guaranteed.”

“Is there a doctor in the house?”

“Beg for this.”

“Die.” (Twice)

“Don’t be a sissy.”

“Only you can stop the evil.”

“Feel the heat.”

“Get ‘em!” (Twice)

“Going, going, gone.” (Twice)

“Good one.” (Twice)

“Going Postal.”

“Hoo-hah!”

“He’s outta there!”

“See you in hell!”

“I like it hot.”

“Kickin’ ass.”

“(Laughter)” (twice)

“They never liked you.”

“I regret nothing!”

“Oh, baby.”

“O.J!”

“Only my weapons understand me.”

“Postal.”

“Sissy.”

“Slam!”

“Ooh, did that hurt?” (Twice)

“Do it for the gibber!”

“The gun knows.”

“You’re the man.”

“Only my weapon understands me.”

“Yes!” (Twice)

[castielhoney]

ok so here's a bunch of poetry/prose cut up and stitched back together for a class project, themed on stanford-era dean. (none of these are mine, but i don't have credits for all of them. let me know if it's yours and i'll credit you!) @lovelikesomethingholy @angelsdean @magdaclaire @davyperez

So. So I’m a kid and the furthest I’ve gone is to a store in the city an hour away, small hands tucked tight into Momma’s sundress. I’m a kid and the world is as big as a two-story house and a four-door car and that’s good because that’s all I need.

I’m 4 and my mother is telling me that angels are watching over me. It isn’t long after the words leave her lips, that she dies in a house fire.

And then maybe I’m not a kid anymore and the furthest I’ve had to run is now barefoot across my front lawn carrying my brother in my too-small arms. My house-not-a-home-anymore is blazing behind me. I am not a kid and the world is as small as my hands, as small as a baby only six months old.

I know the smell of motel mold more intimately than I know the smell of my father’s cologne. He’s never been much for affection. The pitfalls of his fingertips litter the hand, bruises painted black, purple, yellow, green.

My father is a man who bastardizes himself enough that what remains is neither a man nor a father, a dog starved for scraps.

So it goes.

I’m 10, and I’m making mac and cheese again, keeping it interesting for my baby brother. He keeps looking up at me like I’m something important.

First thing I remember most days, it seems like, is flames.

Tongues of fire, licking me up, swallowing big and greedy,

Like my momma always taught me not to be.

Guess it don’t matter anyhow.

Momma’s the same memory now, blond hair trailing into that blazing gold.

Sometimes I wonder if the fire started inside her, somehow,

If she was always burning up.

Even when she held me;

Even when she tucked me into that bed.

Sometimes I wonder if she passed that fire to me,

Pressed it quick into my arms, for me to hold,

Same way Dad did with Sammy.

Take it and burn;

Take him and run.

I did.

Gathered everything into my greedy arms and held tight.

Guess I’ve always been holding too tight,

Burning grasp waiting for it all to go up in smoke.

Seizing the flickering lights like if I

Could just keep it from slipping away this time–

But what else can you do when home feels like a family on fire?

So it goes.

The thing about me is that I will bite the hand that feeds. What has it ever done for me that I can’t do for myself? Fed food into my hungry mouth, run its fingers along my wolf’s teeth, and for what? Soft hands cut the flesh from my baby-soft skin years ago, fed it back to me slowly, reminded me of my youth the entire time they were making a weapon of me.

So it goes. I am a soldier, a machine, an instrument as sharp as the blade in my hand and I haven’t been a kid since four years old.

A gun in the hands of a child is still a gun.

A child made into a weapon is still a child.

The size of the world has grown six feet, but hey, my hands have grown too and I can carry it.

So it goes.

Daddy’s jacket, old,

Cracked at the joints in its gasoline-n-soot smell,

safety in the leaving,

safety in the stealing and keeping,

blanketing your lonely covetous soul in

the spirit of a man you can emulate,

choke up on

and hyperventilate.

I have nothing to say to you

Because if I did,

I could tell a thousand tales

Broken dreams

And broken promises

I could tell tales of too-big shoes,

Too-big leather jackets.

Of lonely nights,

A gapping space

That I had no business filling.

But I have nothing to say to you

because I don’t want to tell those tales.

I don’t want to believe

That those shoes were too big,

That those jackets were too large,

That those rationed goods,

Were your fault.

Because that too–big jacket is armor

Even if it digs into my side

Even if it’s a weight that makes me almost cry

That filling those too-big shoes

With skipped meals

And carefully-played tricks

That those cuts

Were from a different kind of monster.

I’d rather have nothing to say.

So it goes.

I worked 3 jobs through 4 years of high school to save for Sammy to go to school, and though it’s paying off, I am 22 and I’m saying goodbye to the only easy love I’ve ever known.

I’m 26 and I’ve seen what hate does to good people; I am only 26, and I don’t think I deserve to be saved.

I’m a man on the run, and isn’t that fitting? I’ve been running for my whole life, I’m gonna run for the rest of my life. Running from the fire, running towards someone else’s revenge story, running wheels, running ragged.

The size of the world is a U.S. interstate highway map and a four-door car and even if it’s not all I need, it’s all I get. So I take the motels that won’t burn down behind me, and the shelters that have no lawns to run across, and it doesn’t matter how much further I go.

I will never go far enough to find my way back home, but I will try, and I will try, and I will try.

And so it goes.

The road opens up and swallows me down into the dark pit of a hot night. No one around, I feel unreal, unraveling. My body sits like a sack behind the wheel, and I’m under no one’s eyes, no one’s hands. Nothing to pin me down and hold me in place.

I stop when I need a fill-me-up, when running on empty’s not enough, when I need to crawl into someone else to remember my body – blunt and bone and blood, bruising like a peach in the sun.

I shout, writhing. And anonymous fingers pry me open, mouth full, hair pull. And I am fed and filled and my Baby rumbles, gas paid in exchange.

And the road rolls out, a long tongue licking, eager to tease me down and forget my body. And I slide back into the nothing space where there is no body and blood, only ghost, and it ain’t holy.

There’s a certain sort of sound;

Comes along with the scrabbling of small, bare hands

On gas station restaurant formica.

Sounds kinda yellow and warm around the edges.

Something liquidy in my chest,

Puffed proud ‘cause I’ve just made Sammy smile

Like he hasn’t in ages,

And seven-year-olds have that kinda face.

Faces meant to be smiling as often as

Their older brother can manage to make them.

Grin cracking and peeling open like the orange on the tabletop.

He asks—

All wild in that childish delight,

That fits so keenly on his round apple-cheeks—

How I even managed to get the tickets,

I decide then, not to tell him what those tickets

Will cost me in about two-weeks time,

When dad’s still not back.

‘Cause seven-year-olds get real hungry sometimes

And real guilty too

And it’s better not to worry him about it when he’s smiling like this.

I guess the thing they don’t really tell you–

Between all the Fridays and blood and a-hundred-miles-to-empty–

Is that there’s nothin’ lonelier than the Road.

No one ever told me.

No one ever told me what happens when your daddy leaves,

And your baby brother leaves,

And you’re leavin’ too.

It’s easy to want things, most of the time. Easy to get hungry and stay hungry, belly rumbling like that chest-deep, lung-aching laughter, the kind you let out when you’re feeling the most lonely you’ve ever been.

Like a pillow propped up under your neck, and you know you’re gonna get a crick, and it’ll piss you off for a few days after.

But just like that pillow, you’ll fluff up all over again, it’s just comfy enough that you think to yourself,

Maybe it’s worth it this time.

Maybe when I’m hungry and I eat the food I know is gonna turn my stomach, but won’t make me full, maybe it won’t bother me as much this time.

Maybe when I get hungry and don’t let myself eat for a full two days

(gotta get to California, gotta buy the gas), maybe the hunger will mellow out until my body remembers it don’t need it.

I try to sleep without a pillow now.

I try to taste the feast in a two a.m. gas-station coffee.

My neck ain’t sore when I check left and flip the turn signal on. My stomach ain’t sore either; just like me, it knows when to shut the hell up about wanting things.

A man is a backbone

An island alone

Forged in fire and brimstone

His patience thin as ozone

Rage a garden, overgrown

All men are sons of Cain

Hardened flesh stitched together with echoes of pain

Carry themselves numb as novocaine

To be a man,

You must wear down the boy, become estranged with childlike joy

No time for toys and cowboys

A man is a warrior of Troy.

Kept thinking,

On our way out of that

Two-lane town,

Head pressed all tired against

The cold glass of the window where I,

reflected back half-formed,

Like maybe I was just as real

As that ghost my daddy was chasin’ after.

Kept thinking

About that oak standing,

Uncertain guardian,

In the courtyard of some

No-name school,

That won’t remember me come next semester,

Though I fit right in, with no name.

There had been a storm,

Like there often is, in these sorta towns;

Ripped up chunks of the very asphalt

We traveled in on, and tossed them bodily

All over the place.

But that tree,

That big, aching thing

That watched me during recesses

And stood, solemn, when I beat my knuckles bloody

Against a boy older ‘n me

For daring to call my dead momma ugly.

That tree, that did not judge me,

For all my bones and blood and history,

Was no paved road, and did not break

Under the onslaught of the storm.

And I,

Forehead cool with the damp condensation

Of that ghost-mirror window,

Father beside me and

Brother behind me and

Baby all around and everywhere about me,

Kept thinking, as we drove outta those town’s far limits.

Spinning wheels don’t grow roots

And neither does the spinning barrel of a loaded pistol,

And neither does a house burned down

And neither does

A nameless boy who sits shotgun,

Father beside him chasing a ghost.

I kept thinking,

Leaving that town and

Leaving that courtyard oak.

I’ve never seen roots like that before.

[gayerthanevertbh]

the widow’s bunny - part 4

author’s note | so sorry for not updating! i was away :( but here’s part 4! i hope you enjoy it, the next part will probably contain heavy smut. so get ready for that !!!

summary | Your father, Clint Barton, brought his fellow Avengers to the safe house and it was your first time meeting the one and only Black Widow; Natasha Romanoff. As soon as you and her get a little close, her other side is vaguely showing and it truly frightens you. She quotes, “You will be my pretty little secret, yeah?”

pairings | Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

warnings | violence ; slut shaming ; obsessive behavior ; very (18)+ !!!

taglist | @ilovehotactresses @bepisbeansprouts​  @heidithriel​ @mommynat​ @myplaceofsolace​ @jediluka​ @d14n4ol 4ol​ @youralphawolf72​ @natasharomanoff-wife @santasbitch @karmasgxrl​ @marvel2024​ @ripofflizzie​ @tashakink​  @natashaswife12345 (i don’t know why i can’t tag some of u :/)

Part 1  Part 2 Part 3  Part 4 Part 5 so on...

You were pretending to be asleep when Natasha left you for a moment to get some water. Your body aches from a sleepless night and that’s why your captive is bringing you a glass, to help you slumber once again. But, you can’t. You just can’t, especially when she’s around. You are quite frightened – can you blame yourself though – as this deviant monster was just kissing your neck a few minutes ago. What did I do to deserve this kind of obsession?

You do know she’s obsessed with you since she’s been stealing glances when you were back at the house. Although you didn’t pay attention to it because you felt like you were just being delusional. Well, you weren’t. She was basically watching you from afar.

No wonder why she got so close.

“Hi, baby.”

Turning, you see Natasha sitting beside you as she held out your chin to open your mouth. You did, slightly, and drank from the glass slowly. She whispered that sent down chills on your skin: “Good girl, you are such a good little girl.”

You want to cry on that spot.

She softly lets go of your chin and offered a kind smile that felt disgusting. How can she act so calm yet so fucking evil around you? Fucking crazy.

“Go to sleep now, bunny,” Natasha taunted and kissed your temple gently. “I’ll wrap my arms around you. Maybe even touch your boobies once in a while, would you like that?”

“Most certainly not,” You quickly responded with bitterness. Her smile faltered. Yeah, go cry about it bitch.

“Brat.”

Her hand is suddenly pressed onto your stomach as she pushes you back down forcefully, hearing an animalistic growl erupting from her as she wraps her long buffed arm around your lower waist. Her head is peacefully tucked in your neck. Your chest starts to heave as you think of many scenarios of what she’ll do to you. Will this woman rape you? Hurt you? Locking you up? God, you can’t even think straight anymore. At this point, you don’t care if you live or not.

“You’re thinking way too loud, shut up.” She strongly suggested and quietly let out a hum.

You have no choice but to sleep.

As soon as you woke up, there was a tray of food beside you. You were in shock at how she cooked your favorite breakfast meal. Ham and Cheese with french fries aside and a glass of iced coffee, you looked closer and saw how well done it was. How does she even know I like this type of food? What a creep–

“Do you like it?”

Natasha was standing 5-6 feet away from you and a small smile that crept on her face as soon as you turned your head. You shrugged, not knowing what else to really say, and mumbled, “How do you know it’s my favorite?”

“So dumb,” She says to herself and chuckles deeply. Like, really deep. “Your father told me about it. And, I’ve read your diary.”

What the fuck?! “What?”

“Diary, I cannot fathom enough of how much I love me some ham and cheese,” She says with a teasing tone as she says the words that were in your diary. “I also think my dad’s friend is quite pretty. But, she looks mean. Although I’ll do my best to make a conversation with her!”

“You have no right to do that!” You said with fire in your tone as your eyes deepened with anger. Natasha looked amused by your reaction. It was sickening. “That’s invading someone else’s privacy, you fucking creep!”

“Watch that tone of yours, printsessa,” Natasha spits out with venom in her tone and grabs your jaw tightly, bringing your face closer to her. Your face pangs as it heats up quickly and whimpers when she grips it tighter.

“I’m a creep for you! I love you,” Her voice softens as well as her eyes, and presses her forehead against yours. “You’re just so fucking perfect. I knew the moment I met you I was destined to be with you. I had to take my chances. You have no idea how much I long for you, and now that you’re here it’s just so compelling, detka. You’re mine.”

You quickly shake your head as you replied, “I’ll never be yours.”

Smack!

Your face heats with irritation and a hand that was quickly on your cheeks, eyes bewildered at the fact that this woman has slapped you on the face. A pan of fear comes through your submissive eyes and Natasha, well, as always – she looked amused. She smirks at you until she says, “I’m sorry, baby. I shouldn’t have done that. But, you’re such a brat today. My temper is very short.”

You thought about the choices that were in your mind. Either you escape from Natasha until you’re dead or you stay with her and experience the trauma and the abuse that she’ll give you. But, you thought to yourself, I still want to live. I want to explore, but I feel like my time is ticking. What should I do at this point?

She saw the fear in your eyes and softened her body, cooing at you, “Detka, I didn’t mean that. I–I lost my temper, that was my fault. I will never hit you again unless you’ve been a bad girl. Don’t worry, I’ll let you know if you are.”

The widow tries touching your face, but you flinch. She sighs.

“I’ll never do that again,” She says for one last time, until you feel her lips pressed on your forehead, Natasha sighs deeply. “You’re so beautiful. I won’t hurt you again, I promise. Now, please eat. You must be really hungry. Come on, I’ll feed you little one.”

She takes a piece of the sandwich and asks me to open my mouth. You complied, opening your mouth slightly and placing the food inside. You chew and see how pleased your captive was. She likes taking care of you, even though it doesn’t even look like she is. Because if she does, she will let you go. You wouldn’t be here right now.

“You’re such a keeper,” She mumbles quietly and drinks from your glass, smiling. “I can’t wait to fuck you. I just know that pussy of yours is so little and such a virgin. I’ll pretend it’s a virgin pussy, I want to be your first.”

You didn’t react, you were just too tired to speak or to even think. You kept eating your sandwich until it was all finished and Natasha’s lips were connected to yours, moaning softly on your mouth. Her fingers hold your chin to keep you in place as she pulls away with a smirk on her face that sends shivers down your throat.

“You are so beautiful,” She compliments as her hands trail down your clothed waist. You whimpered. “I’ll make you mine, kotenok. I just want you to be comfortable with me so mommy can take care of your needs. My needs. Do you know what I need?”

You shake your head, pretending to not know what she fully needs even though you already have an idea. But she likes having you like this. All merciless and vulnerable. It soothes her quite well. Her face leans closer to your ear and husks out,

“Your pussy. My cock is inside of your pussy. My fingers and my tongue. I want to devour you, own you, mark you in the most explicit way. I want to emphasize how much I love you. Need you. So, you better be fucking ready once mommy wants to fuck the shit out of you.”

And in an instant, she left the room. Leaving you inside with a glass of your coffee as your face cringes in disgust at the woman. You don’t know if you should be scared or not, but right now, you are at this height of fear and excitement. And that’s the thing, it’s weird. Why on earth would you be excited about a woman who practically dreams of having sex with you and wants to take you? Was it because of the pleasure? You don’t really know.

----------

Natasha comes out of her bedroom swiftly and hears the sound of her phone ringing. Confidently, she grabs her digital device from the table and sees the name Steve Rogers popping up on the screen. She sighs, knowing where this is going to lead. Her friend, a close friend, is going to ask something that will make her–

“Hello?” She answers and places the phone in her ears.

“Nat? Have you seen Y/N?”

Steve’s voice was calm and steady with a hint of concern in his tone. Natasha’s heart felt relieved and replied with a nonchalant voice, “No. Why? The last time I saw her was after lunch.”

Steve sighs through the phone and responded: “She hasn’t been seen in a day. Clint is getting really worried, everyone is. Laura says that Y/N isn’t usually like this, and I asked you since you and she got pretty close. I can see how you look at her, Natasha. So please, if you’ve seen her just … tell me?”

Natasha scoffs loudly as she feels like her own friend couldn’t even trust her. Well, I don’t blame him. No one should really trust me. She says bitterly: “I don’t know where Y/N is, Rogers. And you’re acting like you can’t even trust me–”

“Nat.”

“I don’t know where Y/N is,” Her voice was so deep that it kind of scared the super-soldier himself. “Okay? Now, leave me alone, I’m spending time with my sister.”

Natasha was a good liar. Well, she should be since she’s the deadliest assassin in the whole world. So, Steve wouldn’t recognize the untold truth. She hears the man sigh and says, “Okay. I trust you. Take care.”

Hanging up on her friend, Natasha places her phone back down on the table and crosses her arms. She knows the consequences and the critics of capturing you, she truly understands. But her obsession becomes more erratic whenever the woman who is held captive of you comes closer. It’s like you’re the prey and she’s the devil, trying her absolute best to have you in the palm of her hand. And you’re in her hands. She loves the thrill of it.

She remembers the time when she had done this with two other women. One older and a younger one, who’s a little older than you by now. The older woman that she held captive, escaped. Natasha was glad that she put something in her drink before she plotted her escape. So then, no one could track a vile creature like her.

The other woman, she was as gullible as you.  She was beautiful as ever, she had the eyes of a little girl that she find it so fascinating. Her name was Marianne and Natasha thought to herself that she was in love with that woman.

Unfortunately, she killed her. In the most horrific way.

----------

“Stay away from me!”

After 10 months of Marianne being held captive by Natasha, she wanted to run away. Of course, Natasha was loath to that thinking of hers so she chased after the brunette, who was running away from her. Marianne’s heart was thumping so loud, she could hear it ringing through her eyes and hid behind the counter where she thought she could hide. Until Natasha marches toward the girl with pure red in her eyes. Marianne whimpered loudly like a beaten-up dog as the widow grabbed her by the jaw, pushing her to the counter so hard that she felt her back snap.

“Wanna fucking run away from me?!” Natasha, who has her hand wrapped around Marianne’s neck, grips it tightly and looks at her with horns in her head comically. The younger woman looks at her with pleading eyes, asking her not to go through this path that she knows. The widow shakes her head and smacks Marianne mercilessly.

She grabbed her hair, pulled it from the back, and slammed her face onto the marbled floor; satisfied with herself that her little creature’s nose was bleeding. Shouting, she said: “You’re fucking pathetic. Tried calling Wanda to save you? No one else will save you other than me, you fucking rat!”

Natasha never planned the murder of Marianne. Why would she? But, her temper got out of hand. Marianne was lying on the ground lifelessly, as Natasha’s eyes trailed over her bruised face. In some demonic way, there was no remorse inside the widow. Not even a single tear slid down her eyes. She just looked at Marianne’s dead body and sighed. After 15 minutes or so, she called Wanda to clean up the body and asked her if all of her family members could forget about Marianne’s disappearance and death.

Natasha did not mourn. And that truly concerned Wanda despite the ruthless woman beating her up until she was dead. Wanda was deadlier than the assassin, yet felt so small whenever it came to Natasha. They were best friends, and they’ll always be best friends. But, Wanda doesn’t know how much she can contain this anymore. She was scared for Natasha’s life.

“Please tell me this will be the last time you’ll kidnap someone,” Wanda asked, a begging tone in her voice, as she looked back at her shoulder to see her friend pouring a cup of coffee calmly.

“Okay.”

“Can you promise me that? Please? This is getting way too out of hand.”

“Why do you fucking care?” Natasha chuckled and sat beside her friend, who looked at her with so much concern in her eyes. The witch softened and placed her hand against Natasha’s, holding it gently. Wanda whispered,

“You’re affecting everyone. And sooner or later, they will find out.”

“No they won’t,” She responds with more of a dominant tone in her voice, snapping her eyes at you. She continued, “As long as you keep that mouth of yours shut, no one will know. Do you understand?”

“And what if I don’t want to be part of this?”

Natasha scoffs and shakes her head in irritation.

“What the fuck is up with you? Usually, you’d follow my orders–”

“But I’m a friend Natasha, not some fucking slave of yours!” The witch blurts out, standing away from the assassin. “I only agreed to this because I thought this was a one-time thing. Now, you’ve killed two innocent girls! Natasha, you’re supposed to be a heroic woman, not some vile demonic creature.”

Natasha rolled her eyes and grumbled to herself. She was starting to think that this conversation was pointless, whatever Natasha was doing, she knew it was right. Deep inside, she knows that. But it’s starting to get more transparent as her obsession grows for a girl every time. And to Wanda’s defense, she just loves her best friend.

“Then quit, if you must.”

It was Wanda’s turn to scoff, “Fine. Don’t ever fucking call me for help.” Wanda grabbed her black cardigan that was sitting on the arm couch and left without a goodbye to Natasha, who felt a little devastated. Now, she has to do this on her own. And, if she kills another girl, then that’s the end for her.

“I’m a good person,” Natasha mumbles to herself as tears begin to formulate uncontrollably in her eyes. Her hands were balled into a fist on the counter and chanted, “I’m a good person, I’m a good person, I’m a good person.”

Her evilness consumes her to the point that she doesn’t see what is right or wrong anymore. She’s a sick, twisted, human being and doesn’t deserve the name of “Avenger”. Her cruelty overtakes her and continues to masturbate to multiple girls that she fell for. Especially Marianne, who she just killed.

Natasha loved Marianne, or so she thought. Marianne responded to her so well whenever they would “make love” in her bed. She adores the way the brunette would be submissive towards her, especially when Natasha is in an insatiable moment. That’s what Marianne is only good for, just a fuck for Natasha. Maybe then, she doesn’t love her.

----------

Snapping from her gaze, the widow walks back inside of the room and sees you sitting promptly on the back of the headboard. Her head is facing down while her fingers are playing with themselves. Natasha smiled from afar and called her out, “You’re so pretty when you’re quiet.”

You scoffed as you played with the hem of your shirt, noticing how dirty it was. You need new clothes, a shower even. Looking up, you shake your head at her.

“What else am I suppose to say?”

Natasha shrugs her shoulders, “I don’t know. But, you’re beautiful.”

You couldn’t even count how many times this woman complimented you to the point that it wasn’t affecting you at all. Maybe you were just exhausted from it, or probably because you weren’t so attracted to her. But, if you can admit, Natasha Romanoff is quite captivating herself. Especially with that husky deep tone of hers–

“Can I have a shower and a new set of clothes?” You asked.

“Of course,” Natasha walks to the closet and opens it, grabbing a few clothes and then placing them on the mattress. These were your clothes, by the way. And you have this feeling of wanting to get rid of them. She closes it and smiles softly at you. “I will have to lock this bedroom while you take your bath. I would like to join you but, I don’t think we are there yet.”

Of course, we aren’t. I’ll never let you touch me anyways. You nod and stand up from the mattress and grab the clothes that were on the mattress. Carefully, you walked to the bathroom and closed the door behind you. Finally, some alone time where you can think freely and not a psychopath who was beside you. Wanting you. You take a deep breath and disregard your clothes until you are fully naked. You got slimmer and your cheeks are getting more defined as soon as you were in this chamber with her. You got yourself inside of the isolated shower room and rinse yourself with warm water that was prickling against your skin. Soap is slathered all over your silky skin as you close your eyes in satisfaction. At least a shower would calm my mind. I want to stay here forever.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case since Natasha is knocking on the door loudly. Saying, “You’ve been there for way too long, detka. Come out now, or I’ll have to see you naked.”

There’s no way she’s going to see me naked. So you walked out of the shower and quickly dried yourself, wearing the clothes that she offered. You wish you could do your skincare, but the ones that you used weren’t here. Well, there goes your skin. You walked outside of the bathroom and saw Natasha waiting for you in bed. She smiled at you, her eyes averted to your body and gave a devilish smirk. Oh god, no.

“You’re so beautiful, so so beautiful.” Completely in awe, she says. You rolled your eyes and sat back down on the bed, which is the only thing you do at this point. You can’t walk outside or even take a look at the house. It’s kind of boring to be inside a room where no one talks to you except for a psychopath like her.

Out of curiosity, you asked. “Why me?”

“Hm?”

“Why me?” You asked again but this time, you look at her directly. Her eyes soften and tilt her head in adoration. Her hand was on your lap while the other one was on your cheeks, holding you so gently that you might get comfortable with that touch of hers.

“Ever since I met you, I felt the need to have you. You looked at me differently than anyone else and somehow my heart was telling me that you are the one. And it did not lie. Because you are the one for me, Kotenok.”

“You could’ve asked me out instead of kidnapping me,” You mumbled to her as you looked down at your feet, frightened to look at her green eyes that speak with evil. “This is too inhumane.”

“But I like the thrill of it, baby,” Natasha whimpered and pulled your chin up to look back at her. You groaned as she held it tightly. “I love it when you’re inside of my house, nowhere to be found. I love the way you’re just here and begging so you can go home. Unfortunately to your dismay, you’ll never come home. They’ll never find you because I’m yours forever as you are mine.”

This is so unhinged. You felt grossed out as soon as her hand lingered all over your exposed neck, chuckling to herself at how well you responded to her. She hums, then pecks your neck a little; smiling.

“You’re such a demonic human being.” You tell her. Her smile widens at the little name you gave her.

“Oh baby, you haven’t seen worse.”

“Natasha, can you just let me go? I promise you, I can try loving you the way you want me to! I just want this to be normal, a normal relationship! Let me love you naturally,” You begged for so many reasons. You begged for your dear life and also begged for her to let you go so you can run away from the woman as far as you can. You inwardly wish that you were still in boarding school, not witnessing this madness.

Natasha shakes her head while you are nodding frantically. You made both of your hands clasped together and pleaded to her with a desperate look in your eyes. She just smiled, still completely in awe of you, and whispered:

“You’re not going anywhere, detka. You belong to me.”

Then, your vulnerability takes over you and you begged even more. “Natasha, this isn’t normal! This is sick! I’m not some property you can own, I have a life out there too. Let me experience it, please! I just got out of boarding school!”

No matter how much you beg for your life or how much you plead with those puppy eyes of yours, Natasha will never let you go. You’re staying with her for good, and you just pray to the universe that somehow they’ll kill you off instead of being with someone who is truly the cruelest person that has ever lived.

“No,” Natasha stated simply and grabbed your jaw, bringing your face closer to her once again. Spitting out, she said: “You’re mine. You won’t survive out there, you’ll need me. You’re just a fucking pathetic slut who I own. I own you.”

She owns you.

[absolutepokemontrash]

The Brothers and Side Characters Play the Sims

I don’t know what possessed me to make this but WHATEVER. I’ve been playing the Sims since I was a wee little girl, and I’ve seen my fair share of weird Sims stuff that I feel would fit these bozos perfectly.

My Sims have a Functional Family Life Because I Don’t (Lucifer)

God dammit Levi’s obsessed with another game... ugh.

Spends 5 minutes in Create-a-Sim and hops into a starter home.

Lucifer’s the type to start with all the average stuff and then build their stuff up as his sim gets promotions.

It’s just... so peaceful...

...he’s adopting a dog.

Look at his new little virtual family... his sim-kids are self sufficient and getting A’s in school, his Sim spouse MC or Diavolo take your pick loves his Sim-self, his sim-dog-

WAIT NO- THE DOG’S AN ELDER?!

AAAAAAAAAAAAA-

...

He’s fine. It was just a virtual dog. *sniffle*

He’s now spending his free time drinking Demonus and playing the Sims.

What’s a mod? Levi why does your sim have gun?

Behold, My Gorgeous Home... It’s a Box (Mammon)

Mammon, like the rest of the HOL, is mooching off of Levi’s Origin account.

“AW SHIT! This house looks awesome! I’m gonna build it for Sim-me to live in!”

Mammon proceeds to build a box with rooms. Yay...

He just picks the funnest sounding job if he picks any job at all for his Sim. That’s how he ended up making 9 dollars an hour in the criminal career.

Didn’t stop Mammon from buying that solid gold bathroom set from Get Famous... a box with solid gold bathrooms.

His Sim is broke send help-

“Leviiiiiii my sim needs money... the people my sim kidnapped and is forcing to paint aren’t making enough money...” “Ugh... press control shift C and type ‘motherlode’.”

...Levi made a mistake.

“FUCK YEAH! MOTHERLODE!”

His sim’s life is so chaotic, he has a piranha pool that his sim has almost died in twice, the sim is carrying on several torrid love affairs, his sim got struck by lightning, his sim has nearly died in a grilled cheese making accident twice... in the same day.

At least once Sim-Mammon and Sim-MC get married things calm down a little.

Mammon finds out what custom content is and proceeds to download EVERYTHING HE CAN FIND.

And now he’s asking Levi why his computer is running so slow.

Expansion Pack King (Leviathan)

He got into it back when the Sims 2 was new, he’s a veteran fan.

“Bro remember when Agnes Crumplebottom would show up and whack the shit out of your sims if they were flirting?”

“Remember when that witch would show up randomly on the lot you were on if you had Makin’ Magic?”

“Remember when Bella Goth was abducted by aliens and we just... didn’t question it?”

He whines about the Sims4 and how crappy it is but still buys every expansion pack, game pack, and stuff pack.

This boy watches like 40 hours of built tutorials and ends up sobbing over his weird roofs.

“WHY DOESN’T IT LOOK AS NICE AS THE ONE I’M LOOKING AT?! THIS ISN’T FAIR!”

The mod folder is so full istg-

Levi gets custom content for the sole purpose of making his favourite fictional characters.

This is why Henry and the Lord of Shadows are married and Ruri-chan and Sim-Levi are roommates.

Oh my god they were roommates-

Levi also added his brothers to the world and uh... Sim-Mammon died in a tragic pool accident F.

Levi then proceeded to befriend the Grim Reaper.

He’s anxiously awaiting the release of Paralives.

Wait Gameplay? In This Build Simulator? (Satan)

Satan’s here to build and leave. Gameplay who?

Our favourite bundle of rage is a master architect and the amount of followers on the Gallery he has shows it.

He takes up those build shell challenges and always ends up making them look positively perfect.

Asmo’s always using his houses, and Satan often takes requests when he gets bored.

No Mammon, he reserves the right to refuse to build a golden castle for you- YOUR SIM HAS 40 SIMOLEONS-

No mods, no CC, he’s building with what EA gave him.

...and EA gave him debug objects, and he’s not going to explain how to get them.

The one time he did actually play with a family... it was one sim and seven cats.

He tries to play without cheats... and ends up getting frustrated and turns on cheats.

All hail the Pets Expansion Pack.

Custom Content Soap Opera (Asmodeus)

Asmo spends 5 hours in Create a Sim then just... clicks out of the game.

That’s how it goes most of the time, buuuuuut when he gets super invested in a family he’s made, boy howdy is he INVESTED.

Sim A is carrying on an affair with Sim C who’s in love with Sim B who’s married to Sim A but Sim D wants to kill Sim A and C even though they’re the illegitimate child of Sim C-

When Asmo realizes that in the Sims 4 he needs to manufacture all the drama himself and he can’t just sit back with a glass of wine and watch the fireworks, he switches to the Sims 2 and 3.

“...why is this old lady beating up my Sim..?”

He immediately recoils in horror upon seeing how ugly the Sims are pre Sims4.

HE NEEDS TO FIX THIS-

Ah, there we go, perfect. Custom Content to the rescue!

He ends up remaking the entire world just so he doesn’t have to look at weird looking Sims.

Asmo is the only one to have finished a proper Legacy Challenge, but it gets crazy chaotic after gen 3.

“My sim just got abducted by aliens and now he’s pregnant- WHAT?!”

He has about 40 saves and only two he actually plays.

Just a Big Ol’ Happy Family (Beelzebub)

Beel found the game, proceeded to make everyone in create-a-sim to the best of his abilities, and made everyone get along.

That’s why Sim-Lucifer and Sim-Belphie are on a swing set together, they’re friends :D

“Hey Luke do you think you can make this?” “I-is that a cake shaped like a hamburger?” “Yes. Please make.”

He took one look at the cooking options and decided to max out his Sim’s cooking skill to unlock all the options.

Beel proceeded to drool all over his keyboard. Gross...

Boy howdy did he have some crazy dinner suggestions!

Overall, very wholesome Sim-life, except for the time Sim-Levi died because the toilet caught fire, don’t worry, Sim-Beel knows how to make ambrosia.

All is good in the Sim save...

...until Sim-Beel ate pufferfish nigiri and fuckin died-

Wait Did I Not Pause- (Belphie)

Huh, this game looks fine... I’ll play for a little- *SNORE*

Belphie makes some sims, plops them into a starter home, plays for an hour, then falls asleep.

He wakes up five hours later to absolute carnage.

Three sims have died because someone decided to make Mac and Cheese and the oven caught fire, the kids were taken away by social services, and the dog ran away.

“...heheh, holy shit everyone look.”

He doesn’t play often, but when he does, death occurs. He has found out every death method for every game from Sims 2 to 4.

And that INCLUDES the Sims Medieval! You guys remember that game?

Sometimes it’s not intentional, but Belphie got bored with the totally normal life his sims were living and decided to spice it up.

“Why are the ghosts breaking my showers..?”

Help There’s a Bug- (Diavolo)

The Crown Prince started playing when he noticed Lucifer was playing it.

He was immediately obsessed.

Dia mostly plays the Sims Medieval because he likes the feeling of achievement after completing a quest!

“Barbatos... why isn’t my Sim completing their task? The icon won’t show up.” “My lord it appears the game is bugged.” “:(“

No one thought to tell Diavolo that EA doesn’t plan on offering bug support to a game made in like... 2009

This doesn’t matter! Look at how great his kingdom is doing- oh no his hero has the plague-

He plays through the Pirates and Nobles expansion and manages to get the peaceful ending, he’s so proud of himself.

“MC! Look! My Monarch’s sword is permanently on fire and I’m fighting an evil wizard!”

When he does play the other Sims games he’s pretty basic, though, he does a great job at furnishing!

Dia gets crazy sad when his Sims die... he turns off aging.

Builder no. 2 (Barbatos)

Barbie doesn’t have time for this... but when he does, he builds.

No create a sim.

No playing the game as intended.

Just builds.

It’s relaxing, okay? A nice little suburban house he’s never going to play in, maybe a treehouse, maybe a big Hollywood Mansion...

The only time he actually plays the game outside of build mode is when someone needs his help to fix something in-game.

He does download custom content build items if he feels bored by the current selection.

Oh Crap What Am I Doing?! (Simeon)

Help him. Please.

He’s so confused.

“Luke, why is my sim upset?” “He’s hungry, Simeon.” “Oh, how do I fix that?” “...Simeon-”

There’s a toilet in the middle of the living room.

The fridge is facing the wall.

There’s no bathtub or shower.

The house is on fire- there is no god- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-

Okay, once he gets the hang of it he’s sitting pretty. His sims have good jobs, the kids are getting good grades, everything’s fine.

...

But Simeon won’t forget the nightmares.

What Even is This Save? (Solomon)

Solomon’s save is the definition of chaos.

One sim’s a vampire, the other is a spellcaster that really wants to fight the Callientes for some reason, there’s one normal sim that’s always sick for some reason,

It gets weird, confusing, and horrible.

Just how Solomon likes it.

His house makes no sense, like, what even is architecture?

Money cheats are needed because Solomon‘a goal of chaos and confusion is proving to be kind of expensive.

Square up Mortimer Goth, Solomon’s sims are here to steal your weird knight statue that’s worth a shit ton of simoleons for NO REASON.

He joined the scientist career for the sole purpose of getting to the alien planet and kidnapping adding an alien to the household via cheats.

The vampire ended up dying on their wedding day because Solomon forgot that he gave them the sun weakness.

Oh well, the ghost got added to the household! VAMPIRE GHOST!

The Child (Luke)

Before you say Luke’s too young to play the Sims, you should know that I was nine when I first started playing, and I turned out fiiiiiiiiiine.

He’s just happy to be playing.

Look, his sims are gardening :D

Look, two of them are getting married :D

Look, they had a baby :D

Look, his sims are building a rocket ship :D

Look, his sims’s rocket just crashed-

The concept of death hit the little angel right in the face that day.

“*sniffle*... my sims...”

Don’t worry, with tears in his eyes, Luke quit without saving and everything was fine!

Speaking of My Sims, Luke played MySims Sky Heroes and that was when Luke had his first bout of gamer rage.

MC came over to hang out with Solomon and Simeon, and in the distance they could just hear:

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN MY TIME WASN’T FAST ENOUGH TO CONTINUE THE STORY!? I’LL SHOW YOU FAST ENOUGH TIME!”

Okay, maybe Simeon should take the game away... just for a bit... he should take heed not to be bitten by the incredibly angry chihuahua.

Bonus:

MC: Why are our Sims married?

*Insert Boy Here*: Uh... that’s weird... I have no clue why they’re doing that...

[svnflowervol666]

you said send in some headcannons so how about some silly/kinda pesty bf harry <3😔🤌

Omg pls I love pesty bf!Harry. This is super short but I loved writing these so much!

Word Count: 1.2k

NSFW

The first thing that comes to mind is cold feet

No matter how many times you tell him how much you hate it, he’d always either wrap his freezing cold feet around yours or reach his legs over in bed to poke you with his toes just to get a rise out of you

I also think he is the type of person to scream bloody murder from across the house and when you come running to see if he’d fallen down the stairs or cut his finger off in the kitchen, he just looks at you and says some shit like, “Come cuddle with me”

100% is the type of bitch to send you pictures of rotten fruit he sees at the farmer’s market or a squished bug he saw on the train and be like, “Looks like you :(((”

Speaking of annoying text messages

He would send you the most grotesque and haunted memes in the middle of the night for absolutely no reason

And would call you after an hour asking why you haven’t responded to them

He’d also be the type of boyfriend to ask you what you’re doing and when you say you’re taking a bath or getting dressed, ironically reply with, “Without me? :(”

Texts you the morning after he leaves your house and thanks you for the head you gave him the night before

Claims it was “some of your best work yet” every single time

Sends you pictures of his outfits and asks, “Does my dick look massive in these pants?”

All of the pictures of him in your phone are ones of him giving you the middle finger because he cannot take anything seriously ever

When you’re driving somewhere, he’d yell at you at an unreasonable volume to be quiet because his favorite song is coming up next and it’s just Get Low by the Lil John

And he knows every single word and tries to shake his ass in the driver’s seat

Sneaks up behind you and slaps you on the ass for no reason

So hard that it hurts and causes an argument sometimes but he always wiggles his way out of getting the silent treatment

I feel like he likes to people-watch, but he’d also lean over to you after every couple that walks by and whisper some shit like, “Do you think she pegs him?” or, “I bet they only have sex with the lights off.”

He definitely steals food from your plate or wants a bite of whatever you’re eating even if he told you he didn’t want it

“It tastes better 'cos it’s yours” lookin’ ass

When you’re eating a popsicle or a lollipop or anything that can remotely be considered sexual, he’d start moaning obnoxiously and mumble something like, “Fuck, takin’ it so well.”

He mocks you with the most annoying valley girl accent even if that’s not how you talk

Simply just to be an asshole

You’d always come home to him digging through your stuff

Using your skincare products or rifling through your drawers

He’d hold up a pair of your underwear and ask you why you haven’t shown him those yet with the dumbest little pout on his face

I also feel like he’d barge in on you in the bathroom instead of waiting for you to come out

If you’re washing your face or brushing your teeth but he has to pee, too bad

The other way around too if you're the one using the bathroom but he’s looking for a specific bottle of nail polish under your sink smhhh

He always sits on the counter and watches you do your makeup and asks you questions about every little thing you do

“What’s that for? What does it do? How is that color different than the one you just used? It looks the same t’ me.”

“How do you not poke your eye out with that?”

Winces when you pull your fake lashes off

If he even slightly chips the color on his nails, he’d whine for you to redo them until you finally cave and fix it for him

He’d walk over to you on the couch and sit right on top of you with his entire body weight, regardless of how you’re sitting

He breathes heavy and chews loudly on purpose when you’re watching a movie to see how long it takes you to glare at him

If you’re playing with his hair and you stop, he’ll find your hand and put it back on his head to ask you to keep going without actually asking

I feel like he begs to be the little spoon

Even if you’re not sleeping over at each other’s house, he’d text you and ask you to come over and spoon him because he’s cold with the pleading face emoji

When you’re both at a party that he didn’t want to go to, he’d pull you aside after some time and whisper into your ear, “Alright, you said hi to everyone....can we please go home and have sex now? M’ dick’s gettin’ lonely”

When he’s sick.....he is the Biggest Baby

Even if it’s just a cold, he’d act like he’s dying just so you pay attention to him

“Doctor’s orders were cough medicine, tons of fluids, and back rubs from m’ girlfriend.”

I can’t explain this, but.... I know he would try to hold toes with you (I’m so twisted for this I know)

Would scribble random notes on all of your things 

Like your grocery list

Bread, tomatoes, cheese, pickles, ... magnum XXL condoms for Harry :-)

Or the list of phone numbers you keep on your fridge

Doctor’s #, vet’s #, car service #, ... for when you need your ass eaten

He’d absolutely interrupt whatever you’re doing to tell you that he finally found the thing that he saw on TikTok at the store

And when he’s drunk he’d try to get you to learn how to renegade with him

And since I mentioned drunk Harry

He is so loud and obnoxious that it’s unbearable 

He’s one of those boyfriends that starts yelling about how much he loves you and will scream at you from across the room just to wave at you and say, “Hiiiiiiiiii!”

The biggest hype man and would squeal when the DJ plays some shit like Kim Petras or Mr. Brightside

Even though he pretends to hate it whenever he hears it anywhere else

He also announces to the room that he’s going home to “make love” to his girlfriend whenever you’re leaving

He’s extremely stubborn to put to bed when he’s that drunk

Claiming that he doesn’t need water because he’s a big boy or that he’s fine and still wants to fuck you even though he’s falling asleep as he’s talking

When you’re finally both lying down and trying to sleep, he rolls over and starts spewing the weirdest nonsense

“Do you think Lewis and Clark fucked? I mean, they definitely did right? I feel like they did. There’s no way they didn’t.”

“You’ve never faked it with me, have you? I don’t think you have, but you’d tell me if you did, wouldn’t you? You acted kinda weird when we fucked in that tent, but that was real, right?” and then get upset when you start laughing at him

“Can we go swimming tomorrow? I wanna go swimming tomorrow.”

I know he wouldn’t do all of this, but annoying bf!Harry lives in my head rent free so I will simply pretend he is like this in real life to some degree

[strawbrrychan]

babysitters

pairing: felix x reader

genre: fluff!!

warnings: intense fluff ! and a few curse words..

word count: 1.4k

a/n: this is one of my very first drabbles so please be nice,,,

p.s, sorry the spacing is so weird :(

enjoy!

credits to the creator!

“felix,” you whined, drawing out the end of his name. “what’s wrong, angel?” he looked up at you from his phone. “i don’t wanna watch my sister,” you sighed, flopping onto the boy’s mattress dramatically. you laid there for a moment, letting the blankets swallow you whole as the sun shone through the curtains and onto your body. felix stared at you for a moment, admiring your beauty in silence. the way the sun hit your face, it looked like you were an angel or something.

“how come? she’s so cute!” he smiled down at you, thinking of the small child. you sat up, rolling your eyes at him. “not really, and even if she was, don’t let her looks deceive you! she’s the devil in disguise!” you flailed your arms around, pouting. felix let out a giggle, staring at your lips that quickly turned into a frown. his eyes soon met yours, as you stood up.

“it’s not funny felix! i’m serious! and i have to leave you soon,” you crossed your arms, leaning against his bed frame. you placed your face in your hands, letting out another long sigh. “fuck, my cousins are coming too! and i still have a ton of homework to do, and i have practice later. i have so many things to get done!” tears of anger and stress began streaming down your face. felix’s face switched from a smile to concern immediately. he stood up, snaking is arms around your waist, holding you close to him. you breathed in slowly, smelling his cologne. it was the one you had gotten for him for his birthday. you smiled at the thought. you could feel felix’s gentle fingers running down you back slowly.

“what if i went with you?” he offered, smiling softly at you. you lifted your head, staring into his round eyes. you scoffed, shaking your head. “i won’t make you do that.” you rested your head against his chest again, listening to the soft thump of his heart. “you’re right, you’re not. i offered for a reason. it’ll be fun!” he leaned back to look at you. he lifted you up swiftly, earning a gasp from you. “felix, put me down!” you smiled, wiggling in his arms. “it’ll be fun! let me come! it’ll be easier that way too!” he continued swinging you around, laughing. “if you put me down, i’ll let you come with me, okay?” you said between giggles. “woohoo!” felix cheered, placing you down on his bed.

when you arrived at your house, felix actually pulled you aside before walking in. “she won’t be mad that i’m here right? and you’re okay with this one hundred percent right? and..and-“ “felix baby, it’s okay. you’re gonna be okay.” you cut him off taking his hand, kissing the tip of his nose as well.

“EWWW Y/N JUST KISSED A BOY!” you heard your little sister call from inside the house.

“I HEARD THAT!” you and felix broke down into a fit of laugher, with your hands still intertwined.

“you ready now?” you looked over at him, finally catching your breath. he smiled, nodding. as you opened the door, you watched your little sister come out of the doorway in a big pink fluffy gown, and your mother’s high heels, with pink and purple glitter smeared on her eyelids, along with bright green lipstick. . you snorted, covering your mouth in an attempt to suppress your laughter. “what, i look good!” she said. you saw her strut her way up to your boyfriend, giving a small wave and a wink before walking away again. felix turned to you and once again, you broke down in a fit of laughter. “what the hell was that?” laughed, clutching his stomach as he rolled on the floor. you sat up wiping tears from your eyes, sighing before taking another breath to speak. “i think she has a crush on you,” you smiled. “she thinks she’s gonna win you over.” felix smiled, helping you off the floor. you both slid your shoes off and finally began to adjust to the new environment. toys scattered along the floor, along with small gummy packets covering almost every surface. you walked into the kitchen to see your mom and aunt, preparing to go out for dinner. “hey.” you smiled, leaning on the doorframe. “hey, y/n. thank you so much for this.” your aunt hugged you, walking out the back door. .“mom?” you said, waiting for her to turn around. “i want you to meet felix, he’s helping me tonight.” you gestured for him to follow you. she turned around, and her eyes softened. “this is him?” her eyes switched between you and him. you nodded, smiling wide. “i’ve heard great things about you felix. thank you for making her happy, and thank you for helping out. i appreciate it.” she smiled, before waving at you and closing the back door.

“y/n!” you heard your little cousins call from on top of the stairs. you walked over to the landing and smiled up to the two young boys.

“hey guys!” you knelt down, opening your arms as they charged down the stairs at you. they wrapped their small arms around your neck and sides smiling widely.

“who are you?” the older boy pointed up to felix.

“this is my boyfriend, felix. he came to help me.” you smiled proudly.

“hi there,” he bent down to face the boy. both of your little cousins gave small waves, getting shy because of his deep voice.

“don’t let his voice scare you, he’s really nice!” you smiled at the kids.

now on the couch with the boys, you called for your little sister, hopefully to actually introduce her to felix. she strut into the living room again in her sparkly tutu, and sat down next to felix, watching him closely. your cousins were occupied on the floor, with whatever cars they could find.

“this is felix, MY boyfriend.” you gestured to the boy, he smiled at her.

“you look very cute,” felix complimented her outfit.

“thank you!” she smiled at him.

you watched as the sun set in the distance, signaling it was time for dinner.

“felix, play tag with us!” your little sister asked.

“in a minute, i need to feed the baby, okay guys?” he smiled down at the two, picking up your baby cousin, and bringing him into the kitchen with you.

“you already made his bottle, right?” he turned to you, the baby cradled in your boyfriend’s arms. you smiled at the sight.

“yeah, are you feeding him? i’m not saying you have to, but if you want-“

“yes!” he smiled enthusiastically, taking the bottle from the counter.

you walked back into the living room where your cousin and sister sat on the couch, watching videos on her tablet.

“do you guys want mac and cheese for dinner?” their heads snapped up at you, nodding vigorously. you smiled at them, nodding.

“when is felix coming back?” your little cousin asked.

“we’re gonna put your brother to bed, and then he’ll be back okay? i’m gonna start dinner soon.” you smiled, knowing how much they enjoyed felix playing with them.

you walked upstairs to felix rocking your baby cousin to sleep. he was even singing something in a hushed voice. your eyes almost began to water, covering your mouth in awe.

you watched as felix gently laid the baby down, covering him with a small blanket. he bent down and placed a gentle kiss on the boy’s forehead.

“sleep well,” he whispered, turning around.

his eyes widened when he was met with your figure in the doorway.

“you’re gonna be a great father someday. i can feel it.” you whispered, walking down the stairs behind him. he stopped at the bottom, wrapping you in a hug.

“you won’t have to ‘feel it’, you’re gonna be there with me.” he smiled, tracing gentle shapes on your back.

“come on, before my sister tries to kill me for stealing her man.” you mocked her, walking back into the kitchen.

you could hear the giggles of your boyfriend and the kids from the living room, and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, imagining what it would be like to have something like that with felix someday.

you finally finished cleaning up and cooking, you quietly brought the bowls of macaroni to the kids. you walked into the living room and to your surprise, felix was passed out with your little cousin and sister squished into his sides. you smiled gently at them, placed the bowls on the table. you leaned back slowly, pulling out your phone to snap a photo of their sleeping bodies. after slipping your phone back into yo pocket, you bent down to kiss your boyfriend’s head.

“sleep well, i love you so much.”

you sat down on the opposite end of the couch, letting out a content sigh.

how did you get so lucky?

[circethegoblin]

STAYING ALIVE MASTERPOST, FROM A BROKE TEEN WITH ADHD

here you go. some down to earth tips on how to not die metally nor physically.

tired of those "drink three liters of water everyday uwu" and "wake up at 5 am" and "buy a bath bomb and a fec mask and some other things you don't have the money for" shit? i'm here for ya.

1. NOT DYING

eat at least three meals a day, one of which m u s t be warm and above 300 kcal (it can be istant ramen with an egg added if you have to)

you technically should shower everyday, but we know how it is. A change of clothes is sometimes enough.

DRY SHAMPOO AND BABY WIPES!!!

keep bottles with water everywhere. On your desk, near that spot on the floor you always end up sitting on, near your bed, basically whenever you know you spend a lot of time. No need to get up and go to the kitchen will help. Obviously change the water in the bottles as often as you can.

Get some form of physical activity. It doesn't have to be much, you can for example replace scrolling on tiktok by walking around your room and scrolling on tiktok! Brilliant, isn't it? Obviously, running or doing those 10 minutes workouts from youtube is better, but you are still getting like an hour of walking.

Buy blankets. Steal blankets. Summon blankets from other dimensions. Just make sure you have a lot of warm, soft blankets in your house. You will thank me when you won't have the anergy to wash your sheets (just take them off and throw some blankets on your bed), or when the power goes out.

If you have pets, ALWAYS keep spare food that'll last for a week for them.

things to always have in the kitchen: milk, eggs, flour, rice, pasta, yeast, cheese, oil, a leafy vegetable, onions, tomatoes, apples, patatoes, some flavourful sauce, sugar, salt, spices and an emergency chocolate bar. You can make a lot of food with those. Just make sure you won't eat the chocolate too fast.

Have a lot of spare batteries. A lot.

Get urself a flashlight, a lighter, and a pocket knife.

Remember the apples? eat one a day. if you don't like apples or you can't eat them for any other reason, you can take a kiwi, banana, orange, basically something that will give you vitamins and non processed sugar.

do the dishes before your sink starts developing it's own ecosystem

drugs from that one guy around the corner = very bad time

2. NOT DYING INSIDE

Open the damn window.

Don't watch so many commentary videos. You are probably not even checking the sources, so you can easily make unjust judgement, and like. did you even hear of half of those people before?

make a discord server just for yourself. get into the habit of writing little things that happened to you there. rant about the fanfics you read. or the movies. vent there if you don't have anyone you can vent to. write your ideas there, write e v e r y t h i n g. make a section for passwords, for quick ideas, for your to do lists. you won't lose it as you do with sticky notes or notebooks. there is no risk anyone will see it. oh, and when you'll have a strong impulse to tell emily that you hate her? write that message in your private server and list all ur arguments. look at tat the next day and decide if you really mean that.

life sucks. come to peace with it.

cuddle ur pets if you have them

1 hour a day without a lot of sensory input. if you have to, reduce to half an hour.

if you find yourself scrolling endlessly through social media, make sure it's pintrest (just don't compare urself to the people here; if you have issues with that, tumblr may be better)

delete. twitter. from. your. phone.

influencers are lying to you; maybe not even intentionally. remember when you were watching that cute-aesthetic-productive morning routine, and you were wondering why your life isn't that pretty? why your room is a mess? why you cannot for the life of god be aesthetic 24/7? its the filter. don't worry about it, their lifes arent that nice either.

realize there's actually nothing stopping you from screaming as loud as you can right now. like there is no physical barrier. think about it. realize there's no actual physical barierr to many other things.

your body is your body. you can decide how it looks like; just remember it's in your greatest interest to keep it healthy.

3. BEING A LITTLE BETTER THAN JUST ALIVE

If you wear make up, take it off before you go to sleep.

moisturize your body; everything is better when your skin doesn't feel dry

have a one brand of cosmetics that you love and buy things mainly from it. they often have sets of products that complete each other. i like ziaja. it's a polish brand, it's surprisingly cheap and has nice quality

cleanser, moisturizer, face mist

of you can, change your sheets once every two weeks

do the dishes before your sink starts developing it's own ecosystem

do a deep house clean once a month (don't beat yourself up when you don't tho)

keep your workspace organized (it doesn't have to look organized to other people, remember)

sunscreen

cook your own food

keep a calendar

no money for scented candles? got ya. make a simmer pot: throw some apple peel, a couple of cinnamon sticks and whatever spices that smell good you have into a pot, add some water and simmer. boom. your house smells good, and you haven't spend 20 dollars.

If you really like candles, buy scented wax melts. it's cheaper.

Buy urself scented mists. they're pretty cheap and will make you feel A LOT better.

keep your clothes clean. if you aren't sure if that shirt thats on your chair is dirty or not, throw it in the washing mashine anyway. better be sure.

if you can, make your bed right when you get up

wear clothes that make you feel good. put some effort into your outfits. really.

4. OTHER PEOPLE

be nice to essential workers.

if you have money, give tips.

remember, you do not owe anyone love; it is not something you can force. even if they saved your life. even when they helped you in your darkest time. if you don't love them, you don't.

you don't have to be in a romantic relationship to be happy.

if you want to, date! date everyone! date girls, date boys, date nonbinary people! date people completly different than you, date people from different countries, date them!!! just make sure they're kind and won't kill you. even if you don't end up in a relationship, you can learn a lot.

don't be afraid to piss off people that deserve it

smile to strangers :)

5. NOT FAILING SCHOOL

heard of dark academia? check it out

romanticize the heck out of studying

do not let your studying be just reading the same partagraph over and over again. it won't work. believe me.

seterra for geography, quizlet for everything else

try to make yourself intrestet in whatever you are studying (watch veritasium, listen to podcasts about weird history facts)

notes are for you and you only; don't worry about them looking pretty. doodle on margins, make weird metaphors, squeeze in as much info as you can.

when you're studying, listen to music without words/in a language you don't understand.

chew gum while you study

get the forest app, get attached to the trees, focus.

don't feel guilty for taking breaks

grades aren't everything, but they are important.

eat something in school

don't just use the cheapest pens. invest a couple dollars in something that will make writing enjoyable and smooth

those study with me videos? they're great

if you like to argue with the teachers, take care of your grades becouse. they may not like you afterwards.

be nice to your classmates and help them with homework. if you don't do your homework they'll help you

executive dysfunction won't let you study? been there. sometimes it's better to wake up ealier tommorow and do that homework then.

don't feel guilty for failing a test

go to the goddamn class

don't pull all nighters oh my god don't especially on weekdays

6. OTHER LIFEHACKS

don't get involved in the crime, and if you do always have a believable explanation why you were doing it

have different alarm sounds for every day of the week

set a daily limit of money that you spend

great hobbies that don't require a lot of money; urban exploration, writing, hiking and learning other languages

thrift stores

don't eat grapefruits while on meds

nail polish removers dissolve most strong glues.

if you have a cut on your skin, desinfect it. do it. please just do it.

always have pads with you. even if you don't get periods, at least one of your friends probably does

sign up in your local library. its free

[the-slasher-files]

Hello there! I’m back with another request. Can you write some headcanons of Michael, Jason, Bo and Bubba if their S/O was an artist? I’m an artist and I would love to see their reaction if I showed them one of my latest drawings.

Yay.. ok so I’ve got a few requests for this (from a shy s/o to a confident one) so I kind of mixed them together :) also btw I don’t write for Bubba but I will write for all the others, plus more! hope you enjoy 🔪💕  

MASTERLIST

SLASHERS WITH S/O THAT LOVES TO DRAW OR IS AN ARTIST

INCLUDES JASON, MICHAEL, BO, VINCENT, and CHROMESKULL

JASON VOORHEES

First of all living where you do at the cabin there is so much inspo from deer, to the lake, to changing of the seasons.. It is honestly the best place for an artist

Jason always noticed a black notebook lying around with pens and pencils on every other surface, and you were oddly protective of the book, so he left it alone respecting your boundaries

Sitting with him in the quiet cabin Jason loved the sounds of the pencils scratching along the paper, and he loved to watch the soothing motions of your wrist going to work

Slowly he will become more and more interested in what you're doing and he needs to see. Sneakily inching himself closer to you as you work away and stretching his neck as far as he can, catching a glimpse then feeling guilty

Jason wants to respect you so much but it kills him that you’re not showing him. So when you were in the shower he quickly ran to the book and gently ran his fingers over your work, amazed at how good everything was and how you brought the nature/animals to life in the book from around the camp

Flipping a page then he is met with sketches of himself, with the mask and without, his hands, some of his wounds with the bones sticking out... it was beautiful and he couldn’t look away until you walked into the room pushing him away from the book but seeing his expression made you melt, he loved it so much and slowly brought out confidence in you, making you show him your work all the time

A few times he had brought some art supplies home from a group of teens that came along

One day he came home to canvases all over the floor and red paint splattered all over your old t-shirt Jason freaked out thinking it was blood in the dim lighting, he stepped on your canvases with muddy boots and held you up making you yelp... “Baby it’s just paint”... well now he feels foolish and upset for stepping on your art

The next night he still felt bad but you showed him what you had created from “the incident”... Bright colours framed the bootprint and brought out the muddy tones, some of the canvases had pressed flowers along the details of the print and it was so beautiful Jason immediately hung them on the wall  

Just an fyi he wants to always do crafts with you lol so make sure you help him

MICHAEL MYERS

Now this guy is pretty indifferent to everything but something about your art brings out a new side in him

You can say a lot of things about Michael but you cannot say he isn’t observant, he sees everything and knows everything

Like Jason he notices your many notebooks and various art supplies around the house, but he is far more intrusive than Jason and will rip the notebook from your hands holding your neck if you protest as he flips through it

Watching his face nothing changes, he just scans the pages then throws the notebook down walking away leaving into the night

The next morning notebook, paints, pens, brushes and other supplies litter the kitchen counter... wonder who got those???

Michael loves watching you work on your art, watching your facial expressions, the way the pens run along the paper and how the paint coats the canvases.. oop you just gave him an idea

One night he came home gruesomely cover in blood a little more than extra, and Michael moves above you and the art you are working on, whoops he is dripping blood on the canvas, then smearing it, then moving his knife along it using it as a brush, I guess

You yelled at him at first but watching how he seemed to enjoy the colours mixing together and the way the blood dried was sort of.. cute

You knew Michael had a funny and creative side just by the way he walked into the bedroom one night with a sheet over himself and sunglasses on, and the way he leaves marks on your body in a certain pattern or framing his favourite features of you. Michael’s art was his kill you realized

He really loves your pieces, even though he would never say so and Michael’s favourites were the sketches of himself you did and he would paint blood along them

You weren’t gonna lie it made the portraits more interesting and honestly beautiful, they quickly became your favourites as well

I’m sorry but my horny self just wants to see Michael in an all-black suit at an art gallery admiring the masked portrait of himself covered in blood... sorry but it’s hot lol

BO SINCLAIR      

So Bo is not really observant so it might take him a while to notice the art supplies around the house but even then he thinks it’s just Vincent’s

You will probably have to do just do the art in front of him before he gets that its your art supplies.. man sucks lol

Bo really enjoys your company when he is in the shop, you just sitting there working away in your notebook and him under the hood of his truck

He doesn’t necessarily push to see what you’re drawing but Bo teases, the harder you hide it the harder he teases... “what ya got in there sex drawings?” “Fuck darlin’ let me be your model”

If you don’t want him to see what you’re doing never leave your notebook behind because the man is a snoop in every sense of the word

Bo 100% supports your art even though he isn’t very interested in it and doesn’t really get it, if it makes you happy he will steal supplies from his twin and if victims have notebooks or pens he will bring them to you immediately  

On a day where you decided to spend the day at the shop, sitting on your chair sketching away while Bo was organizing his tools, he kept catching your glances and smirked “Baby, you need somethin?” he would ask smugly.

“Nope” a simple answer not stroking his ego “gonna grab a beer from downstairs you want one?” Bo nods as you make your way to the mini-fridge. Quickly the man strides over to the notebook, opening the page where you had placed your pencil. He knew it, sketches of himself, it makes his ego skyrocket.

“BO!!” pushing him away and he grabs the book holding it just out of your reach smirking “Momma always said I’d be a good model” “Don’t flatter yourself Sinclair, you’re the only man around for miles that doesn’t wear a mask or look like a trash man” you laughed as him smirk fell... run

He honestly loves your art even though Bo gives you a hard time... His favourite thing is falling asleep to the pencil sounds against the paper when you’re laying in bed together

VINCENT SINCLAIR

SAAAAAAME... lol

The man notices right away that he begins to lose his an unused notebook and some of his best art pencils

It made you very nervous to show Vincent what you sketched and painted since he was just so good at art in every way. It was unfair

His favorite thing to do with you is make little sculptures from wax or clay, he could tell you were very creative and good at what you made, and he would always be super supportive

Vincent’s praise and support made you more comfortable with doing your art around him and even showing him. The man loves it and loves all of it

Different from his brother, Vinny respects you a lot and is fine with not looking in your notebook until you’re ready to show him. He hates when people see his unfinished work and flip through his notebooks as well

The good thing about dating him is Vincent’s art stuff is now yours

Also he is a very good teacher, somehow though he cannot talk, Vinny never makes you feel bad about your art and if you need help he is more than happy to support

Art date nights!! Getting the idea from your phone, you lit all the candles and brought down all the paint you could along with the large unused canvases you had found. When Vincent strolls downstairs his eyes go wide, seeing you in just your bra and underwear “I’m ready for art class Vin” you giggle

When he finds your paintings or sketches of himself without his mask Vincent’s heart melts, finding someone like you to love him, let alone see his destroyed features as art kills him

CHROMESKULL

Jesse is a very watchful human, even when he isn’t at home the guy has cameras literally everywhere

When he was gone on a "business trip" you had all the free time in the world, plus you had picked up some new art supplies, so why not work a large piece when Jesse isn't around to distract you... When you had worked on for a few hours you got a text 'How's the painting coming along?' And that's when you realized cameras are everywhere!

If you are a shy person with your art he basically doesn’t allow you to be, he’s a pushy spoiled man but he is also very supportive and it makes you more confident in showing him  

Jesse honestly loves art and has many expensive paintings in his large home, so when he sees your art you better believe he will have Preston frame the art and put it on the walls, with special art gallery lights really making it look perfect

If you need any and I mean any art supplies no matter how expensive Jesse supports it *hands you his gold credit card*

"Oh.. renovations? To the already perfect mansion?" "Yup.. it's your new art studio"

Art, wine and cheese nights... the perfect date

Feeling uninspired? alright time to change the scenery, let’s go to a tropical destination or a wintery cabin. The man wants to spoil you and put your passion at the top of his priority list, plus he just wants a vacation and see you in your swimwear

It doesn't matter if you're shy about your art or confident Jesse will say he is taking you to an event, get you all dolled up and take you to an art gallery event that is just your art... surprise! Dumb rich bastard loves your work and flaunts it to everyone he can

[gukyi]

if i told you | jjk

summary: in order to pay for university, jeon jungkook decides to market his most valuable asset to the wealthy socialites of campus: himself. donning a suit and tie, tousled hair, and glasses (to look smarter), he becomes every rich daughter’s dream: the perfect boyfriend to bring to balls, dinners, and business gatherings. all while you watch from the sidelines, only able to dream of having that much money to buy yourself what you really want: him.

{friends to lovers!au, college!au}

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader genre: fluff, comedy, angst, we’ve got it all folks word count: 22k warnings: slightly underage alcohol consumption, mention of words that could be spoken on an crime documentary series but nothing graphic, ravioli-stealing, idiots to lovers, as per usual a/n: finally! here is the long awaited jungkook fic that i have literally been slaving over since the beginning of january. was this fic supposed to be 10k? yes. did i somehow end up writing 22k anyway? of course! in any case, please enjoy my absolute baby who i love and cherish!

check out the post-script drabble here!

Jeon Jungkook loses his job at the university call center on the seventeenth day of the fall semester of his sophomore year. 

You know this because on the seventeenth day of the fall semester of your sophomore year, he comes banging on the door of your apartment shared with three other girls at 2:07PM, seven minutes after he normally starts his job at the university call center. 

He’s lucky that you’re the only one who doesn’t have class in the 2PM hour. 

“Y/N!” He shouts through the thin wooden door, his voice probably echoing down the thin hallway of your apartment complex. 

You open it before the second knock—you only rush to the door to get him to shut the fuck up, and not because you’re excited to see him, you swear—to see him standing on the other side, XXL university hoodie draped over his figure, down to his mid-thigh, baggy hood pulled over his head like a sad college-aged Star Wars character. He looks exactly like a jaded sophomore year college student would. He is beautiful. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be at the call center right now?” You ask in lieu of a normal “hello” or even a “what the fuck are you doing here, it’s 2PM”. Jungkook does not wait for you to invite him inside your apartment, immediately kicks off his shoes by the entrance and tugs on your apartment slippers that are a size-and-a-half too small for his feet, and marches over to your shared fridge to fish through the tupperware containers with your name written on Post-it notes for a mid-afternoon snack. 

Jungkook waits until he’s got an entire piece of frozen supersized ravioli shoved into his mouth before he responds. “I was fired,” he says over a mouthful of pasta and cheese.

“What?” You ask, eyes widening as Jungkook shuffles through your kitchen drawers for a fork, which means that the first piece of ravioli that he ate he did so with his bare ass hands. Like a heathen. Like a ravioli-craving twenty-year-old heathen. 

“I was fired,” Jungkook repeats. He stares at the microwave resting on your kitchen counter for a good ten seconds before he continues to eat the cold, unheated pasta. Every time he’s in your apartment (which is frequently), he tells you how it’s a fire, water, and explosive hazard to have your microwave on the counter like that. As if there is any other place in your apartment for it to go. Maybe out on the tiny balcony you have that overlooks the busiest street on campus. 

“Care to offer an explanation as to why?” You ask, coming up next to him. Jungkook is nearly finished with your tupperware of ravioli, and normally you’d shout at him for it, but seeing as he was just fired from his only source of income as a money-starved college student, you’ll cut him some slack. Just a little. 

“You remember that old, angry alumnus that told me that asking for donations in order to benefit low-income-slash-first generation students was selfish and rude of me, and that I wouldn’t be in college if it weren’t for what his generation accomplished?” Jungkook asks. 

You remember that vividly. Jungkook spent an approximate two hours and thirty-seven minutes on FaceTime with you ranting about this one “old man bitch” who he had to speak to during his day at work, all while you did your economics problem set to the sweet, mellifluous sound of Jungkook’s shrill shrieks. 

“The one you lost your temper at and shouted at for being ungrateful and elitist?” You ask pointedly. You have a feeling you already know where this conversation is going. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says with a roll of his eyes. He finishes the ravioli (goddamnit, now you’re going to have to find something else to eat for dinner at 11PM tonight) and turns around to place it in the sink. For once, it is not piled high with dishes from up to a week ago, so Jungkook even squirts a bit of Dawn onto a sponge and washes the plastic container for you. “Well, as it turns out, telling an old racist elitist that he’s old, racist, and elitist does not go down well with my boss.”

“Why does that not surprise me,” you muse. Jungkook sighs, walking over to where you’re taking it easy on the couch. “Oh no,” you say, eyes widening as he grins, plotting something. “Do not, Jungkook. Jungkook, do not!”

He jumps, catapulting himself onto the couch and landing on top of you with a thud. You let out a groan as the weight of his body hits you, foreheads nearly knocking into each other. Jungkook is a good foot-and-a-half too long for this dinky leather couch that’s always sort of smelled, feet and ankles hanging off the opposing arm rest just so he can nuzzle his face into the crook of your shoulder like he always does. You hate when he does this. Hate when he jumps onto the couch while you’re casually reclining just so he can collapse on top of you. Hate the feeling of his body resting against yours, soft breathes against the skin of your neck. Hate how it always makes you want more, how it will never be enough. 

“Have you been working out?” You mumble against the fabric of his t-shirt. “You’re more muscle-y than usual.”

“I added weights to my routine,” Jungkook tells you mindlessly. If your roommates walked into your apartment right now and saw the both of you on the couch, you’d never hear the end of it. “Taehyung said it would make me more swole.”

“As if you need to be any more buff,” you say with a roll of your eyes. Jungkook’s the most athletic person you’ve ever met in your entire life. He could probably pick up your dinky couch with you sitting on it without batting an eyelash. Even Superman would tremble at the sight of him. “You’re perfect the way you are.”

“Thanks, Y/N,” Jungkook mutters into your skin. “God, what the fuck am I gonna do now? I need money to pay for everything in my life and my one source of income is now totally invalid because an old guy got what he deserved.”

“Are there any work-study positions still available?” You ask, hand reaching up to stroke at his hair, smoothing it down. Jungkook’s preferred cuddling position is big spoon, but he still demands that he be coddled as though he were the little spoon. 

“No,” Jungkook says with a huff, “they’ve all been snagged by try-hard freshmen who need money like me.”

“I distinctly recall you being a try-hard freshman who also needed money,” you tell him. “That’s why you applied to work at the call center, isn’t it?”

Jungkook sits up, the weight of his figure crushing your legs as he rests on top of them. If you stayed like this forever, you’d probably lose feeling in your lower body, but you’d also get to stay with Jungkook forever, which is a trade-off you would genuinely consider. “Yeah, but the call center hires everybody. You just need to be like… decent at communication. And I’m pretty decent at communication.”

“You never text me back,” you tell him pointedly. 

“That’s because I prefer showing up unannounced at your apartment or other places you frequent,” Jungkook reminds you excitedly. He’ll never let you forget about the time you were wrapping up a small seminar with your history professor and Jungkook burst through the doors with a whole thing of carrots and hummus because you had texted him that you were hungry. You could not look your history professor in the eye for the rest of the semester. “I’d say that’s pretty decent communication.”

“Well, you’re going to have to figure out another way to market your decent communication skills to get another job,” you tell him. “Have you considered the boba place on Oak? You could get me employee discounts.”

Jungkook leans over just to pinch at your cheek, fingers gripping onto your face and pulling like a grandmother. “You just want me for my money.”

“You’re my best friend, Jeon Jungkook,” you tell him. “Of course I do.”

This is what Jeon Jungkook’s obligatory university Facebook group introduction post read:

Hi, I’m Jungkook and I’m thinking of majoring in visual studies or computer science (really different lol I know)! I played soccer in high school but don’t think I’ll be continuing in college because I was pretty bad at it. I’m looking for a roommate and I’d really like to live in New East House, but anything works for me as long as it has a bed. Hit me up if you think we’d made a good match, but I like talking with everyone lol. 

I’m really into music and can play the guitar, drums, and piano. I like listening to all types of music (yes, even country which slaps kinda hard sometimes) but my favorites are The 1975, Frank Ocean, Troye Sivan, and Khalid. Will bop to Justin Bieber on occasion as well. 

I play Ultimate and am really interested in joining the club team here so hit me up and we can practice sometime because my skills are a little rusty. I also do a little skateboarding but I am definitely not a skater. 

Hit me up if you think we can be friends lol I’m excited to meet you all!

It was accompanied by several pictures, a couple of which are selfies at that anime girl angle, one of him with his friends at prom all doing that Frat Boy pose, and a couple of him with his family. To an outsider doing a very quick glance, it pretty much reads the same as a rather extensive dating profile. 

The truth of it all is, as you were scrolling through the hundreds of obligatory university Facebook group introduction posts in search of a freshman year roommate, you stumbled upon Jungkook’s intro post and you thought this: No. Way.

The moment you laid eyes on his first above-the-head angle selfie, you knew that it would be unlikely that you and Jeon Jungkook’s paths would ever cross. He played guitar and did Ultimate Frisbee, and you wanted to audition for your university’s symphony orchestra. He was beautiful but in that sort of college frat boy who can crush you at beer pong kind of way. Craziest of all, he was a computer science major, and you were walking in as an undecided humanities concentration. 

Impossible. There was no way the two of you would ever meet, and you accepted that right off that bat. At a school your size, you would go through these four years not knowing a majority of your class. Jeon Jungkook was just one of the casualties. 

On the very first day of orientation, Jeon Jungkook comes up to you on the sidewalk, wearing a white t-shirt, a backwards baseball cap, and shorts, and asks you if you’re here for orientation as well? He’s lost. 

Jeon Jungkook is the type of guy you imagine getting eaten up by any girl who meets him almost immediately. He’s charming and endearing the same way a baby deer is, but has no problem wearing clothes that remind you of how fit he is. He is, for lack of a better term, extremely good looking. 

“Yeah,” you had said on the sidewalk, squinting to look up at him since the sun was in your eyes. “I’m heading to the auditorium right now. Wanna walk with me?”

“Okay, sure,” Jungkook had replied, smiling with all of his teeth. Even in the sweaty summer heat, he looked even nicer in person. “Thanks, by the way. I’m Jungkook. What’s your name?”

You knew that already. How could you have forgotten? 

You had grinned up at him. The universe has always worked in mysterious ways. “I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

When Jungkook doesn’t know what to do, he stress eats. Most often, you are the single witness to this action, which has literally no effect on his body mass whatsoever since he immediately burns off every calorie (and then some) at his next gym session. 

That is precisely why you are sitting in the second-best dining hall on campus eating a pretty measly salad and french fries, while Jungkook returns from the serve-yourself cafeteria with his sixth plate of food. Next to you is your mutual friend Chaewon, a filthy rich international student from Korea who is probably the nicest person you’ve ever met. 

“I think I’ve called every cafe, bubble tea shop, clothing store, and paid internship within a five-mile radius of this place and nothing,” Jungkook says with a sigh, keeping Chaewon updated with his job-search antics. It’s been several days since he was fired, and while being keenly cognizant of your bank account isn’t necessarily a bad thing, when it means that Jungkook refuses to leave campus because he is in hyper-saving mode, it sort of rustles your jimmies. 

“Have you tried babysitting?” Chaewon supplies helpfully. 

You laugh aloud at the mere thought of Jungkook stuck in some middle-aged parent’s house with their toddler for hours on a night where he could be living it up on campus. Jeon Jungkook? A babysitter?

“Wow, what the heck is wrong with me being a babysitter?” Jungkook questions, offended. 

“First of all, you don’t even let me beat you in Mario Kart on your Switch and I am your best friend. If you ended up gaming with a four-year-old boy, your over-competitiveness would take over you and you’d crush the poor kid and his spirit,” you remind him pointedly. Not to mention the fact that the man cannot cook to save his life, and you can’t even entrust him with microwave dinners because of his irrational fear of modern oven technology. 

Jungkook pouts. He knows you’re right. 

“It’s not like you were going to look into babysitting, anyway,” you say with a shove, nudging his shoulder with your own. 

Jungkook sighs, and despite all of the shit you give him on a daily basis (part of the responsibility of being his best friend), you do genuinely feel bad for him. Even if his job at the call center wasn’t the most intellectually stimulating nor morally rewarding, he didn’t absolutely hate it and he made a pretty decent earning off of it. He unzips his backpack and fumbles for his laptop, opening it up to reveal a Google Chrome window with approximately thirty-seven tabs open of places to work on and around campus. Meanwhile, Chaewon’s phone buzzes on the table, and she heaves out a great, exasperated exhale before picking up and immediately launching off into incredibly speedy Korean. 

“If only the bubble tea place was hiring,” you lament, kissing goodbye all of the free bubble tea you had been dreaming about if Jungkook got hired. 

“I’m glad I don’t work at the bubble tea place,” Jungkook tells you with his eyebrows raised, “otherwise I’d have to see you every day!” 

“You already see me every day!” You should back, but it’s not like Jungkook doesn’t know that already. He’s the one always barging into your apartment or sitting down next to you in the library when you’re trying to study. 

“But maybe you should try drinking less bubble tea, otherwise you’re gonna blow up like a tapioca pearl like that one girl from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory,” Jungkook warns, pinching your cheek as if to make your face round like a tapioca bubble. 

“I can think of nothing I’d want more than to be a tapioca pearl for the rest of my life,” you state simply. It would be much less stressful than to be a college student. 

“If you were a tapioca pearl, I’d eat you!” Jungkook says, and you, out of the security of both your head and your heart, choose not to think too much into it. 

As Jungkook teases you about your slight obsession with bubble tea, Chaewon finally puts the phone down after what very well was several minutes of angry Korean. She lets out this deep, long sigh, like all of the pent-up rage within her is exiting through her exhale. 

“You good, Chae?” You ask her, a little concerned. Even after knowing her since the beginning of your freshman year, you’ve never once seen her get mad, though she looks pretty close to it now. 

“Yeah,” she says, exasperated. “My mom is having this stupid company ball here and she really, really wants me to attend.” It is obvious that Chaewon does not, in fact, want to attend. You’ve seen Chaewon nearly every day for over a year, and you’ve never even seen her wear a pantsuit. You couldn’t imagine her joy at having to dress up in a ballgown. 

“But fancy free food,” you point out. Even if she does have to be trapped in a penthouse ballroom with her parents’ stuffy business friends, the catering company will probably be god-tier. 

Chaewon pretty much bangs her head on the dining hall table. 

“Wow, I didn’t know someone could hate catered food so much,” you say, a little alarmed. 

“It’s not that,” Chaewon says, rubbing her forehead. The pasta on the plate in front of her has remained untouched for nearly ten minutes now. You wonder if she’s even hungry anymore. “My mom wants me to bring a plus-one.”

Your eyes widen. An excuse to dress nice and eat good food? Hell yeah. 

“And it can’t be you, Y/N, it has to be a date,” Chaewon says. It’s pretty obvious she’s not interested in dating whatsoever, no matter the gender of the object of her affection. You pout. Damn. “My mom said, ‘he can be whoever you want!’ but that means that he has to be an attractive Korean guy who’s got a future job in finance.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jungkook says over a mouthful of broccoli. 

“You will?” Chaewon asks. Jungkook just single-handedly saved Chaewon from a night of unbearable business talk with a boy she doesn’t know and cannot relate to. 

You scoff. “You’re just a regular Korean dude, Jungkook,” you tell him. 

Jungkook pouts, bottom lip turned out. “You don’t think I’m attractive?”

You refuse to answer that question. You’re afraid of what you might say if you open your mouth. 

“Seriously, you’d do that for me?” Chaewon turns to Jungkook with platonic stars in her eyes. 

Jungkook shrugs. “Sure. I’ve got a suit. I’ll ask my friend Jimin for a crash course in finance before the thing. When is it?”

And just like that, you and Jungkook’s weekly Friday Mario Kart night gets a rain check. 

 Jeon Jungkook is the sole best decision of your life. 

And it’s funny and twisted and wonderful, because he is the one thing you had failed to account for in your life. He stands there on the sidewalk in the blazing sun, black baseball cap nestled safely onto his dark brown hair, and in the split second it takes for him to open his mouth and say hello, everything changes. 

But no longer is the image you conjure in your mind when you think of him a picture of him on that very first day of orientation, lost and excited all at once. It is of him barging into your apartment and eating all of your leftover ravioli. It’s him laying on your dinky couch like it belongs to him, surfing through all of the Netflix shows available and eventually just settling on old Gilmore Girls episodes like he always does. It’s him standing in your closet to judge your latest clothing purchases and take back any items that you’ve stolen from him over the years. 

It’s imagining him not as a guest but as a permanent fixture in your home, in the place that makes you feel safest. Because that’s who Jungkook is, now. He is that place. He stands in your apartment rattling off a list of why microwaves are a severely underestimated killer, and it takes every inch of your being not to ask him to stay. To spend night after night cuddling on the couch, or make a home-cooked meal together on a Sunday evening, or get lost underneath the sheets on your bed.

Jungkook stands in your apartment like he belongs there. And only in your wildest dreams could you ever imagine that coming true.

Such is the case of that Friday night, when he’s supposed to accompany Chaewon to her terrible, awful, brain-melting parents’ business gala. You haven’t seen him all day, too busy with your club meetings to make time for him after your classes are finished for the week. College is never-ending in that horrible, unstoppable way. 

It’s nearing two in the morning when you hear the knock on your door. Two of your roommates are at a rush event for their sorority, and the other sleeps through your smoke alarm on a regular basis, so you are tasked with the job of opening the door. 

On the other side is Jungkook, as he frequently is. 

Your heart practically freezes in place, like his eyes have shot right through it. Instead of his usual baggy outfit and a bucket hat, he’s standing outside of your apartment in a crisp navy suit (complete with a pocket square), rings lining his fingers and hair tousled in that effortlessly-styled kind of way. He looks like a goddamn celebrity, like a young, successful CEO. Like the love of your whole fucking life. 

Coughing to distract from the fact that you’re practically drooling, you say, “Wow, you clean up nicely.”

Jungkook looks down at himself, almost as if he had forgotten he’s wearing a full suit entirely. “The pocket square is Jimin’s,” he explains, “but yeah. I didn’t want to let Chaewon down by not dressing up to code.”

He’s got remnants of makeup left on his face, having faded and smudged throughout the night. There’s a bit of black underneath his eyes from the liner, a smoldering effect that makes the dark brown of his irises even deeper. “You look tired,” you comment. “Why are you here, why don’t you go home, Jungkook? Get some sleep.”

Jungkook shrugs, looking over your shoulder to see if his arrival has woken up any of your roommates. “Your place was closer,” he says like it’s nothing. 

Like it doesn’t make your breath catch in your throat, stop in its tracks. He spends an evening dressed up in a stuffy suit and tie surrounded by old businessmen and their preppy daughters with whom he has nothing in common, and when it’s nearly two in the morning and he can finally relax, he drives to your place instead of his own. Like it means nothing. As if it means anything at all. 

Jungkook runs a hand through his perfectly styled hair, and even knotted and messy it still looks flawless. “If I’m bothering you, just let me know. I know it’s late.”

It’s so hard to say no to him. 

“Just come inside already before you wake up the neighbors,” you tell him, sighing to pretend like it’s a minor inconvenience. And even running on barely any sleep with makeup smudged underneath his eyes, Jungkook grins as you let him inside your apartment, caving in, just like you always do. 

The first thing he does when he’s inside is take off his fancy loafers and peel off his suit jacket, resting it against the back of the couch. You fumble around in the kitchen for the kettle, instinctively starting to make two cups of tea. Routine. 

Looking up, you watch as Jungkook loosens his tie and takes it off, unbuttoning the first two buttons of his white dress shirt. By the counter, you turn your back to him so he doesn’t see you mentally combust. It’s impossible that he doesn’t already know what he does to you. 

The kettle finishes boiling the moment Jungkook settles onto your couch. He keeps the television off so he doesn’t wake your roommates, and scrolls on his phone with his knees tucked underneath his chin. Thirty seconds later, you’re joining him, handing him the cup of tea before sitting down next to him, severely underdressed in comparison. 

“Did you at least have fun tonight?” You ask. 

“The food totally slapped,” Jungkook tells you. “Chaewon’s parents really pulled out all the stops.”

“So I’ve heard,” you muse. 

“We spent most of the time lounging by the catering table and distracting each other by making up stories about all of the rich people there.” Jungkook laughs. 

“Please tell me you didn’t embarrass yourself, though,” you say. Perhaps Jungkook could withstand a few blows to his ego, but Chaewon’s future pretty much depends on her impressing her parents and their comrades. 

“No!” Jungkook tells you defensively. “Jimin told me everything I needed to know, but all of Chaewon’s friends and their filthy rich CEO parents thought I was so handsome that I didn’t even need to speak.”

You roll your eyes. Of course Jungkook wouldn’t give up the chance to remind you of his hellishly good looks. 

“You just stood there, looking pretty?” You ask. Not as if he doesn’t do that already. 

“You think I’m pretty?” Jungkook teases, a greasy smile sent your way, like he doesn’t know the answer anyway. 

You huff. “Dressed up like this? Anyone would.”

“Chaewon said I was like her fake trophy husband,” Jungkook jokes. “She did all of the schmoozing. It’s not like I could have contributed anything anyway. Unless everyone wants to hear about C++.”

“Ooh, I love it when you talk all tech to me,” you tease, nudging him with your arm. “So sexy, keep talking.”

He laughs. “If we keep talking about Python I might get a little too excited.” He wiggles his eyebrows just for good measure and you giggle, holding onto this moment for dear life as you let it etch itself into your brain permanently. Times like these, you know you can’t forget, saving them for a rainy day thirty years down the line when you’re in love with someone that’s not Jungkook. When you look out the window and think about what might have been, if only things back in college had been a little bit different. 

Jungkook’s phone buzzes on the table. He’s got two notifications, one from Instagram of Chaewon tagging him in a post, and another from Venmo. 

“Fuckin’ damnit,” Jungkook swears, letting his phone drop on the couch cushion. 

“What?” You ask, turning to look at him. 

“Chaewon just Venmo’ed me a hundred dollars,” Jungkook says with a sigh. And it’s not one of those times when you see your bank account balance go up and get happy because yay, money!, it’s when your friend pays you anything over what they actually owe you out of the goodness of your heart, and you refuse to accept it. 

“She did?” You ask, eyes widening. A hundred dollars? That’s more than Jungkook would make in three shifts at the call center. 

“‘Thanks for bailing me out tonight. You definitely deserve more than 100 but then you’d be mad at me. But please don’t be mad at me!’” Jungkook reads off his phone. “I just stood there looking like eye candy. I didn’t do a thing to help her, what the heck?”

You pull out your own phone to check Chaewon’s latest post. 

It’s a picture of them together in the skyscraper penthouse the gala was held in, Jungkook looking dapper in his suit with a glass of champagne in his hand, and Chaewon in a dress worth more than a semester’s tuition throwing up a peace sign like the trendy Asian she is. They look like a K-drama couple. Like two celebrities basking in their fame and wealth. 

Shoutout to my one and only Jeon Jungkook for being my fake date tonight! Thanks to your good looks and charming personality for impressing all of my parents’ rich friends and their daughters. Love you 3000 💕

“Wow, whoever took this picture of the both of you knows their shit,” you say, impressed. You had always thought it impossible for Jungkook to look better in pictures than in real life, but this photo is coming rather close. If you were any more shameless, you’d ask Chaewon if she has any more photos of him. Just him, preferably. 

It’s not as if she doesn’t know about your gargantuan crush on him anyway. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever looked that good in a photo in my life,” Jungkook says with a laugh. Impossible. He yawns, placing his empty mug on the little end table next to the couch. 

“You should set it as your profile picture,” you suggest, leaning your head on him and pretending like this is normal. He yawns again, stretching out as he rests his body against yours. “Hey, we should go to sleep. Unless you want to go home?”

Jungkook groans, snuggling in closer. “No, your bed is big enough for the two of us.”

And who are you to resist?

You wake up to the sound of a phone buzzing furiously on your bedside table. You crack open one eye just a sliver to see who the culprit is and immediately eradicate it, when the sun filtering through your Venetian blinds hits your cornea. You groan, shutting your eyes once more as you smack your hand around to get it to shut off. 

The movement, however, causes the bedsheets to shift beside you, and when you turn, you find Jungkook nestled up tightly beneath your duvet, an arm stretched over your side as he hums in his sleep. 

You’re best friends. 

This is normal. 

(The feeling of your heart beating out of its chest has become rather normal, as well.)

He’s wearing a raggedy old t-shirt of yours that has always been too big on you but fits him just perfectly and a pair of joggers that he keeps at your place “just in case”. Just in case he stays the night. Just in case you ever need them. Selfishly, you will yourself to fall back asleep, shutting your eyes tightly and pretending that maybe, if you never wake up, this moment will freeze in time, locking the two of you together for eternity. 

He mumbles to himself in his sleep, a murmur of nothing as he shifts over slightly, hand dragging up your side. 

God. 

Next to you, the phone begins to buzz erratically again, and wide-awake, you look over to realize that it’s Jungkook’s, and that it’s Chaewon on the other end. 

This is at least the second time she’s called, which means that, despite how tempting it is, you probably shouldn’t silence his phone and go back to lying in bed with Jungkook and pretending the rest of the world doesn’t exist. 

Sighing, you pick up. 

“Jungkook!” Chaewon shouts on the other side. For a brief moment you wonder why on earth she’s so energetic so early, but it’s less that and more the fact that you are overwhelmingly lethargic rather late in the day. “All of my friends said you looked really good in those photos I posted of us. Do you think you’re free next Wednesday night? Seunghee wants you to accompany her to a double date her parents are forcing her to go on!”

“Chaewon—”

“Oh, Y/N! How’s it going?”

“I just woke up,” you mumble quietly as Jungkook stirs beside you. 

“Of course you did,” Chaewon says, and you can see her rolling her eyes on the other side of the line. “Wait, why do you have Jungkook’s phone if you just woke up? Oh my God, don’t tell me—”

“Shh!” You hiss into the phone. Jungkook is slowly beginning to wake up, and you can only pray that he isn’t listening in to the conversation between you and Chaewon. “No, we did not. He got back after your thing and we promptly passed out in my bed, fully clothed,” you whisper loudly. 

“Jungkook went to your place last night? He was so tired, I thought he was going straight back to his. We even got dropped off outside my apartment.”

What? Chaewon and Jungkook live within a three-minute walk of each other. Your apartment is ten minutes away from both of them. 

“You did?” You ask, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Who’s that?” 

You turn around to see Jungkook lying on his back, head resting on a nearly-deflated pillow of yours as he looks up at you, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His hair is mussed, some parts styled and stiff with hair gel, and some parts tangled and unkempt. He looks like he’s been lying in that position for a while, hand resting behind his head as he gazes up at you. 

“It’s Chaewon,” you tell him softly as she laughs on the other end. “She just called your phone. Are you free next Wednesday?”

“Hmm?” Jungkook, still half-asleep. “When?”

“Next Wednesday,” you repeat, a hand on the phone like it’s going to do anything to stop Chaewon from listening to you two. “Chaewon says she has a friend who wants you to accompany her to a double date she’s been set up to go on by her parents.”

“Mmmrph,” Jungkook mumbles. It’s clear he hasn’t even thought about his plans for the rest of the day, let alone next Wednesday. 

“He’s not available right now,” you say into the phone. Chaewon snorts. 

“Fine,” Chaewon says with a sigh. “Can you pass the message on when you guys are done pretending that you aren’t fucking behind my back?”

You suck in a breath. “Chaewon!” You hiss. “We are not—” you quickly turn back to Jungkook, who, by the looks of his hooded eyes and bewildered expression, isn’t listening in, “—fucking!” You whisper. “You know we’re not!”

Chaewon laughs. “Yeah, yeah. Call me later, Y/N, we should grab ice cream or something.” She hangs up. 

“Who was that?” Jungkook asks sleepily, eyes still half-lidded as he sits up in your bed, soft skin, brown hair, pouted lips amongst a sea of white, bundled up in your thick duvet as if sitting on a cloud. 

“Chaewon,” you tell him. 

“Oh, why was she calling?”

“She wanted to ask if you were free next Wednesday.”

“To do what?”

Maybe you were worried about Jungkook listening in to Chaewon grill you about your relationship (or serious lack thereof) for nothing. 

“She has a friend who wants you to go on a parent-mandated double date, trophy boyfriend style,” you explain. Jungkook groans. 

“Pretending to know business is mentally, physically, and morally draining. It feels like I’m selling my soul to capitalism,” he says with a sigh, collapsing back against the mattress. “I just wanna stay here forever. It’s so cozy.”

“Come on, Kook,” you say, tugging the duvet off of him to reveal the rest of his body. He curls into himself at the exposure, refusing to budge. “You’ve encroached on my apartment long enough.”

“Y/N,” Jungkook whines, drawing out your name for good measure. “Noooooooo.” He reaches out to cling onto your wrist, which means that if you want him out of your bed, you’ll have to drag him out.

“Jungkook, you’re swole, you know I can’t tug you out of my bed,” you say with a pout. He knows every trick in the book to use against you, and worst of all, he knows you’re weak to all of them. 

“Good,” Jungkook says with a loopy smile, pulling you back onto the bed like it’s nothing. You yelp as you come crashing on top of him, your body bumping into his as he wraps his arms around you and flops back onto your bed. You laugh and shout at the feeling as Jungkook cuddles up in the warmth of the sheets, pulling you in tightly to his body. “It’s so warm here, let’s stay like this forever.”

“What about food?”

“You keep a stash of Clif bars under your bed, we’ll eat those,” Jungkook suggests. 

You attempt to wriggle out of his grip, hoping to escape before he holds you long enough to get addicted, hooked on the feeling of his arms around you, his body against yours. But Jungkook is nothing if not persistent and clingy, and he wraps his arms tightly around your torso like a koala, warm and soft. “Come on, Jungkook. It’s nearly noon. Let’s be productive today.”

“Gross.”

“Let’s not sit in bed all day.”

“Grosser. Let’s just stay in your bed all day and pretend that we don’t have any real responsibilities.”

“Given that we’re in college, that may be slightly difficult.”

“Fuck that, your GPA doesn’t matter anyway. Unless you have plans on going to grad school?” He asks with an eyebrow raise, turning to look at you. 

“No way, I’m not paying for another four years of this shit,” you immediately declare. Let the capitalist system of higher education extort another two to four years worth of tuition out of you for the same degree? Absolutely not. 

“Then why move?” Jungkook says with a grin. 

“Because,” you say, stumbling for a real answer. 

“Not good enough.” He grins cheekily. “I vote to stay in bed.”

“I vote to do my readings, your CS homework, and get back to Chaewon about Wednesday.”

“God,” Jungkook says with a sigh. “What’s Wednesday?”

“Oh my God, you need to call Chaewon. Right now. Before you ask me what you have on Wednesday one more time after losing all of your brain cells lounging around in my personal bed and refusing to leave,” you say, eyes wide as you worm your way out of his grip, dusting yourself off and heading to your closet. 

“Noooooooo,” Jungkook says, reaching out a desperate hand. “Y/N, come back.”

“Call Chaewon. Call her!” You order, fishing around in your closet for some fresh clothes. You’ve been wearing the same one since Thursday night. You are disgusting. 

Jungkook groans but obeys, picking up his phone and pressing her contact. “Hey Chae, it’s Jungkook. Listen, I’m literally going to Venmo you back what you paid me because you? Literally didn’t need to pay me at all? And I’m actually mad at you for it? Wait, what do you mean am I up to getting paid on Wednesday—”

The phone call presents the perfect opportunity for you to dash out of your bedroom and into the bathroom, where you splash yourself with cold tap water like a model in a face wash commercial (who already has perfect skin, so why does she need this new face wash, seriously?) to clear your head. It’s been a weird twelve hours. Even weirder knowing that across the hall, Jungkook is sitting in your room, on your bed, in your clothes, under your bed sheets. Knowing that maybe, in another universe, on another timeline, you would be in the exact same positions, only everything would be different. 

You wash your face, hoping to wake yourself up. Convince your mind that the past twelve hours have been nothing but a dream, and that when you walk back into your room, Jungkook will have vanished. Or he would have never been there in the first place. 

You leave the bathroom and return to your bedroom to see Jungkook tugging on his suit jacket, wearing the same clothes he had on when he knocked on your door at 2AM last night. He’s still on the phone, wrapping up the conversation with Chaewon. 

“Yeah, yeah, tell her that I’m down. She can just text me, give her my number. I’m happy to do this for you and your friends, Chae. Plus, she’s gonna pay me and I feel less bad about it because it’s a service and she’s not a close friend like you are. Yeah, it’s all good,” he looks up to see you standing at the door, leaning against the frame. “Yeah, Y/N just got back so I’m gonna go. Maybe we can grab dinner or something tonight? Cool. Bye.”

“Dinner without me?” You ask with a pout. 

“Never,” Jungkook says wickedly. “You’re always invited.”

“Have you figured out what’s going on on Wednesday?” You tease him as you walk him to the door. 

“Chaewon has a friend, Soojin, who wants me to accompany her on a parent-mandated double date with a business partner’s daughter,” Jungkook explains. “Apparently all of Chaewon’s friends realized I make a pretty good fake trophy boyfriend.”

You rub his shoulder. He’d make a great real boyfriend too. Not that you think about that all of the time, or anything. “Gonna put that on your resume, big guy?”

“Of course.” Jungkook smiles. “Dinner tonight? We can go to the ramen place you really like.”

“Sure thing, is Chaewon coming?”

“If she wants to. Otherwise, it’ll just be us.”

“Sounds good,” you tell him. “See you then.”

“Hopefully before,” Jungkook says. “Thanks for letting me crash here last night, by the way.”

“Anytime,” you say. Maybe one day, it’ll be true. 

Next Wednesday, there’s a knock on your door at midnight. 

Who else could it be?

It was supposed to be a one-time thing. And then it was supposed to be just a two-time thing. And before you knew it, Jungkook’s number and his services were circling through the ring of wealthy international students, jumping from phone to phone as people crammed to get him to accompany them on their next double date, next business gala, next ballroom dance. 

You had always had a feeling that his charming, charismatic personality would eventually draw everybody towards him, so electric and magnetic that you couldn’t help but want to know him, make friends with him, be close to him. From the moment you saw his Facebook introduction post, you knew it was only a matter of time before everyone on campus knew his name.

[October 17th, 4:12PM] You: do u want to get dinner tonight

Jungkook: would love to but have to go to kim family business dinner with dahyun sorry :(

You: ok next time then!

[October 23rd, 1:03PM]

You: yo what r u doing You: i have so many readings to do rip You: do u wanna come to greene w me and study

Jungkook: heejin is taking me shopping for a fancy suit for her family’s event tomorrow i can’t :/ Jungkook: but i am going to get macaroons for u at the mall so we can see each other later!

You: yummm sure thing!

[October 30th, 9:58AM]

You: hey ik you’re asleep rn but we are still on for tomorrow right? 🎃 You: can’t let our one (1) year long halloween tradition of buying last-minute candy and watching the nightmare before christmas together die

[October 30th, 11:13PM]

Jungkook: omg i just saw this now im so sorry Jungkook: uh yeonjoo wants me to go to her sister’s halloween party tm so idk if i can make it this year

[October 31st, 2:02AM]

You: ok You: thanks for telling me

It’s no fun watching The Nightmare Before Christmas by yourself, you realize this Halloween. All of your roommates are out frequenting one of the hundreds of parties being thrown on campus tonight, and although you’d normally be up for getting drunk and dropping it low, you just aren’t in the Halloween spirit this year. Wonder why. 

Armed with the knowledge that your roommates probably won’t be back until three or four in the morning, you shut your laptop and decide to go to bed early. Early being midnight, but it’s early for you and that’s all that really matters. 

You don’t know why you’re being such a stick in the mud this Halloween. It’s always been one of your favorite holidays, never one to pass up free candy nor the option to dress up, but this one has been particularly lame. You don’t have a costume, your local drugstore is out of mini Skittles packets, and you don’t have someone to spend it with. 

Realistically, you have no reason to be sad that Jungkook isn’t available tonight. It’s not as if spending Halloween together is some ancient tradition from birth that binds the two of you together. You did it for the first time as freshmen, and you were foolishly hoping to do the same thing as sophomores. It’s not a tradition if it only happened once. 

You look in the bathroom mirror, stained with nail polish and dry shampoo and old skincare, and you sigh. Jungkook has every right to prioritize his current and only source of income over a night spent lounging on the couch doing nothing. It’s not as if you haven’t seen your best friend in over a month and this was the only night you both had free. Jungkook drops by after every single event he goes on. Every single one. He stands outside your door dressed in a fancy suit, or a silk button down, leather shoes and expensive jewelry bought for him by the girls he goes out with.

No matter the time, he knocks on your door and says hello, steals a cup of tea and a bit of your heart along with it, before bouncing out of your living room and off to his own apartment. He doesn’t stay the night anymore, doesn’t worm his way underneath your duvet and refuse to move until morning comes. It’s hard to tell if you’re grateful about it or not. 

Sluggishly, you peel off your clothes and wash your face, changing into some old sweatpants from the tenth grade and a t-shirt with an embarrassingly large hole in the armpit. This Halloween, you are dressing up as a lonely college student who is going to bed early on Halloween night because she has nothing better to do!

There’s a knock on your door. 

Your first instinct is to freeze up. When there’s another knock, your second instinct is to grab the closest object to you (which happens to be your water bottle) for self-defense. 

And then, you hear,

“You’re not watching The Nightmare before Christmas without me, are you?”

To spare yourself the shame, you won’t say that you practically leapt out of bed the moment you heard his voice. You calmly removed the covers, and casually walked to the front door. That is what you did. 

When you open it, Jungkook is standing behind it, grinning, wearing the greasiest police officer outfit you’ve ever seen in your entire life. This flew at a marketing company’s heir’s Halloween party? He’s even got what looks to be a fully-loaded water gun in his holster. 

“Don’t tell me this is what you wore to some fancy-shmancy Halloween party,” you say disapprovingly, eyebrows raised as you look him up and down and pretend that you aren’t just ogling his figure. 

“It was fine, Yeonjoo’s sister just graduated college. If anything, she was more okay with it than Yeonjoo was,” Jungkook says with a shrug. You don’t even need to let him in at this point, just watch as he tugs off his shoes and steps inside your apartment like it belongs to him. 

“What was Yeonjoo dressed as?”

“Princess Leia. We made for a very mismatched pair,” Jungkook says, chuckling to himself. “Ooh, did you guys get new tea?”

“You can have some if you want,” you tell him, shutting the door as he eagerly pulls out a box of teabags, turning on the electric kettle on the counter. “I think it’s Wild Berry Hibiscus.”

“Sounds good already,” Jungkook says, and he lets out a sigh that sounds so exhausted, so tired and aching, as he leans back against the countertop, head resting on the cupboards above it. 

“You could have gone home, you know,” you tell him. Even from the couch you can see the droop in his shoulders, the bags under his eyes. He’s been going out several times every week for the past month, and he still has a truckload of CS assignments on top. He spends precious hours schmoozing with wealthy businessmen and women, shaking people’s hands and posing for pictures in the fanciest clothes he owns and then some. The selfish part of you wants him to stay. The part that loves him knows it would be better if he went home. “You still can.”

“No,” Jungkook insists, shaking his head. “We have a tradition to uphold, don’t we?”

Even though The Nightmare Before Christmas is seventy-six minutes long, the night ends long before that. You haven’t even reached “This Is Halloween” before you feel a head hit your shoulder, and crane your neck to find Jungkook having fallen fast asleep beside you, half-full cup of Wild Berry Hibiscus next to the laptop in front of you. He’s still wearing his stupid police officer costume, the navy blue uniform tight against his body. His lips are parted ever so softly, eyelashes fluttering as little non-sounds exit his mouth, hints, whispers of snores. 

He hasn’t slept over since the first time. You’re not sure if you want the trend to continue, or if you just want to be a little bit selfish tonight, greedy, taking and taking and taking. He’s so beautiful like this, so innocent and gentle and soft. It would be such a shame if you had to wake him. 

And so, gingerly, you rest your head against his own, breathe in the quiet little sounds that leave his parted lips, memorize the feeling. It’s not the first time Jungkook’s accidentally fallen asleep on you, but there is something about this moment, sitting on your couch a few minutes past midnight, as the rest of the world celebrates around you, that is so intimate. Like here, in your apartment, you and Jungkook have your own little bubble, tucked away in a corner of the universe far from the noise of the rest of the world. And it’s here that you wish you could stay forever, for once never wanting the feeling to end. Wanting time to freeze in its very steps, the clocks stop and the orbit halts, and it is just you and Jungkook, forever. Like characters in a movie, on pause for eternity.

The moment ends when Jungkook shifts beside you before eventually coming to, slowly opening his eyes as he turns to look at you. You smile at him, dazed and tired, as he sits up properly, staring down at your half-opened laptop and the half-full cup of tea next to it. 

“Thought you’d end up sleeping here again tonight,” you joke, even though it isn’t really a joke. Maybe, somewhere deep down inside you, in the crevices between your bones and the dark corner of your heart, you had hoped that he would stay. 

“Oh, did I fall asleep?” Jungkook asks, blinking away the sleep in his eyes. It’s nearly two-thirty in the morning. 

“Just for a bit. I didn’t want to wake you, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to head back to your apartment or anything,” you tell him. 

Jungkook nearly jumps up off the couch at that, like he’s got springs in his shoes. Suddenly he’s wide awake, brown eyes blown open as he scrambles to gather his belongings, taking the cup of tea and quickly dumping it out in your sink. 

“Hey, don’t you want that?” You ask. 

“No, no, it’s okay. I’ll come by some other time and have some, it was really good, I just fell asleep while drinking it,” Jungkook sputters, words moving a mile a minute as he tugs on his heavy black officer boots, scuffed at the tips from wear and tear. It’s as if he’s desperate to leave. Like your apartment has somehow offended him. Or worse, you. 

“If you want to stay, Jungkook, you can,” you tell him, standing up to run to the door before he pulls the damn thing off his hinges with how fast he’s moving. “I don’t mind. My bed is big enough for the both of us.”

“No, I should—I should get going. My… plants need watering. Right now. I totally forgot.”

It’s not a completely bullshit excuse. Jungkook has a fair few pothos amongst his other worldly apartment belongings, hanging from his ceiling or potted in old mugs and janky shoes. But it’s still a pretty bullshit excuse. It’s dark. Jungkook waters his plants every Sunday, and it’s Friday. It’s obvious he wants to get the hell out of your apartment for whatever reason. 

All you can do is hope and pray that it isn’t you who’s driving him away. 

“Oh—okay,” you tell him, opening the door as he furiously laces up his other boot. 

“Thanks for doing this. Next Halloween will be more fun, I swear. I won’t fall asleep on you. Or anything.”

“Okay, see you soon, then?” You ask, searching for a clue, a hint, anything that will tell you that it’s not you, that he hasn’t found you out yet. That you can still be friends, be best friends, because even if you want to kiss him, hold his hand, roll around in bed with him, loving him from afar is good enough. 

“Yes, yes, definitely. Dinner? Uh… sometime this week? I’ll text you. I have to go. Plants. See you!”

He dashes down the hallway. 

And you end your Halloween the same way you started it. Alone. 

Jungkook ran out of your apartment the other day like it was infested with cockroaches. Or the Black Plague. Or your microwave had just beeped. It was as if simply being inside it was going to scar him for life. 

Maybe your apartment is cursed. Jungkook does believe in ghosts. That’s another reason as to why he fears the microwave. Tiny ghosts could be living inside the microwave chamber and you’d never know. But Jungkook knows better. He knows that they’re there. 

“He just… ran out?” Chaewon asks, clearly bewildered. The two of you have been working on the first floor of the library all day, obviously doing everything in your power to not actually complete any of your assignments. 

“Yeah, something about his plants.” You sigh. 

Chaewon narrows her eyes, the same way she does when she’s plotting something. “Interesting.”

“What?” You ask, nudging her to see if you can worm a less mysterious response out of her. 

“Nothing,” Chaewon says with a nonchalant shrug. She clearly has something to say. 

“What?” You repeat forcefully. Chaewon doesn’t get to go all cryptic on you just because Jungkook ran out of your apartment like it had set fire. 

“I know I’ve only known you guys for, like, a year and a bit now, but you two have the strangest relationship I’ve ever seen,” Chaewon comments like it’s nobody’s business when it is, in fact, specifically two people’s business. 

You scowl. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just…” She pauses, thinking. In the silence, she begins to pack up her belongings, shoving her laptop into her bag and gathering up the small pile of candy wrappers slowly amassing in front of her. “I’ve never seen two best friends have a relationship quite like yours.”

“Thanks?”

“What are you doing for dinner? I’m eating with Yoonji, but you’re welcome to join if you want,” Chaewon offers. Even though you have no idea who Yoonji is, Chaewon would never exclude you from eating with them.

“I’m getting Korean food with Jungkook, but thanks for the offer,” you say, only to be greeted with Chaewon rolling her eyes. He said he’d meet us outside?”

Sure enough, when you head out of the glass doors at the front of the library, Jungkook is waiting dutifully on a bench close by, headphones in as he nods his head and taps his feet to the beat of the music, lost in his own world. He doesn’t even realize that you’ve left the library until you’re two feet in front of him, when he recognizes your beat-up white sneakers and looks up at you in glee, eyes crinkled into crescents. 

“Ready to go?” You ask happily. Your stomach has been rumbling ever since Jungkook suggested you go out to eat this morning. 

“Hell yeah I am,” Jungkook says, putting his earbuds away as he stands up. “You coming, Chae?”

She shakes her head. “No, I’m eating with a friend.” There’s nudge against your shoulder, and when you turn to face her, she winks. “But you two enjoy yourselves! Don’t have too much fun without me!”

Before you can publicly berate her for being so goddamn obvious, she’s rotating 180 degrees on her heel and speed-walking in the opposite direction, zooming off so you don’t get the chance. 

“I feel like we haven’t seen each other in ages,” you comment mindlessly. Twenty-four hours away from Jungkook feels like a lifetime and a half. Forty-eight is a light year. 

“I’ve been busy,” Jungkook says vaguely, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Doing what, going out to fancy restaurants and galas?” You half-tease. It’s sad but true—Jungkook spends his nights living a life you could only dream of. And all of these rituals you share, from studying in the library until three in the morning to crashing at his place and taking naps on separate couches, get put on the backburner. 

“Hey, it’s hard work pretending to be rich,” Jungkook pouts. “Besides, the craziest thing about going to those things is that rich Korean people don’t serve Korean food at their fancy gatherings. They serve shit like caviar.”

“Is that why you’re so desperate to get Korean?” You ask pointedly. 

“Yes,” Jungkook emphasizes. “Man, I just want some tteokbokki.”

“Then we’ll go and eat all of the tteokbokki you can dream of,” you promise. You round the street corner and on the edge of the main road and an alleyway sits a tiny Korean restaurant the size of a bedroom, no more than six cramped tables inside. It’s run by a family who passes it down through each generation, dependent on the starving college students nearby to keep it alive. 

It’s Jungkook’s favorite place. The owner gives him a discount every time he sees him. 

(It’s impossible not to fall in love with Jungkook. Impossible to not be drawn to his presence, his personality. Like moths to a flame, you can’t help but come closer.)

“Ah, Jungkook!” The old man behind the counter greets as the bell above the entrance rings. “Sit! Sit!” He points to your favorite table, a round one in the far left corner that’s right next to the biggest window. “Usual?”

“Tteokbokki, too, please!” Jungkook shouts. The man gives you both a thumbs up and heads back into the kitchen. 

“It’s been a while since we came here,” Jungkook notices. You both usually eat lunch on campus and Jungkook has been largely unavailable for dinner. 

“Almost sounds like you missed it,” you poke fun. 

“God, I missed it so much,” Jungkook exclaims, tilting his head back in exasperation. “I didn’t realize that it would be so much work to get dressed up in a suit and look hot.”

“Don’t make it sound like such a drag.” You frown. Jungkook needs to put in literally zero effort to look hot. Sitting across from him in this tiny Korean restaurant as he wears nothing but a massive hoodie and black joggers, he looks hot. When he wakes up in your bed in a raggedy t-shirt, he looks hot. When you catch him at three in the morning in the library after eighteen straight hours of studying, he looks hot. 

Jungkook sits there and radiates light. Radiates warmth and joy and beauty. Laughter and hope. He’s the college version of a Disney prince. Perfectly imperfect and completely out of your reach. 

“I wish I could take you with me, you might enjoy it,” Jungkook sighs. “Plus, I have literally never seen you wear something fancier than business casual. Imagine you in a ballgown!”

“In your dreams, Jeon,” you rebuke. “Free catered food sounds nice but having to mingle with the 1% does not.”

“Touché,” Jungkook concedes. “I don’t know how Chaewon does it.”

“She’s a goddess.”

“Indeed.”

Jungkook pours you a cup of water from the pitcher that the old man dropped off, and then pours one for himself. “Chaewon said that I did well, though.”

Not surprising. Jungkook excels at everything he does. 

“Of course you did, you sexy beast,” you chide. 

“She said I’d make a good boyfriend.”

You choke on your water as the man’s son brings out your food, and you desperately attempt to avoid eye contact as you sputter and cough into a napkin, gaze pointed away from both a surprised waiter and a concerned Jungkook, who awkwardly thanks the man and leans over to pat your back. 

“You good?” He asks, brows furrowed. 

Coughing, you say, “I’m okay, I’m okay. It just—it went down the wrong pipe, that’s all.” Jungkook doesn’t buy it, and the little coughs escaping your throat don’t do much to corroborate your claim. “Seriously, Jungkook. I’m okay. It’s just water.”

“You looked like you were on the verge of death,” Jungkook frowns. 

“That’s just my face,” you fire back. “Just keep talking about what you were saying earlier. What was it?”

“Being a good boyfriend,” Jungkook says, and with no water near your lips to distract you this time, your mind bears the full force of his words, weighing down on your shoulders like a calculus textbook. 

It’s not as if you aren’t already aware that Jungkook would be the best boyfriend in the entire world, bar none. Not as if you don’t sit in bed and dream of a parallel universe, a life other than the one you’re living in right now, where Jungkook is lovely and wonderful and yours. He knocks on your door at a random hour in the afternoon with Chinese takeout from the local restaurant. He remembers your homework assignments when you forget them. He sits in bed with you and judges the Instagrams of the guys on the latest Bachelorette season. It’s as if he was already yours.

“Believe me,” you scoff. “The people know how great of a boyfriend you are.” 

“It’s fake, though,” Jungkook reminds you. “It’s only for a night. An evening, really.”

“Better than nothing,” you sigh. “If only I had enough money to rent myself a fake boyfriend for a night.”

“If only your parents were the CEOs of a multibillion dollar cooperation,” Jungkook adds on. 

“Truth,” you say, and you and Jungkook toast to that. Toast to knowing that some people are born with a silver spoon in their mouths. Toast to knowing that some of those people can get for themselves something you can only imagine in your wildest dreams—a night with Jungkook. More than just a night. A night spent dressed up in your fanciest clothes, arms wrapped tightly around each other. A night spent as a couple, rather than you and Jungkook. 

Toast to knowing that even if you’ll never get to have him like that, you get to have him like this, and you’d rather it be like this than nothing at all. 

“You don’t need to rent a fake boyfriend for a night, Y/N,” Jungkook tells you once you’ve downed the water in your glasses (stay hydrated!). “You shouldn’t feel pressured to spend time with people you don’t want to spend time with.”

You don’t understand, you sigh. I’d give anything to spend time with you. 

Jungkook pays. He says that he’s made more money accompanying wealthy socialites—even ones that don’t go to your school, because word gets around—than he would in a month’s worth of shifts at the call center. He says he’s never looking back. He’s probably not going to give up the gig for a while, either. 

“Just because you have cash now doesn’t mean you get a free pass to pay for everything we do together,” you warn. You’ve always split the price of meals, split the price birthday cakes for your friends. In the beginning of freshman year, Jungkook ate a quarter of a bag of goldfish you had and paid you fifty-three cents to account for his consumption, which you immediately sent back to him. You still fight over it, finding surreptitious ways to incorporate it into the Venmo payments you make to each other. 

“I’m rich, I can do whatever I want with my money,” Jungkook proclaims. “And if that means treating my best friend to a meal, then that means I’m gonna treat her to a meal.”

“That’s very rude of you,” you tell him pointedly. “Zero out of ten, worst best friend in the entire world. Will not accept my Venmo payments.”

Walking down the sidewalk, side by side, Jungkook wraps an arm around you and pulls you in for a side hug as you come to a stop at a traffic light. “You always do so much for me and Chaewon. You deserve to be treated once in a while, Y/N.”

“Why, ‘cause I go out to CVS at ten at night to get you Nyquil after you catch the common cold from some sweaty guy at the gym?” 

“That,” Jungkook nods, conceding, “and also because you’re one of the best friends anyone could ever ask for. The people who know you are lucky to get to say your name.”

If only Jungkook knew that he was the exact same. It’s an honor to know him. It’s a blessing to love him. 

“What fancy clothes do you own?” Chaewon’s lying on your bed, scrolling mindlessly on her phone. 

“I don’t know,” you respond, brows furrowing. You get up from your desk chair to start fishing through your closet,  “I have, like, some business casual stuff.”

“How about a dress?”

You whip around suspiciously, eyeing Chaewon as she lounges around in your room and acts like she isn’t plotting something nefarious. “Don’t you think you could tell me what you’re trying to convince me to do before you ask me if I have the appropriate clothing?” 

Even lying on her back, Chaewon still manages to roll her eyes, sitting up to meet your gaze. “There’s a gala tonight to celebrate some big business deal being closed and I want you to come with me,” she says like it’s a chore, exasperated. 

“Me?” You frown. “Why not Jungkook?”

“He said he had some thing to do for some other girl,” Chaewon says. The topic clearly is not at the forefront of her mind. It’s a little too obvious that it’s at the forefront of yours. “Besides, I was given no date restrictions and you deserve to have a little fun tonight. It’s a Friday!”

“I just want to stay in bed and play Legend of Zelda,” you tell her. 

“You’re already out of bed,” Chaewon points out unhelpfully. 

“Well, then I want to get into bed and play Legend of Zelda,” you rephrase. 

Chaewon pouts. “Noooo, please? It’ll be fun, I swear,” Chaewon pleads.  “It’s a huge party and hundreds of people are going to be there. Everybody gets to bring a plus one. You won’t be the only person who doesn’t know anything about business and has to cling onto their date in order to survive.”

“Gee, thanks. That makes me want to go so much,” you deadpan. 

“Seriously, Y/N. When was the last time you went out on a Friday?”

A while ago. You and Jungkook started having Mario Kart nights on Friday in the middle of your freshman year after you both came to the conclusion that every frat party smells, sounds, and tastes like the same fifty shades of college regret. You haven’t gone out since. 

“Not that long ago,” you lie. It’s been months.

“Yeah, right,” Chaewon scoffs. “Don’t think I don’t see your Bitmoji on the SnapMap sitting in your damn apartment on a Friday at 11PM,” she scolds.

“I’m gonna turn off my location,” you declare. You’ve had enough of Snapchat exposing you and your location. People can live in mystery about your whereabouts from now on. They don’t need to know. Chaewon certainly does not. 

“No excuses, you’re coming with me to the gala! You must have something to wear in that closet of yours, don’t you?” She slides off of your bed with a thud and joins you as you stand in front of your clothes. None of them scream fancy. None of them even whisper it. You stand back as she shuffles through your clothes, hangers squeaking as she shoves them along the rail. Chaewon tears through your clothing faster than you skim through your economics readings. “Aha! What do we have here?”

She whips out a dress from the very back of your closet, right behind the blazer you never wear because you’d rather be caught dead than in business attire. It’s old—you don’t think you’ve worn it since the beginning of your freshman year when you thought you actually had to dress up for parties. Needless to say, you dry-cleaned it the following Monday and never wore it again. You don’t even recall bringing it to college this year. 

“This is perfect!” Chaewon cries. “Really says ‘I can fucking dress myself’, don’t you think?”

“Are you implying that I can’t dress myself?” 

“You should definitely wear this,” Chaewon decides, dodging the question. “Gucci and Louis Vuitton are overrated, anyway.”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I.” Chaewon thrusts the dress towards you.

Chaewon shakes her head. “Of course you don’t.” 

Three hours later finds you one makeup and hair session later, standing in the lobby of a magnificent skyscraper wearing a dress that maybe could have done without the cup of frozen yogurt that you ate before you arrived. Now you remember why you haven’t really worn it since the beginning of last year. Has it shrunk?

“I feel like a loser, Chaewon,” you hiss as she bats her eyelashes and gets directed to the private elevator that will lead you both to the top floor. “A money-less, jobless loser.”

“At least you’re honest, Y/N,” Chaewon whispers back as you step into the elevator. Despite being nearly an hour and a half late (“Fashionably so!” Chaewon exclaims.) you are crowded into the back corner, several other couples stepping inside to join you, all of them wearing clothes that cost more than your tuition for all four years of college, combined. “That’s better than most of the people here.”

Nothing separates the rich from the poor like morality. 

When the elevator doors open, you and Chaewon are the last group to step out, milling about in the corner until the path is free. And when you turn your gaze away from her, you realize just why Jungkook’s so keen on going to events like these, why he never turns down an offer when it lights up his phone screen. 

In movies, rich people flaunt their wealth so extravagantly that it almost looks fake. From gigantic ice sculptures to ten-feet-tall chocolate fountains, entire orchestras and dresses worth thousands of dollars, it makes you wonder if rich people really do see those items as necessities when throwing a party. They rent out entire European castles and the press publicizes every one of their actions. To you, it looks contrived, unrealistic. Even if rich people have enough money to sustain the bottom 99% for hundreds of years, how could they spend their money on nonsense like this?

As it turns out, the ice sculptures and chocolate fountains are only half of the story.

At this gala, the hosts have spared no expense. The entire penthouse is made purely of glass, from the ceiling, to the floor, to the walls in between, giving you an absolutely breathtaking view of the city lights dozens of feet below you, of the stars millions of light years away. It’s as if you’re standing in a bubble, frozen in time, the world sparkling and twinkling and shimmering around you. You didn’t even know a place like this existed on Earth. The price to book it must be astronomical. The view, even more so. 

“Holy fuck,” you murmur, mouth dropping open at the sight. It’s a movie come to life. It’s a picture straight out of a fairytale. 

“Pretty sweet, right?” Chaewon says, clearly proud of herself for convincing you to join her. “The Parks and the Ohs really felt like celebrating.”

“No shit,” you say, dumbfounded. Chaewon wraps her arm around yours and leads you out of the elevator, her poise and grace akin to that of a princess. She’s been to this place before. She could do this in her sleep. 

“Pictures first, then we eat, and then we mingle,” Chaewon instructs, and you nod diligently. She’s the only way you’re going to make it out of this night unscathed. Without her, you don’t know what you’d do. 

On the average day of an average life of an average person, pictures means getting a stranger to take a single pic on your shitty iPhone at your worst angle, which you will begrudgingly post to your Instagram later after extensive editing. 

But this is not your average day, and these are not average lives of not average people. Pictures means professional photographers with entire setups, standing with their cameras held up to their eyes, poised and ready for the next shot. It means couples, one by one, stepping in front of a gorgeous backdrop and posing, over and over, as five photographers at once cram to get their best angle, the cleanest photo. 

You don’t know how to pose for photos. You barely remember what the proper formatting is for your essays, depending on the citation structure. And yet, Chaewon is ushering you over in front of the photographers, immediately striking one of her classic, perfect poses as you flail about, trying to figure out what to do with your hands. 

“Just relax,” Chaewon advises. Even standing beside you, she can see you panicking in her periphery. “And smile. You’re beautiful, so show them that.”

Eventually, as the photographers switch positions to get different angles, you stop worrying about your hands, stop worrying about your bag, your feet, your head tilt, and just grin. You may not have millions of dollars to your name, but it’s a Friday night and you’re living the life of a billionaire with no responsibilities. You deserve to live a little. 

When the next group comes up, Chaewon nudges you out of the way and whispers to one of the photographers, who nods dutifully in response. Wrapping her arm around yours once more, she guides you to the massive catering setup, tables and tables lined with delicacies from every country you could imagine. And of course, a gargantuan chocolate fountain in the middle of it all. 

Your stomach rumbles. Clearly, the frozen yogurt was not enough to hold you off. Or maybe it’s just because you’ve been eating college dining hall food for weeks now, and are probably going to throw up if you have to have dry beef one more time. 

“If you want to, you should try the caviar. It’s delicious. Avoid the eggplant, it tastes like foot, but the brussel sprouts are delicious. Kimchi’s good, too. Classic,” Chaewon instructs as you walk around the tables, placing servings the size of quarters onto your plate just so you can have a taste of everything. Chaewon sticks to some ribs, pan-seared salmon, and a vegetable so expensive you’ve never even heard of it before. 

“Im Chaewon, is that you?”

“Mrs. Kim!”

A strange older woman comes up to the two of you as you’re dishing up, and Chaewon’s face immediately lights up. The woman goes in for a hug, a barely-touching pat of the shoulders and hands. Over her shoulder, you watch as Chaewon rolls her eyes and pulls a face. 

“How are you, dear? You look so grown up,” Mrs. Kim says. You watch as the light slowly fades from Chaewon’s eyes with each second that passes. 

“I’m very well, Mrs. Kim. Did you get your hair done? It makes you look so youthful.” Chaewon’s a master. She glares at you when Mrs. Kim isn’t looking, raising her eyebrows as if to say learn, young padawan. This is how it’s done. They go on for a couple minutes, showering fake compliments on each other as you slowly begin to eat. You scrunch your nose up. Chaewon’s right. The eggplant does taste like foot. 

“And who is this?” Mrs. Kim asks, turning her focus onto you. You look up like a deer in headlights, a brussel sprout puffing your cheek. You were not meant to mingle and eat at the same time. 

“This is one of my closest friends, Y/N,” Chaewon introduces for you. You nod your hello, chewing the brussel sprout in the most nondescript manner possible in an effort to save whatever is left of your dignity. “She’s pre-law.”

You are not pre-law.

“Oh, how wonderful! You must have a lot you want to accomplish in life,” Mrs. Kim says. God, you couldn’t care less about how Mrs. Kim feels about you.

“Yes, definitely,” you say awkwardly. 

“We really must be going, Mrs. Kim. My parents will want me to make sure I do my rounds,” Chaewon says, a hand on your arm as she makes to get you both the fuck out of there. 

“Of course, of course,” Mrs. Kim concedes, sending you and Chaewon one final goodbye before moving on to find her next victim. 

When she leaves, Chaewon seems to let out the biggest exhale of her life. “Holy fucking shit, I thought she’d never leave,” she exclaims, grabbing a flute of champagne and downing it in a single go. “She’s an associate of my father’s, so she’s always trying to kiss my damn ass. Like, sorry that you need to brown-nose your boss and his daughter just so you bribe your idiot son’s way into college.”

“You like mingling, I take?” You joke. 

“Just murder me.”

“Have any tips?”

“Flex as hard as possible without actually flexing. Try to speak to people your age because they are usually more bearable than people older than you. The best conversationalists are anybody under the age of ten,” Chaewon tells you. She picks up another glass of Prosecco. “Want some champagne?” 

“You have it,” you tell her. “I think you need it more than I do.”

Chaewon shrugs. Not as if they’re running out any time soon. She gulps it down and places it on the tray of one of the caterers as they whiz by her. 

The rest of the night passes by in the same way the beginning of it did. Chaewon drags you around the penthouse, talking with her father’s business partners and associates and their sons and daughters and husbands and wives for no more than two minutes each before moving on. She’s got her technique down pat. Greet, compliment, shade, flex, compliment, say goodbye. It’s foolproof, because you immediately notice that everyone else in the room has adopted the same approach. 

Business gatherings like these are just one big game of who can be the most-liked and the least-liked at the same time. And the answer: everybody, all at once. 

Halfway through the evening, Chaewon collapses against the back wall, totally unafraid of the possibility of the glass giving out behind her. She doesn’t care. If it breaks, it breaks. 

“Tired?”

“I just need a break,” Chaewon declares. “Because everyone in here is so fucking fake, and you’re the only one I can talk to without wanting to rip out my eardrums.”

“I’m honored,” you say sarcastically. 

“When I say you’re the only honest one here, I mean it,” Chaewon says. You lean back against the wall next to her, looking out into a sea of people in fancy clothes with fancy food and fancy friends. “Look at all these people, Y/N. All these fucking people, and you’re the only one who’s true.”

And then, you spot him. 

He’s far away, standing in a group of people you don’t recognize, a hand on the small of another girl’s back. He’s wearing a navy blue suit, tight-fitting and tailored, a silver watch sparkling on his wrist as he adjusts his sleeves. One of the other young men in the group says something funny, and he tilts his head back to laugh, chuckling as the girl beside him curls into his arms. 

You suppose it would have been ignorant of you to assume Jungkook was elsewhere on a night like this, at a gathering where everybody who knows anybody is here. 

Jungkook must not know you’re here. He mustn't, otherwise he would have come over to find you. You must have entered at different times, spent the night wandering around different parts of the penthouse. Clinging onto Chaewon’s arms, you must have avoided his gaze, and he, yours. 

Chaewon hasn’t spotted him either. Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe it’s better, if you’re the only one stuck with the knowledge that he’s here tonight. Chaewon would pity you. Other people would ask you how you knew such a worldly, experienced man like him. And you would spend the night wallowing in sadness, wondering why it’s never you that gets to spend the night next to him. 

From this distance, you can see Jungkook perfectly. The light from the moon shines down on him like a goddamn spotlight, catching the sparkling on his wrist, leaving a silver gleam in his slicked back hair. You watch as he laughs, smiles, talks, grins and beams and socializes. Of course he’s here. Of course. He’s so good at this, so good at being real and genuine and happy. 

Chaewon says the only person in the room who is true is you, but how can that be? How can that be when Jungkook, the most honest, wonderful, real person you know, is standing in front of you? You aren’t honest. You aren’t true and real and whole. You stand on the sidelines, a wallflower in a room of daisies and roses, and pine from afar. Watch as he pretends to date a girl that’s not you, wraps his arm around her waist and kisses her cheek, and you act like everything is alright. 

It sucks, being trapped like this for fear of him seeing you. You know that would be worse—if he saw you standing alone and decided to take matters into his own hands. Seeing him up close in a penthouse like this, a movie set, shimmering and sparkling, it would be worse. Jungkook pulls the girl beside him in close to his side, smiling as he listens to someone else speak. She’s the perfect height in those heels, just tall enough to rest her head in the crook between his neck and his shoulder. You imagine them walking into the room together, hand in hand. Imagine them posing for the pictures like a real couple, a pair of celebrities. 

You suppose you have no reason to be jealous of her, of him, of what they have. Jealousy is when resenting someone for having something that you once had. You never had a life like that with Jungkook. You’ll never have a life like that with him. Never get dressed up to go out, never get to be his date to an event. Never get pictures taken of you as a couple, never feed each other candies and strawberries dipped in chocolate. You can’t be jealous of her. You were never in the running to begin with. 

“Ready to get back out there?” Chaewon asks, placing a firm hand on your shoulder. 

A waiter comes by with a tray of champagne flutes, offering it to the both of you. 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Chaewon tells you as she takes a glass for herself. 

You sigh, casting another glance over at Jungkook. He and his date are moving around now, joining another social circle on the opposite side of the penthouse. He looks so at ease, so comfortable. He belongs there, in the middle of it all, talking and laughing and grinning. And you? You belong back at home, underneath your duvet covers playing a game of Mario Kart. Not here. 

You shake your head. You could use a drink or two in this state. “I’d love one, actually. Thank you.”

That night, you stay at Chaewon’s place. 

“You’ve been acting weird.”

“Hello to you, as well,” you say with a scowl as Chaewon sits down across from you at the local ramen place. 

“Listen,” Chaewon begins, “I’ve been thinking. You need to confess to Jungkook.”

You nearly spit out the complimentary water you were served. “Excuse me?”

“You need to. You’ve been acting weird and that’s the only thing that’s going to fix it,” Chaewon declares. 

“What do you mean I’ve been ‘acting weird’? Care to explain?” You ask, offended. You haven’t been acting weird. Well, that weird. Maybe a little weird.

“Jungkook told me you haven’t seen each other for the last eight days,” Chaewon points out. Eight days? It’s more like seven and a half. Not that you’ve been counting, or anything. 

“So? We’re busy people,” you defend. It’s a good enough excuse. You’re sophomores in college. You have classes. Clubs. You have to meal prep. 

“So? You guys are best friends. You make time to see each other at three in the fucking morning if you haven’t seen each other yet that day. And you haven’t seen each other for eight whole days? What’s wrong with you?” Chaewon demands. 

“Nothing! What the heck, I invite you out to a best friend ramen date and you just blaspheme all over me like this?” You accuse. This is not how you imagined today to be going. This isn’t how you imagined this week to be going. “Besides, it’s only been seven and a half days. He’s over-exaggerating.”

“Seven and a—holy fuck, you are literally the worst. Can you just stop resisting? If you tell him, everything will be fine and go back to the way things were,” Chaewon says, blinking, flabbergasted. 

“No, they will not,” you hiss. “Everything will change if I tell him. We’re best friends, Chae. Imagine if I told you that I loved you. What would you do?”

“I’d love you back, that’s what!” Chaewon tells you. “You deserve to be loved back, Y/N. Nothing would change between us. I already love you. You’re one of my most favorite people ever. I would never regret something if it was with you.”

“It’s different with him, though,” you try to explain. You don’t know why—you just know that it is. The way you’re friends with Chaewon and the way you’re friends with Jungkook are entirely separate. You love Chaewon. You’re not in love with Chaewon. 

“Is it? How?” Chaewon says. 

“I don’t know, I just—it’s different with him.” There’s no way to describe it. Jungkook appeared in your life and it was as if everything just clicked into place. There isn’t a single thing in your life that makes more sense to you than Jungkook. “It’s always been different with him. With you, I—I knew that we would become really close friends once we started talking a lot more in the beginning of freshman year. But with him—I don’t know. From the moment I met him, I knew that I would fall in love with him. When he said hello to me, I was fucked. There’s never been any hope for me, Chae. I just have to live like this forever.”

Chaewon rolls her eyes. “No, you don’t. You don’t even see what the fuck is right in front of you.”

“You?”

“God, I’m friends with idiots. Literal idiots. How you guys have made it through nearly a year and a half of college is beyond me,” Chaewon says to nobody in particular. “Seriously, tell me, Y/N. What do you think will happen if you tell him? Just out of curiosity.”

“I don’t know—” you pause. A lot of things. He tells you he just wants to stay friends. He rejects you because he’s not interested that way and you can’t really be friends anymore because it’s weird now. He’s already interested in somebody else. He’s already dating somebody else and you never even knew. He’s not looking for a relationship right now. Things get awkward because you confessed to your best friend that you’re in love with him and he doesn’t feel the same. You end up never speaking to each other. You never see each other. You go through the rest of university seeing each other on the Green by chance and not knowing what to do. You graduate and move on with your lives. And suddenly, he’s just a past friend you used to have. No longer a part of your life. No longer given the chance to. “He rejects me. We never speak again and have to avoid each other at all costs. He lets me down easy and I feel like a total loser for having confessed in the first place. There’s a lot.”

“Jesus, Y/N. Aren’t you forgetting a possibility?” Chaewon says, eyebrows raised high. 

“I’m omitting a lot of them,” you tell her. Including the one where, in the next three years, you end up in a hellish dystopian wasteland and you have to band together to survive but it’s awkward and terrible because you love him still and he doesn’t feel the same, never has and never will, and now you have to fight off zombies and a corrupt autocratic government all while dealing with your own goddamn feelings. That may be the most unbearable one of them all. 

“How about the one where he actually feels the same?”

“Too unrealistic,” you tell Chaewon. It’s the truth. Why else would Jungkook be traipsing around with beautiful, rich, worldly girls on his nights off? He does it for the money, sure, but he likes it. He loves the experience, loves living that sort of life. You’d never be able to provide that for him. “You know that’s never going to happen, Chae. We’re just friends.”

“Bullshit.”

“Well, he thinks that we’re just friends. And I’m not gonna fuck everything up by telling him that I’ve been madly in love with him for the past year and a half.” You can think of nothing worse. 

“Have you ever considered the fact that maybe he thinks that the two of you are just friends because you refuse to actually show him how you feel?” Chaewon asks pointedly, eyebrows raised in disapproval. She looks about ready to walk out of the restaurant. “You never do things to give him a reason to think otherwise.”

“Why would I?” 

When your ramen arrives, Chaewon takes a deep breath, downs the rest of her glass of water, and moves on. It’s clear that if she thinks about this any more, her head will explode. 

Nothing’s ever going to change between you and Jungkook. You knew, when you first met him, that it was always going to hurt like this. That loving him was something you had to sacrifice to stay close to him. He lights up every fucking room he walks into, and it’s all you can do not to sit there and bask in his warmth. You would rather catch a single one of his rays than be in the darkness. And if being friends with him means that friends is all you’ll ever be, then so be it. You’re lucky to have him like this. Why take the plunge? 

“Just—” Chaewon says as you begin to pull apart the noodles in your own bowl. “I know that you aren’t as happy as you could be right now. And you deserve to be happy, Y/N. You deprive yourself of all of these wonderful things, and I just want you to know that you deserve every single one of them. But telling him? That’s something that even I know would make you the happiest. You shouldn’t live like this, Y/N. You have no idea what you’re missing out on if you do.”

The streak of not seeing Jungkook ends the next day, when you come back from an evening grocery store run to find him standing outside your door, hand about to knock on the wood. He’s all dressed up again, button-down and slacks, hair styled and parted, and you watch as he takes a deep breath, almost as if he’s waiting for the best time to knock. 

“Jungkook?”

He practically jumps out of his skin at the sound of your voice, nearly tripping over his own feet as he lays his eyes on you. 

“Oh, Y/N!” He exclaims. “I was just about to see if you were home.”

“You could have just texted, you know,” you say jokingly, joining him at the front door as you fumble for your keys. 

“I wanted to surprise you,” Jungkook admits sheepishly. 

“Well, make it up to me by helping me unpack these,” you demand, kicking the door open as you reach down to grab your reusable canvas bags filled with groceries. Immediately, Jungkook is leaning down to grab all of them for you, hauling them inside like they weigh nothing. You stare as he heads over to your kitchen without breaking a sweat, biceps clenching as he lifts the groceries up onto the counter. 

“What’d you get?” Jungkook asks, slowly beginning to take out the groceries. He’s in your apartment so often that he’s memorized where all of your food goes, from the correct shelf in the fridge for produce to the proper cabinet for cereal. 

“Just like… groceries. I saw a box of peppermint chocolate bars that I thought you might like, they’re in there somewhere,” you say mindlessly, pointing to a random canvas bag. Immediately, Jungkook abandons his putting-away-groceries duty to fish through each of the bags, hunting for the box of goodies. “And I got some cheap Trader Joe’s wine. You know. Just for emergencies.”

“Trader Joe’s wine and peppermint chocolate bars,” Jungkook comments, nodding in approval. He finally finds the box and tears it open sideways. “Sounds like a perfect dessert if I’ve ever heard one.”

“What, did you eat already?” You ask, busting out the wine and a couple of mugs, because you don’t own any wine glasses. Nothing says cultured like drinking seven-dollar wine out of mugs with kitschy sayings like “don’t talk to me until this is empty” or “coffee is my first love” written on them. 

Jungkook shrugs. He grabs the box and heads over to your couch, already kicking back and relaxing. “Yeah, I went to some restaurant for another double date,” Jungkook says. “It was one of those places where everything is so expensive but the portions are the size of my fist. Of your fist.”

“You sound hungry,” you note, filling up the mugs and joining him. “And mad.”

“I’m getting reimbursed for the money I spent tonight, so I suppose I could be angrier. But I’m starving. Let’s finish this entire box of chocolates and do nothing else.”

“Your words, not mine,” you say, although his proposal sounds more than appealing to you. 

You turn the television on for some background noise, switching to a channel showing old reruns of unsolved serial killer cases, because nothing sets the mood better than the words “then, slowly, he took the knife with which he killed her and began to slice away at her body”. Jungkook doesn’t seem to pay the television any attention, though, instead focused entirely on the chocolate in front of him, calling his name. 

He takes an enormous bite out of one before moaning far too sexually for your liking, tossing his head back in bliss. “Oh my God.”

“Good?”

Jungkook moans again in response.

“Please don’t orgasm on this couch. Who knows what other bodily fluids were on here before we bought it,” you ask calmly. 

“I’d say that’s nasty, but you guys did cover this with one of those couch covers, so it’s not like my body is coming into contact with other people’s body stains,” Jungkook reasons. The couch cover is the single best purchase you’ve made this entire year. Possibly your entire life. “But they’re delicious. You made a good purchase.”

“I thought you would like them,” you say. “You’re the only person I know who actually likes the combination of mint and chocolate.”

“People who say that it tastes like toothpaste are brushing their teeth with the wrong kind of toothpaste,” he tells you pointedly. “I don’t understand. This is God’s combination. It’s perfect.”

“As long as you love it, that’s all that matters,” you tell him with a pat on his back, breaking off a square of the chocolate bar for yourself. It is pretty good, even if mint chocolate ice cream does sometimes taste like toothpaste. But you’d never tell Jungkook that, of course. 

Jungkook takes a swig of the wine, picking up the mug and gulping down about half of it, the wine bitter on his tongue. “Goes great with this wine, too,” he jokes. You take a sip yourself. It’s… not very good. Actually, rather sticky. No wonder it was only seven dollars. 

“You don’t have to lie to me, I know it tastes like ass,” you tell him honestly. To be fair, you and Jungkook have both had worse. Compared to the shit served at frat parties, this may as well be beautifully-aged Malbec. 

“It only tastes a little bit like ass,” Jungkook compromises. “But it doesn’t not taste like ass.”

“Let’s finish it now so we don’t have to have any more of it later,” you decide. “You’ve probably had some of the best alcohol in your life this semester.”

Jungkook thinks back, tilting his head to the side as he begins to recall all of the instances in the past few months when he’s had anything to drink. “Soju’s still my favorite. But yeah, I’d say I’ve had wine that probably costs more than my textbooks for this semester if I hadn’t pirated them all.”

“The beauty of being a CS student,” you muse. 

“You know it,” he says, holding his half-empty mug out as a toast to himself. “But seriously, even if this Trader Joe’s wine literally tasted like garbage, it would still be better than all of that other shit.”

You turn to him, skeptical. Even the single night you spent with Chaewon, in a penthouse amongst the stars, drinking champagne and eating strawberries dipped in chocolate, was more than you could ever dream of. You woke up the next day on an air mattress in her bedroom and wanted nothing more than to go back to basking in the luxury, desperate for another taste. It was addicting. How could Jungkook ever prefer what he has right now to what he had last night? 

“Really? Don’t say that just to make me feel better,” you tell him. You can take it. Jungkook has every reason to prefer the fancy meals, the penthouses, the suits and ties to your janky little apartment and old clothes from high school. The two aren’t at all on the same level. They’re not even in the same goddamn game. If you could drop everything to have what Chaewon has, what the other girls and boys who pay for Jungkook’s company have, you would. 

“I’m not,” Jungkook tells you seriously. “I mean it. I would rather sit in your room, hunched over your tiny Switch because you lost the HDMI cord to plug it into the television, playing Mario Kart than out there, pretending to be someone I’m not.”

“But it was fun in the beginning, wasn’t it? Getting to be rich without the moral ambiguity that comes along with being part of the upper class?” You ask. It must have been. Jungkook looked so happy when he first started doing these gigs, coming back to your apartment in a state of bliss, a little tipsy from the expensive champagne and steak. He’d knock on your door and tell you all about the night, from how older businessmen handed him their cards and offered him jobs, to the hundreds of ice cream flavors you could only ever dream of eating. Everything seemed so wonderful to him.

Jungkook shrugs, pouring himself more wine. “Yeah, I guess, but it gets so old after a while. Like, no wonder Chaewon was so desperate for me to go with her that first time. It sucks the damn life out of you. You walk around and mingle and pretend that you’re the greatest person on Earth, talking about yourself and kissing up to the other people for an entire night. Honestly, sometimes it’s worse than my CS homework. And I hate that shit.”

“Chaewon mentioned that the eggplant usually tastes like foot,” you add. Jungkook nods in agreement. 

“Yeah, it does. She warned me about it the first night and I, like a fool, tried it because I usually like eggplant. And it still tasted like foot. Never again,” Jungkook says, shivering at the mere thought of it. It’s funny, actually, because you did the exact same thing. “But the food is like, the one thing I pretty much don’t have the right to complain about. It’s delicious and usually free.”

“But I hope that you’re having fun,” you tell him honestly, because you do. When you’re sitting in your room, eating two different pints of Ben & Jerry’s, you hope that Jungkook, wherever he is, whatever he’s doing, is enjoying himself more than you are. Because he deserves it. You never want there to be a time when he’s sad, when he’s unhappy or bored. Jungkook deserves to live the happiest version of life he possibly can. “I want you to enjoy yourself.”

“I do,” Jungkook says. There’s a second half to that sentence. “I do—it’s just that… It's so fake, you know? I feel like such a goddamn actor when I’m there. I get to live this extravagant lifestyle for a few hours but in return I don’t even know who I’m looking at when I look in the mirror.”

Oh?

“Like, I pretend to be this business student, when I’m not. I pretend to have millions of dollars to my name, when I don’t. I hold hands and pose for pictures with people Chaewon is vaguely familiar with and nothing, literally nothing, feels real. I don’t know.” Jungkook takes another swig from the mug. “Even the relationships I have when I’m there are fake.”

“Do you hate it that much, then?” You ask him. If it’s so awful and terrible, then why does he keep doing it? Keep dressing up and going out, holding hands with and wrapping his arm around them?

“No,” Jungkook says, sighing as he leans back into the couch. “I don’t hate it. I just—I wish I had something real afterwards to come back home to.”

Real? Like what? Like you? You aren’t real. You sit next to your best friend and pretend that everything is fine. That nothing hurts. You’ve had the biggest crush on him ever since you laid eyes on him, and you’re doing everything in your power to make sure that he’s the only one that doesn’t know. 

“That’s why I’m always coming back to your apartment afterwards,” Jungkook says. He chuckles, but it isn’t his usual laugh. It sounds forced, contrived and fake. Jaded. He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it almost immediately. Then, he breathes, long and slow. Thinks. The silence is almost unbearable. Waiting to hear what he has to say, even more so. “You’re the most genuine person I know. What we share—it’s real.”

Tonight is the least lonely you’ve felt in a long time. 

Even though Jungkook has something tonight, you aren’t aching to be by his side, desperate to spend more time with him. He told you that he was really looking forward to this one, that it wasn’t going to be some stuffy gala or blind double date. He said something about going to karaoke with the girl and her friends, singing Britney Spears songs and taking shots of soju for hours on end, screaming his voice hoarse. And even if you aren’t there with him, you’re happy because you know that he’s happy, that he’s genuinely enjoying himself. 

So, you aren’t that lonely. 

Content with the state of your life as it is, you take the night off, ready to prepare yourself for a weekend that will almost certainly consist entirely of just work. Chaewon’s voice echoes in your mind (“I know that you aren’t as happy as you could be right now,” she had told you), but it’s different now. Because you are happy. You are happy, because Jungkook’s happy. The two of you see each other just as frequently as you used to. He texts you about his terrible CS homework and the Shiba Inu he just saw being walked across campus. It’s all gone back to the way it used to be. That’s what you had wanted. 

You were prepared for this. You knew that it would eventually boil down to this, down to whether or not you could take Jungkook not knowing how you feel any longer. But right now, you don’t care. Jungkook not knowing has always been a part of your friendship. The love you hold for him, in the spaces between your bones and deep in the cracks of your heart, that has always been there. You see it, hear it, feel it, whenever you’re with him. Even when you’re not with him, it will remind you, appear in the silence, the emptiness. It will always make itself known, because it’s become a part of you. From the moment you met him, it had settled into your heart.

Staring out of the window by your living room, overlooking the ugliest parking garage on campus, you sigh. You can’t see the stars from here, not even in the dead of night, but that’s alright. There is something so peaceful about the navy blue sky. About how mysterious and unknown it is. It calms you. You put on a movie that you’ve genuinely been wanting to watch for a while, sit down in your bed, amongst your duvet and sheets, pillows and plushies, and enjoy yourself, for once. It’s a good night. 

And then, much like most aspects of your terribly convoluted, over-complicated and confusing life, it all comes crashing down. 

There’s a faint thud from outside, a soft little non-noise that you assume is coming from the street. Not wanting to interrupt your movie—she’s just about to confess, holy shit—you ignore it. It’ll go away eventually. 

Then another thud. You pause, leaning towards your window to see if you can figure out the source. Silence. You’re just about to press play, when you hear it again. And again. It gets louder and louder, making up in volume what it lacks in rhythm and order, until you realize it’s someone knocking on your door. And not just knocking casually. It’s as if someone is shoving their whole body into it, shoulders and chest and feet hitting the wood as they bang on it. 

“Y/N?”

Oh, God.

Pushing off your duvet, you tug on your slippers and wipe away the crust around your eyes as you rush towards the door. You know who’s on the other side. You’re not sure if answering it is the better or worse option. 

You’ve always had an uncanny ability to pick the latter. 

When you open the door, Jungkook, in a fancy sweater pulled over a white button down and black jeans that could almost pass for dressy slacks, is standing on the other side. 

Correction: he’s sort of standing on the other side. He nearly topples over when you pull open the door, having clearly been leaning on it, and you barely have time to reach your arms out to catch him. 

“Oh! Y/N!” Jungkook exclaims, as if he’s surprised to see you inside your own apartment. “I was hoping to see you.”

“I figured,” you tell him, laughing. You guide him inside, and even in his state he remembers to tug off his clean white sneakers, kicking them towards the shoe rack. “It’s so late, Jungkook, you should go home.” 

“No,” Jungkook whines. “I wanted to see you. I missed you.”

“We saw each other this morning, Jungkook. And this afternoon, right before you went out,” you remind him. The words go in one ear and out the other, and he pulls you in close to him, wrapping his arms around you as he presses his body against yours in a sweaty hug. His grip is tight around you as he rests his head on your shoulder, breathing you in as if you’d been gone for years. Slowly, after a few seconds, you pull away from him, a hand on his shoulder to get him to look at you through his too-long bangs, hanging over his eyes. “Hey, what’s wrong? I’m right here, don’t worry. I never left.”

“I had a lot to drink tonight,” Jungkook tells you, blinking rapidly. “Like, a lot. They just kept ordering soju and I just kept drinking it. It was really good. Have you had strawberry soju? It’s delicious.”

“I might have had it once or twice,” you fib, not able to recall having it one way or another. “Come on, sit down,” you point him towards the couch, but he refuses, clinging onto you even as you make your way towards the kitchen. “Jungkook, please, I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“But I missed you,” Jungkook repeats. “I missed you a lot. I thought about you the entire time I was there.”

You can’t say you didn’t do the same. 

“Next time we’ll do something together then, hey? Something really fun, like going to an arcade or bowling,” you promise him with a pat on his shoulder. “But you need to drink some water, JK. Can you please sit down?”

“No, I want to be with you,” Jungkook says like it’s nothing. Like the feeling of him wrapped around you like this, holding onto you and telling you that he misses you, that he thinks about you, doesn’t mean anything. You don’t think your heart has beaten since you opened the door to see him standing on the other side. 

(You don’t think it’s beaten since you met him. Since he came up to you on the pavement, asking you for directions. Since you told him your name, and he told you his.)

“Ah, fine, just be careful, I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” you concede, because it’s so easy to let him have his way, so easy to say yes to him. You manage to grab an empty water bottle and fill it up with what’s left in your Brita, too lazy to refill it after it’s left bone dry. Slowly, you make your way to your bedroom, out of view of the central living space, where your roommates could burst through the door at any moment and see you taking care of your drunk best friend on the sofa. 

Slowly, you settle on your bed, sitting off of the edge of it as you cajole him into drinking some water, whispering soft nothings to make sure he finishes the whole thing. 

“Does your head hurt or anything?” You ask him, already looking around for the stash of Advil you usually keep on your nightstand.

“No, no, I’m fine, Y/N, seriously,” he promises, even if you can see the glazed-over look in his eyes, the way his sweaty bangs stick to his forehead. “You’re too nice, you know? Always treating me when I show up at your place. Even when you don’t invite me.”

“You know I never mind seeing you,” you tell him. “You can come over whenever you want. I’m always here.”

“No, you’re not,” Jungkook says with a pout, and it makes you furrow your brows. When have you not been? Jungkook’s been going out to events ever since the beginning of the semester, and without fail, you’ve always been waiting for him at home, knowing he’ll turn up one way or another. Except, there was— “That one time a couple of weeks ago, I went to this crazy big gala with Eunha, there were so many people there, and I came back home afterwards and knocked on your door, and your roommates said they hadn’t seen you all day. Where were you that day?”

He had come? You didn’t know if he would. 

(Or maybe, you did. You knew he would show up at your door once he got back from that night, and selfishly, not wanting to see him after the fact, the leftover version of him, the part he leaves behind when he goes out. You knew he would be there and you couldn’t bear the thought of being the second girl he spends the night with. The other option. Maybe, you’ve known all along that you’ll never quite stack up to the girls he goes out with, and that sometimes, when you see him all dressed up while you’re in your hoodie and sweats, it reminds you is nothing more than a casual friendship.)

“I must have been out late with Chaewon that day, I’m sorry,” you apologize, letting him rest his head on your shoulder. “I didn’t know you would come.”

“I always come after my events. You know that.”

“I didn’t know if you’d remember to,” you correct. 

“I’d never forget about you,” Jungkook says, the alcohol erasing his filter. Making him honest. “I really missed you, that day. I had been waiting the entire night to see you.”

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again,” you promise, and this one is for real. 

“You know, today?” Jungkook says, pulling his head back so he can get a good look at you, your eyes meeting his own. “Today, I was so sad on my way here. It was so terrible, because I was drunk and sad and I missed you.”

“You were sad? What happened?” You ask, leaning in. Jungkook? Sad? Who would do such a thing to him? Who would erase the smile on his face, his crescent eyes, and replace them with tears? 

“This girl and I, she was a lot of fun. We sang a couple duets together and we were pretty good,” he hiccups, “kept winning. It was fun. She and I talked for a long time. I definitely liked her the most out of all of the girls I’ve gone out with. Besides Chaewon, of course.”

“What happened? Did she do something you didn’t want? You know you can tell me, Jungkook,” you ask, a hand on his arm. 

“No.” Jungkook shakes his head. “I don’t know. She was fun and I was drunk. We were on our way back in the Lyft when she leaned over and kissed me. And I kissed her back, and it was kind of nice. I haven’t really kissed someone like that in a while,” Jungkook tells you. And even though you’re hearing these words from him, hearing how he had all of this fun with a girl who isn’t you, how he kissed her in the backseat of a car, you rally, blinking away the tears you can feel forming in your eyes. It’s none of your business, you tell yourself. You and Jungkook aren’t together. You don’t get to feel bad about him kissing someone else. 

“Did you like it?” You ask, each word a pin in your chest. 

“It was pretty nice,” Jungkook admits. “We, uh, we made out a bit in the back of the car until we got to her place. And then we got out of the car and she asked me if I wanted to go back with her, to her room. And—and I almost said yes.” Jungkook looks about ready to combust. At his side, his fists are clenched so hard you’re worried he’ll pop a vein. 

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” you tell him, looking him in the eyes so he knows that you don’t mind, that he can tell you these things without worry. Jungkook may be the love of your life, but he’s your best friend, first. He’s always been, before anything else, your best friend. 

“But there is!” Jungkook cries, standing up in anguish. “There is, Y/N, you don’t understand! I almost had sex with her!”

“You’re allowed to, Jungkook!” You assure him, standing up to reach out to him. 

“No, Y/N, you don’t get it,” he tells you coldly, pulling his hand away. “Why aren’t you mad? Aren’t you angry that I nearly had sex with her?”

“No, what the fuck, Jungkook, why would I be mad?” You shout back at him. “You can do whatever you want with your body, it’s not my job to police it! I’m your friend, not your mom!”

“But don’t you want to be more, Y/N?” He rounds on you. “Don’t you want to be the one kissing me, fucking me? Why aren’t you jealous?”

“Were you trying to make me jealous, Jungkook? Is that what you were trying to do? You wanted to get a reaction out of me because my best friend nearly fucked someone else and then didn’t? What the fuck, Jungkook? What do you want from me?”

“I just want you to tell me you fucking love me back!”

“Jungkook, what—”

Jungkook, eyes dark and furious, pushes you against your closet door as your lips part, feeling the breath get knocked out of your lungs. He’s so close. He’s right there, you can see him, watch as he looms over you, hands clenched in your hoodie as he presses you against the wall. And then, wordlessly, he’s leaning down, crashing your mouths together. 

Suddenly, your heart starts. You gasp into the kiss, the feeling of his mouth on top of yours. It’s fervent, hot and angry and passionate, his body against your own as your hands reach out to press against his head. You seize up at the feeling, almost as if in shock, before melting into his touch, leaning into him, desperate. You can feel his breath mixing in with your own, feel the way his chapped lips meet your overly-moisturized ones, feel how his hands drift from where they’re bunched up in the front of your hoodie to your waist, your hips, your thighs. Jungkook kisses ruthlessly, kisses like he’s trying to prove a point. Holds onto you like he’s afraid to let go. 

When you part, gasping for air, Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, blinking. 

“Jungkook, you’re drunk—” you tell him firmly, refusing to let get your hopes up if what you have in front of you is really just an intoxicated best friend. Your heart is beating miles a minute, about ready to thump right out of you, chest heaving and mouth agape. 

“That doesn’t matter,” Jungkook argues back. “Even when I’m sober I love you. Don’t tell me I’m confused because I’m drunk.”

“You show up at my place at one in the morning, tell me about how you made out with some other girl and almost slept with her just to get me angry, kiss me, and tell me not to tell you you’re confused?” You demand. “Jungkook, I’ve never been more confused in my life than right now, can you please just—”

“I love you, Y/N,” Jungkook says, and even though he’s angry, red in the face and sweaty, when he says it, it’s soft. It’s a whisper, a murmur. He says it not to convince you, but so you know. “I’ve been in love with you for so goddamn long, ever since I fucking met you. And I thought you might like me back but you never did anything about it, and so neither did I.”

“You need to go home, Jungkook,” you tell him, hiccuping. When you blink, you feel the warm tears streaming down your face. You hadn’t even noticed them. “You can’t just come into my apartment and tell me shit like that. How do you think it makes me feel?”

“Do you feel the same, Y/N?” Jungkook asks, looking you in the eyes. He’s angry, that’s for sure, but even underneath, you can see the desperation, see how he’s just waiting for an answer. 

“Go home, Jungkook. Please. Let’s talk about this when you aren’t drunk, okay? I’m confused and I need to clear my head,” you plead, pushing him towards the door. “Please, okay? Be safe, too. I’ll call Chaewon to give you a ride,” you tell him, grabbing your phone. 

Jungkook puts a hand on your wrist. “I’ll be okay, Y/N. I just… Please, tell me. Did that kiss mean anything to you?”

“Yes, it did, but Jungkook, I can’t—”

“It meant something to me, too,” he tells you firmly, lets the words sink into the air around you.  He heads for the door, pulling on his shoes. He looks so sad. “Good night, Y/N.”

You place a hand on the doorknob. “Good night, Jungkook.”

It’s barely nine in the morning the next day when a knock wakes you up. It’s soft at first, one every couple of seconds, before it gets progressively louder. Slowly, you get out of bed, trying to tame your hair as you rub the sleep from your eyes. 

“Y/N’s in her room. Is that for her? That’s so cute. Yeah, she’s probably awake. You can just knock.” It’s your roommate. 

You scramble to make your bed, pouring some water from the water bottle by your nightstand into your hand and splashing your face, wiping it away with an old t-shirt as you run towards the door, pulling it open just in time. 

On the other side is a much more tired, much less drunk Jungkook, one hand raised and about to knock, the other holding a bouquet of daisies. 

“Hey,” he says shyly, mouth breaking into a smile the moment he sees you. 

“Hey,” you say back. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah, head hurts like hell, though,” Jungkook says. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, yeah, s-sure, of course,” you say, stepping aside to let him into your bedroom. 

“These are for you.” Jungkook holds out the bouquet towards you, wrapped up neatly in cellophane and tied at the stems with a bow. “So you don’t have to keep Febreze-ing your room all of the time.”

“They’re beautiful, Jungkook,” you tell him, grinning as you take them from his hands. Today feels different from yesterday. It feels lighter, fresher. New. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“I—” He pauses, taking a second to think, “I meant what I said, yesterday. Maybe not all of it, but. Most of it, yeah. I meant it.”

“Why did you try to make me jealous, Jungkook?” You ask him. “Why did you think that would work?”

“I don’t know,” Jungkook admits. “I shouldn’t have, and I fucked up. I just got so… so tired of waiting to see if you’d ever come around. I just wanted you to tell me. And then I guess I got so fed up that I told you instead.”

You place the bouquet on your dresser before walking towards him, reaching a hand out. “Yeah, that was a pretty big asshole move of you,” you chide, grinning to yourself. 

“I know, I’m sorry.” He sighs. 

“But I’m happy you’re here,” you tell him. “And happy that you meant what you said. Maybe it could have been said in a less angry way, but hearing it made me happy.”

“I’m happy that you’re happy.” Jungkook grins. “You’re my favorite person, Y/N.”

“When you asked me, yesterday, if that kiss meant anything to me? And I said it did?” You begin, Jungkook nodding in front of you. He’s positively beaming. “It still does. I want to do that every day, Jungkook. Every hour. Every single second for the rest of my goddamn life.”

“You do?” Jungkook asks. 

“I love you, Jeon Jungkook. From day one, it’s always been you.” You smile, and it feels like a weight has been lifted off of your shoulders. Feels like you’re fucking flying. Like you’re weightless. 

“I love you, too, Y/N. I never want to be away from your side,” he declares, and like a cheesy, rom-com movie, like the shitty novels you used to read in eighth grade, he pulls you in close and presses a kiss against your lips. Wraps his arms around your waist as he holds you tight, kisses you in the middle of your bedroom, in your hoodie and sweatpants, a bouquet of daisies on your dresser. He kisses you because he can, because for every second of every day for the rest of your goddamn life, he can kiss you, over and over and over. 

“We owe Chaewon an apology,” you tell him when you’re parted, sitting on your bed, wrapped up in each other’s arms. 

“Hell yeah we do,” Jungkook agrees. “She’s been on my ass for ages about telling you.”

“Mine too.”

“She’s such a great best friend,” Jungkook comments. “Knew all this time that her two friends were madly in love with each other and didn’t say a damn word to either of us. That’s loyalty.”

“We should do something for her, to make up for it all,” you suggest. 

“You know,” Jungkook says, grinning, “I know this guy who made bank this semester by going on fake dates with a bunch of really rich girls. Maybe he could help.”

“I know him, too,” you joke. “He’s the love of my fucking life.”

Jeon Jungkook quits his job on the ninety-eighth day of the fall semester of his sophomore year.

You know this because on the ninety-eighth day of the fall semester of your sophomore year, he comes banging on the door of your apartment shared with three other girls at 7:18PM, eighteen minutes after he normally heads out on one of his many dates. 

“Y/N!” He shouts, banging wildly on your door. You rush over to open it, letting the pasta water on the stove boil over and sizzle on the heat. He’s barely gotten in a second knock when you turn the doorknob to reveal your smiling boyfriend in his oversized hoodie.

“Don’t tell me you’re blowing someone off for me,” you say, inviting him inside. He places a kiss on your cheek on the way in, taking off his shoes and coat as you rush over to take care of the pasta.

“Me? Blowing someone off? Never,” Jungkook says, mock offended. “I actually quit the dating thing, this afternoon. A girl asked if I was free and I said that I wasn’t, because I have to go home to my girlfriend making me a meal. Don’t you love the sound of that?” He asks, pleased with himself.

“You quit? I thought you liked doing that stuff,” you say, using the spaghetti fork to move around the linguine. “Hope you’re cool with boring old pasta for your meal tonight. You could have had caviar if you hadn’t quit.”

“I don’t care, it smells so good,” Jungkook tells you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he stands behind you, watching you cook from over your shoulder. “Look at you, being all domestic and shit. It’s very cute.”

“Stop rubbing in the fact that you’re the better cook, I get it. Pasta is all I got right now.” You pout, turning down the heat as you move to pour yourselves two cups of tea. Jungkook follows you the entire way to the kettle, grip on your waist never faltering. “You can keep going on those dates, you know. I don’t mind. I get to see you in a suit when you get back, and then I get to take it off of you. It’s a win-win.”

Jungkook pinches your waist in response. “If you have a thing for suits, you can just tell me, you know. I won’t be mad.”

You turn around to whack him with the spaghetti fork. “I do not!”

“Alright, Y/N, guess I won’t wear a suit next time you call me at two in the morning—”

“I never said you couldn’t,” you interrupt, making Jungkook laugh. 

“You’re so cute, Y/N,” Jungkook coos as you begin to dish up the pasta, making sure to add peas because Jungkook loves peas with his spaghetti. “But I quit because I have enough money to sustain me for the rest of the semester. I’ll work over break and get a new job next semester when the new work-study positions open. Don’t worry about me,” he assures you. 

“But didn’t you like going out and everything? Getting dressed up and drinking fancy champagne?” You ask, setting the plates down at your dinky kitchen table, a single scented candle lit in the center. 

Jungkook thinks about it for a split second, and then he shakes his head. “Nah. I like hanging out with my girlfriend more.”

“Well, when you put it like that…” you reason with a grin. 

Jungkook laughs, leaning over the table to plop a kiss on your lips. “I love you, Y/N.”

“Yeah, you pea-eating loser,” you chide, “I love you too.”

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