#and I hated having to watch a new documentary every year because we never did that for anything else

[theamazingannie]

This is apparently an extremely unpopular opinion, but I hate 9/11 jokes. And I don’t say this as some super patriotic person who is always like #neverforget and planning memorials and all that. I was born in 1999. I was two when it happened, so I don’t remember it. But I live in America so I’ve seen the documentaries and the news reports. It seems like every year of school starting in like 4th grade I learned something new about what happened that day. And it was a tragedy. It was devastating. People died. People felt so hopeless that they jumped out of buildings because it was better than burning to death. I agree that it’s unbearably annoying that we are so obsessed with this event. I agree that it is horrible that our country ignores the effects of this event, all of the innocent people who died in the war, all of the innocent Americans who were harassed and harmed afterwards for simply looking like the people who did this. I’m angry at our government for ignoring the signs of this attack because it wasn’t random. There were many things our government did that led to this attack and signs that something was coming. I don’t think it was an inside job, but I do think it could have been stopped. I don’t think Bush was involved simply because he didn’t freak out and panic in front of a bunch of children during story time (something everyone who claims Bush did 9/11 ignore when talking about his straight face after finding out). This wasn’t a military attack. These were innocent people just going to work. My dad knows someone who was inside the building because he was delivering sandwiches for a lunch order. I think a big part of the younger generations’ response to it is overexposure and a lack of personal understanding that leads to apathy. We see this frequently. I understand why you think it’s okay to make constant jokes about this. But it was still a tragedy, one that happened during some of our lifetimes. I don’t expect you to weep and be filled with patriotism and rage upon hearing about it. But I also don’t understand how anyone could joke about it. Especially not an entire generation

[jogabsha]

About me!

Hiiii everyone. Haven’t made a post like this in a long time (if ever cause I don’t remember lol).

My name is Jogabsha! Not my real name obviously but it’s a nickname I’ve used since around the time I was 5. I’m currently 17 but 18 in about a month in October!

I have a little sister ( @puppyie-innit! :D)! Kinda accepted her as my sister when we met a couple years ago and have been inseparable since! She’s also part of the agere community and a lot of you probably found me cause she tags me a lot lolol. Oh also I’m her CG!

My goals in life are pretty simple. I want to own a C3 corvette (hoping to get a 1982 later this year so the goal will be done!), I want to build my own house in a place with mountains and vast pine forests, I want to get my doctorate in paleontology, and I want to discover and name my own species! I also wanna research Acrocanthosaurus because it’s one of my favorite dinosaurs!

I have adhd/ocd and believe I may be on the spectrum but haven’t gotten evaluated yet!

I’m an artist! Specifically I do a lot of paleoart!

I was that one kid who only ever watched documentaries growing up (though I did watch a bunch of other shows in my childhood too)!

Things I like!

I’m absolutely OBSESSED with dinosaurs and paleontology and prehistory!

My favorite color is like this lighter shade of blue that I don’t remember the name of

I love the walking with dinosaurs series and all its offshoot shows and specials. My absolute favorites are chased by dinosaurs and sea monsters, both with Nigel Marvin!

My favorite color combo is blue and orange

My favorite color gradient is blue to yellow to orange!

I love C3 corvettes and it’s my dream car!

I love playing video games on stream! I do this on YouTube usually on weekends under the same name!

I play multiple instruments! Mainly piano but also guitar, and a little bit of flute and ukulele. I’ve even composed some of my own songs on piano which I’ve uploaded to my second channel. It also has Jogabsha in the username so it should be easy to find but I’ll link it in my bio too!

I love learning new stuff. I will spend an entire day watching video essays and documentaries on stuff I’ve never even heard of before!

I love dinosaur revolution. It’s got really good storytelling for a documentary and I love the way they told stories based on actual fossil specimens!

I absolutely ADORE dinosaur king. Grew up on that show and I have over $3.5k worth of cards and collectibles from that franchise.

I love undertale sm. I have every song in the game memorized. I also love deltarune to the same degree!

About this blog

This is entirely meant for just me posting my art and my hyper-fixations. I also might repost my sister or paleontology posts every now and then.

This is a safe space for the agere community because my sister and I are both a part of it. Absolutely NO sexualization or anything of the sort here please!

There will also be no violent speech/hate speech/politics/name calling/bullying on anything related to this blog. This is a space where I want people to come and just nerd out with me on cool topics. I don’t care who those people are or what they believe, and you shouldn’t be hung up on that stuff either.

This blog is safe for ALL ages. Please be mindful of that when you decide to interact with my posts.

Thanks for reading through this! Will probably add more to it as time goes on but this ai good for now. Hope you all enjoy the Dino-nerd posting!

[ausssbutlershortstories]

Random questions anon here to give you another break in the Kaia and Austin drama.

Once again I hope your day is going good, if not I hope it gets better.

1. If you woke up in Austin's body, what's the last thing you'd do?

2. What's your least favorite flower?

3. What's that one thing you really want to tell but can never find a way to work it into conversation?

4. Can you keep a secret?

5. What's your favorite version of a vampire? Mine is true blood vamps.

6. Dream day off?

7. If you could control that casting of a movie adaptation of your favorite book, who would you want to play your favorite character?

8. Do you have a zombie apocalypse plan?

9. What word can you never pronounce correctly, no matter how hard you try?

10. What scene in a movie/show is guaranteed to make you die laughing?

Bonus round

11. Who would you choose for an escape room experience, Austin butler, Elvis Presley, or batman?

P.s. count Olaf is close, if you know the name, hide the sugar, if you don't, it's too late. It's gone.

P.s.s did you fold your dishes, dry your plants, and water your laundry? You better catch your fridge.

So I wanted to save this for when I’m off work and laying down and comfy 🍷

1) A staged ass pap walk

2) Hmm idk if I have a least favorite flower. 🤔. But if I had to choose , I’ll say dandelions maybe ? Never really cared to much to blow on them and watch the seeds blow into the wind like a lot of people do lol.

3) Definitely one of my crazy conspiracy theories that I have for sure lol

4) Sure can , it’s why my hair is so big

5) I say blood vamps too!

6) Dreamy day off ? Rainstorm, netflix , a glass of wine, while I am snuggled under my blankets watching some true crime documentary or horror movie 🎥

7) This is a good question! Soo I’m going to take it back a bit.When I was in school I use to LOVE the Clique books by Lisi Harrison and loved the movie that came out some years ago. IDK if anyone else here remembers them but they were good!Since the movie and all the books are based off the characters being school age , I would love an adult version of where they maybe have like a class reunion. My favorite characters from that series were two girls named Massie and Alicia.Instead of the original actresses who played them in the movie from years ago playing them all grown up, I would want Elizabeth Gillies to play Massie and Camila Mendes from Riverdale to play Alicia. They would be perrrrfect !

8)Hmmmm that depends…what kind of zombies are we talking ?? Like walking dead zombies or some mutant resident evil kind of shit ? 👀👀👀

9) Worcestershire. I hate it lmao. I get tongue tied every single time. 😩🤣

10) So the movie Girls Trip with Queen Latifah and Jayda Pickett Smith. It’s about four friends who go on vacation in new orleans and stay at some resort. Well there is a scene where Queen and Jayda’s characters are having breakfast with one of their friends who is like off her damn rocker in the movie. She’s played by another actress named Tiffany Haddish who is absolutely hilarious 😂. Anyway, in this scene tiffany’s character she cuts a grapefruit apart because she’s teaching the other two how to please their men with it and I….just lose it every single time . I was in TEARS when I watched it for the first time . 💀💀😂 highly recommend that movie.

11)Hmmmm imma go with my boy!

Not gonna lie these last two got me stuck a little lol

[drjohnweston]

Being Human Q&A 17th December 2022

Everything I can remember from the Q&A, under the read more because it's pretty long!!

Unfortunately, due to Covid, Kate Bracken was unable to attend the event.

Toby Whithouse on being asked why he had selected Making History 4.07 as the episode to be shown: "It was the most ambitious series where we changed the genre slightly, having two timelines running alongside each other with one happening 25 years in the future. This was the episode where those timelines converged."

They then aired the episode before Toby was joined onstage by Jason Watkins and Damien Molony.

Question to Toby: “Where did it all start?"

Toby had been asked to write a TV series about 3 university friends buying a house together, which after struggling to come up with ideas, eventually evolved into a person with anger management issues, a person with agoraphobia, and a person with addiction issues sharing a house, with one of the characters being named George.

At the same time TW had also written a short film romcom about a werewolf named George. The two ideas merged together to give the characters a story and the connections were made between agoraphobia and being a ghost and addiction and being a vampire.

The very first draft of the script was written purely as a sitcom and the second draft of the script was written as if it was an independent American short film.

At first people could not understand that it was a combination of horror, comedy, and drama, but Toby Whithouse thought that this was much more representative of real life, where we are never confined to one genre.

TW also spoke about how the stories he connected with the most were the ones that took place in our world. He said that “The best escapism was into stories that could take place around us.” And that “I was writing for 14-year-old me.”

On the subject of Being Human spanning genres, Jason Watkins added that in reality, at their most horrific moments, people make jokes. He also said that there was “Something colloquial, speakable, domestic, and modern” About the Being Human script.

Q: Were there any references to favourite vampires when creating the show?

TW spoke a little about the mythology and the limitations they were under. “If you can have the vampires only appear at night that is a production nightmare, a scheduling nightmare.”

He also spoke about two new pieces of mythology added in series 4 and how one they thought was perfectly logical and that they would get away with, and another that they thought there was no way the fans would forgive them for and would accuse them of “making shit up.” However, when the series aired those two pieces of new mythology, toxic werewolf blood and Rent-A-Ghosting vampires were received completely the opposite way around and TW was shocked that people hated toxic werewolf blood as a concept so much.

Q: What was it like for Damien Molony joining the series and how did he prepare?

When he went for his audition, he had been acting in the play Tis a Pity She’s a Whore and was spending every night being covered in fake blood from head to toe “like in Carrie”. He said that when he travelled down to the audition, he’d been unable to clean off all of the fake blood and thought that might have helped him to get the part, that the casting agents probably went “wow that guy’s really method.”

After getting the role, Damien watched all the previous series of Being Human and was sent 10 DVDs of vampire films to watch as a crash course 5 days before filming started. He was also given a playlist of music that Hal would listen to and talked about OCD and dominoes.

Later in the QA, an audience member asked specifically how he prepared to show Hal’s OCD, to which Damien replied that he watched lots of documentaries on channel 4 on demand (as the service was called back then) and that he used to spell out the name of the old American actor Hal Holbrook on his fingers on set.

He also added that the domino spiral was set up on set 2 weeks in advance of filming and that everyone on set had to resist the temptation not to touch it and had to tip toe around so as not to accidentally knock it, causing hours of work to put it back.

Another anecdote from Damien Molony came after being reminded about how much beetroot juice he had to drink when they were filming Making History, with 10 litres of beetroot juice having effects that caused him to phone his doctor dad with some worried questions.

The Q&A moved back to Jason Watkins, airing a clip of Herrick in the isolation chamber with Mitchell, George, and Annie in Bad Moon Rising 1.06.  Jason was asked “How did you approach a character with such a black heart”

Jason spoke about Herrick’s complete enjoyment of all the things that he does, his psychopathic nature. “As a villain, he has a pure appetite for it. He ticks all those awful boxes.”

Toby Whithouse added that Herrick “has one mode, summed up by the line “You’re a shark, be a shark.” He never has a single moment of doubt.

Jason Watkins also talked of Herrick as a “paternal figure, he has these sort of sons.” And how he needed to have people like Mitchell in that position, because he needed to be in control, describing it as “having control over somebody and needing that control to know where you are in the world.”

This prompted Ruby, the interviewer to ask about the relationships between vampires and their makers, pointing out that we had just witnessed a twisted version of that relationship in 4.07 between Hal and Cutler.

Damien Molony described Hal as a “straight-jacketed, terrified loner being suddenly confronted with the victim turned master” in Cutler. There was much praise from the panel for Andrew Gower’s performance as Cutler.

Another question to Damien: “As we as fans often see good Hal and Bad Hal and separate people, like Angel in Buffy”, do you see them as different” Damien described good Hal as closed off, straight-jacketed (again), and very controlled. Whereas he said that bad Hal is at ease and open.

Back to Jason Watkins who was asked “Could Herrick be redeemed if he shared a house with Annie Sawyer?” Jason started to go into a longer explanation, but Toby Whithouse replied with a simple no.

Back to the question about relationships between vampires and their makers, Jason Watkins brought up the existence of a script for a scene that was never filmed about Herrick’s recruitment (this is still accessible via the old official Being Human Blog archives and there is a link on my blog).

Jason also recalled the time they were filming Herrick’s resurrection for the end of series 2. Which was not filmed in an empty snowy field, but in a park in the middle of Bristol with a group of elderly people from a local care home watching from the side-lines.

Lastly from Jason Watkins, replying to an audience question about what he took from the role of Herrick, he spoke about how “it was a bit of a break for him” (career wise) and how Herrick’s confidence “was him on a really good day,” and that by playing Herrick it increased his own confidence in his work and performance.

As both members of the cast on the panel had played vampires, the questions had been more focussed on them.

Speaking about the werewolves, Toby said “Werewolves become boring after they’ve transformed, they just become a thing. … It’s all about the tension, the lead up and the aftermath.” That’s the interesting part.

An audience member asked if Toby could discuss the ghosts, saying “they are the glue of the show, how did you come up with them?”

Toby responded that actually, the ghost episodes had always been the hardest ones to write and that he tended to lean more into the comedy aspect with them, because both Lenora and Kate were good at comedy. He said that he always paired their characters up with more experienced ghosts, because both Annie and Alex were new to that world. But he also said that he had to start to break his own rules and bring Annie out of the house as “Ding Dong, it’s a ghost” turning up at the door as a plotline would have gotten old very quickly.

He shared that he and Gilbert had the same musical taste, and that it meant he could “write jokes about people like Marc Almond that only he (toby) would find funny.”

And finally, one audience member asked, “Did you ever see things online and think I wish we would have done that?”

Toby Whithouse replied “the online community I absolutely loved. It added another layer of joy. During series 2 airing someone came up with the idea that Professor Jaggat was a werewolf and that was why she wasn’t there at during the (first) transformation, and I thought oh that’s a really good idea.” He went on to add “You can’t pay too much attention to audience feedback.” And spoke about writing what audiences need rather than what they might necessarily want to see. But that he would read the (official) blog because it was fun and so many lovely things were said.

[slickshoesareyoucrazy]

Back

Today is unusually warm for early spring, so even though it's still Still Dirt (really wish they'd lay some grass seed already), I'm back at the cemetery today. It's windy AF. But that's actually kind of nice. All the wind chimes people hung in the trees are sounding. The Boy hates wind chimes but I've always liked them and I like that there are so many so close to you and that today's windy. It's like all the bells are ringing for you. The bells I left are still here. So is the stone I placed on your headstone last time, which is nice. I brought another stone this time. It's from when my family took the RV to the Painted Desert 2 summers ago. I'll bring a stone every time I come. A cool looking one. Maybe one from the places I go. Or just from the driveway at home. Something that isn't going to get thrown out or blown away. Something that won't die. I'm not gonna bring flowers anymore. Because the friendship won't ever die even though you did. It's a rock. ❤️💔😢

Anyway, I kinda hate that you're here right next to your mom. I mean I get it. But also...like I think your dad has been by here since the last time I was here, and there's nothing on your grave but the stuff I left. And the petal-less flower stems that are propped up in the hole in the top of your mom's headstone (can't believe there's no memorial vase on either of yours, but there's a HOLE where there's meant to be one) really seem to me like the ones I left here for you last time. Since the petals are gone, I'll never know. And maybe it wasn't your dad. Maybe it was some cemetery worker that assumed the flowers were supposed to be on a woman's grave. And that's the closest one to you. But there aren't any new barren stems on your grave, man. And there should be, goddammit. It pisses me off that it seems like I'm the only one coming here for you. I'll always come back. I promise.

Kentucky lost and all the villains are winning in tournament ball this year so we quit watching last weekend and we turned on a documentary on Dick Vitale instead. Damn thing made me cry. The end is how he swore to honor Jim Valvano every day since he died, because that was his best friend, and he's done that for 30 years. I will too. I'll do better than Dickie V even. But I'm not ever gonna scream, "You need a T.O. baby!!!"

At least the Reds looked good on Opening Day.

A motorcycle just rode by. Makes me want to get on the bike with J but we don't have time today and the weather is taking a turn tomorrow. But it does remind me that I'm going to buy you a guardian bell. I bought J one for his bikes. That's what they're really for, but it's a nice all weather bell. Once I can find one that doesn't have religious or weird redneck shit on it, I'll bring it with a new stone to leave for you.

Alright well I gotta go now. We have to pick the Boy up from a friend's so he can go practice driving more tonight before dinner. And the gates close here stupid early. But I'll be back again. And yeah I'm still crying but at least there wasn't any snot this time. I miss you. Love you, dude. I'll come back after spring break. ❤️

[monstermonstre]

31 days of horror 2023 (part 2/?)

Every year in October I challenge myself to watch 31 horror movies, 1 for each day, with varying success. If you’re new here, I love horror and so the challenge is more about the commitment, than pushing myself to do something I wouldn’t enjoy or do otherwise (thankfully).

The first half of October went too well, so it was bound to go south eventually. For this second part, there were a couple of terrible watches (although I can't say I didn't see them coming) and there were several days in which I didn't watch anything because it felt like pulling teeth. Fortunately I managed to get back on track with some great shorts (and Chucky).

12. Werewolf by Night (2022): Against my better instincts, I gave this M*rvel short a try. I thought well, the fact that it's from M*rvel Studios doesn't have to matter. It could be a nice short with some cool werewolfing even if they slap one of their magical stones onto it. Well it wasn't. It was terrible, and it got me mad at the people praising it for being "different" and "artistic". 55 minutes of my life wasted.

13. Chucky S3E2: This is when I started worrying that this new season wasn't working for me, that they had finally made a Chucky story I didn't like (I mean, like a lot of people, I didn't really enjoy Child's Play 3; but at the same time it was OK, I've seen worse).

14. Friday the 13th: A New Beginning (1985): I did watch this one on Friday the 13th so ignore the number next to it. Continuing the franchise, I was surprised to find this one as enjoyable as I did. The kills get pretty repetitive and there aren't as many characters you root for as in 4 but the cast was acting their hearts out and that alone really carried me through the film. Also Reggie was delightful and I was so happy to see Miguel A. Núñez Jr.

15. The Fall of the House of Usher E1&2: I didn't go into this thinking I was going to like it but I did think it was going to be a "fun to hate" experience. I was wrong. Nothing about it was fun. I could barely get through the first episode. I pushed myself to try the second episode, thinking maybe...I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe Flanag*n's worst so far, and that's saying something. Anyone saying it is good is insane and has never seen a horror movie before.

16. Ganja & Hess (1973): Talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, ... One of the most gorgeous films I've ever seen and packed with so much to say. Must watch for fans of cinema and vampires.

17. Killer Klowns from Outer Space (1988): Another "didn't expect to enjoy this as much as I did" entry. Incredible commitment to the bit, delightful special effects, some of the worst case of "how do you do, fellow kids" actors in their 40s playing teenagers you'll ever see, and some genuinely funny jokes.

18. Creep (2014): We won't mention that I watched this twice this month.

19. Chucky S3E3: Reminded me why I've loved the show so far. Packed with what I love the most about the franchise and featuring one of its best kills. Maybe the most batshit lines of dialogue on American TV right now.

20. In Search of Darkness (2019): Don't get me wrong, I did watch those 4 and a half hours of talking heads like it was nothing but I was left a little frustrated. It felt like it stayed too at the surface despite its runtime and most of it were arguments we've heard before a thousand times. However when I realised there were 2 more of these documentaries I got excited. Hopefully the other entries will go deeper (but even if they don't, I'll probably still have a good time).

I love horror and watch horror movies year-long. However after two weeks straight of horror every day, I got a bit tired. I took a break for several days and when I felt ready to get back into it, I had 4 days to make up for. So I turned to short movies. And, frankly, I need to stop watching shorter films only when I need to make up for time lost in a challenge because I am missing out on gems like

21. The Tell-Tale Heart (1953): Gorgeous animated short adapting the famous Poe story, with James Mason narrating. I'm gonna link it here because if you have 10 minutes to spare you should watch it. This and the following entry.

22. The Sandman (1991): Incredible stop-motion animated short by Paul Berry, whose style you might recognise from Nightmare Before Christmas. Like the previous entry, if you like horror, just give it a watch.

23. Wild Love (2018): This one was just silly and great fun. Reminded me of Treevenge (2008) in its plot and humour. It's on Youtube too but behind an age-restriction, so if you're not logged in (or don't have a neat little extension that bypasses those) you might not see it there.

24. Pontypool (2008): Pretty original concept for a zombie movie and some solid performances but I could not get into it. At all.

And that's it for part 2! I couldn't complete this challenge last year but it looks like it's going well so far. One last week to go!

[ardn631-haydenmiddleton]

FINDING VIVIAN MAIER

I did research on Vivian Maier last year and I loved her work so much so I was really excited to watch the documentary or at least clips I could find on YouTube which explore deeper into Vivian’s life, friends and family. It was refreshing and inspiring to see her work again in the documentary which in itself is very much like a documentary and is an intimate style of photography filled with self portraits and the portraits of others, capturing the vivid moments of the 1950’s not so well documented otherwise. Her work captures the colourful lifestyles of others on the streets of New York and, quite literally with her mirrored self portraits, is a reflection of herself and how she saw the world. Vivian Maier looked for the beauty within and in parts of the city said to be not so nice as said by her friend in the documentary. The way Vivian Maier captures herself in her self portraits is creative and fun, almost like a where’s Wally because often she has hidden herself in the natural composition somewhere holding her camera and all. I should definitely take inspiration from her here for my own adventure into self portraiture.

Another thing said in the documentary is that “she would’ve hated every second of this” which hints at Vivian being known as a very private person who would’ve never developed or showed off her work to others. This was another element of Vivian Maier that I had explored last year, the morality of whether or not someones private work should be taken without their permission later in life to be spread around everywhere, even if the work is some of the best photography work out there. It also means the portraits of others which were just kept privately on film in someone’s storage have also now just been spread everywhere and despite possibly a lot of the people being dead the context of their images now changes. From something personally kept to being spread in exhibitions, plastering subjects faces everywhere. It’s an interesting story indeed and makes us as an outsider question what would we have done if we had come across some amazing creative work hidden away, or even if it was our own private work being taken and spread in the future.

[thisislizheather]

September Shenanigans 2022

Above Photo: Early fall sunsets are easily the best ones all year

Officially the latest monthly post I’ve ever done, I’m sorry! I promise it will never happen again. We’re right in the middle of autumn and everything is overwhelming, but a good kind of overwhelming. Here’s what went down in September (oh god that feels like a year ago).

You can find my favourite tweets of the month over here and here.

I finally went to visit the video rental space Kim’s Video downtown.

I made a collection of my favourite photos from the summer.

I recapped what I did off my summer list of things to do.

I wrote my autumn list of things that I intend to do this season.

I did a podcast with Nathan that can be heard over here.

I know I’ve mentioned how good Aquaphor is for ashy elbows, but I’ve also discovered that it’s incredible at healing damaged pimple areas. For instance, when you pop one and it goes so wrong. I did this recently and then put some of it right on top and it was completely healed in two days.

I’ve tried the Carbone jarred pasta sauce and it was great! It’s overpriced, so I’d only buy it on sale. And some flavours can be a little too oily, but overall it tastes great.

I finally saw Nope and I think I liked it. It’s probably my least favourite of his movies, but it was enjoyable to watch. That shoe standing upright bothered me for way too long before I looked it up and connected the idea of “bad miracles” but other than that, it was all right. Love the way that man promotes a movie.

I had dinner at Fiaschetteria Pistoia and the duck ragu was really good. It’s an aggressively tiny restaurant, but the food made it worth it.

Since it’s illegal to operate any cashless operation in New York City, if you ever see a place trying to tell you otherwise - report them! To consumers@dca.nyc.gov - I do it all the time.

Some things I watched:

The Woodstock documentary on Netflix: only three episodes, great watch. You will hate all concert promoters by the end of it.

Volcano: okay, I can finally settle this debate. It is NOT better than Dante’s Peak.

Never Have I Ever (newest season): I almost wanted to hate it (why? I’ve watched all the seasons? I can’t explain this?) but I keep loving it. I can acknowledge that younger people have every right to hate this show. The supplementary characters just keep getting better and better.

New Girl (Keaton episode): I’ve never seen this show because it looks bad and I wouldn’t like it. That being said, I watched this one because it was a Halloween episode and I also thought there was a chance of Michael Keaton being in it. God, what a mistake. This episode only confirms what a terrible show it really is. Can we retire fat suits already?

Killing Me Softly: honestly just a wild ride of a movie. Everyone should watch it.

Hocus Pocus 2: okay, let me start this by saying that this movie isn’t for me. It’s for children. And I can respect that. I just wish that more characters from the original were in this one, that would’ve made me so much more into it. Nothing will beat the original in my mind and that’s perfectly acceptable.

So I went to Las Vegas again (post coming soon!) and I got to eat at the new Martha Stewart restaurant The Bedford. Of course my expectations were high because 1) I love her and 2) she’s never opened a restaurant before. The servers are extremely well trained (which is wonderful, I love this detail) they have even been taught to say ��cheers” in Polish. The attention to detail on the decor of the individual tables as well as the entire space is perfection, even the temperature was just right. However, there had to be cons. All burgers should have round buns, what reason is there to mess with that simple fact? The smashed potato (which is smashed table-side) is an incredibly stupid idea and almost seems like a joke on the white people who would actually enjoy it. Small side orders of sauces should absolutely never cost $9, that’s ludicrous. The fries were wildly overcooked in overused oil (how does one mess up french fries?) and the prices, sure, they were outrageous but that fact tracks since it’s in Las Vegas. The homemade mustard was really tasty (maybe because you never come across homemade?) and her béarnaise sauce was perfect. The oysters Rockefeller were good, if only a little bit chilly. All in all, it was an experience. One that I’ll happily never have to have again.

Above Photo: The Bedford in Las Vegas

Above Photo: Oysters Rockefeller at The Bedford in Las Vegas

Above Photo: Am I wrong or does this burger bun belong at Wendy’s?

I also ate at Bazaar Meat By Jose Andres in Vegas and it was spectacular. I got the cotton candy fois gras, the patatas bravas and the meatball. Love this man. Love his food.

I tried the tacos at Dirty Taco (an LA street-style taco place) in Grand Central Terminal and the duck skin tacos were only all right, but the steak ones were fantastic. The tortillas were also great. Also, maybe it’s a bad idea to have the word dirty in your name?

I made these pumpkin lasagna rollups that have the exact right amount of pumpkin in them.

Above Photo: Pumpkin lasagna rollups

Also made this blueberry buckle that tasted especially good with some maple syrup on top.

Above Photo: What’s a buckle? Basically cake… yeah it’s just cake.

I finally went to the Manhattan location of The Alamo and this theatre is great, but impossible to find. It’s also where the new Kim’s Video is hiding.

Above Photo: Who on earth is expected to easily find this place, you tell me

I had brunch at Sala in Astoria and just wow. I never thought I’d have the best BLT of my life at a tapas place. Everyone needs to go.

I read the Chloe Hilliard book Fuck Your Diet: And Other Things My Thighs Tell Me and… meh. Can we all make a pact to never use the phrase eating clean ever again? The book was really very okay, I think I just wish it was more about her being a comedian and less about body stuff. It’s obviously my fault since the title really does say it all.

If you aren’t watching the Halloween episodes of Bob’s Burgers this month, you may not be cooler than I am.

Some things that I’m looking forward to doing this month: oh god, so many Halloween related activities, I can’t wait to finalize our costumes, I’m definitely going to make these pumpkin cookies again, I’d love to make garlic chicken meatballs with orzo for dinner on a rainy night, I really want to walk around Central Park with Baby Dog since all the leaves are changing and I’d really love to have next month’s roundup post written on time. Fingers crossed. Oh and here’s a link to all of the fall festivals happening around NYC right now.

If you have any interest in what went on in August, come on over here. I also have an autumn highlight reel on Instagram if you care to see what I’m up to this season.

Above Photo: Baby Dog with the last of the summer sunflowers, September 2022

[atwentywhore]

Hi! No hate at all (I love your blog) but I was curious about your post about true-crime. Can you explain why you hate them? I for one find them fascinating and very informative. You can’t erase history and these are stories that need to be told!

Hello! First off, thank you for the kind words! I appreciate it 😊

Before I answer your question, I will say this: I am by no means an expert in this subject and what I am about to say is purely my opinion. However, if you do feel the need to research further (which I recommend), I’m sure google will be much more informative and explain things much better than I will. I will do my best to articulate though!

I’m sure at this point it is no shock to my followers/friends that I am not a big fan of true crime to begin with. Which is saying something, because when I was younger I was definitely all over it. Whether that be documentaries, docuseries, podcasts, crime scene photos, 911 calls, etc. I was consuming that content at an alarming rate and almost became desensitized to it as a whole (which is NOT something to brag about mind you). It wasn’t until I truly looked within and asked myself why I found this content so fascinating. Why was I so unbothered by actual peoples suffering? That’s when I was realized that this isn’t something I should be consuming for entertainment. There is nothing fun or entertaining about the real life suffering of my fellow human beings.

That was when a switch really flipped and I started seeing more videos/posts about people who were the friends and families of the victims begging people to stop sharing their loved ones stories, telling people how horrific it was to see people talking about these terrible things like they were nothing and having to relive the trauma they dealt with over and over again. And that is exactly what happens with most of these docuseries about serial killers/murderers in general. And yes, in case you haven’t guessed it, this is 100% in reference to the new J*ffrey D*hmer docuseries….

This whole series was framed as being informative and really trying to tell the victims stories, not J*ffrey’s. Yet, it did the complete opposite. And if you pay attention and listen, you will see that the families who initially agreed to this were lied to and are now disgusted by how the whole series of events are being portrayed. This docuseries isn’t about the victims, it couldn’t care less about them. And I don’t care if you agree or disagree because the real people affected by his actions are not happy with it, and neither should you.

I think we really have to sit down and ask ourselves why we seek out content about other peoples suffering, especially when those were real people. What makes it so informative? What does this docuseries give you that a quick google search won’t? Why won’t we, as fellow human beings, listen to others who have been affected by these horrible tragedies and not consume this content? This series was not made to shed light on his actions, it was a pay check. One they didn’t even share with the families that lived through the events you now watch on screen.

And to your point of “these stories need to be told”… D*hmer, G*cy, B*ndy, etc. are some of the most well-documented serial killers in history. There is no shortage of content or information on them. What is the point of constantly rehashing the atrocities they committed every other year? If you’re curious, look it up yourself.

And it doesn’t just stop with docuseries, it’s most true-crime content in general. Over the years, people seem to have forgotten that these horrific stories they are listening to/watching are about real people. People who can’t give their consent to have their story told. Or even just families who were never asked if it was okay to share this information. Imagine you are scrolling through tik-tok and come across a video of someone telling the story of a loved-one of yours who was murdered. Can you imagine how triggering that must be? Now this isn’t to say that all true-crime content is like this. Some are “ethically sourced” (for a lack of better term) but I would hazard a guess to say that most of this content is not.

Please keep in mind that I am not saying that if you consume this type of content that you are a terrible person. I cannot tell you to not listen to these podcasts or watch these tv shows, but what I can say is be mindful. Are the families/people affected by what you are about to watch okay with it? Have they even been consulted? If not, why would you continue?

Anyways, that was a super long winded answer, but I hope this helps explain my viewpoint. I literally wrote this out in a google doc before transferring it over here. Let me know if you have any other questions 😊

[hereisisa]

That retcon is a really weird. Even if we put Elsa aside here, Anna enjoying "soil quality reports" feels really out of character. In Polar Nights it is mentioned that Elsa helps Anna anyway, almost as if the author knew that the "new queen" would struggle. Also, the Northuldra get slowly pushed away from the franchise while there is a small but visible attempt at bringing the status quo back (Elsa is again involved with Arendelle!) Do you think Frozen 3 will bring another change to this status?

I think with F2 Jenn did what she always wanted to do: give Anna the spotlight, and she's not gonna change that.

Unfortunately for her, Elsa is way more popular and Disney will always, in some way, do some damage control, pushing Elsa under that spotlight again. In terms of merchandising, pictures, songs (thanks Idina), etc.

Jenn never understood Elsa, it was her villain. Frozen was Anna's story. I don't think it's an accident that Spirit Elsa is similar to the villain-Elsa she wanted in Frozen1: she's isolated, her home is a glacier/ice palace, and she's alone with her powers.

She put Elsa where she wanted her since the beginning: far away, alone. So Anna could be the hero Arendelle deserves:

a 40yr old looking Queen which happy ending is...getting married.

LOL

She's SO modern. She's right there with Snow White (1938) and Cinderella (1950)! ROTFL!

I don't think F3 will change a status quo Jenn wanted since the beginning, but since this is not what kids want, we have to see what they'll do with Elsa.

I think they realized this separation was unpopular, or they wouldn't make the effort to pretend they're close throwing the word "ToGeThEr" in everthing Frozen-related.

It's an empty word, of course. The meaning decreases as the miles between Elsa and Anna increase.

They already made it clear that Elsa is still Queen of Arendelle (and this wasn't clear in the movie), because nobody understood what the fuck is Elsa now (including the director of OFA in their precious documentary on D+! Her "So....what is Elsa now??" It still make me laugh).

But I have zero hope they'll fix their mistakes. And this ofc doesn't stop me from criticizing everything they'll do (which I'll keep doing, for fun and because i'm a bitter).

They spent too much time elaborating this new status quo Jenn wanted since the beginning to throw it away. But it's THEIR status quo.

I've already throw it out of the window when I've watched Frozen 2 for the first time.

You don't have to like it. You can simply ignore it: don't put your attention and money on it, and love the franchise we loved for years, the one that starts with Frozen, and ends with OFA, with all the comics, books, stories, shorts and fans content in between.

I expect they'll give Anna some action in F3 to show that she can still be that person: a Queen, but still an action woman, and they'll make me hate her even more. Because ofc they'll keep adding qualities and titles and bits to Anna's story to make people like her since she's the writers' favorite, without realizing that:

they more they keep adding to her, the less realistic she is (aren't they the ones who love realism now? LOL). She's not peculiar anymore, she's the sum of everything the fans ever wanted. You want her with a crown? You get that! A dude? Sure! A marriage? Why not! A sword? Yes! Babies? Sure, we'll do a whole D+ serie about her labor! Etc etc etc....You see my point? They already completely transformed her personality in F2, and they'll keep trying to do everything they can to make her popular. And they'll keep failing. Sales reports said every Anna's doll who was sold, Disney was selling 5 Elsas. After Frozen2, the ration was of 1 to 7. LOL Well done Jenn. KA is not popular among kids. Kids don't give a fuck about another disney love story especially in a franchise that was famous for SOMETHING ELSE. See how bad the engagement set did in sales!! And yet they push it because Jenn likes it, and this will bring Anna even lower. It's like a stone attached to her neck that will bring her down the popularity scale. It's gonna get worse, wait and see. Have you ever been to a Disney park? How many little girls have you seen dressed as bride Ariel? (Cause that's the only wedding dress that's on sale). Not even one, in my european Disneyland. And I go every year.

2. The more they add to her story, the more they try to make me like her, the less I do. It's super forced and she's like Disney's Mary Sue now. Everything happens to her but wait and see, she's the BeSt qUeeN eVeR!! Even if she didn't study for the job at all, she doesn't have powers, but she's gonna save us all!!! Thanks god there's Anna cause everybody else, especially Elsa, is useless without her! God she's SO irritating! The more they do to make me like her, the less I do. She gets on my nerves now!

So my prediction for Anna is that she's destined to be pushed, in every possible way, but considering how they'll do it (love story, marriage, with a sword in her hand to pretend she's modern and she can still do cool things, etc...) the gap between Elsa and Anna in sales is destined to grow.

Elsa: she only has to have her powers to be popular (and maybe get ger braid back). It's easy.

The other day one of my fandom friends (the one I consider the bigger Frozen fan know) told me she lost her hopes for a good story, her love for the franchise has been disintegrated by Frozen2, and she's staying around to cynically look at how things will go. As a social experiment. Let's see how bad they'll ruin this franchise, and remember the good old times.

Want to join us?

[hekateinhell]

Any particular HC about Armand and Daniel on social media? Because personally I think that those two would kill the dances. (P.S. of you've already answered this my apologies for a repeat question)

Honestly, I feel in my soul that I have talked about this before, but I looked and looked and I just can’t find it… Either I’m that disorganized around here, or I’m losing it completely. Possibly and probably both.

ANYWAY…

I think in general we tend to forget that Daniel’s technically a baby boomer (yikes!), born in the 1950s, who spent at least a good 15 years climbing Marius’s walls in Brazil between post-QotD and pre-PL. He missed out on a lot of major technological advancements as they occurred.

And as for Armand, I imagine his obsession with modern tech cooled once he did his few centuries worth of catching up with Daniel during the Devil’s Minion years. He now has the context AND know-how to be more discerning in his tech/media/product consumption.

THAT BEING SAID… HCs:

Now that it’s 2022 and he’s more or less caught up, Daniel is a memes dude. But his meme selection is embarrassing; traumatized bad boomer humor really coming through in the bi-weekly meme spam he posts to the coven Discord server, prompting Louis to text Armand and check-in. Every once in a while, he does manage to find the perfect historical meme to scandalize Marius on main. Only Lestat is worst behaved in the chat (but he does it intentionally).

Armand and Daniel both make good use of Pinterest. Daniel for Lego inspiration, Armand exclusively for interior decorating purposes. Armand hates the name Pinterest (it is not a proper word, nor is it slang), and calls it “The Pin Place” instead.

They LOVE YouTube. Armand pours over instructional how-to videos for things he’ll never, ever need to know—either because of vampirism or because he has enough money to outsource everything for the next 500 years. Together, they like to watch historical documentaries, and more kitsch mockumentaries, on their nights in after a hunt. “New” behind-the-scenes extras for their fav old films and movie reaction channels like ZZAVID are also top-contenders.

Armand had a very brief, ill-fated stint on Twitter. We don’t talk about it; neither does Twitter.

Daniel has a fake Facebook where he’s friends with his human nieces and nephews. They obviously don’t know it’s him and he doesn’t interact much, just checks in once in a while to see who’s getting married, who died, who had a baby, etc. It’s a strange and sometimes isolating experience being the only one in the immediate coven with family still living, and this is how he manages.

Benji’s millennial self did talk them into doing one TikTok dance, once. It was cute and hot as hell, went viral with 7M views.

[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.”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

↳ check out the post-script drabble here!

[alphadaddyderek]

Dude, just get out! (we both live here dumbass!) (sterek fic, smut, college au)

Stiles was initially excited to go to college. The freedom aspect of it in particular is what Stiles was the most excited about. Don’t get him wrong, he loves his dad, of course, he does. He didn’t mind living with him, he liked seeing him on a daily basis. He’s all Stiles has. Well, Stiles has Scott, but Scott is attending university in Arizona of all places. Meanwhile, Stiles is going to NYU, so, there’s not a lot of opportunities to see Scott or his father in person.

Not to fret though! Stiles was ready like Freddy to meet new people and, hopefully, make new friends along the way. That’s what college is all about. Supposedly, Stiles wouldn’t know but if all the movies are to be believed then that’s what college is all about.

He and his dad spent days driving up to NYU and then spent hours moving Stiles’ belongings into his off-campus apartment and unpacking. Stiles got a full-ride —thank god— so there’s extra money for him to be able to live in an actual, nice apartment instead of the dorms. His roommate was nowhere to be seen at the time, but that was fine with Stiles. He’d have plenty of opportunities to get to know him. Stiles’ dad left to stay in a hotel for the night because there was no way he was starting the trek back to Beacon Hills this late in the day. So, Stiles was left to his own devices in his new apartment.

Well, he was for about twenty minutes, then his roommate came back and...he’s kind of a dick.

He has a resting bitch face and he hardly likes to talk. Stiles doesn’t know if it’s because the guy doesn’t like him or if he’s just the quiet type. He’s starting to think that the guy doesn’t like him because every time Stiles starts talking he looks annoyed. The dick’s name is Derek and coincidentally, he also goes to NYU. He did tell Stiles his major, but wouldn’t tell Stiles what his favorite color was, which is just plain rude.

Anyway, Stiles isn’t going to let this Debbie downer ruin his college experience, no way!

Stiles decides the best thing to do is to just ignore him. Which is hard to do because the guy takes up so much space, like, he’s actually huge. And he always seems to be in the apartment when Stiles comes back from classes. Which is weird because, dude, don’t you have classes to go to? Nonetheless, he’s always there which means Stiles has to see him all the time and Derek can continue being an asswipe for no reason.

For example, Stiles sometimes forgets to wash the dishes —sue him!— and Derek will chew him out for it. Stiles didn’t know Derek was such a neat freak, but now that he knows he’ll leave more things laying around because Stiles can also be a dick when he wants to be. Maybe Derek should learn to be more personable, then Stiles wouldn’t have to go out of his character by doing such petty things. They’ve only been living together for about a week and a half and there’s already a turf battle going on. Stiles isn’t sure who’s going to win this battle, however, the sight of Derek tripping over one of Stiles’ shoes and the subsequent curse that flies out of his mouth makes Stiles not even care in the end.

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

After about a month, it's way more than just a battle. The turf battle has evolved into a war and now, no one is safe.

Derek continues being yucky and Stiles continues to do things to intentionally annoy him, except, now Derek is doing things to annoy Stiles. Like, eating all of Stiles’ Pop-Tarts or, and this is a cruel one, flushing the toilet while Stiles is in the shower. Unfortunately for Stiles, Derek buys gross ass healthy food for himself, and Stiles couldn’t choke down that food to save his life. So, what can one do to even the playing field?

Derek is sitting on the couch in the living room, watching some show about underwater caves. Stiles normally wouldn’t stick around because, despite what Derek might think, Stiles really doesn’t enjoy being talked down to by an abnormally grumpy man. This time though, Stiles sits down beside him. He can see Derek watching him from the corner of his eye, probably waiting to see what Stiles is going to do. Stiles likes to instill fear in Derek. Normally he acts like Stiles is nothing more than a bug he wants to squish under his overly expensive boot, but now? He’s worried. He should be. Stiles is going to pull out his ultimate weapon.

“So, whatcha watchin’?” Stiles asks, plastering a smile onto his face.

Derek gives him a suspicious look. “Why do you want to know?”

Stiles shrugs, smile still present. “I’m curious. This show seems interesting.”

Derek gives him an incredulous eyebrow raise, which is super insulting. Derek thinks all Stiles watches is Harry Potter, Star Wars, and superhero movies. Which is just wrong. But that’s okay. Stiles thinks all Derek watches are documentaries about how to be a functioning human in society, which, newsflash Derek, still needs working on.

A few minutes go by before Stiles decides to speak again. “So, you haven’t told me about your family.”

“That’s intentional.”

Stiles laughs. Derek thinks he can scare Stiles into leaving him alone. Unfortunately for Derek, Stiles has zero self-preservation skills.

“Come on Derek. We’re roommates. Don’t you want us to get along?”

Derek didn’t dignify that with a response —rude!— so Stiles speaks again.

“My dad is the sheriff of my hometown. Been that way for as long as I can remember. My best friend, his name is Scott, wants to be a vet. He goes to The University of Arizona. After that he’s not sure where he’ll go to get his DVM but he’s open to anything.”

Derek turns the volume up on the tv and Stiles bites his lip to stifle his laughter.

Ah, Derek. That won’t help.

“At first I was kinda skeptical about Scott becoming a vet. I mean, he’s a puppy himself, and I love him to death, but sometimes he’s ditzy. He’s a ditzy brunette. But after working at Deaton’s, Deaton is the town vet, for years he’s proved me wrong,” Stiles risks a glance at Derek and he’s scowling so hard Stiles is kind of afraid it’ll get stuck that way forever. “He and his girlfriend, Allison, are kind of having issues with long-distance but they’re high school sweethearts so I’m confident that they’ll work through it. They’re so cute together that it’s actually kinda nauseating. Like, sometimes their sappiness makes me sick to my stomach. I wonder when they’ll get ma-”

Derek abruptly stands up and walks out the room, slamming and locking his bedroom door, as if Stiles is the boogeyman who he’s trying to keep out.

Stiles snickers and grabs the remote to change the channel. Derek gets annoyed when Stiles talks, well, he shouldn’t have started this war then (it doesn’t matter that technically Stiles started it). Stiles has weaponized his ability to talk people’s ears off. So, Derek better watch out.

Hopefully, Derek won’t murder Stiles in his sleep.

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

Okay, so, Stiles thinks maybe this whole turf war thing is getting out of hand.

It’s been a total of 3 and a half months since they’ve been living together and Derek and Stiles are on edge around each other 24/7. Stiles has to shower around eleven o’clock at night so that Derek won’t burn him alive by flushing the toilet. Derek doesn’t have access to Stiles’ snacks anymore because Stiles hid them in the back of his closet. Derek stays in his room all day just so that Stiles won't have any opportunities to talk to him. They’re at an impasse, but Stiles has a feeling that the worst has yet to come.

A really bad feeling.

Stiles comes back from a particularly grueling day of classes to see Derek sitting on the couch...and he’s smirking.

That doesn’t bode well for Stiles.

“Hello, Stiles.”

“Uh, hey dude. Why do you look like a supervillain?”

“‘Cause I have a surprise for you.”

Yeah, that definitely didn’t sound good.

“Actually, I am a-okay. I really don’t need the surprise. I appreciate it though,” Stiles tries to make his way towards his room but Derek keeps talking.

“I normally don’t snoop through people’s things, it’s really not in my character, but after you left to go out last night, I heard some weird noises coming from your room. I was trying to ignore it at first, but after a while I went to see what it was. I was going to mention it this morning but you woke up before I did and by the time I had woken up you were already in class.”

Stiles had stopped in his tracks but he still hasn’t turned around to face Derek, because if Derek is going where Stiles thinks he’s going, Stiles is going to need to be able to book it into his bedroom as soon as possible.

Derek didn’t seem too perturbed by Stiles’ silence since he continues with his story. “Imagine my surprise when I found out that it was your laptop making that noise. Now, I wasn’t surprised by the fact that porn was playing, but what I was surprised at-”

Oh god.

“-was that the video you were watching was titled ‘bear fucks twink with huge cock’. And now I can’t help but question your hatred towards me.”

Stiles’ face is burning. He’s never been so embarrassed in his life, which is really a great feat because Stiles doesn’t get embarrassed by much. It’s not that Stiles didn’t notice Derek was hot, like, come on now, Derek is gorgeous. He’s not that much taller than Stiles but the size of his biceps? They’re easily the size of Stiles’ thigh. Derek is bigger than Stiles in every aspect.

Well, he’s not sure about every aspect. Stiles has never seen Derek’s dick outright, but he’s seen him wear sweatpants, and ooh boy, that bulge gives Stiles the impression that Derek is hung like a horse.

Stiles still hates Derek because Derek still has his asshole-ish ways. Case in point: right the fuck now. But, you can hate someone and still want to fuck them, right? Hate sex exists.

Derek is patiently waiting for Stiles to respond, and Stiles has never been good at staying silent, so it’s only a matter of time.

Stiles finally turns around to face Derek and clears his throat. “That- that means nothing. People watch shit like that all the time. Plus, you hardly qualify as a bear.”

It’s a weak excuse but, hey, Stiles is grasping at straws here.

Derek tilts his head to the side in agreement. “True, but if that was the case, why do you seem so nervous?”

Stiles can’t think of a reasonable response in time and Derek knows it.

Derek smirks again and Stiles really wants to knee him in the dick.

“Do you wanna fuck me?”

Stiles narrows his eyes at Derek. What the fuck is his endgame here? Why is he being such a dick?

Oh yeah, because Derek is a fucking asshole.

“Fine,” Stiles says through gritted teeth. “I find you attractive. I watch porn about big, hairy men fucking twinks because I want you to fuck me. Are you happy now? Jackass.”

Stiles storms into his room and slams the door. That’s a perfect example of why people can’t be pretty and nice. It’s genetically impossible.

Stiles lets out a sigh and dumps his backpack on his bed before stripping out of his clothes and getting into the shower. He stands under the spray for ten minutes, just praying to the cosmic gods out there that a black hole will appear and suck the whole human race into nothingness. After waiting for a few more minutes, and his prayers going unanswered, he washes himself then gets out to dry off. He wraps the towel around his waist and opens the door to find Derek standing outside his bathroom door. He shrieks (a very manly shriek by the way) and covers his chest with his arms, not that that’ll hide much.

“Derek, what the fuck are you doing?”

Derek’s eyes do the slowest sweep in fucking existence down Stiles’ body and Stiles feels his cheeks flush. Ugh, why are the cutest guys always assholes?

“I came to apologize. I was being a dick-”

“What else is new?” Stiles interrupts. Stiles is rewarded with another smirk.

“-and I took it too far. I’m sorry I embarrassed you.”

Stiles looks at Derek for a second. They’ve never apologized to each other when they did shit, and even though Stiles didn’t take it as far as Derek did, Stiles can’t stand here and act like he wasn’t also an asshole.

Stiles sighs. “I’m sorry too. I was also kind of a dick. Not as much as you, but still.”

Derek laughs a little, and Jesus H. Christ, how is a laugh sexy? “Apology accepted.”

Stiles holds his hand out for a handshake. Derek puts his hand in Stiles’ and they shake on their newfound not-friendship-but-also-maybe-not-complete-dicks-to-each-other-ship.

“So,” Derek starts after they drop their hands. “wanna have sex?”

Stiles might’ve actually choked on his own fucking spit, because what?

“What?”

“I asked if you wanted to have sex.”

“Where is this even coming from? You hate my guts. Every time I talk you look like you’re going in for a root canal.”

Stiles is so confused, he’s also getting hornier by the minute, but right now, the confusion is outweighing the horniness.

“I don’t hate you. Yeah you talk a lot, and it was so annoying at first, sometimes it still is, but I got used to your incessant chatter.”

Stiles knows he looks dumb, his mouth is gaping and everything. “I think maybe there was something in the water because I must be high. We’ve lived together for over 3 months and you’re telling me that you actually want to have sex with me?”

Derek shrugs. “Yeah. Just because you can be kinda annoying that doesn’t mean you’re not cute. Plus, people have sex all the time, that doesn’t mean we have to, like, date or whatever.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. Derek’s so romantic, how has Stiles been able to resist jumping his bones for this long?

“You just embarrassed the hell out of me, why would I ever want to have sex with you?” Never mind the fact that Stiles definitely does want to have sex with him.

“Maybe you don’t. If not, then fine. We can just go back to how things were. If you do, then we’ll have a great time.”

Stiles is still struggling to wrap his mind around all of this. Derek wants to have sex with him? In what universe does that make sense?

Apparently in this one.

Stiles does this sort of shrug that basically portrays well, what the fuck? Okay then. “Okay. I guess this is happening then.”

Derek smirks for like the fiftieth time in thirty seconds and if Stiles was a stronger man he definitely would’ve kneed Derek in the dick, but clearly, Stiles is weak.

Very, very weak.

“My room or yours?” Derek asks.

“Mine. Since it’s right there,” Stiles points behind Derek and, lo and behold, there’s Stiles’ bed.

Grabbing Stiles’ hand in a surprisingly gentle gesture, Derek walks the three feet from the bathroom to the bed to lay Stiles down.

Derek gets on top of the bed and is sitting on his knees by Stiles’ feet. He pulls his shirt off like he’s in Magic Mike or something before throwing it onto the floor without a care in the world. Jesus, it’s like his muscles have muscles. Stiles starts feeling a little insecure about his body. He’s got muscles, but, he’s not, like, ripped like Derek is. Stiles likes to think he has somewhat of a swimmer’s body.

Looming over him like a fucking creeper, Derek stares down at Stiles. “You know, you’re very pretty.”

Stiles refuses to admit that he blushes at that because he’s not pretty. If anything he’s handsome, some may even say gorgeous.

“Can you just get on with it?” Stiles throwing a scowl in Derek’s direction.

“Bossy. I kinda like that,” he strips his sweatpants off and throws them down too. Now he’s only in a pair of gray boxer briefs and, god, Stiles wants to suck his dick so badly. Which is weird because he’s really not all that experienced with blowjobs, he’s given maybe two blowjobs in his life. Whatever, Derek has a great dick okay?

Derek tugs at the towel around Stiles’ waist. “Is this okay?”

Stiles nods and then the towel is gone, and Stiles is laid bare for Derek to gaze at his leisure. And boy does Derek gaze. He does another slow sweep down Stiles’ body, except this time it’s even more intense because now Stiles is naked.

“You’re not a virgin right?” Derek asks while rummaging through Stiles’ bedside drawer and pulling out the lube. First of all, it’s rude to go through people’s stuff! Second of all, how the hell did Derek know his lube was there? Although, where else would lube be?

“Nope. There will be no deflowering of the Stiles today. Sorry to disappoint.”

Derek shrugs before popping open the lube. “I’m not one of those weirdos who pops a boner at the thought of popping someone’s cherry.”

Stiles chuckles, like actually chuckles. Who knew Derek was even capable of being funny?

Stiles pulls his legs up and hooks his hands behind his knees. The position exposes Stiles’ hole to the extreme and it makes Stiles blush. Just because he’s not a virgin doesn’t mean that he doesn’t get nervous or embarrassed during sex.

Derek knee-walks closer to Stiles and squirts some lube onto his fingers. He puts one hand on Stiles’ right thigh while the other one gently and slowly breaches his entrance. Fuck, his fingers are thick. Thicker than Stiles’ that’s for sure. Stiles definitely isn’t shy about fingering. He fingers himself all the time, but it’s been a while since someone else’s fingers were up there. Stiles is nervous and excited about it all.

Derek doesn’t spend too much time with the one finger, quickly adding a second one and that’s when it starts feeling good. Derek’s fingers are about an inch away from his prostate and Stiles is about to curse him out until Derek presses both fingers against his prostate and Stiles has to bite his lip to stop the loud ass moan that almost escaped his mouth. Judging by the look on Derek’s face, he knows he touched Stiles’ prostate, and being the asshole that he is, he has a cocky smile on his face.

After scissoring those two fingers inside Stiles for a few minutes, Derek adds a third finger. The stretch is definitely there, but hey, Stiles likes a little pain with sex. He can be kinky sometimes.

“Okay. I’m ready, come on,” Stiles says. He was starting to get impatient. He just wants to get dicked down already, damn.

Derek gently removes his fingers and gets off the bed to pick up his sweatpants. He reaches into the pocket and retrieves a condom out. Stiles’ mouth drops.

“So you just knew I’d have sex with you?”

“I didn’t know. I just hoped.”

That smarmy little bastard.

Derek gets back in bed and, finally, removes his briefs and...

Holy mother of god.

Well, maybe not the mother of god. That’s blasphemous as fuck. But! The sentiment is the same because wow. Stiles is glad he didn’t knee him in the dick because that dick is too gorgeous to cause serious injury to. He’s not like porn star big, but it is big and long too. And it’s uncut, which Stiles has a weird sort of kink about. He loves uncut cocks. Yeah, that’s a good-looking cock right there.

Derek unwraps the condom and rolls it onto his cock. He then grabs the bottle of lube that he placed on the bed and squirts more out before slathering a generous amount onto said cock. He makes Stiles move his hands before replacing them with one of his own, the other is at the base of his cock, lining it up to Stiles’ hole.

“You ready baby?” Derek asks.

“Call me baby again and I’ll dropkick you in the throa- oh fuck.”

Of course, Derek chose when Stiles was mid-threat to start pushing his cock inside. Geez, that is seriously a big cock, even the fingering didn’t make it burn any less. Derek gently pushes his cock in deeper before pulling it out, then he pushes it in a little deeper than he did at first before pulling it back out again. He repeats that until his cock is seated all the way inside, his balls to Stiles’ ass. Then he stops and waits. There’s sweat gathering above Derek’s eyebrow and some is even rolling down his temple. Needless to say, Derek isn’t as unaffected as he’s trying to be. Which makes Stiles feel kind of great actually.

“Okay, you can move now,” Stiles informs Derek. And when Stiles says Derek goes to town, he really means that.

Derek puts his other hand behind Stiles’ left knee and pulls out all the way, not even the tip is inside, before thrusting back in. Hard.

Stiles’ breath gets forced out of him at the movement. This truly is hate sex, kinda. Derek said he didn’t hate Stiles, but he certainly doesn’t like him all that much. At least, not yet. Who knows what will stem from this. That’s something to think about when Derek isn’t pounding him into the mattress.

Derek delivers a thrust that nails Stiles’ prostate dead on and Stiles makes this super embarrassing sound, like a high-pitched keen. He knows he’s not going to live that down after this.

After that, Derek is consistent with the hard abuse on Stiles’ prostate, and Stiles is getting close to orgasm embarrassingly fast. He isn’t too sure he’ll be able to last much longer. Although, Derek doesn’t seem like he’s going to be able to either. If the grunts and groans he’s letting out are anything to go by.

“Unh, fuck. Derek-!”

“Yeah, you’re gonna come?”

Stiles frantically nods his head and grabs his own cock to start stroking himself. Derek thrusts harder if that’s even possible, and within a few seconds, Stiles is coming all over his stomach.

“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek groans and thrusts one, two, three more times before stopping with a deep, guttural moan. He almost sounds like an actual bear and Stiles can’t help the giggle that escapes him.

Derek gives him a weird look but his lip quirks up in a maybe sort of smile. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh nothing,” Stiles gives him a shit-eating grin.

And since it’s already been established that Derek is an asshole, he grinds and his cock brushes against Stiles’ oversensitive prostate causing Stiles’ whole body to convulse. He slaps Derek’s arm.

Derek pulls out and lets go of Stiles’ legs. They’re sore from being in the same position for so long but Stiles can’t even care. He’s sated and all he wants to do now is take a nap. Stiles stretches his whole body like a cat while Derek disposes of the condom.

“Okay, that was fun. If you want to annoy me, I’ll be in my room.” And with that, Derek walks out of Stiles’ room to go to his own.

Derek was definitely a dick, but Stiles could deal with him. Especially if they continue to fuck like that.

Holy (not) mother of god indeed.

[finelinevogue]

I know you’re on break but just and idea could be writing more about busker!Harry! I absolutely adore him plus the idea of him being signed is amazing. Even though he gets signed I feel like he would still play on the street to thank them for helping him etc.

yes we love busker!harry here! he’s such a soft little bean who loves no one more than you <3 ok here we go, hope it’s alright;

Smiles.

That’s all you take from each day after Harry’s performed his set on the streets of familiar Manchester. As much as you love the music Harry plays and the money that comes as a benefit of how well he does it, nothing quite makes your heart warm than the smiles of the people.

Whether there’s a passing group of teenage school girls who giggle to each other. Whether it’s a couple of men walking from one business meeting to another. Whether it’s just one man and his suitcase making a hurried dash for his train. Whether it’s an old woman on her way home from getting her weekly butchers meat. Or whether it was a baby in a pram not having a single clue what was going on. No matter who it was, they could never pass Harry with a smile. He smiled back, always. Harry would pause his singing to thank anyone who threw coppers in his beaten guitar case. He was genuine and that’s what people loved about him.

Even after he’d been signed to a huge record label, he stayed the exact same down-to-earth humble man you’d always known him to be. Fame and success didn’t change him. You both still lived in the same house. You both still shopped in Aldi. You both budgeted your weeks out, regardless of the thousands that were now racking up in various bank accounts. And Harry still stood in the street, almost every day, singing his heart out to his people. To the old lady, to the baby, to the passing workmen and teenagers. He was the same chipper guy he had been all those years ago and no fame was going to change that.

Just like now was another example of all this.

He’s just finished his 12th song of the day, “I’m Yours’ by Jason Mraz and a woman was trying to get him to take the £20 note she was offering.

“Ma’am please I can’t accept this, it’s too much.”

“Don’t be daft! You played so well and it’s made my day and so i’d like to gift you thanks.” She argued back and really Harry was in a losing battle. If he accepted it he would feel terrible that he’s allowed a woman to give him £20, but if he didn’t accept it he would look ungrateful and unaccepting.

“I appreciate your kind gesture, but it’s really too much.” He smiled kindly, hoping his good smirk would charm her off.

You were stood close by, watching the interaction. You were internally laughing to yourself, because although most people would never pass up the opportunity for money, let alone twenty quid, your Harry wasn’t most people. He was a respectful man, who loved playing music above anything else. Okay, well, he loved you only slightly more than that - but you were okay with that. You envied that he had a passion as harsh as music. It was enticing to see him get lost within 7 lettered notes.

“Chuffin’ take it Harry!” The woman dangled it in front of Harry and he laughed at her eagerness. You laughed too, until you weren’t.

It happened so quickly that you didn’t realise anything had happened until you’d felt a pain in your lower back and arse. “Shit!” You grunted as you landed on your hands, them scraping ever so slightly on the cold gravel street - that was most likely covered in Pigeon shit and chewing gum.

The woman gasped and Harry had sprinted off before you could even pick yourself back up. You looked over your shoulder, still sat on the floor, to see Harry chasing after some man who had stolen the £20 from the woman’s hand. Oh. The thief didn’t have a chance against your Harry though. He may look cute and cuddly on a good day, but when something bad happens to him or the people he loves he’s a completely different person. He gets all protective and angry. You loved that he had this side to him, but you did prefer his soft side a lot more.

“Oh dear, are you alright pet?” The woman asked, leaning over you worriedly.

“Y-yeah.” You stammered out as your turned to look at her, feeling slightly winded.

“Are you hurt?”

“I don’t think so.” You brought your hands up to examine and saw they were cut only slightly, but mostly just covered in gravel. You dusted your hands off on your jeans and stood up, with the help of a random man and this woman.

“Up ya get, there ya go love.” The man spoke and you thanked him briefly, turning to see whether you could see Harry at all within the crowds of the busy Manchester streets. You sighed in relief when you saw him on his way back to you, guitar swung around on his back.

The woman walked closer to him first as she caught sight of him waving the £20 in the air in victory. You had a few tears in your eyes at the sight of him being so proud of himself, but also hearing onlookers cheering for him. He might’ve got cheers from audiences, big audiences, before but nothing compared to a noble community clap. Harry embraced the friendly woman in a hug and she spoke loud enough so you could hear them both.

“Now you really deserve that £20. Keep it, please.” She begged and Harry gave a side smirk and nodded his head in agreement. He had worked for this, he thought, and he knew just what he was going to do with the money - which in turn, brought his focus back to you.

He thanked people as he weaved his way closer to you, excusing himself so politely. He lifted his notorious busking cap so he could see you better and furrowed his eyebrows in frustration when he remembered how forcefully that thief had pushed you over in order to run off. “Swear to me you’re okay.” He said, knowing you hated being made a fuss of - especially in public.

“I swear.” You smiled at him, allowing him to grasp your hands and kiss his lips all over them, not stopping until not one spot had been left untouched.

“C’mon, let’s finish early today.” He didn’t say it as a question, meaning it was a command and he was ready to leave the city streets for the day.

“Wha— why? And go where?” You stumbled over your words, watching as he started to mess around with his equipment to put it all away.

“Well i’ve got £20 to spend, but apart from that it’s your choice.” He offered, securing his guitar in his case and putting the amplifier and microphone in their cases which you’d carry back to the car - which was, unfortunately, a fifteen minute walk up a hill, but you didn’t mind because you got to do it with Harry. Your other heart.

“Hmm,” you pondered as he packed. Normally you helped but today he wouldn’t let you because of your sore hands and back, “how about we stop off at Tescos and grab a bottle of wine to drink between us, whilst we watch that new crime documentary in the comfort of our bed?” Harry stopped what he was doing to look at you indefinitely.

“This is why I love you Y/N.” He walked over to you and kissed your lips as passionately as he could. He cupped your cheeks and stroked his thumbs against your soft skin. As soon as his lips touched yours, time froze and you were all his for however long he wanted you. You felt his raw emotions bounce off him and he could no doubt feel all of yours.

It was plain and simply, love.

[hermannsthumb]

Maria. *Grabs your face* MARIA. I would LOVE to see 15 bobbing for apples from the autumn fic meme written by you. Nothing would delight me more!

Anonymous asked: Halloween prompt #15 please!!... "Bobbing for apples but we meet accidentally underwater lady and the tramp style." OR "I thought we'd have fun bobbing for apples but you actually hate it and are really mad now"

15. Bobbing For Apples

from autumn fic prompts here

KATE ❤️__ ❤️for you id write anything... and anon the lady and the tramp scenario is so fucking funny/good

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It’s a really good thing that Hermann has Newt, because if Newt’s being honest, he has no damn clue what the poor dude would do without him. Work himself to death, probably. Or spend every Saturday night alone in his bunk. So depressing. Newt considers it his big charitable act of—well, of all time—to force Hermann into social functions, whether it's fun nights out at the bar (with Newt!), or down the hall a few feet for awesome movie marathons in Newt’s quarters (with Newt!), or something like tonight, which is a super awesome and fun Halloween party that, like, everyone on the base was invited to (including Newt!).

Hermann was all set to spend another night alone (probably changing the batteries in all his calculators or rearranging the hangers in his closet) when Newt dragged him out, more or less by the collar of his argyle sweater, with multiple threats to make his life a living hell the following week in the lab if he didn't comply immediately. "Seriously, dude," Newt had said, ominously, while Hermann looked at him like a furious cat ready to take a swipe, "you're gonna put in those vampire fangs and get drunk with me, or you're gonna regret it. I mean it." Newt was not opposed to blasting the shittiest depths of his Spotify account over his bluetooth speakers or using Hermann's favorite coffee mug to hold his dissection tools. Luckily for both of them, Hermann decided the risk wasn't worth it.

Newt knows Hermann is bound to recognize how selfless Newt is being and thank him for it eventually. Probably. Maybe a few years from now. For now, Newt is enjoying the warm and fuzzy feeling of having done a good deed, and also of drinking a considerable amount of spiked punch.

Hermann is not enjoying either.

"I did, in fact, have plans for tonight," he tells Newt, sipping his ginger ale and observing Newt with a fierce scowl. He flat-out refused the booze Newt tried to push on him. It's fine, whatever—it's enough for Newt, right now anyway, that he actually came. They'll work up to bigger stuff like that later.

"Like what?" Newt says. "Doing a crossword puzzle and watching the second half of that boring-ass documentary you put on last weekend?"

Newt considers it an affront to the very concept of movie nights that Hermann used his pick on a documentary, and one about the jaeger program that didn't even bother interviewing him, no less. Newt loves a good documentary, don't get him wrong, but movie nights are for escapist shit. You don't see him switching on Godzilla. Plus, having to watch stock footage of Dr. Gottlieb Sr. blabbing his mouth about how smart he was while you were debating making a move on his son (who was currently in you bed, looking super cute in your sweatpants, because he'd forgotten to pack pj's) was kind of a mood-killer. "It wasn't boring," Hermann sniffs, which tells Newt that his guess was dead-on. "It was...interesting. And anyway, just because they aren't your idea of plans..."

"Okay, whatever," Newt says. "Let's just have fun. That's the point of a party."

He throws an arm around Hermann's shoulder and drags him closer, until their heads knock together painfully. He hears Hermann growl low in his throat. Newt doesn't say, soon, we won't have the time to do stupid shit like this anymore, so we should enjoy it while we can, even though he wants to. It's better to not make fun stuff depressing. Plus, Hermann might decide to take that as an invitation to bail and put on his documentary. Instead he reaches up across Hermann and flicks his chin. Hermann's whole body stiffens. "I can't believe I got you into this super awesome party and you're not even pretending to be thankful," Newt says.

With no great deal of difficulty, Hermann pushes Newt off of him. Newt lands heavily back in his chair, making the whole thing wobble, and he laughs as he just manages to catch himself from falling off the other side. "You got me in?" Hermann says. "Newton, I was invited three weeks ago."

Newt stops laughing. "You were?"

"Yes," Hermann says. The corner of his lip twitches up, with a smugness so powerful Newt can feel it radiating off of him in waves. Bastard. "I took it upon myself to ask if you might be permitted to come, too." He adds, sarcastically, "Out of the kindness of my heart. I know how terribly put out you get when you aren't included in these sorts of things."

Newt considers this new information, and then discards it, because it really doesn't fit the image of himself he's been cultivating as the cool, hip friend to Hermann's uncool, unhip nerd. Like, come on, between the two of them, Newt is obviously the one you'd want at your party. Hermann's gotta be kidding. Probably. Maybe. "It's a lame party anyway," Newt mumbles.

He tries to put his arm around Hermann's shoulder again, remembers that Hermann really didn't like that the first time, and then drops it back down at his side instead. "Totally lame," he continues. Newt recalls the Halloween parties of his youth with a warm, fond glow: elaborate costumes, tacky decorations, passing around bowls of peeled grapes in the dark, carving jack-o-lanterns while his dad hovered protectively over him to make sure he didn't take a finger off with the knife. This is none of that. Barely anyone even dressed up! The lack of Halloween spirit is tragic. "There aren't even any party games."

"Yes there are," Hermann says, mildly.

He points across the room at a large metal tub that Newt somehow missed before. It looks like it's filled with water, and...

"Dude," Newt says.

He doesn't wait to ask before he's hopping to his feet and dragging Hermann along after him by his blazer cuff. Hermann swats at his heels a few times with his cane, but eventually—like he does with most of Newt's ideas—gives in. "I'm a fuckin' champ at bobbing for apples," Newt boasts. "I used to—oops, excuse me," (he runs into two guys who are, like, twice his height, upsetting their drinks, and he hears Hermann groan as something purple spills on his sweater), "I used to always win it at the fall fest when my dad would take me." And then when he went back as an adult by himself, but it was less impressive a win when you were up against a bunch of ten-year-olds.

"You do have an exceptionally large mouth," Hermann says, rubbing at his stained shoulder. "I suppose that helps." As Newt bends to investigate the iron tub, he says, "Oh, Newton, don't, it's been out all night. Who knows what sorts of germs are in there?"

Newt gets to his knees and rolls up the sleeves of his PPDC-issued labcoat. He's a mad scientist to Hermann's vampire (vampire librarian?) tonight. Yeah, it's kind of a lazy costume, but it was free—he already had everything he needed in the lab. "I can get it in five seconds, max," he declares. His record is one second, but he's the first to admit he's a little rusty, and he'd rather impress Hermann by beating his estimate. "Will you hold my headlamp?"

Grumbling, Hermann takes it. Newt sets his glasses on the ground. "You're going to get yourself bloody soaking," Hermann says, and then he complains about something else, too, but Newt is screwing his eyes shut and ducking his head into the tub, which makes it difficult to hear him. One second—two seconds—two and a half—Newt emerges victorious from the tub, teeth clenched down firmly on an apple, and accidentally splatters a large amount of water on Hermann's shoes. He pulls the apple out of his mouth with a grin and waves it at Hermann. "See. I'm a fucking pro."

He tucks his glasses back on his face to discover that Hermann is staring at him with a very strange expression on his face. Newt can't decide if it's the blacklight bulbs overhead that are washing him out and making him look so flushed, or something else entirely. Then, in a second, he's grumpy and scowling and tsking over his wet shoes. "A pro," he echoes. "Hardly. It can't be that complicated."

Newt gestures grandly at the tub and takes a bite out of his apple. Hermann can always be relied upon to never turn down a challenge, especially when it means making Newt look—potentially—stupid. Newt uses it to his advantage often. Whatever it takes to help the guy have a good time. "It's all yours, dude."

Hermann grumbles something again about Newt being too arrogant for his own good, and something else about showing Newt how to do it without making a mess of everything, then gets down to his knees with a quiet hiss of discomfort. He shoves his cane, and Newt's headlamp, at Newt, though bewilderingly leaves his blazer on. "I'll be just a moment," he says, and dunks his head into the tub.

He splashes back up no more than five seconds later. Apple-less. "Bugger," he coughs, and then coughs some more. The entire front of his sweater is soaked. "I didn't—I didn't start out right. Let me—"

Newt watches Hermann try to drown himself a few more times in mild interest before he finally intercedes. "Need a hand?" he says, getting to his knees next to Hermann.

"No," Hermann splutters.

Newt takes his glasses off again. "Yeah, you do. Okay, now watch me—"

He emerges with another apple in seconds.

Hermann grits his teeth. "Newton—"

"One more?" Newt says, his grin widening.

Back under. Another apple. He winks at Hermann when he goes in for a fourth time, and this time, he feels the water of the tank being upset as Hermann (refusing to be outdone once again) splashes in alongside him. God, Newt loves riling Hermann up like this—he gets so funny, and kinda cute, when he's mad about something. Red in the face, and scowling, and sometimes (when he's real mad) speaking in a dangerously low and rough sort of voice with his r's rolling that makes Newt shiver, just a little. Like, Newton, you worthless, pathetic little man, cease this immediately, or else I'll... He actually said that to Newt once. It made Newt feel a little warm under his collar. Hermann's probably going to say something similar to him this time, and Newt can't wait.

Ten seconds in. Newt has been cutting Hermann a little slack at first, just to see if he can catch up, but finally decides to just go for the apple that's been bobbing steadily against his mouth this whole time. (He loves beating Hermann at stuff.)

And, well, apparently Hermann goes for it too.

They both miss the apple. Newt's mouth is up against Hermann's for another five seconds before he realizes what's happening (that that is definitely not an apple, that that is definitely a mouth, that that mouth is wide and weird another to belong to only one person Newt knows, that that mouth is parting in surprise, oh my God) and then he pulls away so quickly that he breathes in what feels like half the tub of water. He falls back on his ass, coughing furiously, and it's not until he shoves his glasses back on with a shaking hand that he realizes that Hermann has done the same. "I," Hermann says. His eyes are wide. "I'm sor—"

"It's fine," Newt squeaks.

"It was—"

"I know!"

Newt and Hermann's mouths were touching for five whole seconds. Underwater, while apples bobbed against their foreheads, but their mouths still touched. Oh my God. In elementary school, Newt thinks dizzily, that would be enough to catch cooties. This was so not how he wanted his awesome eventual seduction of Hermann to go down. For one thing, it wasn't even a seduction.

"I'm gonna get a towel," Newt says.

Hermann nods. He looks strangely adorable with water droplets on his nose and his hair plastered to his head like that. Newt has to get out of here before he does something stupid, like take Hermann's pointy cheeks between his hands and put their mouths together on purpose. He doesn't think Hermann would respond to that very well right now.

"I'll get you one too," Newt says, and it takes a lot of effort to force himself to his feet.

Hermann nods again.

"Okay," Newt says, and stumbles away. Out of the corner of his eye, he just catches Hermann raising a hand to his mouth.

[tsukiihime]

Heartbreak (Bakugou x Reader), (Shinsou x Reader) Part 2

The second part to the fic I wrote, this will probably be my last post for another week since I have school to catch up on. Enjoy!

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: Angst, a bit more fluff on Shinsou’s end, drinking

Taglist: @sugarandsoft

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

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It’s three in the morning, and Bakugou can’t sleep.

He’s beyond pissed at himself for staying up this late, but he can’t help it - he’s been in bed since nine and he can’t get you out of his mind. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about you since you stormed out of the apartment. He regrets not chasing after you, he loathes himself for being such a dick and he hates himself for even letting his stupid agency dictate his personal life. He wants to tell you so bad that you’re wrong, that beating Deku doesn’t mean a damn thing to him if it means he has to lose you. He wants to hear your voice so bad it hurts. He knows you’ll be going to Shinsou - you always do when you have a bad fight. He knows you’ll be safe there, but he feels like such a fool. He let you walk out in the rain on your own. What a hero he turned out to be. 

Bakugou spends the night alternating between flipping through the endless channels on the living room TV and staring at the ceiling. Every time he closes his eyes he sees your face - anger boiling your blood, disbelief painting your features as he fights with you, tears staining your cheeks. He feels sick to his stomach imagining you walking in the cold as you leave the apartment, sniffling as you make your way out in the rain. He wants to call you to explain himself.

But he doesn’t. His pride won’t let him.

It’s his pride that makes him trudge out to bars with Denki, Mina, and Sero the next day after you leave - he needs alcohol in his system to numb himself from the thought of you. Anyone will do if it warms his bed and makes your face disappear for even a second. God, he never thought he would be so hung up on you. He downs beer after beer, dances with woman after woman. Names and faces blur together as a cacophony of voices plays in his head. 

He ends up taking someone home that night - he couldn’t remember her even if he tried. He takes her back to the apartment you shared and pushes her onto the bed you shared. He kisses her collarbone and up her neck, but he’s aiming for your favorite spots instead of hers. The image of you overlaps with her, and he sees your figure beneath him instead of some stranger. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s his broken heart playing tricks on him.

He kisses her, imagining it’s your scent he’s breathing in rather than the vanilla and booze she smells of. He pictures your arms wrapping around his neck, your lips on his. She says his name, like honey on her lips, whispers it into his ear. And if he tries hard enough, he can twist her voice in his head to sound like you.

“Katsuki, I love you.” He hears it over and over, sees your smile and hears your laugh. “Katsuki, I love you.”

He makes her leave after that. She’s upset but he is too - an argument ensures and she storms out, leaving behind her underwear in her hurry to leave. 

He doesn’t notice. He’s too busy thinking of you.

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It’s been three weeks since your breakup with Bakugou. 

The news stations and gossip websites have been flooded with reports of Camie and Katsuki - neither have said anything about their relationship and the speculation of if they are or aren’t a couple is driving everyone wild. Thankfully, the people who were leaving awful comments have long since left you alone, prompting you to turn your Instagram to private and changing your username so they can’t find you easily. 

You’ve been avoiding social media like the plague, ignoring all television interviews that involve either Bakugou or Camie - you’ve learned your lesson from the night of the Hero Rankings. But you’re only human after all, and the one time your curiosity got the better of you, you dove into the comments on a tabloid’s website to see what the public was saying.

It doesn’t escape your notice that the comments are much kinder - it ranges from well wishes to remarks about how they wish they could replace Bakugou or Camie in the relationship. No one mentions you, which you are grateful for. You know the media thrives off of drama and rumors, so you’re content to have been forgotten about in this narrative. 

Shinsou’s been treating you like normal - another thing you’re grateful for. He is kind without being overbearing, and he gives you distance while also being there for you when you need it. You’ve migrated from sleeping on the couch to crashing in his bed, and more often than not you fall asleep to the smell of his body wash as you lay on his chest. 

You wonder what Bakugou would say if he saw you. He knew how close you and Shinsou were and still are, but anyone could think that you and the purple haired man were lovers. Here you are, getting upset at your ex-boyfriend for having a woman over two days after the breakup, when you are falling asleep in the arms of another man - even if he is your best friend. You wonder if that makes you a hypocrite. Your emotions are in chaos, all jumbled and confused. You miss physical intimacy and a part of you wonders if you’re just using Shinsou as a replacement. “It’s better to sift through these feelings when I’m calmer”, you think to yourself, “I’ll come back to it when I’m in a better place.”

Otherwise, you’ve been steadily making your way back to a normal life - work, school, and your personal life all seem to be peaceful and you’re content in a way you hadn’t been for a long time with Bakugou. Of course, the wounds of the breakup are still healing, but you’re doing a lot better from three weeks ago, when you couldn’t even bring yourself to get out of bed. Shinsou has been making sure that you eat properly and that you take care of yourself. Now that you’re out of that post breakup funk, he notices that you’re cheerful and upbeat - a good sign that you’re slowly recovering from your heartbreak.

Today, you’re home alone while Shinsou patrols the city - he’s promised to pick up dinner on his way home so you don’t have to cook. He’s looking forward to tonight - you’ve finished all of your school work for the weekend and you’re off from work until Monday. He’s eager to come home to you, he’s turned down his coworkers invitations to drink so he can spend the weekend with you. He’s picked up food from your favorite Mexican restaurant, and he’s stopped at the grocery store to get your favorite flavor of ice cream - the one that’s almost always sold out. 

He arrives home to see you lazing about the house - you’re laying on your back on the couch, holding your pastel Animal Crossing Edition Switch with a bag of chips resting on the table next to you. Your eyebrows are furrowed together as you focus on beating the shit out of a boss in Cuphead - a game you and Shinsou spent hours playing when it came out trying to pass the incredibly difficult levels. You’re wearing Shinsou’s favorite hoodie again - you might as well claim it as your own already you wear it so much - and your fuzzy cat print socks match with a fluffy cat ear headband that keeps your hair out of your face. Your face is recently washed and slightly pink, and he can smell your favorite coconut body wash from where he’s standing. He waits until you lose the stage (let's face it - there’s no way you’re beating that damn clown boss without his help) and he makes his way over to you, leaning over to look down at you as you exhale in annoyance at your loss. 

“Hey there, I got dinner. Also nabbed some dessert for you - ready to watch nothing but ghost stories for the rest of the night?” You stretch out your arms and legs, groaning as you move to stand from the couch. 

“Only if you promise to sleep next to me until I see sunlight again.” You hate ghost stories - you can handle scary movies about murderers and clowns but you don’t mess with ghosts. The only reason you’re watching tonight is because you know it’s Shinsou’s favorite and he always watches your nature documentaries even though you know deep down he probably doesn’t enjoy them as much as you do. You saunter over to the kitchen, and prop yourself on the counter facing Shinsou as you pull a taco to your mouth. “Ugh, even though the Exorcist was made like 50 years ago it still gives me the creeps. I can’t believe,” you take a moment to drink some water, “that you can watch her crawl backwards down the stairs and not piss your pants.” Shinsou lowly chuckles, giving a teasing smile as he unwraps his burrito.

“It’s ‘cause I’m not a chicken.” You roll your eyes and snort. 

“Whatever Mindjack. Not everyone can be as fearless as you.” He smirks as you swing your legs, turning your full attention to the taco you have in front of you. “Hurry up and finish so we can do a facemask before our movie marathon. You didn’t forget about that did you?” 

“‘Course not. You wouldn’t let me forget even if I tried, since you’re such a nagger.” You pout, hopping off the counter to wash your hands. Shinsou spends a bit too much time admiring how small you look wearing his hoodie - enveloped in something that belongs to him makes him swell with pride even if it’s wrong of him to think so. He wonders when he started to feel this way towards you, when his love changed from a close friend to an admirer. When he remembers his life, you are always there with him. By his side like a part of his body, always around when important events pass by, always by his side when the going gets tough. It’s not as if he’s always been pining for you - he’s brought other girlfriends around before even if the romance fizzles out before long - but recently he’s noticed you in a different light. Your bedhead and your sleeping face are just as cute to him as when you have your hair done and makeup on. Bringing other men over was never a problem, you’re his best friend and your happiness was always the first priority. But now, he finds himself annoyed at the mere mention of possible partners. You have no shortage of those - you’ve always been able to draw people to you as nerdy as you are - and the green vines of jealousy wrap around his heart every time someone gives you a gift on Valentine’s Day or someone asks you out for a coffee. You usually turn them down since you have so much to focus on, work and school makes you a busy woman after all. But he can’t help but be irritated at the stares you get in public sometimes - as beautiful as you are, you would think that you’d notice the way others look at you. He’s always loved you, but now he feels this once platonic love changing into pure romance, he aches for you like he’s never had before - longing for your touches, your hugs, your feather light kisses on his forehead when he’s having a tough day. The guilt he feels every time he holds you close like he did when you were kids, when you lay your head on his chest and he plays with your hair. To you, it’s still the action of a best friend, but to him it’s something he’d do for a lover. And yet, you’re oblivious, as dense as a rock but he loves that part too. How infuriatingly adorable you are sometimes. 

“‘Toooooshi~”, You wave your hand in his face as he comes back to reality. You raise an eyebrow. “Are you okay?”

“Never better.” Your arms cross as you stare at him, suspicious that he’s hiding something from you. 

“You ready? I got everything set up.” He nods, and you turn to walk towards his bedroom.

Shinsou’s room is quite neat, a black bed in the corner next to ceiling to floor windows that gives a pretty good view of the city. He scored a good location in spite of his modest salary - he’s in it for the heroism and the good deeds, not the money. He may not make as much as Bakugou, Todoroki, or Deku, but he does alright. His capture weapon and artificial vocal cords mask rest atop his bookshelf, populated with picture books of you and him in your younger days, as well as a Polaroid camera you left with him when he went off to U.A and you stayed in Saitama. Next to the parts of his Hero costume is a picture of you and him on a trip to the beach - one he treasures above all else. In it, he holds you bridal style as you both smile from ear to ear at the camera. You’re practically glowing, wearing a bright yellow bikini set with a see through beach coverup wrapped around your hips, sunglasses resting atop your head. Shinsou recalls how you nagged him to actually swim with you, and you pretty much forced him to wear those green swim shorts - this picture was before he decided to run with you in his arms to the water. 

He sees your presence everywhere he looks in his room. After he reassured you that you weren’t a burden, you’ve basically turned his home into your home as well. The bottom half of his bookshelf is claimed as yours - it’s filled with your favorite stories, and your collection of Switch games is stacked next to the shelf neatly. Your laptop rests on his bed (you were no doubt doing homework before you got distracted and started playing Cuphead before he got home) with your Geology textbook open and notebooks filled with notes and highlighted phrases. Your clothes have been hung up in his closet, with your makeup and perfumes taking over three-fourths of his bathroom counter. If anyone else came to visit, they’d think you two were an item.

But alas, you two are not.

You push your schoolwork and computer aside to make room for you and Hitoshi, making your way towards the bathroom to grab a basket of skin care products and face masks. Shinsou knows how much you care about your skin - and by extension his skin - and he watches as you walk from here to there gathering what you need. You turn to him with a huge grin on your face as you hold up a matching cat headband in the color black, something you picked up from the store before you came home last week. He sighs, but turns around anyways to allow you to pull his lavender hair back into a loose ponytail and place the cat headband on his head before turning back to face you. 

He looks so silly wearing it, but for you, he’ll do anything. You grab your phone and open the front camera, sticking your tongue out while grabbing Shinsou’s face, squishing his cheeks as he makes an annoyed face at the camera. After taking the photo, you upload it to your now private Instagram and send the picture to Shinsou who does the same. He’s always been a private man, so you don’t worry about the public getting a hold of the photos and trying to make a story out of your life like with Bakugou. 

Tossing your phone aside, you motion for Hitoshi to turn towards you, propping yourself up on your knees in front of him as he sits cross legged. You giggle as he looks back at you, reaching to grab a jar of your favorite moisturizer and opening it. The smell is familiar to him - you always smell like it at night when you watch TV while sitting next to him in the living room. You start to apply the product to his face, careful to keep it out of his eyes and mouth. “You need to take better care of your skin ‘Toshi.”

“I know. I’ve been putting sunscreen on like you’ve asked.” He’s not lying, it’s become a part of his routine ever since you suggested it. 

“Good. You better be taking the time to eat properly at work too. I know you’re sleeping normally again since I’ve been here, so I won’t lecture you on that.” You glance at his arms, covered in scattered scars from run ins with villains. 

Most people look at heroes as an invincible force, unstoppable like All Might. Others may see Mindjack, but you just see Hitoshi Shinsou, your partner in crime.

“Thank you Hitoshi...for everything.” You blurt it out before you can stop yourself.

“I didn’t know this facemask meant so much to you.” You punch him in the shoulder as he laughs.

“‘Toshi, I’m serious. Look at all you’ve done for me. You let me crash here, listen to me complain, make sure I’m okay...without you, I probably would still be lying in bed all depressed.” You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. “I have to say it before I never get the chance to. You may be Mindjack, a hero, but you’re still Hitoshi to me. You do so much for me and you put your life on the line for others every day. I watch you and I’m proud of the boy who proved everyone wrong when they said you had a villain’s quirk. You being here for me after everything with Bakugou and always being there for me growing up makes me realize how much you mean to me. You’re my hero, ‘Toshi. But I need you to stay safe. Look at all your scars...” You pull back from the hug and grab his arms, running your fingers over his scarred skin. You’ve always known Shinsou’s job is dangerous - he’s a hero after all, he saves people. But he’s also your best friend. He’s a selfless man, a kind man. 

You love Shinsou. You truly do, he is someone you can never lose. To lose him would be to lose a part of you.

He says nothing in response, so you continue. “Remember that time you fought that villain in the subway? All the news stations said that the tunnel was going to collapse and I just felt like my heart was going to burst. I saw you getting trapped and I felt like…”

You trail off, feeling the familiar sting of tears as you hold them back. Hitoshi gazes at you, lilac eyes boring into your own. “I felt like my whole world was ending. When you came out alright I thought I would faint. I was so scared ‘Toshi… scared you wouldn’t come back. I don’t want to lose you.” Shinsou grabs your cheeks, gently moving his hands so you face him. He wipes a tear from your eye. 

“I’ll always come back to you.” You close your eyes, and press your forehead to his.

“You better. I’ll be waiting.”

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Bakugou wants to be anywhere else but here. 

He’s at Kirishima’s apartment - he’s been dragged out of his house by Mina and Kaminari for a night of drinking, with Sero and Jirou also coming along for the ride. The blonde would rather be in bed, wallowing in his misery, but his friends won’t let him stay inside. So he pouts in the corner, arms crossed and a permanent scowl painting his features. Kirishima gives him a knowing smile, and mouths “I’m sorry”. Bakugou clicks his tongue and looks away, grabbing his phone in order to distract himself from all the noise. 

He would rather die than admit it, but he’s been looking for your Instagram ever since you left. You must’ve unfollowed him or even blocked him - he can’t find a trace of you anywhere. He hates this pathetic side of him, one that makes him seem like a stalker, but he has to know you’re okay. If his pride won’t let him call you, then he needs to know you’re okay.

To his surprise, you pop up on his feed. He immediately inspects the photo of you, and breathes a sigh of relief to see your face. Your tongue is sticking out all playful, beaming as you hold Hitoshi’s face for the photo. You’re wearing that cat headband you always use when washing your face, and he can tell you’re almost ready for bed. He smiles solemnly, vermilion eyes staring at you, so far away.

He notices you’re wearing one of Shinsou’s hoodies and his blood boils at the thought - he knows you are friends but he hates the idea of anyone else having you - although he shouldn’t be one to talk after bringing home that girl from the club. He hates himself for doing it. He stares at your face before standing, saying a curt “I’ll be back” before making his way to the balcony. His friend’s voices fade as he stands outside overlooking the city, and he makes sure the coast is clear before dialing your number.

Fuck his pride. He has to hear your voice.