#anyway. next week will be more normal. i am craving routine and time to write

[nametakensff]

.

[galacticlamps]

Tag 9 ppl you want to get to know better

tagged by @observethewalrus​

First ship: I genuinely don’t know? And now that I’m realizing I don’t know I’m actually a tiny bit sad about that. I’d started writing things that can only be described as fanfiction long before I was old enough to be online and before we evolved past dial-up in my house & being on the computer became simple enough to not feel like a hassle anyway - which is all just to say that when I did wind up interacting with fannish communities later on, fanfic specifically wasn’t something totally new to me so I never had vivid memories of my first experiences of it. As a kid fanfic was what you basically had to do when you reached the end of any media you’d even somewhat enjoyed and the author rather rudely neglected to go on telling the story infinitely - so I think it must’ve been a while before shipping became a major thing on my radar, and it probably happened gradually. I do distinctly remember finding it a little ironic in high school that so much online/tumblr specific fandom was about shipping, and I was in multiple fandoms and had several ships, but I didn’t have any big passionate (or even non-canon & in need of defending) ships for my main fandom, which was always Doctor Who - though at the time, just nuwho. There, the only things I could be said to ship were pretty straightforward pairings like the Ponds, Doctor/River, Jack/Ianto, etc. - and I’m guessing whatever things I had that counted as ships before I got into fandom were similar to those, just a kind of passing approval of/investment in ships that were already well-established elements of their source material.

Three Ships: well Two/Jamie always (connected to the above tangent, I was involved in fandom for close to a decade before I came across them, but I’d never found cause to use the term otp before then), and at the moment the other ships taking up the next-most space in my brain are probably Ben/Polly and Geordi/Data

Last Song: Ruin by the Amazing Devil (I remember it playing as I drove home last night)

Last Movie: ah see I’m actually quite bad about watching movies/even remembering they exist. There’s a real possibility the most recent one was The Final Frontier, simply because I’ve been doing a long slow chronological trek through Star Trek, and I’m currently in the early 90s so I know I must have watched that one at some point in the last year or so, and more recently than any of the ones that came out before it

Currently Reading: Ok this I’m legitimately embarrassed about, because I’m not normally anywhere near this slow with books at all, and neither of these are bad, boring, or even slow-paced, it’s solely a matter of how horribly hectic & unpredictable my life’s been for the last few months - but I’ve been both near the end of Bare-Arsed Banditti and a couple hundred pages deep into The Two Towers since the end of August (I hate that fact so much but I need to admit it. It’s available information on my Storygraph account anyway it should not be so hard to say)

Currently Consuming: Twining’s Irish Breakfast tea, black. I am often consuming twining’s irish breakfast tea black

Currently Craving: a break - or maybe just routine in general? I’ve been doing a lot of overlapping freelance work lately: short-term projects that don’t last long enough to allow for anything like ‘time off’ & have all the busy-ness of full-time without any of the stability, which kinda feels like the worst of both worlds tbh. 2022 was a rough year for me for that in general, but it got especially bad in the fall & winter and I’m hoping to get a better handle on my own schedule in the next few weeks one way or another, but I’m sorry to anyone I’ve kinda ghosted in the interim

Tagging: @uighean​ @terryfphanatics​ @seismologically-silly​ and anybody else who wants to do it!

[blakegatfield]

Social Media Experiment

After reading Emma's article and watching/listening to Max earlier in the week, I wanted to remind myself that whatever I did for this experiment would only be beneficial.

I decided to remove myself from my social media apps that I go on the most (Instagram, Snapchat, and TikTok) throughout the whole day, except for in between classes. Since this experiment occurred yesterday (Thursday) purposely, I had two back-to-back classes from 11-1:45. I would only allow myself to go on the apps in between these classes - no other time was to be allowed. I did this on purpose because I wanted to see how much my mind actually craved them. Usually, when I wake up in the morning, I access these apps within 10-15 minutes of waking up which is not healthy at all.

My day started getting up around 9:00, and immediately getting things in order without touching my phone besides shutting the alarm off. At first, it was hard to reject the usual act of scrolling before starting my day. Truly staying off my phone for a solid hour while getting things done that are actually for myself, helped my mind right out of the gate. There are so many things that are not necessary for me to complete, but without that time filler that social media is for me, I was able to do the extra things that would normally not get done until later in the day. As embarrassing as that is to admit, social media has that procrastination effect. Obviously, it isn't too dramatic, or I would have worse problems on my hands. I was able to check/respond to emails, do some quick reading for a class, edit/write in my planner, etc. Once I got these tasks started, my phone and that constant desire for quick stimuli was forgotten. When I started my walk to class, the only thing I accessed was my music that I normally listen to. Everything was going as planned and honestly, I felt relieved. I didn't have to worry about anything, and my mind was clear and focused entering my first class.

Walking upstairs to my second class in the same building, I did not feel the desire to go on any social media. I did anyway for the sake of the experiment. I sat in my seat and scrolled through Instagram and felt dumb. "What is on here right now that I actually need to see" is what I thought to myself. Snapchat was the same story; these streaks are really starting to get to me. It is so funny how I still do these, but I didn't stay on that app longer than 10 seconds truthfully. TikTok was just a mess. The best part about it is that I don't even go on these apps to post so I am letting myself feel out of touch or this artificial feeling in my gut to catch up to everyone that I see. After I closed out of TikTok a couple minutes before class started, I was happy to get back to my real, meaningful tasks at hand. After my second class, it was even easier than before to not go back on those apps. As I went about my afternoon, going to the SAC, library, back at my apartment, I found a much more productive and efficient routine than usual. Time wise, there isn't much of a change for scrolling for two brief minutes in spurts throughout the day, but it is the significant change of mindset that I really noticed. When I called it a night and put my phone down on the charger and set my alarm for the next day, there was no desire to catch up on everything that I missed. I realized that the only time I go on these apps is when I feel bored, or 'there is nothing else to do' which is probably the biggest lie that I have been telling myself for way too long.

The biggest takeaway from this experiment is the change of mind. I didn't have this short attention span, or brain fog. I felt more alert and calmer throughout the day. It almost felt like I kept the same pace, but time slowed down around me. I am truthfully happy about the outcome of this social media experiment. There was a deep cleanse in my mind and moving forward (even today when I am writing this) I am optimistic about the habits that I will develop.

[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!

[shinygoldstar]

Midnight Snack

DannyMay Day 11: Midnight

(Also DannyMay Shadow, Scars, Power, Nature, Seasons, Teeth can you find them all?)

Word Count: 2271 (not beta’d. experimental writing)

Warning: mentions of ghost cannibalism, nothing explicit

@floralflowerpower ​ – for that ghost cannibalism post

(it’s 1 am so i’m gonna sleep now. might post on AO3 later)

Edit: AO3 Added!

.

It was mid-October. The leaves are starting to turn yellow heralding the approaching autumn. Danny was happy because that meant the unusually hot weather is almost over. It wasn’t that he’s melting from the heat- quite the opposite, he’s probably the only person in Amity that isn’t sweltering under the sun with his cold core. But due to this exact same reason, his cooler body temperature also drew in water vapor which condenses on his skin, pooling into beads of water dripping down his shirt, making him appear extra sweaty. He can’t wait for the temperature to be cool enough to not change clothes every few hours. Good thing his clothes are purchased by the dozen; no one really noticed him wearing new sets of clothes throughout the day.

.

It was the contaminated fridge foods that disappeared first. No one missed them. At least until they can’t find the mutated turkeys for their annual Thanksgiving hunting event.

.

Danny yawned as he and his friends entered Fenton Works. Autumn is comfy. Just the right temperature where he can wear loose clothing and not be stared at for being underdressed for the weather. No ‘sweating’ either. His mouth closed with a click, a bit too fast on his new fangs. Danny winced. The fangs seemed to have grown longer overnight again. At this rate Danny won’t be able to pass them off as normal pointy canine teeth for much longer. It didn’t hurt but the itch is annoying. Danny took a detour to the fridge, grabbing an ice cube from the freezer and popped it into his mouth, absentmindedly chewing on the cubes to take the edge off the itch as they walked down to the basement lab. His parents are at a paranormal convention at a nearby city and won’t be back until tomorrow. Danny and his friends gladly took the opportunity to do their ‘Danny’s quarterly fitness test’.

Danny flipped on the light switch and walked to the center of the lab, transforming into his ghost form. “Okay I’m ready. What’s first on the list?”

Tucker dropped his bag and took out a piece of notebook paper, “Okay, first we gotta do the baseline measurements. Height, weight, temperature, and the ecto reading.” Sam dug through her sports bag, pulling out the measurement tape. She held it against Danny, eyes scanning the tape measurement numbers. “Still the same height.”

Tucker nodded, noting down the measurement in Danny’s health notebook. “Next, weight.” Danny stood over the scale. “Yup, still the same weight too.”  

.

Then it was the ecto-samples that Jack misplaced in the kitchen fridge. Jack warned everyone a few days later (everyone knows to avoid glowing food on normal basis so the delayed warning is mostly just courtesy), but no one could find where it went and assumed it grew legs to join the other tiny ecto-samples lurking as their equivalent of household pests. (No matter how often Maddie tried to patch up the mouse hole it keeps reappearing in the same shape but in a different part of the house as if the original mouse hole got transplanted from its original location)

.

“Lunch Lady’s right. You need to eat more. You’re still as skinny as ever.” Sam remarked as Danny took the thermometer out of his mouth. “76 F. The ghosts keep attacking me all day and night. You’d think my parents would notice when a ghost sneaks pass them while they work in the lab but I triggered all their ghost alarms just by being in the house so they deactivated the system when I’m around. They must’ve kept it turned off during the day too.”

“Tough luck dude. Ecto scan next.” Tucker passed the scanner to Sam while Danny stood still for her to scan. The machine beeped, “Wow 6.8, that’s quite a jump from last quarter’s 5.1”

“Maybe it was from all the ghost fighting I did over the summer?”

.

As the leaves began to fall from the branches, ghost attacks lessened in frequency. Not looking the gift horse in the mouth Danny happily enjoyed the lack of ghost attacks to focus more on his studies. If he did well enough, he might even get Bs for his efforts. He also managed to avoid getting detention for the entire week much to the relief of everyone involved.

.

Two days before Thanksgiving, the Fentons finally remembered their turkeys. But by then it was gone. In a rush, they quickly purchased a pre-made turkey instead. While Danny enjoyed the fact that they’re having a normal family dinner for once, he can’t help but feel like there’s something off about the chicken. As if it’s missing a particular tangy or zingy flavor that would’ve made it richer in flavor. ‘Must’ve been because it’s overcooked.’

.

"Honey? Have you seen the new ecto-samples I placed in the basement lab fridge?" “Again Jack? This is the third time this month. Have you checked the upstairs fridge?” “I-ah was pretty sure I placed them in the correct fridge this time. Must be some no-good thievin’ ghost.” “I’ll set up the ecto-anti-theft, that’ll get ‘em good! No ghost can escape Jack Fenton for long!”

.

*Intruder Alert* *Intruder Alert*

Red lights peppered with robotic voice and alarm noises lurched Maddie into full alert mode. She quickly took stock of her surroundings and tried to wake Jack up. But Jack had his earplugs on and continued to snore blissfully. A loud knock on the door caught her attention. “What’s going on mom?” Jazz’s voice floated through the door. Maddie quickly rose to open the bedroom door, swiftly pulled Jazz in and locked the door. “Jazz dear, try to wake your dad up. I’ll go check on the intruder.” Maddie strode quietly to the door then paused, “Have you checked on Danny?” Jazz bit her lips and looked away for a moment “-ah yeah! Danny’s snoring so loud he can’t hear the alarm.” Maddie twisted the doorknob but paused, hesitating. “He’s fine mom.” Jazz reassures her. “If Danny wakes up, he’ll come here first. I’ll let him know what’s going on.”

The alarm rang loudly in her ears as she walked down the stairs to the basement lab, its loud ringing noise effectively covering up the sound of her footsteps. Reaching the basement floor, Maddie quickly crept over to hide behind the shelf on her left, eyes scanning the lab for the intruder.

The glass jars clinked as a shadow moved about the fridge. A very familiar shadow. That didn’t glow. Maddie turned on the lab lights. “Danny?” she started, carefully walking over to face him, her eyes still scanning him to check if he’s really her Danny. The faint, barely noticeable scar on his eyebrow from his attempt to fly off the tree when he was five is there confirming his identity.

“What are you doing down here-?” Maddie noticed the glowing jar in his hand, “and what exactly are you doing?” Danny hazily stared at her; eyes half-lidded. Maddie snapped her fingers to get his attention. Danny didn’t blink. “He's still not awake, Danny come on wake up!”, she shook his shoulders. “Huh? Wuzzat?” Danny groggily woke up. He blinked in confusion.

Finally aware of his surroundings, Danny looked down at his right hand that still held the glowing sample. “Aah!” Danny yelped dropping the sample, then realizing he dropped the sample, tries to catch the jar, fumbling clumsily. Maddie would’ve laughed if it was anywhere else but in this situation. “Danny, do you remember what you were doing?”

“I was doing my homework and was craving for a good cheeseburger?”

---

“And the half-opened jar of ectoplasm?”

“Pickles?”

---

“Dude are you for real? That was priceless!” Tucker crowed with laughter. Sam leaned away from Tucker to avoid the meat spittle, “Urgh! Gross Tucker! Swallow it before you speak!”

Danny grumbled into his glass of milkshake, “’s not funny Tuck. you didn't see her face. She was about ready to scan me for signs of ecto-possession. Good thing my lie about craving cheeseburger and opening the wrong fridge worked. Otherwise I’d be in big trouble if she scanned me now with my latest ecto-reading. Anyways I'm banned from the lab now.” Danny bit into his burger.

“So what really happened there dude? Did you seriously sleepwalk into the basement lab?”

“I think so? I don’t really remember anything before Mom found me in the lab. Only that I was feeling a bit hungry.”

.

The ghosts stopped coming. Everyone in Amity held their breath when there were no ghost attacks for two weeks straight, then a month. Then two months, three. No ghosts. They let out their collective breath. It might be too soon to hope but for now they will enjoy their ghost-free, perfectly ordinary life. It feels a bit strange to not have ghost related interruptions as part of their daily routine but they didn’t miss the ghost-related reconstruction expenses. The local insurance company employees received a nice bonus for the ghost-free month.

.

By the time March rolled in, Danny is restless. “Guys, there's definitely something big going on.”, he waved his hands for emphasis. “The Fenton portal is still open yet no ghost came through? Not even Boxy since the North District warehouse thing last month. There’s definitely something big going on. I've been taking the ghost-free break for granted for a while now and it helped save my grades but this is too big to ignore.”

“Dude, maybe it’s because you’re much more powerful now? Your latest reading last week is 8.2. None of the ghosts we’ve met so far is above 6 except for Vlad and the Ghost King.” Tucker suggested.

“You might have a point there, Tucker. We haven’t seen any of the ghosts bothering Vlad so far and he’s definitely higher than 6.” Sam added.

Danny frowned, “Maybe you’re right but I just have this nagging feeling that that’s not quite it.”

.

Danny entered the Zone with little fanfare. The area around the Fenton portal looked normal enough, the usual rocks and clouds of debris are still floating around in their usual areas. Danny aimlessly passed through the nooks and crannies, ducking under the endless spiral staircase, not entirely sure of what to look for. The Zone felt a bit quiet today but Danny haven’t been to the Zone that frequently to be certain about it.

.

The Ghost Zone, while still filled with random bits of odds and ends felt empty somehow. It wasn't until he sighted Skulker that he realized he hasn't seen any of the tiny blog ghosts nor the occasional passerby ghosts through his trip.

.

Luckily or unluckily, Danny quickly spotted someone he knew in the distance. As if called, Skulker turned his head towards Danny, then veered sharply to the left and flew fast in Danny's opposite direction, a first for the self-proclaimed hunter to not hunt his favorite prey. ‘Something's not right and Skulker definitely knows something.’ Danny thought.

Danny quickly chased after him; Skulker could never beat Danny at speed chase even at his best, and he won't be winning today's unplanned race either. “Hey Skulker! What’s going on?” Danny yelled over the gap between them but Skulker gave no reply, diving down deep into the reddish forest ravines of the island below. Not to be deterred, Danny did a quick aerial flip, adjusting his flight angle to follow down Skulker’s path. Danny soon caught up to Skulker and launched him into a nearby rock with sticky ectoplasm to hold him still long enough to talk. Skulker ejected from his metal suit but Danny was faster and caught the real ghost before he can escape.

.

(Why is Skulker fleeing?)

.

"Hey Skulker, not hunting me for once?" Danny asked teasingly.

Skulker paled (Danny never knew ghosts can turn pale) and squirmed even more. Danny's smile dropped.

"What’s going on Skulker?" he asked worriedly. “None of the ghosts have appeared in the human world and the Zone looks empty somehow”

Skulker squirmed a bit more but realizing he’s stuck finally said, “Ghost Child, haven’t you ever wondered why the Infinite Realms is never overcrowded?”

Danny frowned, puzzled as to where this leads to. “How is this related to this situation?” Skulker stared at Danny stunned.

“What?” Danny asked, suddenly self-conscious, “-was there something I was supposed to know about?”

Skulker sighed, unconsciously loosening a bit of his tension, “You’re so young. So very young. We Ghosts don’t fade as fast as Newcomers arrive from your world. In the Realms, there's a natural system that keeps the population under control. An ecosystem. There's predator and there's prey. And then there's the Apex Predator. There's a reason why Dark was feared. It wasn't just for his harsh rule. It was because he was the Apex Predator.”

Danny struck at the odd wording, "’Was’? Was that because he got sealed?” Danny paused, “But wait- if he's sealed, he would still be the Apex predator. So how-? Wait. Did I?"

Skulker nodded, "Good you're catching on fast. By defeating Pariah Dark, you have proven to the Realms that you're the best candidate for the Apex Predator. And with the new status comes sets of conducts, one your body instincts know well. You've been culling down the uncontrolled excess from Pariah Dark's sleep quite fast. Your hunger would settle down soon of course once balance has been re-established in the Realms."

“But- How- Wait- What-?” Danny looked down at his hand “Hey Skulker--!” but his hand is bare.

.

Danny’s lips tasted oddly tangy, energized.  

.

.

.

-----

(Skulker might've slipped out of Danny's slack hand while Danny is in shock. Danny might've bit his lips hard enough to bleed. It's not that hard with his new fangs. But this is just speculation...)

[dc41896]

Attention

Pairing: Johnny “Human Torch” StormxBlack Reader

⚠️: Tiny bit of angst (if it even counts really), also tiny bit of implied happy times, but mostly fluff💕!

Re-reading over your notes for what felt like the millionth time this week, you softly mumble to yourself the highlighted material hoping that everything would remain stuck in your mind for your practical tomorrow.

“Intramuscular means within the muscle and is given at a 90 degree angle. Intravenous means within the vein, given at a 25 degree angle. Subcutaneous: in the subcutaneous layer at a 45 degree angle. And finally intradermal-,”

“Psst....psst!!”

If only your boyfriend would stop being a grown man child and let you finish studying though.

“Yes Johnny?,” you sigh still looking down at your binder.

“Take a break, I want to show you something.”

“No Johnny we’re not doing that again.”

“I wasn’t talking about that princess,” he smirks moving to lean against the bedroom door frame. “Although I’m not complaining if you want more.”

Giving him a look clearly showing how you weren’t in the mood, he chuckles holding up his hands to show he was done joking.

“Seriously though I want to show you something, so can you please come with me?”

“Just tell me, or take a picture of it on your phone and show me that way. I really have to keep studying and don’t have time for a bunch of breaks.” Straightening up, a low huff leaves his lips as you hear him pad through the living room before coming back holding a new action figure posed as if about to throw a handful of flames.

“Look! It’s me!,” he beams squatting next to you holding out the toy for you to see.

“Mhm that’s nice babe,” you smile not really displaying the reaction he wanted you to.

“I see you’re having a hard time containing your excitement,” he retorts sarcastically, bringing his mini me back towards his chest.

“It really is nice babe, it’s just similar to some of your other toys that I’ve already seen.”

“But with this one, the little flame lights up. See?” Pressing the small button on the back to show the tiny, plastic flame glowing scarlet, a wide smile spreads across his face making you giggle.

“Yes very cool. Now if that’s all, I gotta get back to this okay?”

“Alright,” he sighs standing up to return to his spot on the couch probably cold by now. “Why don’t you come study out here? It’ll be more comfortable than sitting on the floor.”

“Because you’re watching tv and that’s gonna distract me.”

“Not anymore. The game’s off so I’m done for the night,” he playfully smiles stealing one of your study packets making you whine his name. “Cmon you know you’d rather sit on the big, soft, incredibly comfy couch.”

Wiggling his brows, you roll your eyes trying to focus back on the words in front of you, but as always, seeing his adorable pout was wearing you down. Plus the ache in your buttcheeks was really making the couch, or any soft piece of furniture for that matter, sound like heaven.

“And, as an added bonus, your incredibly hot, charming, all around amazing boyfriend will be there.”

“Johnny...”

“As!...support and to help anyway I can of course. What did you think?,” he feigns shock as you shake your head.

“Alright fine. But if you try to distract me just once, I’m kicking you out for the rest of the night, and you’ll have to either get a hotel, or crash with Reed and Sue.”

“Okay deal,” he chuckles helping you stand and gather the packets, pens, and highlighters you needed to continue your attempted all nighter.

Sat in the middle of the plush sectional with one of his legs draped over your folded ones and the other stretched out behind you, so far he’d done well on his agreement. He stayed busy on his phone watching sports highlights with earbuds attached to his head, and hardly ever touched you unless to give a reassuring hug when he could sense you were getting overwhelmed, or softly dance his finger along your arm making you smile. He even started quizzing you from whichever packet you were on as you lied just below his chest playing with his free hand.

From how he was earlier, seemingly a bit more clingy and not wanting to be away from you, something told you deep down this was all he wanted. Just feeling your body near him as you did whatever, no matter how boring the task was. And although a little distracting, you couldn’t be completely mad at him for his antics since deep down you know you wanted it too.

Honestly need may be the better word judging from your noticeably calmer state. Even Johnny could feel your heart rate gradually decrease to its normal speed through his body.

Soon his yawn began to trigger your own set and eyelids became heavy as the questions came slower along with your answers. You tried to fight it off, but apparently your body had other plans making it increasingly more difficult to open your eyes until both of your light snores were the only sound that could be heard throughout the room.

———

“Good morning Mr. Johnny Storm, Miss Y/N,” the computerized security system greets opening the curtains to reveal the bright sun and cause you to stir. Rubbing your eyes, you see all the packets spread on the glass coffee table quickly reminding you of your exam.

“Sherlock, what time is it?,” you ask in a panic as you sit up causing Johnny to shift slightly without opening his eyes.

Also, why he decided to name the computer system Sherlock, you’d never understand.

“11:30 am miss.”

Grabbing your packets as fast as you can, a string of curses fall from your lips as you run about trying to collect your things. By now you were supposed to be on campus looking over your notes one last time before going in for your slot time at 12. At this rate, you’d definitely be over an hour late and received an automatic zero.

“What’s the rush princess?,” your boyfriend tiredly asks stretching his arms over his head as he stands.

“I overslept and I’m late,” you sniff trying to hold back your tears as you search through drawers trying to find your scrubs. “Where are they?”

Joining you in the room, he tries to kiss your cheek only to miss you completely as you rush past him still looking for your clothes.

“Closet babe. By my suit.”

“Well what about the other ones since those need to be washed now?”

“In the basket to be washed.”

“You mean the same clothes in the basket I asked you to wash last weekend,” you retort changing into the faint ash smelling scrubs. Noticing you wiping your eyes a bit more frequently, he manages to grab your arm stopping you from wherever else you needed to go.

“Johnny seriously I don’t have time for this-,”

“Relax okay? Let’s try to call your professor and tell them what happened to see if you can get a new time.”

“It’s not gonna work. This isn’t an emergency situation, I just overslept like an idiot,” you answer pulling away to finish the rest of your morning routine in the bathroom.

He sighs hearing you bang about while pulling his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants trying to find the number for your school. His upcoming events list popping up though makes him deeply chuckle as he shakes his head.

“Oh honey...!”

“Johnny please don’t start. I’m already frustrated a-and overwhelmed trying to figure out what to do and just need to-.” Holding his phone in front of your eyes, you see his calendar showing all his important meetings and interviews, along with your test date.

Which wasn’t until next Monday.

Pulling your phone from your backpack, you go to your calendar to find the same thing making you feel even dumber.

“...S-So I don’t have my test today?”

“No princess,” he smiles coming closer to caress your face with both hands, wiping your tears with his thumbs.

“And I stayed up all night this week studying for nothing?”

“Well not for nothing. You know your stuff now, so you won’t have to worry about it later.”

“Yea,” you sigh looking up at him as you hold onto his strong forearms. “Sorry for snapping at you about the laundry, and for kinda being cranky yesterday.”

“You were stressed. I get it.”

“But still, there were things I could’ve said differently-.”

“I forgive you,” he smiles leaning in to meet your soft lips with his in a needy kiss he’d been craving since yesterday. Biting your bottom lip as he just barely pulls away, your hands wander from his forearms to his flexed biceps, shoulders, and eventually chest stopping to graze your index finger along the small dip below his neck.

“Well since I don’t have an exam today and no classes, I was thinking...”

“Oh I think I know,” he smirks tilting his head lower to nip at your jaw and neck making you giggle.

“I help you do the laundry.” As soon as the sentence left your mouth, his stopped making you laugh harder while he groaned against your skin.

“Alright I promise it’ll get done today, but can’t we do it later?,” he whines with puppy eyes, lifting you so your legs could wrap around his hips as if trying to persuade you.

“Let me finish. We do the laundry so I can have clean scrubs and between loads, I give you all the attention I know you’ve been wanting that I wasn’t fully able to give this week.”

“Hey it’s not like I’ve been that-,” he tries to deny before meeting your eyes as if they were saying “really?”

“...yes please,” he smiles before his mouth returns to your smiling lips.

Taglist: @fumbling-fanfics @honeychicanawrites @honeychicana @lady-olive-oil @themyscxiras @melinda-january @lovelymari4 @maxcullen @literaturefeen @damnitaa @curlyhairclub @plokyu23 @fullofmelaninsarcasmandepression @nunubug99 @felicity-x0 @ellixthea @jnk-812 @jojolu @brwn-sgr @captainsamwlsn @wildfirecracker @nina-sj @iammyownlover @chaneajoyyy @secretmysteriousperson @scoop93535

If anybody wants to be tagged, has asked to be tagged but don’t see your name, only want to be tagged for certain people I write for (can be found on my masterlist), or no longer wish to be tagged just let me know🤓!

[random-mha-thoughts]

Greedy (Shinsou x Reader)

Pairing: Shinsou x Reader

Genre: Fluff/Comfort, College!AU

Summary: You’re an extremely touch-starved college student, so you ask your friend Shinsou to help you out.

Word count: 2,282

Tags:  @yuki-osaki​ @liviitehe​ @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog​ @bunnythepipsqueak​

a/n: I may or may not be projecting on this one...

This took way longer to write and it ended up way longer and shittier than I expected.  Not to mention I fell asleep in the middle of writing last night, so I’m sorry this wasn’t up sooner!

I was debating between Shinsou and Todoroki on this one, but I haven’t written for Shinboi in a while, so why not? (If you guys want a Todoroki ver, I’ll write it too!)

I hit 500 followers 2 days ago!  Thank you guys again for liking my posts and my content, I really appreciate it!  I’ll work hard to give you better stuff in the future!

I said in my milestone post that I would start a new tradition of spotlighting other writers/artists in the community that I follow to spread some love around, so I’m promoting @lovingshoto​ once again!  If you want some floofy headcanons and one shots, go check her out!

Alright, I’m done talking, enjoy lovelies~

My friend blinks at me.  He's practically frozen with fear at my proposal.

"Come on, it's not that bad!  Why are you looking at me like I asked you to hide a body for me?" I whine.

"It's not that."  He puts down the drink he almost choked on.  "It's just...very strange."

I'll admit, it's a very unconventional request I asked of Shinsou, but it's very rational, I swear.  "I have scientific evidence to persuade you.  Science agrees that it helps lower depressive symptoms and stress.  And it releases Oxytocin and makes you happier.  Which I really think both of us can benefit from."

My friend sighs.  "It still sounds really weird."

"And it improves sleep."  I give him a pointed look.

For the first time in our conversation, Shinsou finally seems interested.  "Alright, I'm listening."

A grin splits my face in two.  "We can start at twice a week!  That way, it won't interfere with both of our busy schedules too much."

The violet-haired boy crosses his arms over his chest.  "What's so great about cuddling anyway?"

My jaw drops to the floor.  "Shinsou, are you telling me you've never cuddled anyone before?"  When his face turns red in shame, I know his answer.  "You poor, touch-starved boy.  How about tonight we give it a try, and then you can give me your answer?"

Shinsou levels a gaze at me.  I can't read what exactly he's thinking, but I'm hoping I'm pulling him to my side.  Spring is start to hit and I'm feeling both the emotional and physical consequences of so-called cuffing season.  Long, hot showers, wrapping myself in blankets, and clothing myself in hoodies and fuzzy socks to survive winter aren't cutting it for me anymore.  I want to say I'm becoming influenced by the amount of couples I see walking around campus, but it sounds more intelligent for me to say it's a natural instinct of animals.

But I know it's just an emotional thing, I'm lonely and touch-starved myself.

Shinsou rubs the back of his head.  "Where and when is this happening?"

The poor, confused boy stands in front of my bed.  "What am I supposed to do again?"

Huffing, I pull his arm into me.  "Just get in here and hug me.  I'll help you."

I don't blame my awkward friend for being hesitant.  He's not usually one for invading personal space and he's definitely not the hugging type.  Unfortunately for him, I am a hugger and physical touch whore.

"Just lay back like this, arm out."  I position him on his back before laying on my side, using his arm as a pillow and wrapping an arm around his torso, almost like hugging a life-sized teddy bear.  Feeling his warmth radiating from him, I hum in satisfaction.  "Just like that."

Shinsou eyes me, stiff as a board.  It's a cute expression, watching his face tinted in rosy blush.  "W-What now?"

I shrug.  "We just talk.  Or we can just stay here silently."  But he's still panicked about the whole thing, so I decide it might be easier for him to be distracted by conversation.  "How was your bio test yesterday?"

"It was...okay."  His gaze darts back and forth between me and some other object in the room.  "I think I messed up on one of the answers."

His arm under me hasn't relaxed from his tense state.  "Are you having trouble in class in general?"

"Yeah, but the bio department in general is out to get all of us anyway.  Something about narrowing down the huge number of pre-med kids."

I nod slowly, but Shinsou still looks completely nervous.  "Hey, is this making you too uncomfortable?  I don't want to force you to do something you don't like."  Maybe I went about this the wrong way.

He finally looks down at me.  "No, it's not- Damnit.  It's just... I'm not used to it.  I don't really know what I'm supposed to do, and I'm not much of a hugger, and I don't think I'm the best person to do this for you."

My heart melts at his candor, guilt eating at me.  I get up from my position.  "I'm sorry, it was selfish of me.  I didn't even think- I guess it's a little pathetic."

Shinsou sits up and hugs me.  "It's not pathetic, don't think that way."  His large hand strokes the back of my head.

I'm taken back by the sudden gesture.  "Look at you, being all touchy-feely now."

"Shut up, you're obviously trying to make this work, I should put in an effort too."  The tempo of his head pats slows.  "Also, is it...strange that I kind of missed your warmth when you pulled away?"

Something flutters inside me as I smile to myself.  "I think I've made you a believer."

"So, how did your presentation go?" Shinsou strokes my hair from behind.

His soft touches coupled with the warmth radiating from his chest on my back is a magic relaxation spell.  My eyes are already closed in bliss.  "Went great, especially since my group stayed up late the night before to practice like 500 times.  I'm just glad it's over."

"You think you did well?"

"Yeah."  I feel myself already drifting off from his hypnotic gesture.

His deep chuckle resounds in my ear.  "If you were a cat, you'd be purring right now."

I snuggle closer into his chest.  "I can't help it, I'm just so tired and you're putting me to sleep."

Shinsou has really warmed up to our twice a week cuddles.  We thought it would be best to have a Friday night cuddle to wind down from the week and a Tuesday night cuddle to energize in the middle of the week.  If either of us end up being busy one of those days, we said we can either postpone it a day or just wait until the next cuddle day, but nothing has every come up yet.  It's settled very nicely into both of our routines.

He seems to enjoy it more than me sometimes, sending me eager texts or showing up early to our cuddle sessions.  It's not uncommon for him to end up sleeping until morning as we embrace.  It warms my heart knowing he's realized the benefits of cuddling.

"Can you turn around?  My arm's about to fall asleep," Shinsou asks, and I lay on my other side, letting him fold that arm near his head and wrap the other around my torso.

Speaking of warmth, I never imagine I would feel a different kind of warmth when I'm near him.  It's not the kind that comes just from the sharing of heat.  It's the kind that sends tingles or goosebumps through you from just under the surface of your skin, makes you a different type of cozy, the feeling of sweetness without the taste.

Our relationship grew deeper than I think we both expected.   Slowly, we've opened up to each other about deeper things we wouldn't have normally talked about.  Late into the night, if we were both still awake, we would open up about out innermost thoughts, secrets, and demons.

Most importantly, I'd say it definitely improved my mood overall.  Not only did it give me something to look forward to, but I feel happier.  Even on nights where Shinsou ends up leaving for his own room, I'm left with an afterglow buzz, sleeping with a smile on my face for the rest of the night.  Thinking about it during the day sends another wave of warmth through me.  It's as if all my stress melts away when we're in each other's presence, basking in each other's scent and low breathing.

Though, there is something about cuddling Shinsou that makes me want more of him.  I don't know if this is a side effect of the warmth, but I understand his eagerness to spend more time interlocked as we do.  All I want to do is snuggle closer to him until there's no more space left.  The afterglow of the cuddle sessions would easily be replaced with a cold emptiness, leading me to crave his touch during the day.  I'm a starving child who's become a greedy glut for nourishment.

Shinsou's scent is stronger now that I'm facing him.  I press my arms into his chest, allowing me to lean in closer to his neck, gradually morphing into a ball against him.  I don't know how I survived without this before.

This week has been absolute shit.  I'm so close to screaming at something, my lungs feel like they're going to burst.  A mix of anger, self-loathing, loneliness, and melancholy bubble underneath the surface.  I failed a test in one of my major science classes,  I have a paper summary due sometime next week, and two written assignments due in two days.  On top of all of that, as part of a pairs assignment in one of my classes, none of the "friends" signed up to be my partner.  And these are the same "friends" continuing on to graduate school with me.  As if that wasn't bad enough, I'd left my umbrella in my dorm and it poured rain today.

Trudging up the stairs of my dorm building, I open my door and slide my bag off my damp shoulders without moving inside.  A familiar tickle in my eyes, heaviness in my chest, and overall loss of warmth in my body almost starts overtaking me.

I don't want to be along right now, I think desperately, closing the door and practically sprinting down the hall, up another flight of stairs, and finding another room.  I don't care if it's not Tuesday or Friday, I can't be alone right now.

I slam the door open, thankful that he never bothers to lock it.  But I turn the bolt closed.

Shinsou jumps up in surprise.  He's sitting at his desk, textbooks and laptop open.  I would feel bad for intruding at a time like this, but I'm too far into my feelings to care about things like shame or decency.

"What's wrong?" he looks up at me as I rush over.

I don't respond, grabbing his arm and harshly yanking him out of his seat only to throw him onto his bed.  His eyes widen as I climb on top of him, one of my knees between his legs.  We haven't used this position, but I just don't care.  Once I collapse my head onto his chest, he audibly breathes out a sigh of relief and relaxes, settling one of his hands on top of my slightly dampened head and the other on my back.  "What happened?"

His warmth and fresh scent that normally calms me right down makes me silently sob into his chest.  I don't hold anything back from him; all my feelings ranging from my past mental health to my childhood quarrels with my parents to the existence of time being a curse for not being enough of it in a day burst from my lips messily.  I probably sound a mix of drunk and deranged.

Shinsou doesn't say a word, only alternating between stroking my wet hair and patting my back gently, even as I make a mess of his shirt.  "It's been a tough week, you deserve to rest before you even try to tackle it.  Those people aren't your friends, you don't owe them anything and you shouldn't expect anything from them either.  They don't deserve how great a person you are.  You're doing great, trust me. You're hardworking, friendly, trustworthy.  Anyone would know you're an absolute gem to be with."

His words evoke a shift in me.  This warmth is different from the emotional bursts I've felt before.  Hearing compliments from him hits differently.

And that's when it hit me.  I'm not just greedy for his cuddles, I want Shinsou as a person.  As my boyfriend.

My eyes snap open and I lift my head up.  I meet his confused stare.  "Do you...mean that?"

One of his eyebrows lift up.  "Of course.  You're amazing, why would I lie about that?"

I feel a slight rush of heat.  "Would you... Do you see me... in some other way?"

He blinks once before a tint of pink coats his cheeks.  "Well...maybe I do?  I didn't want to say anything about it, but since you're asking, I won't hide it from you."  The color saturates more.  "I like these cuddles and everything, but...sometimes I think I want more of you.  It's...we're already doing this whole thing together, it feels like we're already a couple."  His arms constrict around me.  "Sometimes, I want to hold you like this and call you...k-k-"  He coughs, embarrassed of his next word.  "Kitty."

My own face gets infinitely hotter as my stomach tumbles at his term of endearment.

"Y-You already nuzzle into me like one!" he adds defensively.  "It's not weird, I swear!"  I looks cute to see him all flustered like this.

I kiss his nose instinctively and he turns tomato red.  "I think it's really cute," I mumble.  "You can call me that if you want.  I'll be your kitty."

Shinsou seems like he's in a panic, arms frozen as they constrict around me.  "Wow... That sounds better than I thought it would," he mutters incredulously.

I chuckle.  "You said that out loud, Hitoshi."

One of his large hands cups my jaw and I nuzzle against it.  "My precious kitty."  It rolls off his tongue so naturally.  He presses a kiss on my forehead.  "I'll keep you happy with my cuddles."

I smile against his touch.  "Aren't you happy I showed you cuddling?  Aren't they great?"

"They're the best, especially with you, Kitty."

[kunikiiida-kuuun]

Against our will, wisdom comes. (KuniKatai)

Nothing was out of ordinary when Kunikida stormed into Katai Tayama’s house. He grumbled about his old friend’s usual untidiness, (and yet, rolled up his sleeves and started washing the unwashed dishes.) The room was still cluttered with take-out boxes, plates, bottles, books, and numerous wires ran across the room, connected to a hoard of electronic devices. Everything was the same except, the figure under the futon remained unmoved.

Kunikida should have known something was off when he saw that hung up expression on his face. (Yes, even more hung up than usual.) The Katai who would at least retort or hum in response was unusually quiet. He wondered whether he was ill.

Kunikida’s suspicions were confirmed when he placed a plate of Takoyaki, and Katai eyed it from under his futon, and after several moments, picked one up with the toothpick and nibbled on it like a mole. (Dated two days ago in Kunikida’s notebook: Katai craved for some street Takoyaki from Motomachi. He purchased some on the way to his house today.)

Kunikida sighed, placing his hands on his waist, he bent to take a closer look at his face, “What is it?”

“Huh?” Katai grunted uninterestedly, still looking at the plate of Takoyaki.

“Come on, what is bothering you? Are you ill?” Kunikida can see the lift of his eyebrows as a surprised expression takes over his face. He remains quiet and motionless, which elicits another sigh from Kunikida. He wonders if it’s something else, something he difficult to talk about.

“If it’s about that Yamato Nadeshiko again-“

“It’s not that!” Katai denies instantly and winces a bit. Kunikida’s frown deepens, “Then what is-“

"I'm having a toothache." Katai answers in a slightly begrudging tone, as a child would admit having eaten a sweet too many.

"Why didn't you say so earlier?" before he can reply, Kunikida pushes another question, "Have you been following the proper dental care plan I explained to you? First you need to gargle properly-"

Katai waves his hand dismissively, "Yeah, yeah I've done all that,"

Kunikida pretends to be unbothered by his careless answer, "Since when has it been paining?"

"It's been a few days," Katai frowns at the glaring screen in front of him. It takes him quite a while to recall as he confirms the day of the week with Kunikida. When one remained in the house for as long as Katai did, all the days seemed to blend into one, making it hard to discern whether he did something that morning or whole week ago. Meanwhile, Kunikida remains unconvinced about his friend's adherence to a strict dental care routine, when he couldn't tell even remember the day of the week or tell from night and day, shelled up in his futon all day.

"And how bad is the pain?" Kunikida inquired as if he were a doctor inquiring a patient.

"I've seen better days." Katai's hand absentmindedly brushes the left side of his cheek where a light stubble was growing. "It's particularly painful at the very back on this side...quite hard to chew. My jaw hurts too, and it just feels uncomfortable."

He gingerly picks up a Takoyaki and puts it in his mouth; his face morphs into that of a painful look, as he struggles to gulp the octopus ball down. While Katai struggles, Kunikida wordlessly whips out his phone, presses a few buttons and makes a brief call.

It catches Katai's attention only after Kunikida ends the call with curt pleasantries. "Who was that?" Katai raises an eyebrow at him inquisitively.

"The dentist. I've booked an appointment for you tomorrow." Kunikida pulls his notebook and pen from his pocket and writes down the details without wasting a heartbeat.  

Katai gawks loudly at him, "You- you WHAT?" he pushes his futon aside and stands upright.

Unfazed by his reaction, he continues scribbling into the notebook, "The appointment is at nine thirty, and the clinic is about twenty minutes away from here, so-"

"I'm not going!" Katai declares defiantly.

Kunikida doesnt even bother to look up; he had expected such a reaction, "That's ridiculous. If you have a persistent tooth ache, the natural course of action is to consult the dentist. That's all there is to it."  

Katai flops himself back onto the futon and whines, "I didn't ask you to book an appointment for me!"

The blond shoots an incredulous look at him, "It's for you own good, you idiot."

"I'll just take some painkillers and I'll be fine." Katai insists, he picks a Takoyaki indignantly and forces it down his throat, to calm himself down. Instead of calming him down, it reminds him of the terrible toothache. He wasn't the one to shy away from doctors when he had a serious ailment, but in his head, he was convinced that dentists were evil, and getting any kind of treatment from them was worse than the pain he was experiencing right now. He wasn't going accept any arguments, not even from his old friend.

"No, I doubt that. Besides from the kind of pain you're describing, it's probably a chance that it's a wisdom tooth." Kunikida explains with a serious look.

“Wh-What?” Katai splutters in confusion.

Kunikida explains to him about wisdom teeth and how some time ago, Atsushi had been complaining of the same. He also explained how the pain became worse and he developed a swelling in his mouth and had to have it extracted. Katai’s expression morphed from shock to fear and mortification in the span of the whole story.

“Well, by the looks of it, it seems that almost always, the wisdom tooth is extracted. So that’ll probably be the result.” Kunikida says nonchalantly, putting his notebook and pen away and proceeds to clear away the clutter in his room systematically. He couldn’t stand the sight of it any longer, even though he tried to ignore it.

He continues as Katai wails loudly in despair at his friend’s completely insensitive remark. After a solid minute, Kunikida lets out an exasperated sigh, “Katai, it’s not that bad, trust me. I drove Atsushi there myself. And he came to work the next day.”

"You're just saying that because you have a perfect set of teeth!" Katai spews grudgingly.

"I only make sure to follow a proper, well curated dental care routine from time to time. After all, it is essential to look after your teeth for a trouble-free and healthy life-" Kunikida continues to rant till Katai interrupts him as he declares once again,

"No! I won't go! Doctors, dentists, with all their equipment; people terrify me! I am not stepping out of his house, ever! I'd rather bear with this pain for the rest of my life!"

He couldn't do it. He didn’t have the courage to face all that alone. The sight of the cold reception, the beeping sound of the machine that displays the number, the smell of the clinic, the sounds of those torturous devices, he doesn't want to experience it. His heart sinks at the thought of his own childish behavior and stubbornness and wonders why Kunikida puts up with him at all. He couldn’t stand his pitiful self, unable to face the outside world like a normal person.

"Stop being so dramatic, Katai. Firstly, it’s just an examination. The doctor won't immediately whip out his tools and extract your teeth out. There's some protocol to that too."

Kunikida goes on talking, as Katai focuses with bleary eyes and furrowed eyebrows on the screen in front of him, mostly tuning out everything the blond says, lost in his own little shell, the futon wrapping around him like a protective shell.

"-The clinic. I'll borrow the agency's car, so you have to be ready at 8:45 am. Eat a proper breakfast and-"

Katai blinks, "What did you say?"

Kunikida gives Katai a cross look, "I said eat a proper breakfast because-"

"No, I mean before that-"

"I'll borrow the agency's car?" Kunikida repeats raising a brow at him as Katai continues to stare at him blankly.

Kunikida resumes decluttering the room, half done already. "Anyway, I'll get you some painkillers for now. Yosano-sensei is well acquainted with this dentist so everything should be alright."

"You're coming along with me?" Katai asks in a small, hesitant voice.

"Huh?" Kunikida stops for a second to throw him a confused look, "Of course I’m coming along. Why wouldn’t I?” he huffs in satisfaction as he puts away all the trash neatly into trash bags. “Besides, I thought while we’re at it, I might as well have my own teeth examined.”

Katai couldn’t describe the relief that washed over him upon hearing these words. It only came out as a strangled gasp and gibberish, which earned him another confused look from Kunikida.

"Oi Katai." Kunikida's voice calls him out in an irritated voice. “Have you been listening at all?”

“Yes.”

He looks pressingly at the black-haired man, before shrugging and lifting the trash bags. “I’ll throw these out.”

Just before he steps out, Katai calls him, “Kunikida?”

Kunikida halts by the door of the room and waits. “Thank you.” Katai murmurs, softly. If the man was confused as to why he thanked him he gives no such inclination; Kunikida simply nods in response, and walks out wordlessly. Katai figured that he understands after all. The two of them had a way to understand each other after all, after that many years of companionship.

Maybe he doesn’t have the courage to face the outside world yet on his own. Maybe he can’t throw away that shell yet. But maybe someday, he will. (And it doesn’t have to be by himself.)

Kunikida went along with Katai for his appointment at the dentist. Needless to say, he brought his futon, Yoshiko along, and attracted quite a lot of attention at the reception. He insisted to have it wrapped around him during the examination as well, but Kunikida managed to coax him out of it for a while. While he was being examined, some of electrical equipment in the room started malfunctioning as well.

(Kunikida suspects it was because of Katai’s ability, but it may not be intentional, and possibly due to his nervousness.)

It turns out that Katai was indeed in pain due to the emergence of a wisdom tooth. Upon further inspection, it was concluded that they did not need to be removed and was prescribed a few effective painkillers to get rid of his pain.

When Kunikida sat down to get his teeth checked, it turns out that he too, had wisdom teeth coming along, not one, but four, two of which were severely decayed and needed to be removed surgically. Kunikida didn’t hesitate to have it extracted the very next day, (as such a hinderance was not written anywhere in his notebook.) and immediately booked an appointment.

Katai couldn’t come along with him.

The only one who was free to take Kunikida to the dentist was Dazai.

Dazai to drove Kunikida to the dentist (upon his insistence that Kunikida must vocalize repeatedly, or his gums may weaken and the surgery would have to be cancelled.)

(It was a lie.)

He almost threw up on the way because of his terrible driving. The wisdom teeth were extracted successfully, although it was slightly complicated procedure. He had to be partly sedated and he had a huge swelling by the end of it.

In a state of sedation, Kunikida confessed guiltily, on the verge of tears the one time when he arranged a file in the wrong shelf, and another time he forsake cleaning duty because there was a limited sale on eggs and fish. He also threw a fit over the ice-cream which Dazai bought him to relieve the pain as instructed by the doctor, which he claimed wasn’t icy enough.  

Dazai recorded everything, of course.

 -x

  Wisdom teeth grow in at the back of the mouth, behind your molars, crooked, sideways, or otherwise misaligned. As they grow in, they can push on other teeth, causing problems of overcrowding and misalignment for them as well. According to my non-existent medical opinion, pls don’t get it extracted.

[astronomyparkers]

gifts (koh!tom)

Warnings: Language

Pairing: King of hell!Tom Holland x Angel!reader

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Wow I’m actually writing!!! What a concept!!! Anyways I had a random stroke of inspiration so i’m riding it as hard as I can before it fades again. As I’ve said before, this series is in a non-linear order, and intended to be able to be read as one shots instead of a progressive series!! However, feel free to go through the koh!tom masterlist (linked below) to read some of the other parts I’ve written. If you liked this part, please let me know! And don’t worry, I have more parts coming. I’ve already started another part (that may or may not contain some smut 👀) and then I have another part (about an event that’s been mentioned in a couple different parts) coming after that!! Do you guys like this non-linear one shot style of fic??? I’m finding it works better for me because I don’t feel committed to a progressive storyline, and it’s easier for me to write parts while also working and going to school full time!! Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this, and I can’t wait to hear from y’all!

{koh!tom masterlist}

{masterlist}

The rose on the pillow next to you had become a familiar sight.  Although the appearances of the flowers had surprised you at first, you now expected them to be the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes. A small smile tugged at your lips as you picked the flower up, inhaling its sweet scent as you threw back your blankets and got out of bed.  You carried the flower to the vase on your vanity, tucking it in with the roses from previous days.  They were all wilting from the atmosphere of hell, but with a light breath from you, they began to perk up again. You fixed a few petals before sitting down at your vanity and touching your hair.

Morning tea was already sitting in front of you, as it was every day.  You poured yourself a cup and added some cream and sugar, taking a small sip of the hot liquid.  Although your first few weeks in hell had been rocky, you were beginning to adjust.

Well, adjust might be a strong word.  At the very least, you were beginning to learn how to act and what to do there. You still ached for the surface, and for the fresh air that every angel craved, but you were no longer in fear for your life every moment of the day.  Now that you had been there for a few weeks—maybe even a month—you were almost entirely sure that tonight’s dinner menu wouldn’t include you.

You had even grown used to the king of hell.  Tom was a fearful thing to behold, but you stood your ground whenever he was around, and he no longer tried to test you.  Of course, he did have requirements for you, but they weren’t the worst things in the world.  

Once you finished your tea, you dressed and made your way down to the dining hall, where one of the requirements was waiting for you.  Although you had originally taken all your meals alone, Tom requested your presence at breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  The first time he asked this of you, you had been terrified.  However, now you knew that it typically meant eating in silence while occasionally catching his gaze when you looked up.  His stare was always intense and purposeful, and while it was originally a source of anxiety, you now thought he stared at you in curiosity.

That breakfast was no different.  A servant pulled out your chair, allowing you to sit across from Tom.  A glass of water was poured for you, along with another cup of tea.  Tom raised his own glass to you, a dark liquid in it that you couldn’t identify. Instead of dwelling on the question of what he drank, you simply raised your own glass in a quiet greeting before taking a sip.

Breakfast was brought out on gold platters and set down in front of each of you.  Tom had finally begun to provide for your preferred diet, so your breakfasts mainly consisted of eggs and toast, as well as a bowl of fruit that, despite appearing to be fresh, had a slightly strange taste to it that came with being in such an unnatural place. Tom’s breakfast, in contrast, was much like his other meals: dark with a large piece of protein, usually steak, and various sides.

Throughout breakfast, you could feel his eyes on you, watching your every move.  You ignored it as always, taking small bites of your food. However, when your plate was almost cleared, the usual routine began to change.

Tom cleared his throat after a sip of his drink. “Did you sleep well?”

You looked up in surprise, turning and glancing around before looking back at him.  You were certain he wasn’t talking to you, but there was no one else around. “Are you talking to me?”

“Aye.” He nodded tersely, his voice low. “Who else is here?”

“I just—I didn’t think you’d ask me something like that. Or ask me anything at all.” You shrugged a bit.

“Well, I am.” His voice had a tinge of annoyance in it. “Did you?”

“Sleep well?” You clarified. When he nodded again, you mimicked the action. “I…slept as well as I could, given the circumstances.”

“Given the circumstances.” He repeated. “And the circumstances are…?”

“That I’m in hell?” You didn’t mean to sound like you were asking a question, but you couldn’t keep the confusion out of your voice. “It’s not exactly a comfortable place for an angel.”

“I’ve given you a place of comfort, angel.” Tom took another bite of his steak. “A comfortable room, a bed, the freedom to roam—”

“But I’m not supposed to be here.  This place, it….” You shivered as you thought about it. “It’s rejecting me.  The sulfur in the air burns my nose when I breathe in, and it irritates my skin when it’s exposed to it.  There’s no light, no fresh air…it leaves me feeling sick.”

Tom picked at his food, silent for a moment. “I see.”

More silence followed. You waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t, so you did it for him.

“Does that surprise you?” You asked, taking a bite of your eggs.

“I suppose not.  I just hadn’t…considered the atmosphere here for you.” He looked down. “Are you in pain?”

If you were surprised before, you were just plain shocked now.  “Does that matter to you?”

“Answer the question.”

“Answer mine.” You retorted. “The night I was dragged down here, you threatened to pluck the feathers of my wings one by one.  Now you’re asking if I’m in pain?  Do you want me to say yes?”

“I want you to be honest with me.” Tom muttered. “Are you in pain?”

“I…” You contemplated the responses you could give.  If you said yes, would you be able to convince him to send you home?  Did he have enough humanity left in his monstrous soul? “It’s…manageable.”

Tom said nothing more, and neither did you.  When breakfast finished, he excused you like every other day, and you left the dining hall, taking refuge in the library like usual.

However, the usual patterns broke once again when lunch was brought to you in the library.  A servant brought in a tray laden with drinks and a salad, along with a few biscuits and butter.  You looked at the tray with confusion. “Does the king not require me in the dining hall for lunch?”

“The king is currently indisposed.” The servant replied, setting the tray down on a small table. “He asks that you’ll excuse him until dinner tonight.”

“He asks, does he?” You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you. “Since when does he ask me for permission?”

The servant straightened up. Some servants had grown fond of you, while others didn’t take too kindly to waiting on an angel.  This one appeared to fall into the latter category. “It’s a figure of speech…miss.”

“Oh.” You felt a chill run through the room, despite the lit hearth behind you. “I see.”

“Please be sure that you’re on time to dinner tonight.” The servant bowed their head again and left quickly.

After lunch, you continued reading until the late afternoon before retiring back to your room to get ready for dinner.  You dressed in a long dress that you found hanging on your closet door, assuming that Tom wanted you to wear it.  It was a midnight blue colour, with a sheer overlay over the bodice and skirt.  You added no jewelry, only wearing the bracelet on your wrist that Tom had slipped on you when you arrived.  It was impossible to take off, and kept you from summoning your angel blade.  You touched it, lost in thought before the chime of the clock brought you back to reality. You pinned your hair back from your face quickly before going down to dinner.

Dinner was always more formal than breakfast, even when it was just the two of you.  Despite the strangeness of the day, that night was no exception.  The chandeliers were dimmed, and candles lined the table to compensate.  As usual, there was a goblet of wine next to your water. You had tried to refuse it the first few nights, but the next night, you found it next to your plate again. Finally, you stopped arguing, and simply left it alone.

Tom was already sitting at the head of the table, drinking out of his own goblet.  Normally, you would wait until he acknowledged you, but it was an abnormal sort of day.

“Hello.” You said softly after you sat, your hands clasping together in your lap.

Tom set down his goblet, licking his lips as he looked you over. “Hello, angel.  Did you have a relaxing day?”

“It was the same as usual.” You replied. “I read in the library.  I took my lunch there.” You ran a finger over the silverware next to your plate. “You were absent from lunch today.”

“Aye, I was.” Tom nodded, his face closing off. “I had business to attend to.”

“Oh.” You looked down when he failed to elaborate more. “What sort of business—?”

“The kind that doesn’t concern you.” He cut you off, giving you a long look.

You restrained yourself from giving another remark, simply waiting for the servants to bring in dinner. You started with an appetizer of salad, followed by a pasta dish for dinner.  Finally, they brought in a delicate looking chocolate cake for dessert, portioned and plated for each of you individually.  

That was when Tom chose to raise his voice. “I have something for you.”

You paused with your fork in the air, ready to take a bite of the cake. “You do?”

He nodded, wiping his mouth and standing up from his seat.  He walked over to you, setting down a box wrapped in black paper in front of you.  He then returned to his seat, taking a sip of his wine.

You looked down at the box, touching the matte paper before looking back at him. “What is it?”

“Open it.” He muttered, his eyes on his plate as he picked up his fork.

“Is something going to jump out at me?” You asked, your voice uneasy.

The corner of Tom’s mouth twitched, but just barely. “No.  Just open it.”

You lifted the lid off the box, and the scent of the contents hit you before you could see them. The smell of the fresh flowers and herbs mixed together, filling your senses as you inhaled deeply for the first time in weeks, finally without pain. “What is this for?”

“Burn the flowers and herbs in your bedroom’s fireplace to help with the smell.” Tom explained.  He watched you intently, gauging your reactions. “There’s more.”

You lifted out the flowers carefully before your fingers touched something smooth.  You pulled out a crystal bowl, opening the lid slowly. Inside was a white cream that seemed to sparkle in the candlelight with the freshest scent you’d encountered in hell.

“It’s a sort of…balm.” Tom sipped his drink. “You said the sulfur was bothering your skin.  Applying this twice a day should help stop that.”

“Where…” You dipped your fingers into the cream, and the subtle stinging of your skin immediately went away. “Where did you get all of this?”

“Had it made.” Tom shrugged casually, but his voice grew a tone softer. “That’s what I was doing today, when I was absent for lunch.”

“You had it made…just for me?” You replaced the crystal lid on the bowl. “But…why?”

He shrugged again, but this time, he seemed more embarrassed.  It was a new feeling for him. “I…I thought you’d like it.  You do, don’t you?  Like it, I mean.”

His voice was nervous now, which was new for him as well.  He hated how eager he was for you to say yes, but didn’t hate it so much that he could stop himself from wanting your approval.

You nodded slowly. “Yes, I do like it.  It’s a very considerate gift.”

Tom hummed as he took a sip of his drink, but you could still decipher the corner of his mouth lifting into a satisfied smile.

You packed up your gifts and placed the lid back on the box carefully. “Thank you. Truly.”

Tom just hummed again as he continued to eat his dessert.

You, however, just stared at him with a puzzled gaze.  You had never heard of a demon, let alone the king of hell, doing anything to make an angel comfortable.  Giving you a chamber to sleep and a rose every day in was one thing, but gifts like this?  Gifts to keep you more comfortable here?  That was unthinkable.  You couldn’t figure out his motive behind the move.

Once dessert was cleared away, Tom reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out a cigar, lighting it quickly. “You’re excused from dinner.”

Normally, when he said that, you hurried away, but tonight…something drew you to remain sitting. “Would it be alright if I stayed?”

Tom pulled the cigar out of his mouth; it was his turn to be puzzled. “You want to stay?”

You gave a small nod. “If that’s alright with you.”

“It—it is.” He cleared his throat. “Yes. I would…like that.”

“Alright.” You took another sip of your drink, silence filling the space between you two once again. You were beginning to realize, however, that the silence wasn’t one of not knowing what to say.  It was more…comfortable.  And comforting.

With another glance at you, Tom exhaled cigar smoke in the opposite direction.

[rycbrar97]

Consequences [part two]

Pairing: Tom Holland x Female!OC

Warnings: Minor swearing, mentions of menstruation, brief mentions of sex, sickness, mentions of pregnancy, character feeling anxiety/shock

Word count: 3745

Summary: One too many drinks leads to a night both Tom and Alessia will definitely forget and a morning they will always remember.

A/N: I am so excited to write this series, hopefully I didn’t rush this chapter too much. I was just real eager to get this out there to everyone! Let me know if you enjoy it 😉  

Taglist Requests

Part one 

By the time she made it back to her hotel Alessia had already decided that there was no point in telling her sister who she ended up staying the night with and losing her virginity to. She would never believe it. It was hard enough convincing her that she actually had lost her virginity in the first place, nevertheless with Spider-Man himself. 

“What?! You? Had sex? As in done the dirty? Miss ‘I can hardly say the word penis without blushing’,” Sophie had let out incredulously, eyes wide in disbelief.

“Oh my goodness, yes, Soph. Do you have to make it so goddamn embarrassing? Why would I lie to you about this?” Alessia groaned, hands digging into her eyes and legs pacing her back and forth.

“I don’t know! I guess I just didn’t expect my saint of a sister telling me that she lost her virginity on a one night stand whilst completely pissed up the gutter-”

“God, do you have to say it like that?” she interrupted, stopping her pacing mid-stride and staring at her sister dead on, the mortification screaming off her face.

“Hey, that’s what you told me! Just because you don’t want to admit you’re a whore now doesn’t mean that you aren’t one. Somebody has to say it-”

“God, just shut up! Shut up, okay?!” Alessia’s hands shook up and down at each word, her pacing returning with increased intensity.

“Jeez, stop freaking out! This is a normal thing, okay? This is what normal people do. They get drunk, have sex and do the walk of shame the next morning. There’s nothing wrong with that—” Soph explained bluntly, trying to calm her sister back down, despite it having the complete opposite effect. But when a sudden thought crosses her mind, her blabber mouth just couldn’t help but voice it,“—oh my god though, mum is going to freak...”

Alessia’s back snapped rim rod straight and she spun herself right round to her sister, “You will not tell her about this,” she whispered lowly, “don’t you even dare,” her hazel eyes pierced sharply into Soph’s wide round ones, finger pointed menacingly at her face.

The sister put her hands up defensively, “Okay, okay. No need to be so dramatic,” she squeaked, briefly terrified at her older sister’s stone cold gaze.

“Promise me,” she demanded, her eyes struggling to keep out the desperation in them,“ promise me she will never know of this,” she repeated. She knew how her younger sister could be. She couldn’t keep a secret to save her own life. God knows the amount of gossip that girl has revealed to all her friends and family. All the nitty and gritty. She not only loved a bit of drama but she also revelled in it. Alessia just hoped and prayed that she would instil enough fear into the girl to keep this personal info locked away permanently. Most importantly, away from their mother. 

“I promise,” she vowed, the sincerest that Alessia had ever seen her be. But yet, she still couldn’t completely trust her.

She just had too big of a mouth.

Two months gone, and so far Sophie had kept to her promise, but Alessia was still hedging her bets. Life returned relatively back to normal; the girls returned home from their Europe trip three days after that fateful morning. And despite feeling like a completely changed woman after her sexual milestone, the world continued to spin around Alessia as it always did. She returned to her comfortable one bedroom flat with the yellow tea stains still imprinted on her carpet, books and coffee cups scattered across the living area from where she first left them because she couldn’t be bothered to tidy them up before her trip. Her bed was made at least, for which she was eternally thankful for as she felt like she needed at least ten years worth of sleep. Jet lag was an absolute bitch she came to saw.

She was back at work two days later, her body clock still out of whack. While it was nice to catch up with all her colleagues and get back into her routine, she found it quite hard to concentrate when she was yawning almost every two seconds. Luckily, her boss was an absolute gem and completely understood how she felt.

“Oo. Jet lag got you good, huh?” Linda inquired sympathetically, her soft wrinkled eyes observing her knowingly.

“Yeah,” Alessia yawned, rubbing briefly at her eyes before returning to snipping the stems of the daffodils laid in front of her, “I was hoping to be adjusted by now, but I guess my body has other ideas.”

Linda nodded understandingly, “I know what that’s like. It took me almost two weeks to start getting back into my normal sleep routine after coming back from Egypt. You just gotta try and push through the urge to fall asleep during the day and wait until night comes. It’s hard, but worth it in the end,” the older lady advised, continuing with her rose arrangements.

“Thanks, I’ll see how I go. Hopefully I’ll stop feeling tired soon. I can’t tell you the amount of times I’ve pricked myself today because I couldn’t focus. I almost grabbed one of our cactus succulents by mistake instead of the ferns. Now that would’ve been an interesting endeavour,” she joked, her smile sluggish and eyes dragged down by the dark circles underneath them.

Her boss shook her head at the mention of her clumsiness, “You’re a workers comp nightmare, you are,” she teased lightly, pausing slightly to eye her in concern, “just take it easy today, kiddo. Maybe stay away from all the prickly plants, okay?”

Alessia nodded her head silently, gladly taking on her boss’s advice.

It was a trying few weeks going back to work. Although she had started to get a bit more sleep each night, Alessia just couldn’t seem to shake the lingering fatigue that dragged her down every day. It was like all the energy she should’ve gotten from sleep each night was zapped right out of her as soon as she got up on her two legs in the morning.

“You sleeping alright, kiddo?” Linda had asked on one particular sluggish morning.

“Yeah, actually I’ve been sleeping fine now. But for some reason I’ve still been feeling so exhausted,” she expressed glumly whilst checking over orders.

“Oh no, that’s no good,” the silver haired lady tsked, “I hope you’re not coming down with something.”

Alessia paused thoughtfully at her words, “Maybe I am,” she considered, her head tilting slightly to the side, “I have been feeling a bit nauseous lately...”

“Hmm, might be the flu. Nothing a nip of apple cider vinegar can’t fix.”

She rolled her eyes at the older woman, “You and your apple cider vinegar,” she shook her head, “last time you told me it would cure my acne if I rubbed it on my face,” she remarked drily.

“You never know if you don’t try,” Linda sung as she finished tying a bow around a box of natives.

“I think I’ll just check in with my doctor first if it persists. Leave the vinegar as the last resort.”

Her boss clicked her tongue at her, shaking her head disapprovingly, “Stubborn one you are, there’s nothing wrong with a bit of home remedy from time to time,” she defended in a light tone.

“Yeah, well, I might not even need it anyway. This could just blow over any day now,” she pointed out, crossing her fingers in hope.

Unfortunately for Alessia, the nausea and fatigue did not ease up anytime soon. If anything, she felt like she was getting worse. The vomiting started about a week after her chat with Linda, prompting her to take time some time off work, much to the concern of her boss.

“Make sure to take some apple cider vinegar. It’ll help. Trust me.”

Alessia rolled eyes while on the phone with her. She sure was one persistent lady.

She lounged at home for the week, feeling absolutely miserable for herself. The urge to throw up always came at the most inconvenient times, whether it was three in the morning or one in the afternoon after just finishing her lunch. She always ended up right at the toilet bowl dispelling what was left in her stomach. It almost reminded her of that morning in London and she would relive the embarrassment moment all over again puking in Tom Holland’s toilet. She groaned as she rested her head on the porcelain seat. She did not need those memories to come back to her right now; being sick was enough torture.

For a couple days she finally felt like she was on the mend. She hadn’t had a spell of nausea for thirty-six hours. Her appetite returned full throttle with the craving of raspberry jam crumpets, for which she devoured a total of four in one sitting. She couldn’t be more relieved and satisfied that the worse was finally over and she called up work saying she would be back the next day. Her fatigue still hadn’t let up and she would get a few dizzy spells every now and then, but for the most part, Alessia felt fine enough to go back to her to work routine. She missed the flower shop too much; the colourful, cheerful atmosphere never failed to bring joy to her and the wonderful smell of lavender and roses would always lift her spirits. It was like a second home to her.

A couple weeks passed and aside from a few bouts of queasiness and persisting lethargy, Alessia was back in action and arranging bouquets like no other. She was considering going to her doctor to try and tackle this fatigue that never seemed to let up, but hadn’t found the time yet to arrange an appointment. She was keeping herself too busy. Well at least, that’s what her mother said.

“I worry about you, Lessie. You look tired. You never give enough time for yourself,” she remarked out of blue on their monthly lunch date, her eyebrows frowning down at her in concern.

Alessia sighed warily, not wanting to deal with her mother’s fussiness right now.

“I’m fine, Mum. I just think the combination of jet lag and getting sick must’ve overwhelmed my body for a bit,” she reassured as she bit into her chicken salad, “I’m fine,” she repeated. She hoped it would be enough to appease her. It was not.

Her mum observed her for moment, eyes running all over her face then coming back to peer into her soul. They squinted at her sceptically.

“I think you should see a doctor,” she said finally, prompting Alessia’s fork to clank down on her plate.

“Mum,” she whined, picking her fork back up and placing her other hand on her forehead to rub away the headache that was beginning to form.

“What? Don’t ‘Mum’ me. It’s been two months since you’ve come back from Europe, three weeks since you were sick with that bug, and you still aren’t well. That’s not normal, honey.”

“Fine. If it’ll make you happy, I’ll book an appointment with Doctor Cox,” Alessia grumbled petulantly, stabbing at her salad mindlessly. She was already planning on going to the doctors anyway, but for whatever reason, her mum bringing it up just suddenly made her not want to go now. It was that old ingrained trait of hers in always wanting to disobey everything her mother said. Alessia knew more than anyone that it was hard to shake that annoyance of being told what to do, even when reaching adulthood.

“You’ll book it for tomorrow,” her mother ordered with no room for question. Alessia groaned in frustration, flinging her hands up in the air at her bossiness.

“But I’ve got to clean my bathroom and kitchen tomorrow. Plus I was hoping to find some time to focus on my music, I haven’t played my keyboard since I got back from Europe and I finally have some inspiration to write something. Do you know how hard it is to get motivated to write?” she rambled on, trying to make up as many excuses as she could.

“Alessia,” her mum called out warningly, not taking any of her daughter’s bullshit. Her gaze was strong and deadly, and Alessia shivered knowing the potential wrath behind those eyes.

“Okay, I’ll make the appointment,” the daughter relented, shoulders slumping heavily and eyes closing as she let out a long drawn breath. Man, her mother could be trying at times.

She scheduled the appointment for the next morning, feeling oddly nervous for no apparent reason whilst driving to the clinic. Doctor Cox was a lovely dark woman in her mid forties, quick as a whip and as kind as the sun’s warmth on a spring morning. If anyone knew what was wrong her, it’d be Doctor Cox. As always, her raven hair was woven into a beautifully made braid and her eyes sported a pair of smart spectacles. She greeted Alessia with a warm smile, directing her patient to sit in the chair facing her desk.

“What can I do to help you today, Alessia?”

The girl in question scooted back into her chair, hands folded into each other, thumbs fiddling in her lap.

“Um, I’ve been feeling a bit tired lately, more so than usual. You see, I just came back from a trip in Europe a couple of months ago and had to adjust to the jet lag. So I thought the fatigue was just due to that...but the thing is, I’ve been getting plenty of sleep at night now, at least eight to nine hours worth, and I still I feel sluggish every single day,” she confessed. The doctor hummed thoughtfully, typing out notes on her computer, giving no indication of her thoughts.

“Are there any other symptoms present?”

“Uh, I did get sick about three weeks ago with a vomiting bug, and still get the occasional bouts of nausea and dizziness.”

The doctor nodded, her face still as blank as a canvas. Alessia could get no read on her whatsoever.

“How long did the vomiting occur?” she questioned whilst tapping the buttons on her keyboard like a speedster.

Alessia paused thoughtfully, trying to recall that horrid week,“About five to six days give or take, it was kinda off and on.”

The typing stopped suddenly.

“Off and on how so?” Doctor Cox clarified curiously, an eyebrow raised.

“Well one day I would be good, completely normal, and then the next morning I’d be puking my guts out. The vomiting kept on coming and going.”

“Uh huh,” she nodded, returning back to the computer to type some more, “and you said you were getting dizzy as well?”

Alessia nodded her head in confirmation, her right hand pinching her middle finger. She forgot how much she hated all the questions being thrown at her when being examined by a doctor. They just seemed to throw them nonstop.

“How often does the dizziness occur?”

“Um every now and then. Sometimes daily.”

“Have you ever fainted, or felt close to fainting?”

“I have felt faint yes, but haven’t actually blacked out.”

“Are you a vegetarian or vegan?”

“No, neither. I love meat too much. What would life be without bacon?”

“Yes what would life be,” she chuckled, “do you usually have a heavy blood flow when menstruating?”

She paused awkwardly at that one, squirming in her seat,“Um, yes. Usually for the first two or three days.”

“Hmm, okay...” she finished typing on her computer, “and are you sexually active?”

That nearly made Alessia fall out of her goddamn chair.

“Uh...come again?” she squeaked, her eyes wide and hand gripping tightly to the armrest beside her. Memories of London flashed by quickly in her mind; hungover, naked, lying next to a movie star.

“Have you been sexually active, as in recently had sexual intercourse?” the woman repeated calmly.

“Um...” her face flushed in embarrassment, her heart racing in panic, “I- I-” why did she have to ask that? How could that question possibly connect to her being sic- oh god. Oh fricken god. How could she be so stupid? Two months. It had been two fricken months.

“It’s okay, take your time. This is a private place, nothing gets outside of these walls, I promise,” the doctor reached over and placed a hand on her knee comfortingly, waiting patiently for her reply.

“I...” she gulped, her chest heaving as all the pieces started coming together. The tiredness, the nausea, the constant craving of crumpets, “I...um...I...” she was peeing more frequently. She had thought that it was just all the water she’d been drinking lately but...and her breasts! God her breasts had started to ache. She just figured it was a hormonal thing and that she was finally getting her period- god it couldn’t be- she couldn’t be-“...I lost my virginity recently,” she breathed.

Doctor Cox blinked in brief surprise and then adjusted glasses, her calm facade returning back promptly

“Oh. How recently exactly?” she asked cautiously.

Alessia breathed in deeply, closing her eyes, “Two months ago,” she murmured, her entire body slumping as she rubbed away the tension in between her eyes. She could already feel the tears burning beneath her eyelids.

“I see. And when did your last menstruating cycle end?” 

“A bit over two months,” she mumbled into her hands, her fingers dragging down her face whilst wiping away her sniffles. Her eyes became red with tears and chest heaved up and down, desperate for air, “am I...?” she croaked miserably, looking at her doctor for any answer that wasn’t what she was thinking.

“There’s no point in jumping to any conclusions just yet,” Doctor Cox interrupted, “I’d like to run some tests before we determine anything. There could be multiple diagnoses for the symptoms you possess and I don’t want to rush into things and make you panic about something that might not even be applicable to you in the first place,” she explained logically, spinning back to her computer, clicking on her mouse and typing a few keys, “I’m gonna write you up for a full blood count, a glucose level check and a hCG test. Basically these tests will tell us if there is any sign of a virus in your system, check how blood sugar level is going and test how high your hCG level is. Your iron count will also be measured which is what I’m most concerned about. A lot of woman, especially at your age, suffer from iron deficiency and your symptoms hint heavily at this diagnosis. However, with the information of your sexual activity and your last menstruation it does lead to the possible conclusion that you are...” the printer screeched back and forth, signalling the deliverance of the test referral, “...pregnant, Miss Carter,” the doctor sighed sympathetically, handing her over the form.

Alessia stared at it with watery eyes, her body unmoving as her doctor voiced the conclusion she had already come to in her own mind. It was finally out there. Pregnant. She could be pregnant. The girl now understood why she was so nervous about coming in today. It’s like subconsciously she already knew what would happen.

“Of course, we won’t know for sure until the test results come back. It should only take a couple days at the most. I’ll let you know as soon as they come in and we can arrange an appointment to discuss the results. All you have to do now is head down to pathology and they’ll run all the tests for you.”

She made no move to get out of her seat, still frozen on the chair and staring at the referral form in her hand. She stared at it but wasn’t actually seeing it, the words and boxes a complete blur to her. How did it get to this? How did she even let herself get into this situation? What the hell will she do? Pregnant. Pregnant. She was-

“As I said, Miss Carter, there’s no need to panic about something that isn’t confirmed yet. My best advice for you is get some rest, clear your mind and focus on the now’s, not the what if’s,” she spoke softly, standing up and placing her hand on her shoulder, “and if it’s any consolation, if the pregnancy test turns out to be positive, just know I’ll be there to help you every step of the way. I’ll answer any questions you have and help you arrange any appointments that you’ll need if it comes to the situation. You won’t be alone,” she reassured firmly, squeezing her shoulder.

Alessia nodded shakily, thankful for the doctor’s kind words and for helping her snap her out of her daze.

“Thank you,” she whispered, slowly standing up and making her way out of the room.

“I’ll speak to you soon,” Doctor Cox farewelled, her warm honey eyes conveying total calm.

Alessia nodded and waved at her awkwardly before making her way quickly out of the office and downstairs to pathology. The tests went by in a distorted haze. Normally she was absolutely terrified of needles, but today Alessia could barely feel the prick going into the crook of her elbow. She couldn’t even hear the voice of the chatty redheaded nurse taking her blood. Everything was submerged underwater. Cold. Quiet. Unnerving.

The drive home was a quick and direct route though she barely made it out alive, having several close calls with multiple cars and unexpected trees that she swear on her life came out of nowhere. Her keys rattled and clanked as she frantically searched for the right one to open her apartment. It took multiple attempts to finally get into the lock but eventually she got there and accidentally slammed the door a bit hard behind her. She couldn’t find it within herself to care in that moment.

She flopped immediately down on her couch, feet resting on one of the armrests and head tilted up towards the white ceiling. Snippets of waking up to a similar ceiling fluttered into her mind, all dazed and disoriented, the memories of the night before nonexistent, blacked out, erased. Her body aching and the warmth of an arm wrapped around her stomach...

That was where it all began. 

And now she was left in an agonising state of reliving that memory over and over again, nervously awaiting its consequences.

[finallyrecoveringforgood]

eating breakfast, holding myself accountable

it's hard with the missing routine of work

because of covid, our team was divided into 2 groups - so if one group has to go into quarantine, the other is still there to care for the animals (and to minimize contact in general). that's good and important, no questions asked, but since the groups cannot meet and home office (if at all) only works for our bosses ... well. since early in january we worked in daily 5h-shifts (mo-fr), this system still left quite a lot of leisure time, but at least i had something to do and structure my day around every day during the week. now we have divided the week, meaning i get to work full-time on monday and tuesday, as well as every other wednesday. the rest of the time? nada

on top of the lacking routine/requirement to eat, it also leads to being terribly drained when i do suddenly work 9 hours again for those few days. i don't even have wifi at home, i live alone and i don't really talk to my family. honestly my friends, girlfriend and the 2 same colleagues i've been meeting at work since december are what's keeping me sane

most of my friends are at uni (...online) and writing exams currently, only 2 aren't, meaning they are kind of busy and longer phone calls only happen ever so often. although, i have a call scheduled with one of my friends who is not doing anything atm later. then there's my girlfriend, she still works full-time and has her 40h-week as usual. leaving my coworkers, one of which doesn't come often because he can do home office and the other of which is my boss. we do get along well and grew extremely close during this pandemic, but of course we both are busy at work and don't exactly get to do lots of things together

so much about me rambling, mostly because i finished eating and need(ed) something to concentrate on other than my stomach and what is inside of it

anyway, i'm trying to stop lapsing before it can get bad

also talked to my girlfriend kind of a bit about quitting food talk, plus i feel like she's doing okay with it currently. but dear god, please let them [her family] not pick apart my eating habits. i'm trying so hard. i don't want to explain this, it's so shameful. please let me go under the radar for now, until i got my shit back together. i'm still doing okay during meals, so

body image/size + comments tw

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.

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on a side note. comments on my body and size and shape are so FUCKING triggering. dear people in my life, please stop. my grandmother after seeing me "my god are you SLIM", my gf's sister when i put on gf's jacket "now that's big on you, cute", my boss about my ex group home "i suppose everyone there must've been chunkier than you, like here too, that's not hard". hell and those comments like "i'll never work out with you, it'd be too frustrating because you're so good" or "whew you got more arm and shoulder muscle than [XY]" or "damn your body looks so good, it makes me feel bad next to you". i even feel bad about writing it down, because i guess i should see it as a privilege to be treated in such "positive" ways and not shamed? i don't want to trigger anyone and i feel no pride of my body, all i want is to hide it and never be seen again, or to please become more comfortable with it. but no comments

it doesn't feel good. it's not validating. it

a) increases my fucking hyperawareness of my appearance and body

b) reinforces the idea that i need to keep exercising and eating ""healthy"" (aka trying to micromanage what should not be controlled) because it's just normal/""healthy""

c) increases my fear of being in a different looking body one day

d) MAKES ME FEEL GUILTY because i don't want to be a part of fatphobia or making somebody else feel bad unknowingly just by existing in my body, and because i'm not a stupid inspiration, tell me you "wish you liked healthy stuff and working out like me and had my toned muscles" again when i let you in on my purging habits, sh scars, fear foods, calorie knowledge and constant guilt. i don't talk about food or how much anybody eats or weighs, for fuck's sake i don't even know my own weight currently and am not planning to change that anytime soon! people only know what i eat when they eat with me, and i even keep accomodating and conquering fear foods to eat with others without seeming odd. everyone knows i like rock climbing and i need fresh air, but i don't tell anyone about my exercise routines. i'm trying trying trying so hard to not count/micromanage and to stop moving compulsively, also to demoralize food and listen to my cravings. can we QUIT the stupid diet talk around me? no it's not cool to be health obsessed. it's not even healthy. shut up SHUT UP SHUT UP. stop feeding the ED. i beg you. it's hard enough as is

maybe this is one of the reasons why i keep lapsing so hard lately, on top of the pandemic being stressful and everything in my life changing

[endlessly-elizabeth]

Body image. A topic that I find, like many of you, difficult to talk about sometimes. Let me start by saying this: my body is nowhere near “perfect” and it never will be. What is perfection anyways? Being slender? Being curvy? Slim thicc? Everyone is attracted to different traits, body types, hair colors, etc. It’s all about preference. I’ve battled with myself for far too long about body image and it’s taken me years to try to be body positive. I’m still not happy with where I am, but I’m amazed with how far I’ve come.

I’ve never been “skinny.” I was a chubby baby and it didn’t stop there. My brother called me fat on a daily basis when I was growing up. My grandpa told me if I kept eating as much as I was, I was going to look like my mother one day. My grandmother told my mom I had large thighs. One of my childhood friends told me I had cellulite (well, we didn’t know what cellulite was back then. She referred to it as “dimples”). Classmates made snide comments about my weight and/or my appearance during the years that I craved acceptance the most. Once all of these flaws were brought to my attention, it was hard for me to ignore them.

In some ways, I had a normal childhood like everyone else. I grew up in a nice neighborhood, I always had kids my own age to play with, and I did well in school. I didn’t have many hobbies outside of having play dates, spending time outside, and writing in a diary before I went to bed at night...but I still felt happy and fulfilled. My parents stayed married and kept any kind of problems they may have had private. I had a brother I could always play video games or watch tv with. I had a great group of friends. Life truly was as easy and loving as it could have been for me. Until my brother got sick.

I don’t want to draw too much attention to it or get to personal with these stories, because I don’t want people to look at me any differently. But my brother used to hit me...a lot. And over the smallest things. He seemed very much unlike himself. His demeanor would change like the flip of a switch and he could go from being perfectly content to aggressively angry. Most of the time, he took his anger out on me. I was the closest person in proximity to him, so I was, unfortunately, an easy target. I’m also three years younger than him.

 I distinctly remember one of my friends coming over to the house when my parents weren’t home, and my brother was on the computer. We asked him if we could use it--I wanted to show her how to create a new AIM screen name (holy throwback!). He repeatedly told me no. I threatened to call our mom (wasn’t that how you got your siblings to do anything when you were kids?). He rose from the chair and started wailing on me until I fell to the ground. He hovered over me and continued to hit me, despite how much I was crying out in pain. My friend jumped on the couch and started yelling at him, saying she was going to call the police if he didn’t stop. We were both hysterical--my friend hysterical with fear, and I was hysterically in pain. I don’t remember anything after that, honestly. I probably tried to block in out from my memory.

He used to threaten me not to tell my parents. I listened to him because I didn’t want to be in pain again. I had tried telling my parents before...I don’t know if they were in denial, or if they just thought it was normal sibling behavior. Eventually, my parents started witnessing more of the pent up anger he had and took him to see a child counselor. He seemed to be handling his anger better but things took a turn for the worse. His health seemed to be declining. My parents had to keep an extra set of clothes at school for him because he had suddenly lost his ability to tell when he had to go to the bathroom. He was late to school one day and when my dad and I went to drop him off, we watched him hook his arm through one of the straps, and when he went to do the second one, he just completely fell over. We went to our doctor and she was watching him walk in a straight line. “Pick up your foot!” I had said to him. There was one foot that seemed to be dragging behind the other. 

I don’t remember all of the details, but it turned out that he did have a serious medical problem. He had a cyst that hung off of his spinal cord that was affecting his balance, and he had a brain tumor. The next year or two were hard. He had to have emergency surgery that left me to be shuffled between different friends and family’s houses. I had to have out-of-state family members stay with me so he could see specialists in New York. He was in the hospital and a rehabilitation center for a long time, and eventually had to move in with my grandpa because his spinal surgery caused him to have to relearn how to walk again. Our grandpa’s house was a rancher-style and the only steps were to get into the basement.

You’re probably wondering why I’m telling you this. During the years that this was happening, my brother and I were both at ages where our brains were actively growing. It was the time when our perception of who we were as people began to form. I felt abandoned at that time--by my family for leaving me behind and keeping me out of the loop. I felt like they cared more about him than they did me, (Of course, I realize now that the problems were bigger than me--they almost lost him and needed to tend to him. Putting me with friends and other family members was the best avenue they could’ve taken, without having to pull me from school.) My life seemed chaotic. I was being teased by classmates about his medical problems and how I probably had them, too.

Everything seemed to normalize once my brother moved back home, but he was never the same. The loving relationship we had before his medical problems began to surface had completely disintegrated. He was bitter that I had a normal life and wasn’t plagued by the same hardships he faced. It created a resentment that was almost palpable. He still let anger consume him and he’d make me his punching bag. While it wasn’t necessarily physical anymore, he still made an effort to hurt me with his words. He made me feel worthless by calling me fat and ugly.

I carried the weight of my childhood and turned to eating as a source of comfort. Food was something that I could always rely on. So, when my brother or my classmates made me feel bad, I ate. And ate. And probably ate some more. This certainly didn’t help me with my self-esteem or my body image. I was definitely chubby, but I wouldn’t say I was ever “fat.” I think the most I ever weighed was 170, which is embarrassing to admit now. But guys didn’t like me. They thought I was nerdy and couldn’t be bothered to get to know me because of my appearance. Looking back, I think I attribute my relationship with my brother to my fear of men. I was uncomfortable being around them one on one to the point where I’d get physically sick. I guess that explains my nonexistent dating life in high school and college...Here’s a super personal fact about me: I was so afraid of guys and the idea of being physically intimate with someone, I didn’t kiss anyone until I was twenty-one. Yes, you heard that correctly. Thank goodness for that one guy I allowed myself to take a chance on and who was super patient with me.

Those years were hard. Both emotionally and mentally draining. Once I graduated college, I made an active effort to eat better and to shed some of that weight. I wanted to grow into a confident, happy version of myself who wasn’t afraid of male attention. I wanted to like what I saw in the mirror. Being out of school absolutely helped me make better food choices--I wasn’t constantly surrounded by french fries, burgers, milkshakes, etc. I started feeling mentally healthier once I became more physically active. Now, mind you, my weight still fluctuates to this day. But I am proud to say that I am thirty pounds lighter than I was at my heaviest, and I’ve grown to be more body positive. I don’t shy away from clothing that hugs my body anymore. I used to be petrified to wear shorts in public because I have cellulite on my legs, but I started showing more of my body off two years ago and I’ve realized that I am my own worst critic. I know that the cellulite is there, so I assume that everyone else is staring at it as heavily as I was, but they’re not. Can they see the little dimples on my legs when I wear shorts or dresses? Sure. Is it the most appealing thing to look at? No. But, I’m fucking human. I have cellulite, who the fuck cares?

I used to let it RUN my life. I would only go “so far” with a guy because I didn’t want him to see me entirely naked. I was afraid that if a guy saw that I had cellulite on my legs (and butt, let’s be honest), that it would somehow make me less attractive or less lovable in his eyes. I constantly told myself I wasn’t good enough for someone who was very physically fit because I’m not toned and have those little dimples. I criticized myself to the point where I felt ugly. I still have that cellulite. My legs still jiggle every time I walk, but you know what? I don’t care as much. I truly believe that I suffered from that ugly duckling syndrome. I finally became the swan when I began taking care of myself. I’m on my feet for at least five hours a day at my job. I was exercising multiple times a week before my back started hurting, so that is something that I slowly want to bring back into my routine. I gave up Dunkin Donuts, bread, and pizza for lent, and I feel so much better. I haven’t quite seen the weight loss that I’ve been looking for, but I feel more energized. I enjoy making healthier food choices. I enjoy curling my hair, wearing makeup, and wearing a dress that shows off my very imperfect body. I’m tired of trying to attain perfection or feeling bad about myself when I scroll through my social media apps and realize that my body is painfully average. I’m still a damn queen, even with a couple extra dimples. It’s about time I start acting like it! 

[imnoexpertblog]

Don't Stress, You're Blessed

This is the Health & Beauty Blog! I’m going to switch this up and gear it towards health this time; mental health at that. I have had a really hard two weeks, and it seems to keep dragging on. I’ve mentioned how hard it is to sleep lately, in the heat and light and noise. So to put you in my shoes, cut the amount of sleep you want to get in half these past couple weeks. The heat also makes it hard for me to eat. It’s hard to be happy when I don’t feel well, either. Now add being nauseous or having a headache from lack of sleep and food. Next, pretend it’s also shark week (what I nicknamed my period, its funny). Hormones are a-raging. Lastly, add anything that may stress you out, big or small. You’re now turned me into someone you really aren't. Someone you don’t even like. You're not you anymore. And it sucks.

I’m weird in the way that I can handle big problems/stressors very well. I can hold myself together (and everyone else, too). I can carry a great deal on my shoulders when I have to. The weird part is that I fall apart over the small things instead. Those are the things that push me over the edge. I can’t afford to fall apart during the big stuff, so sometimes I crumble with what most people would consider small or minor things. This is pretty hard on the people around me and I need to manage my reactions better.

First thing (for me) to stress less and be happier AND healthier; SLEEP MORE. I know getting enough sleep is very important. I know it. I used to sleep NO LESS than 8 hours a night. No matter what. It was a huge priority of mine. Sleep is still important to me and I still try to sleep as much as I can. But. Sleeping during the day is different. Besides the heat, noise, and light, things are happening during the day. Let’s walk you through something pretty common for me. Can’t get an appointment with the dentist until 10 am? Well it looks like I will have to attempt (and fail) at a short nap when I get home at 7:15 am. I do have to get up at 9:00 am anyway so maybe I won’t even sleep until after the appointment. Get home from appointment at 11:30am. Well, I will hopefully get 5 hours of sleep before Baby and Nugget get home this evening. Unfortunately, I can’t sleep through much anymore. So many things can wake me up very easily. At this point, I have awaken at 1:30, 2:45, and now 3:45. I’ve probably gotten about 3 and a half hours of sleep. I can’t fall back asleep. Guess I am up for good. My boys will be home in an hour or so, anyway. Maybe I will get a few more hours of sleep in before work at 11:00 pm. Maybe not. That is something I have to deal with all the time. Even if I don't have an appointment, I am woken up by the landlords cutting the grass or weed-eating, the neighbors hanging decorations up on the walls, sirens from police and ambulances on the nearby highway, etc. Falling back asleep can be really difficult after/during these instances. It feels like I can't catch a break.

Then for food. If I can’t fuel my body adequately, how can I expect to feel healthy? Trust me. I am well aware of this. The issue is if I am hot and sweaty and uncomfortable, there is no way I will be eating anything. I’d gag on it if I tried. Honestly, need to get back into meal replacement shakes because I have no problem drinking my calories/meals. I also just need to pound water as much as I can. I've mentioned the Keto diet is low-carb, which makes it harder for me to retain water. I have hormonal migraines (meaning as long as I have shark week, I will get migraines), but I am sure that water would help out a lot in general.

Now for the outside stress. Tackling this is a big project. Sleep and diet can only do so much for you. So. First things first. We need to pinpoint what is stressing us out. You can’t fix something without knowing what is causing the issue. My stressors are adult things that I cannot really escape. Saving for a house and wedding is hard. Not knowing how much longer I can work third shift is hard. I more or less just need to stop worrying about money, continue to save, and look into first shift positions. I tend to get worked up about the unknown very easily. That’s my anxiety. At least I know and recognize this. What is stressing you out? Money? School? Work? Explore your emotions and why you feel the way you do. It always points to something. Some say writing about your stress helps. Journaling what is stressing you out, how you feel about it physically and emotionally, how you are reacting/responding to it, and how you relieve that stress. Things like this are helpful to refer back to, especially when trying to stop a cycle or pattern. Or if you are trying to instill better habits.

Now that we hopefully know what is stressing us out, we can try to avoid those things. Personally, I need to notice when I am overthinking and put an end to it. That’s a big issue in my life. Something may not be a big deal, but I can’t stop thinking about it over and over and over (anxiety) until it’s become a huge problem in my mind. A problem so big that I work myself into a panic or rage. Something else that seems to really weighs on me is what my family thinks of me and what I am doing with my life. I mentioned in my first blog post, Let Me Explain… and About Me that my parents have put a lot of pressure on me to succeed ever since I was pretty young. I've taken over the role for them since having moved out four years ago. I know they think highly of me, are proud of me, and expect nothing less than excellence. I now do the same to myself. The feeling of letting them down or disappointing them absolutely terrifies me. I need to learn to let go a little bit. I know they love me and that they are fully aware that I do my best when it comes to anything. Easier said than done, but these feelings I get are unnecessary. They may be warranted, but that doesn’t mean they are obligatory. Its not like anyone in my family makes me feel inadequate; I really do this to myself out of fear. My desire to make them proud is very driving (and driving me nuts LOL). Are there things in your life you can cut to avoid any extra stress? Do you need a new job schedule? New job in general? Are there certain people that you shouldn’t have in your life? Are there things you have been putting off that need to get done?

If there are things you absolutely can’t stay away from, you can try to change the situation. There are things you can control. I knew I was behind on sleep this week so I took a day off to catch up. You can also change the way you handle a situation to make it less stressful. My personal example it that I can’t avoid the fact that we need to save money so I made changes in my budget to make it easier. Compromise isn’t always fun but it is a must. It would be very difficult to save money if I shopped every Friday or went out to eat a few times a week, but I cut those things out of my budget.

As much as I don’t use this tactic in the moment, I really think it’s great. Think about the cause/issue of your stress. Will this even matter in 5 hours? Will it matter tomorrow? Next week? Next month? Next year?! Most of the time; HELL no. Then why does it matter now? It doesn’t. Don’t let your emotions run you or control how you react. It is so easy to be bothered sometimes; to worry. But isn’t life so much better when you’re happy? I really have to remember this one for the future. Also ask yourself if you’re being realistic in your expectations of something. I cannot expect everything to always go according to plan, no matter how badly I wish it would. I get very bent out of shape when routines are hindered. I crave structure and consistency. The minute something has to change unexpectedly, I immediately get anxious. Realistically, that is normal. I cannot control everything. I just need to remind myself of this.

Something that helps: TALKING. I encourage you all to talk about this stuff. With whoever you want. Family, friends, spouses, a professional, anyone. Sometimes I think I talk too much, vent too much, complain too much, but it’s actually how I work through these things. It’s also sometimes how I realize I am being ridiculous. It helps you discover things like why you feel a certain way, what might help, etc. When the issue is out of your hands and you can’t do anything about it, talking can still be therapeutic and helpful. You can also use the typical advice of relieving stress through physical activity. SO many people go to the gym. Take a break and do something new or fun?

The last thing I want to touch on is something I really struggle with in these stressful moments; being positive and forgiving. Rather than focus on what went wrong, I need to remember what is right. There are silver linings, and those are the things to pay attention to. Things happen that aren’t anyone’s fault. There just isn’t anyone/anything to blame sometimes and that is okay. Even if there is someone to blame, letting go is better than holding it against them. Turning energy into hate and resentment is a waste. You should use your energy towards being happy.

Baby is always there to take my venting, my frustrating, my monster. Whether he deserves it or not. He is so patient and understanding. Although I appreciate it, that can only last so long. There are only so many apologies I can give before they don't mean anything. I don’t want to be the monster I am when I am overwhelmed. I don’t want him to have to ever feel like he’s “putting up” with me. He is there for me to lean on, not use as a punching bag. He knows why I get like this sometimes but that isn’t an excuse to be that way. I need to practice what I’ve just preached and harness this energy I have in being frustrated and difficult, and redirect it to being the happy person I know I am. I have too good a life to be unhappy.

[caliboyjaeffrey]

Call Boy II (Taeyong x Reader x Yuta)

Rating: M

(A/N) HELLO MY FELLOW THIRSTY HOES!!!!!! I AM FINALLY BACK WITH THE LONG AWAITED SEQUAL TO THE THRILLING FIRST INSTALLMENT OF CALL BOY AKA THE DEMISE OF EVERYONE’S OVARIES!!! LMAO For reals though, I’m so excited to share this with all of you because ya’ll have been sO SUPPORTIVE OF ME AND SHITTY WRITING?????? Special thanks to my NCT writers league babes for bouncing ideas with me!!! I love you all so much! ENJOYYYYYYYY!!!!!

P.S. yUTA LITERALLY BLINDS ME WITH HIS FUCKIN SMILE AND TAEYONG COULD HAVE MY CHILDREN LMAO

P.S.S. And yes, I am still the same blog that posted the original Call Boy smut!! I was @chokemewithjaehyunschoker!

Part I

Life was different now. 

Every morning you woke up, you couldn’t help but feel amazed, was this truly your reality? How did it all possibly work out? It was too good to be true. You’d thought there would be rough patches, jealousy, lust, secrets…but no. It was all laid out on the table, worn on sleeves for all to see. 

At least, for the three of you to see.

Not a single soul other than yourselves knew of your tristes, your arrangement. Sometimes you had to sit and think about who people were to you, how your heart felt. You had a boy with whom you were in love with, mind, body, and soul. But then, there was him.

The man which you craved constantly, pleased you, and who you only were attracted to sexually. You loved Taeyong, he was your perfect boyfriend, your everything. He treated you lovingly, showering all his affection on you, gave his entire self to you, and he pleased you bodily. With Taeyong, sex was a spiritual experience. You swore every time you made love with him, you entered a higher state of bliss, something you didn’t experience with him. Yuta gave you everything Taeyong wasn’t comfortable with. You simply had to ask Yuta what you wanted and he would deliver, every time. He never failed to make you feel beautiful and adored, his desire for you and yours for him was from some other world. Sex with Yuta was all pleasure, feelings were forbidden. Sometimes it was so hard not to feel something though. While Taeyong was fine with you taking, what he called, “lessons” from Yuta, you and him decided on some ground rules. You appreciated how Taeyong put your happiness and safety first, allowing you freedom, but not so much liberty that he would grow worried. Yuta was forbidden from videoing or photographing you during your intimate times together, you had stated this early on, not wanting to end up on some porn sight, or where friends and family could see you. No one but the three of you were aware of your special situation, and you were keen on keeping it that way. You weren’t allowed to spend the night with Yuta, unless some emergency called for it, but you’re not sure why you would have to anyway, you’d find a way back to Taeyong even if it killed you. An obvious rule, but Yuta had to always use protection, Taeyong was the only man allowed the privilege of coming inside of you. You certainly didn’t want any little ones running around that weren’t Taeyong’s, that would be messy for sure. The final and most thoughtful rule that you and Taeyong had contrived was that only you and him were allowed to have sex in your shared bed. To you, your bed was a sacred place where you and Taeyong not only slept, but shared your most intimate of times, both physically and mentally. So many loving confessions and beautiful moments had taken place there, you wanted them to remain between where you and Taeyong slept side by side. Your bed was the place where Taeyong could call you completely his and where he was yours. No person, no matter how irresistible, could tarnish the sacred space that was your bed. But still, Yuta was difficult. As you slid out of the sheets quietly, careful to not disturb Taeyong’s sleeping form, you thought of how Yuta made you feel. Honestly, you had no idea what to think of him. He was a friend, that’s for certain. He was a means for your pleasure too, an added bonus. As you brushed your teeth, you painted the call boy’s handsome features in your mind, tracing his lips and thinking of that bright smile. For all of his sexual prowess, Yuta was still a sweetheart, something you learned rather quickly when you began to see him regularly. You still couldn’t believe though that Taeyong was absolutely fine with you seeing Yuta almost once a week. He put so much faith into you that you felt a certain responsibility, almost like he trusted you too much. Today was a Yuta day, or so you called it in your head. You walked back into the room and slipped into some nicer lingerie, knowing which was Yuta’s favorite. A pale pink mesh and embroidered set that complimented your smooth skin and left little to the imagination. You slid normal clothes over that, a simple pair of jeans and a warm sweater to help fight off the cold of the winter day. You padded over lightly to your sleeping boyfriend, brushing the hair from his eyes as you smiled at how cute he looked. He blinked sleepily, a bit confused before he smiled, pulling you down into a kiss. You moved your lips against his lovingly, savoring the taste of his mouth that you were practically addicted to. There was no one who you’d rather kiss than Taeyong, his lips sinful, soft, and perfect. His hands reached up to pull you onto him, not breaking the kiss as he slid his hands over your ass and gave it a squeeze. You giggled against his lips, making him pull away and give you another endearing smile. His morning voice almost made you squeal as he mumbled, “Off already?” You nodded, running a finger down the bridge of his nose, “Mhm, I thought I’d go early so we could have the rest of the day to ourselves…maybe dress fancy and get some dinner?” Taeyong’s hands on your ass were rather distracting as you tried to pay attention to his words. He smiled innocently, but his hands said otherwise as they slid into your back pockets, “Sounds good to me.” Your cheeks flushed, but you bit your lip to hide your smile, “Okay, I’m off then.” He gave your ass one more satisfying smack that left a delicious sting even through your jeans, “Get going then, baby girl. And hurry back.” You slid off of him, pressing one more kiss to his lips before you headed out the door. You grabbed your coat, and hurried to the train station, anticipation welling up in you as you still felt the sting of Taeyong’s slap on your ass. ~ Yuta lived in a gorgeous apartment one of his wealthier patrons paid for. He never disclosed their name, but obviously they had to be some celebrity or important figure to afford a place like this. He’d recently grown popular, and his prowess became known to higher people, now he was one of the most expensive in the city. It was sleek and modern, dare you say, sexy even. Yuta had embellished the house in his own personal style, each room so him it hurt. After riding an elevator up and up into what seemed like the clouds, you reached Yuta’s floor in the apartment building, an entire floor just for him…and whatever client he was pleasing at the time. Today it was you, but you were special in your own way. Different because you didn’t pay a dime and was personally invited by the exclusive callboy himself. You didn’t like to admit it, but you always would flush with satisfaction at the thought of this. To know you were more special than even his most well paying clients made you happier than you cared to say. You pressed the shiny doorbell, able to see your warped reflection in the polished metal. You heard a neat ding sound from within and a pair of footsteps walking eagerly over to the door. You were greeted by an cutely breathless Yuta who looked you over with hungry eyes, “______, nice to see you again, baby girl.” Your ears rung with the same pet name that Taeyong left you with, you chest feeling odd as you stepped in through the door. You smiled at the callboy, allowing him to take your coat and hang it next to the door, where his own chic coats were located. He looked so beautiful doing such a simple task, the sleeves of his sweater rolled up to reveal his tan forearms. He knew how much you liked it, never failing to be as visually pleasing to you as possible. He gave you one of his winning and brillant smiles, walking over to a breakfast bar in the kitchen, “I was just making coffee, care for some?” You nodded eagerly, trying to calm your nerves that you always got coming over, “Yes, please.” This was a new routine of his that he had started recently, inviting you to do something mundane and normal before taking you to his lustrous bedroom. It had confused you at first, but you didn’t think much of it, merely seeing it as him trying to be more of a friend to you, rather than a fuck buddy. You appreciated it, liking this opportunity to know more about who Yuta was and find out his personality. He brushed his soft brown hair from his face, pouring coffee into two oddly cute mugs and fixing it up how he knew you liked it. He pressed the mug into your hand and leaned a hip against the counter, looking so effortlessly gorgeous, “Rather early for us isn’t it?” You blushed, never able to adjust to how casual he was about your tristes, “O-oh, yeah. I just had some things I wanted to do later.” You tried not to mention Taeyong around him, only because it felt strange and awkward. Practically reading your mind, he pressed casually, “With Tae?” His face remained composed, not giving away what his voice did: jealousy. You nodded not noticing his tone, sipping your coffee nervously, “Yeah, we haven’t gone out for dinner in a while, so it thought it would be nice.” Yuta set down his mug, having drained his coffee, “Well that sounds nice, I hope you have fun. Now,” his demeanor completely changed, slipping into something a bit more mischievous and dangerous. “Why don’t you tell me a little about what your wearing? I’m a bit curious you see.” Your face flushed, your own attitude morphing into one more playful and coy, “Wouldn’t you like to know.” “I would,” he countered, pressing both hand onto the countertop in such a dominant way that it made your womanhood ache. You set down your own mug, trying to remain composed and still unable to detect the apparent jealousy in Yuta’s accented voice, “One of your favorites.” “Oh?,” he settled back down again, not bristling as much as before. “I’d like a peek.” He smirked leaning against the counter, knowing fully well that you couldn’t stand it when he acted cocky. Two could play at that game though, you weren’t as quick to give in as before. You’d learned over time how Yuta acted, his mannerisms and tactics, how he got the girl every time. You put your hands behind your back, playfully sauntering away towards where his lux bedroom was, “Why don’t you come find out?” You didn’t give him time to reply, smiling to yourself as you walked off to his bedroom. He shook his head, mirroring your expression as he allowed you some distance to walk into his room before he followed. How he loved when you teased him back, so much different than the first time he’d fucked you. Inside Yuta’s naturally lit bedroom, you went to work shedding your clothes and leaving yourself like a little pink present on his silky bed. You adjusted your lingerie, securing the cute dainty bows that kept your bra in place and fixing your panties so Yuta had a view of some cheek. Sprawled out on his bed, Yuta walked in, his gate sauntering and confident. He licked his lips, seeing you look so eager for him, “I love how you’re so needy, ready to have my cock inside your pretty little pussy.” It was like a switch, the moment Yuta walked into his bedroom, all semblance of sweetness was gone. Lust and dominance were the only thing running through his mind as he lazily undid the belt on his jeans. Your lids were heavy with want as you murmured, “You know me too well…” Your voice trailed off as he reached you, threading his fingers through your hair surprisingly gently before yanking it back roughly. He smirked, crawling onto the bed and running his lips over the skin of your throat, “That I certainly do,” he pressed open mouth kisses to your jaw. “I know what you like,” he whispered, hand releasing your hair to grab your ass and dragging your body to straddle his lap. “Where you like to be touched,” the call boy smoothed his warm hands over your thighs, squeezing your supple skin. You gasped at the sensitive feeling that raced over your body. “What turns you on,” Yuta purred as he began to grind to the music he had playing softly in the background of his room. The roughness of his jeans rubbed you so well you couldn’t help the moan that slipped past your parted lips. He let his mouth brush against yours, but didn’t kiss you, just letting the raw feeling of your lips colliding be felt. “And how you like to be fucked,” he groaned, jeans far too tight for his liking. He pushed you down into the sheets, making quick work of his shirt and pants before he caged you in underneath his frame. “Don’t I?,” he asked, panting as he continued to rub your clothed crotches together. “Hm, baby girl?” “Yes,” you gasped, hands finding purchase in his satin sheets as your chest heaved from the feeling of his hips rocking into yours. Yuta smirked, stopping his movements and letting his hands slip down your body until he found the waistband of your panties. He slipped the skimpy fabric down your legs, admiring the lingerie as it slid down you thighs, “You’re right, they are my favorite.” “But, as much as I like seeing them on you, baby girl, I much prefer them on my floor,” he simpered, making the wetness between your legs increase as his fingertips skimmed across your inner thigh. He granted you relief as he spread your wetness with his fingers, making you throw your head back and arch above the bed. The call boy slid two digits in, dragging them wonderfully in and out like he was born to finger fuck you. “Oh fuck,” you groaned, looking down to watch his fingers doing their good work and looking up at him through your lashes. “You’re so good, baby.” He smiled cockily, leaning down to kiss you affectionately before he began to rub your sensitive bundle of nerves, “I know. Who else could make you feel as good as me?” Through your pleasure drunk reverie, you managed to think of your boyfriend, defending his honor. Your struggled to get the words out, lips quivering, “T-taeyong does.” The call boy’s warm brown eyes grew icy, his gaze sharp and piercing, clearly upset by your mentioning of your boyfriend. His fingers became rougher, his touches suddenly painfully pleasurable, so much so that the breath was knocked out of you. His words were harsh, but they made you moan from the tone he used, “You know how much I hate it when you mention him, sweetheart. Now,” he growled, “Who is finger fucking you right now?” Tears of pleasure spilled down your cheeks, bed rocking against the wall from the force he was using. “Yuta is! Fuck…!” “Not my name, kitten. I’ll ask again,” he smirked, fingers curling inside of you and thumb rubbing deliciously on your clit. “Who is fucking you?” “Daddy!” You choked out, shame settling in your stomach at what Taeyong would think as you suddenly orgasmed. You thought as your toes curled in pleasure at how betrayed he would be and it would be all your fault. Taeyong was your daddy, but Yuta apparently couldn’t bare the thought of that. You don’t know how it happened, here you were only driven by lust and only cared about pleasure. “That’s right,” Yuta murmured, fingers fast as he rubbed you to completion, groaning in satisfaction at the sight as he rubbed himself through his grey briefs with his free hand. “Such a good girl.” Through your half lidded gaze, you saw the precum that almost literally seeped through the fabric of his underwear, tongue dragging across your bottom lip as you thought of how hard he must be. You lifted a shaking hand and pushed his larger one aside, rubbing the outline of dick enough to make him groan and tilt his head back from the feeling. Everything but Yuta flew from your mind at that moment as you slid his briefs down his hard thighs. It was like you were a completely different person, not like yourself at all. The hand that stroked Yuta’s cock wasn’t yours, but it felt so good to be pleasing him, you couldn’t help the words that slipped past your lips, “Daddy, please let me make you feel good.” Yuta almost came from the earnest look on your cute face, so ready for him, so needy. He whispered, lips parted, “Suck my cock, princess.” You were already leaning down to take him into your mouth, unable to process anything but feeling of your tongue smoothing across the tip of his dick. He groaned, hips rocking lightly into your mouth as he grabbed your hair and laid back on the headboard. You took him so well, his member fitting into your mouth perfectly. You sucked him off, your mouth making sounds so lewd that even Yuta’s ears turned a light pink. You coated his dick with your tongue, focusing on the underside near the tip where you knew he liked it the most. You persisted on that spot, relentlessly pressing your tongue on his sweet spot until he literally had to push you off. “Oh fuck,” he groaned, watching as he took his cock into his own hand and jerked himself off, chasing his release. You watched with a hand immediately rubbing your clit, touching yourself to the same rhythm that Yuta used. You panted, leaning over to connect your lips with Yuta’s as you both pleasures yourself. You took his tongue into your mouth, swapping spit with him as your sucked his wet muscle. You suddenly gave a high moan, finally coming over your fingers the same time that Yuta’s hand stuttered. His hips bucked into his hand, panting loudly as he squeezed his eyes shut and suddenly came with a long groan. His cum shot onto his toned stomach, long cloudy white stripes that made your mouth salivate as he attempted to prolong his release. “Holy fuck, baby girl,” he groaned, slipping his tongue into your mouth as he kissed you. The erotic sounds of your wet kisses made your knees weak, cupping his face as you both settled down from your orgasms. “You made me make such a mess, kitten,” Yuta murmured, eyes still halflidded with lust. “I think you need to clean up.” You went to go grab your panties, or a towel, to wipe up his release, but he grabbed your wrist, “Lick it off.” You gave a soft moan at his command, allowing him to sit back so you could straddle his body. Dragging your tongue across his stomach, you licked his cum off, the salty release coating your throat, never able to get used to the taste. “Such a good girl,” he murmured, stroking your hair as his abs flexed from the feeling of your soft tongue running across his body. Having cleaned him off to his liking, you sat up and licked the corners of your mouth, gazing with satisfaction at his glistening abs. You smiled, feeling like yourself again, a blush rising to your cheeks, “Did I do well?” Yuta leaned over and pulled you into a chaste kiss, dragging you down with him to curl up in the sheets, “You were perfect.” He gave you one of his dazzling smiles, wrapping his arms around you and cuddling you in such an innocent way that you couldn’t believe he was the same person. You pouted and pulled out of his arms, “I can’t today, Yuta.” He went to protest, but you gave him an earnest look, “I have to go home.” You grabbed your clothes, slipping your jeans on, widening your eyes at him for emphasis, “To Taeyong.” He sulked childishly, like his favorite toy was being taken away, “I wish you could stay.” “I’m sorry,” you pleaded, already standing in the doorway of his room. “Maybe next time. I need to spend time with Taeyong, okay? I’m worried about him.” “What do you mean?,” he questioned, propping himself up on his elbows and looking at you quizzically. You bit your lip, avoiding his warm brown gaze, “I think he’s beginning to feel…concerned.” You gestured between the two of you, “With this.” Yuta’s face was an expressionless mask, a master at hiding his emotions when he was guarded. His voice was quiet, barely a murmur, “So what is this, _____?” You swallowed, throat feeling dry, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively as you finally met his eyes, “I don’t know.” “What even am I to you?,” he mumbled, dropping his eyes and clenching his fists. You couldn’t answer him because you really didn’t know. Sometimes things felt so natural with Yuta, like it did with Taeyong, easy and happy. Why was he so upset? Didn’t he deal with girls all day? Why was he even asking you that question? You were a means to an end for him, right? You turned away from him, throat already right with your tears, unable to explain how you felt or how he was feeling, “S-see you later.” “See you later,” he echoed, voice so bitter you tasted it in the tears that were now cascading down your cheeks. You felt broken, like a piece of you had just been detached and thrown into the garbage. As you grabbed your purse and coat, you pressed your face into his own jacket, inhaling his comforting scent. You don’t know why, but you wanted so desperately to turn back and try to fix things. You didn’t know how to though. Was it over? No, you shook your head, walking down the hall to the elevator with uneasy steps. You took a quivering breath, pressing a hand to your mouth as you tried to take in what had just happened. Get back to Taeyong, you thought, comforting yourself with the imagine of your boyfriend’s comforting arms. 

Home really wasn’t a place, it was a person, and Taeyong was home. You had calmed down on your train ride home, not wanting Taeyong to know about what had transpired at Yuta’s apartment. You embraced him the moment you walked through the door, burying your face into his chest. He looked pleasantly surprised, embracing you back warmly, “What’s wrong?” “Nothing,” you murmured into his shirt, closing your eyes and absorbed the feeling of his arms around you. “I just realized how much I missed you.” Taeyong smiled, tilting your chin up and kissing your lips passionately, “It’s only been a few hours though.” He helped you with your coat, “I thought that we could just stay in tonight. I’ll make some dinner.” You felt relieved at his suggestion, “That sounds so nice.” “Good,” he grinned, “because I’ve already started making the food.” You laughed and followed him to the kitchen, heart feeling a little lighter. Taeyong stood before the stove, mixing the sauce he was making for what appeared to be spaghetti, his back looking so strong and broad. You wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing your face into his back and rocking him gently, “I love you, Taeyong.” He turned around in you hold, brows furrowing, “What’s gotten into you, sweetheart? Did something happen at Yuta’s place?” He looked suspicious now, subtly inspecting your body for any signs of hurt just in case. “I’m telling you, nothing happened,” you lied, swallowing the lump in your throat as your boyfriend looked at you critically. If he knew you were lying, he didn’t tell you, instead murmuring a quiet, “Okay.” Taeyong had known for a while, known that Yuta was beginning to feel something for you. He didn’t say anything though, knowing you were obviously oblivious to the fact the call boy cared for you in a not so friendly way. Taeyong hadn’t called his friend out on it yet, biding his time and waiting to see if Yuta would actually respect the fact that you were his. Apparently not though, he could tell that something had happened and you were now probably aware of Yuta’s feelings for you. He had a plan though, a risky one. But it might be the only thing that could keep you as his, and not his call boy friend’s. The rest of the evening went rather smoothly, Taeyong not giving away the fact that he was scheming something. You relaxed easily throughout the night, forgetting Yuta as you lost yourself in your boyfriend. You didn’t even realize that Taeyong already knew, oblivious when he subtly texted a certain someone on his phone while the two of you were snuggling on the couch. Twenty or so minutes passed and you felt sleepy, suddenly tired from the wear and tear of the day. You craned your head up and kissed Taeyong’s jaw, eliciting a smile from him, “Wanna head to bed, babe?” “Sure, baby girl,” he smirked, nuzzling into your neck and pressing a kiss there, “Mind if I get my fair share today though?” You blushed coyly, a mischievous smile on your lips, “Of course, baby.” You slid off of Taeyong’s lap, allowing him to give you a firm smack on your ass as he sped you off to your room, “Wait for me, naked, on the bed. Understand?” You nodded and pranced off towards your bedroom, suddenly feeling the familiar need for Taeyong’s touch and of his body. Once you were in your room and he heard the door close, he stood up at once, walking over to the front door of your apartment and opening it quietly. “Yuta,” Taeyong gave a curt nod, taking in the appearance of the always immaculate call boy. “Taeyong,” Yuta murmured, almost unable to meet his friends gaze. “You know why you’re here?,” your boyfriend questioned, raising an eyebrow and allowing him entrance into the apartment. He shut the door silently, hand firm on the door handle. Yuta looked slightly taken aback by his friend’s bluntness, but bristled with defiance, “Yes.” Taeyong nodded, as if he respected Yuta’s determination, “Then I shouldn’t have to explain. Let’s just get on with it.” “May the best man win,” Yuta murmured, his warm brown eyes cold enough to mirror Taeyong’s own icy gaze.

You weren’t surprised Taeyong was taking so long, to be honest he probably was cleaning up dinner because he couldn’t bear to leave it out. You smiled to yourself, sitting up in bed and pulling his favorite blanket around you. Inhaling his scent, you thought of how much Taeyong really meant to you, that you could bear being in a world without Yuta. Maybe. All those comforting thoughts flew out the door the moment, said call boy walked through your bedroom door. You gave a startled cry, “Yuta?!” He didn’t say a word, simply crawling onto the bed with the eyes of a lion sizing up his prey. You shuffled back, hitting the head board as you searched for something to defend yourself with. Scrambling eyes met a familiar pair at the door and you sagged in relief, “Tae-” Yuta interrupted you with his mouth, connecting his lips to yours in what was a familiar dance. You knew the way Yuta kissed up and down, but you weren’t prepared for how roughly he bit your lip and cupped your face. The call boy was a lover, but you’d never seen him treat you this passionately, or this roughly. You whimpered into his mouth, allowing his tongue to slide in as his hands wandered over your naked body and pull the blanket away. Your eyes sought Taeyong, but your boyfriend was busy undressing himself, allowing you a glimpse of his absolutely gorgeous body. You watched him intently, allowing Yuta to do most of the work as you lusted over the incredible bulge that strained against your boyfriend’s grey briefs. How badly you wanted Taeyong in that moment, you couldn’t say, mainly because Yuta was preoccupying your time with his devilish mouth. “Oh, Yuta,” you breathed, the boy’s mouth running down your neck and sucking hickeys there, painfully dark bruises blossomed along your neck like some type of erotic flower. “Hm,” he hummed, savoring the taste of your skin and the amount of solo time Taeyong was allowing him to be with you. You felt like you were swimming in affection and pleasure, Yuta’s mouth and hands sinful, and his expression to die for. He almost purred when you slid your hands down his chest and caressed the bulge in his pants, whispering your name, “_______.” Your core ached for Yuta, and so did your heart for some odd reason. But the moment you felt more weight be added to the bed, all thoughts flew form your mind. Taeyong had a kind of dominance and power that even made other guys intimidated by his prescience and charisma. When something was his, or he was in his own home, this dominance amped up ten notches. And for some reason, when he was in this mood, you would become increasingly more submissive, eager to see what he would do and ready to comply as well. Yuta could feel power emanating from Taeyong, but remained steadfast. Always the gentleman, he moved aside so that your boyfriend could capture your lips and cage you into his embrace. You let him slide his tongue over your neck, shivering from the feeling, your hips automatically coming up to grind gently against his. “Baby girl,” he murmured, his breath ghosting over your skin. “Let me take care of you.” You nodded, hands snaking up around his neck as his hand wandered down to tease your now throughly soaked lower lips. You whimpered pitifully, arching into Taeyong so as to feel more of his bare skin against yours, “Please, Daddy.” He hushed you gently, slipping a finger into your awaiting womanhood and rubbing your sensitive bundle of nerves deliciously, “Patience, kitten,” he chided, thrusting a finger in and out of you, “Daddy will make you feel good, don’t worry.” He added another finger, shooting a secret smirk over to Yuta who was pouting and undressing himself, right now he wasn’t doing so good trying to win you over. He palmed his erection, watching the way Taeyong’s long fingers slid in and out of you so easily. He grew harder as the sound of your whimpers and moans reached his ears, daring to crawl over to you and kiss you lips. Surprisingly Taeyong let him, being the nice guy who actually never finished last, this didn’t worry him too much. Yuta brushed your hair from your face lovingly, making your heart swell in your passion as he smiled at you, “Does that feel good, princess?” You nodded and he sighed, looking at you wryly, “Too bad you’re going to feel even better when I put my hands on you.” You quivered from his words, “Kiss me Yuta,” he waited, obviously wanting obedience, “Please!” He smiled again, coming down to kiss you so beautifully it hurt. Yuta kissed you like the movies, where it seemed just too magical to happen in real life. Well, Yuta made that fantasy a reality and kissed you like two movie stars would embrace in the rain after having been separated for years. Taeyong watched this with narrowing eyes, continuing to pleasure you as you liked, and feeling your shaky hand rub him through his briefs. It was enough to satiate him for now, but he felt jealousy beginning to bubble up inside of him. Yuta had taken the liberty of caressing your breasts, giving them hard squeezes in his warm hands, his head leaning down to suck on your peaks. You mewled and arched into his mouth, body going into overdrive as the pleasure overwhelmed you. Taeyong sped up his fingers, thrusting them so hard into you that you rocked back and made the headboard knock against the wall. He dipped his head down and attached his lips to your clit, sucking the sensitive bundle of nerves until you were begging for him to let you come. “Daddy, please!,” you squirmed, latching onto Yuta’s hair with your hands. “Let me come, let me come, let me come, let-” You threw your head back in a silent scream, the air leaving your lungs as your orgasm washed over you, body brimming with the heavy feeling of release. “What a good girl,” Yuta simpered, pressing kisses over your face and neck as you let out ragged breathes while Taeyong prolonged your orgasm. After what seemed like minutes, Taeyong continued to finger fuck and suck on your clit, the overpowering feeling of overestimulation causing your thighs to twitch. Your voice was shaky and tears plunged down your cheeks, “S-stop, please…enough.” Weak hands attempted to push Taeyong away, but he was strong and gripped your thighs tightly, eager to bring you to a second orgasm by his hands and tongue. And so you did, body shaking uncontrollably as Taeyong made you come for the second time, the hypnotic taste of your essence on his tongue as he groaned into your womanhood. Yuta moaned at the sight, jerking off his weeping cock until precum leaked down his hands and he ached to be inside of you, feeling the way your walls tightened around him. The call boy couldn’t help himself as Taeyong pulled away from your center, who licked the corners of his mouth and saw the desperate expression on his friend’s face. He quirked his head, “What’s wrong Yuta,” he said as he pulled his briefs off and positioned himself at your entrance as he flipped you over. “Giving up?” Yuta gritted his teeth, looking at the way your eyes silently pleaded for him to stay, to keep going. You didn’t say it, but he knew you thought of it. You didn’t want just one man in your life, you loved two. “Yuta,” you whimpered, reaching out a hand to grasp his slick cock, “Please.” His hands trembled, looking up at Taeyong with fire, “Never.” With that, Taeyong slid inside of you, eliciting one of the most disgustingly satisfied sounds from you. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head and your jaw dropped, giving Yuta the opportunity to carefully insert his member into your mouth. You gagged at first, tears pricking at your eyes as you relaxed your throat and let Yuta slide his cock in deep. You hummed around him, and everytime Taeyong rocked into you, Yuta slid further down your throat. It felt like you’d never been in a more erotic situation and you felt like an absolute slut, but you couldn’t help the way you felt. Yuta spoke your thoughts, “See Taeyong? ______ is a slut who is so selfish she can’t have just one man to herself.” Taeyong let out a small grunt from the amount of power he was putting into his thrusts, head tilting back in ecstasy as he replied, “I knew it all along.” He brought a hand down onto your ass so that it jiggled before his eyes, “I say she should get just what she asked for, what do you think?” Yuta smirked, grabbing your head with both hands so he could control how deep you took him, “She deserves that and more.” Something changed between the two of them, instead of two opposing forces, they were one against you. Your chin dribbled with spit, Yuta showing no mercy as he fucked your mouth, letting out ragged moans whenever your teeth would graze his length. You didn’t understand what they meant at all, had you been tricked? You didn’t have much time to think, your body getting pummeled from both sides as you were stretched wide by Taeyong and deep throated Yuta. You felt so incredibly dirty, but it felt oh so good. Taeyong reached around your hips, rubbing your clit so as to drive you toward your third release of the night, knowing your body was close to its breaking point. The lewd sounds of your wet choking and skin slapping against skin filled the air, causing your legs to tremble as they attempted to keep you up. You felt so, so close. Yuta could tell, urging your on with his words as he drew close as well, “Is that good princess? You like choking on my cock and getting your tight little pussy stretched by Taeyong’s too? Do you like getting fucked like this?” You let out a stifled wail around his member as you came for the third time, the vibrations causing Yuta to release into your mouth with a loud groan as well. Taeyong sped up until he was practically fucking you at an animalistic pace, his hips snapping into a stuttering halt as he came inside of your dripping center, groaning, “Fuck, baby girl.” You breathed hard through your nose as you Yuta pulled his member from your mouth, feeling as Taeyong kissed down your spine before pulling out gingerly too. His cum dripped down your legs, and Yuta, still eager to please you licked it all right up until he came to your sensitive center. He sucked lazily on you and lapped at your folds like a kitten while Taeyong massaged your tense body and kissed you passionately. Your mind felt absolutely fuzzed out, body alight with pleasure and only able to process your mouth moving against Taeyong’s and your hips shifting softly into Yuta’s mouth as he tasted you. It felt like hours before you found yourself tucked between the two of them, dazed and confused. You looked at the both of them, who sandwiched you and let their fingers trail down your body languidly, “Why?” “Why what?,” Taeyong echoed, arching a dark brow and allowing one of your hands to comb through his jet black hair. “Is there something wrong?” “Weren’t you mad at Yuta?,” you murmured, reaching for the call boy’s hand instinctively, to which he squeezed back reassuringly. Said call boy smiled at you gently, the afterglow of sex making him look like a god, “We had a talk. I admit that I did cross the line and let my feelings get in the way a few times, but I can’t help the way I feel.” He kissed your temple softly, “The way I feel about you, _____.” Taeyong wore a lazy smile at seeing your confused expression, “So the truth finally comes out.” You looked completely shocked, so he traced your Cupid’s bow with his finger, “_______, if you’re open to it. Yuta and I are willing to try something else, a different kind of relationship.” Your heart leaped at just the thought, thinking you’d finally be able to be happily with both the men you loved, but stuttered in hesitation, “B-but what about family, Taeyong? Marriage?” Yuta spoke up, “We decided that Taeyong should be the ‘official boyfriend’ and perhaps one day, even your husband. He knew you first and best after all.” “And you’re okay with this Yuta?,” you asked, resting a hand on his cheek. He held your hand against his face, kissing your palm sweetly, “I think I am. As long as I can be with you I’ll be perfectly happy.” “So,” Taeyong nudged you, grabbing back your attention. “Are you willing to try?” You nodded, pulling the both of them into an embrace as you kissed their heads and felt completely at peace. You knew last time you felt like this was when you first slept with Yuta and Taeyong together, but it felt different now. You felt more sure, even more content, and knew that everything truly was going to work out this time. So you drifted off, Taeyong nuzzled into neck and Yuta curling up into your side. Interlacing your fingers with theirs and waking up in the same position in the morning, the dawn breaking on your new life. A life even more different than before. But you could just feel it. Everything was going to be okay.

[autonomousautomaton]

Insert Title Here, or A Brief 3,200 Words

The one good thing I can say about this year so far, is that I’ve been getting some reading done. Although it seems like most years I start off strong with my reading, but by Feb/Mar it tappers off to almost nothing.

So far I’ve finished 2 books, one of them a decent 350 pages (the other was a super-slim 138) that I finished within a week. I had planned on tackling a short novel (200pp) next, but instead I’ve ended up mostly reading a 400+ p political history of the 1990s.

Throughout most of Dec my anxiety spells were becoming more infrequent and less severe when they did hit, but suddenly they came back with a vengeance.

Starting last Sat I’ve had to stay downstairs and sleep on the couch, needing the open space of the living room/kitchen area and the tv on to distract me from my wiring mind, that feels like it will spiral down into a full-fledged breakdown if I don’t find ways to distract myself and take my mind off of my mind when it’s dark, late, quiet and I’m up all alone.

For probably the first time in my life I wish I had someone to sleep with, someone to physically comfort me; just the intimacy of another body against mine. It sounds so sappy, I know ... also of course I suddenly long for the sort of relationship and connection that would lead to that level of intimacy; someone I could share my concerns and worries with, to tell me it will be okay and that they love me, and for me to be able to do the same for them.

I can’t say I’ve ever had much desire for any romantic relationship, or for relationships of almost any kind, to be honest. For most of my life I’ve preferred to be alone and to go unnoticed by others. Rarely did I feel what I would call loneliness, although now sometimes I wonder if I was only fooling myself. Isn’t life all about connections and relationships? It’s only human to want and need others, in all kinds of ways. Maybe it’s more accurate to say that I dealt with and was okay with my loneliness. At times it caused me emotional pain, but most of my attempts at relating to people, making friends, etc, ended in bouts of anxiety and sometimes extreme depression ... things rarely ever seemed to go as I planned when trying to “relate” to other people, and in the end I would feel relieved to get back to my own space, to be alone.

Of course I’ve had crushes here and there, but I always had bad luck and never seriously tried to “go after” any particular person and really my lack of the usual romantic partnerships you imagine others to seemingly always have (either with one person steadily, of finding someone new in perpetuity) was never of any great concern to me; I didn’t think about it and rarely got “down” about my single-ness, and even the lack of physical intimacy that we are supposed (?) to crave, instictually, biologically, was rarely something I gave much thought to or let bother me.

However, with my weird change in state of mind or personality this summer (or even more-so after Oct) suddenly this was *another* frequent cause of mental and emotional anguish. Suddenly stories, books movies, tv shows, commercials, featured couples of any kind (in other words, basically *all* stories, books, etc) would cause me to feel hopelessly sad and sorry for myself and even at times to bring about a terrible heart-ache and stinging, dropping feeling in my stomach. Suddenly I find myself wishing I could find a girlfriend, but I can’t kid myself ... what are the prospects for that? My social skills are abysmal to begin with and only get worse when a woman I like is involved. And what women would ever want to be with me or put up with me? If somehow I don’t make any first encounter cringingly awkward and she takes an interest in me, what happens when she finds out I am autistic, living with my parents, can’t drive (not lacking a car or license at the moment, but having never learned to drive at all), don’t work (and have *never* worked), not in school (for the last 8+ years in fact) and now is dealing with near-crippling depression and anxiety. Like gee, what a catch that guy sounds like huh?

For 10 straight nights now I find myself on the couch, dead-tired but unable to sleep, never falling asleep until 4-6am then waking up at 9-10am. If I don’t have anything I need to get up for (which, over the last 8 years, probably makes up 90% of days for me) I used to sleep 8-10 hours. That is my usual, average amount. I’ve long had problems with insomnia and keeping a weird, constantly flipping schedule (doing nothing, having no routine, will do that for you) but usually I don’t go more than 2-3 days consecutively less-than-my-average amount of sleep, then I usually end up with a day where I sleep 12-14 hours straight.

In terms of sleep, or lack-thereof, the last 10 days has probably been the worst of my life. Obviously that is playing into my again-raised levels of anxiety and “weird”, “uneasy” feeling-ness (like I’m in a waking dream, like things aren’t real or shock at how in fact it all *IS* real and this is in fact somehow my life right now ... like I woke up after a day of going to school, being in the community to an extent, having a best-friend next door to hang out with and more friends and people I know right in the neighbourhood, only to find the best-friend has long left town, new people have all moved in around me, it’s been wait, WHAT ... 8 years!!! since I was in school).

I constantly feel or have to fight off this feeling that is almost impossible to describe but scares me to death and even now, just considering it and writing about it here starts to bring tears to my eyes and raise my rate of breath. It’s like I’ve woken up from a somewhat “normal” life with all the tools close at hand to make myself into a functioning, independent adult, to find that this “state” that in my mind feels and seems like it could have been only yesterday (no time at ago at all) is in fact from 8 YEARS AGO, and meanwhile I have let myself waste away, shut up in my house and room and dependent on my parents for everything (if anything more and more dependent on them over time, as opposed to making any progress in looking after my self and making a life for myself) and suddenly all of these things I somehow, in my troubled mind, felt where right at hand have moved millions of miles away; it’s been 8 years since I was in school, my best-friend moved on from this town 5 or 6 years ago (I can’t even remember exactly), my other friends, kinda-friends, and acquaintances have settled done with a family and mostly moved off (to I-don’t-know-where even ... I don’t really keep up) and most of the familiar faces from the neighbourhood are gone as well. Meanwhile my parents are older and have more and more issues as is almost always the case and I’m totally unable to help them out in any meaningful, significant way and I often feel like all of my issues and my total dependence on them only compounds their issues and in fact is directly responsible for some (more arguing, more tension, putting off retirement, worrying amount money, etc).

This feeling goes on and on, comes back over and over ever time I think it is finally abating and I’m left wondering things like: will it get worse? will it ever go away” if so, will it stay away? etc

Meanwhile I make plans, so many plans, all the time, in my mind to try and “fix” myself, to get my life in order; to get a life *period* and every tiny step toward something approaching that goal feels so overwhelming and that feeling of being almost hopelessly overwhelmed is like a spiral; it brings abut more anxiety, more trouble sleeping, more depression, and those in turn bring about MORE trouble sleeping and even more of an overwhelmed feeling at even the thought of taking the tiniest of first steps toward the sort of life I want for myself and need for myself and everyone around who I have never helped in any meaningful way deserves only brings an even bigger feeling of being totally overwhelmed ...

My spins on and on and it’s like more and more often I can’t get in under control. Even when I think of the small first steps I can take toward independence, employment, continued education, making friends, meeting THE ONE (yes, I’ve suddenly turned into a sappy romantic), such as practicing driving for the first time, starting up a conversation with someone new, joining some sort of group or going out, volunteering somewhere (like the horse farm 1/4 mile from my house, or the library), I find myself thinking “but hey, what if you do one or all of those things and STILL this feeling persists!?!?” ... what if feeling completely unsatisfied with my condition or the “state of my life” (as I think of it) is still there even if/when I learn to drive, volunteer regularly, find my first job, maybe even move out on my own; when I make new friends; when I go back to school or get a degree and find something I enjoy and am passionate about (other thing ... right now I have NO CLUE WHATSOEVER what I want to do with my life, what I’d want to study, etc. It’s just a blank space in my mind).

I’m beyond grateful for the friends I do have; my running buddies who put up with my weirdness and having to try to schedule around picking me up/dropping me off and I certainly do consider them friends. But they are all older than me, with kids, families, careers; so frequently busy. I (for whatever) reason can’t open up to them or talk about anything particularly serious. About them I myself don’t know that much, because I rarely ask. It takes so,so long for me to get even *kinda* comfortable around other people and even then there is anxiety and second-guessing about what I feel like I can say/talk about. The last thing I need is scare off or annoy the only friends I have left. For me any kind of personal/emotional talk is SO SO HARD. In person anyway; online, with near-strangers, the distance between our screens and the (possible) anonymity can lead me to send walls of text going on about anything from everyday mundane annoyances to from-the-soul exegeses on my emotional life.

Online I will finally find one person I connect even a little bit with and I quickly become obsessed; sending way too many messages, getting way to personal and often unloading all of my personal baggage onto them ... and naturally (probably rightfully) scare them off. Every time I think I’ve made a real, true friend online (or at least let myself *hope* that I have) it fades away and soon enough they are gone. Part of why above I put that maybe I had only been fooling myself into thinking loneliness wasn’t a problem for me or that my mostly-friendless-ness wasn’t an issue for me, was that over the last few years I’ve found a handful of people online who I felt I’d become close friends with, you I always eagerly awaited hearing from, and who I felt like I could truly TALK with and express myself with (unlike anyone I had ever had in real life); then when the last of them finally fell out of touch, times up pretty well with when all of my troubles really got going. Maybe there online friends were filling a void I didn’t even realise (or wouldn’t admit) that I had. The really terrible thing about those years is that I let myself become even more of a hermit and loner by spending more and more time online, often talking with or waiting to talk with online friends. Meanwhile I was letting the real-world social ecosystem around me wither and die and I wasn’t even noticing it.

Anyway, I’m losing count of the number of wild digressions in this ever-expanding post. About this terrible feeling, whether to call it mostly anxiety or depression or a mix of the two, I don’t know ... but it scares me so much because it feels so sooo unbearable. I’m not so much sad or suicidal in ways I’ve been in the past (like back in July when I had a near-episode or when I was 16 and actually tried it - or tried to try it? The intent was there for the first and so far only time, but the execution was poor). My mindset now is very much that I don’t want to die; in fact the idea is unfathomable to me and scary as shit; but the way I’ve been feeling most of the time the last few months is not sustainable, is truly (or will be, at a point a think) unbearable. Therefore I’m sacred and part of me feels (very, very strongly at times) that it is a matter of time before I’m forced to choose if I can live like this; feeling like this. It’s so weird because with all of the psychological problems and mental issues I’ve had throughout my life, I’ve never felt anything like this ... not anything close to this. I’m left wondering how it happened and hoping this is some weird aberration that will eventually (please?) fade away.

Yes, the state of my life is bad and disheartening and untenable but it’s been basically the same as it was 6 months ago, a year ago, 2 years ago, 8 years ago. During none of that time have I reacted to my situation like this, mentally. Maybe it was only a matter of time? I couldn’t go on indefinitely with no close friends, little outside life and living completely dependent on my parents. Why it’s had to go on for 8 years in order for me to suddenly “wake up” is puzzling Even if it’s the case that suddenly some sort of dam broke in mind, letting me know and realise in a very tangible way something like “Hey buddy, you are 28, have no job, no school, can’t drive and your parents aren’t getting any younger. What are you planning on doing with your life?”, it doesn’t to me explain this terrible anxiety (and whatever all else).

My constantly recurring state of extreme mental distress makes it very hard to do even the little things throughout the day. I find myself trying to distract myself with endless news articles, cable news, movies and tv shows, so I can make it throughout the day without a complete breakdown; hoping that the next day I will wake up and feel like my old self (somewhat anxious and depressed, but managing it fairly well). How the hell I’m supposed to go about making what will be for me radical changes to my life (which has had the some routine/pattern, more or less, since 7th grade - the time when I started being out of school as much or more than in school). For me change is harder than for most people already, I think; now add on all of this near-mental-breakdown level shit and it all seems impossible.

For nearly my entire life I’ve preferred being alone, I loved small enclosed spaces (why I would stay in the bathroom with the shower running for an hour or two). Going out and being (or trying to be) social would usually provoke a lot of anxiety and mentally exhaust me; after an hour out with a friends or at some event, I couldn’t wait to get home and spend most of the next week or two mostly shut in my room (or in my compulsory school days, wish that I couldn’t done that). Now since my whatever-the-hell it was reaction to taking 300mg of Wellbutrtion, my mind was flipped and I can barely stand being alone. I’ll go 3 or 4 nights without a shower becasue being alone in a tiny bathroom and even tinier shower (even the idea of it) for even 15 minutes freaks me out. I’ll skip brushing my teeth for days for the same reason. I rarely, rarely stay in my room (too enclosed and quiet). Suddenly my mind feels most at ease (although still not totally at ease) when I’m out places around other people.

Sometimes I feel kinda okay, like I’m managing (like right now, for this instant at least, as I manically type out what I was intended to a paragraph or two long post). But way, *waaay* too often, especially over the last week-and-a-half, I feel terrible and start seriously fearing that I’m losing my mind; just barely keeping at bay a complete mental breakdown and thinking/researching the steps to check myself into some sort of facility). All I can do is find ways to distract myself and make the time pass to stave off or fight through an “episode” (I’ve taken to calling them “anxiety spells”, but really I think they are sometimes far beyond that). Then there goes another day, another 2, another week, when I’ve taken no concrete steps to achieving even the simplest goals I’ve set out to try and start to get myself at least on the track to some level of real life.

Then, you guessed it, my mind goes “hey there you go again, all talk, all fantasy, all in your head as usual ... you will never go any of these things, you are just a total, useless fuck-up” and of course my anxiety and depression and whatever-the-hell-else-it-is seems to just redouble.

My main thought is no one (not my parents, or my mom in particular, who I’ve opened up to at least a bit the last few months) understands how hard of a time I’ve having, how bad it is for me now (it sounds very silly even to write that) and that I really, REALLY need some help and like ... now. Not the therapist appointment I (finally) have in like 4 weeks or whatever else. Only I don’t who to go to or how to get help and the idea of doing anything concrete or drastic in the direction of truly seeking out help NOW would only make my situation all-too-real and cause me to spiral even farther down. Instead I keep hoping and hoping that I’m just going to wake up the next morning and have an entire “good” (or at least better) day and that I can just grit my teeth and wait this out? Like it’s just a flu or something and needs to run it’s course.

[fashiontrendin-blog]

My First Week Away From My Daughters Was Delightful and Then Terrible

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My First Week Away From My Daughters Was Delightful and Then Terrible

July 22nd, 6:08 p.m. It all starts with an ambitious carry on suitcase. The kind that has a hard shell and therefore holds you indiscriminately accountable to pack a bag that will fit in an overhead bin. Mine is loaded with sarongs and bathing suits, two caftans and a tank dress. There are shorts and cotton poplin button-downs, a linen shirt, two tank tops, seven — yes, seven — pairs of shoes. I am going to Italy for one week. I will be staying on a boat. I have not been away from my daughters for longer than 48 hours since they have been born, since I have gotten pregnant, really, and, in a twisted turn of a sentence, I am excited.

I’ve been fantasizing about this trip since March. About the large hats I would wear, the crystal clear, bath-like sea water in which I would immerse my whole self, the Italian wine I would drink, the gigantic olives I would eat to accompany the wine. I have packed to embody the essence of La Dolce Vita. To live it. So live it I will.

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July 23rd, 11:02 a.m. I wrote that before I left. Before I kissed my girls goodnight, while the day was still light but the sun was down and they were sleeping. Then I got in a car and went to the airport. I looked at Abie while we were driving. I was excited to spend a week with him. Just the two of us. Even though we’d be with three other couples. It was still just the two of us. We were connected now in a way that I craved desperately before we had progeny in common. Our flight was delayed four hours. I slept through it all. I like my kids a lot but I worry that I like myself more. Is that normal? See, it’s not that I am escaping life through this trip, I would have been adequately satisfied staying home, but I look forward to being away. I am indulging in this delay, basking in the still time enveloping me. Enjoying the sleep. Embracing the freedom to act like someone else’s liability, not the caretaker of my own.

July 23rd, 11:27 p.m. It is Monday. We landed in London two hours after our connecting flight was scheduled to take off. In order to get to Olbia (the small town that spits you out near Porto Cervo in Sardinia) we were rerouted through Milan. In Milan’s Linate airport, I ate the best gelato I have ever had. My palate is not very refined, but I think that gives me character. This feels like a vacation peak, I can predict it already! Nothing brings you so close together as a delay across three countries, four airports and the span of 18 hours.

Now it is 11 p.m. and we have reached our final destination. I have mentally written at least two stories. One is a letter to my daughters; this, I surmise, I will write every time I travel away from them. While I am writing I realize that this letter is actually to myself. As it turns out, all of my writing is. The other piece is a stream of consciousness detailing the delay and the sliding doors within an airport that enable the most robust people-watching experience. What a melting pot of manifold cultures! All the strangers performing the same art: coming and going, going and coming, staring up at a screen that demands their attendance at various gates to inform their next moves. Under a unified roof, we have travel in common, but quickly and inevitably, as those gates are displayed, we’re different again.

July 25th, 5:16 p.m. I am ashamed to write this, but if I don’t, I’ll be more ashamed: I almost forgot I have kids today. This morning, when I woke up for breakfast, I checked my emails before I did text messages to see what my mom, their gatekeeper this week, was reporting on their development. I didn’t FaceTime her at lunch today. I forgot to. Only now am I checking in. I don’t feel guilty — I am light like a feather. I feel giddy and young, silly and in love. With everything. And one.

July 25th, 5:42 p.m. Today I fell off a jet ski but refused to get back on, instead opting to swim to the nearest shore. The whole time I swam I wondered how I got here, why I deserved to be in this water, If this isn’t nice, what is? If this isn’t nice, what is! Eventually I got in an inner tube. Glee!

July 26th, 1:04 p.m. I’m so sick of all the clothes I brought. They’re not actually clothes as it turns out — just lightweight blankets and underpinnings that I have called beach cover ups and bathing suits. They’re all iterations of each other and say nothing for me. I can never predict who I will want to be before I get to a place. Now I wish I had full skirts and flimsy tank tops, voluminous pants and dainty blouses. Were you to see me wearing what I’ve brought, it would reveal absolutely nothing. Why do I find that so tragic? Maybe I should stop asking why — it requires that I use the past to resolve answers for the present. What about this is tragic? When is it most tragic? That feels better. But I don’t know the answers.

July 26th, 4:51 p.m. I don’t want to post to social media again. Someone asked me where my kids are earlier — actually, she asked the commenters around us: “Are we just going to ignore that Leandra abandoned her kids to party in Europe with her husband?” How does she know they’re not here? They’re not here, they’re with my mom in Long Island, but how does she know that?

July 26th, 8:39 p.m. Earlier today everyone was talking over each other about this or that but no one would hear me, so I yelled at the top of my lungs. They looked at me like I’m crazy. I felt like an unhinged teenager. Abie said I need all the attention all the time. That wasn’t what triggered me at all. Sometimes he nails me, like really, really gets me but other times I feel like even though he is looking, he can’t see who I am. Why do I need to be seen anyway? I must not be seeing myself.

I am beginning to learn that when I feel like people don’t get me, but it’s because I don’t get me. People think I’m articulate and maybe I am, but mostly I’m working through fractures of thoughts that have not become whole. I’m like a hamster on a wheel, this roundabout tour, who keeps asking “who am I?” only to find once I get off that I’m out of breath, but I’ve gotten nowhere.

July 26th, 11:56 p.m. Rosie keeps asking me questions but, in response, I just look at her, upper lip tucked into my gums, hands brought together as if showing off a new manicure under my chin. I look like a forest animal. I think it’s funny, but am pretty sure I’m the only one. It used to scare me that even in spite of a rational mind — the ability to answer a simple question — I could not help but reply in silence, upper lip tucked in, hands together under my chin. Now I think it’s just me.

July 27th, 8:02 a.m. Why hasn’t my mom dropped new photos into the shared album? I haven’t seen a baby update since yesterday.

July 27th, 3:03 p.m. Why hasn’t my mom returned my call? My girls have been awake for 19 minutes.

July 27th, 4:01 p.m. We FaceTimed. They look very comfortable! I know they’re in good hands, what peace of mind.

July 27th, 4:10 p.m. But don’t they need me?

July 27th, 10 p.m. We took a tour of the island this afternoon by speedboat. It was glorious, but I was quiet. I feel grumpy without cause; I’m mad at everyone around me but they did nothing wrong. Snap out of it, Leandra! All is well. Better than well. Absurdly idyllic. You’re in Italy! Dinner’s in twenty minutes; stop victimizing, drink in the moment. Spry! Spry! Bubblier than champagne!

July 28th, 1:01 a.m. I almost forgot that I can’t feign contentment if I’m not there, but where then am I? I think I need to go home. How pathetic do I sound? I am embarrassed by the circumstance. This is la dolce vita, I am letting it pass me by.

July 28th, 8:16 a.m. I haven’t laughed in two and a half days. Not even when I peed through my bathing suit yesterday. Actually, you know, that was a high point. It reminded me of pregnancy. I wish I were still pregnant; there’s a sentence I wasn’t sure I’d ever want to say. But I mean it. Why am I so melancholy? Objectively speaking, nothing is wrong. Generally speaking, I am happier than I have been since the last time I kissed joy. Currently speaking, the sparkling sun overhead is still overwhelming and the sweet smell of European air has only grown more intoxicating. Why do I feel like a cinder block is being forced down my throat? Like a rain cloud is following me waiting to storm? It’s so gray, but so bright, which is just making it grayer.

July 28th, 9:20 a.m. We’re leaving. That’s it! Vacation is over. I hate routine, but love mine — the gorgeous tedium of it all. A 6:30 wake up call, a 7 a.m. coffee, 8 a.m. stillness and the relentless, obsessive staring down at my watch waiting for them to wake up, go to sleep, eat, play, back to sleep then break.

July 28th, 10 p.m. I need to see them, hold them, smell them right now. I need them so much more than they need me.

July 29th, 8 a.m. Home is the sweetest place on earth. Here it is — la dolce vita.