#anyways praying that i will be more normal next year because ever since graduation i have been completely insane

[quatregats]

Yes I'm doing normally (<- has been freaking out about accepting an offer for a PhD program for the last month and a half)

[krabjoons]

omg professor... what are you doing?!?!?! [pjm]

⮕ summary: park jimin is the hottest, most popular guy at school. the only catch? he also just so happens to be your teacher.

⮕ pairing: park jimin x reader, mentions of jaebum x reader

⮕ genre: smut, university!au, pwp

⮕ word count: 12.8k

⮕ rating: 18+, nsfw

⮕ warnings: hard dom!jimin x bratty-ish sub!y/n, professor!jimin x university student! y/n (he’s 27-28 ish and she’s 21-22), fuckboy!jaebum, pussy eating, fingering, thigh riding, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), dirty talk (carries the whole fic tbh), degradation, edging, dumbification, impact play (pussy + ass spanking), manhandling, humiliation, exhibitionism, creampie, teasing, praise, orgasm denial, begging, overstimulation, crying, kissing/making out, jimin’s a meanie but y/n likes it (aka i go ham on the degradation and edging you have been warned), aftercare (like 500 words of it :P)

⮕ a/n: this took too long to come out and has literally been sitting in my drafts since august but here it is! writing this was definitely a rollercoaster because this was my first smut and honestly i felt like it was really bad at times but other times i was like wtf this is so hot,, ANYWAYS, i’m glad that i’m posting it and getting over that fear of imperfection. i hope that you guys enjoy this piece :). i would also like to add that please don’t hook up with your teachers… if you do, that’s on you i take no responsibility for that whatsoever lol. excuse the title i literally have no idea what to change it to but i like it the way it is tbh LMFAOOO OK I’LL STOP RAMBLING NOW BYEEE ILY ALL

University has never been when you’ve expected. When you first graduated high school and came here, you expected your late teenage years to be filled with just as much studying as high school combined with only a few parties here and there. You didn’t expect to make as many friends as you did and certainly did not expect to be known as the girl with the high grades and even higher alcohol tolerance. No longer are you the shy Y/N L/N that walked through the entrance gates on the first day of school; you’ve changed a lot.

It was a surprise to you. With academics taking precedence much of your life, the freedom university provided you with was welcomed - perhaps a little too much. You quickly learned that polar bear shots were great to keep you in a good mood at parties and that eating mangoes before smoking gave you a better high. And, you also learned about sex.

Admittedly, the first time you had a hookup, it was awkward and messy (at least for you… it was a guy, what else were you expecting?) but with more practice, you were able to get the hang of it. You’ve found your tastes and now willingly talk about who catches your eye to your best friends, something you never thought you’d do last year. 

Speaking of who catches your eye, as of now it’s Park Jimin. A really hot guy, according to your friends, and according to you, an even better voice. When you first walked into your Applications of Economics class, you nearly spit out your Starbucks drink after you saw the astonishingly handsome man with silky black hair in a dress shirt and tie. Surprisingly formal for a university student, you thought, but you weren’t one to talk, considering your current outfit of business casual.

Only, he wasn’t a student. He was your teacher. You should’ve put the pieces together earlier but you didn’t. Let's just say a Coconut Lime Refresher is good for hangovers, and you needed one desperately (basically, you were drunk as hell the night before and were still in the process of recovering). It certainly didn’t take long before all of campus was talking about the new economics professor who was hotter than hell. Girls (and some guys) immediately tried transferring into his class, one of them being your best friend Lisa, just to get a glimpse of how attractive he was. You remember a couple of girls offering you literal cash to transfer out, but you didn’t.

A good call, thinking about it now. You’ve gotten closer with Mr. Park, although it’s nothing too special yet, the two of you are on good terms and have even hugged before (you still get giddy thinking about it). Y/N from 2 years ago would be screaming her head off at how bold you’ve gotten, but now, you can’t bring yourself to care. Park Jimin is a hot guy, and you’re pretty hot too (if you must admit), so it would only be logical if the two of you could hook up. Unsurprisingly, you’ve lost your shame, nothing but thoughts of your teacher filling your mind in your spare time. 

So here you are, another day of university, as monotonous as ever. The only highlight of your day will be the morning, where you have a class with Mr. Park. You've started changing your style a bit recently, opting for more, let’s just leave it at provocative outfits. Walking into the room, you take your usual seat in the front, closest to Mr. Park’s desk. 

The class progresses like it normally does, starting with a review of the work from the last class and a discussion about the new material. "I’m going to give you guys this last half hour of class to review the material individually if you want or you can leave early, I don’t mind. I know it's a Friday so there’s gonna be some parties around campus, if you want to prepare yourselves for that then go ahead." Your professor glances around the room, smirking at you when mentioning the parties. You flush and look away, biting your lower lip. 

You make the decision to stay in the classroom while the majority of the other students file out of the room. "I'll be available for any questions," Jimin calls out, returning to his desk across from you.

Sticking to your reputation, you get a head start on the assignment and easily work through the homework. Surprisingly, you forget about Jimin for the time being, focused on finishing your assignment so that you have as little work as possible to do after classes. You don’t notice your teacher looking at you, admiring the way you put so much effort into the things you’re passionate about. Hearing a student call his name, he gets up to help him. 

Surprisingly, Mr. Park has assigned a disturbingly low amount of homework, probably because of the upcoming weekend and maybe a pop quiz later next week (ugh). You’ve finished your work in a mere twenty minutes and are surprised to find that Jimin is not at his desk when you look up from your laptop. You turn around, looking for him, and see that he’s helping another student. Whipping out your phone, you text your best friend Lisa (who just so conveniently, also thirsts over Jimin the same way you do).

to lisa: hey i finished classwork for mr park and have like 10 minutes of free time now lol

Instantly, she responds as if she wasn’t in class. Then again, she has never been one to pay too much attention to her professors. 

from lisa: ayo talk to him 

from lisa: also save me from bio i literally cannot

Smiling slightly, you respond to her.

to lisa: i WOULD but he’s helping other students

from lisa: then be like "m- mister park, i- need help please" and use puppy eyes 

to lisa: LMFAOO PLEASE he’d be like whats wrong with you since when did you struggle in this class

to lisa: but i mean, anything to hear him talk i guess 

from lisa: god i'm so jealous you have him early so you can hear his morning voice it must be hot asf

to lisa: it is omg

from lisa: god what if he moans like that it'd be such a turn on

to lisa: dUDE STOP NO the way this is literally true like if he has a good sip of coffee or a pastry he likes hes gonna go all "mmmm I wish you could try this" pls its so fking hot

to lisa: like SIR I WANNA TRY YOU or you to try me no complaints

from lisa: wtf he finishes his breakfast before my class so i can't even hear it tf I hate it here

to lisa: u have him right after my block bro at leAST you have him 

to lisa: what ab the people who don't even have him

from lisa: idk what i'd do honestly. imagine not having a literal sex god teaching you every day i pity those who dont

You’re about to type out a response when a smooth voice sounds out from behind you, "alright guys, you’re good to go. Have a good weekend!" You jump in your seat, not realizing that your teacher was helping the student right behind you for the past five minutes. 

As the rest of the class begins to pack up, you pray that he hasn’t seen you talking about your sexual fantasies less than five feet away from him. Mr. Park doesn’t say anything, so you must be in the clear, right? You’re hoping and praying that he didn’t find out, but your heart rate is already rising and you’re getting a sick feeling in your stomach. Your gut must be trying to tell you something.

Well, your gut’s telling you that the universe must not be on your side because as soon as you stand up, he says, "Ms. L/N, can you stay a bit after class? I have a few things I want to discuss with you." Cheeks flushing hot, you squeak out a "yes, sir."

When everyone has left and it’s just the two of you left in the room, Jimin pulls up a seat next to his desk. "Sit," he commands, leaning on his desk. You scramble to your feet and walk over, mind buzzing with thoughts. Oh god, what if he tells the administration department? Then you’d definitely be punished and maybe even kicked out of the school. Maybe you could make up a story? Oh, it’s ANOTHER Park Jimin, haha. Definitely NOT my teacher. Even if you did, they could go the rest of the texts between you and Lisa and you’d be screwed. And not to be petty or anything, but being kicked out would mean that you wouldn’t be able to be in Jimin’s class anymore and wouldn’t be able to see him. Oh, and the bigger problem would be that you’d also be unable to get your degree.

You start internally panicking, heart rate picking up even when your teacher rolls up his sleeves and leans down in front of you. Stop thinking about dirty things FOR ONCE, Y/N, half of you screams, while the other half of you has already started fantasizing about things which shouldn’t be thought about, especially with one of the people in the fantasies less than a couple of feet in front of you. With his hands on his thighs, the ones you’ve thought about riding far too often, he smirks.

"So, I heard you wanna try me?"

You gulp, absolutely mortified that Jimin caught you. Yes, he was attractive, and you would do practically anything to fuck him, but you didn’t expect to be humiliated into admitting it. "Um, no sir! I mean, maybe, but not in the way you think!" you ramble. Shut up, Y/N, part of you screams. You’re only digging yourself into a deeper hole.

"Yeah, sure. Because I definitely didn’t see what you were talking about with your friend. Be honest, Y/N," he says, smirking down at you. "You think about me, don't you? I'm not new to this. I see the way girls like you look at me. I know the way they talk about me when they think I can't hear. I know the way you think. Who would've thought? Little Miss L/N, all prim and proper on the outside, would be so filthy deep down?"

"Sir, I- uh. I-" you stutter out, cheeks burning furiously hot.

"You what? You're not going to try to prove your innocence now, are you? Not when you've gotten this far, hm? Getting to do what you’ve wanted after all this time?" he asks, standing up from his desk, and walking over to you, kneeling in front of you so that you were forced to hold eye contact. 

"You know, nobody else has been as daring as you, my dear," he hums softly. "Sending promiscuous texts about their teacher in the very class they're in. Rubbing their thighs together every time their teacher catches their eye." You shift in your seat, Jimin's words sparking the slightest of fires in your core. "Gazing ever so obviously at said teacher’s dick, too. Y/N, you amaze me. So, so brilliant. yet so, so naughty. You thought that nobody else would catch onto you? Unfortunately, you thought wrong."

"I'm s- sorry sir," you whisper out.

"You're just sorry that you got caught, Y/N. You'll keep doing this even after today," Jimin chuckles lowly. "Possibly even more after today," he adds on, taking note of how his words have affected you. Your pupils are dilated and your cheeks are starting to get flushed. "Such a dirty girl. I'm here trying to scold you, and here you are, getting turned on by my words. Is this why you ask so many questions, doll? To hear my voice?"

You bite your lip in a mixture of embarrassment and nervousness, nodding imperceptibly. The logical, studious side of you is thinking, oh my god, is this really happening? Am I going to fuck my teacher? I really shouldn’t be doing this. The relaxed, easygoing side of you (pretty much your horny side) is thinking, finally, it’s happening. I’m going to FINALLY be fucking Park Jimin.

"What else have you imagined about my voice, hm? How I'd whisper into your ear while pounding into you? Hear me moan as your tight cunt clenches around my dick? Tell you how good you're making me feel? Reminding you how much of a slut you are to fuck your teacher in the middle of his classroom, where anyone could walk in?" he continues, seeing you shift in your seat more. "Would you like that?" he asks.

"Y- yes Mr. Park. I- I would," you whisper. You have to consciously clench your thighs together to keep them from spreading at his words.

"Hm, I don't believe you. Try again another time, darling," he sighs, leaning back on his knees, getting ready to stand up. You don't want this, whatever it is, to be over that quickly so you make up your mind. Swallowing your pride and succumbing to the dull throb in your panties, you pout.

"But professor, I really do want you. I want you to make me feel good and I wanna make you feel good. Please," you whine out. "I wanna be thinking about you all the time because you fucked me so well in class. And when my friends talk about wanting to get in your pants, I want to be the only one who already has. Please, Mr. Park. I need you." you breathe out. At this point, the pressure in your core is rising steadily, and only intensifies when you see the way your teacher's eyes are glazed over in lust and eyebrows are furrowed. Your eyes travel down the expanse of his face to his lips, plump and pink. Oh, the number of times you've wished to kiss them, imagined them suckling on your clit. And now that Jimin knows, perhaps it's finally coming true. 

"You'd like that, hm? God, you're so dirty," Jimin mutters, inching closer to you, cautiously placing a hand on your knee. Your legs instantly part to make room for him in between and he inches forward. "Does dirty talk really turn you on that much, Y/N? I can smell you through your panties," he remarks.

"Mr. Park, please do something," you whimper. And with that, Jimin pulls you over to his desk and sits you on the edge. You spread your legs and he stands in between them. He leans his head closer to you until he's next to your ear.

"Want me to get you off with my words? You seem to like that already and I haven't even tried, doll. Or perhaps," he pauses, bunching up your skirt so that it pools at your waist. "You want me to touch you?"

You nod eagerly, chest heaving in anticipation. "I want both Mr. Park. I want you," you purr salaciously. And with that, your teacher lets out a low growl and presses his lips onto yours harshly. It’s already bruising, but you just can’t get enough of the way he tastes of caramel and coffee and how ridiculously soft his lips are, so you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in even closer. He seems a little put off by how eager you are, but once he hears you sigh in enjoyment, he melts into your eager grasp. 

His hands start sliding down your waist so that they are resting on your upper thighs, and he rubs comforting circles into them, trailing them closer and closer to your panties. He breaks off from the kiss to look down and smirks back at you before joining his lips to yours with even more fervor and you praise yourself for deciding to wear your lace thong today. You feel his tongue slide against your lips, asking for permission to enter and your mouth immediately complies. 

The feeling of his hot breath on your lips and thumbs rubbing against the juncture of your thighs has you feeling needy for more. Jimin swirls the tip of his tongue against yours, the filthy action turning you on even more. You moan into his mouth and thread your fingers through his hair, causing him to let out a low groan.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the two of you break apart. Chest heaving up and down, you take note of your teacher's face. His lips are redder and plumper than ever before. His cheeks have the faintest blush on them. His eyes, the ones that crinkle into a happy smile whenever you answer a question correctly in class, are now clouded over with deep lust.

"Get onto all fours. On the desk," Jimin commands, and you immediately comply. Now your ass is facing Jimin and you're very nearly completely exposed to him, save the thong you're wearing.

"God, you're such a slut," Jimin moans out at the sight. "Do you get dressed up like this just so you can get fucked in class? Such a short fucking skirt that I can see whatever you're wearing underneath whenever you bend over, hm? You wanted me to give in to you, doll?" When you nod weakly, he chuckles, "I don't think so."

Arching your back so your ass sticks out even more, you whine, "professor, please fuck me. I'm so fucking horny, please." Jimin cups your pussy from outside your panties and leans over you, "I don't think so, kitten. I'm the one calling the shots here." Your pussy flutters in response and Jimin slaps it lightly, chuckling. The brief stimulation has your cunt clenching around nothing.

He spreads your knees slightly and begins trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses up your thighs to the arch of your back. Feeling his breath so close to your core has you getting wetter by the minute in anticipation. He finally hovers over your back, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder, muttering, "I'm going to wreck you, Y/N", and you feel yourself clench in excitement. 

"Then do it," you whisper, and Jimin hooks his fingers around the waistband of your thong and pulls it down, so slow that it's almost painful, exposing your heat to the cool air of the classroom and causing you to shiver in response. 

You don't see it, but his eyes widen seeing the strings of your slick connecting your pussy to your panties. He takes a look at your core and his mouth starts watering. You're soaking and clenching around nothing, thighs shaking ever so slightly in anticipation.

He flattens his tongue and licks a flat stripe up your pussy, from your clit to your entrance. He pauses to suck some of your juices from it, but your cunt just keeps leaking them out. He runs his tongues through your folds over and over again until you let out a wanton moan.

Encouraged by your reaction, he hooks his arms around the side of your hips, nuzzling closer into your pussy. He laps at your cunt and purposely avoids your clit, only heightening the pressure in your core.

"Mr. Park," you whine out, pushing your hips back. "Please. More," you pant out. Suddenly, Jimin spanks your right ass cheek, rubbing his hand over the fleshy globe soothingly afterward. You let out a little yelp and turn around to catch his eyes. 

"More what?" he spits out, smiling at you evilly. "My little slut's gotta tell me what she wants. How else would I give it to her?" your mind is foggy, pleasure causing you to lose track of everything other than the man behind you. "W- want you," you garble out, "t- to play with my clit too." 

"What's the magic word, doll?" Jimin teases, breath fanning over your slit, causing your walls to clench erratically. "Please, Mr. Park," you whine, pushing your cunt closer to his face. He smirks at you, avoiding your advances. 

"Good girl," he praises before finally positioning himself just barely in front of your clit. You feel him blow cool air onto your slit, but the temperature of it is magnified even more due to how wet you are. You whine out, expressing your displeasure, and Jimin finally indulges you by taking your throbbing button between his plush lips.

"F- fuck, sir, yes! Right there, please," you squeal, back arching even more. Jimin hums, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through your body. You can feel yourself growing wetter, your entrance squeezing out more and more of your arousal down to where Jimin's lips are sucking. He momentarily pauses to flatten his tongue out, letting your juices drip onto them and slurping them up eagerly. The obscene noises behind you combined with the low thrum of student life just outside the classroom door mesh together to have you realize where exactly the two of you are doing this.

You glance at the clock, and your eyes widen. "Prof- oh my god, Pr- Professor Park," you moan out, trying to keep your focus. Jimin again hums, making you jolt in pleasure. "I- uh, there’s only ten minutes until the next block of classes start. I need t- to leave in around five." When Jimin releases from you with a pop, you can feel your slick running down your thighs and some dripping onto his desk. You feel a rush of excitement at the thought of everyone walking in during class to see the mess Jimin made of you on his desk and again squeeze around nothing.

"Well then," Jimin hums lazily, "guess you better cum within five minutes if you want to cum at all." He dives back into your heat, tongue skillfully running through your folds. He cycles between kitten licking and delivering harsh sucks to your clit and dipping his tongue into your entrance. You grind against his face in desperation to reach your release, and just when you finally feel it hurtling towards you at an alarming rate, suddenly, Jimin gets up.

He leans over you, trailing a hand up your slick-ridden thigh to cup your bare heat and mutters lowly in your ear, "time’s up." Your heart drops in frustration, and you whine out. Grinding into his palm, you beg for him to touch you once again, knowing nothing but how good he was making you feel just seconds ago. "Mr. P- Park, please. Make me cum," you cry out.

Jimin spanks your pussy, a wet echo sounding through the room. You jolt forward and your cunt leaks out even more of your arousal in response to the combination of pain and pleasure. "I said no," he hisses, "you couldn't cum in time, you don't deserve to cum." 

"God, look at you, you're a mess. Bent over and spread out so desperately for me. You taste so sweet, doll. So responsive, too," Jimin murmurs, lazily rubbing your slit. He's, once again, avoiding your clit and driving you insane. Your sensitive nub is now swollen and throbbing with need, slick with your arousal. 

"Has anyone touched you as well as I do, Y/N?" he asks. When you shake your head, he slaps your cunt again, another wet sound echoing through the room. "Words, baby girl," he goads, fingers dancing through your folds. 

"N- no, sir. they can’t make me feel half as good as you did. I’ve al- I’ve always been thinking about having you touch m- my cunt and making me cum really hard. and I- shit I’m so needy sir, I wanna cum," you garble out, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. You feel Jimin’s hand leave your pussy, exposing your soaked heat to the cool air of the room. Slowly, he pulls your thong up your thighs and the light touches make you clench in desperation and whine out.

He marvels at the sight of you so fucked out in front of him. The way his top student was falling apart at the slightest touches he gave you. And the words you said. God, to have you say such filthy things in comparison to your gentle demeanor, all because of him, it really did something to him.

Jimin finishes clothing you and presses a kiss to the top of your ass and walks across the room to get some tissues to clean up the mess you made. Still perched on the desk, you watch him needily, thighs rubbing together to relieve some of the pressure from being denied your orgasm. "So I really don’t get to cum?" You ask meekly, holding back a sob. "I need to cum, Mr. Park."

He chuckles, "there’s a difference between need and want, doll. You want to cum, you don't need to cum. But what you do need," he returns to you, leaning down so that his face is right in front of yours, "is to get to your next class." Your face, once eagerly lit up in anticipation, has now fallen in disappointment.

Rolling your eyes, you huff out a "fine" and get off his desk, feeling your arousal make your thighs stick together. Your panties are uncomfortably damp and you’re so wet you can even smell yourself. "Can you make me cum later?" you question Jimin, sliding closer to him and playing with his tie, praying that he’ll be the one to make you release instead of having to do it yourself when you get home.

"If you play nice I might. If not, then… we’ll see," he hums, handing you a tissue to clean yourself up while heading to wipe down his desk. "I have a lunch meeting in the second half of the lunch block, so if you really need me, I’ll be here before then." 

You grin and nod in excitement. "Cool! so I’ll-" you begin before the first students from the next class start filing in, making you jump. "The door wasn’t locked?" you whisper frantically to him. "We could have been caught, Jimin! Are you crazy?!"

He smirks at you, "didn’t you say you wanted it that way? Where anyone could walk in? I only did what you asked, doll." You’re left speechless as he continues. "Anyways, you should be in your next class pretty soon. I’ll write a note to your professor just in case you’re late. But get going, yeah? I’ll see you in time for our meeting." He hands you a slip of paper and straightens up, tossing the dirty tissues into the trash can in the corner of the room. 

"Okay class, we’re going to get started soon. I presume you all did the reading, so just prepare for the discussion we’re going to be having about it when the bell rings," he calls out to the class. Turning to face you, he questions quietly with genuine concern, "you okay? Did I push you too much for our first time?" 

Your mind swirls with thoughts. Our first time. The words fill you with giddy excitement. It’s just the two of you that know about this, the dirty things you were doing just minutes ago, very nearly getting caught. Knowing that this won’t be the only moment you guys are doing this, fills you with excitement.

"On the contrary, actually," you tease your teacher with a smile. "It was really nice honestly, but perhaps, you didn’t do enough." You bite your lip at the way Jimin's eyes darken and he looks away. "Get to class, Ms. L/N. The bell will ring any minute," he says lowly, jaw slightly clenched. Your core throbs at the sight and you head towards the door. 

"Goodbye, Mr. Park. Thank you!" you call out, catching sight of Lisa, who raises her eyebrows at you teasingly and mouths text me. Blushing, you nod at her before leaving the room to go to your next class.

Being "one of the smartest students on campus" comes with its perks. Like right now, for example. You always (somehow) come to class overprepared, so when your next teacher gives you a day to work on your project (which you've already finished), you head to the back of the room to text Lisa in private. 

from lisa: dude wtf was that you were literally talking to Mr. Park outside of ur class time with him

from lisa: omg wait don't tell me you fucked him

from lisa: did you

to lisa: NO I DID NOT OMG I wish tho lmao

to lisa: I was asking him for help on the paper he's assigning us and to proofread it and stuff before I submit it

from lisa: omg I forgot he assigned us that shit

to lisa: dude lmao its due in a week or so you have plenty of time

from lisa: ugh literally he's such a hottie why does he have to be so into teaching

to lisa: sis commitment to something is hot

from lisa: omg ur right wait a sec tho

from lisa: dude

from lisa: omg

from lisa: he definitely has a boner

Knowing that you were likely the cause of it, you shift in your seat cockily, smiling slyly to yourself while looking down.

to lisa: whAT

to lisa: wait how big is it

from lisa: ok I dont think he’s fully hard yet he's like semi hard but barely 

from lisa: LMFAO Y/N don't worry I think he’s packing seems kinda thick too

Taking in a deep breath, you look up at the ceiling. You imagine him slowly sinking into you and making you whimper at his size. Him seeing your face and growling, "if you’re really a good girl, you should be able to take it." You cross your legs tightly and rock up and down in a lame attempt to diminish the rising pressure between your thighs and look back down at your phone.

to lisa: pls thats so hot

from lisa: IKR I want him to r a i l me

to lisa: or eat me out… have you sEEN those lips of his wtf

from lisa: on god do not get me started

to lisa: pls i bet he’d be the type to tease you

Oh Lisa, if only you knew the truth behind those words.

from lisa: YES hes lowkey cocky bc he knows like the entire fucking population simps for him

from lisa: he’s def gonna make you beg to cum

to lisa: pls thats hot do not get me riled up in class istg

from lisa: too late i've already started babe ;)

You continue texting Lisa throughout the entirety of your class. Finally, you look at the clock and seeing that there are only a few more minutes till the class ends, you wrap up your conversation with her.

to lisa: hey btw i’m gonna be coming to lunch late… save me a seat at our regular spot?

from lisa: when ur best friend is a teachers pet :(( fiNE I guess I will

to lisa: love u!! xx

from lisa: love you too nerd xoxo

The bell finally rings, signaling the start of the lunch break and you immediately stand up and walk out the door, bidding your teacher goodbye and thanks.

Running into the bathroom, you do a quick check of your appearance. You tug up your skirt a bit higher and tuck in your shirt so that your outfit accentuates your curves. You glance at your face and notice how abnormally large your pupils are in comparison to most days. Jimin has completely ruined you today, just like he said he would. I'm going to wreck you, Y/N. His words echo in your ears as you make your way out to his classroom. Trying to ignore how uncomfortably wet your panties are, you knock on the door to his room. 

You hear a smooth voice answer with a, "come in," and take a deep breath before opening the door to see Jimin sitting behind his desk, leaning back in his chair with his arms behind his head. He scans you up and down, eyes taking in every inch of your figure. "Nice outfit alterations," he notes, patting his laps as a hint for you to sit on it. You quickly lock the door and make your way to him, placing one leg on each side of him so that you’re now straddling his thighs. "Is this all for me?" he asks and you tuck your head down, suddenly shy now that all his attention is on you again. 

"Mhm, depends on whether you like it or not" you smile timidly, hands reaching out to play with his tie again. He laughs. "Princess, I’m conflicted. You do look very nice, all dolled up for me like this. It’d be a shame if I were to ruin your efforts. But on the other hand," he remarks, "you’ve very nearly crossed the line for indecent exposure. What if another teacher caught you like this? you would get in trouble, hm? And what if it were a student to see you like this? What would they think of you then?" He questions, causing your cheeks to burn at his words.

"They would think I- that I’m a whore. I- and that I dress up like this just so I can pass my classes," you whisper out, biting your lips in a combination of excitement and humiliation. You can feel yourself start to throb again and you start to rut against Jimin’s thighs. He shifts you over so that you are sitting on only one and slightly bounces his leg. The stimulation to your neglected cunt sends a shock running through your body and you squeeze your thighs around his.

"Look at you, so fucking desperate to cum. You think that you aren’t a little whore already, so needy for me this quickly, hm? Do you really think you deserve to cum?" He hums, admiring the way you’re worked up. He pushes up your skirt and slaps your thigh just underneath your ass. You shift away as a reaction, causing your clit to get the stimulation it finally deserved. The way your underwear rubs against your neglected bundle of nerves causes you to let out a groan and drop your head to Jimin's shoulder. He spanks you this time, making you yelp. "I asked you a question, doll."

"Mmhm, yeah," you whine out, "I deserve t- to cum, sir." At this point, your hips are moving on their own accord, shifting back and forth desperately against Jimin's thigh. He grabs your waist tightly, holding you still. "Look at me," he commands, bouncing his thigh. You mewl into his shoulder, the change in motion making you lose focus. He spanks you again, the sound echoing around the room. "Listen to directions, sweetheart. Or else you’ll get punished," he warns.

You lift your head to look at Jimin, faces just inches apart. His eyes scan over your face, lingering on your lips. Slowly, you lean towards him, closing the distance between you two. He gives into your eager kiss and you glide your hands up his firm chest to run your fingers through his hair. He starts bouncing you on his thigh and you groan into his mouth. Breaking apart panting, you place your forehead against Jimin’s, moving your hips back and forth harder to increase the pressure going to your clit.

"God, Y/N, you’re so wet," Jimin pants while looking down at the way your clothed pussy drags over his thigh. "I can feel you soaking through my slacks," he says, shifting you over. just like he said, there is now a wet spot on his thigh from where you just were. Thankfully, it’s barely noticeable, but if you focus enough, you can see it.

"What are you going to do about it, hm? I have classes to teach, meetings to attend. Do you want people to see the mess you made all over me?" He hisses, spanking you to elicit an answer. "N- no, sir. I’m s- sorry," you whisper out, eyes clenched, still rutting against him. You feel your orgasm bubbling up as every second passes.

"I don't think you're sorry, doll. Look at you making a mess all over me through your panties. You're absolutely soaked, so fucking desperate to cum," he tuts, clenching his thigh muscles purposely. You gasp and shove your head into the crook of Jimin's neck, letting out a low groan.

"Mr. Park, I'm so wet because of you. I- god, I wanna cum. please. I'm so close," you mewl into him, legs starting to tighten around his thigh.

You shut your eyes, feeling your impending orgasm build up. Right when you're about to let go, Jimin holds your hips in place tightly, preventing you from moving. Squeaking out, you make an attempt to shift your pussy over his thighs. It's no use because you can feel it start to drift away slowly and you look at him in need. Tears stinging the corners of your eyes, you plead, "S- sir I need you to touch me again. Please."

"Well, since you asked so nicely," Jimin smiles cockily, lifting you onto his desk and spreading your legs after stripping you of your panties. You lean back so that you face the ceiling. Your eyes roll back once you feel him take your clit into his mouth. You moan and arch your back off of the desk, thighs involuntarily clenching around his head. 

"God, Mr. Park, yes! O- oh, fuck, please," you blabber out incoherently, your mind hazy and overwhelmed with pleasure. "More," you whimper out without thinking.

Jimin disconnects from your heat to look up at you, murmuring, "Greedy little slut wants it all, huh? Won't even ask nicely for it. Tell me what you want, Y/N. Beg for it, and I might just give it to you."

"God, I- I want it all, professor," you call out, wiggling your hips in search of stimulation that never comes. "Want you to stuff me with your f- fingers and lick my p- pussy and make me cum. Want you to fuck me r- raw with your fat cock from behind and sp- and spank me. Want you to ma- make me cry from cumming so hard just as much as you have from not letting me cum. A- and I want you to leave hi- hickies on my thighs so that if I bend over, p- people are gonna know how much of a cockslut I am, just for you."

"Yeah? Well, I can tell you this," Jimin says, fingers dancing up your thigh closer to your sick-ridden core. "You are a cockslut. So fucking dirty. Most people come to class to learn but it seems that you come here to get off." He inserts a finger into you and your walls immediately clamp down on it. He moves the digit in and out of you smoothly, your arousal allowing the smoothest of motions. "You like that, baby? Finally having something in that tight cunt of yours?" You nod at his question, adding on "want more, sir."

"Not enough? Greedy little bitch. look at you, so needy. What are you gonna do when I have my cock out, hm?" He shoves a second finger into you and starts curling them into your heat. You arch your back to the ceiling and he hovers over you. For a moment, there’s nothing but the squelch of his fingers in your wet pussy and your panting as he stares into your eyes. Jimin's eyebrows are furrowed and he’s biting his lip - he’s focusing on something.

That "something" becomes apparent when, all of a sudden, you nearly sit upright and let out a loud moan of pleasure, "Fuck, Mr. Park! right there." His fingers continue rubbing that special spot inside you repeatedly and your legs start shaking ever so slightly. You look back at him to see a smug smile on his face. "I found it," he chuckles as you writhe underneath him. He leans down to kiss you, lips melding together.

He keeps fingering you, bringing his thumb up to ghost over your clit ever so slightly to provide enough pleasure to bring you close to your orgasm but just not enough to make you cum. You whine against his lips and he breaks the kiss, asking "you want to cum, doll?" to which you weakly nod. "Then fuck yourself on my fingers. Show me how much of a little slut you are for me. How you’re a cocksleeve for me, so wet and needy as soon as I touch you, so ready for me to fuck you." He stills his digits inside of you and you buck your hips on them, rolling your pelvis repeatedly in an attempt to get to your orgasm. You reach down to provide some stimulation to your clit, but he smacks it away.

"Jim- professor, it’s not enough. I- I need more, please." Tears start welling up in your eyes at the thought of not cumming for the third time. Jimin kisses your temple, the gentle action reminding you that he’s not going to do something you can’t handle. "Please, Mr. Park. I wanna cum," you whine out, hips jerking back and forth in a pathetic attempt to chase after your high.

"Show me then, Y/N. how much you want it. A good girl can show me that she wants it bad enough and will make herself come on my fingers alone. She’s not greedy. She doesn’t need to touch herself too. She just needs my fingers to cum. I know you can be a good girl,  Y/N," he goads. "Can you show me what the pretty little face of yours looks like when you cum? I bet you’ll look so beautiful, even more than you are right now, all fucked out for me."

"Hhngh, sir I- I’m trying," you pant out. "It’s just not enough. I promise I'm a good girl, I swear. Please let me cum. Oh god, I wanna cum." At this point, you’re nearly crying. You haven't ever been edged like this and are desperate for release.

Jimin sees this and purposefully retracts his hand from your cunt covered in your honeyed juices, glistening in the lights of his classroom. "Professor Park, please," you choke out weakly, chest constricting in disappointment. With a soft smile, he brings his fingers up to his mouth and cleans them off, savoring the flavor of you. 

"Be a good girl for the rest of the day and then I’ll let you cum, baby," he hums. "You promise?" you plead, holding onto his arm desperately. 

"I promise, Y/N," he kisses you gently and you taste the remnants of yourself on his tongue, the filthy action causing your clit to throb even more. Combined with the way your cunt is still clenched tight in preparation for an orgasm that won’t come soon, you can definitely say that you can't wait for the school day to come to an end.

"Go to lunch, doll. I have a meeting soon. Don’t think of me too much, hm? Gotta keep those straight A’s the way they are," Jimin teases, pulling down your skirt slowly, fingers just grazing your thighs. He grabs your panties. "Oh, and I think I'll keep these for now," he says cheekily, putting them in his pocket. "They didn’t seem to be doing their job when you were riding my thigh."

You watch him in shock, cheeks flushing red hot. "I- okay. uh, I’m going to lunch now, Jimin. Have a good lunch and meeting, I guess?" you say awkwardly, shuffling to the door with him, tugging your skirt down. 

"Jimin? We’re on a first-name basis already, Y/N? Don’t let anybody hear you call me that in class, baby," he winks, holding the door open and you nod, preoccupied with the little "situation" your skirt just barely hides. You can feel yourself still leaking down your inner thighs, and pray that nobody’s going to notice when you walk into the dining hall.

"Ugh! Bitch, what took you so long?" Lisa exclaims when you sit down next to her with your lunch. You pout. "I wasn't even gone for that long."

"Ha! That long, my ass. You were gone for more than half of the break! I had to tell Jaebum and his cronies to fuck off on my own! I’m not as intimidating when you’re not around, though, so I don’t think it worked. They’ll probably come over again soon." Lisa rolls her eyes. You snort, "One of them probably likes you, that’s why they keep bothering you."

"They just like any female and will take what they can get," Lisa mutters, "but anyway! How was your meeting with Mr. Park? Did you solve his boner problem?" she wiggles her eyebrows.

You clear your throat. "No, Lisa I did not. I'm obviously above that," you say in a sarcastic tone. "I simply offered to," you tease. Lisa squeals and slaps your arm in response. "But for real though," she says. "Anyone that gets to hook up with mister Park Jimin automatically wins at life," and you hum in agreement.

You scan at the dining hall around you and catch the eye of Jaebum sitting with his friend group. He winks at you and you roll your eyes and stand up, "come on Lisa, let’s go. Those assholes are going to come over any second if we stay here any longer." You drag her to your guys’ next class.

The bell rings and the two of you burst out of the classroom. Thank god that’s over. Only one more class left, you think to yourself, gripping your books tighter to your chest in excitement.

"Jesus fuck, since when were you this eager to get to the last class of the day, Y/N? I thought you loved staying in school for as long as possible," Lisa huffs out. You steer her into the direction of your locker, right across from Jimin’s classroom. 

"I'm picking up my books, you dummy. Be grateful I paid for this locker because otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to put your books here." You put in the code and exchange your books while Lisa checks herself in the magnetic mirror attached to the door. you have to be careful when bending over because otherwise you’ll flash the entire school, so you do a weird sit-squat thing. "Geeking out over lockers? You act as if you’re still in high school, Y/N," Lisa teases. "Only during the school day," you wink up at her.

Lisa spots someone through the reflection of the mirror and groans out. "Incoming," she warns, rolling her eyes and turning around. "Wha-" you begin when you get cut off by a smooth voice behind you.

"Damn, L/N. didn’t know you wore skirts this short on campus. Looks good on you," the guy winks. "But it would look even better on my bedroom floor." You hold back a gag and turn to Lisa, raising your eyebrows in exasperation. 

"Wow, I see the originality," Lisa says in the most sickeningly sweet voice. "What do you want, Jaebum?" He chuckles and places an arm over your head, leaning over you. "Well, I’m having a party tonight, and it would be amazing if you two little ladies could attend. Be mine and Jackson’s plus one?" he says. You’re about to say no when he leans in closer to you, inches away from your face, "plus you can get the high-quality drinks for free, not the cheap booze we leave out for the randos who show up."

"You’re probably gonna drug them or something. No thanks, dickwad." you huff out after a second’s hesitation, pushing him away, ready to go to your next class. "Nah, baby. I may be a fuckboy but at least I've got morals. Whaddya say? You get me off, I get you off? Maybe make you cum so many times it starts hurting? You look like you haven’t been able to get an orgasm in a while, you’re so uptight, L/N," Jaebum smirks. 

"You fuckin-" you start to hiss out but you’re shut off again. This time it’s by someone different. Jimin. "Mr. Lim, I don’t think it’s necessarily appropriate to discuss your sexual endeavors while in an academic setting. I’ll be letting you off with a warning for now." He turns to you, eyes flitting across your DIY skimpy outfit. You feel your cunt leak more of your honeyed juices under his piercing gaze and clamp your thighs together to keep them from dripping down your thighs. "And Ms. L/N, I expected better from you. You’re not typically one to do these things in a school environment. Get to class, the two of you," he says, turning back to his classroom.

"Oh," he adds, "and Y/N. fix your outfit. I would hate to see you get dress coded by a teacher who isn’t as lenient." You, Lisa, and Jaebum stare at his back in shock as he heads inside his classroom. 

"Well, uh, that just happened," Lisa states, turning to you. "Ready to go?" you nod numbly, mind swirling with embarrassment and excitement as you tug down your skirt. The two of you walk to the last class of the day while Jaebum calls out, "my place after 11, L/N! I’ll be waiting!", making you wince. Great, now a bunch of people are gonna think you’re hooking up with him.

The last bell of the day finally rings, and you head to your locker after bidding Lisa goodbye. You put your books in your locker and head to the bathroom to fix your clothes. You decide to tease Jimin even more by adjusting your skirt so that it ends just at the bottom of your ass. It’s a terribly risky decision; if you walk too fast, you risk flashing everyone. You’ve tried to wipe the slick off the juncture of your thighs, but it keeps getting replaced with more of your arousal.

You speed walk down the halls and fling open the door to see that Jimin isn’t in his classroom - or so you think. Once you take a few steps into the room, you hear the door shut behind you and lock. Jimin looks at you up and down. "You didn’t fix your outfit, Ms. L/N. Looks like I’ll have to dress code you for indecent exposure then," he hums, heading to his desk to take out a slip of paper.

"Wait Jimin, what? I thought we were- um. You know, going to-" you splutter out, realizing he was actually serious. You can’t have this on your academic record! What would your parents think?

"Going to what? Fuck? Seems like you already have someone else for that, Y/N," he shakes his head, grabbing a pen. You reach forward quickly to stop him, hand, gripping his forearm in desperation. 

"No Mr. Park, I- I never told Jaebum yes. I just-" you try to explain, but Jimin cuts you off. "You what?" he asks bitingly, taking you by surprise. "Did you think that you could just come back and hop on my dick after nearly making out with another guy? God, you really are a slut, aren’t you?"

You rub your thighs together, trying to relieve some of the steadily mounting pressure in your core at Jimin’s words. "Look at you, I told you to fix your outfit and you fucking pulled up your skirt. You pulled it up. You don’t listen to me, talk to your friends about how much you want me to rail you, and yet let other guys make plans to hook up with you. And you expect me to let you cum after all of that?" he continues, noticing the effect he has on you. "You really think I should let you cum, Y/N? I'll tell you what I think. I think I should leave you like this, dripping and needy for me. So ready to get fucked by me but not being able to."

Your eyes widen, "no, please professor, no!" 

"Should I jack off in front of you and not let you touch me? Maybe then would you learn your lesson? Or maybe I should spank your ass till it’s blue you’re unable to sit. Would that work, hm? What if I just send you back to the dorms? You could ask Jaebum to touch you, even if he can’t make you half the mess I can," he continues, pushing you onto his desk. He grabs your jaw and tilts your head up, forcing you to look at him, humiliated, with tears in your eyes.

"Aw," he pouts sarcastically, "is the baby crying? Because I didn’t let her cum? Well, princess, you knew what you were getting yourself into. Little cocksluts like you don’t deserve to cum so easily."

"P- professor, please. You can punish me. Teach me a lesson. B- but just please let me cum." You whimper out, attempting to cross your legs together to assuage your aching clit, but Jimin stops you by holding your knee with his other hand.

He slowly trails his hands up your bare thigh, admiring the way your soft skin seems to get chills at his touch. He pushes you back onto the desk and you prop yourself up your elbows to look at him. "Are you a cockslut, Y/N?" he asks, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his trousers. 

"Y- yes Mr. Park. I- I’m nothing but a hole for you to fuck," you whimper meekly as he pushes up your skirt. He pushes apart your thighs and tugs you to the edge of the desk. "Damn right you are. Nothing but a little whore that I can use to get off. I’m going to fuck you here in school like you’ve never been fucked before. And this dick you’ve been thinking about all this time, it’s going to finally be in you, and I better not hear any complaints," Jimin growls, pumping his length in his hand. "No sir," you whimper out.

"You on the pill?" he asks, to which you reply with a yes. He teases your slit with the pink head of his cock and your entrance flutters at the touch. "But on another note, tell me if you want to stop. I don’t want to push you too much."

You smile, "Jimin, you’re being too kind. I promise I'll tell you. But I did say before perhaps you weren’t doing enough. Mr. Park, I want you to ruin me," you bite your lips, mimicking his words from earlier in the day. He cocks his head in amusement. 

"Don’t worry princess, that’s exactly what I’ll be doing." Without warning, he thrusts forward into your heart, barely giving you time to adjust to his size. The girth of his cock stretches open your cunt with painful pleasure. Once he’s sheathed inside you, you can feel him very near your cervix. 

You let out a shaky breath but it’s cut off as he continues thrusting in and out of you, wet slaps echoing through the room. "M- Mr. Park-" you moan incoherently. 

"Fucking take it, Y/N. You wanted me to ruin you? Well here I am doing it; be fucking grateful." he rolls his hips into yours, hands gripping your sides harshly.

"Th- thank you Mr. Park, s- so much," you nearly sob out, almost crying at the relief of being fucked. You’re so turned on that your walls are clenching around Jimin’s dick so hard that he grips your jaw harshly. Gritting his teeth, he spits, "loosen up, babe. You’re so fuckin’ tight." You whine and try to relax but the stimulation Jimin’s providing has your eyes rolling back instead.

He snakes a hand down to your stomach and under your skirt, circling your throbbing clit. Your pussy flutters at the stimulation and you bite your lip harshly. He changes his angle slightly, causing your thighs to start shaking. His precum and your honeyed juices drip out your sopping cunt, the sound of wet slaps echoing around the room.

"Mmmmh," you moan out softly, back arching slightly. You can feel Jimin hitting your g-spot with impeccable accuracy each time. Doubled with the way his thumb is rubbing circles on your sensitive clit, you feel yourself reaching your orgasm. You try to suppress the giveaway signs of your impending release, knowing that Jimin, in order to "teach you a lesson" of sorts, is likely to take it away from you, so you attempt to just breathe out, "Jimin, fuck, it feels so good."

"Yeah, you like that, baby?" he thrusts into you deeper and harder and you bite your upper lip to stop your moans from slipping out. "Come on Y/N, let me hear those pretty little moans. Let everyone else know how well I'm fucking you, how good I make you feel," Jimin urges.

As soon as he utters those words, you give in, letting high pitched whimpers spill from your lips. Your pussy lets out filthy squelching noises at each of his thrusts, your wetness dripping down your ass and onto the desk. You feel your walls tightening around his cock and try to fight it off, but Jimin can already tell of your impending orgasm. He pulls out of you, leaving your warm and soaked cunt open to the air.

"Fuck," you exclaim in frustration, bringing your hands up to cover your face so Jimin doesn’t see your face, tears starting to spill down your face. It’s frustrating you so much that he won’t let you cum. That he enjoys seeing you whimpering and teary-eyed for him. Your thighs haven’t stopped shaking and Jimin parts them after you close them. He pulls down your arms and smiles evilly. 

"Well, what do we have here," he exclaims, "looks like the baby finally did start crying. Come on, Y/N, I thought you had it in you. But look at how you’re spread out on this desk for me, such a fucking mess. I bet you like it, huh? Dirtying up my desk with that cunt of yours."

"I need to cum, Mr. Park," you choke out, trying to gather your thoughts. "I need to cum now." your teacher’s eyes narrow and he grips your thighs harshly. "What did you say to me?" he asks, a tone laced with dangerous amusement. 

"You heard me. I-," you hesitate for a moment, but decide you’ve already put yourself through enough teasing today. You muster up your courage before saying, "I want you to make me cum now." 

There’s a moment’s silence before you add on shamelessly, "o- or if it’s too much to ask of you, I- I’ll just find someone else to help me do it. Maybe Jaebum? He promised a good time a- and said he would let me cum as many times as I want."

Jimin grabs you by the chin and pulls you up. "You’re such a fucking brat, Y/N." Shifting his hand so it’s gripping your throat, he mutters, "you don’t fucking learn, do you? I thought you were smart, hm? But has the need for sex made you lose your sense? Made you turn into a dumb little bitch, ready to bend over for anyone because you’re so horny? And here I was thinking you were better than that. That you had standards. Perhaps I was wrong, hm? Would you like to tell me?"

You try to look down, away from his piercing glare, but he turns your chin to look back at him. Humiliation courses through your veins as Jimin’s gaze wanders down your body scathingly. "Look at you," he coos sarcastically. "Y/N, baby, you’re such a fucking mess. Pathetic." Suddenly, he lifts you off the desk and bends you over it, cheek pressing the top and ass exposed over the edge to him. You whimper at the feeling of your shirt being stickied from your arousal left on the table from just a few minutes ago. You try moving away from it, but Jimin holds you in place. 

"Are you afraid that everyone else is going to see the mess on your shirt, Y/N? Is that why you’re trying to move?" he hovers over you from behind. "Or perhaps," he continues, hot breath tickling over the shell of your ear, "you want to continue being a brat. Make me punish you until you’re begging for me to make it stop."

He spanks you, the sound echoing across the room before you register the sting of his action. You clench involuntarily and let out the slightest of whimpers. "Fucking hell, are you this turned on? Making noises even if I don’t touch your filthy little pussy?" he asks, smacking your behind again. You bite down on your lip to avoid giving him the answer he already knows.

"Count for me. Be good and maybe I’ll finally let you cum." he commands, spanking your right ass cheek again. "O- one!" you groan. He spanks your left side, the stinging sensation causing you to leak more arousal. "Louder, Y/N. Let me hear you," he hisses, hand in your hair, and pulls you up slightly. "T- two," you stammer. another slap echoes across the room. "Three! God Mr. Park, please." At this point, you’re not even sure what you’re begging for; your mind is numb with lust.

"T- twenty! Agh, fuck, please," you squirm under Jimins grasp. The throbbing of your clit has increased tenfold, and you can practically feel the shaking of your thighs through the desk. 

Jimin slips his hand between your legs, feeling the soft flesh of your inner thighs slicked with your juices. "You’re fucking dripping, Y/N. Look at you. Did getting punished turn you on this much, doll?" He swipes up your slit, teasing your fluttering hole. You scrunch your eyes in displeasure and try to back up into him, only to be stopped by a harsh smack onto your already throbbing cunt. You yelp and flop back on the desk, cheek pressing the surface.

You feel him rubbing his dick against your folds and sigh in relief. Suddenly, Jimin slams into you from behind with no warning causing you to let out a harsh groan. "Ah, professor!" you exclaim, balling your fists in pleasure at finally being stimulated. His cock seems even bigger from this angle, and your entrance stings delectably at the way he splits you open.

"You feel how tight your pussy is, princess? How tight it is for me? Nobody else makes you feel this needy. Nobody," Jimin mutters in your ear after pulling you up. He pulls your head back by your hair, exposing your neck, which he plants wet kisses on. He reaches down in front of you, tracing an achingly slow path from your stomach to your slit with his fingers. You’re reaching your orgasm at an embarrassingly fast rate due to all of the edging you’re been through, so when Jimin finally brushes over your clit, it’s no surprise that your walls tighten even more instantaneously.

"Ji- ‘m gonna cum," you moan wantonly. "Yeah? Is my little slut finally going to cum?" He hisses out at the way you tighten around him. You nod desperately, gripping his arm rubbing figure eights over your sensitive bud. 

"Oh god, Jimin, I feel it coming. Please please please let me cum. I'm being good for you, Mr. Park, please let me cum," you sob out incoherently as Jimin continues railing you from behind. You feel the ridges of his cock brushing your walls and shudder at his ministrations.

"Let go, princess, I got you. Cum for me. Tell me how good I’m making you feel," Jimin snarls, snapping his hips into yours, eager to get you to finally melt in his arms. You feel your orgasm crashing over you and you clamp down on his dick, legs shaking in relief. Jimin's grip on your hair tightens as he feels you pulsing around him, getting impossibly tight. Nevertheless, he continues thrusting into you. 

You mewl, trying to shift away from Jimin's hold as his fingers return to your clit, rubbing figure eights into them, "J- too m- much," you whimper out, straining against his arms.

"Yeah?" his smooth voice asks, "but I thought you wanted to cum, princess? Didn't you? I need to cum, Mr. Park. I need to cum now." He mocks you. “Well, that's what I'm doing doll. I'm. Making. You. Cum," he emphasizes each word with a harsh thrust, jolting you forward.

You're being reduced to a mess, tears streaming down your face and slick dripping down your thighs. You can feel your gummy walls tightening more and more on their own accord, without even trying. Without even realizing it, you've changed from trying to move away from Jimin's fingers to grinding down on his dick.

Jimin, however, notices this. "God, you're such a slut, Y/N. Weren't you just asking me to stop?" He raises your left leg onto the desk, allowing him to have more access to your folds. He slaps your clit when you don’t give a response and you yelp, clenching down on his dick. He slaps you a couple more times, and your cunt drips even more, making your thighs sticky with your honeyed juices. You can feel yourself nearing your orgasm once again from his motions.  

Suddenly, Jimin pushes you back on his desk and begins hammering into you from behind. "You're going to cum again, aren't you? Filthy little girl, didn't you just cum? Are you really that needy for some dick?" You try to hold back a whimper from his words but it slips from your lips. "You're really a whore, aren't you, baby?" 

In response, Jimin spanks you, and you yelp. "Keep doing that," he hisses when you clench down on his dick. "You like being punished, don't you?" You nod meekly in response. He smacks your already reddened ass again and you hiss at the stinging sensation. Paired with the pleasure his cock is giving you, thrusting so deep into you, you can feel yourself practically getting high off the feeling.

Jimin feels you cumming before you realize it yourself. His hips nearly stutter at the way your walls have clenched around his dick. He opts to rut his hips into yours, no longer being able to thrust in and out due to how tight you are. He reaches under your body to rub tight circles on your throbbing clit and you start cumming again, clenching erratically around his dick. "You cumming, Y/N? Be a good girl and let go for me. Get this fat cock all wet," he commands. You ball up your fists and dig your nails into your palms, pleasure coursing through your veins. Riding the course of your high, you wish for nothing more but to be in the moment. 

When you come down from your orgasm, Jimin finally pulls his hard dick out of you. You feel his precum and your cum drip down your thighs. Whining, you rub them together to get rid of the feeling but it only serves to make you stickier. Jimin parts your thighs and runs a hand up them to cup your pussy, pausing to feel your cunt still clenching from the aftershocks of your orgasm. He smacks your abused heat, jolting you forwards and causing you to grit your teeth in overstimulation. 

He flips you over, spreading your legs open. He leans over you, rubbing the tip of his dick over your swollen and throbbing clit, making you shiver. "Prof- professor, I can’t-" you begin but are interrupted my Jimin quickly shoving into you. Gasping, you clench down onto his dick, eyes rolling back into your head.

"You can, Y/N, and you fucking will," he grunts harshly, snapping his hips into yours. You grasp at his arm after feeling him in you deeper than before. The head of his cock nearly kisses your cervix and his impossibly hard dick stretches your tight cunt open even more, making you wince at the pleasurable pain.

"I- oh god, I really can’t. It feels-" you choke out through your tears. "It feels too- oh!" your head rolls back as Jimin hooks your legs over his shoulders, creating a new angle of penetration. He rubs your clit ever so slightly, the abused bundle of nerves pulsing under his touch. "It feels too what?" he hisses, rolling his hips upward so that his tip just barely grazes your g-spot. Too good, you want to say, but pleasure is clouding your mind and you can’t get the words out.

"That’s it, baby," he hums, "taking my fat cock so well even though you’re so- shit, you’re so fucking tight. Are you gonna cum again, hm? Cream all over my dick and make another mess?" you’re being reduced to a blathering mess, Jimin’s name rolling off the tip of your tongue. "Yeah? Can’t even hold it back a little? Even though I let you cum so many times, you still want more? Greedy little bitch," he spits at you.

When you clench down at his words, he starts pistoning his hips into yours, the sound of his balls slapping against your ass echoing around the room. His cock seems to be splitting you open even more, and you can feel every pulse of his dick on your walls. "Fuck, Y/N. I’m going to cum," he groans.

"I- I’m close too, Mr. Park. It- fuck, it feels really good," you breathe out as Jimin leans down over you. He slows his hips down, opting to roll his hips smoothly and brushing over your g-spot with painful accuracy. Hovering over you, his stare bores into yours, eyes flitting down to your lips, reddened and swollen from you biting them. You whimper and tilt your chin up towards him and he leans his head down to yours.

He lets his lips ghost over yours, warm breath brushing over your lips as his hips grind into yours. "P- please," you beg, and Jimin finally relents and melds his lips to yours, bringing the two of you into a searing kiss, groaning as you near each of your highs. You break the kiss to gasp out, "I’m c- cumming again Mr. Park."

"Yeah?" he breathes surprisedly, "your little pussy’s that sensitive that you’re gonna- fuck, you’re cumming already? So quickly?" he leans down as your orgasm washes over you, this one hitting you slowly and harshly. You arch your back into Jimin’s chest, hands gripping at the collar of his shirt. His thumb continues to gently rub over your clit, causing you to roll your eyes back into your head at the overstimulation. You start shaking underneath him, squirming to get away from the overload of senses, but he holds you in place as you ride your high for what seems to be like an eternity.

"That's a good girl," he soothes as you continue to writhe underneath him. "Look at you, stuffed so full of my cock it’s making you cry. Does that feel good, darling?" you nod, sobbing. When your orgasm starts to fade away, spots of white dotting your vision, he still doesn’t stop thrusting into you. 

You bite your lip, and seeing that he’s close, you whisper, "M- Mr. Park, I want you t- to cum too. I- in me." His hips stutter at your words. "Shit, yeah? You’d let me do that?" 

You nod, "want you to fill me up w- with your cum and s- stuff me so full of it that it’s gonna be in me for days. And I wanna fe- fuck, I wanna feel you in me even when I’m alone, professor." At your words, Jimin lets out a slightly animalistic growl and leans in. "You’d like that, huh?" he asks. "Me fucking you so well till you can’t think straight? Putting my cum in you so that when you walk out of here, it’s dripping down your pretty little thighs, making you look like the filthy little slut you really are? You think you deserve that?"

"Please, sir, I really want it," you beg, "please." With that, Jimin attaches his lips onto yours again, grinding his hips into yours even deeper as he finally orgasms. He doesn’t stutter his hips as he continues his ministrations, even though he can feel your walls desperately squeezing around him, milking his cock of its seed. You feel the thick ropes of his warm cum painting your inner walls every second. Each time he pulls out slightly, a bit of it leaks out of your cunt, dripping down your ass onto his desk. He continues fucking his cum into you until he’s satisfied with the way you’re shivering under him.

For a moment, all is still, nothing but the sound of the two of your breathing filling the air as you stare into each other’s eyes. "Um-," you begin, and Jimin quickly looks away, brushing his thumb over his plump lips. So that just happened. I fucked my teacher. I fucked Park Jimin.

"Wait here," he mutters, making your heart drop in disappointment. You nod, offering him a weak smile. Seeing this, Jimin reassures you, "don’t worry, I’m not leaving you. I’ll be right back," and cautiously steps out of the room after clothing himself.

You take this moment to recollect what exactly happened. Okay, so you just fucked your teacher. It still hasn’t sunk in yet, and probably won’t till you leave to clean yourself and look at the marks he’s made on your thighs and ass. You can’t help the giddiness you feel, like a kid who got the best candy bar in the world. After all, you got to hook up with your crush - in fact, the entire campus’s crush. The door creaks open and Jimin returns with some paper towels and wipes.

"H- hey," he smiles nervously. For the first time, he’s the one that’s stuttering. "Let me clean you up. It’s the least I could do after putting you through so much today." He spreads your legs gently, cheeks flushed, and begins wiping off the slick and cum between your thighs. 

"Jimin, you didn’t do anything bad, calm down. Well, I mean you fucked your student? But other than that you’re fine. I really liked it," you try to explain, stumbling over your words. He looks at you incredulously, but shakes his head, smiling. "I don't want to tell anyone about this," you continue, "and I highly doubt you will, so this can stay as our little secret." 

"Well looks like someone got fucked a little too happy. How come you never smile this much when I’m teaching, hm?" Jimin jokes after he finishes cleaning you up, kissing your knee gently. He hands you your thong that he’s kept for half the day and tells you to put it on. 

"You’re still going to the party, right? Jaebum’s?" he asks and you shrug. "You should go. Have a fun time there, drinking and all that stuff." He leans into you, whispering into your ear, "and if that rascal wants to get into your pants, he’s going to see your soaked panties covering up that precious little cunt of yours stuffed with all that cum of mine. Maybe then he’ll finally back off," he smirks.

You blush, "maybe, Mr. Park. You know, you’re pettier than I thought you’d be." Standing up, to face him, he pulls you in by the waist till your chests are touching. You wrap your arms around his neck and he leans in, whispering, "well, Y/N, I don’t think you knew too much about me in the first place." Closing the gap between the two of you, you give him a peck on the lips, which quickly turns into a more heated kiss, lips melding together and tongues colliding. When you break apart, a faint blush on the two of your cheeks, Jimin smiles fondly at you and you look away.

"Well," you hum contentedly, "if I don’t know much about you now, I’d at least like to get to know you better in the future." 

"One day," he breathes out. "One day."

Your grin, disentangling yourself from his arms. "One day soon, I hope. I’ve got to go now, but I’ll see you next class. Goodbye prof- Jimin. Have a great weekend."

He smiles softly, walking you to the door. "You too, Y/N. If you do end up going to that party, have fun. Stay safe."

[amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines]

Steve//don’t look away until it’s gone

hey! based off this song! which is soooo good! is there anything luke hemmings can’t do? i don’t think so. anyway. enjoy! 

Steve wakes up with a start, his eyes wide and breathing ragged as he looks frantically around his darkened room. Memories of the past three years play behind his eyes, making him worry that he’s still there, stood in the mall, beaten, bruised and drugged with his best friends, watching what he thought was the end of the world.

But then he see’s through the trauma, and manages to make out the desk that hasn’t been used since he graduated, the blurry lamp and picture frame remind him that he is home, and that for now, he is okay. 

“Are you okay?” He smiles when he hears the sleepy mumble of your voice and he pulls his eyes away from the door, silently telling himself that the jacket hung on the hook is just that, that he isn’t 5 years old and that monsters do exist, but they don’t look like that. 

His eyes meet yours and you blink tiredly at him before yawning and scratching the back of your neck. The shirt you stole from him rides up a little, exposing a sliver of skin and his eyes are instantly drawn to it, it makes his breath hitch and you furrow your eyebrows, kicking the rest of the blanket off you and sitting beside him. 

He moves to allow you to get in, because why wouldn’t he and his arms instantly wrap around your waist, pulling you close and allowing you to rest your head on his chest. 

The sudden movement brings heat to your cheeks when you realize just how close you are to him, but when you feel him sigh underneath you, you understand why he’s so desperate to touch you. He needs to feel grounded, and so do you. 

Your eyes flutter closed, hoping to get at least an hour of sleep before you have to go home and pretend that everything is okay. But then you see Steve beaten and bruised, you hear Robin screaming and you can feel the hurt that El and Joyce are going through. You showered for at least an hour, trying to scrub all of the blood and dirt off your body, but the smell of death and fire still lingers, a part of you thinks it always will. 

And so your eyes snap open and you stare at the blank wall in front of you. 

“Steve?” You mumble. “Are you okay?” You repeat and he hums a reply while staring at the desk again. 

He pulls away and you shiver at the loss of contact. After what you’ve seen, the only thing you want is to be held and reminded that you are alive, you are here and you will see the sun rise again. Instead of sleeping, you’ve been waiting for the first rays to shine through Steve’s curtain, hoping and praying that when they do finally arrive, you’ll be able to breathe again. 

“Do you ever feel like the world is just moving on and leaving you behind? Like it’s 1985 and I still have no idea what I want to do, where I’m going or what I’m going to do when I get there?” 

“Yea-” 

“And I try to think what I’ve done for the past 19 years, and I’m missing so many memories and the ones I can remember just don’t feel like they’re mine. It’s like they’re all blurred and warped and I can see them, but I can’t feel them. I remember them, but I don’t remember living them. And the more I think, the more I forget and it feels like the walls are closing in on me and I’m running out of time to do anything. Most people my age are getting a degree, they have jobs some are even getting married, but well, I’m not.” He rambles, his breathing getting faster with each word and you place your hands on his shoulders to force him to look at you. 

“Steve. Steve? Look at me.” You say and he stares at you, his brown eyes full of fear and your expression softens as your stare at your best friend. “Steve. Everything is going to be okay.” You hug him tightly and he sighs, his eyes flutter closed as he lets himself get lost in you, for just a second, he feels like everything is going to be okay. He desperately wants to believe you, you’re Y/n, his best friend since you were both 2 and the only person who has never let him down, so why would you lie to him? 

Well, he thought monsters only existed in fairytales and he was wrong about that, so who knows. 

“I promise.” You add and he looks at you. His headache gets worse when he makes eye contact and he quickly drops it, it hurts too much to look at you. Your own bruised eye reminds him that he didn’t protect you enough, reminds him of another one of his disappointments. 

“Do you think I’m broken?” He asks and your lips part. He’s staring at you like you hold the answers to the universe, and to him, you do. Because you’re the most important person in the world, and if you think he’s broken, then it just confirms what he’s always thought. 

“Yes.” You nod and his heart breaks. “But I think we all are. I mean it would be weirder not to after everything we’ve been through.” You add and think back to the first time you were dragged into this. You only went to Jonathan’s as back up, just in case the two of them decided that they wanted to fight again, and they did, it’s just they were on the same team. 

And now you’re here, three years on and still doing the same thing. Still feeling like you’re winning only for it to come back the following year, stronger and angrier. You can already see your future, you know next year you’ll be fighting again, just just hope that you’ll be here again afterwards.  

With each year you watch the town gets smaller. Neighbours, family friends, kids that you graduated with, they’re no longer here. They either moved, or they never got the chance to. 

News crews stands on street corners, waiting for someone to walk by so they can get the latest story. They want to know how the town is healing after such a ‘tragedy’, if only they fucking knew. 

If only they knew that for the past three years you’ve watched your friends fight and die. You’ve watched the hope leave their eyes, you’ve watched the kids age ten years in ten hours, you’ve seen things nobody should have to see. And you’ve feared for your life more times than any normal person would. 

You’ve watched your best friend be beaten and tortured, and spent three hours tied to his lifeless body thinking he was dead, until he let out a horrible, raspy breath that made you cry from both relief and grief. It’s a sound that will haunt your for the rest of your life, it’s something you’ll always be reminded of every time you look at him. 

“What are we supposed to do now?” 

“Move on, I guess.” You shrug. “Or at the very least try.” You add and he lets out a small laugh. 

You lean your head on his shoulder and he rest his own on top. His eye aches, his head hurts and he feels dizzy whenever he breaths, maybe its the concussion, maybe its the fact that you’re so close to him, or maybe it’s a mixture of the two, but he doesn’t mind too much. It reminds him that he’s alive. 

The two of you stare out the window and watch as the first signs on sunlight cut through the blue curtains, both of you let out a sigh of relief and he grabs your hand, giving it a quick squeeze and a small smile pulls at your lips. 

“Yeah...okay. We can try.” 

support my writing! if you’d like! 

[opalescient]

haikyuu fic recs — the most beautiful, lovely, breathtaking masterlist (vol. I)

so i’ve been binging fics to cure my sadness, and i thought that these select masterpieces were too magnificent to not be plastered on every billboard ever. some tore my soul into shreds, while others melted said shreds back whole, but all of them made me feel some form of sheer, unadulterated love, so. please enjoy! 🥰⛅️✨

note: all of these fics are exquisite and you should read all of them, but if you’re short of time, those with ☆ are my all-time favourites!

daisuga

butterfly in the subway by bigspoonnoya ☆ | T

Sugawara Koushi has no idea he's already in love with the man he's supposed to hate.

i lovelovelove how all the concepts tied in together like a perfectly wrapped gift

also very wholesome, made me feel so inexplicably warm. like, love can exist everywhere!!! despite everything!!! that’s just so inspiring

i revisited this many times, i think it was (one of) my first haikyuu fics and honestly. it set the bar so high and i have no regrets

you’d fit my lonely arms so perfectly by boxofwonder ☆ | G

“Oh. You're. Not Asahi.”

Calmed down enough that he can speak again, Daichi takes a deep breath, his smile settling on his face easily and wide.

“Not as far as I know, no.”

-

Suga accidentally calls a stranger instead of his best friend, tells him all about his burned batch of cookies before realising, and that particular mistake might turn out the best one he ever made.

major, major fluff

the buildup!!!

god this made my yearning for love so much worse

the perfect stranger by downmoon | T

There’s a man standing outside Suga's door.

Scratch that. Start over.

There’s a man he doesn’t know standing outside his door, holding his sleeping nephew in one arm, with another kid clinging tightly to his free hand.

so domestic please read the entire series from start to finish it has my whole heart

shoyou and tobio as their actual kids 🥺

these two parents are so in love it makes me wanna cry

asanoya

silica sand by lilien passe ☆ | G

Overworked, over-stressed programmer Azumane Asahi works on the top floor of a Shinjuku skyscraper. Nervous around his coworkers and terrified of the long drop on the other side of the window, Asahi falls into a miserable routine, only to have it broken one day by a simple message on the outside of the glass.

PLEASE. so well-written it makes my heart glow and ache simultaneously

made me ascend into asanoya heaven

such a brilliantly unique concept i love it A+

qué syrah syrah by loudlucy | M

Asahi wants to be a Master Sommelier. It's the highest honor in wine service, and the certification would allow him to live the life he's always envisioned for himself. Too bad the certification test is notorious for being the world's most difficult.

Most people fail their first time taking the exam, and Asahi is no exception, but he has more difficulty than most dusting himself off and getting back on his feet. Enter Nishinoya, a young man who shares his same dream, and who believes in their goals so fiercely it forces Asahi to embark on a delicious and sensuous journey of viticulture and validation.

AKA The Wine Tasting AU that literally no one even knew to ask for.

NOTE: You Do Not Need to Know About Wine to Understand This Fic!

another super unique concept!!! (´∀｀=)

my god their chemistry is amazing

the writing made me feel things ngl

stop my bones from wondering by cerasi ☆ | T

After graduation, Asahi hides from the world and needs help from a few sources to find his way back.

i want to write sonnets and sing ballads for this fic, it’s that beautiful

as always, Top Notch Writing *chef’s kiss*

no but i seriously... can i kiss the author? asking for a friend 😳👉🏼👈🏼

iwaoi

star-crossed by starlitcities | T

“I never thought I’d see the day that I’d envy a human,” Oikawa admits, showering himself in tiny suns, because he can actually feels those, like a fusillade of warm kisses on luminous skin that leave marks. To humans, they’d be freckles. Skin stars, Oikawa calls them. He didn’t make that up, a human did.

“Who created the rule that we can’t touch, I wonder,” Iwaizumi ponders, floating heedlessly through space.

“Maybe it’s because we can fly. Humans dream of flying, right?”

“I don’t think so.”

gsjsgsjshsjshsjsj star!iwaoi

they’re LITERALLY STARS

beautifulbeautifulbeautiful i love how the author conveyed the beauty of touch and humanity 🥺🥺

please bless yourself further with the sequel sun-kissed

conquering the great king by suggestivescribe ☆| E

Iwaizumi blinked his gaze over to Oikawa, "Last time was supposed to be a one time thing," he said, voice low, lacking some conviction.

Oikawa's lips twitched into a smirk and he brought them hovering just over Iwaizumi's, "One time thing, Two time thing, what's it matter as long as it's not a Relationship thing?"

yes.

in fact, this entire series (breaking the rules) features daisuga, kuroken, asanoya and it’s SO GOOD. every single one.

but anyway, character development!!!!! plot!!!!!!!!! writing!!!!!!!! i’m here for it all

tsukkiyama

campfire in your chest by deanpendragon ☆ | M

Kei realizes in their second year of high school that he’s probably been in love with Yamaguchi since they were ten. However hopeless he might be in handling that situation, Kei prays he’s at least not as hopeless as Hinata and Kageyama. But he just might be.

SO BEAUTIFUL

i am also a sucker for anything with stars, moons and all the love in between

no words to describe this work of art please just go read it and be blessed

under the lilac tree by raewrites | G

there’s a lilac tree in Kei’s backyard.

gorgeous in its simplicity

softtsukkisofttsukkisofttsukki

not as grandiose as the rest but the love written into every word, action and character is absolutely show-stopping

kagehina

saffron and cayenne pepper by dontsaycrazy ☆ | T

Cooking is hard. Even if you have your very attractive, very grumpy neighbor there to help you.

-

In which Hinata's lack of cooking skills are a danger to him and others. Luckily (or not), Kageyama is willing to teach him, if only for the sake of avoiding any burned down apartments.

the essence of their characters were captured so well and yet it’s like they’re completely new characters too? author, whoever you are, you totally owned this

this made me ship kagehina so hard

fluff! cuteness! lots and lots of cooing!

kuroken

the galaxy is endless (i thought we were, too) by cosmogony ☆ | T

soulmate

/ˈsəʊlmeɪt/ • noun

A person who was made from the same star as you.

-

// Kuroken AU where the last words your soulmate will say to you appear on your skin when you turn 16, and how Kenma and Kuroo learn what this means over the course of their lives.

ahhh here it is. beautiful, heartbreaking, soul-emptying agony. you want angst? choke on this, and your tears later on.

no but seriously please read this if you haven’t you won’t regret it at all i promise

written from kenma’s perspective so you experience every depth and multitude of emotion he does and it’s so raw and- brb imma go cry for a sec

knot in my heart by hearthope | T

There’s a picture. Kenma blinks, looking at the little calico cat, being held up next to the face of a guy with stupidly messy hair and a crooked grin.

Cute.

The— the cat. The cat is cute.

Just the cat.

-

Kuroo starts spending a lot of time at the flower shop Kenma works at. Kenma definitely isn't into him.

okay so i like it when authors unravel a normally stoic character’s full scope of emotion and give them depth, sue me.

anyway, back on the fluff train!

i absolutely f*ck with flower symbolisms, cats and bitchy best friends who have dirt on each other. the layers of romance, friendship and everything in between is so prettily developed 10/10

bokuaka

the jacket you never returned by daisuga ☆☆ | G

He leaned over, kissed Bokuto on the cheek, and smiled bitterly, eyes watery.

He will never remember. Not now, not ever.

What they were will now forever be forgotten.

-

"You used to call me Keiji, Koutarou."

YOU USED TO CALL ME KEIJI, KOUTAROU!!!!!!!!!!

i beg you to listen to Spiegel im Spiegel when it’s first mentioned in the story please

i read this and screamed through my tears for a solid 1.5 hours. i rarely cry.

no f*ckin regrets though i read this thrice already and it hurts so good every time

rules by conesofdunshire ☆☆ | E

In which Akaashi Keiji is an overworked accountant who stumbles upon Bokuto one night playing the piano in the lobby of his work. Bokuto is different, that much is obvious. But with such supreme musical talent and a smile so dazzling it rivals the sun, there's just something about him that brings Akaashi back every night.

this fic. this fic has my whole, broken, sobbing heart and laughing soul

gorgeous. breathtaking. magnificent.

bokuto is so WARM and akaashi is so STRONG and they both find the solace they need in each other and it’s all i want for me 😭😭😭

in another life by littleluxray | T

Sleeping didn't come as easy as it used to. Bokuto knew this, and now Akaashi did, too.

The hospital AU that no body asked for, but that I took upon myself to write.

this is a famous fic that i doubt any seasoned haikyuu reader wouldn’t know, and RIGHTLY SO BECAUSE, the PAIN. the pain. the pain.

i could feel my lungs shrivel up and my chest cave in on itself. fatigue and rest are things i struggle with too so this whole story resonated with me from start to finish, and it broke me. in like, the best, most revitalising way

i would read this again but it still haunts me at night. i need to heal from the first time before i have the guts to try one more time HAHAHA 😆💔😭

tea-stained polaroids by dalyeau | G

“I'm gonna date that,” Bokuto declares solemnly, and Kuroo throws a plastic spoon at his head.

mmmmmmm pretty photographer + personalised coffee cups + cute baristas = diabetic fluff fic

i smiled so much throughout this you have no idea. cheeks achey but so good

i may have squealed a little at the ending

kurotsukki

moonfall by batman | T

There is no unlearning Tetsurou, after all. There is only leaving him.

-

(Five things of Tetsurou's that ended up in Kei's home, and one that never left.)

the writing!!!!!! is pure beauty!!!! sheer grace!!!!!!! the construction of the AU and the romanticism and hsjsgsjshsj

didn’t cry but. heart ache and bittersweet smiles are another level of misery that is just as fulfilling

yea just pleasepleasepleaseplease go read it thank you and have a good day

hidden gem by realmSpinner | E

Things get complicated when everything you thought you knew about a guy changes, and they get even more complicated when you actually start liking those changes.

That guy working with you AND becoming your neighbor? That's just a cherry on top of the cake of confusion.

this AU was refreshingly different, and amazingly so

top!tsukki??? sign me the f*ck up

the whole plot, man. perfection.

pings by barfs ☆☆ | T

[5/02/16, 3:50:17 AM] Tsukishima Kei: Please wake up.

[5/02/16, 3:50:23 AM] Tsukishima Kei: I hate begging. You know I hate it.

[5/02/16, 3:50:34 AM] Tsukishima Kei: I bet you’re snickering at that, wherever you are.

[5/02/16, 3:50:53 AM] Tsukishima Kei: But, it keeps hurting and I don’t know why and it feels like shit and I know you could tell me why, but you’re not here and I would really appreciate it if you’d just wake up.

[5/02/16, 3:51:02 AM] Tsukishima Kei: You’re laughing at that too, aren’t you.

[5/02/16, 3:51:10 AM] Tsukishima Kei: Dying is probably up there in the list of top ten shitty things you’ve ever done, and you’ve done a lot of shitty things.

god.

you already know what’s coming, and yet. when it comes.

how the f*ck did the author make grief beautiful????????? (at the expense of me dying along with kei and everyone else i guess)

this fic will ruin you and bury you under all your pain (i hope you’re ready)

but also put you back together with the “sequel”

kyouhaba

close to the chest by darkmagicalgirl | T

It takes Yahaba thirteen years to realize he's different from the other kids, one to figure out how to hide it, and two more to learn to be happy just the way he is. Yahaba's journey ft. an extremely annoyed Kyoutani, best friend in the world Watari, and loads and loads of good senpai Oikawa.

cause i’m (not) alright with the slow, burn~

no fr, take slow and burn very seriously

overthinking yahaba? i understand. i do.

again, such an amazing fic; 10/10 recommend

safe here by crossbelladonna ☆ | M

“Raids are routine work,” Kyoutani tells to Yahaba before he can air the question. “Sometimes there is no sleep done until we accomplish something, say kill a certain ghoul. I guess they’re still going through the possibility that people in the accident are still alive huh?”

Yahaba quirks a smile, pushing his mask up his head.

“You’re alive.”

Kyoutani looks at him intently and all of the things that they’ve gone through for the past month seems to flash in his mind.

“Yes I am.”

i haven’t watched tokyo ghoul but i understood everything perfectly. such is the power of f*cking kickass writing

*cue ugly crying and a lot of unresolved angst*

like the grief??????? ruin me please thank you 🙏 (i think i’m a little masochistic)

rare pairs

mannequin men by surveycorpsjean ☆ | M

[bokuto/akaashi/kuroo/tuskishima]

The modelling world is full of hungry wolves, constantly clambering over the other, snarling and desperate. They fight, and they kill, trampling over anything in their path.

In this case, Akaashi fell in love with the wolves.

i did not expect this to be good, and it wasn’t. it was SPLENDID.

akaashi is so enamoured with them from the get go i love it

a tiny bit of angst that stabbed me in the heart, but the happy ending soothed it (thankfully, because if there wasn’t one i will sue)

characterisation, writing, plot development; everything is great. can you tell i’m running out of synonyms for ‘beautiful’

feel like gold by heronfem ☆☆ | T

[bokuto/akaashi/kuroo/kenma]

In which Kenma is unapologetic and comfortable with who he is, Akaashi learns a lot about himself in a short period of time, Kuroo is wildly in love and an eternal survivor, and Bokuto remembers that love doesn't cure mental illness, but having a support system sure helps a lot.

Or, the one where 4 young men get together, and are helplessly, hopelessly, utterly in love despite everything.

e.e. cummings?? poetry??? f*ck yes

so beautiful. i’m so star-struck by this fic it’s simply stunning

there are no words to fully capture how worth your time and heart and mind reading this fic is so please. do yourself a favour, and fall in love with this fic with me

the sky and guilt are the only feelings i have left by oopsthisisqueertoo ☆☆ | not rated

[bokuto/akaashi/kuroo]

Akaashi is at his wits end. He feels nothing. He's quickly crumbling as a human being. He wants nothing but sweet release of death. In his fourth year of college he drafts a plan for his suicide. He is to graduate, publish writing for others to be inspired by, and slip quietly away. Shortly after, he meets a dog walker named Bokuto who asks him out and Akaashi reluctantly agrees. Nothing matters anymore and he treats Bokuto like an obligation. Until he's not anymore.

TW: SUICIDE ATTEMPTS & DEPRESSION

this was... this gutted me entirely and filled my body with too many shades of agony

arguably one of the best haikyuu fics i’ve ever read

so beautiful in the most painful way fathomable; strongly recommend

april to may by surveycorpsjean | T

[bokuto/akaashi/kuroo/tsukishima]

They're an odd family.

The four of them? Parents?

But still, they're a family.

So they'll support each other until the end.

aaahhhhh third gym as parents 🥺

so much fluff. i also love april and may

they’re still so in love there’s love in every millimetre of this fic :”)

that’s it for now! i’ll add more if i come across anymore good fics. i hope you enjoyed this list! if you have any requests/fic recs, or if u just wanna chat, feel free to just ask! hehe 🥰 k aight bye~

[carry-on-my-wayward-butt]

He did? Umm.. what happened exactly?

(referring to this post)

my 11th grade chemistry teacher had an associates degree in liberal arts.

you know how in virtually every class you’ve ever had since middle school, your teachers made a big stink about the syllabus? she didn’t have one. this was her first teaching job, which she got because of her length experience as a substitute, not by her licensing qualifications. we were, at first, excited to have her, because she was a “fun sub” and we were 17 years old and stupid as all shit. we were the “normal chem” class in a system where the only other options were “honors chem” which was filled with children who actually know how to study (or cheat) and have an air of proper student activity, and “AP Chem”, which is clear enough if you’ve been an american student in the last 15 years.

she followed the mcgraw hill chemistry book in order of chapters, despite the fact that our state standardized tests did several of the chapters out of order. ever notice how you’ll suddenly be looking at chapter 11 when just last week you were on chapter 5, then the next week you’re on chapter 8? standardized testing is the reason. anyways by asking my friends in other classes who had chemistry teachers of relative competence, i was able to discern which chapters i should focus on, and while she was distracted with literally watching youtube videos all period, I was turning around in my seat and walking across the classroom helping my friends and enemies with the packets. (she was a two-packets-a-week kinda teacher.)

yes i said enemies too. the people i hated, i hated because they were sons of bitches i wouldnt piss on to put out a fire. i hated them so dearly i used to pray to god that they would bump into me so i could throw myself into the concrete and split my forehead open and get them expelled due to the blood-clause of our “zero-tolerance policy”. two of the kids in my class had, only the previous year, attempted to set my hair on fire.

i hated the teacher more. 

it gave me extreme pleasure to see her fume and clench her fists when a student would say “i need help” across the classroom and she would move to get up and they would say “oh not you miss, im waiting for vicky.” jesus christ the only time ive ever felt a comparable high was when i was at a halloween party in college where i was literally so zooted i couldn’t move.

it got worse over time, her getting more and more angry, my ego growing larger and larger. i was a huge bitch in high school, i really thought i was the smartest bitch in the room at any given moment. severe main character syndrome. imagine that kind of person actually being right for 45 minutes out of every day. can you even comprehend the kind of frustration that would create? in a room full of little sociopaths who dont give a shit about anything but getting this joke of a class over with so they can graduate? your first real teaching job and they look right past you, the teacher, to this annoying little shit whose grades are completely abysmal? how are they managing to learn anything from a child who can barely speak in front of more than 10 people? who turns cherry red in the face of literally every authority figure in the building except you? who can’t concentrate and stay still in one spot for more than five minutes? all of your other classes behave! they listen! they sit down and shut up and do the packets! so what fucking gives!!!

so you say “fine, since you all HATE ME so much i just won’t teach then!!!” on literally week fucking ten of teaching. and instead of prostrating themselves before you, begging you to like... point at transparencies and read directly from powerpoints i guess.

and they all collectively say “okay” and let the chipmunk child flutter between desks and help them memorize formulas and mnemonic devices and shit. surely her grades will suffer if she’s constantly dealing with other people and you’ll have justification that her horseshit is “distracting” and “a detriment to her studies”. she got bored gave up on that after two days after nothing changed.

then we did the midterm.

except at the end of the exam packet was something we never learned because again, she was going through the book chronologically. because i actually enjoyed the chem book (so much that i stole it when the year was up lmao), i knew the material.

it was about lewis dots/structures. i couldn’t tell you a damn thing about it today but in december 2010 i absolutely knew that shit. i didnt have too much of a problem with it in the exam, but the students who had gotten to that point were complaining and at first she pulled that “you should have been studying independently uwu” shit but the class was about to get loud during exam period so she shushed us and said that when we get to that point, just stop, and she’ll mark it correct during grading, no harm no foul just keep it quiet. one of the more confrontational students called horseshit and said theres no way we’re trusting that and there’s definitely no way anyone will keep an entire classroom cheating at the instruction of the teacher quiet.

i offered to teach it.

she scoffed, rolled eyes, said “sure fine but you can’t get your exam back” and i said “okay.” so when everyone was to the point in the exam, we piled them all on her desk and i used the whiteboard to briefly and quietly explain lewis dots, used the book examples and problems, and helped the other kids understand. there were a couple exam questions that were lifted straight from the book problems so i skipped those. while teaching i realized i had gotten a couple wrong which sucked :( it was an incredibly stupid experience overall, and no teacher worth the paper their certification is printed on would have allowed that to happen. and fucking yet.

anyways everyone but me got their exams back and finished it and many of us passed, only a few of them did particularly well.

discussing the chem exam with friends who also took the chem exam, many students found their anecdote about the lewis dots to be confounding, for you see, the exam we took was not, in fact, the midterm, but the god damned final.

she had us taking the fucking final because she didnt read the fucking folders which read “midterm” and “final exam” on them

she was reprimanded severely and we all had to take the exam on different days, in different classrooms, sitting very far apart. after that she hated me even more. like girl it was your fault lmao i am literally a teenager grow up lol. anyways you can imagine how much more fucking insufferable i became, knowing how miserable she was.

it all came to a head in february when some students were giggling quietly following a minor fuck up on her part regarding bellwork. they were making fun of her like “are you sure thats not tomorrows bellwork lol” and a friend next to me did the “hey i need help wait no miss not you sorry” thing and when i answered him, she solidly snapped. blah blah YOURE SOOOO DISTRACTING blah blah YOU THINK YOURE SOOOO SMART DONT YOU blah blah blah and she was like demanding i leave the room and shouting at the top of her lungs at me “ YOU POISON THE MINDS OF EVERY OTHER STUDENT HERE. YOU’RE POISONOUS VICTORIA, YOU’RE A VIRUS IN THIS CLASSROOM.”

i will never forget that line as long as i live. it was like crack to me. i moved to open the door to leave and the vp opened it first. he escorted me to the office and asked me what happened, then told me to keep my head down in class from now on, and that if i wanted to help my friends i should give them my number and help them out on our own time. i was like “bro thats really stupid” and he was like “thats all we can do right now but i promise we’re working on it”

i lasted the rest of the year giving smug smiles as we did packet after fucking packet for the rest of the year. they were all take-home work. i wasnt comfy giving my number to my enemies. the class camaraderie ended.

the final was altered. my class took a different final than the rest of the normal chem classes.

i started 12th grade and got a solid case of senioritis. i told that story to anyone who would listen. while it was happening, i obviously told my favorite teacher everything as it happened. when i mentioned it senior year he was like “oh yeah i forgot about her,

she was fired over the summer.”

[raysofcrosby]

CHANCES – M. TKACHUK

requested: yes | no

warning(s): none that i can think of.

word count: 5,066

listened to: chances by the backstreet boys

inspiration: mixed luggage au [ i can’t find the og au-prompt masterlist, but if this is your au idea, lemme know and i’ll link you for credit (: ]

authors note: listen– i don’t know what it is, but i’ve literally been on a tkachuk thing lately. like, i used to despise this little curly-headed gremlin, but now??? it’s all hearteyes motherfucker. this is purely a writing to help me get back into the writing groove again after these last six months of nothing– so i might be a lil rusty. anyway, i hope you enjoy <3333

part two | google doc w/ all parts | my masterlist | stuff i have planned | who i’ll write for | requests

I’m sorry Y/N, but if you’re not here in the next 5 minutes I need to keep going.

That text haunted you– it was all you could think about the moment you got off of your flight. The uber your sister had ordered for you was close to canceling– all because there were too many planes taxiing on the airstrip and your stupid flight ended up circling in the air for thirty minutes. If this were any other airport, no doubt you’d be screwed. Luckily though, you knew good ole St. Louis Lambert International like the back of your hand. So getting from point A to point luggage claim would be no problem at all. The only delay would be the luggage getting put out onto the carousel.

Which of course, did prove to be the problem at hand.

You were the first one from your flight at the carousel and hoped to be gone before any disgruntled passengers you managed to bump into, could show up. Unfortunately for you, just as the bags were being loaded onto the carousel, your fellow passengers were arriving too– more than a few giving you a look that would normally result in you rolling your eyes in response. Yet, your focus wasn’t on them, it was glued to the small carousel door, keeping an eye out for your suitcase.

Teal bag with a grey handle. Teal bag with a grey handle. Teal bag with a grey handle. Teal bag with a grey hand–

“Ah-ha!” You smiled, catching eye of your suitcase and rushing to meet it instead of letting it eventually make its way to you. You grabbed the suitcase and extended the handle to drag it away, already walking towards the exit.

One minute.

You had one minute to catch your uber before they left you and you hoped and prayed that luck was on your side and the black Toyota Corolla just happened to be parked near the door you chose to exit from. The warm summer air of the Missouri summer weather practically smacked you in the face and it fit wasn’t for the awning covering the pick-up zone, you would have no doubt been blinded by the sun too.

“Oh, thank God,” you sighed, catching sight of a black Toyota Corolla that your sister said to find, parked just six cars down to your left. You sped walked to the uber, coming to a stop at the window and waving at the driver, catching her attention. “I’m so, so sorry I’m late.”

The woman, probably in her early 60’s gave you a friendly smile instead of the scowl you were expecting. “Are you Y/N?”

“Yes ma’am,” you replied, nodding.

“Go ahead and put your suitcase in the trunk, it’s opened for you.”

You walked to the trunk and lifted it open, placing your suitcase inside before closing it and walking to the back passenger door, getting into the backseat. “Again, I’m so sorry for making you wait. We had to circle in the air for 30 minutes because of the traffic on the airstrip and,” you exhaled, relaxing back into your seat. “I’m so sorry.”

She laughed, pulling away from the airport. “It’s no problem sweetheart. I saw your reply. I was going to give you a little extra time. I know how hectic airports could be. Especially this time of the year. Everyone’s traveling for vacation.”

“Yeah, I think I might have accidentally elbowed one too many people trying to get to luggage claim.”

“Are you visiting or coming home?”

“Coming home…kind of,” you laughed, staring out the window at your hometown. “I actually just graduated from college a few weeks ago, so my roommates and I rented a house on the Jersey Shore to celebrate. But, my sister is getting married tomorrow, so that’s why I’m back.” You looked back towards her, laughing softly to yourself. “But then come September, I’ll actually be moving to Calgary for a new job and to get my Masters.”

“So a lot of traveling, I see.”

You took a deep breath and sighed, nodding. “Yeah, but I’m glad to be able to spend all of this time with my friends and family before I start working. Especially since I’ll be moving so far away.”

“It sounds like a great time,” she smiled, looking at me through the rearview mirror. “I’m a sucker for weddings, why don’t you tell me about it?”

Normally, you weren’t one to talk a lot whenever you and your friends would take Ubers downtown on the weekends– but this driver was sweet and you found yourself talking nonstop as she drove you towards your final destination. After all, she didn’t abandon you at the airport like you thought she would.

~

The car ride to your parents' place went by a lot faster than you thought it would and it was all thanks to Mrs. Sheila, your lovely uber driver. Whom, you learned, started driving after she lost her husband late last year. Her kids lived out of state and once they went back home after those first few weeks, she wanted to find something to do to keep herself busy and get herself out of the house– so, she became an uber driver.

Walking into your parents' house, you were greeted with empty echos of your footsteps. Your parents were still at work and wouldn’t be home until just a little before the rehearsal dinner tonight. Your brother, well, as far as you knew, he had absolutely nothing going on, so you didn’t know why he wasn’t around. If anyone was guaranteed to be home, it was your sister. She was the one who ordered your uber and had them take you here, so she was more than well aware of what time you’d be arriving home.

“Hello?” You called out, leaving your suitcase by the door and making your way to the living room. “Char, are you here?”

“Is that my favorite sister?” You heard her voice call out from upstairs. Looking up, you could see her rounding the hallway corner, carrying a closed laundry basket full of, no doubt, stuff for tonight’s bridal party sleepover.

“I’m your only sister,” you laughed as she made her way down the staircase.

“Unless you count all of the times we got bored and turned Nick into Nikki,” she giggled, reaching the end of the staircase and putting the basket down before stepping forward and hugging you. “How was the flight?”

“It was great up until our 30 minutes of circling in the air,” you laughed, pulling away from the hug. “Where’s my dear brother?”

“Working out with some friends. We probably won’t see him until tonight.”

“Nothing says welcome home like being greeted to an empty house.”

“Excuse you, I was here to greet you.” She laughed, picking the basket back up. “But if you really want to be upset, you should see all of the packed boxes in your room.”

“I leave in three months! Why are they packing me up now?” You gasped, acting dramatically.

“Nick and dad are planning on transforming it into some kind of training room or something.”

“But they–“

“Already took over the garage? Yeah, I know and mom is pissed.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing the handle of your suitcase again. “He literally told the Blues that he was going back to Michigan in the fall to try and win a championship. Why the hell are they even treating him like he’s already a hall of famer?”

“Perks of being the youngest, not to mention dad’s only son,” she laughed, looking at the door. “Ready to head to the Airbnb?”

“Can we get food first?” You asked, dragging your suitcase along. “I’m starving.”

She laughed as you held the door open for her. “Good, because we’re most definitely getting food before we go and take a nap.”

You laughed, walking out of the house with her and then closing and locking the door behind you. “I knew we were related.”

~

Lunch and a nap turned out to be exactly what you needed. The two of you had stopped at a subway to get some food before driving over to the Airbnb that you, your sister and the rest of the bridesmaids would be staying for the night.

It was a beautiful three-bedroom, modernized cottage that looked like it was stripped directly from the pages of a fairytale book. It was tucked away, just off to the side in the backyard of a beautiful colonial house, whose farm would tomorrow be transformed into a whimsical fairytale wedding location. The men would be getting ready in the house, while the women would be getting ready in the cute cottage. Sort of like a secret getaway paradise before the wedding.

When you got back with your food, your sister took you on a tour of the property while the wedding planners and staff were setting up all of the bigger decorations for tomorrow. You were off at school during the entire planning process, only ever seeing every one of her ideas in pictures. The only things you were able to take part in, were the dress shopping and her bachelorette party since they were both held at a time you were on a fall break from school. Besides being there for those two things, the only other thing you helped with– was the proposal.

Colton has been in your life for as long as you could remember. He and Charlotte have been best friends since Pre-K. It was the cliché friends to lovers kind of story that was told time after time– but in theirs, there were no other people in it. It was just them. There were no other boyfriends or girlfriends, no other crushes– from the very beginning, they were it for each other. They were each other's first everything– kiss, date, girlfriend/boyfriend, time– in their love story, they had found their one great love…all before they turned five.

Wherever Charlotte was, there was Colton– they were stuck like glue and your parents loved it. It was their friendship that brought both of your families together to the relationship that you all had now. Your families were best friends, all because of their relationship. You often took vacations together, spent holidays together, hell, you and Colton’s middle brother, Mason, even had joint birthday parties– as did your two younger siblings, Nick and Addie. Your families even try to go as far as to dropping hints that all three kids should date.

Colton and Charlotte. You and Mason. Nick and Addie– all the same age and practically family already.

It was perfect.

Until you and Mason tried to date in the tenth-grade and realized that kissing the person you’ve shared every birthday party with, used to take baths with and shared every key moment growing up– wasn’t all that great. In fact, it was weird. So the two of you remained as the almost black sheep of the families, especially since Nick and Addie were headed down the same path as Charlotte and Colton. They started dating in eighth-grade– like Colton and Charlotte– and have maintained a healthy and strong relationship to now, even long-distance, when they’ll both be sophomores in college in the fall, Addie at the University of Missouri and Nick playing hockey at the University of Michigan.

You and Mason were there, always making jokes about how it runs in the family but skipped a generation. Never letting your siblings live it down that the two of you will be the ones to break the cycle. Funny how you two were also the ones who played the biggest roles in Charlotte’s engagement.

Both of your dads are huge St. Louis Blues fans. So naturally, they tried to rub that off onto their children. And it worked, all except for you. You tolerated the blues, but never really adopted hockey as your favorite sport. You understood it, watched it whenever you never had a choice– but like your mom, you gravitated more towards football and adopted her hometown team as your own– the Pittsburgh Steelers.

Colton and Charlotte, however, were both diehard Blues fans from day one. There were even pictures to prove it. They even went to a game on both their first ‘supervised’ date and ‘unsupervised’ date. So, when the Blues were making a run for the Stanley Cup– it was imminent for your families to attend at least one game. You and Mason did everything in your power to get the Blues attention. You emailed anyone and everyone who worked in their front office, you spammed their social media accounts– anything and everything to get their attention so you could share their story and Colton’s plan.

And at game four it all came to life. Charlotte was ‘randomly’ selected to participate in an intermission event after the first period where she’d be blindfolded and needed to walk along the ice to find Louie after collecting ‘Blues momentos’ along the way. The Blues had played the short slideshow of Colton and Charlotte that you and Mason had sent them, as they introduced her to the crowd. Unbeknownst to her, both of our families were on the ice with her, standing behind her while she was blindfolded. You and the other three siblings were scattered in front of her, each holding a single rose.

The Blues staff member helped her walk along the ice and the moment that she took a flower from someone, they needed to go back to where she started, which was where Colton was standing with the ring in his pocket. The four of you each had a sign, that when held up together read ‘Will you marry me?’ Once Charlotte neared Louie, he cut the distance to just by center ice where all of you were waiting. And when she found Louie, the entire crowd had erupted into cheers as she took off her blindfold, all smiles until she turned around to see the signs and Colton on one knee.

She said yes. The Blues won. The proposal went viral and your families were given a box to game seven where the Blues won the Stanley Cup.

All in a day's work between the two middle siblings, and one that led you all to this moment– the wedding tomorrow. Where Colton, who was already like a big brother yo you, would officially, pretty much become your big brother.

“Y/N,” your sister said, shaking your arm. “Y/N, get up. We’ve got like 45 minutes to get ready for dinner before we have to leave and no offense, but you need to shower.”

“Your lucky that you’re getting married tomorrow or I’d kill you,” you mumbled into the pillow, taking a deep breath and exhaling before pushing yourself up. “Can you charge my phone for me? I won’t take too long, just need to rinse off and I’ll be back.”

“In your backpack?” She asked as you walked out of the room.

“Mhhm, small front pocket. The charger is with it.”

You walked out of the room and into the connected bathroom, closing the door behind you before walking towards the shower and turning on the water. Your nap was more than enough to help you make it through dinner. You hadn’t thought that you were even that tired, but the moment you laid down to relax after eating your sandwich– you were absolutely knocked out.

To be fair though, you had spent the last two weeks partying it up on the beach with your college roommates, trying to relive every moment from your last four years of partying, downing booze, and making out with any attractive guy who caught your eye. You know what they say, no rest for the wicked– and boy, oh boy, were the wicked actions of shotgunning beers with strangers in the hot summer jersey sun, coming back to haunt you.

At least you got one hell of a tan and more memories to last you a lifetime, out of it all.

You turned off the shower before you stepped out and wrapped a towel around your body, then wrapping your hair up in a second towel. You walked out of the bathroom and back to the bedroom, only to find it empty. "Hey, Char?"

"In the living room...er, kitchen, I guess!"

You walked out of the bedroom and into the living room to see Charlotte sitting at the kitchen counter, a make-up mirror propped up in front of her and hot curling iron in her hand. "Why are you doing your hair in the kitchen?"

"You were in the bathroom and the lighting is lacking in the bedroom." She let a curl, fall from the iron and turned to you. "What's up?"

"Well, for one, the bathroom is free," you laughed, looking around. "And two, I was wondering where you put my suitcase? It was in the room and now it's not."

"No," she dragged out her reply, focusing on wrapping another piece of hair around the iron before averting her eyes towards the door. "You left it by the front door. Never brought it in."

You turned towards the front door and sure enough, right there not even three feet away from the door...was your suitcase. "Awesome, thanks!" You said, walking over and tugging on the handle, extending it out before walking back to the room. "And my phone?"

"Charging in the kitchen. It was dead by the way."

"Great," you huffed, walking into the bedroom and over to the bed. You lifted up the suitcase, letting it plop down onto the bed and exhaled a deep breath. It was a lot heavier than you thought it was. But maybe your body was just tired from traveling and last night's final night out.

You caught a glimpse of the alarm clock that was set up on the bedside table and saw that your getting ready time was vastly starting to dwindle. So, not thinking anything more of the heavy suitcase, you unzipped the zipper and threw the cover back, ready to grab the romper you had placed directly on top, just so it wouldn't get wrinkled. You stared down at the contents of the suitcase, quickly grabbing the cover and shutting it again.

Okay, maybe you were imagining things.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, exhaling, and then opening your eyes and opening the suitcase again.

No, you definitely weren't imagining things.

The same spike ball netting was still staring you right in the face. Surrounding it, were three spike balls and a crumbled up bag that was supposed to house the set. Beneath it, a bunch of crumpled up clothes and other things.

"No," you shut the suitcase again, repeating the same steps: close your eyes, take a breath, hope you're dreaming, open your eyes and then the suitcase, only to be disappointed. "No, no– oh my God, this can't be happening. Charlotte!!"

You heard her footsteps echo off of the wooden floor as she made her way to the bedroom, half of her hair curled and set. "What?"

"This isn't my suitcase."

"Of course it is," she scoffed. "Colton and I got you that big traveling set for graduation, and that," she pointed at the suitcase, "is it."

"No, it's not," You opened the suitcase and reached in, grabbing the first thing you felt and holding it up to show her. "See? Not mine!"

"Y/N," her eyes widened before she started to laugh. "You might want to put those down."

"It's just the spike ball bag, it's not big–" you turned to see what you were holding and sure enough, it was not the spike ball bag you thought you had picked up. It was a pair of Ant-Man boxers, and it was unknown whether or not they were clean or not. "Ah, ew!" You tossed them back into the suitcase, wiping your hand on your towel. "Ew, ew, ew, I just touched a stranger's dirty underwear."

"You don't know if they were dirty."

"You don't know if they were clean!" You argued back, looking around the handle for an identification tag. "This definitely isn't mine. My travel tag isn't on the handle."

"Who uses a travel tag?" She laughed, shaking her head.

"Me," you turned towards the suitcase, slamming it shut and zipping it. "I use a travel tag, so if my luggage gets lost or switched, they can contact me. It's common travel knowledge."

She sighed, walking over towards the suitcase and unzipping the two pockets on top, looking in and shaking her head. "Nothing hidden in those pockets. Did you think to go through the rest of the suitcase? Maybe they have a tag in there."

"And risk touching another pair of possibly dirty boxers and God knows what else? No thanks," you zipped up the suitcase and picked it up, placing it back onto the ground. "I'm doomed. That suitcase had all of the clothes that I took to Jersey, in it. It had my outfit and makeup for tonight."

"I have something you can borrow," she walked over to the closet, opening it to reveal it was empty besides two dresses hanging up. "And I've got make-up and whatever your little heart desires for your hair."

"Your wedding present was in there too," you sighed, walking over to the closet. "Which one?"

"This." She held out the rose-colored dress, handing the hanger to you. "You can get away with no bra and I can give you a pair of underwear from the new pack I bought this morning–"

"Why would you buy new underwear?" You asked, taking the dress.

"In case of emergencies," she closed the closet and turned back to you, nodding. "Which, this is. Unopened pack in that laundry basket I was carrying, feel free to take a pair and keep them. As for shoes...you're kind of on your own on that one."

You sighed, defeated as she walked out of the bedroom, leaving you to get dressed. You unwrapped the towel around your hair, letting it drop onto the floor as the towel wrapped around your body went with it. You took the dress off of the hanger and untied the straps, lifting the dress over your head and tugging it down. Your mind was going over every detail of just how you picked up the wrong suitcase. Fair, it was a dead-ringer for the suitcase you took with you to Jersey, but even you should have known to realize that there was no bright red luggage tag hanging on the side handle. And it was all you could do but hope that whoever picked up your suitcase thinking it was theirs, would at least call or text.

"Oh shit," you said, holding onto the straps that hung down on the side, trying to tie them in the back. "Charlotte! My phone!"

You ran out into the living room to see her now finishing up her make-up at the counter, turning to you with wide eyes. "Okay one, sit down and let me brush your hair," she stood up and grabbed your wrist, bringing you over to counter and sitting you down. "And two, your phone is right there."

"If they figured out our luggage was switched, they'd call! My luggage tag!" You reached across the counter, grabbing your phone and turning it over to see that the screen was still black. "Oh come on, my phone wasn't that dead!"

Charlotte tugged you back and started to brush your hair, not bothering to go slow. "I plugged it in the moment you went to take a shower, just give it a few seconds."

If looks could kill, your phone would be nowhere ready to turn on. You were glaring at the screen as if pure intimidation would turn it on. This could go one of two ways:

1) This person left your suitcase in the dark abyss that is lost luggage at the airport.

or

2) Like you, they didn't realize that they had grabbed the wrong luggage until they went to open it and they'll find your luggage tag and call you.

"Ah!" You yelled, jumping out of the chair as your phone lit up. You leaned over the counter, your heart racing as Charlotte tried to keep brushing your hair. "Come on, come on, come on..."

"Right there," Charlotte said, pointing at your screen as a text message notification popped up on the screen from an unknown number. "That has to be them!"

"Oh thank God," you sighed, thumb ready to swipe the message open. "Oh...yikes."

"Uh," Charlotte laughed as the two of you continued to watch your messages pour in, at least 5 coming in from the unknown number, along with three phone calls. "Yikes indeed, I guess they're panicking just as much as you are."

You swiped on the notifications, unlocking your phone, and going to the message.

unknown: hi y/n i think you grabbed the wrong suitcase...

unknown: yeah, uh, you most definitely grabbed the wrong suitcase.

unknown: is there any way we can switch in the next 30 minutes before i reach my house?

unknown: ok, so i'm sorry for the spam texts and calls...but this is kind of urgent.

unknown: like life or death.

"Life or death?" Charlotte asked, looking at you with a raised eyebrow. "What the hell was in that suitcase?"

"Spike ball and dirty clothes," you replied, shrugging. Your eyes went wide before you turned back to her. "What if they're a drug smuggler and there are drugs in there?"

She opened her mouth to speak before looking down at your phone, nodding. "Now's your chance to find out. Look who's calling."

You looked back down at your phone to see the unknown number flash on your screen. You looked back at her, shaking your head. "You answer it."

"Your luggage, you answer it," she laughed, pulling back segments of your hair to tie back. "But put it on speaker, I'm curious what the drug dealer sounds like."

You shoved your elbow back, avoiding her as you nervously slid your thumb across the screen, answering the call and pressing the speaker button. "Hello?"

"Oh thank God," the unknown called sighed, clearing his throat. "Sorry for the spam calls, I've just been panicking."

"Yeah, I’m sorry...my phone died," you replied, looking at Charlotte as your voice dwindled off.

"The suitcase," she mouthed, nodding her head back towards the room.

"Oh, the suitcase!" You said, almost a little too excited. You cleared your throat, calming yourself down. "I most definitely have your suitcase...maybe."

"Well I have yours," you could hear rustling in the background. "Y/N L/N, right?"

"Yep, that's me," you looked at Charlotte again, shaking your head. "Sorry to kind of do this...but how do I know I have your suitcase? I mean, what if I grabbed someone else's and you grabbed mine and there's three of us in this and–"

Charlotte smacked your back lightly with the back of the brushed, shaking her head as the voice on the other side of the phone laughed. "Um, shit," he coughed, smacking his lips. "Uh well, there should be a spike ball set in there. If not, then I left it at Johnny's. Otherwise, it's just clothes."

"Congratulations," you laughed, leaning back into the chair. "I've got your suitcase."

"Oh thank God, I was really worried there for a second," they replied. "Is there any chance we can exchange them soon?"

"Okay, so about that," you sighed, biting the inside of your cheek. "I kind of have a wedding rehearsal and dinner to go to in 20 minutes...and I don't think that will be over with till about...two hours from now. Is that okay?"

There was silence on the other side and you couldn't help but feel horrible at the fact that you were keeping this stranger away from his luggage and that he had to keep yours until then. "My family and I are going to dinner in two hours, reservation and all."

"Where at?" You spoke before your brain could even catch up with what your mouth was doing. "I'm sorry that was creepy."

He laughed and you felt a little flutter feeling in your stomach. "No, it's fine. I think we're going to Maggiano's in–"

"In the Westfield town center?" Your eyes widened as Charlotte placed the brush down on the counter behind you, looking at you with a smile. "We're going to Pieology in the Westfield town center!"

"Pieology for a wedding rehearsal dinner? Sounds like my kind of party," he laughed. "So, do you just want to exchange then? When I get there and you're leaving?"

"Sounds perfect!"

"Great! So I'll just, text you when I get there and I promise I won't forget the suitcase."

"Okay, I'll see you then."

"All right, bye, Y/N!"

"Bye!" You hung up the call and Charlotte leaned against the counter a smile on her face. "What?"

"He sounded cute." She stuck placed the extra bobby pins she didn't need, onto the counter. "Maybe he can be your date for my wedding."

"Not this again," you groaned, getting out of the chair. "For the last time, I don't need a date. Besides, this guy is a total stranger– I don't even know his name!"

"You can learn it later," she laughed, wiggling her eyebrows. "Either way, do your makeup quickly because we need to leave in ten."

She walked off towards the bedroom the two of you had claimed and you sighed, sitting back down into your seat, grabbing her mascara, blush, and golden liquid shimmer eyeshadow. It was the best you could do for now, until you got all of your stuff back from this stranger. As you applied the eyeshadow, you couldn't get Charlotte's comment out of your head. She was right, he did sound cute. But who's to say that he's not a total creep? Or that he's even your age? He could be in his 40's or even barely cruising 18. And then stood the real issue, you didn't even know his name.

Your phone screen lit up once again and you looked away from the mirror, seeing that you had another text from the unknown number. You furrowed your eyebrows and unlocked your phone, opening his text.

unknown: my name is matt, by the way 😊

[juyeoniemyhoney]

a soulmate who wasn’t meant to be

You love Jungkook. You’ve always known that much. But after living under the same roof for a year, you finally realise that your love for Jungkook is not at all platonic but in all ways romantic. Your feelings only build as another year passes and finally, one grocery run later, you tell him how you feel. Spoiler alert, it doesn’t end well.

-pairing: jeon jungkook x reader 

-genre: angst, just angst all the way.

-warnings: swearing, Jungkook’s a little bit of an ass in this one

-word count: 3775 words

-A/N: hii this is my first time posting on tumblr but i’ve been writing since like 2016 lol. i hope you like this depressing imagine and stay tuned for more imagines that are coming soon. also, i don’t really even like the ending and i feel like i dragged this out wayyyy more than i should have but oh well, i hope you enjoy it anyway. please let me know what you think and feel free to leave feedback so that i can improve!

---------

When you decided to live with your best friend, you should’ve known you were bound to fall in love. 

Flashback to senior year of high school. The two of you had miraculously graduated with incredibly average grades. Jungkook got into university solely because of his outstanding performance on the rugby team and you had gotten in thanks to pure luck. Seriously though, that was a really close shave. Anyway, the decision to live together when the two of you realised that you were going to the same university came as easy as a spring breeze. 

Which thus began the deterioration of your heart. 

Ever since you met Jungkook in your first year of primary school, his big eyes and beaming smile had always tugged at something in your chest. You had never denied this feeling, assuming it was because you love Jungkook, which you did, just platonically. But having to live with Jungkook made you realise that even though you were with him most of the time, you never really wanted to leave his side. 

For years, you had denied any thought that maybe you might be in love with Jungkook. But you had taken every single thought by the throat and stuffed it deep, deep down inside you, into the deepest, darkest corners of your being, forgotten and left to rot. Every single time your heart fluttered when you looked at him, every single time your skin tingled when he touched you, every single time your cheeks blushed when he did something for you, you had stopped yourself from feeling those things, those pesky little butterflies in your stomach because Jungkook is your best friend, nothing more, nothing less. Even though you know that he always meant more to you than you did to him. 

The one thing you dreaded once you realised that you love Jungkook more than a friend, was your monthly grocery run. When the both of you had first bought the flat — which you had only been able to afford thanks to Jungkook’s kind, high-rolling parents — you had both agreed to always go grocery shopping together, no matter what. You’re not really sure how this agreement came about, but at the time, it didn’t really matter to you because Jungkook was just Jungkook then.

But now that Jungkook is Jungkook, your crush, your heart cannot help but swell with how domestic grocery shopping with Jungkook always sounds. 

And grocery shopping with Jungkook is what you are going through right now. 

Right now, a year after realising that you are romantically in love with Jungkook and two years after moving in with your best friend, Jungkook stands next to you in the feminine products aisle, holding a crumpled piece of paper with grocery items carelessly scrawled on it, his other hand on the shopping cart that is a quarter-filled with household items that the two of you need to last until the next month. Despite how this situation is not at all scary, your heart beats like you are hanging precariously over a high ledge, palms clamming up as you nervously ball up the fabric of your shirt. 

“Which one is it?” Your saliva is stuck halfway down your throat when he asks the question, causing you to choke and cough the saliva up. You seriously need to get better at hiding your nervousness around him, if this even counts as hiding it, seeing as how you are literally not being normal, cool, or calm. You mentally face palm yourself for being you. 

“Um, I don’t see it,” you reply as calmly as you can, relaxing a little when you hear that your voice does not waver at all. 

“Here! Isn’t it this one?” Jungkook exclaims suddenly, scaring the absolute shit out of you and causing you to jump up in surprise, letting out a squeak when you see that it is the brand of pads that you use. You shove the thought that Jungkook does pay attention to you and tell yourself that it is because he has to see it on top of the cabinet in your shared bathroom every time he goes into it. He has lived with you for two years, of course he knows what brand you use, you idiot. 

“Yeah, thanks,” you mutter as you throw three packets into the cart before walking off, hands casually locked behind you as you roam the aisles, not sparing Jungkook another glance as he pushes the cart and follows behind you. You refuse to look at Jungkook and have your cheeks heat up again, especially not after he caught you blushing when you first met up with him fifteen minutes ago. 

Despite the fact that Jungkook had gotten into university solely thanks to rugby, he had surprised everyone by deciding to major in film. Though you had been a little surprised, you knew that film, or anything that had to do with a camera for that matter, had always fascinated Jungkook. And now in his third year of university and a certified adult, Jungkook had decided to get a job and stop relying on his parents. A little later than everyone else, but at least he finally decided to stop splurging the monthly allowance he got on cocktail nights at the bar around the corner. The job he got was a good step for Jungkook but a horrible one for you for he had decided to audition for a modelling company. And he got in. 

Which is why you don’t want to even spare him a glance. Because Jungkook had just gotten off work which meant that he had his hair done up, soft strands of light brown styled so that it was out of his eyes, allowing the light to hit his usually hidden, dark brown eyes, turning them a golden brown that reminded you of slow-dripping, melted caramel. And even though all he is wearing is a sky blue shirt and navy slacks, your mind and heart is going absolutely feral at how well they compliment him, high-waisted slacks cinching his waist and loose shirt hanging off of his broad shoulders. You realise that your arms ache to hold him.  

“What’s next on the list?” you ask, derailing your thoughts, as you nonchalantly survey the aisles so that you don’t have to turn around and look at Jungkook, even though you want to. You want to look and never stop. But he can’t know that. 

“Cereal,” he answers, catching up to you so that he is walking next to you, the end of his sleeve brushing the top of your shoulder. You give into your urge to look up at him and immediately, as if someone has punched you right in the gut, the wind is knocked out of your lungs because he is already staring down at you, a small smile tilting the corner of his lips up. You can quite literally feel your pupils dilate and you pray to god that he did not see it as you quickly but— you hope —casually turn your gaze away from him, nonchalantly asking, “Oh, we ran out?” 

“Yeah,” he replies, stopping to retrieve the cereal from the shelf. You reach out too but he beats you to it, knowing full well that you will never be able to reach the cereal that only sits on the highest shelf. Your heart stops for a while when you can feel him unintentionally press into you, chest brushing up on your ponytail, heat radiating from his body and pulling sweat from the pores of your palms. But the warmth quickly retracts with him as he pulls away from the shelf and haphazardly dumps the box of cereal into the cart before setting off, pushing the cart forward and out of the aisle, leaving your frozen form in the dust. 

You quickly snap out of it and follow Jungkook. 

As you trail behind him, pretending to look at products along the way so that you can stay behind him and play with your thoughts, your mind wanders off. All too suddenly, you are daydreaming, imagining yourself as courageous as you confess your harboured feelings to Jungkook. In this alternate universe that your imaginative mind has created, Jungkook beams down at you and accepts your confession, confessing that he too had been harbouring feelings for you. Jungkook calling your name snaps you out of your delusions. 

“Y/n?” 

It takes you a little too long to realise that he is talking to you but when you do, you reply with the most flustered, the most nervous sounding what you have ever heard leave your mouth. 

“I asked you if you wanted Nutella,” Jungkook patiently asks again. Far too nervous to properly internalise the question and reply with a proper answer, you haphazardly shake your head and pretend to wander off into an aisle filled with shampoo. You honestly don’t know why you said no. Nutella runs in your blood and your stupid diet — which is really just you being far too lazy to actually get up and make food — has your body aching for Nutella. But your pride runs deeper than you expect and you do not correct yourself, allowing Jungkook pass by the Nutella without another glance. 

Now back to overthinking. One of the reasons why you liking Jungkook is so bad is because, well, he has a fucking girlfriend, one who he loves very much. Plus, as if the universe absolutely fucking hated you, Jungkook had told you about said girlfriend, on the bloody day that your stupid ass had finally realised that you were romantically attracted and in love with Jungkook. And as if punching you in the face wasn’t enough, the universe had pierced your heart with the fact that you knew this girl. He had started dating Yoora. And you loved Yoora. Or more specifically, you found it humanly impossible to hate that girl. 

Ever the polite and sweet girl, Yoora had helped you pick up the wind-scattered pages of the love story you had written, handing them to you with a sweet smile and wishing you a good day ahead as she walked off. After that, you seemed to see her everywhere. So much so, that she had finally decided to approach you one day and become acquainted with you.

The aching pain of your unrequited love only continued, with each glance at Jungkook. You had also third-wheeled on a number of their dates and watching Jungkook look at Yoora, or someone who wasn’t you for that matter, with so much love squeezed your heart painfully, as if the universe was trying to wring a towel dry and your heart so happened to be said towel.

And Yoora being nice to you isn’t helping either. She has always looked at you kindly even though you are literally living with her boyfriend. Maybe she has always assumed you are gay or don’t harbour any feelings for Jungkook, or maybe she has always thought the best of you, that even if you did have feelings for Jungkook, you would never even dare try for him. 

So how on earth are you supposed to love him when Yoora’s kind and understanding eyes always flash through your mind when you think about Jungkook? How on earth are you supposed to hate her for stealing Jungkook away from you when she has been nothing but nice to you? But at the same time, how on earth are you supposed to like Yoora when she is the reason Jungkook is impatiently waiting for you to finish with your last year in university so that you can finally move out? How on earth are you supposed to like her when she is all that occupies Jungkook’s mind, leaving you forgotten like you are some childhood toy that Jungkook has grown out of? How are you supposed to live at all when those three fucking words take over your body like a goddamn curse, seizing control of your feelings like your heart is some kind of airplane and your feelings for Jungkook are forcing your heart into a nosedive, flying straight into the ground and shattering the feeble vessel? 

The answer is that you can’t. You can’t fucking live. 

“Is that all?” Jungkook asks you after about ten minutes. You did not even notice that you were lost in your shitty thoughts for that long. When you raise your head to look at the cart instead of the floor, you see that it is filled with groceries that will be a pain in the ass to carry home alone. Right, you totally forgot Jungkook is meeting Yoora right after this, which means you’ll probably have to carry everything back by yourself, seeing as how you’ve been carrying groceries home by yourself for the past three months. 

“Yeah,” you reply after your eyes lazily scan over the items, looking up to give Jungkook a weak smile before walking away and leading the way to the cashier. 

Silently, the two of you load the items onto the conveyor belt one by one, allowing the cashier to scan and pack the items into flimsy plastic bags before handing them to you. Jungkook pays since it is his turn and quickly tucks his wallet into his pocket before rushing to help you by taking most of the plastic bags from your hands, leaving you with only one bag. Against your own will, your heart swells with love. 

“Aren’t you meeting Yoora?” you question him as the two of you begin to walk out of the building. Jungkook turns to you and flashes you a bright grin, one that has something splintering in your chest and your breath hitching. 

“I told her to wait a little longer,” he answers, smiling sheepishly, tone hinting that he feels guilty for ditching you for the past three months. As he should. You reply with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. 

“Also,” he starts, trailing off a little as he pauses to let you walk ahead little before switching places with you so that he is walking on the outer side of the pavement, steps spilling onto the grass when the both of you have to squeeze past people who selfishly idle on the pavement, lingering outside shops for smoke breaks. Your heart’s quickening beat rings in your ears. You ignore it and flash him a grateful smile before he continues his sentence. 

“As I was saying, what’s up, Y/n? You’ve been a little off these days,” Jungkook questions, taking his eyes off the pavements to periodically glance at you, eyebrows knitted together in a concerned frown, teeth worrying his bottom lip. 

Of course Jungkook would think something is fishy. Once upon a time, the both of you could easily read each other like a children’s picture book, it was foolish of you to think that just because he prioritises his girlfriend before you, doesn’t mean that he can’t read your behaviour. It was foolish of you to think that Jungkook had changed at all. So far, he seemed normal. Maybe it was just you. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you’ve been cold lately. If you haven’t realised, all you’ve said to me throughout this whole shopping trip were short sentences that end the conversation straight away. And I know you’re always working on your essays for your classes but we don’t even have movie night anymore. Not to mention that you barely even talk to me anymore. So tell me what’s wrong. Did I piss you off or something?” Jungkook explains, a sadness oozing from his gentle gaze that he turns to you as the both of you halt at a pedestrian crossing. The sorrow in his eyes causes your chest to tighten as you find it impossible to talk. Because you miss him too. So much. You would kill just to feel the unadulterated rapture you felt when you were spending time with Jungkook. You really just want things to go back to how they were before you liked him. 

“Oh, I’ve just been going through a lot lately,” you answer, trying to keep your reply as vague as possible, hoping he leaves it at that and waits for you to tell him when you are ready. 

But of course, Jungkook continues to pry. 

“What are you going through? Come on, Y/n, you can tell me. If you do, maybe I can help you,” he bombards you, eyes silently pleading that you allow him to fix your problems. You know he means well. Jungkook has never intentionally caused harm to you but right now, you just want him to drop it. Because how on earth are you going to explain to him that you are in love with him and are jealous of his pretty, smart, kind girlfriend? 

Apparently your brain knows how.

“Well,” you start before you can stop yourself. The look in Jungkook’s eyes makes it impossible for you to just cut it off there, so, you continue. 

“I’ve liked this boy for a long while now but he has a girlfriend. I really want to tell him but I’m afraid it’ll ruin our friendship,” you blurt. At first, your chest feels light, heart finally rid of the words that had weighed it down. But then, you look at Jungkook, gorgeous eyes conflicted as he carefully articulates what he wants to say next. Then, again, your heart fills with an unimaginably heavy weight that sinks it all the way down to your gut. And you cannot help but think, he knows. He knows and he’s is going to break my heart all over again. 

“Can I ask.. who it is that you like?” he asks wearily, as if he is a hunter approaching a wild deer that startles easily. As the two of you turn the corner to your shared apartment, you glance up into his eyes once more and your heart sinks further. Fear. Fear swallows his eyes as he awaits your answer, afraid that what you’ll say next will completely decimate the past fifteen years of your best friendship, afraid that you will completely destroy his trust with your next words. 

And even though you want to lie to him, you find it impossible to. Which is why, before you can stop yourself from blurting it out, you reply with, “You.”

The feeling of complete and utter horror hits you after a second of lag time. Despite the extra second that it gives you to prepare yourself, you do not use it and when the realisation of what you said hits you, it hits you hard, like a million bricks to the face. 

Jungkook stills and you freeze too, too scared to even look at him. The both of you stand on the street, a few steps away from your ground floor apartment, a few steps away from privacy. But you think that at this point, privacy completely flies over Jungkook’s head. 

“I have a girlfriend, Y/n,” he states, as if you didn’t already know. You turn to face him and Jungkook’s expression is not at all far from terrifying. He has never looked at you with such stern, angry expression, eyebrows knitted together in a disapproving frown rather than his previous concerned frown, and it quite literally scares the shit out of you. His gaze has hardened and he looks at you as if you have committed murder — which you have, seeing as how you have completely lynched this whole fucking relationship. 

“I know you have a girlfriend,” you scoff. You swear for a second that Jungkook glares at you. Your heart stops. What have you done?

“I just-“ you start, trying to explain yourself but Jungkook cuts you off by raising his hand. For the shortest of milliseconds, you think that he is going to hit you, slap you, do something. But then, you dismiss the idea, knowing full well that Jungkook will not harm you. He is Jungkook. No matter how angry he is, he won’t ever lay a hand on anyone, especially you. 

“You know I have a girlfriend and yet you decided that it was appropriate to confess your feelings to me now?” he questions in a clipped tone, frown deepening with each thought that passes through his mind. 

“Look, Jungkook,” you start, taking a deep breath before continuing. To your surprise, he listens patiently. 

“I have been in love with you for two years now. Or well, I realised in our first year of Uni. But I’m pretty sure that I’ve been in love with you for far longer than I’ve realised. I know that you have a girlfriend and I know that I’m being selfish and a really shitty friend right now but I’ll be honest, it was beginning to burst out of me, my feelings, the words that I yearned to speak but could not, knowing that I’d be condemned to hell for speaking them. So quite frankly, I know I shouldn’t be scolding you, but I don’t need a fucking scolding from you,” you snap at him. Your breathing is laboured after the words leave your mouth. You pause for a second and watch him, waiting for him to make a move, to blow at you anyway. But he stays silent and you walk away, shoving your key into the lock of your apartment and swinging the door open with so much force that it slams into the coat rack standing behind it, knocking it down. 

Jungkook silently follows you into the house, gently placing down the groceries at the entrance of the kitchenette before he slips back into his shoes and leaves, slamming the door behind him. The slam is loud and resounding, and it feels like the sound waves are reverberating inside your chest, shattering your heart like glass. 

Left in the deafening silence, an air of complete and utter regret filling your apartment like a thick fog, the weight of your’s and Jungkook’s words finally take their toll on you, somehow increasing the gravitational pull on your body and pulling you to the floor. You do not know how you have yet to burst into tears but right now, all you can feel is a numbness that overwhelms your senses, dulling them down. Your ears tune out, your vision narrows, and the cool, tiled floor of the kitchenette beneath your fingers does not feel like cool tile at all. 

God, Jungkook must hate you now. 

And finally, at that thought, the idea of your best friend — or really, your only true friend — hating you, do your tears fall. 

[purplesurveys]

1177

survey by joybucket

Have you _____ during this pandemic?

Worn a mask? I mean, of course. I put one on even when I’m only picking up deliveries from my doorstep.

got tested for coronavirus? Never. I also hope I’ll never have to go through this, I don’t want a stick up my nose and throat D:

known someone who died from the virus? Personally? Too many people at this point. 

gotten the COVID vaccine? Not yet, but I have many relatives who’ve already gotten theirs, my mom and grandmother included, so at least. I know my employer has a plan in place over the next few weeks or months, so I’m just currently waiting for updates on their end.

started a new hobby? Yeah, I started on embroidery late last year. I haven’t been able to keep it up, but I’m still very much interested and want to go back to it soon. I also plan on getting one or two new Klaypel kits so I can finally replace and throw out the ones Gabie gave to me as gifts.

hated being stuck at home? Yeah, especially during the start when there seemed to be no end in sight. When they heightened quarantine protocols again earlier this month, that also made me feel aggravated about being stuck at home indefinitely since I had already started going out on weekends for self-dates.

worn a mask someone made for you? No one has made a mask for me, but one of my uncles got me a supply of a certain kind of face mask that I didn’t initially use.

sewn your own mask? No.

purchased masks at the store? Not me personally, but my dad regularly buys a supply for the family to use.

purchased a KN95 or N95 mask? Again, not me. But we regularly have a stock at home, along with the blue surgical face masks.

complimented someone on their mask? I don’t think so. I barely pay attention especially towards mask designs.

protested mask-wearing? ????? My name’s not Karen.

complained on Facebook? Nothing mask-related, but I have definitely complained about the government’s negligence and lack of proactivity about this entire situation.

read a book? I started on Midnight Sun which my parents got for me, but I never finished it. I got busy immediately the week after since I got accepted into my internship, and it was also because I was dealing with my breakup and could not focus enough to read for more than 5 minutes.

had an event canceled you had been looking forward to? My college graduation, which I’ll forever stay bitter about.

stocked up on toilet paper? I don’t think so. My parents didn’t believe in panic-buying.

been to the store when it was crowded? I do remember the mall being packed when I went last-minute Christmas shopping. Not to a crazy extent, but there was still quite a number of people.

been to the store when the toilet paper aisle was empty? N/A. We don’t have toilet paper aisles, but all stores have hand sanitizers and temperature checks by their entrance.

lost your job? I didn’t have a job before the pandemic because I had still been a student when everything started.

worked from home? Yup, and still on an WFH arrangement until now.

still had to go to work? I’ve had to go two times, but that was because it was absolutely necessary to go to the office to get the work done. My employer is pretty strict about this anyway and if something could be done at home, they’d decline the request.

went to a protest at your state's capital building? Well we don’t have states so this isn’t really relevant to me. Should a credible org plan a protest against the government though, I’d be interested in going.

watched the news for updates on the virus? We keep the TV on during dinner, at which time the news is always on. Whether I want to or not, I always get updates on the Covid situation in the country.

wondered if you had covid? Yeah, when I got extremely sick in May last year.

not left the house for a week? Way more than a week.

watched YouTube videos? YouTube is pretty much a part of my daily routine, with or without the virus.

spent a whole day watching movies? I’ve only watched one movie since the beginning of the pandemic.

cleaned your house from top to bottom? Not me, but my mom.

ordered something online? Too much crap.

ordered a pizza? I’ve gotten pizza a few times for my family, yeah. I remember ordering from Pizza Hut, Motorino, and most recently, Yellow Cab.

prayed to God?

completely forgotten a holiday that you normally celebrate? Nah, I usually remember when holidays are because that means I get a day off hahaha.

voted in an election? There haven’t been any elections that have taken place since the start of the pandemic.

gotten to know your neighbors? Somewhat. I only say hi to them and greet them a good morning/afternoon when I walk the dogs, but I don’t initiate conversations.

sanitized everything in your home? We always do this, especially when a package arrives for someone in the family.

wrote someone a letter? Started one but never finished because I soon realized it wouldn’t be worth it.

wished this pandemic were over? Don’t we all?

been surprised this pandemic has lasted so long? Yeah, I definitely thought things would be normal by now.

worried about catching the virus? I think the worry exists for everyone. I just wouldn’t say I’ve ever gotten super anxious and panicky about it. I feel pretty resigned at this point and just want everything to be over, so I can finally have the life I was meant to have back.

stayed home because you didn't want to catch the virus? That, and because I was required to stay home to begin with.

been to church? We watch a service on YouTube every Sunday morning.

watched an online church service? ^ Yeah, that’s what I meant haha oops.

been stopped by a police officer? No, but there was one time I was cleaning up Cooper’s tray and there happened to be a village guard cycling by our street, and he just kindly reminded me to put on a mask or shield since I had forgotten to do it.

seen a lot of police cars patrolling the area? No. I would definitely be pissed off if this happened - especially in a residential subdivision - and share a pic on social media to alert everyone about the unnecessary mess that is the police.

had someone cough on you out in public? No. But again, this would also piss me off and I wouldn’t hesitate to confront the asshole who would do something like that.

has someone stand less than six feet away from you while waiting in line? Always. Some people here can still be unbelievably stubborn.

had to use an inhaler? Never needed one.

been to the doctor? Yeah, to have my blood and urine tests examined.

had increased asthma and/or allergy symptoms? I have neither.

felt like you were fighting a virus? Like I said, I got a bad fever sometime last year. Even though I didn’t show any of the common Covid symptoms (e.g. I had wet cough instead of a dry cough), I felt as if I was rotting away lmao. I could barely stand up and I felt like fainting the second I would raise my head.

been diagnosed with the coronavirus? No.

felt lonely? It’s natural.

went somewhere with a friend? Just a couple of times. I went to UPTC with Andi at the start of the year, then back in Feb I went to Perfy’s with several friends, well aware of our ignorance but badly craving for a sense of normalcy for even just a night.

attended an online event? BANG BANG COOOOOOOOOON. Best 8 hours of my life during the pandemic thus far.

had a business in your area close down? Like the people I know who’ve died from the virus, too many.

received a stimulus check? Hasn’t happened.

received food stamps? No, and I don’t think we have that system in place here. The government just lets the hungry go hungrier.

applied for disability? No, not applicable.

applied for food assistance? No, thankfully we haven’t reached this point.

visited a food pantry? ^

had a fever? Just back in May. Hasn’t happened again since.

believed a conspiracy theory about the virus? Cringe, no.

had to take online classes? When the whole world was still at a loss on how to handle a global pandemic, aka early March, I briefly took Zoom sessions for some of my classes. But it proved to be difficult what with many students struggling with internet connections or being stuck somewhere without their school supplies, so my university canceled the sem altogether not long after and gave everyone general passing grades.

ate at a restaurant? I did a few times. I frequented coffee shops rather than restaurants, though.

walked through a drive-thru? I’ve...driven through a drive-thru, but not walk.

had your mask fog up your glasses? Every damn time I get out of the car, hahaha.

had to go to the hospital because of covid? Nope, not for myself or for someone else.

had to go to the hospital for a different reason? For my fever.

used hand sanitizer? At least once a day.

felt encouraged, joyful, or blessed? Now, especially. Things are starting to look up, at least for my own life.

[numba99]

The Intern - Part 2

Part 1

Summary: Summary: You are an intern at MSG, strictly forbidden to become involved in with any of the Rangers players. However, this becomes difficult when you catch the eye of a certain player. Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: none for this part except the usual I did not proof read and there are deff typos don’t Judge me

Over the course of the next few weeks everything was going great. Sure you were tired and running all over the place, but it was kind of fun. Plus, you felt like you were learning a lot and you never got tired of basically getting to watch rangers games as part of your school work.

You were also getting to know a lot of the players, who were nicer than you thought. From the media interviews they always seemed like decent guys, but you were nervous of how they’d be towards you. You would have honestly understood if they didn’t even acknowledge you given how much they have going on, but most of them chatted with you by this point.

The only player you didn’t really talk to was Lias. In fact, you were sorta avoiding him. Maybe that was dramatic, but you really didn’t know what to make of that little exchange from your first day. You were super weary of anything that could be construed as flirting or inappropriate for the work scare so you figured it was better to just avoid him. He hasn’t tried anything since either, not that you really gave him a chance to. You always stuck close to Beth’s side when he was around.

“Hey y/n, you have a minute?” Mika asked you.

“Of course what's up?” you asked, tucking the pen you had been using to jot down notes from the interviews behind your ear.

“A couple of us are going out later I was wondering if you'd wanna come?” he asked.

“Oh I um... am I gonna get in trouble?” you asked. You felt a little silly, like a teenager if they could go out past curfew.

Mika chuckled, “I’ve heard about Beth’s rules from other interns, but don’t worry there’s gonna be a bunch of us. Lots of guys are bringing their girlfriends and stuff too. I just thought you might wanna come.”

“That’s really sweet, Mika, thank you,” you replied, trying to hide how excited your really were. It felt nice to be asked to come along, it made you feel like they really liked you. “I’d love to out with you guys.”

“Great, and feel free to bring a friend or something if you want,” Mika told you. You exchanged numbers to Mika could give you details and you silently prayed Jess was off tonight.

No such luck.

“Why is it the one night you do something cool I'm working?” Jess huffed. She was already in her scrubs, ready to head out for the night.

“Um I do cool things on many nights,” you scoffed, feigning offense.

“Yeah but you’ve never done any cool things that could lead me to getting hot hockey boyfriend,” she pointed out.

“That’s fair,” you replied, “Maybe I just shouldn’t go.”

“What? No way y/n you’re going,” Jess insisted, “Maybe Lias will be there and you can finally talk to him.”

“I don't want to talk to him,” you replied. You hadn’t even thought about Lias being there, even though him and Mika were so close. 

Jess rolled her eye, “You and I both know that’s not true. Listen, I know you have your rules or whatever but talking to him isn’t breaking them. You’re not going on a date, it’s a group thing. Just go have fun and don’t be weirdo about it.”

“I wish you could go,” you sighed. Jess was so much better with people than you were. Wirth her there you would definitely feel a lot more confident.

“God same, but duty calls,” she groaned, heading towards the door. “Like I said just have fun and don’t be weird. You need to get invited out again so I can find a man too.”

You laughed and nodded, “Everything I do I do for you.”

“And that’s why I love you! Have fun out there tonight.” You let out a heavy sigh, sinking into the couch after the door clicked shut. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea... if you didn't go Jess would never know, you could just tell her you did...

You shook your head. You didn’t wanna back out just over Lias that was silly. Jess was right, you just needed to have some fun. Besides, it would be rude to cancel on Mika so last minute. So, you pulled yourself off the couch and got yourself together. 

The bar everyone was meeting at wasn’t too far from your place, just a couple subway stops away. It wasn’t a bar you and Jess ever would have gone to, despite it’s close proximity. It looked way too swanky for either of your budgets, but you were sure you could manage one drink for tonight.

“Hey! Y/n, glad you could make it,” Mika greeted you when you walked in. You smiled brightly, waving at him and Chris, who were huddled around a little table. Mika introduced you to his girlfriend and you noted that Chris was there alone. Jess would be thrilled.

A couple other players were there as well: Alex, Pavel, Brett, and a few other girls that you guessed were girlfriends but didn’t catch who was with who. Everyone was nice, though, so it didn’t really matter. You enjoyed chatting with everyone in a non-work setting. It was a little surreal honestly; just last year you were watching all these people on your TV and now you were out with them like it was a totally normal thing.

“I'm gonna grab a drink,” you excused yourself from the group, realizing you’d been there for awhile and never got anything. You drummed your fingers on the bar, waiting for your overpriced vodka soda. You mustered up a kind thank you to the bar tender - you knew it wasn’t his fault the prices were stupid.

“Shit,” you gasped, nearly bumping into the person behind you. Somehow you managed not to spill your drink and good thing, a few drops would be like losing a few dollars. You looked up to see who almost caused that disaster and found Lias smiling down at you. 

“Hey,” he said cooly.

“Hey,” you replied stiffly. 

“Didn’t know you were coming out tonight.”

“Yeah Mika invited me, it was sorta last minute I guess,” you told him. Something about him made you nervous. And not in like you were afraid of him kinda way, nothing like that all. He just sorta... made your stomach flip and got your tongue all tied up.

Lias nodded and a silence fell over the two of you. You were desperately wracking your brain for something to say, but every passing moment just made all of your ideas seem stupider. You were about to lie and say you had to go to the bathroom to get yourself away when Lias finally spoke up.

“I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot,” Lias said, “I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or anything.”

“It’s fine,” you told him, “It really wasn't a big deal or anything I knew you were kidding.”

“I wasn’t kidding though,” Lias admitted, “But I probably shouldn’t have led off that way anyway.”

“No it was nice, I appreciate that,” you replied, “It’s just, well I’ve got some strict rules to follow.”

“What do you mean?” Lias cocked a brow.

“Well Beth, my supervisor, has a pretty strong policy against her interns - err - fraternizing with the players,” you explained, “Like if she found out there was something going on between me and someone I could lose my place here and I need the internship to graduate so that would be really bad.”

“Oh wow, I didn't know that. I’m sorry I never meant to put you in a bad position,” Lias replied, sounding sincerely sorry.

“It’s all good, you didn't mean anything bad by it,” you assured him.

“Right,” he nodded, “I never heard anything like that, I mean Tony always goes after the interns. I heard hes gotten with a few.”

“Well that’s because Tony’s gross,” you heard yourself say. “Shit I didn't mean to-”

To your relief Lias laughed and nodded, “No you're right he is kind of a jerk isn’t he?” Thank god. The last thing you needed was someone spreading around you were talking shit about one of the players.

“Glad we can agree on that,” you laughed, playfully clinking his glass.

“So can we just pretend I never said anything and just be friends?” Lias asked.

“Well I don’t know if I totally wanna forget what you said,” you teased him. Lias blushed, playfully rolling his eyes at you. “But I would love to be friends.”

The rest of the evening you spent quite a bit of time with Lias. A lot of the people there had coupled off with their significant others and you didn’t wanna 3rd wheel anyone, especially since you didn’t really know any of them too well yet. It wasn’t awkward, though, you really enjoyed talking to Lias and you had a surprising amount of things in common.

“It’s not that funny,” Lias said, though he was laughing.

“My whole life I wondered what they called Swedish Fish in Sweden and you tell me its pas- paste- fuck I can’t pronounce it,” you were giggling, your drink clearly having an impact on you.

“Pastellfiskar,” Lias said. It sounded so pretty when he said it.

“Right that,” you nodded, “I have to thank you, Lias, you’ve solved one of life’s mysteries for me in just one night.”

“My pleasure,” he grinned. God he was attractive, you thought. You silently scolded yourself, you couldn't let yourself think like that. Maybe it was time to get out of here, before the alcohol got you acting too foolish.

“As lovely as this discovery has been, I should probably be on my way,” you replied. You checked the time on your phone and you were surprised by just how late it had gotten.

“Let me walk you home,” Lias said.

You shook your head, “I’ll be okay alone. I don’t want you to go out of your way. Besides, I’m kinda a long walk from here.”

“Uber then? I don’t mean to impose I just wanna make sure you get home okay. There can are some creeps out there,” Lias replied.

“Like Tony?” you teased.

Lias cracked a smiled, “Yes. Would hate for you to run into a Tony out there alone.” He did have a point, you did get nervous going home alone, especially this late at night.

“You're right,” you replied, “An Uber sounds good to me.” Lias ordered you guys a ride, which arrived quickly. Lias opened the door for you, sliding into the dimly lit car behind you.

“Beautiful couple,” the driver commented.

“Oh no, we’re not...” you trailed off awkwardly.

“She’s my sister,” Lias said, winking at you. You giggled to yourself, loving how Lias could make a weird moment light and funny. Even though you looked nothing alike the driver bought it, issuing an apology along with a laugh.

The rest of the ride was quiet, but not really awkward. It was nice to just be able sit with him and it not be weird. However, you did keep your eyes forward most of the way because there was something about the way the street lights were hitting his face that was making him look even more enticing.

“This is me,” you said softly when the Uber came to a stop. The air in the car suddenly felt thick and charged. You became hyper aware that your heart was thudding in your ears. You shouldn’t be nervous... why are you so nervous?

“Goodnight... buddy,” Lias said with a sly smile.

“Goodnight... pal,” you replied, hoping your voice didn’t sound too strained. You quickly got out, shutting the door and separating the two of you. You felt a lot better now that you were in fresh air.

It was just the car ride, you told yourself as the elevator ticked its way up to your floor, you just got a little car sick that’s why you felt weird. It was a lie to yourself that you needed to believe because the alternative - that you wanted to be more than just friends with Lias - was just not something you could entertain. You pushed that thought down as deep as you possibly could, slipping into a restless sleep.

[losingmymindtonight]

I heard that a lot of y’all were wondering what would’ve gone down if Peter had survived the Snap long enough to get stranded on that ship with Tony. Unluckily for you, I had the same question. Even more unluckily for you, I decided to write this fic to answer it.

WARNINGS: Major Character Death

Tony realized they were going to die about two days ago.

Their ship had no fuel, no power. He’d screwed around with the wiring a million times, just trying to get communications back online, but all he got was a few painful burns and jack shit in the way of results.

They were going to die in an alien spaceship, floating lightyears away from home, and there was absolutely nothing Tony could do about it.

It wouldn’t have mattered as much if he’d been alone. Sure, dying adrift in space was a pretty shitty conclusion to his life, but it wasn’t like he’d expected much else. After all, when did Tony Stark ever get lucky?

It was just… he had Peter with him.

Peter, who had stood next to him in silent horror as each and every one of their companions crumbled into dust. Peter, who Tony had checked over a hundred times in the aftermath, terrified that he was next, that the effects were just delayed, that the kid would fade before his eyes. Peter, who had been silently bearing the weight of losing on his shoulders ever since he’d seen firsthand the real consequences of war.

Peter, who was just sixteen years old.

“Mister Stark?” Peter peeked over his shoulder at the one working control panel in the whole cockpit. Tony quickly closed the oxygen stats he’d been looking at. “What’s wrong?”

Someone still might rescue us. Peter’s suit sent out a distress signal when it went offline. As long as we’re not too far out, the radio signals should have reached Earth. They’ll come. They will.

“Nothing. Just some info on the ship’s systems. You good?”

“I’m fine.” Peter shuffled a little on his feet. “A little bored, I guess.”

“Bored? I take you to space and you say you’re bored? Honestly, Peter, what do I have to do to please you?”

The kid laughed. “Dunno. Maybe take me to Paris, next time.”

“When we get home, I promise to take you to more than just Paris. We’re going on a European tour. Every major city is our new playground. Sound good to you?”

Peter flashed him a huge smile. “Sounds awesome.”

Let me get to show him Paris, and Venice, and Rome. Let me watch him graduate. Let me bring him home to May.

Please. Please. Please.

--

They ran out of food two days later.

At that point, his brain had already fallen into one single loop.

Keep Peter alive. Keep Peter alive. Keep Peter alive.

He’d cut back on his own rations from the beginning, only eating enough to keep his body functioning at moderate efficiency.

The rest went to Peter. It was never even a question.

Which means that the decision of what to do with the last of their reserves wasn’t a question now, either.

“Here. Eat.” Tony pushed the packet of food into Peter’s hands. “You need it.”

“Aren’t you gonna eat, too?”

“I’m alright.”

“You’re not.”

“I can go longer than you can, squirt. You know that.”

Peter’s face twisted up in frustration. Tony felt a lump form in his throat. This was a child. Just a child. “I want you to eat.”

“And I want you to survive.” Tony poked the food held loosely in Peter’s hands. “So please, Pete. Eat. I’ll be okay.”

The kid took his first tentative bite and Tony rubbed his shoulder gently. “Good boy.”

“I’m not a dog.”

“Really? With those puppy dog eyes of yours, you almost had me fooled.”

“I do not have puppy dog eyes.”

“Agree to disagree.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Yeah, well, who’s keeping you alive in the middle of space, huh?”

Peter’s face softened. “We’ll be okay. My suit sent a distress signal, right? Mister Rhodey will come for us.”

“Yeah, kid. Of course he will.”

“See?” Peter tilted his head sideways and beamed, all teeth and misplaced optimism. “It’ll all be okay.”

Tony watched him eat the rest of the food in grim silence.

--

Peter’s metabolism was fast, and Tony hated it.

It meant that by the time 24 hours passed without anything to put in his stomach, Peter got sick.

At first, it had just been a headache and shakiness, so he had set the kid up on a bunk behind the cockpit and ordered him to rest. Peter had smiled tightly and said that he was fine, that Tony should stop worrying so much, and that he’d be just fine on his own if Tony wanted to go work with the ship’s circuitry again.

And Tony, the fool that he was, believed him.

When he came back a few hours later to find Peter shaking and dry heaving, Tony decided all at once that he was definitely not fine.

But despite that, there wasn’t anything they could do besides wait it out, so he sat on the bunk and let the kid use his lap for a pillow as he choked back tears over stomach pains, wrapped him up in a blanket as he shivered, and played gently with his hair until he dozed off into a restless sleep.

Then, once everything was quiet and he had a moment to breathe, Tony Stark finally let himself cry.

--

Their oxygen would run out tomorrow morning.

Nobody was coming to rescue them, at least not in time. But Tony did have hope that someone would find their bodies, someday. Maybe Star-Lord would go looking for his ship after the other Avengers reversed the Snap. If Steve was still alive, he’d pull it off. Tony didn’t doubt that for a second.

So maybe they weren’t living through this one. Maybe this was it. Maybe Peter was gonna die before his first goddamn kiss, and maybe it was all because Tony couldn’t save him.

But Tony did have a quasi-working Iron Man helmet with recording capabilities, and that glimmer of hope that this ship couldn’t stay lost forever, which meant that he could let the kid say goodbye.

He carried the helmet over to the bunk quietly. Peter was dozing. He’d been doing a lot of that, recently. Tony guessed it had something to do with his body entering starvation mode. All he knew was that the dry heaving had stopped, and he was choosing to see that as a good thing.

“Pete?” He jostled the kid’s shoulder gently. “Hey, buddy?”

His eyelashes fluttered in lazy acknowledgement. “Hm?”

“Wake up, Spider-boy. It’s important.”

Peter blinked his eyes open slowly. “Mhm?”

Tony raised the half-destroyed helmet. “Managed to get this thing partially working. Do you wanna record something for May?”

“Huh?”

“If you want to record a message, the helmet can make a hologram for her. If anyone finds the helmet, it’ll let them know there’s messages stored in its memory banks. I can’t be sure they’ll get it but it’s… it’s just in case, anyway.”

“Oh.” Peter pushed himself up, shaking his head as if to clear it. “Yeah. Yeah. May. Should make something for May.”

“I’ll turn it on for you. Do you want me to leave?”

“No. Stay.”

“Alright.” He reached under the chin of the mask and pressed a button, watching as a blue light spilled from the eyes and swept over Peter. He forced himself not to check the vitals the scan would have recorded. They wouldn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know.

Peter was dying. So was he. They were dying. And the kicker was that it didn’t even matter, because tomorrow morning their oxygen would run out.

They were going out on a final gasp. Literally.

“You can start talking whenever, kiddo. It’s recording.”

“H-Hi, May.” Peter winced as he shifted. Hunger pains were a bitch. “I, uh, I’m really sorry I got off the bus. I know I shouldn’t’ve. It was… it was dumb.” He glanced up to Tony. “Mister Stark’s with me, though. So I’m… I’m okay. I’ll be okay.” He took a shaky breath. “I-I know raising me wasn’t always the easiest, and the thing is… you didn’t have to. I wasn’t your responsibility, but you did it anyway. So, thank you, I guess. For being the best aunt, for being the best mom, I could’ve had. I-I love you. So much. I hope I can come home, but-but if I don’t… it wasn’t your fault, okay? None of this was ever your fault. Yeah.” He nodded to Tony and dropped back against the wall. “I’m done.”

He clicked the button again and watched the light go dark.

“You alright?”

Peter nodded once, then pushed off the wall until he was lying down again. “Yeah, I’m good. Gonna nap some more, I think.”

“Good idea. You rest.” He sat on the bunk beside the kid and set a hand on the top of his head. “I’ll play around with the circuitry again while you get some shuteye. Maybe I’ll figure something out.”

Peter yawned, eyes closed. “Mm. Maybe.”

He watched Peter fall asleep with trepidation heavy in his chest. As soon as he was sure the kid was out, he knew what he had to do. What he’d been putting off for days.

Come on, Stark, he thought, tomorrow morning you’re going to watch a child die. You can record a goodbye message for your fiancé.

He carried the helmet to the cockpit, careful to muffle his steps. He didn’t want Peter to hear this.

He waited as the blue scanner swept over him. Once it beeped in affirmation, he slumped back against the metal wall and sighed in defeat.

If Pepper was still alive and, god, he prayed that she was, then he knew that the only thing she wanted was for him to come home. And he couldn’t do that for her. The only thing the woman he loved wanted, and he couldn’t fucking do it.

He couldn’t save Peter. He couldn’t save himself. He couldn’t save anyone.

When he worked up the courage to speak, he was surprised that his voice came out as steady, as normal, as it did.

“Hey Ms. Potts.” It should be Mrs. Stark. All I’ve ever wanted was for it to be Mrs. Stark. “If you find this recording, don’t feel bad about this. Part of the journey is the end. Just for the record, being adrift in space with zero promise of rescue is more fun than it sounds. Peter says it’s a little like Star Wars, and I guess he’s right. Those movies always gave me the heebie-jeebies, though.

“Food and water ran out,” he paused to calculate, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling, “four days ago. Oxygen’ll run out tomorrow morning.” He forced himself to look anywhere other than the spot where Peter was curled up on the cot. “That’ll be it.”

What was he supposed to say? What do you say to the one person you’ve loved more than anything else, when you know it’s probably the last thing they’ll ever hear from you?

He leaned forward, and didn’t think. He just did.

“When I drift off, I will dream about you. It’s always you.”

He reached out and clicked off the recording without another word. The eyes of the helmet went dark.

He forced himself not to consider the symbolism.

--

What do you do, when death is imminent? What is the right thing to do?

Tony didn’t know, but he chose to sit with Peter, and it felt pretty damn right to him.

--

It was later that night when Peter spoke, voice surprisingly loud in the silence of the dead ship.

“You look sick.”

Tony twisted his neck so he could stare down at the kid tucked into his side. “You’re not looking too great yourself, buddy.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey, none of that. Why are we apologizing?”

“You’re gonna have to watch me die.”

He brushed a stray curl out of the kid’s face. Just tell him. He deserves to know. “Doubt I’ll be much for watching. Our oxygen supply runs out in the morning. If anything, we’re watching each other kick it.”

Peter blinked. He looked surprisingly apathetic for a teenager who just learned he had less than 12 hours to live. “Oh. That’s good, then.”

“That’s good?”

“Dying together. Better than dying alone, right?”

Maybe. But I’d give anything to be dying alone right now if it meant that you were safe. “Yeah, kiddo. I’ll be right here.”

--

They slept fitfully. Consciousness seemed pretty damn valuable, all of a sudden. Then again, anything in short supply always was.

They had 2 hours left. About the length of a movie. Somehow, watching The Phantom Menace felt like a decade but now every minute felt like the span of a heartbeat.

“We should go to the cockpit.”

Tony tried not to flinch at the kid’s suggestion. “Why?”

“You can see the stars there. ‘S a pretty place to, well, to be, I guess.”

It’s a pretty place to die.

“Yeah. That’s… that’s a good idea, kid. You need help standing?”

“Nah, I’m alright.”

Tony had to steady him when he got up anyway.

They curled up near the front of the ship, backs resting against the wall. Their shoulders brushed, and Tony wondered why he’d rejected human contact so vehemently for so many years. That had been a mistake. Then again, he’d made a lot of those. What was one more regret?

“Look,” Peter whispered, eyes locked on the swirls of dust and debris, “it’s like being inside the Hubble Telescope. Uncle Ben bought me one of those photo books with a bunch of images it took when I was a kid. I still have it.”

“Space nerd, huh?”

Peter dropped his head onto Tony’s shoulder. “Yeah.”

“Any of your opinions changed?”

Now that you’re going to die here.

“Not really. It’s still beautiful.”

Tony closed his eyes. He didn’t want to stare at those damn stars any more than he had to. “That’s… sweet.”

“They don’t want to kill us.”

“They’re just stars, Peter. They don’t want or not want to do anything.”

“So why do you hate them so much?”

“I don’t hate them.”

“You do.”

“Alright, fine, I do.”

“Why?”

“Pete,” he turned his face into the kid’s hair, “let’s not, yeah? Dissecting my issues isn’t going to do any good at this point.”

Peter twisted until he was curled more comfortably against Tony’s side, like he’d just remembered this was his last chance to cling to another human being. “I guess it isn’t.”

--

“How much longer?”

Peter was slumped against his chest, back facing the pilot’s chair and control screens.

Which meant that only Tony could see the countdown to their deaths.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I’d rather know, Mister Stark.” Peter’s voice was tired. Resigned. “Please tell me.”

He swallowed. “30 minutes.”

Peter’s breath caught a little. “Oh. Okay.”

They spent the next 3 minutes and 22 seconds in silence. Tony knew, because he counted.

“It’s… it’s funny.”

Tony stiffened at the laughter in Peter’s voice. They still had oxygen, so this wasn’t hypoxia. Hysteria, maybe? The stress finally catching up to him?

A small, selfish part of him felt frustrated with the kid. He’d wanted him to stay Peter right up until the end. It would’ve been easier that way. Easier for Tony, at least.

“What is?”

“I wasn’t really all that scared when we fought Thanos. It’s not like I didn’t think I was gonna die, because I did. I-I didn’t really expect to live through it at all, actually. It was just… I didn’t know how I was going to die, and how can you be afraid of something if you don’t know how it’s gonna happen?” Peter lets out a strained laugh. “But now I-I know. At least, I kinda know. I’m gonna-gonna suffocate and it’s gonna suck. And I’m-I’m scared.” Peter buried his face into Tony’s neck with a wet gasp. “Mister Stark. I’m so scared.”

“Hey, hey.” How do I comfort him? How do I keep him calm in the face of the scariest thing in the universe? He’s just a child. “Did I ever tell you about the time Rhodey made me do hypoxia training?”

“No?”

“Well, he did. Damn bastard threw a fit when he found out I was flying around in a metal suit without it. It’s a requirement for every pilot before they can go up.”

He had Peter’s attention, at least. The kid had unstuck his face from his neck and was watching him with only slightly teary eyes.

“Hypoxia… it’s, it’s not a bad way to go, really. Doesn’t actually hurt all that much. It’ll be gradual for us, too, which is a lot better than it sounds.” He squeezed the back of the kid’s neck and shoved down his rising nausea. He didn’t have anything in his stomach to throw up, anyway. “You’ll just get dizzy, feel a little weird, and then fall asleep. It’ll be alright. Shouldn’t hurt.”

If it was going to hurt, I’d have ended this already.

“Promise?”

“Of course I promise. And remember what you said earlier? It won’t be bad because you won’t be alone. I’m gonna stay with you the whole time. We’re doing this together.”

Peter pushed his face back into Tony’s neck. “Together.”

--

“That up there? That's the endgame. How were you guys planning on beating that?”

“Together.”

“We'll lose.”

“Then we'll do that together, too.”

--

“How long?”

“8 minutes.”

Peter nodded, fist clenching in the hem of Tony’s shirt. “You’ve been a really great mentor, Mister Stark.”

He ran a hand over the top of the kid’s head. “Thank you, Peter. You’re brilliant, you know that? So fucking brilliant. And braver than any kid your age has a right to be.”

“Thank you, Tony.”

“You’re more than welcome, Pete.”

--

Nothing dramatic happened when the timer ran out.

In fact, it took a good 5 minutes to even notice the air getting thinner.

Tony tried not to think about the growing static in his fingertips. He just listened to the whish, whoosh of Peter’s breathing instead.

--

“‘M dizzy.”

“I know.” I am too. “It’s alright.”

“I don’t want to die.”

“I know.” I don’t want you to die either. “It’s alright.”

“‘M scared.”

“I know.” I’m sorry I can’t say anything to make this better. “It’s alright.”

--

He couldn’t stop watching Peter.

All the lights dimmed out. The rest of the world fell into a strange blur of washed-out apathy. But Peter mattered. His eyes could still focus on Peter. He wanted to watch Peter.

He wanted to talk to Peter, too, but the cotton in his lungs and the numbness in his lips was making that a lot harder than he felt it should be.

The kid blinked up at him slowly, hand clenching and unclenching almost impulsively in his shirt. Tony tried to smile at him, but it was getting harder to feel his face so he wasn’t sure it worked.

“‘S okay, Peter.” He could barely remember why he needed to reassure him, but he knew he had to. It was important. “Y’re not alone. ‘M right here.”

“T’ny.”

“Peter.”

The kid didn’t respond again.

--

Peter’s head dropped off of Tony’s shoulder when he fell asleep.

Tony didn’t like that. He wanted to see the kid’s face. Plus, his neck was bent forward unnaturally. That would hurt when he woke up. Tony wanted to fix it.

It took him 5 attempts to convince his arm to move, and an even larger count to get his hand in Peter’s curls. He tried to shift him up again, but his muscles kept twitching his grip loose before he could finish the movement. Finally, he managed to grab a fistful of the kid’s hair and haul him back to his shoulder that way.

He felt a little bad about pulling on his head like that, but Peter’s face stayed slack and peaceful so he guessed he hadn’t disturbed his nap.

--

“I’m gonna stay with you the whole time.”

--

His vision blurred. He couldn’t see Peter anymore, but he was still distantly aware of his weight against his side, so he wasn’t really worried about it.

When I drift off, I will dream about you.

He felt strangely peaceful. He’d done everything he could, given everything he had. It was his time to tap out. Peter was sleeping, warm and snug in his arms. Right where he was meant to be. He’d join him, in a minute. They could rest together.

He missed Pepper, though. He wanted to think about Pepper.

It’s always you.

Pepper. His Pepper. Sweet, beautiful Pepper.

He was going to marry her.

He felt his forehead knock against the crown of Peter’s head as his neck gave out, but the kid didn’t shift. Good. He didn't want to wake him. He was sleeping so quietly. He must be really tired.

It’s always you.

Pepper. He’s… thinking about Pepper. The haziness in his skull didn’t matter because he didn’t need coherency to think about her. He’d remember her after he’d forgotten everything else.

It’s always you.

He couldn’t wait to marry her.

He held onto that thought as everything around him winked out.

--

By the time Rocket helped Steve and Rhodey track the Milano, drifting listlessly at the edge of the gravitational pull of a cold star, the ship was silent.

The air was cold and thin. Too thin. Steve had to hastily shove an oxygen mask over his face before following Rhodey into the ship’s cockpit. Tony and Peter were curled in the corner, just behind the pilot’s chairs, backs pressed against the harsh curve of the metal wall. Tony’s lips were blue, the corner of his mouth just peeking out from the crown of Peter’s curls. His body was lax, head lolled forward and chest still.

But his arms? They were still wrapped firmly around Peter.

--

“We’re doing this together.”

“Together.”

[ihaveneverbeengivenflowers]

(Not so) Random considerations on birth control methods and menstrual cycle

Although absolutely nobody fucking asked, I wanted to talk about my personal experience with birth control pills and menstrual cycle. First of all, let's catch up on how did I get here.

I started taking oral contraceptives (OC) since my mother took me to a gynecologist for the first time. The doctor made me a prescrition because I told her I suffered with cramps during my period. I was about 13 years old.

I kept taking OC every single day for the following 11 years, until I reached 24. Several doctors I passed by along these years changed the dosage and combinations of hormones I took, because each of them gave me a different bunch of adverse effects. Headache, nausea, menstrual cramps, recurrent urinary tract infections, candidiasis, vaginal bleedings... the list goes on.

During my teenage years I found out some women from my mother's family have circulatory problems, from varicose veins to venous thrombosis. There are also cases of cancer possibly induced by sexual hormones. That is: conditions that make OC, especially the combined ones, contraindicated for me. I got worried and decided to come back to the doctor and talk about another options available. The only one that was presented to me was the so called minipills, which are OC made with a single hormone instead of a combination of two. I took it for the following 5 years straight, and it seemed a good idea at the time because I've spent all my life struggling with underweight and anemia. Since the OC completelly suspended my period, I was supposed to be fine.

However, last January I had a major vaginal bleeding, even though I didn't stop taking my OC. I had terrible abdominal pains, and the bleeding continued for almost 10 days straight. Like I said, being underweight didn't improve the situation and my immune system shut down very quickly. Besides, I was having a hard time to keep up with my bills and wasn't covered by any health insurance at that time (I live in Brazil, and for those who are not familiar, things are a little bit different here. Theoretically we do have a public health system, but in real life we can't barely count on it and the access to the private system is kinda surreal for those living with minimum wage).

Well, as soon as I could, I saved enough money to go see a private doctor. I paid for the appointment and a several exams to find out that my bleeding was possibly caused by multiple ovarian cysts. Both of my ovaries were 3 times bigger than the normal size, and the doctor hypothesized that a big one of them (or a few) must have simply ruptured, and that the whole shit was probably induced by the fucking OC.

In summary, the doctor said I had polycistic ovary syndrome (PCOS). Plus, I should stop taking my actual OC and go back to the combined ones. Yeah, those same I was not supposed to take both because of my family history and the previously described adverse effects. He emphasized that was the only treatment available, and that my condition actually had no cure, so I should just take it for the next 30-40 years until I’d reach menopause, while praying for not having cancer or thrombosis or embolia and... well, to die of something else not related with OC.

So, well... I quit. I smiled and waved to the doctor and left the office. I was about to turn 25 and I decided I wasn’t going to take it that way. Now that you’re up to date in the story, let’s move on to where I was really trying to get with this post.

Please note: I ain't no gynecologist nor physician, but nowadays I’m a post-graduate health professional with a couple years of clinical practice. And I think I’m allowed to apply the little knowledge I acquired during 7 years (so far, still counting) of higher education to see through this situation with a tad of criticism. Not only regarding my own case, but regarding the doctors’ position when it comes to women’s reprodutive health - at least in my country. Therefore, let’s consider some key points:

Is there a real need to prescribe OC to young girls aged 13 years or less just because they come to the office complaining about menstrual cramps? During the period the lining of the unfertilized womb is being shed through the vagina. It involves muscular contractions, so of course it might get painful. There’s nothing abnormal about it, so why purging it like a plague instead of teaching them that’s a physiological process and how to relieve the pain in case it happens? Nutritional counseling, physical exercises, simply using a hot-water bottle or even taking an occasional painkiller can totally solve the problem.

The primary aim when taking OC is expected to be, should be, birth control. Yet, they’re frequently prescribed to girls that don’t even have an active sex life because of light acne, oily skin, menstrual cramps and/or intense menstrual flow without any further clinical complications... or just because. You might take it as some conspiracy theory, but you know what it looks like to me? Creating a very profitable market for pharmaceuticals. And nothing more. If women get sick and end up developing cancer or whatever, even better, so more drugs (way more expensive ones) will be sold.

In fact, there are another treatments available for PCOS. But it seems doctors are too lazy, or too comfortable in their position of filling a single standard prescription, that they completely ignore any alternatives. Can you wonder why? Maybe because it requires a minimum of health and sex education, and that takes time. How are they going to be able to attend people in less than 5 minutes if they’ll have to talk to their patients, right? Simply doesn’t worth it. Anyways, again, alternatives include acupunture, homeopathy, phitoteraphy, dietotherapy throught nutritional counseling and regular physical activity. Each case is different, but keep in mind: OC aren’t the only way, indeed, literally speaking they’re not even a treatment because they don’t treat it.

Opening a parenthesis: of course there probably are exceptions and good doctors no matter where. But doctors at public health system are in general unsatisfied with their working conditions and environment, while doctors at the private system usually are anything but well paid by insurance companies. In overall terms, the more academically qualified the doctors get, the less prepared for attending real life demandings in developing countries they are. Also, the less willing to work in such places they are. (If you’d wish to read more about it, I highly recommend seeing Chapter 5 - An example of a paradigm and its social conditions: scientific medicine of La construction de sciences, by Gérard Fourez.)

Still on PCOS topic: first of all, having multiple cyst on one or both ovaries doesn’t necessarily mean PCOS. PCOS, as a syndrome, means there are multiple criteria that need to be fulfilled for closing the diagnostic. In this case, criteria involve imaging exams, symptomatology, clinical and biochemical evaluation. In my case, for instance, PCOS is a diagnosis that simply doesn’t suit my medical history, but no doctor has ever bothered making an anamnesis. I’m not trying to say anybody should go to Dr. Google’s opinion (seriously, don’t), but look out for more information than it’s given to you at the office, even because often none is given.

I know suspending the menstrual cycle can make life much more easier. No worries about pads, unexpected leaks, cramps, PMS etc. But take it from a different perspective for a second. There seems to be a lot of content over the internet nowadays about body positivity, empowerment and tons of so called movements of deconstruction of established paradigms in our society about feminility and feminism. I’ve seen a lot of girls online sharing their experiences on stopping taking OC etc. I don’t know how far it’s good or not, but there’s a point that can be taken from all of it: the menstrual cycle is a natural part of every woman’s reprodutory phase in life. It’s not disgusting, embarrasing or whatever nonsense we’ve been told. And it can be a good way for us to conect with ourselves, to listen to our bodies. Observing symptoms such as pain, fatigue, cravings, emotions, sex drive; checking on cervical mucus, body temperature, hours of sleep... all of this can be part of a daily self-care routine and, moreover, be useful to birth control.

Talking about birth control: I’m genuinely surprised on how much the doctors whom I interacted during my life underrate condoms as a method against unwanted pregnancy. They say out loud that it’s not safe and, unless the conspiracy theory about selling drugs is real, I simply don’t get the reason why they do that. In first place, this is bullshit because condoms are a very effective fisical barrier that prevent even a single spermatozoid from swimming along the vaginal canal and straight up to the womb. Second, there’s no 100% safe method except for sexual abstinence; not even OC + condoms (theoretically not even tubal ligation) are 100% safe, since the human body isn’t a static machine and everything is prone to error. So, yes, opting for non-pharmacological methods of birth control instead of synthetic hormones can be valid.

Obs: condoms work as long as they’re properly stored, used and discarded. But the same can be said about OC and any other contraceptive methods. And, important: choosing a contraceptive method involves not only statistical data on the margin of error of condoms and pills, but also individual phychossocial aspects. In other words: a determined method might not be the doctors’ first option and they might not personally like it, but they can suck it up and use their fucking knowledges to find the best alternative for you.

Again, I’m not trying to encourage you anybody else to contradict their doctors. However, I think that questioning is part of a healthy and constructive process. First because doctors are human beings, therefore they’re as prone to error as anybody else (or even more due to long working hours). Second, because they’re supposed to be the primary source of information for any questions you might have about your own health. Third, because I believe with all my heart that the relationship between health professionals and their patients must include, if not be based in, trust.

[talesfromthefreezerinmymind]

The Adventure of the Accidental Client

On this day in 1859 (May 22) Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the creator of Sherlock Holmes, was born.  

May is also Mental Health Awareness month. 

What do these two things have in common? For me, quite a lot. I’ll start this story in early 2012.

At that time I was a freshman at Maryville College, in my second semester of majoring in graphic design. I was completely miserable.

Why was I miserable, exactly? Well…

 I had no friends (turns out, I had never learned how to make them)

 I doubted that graphic design was the career for me (Imposter Syndrome vibes)

 I was homesick (even though I went home every single weekend)

I phoned my parents every night and told them about my day. During one such call, my dad told me about a show on Netflix that he’d started watching: Sherlock. It was made by some of the same people that made another favorite of ours, Doctor Who. I was intrigued, and had plenty of time on my hands, so I thought I’d give it a try.

If you know nothing of Sherlock Holmes (as I did when I first started watching the show), he’s a famous English detective residing in 221B Baker Street created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson solves mysteries in the late 1800s and early 1900s. But for Sherlock, the adventures are set in the modern day. Over the course of a week or so, I watched the whole first season. Normally I’m slow to warm up to things, but I was instantly hooked.

I kept watching the show. I read interviews with the cast and crew. I found a fan-run website with all sorts of lovely info. I discovered Tumblr and all the fandom madness that lives there. The second season had already premiered in the UK, and I dredged up info on it (and spoiled it for myself). I started reading the original novels and short stories that the show was based on. I read everything Sherlock Holmes in about 5 months. And then started reading it over again.

Sherlock had found me at just the right moment. I was unusually lonely. I was unusually bored. I saw myself in John Watson; a directionless man in need of a purpose. A deeply loyal man, without a friend to adhere to. I saw myself in Sherlock Holmes; a man whose mind is always running, who loves feeling clever and in control. A man for whom feeling like an outsider is normal, though not always welcome. In the words of John Watson, “I naturally gravitated to London, that great cesspool into which all the loungers and idlers are irresistibility drained.” I was a lounger, an idler, and London had found me.

The Sherlock Holmes stories rekindled my love of reading, which had been dormant for a few years, and sparked a much more serious interest in writing. There was just something about how Doyle went from unknown medical man to literary giant that grabbed my attention. He started in one world and ended up in another. It got me thinking that perhaps though I began in graphic design, I could end up somewhere else: a published author myself. So I wrote more. And I read more. I changed my major in the Spring of 2013 to English with a concentration in Creative Writing (Oh, and I transferred to UT in the fall of 2012. I had to get away from Maryville. Fresh start. Sorta). In 2015, right after graduating UT, I joined an organization called the Society of Children's Books Writers and Illustrators. Long story short, in April 2016 I signed the contract for Roof Octopus, my first picture book.

Sadly, though, writing doesn’t pay much when you’re first starting out so I really did need a backup career for the moment. Fall 2015 I enrolled at Pellissippi State Community College (backtracking, I know, per the usual order of things) and began earning an associate’s in graphic design.

Though by this point I was far removed from my freshman year at Maryville, I still felt all the loneliness and failure that I had felt then (and I was still fanatical about Sherlock; third season came out in 2014). Honestly, I had been feeling watered-down versions of those emotions since my junior year of high school (that’s another story for another time). Plus, there was something else that I was carrying that was growing heavier over time: an addiction to daydreaming.

An addiction to daydreaming? Is that even possible? Well, it is possible. It even has a fancy name: Maladaptive Daydreaming Disorder (MDD). It’s when a person’s habit of daydreaming is so obsessive that it interferes with everyday life. I would describe it like there’s a TV on in my head all day. It places my favorite shows, lots of reruns but new stuff, too. Your daydreams are like movies that you write and direct and star in and you can’t get enough. Part of the time they are white noise and I can ignore it. But more often than not, all I want to do is sit and watch. I have trouble focusing on what I’m reading or writing. I zone out super easily while listening to music or podcasts. I have trouble falling asleep for my mind not “turning off”. I zone out in class, at meetings, at church, and in groups of people when no one is talking directly to me. I daydream while driving and running and showering and cleaning and swimming and biking and just walking through my house. I’ve been struggling to focus while writing all this out; I’d rather daydream about writing this than actually do it. (Fun Fact: A big part of my daydreaming is I like to talk aloud while I’m doing it if I’m alone. On second thought, that’s probably more of an embarrassing fact than fun…)

People with MDD aren’t crazy; they don’t hear voices in their head or think people are around who really aren't there. They are fully aware that their daydream worlds aren’t real. But for some people MDD is so severe that they don’t leave their homes for days; they stay in and daydream their life away. Luckily, my MDD is not that severe. Often MDD is used as a coping mechanism. Even though I’ve never experience trauma like some people have, I still really crave an escape from life and all the emotions brought on by it.

I had never heard of Maladaptive Daydreaming Disorder until one day in the summer of 2016; I googled for ways to quit daydreaming and stuff about MDD was in the results. Up to this point I’d slowly been growing tired of my daydreaming. I’d always had an active imagination. Played pretend a lot as a kid, had imaginary friends. But in college it started to get out of hand. Particularly falling asleep was a struggle, or if I woke up super early, falling back asleep. It took me ages sometimes to write a paper or read through something. However, I had so much time on my hands that it didn’t really matter how much I procrastinated. (While at UT and Pellissippi, I still didn’t try to make friends.) I didn’t talk too much to anyone about how much I hated college. About how alone I was. I’m a Christian, but I didn’t pray about any of it. I didn’t talk about all the ways that I felt like a failure. I bottled it all up inside, because that’s what Sherlock did. Sherlock was a loner, who was never a failure. Emotions were for other people. He was too smart for them. Sherlock never seemed to let loneliness get to him, and I wasn’t going to let it either.

Anyway, the more I learned about MDD the more I was convinced that I had it. The most important thing that I learned about MDD was that people who struggled with it could get help. Therapy and medication (like antidepressants) had helped other people get control of their life once again. In the back of my mind, I began to wonder: I had been using MDD to help cope with life, but now did I need help coping with MDD? Nevertheless, true to my never-bare-my-soul nature, I shared these discoveries and questions with absolutely no one.

I kept on keeping on. Finished a year at Pellissippi (still worried about whether or not I could make it as a graphic designer). Signed that book contract. Stayed close (as close as you can be without spilling your guts) to my friends at home, who I usually had to make an effort to see (something I really missed from the good old days pre-college). Tried (and failed) not to freak out as some of those friends got married and/or moved off. Who needs friends anyway, right? They’ll just ditch you eventually; no one’s as loyal as John Watson. I daydreamed too much. I wrote and wrote. I worked at Cove Lake State Park in the summer. I started a second year at Pellissippi.

Then one night in December 2016, I stayed the night at my Nannie’s. After I went to bed, I, per usual, had a horrible time falling sleep. I laid awake for hours, but eventually drifted off.

The next day when I came home, my mom asked me if I had slept well.

That was all the provoking that I needed. I broke down and cried. I told her that I could hardly ever sleep because my mind would not turn off. My daydreaming had become too much. Once it had been my rescue, my escape from everyday life, but now I felt like I was going mad.

My parents talked it over together and decided that I should see someone professional. My mom made me an appointment at a counseling office. On December 20, 2016, I had my first meeting with my therapist.

It was rather surreal. In the first season of Sherlock, John sees a therapist because he’s trying to deal with returning home from war. In January 2017, just mere weeks after my first appointment, the fourth season of Sherlock aired. In in the first episode, Sherlock (spoiler) himself pays a visit to John’s therapist. Sherlock actually needs help and he’s actually asking for. And I had just done the same thing. Life is funny like that sometimes.

Over the last 3+ years my therapist has helped me understand a lot about myself. Anxiety has been present in my life for several years now. Talking to people I don’t know, and even people that I do know, often gives me some level of anxiety. I’m always worrying if I sound weird or dumb or boring. I never know what to talk about. Therapy has helped me build up my confidence so it’s much easier for me to talk to others now. Am I still an introvert? Oh, yes. Can I carry on a conversation with someone I just meet? Yeah. Do I always want to? No, not really. But I’m much more willing to try it now.    

I’ve always hated change, good or bad. Watching friends grow up and reach life milestones (marriage, kids, dream job) all while I changed majors, changed jobs, and had little luck in the dating realm was (and still is) rough. Therapy has helped me be a little more okay with changes in my life. I’m not so scared of the future as I once was.  

I prefer to keep to myself. I’m a perfectionist and a control freak. I hate asking for help. I always feel like an oddball, even among my close friends. I love feeling clever. I hate feeling like a failure. I hate change.

I am Sherlock Holmes.

Therapy keeps me in check. Keeps from going over the edge. Helps me understand myself, the world around me, and those in it. It helps me become a better version of myself.

Therapy is my John Watson.  

I don’t know what would have happened to me had I not discovered Sherlock when I did. I do believe that God knows exactly what types of things would catch my attention (i.e. mysteries and best friend adventures) and perhaps that’s why and how things turned out the way they did. He is the Great Author, after all. I am thankful that He loved me even through the times that I was not a fan of myself, running and hiding from everyone, including Him.

I’ve told this story today because (1) I love telling stories. It’s why I write. It’s why I read. Heck, it’s why I’m addicted to daydreaming. Yep, I still daydream quite a lot, but I feel in control of it now. I’ve been taking an antidepressant for about two years now and that has helped with the daydreaming and my overall mood, too. I’ve also told this story today because (2) stories can save us. Sherlock Holmes saved me. I was a lounger, an idler, who wandered into 221B Baker Street in need of a mystery solved. What was happening to Lucy Branam? Can she be saved? Sherlock was just the detective for the job.

Happy 161st birthday, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Thank you for writing.

[stevie-steven-stevington]

Febuwhump Day 21: insomnia

Fandom: MCU Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark Category: Gen Rating: T Warnings: pre-established minor character death  Words: 1.9k

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He's not surprised when he finds Peter sitting on the roof of Stark Tower at 2:42 AM.

Maybe he should be. It's not exactly normal to find your adopted kid on top of a 100-story building in the middle of the night, but Peter's never really been one for normal. It's been a while since he's done anything this odd, though - the first few weeks were full of strange occurrences, all varying degrees of disturbing, but things have leveled out since.

Tonight, apparently, they're backsliding.

Granted, this is not even close to the weirdest thing Peter's done since moving to the tower, nor the most concerning. It only takes a glance for Tony to know that Peter's not up here to do anything dangerous. Just, it seems, to stargaze.

Tony hopes this one doesn't end in a fight. There's been a lot of yelling lately, and he'd really like to get through a conversation without Peter getting upset with him. He knows it's the grief talking, but it still hurts.

Pulling the sleeves of his MIT sweatshirt over his hands, Tony walks across the roof, sits down next to Peter. The kid's not wearing a jacket, clad in Star Wars pajama pants and an old t-shirt that Tony's fairly sure is his own. Or maybe it's Rhodey's - their wardrobe's have gotten a little mixed up over the years and after constant reminders that the whole what's mine is yours bit applies here, the kid started wearing whatever was lying around with absolutely no regard for who owned it. Peter still doesn't quite get that no one will bite his hand off if he gets seconds at a meal or grabs a midnight snack, but at least it's something.

Peter doesn't look over. Doesn't acknowledge Tony's presence save for a minuscule shift in his posture.

"What are you doing up so late?" Tony asks, almost in a whisper. Anything louder might shatter the serenity. He wonders, vaguely, if Peter's still angry with him about their latest fight. Tony doesn't even remember what it was about.

But no, Peter never holds a grudge over their arguments. They never talk about them, after, because Peter never brings them up, just goes back to acting like everything's fine between them after he cools down, and Tony's too much of a coward to say anything.

True to form, Peter shrugs noncommittally and says, "Can't sleep. Kept...thinking."

Tony's learned enough since taking Peter in to know that asking him what he was thinking about flat-out will only cause Peter to clam up and shut down. Instead, he rests his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand and says in the gentlest tone he can muster, "You can tell me about it if you want. Or we can just sit. S'up to you, buddy."

Peter's mouth presses into a thin line and his hands fidget in his lap. He contemplates, eyes fixed on the night sky for a long moment, before ducking his head and letting his bangs hang in front of his face. His hair is just long enough for Peter to hide behind it, since every time Tony suggests a haircut he's met with a shake of the head and a change of the subject.

"I can't stop thinking about - about what Aunt May said to me before..." Peter stops, takes a breath. Tony prays to a god he doesn't believe in that this is not another with great power comes great responsibility situation. "She told me...a few hours before it happened, she told me she'd always be there for me. I was sad about something, I don't remember what, and she - she said she'd be here for me no matter what and then she -"

For a second, Tony almost thinks he's going to say it. It's been eight weeks and Peter still hasn't said the word died.

He doesn't. He cuts himself off before he can finish the sentence, like he always does, like he did even when he gave his speech at May's funeral. Tony has yet to determine if this is a thing he should be concerned about, but figures there are bigger issues here anyway.

Tony opens his mouth, but before he can actually speak, Peter looks up at him and says, "What were your parents like?"

It takes a minute for Tony to even be sure he heard the question right. Peter's never asked about his parents, and Tony's never said much of anything about them, both of them knowing how touchy of a subject it is.

He doesn't know what to say. Doesn't know what Peter is looking for him to say.

His instinct is to brush it off, because talking about his parents at almost 3 in the morning is not exactly what Tony signed up for when he got out of bed.

But Peter's staring at him with those big doe eyes, and maybe opening up to the kid is how he'll get the kid to open up to him.

"My mom was wonderful," Tony starts, the piercing feeling in his chest already surfacing. He cards his fingers through his hair, the sleeve of his sweatshirt sliding down his arm. "She was kind and soft and - and bright. She used to sing, all around the house, when my father wasn't home, and she always told me that I...that I was her favorite person. The best thing that ever happened to her, she said."

A hand slips into his when he pauses. He shoots Peter a grateful smile before continuing. "My dad, on the other hand, was...he was a dick. Full-stop. He was cold and emotionless and I always wondered how my mother could've ended up with someone that terrible. My father - he treated me like I was his invention. Not his son, not the child he was supposed to care for. Just something he created for his own personal gain."

He wants to leave it at that, but there's something he needs Peter to know. "My father is everything I never wanted to be. I - I've spent my whole life trying to be a better man than him. I'm trying, now, to be a better parent that he was."

It's a testament to how much he'd do for this kid that he even says this much. There's more to say, more to unpack, but that's Tony's problem, not Peter's.

Peter's quiet for a moment. Processing. Tony watches the emotions play out on his face, but doesn't really bother trying to keep up with them.

"You are," Peter says softly. He's looking at Tony's shoulder. "You're a great - parent. I know I haven't...I know I've been difficult and mean and ungrateful and -"

"Wait, wait, stop." Tony shifts so he can fully face Peter, who looks at him with way too much confusion in his eyes. "You're not difficult, Pete. Or mean or ungrateful or anything else you were gonna say. You're grieving. You're allowed to grieve. You're going through basically the worst thing you could possibly go through and you're allowed to be angry about it."

Peter looks unconvinced - God, it's like pulling teeth with this kid - but he doesn't push the issue. His fingers tighten around Tony's, and it's only then that Tony registers how cold Peter is.

"Jesus Christ, kid, you're freezing." Tony's pulled off his sweatshirt before Peter can even reply, handing it over to Peter. The wind bites at his bare arms as soon as he does, but Peter's the one who can't thermoregulate. "Don't argue, just put it on."

Peter sticks out his tongue at him, but pulls the sweatshirt over his head. He's still an inch of two shorter than Tony, so it's a bit baggy on him. Peter does the same thing Tony had, letting the sleeves dangle past his hands, and says, "Thanks."

"'Course."

They sit in silence, Peter leaning into Tony's side to replace the handholding. Tony knows Peter has something else to say, but he also knows that Peter needs to say it on his own time. So he sits and he waits.

Eventually, muffled in Tony's shirt, Peter says, "I can't sleep. Like, not just tonight. I've barely slept in the past...week or so, I guess."

Tony wraps an arm around Peter's back, rests his cheek on the top of his head. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I wanted to handle it myself." Peter's voice hitches. "Because I wanted to prove to - to myself or to you or to the universe, that there was something I could do by myself. That I'm not just this weak little kid who can't take care of himself."

And Tony gets that.

He hates that Peter thinks he has to do this, any of this, alone, but he gets it.

Peter keeps talking. "But I just - every time I try to go to sleep, I end up thinking about her and about how my life is gonna be without her. About the fact that she won't - she won't be there when I graduate. Or when I find out what colleges I got into. Or when I get my degree, or when I get married, or when I have kids.

"She always told me she was going to be the best grand-aunt. She never said grandmother - I think she thought she'd be disrespecting my mom, her sister, even though I don't think she would've - but she always loved the idea of meeting my kids one day, and now she - she can't -"

Peter doesn't break down, as much as Tony expects him to. Which is...progress, he thinks.

Instead, he just lets out a shaky exhale that Tony feels on his neck and murmurs, "I miss her."

The past eight weeks have been a constant reminder that Peter is just a kid. But in this moment, Peter seems smaller than he ever has before.

He doesn't know what to say.

The truth is, it'll never stop hurting. At least, it hasn't for Tony. Peter will never stop missing his aunt, just as Tony has never stopped missing his mother, and that pain will always be there. It will lessen, but it will remain.

Tony doesn't think Peter needs to hear that right now.

So he says, "Come on, Underoos," and takes hold of Peter's sleeve. Stands, waits for Peter to do the same, then leads the kid down into the Tower.

He takes him to his room and tucks him into bed. Kisses Peter's forehead like his mother used to do for him and then climbs wordlessly onto the other side of the bed. Peter doesn't say anything either, just curls into Tony's side and closes his eyes.

It's a solid forty-five minutes before Peter's breathing evens out. Tony lies awake for another twenty minutes after that, to be sure, and then falls asleep with his arms wrapped around his kid and sleeps better than he has in months.

[thealphabetmurders]

Incompetent Competition

Pairings: Prinxiety and background Logicality

Word Count: 4116

Summary: After months of flirty back and forth, Virgil and Roman's relationship comes to a tee during a particularly competitive game of volleyball.

Triggers: Blood, Injury, Broken Bones, Crying

Authors Note: This is my first Prinxiety fic and I am incredibly proud of the result. I do hope you enjoy reading this. 

Read on AO3

If there was any place Virgil hoped and prayed that he would never go back to after he graduated, it was the high school gym locker room. The sweaty cesspool of teen angst and hormones made for a humidity that was indescribable to anyone who was not privy to the experience. Sinks were running high and metal was slamming against metal as gym lockers opened and closed harshly for the teens to change into their gym uniforms.

There were very few seniors who had to take a class for gym, seeing as most got it out of the way in their underclass years. Nevertheless, Virgil was in his last semester of school and has to spend an hour and a half in Sports and Leisure for 2 days out of the week. According to his best friend Logan (who is also taking the class with him), leisure is defined as “use of free time for enjoyment”, and not a day has gone by that Virgil has enjoyed Sports and Leisure.

Logan and Virgil begrudgingly made their way into the locker room, already packed with those a few years behind them. It felt a tad awkward being one of the oldest people in the class, however the class size was rather large, so nothing too anxiety inducing.

“What do you think Coach has planned for us today?” Virgil asked, spinning the combination on his locker.

Logan shrugged, taking off his glasses and then his shirt, “I am not sure. She mentioned last week that we would be doing football on the field, yet it is 10 degrees outside, so I do not believe she is even allowed to take us outside,”

Virgil opened his locker forcefully, the red door swinging wide hitting the metal behind it, “If she makes us play basketball again, I am going to kill myself,”

Logan chuckled and shook his head, putting back on his glasses with the uniform shirt on, “If I remember correctly, you were quite good at basketball. Coach let us out early after you dunked a basket,”

Virgil scoffed, kicked off his shoes and then jeans, “Yea, I am good because I am 6’1 and this class is co-ed. I work out as much as you do, Logan,”

Logan shrugged, copying Virgil’s motions, “That is true. Your hand eye coordination could use a bit of work, though, and you seemed to gravely misunderstand what “double dribbling” means and-”

“Just because you played basketball for 4 years, doesn’t mean you have to show off, L,” Virgil cut him off, he smacked the waistband of his gym shorts against his hips.

“Irregardless,” Logan sat down on one of the benches and pulled on a beat up pair of Adidas high tops, “You could at least pretend to care. Coach grades on participation and attitude. You do not want your GPA to slip because of gym ,”

Virgil sighed, shaking his head. He knew that Logan was right, seeing as he has given this speech to Virgil many times before. Yet, it never seems to properly stick in his brain and stay there as a lesson, which frustrates Logan to no end.

Logan “try hards” in every class he is in, including gym, despite that not being one of his strong suits. Normally, Virgil can at least stay on the same track as his best friend, but with gym, Logan is going 175 in the left lane and Virgil is texting and driving.

“Fine. I will try in gym today. Instead of 1% effort, I will give 45%,” Virgil yanked off his graphic t-shirt in one fluid motion as Logan groaned in frustration.

“That is not- That is still a failing grade, V,”

Virgil shrugged, looking for his uniform, “Still, that is 44% more effort than I-”

Virgil’s protests to Logan were cut off by a whistle from the other end of their locker nook, “Ow! Looking good today, Virgil. Lookin’ good to-day,”

Virgil rolled his eyes and groaned and the smirking figure leaning against a wall 20 paces away, “Fuck outta here, Princey,” Virgil grabbed one of his shoes on the ground and threw it in Roman Prince’s direction. He missed terribly and it hit the wall next to where Roman was leaning. The other looked completely unfazed; he just smirked and winked at Virgil, ruffling his perfect brown locks as he waltzed away.

Virgil’s look of annoyance quickly dissipated and a bright red blush spread across Virgil’s pale cheeks. He shrunk in on himself slightly and a sheepish grin spread across his face.

The flirty back and forth banter began between Roman and Virgil sometime a few months ago as their Coach had them explore different sports during their class. In one of their first weeks, they did wrestling and Virgil was paired with Roman to fight. The two never really noticed each other, Roman mainly hanging out with other Thespians and Virgil hanging around Logan and some other design students. Their paths never had a reason to cross before now.

Despite Virgil having half an inch to an inch on Roman height wise, Virgil quickly found himself on the ground with Roman straddling his waist and both of Virgil’s hands pinned above his head. Indeed, it was a very compromising position that allowed Virgil to finally study the figure and face of his opponent, who now Virgil realised looked like he was sculpted by Michelangelo. Roman, ever the empath, must have sensed the ardor coming from Virgil, and allowed Virgil to escape the situation and take victory over Roman in that match.

Virgil may have won the battle, but he was getting brutally destroyed in the war. Ever since that incident, Roman has had no problem giving Virgil longing looks (that no man can call just ‘friendly’), accidental subtle touches, and not so subtle comments, always leaving Virgil a flustered and blushing mess.

“Y’know,” Logan’s voice made Virgil jump slightly and removed him from his reverie, “Maybe if you do a good job in class today, you will impress Roman,”

Virgil went to protest, but the words choked and died in his mouth, leaving him with incoherent sound and protests.

Logan clapped and hand on Virgil shoulder and made his way out to the gym floor. Virgil, still shirtless, quickly finished getting dressed and tugged on his shoes, following the other. He sat next to Logan on the crappy plastic bleachers as their Coach took attendance to begin the day.

“So today we are not going outside because it is too cold and I frankly would not want to go out in this weather anyway,” She looked at her clipboard and back at the class. “Today we will be playing volleyball. You will be divided into 4 teams that I will choose-” The class groaned collectively, “I do not care if you are not with your friends. Team A is Freshman and Sophomores, last name A through L. Team B is Freshman and Sophmores, M through Z. Team C is Juniors and Seniors, A through L. Team D is Juniors and Seniors, M through Z. We will warm up with partners first and our first game will be A versus B, C versus D.”

Coach blew her whistle and the group quickly scrambled away to their respective sides of the court. Thankfully, Logan and Virgil's last names fell into the same category, so they partnered up doing basic drills like setting and bumping.

“Now, remember if you can spike the ball over the net,” Coach yelled out to the teens, “Doesn't mean you should. We do not want any injuries today,”

“But can we spike the ball, Coach?” Roman's partner, Patton, tentatively raised his hand and spoke.

Coach pondered this before sighing, “Just don't hurt anyone or yourself,”

Patton beamed and began bumping the ball to just himself while Roman watched and laughed.

“Hey, Patton,” Logan called out to the other. Patton let the ball fall mid-air and ran over to Logan, standing on the other side of the net, “Your last name is Foster, shouldn't you be on our team?”

Patton's eyes widened a bit behind his round glasses. He looked over at Coach, preoccupied with some underclassmen before putting a finger to his lips and slowly walking away from Logan.

Logan groaned, casually tossing the ball that was on his hip back to Virgil, “If Patton can spike then we stand no chance of winning. We do not exactly have the most athletically inclined group,” Logan said, dejectedly as his eyes trailed over their teammates.

Virgil shrugged and began setting the ball to himself out of boredom, “Who cares, it is just a dumb game,”

“Yes, one that I wish to perform well in and win,”

“You hold no stake in this,” Virgil said, thinking of what Logan said earlier, “It is not like you are trying to impress anyone here,”

Virgil had to strain his ears to hear Logan mutter, “I wouldn’t say that,”

Logan put his hands in his pockets and looked off into the distance. Virgil placed the ball on his hip and followed Logan’s line of sight towards Roman and Patton. Patton giggling, trying to toss the ball up as high as possible while Roman interfering. The same type of high school shenanigans that Logan looked down on so often were the same that was giving him a longing, misty look in his eye.

Before Virgil could say, Coach blew her whistle to begin the games. Everyone except one person from each game put away their volleyballs while Virgil was still standing, rooted to the ground, holding his on his hip. Not wanting to make the effort to walk to the metal container where they were kept, he shot the ball like a basketball into the container a decent distance away. The ball landed directly into the container, and Virgil smiled, impressed with his dexterity.

“Nice shot, V,”

Virgil turned around and saw Roman standing on the other side of the court, his hands on his hips and grinning and Virgil. He gave him a quick thumbs up before making his way to the corner of his side of the court, where he would presumably be serving first. Virgil made eye contact with Logan who smirked at him and mouthed a quick, “Told you so,” before getting into position.

“Huh,” Virgil thought, “Maybe I am going to have to try hard volleyball,”

****

The game was not going well for Virgil’s team. The score was 7-13 in favor of Roman’s team, and it doesn’t look like they are letting up either. Roman had muscles for days, allowing him to serve the ball quickly over the net, barely giving any time for their ragtag team of misfits to react. 5 out of the 7 points that had been earned were from Logan using fake out techniques to confuse the opponents in the front. Virgil had earned zero points, seeing as he was placed in the back center, never touching the ball.

“Prince!” Coach called out, silently tweeting her whistle, “Have you been serving this whole time?” He heard her yelled at Roman, slightly cringing in on the white ball.

“Is- er- is that bad?”

Coach blew the whistle loudly, gesturing to the teams, “Everyone rotate! Back, come up front, front, go to the back,” She blew her whistle twice more for good measure as everyone dragged their feet to their new position.

Roman came up in front of the net and touched it, pulling down slightly on the strings, “Fancy seeing you here, Wonder-emo,” He quirked up an eyebrow, “You come here often?”

“To class?”

Roman sighed, staring off into the distance, “I do not know how you are going to cope with such a massive loss on your part. Despite the hiccup of us having to “rotate”, we are still going to wipe the floor with your team,”

Virgil rolled his eyes, “I honestly don't care that much. Save the trash talking for my buddy Logan, he’ll be happy to engage,”

Roman put both his hands on the net now, “You better watch out, because now you may become victim to one of my awesome spikes. Wouldn’t wanna ruin that pretty face,” Roman bit his lip and winked.

Virgil took slowly, calculating breaths to keep him from blushing or making a fool of himself, “Please Princey, I can get it up just as well as you can,”

Roman’s face split into a shit-eating grin, “That’s what she said,”

Virgil had to stop himself from screaming. Instead, he opted for another, more petty alternative.

“It’s our ball!” Virgil yelled out, “Rule violation: No one can be touching the net,” Virgil looked at Roman dead in the eyes before catching the flying ball without breaking eye contact, Roman’s eyes filled with disgust and betrayal, snapping his hands back to his sides and off the net.

Virgil lowered his voice once more so only Roman could hear, “Revenge is a dish best served cold,”

The game continued and Roman’s team’s success went from guaranteed to fleeting, as their new server hit the net multiple times and Roman’s ball spiking was easily intercepted by a junior whose name escaped Virgil. Each time Virgil’s team got a point, his grin would just get wider and wider. Eventually, it was a tie game, both teams quickly reaching 14-14. Virgil was beaming now while Roman practically had steam coming out of his ears.

“Okay!” Coach yelled out and blew her whistle, “In just about 3 minutes we are going to switch and A will go against D and C will go against B,”

“Huh,” Virgil said and looked at Roman, “It looks like my team may just take the victory after all,”

Roman huffed and crossed his arms, “That’s a funny joke, Macabre, calling it ‘your team’. You have not even scored a point,”

“I set it to her and she-”

“An assist is not a success, Leonardo DiCraprio,” Roman told him, definitively, and walked away as the round began.

Virgil was not bad at sports, he is more muscular than the average high school senior, hell, he had dunked 2 basketballs before. He knew that he could score a point just to shove it back into Roman beautiful face, they just have to give him a chance.

His eyes ping-ponged back and forth at the exchange of the ball over the net to both sides. At one point, Roman rushed from the other side of the court to directly in front of Virgil to hit the ball that a distracted junior was going to miss. He hits it to the far right corner with impressive speed and then moves to the center of the court.

“Mine!” Logan yelled, skidding forward to hit the ball (Virgil still very impressed with his reaction skills). The ball once again was vollied to the other side of the court.

“Mine!” A cheery voice called out. Patton slid to the center of the court next to Roman and hit the ball to the left hand side of the court. He smacked the ball with imposing velocity and was heading in the space between Virgil and another teammate.

With a sudden burst of confidence, the words of Roman ringing in his ears, Virgil shouts, “Mine!” and leaps to the center where the white ball was hurtling.

Virgil knew that time was all relative to human perception and technically was not real. Nevertheless, his surrounds slowly moved to a near halt as he had to make a decision on what to do. He could hear the screams of his teammates in anticipation, as the ball was slowly rolling towards Virgil, and would not be stopped unless he did something.

He was just going to bump it. That is all he wanted to do. Bump the ball and keep their thrilling volley going. Just simply bump the ball, maybe even set it. However, Virgil legs must have hated that idea, as his fight-or-flight response kicked in and they made him jump to a height he did not think he was capable of. He knew he only had one shot at this, so he closed his eyes and smacked the ball downward as hard as possible. The rubber bladder of the ball burned as he hit it with all his might, but he couldn’t help but think about how similar it is to dunking a basketball as he had done previously, unmitigated.

Virgil’s ankles ached as he hit the ground once again and his ears were roaring from doing such a physical act so suddenly. He opened his eyes and heard his teammates cheering. The senior next to him held up his hand and Virgil high fived him back, suddenly filled with energy. He looked on the other side of the court, and immediately felt his stomach plummet when he saw 3 teenagers circling a body on the ground.

Virgil rushed to the crowd, standing next to Patton who was mid-conversation, “- just keep your head tilted forward and keep pinching your nose- no, not there Roman,”

Anyone would have cringed at the sight in the center of the group, but it made Virgil sick to his stomach. In the thick of it all was Roman; perfect, beautiful, incredible Roman, holding his nose and his mouth for dear life as bright red blood quickly dribbled down his hand and onto his shirt.

“Holy shit,” Virgil cried, “What the hell happened,”

Roman looked at him with a fiery intensity. A different intensity than on average, this was filled with malice and anger, “You hit me in the nose with your spike, you freaking punk!” Roman whimpered, tears pricking his eyes. He inhaled sharply and groaned, the tears were now spilling from his eyes, “Oh God, I think it’s broken,”

Any shot Virgil had with Roman broke as soon as he cracked his nose. He covered his hand to his mouth, feeling so incredibly guilty for what he did. Stupid, stupid, stupid Virgil. Apologies weren’t enough, nothing was enough. Yet, he had to say something, anything. But, instead, he opted for staying silent instead. Saying nothing. Covering his mouth so no one could hear the dry sobs he was keeping back from his acquaintances.

“Roman, here, let me walk you to the Nurse,” Patton held out a hand and Roman took it, his hand still covering half of his face. Roman eyed Virgil the entire way out, using the shorter man as a crutch, and Virgil was rooted to the spot, frozen in a position of sobbing at almost any moment.

Once the gym doors closed loudly, signalling the pair had left, all eyes turned to Virgil, widen and with shock.

“Too much attention, too much attention, no no no,” And now Virgil did something he should have done with the volleyball: flee. He ran towards the locker room doors, he feet failing him and causing him to stumble a few times. Tears were leaking out of the corners of his eyes as he threw open the doors to the room, vaguely processing the desperate cries of his best friend behind him.

***

Virgil hummed contentedly as he was putting his books in his locker. After the incidents of yesterday, Logan calmed Virgil down and they talked calmly and rationally about the incidents that unfolded. He also attempted to make Virgil feel better by discussing his infatuation with Patton; any talk of emotions involving Logan was odd to hear but extremely intriguing (and distracted him from his own issues). They sat on the floor, talking until the end of the period and then moving the conversation to chatting for hours in Logan’s car. He may claim to not understand emotions, but Logan has a way of making Virgil feel better, no matter the situation.

Nevertheless, Virgil rationally chalked the incident up to an accident. It was easy to do so, seeing as he doesn’t have to see Roman for a while and was probably remembering it injury as worse than it really was. It was Friday, so Virgil will have the whole weekend to compartmentalize the incident and everyone will forget about it by then. Well, that was the plan. Virgil was almost finished putting his books away when a hand harshly closed his locker for him. Virgil squeaked as he saw who it was.

Roman Prince, looking as godly as ever in his signature red bomber jacket and chocolate locks, stood imposingly over Virgil (despite Virgil technically being taller, he does slouch quite a lot). Roman’s big white cloth bandage was the first thing you would see when looking at the other, the tape to hold it down also moved onto his cheeks. Virgil winced a bit more when he noticed there was also dark bruising around Roman’s eyes as well. No, the injury was worse than what he remembered.

The pair had never talked outside of gym, but here he was, a little over 24 hours since Virgil had destroyed Roman’s face, turning him from statue by Michelangelo to a painting by Picasso.

“Hey… Roman,” Calling the other by his real name felt foreign on his tongue, but calling him Princey during this moment felt inappropriate.

The awkwardness was thick in the air as Roman said nothing back. His fingers twitched slightly as he leaned an arm against the locker doors and he bit his lip, eyes trailing down at the floor, not wanting to make eye contact with Virgil.

“I went to the doctor, my nose is broken, confirmed,” Roman stated simply, the dramatics in his voice were replaced by a dead and broken kind of disinterest.

Virgil swallowed thickly, “Roman… You have to know how sorry I am. Logan was getting in my head about being competitive and… You kind of egged me on to score a point,” Roman eyes shot up to look at Virgil, shocked, “I take that back, it was all Logan,” He quickly finished, “I will do anything to make this better, do you want me to pay for your doctor bills, I can,”

He cannot, but thankfully, Virgil did not have to worry about that as Roman waved him off, “I have pretty fabulous insurance, it was not too much, do not worry about it,”

Virgil nodded, sadly smiling.

“However,” Roman continued, his usual stupor seemed to be returning slowly, “If you do want to do something for me, you could allow me to take you out for coffee,”

“Take… you out?” Virgil repeated back, slowly. His brain and the words we were hearing were still disconnected.

Roman chuckled, “Yes, that is what one typically does on a first date,”

Virgil mind went to a screeching halt as Roman said those words. His heart was not beating anymore, it was vibrating from nerves and pent up emotions. Confused as to why a man Virgil had injured so greatly could still be possibly interested in him in any fashion. The stars were not aligned for this to work out; they had already collapsed in on themselves and become black holes, sucking up everything in their path. Yet, somehow, in someway, Roman was standing in front of him with love in his eyes, willing to look past that. With every compliment Roman gave, Virgil would retort with a biting comment, how did Roman still keep his affections? Virgil would completely shutting down at any sign of physical affection and yet, here, standing before him, an angel walking on Earth was asking him to coffee. He could not understand how or why Roman could want that. How does one articulate these worries? How can Virgil express his fears to Roman without it seeming like an outright objection, because he want to be with him so badly?

“I broke your nose,” He responded flatly, dumbly, and cringing in on himself because that was the wrong things to say.

Roman sighed, ruffling his hair, “Yes, I do realise that that was a most unfortunate instance for both of us. But, it made me realise that our back and forth had gone on too long, and will only spur even more injuries if not sedated,”

Virgil blinked rapidly, his mouth had gone dry and his heart was beating out of his chest as he stared at Roman, “I demolished your face, and you still want to go out with me?”

Roman bowed dramatically, holding out his hand. Virgil flushed pink and awkwardly picked at the loose strings on his backpack. Roman looked up at Virgil through his eyelashes smirking, “I do, if you’ll have me,”

Virgil held onto his hand, their fingers and palms coming together nicely, and Virgil smiled once more, “How can I say no to that?”

[sope-and-shine]

Don’t Save Me, I’m Fine: Prologue

->  Pairings: Yoongi x OC // Hoseok x OC // OT7 X OC’s -> Save Me! AU // Fluff // Angst  -> Word Count: 2.4k -> Summary: After finally bringing all of them together and settling the loop once and for all, the boys find themselves creating a new chapter in their lives. They rekindle friendships, form new bonds, and try to start over again with the 7 of them all together again. Everything is fine until one day of fun turns into a day that just won’t seem to end. Friends need help, but what if they don’t want it? -> Warning(s): Angst // Future mentions of death // Future mentions of suicide // Future mentions of blood, violence, and toxic relationships // Mild and vulgar language in future chapters // This story does continue where the Save Me webtoon left off, so there will be spoilers and our own interpretation of how things may have happened where the story doesn’t specify or how things may have progressed afterwords with our own characters. I do not recommend this story if any of these mentions could be harmful for you. I’d hate for someone to get into the story and then not finish if it becomes too much.

A/N: Admin Belle and I have been working on this for almost a year now, and we’re both very excited to share it with everyone. This story has gone through several plot changes, theories, and depictions of how exactly this loop will work for us. I really hope everyone likes what we’ve done! ~ Fae  

-----------

The seven boys watch the sun as it descends into the ocean, taking the weight on their shoulders with it. They spent the previous night in Jin’s empty apartment counting down the seconds, cheering in victory when April 11th turned into the 12th. Tears were shed in happiness that the timeline was back on track, and sadness for everything that they had put each other through. For the first time in what felt like forever, there was no shattering, no screams, and no one trying to pull them back. No more days spent racing the clock. No more days hoping and praying everything would be okay. The countless hours spent writing and rewriting their fates was finally done for. 

They were free…

Shoulder to shoulder, sitting on the edge of a stone wall that overlooks the sea, Jimin is the first to break their comfortable silence, “What do we do now?” 

“What do you mean?” Hoseok asks, lifting his head from Yoongi’s shoulder.

“Now that everything is okay, where do we go from here?” Jimin asks, playing with the ends of his sweater. It all felt too good to be true. One wrong move and the day they’d been reliving over and over again would just become another day to relive again.

“We live our lives the way we want to.” Taehyung says. His boxy smile is bright, and it’s the first one in a while that isn’t forced or fake. No more tiptoeing around his father, no more worrying for his sister’s safety, no more late nights just hoping his dad would be asleep when he arrived. The past few years have been rough for everyone, especially Jin in the last ‘few days’. Just being together like this again was like a new beginning for everyone. However, it would seem Taehyung wasn’t the only member of the group excited about the news. 

“Guk, are you crying?!” Taehyung laughs. Sure enough, Jeongguk - who sits next to him - has a silly smile on his face and red rimming his eyes from where the tears had been falling silently.

“No!” The youngest protests, his voice cracking and tattling on him. He looks down to his lap and moves a hand to shield his face from the view of his elder, “I just have something in my eye…”

“Leave the kid alone.” Yoongi grumbles, his hood resting on top of his head. He would never admit it, but the hood was really just a cover for his own tears. It covers most of his face, but Taehyung still manages to catch a glisten on his cheek.

The hyper boy slaps a hand on the recluse to his right, “You’re crying too!”

“Taehyung!” Yoongi is quick to turn to his friend in anger to shove him off, but Taehyung is even quicker. The younger boy is up and running away before the angry grandpa-man in his 20s can even land a hit on him, and Yoongi is quick to shuffling out of Hoseok’s side hug to chase after him.

Namjoon leans back on his hands and sighs with everything he has, “You’re all too much…”

Even with the sounds of Taehyung’s screams and pleas to the older man to spare him, the sounds of the boys laughing at them, and the sounds of the waves crashing below them; this time together was still one of the most peaceful moments of Namjoon’s life. All of his friends together again, spending time together, just enjoying life together how life should be enjoyed.

After the boys have all settled back into their places and the sun has finally gone down past the horizon, Jin stands from his spot on the wall to head back into the city. “Let’s just go and watch the clock change, then we can get some sleep.” 

“Thank you.” Yoongi huffs. He’s still covered in sweat, not used to running for an entire 30 seconds like he had. 20 minutes had not being enough of a recovery time for his poor, grandpa-like persona. He and the rest follow Jin back to the truck to pile in for the ride home.

“Can we get some food first?” Taehyung asks, climbing into the truck bed with Jeongguk.

“Hey, who wants to be my cuddle buddy?” Jimin pouts playfully, a smile tucked into the corner of his mouth while scanning his eyes over all of his friends in hopes that one will agree to his request. None really want to answer him nor do they want to partake in the action, but Yoongi is the only one willing to speak up, “I will actually castrate you if you even try to touch me.”

Jimin puffs out his lips and makes grabby hands, “But Yoongi~”

The two have a stare down, Yoongi glaring while Jimin tries not to smile. The others around them ignore the exchange in favour of climbing into the car, the battle finally being settled when Yoongi turns away from the boy in front of him. “Get in the back with, Kookie.”

“Fine.” Jimin uses the tire as a step, pulls himself up, and hops over the side into the bed with the other two, “Make room for me!”

As the days kept coming, they all needed to work their way back into the world. Jeongguk had gone back to school with the encouragement of Jin and Namjoon. He was back in every class, including new weekend tutoring sessions to improve his math and English. He even went home just to test the waters a bit. It wasn’t completely new, and he was still anxious to be in the environment, but he was happy to be there anyways. Taehyung moved into a new apartment with his sister after finally leaving that godforsaken apartment. He got a small job working at a pet store a couple blocks away so he could still be close enough to his sister in the event that she would ever need him. Jimin and Hoseok had eventually found jobs despite the problems they carried with them; just the two of them working at a small dance studio looking for help. They worked with children since nobody else really wanted to, but neither of them really minded it all that much. Namjoon had dragged Yoongi to work at the gas station with him so neither of them would be alone anymore, and at least they’d be there to care for each other. Jin continued his job, working well with his coworkers now that he wasn’t stuck in time trying to save his friends. Now he could live his life as normally as possible. He could see his family again, take the time off to see them after so much time was spent away. There were so many people that he had yet to see because of the loop, and it felt like he had neglected those that he loved. But Jin would let the feeling pass, because he knew the truth…

…they all did.

As the days continue on, the boys began to pick up old conversations as they came into the picture. Guk found himself seeing his tutor two times a week rather than once on the weekend due to how much he genuinely enjoyed being there! Granted, it was only enjoyable because he already knew her before everything had happened, actually being a friend to him before she had graduated and moved to study abroad. She was nice, and didn’t reprimand him as most teachers usually did, she made him feel like he was in a familial environment and that made him happy.

Then there was Jimin and Hoseok. They figured they would get attached to some of the children at the studio, but they never expected some of the kids to be this cute! It was easy to love them, especially when they were all so good at dancing. A pair of twins - one boy and one girl - had definitely caught their attention with how cute they were together. Always insisting to work with each other and helping the other out. They even tried to sneak snacks to each other during practice(But that ended in a long talk about how you could hurt yourself eating while practicing). They both had brown hair - the sister having longer hair than her brother, big hazel eyes, and cute dimples that would appear from time to time. All in all, they were cute; however, the surprise got even better when they saw who was picking them up.

In a turn of events, Jin’s sister was actually the one who was picking up the kids, and they hadn’t noticed until Jin came by one day to bring them lunch. It was an emotional reunion for both siblings, especially with Jin thinking the kids were hers at first. Thinking for even a moment that he had a niece or a nephew was a big deal - let alone to have two! - but she was quick to stop him before he got overwhelmed. After explaining that she was just picking up her godchildren to babysit for the afternoon like she did most days, the two finally got to spend a day together as siblings - with the children present of course - and it was nice for the both of them to be together again.

Yoongi and Namjoon also hadn’t expected to see old faces. One of the cars that had pulled up one day was an old buddy of Namjoon’s from high school, someone that would hang around with both of them on the occasion. It was that typical, ‘I haven’t seen you since high school!’, ‘How have you been?’, ‘We should totally catch up!’ kind of thing. Despite mistakes and differences there may have been in the past, it was nice to see that he had grown since those times. And it was easy to accept the offer for free booze, so why not give him a chance?

Everything in the world was right now. 

Everything was working well for them. 

It was Saturday, and it was the only day of the week all of the boys could be together all day. They had agreed that one day a week was necessary for keeping their friendship - and the universe - at bay. Saturday’s were always fun for that reason, and the boys couldn’t be happier. It was later in the day, and they were all settling in for the night on the floor of Jin’s living room. Everyone was winding down despite the slightly early hour of 7:45, and the takeout in front of them smelled so good. The laughing and the movie playing in the background really drowned out everything, and Jin was sure his neighbor’s would complain sooner or later for the noise. 

The serial killer on the screen slashes into the teenage victim, mutilating her as his 2nd victim within 5 minutes. A few boys are slightly bothered - but the sight isn’t terrible enough that they can’t bear to watch at all - there are the few that are completely unbothered by the scenes in front of them, and then there’s Hoseok who is hidden behind his pillow trying to block out the grotesque scene before him, “How come we always watch horror movies?” 

“Because your reactions are the best!” Taehyung says, munching on his popcorn. Hoseok glares at him and sends a pillow his way, knocking the popcorn bowl right out of his lap and sending its contents all over the floor. Taehyung, not amused by his hyungs antics retaliates with another pillow right back at him. The two continue their petty fighting until receiving a pillow upside the head from the youngest of the group, “Stop it! This is the best part!”

Yoongi - who’d been suffering in silence this whole time from his blanket shield - finally speaks up, “How is this the best part?!”

The door to the room on the screen bursts open, banging against a wall and scaring everyone. The police officer heroine is hidden amongst the shelves with her gun in one hand and her other covering her mouth. Her partner is somewhere up top amongst the shadows as her back up, but the killer could still end them both. In the end, the heroine was able to end the night in peace with her partner at her side knowing the killer was locked up, but the ending scene left them knowing a sequel would be coming soon. 

“Well, that’s another movie that I’ll never watch again added to the last.” Hoseok sighs, laying his head against Jimin’s thigh on the couch. The small boy lets out a soft chuckle and pats his brother’s head, “It really wasn’t all that bad, hyung.”

“I think Yoongi disagrees,” Jin stares at his friend from his seat, watching the small rise and fall of the blanket. He shakes his head with amusement, “Nevermind. I think he’s sleeping.”

The boys start cleaning up around the living room, all avoiding the sleeping man lying on the floor. Even through the loud, piercing sound of the vacuum and the hearty laughs from his friends, the man was not stirred from his slumber. All of them were both equally disturbed and surprised that he managed to remain peaceful through it all. 

“How long do you think he’ll stay like that?” Namjoon asks from his spot at the kitchen sink, staring into the open space of the living room of the studio apartment. In the midst of all the now clean space, Yoongi laid wrapped in his blanket without a care in the world.

Jeongguk - from the hall closet alongside the kitchen - shrugs as he puts the vacuum away. “Who knows.”

The others take their seats once again to continue their conversations, discussing what they should do for the rest of the night. In the distance, the sound of a siren is blaring. It’s whining getting closer and closer, more prominent to their ears as it reaches them. Taehyung becomes curious, “Do you guys hear that?”

Yoongi lifts his head in curiosity, “It sounds like an ambulance or something.” He showed no sign of fatigue at all, only the bed head from having his head submerged under the fabric of the blanket.

“Were you awake this whole time?! You bastard!” Jin yells, throwing his pillow in his direction.

“He’s right though… There are first responders here.” Jimin had moved from his seat to take a look outside. Down below at the bottom of the building were two police vehicles, a firetruck, and an ambulance with lights flashing. A crowd of people were formed around them and it looked pretty serious as another police cruiser shows up to the scene, “Someone must be hurt.”

Jin slumps in thought, “I hope it wasn’t the old lady on the first floor. She shares her cookies with me sometimes.” 

“I’m sure she’s fine Jin, maybe it’s something minor.” Namjoon says, trying to reassure his friend. It would’ve been reassuring, had it not been for the cold chill that swept through the room like a ghost. Chills down everyone’s spine as the room continued to grow colder and colder by the second. “Why did it get so cold?”

Jin had frozen in his spot, this feeling all too familiar to him. The feeling of an old friend he wished to never meet again, yet here it was with arms wide open for him. He knew… something wasn’t right. Lifting his head up, he tried to warn them of the danger ahead of them, but he - as well as the others - were already disappearing right in front of him. 

Slipping through the cracks of reality.

[juistheseminarian]

Eccentric, part 1: (gasp) a child!

You can tell I take myself seriously as a writer since I was originally planning on making this a stand-up-sounding twitter thread, doing my usual best turning the topic into a trendy depression meme while telling anyone who’d listen that I’ve decided to write “real articles” since I “can’t find a job in my field” (I’ve totally looked). So this is me taking a step. I get the tingling feeling it might sound exactly as it would have anyway, except this time i’m gonna have to pry readers from one platform they spend their time on to another that’s about real reading, and somehow this distance is a real marathon to close. I know because I don’t read, and i do run. I expect little and I hope for even less. 

Writing “for real”, as opposed to waxing my usual poetics, has been a terror of mine, along with praying mantises, stick insects and john mulaney’s wife, in a good way. It’s been my plan A as well as my every other plan for as long as I can remember, which is an excellent reason to stay away from it since nothing else could possibly keep it from failing. It’s almost like I didn’t believe in hard work, which is ironic for a person who spent hours a day playing over two-measures loops of music so I’d learn guitar solos for a man. Where’s the reward here? Non-gendered consideration? Give me a break. 

I’ve been told in school that a writer’s first work is oftentimes autobiographical, in reaction to which I thought it would be a funny idea to even try to write about anything else (who could possibly?). That was before I tried viewing it through the lens of standpoint theory and claiming the relevance of my situated point of view as if we needed another white girl to cry about the upper middle class experience. Now don’t get your hopes up, I’m still gonna do it, but I’ll do my best to keep some perspective. There are more important pieces to be written and more important voices to be heard and I’ll never replace them or try to; what I want to do is use the language I’ve had the privilege to develop, and acknowledge my main skill as an opportunity to challenge what needs to be challenged at my own scale. 

Now that I’ve proceeded to justify myself because clearly you had asked, and have realized I’m going to have to find another way to introduce myself than to offer my guests a cup of insecuritea (get it?), let’s move on - I’ve been meaning to talk about, well, me, you got me there - no but really, about my journey trying to put words on my mental health. Tl;dr: I haven’t yet. I’m starting to think the final boss of this game is financial independence so I’ll probably shelf it and go back to super hexagon for a decade or two. What could go wrong. 

It all started when i was still going to school in rollerskates and wearing orange tights to show how I had just discovered the sex pistols - in fact, it started long before, as the nice ladies at daycare told my parents that maybe I was a little more than just shy. The year after that, I was pulled out of school for being unable to stay in class during storytime: I had taken to crying uncontrollably and panicking into a near catatonic state at the thought of the old crone in charge reading fairy tales. I got sick in the morning. I was taken home and it fortunately coincided with my family moving to another village, where I started class the next year and appeared normal, if a little keen on the self-pity. My teacher suspected I was bored, but shit happens, and it didn’t show. I didn’t show.

I never showed. Later on I tried to show and disappear all at once, which was, you’ll see, a little suboptimal, but you do what you can, right. I went from year to year in constant fear and numbness, threats surrounding me in the classrooms, hallways, home, people. I felt injustice and it made me puke, and all that mattered was not being seen, not being seen for this reason at least. To everyone’s surprise, including mine, I had numerous friends, which made the loneliness thing all the more age-typical. Girl-typical. Good grades for a good girl, we never hear her. Now she’s too confident, we hear too much of her. Oh I too was bad at maths! You’re good at languages, where did you learn this? Why do you know that? Why do you talk like this? Look at her, she was ready to cry! We got you! 

Most of what I remember from school is the shame and inadequateness of feeling. I had a few questions: why was I obsessed with sex, how would boys like me, why did it feel better talking to adults even though I was ashamed to do so. At home, I was shamed for masturbating and at school I was just ashamed without anyone needing to make me that way. I don’t know where the trauma was, so don’t ask, okay? I know it’s gotta be in there but how can I tell what’s real and what’s a memory this abusive therapist planted for the sake of being right? 

My body felt like a traitor, always horny and always heavy and always numb. The swimming pool was a nightmare. My femininity was nowhere to be found. The delicate, cheerful way the others sang and hopped around made me grow old, I found myself revoltingly fat, I found my hair too short, and why didn’t I know how to dance? Why were people telling me I was so honest when all I did was be ashamed? Something wasn’t working out for me, and I was crying often. As soon as I pictured myself skipping and singing i couldn’t hold back my tears. I invoked this image of me as what I figured would be a normal little girl, and I felt a thousand years old, an antediluvian tree, its movements blocked and its curves absent. 

The body did things and I hid them. Through puberty i felt like an impure, sexless organism, like secondary sex characteristics implanted on a shape, a bunch of pubes on a round mistake. I didn’t know what makeup was for and my friend group had common enemies: lingerie, sluts, girly girls, because they could not be smart, they wore thongs and smoked and thereby lost the war of clever versus hot. Somewhere along the line we admitted to masturbating and that was the breakthrough, that’s that on that, and one day a girl choked another during recess. Around this time fat became an issue and everyone knew before I did, because it was normal and I overplayed normal. The limits were, and are, invisible to me.

The old school ended without a diagnosis, and I feared for my life since some older kids made a hobby out of telling us we were gonna get beat up as soon as we’d have set foot in the new school. I was scared, normal scared at first, and I shared the scared, which was something I thought I could get used to (unfortunately I did, and then it went away). I moved on and at first it all seemed to have worked out, I had kept some old friends around and even made new ones, I had a boyfriend for one month and we held hands before I told him I was a vampire (I had read a book by Anne Rice) and he no longer wanted to speak to me. I didn’t particularly mind. I found another (I didn’t want him and we tried to fit him inside me; it didn’t even feel like it would ever be a physiological possibility, he was a gentle friend, I was not receptive). I found another (it worked out and we dated for five years. I did manage to fit him inside me, and to this day i’m not certain I should have). Fat had become an issue. 

For the first year it didn’t show - well, not alarmingly so. I studied how to girl and promptly found out that caring about the body seemed an effective shortcut, and I did, very much. I was nerves and erogenous shame, a piglet in human cast, and anything that touched me sent thunderbolts of frustration through my entire bedroom; anyone that talked to me was taking me by surprise and met with confused torrents of whatever had to come out that day. At this point we called the food thing “being careful”: you didn’t want to gain weight so you were “being careful”, salad instead of a main course, no ice cream, careful. Look in the mirror, have you been careful enough? I have a very clear image of walking in on my mother weighing herself and telling me “you see, the biggest worry for moms is to have a flat tummy”. She denied it ever happened. Truth is, the last time she said it was three days ago. 

Then came the warnings and I had already learned to take them as compliments. Everytime someone told me I was eating too little, I was gaining points. I was about to graduate. I was about to evolve like a training pokémon; warnings were congratulations and fear was validating me as a fragile young girl, finally, finally, no longer a slug. You could say it was progressive, and throughout the whole thing I was taken care of, yet I slipped through everyone’s fingers because I had lost twelve kilos and weighed a remaining 36 (that’s 79 pounds). 

My grandmother was afraid of my hands and my body was drying out, dehydrating, too weak to menstruate or feel. During this time I have never fainted, but have pretended to numerous times. I still wasn’t the center of the world, so I considered it a failure. My mother’s friends said I needed to gain weight for men to love me, my mother said I needed to eat or people would keep staring, and everytime I bought diet coke my boyfriend gave me the look you give to a relapsing junkie, because it was the case. All other possibilities had been eliminated, by me. 

The abusive therapist was there all along, but then she was okay still. I saw her all the time, did all sorts of talking and then I saw a doctor and she measured my heart and threatened me with a hospital stay so I cleaned up my act. I was admitted once, in a special unit for teenagers, and it was a nightmare. The others were real and a girl lived there long term because her mother threw chairs in her face (she was the first one to come and introduce herself to me, smiling, complimenting my clothes, kind). One had lost her father and one didn’t like spinach. Before I could spend the night I had caved in and my parents collected me, and I collected the phone they thought was the problem. ED treatments: isolation won’t do shit, trust us. We get better because everyone else is less cruel than you were, and don’t say that’s the point. You lasted one hour before telling me my skirt was too short. 

At one point I told the abusive therapist I was going to get better, and I did. It had lasted about a year and the doctor said it hadn’t been real anorexia or I would have had it worse, and I thought, the nerve on this person that jumped on the occasion to invalidate me as soon as I ate one bite. Don’t you dare take the words from my experience, don’t be ridiculous, I’ve already claimed the words - I do realize how lucky I was, others died, I didn’t, but I was very ill indeed, your ego be damned. I was very ill, I was offered fashion advice and condescension and suggestions that I should stop or men wouldn’t look at me, and I was not medicated and I had my asshole pumped full of water because it had dried shut. My heart sounded like a ruffled biscuit wrapper and my first year of high school was a made-up arrangement for me to not completely float away: I would come to some classes for the sole purpose of keeping myself afloat and would repeat the year no matter what. I think this kept me alive. 

My first days of high school i was a mummy. I had taken to rubbing the skin off of my arms with a pumice stone until they oozed with pus and burned constantly, I wore bandages from my wrists to under my t-shirt sleeves, I don’t know how my legs supported me, I don’t know how anyone did. I had picked a special high school where half my classes would be in english but I’d know nobody: I lasted two days and was transferred to my local school, and there I appeared sporadically in french class, bonding with the delightful old man who gave it and thought my writing was “images”. He said I should do contests but maybe I wouldn’t win because “the best ones often don’t”.

I repeated the class and fell in love with the next french teacher, a gentle woman who taught us about the middle ages. She was the most beautiful person I’d ever seen, mysterious, a woman but not just a mother, she didn’t know what to do with my writing and I’m ever so sorry she had to fence off the embarrassment and try to be a good role model. Lucky for me, she really wasn’t. 

Ultimately I got better. But I gotta say: my style during this era was off the charts. I looked amazing, I copied Amanda Palmer and my boyfriend and the mad hatter and David Bowie, I once went to high school with a suit and converse because of David Tennant, and I cut my own hair with kitchen scissors. My then-boyfriend painted my t-shirts with foetuses and whatever else we found extremely shocking. We said we’d lose our virginity to raw power by Iggy Pop (did we?) and his mother said she was afraid I would mentally screw her stable, balanced son whose anger issues had him slap me a bunch of times - I would have slapped me too, I said then, and almost stand by it. Years later he phoned me saying he was in therapy and he was sorry and it wasn’t my only fault; I don’t think i hold grudges and I’m glad others don’t either. My mother, however, does. Beyond unrealistic. Must be exhausting. 

If I had to describe what anorexia felt like, i’d say it felt like depression but floating, like compulsive obsessing over fashion because I felt I was allowed to now that I was thin; like the most hopeless cul-de-sac with no way out except the one you came from, a well full of serpents like you’re Ragnar Lothbrok and the british are laughing at you from the surface. You float yet sink and you have to claw your way up but your nails are like chalk, you know, from the not eating bit. The anxiety makes every day feel like a year of waiting in terror, and you don’t know why it came and you don’t know why it ends, and sometimes it doesn’t. 

...

I’ll have to return to the abusive therapist topic, which is why this is part one of a series on my experience of mental health issues. This isn’t meant as a self indulgent victimization (although it is self indulgent, I mean what the hell, i’m not catholic) though I don’t think it requires further justification, either. I don’t know what will come out of this once I said everything I had to say on the matter, but for now i’m angry about things, and I feel we need to do better. 

I was in the best possible conditions and my treatment still sucked, and I still spent the last fifteen years of my life in pain because health professionals can’t have an empirical, science-based approach for shit. I’m not exaggerating when I say I was a ping pong ball in a match doctors played with their dicks. Gender informed how easily my anorexia was diagnosed whereas countless young men still suffer in silence; it also informed how patronizing people would sound and how “efforts” were suggested as medication for my disorders. How pleasing men was supposed to be reason enough for me to eat my own illness. How my ‘’giftedness’’ was not investigated and neither was my ADHD because female-coded symptoms are overlooked. I’m pissed off, I’m qualified to be, and you’ll hear more of me. 

-Ju