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heartau · 5 years

Text

Unknown Number | C.HW

Genre: college!au - explicit smut/angst/fluff Word count: 16.8k Comments: this is a revision of an au that i wrote from when i was in a different fandom!! Warnings: graphic depictions of sex: fingering, oral (male and female), insertion, dirty talk, public sex, dom/sub themes.

In which two anonymous people sext each other, neither one aware that the other is their sworn enemy.

Commonly, at the ages of the early twenties, partying becomes an event that is scheduled almost every single week. Crammed bodies that emit heat, slick with sweat, sticking against each other on dance floors packed like sardines and in secret affairs tucked away in random quarters; the turbulent howling of frat boys who have found the beer keg and are attempting to sacrifice their weakest link to down it all in one gulp; almosts and maybes and hindered exchanges that stay sputtering in the stomachs of those who leave early filled with regret. A party is everything aggravating that stirs up irritation put into one area under the façade of something whimsical, and it is all worth it – until the morning after.

The dull, throbbing pain that bangs against your skull causes your eyelids to flutter open, the harsh sunlight that flows into your bedroom through the drawn curtains triggering the torment to grow worse as it fries your retinas, screwing your eyes shut as you let out a groan of agony, sore arms flying up to rest your hands against your forehead and to massage your temples.

“My head,” you hiss in pain, gulping the urge to curse loudly at yourself for deciding to drink so much the night before down your throat. A low chuckle emits from the side of your room which causes your body to jolt in surprise, turning your head and barely peeking out from underneath your eyelids at the origin of the sound, seeing your roommate leaning against the doorframe, trying to suppress his laughter. “Jesus, Kihyun. Knock next time.”

“You’ve been asleep for fifteen hours, I came to check if you were still alive.” Kihyun explains, walking towards you and holding out what you’ve made out to be a single pill of tylenol and a glass of water. “I told you to be careful with your drinks last night, you know.”

You slowly sit up, rolling your eyes as you leans against your headboard, graciously accepting the pill and water and downing it in one gulp. Your esophagus feels less dry and you relish in the fleeting moment of peace before another strike of pain emits in your skull and sends jolts of agony down your bones and nerves. You wince once more, closing your eyes.

“What happened last night?” you ask your roommate, attempting to recollect your memories of the night before in the darkness behind your eyelids but coming up blank.

“You got drunk,” Kihyun answers you, hands shoved into his pockets as if he were looking for something. “Then, after your 5th shot or whatever, you told me you were going to the bathroom. You were gone for, like, 50 minutes, so I tried phoning you to see where you were, but my phone was gone! Luckily, I found you on the floor next to the ladies bathroom,” he pauses and then lifts up his phone - his shattered phone - to your face. “Next to this.”

His eyes are sharp, pointed directly at you as you gulp and shrink down in confused guilt before an apologetic smile attempts to stretch on your face. “I’m sorry?”

“You should say that to the people you texted,” Kihyun shrugs, shoving his phone back into his pocket and crossing his arms. “You messaged every single person off of my contacts list. Your phone’s been going off for the past fifteen hours while you’ve been asleep.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh shit.”

“Oh shit, indeed.”

You reach for your phone on your nightstand and press the circular button rousing the device awake, and sure enough, your lockscreen is decorated with rows and rows of text notifications, each one coming from a different combination of numbers. An array of Who is this?, Wrong number., and If this is some sort of prank, please stop. It’s not funny’s causes your face to redden, putting your phone down onto your lap and covering your face in embarrassment.

“Please don’t tell anyone it was me,” you look back up at Kihyun, unlocking your phone and tapping on your text app, already conjuring apologies to the strangers.

“Your secret is safe with me. Have fun!” he reassures you, before pivoting on his heel and walking out your room, closing the door behind him.

Gulping, your eyes skim the texts that you decided to send from the night before, harsh and erratic words meeting your eyes. You groan in despair as you read each reply, tones of anger and confusion aimed at you - you had a lot to work with, and thankfully, you had the entire rest of the day to contemplate remorseful apologies. But deep within your notifications lies a reply different from the rest, rich words that hold sentiment and persona, lined in several sentences. The reply was from an unknown number, of course it was, but you can’t deny the peculiarity of the message.

And thus, almost apologetically, you leave it unanswered for the time being.

----

“No, dude, I swear on my life, I got the freakiest text message last night.”

Kihyun opens the dorm room to the sound of dispute, Jooheon’s voice being the loudest of all of them. Groans emit from around the corner and Kihyun could practically envision eyes rolling at the boys statement.

“I read the text,” Minhyuk says after a pause. “It wasn’t freaky at all.”

“Yes it was!” Jooheon argues, scrambling to grab his phone from underneath the mountain of review sheets and textbooks, hands practically shaking as he unlocks it, tapping his text app. He holds his phone to his friend’s faces, who lean in to inspect the text, before they all stare at him, deadpan.

“I told you so.” Minhyuk quips, shrugging his shoulders.

“Okay, so you tell me. If you got a text that just said 5 days. and nothing else - absolutely zilch - you wouldn’t be afraid?” Jooheon narrows his eyes at Minhyuk, but before Minhyuk could even begin to open his mouth to answer back in dripping sarcasm, Kihyun sits down on the floor and slams his books against the carpet, looking at them in curiosity.

“What’s going on?” asks Kihyun as he shuffles his papers around, looking for the review sheet he had been analyzing for the past few days.

“This random number texted us in the middle of the night,” Minhyuk answers Kihyun, before pointing towards Jooheon, who stares directly at his phone. “He’s afraid because the same number texted him 5 days.”

“A random number?” asks Kihyun, brain reeling as he realizes that it must have been (Y/N), but his face stays static at the apparent discovery. “Hm. That’s weird. What else did you guys get?”

“They copy and pasted an entire WikiHow article on how to bake banana bread for me.” Wonho pipes up from beside Jooheon. “It was kinda helpful. I think I might do it later.”

“I got a whole paragraph on how I’m obstructing their education by being loud in our shared class. Like, what does that even mean?” Minhyuk is obviously irritated at this message, furrowing his brows together. “I’m not even that loud. And what shared class?”

A sigh emits from Hyungwon, who has been silent for the past few minutes. He stares at his textbook, flipping through the pages as he talks. “I don’t know why you guys are over analyzing this. It’s just some person pranking us, it’s not that big of a deal.”

Kihyun almost freezes at the new insight, turning his head towards the lanky boy who he knows shares a venomous and strained relationship with (Y/N), internally yelling at the girl for acting so brash through her drunken actions.

“You got a text?” Kihyun asks him, voice surprisingly calm, however, behind the facade lies an expression almost synonymous to hellfire. Hyungwon’s mouth remains closed, eyes tearing away from the printed words of his textbook and towards his older friend. His expression is still, and his eyes are calm, but it is everything Kihyun needs to confirm that he is one of the receivers.

“Really?” Minhyuk questions. “What did it say?”

“What the text said isn’t important,” Hyungwon glances at Minhyuk quickly before looking back to his textbook. “Can we please just get on with studying? That’s what I came here for.”

“Hey man,” Jooheon pouts, practically sending Hyungwon a pleading expression. “You can’t just say you got a text and not tell us!”

“Yeah, he’s right!” Wonho points at Jooheon. “We’re your friends. You’re like… legally obligated to tell us.”

Hyungwon lets out a huff, biting the inside of his cheeks before looking back up at his circle of friends. “They sent me a long, long essay on why they hate me.”

Silence fills the air and Kihyun can sense tension following just behind as they all stare at Hyungwon. It’s only a fleeting moment before they all burst out into roaring laughter, tears threatening to fall from their brightened eyes as they double over on top of each other. Kihyun and Hyungwon watch the two in confusion before Kihyun decides to let out a couple of strained, awkward chuckles.

“Hey,” Kihyun clears his throat and pats Hyungwon on the back as the rest of the boys’ laughter dies down. “Like you said, it’s most likely just a prank, right?”

Hyungwon doesn’t even look at Kihyun in the eye, shrugging as he mumbles out a silent ‘yes.’ Minhyuk takes notice of this, pointing at Hyungwon in shock.

“Oh my god, he’s offended by the text,” Minhyuk says. “It must’ve been personal then, huh? They probably know you in real life. Oh my god, how funny would that be?”

Hyungwon rolls his eyes before looking back at his textbook, letting out a huff of air as he attempts to drown out the sounds of his friends.

Kihyun turns to Minhyuk, racking his brain for excuses. “There’s a low chance they know each other in real life,” Kihyun says. “I mean, that would be impossible.”

“Wait, but Minhyuk has a point,” Jooheon adds. “I mean, whoever this was, they texted all of us, right? They must know who we are. It just comes down to figuring out who it is.”

“Why are we still talking about this?” Hyungwon shuts his book, the plop of the hardcovers interrupting Minhyuk and Jooheon. “I came here to study, not analyze and dissect some girl’s cryptic text messages.”

Minhyuk raises an eyebrow. “Girl?”

Hyungwon freezes and Kihyun is almost about to crack, but luckily, Hyungwon opens his mouth before Kihyun could do anything. “She said something about how she hates the ‘girls can’t beat up boys’ stereotype because she claims that she could take me down easy.”

“Well,” Minhyuk says. “She’s got a point.”

“Shut up, Minhyuk.” Hyungwon glares at him, patience already begin to waver thin.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” Minhyuk throws his hands up in defense. “But hey. This is strong evidence. Whoever this masked texter is, they know us and they’re a girl. We’re a few steps closer to figuring out who the culprit is.”

Kihyun scratches the back of his neck as he remains silent, searching for a coherent sentence in his brain. “Well. Let’s stu-”

“Hey, Minhyuk,” Wonho looks up towards his friend from his position on the ground, laying on his stomach. “You said that you guys shared a class right? They could be in any one of your classes.”

“Oh my god… you’re right,” Minhyuk agrees. “I’ll question ever-”

Hyungwon interrupts him by noisily grabbing his papers and books, standing up and earning confused looks from his friends. He pivots on his heel and walks towards the door, turning the doorknob and opening it just a crack before looking over his shoulder. “I’m glad all of you have unanimously agreed to fail our finals. Since we aren’t studying, I’ll be taking my leave.”

The door slams shut, leaving the four boys in his wake.

“Geez.” Minhyuk scoffs, before continuing with his sentence prior to Hyungwon leaving.

As Hyungwon walks out the apartment lobby, the crisp cool autumn breeze dancing across the skin of his cheeks after he opens the door, his teeth clench in annoyance as the memories of the text messages he had received flash in his mind. He closes his eyes momentarily, before opening them again, hiking back to his own apartment complex, attempting to push the situation out of his mind.

Yet, no matter how much he seeks to overlook his feelings of irritation, he can still detect the weight of his phone in the pocket of his sweater, where the messages filled of anger and tirancy of an unknown woman linger on the screen the same way they linger in his memory.

He will delete them. After one more message.

----

Your phone emits a loud tone, causing your eyes to widen as heads in the library turn to look towards you. You quickly grab it to silence it, sending everyone apologetic smiles and glances before looking down at your screen at the text notification, raising your eyebrow once you realized whom it had originated from. That morning, while you had been apologizing to a series of confusion and states of anger, you had come across one reply a lot different than the rest; a paragraph filled with words of true irritation, personal anger, and you, in your hungover galore, decided to leave it be, finding entertainment in their message.

From - Unknown Number: so u texted my friends too. who are u?

You furrowed your eyebrows together as you scroll up to find your original text to try and figure out who this person could be - obviously, you must have some sort of connection with them or a similarity for his emotional outburst prior his recent message - but as you scroll up you are only given a dead end when you realized you must have deleted your first text while you was still drunk.

You sent: first of all thx for texting me while im in the library im p sure the librarian is on my ass now. second, i was drunk so it was probably nonsense. third of all thats for me to know and for u to never find out.

You put your phone down and pick up your pencil, finding the paragraph you were last reading, but before your pencil could even reach the lined paper of your notebook, your phone buzzes again. You look at the screen, seeing that the unknown man has replied to your message.

From - Unknown Number: whatever. just dont text me anymore. if u got smth personal to say then say it to my face and stop hiding behind a screen like a coward.

You sigh, setting your pencil down and picking your phone up.

You sent: mister u were the one who texted me today first. also arent u basically doing the same thing? if u’ve got something to say then come say it to my face.

From - Unknown Number: i dont even know who u are. just apologize.

You sent: no. goodbye.

From - Unknown Number: whatever. just lay off. i already got enough things to stress about.

You sent: i said goodbye.

You stare at your phone for what seems like an eternity, waiting for him to reply, but he doesn’t. You close your eyes almost thankfully, sighing before you delete the entire text conversation and shove your phone into your bag and dismiss everything before you continue to study. You had believed, foolishly, that this man never contacts you again.

You were wrong.

From - Unknown Number: hey should i buy pizza

You hold a spatula in your other hand, the sound of eggs frying filling the kitchen. It’s only the next morning and this unknown man had apparently not forgotten about your number and decided to ignore your farewell. You sigh, the inkling of regret that you had after discovering that you had texted multitudes of strangers becoming even bigger.

You sent: didn’t i say goodbye to u already

From - Unknown Number: yeah but like … im hungry

You roll your eyes as you flip an egg over in the steaming pan.

You sent: then text ur friends

From - Unknown Number: u see…. i got into a fight with them

You sent: wow. im so surprised.

From - Unknown Number: so should i buy pizza or not hurry up i got class in like 30 mins n if im late my teachers gonna bite my ass

You sent: dont buy pizza its still morning … buy a bagel or smth

From - Unknown Number: good idea. k thx.. good bye

You sigh before you dismiss him again, putting your phone face down on the counter as you slide your eggs off the pan onto a plate before stepping into the dining room to eat with Kihyun. You hadn’t seen him since he had left to go to Wonho’s apartment, a burly, intimidating looking man whom he had befriended in his psychology class. He looked down at his plate, taking few, sparse bites out of his bacon before he jumps at the sound of your chair scraping against the hardwood floors, sitting down across from him.

“You seem a bit jumpy today,” you quirk an eyebrow at your best friend. “Is something wrong?”

“No!” he says, far too quickly. “Not at all!”

“Kihyun,” you question after a beat, furrowing your eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

Kihyun gulps, staring at his plate of bacon and rice before letting out a short sigh, setting his spoon and fork down and putting his hands in his lap.

“Remember when you texted a bunch off people off my contacts list?” his voice is low.

“Yeah? It just happened yesterday.”

“Well, um,” he sputters. “You texted Wonho, Jooheon, Minhyuk, and-” his voice lowers even more, becoming hushed as if he’s afraid to see your reacton. “Hyungwon.”

You automatically stand up, wide-eyed, jaw slack as you watch your friend’s face turn from fear to worry, waving at you as if to tell you to keep your temper in check and pulling you back to sit down.

It isn’t that you are afraid of Hyungwon, because it’s the direct opposite. The simple sound of his name causes a specific type of vexation to rise up in your bloodstream, and the two of you being in the same area brings concern to other people. It’s known all over campus that the two of you share hostile feelings towards each other, ever since you had caught him so blatantly cheating off your first pop quiz during the beginning of the semester - you weren’t the only person to catch him too, as your teacher called the two of you up to the front, believing you were allowing him copy off of you, and much to your demise, gave the two of you the automatic grades of zero. He never even apologized to you, the blatant difference in your statistics class’ grade so drastic from your other classes thanks to him.

“And what did I send him?” you ask Kihyun.

“He said that you sent him a long paragraph on why you hated him.”

You find yourself letting out dark chuckles, hands wrapping around your spoon and fork as you begin to work on your plate of eggs.

“Maybe drunk me had a point.” you say to a stunned Kihyun.

Soon, you find yourself forgetting about those text messages you shared that morning with the unknown man as well as your conversation with Kihyun, instead directing your focus on a word problem as you sit in your statistics class. The environment is quiet, much to your bliss, as you find that a perfect work setting to analyze problems in. But as they say, the universe only brings you the opposite of what you want, and on the other side of the closed door, someone knocks fervently and loudly, earning gasps of shock from other students are you.

“Mr. Chae,” your professor sighs. “You’re late. Again.”

You look up to see Hyungwon marching into class, a coffee in one hand and a small paper bag in the other. He meets eyes with you and you find yours rolling at the direct contact before looking back down to focus on your word problem. Minutes pass by and you’re on your next question, a much more difficult one, and you find yourself stumped as you rack your brain for an answer.

You hear a loud crackling a few desks away, but you ignore it.

You hear it again, this time a bit longer, but before you could turn around to see who it was, it stopped.

Just as your brain figured out a way to solve the question, the crackling continues once more, even louder and even longer. You turn around to find the culprit the sound originates from, and you find Hyungwon, just a few seats behind you, halfway into sinking his teeth into a bagel, the crinkly bag of paper he used to carry it to class now disposed of in a tiny ball on top of his textbook. He notices you turn around to look at him, sending you sharp eyes lined with venom before continuing to bite down into his bagel and chewing rather loudly. You turn back around, attempting to ignore the camel-like sounds from behind you letting out a huff of annoyance, every trace of the answer that was in your mind long gone. How he hasn’t been kicked out of this class yet is beyond you.

You sent: i need an idea for an essay

It’s currently 9:45 in the evening, and you sit at your desk chair with your laptop open on Google docs, and it seems as if you’ve been static since the clock hit nine. Kihyun was out volunteering at an overnight camp for troubled teenagers (“I have to go or else I’ll fail psychology,” he had said before leaving with a small gym bag packed with his clothes. “I don’t even know why I have to take psychology. I’m in the culinary field for christ’s sake!”), thus you were alone in your small two bedroom apartment, the only thing accompanying you is the ticking of the clock in the kitchen and the gentle thrum of the heater.

From - Unknown Number: i thought we weren’t gonna text each other anymore

His reply came rather quickly, you were a bit surprised - but nonetheless, you were desperate. You cursed yourself for leaving your criminology assignment until last minute - it’s due the next day, 8:00 AM sharp.

You sent: i know but its due in like 11 hours and i dont have a prompt so i dont have any idea how to start this and if i dont get it in then im done for

From - Unknown Number: what course??

You sent: criminology

From - Unknown Number: hmm……. prompt?

You sent: theres no prompt my professor said to just write anything. like literally anything that has to do with crim and im having the biggest brainfart

From - Unknown Number: how about police misconduct? or u could write abt the rights of defendants. or like… the concepts of conduct and causation.

You sent: omg………………….ur a life saver

From - Unknown Number: i know

You end up finishing your essay in only four hours, submitting it to your professor and closing your laptop and climbing into bed, stretching out your limbs and letting out a large yawn. You stare at your ceiling for what seems like hours before you sit up, grabbing your phone and unlocking it, your conversation with the unknown man appearing on your screen. You deliberate whether or not you should or shouldn’t, the blinking line next to the body of words almost mocking you, and you think, why the hell not?, before you hit send.

You sent: i just finished. thank you again. good night.

His reply came only seconds later.

From - Unknown Number: of course. sleep well.

You smile at the text for only a second before you quickly wipe it off your face, remembering that this man is a stranger, and no matter how nice he was being to you, he was still unknown. You let out a sigh as you delete the conversation, clicking your phone off and plugging it in to charge it, setting it face down on your bedside table. You stare at the ceiling, sleepiness beginning to coat your eyes, your last thoughts before drifting off are to never text him again.

You find it hard though, because the next morning, he texted you a hearty good morning!, and before you could even stop yourself, you texted him a good morning back. You find yourself replying to every text message he sends you, and even though you remind yourself to never text him again, that this message will be the last one, you still come up with a reply, hitting send before you could stop your thumbs from hitting the cold screen.

By and by, the heated debates that the two of you had started from had evolved into friendlier conversations filled with more personal details. You ask him heaps of questions; whether you should use the last of your paycheck to buy a book or to get more clothes, thus beginning a long conversation on the quality of clothing and store brands. He tells you to treat yourself to a high-end brand, which you found yourself scoffing at - but you find yourself walking to school just a few days later with a new knit cardigan, the designer label almost shining off the collar.

He asks you what your favourite television show is, leading to hours and hours of lists of recommendations and reviews of series and movies both on and off Netflix, conversing over plots, genres and pairings. He tells you that he loves comedy sitcoms, and reality shows, and you tell him your favourite genre, much to his akin. You tell him your favourite genre of music, and he tells you that his is EDM and R&B. He tells you his favourite shade is black, and you tell him the colour that you are most fond of. You learn that he has a deathly fear of spiders, and he learns of what lurks in your brain when your bedroom is dark and silent. He learns that you’ve never gone travelling, and you learn that he’s been to almost all of the continents of the Earth. You tell him your favourite time of day, and he tells you his; nine in the evening, when the sun has gone to rest and the stars decorate the sky in glimmering valour.

You joke, you bond, you laugh for what seemed like only days, to the point where the two of you hadn’t realized how long it had been since you both actually started talking. He’s the first one to text you in the morning, and the last to text you at night. He’s the first you text when you’ve got a problem, and the first to text when you’ve got nothing else to do. And even though he’s never asked for your name, he knows you; what you like, what you don’t like, what you aspire to be, and what you fear.

“Ms. (Y/L/N),” your professor speaks loudly, earning glances towards your way as you tear your eyes from your phone screen and back towards the front of the class. Your professor stands with her hands on her hips. “If you have something better to do, then I advise you to leave my class.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, setting your phone down. “It won’t happen again.”

You hear a snicker not too far away from you, and you already know who it’s originated from, your face already beginning to heat up rage as you push down the urge to turn around, hop over the desks and deck Hyungwon in the face.

“Please answer word problem number four for the class, miss (Y/L/N).” your teacher tells you, looking at you expectantly over the top of her glasses. You gulp, looking down at your workbook as you read the said question, cursing to yourself in your head for not knowing what it means and for not focusing in class. Minutes of awkward silence passes by quickly, but to you it feels like eons before you hear Hyungwon’s arrogant voice cut through the air.

“I can answer it for her, professor!” he says, gleefully. You can almost see his haughty smile lingering in his words. “Of the given data set, the median is 75, the first quartile is 69, the third quartile is 81, and the interquartile range is 81, which you subtract 69 from, which gives us 12.”

“Very good, Mr. Chae,” your professor nods and you ball your hands into fists. “Perhaps you should not only teach Miss (Y/L/N) the foundation of statistics, but also to focus during class.”

And with that, she turns back around on her heel and flips a page, continuing with her lecture. You turn around to find where Hyungwon is sitting a few seats back, a smug smirk on his face before he looks back at his notebook, jotting down notes. You tell yourself to calm down, to not let this situation take over your temper - and you do such as, but your fists stay clenched.

From - Unknown Number: so how was ur day?

You read the message as you unlock your front door, using your foot to kick it open.

You sent: terrible. how was urs?

You hang your keys on the keyholder beside the door and kick off your shoes, walking into the living room and finding it empty - Kihyun must still be working at the cafeteria. You set your bag down on the floor and look through the fridge, letting out a soft sigh of relief after finding a wrapped plate of food your best friend had left you before leaving. You put it into the microwave and punch out the numbers before leaning on your counter as you wait, pulling out your phone and seeing that the unknown man has replied.

From - Unknown Number: oh im so sorry… ah my day was fine! i finally got to prove myself to this girl i detest… i felt super cool

You furrow your brow as you read it, the first thing you think of was of what happened during statistics with Hyungwon. Your stomach drops for a second - what if you were texting Hyungwon? The beeping of the microwave snaps you out of your thoughts, and you shake your head as you click the microwave open, grabbing your plate. That would be impossible - this man is far too coherent, smart, funny and kind to be Hyungwon.

No, it can’t be Hyungwon at all. That would be absolutely impossible.

It was as if he had heard your thoughts though, because your phone buzzed again.

From - Unknown Number: by the way… am i ever going to know your name?

You read the message over a few times, dread setting in your stomach. You had already shared far too much information about yourself to this unknown man, he knows more about you than Kihyun does - you had been using him as a way to vent. You felt terrible thinking about it, but you were far too afraid to take things to the next level, even if it just meant knowing each other’s names; you loathed feeling vulnerable, and it feels much better to do it anonymously.

You sent: hm… i kinda like it better this way. us being anonymous.

From - Unknown Number: good. because i do too.

You smile as you read his answer, grabbing your fork and stabbing the pieces of lasagna off your plate and scooping them into your mouth. You were glad he felt the same way - perhaps he felt the same way because he thought the same way as you did.

You sent: oh yeah btw what was the first thing i sent u? i deleted everything while i was drunk so now i cant read any of the msgs i sent u that first night

From - Unknown Number: like. the very FIRST thing or… the very first few things

You sent: the very FIRST thing.

From - Unknown Number: you sent me “what are you wearing?” were u trying to like.. find me somewhere or smth?

Your scan the message that you had apparently sent before widening your eyes at the sudden realization, your face heating up in humiliation. Quickly, you type a reply.

You sent: oh my god……. i think i was trying to sext u

There was a brief pause before you saw the three dots pop up again.

From - Unknown Number: oh

You inwardly cringe.

You sent: PLEASE IM SO SORRY I WAS DRUNK it wont happen again i promise pls dont be mad at me

From - Unknown Number: omg no!!! im not mad at u.. im just …. beating myself up for being stupid

You sent: you’re not stupid at all omg ! i can see where u thought it sounded like i was looking for u…

From - Unknown Number: BUT THATS NOT A NICE WAY TO PRANK SOMEONE YOU KNOW

You sent: who said it was a prank?

You weren’t thinking when you sent it, but the millisecond after you hit send a wave of panic courses through you. This was it, this is the end of your new-found friendship with this anonymous man; he was going to track your number down and then figure out who you are and show the entirety of the internet about your texts and then humiliate you. You sit there, thinking of the worst, but your vibrating phone brings you back to clarity.

From - Unknown Number: what do u mean?

You blink at his response. But then again, you hadn’t been pleasured in that field for a very long time, and this man is anonymous - he won’t have anything to use against you. You think of having your own fun while he texts you, and plus, if anything goes wrong, you could always just block his number. Plus, sex is a safe-ground; no feelings, no emotions, no ties - just strict, pure physical lust.

Right?

Fuck it.

You sent: what are you wearing?

----

He is half certain that this is a joke, and, the other half is him hoping it isn’t. He wonders just how he got this unknown woman, whom three weeks ago he was just arguing against, to break through his skin defences to make him feel this way. He thinks about lying, telling the woman that he isn’t interested, that he wants emotional ties - but the last time he’s been with someone more than a year ago, and he’s already growing tired of handling things by himself, plus, his roommate, Changkyun, is out babysitting, leaving the house all to himself for the night.

Hyungwon gulps.

Fuck it.

Hyungwon sent: my pajamas

Hyungwon cringes to himself. He’s not the best at sexting, he doesn’t have much experience in it. There is a beat that hangs in the air for a second before three dots appear indicating that the woman has thought of a response.

From - Angry Girl: ………………. is that all?

Hyungwon sent: well…. yeah? u asked me what im wearing n i told u what im wearing… what do u want me to say

From - Angry Girl: dude have u never sexted before????

Hyungwon sent: i mean ….. its straightforward right ??? like …… i mean how else do u describe what ur doin .

From - Angry Girl: no !!!!! jesus … i should have expected this considering u thought i was looking for u when i asked u what u were wearing . the entire point of sexting is to get the other person aroused ….. how do u expect me to get aroused when u just sent me the most unarousing sext in history?????

Hyungwon scoffs at his phone, a bit insulted, fingers moving fast to type a reply, but before he could finish his phone buzzes with another message.

From - Angry Girl: get me to imagine what u look like w like …. extremities here n there. if i told u i was sitting here in shirt stained with lasagna would tht turn u on?

Hyungwon sent: well……………….no

From - Angry Girl: but if i told u i’m wearing a matching set of lacy black lingerie underneath my shirt with panties slowly getting soaked at the thought of you?

Hyungwon sent: oh

Hyungwon is far too busy staring at his phone, jaw slacked and eyes widened, for a few long seconds, that he forgets to sext her back. His phone buzzes, jolting him back into reality.

From - Angry Girl: hey.. we dont have to do this if u dont want to. i dont wanna make u uncomfy.

Hyungwon rushes to type in a reply.

Hyungwon sent: nooonooo!!

Hyungwon sent: no noo… !!!!

Hyungwon sent: its . just … like

Hyungwon sent: r u actually wet?

Her reply comes instantaneously.

From - Angry Girl: yes

Hyungwon sucks in a breath as he reads the text over and over again. He thinks of the fact that somewhere out there is a woman, who he has never met, and how she’s wet for him. The first thing Hyungwon does is screw his eyes closed in attempt to recollect his thoughts, which turns out to be horrible pain, because the moment his eyes shut, he thinks of her - see-through top clinging against her curves, her thighs squeezing together, her eyes filled with lust and her plump lips slightly parted - he thinks of (Y/N).

He quickly opens his eyes, cursing at himself for even conjuring up an image like that in his head, but the soft strain in his crotch area begs him to differ.

From - Angry Girl: so... what r u wearing

Hyungwon sent: white tee, black sweats and black boxers

From - Angry Girl: hmmm...

Hyungwon sent: are u touching urself?

From - Angry Girl: damn u learn fast

Hyungwon sent: are u touching urself?, he repeats, upper teeth pressed into his bottom lip harshly as the strain in his sweats begins to tighten.

From - Angry Girl: i have been ever since u told me u were in ur pajamas

Hyungwon grins, shifting positions on his bed.

Hyungwon sent: i thought tht was unarousing???

From - Angry Girl: it was. i just havent gotten fucked in a year

He licks his bottom lip as he types out a reply, his other hand fumbling with the waistband if his boxers before pulling them down. He double checks if his bedroom door is locked before he rests his back against the headboard, hands finding their way towards his cock.

Hyungwon sent: good. save urself for me then.

He begins to pump his hand up and down his shaft, slowly at first, as he waits for her to reply.

From - Angry Girl: jesus

From - Angry Girl: ur touching urself rn arent u? thinking abt how wet i am for yuo hmm??? do u wnat me as mcuh as i want you?

The typos in her sentence only brings more excitement to Hyungwon, picking up the speed of his hand wrapped around his length, biting down on his lip as he thinks of her, with her hands buried into her panties, back arched off of her bed, her other hand finding it just as important to write a reply.

Hyungwon sent: yes ido. i want you so bad

From - Angry Girl: are u gna cum soon? i want ur cum sobad. i want allof it inside me, i want u fillme up until its drippign out of me

That was enough to send Hyungwon over the edge, the straining knot that formed in his stomach untying itself as he releases, his groans reverberating against the walls of his room as his hips jerk against his hand. He closes his eyes, leaning his head against his headboard, reeling from his orgasm before he reaches over to his nightstand and cleans up the mess. Hurriedly, he types his reply, wanting to make things amazing for her as she did for him.

And as he does so, he thinks of her.

Hyungwon sent: god i wanna kiss ur neck and ur jaw and litter it with marks to show everyone that ur mine. i wanna move ur hands away from u and replace ur fingers w mine and have u ride them, hitting the right spot as i kiss u all over ur body and tell u how good u are to me. i want my name to be the only thing coming out of ur mouth. i want u to cum.

He sets his phone down, biting into his cheeks as anxiousness begins to roll over him. He isn’t sure if that sentence was good enough - this is his first time sexting. In addition, he hadn’t realized until now that he had been imagining (Y/N) doing all of this, and what shocked him the most was that he liked what he imagined. Like it a little too much, in fact.

His phone buzzes against his thigh.

From - Angry Girl: holy fuck

From - Angry Girl: shit i literally think i saw god when i came

He chuckles lightly, typing his reply.

Hyungwon sent: im glad to be of service to u!

He sits in silence for a few seconds, unsure of what to say, but then begins to type another message.

Hyungwon sent: what does this make us?

He wasn’t up for a relationship with a person he’s never met, even if they know almost everything about each other. He doesn’t even know what she looks like, or her name - but he does know that he wants emotion. He craves for it, no matter what form it’s given in, and this is the closet he has gotten to any type of emotion in almost a year.

From - Angry Girl: hmmm friends w benefits? but thru text... ?

Hyungwon sent: i like the sound of tht. you wanna do this again sometime?

From - Angry Girl: yes please

Hyungwon sent: good.. me too.

Just as he sends it, Hyungwon hears the front door begin to jiggle, announcing that Changkyun is just now arriving home. Hurriedly, he unlocks his door in case he were to come in and turns off his night lamp, jumping into bed just as he hears the door open and the sound of Changkyun kicking off his shoes. God knows how fast the younger boy would put together what Hyungwon had been doing prior.

Hyungwon: good night. try not to dream of me

Hyungwon sets his phone on the nightstand and quickly pretends to be asleep just as he hears Changkyun’s footsteps bounding towards his door, turning the doorknob and peeking in to check if he was still awake. When the door closes and when Hyungwon is sure that his roommate has fled to the kitchen, he turns over in his bed, staring at the ceiling.

Before sleep takes hold of him, he thinks one last thing.

How the fuck is he going to face (Y/N) now?

----

You did dream of him.

Chae Hyungwon, to be exact.

Since putting your phone down the night before, to waking up from a sinful dream and showering and cooking your breakfast, you have been red in the face. You hadn’t realized you were fantasizing about him until the unknown man’s last text was sent, when you arched your back from your bed as you came undone between your legs and whined out Hyungwon’s name. You had avoided eye contact with Kihyun, aware that he knows you far too well and fearing for him to realize what you have done.

“Your class doesn’t start for another h-“ Kihyun’s voice rings from the living room but is interrupted with the click of your front door.

The air is cool, the chilled breeze kisses your cheeks as you walk to campus, hands shoved inside your pockets, playing with the edge of your phone case that was situated inside of them. Last night’s events were amazing - it was the best orgasm you’ve ever had in a long time - yet the fact that he had been in your mind the entire time made your stomach twist in an emotion you can’t quite pinpoint.

You make it to your class, only to be met with a closed door. Of course, it wasn’t starting for another half hour. You let out a tired sigh, taking your backpack off and sitting down in the hallway, back against the wall as you fish your phone from your pocket.

You text him first today.

You sent: good morning

His reply comes quickly.

From - Unknown Number: good morning!! ur up early

You sent: i guess i still have adrenaline from what happened last night hehe

You sent: so what are u up to?

From - Unknown Number: im in the line at starbucks on my uni campus rn ... i might get a red velvet cookie. the class im heading to is like the perfect environment to eat

You sent: i didnt know environments counted in a good eating experience

From - Unknown Number: of course it does!!!! a good environment makes ur food even more savoury.

From - Unknown Number: i have acquired the cookie. im on my way to class now ... absolute dread

You sent: man .... u and me both

He doesn’t answer for a few seconds and you figure it’s because he’s walking or he bumped into a friend or something, so you use this time to get some extra sleep, laying your head against the wall and closing your eyes. Just as you are about to drift off, you hear the sound of someone clearing their throat down the hall, and you open your eyes, hoping it was your professor.

Oh god.

Hyungwon walks towards you in his usual gait, full of arrogance, holding a cup of iced coffee in one hand and a paper bag in the other. This time though, when you look at him, you don’t feel the same irritation that you have always felt - and suddenly your eyes catch sight of his fingers, and your mind flashes to the images that your brain had thought of just the night before. Your face turns red, looking away from him and closing your eyes. You hope to god he doesn’t notice your red face, which he doesn’t, because he barely spares a glance at you.

“Are you kidding me,” he curses upon arriving to the door. “The day I come in early, the door isn’t even open yet.”

Grumbling, he sits down against the wall a few meters away from you, putting his iced coffee and paper bag on the ground beside him as he fishes for his phone from the pocket of his jeans.

You feel your phone buzz.

From - Unknown Number: quick i might have enough time bc the professor isnt here yet...... should i go back to starbucks and buy a muffin

You let out a laugh, earning a glance from Hyungwon to which your face turns flat again, rolling your eyes at him.

You sent: no!!! what if ur running to starbucks n u pass by ur professor?

From - Unknown Number: you’re right you’re right.....ill jus get it later then

You sit like that for what seems like a good half-hour, texting this unknown man back and forth and learning even more about each other. You learn that he loves baked goods, and that recently, ever since you had told him to buy himself a bagel, his love for them had come back. He learns that you cook your own breakfast everyday, taking the time to eat and rest in the morning before the rest of the day ensues.

“Hyungwon!” a loud voice sounds from the end of the hallway. You turn your head, as does Hyungwon, and you find the man the voice originated from, dashing down the hallway.

Lee Minhyuk was in your criminology class, you knew him well because he in front of you, but not well enough to contact him at any time, or to say hi to him outside of class. He was a nice guy, he was friends with almost everybody in your university no matter what year they were in, but he was loud and distracted you from your work - you aren’t sure if you’re thankful for that or if you detest that fact.

“Minhyuk.” Hyungwon’s voice is calm, rivalling Minhyuk’s shout.

Minhyuk comes to a stop in front of Hyungwon, doubled over and his hands on his knees as be gasps for breath - you are unsure as to why, the length of hall he had just ran doesn’t even stretch on for that long.

“Where have you been?” Minhyuk asks between gasps. “I haven’t seen you since our last study session.”

“Oh you know,” Hyungwon replies, “Just studying.”

“Well come back, our study group needs y-“ his voice cuts off the moment his head turns and meets eyes with you, eyes widening and mouth forming a large grin. “Hi (Y/N)!”

You give him a smile back, letting out a gentle laugh. “Hello, Minhyuk.”

He decides to ditch Hyungwon, walking over to you instead as his taller friend watches on in a mix of confusion and shock, and finally, for the first time since you’ve seen him today, his eyes catches yours. You suck in a quick breath before looking back at Minhyuk.

“How’d you do on your paper?” Minhyuk asks, standing in front of you, hands shoved into his pockets. “I feel like I barely made the passing mark.”

“Oh! It was good, I finished it really fast the night before it was due,” you let out a chuckle. “I wrote it on police misconduct.”

“Oh gosh,” Minhyuk says. “You’re gonna get a good grade, lord knows how many times our professor rants about that topic.”

“One can only hope.” you joke, face falling and hand touching your heart before you break out into a smile. You could almost feel Hyungwon’s eyes burning holes into your body.

“Oh, hey, by the way,” Minhyuk pipes up after both of your laughter died down. “I have a question that I’ve been meaning to ask for a few weeks.”

You raise an eyebrow, curious. “Yeah? What is it?”

“Around three weeks ago, did you happen to get a strange te-“

“Mr. Chae, and Miss (Y/L/N)! You’re here early!”

The three of you turn your heads and find your professor striding down the hallway, fishing out the keys to the locked door in her purse. You turn to Minhyuk with a quirked eyebrow as to ask him to continue his sentence, but he just shakes his head.

“It’s alright, I’ll just ask you the next time I see you, alright?” Minhyuk shoots two thumbs-up at you, before pivoting on his heel and patting Hyungwon on the shoulder, narrowing his eyes at him teasingly. “And you. Stop ignoring us.”

Hyungwon nods, a small smile on his face before the two of you turn and walk inside your class. The only people present were the of you as well as the professor, who had also decided to go get something from the staff room, leaving you and Hyungwon alone, once again, in her wake. You almost curse to yourself outloud when flashes of the night before comes forward in your mind, biting down on your lip as you try to focus on doodling on the margins of your notebook. A crinkling sounds from behind you, and you turn to see Hyungwon, teeth half sunk into a red velvet cookie, realizing that you were looking at him. There is a pause in the air, silence filling the air between the two of you for a few milliseconds. The two of you simply stare at each other, something very out of the ordinary, before he glares at you.

You roll your eyes.

Maybe your thoughts last night were just a one time thing.

But they weren’t.

As the nights go by, and as text conversations come and go, you find yourself thinking about Hyungwon more and more, an activity that you would usually always push out of your mind every time he comes close to nearing your thoughts, but your attempts are futile. It’s even more easier for you to think of the tall boy because this unknown man was faceless, and every single text lined with lust only pushes you to moan out Hyungwon’s name.

There was this one time you managed to get the unknown man to describe the item of clothing he’d use to tie you to the bed, which was an expensive silk black button up with white pinstripes, and you went crazy at the thought. Then, just a few days later, when conversing with your desk mate during class, Hyungwon walked in with the exact replica of the shirt, and then suddenly it was more than hot; it was unbearably arousing, and you had to act like everything was fine, tearing your eyes away from Hyungwon and squeezing your legs together.

And then the unknown man decides that sending you paragraphs upon paragraphs about what he wants to do to you during class is a good idea. And now you’ll never be able look at Hyungwon wearing neckties or belts the same anymore. And now you can’t even say Hyungwon’s name in annoyance, nor look at him at all, not when he’s wearing that heavenly smelling cologne that he always sprays on himself every single day, making it even harder for you to not just shove all of the papers and books off of his desk and start riding him right there.

Then there’s the fact that Kihyun has begun to realize how much time you spend on your phone, asking you about who you’re texting all the time, asking if it’s someone he knows, to which you always reply with a quick no. It worked at first, but the more you say it, the more curiosity glints in Kihyun’s eyes, gleaming of mischievousness and knowledge that he actually does know what you’re up to on your phone. He’d continue to pester you to get more information out, but you’d just roll your eyes and push him away.

It’s nothing serious.

It’s not.

It is a half a year later and you had just come home from a third date with one of Kihyun’s friends from work - Shownu, his name was. He was a kind man; soft-spoken, intelligent, awkwardly endearing, and a gentleman. He took you out to an expensive restaurant, one with the most incredible view of all the city, and handed you a large bouquet of your favorite flowers. The dinner went smoothly, splendidly, even, and after a few exchanged jokes and laughs, he drove you home. He offered to walk you up to the front doors of your apartment building, which you accepted, and before you could push open your door, he leans in for a kiss, and as did you.

But you felt nothing.

No spark, no ignition of excitement, no eruption of butterflies, and no urge for you to ask him to come inside with you. Zero. Zilch. Nada. You had pulled back, giving him an awkward, but soft smile, but he had seemed to understand the underlying message, and he just smiles at you back, telling you that it’s alright and that he wishes you a good night before walking back to his car. You watched him drive away before pushing into the lobby, hitting the up button on the elevator, your spirits low as you wait for the doors to open.

As they did, you stumble into the elevator, cursing at yourself for thinking so stupidly. You had just rejected a handsome, kind gentleman, who was obviously interested in you, who probably wanted to fuck with strings attached, and who would have given you the entire world if you had just asked for it. Yet here you are, leaning against the wall of the elevator, watching the floor numbers go past one by one, not one ounce of regret. You wonder what the fuck is wrong with yourself, since it’s nearly been two whole years since you’ve gotten laid. Of course, only if you aren’t counting texting Hyungwon.

Your thoughts are interrupted when your phone beeps in your purse, and, almost agonizingly, it seemed as if all the excitement that you had been anticipating with your date prior suddenly comes out of its hiding place.

From - Unknown Number: i was helping my friend out w their crim assignment. thought of u the entire time.

Your stomach sinks. He thought of you. How disgustingly domestic. He doesn’t even know who you are, nor do you know who he is, yet he thought of you, and you hated it. Doesn’t he know how much those words mean to you?

He thought of you, the young woman who acts as if you’re tough shit but is too much of a coward to reveal your true identity and ruin the bond they’ve created. He thought of you, the girl who always makes it your job to leave a space between you and other people in your life, until this unknown man came around. He thought of you, making space in his life to talk to you, shifted things to give you a permanent space, and now you’re embedded so deeply into his system that it’s almost like it’s his job to see something and be reminded of you.

He thought of you, not because he needed to, but because he wanted to.

You finds yourself leaning against the door of your bedroom, locking yourself inside before lifting your phone up to type a reply.

You sent: what- but you freeze momentarily, thumbs lifting from the keyboard. How in the world are you going to finish this sentence?

What are you thinking? You’re starting a deep relationship with someone you’ve never even met! You don’t even know my name! I don’t even know your name!

What am I feeling? Why do I get excited whenever my phone buzzes? Why are you making me feel this way? I shouldn’t feel this way.

What are we doing? This isn’t right. I’m scared.

Your breathing is shallow and shaking, staring at the blinking line that seemed to mock you for your loss of words, and then your thumbs begin to move, falling on the reflex answer.

You sent: what are you wearing?

There is a pause in the air before the three dots show up again.

From - Unknown Number: black tee, black skinny jeans, black boxers.

You sent: thats hot

From - Unknown Number: you find everything hot

You sent: that’s bc everything u tell me is hot

Of course, your first thought is of Hyungwon, sitting on his bed, head to toe in black, forking his long fingers through his blonde hair. You gulp and your thighs squeeze together.

From - Unknown Number: what are u wearing?

You sent: a short red dress and black pumps, red lipstick, my hair is up.

From - Unknown Number: shit

From - Unknown Number: are you wet?

You sent: sooo fucking wet

From - Unknown Number: touch urself for me

You suck in a breath, staring at your screen. The two of you have been doing this for months now, yet, every time he orders you what to do, you’re surprised yet humiliated at how eager you are to listen to him. Obediently, you part your legs open, sliding your hands along the skin on inside of your thighs until you reach your clothed pussy. Letting out a sigh at how wet the cloth is, you circle your clothed clit with the tip of your finger.

You sent: im doing it through my panties

From - Unknown Number: push them to the side darling and once you do, push a finger inside yourself.

Fuck, you love it when he calls you that. Your face flushes as this unknown man takes control, and you loves it when he does; god it makes you go crazy. So you do as he says, pushing a finger inside of you, pumping it in and out, bringing a hand up to your mouth to stop yourself from whimpering too loud, knowing Kihyun’s just on the other side of your bedroom wall, sleeping.

From - Unknown Number: are you doing it?

You sent: yes

From - Unknown Number: good girl. now add another finger for me and fuck urself slowly. can u do that for me?

You sent: yes

From - Unknown Number: now, palm your breasts. tug at your nipples slowly, and i want you to keep finger fucking yourself while you do. keep your fingers sliding in and out of you, ok?

You sent: ok

You are obedient, your breath hitching in your throat as you open your legs wider, pumping your own fingers in and out of your body. You imagine him right beside you, imagining his low voice whispering the words at you, hot breath fanning your body, smooth and commanding, and you begin to feel a knot forming at the bottom of your stomach.

From - Unknown Number: move your fingers faster for me, curl them inside of you and rub the way just you like. i bet ur clit is throbbing and aching, isn’t it? it feels good to press on it while you fuck yourself hm? you’re such a good girl, you do thingsi tell you to do becuase you like it whn i tell u to fuck yourself.

You attempt to mute your whimpers by biting the inside of your cheeks, but your endeavours fall futile as you gently whine Hyungwon’s name far too loudly. Your trembling legs are apart, feet on both sides of your body as lewd sounds of your fingers fill the room. You’re almost sure Kihyun can hear you now, but you don’t care.

From - Unknown Number: ur not answeing me anymore. ur too busy fucking urself hm? ur too busy imagining that its me fucking u. that it’s MY fingers inside of you, pumping in and out of your body, that its my teeth tugging at ur nipples. how close are you to coming for me now? i bet it won’t even take you long to respond, fuck, i can just imagine u now. your hands between ur tremblign legs, biting down on ur tongue so u dont scream. but i dont want that. i want u to scream my name.

Your back arches off the wood of your bedroom door, and you know you’re close.

From - Unknown Number: scream my name when u cum. cum baby. cum for me.

And you do as he says, shaking as a choked back moan escapes from your mouth, barely managing to keep it silent. When you come down from your high, you rest your back against your door once more, trembling legs dropping to the floor. You barely attempts cleans yourself before lifting your phone to reply, fingers quivering against the cold screen.

You sent: fuck that was so hot

From - Unknown Number: did you cum?

You sent: cum is an understatement.

From - Unknown Number: good girl.

You sent: its your turn…

From - Unknown Number: oh no its all good. i already came haha

You sent: aw rly.. without my help?

From - Unknown Number: i imagined everything you were doing to yourself and it was hot… so, i guess u did help me in a way.

You freeze.

You sent: wait. you know what i look like?

From - Unknown Number: no but …. i have this … fantasy of what you look like.

You sent: and what does it look like?

From - Unknown Number: (y/hair/colour), (y/skin/colour), (y/height)....

From - Unknown Number: guiltily i think about this girl i detest. i’ve told u about her before. how funny would it be if you were her?

Your heart sinks into your stomach. This is the first time the two of you had ever talked about appearance, and this unknown man hit everything about you spot on. Dread pools around your heart in your stomach as you type out a reply.

You sent: haha who knows

You sent: im sorry i have to go now

You sent: ill text u tmr. good bye

Your phone buzzes one last time but you don’t look at his message, throwing it into your backpack as you finally get up to clean yourself, walking into your bathroom and changing out of your dress, assuring yourself that you aren’t running away but knowing full well that that’s the only thing you’re doing.

----

You don’t text him tomorrow, you don’t text him the next day, the day after that, the next week, or the next month.

You haven’t texted him in five months, but all he did in those five months was think of you, your phone vibrating constantly due to messages from him. Dozens of them. They came in groups at first, but as the months go by, they come through sparser and sparser. At first, he hadn’t realized that you had stopped texting him, but when the first month passed, he grew worried, then they spiralled to apologetic, accusatory, and then he began to blame himself, and once again, spiralled back to apologetic.

From - Unknown Number: good morning!!!

From - Unknown Number: good mornin!

From - Unknown Number: u havent responded to my texts lately.. i hope everythings ok

From - Unknown Number: hello?

From - Unknown Number: if this is about the appearance thing i genuinely apologize. i dont wanna make things uncomfortable for u.

From - Unknown Number: u dont owe me anything

From - Unknown Number: can you please just respond to me one last time. im worried… i just need to know if you’re okay.

From - Unknown Number: my friend jus finished their crim course today. i thought of u.

From - Unknown Number: its been four months and a half… i graduate in a few weeks. i dont know why im sending this to u… i just thought i should tell u...

From - Unknown Number: i miss you.

From - Unknown Number: i wish i never met you. i guess it’s a good thing i never actually did.

It’s for the best, you would tell yourself, before swiping left to get rid of the messages he’s sent you. Still, you can’t ignore the dull pain each message sent to you cuts your skin and strikes you to the bone, even now, during the graduation afterparty, through the valour and cheers of the graduates knowing you’re about to turn a new page in your life, you cannot seem to let go of the words ingrained in your mind.

“Hey,” you feel somebody nudge your arm. “Is everything ok?”

Turning your head, you see Minhyuk, looking at you in worry. You give him a small smile, shoving your phone into the pocket of your short dress before folding your hands in your lap.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you reassure him. “I’m just kinda nervous. We graduated, after all.”

“Yeah, yeah, I understand completely.” Minhyuk pouts, nodding his head, but something hidden behind his pupils seem to tell as if he didn’t quite believe you. There is a beat before he begins to talk again. “Oh yeah, I completely forgot to ask you,” Minhyuk starts. “This happened like, a year ago, but it’s always been in the back of my mind.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Yeah? What is it?”

“There was a random number that texted me, Wonho, Jooheon, and Hyungwon around a year back. They said something about being in the same class with me…” he starts, and your eyes begin to widen, but you force yourself into keeping a calm expression. “I’ve asked almost everyone in all my classes if it was them but they all said no. The only one left was you.”

You look away from Minhyuk, almost cursing to your drunk self for giving him such an obvious clue, and then thinking, why not? It is the end of your college career. After this party ends, you’ll most likely never see any of these people anymore, for the rest of your life. Plus, you were almost absolutely sure he wasn’t the unknown man you were texting the past year, right?

You bite the inside of your cheek before replying.

“Yes, it was me.” you confess to him, feeling as if a big weight had just been lifted off your shoulders. “I was drunk, and I don’t know what I was saying. I’m really sorry, Minhyuk. I apologize for any trouble I caused…”

Minhyuk’s eyebrows lift, his jaw slacking a bit. “Really?” he questions you, before grinning. “Oh my gosh, don’t be sorry! That’s so funny. I mean, I would have never thought it’d be you, at all!”

“Really?” you ask him. “What did I send you?”

“You told me that I annoyed you during class,” he pouts, before throwing an arm around you. “But that’s ok! You still put up with me anyways so that’s all that matters.”

You heave out a sigh of relief before letting out a giggle, throwing your own arm around him as the two of you playfully sway to the edm music coursing through the house, for the first time in the past year, almost feeling free.

But it was as if the universe timed it as a way to mock you, because when you opened your eyes to look at the lounge floor, the graduates dancing against each other in strained duress, almost laughably dividing into two for the tall man standing in between, your eyes meet Hyungwon’s.

“Hyungwon!” Minhyuk calls his friend, whose eyes flash from you to Minhyuk. “Come over here!”

You feel your stomach drop at the sight of him and at the sound of his name, seeing him walk over towards the two of you, holding a drink in his hand. He looks absolutely beautiful; his hair flutters over his face in loose waves, and although his roots are beginning to grow in, you can’t help but become slack jaw at how good he manages to pull the look off. His eyes are still trained on you, not one ounce of drunken stupor in his irises. He’s dressed in just a plain white dress shirt and a loosened tie, ditching the black blazer he had sported that morning during the graduation ceremony. As you look him up and down, you begin to remember the messages that the unknown man had sent you, and memories of your fantasies of Hyungwon cloud your mind.

Quickly, you look away.

“(Y/N).” his voice is low. “Congratulations.”

You are hesitant to look up at him but you do so anyways, meeting eyes with him again, his pupils laced with intent, but you cower from him for the first time in the years that you’ve known him, heat rushing to your cheeks.

“Hyungwon,” you say, the taste of his name rolling off your tongue begrudgingly identifiable. “Thank you. Congratulations to you too.”

Silence seduces the air between the both of you, unbeknownst to Minhyuk, who still continued to sway back and forth to the future bass music pumping through the speakers. Your eyes are now trained on your hands folded in your lap, and you could feel Hyungwon’s gaze burning into your skin.

“I’m gonna go get a drink.” you excuse yourself, standing up from the couch. “Congratulations again, you guys. I’ll see you around.”

You keep your head ducked as you make a beeline for the liquor table, ignoring the feeling of Hyungwon’s eyes on you. Hastily, you grab a can of beer, hissing at the sudden contact of coldness of the metal can, before you begin to chug it down. You don’t know why you’re so nervous around Hyungwon all of a sudden, as he doesn’t know you’ve been whining his name nor does he know of your fantasies, yet, ever since you had stopped replying to the unknown man, Hyungwon’s presence in your life grew more intense, even as you attempted to avoid him at all costs.

You are on your second beer now and you think about looking for Kihyun for him to watch your intake. You had lost him on your way into the party to the lounge floor which housed almost all of the recent graduates grinding next to each other, you don’t want to know what Kihyun is up to in that sweaty crowd, nor do you want to spoil his fun, so instead, you settle to sit in another seat, opposite side and far from where Hyungwon is.

You aren’t sure if it’s because of the alcohol, but you’re almost sure you can still feel his eyes still trained on you.

“(Y/N),” you hear Kihyun call, and you almost let out a sigh of relief at the appearance of your best friend, sliding into the empty spot next to you. “Come dance with me on the dance floor!”

“I’m good,” you smile at him. “I’m fine just sitting here. My feet hurt from wearing heels all day.”

“Are you sure?” he quirked an eyebrow, and you nod your head. He frowns.

“I know when something is bothering you because you act different,” he says, sighing. “And frankly, you’ve been acting different for the past few months. What is it?”

“Huh?” You look at him, panic setting in. “No, no! I’m not upset or bothered by anything at all. Don’t worry about me, Kihyun, go enjoy yourself.”

“I can’t enjoy myself when I know my best friend is wallowing around,” he pushes you playfully. “Come on. Is it Hyungwon?”

You freeze.

“Hyungwon?” your voice is quiet. “Why would it be Hyungwon?”

“(Y/N), me and him are pretty close, and I’ve known you since, like, grade school,” he tells you. “I know when you’re hiding a secret, and I know when you’re lying. It’s fairly obvious that the two of you were a thing, plus… you weren’t really discreet some nights.” He snickers and you punch his arm.

“Kihyun,” you look at him. “Me and Hyungwon were never a thing. We literally hate each other.”

“He looks at you as if you stole all the stars in the night sky for him and you practically look at him like a love-drunk puppy,” he tells you. “People that hate each other don’t look at each other that way,”

“Kihyun, I’m being serious,” you tell him, grabbing his hands and looking him intently in the eyes. “I’m not with Hyungwon. I’ve never been with Hyungwon. And never, in my life, have I ever wanted to be with Hy-”

Your buzzing phone indicating a call cuts your sentence off, and you thank the heavens for a way out of this conversation. You excuse yourself from Kihyun, who only nods and takes a sip from his red cup as you walk to a much more secluded area, away from the bounding music. You don’t read the caller id, swiping right to accept it.

“Hello?” you breath into your phone.

It’s absolute silence for a few seconds, and you think that it may have been a misdial and that they had hung up, turning around to return to the party, but you bump into something warm and tall. Looking up, your heart drops into your stomach.

Hyungwon stands in front of you, his own phone pressed against his ear.

The horribly familiar words roll off his tongue so easily.

“What are you wearing?”

Dropping your phone, you do the only thing you know how to do.

You run.

You run quickly, the sound of your heartbeat in your ears drowning out the sounds of the party, drowning out Hyungwon’s voice as he calls after you. It’s ironic, how many times you manage to find yourself running away from anything that has to deal with him, but you want nothing else than to never show your face in front of Hyungwon ever again. How could you, when the months you’ve texted that unknown man, the months you’ve texted Hyungwon himself, were filled with revelations of secrets and desires, something you haven’t ever told your own best friend.

The night is cold when you open the door, and you shiver momentarily before warmth surrounds you. You feel the worsted wool cloak around you, smelling Hyungwon’s rich cologne as he walks past you, searching for his keys deep in his pockets. You hear his car beep, signalling that it’s been unlocked, and a dread pools your stomach.

“Get in the car.” his voice is calm, but it sets humiliation aflame in the back of your throat.

“No.” you say, ridding of his blazer and letting it fall on the concrete ground.

Hyungwon pivots on his heel, looking at you with eyes filled with emotions you cannot decipher. He walks closer to you, grabbing his crumpled blazer, before standing up straight and towering before you.

“Get in the car.” he repeats, his calm demeanour less relaxed, voice strained against grit teeth. You listen this time, getting into his car and sitting on the passenger’s seat before he slams the door closed, heading over to the driver’s seat and doing the same. The time it took for him to turn on the engine and speed off into the empty streets is silent, you only wish for the rest of the car ride to be the same, but of course, it wasn’t.

“Why did you do it?” he asks you after a few minutes, his voice hush against the smooth purr of the engine, focused on the road in front of him. His grip on the steering wheel was tight. You gulp. “Did you think it was funny?”

“No.”

“No?” he turns his head towards you momentarily before snapping his attention back on the road. “After a year of making me go crazy, after a year of making me feel something and then tearing me apart, no is all you have to say?”

“N-No.” you answer again. You can see his fingers tense against the steering wheel.

“Evidently, you have a vocabulary,” his tone is venomous. “So use it.”

“Please stop.” your face is red with embarrassment, recalling some of the messages you have sent him, remembering the feeling that washed over you when you whined his name to an empty room accompanied with lewd noises. “Stop.”

“Stop what?” he asks you, voice still dangerously calm. “Stop talking? So I can pull something like what you did and cut all contact we have with each other? Is that what you want? Because I fucking know that that wasn’t what you fucking wanted. Because, hell, you begged me to keep going, you begged me to keep talking, you begged me to stay. Bullshit. You didn’t even stay with me, you didn’t even tell me if you were okay.”

You bite down on your lip, eyeing your fists in your lap. Your heartbeat is beating out of your chest at this point, but you can’t tell of what.

“I know you thought of me, (Y/N),” he says, after a few seconds. “You began to avoid me, and as I did you. I thought I was doing a carnal sin, I was supposed to hate you. I’m supposed to hate you. So why did I keep thinking of you?”

It takes all for Hyungwon to not scream then and there, the frustration finally getting to him, stepping on the breaks as his car screeches to a halting stop on the side of the road, next to a mass of trees. He pushes open his side of the car and gets out, running his hands through his hair, almost stressed, before kicking the tire of his car in frustration. You watch him go through a great deal of emotions before you decide to step out of the car yourself.

“I just wanna hear one thing,” he tells you, turning around, eyes pleading. “One thing. One single thing. An apology. A confession. A proper goodbye. It doesn’t matter. Just one thing, one more thing from you, please, (Y/N).”

“Why do you care?” you ask him, voice hush. “You aren’t supposed to care.”

He pivots on his heel, grabbing the top of his car as he looks at you, boring his eyes into yours, as if he were searching for something in your pupils. He bites his lip before opening his mouth.

“Is it not obvious, enough, (Y/N)?” he whispers.

“What?” you stammer.

“I care, fuck, I’ve always pushed it to the back of my mind but what happened between us just made it all the clearer for me that I do care for you,” he pauses. “I care for you because I’m in love with you.”

Your eyes widen at that confession, freezing in time.

“You can’t just say that to me like it’s nothing.” you whisper, and that’s when the tears begin to tease your waterline.

“I’m not saying it like it’s nothing.” Hyungwon’s voice grows louder. “I love you. I’m in love with you. Fuck, (Y/N), I’m in love with you, and I’ve acted like an idiot all these years trying to get your attention. I’m not saying this like it’s nothing. I’m in love w-”

He doesn’t finish his sentence due to your lips pressed against his, and if it were anything like the movies, you were almost sure you saw electric sparks flying between the both of you. He kisses you, his arm snaked around the small of your back and his other hand pressed against the back of your head, and you kiss him back, arms wrapped around his neck as you pull him closer. Your tongue finds its way into his mouth, hungry for him, pressing his body against yours, the same way the both of you had been imagining for a year.

He backs you up towards the hood of the car and slams you down, lips disconnecting from yours before re-attaching them to your neck, littering your skin with memoirs of him in the form of purple lesions.

“My name,” he whispers in between kisses. “Say my name.”

“H-Hyungwon,” you moan, used to his name slipping from between your lips, but the unfamiliarity of his body against yours causing you more excitement. He sucks on a certain spot on your neck, before licking it to soothe the soft pain. “Hyungwon, please.”

“What is it?” he coaxes you with his words just as much as he is with his lips, hand snaking up your body as he begins to knead your breasts through your red dress. Moans and whimpers fall from your lips at his simple touch, and he smirks to himself. “Tell me what you want, darling.”

“I want you,” you tell him, bucking your hips when you feel his hand sliding up your thighs. “I want you, Hyungwon, please.”

“Out here?” he challenges you. “On the hood of my car? If someone were to drive by, they’d see us.”

“I don’t fucking care,” the ache between your thighs and Hyungwon’s touch is the only thing on your mind. “Please just fuck me. Please.”

Hyungwon chuckles, letting his hand cup you through your panties, the wet material causing a strain to build up in Hyungwon’s crotch. He curses under his breath, lips coming back into contact with yours, swallowing your moans as his tongue dances with yours.

“You’re such a good girl, asking so nicely,” he whispers after pulling away, moving your panties to the side, fingers finding your clit, brushing past it as you curse out loud. It was humiliating how wet you’ve become just from his simple touch and his words, an arrogant smirk making its way onto his face. “So wet for me already, and I haven’t even been inside you yet.”

His fingers find their way back to your clit, softly running over your bundle of nerves, too soft for your liking as you whine, bucking your hips. He pulls his fingers away from your pussy, pushing your hips back onto the cold metal of the hood of his car.

His voice is low. “Be quiet or else I won’t fuck you at all.”

You retract your impatience at his words, biting down on your lips as he circles your clit with his middle finger, adding a bit more pressure this time. His eyes are on you, watching your face intently as you try to force back a moan. His free hand finds its way to your face, tracing your bottom lip with your thumb, before pulling his other hand away from your pussy. Gently, he tugs at your chin, signalling for you to open your mouth.

“Wet your fingers for me, darling.”

You oblige, opening your lips, letting his long fingers roam your mouth. Hyungwon watches as you suck on his fingers, tongue dancing across the two digits, eyes boring into his. The strain in his pants becomes tighter, but he wants to focus on you, instead imagining that it was his cock your tongue dances around. He pulls his hand away from your mouth, bringing you closer for a kiss. You groan into it as your spread your legs wider, wordlessly begging him to do something, to which he does, slipping his wet fingers inside of you.

The sensation shocked you at first, his long fingers filling you out well, but as they begin to move inside you all you can do is let out a moan against his lips, the sinful sound is music to his ears. His fingers are slick inside of you, moving in and out of you painfully slow at first, but as your kiss begins to become a little more sloppy, he quickens the pace of his fingers.

“You like that, hm? You like my fingers fucking you like this?” he mumbles against your lips, grinning as he hears you moan loudly. “Shit, look at you. You’re such a mess already, what will you become once my cock is inside you?”

You aren’t even able form words, the pleasure overtaking you and his words the only thing echoing in your ears. It was as if your hand sprung to life on its own, making its way towards his crotch, palming him through the fabric of his jeans. You felt his bulge, how hard he was for you, and knowing you were so close to it yet so far due to the layers of clothing, it drove you crazy.

“I want it, Hyungwon.” you whine, adding pressure to your hand as you pet him. He suppresses a moan, and obliging to your words, he undoes his jeans, pulling his cock free from underneath his boxers. You grab hold of him, already so stiff in your hands as you begin to jerk him off slowly, pumping your hand back and forth around his cock as he continues to fuck you with his fingers. He buries his head into your neck as he begins to buck his hips against your hand, moaning into your neck as he does.

“Fuck, this is s-so hot.” you whisper in his ear, beginning to feel the knot forming in your abdomen as his fingers pick up the pace. It is when the tips of his fingers brush against the certain spot inside of you when you let out a gasp, your hips bucking into his hand, feeling him smile into your neck. “S-Shit, I’m gonna cum.” A chain of curses fall out of your mouth, words you aren’t able to comprehend rolling off your tongue much as you come undone with just his fingers. You whine, legs trembling as he kisses your neck, chuckling lightly before pressing his lips to yours.

“It’s your turn,” you mumble against his lips, his cock still stiff in your hand. Precum had already began to leak out of his tip, coating him and your hand in a sheen of liquid. You pull away, looking into his eyes through your eyelashes. “I want to taste you.”

Wordlessly, he pulls you off the hood of his car and towards the passenger’s side, standing behind his car for protection in case anyone were to drive by and see. He lets his pants and boxers pool at his feet, before kissing you once more, hands busy grabbing your ass.

“Get on your knees,” he tells you, and you’re obedient, listening to him as you press your knees down into the concrete, hissing at the pain of your knees but thirsting for him to be in your mouth. You lick your lips as you look up at him, waiting for his neck order, and he nudges the corner of your mouth the the tip of his cock. “Open your mouth for me, darling.”

He enters your mouth, letting out a gruff moan as he does, the feeling of your tongue on his cock driving him crazy. He’s waited for this moment for so long, seeing you on your knees in front of him, listening to every word he says is so vastly different from the image he’s used to seeing from you - annoyed at him, nagging at him, telling him off. That thought alone is enough to send him over the edge, but he wants to savour this; he wants to savour you. You start off with a few kitten licks, feeling his cock twitch and rest against your face, smiling as you watch his, normally indifferent facial expression, turn into something sinful.

“You look so beautiful like this,” his voice is hushed, breathy. “With your lips around me.”

He cranes his neck back at the feeling of your mouth around his cock, bobbing your head up and down his shaft. He’s holding onto the roof of the car, using his other hand to comb your hair out of your face to get a better look at you, a mix of adoration and lust in his irises. You grab onto his thighs for balance, your knees already beginning to give out, and just as you do, you hear tires and the hum of an engine just a few meters away.

You widen your eyes, realizing that someone is about to drive past, pulling away from his cock.

“Did I say you could stop?” asks Hyungwon, reaching down and grabbing your chin, looking into your eyes.

“Hyungwon, what if they s-”

“Did I say you could stop?” he asks again, and you bite your bottom lip, a course of excitement running through you, feeling yourself throb at the thought of getting caught, and with that, you take him back into his mouth, licking strips from his base to his head before wrapping your lips around him, taking him to the back of your mouth, ignoring the hum of the engine and headlights passing you by. They had no doubt seen Hyungwon, he towers over his car with his height, but you didn’t care.

“Shit, shit, stop,” Hyungwon grunts as your swirl your tongue around his head, pulling you up, much to your confusion. “I wanna cum while I fuck you.”

And with that, he presses you against the side of the hood of his car, pushing the hem of your dress up to your waist. He bites down on his bottom lip as he teases your slit with the head of his cock, hearing you mewl his name and different variations of begging, wasting no time to find a good pace before slamming into you. The contact causes you mewl to break into a pleasured scream, his cock pumping in and out of you, stretching you out and making you grab onto Hyungwon’s white button up shirt, wrinkling the fabric, loud gasps and pleading escaping your mouth.

“Hyungwon!” his name escapes from behind your lips like honey as he slams into you again and again, lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin, grunts and gasping filling the air.

This isn’t anything Hyungwon has ever done before, fucking on the hood of his car like something less of a human, but he doesn’t give a damn. If someone were to drive by and witness the two of you fucking like animals, he wouldn’t give a shit; his thoughts are clouded with pleasure and all that he hears and sees at that moment is you. Your voice, your parted lips, the feeling your fingernails sink into the fabric of his shirt on his forearms, your walls spasming around him. He’s too needy and too desperate for you to care about anything else.

He brushes past your certain spot again, causing you to scream his name once more, widening your legs as he hits it again and again.

“I’m gonna c-cum. H-Hyungwon, I’m g-gonna cum, fuck, please.” you stammer out in broken sobs, the familiar knot appearing in your abdomen once again. You’re almost certain that you’re beginning to see stars lining your vision, words unfamiliar to one-another slipping out of your mouth in strings of pleasure.

“If you cum, I’ll never fuck you again.”

His tone causes you to whimper, trying to keep your high to yourself as best as you can, your breath already beginning to falter. You can’t stop your walls from spasming around him, clenching the muscles in your thighs to try and help yourself from going against Hyungwon’s word, but your attempts fall flat as his cock sliding in and out of you at that speed and at that strength only causes your desire to grow bigger and bigger.

“H-Hyungwon, please, I can’t hold it,” you mewl, letting out short gasps of breath as he continues to rut against you. Your cheeks are red with both embarrassment and agony, your knees already beginning to buckle. He leans over, kissing your neck as his hips move into yours rhy “P-Please, please, please, I want to cum. Please let me cum.”

“I said hold it.” Hyungwon’s breath is warm against the skin of your neck, his hands pulling down the front of your dress, exposing your chest. He moves his face, enveloping your nipple into his mouth, plump lips sucking onto you as his hand kneads your other breast. The feeling of his tongue circling around your nub drove you crazy, his eyes boring into yours. You can’t stand to keep your orgasm under wraps, your entire body trembles now.

“H-Hyungwon, p-please!” you cry out, your hands flying towards his hair, pulling onto his blonde strands as you feel tears tease your waterline. Your grip on his hair tightens with each thrust he pushes into you, as if he were leaving remnants of himself inside of you, a growing smirk teasing his lips as he watches your failing attempts to hold yourself back. You arch your back from the hood of the car, letting out gasps of shock every time you feel the knot in your stomach slowly untying, clenching all the muscles you know of to try and stop yourself.

“Such a good girl,” Hyungwon’s whispers, his eyebrows beginning to furrow together and his eyes glazing over, signalling that he is close to his orgasm as well. “You’re so good… Fuck! I’m almost there, fuck.”

Hyungwon bites down on his bottom lip, leaning back again as he grabs your hips, fucking into your even harder than he was before. At this point, you’ve lost all awareness of your surroundings, you couldn’t care less if someone were to drive by and see the two of you fucking on top of Hyungwon’s car, all you cared about was your release, one that you kept pushing back so many times you’re almost sure it’ll take a toll on your body once you let go. His hand snakes from your breast and back to your pussy, his thumb adding pressure onto your clit, a sensation that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head as your jaw turns slack, letting out a moan of pleasure.

“I-I can’t take it anymore, Hyungwon,” you whimper, trying to push away his hand when you know all you want is to bring it closer. “Hyungwon. I can’t hold it, I-I’m gonna cum.”

“Then cum,” he whispers, looking down at you through his hooded eyelids. “Cum for me, darling.”

And you waste no time obliging to his word, the feeling of pleasure ripping through your body as you screw your eyes shut, stars behind your eyelids as you moan, Hyungwon’s name mixed with different curses and other lewd sounds. He still continued to fuck you through your orgasm, already sensitive from the amount of pressure that you’ve received throughout the night, and it causes your entire body to tremble and convulse.

“Fuck, fuck, (Y/N), I’m cumming,” Hyungwon grunts, before pulling out of you. He holds onto the side of his car as he pumps himself onto you, staining your pretty red dress and your trembling thighs, your name laced around sinful words and immoral moans rolling off his tongue.

You watch him as you come down from your orgasm, the juxtaposition in the setting almost laughable as you take in his beauty; his blonde hair stuck to his face with sweat, framing his features so nicely; his already plump lips even plumper now from all the body praise, kissing and licking every surface of you he encountered, his top teeth sinking into his bottom lip. You sit up from the hood of his car, a grin on your face before you grab him by the front of his shirt and pull him in for another kiss, he still grunts from sensitivity but still pushes his lips against yours, soft as you snake your hands around his neck.

And the night continued on like that, limbs entangled in one another in the backseat of his car now; the two of you are almost thankful that no one ever really drives on this road. He kissed you everywhere and as did you, making sure you savoured every part of him for all the years that you’ve missed, connecting your body with his - the only thing that divided the both of you was the thin layer of sweat on your bodies that accumulated as the night went on. You’ve lost count of the amount of orgasms he had given you that night, but it didn’t matter; the two of you have waited for this for far too long.

Dawn nearly breaks the night sky when quiet finally takes place in his car, the windows fogged up and chests slowly rising and falling now instead of rapidly panting. You lay your head on top of his chest, listening to his heartbeat. You think back on when he was simply just an unknown number to you, the feelings that you had formed for the unknown man and Hyungwon, and you suppress a giggle when you realize how many times the answer was right in front of your eyes.

“What’s so funny?” he asks amusedly, hands busy entangled in your hair, twirling strands around his fingers. He smelt of rich vanilla, a smell that you could not stand, once upon a time, but found yourself drowning in rapture now.

“Nothing,” you say, nuzzling your face into his naked chest. Your clothes had been discarded long ago, littering the floor of Hyungwon’s car. “I’m just thinking of all the times I could’ve figured out you were the unknown number. The answers were right in front of me the entire time.”

You think back on it; the first time he had texted you kindly, asking what he should buy for breakfast, and heeding to your word of buying a bagel, and how you ended up glaring at Hyungwon across your classroom that day for being so obnoxious with his bagel, the one you had advised him to buy in the first place. The day after the two of you started sexting, how he announced that he was going to buy a red velvet cookie, and thus, glaring at him again for being obnoxious with it. His friend from criminology had to be your mutual friend, Minhyuk, as well. It was almost embarrassing how many clues you had missed.

“We were literally texting each other even when we were a few feet away,” he laughs, petting your hair down. “We’re both dumb. We’re perfect for each other.”

You pout at him playfully. “Hey, I’m not dumb!” you tell him, to which he smiles at you with eyes that could compete against crescent moons. “You’re mean, I like you better through text.”

He chuckles. “So you wanna go back to just texting huh?” Hyungwon questions you, quirking an eyebrow. “Then I won’t be able to do this.” He leans down and presses his lips against yours for a few seconds, feeling your body ultimately melting into the kiss. He pulls away, grinning from ear to ear as you lay there, heat rising in your cheeks.

“Actually, never mind. I like you a lot better in person.” you say, after a few seconds of silence, to which he lets out a soft chuckle. He stares at you for a moment, eyes softening at your sight as a easeful smile graces his lips. Leaning down, he kisses your forehead.

“I like you a lot better in person too.”

Kihyun was right, Hyungwon really does look at you as if you stole all the stars in the night sky for him.

FIN.

2K notes · View notes

emospritelet · 6 years

Note

Never did this before, so hope I'm doing it right...DH Prompt 55: “ Shut up and kiss me already. ”

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Part 16] [Part 17] [Part 18] [Part 19] [Part 20] [Part 21] [Part 22] [Part 23] [Part 24] [Part 25] [Part 26] [Part 27] [Part 28] [Part 29] [Part 30] [Part 31]

Prompts all come from this list.

AO3 link

Dinner at Granny’s was an enjoyable affair; Neal and Emma proclaimed the ribs to be among the best they’d eaten, and Henry ate his burger, half of Belle’s fries and somehow still had room for apple pie. Once the plates had been cleared and coffees poured, Gideon dozed on his father’s lap while Henry flicked through his book, explaining some of the stories within to Gold.

“Wait, so Red Riding Hood is the wolf in this?” said Gold. “A singular interpretation.”

“Yeah, and she’s so cool!” said Henry enthusiastically. “She helps Snow White to hide from the Evil Queen!”

“Wasn’t it always the Huntsman who helped Snow White?”

“Oh, he does, but the Queen found out and took his heart,” said Henry. “So now he has to do whatever she says. He was raised by wolves, and he loves the forest, but she keeps him trapped in the castle.”

“Well,” said Gold. “She sounds very unpleasant.”

“Yeah,” agreed Henry. “But I kinda feel sorry for her. It’s like she thinks that destroying happy endings for everyone will make her happy, but it only makes her miserable.”

“I suspect there’s a moral in there somewhere,” remarked Gold, glancing at Belle.

“Yes,” she said firmly. “Let yourself be happy, and don’t make decisions for other people.”

She smirked at him, and he sent her a tiny grin, kissing the top of Gideon’s head.

Gold had offered to cook dinner the next night, and so Belle spent her day at the flower shop with Gideon, closing up at four and heading home. He was already preparing food when she arrived, and Belle lifted her nose and sniffed at the scent of chocolate wafting through the kitchen.

“I made a cake,” he said. “It’s been awhile since I baked anything. I enjoyed it.”

The cake was cooling on a wire rack, dark and rich, and she grinned as she went to inhale its scent.

“What are you going to put on it?” she asked. “I could make some buttercream.”

“I have fresh cream, and some raspberries,” he said. “There’s a little framboise in the liquor cupboard as well. Might be nice to pour on the sponge. Henry can have coulis, save the booze for the rest of us.”

Belle spied a glass jar of thick, crimson sauce, and stuck a finger in it, licking off the taste of sweetened fresh raspberries.

“So, that’s dessert sorted,” she remarked. “Delicious. What about the rest?”

“I thought we’d keep things simple,” he said. “Pasta?”

“The cheesier the better,” she agreed, and he grinned.

He made macaroni cheese, with garlic bread and a crisp green salad to cut the richness, and by the time Emma, Neal and Henry arrived the pasta was bubbling in the oven, the cheese sauce thick and glistening, golden brown on the top. There was cold white wine, sharp and fruity on the tongue, and the garlic bread was fragrant, making lips and fingers slick with melted butter. There was silence for the first ten minutes as everyone ate, but then the conversation started up. Emma and Neal spoke about places to visit in Boston, and which areas were the best, and the easiest routes to Belle’s university.

“We pulled a few all-nighters in the library, huh Belle?” said Emma, gesturing with her fork.

“Yeah.” Belle took a sip of wine. “Not sure I can do that anymore. Since having Gideon I’ve decided I need to take my sleep where I can get it.”

“I don’t want you studying so hard you make yourself ill,” said Gold, and she shook her head, running a hand over his thigh.

“It was only around exam time,” she said. “My study technique improved, so hopefully having a baby won’t mean I’ve forgotten everything I learned.”

“Finals are a bitch,” said Emma, with feeling. “Can I get another glass of wine?”

“Of course.”

Gold poured her the wine, offering the bottle to Neal, who held out his glass.

“Thanks,” he said. “This mac and cheese is awesome, by the way.”

“It’s so good,” agreed Henry. “Why isn’t yours this good, Mom?”

“Gee, thanks,” said Emma, in a flat tone, and Henry grinned at her as he held out his plate for more.

“Your mac and cheese is awesome too, babe,” Neal assured her.

“Well, now you just sound like you have to say that,” she remarked, taking a drink.

“No, I just know what to say to get more of the good stuff,” he said, with a wicked grin.

“That a fact?” She was smiling at him, her eyes sparkling. "You always were a smooth talker, Cassidy.“

"Good thing you can read me like a book then, huh?” he said, winking at her.

“I know when I’m being thrown a line, yeah.”

“So are you biting?” he asked, and her grin widened.

“Shut up and kiss me already.”

Neal leaned in to kiss her, eyes crinkling at the corners, and Henry made a gagging motion behind his hand, causing Gold to break into a wide smile as he reached for his wineglass. He shared a grin with Belle, dark eyes twinkling, and clinked his glass against hers. The wine was making her pleasantly light-headed, and she could feel herself relaxing with the comfort of good food and good company. She kept her hand on Gold's thigh, enjoying the firm warmth of him, the closeness, and his eyes softened a little as he glanced at her, that smile still on his face.

Belle got the impression that Gold, the seasoned loner, was enjoying having guests in his house for dinner. She realised that at the very heart of him was the soul of a person who wanted to care for others, the nurturing side that came out through the preparation of good food and wine, and the pleasure it gave him to share it. The harshness of his earlier life, the lack of any kindness or love, had gotten in the way, creating barriers of cold stone, forbidding walls of spiked blackthorn. He had begun to break through that for Gideon, and for her, and for a moment, talking and laughing with her friends around the dinner table, she began to sense what life could be like for him, for their family, when he faced his demons and beat them. She wondered if he felt it too; his eyes kept flicking to Neal, and to Henry, that tiny crease of puzzlement still between his brows, as though he couldn’t quite fathom how he had ended up there with a kitchen filled with chatter and laughter and the clink of glasses.

Henry had two helpings of the pasta, and after the plates had been cleared Gold handed around dishes of the chocolate cake, layered up with raspberries and cream and with raspberry liqueur soaking into the sponge.

“Dear God, that’s amazing,” said Emma, licking cream from her fork. “I can see why you want to move in with this guy, Belle.”

“Cooking’s only the second most incredible thing he does with his hands,” said Belle, and giggled as Gold gave her a very level look.

“What’s the first?” asked Henry curiously, and Belle blushed.

“I also clean up afterwards,” said Gold blandly.

“Some nights that’s better than the other thing,” said Emma, and winked at him.

“What other thing?”

“Sleeping,” said Neal, ruffling his hair. “Which is what you should be doing, buddy. You done with your cake?”

Henry scraped up the last of the cream and raspberry sauce, licking his spoon.

“I wanted to tell Mr Gold the story of Beauty and the Beast,” he said despondently.

“You can tell me next time,” said Gold. “I have a feeling that story may resonate with me.”

He glanced across at Belle, reaching out to thread his fingers through hers, and she smiled at him, happy and warm and filled with contentment. This was how their life could be. This was how it would be.

Her head ached a little the next day, the after-effects of too much wine, but she felt surprisingly well-rested, and joined Gold and Gideon in the kitchen for a breakfast of scrambled eggs with bacon and lots of hot tea.

“I think I’ll go to the shop today,” said Gold, hands cradling his cup. “I want to go through the china inventory and polish the silver.”

“Not the most exciting job,” she remarked. “You sure you don’t want to just chill out here with us?”

His mouth flattened a little, his fingers shifting restlessly on the white china.

“I’m feeling - I don’t know,” he mused. “Agitated isn’t quite the right word. I feel the need to do something. Something that won’t take too much brain power.”

“You could always do me,” she suggested innocently, and he grinned.

“Oh, later, most definitely.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

He was still grinning, his eyes twinkling, and she felt her belly lurch.

“How about Gid and I walk into town with you?” she said. “I could pick us up some coffee from Granny’s, bring it back to the shop.”

“Sounds good.”

The day was pleasant, fat white clouds spreading across the blue of the sky, and Belle inhaled deeply as they walked along, Gold with one hand resting at the small of her back, his other wielding the cane. The pawn shop was cool and dark, and the stroller’s wheels sounded loud on the wooden floor as she pushed it into the back room. Gold bent to unfasten Gideon’s straps, and she went back through to the shop to open the blinds, letting thin shafts of sunlight fan out across the floor. She flipped the sign to Open, grinning to herself as she remembered Emma and Neal’s interruption. Perhaps she could turn the lock at some point later that day and finish what she had started.

Gideon was seated on the floor when she went through to the back, solid plastic shapes in a variety of bright colours scattered on the rug in front of him. Gold had set down a hollow ball with holes to take the shapes, but Gideon was ignoring it.

“Seems more interested in chewing them than putting them through the holes,” he remarked, and Belle grinned.

“He’ll get there.”

“Undoubtedly.”

He was holding something, an old toy rabbit with a faded blue felt waistcoat, soft brown faux fur with a cream chest and shiny black beads for eyes. She had seen it on the shelves many times, and had always felt that it looked out of place in amongst the trinkets and china and old books. She had never asked about it before, and he had never seemed to pay it any attention beyond keeping it free of dust, which made her wonder what had changed.

“What’s that?” she asked, and he looked down at the toy rabbit in his hands, as though he couldn’t remember holding it.

“Oh,” he said vaguely. “It - it belonged to my son. To Bailey.”

Belle bit her lip, empathy making her want to hug him.

“You kept it all this time?” she asked sadly, and he sent her a wry smile.

“It was his favourite toy,” he said. “His mother left it behind when she took him. I used to lie awake at night, wondering if he could sleep without it. A stupid thing - I’m sure he found another toy to hug.”

“It’s not stupid,” she said gently, and he sighed, turning the rabbit over and over in his hands, brown ears flopping as it moved.

“Can’t bring myself to throw it out,” he said. “This is all I have left of him, you see. No pictures. She took those, too.”

“What - what brought this on?” she asked, and he shrugged.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “Perhaps - perhaps meeting Henry. All that bright enthusiasm, the innocence of youth. It makes me think of what I’ve missed. Perhaps Bae has his own children now, and I’ll never know them.”

He was looking wistful, his fingers clutching the brown plush body of the rabbit, and Belle took a step closer, running her hands up his back to his shoulders. Gold let his head roll back with a sigh.

“Well, self-pity doesn’t help,” he said, almost to himself. “My son barely knew me before he was gone, and it’s likely I’ll never see him again. I have to accept that.”

He stepped away from her, setting the toy rabbit back on the shelf, cream-padded feet sticking out in front of it and ears flopping over its black-bead eyes. His hand tightened over the cane as he stepped back, and Belle ran a hand over his arm, wanting to touch him, to send him reassurance.

“Did you speak to Dr Hopper?” she asked, and he turned to her, one brow lifting with a hint of surprise.

“Actually, yes,” he said. “I have an initial appointment with him next week.”

“Maybe he can help,” she said, and he shrugged.

“It has to be better than doing nothing, doesn’t it?” he said, and slid an arm around her, pulling her a little closer. “I also spoke to my lawyer. She wants us to go to Boston, to go through the paperwork for Gideon. I thought we might look at some properties while we’re there, if you like.”

Belle nodded, twining her arms around his neck.

“I’m looking forward to making a home with you,” she said, a little shyly, and he smiled, kissing her forehead.

“You don’t need to do anything,” he said softly. “Home is wherever you and Gideon are. It’ll be wonderful whether it’s here or in Boston.”

She kissed him, rising up on her toes before settling back, a wide smile on her face.

“I’m glad you like Neal and Emma and Henry,” she said. “When we move to Boston I expect we’ll have them over for dinner a lot.”

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I’d like that. I’m glad you’ve made such good friends.”

Belle hesitated, unsure whether to voice the stray thought that had been creeping around in her mind since the previous night. Curiosity won out.

“You - you seemed to watch Neal a lot,” she ventured. “Like - like you were puzzled by something.”

Gold glanced at her, a smile twisting his mouth a little, and he stepped out of her arms, grounding the cane.

“You noticed,” he said dryly. “Not much gets past you, does it?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” she said. “But since you just admitted it, what was up?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, his jaw working a little, eyes flicking to the floor and back up.

“It’s the strangest thing,” he said slowly. “It’s - it’s almost as though we’ve met before. I’m certain that we haven’t, at least not to my knowledge, but it’s like there’s this thought just - just scratching away at the back of my mind and it won’t stop.”

“What do you think it means?” she asked, and he pulled a face.

“Maybe we have met, and I just don’t remember it,” he said. “Perhaps he was in the house when I went to serve a tenant with an eviction notice, or perhaps he served me in a bloody restaurant, I don’t know. What does he do for a living?”

“Accountancy clerk,” said Belle, and Gold shrugged.

“So maybe it was that. I don’t know. I don’t suppose it matters.” He leaned in to kiss her forehead again. “Did you say something about coffee?”

“Yeah.” She smiled up at him. “I’ll take Gideon and make a run to Granny’s. We might be able to catch Emma before she goes.”

“Give them my best, if you do,” said Gold. “And see if Mrs Lucas has any of those excellent ginger cookies, would you?”

“On it.”

The sky had clouded over when she left the shop, the summer day unusually cool and fresh, and Belle walked quickly as she pushed the stroller up the street. The diner was busy, and she smiled as she saw Neal, Emma and Henry seated at one of the tables, with empty plates in front of them and a guidebook resting on the table top.

“Oh, I’m glad I caught you,” she said, parking the stroller. “I’m on a coffee run.”

“Well, sit down and have one with us,” said Emma, pulling out the chair next to her. “Long drive ahead, so it’s caffeine all around. Except Henry.”

“I’m having cocoa with cinnamon,” put in Henry.

“We’ve decided to head up the coast, see some of the country,” added Neal. “Maybe three days or so. Thought we might drop by on the way back, if that’s okay.”

“Great!” said Belle, beaming as she lifted Gideon up. “That would just about tie in with us travelling to Boston. We’re going to look for an apartment there.”

“You can stay with us!” said Henry eagerly, and Emma chuckled.

“Not unless they want to sleep three to a bed, kid.”

“Yeah, I think we’ll be getting a hotel,” said Belle, with a grin. “We can have dinner though, Henry.”

“I wanna take Mr Gold to the aquarium.”

“I’ll tell him,” said Belle, amused, bouncing Gideon on her knee. “We went for Gideon’s birthday, remember?”

“We went for Dad’s birthday,” corrected Henry, in a dry tone. “He just pretended it was for Gideon.”

“Yeah, well, only a day in it,” said Neal, shrugging, and tapped Gideon’s nose with a finger, making him giggle. “You almost shared a birthday with your Uncle Neal, kid. We were looking at double celebrations if you could have just held out for a little longer. Maybe matching T-shirts, or something.”

“There’s more excuses for cake this way,” said Henry, and Belle grinned, smiling up at the waitress as coffee was poured for her.

“Well, when Gideon turns two, we’ll be in Boston,” she said. “So we can all celebrate together.”

“Are you and Mr Gold gonna get married?” asked Henry suddenly. “You could have more babies together. I bet Gideon would like a brother. I’d like a brother.”

Neal and Emma exchanged an amused look.

“Well, I don’t know,” said Belle, trying not to grin. “We’ll have to see how things go.”

Henry grumbled something under his breath about ‘we’ll see’ meaning ‘never’, and opened up his storybook. Neal picked up his coffee cup.

“He’s a fan of true love,” he remarked.

“It’s sweet,” said Belle, in an undertone. “And honestly, remembering how I felt just a few short weeks ago - optimism is a good thing. I want things to work out.”

“Sometimes that’s half the battle,” said Emma, taking a sip of coffee.

“Yeah,” said Belle slowly. “I don’t think it’s gonna be easy, especially knowing some of the stuff Alex has to work through, but he’s getting therapy for that, and I know he wants to try. I know he wants to do his best for us, and I need that. I want Gideon to grow up as part of a happy family, which includes his father.”

“At least he’s trying,” agreed Neal. “More than my mother ever did.”

“What do you remember about your mother?” asked Belle, and Neal wrinkled his nose.

“Dark hair, and pretty, I guess,” he said. “Kind of intense. I remember the last conversation I had with her, when she left me with Social Services. She said she wouldn’t be gone long, she just needed a break. Begging me to understand, while I just couldn’t stop crying. Never saw her again.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Belle sadly, and he shrugged.

“Yeah. Kind of tried to forget her as I got older,” he said. “Took every step I could think of to cut her out of my life, to make myself into someone else.”

“Was that hard?” she asked, and he pulled a face.

“Some things were easier to let go of than others,” he said. “I mean - Bailey Bonny? Not really me, you know?”

Belle blinked.

“Bailey Bonny?” she said curiously, and he sent her a wry smile.

“One benefit of hanging out with the wrong crowd was being able to get a new identity, no questions asked,” he said. “I changed my name. Became someone else.”

“I didn’t know,” said Belle, surprised.

“Like I said.” He took another sip of coffee. “Tried to forget.”

“Right,” she said. “So, your original surname was Bonny?”

Neal set down his cup, licking his lips.

“Well, my mother’s surname,” he said. “She used to say she shared the name of a famous pirate - Ann Bonny - and that she called me Bailey after a sailor she met once. Always did love the sea. Guess I thought it was cool as a little kid. When she left - well, I soon figured I needed my own name. Milah Bonny was the woman who abandoned me. Didn’t need the constant reminder.”

“Milah.” Belle’s heart began to thump hard in her chest. “That’s - an unusual name.”

Neal shrugged, wrinkling his nose.

“I guess.”

“Was she - was she Scottish?”

He shook his head.

“English. My dad was Scottish, though. Or so she said.”

“Right.” Belle’s hands tightened around her cup. “And - and what do you know about him?”

“Not much,” he said wryly. “They met in Glasgow. He worked a lot. Too much, according to her. Never liked to have any fun, always the responsible one. She made it sound like that was a bad thing. Where I got my brown eyes, too.”

“So - were you born over there, or over here?”

“Oh, I was born in northern England,” he said. “Newcastle, would you believe? Although from what I can tell we moved around a lot in England and Scotland when I was a baby. My mother said we came over here when I was like two, so I can’t say I remember anything of the old place. Living in the US is all I’ve ever known. We were in Florida for awhile, I know that. Always moving, never settled. And then one day it was a trip to Social Services, and she was gone, and I was in the system.”

It was said lightly, as though he didn’t care, but Belle suspected it had affected him deeply. Emma was chewing her lip, looking troubled, and Belle hesitated before speaking.

“So - you changed your name,” she said. “And - and you don’t know your dad’s name? Did you ever try to look for him?”

“Oh, sure!” he said immediately. “Just as soon as I was old enough to realise what I needed to do and the kinds of questions I needed to ask. Trouble was, I had no family other than my mother - and she never came back. So there was no one I could ask about my dad, and when I got my birth certificate there was no name on there, so…” He shrugged. “Nothing. Don’t even know if the guy she told me about was really my dad.”

“Do you remember anything about him?” asked Belle, and he wrinkled his nose.

“Not really,” he admitted. “Just - really vague sort of stuff. Like memories of memories, if that makes sense. Nothing solid. Nothing I could describe, anyway.”

“Right,” she said absently, and Emma drained her cup, setting it down.

“Come on guys, we’d better hit the road.”

Henry closed his book with a thump, and Belle stood up, bouncing Gideon in her arms. Emma hugged her, and kissed Gideon’s head.

“We’ll call when we’re on the way back,” she said.

“Yeah, we’ll give you warning this time,” added Neal, with a grin. “See if you can keep things PG in the shop, okay?”

Belle sent him a level look, and he grinned, hugging her and Gideon.

“Bye, Belle,” said Henry cheerfully, throwing his arms around her before picking up his book.

“Drive safely,” she called after them, and watched them leave, Neal’s arm resting around Henry’s shoulders.

Belle chewed her lip, thinking hard. Coincidence. It has to be coincidence. It can’t be true, that would be crazy. There must be hundreds of people called Milah. With Scottish exes. Who took their sons away from their fathers around age two.

She shook her head, and set Gideon back in the stroller, making her way to the counter to order two takeout coffees and four stem ginger cookies. Her mind was whirling, and she barely registered the coffees being set in front of her. The scent of the cookies in their brown paper bag brought her back to the present, and she paid, uttering thanks in an absent voice before turning back to the door. She needed to talk to Gold.

She was chewing her lip thoughtfully as she walked, one hand on the stroller and the other carrying the cardboard tray with its coffee cups. Gold appeared to spy her through the shop window, and strode quickly to the door, taking the coffees from her. Belle pushed the stroller through to the back room.

“Did you catch Emma?” he asked, and she bent to unbuckle Gideon, lifting him out to sit on the floor with his coloured blocks again.

“I did,” she said, straightening up. “They’re heading up the coast. Coming back in a few days. I said we could have dinner again before they head back to Boston.”

“Ah.”

He took a sip of coffee, wincing a little at the heat of it before setting it on his workbench, and Belle bent to retrieve the paper bag of cookies from the stroller.

“Tell me about your son,” she said. “You said his name was Bailey. Did - did he have your last name?”

Gold gave her a wry smile.

“No. Milah’s. As I said, I was never named as his father. Should have taken steps to change that, but alas…”

He shrugged resignedly, and she chewed her lower lip.

“So - what was her surname?”

“Bonny,” he said, and Belle swallowed.

“And - and you said you weren’t there when he was born,” she said. “So was that in your hometown, or—”

“No, no, he was born in Newcastle, in the north of England,” said Gold, running a hand through his hair. “I think she spent a year or so there, from what I remember her saying. Probably the longest she stayed anywhere.”

His tone was rueful. Belle could feel her heart thudding in her chest.

“When was his birthday?” she asked.

“First of May,” he said immediately.

“The day after Gideon’s,” she said, under her breath.

“Yes,” he said, with a smile, and glanced at her. “Why all the questions?”

She hesitated, but raised her chin.

“Because I think I might have found him.”

#fic: dark heart #rumbelle fic #my fic #hey nonny nonny

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allenmendezsr · 4 years

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The Anti-anxiety Recipe Plan

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I didn’t know I was going to end up in the ER that day.

It was a regular Thursday morning. And as I got out of bed, I whipped up what I thought at the time, was a “healthy” breakfast.

If you saw me in public you would think nothing was wrong with me.

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Sound familiar?

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Sometimes it felt like I would just “forget” how to talk to people too.

“Should I talk now?”

“Am I saying the right thing?”

“How do I know everything is going to be okay?”

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These “symptoms” only scratch the surface.

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A kind nurse told me it might’ve been just vertigo and it would eventually “go away.”

The rest of the staff said to “sleep it off…”

Seriously?

That was the best answer I could get?

I must’ve been going insane. I wanted to give up.

Was this just a one-time thing?

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My negative self-talk would creep in at random parts of the day.

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Like right before an important presentation I had to give at work…

While talking to a coworker…

Sitting in a crowded room with strangers…or friends…

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I never told anyone I suffered from anxiety.

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Whenever doctors would prescribe me medicine or a new over the counter pill, I would ask them if I could have three more…

I just wanted to do whatever it took to finally BANISH my anxiety for good.

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Sometimes they would only make me feel a little better…

But I still felt some symptoms.

The rush of uncertainty….

The heightened senses…

Me questioning every tiny thing…

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No, not meditation.

It’s already hard enough to meditate WITHOUT anxiety, how in the world would I be able to “clear my mind” with it?

I thought I could find something else.

The more I dove into this problem, the more I learned.

And then I discovered that…

Remember what I mentioned earlier.

Some doctors call your gut “the second brain.”

Sounds strange but it’s true.

Your gut and mind are connected.

Together, they help determine your overall health, so when your gut health is out of balance, your body and mind will know it too!

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Too much dairy and something as simple as your favorite fruit juice can also give you fatigue and make it difficult to concentrate.

I took a good, hard look at my diet and what I’ve been feeding “my second brain” for years…

Here I was lost in my daily dose of mental hell, and the reason was right in front of me this entire time…

So now you know that your gut has a deeper connection to the rest of your body, and especially your anxiety…

What do you do?

You can’t “numb” your senses with medication, because they only help “manage” your anxiety for the short term.

And you can’t just “skip” certain meals, because the drop in your body’s sugar levels can lead to a spike in anxiety too!

When one of my friends introduced me to an all-natural, real food, paleo diet… my state of mind finally began to return to normal.

Almost instantly, my brain fog, dizziness, and near fight-or-flight symptoms vanished.

My anxiety wasn’t gnawing at my conscious 24/7.

And for the first time in what must’ve been YEARS, I was overflowing with real, natural joy.

But like I said before, the only drawback?

Paleo makes you cut grains, high-fat meats, sugar, salty foods…

The list goes on…

Basically this means I couldn’t keep eating anything tasty.

My pizza, doughnuts, and everything in between.

As a result, my cravings went bonkers!

Perhaps you can relate:

I wanted to chow down on cheesecake after dinner…

I wanted to devour a frozen pizza with my friends and watch Game of Thrones with a cold one in my hand…

And there’s nothing else out there that hits the spot like my mom’s infamous spaghetti and meatballs.

But now I couldn’t indulge in any of those guilty pleasures…

So I searched far and wide, looking for a chef who understood the deep relationship food has with your mind…

Not only that, but I was also looking for someone who knew how to whip-up delicious, mouth-watering meals in a snap.

And that’s when I met…

Let me introduce, Melissa.

Melissa is a certified nutritional chef and graduate from The Academy of Culinary Nutrition.

She has a knack for re-creating “unhealthy dishes” and turning them into a healthy meal packed with flavor.

You’ve probably seen some of her recipes cooked on Dr. Oz, and featured on The Kitchen Blog for Fisher, Paykel Appliances, and Readers Digest.

Melissa gets it.

Not only is she extremely passionate about cooking, but she loves sharing her knowledge of all things health.

I got the chance to meet her in New York City after going to one of her health and wellness workshops.

At the event, she talked about her personalized nutrition programs, and she gave a demonstration of one of her original recipes.

But what really struck a chord with me was when she talked about the “gut-brain connection” I already did a ton of research on.

When the event ended, I went up to her and shared with her what I’ve learned about this subject too.

She was open with me and she shared her struggles with chronic stress, food sensitivities, fatigue, and anxiety.

At first she thought there was nothing seriously wrong with her…maybe you’re like her.

You see, she worked long hours and was a “road warrior” that was constantly on the go.

Whenever she would visit a traditional doctor to tackle this problem, they would just try to give her pills…

But there was no way she would go through that downward spiral.

Instead, she took another close look at her recipes.

She figured out how she could adjust them so that they would not only help her with food allergies, but also with her stress and anxiety too!

And of course, as a top chef, she knew she had made sure they were delicious.

The result?

The Anti-Anxiety Recipe Plan, her new recipe book filled with 50+ mouth-watering anxiety relieving recipes that lets you indulge while keeping your mind clear and your heart happy.

While I was with her in person, she shared with me a couple of the dishes she put together in her book.

I sampled them, and had to double check with her to ask her again what the ingredients were…

I told her right then that she had to share the recipes in this book with more people.

Listen: no one wants to force bland, lifeless food down their throat.

That’s why Inside The Anti-Anxiety Recipe Plan, you can be rest assured, every recipe is bursting with flavor.

Each bite of the chocolate chip muffins or cranberry orange bread is warm and scrumptious.

The mouth-watering sweet potato frittata is savory.

And the chicken cutlets and broiled salmon are rich and filling.

The cherry on top is that if you’re looking to shed an extra few pounds and feel more energized than ever, they can be made PALEO…

What’s cool is most of these can be made within minutes… and without any expensive equipment.

Meaning using exactly what you have laying around your kitchen right now, you can dig in immediately after work… guilt free!

You can forget having to go to different grocery stores every week…

Each ingredient can be found at your local grocery chain. So these recipes aren’t just delicious and good for you, they’re convenient too!

Goodbye grueling grocery store visits… hello easy mood and easy food.

Remember: each recipe is natural and nourishes your “second brain.” This means you won’t have to deal with any weird chemicals.

For each page, there’s a nutritional breakdown and explanation for how each ingredient soothes your mind and body.

So the bottom line is this: there’s something for everyone!

And just to reiterate one more time…

Look: nobody likes complicated recipes, especially if you’re someone suffering from anxiety and high-stress levels.

That’s why each recipe in The Anti-Anxiety Recipe Plan is made simple!

Most can be prepared in 15-30 minutes…

And some, even quicker!

Don’t worry, you don’t have to be Gordon Ramsay to whip these up.

Even if you struggle to prepare the most basic recipes, you’ll still be able to make these tasty, mind-soothing meals, snacks, and desserts in The Anti-Anxiety Recipe Plan with no problem.

You might also be concerned about the ingredients…

And specifically, where you can get them…

Now, I’ll be straight with you:

If this is your first cookbook, then sure, some of the ingredients will be new.

But most — if not all — are laying around your kitchen already.

Things like cinnamon, baking soda, lemon juice…

And any ingredients you need to get can be found in your closest “normal” grocery store or found online (from the comfort of your own home) on Amazon.

Plus each recipe includes a breakdown of how fast it takes to make each meal. You’ll also have an inside look behind HOW each ingredient nourishes both your mind and body.

I wanted to share with you what’s included in The Anti Anxiety Recipe Plan because originally, the price for this hovered over $65.

However, Melissa and her the publisher’s have agreed to give this away for NOWHERE near that amount!

All in all, you’re getting:

And I’m even going to make sure that you don’t risk a penny when you pick up a copy of The Anti-Anxiety Recipe Plan today.

That’s because you’re backed by this…

I want to share this recipe book with you, at no risk.

All the pressure is on me.

Why am I doing this?

Because I’ve been there.

I know what it feels like to try and make a difference in your health and well-being.

And I know how it is to try and make something healthy and delicious at the end of every anxiety-ridden day.

I get how complicated things can get in the kitchen.

So regardless if this is your first time on the paleo diet, or your first time cooking real, natural food that’s good for your health and well-being.

I want you to experience the life-changing benefits I went through with these holistic, mind-soothing ingredients.

And The Anti-Anxiety Recipe Plan does just that.

You’re at a crossroads now.

You can do what I did and spend the next few months or even YEARS testing out every antidepressant you can imagine trying to get rid of your anxiety alone…

Spending thousands of dollars on doctors visits, therapy sessions, and more…

Only to still “get by” trapped inside your mental prison…

Or… you can skip all of that insanity, ditch the pills, and save a ton of money by investing in your health today.

And remember, Melissa’s publishers are giving away this $65+ value recipe plan… All for the price of a medium size pizza.

It’s an investment in your happiness … which I’m sure is worth a lot more to you than the tiny cost of this recipe book.

Don’t you agree?

And remember, you risk nothing. You have a full 60 days to try out these recipes in The Anti Anxiety Recipe Plan yourself.

If you’re not jumping with joy over your improved mood, clearer mind, and if you’re not excited about how mouth-watering these recipes are…

You don’t pay a dime. The recipe book will still be yours to keep, as a “thank you” for trying.

Let’s do this — together — click the button below and claim your copy of The Anti-Anxiety Recipe Plan right now:

Q: How will these recipes get rid of my anxiety?

Your mind and body are connected. In fact, some doctors call your gut the “second brain.” That’s why whenever you feel nervous, your stomach may growl or you’ll feel a little queasy.

So if you’re feeding your body the wrong foods, you’ll notice you feel more anxious, sluggish, and just “not right.”

The delicious meals inside The Anti Anxiety Recipe Plan are backed by holistic mind-soothing ingredients you can use to nourish your “second brain.”

Q: Can I find all the ingredients in a normal grocery store?

Yes, almost all of the ingredients in The Anti Anxiety Recipe Plan can be found in regular grocery stores (i.e. Target, Kroger, Wal-Mart, Publix, etc…) They’re also all on Amazon if you want to shop from the comfort of your own home, and can definitely be found in health food stores like Whole Foods.

Q: Are all meals, including the desserts, paleo-approved?

Yes, all of the breakfast, entrées, sides, salads, soups, and desserts are paleo-approved.

Q: How hard is it to prepare each meal following this book?

A majority of the meals and desserts can be put together in 15 minutes or less (not including cook/chill time) – the recipes are meant to be easy to follow so you can whip up these tasty dishes and treats for yourself and your loved ones with minimal effort.

Q: What allergens are in The Anti Anxiety Recipe Plan?

Some of the potential allergens you may want to be aware of include coconut (coconut flour, coconut oil, coconut milk/cream, and coconut butter), nuts (like almonds, cashews, macadamia nuts, and pecans), and eggs. Options for using butter or ghee in some recipes can easily be replaced with coconut oil to avoid all dairy.

Q: Is The Anti Anxiety Recipe Plan really backed by a 100% money-back-guarantee?

Yes. You risk nothing. You have a full 60 days to try out these recipes in The Anti Anxiety Recipe Plan yourself.

If you’re not jumping with joy over your improved mood, clearer mind, and if you’re not excited about how mouth-watering these recipes are…

You don’t pay a dime. The recipe book will still be yours to keep, as a “thank you” for trying.

Q: I still don’t believe these recipes can end my intense anxiety. How is this different and what really makes this work?

Intense anxiety or depression is nothing to take lightly. I know, because I struggled with both for not months, but years.

The Anti Anxiety Recipe Plan is different because it takes a natural, holistic approach to restore balance back to your mind, health, and well-being.

Sure, sometimes the strongest medical pills out there can “temporarily” relieve your suffering…but why not attack a major source for your anxiety and nourish your mind with the right nutrients instead?

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gospacegay · 7 years

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LRTIHEW: Part Eight

The title stands for “Longest Rusame Thing I Have Ever Written”.

First Chapter: https://gospacegay.tumblr.com/post/165808913233/lrtihew-part-one

Previous Chapter: https://gospacegay.tumblr.com/post/165963359973/lrtihew-part-seven

There is swearing, fluff, eventual smut, insanity, and lord knows what else.

Visiting was fun. Ivan and Alfred fought constantly, occasionally trying to beat the shit out of each other. It was the only normal interaction they really knew. After getting kicked out of a Mexican restaurant, they decided to visit a planetarium. The evening was polished off with a movie at Alfred's house. The Russian could tell America was extremely stressed with work. The chaos caused by his boss's death was evident, phone calls constantly interrupting their day out.

As Alfred's cell phone went off yet again, he groaned. “You should not ask for my help if you can not handle the side effects, Alfred.” Ivan said knowingly, gradually getting used to human names. Alfred rolled his eyes and answered the device after pausing the action movie. It was apparently a short a conversation, with much yelling. Ivan raised his brow in questioning manner while eating popcorn.

Hanging up, Alfred glared at Ivan. Used to this, the Russian looked back with a deadpan expression. “What did you say to Kozloff? He's asking questions.” the honey blonde demanded. “If a leader does not ask questions, he is a poor choice.” Ivan countered, knowing full well what the short tempered American was talking about. If the man didn't suspect something after seeing Ivan's name listed eighty years ago in records, he was completely retarded.

“Now he's going to bug me and think I'm some magical creature or whatever.” Alfred whined. “Are we not, to humankind? We do not age, and heal in minutes.” Ivan replied, always one for playing devil's advocate. “I guess, but that's not the point –” the tanned nation's spiel was interrupted by loud knocking on the door. The two nations waited to see who would get up first. The knocking picked up again.

“You are so lazy!” Ivan hissed, standing. Answering the door, he opened it up a crack. “What?” he asked rudely, seeing an upset American president with crossed arms. He was flanked by two guards as per usual. “Who is it? Alfred yelled from the couch, too comfortable to move. “It is Mr. Kozloff and his men.” Ivan crooned. The American scrambled to rise to his feet, throwing blankets and pillows off the couch.

“Sir, this is surprise!” Alfred squeaked, aware of how compromising he may appear. His new boss already wanted to yell at him. Ivan felt a twinge of empathy, but was mostly relieved something wasn't his fault for once. Ivan gathered with a blanket, watching the brewing storm. The human leader said nothing for a moment looking around. He took in photos as far back as the American civil war, proudly displayed above the couch. The rest of the home was decorated with old bits of junk that historians would drool over. Ivan's own house was the same way, stuffed with books over a century old.

“What are you?” the president finally asked suspiciously. His two body guards were as nonchalant as ever, used to everything. “I'm your helpful assistant sir.” Alfred replied, not exactly lying. “Tell me the truth.” the man ordered. “Well... I'm the United States of America. Technically I'm a living manifestation of the country. I influence the population as much as they form me, basically.” the honey blonde attempted to explain. It was a bizarre subject to breach.

“So many long words, Alfred. I sincerely hope your tiny brain did not hurt itself.” Ivan noted sarcastically. “Shut up! I know words. Your big dinosaur brain doesn't understand my brilliance.” the American shot back. “I was told you like dinosaurs.” the Russian teased flirtatiously. He mostly didn't mean it, the gesture engineered to get under Alfred's skin.

Looking rather red, Alfred shoved him. “Fuck off. I need to talk to my boss man seriously... 'kay?” he cursed, the statement softening to a question at the end. That was about as civil as it got between them these days. Taking the hint, Ivan shrugged and stood. “I am using your kitchen, filthy American.” he replied, walking off. He ignored any further protests.

For a country with a rich agricultural past, Alfred's kitchen was sparsely stocked. The glossy white kitchen was poorly organized as well. While Ivan started moving things around, he disparaged at the sheer whiteness of the space. It reminded the ancient Russian of icy fields back home. A kitchen was the heart of the home. You needed bright colors, patterns, and fabrics. Even a big red wall mural would do over this blankness. Ivan contemplated painting a Russian eagle on the wall.

“What are you doing in there?” Alfred yelled down the hall. “I am making your kitchen more efficient, comrade.” Ivan hollered back, in a good mood. There was muffled cursing, but no true response. While sorting the half empty cupboards, the ash blonde found basic baking supplies. Humming Korobeiniki, Ivan set to work. Making something himself was the only way he was going to get a good meal.

Mixing butter, baking powder, and oil with water, the slurry was fed flour slowly. Soon it was a pale dough thick enough to knead by hand. Ivan rolled up the sleeves of his sweater and set to work. The end result wouldn't be as delicious as yeast based breads. Ivan didn't have the time or supplies for such an endeavor. Beef strips and mushrooms were fried in a pan at the same.

After roughly forty minutes of work, Ivan slid the pirozhki into the oven. Setting a timer, Ivan dug out some of Alfred's expensive rum. Grabbing several shot glasses, he returned to America's plush couch. “Are you finished explaining the obvious yet?” Ivan asked, setting up shots. He raised a tiny glass to the American president and his goons in silent offering. They all refused. The bodyguards looked at him with thinly veiled distrust.

“I'm trying man. He doesn't believe me.” Alfred complained. “This story is ridiculous, Mr. Jones.” Mr. Kozlov denied, looking frustrated. “You appear to be friends with him. Do you have a better explanation for this... joke?” the man appealed to Ivan. Russia nodded sagely, pulling a knife from under his sweater. The body guard's hands jumped to their guns but didn't draw.

Ivan rolled his eyes, cutting a thin line across his own palm. It stung fiercely despite being a shallow cut. Droplets of blood welled forth from the tiny wound. Wiping the blade clean off on his sweater, Ivan tucked it away. He then showed the palm to the American president. “Please watch Mr. Kozloff. I do not wish to repeat this act.” Ivan said sternly, expression masking pain. The human looked on with a blend of horror and curiosity. The insignificant cut healed in under a minute. Smooth pale flesh was as it always had been.

“Man, that was gross. You didn't have to cut yourself.” Alfred whined. “Would you prefer I stab you for demonstration?” Ivan threatened, taking a swig of rum. He cringed at it's sweetness. “Dude, you don't chug rum, you sip it. I thought you were civilized. Give me that.” Alfred insulted him, taking the bottle away. “If you had vodka or everclear, I wouldn't have to resort to drinking this... brown sugar water.” The older nation argued. “I'm sorry thirty nine percent isn't strong enough. I'm not a professional alcoholic like you.” Alfred retorted.

They paused their bickering to look at the president. He looked rather pale, running a hand through black hair. “You okay boss?” Alfred asked, leaning forward slightly. “You healed.” was all the man had to say. “Yes. I did.” Ivan replied casually. “Who are you?” the leader finally asked. The question Ivan had been waiting for. “I am Ivan Braginsky, formally referred to as the federal republic of Russia. I am pleased to properly introduce myself.”

“Russia is in your house? Why is he in your house? Why are you friends?” Mr. Kozlov rapid fired questions, starting to really freak out. “We aren't friends. He breaks in and uses my stuff.” Alfred protested, pouring himself a shot. “I was invited.” Ivan pointed out, munching on the long forgotten movie popcorn. “You're hiding from your dictator boss, dude.” the honey blonde countered. “Vladimir Putin is a wonderful leader that was elected fairly.” Ivan bristled possessively. “Oh my god, no one is re-elected six times, like ever.” Alfred dismissed, rolling his eyes.

The Russian huffed, but said nothing. The man-child nation before him simply didn't understand, changing leaders so fast no one knew their names. A real leader lasted for the ages, remembered for their wise choices. The American president exited abruptly, just as Ivan's pirozhki finished baking. Ivan looked at the spring world outside, watching the human retreat. “I like him.” he said with finality. “It's the accent right? It's fun. I haven't had a president with an accent in ages.” Alfred agreed, starting the movie again. Ivan chuckled, then joined his oblivious companion.

The death of president James Selkirk was swiftly forgotten in the political storm of confusion that followed. The lethargic American senate struggled to respond as the world swamped replacement president Yuri Kozlov with immense pressure to perform. He was handling the stress admirably, from what little screen time Ivan saw on the television. The ruse was going well, with the man's ex-KGB parents visiting the white house unhindered. Ivan wanted to laugh from how amazing things were going.

#rusame #lrtihew #russia #america #amerus #hetalia #story

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gyrlversion · 5 years

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GUY ADAMS: scramble-brained boffins say eggs theyre secret killers

At my prep school in the Eighties, we got hard-boiled eggs for breakfast every Sunday. The cook, a ruddy-cheeked woman with forearms like hams, would produce vats of the things, swimming in lukewarm water, which she’d plonk on the serving hatch along with a slotted spoon for fishing them out.

We’d load our plates, wait for the housemaster’s back to be turned, and then see how many we could fit inside our mouths at once (four was the record, I think). The trick was then to chew and swallow the things without laughing, which would cover the table in eggy shrapnel.

On weekdays, the eggs came scrambled, or fried, sometimes both, morning (on toast) and night (with gammon and chips). Delicious, they were, with just a twist of salt and dollop of Heinz ketchup.

On weekdays, the eggs came scrambled, or fried, sometimes both, morning (on toast) and night (with gammon and chips)

As the years went by, I continued my love affair with the egg, averaging at least three or four per day for most of my adult life and getting through boxes and boxes of the things every time Bake Off comes on telly and I become fleetingly obsessed with biscuits, pies and cakes.

Down the pub, I take them pickled and shaken in a bag of salt and vinegar crisps, ideally washed down with Weston’s Old Rosie, the cider of choice in my native Monmouthshire.

On picnics, they have to be dipped in celery salt. For breakfast, my preference is fried and sandwiched in sourdough. Lord knows how many silk ties I’ve stained in the process.

Last summer, in an attempt to cut the family’s spiralling grocery bills, I even decided to become a backyard egg farmer, acquiring half a dozen Burford Browns from the local poultry man and getting a trendy igloo-shaped henhouse made from recycled plastic off the internet. It has an automatic door that opens every morning and closes at night.

Last summer, in an attempt to cut the family’s spiralling grocery bills, I even decided to become a backyard egg farmer

Each morning, one of my three kids will clamber over the garden fence in a dressing gown to see how many our flock has laid.

At this time of year, with spring in the air, the girls are especially productive, and we’re getting half a dozen per day, or more than 40 each week.

They all get eaten, too: meal times chez Adams are a blur of pancakes and Yorkshire puddings, omelettes and frittatas, dippy eggs and soldiers, plus glorious meringue and home-made gelato for pudding. If we build up a backlog, my wife will use them in a cake.

Eggs, rich and buttery, with the deepest orange yolks you only really find when they come from home-reared hens, are the staple of our diet.

So imagine the concern I felt this weekend at news that this most glorious and versatile of foods ought to be banished from daily shopping baskets, according to the latest preachy edict from the public health lobby.

To blame is a research project published in the Journal of the American Medical Association, which claims those of us who eat two or three eggs per day raise our risk of dying prematurely by a third, and increase our risk of heart attack or stroke by 27 per cent.

The findings are supposedly based on a study of 30,000 adults, carried out over 30 years.

Others disagree, pointing out that correlation doesn’t always equal causation: people who eat two eggs a day could be consuming them as part of gut-busting fry-ups

According to the report’s author, Norrina Allen, they are probably explained by the fact that eggs (and particularly their yolks) boast a relatively large amount of cholesterol, which has been linked to heart disease.

Others disagree, pointing out that correlation doesn’t always equal causation: people who eat two eggs a day could be consuming them as part of gut-busting fry-ups.

It could therefore be inordinate quantities of artery-clogging sausage and bacon rather than eggs that’s causing problems. Or they could just tend to be greedier, and more sedentary.

Whatever’s going on, eggs, and their supposedly high cholesterol levels, have from time to time faced the sort of regulatory demonisation you’d expect to apply to cigarettes and hard liquor.

A decade ago, for example the Broadcast Advertising Clearance Centre decided to ban an attempt to resurrect the egg industry’s famous Fifties TV advert, starring comedian Tony Hancock, which had the tagline: ‘Go to work on an egg.’ Apparently, such advice wasn’t ‘nutritionally sound’.

Whatever’s going on, eggs, and their supposedly high cholesterol levels, have from time to time faced the sort of regulatory demonisation you’d expect to apply to cigarettes and hard liquor

The same preachy little quango more recently decided to ban an advert for a special type of Omega 3-rich egg in which children sing the nursery rhyme ‘Chick, chick, chick, chick, chicken, lay a little egg for me’, on similar grounds.

Last month, meanwhile, eggs were deemed verboten by London Underground, which forced a trendy organic food supplier to crop them from a billboard advert. The ludicrous move was blamed on cholesterol content making them ‘non-compliant’ with Mayor Sadiq Khan’s nannyish ban on junk food adverts.

Paranoia about cholesterol in eggs has been doing the rounds for years with suggestible law-makers buying into it. And like most dietary scares, it originated it the U.S.

After World War II, and particularly the high-profile death of President Franklin D. Roosevelt, who suffered from heart disease, American doctors began fretting about the apparent rise of coronary problems.

Things got worse in the Eighties, when Edwina Currie wrongly declared most eggs in shops were infected with salmonella, causing a scare that saw a 60 per cent overnight fall in sales

They swiftly noticed a link between cholesterol levels in a patient’s blood and the risk of heart problems and, as a result, decreed that people should dramatically reduce the amount of cholesterol in foods they eat, setting a limit at 300mg per day.

For eggs, this presented a serious problem: each yolk contains around 200mg of the stuff. As a result, eggs were condemned to the nutritional version of the naughty step.

Things got worse in the Eighties, when Edwina Currie wrongly declared most eggs in shops were infected with salmonella, causing a scare that saw a 60 per cent overnight fall in sales, forcing farmers to kill four million hens, and leading to her resignation as junior health minister.

It wasn’t until the following decade that the egg’s PR image began to recover, after researchers noticed something called the ‘Spanish Paradox’.

In simple terms, this phenomenon revolved around the fact that Spanish people were consuming roughly a third more cholesterol than they had done in the Sixties, but levels of heart disease had declined over the same period.

With this in mind, scientists soon begin to question whether a diet high in cholesterol really did raise the level of the stuff in one’s blood, as their predecessors had assumed.

A host of subsequent studies then showed that eggs (which boast 13 essential nutrients, including B vitamins and vitamin A) might actually improve, rather than harm, one’s health.

These continue to be published to this day. In January, for example, the University of Eastern Finland found that eating an egg a day decreases the risk of type 2 diabetes.

Recent years have therefore seen a welcome boom in the popularity of eggs, with around 13 billion consumed in the UK

And last year, a study of half a million Chinese people, published in the journal Heart, found that moderate egg consumption was associated with a lower risk of cardiovascular problems.

Recent years have therefore seen a welcome boom in the popularity of eggs, with around 13 billion consumed in the UK.

They have been particularly feted by ‘influencers’ such as Meghan Markle, who in her pre-Royal days waxed lyrical about how she likes to bake the things in half an avocado, and in a magazine interview once cited an omelette with herbs and toast as her preferred breakfast.

Slimmers meanwhile like the fact that eggs are high in protein, which makes them filling without being too fattening (each one contains just 75 calories, roughly the same as a banana)

Before their marriage collapsed, Nigella Lawson even revealed that her then-husband Charles Saatchi had lost 4st in nine months by following an ‘egg-only’ diet first popularised in the Seventies consisting of three for breakfast, three for lunch, and three for supper. Or 63 eggs a week.

If the journal of the American Medical Association is to be believed, Mr Saatchi was, of course, placing his health at serious risk. But perhaps, like many a consumer, he simply decided listening to medical advice is a mug’s game, when that advice changes dramatically from year to year.

In other words, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with going to work on an egg.

The post GUY ADAMS: scramble-brained boffins say eggs theyre secret killers appeared first on Gyrlversion.

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isaacscrawford · 6 years

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The Boys From Silicon Valley

By MARGALIT GUR-ARIE

A few weeks ago one man, named @jack, decided that millions of people will be allowed to use up to 280 characters when expressing themselves on Jack’s public square platform. One man decides how many letters each and every one of us, including the “leader of the free world”, can use when we talk to each other. Just like that. Nobody seemed the least bit perturbed by this notion. Another dude, named Mark, decided to ask people for nude pictures of themselves, so he can better protect them from the bad guys. We shrugged that off too. Then, in a most embarrassing exercise in public humiliation, our democratically elected representatives begged three slick lawyers representing these platforms to effectively regulate what people can say or see on “their” platforms.

So here we are, in the land of the free and the home of the brave, where Jack and Mark decide what you can or cannot say, and what you can or cannot hear or see. This, my friend, is the power of “platforms”. In the old days, it used to be that he who pays the piper calls the tune. In the artificially intelligent technology age there are no pipers. He who owns the pipe makes it play whatever the hell he wants it to play. And as Sean Parker, a Facebook founder, elegantly put it, “God only knows what it’s doing to our children’s brains”. Perhaps God knows, but he is certainly not the only one who knows, because these platforms are built with the explicit intent to get people addicted to and dependent on the platform.

Funded with cash from sexist pigs and harassers, a startup, whose business model is to help other startups “hook” people on trashy little apps, is calling itself Dopamine Labs. “Dopamine makes your app addictive” is their promise. According to the website, they use AI and neuroscience to deliver jolts of dopamine that “don’t just feel good: they rewire the brain’s habit centers” of users to “boost usage, loyalty, and revenue”. “Your users will crave it. And they’ll crave you”.

At its rotten core, Silicon Valley is a drug cartel, a very clever and savvy cartel who managed to convince the world that its brand of drug addiction is actually good for you and either way, it’s inevitable.

But just getting billions of people on techno-drugs is obviously not the end game here. After extracting trillions of dollars from addicts who would rather go without food and medicine, than go without an iPhone X that costs more than a full blown top of the line computer, the Capos of Silicon Valley Inc. are now realizing that there is plenty more left to extract from the armies of zombies they are creating. “Because I’m a billionaire, I’m going to have access to better health care so … I’m going to be like 160 and I’m going to be part of this, like, class of immortal overlords. [Laughter] Because, you know the [Warren Buffett] expression about compound interest. … [G]ive us billionaires an extra hundred years and you’ll know what … wealth disparity looks like.”

Ah, yes, health care, the final frontier. When Keytruda (the Jimmy Carter drug) became available, it was considered too expensive at around $150,000, but times are changing. The FDA recently approved the immunotherapy drug Kymriah from Novartis with a price tag of $475,000, although Novartis says it could have charged more, presumably because this drug is a life saver of last resort for small children with cancer. Next, another CAR-T cell therapy cancer drug, Yescarta was approved by the FDA for adult cancer and Gilead Sciences priced it at only $373,000 a pop (that’s how value-based health care works). At this rate of innovation, it should not be too difficult to project a precise date for the emergence of that immortal class of overlords.

Developing personalized drugs, like immunotherapy, requires mountains of data from millions of people, and this is where the app-addicted public has a crucial role to play. Before the overlords can become immortal, we all need to “donate” our medical data, submit to experimentation, get sick and die, and yes, here and there a few lucky bastards will benefit from therapies their children will never be able to afford. Not surprisingly, Mr. Parker, the aspiring overlord, is now invested in an immunotherapy platform to coordinate research, or something like that. But Mr. Parker is a diversified investor. He has a couple more platforms. One is there to save the world from the AIDS epidemic by providing support to the Clinton Foundation.

The other platform is designed to help us vote. Yes, vote. The guy who promises to show us what wealth disparity really looks like is building platforms, complete with little dopamine jolts and colored pictures of bananas, to teach us all about “civic engagement”, because according to Mr. Parker’s venture buddy “the tools we build in Silicon Valley represent the best hope for fixing our democracy”. Everything was just fine with “our democracy” until all investments in the Clinton Foundation came crashing down like a house of cards in one fateful night in November 2016, when the overlords were positively robbed by a dopamine-deficient populist mob. In a wholesome democracy, when you pay for a President, you’re supposed to get a President.

Of course “our democracy” has been “broken” in one way or another for upwards of two hundred and forty years, but I think we can all agree that “our democracy” today is less broken than “our democracy” in 1789. There is great utility though, in declaring something to be broken, especially something big and nebulous like “our democracy”, because such declarations are almost always followed by assertions that the diagnosticians of brokenness are uniquely positioned to become the fixers of all broken things. Our health care is broken. Our education is broken. Our justice system is broken. Our economy is broken. Our tax system is broken. Our infrastructure is broken. Our entire goddamn country is broken. Oh, what the hell, the entire freaking world is broken. And Silicon Valley is our only hope.

Silicon Valley has essentially only one product, a very versatile product indeed, but a single product nevertheless. Silicon Valley doesn’t actually make this product. They harvest it by casting gigantic computerized platforms and collecting everything caught in their digital nets, very much like Bubba’s shrimp: “… shrimp is the fruit of the sea. You can barbecue it, boil it, broil it, bake it, sauté it. Dey’s uh, shrimp-kabobs, shrimp creole, shrimp gumbo. Pan fried, deep fried, stir-fried. There’s pineapple shrimp, lemon shrimp, coconut shrimp, pepper shrimp, shrimp soup, shrimp stew, shrimp salad, shrimp and potatoes, shrimp burger, shrimp sandwich. That- that’s about it.”

Information is the fruit of humanity. You can boil it and broil it to intimidate doctors and manipulate people, to extract immortality (and cash) for you and yours, thus fixing health care. You can sauté it and puree it to terrorize teachers and crush the minds of small children, to generate armies of drones (and cash), thus fixing education. You can sift it, scramble it, steam it, and serve it to nullify judges and juries, to protect property rights (and cash), thus fixing justice for all. You can slice it, dice it, can it and ban it as needed to keep all that cash flowing, thus fixing “our democracy”.

Remember Jack and Mark? Unlike Mark, Jack is allowing users to remain anonymous on his platform. On Jack’s platform, if you see a blue checkmark next to the name of someone, you can reasonably conclude that you are talking, or rather listening, to a “real” person, instead of, say, a Russian bot. Over time, it became clear that according to Jack, real people are those who are rich, powerful, or have enough “followers” to influence public opinion. Everybody else on Jack’s platform is shrimp. But Jack is an honorable man.

Jack is fixing “our democracy” by revoking the coveted blue checkmarks from some white supremacists. Presumably Messrs. Spencer and Kessler are no longer real. On the other hand, the multitude of rich and powerful rapists, pedophiles and garden variety perverts, are still very real according to Jack’s superior morality framework. Mark is fighting the good fight on behalf of “our democracy” in a different way. His platform is pursuing the enemy from without, by tracking enemy advertising paid for with rubbles, not yuans or ryials or euros or dinars or wons or yens, only rubbles, because the legendary KGB masterminds always pay in rubbles (with a return address of Моско́вский Кремль 103073) for all their international spying needs.

Now that “our democracy” is all nice and fixed, the Cartel can apply lessons learned to “democratize” medicine and fix “our health care” too. Health care is rife with old people, old fashioned ideas, and it is scattered all over the place. Nothing a big platform, dripping with dopamine jolts, can’t fix though. Uber for health care. Facebook for health care. Health care is like the iPhone. Information “blockers” will be prosecuted (this one is for real). Structured data. Metadata. e-Visits. Remote monitoring. Predictive analytics. Population management. This stuff is just begging for a medical platform with hundreds of millions of patients “sharing” their health, their illness and their medical experience with each other, with doctors, researchers and of course the platform overlord and his customers.

You will share your symptoms, your concerns, your treatments, your outcomes. You will “like” CT scans, “star” lab results, and rate doctors, heath insurers, drugs or devices. Perhaps they’ll have a “dislike” button too. You will post videos of your colonoscopy and maybe live stream your telehealth session. You will ask for advice from patients like you and “clap” for the ones you like best. Your cancer remission could go viral. The platform will ensure you see things you care about and shield you from unsettling content. Before you know it, you will feel compelled to check your “health” every 5 minutes, and certainly when your iPhone vibrates with new images from Bertha’s mammogram, or when your Apple “watch” beeps with updates from your fantasy clinical trials league or with an urgent reminder to record your pre-hypertension medication intake so you can receive the coveted 20% discount on Christmas fruit cakes at CVS just in time.

Platformized health care will be cheap, convenient and readily available. And just like communications, shopping, porn, and news, it will be fake, manipulative, addictive and designed to “protect consumers” instead of benefitting citizens, or patients in this case. Jack doesn’t converse with his buddies on Twitter. Mark doesn’t get his news from Facebook. Jeff doesn’t shop for deals on Amazon. And none of them will be getting medical care from a phone or a watch. You will. Your children will too.

Facebook just introduced a “safe” messenger for children under 13. Parents are supposed to set this up for their babies. Many will do just that. And experts will be exalting the thoughtfulness of the Cartel for creating a less toxic version, suitable for hooking children on the product. Why would a six year old need to message his “friends” online, instead of chasing them in the backyard? Why would a three year old need to watch sickly YouTube videos prepared exclusively for toddlers, instead of playing with alphabet blocks on the carpet? Why would the most powerful 71 year old man in the world self-destruct on Twitter instead of running said world? Why can’t you read an entire book anymore? Such is the power of the Silicon Valley Cartel.

Article source:The Health Care Blog

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allenmendezsr · 4 years

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