#in amidst all this. it would be stupid to spend time on writing. my energy needs to go into keeping the apartment biohazard-free

[crimeronan]

i wanted to write but decided if i was feeling well enough to write then there are more pressing priorities so i got up and got a load of dishes going and tidied a tiny bit. then fumbled thru a phone notes outline real quick. this was not as gratifying as writing would have been but it was the important adult thing to do and i'll be glad to have clean dishes. <-said thru gritted teeth while shaking and growling like a neurotic dog

[silent-sanctum]

Hi~ can I be 🍓anon? If you’re doing the emoji anon thing. Well, I just wanted to know if you’d write something with soulmate AU. I’m literally the most basic b ever and a sucker for soulmate AU. 🙈 something with jotaro being your soulmate is so cute to me…You can come up with any premise you want!

Hello 🍓 anon! I'm really sorry I took so long to put this out. I had a lot going on irl 😭 But here it is, over 9k worth of content about destiny and meeting each other through that.

Now, I'm gonna be honest, I am not too fond of the trope but I do dig it from time to time. So, I hope what I wrote meets your expectations! Hope you enjoy! ♡

A Wonderful World - Jotaro x Reader

word count: 9k

Everything was a blur. You couldn’t feel anything as your body felt weightless and cold.

But you could make out the rush of water fly by you and you could’ve sworn the skies went awry, never stopping as day turned to dusk to night to dawn and back in a blink of an eye.

You couldn’t move an inch and in circumstances like this, you knew this moment of clarity would be the last breath you’d experience.

Around you were bodies lying on the raging waters. A few of them were unfamiliar to you but you considered them allies, companions who aided you in getting this far into the chaos, and next to you was…

Your eyes swelled with tears.

Next to you was your husband motionless, forever resting as he left this world before you, a bleeding gash that split the right side of his face serving as a reminder of what caused his death.

‘I failed you.’

Whatever energy you had left in you was spent through your hand wading through the water, all to reach him one last time. Your surroundings started to dim and your body rotted with time, but that didn’t matter now. What mattered now was spending your last seconds by his side.

With your hand holding his, you closed your eyes and sent a prayer to the heavens- that maybe in another universe… in another timeline where this much pain and suffering didn’t exist… you prayed desperately that if it was written in fate, you could meet him there and fall in love all over again.

As you took your last breath, the last name you hoped carried on to the next life was-

You gasp, eyes now wide awake.

Your vision cleared and it took you a couple blinks for you to reorient with your surroundings. It was early morning and here you lay on your bed, the curtains drawn and the digital clock beside you just turning 7:31 with its bright red font.

Then there was that familiar ache that made you grasp your heart and spill a tear upon waking. “That dream again… It’s always that stupid dream,” you mumbled as you swiped the wetness off your eyes. You couldn’t for the life of you know why that one was so consistent amidst the many other random variants in your head.

And why the name couldn’t come to mind in every instance.

Before you, a ghostly apparition hovered out to face you with a fabric loosened to lay on your shoulders. You smiled as you grasped the translucent rose gold silk. “It’s fine. I’m fine Sanctuary. Just the usual.”

The entity tilted its head and only after the cloth lightly caressed your cheek with affection did it disappear back into you.

In perfect timing, your phone rang and on the screen flashed “Manager”. Swiping to accept, you placed the device by your ear. “Yes manager-nim?”

“Well if it isn’t my favorite leading star. I do hope you remember that you’re scheduled for a shoot at Toushiki Beach today.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes with a smirk at the singsong voice of the caller. “Yeah yeah, I know. 10:30 in the morning, right?”

“Ding ding ding. And if you don’t want your co-star complaining our ears off, you better be ready when I ring that doorbell.”

“Don’t worry,” you threw your legs off to the side and stood, heading to the bathroom. “I’ve always been on time. No matter how late I wake or whatnot. If anything, it’s him that’s always late.”

On the other side of the call, your manager groaned less at you and more at his situation. “And yet we’re also pulled into his mess.”

“Well, this isn’t my first rodeo. If the director starts yelling at us again, I’ll make sure to remind him who’s truly at fault here,” you said. “Besides, no one would be at fault but his if he even considers changing one of the industry’s highest-paid actors mid-shoot.”

“You better keep your word Y/N.”

“I will.”

Life as a celebrity was nothing too challenging, considering you’ve been raised to shine for the masses. Stardom started as a singer when your parents encouraged you to use your voice to entice the public. But as that career took off, you were offered to star in a film as an artist cameo once you’ve hit 18.

Then it all snowballed down the line. Many producers found your visuals and acting skills top-notch and wanted you to lead their shows and movies.

Here you were 10 years later- an A-list actress paid handsomely to feature in media that award-winning directors directed.

And to make it all better, well for you at least, you had someone to accompany you. A ghostly entity you named “Silent Sanctuary” was linked to you and you didn’t know why it did or how no one else did, but you came to accept that she was a part of you- a being who wished to be your invisible “guardian angel” willingly.

Your thoughts were shoved aside as the vehicle stopped and your actual bodyguard opened the door for you. Immediately, a frazzled-looking man in a padded jacket holding a clipboard came running to you. “Y/N! Oh, thank god you were here before your co-star did!”

“What did I say?” You said, stepping outside onto the concrete pavement. The breeze from the nearby sea brushed your hair on your arrival. “I told you I’m always on time.”

“Yeah that’s great and all but we still have to report to the director,” he said as he led you across the solid path ahead, walking past the rocky formations jutting out from the sandy ground and down on the stone staircase leading to the beach.

Ahead of you was the production crew setting up the necessary equipment needed for filming, and among them was a loud-mouthed man yelling at somebody to fix the sound system with his megaphone. Yeah, just another day of filming.

Soon your co-star arrived, late as you’d expect, already stomping into the scene whining about how cold it was or how annoying traffic was. But that didn’t matter as you sucked yourself into the role you were given ahead of time.

The movie’s concept revolved around the idea of soulmates. Its story involved the tale of two lovers who were always met at the short end of the stick, constantly losing each other time and time again, and your character’s job was to find a way to make sure that in this universe, you’d reach for your love and never let fate separate them again.

You weren’t fond of these films mainly because you thought the idea of “finding your fated partner” sounded too childish or fantastical to your liking, and initially, you were about to reject the offer. But somehow, as you read the script for the first time, you found yourself… touched. Your heart ached not at the thought of “meeting your soulmate for the first time” but at the idea of “finding your lover again in a better world”.

For a second, your mind thought back to the dream you kept having- of rushing water, fallen bodies, and the deceased man you held hands with.

And here you were now- playing the lead role for this “red string of fate-esque” movie with one of the worst partners you’d imagine. Do this for the output. For the results. For the story to be told to the crowd.

So, you did your part well; the moment the director cued the cameras to start rolling, you did your best to portray a struggling person arguing with her estranged lover about a key issue in the film. It took several cuts and a couple of re-shoots before the director was contented with the scene and called for an hour-long break. Lunch.

You invited your manager to eat out at a nearby restaurant selling ramen but he politely declined saying he had to answer some phone calls regarding brand deals you were supposed to be in.

You went ahead, a single bodyguard in tow on the way to the supposed popular place. When you got there, its reputation met your expectations- the place was filled to the brim, teeming with customers wanting a taste of the chef’s tasty ramen. With security waiting outside, you entered the place with your mask and hat on and fell in line.

Once your order was taken and a blinking pager was given, you turned to look for a spot where you could wait. But then, a pull caught your attention and you looked over to see Sanctuary hovering about, fixating on something with a fabric tugging your wrist.

“Hey,” you whispered. “What’s wrong?”

The entity ignored your words and continued tugging, wanting you to go somewhere. Confused, you directed your gaze to where your companion faced- the stairs leading to the upper floors. “Oh, you found a seat for me?” No response. Only her incessant pulling. “Alright, I’m going.”

You went upstairs, brushing past the passing crowd on the way. You were met with more people enjoying their meals and zero empty tables. “Sanctuary, I thought there were-” You didn’t get to complete your sentence when the ghost kept tugging at your wrist, its head directed to the stairs going up.

“The rooftop?” As far as you could tell, the rooftop section of the place was reserved for those who booked a spot ahead of time, and even as famous as you are, you haven’t made any reservations so you didn’t get to head upstairs. “Sanctuary, I didn’t plan to eat here. I’m not supposed to go there!”

But your supposed loyal entity remained stubborn as she fully manifested out of you and hovered to the 3rd floor of the restaurant with speed. “Hey!” You sword you’ve never had her disobey you ever throughout the time you had her, but this was a first and it flustered you to this extent. “Come back here!”

You continued up the final flight of stairs and swung open the door leading outside. Fortunately, the place was mostly empty considering the restaurant just opened.

On the other hand, your relief at the lack of people was replaced with embarrassment as you spotted Silent Sanctuary wrapped around a lone, unsuspecting man sitting by one of the tables beside the glass fence.

The person didn’t pick up her presence much like the others, only confused as dictated by the cocked head, furrowed brows, and rigid posture he had due to the binds your ghost companion had on him.

Play it cool. Excuse yourself. You cleared your throat, bringing his attention away from the book in his hand to you. As he stared at you, you stood still, caught off guard at his attractiveness: Slicked-up raven hair, bold jawline, and stunning aquamarine eyes. Was he an actor? You peeked at the built figure beneath his black turtleneck and white coat. Or a model perhaps?

“Yes?” Shit, his voice is deep too.

“Ah hello,” you bowed in courtesy and he did the same with a bob of his head. You steadily approached him, eyeing Sanctuary to let go and get back inside. “I was just looking for a place to eat. The place is crowded down here.”

“There are empty tables beside you,” he said, gruffly.

“Well yeah, but those are reserved so I can’t eat there.”

The stranger cocked his brow and crossed his arms. “You’ve made no reservations and yet you’re here?”

You subtly glared at your invisible companion still hovering close to the man. That seemed to do the trick as the entity reluctantly let go and disappeared. You kept up a calm front and answered, “Listen, I’m on a time crunch right now so I can’t wait for a table downstairs. This place also doesn’t offer take-outs so I figured maybe I could…”

“Share a table?”

“Yeah!… That…” Which was a lie. You did find a table on the first floor and were about to beeline straight to it, but Sanctuary had to intervene at the worst time possible. “And look what we have here; an empty seat in front of you unless you have someone coming-”

“I’m here by myself.”

Unintentionally, you let out a quick “ah” with a clap and nod. “So… can I-”

“No,” The man continued to stare at you, unimpressed. “Not until you clarify how tight your current schedule exactly is. You can return another time when it’s less busy.”

Your mind was running circles trying to come up with excuse after excuse; one that wasn’t entirely false so it alleviated your guilty conscience. But your patience was running thin as your break gradually shortened. “I can’t come back some other time because I have somewhere else to be after today,” you gritted out. “This restaurant’s only available in this part of Tokyo so I want to try their ramen before I leave.”

“You didn’t tell me the details of your current schedule. What if you’re lying?”

You clicked your tongue, pulled down your mask, and took your hat off, revealing yourself to him. “See those groups of people with filming equipment over there?” You pointed to the beach to which he did look over. “I’m part of their team and they’re about to call my ass any minute now.”

For a second, the stranger blinked at you with what you thought was recognition, but then-

“You man the cameras?”

“C-Camera-” At this point, you scoffed with your hands on your hips, tonguing the inside of your cheek as you looked to the sky wishing for more patience. “You really can’t lend a poor bystander a free seat because of some kind of stubborn skepticism?”

“You barged in here and interrupted my peace first.”

“Come on, just this once?” You glanced at the empty bowl on his table. “You’re done with yours so might as well, right?”

“What if I still say no?” He said. “You rude nag.”

You simply stared at him with disbelief and from some gut instinct, you blurted out an audible “asshole” before you realized what you said. You cupped your mouth, stunned, but the stranger didn’t seem insulted by the exchange.

Instead, he was… amused? Surprised?

Just then, your pager beeped wildly from inside your pocket. “Crap, what should I-”

“Alright,” you turned to the man with wide eyes. “You can have that seat.”

A big wave of relief swept across your panicking mind and with a quick word of gratitude, you hurried downstairs to fetch your steaming bowl of ramen.

---

Jotaro didn’t know what to make of his encounter with this… stranger.

It happened so suddenly- one moment he was minding his own business, invested in the detective novel he had in his hand, the next his body felt constricted as if he was bound by invisible ropes, and next a random masked lady barges through the door, appearing frazzled.

Then in the next minute, you’re here trying to persuade him to share a table due to the packed situation of the restaurant.

He should’ve been annoyed. That’s how it’s always been with people who seemed entitled to have everything to themselves or those who crossed his boundaries, but he couldn’t find it in him to be irritated at you. Skeptical sure, but pissed? Not exactly.

Admittedly, Jotaro had no problem sharing the table with you. He was done with his meal and you provided reasonable excuses in a polite manner- A busy worker who wanted a taste of a local delicacy before leaving.

He would’ve gotten up right then and there, but for some reason, he wanted to tease you- rile you up a bit until those polite mannerisms slipped up. What the hell? Why would I do that? Despite his logical reasoning, he continued to reject your approaches and you began to seethe, growing frustrated.

He huffed. Why am I feeling… nostalgic?

And when you removed both your mask and hat, Jotaro paused as he took one good look at you. Wait… you’re- Why do I feel like I’ve seen you before?

It wasn’t from any media he had watched or a published article he’d read. It was somewhere else and it made his chest throb out of the blue. Where?

Then in a fit of understandable anger, you remarked him being an asshole and a hard sense of Deja vu struck him as an image sparked in his head- a school’s rooftop, him in his black school uniform, and a female student saying that same word as she was about to head inside.

“Mind your own business, bitch.”

“Insults won’t get you anywhere, asshole.”

This was supposed to be during his high school years, but as far as he knew, he didn’t go to the rooftop once or talk to another student like in his visions. He smoked outside the school building and ignored any squealing fans that came his way. Jotaro was about to comment on it, but your pager blared and caused you to panic. Looks like the game’s over.

“Alright. You can have the spare seat.” And at your wide-eyed expression and a quick word of gratitude, he had to resist himself from smiling even by a little bit. This isn’t how he’s supposed to behave; tease a stranger and then smile endearingly at them because of a thank you?

But he couldn’t overstay now, not when you’re supposed to be back here any moment now with a huge bowl of ramen, and so he stood, heading to the exit.

On the way, you arrived with your order. He tipped his hat at you and you bowed at him one more time.

And again, Jotaro stopped in his tracks at the feel of his wrist being tugged. Looking down at it, nothing was holding him back. He heard you mutter something and suddenly, the tightness that held him loosened.

He subtly glanced over his shoulder to see you already settled on the seat despite his dirty dishes still on the table. He thought nothing of it other than being content at watching you enjoy lunch and went on with his day.

A server walked up the stairs and Jotaro stopped him before he could enter. “Don’t mind the lady eating at my table. Just take the bowl and clean what needs to be cleaned.”

“B-But sir customers aren’t allowed to,” One firm glare from his eyes cut off whatever the poor guy was about to say. “Noted sir.”

---

It’s been a week since that day and so far, the progress of the shoot has been great.

If you dismissed the number of times you had to ignore the urge to smack your co-star every time he whined about every minor inconvenience, today was productive. Not only were you able to execute your solo scene on your first try, but all the scenes that came with other actors went by smoother than before.

The director wrapped the emotional beach scenes and called it a day. If you recall correctly, the next batch of scenes will take place in some sort of facility since the upcoming scene will feature your character, a scientist specializing in quantum physics, meeting her lover while in the middle of work wanting to patch things up.

However, in the middle of your mini-success, you couldn’t help but think about what Silent Sanctuary did; about why she decided to disobey you and embrace a seemingly random man in the middle of reading his book.

But then your thoughts would further spiral into thinking of the man in the white coat. Why did he look familiar? And… You clutched your chest as you stared at the ceiling. Why do I feel like crying when I think about him again? You shook your head and leaned over to switch off the lamp. Whatever. It’s probably nothing. Just focus on your work.

It took a while for the crew to search for a place to shoot the said scenes. Eventually, they got in contact with one cooperative executive of a research institute within the capital and got their permission to film on their grounds, as long as they didn’t enter prohibited areas and disturb the people doing their jobs.

There were still a couple of paperwork that needed to be done so you were given a bit of time to spend while you waited. You told your manager you wanted to check out a nearby aquarium and what reason could he have to deny you a simple request?

You didn’t know why you wanted to visit an aquarium of all places. Because you liked the ocean but couldn’t see the cute fishes in them? Or was it because of something else like the instinctual tug in your chest?

Your manager didn’t see any problem with your request and brought you to the Sumida Aquarium near the Skytree. He informed you that he’d come back for you in a while and you thanked him for the ride. With that, you went on inside.

After receiving your ticket inside, you fixed the mask you had on and proceeded down the dimmed hallways, sight-seeing the many aquatic life swimming about the area in their glowing tanks with awe. It was fortunate that there were fewer people than you would’ve expected, but you weren’t complaining.

If anything, you were relieved you didn’t have to worry about racking attention from onlooking eyes.

You continued down the dimly lit path underneath the overarching tank that teemed with passing fishes of different sizes and types until you reached what you could assume was the main hall where the aquarium’s biggest tank could be located. “Woah~”

A wide smile grew as you watched a baby whale shark swim by. You stepped closer and placed your hand on the cool surface of the glass, admiring the sheer size of the aquatic creature living its life in this enclosure.

“You’re here again.”

“Hm?” You hummed as you turned to your side, only to widen your eyes as not only did you notice Sanctuary’s fabric stretched out to wrap a random person's wrist, but onto the wrist of the same man in the white coat. “Oh, it’s you! How did I not notice you?”

“Not sure myself. I just felt my wrist get bound out of nowhere and I made an assumption,” he said as he stared at you. “Turns out I was right.”

You cursed under your breath and willed your companion back inside before she could further embarrass you. “By the way,” you started. “I’m sorry for yelling at you at that ramen restaurant. It was entirely rude of me.”

He scoffed. “You just realized?”

“I didn’t know what came over me,” you said. “I don’t know if it was hunger, being tired, or… something else. But I mean it when I say I’m sorry.”

He looked you over and back again at the tank. “Okay then. Apology accepted.”

You beamed. “Really?”

“Do you expect me to make jokes about that?”

“Well no, that was a rhetorical question,” I huffed, crossing my arms. “Gosh, you can be quite the skeptic sometimes.”

“And that’s bad?” You could pick up the smirk from the way he replied.

You couldn’t help but smile in return. “Sometimes.”

For a moment, you and the stranger remained silent and opted to watch the sea life going about their day in the large aquarium before them, sharing the implied mutual agreement to watch them swim by in peace.

Until another large creature came from behind the rock formations and another word of awe slipped past your lips. “Look at that big boy! I didn’t know sting rays were this huge.”

“That’s a female manta ray,” you turn to look at the man who spoke after you. “You could tell because she has no stinger on her tail. It’s female because they’re larger than males as seen as another manta ray swims along her. He has a shorter wingspan and if you observe closely, the smaller ray has those flaps in the pelvic area called claspers, while the bigger manta doesn’t. It’s a way for him to deliver sperm for reproduction.”

You gape at the sudden information he dropped due to your lack of knowledge about rays. “You know your stuff.”

“I’m supposed to. It’s my job,” he diverted his attention back to you. “Marine biologist.”

A drawn-out “oh” was how you responded, and because you wanted to take the chance while he was there, you asked. “If you say so, then say some facts about…” You hummed as you thought about what to ask, and in some part of your brain, you decided on the first and the next. “Clownfishes.”

The man cocked his head and answered with ease. “They’re hermaphrodites. They grow as males but can turn into females when necessary.”

“Jellyfish?”

“There’s a species called Turritopsis dohrnii, or the immortal jellyfish. They can avoid growing old by being able to reverse their biological clock back into a younger stage.”

“Starfish?”

At that, the stranger paused and ruminated over what to say and for a second you thought he’d end up with a blank, but he replied shortly after. “They consume food by extending their stomach out of their mouths and over the digestible parts of their prey like mussels or clams.”

You smiled at the unique knowledge he gave you. “Impressive. Should I contact you every time I spot a funky-looking fish then?”

You were worried for a second thinking he would downplay your lighthearted ask, but a pit in your heart bloomed as the corners of his lips turned up into a small smile. “I doubt I’d pick up. I’m a busy man.”

“You don’t look busy.”

The stranger glanced at you. “On most days.”

At that, you couldn’t help but let out a soft giggle. You didn’t know why but it felt right, more so when the other person huffed with his subtle smile still plastered on his face. “Say,” you started. “Do you want some coffee? My treat. Take it as an additional compensation for the ramen drama.”

The man in the white coat tilted his head, thinking, and answered with a curt “Sure.”

---

Jotaro enjoyed this more than he should.

The second his wrist was in a light grip, he knew you were nearby. You arrived, apologized, and thanked him for accepting it. That should be the end of the conversation, but as he watched your eyes glitter in awe at the passing manta ray, he couldn’t help but remark facts about the creature.

Right then, a wave of Deja vu sparked a faint memory in his head just as it did when you first met him; one that presented the interior of a dimmed submarine, a single circular window, and the same student at the rooftop sitting by it.

“It’s a giant manta ray. For a 20-foot-long fish, they have large brains that are developed similarly to bottlenose dolphins and primates… It’s either swimming around the window because it saw itself or it saw you and is curious about you.”

The vision disappeared a second after it played out in his head and the tug in his chest would start to bother him yet again. It wasn’t a bad thing though. If anything, he’d like to share more information if you wanted. And like cascading water, his mind would continue playing out his voice answering with information about the same animals you said, and he’d vocalize them to you.

Clownfish? They’re hermaphrodites. They grow as males but can turn into females when necessary.

Jellyfish? There’s a species called Turritopsis dohrnii, or the immortal jellyfish, and they can evade old age by reversing their biological clock back into its baby polyp stage. It does so by reabsorbing its tentacles and coming to rest as a blob of undifferentiated cells somewhere on the seafloor.

But as you asked about starfish, his mind would answer differently than he would have. “I actually don’t know much about them yet. But I plan to in the future.” And it confused him for a moment because coincidentally, he was in the process of writing a thesis about starfishes like he planned to when he was still in high school.

And god, when you smiled with total admiration for his expertise, butterflies started to flutter inside and he couldn’t hold back the joy he reciprocated upon seeing you this way. This felt… right.

It would be no surprise that when you offered to buy him coffee to further patch up the scene you caused, Jotaro accepted it almost immediately.

Hence here they were in a neighboring cafe with two glasses of caffeinated drinks and plated sandwiches ready to consume on the table. “Oh gosh, we’ve been talking for this long and we still don’t know each other’s names.” You took a sip of your latte and continued. “I’m Y/N L/N. If you’re an avid media watcher, then you might recognize me.”

He tipped his hat. “Kujo Jotaro and no, I don’t have enough spare time to indulge in films.” But you’re familiar regardless and I’m unsure why.

“Not even an hour or two for yourself?” You asked. “You must have at least switched on the TV at least once and seen a movie that interested you.”

He hummed. “If it bothers you that much, then fine. I do watch documentaries and true crime investigations from time to time.”

“There you go,” you said but in the next second, you pondered out loud. “Did I ever star in crime films? I think… maybe? Or was that more of a romance?”

“Star in them?”

You nodded after you took a bite of your food. “I’m an actress hence why I pointed to the filming crew last time, and why I got insulted when you said I merely manned the camera.”

“Oh,” Jotaro said, a hint of warmth now present in his cheeks as he thought back to that moment. “I… misunderstood then. I apologize.”

“You don’t have to. I did more wrong anyways,” you chuckled. “But you don’t mind me asking what crime films you might’ve watched, do you? I’m curious.”

“Well, let’s see…”

And it went on and on from there. For the ever-focused and present Jotaro to get lost in his conversation was a feat on your part. What started from a simple question about what titles he watched spiraled into threads of other similar topics that all piqued his interest.

What he liked more than the thoughtful exchange between two acquaintances was watching you talk with so much passion. There was always something endearing in the way you would go in-depth without being conscious of the other person. Not only did it ease whatever tension he had about needing to talk back, but also gave him relief knowing when it was his turn to share, you won’t mind it one bit.

But the day has to end sometime and you needed to return and prepare, while he had to resume doing his job. You and he walked side-by-side to the entrance and outside the establishment was another person, waiting by the van. “Guess I’ll be taking my leave now.”

Jotaro nodded. Just then, the tightness around his wrist returned and he gazed back at you. “Hey…”

“Hm?”

You opened your mouth, the words nearly leaving you, but you shook your head and dismissed it. “Never mind. It’s nothing important.” Jotaro doubted that but he won’t force you to tell him if you didn’t want to.

He watched you walk ahead, greeting what he assumed was your manager. The person patted you as he slid the door open for you to enter, but before you did, you waved at Jotaro one last time. He removed one hand from his pocket to raise a goodbye gesture back.

The sky dimmed as his watch hit 6:00 and your van drove off into the distance.

He couldn’t help but hope he’d cross paths with you again.

---

A week passed.

The team arrived on the institute’s grounds miraculously on time, prepping everything until the scene was good to go. You got your make-up and outfit done, just some faint skin makeover to give off a more haggard look combined with your formal fit and lab coat, and met up with the male lead and director on the set.

“Alright, for this scene, I need you to follow after Y/N down these halls up to the part where you both end up in the open area here. I want to hear the desperation in your voice as you do so, got it?” Your co-star waved it off and gave a cocky thumbs-up. “Y/N, I need you to portray stressed out, pissed, but also with a hint of yearning when you try to get him off your tail.”

You nodded. Two out of the three emotions were of no problem when dealing with the guy you worked with.

As you got into place, you dismissed the watching eyes of the passing researchers and focused on the task at hand. Being the center of attention wasn’t anything new. I got this.

“And action!”

You moved at a brisk pace, filing through the many papers on your clipboard as you tried to ignore the pleas of the other lead. Behind the two of them, the cameras followed the duo through the hallways, walking past the background people without breaking away from the actors.

At the ending point, his character grabbed your arm and you react violently, yelling at him that your character needed to be left alone, only to proceed to talk about doing all of these jobs for him and the possibility of a future with them in it.

“Cut!” Immediately, you sighed and stepped out of character. “Y/N, you’re doing phenomenal with the frustrated rage you were letting out, but we need a bit more of the sad, longing aspect to your dialogue. Get emotional and tear up for effect. Or else, the audience might think you’re purely pissed at the guy for disturbing your job.”

You responded with a simple “got it”, however, as you re-took the scene again and again, you couldn’t find it in yourself to get emotional when the man you are responding to wanted to make you roast the living shit out of him. It was unprofessional but with the way he acted ever since the start of the project, you wanted to rip his eyes out and call it quits.

“Y/N,” the director said. “I know you’re co-star is making this hard for all of us, but if we want this scene to be over, you need to express better and give me that release the movie needs.”

You held back a groan and answered an honest “I’ll do my best.”

“Take 5! And action!”

At the click of the clapperboard, you re-did your steps down the halls with your clipboard in hand. “Ayumi, please hear me out! You don’t have to do this!” Cried Isamu but it all fell on deaf ears as you continued to ignore him.

“Why are you ignoring me?”

“How often do I have to tell you to leave me alone?!” You yell back, eyes still focused on the papers. “I need to finish this and you’re not helping!”

“Then let me at least try! Please, we need to talk!”

“There’s no point! You intervening will just make things worse!”

Both of you stepped outside and just as you were about to make a run, he grabbed your arm and held you back. You whipped your head back at him, staring at him with furrowed brows. “Why won’t you let me try? Do you hate me that much?”

This was the scene. You had to cry out to him with all the yearning you had, and you tried to find some way to bring such emotions out. You drew out the scene, trying to improvise a speechless act as you looked for ways to tear up.

One look in the corner of your eye and you found Jotaro watching you intently among the background researchers mumbling among themselves. He was stoic as ever, posture lax yet poised with his hands in his pockets, but there was something in the way he watched you that slipped past his stone-like expression. He had his brows furrowed and his lips tight as he never broke eye contact with you.

Your heart started to ache and you were reminded of the man in your dreams, but rather than the vision of him dead, your mind flashed glimpses of the stranger when he was alive. All of them were from your perspective and every one of them was like a memoir of two lovers- flashes of school uniforms and lunches, oceans and sunsets, a joyous wedding, and a budding family.

Were these… Your eyes swelled with tears. My life?

But you realized you were still on set and with the appropriate emotion, you said your lines. “Because I did!” You cried. “I did let you try but every time I let you back in… every time I let myself fall for you again, you die all over again. You don’t know how many times I’ve seen you die.”

“I’m doing all that I can, including putting all my goddamn efforts into this machine, just so I can save what we have.” You continued to sob, pulling away from his hold. You were meant to stare far off into the distance, away from your co-star, but your gaze drifted off to Jotaro instead.

“I promised I’d find you again in another universe but this time when I do, I’ll make sure we’ll never have to suffer the same fate as before.” Finishing that line, you tore away from the biologist’s gaze and back to Isamu with tired, puffy eyes. “So please, let me go and leave me be now you know what’s best for us.”

Isamu said nothing and dropped his hand in defeat.

“And cut! Y/N, that was amazing!” the director clapped his hands and slapped your back. You sniffled and let out an awkward chuckle. “See? I knew you had it in you! I expected nothing less from such a talented actress.”

“Yeah…” You tried to look past him and onto the watching crowd, trying to spot a certain blue-eyed man among the crowd. “Thanks…”

True to his words, the director wrapped up the shooting and applauded everyone with an enthusiastic good job. The crew patted themselves on the back and began to pack everything up, your co-star had already left beforehand as you would’ve expected, and your manager handed you a padded jacket and a steaming cup of coffee. “Took you long enough to get into the mood.”

But you didn’t answer as you kept searching among the moving crowd for his specific white coat and unique hat, but all you saw were the black shirts of the filming crew and the standard white coats of the other researchers that just happened to pass by. Why did you watch me like that? Your chest ached out of the blue and you grew restless. Were you there or did I just imagine you?

“Earth to Y/N-san! It’s about to rain!” You blinked yourself back into reality as you felt a droplet land on your nose. You swallowed and bowed your head in apology to which your manager simply waved it off. “It’s fine, let’s just head back inside.”

You said your farewells to the team as you stepped into a changing room to switch your formal wardrobe with a more casual fit, and after smoothing out your blouse and skirt, you headed to the nearby mirror to make sure your face was free of the make-up from earlier.

One look at your reflection and you stared at yourself with bewilderment, a hand coming up to rake through your hair. “What the hell was that?” You often took pride in your ability to immerse into the scene, be one with your character, and display the intended emotion, but for the first time, whatever it was that you felt- that surge of nostalgia and longing- was real.

Now came into question whether spotting him on the sidelines caused this or was it these emotions that triggered your brain to hallucinate the marine biologist watching you close by as a means of projection.

You shook your head and patted your cheeks. “You’re making this a big deal. It’s probably nothing.”

“Y/N-san! Do you need a ride back? Or do you have other plans?” Your manager said.

“I’ll go home by myself! You can go ahead!”

Pushing past your confused thoughts, you fetched your bag and made your way to the building’s entrance. Walking past the glass doors, the downpour hindered you from going any further. You opened your tote and rummaged around for an umbrella, only for panic to grow as you couldn’t find any.

“L/N-san.” You perked at the voice calling out to you. With one look over your shoulder, you widened your eyes as Jotaro approached you with an unreadable expression. “Looking for something?”

“Kujo-ssi,” you said, cheeks growing warm. “A-Ah yeah. An umbrella actually but I don’t think I brought it with me.”

It was a matter of time until he stopped a few feet away from you. “Here.” You paused and drifted your sight to the closed gray umbrella.

Heat crept up your face as you made a move to grab it with hesitation. “Aren’t you going to need it?”

He shook his head. “I have a spare one.”

You nodded, still dubious, and took the umbrella off his hand. You opened it and took one step forward, only to pause and look to your side and saw Jotaro still standing in place, not making any move to bring out the so-called “spare” from his satchel. He caught you looking and raised a brow in question.

“You don’t have one more, do you?”

He didn’t reply for a solid second, only to clear his throat instead. “I do.”

Sure you do. “Are you busy later?”

Jotaro cocked his head and turned to you. “Why do you ask?”

“Want to get some coffee?” You asked with warm cheeks. “But if you’re busy then it’s fine.”

“Sure,” he said as he glanced at his watch. “I need some caffeine for the late-night meeting. I might as well.”

In an instant, you smiled with relief. “That’s great because now I can do this,” you said as you gestured for the marine biologist to come closer which he did, surprisingly. With him close, you stretched your arm and lifted his umbrella to cover them both. “Now I don’t have to feel guilty over accidentally stealing your stuff. We can walk to the cafe together like this.”

Jotaro huffed with a small smile. “Walk? I can drive us there. If you want, I can also take you to your hotel once we’re finished.”

Your heated face never ceased despite the chilly breeze from the rain. “We still need to get to your car from the parking lot outside so…” You bit your lip. “Walking is technically still part of the journey.”

For the first time since you met him, Jotaro chuckled softly. “I guess it is. And by the way,” he took the stem of his umbrella and held it up higher than you did with ease. “You’re too short to keep us both dry.”

You pouted at his remark. “You could’ve offered earl-”

“We better head there now,” Jotaro said, cutting you mid-sentence. “The nearest cafe is going to close in 30 minutes.”

“Rude,” you moved closer to him as the two of you stepped into the rain. “Now you owe me that ride home.”

“For reminding you?”

“For cutting me off. Thou shall not cut me off mid-speech, understood?”

Jotaro smiled and shook his head. “Good grief.”

---

It was all history from that point moving forward.

One coffee out turned into another hangout, and ever since then, both would frequently find each other despite your hectic schedules, and every time, they’d find an excuse to stay for a bit longer.

Something that started from a simple date at a restaurant spiraled into a sightseeing trip around the rural landscapes of the capital. Once what was a quick exchange of formality between acquaintances, shifted into casual banter between close friends. You even got to meet his sweet mother for tea.

Eventually, somewhere in the middle, you kissed him one fateful evening and he kissed back.

And that would be the last meeting you got with the biologist before he set off to sea to accomplish an on-site dive for a study.

Time seemed to pass faster than usual. You can still remember when you acted out your first scene in Tokyo months ago and here you were now- about to wrap up the last scene to film before sending the footage to the editing department. Everyone in the filming crew cheered among themselves and thanked you for the work you’ve put into the project, complete with a bouquet and a snack truck with your name and image plastered all over.

Even as your manager patted you on the back and offered his “good jobs” and compliments, you could only think of sharing your accomplishments with Jotaro, wanting to huddle close and talk about what was to come next for a leading star. At the same time, he would hold you in his arms as he listened.

But all you could do for now was send a text message for him to read in hopes he would open them when he’s no longer busy. And so you were left by yourself, lost in thoughts and dreams about your repeated visions that stormed your mind. Up to now, you couldn’t remember the name you uttered at the end.

Of the man you held as you died in what appeared to be a past life.

To celebrate the success of the shoot, the director hosted a party a week after where everyone involved in the movie was invited and have a well-earned good time. And you did enjoy your time there; you got to eat a buffet-worth of food, drink as much as you could without getting drunk, and get into wild conversations with the other actors about what their acting experiences were doing this film.

It was only as you were about to head into the van your manager drove did the news arrive. It blared on a skyscraper’s big screen announcing a freak accident that occurred to a research vessel that sent a certain marine biologist into the hospital in critical condition.

Dread poured over you instantly, your heart falling into a deep void as it feared the worst.

Whatever you intended to do that night flew out the window as you told your manager to drive you to the hospital mentioned in the news, and noticing the panic in your voice, he didn’t bother to question you and did what you told him to do.

You bolted out of the vehicle the second it stopped in front of the building’s glass doors. You made a beeline to the nurse’s station and asked where he was, growing frustrated when she told you guests weren’t allowed to visit no matter how many times you tried to tell her he was your boyfriend.

Your efforts were dismissed and all you could do was sit on one of the many chairs in the waiting area, head in your hands as you did your best not to break into hysterics. Your manager stayed put and not knowing how to comfort you properly, he stroked your back in silent reassurance.

From the outside looking in, you shouldn’t be feeling such extreme emotions for someone who you recently met and dated within a short amount of time. Being upset at a loved one’s threatened health is normal, but this was something that hurt you more than it did anyone else.

It was visceral. It induced a gnawing guilt that began to consume you from the core and you didn’t know how to process that when you shouldn’t be feeling such emotion when you didn’t do anything to earn it.

Hours passed and you remained seated even as your manager politely left an hour ago. By some blessing made by whatever greater deity was there, an equally distraught Holly found you in tears upon hearing the news, and with the loving touch of a mother, she wrapped you in a warm embrace and you did the same.

She led you to where her son’s room was and upon entering through the door, you bit your lip as the tears began to swell in your eyes seeing your lover’s current condition- unconscious and bandaged heavily on one side of his face with an oxygen mask fixed on his face.

Knowing you, Holly gently encouraged you to sit by his side and gave you ample time to stay with him alone before leaving the room, closing the door with a soft click.

You let out a shaky exhale as you gently reached for his hand, bringing it to your lips to kiss the knuckles and enclosing it with your other hand. “Why am I hurting this much?” You muttered. “I’ve known you for months and yet it feels like years. I feel like I’m going to die seeing you like this.”

You held his hand tight as you laid your forehead on it, praying for him to wake as soon as he could. Little did you know, you slept throughout the night in this dim hospital room still in the outfit you wore from the party.

And then you were in that dream once more, witnessing the rushing waves and moving skies yet again. However, you were an active viewer of the experience and with your conscious dream state, you looked over at the fallen allies lying on the ocean surface, and in front of you was… him.

You couldn’t be more stupid when you didn’t recognize him at first glance, but as if the veil had been removed, you saw his face in clear daylight.

All those visages of high school up to marriage were with him and only him. You knew now the last piece of the puzzle. His name.

The man in the white coat and ripped hat.

“Jotaro.”

---

He was drowning.

Jotaro couldn’t even bring it in himself to do anything as he let the sea drag him to the depths. Perhaps, this dream made sense considering what had happened during his recent dive: It happened underwater, his face got cut against a rocky wall of jagged edges, and he became unconscious.

But this felt different as if this dream was a disjointed memory that wasn’t his but it was at the same time.

He wasn’t wearing the diving gear he’d usually use, but a purple coat with gold accents and a ripped hat that had the same color as his fit. He was blind in one eye as he had expected and with his functioning eye, he watched as red trailed up from his gash.

Was this vision a sign that he was simply going to drown for the rest of his life? And why did he feel guilt when no one was involved but himself?

Jotaro should be doing something to get out of this situation, swimming to the surface and taking a breath, but he felt numb as if he was stuck in a cold paralysis. He wasn’t in control of his body but he could sense the dull pain and fatigue putting him in this bind.

‘I see how it is…” He stopped resisting and let his eyes close, accepting that this was his fate.

But a sudden warmth came to him in a heartbeat. Muffled by the water, a gentle chime of a music box strung itself for Jotaro to hear. ‘What… was this?’ Then there was that familiar tightness wrapped around his wrist that led to him opening his eyes.

And there you were, your hand holding his wrist.

There was fondness dripping from the way you looked at him, a sad smile gracing your features even as you let yourself be engulfed in the cold water alongside him.

No words were said as you swam closer to him, reaching forward to cup his cheek with your free hand, and even amid the watery void, seeing the surface become out of reach, Jotaro smiled as he moved his hand to engulf yours. On both yours and his hands, a wedding ring adorned your ring fingers and it was this moment, he realized.

‘It was you.’

He pulled you to him and wrapped you in a warm embrace, burying his face on your shoulder. You did the same as you held him tight.

And now, even as they sink to the darkest depths of the abyss, he won’t be alone. At least they had each other and that’s all he needed.

---

You wake with tears rolling in your eyes and with your sudden realization, you shot upright and turned to Jotaro sitting up as well, with a hand gently touching his affected face with the bandages that covered it undone and on his lap.

“Jotaro-ssi…” He paused and shifted his attention to you, slowly lowering his hand to reveal the aftermath of his accident.

It was the exact injury you constantly saw in your dreams; the same vertical scar that ran down the right side of his face with the injured eye now dull and glassy. It’s really you. You hid your mouth in a feeble attempt to stifle a sob. “You’re awake.”

“Y/N…”

Through a blurred vision, you looked at him as he grazed your hand with his. Without hesitation, you held it tight and brought his palm to your lips. He huffed, hearing the smile as he did. With a gentle caress of his thumb on your cheek, he said.

“I found you.”

[unearthlydream]

im sad and can't focus on work so instead time to scream into the fucking void so it at least looks like i'm trying to write this story thats due at the end of the day.

i keep finding myself thinking "i wish things were normal" and wishing i could go back to pre-Oct 31 and how things were before all of these things happened. but i don't think there is a noraml to get back to and i think that this is just what my life is now. and idk how to cope with that tbh lol ijust wanna jump off a building

i want to be able to see my friends and talk to people and work on craft projects but instead all i do is sit at home in silence after work dissociating into a game or a tv show because i don't have the energy. i can't lie and mask my way through life anymore and i feel uncomfortable w the fact that i can't have a conversation with anyone without them inevitably asking how i am or what i've been up to. how can i even engage with people when i have nothing positive to share and most of the convos just end up with "i'm so sorry, let me know if you need anything"??

my mom has been on and off dying (thankfully off for good now i think? long recovery process) since december. i've cared for my grandpa from oct 31-dec only for him to now be on palliative care. my family is being so normal and cool about it and i'm the youngest one and being forced to deal with all of their issues because my aunt and uncle can't be not self centered for once in their lives-- and obv my mom is dying and my grandma is grieving and helping w my mom so like who else is gonna take care of things and manage people's emotions and be a shoulder to cry on?

so i'm actually doing horribly and don't have the capacity to make up lies anymore. and what have i been up to? spending tons of time in hospitals and then getting various illnesses because people can't seem to mask up in a fucking hospital of all places!!! i don't have the energy to lie anymore bc i'm funneling everything i have into just waking up in the morning and doing thebare minimum to make sure i do'nt die and my household is clean enough that it's not a danger to my cat.

and even when my friends and partnersask like 'how can i support you' -- idfk put a bullet in my brain??? like no one can do anything to help me. i'm alone andhave always been alone and will always be alone and forced to be the mommy in every situation and i'm so tired. i just don't want tot hink. but then when i say 'it stresses me out that you're waiting on me to make the plans for groceries or doing laundry and i just need you to get it done,' i hurt peoples feelings and i'm being too rough.

i'm just so tired. i'm so fucking tired and i wish my brain didn't go from zero to "just kill yourself" so quickly. i wish i knew what i needed and how tomake it better. i feel like my stupid ass needs to be committed. i'm worried about self harming again as i already relapsed late last year amidst all of this. i'm worried one day i'll be so lcose to the end of my rope that i'll act on one of my impulsive thoughts and make things worse for myself.

i don't wanna worry anymore but i think that's just what's in the cards for me. which is like... doubly scary bc of the genetic lottery i've already won (mom had a stroke in her 40s and now is dealing with all of this which like.... most of it is caused by stress and not taking care of herslef and i'm falling down that same rabbit hole without my consent which is so cool and funky fresh).

and the worst part... i don't even think things would be easier if i died. the guilt of knowing what i'm leaving behind won't even let it in the realm of possibility.

this is so long. i might delete this later. but like holy fuck. a bitch needs a fuckin break. a bitch needs a resource officer or somethnig like hold fuck.

[hecalledme-jagi]

Hi can I recommend a struggling college student MC with the RFA boys? Finals be kicking my butt

Of course, thank you for the request! I had a lot of fun writing this one, and while I Stan Zen and Jumin, I really love how Seven’s turned out. I hope you enjoy ^^

An MC Struggling Through College/Finals

♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧

Zen

- Zen is an absolute gem.

- He sees you struggling and is ready to do whatever it takes to help you out.

- Zen might not fully understand the struggles of being a student, and he can’t help you academically, but you better believe he’s going to be your biggest supporter.

- He sees how hard you’re working and will do everything in his power to make sure that all you have to worry about is your finals work.

- Zen is a man of action, so he takes care of your physical health and makes sure that you get mental rest.

- He ensures that you don’t pull all-nighters, and he makes sure you don’t stay cooped up inside all day studying.

- He’s there when you feel like breaking down from all the stress.

- He holds you when you need it, and he encourages you when you doubt yourself.

- When you finally pass those stupid classes, he’s there to celebrate with you. 

- He showers you with the pent-up affection he didn't want to distract you with when you were studying. 

- He also makes sure you know just how proud he is to have such an intelligent girlfriend.

Jumin

- Jumin hates seeing you struggle, but he’s incredibly proud of you and sees the potential for greatness in you.

- He does everything he can to ease your burdens.

- He personally arranges a perfectly prepared schedule for you, and has a personalized space that makes studying easier for you.

- With the schedule and new study room, you never have to worry if you’ll be on time with assignments and it allows you to be efficient with your work.

- You’re also given time to relax and spend time with Jumin.

- But if you’re still stressed, he’s right there beside you, offering help wherever he can.

- Although, he’s especially helpful when it comes to academics.

- He’s honestly a better teacher than most of your professors, you find it nearly impossible to misunderstand whatever it is he’s helping you with.

- He’s patient with you and makes sure you know that he believes in you wholeheartedly.

- He also has highly rated chefs prepare “brain food” to help with memory and focus, but you doubt it really works(tho you’d never tell Jumin that).

- Then when you’ve finally finished, he’s ready to take you wherever you like to relax and celebrate.

- And of course, he showers you with rewards for all your hard work.

Yoosung

- Yoosung is struggling right alongside you, and it’s nice having a comrade amidst the chaos of finals.

- He understands what you’re going through, and even though he has his work to keep up with, he’s ready to help you if you need it.

- Throughout finals, you guys rarely spend any time apart.

- You guys pull all-nighters together.

- Go to study groups together.

- Eat terrible junk food, tho Yoosung will occasionally have the time and energy to cook something.

- You guys even have mental breakdowns together. It’s great -_-

- But in all seriousness, you guys support each other and cheer each other on through it all.

- And you better believe that you both cry for joy when it’s finally over, knocking out all cuddled up together.

Seven

- At first, Seven isn’t really sure what to do when he sees you struggling.

- College came easy for him, being a genius and all, so he's at a loss.

- He knows that he hates seeing you so tired and stressed out, but how to lighten your load is another matter.

- He thought of using his hacking skills to help, but he quickly nixed that idea because he knew you probably wouldn’t like that very much—which would only stress you out more.

- He even thought about making little gadgets to help you, but he ditched that idea too. He didn’t want you to learn how to use new gadgets on top of your schoolwork.

- So he decided to just ask you what you needed him to do instead.

- “Could you hug me?”

- He looked at you with a surprised, and slightly confused, expression, “that’s all?”

- You nod.

- Seven wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to hold you, but he wasn’t convinced that his hug would be of any help. Either way, he still hugged you.

- And just like that, he felt you relax in his hold and sigh in relief.

- Then you were energized and ready to dive back into work.

- So every time he saw you feeling especially stressed, before you even realize it, he’s hugging you and offering gentle words of encouragement.

- Once finals were over, he took you out on a fun date to celebrate your freedom, and now you guys have a new way to help each other destress.

˚✧₊⁎𝒥𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑎⁎⁺˳✧༚

I do not own any characters, all ownership goes to Cheritz. Thanks for reading!

[1kook]

netflix & chill

summary If you planned things right, you could rain down your raging displeasure on Jeon Jungkook right after the meal but before this proposed ‘Netflix and chilling,’ maybe dramatically throw your glass of wine at him, before storming out of his place and reporting him to the authorities (Namjoon) for his douchebag personality. warnings grinding, 2 seconds of sub kook, oral (f), cum eating, vanilla but [ passionate ], unprotected sex, dirty talk tags use of the oldest trick in the book (“your hands are sooo big”), shy oblivious AND gentleman jk? pick a struggle, brief ment of app developer kook, evil and conniving oc wc 10.2k !! wow!!

will I ever write a serious jk fic? NO. this entire thing was based off this pic of jungkook which i’ve said before that i would print out in sepia filter and crumple and stuff in a drawer n then tell my kids 35 years from now was a long lost lover i met on a cruise to the bahamas and never saw again ty to mia more @daechwlta​ for being there during my brief crisis over this fic 🥺

When Namjoon had first not so subtly mentioned the idea of setting you up on a date, it was with a faux air of disinterest that you had masterfully pried the details out of him. Namjoon has a friend, he said, a friend who was kinda sorta attached to his hip. And while Namjoon loved the kid, he also thought this friend could use some social interaction outside of Namjoon.

Now you and Namjoon weren’t exactly the most conventional of friends for him to be proposing blind dates to you at whim. He was your senior at school, your mentor in your scholarship program, an educated man studying for his masters. So when he’d first uttered the words you were immediately on the fence. Sure, the two of you knew each other well and probably got along better than most mentor-mentee pairings among your year, but you doubt Namjoon knew enough of your tastes to offer you up for a blind date.

According to Namjoon, his friend was a kid in the same year as you, making him not so much as a kid as he was your classmate. You brushed it off at first, spewing some bullshit excuse that you’d rather focus on your studies, and how dating was a distraction to your education, as if you hadn’t spent the weekend prior binge watching some Spanish novella while you dutifully ignored your essay.

The second time Namjoon mentions it you agree on the spot. Life on campus could only be interesting for so long, so you might as well make the best of it and go on as many stupid dates as possible.

Namjoon is over the moon.

He tells you he’ll pass your phone number on over to that friend of his—“Jeon Jungkook”—and promises you you won’t regret this because his friend was amazing, really. And for Namjoon to sing his praises for just any underclassmen was unheard of. In fact, besides you, you don’t think Namjoon knows many other students younger than him, and if he did, you hardly doubt he would regard them so highly.

So he gives his friend your number, and so ends your weekly meeting with your mentor. You only realize on the walk back to your dorm that you forgot to ask him about some club at school, the whole goal of this week’s meeting, but by then you don’t really care, the whole conversation fading into the background.

In fact, you forget about the whole ordeal until Friday night rolls around and you’re once again, binge watching another novella on your laptop, when your phone suddenly vibrates.

You were by no means a loser at school, a friendless nobody, but you were also not the outgoing, school-spirited student on the front page of your school’s website, and thus had nearly every app that could produce a notification on your phone muted, every text thread silenced. The only notifications and messages you allowed were from your email and from your roommate, and considering the fact Doyeon was face down in a puddle of her own mid-semester tears right across from you, it was probably your email.

Much to your surprises, it isn’t that “Monday’s Class is CANCELLED” email you were hoping for, but instead some unknown number in a text notification. You roll your eyes, click it open thinking it’s a reminder from some store or from some guy claiming to be from your bank, only to pause at the words written inside the little grey bubble.

hey its jungkook!!! joon gave me your number to I guess ask you on a date soo are you free tmrw night??

The excessive punctuation reminds you a little bit of your kid sister back home and the dorky emails she’ll send you from time to time. It’s with that memory and a smile on your face, that you’re suddenly reminded of what exactly this message is saying. “Oh shit,” you mumble, moving to sit up and reread the text. Doyeon complaining loudly in the background has you reading it twice more before you understand it, and by then there’s a fluttery feeling in your chest.

You were by no means easily swayed by people, but this guy had received praise from Kim Namjoon of all people, so he definitely had some prestige to his name. He doesn’t seem overbearing from this one text he’d sent, but he also didn’t seem completely disinterested.  

You try to match his nonchalant energy, letting him know you were in fact free and down to meet him, just to let you know more details.

You won’t lie, there’s a giddy feeling bubbling within you at the prospect of getting all dolled up, hitting the town, pawning a free meal off some unsuspecting college soul, and maybe even hitting it off. It’s been a while since you’ve dated, sue you.

Jeon Jungkook’s response crushes those dreams as well as hurdles you straight into a nightmare.

cool!! was thinking i could cook for us at my place, drink a little wine, maybe Netflix and chill a little bit??

You are blown away by the absolute gall of this man, to butter you up by painting a pretty picture only to reduce you to a mere booty call. The fact he had felt confident enough to say all that within the same sentence blows your mind.

Did this Jeon Jungkook, who you had no idea of what he looked like, who had no idea of what you looked like, seriously just invite you over for some quote unquote Netflix and chill?

Who, in the ever living hell, was this guy who so sleazily invited women over to fuck with no qualms about who they were?

You’re offended that Namjoon would set you up like this, pawn you off to such a greasy friend. But then again, you guess not everyone knows their friends thoroughly, because this Jeon Jungkook flirtatiously inviting your over for some sex sounds nothing like the golden boy Kim Namjoon had raved about earlier this week. You click your phone off, tapping the device against your lips as you ponder how to best rip this jerk to shreds via text.

It’s amidst Doyeon cursing out her statistics teacher that an idea hits you.

Tomorrow was Saturday night, and as far as you knew, you really didn’t have anything else going on for you anyway. You’d take Jeon Jungkook’s offer, let him cook you a free meal and drink some of his wine. He mentioned having his own place, and vaguely you remember Namjoon saying he lived alone, hence his introverted tendencies, so you could slip in and out without doing that walk of shame through a boy’s dorm hall.

Not that there would be anything to feel shameful about. In fact, if you planned things right, you could rain down your raging displeasure on Jeon Jungkook right after the meal but before this proposed ‘Netflix and chilling,’ maybe dramatically throw your glass of wine at him, before storming out of his place and reporting him to the authorities (Namjoon) for his douchebag personality.

Ha! That would certainly teach the asshole not to use his poor, unsuspecting friends to reel in nice girls like you into one night stands.

You could practically feel the devil horns begging to poke out of your skull, the forked tail wiggling behind you, as you click your phone back on and text Jeon Jungkook a great!! what’s your address :)

——

Saturday morning and afternoon are as boring as they usually are. You do a little homework, and spend thirty minutes filling Doyeon in on your master plan, which she eats up and even gives you some pointers—“and then you can be like, ‘you sick freak, as if I’d let you near this 5-star, Michelin reviewed, Gordon Ramsey approved coochie’ and throw the whole plate at his head!”—before getting ready for your little date at Jeon Jungkook’s.

You try hard to look good, harder than you would have if he hadn’t offended you by reducing you to a booty call, and Doyeon helps. She does your eyebrows all nice and natural, dusts the thinnest shin of liquid highlighter across the high points of your face, the whole shebang until you’re looking like a sexy, glowing goddess. You shimmy into a pretty dress, nothing too fancy nor too casual, and even pull on those strappy sandals you’d bought on sale last winter before blowing a kiss to Doyeon and meeting your Uber downstairs.

You don’t quite remember what the reason behind Jeon Jungkook living in such a swanky neighborhood a few minutes from campus was, if it was from a job you vaguely recall Namjoon mentioning, or if it was just purely hereditary, but his place is nice. It’s a connected townhouse, something you’d expect a newly wed couple to live in and not some douchebag third year.

Worse comes to worse, you get banned from this rich neighborhood after humiliating one of its residents in his own home, not that you’d ever make it big enough to live here anyway.

You’d texted Namjoon sometime that morning to let him know you were meeting his friend, an ominous text with an even more ominous smiley face attached to it. But it seems Namjoon is easily blinded by underclassmen he trusts, if Jeon Jungkook’s assholish feats and your own suspicious behavior is anything to go by, because he texts you back a polite have fun! he’s a little shy, so it might take a while for the ball to start rolling hahahaha.

Shy my ass, you think closing the door of your Uber behind you. You double check the address that had been texted to you, walking up to the neat townhouse and knocking against the polished door.

It’s a little chilly, and you hope finding an Uber is easier later tonight when you make your grand escape. It’s between these thoughts that the door swings open, revealing the most handsome man you’ve ever met.

He’s attractive, disgustingly so, with dark hair and light brown tips to contrast, tickling his cheekbones. His dark eyes are round and imploring as they meet yours, gaze almost innocent and doe like as he takes you in. He’s got this soft, blue turtleneck on, and it looks like it should be a seasonal sweater reserved for the holidays but he pulls it off nicely on this premature spring night. His pretty pink lips move, and it takes you a second to realize he’s talking.

“___?” He says, and his voice is deep, yet soft in its own unique way. You nod, like a stupid bobble head, because your throat constricted the moment this beautiful angel opened the door. “It’s cold outside, come in!” He urges you, out stretching his palm to make sure you don’t trip over the slight step up the door as he brings you into his home.

“Hi,” he exhales when you’re finally inside, standing a little too close to you in his small entryway.

“Hi,” you finally choke out, a little dazed by how handsome he is, and the sudden realization that you’re supposed to throw your glass of wine at him tonight because he’s a douchebag dawns on you. You blink yourself out of your stupor, taking a step back and gesturing towards your sandal clad feet.

“Oh!” Jeon Jungkook exclaims at the sudden realization. “I forgot to set out a pair of slippers for you,” he sheepishly admits, before he excuses himself to go get some. There’s a tiny ottoman pushed against the wall, beneath a long mirror, that you take a seat on it, carefully unstrapping your sandals.

All the while, you’re deep in thought.

It makes sense that someone like Jeon Jungkook was so forward in inviting you over for sex during your first interaction. Realistically speaking, the guy had it all. He lived alone in a swanky townhouse in a wealthy neighborhood (you finally remember Namjoon saying he did some app developing for major companies—yeah, still in college but already making it big because he was that good), and looked like the blueprint for the perfect man, someone who’d impress your parents. On top of that, the man was was a 21st century Adonis. You hadn’t missed the flash of ink on his knuckles, or the way his jeans had hugged his legs.

He’s making his way back now, inspecting the slippers in his hands, and you don’t miss the way the jeans are pulled taut around his thighs in particular.

Yeah, he definitely knew his way around a woman’s body, there was no way he couldn’t have.

You slip your feet into the slippers he places before you, wiggling your toes around, before glancing back at Jungkook. He smiles warmly, a little beauty mark beneath his lip making itself known. He takes your hand, pulls you up onto your feet, and begins guiding you down the hall and to what you assume is the kitchen.

“I didn’t know what you liked, and I figured asking you three hours before you came over would be too awkward,” he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. He glances at you again, and upon seeing your inquisitive stare, quickly turns away with flushed cheeks.

Oh this man knew the game, and he knew it well.

Jeon Jungkook still thinks he can play that cute campus boy being set up by his senior card now, after he’d shown you his true colors last night via text. But he has a big storm coming. As much as you could admit he was good to look at, you would not be fooled by some pretty face and tasty food. No, you came here with one goal and one goal only, and that was to give Jeon Jungkook a piece of his own two-faced medicine before running off to tattle to Namjoon.

You reach the kitchen and the heavenly smell of Alfredo sauce swarms your nostrils. “I… I’m still new to cooking, so I hope you don’t mind some Alfredo pasta,” he admits, shy smile adorning his features as he avoids your gaze once again to toy with the dish towel by the sink.

You creep closer to the counter, where two meticulously presented ceramic plates sit beside a wine bottle, and the glands in your mouth suddenly go into overdrive in their rush to make you salivate, and you choke out an overly eager, “it looks amazing!” before you know it.

Okay, you came here with two goals.

——

Jungkook carries the two bowls in his big hands to the dining room beside the kitchen, and you follow behind with the bottle of wine and two glasses as you set the table together. The utensils are already there, but Jungkook runs back into the kitchen anyway to return with some fancy cloth napkins for the two of you.

Just as you're tugging a chair out to sit, Jungkook beats you to it. “Ah, let me,” he smiles, and your heart thunders nervously in your chest as you return the expression, brushing your hands beneath you before sitting down and letting him push you in. Jungkook takes his own seat in front of you, and before you can dig in he calls out to seemingly nobody, “Alexa, dim the dining room lights.”

The overhead lights dim, and with their overbearing glow gone, you can finally appreciate the battery powered candles snuggled neatly into a little bowl on the table between you two. You ooh appreciatively, and Jungkook looks proud of himself.

Then, he says, “Alexa, play…Date Night Playlist.”

You blink, and a soft piano tune begins filtering through a speaker he’s hidden somewhere in the room. Even with the fake candles being your main source of light, the flush on Jungkook’s cheeks is evident as he gestures towards you to eat.

You won’t lie. Jeon Jungkook was extremely endearing.

This much becomes evident the further you get into the meal. As small talk devolves into full fledged conversations and story telling, his shy demeanor slipping away but still sticking to the edges of his personality, you begin to have a more difficult time connecting this Jungkook to the one who had less than 24 hours ago asked you to come over and “Netflix and chill” with him.

But the more you speak, the more distant that image begins to feel. For one, Jungkook does put on a fairly reserved aura for you, telling you about his job but refusing to brag about it even when you egg him on. He has no qualms gassing up his friends, Namjoon in particular, who Jungkook claims is his role model for some unknown reason, given the fact they are neither in the same major nor in any of the same clubs. They’re friends, point blank period, but Namjoon is very obviously a star in Jungkook’s eyes.

Additionally, he’s quite embarrassed to admit why Namjoon had been so set on getting Jungkook to date, but eventually tells you it’s because Jungkook’s last girlfriend had been during your freshman year—two whole years ago! It makes you wonder what he’d been doing since then, if he’d used the time to fully invest in his work or if he’d been mingling around, unbeknownst to his friends, which would explain the flirtatious offer that landed you here.

Still, a part of you refuses to believe last night’s Jungkook and tonight’s Jungkook were one in the same, and if they were, what had made this shy man so unabashedly invite you over for some sex. Was this act all a ploy? Or maybe, was he purposefully trying to ward you away by coming off as a gentleman now that he’d seen your face and wasn’t interested in you anymore?

Apparently it’s neither of the two, and you don’t realize this until you finish your meal and make your way into his living room to finally get down to the long awaited Netflix and chilling. It’s only when you sit down on the couch, smack dab in the middle, because at this point, you’re not gonna throw your wine at Jeon Jungkook like you planned, he was too nice. And if this niceness was an act to get in your panties, you didn’t care at this point. He was hot, achingly so, and at least you’d get a good fuck out of it.

But as you said, apparently not. Because Jeon Jungkook sees you purposefully take up the entire middle of the couch, sultry eyes staring him down, and decides to sit flush against the armrest, somehow leaving a good foot between the two of you, despite the fact you’re sitting next to each other.

Your brain can’t work fast enough to comprehend the situation, before he’s asking you what you want to watch. “Um,” you say, pointedly staring at him and not the screen. “Tr-Transformers?”

The way Jungkook’s eyes light up is insane, already round eyes nearly popping out of their sockets as he eagerly rushes to select it from whatever streaming service he has, probably not even Netflix, all the while chattering on about how much he loves that series, and is so glad you do too.

The whole time, you’re struck by the oddness of his casual tone, the way he’s overly invested in the 20th Century Fox opening, and how he’s very carefully avoiding intruding in on your personal space.

The last point in particular has you wanting to pull your hair out, because you want Jeon Jungkook intruding in on your personal space. You want him pressed so tightly against you you can’t breathe, you can’t move, until you’re drowning in him as he finally lives up to his promise of some Netflix and chill, because you want him, and you want him so. very. bad.

“Oh, I forgot the popcorn!” Jungkook exclaims, and you jump at the sudden volume of his voice, because he’d been pretty silent as he avidly watched the first few minutes of the movie. “Sorry,” he chuckles, and his leg brushes against yours as he shuffles between you and the coffee table on his way out. You vaguely hear the popping of the popcorn in the kitchen, but you’re too distracted by your suddenly overwhelming thoughts.

Okay, one thing was for sure, and that was that Jeon Jungkook definitely had no fucking idea what the phrase Netflix and chill meant, because the way he’d zeroed in on the movie and the popcorn, and not you, was unheard of on such invitations. You deduce he probably heard it somewhere, and, now understanding the true nature of Jungkook’s sweet and shy personality, made no such perverted connection to the phrase.

Which meant he most definitely did not demean you to a mere booty call, like you’d deluded yourself into believing, someone he could hump and dump with no regrets, before calling Namjoon up to thank him. Which meant he’d had no ulterior motives in meeting you tonight, just planning to get to know you at the suggestion of his friend, and had—unbeknownst to him—successfully wooed you thus far.

Which was great! If you turned a blind eye to the evil, conniving plans you’d made without even meeting the guy, and the subsequent flood of self-inflicted disapproval when you realized Jeon Jungkook was a sweetheart who definitely did not deserve having a glass of wine thrown at his face after making you a home cooked meal and giving you the full Olive Garden experience, with his dimmed lights and candlelit dinner and piano music on the background.

Yeah. Perfectly fine.

The only problem now was that you had become so dangerously smitten with the man that you wanted to sleep with him. You wanted that Netflix and chill, needed it like it was the last slot in a daycare class and you were a soccer mom of five wanting to get at least one kid out of the house for the summer for the sake of her own sanity. You were desperate.

No, you scold yourself. This was fine, this was good, this was perfectly okay. If anything, this just further made you enamored with Jungkook, because it proved how gentlemanly he was by not trying to sleep with you on the first date.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t want to, the devil on your shoulder crooned.

The microwave in the kitchen stops, and you hear the sound of cabinets opening as Jungkook pours the popcorn into a bowl. On screen, the main character is meeting a bunch of giant cars-turned-robots, you don’t fucking know.

But the devil was right.

Jungkook hadn’t offered to sleep with you, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to. Furthermore, that didn’t mean he couldn’t be seduced into wanting to, your evil brain suggested, and the hope that had slithered it’s way into your chest from the very moment Jungkook had opened the door, took that fact and ran with it.

“What’d I miss?” Jungkook says when he returns, popcorn bowl in hand.

“Oh, um, he was with the car,” you offer, trying to stop the nefarious smirk from slipping onto your features. Jungkook laughs, cute and airy as he shuffles past you.

He’s too absorbed in the screen, not looking as he sits down, closer than last time until his thigh brushes yours and he jerks back in embarrassment. “Oh, sorry,” he flounders, goes to move away but you act fast.

You grab onto his upper arm with both of yours like an octopus, keeping him flush to you as you gaze up at him with wide eyes. “No, it’s okay,” you rush to assure him, loosening your hold as he tentatively relaxes beside you. You glance down at the popcorn bowl in his hand, swiping a piece to pop between your lips. “It’s easier for us this way,” you say, and you’re pulling that straight out of your ass, because you hate popcorn and have literally zero desire for it and wouldn’t have reached for it anyway if you weren’t trying to convince him this was all for popcorn sharing purposes.

Jungkook’s eyes briefly flicker down to where you’re munching on that popcorn, your lips, before he’s quickly averting his gaze. “Ah, y-yeah,” he agrees, and though he tries to relax back into the couch, you can still feel the tension of his muscles as he settles beside you.

With his eyes no longer trained on you, you snuggle closer into his side resting your cheek against the soft material covering his shoulder, finally letting that devious smirk slip onto your face. You keep yourself close to Jungkook, loving the way his warmth permeates the thick sweater he’s wearing, even if he’s still overly into the movie. You know he’s seen it before, because he keeps telling you random tidbits like, “they use this in the next movie!” Or “he ends up becoming really important in the sixth movie,” and you want to listen to this endearing nerd’s commentary, you really do, but once your brain is stuck on horny, it is stuck on horny.

He doesn’t even eat a lot of popcorn, setting it down not ten minutes later onto the coffee table. You release him as he moves forward, but quickly latch onto him again when he sits back down.

Much to your surprise, Jungkook is way more relaxed then, shrugging you off to rest his hand on the couch behind you, and you inwardly squeal at the prospect of getting to cuddle up to his body, and not just his arm. You cuddle in close to him, leaving your slippers on the ground as you tuck your legs up onto the couch cushions.

Jungkook is so warm and firm, and you know it’s your horny brain speaking, but you swear you feel a tight set of abs underneath the palm you rest on his stomach, and you give an experimental brush over the area. His heart picks up, you hear it by where your head is leaning against his chest, and you tilt your head up to give him a curious glance. His cheeks are red, and he doesn’t look at you even though you know he sees you, so you decide to kick things up a notch.

You sigh loudly, peeling yourself away from him to properly level him with a pout. “Jungkook, aren’t you hot in this?” You ask, pinching the wooly material between two fingers and pulling it from his skin. Jungkook finally looks away from the screen, nibbling his lower lip as he takes in your quizzical expression.

“Um, only a little… but it’s fine!” He rushes to say, and you recall from your conversations over dinner that Jungkook doesn’t much like people fussing over him, so you quickly change gears.

You press a hand against your cheek, the same one that had been resting against his shoulder earlier. “Oh, well… it’s really itchy,” you announce, and his eyes widen, one hand absentmindedly reaching to clutch the material at his chest. “It’s making me really itchy,” you emphasize, and part of you feels bad for taking advantage of his caring nature, but this is all for the greater good, you convince yourself. “Do you mind taking it off?”

“I, uh, yeah,” he agrees, reaching for the hem of his sweater before carefully peeling it off. When he pulls it over his head, you can’t help the triumphant grin that overtakes your face, though you quickly mask it when he finally frees himself from the material. “Better?” He says once he’s clad in only a plain black shirt.

“Mm, much,” you sigh, and nearly soak your panties then and there when a tattooed sleeve comes into view. “Woah!” You exclaim, snatching his wrists up to examine his skin. “What’s this?” You marvel, tracing every inch of delicious skin with your predatory gaze. Jungkook huffs out a laugh, and you glance up to watch as he rubs the back of his neck in that same embarrassed way he’d done multiple times throughout your night together.

“My tattoos,” he says, and then seems to realize the simplicity of his statement and rushes to add to it, “I hope you don’t mind?”

You hum, shifting onto your knees to face him as you continue tracing over a huge tiger lily by his forearm. “Why would I? It’s your body,” you say, and watch the nervous glance melt off his face as he regards you with something new. Something akin to wonder as he lets you trace over more of his ink, nodding along to your words.

“Yeah… yeah!” He agrees, and you grin at his sudden zeal. He chuckles, physically relaxing beneath your touch, and it’s probably the most relaxed he’s been all night as you continue rubbing your hands over every tattoo on his skin, and then purposefully focusing on the ones near his bicep. “Sorry, ‘m just used to people pushing off their own opinions about them onto me,” he explains, and for a moment, the horniness that had been fueling you all night fades away, and you let your hands trail down, past his wrist, until you’re sandwiching his hand between yours.

“Fuck what anyone else thinks,” you tell him, eyes hard as you imagine anyone imposing their stupid thoughts on Jungkook, who was too good for this world. “If you think they’re cool, then they're the coolest thing in the world.”

He smiles at you, and you’ve seen this smile about a million times tonight—when you first came in, when you talked about yourself at dinner, when you mentioned this stupid movie—but it has something swelling in your chest. Something too intimate for a first date, so you quickly move to repress it.

Glancing down at his hand in yours, littered with smaller tattoos across his knuckles, your brain whirls into action. Bringing it up between the two of you, you turn his hand over to line your palms up. “Wow, your hands are so big,” you sigh, slowly reverting back to dirty thoughts as you twist yours and Jungkook’s hands this way and that. He snorts, bends the tips of his fingers over yours just to hear you ooooh again.

“Yeah, they’re pretty big,” he agrees, completely ignoring the film playing on the screen, which is a huge win in your eyes considering how deeply he’d been watching it earlier.

Finally, you see an opening and pounce.

“Well, that means something else is pretty big too,” you murmur, chancing a glance up at his face. His face is the perfect definition of composed, and you can tell when exactly he processes your words because those little pink lips part in surprise, red slowly filling the apples of his cheeks. You let go of his palm, letting it slide between your fingers until it falls limp beside him.

Jungkook watches you with wide eyes, as you raise yourself up onto your knees. “Jungkook?” You mumble, giving him no warning before you’re throwing a leg across his lap, knees pressed into the couch on either side of his thighs.

“Y-Yes?” He stutters, brown hair falling away from his face as he stares up at you. You flash him a sweet smile, and you can tell it relaxes him because his fists unclench beside him.

“You’re a really nice boy,” you sigh, and when you’ve scooted your knees a little closer to his ridiculously thin waist, you finally let yourself sit. You find yourself right before his crotch, which he desperately tries to hide as he shifts around, but can’t with you on top of him. You let your hands flutter to rest at his shoulders, and he gulps. “You’re so sweet and cute,” you add, relish in the flush that climbs up to his ears. “But I’m a little sad you invited me over to Netflix and chill, but won’t do just that,” you pout, a finger tangling itself in a soft strand at the back of his head.

“Huh?” He stutters, eyes nearly bulging out when you wiggle around again. “I-I’m sorry?” He huffs, and when you move too close to his crotch, where his jeans are slowly growing more and more strained, he panics and reaches a hand out to steady your waist.

You feign confusion, flashing him another pout as you duck closer until your noses bump against each other. “You know what it means, don’t you, Jungkook?” You inquire, eyes falling dangerously lidded as you swallow up every inch of his appearances.

He stutters, hands moving up and down as if he doesn’t know where to put them anymore. But you know exactly where Jungkook can put those hands, and you waste no time catching his wrists in your hands to guide him towards your hips. “No?” He breathes, fingers flexing against you, and you smile sweetly at him.

“It means,” you purr, shifting forward until you’re flush against where you need him most. You can barely contain the whimper that climbs out of your throat when you finally feel the rough material of his jeans against your panties. “It means you wanna fuck, Jungkook,” you exhale, tossing your head back as your body basks in the slight reprieve, the way Jungkook squirms beneath you aiding greatly in providing that sensation you craved.

“It’s nothing more than an excuse,” you huff, placing a hand on the back of his neck to steady yourself. At your touch, Jungkook jolts, thighs jumping beneath you and you stifle another groan when the zipper of his jeans prods against your core. “For you to fuck my brains out while some s-stupid movie plays in the background.”

You’re not sure when, but sometime during that last explanation your hands had fully delved into the thick tresses of Jungkook’s hair. You give an experimental tug, and poor Jungkook, so lost in all that you’re telling him, lolls his head back for you easily until the long expanse of his neck is available, soft creamy skin yours for the taking.

You pounce, kissing the skin gently at first, before sprinkling in a handful of nibbles. He’s sensitive, devastatingly so, as he gasps at a particular suck. You suction your lips on the spot below his ear, carefully biting down on the skin as he unravels beneath you. “Will you do it, Jungkookie?” You murmur against the shell of his ear,

He nods eagerly, and his fingers hurt where he’s pressed them deep into your waist, like he’s trying to brand you as his with his mere strength alone. “Y-Yes,” he exhales, hips jerking when you swipe your tongue over the pretty mark you’d left on his perfect skin.

You smother your smirk against his neck, grinding down on him once again. “Yes what?” You tease, and let his strong hands roll you against him afterwards.

“Yes, I-I’ll…” he stumbles, eyes dazed as he watches you through hooded lids. You raise a brow at him, shifting in his lap. It’s enough to kickstart him back up, and he’s biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. “I’ll fuck you, I’ll fuck you just like you want,” he rambles. He surprises you when he begins rutting up against you, so animalistic and uncontrolled, nothing like the sweet Jungkook that had indulged you over dinner. “I’ll make you come, p-promise,” he rasps.

You smirk down at him, hoping he doesn’t see the metaphorical horns sticking out of your head the further he falls into your trap. Before he can say anything else, you surge forward, slotting your mouths together for the first time that night.

It’s no surprise that Jungkook kisses just like he speaks, carefully like he’s afraid one hard press of his lips will ward you off. His lips are smooth, a fact you’d hyper-fixated on all night as he spoke, but before you can ponder on that any further, something hot and wet is prodding at your lower lip.

The gasp you barely manage to contain ends up escaping anyway when Jungkook’s hand comes up to cup the side of your face, tilting your head to the side as his tongue slithers into your mouth. You become obsessed with the way he touches you, every bit the gentlemen he’d been all night, fingers just barely pressing into your cheek like he doesn’t want to mess up your makeup. His other hand, snuggly wrapped around your waist, pulls you tighter against him until your chests are pressed together.

And that tongue. That tongue of his that leaves no room for argument, quickly shutting down any attempts of yours to overtake him. He’s graceful about it too, one nudge enough to convince you he’s got this, he’ll take care of you. You whimper, a sound Jungkook swallows before he’s biting down on your lower lip.

When he pulls away, his lips are red and glossy, and you wonder if yours are too. “Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he sighs, gazing at you like he can’t believe you’re there in front of him.

Before you can say anything else, he’s burying his face in the crook of your neck to brush kisses over your skin. “Let me eat you out,” he begs, but his voice is so silky and smooth that it doesn’t sound so much as a plea as much as it does a suggestion. He licks a stripe up your neck, and you jump in his hold.

It’s at this moment where the sudden realization hits you, the feeling of having the reins yanked out of your hands. You so vividly controlled every aspect of Jungkook just a few moments ago, when you’d had your own mouth on his neck, and carefully coaxed him into some sex.

But it seems Jeon Jungkook isn’t as soft or as pliable as you had dubbed him to be, and if the way he’s begun subtly rolling your hips into his crotch is any sign, he certainly wasn’t the submissive type either. Which leaves you wondering, exactly what type of person was Jungkook in bed?

Well, you had all night to figure that out.

“Hey,” he whines suddenly, ripping you out of your thoughts. You glance down at him, registering the bored set of his eyes and the unimpressed quirk of his lips. “Pay attention to me.”

You blink, lips twitching. You can barely muffle the giggle that tears itself from your throat, leaning your forehead on his shoulder as your body shakes at his suddenly childish words. Jungkook chuckles too, as if suddenly realizing how out of place his own statement was. “Sorry,” he smiles, cheeks pleasantly rosy and you can’t even stop yourself from kissing him silly.

Jungkook, bless his heart, let’s you rain down a good three kisses on him before he’s pushing you down on the couch beside him. There’s still a slight gleam in his eyes, but the rest of his face schools itself into a hungry expression as he drinks in your body laid out before him. “Let me eat you out?” He asks again, voice but a soft whisper.

You nod, heart beating loudly in your chest as he shuffles down until he can press a kiss to the tops of your thighs. He hasn’t even done anything that intense yet, but you already feel the muscles in your leg ready to spasm just from his proximity.

He’s mouthing at your skin, nudging your legs apart, and you, usually so confident in your sexuality, can’t find the courage to look at him as he so lovingly carries out his ministrations.

As if sensing your sudden bout of shyness (you! shy! Doyeon was gonna tease you about this for the rest of your life once you recapped this for her), he places a soft kiss just below where the hem of your dress begins, before pulling back and uttering, “this okay?”

You hum in response, face warm from just imagining how good he must look down there, peppering your skin with kisses. Your heart nearly rips itself out of your chest when a strong set of fingers wraps around your wrist suddenly, sliding over and around your hand until he’s tangled them with yours.

At this, you nearly break your neck trying to look at him, only to be met with an amused smile. Jungkook gives your hand a squeeze, and you barely get to appreciate the schoolgirl flood of emotions in your chest, when suddenly his free hand comes out of left field, cupping the back of your knee to push your legs further apart, before gliding across the expanse of your thigh to push your dress up.

If Jungkook holding your hand was enough to make your heart skip a beat, Jungkook pressing a chaste kiss to your panty-clad mound was enough to send you into cardiac arrest. Your leg twitches at the sudden touch, a gasp catching in your throat at the delicate path he kisses over your panties, until he’s flicking his tongue over your clit. “Oh,” you moan, and against your better judgment, your free hand is tangling itself in his silky strands.

Jungkook smirks, what sounds like a tiny chuckle muffled as he continues mouthing along your sex, until your panties are soaked both from your arousal and his saliva. Your little thong stares him in the face, and he groans at the sight, glancing up at you with those wide eyes of his like you’re his entire world. “Can I?”

Jungkook gives your clit one final kiss, before he lets go of your hand, and you can’t help the whine that leaves you upon the lost contact. Jungkook eats it up, pressing a kiss turned smile against your knee as he tugs your underwear down. It coils up as it goes, until he’s pulling a tightly twisted maroon thong off your ankles, and tossing it off somewhere behind him.

If his mouth felt good through your panties, it feels even better without. You mewl when he brushes his lips over your clit, plush lips working your sensitive bundle of nerves, sly tongue occasionally creeping out to toy with you further. “Jungkook,” you cry out, back arching. He licks and slurps likes he’s a starved man, and you're the first meal he’s ever had. You want to sob from how good it feels, his tongue flicking over your bud like he just can’t get enough.

He pulls away to catch your gaze, doesn’t let it go as he runs a lone finger over your slit, coating the digit in your own arousal, before carefully plunging it into your warm, wet heat. “Is this good?” He rasps out, watching your facial expressions carefully as he wiggles his finger deeper into your core, his other hand wrapped around your thigh to keep you still. You moan, feeling like a boneless heap of organs beneath this insanely handsome man who can’t keep his hands off your quivering pussy.

His fingers don’t let up, slowly pulling out before plunging back in. The room fills with disgustingly wet sounds, but that fact drifts to the back of your head the faster his fingers go. Your eyes roll into your head, your body twitching with each press of his fingers.

“Is it good, pretty?” He repeats, and since you’re not looking at him anymore, the sudden lick against your clit has your back arching and your thighs quivering with surprise. “Tell me it’s good, ___,” Jungkook croons, and you nod in a hurry.

“It’s good!” You cry, moaning loudly when he slips another finger into you, scissoring the two inside of you. “It’s so good, Jungkook—y-you’re so good,” you moan, and nearly cry actual tears when he curls his fingers inside of you, pressing down against the most sensitive spot within you.

Jungkook doesn’t let up, continues licking and slurping against your sensitive bud, even when your orgasm hits and you’re begging him to stop. He doesn’t let you go until he feels the warmth coat his fingers, feels the wetness begging to seep out of your plugged pussy. He lets you go then, only to move closer to your hole and replace his fingers with his mouth. There, he carefully catches and collects the cum that trickles out, mouth warm against your trembling body.

Your body quivers with each long drag of his tongue over your sensitive cunt, and you’re about to ask him to stop, when he finally pulls away and pushes himself over you, arms caging you in as he stares down at your withered form. “Kiss,” you manage to gasp out, and Jungkook raises an eyebrow in question. “Kiss me,” you repeat, and then, thoughtfully, “please.”

Jungkook complies, leans down to connect your mouths in a sweet kiss. You’re blinded by the delicacy of it all, that you in no way see coming the sudden substance that slides down your throat from his own. You choke at the sudden intrusion, belatedly realizing it’s your cum he’s pushing down your throat, the cum he didn’t swallow.

“That’s it, pretty,” Jungkook croons, licking up the residual come that hadn’t made it into your mouth. “See how you taste for me. Isn’t it sweet?” He murmurs, pushing his tongue into your mouth as if he regretted not saving any for himself. It’s the first time you’ve had your own pleasure in your mouth, so you’re not exactly sure how to feel. What you do feel is the overwhelming surge of arousal at seeing Jungkook rave about it and lap it up inside your own mouth.

He kisses you for a few moments, mouth moving languidly along yours. One hand reaches down to rub soothingly at your inner thigh, like he’s coaxing the feeling back into your body after lulling you into one of the most heavenly orgasms of your entire life. You whimper when he bites down on your lower lip, like you’re still too sensitive to reciprocate, but Jungkook doesn’t mind. He lets you go, licks over where he’d bitten like an apology.

After a few minutes of just this, of feeling like the most cherished girl in the entire world, Jungkook finally pulls away and levels you with a dashing smile. “All good?” He asks, hands still trailing up your waist until they’re framing the swell of your breasts, where he gently circles your nipple.

You nod, dazedly staring up at him and it’s at this exact moment that you realize there’s something stiff poking at your hip. You glance down, and Jungkook glances down with you, until you’re both staring at the hard on he’s hiding beneath his jeans. Jungkook chuckles, low and dark by your ear as he experimentally presses it against you.

Before you can stop yourself, your hand is untangling itself from around his shoulders and slithering down his front. You cup his erection, his shaky exhale giving you the courage to toy with his belt buckle until it’s undone and you're battling with the button on his jeans instead. You put up a good fight, but in the end the angle is too tight for you to properly undo it, and Jungkook brushes your hands away with a soft kiss to your lips.

He pushes himself off you, and you’re immediately craving the warm press of his body against yours the second he’s gone. “Get that dress off for me, pretty girl,” he says, pulling his shirt over his head, rendering you completely speechless as you gawk at his body. Jungkook glances down at you as he goes to undo his pants, a shapely brow raising in your direction and a soft quirk of his lips gesturing for you to do as you’re told.

You spur into action, wiggling the dress up and over your breasts until you’re pulling it over your head and letting it drop beside you on the floor. You’re just in time to see Jungkook push his jeans down his hips, a classic black Calvin Klein underwear band glaring back at you.

The chance to marvel at Jungkook’s thin waist framed by that tight underwear is gone as quickly as it came, and you’re greeted with an even more mouthwatering sight when he pushes the elastic band down, and that big cock you had alluded to springs out of its confines. You groan, subconsciously rolling your hips into the air as you take in the sight of his cock, mushroom tip swollen and flushed. There’s a thick vein that runs along the underside of it, one you only see when Jungkook grasps his dick in his hand and tugs upward like this isn’t his true form, and he can get bigger.

“Ready?” He asks, biting down on his lip as he continues to stroke himself. You nod, wiggling closer to him until the backs of your thighs rest on top of his, knees knocking against his waist. He grants you one more of those kind smiles, before he’s leaning down to press a hand beside your head, the other lining himself up with your soaked entrance.

Running his cock over your folds one last time, collecting as much of your cum as he can, he brushes a kiss against your cheekbone before he’s pushing in. You moan, throwing your hands around his neck as he pierces through the initial ring of muscle surrounding your warm heat. “Holy shit,” you choke, mouth dropped open as you pant like a dog against his shoulder. “J-Jungkook,” you cry, legs tightening around his waist the closer his body presses against yours.

Once he’s at the hilt, pelvis flush against you, you can’t help the series of whines and mewls that escape your lips from being so comfortably filled to the brim.

To your surprise, Jungkook is the first to speak. “Fuck,” he groans, breath hot against your ear. He sounds fucked out, once silky voice raspy with need as he grinds his hips against you tentatively. “This is what you wanted, isn't it?” He huffs, both hands coming down to wrap around your waist, your back arching under the wonderful hands that find themselves squeezing every inch of your back in an effort to pull you closer.

His mouth brushes against yours from this new position, and Jungkook puckers his lips, tongue coming out to lick at your bottom lip. You nearly cry when he finally pulls his hips away, relieves his cock from your tight heat before surging back in. “Wanted this from the moment you walked in, didn’t you, sweetheart?” Jungkook grunts, repeats the same motion until he’s picked up a steady pace of pushing and pulling, each roll of his hips sending a shock of ecstasy crawling up your spine.

You nod, eyes screwed shut as pleasure warms every inch of your body. It’s even worse to not see, because every sound and every touch is magnified tenfold, until you’re drowning in sensations. Jungkook’s choked groans, the slide of his hips, they all become too much too quickly and you’re choking back a sob.

“Fuck,” he groans, glancing down at your withered form like an animal as he picks up his pace. His hold on you tightens, never letting your body move away from him and he begins jack hammering in his thrusts, swallowing your cries with his lips. “Had me thinking you were a nice girl,” he huffs, and you wonder if he knows how tightly he’s holding you, how this grip will most likely leave you with fingerprint bruises tomorrow morning. But then again, you don’t care. All you care about is Jungkook’s voice and his body, guiding you toward completion. “But all you wanted was a quick fuck.”

You steel yourself to look at him again, and when your eyes finally open and focus, you’re wishing you hadn’t because Jungkook looks so hot over you. His pretty eyes, the ones that had led you into a false sense of comfort throughout the night and tricked you into believing he would be easy to bend to your every whim, are hard now. “Isn’t that right, doll?” He spits, and you whine when he punctuates this question with a particularly brutal thrust of his hips. His balls slap against your ass, and you squirm beneath him as you begin to feel the beginnings of an orgasm build in your core.

“I-I thought—“ you stammer, tone pitched from the way he jostles you with every thrust he gives. “Y-You wanted that,” you weekly defend, canting your hips down in a feeble attempt to progress this along.

He snorts, captures your lips in a rushed kiss where he wastes no time snaking his tongue inside your mouth. His saliva trickles into your mouth, and you whine as he purposefully lets it happen, pulls away just the slightest to pucker his lips and let a thick trail of spit fall straight into your open mouth. Satisfied with his little stunt, he rams his cock against you once more.

“If you wanted a quick fuck,” he says, nearly loses himself in your pussy, “you came to the wrong guy, sweetheart.”

You’re too caught up in the nice drag of his cock against your pussy, the tip of his cock stopping him from ever pulling out completely, that it takes you a second to process his words. “H-Huh?” You choke, teary eyes flickering across his face wildly as if the answer will be right in plain sight.

But all you’re met with is the soft pull of his lips as he flashes you a smirk, pearly white teeth tugging at the pink flesh, as he levels you with a glare of his own. Before you can question him further, he’s letting go of your waist to hike your knees into the crook of his elbows, his pouty lips growing further away as he leans back.

This shift has his cock nudging up, rubbing against the hood of your clit where a bundle of nerves he’d only briefly brushed before sits. You shriek in pleasure, writhing beneath him as the sudden sensation hits you full force. “Jungkook!” You sob, his hips slowing to a grind as he watches your face crumble beneath him.

“You like that?” He murmurs, rutting his hips against you shallowly. The change of pace, the rabid piston of his hips slowing to this, has your body melting into his touch. You barely manage a nod, eyes fluttering open and shut as his hips move sensually against you.

His cock brushes against that sensitive spot with each roll of his hips, and you’re a mewling, puddle of emotion by the third thrust. “Pretty girl,” he hums, letting go of one leg to place a hand above your mound, thumb circling your clit until you’re trembling beneath him. “Did you think I would fuck you and kick you out?” He husks, watching your body like he’s a lion and you’re his prey.

Your brain is far from comprehending anything at this point, reduced to a mere mass of nothingness as he continues moving against you, fingers rubbing your clit in all the right ways.

“Well, you were wrong about that, doll,” he huffs, and you’re blessed with the sight of his head lolling back as he loses himself in the tight grip of your pussy, skin glistening with sweat, trailing from behind his ear and over his neck, until you’re watching a pearl roll over his collarbones. “I don’t do that,” he informs you, and he pinches your clit between two fingers, hard enough that you almost miss his next words as you moan. “No, baby, I’ll fuck you and keep you forever,” he spits, and you whimper at his words. Finally, he lets go of your knees, right as you’re teetering on the edge of an orgasm and you moan out in protest as he ducks down to cage you between his arms again.

“Please,” you beg, voice hoarse as his hips slowly return to their pace from before. He’s still not pulling out as much, keeping his thrusts shallow as he kisses a trail up your neck and over your jaw.

“Gonna fuck you so good, you don’t ever want to leave, pretty,” he says, kisses the corner of your mouth as his hips pick up pace. You wanna cry, feeling so warm and cherished in his arms, his voice telling you how good you’re doing as the coil in your stomach tightens and tightens until you’re begging him for more. “Do you want that?”

“Yes! Yes!” You sob, rolling your hips against his like a madman as you chase your high.

Jungkook hums, smile smushed against your lips as he watches you desperately writhing beneath him. “Yeah? You want that?” You nod, mewls swallowed by his kisses. “Then cum for me, pretty girl.”

You whimper, just as he bucks into you once more, and suddenly you’re falling apart. It starts in your lower back, the ecstasy climbing it’s way through your body until you’re quivering and sobbing in his embrace, muffling your sounds against his shoulder. The muscles in your entire body tighten painfully, until suddenly a wave of contentment washes over you, and you’re too weak to even hold onto him anymore, arms flopping back onto the couch cushions beneath you.

The whole time, Jungkook mutters encouragement against your jaw, keeps his thrusts short but quick, guiding you through your orgasm. When you’re done, he presses an open mouthed kiss beneath your ear, pulling away to look at your boneless frame beneath him.

A few pistons of his hips later, and Jungkook is coming inside of you, cum coating your walls as he hammers his way through his orgasm. He pulls out when he’s done, and you instantly feel your mixed arousal drip out between your thighs.

Woozy from the wine and the two orgasms, you fall asleep soon after.

——

“Good morning,” you murmur, standing at the doorway leading into the kitchen, an area you’d only been able to find after stumbling around the upstairs of the house in confusion.

Jungkook whirls around, wide eyes taking in your appearance. You clutch at the hem of the big t-shirt you’d pulled on, the only article of clothing you saw that was thrown over a chair in a bedroom you didn’t dare snoop around. “Morning,” he exhales, calculating gaze never leaving you as you tiptoe over to him by the counter.

He doesn’t say more, spluttering into action when you peek over his shoulder to see what he’s up to. “What’re you making?” You inquire, and his hands begin fidgeting with the knife.

“Oh, um,” he stutters, and perhaps he’s overly aware of your presence so close beside him, because he suddenly doesn’t remember how he’s supposed to cut an avocado. Cute, you think. “Just, um, toast with avocado spread…”

You hum. After a moment, it seems Jungkook is able to quell his nerves, and he carefully slices the avocado open, spreading its innards across the toast. He hands you the first piece, which you take after masking your own surprise, and soon after he’s turning away from the counter as the two of you eat in silence.

After a few thoughtful munches of bread, you speak. “Thanks for carrying me to bed,” you say, refusing to look at him.

“You’re welcome,” he replies, almost a little too fast and you barely bite down a grin as he rambles on. “Wasn’t gonna leave you on the couch, especially not when you were so tired after… ah, yeah.”

It’s the reserved way he carries himself that gives you the balls to look at him. His ears are flushed adorably red, like when you were at dinner last night talking about his job, and all you wanna do is pinch his cheeks. “Yeah,” you agree, and then add with an air of faux shyness, “you were really cool last night.”

It’s the little devil in you begging to jump out, curious to see how far you can push Jungkook before he shifts into that suave version of himself from last night, and you would feel bad had the corner of his lips not tilted up in amusement.

He chokes out a laugh, mutters a “yeah?” and you don’t stop yourself when you jump into his arms and kiss that avocado spread right off his lips.

——

On Tuesday afternoon, Kim Namjoon is in the midst of delivering another sermon-like speech on the importance of utilizing your student ID when visiting any of the Starbucks within a two mile radius of your school, when you spot a chestnut head of hair from the corner of your eye.

“Sorry, Joon! My ride's here!” You yelp, shoving your notebook into your bag as you stumble over yourself in your haste to leave.

Namjoon blinks. “Huh? I thought you lived on campus?”

You nod, that giddy feeling starting up in your chest as he comes closer to where you and Namjoon have taken up residence on a table in the commons for your weekly meeting, and by the time he reaches the table Namjoon is still in the midst of questioning you.

“Jungkook,” You say, all dreamily and dazed, and you know this because Doyeon caught you with this same exact look on your face after he dropped you off at the dorms Sunday afternoon.

Namjoon startles. “What the f—“

“Hi,” Jungkook beams, leans down to brush a kiss against your cheek, which only serves to make you even more ditzy and dumb in the face of this handsome man. “Oh, hey, hyung.”

“What’re you doi—“

“All set?” Jungkook asks you, completely ignoring whatever his beloved senior was saying in favor of taking your bag off your shoulders. You nod, have to swallow a giggle down when he takes your hand in his. “Bye, hyung.”

“Bye, Joon!” You barely remember to throw over your shoulder, too busy wrapping yourself around Jungkook’s arm to hear Namjoon blabber in shock. 

“Kids these days,” he huffs.

[ part 2 ; hulu & woohoo ]

[mellowswriting]

Hey I saw your requests are open! I love the quarantine series! I’ve been on a Marcus pike kick lately and I’ve been super stressed about college and my work load trying to graduate😩 I’d love to hear your interpretation of Marcus when his girl is going through this cause you know he’s 💕that guy💕 - how he’d help you relax and everything... maybe even some smut if you’re feeling up to it 👀

Take a Break

pairing || Marcus Pike x Fem!Reader

summary || Marcus helps you relax after college stress

word count || 2,369

warnings || Explicit Sexual Content (fingering, praise kink, soft dom!Marcus, allusions to p in v sex), stressed out reader, Marcus to the rescue, domestic fluff, ‘good girl’, no use of y/n

a/n || As a college student who is also ready to explode from school stress, this was cathartic as hell to write. I hope you enjoy!

Masterlist  |  Join the taglist!

Your cursor hovered over the submit button. This research paper had been the center of your academic focus for nearly three months and had taken up the majority of your energy for far too long. Once that damn paper was submitted, you could breathe easy for a while and not have to see statistics and graphs in your sleep anymore. So you took a deep breath and hit the button, relishing in the relief that washed over you - for approximately three seconds.

There were still assignments to be worked on, textbook chapters to read and take notes on, and you just wanted to throw your laptop into the ocean instead. Fuck it all. In that moment, all of your progress and hard work and the finish line that was so damn close really didn’t seem to matter. You would rather hide under your blankets for the last month of the semester than even think about philosophy notes or biology tests.

But you couldn’t.

There was no way in hell you were going to let the last two years of hard work and a solid grade point average go down the drain, especially when you had a summer well on its way where you could relish in not having academic responsibilities. You rubbed a hand down your face with a frustrated sigh and put your textbook down on your desk - maybe just a bit harder than necessary, because the door creaked open a few moments later.

“How’s the paper going, honey?” Oh, Marcus. Your sweet, sweet Marus, who’s words were already making tears of frustration prick your eyes.

“It’s finished. I just turned it in.” You said, your voice devoid of the usual pride that followed a well-written assignment, and flipped open the book in front of you.

Marcus’s hands fell to your shoulders as he stood behind your chair and started rubbing, those strong fingers working the tension from your muscles. “What are you doing then?”

“I still have a ton of shit that needs to get done. Notes and a ton of reading, and I have to study -” You cut yourself off with a heaved breath. The stress was getting to you, you could recognize that, but it wasn’t enough to overpower the anxiety of impending deadlines, even if you still had plenty of time and wiggle room to get them finished.

Marcus paused. It wasn’t the first time he had seen you like this, and he wasn’t about to discount what you were feeling by telling you to relax or something else equally as stupid. “Okay, how about you come have lunch with me? You need a break. You can’t be productive when you’re burnt out. Maybe we can talk it out, help you come up with a plan.”

It took a moment for you to convince yourself that it was okay to leave your desk, to focus on something that wasn’t your classes for a little bit. When you nodded, Marcus smiled at you bright enough to melt some of the frustration. Unbeknownst to you, he had a little something planned.

If there was anything true in the world, it was that Marcus Pike was the best man the world had ever seen. The stress you were feeling had been building up for the past week, growing heavier with each moment that it went unchecked, and he could tell. It was obvious in the way you held yourself, in the way that all the sleep in the world didn’t help the tired look in your eyes. He knew he could do nothing to help with the actual classwork itself, but he could do whatever it took to ease the stress.

So the moment you essentially chained yourself to your desk, Marcus set about with his plan. First, he tackled the housework. He cleaned the kitchen and living room until they were spotless, grateful that your headphones blocked out the sound of the vacuum and kept his little project a secret. Then he cooked up your favorite meal and lit your candles in the living room, leaving the space warm and homey.

The surprise on your face was worth all of the effort. You buried your face in his shirt to hide the tears of appreciation that sprung into your eyes, your fingers fisted in the fabric as you tried not to full on cry at his sweet gesture. You sniffled a quiet laugh before you wiped the wetness away from your face.

“God, what would I do without you?” You pulled him close for a kiss, one he reciprocated eagerly. Those big, warm hands of his settled on your cheeks, thumbs rubbing sweet little circles against your cheekbones.

“I find myself asking the same thing everyday I get to wake up next to your pretty face.” He whispered against your lips and gave you one last kiss before he guided you to sit on the couch with your soft throw blanket tucked around your shoulders.

“Marcus… you didn’t have to do all this…” You murmured as he handed you a plate and settled in next to you with his own.

“Of course I did,” He rubbed a soothing hand up and down your calf. “Besides, this isn’t even everything.”

You captured his hand in your own. “I love you so, so much.”

“I love you, too.” Marcus chirped with a smile, lifting your joined hands to kiss your knuckles. “Now eat up, you need your energy.”

Never in your life had you felt more appreciated, more taken care of, and apparently this wasn’t all he had planned. He finished eating before you - you swear, that man practically inhales food - and he drew your feet into his lap to gently massage the arches. It didn’t take him long to ease the stress of the looming workload. Somehow, he always managed to find the perfect words to remind you just how capable you are and that you were on the right track.

You set your plate down on the coffee table and slid closer to Marcus’s side, all too ready to curl up with your lover and spend the rest of the day soaking in the bliss that flowed from him, but he was quick to stand and urge you to your feet. The moment of confusion dissipated when he led you to the bathroom, where he had laid out the makings of your favorite stress reliever - a bubble bath.

“Oh, Marcus.” You sighed as he began filling the huge tub, already stripping out of your clothes in excitement. “You better get in there with me.”

“But this is supposed to be about you, not me.” Marcus said with a small shrug.

“I’ll enjoy it even more if I have my man with me,” You purred, stepping into his space in only your bra and underwear to press a lingering kiss to his lips. The surprised hum he gave you made a little thrill fly through you. “Please, baby?”

“Anything for you.” Marcus smiled as he reached around to undo your bra and pull the straps down your arms, moving on to curl his fingers under the hem of your underwear and tug them down as well. He kissed your thigh when you moved to step out of them.

Marcus yanked his clothes off with no flair and stepped into the steaming bath, settling into the water so quickly that it damn near sloshed over the sides of the tub. He reached for you and you couldn’t help but smile. It was precious, the way he guided you into his lap amidst the bubbles and pulled you close against his chest.

Little kisses were peppered along your shoulder and up your neck, the heat already working at your sore back. Marcus’s hands slid up your belly, cupped beneath your breast to hold you close, and the combination of his presence with the heat and soft floral scent of the bubbles had your worries slipping into the background.

“I missed this.” You murmured as you melted against him, your head lolled back on his shoulder. It had been far too long since you felt peace like that. Marcus’s fingers rubbed soft patterns into your skin and you were in heaven.

“Me too,” He kissed your temple and you could feel the smile on his lips.

“Thank you, Marcus.” You looked up at him. He seemed just as relaxed as you felt, his head tilted back against the edge of the tub, eyes closed. “You make me feel sane in the midst of all this stress. I don’t know what I would do without your support. You’re such a good man.”

Marcus whined low in his throat. Your praise always did something to him, lit a fire in his belly and made him want to squirm with happiness. All he ever wanted was to make you happy, make you feel as cherished and loved as he possibly could, at least as much as you made him feel. Normally he was good with his words. He could wax poetic about how much he loved you and how he was the luckiest man alive with you by his side, but your sweetness left him dumbstruck.

Since his mouth couldn’t form the words he wanted to say, he used it to lavish your bare skin with kisses as he rubbed at your tense muscles, your skin slick with the soapy water. He could feel the small moan he worked from your body and smirked - he absolutely lived for those little sounds, the ones that told him he was making you feel relaxed and happy. Your hands slipped down his thighs that bracketed your body and began mimicking the circles he massaged you with.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one helping you relax, sweetheart?” Marcus teased despite the way his cock was slowly hardening at the small of your back, only provoked further by the light drag of your nails along his thighs.

“Can you think of a better way to relax?” You teased right back as you arched back slightly to grind against him, using your hands on his thighs to support yourself. Marcus inhaled sharply and you could feel the subtle way his hips pressed up to meet your movements. Need began to build low in your belly.  

“Are you sure?” Marcus rasped and at your nod, his hands slipped around to your front, one hand settling low between your hips to firmly hold you against him, the other trailing down to cup your sex. Your low gasp made him hum, a dark tone that you recognized from those moments he took you apart piece by piece in the comfort of your bed. “Are you feeling needy, baby?”

“Always need you.” You spread your thighs, bracing your feet between the sides of the tub and his legs to support your desperate little grinds against his fingers. His middle finger curled to glide up to your clit but he didn’t give you the friction you craved, that damn tease. “C’mon, make me feel good. Please?”

The desperate quality your voice had taken on was enough to make Marcus moan against your neck, his tongue shooting out to wet his lips before he whispered in your ear. “I’m gonna make you come before I get you in that bed. A little reward for all your hard work, hm?”

Before you could even whine out your need for his promised reward, he finally began moving his finger against your clit and pleasure flooded you, leaving you to meet his movements with little circles of your waist. Marcus would usually tease you at least a little before delving in and drowning you in pleasure until your legs were shaking and your mind was left blank, but he seemed to be in a giving mood after all of your efforts. Every pass of his fingers over your clit had that tension pull tighter, your pussy tightening around nothing. You ached for something to fill you, his fingers, his cock, you didn’t care. The relief of pleasure after so much stress had your release building faster than you were used to, and your hands fumbled for purchase to keep you grounded to reality as Marcus worked you closer and closer to orgasm.

One hand clutched at his wrist, desperate to keep him right where you had him, and the other found itself buried in Marcus’s hair. He angled his head to give your better access, letting you grab at him to be your anchor, kissing up your neck and placing his lips right at your ear.

“Good girl,” He rumbled, chuckling at your sweet little gasp. “Such a good girl for me. You gonna cum all over my fingers, aren’t you? Yeah, you are. That's it.”

“Oh god, Marcus…” You gasp in that pleading tone that made something possessive bloom in his belly and he redoubled his efforts, taking your earlobe between his teeth and tugging slightly. “Fuck!”

Water sloshed over the sides of the tub with the intense way you jerked against him, your orgasm cracking through you like a sharp flash of lightning, arcing and splintering up your spine and leaving you wrapped in a warm haze. You trembled against his chest, your legs snapping closed around his hand as he slowed his movements until his fingers were completely still. The warm water eased you even further into that sweet headspace of your afterglow, made more sweet by the kisses and praise your lover pressed into your skin.

“You still with me?” Marcus murmured and you looked up at him with that dazed look he absolutely adored. At the sight of your pursed lips, he leaned down and kissed you, slow and languid as he let you find yourself again. Wandering hands helped ease you back down to earth, his strong hands working at your already loose muscles. “You did so good, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you.”

You whined quietly at his praise, curling closer for more kisses and affection, only to whine again when he pulled away. “Please?”

Marcus chuckled. “Fine, but I’m getting you in that bed in a few minutes. I’m gonna fuck you so hard you forget your own name.”

{Taglist}

@iamburdened @everyhowlmarksthedead @jenrebloggingfics @xserenax-13 @silverstarsandsuns @luminescentlily @peterpstuff @leonieb @lazybeeches @withasideofmeg @freeshavocadoooo @chattychell @ew-erin @i-ship-it-ironically @artsymaddie @mrsparknuts @wyn-dixie @notabotiswear @lunaserenade @jitterbugs927 @theorganasolo @the-witty-pen-name @northernpunk @lemonlime09 @la-lunaluna @andruxx @greeneyedblondie44 @bloodsuckingbastards @coldlilheart @gracie7209 @green-socks @paintballkid711 @lord-of-restingbiface @asta-lily @sarahjkl82-blog @a-skov @himbotroy @marvelousmermaid 

[bonkie-barnes]

pls pietro x male reader!! one where they both cuddle at night and they make out just fluff and a little bit of smut idk 😭😭

pietro maximoff x gn!reader

word count: 1k

A/N: hi anon! sorry this took a while, i am procrastinating lots of school work rn. also, i do not write anything nsfw, sorry! but i hope this is a suitable substitute for you. requests are open, please feel free to leave something!! as always, i try to remain gender neutral, but if there's something i need to fix, pls let me know!! thank you and i hope you enjoy :)

- - -

Life moves quickly when Pietro is around. The speedster was constantly on the move. Whether it was training, a mission, or simply fun and games with some of the other trouble makers on the team, it seemed he always had energy to spare. That was one of the things you loved most about him. Life was never boring.

Lately, though, you had been feeling a little left in the dust, so to speak. Pietro had been super busy with training and missions. Spending time with you had not been at the top of his list. Granted, he wasn’t doing it on purpose. You were really proud of him for all he was accomplishing, you were just missing him a little.

Currently, you're sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen eating some lunch. FRIDAY had just announced to you that Pietro and some of the others would be returning from their latest mission soon.

Deciding to make him some food, you get up and start preparing ingredients on the counter. You get so lost in finding the perfect cooking playlist that you don’t even hear the ding of the elevator as it reaches your floor.

One second you’re standing, both feet on the floor, the next you’re swept off the ground by a pair of familiarly muscular arms. A shriek leaves your mouth before your brain can catch up with what is happening.

“Pietro! You’re back!”

“Hello, my love. I missed you,” he gives you his signature smirk.

“I missed you so much,” you sigh. More than you’ll know you add on in your head.

Pietro delivers soft kisses to the top of your head as you snuggle further into his chest.

“Gross. Get a room.”

You hadn’t even seen Wanda enter the room.

“Oh shush, sister. I had to deal with you and Vision for the whole mission,” Pietro replies teasingly.

You giggle lightly at him before separating yourself from him. “For Wanda’s sake,” you reply to the indignant look on his face.

Wanda lets out a small laugh and a mumbled thanks.

“Hey, so I was thinking we could watch a movie or something tonight,” you say to Pietro in what you think is a nonchalant tone, but judging by the look on Wanda’s face, you sound more desperate than you wanted to.

Before Pietro even has a chance to respond, Clint runs into the kitchen with excitement comparable to that of a golden retriever.

“Turbo! You ready to try that prank?” he asks while grabbing an apple out of the bowl on the counter.

Pietro grins so widely, you’re surprised he doesn’t permanently hurt his cheeks. “Absolutely old man.”

The feeling you get in your chest at being brushed off by your boyfriend drowns out the argument currently ensuing about Clint’s age. You really don’t ask for much. All you wanted was some time alone with Pietro, but he doesn’t seem to want the same.

“Okay cool...I’ll see you later then,” you mumble to no one as you walk out of the kitchen, seemingly unnoticed.

Wanda, however, notices. Deciding to take matters out of her idiot brother’s hands and into her own, she flicks Pietro on the forehead.

“Hey! What was that for?”

“You’re an idiot. I don’t even need telepathy to know how left out Y/N feels by you, but the mind reading certainly helps,” she scolds him.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, affronted.

“They just wanted to spend some time with you and you totally blew them off just now,” she responds.

“Oh.”

“Go to them, idiot,” Wanda smirks.

"Good luck, Sonic!" Clint teases.

With that, Pietro speeds out of the room to find you. It doesn’t take him long to find you sulking in Tony’s stupidly extravagant movie room, wrapped in a fluffy blanket.

“Hey you,” he says softly.

You quickly wipe away the tears that had silently escaped. “Oh, hi.”

“You mind if I join you?”

“Don’t you have pranks to be participating in?”

“There’s someone more important to hang out with, actually,” Pietro assures you.

Your only response is lifting the edge of the blanket for him to join you underneath. He rushes over and sits down so quickly you jump.

“Pietro!” you say amidst giggles.

“There’s that lovely smile of yours.”

You blush as you hide your face in the blanket.

“So what are we watching?” he asks, genuinely curious.

“Some stupid rom-com, I think,” you reply noncommittally. “We can change it if you want.”

“No, I’m invested,” Pietro tells you with a smirk.

You roll your eyes before curling further into his side. It’s nice and peaceful for a few minutes, until you’re interrupted by your stomach growling. You chuckle, embarrassed.

“Let me help you out with that,” Pietro suggested.

Before you had any chance to say anything, he had sped out of the room and back, arms full of your favorite snacks. His grin when he excitedly shouted ‘For movie night!’ in response to your questioning look made you fall even more in love.

The rest of the night is spent watching movie after movie, the both of you making funny comments about the characters’ decisions. Slowly, the comfort from Pietro’s arms and the warmth from the blanket lure you to sleep. He only notices after you fail to laugh at his comments.

You’re roused from your slumber as Pietro carefully lifts you from the couch and into his arms. He is quick to shush you in attempts to get you back to sleep. He softly kisses you along your forehead. The feeling you get in your chest at his actions makes you feel on top of the world.

You wake one final time as Pietro softly sets you down on the bed. He moves to leave the room before you let out a needy sounding whine.

“I’m only going to clean up the room, love. I’ll be back before you know,” he assures you quietly.

You nod and roll over to get comfortable. Pietro returns within the minute and gets into bed with you. Without hesitation, you move so that you are lying on top of his chest, hugging him like a koala.

“Thank you for today,” you whisper into the pleasant silence.

“Of course. I’m sorry for leaving you out lately. I didn’t realize I was doing it.”

You assure him with a kiss to his shoulder. “It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean to.”

“I promise we’ll hang out more often now,” he vows softly.

With that comforting reassurance, you succumb to sleep once more, safe in the arms of the love of your life.

[deputy-ajay-ghale]

Do you have any Parker and Abigael headcannons? Like if they kept him in the series instead of writing it off how they would interact as siblings?

ANON I LOVE YOU. THANK YOU FOR ENABLING ME.

I can see the possible routes being them growing closer and becoming the family they always wanted (but never expected from the other) or them trying to coexist while being a part of the Charmed One social circle but always being antagonistic.

Happy Family Route:

It happens over the course of two seasons. That build up from “the only thing between us is the fact that we came from the same demonic nutsack” to “this is my brother, do not touch him, I will break you in half” and “this is my sister, I will kill you through human methods.”

Like if it took only a couple episodes for Macy to integrate into the Veras, it takes forty five episodes for Parker and Abigael to decide they can be a family.

There’s an episode dedicated to Demons (think the Overlord party) where the Charmed Ones are understandably out of their depths and seek out Parker. Parker has the knowledge they need, but because of him giving up his powers, they also need to recruit Abigael.

Abigael agrees under the guise of wanting them to leave her alone while she sulks about being hunted by her former underlings.

Amidst the planning for the op, Parker and Abigael snip at each other. Parker holds his superior demon knowledge (having grown up with Alastor) over his sister while she trumps him with her general magical prowess (being a witch and a demon comes in handy).

Maggie is the one who pushes them to make nice because it’s raising her blood pressure.

During the shit hits the fan face off between demons and Team Vera, they all get separated, leaving Parker and Abigael grouped together (which Abigael snarks that she would’ve preferred being stuck with Macy).

She complains that Parker is useless, and in the middle of them whispering hateful things as they try to regroup/escape, Parker gets attacked by a demon and Abigael immediately gets on the offensive and kills his attacker.

He tries to tell her to leave him behind bc she can’t carry him back to the others, she tells him not to be stupid or noble and casts a beacon charm meant for nearby Whitelighters to sense so Harry can come and heal Parker at the same time she casts a cloaking charm to conceal them while they wait. Everytime Parker opens his mouth to be like “if I die” she tells him to shut up.

Episode comes to an end. Maggie frets over Parker, Jordan is wonderfully cool about it and supportive about it because he’s not gross or possessive, and Mel comments to Abigael that it’s awfully big sistery of her to take care of Parker in his hour of need. Abigael scoffs and says she didn’t want to be stuck with paying for Parker’s funeral. She watches Parker though when he’s not looking then leaves.

Also Parker doesn’t know that Abigael is bi/pan and when he does find her canoodling with a woman, she becomes defensive and snarls at him that he couldn’t even get married to Maggie, he has no room to talk about who Abigael spends her romantic or sexual energy on. Parker says he isn’t judging her. “I’m not like our father.” BECAUSE ALASTOR AND FRANCESCA DIDN’T APPROVE OF ABIGAEL’S SEXUALITY. Abigael freezes up for barely a second before saying she wouldn’t care if he did.

They bond over what a shit father Alastor was.

Oh but like, Parker getting his demon powers back to save Abigael would be

Like having his powers, Macy’s, and her own is slowly killing her (because she has too much demon power for her demon-witch body) and he uses the dagger to transfer some of her combined powers to him. He’ll shoulder the burden of being a half demon again if it means it’ll save Abigael.

THINK THAT EPISODE OF TEEN WOLF WHEN CORA WAS POISONED OR WHATEVER AND DEREK GAVE UP HIS ALPHA STATUS TO HEAL HER. THAT’S PARKER BECOMING A HALF DEMON AGAIN TO SAVE THE SISTER HE’S COME TO CARE ABOUT NOW.

When the writers decide to write Parker and Abigael off, they leave the demon world behind them and go off to England and tell the Veras if they ever need them, they’ll come. Well Parker says it, Abigael says she’ll see if she can put off whatever she’s doing to help.

Antagonistic Family Route:

It’s gonna take more than two seasons for them to become a semi functional family. They’re gonna need some magical family therapy. And Maggie can only do so much.

ACTUALLY LET’S MAKE THAT HAPPEN.

Maggie sticks them in a sacred magical circle so Abigael and Parker can’t leave. Macy and Mel are on the outside of it smiling smugly. Abigael’s misery brings them joy. Harry is on standby to heal any potential wounds.

Maggie forces them to talk about why they’re at odds. I mean, Parker was the Human Halfbreed. Abigael was the Witchy Welp. There should be some solidarity when Alastor’s favourite was Hunter the Prodigal Son.

Parker says he always wanted to get to know his mysterious sister, but Abigael retorts he never wanted to be her family anymore than Hunter did.

There’s a lot of yelling, Mel made herself and Macy a drink. This is like Magical Jerry Springer except there’s no cheating or strippers.

Eventually, they get to the topic of how lonely their childhoods were. How their respective magical parents wanted them to be more demonic/witchy to hide what they deemed undesirable traits.

Parker gets hella emotional and teary eyed as he yells that he wanted Abigael to swoop in and take him away from Alastor, to be the big sister he dreamed that she must be like because she was half witch and witches are good.

That causes Maggie to start crying and her powers kick up and it makes Abigael cry.

Abigael starts to choke up and admits she wanted to get to know her siblings but Alastor and Francesca would’ve never let her. She wanted to be with her brothers but she “wasn’t good enough”.

Abigael is making this face:

Macy, Mel, and Harry are now crying because Maggie’s powers hit them too.

Jordan walks into the house, sniffling and using his shirt to wipe his tears. “Dude, I don’t know what’s going on with me, I just feel really sad.”

After all that, ParkAbby decide to to pretend like the therapy session never happened. But they become better after that!!! They can work together without Abby throwing a fireball at him!!!

They obviously aren’t at close as my previous route, but Parker has gotten an Uber for Abigael and Abigael shocked Parker by telling him happy birthday when even Maggie didn’t know.

They basically become Ouiser and Clairee from Steel Magnolias.

Parker @ Abigael

Abigael: *about Parker* He can’t stay mad at me, Parker worships the quicksand I walk on.

I hope this was satisfying. 💛

[notinlovewithmichaellangdon]

I Can Help You

Warnings: death

Notes: female reader. Pre-Hawthorne Michael. We can’t afford Netflix right now and I rely on it for an accurate timeline for my writings. There will be many mistakes with the timeline so please be patient :(. Also my formatting copied weird from Word so I’ll try to fix that. 

Summary: The reader was killed while living in the murder house and she develops a relationship with pre-Hawthorne Michael. 

Word Count: 1.7K

Living in the Murder House was worse than any fiery Hell. At first Y/n thought it would be better than actually dying; but she didn’t realize that it would mean spending an eternity alone. Not even the company of the other spirits could keep her at bay. Y/n would try and make friends with any possible new homeowners, but after she mysteriously “disappeared” and her family moved out of California, not many people resided in the home. For Y/n that meant spending her days alone. After a while, a few months turned into a year. A year alone.

               Mornings were Y/n’s favorite time of the day. The sun slowly rising and filling the room with a vibrant orange was able to lift her spirit on even the worst of days. Even though every morning was the same, she still loved them. Well, one morning was different.

               Everything felt the same that morning. Y/n opened the curtains at exactly 6 AM, sat on her old bed with her favorite book, and continued as usual; but instead of the sound of birds awaking from their slumber, she heard the front door of her home open and close, followed by footsteps and talking. She quickly got up from her sear and ran to the stairs, looking down to see if she could see whoever decided to, quite dumbly, enter the infamous Murder House. She saw a boy around her age walking down the halls, looking into the different rooms. Just looking at him she felt a very specific energy. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. It felt dangerous, but not scary like when she first moved into the house and she’d somehow get locked in the basement by herself. His energy felt dangerous, but it excited her.

               Though it’s not like her life could get any worse, Y/n was too fearful to talk to the boy. She feared rejection of a possible friendship, something she had longed for since she died. Instead, she refused to appear to him (or anyone for that matter) but watched him when he was in the home. She’d stand in the corner while he would talk to Ben Harmon, someone she’d never even pay attention too previously. Everyday she’d wait until it was the perfect time to talk to him. She’d pace the halls back and forth, contemplating ways to start a discussion. It was the first time in what felt like a lifetime she felt any sort of anxiety.

               Y/n opened the curtains, letting in golden light. “Today is the day,” she mumbled to herself. She checked herself in the mirror above her dresser, checking her appearance as if it hadn’t changed in over a year. Once she was pleased with herself, she rushed downstairs, adrenaline rushing through her veins. She walked down the halls, looking in all the rooms. She knew he would be there; she just didn’t know where. The adrenaline that was running through her veins disappeared after she couldn’t find him. Frustrated, she made her way back upstairs. She went back to her room, head held low, but she felt that dangerous aura amidst in her room. She looked up and saw the blonde boy standing in front of the window, looking outside. The golden light from the sunrise casted an almost halo like affect around him. Before she knew it, the boy turned around. She hadn’t got a chance to see him up close since she tried to keep her distance.

Eventually, she cleared her throat. “Michael, right?” she asked.

He nodded and looked down. “Yeah. Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was actually living here,” he mumbled, shoving his hands into his front pockets.

She laughed a little, “No one’s lived here in years. I just happen to be stuck here for like ever, I guess.”

She tried her best to remain calm by sitting down on her bed and reading her favorite book. “Damn it,” she thought, “I finally get to talk to him, and I freeze up,”

Y/n felt the weight on her bed shift, and she looked to her right. Michael was sitting next to her, legs crossed. He was analyzing her face, trying to remember where he saw her face, then a lightbulb went off in his head. “You’re the girl who went missing,” he exclaimed, more to himself than her.

“No one who goes missing while living here is actually missing,” she sighed and put her book on the bedside table. “Everyone who goes ‘missing’ can be found in a garbage bag in the back yard,” she explained. She got up and opened the curtains. Michael followed her. She pointed to a small tree that was just starting to grow. “That’s where my mom buried me after she bashed my brains in with a hammer.”

Michael gasped a little. “You’re joking, right? You’re not actually dead.”

She giggled like it was nothing. “Trust me, I’m serious.”

Michael looked down. Thoughts ran through his mind. Of course, he knew about the ghosts in the house. He also wasn’t foreign to the idea of murder. He had been very close to some of the residents in the murder house, specifically Ben Harmon who became a father figure to him; but this girl felt different to others in the house. The first time he entered the house after his grandmother had died, he felt something in the house that he was drawn to, he could never figure it out though. He felt as if there was someone watching over him when he was exploring the house while alone or talking to Mr. Harmon. He’d gone upstairs before, hoping maybe he’d find what he was looking for, but he never did. When he was around Y/n, that pit of unknown in his stomach felt filled.

 Michael continued to visit Y/n every day, which she didn’t mind since she hadn’t spoken to anyone since she died. Michael would often bring her small gifts. Books, roses from his grandmother’s garden, fresh fruit (even though she couldn’t really eat it, but it’s the thought that counts), or sometimes things for her to paint with since mentioned once her love for art. Michael really felt like he could trust her. He thought she didn’t know about his past, but she’s heard the rumors. Rumors of him killing priests and babysitters. She didn’t really care though. The Michael she knew was caring and determined. That’s what matters to her. Even when strange people started showing up to the house for Michael and him being rather questionable her opinion, she still never looked at him differently.

Michael sat on the floor while Y/n painted the sunrise. Her favorite songs were playing in softly in the background. Out of nowhere she sighed and flopped on her bed. Michael got up and sat next to her. “What’s wrong?” he asked, pushing her hair out of her face.

She sat up and leaned against the headboard. She hugged her knees and looked outside. “I want out of here. I want to travel the world, go surfing, try different foods even though I can’t even eat, see the sunrise in every state,” she mumbled. She quickly whipped her tears away, not wanting Michael to see her cry. She didn’t cry often, and she definitely didn’t want Michael to see her cry.

Michael hated to see Y/n upset. He didn’t need to see her face to know she was crying. The room felt heavy for him, like one of those rainstorms that come out of nowhere and ruin the whole day. Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around her and pat her head. “I can help you, but it might take a while,” he whispered.

She laughed at the thought of what she thought was the boy next door breaking the curse that kept her prisoner in her home. “I don’t think you can do that,” she said in between heavy breathes, making it obvious she’s trying not to cry.

He pulled away from the hug and held her chin up. She tried to look away, but it almost felt like a force was preventing her to do so. “Y/n, it sounds stupid, but I know I can get you out of here, I promise. It’ll be like you’re alive, like good as new,” he promised. “You just need to trust me. We can rule the world together,” he joked, but not really.

She wiped her tears away with the sleeve of her cardigan. “Promise?” she asked

He smiled and cupped her cheeks. Electricity rushed through her whole body. “Promise,” he whispered.

[elanorjane]

California Soulmates Ch 11

Summary:  Pop princess Belle wants to write her own music and get out from under her father’s thumb. Single father Gold wants to put his failed music career behind him and get the hell out of L.A. When inspiration strikes, there’s only one problem…the songs they’re writing aren’t their own. They’re each other’s.

*“Telepathic soulmates” RCIJ for @beastlycheese

AO3 link

Through watery eyes Belle watched helplessly as the back that she’d spent the morning memorizing with her hands, those pants, the one person who really understood and accepted her, who shared something extraordinary with her, walked away.

Not out of her life, surely. She blinked the tears away. He couldn’t seriously throw away everything they had together, the future they’d already planned, just because of who her father happened to be. She’d been honest. She’s asked him to accept her for who she was, who he knew her to be. Yet, he’d made it look so easy. She’d stood right in front of him, pleading to not let something her father did over ten years ago destroy the connection they had...and he’d left. As if he could simply ignore that they could read each other’s minds when they wrote and feel each other’s emotions.  

Belle searched inside herself, using the ability she’d honed to reach out and feel his reassuring presence, but she couldn’t sense him underneath all the hurt and confusion. Was the pain his? Hers? Or were they sharing the same ache? She couldn’t tell anymore. Everything felt jumbled inside her. Was the telepathy gone? She let out a choked gasp. What if the...fight, whatever it was, had done irreparable damage to their ability, severing the connection? It was only one argument, she reassured herself. But it hadn’t felt like a fight. It had felt so...final. Maybe it wasn’t gone, maybe he’d just turned if off? Could one of them just turn if off? Maybe he didn’t want to be connected to her anymore.

She stood in the hallway, bereft. At some point someone took the wet noodle of her arm and dragged her out of the hallway. Belle surrendered herself. They shoved her in the middle of the stage, in front of the mic stand. She zombie walked her way through the rest of sound check. She barely registered the band behind her and the set list taped to the floor at her feet. When someone pointed at her, or played the opening notes, she sang automatically. It didn’t matter. The words were hollow. She was hollow.

She’d sang these useless, meaningless songs so many times, her vocal cords went through the motions while her mind wandered. Honestly, it surprised her Rumford hadn’t know she was record producer Moe French’s daughter. Everyone knew she was Moe’s daughter. There wasn’t a single article written about her that doesn’t state it outright in the first paragraph.

But it turned out he really didn’t know anything about her. Instead of making her heartbroken, Belle felt hopeful. They had a connection, beyond the telepathy, based on the little he knew of her. He didn’t know she was Moe French’s daughter and he’d spent time with her anyway. Belle had spent time with many people who, she only found out later, got close to her in order to find out what her father could do for them. Could she slip him their demo? Could he make them stars like he had with her? For the first time, someone didn’t want her because of Moe French. Then she was sad all over again because of what they’d lost.

What exactly had her father done to him? Something hurtful, obviously. The agonized, crushed look on Rumford’s face when he’d found out who she was authentic. She knew how cutthroat Moe could be. He ousted Ariel and Ruby after all. But she’d been shielded from her father’s dealings all her life. The majority of her childhood memories were of being with her mother. She never saw how Moe was with other artists he managed. By the time she was a teenager he’d divested himself of most of his stable of talent to focus solely on her career.

The band abruptly stopped playing, jerking Belle back to the present. Back on stage, alone.

The sound people dismissed her with a curt, “We’re good here,” and Belle wandered off the stage. Crews bustled around but very few people met her eyes. She was forced to dodge two men carrying a heavy case past her. Belle stood to the side, passively watching as her own concert was laid out without once being consulted. How easy it would be to submit to the “Belle” machine and succumb to the tide of her father’s will. But that wasn’t her, not anymore. She thought again of Ruby and Ariel and how they’d helped her release her own music. The surge of energy and nervous excitement. She’d chased that same feeling the night she ran off with Rum and Bae. How good it had felt to take control. She’d gotten a taste of freedom that week and she wanted more.

From now on, no one was going to decide her fate but her. Not her father. Not even Rumford Gold.

He may have given up on her.

But she wasn’t.

***

You're not young, you're not sexy.

You're not writing what the kids want to hear. Have you heard of that band Nirvana? That’s what’s in.  

Now that Killian, he had star power.

Nobody wants what you're selling.

All the things that Moe French and his record producer buddies had told him as they slammed door after door in his face echoed in his mind. He’d thought he’d left all that behind but there it was, just beneath the surface. All it took was one scratch and the poison of his past came oozing out again.  

He thought Belle had been the balm for all that. Finally, he’d had a partner. Someone who believed in his songwriting abilities. Together, they could make a go of it.  

But it would never happen. He had no control over anything, he knew that now. He’d tried to control things early on with the band, with Milah. No matter how careful you were, the Moe French’s and Killian Jones’s of the world would always be there, just around the corner, ready to set fire to everything and force you to watch it burn.  

In the subsequent years he’d learned that it wasn’t possible to control people and love them at the same time. He’d discovered that with Bae. He’d realized that even music could not be governed by will alone. But, sometimes, love wasn’t enough either.  

After leaving the Hollywood Bowl, he’d driven around L.A. for a while, sitting in traffic until he realized what a stupid waste of gas that was and returned home. But now he was in the apartment, alone with his thoughts. He didn’t know what he was doing. A few cardboard boxes that were in the process of being packed had been partially unpacked over the course of the last 24 hours.

You spend your whole life striving and trying. Until one day you wake up old, broke and scared of starting over.

Well not anymore.

He picked up items at random. A bowl, a fidget spinner of Bae’s, a pair of scissors. They all went in the box. He gained momentum, carrying the box around the apartment, packing everything within reach.  

He filled one box to the brim, folded in the flaps, and grabbed another.

Are you alright?

Amidst the voices of the record executives, a new voice emerged.

Is there something been bothering you?

Belle’s voice. Christ, did he hear all her thoughts now?

Are you alright? I wish you'd give me a little clue

No, it was the opening on a song lyric. Simple. Mournful. Repetitive. She must be writing.

He tried to block her out, to escape her imploring. How far could this mind reading thing of theirs stretch? He’d soon find out when he put an entire continent and ocean between them.  

Are you alright? Is there something you wanna say?

He thought of boxes and one-way plane tickets and a Lyft to the airport. He could book it through the app on Bae’s phone.   Are you alright?

Milah had used him. Killian had used him. Moe had used him. Now, Belle. Well she couldn’t have his help or his lyrics anymore.

Just tell me that you're okay

His intention to cut himself off from her did nothing to cease Belle’s relentless funeral dirge from playing in his head. He dropped the box he was holding and grabbed his hair at the roots and tugged.

“Leave, leave, leave,” he ground out.

Are you alright? 'Cause you took off without a word

He growled in frustration, his fingers gripping the edge of the old wooden stool he was doubled over. Her cloying, sentimental words continued their assault.

Are you alright? You flew away like a little bird

He picked up the seat and cracked its legs against the wall. The wood splintered into pieces.

As soon as he’d done it, he’d known it was the wrong thing. Force wasn’t what was going to make this, make her, go away. But he knew what would.

“Leave, leave, leave” he muttered, grasping his guitar by the neck. He spun it in his palm and collapsed onto the bed, hoisting the instrument across his lap.

The hatred flooded through him but his words were controlled.

I can't wait forever is all that you said Before you stood up

She’d asked him to get past it, to accept who she was, who her father was. But she didn’t realized how it was all tangled together. He lived where he lived because of Moe French. Bae hadn’t gotten the childhood he deserved because of her father.

And you won't disappoint me I can do that myself But I'm glad that you've come Now if you don't mind

The song was blunt. It was cold. It was full of resentment. Just like himself.

Leave, leave, And free yourself at the same time Leave, leave, I don't understand, you've already gone

He’d pushed down the bitterness for so long in order to focus on Bae. Now, he let causticness lead him.

And I hope you feel better Now that it's out What took you so long And the truth has a habit Of falling out of your mouth But now that it's come If you don't mind

He was banging on the guitar punishingly. The lyrics came from his heart, from his gut. His own pleading cry drowning out Belle’s tune and making his throat raw.

Leave, leave, And please yourself at the same time Leave, leave, Let go of my hand You said what you have to now Leave, leave, Let go of my hand You said what you came to now Leave, leave, Leave, leave, Let go of my hand You said what you have to now Leave, leave

His hand fell limp, the pick falling from between his fingers to the floor. He leaned over the guitar, mentally and physically exhausted.

The song had been short, but powerful and effective. Her voice had finally faded. He couldn’t hear her anymore. He couldn’t feel her anymore. She was gone.

It was over.

[rennyji]

June 30th and 29th tweets...

June 30th and 29th tweets...

June 30th tweets…

on my way home after lunch hour, &close 2 my neighborhood, a ripped tan white guy without a shirt &kiwi green shorts gestures “if I want 2 fight him from the side of the road” & walks toward the road. now I don’t know him, have been living here for yrs, minding my own-so random.-

- once again I would have to suspect the orchestrators are passing something off as me, relaying something they’re not supposed to, or filtering my writing. When people get on ur case out of the blue, does that bacon fueled animal think in any shape or form he’s part of my life?-

- I guess that’s why so many of my friends are south or East Asian- like Indian, Pakistani, Chinese, Korean…and then there are the Greeks or the Mediterranean variety of people…I feel these groups are less aggressive and randomly looking for a fight…

Now I come home, gotta deal with the village personality of my Indian father & the overly Christian nature from Biblical times of my “pretending everything’s okay with life” parents. Seeing them for 30 years made me want 2 leave my the background they hail from, their religion.-

- I contemplate marrying out for mixed race children…but now America has teamed up against me as one team leaving me with no one. Just the crazy random people on the street.

- one ray of sunlight is the Chinese woman who held my hand in passing, or the tall blonde with the dog crossing the street in Bronxville, from in front of my car, who went out of her way to wave at me twice…-

- amidst the “situation”, the stupidity in my home till I can afford an apartment, the crazies gesturing me if I want to fight, the people at work with misconceptions…it just never ends…Thank God for my morning coffee or when I go for a massage…

Yeah, for one reason or another, just putting this out there, real men get men’s pedicures and manicures. Who wants flaky skin on their fingers or rough feet?! Got the idea from Will Smiths character on one of the episodes in The Fresh Prince of Bel Air…

i like christina aguilera, in terms of looks, when she first started out...now she's too...too...tough looking...

msn dot com has a lot of interesting stories that catch my eye, in my old, obese age...stories like whats trending and about pop culture...

Have you ever been around someone who randomly and alone, develops the habit or ability of chewing out loud...I think I’ve heard those three words together out loud before: “chew out loud.” I think it’s a thing.-

- I mean, to make every sound behind eating audible is just a ridiculous habit. What is the benefit for those who eat like that?! I eat without making a sound and I’m still able to enjoy the taste of my food. -

-Is it just an old habit that kept repeating with no real origin or reason? I saw a friend from long ago on Facebook yesterday with his beautiful wife and child,living as lawyers, and a “classy life”, a “life of standard”, at that. -

-People who chew/ or eat out loud for that matter have got to be because their parents didn’t give them an a*s wh*pping and spoiled them for being the baby in the family.-

-Mother probably did everything and now that child has that expectation of others in his/her life. I’ll bet these same people, while innately smart, just sit around, while their spouses, siblings, or roommates have 10x the activity in the same time frame of their day.-

- I’ll bet their perception of life is on the unconventional side too, siding on ideal scenarios and not a life of meaning, probably more along the lines of how people of your world see you. I mean things like that, it affects who you associate with or go out in public with. -

-It’s not about freedom. Whatever the age, practice decency...don’t be an animal...that’s just my thought on eating out loud...probably the only way to get it through to some, in the spirit of patience, not practiced in actual conversation..-

-I mean literally, every sound from sipping the drink into the mouth-if it’s drinking- to expressing satisfaction upon swallowing, to burping when digested...geez...learn from the point, rather than seeing it as some cultural insult from another world, -

-or seeing it as humorous that someone you know is talking about you...it’s disgusting and there comes a time to snap out of it...-

-when those of ur world put you through actual tormenting procedures over the course of eleven years, excuse you for bringing up a real concern/issue over what actually is stubbornness or lack of ability to comprehend.

but moving on...just bumping into random behaviors all day from random people...

doctors...i think theyre among the people you say/hear are out to get your money. Not accepting insurance, charging $350 per visit is one thing. But then simply to discuss an email or one phone call's worth of change and charging $350 for that...geez...-

-then theres the not-understanding-what-ur-going-thru &ur mental energy taken 2enforce a decision..the 1st $350 proved worthless, as that doctorProbablyDid more harm than good, &now an additional $350 4 a minor detail?! Hippocratic Oath my a*s. Even doctors lie 2me despite oaths.

the world is an ugly place, save for a few people...like that innocent pale blond riding her bike who apologizes for running into you with her bike, a couple of weeks ago...rest of the world is filled with attitude and things they see you through and simply foolishness...

On Amazon, they sell the " Nitrofit Pro Limber Stretch Machine " or U can search stretch machine, but it looks like Nitrofit brand's version. It costs $500. I wish morePeople would buy this stuff, so prices would go down. its an E-Z way 2 do essential stretching 4 tired muscles.-

- I mean you just have to get on top of it, in the prescribed positions, rather than using one of those straps...but then at the same time, if you go to a massage place for someone to stretch your muscles for you, it's $80 at discount pricing-and how often can you spend $80?-

- a one time investment of $500 could allow you to get the $80 benefit daily at your own comfort.

so they say vibrating foam rollers are good 4 tender muscles.has any1 noticed that some versionsVibrate more against urHands or theFloor, then the targeted area of ur chest or leg muscles? so how is it helping if most of the vibration goes 2the floor? or is it just 1 or 2 brands?

When I make it big, on really warm days, whether Im on that floor of my house or not, Im going  2turn on the central AC 4 all floors inTheHouse? Why? I find it annoying &disgusting, when I have 2 make that trip 2 the floor where the AC isn't on, & Im smacked w/a burst of heat.

So I'm experiencing that moment when one realizes he/she has everything on their bedroom L-Desk, with the exception of a pen and some paper to write on...but mostly a pen...how did that happen?!

June 29th tweets...

Came home after being in the heat, was thirsty. Had a cup of raspberry soda water from my soda stream. It felt so right for the opportunity…felt good going down my throat…

While out and about, kept seeing smoking hot Hispanic women…these women all, whether it’s good genes or makeup I dunno, have flawless, non oily, glistening skin…is the source some product from your native places and/or good genes? Share the knowledge…

Heard a song I downloaded long ago, on my car’s cd playlist…YouTube “Gained the World” by Morcheeba (I think that’s how it’s spelled…) - I heard it when channel 11 was WB11 and not The CW…anyone else remember that?!

“Will You Be There” by Michael Jackson…heard it for the first time in “Free Willy” and kept on listening to it…beautiful song…

Tired of plugging in ur iPhone or whatever else phone?! You can just put it on a stand to charge wirelessly. Works even with the case. On Amazon, search “ Anker 3 in 1 Multi Device Charging Station “.

U know whats also a good product 2 relieve fatigue in place of caffeine? A hand massager. LifePro has a version with some good intensity, but I prefer the highTech looking Chinese made ones. Just sharing the knowledge. Finding something good takes buying them all & trying em out.

Has anyone else tried Shawarma? Heard it for the first time in Iron Man from the Tony Stark character. It came off to me as a healthy version of the Indian “ biryani “ dish, minus the spices and butter. Now I can cross that off my list of things to try…

U know whats good? - Arabic food… “kibbeh” (an appetizer) comes off 2 me as something 2 remind me of Indian kababs w/an edibleCovering around the powderedMeat. Then theres the dessert, “Kunafa”-like sugary lasagna minus the tomatoSauce &cheese but w/something like cream inside.

[theopentable]

What We Might Discover Amidst the Rubble of Our Self-Stories

Genesis 11:1-9, Matthew 5:3

The Ache

Us human beings do something a little funny.

Researchers have shown we have this curious habit of regularly stretching the truth in the stories we tell about our own experiences to those around us.

In often small and subtle ways we embellish or exaggerate certain details. We caught a fish THIS big.

Or maybe we happen to leave some certain details out or minimise some inconvenient truths about ourselves. We’ll hide the stupid or embarrassing things about ourselves.

I had a horror experience at the start of the year that barely a soul know about. I was picking my boy up from school one afternoon. He’d only just started school for the first time. I was organised, got one of the good parks that only goes to the parents who are particularly early to school pick up. The problem was I had an upset tummy for whatever reason which I grossly underestimated. And I mean gross because a horrible accident happened while I was waiting in the car which compromised my ability to pick up my boy from class (I won’t spell it out). I had to call my wife to come and save the day. A horror! This sort of thing can happen on a holiday in Bali, but not in the school car park while you’re waiting to pick up your kid from school.

Clearly, I didn’t want anyone in my sons school knowing about this. Not the parents. Not the staff. It doesn’t even feel good writing this. It’s a story better kept private for obvious enough reasons.

I don’t like the story of me having tummy bugs and having toilet accidents on the way to pick my kid up.

I don’t want to be the guy that makes people cringe with awkwardness or pity.

I like the story about me being a wonderful dad who has his stuff together.

And then there’s the other story about me being a minister of religion, which doesn’t usually include pooing your pants in public. This doesn’t fit great.

So we leave some of our stories on the shelf. We share our stories selectively.

Or we edit them.

Why do we do this? Is it because we’re compulsive liars, agents of manipulation?

The real reason is far more innocent and understandable.

We just want to belong. We yearn for connection. We want to be seen, cared for, and included as a member of a group. If you get separated from the tribe you might not make it.

We care what others think of us. We want them to see us in a particular way. We desperately want to belong.

The Illusion

What happens is that in our yearning for belonging and connection we imagine that our way into this belonging and connection is through our own specialness.

So craft a conceptualised version of ourselves based on stories about who we are and what we do.

You belong when you’re special – when you’re strong, clever, able, beautiful; when you’re specially trained, an especially good cook or musician or whatever.

We become a story – a story designed to make us likeable, special to others.

We might think this Genesis story about people building a tower to make a name for themselves is strange but in reality, this is one of our strongest preoccupations.

We’re obsessed with building something that makes us look impressive, that gives us credibility, that makes us special or even needed. We’re trying to spruik things that give us an “in.”

We desperately want to make a name for ourselves.

And our tower-building, this story-crafting, becomes our strategy for how we’re going to stay connected, how we’re going to belong, how we’re going to be part of the group or tribe.

What happens along the way is that we become attached to our ideas of who we are and defend them as if they are literally true all the time. Our attachment to these ideas forms the structures of our ego.

Steven Hayes and Spencer Smith in their workbook Get Out of Your Mind and Into Your Life (2005) suggest that if you want to discover your own Self-Stories simply spend some time completing these sentences:

I am a person who...

I am a person who does not...

My favourite part about myself is...

My least favourite part about myself is...

I have been wronged because other people have...

I am a person who is bad at...

The problem with our attachment or our investment in our “tower” or our Self-Story is that it means we have to hide the parts of ourselves and our experiences that don’t line up with the stories we have woven - not only from others, but from ourselves as well.

So we lie, often in small ways that we’re hardly aware of, to defend, protect or prove whichever theme of specialness we’re trying to develop.

And when we do this we end up feeling more alienated and alone. It actually gets in the way of the belonging and he connection we desperately wanted in the first place.

Not only that, the more we develop our Self-Stories the more we find ourselves constantly comparing ourselves to others. 

When we’re comparing or competing we’re not connecting. We’re either better than or less than others.

And when we don’t measure up we end up berating ourselves for any time our tower doesn’t soar into the sky as the highest or most impressive.

And ultimately, when we fool people to get them to like us, to include us, to belong, we develop the concern that if you really knew me you wouldn’t like me. If I were an open-book you wouldn’t want to be with me.

The whole process creates distance between ourselves and others when all we really wanted in the first place was to be close to others.

In our attempts to be special we drive ourselves out of the group.

We lose connection. Loneliness isn’t defined by the presence of others; loneliness is defined by the absence of connection with others.

And we lose connection, ultimately, with ourselves. 

Our own fiction gets the in the way of Reality – we block our awareness of who we ultimately are.

The Invitation

But what if we could see beyond the smallness of our Self Story and reconnect with a much deeper sense of belonging that lies inside human consciousness itself?

We’ve been circling around this theme in the first beatitude blessed are the poor in spirit. What does that mean?

For a moment let’s dabble in the area of ontology which is really about the nature of being.

What do we mean when we talk about spirit?

According to the scriptures we’re a unique combination of body, soul and spirit (1 Thessalonians 5:16).

Our human spirit, according to the scriptures, is the deepest part of ourselves – even deeper than perception and beyond our senses. The human spirit is our innermost-selves, the part of us that orients us towards relationship with God.

You could think of our spirit like a God-given homing device that is the source of our spiritual intelligence, the part of us that provides us with a God-consciousness.

So all human beings are built with this kind of spiritual sensitivity and receptivity.

Now let’s come back to the witness of the scriptures as we delve even deeper into the implications here. 1 Corinthians 6:17 says,

17 anyone united to the Lord becomes one spirit with him.

Blessed are even the poor in spirit because your spirit has become one with God’s Spirit.

Which means that the deepest part of who you are is the place where God dwells, where God’s Spirit mingles with our spirit in a bond of union that cannot be broken or divided.

It’s impossible to underestimate how significant this unbreakable union between our own spirit and God’s Spirit truly is.

This union represents our ultimate grounds for a secure sense of self.

Our most true identity is the “us” that is united to God - stamped with God’s gracious choice and commitment towards us that has only to do with whether we will invite God to share in our lives.

This is where we discover the royal blood coursing through our veins. Our beloved identity. Our dignity.

This is where we discover our True Self,

the “us” that is eternal,

the “us” that is defined by God’s closeness and connection,

the “us” that has nothing to do what whether we are good or bad.

Here we are pure being at home in God.

If we can learn to rest in this our worthiness concerns disappear out of the window and we can get on with simply being “us”.

It’s not about whether you are good enough, kind enough, wealthy enough, smart enough, attractive enough, fit enough or any category we wish to cling onto.

Not in an ultimate sense.

They are Self-Stories.

Towers we build to make a name for ourselves.

And towers are notorious for coming crashing down.

Which brings me to my final wondering.

What if we able to hold our Self-Stories a little more loosely and instead we were able enter into a larger awareness of who we are grounded in union with divine love?

What if we could take the healthy energy of our yearning to belong and swing it towards reconnecting with our Ultimate Identity, our True Self, our Transcendent or Eternal self – the you that has always existed from eternity?

What if we came back to those previous questions that help to map out our Self Stories and were able to simply circle the worlds “I am” and let the rest of the sentence go?

What would it be like to simply sit in the words “I am”?

In Exodus 3, fresh from the burning bush, Moses wants a name from God in case the people ask who is sending Moses to them. God replies, “I am who I am.” “Say this to the people of Israel, “I am has sent me to you.”

Who is God? God is “I am.”

Silence: Our Way Into Our Ultimate Identity

We can enter into the deepest truth of who we are simply by practicing silence. Part of what silence offers is an opportunity for your tower of Babel made up of all your various Self-Stories to come crashing down, at least for a bit.

The easiest way to do this is simply to close your eyes, focus on your breathing. Try and still your thoughts for a while.

One way of doing that is simply by repeating a word that helps to centre you.

You might like to use the words “I am.” You can just repeat “I am” inwardly, silently as a simple way of entering into the larger awareness of who you are in Christ.

As you come back to the words “I am” you could be referring to yourself - your more authentic, transcendent and eternal understanding of who you are - or maybe the “I am” your return to over and over is God.

Don’t worry if the distinction isn’t clear as you return to your prayer word.

That’s the gift of silent prayer and meditation – we’re not entirely sure where we end and God begins.

That’s the ultimate truth of who we are in the deepest regions of our being.

[directlywithlizzie]

Director’s Notebook: Sense and Sensibility

Let the research begin!

The Journey to Jane

After spending a delightful autumn with the Bennet sisters staging Lauren Gunderson and Margot Melcon’s Miss Bennet: Christmas at Pemberley for Oregon Contemporary Theatre, I’m looking forward to Spring with the Dashwoods. Prior to these projects I had fairly limited experience with Jane Austen’s novels. I’m a embarrassed to admit now, I was for a long time reluctant to read them, echoing the extremely sexist sentiment expressed by some of my male friends and fellow English majors in college, “I’m not interested in trivial stories about women tittering about the house gossiping about marriage.” No, no! I wanted to read serious literature in college, the works of Shakespeare and Chaucer and Milton! For a long time I was under the delusion propagated by some in academic circles that there was “Literature” and then there were a number of literary subcategories by authors other than White Cis-Gendered and Male to be studied in specialized elective topics courses.  The capital “L” GREAT LITERATURE was canonized because it was assumed to be capital “U” UNIVERSAL while everything else, while perhaps possessing literary merit, was somehow less-than. Mary Shelley and Virginia Woolf might get a passing nod in a British Literature survey course, but Kazuo Ishiguro or Zadie Smith? Forget it! Because if, God-forbid, too many white women or people of color became required reading, it would come at the cost of some poor dead, white male author . . . and then where would we be?

It wasn’t until graduate school that I found feminism and began to discover how patriarchy and white supremacy permeated even the most liberal spaces of society. (I know . . . right?) At one point, an old white, male tenured professor gave the grad students a list of several hundred capital “G” Great Plays “every theatre graduate student must read” before even considering a career in academia. The list was (unsurprisingly) white and male. The only female playwrights that appeared were Aphra Behn and Lorraine Hansberry and the only people of color were Luis Valdez, August Wilson, and (again) Lorraine Hansberry. I argued in a small seminar course with said Old White Tenured Professor about the need to open up the canon, that if we weren��t actively working to do this . . . then who would? Students would never know about Catherine Trotter, Margaret Cavendish, Hrosvitha, George C. Wolfe, Suzan-Lori Parks, Cherrie Moraga, and Lynn Nottage to name a few. He smiled in that kindly patronizing Old White Tenured Professor way and said, “Sure, we should read these authors, but does that mean we don’t read Shakespeare anymore?”

In my mid-twenties, I discovered how my education and life experience, for all its privilege, had deprived me of perspectives not fixed in white-maleness. In literature, pop culture, and life experience, my existence was always as other, always on the fringes of what the mainstream considered to be some idea of “Universal” humanity. My girlhood icons were so limited: Princess Leia and Tela were rare females amidst a sea of men on quests to save the galaxy. I came to consume and mimic the male comic voices of Monty Python, 90s era Saturday Night Live where women were generally dismissed or entirely absent. I reveled in “boy’s club” humor that lampooned women as frivolous, stupid, or slutty. I took pride in the fact that most of my friends were male, that I was “one of the guys” and took the comment “you write like a man,” as the greatest possible compliment. My literary heroes were Holden Caulfield and Benjamin Bradock. Looking back, I see a young girl whose tastes and interests were shaped by patriarchal assumptions that women simply matter less. At the time I would proudly say something like, “Well, if they were good enough, then they would have made it!” Good enough by what standard? I never thought to ask that question. I was always a voracious reader and I could have found Jane Austen and the Brontes on my own . . . but people don’t know what they don’t know. And what I “knew” then, reinforced in and outside the classroom, was that my time was better spent admiring Joseph Heller than Louisa May Alcott.

And all that time . . . Jane Austen had been waiting for me with something I would have loved all along. In 2009, I directed Arcadia, my first Main Stage production at Oregon State University. Tom Stoppard’s 1993 play captured my imagination during a high school trip to the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. Arcadia wasn’t the first play I ever saw or was affected by, but it was the first play that truly gave me pause to say: Theatre can do that!?! In some ways Arcadia influenced me to pursue a career in theatre. The script is incredibly witty, smart, and romantic . . . and the setting in a late 18th century English country estate and precious heroine makes it all the more appealing!

Here in 2019 I get to revisit many of the same themes and the visual aesthetic I had the pleasure of exploring ten years ago. Sense and Sensibility and Arcadia are, of course, stylistically two very different plays, but they do share similar themes of status, social class, and clever young women struggling with their roles in “polite society” of the 1790s. Young Thomasina, the math prodigy at the center of Arcadia, possesses wit and imagination well beyond her years and cloistered experience as the only daughter of Lord and Lady Croom. Thomasina shows little interest in fulfilling her duty to “marry well,” and instead pours her passion and energy into her studies and her tutor and friend, Septimus Hodge. Thomasina, like many Jane Austen heroines, exists within her society as an outsider-insider, a misfit within the upper-crust. Like Lizzy Bennet or Emma Woodhouse, she possesses her own mind and asserts her agency, however unlike them, Thomasina meets a tragic fate while Austen’s characters experience unambiguously happily-ever-afters. Thomasina Coverly has been one of my favorite characters in all of literature since I was fifteen years old, long before I knew anything about her literary predecessors. In a roundabout way, she was my gateway into appreciating the worlds of Pemberley or Barton Park. Without knowing it, I adored Jane Austen before having actually read any Jane Austen.

More to come as the process gets underway!

[thewildkairos-blog]

Lazy Days

Despite everything, I would like to consider myself to be a productive person. I always set myself a goal that I want to meet by the end of the day, and I always try to complete at least three different tasks (no matter how small) throughout the day before I go to bed. Although, I must admit, sometimes I just enjoy a lazy day, curled up in bed in my PJs, drinking tea, or maybe Dr Pepper (which I swear I don’t have an obsession with), whilst binge watching one of my many TV shows (I totally didn’t watch all Season 1 of Salem yesterday), reading a book, and setting up my bullet journal all at the same time.

I pride myself on how organised I am, and I must admit that I am quite the perfectionist. I am that girl who has her entire wardrobe documented on an application so I can plan my outfits ahead of time and see what clothes I don’t wear any longer and can - begrudgingly - get rid of. I am that girl who keeps two diaries, uses Todoist religiously, keeps a bullet journal and is constantly adding to her iPhone’s calendar. I am the kind of girl who, when stressed before entering her final Psychology exam, stands on her chair whilst frantically cramming with only an hour left to spare (but hey, I came out of the exam confident and happy)! But sometimes, even I have to take a break from the stress of leading an organised and productive life, and so here is my way of winding down and having a ‘day out’.

Anyone who knows me at all will tell you about the happy relationship myself and my bed share, and so when I have a lazy day, I often lay in bed for an extra few minutes before I even dare to make a start to my day - trust me, it makes all the difference and your bed-st friend will love you so much more for spending that extra five minutes with them! Sadly, I have to leave my bed everyday, but she happily takes me back each night and we have never had an argument (as of yet, anyway), so I would say we are going pretty strong!

When I’m not making to do lists and getting stuff done, I lead a pretty boring life, but I’m sure everyone has spent a whole day in their ugliest PJs, eyes gazing at a screen for so long that when you look at anything else, you swear that it is pixelated! I will admit it, because I am not ashamed: my name is Chloe, and I am addicted to binge watching TV shows and I am easily Netflix’s biggest fan! Just yesterday (although I did manage to get a couple of things done), I watched a grand total of 13 episodes of a series called Salem, and that is the entire first season. I’m prone to binge-watching things, and I have binged things ranging from Game of Thrones, to Gossip Girl! I can’t help myself - I can spend all day binge watching shows and sometimes forget to eat (which is unhealthy, so I started setting alarms to remind myself - tragic, I know)!

Aside from my addictive TV hogging, I also really enjoy reading. I can sift through pages of a book and sometimes finish it in one day - I really do get engrossed in what I am reading sometimes, and frequently end up giving the characters a good telling off when they do something stupid - yes, I’ve had a few funny looks because of this one! In my previous blog, you will have read my Summer Reading List and know that I am currently reading City of Heavenly Fire by Cassandra Clare (AMAZING BY THE WAY), and I cannot wait to finish this book and give it a review!

Although I shouldn’t, I often find myself snacking all day when I’m having my lazy days, and I drink way too much Dr Pepper, but I call it my ‘rocket fuel’, and this stuff honestly helps keep my brain wired - if I am not nibbling on something whilst doing something, my mind wanders to food and I stop paying attention to Mary Sibley’s misdemeanours on Salem, and the fact that every time Clary and Jace try to have some ‘alone time’, they’re interrupted by Shadowhunter business - and I can’t be having that! Another thing though, that my rocket fuel helps with, is making sure I get chapters of my books written, and that I can think straight when brainstorming characters! I’m currently devising a plot and developing characters for my latest novel project: The Zodiac Trials, which I am sure I’ll discuss at greater lengths some time soon!

The most important part of a lazy day is looking after yourself though, and amidst the binge-watching, reading, eating and writing, I make sure I give myself time to pamper myself and regenerate all the energy I have used on my more productive days. It’s important to remember that the first step to a better life and being more organised and productive is to take a day out - have a lazy day, and just relax.

Leave a comment below with how you spend your lazy days, or drop me a message here where you can discuss your lazy days with me or ask me about anything you need to, be it about this blog, for a bit of advice, or anything at all! I will answer any questions as best as I can! Stay wild!

[thirst-order-confession]

Could I please request Bodhi reacting to fem!rc, who is normally neatly dressed and tidy and soft spoken, chest deep in an Xwing or other space ship engine? Messy hair, jacket off, maybe a grease smear across her face and hollering back and forth with the pilot of the ship but with a wide smile on her face? Sfw or Nsfw I don't care. I just want to see more Bodhi stuff. ^_^

Hey there thanks so much for this ask! I had a blast writing it. It’s pretty long since it took on a mind of it’s own. I adore Bodhi and I kinda wanted to showcase the fact that the rebel Alliance was becoming a family and home for him. This is more of a snippet in the life of both the reader and Bodhi who have yet to define their relationship. 

PS: I took on a different approach to Bodhi’s shyness. In the movie he has a lot of nervous energy rather than outright shy tendencies so I focused in on that. :3 

It was a wonder that the X-wing made it back at all. Not many pilots came back from head on collisions with the rough terrain of that day of the week’s battle setting. By this point (Y/N) had seen it all; from paint jobs withered away by meteors to ships half filled with water it’s pilot miraculously sitting amongst the sea life. But some crashes drove home just how much was at risk; that the job of an X-wing fighter went beyond the amazing feats and the stuff of legends. Some cost lives some simply spoke of dumb luck.

The well position shot that brought the ship down scorched through via the nose of the plane, showcasing the intricate wiring below that had formed an almost perfect halo running along the length. Embedding in the cockpit somewhere just above where Hobbie’s head rested, was just that, dumb luck that took down the plane but spared the pilot.

And here Hobbie stood, arm in a sling ready to get back into the piece of what could only be called scrap metal at this point, tear off his cast and fight the good fight. Thankfully for his health and the sanity of Vrogas Vas, who reckless in his own right, played the role of the concerned squad leader well, the x-wing was not going anywhere anytime soon. Effectively grounding the hot shot pilot and all but, condemning his X-wing to be broken down into scrap metal. It’d serve it’s purpose for the rebellion either in battle or as a way to get the money to fuel the ins and outs no one but those inside the base thought about.

To Hobbie the X-wing was like an extension of himself and while Poe could sympathize in some ways, he knew when to let go. Having totalled two crafts before the one he now rode with well practiced ease.

“Hobbie…”

“No no, (Y/N), look before you say anything hear me out. She’s given me a good run and saved me life. I’m repaying the favor. I’ve tried asks the other mechanics around but now one will touch it or even go near me at this point!” His frustration was imminent by the ruddy color that had settled on his high cheekbones causing the blue of his eyes to become more prominent. The same blue eyes he tried batting the way of another mechanic just days before. All it took was one look at (Y/N)’s softening demeanor to see that he struck a chord; Hobbie let out a breath he didn’t know he was hold, thankful for the fact that he didn’t have to charm the straight laced mechanic. He knew better than to try that with (Y/N) who was plainly head over heels over one of the bases resident heroes, Bodhi Rook.

Quickly, the Jedha pilot, who played a major role in the battle of Scariff, became the talk of the base. Unlike Cassian he did not hold the same prickly demeanor that urged people to not waste his time. It was to the point that the shy pilot couldn’t go anywhere without being stopped. Words often taken out of context, whispered amongst the base inhabitants. His role in it all blown of proportion until he was soon looked at like one of the war heroes the empire had warned him against. How things had changed in the past 6 months for him. Going from a cargo pilot who was simply another cog in the machine to one of the most wanted men in the galaxy along side names like Jyn Erso and Cassian Andor.

It was for these reasons that he felt so at ease around (Y/N). Treating him as any of the new recruits she’d often helped with navigating the maze like hanger of Yavin. When days were especially hot and the asphalt of the semi exposed hanger seemed to bake the pilots alive, Bodhi, would often spot her resting against one of the gargantuan walls of the pyramid like structure; peering out into the expanses of green that peaked through the fog. Despite the heat (Y/N) always dressed up to code in her regulation jumpsuit, hair neatly tied back from her eyes, small smile reserved for him as she called him to join her. This is where he’d spend what few moments he could spare. Soon Y/N didn’t have to ask instead he simply gravitated towards the mechanic who magically seemed to avoid the grease and rust stains that colored all others in her division. The months blended into a tempestuous routine of Battles, missions and quiet afternoons joking around with one of the sharpest mechanics in the rebel alliance.

Today was one of those odd days spent in his psydo-home. The endless green now as familiar to him as the inside of the craft his piloted. Back from a three week mission on the other side of the Galaxy his body screamed at him to rest but his mind had other ideas. Deep brown eyes darted around from face to face. The mix of tan and garishly bright orange jump suits blurring together as he ran around. All eager to get back to their dorms after a long day of fixing the unfixable and doing the impossible. Not paying attention to where he was going Bodhi accidently rammed into an unsuspecting person. A sharp intake of breath was broken by the deep chuckle that rumbled from under civilian clothing of the grounded pilot. “Hey Bod! Welcome back, what’s the hurry?”

“Sorry Hobbie! Didn’t see you there..” Bodhi rattled off; talking a mile per minute as always. “How’s the arm” He added in; wincing as he looked Hobbie over. He looked no worse for wear, certainly less delirious since he last saw him. He could clearly picture Hobbie than, high on adrenaline, it took several of them to hold him down. All but tackling him as he continued on his tirade about the hell he’d bring to the empire after what they did to his X-wing. He was strong for a little guy..

“Oh good as new” The wry smile Hobbie offered did not seem to match his statement. But nothing could curve the joy that came from finally getting his way. (Y/N) had said yes after all. A reluctant yes, but a yes nonetheless.

Bodhi smiled at that. Playfully slapping Hobbie on his tender shoulder light enough not to truly hurt but hard enough to cause him to swallow his pride and wince. “Fuck’in hell..”

 “Oh yeah definitely up for the turbulent flights. Being knocked around in the cockpit.” He joked good naturedly, shyly brushed stray strands of inky black hair out of his eyes. A nervous habit that still persisted despite being around friends. Hobbie was at least above hero worship, set on making a name for himself rather than hanging off the arm of someone else. “Hey I will be as soon as my ships good as new.”

Bodhi’s eyes widened comically taking in the smug smile across Hobbie’s face. No one in their right mind would have touched the scorched scrap metal. “(Y/N) will have it fixed in no time. Yeah she gave me some grief about it, stating that it’s take the better part of the next ten years to fix it or that I had a better chance of getting K2 to like me but I’m optimistic”

“She can fix anything that’ll run.” He said confidently, fully aware of the stubborn nature of the object of his affection. “ I just don’t know if she won’t kill you before it’s done”.

Three hours had passed since Hobbie had all but pulled at (Y/N)’s heart strings. “Stupid Hobbie and his stupid love for this stupid piece of junk. I should just melt it down myself not that it sell for much is there anything that still works?!” She muttered in between grunts as she unscrewed a bolt. Her words held little bite, more annoyance at the current task at this point to warrant any real threat. The melted metal of what was meant to be heat resistant giving her a good arm workout amidst the sharp edges and bare wire inside. Everyone in her little corner of the workspace had left long ago; going with nightfall. Now all that kept her company was the stickly breeze that would come in every now and then to lick at her bare arms every time she came up from the bowels of the beast of the ship to take a breath. The long sleeved jumpsuit long ago unzipped tied haphazardly around her waist, showcasing the tight fitted once white, now horribly stained grey tank top she wore underneath.

Torso deep, grease had made it’s way up her forearms giving off the illusion of sporting odd mismatched, slick, stripes and patches along feverish skin. Her hair fanned around around her, like a halo; having come undone as sharp corners and randomly placed bolts within the machinery snagged the plaits in her hair. Brand new nails held in between her teeth. The R2 droid assigned to help her letting out concerned beeps every now and then. Met only by a unbeat indiscernible tune as a response.

By the time Bodhi had gotten away from Hobbie and just about every other person who wanted an update on his latest mission (Y/N) was tugging on a twist sheet of metal with all her might. Feet planted firmly apart before the metal groaned and bent back into shape with a loud clank. Glistening from the light sheen of sweat that build up on her tired form he marveled as she watched her laugh triumphantly. Fists pumping in the air as turned to the droid. “Ha! Hell yeah I told you I could move it!” The encouraging chirps were halted by the sound of Bodhi’s approaching footsteps. They seemed painfully loud in quiet of the night. “Bodhi!” (Y/N) said breathlessly, deft fingers quickly moving to tan jumpsuit as she wiped her hands with practiced ease on the course material.

“Welcome home”.

He swallowed hard. It seems that whenever he was around her he either seemed to find it infinitely hard to find words or to stop the trainwreck of sentences that sped through his mouth. It seemed that today his mind favored quiet as he drank in the odd sight. Gone was the picturesque look of the feisty mechanic, in it’s place was one he had never seen before. Her love for what she did truly showed she had never seemed more beautiful than she did now in her natural habitat. Relaxed with an open smile, grease smeared on the bride of her nose though, he doubted she had noticed.

“You did quick work. It’s looking less like a hopeless case now”. He offered at last finding his words. It earned him a breathy laugh. The air seemed to grow more humid or was it simply the heat of the blush that was spreading through his body that caused the wind to provide little relief. “Hey I’ll have you know that this is now slightly functioning scrap metal rather than a neat pile of junk”. He smiled at that, both at ease and on edge by her very presence. Naturally the two seemed to draw closer. Gently he brushed away stickly locks from her forehead, returning them to the wild mass that still vaguely resembled a braid.

Her smile softened, leaning into the slight touch. Unspoken attraction and feelings buzzed around the two like the odd lightning bugs that (y/n) had seen some of the new recruits capture in jars. Her words from earlier had just struck him. This was home. From the quirky x-wing pilots that both livened the place and went to places that no doubt haunted them to the brilliant mechanics that kept everything running. Happy to simply do what they do; not calling for any more thanks than what was given always. Always ready to tackle the next job without complaint and here he was somewhere in between hero and average pilot. A part of something bigger than himself, a cause that didn’t strip away who he was but rather welcomed it.

The kiss came abruptly, no words were shared, no fairytale moment just a simple gesture between two people who didn’t need any words to convey what they felt. Her lips were warm against his own tasting vaguely of lip balm she’d often apply and heat. Undemanding almost lazy in their languid exploration of his lips; natural. He returned it with a bit more vigor. Nervous energy focused in on a single task; memorizing the shape as he might memorize star maps.

The loud crash and unceremonious beeps of the fallen over R2 brought them back to where they were. He was the first to break the kiss breathless eyes that he hadn’t even registered close opened. (Y/N) stood there with a giddy smile. The same he had seen moments ago. Her lips twitched before she let out a snort followed by a breathy laugh. If anything the R2 unit complained even more. Bodhi soon found himself laughing at the expense of the poor little bot. “I don’t think it’ll want to help you after this.”

“You good with a wrench Rook?” (Y/N) said as she jutted out her hips, balancing her weight on her left side. “Well more like holding a flashlight if we’re going by what he was doing”. Warm eyes darted to the droid that had somehow righted itself.

“Depending on how well you do, you might just get a reward”

“Oh yeah are you kidding me? I’m the best flashlight holder in the base” he stuttered out. No doubt his face was as red as the streaks that ran along the x-wing. But he could honestly care less. What he had (Y/N) was not defined but he had all the time in the world to figure that out.

“If that’s the case neither one of us will be getting any sleep tonight.”

Sorry I didn’t get to the NSFW stuff. This would have been waay longer if I had. This was already well over 2000 words. I’m always happy to write more of this! tho ;) 

[5vagina]

What of today

Weight gain. Depression.Overbite jaws. Stupidity. Social Anxiety. Body dysmorphism. Life. 

For a moment, a very LONG moment, it seemed like everything I ever ponder about has taken a toll on me. This voice in my head has taken more part of my self than I could ever image, to such extent that something I enjoyed doing became one of my greatest nightmares and a daunting chore. I went shopping. As stupid as I may sound - I went shopping. And it destroyed me for days. 

It was after exam. Oh joy, I was happy that the hellish period of my life has ended; I couldn’t wait to go back home I sleep. Sleep some more. Sleep like all I’ve ever been doing before, during and after the exam period. Like nothing has ever changed; like how sleep has tragically became a part of my routine that sets me off a path of self-obliteration. However, none of my friends agreed so. A post end-of-the-year-exam should be something more joyous than just spending your day-light time in a dark room, wandering into a world imagination in attempt to escape your ‘reality-hits-too-hard’ self-loath, right? They all agreed on shopping. SHOPPING. Something I would have thought of before my life has collapsed into a lump of depressive thoughts. I trepidatiously agreed, thinking this is something I usually enjoy, so why the hell not? Little had I know, my dark room is my sanctuary. 

At the mall, every mirror I walked by was my greatest enemy. My reflection became something I hated so much and kept thinking how many time has it been that I look into the mirror, wishing it would reflect something else? Maybe reflecting nothing at all would have been a better option? Yet, I can’t stop staring at it. I couldn’t stop staring at my reflection, just to hate it even more. You know- the feeling of being oddly attracted to something disturbing. Like watching a horrendous execution however you hate it just because it’s disturbingly interesting? Or like, rubbing salts on wound to numb the pain? Not sure which one it was but feels like I was doing the latter - trying to numb the hate of my own looks by getting used to my own, ugly, inhumane appearance. It wasn’t working and it isn’t working. I still hate the person I see in the mirror every time I look into it. Oh, and did I mention how many mirrors they have at the mall? It’s like the whole world is created to enable only ‘normal’ people to live in. Every mirror I walked by just emphasised how and why I should kept still in my own room. Despite wanting to go home and quit life, I tried to do what I came for - shopping. It was a mistake. A grave one. 

I picked out a few pieces that I thought I would enjoy wearing - of course, ones that hide parts of my body because I couldn’t (and can’t) bear the shame of flashing my own skin to the public. Standing in front of the large mirror in the fitting room felt like standing in front of a merciless canon that won’t stop firing flamed hay balls at me. I would spend almost an hour in the changing room - 10 minutes being actually trying and 50 being hating myself. I had to keep all my rotten thoughts to myself. I had lie to my friends that I was trying on clothes. I had to lie to myself that I was exhausted from the exam, maybe that’s why I was too exhausted to try clothes on. The latter lie didn’t work. In desperate effort, I took my phone out and started taking pictures of my own body from ugly angles in attempt to numb my self-hate. I felt every inch, weight and sag of my fat and I hated every possible part of it. In the end, I would only try on up to 3 pieces before it became too daunting to even carry on trying. At that point, I wanted to go home. I wanted to regress to my room, where there’s only one mirror and everything felt safer (even though I was once too distracted by my own reflection to even study during exam week). I decided I was too tired from the exam to continue shopping and told my friends the same thing. They bought the lie, and so did I. I made plans with one other friend that we would return tomorrow to compensate for today’s reenergised shopping session. We all went to our favourite place for a meal later, they all ate. I didn't’. 

Next day came, I slept a whole 12 hours but it didn’t feel close to enough even though I would have wasted half the day. I had to go shopping with the said friend. We went shopping and the horrible lie I obtruded on myself yesterday came to light. I wasn’t tired. I tried shopping again after a full-night sleep, a face full of makeup and an empty stomach. It didn’t feel good and I still would rather have nightmares in my actual bed than be there. Be at a place where everyone looks so confident, picking out revealing clothes, actually purchasing what now seems impossible for me to buy. Instead of shopping, I didn’t even bother to look at the pieces even though I hopelessly wanted to. I knew I would just hate myself for it. My shopping session became hours of just blankly staring at people around me, wondering how come they be so happy. How come they all exude that much confident. How come they all look so comfortable in their own skin. How come they do that while still looking good. How come they don’t feel like putting a gun in their mouth. How come I can’t be like that. Why is it that it’s only me who feels like a crippled, malnourished person in amidst of a field full of well-fed Olympian athletes. So if you ever wonder why is it that I take so long to shop, now you know why. I don’t. I just spend most of the time hating myself. My depression has become so severe that it’s been etched into my bones - the bones I would never see despite it poking in to in eyes due to body dysmorphism and relapsing anorexia. 

I wasn’t comfortable in my own skin at all and I desperately seek for plastic surgery, although it would be impossible to get one now considering that I’m in a foreign country for at least another good 2 years (If I don’t drop out or fail my course due to depression). I didn’t even feel like a human amidst of my pretty friends. The anorexia and bulimia I escaped from 2 years ago felt like a golden solution. I wanted to weight 37 kg again, and I would trade every strands of my hair for that (actually maybe no). I loved the feeling of my rib cage showing, my vertebrae showing when I bend down, the feeling of my thighs never touching and my phone slipping down the space between it. I can dedicate a whole ‘nother blog on it but let’s just save that for later. 

I came home and try to do things I thought I would enjoy, but I didn’t feel like I have the energy to even lift my left off the bed. I kept thinking about what happened at the mall and how I will not go out my house at all until I’ve lost all the weight I have gained. 

I kept wondering how much depression has weighed my down. How many opportunity I could have taken if it wasn’t for this mental condition. How many bonds I would have established and created only if I loved myself I little bit more and if I didn’t have social anxiety. How much of my potential I blocked out and bottled. How this little girl’s life would have been so much better if it wasn’t for me. How I should have disappeared. For the longest time, I would be thinking “Her life would have been so much better without me” 

I thought about my English teacher who suggested that I start blogging. Maybe she knew. Maybe my writing skill wasn’t that great. Maybe she can see through my depression way before I did and suggested a way to deal with it. Maybe she was just trying to save me. Maybe she saved my life. 

Hopefully one day, I can show this blog to my S.O., family members and friends.

- love