#Source: What I said to my roommate literally three minutes ago

[clean-prompts]

Dialogue Prompt

"I have authority over you!"

"Well I take your authority and I shove it up your butt."

#Is this clean? #Source: What I said to my roommate literally three minutes ago #dialogue prompt #writing prompt #kinda clean writing prompt #idk anymore #writing motivation #writing #writing prompts #clean prompts #writing positivity

[mostlycompetentwriter]

Wow, he’s hot

“Pairing: Fem!Reader x Seo Changbin (SKZ)

Word Count: 8K

Genre: Neighbors to Lovers? Lol

Warnings: Aged up characters (Changbin is ten years older than the reader), explicit sexual content, language, drinking

Summary: You were a fresh college graduate, returning home for the summer before starting a bright, shiny new position in the city, but you certainly weren’t expecting to fall hard for your neighbor. 

A/N: I hope at least one person gets my reference/pun at the end....But seriously? Oh, what have I done...

Your roommate was hungover again, dressed to the nines in a purple bathrobe and pink fluffy slippers as she attempted to move huge boxes of random shit between her bedroom and the foyer of your shared apartment. 

It was priceless entertainment, at least in your opinion, especially after witnessing your roommate in rare form the previous night dancing from one frat boy to the next, draining entire bottles of alcohol like she needed the liquid encouragement. 

From what you had observed, she was determined to embarrass you at all costs, and under normal circumstances, you could’ve avoided her rather inappropriate behavior in exchange for your regular hook-up, Joshua. But he decided to remain mysteriously absent for the entire evening, which meant that you had been stuck watching over your roommate, hoping that she wouldn’t get you kicked out again....

“I know what you’re thinking, Y/N,” Laura huffed, pausing next to the counter-top where you sat. “What did you expect? It was my last night of freedom before going back home.”

“Yeah,” you snorted. “It was mine too, but I wasn’t plastered face-down in the shower last night.”

“Whatever,” Laura grimaced. “Did you sign off on the lease yet?”

“I did it earlier,” you replied. 

“Our bitchy landlord’s been complaining all week,” Laura said. “I’m tired of her late-night phone calls, plus my mom’s been really annoying about the move.”

“Oh?” you questioned. “When is she coming?”

“In like an hour,” Laura huffed. “Why do you think I’m busting my ass to pack everything?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “Maybe you needed a distraction from thinking about puking in the bushes behind the frat house last night.”

“Oh, shut up about that!” Laura hissed, slapping your arm as you kept laughing. “Isn’t you brother coming tomorrow?”

“Ugh, yeah,” you groaned. “He said he has to come super early because of work, but my ass doesn’t start functioning until at least 8:00.”

“Well, at least tell Chan ‘hi’ for me,” Laura said, giggling like a love-struck teenager because she had been infatuated with your older brother for years.

“If I remember to tell him,” you grumbled, stretching out your arms and deciding that it might be useful for you to start packing as well, especially since the most you would be able to accomplish tomorrow morning at the ass crack of dawn is following Chan around the apartment in a zombie-like state as the two of you loaded your belongings into his car.

“Don’t forget that I’m coming to visit next week,” Laura said, and you perked up a little at the idea of having your friend come around, especially since the two of you had just graduated together and those long days and nights of being glued together at the hip were coming to a bittersweet end.

“Sounds good,” you agreed, checking your phone one last time to see a weird gif from Chan (as you had come to expect from him) before joining your roommate in packing up the remainder of your former college life.

Chan had always been prompt when it came to his familial obligations, and the two of you spent two hours loading all of your stuff into his car before starting the long drive to your old childhood home. A place that you hadn’t ventured to since leaving four years ago to start undergraduate school.

“Looks the same,” you remarked, sunglasses perched low on your nose as you allowed the window to roll down to take in some fresh air.

“What did you expect?” Chan asked, humming away to whatever shitty metal song he had playing over the radio.

In a totally random and last-minute decision, you had decided that for the next three summer months while you were stuck in an in-between phase, you were returning home for a while before you were set to move into a new apartment in the city close to where you would be working full-time. It seemed logical to save money, and there was a small part of you that did miss your family and old friends. 

Of course, despite Chan’s dismissal of your earlier nonchalant comment about the unchanging surroundings of your hometown, you were startled when you realized that the old house next door, which used to be occupied by an elderly couple until they moved away during your senior year of high school, was missing it’s familiar ‘for sale’ sign in the front yard, and there was a black Mustang in the driveway.

“Home sweet home,” Chan sighed when he stopped in the carport attached to your former two-story staccato, opening the door with a grumble. 

You frowned, following him around to the back of his car. “Someone bought the house next door?” you asked, dragging your eyes away from the sleek, shiny sports car to look at your brother.

Chan grunted as he heaved your suitcase from the trunk. “Yeah, they moved in last month. I think the owner is a lawyer and he lives there with his daughter.”

“Huh,” you remarked. “That house has been vacant for years.”

Chan shrugged. “Yeah, well, the guy who lives there now is really nice. Mom and dad babysit for him a lot when he’s working.”

“Great,” I muttered. “They’ll rope me into helping.”

“S’ not so bad,” Chan said, growling in frustration when your suitcase fell over to the side with an unpleasant crash. “Can you help or what?”

You laughed at your brother’s outrage, reaching back to pull your hair into a messy bun. 

Meanwhile, you noticed the front door of your house opening from the corner of your eye, smiling when your mother shrieked and rushed down the sidewalk to meet you halfway in a long-winded embrace. “Y/N!! I’m so glad to see you.”

“You’re crushing me,” you heaved through constricted lungs, accepting your mother’s open arms even if it was a little over-eager.

“Oh! I’m sorry, dear,” she said, pulling back just enough to allow oxygen to circulate once again, but not enough to pull you away from her mushy kisses. “You look so healthy and beautiful!”

“Yeah, thanks mom,” you said, slowly beginning the untangling process of removing her arms from around you while Chan struggled in the background to carry your suitcase up the front steps. “I should help.”

“Of course!” your mom agreed, but a distant tug of curiosity had you turning back to look at the house next door once again.

“Hey? Do you know anything about the new neighbor?”

“You mean Changbin? He’s wonderful, darling. So polite, and his daughter is so funny.”

You wrinkled your nose, never having been a huge fan of kids. “Chan said you babysit for him sometimes.”

“It’s always nice to help someone out,” your mother tsked, and you could recognize her patronizing tone from anywhere. “Such a shame that he divorced his wife. Heard it was kinda nasty.”

“It’s not any of our business,” you reminded her.

“Oh, I didn’t say it was!” your mother sighed. “He doesn’t talk about it much.”

“Jeez, how much do you guys talk?”

Because from the sound of it, Changbin had to be as old as your mom to make this much of an impression. You grinned as you briefly imagined the two of them on the front porch drinking tea together and gossiping about the rest of the neighborhood.

“He’s far more friendly than Mrs. Jones was,” your mother remarked. “I think you’d like him, Y/N.”

“I don’t know about that...”

“Well, you’ll get the chance to meet him tonight,” your mother said, smile full and wide. “I’ve invited him over for dinner!”

Oh, great.

“Can’t wait,” you forced out between clenched teeth, rolling your eyes when your mom clapped her hands together before grabbing your hand to drag you inside, feeling only a distant shiver roll across your spine as you walked onto the porch as if someone was looking at you from afar....

Your mother was hardly the type to run out of conversation, and you eventually were forced to leave her downstairs to argue with Chan over some menial thing that he forgot to do for tonight’s big dinner while you trudged upstairs to find some peace.

Unsurprisingly, your childhood bedroom remained untouched, and you circled around the perimeter, studying old pictures of yourself playing sports and hanging out with friends. Fingers dusting over your collection of old trophies and high-school yearbooks that recalled long-ago days of feeling carefree - with the future wide-open in front of you for the taking.

But you were well off in the present, allowing yourself to indulge in the nostalgia of looking through old diaries and journals before your mother’s voice called you downstairs for dinner later that evening. “Coming!” you called back, pausing next to your mirror to check your reflection.

The smell of your mother’s cooking had your stomach rumbling from the hunger of only stopping once on the way home to eat cheap fast-food with Chan, and you forced yourself to walk like a normal person even though every instinct was screaming at you to find the source of that delicious odor.

You were nearly salivating at the idea of your mother’s homemade cooking, and your hand caught the rail of the bannister to turn the final corner, but the sounds of voices from below forced you to pause at the top of the stairs, eyes growing wide as you took in the sight of the unfamiliar man standing in your foyer, talking to your mother like they had known each other for years. “Oh, Y/N,” your mother said, and you shivered when the man turned to look at you. “Come meet our neighbor, Changbin. I think you’ll really like him.”

You held back a snort at the ironic comment because it only took you a few seconds to come to the conclusion that Changbin epitomized the phrase “just my type.”

He was on the shorter side, built like he had literally spent his entire life working out, arms bulging beneath his t-shirt and chest straining the material tight to his front. So much so that you could practically see his nipples through the fabric. 

His hair was jet-black, ruffled from the wind outside, and his eyes were equally as dark, lips contorted into a self-satisfied smirk that you found exceedingly hot.

“Hi,” you mustered without much thought, nearly tripping over your own two feet on the way down the stairs.

“This is my daughter, Y/N,” your mother said, inviting you closer so that you were standing directly in front of Changbin.

“Nice to meet you,” he said in a deep voice that was slightly rough around the edges.

“Y/N just graduate from college,” your mother gushed. “We’re so excited to have her back.”

“I’m home for the summer,” you explained, shivering at the dark look in Changbin’s gaze. “I’m starting an internship in the Fall.”

“Y/N will be working in publishing,” your mother explained, jumping in while you and Changbin continued to stare each other down - something intense and provocative.

“Really?” Changbin asked, eyes making a leisurely stroll of looking you up and in down in a way that had you feeling extremely self-conscious. 

“Oh! Give me one second to check something in the kitchen,” your mother said, excusing herself with a smile before leaving the two of you alone in the foyer.

You inwardly cursed your mother for leaving you both in an awkward silence. Say something!! You screamed to yourself.

“So,” you started, clearing your throat and forcing yourself to stop swaying back and forth. “Chan told me you practice law.”

“Yeah,” Changbin agreed, and you swooned at his crooked smile. “It doesn’t sound as interesting as your work.”

“I don’t know about that,” you countered politely, but Changbin was unrelenting.

“You looked surprised to see me earlier,” he remarked.

You swallowed hard. “Oh, well when Chan mentioned a neighbor with a kid, I just wasn’t expecting someone so....”

“Yes?” Changbin prodded, encouraging you to continue.

Someone so fucking hot, you thought to yourself, someone who was literally made inside my best fantasies, but those explicit thoughts belonged exclusively inside your head. “Young,” you eventually finished, and Changbin seemed disappointed for some reason.

“I’m 32,” he said, and your eyes widened perceptibly, realizing that he was ten years older than you.

“I would’ve never guessed,” you said. “I mean, not that it’s a bad thing-”

“It’s alright,” Changbin interrupted, and you were relieved to hear him chuckle. “I know what you mean.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I can be a little awkward.”

“No,” he shook his head, coming to stand a little closer. “I think it’s nice.”

Oh? What was that supposed to mean?

“I used to have a boyfriend who looked a lot like you,” you went on, freezing when you comprehended what you had just blathered without thinking.

But Changbin didn’t seem bothered at all. “I bet he wasn’t as old as me.”

“He was my age,” you said. “But I kinda like older men...”

Fuck. Did those words really just come out of your mouth?!

“Y/N,” Changbin said, and you trembled at the huskiness of his tone. “You should be more careful.” He leaned in then as if trying to keep whatever he was about to say a secret for just the two of you. “I can be a very dangerous man.”

“O-oh,” you stuttered, finding yourself two seconds away from literally melting at his feet when your mother suddenly re-entered the foyer with a dusting of flour across her chin. 

“Dinner’s ready!” she announced, and you were fleeing behind her without a second thought, escaping the intoxicating hold of Changbin’s presence before you did something you might regret.

For whatever reason, you found yourself sitting next to Changbin in the dining room for dinner that night. 

“I made chicken,” your mother said, gesturing to each dish sitting in a line down the center of the table as she explained tonight’s menu. But you were barely cognizant of what your mother was saying because the close proximity to Changbin was doing very strange things to your head.

“So, Y/N,” your father started when everyone had been served. “I hope your brother was helpful with the move.”

Chan rolled his eyes, but you grinned at your father’s words. “Yeah, I was a little out of it though because of the time.”

“Like I said,” Chan huffed. “I couldn’t get there any later.”

“Let the bickering commence,” your mother said. “Changbin, you wouldn’t believe the fights these two had when they were young.”

“I can only imagine,” Changbin said, and you were wondering how someone could be even more attractive by the sound of their voice alone.

“Do you still need us to babysit for you tomorrow night?” your mother asked. “We would be more than accommodating.”

“That would be great,” Changbin said. “I’ve got a late conference call.”

“It’s no problem,” your mother continued. “Your daughter is just the loveliest.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” Changbin replied.

“Y/N,” your mother said, catching you with a mouthful of chicken. “Changbin’s daughter is such a peach.”

You quickly forced down the food in your mouth when you felt Changbin’s gaze rest on you. “Oh? How hold is she, Mr. Seo?”

“She’s six,” Changbin said, and he shifted in his chair, causing your knees to brush together in a move that you knew wasn’t intentional, even if it didn’t stop your legs from wrapping together. “And you don’t have to be so formal with me, Y/N. Only my clients call me Mr. Seo.”

“O-oh,” you exhaled, reacting to the brief contact under the table, hoping that nobody else was noticing your strange behavior.

“Maybe Y/N could help watch Lucy when you’re gone,” your mother suggested, always the first to rope you into these things.

“Sure,” you agreed, even though the idea of pulling babysitting duty was less than appealing, and you could hear Chan snickering from across the table. He knew perfectly well your attitude when it came to kids. 

“I think Lucy would like that,” Changbin agreed, and you started to nod along until you felt Changbin’s hand move to your thigh.

Just that single move had your entire form frozen in place. 

While your mother continued talking about whatever subject caught her attention, you were left wondering how you should react to the very obvious posturing of Changbin’s hand moving decidedly against your bare skin.

“I’ll probably head back into town tomorrow morning,” Chan said. “I wasn’t able to get much work done.”

You knew it was a playful jab at you, but at that moment you were incapable of coherent speech.

“How is work, Channie?” your mother asked, just as ignorant as the rest of them to the situation unfolding beneath her table. “Anything interesting?”

“Not really,” Chan replied, and you nearly choked on the food you were swallowing when you felt Changbin squeezing your thigh. 

“Try to chew it first, Y/N,” your father chuckled, and you forced a smile which you hoped wasn’t as strained as it felt.

“What about you, Changbin?” your mother politely queried. “Anything interesting happening lately?”

“Maybe,” he said with a tone that was far too knowing.

“Hmmm?” your mother smiled. “You aren’t seeing anyone, are you?”

You knew the question was invasive, but Changbin handled it in stride. “I think it depends.”

“Sounds scandalous,” your mother joked, and you couldn’t have possibly been imagining it, feeling his fingers reach so high under the opening of your shorts that his fingertips touched the outline of your panties. 

You reached down to cover his hand with your own, bringing awareness to the fact that you weren’t ignoring what was happening, and he had every opportunity to pull back.

But he didn’t. In fact, Changbin’s light, playful touches only continued, and you were left reeling for what the intention could possibly mean.

Early the next morning, you were supposed to be cleaning the pool as a favor to your mother, but how could you be blamed for sneaking peaks at your neighbor working out in his backyard? 

“Holy shit,” you cursed under your breath, failing to do a very good job of pretending to be occupied with your current task while ogling the man across the lawn who was in the middle of another round of push-ups, biceps flexing while the rest of his body practically glowed under the sun. 

You knew it wasn’t a crime to permit the occasional glance, but your hardcore staring could certainly be qualified as spying at this point (especially in the direction of a lawyer) - making it blatantly obvious that you were very appreciative of the male form at the peak of performance.

Was Changbin seriously 32? And a father?

The questions boggled your mind, and in your distracted state, you clearly forgot to keep a firm hold on the handle of the pool’s leaf skimmer, huffing in annoyance when it splashed beneath the water.

It was enough to attract Changbin’s attention, and you were sure that your face was just as red as the towel draped over the back of your mother’s patio furniture when he stood to his full height before walking in your direction.

“Were you watching me?” Changbin asked, sauntering over to you with black mesh shorts hanging tantalizingly low on his hips, shirt foregone in exchange for a delightful sheen of sweat coating the skin of his thick upper torso in dripping rivulets. 

“Uh...” you trailed off anxiously, realizing that Changbin wouldn’t be stupid enough to fall for your half-assed excuses, especially after what had happened between the two of you last night. 

“You’re not planning on lying to me, Y/N?” he asked, raising one eyebrow in question.

“N-no, Mr. Seo,” you said, shaking your head quickly, barely keeping a firm grasp of your bearings as he abruptly leaned in closer, musk hanging heavy in the air between the two of you. 

“I told you not to call me that,” he said, lips lingering far too close to your ear for a simple neighborly exchange, and you could feel the body heat emanating from him in waves, holding you completely hostage as you briefly entertained the idea of falling to your knees right then and there. 

“What should I call you?” you asked instead, fisting your shirt between your hands because you were desperate for something to ground you in that moment. 

You could practically feel his smirk, holding in a gasp when his hand settled at the low dip in your spine, fitting into the space there as he pulled you tight against his front. “You can always call me daddy instead.”

Your heart skipped several beats at the scandalous words. Either that or you had just entered cardiac arrest.

But before you could muster a response, you found yourself leaping out of Changbin’s hold when the backdoor opened, and your mother was screaming out your name while waving like a maniac. “Oh!” she said when she realized that you weren’t alone. “I didn’t mean to interrupt!”

“We were just talking,” you quickly inserted, glancing at Changbin from the corner of your eye to see him smirking. 

For a while, the very strange flirtation between you and Changbin simmered down, and you tried your best to avoid him when you could, even if he made that very hard to do since he insisted on doing his morning workouts outside in direct line of your bedroom.

It was during the following week that you brought the divine glory of Changbin to your friend, Laura’s, attention, ushering her into your house when she parked on the side of street. “What the hell, Y/N?” she complained when you started practically dragging her up the stairs. “I’ve been driving for hours.”

“Oh, hush,” you said. “You’ll thank me later.”

“Thank you for what, exactly?” Laura questioned, but your response was to simply push her toward the window, standing side by side as you looked through the blinds.

“My new neighbor.”

“Holy fuck!” Laura gasped when she finally joined you, and you could only nod your agreement as the two of you continued to watch Changbin through two narrow breaks in your blinds, wondering how the image of your sexy neighbor simply mowing his grass could make you so wet. “That man is huge!”

“I think he does it on purpose,” you remarked, feeling your heart palpitate inside your chest when Changbin took a moment to pause his chore, reaching down to remove his shirt and tuck it into the waistband of his shorts.

Laura’s gasp was almost outlandishly laughable. “He’s ripped! Like, Sports Illustrated model worthy.”

“I would buy every last copy of that edition.”

“I’d even go a step further and tape the pictures to my wall.”

You both stopped to look at one another, nodding in your collective agreement. “Not here, though, my mom would freak.”

“Yeah, but how can your mom expect you to just ignore...that!” Laura exclaimed, gesturing wildly to Changbin. 

“She thinks he’s a fucking Saint, but I swear to god, Laura, he’s provoking me on purpose! The other night at dinner? He came over and put. his. hand. on. my. leg,” you said, emphasizing the last line with what probably looked like a comical widening of your eyes. “And he works out every morning in front of my bedroom? What the hell am I supposed to think?”

“No think,” Laura sighed dreamily. “Just enjoy the view.”

“Do you think I’m not?” you snorted. “I’m serious about him doing those things!”

“So what?” Laura grumbled. “Why are you actually worried that your fucking super model neighbor wants to make a few moves on you? I would be honored.”

“I’m not worried,” you huffed. “It just feels like he wants something from me.”

“Well, if it’s a good fuck, then send him all the signals you can, girl.”

“Really?” you muttered. “You know I suck with flirting. That’s why I only hooked up with Joshua at those stupid frat parties. He didn’t care that I was an awkward mess.”

“Well, neither will your neighbor,” Laura said. “Especially if he’s as interested as you say.”

You pursed your lips, considering her comment, but the sudden and unexpected sound of your door opening sent both you and Laura jumping nearly ten feet into the air as you hurried away from the blinds as fast as humanely possible to take up some form of normalcy.

No, mom, of course we weren’t staring at Mr. Seo.

“Girls,” your mother inquired as she walked inside, and you prayed that your mother hadn’t caught the two of you taking sly peaks at Changbin outside, but she seemed completely ignorant. “I have a question for you.”

“Hmmm?” you inquired, innocently enough, trying to act like the position that you had forced yourself into on the bed was totally not uncomfortable.

“Changbin needs someone to watch Lucy tomorrow night, but your father and I already made plans,” she said. “But I told him you would be more than happy to come over and help him out.”

You winced when Laura elbowed you in the side, giving you one of those looks that you knew quite well from countless nights of barhopping as sophomores. “Yeah, I don’t mind.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” Laura snickered, but you payed her no attention as you hurried to close the door behind your mother’s retreating form, breathing a sigh of relief to hear her walk back down the stairs.

In all of your years of existence, never had you questioned the appropriateness of an outfit to wear to someone’s place to babysit.

“Fuck it,” you eventually decided, settling on regular, well-worn jeans and a college t-shirt.

After all, it wasn’t like Changbin was staying for very long. He claimed he had something to do at the office, and you would be all alone inside his house with only his kid for companionship.

Still, after your conversation with Laura from the previous afternoon, you couldn’t help but feel more mindful about how he might look at you, and you forced yourself to wear your most professional smile when you rang the doorbell to his house, counting slowly from one until he opened the door.

“Hi, Y/N,” Changbin said, and you tried not to blatantly check him out; although, you couldn’t help but linger on the tight fit of his shirt across his pecs.

“Hello,” you nearly whispered, cursing your hormones as you followed Changbin inside.

“I actually have something to tell you,” Changbin said, leading you into the living room so that you could sit down while entered the adjoining kitchen.

“Oh?” you queried, as politely as you could, waiting for him to return.

It didn’t take him long, and you found yourself sitting up a little straighter from where you had made yourself comfortable on the couch. “So, I actually found someone else to watch Lucy,” Changbin explained, coming around to land next to you on the couch with two glasses of wine. 

“You did?” you asked, surprised and taken-aback. 

Why were you here then?

As if he could read your thoughts, Changbin smirked. “Thirsty?”

“Sure,” you agreed, taking one of the glasses and bringing the rim up to your lips. “I’m sorry, I just thought you wanted me to watch her.”

“I did,” Changbin said, and he seemed contemplative as he sipped his own drink. “But then I kinda wanted you for something else.”

“Something else?” you repeated because your mind was spinning those simple words in a thousand different directions, and you were only able to settle on one likely outcome when Changbin’s hand dropped to your thigh, reminiscent of your first dinner together from several evenings ago. 

He suddenly moved in closer to you, allowing you to smell the subtle cologne that he was wearing. “You’ve been watching me,” he said, and you shivered, feeling both hot and cold at the same time as you looked at him.

“S-sir?”

“Don’t play coy,” Changbin continued, and you found yourself observing the way his throat bobbed as he drank. “I don’t mind the attention.”

“You don’t?” you replied, a rather useless question considering the circumstances, and Changbin took your glass and sat both alcoholic selections onto the side table.

“Why wouldn’t I like it?” he asked, tracing little nonsensical patterns on the covered part of your thigh. “You’re a very beautiful girl.”

What. The. Hell?!!

“Mr. Seo, I don’t think-”

“Y/N,” Changbin interrupted, and you were so frazzled and disjointed by the sharp grip he took on your chin, forcing eye-contact that was so intimate, you could feel yourself grow a little bit wetter. “I told you not to call me that.”

It was the only precursor you got before Changbin was delving in, gripping your chin firmly as he connected your lips in a deep, sensuous exchange that had you reeling from the sudden 180 degree turn that the night had taken. 

In one word: everything was rough. Teeth meeting teeth, and tongues rolling in a messy glide against one another. Wet and warm. Silky and smooth. It was everything you needed in a kiss to get your gears turning, feeling your pussy positively throbbing in response.

“That’s right,” Changbin eventually said when he pulled the two of you apart - very much still in control. “We shouldn’t ignore this tension between us.”

“No,” you eagerly agreed, diving in once more for another earth-shattering kiss that rocked you to your very bones, taking the initiative to crawl into his lap, grinding yourself shamelessly against the tight bulge in his jeans while your fingers dug their way into his thick, dark hair. 

“Eager,” Changbin whispered between feverish kisses, keeping your mouths locked together at all costs, even if that meant growing a little bit light-headed from losing too much oxygen.

But you couldn’t get enough of him, not after all this teasing and tension. 

You didn’t care anymore, consequences be damned, and there wasn’t a single part of you opposing his intentional touches, giving him enough space to unbutton your jeans before sliding one hand beneath the waistband of your panties. In response, you moaned into his mouth, bracing your hands against his shoulders as he found the delicate folds of your pussy.

“Do you want me to touch you here?” Changbin asked, and you were feverishly nodding, sweat forming at the top of your forehead, trying your best to hold back your loudest moans when he slid right in with little resistance, moving his fingers around the inside of your cunt, stretching and filling you in a way that you imagined was nothing compared to what the thick cock beneath you could do.

But you would take anything from him, savoring the glide of his fingers since you were practically drenching him in sticky arousal, jerking forward every so often when his thumb pressed down a little too hard against your clit.

All the while, you could feel yourself start to break apart from the heated contact between the two of you, aching and wanting for the release that the look in his eyes told you he had every intention of providing.

And you were enjoying every bit of the journey to get there, bathing in his attention, groaning when his fingers curled up just right to tease your g-spot, and grinding down against the erection confined tightly in his jeans. 

Everything was suddenly so much louder, the sounds of his palm smacking against your cunt, fingers gliding through wetness, and the joined harmony of your combined moans and grunts. 

It was a rapid uphill ascent into the clouds, and you could feel him start to move even faster, pulling against the fabric of your jeans, and there was hardly any time for your mind to truly comprehend what was happening. Lost in a sinful haze of lust and divine rapture, wanting nothing more than to just lose yourself in Changbin.

Except he wasn’t letting you simply drown in the pleasure he was giving you, tugging at your hair to bring you back to the present, to the final string keeping your orgasm just out of reach. “You don’t think I haven’t noticed,” Changbin growled into your ear, keeping one hand tight around your waist to stop your squirming as he continued plunging his thick fingers between the tight walls of your pussy. “I see you looking at me because I want you to look.”

You moaned at the explicit expression of his desires, closing your eyes and returning your head against his shoulder, hips titillating according to the way he moved his fingers inside of you. 

“Cum for me,” he said, and you were more than willing to let go of everything, including the moans you had been trying to hold back, filling the house with the loud raucous of your screams as your orgasm snapped and unleashed a molten hot thrill along your spine.

You were gasping for breath, returning from the highest peak of satisfaction, but Changbin hardly gave you anytime to recover before he was removing his hand from your jeans and forcing you into the floor.

“My turn,” he grunted, and the sound of his belt unbuckling triggered some semblance of rationale, and you were practically salivating over Changbin’s cock, eyeing the red bulbous mushroom head and wondering how deep you could take him. “Well?” Changbin prodded, grabbing the base of his thick erection to brush it across the pout of your lips. “Open wide.”

You whimpered, but obeyed, allowing your tongue to stick out just enough to taste the drop of precum leaking from the tip. It was bitter and unappealing, but since it was from Changbin, you couldn’t resist trying more of him, going further and further down until you felt him at the back of your throat.

Your jaw was already aching from the extension, and a distant thought had you thinking, damn, you were gonna be sore in the morning. But it was completely worth it to hear him moan from above you, fingers tightening in your hair as you allowed him to set the pace, rolling you up and down his cock, tongue sweeping the sides and tip and digging into the little slit where you discovered he was the most sensitive. 

At the same time, you were all but humping his leg, desperate to get off again as he used your mouth for his own personal cocksleeve, hitting the back of your throat repeatedly, sending you gagging around his impossible length.

“You take cock like you were made for it,” he remarked, eyes glossing over in a way that had you feeling rather proud of your skills. 

It only lasted for a moment, and he abruptly held himself all the way down for one, two, three seconds until you were whining for him to let you free just long enough to take in another deep breath. 

“Finish me off,” he groaned, and you were working overtime to bring him to the edge, bobbing your head up and down the full expanse of his length, all gorgeous and velvety smooth skin. And you braced your hands against his knees, an anchor to reality, when he finally released down your throat, heavy and warm, causing you to nearly choke as you struggled to swallow every last drop.

“Good girl,” he whispered, petting your head softly as you whined and continued to rub yourself against him, jumping off the brink of orgasmic bliss right after him, allowing your head to fall down between his spread legs.

It was a quiet for a while as you both fought to catch your breath, but then he was moving again, rising from his position on the couch. 

You sat back on your heels at the jostling, whimpering when he stood over you with a menacing sneer, grabbing your face between his hands, forcing your gazes to meet somewhere in the middle even though you still couldn’t completely concentrate. But you were cognizant to at least understand his next words: “Lucy won’t be here tomorrow night, either.”

“Changbin,” you gasped, understanding the implications of his request and shivering at the effect they could still have on your worn-out body. 

“I’ll leave the door unlocked,” he whispered into your ear, keeping eye-contact as he brought his fingers still coated with your arousal into his mouth, sucking while you grew faint at the sight. Then, he pulled them free and knelt down to sear your lips together so that you could taste the riveting combination of your releases on his wicked tongue. 

You returned home that night in a daze, immediately heading for your room after assuring your mother that everything was totally fine with the babysitting, even if you probably appeared a little out of sorts. 

In the meantime, you landed on top of your bed with a sigh, opening your phone contacts to pull up Laura’s name, placing the call without any mind to the late hour.

She answered on the third ring with a curt grunt. “This better be good, Y/N.”

“Oh?” you replied with a nonchalant tone. “I thought you might be interested in hearing about my latest dick appointment.”

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end. “You didn’t.”

“I did!”

“With your neighbor?”

You laughed at Laura’s shrill tone, rolling over onto your stomach with your feet dancing in the air behind you. “I totally sucked him off.” 

“Shit! How big is his cock?” Laura whispered over the phone as if anybody could possibly overhear your conversation. 

“Let��s just say he’s well-endowed.”

“You absolute slut!” Laura exclaimed. “Did he at least return the favor?”

“Oh, he’s a gentleman,” you explained. “He took care of me first.”

“Details!”

“He just fingered me,” you said, even as your mind sprinted with images and sensations; Changbin’s sultry gaze, defined muscles, and the burning desire he had planted deep in your core. 

“That’s hot though,” Laura said. “I can’t believe you actually did anything with him.”

“What? I told you he was sending me signals!”

“Yeah, but I was only halfway assuming that those signals might lead to his fingers in you!”

You couldn’t help yourself, laughing at Laura’s incredulous tone, and spending the next several minutes doing your absolute best to provide a heavily detailed play-by-play of your evening tryst with Changbin. 

“Lucky bitch,” Laura scoffed at the end of your long-winded tale. “I’d kill for someone to fuck me.”

“Well, we haven’t gotten there yet...”

“Yet? Are you planning to go back to him?”

“Obviously,” you said. “There’s unfinished business that I need to take care of.”

“You think he wants to fuck you?”

“I think he wants to do a lot to me,” you purred, smirking at the sounds of Laura’s outlandish squeals from the other end.

Still, you didn’t think those explicit fantasies would come to fruition so soon. But the next night when you returned to Changbin’s house under the guise of babysitting his kid, there were no formalities between the two of you because you both wanted each other in a way that should be considered improper. 

Fortunately, you were tired of caring about other people’s opinions, and it only took Changbin a moment to pull you into his house before his lips were crushing against yours, holding you around the waist as he started working at your clothes.

If whiplash was a thing in moments like these, then you had it bad, trying to follow the taste of him as he backed you both into the bedroom, closing the door and enveloping you both in the gentle glow from the lamp.

“Get on the bed,” Changbin growled when he finally pulled away, reaching down for the hem of his t-shirt. You swallowed hard at the sight of his broad, toned upper form, stumbling backward along the floor, hopping on one leg to finish removing your jeans for him, leaving you completely naked as you lowered yourself onto the mattress. “Good girl,” Changbin cooed, and you shivered at the huskiness of his voice, rubbing your thighs together in anticipation as he blatantly traced the outline of his cock through his jeans.

“Changbin, please,” you panted, already so worked up from just kissing and feeling his hands all over your body that you were desperate for something more.

“What do you want, gorgeous?” he asked, walking slowly around to the front of the bed as you watched him with eager eyes.

“Want you to fuck me,” you said, heart thundering against your chest when he started working apart his belt, pulling down his jeans and boxers and allowing his thick cock to slap up against his abdomen, already so hard for you even though you had just started.

“Hands and knees,” Changbin ordered, and you were surprised by your quick compliance, supporting yourself on shaky limbs as you felt him climb on the bed behind you, tensing when the head of his cock grazed your wet opening. “Look at you,” Changbin rumbled, teasing you even more by running his fingers down your spine, allowing his other hand to reach around to grope your breast.

“Hurry,” you practically begged him, and it was like the metaphorical band had finally snapped, and you moaned when Changbin took a firm hold of your hips, manhandling you back into position. 

“Good girls say please,” he snarled, and your entire form light up at the abrupt command.

“P-please,” you stuttered, and there was an unholy line of curses that left your lips when he directed his cock inside, penetrating you so slowly that you could feel every inch of him until he was snug against your ass.

“Since you asked nicely,” Changbin chuckled, and you had never been so turned on before in your entire life, heart racing and blood pumping, bracing yourself against the mattress when he started thrusting, gentle at first, but then faster and faster as you egged him on, wanting him to go so hard that he split you in half around his cock. 

“Oh, fuck,” you gasped, struggling to maintain any sort of grip on the headboard. 

“You’ve been holding out on me,” Changbin purred into your ear, sounding perfectly put-together despite the fact that he was literally drilling his cock into you. “All those guys you’ve fucked before, I would think your pussy wouldn’t be this tight.”

“You’re just too big,” you managed, crying out when he grazed a sensitive spot. 

“Oh? Is that why this little pussy is leaking so much?” Changbin asked, and you had no response for him, clearly fucked out of all rational thought as his hips slapped against yours in a bruising meeting of skin-on-skin. 

It was undeniable: you had never felt this full before...like Changbin’s cock was somehow reaching all the way to your guts, and you reached down to place a hand over your stomach, imagining feeling the bulge of his cock against the distended skin.

“How does daddy feel?” Changbin whispered into your ear, and if it was possible for him to literally destroy you, then it would be from that heavily suggestive question.

“So good,” you sniffled, tears falling inhibited, leaving your face just as wet as the place where he was crushing himself into you, repeating the same motion of leaving just the tip before re-entering you with added urgency, cock forcing its way between the slick walls of your cunt. 

It was a beautiful melodic song after that (or, perhaps, hard metal would be a much better genre), the rhythm of his hips rolling against your own, hard and then softer, bruising and fleeting, stuffing your pussy on every upstroke, holding you in place by his pure strength. 

You could feel that strength everywhere, the force of his cock squelching between your pulsating walls, the way you moved up and down the bed by his control, and, when you reached back with one hand to feel his arm, the flex of his biceps as his arms worked to move you however he pleased.

“What will your mother say, Y/N?” Changbin asked. “When she finds out that her daughter fucked the man next door?”

Your mother would absolutely lose her shit if she found out that you were willingly spreading your legs for a divorced 32-year old man who had a daughter you were meant to be babysitting. She would be even more taken aback to discover that you loved and craved every second of Changbin’s cock tearing you to pieces, stretching you so good that you imagined that you would still be gaping in the morning, desperate to have him fill you again. 

“Her little girl screaming like a slut for me,” Changbin hissed. “Say my name, Y/N.”

“C-Changbin,” you whimpered, feeling him roll to a slower pace, merely grinding his hips in circles as if teasing you for the answer.

You flinched and nearly cried when he smacked the fleshy part of your ass, trying to look back over your shoulder to see what you had done wrong. “Try again,” he said, giving you a meaningful look that your poor, fucked-out brain still managed to decipher; although, you were burning in your own skin at the thought of saying it out loud....

“Daddy!” you moaned, and Changbin suddenly reached down to catch a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back and forcing your back into an even deeper arch. 

“That’s right,” he sneered. “And Daddy’s about to ruin this pussy, fuck it so full of my cum that you’ll still be feeling it when you go back home tonight to your parents and lie about what you’ve done.”

Your next moan was the loudest of the night, overwhelmed by the nasty things he was saying to you, feeling your orgasm gaining speed and traction the longer he kept fucking you, cock moving at a neck-break pace, and fingers wet and hurried over your clit.

The combined friction of his cock and fingers had you reeling, struggling to keep yourself up as he pummeled you into the mattress. Taking great liberties in the screams he was forcing out of you, realizing that if he angled his hips with one of your legs stretched higher around his hip, then he could somehow reach even deeper, kissing your cervix and threatening to steal the breath from your lungs. 

More and More. Faster and Faster. Until the breaking point was right under your nose...

The next thing you remember is a release that was so intense, you managed to black-out when it was all over, pussy fluttering around the distinct waves of pleasure, barely coherent as Changbin continued chasing his own release until he fulfilled his obscene promise to you. 

Three Weeks Later

You had gotten awfully good at keeping Changbin a secret - a dirty and scandalous whisper at that. 

For a while, your mother questioned your insistence on going over to your neighbor’s house to babysit, especially considering your history of being less than willing to interact with children.

“She’s not like most kids,” you lied, waiting for your mother to relent before grabbing whatever bag you needed consisting of your overnight clothes, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible when you walked over to Changbin’s house.

Your mother watched you, at first, standing on the porch as if ensuring that you made it the dozen or so feet separating your yard from that of your neighbor’s. Eventually, she gave up on trying to catch you doing something you weren’t supposed to, but you still kept up appearances, ringing the doorbell and taking a few steps to the side to leave enough room for the screen to rotate on its hinges, offering you the irresistible view of Changbin standing there in all his glory. 

“You’re early,” he remarked; although he seemed to take great pleasure in seeing you as early as possible.

“Is that okay?” you asked with a knowing look, and Changbin chuckled while giving you his most arrogant smirk. 

In return, you smiled back at Changbin, watching him open the door just a little bit wider in invitation.

It was all you needed before surrendering yourself to whatever delicious and mind-blowing ecstasy awaited on you the other side.  

Summer of 69 indeed.

#changbin fanfic #changbinsmut #changbin imagines #changbin scenarios #changbin hard hours #changbin oneshots #stray kids fanfic #stray kids smut #skz fanfic #skz smut #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #stray kids oneshot #skz oneshots #mostlycompetent

[gukyi]

if i told you | jjk

summary: in order to pay for university, jeon jungkook decides to market his most valuable asset to the wealthy socialites of campus: himself. donning a suit and tie, tousled hair, and glasses (to look smarter), he becomes every rich daughter’s dream: the perfect boyfriend to bring to balls, dinners, and business gatherings. all while you watch from the sidelines, only able to dream of having that much money to buy yourself what you really want: him.

{friends to lovers!au, college!au}

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader genre: fluff, comedy, angst, we’ve got it all folks word count: 22k warnings: slightly underage alcohol consumption, mention of words that could be spoken on an crime documentary series but nothing graphic, ravioli-stealing, idiots to lovers, as per usual a/n: finally! here is the long awaited jungkook fic that i have literally been slaving over since the beginning of january. was this fic supposed to be 10k? yes. did i somehow end up writing 22k anyway? of course! in any case, please enjoy my absolute baby who i love and cherish!

check out the post-script drabble here!

Jeon Jungkook loses his job at the university call center on the seventeenth day of the fall semester of his sophomore year. 

You know this because on the seventeenth day of the fall semester of your sophomore year, he comes banging on the door of your apartment shared with three other girls at 2:07PM, seven minutes after he normally starts his job at the university call center. 

He’s lucky that you’re the only one who doesn’t have class in the 2PM hour. 

“Y/N!” He shouts through the thin wooden door, his voice probably echoing down the thin hallway of your apartment complex. 

You open it before the second knock—you only rush to the door to get him to shut the fuck up, and not because you’re excited to see him, you swear—to see him standing on the other side, XXL university hoodie draped over his figure, down to his mid-thigh, baggy hood pulled over his head like a sad college-aged Star Wars character. He looks exactly like a jaded sophomore year college student would. He is beautiful. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be at the call center right now?” You ask in lieu of a normal “hello” or even a “what the fuck are you doing here, it’s 2PM”. Jungkook does not wait for you to invite him inside your apartment, immediately kicks off his shoes by the entrance and tugs on your apartment slippers that are a size-and-a-half too small for his feet, and marches over to your shared fridge to fish through the tupperware containers with your name written on Post-it notes for a mid-afternoon snack. 

Jungkook waits until he’s got an entire piece of frozen supersized ravioli shoved into his mouth before he responds. “I was fired,” he says over a mouthful of pasta and cheese.

“What?” You ask, eyes widening as Jungkook shuffles through your kitchen drawers for a fork, which means that the first piece of ravioli that he ate he did so with his bare ass hands. Like a heathen. Like a ravioli-craving twenty-year-old heathen. 

“I was fired,” Jungkook repeats. He stares at the microwave resting on your kitchen counter for a good ten seconds before he continues to eat the cold, unheated pasta. Every time he’s in your apartment (which is frequently), he tells you how it’s a fire, water, and explosive hazard to have your microwave on the counter like that. As if there is any other place in your apartment for it to go. Maybe out on the tiny balcony you have that overlooks the busiest street on campus. 

“Care to offer an explanation as to why?” You ask, coming up next to him. Jungkook is nearly finished with your tupperware of ravioli, and normally you’d shout at him for it, but seeing as he was just fired from his only source of income as a money-starved college student, you’ll cut him some slack. Just a little. 

“You remember that old, angry alumnus that told me that asking for donations in order to benefit low-income-slash-first generation students was selfish and rude of me, and that I wouldn’t be in college if it weren’t for what his generation accomplished?” Jungkook asks. 

You remember that vividly. Jungkook spent an approximate two hours and thirty-seven minutes on FaceTime with you ranting about this one “old man bitch” who he had to speak to during his day at work, all while you did your economics problem set to the sweet, mellifluous sound of Jungkook’s shrill shrieks. 

“The one you lost your temper at and shouted at for being ungrateful and elitist?” You ask pointedly. You have a feeling you already know where this conversation is going. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says with a roll of his eyes. He finishes the ravioli (goddamnit, now you’re going to have to find something else to eat for dinner at 11PM tonight) and turns around to place it in the sink. For once, it is not piled high with dishes from up to a week ago, so Jungkook even squirts a bit of Dawn onto a sponge and washes the plastic container for you. “Well, as it turns out, telling an old racist elitist that he’s old, racist, and elitist does not go down well with my boss.”

“Why does that not surprise me,” you muse. Jungkook sighs, walking over to where you’re taking it easy on the couch. “Oh no,” you say, eyes widening as he grins, plotting something. “Do not, Jungkook. Jungkook, do not!”

He jumps, catapulting himself onto the couch and landing on top of you with a thud. You let out a groan as the weight of his body hits you, foreheads nearly knocking into each other. Jungkook is a good foot-and-a-half too long for this dinky leather couch that’s always sort of smelled, feet and ankles hanging off the opposing arm rest just so he can nuzzle his face into the crook of your shoulder like he always does. You hate when he does this. Hate when he jumps onto the couch while you’re casually reclining just so he can collapse on top of you. Hate the feeling of his body resting against yours, soft breathes against the skin of your neck. Hate how it always makes you want more, how it will never be enough. 

“Have you been working out?” You mumble against the fabric of his t-shirt. “You’re more muscle-y than usual.”

“I added weights to my routine,” Jungkook tells you mindlessly. If your roommates walked into your apartment right now and saw the both of you on the couch, you’d never hear the end of it. “Taehyung said it would make me more swole.”

“As if you need to be any more buff,” you say with a roll of your eyes. Jungkook’s the most athletic person you’ve ever met in your entire life. He could probably pick up your dinky couch with you sitting on it without batting an eyelash. Even Superman would tremble at the sight of him. “You’re perfect the way you are.”

“Thanks, Y/N,” Jungkook mutters into your skin. “God, what the fuck am I gonna do now? I need money to pay for everything in my life and my one source of income is now totally invalid because an old guy got what he deserved.”

“Are there any work-study positions still available?” You ask, hand reaching up to stroke at his hair, smoothing it down. Jungkook’s preferred cuddling position is big spoon, but he still demands that he be coddled as though he were the little spoon. 

“No,” Jungkook says with a huff, “they’ve all been snagged by try-hard freshmen who need money like me.”

“I distinctly recall you being a try-hard freshman who also needed money,” you tell him. “That’s why you applied to work at the call center, isn’t it?”

Jungkook sits up, the weight of his figure crushing your legs as he rests on top of them. If you stayed like this forever, you’d probably lose feeling in your lower body, but you’d also get to stay with Jungkook forever, which is a trade-off you would genuinely consider. “Yeah, but the call center hires everybody. You just need to be like… decent at communication. And I’m pretty decent at communication.”

“You never text me back,” you tell him pointedly. 

“That’s because I prefer showing up unannounced at your apartment or other places you frequent,” Jungkook reminds you excitedly. He’ll never let you forget about the time you were wrapping up a small seminar with your history professor and Jungkook burst through the doors with a whole thing of carrots and hummus because you had texted him that you were hungry. You could not look your history professor in the eye for the rest of the semester. “I’d say that’s pretty decent communication.”

“Well, you’re going to have to figure out another way to market your decent communication skills to get another job,” you tell him. “Have you considered the boba place on Oak? You could get me employee discounts.”

Jungkook leans over just to pinch at your cheek, fingers gripping onto your face and pulling like a grandmother. “You just want me for my money.”

“You’re my best friend, Jeon Jungkook,” you tell him. “Of course I do.”

This is what Jeon Jungkook’s obligatory university Facebook group introduction post read:

Hi, I’m Jungkook and I’m thinking of majoring in visual studies or computer science (really different lol I know)! I played soccer in high school but don’t think I’ll be continuing in college because I was pretty bad at it. I’m looking for a roommate and I’d really like to live in New East House, but anything works for me as long as it has a bed. Hit me up if you think we’d made a good match, but I like talking with everyone lol. 

I’m really into music and can play the guitar, drums, and piano. I like listening to all types of music (yes, even country which slaps kinda hard sometimes) but my favorites are The 1975, Frank Ocean, Troye Sivan, and Khalid. Will bop to Justin Bieber on occasion as well. 

I play Ultimate and am really interested in joining the club team here so hit me up and we can practice sometime because my skills are a little rusty. I also do a little skateboarding but I am definitely not a skater. 

Hit me up if you think we can be friends lol I’m excited to meet you all!

It was accompanied by several pictures, a couple of which are selfies at that anime girl angle, one of him with his friends at prom all doing that Frat Boy pose, and a couple of him with his family. To an outsider doing a very quick glance, it pretty much reads the same as a rather extensive dating profile. 

The truth of it all is, as you were scrolling through the hundreds of obligatory university Facebook group introduction posts in search of a freshman year roommate, you stumbled upon Jungkook’s intro post and you thought this: No. Way.

The moment you laid eyes on his first above-the-head angle selfie, you knew that it would be unlikely that you and Jeon Jungkook’s paths would ever cross. He played guitar and did Ultimate Frisbee, and you wanted to audition for your university’s symphony orchestra. He was beautiful but in that sort of college frat boy who can crush you at beer pong kind of way. Craziest of all, he was a computer science major, and you were walking in as an undecided humanities concentration. 

Impossible. There was no way the two of you would ever meet, and you accepted that right off that bat. At a school your size, you would go through these four years not knowing a majority of your class. Jeon Jungkook was just one of the casualties. 

On the very first day of orientation, Jeon Jungkook comes up to you on the sidewalk, wearing a white t-shirt, a backwards baseball cap, and shorts, and asks you if you’re here for orientation as well? He’s lost. 

Jeon Jungkook is the type of guy you imagine getting eaten up by any girl who meets him almost immediately. He’s charming and endearing the same way a baby deer is, but has no problem wearing clothes that remind you of how fit he is. He is, for lack of a better term, extremely good looking. 

“Yeah,” you had said on the sidewalk, squinting to look up at him since the sun was in your eyes. “I’m heading to the auditorium right now. Wanna walk with me?”

“Okay, sure,” Jungkook had replied, smiling with all of his teeth. Even in the sweaty summer heat, he looked even nicer in person. “Thanks, by the way. I’m Jungkook. What’s your name?”

You knew that already. How could you have forgotten? 

You had grinned up at him. The universe has always worked in mysterious ways. “I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

When Jungkook doesn’t know what to do, he stress eats. Most often, you are the single witness to this action, which has literally no effect on his body mass whatsoever since he immediately burns off every calorie (and then some) at his next gym session. 

That is precisely why you are sitting in the second-best dining hall on campus eating a pretty measly salad and french fries, while Jungkook returns from the serve-yourself cafeteria with his sixth plate of food. Next to you is your mutual friend Chaewon, a filthy rich international student from Korea who is probably the nicest person you’ve ever met. 

“I think I’ve called every cafe, bubble tea shop, clothing store, and paid internship within a five-mile radius of this place and nothing,” Jungkook says with a sigh, keeping Chaewon updated with his job-search antics. It’s been several days since he was fired, and while being keenly cognizant of your bank account isn’t necessarily a bad thing, when it means that Jungkook refuses to leave campus because he is in hyper-saving mode, it sort of rustles your jimmies. 

“Have you tried babysitting?” Chaewon supplies helpfully. 

You laugh aloud at the mere thought of Jungkook stuck in some middle-aged parent’s house with their toddler for hours on a night where he could be living it up on campus. Jeon Jungkook? A babysitter?

“Wow, what the heck is wrong with me being a babysitter?” Jungkook questions, offended. 

“First of all, you don’t even let me beat you in Mario Kart on your Switch and I am your best friend. If you ended up gaming with a four-year-old boy, your over-competitiveness would take over you and you’d crush the poor kid and his spirit,” you remind him pointedly. Not to mention the fact that the man cannot cook to save his life, and you can’t even entrust him with microwave dinners because of his irrational fear of modern oven technology. 

Jungkook pouts. He knows you’re right. 

“It’s not like you were going to look into babysitting, anyway,” you say with a shove, nudging his shoulder with your own. 

Jungkook sighs, and despite all of the shit you give him on a daily basis (part of the responsibility of being his best friend), you do genuinely feel bad for him. Even if his job at the call center wasn’t the most intellectually stimulating nor morally rewarding, he didn’t absolutely hate it and he made a pretty decent earning off of it. He unzips his backpack and fumbles for his laptop, opening it up to reveal a Google Chrome window with approximately thirty-seven tabs open of places to work on and around campus. Meanwhile, Chaewon’s phone buzzes on the table, and she heaves out a great, exasperated exhale before picking up and immediately launching off into incredibly speedy Korean. 

“If only the bubble tea place was hiring,” you lament, kissing goodbye all of the free bubble tea you had been dreaming about if Jungkook got hired. 

“I’m glad I don’t work at the bubble tea place,” Jungkook tells you with his eyebrows raised, “otherwise I’d have to see you every day!” 

“You already see me every day!” You should back, but it’s not like Jungkook doesn’t know that already. He’s the one always barging into your apartment or sitting down next to you in the library when you’re trying to study. 

“But maybe you should try drinking less bubble tea, otherwise you’re gonna blow up like a tapioca pearl like that one girl from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory,” Jungkook warns, pinching your cheek as if to make your face round like a tapioca bubble. 

“I can think of nothing I’d want more than to be a tapioca pearl for the rest of my life,” you state simply. It would be much less stressful than to be a college student. 

“If you were a tapioca pearl, I’d eat you!” Jungkook says, and you, out of the security of both your head and your heart, choose not to think too much into it. 

As Jungkook teases you about your slight obsession with bubble tea, Chaewon finally puts the phone down after what very well was several minutes of angry Korean. She lets out this deep, long sigh, like all of the pent-up rage within her is exiting through her exhale. 

“You good, Chae?” You ask her, a little concerned. Even after knowing her since the beginning of your freshman year, you’ve never once seen her get mad, though she looks pretty close to it now. 

“Yeah,” she says, exasperated. “My mom is having this stupid company ball here and she really, really wants me to attend.” It is obvious that Chaewon does not, in fact, want to attend. You’ve seen Chaewon nearly every day for over a year, and you’ve never even seen her wear a pantsuit. You couldn’t imagine her joy at having to dress up in a ballgown. 

“But fancy free food,” you point out. Even if she does have to be trapped in a penthouse ballroom with her parents’ stuffy business friends, the catering company will probably be god-tier. 

Chaewon pretty much bangs her head on the dining hall table. 

“Wow, I didn’t know someone could hate catered food so much,” you say, a little alarmed. 

“It’s not that,” Chaewon says, rubbing her forehead. The pasta on the plate in front of her has remained untouched for nearly ten minutes now. You wonder if she’s even hungry anymore. “My mom wants me to bring a plus-one.”

Your eyes widen. An excuse to dress nice and eat good food? Hell yeah. 

“And it can’t be you, Y/N, it has to be a date,” Chaewon says. It’s pretty obvious she’s not interested in dating whatsoever, no matter the gender of the object of her affection. You pout. Damn. “My mom said, ‘he can be whoever you want!’ but that means that he has to be an attractive Korean guy who’s got a future job in finance.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jungkook says over a mouthful of broccoli. 

“You will?” Chaewon asks. Jungkook just single-handedly saved Chaewon from a night of unbearable business talk with a boy she doesn’t know and cannot relate to. 

You scoff. “You’re just a regular Korean dude, Jungkook,” you tell him. 

Jungkook pouts, bottom lip turned out. “You don’t think I’m attractive?”

You refuse to answer that question. You’re afraid of what you might say if you open your mouth. 

“Seriously, you’d do that for me?” Chaewon turns to Jungkook with platonic stars in her eyes. 

Jungkook shrugs. “Sure. I’ve got a suit. I’ll ask my friend Jimin for a crash course in finance before the thing. When is it?”

And just like that, you and Jungkook’s weekly Friday Mario Kart night gets a rain check. 

 Jeon Jungkook is the sole best decision of your life. 

And it’s funny and twisted and wonderful, because he is the one thing you had failed to account for in your life. He stands there on the sidewalk in the blazing sun, black baseball cap nestled safely onto his dark brown hair, and in the split second it takes for him to open his mouth and say hello, everything changes. 

But no longer is the image you conjure in your mind when you think of him a picture of him on that very first day of orientation, lost and excited all at once. It is of him barging into your apartment and eating all of your leftover ravioli. It’s him laying on your dinky couch like it belongs to him, surfing through all of the Netflix shows available and eventually just settling on old Gilmore Girls episodes like he always does. It’s him standing in your closet to judge your latest clothing purchases and take back any items that you’ve stolen from him over the years. 

It’s imagining him not as a guest but as a permanent fixture in your home, in the place that makes you feel safest. Because that’s who Jungkook is, now. He is that place. He stands in your apartment rattling off a list of why microwaves are a severely underestimated killer, and it takes every inch of your being not to ask him to stay. To spend night after night cuddling on the couch, or make a home-cooked meal together on a Sunday evening, or get lost underneath the sheets on your bed.

Jungkook stands in your apartment like he belongs there. And only in your wildest dreams could you ever imagine that coming true.

Such is the case of that Friday night, when he’s supposed to accompany Chaewon to her terrible, awful, brain-melting parents’ business gala. You haven’t seen him all day, too busy with your club meetings to make time for him after your classes are finished for the week. College is never-ending in that horrible, unstoppable way. 

It’s nearing two in the morning when you hear the knock on your door. Two of your roommates are at a rush event for their sorority, and the other sleeps through your smoke alarm on a regular basis, so you are tasked with the job of opening the door. 

On the other side is Jungkook, as he frequently is. 

Your heart practically freezes in place, like his eyes have shot right through it. Instead of his usual baggy outfit and a bucket hat, he’s standing outside of your apartment in a crisp navy suit (complete with a pocket square), rings lining his fingers and hair tousled in that effortlessly-styled kind of way. He looks like a goddamn celebrity, like a young, successful CEO. Like the love of your whole fucking life. 

Coughing to distract from the fact that you’re practically drooling, you say, “Wow, you clean up nicely.”

Jungkook looks down at himself, almost as if he had forgotten he’s wearing a full suit entirely. “The pocket square is Jimin’s,” he explains, “but yeah. I didn’t want to let Chaewon down by not dressing up to code.”

He’s got remnants of makeup left on his face, having faded and smudged throughout the night. There’s a bit of black underneath his eyes from the liner, a smoldering effect that makes the dark brown of his irises even deeper. “You look tired,” you comment. “Why are you here, why don’t you go home, Jungkook? Get some sleep.”

Jungkook shrugs, looking over your shoulder to see if his arrival has woken up any of your roommates. “Your place was closer,” he says like it’s nothing. 

Like it doesn’t make your breath catch in your throat, stop in its tracks. He spends an evening dressed up in a stuffy suit and tie surrounded by old businessmen and their preppy daughters with whom he has nothing in common, and when it’s nearly two in the morning and he can finally relax, he drives to your place instead of his own. Like it means nothing. As if it means anything at all. 

Jungkook runs a hand through his perfectly styled hair, and even knotted and messy it still looks flawless. “If I’m bothering you, just let me know. I know it’s late.”

It’s so hard to say no to him. 

“Just come inside already before you wake up the neighbors,” you tell him, sighing to pretend like it’s a minor inconvenience. And even running on barely any sleep with makeup smudged underneath his eyes, Jungkook grins as you let him inside your apartment, caving in, just like you always do. 

The first thing he does when he’s inside is take off his fancy loafers and peel off his suit jacket, resting it against the back of the couch. You fumble around in the kitchen for the kettle, instinctively starting to make two cups of tea. Routine. 

Looking up, you watch as Jungkook loosens his tie and takes it off, unbuttoning the first two buttons of his white dress shirt. By the counter, you turn your back to him so he doesn’t see you mentally combust. It’s impossible that he doesn’t already know what he does to you. 

The kettle finishes boiling the moment Jungkook settles onto your couch. He keeps the television off so he doesn’t wake your roommates, and scrolls on his phone with his knees tucked underneath his chin. Thirty seconds later, you’re joining him, handing him the cup of tea before sitting down next to him, severely underdressed in comparison. 

“Did you at least have fun tonight?” You ask. 

“The food totally slapped,” Jungkook tells you. “Chaewon’s parents really pulled out all the stops.”

“So I’ve heard,” you muse. 

“We spent most of the time lounging by the catering table and distracting each other by making up stories about all of the rich people there.” Jungkook laughs. 

“Please tell me you didn’t embarrass yourself, though,” you say. Perhaps Jungkook could withstand a few blows to his ego, but Chaewon’s future pretty much depends on her impressing her parents and their comrades. 

“No!” Jungkook tells you defensively. “Jimin told me everything I needed to know, but all of Chaewon’s friends and their filthy rich CEO parents thought I was so handsome that I didn’t even need to speak.”

You roll your eyes. Of course Jungkook wouldn’t give up the chance to remind you of his hellishly good looks. 

“You just stood there, looking pretty?” You ask. Not as if he doesn’t do that already. 

“You think I’m pretty?” Jungkook teases, a greasy smile sent your way, like he doesn’t know the answer anyway. 

You huff. “Dressed up like this? Anyone would.”

“Chaewon said I was like her fake trophy husband,” Jungkook jokes. “She did all of the schmoozing. It’s not like I could have contributed anything anyway. Unless everyone wants to hear about C++.”

“Ooh, I love it when you talk all tech to me,” you tease, nudging him with your arm. “So sexy, keep talking.”

He laughs. “If we keep talking about Python I might get a little too excited.” He wiggles his eyebrows just for good measure and you giggle, holding onto this moment for dear life as you let it etch itself into your brain permanently. Times like these, you know you can’t forget, saving them for a rainy day thirty years down the line when you’re in love with someone that’s not Jungkook. When you look out the window and think about what might have been, if only things back in college had been a little bit different. 

Jungkook’s phone buzzes on the table. He’s got two notifications, one from Instagram of Chaewon tagging him in a post, and another from Venmo. 

“Fuckin’ damnit,” Jungkook swears, letting his phone drop on the couch cushion. 

“What?” You ask, turning to look at him. 

“Chaewon just Venmo’ed me a hundred dollars,” Jungkook says with a sigh. And it’s not one of those times when you see your bank account balance go up and get happy because yay, money!, it’s when your friend pays you anything over what they actually owe you out of the goodness of your heart, and you refuse to accept it. 

“She did?” You ask, eyes widening. A hundred dollars? That’s more than Jungkook would make in three shifts at the call center. 

“‘Thanks for bailing me out tonight. You definitely deserve more than 100 but then you’d be mad at me. But please don’t be mad at me!’” Jungkook reads off his phone. “I just stood there looking like eye candy. I didn’t do a thing to help her, what the heck?”

You pull out your own phone to check Chaewon’s latest post. 

It’s a picture of them together in the skyscraper penthouse the gala was held in, Jungkook looking dapper in his suit with a glass of champagne in his hand, and Chaewon in a dress worth more than a semester’s tuition throwing up a peace sign like the trendy Asian she is. They look like a K-drama couple. Like two celebrities basking in their fame and wealth. 

Shoutout to my one and only Jeon Jungkook for being my fake date tonight! Thanks to your good looks and charming personality for impressing all of my parents’ rich friends and their daughters. Love you 3000 💕

“Wow, whoever took this picture of the both of you knows their shit,” you say, impressed. You had always thought it impossible for Jungkook to look better in pictures than in real life, but this photo is coming rather close. If you were any more shameless, you’d ask Chaewon if she has any more photos of him. Just him, preferably. 

It’s not as if she doesn’t know about your gargantuan crush on him anyway. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever looked that good in a photo in my life,” Jungkook says with a laugh. Impossible. He yawns, placing his empty mug on the little end table next to the couch. 

“You should set it as your profile picture,” you suggest, leaning your head on him and pretending like this is normal. He yawns again, stretching out as he rests his body against yours. “Hey, we should go to sleep. Unless you want to go home?”

Jungkook groans, snuggling in closer. “No, your bed is big enough for the two of us.”

And who are you to resist?

You wake up to the sound of a phone buzzing furiously on your bedside table. You crack open one eye just a sliver to see who the culprit is and immediately eradicate it, when the sun filtering through your Venetian blinds hits your cornea. You groan, shutting your eyes once more as you smack your hand around to get it to shut off. 

The movement, however, causes the bedsheets to shift beside you, and when you turn, you find Jungkook nestled up tightly beneath your duvet, an arm stretched over your side as he hums in his sleep. 

You’re best friends. 

This is normal. 

(The feeling of your heart beating out of its chest has become rather normal, as well.)

He’s wearing a raggedy old t-shirt of yours that has always been too big on you but fits him just perfectly and a pair of joggers that he keeps at your place “just in case”. Just in case he stays the night. Just in case you ever need them. Selfishly, you will yourself to fall back asleep, shutting your eyes tightly and pretending that maybe, if you never wake up, this moment will freeze in time, locking the two of you together for eternity. 

He mumbles to himself in his sleep, a murmur of nothing as he shifts over slightly, hand dragging up your side. 

God. 

Next to you, the phone begins to buzz erratically again, and wide-awake, you look over to realize that it’s Jungkook’s, and that it’s Chaewon on the other end. 

This is at least the second time she’s called, which means that, despite how tempting it is, you probably shouldn’t silence his phone and go back to lying in bed with Jungkook and pretending the rest of the world doesn’t exist. 

Sighing, you pick up. 

“Jungkook!” Chaewon shouts on the other side. For a brief moment you wonder why on earth she’s so energetic so early, but it’s less that and more the fact that you are overwhelmingly lethargic rather late in the day. “All of my friends said you looked really good in those photos I posted of us. Do you think you’re free next Wednesday night? Seunghee wants you to accompany her to a double date her parents are forcing her to go on!”

“Chaewon—”

“Oh, Y/N! How’s it going?”

“I just woke up,” you mumble quietly as Jungkook stirs beside you. 

“Of course you did,” Chaewon says, and you can see her rolling her eyes on the other side of the line. “Wait, why do you have Jungkook’s phone if you just woke up? Oh my God, don’t tell me—”

“Shh!” You hiss into the phone. Jungkook is slowly beginning to wake up, and you can only pray that he isn’t listening in to the conversation between you and Chaewon. “No, we did not. He got back after your thing and we promptly passed out in my bed, fully clothed,” you whisper loudly. 

“Jungkook went to your place last night? He was so tired, I thought he was going straight back to his. We even got dropped off outside my apartment.”

What? Chaewon and Jungkook live within a three-minute walk of each other. Your apartment is ten minutes away from both of them. 

“You did?” You ask, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Who’s that?” 

You turn around to see Jungkook lying on his back, head resting on a nearly-deflated pillow of yours as he looks up at you, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His hair is mussed, some parts styled and stiff with hair gel, and some parts tangled and unkempt. He looks like he’s been lying in that position for a while, hand resting behind his head as he gazes up at you. 

“It’s Chaewon,” you tell him softly as she laughs on the other end. “She just called your phone. Are you free next Wednesday?”

“Hmm?” Jungkook, still half-asleep. “When?”

“Next Wednesday,” you repeat, a hand on the phone like it’s going to do anything to stop Chaewon from listening to you two. “Chaewon says she has a friend who wants you to accompany her to a double date she’s been set up to go on by her parents.”

“Mmmrph,” Jungkook mumbles. It’s clear he hasn’t even thought about his plans for the rest of the day, let alone next Wednesday. 

“He’s not available right now,” you say into the phone. Chaewon snorts. 

“Fine,” Chaewon says with a sigh. “Can you pass the message on when you guys are done pretending that you aren’t fucking behind my back?”

You suck in a breath. “Chaewon!” You hiss. “We are not—” you quickly turn back to Jungkook, who, by the looks of his hooded eyes and bewildered expression, isn’t listening in, “—fucking!” You whisper. “You know we’re not!”

Chaewon laughs. “Yeah, yeah. Call me later, Y/N, we should grab ice cream or something.” She hangs up. 

“Who was that?” Jungkook asks sleepily, eyes still half-lidded as he sits up in your bed, soft skin, brown hair, pouted lips amongst a sea of white, bundled up in your thick duvet as if sitting on a cloud. 

“Chaewon,” you tell him. 

“Oh, why was she calling?”

“She wanted to ask if you were free next Wednesday.”

“To do what?”

Maybe you were worried about Jungkook listening in to Chaewon grill you about your relationship (or serious lack thereof) for nothing. 

“She has a friend who wants you to go on a parent-mandated double date, trophy boyfriend style,” you explain. Jungkook groans. 

“Pretending to know business is mentally, physically, and morally draining. It feels like I’m selling my soul to capitalism,” he says with a sigh, collapsing back against the mattress. “I just wanna stay here forever. It’s so cozy.”

“Come on, Kook,” you say, tugging the duvet off of him to reveal the rest of his body. He curls into himself at the exposure, refusing to budge. “You’ve encroached on my apartment long enough.”

“Y/N,” Jungkook whines, drawing out your name for good measure. “Noooooooo.” He reaches out to cling onto your wrist, which means that if you want him out of your bed, you’ll have to drag him out.

“Jungkook, you’re swole, you know I can’t tug you out of my bed,” you say with a pout. He knows every trick in the book to use against you, and worst of all, he knows you’re weak to all of them. 

“Good,” Jungkook says with a loopy smile, pulling you back onto the bed like it’s nothing. You yelp as you come crashing on top of him, your body bumping into his as he wraps his arms around you and flops back onto your bed. You laugh and shout at the feeling as Jungkook cuddles up in the warmth of the sheets, pulling you in tightly to his body. “It’s so warm here, let’s stay like this forever.”

“What about food?”

“You keep a stash of Clif bars under your bed, we’ll eat those,” Jungkook suggests. 

You attempt to wriggle out of his grip, hoping to escape before he holds you long enough to get addicted, hooked on the feeling of his arms around you, his body against yours. But Jungkook is nothing if not persistent and clingy, and he wraps his arms tightly around your torso like a koala, warm and soft. “Come on, Jungkook. It’s nearly noon. Let’s be productive today.”

“Gross.”

“Let’s not sit in bed all day.”

“Grosser. Let’s just stay in your bed all day and pretend that we don’t have any real responsibilities.”

“Given that we’re in college, that may be slightly difficult.”

“Fuck that, your GPA doesn’t matter anyway. Unless you have plans on going to grad school?” He asks with an eyebrow raise, turning to look at you. 

“No way, I’m not paying for another four years of this shit,” you immediately declare. Let the capitalist system of higher education extort another two to four years worth of tuition out of you for the same degree? Absolutely not. 

“Then why move?” Jungkook says with a grin. 

“Because,” you say, stumbling for a real answer. 

“Not good enough.” He grins cheekily. “I vote to stay in bed.”

“I vote to do my readings, your CS homework, and get back to Chaewon about Wednesday.”

“God,” Jungkook says with a sigh. “What’s Wednesday?”

“Oh my God, you need to call Chaewon. Right now. Before you ask me what you have on Wednesday one more time after losing all of your brain cells lounging around in my personal bed and refusing to leave,” you say, eyes wide as you worm your way out of his grip, dusting yourself off and heading to your closet. 

“Noooooooo,” Jungkook says, reaching out a desperate hand. “Y/N, come back.”

“Call Chaewon. Call her!” You order, fishing around in your closet for some fresh clothes. You’ve been wearing the same one since Thursday night. You are disgusting. 

Jungkook groans but obeys, picking up his phone and pressing her contact. “Hey Chae, it’s Jungkook. Listen, I’m literally going to Venmo you back what you paid me because you? Literally didn’t need to pay me at all? And I’m actually mad at you for it? Wait, what do you mean am I up to getting paid on Wednesday—”

The phone call presents the perfect opportunity for you to dash out of your bedroom and into the bathroom, where you splash yourself with cold tap water like a model in a face wash commercial (who already has perfect skin, so why does she need this new face wash, seriously?) to clear your head. It’s been a weird twelve hours. Even weirder knowing that across the hall, Jungkook is sitting in your room, on your bed, in your clothes, under your bed sheets. Knowing that maybe, in another universe, on another timeline, you would be in the exact same positions, only everything would be different. 

You wash your face, hoping to wake yourself up. Convince your mind that the past twelve hours have been nothing but a dream, and that when you walk back into your room, Jungkook will have vanished. Or he would have never been there in the first place. 

You leave the bathroom and return to your bedroom to see Jungkook tugging on his suit jacket, wearing the same clothes he had on when he knocked on your door at 2AM last night. He’s still on the phone, wrapping up the conversation with Chaewon. 

“Yeah, yeah, tell her that I’m down. She can just text me, give her my number. I’m happy to do this for you and your friends, Chae. Plus, she’s gonna pay me and I feel less bad about it because it’s a service and she’s not a close friend like you are. Yeah, it’s all good,” he looks up to see you standing at the door, leaning against the frame. “Yeah, Y/N just got back so I’m gonna go. Maybe we can grab dinner or something tonight? Cool. Bye.”

“Dinner without me?” You ask with a pout. 

“Never,” Jungkook says wickedly. “You’re always invited.”

“Have you figured out what’s going on on Wednesday?” You tease him as you walk him to the door. 

“Chaewon has a friend, Soojin, who wants me to accompany her on a parent-mandated double date with a business partner’s daughter,” Jungkook explains. “Apparently all of Chaewon’s friends realized I make a pretty good fake trophy boyfriend.”

You rub his shoulder. He’d make a great real boyfriend too. Not that you think about that all of the time, or anything. “Gonna put that on your resume, big guy?”

“Of course.” Jungkook smiles. “Dinner tonight? We can go to the ramen place you really like.”

“Sure thing, is Chaewon coming?”

“If she wants to. Otherwise, it’ll just be us.”

“Sounds good,” you tell him. “See you then.”

“Hopefully before,” Jungkook says. “Thanks for letting me crash here last night, by the way.”

“Anytime,” you say. Maybe one day, it’ll be true. 

Next Wednesday, there’s a knock on your door at midnight. 

Who else could it be?

It was supposed to be a one-time thing. And then it was supposed to be just a two-time thing. And before you knew it, Jungkook’s number and his services were circling through the ring of wealthy international students, jumping from phone to phone as people crammed to get him to accompany them on their next double date, next business gala, next ballroom dance. 

You had always had a feeling that his charming, charismatic personality would eventually draw everybody towards him, so electric and magnetic that you couldn’t help but want to know him, make friends with him, be close to him. From the moment you saw his Facebook introduction post, you knew it was only a matter of time before everyone on campus knew his name.

[October 17th, 4:12PM] You: do u want to get dinner tonight

Jungkook: would love to but have to go to kim family business dinner with dahyun sorry :(

You: ok next time then!

[October 23rd, 1:03PM]

You: yo what r u doing You: i have so many readings to do rip You: do u wanna come to greene w me and study

Jungkook: heejin is taking me shopping for a fancy suit for her family’s event tomorrow i can’t :/ Jungkook: but i am going to get macaroons for u at the mall so we can see each other later!

You: yummm sure thing!

[October 30th, 9:58AM]

You: hey ik you’re asleep rn but we are still on for tomorrow right? 🎃 You: can’t let our one (1) year long halloween tradition of buying last-minute candy and watching the nightmare before christmas together die

[October 30th, 11:13PM]

Jungkook: omg i just saw this now im so sorry Jungkook: uh yeonjoo wants me to go to her sister’s halloween party tm so idk if i can make it this year

[October 31st, 2:02AM]

You: ok You: thanks for telling me

It’s no fun watching The Nightmare Before Christmas by yourself, you realize this Halloween. All of your roommates are out frequenting one of the hundreds of parties being thrown on campus tonight, and although you’d normally be up for getting drunk and dropping it low, you just aren’t in the Halloween spirit this year. Wonder why. 

Armed with the knowledge that your roommates probably won’t be back until three or four in the morning, you shut your laptop and decide to go to bed early. Early being midnight, but it’s early for you and that’s all that really matters. 

You don’t know why you’re being such a stick in the mud this Halloween. It’s always been one of your favorite holidays, never one to pass up free candy nor the option to dress up, but this one has been particularly lame. You don’t have a costume, your local drugstore is out of mini Skittles packets, and you don’t have someone to spend it with. 

Realistically, you have no reason to be sad that Jungkook isn’t available tonight. It’s not as if spending Halloween together is some ancient tradition from birth that binds the two of you together. You did it for the first time as freshmen, and you were foolishly hoping to do the same thing as sophomores. It’s not a tradition if it only happened once. 

You look in the bathroom mirror, stained with nail polish and dry shampoo and old skincare, and you sigh. Jungkook has every right to prioritize his current and only source of income over a night spent lounging on the couch doing nothing. It’s not as if you haven’t seen your best friend in over a month and this was the only night you both had free. Jungkook drops by after every single event he goes on. Every single one. He stands outside your door dressed in a fancy suit, or a silk button down, leather shoes and expensive jewelry bought for him by the girls he goes out with.

No matter the time, he knocks on your door and says hello, steals a cup of tea and a bit of your heart along with it, before bouncing out of your living room and off to his own apartment. He doesn’t stay the night anymore, doesn’t worm his way underneath your duvet and refuse to move until morning comes. It’s hard to tell if you’re grateful about it or not. 

Sluggishly, you peel off your clothes and wash your face, changing into some old sweatpants from the tenth grade and a t-shirt with an embarrassingly large hole in the armpit. This Halloween, you are dressing up as a lonely college student who is going to bed early on Halloween night because she has nothing better to do!

There’s a knock on your door. 

Your first instinct is to freeze up. When there’s another knock, your second instinct is to grab the closest object to you (which happens to be your water bottle) for self-defense. 

And then, you hear,

“You’re not watching The Nightmare before Christmas without me, are you?”

To spare yourself the shame, you won’t say that you practically leapt out of bed the moment you heard his voice. You calmly removed the covers, and casually walked to the front door. That is what you did. 

When you open it, Jungkook is standing behind it, grinning, wearing the greasiest police officer outfit you’ve ever seen in your entire life. This flew at a marketing company’s heir’s Halloween party? He’s even got what looks to be a fully-loaded water gun in his holster. 

“Don’t tell me this is what you wore to some fancy-shmancy Halloween party,” you say disapprovingly, eyebrows raised as you look him up and down and pretend that you aren’t just ogling his figure. 

“It was fine, Yeonjoo’s sister just graduated college. If anything, she was more okay with it than Yeonjoo was,” Jungkook says with a shrug. You don’t even need to let him in at this point, just watch as he tugs off his shoes and steps inside your apartment like it belongs to him. 

“What was Yeonjoo dressed as?”

“Princess Leia. We made for a very mismatched pair,” Jungkook says, chuckling to himself. “Ooh, did you guys get new tea?”

“You can have some if you want,” you tell him, shutting the door as he eagerly pulls out a box of teabags, turning on the electric kettle on the counter. “I think it’s Wild Berry Hibiscus.”

“Sounds good already,” Jungkook says, and he lets out a sigh that sounds so exhausted, so tired and aching, as he leans back against the countertop, head resting on the cupboards above it. 

“You could have gone home, you know,” you tell him. Even from the couch you can see the droop in his shoulders, the bags under his eyes. He’s been going out several times every week for the past month, and he still has a truckload of CS assignments on top. He spends precious hours schmoozing with wealthy businessmen and women, shaking people’s hands and posing for pictures in the fanciest clothes he owns and then some. The selfish part of you wants him to stay. The part that loves him knows it would be better if he went home. “You still can.”

“No,” Jungkook insists, shaking his head. “We have a tradition to uphold, don’t we?”

Even though The Nightmare Before Christmas is seventy-six minutes long, the night ends long before that. You haven’t even reached “This Is Halloween” before you feel a head hit your shoulder, and crane your neck to find Jungkook having fallen fast asleep beside you, half-full cup of Wild Berry Hibiscus next to the laptop in front of you. He’s still wearing his stupid police officer costume, the navy blue uniform tight against his body. His lips are parted ever so softly, eyelashes fluttering as little non-sounds exit his mouth, hints, whispers of snores. 

He hasn’t slept over since the first time. You’re not sure if you want the trend to continue, or if you just want to be a little bit selfish tonight, greedy, taking and taking and taking. He’s so beautiful like this, so innocent and gentle and soft. It would be such a shame if you had to wake him. 

And so, gingerly, you rest your head against his own, breathe in the quiet little sounds that leave his parted lips, memorize the feeling. It’s not the first time Jungkook’s accidentally fallen asleep on you, but there is something about this moment, sitting on your couch a few minutes past midnight, as the rest of the world celebrates around you, that is so intimate. Like here, in your apartment, you and Jungkook have your own little bubble, tucked away in a corner of the universe far from the noise of the rest of the world. And it’s here that you wish you could stay forever, for once never wanting the feeling to end. Wanting time to freeze in its very steps, the clocks stop and the orbit halts, and it is just you and Jungkook, forever. Like characters in a movie, on pause for eternity.

The moment ends when Jungkook shifts beside you before eventually coming to, slowly opening his eyes as he turns to look at you. You smile at him, dazed and tired, as he sits up properly, staring down at your half-opened laptop and the half-full cup of tea next to it. 

“Thought you’d end up sleeping here again tonight,” you joke, even though it isn’t really a joke. Maybe, somewhere deep down inside you, in the crevices between your bones and the dark corner of your heart, you had hoped that he would stay. 

“Oh, did I fall asleep?” Jungkook asks, blinking away the sleep in his eyes. It’s nearly two-thirty in the morning. 

“Just for a bit. I didn’t want to wake you, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to head back to your apartment or anything,” you tell him. 

Jungkook nearly jumps up off the couch at that, like he’s got springs in his shoes. Suddenly he’s wide awake, brown eyes blown open as he scrambles to gather his belongings, taking the cup of tea and quickly dumping it out in your sink. 

“Hey, don’t you want that?” You ask. 

“No, no, it’s okay. I’ll come by some other time and have some, it was really good, I just fell asleep while drinking it,” Jungkook sputters, words moving a mile a minute as he tugs on his heavy black officer boots, scuffed at the tips from wear and tear. It’s as if he’s desperate to leave. Like your apartment has somehow offended him. Or worse, you. 

“If you want to stay, Jungkook, you can,” you tell him, standing up to run to the door before he pulls the damn thing off his hinges with how fast he’s moving. “I don’t mind. My bed is big enough for the both of us.”

“No, I should—I should get going. My… plants need watering. Right now. I totally forgot.”

It’s not a completely bullshit excuse. Jungkook has a fair few pothos amongst his other worldly apartment belongings, hanging from his ceiling or potted in old mugs and janky shoes. But it’s still a pretty bullshit excuse. It’s dark. Jungkook waters his plants every Sunday, and it’s Friday. It’s obvious he wants to get the hell out of your apartment for whatever reason. 

All you can do is hope and pray that it isn’t you who’s driving him away. 

“Oh—okay,” you tell him, opening the door as he furiously laces up his other boot. 

“Thanks for doing this. Next Halloween will be more fun, I swear. I won’t fall asleep on you. Or anything.”

“Okay, see you soon, then?” You ask, searching for a clue, a hint, anything that will tell you that it’s not you, that he hasn’t found you out yet. That you can still be friends, be best friends, because even if you want to kiss him, hold his hand, roll around in bed with him, loving him from afar is good enough. 

“Yes, yes, definitely. Dinner? Uh… sometime this week? I’ll text you. I have to go. Plants. See you!”

He dashes down the hallway. 

And you end your Halloween the same way you started it. Alone. 

Jungkook ran out of your apartment the other day like it was infested with cockroaches. Or the Black Plague. Or your microwave had just beeped. It was as if simply being inside it was going to scar him for life. 

Maybe your apartment is cursed. Jungkook does believe in ghosts. That’s another reason as to why he fears the microwave. Tiny ghosts could be living inside the microwave chamber and you’d never know. But Jungkook knows better. He knows that they’re there. 

“He just… ran out?” Chaewon asks, clearly bewildered. The two of you have been working on the first floor of the library all day, obviously doing everything in your power to not actually complete any of your assignments. 

“Yeah, something about his plants.” You sigh. 

Chaewon narrows her eyes, the same way she does when she’s plotting something. “Interesting.”

“What?” You ask, nudging her to see if you can worm a less mysterious response out of her. 

“Nothing,” Chaewon says with a nonchalant shrug. She clearly has something to say. 

“What?” You repeat forcefully. Chaewon doesn’t get to go all cryptic on you just because Jungkook ran out of your apartment like it had set fire. 

“I know I’ve only known you guys for, like, a year and a bit now, but you two have the strangest relationship I’ve ever seen,” Chaewon comments like it’s nobody’s business when it is, in fact, specifically two people’s business. 

You scowl. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just…” She pauses, thinking. In the silence, she begins to pack up her belongings, shoving her laptop into her bag and gathering up the small pile of candy wrappers slowly amassing in front of her. “I’ve never seen two best friends have a relationship quite like yours.”

“Thanks?”

“What are you doing for dinner? I’m eating with Yoonji, but you’re welcome to join if you want,” Chaewon offers. Even though you have no idea who Yoonji is, Chaewon would never exclude you from eating with them.

“I’m getting Korean food with Jungkook, but thanks for the offer,” you say, only to be greeted with Chaewon rolling her eyes. He said he’d meet us outside?”

Sure enough, when you head out of the glass doors at the front of the library, Jungkook is waiting dutifully on a bench close by, headphones in as he nods his head and taps his feet to the beat of the music, lost in his own world. He doesn’t even realize that you’ve left the library until you’re two feet in front of him, when he recognizes your beat-up white sneakers and looks up at you in glee, eyes crinkled into crescents. 

“Ready to go?” You ask happily. Your stomach has been rumbling ever since Jungkook suggested you go out to eat this morning. 

“Hell yeah I am,” Jungkook says, putting his earbuds away as he stands up. “You coming, Chae?”

She shakes her head. “No, I’m eating with a friend.” There’s nudge against your shoulder, and when you turn to face her, she winks. “But you two enjoy yourselves! Don’t have too much fun without me!”

Before you can publicly berate her for being so goddamn obvious, she’s rotating 180 degrees on her heel and speed-walking in the opposite direction, zooming off so you don’t get the chance. 

“I feel like we haven’t seen each other in ages,” you comment mindlessly. Twenty-four hours away from Jungkook feels like a lifetime and a half. Forty-eight is a light year. 

“I’ve been busy,” Jungkook says vaguely, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Doing what, going out to fancy restaurants and galas?” You half-tease. It’s sad but true—Jungkook spends his nights living a life you could only dream of. And all of these rituals you share, from studying in the library until three in the morning to crashing at his place and taking naps on separate couches, get put on the backburner. 

“Hey, it’s hard work pretending to be rich,” Jungkook pouts. “Besides, the craziest thing about going to those things is that rich Korean people don’t serve Korean food at their fancy gatherings. They serve shit like caviar.”

“Is that why you’re so desperate to get Korean?” You ask pointedly. 

“Yes,” Jungkook emphasizes. “Man, I just want some tteokbokki.”

“Then we’ll go and eat all of the tteokbokki you can dream of,” you promise. You round the street corner and on the edge of the main road and an alleyway sits a tiny Korean restaurant the size of a bedroom, no more than six cramped tables inside. It’s run by a family who passes it down through each generation, dependent on the starving college students nearby to keep it alive. 

It’s Jungkook’s favorite place. The owner gives him a discount every time he sees him. 

(It’s impossible not to fall in love with Jungkook. Impossible to not be drawn to his presence, his personality. Like moths to a flame, you can’t help but come closer.)

“Ah, Jungkook!” The old man behind the counter greets as the bell above the entrance rings. “Sit! Sit!” He points to your favorite table, a round one in the far left corner that’s right next to the biggest window. “Usual?”

“Tteokbokki, too, please!” Jungkook shouts. The man gives you both a thumbs up and heads back into the kitchen. 

“It’s been a while since we came here,” Jungkook notices. You both usually eat lunch on campus and Jungkook has been largely unavailable for dinner. 

“Almost sounds like you missed it,” you poke fun. 

“God, I missed it so much,” Jungkook exclaims, tilting his head back in exasperation. “I didn’t realize that it would be so much work to get dressed up in a suit and look hot.”

“Don’t make it sound like such a drag.” You frown. Jungkook needs to put in literally zero effort to look hot. Sitting across from him in this tiny Korean restaurant as he wears nothing but a massive hoodie and black joggers, he looks hot. When he wakes up in your bed in a raggedy t-shirt, he looks hot. When you catch him at three in the morning in the library after eighteen straight hours of studying, he looks hot. 

Jungkook sits there and radiates light. Radiates warmth and joy and beauty. Laughter and hope. He’s the college version of a Disney prince. Perfectly imperfect and completely out of your reach. 

“I wish I could take you with me, you might enjoy it,” Jungkook sighs. “Plus, I have literally never seen you wear something fancier than business casual. Imagine you in a ballgown!”

“In your dreams, Jeon,” you rebuke. “Free catered food sounds nice but having to mingle with the 1% does not.”

“Touché,” Jungkook concedes. “I don’t know how Chaewon does it.”

“She’s a goddess.”

“Indeed.”

Jungkook pours you a cup of water from the pitcher that the old man dropped off, and then pours one for himself. “Chaewon said that I did well, though.”

Not surprising. Jungkook excels at everything he does. 

“Of course you did, you sexy beast,” you chide. 

“She said I’d make a good boyfriend.”

You choke on your water as the man’s son brings out your food, and you desperately attempt to avoid eye contact as you sputter and cough into a napkin, gaze pointed away from both a surprised waiter and a concerned Jungkook, who awkwardly thanks the man and leans over to pat your back. 

“You good?” He asks, brows furrowed. 

Coughing, you say, “I’m okay, I’m okay. It just—it went down the wrong pipe, that’s all.” Jungkook doesn’t buy it, and the little coughs escaping your throat don’t do much to corroborate your claim. “Seriously, Jungkook. I’m okay. It’s just water.”

“You looked like you were on the verge of death,” Jungkook frowns. 

“That’s just my face,” you fire back. “Just keep talking about what you were saying earlier. What was it?”

“Being a good boyfriend,” Jungkook says, and with no water near your lips to distract you this time, your mind bears the full force of his words, weighing down on your shoulders like a calculus textbook. 

It’s not as if you aren’t already aware that Jungkook would be the best boyfriend in the entire world, bar none. Not as if you don’t sit in bed and dream of a parallel universe, a life other than the one you’re living in right now, where Jungkook is lovely and wonderful and yours. He knocks on your door at a random hour in the afternoon with Chinese takeout from the local restaurant. He remembers your homework assignments when you forget them. He sits in bed with you and judges the Instagrams of the guys on the latest Bachelorette season. It’s as if he was already yours.

“Believe me,” you scoff. “The people know how great of a boyfriend you are.” 

“It’s fake, though,” Jungkook reminds you. “It’s only for a night. An evening, really.”

“Better than nothing,” you sigh. “If only I had enough money to rent myself a fake boyfriend for a night.”

“If only your parents were the CEOs of a multibillion dollar cooperation,” Jungkook adds on. 

“Truth,” you say, and you and Jungkook toast to that. Toast to knowing that some people are born with a silver spoon in their mouths. Toast to knowing that some of those people can get for themselves something you can only imagine in your wildest dreams—a night with Jungkook. More than just a night. A night spent dressed up in your fanciest clothes, arms wrapped tightly around each other. A night spent as a couple, rather than you and Jungkook. 

Toast to knowing that even if you’ll never get to have him like that, you get to have him like this, and you’d rather it be like this than nothing at all. 

“You don’t need to rent a fake boyfriend for a night, Y/N,” Jungkook tells you once you’ve downed the water in your glasses (stay hydrated!). “You shouldn’t feel pressured to spend time with people you don’t want to spend time with.”

You don’t understand, you sigh. I’d give anything to spend time with you. 

Jungkook pays. He says that he’s made more money accompanying wealthy socialites—even ones that don’t go to your school, because word gets around—than he would in a month’s worth of shifts at the call center. He says he’s never looking back. He’s probably not going to give up the gig for a while, either. 

“Just because you have cash now doesn’t mean you get a free pass to pay for everything we do together,” you warn. You’ve always split the price of meals, split the price birthday cakes for your friends. In the beginning of freshman year, Jungkook ate a quarter of a bag of goldfish you had and paid you fifty-three cents to account for his consumption, which you immediately sent back to him. You still fight over it, finding surreptitious ways to incorporate it into the Venmo payments you make to each other. 

“I’m rich, I can do whatever I want with my money,” Jungkook proclaims. “And if that means treating my best friend to a meal, then that means I’m gonna treat her to a meal.”

“That’s very rude of you,” you tell him pointedly. “Zero out of ten, worst best friend in the entire world. Will not accept my Venmo payments.”

Walking down the sidewalk, side by side, Jungkook wraps an arm around you and pulls you in for a side hug as you come to a stop at a traffic light. “You always do so much for me and Chaewon. You deserve to be treated once in a while, Y/N.”

“Why, ‘cause I go out to CVS at ten at night to get you Nyquil after you catch the common cold from some sweaty guy at the gym?” 

“That,” Jungkook nods, conceding, “and also because you’re one of the best friends anyone could ever ask for. The people who know you are lucky to get to say your name.”

If only Jungkook knew that he was the exact same. It’s an honor to know him. It’s a blessing to love him. 

“What fancy clothes do you own?” Chaewon’s lying on your bed, scrolling mindlessly on her phone. 

“I don’t know,” you respond, brows furrowing. You get up from your desk chair to start fishing through your closet,  “I have, like, some business casual stuff.”

“How about a dress?”

You whip around suspiciously, eyeing Chaewon as she lounges around in your room and acts like she isn’t plotting something nefarious. “Don’t you think you could tell me what you’re trying to convince me to do before you ask me if I have the appropriate clothing?” 

Even lying on her back, Chaewon still manages to roll her eyes, sitting up to meet your gaze. “There’s a gala tonight to celebrate some big business deal being closed and I want you to come with me,” she says like it’s a chore, exasperated. 

“Me?” You frown. “Why not Jungkook?”

“He said he had some thing to do for some other girl,” Chaewon says. The topic clearly is not at the forefront of her mind. It’s a little too obvious that it’s at the forefront of yours. “Besides, I was given no date restrictions and you deserve to have a little fun tonight. It’s a Friday!”

“I just want to stay in bed and play Legend of Zelda,” you tell her. 

“You’re already out of bed,” Chaewon points out unhelpfully. 

“Well, then I want to get into bed and play Legend of Zelda,” you rephrase. 

Chaewon pouts. “Noooo, please? It’ll be fun, I swear,” Chaewon pleads.  “It’s a huge party and hundreds of people are going to be there. Everybody gets to bring a plus one. You won’t be the only person who doesn’t know anything about business and has to cling onto their date in order to survive.”

“Gee, thanks. That makes me want to go so much,” you deadpan. 

“Seriously, Y/N. When was the last time you went out on a Friday?”

A while ago. You and Jungkook started having Mario Kart nights on Friday in the middle of your freshman year after you both came to the conclusion that every frat party smells, sounds, and tastes like the same fifty shades of college regret. You haven’t gone out since. 

“Not that long ago,” you lie. It’s been months.

“Yeah, right,” Chaewon scoffs. “Don’t think I don’t see your Bitmoji on the SnapMap sitting in your damn apartment on a Friday at 11PM,” she scolds.

“I’m gonna turn off my location,” you declare. You’ve had enough of Snapchat exposing you and your location. People can live in mystery about your whereabouts from now on. They don’t need to know. Chaewon certainly does not. 

“No excuses, you’re coming with me to the gala! You must have something to wear in that closet of yours, don’t you?” She slides off of your bed with a thud and joins you as you stand in front of your clothes. None of them scream fancy. None of them even whisper it. You stand back as she shuffles through your clothes, hangers squeaking as she shoves them along the rail. Chaewon tears through your clothing faster than you skim through your economics readings. “Aha! What do we have here?”

She whips out a dress from the very back of your closet, right behind the blazer you never wear because you’d rather be caught dead than in business attire. It’s old—you don’t think you’ve worn it since the beginning of your freshman year when you thought you actually had to dress up for parties. Needless to say, you dry-cleaned it the following Monday and never wore it again. You don’t even recall bringing it to college this year. 

“This is perfect!” Chaewon cries. “Really says ‘I can fucking dress myself’, don’t you think?”

“Are you implying that I can’t dress myself?” 

“You should definitely wear this,” Chaewon decides, dodging the question. “Gucci and Louis Vuitton are overrated, anyway.”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I.” Chaewon thrusts the dress towards you.

Chaewon shakes her head. “Of course you don’t.” 

Three hours later finds you one makeup and hair session later, standing in the lobby of a magnificent skyscraper wearing a dress that maybe could have done without the cup of frozen yogurt that you ate before you arrived. Now you remember why you haven’t really worn it since the beginning of last year. Has it shrunk?

“I feel like a loser, Chaewon,” you hiss as she bats her eyelashes and gets directed to the private elevator that will lead you both to the top floor. “A money-less, jobless loser.”

“At least you’re honest, Y/N,” Chaewon whispers back as you step into the elevator. Despite being nearly an hour and a half late (“Fashionably so!” Chaewon exclaims.) you are crowded into the back corner, several other couples stepping inside to join you, all of them wearing clothes that cost more than your tuition for all four years of college, combined. “That’s better than most of the people here.”

Nothing separates the rich from the poor like morality. 

When the elevator doors open, you and Chaewon are the last group to step out, milling about in the corner until the path is free. And when you turn your gaze away from her, you realize just why Jungkook’s so keen on going to events like these, why he never turns down an offer when it lights up his phone screen. 

In movies, rich people flaunt their wealth so extravagantly that it almost looks fake. From gigantic ice sculptures to ten-feet-tall chocolate fountains, entire orchestras and dresses worth thousands of dollars, it makes you wonder if rich people really do see those items as necessities when throwing a party. They rent out entire European castles and the press publicizes every one of their actions. To you, it looks contrived, unrealistic. Even if rich people have enough money to sustain the bottom 99% for hundreds of years, how could they spend their money on nonsense like this?

As it turns out, the ice sculptures and chocolate fountains are only half of the story.

At this gala, the hosts have spared no expense. The entire penthouse is made purely of glass, from the ceiling, to the floor, to the walls in between, giving you an absolutely breathtaking view of the city lights dozens of feet below you, of the stars millions of light years away. It’s as if you’re standing in a bubble, frozen in time, the world sparkling and twinkling and shimmering around you. You didn’t even know a place like this existed on Earth. The price to book it must be astronomical. The view, even more so. 

“Holy fuck,” you murmur, mouth dropping open at the sight. It’s a movie come to life. It’s a picture straight out of a fairytale. 

“Pretty sweet, right?” Chaewon says, clearly proud of herself for convincing you to join her. “The Parks and the Ohs really felt like celebrating.”

“No shit,” you say, dumbfounded. Chaewon wraps her arm around yours and leads you out of the elevator, her poise and grace akin to that of a princess. She’s been to this place before. She could do this in her sleep. 

“Pictures first, then we eat, and then we mingle,” Chaewon instructs, and you nod diligently. She’s the only way you’re going to make it out of this night unscathed. Without her, you don’t know what you’d do. 

On the average day of an average life of an average person, pictures means getting a stranger to take a single pic on your shitty iPhone at your worst angle, which you will begrudgingly post to your Instagram later after extensive editing. 

But this is not your average day, and these are not average lives of not average people. Pictures means professional photographers with entire setups, standing with their cameras held up to their eyes, poised and ready for the next shot. It means couples, one by one, stepping in front of a gorgeous backdrop and posing, over and over, as five photographers at once cram to get their best angle, the cleanest photo. 

You don’t know how to pose for photos. You barely remember what the proper formatting is for your essays, depending on the citation structure. And yet, Chaewon is ushering you over in front of the photographers, immediately striking one of her classic, perfect poses as you flail about, trying to figure out what to do with your hands. 

“Just relax,” Chaewon advises. Even standing beside you, she can see you panicking in her periphery. “And smile. You’re beautiful, so show them that.”

Eventually, as the photographers switch positions to get different angles, you stop worrying about your hands, stop worrying about your bag, your feet, your head tilt, and just grin. You may not have millions of dollars to your name, but it’s a Friday night and you’re living the life of a billionaire with no responsibilities. You deserve to live a little. 

When the next group comes up, Chaewon nudges you out of the way and whispers to one of the photographers, who nods dutifully in response. Wrapping her arm around yours once more, she guides you to the massive catering setup, tables and tables lined with delicacies from every country you could imagine. And of course, a gargantuan chocolate fountain in the middle of it all. 

Your stomach rumbles. Clearly, the frozen yogurt was not enough to hold you off. Or maybe it’s just because you’ve been eating college dining hall food for weeks now, and are probably going to throw up if you have to have dry beef one more time. 

“If you want to, you should try the caviar. It’s delicious. Avoid the eggplant, it tastes like foot, but the brussel sprouts are delicious. Kimchi’s good, too. Classic,” Chaewon instructs as you walk around the tables, placing servings the size of quarters onto your plate just so you can have a taste of everything. Chaewon sticks to some ribs, pan-seared salmon, and a vegetable so expensive you’ve never even heard of it before. 

“Im Chaewon, is that you?”

“Mrs. Kim!”

A strange older woman comes up to the two of you as you’re dishing up, and Chaewon’s face immediately lights up. The woman goes in for a hug, a barely-touching pat of the shoulders and hands. Over her shoulder, you watch as Chaewon rolls her eyes and pulls a face. 

“How are you, dear? You look so grown up,” Mrs. Kim says. You watch as the light slowly fades from Chaewon’s eyes with each second that passes. 

“I’m very well, Mrs. Kim. Did you get your hair done? It makes you look so youthful.” Chaewon’s a master. She glares at you when Mrs. Kim isn’t looking, raising her eyebrows as if to say learn, young padawan. This is how it’s done. They go on for a couple minutes, showering fake compliments on each other as you slowly begin to eat. You scrunch your nose up. Chaewon’s right. The eggplant does taste like foot. 

“And who is this?” Mrs. Kim asks, turning her focus onto you. You look up like a deer in headlights, a brussel sprout puffing your cheek. You were not meant to mingle and eat at the same time. 

“This is one of my closest friends, Y/N,” Chaewon introduces for you. You nod your hello, chewing the brussel sprout in the most nondescript manner possible in an effort to save whatever is left of your dignity. “She’s pre-law.”

You are not pre-law.

“Oh, how wonderful! You must have a lot you want to accomplish in life,” Mrs. Kim says. God, you couldn’t care less about how Mrs. Kim feels about you.

“Yes, definitely,” you say awkwardly. 

“We really must be going, Mrs. Kim. My parents will want me to make sure I do my rounds,” Chaewon says, a hand on your arm as she makes to get you both the fuck out of there. 

“Of course, of course,” Mrs. Kim concedes, sending you and Chaewon one final goodbye before moving on to find her next victim. 

When she leaves, Chaewon seems to let out the biggest exhale of her life. “Holy fucking shit, I thought she’d never leave,” she exclaims, grabbing a flute of champagne and downing it in a single go. “She’s an associate of my father’s, so she’s always trying to kiss my damn ass. Like, sorry that you need to brown-nose your boss and his daughter just so you bribe your idiot son’s way into college.”

“You like mingling, I take?” You joke. 

“Just murder me.”

“Have any tips?”

“Flex as hard as possible without actually flexing. Try to speak to people your age because they are usually more bearable than people older than you. The best conversationalists are anybody under the age of ten,” Chaewon tells you. She picks up another glass of Prosecco. “Want some champagne?” 

“You have it,” you tell her. “I think you need it more than I do.”

Chaewon shrugs. Not as if they’re running out any time soon. She gulps it down and places it on the tray of one of the caterers as they whiz by her. 

The rest of the night passes by in the same way the beginning of it did. Chaewon drags you around the penthouse, talking with her father’s business partners and associates and their sons and daughters and husbands and wives for no more than two minutes each before moving on. She’s got her technique down pat. Greet, compliment, shade, flex, compliment, say goodbye. It’s foolproof, because you immediately notice that everyone else in the room has adopted the same approach. 

Business gatherings like these are just one big game of who can be the most-liked and the least-liked at the same time. And the answer: everybody, all at once. 

Halfway through the evening, Chaewon collapses against the back wall, totally unafraid of the possibility of the glass giving out behind her. She doesn’t care. If it breaks, it breaks. 

“Tired?”

“I just need a break,” Chaewon declares. “Because everyone in here is so fucking fake, and you’re the only one I can talk to without wanting to rip out my eardrums.”

“I’m honored,” you say sarcastically. 

“When I say you’re the only honest one here, I mean it,” Chaewon says. You lean back against the wall next to her, looking out into a sea of people in fancy clothes with fancy food and fancy friends. “Look at all these people, Y/N. All these fucking people, and you’re the only one who’s true.”

And then, you spot him. 

He’s far away, standing in a group of people you don’t recognize, a hand on the small of another girl’s back. He’s wearing a navy blue suit, tight-fitting and tailored, a silver watch sparkling on his wrist as he adjusts his sleeves. One of the other young men in the group says something funny, and he tilts his head back to laugh, chuckling as the girl beside him curls into his arms. 

You suppose it would have been ignorant of you to assume Jungkook was elsewhere on a night like this, at a gathering where everybody who knows anybody is here. 

Jungkook must not know you’re here. He mustn't, otherwise he would have come over to find you. You must have entered at different times, spent the night wandering around different parts of the penthouse. Clinging onto Chaewon’s arms, you must have avoided his gaze, and he, yours. 

Chaewon hasn’t spotted him either. Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe it’s better, if you’re the only one stuck with the knowledge that he’s here tonight. Chaewon would pity you. Other people would ask you how you knew such a worldly, experienced man like him. And you would spend the night wallowing in sadness, wondering why it’s never you that gets to spend the night next to him. 

From this distance, you can see Jungkook perfectly. The light from the moon shines down on him like a goddamn spotlight, catching the sparkling on his wrist, leaving a silver gleam in his slicked back hair. You watch as he laughs, smiles, talks, grins and beams and socializes. Of course he’s here. Of course. He’s so good at this, so good at being real and genuine and happy. 

Chaewon says the only person in the room who is true is you, but how can that be? How can that be when Jungkook, the most honest, wonderful, real person you know, is standing in front of you? You aren’t honest. You aren’t true and real and whole. You stand on the sidelines, a wallflower in a room of daisies and roses, and pine from afar. Watch as he pretends to date a girl that’s not you, wraps his arm around her waist and kisses her cheek, and you act like everything is alright. 

It sucks, being trapped like this for fear of him seeing you. You know that would be worse—if he saw you standing alone and decided to take matters into his own hands. Seeing him up close in a penthouse like this, a movie set, shimmering and sparkling, it would be worse. Jungkook pulls the girl beside him in close to his side, smiling as he listens to someone else speak. She’s the perfect height in those heels, just tall enough to rest her head in the crook between his neck and his shoulder. You imagine them walking into the room together, hand in hand. Imagine them posing for the pictures like a real couple, a pair of celebrities. 

You suppose you have no reason to be jealous of her, of him, of what they have. Jealousy is when resenting someone for having something that you once had. You never had a life like that with Jungkook. You’ll never have a life like that with him. Never get dressed up to go out, never get to be his date to an event. Never get pictures taken of you as a couple, never feed each other candies and strawberries dipped in chocolate. You can’t be jealous of her. You were never in the running to begin with. 

“Ready to get back out there?” Chaewon asks, placing a firm hand on your shoulder. 

A waiter comes by with a tray of champagne flutes, offering it to the both of you. 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Chaewon tells you as she takes a glass for herself. 

You sigh, casting another glance over at Jungkook. He and his date are moving around now, joining another social circle on the opposite side of the penthouse. He looks so at ease, so comfortable. He belongs there, in the middle of it all, talking and laughing and grinning. And you? You belong back at home, underneath your duvet covers playing a game of Mario Kart. Not here. 

You shake your head. You could use a drink or two in this state. “I’d love one, actually. Thank you.”

That night, you stay at Chaewon’s place. 

“You’ve been acting weird.”

“Hello to you, as well,” you say with a scowl as Chaewon sits down across from you at the local ramen place. 

“Listen,” Chaewon begins, “I’ve been thinking. You need to confess to Jungkook.”

You nearly spit out the complimentary water you were served. “Excuse me?”

“You need to. You’ve been acting weird and that’s the only thing that’s going to fix it,” Chaewon declares. 

“What do you mean I’ve been ‘acting weird’? Care to explain?” You ask, offended. You haven’t been acting weird. Well, that weird. Maybe a little weird.

“Jungkook told me you haven’t seen each other for the last eight days,” Chaewon points out. Eight days? It’s more like seven and a half. Not that you’ve been counting, or anything. 

“So? We’re busy people,” you defend. It’s a good enough excuse. You’re sophomores in college. You have classes. Clubs. You have to meal prep. 

“So? You guys are best friends. You make time to see each other at three in the fucking morning if you haven’t seen each other yet that day. And you haven’t seen each other for eight whole days? What’s wrong with you?” Chaewon demands. 

“Nothing! What the heck, I invite you out to a best friend ramen date and you just blaspheme all over me like this?” You accuse. This is not how you imagined today to be going. This isn’t how you imagined this week to be going. “Besides, it’s only been seven and a half days. He’s over-exaggerating.”

“Seven and a—holy fuck, you are literally the worst. Can you just stop resisting? If you tell him, everything will be fine and go back to the way things were,” Chaewon says, blinking, flabbergasted. 

“No, they will not,” you hiss. “Everything will change if I tell him. We’re best friends, Chae. Imagine if I told you that I loved you. What would you do?”

“I’d love you back, that’s what!” Chaewon tells you. “You deserve to be loved back, Y/N. Nothing would change between us. I already love you. You’re one of my most favorite people ever. I would never regret something if it was with you.”

“It’s different with him, though,” you try to explain. You don’t know why—you just know that it is. The way you’re friends with Chaewon and the way you’re friends with Jungkook are entirely separate. You love Chaewon. You’re not in love with Chaewon. 

“Is it? How?” Chaewon says. 

“I don’t know, I just—it’s different with him.” There’s no way to describe it. Jungkook appeared in your life and it was as if everything just clicked into place. There isn’t a single thing in your life that makes more sense to you than Jungkook. “It’s always been different with him. With you, I—I knew that we would become really close friends once we started talking a lot more in the beginning of freshman year. But with him—I don’t know. From the moment I met him, I knew that I would fall in love with him. When he said hello to me, I was fucked. There’s never been any hope for me, Chae. I just have to live like this forever.”

Chaewon rolls her eyes. “No, you don’t. You don’t even see what the fuck is right in front of you.”

“You?”

“God, I’m friends with idiots. Literal idiots. How you guys have made it through nearly a year and a half of college is beyond me,” Chaewon says to nobody in particular. “Seriously, tell me, Y/N. What do you think will happen if you tell him? Just out of curiosity.”

“I don’t know—” you pause. A lot of things. He tells you he just wants to stay friends. He rejects you because he’s not interested that way and you can’t really be friends anymore because it’s weird now. He’s already interested in somebody else. He’s already dating somebody else and you never even knew. He’s not looking for a relationship right now. Things get awkward because you confessed to your best friend that you’re in love with him and he doesn’t feel the same. You end up never speaking to each other. You never see each other. You go through the rest of university seeing each other on the Green by chance and not knowing what to do. You graduate and move on with your lives. And suddenly, he’s just a past friend you used to have. No longer a part of your life. No longer given the chance to. “He rejects me. We never speak again and have to avoid each other at all costs. He lets me down easy and I feel like a total loser for having confessed in the first place. There’s a lot.”

“Jesus, Y/N. Aren’t you forgetting a possibility?” Chaewon says, eyebrows raised high. 

“I’m omitting a lot of them,” you tell her. Including the one where, in the next three years, you end up in a hellish dystopian wasteland and you have to band together to survive but it’s awkward and terrible because you love him still and he doesn’t feel the same, never has and never will, and now you have to fight off zombies and a corrupt autocratic government all while dealing with your own goddamn feelings. That may be the most unbearable one of them all. 

“How about the one where he actually feels the same?”

“Too unrealistic,” you tell Chaewon. It’s the truth. Why else would Jungkook be traipsing around with beautiful, rich, worldly girls on his nights off? He does it for the money, sure, but he likes it. He loves the experience, loves living that sort of life. You’d never be able to provide that for him. “You know that’s never going to happen, Chae. We’re just friends.”

“Bullshit.”

“Well, he thinks that we’re just friends. And I’m not gonna fuck everything up by telling him that I’ve been madly in love with him for the past year and a half.” You can think of nothing worse. 

“Have you ever considered the fact that maybe he thinks that the two of you are just friends because you refuse to actually show him how you feel?” Chaewon asks pointedly, eyebrows raised in disapproval. She looks about ready to walk out of the restaurant. “You never do things to give him a reason to think otherwise.”

“Why would I?” 

When your ramen arrives, Chaewon takes a deep breath, downs the rest of her glass of water, and moves on. It’s clear that if she thinks about this any more, her head will explode. 

Nothing’s ever going to change between you and Jungkook. You knew, when you first met him, that it was always going to hurt like this. That loving him was something you had to sacrifice to stay close to him. He lights up every fucking room he walks into, and it’s all you can do not to sit there and bask in his warmth. You would rather catch a single one of his rays than be in the darkness. And if being friends with him means that friends is all you’ll ever be, then so be it. You’re lucky to have him like this. Why take the plunge? 

“Just—” Chaewon says as you begin to pull apart the noodles in your own bowl. “I know that you aren’t as happy as you could be right now. And you deserve to be happy, Y/N. You deprive yourself of all of these wonderful things, and I just want you to know that you deserve every single one of them. But telling him? That’s something that even I know would make you the happiest. You shouldn’t live like this, Y/N. You have no idea what you’re missing out on if you do.”

The streak of not seeing Jungkook ends the next day, when you come back from an evening grocery store run to find him standing outside your door, hand about to knock on the wood. He’s all dressed up again, button-down and slacks, hair styled and parted, and you watch as he takes a deep breath, almost as if he’s waiting for the best time to knock. 

“Jungkook?”

He practically jumps out of his skin at the sound of your voice, nearly tripping over his own feet as he lays his eyes on you. 

“Oh, Y/N!” He exclaims. “I was just about to see if you were home.”

“You could have just texted, you know,” you say jokingly, joining him at the front door as you fumble for your keys. 

“I wanted to surprise you,” Jungkook admits sheepishly. 

“Well, make it up to me by helping me unpack these,” you demand, kicking the door open as you reach down to grab your reusable canvas bags filled with groceries. Immediately, Jungkook is leaning down to grab all of them for you, hauling them inside like they weigh nothing. You stare as he heads over to your kitchen without breaking a sweat, biceps clenching as he lifts the groceries up onto the counter. 

“What’d you get?” Jungkook asks, slowly beginning to take out the groceries. He’s in your apartment so often that he’s memorized where all of your food goes, from the correct shelf in the fridge for produce to the proper cabinet for cereal. 

“Just like… groceries. I saw a box of peppermint chocolate bars that I thought you might like, they’re in there somewhere,” you say mindlessly, pointing to a random canvas bag. Immediately, Jungkook abandons his putting-away-groceries duty to fish through each of the bags, hunting for the box of goodies. “And I got some cheap Trader Joe’s wine. You know. Just for emergencies.”

“Trader Joe’s wine and peppermint chocolate bars,” Jungkook comments, nodding in approval. He finally finds the box and tears it open sideways. “Sounds like a perfect dessert if I’ve ever heard one.”

“What, did you eat already?” You ask, busting out the wine and a couple of mugs, because you don’t own any wine glasses. Nothing says cultured like drinking seven-dollar wine out of mugs with kitschy sayings like “don’t talk to me until this is empty” or “coffee is my first love” written on them. 

Jungkook shrugs. He grabs the box and heads over to your couch, already kicking back and relaxing. “Yeah, I went to some restaurant for another double date,” Jungkook says. “It was one of those places where everything is so expensive but the portions are the size of my fist. Of your fist.”

“You sound hungry,” you note, filling up the mugs and joining him. “And mad.”

“I’m getting reimbursed for the money I spent tonight, so I suppose I could be angrier. But I’m starving. Let’s finish this entire box of chocolates and do nothing else.”

“Your words, not mine,” you say, although his proposal sounds more than appealing to you. 

You turn the television on for some background noise, switching to a channel showing old reruns of unsolved serial killer cases, because nothing sets the mood better than the words “then, slowly, he took the knife with which he killed her and began to slice away at her body”. Jungkook doesn’t seem to pay the television any attention, though, instead focused entirely on the chocolate in front of him, calling his name. 

He takes an enormous bite out of one before moaning far too sexually for your liking, tossing his head back in bliss. “Oh my God.”

“Good?”

Jungkook moans again in response.

“Please don’t orgasm on this couch. Who knows what other bodily fluids were on here before we bought it,” you ask calmly. 

“I’d say that’s nasty, but you guys did cover this with one of those couch covers, so it’s not like my body is coming into contact with other people’s body stains,” Jungkook reasons. The couch cover is the single best purchase you’ve made this entire year. Possibly your entire life. “But they’re delicious. You made a good purchase.”

“I thought you would like them,” you say. “You’re the only person I know who actually likes the combination of mint and chocolate.”

“People who say that it tastes like toothpaste are brushing their teeth with the wrong kind of toothpaste,” he tells you pointedly. “I don’t understand. This is God’s combination. It’s perfect.”

“As long as you love it, that’s all that matters,” you tell him with a pat on his back, breaking off a square of the chocolate bar for yourself. It is pretty good, even if mint chocolate ice cream does sometimes taste like toothpaste. But you’d never tell Jungkook that, of course. 

Jungkook takes a swig of the wine, picking up the mug and gulping down about half of it, the wine bitter on his tongue. “Goes great with this wine, too,” he jokes. You take a sip yourself. It’s… not very good. Actually, rather sticky. No wonder it was only seven dollars. 

“You don’t have to lie to me, I know it tastes like ass,” you tell him honestly. To be fair, you and Jungkook have both had worse. Compared to the shit served at frat parties, this may as well be beautifully-aged Malbec. 

“It only tastes a little bit like ass,” Jungkook compromises. “But it doesn’t not taste like ass.”

“Let’s finish it now so we don’t have to have any more of it later,” you decide. “You’ve probably had some of the best alcohol in your life this semester.”

Jungkook thinks back, tilting his head to the side as he begins to recall all of the instances in the past few months when he’s had anything to drink. “Soju’s still my favorite. But yeah, I’d say I’ve had wine that probably costs more than my textbooks for this semester if I hadn’t pirated them all.”

“The beauty of being a CS student,” you muse. 

“You know it,” he says, holding his half-empty mug out as a toast to himself. “But seriously, even if this Trader Joe’s wine literally tasted like garbage, it would still be better than all of that other shit.”

You turn to him, skeptical. Even the single night you spent with Chaewon, in a penthouse amongst the stars, drinking champagne and eating strawberries dipped in chocolate, was more than you could ever dream of. You woke up the next day on an air mattress in her bedroom and wanted nothing more than to go back to basking in the luxury, desperate for another taste. It was addicting. How could Jungkook ever prefer what he has right now to what he had last night? 

“Really? Don’t say that just to make me feel better,” you tell him. You can take it. Jungkook has every reason to prefer the fancy meals, the penthouses, the suits and ties to your janky little apartment and old clothes from high school. The two aren’t at all on the same level. They’re not even in the same goddamn game. If you could drop everything to have what Chaewon has, what the other girls and boys who pay for Jungkook’s company have, you would. 

“I’m not,” Jungkook tells you seriously. “I mean it. I would rather sit in your room, hunched over your tiny Switch because you lost the HDMI cord to plug it into the television, playing Mario Kart than out there, pretending to be someone I’m not.”

“But it was fun in the beginning, wasn’t it? Getting to be rich without the moral ambiguity that comes along with being part of the upper class?” You ask. It must have been. Jungkook looked so happy when he first started doing these gigs, coming back to your apartment in a state of bliss, a little tipsy from the expensive champagne and steak. He’d knock on your door and tell you all about the night, from how older businessmen handed him their cards and offered him jobs, to the hundreds of ice cream flavors you could only ever dream of eating. Everything seemed so wonderful to him.

Jungkook shrugs, pouring himself more wine. “Yeah, I guess, but it gets so old after a while. Like, no wonder Chaewon was so desperate for me to go with her that first time. It sucks the damn life out of you. You walk around and mingle and pretend that you’re the greatest person on Earth, talking about yourself and kissing up to the other people for an entire night. Honestly, sometimes it’s worse than my CS homework. And I hate that shit.”

“Chaewon mentioned that the eggplant usually tastes like foot,” you add. Jungkook nods in agreement. 

“Yeah, it does. She warned me about it the first night and I, like a fool, tried it because I usually like eggplant. And it still tasted like foot. Never again,” Jungkook says, shivering at the mere thought of it. It’s funny, actually, because you did the exact same thing. “But the food is like, the one thing I pretty much don’t have the right to complain about. It’s delicious and usually free.”

“But I hope that you’re having fun,” you tell him honestly, because you do. When you’re sitting in your room, eating two different pints of Ben & Jerry’s, you hope that Jungkook, wherever he is, whatever he’s doing, is enjoying himself more than you are. Because he deserves it. You never want there to be a time when he’s sad, when he’s unhappy or bored. Jungkook deserves to live the happiest version of life he possibly can. “I want you to enjoy yourself.”

“I do,” Jungkook says. There’s a second half to that sentence. “I do—it’s just that… It's so fake, you know? I feel like such a goddamn actor when I’m there. I get to live this extravagant lifestyle for a few hours but in return I don’t even know who I’m looking at when I look in the mirror.”

Oh?

“Like, I pretend to be this business student, when I’m not. I pretend to have millions of dollars to my name, when I don’t. I hold hands and pose for pictures with people Chaewon is vaguely familiar with and nothing, literally nothing, feels real. I don’t know.” Jungkook takes another swig from the mug. “Even the relationships I have when I’m there are fake.”

“Do you hate it that much, then?” You ask him. If it’s so awful and terrible, then why does he keep doing it? Keep dressing up and going out, holding hands with and wrapping his arm around them?

“No,” Jungkook says, sighing as he leans back into the couch. “I don’t hate it. I just—I wish I had something real afterwards to come back home to.”

Real? Like what? Like you? You aren’t real. You sit next to your best friend and pretend that everything is fine. That nothing hurts. You’ve had the biggest crush on him ever since you laid eyes on him, and you’re doing everything in your power to make sure that he’s the only one that doesn’t know. 

“That’s why I’m always coming back to your apartment afterwards,” Jungkook says. He chuckles, but it isn’t his usual laugh. It sounds forced, contrived and fake. Jaded. He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it almost immediately. Then, he breathes, long and slow. Thinks. The silence is almost unbearable. Waiting to hear what he has to say, even more so. “You’re the most genuine person I know. What we share—it’s real.”

Tonight is the least lonely you’ve felt in a long time. 

Even though Jungkook has something tonight, you aren’t aching to be by his side, desperate to spend more time with him. He told you that he was really looking forward to this one, that it wasn’t going to be some stuffy gala or blind double date. He said something about going to karaoke with the girl and her friends, singing Britney Spears songs and taking shots of soju for hours on end, screaming his voice hoarse. And even if you aren’t there with him, you’re happy because you know that he’s happy, that he’s genuinely enjoying himself. 

So, you aren’t that lonely. 

Content with the state of your life as it is, you take the night off, ready to prepare yourself for a weekend that will almost certainly consist entirely of just work. Chaewon’s voice echoes in your mind (“I know that you aren’t as happy as you could be right now,” she had told you), but it’s different now. Because you are happy. You are happy, because Jungkook’s happy. The two of you see each other just as frequently as you used to. He texts you about his terrible CS homework and the Shiba Inu he just saw being walked across campus. It’s all gone back to the way it used to be. That’s what you had wanted. 

You were prepared for this. You knew that it would eventually boil down to this, down to whether or not you could take Jungkook not knowing how you feel any longer. But right now, you don’t care. Jungkook not knowing has always been a part of your friendship. The love you hold for him, in the spaces between your bones and deep in the cracks of your heart, that has always been there. You see it, hear it, feel it, whenever you’re with him. Even when you’re not with him, it will remind you, appear in the silence, the emptiness. It will always make itself known, because it’s become a part of you. From the moment you met him, it had settled into your heart.

Staring out of the window by your living room, overlooking the ugliest parking garage on campus, you sigh. You can’t see the stars from here, not even in the dead of night, but that’s alright. There is something so peaceful about the navy blue sky. About how mysterious and unknown it is. It calms you. You put on a movie that you’ve genuinely been wanting to watch for a while, sit down in your bed, amongst your duvet and sheets, pillows and plushies, and enjoy yourself, for once. It’s a good night. 

And then, much like most aspects of your terribly convoluted, over-complicated and confusing life, it all comes crashing down. 

There’s a faint thud from outside, a soft little non-noise that you assume is coming from the street. Not wanting to interrupt your movie—she’s just about to confess, holy shit—you ignore it. It’ll go away eventually. 

Then another thud. You pause, leaning towards your window to see if you can figure out the source. Silence. You’re just about to press play, when you hear it again. And again. It gets louder and louder, making up in volume what it lacks in rhythm and order, until you realize it’s someone knocking on your door. And not just knocking casually. It’s as if someone is shoving their whole body into it, shoulders and chest and feet hitting the wood as they bang on it. 

“Y/N?”

Oh, God.

Pushing off your duvet, you tug on your slippers and wipe away the crust around your eyes as you rush towards the door. You know who’s on the other side. You’re not sure if answering it is the better or worse option. 

You’ve always had an uncanny ability to pick the latter. 

When you open the door, Jungkook, in a fancy sweater pulled over a white button down and black jeans that could almost pass for dressy slacks, is standing on the other side. 

Correction: he’s sort of standing on the other side. He nearly topples over when you pull open the door, having clearly been leaning on it, and you barely have time to reach your arms out to catch him. 

“Oh! Y/N!” Jungkook exclaims, as if he’s surprised to see you inside your own apartment. “I was hoping to see you.”

“I figured,” you tell him, laughing. You guide him inside, and even in his state he remembers to tug off his clean white sneakers, kicking them towards the shoe rack. “It’s so late, Jungkook, you should go home.” 

“No,” Jungkook whines. “I wanted to see you. I missed you.”

“We saw each other this morning, Jungkook. And this afternoon, right before you went out,” you remind him. The words go in one ear and out the other, and he pulls you in close to him, wrapping his arms around you as he presses his body against yours in a sweaty hug. His grip is tight around you as he rests his head on your shoulder, breathing you in as if you’d been gone for years. Slowly, after a few seconds, you pull away from him, a hand on his shoulder to get him to look at you through his too-long bangs, hanging over his eyes. “Hey, what’s wrong? I’m right here, don’t worry. I never left.”

“I had a lot to drink tonight,” Jungkook tells you, blinking rapidly. “Like, a lot. They just kept ordering soju and I just kept drinking it. It was really good. Have you had strawberry soju? It’s delicious.”

“I might have had it once or twice,” you fib, not able to recall having it one way or another. “Come on, sit down,” you point him towards the couch, but he refuses, clinging onto you even as you make your way towards the kitchen. “Jungkook, please, I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“But I missed you,” Jungkook repeats. “I missed you a lot. I thought about you the entire time I was there.”

You can’t say you didn’t do the same. 

“Next time we’ll do something together then, hey? Something really fun, like going to an arcade or bowling,” you promise him with a pat on his shoulder. “But you need to drink some water, JK. Can you please sit down?”

“No, I want to be with you,” Jungkook says like it’s nothing. Like the feeling of him wrapped around you like this, holding onto you and telling you that he misses you, that he thinks about you, doesn’t mean anything. You don’t think your heart has beaten since you opened the door to see him standing on the other side. 

(You don’t think it’s beaten since you met him. Since he came up to you on the pavement, asking you for directions. Since you told him your name, and he told you his.)

“Ah, fine, just be careful, I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” you concede, because it’s so easy to let him have his way, so easy to say yes to him. You manage to grab an empty water bottle and fill it up with what’s left in your Brita, too lazy to refill it after it’s left bone dry. Slowly, you make your way to your bedroom, out of view of the central living space, where your roommates could burst through the door at any moment and see you taking care of your drunk best friend on the sofa. 

Slowly, you settle on your bed, sitting off of the edge of it as you cajole him into drinking some water, whispering soft nothings to make sure he finishes the whole thing. 

“Does your head hurt or anything?” You ask him, already looking around for the stash of Advil you usually keep on your nightstand.

“No, no, I’m fine, Y/N, seriously,” he promises, even if you can see the glazed-over look in his eyes, the way his sweaty bangs stick to his forehead. “You’re too nice, you know? Always treating me when I show up at your place. Even when you don’t invite me.”

“You know I never mind seeing you,” you tell him. “You can come over whenever you want. I’m always here.”

“No, you’re not,” Jungkook says with a pout, and it makes you furrow your brows. When have you not been? Jungkook’s been going out to events ever since the beginning of the semester, and without fail, you’ve always been waiting for him at home, knowing he’ll turn up one way or another. Except, there was— “That one time a couple of weeks ago, I went to this crazy big gala with Eunha, there were so many people there, and I came back home afterwards and knocked on your door, and your roommates said they hadn’t seen you all day. Where were you that day?”

He had come? You didn’t know if he would. 

(Or maybe, you did. You knew he would show up at your door once he got back from that night, and selfishly, not wanting to see him after the fact, the leftover version of him, the part he leaves behind when he goes out. You knew he would be there and you couldn’t bear the thought of being the second girl he spends the night with. The other option. Maybe, you’ve known all along that you’ll never quite stack up to the girls he goes out with, and that sometimes, when you see him all dressed up while you’re in your hoodie and sweats, it reminds you is nothing more than a casual friendship.)

“I must have been out late with Chaewon that day, I’m sorry,” you apologize, letting him rest his head on your shoulder. “I didn’t know you would come.”

“I always come after my events. You know that.”

“I didn’t know if you’d remember to,” you correct. 

“I’d never forget about you,” Jungkook says, the alcohol erasing his filter. Making him honest. “I really missed you, that day. I had been waiting the entire night to see you.”

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again,” you promise, and this one is for real. 

“You know, today?” Jungkook says, pulling his head back so he can get a good look at you, your eyes meeting his own. “Today, I was so sad on my way here. It was so terrible, because I was drunk and sad and I missed you.”

“You were sad? What happened?” You ask, leaning in. Jungkook? Sad? Who would do such a thing to him? Who would erase the smile on his face, his crescent eyes, and replace them with tears? 

“This girl and I, she was a lot of fun. We sang a couple duets together and we were pretty good,” he hiccups, “kept winning. It was fun. She and I talked for a long time. I definitely liked her the most out of all of the girls I’ve gone out with. Besides Chaewon, of course.”

“What happened? Did she do something you didn’t want? You know you can tell me, Jungkook,” you ask, a hand on his arm. 

“No.” Jungkook shakes his head. “I don’t know. She was fun and I was drunk. We were on our way back in the Lyft when she leaned over and kissed me. And I kissed her back, and it was kind of nice. I haven’t really kissed someone like that in a while,” Jungkook tells you. And even though you’re hearing these words from him, hearing how he had all of this fun with a girl who isn’t you, how he kissed her in the backseat of a car, you rally, blinking away the tears you can feel forming in your eyes. It’s none of your business, you tell yourself. You and Jungkook aren’t together. You don’t get to feel bad about him kissing someone else. 

“Did you like it?” You ask, each word a pin in your chest. 

“It was pretty nice,” Jungkook admits. “We, uh, we made out a bit in the back of the car until we got to her place. And then we got out of the car and she asked me if I wanted to go back with her, to her room. And—and I almost said yes.” Jungkook looks about ready to combust. At his side, his fists are clenched so hard you’re worried he’ll pop a vein. 

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” you tell him, looking him in the eyes so he knows that you don’t mind, that he can tell you these things without worry. Jungkook may be the love of your life, but he’s your best friend, first. He’s always been, before anything else, your best friend. 

“But there is!” Jungkook cries, standing up in anguish. “There is, Y/N, you don’t understand! I almost had sex with her!”

“You’re allowed to, Jungkook!” You assure him, standing up to reach out to him. 

“No, Y/N, you don’t get it,” he tells you coldly, pulling his hand away. “Why aren’t you mad? Aren’t you angry that I nearly had sex with her?”

“No, what the fuck, Jungkook, why would I be mad?” You shout back at him. “You can do whatever you want with your body, it’s not my job to police it! I’m your friend, not your mom!”

“But don’t you want to be more, Y/N?” He rounds on you. “Don’t you want to be the one kissing me, fucking me? Why aren’t you jealous?”

“Were you trying to make me jealous, Jungkook? Is that what you were trying to do? You wanted to get a reaction out of me because my best friend nearly fucked someone else and then didn’t? What the fuck, Jungkook? What do you want from me?”

“I just want you to tell me you fucking love me back!”

“Jungkook, what—”

Jungkook, eyes dark and furious, pushes you against your closet door as your lips part, feeling the breath get knocked out of your lungs. He’s so close. He’s right there, you can see him, watch as he looms over you, hands clenched in your hoodie as he presses you against the wall. And then, wordlessly, he’s leaning down, crashing your mouths together. 

Suddenly, your heart starts. You gasp into the kiss, the feeling of his mouth on top of yours. It’s fervent, hot and angry and passionate, his body against your own as your hands reach out to press against his head. You seize up at the feeling, almost as if in shock, before melting into his touch, leaning into him, desperate. You can feel his breath mixing in with your own, feel the way his chapped lips meet your overly-moisturized ones, feel how his hands drift from where they’re bunched up in the front of your hoodie to your waist, your hips, your thighs. Jungkook kisses ruthlessly, kisses like he’s trying to prove a point. Holds onto you like he’s afraid to let go. 

When you part, gasping for air, Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, blinking. 

“Jungkook, you’re drunk—” you tell him firmly, refusing to let get your hopes up if what you have in front of you is really just an intoxicated best friend. Your heart is beating miles a minute, about ready to thump right out of you, chest heaving and mouth agape. 

“That doesn’t matter,” Jungkook argues back. “Even when I’m sober I love you. Don’t tell me I’m confused because I’m drunk.”

“You show up at my place at one in the morning, tell me about how you made out with some other girl and almost slept with her just to get me angry, kiss me, and tell me not to tell you you’re confused?” You demand. “Jungkook, I’ve never been more confused in my life than right now, can you please just—”

“I love you, Y/N,” Jungkook says, and even though he’s angry, red in the face and sweaty, when he says it, it’s soft. It’s a whisper, a murmur. He says it not to convince you, but so you know. “I’ve been in love with you for so goddamn long, ever since I fucking met you. And I thought you might like me back but you never did anything about it, and so neither did I.”

“You need to go home, Jungkook,” you tell him, hiccuping. When you blink, you feel the warm tears streaming down your face. You hadn’t even noticed them. “You can’t just come into my apartment and tell me shit like that. How do you think it makes me feel?”

“Do you feel the same, Y/N?” Jungkook asks, looking you in the eyes. He’s angry, that’s for sure, but even underneath, you can see the desperation, see how he’s just waiting for an answer. 

“Go home, Jungkook. Please. Let’s talk about this when you aren’t drunk, okay? I’m confused and I need to clear my head,” you plead, pushing him towards the door. “Please, okay? Be safe, too. I’ll call Chaewon to give you a ride,” you tell him, grabbing your phone. 

Jungkook puts a hand on your wrist. “I’ll be okay, Y/N. I just… Please, tell me. Did that kiss mean anything to you?”

“Yes, it did, but Jungkook, I can’t—”

“It meant something to me, too,” he tells you firmly, lets the words sink into the air around you.  He heads for the door, pulling on his shoes. He looks so sad. “Good night, Y/N.”

You place a hand on the doorknob. “Good night, Jungkook.”

It’s barely nine in the morning the next day when a knock wakes you up. It’s soft at first, one every couple of seconds, before it gets progressively louder. Slowly, you get out of bed, trying to tame your hair as you rub the sleep from your eyes. 

“Y/N’s in her room. Is that for her? That’s so cute. Yeah, she’s probably awake. You can just knock.” It’s your roommate. 

You scramble to make your bed, pouring some water from the water bottle by your nightstand into your hand and splashing your face, wiping it away with an old t-shirt as you run towards the door, pulling it open just in time. 

On the other side is a much more tired, much less drunk Jungkook, one hand raised and about to knock, the other holding a bouquet of daisies. 

“Hey,” he says shyly, mouth breaking into a smile the moment he sees you. 

“Hey,” you say back. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah, head hurts like hell, though,” Jungkook says. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, yeah, s-sure, of course,” you say, stepping aside to let him into your bedroom. 

“These are for you.” Jungkook holds out the bouquet towards you, wrapped up neatly in cellophane and tied at the stems with a bow. “So you don’t have to keep Febreze-ing your room all of the time.”

“They’re beautiful, Jungkook,” you tell him, grinning as you take them from his hands. Today feels different from yesterday. It feels lighter, fresher. New. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“I—” He pauses, taking a second to think, “I meant what I said, yesterday. Maybe not all of it, but. Most of it, yeah. I meant it.”

“Why did you try to make me jealous, Jungkook?” You ask him. “Why did you think that would work?”

“I don’t know,” Jungkook admits. “I shouldn’t have, and I fucked up. I just got so… so tired of waiting to see if you’d ever come around. I just wanted you to tell me. And then I guess I got so fed up that I told you instead.”

You place the bouquet on your dresser before walking towards him, reaching a hand out. “Yeah, that was a pretty big asshole move of you,” you chide, grinning to yourself. 

“I know, I’m sorry.” He sighs. 

“But I’m happy you’re here,” you tell him. “And happy that you meant what you said. Maybe it could have been said in a less angry way, but hearing it made me happy.”

“I’m happy that you’re happy.” Jungkook grins. “You’re my favorite person, Y/N.”

“When you asked me, yesterday, if that kiss meant anything to me? And I said it did?” You begin, Jungkook nodding in front of you. He’s positively beaming. “It still does. I want to do that every day, Jungkook. Every hour. Every single second for the rest of my goddamn life.”

“You do?” Jungkook asks. 

“I love you, Jeon Jungkook. From day one, it’s always been you.” You smile, and it feels like a weight has been lifted off of your shoulders. Feels like you’re fucking flying. Like you’re weightless. 

“I love you, too, Y/N. I never want to be away from your side,” he declares, and like a cheesy, rom-com movie, like the shitty novels you used to read in eighth grade, he pulls you in close and presses a kiss against your lips. Wraps his arms around your waist as he holds you tight, kisses you in the middle of your bedroom, in your hoodie and sweatpants, a bouquet of daisies on your dresser. He kisses you because he can, because for every second of every day for the rest of your goddamn life, he can kiss you, over and over and over. 

“We owe Chaewon an apology,” you tell him when you’re parted, sitting on your bed, wrapped up in each other’s arms. 

“Hell yeah we do,” Jungkook agrees. “She’s been on my ass for ages about telling you.”

“Mine too.”

“She’s such a great best friend,” Jungkook comments. “Knew all this time that her two friends were madly in love with each other and didn’t say a damn word to either of us. That’s loyalty.”

“We should do something for her, to make up for it all,” you suggest. 

“You know,” Jungkook says, grinning, “I know this guy who made bank this semester by going on fake dates with a bunch of really rich girls. Maybe he could help.”

“I know him, too,” you joke. “He’s the love of my fucking life.”

Jeon Jungkook quits his job on the ninety-eighth day of the fall semester of his sophomore year.

You know this because on the ninety-eighth day of the fall semester of your sophomore year, he comes banging on the door of your apartment shared with three other girls at 7:18PM, eighteen minutes after he normally heads out on one of his many dates. 

“Y/N!” He shouts, banging wildly on your door. You rush over to open it, letting the pasta water on the stove boil over and sizzle on the heat. He’s barely gotten in a second knock when you turn the doorknob to reveal your smiling boyfriend in his oversized hoodie.

“Don’t tell me you’re blowing someone off for me,” you say, inviting him inside. He places a kiss on your cheek on the way in, taking off his shoes and coat as you rush over to take care of the pasta.

“Me? Blowing someone off? Never,” Jungkook says, mock offended. “I actually quit the dating thing, this afternoon. A girl asked if I was free and I said that I wasn’t, because I have to go home to my girlfriend making me a meal. Don’t you love the sound of that?” He asks, pleased with himself.

“You quit? I thought you liked doing that stuff,” you say, using the spaghetti fork to move around the linguine. “Hope you’re cool with boring old pasta for your meal tonight. You could have had caviar if you hadn’t quit.”

“I don’t care, it smells so good,” Jungkook tells you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he stands behind you, watching you cook from over your shoulder. “Look at you, being all domestic and shit. It’s very cute.”

“Stop rubbing in the fact that you’re the better cook, I get it. Pasta is all I got right now.” You pout, turning down the heat as you move to pour yourselves two cups of tea. Jungkook follows you the entire way to the kettle, grip on your waist never faltering. “You can keep going on those dates, you know. I don’t mind. I get to see you in a suit when you get back, and then I get to take it off of you. It’s a win-win.”

Jungkook pinches your waist in response. “If you have a thing for suits, you can just tell me, you know. I won’t be mad.”

You turn around to whack him with the spaghetti fork. “I do not!”

“Alright, Y/N, guess I won’t wear a suit next time you call me at two in the morning—”

“I never said you couldn’t,” you interrupt, making Jungkook laugh. 

“You’re so cute, Y/N,” Jungkook coos as you begin to dish up the pasta, making sure to add peas because Jungkook loves peas with his spaghetti. “But I quit because I have enough money to sustain me for the rest of the semester. I’ll work over break and get a new job next semester when the new work-study positions open. Don’t worry about me,” he assures you. 

“But didn’t you like going out and everything? Getting dressed up and drinking fancy champagne?” You ask, setting the plates down at your dinky kitchen table, a single scented candle lit in the center. 

Jungkook thinks about it for a split second, and then he shakes his head. “Nah. I like hanging out with my girlfriend more.”

“Well, when you put it like that…” you reason with a grin. 

Jungkook laughs, leaning over the table to plop a kiss on your lips. “I love you, Y/N.”

“Yeah, you pea-eating loser,” you chide, “I love you too.”

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

↳ check out the post-script drabble here!

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #jungkook scenario #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #bts au #jungkook au #w: if i told you #god this fic.... i cant believe i wrote this.... how did i do it

[gukieoppa]

not again | pt.1

➢ summary: he wanted a challenge, a good, innocent fuck, so why did his heart race at the sight of her?

➢ genre: romance, following angst and fluff, (as of now) no nsfw planned, college au

➢ pairing: fuckboy!jungkook x reader

➢ warnings: cursing, fluff, mentions of sex, body image insecurities

➢ note: i did this instead of homework and paying attention to class lmao. also it’s only 1.55k so i’m sorry if you wanted a longer chapter but expect short chapters from me because i’m not an excellent writer. i also decided to post this today because i’m going on trip to the beach for three days and i don’t know when i’ll have time to write. oof.

← teaser & pt.2 →

◇ ◇ ◇

Ever since you met Jeon Jungkook, you couldn’t get him out of your mind. His face was the only thing you could see when you closed your eyes. You finally understood why he was so popular, but that didn’t mean you would associate yourself with him even further. 

Truthfully, you didn’t go to the library after you talked to Jungkook. You went straight back to your dorm, catching a glimpse of his figure as you walked to the building. His figure, though, wasn’t alone. A silhouette of, what you assumed to be, a girl was beside him, their lips locked. You grunted and felt sickened by the sight, reminding yourself that it was better to have distance.

Jungkook, on the other hand, wanted to get closer to you, but he was afraid. Evidently by his title, he didn’t do relationships, but when it came to you, he felt something different: a feeling of need and possessiveness. That was why, when you were out of his sight, he pulled the closest girl who was ogling him to the nearest bathroom.

A good fuck was the only thing Jungkook felt he could cope with.

◇ ◇ ◇

Park Hyejin: you loved to hate her. She was your dorm mate, best friend, and so-called stylist. She’d always wanted to major in fashion, but her parents never allowed her, saying it wasn’t a stable job choice. That led her into the business major and to meeting you. 

◇ ◇ ◇

You saw a brunette sitting on a bench, crying her eyes out. Seeing as you had just had a pretty shitty day as well, you approached her.

“Sky looks nice,” you commented, standing beside the bench with your arms crossed.

The sky was plain. Nothing but smooth, grey clouds filled the sky. Though the sky itself was dull, the red and orange leaves made up for it. The autumn leaves desperately hung onto the tree branches, some blown off at the slightest breeze. 

You heard the girl let out a choked laugh, “Sure does.”

“Bad day?” You asked, looking over at her. She nodded, her brunette hair bouncing at the movement.

She wore a cream, knit cardigan atop of a black mock neck that was tucked into a brown, plaid, pleated skirt. Her shoes were basic combat boots, but they finished the outfit with a punch. 

“Aren’t you a little overdressed to be sulking on campus?” You teased, seeing as you were only in an oversized hoodie and sweats.

She let out a quiet sigh, “I guess, but what better way to display my fashion if I can’t pursue it?”

“May I give some feedback on the outfit?” You asked, feeling as if her outfit was missing a piece.

The girl sat up, improving her posture, “Please do.”

Your hand rested on your hip, “Though the overall outfit is gorgeous and much better than I could ever put together, I feel like there’s something missing.” Your finger rested on your chin as you thought. Then, it came to you, “A hat! Yes, that’s what's missing. Specifically, a beige beret. If you don’t like hats, though, you could put in those long hair clips things on the side of your head. Know what I mean?”

She perked up at your suggestion, “That’s actually a great idea! Are you secretly into fashion?”

That made you laugh.

“If I were into fashion, I wouldn’t wear the same pair of sweats every other day,” she grimaced in disgust.

“I should style you, then,” she smiled.

“I’ll have to think about it,” you suddenly realized that the pair of you hadn’t properly introduced yourselves. “By the way, I’m Y/N L/N. You are?”

“Park Hyejin,” she smiled and stuck out her hand for you to shake. You shook her hand, a warm smile on both of your faces.

◇ ◇ ◇

“You talked to Jungkook? Jeon Jungkook?” She laughed loudly.

“Yes, I talked to him, but he approached me first,” you frowned at the girl you called your best friend.

“Doesn’t matter! You still talked to him,” she smirked, “So, how was it? Talking to the Jungkook?”

“Quite boring, not going to lie. We just made small talk, and, I kid you not, after talking for about five minutes, he suddenly said that he needed to leave,” you said, an unimpressed look plastered onto your face.

“Only five minutes? You must’ve been boring,” she snorted. 

You glared at her, “Me? Boring? Never, but I did see him devouring some girl’s face when I was coming back to the dorms.”

“Damn, he moves fast,” the two of you shared a mutual laugh.

◇ ◇ ◇

Jungkook was already on his third bottle of beer when Jimin burst into the house, whining about the lack of sex he had because of homework.

Park Jimin was one of Jungkook’s closest friends, apart from Kim Taehyung. Jimin also enjoyed one night stands, but he never went to the extent of Jungkook. Instead of spending every Friday night partying and getting drunk off his ass, Jimin would occasionally spend his time at the dance studio practicing. 

“Just pick up a random girl,” Jungkook slurred.

Jimin looked over at his intoxicated friend, “Drinking already? What happened?”

Jungkook let out a sarcastic laugh, “What do you mean? Can’t I drink when I want?”

“Alright, so this isn’t about that girl I saw you talking to this afternoon,” Jungkook’s head snapped over to look at the ash grey haired man.

“What?” The brunette seethed.

“Haven’t seen you talk to a girl like that in a while,” Jimin sighed, “What’s up? You know you can tell me.”

“Just leave me alone, hyung,” Jungkook groaned.

“She'll be good for you,” Jimin whispered before leaving the maknae to himself.

◇ ◇ ◇

“Taehyung,” you shouted, jogging over to your friend and study buddy. You hopped onto his back, arms wrapping around his torso, eliciting an “oof” from him.

“Y/N/N,” he looked over his shoulder to smile at you.

“How are you? I haven’t seen you in a while,” you pouted.

“We literally saw each other like 5 days ago,” he said in disbelief.

“That’s 5 days too long.”

You hopped off of the blonde’s back and walked in front of him, “Hyejin dressed me up again,” he let out a small laugh, “Hey! What do you think? The outfit itself is gorgeous, but on me, it looks like, well, it just looks bad. I feel like I’m a walking potato.”

You were very self-conscious about your body, seeing as your best friend had the body of a model. It wasn’t that you didn’t go to the gym and work hard to have your desired body, it was that your expectations became harder to achieve as each day passed. 

“If you’re a walking potato, then what are the other girls? Moving trash cans?”

You gasped and slapped his arm, “You can’t say that! That’s rude.”

“I’m only speaking the truth,” he huffed, “I can’t deny it. You look fucking hot in that outfit,” he bit his lip and let his eyes roam your body.

“Ey! Eyes up here, buddy,” you slapped the side of his head lightly, earning a chuckle from him. “But seriously, are you sure I don’t look fat?”

“Y/N/N, you’re not fat. You’re gorgeous on the inside and out. I’m being completely honest right now,” you looked at your feet, “You need to treat yourself better. You don’t see all the jealous glares girls send your way because you always take the breath away from other guys.”

You gave him a weak smile, “Thanks, Tae. Love you.”

“Love you, too, princess,” he teased.

Laughing and shaking your head, you grab his arm, “Do you have time to help me study tonight?”

“Study?” He smirked, “What kind of studying are you talking about?”

You gagged and pushed him away, “Never mind! I can study on my own.”

“No, wait! Come back, babe,” he chased after you as you ran away from him.

“Be gone,” you say as you get into a fighting stance.

Then in perfect sync, you both yell, “Thot!”

◇ ◇ ◇

Hand in hand, you and Taehyung approached the double story home. 

“Fair warning, it might be messy on the inside,” Taehyung spoke up.

“You live here?” You asked, flabbergasted.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “But I have two roommates who, by the way, are my best friends. They’re almost always horny, though.”

“Aren’t you always horny?” You smirked.

“Would you like to find out?” He winked, nudging your shoulder with his.

Your nose scrunched in disgust, “Gross,” he laughed, “We have work to do and not a lot of time, so let’s get it!”

You skipped over to the door, waiting for your friend to unlock the door for you. When he reached where you were, he pulled the door open without unlocking it.

“You don’t lock the door? That’s so stupid,” you scolded him.

“Oh hush. My roommates are probably home already,” he spoke as he walked into the house.

The smell of beer stung your nose, and you winced in disgust. You looked around for the source of the odor to find bottles of finished beer sitting on a table. Beside that table, though, was the culprit responsible for the placing of the empty bottles.

#jeon jungkook #jeon jeongkook #jeon jeongguk #jeon jungkook fanfic #jeongguk x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook college au #jungkook scenarios #jjk #jungkook #fuckboy!jungkook #jungkook imagine #jeongguk imagine #jeongguk fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts angst #bts #bts x reader #fluff #angst #mguk writes

[nikxation]

If You Give a Mothman a Loan

Huge thank you to @birdgirlamp for commissioning me to write a fic by donating to WHO (if you want more information, see this post). Sorry it took so long to get this out, but here it is! Hope you enjoy!

Word count: 2359

Characters: Stanford Pines (pre- and post-portal), Fiddleford McGucket (pre-portal), Wendy Corduroy (post-portal... obviously)

~ ~ ~

It’s three months into Fiddleford’s stay in Gravity Falls, and the skeleton in the closet (or the portal in the basement) is slowly looking less and less like just a bundle of messy wires and half-finished structural supports and more like the behemoth of a machine it’s meant to be. The raw stock for the exterior plating should be here any day now, the first of the two power transfer beams is online, and every day is another day closer to their end-goal.

He’ll hand it to Stanford Pines, this is some of their best work yet.

He still remembers the day he arrived and Ford showed him the initial drafts. He’d thought the size was overkill, that the hollowed-out basement beneath the house would just become a room with decent acoustics for him to practice his banjo playing away from his old college roommate while the real machine was built somewhere less cold and damp.

Boy howdy was he wrong.

Now, every time he walks in the room, he feels the thing like the presence it is, towering stories tall, looming over him in a way that he would almost consider menacing if it weren’t for the fact that it’s just a machine.

He’s got blueprints and prototyped miniatures of literal death bots.

So why would the interdimensional portal in the basement put him on edge?

It shouldn’t.

So he shakes the thought away and gets back to work.

An unsuccessful system test led to the time-shift circuit on motherboard seven incinerating again. If he were the kind of man to actually keep count (which he certainly is), he’d know it’s the fourth time in the past week this same part has crapped out on them.

It’s also the reason he’s gonna finally stop out-sourcing these parts and just start making them in-house from now on. He’s about sick of replacing them every five minutes.

That’s what brings Fiddleford to where he is now, with his upper body shoved halfway inside the portal’s support structure and crammed between God knows how many electrical components. His arms have just started to cramp in their rather unnatural position as he pries at the burnt-out part to replace it with a newer one that will hopefully hold out against the power output better than its predecessor.

Ford’s sitting in the control room, supposedly running through some of the math again to double-check that they didn’t miss anything.

The “supposedly” is only because, for the past twenty minutes, the man has been prattling on like Fiddleford’s grandma at Sunday family brunch. He can only hear the occasional snippet from his position (quite literally) inside the portal, and as far as he can tell, he thinks he’s talking about either his most recent research outing, or something about preacher scouting. He wants to lean towards the former, but with the new stories he’s found about a so-called “velocipastor”, he can’t rule out the latter. Either way, the man hasn’t stopped talking long enough to breathe, let alone re-run equations that use relative space-time physics with integrated fourth dimensional calculus.

Fiddleford just doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he really can’t hear him.

He snaps the ribbon cable off the still-smoking component (after the first time it blew, he learned to bring heat-resistant gloves in here with him) and is rather glad to see it’s still intact. Rewiring is a day-long project he’s glad to not have to do again. He maneuvers his hand back out into open air and tosses the old piece somewhere into the room before getting to work mounting the new one.

Ford’s voice echoes from the next room over.

“… extra funds… exploring… investing for…”

Bolting the circuit down turns out to be easier the fifth time he has to do it, and he’s about to start running a simple, probably non-exploding test to make sure the new part is integrated correctly when he hears—

“… so I gave Mothman a thousand dollars…”

And that, of all things, stops Fiddleford in his tracks.

“Come again?” he yells. He had to have misheard because he swears he just heard the man say—

“I ran into Mothman in the woods yesterday,” Ford says, all too nonchalantly, “and they told me they were starting up a small business and needed an investment, so I gave them a thousand dollars from my excess funds with a verbal agreement that they would pay me back within the year.”

… So he didn’t mishear him, that’s for darn sure.

The fact that the Mothman is real is surely weird enough. But he’s lived in Gravity Falls (and known Stanford Pines) for long enough that it doesn’t really surprise him too much. No, that’s not the part that brings him to wiggle himself out of his position inside the portal’s underbelly just enough so that he can meet Ford’s eyes in the other room.

“You gave Mothman… a thousand dollars…” Fiddleford says slowly.

“To help kickstart their new business, yes.” It’s so casual, like he doesn’t even register the inherent absurdity in what he’s saying.

“And that business is?”

“Mothballs.”

“Stanford!”

“What?”

“That’s the stupidest scam I’ve ever heard.”

Ford sputters, his face aghast for a moment. “I did not get scammed by Mothman!”

“You did.”

“Did not.”

“Do you even know what mothballs are for?”

He pauses, his mouth snapping shut, his face turning the slightest shade of red. Fiddleford can see it from the next room over. “No. I always assumed they were some biproduct created by moths during reproduction or something.” Fiddleford lets his head fall back, bonking on a bar of the steel framework behind him.

“Stanford, they repel moths,” he says. “You just let a bunch of moths convince you they’re starting a business making the thing they hate. That’s stupider than the time my neighbor tried to convince me his cat could see God. And you have three PhDs!”

“Four now,” he says quietly, and Fiddleford levels him with a single raised eyebrow.

“You’re gonna go back, find that over-glorified insect, and get our money back. Or so help me, I will never do another grocery run for as long as I live here.”

“Oh come now, that’s hardly fair. You know I hate going into town.”

“Then you better hurry along and find him.”

“You honestly believe the actual Mothman is pulling a con.”

“People lie, Stanford,” he says, finally ducking himself back into the machine to finally run the diagnostic on the new circuit. “Even cryptids and aliens probably from another dimension.”

There’s a moment of silence, but it’s broken a few moments later by the sound of a chair scuffing on the floor and footsteps ascending the wooden stairs out of the basement.

Fiddleford snorts, shaking his head and getting back to work.

~ ~ ~

“So, like, the Mothman,” Wendy says, keeping pace next to him as they make their way back into the woods, the sun’s last rays just starting to slip behind the trees. “The actual Mothman. He’s real?”

“As real as any of the other anomalies in this town,” Ford says, adjusting the strap of the bag slung over his shoulder. He’d heard the cryptid had come back into town again shortly after Wierdmageddon, and after his first attempt at getting his money back a few weeks back (second if you count that time over three decades ago) went sour, he decided to bring back-up this time. But with Stan still out of commission and the kids rightly wanting to stay with him, he was hard-pressed for options. That is until the cashier girl piped up and said she’d do it for ten percent of whatever they recovered.

Ford negotiated her down to eight and a half. She drives a hard bargain; he can see why Stan hired her.

“Dude, that’s sick,” she says.

“I mean, I hardly think they’re ill or anything,” Ford says. “As fast as their moths die off, they re-introduce new ones to the population through some sort of reproductive mitosis—”

“Nah dude, it’s a phrase,” she cuts him off. “Means, like, ‘that’s awesome’.”

“Ah, alright.” Ford pauses to check the anomaly scanner on his watch, the little white blip flashing on the screen. “I’ve never been exceptionally ‘with it’ when it comes to slang, so you’ll have to pardon my misunderstanding.”

“You’re fine, Dr. Pines,” she says. She kicks a loose rock off into the brush. “I’m pretty sure Stan doesn’t understand half of what I say either.” Ford hums an affirmative, intently watching the small blip on his watch, confirming that it is, in fact, slowly moving in their direction. After a few seconds, he drops the bag he’s been carrying with a thwump, a bit of dust swirling up from the dirt.

“We’re going to set up the trap right here,” he says. “We have probably ten minutes until the Mothman comes through here, so we’ll need to act quickly.”

“You got it boss-man.”

It’s a fairly simple net trap, one that they make short work of assembling. Ford had already built the majority of it to bring out here, including a magic-imbued mosquito net that should contain the Mothman’s consciousness so long as they catch the majority of their moths.

He made that mistake last time, the Mothman managing to escape in the couple moths that his trap missed.

“So, you really were in, like, a different dimension for a bunch of years, right?” Wendy asks as she spreads some leaves and twigs over the net.

“Multiple dimensions,” he says as he carefully sets the trap’s trigger pole. “I travelled through thousands of them in my thirty years away from this one.”

“Dude, that’s nuts.”

“It was… pretty sick,” he says, shooting her a wry grin. Wendy groans.

“Well,” she says, “you just confirmed for me that I was right to never teach Stan slang, so thanks for that I guess.”

“Glad to help.” With the trap finally set and ready to go, he pulls the last item out of the bag: the bait, which he flicks on and gently sets down against the trigger.

“That’s a flashlight,” Wendy says, the statement almost a question.

“Indeed, it is.”

“Is it, like,” she says, waving her hands slightly, “I don’t know, magic or something?”

“Nope,” he says, backing off and giving the trap one last look-over. He has to hand it to the girl, she knew what she was doing.

“You’re serious?”

“Entirely,” he says. “It doesn’t take much to attract them. Back in the eighties, they used to hang around streetlamps and windows all the time. It’s a wonder they’re still considered a cryptid considering how blatantly out in the open they—”

He hears the tell-tale sound of fluttering insect wings, not too far off, but loud enough to make him pause. He glances in the direction and then down at his watch, the blip on the screen almost on top of them. Quickly, he motions to Wendy to hide and then does the same himself, crouching behind the nearest tree and peering around the side to watch.

It’s rather quiet for a few moments, the darkness starting to settle into the pines, the lit flashlight a lone beacon, just the sound of the pine needles whistling in the breeze and the far-off humming of the approaching cryptid. But that low hum gradually gets louder, turning to a white drone of hundreds of small wings beating in tandem.

A familiar dark shape emerges from the underbrush. Humanoid, but just barely. Ten-feet tall with two enormous wings sprouting from its back, two large yellow eyes reflecting the scattered light of the flashlight in the clearing. Their entire shape feels blurred at the edges, like someone drew a line of charcoal and smudged it, the hundreds of moths that make up their body shifting and moving amongst each other in a din of small beating wings.

The Mothman.

Ford hates to admit that the thought still sends an excited shiver up his spine.

They emerge into the clearing, glancing around and taking an immediate interest in the flashlight lying on the ground. They approach it slowly, cautiously, glancing around as if waiting for the ambush, eventually making it onto the net before moving to bend down to pick up the flashlight.

They stop.

Ford holds his breath.

“Stanford Pines,” a voice says, the sound a high whine broken up and mixed with soft clicking. The Mothman stands back upright, snapping its eyes right in his direction. Immediately, Ford’s mind starts swirling with potential fallback options to try to turn this in their favor. “Surprised you’re still alive after last week. Really think we’re stupid enough to fall for—”

“Suck mothballs, lamp licker!” Wendy screams from across the clearing, the Mothman whipping around just as a projectile of some sort (is that an axe?) flies out of the underbrush and hits the trap’s trigger dead-on, sending the net shooting upwards and capturing almost all of the moths above it. A shrill screech fills the air from the now-dangling mass of moths, but Ford is too busy gaping at the cashier girl as she emerges from her hiding spot.

“Nice shot, Wendy!” he beams, shaking off the shock and coming out to join her on either side of the now-enraged Mothman. She shrugs, retrieving the axe from off the ground and sliding it back into her belt loop behind her back.

“No biggie. My dad enters me into the annual axe-throwing competition every year. I’ve won the last 5 in a row.” Ford, having not known anything about this girl before today, is rather stunned. He certainly was not expecting that from the teen, let alone the nonchalance over it. “But anywho,” she says, turning her attention to the writhing mass in front of them. “About that money…”

~ ~ ~

About two hours after they left, Ford and Wendy arrive back at the Mystery Shack, Ford heading to the back of the house to find Stan and the kids, Wendy collecting her things and heading back out to go home, a crisp one-hundred dollar bill tucked into her pocket.

#pinesbrosfallswrites #stanford pines #fiddleford mcgucket #wendy corduroy #gravity falls #comms are still open! #might take me a while to get your fic out #but i'm still taking them! #certainly was interesting to break out my fiddleford voice again #he's such a character #was also interesting to try out wendy's voice #let alone how she interacts with ford #enjoyed writing this a lot!

[strayen-fx]

My Roommate Is A Demon | Part Three

Lee Minho x (fem)reader

Genre: Angst, smut

Wordcount: 2k

Warnings: Highly suggestive, fingering, swearing, master kink, Minho being a demon

A/N: It took me three months to decide if I should write it, three hours to decide if I should post it. My first smut fic (and maybe the LAST) huhu please spare me ㅠㅠㅠㅠ I also shifted into second person pov bcs I can't handle writing this in first person I think I will hyperventilate. Don't judge kskaksksk feedbacks will be appreciated tho❣ lezzgetit

○○○

"Are you sure you can handle this?"

Minho smirked at you, a glint of mischief evident in his eyes. "Of course, baby. Don't think your measly human party could even compare to the real deal."

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the nickname he had loved to tease you with. Sometimes -- just sometimes -- you forget that your roommate was literally thrown from hell. Of course, nothing he would see in the mortal world could shake him.

...maybe.

It has been a few weeks since Minho has permanently settled in your house. You have learned to handle the weird shenanigans the demon would usually do. He wasn't that bad -- he helps with the household chores and takes care of your cats with utmost pleasure. And he should -- he was the one who brought Dori into your house, afterall.

There were a few moments, though, when you regret taking the demon in. Especially in mornings, when he'd be walking around in your house half-naked. Or at nights when he'd opt to invade your bed and be the big spoon. Or right now, as he stood in front of you, all confidence and poise with his black button-down and skinny pants.

Lee Minho is sooo bad for your health.

You really hate the way he's making you feel things. Your heart is constantly making these tiny explosions, you wonder if you could even live until the end of the semester.

The fact that he has insisted on coming with you to the party doesn't help your case.

You haven't told your friends about him yet, although they have already started getting suspicious when you constantly kept them away from your house and bailed out of your movie nights. Don't even get started with Jisung -- the lad was very much frustrated that he can't go and play with your cats anymore. (You couldn't wait for him to see Dori, though. Imagine the stars in his eyes when he sees the kitten.)

Their growing suspicion plus your growing guilt were the reasons why you have agreed to go to the party. What you didn't expect though was Minho throwing tantrums until you allowed him to come with you.

Fine, you thought. He probably won't mess around -- you just planned to stick with him until the end of the night and make sure none of you would fuck up.

What do people usually say? Nothing really ever goes the way it's planned. Yeah.

Chan was the one holding the party that night. Nothing huge, he said, just a few of his friends and colleagues from the music department. But it seemed like you and Chan had different definitions of few.

For countless times already, you have been inside the unit Chan shared with Jisung and Changbin. It was huge and spacious for a college dorm, and you knew it could probably accommodate every student in the music department. But still, you were beyond surprised when you saw a platoon of cars parked in front of your friends' building. Couples littered the parking space, holding cups of what you assumed was booze.

You were suddenly feeling jittery and nervous. It had been months since you last went to a party. You were about to tell Minho to restart the engine and bring you home, but even before you could utter a word, Minho had already went and expertly parked your car. He threw the door open and strode confidently towards the source of the music. You groaned internally before catching up to him.

On your way in, you got distracted by how people -- men and women alike -- were looking over to check Minho out. And well, you couldnt blame them -- Minho was... Minho. Confidence naturally flows out of him. He's handsome without even trying. His perfect built was well-complimented by his shirt and jeans, which was tight around the right places. Too tight, in fact, that your imagination was running towards places you didn't want it to run to.

I'm already drunk, alright, you thought to yourself. And I haven't even drank yet.

The flow of people was much worse inside. Good music was blaring through the speakers, thank Changbin for that, and it would have made the party bearable if not for the unholy view of couples grinding on the dance floor.

A few people you knew came up to you to say hi, and soon after, you lost sight of Minho. The demon. He didn't even have the common courtesy to hang out with the person who brought him to that place. And he didn't know anyone else there, for goodness' sake...

You tried to look for him among the crowd, but he was easily absorbed into the tightly-packed, sweaty crowd going at it with the music. You weren't worried for Minho or anything, you were just worried a schoolmate of yours would suddenly erupt in a literal ball of flames.

After a few minutes, you finally found your demon -- in the arms of a brunette who was wearing too much makeup and too few clothing. She was practically attached to Minho like a koala, and the fucker seemed like he was enjoying it.

You immediately stamped out of their view before either of them could see you staring. Sure, Minho is handsome. And hot. And sexy. You knew that all too well. Still, you can't help but feel annoyed by the fact that somebody has attached herself to him like that just that easily. You have been gone for like, what, ten minutes? And he has already forgotten about your existence. He didn't even bother to offer you a drink before going off and attaching himself to a random someone.

He's a true-blue demon, through and through.

You sought refuge on the lounge, finding it lucky that no one else was occupying it. No one to comment on your sulky face. You wanted to get wasted, so you decided to down one cup of beer after another. That was the purpose of parties, afterall. To get wasted.

You were on your fourth, probably fifth cup when somebody held your wrist that clutched the beer.

"Woah there, Y/Nie, slow down."

You were about to snap at the person who interrupted your way to getting wasted. But then you were met by Chan's bright smile, and you immediately felt your heart get lifted.

"Channie..."

The boy sat beside you, taking the cup from your grip. "What's got you so frustrated, huh?"

"Nothing," you sighed. "Nothing important."

Chan smiled widely, showing off his dimples. "Yeah? We're here to enjoy the party. We're not here to sulk."

Chan inched closer, and you were suddenly hyperaware of your skirt that was riding up your thighs. Chan's eyes were dark, and you can see the way he looked at your top. Like he was imagining how he could rid of your garments right there on the couch.

Well, it wouldn't be the first time. There was a time in the past when he helped you get rid of your pent-up stress...

You pressed your thighs together, feeling the heat down south. This action didn't go unnoticed to Chan, however. He rested a warm hand on your thigh, caressing it painfully slow, stroking your inner thigh and doing things that made you whimper.

The thought of doing something filthy on the couch in the middle of a crowded party was too overwhelming for you, and the smirk on Chan's face wasn't helping.

Well fuck, you thought. If Minho is out there living his life with a random koala, nothing should stop me from enjoying the night as well.

You were already starting to get lost within the swirling feelings in your head when suddenly, a strong hand pulled you off of the couch, away from Chan's touch.

"We're going home," Minho growled.

"W-wha-"

"And who are you?" Chan said, now standing up to meet Minho's gaze.

You were standing in between the two of them, feeling the tension rise between the guys. You were frustrated, your heat was left uncared for because of Minho, who was just flirting with a girl he barely knew a few seconds ago. And now he had the nerve to cockblock?

"Y/N's boyfriend," Minho said.

You almost choked in your own saliva.

Chan's reaction was beyond shocked. "Y/N doesn't have a boyfriend."

"Oh, she has. And we are living together. So shut up and get your hands off her before I send your sorry soul to hell. Believe me, I can." You can almost see fire on Minho's eyes, and you knew he meant the threat he dropped.

Without another word, Minho pulled you away and out of the party. Chan didn't try to stop him -- either he believed Minho really was your boyfriend, or he felt fear towards the man.

Minho practically shoved you into your car before he got into the driver's seat. He revved the car back to your home without saying anything.

Minho opened the door to your apartment, and before you could even take two steps in, he slammed the door and pushed you against it, his both hands caging you.

"What the fuck did you think were you doing?"

Anger flared up in your insides. What the fuck?

"You don't own me, Lee Minho," you snapped. "You are not my master. If you can fuck whoever you want, then I can screw with whoever I want. So back off!"

Minho was taken aback, and you took this chance to get free from his grip. But Minho was fast. He got you pinned against the wall this time, with your wrists above your head.

Now you're done for.

"Not so fast, baby. Did you say I don't own you? Did you say I am not your master?"

Minho's voice was suddenly deeper and raspier, and it gave you a different feeling. You felt your legs turn into jelly. His eyes bore into yours, and the smug look in them told you that he knew what you were thinking.

"I can smell your dripping heat, baby. Your pretty lips are saying something, but your body is doing the opposite. Too eager to get fucked by your master?"

You whined at Minho's choice of words. Before you can try to deny his words, Minho's lips crashed against yours. You imagined it would be messy, but it wasn't. Anything but. It was sensual and passionate, delivering the emotions Minho couldn't say in words. And you were kissing him back, needy and deprived of attention.

Then Minho's fingers were on your heat. He pushed your underwear to the side. "Fuck, so wet. You're a pretty cumslut, you know that? Acting all high and innocent when all you wanted was a dick inside of you."

You whined. Fuck, why were you so turned on with the way he was degrading you? Without any warning, Minho inserted two fingers inside of you. You screamed in pain and pleasure, enjoying the way his fingers pushed in and out of you.

Minho trailed kisses on your jaw down to your collarbone, feeling proud of the marks he was leaving on you. He yanked your top with his free hand, massaging your breast and playing with your erect nipple. He sucked at one while playing with the other, eliciting a dirty moan from you.

Everything felt like pure bliss, and your brain was getting all haywire. The lewd sounds weren't helping with the fog in your head. All you could think of was Minho ruining you in every way possible. You can only imagine -- if his fingers already felt that good, how much more would it feel with him inside of you? The thought alone was enough to make you moan even louder, almost making you reach your high.

When Minho felt your pussy clench around his fingers, he immediately pulled out. You whined with the sudden lack of contact, but then Minho was carrying you bridal style towards your room. He threw you against the mattress then he got rid of his own clothes. You were welcomed by the sight of his well toned abs, and your mouth watered upon seeing his bare thighs. And his cock -- well fuck. You wanted to taste it.

"The first time you're cumming for me, baby, I want you to cum around your master's dick."

#there you go #my fingers kinda slipped #no turning back now #what happened #stray kids smut #stray kids au #stray kids fic #stray kids fanfic #stray kids angst #stray kids lee know au #stray kids lee know smut #lee know smut #lee know fanfic #lee know imagines #lee know x reader #stray kids lee minho au #stray kids lee minho smut

[asphalt-cocktail]

For the Sake of Content- Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Broke, Single, and Homeless

Summary: After walking in on your long-term boyfriend, Harrison, cheating on you and then losing your job the following day; your find yourself broke, jobless, and single for the first time in a long while. In order to make ends meet, your best friend since college, Freddie, suggests you start soliciting explicit photos of yourself, not only to help boost your confidence but to help pay the rent for his band mate’s apartment you just moved into.

A/N: Hi All!! It’s ya girl AC back at it again with a Roger Taylor fic! This is heavily inspired by a Bucky Barnes x Reader fic I read some time ago on AO3 called Heart on the Line (Operator, Operator) by Janvandyne and it’s super good so, read it! Also my plan for this fic is for it to be kind of funny and light hearted but still a slow burn with some looming sexual tension with a lot of short chapters as opposed to my typical 5-6k chapters. This is also going to be a modern!AU and a roommates!AU but feel free to picture 70s!Queen/BoRhap for the characters. I am also not going to link my masterlist or the other chapters in my posts because it doesn’t show up in the tags when I do link it, but you can find everything relating to the fic under the tag FSC Fic. My tag list is open, so if you are interested feel free to send me an ask! I will only be accepting those who are 18+ because there are going to be sexual themes later on in the fic. Enjoy my lovelies and as always this can be read as Ben!Roger or just regular Rog. 

Pairing: Roger Taylor x F!Reader

Warnings: Language, cheating, sexual situations, break up, reader is pretty unlucky, alcohol, mentions of sex work

Word Count: 2.3k

Let’s get one thing straight, you were most certainly not boring.

You might have called yourself responsible for politely declining your friend’s invite for a night out for a night in with your long-time boyfriend, Harrison, after a long day of work; but you wouldn’t have described your actions as boring.

Your drive home from work on the other hand, you would. Your daily thirty-minute commute was painfully boring; every day you drove to work, hooked the Bluetooth radio up to your phone and made it through the same 7 and a half songs on your ‘Car Jams’ playlist. Then you would park it in your apartment parking lot, beep the alarm button twice to make sure it was on and locked, and unlock your sticky apartment door by ramming your shoulder into it, make dinner, and wait for Harrison to get home.

Today was different though, a break in the same old mundane routine, your kitchen light was on and the door was already locked. You cautiously opened the front door and stuck your keys between your knuckles, what if someone had broken in?

Nothing looked out of place, but you could obviously hear someone thumping around one of the back rooms and voices.

Thump, thump accompanied by some murmurs you couldn’t make out.

You slowly walked deeper into your apartment, too focused to close the door behind you. The deeper you got, the louder the shuffling and pounding god. Your heart pounded against your chest and you clutched your keys with white knuckles, reaching for your bedroom door, the source of the noise.

Upon opening it, you saw Harrison, bare and rhythmically thrusting into a woman who was most certainly not you.

You dropped your keys which jingled loudly when they hit the ground and alert them of your presence.

Harrison glanced up at you and let out a sigh, rolling his eyes as if he were annoyed you were interrupting him. The girl covered her chest, “Sorry!” She said her face flushed and watching yours fall in defeat.

Your boyfriend pulled out of her and slumped over, “Harrison-” Your voice was unsteady from shock, “What-what’s this?” You asked.

Harrison let out a long, deep sigh, and ran a hand through his disheveled hair, “It’s exactly what it looks like.” He said, “I’m sorry, but our relationship is just so boring it was driving me mental.” He looked down sheepishly.

There was that word again

Boring

“Boring?” You asked slightly shocked, “What- I… I don’t understand,” Your stomach clenched seeing the woman still in your bed that the two of you routinely shared.

“It’s boring, [Y/N], we have only had sex in the missionary position for the last three months, for god sake we eat frozen pizza and watch the Bachelor every Thursday and have for as long as we’ve lived together.” It was as though he ripped away a band aid that covered a festering wound, one that had gotten far too big to cover.

It was true; the sex was disappointing, stale even. You honestly couldn’t remember the last time you didn’t fake an orgasm just to get it over with.

“You can go,” Harrison said to the girl who you had forgotten was even there.

She leaned over, moving to pick up her clothes before you interrupted, “It’s fine,” You said swallowing your pride, “I’ll just leave. It’s probably best if we didn’t see each other after this.” Your voice cracked with emotion.

Harrison didn’t protest or chase after you when you grabbed your keys from the floor and left, shutting and locking the apartment door behind you.

You opened your phone, your thumb hovering over your friend’s phone number before you exhaled loudly and clicked the little phone icon, dialing his number, “Fred?” You spoke as soon as he picked up.

It had barely been an hour since the two of you had gotten out of work, but you could tell he was already at the club by the rhythmic beats you could hear in the background “Yes, love?” He answered.

“Are you guys still out?” You knew he was, but still found yourself asking.

“Course we are darling, it’s barely 7pm. The night is still young!” He exclaimed, mischievous as ever.

“Can I still take you up on that invite?” You sighed.

You could tell Freddie was grinning from ear to ear, “For you, the invite is always open, I’ll send over my location!” He said before giving you a short ‘ta’ and hanging up.

Within seconds Freddie’s message lit up the screen on your phone with the location of a bar he often frequented before he would go out to the night club across the street. You looked down, still in your work clothes and frowned “Fuck it.” You shrugged, turning your car on and beginning your drive.

You had a lot of time for your thoughts to marinade in your head on your commute to the bar. You should have been more upset over Harrison cheating on you, you should have been angry with him, at the girl, and you should have had asked more questions. Yet, you found that you felt as though a strange weight had been lifted off your shoulders, like you were free from prison.

A smile crept across your face as it became illuminated by the cheap neon lights on the front of the bar, you found a parking spot which was surprisingly easy considering it was a work day, and walked into the bar.

You immediately spotted Freddie and several of Freddie’s friends all squeezed into the large booth in the back, Freddie waved enthusiastically at you and climbed over several peoples laps before he padded over to you, pulling you into a warm, friendly, embrace, “What made you change your mind?” He asked pulling away and gripping your hand so he could drag you to the bar.

“Oh,” You shifted uncomfortably, “I walked in on Harrison cheating on me.” You answered bluntly.

Freddie stared at you, his mouth ajar and stopping mid order, “He what?” He shrilly exclaimed, “Do you need me to go over there and fight for you dear? You say the word and I’ll key that scumbag’s car!” He was riled up; his blood was boiling.

You let out a small huff, “It’s fine, it was bound to happen sooner or later.” You answered honestly, “I’m not even that upset.” At least not yet.

Freddie handed you the drink he ordered, and you cautiously took a sip knowing you wouldn’t drink much tonight. Your friend turned around, clapping his hands and alerting the attention to the bar patrons “Everyone! Everyone!” He beckoned, “This is my friend [Y/N],” Oh no, “She’s just gotten dumped and needs to get fucked up,” Freddie gripped your shoulders tightly and shook you from side to side with excitement; his charisma was off the charts and the bar patrons erupted in shouts as he played the crowd and some how convinced them that you should most certainly NOT have to buy a single drink tonight.

If you did, you didn’t remember. In fact, you didn’t remember anything from the moment you stepped out of the bar to when you woke up on Fred’s couch. Your mouth was dry, and your head throbbed as you sat up. You looked at the clock 9:45, “Shit!” You shouted flailing out of your tangled mess of blankets and struggling to put your shoes back on, “Fucking hell.”

You weren’t surprised to see Freddie shuffling out of his bedroom, clad in his boxer briefs and a tank top, rubbing his eyes, “Who’s twisted your knickers this morning?” He asked.

“I’m 45 minutes late to work!” You exclaimed, patting your pockets for you phone and finally finding it on the table. You flicked your phone open to see two missed calls from your boss and around 7 text messages.

You hastily ran through Freddie’s hallway, catching your reflection in the mirror and stopping. You looked like literal shit. Your hair was a wild mess, eyes streaked with last nights makeup, and to top it all of you were still in last nights clothes. You took a minute to recompose yourself and fix your appearance before you glanced down.

Don’t bother coming in

Your heart dropped. This was your fourth time being late to work in the last month, you had been warned to not be late again, yet here you were; late once again and now unemployed.

Your life had been nothing short of a disaster this last week between losing your job and the whole Harrison situation. Freddie had so graciously allowed you to take up residence on his living room couch which was nice considering he was hardly ever home, but you could tell he was getting tired of having you moping about all the time.

It was nearly 12 in the afternoon when Freddie came down and ripped the blanket off you, the shock of the cold waking you up, “Come on, up!” He shouted playfully slapping at your thighs that showed due to your sleep shorts, “You can’t mope about on my couch forever, it’s really dragging down the atmosphere.” He chastised, tossing the blanket to the floor.

Your face felt hot with embarrassment, “I know, I promise I’m looking at new apartments Fred.” You said sheepishly. You were looking, but not having a job was making it a bit hard for you to convince landlords to call you back.

Freddie cleared his throat “Well that’s a moot point because I got you an apartment showing.”

You sat up, staring at him in shock “What? When?” You asked, wide eyed.

“Now! That’s why I said get up! I threw some clothes in the bathroom for you, I don’t care what you say you’re wearing them. I’m sick of seeing you in the same ugly jumper.” Freddie chastised.

You looked down and frowned, he had a point, you were wearing your old worn out college sweatshirt for the third day in a row, “Fine.” You muttered, getting up and trudging to the bathroom. You let out a deep sigh seeing the clothes Freddie had obviously taken from the second-hand store he ran that made you look like you had walked right out of some low budget 70s movie.

Much to your dismay, Freddie had also managed to wrangle you and dab a bit of rouge and mascara on your cheeks and eyes to help ‘complete the look’ before the two of you set out to see the apartment.

The house was surprisingly tidy, everything had its designated place and what little clutter there was took the form of retro posters and antiques, vinyl, and various other knickknacks. Freddie led you into the bedroom you would be staying in, thankfully it already had a full-size bed in the middle of the room and a dresser in the corner. You sighed in relief, since breaking up with Harrison, you found that everything in your shared apartment belonged to him as far as furniture went.

The door to the apartment opened and shut, alerting your and Freddie’s attention. The two of you walked out into the hall and your eyes settled upon your roommate. He wore a silk flower pattered button down with the top four buttons undone, exposing his pale chest and light flecks of blonde chest hair, accompanied by a pair of too tight jeans that left nothing to the imagination.

“Are you serious, Fred? Roger?” You crudely whispered and lightly pushed him.

Freddie put his hands up defensively, “He needed a roommate, and you needed a room, be grateful.”

You rolled your eyes and watched as Roger hung up his leather jacket on one of the hooks. He turned and faced you, scrunching his nose in disapproval “This is who you made me offer my room to?” He chastised Fred.

Freddie gaped at the two of you, “Be grateful.” He said shaking his finger like a disapproving mother, “You needed a roommate, and [Y/N] needed a room.” He repeated “If you don’t stop whining, you’ll both end up homeless, and I don’t hand out change.” Freddie reminded them of the reality of their situation, it was true you couldn’t sleep on Freddie’s couch forever, and Roger needed a roommate ASAP, or he was getting evicted.

You tried your best to not pass judgement on a man you hardly knew, but it was so hard when the only stories you had heard about him involved Freddie walking in on him having sex in various locations or doing ridiculously stupid things. He was most certainly not the type of person you wanted to live with, “I’m not saying I’m not grateful Freddie,” You quickly corrected, “I just don’t want to have to introduce myself to someone new every week.” Social interactions were truly exhausting to you.

Roger scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest, “That’s rich,” He mumbled while rolling his big blue eyes, “’Specially coming from the most boring person in all of West London.”

There was that word again, boring the word that haunted your thoughts at all hours of the day. You clenched your fists in frustration, “I am not boring!” You spat back.

After receiving the rent information from Roger, you truly didn’t know how you were going to afford the cost of living, “I only have enough money saved up for three months’ worth of rent, Fred.” You complained slumping against his car seat.

“You should to start selling pictures online like those girls on twitter do.” He said in a pointed fashion.

You made a face, looking at him slightly shocked, “What?” You asked confused at what he was suggesting.

Fred nodded “Yeah, it’s all the rage right now among young women. They make a lot of money doing it!” Freddie was always up to date on the latest trends in fashion and celebrity gossip, so it honestly didn’t surprise you when he was also up to date on the latest get rich quick plans.

You looked down at yourself, “I don’t know, who would pay to see me touch myself?” You asked honestly.

Fred arched his brow at you, “Honey, men would pay hundreds to see that pussy of yours on display, trust me.” He couldn’t help but give you a devilish grin, all in good fun.

God, Fred was going to be the death of you.

#roger taylor x reader #roger taylor smut #roger taylor x you #reader insert #ben hardy!roger x reader #ben hardy!roger taylor #ben hardy!roger taylor x reader #queen x reader #queen fanfic #roger taylor fanfic #borhap fanfic #borhap fandom #roger taylor series #queen series #FSC fic

[yeats-infection]

@sqvalors tagged me in a lil writing meme... if you’d like to participate please do and tag me! 

ao3 name: fluorescentgrey but i also post some things as drglass (dr. glass is the second song on the fluorescent grey EP by deerhunter, so if i make another pseud it will be likenew, then washoff, etc.) 

fandoms: about two thirds of my fics are harry potter or star wars but there are a lot of random little goodies. currently i have shifted into the terror (2018) mode. 

number of fics: 59 right now... i will throw a party when i get to 69... 

fic i spent the most time on: this is funny because some of these technically took me like six months or more of working on them extremely intermittently... namely, bone machine. the series in the garden has taken me the most time generally... and in that, minuet did take me several months of working really hard while i had a schedule / commute that was not conducive to having a creative practice... 

fic i spent the least amount of time on: hilariously, literally my most popular fic by ninety miles, the witcher PWP that i wrote out of spite in two or three hours. 

longest fic: the source codes series... particularly heelstone which is 102k. i wrote these two stories in a single summer like a crazy person and i hate talking about them because i find them WAY too gooey. honestly, that’s why they are so long. it’s all the gooeyness!!!!!! 

shortest fic: yes, the answer is the witcher porn again (this silly thing is going to be the answer for many other questions in this little meme but i’m just going to stop talking about it while i’m ahead). the west end is just about 50 words longer and is much better and is a much better and more interesting story. 

most hits: we’re just going to pretend it’s sex and dying in high society, which has the second most hits. this is certainly due to the fact that @wolfstarwarehouse hypes this story a lot for which i am endlessly grateful! 

most kudos: recovery position has the second most kudos so let’s go with that one! i have been very touched by the response to this story, though i do personally like the sequel beachcoma a little more... i understand why not everyone wants to read it because it is a little more bittersweet. but it also comes from my soul. 

most comment threads: the two stories in the source codes series are leading here, because i only posted two chapters at a time so that i would get maximal validation, lol. 

most bookmarks: in order to talk about a story i haven’t talked about yet, the rosary has the fourth-most. i think this fic is truly my r/s swan song... i said everything i wanted to say and did everything i wanted to do. it’s a really good mystery/noir story that i didn’t think i could pull off until i did! and i love the OCs in it who have sort of manifested these secret headcanons for me that i may expostulate upon someday. thank you to @piovascosimo for the inspiration to write it. 

total word count: 1,000,478. lol! 

favorite fic i wrote: cannot possibly choose but probably the top five in order of date posted are: desperado, a handful of dust, doom town, beachcoma, jump into the fire

fic i’d rewrite / expand on: i already said all of source codes because it’s way too gooey, i also could make hard time killing floor blues a lot tighter, and a memoir of the flesh deserves a way better ending because i was rushing to make the yuletide deadline...

share a bit of a WIP: i was trying for a while to write a band of brothers AU where they are vietnam vets who start growing cannabis... based on the steve earle song “copperhead road.” this could have been SO good but the plot was too huge and unwieldy so i gave up. my roommate is obsessed with this idea and keeps asking me how it’s going so i may yet finish. but there’s a bit below the cut.

The knock at the door in the night was a sharp shock, bright as lightning, that sent them both back to Khe Sanh and before. Nix ducked. Dick went behind the doorframe. They kept low into the kitchen, where Nix took his old officer’s pistol out from where he kept it hidden behind the fridge. Then they went to the door, keeping to the edges of the hallways.

On the porch was Liebgott. He could have made his own way in likely right onto the couch without either of them noticing, so it was something that he had knocked on the goddamn door. It was particularly something given that none of the boys from Easy should have known about the grow operation, or even about Dick’s farm, being as Dick’s address on file at the V.A. was a post office box in town and Nix’s was still in Jersey. These considerations were nil to somebody who had spent the better part of five years in the bush of Vietnam. He took a last draw from his cigarette and put it out against the rubber sole of his boot, then he put the butt in his pocket. As far as Nix knew, he hadn’t said a word since January 1970.  

“Joe,” said Dick diplomatically. He put his hand out and Liebgott took it. Then he took Nix’s. He had handsome dark eyes, but they were full of a wall. You could tell he saw you, but it was like nothing followed the necessary channels to the brain to spur emotional response. It had been like this even while he was still talking, and after a while you got used to it.

“You comin' in,” said Nix, knowing he probably would even if he wasn’t invited.

Inside, they all three sat at the kitchen table in silence nobody was about to break. Finally Dick got up and went to the drawer where they kept the rollies and their share of the product. He passed a sheaf of papers and a film canister full of bud to Liebgott across the table. Nix understood as well as Dick apparently did that there would be no getting anything over on this kid, who had eyes in the back and sides of his head. He’d probably had a nice tour of the property before coming inside. “You hungry, son,” Dick said.

Liebgott shook his head. He extracted one of the buds from the canister and inspected it. They did look mighty good if Nix said so himself. They looked artful in Liebgott’s hand. There were black scabs across his knuckles and a dark rime of filth under those fingernails which still existed. He seemed satisfied enough with what he saw to take a paper out of the sheaf and start shredding the flower into it.

“Captain Nixon calls it Easy Diesel,” said Dick, like he was trying to pretend it wasn’t the funniest thing in the world.

Liebgott looked up and a smile flashed across his face like the savage golden light of a flare falling over the far hills. His smile was sort of brutal, like the edge of a knife in a barfight, or like a seething animal. Luckily it went away as quickly as it had come. He rolled the joint with a quick grace and lit the business end with his old silver Zippo Nixon hadn’t seen since the war. There was a skull engraved on one side and on the other it read IF YOU ARE RECOVERING MY BODY, FUCK YOU.

“I don’t know how you found us, Joe,” Dick said thoughtfully. “You don’t have to… tell us. But we ain’t exactly keen to have just anybody here.” He paused and looked quickly to Nix, who tried to make it abundantly clear by means of eyebrows that he wasn’t sure they ought to go down this road, wherever it was leading. Dick ignored him. Liebgott was watching them, fully understanding their attempted clandestine exchange. “We ain’t exactly keen to have the DEA here,” Dick said at last.

The cherry at the end of the joint atomized with a crackling hiss. Liebgott looked between Dick and Nix with extreme seriousness sullied only by his exhaling a dignified white cloud out his nose. Then he nodded, once, curtly, demonstrating he understood his orders as they had been relayed.

Nix flashed Dick what he thought was a what have you done type look. But Dick looked totally unbothered. He should have gone into this business years ago for how violently unflappable he was. He said to Liebgott, “I’ll get some blankets and you can make up the couch.”

Liebgott shook his head to say no need. He got up, careful not to scrape the chair against the floor, shook each of their hands again, and in less than a minute’s time he was back out the door with nothing more than what he’d come in with except the joint.

Nix and Dick, on the porch, listening to the crickets, watched him disappear into the darkness.

“Are we hallucinating,” said Nix eventually.

“I sure as hell hope not,” Dick replied. “We’ve got to ship all that product or we’ll starve.”

-

In the morning Nix was in the field, inspecting the plants. Liebgott was standing there at his quarter for god knew how long before he cleared his throat and Nix jumped about six feet in the air. There was a smirk shifting across Liebgott’s face that he would have been better about hiding when Nix had been his commanding officer. He looked like he hadn't slept. Back over there he had looked like that a lot, but it had been different, because of all the uppers they were taking. He cocked his head back over toward the long driveway and then he was off across the dew-wet grass which had already soaked through the hems of his canvas pants and his destroyed shoes.

Nix followed, like a duckling behind a hen. Liebgott still walked as though there were eyes in all sides of his head quickly processing information as he moved. Nix doubted you ever lost that kind of skill, even if in the real world it made you look like a mental patient. He caught up so they could walk side by side through the dew-wet grass. “What did you think,” he asked Liebgott.

Liebgott passed Nix the universal sign of furrowed brow that meant please clarify.

Nix gestured with pinched fingers to his own mouth as though Liebgott were also deaf. “The grass.”

He shaped his hand into an a-ok sign.

“You get any sleep?”

He nodded an infinitesimal nod, like the answer was a secret just for Nix to know.

“Well if you think it could be better just tell me how.”

Nix had had a high school friend whose sister was deaf from scarlet fever and whom he had watched on occasion communicate with her by means of sign language. Early on, back over there, he had sent off to command for a book, but by the time it came he understood it wasn’t that Liebgott couldn’t speak, he just didn’t want to. It was something like how people’s hair supposedly turned white if they witnessed some evil thing, or how people became ascetics in the name of god. If you were really fucked up on drugs or fear or otherwise, or if the natural magical thinking from childhood hadn’t been fully beaten out of you, you might have seen it as the sacrifice he had given to the forest for letting him out without a scratch so many goddamn times. It had been a bit of a trial to explain this to Spiers, who was practical almost to a fault, sometimes.

Liebgott showed another a-ok sign. Then he did a thumbs up which Nix knew meant it was good.

All in all it was smart. If he was still talking, Nix might have asked him, what have you been up to? You been sleeping on the street? You been to the V.A.? What did they tell you? And the answer would’ve been nothing good. Instead they just walked in the cool grass together in the sunshine and the morning was beautiful, and the air was sweet. It was all lovely until Liebgott had to physically stop him, laughing, somehow silently but also hysterically, from stepping right onto the razor-thin tripwire stretched invisibly across the dark gravel.

In the kitchen, Dick was doing the numbers. He took his glasses off when Nix came in and put the coffee on. “He learned a thing or two from Charlie,” Nix said, leaning against the counters.

“Who, Joe?”

“Our driveway is thoroughly ratfucked.”

“Hmm,” said Dick. He put the glasses back on and turned back to the accounting book. He was going to do this whole thing as above board as was humanly possible. The vivid daylight came through the window and struck the lens of his unstylish Ray-Bans and threw a kind of prism of color upon the white paper and the chicken-scratch sums. Nix felt like maybe this was something you would paint if you had the necessary implements and artistic ability. “Maybe we should see if we can get any more help.”

-

He was mildly ashamed to say it, but the doc had always kind of creeped Nix out. He imagined a hypothetical conversation with Dick, who he knew loved the kid, almost like a son: Listen, don’t get me wrong, he’s a good kid, I owe him my life, yadda yadda. But either he’s dropped the brown acid one too many times or the voodoo exorcism went FUBAR.

The doc had arrived on the farm on the heels of Sunshine and Rainbows, aka Mr. Bright Eyed and Bushy Tailed, aka one Edward “Babe” Heffron. Nix had written Babe in South Philly, being as he was a connoisseur of bud and once upon a time had been famed among their company for smoking anything anyone put in his hand, often to his own detriment. The operation was getting big enough that Nix needed another pair of hands, other than Liebgott, of course, who was still fortifying the long driveway whilst giving away his cover by playing Led Zeppelin IV as loudly as was possible. It was a tough calculation, because Babe was a genius of pot, but he couldn’t keep a damn secret, and lo and behold he had dragged along with him a dark shadow in the human form of Eugene Roe. They came up the driveway in a big old Ford pickup that rattled its rust off in the potholes. Liebgott had dismantled the traps specially for their arrival when they had called from Williamsport to say they were an hour out.

“I figured we could use a medical professional to lend some credibility to the operation,” said Babe thoughtfully, sparking a joint on the porch over sweating jam jars of iced tea.

Roe snorted or something but it wasn’t really a normal person’s self-effacing laugh. Winters clapped his back. Nixon knew Roe had dropped out of medical school after two years but there was no need to say anything. Everyone knew that. Now he was working construction and Babe claimed to be working as a mechanic in a garage, but this seemed suspect given the state of the car they had driven up in.

“Well we sure as hell are glad you boys are here,” said Dick magnanimously.

Babe exhaled an opaque cloud that rivaled Nix’s own father’s ability with a stogie. “Can we see the bush?”

They went out all together to the field and ducked between the rows of corn. Babe knelt in the soil. It was damp with dew and quiet in here. It would have been almost like over there except it smelled good. “What’s the cross,” Babe said, inspecting the plants.

“It’s an indica blend…”

“Well, I can tell that,” he said.

“So you’re an expert on the plant now too?”

“I’ve just smoked an awful lot of joints in my life, Captain Nixon.”

Roe snorted again. When they all looked to him he said, “You said in the letter there was some kind of altruistic reason for all this.”

“It’s medicine, Gene,” Babe said gently, but also like they had had this conversation thirty thousand times. Nix filed away for later the intimation that Roe had read the letter he’d sent Babe at home in South Philadelphia.

“I guess you don’t remember the psychic break you had at the Do Lung Bridge.”

Babe waved this remark off, even though Nix remembered it too. It threw a chill down his back, like a water balloon had hit him at the base of his neck. “That was laced,” Babe said.

“With what!”

“I don’t know! Something bad!” Babe turned to Dick and Nix. “Gene’s teetotal,” he said, like this was a big old point of contention.

So that counted out the bad acid. Maybe he was just like this. Maybe he had had those big sad bug eyes as a child or an infant or a fetus in the womb. “Good on you, Doc,” Nix said.

“I ain’t trying it,” Roe said, folding his arms over his narrow chest, “no matter what it does.”

The doc was a tough cookie. Babe had claimed, over there, about as high as the Byrds song, that the doc came from a long line of the kind of folks described in Dr. John’s “Gris-Gris Gumbo Ya Ya” and that, as such, he could heal wounds with his mind. When it didn’t work, as on the night when Jackson died, or the night when Hoobler died, or in the forest when Muck and Penkala died, or the night when Liebgott stopped speaking, he went to sit for a while on the edge of camp until Dick went over and made him eat something. Nix watched them in a state of confused envy, and then he went to write the letters to the families, so that Dick wouldn’t have to.

At dusk, after they ate a light dinner of corn on the cob and rice and beans, he took the boys up into the hayloft with an armful of blankets. “Sorry this is the best we got,” he said. He had said that about a hundred god damn times since they got here.

Roe looked like he wanted to say, you’ve got to stop apologizing for everything. Instead he said, “Where does Lieb sleep.”

Babe perked up. “Joe’s here?”

“You didn’t see him in the driveway?”

Nix sighed. “He’s gonna want to know what he did wrong that you saw him,” he said.

“Does he still — ”

Nix shook his head. “Not a peep.”

In a couple days time, he couldn’t take it anymore, and he was hot and tired and stoned, up to his elbows in earth in the field, showing Babe how to replant the hatchlings he’d grown from seed. “You guys room together or what?”

“Me and Gene?” Babe’s eyes were red in the corners from smoking and from the sun. “What about you and Dick?”

Dick, who had the radio on inside turned up as loud as it would go, so that they would hear it in the field, playing Crosby Stills and Nash doing “Suite: Judy Blue Eyes.” “What about me and Dick?” said Nix.

Babe was a smart kid. He realized this was going nowhere. With muddy hands he popped one of the seedlings out of its little pot and cradled it into the ground. “Well, I think he thinks he’s looking after me, but in actuality, I am looking after him.”

#my fic #asks

[ladyhistorypod]

Episode 16: Ms. Conceptions

Sources:

Bra Burning

Time

Carol Hanish (dot) org

Further learning: Florynce Kennedy (Harvard), NPR, BBC

Harriet Tubman

Time

National Women’s History Museum

National Parks Service

History Channel

Smithsonian Magazine

Monica Lewinsky

The Clinton Affair

CNN

News 24

Further learning: Last Week Tonight with John Oliver (YouTube), Vanity Fair

Attributions: Commercial for Playtex Cross Your Heart Bra, Railway to Freedom, Pure T Saxophone Sample by Stan Rams

Click below for a transcript of this episode!

Alana: Yeah my sister is here. Erika: It’s me I’m here. Haley: I can't believe you’re both sitting in the goddamn closet. Sure the acoustics are better but you could’ve cleaned it up. Alana: The whole point is that the clothes do the soundproofing. Lexi: This is high end professional podcasting. Haley: What do you study, because this is like how I’m gonna judge you now. Erika: I'm a television radio film major. Alana: But I'm the one with the podcast. Haley We like this. She can stay. I was ready for you to say like– Erika: I really like TV. I really like movies, so I decided to make a career out of it. Lexi: That would have been me if I'd had balls. Except then I went to another pointless moneyless career so what's the deal? Alana: What are we doing? Lexi: Well, I don't have a sister. No just kidding, I have three thousand five hundred and two sisters. Actually I think that number's been updated since I memorized it because it's been a whole semester and there are new sisters. Alana you tell them what you think about my sisters. Alana: Every single time Lexi talks about a sister, I always think… she'll be like oh my sister Kate… Lexi you don’t have a sister. Haley: I completely agree but she doesn't say, or she went through this phase where she didn't say the people's names. She’d be like one of my sisters blah blah blah. And that will lead into like my next– like the other banter because I have a motherfucking story for you. Lexi: Okay, I love it. What about your sister Haley? Haley: Lou Lou? She's about to graduate from NYU and she's like writing a thesis right now and internally I'm just so happy that she has to like write this because I need her to feel this type of pain. Erika: That's sisterhood. Haley: I needed her to like feel this type of… Because for some reason I feel like her undergraduate time has just flown the freak by and she studied abroad three different times and I always feel like study abroad is always like some bullshit thing from like all the times for GW kids that come back and they're like well it's not graded you just have to pass the class. Lexi: All my friends who studied abroad in Korea and my sisters who studied abroad in Korea just like drunk and… Drank? Drank. Just drunk drank the whole time. Haley: Because she was out of like NYU London or NYU Madrid or NYU Abu Dhabi. Lexi: So it's like real classes from your school. Haley: I think so, yeah. Erika: Yeah that’s how it is for Syracuse. Alana: Yeah. Erika: Two of my roommates in– when I was in London last semester were from GW and we all– it was me and two other girls from Syracuse and two girls from GW and all the Syracuse girls were like are you kidding me. Like, are you for real? Because I was taking classes for my major and for my minors and they were just like well we're gonna mess around we're gonna like not try on this paper because we need a C. Lexi: Yeah. GW’s like go for the experience. Alana: Let’s talk about brothers for a sec. Lexi is the only one who has a brother. Lexi: Yes. I am the only one who's experienced the brother and let me tell you… Erika: I always wanted one. Alana: Okay well fuck off. Erika: I wanted an older one– Alana, louder: Okay fuck off! Erika: An older than you one. Like an old, old one. Haley: My sister’s like I wish I had an older brother and I'm like okay I didn't want you either. Erika: I didn’t mean it like that! Haley: I wanted to be a child so fucking badly. Erika: She wanted to be an only child. Alana: I was supposed to be an only child. Lexi: I literally cried. I locked myself in the bathroom and cried. [INTRO MUSIC] Alana: Hello and welcome to Lady History; the good, the bad, and the ugly ladies you missed in history class. Back on Zoom is Lexi. Lexi, what’s something you wish people knew about your field? Lexi: I guess I'll say about archaeology. I wish people knew that archaeologists do not dig up dinosaurs. Alana: And my other zoom companion is Haley. Haley, what's something most people incorrectly assume about you? Haley: Did you really fucking set me up for that one? Everyone thinks I'm gay. Alana: And if I'm a little echo-y today it's because we have a very special guest. My sister Dave is here. Dave, what's your actual name and why do I call you Dave? Erika: My name is Erika. It’s not Dave. The Dave joke started because way back really really long ago there was a Staples commercial for like a one man running his own business. Alana: The tagline was in a small business it's all you. Erika: right so with all Dave and it was just a bunch of Dave's around the office. Like one guy was like making copies, one was walking around with papers or whatever. Then it’s just like hey Dave, how you doing Dave, how's it going Dave and we thought that was so funny. Alana: Uproariously funny. Erika: I remember like crying on the couch laughing for like twenty minutes. Alana: And I'm Alana and it took me an embarrassingly long time to figure out that wax is the part of the candle that burns. Haley: So I thought of this in the shower where all my great thoughts come but since we're doing misconceptions– I did not have a misconception of Alana, but my first impression of Lexi was the furthest thing from Lexi possible. Lexi: What? I've never heard this before. Haley: I never accurately told the story– or like actually told this story to anyone. I like kept it in, but secretly chuckle from time to time. So like our group of friends didn't have Lexi immediately. Like I knew Cece and Kelsie from class, and I knew Cece from freshman year even. This is like second semester sophomore year so I kind of knew Alana. But for Lexi, I just knew Lexi from this one guy who we won't mention– we just won’t mention they're not important– and our lovely Holly. And Holly described Lexi as a girl from like rural Pennsylvania who was like really smart. Like I was ready for a fun loving friend because Holly's great and like I trusted Holly on personality like recommendations and just life choices to an extent. And I was like cool great let's meet this gal, we're all going to be like taking this one class together. Let's rock and roll. And then Lexi comes in, she's wearing like this bird– you were definitely wearing a skirt, like a long flowy skirt and had some sort of animal bird or whatever on your shirt or like on you. Speaker 0: And literally within five minutes you were talking about your sisters. I'm in my head thinking oh crap do we have like another nineteen kids and counting? Like who the fuck is this girl? Alana: Oh my god. Haley: Because like I called out Lexi, fifty fifty she may not say like sorority sister. But she may not even say like her sister's name. Like enter sorority sister name but using my sister and then… But at this point, she also used the phrase also commonly use and does commonly use is one of my sisters. So she said “one of my sisters,” “and other sisters,” “so a group of my sisters are hanging out.” So I was like this did this whole family just fucking come to GW? Speaker 0: Like either we have like Weasley but in reverse of like six girls and one bro, or like nineteen kids and counting coming on in. And I… Straight three weeks at least I was trying to figure Lexi out because I knew I was going to instantly love her but I was like scared to get like deep dive in like all her siblings. Lexi: So you thought I was like from a rural Pennsylvanian Amish family with thirty kids? Haley: Literally.

[Archival Audio of a 1960s bra commercial] Lexi: In my opinion, this is the biggest misconception in modern women's history because even I believed it until very much into my adulthood of so far my adulthood. And I was definitely told this in a history class in high school as being true, the lie. So we'll get right into it. The Women's Liberation Movement of the sixties and seventies granted women many rights, reforming policies surrounding work, education, and medicine. So overall, pretty good move. Today, the efforts of mid century feminists are often lumped into other stories and are not granted their own lesson plans in schools or their own sections of museums. Instead, stories like the suffrage movement are rehashed time and again and the more modern efforts of women fighting for equality are brushed aside. I mean even we are guilty of this, covering many more suffragists than twentieth century feminists so in keeping with our mission– Alana: Hold on. Lexi: Yeah? Alana: This is episode sixteen. Lexi: Yeah. Alana: There haven’t been many episodes! We haven’t had a chance to talk about twentieth century feminists! Lexi: Valid. So the story I'm about to tell you it's just a small piece of the larger movement, but considering someone could start an entire podcast series covering just the events of this movement and probably go on for like five seasons, who knows, I think it does make the most sense to give a small snippet of the efforts of these women here on our show, and maybe in the future we can cover other snippets as they relate to other things we're doing, so stay tuned. In 1968, a group of women gathered to protest the Miss America pageant. You know, we all know Miss America, women come from each state and I think also territories now, they get together they compete and one becomes Miss America. Carol Hanisch, whose name I might be saying wrong so please correct me if you know, the feminist scholar and activist who coined the phrase “the personal is political” conceived the protest as a way of bringing the Women's Liberation Movement to the mainstream. The pageant itself had a tradition of using white single childless women's beauty to make money, which is not exactly a very cash money thing to do or a very feminist thing to do. Actually it is a super cash money thing to do because it makes a lot of money. Alana, singing: Capitalism Lexi: Yes. So Carol and her fellow activists of the New York Radical Women organization decided the pageant was the perfect institution for them to protest. Women of all political backgrounds were invited to join in the protest which took place on the Atlantic City boardwalk outside the pageant venue, and the pageant venue was one of the Atlantic City casinos, so they were just on the boardwalk outside of it. And they had a permit, and they were doing it with permission, just in case anyone tries to come at them about that. They did have a permit for a protest on the boardwalk. These women rejected the idea of the massive air quotes ideal woman perpetuated by the Miss America pageant. Reporters arrived at the scene. The women spoke only to other women who were reporters and refused to speak to reporters who were men. The women issued a document to everyone in attendance outlining the ten reasons they decided to protest Miss America. One such reason was the fact that women of color had never won and a Black contestant had never even been allowed to participate, so the feminists believed the pageant was racist and they were calling out it as a racist institution. And we love to see intersectional feminism, so this is why that's the specific reason I wanted to point out. The women were also protesting the consumerism promoted by the event which was fueled by corporate sponsorships. They protested it as a symbol of military industrial complex, asserting that Miss America's role in entertaining troops made her a death mascot, you know those are just a few. Protesters also engaged in performance art. One protester Florynce “Flo” Kennedy, a Black woman who worked as a reproductive rights lawyer, chained herself to a doll depicting Miss America, invoking metaphors of enslavement. In an interview she said “the Atlantic City action is comparable to peeing on an expensive rug at a polite cocktail party. The Man never expects that kind of protest, and very often that's the one that really gets him uptight.” And she means the Man like capital M The Man, just in case that wasn't clear. Side note, five years later Flo hosted what she called a “pee in” at Harvard University to protest the lack of women's restrooms on the campus because women had to walk out of one of their academic buildings into another when they needed to pee, so I think Flo had a thing for peeing on rich people’s shit. And that's a mood because she just went into the quad and she just had people poor jars of yellow liquid which may or may not have been pee down the steps and that was the demonstration, so… Alana: I like that her name is Flo. Lexi: It's a very fun name. I love it. I like that her name is Flo and she's doing all of this like… (Laughing) Lexi: The women’s work. Simultaneously, women across the country in support the movement boycotted companies who were sponsoring the pageant. So this wasn't just contained to the New York Radical Women, it involves lots of people. Yet, the iconic image of the protest is the “Freedom Trash Can” and you might see pictures of this around on the interwebs it's like a barrel, a can, and it says “Freedom Trash Can” painted on the side. Protesters filled it with objects of oppression such as girdles, bras, wigs, fake eyelashes, hair curlers and homemaking magazines- so like “Country Woman” and “Women’s Day” and that kind of stuff. Then, they lit it on fire. Just kidding. Nothing was set on fire. No burning, no fire, not even the tiny candle, not even a tiny spark, no one pulled out a lighter. They just filled up a trash can and presumably took all the stuff out of the trash can after they were done. It was performance art. That's literally it. But this powerful, falsified visual leads to a myth that perpetuates to this day, of feminists gathering around, burning their bras as if they're participating in some sort of religious ceremony. It was a perfect visual to sell to the American people; don't support these radical angry women, who run around braless, unshaven, burning their undergarments, and worshipping like witches. Frustrated men argued that by burning their beauty products the protesters were making themselves less appealing to men, which is a hot take no one gives a shit about. So, the truth is a group of a few hundred women in Atlantic City in 1968 threw their bras and other items in the trash. They tossed away objects representative of consumerism and oppression, the two things they were protesting. The myth of bra burning lives as an anti-feminist propaganda piece, boiling a strong political and intellectual movement down to a visual of air quotes “Nasty Women,” a stereotype that continues to this day and myth even young women believe until learning the truth because it's literally taught in schools and exists in some textbooks that you can still buy. According to many historians, this protest event ushered in mainstream second wave feminism. The next day just down the boardwalk the first Miss Black America competition was held, which Oprah would go on to compete in in 1971 as Miss Tennessee. Just a few months later, Carol expressed that she regretted protesting Miss America saying “one of the biggest mistakes of the whole pageant was our anti-womanism...Miss America and all beautiful women came off as our enemy instead of our sisters who suffer with us.” The fight continues today. Yes all women. Alana: We love that, acknowledging mistakes. We love intersectional feminism. We love including all kinds of women in the feminism. Lexi: And since all the pictures are copyright, I can't put them on our Instagram but they are in the articles, so please go enjoy. They’re fantastic pictures of the performance art. Haley: When you started talking, I was having such flashbacks to like middle school/high school. The women around me, and I won't name names in case they ever listen to this, but just like their attitude towards how I and other budding females should act and like dress. Alana: I totally was that feminist bitch in high school. Everyone was like going to parties and I was like no one wants to fuck you when you're that feminist bitch. [Archival Audio: Railway to Freedom] Haley: This next story on Lady History, we're gonna be talking about Harriet Tubman and for a brief content warning topics like slavery, racism, and violence will be discussed. Alright friends bear with me because I've been very sick, not the coronas, no fever or whatever, just exhaustion, isolation dust hitting my asthma, and I've just been in the pits. So, anywho, when creating like the master spreadsheet of ladies that we had Harriet Tubman was on this list, but I think I switched her around… Alana: Who recommended Harriet Tubman? Haley: Excellent question, it was your sister Erika. I actually moved Harriet Tubman, so I had her originally, I think it was one of the earlier episodes, it was definitely before this episode. Yes I had her for heroines but I was gonna move her down the list because I wanted to do Selena. And then Erika was like let's do Harriet Tubman so I was like sweet, had some notes on her already, got sick, decided to do a radical change because I love testing out different methods of storytelling. I love narrations and for Harriet I think this would be a good opportunity to like pick a new style because she is very well known but mainly because of slavery, her being an enslaved human being, and then quote the conductor of the Underground Railroad where– where she was given the nickname “Moses of her people” because of all the people she helped. I would say ninety percent of the time, there's some article or book that I read and that's kind of like my aha moment of what I want to shape a full on story around, besides doing like our usual intros. So I found that article and it's kind of like… It’s got me going I kind of liked doing it that research way even though I'm sweaty and tired but my eyeballs still were like we're sweaty and tired but we like this article. So cracking open this history book to 1820 Maryland where Harriet Tubman was born, and we don't know her exact age so she may have also been born in 1822 if your ears are perking up and being like this lady got her dates wrong. So I didn't know this and this was kind of like one of my misconceptions for Harriet Tubman, but her name is not actually Harriet Tubman, or like the name her parents gave her, like birth name was Araminta Ross and I just love the name Araminta, like I think that's just a lovely name, you could have some stellar nicknames. And besides the point, we're gonna go back to just some deep dark history and by the age of five she was quote “rented” by her quote “owners” as a quote “domestic servant.” I'm gonna be using a lot of quotes because I really hate some of the terms used across some sources and just that's also a misconception for history is that you have to use X. Y. Z. term, like yes they should be taught in the sense of vocabulary, but like we don't… I don't want to be teaching five year olds or like elementary school kids that like… “rented by her owners.” Talk about the dichotomy but I don't I don't know it makes me– Lexi: Kidnapped by the people who enslaved her. Haley: Yeah, yes. I like that way more. And by age twelve we see her resistance to slavery blossom because she intervened a fight/quarrel/scuffle between very bad slave owner and a man who was trying to like escape slavery, and she kind of like came on in. So that was one of the many moments where she was like “I'm standing up for myself, I'm standing up for others, slavery is very very bad.” So now you get to the article because of course, of course, and it ties into also the movie Harriet that came out, starring Cynthia Erivo as Harriet. This was actually the first movie dedicated solely to this American icon. So like that was also a surprise to me. This Time Magazine opinion piece by Erica Armstrong Dunbar was ran exactly a year ago, when also the movie Harriet came out, and of course it's in the show notes, and it's called The True Story of Harriet Tubman Shows That Sometimes Running is Brave as Fighting. There are a lot of little misconceptions like the Underground Railroad wasn't actually a railroad, that's a big one I see many times. Also with the movie Harriet, I watched half of it, it's on HBO. So like every biopic… it's not a documentary, people are acting. Like I'm obviously people who are way more in depth into the American Civil War, Harriet Tubman history than I am will be like this misconception, this inconsistency. I'm gonna be– I'm gonna agree with you. So I'll just come out right there and say it like when you have actors portraying a character and just movies like this, they have to add some sprinkle of fiction. However, what this article really talks about is that how we have this whole misconception that fight or flight. So if you fight your battles, you’re coming up to a quarrel or scuffle and you fight them, you're seen as brave. You are seen as like this alpha human, alpha wolf. If you flee, if you fly, with your little wings, you are seen as like a coward, and that's just not true of Harriet Tubman because she literally ran away, but that was like the brave thing she could do. Also with this misconception, what the article also kind of nodded to was like if you're running into battle… like that’s still brave. Like that’s seen as heroic. But running towards like another route… because like it wasn't like if you left the South, you passed like northern Maryland, going into like up past the Mason Dixon line you were like Scot free. It wasn’t like this magical like utopia. You're running away from one battle into another battle. It was not black and white for this, so like her running away was not running away from the situation and that was like one misconception I never really thought about but after reading this article, reading more about Harriet it's like oh, that's a hundred percent true. And then the last misconception was how I perceived her as like an elusive person. Like I truly thought that the reason why we have pictures of Harriet Tubman was that she got caught, not in a great way. Like she got caught and like she had to like weasel her way out like but she was still free and like when she was free it was– she was just free because she happened to be in like the northern part and not like the part where she could go back to being a slave. I'm explaining this horribly wrong but this is me trying to remember back to like early middle school/late elementary school history. So like I– and this was also a misconception for just history, and I thought it was more like if you were a bad important, we would have a picture to remember your face. So that was kind of like I knew Harriet Tubman was like the hero and the good guy in this whole scenario, like I thought the reason why she was photographed and talked about was because she got caught and didn't want to be in the public eye. That is not necessarily true; she was an elusive person who tried to keep to herself, however she did do speaking engagements. Like she would talk about like her life in the North and then go back into the shadows and just like taking time away from society. And I don't know if she I can't like find out like what she did talk about the talks, like specifically, but I know that in the speaking engagements she obviously condemned slavery, and she would also condemned like the lawmakers, and like for the lawmakers who condemned slavery but didn't do anything about it she was still like you're not as good at like– you're not good or better… or you’re not better, you're still doing a shitty job. And in the end, she made twelve to thirteen trips to Maryland rescuing nearly seventy people and by doing that each of those trips she was breaking federal law each and every time. [Saxophone music because Lexi thought it would be funny] Alana: This is the first time we're covering someone who is still like active in the world, and I'm very nervous, but I’m gonna do my best. So this story it has a content warning for sexual assault and a brief mention of suicide that I'll note when it comes up so just in case sexual assault isn't triggering for you but maybe suicide is I will let you know when to hit that skippy boi. So I am talking about Monica Lewinsky, who was born July 23, 1973 that makes her a Leo. A lot of my notes come from the 2018 so kind of recent docuseries called The Clinton Affair, which I watched all of it, I binged it, it was exhausting. It features Monica herself actually and so in further reading I have included a Vanity Fair article that she wrote about why she decided to participate. One of the reasons was that she really liked that so many women were involved, whereas until that point a lot of the biographies of Bill Clinton and like the books about that whole time were written by men and she was like oh this is really cool that a lot of women are so heavily involved so she agreed to participate in the docuseries and I thought that was really cool of her. So after she graduated college, we're going back in time to 1995, she graduated college, and she had initially wanted to get a PhD in forensic psychology but she didn't score high enough on one section of the GRE. She was very interested in where psychology and the law kind of meet, but she wasn't really into politics. But also she like didn't know what to do since she wasn't going into a PhD program. She had a family friend who had done the White House summer internship, he put in a good word for her, and so she got the summer internship for the summer of 1995. At one point she had a conversation with one of the other interns who was like “oh, isn’t President Clinton so handsome” and she was like “no.” But then they were in the same room together and he was hypnotically charismatic and she developed like a celebrity crush kind of on him. There were a couple of flirtatious interactions during the internship but nothing like serious. She had been hired full time after the internship was over and so that's when the affair began, in November of 1995. Except here's the thing, 1996 was an election year, and Clinton was running for reelection. This would have been, and ended up being, very scandalous and could have cost him his reelection. So she was transferred to the Pentagon with the promise that she'd be back at the White House when the election was over. Except then the election was over and Monica was still at the Pentagon. She made a joke about how she was so underqualified to be at the Pentagon but there she was. She confided in her colleague named Linda Tripp, and what is the first thing that this bitch Linda Tripp does? She calls a literary agent and starts taping their conversations. I would like to note that Linda Tripp did not participate in the docuseries; she also died in April, but as previously mentioned this docuseries came out two years ago. So that timeline doesn’t work. I don't know if they asked her but I feel like… The literary agent participated. Let me take a second and put all of this in context. There was an ongoing sexual harassment lawsuit against President Clinton by a woman named Paula Jones who said that he assaulted her when he was governor of Arkansas and there were a lot of other accusers involved. So calling it The Lewinsky Scandal– as it kind of has been– is bad, but you also can't really call it The Clinton Scandal because there are just too many of them. There was this thing called like Whitewater about banking that I didn't really understand… it's fine. I'll touch back on that at the end. And so someone leaked to Ken Starr, who was the investigator, that President Clinton was having a– currently having an affair with a young intern. On January 16, 1998 the FBI like held her in custody at the Ritz Carlton in Pentagon City. They didn't really arrest her, but they also– it was pretty clear that she wasn't allowed to go anywhere. They teased her for wanting her to call her mom, and then manipulated her into not calling her lawyer, and lied about an immunity deal. And this is the suicide mention, so maybe skip forward fifteen seconds. She was so distraught and scared that she thought the only way to protect her loved ones and the president was to jump out the window. Like that was a serious thought she had. There was some back and forth between Ken Starr, who sucks, just objectively– I guess not to Ken Starr and his family, but he's the worst. So there's some back and forth between him and Monica's lawyers if she can have an immunity deal or not and she finally gets one in writing in July of 1998. The lawyers in the docuseries said that they probably wouldn't have charged her with anything anyway. Frustration noises. Part of the immunity deal was answering very specific and very detailed questions about the nature of the sex that they had had directly to Ken Starr and she was very uncomfortable and so she made a chart, and wrote it all down instead of saying it. Later Starr said that he didn't want the president getting asked pornographic questions. Except hold the fucking phone, there’s a horrible relatively new thing out there called the internet. And in September, the House Judiciary Committee releases the Starr Report on the internet. And this is where we get to the horrible way that late night shows and the news treated Monica Lewinsky. She was slutshamed, she became a caricature, all of the late night shows have their go at her, and just say horrible things. Fuck Jay Leno, all my homies hate Jay Leno. He was the worst of them and has yet to apologize and even called for like civility to return to late night TV and I was like MM. Also fuck Bill Maher, I hate Bill Maher, not just because of this but also in general, sorry Dad, I hate him. But Bill Clinton, President Clinton, had encouraged Monica to lie during the Jones investigation and that was what came up and caused the impeachment trial. Not the assaults, not the affair, the quote “obstruction of justice.” Fun fact for my fellow DC friends, my favorite place in the whole world Kramerbooks and Afterwords Cafe which is now just Kramers and that makes me feel weird, is kind of tangentially involved in this because Monica bought a book on phone sex from them and the investigation subpoenad those records. Lexi: Are you kidding me? Alana: I am not kidding you. Lexi: I guess the point is for twenty five years young women in DC have been going to Kramer's and buying suspicious books. Alana: Totally! So could all of this have been avoided if Bill Clinton was just honest the first time he was asked because there was like years and years of denying this, and if he just said he had an inappropriate relationship with her? Maybe. Monica probably would have still been ridiculed and slutshamed though, but I guess certain semen stained dresses would not have come to light. For context there's this very famous blue dress that Monica wore during one of their encounters that had Bill Clinton’s semen on it. Fun fact, Linda Tripp encouraged her not to wash the dress. On the tape of that conversation Tripp says that she just has this nagging feeling that it'll come up later. Also all the women who accused Bill Clinton in the nineties of sexual misconduct went on to support Trump in 2016. Lexi: Like, like advocate– like publicly tell people? Alana: Yeah. There's this whole panel of them. He did– in 2016 he did a whole panel with all of Bill Clinton's accusers because that was relevant to Hillary’s run, I guess. Lexi: Did he pay them for that? Alana: I don't know. Lexi: Or they just really– they just– they hated him so much they had to just yeet HIllary? Alana: I mean the alternative title for this is “The Way in Which Bill Clinton is Democratic Donald Trump.” If you, if you're not seeing parallels…  Like I watched this in 2018 I was like oh my god… Or, I watched it now but that it took place in 2018. Haley: I've trick or treated at Bill and Hill's house. I've met them on various occasions, we grew up in– I grew up in Chappaqua, New York and that's the town they live in. Alana: My cousin has prayed with Jared and Ivanka because they're Jewish. So Monica today is a goddamn delight. She's so much fun. She is an anti bullying and anti public shaming activist. Her Twitter bio includes “rap song muse” which is hilarious because according to a John Oliver piece from 2019, which I have linked in the show notes because he is also a goddamn delight, her name is featured in 193 rap songs as of 2019. There was this Twitter meme a while ago that was “what pop culture thing ruined your first name” and she was like “am I even allowed to play?” If you want to know more, I do recommend The Clinton Affair docuseries, but maybe don't binge it like I did. You might want some time to recover. It also has snippets of info about the other Clinton scandals, like Hillary's involvement in one of them, a little bit about Hillary, how Newt Gingrich and his Republican Party pretty much single handedly made politics the vitriolic cesspit that is and definitely made space for Trumpism to rise, an actual right wing conspiracy and a lot of things that I just couldn't cover because we're only talking about Monica and we don't have a lot of time. Basically, society was shitty to Monica Lewinsky and we have a lot of repenting to do and we should do better. I say that like I wasn't literally born in 1998, like right in the middle of all this, but like in general we need to call bad people on their shit and believe survivors. Lexi: You can find this podcast on Twitter and Instagram at LadyHistoryPod. Our show notes and a transcript of this episode will be on ladyhistorypod dot tumblr dot com. If you like the show, leave us a review, or tell your friends, and if you don't like the show, keep it to yourself. Alana: Our logo is by Alexia Ibarra you can find her on Twitter and Instagram at LexiBDraws. Our theme music is by me, GarageBand, and Amelia Earhart. Lexi is doing the editing. You will not see us, and we will not see you, but you will hear us, next time, on Lady History. [OUTRO MUSIC] Haley: Next week on Lady History, you'll see Alana crap herself because we have such a special guest. Alana: I have a burger waiting for me. Lexi: Go. We love you. Haley: Bye. Lexi: We’ll talk later. Okay bye.

[louhooo]

Hello My Old Heart | Chap. 9

Chapter Summary: You know what they say about ‘assuming’....

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader [AU]

Warnings:Swearing, minor fluff, angst

A/N: I definitely meant to have this up on Wednesday, but work has sucked all of the energy from me this week. Hopefully next week is better!

All feedback is welcomed! 💘

Giddy was the only way to describe your mood. Schoolgirl giggles and longing gazes at the words on your screen carried you into the early hours of morning, until finally falling asleep with your phone in your hand just around four in the morning.

You didn’t need much sleep, it seemed, when you had something exciting happening in just a few hours. You woke around eight and quickly got ready for the day. A little more time was spent on your appearance, but you resisted the urge to go the full nine-yards, deciding jeans and plain white t-shirt would make you seem more casual for your date.

Date. 

A date with your husband. 

Maybe it was best to not freak out about that part yet, and just take it step by step…. Right?

Your eagerness efficiency had you ready an hour before you were meeting him. Instead of sitting in your hotel room, thinking too much and stressing yourself out, you drove downtown and decided to shop to keep yourself busy. A cute boutique beckoned you in first. Soft indie pop played over the speakers and it smelt like warm vanilla. You browsed through a rack of dresses, debating on if you still liked the dress you brought for the rehearsal dinner tomorrow night.

“Are you finding everything alright?” You looked up at the source of the voice and you nearly screamed. She screamed for you. “Ohmygod! Y/N! I heard you were back in town…!

Dot Williams. Everything about her presence sent you right back to high school when you’d stand in front of the mirror, and pinpoint every flaw in your appearance. 

You grinned (at least, you hoped that’s what it looked like).

“Hi, Dot, how are you?”

“Oh, I’m great! The store is doing fabulous, so I’m doing fabulous!” You grinned politely with a tilt of your head.

“Oh, this is your store? It’s cute!” Can someone giggle conceitedly? Well, if no one else could, Dot had it covered.

“Oh, thank you!” God, was she this bubbly in high school? “So, what brings you back to town?” You couldn’t help but pinch your brows slightly.

“Steve and Sharon’s–”

“Oh, right! The wedding! Duh!” She smacked her forehead and laughed, “I’m super bummed. I’m going to the Hamptons this weekend otherwise I totally would’ve gone.” Sharon would have never invited Dot in a million years. There’s no way– “Bucky was pouting so much when I told him I couldn’t go.” You blinked.

“Bucky?” A soft gasp and a gentle hand landed on your arm.

“Oh, Y/N, I’m so sorry. I wanted to ask you if it’d be alright, but he said it’d be fine.” Your grip loosened from the dress you had in a vice and you turned your body directly towards her.

“If ‘what’ would be alright?”

“Well… he and I are dating, you know?” Your heart sank to the floor, going back into its fortress.

“Oh… I… I didn’t know that.” 

“Ya did pretty much leave him, so… can’t hurt that much.” Snotty and condescending. Just like high school.

You swallowed back your tears and cleared your throat, “Well, uh, it was…. Your store is nice, but I’ve gotta go. Stuff to do for the wedding.” She gave you a perky goodbye, but you were already hightailing it to your car.

How fucking dare he? You should have known better than to agree to the date. You’d both changed, and he had clearly moved on. You should, too. Finally end it like you should have done four years ago.

Peaches: Can’t make it. Sorry.

Bucky stared at his phone for ten minutes, trying to find a reason for why you’d cancel twenty minutes before you were supposed to meet.

Bucky: Are you feeling alright? I can get some of your soup from Peg’s and bring it by? With extra crackers even :)

He only waited a minute before texting again.

Bucky: Is it stuff for the wedding? I can help!

Bucky: Even if it’s just to tell Sharon to chill out about the details!

Bucky: But, honestly, I think Steve is worse, so I’ll just talk to both of them!

After another twenty minutes had passed without a response, he tried calling you, but the line just rang until it went to voicemail. He stopped leaving messages after the seventh one. He sat silently on the deck trying to figure out what happened in the last seven and a half hours since you’d last texted him. 

Did he say something? Bucky scrolled through their conversation, only noting the times when he’d teased you and you teased him right back. Everything had been great, so why was this happening now?

“I’m not sayin’ you ‘owe me one’ or anything, but I did just convince your mother to let me come here instead of her, so… you’re welcome.” George plopped down on the bench beside Bucky and leaned back with his arms crossed. Bucky glanced at him for a second before looking back at his phone.

“Hey, dad.” Had he teased too much about her mugshot? He knew he should have told Sam not to send it to him. A ten-dollar bill appeared on top of his phone. Bucky blinked and looked at his dad with a confused face.

“For mowin’.” Bucky raised a brow.

“You don’t hafta pay me for mowin’.”

“Ya sure?” Bucky nodded and George quickly snatched the money back up and shoved it into his back pocket. “It’s your mom’s ten dollars, anyways. So, free money for me.” Bucky chuckled and rolled his eyes.

“How was movin’?” Bucky locked his phone and set it on the bench in between them. George sighed and stretched his legs out.

“You know how your mom and sister are when they’re stressed.” Bucky chuckled.

“That good, huh?” George crossed his eyes while softly shaking his head.

“They wouldn’t even let me tell my best jokes! Becca lectured me the whole car ride there on things I could and could not say to her new roommates.” Bucky stretched and crossed his arm, his flannel tightening against his biceps.

“Can’t really blame her for that. Your jokes embarrass everyone.” George pushed Bucky’s shoulder, making Bucky burst out laughing.

“You little shit…” Bucky laughed harder and repositioned himself on the bench. Bucky sighed as his laughter died out and watched the stray black cat chase a bird across the yard. 

It’s his own fault. He started leaving food out for him two years ago, so it was no wonder he stayed around. But, then again, Bucky hadn’t seen a single mouse since he showed up…. George cleared his throat, “So, Sarah called your mom last weekend.” Bucky sighed in the back of his throat. “She said Y/N looked good, that they talked and caught up.”

“Yeah, they did. I saw her Friday when she got into town. We talked yesterday. About everything.” George uncrossed his arms and turned towards Bucky.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed. “It went good, or… I thought it went good. We were gonna have lunch today, but she cancelled and she hasn’t responded to any of my texts or calls, so…. I don’t know.” George sighed and rubbed Bucky’s shoulder. 

“Can I ask ya something without you getting mad at me?” Bucky didn’t respond, so George took that as the go-ahead. “Do– Are you sure you still wanna be with her?”

“I…” It’d been one of the first questions Bruce ever asked him. Do you still wanna be married to your wife, ‘cause you love her, or because you don’t know any different? “I do. I still wanna make it work, as fucked up as that sounds.”

George sighed, “It’s not fucked up, it’s…. Love is fucking confusing as it is.”

“Yeah.” Bucky’s phone buzzed and he quickly looked at it, hoping it was you answering his texts. His shoulders dropped. Clint.

Barton: Do you know why Y/N’s at the house crying in her bedroom?? 

Barnes: Is she okay? 

Barton: I mean, she’s crying, but other than that she seems fine.

Barnes: Can you find out what’s wrong? She won’t answer me. 

Barnes: Maybe I can come and see her and we can talk?

“Everything alright?” Bucky looked at his dad and chewed on his lip.

“I… don’t know.” George studied his son for a few minutes, trying to decide what would help him most.

George groaned softly and stood up, “C’mon. Let’s go get somethin’ to eat.”

“Dad, I’m not–”

“Fine, watch me eat, then.” Bucky wasn’t going win this one. He checked his phone one last time before following George to his truck. “Do ya think mom will make us lunch, too?”

“Dad, that has literally never worked.”

“Ya never know, James.” Bucky raised a brow at him, “Zip it and buckle your seatbelt.” Bucky rolled his eyes and did as he was told. Maybe he could convince Dad to stop at Clint and Nat’s to check on you….

“Oh, boys, just the people I wanted to see,” Sarah wiped her hands dry and Steve and Bucky stood semi-patiently in the doorway to the basement. They had only two levels left until they beat the video game completely, and Sarah was only slowing them down.

“Yeah, mom?”

“A new family just moved in a few houses down, and there’s a girl who’s your age. Why don’t you go introduce yourselves.” Bucky and Steve groaned.

“But, mom…” She gave him a pointed look, and he sighed. “Fine. Bucky let’s go.” Both boys grumbled and put on their shoes by the front door.

“Why do we even hafta? We don’t even play with girls.” Bucky just wanted to play the dang game. He’d looked up a hint last night, and he was hoping that would help them win.

“Yeah, you tell my mom that.” They sighed and rode their bikes down the street to where the moving truck was parked. Bikes were dropped unceremoniously in the front yard as they followed the sidewalk to the front door. 

“You knock.”

Steve scoffed, “No, you.” They both stared at each other before quickly doing rock-paper-scissors. Bucky grumbled after losing right away.

“Best two outta three.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake.” Another round and Bucky still didn’t win. Steve grinned smugly as Bucky knocked three times on the door.

“Shut up, jerk.”

You peeked through the curtain and noticed the bikes in the yard first. What? You went to the door, cautiously opening it up. Two boys stood in front of you with equally cautious faces.

“Hello?” The blond boy grinned and stuck out his hand.

“Hi. I’m Steve, and this is Bucky,” Bucky picked his hand up in a short wave, “My mom told us to come say ‘hi’, ‘cause I guess you’re the same age as us.” 

“I’m Y/N.” Steve noticed your face stayed scrunched in confusion. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I… Why are you guys here so early?” You only were awake this early during the school year, not on summer vacation. Bucky laughed.

“Well, aren’t you a ray of sunshine in the mornin’…?” You blinked at the brown-haired boy. Who’s this guy?

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Steve and Bucky both choked on air.

“What?! No!”

“Yeah, not surprised.” Bucky’s cheeks were on fire as Steve doubled over in laughter. You stared back at him, very tactfully hiding a grin. Bucky pushed Steve, his laughter only subsiding slightly. Steve wiped the tears from his eyes and stood straight.

“Wanna come to my house? We’re playin’ a game.”

“What game?”

“Spyro. We’ve beat almost every level! We only have, like, three more and we’ll beat the whole game!” You smiled.

“Okay! Wait here and I’ll tell my mom.” Steve nodded and you shut the door to go change and let your mom know you were gonna leave. Bucky couldn’t believe what was happening.

“Steve! What the heck are you doing?! A girl can’t hang out with us!”

Steve’s brows pinched, “Why not? I like her.” Bucky scoffed.

“Yeah, ‘cause she didn’t make fun of you!” Steve rolled his eyes.

“So, it woulda been fine if she said that to me?”

“No…”

“You hesitated.”

“Did not!” Bucky exhaled, frustrated with his friend at the moment. “She doesn’t get to play any levels. She just gets to watch.” 

“She can play a level or two if she wants to, Buck! Jeez…” The door opened again and you were dressed in jean shorts and a turquoise t-shirt. You smiled.

“She said it was fine!” Steve smiled and led the trio to the bikes, where your face dropped. “Oh, uh, I don’t have a bike.” Steve shrugged.

“That’s fine. Buck’s got pegs on his so you can just ride on the back.” Your eyebrows pinched skeptically and you slowly looked at “Buck”. He seemed less than thrilled. He sighed and picked up his red bike and walked it to the street. Steve got on his bike and waited for you to get on Bucky’s.

“I don’t know how ‘ta…”

“How ‘ta what?” Bucky glanced at you and saw you chewing on your lip, staring at the pegs on his bike. “It’s not as scary as it looks,” his voice was gentler, like how it was when Steve had his panic attacks at school and needed help calming down. “Let me get on first, then I’ll help you.”

Morning become night and Sarah had told you and Bucky it was time to go home for the day. You had grown on Bucky, but only a little! He still hadn’t forgotten what you’d said.

“Are you guys doing that again tomorrow?”

“Yeah, probably. We might go to the pool, too.” You hummed and walked unhurriedly back to your house. “You can come if you want?” You looked at him eagerly.

“Yeah?” Half of Bucky’s mouth pulled into a grin.

“Yeah. It’ll be fun.” You smiled and stood in your driveway under the streetlight. “Well, I gotta get home ‘fore my mom starts lookin’ for me. I can pick you up tomorrow morning?”

“Okay!”

“Is 8:30 too early?” You shook your head quickly. “Alright. I’ll be here.” You nodded and bounded up to your door and turned to wave goodbye to him.

“Bye, Bucky!” He got on his bike and rode past the house.

“Bye, Sunshine!” Your cheeks heated up and you hid your grin as you came inside. 

Maybe this new town wouldn’t be so bad.

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Previous // Next

#Bucky Barnes x Reader #Bucky Barnes x You #Bucky Barnes x Y/N #Bucky x Reader #Bucky x You #Bucky x Y/N #Bucky Barnes AU #Fireman!Bucky #Alternate Universe

[joonsrack]

+PAIRING: Kim Seokjin x Kim Namjoon

+GENRE: SFW, slow burn, ficlet (do people use that term anymore?) mini series, attempt at crack and comedy.

+The one where Seokjin is a part time cop and a full time Namjoonsitter series: Part I | Part II | Part III

+WORD COUNT: ~1.7k

+SUMMARY: 

“Hands where I can see them.” Seokjin says calmly, and the man, albeit the extremely confused expression twisting his face, complies with him. He shoots his hand in the air, knocking over a plant in his hurry. It goes crashing to the ground with an ear-splitting sound, adding soil to the mess, and he winces for all of three second before he fixes his stare back on Seokjin with a frown.”

+WARNINGS: Mention of firearms, also i have no idea how police works.

There’s one important detail that leads them here, Seokjin pointing his service weapon in Namjoon’s direction while said man, surrounded by the broken remains of various objects, raises his hands in the air, an extremely confused expression twisting his face.

When people ask Seokjin about it later, he’ll answer it’s really all Jimin’s fault.

“Have you seen the new neighbour that moved into Jiho-hyung’s old apartment?”

“Hmmm, no. Since when?” Seokjin asks Jimin distractedly, pouring over some paperwork.

“Like two weeks ago? He’s the scariest man I’ve ever seen, but also the cutest, if that makes sense. He’s so small, barely taller than me.”

Seokjin only nods, not even looking at him, but it doesn’t deter his best friend and roommate.

“He thinks he’s slick with his tough tattooed guy attitude, but the other day I saw him feeding a street cat and his gummy smile literally blinded me.”

Seokjin turns to the next page, settling into his routine of nodding every few sentences, making mmhmmhh from time to time to spice it up a little.

“There’s always music coming out of there now, I think he’s some kind of musician?” Jimin says, a dreamy look on his face. “I think they actually know Jiho-hyung so that would make a lot of sense.”

If Seokjin was listening, maybe he would have caught the ‘they’. But he isn’t, so he doesn’t. And Jimin carries right on waxing poetry about their new neighbour’s raven black hair, never hinting again that there’s more than one person that moved in.

Which leads him to a few days later, leaving Hoseok behind in the patrol car to retrieve some documents he forgot home. He’s pushing his key into the lock when he hears a series of crashes coming from the door on the other side of the hallway.

It’s cracked open, but no light is filtering through, and Seokjin catches a glimpse of a shadow moving quickly inside.

It’s by habit that he investigates the noise.

He spots a tall silhouette inside, shoving things into a large black bag in a hurry; things that looks like expensive electronic equipment. There’s a smattering of broken glass scattered on the floor, reflecting the street light coming in from the window, and the man seems to completely ignore it, his heavy black boots cracking it into even smaller pieces with a crunch.

His cop instincts kick in, and in a second his service weapon is unlatched as he pushes the door slowly and takes a careful step inside, ready to stop this apparent breaking and entering.

The layout of the place is similar to his, so he easily locates the light switch. Once in position, he flicks the light on, throwing the room into sharp contrast, exposing the possible intruder who spins around, startled.

Small, black hair, tattoos had been used to describe their new neighbour.

This man is tall, with dark silver hair, and no tattoo in sight.

“Hands where I can see them.” Seokjin says calmly, and the man, albeit the extremely confused expression twisting his face, complies with him. He shoots his hand in the air, knocking over a plant in his hurry. It goes crashing to the ground with an ear-splitting sound, adding soil to the mess, and he winces for all of three second before he fixes his stare back on Seokjin with a frown.

“Hum, hey, officer. What brings you…here.”

“I could ask you the same question.” he answers, pointing his chin at the bulky bag which definitely contains expensive equipment, overflowing with it.

“Oh, oh. I see,” he says, looking at the bag, then at the remains cluttering the floor, and then at his own person dressed in all… black. He gulps. “This is not what it looks like. I hum, I live here.”

“No, a small man with black hair and tattoo lives here. I saw him around.” Seokjin answers with a no-nonsense look on his face.

“That would be my roommate, Yoongi. Hah. I guess that means you live in this building. Quick hack: Don’t let him hear you say he’s small. Now I’m rambling. Hum, I live here too.” There’s a small patch of sweat forming on the man’s forehead, and he’s getting crossed-eyed staring at the end of the gun’s barrel. Seokjin lowers it slightly, getting the feeling this man has literally zero ounces of evilness in him.

“Why would you be stuffing a bag full of expensive equipment in the dark while breaking things when you live here.” Seokjin asks with a raised eyebrow. “Doesn’t seems very logical. Looks more like burglary to me. Done by the least stealthy thief in history, I must say.”

“It’s very interesting that you say that, because touché, I’m not even remotely stealthy. And I’m definitely not a thief.”

“Feels like something a thief would say.” Seokjin snorts. “ So what where you doing then, in the dark, shoving things in a black bag with the speed of somebody who's ass is on fire?”

“Well, if you must know,” he says, lowering his hands slightly. “I’m late for a gig, I need my equipment, and in my hurry I broke a few things. Hence the lack of light.”

Seokjin spots the remains of the broken lamp on the floor.

“What the hell is taking you so- What the hell. Namjoon.”

Seokjin startles at the new voice, turning towards its source, and then lowering his gun completely. The new neighbour, who clearly knows the man standing in the mess before them, is standing in the doorframe.

With no gun held up to his face, the man —Namjoon— collapses in a chair like all his strings were cut simultaneously.

“What the hell. Why is there a police officer here. Did we get robbed?”

Now, if Jimin had mentioned more clearly the fact that more than one person had moved in, maybe this all wouldn’t have happened. But all he can do now is watch Namjoon explain the last 5 minutes to his friend with an embarrassed flush on his cheek. Or maybe Seokjin is just projecting.

Yoongi, he learned just a second ago, side-steps him to open the wardrobe, where he reaches for one of the countless boxes of lightbulb sorted on the top shelf. Like, so many.

“I’m extremely sorry for the misunderstanding,” he starts, hoping this will not get to the head of the police station. “I really thought someone was-“

Yoongi stops him with a hand, and he can see Namjoon finally getting up from his chair, going to grab a glass from one of the cupboard. From the look of it, their whole glass selection seems to be plastic, going from kids themed stuff to plain ugly coloured cups.

“A lot worse happened. Consider yourself a victim here.” Yoongi says, with no rebuttal coming from Namjoon. All he does is echo ‘A lot worse.’ in the background. He throws his cup of water back, hitting his head on the cupboard door he left open, and doesn’t even react to what must have been pretty painful judging by the sound of it.

“He’s an expensive boy to live with.” Yoongi says, screwing a new light bulb in after taking out the broken one. “I changed this one this morning.” He signs. “I would like to say it’s the first time he's broken something twice in the same day but that would be a lie.”

Seokjin nods, for the first time really looking at the man.

His black tank top show off how he’s covered from head to toe with bandaids and bruises, and Seokjin can deduct it’s all accidentally self inflicted. His black tank top also hints at a nice body, his arms on the good side of defined; his black skinny showing some interesting thighs and cal-

Yeah, no; objectifying someone on duty, someone he almost just arrested, might be a bad idea.

His radio chooses that moment to come to life, Hoseok’s voice bursting through with static.

“Hyung, you’ coming? It’s taking you forever.”

“I’ll be down in a sec,” he answers, holding the radio to his mouth.

The two man have now their attention fixed on him, and Seokjin realizes he’s been standing on the same spot for the whole… clusterfuck.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you two around.” Seokjin says awkwardly, taking a step toward the door, where he feels the air might be easier to breath, less charged with embarrassment.

“Wait.” He hears Namjoon says, and he turns around, hoping he’s not about to be sued.

“Hum, we’re really late to our gig,” He says nervously “Can we, perhaps, get a ride to the subway station?” He asks, eyes getting wide, like he’s trying to look adorable. Maybe it’s guilt, maybe it’s something else, but it’s definitely working on Seokjin.

“I- hm, It’s a little against the rules.” He tries to answer.

Yoongi looks at him with an evil glint in his eyes, and Seokjin just knows he’s about to be guilt tripped to hell.

“I mean, it’s not like you just traumatized my friend by pointing a gun at him and made us incredibly late to our gig. You know, our livelihood that makes it possible to replace all the shit he breaks. Oh, and also pay the rent.” He says with no infliction. Hello satan.

Namjoon has dropped the puss in boots impersonation and looks like he wants to intervene, but his friend throws him a look that could literally cut diamond. Seokjin absolutely understands what Jimin meant by scariest man he’s ever seen, he's just not seeing the cute part of his friend's follow up statement. There's nothing cute about this man, Seokjin thinks.

“Ok, fine. Sure.”

“With the lights.”

Seokjin sputters indignantly. Because that wasn’t Yoongi asking, but Namjoon.

“What?”

“We’re really late.” He shrugs, biting his lips. “We might not even make it if you take us to the subway.”

Seokjin sighs, rubs his eyes.

“Tick tock” Yoongi says irritably.

He can’t believe he’s being manipulated by two strangers into giving them a ride in the police cruiser. Hoseok will have a field day.

“We’ll take you to the wherever you’re performing, but no lights.” He settles on.

Yoongi grins meanly, and Namjoon gives him an apologetic smile, popping a dimple.

And for a second, Seokjin marvels at how deep it looks; has to hold back from poking his finger in it.

But, nope. Still in uniform.

#magicshopnet #bangtanarmynet #armysource #ficswithluv #namjin fanfic #kim seokjin #kim namjoon #m x m #bts fanfic #bangtanscenery

[niall-official]

Hiii! I’ve never done a fic rec before but I read a ton so I figured why not! Please don’t forget to give kudos and comment on fics you enjoy!  Also, I reblog a lot more fics on my fic blog @verylarryfics so please check it out! 

📚 All I Do Is Want You by lovelarry10 / @chloehl10 (Harry/Louis, 31k) “Lou, if he knew how you felt, he might change how he feels?”

“And that’s the last thing I want!” Louis threw up his hands as he spoke, exasperated as he always was when it came to this particular topic of conversation. “I don’t want him to feel like he owes me something, or that he has to reciprocate my feelings, Zayn. He doesn’t feel that way towards me and I’ve come to terms with that, okay? You need to as well.”

“I would if you actually meant it,” Zayn mumbled in reply, barely ducking in time as Louis lobbed a cushion at him. “You know this isn’t healthy, right? That you can’t just keep fucking him because you’re scared you’re gonna lose him?”

Harry loves his best mate Louis. He especially loves the casual sex they indulge in. Trouble is, Louis’ in love with Harry. Surely it’s destined to end in heartbreak…

📚 Charisma by lululawrence / @lululawrence (Harry/Louis, 5k) Harry was smiling, and maybe blushing a little as well, as he accepted the phone back. “Thank you,” he glanced down at his phone and then said, “Louis.”

Smiling happily at the way Harry had said his name, Louis watched him leave the room. The further away he got, the more confused Louis was. Yes, Harry was gorgeous, but how the hell had he forgotten that Harry was also the man who had caused him to almost have a major accident earlier because of his haphazard driving? How had he allowed Harry to distract him with his charm to the extent that instead of giving the man a lecture, Louis accepted the offer of a date?

Well. Whatever the reason was, Louis wouldn’t forget when Harry called. Louis would give him a piece of his mind then and see if Harry still wanted to go out with him at that point. Because yeah, Louis was not mad enough about his overreaction to Harry, both on the road and at the event tonight, to turn that opportunity for a date down. He wasn’t stupid.

Or the one where Harry feeds on awesomeness (possibly literally). Louis is awesome and also angry. They’re probably going to fall in love

📚 Come to My Window by gettingaphdinlarry / @gettingaphdinmomo (Zayn/Liam, 4k) It had become their joke, ever since Zayn had come out. One of them would do something stupid—burp or trip or slosh their pint of beer—and the other would say, “You could’ve texted me” or “that wasn’t worth texting me?”

When Zayn got a full scholarship to college, he sent Liam a message. Need to talk to you. Call me. When Liam said to text it, Zayn said no.

That’s how it was, and they both knew it. You can text me was for easy things, nothing serious. If it was serious, it got a phone call.

But an hour ago, Liam had texted back.

-Zayn and Liam were best friends for years — and then things changed.

📚 don’t care if you’re too loud by disgruntledkittenface / @disgruntledkittenface (Liam/Nick, 2k) @grimmers did you take inspiration from @liampayne? Is that his workout secret?

📚 Enjoy The Ride by 2tiedships2 / @2tiedships2 (Harry/Louis, 11k) Or the one where Louis, an omega more than tired of being treated as lesser than alphas, is forced on a road trip by his beta besties only to meet Harry who might just be the alpha he never knew he wanted.

📚 (even when I messed it up) There You Are by rosegoldhl / @rosegoldhlfics (Zayn/Liam, 9k) “It’s so cold,” came a deep voice from his right.

Zayn snapped his head towards the source of the melodic sound, his heart wildly rabbiting in his chest. Liam Payne, firefighter.That’s all he knew about the boy with the kind brown eyes and pretty lips, who had moved to the apartment next to Zayn’s a few months back. He had dug that info from the mailbox downstairs– it was a low moment, he could admit that, but he didn’t do anything illegal, just slightly creepy.

“Maybe you ought to wear something then,” Zayn remarked, nodding towards Liam’s bare chest as he let out the smoke he had inhaled.

📚 going live by jaerie / @jaerie (Harry/Louis, 15k) Harry has only done this cam thing a handful of times when another camboy pops in to view his stream and unintentionally stirs things up a bit.

Or Louis and Harry are both camboys for some extra cash and meet each other in an unconventional way

📚 I don’t want a taste (I want it all) by thedaggerrose / @thedaggerrose (Harry/Louis, 3k) What Louis really needed was a fat fucking nap.

What Louis got instead was some hipster-looking wannabe arguing with him over the validity of avocado toast.

Or the AU where Harry tells Louis to go fuck himself, Louis tells Harry to fuck him himself, and Harry follows through.

📚 it started with you and started with me by thearcherballet (Zayn/Liam, 11k) It starts like this: you love a boy more than you love your own music, until he becomes the song your heart sings.

Solo artist Zayn Malik is recording his third album when he finds himself working with a new music producer, the amateur talent Liam Payne. Liam is saddled with the task to prove that Zayn can be the greatest musician of the 21st century. 

Zayn’s musical barriers start melting away as things get heated up in the recording studio.

📚 Life Saver by objectlesson / @horsegirlharry (Harry/Louis, 30k) Nerd Boy’s giant, dorky, adorable hand shoots into the air. Louis notices he has chipped red polish on a few of his nails and some tattered friendship-looking bracelets, like the sort you make in camp, and he might hear the distant chime of wedding bells. He thought he didn’t even believe in marriage because it’s, like, oppressive and heteronormative or whatever, but that was before Styles, Harry (Harry Styles!!! What an absurd, wonderful name! What a perfect thing to scrawl in the margins of all his notebooks surrounded in hearts!) appeared in the bio lab at his new school and ruined all his principles forever.

or Louis is a sweetheart punk with a theater background and a heart of gold, Harry is an inexperienced nerd who plays by the rules. Classmates, lab partners, and eventually friends, what happens when Louis knows he’s in love, but doesn’t know how tell Harry?

📚 my favourite colour is you by velvetnoodle / @velvetnoodle (Harry/Louis, 2k) Harry and Louis have been best friends for decades, and practically attached at the hip the entire time. Harry would scoff whenever the people closest to them would question their lack of an actual relationship, because the idea of the two of them being anything more than friends is the most preposterous thing he can think of.

Until, one day, it isn’t.

📚 Of the Earth by angelichl / @angelichl (Harry/Louis, 24k) Harry embarks on a backpacking trip in West Virginia to figure his life out after breaking up with his boyfriend. He meets Louis along the way.

📚 Superhuman Tonight by anonymous for @popularryculture fic fest (Harry/Louis, 23k) A group of young offenders doing community service get struck by lightning during a storm, and begin to develop superpowers.

📚 the little things i’d do to lose you again by larrymaybe22 / @larrymaybe22 (Harry/Louis, 11k) Louis wishes he could erase the look of defeat and regret painted over Harry’s face from his memory.

“I think maybe we just found each other at the wrong time.”

“No,” Louis shakes his head, “There’s never been anything wrong about us. You can’t just call the last two and half years wrong.”

Or, the one where being in love isn’t always enough the first time around.

📚 There’s Nothing I Can Do (I Only Wanna Be With You) by chaoticallyyours / @hazzaskilt (Harry/Louis, 6k) Roommates Harry and Louis both consider themselves matchmakers. Louis’ latest crusade is finding the perfect match for Harry, despite the admittedly disastrous results. With just a little bit of help from their friends and a lot of whining, Louis realizes that the best match for Harry might just be the person already sharing his flat.

OR: Louis is a dumb gay who doesn’t realize he’s in love with his best friend. Until he does.

📚 to the brim with fright by hereforlou / @hereforlou (Harry/Louis, 14k) The only reason he’s here is because it’s tradition. And also, Harry said it’d be fun to make Liam wet himself in fear and Louis agreed. It’ll be hilarious. He’s not an insecure new transfer anymore, thank you very much. It took him no more than a week to insert himself into a group, to get invited to his first party, and to start crushing on someone—he’s not what anyone would call socially impaired. He doesn’t need validation.

(Or, the one where Louis’ high and scared and Harry’s…also high and scared.)

📚 two loves have i by wreckingtomlinson / @humhalleloujah (Harry/Louis, 2k) “So, hang on a minute.” Niall puts the pen down. “You’re really trying to tell me that you think two people who look alike moving into the same building around the same time makes more sense than Louis cutting his hair and changing his clothes in the four days since you last saw him?”

~or, Harry is convinced the new guy who’s just moved into his apartment complex is not only hot, but has an equally hot doppelgänger.

📚 What I’ve Been Waiting For by styleandsin / @styleandsin (Harry/Louis, 14k) “Have you checked your twitter mentions lately?” Liam asks, almost hesitantly.

“‘Course not, I’ve been busy relaxing.” Louis gives Liam a smile, “Besides, isn’t that your job?”

“Well, I mean… Kind of, but you should check them.”

Louis sighs, “Fine.”

He picks his phone up from the table and takes a scroll through twitter, finding that apparently the book he was carrying on the way out of the airport was visible enough to see in the pap shots, and now his fans are excited. From about three minutes of scrolling and reading tweets he gathers the following: he and Harry share an overlap in fans, a lot of people are thankful for the book recommendation, some people say they ship him and Harry, whatever that means, oh and Harry Styles has seen the photos.

Or, Louis is famous for his singing. Harry is semi-famous for his writing. They’re both fans of each other.

📚 Whirlwind by sweetums / @darlou (Harry/Louis, 5k) “Noisy boys over at that table there, yes, you two, would you like to share something with us?”

“I was just saying that you’re probably the only person who’s ever literally taken my breath away”

AU inspired by Phoebe and David from Friends.

📚 (you and me are) the difference between real love and the love on TV by hipsterchrist (Niall/Shawn, 20k) Some pap photos spread like wildfire across the internet, published frantically on braindead celebrity gossip sites with headlines like “SHAWN MENDES AND NIALL HORAN: MORE THAN FRIENDS?” and poorly written articles full of puns on their song titles. His Twitter mentions are flooded with fans, both excited and distraught, and he clicks away from the trending topics tab as soon as he sees that he and Shawn have their own Twitter Moment. It’s all been thoroughly planned and carefully orchestrated - they all knew this is exactly what would happen - and it’s still fucking disarming as hell.

Or: a coming out story, a fake relationship, a realization of what everybody already knew.

📚 you’re the song stuck in my head (every song that i’ve ever loved) by hipsterchrist (Niall/Shawn, 13k) the thing is: niall is sure of shawn. 

#posting this for #28th appreciation #fic rec #!!!!!!!!!

[5hfanfiction]

a reason to smile in the morning

check out my wattpad @ longer_hours if you wanna se more of my works ! wrote this in like half an hour also and didn’t proofread so have fun ! 

Camila thinks college is just the best. 

So she misses her mom and everything about Sinu’s presence. And she misses her dads bad jokes because let’s face it, hers aren’t any better. And don’t even get her started on how much she misses Sofi and her dogs. 

Sure, she gets homesick. But like, she’s only two wish hours away from home. There’s a train on campus that can take her right home. She doesn’t see an issue. 

So college is pretty great. 

She hasn’t really made a group of friends yet, but she’s never been the type of person to need social interaction. And going to a big school is really nice because she can stay in on the weekends and not have to worry about being that girl that stays in on the weekends. 

She went random and ended up with a great roommate, Dinah, who gives her just the right amount of talking to not have to worry about losing all social skills. 

And the freedom. That’s her favorite part. There’s like, an hour or two of classes every day and then literally nothing else. It’s amazing. She went from a six hour school day, a seven hour work day, three hours of homework, and maybe some sleep, to two hours of class and then 22 hours of free time. She likes it. 

(And she could go on about the food, so she won’t start because this isn’t about that).

(But they have the best cheesy bread in the dining halls omg).

She might’ve been premature saying that the freedom is her favorite part. Camila has always had a tight schedule that she followed, so her favorite part is probably getting to find one here. It’s easier to follow a schedule when you have so much time to fill too, because naps can be a part of it and everything is just so happy. 

So, she does basically the same every day. 

Wake up. Sleep for a few more minutes. Wake up again. Hit snooze again. Finally actually wake up cause Dinah groans in her sleep meaning the beast a second away from killing Camila. 

Throw on some sweats, because like she’d try to look nice, but it’s an 8 am so why bother?

Throw on some socks. Throw on some shoes. Go brush her teeth next to the pretty girl doing her make up in the bathroom. Go back to find a suitable shirt. End up picking a big sweatshirt.

And then class and then nap time. 

And it’s nice for a while, following a schedule that allows for so much downtime, but her schedule is the same every day and it doesn’t take long for things to get a little boring. Usually she’d attempt to make more friends but she has some and she doesn’t want to lose the grip she has on them, so Camila does the next best thing to kill time. 

She makes a tinder. 

Now, Camila has had a tinder before. She’s had many tinders before actually. She has a habit of making one with the goal to hoe it up, then deleting it after like an hour cause she’s bored of boys. 

This time though, Camila sets it to girls, cause why not? She’s always been openly bisexual, but boys are so much easier. 

She prefers girls but she can’t remember ever not being a nervous wreck around them. 

Her first girlfriend was a few years ago. They met at a pride parade and Camila thought she was just the most beautiful thing to exist. A friend gave her an in and Camila somehow got through the nerves and made a move with some shitty pick up line. Although her dorkiness worked, she remembers very vividly having such extreme anxiety that she actually almost called an ambulance cause of chest pains. That girl turned out to be a bit of a biphobic lesbian, and a bit of a psychopath, so that didn’t really help with her nerves.

Her second girlfriend was equally, if not more so nerve-racking. Camila still can’t really place why she’s always the one making the moves if she gets so nervous doing things, but she also knows most girls never do shit and end up flirting for months until an outside source needs to come in. 

Her third girlfriend doesn’t exist yet. So tinder might be what she needs to meet someone now that she’s an adult at college and ready for an adult relationship. 

She ends up deleting the account three hours later. Not really because she’s bored just because she can’t really imagine ever having a chance with any of the girls she matched with. 

Dinah yells at her because if they matched then they’re interested why would Camila not accept that, but Camila is just like, super insecure. Like what if it was an accident? 

She had only had the balls to message one girl but she probably hadn’t noticed since the account didn’t exist very long. She never really messages people first but something about this girl was calling out. Camila felt like she had to do something or she’d regret it. 

Messaging “hey” probably wasn’t the most attention grabbing action though. She got a reply, just “hey back :)” and like, that’s kind of why she deleted it. This girl was like, not just pretty but pretty pretty. And she looked a little familiar? Camila couldn’t help but feel like the thing was a joke somehow. 

So she decides to forget about the pretty girl with the dragon fly tattoo. 

Dinah still gives her enough shit to force her to go out that weekend. It’s a Friday afternoon when she finds out Camila deleted it so later that night she finds herself at a sleezy frat party. 

The going out lifestyle really isn’t for her though, and she realizes after the third drink spilled on her. 

She stays out til 3 am with Dinah and her friend Normani, and although she didn’t like the party scene, she is glad she spent more time with Dinahs friend, she’s intimidatingly pretty but her and Camila really got along once she started talking more. 

She’s going a little girl crazy by the time she finally falls asleep. 

She spends the weekend telling herself to focus on school. Focus on actually going to the gym and on eating healthy since there are so many options now. She tells herself it’s fine to go over a few months without kissing a girl (is it really?) and she tells herself to just not think about girls. 

And by the time someday night hits it has worked out in her head. 

Now here’s the twist. 

It comes Monday morning. 

Camila follows the same routine every day. And when you follow the same routine every day, you’re going to end up seeing the same people every day when you do your things that happen to overlap. 

She wakes up. Doesn’t really wake up. Feels Dinah’s threat. Force herself to throw on some socks, some shoes, some pants. and then she goes to the bathroom. And then she brushes her teeth next to the pretty girl who’s doing her makeup. 

So she’s seen this girl every day for months now, leaning into the sink putting on eyeliner and she’s had a couple of thoughts passing. Not a lot, because it’s an ungodly hour. One, being that the girl wakes up too early. Two being, hey ! we must have the same scheduled classes! 

But now, the only though in her head is that she can’t for the life of her find a reason as to how !!! she missed !!! the dragon fly tattoo on the back of there neck !!

She literally can’t hold in her gasp when she makes the connection. It takes her a second and she figures she must look like that calculating meme thing but she literally gasps and turns as quick as she can to face her own mirror. 

It’s a small bathroom, but the girl is three sinks away, but any hope that she didn’t hear the gasp is immediately gone when she turns got glance at Camila, just for a second, then turn back. 

She brushes her teeth, probably unhygienically fast, then books it back to her room and gets to class ten minutes early. 

She can’t believe this. 

She’s been brushing her teeth next to tinder dragon fly girl for months! She hasn’t noticed how perfect bathroom girl is for months! Tinder dragon fly girl and bathroom girl are the same people! Jesus Christ! 

-

So now she can’t get this girl off of her mind. 

She tries to, she really really tries not to think about her because it feels creepy, but she can’t help it. 

She sees her in the bathroom, and nowhere else. Every single day she sees her in the bathroom. 

Are you allowed to pull moves on people in the bathroom? Camila feels like it’s weird to pull moves on someone in the bathroom. 

Fuck. Camila is childish too. So it takes everything in her not to start laughing whenever she goes into the bathroom just because of how awkward she feels. 

She also wonders if she girl even knows what’s going on in her head. Maybe the same is going on in hers?

She hates that she didn’t see it coming. After thinking about it, it’s probably because she never actually got a good look at the bathroom girl. She had piercings and black hair and she was SO intimidating! How was she supposed to risk a glance at her? 

She thinks the girl probably recognized that it was Camila though. She always glances over when the door opens, or at least Camila has seen her from her peripheral vision. 

It’s kind of embarrassing. Cause like, she probably only swiped right because she knew her. Camila thinks that’s a thing? Don’t people just swipe right on people they know sometimes? Just to see if they’re interested?

“Yeah, sometimes,” Dinah agrees with a scoff, “but that’s like, with friends. That’s like a joke. You guys don’t know each other. You just see each other every day." 

Camila kind of regrets telling Dinah. 

"And wait hold up, how come y'all never said anything to each other before? I talk to everyone in the bathrooms, maybe I know who she is?”

“Because Dinah! She’s intimidating! She’s so cool looking I couldn’t-” Camila argues, lowering her voice though because she still has no idea where this girl lives on her floor and she knows how not soundproof the walls are. “I couldn’t risk looking stupid. You know how awkward I get.”

“Hmm,” Dinah agrees, leaning on her desk in thought, “I’ll keep an eye out, but if you can find her, outside of the bathroom of course, I think you should make a move." 

"Oh yeah, you know me. That’s totally something I’m capable of,” Camila sighs, making Dinah laugh. 

She thinks maybe she could make a move if she figured out who this girl was, or where she was, or how to talk to anyone. But also she can not, because she’s only ever seen this girl in the bathroom (i.e. why she’s called bathroom girl up until now). 

So much for her “adult relationship”. Longing after a girl she literally sees for two minutes a day. 

She brushes her teeth as quickly as she can for a while and then goes back to the bathroom once the girl is gone to do the rest of her morning routine. Just because Camila knows staying in an awkward place isn’t a good idea, and the longer she spends next to the pretty girl, the higher the chances of her fucking up are. 

Camila always gives herself shit for not remembering what it was from her profile. Like why did she not remember her as her name instead of “tinder dragon fly girl”. 

She’s tried walking around and looking at doors cause some of them still have tags from the first weeks, but most people have taken heirs down for other decorations by now. 

At every floor meeting she sees her, and at every floor meeting she tries her best to be funny but not too obnoxious (one time the girl laughed at her joke, she didn’t see it but she did hear it and she swears an angel got it’s wings). 

She finally finds out what room she’s in when she sees her leaving one morning, and the eye contact literally almost kills her. (It doesn’t kill her but it does stunt her long enough for the girl to get away before she can try to catch up and strike conversation). Unfortunately, her door holds no name tag, but on the bright side now she can make up as many excuses to walk by the door as possible. 

Camila is a bit of a mess over it for a while, but then she gets busy, she gets sick, she gets stressed, and then. the semesters over and she still hasn’t done shit. 

She works over break, tries to not think about girls, or one girl. Doesn’t do a lot. Doesn’t think about school too much either.

-

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Camila says under her breath incredulously as she enters the bathroom for her 8 am months later only to be greeted by the tinder-bathroom-dragon tattoo girl. 

What are the odds, that once again, the only person that has to be up at this hour is the only person she can’t really stop thinking about. 

(She has stoped thinking about her, really because she felt a little creepy at a certain point she forced herself to stop. But she just knows this is about to throw her into a downward spiral. 

She tells Dinah about it, seeking advice but only receiving laughter, uncontrollable laughter. So she turns to her older, wiser friend Ally, and Ally is convinced making a move in the bathroom wouldn’t be weird at this point. 

And also agrees with Dinah that Camila is a huge pussy if she doesn’t do anything at this point. 

(Camila still doesn’t get why it’s up to her but whatever. 

They have a floor meeting to introduce new people on the floor, that’s when she finally gets it. 

She’s leaning in, Dinah’s leaning in, and Lauren is her name. 

“I’m Lauren, I use she/her pronouns,” she says, picking at a loose thread on her jeans and Camila doesn’t mean to react noticeably but Lauren’s voice is so beautiful and her face is so beautiful and Camila thinks that making her smile would be so beautiful and she almost tries to talk to her but Lauren dips from the meeting as soon as she gets the chance. 

So now Camila is like, hooked. 

Once again, she has every morning with Lauren in the bathroom. Which anyone who lives in dorms knows, the odds that you’re going to see someone that many days both semesters is not likely! Camila is convinced it’s a sign for her to get her shit together and do something. 

And she’s trying to! She goes to fill her water up like five times a day now that she knows Lauren’s room is next to the bubbler. And she goes to the laundry room to “check for empty machines just sos he can walk by more. And she sits in the lounge for hours just in case Lauren decides to be the bold one. 

But nothing works!

Sometimes she sees her in the line at dunkin’, but that’s almost as bad as the bathroom considering the size of the line she’d have to wait in. 

Something in her changes at this point though and she decides to be less stressed and more appreciative. This girl is so pretty, and intimidating but honestly seems really nice if Camila ever grew a pair. And Camila has decided the butterflies in her stomach are nicer than not having anyone to feel this way about. So instead of stressing, she takes a minute to adjust and then decides she wants this girl in her life more. She thinks she’d make things really happy. 

Plus she thinks it’d be a really cute story for when people ask how they meet. 

She learns in psych about how associating certain things with certain things can make certain things more or less appealing, so Camila stops wondering why waking up is becoming easier.

She makes plans in her head, she thinks of any other possible ways to go about this, but somehow her mind is made up for her one random morning. 

She wakes up, goes back to sleep, wakes up, actually gets up, 

She never really let herself look at Lauren, mainly because she was afraid of what that eye contact would do to her. But for some reason today she risks a look. 

And she’s so so so so flawless, so beautiful, so gorgeous that it doesn’t take more than second for Camila’s plans to fly right out of her head and the words to fly right out of her mouth. 

"Um, I’m sorry this might be weird…” Camila starts, and the girl turns, wide eyed at the fact that Camila is actually talking to her, “I just, I try to make it a rule not to make a move on someone in the bathroom, but would you ever wanna do something other than brush our teeth together?" 

And Camila was wayyyy right, tinder girl, bathroom girl, Lauren’s smile is so so so much more beautiful than her mascara face. 

#UPDATE #one shot #AU #camren #romance fluff #submission #a reason to smile in the morning

[goldenhemmings]

Good as Gold | College!Shawn (Part Two)

Part Two to my College/Fratboy Shawn series. I kinda snapped and made this one 3.2k (which I know isn’t long for some of y’all but it’s long for me). Enjoy how quickly I got this bitch up because I have no idea where I’m taking part 3. You can read part one here :-)

The second you got up to your dorm room after a quick stop at the dining hall for a late lunch, you reached for your phone to call your best friend, Harper. You had known Harper since you two ended up sitting next to each other in your freshman year Finance class, and by chance she was already working at Alchemy when you got hired. It was the perfect coincidence that essentially guaranteed that the two of you would be best friends.

“This is Harper, how can I help you?” she queried as she picked up the phone.

You rolled your eyes. “It’s me, Harp.”

“I know,” she giggled from the other line. Classic Harper. “I’m just messin’. What’s up?”

“So it’s a long story, but basically we’re going to a frat party tonight.” At this, Harper burst out laughing. “Harper!” you whined. “I’m serious.”

“I’m not opposed, you know that I will totally go, I’m just confused. I have spent two years trying to get you to go to one single frat party with me and I can literally hear you roll your eyes every time I bring it up. What changed?”

You sighed. “Okay, so I was having a really rough day because I failed my English Lit exam because I didn’t have time to study because my roommate--”

“Y/N,” Harper interjected, and you halted your rambling. “Normal speed, so I can understand.”

“Sorry,” you giggled. Harper was always on your case about your tendency to talk incoherently fast when you were excited or telling a story, but you were glad she kept you in check; no one else ever did. “I’ll shorten it. Basically, for a lot of reasons, today sucked. So, when I was walking out of my last class a little while ago, I got really flustered and frustrated. I was trying to find a kind of secluded place to sit down and compose myself, and I saw this random table behind the health center.”

“O-kay,” Harper said, dragging out the word to show that she followed you thus far.

“So I go over to sit and put my head down, and then this random guy sits across from me, saying I was ‘in his spot.’ Except he was actually just being friendly, and I totally snapped at him, but he was still so nice to me. Basically, we got to talking, and not only is he one of the single most attractive guys I have ever seen, but he’s actually sweet. And smart. And a music major.” Harper hummed in understanding on the other side of the phone; she knew where this was going. “And...he’s in a frat. And he told me I should come to their party tonight. And I said I’d bring friends, which is where you come in.”

“Okay, not only am I wicked happy for you,” Harper began, and you could hear the smile in her voice, “But I cannot wait to actually get you to a frat party!”

You laughed, appreciative as ever of Harper and her ceaseless energy. You glanced at the alarm clock on your desk, reading the glowing red 4:12 p.m. “Come over around seven to help me get ready?”

“Say no more. I’ll be there in t-minus three hours. See ya soon, sugarplum.” You chuckled, and with that hung up the phone and flopped down onto your bed, no longer having to restrain your childish smile.

Always punctual, a fully-ready Harper burst through the door to your dorm room at seven o’clock on the dot. “Where’s the roomie?” she queried as she tightened her thick brunette ponytail, looking around the room and seemingly inspecting whether or not it had changed since she was last there. It hadn’t.

“Her backpack was here when I got back from class, but she wasn’t. Probably just dropped her stuff off and went straight to a friend’s to get ready to go out,” you shrugged. You liked your roommate, you really did, but she was a party animal through and through. You didn’t mind on the weekends; you yourself went out all the time on weekends. But when her coming home trashed on a school night led you to do poorly on an exam...that’s where the problem came in.

“Hm,” Harper assented, flinging a stuffed-to-capacity black and pink tote bag onto your bed. Your eyes widened.

“Geez, Harp, what did you do? Bring half your closet?”

“You asked me to help you get ready!” she cried. “I take that very seriously.”

“I already know what I’m wearing,” you defended.

Harper folded her arms across her chest, jutting her hip out. “Let’s see it.”

You rolled your eyes and walked over to your tiny closet, pulling out a black short-sleeved henley bodysuit and black ripped jeans, with a flannel for around your waist. You looked over at Harper, tossing the ensemble onto your bed triumphantly.

“It’s cute, Y/N, but we’re going to a frat party. And, more importantly, you are meeting music boy there.”

“Shawn,” you corrected, and Harper laughed.

“Okay, you are meeting Shawn there, whatever. Which means you’re gonna have to come up with something a little hotter than that.” She gestured to the outfit you had laid out.

“Harper,” you warned, already apprehensive. You dressed well, but showing skin wasn’t necessarily your forte; it just wasn’t your style. But, if anyone was going to force you into something new, it was Harper.

“Relax, Y/N! You’ll thank me later,” she said breezily, walking over to her bag and reaching inside to pull out black denim shorts and an off-shoulder maroon crop top.

“Pick one or the other,” you pleaded with her. “We’ll compromise. I’ll either wear that shirt with my jeans, or my shirt with your shorts.”

Harper pursed her lips, thinking, before tossing the top at you. “Try this one.”

“Thanks, Harp,” you sighed, changing into her maroon top and your black jeans, throwing on a pair of black chunky-heeled booties. Once you were all dressed, you turned to face Harper, and she squealed.

“Look at you!” she exclaimed, grabbing your wrist and scooting you over to stand in front of the full-length mirror over your door. You gave a small smile, glad that Harper had agreed to compromise. Your jeans were high waisted, so it made up a little bit for how cropped the shirt was. You were still showing skin, which satisfied Harper, but you were happy, too. With some earrings, a black choker, and Harper’s magic touch with makeup, you were both ready to go.

After making the fifteen-minute walk to Shawn’s fraternity house, deciding to save a little money by not Ubering, your nerves began to set in. You could hear the party before you could see it, and Harper seemed to sense your hesitancy. “Breathe,” she said to you, offering a reassuring smile. “You look great, and he will like you. If you get overwhelmed, just come get me and I’ll walk outside with you. I’ll stay by where the drinks are so you know where to find me.”

“Thanks, Harp,” you said, grabbing her hand and giving it a squeeze as the two of you approached the house’s entrance. Immediately, the smell of beer was everywhere. This level of the house was quite large, but empty save for a few couches arranged around a coffee table in the middle. There was a small group of guys standing near the door, and one called out that the party was downstairs in the basement, gesturing to a staircase on the far right side of the large room. You smiled and walked up to the guy that had spoken, a tuft of red hair peeking out from underneath his backward baseball cap. You cleared your throat to get his attention. “Um, do you know where I could find Shawn?”

He exchanged a knowing look with the guy next to him, spiking your pulse, before he turned to face you. “Downstairs, should be by the speakers. He’s on aux.”

“Thank you,” you smiled, laughing to yourself. They made the music boy DJ.

You and Harper walked down the wooden stairs into the party, slick with what you assumed was freshly spilled beer. The music, some rap song, was deafening, and people were packed in tightly as they danced with various kinds of drinks in their hands.

“I love Travis Scott!” Harper cried, and you scoffed in bemusement; of course she recognized the song. “Let’s go get a drink!” she yelled into your ear so that you could hear her. She grabbed your hand and pulled you forward as you both began to weave through the mass of people. Your eyes searched for Shawn, but you couldn’t find him through everyone.

Before you knew what was happening, Harper was shoving some fruity can of alcohol at you and telling you to down it, to which you happily obliged. Nothing wrong with a little liquid courage. You handed the empty can back to her and she gave you another drink, which you cracked open and began to slowly sip on.

You grabbed Harper’s wrist with your free hand, leading her towards the source of the music. Once you broke through the crowd, you were met with the sight of Shawn sitting on top of the massive box speaker that his phone was connected to by an aux cord, his inked hand scrolling through Spotify and his other one fisting through his tousled brown curls. His cheeks were flushed with slight intoxication and sheened ever-so-slightly with sweat as his head subtly nodded along to the bass of the song, his lips slightly parted. The same black skinny jeans as before hugged his legs in the most perfect way, and a solid white muscle t-shirt highlighted his biceps and revealed another tattoo on his forearm that you hadn’t noticed before. He looked like a dream.

You were broken from your trance by Harper tugging you back so hard that your still-full drink sloshed out of the can and onto your jeans a little bit, to which she offered you a sheepish smile to apologize before unleashing her trademark Harper energy on you.

“Is that him?” she squealed in excitement, her jaw slack as her eyes took Shawn’s perfect figure in. You nodded and pulled your drink to your lips, unable to hold back your smile. “Holy shit, Y/N, get your ass over there!” And, without warning, she had shoved you in Shawn’s direction and you were stumbling over to him as he looked up and caught your eye, smiling that golden smile of his.

“Y/N! You made it!” he cried, setting his phone down and jumping up to pull you into a bear hug. You cried out in surprise at the forwardness, then breathed a sigh of relief as your hands quickly wrapped around his waist to hug him back before the two of you broke apart.

You placed your hand on his bicep and spoke into his ear so that he could hear you over the music. “I didn’t expect Travis Scott from a guitar-slinging music major,” you teased, eliciting a laugh from Shawn, who in turn placed his hand on your waist and leaned down to your level.

“Gotta give the people what they want,” he replied, his rosy cheeks lifting into a smile, which you returned involuntarily. “I need another drink, come with me?”

“What about the music?” you asked, looking up at him through your lashes.

“I’ve got a whole playlist queued up,” he brushed off. “It’s set for the rest of the night.”

“Okay then,” you giggled, taking the hand that Shawn had reached out to you so as not to lose him as he pulled you back through the crowd. You could feel your cheeks get hot as he unexpectedly intertwined his long fingers with yours, and you were thankful for the low lighting of the party so that he wouldn’t be able to tell.

Once on the other side of the room, the two of you had reached the “bar,” which was really just a long countertop with two frat guys behind it handing out alcohol left and right. Shawn gently let go of your hand and leaned over the counter, talking to one of the guys as the other fetched him a drink, and you noticed Harper right where she said she’d be, twirling the ends of her ponytail as she was lost in a flirty conversation with a broad-shouldered guy in a baseball jersey.

Shawn turned to you as he took the first sip from his red solo cup, nodding towards the can in your hand. “Are you good on yours?”

You nodded, walking over to the side of the room next to the bar and pressing your back against the wall. “For now.”

“Cool,” Shawn said, stepping towards you and extending his arm to place one hand on the wall next to your head. Even in the darkness of the room, you could see the gleam in his eyes that seemed to be backlit by gold. “You look good, by the way,” he continued, and you felt your heart rate quicken. “Meant to tell you that earlier.”

“Thanks,” you said, blushing, barely loud enough for him to hear as you averted your gaze, taking a swig of your drink. Liquid courage, liquid courage, liquid courage. “So do you.”

He grinned, never once sparing you from the heat of his eyes boring into you. “Do you wanna go to the third floor?” he asked suddenly, his finger absentmindedly tapping against the side of his solo cup. “There will still be people, but it might be a little quieter. There’s a balcony we can go on. Only if you want.”

“Sure,” you smiled, and Shawn turned his back to lead the way up. You immediately downed the rest of your drink the second his back was turned and set the empty can down on the counter where you noticed Shawn had put his still half-full cup. He turned over his shoulder to make sure you were following him, once again reaching his hand out for you to take. This time, it was you that tangled your fingers with his, and you felt him squeeze your hand ever so slightly as you did. The butterflies in your stomach were more like animals in a cage.

You walked up the first flight of stairs back onto the level you entered the house from, careful not to slip on any of the various mystery-liquid puddles covering the wood. The same guys from earlier were still standing by the door, and all started calling out to Shawn when they noticed the two of you heading for the second flight of stairs. Sensing your apprehension, Shawn squeezed your hand reassuringly. “Ignore them,” he said, and you gave a small smile.

He was right that there would still be people on the top floor of the house, but he was also right that it would be infinitely quieter. He pulled you out onto the balcony where there were a few other people, but he led the way to the far left corner of the banister. You leaned over and looked at all the people on the street who were drunkenly making their way from one fraternity party to the next. You felt Shawn lean down next to you, and you both laughed as a drunk girl lost her shoe and fell onto her knees as the rest of her equally as inebriated friends laughed out loud at her mishap.

You turned to face him so that you were both leaning sideways against the balcony railing, and you noticed him distractedly fidgeting with the dark gray pendant around his neck. You stuck a finger out to point at it. “What’s on your necklace?” He looked down to realize that he had been toying with it and then dropped it so it lay flat against his chest.

“It’s a Saint Christopher pendant from my grandma,” he said softly, smiling at what you assumed was a very fond memory. “She said I needed it to protect me because I was traveling so far away for college.”

“Because he’s the patron of travelers,” you finished, looking up at him and batting your eyelashes. He quirked his head at you, silently asking how you knew that off the top of your head. “When I bought my first car,” you explained, “My mom gave me a St. Christopher coin to keep in the glove box. Said it would keep me safe wherever life took me.”

“No way,” Shawn responded, beaming down at you.

“Yes way,” you giggled. “It looks just like the pendant on your necklace.”

Shawn smiled down at you, his soft amber eyes aglow with energy and admiration. “Some coincidence,” he said, barely audible, his voice trailing off at the end. Before you knew what was happening, he was reaching a tentative hand out towards your face and tucking a stray lock of your curled hair behind your ear. You froze and you felt your breath catch in your throat as he gently, ever so slowly trailed his fingertips around the back of your ear and slid them along your jawline, his thumb reaching up to slowly brush the side of your cheek. His eyes, seemingly in slow motion, glanced from your eyes, down to your lips, and back up again. He used his pointer finger and his thumb to delicately lift your chin up towards him and, tantalizingly slowly, he leaned in until his lips were softly pressing against yours. He moved his hands down to place them on either side of your hips, and you felt yourself relax into him. No longer paralyzed with nerves, you reached one hand out to his waist and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, the other hand tangling itself in the hair at the base of his neck, giving a little tug in response to him pulling you closer so that you were flush against his chest. What had started as soft and gentle rapidly evolved into steamy and rushed, and as his tongue met yours your mind was clouded with the cinnamon and whiskey on his breath. After what was probably a long time but felt like seconds, you pulled away and laid your hands on his chest and your forehead against his, your hearts racing as you both tried to catch your breath.

“Should we go back downstairs?” he whispered, your foreheads still pressed together. You could feel his breath on your cheek as his fingertips skimmed up and down your waist.

“Harper’s probably wondering where I am,” you sighed, skin hot and tingly with Shawn’s touch.

“My friends, too,” he replied. He pulled his head back, staring down at you with the most perfect closed-mouth smile, then reached up to cup your face and plant one more chaste kiss to your lips.

He reached out a hand as he had before, beaming down at you with his trademark, made-of-gold grin. “Shall we?”

“Such a gentleman,” you laughed, taking his hand and wrapping your free hand around his arm. “We shall.”

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes one shot #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes au #shawn mendes fanficition #shawn mendes writing #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes one shots #shawn mendes fanfics #shawn mendes aus #shawn mendes fanfictions #sm #college!shawn #frat!shawn #fratboy!shawn #writing #imagines #mendes army

[chaos-weekly]

He was kissing her.

JJ, the guy she had totally started to fall for but thought hated her, was kissing her. Considering how when, a few hours earlier, she’d been watching Fallon and crying her eyes out because she was sure JJ was putting on a show like he was contractually mandated to, Didi had not seen JJ coming. Not like this. Not out of breath in her front doorway at three in the morning when all she had wanted was to ignore him and forget everything.

Except he was kissing her.

Didi pulled his face closer to hers, letting him deepen the kiss and sighing with pleasure. Except, it wasn’t just physical this time. JJ loved her. He was in love with her. And he was kissing her.

This had to be a dream.

Too soon, he pulled away, breathing heavily. He must have run up the stairs, and then he’d attacked her face with his. Even for someone as physically fit as JJ, it was a lot for the middle of the night.

“You couldn’t have realized all of this a week ago?” Didi breathed out, staring up into his blue eyes. One day she’d find heels and maybe a stool tall enough so she could glare at him more easily, but tonight wasn’t for glaring.

JJ’s smile was apologetic. “I never said I was in touch with my emotions, sweet thang.”

Her heart sang out, Didi was convinced. Sweet thang, the nickname she had hated the most and now loved the most, was back in his vocabulary. Things were okay. They were okay. Everything was okay.

Didi rolled her eyes, her own smile breathless. She dropped her arm from blocking him from entering, and she grabbed his hand to pull him inside. Happily, JJ complied.

“You’re staying here tonight,” she announced, bringing him back towards her bedroom. “And you’re going to let me fall asleep in your arms, okay? That’s what you get for waking me up at three am.” Even if it was the best news she’d ever woken up to.

Didi looked over her shoulder to see JJ grinning at her, some mix of arrogance and ebullience. Yeah. That sounded about right. She was trying to keep her face straight, but it definitely wasn’t working.

“I think confessing my love to you is a good reason to wake up,” he pointed out, shutting her bedroom door behind him. Didi rolled her eyes.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t. Now go get ready for bed because I want to go back to sleep.” She pushed JJ towards her bathroom, physically pushed him in the right direction. He laughed at her, loudly, and Didi was so, so glad that Nollie was with London for the night.

Twenty minutes later, JJ emerged from the bathroom in a pair of sweatpants that she think once belonged to Xander that she had left with him. Thankfully for Didi, her maybe not so fake boyfriend was shirtless.

She wouldn’t have it any other way.

“My hair is going to be a disaster, you know.”

Didi giggled—yeah, she didn’t know she giggled either—and sat up in bed, setting her phone down.

“That’s a problem for later. Now c’mere already; I’m sleepy.” She pulled the comforter off, gesturing for him to crawl in next to her. Not soon enough, he was behind her, arms wrapped tightly around her.

“Is that my cowboy hat?” JJ asked, sounding amused.

“Who else do I know that wears cowboy hats? Everybody else has better fashion sense.” Her comment was teasing, not snarky like usual. She kind of loved JJ’s fashion taste, even if it wouldn’t work on literally everybody else.

“And who won sexiest guy at that party?” JJ retorted, squeezing her waist. She laughed, snuggling against his back. Yeah, this was the good stuff.

“I think it was London.” Didi couldn’t keep a straight face anymore, she was laughing before finishing her sentence. She was too happy, and too sleep deprived.

JJ rolled on to his back, pulling Didi along with him. “You’re wrong, Princess. It was me.”

She turned on her side so that she could lay her head against his very solid chest. Yeah, she could get used to this. She could get very used to this.

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” Didi replied, patting his chest to reassure him. But she kept her hand there against his warm skin, pleased to feel his laughter vibrate through his chest.

“Hey, JJ?” Didi said a moment later, figuring it was probably time to come clean. JJ loved her, and it was about time she stopped pretending to hate his music. Especially since he wrote a lot of it.

“Yeah?”

She propped herself up on one arm so that she could look him in the eye. “I don’t actually hate Arsenic. You guys are my number two band on Spotify.”

JJ raised an eyebrow, his self-satisfied grin growing ever wider. “And why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

“Well, for one thing, I hated your guts when this all started, and then everyone knows your ego is bigger than your hair,” Didi answered, smirking at him. He grunted something that was probably colorful and pulled her back against him.

“My ego is not bigger than my hair, Divina.” JJ’s low voice, his chest vibrating against her ear, his warm skin, it was making her feel all sorts of ways. And then his muscles. Oh, he had perfect muscles, but he wasn’t bulky, either. JJ was basically perfect. Except she wasn’t going to do more than kiss him and cuddle him for a while. Like Didi had told him at Xander’s house, sex had never been a matter of intimacy for her. She wanted to pull a Nollie and wait for a bit. Anyways, she’d already gone over two months, what were a few weeks more?

“JJ,” Didi said, “I love you, but you’re wrong.” She closed her eyes, cheeks pink as she realized what she’d told him. That definitely hadn’t been what she’d intended, but she wasn’t lying.

JJ scoffed, a hand slowly trailing up and down her arm. “At least you love me, I guess.” He faked a grumpy tone, and even though Didi was pretty sure JJ had a killer poker face (she’d learned that at the first Ben and Jerry incident), they were both too happy to be grumpy.

“Yeah,” Didi echoed, yawning through her words. “At least there’s that.”

“Go to sleep, sweet thang. I’ve got you,” JJ urged, his voice soft and low. And he was right; he did have her, completely and utterly, whether he wanted her or not.

Didi was just glad he finally wanted her.

////

Agreeing getting up, ordering breakfast from Mary’s Place, and getting ready, Didi had dragged JJ on to the couch so they could watch the most recent episode of “The Masked Singer.”

“Okay, what would you be if you went on that show?” Didi asked, her head leaned back against JJ’s. She was on his lap, realistically speaking, and being enveloped by his tall frame was amazing. She had never been happier to be of perfectly average height.

It didn’t take any time at all for JJ to answer.

“A lamp.”

“Like the sexy one from ‘A Christmas Story’?” Didi would pay to see him dressed in that costume.

“Are you saying that I wouldn’t be sexy as a lamp, sweet thang?”

“Yes.”

“Hey now, take that back. I didn’t win sexiest man for nothing.”

Didi giggled again, but she erupted in laughter when JJ’s hands found her sensitive (and ticklish) sides. Honestly, it was a miracle he hadn’t found out how ticklish she was yet. Even with their minimal physical contact until earlier that morning, somebody usually would have poked Didi in the side or tickled her. Well, Xander would have, but she hadn’t seen him with JJ just the three of them anywhere but in public.

“You’re ticklish, huh?” JJ asked, pausing in his assault long enough to let her catch half her breath. She could hear the smirk in his voice. Oh no. This was not going to end well. Didi bolted upright, laughing (but not from tickling) as his arm kept her ensnared.

“You are not going to tickle me, Jude.” She kept her voice as even as she could, but there was a smile in her eyes that told him exactly how much she enjoyed this.

“Wanna bet?” Before Didi could process what was happening, JJ dropped his arm and started counting down.

“3…2–“

Right before he got to one, she clued in. Crap. She had to run. Right now. She jumped up, running towards her room so she could shut the door in his face (at least long enough to keep him from tickling her). But Didi didn’t get further than the edge of the living room before JJ had scooped her up in his arms, both of them laughing as he held her against him. He wasn’t tickling her, but he was staring intently at her.

“It’s about time you two sorted things out.”

Didi hadn’t heard her roommate unlock the front door (or open it), but Nollie was here now, watching the two of them with an excited smile.

“Agreed,” Didi said, giving JJ a very teasing and very pointed look. Carefully, he set her down, but he didn’t let her free just yet.

“Morning, Nollie. How come you never told me that Divina here is ticklish?”

Yeah, Didi didn’t trust the scheming tone he had.

“JJ…” she warned.

“Didi swore me to secrecy when we first moved in together. As long as I don’t tell people, she can’t actually stop me from making sure people find out some other way.” There was a twinkle in Nollie’s eyes, and a few red marks on her neck, from the looks of it. Must have been a good night with London.

“In other words, she promised not to tell, but I forgot to get her to promise to keep Xander from tickling me,” Didi grumbled.

“Well, he should have told me much sooner.”

“Yeah, yeah. Well you know now, so don’t tell anyone, okay?” She turned to look up at her boyfriend, who was grinning like a devil.

“No, I don’t think I’ll agree to that, baby girl.” He kept grinning as he pulled his phone out, took a very unexpected picture of her, and started typing.

Oh crap.

This was not gonna end well. He was probably telling everyone.

“Jude Jackson I swear—“ JJ shut her up with a kiss, pulling her back to him. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t all annoying quips and cringy pet names. Maybe he was a really good kisser, too. Xander’s sources hadn’t been wrong that he was a good plaything. Didi would have to find out to what extent his sources were correct later.

JJ pulled away, his smile more sincere, and showed her his phone. It was Instagram, open to a picture of her (probably the one he’d taken) that was possibly the most unflattering one ever. But that was nothing. Didi read the caption in horror.

He had told the world that she was ticklish.

“What did you say you were gonna do if I told?” JJ challenged, voice low and husky again. He was way, way too good at getting her to react however he wanted. Especially physically.

So not fair.

“I hate you,” she said, lacking venom of any sort.

“Mm, no you don’t. You’ve said otherwise multiple times.”

“Wait—“ Nollie interrupted, making herself known again, “you told him you loved him? Didi, you need to tell me these things!” Nollie was certainly teasing, but Didi rolled her eyes anyways.

“This one thought banging down our door at three am after confessing his love for me to the world on live television would be a good idea.” She pointed at JJ, who smiled devilishly once more. “And figured he’d tell me after telling literally the entire world. At three am. When I was trying to sleep.” Didi turned back to scowl at him while Nollie laughed.

JJ raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t complaining last night.”

“I’m complaining now.”

“Would you have preferred I didn’t tell anyone?” JJ teased, hands sliding from her waist to her hips. It made Didi shiver, clearly what he’d been hoping for.

“Well, no, but—ugh! You’re impossible,” she groaned, forehead resting against his chest. “Can we please keep watching my show? I wanna see who gets unmasked.”

He answered by leading Didi back to the couch and pulling her into his arms.

Yeah, she definitely didn’t mind being woken up at three am if it ended up like this.

#chaos weekly #rising from the ashes

[squishysvt]

If I’m Lucky - Ch.5`Ten

Member: Ten (NCT) Genre: fluff (??), dark Word Count: 1,834 AN I managed to write a good sized chapter this time! Hope y’all enjoy :) -Admin Ay Warnings: sex mention, death mention

Ch.1`Ten ~ Ch.2`You ~ Ch.3`Ten ~ Ch.4`You ~ Ch.5`Ten ~ Ch.6`You

     Before noon, the world seemed more awake. The sun was still making its journey to the middle of the sky. Adults out working and running errands were still easily running off of a cup of coffee and children still hadn’t used all of their energy at school.

     Ten observed the happenings of the city outside of his window. He didn’t really like the world before noon. Birds infested the air with their obnoxiously happy singing, and it was so much brighter than what he preferred. The fact that it was so early (at least it was early to him) on top of waking up next to the person that always seemed to bring torment with them, his day did not start off ideally.

     You still lingered in his apartment, both of you not having classes for the day. The effect Ten’s outburst on you was different than what he expected, honestly speaking.

     Rather than whining and running out the door like he thought you would do, you only nodded and lied on the couch that you were originally supposed to sleep in. The only thing showing any type of negative emotion were your eyes, resembling a deer in headlights. However, an odd sprinkle of something else danced in them as well. Ten couldn’t put his finger on what it was, and it would be untrue if he said that it unnerved him slightly.

     His pastime of early morning city-watching was interrupted by the sound of a phone ringing. Ten had initially thought it was his, and reached to his side to pick it up. As he turned his head to the suspected source of the ringing, he was surprised to see nothing on the screen signifying an incoming call.

     “Hey, what’s up.” Your voice filled the room as you greeted your friend.

     Choosing not to eavesdrop, Ten tuned out your lively conversation, deciding to instead fiddle with his coffee mug. His father had not called him to take care of business, and Johnny hadn’t even texted him asking him to go out. For once, Ten was going to have a quiet day. Although it made him happy, he really had no idea what to do with himself either. If he was not studying for an exam or writing an essay, he was carrying out transactions with Squalo Nero. He was barely in his apartment, thus, he barely had any means of entertainment lying around his flat. A few books that he had finished long ago scattered his coffee table, if anything. Ten sighed to himself, deciding to sip on his drink more rather than thinking on the matter further.

     “Ten!”

     Your unnecessary high pitched screech rung in his ears.

     “What is it, Y/N?”

     “Wanna come chill with me and my roommates for a bit?”

      Ten groaned, “And why exactly would I want to do that?”

      You approached his slouched figure and got as uncomfortably close to Ten’s face as possible.

      “Because based on the data I have gathered and analyzed about you for as long as I have known you, you’re not exactly the type of person to have parties back to back throughout the week.” You smiled as Ten frowned at what you said.

     “C’mon...we’re just gonna go and eat lunch at some cafe and catch up. No big deal. You can go as my plus one!”

     Ten could not really debate with you there. He indeed didn’t do much that wasn’t either illegal or school-related. And although Ten wasn’t really fond of social gatherings with strangers (adding you to the mix didn’t make it any better), he did not want to be left to drown in his own thoughts today.

      “Fine,” he grumbled.

      Ten watched with a raised brow as you squeaked and practically buzzed with excitement.

     “Go get some clothes on, we’re meeting in thirty minutes,” You demanded as you pushed Ten into his room, urging him to hurry.

     Before he closed his bedroom behind him, the song both you and Ten had as ringtones was brought back into his memory.

     Leaning on his door frame, he inquired, “You listen to Miguel?”

     You absentmindedly nodded as you tried to gather your things.

     “Nice music taste, I guess that’s one thing I like about you.” The last part was low enough to where it had you wondering if you actually had heard it. Your head shot up, fast enough to see a faint smile on Ten’s face as he disappeared into his room.

      It would be a lie to say that Ten didn’t enjoy the walk to the cafe with you. The warm sun hugged his back and the background noise of your rhetorical rambling as he thought of nothing put him in a state of contentment that he hadn’t experienced in years. He would never admit his efforts to suppress a smile from crawling onto his face to you, though.

     Those feelings, however, vanished as soon as Ten felt them start as soon as you both stepped into the meeting destination. For some reason, he just knew that the loud man and woman huddled in the very back of the cafe was your friends. His suspicions were confirmed as he saw you zoom towards the two screaming greetings from the other side of the room. Ten quickly bought an overpriced bottle of water to assuage his oncoming headache before sitting next you in the booth you friends had chosen. As he settled down he tuned into the animated conversation you were having with your female roommate.

     “Oh, dude, where were you? When I got home last night you weren’t there? I was worried when I woke up and you still weren’t in your room.”

      “I may have lost my keys…” You trailed off, putting in no further effort to explain.

     “What?! You could’ve called one of us or something,” the male roommate exclaimed.

      The girl, that Ten would later learn is named Wendy, nodded. “Where did you end up staying then? And I swear to God, if you slept on some park bench like that one drunk night in--”

      “Don’t worry! I stayed at this dude’s place.” You said as you nudged Ten with your shoulder. Directing the attention to him for the first time since he had sat down.

       Ten mentally sighed, with your statement he knew this would induce a reaction from your friends, especially since they were only meeting him today. The situation he willingly put himself in today slowly started to become one of regret as he felt his head pulse.

      “What if he was a murderer? What if he did something to you while you were asleep?” Ten could feel the protective anger radiating off of the man talking.

      “Look, Doyoung, chill out. I’ve known Ten for a while--” Ten scoffed, the “a while” equaling about a month, “--and he’s actually pretty chill.”

      All Doyoung could do was skeptically glance at the man in question, which Ten couldn’t really blame him for.

      “Besides, she’s the one that decided to sleep with me first.” Ten grinned, slyly avoiding having to elaborate by drinking from his water.

      Wendy choked on air and Doyoung started to engage in some sort of act of disassociation from the whole conversation.

     Wendy cleared her throat. “Wow, Y/N...I didn’t know you were the...forward type.”

     “I like, really didn’t need to know that.” Doyoung grimaced. Wendy had made it very clear that getting it on within the shared flat was a no-no, so the three flatmates didn’t exactly see each other as completely functional college students with sex lives of their own. Ten could tell very clearly from the reaction to his bluff.

     “Whatever you think happened at Ten’s apartment didn’t,” you blushed, “and will not happen in the near future, okay?” You stood up and stumbled out of the booth, dragging Ten with you.

     “Anyway, I promised him we wouldn’t be staying long. I’ll talk to you later!”

     Now out of the cafe and leading Ten to no location in particular, Ten and you walked in silence. The sun was starting to lower from its highest point in the sky, and it was becoming slightly cooler than before. The both of you soon approached to a park filled with children running around and playing. Parents didn’t pay any attention to their respective kids, instead engaging in fanatic talk about some soap-opera aimed at middle-aged women.

     Ten settled under a nearby tree as he rested his head on it’s rough bark, happy giggles and screams filling his ears.

“I thought your dad was taking you out today?” Taeil inquired as he swung on a swing that was way too small for him.

Ten’s small fingers dug into the playground mulch as he spoke, “He said he couldn’t because of work.”

“Then why didn’t your mom instead?”

“She said to ask you to take me. She didn’t feel like it.”

Taeil sighed, obviously frustrated by the current situation. “I hate that your parents don’t take care of you like they should. You are literally such a good kid, Ten. I don’t understand why they don’t see that.”

Ten rubbed his hands on pants and looked up from the hole he was digging. “It’s fine, I have you.” The older boy smiled. Taeil was the one who was always there for him when no one else was.

                 “Shoot him, son.”

       His eyes fluttered open as he was greeted by your figure towering over him.

     “You seem like you had a good nap. It’s getting pretty dark, I think we should go home.” You punctuated your sentence with a slight shiver. Ten hadn’t realized how chilly it had gotten, despite it being so warm in the morning.

     Not really over his haunting dream, Ten took a minute to gather himself and get up. “Uh, yeah, let’s go.”

      This time as the two of you walked home, Ten had actually entertained your odd musings with curt nods and the occasional hum. In the middle of your speech about, well at this point Ten wasn’t really sure what you were talking about, he had let his thoughts drift away as well. It had been a bit of time since he had last thought about his past, and he wondered why it was bothering him so much lately.

     “Oh, hey, what time is it?” You interrupted Ten’s thoughts.

     When he had pulled out his phone to check, he had gotten a glance of the date on his screen, the bright text ingrained into his eyes. It had now been six years since the first time he killed.

      “It’s...eight-thirty.” Ten’s throat felt dry, the familiar feeling of pulling the trigger, the ringing in his ears coming back, the kick of the gun jolting his inexperienced hands all came flowing back to him.

     “Ten are you...okay there? Do you need something?” You had noticed the obvious disturbance in Ten’s demeanor, but didn’t know where it came from.

     “Let’s just go home, Y/N. I’m fine.”

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