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#surprise bitch! it's Ravioli!

dragonmuse · 1 year

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doublewindsor came in close third on the trivia question (gonna have to think of even tougher ones next time!) and asked ‘Can I get Lucius trying to cook something for Izzy? Maybe as a surprise? The successfulness of his attempt is up to you, but I’m having flashes of Izzy getting a phone alert that his fire alarm has gone off. For food burning, you’ll need Eddy and Stede. Lucius has a different issue.

Letting himself in had been the easiest part of the plan. Lucius had his key and Izzy was stuck in court this afternoon. All the better to come home and eat something he hadn’t made for once. The recipe was one of John’s, so it was very generous with cheese which Lucius was never going to complain about and he figured Izzy would be happy enough with.

If the man ever became lactose-intolerant, Lucius would reach new levels of atheism.

It was fairly foolproof and he’d been cooking alongside Izzy for a few months. Maybe his dicing was rough and he didn’t add the perfect amount of salt and pepper, but over all, the tomato and ravioli looked good as he sprinkled the panko mixture over it and stuck it in the oven. He’d even checked that the pan was oven safe, which he’d only recalled at the last minute.

He was so close to the finish line. Setting the timer, he stayed in the kitchen, not daring to get distracted by reading. Instead, he checked his email and texted an update to Pete, relieved to get a thumb’s up when he sent a picture of it in the oven.

This was fine. He was an adult and he had kept himself fed before Pete, let alone Izzy. It was possible Izzy would be a critical dick about it, but that said more about him than it did about Lucius. Probably.

When the timer got into seconds, he pulled on the oven mitt. It beeped and he dutifully pulled the pan out to set it on top of the stove. It smelled good! Ha! Take that tomato paste, you’re food now!

Izzy texted to say he’d be home soon. Perfect. Lucius ditched the mitt, got out the bread Izzy bought for toast. He figured that would have to be good enough for garlic bread. Some butter and garlic powder should turn any carb into a good carb, he figured, and put it on a tray into the oven to toast.

The pan handle was sticking out some and that was probably a hazard, he grabbed it to move it.

A very strangled scream made it out of his throat, startling Sweeney from his perch. Lucius let go of the still very hot pan with a cathartic,

“Fuck!”

On pure instinct, he stuck his throbbing hand under the faucet. Some distant memory made him set it to luke warm instead of cold. He watched as his skin turned an angry red and his nerve endings reported in damage like planes going down in the Andes.

“I got it,” he gritted out. “Stupid! Fuck.”

He was still standing there with his hand under the water when Izzy came in the door. Lucius considered trying to fake his way through the situation, but his hand was killing him and he might actually need some help. Annoying.

“Hey, pup,” Izzy greeted, stopping to take off his shoes. “...you made dinner?”

“I did,” he agreed. “Pasta bake, garlic bread and broiled myself.”

“What happened?” Izzy’s head flew up, taking in the scene.

“I forgot the handle was still hot.” He braced himself for a scolding. Izzy was very big on kitchen safety which was kind of hilarious coming from a guy who sometimes used a knife to emphasize his arguments while he cooked.

“Shit, let me see.” Izzy came into the kitchen and held out his hand. Lucius turned off the water and presented it to him. “Yeah, you got yourself good. It’ll sting like a bitch for a few hours. I’ve got burn cream though, that should help. Stay here.”

“Kay,” Lucius watched as Izzy went into the bathroom and came back out with a tube of cream and what looked like an ace bandage. “You just have this stuff lying around?”

“You don’t?” Izzy took Lucius’ hand in his own and started dabbing cream on the burned spots.

“No? I think we’ve got a box of bandaids next to some neosporin maybe.”

Izzy shook his head, dabbing on a little more cream, “I’ll send you a link. Get a basic kit. Try not to let anything expire.”

“Yeah, okay.” It was hard to argue with the results of that at the moment. “Court go okay?”

“No idea, they didn’t get around to me,” Izzy grumbled. “I have to go back tomorrow.”

“Fun.”

Izzy unwound the bandage which looked more gauze-like up close.

“What’s the dinner for anyway?”

“Thought it’d be nice? It’s one of those things. Make someone food they’ll like when they have a hard day.”

“You don’t have to do that for me. Cooking is fine.”

“I know,” Lucius smiled at him, despite the pain, “I don’t really have to do anything. That’s what makes it nice. Sometimes I am just a nice person.”

“Mm, you are?” Izzy wound the gauze lightly around the wound. It felt a little better just not being exposed.

“I’m extremely nice,” Lucius contended. “So nice. Just not to you usually.”

“I want names and numbers so I can fact check.”

“Fuck you,” Lucius laughed. “It’s a confidential service.”

“Oh, so not nice, just easy.”

“I’m going to kick you in the dick and go eat this pasta by myself,” Lucius said tartly.

“Very nice of you.”

They wound up eating it together out of the pan over the stove . It was a little awkward to use his left hand, but the food came out okay at least. The garlic bread had gotten a little over toasted with the burn adventure, but it was kind of good crispy anyway.

“So?” Lucius challenged.

“It’s good,” Izzy chewed through another bite.

“...that’s it?”

“Yeah? What? You want a Michelin Star?”

“No, I just thought you might have some...constructive criticism.”

“Nah. Rude to insult the cook.”

“That’s a thing you care about now?”

“Pup, I feed you three times a week easy and the only complaint you’ve ever had is that there isn’t enough or the one time I didn’t cook the chicken for long enough and it was fucking raw.”

“Yeah, that was a turn off,” Lucius nodded.

“So why would I do any different to you?”

“Why indeed?” Lucius said solemnly and very quietly did an inward dance of joy. That was very much a win.

Having eaten themselves into a bit of food coma, they parked in front of the television for a while, some black and white film parading past them. Lucius was distracted by the pain in his hand, getting up to take some tylenol. It did start to ebb after that though he had a feeling it would be tender for longer.

As the credits rolled, he turned to give Izzy a speculative look.

“What?” Izzy narrowed his eyes at him.

“You know, I’m one handed right now.”

“Your fingers still work.”

“Iz. Work with me here. I’m down my dominant hand. And I might need some assistance.”

“Yeah, I can-” Izzy started then stopped, penny dropping.

“Want to?”

“Yes, pup,” he reached for the remote, turning off the television and plunging them into darkness.

His hand still hurt in the morning, but Lucius managed to make them both breakfast anyway. Izzy certainly wasn’t getting up to do it.

#leda house and the kraken verse #ficlet #lucius black #izzy hands

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surrsilver · 2 years

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While I was happy to be sleeping at all (not EVERY single night, but most) the usual 2-4 hours did not equate to an especially sociable disposition at the company's (Yep. The telemarketing company Lydia used Eric to reel me toward) starting time of 8:00 am. The office was in Mesa, and even though I had worked out a rental agreement for a new roommates older BMW, this till required awakening no later than 7. As many people with sleep problems can attest, inadequate rest one night does not necessarily mean that sleep will come any easier the next. Under normal circumstances, I would avoid all but the most essential human interaction until a combination of coffee and the natural awakening process left me reasonably alert and pleasant to be around by 11, or so. My new friendship, undoubtedly desirable as it was, in a general sense, threw a bit of a wrench into that plan. Lydia, it seemed, was never lacking the ability to exert an almost super-human level of energy. I had tiptoed past her office, right next to the sales floor, minutes before as she was explaining to her daughter's pre-school teacher, on the phone, that in the event of her child's continued misbehavior, she needed only to give Lydia a call, and she would "be right over there to straighten her out." But, that conversation had apparently ended, and she immediately noticed me, pouring myself a large cup of coffee, smiled a grin I would reserve for winning the power ball, and walked-or, more accurately, bounced-straight toward me."Daniel!What's up, buddy?!"

"Hey Lid. Tired. How are you?"

"I am great because you are coming over for dinner tonight! I'm making pork chops...and I'll make some of that spinach ravioli you like, too! It's my way of saying 'sorry for being a bitch' the other day." We had gotten into a minor disagreement over something I definitely don't remember now, and would not be surprised if I had forgotten already on this day....2, or 3 days after occured. The problem was--and I really should have taken note of this, there is no such thing as a minor, stand alone,disagreement when we were involved, as neither of us had yet internalized the old adage "better to be happy than right," were not exactly proficient in the area of "temper control," and were both extremely easy to anger. Worst of all, we both had an unfortunate tendency to take everything personally. In retrospect, it was a bad combination.

"Awww, no worries, buddy...just as much my fault as your's....gotta take a rain-check on the pork chops and ravioli, though...as much as it pains me (this was true. for one, I genuinely enjoyed being around this girl-usually.also, though she had just turned 20 at the time, she was already a phenomenal cook) I have a meeting I have to go to, though." The buoyant good-will in her expression disappeared.

"A fucking meeting? If you don't want to come, just say so. I'm a big girl." She walked briskly toward her office. Her reaction, I realized, actually made sense due to my lack of care in how I explained my inability to join her for dinner.

"Awww....hey Lid. It's not.....I mean,come here." The middle finger went up, and her office door closed behind her. This would be easy to explain later, though, so I refocused my activity toward downing 4 cups of coffee in an effort to get into the swing of my workday.

At about 10:30, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to see Lydia. Surprisingly, she'd not only shaken the angry contempt for me demonstrated such a short time ago, but was, quite noticeably, even more playful and vibrant than usual."That girl's gonna be at this meeting, huh?"

While I'd met her over a year prior (she was actually one of the first people I met after moving to Phoenix in 2001) I did not really consider us close friends until recently. After we had spent nearly every available minute offered by breaks and lunch, for a few weeks, talking. And, after the conversation ended up covering some extremely rough topics, notably, her childhood, and it was obvious that she both liked and trusted me, I felt somewhat sheepish. I had no stories from childhood that would accomplish anything other than prove what she likely already suspected, that I had been protected from all of the difficulties she, and so many other, people have to cope with early in life, and I never, in a million years would have faced some of the traumatic experiences that she had detailed to me--at my encouraging--with tears in her eyes, several days ago. But, I felt comfortable with her, as she clearly did with me. So, against my better judgement, the next time she offered to set me up with this friend, or that one, I told her of my strange, powerful attraction to the halfway house girl. I assumed that this story, so comparatively lame in the midst of others we had just addressed, was destined for the trash bin of our conversational repertoire. I also guessed that, even in the event that she desired to do so, it would be virtually impossible for her to get much mileage from it....and, I ABSOLUTELY did not predict that it would be provide her years worth of trash talking fodder, as well as incontrovertible evidence of what a (take your pick of countless insults ranging from joking to completely serious, depending upon the situation) I was incorrect on all counts. Eventually, I grew to love Lydia. A lot. But, our relationship was not propelled by the mysterious, overwhelming force that still had me stalking the halfway house girl (should have used a pseudonym. Couldn't think of one that fit) at her homegroup. There were actual choices and decisions involved. Had I recognized what now seem to be fairly obvious red flags, I could have made better ones. Tragedy may have been avoided. But all this was to come. At this point, she was just a buddy curious about her friend's strange obsession. "Yep," I admitted,"she'll be there."

"I knew it!" I began a fresh pitch as she walked off after shooting a mischievous grin in my direction.

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gukyi · 4 years

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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

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rpmemestorehouse · 3 years

Text

2010′s Internet Memes Starters

Change wording as needed

“Are you frustrated?”

“What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch? I'll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Navy Seals, and I've been involved in numerous secret raids on Al-Quaeda, and I have over 300 confirmed kills. I am trained in gorilla warfare and I-”

“Let me tell you why that’s bullshit.”

“Oh stop it, you.”

“Aww yiss.”

“France is bacon.”

“That’s cute.”

“Lie down. Try not to cry. Cry a lot.”

“Has science gone too far?”

“...said no-one ever.”

“We need to go deeper.”

“Do you think this is a motherfucking game?”

“NOPE.”

“Oh baby, a triple!”

“Brushie brushie brushie~”

“Spooky scary skeletons!”

“FUCK YEA.”

“You could stop at five or six stores, or, just ONE.”

“You hear about video games?”

“Release the kraken!”

“Will you fight? Or will you perish like a dog?”

“ ‘It will be FUN’, they said!”

“You’ve been GNOMED!”

“Deal with it.”

“And not a single fuck was given that day.”

“It’s a double rainbow!”

“The rent is too damn high!”

“You jelly?”

“Challenge accepted.”

“Come at me bro!”

“Pootis!”

“Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout?”

“Are you a wizard?”

“Bitch please!”

“I know that feel bro.”

“Shut up and take my money!”

“I don’t want to live on this planet anymore.”

“NO.”

“I hope you step on a LEGO.”

“That really rustled my jimmies.”

“And then a skeleton popped out!”

“I’ve seen some shit.”

“gEnIuS!”

“You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”

“This isn’t even my final form!”

“You had one job.”

“Kill me.”

“Majestic as FUCK.”

“Excuse me sir, do you have a moment to talk about [insert]?”

“I swear on me mum...”

“You have no power here!”

“REKT!”

“What a time to be alive.”

“If I pull that off, will you die?”

“It will be extremely painful...for you.”

“FUCK THIS GAY EARTH!”

“Hide the pain Harold.”

“Local man ruins everything.”

“Mom, get the camera!”

“I cri evrytiem.”

“The struggle is real.”

“I am the one who knocks!”

“Perfection.”

“This is the darkest timeline.”

“I’m about to end this man’s whole career.”

“I regret nothing!!!”

“I lied.”

“I’ve seen enough [insert] to know where THIS is going.”

“Oh god why-”

“Everyday I’m shufflin’-”

“You wot mate?”

“Everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked...”

“Man door hand hook car door-”

“Palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy, vomit on my sweater already, Mom's spaghetti-”

“Oppa Gangnam style!”

“When [place] is ashes, you have my permission to die.”

“I only cried for 20 minutes.”

“Pepperidge Farm remembers.”

“Go home, [Name], you’re drunk.”

“Fuck me, right?”

“I should buy a boat.”

“2deep4you”

“Apply cold water to that burn.”

“420 blaze it!”

“That’s a nice new [insert]. It would be a shame if something happened to it...”

“I too, like to live dangerously.”

“You know nothing, [Name].”

“I’m getting too old for this shit.”

“Does this look like the face of mercy?”

“It was me, [OWN NAME]!”

“Stop trying to make [insert] happen! It’s not going to happen!”

“You merely adopted the darkness.”

“See? Nobody cares.”

“I will find you, and I will kill you.”

“I understood that reference!”

“Listen here, you little shit-”

“It’s an older meme, sir, but it checks out.”

“Ravioli, ravioli, give me the formuoli.”

“How do you do, fellow kids?”

“Ow, the edge!”

“*teleports behind you* Nothing personal, kid.”

“Pee is stored in the balls.”

“We have food at home.”

“You must be new here.”

“Goats are like mushrooms, if you shoot a duck, I'm scared of toasters.”

“ERMAHGERD BERKS-”

“That’s the evilest thing I can imagine!”

“Dammit Moon Moon!”

“When u mom com home and make hte spagheti-“

“When will you learn? When will you learn?! THAT YOUR ACTIONS HAVE CONSEQUENCES?!”

“helo would u like some of this hot choclety milk?”

“Be strong, [Name]. Be strong for Mother.”

“Ayy LMAO.”

“Surprise, bitch. I bet you thought you’d seen the last of me.”

“Shrek is love, Shrek is life.”

“Heard you were talking shit!”

“The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.”

“Look at me. I’m the captain now.”

“This could be us, but you playing.”

“They played us like a damn fiddle!”

“I came out to have a good time and I’m honestly feeling so attacked right now.”

“I’m in me mum’s car, broom broom!”

“Hand me the aux cord.”

“Press F to pay respects.”

“Trust nobody, not even yourself.”

“Anime was a mistake.”

“It’s just a prank, bro!”

“Don’t talk to me or my son ever again.”

“Are ya winning, son?”

“Had it not been for the laws of this land, I would have slaughtered you.”

“I lived bitch!”

“You just have to say that you're fine, when you're not really fine, but you just can't get into it because they would never understand.”

“*chuckles* I’m in danger.”

“That wasn’t very cash money of you.”

“They had us in the first half, not gonna lie.”

“DEEZ NUTS-”

“Alone on a Friday night? God, you’re pathetic.”

“Why the fuck you lyin’? Why you always lyin’? Mmmm oh my GOD, stop fuckin’ lyin’~”

“You’re gonna have a bad time.”

“I’m at soup!”

“IT’S TIME TO STOP!”

“Congratulations, you played yourself.”

“I’m you, but stronger.”

“This is fine.”

“Hello darkness my old friend~”

“Sosig.”

“Jesus Christ, it’s Jason Bourne!”

“I have crippling depression!”

“WE ARE NUMBER ONE!”

“That’s where you’re wrong, kiddo.”

“Take a fucking sip, babes.”

“Brother, may I have some oats?”

“God I wish that were me.”

“Ah, I see you’re a man of culture as well.”

“Oh, worm?”

“Hewwo!”

“Why would you say something so controversial yet so brave?”

“Am I a joke to you?”

“Let me in. LET ME IIIIIINNNNN!!!!!”

“You know I had to do it to ‘em.”

“Why is the FBI here?”

“Oh no baby what is you doin’???”

“Hey man, you see that guy over there?”

“Buenos días, [Name]!”

“Hey there demons, it’s me, ya boy.”

“Improvise. Adapt. Overcome.”

“Then perish.”

“Somebody toucha my spaghet!”

“My disappointment is immeasurable, and my day is ruined.”

“Weird flex, but okay.”

“I’m baby.”

“STONKS!”

“OK, boomer.”

“Yep, this one’s going in my cringe compilation.”

“This is so sad. Alexa, play Despacito.”

“Perfectly balanced, as all things should be.”

“All right then, keep your secrets.”

“They did surgery on a grape.”

“It ain’t much, but it’s honest work.”

“Look how they massacred my boy!”

“Bro! You just posted cringe! You are going to lose subscriber.”

“Wait, that’s illegal.”

“Bro, I’m straight-up not having a good time.”

“Gonna cry? Gonna piss your pants maybe?”

“I’m gonna do what’s called a pro gamer move.”

“Say sike right now.”

#ask meme #ask starter #sentence meme #sentence starter #original memes #inbox meme #inbox starters #rp meme #rp prompts #rp starter #Author's note: I'm so exhausted after making this. There are too many memes.#Anyway see you in like ten years when I make one for the memes of the 2020's

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ceilingfan5 · 4 years

Note

13, 2, 2? ::3

OOPS IT GOT LONG SORRY TO STRETCH YOUR DASH

(Soulmates au, Enemies to lovers, “Fuck. fuck fuck fuck fuck this shit. Fuck”)

“Fuck. Fuck- fuck, fuck, fuck this shit. Fuck-” Taako can’t breathe. He’s holed up in the university bathroom with his shirt half off, looking at the absolute very end of the world. Taako, like most people, was born with a birthmark that was supposed to show the first place his Soulmate would touch him, but there must be some mistake. Sure, the psychedelic colors are spreading, still swirling magically under his skin in a near-perfect handprint shape, just like in the movies, but Taako hasn’t met his soulmate yet. What’s worse? The only person who touched him today was his mortal enemy, That Guy From Music Theory That Never Shuts Up.

Oh no. This absolutely won’t do.

His slouchy top barely covers it, either. He tries covering it with the concealer he has in his bag, but just like in all those rumors from middle school, nothing works. True love shines through. But it can’t be true love! Taako remembers the absolute contempt he felt when K...Krabbins. Kravix? When that jackass squeezed his shoulder after their group presentation where Taako let him do all the work. It was absolutely an I’m-going-to-throw-you-under-the-bus-for-this-one-shitbag sort of squeeze, something Taako’s not unfamiliar with, and Taako had given him his winningest smile and pulled that offending hand right off of him. There was no love lost there. So has Cupid lost his goddamn mind, or is...is That Guy Taako’s soulmate?

Taako’s gut plummets faster than a lead fart. He’s got to find this guy and prove he isn’t actually his Soulmate. And then he can go back to living his fun and sexy and free lifestyle.

He’s easier to find than Taako expected. He’s just sitting around in the common area, studying a thick textbook. Taako didn’t even buy any textbooks this year. Obviously they aren’t a match. It’s clear as swarovski crystal, baby.

Taako walks right up, sweating to death in his sweater but absolutely about to let the public see his divine embarrassment, and he slams his hand down on That Guy’s table. He’s going to go full intimidation with this one. He gives That Guy a narrow look when he jumps and pitches his voice down a little to sound more serious.

“We have to go on a date.”

The Guy stares back at him--funny, his hand is wrapped up. Maybe he punched somebody for talking shit about a dead ass wig wearing piano fucking composer. It takes him a second to find his voice, but when he does, it’s that affected accent Taako hates so much.

“I’ll be honest, Taako, that’s...not exactly what I thought you were going to say.”

“Is that a no?” Taako squints at him.

“More of a...why, I’d wager?” The Guy- Kravitz. Kravitz is it, according to the silver sharpie on his fancy notebook. Taako knew that.

“Does it matter? You, me, mmm...Italian food. The Phoenix. 7pm.”

“Today??” Kravitz splutters. Taako allows him no mercy. Serves him right. Especially as sweaty and nervous as he looks with Taako so close to him. Eugh.

“Did I stutter? Now’s your chance to opt out. Three. Two.”

“I- I guess- sure. Why not.”

“Perfect.”

Taako wears a turtleneck and a short skirt, the full, easy-to-move-in kind in case he has to run away or climb out a bathroom window. In case, you know, the guy is a full-on creep and not just the kind of person who likes to lecture the teacher on why the textbook has inaccuracies that poison the study of music and ruin the experience for entry-level musicians like his compatriots.

God.

He shows up fashionably late to find, to his surprise, that not only has Kravitz already gotten them a table, he’s dressed up, and...unfortunately, he cleans up tasty. Maybe he’d be super fucking gorgeous hot, you know, if he could keep his mouth shut.

Taako takes his seat and more than his fair share of breadsticks, ready for the guy to bitch and moan about it, but he just raises an eyebrow.

“So,” Taako says. “You got any hobbies, or are you just into music?”

“I do really enjoy music, and I spend a lot of my time practicing, but I also like playing games like poker. I also spend some time at the gym, and...I’m sorry, the way you keep looking at me. Is this an interview? I feel like I missed something.”

“Maybe so,” Taako says vaguely. They order, and Taako’s slightly surprised to find that Kravitz has good taste. Hm. Interesting.

They trade tales from other classes and parties they’ve been to, and against his will, Taako starts...enjoying the date. He finally has to steer the subject back to why he hates the guy so much.

“So why the fuck do you take music class so seriously?”

“Why?” Kravitz thinks for a moment, itching at the bandages on his hand. Maybe it was a burn. Maybe he’s a shit terrible cook, which is another great reason to hate him. Although that hasn’t been a dealbreaker in the past. Shit cooks are always impressed when you’re a great cook, and Taako loves being the center of attention.

“I’ll tell it to you straight, Taako. And I don’t think you understand. I’m a music major. I play fifteen instruments. I-” his accent slips, and oh, his real voice? Honey butter. Taako may or may not be blushing. “I’m going to be a conductor. It’s an embarrassment for that class-- for basic, entry-level fucking music appreciation to be one of my requirements. Taako, I could teach that class, do you understand?”

Taako understands that he likes the way his name sounds in that low voice of his. Fuck.

“Okay, yeah, maybe that would make me an asshole too.” He hesitates, and bites his lip, and then the bullet. “What happened to your hand? It was fine this morning.”

“My hand?” Kravitz clutches it. “Nothing.”

“Liar.” And then Taako knows. “Your soulmate mark showed up. Didn’t it.”

Kravitz stares at him. His expression is impenetrable.

“And why would that be?”

Taako takes a gamble.

“Mine did too.” And he yanks his turtleneck to the side to reveal his mark, practically glowing in its respendency. It almost seems like a shame to cover it.

Kravitz frowns. And he pokes at his ravioli with his fork. And he unwraps his hand. Glorious, swirling colors, even more passionate than Taako’s, are revealed. Taako swallows.

“So what does this mean?” Kravitz asks. His tone is intentionally level.

“I don’t know,” Taako admits. “I guess...I guess we could go on another date? Maybe even...see where the night takes us?”

Kravitz hesitates, but he nods.

“I think that’s worth a shot.”

#taakitz #fan5fics #taz #tazb #the adventure zone #the adventure zone balance #thank you!!#ask games #minific request #it's not so mini lol #maybe if this one takes off ill add more and publish it?#soulmates au #not my usual fare #long post #sorry it's so long oh my god #enemies to lovers does not a minific make.

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lovelyirony · 3 years

Text

16.) Who screams first at the haunted house?

Tony hates haunted houses. Rhodey loves them, because Rhodey is secretly insane and thinks that haunted houses are hilarious.

He wants Tony to come with him when they first start dating. Tony, not one to disappoint his new boyfriend, agrees. Even though he’s terrified.

He texts Sharon, who is absolutely no help. After learning about his current predicament, Sharon texts back one message:

Lmaoooo good luck little bitch!

Tony hates his cousin sometimes. But he shrugs on one of Rhodey’s extra jackets, smiles nervously, and tells Rhodey that he’s excited.

(Even though he isn’t.)

At first, it’s not so bad. Rhodey makes enough jokes to make it bearable. A group of zombie-skeletons pop out moaning and groaning, and Rhodey asks they’re having a good night.

He asks a nurse with one eye missing if she reported the OSHA violations. (That was pretty funny.)

It’s the end that gets to him. He’s been fine—gripping onto Rhodey for dear life, not that that’s been the worst thing to happen—when they get to a surprise from a cast member that drops down from the ceiling. Tony lets out a wild shriek and races out of the haunted house.

Rhodey is on the floor wheezing.

“What’s so funny?!” Tony yells. “I got scared!”

“I’ve been waiting for you to scream for thirty minutes!” Rhodey says.

“You…you knew?”

“Of course I knew,” Rhodey says. “You hate haunted houses; you went to one with me freshman year and spent the entire time clinging like a koala to my back.”

“You asshole!” Tony cries.

“Worth it,” Rhodey says. “Your face was hilarious.”

“I’m getting you back for that. I promise you I am.”

“You’re going to have to find my deepest fear, and Mama can’t be used against me yet,” Rhodey says smugly.

Tony huffs, but brings Rhodey back in for a hug.

“Can we get those stupid pizza-roll-things that you like and cuddle under blankets while I force you to analyze Cinderella with me?”

“Sure,” Rhodey says. “That sounds perfect. You can just call them pizza rolls, by the way.”

“They’re not rolls!” Tony cries. “They’re just…they’re pockets!”

“…ravioli?”

“You just offended by grandmother and the Pope all in one sentence,” Tony sniffs, holding his boyfriend’s hand. “Now take me home and cuddle me to death.”

“Not to death an alright standard for you? I’m not feeling it, it’s Thursday.”

“Carry on as usual then,” Tony says. “To the store!”

Rhodey smiles to himself as Tony races to the car, yelling something about making Rhodey buy root beer while they’re out.

#lovelyirony writes #rhodeytony seasons of love #rhodeytony #ironhusbands #rhfe #rhodey #tony stark #iron man #war machine #sharon carter is in this one. of course #tony HATES haunted houses

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ravusnightblossom · 3 years

Text

KNOWING YOUR PARTNER WELL CAN POTENTIALLY MAKE WRITING TOGETHER A LOT EASIER. REPOST DO NOT REBLOG !!

NAME: Fox ♥

PRONOUNS: she/her, but honestly, I’m fine with any pronouns. It really doesn’t matter to me.

PREFERENCE OF COMMUNICATION: This is a weird one for me. I have days where I’m super social, but then others where I disassociate entirely, or even just talk to one or two people for a week straight... I’m kind of a textbook ambivert with hardcore ADHD. Messaging me on Tumblr is a good place to start, but don’t be surprised if I get overwhelmed easily or if my anxiety flares up. If we get closer, I may offer Discord.

NAME OF MUSE(s): His Esteemed Highness Lord Ravioli of Fleuret. Ravus Nox Fleuret.

RP EXPERIENCE/HOW LONG (MONTHS / YEARS?): Oh, hell. I think 2001ish was when it began? Maybe 2000? We’ll say 20 years, possible 21.

PLATFORMS YOU’VE USED: MSN chat rooms, ICQ, forums, Livejournal, AOL/AIM Messenger, Myspace, Tumblr, Discord, Wire.

BEST EXPERIENCE: I had two dear friends that I exclusively wrote with for years. We built an entire world together and eventually turned it into a novel series. Everyone has moved on since then, but that worldbuilding experience was one of the best events of my life and I know it will live on through the books.

PET PEEVES/DEALBREAKERS: Elitist mentality, too much OOC dash spam, and manipulative behaviour. I’m old and here to write, not to juggle drama.

FLUFF, ANGST OR SMUT: Anything, honestly. I love me some good fluff if the situation allows for it, but angst is also a great balance. Smut is fun, but only if the chemistry and development are there to lead up to it. I’m not one for just writing p*rn without context (don’t get me wrong, I am not judging anyone else who enjoys it. I’m just a big ol’ ace and I need story with it.)

PLOTS OR MEMES: Both in different ways. Memes are great for working out those little character deets, but plots are the best.

LONG OR SHORT REPLIES: Unless it’s just short bits of dash commentary or a one-off, I prefer longer threads. It’s difficult for me to delve into anything in a short reply.

BEST TIME TO WRITE: Whenever I can get the peace to do so. I need motivation and silence, so usually whenever the rest of the house is sleeping.

ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE(S): In some ways. We have similar romance ideals and some mutual favourite items. Other than that, I don’t really think so. I’m bouncy and bright and a bit eccentric, and... kinda flighty. Ravus is none of those. >> I’m also a “people person,” where as Ravioli is... a frigid bitch.

Tagged by: Stolen from: @magpie-altius Tagging: You. Really. Don’t say you stole it; say I tagged you. Because you’re tagged!

#(Meme Replies)#(ooc; “Mun speaks!”)

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crystalwillow · 3 years

Text

Exiled Problems - Chapter Five

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Casey Valentine (F!MC)

Features: Bryce Lahela

Word Count: 2.7K

Warning: This AU features themes of; Angst, Swearing, Alcohol Use, Violence, NSFW Material (Mature Themes, 18+)

Taglist: @sophxwithers @otakudreamer @an-jell-o @curiousconch @mm2305

=========================

Later that evening Casey walked through her front door, head lowered as Ethan and a couple of police officers file in behind her.

“Casey?” Nigel asks hesitantly, “why are the police here. And why is Dr Ramsey here?”

Slowly, Casey looks up revealing the stitches in her lip and the slight black eye that’s formed from where her mother’s hand caught her eye.

Her father gasps in horror, rushing over and searching her eyes. “Who… who done this?”

Casey glares at her mother and spits venomously, “She did.”

Nigel looks over to his wife in pure shock. “Dorothy!?” he exclaims, inspecting Casey’s face before looking back at his wife. “Why?”

“Oh spare her the pity, Nigel. She was being an ungrateful bitch. She’d rather run off with him and ruin the image we’ve worked so hard to build than marry the suitor we’ve picked.” her mother replies just as venomously, the glare she gives Casey matching the intensity of her words, as she points towards Ethan harshly.

“Now you listen here you-” Ethan starts to seethe but stops when Nigel raises a hand.

“I’m disappointed in you, Dorothy.” he expresses sorrowfully, “Whilst I agree we have to make sure she maintains her own image, as well as the family’s; violence is not the answer here.”

“No. It’s okay dad. I’m not staying.” Casey informs them. “I’m just here to collect a few things.”

“What do you mean?” Nigel asks with confusion on his face.

“I’m staying somewhere safer than here.”

“You are safe here, poppet. Come on, your mother didn’t mean this.”

Both women scoff at him before heading off in different directions leaving Nigel standing in awkward silence with Ethan and the officers.

Later Casey struggles down the stairs with 3 big suitcases full of stuff.

“Is 3 suitcases really necessary, Casey?” Ethan asks as he’s drawn back into the moment from the commotion.

“Yes. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.” Casey quips.

“I’d think likely 3-5 days. Give things time to blow over and settle down.”

“I don’t want things to blow over and settle down, Dr Ramsey. I want them to change and I want to be able to date who I want to date and not be forced into some loveless marriage for money and my image.”

“I… Right, I see.”

“Do you?” she challenges. “Do you really?”

Ethan gives her a look of surprise at her sudden outburst and she sighs after a moment of tense silence.

“Sorry,” she apologises. “I… I shouldn’t be taking my anger and frustrations out on you. It’s not your fault.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m used to being blamed for things that aren’t my fault. I am a doctor after all. You have to learn to grow a thick skin to these sorts of things.” he smiles back kindly.

An hour later the pair walk through the front door of Ethan’s apartment, abandoning the suitcases by the door. Casey settling on the couch, Ethan disappearing into the kitchen and reappearing with two glasses of water, offering one to Casey as he settled next to her.

“Th-thank you.” Casey stutters as she accepts the glass.

“You’re welcome.” Ethan smiles kindly taking a gulp of water from his own glass.

They sat in silence for a while, the energy awkward and weird as they looked to anywhere in the room but each other.

“So-”

They both started at the same time, chuckling nervously as they cut each other off.

“Sorry, I- You go first.” Casey blushes.

“I was just going to ask you if you would like me to show you to your room?”

“Um. Yeah, I’d… That would be nice. Thank you.” Casey smiled as they rose to their feet.

Ethan led Casey to one of his spare bedrooms, wheeling two of her cases with him. As they entered, Casey’s jaw dropped. She looked around at the homely yet clean decor that inhabited the room; Ethan chuckling as he noticed her expression.

“Impressed?” he asked with a bemused smirk.

“Uh.. no. I just… wasn’t expecting something with such a homely feeling for a guest room.”

Ethan nods understandingly at her honest answer. “Most people don’t. And by most people… I mean about 45% of the 37 people I’ve had stay the night, before you. You’re now the 38th person I’ve allowed to stay here.”

Casey chuckles as she sits on the edge of the bed. “That’s so you.”

“What is?”

“Focusing on the statistics of reviews from people you invite or allow to stay here.”

“Oh? Analysing me now are we, Miss Valentine?” Ethan asks as he sits beside her

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Casey scoffs, gently shoving his arm with a shake of her head

“Me? Ridiculous? Now where would you have come up with that idea?”

“You literally lost all sense of rational thought and invited me to visit you at work the other day for a quick hook up before our date later that same night. You cleared your desk and readied protection in an easily accessible place. No man with a ration or logical, over-ticking mind… does that.”

“So what I’m hearing here is that… I’m not like these other men who are douchebags and expect the women to take care of the protection they should carry. Which in turn makes me a unique and rare find. Some, any woman who is willing to do irrational and illogical things when it comes to quelling the fire in her loins, would date.”

Casey looked at him with a goofy yet bemused smile of her face before they both burst out into laughter, falling back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as the sound died down. After a while Ethan pulled himself up, Casey copying his action.

“I should let you sleep, and get to bed myself. I… have an early shift tomorrow.” Ethan says clearing his throat.

“Yeah, sure.” Casey nods, “Um… goodnight.” she smiles as she follows him to the door. “And thanks again, for letting me crash here. It… means more than I’ll ever be able to explain.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” he soothes, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder and rubbing slightly. “I will admit that it’s a new thing having the woman I’m sort of dating staying in my apartment for a prolonged period of time. But, it’s going to keep you safe. That’s what I care about.”

Casey’s eyes shine with tears as his kind words sink in and Ethan pulls her into his chest, rubbing her back soothingly as he feels some of the tears soak into his shirt. After a moment they pull away from each other, Casey swiping the remaining tears from her cheeks with a small chuckle.

“Goodnight Casey, sweet dreams.” He smiles softly, cupping her cheek; wiping away the last stray tear.

Casey places her and over his, returning the smile. “Goodnight, Ethan.” she whispers back as Ethan plants a soft kiss on her forehead before wordlessly leaving the room with one last smile.

-----------------------------------------------------

The next two days passed by peacefully of Ethan and Casey falling into a new routine Ethan would wake up for his early shifts and leave breakfast for Casey to heat up when she woke up, they would meet up for lunch at Derry Roasters and then Casey would cook a nice meal for when Ethan got home. After that they would settle together and play a board game, listen to an audio book together or Ethan would binge true crime videos with Casey until it was time for them to head to bed. The morning after she moved out of her parents house for her temporary stay at Ethan’s, Casey had contemplated not turning on her tablet or laptop and being present for work, but then she remembered; she’s not THAT petty. So she took a shower, got ready for work, conversed with Ethan a place in his apartment she could use as her work space during the daytime, and that’s how things had been going.

Smoothly.

And for Casey that brought a sense of comfort and calm she hadn’t felt for a long while, it’s also what she was currently zoned out pondering on as Ethan spoke to her about ideas for dinner.

“... or we could go down the route of- Casey… Case?” Ethan asked, poking at her arm gently. “Hello? Earth to Casey.” he spoke louder waving his hand in her face.

Casey blinked a few times before looking to Ethan, letting her eyes adjust to his face. “I’m… sorry. What were you saying?” she asks flushing a bright rosy pink.

“I was making suggestions for dinner tonight. Maybe a pasta dish, something like spaghetti and meatballs, or ravioli. I was then suggesting we could take the lazy route tonight and just order something in.” Ethan responds.

“I can do spaghetti and meatballs. No problem.” Casey smiles brightly, taking a sip of her coffee before her face drops when her attention is draw to the door as the bell tinkles. “Oh no.” Casey whispers before ducking behind Ethan.

“Casey? What are you doing?” Ethan whispers.

“It’s him. THAT’S Bryce Lahela. The one I have an arranged marriage with. Just… act normal.” she whisperer yells back remaining in her spot.

Ethan watches from the corner of his eye as Bryce orders a coffee and then looks around the cafe, his eyes stopping on Ethan and a smirk sliding onto his face before he siddles over to the table.

“Ethan Ramsey.” he states.

“I’m sorry,” Ethan says after a moment, looking up from the newspaper in front of him. “Do I know you?”

“No.” Bryce says nonchalantly “You don’t. But I sure as heck know you.”

“Obviously. You addressed me by name.”

“OOOO. You’re as stiff as your reputation perceives you to be.”

Ethan shakes his head indifferely. “No… I don’t think I am. I just... don’t go looking to cause trouble with random people as you seem to be doing.”

“Oh, don’t act dumb Ramsey. You know why I’m here.”

“Enlighten me.” Ethan chuckles as he sits back in his chair.

“Where is she? Where’s Casey.” he demands

“The family sent you to do their dirty work have they?” Ethan retorts, clearly unimpressed.

“She’s my fiancé and she should be at home with her parents where she belongs. Not wherever you’re holding her against her will.”

Ethan laughs in his face at the weak veiled threat before looking Bryce in the eyes with a bitter coldness.

“Listen here, twerp. Casey is not being held anywhere against her will, where she is, she’s there because she feels safer than at home where she could be abused in any way, at any moment, by anyone. Now if you have a problem with that, take it up with the police. But if I were you my friend, I’d keep in mind they organised this whole thing.”

Bryce stares Ethan down for a couple of minutes before his name is called out, with a slight aggressive grunt he turns on his heel, collecting his coffee and then leaving the store.

After about 5 minutes, Casey pokes her head out. “Is it safe?” she whispers to Ethan, who looks around and then nods. She crawls out from behind him and then sits back in her chair. “Sorry about him.” she smiles shyly.

“It’s okay.” Ethan says shaking his head lightly with a soft smile. “Don’t apologise for him. Ever.”

“O-okay.” she nods, finishing her now cold coffee before closing her salad pot and placing her phone on top as Ethan left the table ordering two to-go coffee’s. As they stepped outside, Ethan turned to Casey. “Let me drive you back, just incase there’s any unwanted visitors around.”

“I- That would be great, thanks.” Casey smiles as they head over to Ethan’s car.

After dropping Casey back at his apartment safely, Ethan headed back to work; groaning as he entered the lobby hearing a familiar voice shouting in the main lobby.

“Well he works here doesn’t he?! So why can’t I see him!”

Gripping the handle of his briefcase Ethan straightened his spine and walked past the commotion only to have to do an eye roll before slipping into professional mode as her turns too address the shouts

“There he is! Oi, Ramsey!”

“Bryce Lahela. Or should I say… Daddy’s trust fund baby?”

“Ouch. That one hurt. You’ve done your research I see.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Ethan snorts, “I was on a call with Casey for our entire conversation. Just so you know, you’ve pushed her further away.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“And what reason would I have to do that?”

“You’ve been on dates with her. You want to keep her all to yourself.”

“How are you so deluded?”

“I’m the deluded one? That’s rich coming from you.”

Ethan laughs a little. “As thrilling as it would be to put you in your place where you belong… I am going to be the bigger person here and ask you to leave before I have to call security.”

“Aw, don’t want to lose your little job as a doctor because you’ll no longer be able to impress Casey?”

“Actually, no. I don’t want to lose my job because I enjoy it. As for impressing Casey, I have more than one way to impress her. Whereas you…” he trails off looking bryce up and down with a scoff of disgust. “You have none.”

The air around them tensed as nurses and fellow doctors within earshot alike stopped as they heard Ethan’s words. Bryce stood opposite Ethan his confidence wavering as more time ticked by with him saying nothing back.

“Yeah… Well she probably fakes it anyway.” Bryce spat in a panic before stomping out of the main doors.

Ethan chuckled as he watched Bryce go, clearly flustered that Ethan had been able to render him speechless.

Later that evening Ethan arrived home to the aroma of garlic, tomatoes and pasta wafting through his apartment. “That smell is divine.” he smiles as he enters the kitchen to the sight of Casey dishing up two plates of food.

“Thanks.” she smiles up to him before placing some garlic bread into a basket. “Dinner will be served out on the balcony tonight, if you would be so kind as to go and take your seat, kind sir.”

“Well this is certainly new.” Ethan chuckles. “I never thought I'd see the day where my apartment turns into a personal restaurant.”

Casey giggles. “Just go and wash your hands, then head outside.”

Ethan salutes her and heads off to do exactly that. By the time he’s comfortably seated, Casey heads in his direction with a tray of drinks. “One scotch with water not ice?”

“Oh, thank you.” Ethan smiles as Casey sets the glass in front of him.

Casey smiles as she sets the glass of wine in her own spot. “Your food will be with you shortly.” she smiles with a nod and slight bow before turning and heading back inside, only to reappear moments later carrying the same tray now adorning their food. She places it carefully on the table before placing the tray inside on the coffee table, returning to take her seat.

Ethan smiles at her as she takes a sip of her wine.

“What?” she blushes, shyly tucking her hair behind her ear.

Ethan smiles at her for a minute longer before shaking his head. “Nothing. I’ve just never felt so free and unjudged around someone before. Nor have I felt so loved by someone other than my dad.”

“Oh? What about… what about your mom?” Casey asks hesitantly.

“I… We don’t discuss her.” Ethan replies, voice turning cold as he looks to the horizon.

“Oh… Sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“It’s okay to ask questions, Casey.” Ethan says warmly as he turns back to Casey. “I just prefer not to talk about her.”

“That’s fine too.” Casey smiles. “We can talk about other things. Like… how was the rest of your day?” she asks.

Ethan gives an amused smirk as he launches into telling her about Bryce and their exchange, Casey’s eyes widening and her cheeks flushing red as he mentions the part about what he has that can impress her. Talk then turn back to their work days and how that went for them as they eat on the balcony with the Boston sunset as the perfect backdrop, laughing well into the night.

=================

#choices stories you play #playchoices #pixelberry studios #open heart fanfiction #choices fanfiction #ethan ramsey fanfiction #ethan ramsey #casey valentine #bryce lahela #ethan x casey #bryce x casey #lahamseiroshoe writes

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lgcyonghwa · 4 years

Text

happy anniversary!

warning: this post is LONG AF! next year i am so not gonna do this - will make a graphic or something instead - because i legit typed for hours. don’t feel obligated to read the whole thing - feel free to scroll down to the sections where you are mentioned.

holy ravioli, i can’t believe legacy is turning one! the last year was chaotic for me real life wise and legacy provided a great place to escape and enjoy writing with my friends. i chatted with so many of you wonderful people and have no doubt i’ll be missing some on this list. if i happen to skip you by accident, just know i love you anyway.

both of my muses went through a lot. yonghwa i’ve had since the very beginning and his journey did turn out differently than i expected. i created him to be perfect on the outside, slowly rotting on the inside. he has a lot of insecurities that he refuse to acknowledge and a crippling greed for money...to the point i legit created a list of free stuff available at legacy and still track his earning. he ended up not deteriorating horribly as i expected due to having an overwhelmingly strong support system. dang it, y’all, i wanted to fuck up my character.

as for daehyung, he’s proven to be the ticking time bomb comedic relief asshole that everyone can’t help but respect for not having his ass kicked out of the company already love - he’ll continue to be a pest and harass people that he find fancy in. career wise, i am surprised he is doing so well despite hating the world and most of the people in it. guess deep down inside he actually cares about acting and finds joy in it. one day, hopefully, he’ll be singing his own ost.

i would like to thank our cute sara, who played yonghwa’s brother @lgcyoon and currently plays @lgcseojin and @lgchana~ sara was one of the first people i plotted with at legacy and i really enjoyed the friendship between seojin & yonghwa. seojin was an adorable tsundere pupper and yonghwa is over-affectionate and secretly appreciated. they had their ups and downs and in season 2 of the future dreams, that really came out. i am glad they were able to work through their issues and i think that is why their friendship feels so believable to him. seojin also had a part in daehyung’s life...can we get that communal shower yet, buddy? yoon, though you are too busy to play him now, will always be yonghwa’s doting older brother. i don’t think i’ll put up that wanted connection again because yoon is so perfect and yonghwa already latched onto him with both legs and arms.

second up, i gotta thank my girl gabby for always being there. @lgcparkdohyun and yonghwa’s brotherly bond is incredibly strong and in fact, one of my best plots to date. we’ve essentially plotted them out from diaper days and they are as close as two guys could be without screwing each other, really. we’ve also been here since the beginning together and high fives man, our boys technically both made it.

@lgcxcharlie is yonghwa’s supportive girlfriend and she is so adorable. a much needed ray of light in his life. funny thing is that they met a long time ago, via bread. did charlie know that she’ll end up getting a boyfriend out of her kind bread donation? see, this is what happens when you feed a hungry cat - he’ll keep following you for more. now you are just going to have to keep him~

for my beloved rose who plays @lgcjude, @lgcjina and @lgcwon, i love youuu. with them on tour together and sharing a room, i hope jude is not annoyed yet by the fact yonghwa keeps on climbing into his bed. as for jina - hello, fellow season one winner, high fives. they might have to keep some distance due to opposite gender, but at least they’ll always have that respect for each other. now won, sorry, the devil is never letting you gooooooo. he’ll continue to harass you for years to come.

@lgcseolmi + @lgcichika & @lgckit - my typo queen nam~ we haven’t known each other for very long but damn did you rise quickly on my favoritism list. i love you lots, even though you are a dork who can’t spell anything right! :3c we’ve threaded already with the girls and now i am waiting for the new baby boy!

my al is the best person for cat gifs ever. every so often, i’d get a cute gif and feel my happiness grow. in fact, like we talked before, you send me so many cat pics that i believe you are a cat and will treat you like one. pet pet pet pet! @lgcinsoo and @lgcyue are both great babies, but you know i have bias towards our insoo. he is such a kind, loving puppy and both of my characters appreciate him. one more obviously than the other.

em, how the hell do you post so fast even though you got three characters? also, how on the earth have we managed to talk so long without doing a single thread together? oh wait, shoot, it is me isn’t it? @lgcaaron is still waiting on his starter and my ass typed this long af thank you note instead of that hohoho-

i still have so many boys i want to interact with for the project origin group but those i’ve already had a chance to thread with, i’ve all loved. our @lgcxpv is a wild child but so precious in yonghwa’s eyes. we’ll always have their shower scene to reflect back on. also, your precious max is one of dae’s only semi-acknowledged friends. our @lgcxhaneul is the sweet mandu that will keep on getting squished by his loving hyung. we love @lgcseul who deserves all the hugs and @lgcminjun, who will definitely become one of yonghwa’s favorites. @lgcjiho & @lgcharu are both soft cute boys that i am still planning on hitting up more.

though we’ve only had one thread, i strangely really enjoyed the interaction between yonghwa and @lgceunho. i feel like they still have more to explore and hopefully will find themselves together in a future event!

also jia, we’ve been around since the very beginning too. i miss writing together. @lgchyunjin should come and love on yonghwa more. ; v ; we are the early day boys ya knowwwww. i enjoyed chatting with you on twitter, can always count on you to be around liking people’s posts to show support.

lately, i’ve also gotten to plot with @lgcsubin, who is a sensitive boy with depth. i love his character and i hope to write more with you, nic! also, thanks for being around and asking what’s wrong whenever people are upset. i think it is so precious.

stef, i am so glad you joined legacy and see, it is fun, right? daehyung will continue to bully @lgcxjunghwan but he does it in an affectionate way, alright? love to lulu ( @lgcminseok) & simone (@lgctee) for always being there to chat about stuff~

jen, thanks for teaching me how to gif. i’ve enjoyed our chats via discord and we should do it again sometimes KEKEKEKEKE @lgcxjinah and @lgcxjongsuk both have their places on my character’s heart - i love them both!

here, i just want to acknowledge some of the people that dropped but still had a huge impact on yonghwa’s life. i don’t know how many of y’all will remember them, but back in the day, yonghwa had a best friend called kiyoung and a crush on yujin. when those two dropped at the same time, oh, that was a huge blow. thank them both for being a part of his life. also, jane was a heavy loss for me because i adore her quirkiness. bobby come back, you can blame it all on me.

lastly, i want to thank all of the mods for their hard working maintaining the rp! thanks so much, legacy wouldn’t be fun without you!

for the head admins, i have a few extra blurbs because we’ve been together for a whole year. for our admin l, you’ve worked hard. it is not easy to run events and i feel like i’ve definitely pushed you with some difficult questions before. i am glad we are friends and get to chat often about random tidbits. i am also happy you are taking time for yourself and taking care of real life concerns. your wellness is always the priority! character wise, i have a feeling @lgcmiso and daehyung will actually get along well~

marie because i can’t even remember what is your official admin letter OTL i just remember you as the mother of merlin and writer of @lgcxking. it is not like i don’t like jin, but that king is the one i had the most threads with. i really love yonghwa and king interaction because in a place where everyone must be civil and friendly, their hate for each other is so damn refreshing. i still think five years from now on they’ll be friends, but not before trying to claw out each other’s eyeballs first over their smutty fanfics. sorry for keep harassing hyuncheol and calling him papi, please continue to feed me merlin content. he is the best boy.

FINALLY admin g our grace you are so awesome. i can always count on you to hear me bitch for the two minutes before my angy fade and for last minute cramming. on the week before date lottery is due and i am wailing pathetically for my points, grace is always here to pull through! @lgchanbyul and yonghwa as on screen couple is actually pretty adorbs. also @lgcjaesun, thanks for dealing with daehyung as a dorm mate. the devil is gone now but his influence will always be there

i have so many more people i want to mention but only so much time. just know i appreciate everyone. thanks for a great year, hopefully there’ll be many more!

#tried my best #did not tag everyone by all of their characters #i love everyone and happy 1 yr #lgc:anniversary

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crackedoutgiraffe · 4 years

Text

To the Moon and Back

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

A/N: Chapter 12

You and Spencer’s first date was tonight. At work, for the past week, you and Reid would sneakily catch each other’s eye. You both decided that telling the team wasn’t the best idea. You would eventually tell them, you just wanted to be sure this would work before getting their hopes up. You had planned for a date for two weeks prior but that was interrupted by a case.

“Hey,” Reid and you were leaving the office at the same time that night. “ I’ll be at your apartment around 7.”

“How fancy should I dress?” Reid wouldn’t tell you where he was taking you.

“I would say pretty fancy,” he smirked in your direction.

“Can you please tell me where we’re going?” You pleaded, you hated surprises.

“Nope,” he put emphasis on the P.

The elevator doors opened and you walked out, “I guess I’ll assume you’re going to kidnap me then,” you turned to him and shrugged. You walked off and heard him scoff.

When you got to your car, you squealed like a little girl. You were finally going on a date with him. You had been hoping this would happen since you joined the team a month ago. You quickly drove to your apartment to get ready. You took a shower to wash off the sweat from work today. You were going to wear the dress that Rossi gave you and the shoes you’d bought. Your makeup was very glam and your hair was curled.

The doorbell interrupted you putting on your makeup. You were simply in a robe, you hadn’t put your dress on yet. You opened the door to see Spencer standing in a suit with a bouquet of roses, “You look nice.”

“These are for you,” he handed you the pink roses.

The roses smelled like heaven, “these are my favorite, how did you know?”

“I heard you talking about them to Garcia,” he stood there with a smile on his face.

“Oh, come in, I'm sorry,” you had completely forgot that you were still in a robe. “I haven’t finished getting ready yet.”

“I’m a little early,” he walked inside and looked around your apartment.

You gestured to the couch, “Make yourself comfortable, I should be done in a minute.” You walked back to your bedroom, but left the door open. You felt bad for leaving him by himself for so long. You were done with your makeup in the next five minutes. You put on your dress and entered the living room, “Are you ready?” He seemed to jump when you entered.

“You look...wow,” he was completely flustered with your appearance.

“Thank you,” you grabbed your keys and your gun.

“Right this way,” he opened the door for you, he followed you out and you locked the door. The two of you walked down the hallway and to your car. He gave you directions while you drove. You eventually arrived at Masseria in downtown DC.

“Reservation for Spencer,” he told the hostess.

She looked up his name in her tablet, “Right this way, sir,” she grabbed two menus and led you to your table.

Reid pulled your chair out for you, “thank you,” you sat down and he walked to the other side of the table. The waitress set the menus on the table and offered the two of you wine, you both declined. Eventually, the two of you ordered your food. He ordered the steak and you ordered the ravioli. During the dinner, you two made conversation. You talked about your time so far at Quantico and how you were liking the job, you talked about what you both studied in college. The waitress came back and asked if you would like dessert and you both declined. By nine, Reid was ready to go. He paid the check and you left.

You started the car and were starting to go back to your apartment but Reid gave you instructions to a different place. In the heart of DC, he had you pull over and park the car. You were outside of a little ice cream shop.

“I figured you would want to get dessert for less than $100,” he smiled as you got out of the car.

You pointed at his suit, “aren’t we a little overdressed?”

“Who cares?” he walked over to the driver’s side and offered you his elbow. You interlocked your arm with his.

You walked into the little ice cream parlor and strolled along the counter for a bit. They had 20 flavors by your count. “Can I have three scoops of the chocolate chip cookie dough?” You asked the older man working the counter, he nodded at your request and started to make your order. You walked over to the cash register and pulled out your credit card.

“I’ll have three scoops of the pistachio,” Reid pointed at the green ice cream.

“Coming right up,” the old man put your ice cream by the cash register, and started to work on your order. It didn’t take him long to come back to the cash register where Reid had joined you.

“Is that for here or to go?” The man looked at you two for a response.

You opened your mouth to speak but Reid beat you to it, “to go.”

“Alright, that’ll be $10,” you handed the man your credit card. Reid went to grab his wallet but you stopped him before he could.

You two grabbed your ice cream and got back into the car. You handed him your ice cream and started your car. He gave you more directions that eventually lead you to a hill overlooking all of DC.

“Wow,” you stopped the car and admired the view for a minute before you heard Reid’s door open. You too got out of the car and followed him, he still had your ice cream in hand. You both walked to a part of the overlook where you could sit down. He handed you your ice cream and you both started to eat.

“Truth or dare?” he asked you.

“Truth,” you smiled at his game.

“How many boyfriends have you had?”

You cleared your throat, “one,” that was a really odd question for him to ask. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he smiled.

“Who is your favorite among the team?” You wanted to know who he felt safe with.

“Morgan, he’s always had my back,” he seemed choked up about it. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“Really?”

You scoffed at his reply, “My friends and I played this a lot in college, you don’t want to know some of the things I did.”

“Alright then,” he smiled, “I dare you to eat the biggest scoop of ice cream you can.”

“That’s it?” It was kind of a stupid dare, “Ok,” you took a giant spoonful of ice cream and put it in your mouth. He was looking for you to get a brain freeze and you did, but you had trained yourself to not show a reaction to those sorts of things.

“Really? No reaction,” he seemed surprised at your straight face.

You finished eating your giant spoonful, “I don’t react to brain freezes,” you took another bite, “or lemon juice.”

“The phenomenon of a brain freeze is common enough to have been the subject of research published in the British Medical Journal and Scientific American. A study conducted by Maya Kaczorowski demonstrated a higher incidence of headache in subjects consuming an ice cream sample quickly, in less than 5 seconds, vs. those who consumed slowly, taking longer than 30 seconds, 27% and 12%, respectively,” he started to ramble.

“Reid,” you snapped him out of his rambling, “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“What is your deepest darkest fear?” you leaned toward him.

“I guess it would be not being able to help people,” his face reflected feelings of sadness, “I’ve been trying to help people since I was young, and if I couldn’t do that I don’t know what I would do with my life.”

“That’s deep,” you laid down on the grass and looked up at the stars.

“Truth or Dare?” he laid down with his head next to yours but his feet in the opposite direction.

“Truth,” you sighed, the stars made you feel safe, that along with Spencer.

“What is your biggest regret?”

“I went on a trip in 2003 and while I was gone my grandma died,” a tear rolled down your cheek. “Before I left my dad told me that I could either stay and watch her die, or go on the trip.”

“I’m sorry,” He turned to look at you. “My dad left me and my mom when I was younger.”

You turned to look at him, “I’m sorry.” You felt a hand running through your hair. The two of you laid there and watched the stars for an hour or so, “Reid, stand up.” The two of you stood up.

“What’s wrong?” he was really nervous, after all you were so peaceful before.

You walked over to your car and started it, “nothing’s wrong,” you gestured for him to go back to the spot where the two of you were laying down. You connected your phone to the bluetooth and started to play ‘In the wee small hours of the morning’ by Frank sinatra.

“What are you doing?” He had a smile on his face.

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” you walked up to him and wrapped your arms around his neck.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and the two of you started to sway back and forth. You rested your head on his chest. The two of you danced for what seemed like a minute, but was really two hours. The fact that your car battery didn’t die was shocking. Eventually you two laid down on the ground. You put your head on his chest and he ran his fingers through your hair.

“There’s Orion's belt,” he pointed up at the sky.

“Cassiopeia,” you pointed at the W shaped constellation.

“Perseus.”

“Taurus,” this was a competition now.

“Gemini.”

“Auriga,” you pointed.

“Canis Major.”

“Pyxis,” I took astronomy class, bitch.

“Antilla.”

“Corvus,” you now see why people say that you’re too competitive.

“Crater.”

“Virgo,” your star sign.

“Libra.”

“Serpens Caput.”

“Hercules.

“Lyra,” this one was harder to find.

“Cepheus.”

“Ursa Minor”

“Ursa Major.

“Camelopardalis.”

“Lynx.”

You pointed at the stick figure, “Cancer.”

“Hydra.”

“Sextans.”

“Leo.”

“Leo Minor.”

“Bootes.”

“Draco.”

“Canas Venatici.”

“Alright,” you sat up from his chest, “you win.”

“Are you ready to go home?”

You yawned, “Yeah, it’s getting late.”

He stood up and offered you his hand to help you stand up, “I’ll drive.” He held his hands out for the keys.

“Thank you,” you yawned again and tossed him the keys. You got into the passenger seat. The drive down the hill was uneventful. Spencer would look over at you every once in a while. Eventually you fell asleep in the car. Spencer noticed this and turned the radio down. He smiled at your sleeping self. When he got to your apartment, he parked the car and walked over to the passenger side. He grabbed you and carried you bridal style up to your apartment. When you woke up you were in the elevator, still in Spencer’s arms. He smiled down at you and you snuggled into his chest. When he got to your door, he set you on your feet. You grabbed your keys and opened the door.

“Thank you for tonight,” you gave him a sleepy smile.

“Thank you for being a wonderful person to take on a date,” he smiled at you and started to walk down the hall.

“Hey, Spence,” he turned around at the sound of your voice. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” he started to walk back to you, standing in your doorway.

“Kiss me,” you stood up straight. You felt his lips hit yours and you immediately closed your eyes and wrapped your arms around his neck. You stayed in the passionate kiss for about three minutes, before he pulled away.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Reid started to walk down the hallway toward the elevator. You entered your apartment and fell on your couch, completely dazed from the magical experience.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fic

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simonrriley · 4 years

Text

the badflower experiment:

today in my classes, i had decided that i did not want to do any of my work and so, i conducted an experiment. this simple experiment consisted me of texting my closest friends, asking them a lyric from my favorite badflower song, x ANA x and logging their response. also i am not aware if you can find discord accounts by just the username, please do not go looking for my friends! disclaimer: i was given permission to screenshot the exchanges! tags: @luv-ya-hun, @and-shes-calling-a-cab, @piper-koko-barnes-rogers, @heyy--adora, @trans-witch-cauldron, @thatsmycigarbutyoucanborrowit here are the results:

first up is my dear, innocent friend, derp: i give her response a 7/10. i’m surprised she said yes and but at the same time i’m not because she doesn’t even know what most drugs are. so fair. plus it was funny to see her messages after being confused.

then we got my main man bonk: 5/10. i was expecting more enthusiasm considering bonk is my ride or die bitch. but that’s okay. ily bonk.

MY DUDE KYOYA: 8/10. they said yes and were v enthusiastic. might even do it with me. love that. ily homie. i won’t do drugs, dw.

my sweet british mother shiver: 8/10. BREAKING MY HEART. MY MOTHER. MY OWN MOTHER. MY QUEEN. she was also fake mad at me after for tricking her...i love her.

my good friend maddie: 6/10. first response actually. kinda hurt my feelings doe asking if i was gonna type. mf i have anxiety. love her doe.

my dude mars: 8/10. KINDA SCARED ME DOE CAUSE YOU K N O W THE SONG AND YOU STILL SAID YES. LOVE U DOE. POOGGGG IT JUST CAME ON AS IM WRITING THIS IM RAISING UR SCORE UR A 9/10 UR LUCKY

cassette tape: 8/10. YOU WERE ENTHUSIASTIC. LOVE IT, ALSO SCARED ME. I THOUGHT U WERE THE MOM FRIEND. DAMB. ALSO I SPELLED ENTHUSIASTIC RIGHT ON THE FIRST TRY HELL YEAH

ravioli raven: 7/10. didn’t give a straight (isnorted) answer. we love u doe. also said yes. everyone who knew the song and said yes regardless scares the shit outta me. love u

in conclusion, 8/8 people who were asked this question answered with yes. i have bad influences. MEANWHILE IN ASS VILLAGE:

Thanks for reading, I’m late to class again

#drug mention tw #swearing tw #caps tw #drugs tw #badflower #shitpost

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itsanerdlife · 4 years

Text

Cruel Boy 18/33

Pairing: Howie Stark x Reader

Warning: Lies. Betrayal. Just a lot of violence. Mentions of Domestic abuse. Parental abuse. Murder Suicide. Death. Guilt. Hate. Deception. Lots and lots of anger.

A/N: This is a bit darker theme, but Howie isn’t dark. Anger problems and bad choices but he’s not a bad person.

Playlist!!

First love. First heart break. Life time of hate. When the silver spoon feeding you love is taken away, you learn to lick it off the knives. Howie Stark broke you. Him and his brother ruined your life. Destroyed your dreams and crushed your soul. Your best friend is dead and your life is a mess. When you take a bartending job, it just happens to be owned by the Bastard Son’s MC. Just your fucking luck. Jokes, you haven’t had luck since Gwen died and Howie ripped out your barely beating heart. There is no way in hell you’re giving him a second chance. Hell will freeze over before you let him touch you again. Not a chance are you ever letting the Stark’s near you again. Hell might have just frozen over.

Tag List Open

He leads her into his room, Peter shoves the door shut once the three of them are inside. She sighs, running a hand through her hair. Moving towards his desk, hopping up she cracks the window. Crossing her legs, Indian style, she picks up the pack of smokes sitting on the desk. Placing one between her lips.

Peter shakes his head, leaning against Howie’s dresser. Her head tips as she takes a pull off the smoke. Always trouble, that’s exactly what she was. He drops down on the edge of his bed.

“Out with it. Let’s not pretend we don’t know why we’re in here.” She sasses.

“Who do you know that would break in?” Peter folds his arms over his chest, watching her.

“Depends on which of my bad choices we’re talking about.” Her shoulder pops up.

“The guy at the bar.” Howie grinds out.

“Brock? Yeah I could see it.” Her head tips from one side to the other and back.

“Enough to smash up your stuff and steal random things?” Peter’s brow jumps.

��No. Brock was more a slap me around and yell shit. He didn’t even know the hoodie was Howie’s.” She shrugs. Howie’s teeth grind together.

“Where do we find him?” His voice gravel.

“Runs some fuck boy gym over on Columbus and Division.” She flicks her wrist as if to discard it. “Why are you acting like I’m the only one that could be tied to this?” Her eyes cut between them.

“She’s got a point.” Peter shrugs.

“You think, MJ?” Howie cuts his eyes to his brother.

“Nah, but Emma? She’s a fucking hyenis bitch.” Peter smirks.

“Amen.” Y/N smirks, handing over the smoke to Peter. Her mouth still puckered like she was chewing on something sour.

“What.” He watches her.

“How the fuck am I supposed to believe you two dumbasses didn’t go along with that old bastards idea?” Her head shakes.

“Why the hell would we agree to that?” Howie leans forward, elbows on his knees.

“It wouldn’t the first time you went along with one of his stupid ideas.” She points out with a lifted brow.

He and Peter exchange the same look.

“Swear on Morgan. We had no idea.” Howie looks over at her.

“Fuck that.” Peter growls. “Swear on Gwen, we had no fucking clue.” Her brow slips up, eyes slowly slipping towards him. He knows he has the same shocked look on his own face.

Peter never spoke of her name. Never talked about her. Swearing on her grave that was a hell of a sign if you knew Peter.

“Okay.” Y/N nods her head slow

“What the fuck Y/N?! You were really what, gonna up and just walk out on us?” Peter snaps, pushing off the dresser.

“Yeah! Yeah I was.” She throws her hands up.

“Without a word?” Peter’s tone offended.

“Christ you two.” She looks between them. “I don’t get it. You walked away from me. What you stumble upon me again, and I’m just supposed to fall in line again?” Her eyes roll.

“You were never in line to start.” He points out.

“I don’t think she even knew there was a line.” Peter snorts.

“Still the same way.” She bites.

“Well it’s different this time.” He stands, staring at her. Her brow slips up.

“How so?” There’s challenge in her voice.

“Because we know what it’s like without you now.” Peter practically growls.

“We’re not doing that again.” He adds, his own voice close to a growl.

“That what you think?”

“What we know.” His own brow lifts. Daring her. She nods slowly, running a hand through her hair.

“I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but not again.” Peter speaks up. “I’ve lost too much already. You stay, or I’ll find away to keep you here.” He shrugs. Howie wonders what he meant by that exactly.

“If you,” he swallows the sharp words “don’t want more, at least stay anyways. You’ve always been family.” Howie nods, tucking his hands into his sweat pant pockets. He glances down, pulling his shoulders in.

“Shit.” Peter laughs, he darts forward.

Y/N’s toppling off the desk. One arm up, a leg thrown out like she was going to stop herself somehow. He laughs, his hand closes around her ankle, the other hand at her waist. Peter’s caught her upper half.

“What the fuck?” Howie laughs, when she’s seated on the desk again.

“I tried to drop my head back. Your desk is not like the old house.” She laughs.

“Christ.” Peter snorts. “I’m going back to bed. But I’m taking your dog.” He points a finger at Y/N. “And your bags.” He mumbles leaving the room. The door closes behind him, they hear him call Baby and a few moments later his bedroom door closes.

“He just took my dog.” She blinks at him.

“You tried to leave.” He shrugs.

“Why did you leave Emma?” She blurts out. A look of surprise on her face when their eyes meet. “Wow, still don’t have a filter.” She nods.

“It was never a serious thing with her. Hasn’t been a serious thing since you.” He admits with a shrug. “Honestly,” he sighs “since you’ve been back. Letting another touch me, touching another.” He shrugs “Feels too much like cheating.” He chews the inside of his cheek.

“Oh.” She chews her bottom lips.

“Go to bed Y/N. Stop trying to run away.” He sighs, stepping away from her. A flash of rejection on her face.

“Okay.” She slips off the desk. He drops on the bed, falling back. Hands rubbing over his face. “When you go and beat up Brock tomorrow, watch out for his friends. They like cheap shots.” His head lifts off the bed, looking at her. She stood in the door way watching him.

“Who said,”

“I know you and Peter. You’ve been itching to get your hands on him since I showed up.” She shrugs. He leans back on his elbows.

“We’ve done worse for less done to you.” He shrugs. Her head does the side to side tilt again. Her eyes roll softly.

“You’re an idiot.” She smirks, leaving. The door closes behind her.

“Love you too.” His voice a whisper, dropping back on his bed again.

----------------

Everything Peaches 9/3/19 @mo320 @courtmr @avxgers @eliza-kat @irepeldirt @jordan-ia @jcc04220 @dumblani @nishanki1 @allyp1023 @joannie95 @rogvewitch @rileyloves5 @sarahp879 @sexyvixen7 @doctoranon @queentoffee @abschaffer2 @tony-stank3 @tomhardy41 @bookluver01 @drayshadow @teller258316 @nickimarie94 @wandressfox @cutekittybast @amandab-ftw @carostar2020 @thelostallycat @henrietteoaks @nea90sweetie @circusofchaos @bettercallsabs @miraclesoflove @queenkrissy11 @shield-agent78 @elite4cekalyma @sadyoungadult @destiel-artemis @isabelcrichards @iwillbeinmynest @sweet-honey15 @scooby-doodoo @chanelmadrid13 @killerbumblebee @spookygrantaire @geeksareunique @supernatural508 @itzmegaaaaaaan @optimistic-babes @elizabethaellison @rainbowkisses31 @aspiringtranslator @mariekoukie6661 @pure-princess-97 @capsheadquaters @youclickedthislink @futuremrsb-r-main @lovemarvelousfics @notyourtypicalrose @petersunderoos96 @loving-life-my-way @itsy-bitsy-spidergirl @buckystolemyheart @booktvmoviefangirl @thatpeachybandgirl @supernatural-girl97 @thefridgeismybestie @eggingamazinglove @deathofmissjackson @awkwardfangirl2014 @queenoftheunderdark @laneygthememequeen @writingaworldofmyown @death-unbecomes-you @shann-the-artist-moon @supernaturallover2002 @daughterofthenight117 @mcuwillbethedeathofme @verymuchclosetedfangirl @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @ocaptain-mycaptainmorgan @crazy-little-thing-called-buck @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @stupendoussciencenaturepanda @supernatural-strangerthings-1980

Howie 'Damn Boy' Stark: @ml7010 @gabile18 @crayonwriting @callme-barnes @untoasted-ravioli @andycanbeemotional

CB: @coley0823 @csigeoblue @lakamaa12 @tomhardy41 @ms-rogers06 @wolfiemichele @eridanuswave @tireddork-knight @honey-bee-holly @multifandomgirl-us @eggingamazinglove @badassbeckettswan @fandomsstolemylife00 @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety

#Marvel #OFC!Howie Stark x Reader #Avengers #OFC!Howie x Reader #Cruel Boy #Marvel Fanfiction #OFC!Howie Stark Series #Avengers Fanfiction #OFC!Howie Series

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 5 years

Text

The Girl Next Door (Part 2) - The New Normal

Summary: Dean’s starting to realize he needs some help when it comes to taking care of both Sam and he and the reader make plans to spend a little one on one time with each other...

The Girl Next Door Masterlist

Pairing: Neighbor/Mechanic!Dean x baker!reader

Word Count: 5,000ish

Warnings: language, mention of injury, sad Sammy

A/N: Parts of this series are told from two different POV’s. Dean’s POV are written from limited third person. Reader’s POV are second person (like a typical reader insert). Enjoy!…

Dean’s POV

An hour later, Dean stumbled downstairs and sent Y/N home, feeling better than he had all week. He quietly cleaned some, the house covered in a thin layer of dust. He did laundry and got fresh sheets on all of the beds, unpacking a few belongings and hanging up his clothes in the guest room closet. His wardrobe wasn’t extensive and he wasn’t planning on getting a lot of quiet time for just him, at least not for a while.

Dean grabbed a notepad and sat down at the counter when he got downstairs again, writing up his chicken scratch into easy to read notes on what to take and when, simple enough that even Avy could understand with some help. He measured everything out for Sam and labeled it, tucking the medicine away in an upper cabinet with a note taped on the front that everything was in there. Dean got Sam’s freshly washed beanie’s up in his room and on his nightstand and cleared the path from the bed to the bathroom on anything he could trip on.

Dean hummed softly when he went to the fridge and started to take out ingredients for dinner. The last time he’d had a home cooked meal was probably two weeks, the night of Sam’s accident. The leftover ravioli meant for Sam to dig into was still sitting inside the fridge. Dean threw the container away and returned to putting together a mess of cheese, pasta, veggies and meat in a pan, one of Sam’s favorite dishes growing up.

After a few hours, Sam woke up from the couch, stretching out as he caught Dean working away in the kitchen.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” said Dean with a smile. “Or should I say, evenin’ sunshine.”

“How long was I out?” he asked.

“Eh, three hours give or take,” said Dean. “You need the rest. How’s the head feeling?”

“Uh, warmer,” said Sam, reaching his hand up, feeling a hat on there. “Thanks.”

“I figured you’re used to that flop on your head, might as well keep you warm,” said Dean, clapping his hands together. “So, I am making Sammy casserole tonight to celebrate you being back home. It should be done just in time for Avy to get home.”

“Thanks,” said Sam as he sat up. “You look a little better yourself.”

“Y/N stayed over for a while, let me get in a nap. Nice neighbor you got there,” said Dean. Sam hummed, glancing over to the kitchen. Dean set down the knife he was using and walked over to Sam, helping him up to his feet. They paused for a moment until Sam was walking forward on his own, Dean with a hand on his arm until Sam sat up on one of the counter stools.

“Yeah, Y/N’s cool. Keeps to herself mostly. I think she got out of some bad relationship or something before she moved in. She never really gave a straight answer on that,” said Sam.

“Surprised you haven’t made a move on the cute girl next door,” said Dean, wiping off his hands.

“The only cute girl I need in my life right now is about four feet tall,” said Sam. “So you can totally go for the cute girl next door yourself, Dean.”

“I’m not relationship material, Sammy,” said Dean with a smile, back to working on making up dinner. “You know that.”

“You’ve been saying that since we were teenagers,” said Sam, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, well, I don’t want mom and dad’s relationship,” he said. Sam scoffed and lightly shook his head. “Sam.”

“Not every relationship is full of arguments and it has been years, years Dean, since they went at it. They don’t do what they used to,” said Sam. “They love each other. I think it’s time you stop being afraid of commitment.”

“Says the guy who ends it after every first date he’s been on the past three years,” mumbled Dean.

“Jess died,” said Sam dryly. Dean stilled, looking over to Sam who had his brow furrowed. “I miss her. I fucking do. Every day. I wish Avy had her mom still. But she would want me to be happy. It took me time to be ready for that again and yeah, it’s hard to date when you’re a single dad that works too much. I know that. I got way more excuses than you not to try but I don’t use them, not all the time at least. I know what I want and not stringing the girl along doesn’t mean I’m afraid of commitment. There’s a connection you have with a person Dean when they’re the one. I haven’t had it happen since Jess so I keep trying, like she would want, like you want for me. Now, I’m out of the dating game for a while so why don’t you go put yourself out there for a change,” said Sam.

“Alright, alright,” said Dean, holding up his hands. “Don’t give yourself a stroke.”

“That’s not funny,” said Sam.

“It’s a little funny,” teased Dean. “But I’m sorry for teasing you wimp.”

“Jerk,” said Sam.

“Bitch,” said Dean. Sam smiled a little, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand. “Okay, you want it with the breadsticks too?”

“Yes please,” asked Sam quietly, Dean taken back for a moment to when they were kids and he made him Sammy casserole for the first time.

“Alright. We’ll make up the breadsticks too, Sammy.”

“Hi Avy,” said Sam, holding out his arms when their parents came by that night. She looked nervous though, staying by the front door and looking around the room at everyone. “Can I have a hug, honey?”

“Just be careful like we talked about, sweetie,” said Mary. Avy nodded and climbed up on the couch, shifting over slowly, Sam wrapping his arms around her.

“I missed you so much, baby. You have fun at grandma and grandpa’s? You got to tell me all about what happened at school,” said Sam. She nodded and threw her arms around Sam tight. Their parents gave them a smile as they followed Dean over to the kitchen.

“You guys want to stay for dinner?” asked Dean. “There’s plenty of food here.”

“Sure,” said John, glancing back at Sam. “You know, Dean...Mom and I were talking...we should really be the ones to move in here with Sam while he recovers.”

“I’m pretty sure Sammy’s going to put his foot down on that. Besides, you guys are both still working, you live farther away...I got this,” said Dean. “Really.”

“It’s not just taking care of Sam, Dean. You got Avy around here too,” said John. Dean blinked at him. “It’s a lot of responsibility is all I’m saying.”

“She’s my niece. I know how to take care of her,” said Dean. “Hell I take care of her all the freaking time.”

“Yeah but you can’t be fun Uncle Dean now. You’re gonna have to-”

“Excuse me but I took care of her the night her mother died and Sam was a mess and he had every right to be. I took care of her the night Sam almost died,” Dean whispered, scowling at his father. “I had to be the one that made medical decisions for Sam that night and the night after and the night after. I had to do those things because Sam trusts me. If he wants me gone, I’ll go. But I’m not leaving because you two don’t think I’m responsible enough,” said Dean.

“It’s a lot of work Dean,” said his mom, putting a hand on his arm. “No one is saying...we’re saying we’ll help is all.”

“Well ask Sam what he wants,” said Dean. “And guess what? He wanted me to be the one that moved in so I’m here. I will take the help but we don’t need you two living here.”

“Was living with us really that horrible for you?” asked John. “Really?”

“Sam and I both remember what it was like so yeah, excuse me for wanting him to recover in a place that’s calm and unstressful for him,” said Dean, narrowing his eyes.

“Alright. Don’t fight,” said Mary. “Alright. We’ll help out as much as we can but Dean can stay with Sam, alright? Boys?”

“Alright,” said John, holding up his hands.

“Casserole should be done in five. Watch Sam for me for a minute,” said Dean. He sighed and went out the front door, taking a seat on the front porch swing. He rested his hands on his head, taking a few deep breaths. He barely lifted his head when he heard the stairs creak, smiling when he saw a container be set down on the top step. Y/N just smiled and walked back over to her house, giving Dean a small wave as she went inside.

Dean picked up the container, laughing when he realized it was a pie. He flipped open the note on top, a warmth filling him up.

It’s my grandma’s recipe. Called it ‘feel good pie’. Always seems to do the trick for me. You guys seemed like you could use some after everything.

-Y/N

“Thank you, sweetheart. I needed this.”

Reader’s POV

“Morning,” you heard while you headed outside to wash your car the next day. Sam was sat on the front step of his porch, Avy playing with some chalk in their driveway. “Thanks for the pie last night. It was great.”

“You’re welcome,” you said, wandering over across the grass. “The prison warden giving you some parole time?”

“Oh no. He’s just changing into some clothes to work on his car some. I’m allowed to be alone for a few minutes when Avy’s keeping an eye on me. Small victories,” said Sam. “A little more time everyday.”

“They worried about…” you trailed off, Avy not seeming to take notice of the conversation.

“A lot can go wrong after a brain trauma. Time is the best cure unfortunately for my situation. Slow and steady. I’m not even allowed to watch TV or read right now so it doesn’t give me a seizure. I’m bored out of my mind,” he said.

“You could bake,” you said.

“Bake?” he asked.

“Mhm,” you hummed. “I mean, Dean might want to be the one that handles the oven right now but yeah, you could bake.”

“That’s...actually a really good idea,” said Sam. You saw Dean duck out of the garage, smiling when he saw you. “Hey, Dean, did you pick up any baking stuff at the store yesterday?”

“Uh, no, I didn’t, Martha Stewart,” said Dean.

“You know what? I didn’t feel like washing my car this morning anyways. Why don’t I take Sam here over to my place, let him do a bit of baking so he doesn’t go crazy today,” you said.

“Yes, please,” said Sam. Dean held up his hands, giving you a stare. You gave it right back but he sighed and relented, his gaze going to Avy.

“Fine but come get me if something goes wrong,” he said. “Now what to do with you little missy.”

“Hey, Avy. You want to come bake with me and your dad?” you asked. She carefully looked at Sam and shook her head, Sam’s face falling a little when he turned away. Dean squatted down next to her, giving her a soft smile.

“Avy, sweetie. I know we told you a lot of rules about playing with your daddy for now but you can still hang out with him. It’d make him really happy,” said Dean.

“Sorry, daddy,” she said, hopping up and giving Sam’s leg a hug.

“No, no, it’s okay, Avy. I wish I could run around with you,” said Sam. “Daddy’s still getting better.”

“I wish you’d get better faster,” she said.

“Me too,” said Sam with a laugh.

“Is your hair gonna come back?” she asked.

“Yeah. It’ll take a while though,” he said, holding out a hand to you. “Help me up? I get dizzy sometimes.”

You grabbed him with both hands, Dean keeping an eye on you both as Sam threw an arm over your shoulders.

“Come on Avy. Let’s go bake something with, Y/N,” said Sam. You led them over to your house and inside, Sam chuckling to himself. “It smells so good in here.”

“Well I am a baker, it always smells good in here...except when I burn a batch,” you said. You led them both over to the kitchen, Sam’s jaw practically dropping.

“I thought I had the fancy kitchen over here,” he said, taking a seat at the counter, Avy climbing up on one beside him.

“You got no idea what I do for a living, do you, Winchester?” you teased.

“Not a clue,” said Sam.

“Why don’t you spin around,” you said, nodding to the wall behind him. He turned in his seat, leaning back some when he saw the giant chalkboard. “That’s this week’s orders.”

“You’re a baker,” he smiled, turning back around. “For a living.”

“Yup. Need a good kitchen if I’m going to keep up with it,” you said. “So I got a order of chocolate chips I got to whip up today if you guys are interested in making some of those?”

“I think that sounds perfect.”

“Avy, you got those cookies okay?” you asked, Avy holding a pink box in front of her a few hours later. She hummed, that classic smile back on her face you were much more used to seeing. You couldn’t help but notice the layer of grime that’d been on your car was gone and the driveway was wet as you went past. You walked back over with Sam, a quiet chuckle coming from you both when you saw Dean passed out on the front porch chair with a baseball cap over his face. “Does he ever sleep?”

“He’ll get back to normal soon. I hope,” said Sam quietly. You helped him up the steps, Dean stirring at the noise, sleepily smiling at the three of you. “Turns out we live next to a professional baker.”

“How many different kinds of pie do you make?” asked Dean with a smirk.

“All of ‘em. Apple cinnamon, pecan, cherry, chocolate are my most popular probably,” you said. “Give me advance notice, I can make any kind you come up with.”

“I’ll take you up on that,” said Dean, stretching out. “I’ll so take you up on that.”

“Trust us, he will,” said Sam.

“Alright, Sammy. Why don’t you go on inside, eat your lunch and take a nap. Medicine is on the counter for you,” said Dean.

“Oh. Yay,” said Sam with a sigh. Dean held open the door for him and Avy, watching them go off to the kitchen, Sam holding out his sandwich from around the fridge door. “You can leave me alone now!”

“Dork,” said Dean, leaving the front door open, shutting the screened in one. “Thanks for keeping him occupied this morning. He’s getting a little stir crazy there not being able to use his head.”

“I think he liked it,” you said. “Thanks for washing my car.”

“I did no such thing. Must have been those car washing gremlins you hear about,” teased Dean.

“Must have,” you said, tilting your head up at him. “Thank them for me if you see ‘em around.”

“Will do,” he said.

“Dean? I’m sure Sam has good insurance being a lawyer and all. Maybe getting someone in to help watch him so you aren’t passing out on the front porch would be a good thing,” you said.

“I know. He’s in this limbo the next few weeks...my buddy at the garage, Benny, he’ll give me all the time off in the world for Sammy but I know…” said Dean, pursing his lips. “I do need help.”

“I got a friend that works as an in home nurse, deals with younger people most of the time. I can give you guys her name and the company she’s with if you’re interested,” you said. “I’m sure his insurance will cover it.”

“How much did he complain while he was over there?” asked Dean, trying to hide his laugh.

“Just a smidge,” you teased.

“Text me her name. We’ll look into it,” said Dean.

“Good,” you said with a smile, swapping phones for a moment. “So is pie your favorite kind of dessert?”

“Pie’s my favorite kind of everything,” he said, handing your phone back. You waited for him to make a joke but realized he was being serious.

“Alright. I got myself a pie expert. I may put your tastebuds to the test around these parts then, Winchester,” you said.

“Please do,” he said, licking his lips. “Last night’s pie was delicious. Blueberry and raspberry with a citrus flavored cream on top most people probably think is orange but is actually a lemon and grapefruit combo.”

“Dude, that’s scary good. No one ever picks up on that,” you said. “Like...no one. No joke, you want to come over next time I whip up some experimental stuff?”

“If I can arrange a babysitter for Sammy boy, sure,” he said with a laugh. “I’ll never turn down free dessert.”

“Awesome,” you said.

“Maybe we can get that pizza afterwards too,” he said.

“Yeah,” you said with a nod. “That sounds good. You ever have a bacon meat lover’s from Ricky’s? You have that with some bourbon and a slice of red velvet, it’ll give you a taste of what heaven must be like.”

“I bet it does,” said Dean, biting down on his smile. “I uh, I better get back in there and annoy the shit out of him. Big brother and all.”

“Wouldn’t want to keep you from that,” you said, Dean smiling as he threw his baseball hat on your head. “What’s this for?”

“It gives me an excuse to come talk to you tomorrow obviously,” he teased, heading back inside. “See you around, Y/N.”

“You are something, Dean Winchester,” you said, hopping down the steps, smiling under your new hat.

Dean’s POV

“I heard you flirting up a storm with Y/N earlier,” teased Sam late that night in his bathroom. Dean hummed, watching Sam take off his clothes in the shower until he got to his boxers. “Dude, you can go for the rest. I can shower on my own.”

“Sammy,” said Dean. “As scarring as this is for the both of us, just take off your damn underwear. I used to change you as a baby. Ain’t nothing I never seen.”

“Dean,” growled Sam.

“Here,” said Dean, handing Sam a washcloth from the towel rack.

“Really?” deadpanned Sam. Dean rolled his eyes and went to the closet, grabbing a hand towel and tossing it over. “Thank you.”

“You sit on the shower bench with that thing on your lap and use the spray thing to get clean, alright?” said Dean

“What, you ain’t gonna sponge bathe me?” mocked Sam.

“This is revolting enough without that,” said Dean, grabbing his phone and sitting up on the counter. Sam took a careful seat, a few grunts coming from him as he pulled off his boxers. “You good?”

“Why can’t I stand?” asked Sam as he tossed his underwear into this pile of clothes. “Or you know, have privacy?”

“Cause if you slip and fall or get dizzy and fall...basically you fall down, odds are you’re dead so deal with it,” said Dean, glancing over to Sam.

“Can you turn on the water,” he mumbled, glancing over to Dean. Dean nodded and walked over, turning it on warm for him, handing him the nozzle attachment. Dean kept his head down, Sam complaining often enough to know he was still conscious over there. “I’m done.”

“Alright,” said Dean, up again and turning off the water. He handed Sam a large towel and watched him dry off his top half, Dean throwing an arm under Sam’s shoulders. “I’m going to sit you down on the floor. Please have a towel over yourself by the time I open my eyes.”

“I got it, Dean,” said Sam. Dean sighed and shut his eyes, helping Sam until he heard what sounded like a slip. They flew open in an instant. Dean wasn’t positive what he did but he stopped Sam from going face first at the very least. He felt his own knees hit the ground hard, but his arms were around Sam’s torso tight, keeping him from going anywhere. Sam was down to his knees now, staring at Dean with a pant.

“Screw modesty?” said Dean.

“Screw modesty,” said Sam with a nod. Dean got his breath back and helped Sam out of the shower and sat on the floor. He handed Sam his towel, settling it over his lap.

“You’re okay,” said Dean, scooting back with a groan. He looked down, his knees a deep angry red. He gave them a rub, frowning when he saw Sam’s face. “Hey. I’m fine. Better my knees than your head.”

“What if you weren’t here to catch me?” he said.

“I am here,” said Dean, sliding over to Sam. “Shower time from now on, we’ll do it better so there’s no chance of anything happening. In a few weeks, your head will be a lot better and you can do things by yourself again and I won’t need to be here with you all the time. You’ll get your independence back real soon, Sammy.”

“I can’t drive still. Can’t work. I’m stuck doing nothing,” said Sam. “Avy’s more independent than I am.”

“Sammy,” said Dean, cupping his brother’s cheek, Sam squeezing his eyes shut. “You’re okay. Calm down for me. You were working too much and we both know it. Let’s take this as an opportunity for you to spend time with Avy, for you to enjoy life a little more, okay? Think of it as you got your own summer vacation coming up real soon.”

“You always take care of me,” said Sam quietly after a moment. Dean looked away, spotting the goosebumps on Sam’s arms.

“You need to get off this cold floor and in some warm clothes. Come on, Sammy,” said Dean. “Let’s finish getting you ready for bed.”

Reader’s POV

“Morning Winchesters,” you said the next day coming back from your jog. Sam and Avy were playing in the front yard and gave you a wave, Dean doing some planting in the pot by the end of the driveway. He smiled at you in your new hat but you spotted the bruises on his knees, Dean smirking at them.

“Oh I got these the fun way,” he said, flashing you a wink.

“I hope he bought you dinner first,” you said, Dean chuckling and shaking his head.

“Little mishap last night with bath time,” said Dean, nodding back at Sam. “Okay now though. Sammy called up that place, they said a nurse is going to start stopping by for a few hours during the day. It’ll give me a chance to work part time, get some chores done that need getting done. Avy’s out of school starting this week so I’ll need the help.”

“That’s great! You need to take care of you too if you’re taking care of them,” you said. He tilted his head, lip tugging up.

“I’ve never heard that before,” he said.

“Well if you’re not doing good, how do you expect to be able to take care of the people around you?” you asked.

“I never thought of it like that,” he said.

“Well make sure to take a little ‘me’ time too,” you said.

“Yeah, I will,” he said with a smile, glancing up at your hat.

“You want your hat back?” you asked, reaching a hand up to it.

“Nah. Looks better on you,” he said.

“Are you sure you’re not flirting with me?” you asked.

“Am I flirting with you?” he said, flashing you another wink.

“Alright, Winchester,” you laughed. “I gotta run. Lot’s of orders to get through today.”

“Hey, Y/N,” he said when you started to run back towards your house. “What’s your bakery called?”

“Sinful Sweets,” you said. “I got one of them websites and everything. Check it out sometime.”

“Will do, sweetheart.”

You were exhausted. Twelve straight hours of baking had wiped you out. Tomorrow you needed to go on a supply run but after that, you decided you were going home, sitting outside and doing absolutely nothing.

You almost groaned when you saw a new order pop up in your email. You knew better than to click on it at that time of night but it was for one of your adult dessert food types, one of your special bourbon red velvet cakes. It was a rarer order than normal but the need date on Saturday night made you chuckle along with the note from the customer.

I’m requesting the excellent baker over at Sinful Sweets make for me one of these awesome cakes I heard about. I’ll bring the bacon lover’s pizza at eight?

“Silly boy,” you giggled, grabbing your phone and giving him a phone call.

“Howdy neighbor,” he said.

“Did you order a cake just to ask me on a date?” you asked.

“Pft. No,” he said. “It’s so not a date by the way. Just two friends hanging out.”

“Uh huh,” you hummed, Dean giggling for a second as the phone moved away.

“But you know, you want to hang out on Saturday night?” he asked.

“Sure. I am going to reject your order though,” you said.

“But I want cake!” he said.

“I’m not charging you for a cake we’ll both be eating. You get the pizza, I’ll make the cake, deal?” you said.

“Alright, alright,” he said, quiet for a moment. “You sound tired.”

“Long day,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “Looking forward to the weekend.”

“Owning your own business must be hard,” he said.

“It is,” you said. “I don’t have half the problems other people do so I ain’t complaining.”

“You know, my new friend, this really cool chick, you’d love her,” he said with a smile, “She told me this thing about taking care of yourself takes care of other people you know.”

“Really? Never heard of it,” you said, shaking your head, smiling at the empty room.

“Wow. I mean, she’s a pretty smart cookie so it might be some good advice to take,” he said.

“You’re like, so not as cool as you think you are,” you said.

“Takes one to know one,” he shot back. You hummed, moving over to the couch, hearing Dean move somewhere else in the house. “Sammy and the kiddo are down for bed. S’kinda of quiet here.”

“S’always quiet here,” you said.

“You ever get scared?” he asked.

“Thank you for asking me that, at night,” you said.

“No, no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“I’m just messing with you,” you teased. “I got an alarm system and self-defense training and a bat. I’m good, Dean.”

“Alright. You ever...you know...change your mind...or want some company...give me a call,” he said.

“Thanks,” you said, resting your head against the cushion. “Things going okay with Sam today?”

“Yeah, yeah. Today’s shower went much better than yesterday. Avy’s less nervous around him too which is good. It’s just slow going. They’re both used to a faster paced lifestyle. This kid does like five hundred activities, I swear,” said Dean.

“Maybe Sam will reconsider working so much when he’s ready to go back,” you said.

“Yeah. I hope so. He kind of threw himself into it all after his wife died,” he said.

“I only moved in a year or so ago. I never wanted to ask,” you said.

“No, I get that. This whole situation is bringing up a lot of stuff for him again. I can’t just go tell him it’s alright anymore and that fixes it, you know?” he said.

“Adulting sucks,” you said.

“Yeah it does,” he said. “It’s got it’s perks though.”

“I like talking to you,” you said after a beat. You heard him pause, your own head looking at your phone as if it wasn’t you that just said that. You hadn’t meant to, it slipped out was all. You felt the heat in your cheeks rise up, Dean quiet on the other end before you heard him breathe out.

“I like talking to you too,” he said quietly.

“Cool,” you said.

“Cool,” he said.

“Dean,” you hummed.

“I’m sure I’ll see you around before then but Saturday, your place at eight. It’s a date,” he said.

“Told you it was a date, Dean.”

A/N: Read Part 3 here!

#spn #supernatural #dean x reader #dean winchester #neighbor!Dean #mechanic!dean #au!dean x reader #dean x #spn reader insert #supernatural reader insert

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dangerous-advantage · 4 years

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The foxes as my shitty writing outlines out of context since I saw someone else do this and thought it was slightly entertaining (yes, i left their names out so I don’t confuse anyone.)

Andrew: “Just as he’s about to finish putting out the fire, HGM (Hot Garbage Man) walks in and distracts him.”

Neil: “He goes home and eats his sad ravioli and cries.”

Matt: “And she’s like, I just want to support you or something idk,”

Allison: “Everything was dead silent before [character] is just randomly like, ‘Ok, I’m going to CUT a bitch. Where is my gf??”

“’Surprised to see me on the magazine, hon? You shouldn’t be. I’m just THAT fabulous.’“

Dan: “Of course, as the only one with any sense, he was also the last one to know that something was horribly wrong.”

Aaron: “She was like, It’s so hard to find a gf around here, they all just keep dying from diseases or something idk.’”

Seth: “And he was like, ‘Hey, this is bullshit!’ but nobody actually cared.”

Renee: They were all surprised. They had never thought he could actually smack a bitch but he was surprisingly proficient at it. The [bitch he smacked] was surprised, too.”

Nicky: “He never had admitted it before, but as soon as he saw that cute fucking twink, he made sure to let everyone in the general vicinity know he was as gay as possible.”

“And everyone was like, “Damn boy!” and he was like, “I know.”

Kevin: “While everybody else was kissing and being happy with each other for a short time, he was fucking killing it in the cool space gym.”

EXTRAS:: Wymack: “At this point, he simply decided to tune out all the noise before he got the urge to simply hurl himself out of the air lock.”

Abby: “And she was like, Did someone ELSE lose a limb? No? Then fuck off, I;m trying to save this poor bby boy.”

Jean: “He was social challenged, which is to say, he was tired of their shit.”

Jeremy: “As far as she knew, everything was wrong but she decided to pretend it wasn’t.”

Riko: “And he was like, “My father is the meanest man in the world!’ which made [character] then proceed to slap him and say, ‘stfu there are more important things to deal with right now than your fucking daddy issues’ and he was so offended he actually left.”

Alvarez: “She then remembered that she was a lesbian so she let it slide.”

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writethehousedown · 4 years

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Bottled Up Feelings, Chapter Five: I’ll Be Alright (Cheryl/Blu) - Zyan (5/7)

a/n: we’re getting to the end of the week and I Don’t Want To. Today’s chapter title is for the Ariana Grande song, Be Alright. It was on Cheryl’s BBC spotify playlist, and it inspired me while I was writing. Enjoy!

Chapter Five: I’ll Be Alright

DDC: I have something to tell you. Meet me for lunch at the Italian place near your studio?

Cheryl blinked repeatedly, typing out an answer with one hand, as she held her coffee mug with the other.

“G’morning,” Blu said, dragging herself into the kitchen, still half-asleep. Cheryl mumbled a ‘Good morning’ without looking up. “Remember that today we have a meeting with the seamstress in charge of the costumes for the Valentine’s Day show at four.”

Something inside Cheryl felt different when she heard Blu say we, and she couldn’t bring herself to correct her, besides, it didn’t really bother her. If anything, she liked it — more than she should have.

A brief thought crossed her mind that startled her; she was starting to like Blu, and not as a friend.

She couldn’t allow herself to feel that, due to the fact that one day Blu would be gone - maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow - but one day she’d leave for forever and, if Cheryl was to allow herself to have feelings for her, she’d end up heartbroken and everything would remind her of Blu — the domestic bliss they’d lived in being something Cheryl wished to have once she met someone special.

(She’d once thought it could be Vivienne, but lately she wasn’t thinking that much about her, the “playing Cupid” plan completely forgotten after that night they ran into her.)

But she still smiled and gave a small nod.

“Divina invited me to have lunch today. Do you mind staying at the studio?” She requested, and Blu’s brows were immediately knit in a frown.

“Chez, you know the rules say—”

“Please, just for this time. It’s near the studio and I’ll be back before you notice!” Cheryl pleaded, putting on the best puppy eyes she could muster, followed by a pout. Blu was chewing on her lower lip, her expression full of doubt.

In the end, she gave a defeated sigh.

“Fine. Jesus, Chez, I swear I can’t say no when you look at me like that.” Blu folded her arms, dramatically looking away. Cheryl laughed softly, her heart making a jump when she noticed the rosy tone on Blu’s pale cheeks.

When Divina pulled Cheryl into a hug when greeting, Cheryl sensed something was wrong. Divina always hugged her tightly, with a small smile against her hair, instantly lifting up her mood. This time, Divina’s grip was lose, her hands were shaky, and she could notice the forced smile.

“How are you, love? How are things going at your new job?” Cheryl inquired, taking a seat and briefly studying the menu. Divina shrugged, fidgeting with her rings.

“It’s been good, my co-workers are nice, and my secretary is a gal fresh from college that stares at the intern across the hallway whenever I’m not looking,” she rambled with a giggle, making Cheryl laugh softly.

A waitress swung by to take their orders, leaving shortly after. There was a moment of silence as they sipped their drinks.

“You got anything new to tell me?” Divina inquired with a suspicious tone, like a mother inquiring their child about something they clearly knew they’d done.

“Not really, no; perhaps the only new thing is that we’ve already printed the tickets for the Valentine’s Day show and today we’re meeting the seamstress to check how she’s holding up,” she replied with a casual tone, but Divina furrowed her brow in confusion.

“We? Have you finally hired someone to assist you running that madhouse you call dance studio?”

Cheryl froze with the glass of lingering at her lips. Shit.

She thought about lying to Divina for a moment, but she quickly discarded that idea; Divina could tell when someone was lying better than anyone.

She had no choice but to tell her the truth — well, half of it.

“I have. It’s Blu, the girl I brought to our last meeting; she needed a job and I needed help.” Cheryl shrugged, taking a sip of her drink. Divina’s expression softened, a small smile appearing.

“She looks like a nice girl, I really liked her,” she admitted, chewing on the inside of her cheek, going back to fidgeting with her rings. “And I noticed the way she looked at you.”

Cheryl opened her eyes widely with a mix of surprise and a warm feeling she couldn’t name in her chest. She leaned forward in her chair, locking eyes with Divina.

“What do you mean? How was the looking at me?” She asked, sounding more excited than she intended to.

Divina smiled softly. “Like one would look at a hopeless crush, maybe a High School one, that they never got to confess their feelings to,” she said in a sing-sang tone.

Cheryl blushed violently and dismissed Divina’s words with a wave of her hand.

“You were probably seeing things, ‘cause I’m dead sure Blu doesn’t feel anything for me,” Cheryl stated. Divina stifled a giggle and was about to say something when Cheryl remembered why they were there. “Didn’t you have something to tell me, anyway?”

Divina’s whole demeanour changed. She could tell that what she was about to say wasn’t good.

“Yeah, about that… Do you want the long story or straight to the point?”

Cheryl shrugged. “Straight to the point, I guess.”

Divina breathed in deeply before dropping the bomb.

“Vivienne’s dating her secretary, Barbara.”

It amazed Cheryl how she didn’t feel what she should normally feel in this type of situations, instead - a faint feeling of disappointment settled in her chest, contrary to the heart break she supposed she should be feeling.

Before she could say anything, the waitress was back with their orders, and Cheryl twirled the spaghetti in her fork for a long minute before speaking.

“How’d you know that?” She asked calmly, a calmness that Divina mistook as bottling up her feelings.

“My secretary Georgia looks like a quiet girl, but she knows businesses of everyone in the office. I didn’t even have to ask her what was going on between Vivienne and her secretary - she just told me when she noticed I’d been staring at her,” Divina went on, pinching her ravioli. Cheryl nodded slowly, prompting her to go on.

Divina locked eyes with her, perhaps expecting to see her eyes go red or her lip quiver. Cheryl’s face was expressionless.

“She said everyone in the office could tell it was kind of a mutual pinning thing. Apparently they went on a date last week; Barbara told Kat, the intern, and she told Georgia over lunch break, and Georgia told me,” she finished, reaching for Cheryl’s hands across the table and squeezing it. “I’m sorry, love, I know you never got an answer from her.”

Cheryl stroked Divina’s hand back, but she wasn’t there completely.

“She invited her to a date after she saw me with Blu,” she thought after realizing the time matched. She couldn’t believe it — and she saw her face every other day when she picked Lily up!

“She’s a bitch,” Cheryl declared, taking a mouthful of spaghetti. Divina cocked a brow, surprised.

“That’s all you have to say?” She inquired, taking a bite of the ravioli. Cheryl nodded with a shrug. “I thought you’d shed a tear or two, honestly. I’m proud of you, though,” she admitted with a smile.

Cheryl swallowed and thought about the warm feeling in her chest whenever she saw Blu.

She looked at Divina and smiled, reaching for her hand.

“I think I’ll be fine.”

“Blu, I’m back,” Cheryl exclaimed, entering the studio, but Blu wasn’t in the main hall. She frowned slightly, heading to the dancehall, hearing classical music coming from it.

She barely opened the door to peek inside, and she saw Blu doing the ballet choreography they taught the kids for the show. It didn’t matter that it was the simplest thing ever - Blu made the dance look absolutely delicate and ethereal, looking like she was floating on air.

Cheryl didn’t dare to step inside and abruptly ruin this moment, so she allowed herself to stare at Blu for as long as the choreography lasted.

Suddenly, with her heart hammering against her chest, Cheryl realized she might’ve fallen for Blu.

tags: cheryl hole, blu hydrangea, divina de campo, slow burn, lesbian au, genie au

DDC: I have something to tell you. Meet me for lunch at the Italian place near your studio?

Cheryl blinked repeatedly, typing out an answer with one hand, as she held her coffee mug with the other.

“G’morning,” Blu said, dragging herself into the kitchen, still half-asleep. Cheryl mumbled a 'Good morning’ without looking up. “Remember that today we have a meeting with the seamstress in charge of the costumes for the Valentine’s Day show at four.”