#Obligatory 10k post

[demaparbat-hp]

The rest of it (what was meant to be).

Arsonist's Lullaby

[malt-rants-and-stuff]

Having some Tashiro (and prev pres) Thoughts

mostly just re-hashing things my fellow tashiro fans have said but I just felt like making my own post about it. be warned i wrote this while on a 4 hour drive on paper so im not sure how the length translates into a post, this will be a long one haha. also beware of inconsistent caps lock usage.

OBLIGATORY WARNING FOR SASAMIYA FIRST AND SECOND YEAR NOVEL SPOILERS

This whole thing was mainly brought on by two things, one is my non-ssmyverse friend dming me a twt screenshot with the most bland and uninspired description of tashiro's character ive ever read, signaling to me that tumblr has really spoiled me with the good tashiro takes. the other thing was that i got inspired to bring the first and second years novels with me on my previously mentioned long drive, which means that i got the pleasure of rereading both and, most importantly, rereading Tashiro Love & Passion. safe to say i had a lot to think about afterwards.

The whole thing really reminded me of the aspect of tashiro that i've always found interesting: his observant nature. And i dont just mean how he views others, but also how he views himself. How this perspective breaks the most of what we'd expect from a character like him, something Harusono loves to do with their characters.

From the first couple of pages in L&P alone, we get a lot of insight on how tashiro sees himself and how he bases much of that on how others view him.

He mentions a lot of clubs that he was a part of in the past or helped out with, describing his tendency not to stick around one club.

"The all-rounder." A "pinch player" anyone could call on.

I feel like this is an important place to start because just from this we see a bit of how Tashiro breaks from the mold of what an unassuming reader may expect him to be.

In the Sasamiya manga/anime, we dont really have too many chances to really view tashiro for who he is as an individual. with our limited perspective of him, we get to know miyano's friend tashiro, a bright, fun, and earnest character who says whats on his mind and is apparently on the ping pong team with hanzawa which is neat.

and if you werent a bit unhinged like myself and some others, this would be a fair assessment of his character. but ohhh boy once Love & Passion hit the towers there was no turning back.

there have been some posts getting into the themes of this chapter that i feel analyze it better than i ever could, so i wont do that, but i do want to talk about how tashiro's character is portrayed throughout the chapter.

And by far the main part that i want to focus on is how hardworking he is, and his and other's perspectives of him are effected by this.

Because tashiro is someone who wants very very badly to win, as he says numerous times throughout the chapter. Even under the guise of someday getting to quit the ping pong club, he pushes himself to get better; even going as far as practicing against the grannies and grandpas at the bath house that totally didnt adopt him.

For all his complaints, it would be easy to push off his actions as comedic. maybe, and im just making stuff up as i go, saying that he is only behaving as a stereotypical fun-loving slacker would. that his only motive truly is just to leave the club and drift through the rest of his high school days.

But then, that just isnt true is it? what kind of slacker would put so much time and effort into a club that he never even wanted to stick with in the first place?

This my dear friends, is how the Tashiro brainworms Fucking Get You.

Because why indeed, why is tashiro, who drifts through life wondering if he'll ever find his purpose, his Passion if you would, so impressive to the Previous Ping Pong Club President (prev pres) that he finds himself in line for future president?

While tashiro never really seems to figure this mystery out himself, we can take a few guesses.

While we will probably never see prev pres' thought process here (unless we get those 10k words of hanzawa lore that he'd probably be a part of) his actions speak for themselves in a way.

Afterall, this is the same president that got him stuck in this club to begin with, the same one who watched him complain, the same one who'd help drag him back whenever he would try to skip.

He's also the same president who watched him keep to their deal instead of just trying to find a way around it and quitting anyways. the same one who played against him at every practice, watching him learn and grow as a player. who saw him work hard, determined to not bring the team down, even if he wasnt as into it as the others. who saw him stick around.

in his perspective, tashiro takes multiple chances to not how he feels different from the people around him, that he has never known their "love" and never felt their "passion".

He finds himself surrounded by the Passion of others each day. His teammates, his friends, his bath house grandparents, just about everyone in the whole world. but what about him?

i mean, its not as if he's not interested in anything, he has things he likes. hobbies he enjoys. he just... never got that burning Passion, that unabashed Love for something like everyone else seems to have.

I think prev pres understood this part of him. that he saw what tashiro, for all his insightfulness, couldnt see for himself.

because for all tashiro believes that he doesnt have Passion, he sure does love to watch others indulge in theirs.

he takes note of what little he can catch while kuresawa and miyano talk BL, just so he can ask questions later. he gets to know the people at the bath house, listening as they talk about their lives and interests. and while he may not be "super into" in the ping pong club in general, he still wants to see his teammates succeed. he may never have stuck with a club for very long, but he still made himself reliable enough that he's seen as someone they can call to step in when needed.

in my mind i think that is what prev pres saw in him, how tashiro's dedication to see the Passions of others flourish assured him that the club would be safe in his hands.

and, while i cant say tashiro's passion is one specific thing right now, i can say that it encompasses every dream he wants to see grow. every love he curiously watches bloom. every ping pong match he fights to win.

[suzukiblu]

I know ur super duper busy and if this is annoying pls ignore this ask I don’t mean to be pushy or rude! Can u give a status update on the kink ask stuff? Again sorry if this is annoying I LOVED this past wip Wednesday SO GOOD. Ur writing is very addicting. Anyways have a great week

All good, I don't mind being asked that kind of thing! And glad to hear you're enjoying my stuff, thank you! 💚

Tbh, though, I don't know when I'll be finishing/uploading any of those kink responses right now, I've just got like 10k of writing scattered across the various prompts and nothing actually COMPLETE for any of them, and for the moment I've switched focus to obligatory sugar updates and knocking out some subscriptions and sentences that I owe.

Generally speaking when I do writing memes or take requests, I do my best to fill as many of them as possible, but it's not a guarantee that I can do them all or that I'll do them all in a timely fashion. Sometimes the inspo fails me and I trip at the gate or pretty early on, or something just comes up irl and interrupts, and sometimes there's just too many responses for me to get through them all, y'know? So I just do my best, basically, haha.

( god it IS genuinely TEN THOUSAND WORDS and yet nothing complete, yeah, that is so telling of my ENTIRE writing history, lol. )

All things considered I might post the starts of at least a couple of the kink asks soon, if only to show a BIT of what I've got done, but we'll see, hah.

[starlit-dreaming]

when honestly you can’t recall (Baxter Ward/MC) p3

Rating: M

Romantic Ships: Baxter Ward/Original Character(s); Derek Suárez/Leandra “Lee” Last

Platonic Ships: Main Character | Jamie Last & Leandra “Lee” Last, Main Character | Jamie Last & Original Character(s)

Tags: Unplanned Pregnancy, Single Parent, Angst w/a Happy Ending

TL;DR: A self-indulgent Single Parent AU. Lee has a better relationship with my MC compared to Liz. I wrote this when the Baxter DLC was still in beta, so I opted to avoid writing spoilers (for now) and to avoid rewriting moments of the Jude/Scott wedding.

A/N: Cross-Posted on AO3 under the same title (@ Starlit_Dreaming). Originally this chapter was ~8k words, but I decided to split it when I ended up turning it ~10k when I was editing and kept on adding more and more to some of the scenes. I literally spent several hours just "editing" this chapter so it's a good thing I chopped it in half to save the rest for another day for editing rip

Obligatory Tag: @arcosoffireheart

Links: 1 | 2 | [3] | 4

Summary:

Everyone assumes that Gabby is exactly like her mother, but Rosaline will always see the traces of her daughter’s father. The shape of her eyes, how fussy she gets if there’s even a hint of conflict, every moment her daughter is calm and serene in her arms, the sweet and gentle smiles. 

Her daughter does not have her black hair, either. Wavy hair, yes, but it was not fully black and her father has only ever dyed his hair.

It’s a miracle that nobody notices their similarities.

Including Baxter himself.

// In which Rosaline ends up becoming a single mother in the aftermath of her and Baxter’s summer fling. Some things change. Some things don’t.

——————————————————————

Part 3: just standing by blankly

——————————————————————

~1 Year Ago

Beginning of Summer

In-Between Steps 3 & 4: Age 22

———————————

“It’s just a dance,” she laughs as Cove starts to cry.

They’re in the living room, practicing their dancing — or rather, Rosaline was trying to teach Gabrielle how to dance, and Cove was watching. She was crouched on the carpet flooring, gently holding Gabrielle’s arms up to mimic a simple dance, guiding her daughter into a swaying motion as she giggled with glee.

Cove was sitting on the L-shaped sofa, recording everything with Rosaline’s phone as he observed their dancing. He’s taken to being a very doting uncle, diligently taking videos and pictures and crying over her daughter.

“Yeah, I know,” he sniffed, watching them with watery eyes and a shaky smile. “It’s just that… she’s just so cute! You even made her a cute poofy little dress, and it’ll be the first wedding she attends.”

“Cove, I literally made all of her clothes. This isn’t the first time I made her dress, and I’m sure our friends are going to get married sooner or later,” Rosaline laughed, shaking her head in amusement. “You know this. And she’s also the flower girl for Jude and Scott’s wedding, too.”

“I know, but still,” he sighed wistfully. “Why does she have to grow up so fast?”

She snorted, “Guess we know how our parents felt, huh?”

“It’s also hard since Gabby looks so much like you when we were kids,” Cove sniffed.

Gabrielle perked up at the mention of her name, looking over to Cove before she gasped and started wiggling out of Rosaline’s hold. Once she was freed, she approached Cove with a rather determined look for a toddler as she promptly patted his leg with a bit of a smack, making him twitch with a subtle wince.

Ah yes, the joys of toddlers going the extra mile.

“It’ll be okay, Coco!” Gabrielle exclaimed with determination, looking incredibly pumped up and sounding so much like Lee does when she’s trying to reassure Cove with endless patience and positivity. “Pain, pain, go away!”

“Oh my god!” Cove seemed absolutely delighted by this turn of events and possibly even more teary-eyed. “That’s so cute, Rosa…” he murmured, glancing at her before focusing back to the toddler. “I’m okay, Gabby.”

“But Coco is crying!” she frowned, looking up at him with a pout.

“Don’t worry, Brielle,” Rosaline laughed, walking over to sit down beside Cove and promptly scooping up her toddler. “Cove cries happy tears.”

“Happy crying?” her daughter tilted her head, purple eyes wide and curious. It’s easy most days, seeing her daughter and not seeing bits and pieces of Baxter so blatantly. Cove often says that she looks more like Rosaline anyway, but Rosa thinks that he’s just being biased for not really caring much for Baxter to begin with.

“Mhmm. Cove cries a lot,” she says, and Gabrielle nods in agreement. “People cry when they’re sad, but Cove cries when he’s happy, too.”

“Does mama cry happy?” Brielle tilted her head, eyes wide as if it were a groundbreaking revelation.

“No, mama doesn’t,” she smiled. “Mama only cries when she’s sad.”

“Mmm… it’s okay, mama,” Gabrielle nodded. “I’ll make pain go away!”

“Aw, thank you, Brielle,” Rosaline softly smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you, mommy!” she chirped.

———————————

Two Months Ago

Beginning of Summer

Step 4: Age 23

———————————

“I love you, mommy,” she sleepily chirped.

“I love you, too, Brielle,” Rosaline softly whispered, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s forehead as she pulled the seatbelt for her daughter. “And just like that, she’s already out,” she couldn’t help but feel calmer now, before closing the car door and moving to sit in the passenger seat. “Alright, space cadet, time to go home.”

“…are you sure you want to leave?” Cove asked, his brows knitted in worry as he looked at her. “I don’t mind waiting here for a bit.”

“…why would I want to stay?” Rosaline asked, closing her eyes as she relaxes into the seat. “The wedding’s pretty much done now, and everyone who’s still inside is just eating and drinking at this point. Lee and Derek already left for the honeymoon, and Brielle’s pretty tired.”

“Gabby interrupted you,” Cove murmured, sounding incredibly hesitant and unsure. “I thought that you still needed to talk to Baxter…?”

Of course Cove, out of everyone, noticed what had happened, that she was literally just finishing up a dance with the man in question. Still, the thought of him made her… well, she doesn’t quite know what to think of him right now. Thinking about him was starting to be too much of a common occurrence, but hopefully that all ends now that the wedding’s over.

If he were to need a dress designer for his clients, he wouldn’t need to talk to her again. There were other dressmakers Velvet Design Studios, and their sister buildings, Suitable Lenders and Lacework Lenders, were other viable options for renting dresses.

Rosaline crossed her arms, looking out the window to the sunset skies. For years, she’s been hung up over Baxter, and no matter what, it’s been the same thing over and over again.

She tries, he shuts her out, she gets hurt, and it repeats.

Again. And. Again.

“…”

“Rosa?”

“No. I’m… I’m tired.”

———————————

Several Months Ago

Beginning of Autumn

In-Between Steps 3 & 4: Age 22

———————————

“No, I’m… just tired.”

While it was true, she was actually exhausted for reasons unrelated to work (unless Baxter counted). She doesn’t feel inclined to correct that, though.

“Mmk, well, try to take it easy, Rosa,” Sonya said, peering at her with a concerned look. “I know you have a lot of work on your hands, and that you’re more than capable of handling it yourself, but don’t hesitate to ask for help.”

Sonya Chastain was Carol Amparo’s granddaughter and one of the few full-timers who was Rosaline’s age — most of their co-workers were usually in their mid-twenties at the earliest, thirties at the latest. She was a rather cheerful person with bright brown eyes and short blonde hair, with a bright smile that puts Cove at ease out of all her coworkers. It helps that she has a rather relaxed attitude in her interactions with everyone, which often puts high-strung clients at ease whenever she handles their fittings.

(Truthfully, Rosa was trying to hook her up with Cove in bits and pieces. Cove did think Sonya was cute, after all, and Sonya has had a major crush on him since the day they first met. Granted, she claimed it would pass, but it’s been a few years now.)

Her specialty mostly lay in beadwork than dressmaking, but she could at least do some basics and was much more adept with handling customers. Much better at it than Rosaline was.

Or at least, Rosa and Cass often pushed the customer service duties onto Sonya, since she was the youngest in their building.

The phone rings.

“Velvet Design Studio, otherwise known as Corsage Designs, Sonya Chastain speaking. How may I help you?” Sonya answered the phone with a fake smile, slipping right into character as she pulled up her tablet, bringing up the shared calendar. “Hello, Mr Ward.”

Rosaline froze, purple eyes immediately snapping over to her co-worker.

“Yes, Mrs Carol Amparo informed me that you were hoping to shadow one of our designers to learn more about our studio in hopes to be able to better offer our services to your clients.”

“What?” Rosaline hissed, earning Sonya’s confused glance. “Since when did Carol tell you that?”

“This morning,” Sonya whispered, hand covering the phone briefly before she continued to speak to Baxter and proceeded to blatantly lie because she did not plan on making any phone calls: “Yes, I was just about to call you myself to confirm a day. Will this Friday be convenient for you, Mr Ward? Lovely. You’ll be following one of our lead designers in bridal wear, Rosaline Winters.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry Rosa, you technically have the least workload scheduled this week since you’re focusing on a few personal projects,” Sonya whispered, looking apologetic at Rosa as she covered the phone for a brief moment before assuming her customer service smile as she refocused on the phone call. “Unfortunately, our lead suit designer, Cass Gardner, is busy at this moment in time—”

“—and I’m not?” Rosaline dryly grumbled.

“—but thankfully, Ms Winters will be able to walk you through the process of our work without an issue. Mhmm. Yes, our building is located right behind Lacework and Suitable Lenders, but if you’d like, just give us a call and Rosaline will be out to meet you.”

“I don’t appreciate how ready you are to volunteer me like this,” Rosaline muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“See you on Friday, Mr Ward!” Sonya ended the call and promptly slumped in her seat. “What’s got you so snappy, Rosa? You normally give people a walkthrough of the place,” she raised a brow. “I get that you’ve been tired lately, but it’s not like we’re pulling emergency all-nighters at the moment… plus, you love to show people around.”

“It’s worse than an all-nighter this time because Baxter’s my ex,” Rosaline groaned. “And you’re literally having me spend a day with him.”

“Oh…” she winced, opening up a calendar on her screen, typing in Baxter’s appointment. “Bad breakup, huh?”

“He didn’t think we would work out long-distance, so he dumped me,” Rosaline grimaced. “Suitor for the summer, he said.”

“Yikes,” Sonya cringed, slowly starting to organize the papers on her desk as she tried to smile. “At least you’ll only have to see him for only a day…?”

“Unfortunately no. He’s also Lee’s wedding planner, so I’m practically seeing him at least once a month if not twice a week because I’m her maid of honour and dress designer, so we’ll be in regular contact. Plus, he wanted to keep tabs on the dress progress — first time having a bride custom order a dress, so he wanted to know a little more.”

“For real?” Sonya looked taken aback at that, pausing in her organizing to look incredulously at her. “But Lee outright adores you, Rosa. Why would she deliberately put you into an awkward situation with your ex?”

“Derek was the one to set the meeting up, and Lee is super worried for me, but Baxter’s one of the best planners I know. It made sense that he became a wedding planner, and I knew that he’d go out of his way to make sure things go as perfectly and smoothly as possible. I told her to work with him, but I also didn’t really…”

“You didn’t really… what?” Sonya prompted.

“…I didn’t really think he would stay. When he figured out that it was Lee’s wedding, and that I’d be there, I just… I know him, y’know?”

“Huh? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I… thought he’d leave again.”

———————————

Two Weeks Ago

End of Summer

Step 4: Age 23

———————————

“I thought he would leave again.”

And all of a sudden, under the sunset sky, staring off into the horizon, it felt almost as if they were 18 again in the midst of summer. Lee could remember it easily — the way Rosa shed her mask and displayed her feelings out in the open for Lee, the way Lee reassured her, and the way things ended in the aftermath of it all. It felt so stupid, really, the way things felt as if it were just repeating in different sequences of events.

Before, Lee would’ve reassured her. She would’ve told Rosa that Baxter loves her just as much as she loves him. That he wouldn’t dump her unless he had a good reason to. But he did, he did, and he said he wouldn’t be back.

She wasn’t going to lie to Rosa. It didn’t matter if she sincerely believed in them back then, because Baxter leaving had shattered Rosaline.

And Lee would never forget the guilt she felt when Rosa called her, crying.

“Well… he hasn’t exactly given you a reason to think that he would stay,” Lee murmured, trying to sound casual only to wince at how bitter it came out instead.

Liz, Aunt Pam, and Auntie Lani all thought that Rosa never even dated the guy and were surprised when it was mentioned in passing. And still, they believed that Rosa took the breakup in stride because she never cried to them and never acted differently, so they were fairly accepting when he said he was sticking around after her wedding. Rosaline was hurt, but she understood that he didn’t want a long-term relationship when they ended things back then.

Lee told him to treat Rosa better than he did before, and honestly, she wants to scream countless obscenities at him. She wanted to get angry at him, to shout and scream and tell him off for daring to break her cousin’s heart. Hell, if Rosa hadn’t said anything, she would’ve dropped his ass and hired another planner. Derek had even asked her if she was sure about keeping the guy as their planner! And yet Rosa had smiled so serenely and kindly, and had reassured Lee that Baxter was trustworthy when it came to planning. How could she say no to her cousin, even if Lee was infuriated with the man?

But Lee shouldn’t lose her temper just like that, otherwise she would end up revealing all the painful details that she’s meticulously kept close to heart, everything that Rosaline had wanted to keep quiet about. Her feelings, the nights she spent crying alone, the way her heart shattered. No matter what, Lee refused to hurt Rosaline in such a way.

(And, if she dropped Baxter as a planner, Rosa would’ve been even more worried and stressed about the wedding, and despite her feelings on the matter, Rosa was significantly calmer and happier with Baxter on board.)

And, the worst thing about saying all the thoughts in her head, however, is that hurting him with words or a slap would hurt Rosa, too.

Why does her cousin have to love a guy like that?

“Yeah… that’s true.”

Lee walked over, standing beside Rosaline. She wondered what she was thinking so intently about, standing there on the sand. Naturally, it was about Baxter, a thought that made Lee purse her lips as if she had just tasted something sour.

Loosening her expression, she glanced over to Rosa before scooting over, bumping her shoulder lightly.

“What’s on your mind?”

“I’m absolutely hopeless, Lee.”

It didn’t alarm her — Rosa’s self-esteem did take a hit when she got dumped by the person in question, but it wasn’t a self-deprecating statement like before. In fact, she sounded amused more than anything.

“Hey, that’s my darling cousin you’re talking about here,” Lee said in a teasing tone, impishly poking her shoulder. “You better not badmouth her in front of me like that, or we’ll be having problems here.”

“I think you’re gonna have a problem with what I have to say, anyway,” Rosa snorted.

“You mean you’re finally going to talk about your desk at work? About time. It’s covered in fabrics and lace, Rosa. I think you should stick to dressing up people and not desks.”

Rosaline barked out a laugh. “You sound like Cass,” she shook her head.

“Yeah, and it made you smile,” Lee grinned.

“Thanks, I really needed that,” Rosa bumped her shoulder against Lee’s, a small smile remaining as she turned to look at her. “Thank you for always being there for me.”

“Of course,” Lee softened, reaching to hold her hand. “I’m always here for you… even if I think you’re making a big mistake.”

“I never stopped loving him, and I’ve tried. You know that better than anyone. I tried so hard to stop loving him, but loving him is as easy as breathing,” Rosaline sighed, tearing up as she looked at Lee with unsure eyes. “You said it before. He loves me as much as I love him. And… I know that it’s true, even if he tried so hard to keep me at a distance.”

And clearly, Lee made a mistake when she said that. If Baxter loved Rosa, then he should’ve said something by now. Especially when they have a kid together.

“Will you… forgive me? For getting back together with him?”

“You never have to apologize to me. It’s your decision on what to do,” Lee wryly smiled, reaching up to wipe away Rosa’s tears. “You can’t help who you love, but… I just don’t want you to get hurt again. I don’t want you to cry because of him, you know? I’ll always be here for you, but I won’t hold back if you call me crying in the dead of night again. I really will end up fighting him, even if he helped me plan the perfect wedding.”

“Yeah…” she whispered, crying as she smiled at Lee. “Thank you for accepting it. For being here when I need you, from when we were kids to even now. You’re my best friend and…” she shakes her head, not wanting to voice the thought out loud. Lee was the sister that she wishes she had, but she does love Liz, and Liz has always been her sister.

“I am pretty great,” Lee smiled softly, squeezing Rosa’s hands, understanding. “Promise me you’ll be careful,” she said, knowing that she can’t convince her otherwise. “Don’t let him break your heart again. Promise?”

“I promise.”

———————————

Two Days Ago

End of Summer

Step 4: Age 23

———————————

“I promise.”

“And you’re sure…?” Rosaline softly asked, holding his hands as she looked up into his brown eyes. “I don’t want casual relationships, so I’m fine with us just staying friends if that’s not for you. What I want is a relationship with marriage in mind.”

“I don’t plan on leaving,” Baxter firmly stated, expression serious as he looked at her with soft eyes. “I understand your hesitation, and for that, I don’t blame you. I truly love you, Rosaline. I’ve loved you since the summer we dated, and even when we broke up, I still loved you, and when you entered my life again, I realized that I have never stopped loving you.”

She stared at him, eyes watering before she threw her arms around him, hugging him tight with tears in her eyes.

“I love you, Rosaline,” Baxter softly says, holding her tight. “And… I would want nothing more than to be a part of our daughter’s life. If you’ll have me.”

“Really…?” Rosalina whispered, voice wobbling.

She feels him nod, “I know that it’ll take a long time to earn your trust again, especially after what happened. I’m here to stay. I swear it.”

“Can you… say it again?”

“I’m here to stay.”

———————————

Two Months Ago

Beginning of Summer

Step 4: Age 23

———————————

“I’m… here to stay.”

Rosaline pauses in the middle of her work, hovering over the half-finished dress for her daughter. It was another cute floral dress made for Jude and Scott’s wedding this time. She just needed to add more flowers to it.

“Are you?” her eyes flicker to Baxter for a brief second before refocusing on her work. “Whatever happened to this just being a professional arrangement? A done deal, where we both do our own things?”

“…despite claiming as such, and saying that we would go our separate ways after Lee’s wedding, I… never actually thought of it.”

“…okay.”

“Okay?” he repeats, and Rosaline could so easily picture the way his eyes would brighten up. She hates that she knows him so well, and that she can’t just be happy with this.

“What about Brielle?”

And it’s the silence that makes Rosaline’s heart clench.

Because Baxter is speechless. As if he doesn’t know what to say about their daughter.

She bites the bottom of her lips, feeling him stare at her from behind. What did he think was going to happen? She’s been letting him interact with Gabrielle in bits and pieces, getting him to, at the very least, be open to being in their daughter’s life.

Their interactions at Lee’s wedding were her own selfish wishes, but her daughter will always be her first choice.

“If you’re going to be in my life again,” Rosaline said, as if this were obvious. “Then you’re going to end up having some kind of relation with Brielle beyond just being a grown-up that we interact with as if we’re just an acquaintance. I want to establish what to expect.”

“Ah… I see,” Baxter simply says, more to himself than anything. “Your daughter should naturally come first, so I feel that there shouldn’t be any issues with that. I don’t necessarily think I could be considered family to her, perhaps just a family friend. If something were to happen to her while you’re hanging out with me, I’d fully understand that you would prioritize your daughter’s well-being and safety.”

She lets him stew over the thoughts, but she can’t help but feel heartbroken.

Your daughter, he says.

It was enough of an answer for her.

He doesn’t want to acknowledge Gabrielle as his daughter.

“Okay,” Rosaline shakily sighed, staring at the little half-finished purple dress in front of her sadly. “That’s fine.”

“Hmm?”

“Not everyone wants to be parents, so I understand,” Rosaline murmured, managing to mask her feelings as she turned, smiling at him. “Would you… prefer that I keep it a secret from her? Until she gets older?”

“I beg your pardon?” Baxter blinked, confused.

Rosaline frowned.

Or maybe Baxter just didn’t know?

“Baxter… who do you think is Gabrielle’s father?”

“I… was under the impression that Cove was Gabrielle’s father.”

“You… thought Cove was the father?”

———————————

Then

Mid-Spring

In-Between Steps 3 & 4: Age 19

———————————

“You thought Cove was the father?”

Rosaline, for the most part, looked incredibly unamused as she rubbed her swollen stomach. Cove looked flabbergasted at Derek, as if he had just said the strangest thing he’s ever heard. Lee, being one of the very few who knew the father’s identity and knew that Cove was part of the family, had burst out into a fit of laughter.

“If Cove was the father, he would’ve gone with me to all of my ultrasound appointments, and I would’ve scheduled them for a day when he could actually come with me, even if the thought of it made him nauseous,” Rosaline pointed out, rolling her eyes. “But I guess that’s a fair assumption.”

“What?!” Cove finally exclaimed, his delayed response finally kicking in and looking downright startled and horrified. “Rosa’s my sister!”

“I get that now,” Derek sheepishly laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just that — think about it. Rosa only ever talks about you when it comes to the guys in her life. She’s pregnant, and now you’re moving in with her and helping with the baby whenever they get here.”

“I… I guess?” Cove frowned, brows knitted as he thought it over, paling at the thought. “Oh god… do other people think that I’m the father? Do my parents think I’m the father?!” he whips his head around to look at Rosaline with panicked eyes. “Do your moms think I am?!”

Lee, unhelpfully, is dying with laughter.

“No, none of them think that,” Rosaline explained, trying so hard to retain the semblance of patience she’s developed since childhood. Pregnancy hormones, however, were no joke, with how irritated she was starting to get even if Cove’s concerns were valid. “I told my moms that it was a one-time thing, and that I wanted to keep them when I found out. Also, they asked me if their dad was going to be involved, which, obviously, he’s not.”

Derek rubbed Lee’s back as she slowly started recovering from her giggling, her cheeks red from laughing so much and eyes shining with amusement.

“Dad One was happy for me, and he didn’t ask me about the father, but I’m pretty sure my moms already told him by now. Otherwise, he would’ve asked us about what’s going on with us moving in together with a kid on the way. Mom Three was pretty excited about being a grandma, and she already knew that you couldn’t have been the father, because otherwise you would’ve been there with me when I told her.”

Cove relaxed significantly after hearing that, placing a hand over his chest.

“Dad Two and Mom Four,” she continues, giving Derek a look, raising a brow as he smiled sheepishly. “Didn’t think Cove was the father, and were happy that I wanted to name my daughter after Gregorio. Although Nico asked, because he was just being curious in all honesty and since I was literally naming her after Dad Two, if you or Cove were the donor, which Mama Four was horrified about because it was possible, and she probably would’ve gone into a panicked frenzy even more thinking that she got a grandchild with your blood before you even got married, but I reassured them that no, it was just an ex-boyfriend.”

“Well, at least he’s less of a menace than when we were kids,” Derek snorts, shoulders relaxing from the knowledge that his parents knew the truth.

“I think Terry was the only one who asked if my daughter was yours, Cove,” Rosaline said thoughtfully. “But Terry was also the one to ask me a lot of questions about potential fathers. Liz and Miranda have never asked, but they both have this look like they might know who it is.”

“I’m glad that was cleared up, then,” Cove sighed, rubbing the back of his neck rather awkwardly. “Not that you’re not an amazing person Rosa, but…”

“Yeah, I get it, Cove,” she nodded, sharing an understanding look with the man in question. “It’s weird.”

“So uh… are you…?” Derek trailed off.

“Hmm?” Rosa looked over to him.

“Did you… ever tell the father?”

———————————

Then

Mid-Autumn

In-Between Steps 3 & 4: Age 18

———————————

“Will you ever tell the father…?”

Rosaline shook her head, looking at the vase of flowers on the table than at either of her moms. Lee is sitting beside her, holding her hand. She dreaded the question, she expected it, but the thought of Baxter had left her heart aching.

And… she still never really mentioned much of Baxter to either of her moms. All she ever told them was that he left, and they knew that she had wanted to keep in touch with him.

“Is he out of the picture?” Noelani asked, concern on her face.

She tried to contact him, but it’s rather pointless to when he won’t answer phone calls or text messages. None of it mentioned her pregnancy yet, but once she got the ultrasound, she planned on telling him that she was going to keep the child. If he still didn’t want to be in their child’s life, she’ll take his silence as enough of an answer anyway.

“…Yeah. It was a one-time thing, and he isn’t answering my calls or responding to my texts since we broke up. I’m the one who wants to have this child, and he’s going to be against it, anyway. I… don’t plan on getting him involved if he doesn’t want to be.”

Both of her moms shared a worried look with each other, an unspoken conversation happened between them. Pamela frowned, Noelani still looked concerned.

“It’s… a pretty big responsibility, Rosaline,” Pamela stated, looking at her. “Having a kid is wonderful, but it can be hard at times, especially when you’re still so young. This isn’t like having a pet, and there will be times when you have to put that child’s needs above your own.”

“I know,” Rosaline softly said, nodding. “I know it’ll be hard, but I want to keep them.”

“Well… we do know someone you could talk to,” Noelani said, thinking it over. “Your… your mother — your birth mother,” she clarified. Rosalina blinked, looking at her with clear confusion. “She had a friend before she passed away.”

Rosaline wasn’t ever interested in knowing more about her birth family. Not when she was a teenager and Liz had thrown a fit, and not even now. However, it was more for the sake of medical records that she should know, and when she entered high school and her parents talked to her about her birth family.

Not that there wasn’t really much to know. Her birth mother was an orphan, her birth father wasn’t in the picture, he knew, but wanted no involvement and had even signed away parental rights.

“While Cliff and Kyra would be able to provide insight on what it’s like to raise a child on their own, they did co-parent Cove,” Pamela said in agreement, thinking it over. “Mrs Amparo has regularly helped single parents get back on their feet or assisting single mothers who are on their own with no one to support them.”

“We will love and support you, of course,” Noelani assured, smiling softly as she reached over for Rosaline’s free hand. “But having a child can be difficult, and we want to make sure that you don’t feel alone in this.”

“Of course, we’ll help you whenever we can,” Pamela nodded in agreement. “I just want you to be certain. Are you absolutely sure that this is something you want?”

“I’m sure,” Rosaline murmured, blinking away the tears.

———————————

Then

Mid-Spring

In-Between Steps 3 & 4: Age 19

———————————

“I’m sure,” Rosaline reluctantly stated, trying not to let it get to her.

“And he really hasn’t answered back?” Lee pursed her lips, looking almost as if she had just tasted something sour.

“Yeah. I texted him, saying that I needed to talk to him about something important,” she shifted in her seat uncomfortably. “I did leave a voicemail saying that I was pregnant, but… still he didn’t say anything back.”

“I’m sorry, Rosa,” Cove frowned, wrapping his arm around Rosaline as he rubbed her back in a comforting way. She sighed, shoulders relaxing as she wryly smiled. Lee reached for her hands, holding it tight.

“Don’t be,” Rosaline shook her head, eyes softening as she stared at her phone wistfully. “Not everyone wants to stay together,” she smiles, almost weakly as she holds their intertwined hands up, “And… not everyone’s willing to take care of a kid with someone.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about doing this alone,” Lee softly stated.

Cove nodded, “We’ll both help you out as much as we can.”

“You guys are the best,” Rosaline smiled.

[rexobibang]

2025 Rules

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[oldfashionedmorphine]

⭐ Directors Cut on curating your soundtrack for On The Same Frequency. How was the process for that and incorporating them into the story? What was the writing process like incorporating the songs? No pressure of course to answer this.🫂

hi hello!

this is an interesting question for sure…

i have to say it evolved a lot over the duration of writing.

but first, here is the playlist for anyone who hasn’t listened to it yet:

okay so…

very early on i decided i wanted to pick instrumental songs for this story over songs with lyrics…at least, i wanted the playlist to feel like it could be a soundtrack to a movie because the story is inspired by a movie…and initially i only had a few songs when i first started writing back in august (mostly songs from the big giant circles album there came an echo—which was because of the song outside the realm that plays during the “crazy together” scene, and i also had some from the stranger things OST too)

but in between writing i would spend some time looking up songs, usually starting with similar artists to the songs i already had and honestly i have to say it was kind of a rabbit hole situation with how i ended up with most of them—though sometimes i specifically looked something up, like “synth style christmas songs” which is how i found joy to the synthwave world and holiday nights and i also added a lot of the OST songs from the movie archive because i watched the movie in october and thought they fit well.

and after doing all that i ended up with a playlist that was close to 8 hours long and made up of 126 songs (the unofficial version)…but i wanted to narrow it down so it wasn’t so long (official playlist is like 53 songs and 3 hours)…..and my main reason for doing that was so that (if you’re someone like me) you could have it play in the background while reading to set the mood….

and i narrowed it down by simply reading through each finished chapter while listening to the songs to decide if they fit the vibes for the scenes (a rather time consuming process, haha)—oh and i even created separate chapter playlists while i was figuring this all out too (which outside the realm being a song for ch 4 shouldn’t be too surprising lol) because i took it a step further and tried to keep the duration/length of each chapter playlist to the average reading speed for the overall word count of each chapter (if that makes sense…like ch 6 being 10k words meant that i tried to add songs until the chapter playlist was somewhere around 30-40 mins long…….) of course, it doesn’t work for everyone because reading speeds are different, but each chapter playlist is timed for average reader speed (although i messed around with the songs for ch 5 after posting the fic and idk if that one still times well to average speed since i haven’t gone back and checked it, oh well) but uh……it was honestly a super ridiculous thing to try and do and most people don’t even listen to fic playlists (and especially while reading) but i had at least one person appreciate it (shout out to bre @magentamee) so that’s good enough for me!! 😅

oh and it also felt kinda obligatory to start the playlist off with the stranger things theme song…and after listening to several remixes of it, i found one that had an “end credits” sort of vibe and so that’s how i picked the final song :D

FUN FACT: the song “nightsky” by tracey chattaway was added sometime in september or october and i listened to it on repeat while writing so many times that it ended up being my top played song for the whole entire year according to my apple replay lol (it’s not my fault she put drugs in that song)

which songs did you enjoy the most? 👀 and please, feel free to send me another ask if you want! ;)

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

Hey, I would love to hear about thoughts on heard no more :)

Specifically, when the 'light sides' each make an offer to Virgil to go do something. Roman to his mother's garden, Patton to steal cookies, and finally Logan to the library to choose a book. (If you need to separate this, or jut want to focus on one, that's OK too <3)

Ehh, I'll just keep writing and if it ends up an essay-long post, so be it.

I think I've mentioned it before but in the original draft all of that was essentially one paragraph:

They take him places around the castle. Patton takes him to the kitchen to “steal” cookies. Logan takes him to the library and lets him pick out a book to read. Roman takes him out to the gardens, among the roses.

Keep in mind I wrote this paragraph in late 2018. Lemme tell you a Problem that occurs as a writer is the more you write, the more you will learn that your 2k chapters are now 10k chapters due to a better capability of establishing and building upon plot points.

When I reread this for my revision, I said to myself "I will be Normal about this and I will expand on all of these incidents and all of this will be shorter than 6k :)" like a liar.

So essentially each of the Light Sides are trying to give a helping hand to Virgil and show him that this he is now in a safe environment to various levels of success. I’ll cover each of them in their own section, starting off with Roman.

Roman:

Ok, so there's a lot of foreshadowing and set-up occurring in this section that I'm not sure I want to really express it up front. But the key things I wanted to accomplish in this section was:

He picks up his quill and begins to weave a set of curvy lines across the page. He attaches little circles to the ends of them, crowned with a series of ovals. He blinks, looks back a bit and suddenly it isn’t a nonsensical, abstract piece. Daisies. It’s a drawing of daisies. <- Despite Virgil's earlier claim at the beginning of this section, what he draws in the journal does have meaning

Delve into a few flashbacks to slowly build up to some relevant plot points later into the fic

Particularly this is the first instance of Virgil's and Roman's dialogue only flashbacks which will continue occurring for the rest of the fic

One flashback is Virgil's and Patton's illusion conversation which addresses Virgil's mindset regarding what he thinks is occurring

Roman takes his hand to which Virgil does not react. Which is a lie, as his breath hitches slightly, his body wanting to tense up in preparation for the hurt. <- This moment establishes that Virgil heavily associates physical touch with physical harm

Virgil tells himself he only gives in to Roman's request because he wants to see if the Illusion holds up but there's much more to that than he'll acknowledge to himself

Elaborate on Roman's mother (something that wasnt addressed until the very end of the original draft)

Show how Roman is acting "off" and therefore is fake (he is just freaking sad and concerned about you Virgil)

The moon is out tonight. Big, bright, and full—surreal in its’ serenity <- Obligatory moon prose because I really cant stop waxing poetry about the moon in my writing

Roman chooses to offer Virgil an opportunity to visit the gardens because it's a place he himself finds solace in and he hopes the same for Virgil.

Patton:

Ok, fun story, Virgil was SUPPOSED to get cookies and we were supposed to learn more about their shared backstory but then somehow we ended up w/ Virgil having a panic attack so. yeah.

As this fic has progressed, I noticed I ended up with a "hand reaching out" motif in this fic, symbolic of characters making an offer to Virgil in some way. First we see it with Roman and his request to see the gardens while offering his hand out for support, now we see it with Patton.

Except Virgil's mind associates Patton's offer with Silver Gauntlet, which is a character in his backstory that also operated as a mentor figure (albeit a very bad one) & His Eminence's ploys as Patton has not helped matters

Patton’s hands snatch upwards, encircling Virgil’s throat. “Is this better?” He asks, as Virgil grasps for breath, “will you obey your dear mentor now?” A hand hovers towards him. “Virgil, breathe.” Breathe? Is His Eminence mocking him? How can he breathe with His hands strangling his throat?

I made this purposefully confusing due to Virgil's pov, but just so we're clear, Virgil is the one currently trying to strangle himself, not Patton.

“I’m sorry,” He says, “I’d thought you might like to get a change of scenery; I didn’t mean to upset you.” Virgil stares at him. Patton is not talking about the strangling. He is talking about…the cookies. Snickerdoodles. Patton asked if he wanted to steal snickerdoodles from the castle’s larder. Then he asked for Virgil to speak and then strangled him when he didn’t. But wait, no, that isn’t right. The latter had been in the cell, the former in the Prince’s Quarters. “The more elaborate an illusion is, the harder it is for the mage to cast.” Patton’s words echo through his brain. Virgil’s lips twitch upwards. He knew it—he’d found a true breach in His Eminence’s illusions. Even His Eminence couldn’t make an illusion last forever. Something stirs in his chest. It isn’t the warmth of the Ether. It is a slick and oily sensation that coils around his rib cage. His Eminence thinks he can catch more flies with honey than vinegar. Unfortunately, for Him, Virgil isn’t a fly; he is a spider. Honey or vinegar will never be enough to entice him. A spider creates a web and waits. They wait and wait until the fly gets caught in the web. Then they feast. Sometimes the fly never comes. Sometimes the Spider will die waiting. But at least the Spider isn’t the one that gets tricked into their demise like a fly.

Despite this not going the way I wanted it to go, Virgil having this realization that he found a "crack" in His Eminence's illusion and how this is invigorating him to continue onwards shows a glimpse of how Virgil has managed to survive those months in that cell as well as showing how Virgil viewing everything from this narrow lens impacts his perspective of what is happening & I think strengthened the story for the better. I also really love the spider metaphor I created for this part.

He draws repetitions of smooth, crisp ovals. A shape that holds no meaning, not even to himself.

I'm here to inform you that Virgil is lying and those ovals represent cookies.

Patton offers Virgil an opportunity to do something lighthearted and silly to help keep his mind off things. This is now the second time he has accidentally triggered Virgil without knowing how or why.

Honestly, there a lot going on this section that like. If you sent me like a single paragraph from Patton’s section and asked me to elaborate, I could write an essay on it.

Logan:

We open this section learning that Virgil is apparently having a lot of dreamless sleeps, hmm suspicious, that probably means nothing.

Rather, no matter what forms He takes, He insists Virgil eats something, even if it just a few bites. ...It is a strange reversal that makes Virgil sick to his stomach more than anything else. Several times he has actually retched up the contents of his last meal. His Eminence never berates him for wasting perfectly good food. He doesn’t even force him to try and consume his own vomit as a punishment. Rather He offers nothing but gentle, cloying words, reassuring him that he did no wrong for being unable to hold down his food. “It is natural,” He says in Logan’s voice, as He cleaned up Virgil’s own mess, “for someone in your state to have these issues. Your body is relearning what it is like to have a stable supply of food.”

I didn't touch in the original draft the specifics of Virgil recovering from starvation so I wanted to address it more in this revision. In Patton's section we introduced Virgil's aversions to food so this section is building upon on that plot point and continuing it further with Logan encouraging Virgil to rebuild his strength to walk again.

Of course, Virgil can't help but think this is a ploy to rebuild up his strength only to tear it back down at a later date.

“My mother,” A pitiful child warbles, “I want to avenge my mother.” “Oh?” The gold gauntlet takes hold of his hand, “A noble sentiment for a shadow such as yourself. Do well in my service and I will grant this desire of yours.” Virgil should’ve yanked his hand away. Why can’t he yank his hand away? “Virgil, may I hold your hand?” A blurry hand reaches towards him, unadorned with any gold gauntlet. A hand unblemished from manual labor like that of a Noble. A hand too similar to others offered up to him time and time again. A hand that promises comfort and security and vengeance yet holds all of that at an arms-length. Close enough for Virgil to think he could have it all if only he reached far enough to grasp it. They say madness is attempting the same method time and time again and expecting different results. That’s not the entire truth. What His Eminence knows is that you repeat the same method time and time again until an individual delves into madness from the inanity, resulting in the desired outcome. With a wheezing breath, Virgil chooses to grasp this hand. Not because he expects anything different, but to make His Eminence believes he does.

This is where I chose to blatantly address the hand reaching out motif. Note the contrasting difference between the flashback and Logan patiently asking if he can hold Virgil’s hand. This also serves to establish the fact that Virgil has for a majority of his life been repeatedly offered a “helping hand” at the cost of Virgil being forcibly subservient to that “helping hand.” 

 Only when he became Patton’s apprentice for that brief period of his life was he in a healthy environment that allowed him to be his own person while being able to lean on others for support without any strings attached. 

Due to this past trauma, His Eminence’s actions have caused him to regress a bit to this past mindset of feeling powerless and helpless to fight back other than “dutifully” following along while thinking of ways to subtly rebel without receiving harsh consequences.

This is why he reacts so harshly to Patton’s presence. As for Roman, it comes more from a place of guilt than past trauma.

Logan’s section is also to establish a new normalcy for Virgil while allowing a brief timeskip so we can progress to more interesting plot points.

But why Logan over Patton and Roman?  It is not as if Virgil has not shown vulnerabilities in front of the others. If anything, he has shown a higher degree. Is it yet another way of luring Virgil into a false sense of security? ... Then again, His Eminence has always struggled the most at capturing even the slightest essence of Logan.

Virgil is unable to consider the idea that the others noticed Logan is less triggering to Virgil and they might be trying to avoid giving him unneeded emotional duress by limiting their interactions with him. 

Unlike Roman and Patton, Logan is also treating Virgil more or less the same way he did prior to Virgil getting captured by His Eminence aside from his brief slips of unrestrained emotions that are "uncharacteristic" of him. Logan offers Virgil an opportunity to visit the library because it was a former pastime for the two silently hang out in the library together.

Honestly with the last bit with the library, I planned on elaborating more on the ending (and thus the overall conclusion) and I may still do this, but as it is I think it is fine.

[inkedmyths]

Ok. Ok so I've seen people do this with Homestuck. But I already read Homestuck. So let's try something else.

*leans in close to the mic*

10k notes and I will watch Supernatural

[the-gayest-tree-you-ever-did-see]

i want, like everyone, for aphrodite to be played by a slew of different people but i also would like for them not to look like supermodels. no airbrushing no extreme contour no cgi shaving off face fat i want people who would generally play extras to play aphrodite i want to find out that one of the actors was the directors son i want to find out that another one was one of the actor's mother that another was the cameraman's wife. !! give me the beauty in everyone!!!

[undertalethingies]

So Tired Of This Same Old Song And Dance

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25281262

Faced with the end of the world, Sans can't afford not to care anymore. He'd love to analyze the anomaly's motives, would love to ask them why they would do this, but... It doesn't really matter, does it? They've made their choice. And he already knows, anyway.

[ash-and-starlight]

would love to know some of your zukka fic recs if you feel like sharing!

LMAOO THE PEOPLE HAVE SPOKEN

ok obligatory intro, this is not a comprehensive list of works because it would honestly truly get too long (and also bc I forgot some, rip) but if someone feels like adding their own recs it's more than welcome!! second I'm trying to keep it to just one fic per author but PLEASE extend the rec to every one of these authors' works bc I promise it's worth it.

without further ado besties let's get into it (under the cut bc despite my best intentions it got embarrassingly long)

- A predictable story by mindbending 7k words, rated G "That lying, scummy Aunt Wu predicts a grand romance for Sokka. To disprove her "fortunetelling" once and for all, Sokka decides to spend the night with least romantic person he knows. Zuko."

- Another word for wanting by eurydicees 23k words, rated T listen usually I'm not one for soulmate aus but this one. THIS ONE. beautifully written and deeply, emotionally devastating.

- A loose bolt by hydrochaeris 50k words, rated T The first installment of a truly amazing series. A very deep and well written portrayal of sokka and zuko struggling with family and university, while trying to avoid each other.

- The Stingray by smediterranea 24k words, rated M (I tried to keep it sfw but I simply couldn't leave this one out, perdoname madre por mi vida loca) Zuko gets injured by a stingray while on the beach, thank god the hot lifeguard is there to help him. Idiots to lovers ensues.

- and I'll do anything you say (if you say it with your hands) by nebulastucky 60k words, rated M eight chapters (so far) of PURE YEARNING. EVIL. SICK AND TWISTED. Zukka fwb to "oh no I'm in love with the guy" modern au, featuring the true shining star of this story Momo the cat.

- Carmine by backatpatrickpark 6k words, rated G Artist Sokka rights!! A post canon fic that explores art as a metaphor of growth, and the color red.

- from you, the flowers grow by wearealltalesintheend 6k words, rated T tattoo parlor/flower shop au. I haven't read this one in a while but I remember it was so sweet and heartfelt, it has a v special place in my heart.

- I could (never) give you peace by zukkababey 10k words, rated M u know those fics when the characters are together but are STILL pining terribly for each other? this fic has it all. the love, the yearning, the miscommunication, the angst with a happy ending. 200/10

- kiss me just to shut me up by dickpuncher420 40k words, rated T Sokka is a sk8r boy, Zuko is a tattoo artist, can I make it any more obvious?I love this fic SO MUCH the vibes are immaculate, invented summer and falling in love.

- afternoon tea by toribird 47k words, rated T "Early on during his time in Ba Sing Se, Sokka stops for a cup of tea. This small action changes everything."

- It's the mallrat in me by leopardfringe 31k words, rated T if I ever stop losing my mf mind about this story just assume I'm dead. Sokka and Zuko and their developing relationship as it goes through the five stages of grief, and also they're working at the mall.

- Ignition Point by Yuu_chi 18k words, rated M I'm also not one for bender!sokka works but this one here is the bright blazing amazing exception. After the war Sokka finds out he's a firebender, and goes to the fire nation to ask Zuko for help.

- Landscapes by jinnora 4k words, rated T "Firelord Zuko has been teaching his Southern Water Tribe Ambassador, Sokka, landscape painting. Featuring counterchange, jokes about knives, and Zuko being desperately attracted to Sokka."

- like the sun inside of you by ofherlionheart 126k words, rated M a HUGE fic and it has become one of my all time faves. Come for the (eventual) zukka stay for the incredible plot, world building and original characters, I would kill and die for all of them.

- light, manufactured by HisMomoness 55k words, rated T This story is most of all an amazing character study of Zuko dealing with complicated emotion during his stay in a research station in Antartica. It's about the mortifying ordeal of letting yourself be known, healing, and penguins.

- recreate a place that's our own world by Muncaster 42k words, rated T Zukka storm chasers AU. it's soo beautifully written, Sokka and Zuko and a van, falling in love and running into storms <333

- real enough to get me through by marriedzukka 193k words, rated M "After Iroh passes, Zuko reaches his breaking point. As he navigates the path through grief, he meets a kindred soul, and begins to heal in more ways than one."

- settle for by amatchforyourmadness 23k words, rated T this fic devastated me, scooped out my heart and left it to melt on the floor. features poet!zuko and an incredible amount of tears (the tears are mine)

- sirens & sleepless nights by satirrian 54k words, rated T dystopian modern au. I love this story beyond reason it's simply insane. the plot is insane. the worldbuilding is insane. the fact that it invented romance with a dish washing scene is insane. Once again begging you all to read it

- the art of charting the stars by ermysthewarlock 16k words, rated T "A post-canon fic where Ambassador Sokka and Fire Lord Zuko write each other letters and watch the stars."

- the theory of liminality by Aiyah 19k words, rated M oh boy this one HURTS so good, Sokka gets lost in space, and tries to make his way back to earth and to the man he loves. I cried.

- What You See You Might Not Get by lenaballena 22k words, rated T speaking of space zukka I could NOT leave out this absolutely iconic masterpiece. "A Starfleet Au; five things Zuko learned about Sokka, and one thing Sokka already knew about Zuko."

- the road between action and inaction by Donvex 17k words, rated T "The hitchhiker au, featuring Sokka and Zuko falling in love without even realizing it."

- through the ice darkly by chuffystilton this one is a series, kind of a "role reversal" au. Aside from the writing being insanely good the plot and world building are so intriguing I'm completely obsessed.

- what did you bury before those hands pulled you from the earth by Draco_Sollicitus 18k words, rated M listen I'm cheesy you can pry a good Hades/Persephone au (with a twist) from my cold dead hands. V emotional and bittersweet.

- do you take this jerk to be (your one and only) by jatersade 55k words, rated T Ok I feel like everyone knows this Absolute Classic but I couldn't leave it out simply bc it's the first zukka fic I read and it's 90% of the reason my current brainrot is so severe.

[izloveshorses]

izloveshorses fic masterlist

sooooo we’ve gotten an accumulation of anastasia fics in my portfolio now, so perhaps it’s a good time to start a masterlist, yes? yeah. okay. let’s get started. 

general dimya playlist is here, otherwise, more links under the cut :)

Birds on the Wing: (G, 1k, canonverse, one-shot) tossing in another almost-kiss™ during the ballet scene, also inspired by This artwork 

They See Right Through Me (I See Right Through Me: (G, 4.5k, canonverse, one-shot, ghost/haunted au) Anya was haunted by ghosts for as long as she could remember. Unfortunately, she had no idea who they were or why they followed her.

No Proof, One Touch, You Felt Enough: (T, 10.9k, canonverse, one-shot, missing scenes, angst, anya pov)  Exploring how Anya is touch-starved and how that affects her interactions with Dmitry. Affectionately known as “the touch fic.”

So Close: (G, 2.8k, canonverse, one-shot, missing scene) After arriving in Paris, Anya, Vlad, and Dmitry had some time to spare before meeting the Dowager. Why not celebrate their newfound freedom with a few fun nights out?

Who Could Stay: (T, 3k, modern au, one-shot, hurt/comfort) A decade after fleeing to Paris instead of facing the trauma of her family's deaths, Anya's grandmother dies suddenly and she has to rush back home to settle everything. Now the sole heiress of the Romanov fortune, she can't seem to come to peace with the responsibilities and the untouched grief. Until Dmitry knocks on her door.

Still I Fall: (one of my very favorite moodboards ever) (T, 14.6k, modern au, multi-chapter, college road trip au)  Anya needs a ride back home for spring break, and unfortunately for her, the only person available is... well. Dmitry.

I and Love and You: (moodboard) (playlist) (T, 17k, historical au, multi-chapter, mechanic!dmitry, anya pov)  Great Depression Era au where a simple car repair job becomes a lot more than either of them expected. Affectionately known as “the mechanic au.”

Can’t Stop Loving You: (moodboard) (playlist) (T, 10k, modern au, one-shot, childhood best friends to lovers, artist!dmitry, dmitry pov)  Dmitry and Anya have known each other for most of their lives, but, predictably, they grow apart with time and space between them. Several years later, when they both arrive back in town, they don’t fall back into their usual easy banter like Dmitry expected, and as he's fighting the many memories haunting him, he has to decide if he should risk what they have left and finally confess what he's been feeling and move forward. Affectionately known as “the gazebo au.”

All I Ask: (M, 3.9k, canon divergent, one-shot, missing scene, smut)  After spending a few days in Paris, Anya shares her worries of what will happen after she meets the Dowager with Dmitry. Is she really willing to leave him?

Sad, Beautiful, Tragic: (playlist) (T, 5k, canon divergent, one-shot, angst)  au where Anya doesn't make it to the bridge before Dmitry leaves and what would happen if they eventually crossed paths again.

Princesses (Don’t) Marry Kitchen Boys: (G, 3k, canonverse, one-shot, missing scene, dmitry pov)  5 times on their journey Dmitry gets to show off his cooking skills. Since anything that doesn't come from a can is a rare luxury in their current situation, Anya is begrudgingly impressed.

Cold December Night: (moodboard) (G, 16k, modern au, one-shot, obligatory holiday au, time travel)  Dmitry accidentally sends himself into the future and the only person who might be able to help is Anya, a collector of antiques in Paris with a very busy schedule this close to Christmas.

Forever Is the Sweetest Con: (G, 2k, canonverse, one-shot, post-canon, fluff, dmitry pov)  After Anya kisses him on the bridge, Dmitry finally gives her the dance she's wanted.

My Pain Fits in the Palm of Your Freezing Hand: (G, 9.5k, au, multi-chapter duology, the office au, friends to lovers)  Dmitry is a salesman, Anya is a receptionist, they're best friends, both working dead-end jobs and find themselves as some of the subjects of a documentary about the average workplace. And he's hopelessly in love with her.

Sweet Creature: (moodboard) (T, 18.7k, modern au, multi-chapter, neighbors au, fluff)  Anya recently moved into her sister's apartment and she couldn't be happier, except she doesn't care much for their next door neighbor, Dmitry. Shenanigans ensue.

Dust to Dust: (G, 9k, canonverse, one-shot, missing scenes, angst, dmitry pov)  “Even when I was mad at you,” Anya started, “I never doubted we would. Thank you, Dmitry.” He realized he’d been staring and the silence was too long. “Uh… Thank Vlad.”

Never Done With Killing Time: (moodboard) (playlist) (G, 24.8k, modern au, multi-chapter, high school au, baseball player!dmitry, fluff, friends to lovers)  Dmitry, to his disdain, is pretty good at baseball. To her annoyance, Anya can't really seem to escape him. To their surprise, they enjoy each other's company a little more than they expect.

Two Drifters, Off to See the World: (playlist) (G, 59k, 90′s au, multi-chapter, paris au, chef!dmitry, anya pov)  On impulse, Anya buys a one-way ticket to Paris, starting a refreshing and peaceful life in the hopes of finding herself. What she doesn't expect to find instead is a handsome waiter at her favorite bistro, who may be more of a kindred spirit than she bargained for. Affectionately known as “the paris au.”

Someone to Stay: (first installment on tumblr) (playlist) (M, 28k, canon divergent, multi-chapter, hurt/comfort, smut, angst, high-stakes, etc lol)  An au where, instead of kissing him on the bridge, Anya tells Dmitry they're in danger and they go into hiding together.

Younger Than Springtime: (tumblr post) (G, 3k, modern au, one-shot for now, skater!anya, dmitry pov)  Dmitry finally gets the courage to talk to the cute girl with the skateboard, but accidentally sets up a date that's more than he bargained for.

The Way You Look Tonight: (T, 36k, modern au, multi-chapter, fluff, assistant!dmitry, mutual pining) When her sister mentioned Papa had hired a new assistant, Anya didn’t expect him to look like… that. an au where Dmitry is Nicholas Romanov's personal assistant and there is a rule against dating employees.

grapejuice: (tumblr post) (G, 4.8k, canonverse, one-shot, missing scene, fluff)  Anya discovers her love of shopping haute couture after arriving in Paris. And she also discovers Dmitry cleans up... really well.

Nothing Is What it Was: (tumblr post) (G, 46k, canon-divergent, multi-chapter, ghost au) For the record, Dmitry did not believe in ghosts. He didn't have the luxury. Until he started living with one.

Joyeux Noel: (tumblr post/illustration) (G, 9.7k, modern au, one-shot, holiday fic) Five times Anya runs into Dmitry on accident, and one time she finds him on purpose. Or the holiday fic where Anya decides Dmitry is her arch nemesis but Dmitry doesn't get the memo.

Laundry: (tumblr post) (T, 3k, modern au, one-shot, friends to lovers, fluff) “You want… to kiss me? And I give you feedback?”

Sleep on the Floor: (WIP) (tumblr post/gifset/moodboard) (playlist) (M, 47k, modern au, road trip au, multi-chapter, friends to lovers, smut, angst, hurt/comfort, grief, running away, etc) Anya runs from her grief. Dmitry follows her, as he always does. Neither of them really knows what they're getting themselves into.

There Is an Indentation in the Shape of You: (M, 3k, one-shot, canon-divergent, smut, missing scene) (Part i of The Lakes series) Anya is stressed. Dmitry provides some distraction. (Or, to put it bluntly, they sneak off during the ballet)

I Don’t Belong, My Beloved, Neither Do You: (M, 26k, one-shot, canon-divergent, post-canon, smut, fluff, pillow talk) (Part ii of The Lakes series) Anya and Dmitry have parted ways, both settled into their roles as grand duchess and (reformed) conman respectively. But when they encounter each other again, well. Conman and princess make it work. Or a post-canon au where they see each other in secret for a bit.

before you came into my life, i missed you so bad: (WIP) (T, modern au, multi-chapter, actress!anya, bookshop!dmitry, fluff, inspired by notting hill 1999) Anya is the movie star the entire world is in love with. Dmitry is some broke owner of a dying bookshop in St. Petersburg. Her face is on every billboard, he couldn't care less about the latest blockbuster. But when their paths cross, somehow their differences-- nor half the globe separating them-- don't seem to matter.

Remind Me: (T, 8k, one-shot, wwii era au, friends to lovers, nurse!anya, injured!dmitry, angst, hurt/comfort, blood and injury) “Dmitry?” “Hey,” he croaked. She reached him, kneeling beside him, touching his face. Her eyes adjusted more to see his lips pulling at the corners. His face, though caked in a layer of dust, was, as always, too handsome and smug for his own good. “You okay?” The question was so ridiculous coming from him she wanted to laugh. “Can you move?” “I’m a bit stuck,” he said, the sound of metal creaking and fabric shifting.

No More Pretend: (T, 7.4k, one-shot, canonverse, missing scene, fluff/angst, hurt/comfort ish) Missing scene from somewhere in the traveling sequence. 

~~~

drabble collection: these were all originally posted to tumblr, but i’ve collected them together on ao3. but i’ll link the original tumblr posts here as well :)

What Endearments Am I Allowed?: post-canon fluff Uncomfortable: spies/Chuck au Mistletoe: holiday rival professors au Waiting: canonverse missing scene bro are we about to kiss rn?: college au country boy i love u: horse girl!anya and delinquent!dmitry Birthdays: more post-canon fluff Not What You Expected: superhero au Hold That Thought: modern au Let Your Heart Be Light: holiday au

[ao3feed-piltovers-finest]

Hello! I'm so grateful for the work you do with the fics! Literally it makes my day better! I was wondering if you have recs for fics longer than 25k words. Thanks :)

Hiya!

I am beyond glad, my friend. I’ve got to be honest, I've done this because I personally can't be arsed to browse A03 manually - and when fics just casually flow over my dashboard, and I can skim through summaries and click and choose what takes my fancy... it's just so handy, isn't it? :)

Now, as for your recs... uhhhh.... from the top of my head – I can’t really think of a lot of canon compliant novel-sized ones you’re looking for, and it would seem that most of the longish ones I liked are - AUs? So if you don't mind those, here are some that I liked more than the others:

The Heart's Epiphany by Cityseeker

An emotionally complex modern, from friends with benefits to lovers to exes and lovers again AU, dealing with… post PTSD and a lot of angst?

House of Bricks by TheHomelyBadger

Action-packed, modern(ish) on-the-run (with lots of twists) AU. Plot driven, quite dynamic, stellar characterisation,

Count the Ways by Sophnyx

Obnoxious-neighbour, enemies to lovers modern AU (that gets progressively emotionally more involving in the second half :)

Sorry for asking but please come and take me home by BluejayBoi

Post-canon (compliant) story about grief, guilt and… love. Some 10k less hefty than what you’re looking for, but totally worth your while. Definitely one of my most fave ones, among these. <3

And, uhh... that’d be all? All the others I liked (and bookmarked, in my own personal fic library ;) are less than 25k. So in the end... here’s also  the obligatory mention of some of the WIPs that I’ve been enjoying as well (updated regularly, so no worries there) that also qualify, length-wise:

The Threads Of Fate Tangle And Twist by Misthios

My absolute fave at the moment, the stunning canon-adjacent (or canon-divergent if you prefer) version of "what-if" they met… in Stillwater, but under drastically different circumstances. Quite dark, violent and... dark. (It's lookin' up, though. ;)

Butterflies (Don't Belong in Zoos) by AmberZ10

A somewhat at times ooc (but the char dev is there, gradually) popstar/fuckboi Vi AU that's... quite fun to read, with its twists, turns and complicated entanglements (quite of bit of angst and smut, mind you) that might at times make you want to break your ebook reader, or laugh out loud. (My guilty pleasure at the mo, yes :)

Aaand that’d be all, from the top of my head? I certainly do hope you haven't already read at least some of them.

Lemme know?

Thanks for your kind words, and... of course, if you enjoyed any - please do also drop note of appreciation and encouragement to those lovely creative folks out there. 

XOXO

[gukyi]

if i told you | jjk

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

{friends to lovers!au, college!au}

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

check out the post-script drabble here!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You knew that already. How could you have forgotten? 

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

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

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

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

“Have you tried babysitting?” Chaewon supplies helpfully. 

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

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

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

Jungkook pouts. He knows you’re right. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Jeon Jungkook is the sole best decision of your life. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s so hard to say no to him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So I’ve heard,” you muse. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And who are you to resist?

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

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

You’re best friends. 

This is normal. 

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

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

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

God. 

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

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

Sighing, you pick up. 

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

“Chaewon—”

“Oh, Y/N! How’s it going?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You did?” You ask, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Who’s that?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Chaewon,” you tell him. 

“Oh, why was she calling?”

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

“To do what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about food?”

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

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

“Gross.”

“Let’s not sit in bed all day.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure thing, is Chaewon coming?”

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

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

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

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

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

Who else could it be?

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

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

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

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

You: ok next time then!

[October 23rd, 1:03PM]

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

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

You: yummm sure thing!

[October 30th, 9:58AM]

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

[October 30th, 11:13PM]

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

[October 31st, 2:02AM]

You: ok You: thanks for telling me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a knock on your door. 

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

And then, you hear,

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

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

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

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

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

“What was Yeonjoo dressed as?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, don’t you want that?” You ask. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He dashes down the hallway. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s a goddess.”

“Indeed.”

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

Not surprising. Jungkook excels at everything he does. 

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

“She said I’d make a good boyfriend.”

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

“You good?” He asks, brows furrowed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How about a dress?”

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

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

“Me?” You frown. “Why not Jungkook?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing separates the rich from the poor like morality. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Im Chaewon, is that you?”

“Mrs. Kim!”

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

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

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

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

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

You are not pre-law.

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

“Yes, definitely,” you say awkwardly. 

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

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

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

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

“Just murder me.”

“Have any tips?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tired?”

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

“I’m honored,” you say sarcastically. 

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

And then, you spot him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That night, you stay at Chaewon’s place. 

“You’ve been acting weird.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is it? How?” Chaewon says. 

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

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

“You?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bullshit.”

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

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

“Why would I?” 

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

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

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

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

“Jungkook?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good?”

Jungkook moans again in response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, you aren’t that lonely. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N?”

Oh, God.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jungkook, what—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, it did, but Jungkook, I can’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know, I’m sorry.” He sighs. 

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

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

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

“You do?” Jungkook asks. 

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

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

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

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

“Mine too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, you pea-eating loser,” you chide, “I love you too.”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

↳ check out the post-script drabble here!

[angeli-marco-writes]

∘◦ ♥ ◦∘ Peter Parker - Everything Happens for a Reason ∘◦ ♥ ◦∘

A/N - I only wrote it a couple of months ago and due to the close nature of it, I haven’t uploaded it anywhere. I hope you like my first (10k) Peter Parker fic. I know that the timeline doesn’t make sense, but in all honesty, Endgame and FFH messed it up plenty so I just kinda placed this in no-mans-time. And I know the compound was destroyed during Endgame, so just bear with the fact that I’ve made it so that Strange and his wizards rebuilt it for survivors :)

Warnings - making out and shadows to sex, SWEARING, bad parenting, mentions of grief, mentions of injury and disability, angst, death of parents etc. Also, don’t read if you haven’t seen endgame because it’ll be spoiled in the first paragraph of this. 

Summary - Stark!reader x Peter Parker, post endgame. Months after the death of your father, your aunt, and the retirement of your uncle, you find yourself in a sticky situation, and to make it even worse, your childhood crush doesn’t even recognise you now. Then again, doing most of your growing up while half of the population is dead doesn’t exactly bode well for your love life nor your commitment issues. When things finally start to turn around while learning to live with a disability, will you still be taken away to live with your step-mother, or will love pan out at last? After all, everything happens for a reason. 

IT'S BEEN JUST OVER THREE MONTHS since the final battle, and therefore just over three months since you said goodbye to the only three role models you had for the most important five years of your life. Well, the three are debatable. 

Your dad had died, still holding your hand, after saving humanity like he always did, allowing the burden of the Stark name to fall onto you at long last. Your uncle Steve - tutor extraordinaire - had officially retired and moved away, and you haven’t seen him since the final goodbye, leaving you more and more doubtful every day you’ll ever see him again. And your aunty Nat let herself go, she pushed herself away from that cliff, and let uncle Clint live, to help give you a better life, but what Nat didn’t realise was that you lost them both that day, because Clint hasn’t been back since. He’s never coming back now from the trauma, the man who was more of a father than your dad ever was.

It was quite possibly the worst period of your whole life, but then again, when half of the world is destroyed before you’ve even hit puberty, you don’t really have much to hold it against.

But here you are again, stuck in your room in the semi-rebuilt compound, grounded by FRIDAY while the step monster and child are at the lake house, living happily ever after. What the issue is, you don’t know. All you did was get a piercing... and be rude to Peter. And Sam. And everyone in the building- ok maybe she has a point, but hey, you’re grieving the loss of everyone major in your life, and you can barely do anything for yourself.

It’s like five years ago all over again. Everyone you’d grown accustomed to, your friends, your mom, your idols - even if they weren’t dead, they were lost for a long time - and your crush. The one and only Peter Parker. Much to your surprise, you got over most of the deaths pretty quickly. There wasn’t much to understand - they were gone and they wouldn’t come back no matter what, so what good would worrying and crying do? Obviously, as a young girl, this was the wrong response, so this is when Pepper got her name. “Don’t be so insensitive! Those were your dad's best friends, people he worked with for years. Those people were his family, and mine, and yours.”

You scoffed at her, the way you always seemed to do. “Yeah, ok. But my mum died, and am I making a fuss? No. She died for a reason, they all did,” and under your breath, you added “I still just need to figure that reason out.”

You held back from the obvious “they were my family too” bullshit, because your dad never believed that, even when you spent most of your time at his house with the Avengers instead of him. It wasn’t that you hated your mom or your dad, you loved them both equally and spent time with them both, but when one dies and one goes missing and spirals into lord knows what after going missing in space with a blue alienoid, everything gets a little complicated and stops making sense. Spending more time with your dad was scary too, seeing the intricacies of Avengers life in a capacity which you didn’t understand for a long time growing up. That only lasted for a year before he took off and made you be a tennis ball in a flawed game between him and Rhodey. Every weekend for five years you drove from the compound to the lake house. You lost out on a lot from that, and your dad didn’t even seem phased, because he had Morgan. 

But beneath all of the hatred that had made you so rebellious since you turned fifteen, there was something deeper.

Considering how stone faced and resolute you are and always have been, considering how harsh you are about the realities and never getting caught up in mindless emotions, no matter how much you claim that your grieving time was over the second that you pushed your dad's heart away, mere weeks after feeling his pulse drop as you laced your fingers with his, no one would believe that it was all a lie.

Every night since that snap more than five years ago, you’ve done the same thing. Make a cup of hot chocolate (an iced decaf latte if it was summer), and you’d take it to bed and just cry until you could no more and simply fell asleep. You weren’t even sure why you cried, because after all there wasn’t really any reason to. The world was moving on, albeit slower than before, and your life  was about as much locked into place as it could be with Tony Stark as your father, but the crying just felt obligatory. After ten, FRIDAY always turned off in your room, that was the agreement your mom had with your dad whenever you stayed there, although you weren’t sure why it made a difference, and it just stuck, so no one saw the pointless tears, no one heard, and no one cared. The only one who ever did care enough whenever you cried had been snapped away, and now he was back, you were just another repugnant face in the crowds, or so you’d guess with the way he looked down upon you.

 “It’s ok dad,” you said with a completely straight face, your hard eyes locked onto his, your entire being completely void of emotion, “you can go to sleep.”

He squeezed your hand with his forefinger and middle finger, very lightly, and he just croaked out his final words to you, “my beautiful Sloane, so brave.” So quiet that they were only decipherable to you.

“Life functions critical,” the Irish accent rang in your ears.

Pete had already said his goodbyes, but now it was Pepper’s turn as she wiped your dad's tears away. This time you should’ve been there for each other, a support for one another, after all, they were losing him together and were in the same boat, but sometimes even grief can’t bring people together. 

“Tony, look at me. We’re going to be ok..” she pleaded. 

Your dad's eyes moved from yours to hers, a sluggish movement that took the remaining life from him. He moved his lips to form two words that broke your heart, because you knew that they were directed at all of you, and they meant so much more than anyone else could understand. Those words were his attempt at making up for being such a shit dad. ‘I’m sorry.’ 

Pepper kissed him. “You can rest now.”

You didn’t even look around to see anyone else’s face , especially not Peters or Peppers, because as soon as his pulse stopped and his skin slipped from your grip, his body cold, you knew that the chapter of your life with your father in it was over, so you pulled your mask back over your face, and strutted away, as far as possible. You ignored your limp completely, because with all of the numbness, it was like you couldn’t even feel the pain. Except you didn’t disappear, no way, you couldn’t. You watched as they all knelt for him, for the man who missed all of your firsts in life, who was absent when you needed a father and a friend and a leader, and even though you were chronically broken within, every terrible emotion gnawing at you, screaming at you to just feel something and express it; you didn’t. You suppressed it all, and walked away. And of no surprise to you at all, no one followed, or even noticed you were gone.

After all, Tony Stark died for a reason, and at least this time you knew what that reason was. 

 “Miss?” Someone’s snapping their fingers beside your ear, driving you mental but also snapping you awake from whatever dream that was, reliving the scariest day of your life. “Miss, you fell asleep at the table. We’re clearing it for dinner, please.”

You roll your eyes up at him, instantly recognising Pete’s voice, but you just don’t care. He doesn’t even know who you are. So you scoff, the way you did at Pepper so long ago, and you leave without a second glance.

“Are you a relative of Nat’s? I- I heard someone was coming over to stay...” his voice yells down the corridor.

“You can’t be serious Peter. You don’t recognise me at all?”

And with that, you snatch your water bottle from the edge of the counter with your spare hand and resolutely stamp off down the corridor, your feet loosely wading in your docs with your crutch assisting you along the way.

You’re leaving soon, so you won’t have to deal with him. But you still have another year or two of high school to compete with, and with your tutor gone - your dad refused to send you back to school after the snap, so it was left up to whoever wanted the job, and Cap wanted it a lot more than he did, so you spent your weeks driving from the city to the lake house after finishing the weeks tutoring, to spend time with your ‘family’ - and now, you seriously doubted that anyone else would want the job. Bucky is too hormonal and grieving the loss of his best friend, Banner is freaking you out, Clint is off the grid from another breakdown and it’s like he’s not even human anymore, Wilson is too busy with his new training regime and fighting Buck, and Scott doesn’t know the first thing about what you need to learn thanks to his ditsy persona. Which only leaves Pepper and Rhodey, and which forces you to go back and live in the lake house, away from the shambles of the rebuilt compound, all thanks to Strange and his wizards.

Maybe this is what you need, because now you don’t have to see Pete and get offended every single time he forgets your name and doesn’t have a clue who you are.

That night, you skipped your crying routine, and felt no better nor worse off for doing so. You simply dosed up on your painkillers and drifted off to sleep, filled with irritation and dreams of a mousey hero.

 For the next couple of days, you’d just gone about your business and avoided the funny looks from all of the other Avengers at your foul demeanour. None of them that were in and out of the rebuilt compound ever really took notice of you anymore, and you weren’t sure that any of them recognised you anymore, not with all of the piercings and hair dye and the crutches. After all, the last time most of them knew you, you were an annoying child who watched them work and ate dinners with them, and your dinners consisted of smiley face waffles and chicken nuggets. And besides, you were perfectly able back then, and you often had little friends over, or your mom would pop in to say hi on your way home. There’s no chance of that happening anymore. Bucky had recognised you, smiled at you, and occasionally made jokes about you being crippled together, so with any issues you could just turn to him, but this Peter thing annoyed you too much to talk about it, and you didn’t know why. 

Speak of the devil-

“Hey, can I sit?” He asks, standing just behind the sofa and hovering awkwardly.

“I don’t care,” you say, all of your words merging and slurring. You signal to the seat beside you yet far enough away for him not to be a bother, and he takes it.

“So h-how are you?” 

You watch him suspiciously out of the corner of your eye, because you can just feel his eyes on you, namely on your tits that had suddenly appeared in the last few years. 

“I’m fine thank you, Peter. It’s not like no one knows who the fuck I am and I’m living in a literal post war, dystopian, apocalyptic world all alone. How are you, Spider-Man?”

He blanches before your eyes, and you can physically see any words die in the back of his throat.

“I-I’m good.”

Everything stills for a little while, and the only sounds are what's playing on TV and Peter’s occasional swallows, making his Adams apple Bob in your peripheral view. He doesn’t dare look at you, and you can just sense his agitation, mainly from the way he fidgets and weighs the sofa cushions down weirdly with his weird spider legs. 

It only takes half an hour for you to wear down and ask him the burning question, his presence beside you enough to make your skin tingle in anticipation and anger bubble within, not to mention the girlish sense that overwhelms you, so contrasting to your dark clothes and self-given bridge piercing. 

“Why don’t you speak to me anymore, Peter? Do you seriously not recognise me?”

His eyes fall and his face turns sallow, and he stammers over a few consonants, unable to form any real words.

“I’m Tony’s daughter.” You announce, facing him head on. “Y/N Stark.”

Only after you’ve said that do you realise that he’ll have absolutely no clue what you’re saying, but you can see the cogs whirring in his head as everything is pieced together. His eyes lock onto yours, and they’re the one feature you haven’t changed about yourself in the years that he was gone.

“I changed my name last year, I used to be-”

“-Sloane Stark.” he finishes with you. 

He doesn’t take his eyes off yours, too lost in them after he’s been without them for so long. Something’s clicked inside, but scepticism overtakes him. You grasp your hair into a makeshift ponytail at the base of your neck, all the loose ringlets in different shades tickling your neck, but it reveals a thin, pale, bumpy scar on your skin; a thin and jagged line that runs from the base of your ear to the start of your clavicle. You’ve had it since you were 11, when Peter first became a regular at the compound and you began to play together, but then an accident happened, and Peter stayed by your side as you got the stitches, holding your hand. 

Finally, he cottons on, and you can see the tears welling up in his chocolate brown orbs.

“Sloane…”

He virtually leaps from his seat and throws his arms around you, completely overcome with all kinds of inexplicable feelings. Love seeps from his body into yours, he clings to you, and even buries his nose into your hair, taking a deep inhalation before sighing in contentment. Even when the average hug time has passed, he doesn’t release you, and keeps his arms wrapped like a koala around your shoulders, his body slowly getting closer and closer towards you and for some reason making you blush. Your arms remain limp around him, and your forefinger traces figures on his lower back, but you don’t squeeze him as much as you did when the surprise of his cuddle attack first hit you. 

He eases himself away, but still keeps his hand on your arm, a gentle and warm presence. 

It doesn’t hit you for a while that it’s the first hug you’ve received in months, and the first one from Peter in five and a half years.

“I’m guessing that you didn’t snap away like the rest of us then…?” he asks shyly. 

His spare hand immediately retracts and rubs the back of his neck anxiously, just the way he used to, but only now do you understand why.

“Nah, I didn’t,” you say, “Sadly I was stuck here in this shambles of an earth, dealing with everyone else's depression and having a little sister forced upon me. I couldn’t even go to school, it was awful.”

His face falls into a deep frown and he searches your face for any sign of your words being cynical, but he finds nothing.

“W-why did you change your name then?”

You shrug, for what feels like the hundredth time in his presence, “Sloane is an awful name, it means ‘raider’ in bloody Irish. None of my family is Irish, my dad suggested the name when he was drunk, and my mum couldn’t think of anything better. Y/N makes me feel like me.”

He nods understandingly and doesn’t push the matter, so you offer a half smile and move your attention back to the TV.

“Why did you change you?” he asks all of a sudden.

The question instantly ingrains itself into your brain, and makes your heart ache. Why would he ask such a thing? Doesn’t he understand what's happened? Why does he even care? But the last thought makes you sick to your stomach, because you know that he always has cared and he always will, he promised you that the first time he was babysitting you and you got all het up over something on the TV. Maybe a part of him knew that it was you all along but he just couldn’t broach the subject, or maybe he didn’t and he thought you’d been snapped away and you simply hadn’t returned. No matter what it was,you knew that you couldn’t blame him, but as his question bounced around your brain and repeated, you had no idea what happened, but you felt any compassion shrivel up, your heart grew cold, your demeanour turned harsh, and your kind response died in your throat. You look him dead in the face and straighten yourself up, your eyes devoid of all feeling.

“My mom died, all of my idols and my family and school friends died - Scott, Buck, Sam, you - and my dad was never the same again. I was left with him and the step monster who, who for the record doesn't even like me because of my mom, and Morgan came along, so they forgot about me, and I only stayed three days a week because the rest of the time I was stuck here with a depressed Nat and  counsellor Steve, and the latter had to teach me everything I needed for the finish of middle school and my freshman and sophomore years, which was hard in itself. Dad was so depressed, he wouldn’t listen to the words I said about the other Avengers, so apart from Steve tutoring me, I basically raised myself for two years, without friends or anything, and they were two of the most important years of my life . Everyone forgot about me. I was just turned fifteen and more adept at coping in this world than any adult I’ve known. I hated my name and what came with it, and I never really liked myself, that's always been the case. I hated my appearance and I had no one to make me feel nice when you died, because you always told me that I was pretty, just like a princess, and you kept me sane. Fuck, Pete, you held me together, and all of that faded when you died, because as soon as you were gone, everything else around me crumbled.” You inhale a sharp intake of breath, and move to stand, snatching your crutches from the floor. “Long story short, while all of you were gone, I grew up. I’m 17 now, I may be different to how you remember but at least I feel comfortable now. I really did grow up peter, and you need to start doing the same. My dad is never coming back.”

And just like the days before, you scurry off back to your room and bury any inhibitions beneath your pillow, leaving Peter in the living room, completely crushed and left to mull your words over alone while he waits for May to get home.

 Five days later, and you can’t take the silence anymore. Peter practically hides and runs for shelter each time he hears you approach, you saw the footage on FRIDAY’s cams. It really upset you for the first two days, but with each shy, rushed smile and fleeting glance he takes at you, each one that makes your stomach do little flips, they just remind you how cruel you were to him, how brutally honest, when Peter needs more time to heal than you do most likely, as your dad meant more to Pete than he did to you, and if anything then that's a reflection on Tony. He wanted a son. Maybe Peter feels guilty, mabe he’s sad, maybe he just straight up doesn’t like you, but whatever it is, you don’t fucking like it, so you’re preparing for the move in two days time. Far earlier than planned. 

With each piece of clothing you fold, with each piece of metal shrapnel you toss into your jewellery box, with each eyeliner you tuck away in a bag, you run everything that's happened in the past week through your head. You called Scott up to see how he’s getting on with Hope and Cassie, you spoke to Laura - no longer a secret - who just told you that Barton is in almost as bad a place as before, just without the machetes and with a lot more crying and whiskey, you spoke to Rhodey for an update on the lake house/new home situation and put all of the plans in place, but you did shut down his heartfelt offer to be another father figure, starting with a controversial suggestion to send you to therapy or rehab for your ‘lashing outs’, and you’d made amends with Sam who was surprisingly okay with your whole new thing going on, and he said he loved your vibe and gave hair dye suggestions, making you rethink your decision to leave all over again. Bucky had taken you shopping, hoping for retail to cure both of your depressive episodes, but it didn't really help even if the long, deep conversation over milkshakes at a nearby diner did help, and he cradled your head in his lap as you told him you’d miss him more than the others. He told you that you were being stupid about Peter and that the kid really likes you, but you retorted with a scoff, saying he’d never fancy you the way you fancy him.

Ah, yeah, that revelation, the one which makes you throw a sweater full force into your open trunk, sitting at the base of your bed. With a loud groan, you throw yourself dramatically down onto the bed and savour the soft comforter for one of the last times; after all, the place will probably be gone, along with the remnants of FRIDAY by the time you return, if you ever go. 

“Where are you off to?” Peter asks from the doorway, his voice inquisitive and startling you from your angered daze. 

He must’ve seen your bags half packed in your room, lying out on your bed beside you. You turn your head to look at him, your eyes thin and bullet-like.

“I’m leaving.” You snap rather viciously, and prop yourself up on your elbows. “The Cap’n has gone, and I’ve been out of school too long to go back. The Step-Monster needs to ‘tutor me’, and I need to teach the little brat.” You’re referring to Morgan, but Peter doesn’t seem to pick that up by the looks of his furrowed brows. He certainly looks relaxed though, leaning against your doorframe. 

“Why can’t you stay here?” Peter asks and You shrug, unsure how to respond. “I- I’m sure Mr Falcon would help teach you, or- or Wanda?”

Shit, Wanda. You’d practically forgotten she existed from how much of a recluse she was now. You should probably go and check on her or at the very least have a chat with her. She was dead for five years, just like Vis, but when she comes back she’s still not over him after months? Sounds fake but ok...

“Wanda has even less of an education than I do.” You retaliate with a foul attitude and an even fouler taste in your mouth, turning your back on him when you stand, and going back to your packing. You try your best to ignore his presence, but you can just feel him hovering metres away, itching to do or say something to you.

“Well then you can stay living here and enrol in Midtown High with me. We’d be the same year now and I could show you the ropes.”

Ok now you know he’s fucking with you.

“Peter, I can’t go to midtown.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve been out of co-ed for too long, let alone education, as I haven’t had any since like fucking February, and I’m too traumatised and crippled for them. How would that look eh? Y/N Stark enrolling for junior year after the death of The Tony Stark?” Peter goes quiet. “And anyway, it’s not like I have the brains, at all. I’m not smart like you, Peter. I’m as thick as two short planks. I got my mom’s brains and some of my dad's abilities. I can chuck on suits all I like, I can build shit all day, and I can play sports like no one's business; or at least I could.” Having your one ankle completely useless is a complete bummer, maybe even more so than losing everyone, because now you actually have to live with being this way. They don’t have to live. “But the second you give me a math equation, I’m gone.”

“Couldn’t you live with your mom then? Mr Stark said she doesn’t live too far out of state, nowhere near as far as the lake house.”

“My dads fucking dead Peter, he doesn’t control shit anymore” You find yourself shouting, your eyes burning into his with a fire of fury behind them. “My mom came back after the snap but she hasn’t answered any of my calls, and she fled the house when I turned up on her goddamn doorstep. She ain’t no option anymore, my authority is Potts.”

He gives you a sad smile but slinks away. No surprise there, last time he saw you, you were twelve years old and tugging on his trouser leg to get him to play basketball with you. You didn’t have anywhere near this level of anger, and you’d never have dared scream at him, let alone repeating the words that hit him like daggers mere days ago. 

 The next day comes too soon, and you’re just chilling , finishing up the last of your packing, and trying to ignore anything pushing you to stay. Why did your chat with Peter compel you to want to stay here instead? What is it about him that always brings you full circle, and makes you feel like that love struck child again?

From your mirror, as you’re adjusting your blouse and switching out your nose stud, you see Peter approaching, steadily advancing down the corridor. Twice he stops, and takes a step back, as well as turning and looking the other way as though doubting his decision to come into your room, but when you see his knuckles come in contact with the wood of your door, as he knocks gently, and the sound floats into your ears, making you turn around to see his meek smile with his head hung low.

“You can come in Pete,” you exhale, “I won’t bite your head off.”

He chuckles lowly and advances towards the bed. He gestures, and you nod, giving him permission and hobbling over to join him moments later. He seems flustered, you can tell me by the way he’s struggling to maintain eye contact and the manner in which his hands are convulsing in his lap. Seeing him like this makes you uncomfortable, and you can even feel bile rising in your throat. 

“Peter, I-”

“No, Y/N, please let me, I mean, I wanna talk.”

You smile and bow out, allowing him space to align his thoughts with his words, after all, you’ve known that it takes him a while to do that, but it’s necessary in any kind of emotional situation with someone as awkward as Petter; just the thought causes butterflies to flutter around in your stomach and windpipe.

“I’m sorry for yesterday, for nagging you and insisting, and for asking you those questions and trying to make you stay. I just, I really just don’t want you to leave. I was insensitive, and I should’ve recognised you beforehand.” You can feel tears pooling behind your eyes, and it takes all of your willpower to not let them fall. “I just want you to do as well as you can, and I wish you all the best, I just wish I could’ve gotten to know you better  before it was too late; ok Stark?”

His lips quirk into a smile, yet his voice breaks as he calls you Stark. It physically hurts to hear him say that, and you want to tell him that it’s okay, and he has every right to be upset and grieving, and you know you shouldn’t have shouted at him and gotten so defensive because after all he’s one of the only people you can let your guard down around. You just want to say that it’s not his fault, except you can’t find the words.

“Why can’t you stay?” He asks sincerely, even a touch of desperation there.

Your heart drops to your feet at his expression, and your next words come out as a hushed, pained whisper, your words slow and detached. “I have no reason to stay.”

He nods dejectedly, almost like he’s giving up on something, and he even moves to stand up while your eyes are glued to the way his muscles ripple with each movement, but halfway to being upright, he changes his mind and turns towards you.

The next thing you know, you feel the soft pressure of his thumb on your chin, followed by the pads of his fingers on the soft skin underneath, tilting your head up to look him in his gorgeous eyes, like molten honey in the soft sunlight of your bedroom. Just the sight of his lips slightly parted causes your mouth to go dry, but you don’t have too long to think about that, because all of your thoughts dissipate with the featherlight pressure and sweet, intoxicating taste of his lips on yours. His nose nudges your cheek ever so gently. It’s barely there, and over far too soon, it still makes your head spin. Christ, you’ve been waiting for that to happen for upwards of five years, and it was just as beautiful as you hoped it would be.

“How about now?” He inquires, a stark contrast of shyness and courage written all over his face.

“Why don’t you kiss me again and we’ll find out?”

You fist the fabric of his t-shirt and pull him towards you, leaving Peter shocked by the strength in just one hand, seeing as he finds his body hovering above yours just seconds later. He looks hungry, already ravishing you with his eyes as you kiss and kitten lick just below his ear. He holds his weight up but leaves no time to press his lips against yours, urgently, passionately. You moan a little at how desperate he is to get his hands on you, the way he knots one hand in your hair, splayed out on the pillow beside you, the way he’s senselessly grinding his crotch onto you. You don’t mind at all, especially not the breathy calls of your name he lets out when you knot your legs around his lower back to pull him closer. It's a primal desire that keeps you moving. His tongue glides across your lower lip, prying its way in, and you just let it happen, too caught up in the moment to do anything else.

“Pete, fuck…”

Your one hand slides under his shirt and runs across the ripples of his abs, you savour the way he tenses beneath your touch, the way the scars feel tenders beneath your hungry touch. You other hand threads into his soft brown locks. You pull gently and elicit the most perfect guttural groan from him.

“Y/N,” he almost pleads, and his lips move to gently suck on your jawline. 

You’re surprised that he isn't calling you Sloane, but you certainly aren't complaining. Your name from his tongue does things to you that you can’t even explain.

You dance your fingers from his hair across to his face, and push his cheek gently. Your eyes are thin, focussed on him, but Peter’s pupils are heavily blown with lust, leaving only a faint rim of golden brown around the edge. 

“You’re so perfect,” he rasps out, and your stomach coils in desire. Your face must look so pouty, so wanton, but you can’t find it within yourself to care.

“Fuck me, Peter.”

He looks like a deer in headlights momentarily, but gets over it quickly, attaching his lips back on yours and allowing his tongue to roam your mouth, savuring and swallowing every whimper and moan that escapes your pretty lips.You let your hand, the one still beneath his shirt, skim over his muscles to where his heart is, beating at a double pace, thrumming gently beneath your hand. It makes your ego inflate tenfold, knowing that you’ve gotten this flustered and needy.

Just as you’re really getting lost in the pleasure, Peter’s hand cupping and massaging your breast as his mouth works wonders on intoxicating you, you hear a rather loud cough from your doorway, and everything stops. You and Peter both freeze at the same moment, and you drop any stance, fully detaching yourselves to glance at who’s there.

“You kids should be careful, and next time, close the door.”

And with that, Bucky’s gone from view as quickly as he appeared, leaving you both with a mere glimpse at him in his sweats with a coffee cup in his hands, no doubt filled with earl grey tea being the old lady he is. 

In the heat of the moment, you’d both forgotten to close the door and turn FRIDAY off. And Rhodey can access all of the footage. Fuck. Oh well, you’ve already been caught once, why stop now?

You wrap an arm around Peter's shoulders and pull yourself up until you’re straddling his lap and upper thighs, eagerly rubbing yourself against the material of his jeans to try and get some kind of friction. He slides an arm around your waist, and you move in to kiss him, only for him to turn his head the other way. 

The moment couldn’t have been lost from Bucky’s playfully snarky comment, could it? You want nothing more than for him to kiss you again, earnestly, fervently, but he doesn’t even spare you a glance, not even when he pushes you from his lip and stands up with his head in his hands.

Apparently he doesn’t feel the same.

“Crap, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. Why did I do that? Y/N…”

He even begins to pace, that’s when you know that he thinks he’s fucked up.

“You know why I shouldn’t have done that right, don’t you?” he asks, stuttering random syllables in no specific order, but you do notice that with each pace, he paces his way closer to your open door.

“Yeah,” you lie, but you’ll work that out tonight, “I get it. But it’s fine. And I need to pack…”

He smiles nervously, and with a few careless gestures and no words, he stalks into the corridor and closes your door behind him. You can hear him lettering a long-held breath out. 

All of a sudden, you feel completely sick to your stomach. Why would he do that? It was so God damn cryptic. One second he’s apologising, asking you to stay, pashing you senseless, and the next he’s keeping as much distance from you as possible, apologising, and treating you like a child.

That’s when it hits you.

He feels like he’s kissing the old you. You grew up without him there, and in the space of what was merely a nap to him, you grew five years older, grew tits, matured, changed every aspect about yourself, and developed a sex drive; whereas he didn’t change one bit, he’s still the same peter that he was when you were an aggravating child, crushing on him from afar and trying to be like him. He feels predatory at kissing you, because all he’s ever known you as is a child, and this is all new territory, a territory he’s too scared to broach because he can’t get permission from the man himself.

Maybe that’s why your dad had to die, so that you’d never end up with Peter, and that’s Earth punishing you for some godforsaken reason.

So you just lie there, far salty tears involuntarily dripping down your cheeks as you sit there and think. Will you ever just be fucking happy?

 Happy’s set to pick you up at noon today, and after a night of scarcely five hours of sleep, you are not in the mood for anyone and their funny business, especially not Peter, and you aren’t exactly peppy for the hour long drive to arrive there with the Bimbo and the Brat. Well, at least everyone has low expectations of you, so it shouldn’t be that much of an issue when you simply scowl at them and flip them off until you chuck yourself into the car and wave them goodbye for the last time. You’re not sure if the gravity of the situation has hit you yet, maybe you’re repressing it, or maybe it simply just does not bother you, the same way that most things don’t.

You don’t even bother with your appearance, and stick to black trackies and a cropped tank top, with a mildly colourful button-down open over the top. Seeing as your docs are packed in the ‘hide from Pepper’ box, you toss on your worn down black converse and begrudgingly throw your hair up in what you hoped would be a messy bun but ends up looking more like a lopsided half-up ponytail, so you snap the hair tie and throw it away. Hey, that’s an easy way to deal with the Peter issue. Snap him in half and chuck him in the trash where he rightfully belongs after yesterday. 

All you have for breakfast is an iced coffee, and justly so, no one dares even make eye contact with you. By ten, all of your bags are out in the hallway, and not a single personal affect is left in your room. You say a quick goodbye to FRIDAY, and hobble out into the living room, where you spend the next almost two hours either staring blankly ahead of you and ignoring what’s on the screen, or picking at your crutches while you analyse the previous day with Peter. No matter how much you want to hate him, you can't refute the way he made you feel, completely under his control, so willing and malleable, so eager and hungry and loved.

 Happy pulls up at 11.55, and you begin to help him load everything into the car, but get refused after two bags and therefore two trips downstairs after you nearly fall face first and your crutches slip from your arms. The rest is down within seconds by Sam and Bucky.

You said goodbye to Wanda a couple of days ago when you popped in for a chat, but she’d still made her way out here, so you give her a quick hug and wish her well, and you see that May has made her way out to see you off, but Peter is nowhere to be found which makes your cheeks burn with anger.

“I’m so sorry for now knowing who you were my love,” she tells you, running a hand through your hair, “Peter told me all about you before it all happened, he said you were such a cutie, and I know that he would’ve made more of an effort had he recognised you.”

You chuckle softly, hug her, and simply don’t reply. What are you supposed to say to something like that? Bucky and Sam appear back at the top of the stairs and advance towards you, knocking each other out of the way in a playful battle to hug you first. Sam wins by tickling Bucky just beneath his ribs, and bear hugs you, making you feel like a baby koala. 

“Use protection next time, and please, God, shut the door.” He whispers in your ear, making you jump away, your jaw slack, utterly aghast, but he just laughs at your expense.

“You told him about that?” you accuse Bucky, shoving a finger at his chest.

He raises his hands in surrender and even lets out a chuckle before cuddling you, his metal arm somehow a comforting presence around you. 

“Of course I did, Doll. It was too good not to tell.”

You swat him gently on his chest, but instead of pulling away just yet, you bury your face in his t-shirt for possibly the last time. 

“You two kids get along, or I might have to come here and whip your asses.” you glance between Bucky and Sam, making them laugh, but they nod nonetheless and step backwards to join May, allowing you to leave. You grasp your crutches and let your arms fall through the rests, your hands slipping around the handles like second nature, and you start to make your way out. Something that resembles hope begins to blossom in your stomach, so you muster all of your courage and take a fleeting glimpse over your shoulder, but much to your disappointment yet not very much surprise, he isn’t there. You feel something within your chest physically break, and with the pain all over your body, emotional above all else, stemming from betrayal, you wouldn’t be surprised if it isn’t your heart strings. Oh well, you tell yourself, and in recovery from bowing your head down in embarrassment, you hold your shoulders high with any remaining pride as you take the few steps to the door, ignoring the tears that begin to fall. Your tears are possibly the most confusing thing about this ordeal, you never cried before, not from emotion at least. 

“Stop- Y/N, wait, please Sloane…” you hear breathless shouts, followed by hurried footsteps on the linoleum. Instantly, you recognise his voice. “Please stop, I’m begging you.”

You halt your steps, and prop your crutches against the wall, but are slow to turn around, and even when you do, it takes you a moment to actually meet his gaze. His eyes hold all of the hurt he’s feeling. He hardly slept, you can tell by the red rims and deep, sallow bags. The warm chocolate colour is slightly murky, something of an anger in them, maybe even a sense of loss.

You can’t track anything more, because you take one step forwards, and he begins to virtually sprint towards you, his hair bouncing as he dashes across the floor and entwines his arms around you like vines, relentlessly squeezing you and ceasing to let go. He simply just stands there, glued to the spot, holding onto you, and once more you feel the tears well in your eyes. You’ve never been hugged this way, not by anyone, so you make the most of it and gently grasp his t-shirt to draw him impossibly closer, his scent enveloping you in a blanket of warmth and adoration. He moves one hand up to knot in your matted hair, and buries your head closer into his shoulder, which you welcome, even if you’re wetting the shoulder of his shirt with your tears. You lose count of the time until you let go, just savouring the way he holds you so lovingly, and you don’t particularly ever want to let go. All of the rest of the world has disappeared. But still, you both detach yourselves just a little, and you find your lips mere inches away from his perfect lips. Without another thought, something otherworldly takes over, and you find your lips planted together in the most intimate way possible. The tip of his tongue barely has to swipe your lower lip before you grant him access, and as you do, your mind and soul proclaim thanks to the gods. He tastes like heaven and cherry pie - his favourite - and he feels even better. The way his tongue dances with yours is like a massage, second nature, and God, you never want it to stop with how crazy he’s making your mind go, let alone the flock of butterflies fluttering around your stomach. His one hand shifts to the small or your back, and you find yourself wrapping your arms even tighter around Peter until your hands touch, and you have him held in place, in the most perfect position, the one where you know he belongs.

You separate, gasping for air and gulping as much down as you can in such a short amount of time before his hands are in your hair again and he’s kissing you just as sweetly, yet hotly, as before. The sensual way he gazes at you makes your insides turn to mush in seconds, and you have to look away even before he kisses you again because you fear you shan’t be able to keep his gaze if you ever want to leave this place with your heart intact. This kiss isn’t as long, you realise that as your hands drop to his waist and stay there lightly, feeling the skin above his hips rippling beneath his tensing muscles. His body shifts, as does his grip on you, and he starts to pepper kisses on your lips and cheeks, just small, precious pecks that keep your heart beating with joy and longing. Just the feeling of his lips kissing away your tears as he hovers above you makes you feel alive at long last, and he makes you feel more cherished than you ever imagined you could.

“You need to go, Happy’ll start honking for you any second.” he breathes, the softness of his breath running your eyelashes and allowing your eyes to flutter clothes, his freckles disappearing from your view for a second. Then, as if on cue, Happy's horn resounds. “I’ll walk you down.”

He looks so crestfallen as he pulls away from your and passes you your crutches, keeping a safe distance. And although you both know that everyone saw, it doesn’t matter, and no one says a word, they all just observe quietly, but you can tell that they’re smiling down on you both. You can still taste your salty tears mingled together pressing on your lips, the taste of just indescribably, distinctly Peter stuck in your mouth, a taste you never want to stop tasting. 

When Peter crushes, you oblige and scramble onto his back as he carries your crutches, and the walk down the stairwell to where Happy’s parked on the sidewalk is a silent one, but it’s still comfortable. There are so many things the two of you want to say to each other, but it’s too hard to express them given that you’re about to be shipped off somewhere that he’ll probably never make your acquaintance again, no matter how much he wants to spend all of his time with you. You’re more conflicted than you’ve ever felt, so stressed, so hurt, but at the same time you’re so happy that you got to make those memories with Peter before you leave, elated that you made up with him, pleased that you got to feel him kiss you one last time. 

When you reach the concrete, Peter gently places you down on your feet, and he puts your crutches into the open door at the back of the car and proceeds to stand nervously beside you, his hands behind his back as he rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet. You have your head down, anxious beyond comparison, just staring at the gravel, until one of Peter's hands comes out from where it was and takes your trembling hand into his palm, his fingers slowly tangling around yours and giving you a gentle squeeze. He switches his gaze over to you and catches your eye. He smiles briefly before bringing your knuckles up to his lips. 

“I’ve fancied you since I was eleven,” you tell him, “That’s almost six years, that’s a long ass time.” a brief hint of humour creeps into your pained, quiet voice.

He just chuckles and rubs his thumb over your knuckles, making you smile, despite the pain of the situation. He speaks to you real soft. “I know.”

Your hand feels like it was meant to fit in his and sends a new sort of warmth shooting through your body, but it doesn’t last long before he’s helping you into the backseat of the car and reluctantly removing his nimble fingers from their grip around yours, and placing a gentle, chaste kiss to your forehead for good measure, a kiss you’ll always treasure.

“Don’t,” you plead, feeling a sob suddenly choke your throat when all that’s left are his fingertips grazing yours. “Don’t let go, Peter, please.”

It’s difficult to remain stoic around Peter now, it’s like everything just completely pivoted the day he kissed you, and if you’re honest, you don’t want to go back. You don’t want to be the hateful girl you once were, just longing for him to come back. Now he is back, you don’t have to wait anymore, and he can help you be your old self again. If only he’d just hold your hand forever, and you could actually be together.

And then it hits you. You need Peter almost as much as you need air to breathe, and if he lets go, you’ll be lost, and it’ll feel like it did for five whole years, you’ll be lonely and isolated, and even in the few days that you’ve had him back in your life, that feeling has completely dissipated and been replaced with an albeit confused elation and a warmth of love. 

“I have to,” he whispers back his eyes already red, “I have to let you go. It’s what Mr Stark would want.”

He pulls away and closes the door in one swift movement, turning his back on you. You see his mop of brunette curls slip down from view when you peer out the window, hot tears burning your cheeks. You know he’s sitting on the side, his head in his hands, but you can’t look that far, so instead you listen to the soft purr of the car as it comes to live, and you let your laboured breath steam up the glass that your hands are placed on. As you begin to pull away, your final glimpse at your old home escaping you, you see Peter waving frantically and beginning to job alongside you, only stopping once you exit the driveway. Thanks to the tinted windows, you know he can’t see you, but you see him anyway and wave back before your pain overwhelms you. That happens the second he’s gone from your peripheral vision, and your chest caves in loud, wrenching sobs that’ll leave you in pain for days. 

Is this what it feels like to have your heartbroken? 

Of course it is, you know this, but all of the times you’ve felt it before, it still hasn’t felt this bad. You know that it’s happening for a reason, that God is punishing you this way for a reason, but no matter how hard you try, it just seems endlessly painful, and all for nothing. What could possibly be the reason for this?

You’re so locked in your thoughts that you barely realise that Happy has slowed the car down, and is looking over his shoulder at you, trying to bring you back down by asking how you are and how you feel. Did he not just see that display?

“If I was allowed to stay,” you slightly pant, your teeth gripping and your first clenching of their own accord, “then it could’ve been me and Peter. Just the two of us, the way it was supposed to be as I was growing up. But everything happens for a fucking reason, right?”

Happy just swallows and mumbles something incoherent before sliding the glass back over and starting up at another steady speed. You don’t know why you’re so... angry all of a sudden; you shouldn’t be angry, you should be upset and almost grieving, crying for the loss of an old home but excited for a new one. But yet, what’s the point in all of that? You’ve felt those emotions plenty of times in your short life, and you always thought you felt them for a reason, but where the ever loving fuck is that reasoning right now when you actually need it? 

Grieving has lost its effect on you by now, and your mind feels hostile from all of the thoughts whirring around. You’ve had the same thoughts every time someone died - every time you thought your dad died, when your mom died, when Peter died, when everyone else just turned to dust. Then you felt them all over again when your dad died, for real this time, but what was the point? Nothing good ever came of it… nothing except grieving for Peter. You felt the same way you do now, only now it's somehow worse, yet he isn’t dead. You grieved for him more than you did your own mother, because he cared, because he actually paid attention, because he told you that you were pretty for the first time in your life. He always treated you like a person, like an equal, even when you were just a clingy child, vying for someone's attention when neglected by both of your parents because they had better things to do. But even now, now he recognises you again, he’s treated you like an equal, maybe even put you on a pedestal after you were extremely terse and treated him horribly. He still kissed you and cared for you and loved you-

SHIT.

You love Peter. Surely that must’ve been obvious for a long time, but now you’re finally admitting it. You really, genuinely, wholeheartedly love the little shit. Your stomach churns with nerves, and your mind tells you that you’re insane, but your heart… your heart has known all along, despite how much you fought it, and it’s now telling you to go along with it. You’re so… overcome with emotions that you don’t even know where to start or how to react or even try to begin to suss them out to deal with them so you do what feels like second nature the past few days, and you begin to cry, unable to choke it down any longer.

“Turn back happy,” you plead, “Shit! I said turn back now Goddammit!”

“I can’t, Sloane, you know I can’t, bosses orders.”

His words just hurt you more, if that was even possible, and pile something new onto the burning pile of emotions battling for territory within your exhausted brain. 

“Happy, turn back right the fuck now, or I will scream until the glass breaks.”

When he does nothing, your sobs become harsher, and something in your throat snaps, forcing you to become hysterical. It’s something primal that takes over your body, a demon's force, because God knows you wouldn’t usually have this in you. You scream. It’s just a shrill sound to begin with, until your heaving chest and tears break through, and make it into a full hysterics game.

“HAPPY! TAKE ME HOME, TAKE ME TO PETER!” you screech, and you repeat the same words until you can’t breathe any longer, but even when your lungs fail you, your hands don’t. 

You clip your seatbelt undone and begin punching the glass. It starts off just to be the dark tinted window separating you from happy and the wheel that would allow you to drive home, but even though the glass begins to wobble, it isn’t enough, so you move to the windows, your knuckles and palms coming in contact with the night shaded glass again and again until they’re rattling and even beginning to crack, but the second you feel you can, you release the most bestial, guttural scream that you can muster, and punctuate it with a rough shove to Happy’s chair.

You want to stop, but with all of the loss you’ve been through, you just need this one thing, this one person, this one place to feel complete, and none of it’s happening. It’s unspeakable, indescribable the way you feel, the turf war that’s occurring all over your body driving you insane. 

“Just take me to Peter,” you finally beg after what seems like an eternity, collapsing completely into your seat, “I need him, Happy. I need Peter, please… please.”

You’re drained, dehydrated, hurt, and it doesn’t seem like that’s going to change any time soon. You’re driving away from the only happiness you’ve ever known to live in the arse end of nowhere with two people you hate, and so a void just takes over everything that previously embodied you, and you succumb to the emptiness, your last thought being of all the tears you’ve cried over one boy, the only one you’ve ever loved, and now you can’t even tell him that. 

It was hard to grieve for someone, only for them to come back, the same way it was hard to grieve for someone who never gave a toss about you. That's what you’re finding so hard about all of this. But now, none of that matters, because he’s gone.

Two months later

The doorbell to the house rings for the third time today, driving you utterly up the wall. First it was the postie with some kind of oversized parcel for Morgan, then it was Happy, here again to help outside and be a ‘watchful eye’ while Pepper is out grocery shopping, apparently since they still don’t trust you rough to take decent care of your own sister.

“MORGAN!” You yell from your place at the back of the house, knowing that from her spot on the sofa in front of paw patrol or whatever shit she’s watching, she’ll hear, “Get the fucking door!”

“Mummy told you not to say bad words, Y/N.” She shouts back, and you can practically hear the signature Stark smirk in her words, although it should be far too early for her to actually be making that face.

That’s one thing they got right with Morgan, though, at least she calls you by your actual name instead of fucking Sloane, even if Pepper does ‘accidentally’ slip up and call you by that awful legacy name from time to time when you really annoy her, say by breaking a vase or some china, or screaming at her using all of the profanities you can think of. She’s really regretting taking you in, now, because you’re simply that much of a handful that she had Happy and Rhodey actually build a quiet room for some respite. You’re still in the rebellious phase, and you don’t seem to be leaving it any time soon, although you have let the dye in your hair grow out and you haven't bleached it… yet, and some of your piercings have naturally closed over, although that was more so that Morgan wouldn’t continually take a metal detector to your face. 

Abrupt, your thoughts escape you, and you can’t catch the thread, because after multiple attempts of Morgan’s to click open the reinforced vibranium locks on the doors (Rhodey’s suggestion), and the shifting of a stool to allow her to climb to it, you hear a shriek and some mess of words that sound like ‘Peter’. But no, that's simply impossible. You’re imagining things in your annoyed state, knowing it would’ve been a lot faster and quieter if you just made your way over there yourself. 

“It’s for you!”

Now this peaks your attention. No one has been to see you in the whole time you’ve been here, nor have you ever gotten mail. No one comes to see you, so maybe your ears didn’t deceive you.

You leap up from your seat and begin charging to the door, running as quickly and carefully as you can over Morgan's toys, but you’re also careful to not aggravate your injury. One good thing that came from your time there - the only good thing - is that you were able to work with your dad's remaining technology and do intensive physio, resulting in your mobility improving tenfold, also meaning that now you can not only walk but kind of run without assistance. But that doesn’t matter as soon as you see the man standing in the doorway, a bunch of flowers in his hand, and an expression of pure delight on his puppy-like features. 

“Y-you can walk?” he blubs, his cheeks red with joy.

The flowers fall from his hands onto the deck, and your eyes fill with tears as your hands fly up to your mouth, only just containing your sobs. Your whole being is overcome with happiness like you’ve never felt before, and it seems like all of your depression since you left him has melted away, and a new you is born.

“You came back for me…” you whisper, just loud enough for him to hear, and in response, he draws his lips into a tight line to contain his smile, and nods his head at you, soft brown curls falling into his soft eyes.

“Why are you sad, Y/N?” Morgan asks, and tugs at your shirt, but you don’t even realise, because the sight of Peter coming towards you is all that you can see and feel, and you begin advancing towards him too, until you collide in a heated kiss. Everything just seems like a tangle of limbs, a clash of teeth, and a battle of tongues. You’re too wrapped up in the feel of him, the passion of the moment, the intimacy of the kiss, that you don’t notice that Peter’s already got you picked up with your whole body tied around him. He tastes utterly delectable, the same as before, and his tongue feels incredible as it sweeps your mouth.

“Morgan-” you pant, “Go find Uncle Happy in the yard, now.” When she doesn’t move, you open your eyes to glare at her, stunned and traumatised into silence with her mouth slightly agape. You can’t bear detaching from Peter’s lips for even a second, so your words are all rushed. “Morgan get out now, I can see him there, in the yard, go!”

The little squirt smiles wryly up at you, but does as she’s told, and scurries off into the mass of flowers and perfectly cut grass. Seeing her gone, you let out a long held breath and smile into Peter’s passionate kiss. All of the love floods back to you, and you feel whole once again. But before you can get too caught up in the sappiness, Peter is already blindly stumbling through the house and kicking the front door closed behind him. Your fingers in his hair, you guide him to the couch.

As he kisses you so tenderly, even in the heated moment, you finally understand what everything was for. Every trial and tribulation in your life was teaching you, helping build you up for this very moment, where it all makes sense.

Everything in life has been for a reason, and that reason is this very moment. The thought makes you smile, but nowhere near as much as Peter’s own smile does.

[unacaritafeliz]

HI I totally reblogged this post for you and one(1) other mutual so, score %)

Direcor's Cut of Of Truth and Love (what bits didn't make it into the story?) and of Check, Chirps and Celly's (Anything you wanna share?) and maybe of 30 Days without an Accident?

... honestly there's a lot more I would like to ask about but three is a good start

firstly - you are far too nice to me moth! secondly - hez also asked for OTAL (Pokemon AU) so I'll answer that in another post.

This got very long so... zukki hockey au and apocalypse au below the cut!

CC&C (Samwell Hockey AU)

this was inspired by @creativityobsessed telling me i only care about nurseydex and zukki and i went "huh - nursey dex chowder = sokka zuko suki" and i never looked back. honestly nurseydex was......... disappointing.......... but zuko will actually do the work so this will be better. it's just a very very indulgent way of letting me stay at samwell tbh. any time someone tells me it "feels like omgcp" i gain fifteen years of my life.

the original fic was pure prose (no dialogue) but i changed it into this very specific (and hard to replicate) narration style of mostly prose with a little dialogue. i quite like the writing style though - it lets me have a good bit of feelings and progression while also getting in some good conversation. and it helps me actually condense months of content into a 10k chapter.

some of it has been planned, but a lot is made up as i go, desperately flipping through bitty's twitter to find shenanigans for the kids to get up to. my favourite check please callback so far is sokka meeting yue the same way chowder met farmer (knocking her over during a piggyback race). i also can't wait to introduce mandy and jenny in chapter three and john johnson, my literal boyfriend, in chapter... six? I also really liked turning June into Jack. That was fun!

also this is the fic that launched the sokkateo even though they very much do not get together in it.

30DWAA (Apocalypse AU)

literally out of nowhere my brain decided that zuko should confess to sokka in the middle of an apocalypse just as suki was about to cut his leg off and the rest of that fic just centered around that! It was always meant as a 3-part of the zukki get together and one day I will write the other two parts (and possibly a fourth part about zukki + mailee breaking azula out of her hospital at the beginning of the apocalypse).

i think having bending powers (or not depending on who you are) is very interesting for zombie apocalypse. We've already seen Zuko use his firebending to cauterise a wound, and have heard Katara's waterbending comes in handy with healing. I also have a lot of ideas for Toph - zombie's obviously sound/move different to regular people so i like thinking of how her combination of no vision + seismic sense helps them out.

idk - i really think the best part of apocalypse aus are people showing up for each other and defending each other and becoming a little found family. i'm very excited about showing how fucking dumb sokka/suki/zuko are. even in an apocalypse.

the title is based on an episode of the walking dead (obligatory glenn deserved better) and the other parts are all named, but not written:

30 Days Without an Accident

The First Day of the Rest of Your Life

What Happened and What's Going On

(prequel) Days Gone Bye

send the name of any of my fics for the directors commentary!