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sixpossumsinatrenchcoat · 1 year ago

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Talking to Ghosts (5/5)

A post-game Omori epilogue exploring how each member of the gang would adjust in the wake of the true end. This time, it's Basil's turn.

It’s Karaoke Night at the Faraway County psych ward.

‘Night’ is relative. Karaoke Night is 4 pm on Tuesdays. And it’s mandatory. Basil knows, because every Tuesday, he begs the doctors to leave him out of it. He’s too tired, or too sad. Or too dangerous. He could be a risk to the other kids. Just let him stay in his room. Please, please, please let him stay in his room, just this once, just for tonight. No one will know. He’s tone-deaf. He has an anxiety disorder, he has a permission slip and everything. The new meds made him lightheaded and he’s afraid he’s going to fall.

But Group Activity is mandatory. No exceptions. Not even for Laurie, who can only store new memories for four minutes at a time, and who sometimes jerks upright halfway through a song to bang on the walls and scream for someone to let her out. Definitely not for Basil, who doesn’t have it in him to make a scene. (Not even at the scene of the crime. Even with his shears buried in the wet mush of Sunny’s eye, Basil never screamed. He never shouted. He only ever whispered. Please, Sunny, please don’t fight. I’m trying to help you. Please let me help you. This is the only way.)

Participation is mandatory, too. You have to go up in front of the other kids and pick a song and then sing it, in front of everyone. With the lyrics scrolling down the staticky screen and eighteen other underage psychos staring staring staring. The only thing you get to choose is your song.

It takes a few tries, but Basil finds the shortest song on the list. It’s ‘Ain’t No Sunshine,’ by Bill Withers. Two minutes and four seconds. And the vocal range isn’t too wide. And it’s, um, ironic. Because of Sunny. And how he went away. And how everything good went with him.

"And I know," Basil is mandatorily, non-optionally required to sing. "I know, I know, I know, I know."

He can’t sing loud enough to drown out the voices. He can still hear the other patients whispering. Weird. Unwanted. Did you hear what he did to his—

You might think it would be easier, being here. More structured. Less… complicated. Without all the excruciating intricacies of high school. But even in the psych ward, there are castes. In-groups and out-groups. Once there are teams, someone has to get picked last.

The Voluntaries are here on purpose. They checked themselves in, or were checked in by loved ones that actually loved them. They’re here because they couldn’t take care of themselves, but they’d like to. Or because they wanted to die, but they’re open to the idea that they won’t always want that. They get patio access by default, and only get it revoked if they find some inventive new way to use flat gray concrete to hurt themselves.

The Involuntaries do not want to be here. They hurt someone, or tried to. Or they don’t even know where ‘here’ is. Or they wanted to die, but they know in their bones that they never won’t.

Basil is here voluntarily. He could have k-killed Sunny. Even if Sunny really refuses to press charges (which is completely insane, after what happened)... Where else would Basil even go? Back to school, where everyone knows what he did? Home, to sleep in a room stained red with Sunny’s blood? No. No, thank you. Basil is here because he wants to be.

…But he’s the only one who’s here for a violent crime, so he gets shunted in with the Involuntaries anyway.

###

Basil sleeps alone.

Not everyone gets their own room. The other kids have to share. Probably because the other kids didn’t try to kill their best friend. Everyone here is broken, but not all of them are dangerous. Not like Basil.

(Everyone knows that Basil is dangerous.)

The other kids are jealous. They haven’t said so, but Basil can tell. He can see it in their faces, their cold flat mouths and hating eyes. Why should he get his own penthouse suite when the rest of us are crammed in like termites? Why should he get rewarded for being worse? But it isn’t a reward to Basil. Basil hates being alone.

(Basil has always, always, always been alone.)

###

In the psych ward, Basil’s schedule looks like this:

8 AM. Wake up. The nurses hand out your meds. They make you say “ahh” so they can check under your tongue.

8:10 AM. Hygiene. The nurse walks you to the shower, if you want to shower.

8:30-11 AM. Sit in your room and wish you were dead.

11 AM. Arts and crafts. The Voluntaries are allowed to take pencils and papers back to their room to draw or write or journal.

12 PM. Lunch. Lunch comes in a flat white tray. It’s gray mush, white mush, and green mush. The nurses say the green mush used to be vegetables, but Basil knows a thing or two about vegetables. Let’s just say he’s not convinced.

12:30-2 PM. Sit in your room and wish you were dead. The Voluntaries get patio privileges for this part. Basil wouldn’t know, because he hasn’t earned patio privileges.

2 PM. Group therapy.

4 PM. Group activity. (This is the worst part.)

6 PM. Dinner. Like lunch, except at night.

6:30 PM. Basil gets his private session with the shrink. It’s supposed to be therapy, but Basil is pretty sure they’re just checking to see how dangerous he is. Not that it would matter if it was therapy. It can’t do Basil any good, because Basil can’t tell anyone why he’s really here.

7:30-8:30 PM. Sit in your room and wish you were dead.

8:30 PM. Lights out. The nurses make you take your meds. They come by every 15 minutes all night to turn on the lights and make sure you didn’t kill yourself with, Basil isn’t sure, maybe the sheets or something? Or just by holding your breath? Basil isn’t sure.

Then you do it again and again and again and again and agai—

###

After they hand out your meds, the nurses check under your tongue to make sure you really took them. Basil always takes them. Why wouldn’t he? Not being on drugs obviously wasn’t working. Might as well try something new.

The pills don’t always feel the same. They do different things on different days. They’re different pills, probably. Different colors and sizes and shapes. The doctors are searching for the perfect cocktail, the right ratio of the right chemicals to make it so Basil can’t gouge out any more eyes, but can still get out of bed without falling down.

Probably if he asked, they’d tell him what they’re giving him. Basil wouldn’t know. He’s never asked. It doesn’t feel very important. And anyway, even if he did get an answer, drug names are basically just noise. Like made-up jargon from a pulpy sci fi novel. Hydraximantus. Fluoroprazodone. 'Hit the warp drive, Venlaxodon. We’ve got to make it through the Fluoxetine system before daybreak.' 'But Captain! The Chlorpromazines barricaded the Ziprasidone wayport!' 'Get ahold of yourself, man! I’ve routed the sub-thrusters through the Olanzapine Engine. Those filthy Sertralines won’t know what hit ‘em.'

Sometimes the pills make Basil feel heavy and slow, and sometimes they make his heart race like a cornered rabbit. Sometimes he feels both ways at once! That’s always interesting. Like Basil is two different people fighting over one body. Or like quantum superposition. Schrodinger’s psycho. Until you've cracked open his skull and looked inside, the subject can be considered simultaneously psychotic and dangerously sane. Is Basil dead inside, or still alive? There’s only one way to find out.

Today, the drugs make time all smeary-slow. The seconds stretch and snap like melting cheese. The tick-tick-tick of the clock on the wall becomes tick… t i c k … . . t i c k . . . . as time dilates around you. Then all at once, the universe seems to realize its mistake and the clock has to race to catch up, tickticktickticktickticktick. Breaths sharp and shallow. Fingers fussing, fussing, fidgeting. Pulse tripping skipping stumbling.

It doesn’t really bother him, but it does make it a little hard to write. The tip of Basil’s pencil keeps getting snagged on two seconds ago and then shooting way past the mark.

Normally, that would be fine. Writing is like taking pictures: it's just another way of holding onto something that was never going to last. Imposing permanence on something as fleeting as a moment. And it’s not as though there's anything here that Basil wants to keep.

…But the doctor gave him homework to finish before their next session, and Basil is only allowed to use a pencil under supervision, during Arts and Crafts. So he really has to do this now.

The other kids only get one-on-ones once a week. But not Basil. Basil meets with the psychiatrist every day. This is another of his privileges. More special treatment to set him apart from the herd.

Basil hates his private sessions. Not because he doesn’t need help—because, ha ha, wow, Basil very definitely needs help—but because the doctor can’t actually help him. Because Basil can’t tell anyone why he’s actually here. What happened to send him sliding so far off the deep end. Who he was trying to protect.

(Sunny will never have to get checked into a psych ward, because Basil will never, ever tell.)

This week, Basil’s homework is writing letters.

Not to send, obviously. Who would open a letter from Basil? No, it’s just another pointless exercise. Just another way to take the time in front of you and put it behind you.

The doctor says that Basil’s letters are private, for Basil’s eyes only. But Basil can’t afford to believe that. If it was only his future at stake, it would be one thing. But he can’t take that chance on Sunny’s.

He focuses on the tip of the pencil and tries to move his hand so slow that, even if he slips out of sync with time, the lines won’t get too scribbly.

Dear Kel. Sorry. I bet I really scared you. I know how you feel about Sunny—

—Stop. Wrong. Three sentences deep and he’s already fucked this up. Basil isn’t not supposed to know how Kel feels about Sunny. Kel probably doesn’t even know how he feels about Sunny. He scribbles it out and starts over.

Dear Kel. Are you having fun at school? You always have so much fun. I was always jealous of how much fun you have. I guess I still am a little jealous. When everything is bad, I can’t not look at it. I can only sit in it until it swallows everything, and there’s nothing left in me that isn’t bad. But when everything shattered you were fine. You were fine so fast!!! When we lost everything, you picked yourself up and found something else. You lost everyone and then you just—had a new everyone. Like it was easy.

What is it like, for it to be that easy? What is it like to be someone people like? To have people like you so much that you can start over with nothing and still never have to be alone?

Basil could never be like that. Basil used to have friends, but that was probably a fluke. A sort of statistical anomaly. Even though Basil is so weird and unnerving and wrong, and even though he could never figure out how to act like a normal person, Aubrey still found him and brought him to the others. And then, for a little while, Basil didn’t have to be alone.

But that was only an illusion. A kind of magic spell that Mari cast. Then after Sunny k— After Mari went away, there was no one left to keep the magic going. The runes degraded. The circle lost its form. The illusion shattered to shards.

Basil was never supposed to have friends, because no one ever taught him how to be one. Everyone hates Basil. Everyone always did. Even here, where everyone is supposed to be all messed up and wrong, the other kids can still see that Basil was made wrong.

“What makes you think that?”

Basil blinks.

Time stretch-snaps into place around him.

…Right. Right, his one-on-one with the psychiatrist. He gets private sessions every day, even though no one else does. “S-Sorry?”

“What makes you think that other kids don’t like you?”

Basil squints rheumily across the table. What kind of a stupid question is that? How did this doctor get all the way through doctor school without getting any less stupid?

How does Basil know the other kids don’t like him? How could he not? It’s just obvious. It’s so obvious. Other kids never liked him. If the doctor can’t figure that much out, maybe she should be working in a different field.

It’s not like Basil doesn’t know how he looks. He always knows. All the hours he’s spent hesitating, trembling, talking like a nineteenth-century fucking street urchin from a BBC miniseries… Basil knows. He says things like “goodness gracious” and he never knows what to do with his hands and it takes him a million years to say what a normal person could say in three words. His grandma used to say that he had an ��old soul,’’ but that’s just what grownups call it when a kid can’t figure out how to be normal.

Maybe if he was a little less self-aware, he could make it work for him. Like how Sunny is weird, but the kind of weird that makes him seem mysterious and interesting. Maybe if Basil could just shut up for two seconds of his life, he wouldn’t have to feel so embarrassed. If he has to be such a weird little freak all the time, the least he could do is keep it to himself.

But he can’t keep his stupid mouth shut. Sometimes it feels like Basil’s spent half his life watching himself from the outside. Covering his eyes and cringing as his body stammers its way through the most awkward, totally-unnecessarily-long-winded pizza order of all time. “O-Oh, um, and as far as, um, parmesan, you really couldn’t overdo it; which is to say—um—if it costs more, or if it’s, um, a bother, there’s no need to go out of your way; but if it’s not an inconvenience…”

Meanwhile everyone else has finished their meal. Everyone else is halfway through the movie and Basil is still agonizing on the sidewalk, trying to remember how to buy a ticket. (‘One adult ticket?’ No, surely you don’t have to say ‘adult,’ that sounds insane. —Unless that’s what’s normal, and not-saying it would sound insane? Do you have to specify the showtime, or is it more polite to wait for them to ask? Or would that just be wasting their time?)

Why don’t other kids like Basil? Well, how much time do you have?

The doctor nods thoughtfully. “Hm. Yes. I can understand why you’d think that way. Reaching out to others, making yourself vulnerable… It’s scary, isn’t it? At least resignation feels safe. Certain. Giving up hope can bring you a lot of peace. But do you know what I think?”

Basil could take a guess.

At the edge of his vision, he can see the doctor smile. “I think that, if you make up your mind about people without even trying to get to know them, you’ll be safe from rejection—but you’ll also miss out on a lot of potential friends. And I think that kind of loneliness might hurt even more.”

Basil has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. If the shrink knew anything about anything, she would know that being thrown away hurts a hundred times worse than being alone. Tennyson wrote that it’s better to have loved and lost than never to love at all, but that’s stupid. And wrong. It just makes it sound like Tennyson never had to get thrown away by someone he loved. It makes him sound spoiled. Sheltered. Pathetic.

Not like Basil. Basil knows exactly how much it hurts to love and lose.

Besides. Basil had a best friend once. That best friend is now missing 50% of his eyes. If giving up hope might keep other kids from the scars of Basil’s love, then that sounds like a mercy to Basil.

###

Today the meds let Basil see through his skin. When he holds his hand up to his face, he can see the lines of his palm start to squirm. His fingerprints swell and contract, swell and contract. Blue veins wriggling like centipedes.

“Okay?” the nurse asks.

Basil stares. “Wh-What?”

“It’s a privilege,” she says sternly. “Not a right.”

Basil is beyond lost. “S-Sorry. Um. Wh–What is…?”

“Patio access?” She sounds exasperated. He’s trying her patience. What else is new. “If you take advantage of that privilege, you’ll lose access.”

Basil’s knuckles whiten. Oh. Patio access. But that’s— That’s only for the good patients. The Voluntaries. And the kids who earned it through good behavior. It isn’t supposed to be for someone like—

“D-Do I have to?” He can barely force the words out but it’ll only hurt more, the longer he waits.

“Ehh? Have to what?”

“D-Do I h-have to… u-um…” (shut up, shut UP, she HATES you, for god’s sake just STOP TALKING.) “Um. S-Sorry. Never mind. Thank you very much. I w-won’t take it for granted.”

###

Patio time is outside. After ten days staring at the same blank white walls, it’s almost unfathomable.

It’s not like it’s some kind of Eden. It’s just a slab of gray concrete flanked by gray concrete walls. But overhead there are trees, living and breathing and sheltering the porch under generous boughs. There are birds streaking past in a flurry of feathers and song. There are clouds scudding by and breezes tickling the hair on your arms. And when Basil picks up a leaf, he can see through its skin, too. Its veins look just like his.

And patio time is supervised. Which means Basil is allowed to use a pencil.

Today’s letter is to Hero.

Dear Hero.

… Dear Hero. I know you can’t ever forgive what happened but I hope one day you can understand that it was my fault, not S—

He scribbles it out. He can’t take that risk. He doesn’t want to do his homework wrong, but he can’t hurt Sunny any more than he already has. He can’t let anyone find out what they did.

Basil starts over.

Dear Hero. I know we I ruined everything. For everyone but especially for you. And I know you think that everyone thinks you’re okay now, but I always knew you weren’t. I guess I had some, um, experience, trying to be something I’m not. Trying all the time to be good, and—having it never be enough.

Maybe I could have said something. Maybe if I’d said something, you wouldn’t have just… lost yourself, and sunk and sunk and drowned. Maybe if I’d said, Hero! I see you! I know you’re not okay! Then you could have shared it a little, and maybe it would have got a little less heavy. But I didn’t. I knew it was my fault and I didn’t do anything. Because you didn’t want anyone to see you like that, and—I guess I didn’t want anyone to see me, either. Not even you.

…Maybe especially not you.

I guess if anyone gets it, it’s you. You never let anyone see the real you, either. Mari would have—

Basil stops short. He doesn’t get to say that. It doesn’t matter that his letters are only ever going to end up in a landfill. It’s not his place to say what Mari would have wanted.

Before everything happened, Mari used to make Basil nervous. Not because she was mean, or anything like that. Just because she saw too much. She was sharp, like Sunny. But unlike Sunny, she could see the world through other people’s eyes. Like Sunny, she could tell if something felt off; but unlike Sunny, she could puzzle out how and the why. Empathy, not sympathy.

—Which is all well and good for people who want to be seen and known. That’s probably why Hero loved her so much: because Mari was the only one who ever saw through his disguise. But Basil never wanted to be seen. For Basil, being seen could only ever be a threat.

The psychiatrist frowns. “Do you think that, if your friends saw the ‘real’ you, they would reject you?”

He almost laughs. Because, honestly… What kind of a stupid question is that? Of course they would. Basil isn’t like Hero, whose deepest, darkest secret is that he very occasionally has a mean thought. Basil’s deep dark secret is that he’s poison. He was made wrong, with a hungry hole where his heart was supposed to be. He’s ugly and anxious and awkward, and unwanted, and afraid. And he wants to be wanted so, so, so much more than he wants to be good.

(Basil would do anything to be needed. He would do any number of vile, disgusting, unforgivable things.)

“I’ll tell you what I think,” the doctor says confidentially. “I think that, if you shared some of those feelings with the people who love you, they would only love you more. I think that flaws are deeply human. And that a real, flawed person is far more lovable than someone who seems perfect.”

Basil chokes on a snort of laughter. Because…. Sure. Great. Ve~ry helpful. It might even be true, if his biggest flaw was, say, a lisp, or a videogame addiction. But it isn’t. It’s his whole personality. Basil is the flaw.

###

Today the meds make Basil feel afraid.

His pulse skips and skitters. His veins fizz with flight-or-flight. Heart in his throat. Sparks on his tongue. Jumping at shadows and slithering down the halls with his back pressed to the wall. When another kid shoulders past him on the way to group therapy, Basil almost swallows his own tongue.

Honestly? It’s fine.

Basil has always lived with fear. Fear feels comfortable. Familiar. Like a childhood friend that you hate. A roommate who pisses in the sink and never does the dishes and clogs the shower drain with spit and hair and blood, and sleepwalks, and sleep-talks, and wakes you up every night when they crawl into your bed and scream.

Today’s letter is to Aubrey.

Dear Aubrey,

How did you learn to be so brave? I always wondered about that.

Because when, say, Kel was brave, it was enviable, but not confusing. It was only because Kel had never known any reason not to be. Kel was loved from the day he was born. He never had to learn how it felt to be thrown away, so he didn’t have any reason to fear it.

But Aubrey was like Basil. She was alone until she wasn’t. She could see how fragile everything was, even—no—especially the things that looked rock-solid. She knew exactly what she had to lose. And still she was so brave! She said exactly what she thought and thought exactly what she felt. She wasn’t spoiled or sheltered or stupid. She was just true.

Being with you, Basil writes, and hesitates. He chews the end of his pencil. When I was with you… I think those might have been the only times I ever didn’t feel afraid. Even after everything went wrong, and you hated me, and wanted me dead… You still made me feel braver. Because I was more afraid than ever, except when I was with you.

He’s a little surprised to find that it’s true. Basil is afraid of a lot of things, but he was never scared of Aubrey. Aubrey is just so real. Tangible. Grounded. She always sees exactly what’s there. Even her threats made him feel safe. Bad, but safe. Like stubbing your toe, or getting a flu shot. Aubrey always made him feel more real.

I knew you wouldn’t hurt me, he scrawls. You were the one—the ONLY one—who never looked away. Even when you looked at me with disgust, you still looked. You’re the only one who never tried to look away. I was the one who ran.

In the end, it was just another game of chicken. Which means the outcome was set from the start. Basil always flinches first.

I guess I was probably using you, a little, he writes dreamily. Because I knew what I deserved, but I was too scared to do it. You were the only one I could trust. Steady, stalwart Aubrey. I would have liked to be killed by you, I think. At least then I wouldn’t have to be afraid.

“You know,” the doctor says thoughtfully, “fear isn’t always a bad thing.”

Basil snorts.

“Really! Of course it often feels bad. But it’s an instinct, like any other. It’s how your body keeps you safe.”

And oh, ha ha, what a nice idea. What a charming notion. It’s probably even true, for other people. But not Basil. Every wrong thing he ever did was because he was afraid.

“Hm,” the doctor says thoughtfully. She taps the end of her pencil against the desk, like Mari used to. “Here. Let me show you.”

She reaches out and pushes on his shoulders, hard enough to knock the chair out from under him. Basil opens his mouth to scream and chokes on muddy water. Black. Viscous. Slick and unsettlingly warm against his skin. He can see something swaying above him, thick boughs and dry leaves and a long black stripe of knotted rope. And something else. An absence. There’s something missing, something that should be there but isn’t. He can see it in the space it should have filled, like a hole in the dark. Like a mirror that can see inside him. Empty. Empty. Empty.

The thing he can’t see floods him with fear. Bloody, blinding terror. Basil thrashes and flails but he can’t move. He can’t move. His limbs are bound with ribbons of black hair, heavy wet like cold black rope. Water rising past his chin. The stink of wet dog, piss and mud and copper. Cold hands squeezing at his ankles, his wrists. His throat. If he could look around he would see her.

Footsteps. Coming closer. Basil struggles but the thing he can’t see holds him fast. She won’t let him go. Not after what he did.

Through the fog of his terror he can barely make out the outline of Sunny. Not Sunny as he is now but Basil’s Sunny, from before everything went wrong. Small, pale, snide. Utterly assured. Bulbous head brimming with ideas.

“S-Sunny,” Basil gasps. “I’m scared. H-Help me, Sunny, I’m so afraid. I’m so afraid. Please.”

Sunny reaches out and in that moment Basil knows, he knows that Sunny isn’t here to help. Sunny’s eyes are cold. He isn’t angry, he’s revolted. He doesn’t care if Basil lives or dies. But even so, it’s Sunny. Basil’s best friend in the whole world. Basil can’t help himself. He reaches back with both hands. Clasps Sunny’s hands in his. Tries his best to smile as Sunny holds him under.

—Basil wakes up gasping. Stuffs a hand in his mouth to stifle the scream. Not that he’d be the first. Half his neighbors wake up screaming. Day and night, you can always hear Laurie banging on the door and shouting herself hoarse. Help, someone, anyone! Help!! I’ve been kidnapped!! I don’t know where I am, please, let me out! Let me OUT!!! You can’t keep me here forever!!!!

That’s the difference between her and Basil. Laurie still has somewhere else she’d rather be.

Keep reading Basil's post-game here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43929270/chapters/124036630

Or start from the top: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43929270/chapters/110454879

#omori spoilers #omori basil #omori sunflower #omori photobomb

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the-firebird69 · 5 months ago

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Fallout - Official Trailer | Prime Video

Is imitating george and we feel that the clams are having them do that so they can try and remove him it's a job put forward by the max then usually he likes doing it in this case is not so happy about it no no there are some things wrong with this film but no since the aftermath of one of the outlander cities being destroyed really they're separatists and that's what they're called in Star Wars. But what happens is some people trying to survive on the surface some below they're after stuff they look behind and things and things they know are there and they're valuable most likely are stashes and caches of things they would need up in New Vegas so I'm still fighting over it and a bloody nightmar the really the Story is that it's separated to try and destroy and threaten the other half of humanity with what they call simple and effective mass destruction weapons not backfired because the max plan them to do it to home them down to a manageable number and close the end and find out there is no such thing and Gene Hackman says it there are enemies. It's going on today is leading up to this and the proof that the other cities are hit is not very substantial you don't see the new cities in the movies at all except shows like this implant of the apes There's a lot of theories a lot to say about it but they're playing just reversed and the proof is it's be done it's in your rhetoric your fiery rhetoric against each other it's in your looks your talk and how mean you are Made is so angry over the past few days over stuff that's inconsequential you lost a major force in DC and New York City you have to stop saying this **** and doing this dumb routine and we're serious no you're happy with you looking at the ground and shuffling your feet then they say they're threatening for stuff you see yeah but everyone's hitting you because you're doing that we like to know where we're sponsoring new vegas and who wanna wrap this up the process has begun and in Australia and New Zealand as well where Trump had developed cities on Australia and BJA one New Zealand rented the matrix down there does not run by DJA we don't think it's stand either the monitors are grabbed from somewhere else recently and what he's saying doesn't match and they're holding him there and shows later who's driving around with bonds trying to hit them this is my husband's husband is right but what can you do they're pretty big. Now there's a lot of stuff happening so we're gonna print

Hera and my husband helped me a little.

Olympus

I can't help but laugh he's always making jokes with her want you to be happy to get down so she can't be really charged this morning and said he is not really psyched up for this it doesn't like them for doing it and she's happy about it it says they won't listen so she got the new Vegas stuff on Tuesday god bless us hard and they will try and get him there later. The boy was she happy. She said she put a lot of effort in there seems to be blowing it apart she can't help it either and they're making us real angry and then she says they're just kind of dying it's kinda cheesy and see here see gotta remind them that they went down there to the place you never go and she get happy again'cause That's what it is and we have to do that.

Thor Freya

#youtube

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jodilin65 · 30 years ago

Text

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 30, 1994 Tom’s postcard came yesterday, but I was asleep when he read it.

I rearranged my audiocassettes a bit and got rid of stuff I now have on CD to save room. I made Tom a medley of songs he likes by Sting and Meat Loaf.

At midnight Andy surprised me with a call. He called this girl Karson so I could hear her talk. Yup, she’s great editing material. When he called, Sara was on the line but hung up after about 10 minutes. When he called Karson, I had the mute on and didn’t talk to her. She agreed to accept calls from Fran. She has a long-distance block on her line now. Andy called Fran who gave him her number. He asked about me, and Andy reminded him I wanted nothing to do with him. I’ll hang up if he tries calling.

He mentioned that Nervous moved to the Maple Street area. Yeah, I believe that. I had a feeling about it, too. He probably moved with Crystal.

Tom should be up soon.

I talked to my sister and my parents yesterday. I was going to send Ma the information on the Phase-Out system, but I can’t find it. I’ll keep looking, but Tom’s up now, so bye!

Later…

Tom found me the information on the Phase-Out system to send my mom.

This morning I began making my medley and it’s coming out great.

Tom talked with Geri and Eldon earlier this evening. Geri wants to meet me and Eldon has a super-fast computer brain for us.

We went over the computer calendar and scheduled stuff for the weekend and Tuesday.

I’m now recording two movies for us both.

We’re getting along better and better each month. We’re really getting to know one another and we very rarely argue. Yes, I have a real-life relationship that I not only thought I could never get but that most people only ever dream of.

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 29, 1994 Last night I sat down at my new drawing table, but I just couldn’t create anything to save my life. Then after a while, I went into my bedroom and did an awesome wall drawing by my closet door that’s closest to the windows. I did it right in the corner, so I kind of did it on two walls. I made a vase, then a tree with flowers I’d never done before. I made 6 branches and each branch has about 6 different clusters of tiny flowers. Each branch’s flowers are of different colors. I made the vase of coral reef with purple streaks. The flowers are red, violet, medium sky blue, orchid, pink, and another branch of red. Actually, the reds are really raspberry. It came out great, though, and the whole thing’s about 5’ tall.

I’ve been getting these waves of pain in my upper gut lately. I hope it doesn’t amount to much, but I’m sure it’s gas.

Christina left Tom a message saying they’re moving into our area. Geri and Christina don’t even know we’re married yet. Tom last talked to Geri directly before we got married and he couldn’t really get a word in edgewise cuz she was so psyched about being engaged herself.

At one point I made a comment to Tom saying, “After my ear surgery I’ll pretend I’m 18 years old and all fucked up and maybe whatever’s up there will give us a kid.” But I once really was 18 and fucked up, but due to only doing it a few times with 2-3 guys, and perhaps a little bit of fate, I never got pregnant, but thank fucking God! That’s all I would’ve needed back then.

So then he said, “We can have a kid after the really important stuff is done, like your ear surgery, and it would help the business in some ways.” Like motivating us more as not only would we want to make money for ourselves but the kid, too. Also, to see how a kid would like certain computer games or whatever else we’d make and so much more.

Yeah, the more I think about it, the more I like the idea of a kid and feel more ready for it. If I truly am fertile, I feel more and more like it really may happen one of these days, despite the fears and worries any new mother would have. There would be times when I’d need verbal reassurance and comforting from Tom and his positive, “Everything will be OK” attitude. I can always count on Tom. He never pushes me away. I still can’t believe how much I love this man and how lucky and blessed I am. If anyone ever fucked with him or any kid we had, I’d kill them. If I didn’t, I’d no doubt come very close.

He said something to me last night that made me love him even more, just when I thought I couldn’t love him anymore. He said if I ever wanted to go anywhere alone, he would drive me there and pick me up at a set time.

Here’s a real man who doesn’t push me to work, lets me be a housewife, be a part of his business, but who’ll let me see friends here and there without giving me shit. I feel the same about him. He could go out to dinner with 10 women and I know I could trust him. Even if they were better looking than me and there are plenty out there as well as ugly dogs.

I’m sorry, though, that I dislike Geri without meeting her, but sometimes it’s an easy thing to do like I feel he has with Kim and Bob. Opinions are like assholes, though. Everybody’s got one.

Later…

Tom’s up now and somehow he fixed my journal problem. He’s watching the show I taped him.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 28, 1994 I didn’t get my period yesterday when it was due, so that means I’ll have it today.

My in-laws gave me 5 different cactus plants of a few different varieties. We’re going to plant them around the pool.

Also, a drawing desk I’ve always wanted where the top of it is slanted. It’s also called a drafting table. My next-door neighbor on Woodside Terrace, Nancy H, had one. She lived where Jai lived the first time I lived in that building.

Later…

I mean it when I say it this time, but I will never ever type another journal again. First the cursor would not work, then the mouse wouldn’t kick out the screen saver. I’d saved my work, so I figured everything would be just fine till I brought up journal 14 which I began to type up. Everything turned to question marks and all kinds of other symbols. Now, I’m going to go see if I can type up everything I want to write in here without any problems.

Later…

I decided not to type anything cuz I want Tom to see what happened to my first two pages of that journal, and it won’t give me a new window that’s blank. I could insert a break and tell it to only print from the break on down, but why bother? The thing will probably just crash again. We’ve both been trying to figure it out for ages now and about a week or so ago I thought I’d found one of the problems. I did, actually, and that was what I was going to write about a while back. We added some new fonts and one of them was corrupting all of them. I was going through them all to pick out and write down the ones I liked and disliked. I’d type the name of the font as I’d test it and check it out. Well, there was this one called Gaps that made all fonts become one. I managed to print out what it looked like, too. After that, I went back through the same routine, skipping that font and everything was fine.

I have quite a few things now in my world, Mystery’s World. Tom just added a calendar which is pretty neat. This is for me to type in stuff for either both of us or just one of us to do.

Tom’s going to be getting a surprise in the mail within a day or so. Remember all those stamped postcards I mentioned? Well, 25 of them will be used for business-related stuff. I’m using the other 25. One for Tammy, 1 for Bill, 1 for each niece, and 1 for all of them. Then, 6 for Bob, 6 for Kim, and 6 for my parents. All that totals 24, so guess who got the remaining card? You guessed it. Tom himself. It oughta be neat to see someone get mail that I sent that lives with me.

I also taped him an episode from Tales from the Crypt I heard him say he liked and was one of his favorites.

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 26, 1994 Last night I couldn’t fall asleep till around 4 AM. I laid there for hours crying, so depressed and asking myself why am I up for 18 hours so much of the time. I had my alarm set for 9:30. When it went off I hit the snooze once or twice, then got up for a cigarette. Then I went back to bed and told myself I’d get up after hitting the snooze just a couple of more times. The next thing I knew, I opened my eyes to see that it was 12:30. I felt so depressed and like the biggest failure ever. I had been doing so well. All I could think about was how the hell was I going to get to my appointment and how in the world could I ever be a mother.

All I could do was lay around or watch TV, then finally I called Tammy. She said what I was crying over was so stupid and that if I and my husband had poor health or our house caught on fire, that’d be one thing. She said that if she were me she’d hang up and laugh and go get beautiful for my husband. She said I’m not alone, lots of people are just like me and I have accomplished a lot and become a lot. She said she gets up at the same time every day cuz of the kids, but she doesn’t go to bed at the same time every night. She said it depends on what’s going through her mind and how Bill feels, etc.

I’m going to get to my appointments one way or another. I don’t care if I’ve woken up at 4 PM the previous day and am awake till the appointment, or over 24 hours.

As for being a mother? Well, the more I thought about it, the more I began to realize things I’d never realized before. That is that for over a year, perhaps several, I couldn’t have a set schedule anyway. Meaning, that while I was pregnant, I’d be woken up at all hours anyway. By it kicking, me having to puke, fear of labor and delivery, etc. I read that that’s perfectly normal and expected. Also, after it was born, I couldn’t oversleep anyway and end up being a neglectful mom with it screaming like a police siren. Not even when it was 1-10 as it’d be running around screaming, banging, and throwing things. So there’s no way I could sleep through that. I should know that from the NHA. I’d only have to hope my heart and lungs could take it and that I could deal with my TD acting up more as it does with lack of sleep. I’d also have to deal with gas too, but that’s the milder side of it.

Tom came home just as I was finishing up this entry. As I knew he would, he reassured my mind and made me feel a whole lot better after discussing it with him.

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 25, 1994 I finished typing journal 13. That was fast, huh? Got up at 9:30 this morning and didn’t do too much.

Minnie, Bob’s 18-year-old friend, called me twice today. She’s on Bob’s side and said she’d kiss the ground Bob walks on. She lived with him for a few months and he never tried anything on her, she says. She wanted to know when visiting hours were. She also said she had the article about Bob in the paper there with her. She says she’ll mail me a photocopy of it, but I’ll have to see that to believe it. She said she kept forgetting to send it to Kim. Well, if I ever get the thing from her, I’ll mail it to Kim after I read it.

Today Tom and I screwed twice in a row. Again it looked as if he was stopping before he was to cum. At one point I asked if he were OK and he said he was trying to cum, but he stopped too soon. He said if he stops just as he’s about to cum, he gets the total feeling but has a hard time judging it. The first time around he was rock hard, then suddenly went soft. He said he came the same way he did the other time where little or nothing came out. He says he’s done that before.

The second time we did it, he wore out. I still can’t cum that way yet, although it feels really good, so 80% of me believes him and 20% of me feels he may not want to cum in me.

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 24, 1994 I'm pretty beat, so I'm gonna make this a quickie. We did lots of stuff in the back room. We got these huge metal shelves set up, so that'll get lots of shit off the floor. I did mega typing in 13 today and I'm done with it.

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 23, 1994 Andy’s coming over, but I know I’ll have to wait forever, so I thought I’d write. Got my dad’s letter, which was nice and also funny. Got the Halloween doormat too. It needs two AA batteries, which Andy says he’s picking up on his way over.

The post office screwed up again. We specifically ordered 100 regular stamps and 50 postcard stamps. We got the 100 regular stamps, but we got 50 stamped postcards, instead of 50 postcard stamps. The idiots are no doubt doing it in the hopes that we still need those 50 postcard stamps, order them, then they’ve made themselves one extra sale.

I also got my medical records from Dr. Wilcox’s office. Part of it really pissed me off. Talk about assuming or taking things too literally! I was shocked to see that she actually went and wrote that I asked, “Am I going to die? But I have to live long enough to be a famous singer.”

When I said this, it was strictly a joke. God, it’s scary to think that all the while I was seeing her and she was smiling to my face she was actually writing all these mean things about me. The thought of sharing this with other doctors really embarrasses me.

Then she goes and writes this bullshit about my supposedly saying, “I’m not nuts, just nervous seeing a new doctor.”

I’m sure I did say I was nervous, but I wouldn’t use the word nuts in that situation.

She said I was nervous, anxious and in a panic when she did the pelvic exam. Anxious and nervous, yes. Panic, no.

There was this part where she said, “She really hated the project back east cuz of all the noise, even though she’s deaf in one ear.”

As if to say I was full of shit about being deaf in one ear. Also, I did tell her that my other ear hears plenty well enough.

Lastly, it was “inappropriate” to call her with an emergency late at night. I remember that time, too. She was bitching about being all worried if she could fall back asleep or not. What the fuck did she become a doctor for if she can’t handle it???

Bob got my 50-page letter and he called today like I said he could. We talked for 5 minutes about the usual. Andy got a letter from Bob, too. Twice a year I told Bob he could call. Maybe like December and June.

I quickly talked to Mom and Tammy, too. Ma heads home tomorrow.

Yesterday I went and got the water pills I needed. So far they’ve helped. Last night I woke up twice to go pee. I didn’t fall asleep till 1 AM either, but was proud of myself this morning when the alarm went off at 8:00. I felt like I could’ve slept 4-6 more hours, but like a good girl, I dragged myself out of bed. I’m tired and my TD is acting up, but it’s worth it.

Yesterday we had sex again, but not like a couple of nights ago. We were both more relaxed than ever and I felt no pain at all. I feel so blessed cuz Tom’s so patient. Also, we’re doing it more, and the more we screw the better I feel, just like the more I see him, the better I feel. Same for him too, of course.

I painted Piggle’s cage the other day. His cage has 6 legs. I did each one a different color and I did the top frame too. It looks great but rather childish. It looks like a cage you might find in a kindergarten or a 1st-grade classroom.

Later…

As I wait for Tom, I’ll do some writing. As of now, I’m feeling a little bored with PMS bleakness and pre-cramping. I’m tired too, with a slight headache. I’ll be fine, though, when Tom comes home. He always cheers me up.

Andy got me the batteries I needed for the Halloween mat and I gave him that Caché lotion and recorded a couple of oldies records for him.

For the most part, he laid out back by the pool while I watched TV. I did some dishes and made Lipton butter and chives noodles for Tom and I.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 21, 1994 I got up at 6:30 this morning. It was raining and cloudy during most of the day, but I sure got a lot done today. First of all, Eldon left a message for Tom. I also got a letter from Kim. The good news is that she is getting a rental car, as I figured, and she can definitely stay at that guy’s house.

Dr. Wilcox’s office called to ask me a stupid question. They wanted to know if I was changing doctors. No shit! I told them that in my letter. The girl there says my records are on their way, nonetheless.

I quickly chatted with Dad and Tammy. I trimmed my bangs but missed a few hairs.

Tomorrow’s my appointment to hopefully get those water pills. I need them desperately.

Later I’ll write about last night’s sex, Piggy’s cage, and the computer.

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, 1994 Remember how I was saying I could screw on top? Well, yesterday was a major breakthrough cuz I was very very close to doing it. I’ll definitely be able to do it sooner or later with no discomfort just like I can do it with him on top. The only other thing I wish I could change is my being such a light sleeper and not being able to sleep with him. If he could sleep with me in here, I could put my stereo in his room.

He’s working on his picture-printing program now and later on today we’ll be going to the grocery store (Smith’s) and off to get that dishwasher. It may be a few days, though, till we can get it delivered.

It’s very cloudy out there today and I believe it’s only going to be in the upper 90s. I talked to Tammy a little while ago and she said ma describes the days as cold and nights as freezing. Ha, ha, ha!

In other news, I got a few messages from Andy.

Later…

Today has been more of a busy, yet fun and productive day. Tom and I went to the mall and we didn’t get a dishwasher, although we did look at some. He got some electronic parts and a remote extender. It’s very stylish. They’re in the shape of pyramids and they’re great cuz now we can print pictures so much easier. We no longer have to unhook the VCR and drag it from the living room to the back room. It can stay right where it is.

We also got some fonts, but some of them are incomplete. We got cans of air that blasts dust from keyboards. One for us and one for his parents. We got a really cute mouse and mouse pad. The mouse is in the shape of a mouse. It’s white with two blue eyes and a blue cord. The mouse pad is of Mickey Mouse.

For me, I got 6 new pairs of underwear. They came in sets of 3. 3 have ruffles at the sides, with white stripes through all of them, but each one’s got 1 other different color. One’s purple, one’s red, and one’s blue. The other 3 have no ruffles. Just a thin band at the sides and they’re of lace. One’s flowered, one’s black, and one’s white. I was never happier to ditch 6 very old pairs. I ditched a black pair with lace in the front, and a pink and blue pair with lace that went around the waist. They were identical styles. I also ditched an identical yellow pair that was like the black one and a white and aqua-colored pair. Well, that’s it for the panty update.

Got the new Gloria CD, but one of 5 remixes is much longer than the originals. I love it. I had 3 of them on old 12” albums that I taped onto tapes and they sounded pretty shitty. I got Oye Mi Canto, Get on Your Feet, Bad Boy, and the 2 remixes I’d never heard before are 1-2-3 and Rhythm Is Going to Get You.

I made history again today as I went nearly 24 hours in between med times!! I think I’ll be able to get by with one a day for the most part. Then hopefully I can take only 200mgs, then none! And quit smoking too, of course.

Tom did some wonderful tongue work before we went out and later, we’ll do some inner fun.

What else is new? Not much. Got 2 letters in 1 from Bob.

We also went to the grocery store. I got some Garfield vitamins. They certainly taste better than the Flintstones. Got a new tube of KY jelly, but I could not find the musk body lotion I like. That stuff’s mild and really nice. The Caché I got a couple of weeks ago is way too strong.

We barbecued up a T-bone steak, which came out great.

We printed a couple of 4” pictures in black and white. He showed me the difference between 8-bit and 24-bit.

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 19, 1994 Well, that’s definitely the end of my journal typing for a long long time. It just crashed and I lost two pages or more. It’s been doing this to me a lot lately and I’m sick of it. I thought computers were supposed to be dependable, but I guess not.

I dusted and straightened up a bit, but now I think I’ll go do the dishes, clean the bathroom, clean the stove, fridge and microwave. Change my sheets, too.

Later…

Got a lot of stuff done. I did the dishes and wiped down the stove, refrigerator, and microwave. I’ll save the bathroom for tomorrow. The chair’s cushion in the living room always slips out, so I took an adhesive mounting strip and hopefully that’ll work. If it does, I’ll give the couch the same treatment.

Let’s see…what else did I do? I watched a movie I taped last night. It was pretty good. This Wednesday’s the season premiere of Law & Order. I know I’ll get only 10 new shows, but oh well.

I took a bath a little while ago and now I’m going to go play Nintendo games. Remember the game with the ducks you shoot? Tom taught me how to play that almost a year ago. Yesterday he taught me a racecar game. We set it up in the living room, so it’s no hassle to get to.

Later…

I played some games. I sure have improved at them. Made some clam chowder soup and now, who knows what I’ll do. I’d have really liked to do my journal typing, but not if the damn thing’s going to keep crashing on me.

Soon we’ll have stamps for quite a while. We’re ordering 100 regular stamps and 50 postcard stamps. The mail will be here any time now and if all goes well, I won’t get Bob’s 50-page letter returned to me.

Did I mention sending Nervous the letter I got from my mom a couple of weeks ago? Well, I did. He hasn’t heard from me in months, so I figured what the heck? I also made up a word search puzzle for him with all kinds of dirty words. If he ever hears from me again, though, by mail, it’ll be a very very long time.

As for Fran, I don’t send him anything cuz I don’t want him to take that as an invitation to call me. I still can’t believe just how lucky I’ve been with no calls from him. I wonder if he lost his phone, got in trouble, got deathly ill, or died. I know he had mentioned some female cop was taking him to court due to his harassing her. Too bad it’s not Laurie H.

Later…

The mail just came and I got two letters from Kim. All she basically had to say was she was back to her letter writing, looking forward to coming out here, but would get into details later. Well, I hope she answers my questions soon. I wrote and asked her if she was getting a rental car at the airport and if she could stay at that guy’s house, and I also told her about my very likely ear surgery. I let her know it could happen during the dates she plans to be here.

In her second letter, she enclosed a short note with the Bob letter she got that she forgot to enclose in the first letter. The letters he sent her are just like mine - nothing new.

I hope Kim got her puzzles. She never mentioned it, so hopefully she just forgot to. Bob liked his as his letter in #79 says. Most of the writing in this book is very small so it’s almost like 2 books in 1.

I’m listening to an old edit tape and soon I’ll watch TV. For now, though, I’ll go play more Nintendo games since my luck’s running high.

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 18, 1994 Well, the typing of 12 is going fast. I’ll be done with it in no time. I was soooooooo miserable then, but it keeps getting worse till I get out here. It was only rough for me here in Phoenix for almost the first year, but it was a joke compared to my average times back east.

Yesterday was great. Tom and I went food shopping and had fun when we came home. He had no problem getting it in there. We didn’t cum but we both were so close. More and more I can see what he means when he says it’s still fairly new for both of us. For example, when he’s in there my clit gets pushed up so it’s not as long. I give myself extra stimulation in the same way that I do when I take care of myself. However, it is a different feeling that is great, but I will have to get used to it.

Tom worked a few hours yesterday and went out to check out prices on both portable dishwashers as well as ones that go under the counter.

The last few days have been rather educational for me. On a talk show, there were ladies from Penthouse magazine that were as short as me. I didn’t know they had such short women posing for them. I thought they’d discriminate against a short girl, which would be pretty stupid and unrealistic as we all come in all shapes and sizes.

On Prodigy it said that the more a guy cums, the higher his sperm count is. I didn’t know that either. I was telling Tom that I thought it was the other way around. I thought that the longer a guy went without cumming, the more it built up.

Tom says we’ve definitely gotta do it more often to get him in better shape. Now his legs cramp up. I said I agreed, but thought that before work would be too hectic a time and that after work, he’d be too tired. He said we could work it out. I agreed and said that millions of other couples find the time. We’ve got to stop making excuses and stick to what we start.

Before I went to bed, he did a little tongue work down there.

I asked Tom, what if a woman just got pregnant, didn’t know it, and had surgery? Would it kill the baby? He said it wouldn’t unless she had her female parts operated on. Oh, I didn’t know that.

I also told him if we had a kid at any age, I wouldn’t be able to have this operation. He said, “Don’t you have any faith in me?” He said of course I could have the operation and he would take care of the kid while I did. Oh, I didn’t know a mother could just run off to have surgery unless it was life-threatening.

Later…

I just went to take my meds and have a bowl of soup. I’ve been feeling so much better that I hope soon I can be on 200mg of my meds and no longer 300mg.

I watched the Miss America Pageant and it’s about time that a deaf girl won even if it seemed so staged.

I feel so bad for Tammy and very disappointed with mom. It turns out that she’s been in MA since last Wednesday and she’s been to Larry’s house, her sick brother Ronnie’s house, this couple in Brimfield’s house, and as of now she’s at Boo’s house in Longmeadow. An hour and 10 minutes away! She said ma said she wasn’t sure when or even if she could get to Tammy’s during this trip. The nerve of that woman! Imagine how hurt the girls must be. If I have a kid I wouldn’t even bother to wait and see if they dumped me. I’d dump them cuz I wouldn’t want my kids to have to go through any of their shit. She just never wanted to deal with her kids or grandkids.

Also, Aunt Ruth sent them a sympathy card. That’s really nice of her, but thanks to her for not sending us a wedding card. I think I’d hang up at this point if my aunts or uncles called.

I left Andy a message all about it and said he could call her every now and then if he wanted. I tried calling dad a few times but got no answer. I’ll go try again.

Later…

No answer. I guess he’s probably out at their flea market.

Tom’s working now, but I hope he’ll be home soon. Today I may lie out and get myself some color. I finished 1 out of the 3 word-search puzzle books. I’m going to copy in Alex’s letter and try to finish typing 12.

Today sure did start as a bad day for Tammy but ended up being a better one for her and a funny one for me. I called her again and she bitched out her frustration some more about mom and told me to feel free to talk to dad and express to him how much she needs mom right now.

Then I was talking to the girls when Lisa said ma was there and we hung up.

Dad finally answered around 4 PM his time and I disguised my voice into a young sexy voice. I said I was his neighbor and wanted to know if he’d come over for an X-rated slide show. There aren’t really any younger people there and he figured it was just a prank and went along with it saying, “An x-rated slide show? I’d love it, I’d love it!”

So, we talked for a while and he says he’s sending me a letter (hopefully to the right address) and a Halloween doormat. Supposedly when you step on it, it says, “Boo!”

He jokingly said that ma was at the NHA seeing if they would take me back, but no one’s there anymore. I said, “Yeah, that’s cuz the place either killed them or they’re all in the funny farm now like I was.”

When I asked him to guess what journal I was on he guessed 63, then 72.

I told him I’d leave him alone for a year when I get his letter, but that due to the fact that I write everything in my journal, he can’t say it’s been under a year if it hasn’t been.

So I called Tammy again and talked to ma. I asked her how the weather was and she said it was cold. I laughed royally and at Tammy, too. I told her to bring her suit on over and hang out with me at the pool. Yup, that’s where I was twice today and God blessed me as miraculously they weren’t home next door. I got more color and I did manage to swim a bit, but the water’s super chilly.

Something’s still wrong with the computer. I’ll tell Tom when he gets home. While I was leaving Andy a message, he called to say we were going to be rich, it was going to be a $200 weekend, and that he’d be home between 3:30 - 4:00.

Then Wendy called and said Tom was a maniac for working so hard. I agree, but the breadwinner must do whatever he needs to do. I wrote her message down for him so I wouldn’t forget.

Either yesterday or tomorrow Bob oughta have his 50-page letter. I just pray I put enough postage on it and that it doesn’t get returned to me. If they do return it, I’m not paying for it to be returned. He says he’s sending Andy a letter. He’ll like that. I also sent Bob 5 envelopes, which he asked for, with my 5 different cat address labels on them. I figured that if I’m going to send him envelopes, he’s going to have to use them on me.

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 1994 Tom should be getting up anytime now, so I thought I’d write a little in the meantime.

Today’s Phase 4, the final phase of the Phase-Out program. I continue to feel much better but still want to smoke as much. I laid out yesterday and got a little more color, but only a little. The pool’s already too cold. I got a Rosh Hashanah card from my parents and a letter from Alex. Today we’re going food shopping and I don’t know what else we’re going to do.

I still haven’t gotten my medical records from Dr. Wilcox, but I hope to hear something soon from Boston. On Oct. 13th I’ll be meeting with Dr. Nielsen to discuss the CT scan and hearing test. Hopefully, then I’ll be told if the operation’s possible and when it can be done.

Well, now I’m going to go do some computer work.

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 15, 1994 Yesterday I mailed Bob his 50-page letter. Last night I buffed my nails after filing them. I also washed clothes which are now hanging to dry. I made Tom a sandwich for lunch at work and that's pretty much all my news for now. I spoke to Andy who said Gloria's got her second kid on the way and it's due in December.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 1994 I sure do have all kinds of stuff to write about this time around. I’ll cover all the bad news first before I get to the good news. Tammy talked to Tom last night after I fell asleep. It appears that Bill’s looking more and more doomed. His sister’s going to see if she can give her bone marrow.

I was so hungry so I made up some bacon to snack on and tidied up some more.

Now I’m running through an old edit tape.

Last night I made a half-assed, very funny-looking quilt. I took some of the old material I used to make those two throw pillows out. Also, the “Stevie” dress Andy gave me that’s too big and an old scarf that I must’ve had since I was 14 or younger. I sewed the pillow material together, then I glued it with fabric glue. I used the scarf and Stevie dress as a trim for the outer edges. I glued those on too. It may not last long, but it’s good for now if you’re chilly while you’re lying on the couch watching TV.

Oh, Tammy said Ma’s coming Sunday but has to see it to believe it. Yeah, I know what she means. Also, she’s pissed cuz she said she was only going to be there for two days.

This morning I talked to her and today’s Sarah’s birthday. I believe she’s 4. I talked to Andy, too.

Again I weighed myself as 99 lbs.! Yeah! I wish I looked it, though.

I called the pharmacy and he said I could take Diuril. Also, OTC water pills were virtually non-effective. Yeah, I learned that when I was 19. I have to see the doctor for the water pills, but the nurse said it’d only take 5 minutes. That’d be nice. Soon, I’ll call for an appointment. Tom said not to worry if I can’t get appointments on Tuesdays.

Later…

Just came in from out back smoking a smoke. I’m bummed cuz the weather’s suddenly gotten really chilly and the pool’s chilly now, too. Its thermometer reads 80º, but for some reason, it’s still chilly.

It’s been so peaceful around here. No music, no dogs, no kids. Will it stay that way, though? God, I hope so!

I began typing up 12. What a miserable life I had back then.

Tom gave me a gray suede binder-like thing. There was a medium size pad of yellow-lined paper in it and there was also a pocket on the other side of the pad of paper. The pad had 25 sheets in it. That’s 50 pages in all, so Bob’s in for a very long letter when I get it done. I’ll probably have to put 3 stamps on it, but that’s OK.

I haven’t used my calligraphy markers in a long time, so I’ll go get one.

OK, and now it’s time for my good news. I went to an ENT as I may have mentioned. He thinks the reason why I’d be bothered by my ear being so sensitive as I have been, could be due to excess skin growth. It’s a type of cyst that’s non-cancerous and can be easily removed. He called a few days ago to say there’s a doctor in Phoenix who thinks he can open my ear and it is all covered by Cigna. Yesterday Tom and I typed up and sent out letters for my records in Boston. They are not necessary, but they couldn’t hurt to have either. On Oct. 4 they’re going to do a hearing test and a CT scan. So I hope to get the records before then. He said the doctor does try to do it in 1 step and it should definitely be no big deal, even it’s 2-3.

I talked to mom about and she said, “Go for it.”

Just maybe I will be hearing out of two ears after all and I will know in this life what the hell stereo is.

Got my old checking account closed yesterday, and today I may get my medical records from Dr. Wilcox.

We put shorter legs on Piggle’s cage. Now I don’t have to climb on anything to reach all the way into his cage.

We also got bookends that I sure wish I had back when I began doing journals. They’re great. They’ve got foamy stuff on the bottom so they can’t slip and they’re L-shaped, so the weight of the books is what holds them up cuz they slip under the ones on the end.

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 12, 1994 Last Saturday Ma called. Tom answered the phone and they chatted for a few minutes, then we spoke. She said that she and Larry were originally coming out this November but now she thinks she and Dad will probably come out next summer.

Shortly after we spoke her letter came. It was very nice. Tom read it too, of course.

My relationship with my parents has been too good to be true. I hope it stays this way. It will as long as I don’t have a kid, although Tom disagrees. Well, they didn’t disown me for being with women, dancing, and marrying Tom, so we’ll see. Maybe all I’d get would be lectures and I can hang up on that. I’ve done it before in the past.

I also got a letter from Bob, finished typing 11, and am now typing 12. Can you believe that once again the scale said 99! God, please let it stay that way.

My lungs have been better and better. Better than they have been in years and it’s a wonderful feeling to be able to breathe. I constantly can go over 12 hours in between meds. It’s been 16 hours now. In 2 months and 4 days, it’ll be 1 year since I’ve had to go to the ER.

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 9, 1994 Tuesday we got the wedding pictures. Finally, huh? We got the three 8x10s. One for us, one for each of our parents. Also, the two 5x7s. One for us and one for my sister and her family.

Hopefully, everyone got their word search puzzles OK. I can’t wait to hear what people think of them.

I typed letters tonight to Kim and Bob. I stuck a Bob letter in Kim’s letter and told her I’d save them up till November and give them to her when she gets here.

Last Wednesday Tom looked over all I wrote about my questions and feelings. I’ll tell you what he said. He said it varied with different women and that he didn’t know if it was a fluke, but as I get to know him I’ll see that he cums in small amounts anyway. He also said he has no idea if he’ll always cum, hardly ever, or what. Time can only tell that. As for discussing our sex life, the last time he talked about us was before we were officially together. I don’t care if he does, but I can see him being shy and private with that and that’s fine and understandable to me.

As far as him working on moving and lifting stuff, he said he didn’t want to let me down and not do as he promised and knows how much I don’t like someone saying they’ll do something that they don’t.

He says he means it when he says I’m sexy and the reason he’s hesitant about cuddling with me is cuz I’d said that was hard to deal with when I’m horny. That’s true that I said that, but I’m ready for it and can handle it now, as we both agree that cuddling’s just as fun and as needed as sex. Besides, if he knows I’m horny, why doesn’t he just do something about it?

So our talk went well and neither of us got all upset, as we both knew that this was all part of continuing to get to know each other. I told him that people change their minds (including myself) and that if for whatever reason he had to or wanted to back out of something he said he was going to do, I’ll understand, accept it, and I won’t push him. Plus, I know I hate being nagged, too.

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 8, 1994 Today was a great day. Things were so much better today with a lot of things. I got up at 11:30 today and went to an ENT. He told me that one of the reasons why my bad ear may be so sensitive is cuz I may have a skin growth that’s been building up. He mentioned some bone thing in the good ear, too, but said not to worry and that it won’t ever be a problem. Let’s hope not. He said he’d like to do a CT scan as well as some hearing tests and asked if I could try to get old records from Boston. He’d like to see the CT scans I had done in ‘87 or ‘88.

He’s also heard of Dr. Shutnik. He mentioned him before I ever did. I guess he was rather well known.

He said he didn’t know if the operation would be covered by our insurance or if the operation would be a big deal or not. He said there weren’t too many people around that did the type of surgery I’d need and that the operation would be about 5 hours and I could be in the hospital. Tom and I are going to at least check into it. It’s amazing how supportive and eager he is about this. No one else really wanted to get involved or take time out from their everyday lives. I can understand that, though, to a degree.

I’m not going to get my hopes up or make surefire plans. All I’m going to do is let Tom and I find out what we can and what all our options are, then take it from there.

Tomorrow I’ll call the Cigna pharmacy and ask if it’s OK to take an over-the-counter water pill with what I’m on.

Tom and I did a lot of work on the back room. Things are more organized than they’ve ever been since we lived here. It’s really coming along. Tom got some metal and some wooden shelves and he put up the 2 wooden wall shelves. He showed me how to set the timer on the 3 different things that are on it. The lamp in the back room, as well as the outside back and front light.

I just changed the screen saver as I like to do every now and then and I also chose more icons for stuff Tom just added to my “world.”

Right before we left to go out today I sure as hell got a surprise in the mail from my parents. When I saw their address label on the envelope as I pulled it out of the mail slot, I said to myself, how the hell could her letter get here in just a day? Well, it was a lovely wedding card that really nailed it to the point with what it said, as well as a check for $250! What a nice generous surprise.

After the doctor, we went to K-Mart where we almost got me a dresser. The damn things didn’t come disassembled in a box and we couldn’t fit it in the car.

Instead, I got a really cute birthday card for Sarah with live tigers on it. The envelope was nice too, with flowers and birds on the front left side of it. I signed it for us and wrote a check out for $10. Of course, I wrote it out to Tammy, but where it says “memo” I wrote: Sarah’s birthday.

I also hit word-search jackpot. I got 3 books. One small, one medium, and one big. They’ll keep me busy and last a while.

We also may get a portable dishwasher sooner than expected.

At the doctor’s office, the receptionist thought I was Tom’s “little daughter.”

Tom said, “No. She’s my little wife.”

I knew that’d happen sooner or later since I look younger than I am and he looks a little older. I’m just surprised it wasn’t sooner.

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 6, 1994 Another day of feeling sexually frustrated. The guy’s too tired, but what can I do? I basically fend for myself. I have questions I want to ask Tom, but he’ll just take it like I’m trying to pick an argument with him. Well, I did ask him if he was over that block he said he had. He told me when we first met that once he gets over his block and is able to cum, then he has no problem cumming again. Earlier tonight, though, he said, “I don’t know. We’ll see.” That deepens my suspicion that that time he said he came, he really didn’t. I don’t think it’s possible for a guy to cum without having anything come out of their dicks. Well, I could maybe ask Andy sometime whether or not it’s possible.

Now there are a couple of other things that have me confused. The other day, on our way to his parents, I asked him what kind of rubbers he had. He was all embarrassed cuz I’d said that at a stoplight and the window was down. Like the person in the next car would’ve picked on us cuz I said that - right! Well, the big question is how come that embarrassed him yet he wasn’t embarrassed to talk about our sex lives with Wendy and Geri? He told me that when we first got together and I was so tight that he mentioned that to them. He said that someone said, “At this day and age they should have ways of stretching pussy.” He asked me if I minded that he talked about personal stuff. I didn’t mind and I still don’t mind.

Another thing is that I said we could’ve found the time to squeeze in some fun yesterday, but then he said that by the time I got up, he’d already put in a long hard day. True, but then why was he able to move and lift lots of stuff around for hours after I’d gotten up?

I think I’m about ready to give up trying to analyze things and just keep all questions I have to myself. He’s very sensitive and I don’t want him to take any questions I have personally or in the wrong way.

When we do get together for sex it’s nearly always great and we say we can’t wait to do it again. I mean it when I say that, but does he?

He says he doesn’t want me to put anything else above him and I’ll make sure till the day I die that I try never to do that, but I feel like sometimes the computer and the TV come before me. I don’t mean just having sex with me. I mean cuddling. He never stops me when I sit on his lap when he’s sitting in his chair or wherever, but why doesn’t he ever take my hand and sit me down on him? He does when I’m really upset and that’s great, but it’d be nice more often when things are fine.

I asked him if he was trying to punish me cuz of Kim coming to visit in Nov. and he said no. That’s good to know cuz just cuz one of us has company, doesn’t mean we still can’t have sex or spend time with each other in spite of it.

I want to believe everything he tells me, but sometimes it’s hard. Even when he tells me I’m sexy. I suggested using rubbers if he’s over his block so at least he doesn’t have to worry about my getting pregnant. We can’t afford it now, as good as a breadwinner as he is cuz we first have to completely pay off the house, the wedding, and the rings. I’ve always been used to taking care of myself sexually when necessary, but now I’m back again thinking that it might be best for us not to have sex. This way I can’t (and neither can he) get my hopes up for it, then not being able to for whatever reason. I know and accept that we both can’t always have our way and that there’ll be times when only one of us is available for sex, but I still wonder if he wants me that bad in a sexual way.

At least there’s one thing I’ve never doubted. That’s his true and sincere love for me.

A few hours ago I made two copies of the same word search puzzle. For the second time, we raced each other and I won by a landslide!

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 5, 1994 Just when I reach the peak of my sexual frustration, Tom comes to the rescue. We fooled around yesterday, but he only went down there. That worked out OK, though, cuz sometimes that’s all I want. I’m not surprised we didn’t do anything today. We could’ve made the time, but we were pretty busy. I’m too beat to write about it now, but I will later if I have trouble sleeping.

Tom, or one of us, really oughta call Dimension Cable and ask why the cable goes out so much. It doesn’t only go out when it’s storming. It’s as calm as can be out there right now, but it just went out. At least nothing’s on I really want to see.

Today we rearranged the back room. We put the computer, printer, and desk on the opposite wall.

We also dropped in on his parents for about 45 minutes. We returned to them (Marge & Ray) a glass dish she used to give us a cake she baked, as well as some canceled stamps from where Tom works. She gave us some brownies today that were really good.

The scale says I’m 101, but I would really love for it to say 95. It’s easier to lose a lot of weight than it is to lose a few pounds.

Yesterday when Tom stopped at the grocery store, he got me a new drawing pad as well as some Garfield stationery. He said the stationery would be good for writing Lisa’s letter.

Uh-huh. I still gotta see that to believe it, but after all the guy has been busy. He’s just not into writing, but I think most people aren’t into writing.

Marge gave me a great idea as she was showing me the quilts she made. I’m knitting about 1½ feet maybe by 3 feet. Then, I’m going to take an old towel, wrap the knit around it, sew it up, and the end result will hopefully be a pillow.

So, are we going to get those damn wedding pictures this week? I sure hope I get my mom’s letter. If she mailed it out today, I’d get it by Thursday hopefully.

I haven’t heard from Andy for a few days. He must be busy catching up on all his soaps as well as his music.

There’s this lizard I see outside in the very same spot all the time. Maybe he wants to be my friend.

The day before yesterday I laid out on the raft and it was so beautiful and quiet. I got some color and I was shocked, as I never saw one bee. Only one as I was leaving, but it wasn’t near or in the pool.

Oh! I don’t think I wrote about printing out the 23 journals I’ve completely typed up. I made the print super small, so as not to have to use a million pieces of paper. They totaled 133 pages. I put them in a 3-ring binder. I also folded my old address labels over the side of page 1 of each journal to separate them. I numbered the page of each one and drew lines in between the entry dates with my pink pen.

I’m not sure if I mentioned getting our personalized notepad yet, but we did. They stick up top and say “Tom & Mystery.”

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 1994 God, do I feel sexually frustrated! There's been plenty of times yesterday and today where we could've done it, but obviously he's just not into it. I mean, I run around here half-naked and he won't touch me. Why do I turn him off? Maybe I should wear more clothes to cover up my flaws. He always tells me I'm beautiful, so maybe there's something physiological about him that makes him have such a low sex drive. The next time he's in there will tell me if he really meant it when he said he came last time. If he doesn't cum next time (whenever that will be), then I'll wonder, cuz he said once he gets over his “block” and cums, it's non-stop from there.

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 3, 1994 Today I begin phase 3 of the Phase-Out system. I can just imagine the difference it’ll make in how I feel, as it sure as hell made a difference in Phase 2. The great thing is how much better I feel. The not-so-great thing is that I still want to smoke just as much as usual.

I called Dr. Wilcox’s office yesterday and they’re sending me a form to sign and send back to them so they can send me my medical records to give to the new doctor. Yesterday I got my cut-off notice from Access. They have this program, though, for those who are no longer on SSI or SS that need regular medical care such as I do, but I’ll call them to tell them I don’t need it cuz I’m on Cigna. I’m also going to call my new doctor or Cigna pharmacy and ask about water pills. I really need them. Not only does it help with water and bloating, but also it helps alleviate the soreness in my tits that I get before that time.

Gotta call Prodigy to see if I got any mail. I’ll do that when Tom leaves. He’s working on a program right now and then at 1:00 he’s going to work on Eldon’s computer.

I hope we have time to get a little fun in before he leaves, but if we can’t, we can’t.

I began another book of letters in Book #79, but I may or may not keep it going. I probably will and not turn any of it into a personal journal cuz it’s good for when I’m bored.

Later…

Today I’m having one of those days where I feel skinny. I love it right after my period. I’m not retaining any water, I took a dump (a much-needed one) and I exercised. I’m in a good mood too, although I hope we can have sex tomorrow. Today I’ll just take care of myself.

I got a letter from Alex today and something else pretty strange. It was a good luck chain letter mailed from Hartford. Tom said he thinks someone who knows me and knows I got married sent it, but I can’t think of who would do that. I took an envelope and addressed it to Tammy in different handwriting with no address label. She’ll probably throw it out, but if anyone needs better luck, it’s her and her family. There was no return address when I got it and it was handwritten. It looks like a female’s handwriting. What do I think? I think it was randomly mailed off or from one of those moneymaking jobs I sent away for information on. Tom brought up a good point, though. I ordered all that information in my maiden name.

Anyway, Tom said he’ll buy me a lottery ticket and we’ll see.

I talked to my parents who said they tried to call the other day. They got my figurine in one piece too, and loved the concert by Barbara. She also did write the letter but sent it to the wrong address and it was returned today to her. Thank God it didn’t get lost cuz then who knows when she’d write again. She hates to write. She said it said there was no such street number. Thank God there’s no such street number as someone like me or Andy could’ve gotten it and kept it.

Tom said not to worry at all about Kim coming to visit. That he wants me to be happy and he trusts my judgment. That’s cool, cuz neither of us ever wants to fight. We both realize that we both can’t always have our way. We know that’s life, though.

I never thought I’d live to say this, but I believe in “for better or for worse,” and in forever and so does he.

Last night’s storm really did a lot more than knock out the cable. It knocked a tree down on our other next-door neighbor’s lawn across W. Weldon. There is tons of shit in the pool. I’d dive down and get it now, but I just did my hair, so I’ll wait. We also lost more of the green rafters out over the patio.

Later…

I can’t believe I forgot to write about the word search program! Oh, it’s so cool, too. Tom found one of his old programs that it was on. All you do is type in what words you want after you head it with a name and it scrambles it up into a word search puzzle. You can have it be super tiny, to 2/3 of a page. It will tell you if you’ve got too many words or if you’ve typed the same word twice. I did some for Tom, Andy and myself. I also mailed off puzzles to my parents, Tammy, Bill & the girls, Kim, Bob and Alex. To Tammy and everyone, I made 5 puzzles. One is titled Tammy & Bill’s Only, cuz there were lots of swears, the other’s titled, Everyone’s Puzzle, Lisa’s Puzzle, Becky’s Puzzle, & Sarah’s Puzzle.

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 2, 1994 I have mega updating to do and now’s as good a time as any to do it. I’ve talked with Andy every day since he’s been back and he’s doing OK. He came over yesterday for a few hours. We hung out at the pool for a while and it was great cuz we saw no bees. I saw none today, either. They’re getting less and less.

He told me that in the next few months, Gloria’s going to be releasing an album of oldies. Yeah!

I recorded a couple of songs off of old records for him which was much easier than taping. What a turntable Tom has! I’d have loved to have that before I had tapes and CDs.

Kim and I talked. Her 24-year-old cousin Pam died of some kind of intestinal problem. She took it hard, I guess, cuz they were close. She said she got tickets to come out here from Nov. 10-16. I’m happy but worried. I just don’t want any problems with me and Tom.

Andy and I were talking about this letter my mom claims to have written to me. I discussed it with Tom, too. Tom thinks she misplaced it, although she said it was mailed out. I think that if it wasn’t lost, she never even wrote it. Andy thinks she never wrote it. Why? I have a couple of theories. Perhaps it’s out of a certain type of spite that she feels cuz I don’t need her anymore. Cuz I really am grown up now and she can’t control me. Maybe it was something she said to get me to tape the Barbara Streisand special, although I’d have gladly done that for nothing.

People say they’re going to do stuff they never do. Like with Tom. Yeah, I know he’s busy, but I don’t think he’ll ever type a response to what I typed up. I also don’t think he’ll ever write to Lisa, either.

I am so fucking pissed right now! I could literally scream. There’s a movie on now I really wanted to see, but there’s a fucking storm going on. Why do these storms have to come when I want to watch something that bad or when I’m asleep?

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 1, 1994 Wow, it's already September 1st. Time really does fly. I have quite a bit to write about, but quite frankly, I'm not in the mood right now.

I finished off 35 with letters and have decided to do a BOL #12 in 79. I'll go do that now with the two Bob letters I got today.

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howofhappy · 2 years ago

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Blog 2!

Chapter 4 covered positive thinking through gratitude, optimism, and ending rumination. I had only really looked into gratitude journaling as a practice of improving my mood, but after reading this chapter, I actually connected with the practices surrounding optimism and social comparison more. I stopped gratitude journaling after doing it off and on for a few years. Now, I can see why I stopped through the science behind it. Those who practiced gratitude once a week were happier than those doing it three times a week because doing it over and over again gets boring. When it comes to optimism, I consider myself to be pretty optimistic. That’s mainly because I stopped being pessimistic by dreading everyday life. IIn 2021, I created a ritual where I would go to Portland Brew every Tuesday morning. That ritual gave me something to look forward to. Now looking back, I can see that I was practicing optimism in order to increase my positive thinking. When talking about overthinking/rumination, the author brings up self fulfilling prophecies. If you keep thinking that you’re going to fail a test, you may actually fail it, not because you didn’t study and are a bad test taker (well, maybe partially because of that), but because you’re psyching yourself out to a point where you act upon that negative desire. The concept of manifestation is really big right now, and its whole philosophy is that you can will anything into your life by just believing. People online are attributing it to spirituality but in reality, it’s just psychology. Having a better mindset sets you up for success! The author also says that If you keep ruminating over your past failures or worries, you won’t be able to concentrate. In 2021, I told my mom that I was bad at school because I couldn’t do the readings. Reflecting, I’m able to see that I couldn’t do the reading because I wouldn’t get very far because I was too distracted by everything else going on in my life.

I felt like the theme of chapter 5 was satisfaction. Using kindness and having valuable relationships really makes life worth living and satisfactory. In high school, I made the conscious decision to compliment at least one person every day. Now, I do it all the time and it’s basically an unconscious habit. After I compliment someone, I still feel so much joy. The author says that acts of kindness make people happier, and I agree. Part of this chapter echoes back to chapter 4 when talking about a study. People who did five kind acts in one day were happier than those who did five kind acts throughout the week. Those who did them all in one day were happier because it stood out in their brain that they did something good. Being kind really affects everything. The author talks about a time where they gave a man $1.50 to cover the rest of his groceries, and that man continued to help an older woman put her groceries in her car. It seems like this chain doesn’t really stop, because every person is making someone feel good, so they’re more inclined to be kind to someone else, and the cycle continues. My education in psychology and public health has taught me the importance of social support. A part of this chapter and a lecture states, I as a single woman rely heavily on my friendships. I have always put effort into them, and surround myself with people who believe the same thing. I always engage in others' conversations, keep eye contact, and hear others out. The book brings up five women with MS calling other people who also had MS and acting as their support person. This is a combination of everything learned in this chapter, because they’re doing a kind act, as well as providing social support for those in need. The five women were significantly happier after the phone calls, which shows that they felt good about being there for those in need.

I felt like the theme of chapter 6 was dealing with an aftermath. After something bad or traumatic happens, you need to cope, and sometimes forgive yourself or someone else. This chapter teaches you how to do both of those things, and provides strategies for getting there. Before reading chapter 6, I didn’t know that there were two types of coping. I find myself using problem-focused skills instead of emotion-focused coping skills. In a study this author brings up, women coped with loss better by using problem-focused coping skills because they were learning to not rely on their emotions. I tend to try to fix whatever is causing me pain, so I am definitely a problem-focused coper. While coping with trauma, people may end up completely transforming. The author brings up how a woman with terminal cancer decided to live freely after her diagnosis and became incredibly happy. Those who are confronted with a traumatic event may reevaluate their life and decide to take advantage of it. These individuals end up thriving due to proper coping and the realization that life is limited. In 2020, I stopped talking to my best friend at the time because I realized we had completely different moral views, and subsequently made all of her other friends turn against her. I have held so much guilt about that for so long, but in December, I reached out and apologized. I decided to finally apologize because I saw her humanity again. What I did in the past is something I am obviously not proud of, but I’m proud that I realized my mistake and apologized. Forgiving others comes easily to me, but forgiving myself is difficult. The author lists activities to do in order to forgive others, such as writing a letter to said person stating what they did, and then forgiving them for it. That is what I did, only for myself. I remember thinking I forgive myself for my past actions. Even though my apology can’t fix any of the bridges I burnt, it still made me feel more at peace. The author states that apologies make people seem more human, and I hope that’s what my friend felt towards me.

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erodasfishtacos · 4 years ago

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Not Your Charity Case

prompt: Harry is a frat boy - who doesn’t need sympathy from anyone. He makes Y/N feel a sense of home when they’re together. But is Harry just like every stereotypical frat boy?

word count: 6.2k

warnings: minor violence, language, deaf!harry, smutttt

other: when Harry is talking to Y/N or any other characters - it is to be noted that he is signing. When Y/N talks to Harry - she is also always signing

Let me know if you’d want to see anything else from this verse:)

+++

You were rushed - you really shouldn’t stop at the local coffee shop for a sugary, delicious mocha chip frappuccino.

Despite what people say, professors are much more lax and carefree in college.

It was about two weeks into the new semester, - your third here- and the seasons were changing - becoming autumn.

Chilled breezes, falling leaves, and vivid colors of nature made you happy.

When you arrive in line, there are two people ahead of you. A girl currently in front of the cashier and a tall male with a red and black flannel on behind her- typing away on his phone.

When she moves to the left, the broad man steps forward. His snapback facing backwards, brown curls dancing around his neck. You can’t help but notice how tall and lean he is, shoulders broad and straight.

You definitely haven’t seen him before on campus. You’d remember.

From what you can see, he shows the young girl behind the counter the screen of his phone without saying anything at all.

The raven-haired girl’s face pinches in annoyance. “We don’t accept orders like that. You need to tell me what you want.”

You’re a little surprised by both the rude cashier but also the man who doesn’t respond right away.

He attempts to show her his phone again but she shakes her head - annoyed.

You become interested in the situation when I watch him sign, a few gestures before pointing to his ears. In the most obvious form of saying “I can’t hear.”

The clueless girl gives him a blank look, “Listen, there’s a line. I don’t have time for this.”

You hoped you weren’t overstepping your boundaries when you slide up next to him, tapping him on his shoulder to get his attention.

It is a bit startling how gorgeous the boy is. He was tanned with bright green-eyes and a defined jawline that was currently clenched in frustration.

You sign, “What are you trying to order?”

He studies you for a second with hesitance before his long slim fingers begin to move, slowly as if he thinks you may be inexperienced in the form of language.

He replies, “Large coffee with a little cream and two sugars.”

You squeeze in front of him, “It is not only rude but illegal to not serve based on disabilities. Refusing an order from a deaf person isn’t moral or acceptable.”

The girl has enough decency to mumble an apology and turned bright pink, “Sorry, he doesn’t look deaf. “You roll your eyes - how can you tell that someone is deaf based on solely appearance? This girls a fucking idiot, you think.

You repeat his order to her, along with yours - sliding your debit card towards her and give her your name for the order.

The man trails behind you to the small waiting area. “Thank you,” he signs simply. You nod and return the pleasantry. The. hand him his steaming hot coffee.

“Thank you again. I’m going to be late to class, so I have to go,” he tells me, seeming a little out of place signing with a stranger.

“Go ahead, I’ll see you around.” It was the first time in a long time you’ve signed to anyone outside your family.

+++

Sipping your drink as you are only five minutes late and the class hasn’t even started yet. The man you just helped was sat in the back of the classroom, unloading his laptop.

With a little bravery, you wriggle your way through and plop into the wooden chair easily. Letting your backpack fall to the ground. Curly looks over at you with a frown, he signs, “Why are you sitting next to me?”

You blush, “I don’t know? Thought it’d be good to have someone to talk to.”

His hands are tense as he replies, “I’m not a charity case, so you can leave me alone.”

“Never said you were,” you huff when you tell him. Not appreciating how rude he was being. Signing had its own tones and expressions so to speak. For example, when someone is happy their signs and movements are different than when they’re sad or frustrated.

Harry seems to be the latter. You wrestle out your laptop to the PowerPoint that was going to be discussed today in class. You noticed Harry stared very intently at the professor to read his lips and expression.

You was surprised he didn’t have an interpreter with him but you’re sure he got special accommodations elsewhere. Even though that was absolutely none of your business.

His shoulders are tensed and he makes sure your arms don’t brush like you have cooties for the entire two hours. The nameless boy is up and out of his seat as soon as the professor shuts off the projector and turns on the lights - signaling class to be over.

Well fuck him then.

***

You don’t make the mistake to sit next him again. But that doesn’t mean you could ogle his strong muscular back and big hands.

It wasn’t your place to care but you felt twinges in your tummy when you noticed him struggling to keep up with the fast-speed class on certain days.

You were in the large, rustic library that smelled of old books and damp wallpaper. It was dead silent as people furiously studied or worked on papers due.

As you paced the shelves, you could not find the book you needed for your American Literature class. Fuck the Dewey Decimal System.

Part-time uni students probably just stuffed returned books in any open space they saw fit. But you need this book in particular, a discussion board post due by midnight and it was currently eight-thirty. They had ran out of copies at the on-campus bookstore.

After a valiant effort, you trudge up to the checkout counter. A little sign reads, “ring me if no ones here!”

You impatiently ring the silver bell. But no one comes. You give whoever is working a minute or two but nothing. Another ring it is.

Silence. No one. Of fucking course, luck is not on your side tonight.

You dramatically clunk your head onto the high counter top in front of you - groaning at the fact you may fail the assignment.

A tentative pat on your shoulder makes you snap your head up. To see the boy you’ve been constantly avoiding standing behind the checkout desk.

“Are you okay?” He asks. He had a name-tag on - Harry. He honestly looked a bit out of place. Harry appeared to be a frat boy. He was still had a boyish air about him but an intensity that was unmatchable.

He didn’t look like he would work in the library. He looked like...well he looked like he would be a beer pong referee or something.

You couldn’t see below his torso but he had a plain black snapback on and a vintage Elton John concert tee. A cross necklace dangling over the worn shirt.

You smile, embarrassed, but reply, “Just being dramatic. I can’t find a book and I was waiting here.”

There’s mirth in his eyes when he points to the bell,”Did you ring the bell?”

Your brows furrow, “I did.”

“Well I can’t hear it, I’m deaf,” he deadpans with a straight face and a dry sense of humor.

You roll your eyes, laughing nervously, “I didn’t know you were working!”

“What do you need?”

He helps you locate the book in two minutes flat before checking you out and you rushing home to finish the homework.

You felt bad ignoring your little sister’s FaceTime calls but you promised to call her back tomorrow.

***

Though once again, you hadn’t interacted with Harry since last week - you constantly found yourself studying his stoic profile or fast moving fingers.

You would never befriend Harry because you feel bad for him - like he presumed. You enjoyed American Sign Language and it actually made you feel back at home.

You’re little sister was born completely deaf. She was much younger than you - eight years old. Fifteen years apart to be exact. You learned the language along with her and your parents.

When you were at home and your sister was there - you guys tried to only sign so she didn’t feel left out. So Harry felt like home - a little despite his completely off-putting demeanor. It made you a little bit more persistent than with any other frat boy.

***

The bulletin board in your advisor’s office caught your eyes. None of the little tabs ripped off in interest.

‘Student with ASL experience and above a 3.5 GPA needed for tutoring sessions - twice weekly. $16 dollars an hour.’

After your meeting, you tugged the little scrap of paper off and tuck it into your pocket. You couldn’t know for sure if it was Harry but you didn’t know of any other deaf students in the program.

You say ‘fuck it’ and type out an email to the advisor of academic affairs and accommodations to throw your hat in the ring.

***

You don’t hear back for three days - nearly forgetting about it in the mean time. Your eyes scan quickly over the email to grant you the position. They include contact information for no other than Harry Styles.

After psyching yourself out a little and a few paces across your kitchen tiles - you text him.

Hey! I’m your new assigned tutor. Would you like to set up a time and place? As well as what kind of help you’re looking for.

The reply text comes shortly after

Hello, thank you very much. I am just in need of hearing ears. I am deaf and have a hard time keeping up with the my professor. I have begun recording the lectures in hope that you can sign then to me.

Sure thing. That won’t be a problem!

I live in Alpha Sigma on 3rd street. I have my own room. I’d rather not have the tutoring session in public. However, if that makes you uncomfortable - we can figure something out.

You take a minute to debate. You understand why this would be a task too loud for the library and why he’d want privacy. You didn’t feel like I’d be uncomfortable with him.

I saw twice a week so does Tuesday and Thursday at seven work?

Sounds great. Thank you again x

Did he know it was me? Was he expecting it to me?

***

He was definitely not expecting you. You automatically knew that by the way his friendly smile dissipated into a frown when he opened the door for you.

You attempted to look nice today without trying too hard. A loose crop top with the university’s name, a pair of tight black leggings, bulky white socks bunched at your ankles, and white sneakers. Very 80’s.

You try to keep your composure, “Hi Harry, I’m going to be your tutor.”

He slowly nods at you, huffing out a breathe of irritation before inviting you into the frat house.

You’d only been here once or twice for a party so you had no idea what the house actually looked like when there weren’t bodies and booze everywhere.

He’s walking you past a group of boys playing FIFA on the flatscreen in the living room, white claws open everywhere.

“Y/N! Hey babe!” You look over to see Niall - one of your good friends from your part-time job at the bookstore - trotting over to you guys.

The blonde pulls you into an overexcited hug. He reminded you of a cuddly, soft puppy dog most of the time.

“Are you Harry’s little tutor?” Niall coos, leaning over to pinch Harry’s cheek.

Harry- who was observing the conversation, focusing in on our lips, immediately bats his friend away. A small scowl forming on his face.

It automatically turns into a playful brawl where Niall tugs Harry into headlock. But he has no strength on the brunette.

Harry turns out of it quickly and pushes Niall to the ground. He straddles his stomach and begins to jokingly pinch and slap at him.

Niall hisses, “Ouch! You motherfucker! Big oaf!”

Then you don’t know why you find this endearing but Niall signs the word, “uncle” a few times to signal he’s accepted his lost.

The fact that they wrestle so much that Niall learned to sign how to give up made you giggle more than it should.

Harry crawls off of him, running a hand through his messy curls, his face a little flushed.

“I’ll talk to you later!” You tell Niall as your trailing behind Harry up a flight of stairs.

His room is extremely neat. A fluffy navy comfort decorated his bed with a few photos of flowers and nature on his wall. A tidy desk tucked away in the corner that had all of his school work loaded on top of it.

He chooses to sit in his desk chair, motioning for you to perch on his bed. You look at him expectantly when he pulls out the tape recorder and sets it on the surface.

He pulls his laptop into his lap and begins signing, “I need you to transcribe the lecture for me so I can follow it. We can skip through the bits where he is rambling or off topic.”

You nod, letting him know to begin whenever he’s ready. He presses the side button and the recording starts but it super unclear and garbled.

“Did you record this from your seat?” You ask, the professors words nearly inaudible and fuzzy.

“Yes.”

“You need to bring it to the front of the room. Ask Dr. Morrison to lay it on his desk before class. I can’t hear anything but static and mumbles,” You tell him.

He laughs and shakes his head. His movements rough and angry, “Of course its fucked up. I get you as my tutor and then the recorder is shit.”

You glare at him, offended as you haven’t done anything to this boy. “Excuse me? I’ve literally been trying to help since I’ve meet you. What is your fucking issue?”

“I’m not a charity case! I don’t need you to feel bad for me. I’m not helpless! You’re probably just a silly little girl who took ASL in high school because it was cool and trendy. Go back to focusing on psych.”

“Fuck you, Harry,” Your gestures getting sharper and your face sour, “You know nothing about me so don’t act like you do. I don’t feel bad for you or think that you’re helpless.” You put up a hand and tell him to not talk.

“I was just being nice because I thought you were handsome and at first, seemed friendly. It turns out you’re just like every douchebag frat boy I’ve met. What a disappointment,” You chuckle, swinging your bag on your shoulder and storm out of the room without another look.

***

The cafe was jammed packed - it was Waffle Wednesday. You had said waffles in your tray and were about to plop down on a stool when you hear your name being called.

“C’mere, come sit with us!” He hollers over the commotion of the crowd. Niall.

You’re about to decline when some dude slips behind you and snags the stool. Shit.

A bit unwillingly you slide into the booth next to Niall, cracking open your sparkling water. “Mates, this is Y/N, we work at the store together and she’s Harry’s tutor,” he tells them. “Y/N, this is Liam and Louis.”

“Hello,” you try your best to come off as friendly even though you can feel Harry’s glare on the side of your face. You ended up falling to easy conversation with the boys. Niall has a very limited ASL vocabulary but tries.

The boys are also trying to talk slower and more pronounced so Harry can watch and understand. A couple of times he taps Niall on the wrist to repeat what was going on.

Your phone begins buzzing and you apologize for the interruption. It’s your little sister, Mazie, FaceTiming.

You answer the phone with a frown, signing “Aren’t you suppose to be in school?”

Mazie looks upset, eyes a little watery. She gestures back, “I left early. I’m sick.”

“Are you really sick or where you getting bullied again?” You asks her.

Your sister hesitates before sniffling, “You already know. I hate my school.”

Mazie has had other children bully her for her disability since she started preschool and it as still happening in fourth grade.

“What can I do to help?” You frown, never wanting to see your baby sister cry.

You chat for a few minutes to help her calm down. When the phone call ends, you don’t realize that all the boys were watching you in interest. Harry in particular, keeps his focus on you with a wrinkled forehead.

“My sister’s deaf,” You tell them. The whole time you’ve been sitting with them you’ve been signing and verbally speaking to help everyone be able to be included in the conversation.

“That’s sick!” Louis says, smacking Harry’s arm. “Just like our lad Harry.”

Harry grumbles when Louis shakes him a little. It seems like the boys loved to physically interact with Harry which was endearing.

Harry allows him to for a moment before he flicks his cheek hard and laughs when Louis flinches. The conversation goes back to normal.

***

Harry jogs up to you after your group shares farewells and a few punches. You pointedly ignore him as you trek to the class you two have together so it’s not like he can’t walk this way too.

“Please, wait,” Harry asks. He walks in front of you.

“What do you want?” You huff, keeping my glare firm and directed alley at him.

“I’m sorry. I made the wrong assumption.”

“You made a lot of wrong assumptions. The fact that you think of me so lowly is sad. I’ve been nothing but nice,” You try not to focus on his large palms that curve over the caps of your shoulders.

“I’m not very trusting of people.”

You snort rather unattractively, “No kidding”

“Can we please start over?” He asks, stepping back to give you space. He didn’t realize how close he’d been standing to you until your hair wisps across his nose.

“One more chance, Styles.”

Harry lays a hand on your upper arm and squeeze lightly before signing the simple gesture of ‘thank you.’

***

It turns out Harry is very handsy and physically affectionate. It wasn’t creepy though or something that ever made you feel uncomfortable.

You were still tutoring him but you hung around the frat with Harry nearly everyday. The days you just wanted to lay in bed resulted in a grumpy FaceTime from Harry.

Harry once stated during a tutoring session, “It is easier for me to show how I’m feeling with touch than words. If I ever make you uncomfortable - please tell me and I will stop.”

You smile slyly at his words that sounded more like a question, asking if he can touch you. “I guess I’ll let you feel me up every now in again.”

He giggles and looks down wolfishly - like an entertaining thought is dancing around in his mind.

You tuck your finger under his chin to gaze at you. “In all seriousness, I give you my consent to show your feelings with physical touch. I trust you and know you won’t do anything to make me uncomfortable.”

The curly-haired brunette smiles happily, his hand cupping the side of your neck and brushing over your pulse point.

He hadn’t touched you here before and it seems like it was his first goal to do so once he got permission. You can’t help but take in a deep gasp of air. You prayed he didn’t notice but by the small lift of his lips he did.

The simple touch made a flame of arousal swirl in your lower stomach. You felt like you were about to start sweating.

“Anyways,” You clear your throat and snatch back up the recorder. It now had better quality after Harry listened to you about placement.

***

The frat house was ridiculously full of drunk college students. Everybody on the dance floor was sweaty and sticky with a variety of different substances.

Niall had invited you - so you were searching about for him. Pushing through the crowd and nobody was able to hear you say ‘excuse me.’

You finally found fresh air in the backyard where beer pong and cornhole were set up. Niall was tossing his ball across the table, trying to splash in Liam’s red solo cups.

Harry was sitting on a cushioned patio chair, watching the game commence. Maybe he was a beer pong referee after all.

He looked so fucking good tonight. He had a yellow snapback taming his curls - backwards of course. A black Rage Against the Machine shirt and his signature black skinny jeans. **

You made eye contact and were about to wave when a girl plopped down in the seat across from him.

Awkwardly you turn away, greeting the other boys and taking a seat in a lawn chair to watch them start their third round of the game.

Your eyes keep darting over to Harry who is staring blankly at the girl. She starts stroking his biceps and tracing across the tattoos like they belong to her.

Harry is attempting to let her know he’s not interested. His signs uselessly as she’s staring at his lips and not hands.

You’re moving before you know it, without another thought, you squeeze in between the two - separating them. You dramatically slide into his lap, funnily enough one strong arm wrapping happily around your middle.

The pretty blonde pouts out her lips, “Is he your boyfriend?”

Before you’re able to reply, Harry signs the obvious signal for ‘yes’ to the girl. Then rudely makes the shooing gesture. She’s up with a huff and stomping back towards the house.

Harry turns you sideways on his lap so that you two can see each other’s hands, “You saved me.”

“You’re just such a stud, have to protect you,” You joke - but not really.

He raising his eyebrows and smiles, “You were jealous.” It was a statement not a question.

You blush wildly, avoiding eye contact which you know he hates. He hates anytime you cut off ways of communication.

Harry taps your lips until you look up at him, “it’s really fucking sexy when you are.” A perk of sign language. He could dirty talk just about anywhere and mostly no one would ever know.

His thumb drags on your full bottom lip, signing clumsily with one hand so you had to use context clues to piece it together “Don’t think I forgot when you called me handsome a few months ago.”

“I don’t remember, doesn’t sound like me,” You boldly lie, snickering and nipping at the top of his thumb

His eyes become a shade darker when your teeth meet his skin. He presses his thumb further in until it’s in-between your teeth. The moment is broken when Niall screams, “Styles! You’re up next!”

You and Harry become separated after you spent nearly two hours watching all these drunk boys play beer pong. Harry was ridiculously good at the game and only had to drink two cups from the table.

You had wandered back into the house where the party had died down. There were only a handful of stragglers left but mostly just the fraternity brothers and their close friends.

With a fresh alcoholic seltzer in your hand - you didn’t trust open bottles at parties like this - you gaze at Harry through the back window.

Harry was being jumped by Liam and Niall. He was snarling playfully as Liam toppled them all over into the grass. Niall tries to stand up but Harry’s hand wraps around his ankle and makes him fall right back on his bum with a girlish squeal.

Niall leans over to give Harry a wet-willy but Liam manages to throw a plastic cup directly at Niall’s forehead. Harry and the other boys dissolve in childish giggles. Faces red from laughter and liquor. You feel a smile painted fondly on your lips from watching them.

“Hey, Y/N right?” A voice interrupts from behind.

You spin to face a guy you barely recognize from a previous class you shared. You smile nonetheless, “Hi...”

“Jake, Jake from Social Constructs and Society last semester.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” You smile and allow him to talk your ear off because you struggle to say ‘no.’ He was fine, nothing special, typical business major who thought he was hot shit because his daddy owned a golf course he wanted to take you to.

It was a normal conversation until his voice gets lower as if he’s trying to be more seductive, “Want to head to a room with me?” He nods towards the staircase.

You chuckle in disbelief at his bold and forward question. “No thank you, I’m good.” You really had eyes for one person right now and he was currently cussing out Niall in sign language in the backyard before tackling him once again to the ground.

“C’mon, I can really show you a good time,” He persuades persistently, stepping into your space - causing your nervousness to spike.

“I said - no thank you,”You bite out, starting to feel scared when he blocks your way out of the kitchen and presses himself against you and the counter.

“You’re really something gorgeous, you know?” He asks, ignoring my struggles to get away from him.

“Stop touching me!” You scream, hoping Niall or one of the boys would hear your wail. He puts a hand up to your mouth to muffle you but that only results in you biting him.

“Fucking bitch!” He cries out, pulling his hand back and winding up to either punch or slap you right in the face. You prepare for the impact.

Then in a blink off an eye, it becomes a blur, a muscular figure is crashing into Jake with full force and knocking him straight into the linoleum floor with a loud crash.

It’s Harry. Broad shoulders and thick but lean tattooed biceps. He’s standing over the harasser and drops on top of him. It shouldn’t look as graceful and tactful as it does.

You’d never seen anything like this from Harry before. Once you really got to know him - he was a gentle giant who liked romantic comedies, soft blankets, and vanilla cupcakes with rainbow sprinkles.

Harry’s fist is repeatedly connecting with the dark-haired boy’s jaw with full force. The only noise is from Jake as Harry is dead silent but his eyes zeroed in on the target.

When blood begins gushing from the man’s nose - Niall and Liam decide it times to physically pull Harry up. Harry had a slight red mark on his jaw when Jake had managed one punch before being defeated quickly.

Harry signs to Niall, “Tell him.”

Niall places his foot on the dude’s chest to keep him down, “My mate wants to let you know if you touch her again we’re not going to pull him off and he’ll gladly beat you to a fucking pulp.”

Jake groans, clutching his nose to stop the bleeding, “Fuckin’ asshole.”

You were still blown away as you watch Harry’s heaving chest as he glares down at the boy. His fist clenched and knuckle bloody and swollen. Harry’s attention turns towards you. His furious expression melts into worry. You can read his face so clearly. He’s afraid he’s scared you off.

It was hard to believe you had this drop dead gorgeous frat boy defending you past midnight on a Friday night. A boy who didn’t need to hear but just to see you needed help to step in.

All your desires and lusts after the man in front of you burst like a rubber-band and the urge to have him felt uncontrollable. “Take me upstairs,” you demand quickly, arousal creeping up your spine.

He doesn’t understand you’re extremely turned on. Instead he looks like a kicked dog who’s about to get in trouble again.

Nevertheless, he takes your hand and maneuvers out of the kitchen and up the stairs until his bedroom door is closed.

Harry lips are turned down unhappily as he begins, “I’m sorry, love. I...” he pauses a moment before continuing. “I just wanted to make sure you were safe. I hope you don’t think less of me.”

You look him dead in the eye and sign, “Kiss me.”

He blinks slowly at you like he just hallucinate the gestures.

So you repeat your motions, slow and with intent, “Kiss me, touch me, do something.” No more time is wasted as he is stepping in front of you and cupping your face in his hands.

Without any hesitation now, he pressing a bruising kiss to your lips - taking your bottom one between his and sucking.

Your hands are immediately tugging at the hem of his vintage shirt, pulling apart to bring it over his head. Dark ink decorates his torso, for some reason something you weren’t expecting. A butterfly on his abdomen, two fern branches, tattoos on his side.

Harry chuckles, “This is new to me.”

Your eyes go wide and you sign, “You’re a virgin?”

Harry snorts and rolls his eyes before telling you, “God no. I mean I’ve never been able to really communicate during sex.”

Then before You can speak, he cuts in a bit frantically, “I’ve always gotten consent - not like that. I mean-“ You cut him off with a kiss - knowing he would never do anything you didn’t want.

You wanted everything from him.

“If you’d believe it, I like a bit of dirty talk when I fuck - but no one understands what I’m saying,” He tries to crack a joke but for some reason seems insecure and nervous.

“Hey,” You take his chin so he shyly meets your eye, “I can’t wait to hear it - you’ve already made me so wet.” His eyes light up like a kid on Christmas.

“You’re such a good girl,” he signs before tugging off your shirt and instantly finding your lips again. His hands are skillful as they unclasp your bra without any struggle and tosses it.

You tugs a bit as his hair to show your enjoyment as his tongue finds your nipple - lapping before taking it between his teeth. As good as it feels, you want him to feel even better.

You push him back until he’s sitting in the edge of the bed, legs spread and hands behind him on either side holding him up. Jaw clenched with arousal and restraint.

He’s pressed against the zipper of his jeans. And all you wanted to do was see him in all of his glory. You’re quick to undo the button and determined to get the finicky zipper down as well.

His fingers come beneath your chin until you’re looking at his sparkling eyes, a look of lust made his lids a little droopier and his mouth slack from heavy-breathing.

“Are you sure you want to? You don’t have to - I want to eat your pussy either way, pet,” He signs, leaning in for a slow, wet kiss.

You sign back with a pout, “Shut the fuck up.” He huffs out a laugh, letting go of your chin and wrapping a hand in your hair to keep it out of your face.

As soon as he’s helping you wriggle his briefs and jeans down his narrow hips, you’re met with the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen.

When you make eye contact with Harry, he raises a eyebrow and grins cockily, “Is it nice enough for your liking, love?”

You nod breathlessly - wasting no more time before ducking down to take him to your mouth, a slight burning in your throat from how big he is.

His hands keep ahold of your hair, thumbs pressed against your temples as you bob down his length with sloppy, warm licks.

Harry’s moaning as you pop off to kiss and suck at the underside of him, hands coming to cup and roll his balls. It is a few moments later when he taps your cheek to get your attention, one hand leaving his hair to sign that he’s close.

Your mouth speeds up, wanting to give him all the pleasure you could. Your hand coming to stroke at what couldn’t fit in your mouth, pumping quickly.

Before you know it, Harry’s rutting his hips upwards and coming with a long, deep moan from the rumbles of his chest. He’s pulling you up into his lap, pressing appreciative kisses to your cheeks and jawline.

Big hands palming at your breasts before slipping down into your leggings, brushing softly over your mound.

You whine and hitch forward to grind against his palm as soon as he cups you. He smiles widely at your desperation, pressing the heel of his palm harder against you to create more pressure.

You were already so wet and turned on that it wasn’t going to take much. The ball of your climax was burning low in your tummy. However, you wanted him to taste you like he said he would.

You sign, “I’m close. Please, I want your mouth on me.”

With that, he’s flipping you until you’re laid out on the bed. His hands tugging off your leggings and underwear with no further ado. “Holy shit,” He gestures, gazing all over your body and not stopping on one spot for too long.

“What?” You ask, fishing for the compliments you know he’s about to shower you in.

“You’ve got such a pretty pussy,” he signs, dimples popping in his cheeks and a curious finger traces your entrance before dipping in.

You lightly kick at his stomach, “Get on me.” He pouts, crooking his finger against your spot before pulling it out. Fucking tease.

Then his face is disappearing between your spread thighs and a strong lick is delivered from your clit all the way down to your bum.

Since he can’t hear you, you grabs handfuls off his hair. Tugging at the roots, scratching your nails into his scalp to let him know how good he is. So fucking good.

When you accidentally buck your hips hard against his mouth, you curse and run a apologetic hand through the locks. He doesn’t look up at you but lift a hand and signs, “Again.”

You absolutely whine, begging to ride him with determination - climax on the brink. He hums causing vibrations on the sensitive nerves. With that, your hips are meeting his tongue and you’re coming. His face dampening with your release - happy as a clam when he pops back up.

You can’t remember the sign for condom, so you sign, “Protection?” Harry understands right away, rustling through the drawer until he finds a stray packets, “It’s been awhile.”

“Same,” You gestures - watching as he slides it down his length and crawls overtop of you. He was pink and swollen - having to be a bit sensitive from just coming a little while ago.

“Ready, love?” He asks, pressing soft kisses to your jawline. You nod, reaching down to guide him in.

And you weren’t lying, it had been a while and he was big. The stretch wasn’t uncomfortable, just a lot. But his wet, open-mouth kisses made you stay grounded.

Harry’s moans were absolutely obscene as he slide all the way in before stopping to give you a moment. His arms strong, holding himself over you. The cold metal of his necklaces brushing against your tight nipples.

When you have him the okay, he begin giving you deep, hard strokes on each thrust. His noises so loud they had to be able to hear them downstairs. They were deep and low - rumbling in his chest with pleasure.

Then his hand is coming to your throat. For a wild moment you thought he was going to choke you but instead he rest it lightly, palm flat.

It takes you a moment - then it hits you.

Holy fuck. He is feeling the vibrations of your moans - erupting from your vocal cords. Feeling out the movement from your throat so he can feel how much you’re enjoying it.

You should be embarrassed but you can’t find it in you when you come again right on the spot. His fingertips nudging into the skin to feel the intensity as it wracks through you.

When you’re done riding out your orgasm, he reaches for the headboard behind you with his other hand, gripping it tightly as he begins to pound in with all his strength.

The bedframe is hitting the wall so loud that the whole house must be able to hear it. Hitting with every directed thrust until his mouth is dropping down into a long, timbred moan and he’s coming.

---

Later, when the two are you have settled for the night in the warmth of his bed. Harry seems a little nervous, once again. It takes him a moment to meet your eyes and brushes a strand of hair off your forehead.

“What is it?” You ask, tucked into his side. His body so solid and comforting.

“It’s corny,” Harry frowns, eyebrows furrowing as his eyes flash across your face.

“Tell me,” You insist, bringing his hand to your lips to kiss his fingertips.

“I feel like you were made for me. Like...we were meant to be together,” Harry signs, hesitant to share his thoughts. But it doesn’t scare you away. You can’t help but agree.

“I think so too,” You reply before pressing another kiss to his puffy pink lips.

3K notes · View notes

ghostlynimbus00 · 3 years ago

Note

Billy and Steve just cuddling after Billy had a hard time with his dad 🥺

Oooh thank you for the cute request!

I'm not positive why it went in the direction it did but I hope you like it!

If anyone has any more requests, please feel free to send them in. I will try my best. <3 CW: implied/referenced abuse, implied/referenced child abuse, (nothing too graphic/major, Steve just makes some inferences) minor injuries

At first, Steve isn’t sure what startles him awake late one Tuesday night. He doesn’t remember what he was dreaming about, but with the way his heart is racing it's not hard to guess that it was probably a nightmare. He scans his room, everything looks normal. The walls are still ugly, the christmas lights are still on.

There’s no sign of danger.

Until there is.

He hears a quiet scraping shuffling sound from outside his window.

Steve rolls out of bed, grabs the bat from where it leans against his nightstand, and silently crosses over to the window in one fluid practiced movement.

He takes a deep breath, grips the handle of the bat tighter, and peeks out past the curtains.

All the fight leaves him with a sigh at the sight of a familiar figure climbing up to his window.

He puts the bat away, pulls open the curtains, and slides open the window.

Billy grins at him when he climbs through, landing quiet and catlike on the carpeted floor.

“King Steve.” He greets, his voice a quiet rumble. “You waiting up for me princess?”

The skin around Billy’s left eye is red and puffy, Steve knows it’ll be purple by morning.

Steve doesn’t rise to the teasing in Billy’s words.

They go back and forth like that sometimes, both poking at each other, finding the sore spots and dancing around them. It’s good, it makes everything they’re both dealing with feel less serious. Less overwhelming. Less like it’ll crush him at any moment.

Steve needs that sometimes. He’s pretty sure Billy does too.

But not right now. Steve doesn’t want to do that tonight, not when Billy’s hurt is so fresh.

Steve sighs. His fingers twitch at his sides.

He still doesn’t know how to handle these sorts of nights. He wants to take Billy into the bathroom, take care of his injuries, then wrap him up in bed and hold him close until they both hurt less.

But if Billy’s not in the mood to be looked after, he’ll leave if Steve tries.

Steve needs Billy not to leave. Not before he’s had a chance to do anything, to help at all.

Billy pokes the skin between Steve’s furrowed eyebrows with a calloused finger.

“Stop thinking so hard Pretty Boy.” Billy murmurs, his hand shifting to cup Steve’s cheek. “It’s not your strong suit.”

Steve rolls his eyes.

“Asshole.” He mutters as he leans in to press his lips to Billy’s.

Billy sighs into the kiss, leans into it, his leaning body a solid comforting weight against Steve’s chest. His hand trembles where it rests against Steve’s cheek.

That means tonight was bad then, Steve thinks.

They never talk about it, not really, but Steve knows some of these nights are worse than others.

Billy can take a punch, he can take the physical abuse. He endures it so readily that it sometimes seems to roll off his psyche like water off a duck.

It’s when his dad gets talkative that the whole thing really gets to Billy.

He’s never told Steve what exactly it is his dad says that leaves him feeling like this. Steve isn’t sure if he’s allowed to ask.

Steve pulls away from the kiss, from lips that follow him when he first pulls away. He covers Billy’s hand on his cheek with his own, and looks Billy in the eye, and tries to figure out the things Billy can’t tell him right now.

He laces their fingers together, steps away. He feels cold without Billy pressed up against him.

He uses their linked hands to gently pull Billy with him over to the bed.

He’s pretty sure Billy doesn’t want to be looked at in the bright lights of the bathroom tonight, so cuddling in Steve’s dim bedroom will have to be enough.

Steve lays down on the side of the bed closer to the door, because he knows Billy gets antsy if he has to have his back to a door. He pulls Billy in close, wanting the feeling of him against his chest again. He wraps an arm around Billy’s broad shoulders, uses his other hand to pull him in for another kiss. Billy follows Steve's gentle guidance easily, eagerly, melting into each touch.

Steve pulls away from Billy’s lips, peppers the rest of his face with kisses. Kisses the freckles on his cheeks and the tip of his nose and his forehead and his jaw. Everywhere, anywhere. He pets through soft golden hair.

Billy’s eyes flutter closed, his breath shakes out of him, he leans into every point of contact they share.

“Stevie.” Billy whispers, and there’s too much there.

Too many feelings packed into too small a word. Feelings too big and plentiful for the small skin warm space between them. Steve imagines all of the too much spilling out from the cramped space between them, sliding off his bed and slipping out the crack in the window and the space under his door. Disappearing out into the endless night that Steve’s sure is just beyond this one small warm space they’ve created between them.

He squeezes Billy tighter, buries his face in soft golden curls.

He hopes it’s enough, hopes Billy understands. That it’s as clear to him as all those things Billy says without really saying are clear to Steve.

Me too.

The night can’t last forever. It wont, no matter how much it feels like it will sometimes.

Morning is going to come, Billy will have to leave.

Eventually they’re going to have to figure out a way to actually say this stuff.

But for now, for this moment and this night, it’s enough. He thinks. It’s enough to hold each other and say these things without saying them.

It’s enough, because it has to be.

These feelings are too big for either of them, they aren’t ready to deal with them. Not yet.

#harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #stranger things #cuddling #hurt/comfort #fic request #implied abuse cw #implied child abuse cw #minor injury cw #i might clean this up and/or add to it a bit and post it to ao3 eventually #this is the closest i've ever managed to successfully writing a one shot #xD i am long winded and i always make things more complicated than necessary

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stutterfly · 4 years ago

Text

Failure to Communicate

This was a joint collab fic that @gukslut and I worked on, commissioned by @cypherft-v as part of our fundraising for Black Lives Matter. Thank you for contributing! Banner & moodboard by me :)

{Pairing} Park Jimin/ Reader

{Genre} Enemies to Lovers/ College AU/ comedy/ smut

{Rating} Mature - Explicit

{Word Count} 21K

{Warnings} oral, kissing, fingering, protected sex, biting, marking, other filthy shit

{Summary} You've always had a crush on Park Jimin, but the truth is that you're just one of many. He just so happens to be the TA for one of your classes, and you're determined to make your feelings known. Whether or not he takes you seriously remains to be seen.

{Prompt} Could either of you write an enemies to lover story about jimin and y/n set in college where he was her TA and got her kicked out of her major bc he didnt give her the grade she needed and was generally unhelpful? Posted on tumblr on August 17, 2020 by stutterfly and cross-posted to Ao3. I do not allow reposting, translations, or edits, to any platform, including YouTube.

Ten more minutes. You can barely see the clock from your seat against the wall. The lecture hall isn't crowded by any means; to the contrary, this Tuesday/Thursday psych class is usually pretty empty. You could have just as easily sat in the middle, but it doesn't afford you the same view. Well, it does. But not the one you prefer. It's just that positioned front and center, your staring would look more obvious. At least that's what you're telling yourself. If you stare from the corner it's less conspicuous, which is important because you do a lot of staring in this class. Park Jimin is the TA.

The man in question sits off to the side at a table of his own, typing away on his laptop. This reminds you that you haven’t been doing much other than quietly ogling from a distance. The only notes you're taking are lackluster doodles of his appearance and the occasional squiggle of your pen at the quiet sighs he lets out when he stretches his back after sitting hunched over his laptop for too long.

Jimin is absolutely breathtaking — even in an ugly plaid three-piece suit and perfectly round spectacles that would look horrid on any normal person. You're definitely not the only one who has noticed. His beautiful features and fantastic bone structure forge a man who is borderline ethereal. With soft eyes, big pouty lips, a flawless complexion, and a flirtatious demeanor he has enraptured many over the years. He's popular... like, really popular.

You begrudgingly count yourself among those love-smitten numbers. You know it’s hopeless and illogical. He could have any person he so desired at any point in time. Why would he ever choose someone like you? If you’d been paying any sort of attention to the subject matter of this class you might know that things like feelings and life’s rhetorical questions often don’t make sense.

But you’re shit at psychology. You’re more of a blunt poet at heart, and that heart is often hidden behind twisted brambles of anxiety and sharp thorns of insecurity.

You are but a speck of dirt upon his round glasses. It’s been a hopeless, silent crush for some time, but now that he’s assisting the professor in this core requirement for your academic studies, he has to acknowledge your presence. You’re a speck he has to look at before swiping you out of sight with a wave of his hand.

He's the object of just about everyone's affections, and rightfully so. He's not just gorgeous, he's charismatic, charming, and such a smooth talker. The word on campus says those pretty lips of his can do a lot of other really wonderful things too. You've been watching him chew on them for the past five minutes straight, wondering how many times his deliciously pink tongue can sweep over them before he makes them chapped.

Maybe they're chapped already. Maybe you should offer him your chapstick? Or maybe you should never talk to him at all, because you don't stand a chance. Park Jimin would chew you up and leave you bleeding out with a broken heart, and you know it. That doesn't stop you from imagining all the ways he could take you in his mouth first. You could watch those pretty lips all day long, but you’ll settle for an hour on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Looking up as if he's been paying attention all along, Jimin attempts to figure out where the professor is in the lesson. It’s obvious that he wasn't listening at all and was instead answering messages. It would be nice if he could say they were messages for class, but that's not true and Jimin is a lot of things, but he isn't a liar. He's been talking to Chungha, his current flavor of the week.

He turns toward the students as the professor dismisses the class and there you are, eager and awestruck. It takes every ounce of self control Jimin has not to roll his eyes. Another fan, he presumes. You can't handle him, but he can tell by the embarrassed way you tear your eyes from him to look anywhere else that it hasn't stopped you from thinking about it.

Trying to seem nonchalant now is a lost cause. Jimin has no shame and although you busied yourself by packing up your neglected textbooks and darting your gaze to various points in the room for a straight minute, Jimin is still staring at you when you look back at him. He smirks when your eyes meet. It's not a flirty kind of smirk, you sadly note. It's condescending in your eyes, which further solidifies your theory: Jimin is too much for you no matter how badly you want a taste of him.

"Did you take notes?" he asks, nodding toward your backpack where you've just tucked your computer and sketched up notebook.

"I- uhh..." You panic.

"You know that was all about the exam next week. You're gonna need those notes if you want to have any hope of passing it," he tells you, shoving his own computer into his bag.

"I was just.. um, I was--" you attempt to explain.

"Busy staring at me?" He smiles and you know he knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s teasing oh gyou.

You balk at the blatant accusation and force a half-laugh, half-scoff from your throat. “No.”

"Yes," he corrects with a light and mellifluous laugh. "Is there pen on my face or were you hoping you could be?"

"What?" you choke, eyes watering at the idea.

Jimin shakes his head, laughing softly to himself as he remembers his surroundings. With a small clear of his throat and the subtle adjusting of his tie, he provides a suggestion for you. “Get them from Taehyung.”

"Get what?" you ask, drawing a blank on what this conversation was even about. It's the first time you've ever actually talked to him outside of your dreams and it’s proving to be a lot harder than you thought it would be.

"The notes, Y/N. Get the notes from Taehyung, you know, the ones that you didn't take today because you were daydreaming about my mouth," he tells you, heading for the door.

Taehyung, who is the only other person left in the room wiggles his fingers at you in a wave. When you turn back, Jimin is gone.

"Need the notes?" Taehyung asks, voice free of judgement.

"Please," you sigh, relieved that he'd waited.

He spins his laptop toward you, where an email is already open with the notes attachment added. "Drop your address in there," he says standing up.

"Thank you so much," you say, frantically typing your student email into the space.

"Hey, y/n?" Taehyung asks, the bristles of curiosity or concern painting his tone with a soft comfort.

"Yeah?"

"Jimin is a fool," he tells you.

"What?"

"If you were looking at me like that, I'd at least ask for your number." Tae offers a combination of large hopeful eyes and a giant goofy grin as he holds his phone out for you.

Giggling, you take it from his hand and add your number to his contacts list. He purses his lips to hide his excitement as he takes his phone back. He slides it into his pocket before hastily packing the rest of his things into his leather messenger bag.

"Thanks, Taehyung," you say, waving on your way out the door.

"Wait!" he shouts after you, half of the contents of his bag threatening to spill onto the floor as he scrambles away from the table. He adjusts his belongings and clears his throat, instantly adopting a smooth persona. "Where are you going? I'll walk you."

"My car?"

"Wanna come eat with me?" he wonders. He's confident, but it's not the same kind of arrogant confidence that Jimin oozes. He's softer. He feels more real, more attainable. He obviously knows he's a catch and he’s definitely expressed the same about you. What could be the harm in letting an attractive man stroke your ego a little bit? If you’re being honest with yourself, you can use the boost after such a pathetic display towards your crush.

"Oh, uh... yeah. I guess so," you agree, letting him lead the way out the door.

"Cool." Tae takes his glasses off and hooks them in his shirt. Pulling a snapback from his bag, he pushes his hair back and puts it on before he swings his messenger bag over his shoulder. Damn. Why did that raise his hotness like ten whole levels?

"You like hamburgers?"

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Taehyung slips into the seat next to you on Thursday, brushing against you very deliberately as he passes.

"Hello, sugar," he says, licking his lips as he spares a fleeting glance down at your chest.

"Hey, Tae," you greet him while your eyes are still locked on Jimin.

"Still on Jimin, huh?" he asks. He doesn't sound particularly disappointed, or surprised for that matter. He's just stating a fact. You're relieved he's not offended. Letting him eat you out in his backseat after dinner was probably not your best decision, although it seems like it meant about as much to him as it did to you.

"I don't know," you say with a shrug.

"It's okay. I can't blame you. I could put in a good word for you if you want. We're close," he informs you, sitting back and spreading his legs wide under the desk.

Sighing, you rest your cheek in your palm. "I've got a plan," you confess.

"Oh yeah?" he chuckles. He playfully knocks his knee against yours as if to signal for you to spill. "Do tell."

"I think I need a little extra help with this material," you tell Taehyung.

"Good luck, Y/n. I hope he can squeeze you into his busy schedule, but hey, if he can't, I'm totally down to squeeze into yours anytime."

Looking at Tae out of the corner of your eye, you smile at the grin he wears and start to laugh at the way he wiggles his eyebrows at you.

"I'll keep that in mind," you joke.

"Please do."

The minutes drag on as you wait for this class to end. Doing your best to seem a little less obsessive this time, you make a point to take notes and look at the teacher more than the TA. Jimin still catches you staring at least three times. It's embarrassing, but not enough to stop you from approaching him as the room empties out.

"Hi, y/n," Jimin sings, giving you a knowing smile.

"Hi." You tuck your hair behind your ear, and smile back.

"Do you need something?" he wonders, purposefully combing his fingers through his silver hair.

Damn, do you ever.

"I was wondering if you had time to help me. I'm struggling with this material and I could really use some one-on-one guidance." Leaning over his desk you make sure he has a good view right down your shirt, not that his eyes wander from yours. While he shows restraint in his gaze you swear he briefly drags his bottom lip through his teeth before he catches himself.

"One-on-one, huh?" He sticks his tongue in his cheek, looking amused. "I bet Taehyung would give you some one-on-one guidance."

You're sure that's true, but it's not Taehyung you're after. Taehyung isn’t the TA. Taehyung isn’t getting paid to help teach a course. Of course you want to say that and in your head you rehearse the words but you can’t seem to find a way to phrase them eloquently enough. Why do you always get stupid brain around him? Your plan is quickly falling apart.

Jimin waits for your response with his eyebrows raised. You know he's two seconds away from leaving you gaping at him and walking out the door, so you do something incredibly rash and stupid.

"I like you," you blurt out.

Jimin smiles. He knows that, obviously. He also knows damn well that you're perfectly capable of looking back at your notes by yourself. You're definitely smart and dedicated enough to study on your own. He can't help teasing you anyway.

"Everyone likes me," he casually informs you as he plants his palms on the desk and leans on them.

He peeks over the edge of his glasses as he looks up at you, like some kind of otherworldly sexy librarian. If deities ever needed a librarian, Jimin wouldn’t even need a resume. His charm and seduction are so strong that you almost miss his rejection. Almost. You're stunned into silence when it hits you. Just as you're about to tuck and run, he smiles again.

"But,” he pauses to click his tongue thoughtfully, “I think I have some time on Saturday. I'll give you my number.” He rips a corner of paper out of his notebook. "Is it okay if I come to your place? Do you have a dorm or…”

"Oh. My apartment’s fine!" you flounder, trying to remember how to speak coherent sentences. Jimin. In your room. How many dreams have you had about this moment? "I mean, yeah, sure. You'll come to mine, yeah."

Jimin giggles and it sounds like pealing bells. You're lost in the beautiful sound of it until you realize that he's laughing at you. "You okay with that? We could meet somewhere else instead."

"I wouldn't mind you in my room," you sigh. Open mouth; insert foot.

He raises an eyebrow, giving you a chance to backtrack, but you're both well aware you meant every word of that.

"Okay, y/n. See you Saturday then. Call me."

"I’ll call you," you repeat, resisting the urge to slap your palm over your face. You sound like an idiot. Stupid brain strikes again.

Jimin barely notices, all too used to girls falling over themselves to get his attention. You’re no different to him, just another pretty face in a sea of women entranced by the way he walks, talks, and breathes. It’s not his fault he’s so damn pretty. He does note that you’re brave, however. Not many people come on to him so brazenly, and that’s something worth rewarding. Besides, he feels a sort of obligation to help you out. He is getting paid to help out the professor, after all.

He winks at you as he leaves, taking your breath and your sanity with him. You have Park Jimin’s phone number. Park Jimin is going to be in your apartment in two days. Maybe you didn’t bomb that as hard as you thought.

A slow clap beckons you to look back for the source and you find Taehyung looking back at you with his boxy grin. When he’s sure he’s got your attention he raises his two thumbs up in approval.

Jimin is not surprised when Chungha disappears into the clusterfuck of bodies as soon as they step into the party. They may have come here together, but their fling is on its last leg and they both know it. She wants him off her couch, doesn't appreciate the feeling of tied-down-ness that comes with your friend with benefits staying over all the time. She's ready to move on, that means he has to as well.

Jimin isn't even sure whose house this is, but he’s happy to tag along for free booze and maybe a new face to go home with. Luckily, his friends are never far, and he finds them easily. Getting absolutely hammered in the backyard makes them hard to miss. Jungkook is the only one looking particularly bored as a very drunk Taehyung hangs all over him talking about the sweetest thing he ever tasted.

"Why so glum?" Jimin asks, nudging Jungkook's shoulder with his own.

"I'm the designated driver tonight," Jungkook sighs, pushing Taehyung off of him.

Taehyung slumps to the ground, immediately entranced by the stars above him. Jungkook kicks at him gently.

"Where's your girlfriend? I haven't seen you without your tongue down her throat all week," Jungkook wonders, looking behind Jimin for the woman in question.

"Girlfriend," Jimin repeats with a snort. "Hilarious. That's not a thing. She's probably looking for her next kill."

Jungkook regards Jimin thoughtfully, his eyebrows scrunching toward each other. "If you take over DD you can have the futon."

Jungkook loves his futon. It's one of his most prized possessions. He keeps it very clean and being allowed to get anywhere near it is a privilege. Jimin is pretty sure he goes over it with a lint roller as part of his nighttime routine. It's also incredibly comfortable.

Jimin releases a breath in a tortured groan as he thinks over his options. He could get black out drunk and wake up god knows where with a terrible hangover, or he could hang out and watch his friends get black out drunk and then wake up on a futon that feels more like a cloud than a mattress, a little slice of heaven in Jungkook and Taehyung's little apartment.

"Okay," Jimin relents. "Give me the keys. I’ll stick to water for the rest of the night."

"Ah, I love you man," Jungkook praises, tossing his keys in Jimin's general direction before grabbing the newly opened can of beer out of Taehyung's hand below him. Taehyung, still staring up at the sky with a glazed smile, doesn't react. It takes Jungkook all of five seconds to pour the contents of the can straight down his throat. He follows this by smashing the can in a bicep curl with a giggle and a bashful smile.

"Do it again," an unfamiliar girly voice pleads from across the table. She tosses him another can and he repeats the action, turning away when he's finished so that he doesn't have to see her reaction. Jimin knows what's going to happen once his friend gets a few more beers in him. Jungkook is going to go apeshit. There will be no trace of this shy hunk of muscle who blushes and coils away from pretty girls. He'll be chest thumping shirtless and picking up everyone who gets close enough to touch. Half of them will probably end up thrown in the pool, if history is anything to go by, and he'll most likely have the hottest girl at the party slobbering all over him in the backseat when Jimin drives him home tonight.

Jimin's suspicions prove true an hour later when Jungkook throws Tae in the pool. Jimin runs to the edge of it in a panic. Tae was very drunk so he needs to make sure he's not just sinking like a stone. That was his first mistake, although he'd make it again to keep Taehyung safe. His second mistake was wearing these ridiculously tight ass jeans.

Any other pair and he might have been able to pry his cell phone from his pocket the second he felt JK's hands on his back. Had he worn any other pair of pants he might have been able to throw it to safety in the grass before he hit the surface of the pool. As it stands, his skin tight jeans are soaked through, Tae is slightly more sober than he was when Jimin arrived and is swimming just fine, and Jimin's phone is totally destroyed.

You should be sleeping. It's three in the morning. You should definitely not be awake right now. Lifting your phone up for the three hundredth time tonight, you're not surprised to have no new notifications. That text you sent to Jimin hours ago has gone unanswered.

You typed and erased it at least ten times, agonized over what to say, and how to say it. By the time you pressed send, the message was nothing like how it began and you noticed a second too late that you didn't even tell him who you were. Adding a second text saying 'it's y/n btw' seemed so desperate. You've been waiting for him to ask who you are for so long that you've convinced yourself he already knows and he's avoiding you on purpose. Who else would have said "i'm excited to see you tomorrow" in a text about meeting up to study? He knows it's you. He has to. The alternative possibility that he plans to see other people tomorrow too is too bothersome to accept. You really need to let this go and try to sleep.

Keys in the door stop you from dragging yourself off the couch. Your roommate will see you and accuse you of trying to run away from him to avoid something. He’s right, of course. You’ve attempted to flee from your problems in the past, against his advice. Now you know better than to try. It's much better to face things with Yoongi head on. At the very least, maybe he's got something helpful to say.

"Why're you up? You look sad." His words slur just the tiniest bit and he leans against the wall for stability as he takes off his shoes just inside the door. You see right through his attempts at nonchalance. He's tipsy.

"A boy I like isn't texting me back," you admit with a scowl. "You didn't drive, did you?"

"No, friend dropped me off. Is it Taehyung?" Yoongi asks, not pausing for an answer. "I wouldn't worry too much. He talked about you a lot tonight. He was really drunk though. You should go to bed. He'll probably text you in the morning."

You don't bother to correct Yoongi. Admitting you're harboring a huge fucking crush on the campus it-boy is the most foolish thing you could possibly do. It's embarrassing and naive and Yoongi would pity you for falling for someone so far out of your league. Maybe you should just date Taehyung and forget about Jimin. He sure seems to have forgotten about you.

When the morning comes and your only notifications are an email from Target and a text from your mom, you muster up every bit of courage you could possibly find in your body and call him. You’d rather know if he’s deliberately ignoring you now than agonize over other possibilities all day.

It doesn't even ring. His phone goes straight to voicemail. You try again, and a third time. Voicemail, voicemail. Could it be you rushed putting his number in and did it incorrectly? You dig through your backpack for the slip of paper he gave you to double check, and sure enough, it’s his number. He's ignoring you. He turned off his phone to solidify that fact in your brain.

Last night, laying awake waiting for his name to light up your phone, you felt pretty damn bad. In the daylight, with rest and a clear head, you're absolutely crushed. He was supposed to come over. You had plans. It was stupid of you to think you could earn space in his mind or time in his schedule. He played you, and it hurts.

Studying on your own proves more difficult than you imagined. With only Tae's notes to go by, you feel like you're quizzing yourself on things you already know. Turning to the textbook doesn't give you the specialized knowledge you need for the exam. You could never hope to memorize enough of it that you'd retain something pertinent.

On top of that, your heart hurts. You were so close to spending time together you could practically smell the subtle scent of his cologne. He pulled the rug right out from under you so fast, your ass is sore from falling on it so hard.

Sunday and Monday pass miserably in their slowness as you continue to nurse your tender rejected heart. You spend two days mulling over how you're going to face Jimin on Tuesday, let alone how you’re going to pass this exam when you're so disgustingly focused on figuring out why he stood you up and ignored you all weekend.

Tuesday comes too soon and you find yourself lingering outside the lecture hall for way longer than any sane person should.

That's what bothers you the most about this whole thing with Jimin. He's stolen your sense. How on earth did you let a stupid crush, on a boy you hardly know, get between you and your grades? You tell yourself no more as you suck in a deep breath and steel yourself to march right through the door. You're not going to let Park Jimin and his cruelty stand between you and your credits.

With your resolve solid and your head held high, you push yourself forward. You don't even spare a glance in his general direction as you pass, although it would be a lie to say you didn't clock him in your peripheral. Tae sits down next to you a moment later and you thank your lucky stars you have a friend here to make you look busy.

"Ready to make this exam your bitch?" he asks, making finger guns at you and clicking his tongue.

"That remains to be seen," you say, turning toward him in your seat so that Jimin is behind you. "I couldn't get anything done this weekend," you confess. "I thought I was more prepared than I am so it really just depends on what's on the exam."

"Aw fuck, you could have called me," he says, passing you his note cards. "We could have studied together."

"Oh, Tae," you sigh, pushing his hand back and refusing his offer of notes. "You should use this time for yourself. It wouldn't be fair of me to take it from you."

"We've got ten minutes." He points to the clock at the front of the lecture hall. "Quiz me. It will help us both."

Ten minutes fly by as you do your absolute best to retain any of the information in Taehyung's carefully written cards. You take one last glance at it before someone slips it from your hand and replaces it with a test. You know it's Jimin.

Only when you look up and level him with a glare does it seem to register on his face that you're angry. Realization dawns on him as you snatch the test and lean over it on your desk.

"Y/n, I'm so sorry," he quietly whispers, but he's moving on already. The exam is about to begin. He doesn't have time to explain himself right now. He knows what it looks like. He led you on and stood you up without so much as a text message. He should have asked Tae to tell you what happened, but the truth is that he forgot about you entirely and he knows that is the cruelest thing he could possibly confess.

Nearly an hour later you set your pencil down and run your fingers through your hair. Did any of those answers make sense? Your only possible saving grace is bullshitting your way through the open responses. Maybe you’ll earn some partial credit at the very least.

You swallow the petty words threatening to spill from your tongue as you gather your things and approach Jimin’s desk with your test in hand. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice the anxious glances he threw your way. You swore every time you looked up he was looking at you, so you’d squint like you were checking the time, like you had somewhere more important to be than taking an exam for a core requirement course.

As you slap the packet of your evident failure down on his desk, you don your best apathetic expression. You look down at him and allow a sliver of eye contact, just enough to send the message that you don’t care anymore. You try to look bored. He doesn’t deserve to see how he’s hurt you or angered you. He’s nothing to you. You’re nothing to him, but you’re not beneath him. He’s beneath you. You don’t just look at him; you look through him.

He blinks a few times and a chill runs down his spine. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words won’t form.

“Don’t bother. I don’t care,” you whisper with a roll of your eyes.

You make sure to straighten your shoulders and keep your chin up as you turn on your heel and leave. You bombed that exam and you know it, thanks to your stupid feelings, but at the very least you achieved the victory of shaking Park Jimin to his core. So why do you feel like you’re about to sob in the bathroom down the hall?

Oh. Because you are. You spend at least five minutes composing yourself and washing your face before your phone buzzes with a much needed distraction.

[NEW MESSAGE] Tae: hungry?

Jimin’s leg bounces uncontrollably under his desk while he waits for the remaining students to finish their exams so he can go after you. He wracks his brain for ways to clear the nervous tension dwelling within but it’s no use. Confrontation makes him so uncomfortable. Still, he can’t have you thinking he’s a total douche. He should text you. Fuck, he should call you. And he would, if he had a working phone. The second the last student drops their exam on his desk he’s going to find you and apologize.

He knows his reputation precedes him. He knows exactly what this looks like. You probably think he blew you off to get some or just led you on entirely, but he really did mean to meet up with you. He needs to clear the air. Maybe he’s a little loose with his morals at times, but he’s never an asshole on purpose. He prides himself on being a beacon of positivity and an example on how to make people feel good even if it’s only to make them feel good. He barely knows you, but it bothers him to think that you’re out there thinking he’s a heartless jerk and that he hurt your feelings on purpose.

It’s a big campus and Jimin spends the better half of an hour searching it before he finds you in the cafeteria with Taehyung. You look awfully close, and he almost feels bad interrupting you, but he owes you an explanation. It’s a mystery to him why on earth you would seek out his company when Taehyung seems all too willing to be what you need.

Taehyung notices him before you do. He shakes his head at Jimin disapprovingly. “Cold, man. So cold.”

Jimin nods, hanging his head. He’s well aware. You haven’t turned around yet and don’t intend to. If Jimin can ignore you then you can ignore him too. Besides, if you turn to face him, he might notice your watery, puffy eyes. How incredibly foolish that would be to admit that you’ve been crying about being stood up by someone you’ve barely even spoken to.

“Y/n?” Jimin’s soft voice calls to you, melodic and soothing as ever. “Can I have a minute?”

Taehyung looks between the two of you while he moves a french fry into his mouth at a snail’s pace and slowly chews as if this is free entertainment.

“No,” you answer.

“I’m sorry about Saturday,” he tells you, progressing despite your refusal to listen. He plants his hands on the table beside you and leans in to try to steal a glance at your profile, but you turn your head away.

“Jungkook pushed me in the pool right after this asshole,” he says, pointing at Taehyung. “My phone was in my pocket. It’s ruined.”

“Hey,” Taehyung interrupts, his mouth open in protest and full of half-chewed fries. “Don’t pin this on me. You could have asked any one of us to let her know what happened. You never even mentioned it. Why don’t you just admit that you forgot?” Taehyung suggests, jamming another french fry into his little paper cup of ketchup before cramming it into his mouth.

Jimin fumes for a moment, glaring at Tae before he pulls out the chair next to you and spins it around. He straddles it and rests his chin on the backrest. “Y/n, I’m sorry. I forgot. I swear I never would have done something like that to you on purpose. My phone getting ruined messed up a lot of things, but if you give me another chance, I’d love to prove that I’m not the horrible person you think I am.”

Silence. You glance over at Taehyung, willing him to speak up and either back Jimin up or get you out of this. You’re ready to forgive Jimin already and leave with him right now and it’s not lost on you how bad that looks. It’s so easy for Jimin to have you wrapped around his fingers. You wish he was ugly. You wish you never signed up for this stupid class. You wish you could feel for Tae the way you feel for Jimin so that you could just leave with him instead. You’re about ready to anyway when he finally opens his mouth again.

“I think you should take her out to eat. Eating out is the perfect way to apologize, don’t you think?” Tae’s grin is so wide it makes his eyes crinkle.

You huff out a humorless laugh. If that’s what you wanted you’d stick with the original plan and be in the backseat of Taehyung’s car again in the next twenty minutes. Against your better judgement, you turn to look at Jimin, puffy eyes and runny nose no longer hidden. He’s a little taken back by your expression. He smiles at you softly and reaches out to brush his knuckles against your cheek. You practically melt into his touch.

“Mmm, I would like something sweet.” Jimin licks his lips. “How about ice cream?”

“When?” you ask, embarrassed by the way your voice cracks and by how easily you’re giving in.

“Now?”

“Well, look at the time,” Tae says, standing with his tray and messenger bag. “I’ve got to go wash my hair but you two have fun on your date. Use protection!” he calls behind him on his way toward the exit.

You’d be irritated by his blunt suggestion if his statement didn’t swirl a storm of butterflies deep in your gut. You’re so distracted by them that you don’t realize that you’re still gaping at Jimin in disbelief.

“So?” Jimin wonders, holding out his hand.

“I don’t forgive you,” you insist while taking it into yours. Although it’s probably a lie, he doesn’t call you on it. He simply smiles and gives your hand a tiny comforting squeeze.

“My car is on the other side of campus,” you tell him once you’ve stepped outside. “Where are you parked?”

“Oh, um,” he stalls. “I thought it might be nice to walk, give us more time to talk. Is that okay?”

“Isn’t it kind of far?” you ask, assuming he's taking you to that chain ice cream shoppe a few miles off campus.

"No, this place is close. It's a secret. Not many people know about it," he says with a wink.

"You say that to everyone don't you?" You narrow your eyes at him, moving out of reach when he tries to put his arm around you.

"No," he laughs. "I've been here with other people, though. I was here with Jin last week." He smiles, leading the way toward a small alley between buildings.

You follow him easily, questioning again why you have so little self preservation when it comes to him. At the other end of the alley you can see what looks like a park. Green trees line the sidewalk up ahead, creating a canopy against the brilliant sun. The walk to this mysterious ice cream place is shaded and chilly. Jimin slips his jacket off and slings it over your shoulders when he notices you rubbing at your arms.

"Almost there," he promises. In the distance, framed by two towering oaks, is a tiny little ice cream place. It looks like a mirage, something out of a board game or a fairy tale. The closer you get, the more real it becomes. The siding is faded, the roof looks like it's in dire need of repairs, and the hand-painted sign reading The Cheery Cherry has seen better days. It's clean though, sparkling in all the places that matter.

There is a stout old man behind the window with a shining silver ice cream scoop ready and waiting in his hand. Jimin greets him by name and asks for a simple vanilla cone. You're tempted to judge him, he doesn't strike you as the vanilla type, but there must be a reason. Maybe this is the best vanilla ice cream on earth. You order the same just in case, taking your first taste as Jimin pulls a few bills from his wallet and hands them over with a shaky hand.

To your dismay the ice cream is not extraordinary; it's just plain vanilla. You could probably get the same exact type from any grocery store. You should have gone with something else. You should have at least gotten the cheery cherry cone. That might have been a flavor worth tasting. Why was he so bent on coming here for such a bland ice cream?

You suppose you should be thankful for the gesture but you still feel uneasy, like he’s playing you somehow. It almost feels like he’s doing it out of obligation rather than desire. Is he doing the bare minimum because he doesn’t feel like you’re worth more than this? Your company must be the equivalent to a plain vanilla cone. Mediocre. Unremarkable. Ordinary.

Forgettable.

Jimin turns back to you with his ice cream in one hand and change filling the other. "Is it good?"

"It's vanilla." You shrug.

"Do you want something different?" he asks, counting the money in his hand.

"No, I like vanilla."

"Figures," he teases.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you snap back at him.

"Nothing, sweetheart. I just think you're soft, sweet. Vanilla suits you."

"I am not vanilla. I do all kinds of freaky shit," you argue, realizing too late that you've over shared in your annoyance.

Jimin looks you over with a smirk, bringing his ice cream to his lips and dragging his tongue around the edge of the cone where it's dripping. "Noted," he says.

"I didn't mean-- I wasn't -- UGH," you huff, embarrassed that he's still making a fool of you from the doghouse. You need to change the subject fast. "What'syourmajor?" You rush the question past your lips and he laughs at your flustered state, waiting for you to slow down and ask him in words he can understand.

"Your major?" you repeat, slower this time.

"Oh, uh. Urban studies."

"Interesting."

"You don't know what that means, huh?" He nudges you with his elbow, falling in stride beside you. Unfortunately, you had just brought your ice cream up to your mouth and his nudging caused you to smear it across your cheek.

You look at him angrily. First he stood you up, forgot about you, then he had the nerve to show up to class today looking like a fucking angel, takes you for ice cream to make it up to you, and now he's teasing you and making you look every bit the fool you feel like you are. Tears well in your eyes when he laughs at the mess he caused.

"I'm sorry," he says through his giggling. He reaches out to gently wipe your cheek with his thumb which he promptly pops in his mouth and sucks clean after. "What's wrong?"

You swipe at your eyes, ridding them of the tears that were about to spill out as your shame bubbles over. "You make me feel stupid," you confess. "You're wasting my time."

Shoving his jacket back at him, you take off in the direction you came, throwing your stupid vanilla cone in the closest trash can and kicking yourself for not leaving with Taehyung instead. Jimin winces at the action, looking like you’ve discarded a precious keepsake rather than a plain, boring vanilla cone.

"Y/n, wait!" he calls, catching up to you with ease. He takes you by the wrist and spins you back to face him. "I don't think you're stupid at all. I’m sorry I’m so bad at this.” He sighs, softening his hold on you. “I didn’t know what to think about you when you approached me at first, you know? Girls throw themselves at me all the time.”

You grimace at his words and roll your eyes, snatching your wrist back with a scowl. Of course he thinks you were throwing yourself at him, but you’re sure that you weren’t. You were just being direct about your feelings. Do you really come across as such a desperate person? Maybe you should ask Yoongi for his opinion later.

“But I definitely didn’t mean to stand you up and I don’t mean to make you feel stupid at all. I think you're pretty smart, you’re cute and you’re actually bolder than I initially thought. I'd love to get to know you better. I know I'm not doing so great so far, but I can be better. Please, sit with me?" he asks, walking to a nearby park bench.

Reluctantly, you follow, although you make a point to drag your feet the whole way there. When you sit down beside him, he loops an arm around your waist and draws you closer, offering his ice cream up to you once your legs brush against his. You reach for it but he pulls it away.

"Hey," he jokes. "Just lick it. I didn't make you throw yours away."

You shake your head and lean forward to drag your tongue over what's left of his vanilla cone.

"Forgive me?" he asks. His toothy smile catches the sunlight and it genuinely hurts your eyes to keep looking.

"Okay. One more chance," you agree. "So, urban studies?"

He relaxes back against the bench, taking another lick before he offers the cone to you again. "Yeah, it's like community development and stuff. What about you, princess? What are you studying?"

You flush at the nickname, heat rising in your face and other places you'd rather not acknowledge. You're oblivious to the fact that you're having a similar effect on Jimin. The way you're licking his ice cream is making his pants feel a little tight.

"Teaching," you tell him, picking at the peeling paint on the bench.

"Little kids?"

"Yeah." You take another lick of his ice cream while he holds it, looking up halfway through.

Jimin's expression is unreadable, stunned almost. He shifts a little, crosses his legs, clears his throat.

"Kids are fun. I have a younger brother," he tells you.

"A lot younger?"

"No," he laughs. "But he's a total baby so it's basically the same.”

“Oh, does he get that from you?” you tease with a giggle.

His mouth drops open in surprise. “Hey,” he pouts. “That’s not nice.”

“I never said I was nice,” you tell him, taking another slow lick of his ice cream.

“Clearly,” he scoffs with a roll of his eyes. He drags his lip through his teeth to try to hide the smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

You manage to cram so much conversation into the next twenty minutes on this park bench, learning more about the mysterious campus celebrity than you ever thought you’d know. You hope his interest wasn't feigned, because it felt so fucking good to have his attention, to have him really listen to you and ask you about your life and your family and your hopes for the future. If you're not mistaken, you might think this was real progress.

Jimin watches you walk back toward campus with a soft smile and an unfamiliar feeling brewing inside him. You've surprised him. You're not the naive infatuated little girl he took you for. If he had a phone he'd be texting you already. He'd call you tonight, and maybe tomorrow. It's alarming to him how badly he wants another ten minutes with you. He hates that you declined his offer to walk you to your next class, but damn does he ever appreciate the view.

Thursday comes quickly. After your initial ice cream date, Jimin has found himself curiously seeking your attention rather than the other way around. With his phone out of commission he was hanging around the cafeteria all day yesterday in hopes of catching you. While it’s clear you don’t trust him and you haven’t forgiven him, you seem to have softened up a bit. You spent your meals together and allowed him to walk you to your classes, all while exchanging playful jabs at each other. You might forgive him for bailing if yesterday stood alone. Today is a whole different story.

Now Jimin is staring down a stack of graded exams the professor has dropped on the table at the front of the room. Students haven’t begun to trickle in yet so when the professor takes the opportunity to excuse himself, Jimin wastes no time in flipping through the pile to get a sense of the overall success of the class. When he gets to a test marked in thick red marker with an ‘F’ his stomach drops. He knows it’s yours before he even reads the name. He was hoping maybe you’d been lying about not paying attention.

He shuffles the exam back into place and straightens the pile just as the earliest student walks in. Jimin offers her a wan smile and a tiny bow of his head as a greeting. Although his stomach is still sinking and churning, he’s already thinking about ways he might be able to make it up to you.

Jimin finds you in the cafeteria with Taehyung again, where he has you distracted from your misery by folding and unfolding a cootie catcher in front of your face like you're in third grade and not your third year of college.

"Pick a color now, y/n," Tae urges, opening and closing the folded paper four times after you've indicated the triangle marked 'pink.' "Hmm," he ponders. "It says you need to relax."

"What is this, a fortune cookie? I thought these things were like truth or dare, or like... who I was gonna marry," you complain, flicking the craft from his hands.

Jimin picks the paper up off the floor and hands it back to Taehyung. "Do me," he says.

After a moment of pointing and folding, Tae announces, "It says you need to apologize. Again."

Jimin looks at you while Tae packs up his stuff. After dropping a kiss on the top of your head he leaves for his next class. The action makes Jimin furrow his brows and frown. A feeling too uncomfortably close to jealousy blooms in his chest. Why did that bother him so much? He's not ready to acknowledge the answer to that. Instead, he contradicts it by reminding himself that Tae is one of his closest friends and it's cool that the two of you are getting close too.

"Princess?" Jimin's song-like voice drifts to your ears once Tae has disappeared. You've pressed your face into your folded arms on the table and it's taking everything you have not to start crying about your failed exam again. "I'm so sorry," he whispers, laying his hand against the small of your back and beginning to rub soft circles there. "I'm sorry I didn't help you."

"I wish you were ugly," you mumble into your arms.

"What?" he laughs, leaning his face down next to yours.

You lift your head to meet his eyes. "If you were ugly this never would have happened," you insist, sitting up and shaking his hand off your back with a twist of your spine. "Just be ugly! FUCK."

Jimin smiles before screwing his face up into the most unrecognizable grimace he can manage. He holds it until you start to smile then switches to another terrible expression, with his chin tucked into his neck so that it morphs into several chins and crosses his eyes for extra emphasis on its ridiculousness. When you start to laugh he sticks out his tongue to make it worse.

Once you’re clutching your stomach and doubled over with pealing laughter, he gives you the beautiful smile you're so used to again. "Let's do something fun together," he offers. "And then after that, we'll get studying and make this right. Please let me make it up to you."

"Okay," you agree, leaning into his open arms. It only took a couple days of spending time together to remove the awkwardness you felt when he touched you. He's even held your hand a few times while you walked together after your other classes. Now, his embrace feels welcome and comforting. You still can’t tell if he’s just trying to be nice or if he actually likes doing it but you don’t mind at all.

"There's a party on Saturday, will you come with me?"

"Where?" you ask, as if you have any hope of refusing him at all. You'd go anywhere with him and you know it but you want to try to play it cool. Your tone seems more tepid than you anticipate but he doesn’t seem to call you out on it.

"Jin's," he tells you, reaching for your hand and lacing your fingers together.

He rubs his thumb against the back of your hand while he waits for you to pretend to decide. You relish in the motion. The tingle of butterflies erupt in your belly again like a cannon aimed at your heart, ready to sink it in an instant. Instead of falling, your heart seems to fly up to your brain and a light giggle escapes your lips.

"Okay. I'll come," you say in a euphoric brain fog, looking down at your joined hands. It's scary how good it feels to have his attention like this, but you hope it doesn’t stop.

"Why are you home?" Yoongi asks, finding you on the couch when he emerges from his bedroom. His late afternoon nap went longer than expected, leaving you believing he was out for the night. You settled in with Netflix and snacks of your own. He flops down next to you, causing you to swing your feet off the couch before they get squashed beneath his butt. He yawns and lets his head dip forward as he pulls out his phone and begins flipping through it.

"It's Friday night,” he reminds you, his tone scratchy. It makes you giggle.

"I didn't wanna go out alone and I thought you were gone. You're gonna be up all night now, you know."

"I would have stayed asleep but I've got a friend in need," he mumbles, rubbing the remainder of sleep from his eyes.

"Aww, you're so good to me." You beam, snuggling up to him and wrapping him up in a tight hug.

"Not you," he huffs with a disgusted grimace. “Ugh, that’s enough touching.”

You immediately pull back and scoff. “Wow. You’re lucky I know you know you love me.”

He rolls his eyes. "That’s debatable.”

“Yeah, okay,” you mock him in a tone of disbelief. You pop a chip into your mouth. “So why are you really up— if not to support your wonderful, beautiful, perfectly sculpted local couch potato?”

He smiles and steals the next chip from your hand before you can shove it into your mouth. “If you're good with it, my friend is gonna crash on our couch for a few days. His parents cut him off and he’s got nowhere to go. He’s almost got enough saved up to get his own place, but he could use some help in the meantime. Figured we’re doing alright and we have a couch. You cool with that?"

"Sure," you agree, trusting Yoongi's judgment. He's not gonna let some crazy person stay on your couch. "When?"

"I was just waiting for your approval but I hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to you before I passed out. I'll go pick him up now, if that's good with you," he says slipping his feet into a pair of sandals and looking for his keys.

"What, he doesn't have a car?"

"Sold it to pay for his books this semester. He's got nothing. He's keeping all his clothes in another friend's closet. It's kinda sad."

"That's rough," you agree, blowing out a heavy exhale and turning your attention back to the TV.

"I'll be back in a few. Maybe take it to your room so he can have the couch?" Yoongi suggests.

"Sure, sure," you say, already sucked back into your show and forgetting entirely about Yoongi and his friend for now.

When Yoongi returns an hour later, you haven't moved. In fact, you’ve crashed… hard. Yoongi and his mystery guest enter to a chorus of your snores and the Friends theme song.

“Hey, get up,” Yoongi urges, nudging your shoulder lightly.

When you peel your eyes open to look at him, you’re utterly mystified to see the object of your affections a few feet behind him, standing awkwardly in your kitchen with a duffle slung over his shoulder.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you blink a few times to clear your vision. You want to be sure it's him before you open your mouth. He's there, in black sweats with a grey hoodie pulled up over his white baseball cap. “Jimin?”

“Oh good you know him," Yoongi says with relief coating his tone. "I’m gonna get him some blankets. Think you can take your Netflix marathon to your room?”

"Yeah, I can do that," you mumble, gathering up your mess and disappearing into your room without another word.

Alone in your room, you conjure up a hundred reasons in your anxious mind that could explain why Jimin thought he had to keep this huge secret from you. He’s got nothing? Maybe he was afraid you'd tell people. Suddenly, it makes so much sense why he's always walking everywhere.

You think back to Tuesday at the Cheery Cherry. His usually steady hands were so shaky handing over those bills he pulled from his wallet. You think of how tightly he clutched his change and even counted it out afterward. If you hadn’t been so preoccupied with your own thoughts of inadequacy, you might have been able to put it together on your own. Your stomach drops when you recall the insulting way you threw your vanilla cone in the trash. The scene replays over and over again until you’re crying into your pillow.

Guilt keeps you awake until well past midnight as you turn these unsavory ideas over and over in your head, looking at them from every possible angle and over analyzing every detail of the time you've spent together thus far. Your eyes are now wide and dry, fixed on a black spot on your ceiling that you're hoping is just a speck and not a spider. The quilt in your hands is frayed, giving your nervous hands something to pick at while you let the silence drive you mad.

The soft knock on your door at half past one is a relief. Yoongi does his best cooking at odd hours, usually bringing you a plate if you're awake. It's a surprise to find Jimin outside your door instead. He awkwardly shifts from foot to foot until he finds your eyes in the dim glow of your table lamp.

"Did I wake you?" he whispers, head leaning against your door frame.

You shake your head, looking down at your skimpy sleep shorts and the university hoodie you pulled on to open the door. “I was up.”

“Can we talk?”

“Of course,” you answer, stepping aside so he can come in. Your eyes scan the room nervously, checking for underwear on the floor and counting the half empty glasses of water on your nightstand. If you knew Jimin was going to be in your bedroom tonight, you would have cleaned up. At least you didn’t leave your vibrator out in the open. You don’t think you’d recover from the embarrassment of that.

Jimin follows you to your bed, perching on the edge once you’ve settled back against your pillows.

“I feel like I owe you an explanation.”

“You don’t,” you respond immediately. “I’m happy you’re here.”

“Then why did you run away?” he asks, pulling at his hoodie strings.

“I wanted to give you space. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. You didn’t tell me what you were going through and I didn’t want to…” you trail off, unsure how to articulate just why you ran away.

“You didn’t want to embarrass me? Hurt my pride?” he asks, sarcasm evident.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. “You don’t owe me an explanation. We aren’t that close.”

“That’s the problem,” he whispers. “I want to explain. I want to be that close to you.” He leans towards you, resting on his hands. He looks confident despite his current situation and it worries you a little. How can he be so sure of himself when he’s crashing on your couch and apologizing to you again for the fourth time in less than a week?

The Jimin you’ve gotten to know recently seems to disappear, leaving on the smooth talking playboy in his wake. He seems too calculated to be genuine. The words he whispers don’t seem like words meant for you. He is him, after all, and money or not he’s still the greatest catch on campus. And you, much to your dismay, are still just you. Unassuming, uninteresting, unexciting you. You’re the plain vanilla cone he’d never ask for if he had the means to get the banana split.

“Why?” you skeptically ask, pulling your knees up to your chest.

Jimin bites his bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth while he thinks. “You’re special,” he says. “You’re cute and funny and I like spending time with you. You make me feel like I can be myself with you.”

“But you don’t trust me?” you ask, obviously referring to the elephant in the room. He didn’t tell you he was essentially homeless. How much of himself can he truly be if he was keeping that from you?

“I didn’t want to scare you away, and most girls I… see, don’t get close enough to find out,” he confesses. “I can’t afford to take anyone out right now. I haven’t been able to for a while. But I’m so close to getting enough for an apartment. That’s why I took the TA job; at the end of the semester I should be ready.”

“Jimin,” you start, unsure what to say. You’re still thinking about that goddamned three dollar ice cream cone you threw away.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he tells you, standing up. “I just wanted to be real with you, and thank you for agreeing to let me have the couch for a few days. I’ll let you sleep.”

“Wait!”

As you scramble over yourself to reach out, you find yourself on your knees awkwardly clutching your hand towards your chest. You’re still worried about seeming desperate but you can’t let that stop you now. Jimin turns toward you, but you’re unsure of what you wanted to say. You only know that you want to be closer to him too, that you’re not ready for him to go, that if he leaves now you’ll lie awake for the rest of the night reliving this short conversation.

“Stay,” you plead, nervously twirling the string of your hoodie around your fingers as you sit back against the pillows. “Talk to me?”

“Aren’t you tired?” he wonders.

You hold out your hand and he crosses the room to take it, standing next to your bed. You pat the space next to you and tug him toward it. “Wide awake.”

Your yawn says otherwise.

Jimin smiles, climbing over you to lay by your side on top of your blankets. He looks at you expectantly once he’s settled but it’s too much pressure for you to lead the conversation. You only know that you want to keep hearing his soothing voice. You have no idea what you wanted to say.

“You look cute,” he says, breaking the silence and touching your nose with the tip of his finger. “Sleepy and soft.”

“You look sexy,” you complain, waving his hand away. “I kinda wanna punch you for it.”

He throws his head back in laughter. “So feisty.”

“I can be boring instead,” you jokingly offer, rolling on your side to face him.

He does his best to keep his eyes trained on your face, despite the fact that all he wants to do is let them wander down. “I just want you to be you.”

That sounds fake. Again, you battle against the idea that this is all a farce, some sneaky way to get into your pants once and leave you wanting for the rest of your life. He hasn’t bared himself to you enough for you to trust him, so you pry.

“Why’d your parents cut you off, Jimin?” you ask.

He looks at you for a second, stunned at your boldness. That’s definitely not where he thought this conversation was going. He takes a moment to prepare his response and sighs.

“They have this restaurant. It’s a small place right off the coast: Jeongsik. My great grandparents started it from nothing and now my parents manage it. They want me to take over since I’m the eldest, but I want to move to the city and have my own life. I don’t want to work in their restaurant forever and my brother loves it and is perfectly capable. They love me. I know they’re just trying to teach me a lesson,” he tells you. He sounds unsure of that last bit. It probably has a lot to do with the fact that he’s got nowhere to live and he’s penny pinching for meals and they’re shunning him.

“And what is that lesson, Jimin?” you ask, trying to dig deeper before he slips back into playboy mode.

“That being a part of Jeongsik is my only option if I want to be successful. That I can’t make it without them.”

“Can you?” The question is quiet and unassuming. You only want to know how bad it really is.

He takes a deep breath and taps his fingers anxiously against the fabric of the pillow. “I can. It won’t be the same, it won’t be easy, but I can.”

After giving Jimin a moment to say more, which he doesn’t take, you push him further. With your heart on the line and this miracle of an opportunity with him in your room, you're determined to learn as much as you can. You need to get under his skin. You need to know him, so you can know if you should run.

"What's your plan then?" you question, shifting closer so you're face to face against the pillows.

Jimin smirks at your line of questioning. It seems to break him from his thoughts. “Well,” he begins. “The Village has some one bedrooms opening up at the end of the semester, and by then I’ll be ready to make a deposit and lease one. After that I’ve got one semester left until I graduate. Then I’ll move to the city and live my life how I want.”

“Won’t you miss your family?”

“They still talk to me. They’re just not paying for school. Or my car. Or my food.” His heavy sigh at the end contradicts the lightness with which he revealed all of this to you.

“I’m sorry, Jimin.” You reach for his hand, familiarity in the way it fits with yours.

“It’s okay. I have good friends, and I have…” he trails off, catching himself and looking away with an awkward huff of a laugh.

“What?” you wonder, heart fluttering at the possibility that he was about to say ‘you.’ “What else do you have?”

Jimin looks up at you, rising up on his elbow. His eyes search your face for any hint of rejection. When he finds only hope, his hand moves to cup your cheek. It’s warm, adorned with rings that contrast the temperature of his skin.

“You,” he breathes, moving closer. You watch his gaze dart down to your lips before your own eyelids flutter closed. “I was going to say you,” he confesses before he closes the space between you and lays a soft kiss against your waiting lips.

He pulls away way too fast, leaving you to panic in the aftermath. You thought you had feelings for him before, but now that he’s let you in, now that he has shown you his heart, there is nothing more to deny. You’ve fallen, hard. The realization makes you feel trapped, like a frantic dying bird in a cage. But your captor is kind and beautiful and the flavor he left on your lips is the most divine thing you’ve ever tasted.

“Then say it,” you prompt him, urging him to accept the affection you’ve been so desperate to give him.

He kisses you again in lieu of words, longer, deeper, until his tongue is dragging over yours. You fist the material of his hoodie in your hands, pulling him towards you while you turn on your back. He’s hesitant to get on top of you, afraid he might be taking it too far, but you’re insistent. You pull and he caves willingly, slotting a leg between yours and letting his hand drift from your cheek to the back of your neck.

“I like you,” he pants when he breaks away. It feels like your heart flies up out of your chest and does a lap around the room, flapping its hummingbird wings like the wild thing it is before it crashes back into its place.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” you plead. “You don’t have to pretend just because you’re here now. I’m a big girl. We can just have tonight.”

You say the words but you know if he leaves tomorrow, you’ll cry all day and probably the day after that too. The truth is, you can talk all you want about how you can do this no strings attached, but you know you can’t. Your strings are so attached to him at this point you might as well be metaphorical shibari.

“I mean it,” he whispers, full, wet lips brushing the side of your neck.

You freeze. You were expecting him to drop the charade and just fuck you or something, but in this moment he exudes tenderness and consideration.

“And because I like you, I think I should go back to the couch before we do something we aren’t ready to do.”

“Stay,” you plead. “We don’t have to do anything, just lay with me.”

He slowly nods and reaches over you to turn off the lamp, planting a soft kiss on your cheek as he settles back into place. You wiggle your form down into the covers and he smoothes the hair from your face before tracing his fingers down your arm. You lean in close enough to smell the subtle clean scent of his cologne. Is it cologne? You doubt it knowing what you know now, unless he’s borrowing it from someone else. You still find yourself enjoying it nonetheless. It’s comforting. Sleep begins to claim you just as he slips his fingers into yours and gives you a tiny squeeze.

“Goodnight y/n.”

You think you respond but you’re in that purgatory state between sleeping and being awake, so you can’t be sure. At least you’re eighty percent sure you gave him a squeeze in return.

That’s how Yoongi finds you in the morning: you tucked neatly into your comforter and Jimin laying on top of it beside you, your hands clasped together in the middle.

“UM!” Yoongi shouts from the doorway, loud enough to wake you both.

Startled, you sit up in bed and look around for the source of the shout. “Fuck! Yoon. You didn’t need to scream.”

“I hope you’re not expecting me to keep this from Taehyung,” Yoongi chides, looking from you to Jimin and back. “That would be quite the moral conundrum.”

“For fuck’s sake. It was never Tae. I am not seeing Tae. We are JUST FRIENDS!” You yell the last two words and chuck your pillow at him for emphasis.

“Okay cool, then Jimin can explain to him whatever this is to him. Jimin, he wants you to call him. My phone’s on the table. I’m taking a shower.”

Yoongi disappears from the doorway and an uncomfortable silence settles over the room. In the light of day, you feel nervous and uncertain. Jimin does nothing to ease your anxiety. He just lays there quietly, unsure what to say.

“Do you want breakfast?” You try to smile and sound as chipper as possible.

He sits up finally and turns his back to you. “I should go see Taehyung.”

He moves toward the door and you feel your chest tighten. “Jimin?”

He turns to you from the hallway, and taking in your confused expression, offers you a smile. “We’re good, princess. I’ll be back tonight, then me and you: party time.” He winks before moving out of sight.

Alone once again, you start to question things. Everything. Are you imagining things or did Jimin seem cold when he left? He kissed you last night, didn’t he? Was everything you talked about too much? Does he regret kissing you? Does he regret staying the night with you without getting anything out of it? You can feel your thoughts spiraling out of control, but you can’t stop yourself from putting up the walls you so desperately wanted to keep down forever last night. It obviously didn’t mean anything to him, despite his claim that he likes you. He probably just meant that he’d like to fool around with you. Like he does with everyone else. You can’t let one night beside him make you think you’re special to him, no matter how badly you want to be.

Knowing you won’t make it through the day without driving yourself completely mad with questions and doubts, you dig your old phone and charger out of a drawer and go after Jimin. He’s leaning over the kitchen counter staring down at Yoongi’s phone when you steal his attention.

“Please take this,” you plead, thrusting the phone and charger towards him.

He looks from the device to you and blinks a few times in surprise. “What?”

“It’s a little old, but if your sim card didn’t get damaged I’m sure it will work in this. I kept putting off bringing it to be recycled.” You laugh nervously as you try to place it in his hand. “But now I’m glad I didn’t. Take it.”

“I can’t accept this, princess. It’s too much,” Jimin says, staring down at the object in your hands.

“Take it for me. If I have to go another day without being able to send you memes I’ll die.”

“Memes?” he repeats, sounding baffled.

“Memes, nudes, the weather forecast. Who cares? I wanna text you. Please take it.”

He licks his lips and smirks at your joke. Was it a joke? It’s hard to tell. He accepts it anyway. “Thank you. I’ll call you later?”

“You’d better,” you tease, offering the grandest smile you can manage before retreating with a slow saunter back to your room.

There’s that view again. He could watch your ass sway in those teeny shorts all day. It takes every last ounce of self control he possesses to pick up Yoongi’s phone and dial Tae rather than sprint back into your room and pin you to the bed. It doesn’t stop him from daydreaming about it though, even as his friend answers.

“What are we doing?” Jimin stands in the sprawling living room of Taehyung and Jungkook’s shared apartment. Both are from wealthy families that are all too ready to give their sons everything that matches the silver spoons in their mouths. They’ve been blessed with a bachelor pad that looks more like a college movie set than anything normal one would find around campus.

“Pick up a controller,” Tae tells Jimin, completely absorbed in the race on their oversized flat screen TV.

Jungkook hasn’t even acknowledged Jimin’s presence yet. Focused doesn’t even begin to describe the way his eyes bore into the television. He doesn’t break from his trance until he wins. Only then does he sit back with a smug grin, dropping the controller in his lap and just barely resisting the urge to gloat.

Taehyung drops his controller too, turning to give Jungkook a congratulatory fist bump. “Take his place,” he says to Jimin.

Jungkook has already vacated his place on the hallowed futon and moved to the row of cup noodles sitting on the counter. The first cup is half empty before Jimin even sits down.

“I suck at these games, Tae,” Jimin grumbles.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to be good. It’s a ploy to get you relaxed enough to talk about y/n.” Taehyung smiles, knowing Jimin can’t refuse now that he’s cornered.

“What about her?” He feigns nonchalance, as if he didn’t just spend last night catching feelings along with your lips between his own.

Taehyung scoffs, half bewildered, half disgusted. “Come on, Jimin. She’s amazing. You like her.”

“I barely know her,” Jimin replies. It’s a lie he can taste like copper on his tongue. He knows your favorite food, where you grew up, what you study, and he’s already programmed your birthday into his borrowed phone so he won’t forget.

Taehyung clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. “Okay then. If you don’t give a fuck, I’m gonna shoot my shot. She’s funny, and nice, and her pussy is so bomb it makes me wanna get married, so if you’re not gonna do something about that then I will.”

Jungkook cackles from the kitchen. “Did you fuck Jimin’s girl?”

“She’s not my girl,” Jimin grumbles, staring daggers at Jungkook, just as Taehyung says that he did not.

Jungkook takes his armload of cup noodles into his bedroom.

“I know you like her,” Tae prods. “She’s not some materialistic bitch who’s gonna leave you if you can’t afford lavish dates every other day. She’s a good, genuine person. She just wants your time and your attention. Maybe your heart. She doesn’t care about the other stuff.”

“Yeah? So I can bring her back to this futon after I buy her dinner from the dollar menu?” Jimin’s nose starts to tingle, months worth of frustrations finally reaching a breaking point. “I can’t get in a relationship right now and you know she’s not a fuckbuddy kind of girl.

“Right, because I didn’t eat her out in my car for fun last week.” He’d date you in a heartbeat if you wanted him. But he knows it’s Jimin you want and he’s more than happy to push the two of you together to see you both happy. He values friendship above all things.

“If that’s all you want from her, fine. But I think you and I both know it’s not and she’s too good for you to string along. If you’re just gonna break her heart, do it now before she falls any harder for you.”

“Why, so you can swoop in and be the good guy again? So you can get her off in your backseat?” The words are venom dripping from his mouth.

“Bro.”

Jimin softens. Tae is his dearest friend. He knows he only has his best interests at heart.

“I’m sorry.” He pauses and sighs. “We talked about Jeongsik last night. She knows my parents cut me off.”

Taehyung grimaces. “How’d that go?”

“Now she knows I’m not good enough but it didn’t seem to deter her at all.”

“‘Cause you are good enough and now she can see your true worth as a person, which is a thousand times better than the fake worth of money.”

Jimin seems to consider this for a moment but then expresses the concern gnawing at his insides. “What if she really is just another person who wants to idolize me? I’m really into her, but I need it to be more than that.”

“Jimin—”

“What if she’s after the meaningless title of being Park Jimin’s girl... like every other girl that has pursued me lately?” The words make him cringe. He’s humble and kind, not one to throw bouquets at himself, but those thoughts are intrusive and hard to ignore.

“Tch. Do you know her at all? Do you really think that matters to her?”

“No,” Jimin sighs. “But what if?”

“She admires you. You like her. Stop making it so complicated and let go of those ifs. You’ll never know if you don’t try and I want to see you try because you deserve to be happy,” Tae insists, starting a new game. “Now pick up that controller. I wanna kick your ass.”

You’ve spent the better part of your Saturday afternoon picking out your outfit for tonight. Yoongi only teased you twice before helping you select something a little bit more slutty than you’d normally pull out for a date. You’re going to a party after all, not some Sunday brunch with your friends.

When it’s almost time for you to meet up with Jimin you find yourself growing increasingly nervous. You run your hand over your thigh and down your calf, testing for any stubble you might have missed in your meticulous hour-long shaving session. On your way back up you tug on your skirt, eyeing it as though your gaze can simply increase its length. When was the last time you wore this dress?

You adjust and fuss over the way your tits fit inside the garment and puff air out of your cheeks. Yoongi squints at you from across the room. Your door is wide open after all.

“Stop worrying so much.” He sighs and clicks his tongue, crossing the room until he can see you in perfect clarity. “You look great.”

“I feel stupid. I should change. Jimin’s gonna think I’m weird if I wear this.” You try to turn and run back to your closet.

Yoongi plants his hands on your shoulders and spins you back to face the full-length mirror hanging over your door. “Look at yourself. Jimin’s gonna think you’re the hottest one at the party. Look at that makeup game.” He gestures to your face. “Wooo! So strong! Wow!”

Your lips twitch into a smile. Yoongi can be so sweet when he’s not busy pretending like he isn’t the softest man on earth.

“What if he doesn’t actually want me?” you ask, strings of doubt still plucking at your insecurity.

“He does,” he says with all the comfort you need in this moment. “I can tell with these kinds of things, you know.”

“That your like, weird sage sense you’re always telling me about? Reading the horoscopes doesn’t make you a fortune teller.”

He laughs. “Don’t be jealous of my power. Have I been wrong before?”

He hasn’t been, at least not with the advice he’s given you.

You exhale a huge breath and cock your head to inspect your appearance one more time. “What if you’re wrong?”

He hums a soft sound before planting a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Then he’s an idiot.”

A knock saves him from the overbearing hug you’re about to give him. He practically sprints towards the door. “That must be him! Pull your skirt up a little, would you? You’re not a nun and it’s gonna ride up anyway.” He pauses with his hand on the deadbolt and drops his tone to a rather loud, strained whisper. “Wait. What underwear are you wearing?”

Your eyes widen and your brows furrow as you angrily march over to your strappy heels and begin to put them on. “Why does it matter?” you whisper back.

“Are they the beige ones?”

“No!” Your hushed tone threatens to break into a shriek. “You know those are my period panties.”

“Please tell me they’re not the green ones.”

“Yoongi!” You get frustrated and lift your skirt just enough to show off a bit of the black lace adorning your buttcheeks as you lift your foot onto the nearby stool to finish setting the strap in place. “Satisfied?”

He breathes a sigh of relief and nods. “Good. Those are good.”

He opens the door faster than you can register the action. Jimin catches the flash of lace and more skin than he’s meant to see as you swing your leg down off the stool and adjust your dress. Heat flushes your face as you meet Jimin’s gaze. His eyes are wide and he licks his lips before nervously clearing his throat. He nonchalantly drops his hands and holds them together in front of his pelvis.

“You-You look good,” he stammers, completely stunned by your appearance.

“Thanks,” you reply with a shy smile. Park Jimin gets flustered? Who’d have thought?

He thought you were beautiful before but he’s never seen you like this. You’re completely decked out and drop dead gorgeous. He’s almost worried he’ll feel inadequate standing next to you tonight but it doesn’t stop him from wanting you by his side, hanging on his arm. He wants everyone to know that he’s there with you.

The pair of you stand there looking at one another and Yoongi slowly turns from Jimin to you, then back to Jimin.

“Have everything?” Yoongi prods, trying to get you to move so he can get on with his evening of relaxation and lazing about.

That seems to break you from your stupor and you nod and walk forward to hook your arm around Jimin’s. Before you get too far Yoongi calls to you and tests your reflexes by tossing your keys. You’ll need those if Yoongi is dead to the world asleep by the time you get home, which is quite possible. You’re not the most dextrous person but Jimin catches them and smiles at you. When you try to take them from his fingertip he moves his hand away and you swipe at the air. He offers to keep them in his pocket and you gratefully oblige. You pull your phone from its confines against your breast and check on the status of your uber with one hand while slipping your other into Jimin’s.

Jin’s party is already in full swing by the time you arrive. It looks like something out of a movie. There are glowsticks, red solo cups, a buffet table of snacks, and loud music by the large inground pool. People inside and outside of this big ass frat house are grinding up on each other, dancing, and spilling their drinks on one another. It’s a little overwhelming honestly. You’ve never been much of a party person and this is a monster-sized one.

Jimin takes your hand in his and gives you a reassuring smile. “You want a drink, princess?”

“Yeah.” You grin and breathe a sigh of relief, feeling your insides melt at the sound of his voice. You know whatever happens tonight you’ll be okay with him by your side.

Jimin keeps you close all night, drinking and dancing and stealing the occasional quick kiss. It's pretty clear to everyone who's paying attention that there's something going on between you. You came with Jimin, you're there with Jimin, you're leaving with Jimin. Either Jungkook wasn't paying attention, or he just plain doesn't care. The moment Jimin leaves you alone to run to the bathroom, Jungkook steps up behind you in the chair you’re sitting on.

"Hey, y/n!" He smiles, all teeth and sleepy eyes. You can smell the whiskey on his breath when you turn to face him. "You look so pretty tonight."

"Thanks, Kook." You know he's one of Jimin and Tae’s closest friends. If you just hang with him until Jimin gets back, you'll be able to avoid the advances of all the weird guys here you aren't familiar with. "I like your boots," you tell him, looking down.

He follows your gaze to his feet. "Me too, I hope no one barfs on them tonight," he laughs, lifting his face back up to yours. The words are slightly slurred but you’re still able to decipher them.

His eyes definitely linger on your cleavage on their way back up. By the looks of it, he's on the short list of people who might end up barfing on those shoes. He holds his liquor well, but if you had to guess you'd say he's had more than he should have at this point in the night.

"So, I was talking to Taehyung recently," he starts with a mischievous glint in his eyes. The rest of his sentence seems to get lost in translation on the way to his mouth.

"And?" You smile at him and realize he’s probably too drunk to have anything of worth to say but you wait anyway.

"He told me something." Jungkook smiles so big his nose crinkles and he giggles like it’s the biggest secret in the universe.

You puzzle for a moment over what could have him so giddy before remembering that Taehyung is intimately familiar with your o-face. You'd gotten so close with him over the last two weeks that the details of your first time hanging out had completely slipped your mind. Jungkook is definitely about to say something crass.

"What did he tell you?" you ask, fearing you already know the answer.

Jungkook leans in closer so he can whisper in your ear. An amused giggle spills from his lips like he can’t contain the punchline to a joke only he knows. Somehow he gets his tone under control and finally speaks. "He told me your pussy tastes like heaven and what a coincidence," he pauses, "I haven't had dessert."

Jimin finds his way back to you just as you've moved to elbow Jungkook off your chair. Unfortunately, the alcohol in your system has your brain a little fuzzy and you misjudge the distance and location. You end up elbowing Jungkook right in the dick. Hard.

A circle clears around you as Jungkook doubles over in pain. Jimin steps up next to you, looking down at his friend and trying to piece together what might have led to you inflicting bodily harm.

Jungkook goes from bending over, to squatting, to laying on his side on the floor. He rolls onto his back still clutching the jewels despite the audience of people who have stopped to observe.

“I’m gonna throw up,” he squeaks out.

“Watch the boots,” you remind him as Jimin leans down to help him up and leads him towards something he can barf in. Through the crowd of people, you can see him just barely make it to a trash can in the kitchen. Gross.

Jimin gives Jungkook a pat on the back as he retches and reaches over him to grab a handful of jello shots off the counter. He returns with the rainbow of little cups clutched in each hand. The crowd seems to go back to their business of dancing and talking amongst one another, the random altercation just a fleeting moment in the night.

"What'd he do?" Jimin asks, holding his hand out to you so that you can make your selection.

"He came on to me." You shrug, picking a blue cup and popping the lid off.

"That's it? You elbowed him in the balls for hitting on you?" Jimin raises his eyebrows in shock and laughs.

"Well, it was kind of an accident. But," you pause to bring the plastic shot glass up to your lips, "he insinuated that he wanted to go down on me." You dip your tongue into the Jello and swirl it around the perimeter of its plastic casing.

Jimin watches you gather all the Jello up onto your tongue with rapt attention. He's growing so hard watching your tongue work like that. It’s driving him insane. He wants to feel it on him instead. He’s also now acutely aware of how badly he wants to swirl his tongue around your cunt, just like that.

"That makes two of us," he confesses with an enamored sigh. His hands are still full of Jello shots but that doesn’t stop him from holding your face between them.

He fiercely smashes his mouth to yours and you cave to the welcome intrusion of his tongue. It presses against yours, curling around it as he sucks the blue raspberry flavor from your mouth. You drop the empty cup to the floor and reach for his belt instead, pulling him against you until you can feel him pressed up against your stomach, hard and needy. He grinds his pelvis against you to be sure you can feel him.

“You feel that baby?” he asks, his tone low and sultry.

You grind back with a muffled hum. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re practically dry-humping each other next to the crowd of other sweaty, writhing couples. While Jimin likes how this feels, he’d like to regain the use of his hands. Jello shots be damned.

He pulls away for a second and looks around, depositing all but one of the unopened cups into the hands of the next person that walks by before he squeezes the chosen red one out on his tongue. He leans back in and presses his mouth to yours again. You can still taste artificial strawberry on his tongue. You're not even sure he swallowed before you started trying to lick his tonsils but you don't care. You want him now. You need him.

His thoughts are much the same as his free hand wanders down your back, dipping lower for just a second to feel the curve of your ass and squeeze. When you gasp he takes a step back and looks at you through hazy lust-drunk eyes. His lips are red from the gelatinous treat. You’d love to try and suck the color right out of them.

"Princess," he pants, his hands grabbing at your hips.

"Jimin," you breathe back, pulling him closer again. "Come home with me." It's not really an invitation. He'd be coming back with you anyway since he's currently living on your couch, but this has a different meaning and you both know it. It’s a plea for him to take you to bed.

You make out on the front lawn while you wait for the uber. You make out in the back of the uber on your way home. You make out on the way up the stairs and you leave a heart shaped love bite on his neck while he uses your keys to open the door. You make out pressed against the kitchen counter, and in the hallway.

Yoongi watches the pair of you act like he’s invisible as you stumble your way around the apartment. He has a spoonful of Fruit Loops half-lifted to his gaping mouth and finally takes his bite when you’ve made it to your room. Thank god you closed the door.

Jimin isn't as shy this time about laying his weight over you once you’ve dropped down onto your bed. You’re warm and he seeks the heat of your body as your hands explore the taught muscles of his chest. They dance around his belt, slipping up over the curve of his perfectly round ass so you can squeeze and pull him against you, inviting him to grind his solid cock into you. Your movements get slower and more focused when you unbutton his shirt. He tugs it off his shoulders and throws it to the floor before helping you pull that tiny excuse of a dress over your head.

You're thanking your lucky stars you had the foresight to put on a matching set, despite how foolishly hopeful it felt at the time. The way Jimin is drinking you in wrapped in nothing but a little bit of black lace is making your head spin, or maybe that's the alcohol.

He sits back on his heels beside you, trailing his fingertips from your throat to the valley between your breasts. He skims over your belly button then side sweeps over your hip and down your thigh, leaving goosebumps in the wake of his touch.

"Wanna take those heels off, princess?" he asks, scooting toward them on his knees.

"I can do it," you insist, planning on making a show of dropping what's left of your modesty. You aren't counting on the way the room turns when you stand up too fast. Luckily, Jimin's reflexes are quick and his hands on your hips steady you before you can actually fall. Standing up is also doing something terrible to your stomach. It rolls and clenches and your anxiety skyrockets.

Parties aren't really your thing, and while Jimin might be drunk he is damn good at controlling it. On the contrary, it's becoming increasingly apparent that you are completely hammered.

"You okay?" Jimin asks, concern dripping from his tone. He stands up and turns you both so you can sit on the edge of your bed.

"I think... I'm drunk," you confess, unable to explain why you suddenly feel like crying.

"I think you're right, baby," he agrees, squatting down to unbuckle the ankle straps on your heels. "Let's get you some water."

Your stomach flips again and time slows as you feel the contents of the evening rise in the back of your throat. Panicking, you look to Jimin with wide eyes and a hand flying up to your mouth. He spins around looking for anything to catch what's surely coming and upends your little trash can. Candy wrappers and old class notes fall to the floor. He thrusts the can under your face just as a rainbow of Jello shots and reappears.

"I'm so sorry," you cry between heaves, tears streaking your make-up down your face.

"Shhh," Jimin soothes, gathering your hair away from your face. When he's sure you've finished, he disappears from the bedroom with the offending trash can and you're left with your horrible, alcohol twisted thoughts.

He's going to think you're pathetic and disgusting. Why on earth did you think you could drink that much?

Jimin returns with a glass of water before you can get much further into your self-deprecation.

"You're never gonna fuck me now," you blabber, your filter lost. Your thoughts are a jumble of sadness and muddled lust.

Jimin laughs. "Well, I'm definitely not gonna fuck you like this. I didn't realize you were this drunk," he softly says. It's a caring statement, not even a little bit condescending.

You should be grateful that he wants you sober for sex, but it only makes you cry harder because you really just want him so badly and you're absolutely certain you've ruined your chances beyond repair. So, you do the only thing that makes sense right now and cry harder.

Jimin wraps his arms around you and leans close to your ear. "I want to, you know. I want to lay you down and touch you all over." He presses a soft kiss to the side of your neck. "I want to taste you, feel you. I want to be inside you so badly, but not like this."

"Please," you whine.

"Sober up first, okay?" he coaxes. "Can I help you get some pajamas? Brush your teeth?"

"Okay," you sniffle.

Jimin smooths his hand up your back, tracing the black lace band of your bra with the tip of his finger. “Do you want to take this off?”

You nod, reaching behind you to unfasten the clasp while Jimin reaches down to the floor for the button down shirt he discarded. He averts his eyes while you shed your bra, then holds his shirt open for you. You slip into it but don’t bother to button it up before walking to your door. He helps you get to the bathroom but you insist on doing it yourself so you can clean up and assess just how fucked up you really look right now.

When you close the door behind you, he makes sure to quietly apologize to Yoongi, who is still scrubbing the trash bin Jimin brought out earlier. Yoongi reaches into the cabinet for the bottle of Advil and gestures to a glass of water already on the counter.

Jimin waits for you to open the door and when you finally do he's relieved that you haven't fallen asleep. You've washed the makeup from your tear-streaked face and brushed your teeth. You've even pulled your hair back so it's no longer in the way. You look at him through a hazy apologetic lens as he offers you Advil and water. The last thing you want to do is ingest anything but if it will help you in the morning, you'll try it for his sake.

The journey from the bathroom back into your room is a blur. All you can think about is crawling back into bed and sleeping this awful feeling away. You struggle with the covers for a moment until Jimin helps you slide underneath them.

"I'm sorry. Don't hate me," you plead in a weak voice.

"Why are you sorry? I don't hate you," he assures you, sitting on the edge of the bed.

He's shirtless. He could have been naked pounding your pussy stupid if you didn't overdo it on the drinks. You hate yourself a little bit for botching this chance, but if he could just put his arms around you again maybe you’d feel okay, like you didn’t blow it.

"Will you hold me?" you ask.

“Of course,” he replies softly.

The light in the room disappears and the mattress sinks behind you. His arms wrap themselves around your waist and his fingers twine with yours.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers when you squeeze his hand.

The heat of his breath brushes against your neck but you don’t close your eyes. You’re too dizzy. Instead you focus on the soothing rhythm of his breathing until the weight of your eyelids wins out against the nausea and sleep finally claims you.

Your ringtone wakes you late, when the sun in your room is far too bright to be any time before ten. The sound is grating and irritating and you pull your pillow over your head to block it out. Jimin reaches for the phone, you can feel his weight shift and the heat of his skin when he hovers over you.

"Hello?" His voice is gruff and coarse with sleep.

Peeking out from beneath the pillow, you look over to him. His eyes are still closed and your phone is laying on his bare chest, speaker on and screen lit up.

"Gimme your bae," Jungkook's voice calls through the phone.

"She's sleeping," Jimin tells him. Looking in your direction, he meets your eyes and smiles.

You vaguely remember him making you drink more water last night, giving you Advil, and tucking you in. It's a very pleasant surprise to find that you aren’t horribly hungover.

"Wake her up," Jungkook whines. "Bro. She hit me so hard."

Jimin laughs. "You deserved it."

"I know," Jungkook agrees. "That's why I'm calling. Can I talk to her please?"

"You're on speaker."

"Hi, y/n. I got your number from Tae."

"Hi Kook," you croak.

"I'm sorry I was a douche last night. I get stupid when I drink whiskey."

"I accept your apology. Don’t do it again. How's your dick?" you ask, scooting closer to Jimin and laying your cheek on his chest. He wraps his arm around you and kisses the top of your head. The gesture makes you feel warm all over. He likes you.

"It hurts but I'll live. Sorry. For real. Do you guys wanna go eat later?" he asks you both.

Jimin answers this time. "Maybe. We have stuff to do first. I'll text you." He hangs up before Jungkook can say more.

“What stuff are we doing, hmm?” you question with a giggle, trying to play coy.

“Depends how you’re feeling, princess,” Jimin replies, leaning over you again to deposit your phone on your nightstand. He lingers above you, prompting the cautious exploration of your fingers on his chest.

Suddenly, you are acutely aware of the awful taste in your mouth. In fact, you feel gross all over. Not exactly the way you want to experience sex with Jimin for the first time.

“I’m sorry about last night,” you tell him, wiggling out from under his body. “You must think I am the worst, most unattractive human.”

“No,” Jimin says with a giggle. “I think you’re sexy and sweet. I really like you y/n.”

“Nobody likes me.” You scoff at him in disbelief.

“It’s rude to call people nobodies, don’t you think? Especially when they’ve just confessed their feelings,” Jimin teases, sitting up beside you.

“Well, let me at least brush my teeth,” you tell him, holding his shirt closed around you while you rise from the bed. You step around the clean trash can that’s been placed at the side of your bed thanks to Yoongi, noting that there is also a neat row of condoms on your nightstand and a note that reads ‘be done by 5 i wanna watch Dragonball Z after work.’

You laugh and quickly take care of your morning bathroom routine in record time so you can make use of Yoongi’s gift.

When you come back to your room, Jimin is watching you. His lips are drawn down in a pout, his eyes are half closed, and his chest, still bare, rises and falls heavily with each breath he takes as he rakes his eyes over your bare legs and up. His shirt hangs open on your body, leaving a strip of skin visible from your throat to your panties. He licks his lips when your fingers drag a slow line up that strip.

Parting the soft fabric further, you let it fall from your shoulders and pool around your feet. Jimin sits up for a better view and you wait for embarrassment to strike. It never happens. Instead, his gaze emboldens you. He looks wrecked already and he hasn't even touched you yet.

“So beautiful,” he whispers.

His assurance pulls you forward, one foot in front of the other until you’re close enough to touch and his hands are on your hips as you climb over him. He leans back under you as you push forward, connecting your lips with a force that borders on overeager. You can feel him smile against your lips and self-consciously, you will yourself to calm down. You have all day, there’s no need to rush.

When your kisses become soft and patient Jimin decides to take the initiative. He has to have you. He wants to be inside you. He sits up and sinks his hands into the flesh of your ass and begins to pull you down so he can grind up against your clothed cunt. When you moan his eyes roll back for a second and he buries his face into your neck to muffle the sound of his own. His tongue works in circles against you, giving you a taste of what’s to come before sucking a spot that has you burying your hand in his hair and grinding yourself down on him with need. He licks a hot stripe to your ear so he can whisper in it. In an instant he’s flipping you around on your back and grinding his pelvis against yours, allowing the dark desire to consume him.

“You like that, princess? You like feeling my cock on that sweet pussy of yours?”

“Yeah,” you whine, circling your legs around his hips. You can’t manage much more than that breathy reply, he is intoxicating and already you are drunk on his fumes.

“I hear it’s the sweetest. Made me so fucking jealous to hear Tae talk about you like that. You’ll let me have a taste, won’t you? Let me show you how good I can make you feel?”

“God did Tae just go around telling everyone?” you pause when the friction rubs against your clit just right. “Oh fuck,” you moan, imaging the pillowy soft press of his lips on your more intimate areas.

He chuckles in response. “No,” he assures you. “Just Jungkook and me. Don’t worry,” he says, persuading you with a careful roll of his hips that has his shaft parting your folds despite the layers of clothing between you. “He won’t talk about it anymore, and you’ll forget all about it by the time we’re done here. I’m gonna eat your sweet little cunt until mine are the only lips you remember.”

“Please,” you whimper, drawing him into a needy kiss.

His fingers dip into the band of your panties and he teases and tugs at them until you’re squirming and begging him to take them off. His lips trail wet kisses down to your breasts and he pauses to take your nipple into his mouth as he carefully works your last remaining piece of clothing down your legs.

Nudging your legs apart again, he settles between them, ghosting the pads of his fingers up the inside of your thigh as he drags your nipple gently with his teeth. He switches to repeat the action on the other side and cautiously slips a finger between your folds, parting them and testing your wetness. Much to his delight, he already finds you soaked.

“Jimin,” you breathe out. “Please.”

“Be patient for me, princess. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” He sits back on his knees between your thighs and uses his thumbs to smear your arousal over your lips. He groans something deep and tortured when he spreads them open.

“Y/n, holy fuck,” he whispers. “You’re perfect. So perfect.”

Heat rises to your cheeks at his praise. It feels like some kind of worship the way he looks down at your cunt, watching his fingers disappear inside you. His satisfied hum is like a hymn to the divine way your hot, slick walls squeeze him, a prayer to the mere idea of having that wet heat wrapped around his needy cock.

“Tae didn’t tell me you were so tight,” Jimin admits, looking up at you under his eyelashes.

“He only used his mouth,” you tell him, throwing your arm over your eyes. “I’ll never forget his lips if you keep talking about him.”

That seems to spark a fire in Jimin. His eyes grow dark and wild. He wants to ruin you. He presses his lips to the inside of your thigh and begins sucking marks into the soft flesh while his fingers continue to pump inside of you. He slowly works his way down, making sure the red spots he leaves behind are sufficient enough to last for days. He makes sure you’ll have the reminder of his face between your legs every time you look down.

“Jimin don’t tease,” you beg, bucking your hips up to seek the warmth of his breath.

“I’m not teasing,” he chides. “I am savoring.” He curls his fingers and presses his thumb to your clit, making your legs jolt. “Trust the process.”

“Jimin--,” you start again, but you’re cut off by the first touch of his lips. It’s barely there, just the ghost of a kiss on your mound. It’s immediately followed by the flat of his tongue, pressing down as he moves it lower, slipping his fingers out as he descends. His tongue parts your folds instead, circling your dripping hole and then dipping inside it.

“Mmmmm,” he hums. “Fuck, you’re sweet.” He spreads you with his thumbs again and goes back for more, lapping at your wet cunt, swirling around your clit, sucking your folds into his lips. But it’s not just the action, it’s the drive behind it. He’s insatiable, moaning at the taste, bucking his hips into the mattress when you whine for him.

Your fingers tangle through his silver hair, twisting and pulling as he devotes himself to your undoing. He moves with you when you grind up against his jaw, stealing a glance up at your face. Jimin feels his cock twitch at the sight of you; breasts heaving, mouth hanging open, eyes squeezed shut. He’s leaking so much precum he can feel it soaking through his boxer-briefs. He’s almost afraid he’s going to lose it and cum in his pants.

“You gonna cum for me, princess?” he asks, lifting his face to push his fingers back inside. He pumps them hard, curling and searching for that elusive spot while he presses soft kisses to your clit. He alternates between flicking his tongue and rubbing against it with his lips, pausing every few seconds to whisper encouragements with warm breath puffed over your swollen bud.

“Come on, baby. Do it for me. Cum for me, princess. Let me taste it.”

“Please Jimin. Pleeeeease. I need you to suck it. Suck it harder,” you beg. “Right there. There! Don’t stop! Please! I’m so close.”

Jimin keeps steady for you despite your trembling thighs. He pounds your g-spot while he sucks as hard as you can take. Your mind goes totally blank, consumed by an orgasm so powerful you can see fireworks bursting behind your eyelids. Heat spreads from your core down your legs, up your spine.

“I’m cu— cumming— Jimiiiiin!” you cry, legs trapping his head like a vice. Your fingers leave his hair in favor of squeezing at your breasts as you ride out your orgasm. You buck your hips when he doesn’t let up after you’ve come down from your high.

“Take your pants off,” you pant, shoving at his head.

He finally pops off with a grin, his chin and lips covered in your slick.

“What if I’m not finished down here?” he teases, dipping his head back down to lick a stripe up your slit. Your whole body jumps when he touches your clit with the tip of his tongue. “Oh?” he feigns shock. “Sensitive?” he smugly asks, going back for one more taste.

“I wanna suck your cock,” you tell him, lazily pulling your legs up and turning your body away from him. You keep your eyes on him as you turn just enough to hang your head off the edge of the bed.

“Are you for real right now?” he asks, standing slowly. The tent in his pants is obscene.

“Please, Jimin. Just a little bit?”

“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he sighs, tugging the zipper down on his jeans and letting them and his underwear fall to his ankles. He kicks them off and steps in front of you, smiling down at your upside down face, a little dumbfounded to have you wanting and willing to have him like this.

Your mouth waters at the sight of the swollen mauve tip standing at attention. He’s rock hard and so thick you’re not sure you can take him in your mouth, or your cunt for that matter. You’re glad he warmed you up with his fingers because you’re already clenching tight at the thought of that thick cock splitting you in two.

He reaches for the row of condoms as you take him in your hand and give him a few pumps. Just as he rips off one of the packets, you guide him towards the entrance of your mouth. You swirl your tongue against the tip and he drops everything, focusing on the way you tease him instead.

He inhales sharply. “Fuck. Who’s the tease now?”

You run your tongue along his shaft and smile when you get to the tip, giving it a quick kiss. “I’m savoring. What happened to trusting the process?”

He drags his lip through his teeth and clenches his jaw as you put his patience to the test but lucky for him you’re kind. He doesn’t have to wait long. You close your lips around him a moment later, reaching around his hips to guide him deeper, controlling the depth of his thrusts until he learns your limits and leans over you. With his hands on your breasts he rolls his hips. He can feel the tip of his cock bumping the back of your throat. He moans when you gag around him.

“That’s it, princess. Suck it. Just like that,” he praises.

Jimin is careful with his pace, and tender with his touch when he twists your nipples. He thinks he’s in control. He thinks he can take this just fine, despite the fact that your mouth feels fucking incredible. It’s when he watches you part your thighs and slip your hand between them to finger yourself while he fucks your mouth that he realizes he’s got none of the control he was so certain of. His balls tighten and he pulls out quickly and squeezes them, pinching at the tip of his cock and leaving you gasping for the breath you couldn’t catch with him in your mouth.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. I need a second,” he huffs, eyes closed, standing perfectly still. He breathes slowly and deeply. If you could peek into his brain you’re sure you’d see any number of boring things trying to distract him from the image of you fucking yourself with your fingers while you sucked his cock. It’s futile. He’s certain he’ll see it in his dreams.

“Did I do something wrong?” you wonder, shuffling around so that you’re laying back on your pillows.

Jimin ignores your question. He knows you’re well aware he almost came in your mouth. “I need to be inside you like, now,” he says, picking up the condom again.

You watch him tear it open and roll it on with his one knee pressed into the mattress and his other foot on the floor.

"Come on then," you coax, opening your legs for him to crawl between.

He pushes two fingers inside you on his way up, dragging them out slowly and smearing your wetness around your pussy before he lines his cock up and sinks in to the hilt in one smooth press.

You gasp as he fills you, feeling the stretch of his girth, and he hushes your whimpering and brushes his nose against yours. "I'm sorry baby," he soothes. "I'll go slow." He seals the promise with a kiss before hiking your legs up high around his waist and wrapping his arms around you.

He lies still like this, waiting for the green light while he kisses you breathless. He moves to your neck when you break away to inhale, sucking more little bruises in the skin there. "Tell me when."

"Move," you moan. "Move. Fuck me."

Jimin pulls out slowly, leaving just the tip inside. He pushes back in just as slow, repeating the action several times until it looks like you're about to cry.

You need it so badly. It feels cruel to have him rocking so gently inside you when all you want is to be ruined by him. "Harder," you plead.

"Are you sure?"

"Don't make me beg," you whine.

"What if I want you to beg?" he jokes, dropping his hips against you. It's almost hard enough to satisfy you.

"Then I'll beg."

Jimin groans, dropping his head to your shoulder as he sets a brutal pace. He pounds into you, forcing the air from your lungs with his powerful thrusts, rolling his hips like his life depends on it. "You're so fucking good for me, princess. So tight. Feels so fucking good."

"Go faster," you tell him, grabbing a handful of his ass.

Shifting higher on his knees, he picks up the pace. Sweat beads on his forehead and over his lip. It beads in the dip of his cupid's bow and you lick it away before raking his bottom lip through your teeth.

“You feel my fat cock baby?" he asks. You moan in response pulling your legs higher so he can fuck you even deeper. "You like the way I fill you, don't you? Want me to fuck you full of my cum? Take it," he grunts. "You take it so fucking well. You gonna cum for me again, baby?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts.

Jimin pulls out when you start to clench, not quite edging you but stealing the pleasure you were high on nonetheless. You whine at the loss of him, walls fluttering wildly around nothing.

"Can we try something?" he asks, lifting your legs and putting them to the side.

"What did you have in mind?" you wonder. You reach for his cock but he's already moving, nudging at your hips until you turn.

"Up on your knees for me, princess," he instructs. He kneels behind you once you're in position and smooths his hand up your spine, guiding you gently down onto your elbows. “Is this okay?”

“It’s good,” you assure him, wiggling your hips a little to get him moving again.

He teases your slit with the tip of his cock, dragging it through your folds and rubbing it against your clit. Finally, he pushes back inside you, coaxing a fresh wave of arousal with the stretch of his girth. It’s deeper like this and impossibly you feel even more full than you did before.

“Oh, Jimin,” you sigh, dropping your face into your folded arms. “Jimin.”

“Good?” He folds himself over you, pressing his chest to your back and sliding his hands from your hips to your breasts.

You thrust yourself back into him as you answer. “Perfect. You?”

It takes him by surprise but he follows your lead. He drives himself into your cunt while massaging your breasts and kissing your back. “Fuck, y/n…” he moans, letting his teeth drag over your shoulder before he bites down.

You hiss at the sting and he soothes it with his tongue and puckered lips.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous taking my cock like this. Feel how deep I am. You’re squeezing me so tight, baby.”

“Jimin? Jimin, I need—,” you gasp out between thrusts.

“What, princess? What do you need?” he questions, releasing a breast to play with your clit instead. “Want me to pull your hair? Want me to fill you with my cum?”

“I wanna ride you.”

“Oh, fuck.” Jimin pulls back immediately.

He lays down beside you and grabs at your waist, guiding you over his cock and holding on tight as you drop your weight and take him completely. Swiveling your hips, you set a pace slow and steady. Jimin’s thumbs rubs soft circles into your skin as you move.

“Go faster,” he urges, unable to keep his hips from rising to meet yours.

You shake your head ‘no’ and continue with your slow rolling pace.

“Please, y/n. Ride it like you wanna cum with me.”

Smirking devilishly, you slow down even more and lean over him with your hands on either side of his head.

He looks down, watching your breasts sway and the way his cock disappears over and over.

“Fuck, y/n. PLEASE,” he whines, roughly grabbing your hips and pounding up into you.

Your startled laugh quickly turns into desperate cries of his name. His cock hits your g-spot directly. It feels so good you don’t even think you need him to touch your clit to make you cum. But he does. He pinches your bud between his fingers while he slams into you, growling and moaning and begging you to cum with him.

“I’m close,” he grunts, licking his fingers and rubbing furiously at your clit.

“Me too,” you whine. “I’m gonna—”

You don’t have time to finish the thought as he takes you over the edge with him. He slams his head back against the pillows as he pumps his hips and cums to the wild pulsing of your orgasm. Your cunt milks every last drop from him and you cry his name, clutching his wrists and letting your head fall back so you can wail your pleasure at the ceiling.

Jimin gasps, picking up his head to look down at how your pussy spreads open around him. Your slick cum coats the condom and his mouth waters, remembering the sweet tang of your taste. You’ve barely stopped grinding on him when he sits up to push you down on your back.

Pulling out, he kneels beside the bed and pulls you to the edge by your legs so he can gently lick you clean. He exhales a hot and heavy breath, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before standing up to peel the loaded condom off his softening cock.

“That was… wow,” you pant, staring up at the ceiling for a moment as you try to regain your breath.

He’s already back at your side, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you towards his chest.

“Yeah,” he agrees while softly combing his fingers through your hair. He’s tired.

You smile against his sweaty chest and plant a soft salty kiss against him. Through the corner of your eye you see the row of untouched condoms on your nightstand. “We’ve got a lot left. Wanna go again?”

He hums a deep throaty sound and laughs when your hand falls to his limp cock. “I want to, but I need a bit to recharge. I can make you cum again while we wait. Do you want that, baby?”

“I always want that. But you don’t have to.”

The groan in his throat sounds croaky as he leans in to kiss your forehead. “I want to.”

He reaches down to wedge his fingers between your thighs and your whole body jumps at the sensitive sensation. How dare your body betray you in this moment?

“Seems like you might need time to recharge too,” he teases while nuzzling against the top of your head and squeezing you in a warm embrace against him. “I’m okay with just laying here and holding you.”

“Yeah?” You smile and cross your leg over his to get more comfortable. “Mmm. You can always help me study for the next test while you’re here.”

Laughter bubbles from his throat. “Are you trying to seduce me for answers to the exam? You know I don’t grade them, right.”

You roll your eyes and scoff, barely containing your giggles as you look up at him. “I don’t think I need to seduce anyone for answers. My head feels a little clearer now.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” he prods while playfully ghosting his fingers down your side.

“Because I know I can be distracted outside of class now instead. I mean, if you wanna keep doing this,” you explain while nervously drumming your fingertips on his chest. “I know I’m not anything special, but—”

Jimin lifts your chin and pulls you into a deep kiss. “You are,” he whispers when he pulls away.

You lick your lips and blink a few times. “I was gonna say you make me feel like I am the most special vanilla ice cream cone on the planet.”

His shy, warm smile fills your stomach with butterflies even as he makes his joke. “Want me to lick you up?”

“And so much more.”

It’s a weighted confession. You sit up to look at him so he knows this. He purses his lips and casts his away. He was avoiding this conversation.

“I don’t know how much more I can give you. I want to be what you deserve, but things are so hard right now. I don’t know that I can be someone who’s good enough for you. You deserve to be showered in gifts and taken on dates. You deserve to be given flowers every day. I don’t even have a car to take you somewhere for a vacation. I’m not sure I can be what you want.”

“Just be yourself,” you state plainly, cupping your hand around his jaw. “That’s what I want. So far I like the person I see. I like you, the real you.”

“I like you too,” he blurts, eyes snapping back to meet yours. “But I can’t afford—”

You press a finger to his lips. “I don’t need expensive dates or fancy gifts. I don’t need you to take care of me— well, last night was the exception and you didn’t need money for that. I just want you to be with me. Talk with me. Spend time with me. Maybe have lots of sex? I don’t know, we can figure out the rest later.” You laugh, embarrassed by your own boldness.

“You see everything that I am and you still want me.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re amazing. Now I know for sure you’re too good for me. But,” he pauses and slips his hands into yours, “I want to keep seeing you. I like talking to you and the more time I spend with you, the more certain I feel about the choices I’ve made. No one’s ever made me feel so free. I want to hold onto that feeling. I want to hold onto you.”

You tell yourself not to cry as you straddle his waist and hover above his lips. “I’m yours then. Are you mine?”

He catches your lips between his and buries his hands in your hair. “I’m yours.”

#smutcentralnet #jimin fic #jimin fanfic #bts fic #bts smut #jimin smut #bts fanfic #jimin x reader

1K notes · View notes

bbugyu · 4 years ago

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hi! could i request a jeonghan enemies (or friends that bicker a lot) to lovers? ty and i love ur writing !!

i am so glad you requested this because i have had this in the works for so long that i had to throw it into a case converter because it had capitalization and i was Not gonna finish it if i had to type it proper (i'm a fucking gremlin ok)

thank u for reading my work and thank u for giving me the perfect excuse to be hopelessly in love with jeonghan!!!!

falling + yoon jeonghan

finally, he thought. someone on his level. what’s the catch?

part one | part two

wc.10009 (fuckin oops) | fluff, humor, uni/coffeeshop/enemies to lovers au, gender neutral reader, slow burn, drinking, like lk too much drinking, swearing, throwing it back to sistar, copious argumentive flirting, everyone is MEAN but like in a funny way, bff!mingyu, it's your resident mingyuzi shipper, the only person more of a little shit than jeonghan is y/n

i used to be a barista and i would get exceptionally hateful towards customers for really stupid reasons and the only thing that could stop it is if they were really hot. this seems to hold great jeonghan energy. also i made y/n, like, mean as hell. like not actually mean but like. Mean. sorry. also all bars mentioned are real bars on capital hill in seattle that i love so if you recognize them that’s why. enjoy this enemies to lovers courtship.

you were pretentious, jeonghan thought. you acted like you were better than everyone else, and he hated that he had yet to find a reason to call you wrong.

he saw you almost every day during the week, between the class you shared on tuesdays and thursdays, and the cafe he worked in that you frequented to study. your demeanor was always polite, but what most people would describe as cold. you had caught his attention the first day of the semester, something about you seemed familiar, but he couldn't place it until he made your coffee the next day. you usually sat in the row in front of him, a few seats over, and he would chew on his cheek and wonder how you could sit back in your chair, arms crossed and eyes hardly opened, but still get the highest essay scores in the class. at the end of lecture, after he was done spending all his brain power stewing about your ability to succeed in visual culture without really trying, he would text his friend that took the class last quarter and ask, panic stricken, if he still had his notes, the irony of the situation completely lost on him.

at the cafe, you would come in, order an americano, and sit yourself in a well lit corner to work on your classes for a few hours, the coffee mostly undisturbed on the table beside your favorite armchair, then leave. there was never a smile on your face, and you were always alone. jeonghan watched the ice in your americano melt, watering down the coffee he made. maybe he had let the shots of espresso sit too long before saving them. maybe he let them burn on purpose just to see the face you made. but alas, you hadn't even put the metal straw to your lips. he wondered why you even ordered a coffee if you weren’t going to reap the benefit.

joshua spotted him leaning against the counter as he came out of the kitchen and laughed, setting down the freshly washed milk pitchers. “ask them out.”

he stood up straight. “why?”

“why not? you clearly like them.”

“i really don’t,” jeonghan laughed. “you’re crazy for thinking i do.”

joshua rolled his eyes. “no one spends as much time as you do staring at another person if they don’t find them at least a little attractive. have you ever even talked to them? outside of taking their order?”

he hesitated. “no?”

“so what if they’re actually really wonderful and you have a lot in common?”

“as if.”

“wow,” joshua said, leaning against the counter. “i can’t believe yoon jeonghan is afraid to talk to his crush.”

jeonghan shoved his friend's shoulder, giving him a look. “absolutely not. i'm 99% sure they're a pretentious asshole.”

he crossed his arms. “what does that make you?”

“shut up.”

“whatever, han. i’m just saying it’s kind of pretentious to hate someone solely because they don’t smile wide enough for you when they’re saying thanks.”

“it’s not that hard!” jeonghan said, maybe a little too loud. “i don’t wanna smile either, shua! but i do it! so can they!!”

joshua laughed. “lower your voice and go say hi, you freak.”

much to his chagrin, jeonghan got shoved towards your spot in the cafe with the front of the tables needing to get wiped down. he looked at joshua and seokmin with a furrowed brow as he wrung the towel, both of them giving him thumbs ups with wide grins. begrudgingly, he slowly made his way over to you.

“hey,” jeonghan said, doing his best to project something other than the absolute turmoil going on inside his head. you looked up from your textbook, pulling the earbud out of your ear. “why don’t you drink the coffee?”

you furrowed your brow and looked at your untouched americano. “i- uh, what?”

“you never drink the coffee,” he repeated, nodding at the glass. “why do you get it anyways?”

you blinked up at him. “are you offended that i’m not drinking your coffee?”

he almost laughed at the look of disbelief you were giving him. “no, i just don’t get why you waste the money here if you don’t even need the caffeine.”

“it’s cheaper to buy an americano than it is to rent a stall at a study cafe,” you said, habitually hitting save on your notes document. “why are you so worried about me, yoon jeonghan?”

he faltered, surprised. “you know me?”

“nametag,” you didn't miss a beat, pointing at his chest and giggling. “do you know me?”

jeonghan’s lip twitched, feeling almost embarrassed by not thinking of his own nametag, and definitely not an involuntary reaction to seeing you smile for the first time. “uh, yeah. we have a class together,” he said as casually as possible as he folded the washcloth in his hands. “visual culture.”

you nodded, looking into space for a moment. “hmm. weren’t you also in child psych with professor moon last winter?”

he blinked back at you. “yeah? you were in that class?”

you nodded, holding in a laugh. “yeah, yoon jeonghan. i was. head in the clouds?”

for some reason, the way you said his full name made his ears heat up. “maybe you were easy to forget,” he said dismissively, even though you both knew that wasn't the case. “isn’t it better to study in a library? that one’s free.”

“there’s never any open tables at the library,” you said, unfurling your legs and sitting straight, textbook in your lap. “and the chairs are uncomfortable, unlike this armchair. and people usually don’t bother me here.”

jeonghan sighed. “well, if you’re insistent on going to a cafe, there’s one down the street with a better espresso bean and it’s less busy. less people to bother you and a better tasting americano that you won’t drink.”

you cocked your head, closing your laptop. “is that an invitation?”

and for the first time, you saw jeonghan stutter. “n-no? just a suggestion. i think it’s cheaper, too-”

“don’t you work here?” you asked, eyes shining. “shouldn’t you be happy i’m wasting my money here?”

he eyed you, beginning to turn his body to leave the conversation. “do whatever you want. i’m not your dad.”

you grinned, leaning forward in your chair. “are you busy after class tomorrow?”

“why?”

“i need you to show me where this cafe is.”

jeonghan sighed. “can’t you just look it up? cafe nomu.” he wrote the characters with his finger in the air. “no-mu. use naver.”

“i get lost easily,” you said, standing up. jeonghan wondered if you were telling the truth. “we can go together?”

jeonghan watched you pack up your things, confused. “why?”

you paused, looking at him. “why not?”

he was getting real sick of people asking him why not.

“did i drive you away?” he asked instead, nodding at your now packed bag.

“no, i was headed out soon anyways.” you swung the bag over your shoulder and picked up the untouched americano. “do you want this?”

jeonghan couldn’t help but scoff as you handed him the glass that had been the subject of his staring all afternoon. “you can't be serious.”

you grinned and patted his shoulder. “i’m y/n, by the way. i’ll see you in class?”

he squinted at you as you walked away, suddenly confused by the quick succession of questions you had thrown back and forth. you were cute, sure, and his distaste for you was misplaced, perhaps, but he couldn't help the annoyance that bubbled up in him as you sauntered out of the cafe like you had won a debate. he walked back to the counter and set down the americano, an excited seokmin waiting for him.

“so?” he grabbed the glass and dumped it in the sink behind the counter. “how’d it go?”

jeonghan looked at the door you had left out of. “i think i just got asked out.”

“what?” seokmin’s hands made fists in front of him while he grinned. “y/n did? are you serious? you said yes, right?”

“not really,” he replied, looking back at the younger and exhaling deeply. “but i don’t think i can avoid it.”

you had known of yoon jeonghan for a while. a class here and there, a few mutual friends, and of course at the cafe. but the night you learned his name really stuck out to you, when he had been singing at a karaoke bar right after finals last quarter.

it was common to celebrate the end of finals week with partying and drinking, and your friends had invited you out to barhop until the sun came up. you started at a dance club, had way too much rum at a hula themed place, took tequila shots at a gay bar, then landed at a karaoke bar with a can of beer in your fist and a grin on your face. your friends liked to sing, so you had fun encouraging them to get on the slightly raised stage and show their chops.

“no, no, no,” mingyu said, grabbing your hands as you tried to push him towards the dj. “no way, i recognize the names on the list. there’s real singers here.”

you looked at the screen that displayed the queue. “what do you mean? who?”

“that guy,” mingyu said, pointing at the screen easily, despite you having to crane your neck to even view it. “no way. he’s in jihoon’s band, i’m not following that guy.”

“hangguk’s angel yoon jeonghan,” you read, squinting. “sounds like a pretentious asshole.”

mingyu laughed. “wait til you hear his voice, you’ll see how he got the name.”

"y/n's right," jun interjected, leaning heavily against the standing table your quad squad had claimed, pouring more soju for himself and whoever would claim the other glass. "he is a pretentious asshole."

you pointed at him, brows raised at mingyu. "jun is never wrong."

mingyu rolled his eyes. "pretentious assholes can still sound like angels."

“where the fuck have you been,” you asked, startled by your third and final friend suddenly appearing beside you.

“around,” vernon said, sipping at the nondescript brown liquid in his glass through a bright pink straw. he laughed when you quirked an eyebrow at him. “soonyoung’s here with his posse, he caught me while i was getting another drink.”

“see!” mingyu shook your shoulder, nearly choking after downing jun’s companion shot. “i told you! jihoon’s band.”

you whacked his bicep. “who cares? just go queue a rap song or something, you pussy.”

the singers cycled through and you cheered on many of your fellow drunk university students as they sang with no remorse. jun dragged you onto the tiny dancefloor and forced you to help him hype up soonyoung - his dance team captain - as he screamed along to hurricane. then one of vernon's friends performed a near flawless rendition of shake it by sistar after yelling something about bringing the summer to this cold winter night, earning him a cheering and dancing crowd, and you had known far more of the choreo than you had thought. mingyu was whooping and hollering at you playfully every time you threw your ass out to the song, and he only got louder when jun and vernon did their best to follow along with you, and you had almost forgotten about the name that everyone insisted was to be feared.

“that guy?” you asked, the self-proclaimed angel stepping onto the stage. you recognized him immediately. “that’s my barista.”

mingyu made a noise that almost resembled whistling, if he had been capable of doing so. “i should start studying with you next quarter.”

and when he sang, it clicked. despite the tonal difference, you couldn't help but become enthralled by his voice. gyu was right. pretentious assholes could still sound like angels, and perhaps that was by design.

his voice drifted through your head again when you noticed him in your visual culture class, seated and giggling at his phone on the first day of the quarter.

"you have another class with him?" mingyu groaned a week later, walking beside you. "why you? why aren’t there hot guys in my major?"

"because pre-med kids are too busy to be hot."

he gave you a look. "damn, okay. like, you're not wrong, but damn."

you rolled your eyes. "don't act like you don't love being the pre-med heartthrob. you would be pissed if you had competition."

"anyways, are you gonna ask him out?"

you pause at the stop light to wait for your turn to cross, turning towards him. "why would i do that?"

“because he’s hangguk’s angel yoon jeong-honey voice,” mingyu said, moving his head as he dramatically pronounced each syllable in your face. “if you’re not already in love with him, you will be soon, and it sounds like fate's trying to bring you together. didn’t you say he’s your barista?”

you rolled your eyes. “yeah, and his americanos suck now. i don’t even drink it when he makes them anymore.”

he looked at you with a cocked eyebrow. “what the hell? why do you still go there, then?”

you pouted. “it’s quiet and there’s a comfy armchair.”

weeks passed, and you continued to spot jeonghan in your class when you arrived, hearing the faint sound of his singing voice in your head. when he took your order at the cafe, he had a vague snottiness to his voice, and while you absolutely believed that this was the same person as the one you saw sing a soft love ballad with a sobering intensity at two in the morning, you still struggled to connect it to the one you watched run off the stage, immediately curling into himself and laughing with his friends in embarrassment.

you became more and more fascinated by yoon jeonghan as time passed, but his americanos continued to suck. so when he suggested a cafe with better espresso, you lit up. and when he got flustered, letting down his guard unintentionally, you lit up even more. that was the drunk, embarrassed boy you had seen, pink faced and giggling as he hid behind his friends.

jeonghan sat in his usual seat in class, anxiously glancing up at the door every time a group of people entered the lecture hall. when you arrived, your usual minute before the turn of the hour, he rubbed his palms against his sweats. the sweats that he had worn with the specific intention of making sure you didn't think he was trying too hard to look nice around you. despite that fact, part of him still felt annoyed that you were also dressed down, swimming in a hoodie several sizes too big for you. he tried to make sense of the sudden nerves he had, but not once did he consider they were because he thought you were disgustingly adorable.

instead of taking your usual spot, you marched right up to jeonghan’s table and grinned. “is this seat taken?”

he blinked at you. “yes.”

you laughed and slid into the seat beside him anyways, ignoring the dagger stare from a girl across the room that usually sat beside jeonghan silently. “you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“how do you expect me to react? you’ve never even smiled at me before yesterday.”

shrugging, you put your bag on the table and leaned back in your seat, assuming your usual position for this particular class. “you didn’t deserve it before yesterday.”

jeonghan wanted to argue with you, but the professor cleared his throat and introduced the subject of the lecture.

after only ten minutes, jeonghan could have sworn he heard you snoring. he poked your shoulder with his pen.

you looked over at him, eyebrow quirked. you mouthed a “what” at him.

he exhaled suddenly, mouth forming a vague smile more in disbelief than from being entertained. he seemed annoyed with you, despite the fact that he was the one interrupting your allocated meditation time. he leaned forward, turning his body towards you and spoke in a hushed tone. “how can you do that every day and still be top of the class?”

you mirrored his body language, leaning forward over the desk and resting your cheek on a fist, speaking in the same hushed tone. “visual culture is subjective. as long as you understand the concept; i-e, how we as humans visually design the world around us and how that becomes an important aspect of our place in nature, in the universe, in existence, etcetera; then you can write about literally anything. my last essay was about skate parks. the more opinionated the essay, the better score you get.” you pointed a finger at the man speaking at the front of the class. “i watched the prof’s ted talk before the quarter started - every lecture is just a regurgitation of the same concepts. it’s an easy a, as long as you have strong opinions.”

jeonghan stared at you for what felt like an eternity. “you do seem like you have strong opinions.”

“and you don’t, yoon jeonghan?”

he supposed he couldn’t argue with that, but it still frustrated him to no end that you had found some kind of loophole that he had missed. you gamed the system better than he could, and he had been stuck pouring over his friend’s notes from the previous quarter and bullshitting some essays about architecture that he didn't give a shit about. and so, instead of spending his whole class stewing like he normally did, he decided to waste no time adopting your approach, pulling his sweatshirt hood over his head and catching up on some missed sleep. when he woke up again, it was to your prodding finger.

“what time is it,” he said immediately, squinting at his surroundings. he suddenly remembered he was in class as he saw fellow students packing up their things and filing out. he looked at you, blinking at your grinning face.

“time for coffee,” you said, tugging on the drawstrings of the light blue hoodie he wore. “did you have any sweet dreams?”

jeonghan shoved his blank notebook into the tote bag he used for classes and stood. “of course not.”

“i did,” you said, throwing your bag over your shoulder and following him down the hall steps. “i dreamt you paid at the cafe.”

he turned, eyeing your shiteating grin from behind his hood. “yeah, keep dreaming.”

“worth a shot,” you said, trotting down beside him. “so, what’s your major, yoon jeonghan?”

he rolled his eyes, almost forgetting about your habit of calling him by his full name. “do you really care?”

“what else are we gonna talk about, my drinking problem?”

despite himself, jeonghan laughed, looking over at you as you left the lecture hall. “maybe! how bad is it?”

you grinned, feeling successful from making him break his serious persona. “wouldn’t you like to know.”

he clicked his tongue, pushing open the doors of the social studies building. “no fun.”

“you’ll have to invite me to a bar next time,” you said, following after him out the door into the sunshine that cascaded over the quad. it was a beautiful spring day, but a bit chilly, and you shoved your hands into your sweatshirt pocket.

“hmm,” jeonghan said, letting his blue hood fall off his head as he stretched in the sun. “i only really go to one bar.”

you watched him bask for a moment, wondering how many sides of him you had yet to see. his hair was dark, but the lighter chocolate tones reflected in the sun. “bet i can guess which one.”

jeonghan paused on the sidewalk, making you walk ahead of him a couple steps before you turned towards him questioningly. “okay, yeah. guess. you won’t get it.”

you size him up a moment, taking his words as a challenge. “if i guess right, you buy coffee?”

he exhaled, an amused smile on his face. “why are you so obsessed with me buying you coffee?”

“it tastes better free.”

“okay, fine. but if you’re wrong, you buy.”

you groaned. “do you know how many bars are in this city? that doesn’t seem fair.”

jeonghan resumed walking, gesturing for you to guess. “i’ll give you three tries.”

you chewed your cheek, trying to conceal your sly grin. “okay, three tries. deal?”

he nodded. you made it way too easy for him to win. “deal.”

“let me think.” jeonghan watched your feet fall easily into step beside him. “what bar has a stupid gimmick you would be into... pie bar?”

he shook his head, almost laughing at your teasing. “i’ve been there before, but it's not really my thing.”

you exhaled sharply. “shouldn’t that count for a stick of gum or something?” jeonghan laughed, insisting that this was an all or nothing situation. “then i give up.”

“you can’t give up!” jeonghan said. “you said deal. no going back.”

“fine," you pouted. "why can't i remember any bar names? uhh, r place?”

he stopped. “the gay club?”

you stopped, looking at him expectantly. “well?”

jeonghan laughed as he walked again. “no, not r place. jesus. you have one last chance. i’m really excited to order something expensive today.”

you chewed your cheek. “where would someone like yoon jeonghan go to drink… hanguk’s angel yoon jeonghan…”

he stopped in his tracks. “what did you just say?”

you tapped on your chin with a finger, arms crossed. “yoon jeong-honey voice… where would someone like him go? maybe… a karaoke bar?”

“hey, hey-” jeonghan pointed at you accusingly. “are you serious? you’ve seen me?”

“hmm,” you continued, laughing as you avoided his gaze. “oh, i know! the rockbox!”

“yah!” jeonghan was laughing, pointing at you in disbelief. “what the hell! this isn’t fair!”

“you said deal, no going back.” you grinned in victory. “wow, maybe i’ll order something expensive. i can’t believe i won.”

jeonghan’s tongue ran over his teeth as he watched you giggle and happily trot ahead of him. “fine, fine. you win. when did you see me there?”

“after winter finals,” you said, cheesing. “i was there with friends and you sang.”

he tutted. “damn. did i just miss you or did you not sing?”

“i don’t sing,” you said, smiling as he continued walking with you. “my friends do, though. and i was forced to be in soonyoung’s hype squad for hurricane.”

jeonghan clapped suddenly, remembering in his perhaps too drunk stupor that seungcheol had pointed you out, calling you “the cutie that keeps looking at him.” he had, admittedly, checked you out, despite the fact that he had been too embarrassed by his too-serious song to go and talk to you, and he had thought you looked familiar. “oh my god! yes! i did see you! how do you know soonyoung?”

“mutual friends,” you said. “chwe hansol?

he nodded. “we’ve met once, i think. were you there with junhui?”

“yeah, actually,” you said, remembering the opinion of jeonghan your friend had volunteered up for you. “how do you know him?”

“i haven’t talked to him a lot directly, but i know both his roommates pretty well,” jeonghan said. "we do music together.”

“ah, yes,” you nodded in recollection, but refusing to acknowledge how insanely pretentious it was of him to say something like we do music together. “jihoon’s unnamed but immensely prolific band.”

he rolled his eyes. “why is it jihoon’s band? why can’t it be jeonghan’s band?”

“don’t ask me,” you said, putting up hands in innocence. “i didn’t even know it existed until that night. mingyu wouldn’t shut up about it.”

the name sounded familiar to jeonghan, but he moved on as the two of you reached a stop light. “do you go there a lot? or was that a one time thing?”

you eyed him. “this is starting to sound like an invitation, hannie.”

he didn’t comment on the nickname, despite the weird way his arms tingled at it. “you should learn what an invitation actually sounds like. you tend to assume a lot.”

you laughed heartily, and jeonghan ignored the way his stomach flitted while you started to cross the street. “call it wishful thinking, but i think i get you, yoon jeonghan.”

“the hell is that supposed to mean?”

you never answered his question, but grinned instead, which gave jeonghan a sense of unease and a touch of curiosity. as he led you to cafe nomu, he caught himself smiling. laughing. enjoying your company and conversation.

maybe shua hadn’t been completely off base.

by the time jeonghan had realized that his feelings towards you might have evolved from vague malice into something more akin to genuine interest, he was pushing open the door to the cafe for you and mentally double checking that he had put on deodorant that morning, cursing his inability to control his own nerves. ah, he thought. that explained the weird feeling he got waiting for you in class, too. and why he got flustered the day before at his work. he only snapped out of his crowded mind when he heard you ordering an iced americano.

“and for you?”

jeonghan blinked at you, then at the barista that was addressing him. “make that two.”

“thank you for the coffee,” you said, pressing your hands together as he inserted his card.

he waved you off, chuckling, but kept his eyes as far from yours as he could. “a deal is a deal.”

you looked around the quiet cafe, quickly scoping out the seat options as jeonghan accepted the buzzer for your order. he thought it was a little silly, considering the two of you were half of the customers in the cafe currently, but said nothing as he turned it over in his fingers, standing next to you.

“there?” you asked, pointing at a table by a window.

jeonghan bit his cheek, thinking about how joshua would likely be walking down this street to go to his shift, if he had one. “yeah, wherever.”

you were already on your way to the seat when he responded, and he followed, dropping his bag off his shoulder to hang on the hook under the table.

“i thought you were going to get something expensive,” he teased, sitting across from you.

laughing lightly, you pulled your phone out of your hoodie pocket and set it on the table. “you said the espresso was good, i wanted to try it.”

“don’t you not like coffee?” jeonghan asked, squinting at you.

“i love coffee,” you said, quirking an eyebrow.

“then why don’t you drink the americanos i make?”

he was leaning forward, staring at you, fingers folding over each other on the table. you pouted, avoiding his eyes suddenly. “no reason.”

leaning back again, he kept a wary eye on you. “that’s convincing.”

“good, it’s the truth.”

jeonghan decided to put a pin in that interrogation in favor of asking you your major.

you laughed again, making a small smile appear on his face. "communications," you answered, despite thinking of how he denied the same question from you earlier.

he let out a low "wah" and cocked his head. "what's up with that? same major."

"really?" you leaned over the table. "what year are you?"

"third."

you put a peace sign next to your eye like you were posing for a photo. "second."

you couldn't help but giggle at the "pfft" that spilled out of jeonghan's lips as he laughed at you, muttering a "really" under his breath at your pose. he was running a hand through his extremely soft and fluffy looking hair when the buzzer went off, and you blinked yourself awake from your trance to nod after he said he would go get the drinks.

admitting to it was the last thing you wanted, but you couldn’t help but hear mingyu’s voice rattling around your head, telling you that you would fall for jeonghan eventually. you had once thought he was completely up his own ass, but you kept getting glimpses of this really cute, really sweet version of him, and it made you want to get to know him better. additionally, it was getting harder to find people that would happily play along with your teasing, and he had no qualms teasing you right back.

when he returned with the americanos, you pressed your hands together in another thank you before taking a sip. he slid back into his seat and looked at you expectantly. "well? what do you think?"

you paused a moment, appraising the flavor. "delicious. thank you."

after he sipped at his own, he nodded. "the beans here are really good. balanced. i wish i could convince my boss to source better stuff."

you watched him sip again, letting out a praise under his breath. you sighed. "i have a confession."

his eyebrows quirked at you, and he did his best to not show the way his stomach flipped. "what kind?"

"i don't drink your americanos because they're shit."

there was silence as he processed your words, and you wondered if you had royally fucked up by saying something. suddenly, he was laughing, and you stared at him in shock as he calmed down. "oh my god, yeah, they are."

"wait, you know?"

"i-" jeonghan paused, rubbing his face, still laughing. "god, this is so stupid. i burn your shots."

your jaw dropped open, but a smile creeped across your face as you understood. "wait, on purpose?"

"you never smile!" he attempted to explain himself with a bit too much enthusiasm, finding his own pettiness ridiculous in hindsight. "not even when i smiled at you. i had a grudge. i'm sorry."

you were sipping your non-burnt americano with a sly look on your face. you wanted to be mad at the wasted money on countless gross americanos, but somehow, you couldn't be. "do you hold grudges against everyone or am i just lucky?"

"uh, depends," jeonghan said, crossing his arms and thinking. "when the prof that failed my roommate comes in, i burn his shots, too. i think he might like it that way, though, because he's always really nice to me."

you almost snorted. "well, you owe me a lot of coffee."

he nodded and sighed, resigning to his fate. "when you come in, your coffee's on me. and i won't burn it this time."

you pouted a second, and jeonghan barely caught it, but he thought the expression was far too cute. "i was hoping you would invite me out again."

"again?" he asked, letting a few 'ha's fall from his lips in quick succession. "you mean for the first time?"

you gestured to the cafe you sat in. "was this not your idea?"

he rolled his eyes. "you invited yourself out and held me hostage."

"does that mean you have stockholms?"

he laughed at the diagnosis, remembering the class you claimed you had both taken the year before. "you're a very charming captor."

you smiled at the compliment, despite the sinister implication.

the next time you saw jeonghan, it was saturday. you had rolled out of bed far earlier than you had intended to when you had fallen asleep at 4 am after a very drunk and extremely conflict heavy game of uno with the guys. you winced at the sunlight streaming through your shitty dorm blinds, fumbling your way to the water dispenser on your desk to rehydrate.

you stared at your roommate's empty bed, remembering they had said they worked early shifts this weekend as you brushed your teeth, and you wondered how they had dealt with you stumbling into the dorm in the wee hours of the day.

you almost gagged on your toothbrush. an empty room on a saturday morning with too little sleep and a nasty hangover, you thought. bad decisions could never be made under these circumstances.

"does jeonghan's cafe do breakfast sandwiches?" you thought aloud with a mouth full of toothpaste, leaning over the sink to spit. you kind of remembered seeing them on the menu, though you never thought to get anything beyond the occasional muffin. maybe today was the day.

after washing your face and cleaning up your hair a bit, you had to dig in your clothes to find your favorite pair of black sweats and a shirt to tuck in. you last minute decided to bring your good headphones, just in case hanguk's angel wasn't there to bug, and ran out the door with your wallet and phone, a pair of sunglasses shoved onto your face.

the walk to his cafe is short from the dorms you lived in, which was another reason you liked it there. it was warmer than it had been during the week, and you watched a big muscular dog running alongside its owner. before long, you were tugging open the door, seeing no line. you grinned at how lucky you were as you pulled your headphones down to your neck.

"yoon jeonghan! you are working!"

he seemed startled by your voice, his shoulders raising slightly as he turned towards the door. "oh, what the hell? what are you doing here at 9:30 on a saturday?"

you pouted, walking up to the counter and tugging off your sunglasses. "are you not happy to see me?"

his laugh was genuine and completely out of his control. "sure i am. nice eyebags."

that, you noted, was the first time jeonghan had ever greeted you with a smile, and it seemed appropriate that it was paired with an insult. "thanks, i'm violently hungover right now." you said, noticing your best friend's roommate standing further back behind the counter, pretty obviously pretending to not be listening to you.

"do you wanna redeem a free americano?" he asked, poking at the touchscreen register.

you hummed, crossing your arms and staring at the menu board. "not today, i wanna try a latte. something tasty, and something for breakfast. what do you think?"

jeonghan stared at you, and you stared back, a small smile on your face. he blinked. "have you ever tried lavender?"

"lavender?" you shook your head, genuinely surprised. "is that a good flavor?"

he nodded, looking down at the screen and adding items to your order. "we have this seasonal syrup that we make in house," he said. "it's my favorite one of the year. honey, lavender, and vanilla bean. big one?"

you blinked at the cup sizes, trying to remember how many bottles of soju you had bought the night before, and subsequently how much money was left in your account. "uh, yeah."

"will you be offended if i give you a vegetarian sandwich? it's the best one."

you cocked your head. "i mean, if it's the best one…"

jeonghan smiled slightly, pulling out his wallet from his back pocket. "it's the best one. and it's my secret hangover cure."

you noticed his card too late. "hey, what are you doing?"

he quirked an eyebrow at you. "buying your coffee. like i said i would."

"that was way more than an americano."

"and i've burned way more than an americano," jeonghan reminded you. "and if you don't accept that, i'm buying you breakfast as a peace offering."

your eyebrows raised. "a peace offering?"

he avoided your gaze. "i've decided you're not a pretentious asshole."

you laughed at his word choice, and how it mirrored your own. "i mean, i can be kind of pretentious sometimes. and a major asshole a lot of the time."

jeonghan grinned. "me too."

he washed his hands and passed along the sandwich order to his coworker as he moved to the espresso machine, briefly explaining to you that he was completely useless with food as soon as a heat source becomes involved, but assured you that seokmin was a master with a turbochef, and that your sandwich was in the best hands.

you giggled, watching his hands as he found a squeeze bottle and shot the contents into a glass. "i trust you."

his eyes flicked to you briefly, and you leaned against the drink pickup counter, squinting at the syrup. he held the glass that would soon be your drink up for you. "see the specs? real vanilla."

you hummed. "it smells good."

"it tastes like sunshine, i swear to god."

your eyes followed his hands as he expertly filled and packed the portafilter with fresh grounds. he felt you watching him, and did his best to suppress the itch to fumble. you watched him not burn your shots, stirring them with the syrup and pouring milk from a jug. he added ice, put a metal straw in the tall glass, then placed it on the counter in front of you.

you made sure to smile when you told him thank you, and jeonghan was pretty sure he would have collapsed from how cute he found you if he had slightly less resolve.

"veggie sando for… y/n?" seokmin announced to the cafe, eyes creasing into a laugh as he appeared with a plate.

you gave seokmin a nervous smile. "sorry for staying over so late. i didn't know you worked this morning."

jeonghan looked between you suspiciously as seokmin assured you it was fine, claiming he was knocked out by midnight and didn't even know when you left. who did seokmin live with again? jeonghan chewed on his cheek as he put your drink and sandwich on a tray.

your eyes flicked over to the front counter as a few customers entered the cafe, seokmin already heading over to greet them and begin the order. you tried not to let your disappointment show when you told jeonghan you should probably let him get back to work. he tried to not let his show, either, when he nodded in agreement. neither of you did a great job.

"someone's clocking on in half an hour, i can take a break then. don't leave?"

his almost pleading tone made your lip twitch upward. "don't act so clingy, hannie."

he grinned, then stopped you before you picked up the tray. "first- hang on," he said, pulling his phone out of his pocket and unlocking it, quickly going to the keypad as he looked over his shoulder at the customers. "give me your number."

your eyes met his briefly as you took the phone, quickly punching in your digits and tapping to add yourself to his contacts. he smiled at the profile name - "americano" - as you picked up your tray and headed to your favorite armchair. even as he was making other drinks and serving other customers, he couldn't take his eyes off you, sitting in your armchair with your headphones on. it had only been two days since he saw you last, but he hadn't thought of anything but you the entire time. he had almost considered asking shua to swap shifts with him so he could have a chance of seeing you the day before, but he knew his coworker would refuse to take the saturday opening shift. he spent his whole afternoon off sitting on the couch in his apartment, staring at the back of his roommate's chair, trying to figure out why he didn't ask for your number.

"hey," jihoon said, and jeonghan had only then noticed that his roommate had spun his tall cushioned chair around to look back at him. "i said, do you know when seungcheol invited people around tomorrow?"

jeonghan stared at him for a second, then sighed dramatically, rubbing his eye.

"woah," the younger laughed and leaned back in his seat. "who'd you sleep with last night? i need to warn them you're crazy."

"no one," jeonghan pouted. "what the hell? i'm not crazy."

"hyung, i say this with the most respect i can," he said, leaning forward. "you're batshit, especially when you catch feelings for a one night stand."

"ugh, whatever," jeonghan pushed the pillow off his lap and ran a hand through his hair. "we didn't even do anything."

jihoon squinted at him a moment. "okay, hang on, i feel like our definitions of not doing anything are different."

he rolled his eyes. "we didn't do anything," he repeated, standing from the couch and walking over to the kitchen to get water. "like, nothing. we didn't even touch each other. not once."

jihoon looked around, trying to understand what he meant. "i'm confused. you didn't touch your one night stand?"

"it wasn't a one night stand!" jeonghan threw a dagger glare at the other before he drank his water, muttering a "really" beneath his breath.

jihoon's face didn't change. "so… you went on a date?"

jeonghan swallowed the water hard, putting the glass down on the counter and leaning against it. "kinda."

"you are really not making this easy for me at all."

"we got coffee," he said finally. "we have a class together, and we made a stupid bet over who would pay, and they fucking tricked me, so i had to pay for it and we talked for, like, a stupid long time, and i think i actually really…" he exhaled, both hands rubbing his face. "i think i really like them."

jihoon whistled. "i just wanna say before the moment passes that it is incredibly on brand for you to fall for someone because they conned you into buying them coffee."

jeonghan glared at the younger, but he couldn't argue. "we got coffee and talked and then they just…" his palms faced the sky as he gestured, shoulders raised. "they just left. i didn't even get their number."

"okay, and?" jihoon swivelled back and forth in his chair. "you have a class together. you'll literally see them next week."

he groaned, pressing his forehead against the fridge. "but i wanna see them now."

and now, he was seeing you. much sooner than he had expected, yet not soon enough. the saturday morning rush began to pick up, and even when an additional barista arrived, jeonghan wondered if he would actually be able to slip away for a break.

"go ahead," seokmin said, grabbing the steamed milk pitcher from his hand. "me and hyejoo can handle it for a minute."

jeonghan looked at the shrinking line and nodded, quickly pulling off his apron as he walked around the counter. he knew he didn't have a lot of time, and pulling up a chair seemed silly, so he instead just squatted and folded his arms over the arm of your favorite seat.

you looked up from your phone at the motion, pulling your headphones off and grinning. "hey! the drink is delicious and extremely not burnt."

he smiled, noticing it was almost gone. "i'm glad! it's still busy, so i can't really take a proper break, but i wanted to ask you something."

you squinted at him. "what kind of something?"

"do you have plans tonight?"

"depends," you said, turning your body to face him better as you sucked on your cheek. "what's going on?"

jeonghan exhaled, amused. "my roommate is having people over for a few drinks or something, it'd be cool if you came by?"

you looked at a light, gauging the state of your hangover. your voice almost cracked when you asked "tonight?"

"you don't have to drink," he said, remembering what you had told him earlier. "and you can, like, bring a friend if you want. i know it's weird that i'm inviting you to my place."

you thought a moment. "don't you live with lee jihoon?"

jeonghan blinked. "uh, yeah?"

"i'll bring a friend," you said, tapping your fingers on the back of your phone. you looked back to him and smiled. "text me details?"

jeonghan stood. "yeah, i'll text you," he said, glancing up at the door where more customers were walking in. "fuck, i should go."

you followed his gaze. "i think i'll stick to weekdays. this place gets crazy on the weekends."

"tell me about it." he started to walk back to the counter. "i'll talk to you later?"

you smiled and nodded at him, and you waved enthusiastically at him as you were headed out about ten minutes later.

"i'm still waiting for a text," you teased, peeking over the counter as he made a drink.

he laughed. "i'll get to it when i get to it."

"thanks for the sandwich, seokmin! it was delicious!"

seokmin waved at you with a big grin and you looked back at jeonghan.

"i'll see you tonight?"

he nodded, a smug smile teasing his lips. "yeah, i'll see you tonight."

you didn't show the way your stomach flipped when he made eye contact with you, but you slid your sunglasses back on and put your headphones back on your head, and walked to the rhythm of love songs in the sun on your way to your friend's apartment, a stupid childish giggle threatening to surface the entire time.

"hey, is mingoo around?"

minghao blinked at you, standing at his front door with a smile on your face. "dude, you left like four hours ago. what are you even doing here."

"uh, no, myungho, i left like seven hours ago, get it right." he let you walk past him into the apartment. "is he still asleep?"

"is that actually a question?"

you trotted into mingyu's room, humming along to the song playing through the headphones around your neck as you pulled open his blinds.

"god, what the fuck," his rough voice went behind you. "the hell is wrong with you. go home."

"that's not a very nice way to treat the person that's gonna set you up with your future ex-husband."

mingyu's hair stuck in several different directions and his eyes were still squeezed shut, but he had pushed himself off his pillow enough for you to know you caught his attention. "which one?"

you grinned. "the one with the pretty voice."

"wait," mingyu fumbled with his comforter as he tried to sit up. "wait, hang on. jihoon?" you laughed and nodded as he sniffed noisily. "he is not my future ex-husband, y/n. he's it. he's the one that's gonna make an honest woman out of me."

"well, lady, get ready to be honest, because i got an invite to a kickback at his apartment tonight and i snagged a plus one."

he squinted at you. "what's the catch?"

you rolled your eyes. "there isn't always a catch. maybe i'm just trying to be nice."

"yeah, uh huh." mingyu flopped back onto his bed, rubbing his eyes. "why didn't you just text me or something? it's so early."

"it's like, barely morning."

"it's ten."

you exhaled. "it's 11:17, asshole. are you going with me or not?"

mingyu groaned and flopped around, his head aching from the drinks that had stopped too recently. "when?"

"uhh," you stalled as you checked your phone. no new messages. "not sure yet. i'm waiting on a text."

he squinted at you. "who's texting you? soonyoung?"

you shrugged. "sure."

"oh my god, it's jeonghan, isn't it?"

"whaaaaaat?" you deadpanned, walking over to mingyu's bed to sit on the edge, staring at your phone. "why would i be waiting on a text from that loser?"

"i knew you were acting stupid yesterday for a reason," he accused. "and you asked jun what his deal was. you like him, don't you? what did he do? did he corner you?"

"absolutely not," you said, sighing and throwing your phone down on his bed, slightly offended by him saying you were acting stupid but truly not being able to remember if he was wrong. "i cornered him, at his workplace, no less. then i made him buy me coffee. then i showed up to his workplace, again, incredibly hungover, and he still asked for my number."

mingyu's lips formed a pout as he hummed, rubbing his eye again. "never would have pegged jeonghan as the simping type, but sure."

"shut up," you laughed, and mingyu whined about whether or not you had washed your hands when you plopped your palm against his face. he pushed your wrists away. "do you still have that bottle of white wine?"

"you mean the one hao refuses to drink even though i spent good money on it for his fucking birthday? yeah, why?"

you grabbed your phone again, despite it not vibrating. "it'd probably make a good first impression if you bring a nice bottle to the kickback you were last minute invited to. i bet jihoon will be so impressed by your manners."

mingyu blinked heavily. "you're devious. what about you?"

"i don't need a good first impression," you said. "i already made an awful one and he still likes me."

he sighed. "you always have been a charming dickhead."

you grinned at your best friend. "thanks, babe."

mingyu groaned against his palms. "god, fuck, i was supposed to study for my exam today."

you clicked your tongue. "that sucks dick."

"you suck dick."

you pouted out your lips when you got a text from an unknown number. "i'm trying."

you hadn't fully decided yet how you were going to make sure jeonghan really liked you, especially after jun regaled his "disgusting sexcapades," as he described them. you took his words with a grain of salt, considering the guy had an extremely low opinion of him from the get go, but either way, could you really blame jeonghan for putting his incredibly good looks and charm to use?

you, however, found flings incredibly uninteresting. most of the men that went after you were dull at best, and definitely would have fallen for any stupid prank you had played on them. with jeonghan, though, there was a challenge. there was always the chance he would out-trick you. it was new and exciting. playing with people, you decided, was only fun when there were some stakes involved.

inviting you to have drinks at his place seemed like such a transparent ploy to get laid, but you couldn't help but expect more from him. something told you he knew that you wouldn't be that easy, and you wondered what his game was.

i think i'm here >

which apartment was it? >

you definitely could have scrolled up in your conversation with jeonghan to check, especially since mingyu was complaining next to you on the street outside the apartment building, but you preferred the power move of asking again. you hadn't considered, though, that jeonghan was absolutely the type to know exactly what you were trying as soon as he saw the notification and make you wait. you squinted at the window that clearly had a party going on inside of it, willing the boy to respond.

"bro, it's apartment 2-b. soonyoung says he's 'the b in 2-b' like, every chance he gets. let's just go up."

"hang on, i'm plotting," you said, putting up a finger and scrolling through your contacts.

mingyu groaned as you put the phone to your ear, pressing the cold wine bottle against his eye. "you are the most annoying person i've ever met."

"yet you ask me to hang out constantly."

mingyu glared at you with his uncovered eye. "i also watch a lot of shit television, so don't take my taste as gospel."

inside, soonyoung patted down his pockets when he heard his ringtone, then looked at the kitchen counter where he had left it when he was making drinks. he grinned wide when he saw the contact info and practically yelled when he answered the phone. "y/n! please tell me you're finally coming over?"

jeonghan heard your name, his head whipping towards the sound. he stared at soonyoung, phone to his ear as he laughed into it, and he exhaled when he realized what you had done. he looked down at the ignored notification on his phone, his thought process being that you would call as it became more urgent.

and you had, just not him. he cursed under his breath. you were always one step ahead.

"yeah, second floor! come on up, i'll meet you at the stairs!"

jeonghan watched soonyoung shove his feet into a pair of slides and exit the apartment, then quickly downed the rest of his drink. he was gonna need an excuse to ask if you wanted one.

you followed soonyoung down the hall as he excitedly chattered about how he didn't know you were coming.

mingyu laughed. "yeah, we didn't either. y/n got an invite from jeonghan this morning."

"jeonghan?" soonyoung looked at you. "i didn't know you knew each other."

"i enjoy being a mystery," you said, checking quickly to see if your message had been seen yet.

soonyoung couldn't help but laugh at the idea of you and his roommate, especially with a few drinks in him. "you definitely suit each other."

jeonghan hadn't lied when he said people were coming over for drinks, but he had definitely made it seem much smaller than it was. the living area had enough people that you didn't want to bother counting, but probably somewhere in the twenties. there was music playing, but the conversational chatter was still audible over the beat, and people were laughing with each other on just about every surface you could see. you noticed jihoon by the kitchen counter as you were taking off your shoes, and grabbed mingyu's arm to face him towards you.

"jesus, fuck," he stumbled over his own shoes. "why do i hang out with you?"

"he's in the kitchen and he's alone," you said, your fingers digging into his bicep. "now's your chance. ask him where you should put the wine."

mingyu peeked over his shoulder, then looked back at you with wide eyes. "are you serious? right now?"

"right now," you reassured. "you got this, big guy. you're hot, smart, and tall. say you like his music and blow his mind."

he exhaled, his lips forming an o, and shook his hand nervously. "okay. okay. thank you. i love you. i'm sorry i ever called you annoying."

you laughed, smacking his arm. "love you too, goo."

he shut his eyes and spun, walking towards the boy of his affections. you watched him for a moment, though slyly, as you wandered into the party. you wondered where soonyoung had gone so quickly, then clenched your fist in victory when you saw jihoon get wine glasses out of a cupboard and laughed at something mingyu said.

"oh, y/n!" you spun to the familiar voice, spotting jeonghan leaning against a wall casually, half engaged in a conversation. he pushed off it as you closed the short space between you. "you made it! why didn't you tell me you were here?"

"i did," you said, cocking your head at him. "but you probably knew that."

a sideways smile creeped onto his face. "hey, are you drinking tonight? i don't wanna tempt your self proclaimed alcoholism, but i've been sitting on an empty drink for a while, i could make you one too."

you eyed the red cup in his hand. "what's on the menu?"

"paloma," he said, lifting the cup. "but i can make you something else."

you thought for a second, then looked at him. you hadn't had tequila since the night you saw him sing. "i trust your taste."

he tilted his head as he moved, gesturing for you to follow him to the kitchen. you nudged mingyu with your hip as you settled against the counter next to him to watch jeonghan make a drink for you. he looked down at you, then put an arm on your shoulder as he sipped the wine he had brought, and you noticed jihoon had a matching glass. you smiled proudly.

"mingyu?" jeonghan asked, gesturing.

you nodded, then looked up at your best friend. "this is jeonghan," you said, pointing.

mingyu smiled at him. "good luck with this one. jihoon, this is my worst friend, y/n."

"i'm also the reason he's here," you said, leaning forward to direct the speech at boy you were being introduced to. "you're welcome."

jihoon looked at you, mouth parted into an almost smile. his eyes went to jeonghan, remembering their conversation the day before, then to mingyu again, who was covering his eyes with a palm in embarrassment. "this is why they're my worst friend."

jeonghan laughed, pulling your attention back as he popped open a soda with a bottle opener. "so you're like this with everyone?"

"i’m sure i don't know what you mean," you quipped, sliding out from mingyu's arm to grab the bottle and inspect the label. "jah…ritos?"

"jarritos," jeonghan corrected, pronouncing the h sound. "mexican grapefruit soda. it's the best for palomas."

"see, this is why people think you're a prick," you said, putting the bottle back on the counter. "you get fancy soda specifically for your fancy cocktails."

he just laughed at you as he poured tequila from a bottle into two cups of ice. "if i cared what people thought, i would have changed my ways years ago."

you let that marinate for a moment, then decided the two of you were much more similar than you had originally thought. he grabbed the bowl of cut lime wedges that seungcheol had prepared and squeezed two into each cup, and you watched as he topped the drinks with the soda.

"can you handle heat?"

you looked at him. "that's a loaded question."

he laughed again, and you wondered how many palomas he had before you arrived. "i like chili on the lime, but i wanted to be nice and ask before i did it for you, too."

"i'll try anything once."

then you tried it again.

and again.

jeonghan really was charming, you thought. and pretty. and he had a lovely voice.

at some point, soonyoung found you again, just to waggle his eyebrows at jeonghan when he thought you weren't looking, and you got introduced to seungcheol, who you both recognized and were recognized by. jeonghan rolled his eyes and shoved him away when he gave him a look, remembering how he described you at the bar ages ago.

you barely even noticed the time passing, but your drinks kept draining and you kept accepting more, and you wondered if you were really stupid enough to say yes if he asked you to join him in his bedroom tonight. but the more jeonghan talked, the more you were kind of okay with the idea.

"do you wanna get out of here?"

you blinked, chin in your palm and elbow on the counter, face inches from jeonghan's as he put down his cup. "and go where?"

he pouted as he thought. "i could really go for tteokbokki right now."

at that moment, you decided jeonghan really liked you. you grinned. "that sounds so good."

he smiled back at you, and you didn't comment on the way his eyes lingered on your lips, even if you really wanted to. "better tell your chaperone."

you rolled your eyes at the title mingyu had given himself earlier when he was trying to convince you to not take a fourth drink. "don't let his stupid height trick you, he's more of a lightweight than me."

"at least you don't have to worry about him, jihoon would never try anything. the poor guy is so shy, he was probably flustered just when mingyu said hi."

you quirked an eyebrow at him. "does he have to worry about me?"

jeonghan laughed. "if i wanted to get you drunk, i would have poured heavier."

"speaking of," you said, tipping your cup. "this one suspiciously tasted like not tequila."

he stood suddenly, palms on the counter, trying to force down the blush on his ears. "if you're gonna complain about every drink i make you, maybe you should stop asking for them."

you giggled, standing and imitating his stance. "just admit you care about me, yoon jeonghan."

he looked at you, a smile teasing his lips. "only after you admit you're in love with me."

you squinted. "a draw."

he grinned. "tteokbokki?"

#hi im in love with jeonghan!#what i wouldnt give for a fun teasing sexy realtionship with yoon jeonghan #yoon jeonghan imagines #yoon jeonghan scenarios #yoon jeonghan fluff #jeonghan imagines #jeonghan scenarios #jeonghan fluff #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #i like this one a lot i hope yall do too #i wrote dis #hannie

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sextonsharpwinhalstead · 3 years ago

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As much as I love Helen and Max together it’s been a huge let down. Not not much because they rushed a lot or haven’t addressed certain things-did they ever talk about that huge fight? They’re going to get married and yet don’t communicate for shit-but more so because of how watered down Helen’s personality has become in her relationship. She went from a badass to babe, which is to say pretty much only a love interest. Instead of this relationship exploring more of her personality and addressing some of her history and psyche, it’s been Max, Max, Max. I’d say that Lauren’s relationship, as badly written and off putting that has been at times, has done a lot more in furthering her character and getting the audience to understand exactly who she is than Helen’s. With her and Leyla I get why they work. Sometimes with Max I’m like Helen, sis, why do you even like him still like some things happen between them and it’s just so huh?! They’re main characters they shouldn’t be fumbling with them this much!

I've left this ask in my inbox for a while trying to answer it so I don't come off as a C-U-Next-Tuesday but maybe since having Coivd my short-term memory has made me forget some things. Cause last time I checked the show is actually about Max Goodwin, medical director of New Amsterdam, the hospital that once saved his sister's life. Along the way we learn he has an estranged wife, an aloof director of oncology, a underused heart surgeon, a sassy ED director, you see where I'm going. The show literally only has his face on the promo because he's the MC. They've introduced us to some amazing characters along the way but the show is about Max.

Also, we are now getting to the point in the fandom where everyone is alarmingly angry. I've been in plenty of fandoms on tumblr and seen this exact thing happen over and over again. I think with the season getting closer to an end, and everyone knowing that next season is the last with less episodes, it has everyone scrambling and frankly left feeling disappointed. I get it. I watch Chicago Med, I know frustration. I used to watch Recovery Road before it got cancelled after ONE season and left us ALL hanging. I used to watch Sleepy Hollow, I know misery, I know disappointment.

But what was really great about the beginning of this fandom was that so many of us and I'm probably not alone when I say this but a ton of black women and girls who are on this tag could see what was going to happen or we could speculate what was going to happen with pretty good precision about the relationship between Helen and Max. And we were right. One blog predicted that because of the nature of their relationship before it turned romantic that they would move very quickly, moving in together, getting engage would all happen most likely in the same season. Jonsa101 was correct. Also, like I said I don't know how much you are in fandom but the "She doesn't need a man, she's a strong woman, or she's a badass and now she's ruined because of this relationship" is par for the course when it comes to woc especially black women. We aren't supposed to be loved onscreen or taken care of. Helen is currently a medical director in London, trying to do what Max did, which was make a change and try her hardest to honor all parts of who she is and the population she is serving. She's flourishing. In juxtaposition Max is failing, and since it's his show we see him failing and her coming home after being amazing at work and being his girlfriend. It's easy to read it as her being defined only by the relationship but it's like saying since we haven't seen Leyla while her and Lauren are on the outs that she is now just regulated as an ex-girlfriend and everything she's doing that we don't see is null and void.

I do wish they would have a conversation about their parents. Because Max hasn't been particularly forthcoming about his messy past with his parents and I think they aren't going to address it and I wish they would too. But one lack of conversation doesn't mean their relationship lack legs. The thing is with Helen, she is closed off. And we understand why when she interacts with her mother who left very little room for emotional support. She can't do anything right in her eyes or say anything right so she's learned to say nothing at all. Max has ALWAYS been the one to try and get her to open up, and with that practice we saw her do it with Akash, Shin, and Iggy.

Lauren is very quick-witted, snappy, her dialogue is always better because that's her personality. She's more open so we get more from her. Also, remember is it badly written or do you just not agree with it? I wish her and Leyla had more time to be happy before they threw a wrench in it but it is a choice they made.

I will always want more Helen and more backstory and more of her because Freema is fantastic but they aren't giving us that, and yes, you are not the first or only person who has wanted more for Helen. I ship Sharpwin and wanted her to stay with Akash longer...like a lot longer, he was hot as hell and just as excited to be with her as Shin and Max.

I feel like going forward they have to shine a light on Helen, communication WILL be the focus because...Helen can't speak.

Hopefully this didn't come off condescending or shitty. I get the frustration even if I don't agree with it.

#new amsterdam #helen sharpe #max goodwin #lauren bloom #ask sextonsharpwinhalstead

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earnmysong · 4 years ago

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Ooh! For Chenford - tell me: who gets jealous the most, who takes care of who sick days and who brings up having kids! pS - I so loved your story about them and can only hope you’ll write more!

pairing: lucy/tim

who gets jealous the most - until they’re actually an item? definitely lucy. but it’s sort of an unconscious habit. as in: at first she thinks she misses him in a safety net capacity, and then she convinces herself she basically imprinted on him - like a damn duckling - because he saved her life and is someone really just not supposed to talk to the person who’d done that every day afterward? but then jackson and angela - and wes, hovering in the background with the baby - stage a taco tuesday-themed intervention. the gist of which is: woman, you’re not his rookie anymore, and this is notttt a savior complex or whatever the psych-drenched jiminy cricket who lives in in your brain is telling you. timmy boy is ten times more obvious than you are, which is saying a lotttt. etc, etc, etc.

who takes care of who on sick days - tim ends up taking care of lucy wayyyy more often because he’s the only one who can get her to sit still and shut her brain off for more than five minutes at a stretch. she’s perfectly content to power through and he’s had to literally catch her when she drops on more than one occasion. he secretly loves yelling at great british bake-off like it’s the super bowl but she’s always so out of it that she can’t properly place these scenes in the DREAM or REALITY category.

who brings up having kids - in my fic-verse/mind, even though the actual ‘having a kid now’ was a surprise, they’d definitely had the discussion multiple times prior to this. lucy waits for tim to bring up the subject the first time because she doesn’t know how much he and isabel had discussed it or how close the two of them might’ve come to having or not having one before they nose-dove. they definitely both want kids because yes, the world is scary and intense and confusing and sometimes people can genuinely suck, but none of that’s going to be any more or less true if they have a tiny hand to hold or a toddler to teach to ride a bike. plus, because their own parentals are interestinggggg, they know how to go about the business a bit better.

ALSO. thank you so much for the compliment, lovely! while i’ve got no concrete plans for more as of this moment, ideas are definitely brewing!

#an air of anonymystery #fictional favorite who's who #chenford #chenford headcanon #lucy x tim #otp: you are gonna move up at some point though right #the rookie #thoughts: i have them #people can be so nice!#thank youuuu!

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pertinax--loculos · 3 years ago

Text

Rambling

I am on my computer and have 45min before I have to start getting ready for work, so, uh. This could get long. For brevity’s sake I’m gonna put the dot-point summary of these Thoughts here, and the actual rambling under a cut. ^_^

I’m writing off November. Just, the entire month. All of it, in the trash.

Psyche Shards is coming along in a planning sense, though I haven’t done much drafting

Unofficial goals (to be made official when/if my new planner arrives): Psyche Shards draft complete by end of year/early January, editing Absent That Night January/February

Life is Certainly Something, huh

I am legitimately quite sad about my lack of activity on here recently, but hope to change that in the coming month

If you’d like to read more you know what to do. ;)

So November as a month has just been... not great. I’ve been slack with exercising and with healthy eating habits, which has likely snowballed into the constant exhaustion I’m feeling (which makes it hard to exercise and eat right, repeat ad infinitum). I’m also 99% sure I’m burnt out from work. Generally I work ridiculous amounts Tuesday-Saturday, and then one short shift on Sunday and Mondays off. This allows me time to catch up on sleep and chill for a while, but by the time I feel rested enough to actually be productive, all that energy is channeled back into work. It’s... not a fun time. I’m not 100% sure how to deal with it, either. I don’t want to cut back Job Two hours because I enjoy it so much, and I feel obligated not to cut back Job One hours because honestly the Boss there has been really good to me. So... ugh. I’m hoping that by restarting Life in General in December I’ll be able to get back to a better place, but with Christmas coming up, I may actually just fall in a heap. Guess we’ll see!

Re: Job Two, there’s a Weird Situation there that I am constantly obsessing about, which is, just, super duper fun. It’s not a bad Situation per se, it’s just... weird, and it’s taking up a lot of room in my head, which is kinda annoying. There’s not really an easy way to resolve it, either, and the only person I’d feel comfortable talking to about it is busy up until Christmas or afterwards, so I’m existing in this place where I’m obsessing over it, knowing I shouldn’t be obsessing over it, but unable to discuss it with anyone else. It’s annoying.

Regarding writing; I’m actually making a fair bit of progress with PS! Not a lot of it is drafting which is... unusual, for me, but there’s a heap of brainstorming and slow-plotting going on. And honestly, the more I develop it, the more I love it. There are a number of really complex relationships involved, as well as the unreliable narrator I mentioned, some discussion of ethical implications, commentary on corporations and the amount of power they give themselves just as a byproduct of having so much money, and an exploration of the difference between loving someone and forgiving them. It’s been a lot of fun.

My aim with this draft is actually to keep it under 100k words, so that’s going to be a challenge. (Especially given it’s three POVs and two timelines.) I’ve got a basic outline that I’m working off -- my own creation cobbled together from a range of story structures etc -- and I reckon I should be able to get all the key scenes into that. At the moment I’ve just been writing what takes my fancy, but some of the scenes will not make it into the final draft; which is fine, given they’re largely an exploration of character more than anything else. I’m not sure whether I’m going to draft this chronologically when I actually start (which will be the first full week of December, so around the 6th? I think?); I’ve been writing out of order so far, obviously, but it may be worth starting from the start and trying to work through the outline I have when I actually make an effort to draft it. We’ll see what happens over the next couple of weeks (week?) anyway.

After that’s drafted I am planning on returning to ATN to do the first editing pass. Given November is The Worst, my initial plan to do this immediately after finishing the draft didn’t play out. I’m a little nervous about returning to it, too, for the exact reason that I wanted to do the first pass immediately; there’s a lot that needs to be changed, up to and including dumping entire scenes introducing characters that no longer appear, and I don’t wanna read through 200k words knowing that at least 10k of the first act will be deleted. So I’m gonna have to come up with a way to go into it that will be the least intimidating etc etc. But I’ll get to that when I come to it! ^_^

The idea is to try and complete that major overhaul by the beginning to middle of February because I got into university. I will officially be commencing a Bachelor of Criminology in March next year. ^_^ At a fairly prestigious university in the capital city of my home state, too; which is kinda exciting. I’ve never lived in a city, and half the reason I hate my current town so much is that I crave anonymity. I hate the small-town shit where you walk into a bar and the bartender knows your name. I’d much rather be a nameless face wandering the streets that nobody knows unless we’re actually acquaintances. Customers should not need to know my name to be served by me. I fucking despise name badges and if my name is ever called over a PA somewhere I am employed I physically cringe. (This may also be because I have a stunningly unusual name, so everybody knows that it’s me. I guarantee there is no one else with my name in this town. There’s a good chance there’s no one else with my name in the city I’m moving to, either.) I mean, I genuinely wish I’d told them a fake name for my name badge and for work purposes, I hate it that much. (Them using my name over a loudspeaker, I mean. I actually quite like my name. ^_^)

Anyway, upshot of all that is that I will be moving in mid-February! I’m in the process of finding housing, though at the moment I am leaning towards moving in with an old friend who already lives in the city.

(Sidenote: everyone always says ‘don’t move in with friends’. The more I hear this advice, the more it annoys me, because; aren’t you expected to at some point move in with a significant other? Aren’t you supposed to just compromise around their flaws and quirks and whatnot in order to keep the relationship healthy? Why is it so different with romantic love as opposed to platonic love? This person has been a friend of mine since I was about 15, and I love him; platonically, yes, but no less than I’d love a partner. So how is moving in with him any different than moving in with a romantic partner? Why are there all these warnings about you could lose the friendship! and people may take advantage of you! that don’t seem to be a concern when you’re moving in with a romantic partner? Is it because people elevate romantic love above platonic love and therefore think you’re more likely to make an effort and compromise if it’s a romantic partner as opposed to a platonic friend? Is that why this whole idea fills me with an incandescent, untempered rage?)

So... that’s pretty much my life right now? I am woefully inactive on here and I hate it, but with any luck the beginning of December will bring Good Things and I can move on from the awfulness that was November. ^_^ This weekend, actually, has worked out so I should actually have some free time after I’ve recovered from working, so maybe even I’ll be able to go through and catch up with some people...? Not gonna make any grand statements, but I will certainly keep my fingers crossed that this is the case! :D

...I do not expect anyone to have made it this far into this essay. However, if you did; thanks so much for being interested! ^_^ And I hope your life and writing is going well. Please, please fill me in on what you’re up to, because I miss having my finger on the pulse and I feel like I’ve missed out on a whole lot. :( In any case, I hope you’re well (yes, YOU), take care, and keep smiling. ^_^

#pockets muses IRL #and IWL #something of an update #though i'll probably do a proper weekly update tomorrow as well #i am aware i missed it last week #don't remind me #this month has been a proper shitshow #and i'm hoping december will be different #^_^

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let-us-cultivate-our-garden · 3 years ago

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Reflections on the 20th anniversary of 9/11

I was 13 when the Twin Towers fell. At the time, I had no idea of their existence. Before 9/11, I was just a kid whose world was school, books, family trips, and Saturday morning cartoons. Looking back now, those times were blissful to the point that I was ignorant of the world at large. I imagine a lot of Americans were like that.

On Tuesday morning, September 11 at 5:48 in the morning, I woke up. Something was wrong. The light was on downstairs. This in of itself was not unusual, my mother was always up at this hour preparing to go to work and I had set my clock for 6:15 to get ready for school. Still, I felt this overwhelming sense of dread. Some force told me that I needed to get up. Now. Then I heard my mother on the phone. She was frantic. I tore the covers off of me and headed downstairs.

Mom was on the phone leaving desperate voicemails to our family in New York. I turned to the TV and saw that the news was on. I saw a slim, silver building with black smoke billowing out from the top. The news anchor kept repeating that a plane had flown into the World Trade Center and that they would provide updates as they came.

The news replayed the image of the plane disappearing into the side of the building only for a red-orange bloom to erupt from the top of the tower.

The news anchors were calm and professional and turned to other news. They never turned their cameras from the building. A small insert of Bill Clinton appeared and he was talking about an unrelated event.

“I don’t know why Clinton’s on here, he needs to get his ass off the TV!” Mom snapped, on the phone with one of our relatives.

“Mom!” I said, shocked at her language.

“Honey, people are dying!” her voice cracked.

I turned back to the TV and watched.

Moments later, from a different angle, the news showed the plane again hitting the building.

Oh great, I thought. They’re just playing the same footage over just from a different side.

Then the news anchor spoke: “It appears that a second plane has struck the South Tower of the World Trade Center.”

Second plane? It was the first time I learned that the World Trade Center was actually two buildings. The whole time, the anchors referred to the towers as the World Trade Center. The chyron had read, “WTC Crash.”

The tone of the news anchors changed. They were still composed but underneath, you could detect their fear and anxiety at the events unfolding.

Mom made me stay home from school that day while she went to work. In my naivete, I thought, Yes! No school! But that feeling was not destined to last.

The rest of the day was more like a blur. I sat in my pajamas on the coffee table, watching as the news trickled in.

Third plane strikes the Pentagon.

A fourth plane crashes in a field in Pennsylvania.

I had no idea what any of this meant or what were the implications. The only time I felt shock, actual horror was when out of no where, the towers began to collapse. The cameras captured everything; the massive plume of smoke and ash that consumed Lower Manhattan, people running for their lives as the toxic dust cloud rushed after them as if in pursuit. The antenna spire of Tower One spearing down as the building collapsed in on itself.

That night, the President faced the nation. I don’t remember what he said. We just ate our dinner in silence while watching the TV.

Over the next few days, more information came in. Of individual acts of heroism from police, firefighters, first responders, ordinary citizens, anyone. Of the self-sacrifice of the passengers of United 93. Of people overwhelming blood banks with donations. Of who was responsible.

Anyone with a living memory of that day was changed whether you were there or not. 9/11 was broadcasted live for the world to see and is one of the most documented events in world history.

From that day on, I became interested in politics, history, terrorism, crime of any nature, human psychology, any field that could explain why we were attacked. As a teen, I read The New Yorker and The Economist so I could be informed of the world around me. I needed to know why. Why was my world turned upside down? Why was I sitting there in pajamas hearing reports of people leap to their deaths? Why did I feel sick to my stomach whenever I saw the Towers, even in movies and TV shows?

I had a hunger to serve as well. I come from a military family so I was used to the rhetoric of service, of protecting our country. I applied to the military academies but didn’t get in. So my career turned elsewhere.

9/11 affected my family in other ways, too. My mom became a veteran of both the Iraq and Afghanistan wars. I had to grow up fast and learn to care for myself while she was gone.

In the ensuing 20 years, more tragedies were to come. More traumas for our already besieged psyche. Last week, Mom and I attended the memorial service for Marine Lance Cpl. Kareem Nikoui, a local boy. He was 20 when he and 12 other service members were killed in the siege at Kabul airport. The memorial was appropriate; solemn and patriotic. Everyone spoke about how he was destined to be a Marine, how he hungered to serve his country. He died to protect our freedom. I remember these words. I believed these words. This is the rhetoric that got us into a 20 year war, into another unnecessary war in Iraq the caused a million dead and a new terrorism group. This is the rhetoric that politicians used to justify torture, domestic surveillance, violence against Muslim-Americans, and invading countries to spread peace and democracy.

What exactly are we dying for?

Kareem had no living memory of 9/11, the event that triggered our long war. He died for events that were decades in the making. He served his country and he died.

But it didn’t have to be that way.

I don’t believe we ever truly processed 9/11. We let the shock and trauma consume us and fundamentally change our society and how we see the world. We are still living in the long shadow of the Twin Towers and of its grisly aftermath. I can only hope that in the years and decades to come, we look back and see how we responded, what could have been done instead, and move toward justice and peace. I hope that we can finally emerge from the shadows and step into the light.

#9/11 #musings #September 11 #20th anniversary #war on terror #iraq #afghanistan #us history #world history #personal #long post

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jodilin65 · 33 years ago

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TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 29, 1992 Only 9 more days till I move and have a phone! I’m really psyched. I wish I could move right now.

I never bothered to set my alarm. I woke up at 10:30 but didn’t get out of bed till 11:30.

Tonight, I’m gonna watch the two-hour premiere of Reasonable Doubts.

Right now I’ll go see if Andy’s home. I know he said he’s got lots to do. Next weekend, or this coming weekend I should say, his sister Marla and his nephew Brian are coming for a couple of days from San Francisco.

I went to the pool a few times and chatted with an elderly couple, Nancy and Steve whom I met a few months ago. Well, they’re sort of elderly. Maybe in their 50s, but very nice.

Tara was there briefly with her friend Teresa who lives here, but will soon be moving out. Tara said Teresa’s brother knows gay women and Tara’s gonna ask her about them.

Oh, yeah sure. Like this is gonna lead me to such wonderful lust. The game of seek, chase, guess, wonder and playing detective sure is fun, though.

Tina, Lena’s roommate came over to check the studio apartment I have out in case she gets one for herself. She’s in a 1-bed now. I was on my patio as she was walking by and she asked to check it out. She did, liked it, and said she’d have to visit sometime. She knows I’m gay too, and I think she may be seeing Ed, but I don’t know for sure. She said she lived with a guy here and when they broke up, he moved out and she moved in with Lena.

Later…

Andy and I took some pictures of the pool and the grounds. Cuz he has to finish the roll by Friday I asked Mom to send another one since I won’t be moved till Oct. 9th. After I move, I’ll get my place all fixed up just like it is on the first floor and take some pictures.

I saw the perfect ad in the laundry room. It said: Female cat, spayed, declawed, litter box trained, free to good home.

When I called, I found out it was taken last Sunday. It figures. Just my luck that if it sounds too good to be true, it’s taken and out of the question. I’ll send Nervous the picture of the cat that was attached to the ad, anyway.

I put an ad in each laundry room for my answering machine for $45 or best offer. I know I’m gonna like that voice messaging much better. I also won’t hear that obnoxious clicking when I’m sleeping or have to keep taping it into the jack. All I’ll need to do when I’m sleeping is turn the phone ringer off. I never could turn off my answering machine. It would still go off but ring many more times first.

Later…

Last night turned out to be fun. Andy came over at 10:00. We talked here for a while, then decided to go see Ellie. We figured she might not want to see us but she was totally thrilled. We talked seriously as well as about goofy stuff from lyrics and such. She laughed along with it. I ended up getting my pink denim mini-skirt and bringing it over to glue on beads, shells, sequins and colored glue. It was fun and the skirt looks great.

I told her I was transferring and gave her my number. Andy gave her his number and she gave us hers! This is great for when we don’t feel like visiting her and I told her to always call first. Andy said the same rule applies to him. We’re gonna tape her, edit her and cross her.

As we were leaving she became furious, saying I didn’t help her clean up, but I did. Andy said she seemed so cured till we left, but that’s typical Ellie to become furious in the end. If she isn’t freaking out right from the get-go.

I spoke briefly with Mom and Dad yesterday. I also called Tara from Andy’s phone. Just Tara was there and Andy and I sang her funny lyrics.

I’m a little nervous right now as tonight we’re doing karaoke. My voice is in shit shape due to the fact that I’ve hardly sung all that much here. Been busy with other things, but I sang two songs earlier. I don’t want to warm up there and be coughing up phlegm. I must rely solely on my looks and try to look my best as my singing won’t be where it should be and could be. I’ll try my best, but unless they sing worse than Andy, or if they are better and I win, it’ll be mainly cuz of my looks.

Another thing that is a little nerve-wracking, is that this is a straight bar. I’ll no doubt get several hits. If I were straight, alone and looking, the guys wouldn’t bother with me.

I think I’ll go take a walk down to Tara’s place and see if she’d like to go with us, but I’m sure she’ll be busy. Current Location: Arizona

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 28, 1992 I woke up at 11 AM today. Amazingly, I slept through the lawnmowers. I do want to keep on a day schedule till after I move. Due to sleeping till 11:00, I’ll be up till 3 AM. I must set my alarm for 8:00 to get up no matter how hard it’ll be.

I met the girl who’s gonna be next to me. Her name’s Andrea, but people call her Andi.

Later…

I stopped writing at the time as Andy came over. We went to visit a friend of his he used to work with. Her name was Autumn which is pretty.

We also went to Fry’s and I got $35 worth of food.

After I move I want to get a full-length mirror. I’m really looking forward to transferring and having a phone.

As I began to say before, I met my next-door neighbor. She seems nice.

Last Sunday Jeff was at the pool and he was about to use the grill. I asked if I could throw on my pork chop. He not only cooked my pork chop, but he also gave me some shrimp. That was very nice of him, but I also made it clear to him that I can’t constantly hang with people here. I also made it clear that I’m only available as a friend. Well, it’ll be more of an acquaintance. I want to be friendly with him, but not friends.

I opened my windows, but it is still way too hot today. It was 105º and Andy says it will be 108º Wed.

I still haven’t gotten a letter from Kim or anyone else in my family, but I’ve written tons of letters. I got one done for Bob which I haven’t written to him since I first got here. I sent him some hair. I’ve also written to Nervous, Fran, Brenda, Kacey, Jimmy, and Russell S.

I spoke with cousin Boo to thank her for her check and the day I move she’ll be going to Nevada to see her daughter Rhoda. She’ll be gone for 3 weeks. I told her I’ll write to her as soon as she returns. She says she’ll write too.

I have to take my meds soon, and in half an hour I’ll watch Hunter.

Not much else has been going on. Ed and Pat have been really nice and they never mentioned the night I called the cops on Ed. I think Ed is dating this girl Tina who lives here. She lives with this girl Lena. They (Lena and Tina) know I’m gay and know lots of people. Lena’s best friend is gay and I think I’ve seen her. A major butch. I don’t believe they know of any other gay women as feminine as I am, but what else is new?

I’ve chatted a few times with Rachel who lives diagonally below Andy at the front of the building (I’ll be in the back) and she really is very sweet. She gave me some boxes she used to move in with. I gave her some stuff I didn’t want.

This guy Randy whom I met when I first moved in, fixed my typewriter. It’s still not perfect and I sure miss Tammy’s typewriter, but now the keys don’t stick so much.

He’s very nice and I can see any girl who was looking for a serious relationship selecting him as the least likely to become a jerk.

This other guy Mike, who lives here, seems OK. We’ve chatted a few times too, but with his now knowing I don’t get involved, he may come around less often.

I don’t say it in a nasty way, but I get to the point while I sound honest and sincere and not slap it into their faces. That is unless they just don’t get it. I like guys who give up, rather than get more persistent, pushy and determined. I know there are so many women who’d die to get hit on as much as I do. Yet, it seems I always have to keep batting them away. Well, life’s not at all fair. You get what you don’t want while someone else gets what you do want.

Now I need to stop and take my meds and watch some TV.

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 26, 1992 Last night was lots of fun, except for one thing. First I was over visiting with Tara. We played a game of Crazy 8’s, then some keyboards and listened to some tapes. The one of Andy trying to sing Desde la Oscuridad. Also, some calls as well as us talking to Laurie at the crisis center.

After that, I ran into Andy on my way back to my place. We went to McDonald’s. On our way out we ran over a small dog. Where did it come from? We never saw it running toward the car and the poor thing was crying out in so much pain. We took off hoping and praying someone rescues it. Legally there is a leash law. Morally we felt bad. I think I once met the dog’s owners and if I’m correct the dog does live here and is 15 years old.

Time for a swim.

Later…

I was chatting with Sue and Sharon at the pool. Sue’s so cool.

Last night Andy picked up that cream I need and I’ve begun that. I hope this time around it clears it up 100%.

For the last 3 days, I’ve been out by the pool. I’m tan but not as tan as I’d like to be. I also can feel that sun poisoning slightly acting up again. I’m doing it little by little, very carefully. I may simply have to wait until October, November or December. That sounds so funny. Imagine saying in MA. How you’re gonna wait till October, November or December to go tanning!

I went over to Andy’s and called Nervous and Fran. Nervous really didn’t have much to say and was eating prime rib. That was at 1 PM his time.

I spoke to Fran at around 4:00 his time and I gave him as well as Nervous my phone number. I also told them about the transfer.

I wish I could move now. Robert’s been quiet since I blasted him out, but I’m still looking forward to being able to sleep with my windows open, never hearing any footsteps above me, and to getting away from Mark.

Dennis and Brian, these two brothers who live here, are gonna be the ones helping me move. They understand I have no money to pay them. Dennis says you don’t pay your friends, but if I could, I would.

I am here now on my patio as I write this with my Walkman listening to Gloria. At least it’s not too unbearably hot for that, but I’m gonna go for a swim soon.

I spoke to Tammy yesterday and I was laughing as she told me it was in the 60s and very chilly with lots of rain. That’s what Fran says too. It’s funny knowing they’re all bundled up while I’m sweating my ass off and going swimming. When I’m up early in the mornings I have the weirdest sensation. As I look outside I can swear it’s chilly out and it blows my mind when I see I can walk out onto my patio in shorts and a halter top and be perfectly warm. My body is still in Taxachusetts, even though my mind is here. This is the longest summer I’ve ever had. I’m used to being pretty much in long pants and sweatshirts by now.

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 25, 1992 For starters, I went out last night and it was horribly boring. There were a few feminine ones there, all taken, naturally. I’m too old to be playing this game and I told Andy that if he’s gonna go out he’s gonna have to go alone or with someone else. The scene just isn’t for me and neither are butches. Everyone says to think positive and a feminine one will come to you. Yeah, right. They also say when you’re expecting nothing to happen, you’ll get what you want. Sure. If that were true I’d have been getting hit on left and right for the last two years. It’s truly impossible and not meant to be but at least I didn’t get hit on by a butch or a man. I asked God that if He were never planning on sending me what I want, please have men hit on me less often. A lot less often. I just wish I could settle for a butch and get turned on by people I’m not attracted to. I beg for Him to help me find the way to settle. Not for a man cuz they’re so hard to deal with, become too pushy, and give me a higher chance of diseases and of course pregnancy. I just want to someday be able to settle for a butch even if it takes time.

I called SRP to transfer my electricity and then the refill number on that cream Andy’s gonna pick up after work. I hope he remembers. He’s always remembered before. I do his laundry for all these little favors.

I also called US West and got a phone! It’s an ugly number but at least it’s a phone. I gave Tammy the number and swore her to secrecy.

My letter of credit from CT is no good cuz it was only for 4 months, but I’m glad as I know my weaknesses. I’d get carried away with the long distance and there’s no way I could afford an additional $170. It’s already gonna be around $100 to get started, but thanks to Cousin Boo, I can handle that. My monthly charge after that will be around $30. The guy I spoke to did say I’d be able to make collect calls. We’ll see. I’ll have 3-way calling, but no call-waiting or call-forwarding. I’m also getting that voice messaging service. I like it so much better and my answering machine is partially broken. When I moved from Deerfield I accidentally yanked the cord out and a part of the module clip that goes into the phone jack snapped off. So, this way I don’t have to keep taping it in, nor do I have to deal with that obnoxious clicking when someone calls while I’m asleep.

Later…

I’m gonna watch Matlock soon and Tara says she’s gonna come over. That’s what she says, but we’ll see as she’s said that before. I wanna show her my new dress from mom and dad. I saw her, Tonya and Sue at the pool. Pat, Ed’s roommate, was there also. I figured he’d be evasive due to my little run-in with Ed, but he was very nice.

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 24, 1992 I thought I was moving on the 2nd, but I guess it’s the 9th now. Gordy’s gonna need a week to paint and fix anything that may need to be fixed.

When I used that cream downstairs I used 1 tube. I had 1 refill and after using 1 tube it got much better. However, I still have some discharges and bloating. I called the office and spoke to one of his nurses who said I should use the second tube. Why didn’t the doctor tell me this in the first place?

Later…

I got the check from Cousin Boo. I thought it’d be $50, but it was $125! That was so nice of her and I’m very grateful. I intend to write her a thank-you note.

After I move I’m definitely gonna have a phone. I’m doing pretty good financially for a change.

Tuesday morning I’d had it with Robert. At 4 AM when he went to leave for work he stomped and woke me up. That was the final straw and I opened my door as he came down the stairs and I screamed, “Thanks a fucking lot! You have no fucking common courtesy waking people up at 4:00 in the goddamn morning!” I spoke to Paula yesterday about his stomping since talking to him myself didn’t work.

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 21, 1992 I got up at midnight and I would’ve had my schedule changed two weeks ago if it weren’t for the fuckface upstairs. He’s really pissing me off more and more and I’m sure the issue once again comes down to sex. I’ve had a few nice talks with Robert but he walks like an elephant, and after living in Norwich, I cannot deal with anyone living above me. That’s one reason I wanted the second floor. The other is that you have a zillion times more privacy. Now that it’s cooled off a bit I want to sleep with my windows open at night and shut the AC off and conserve. I always envied Andy who’s about to do that and have privacy with no people walking right by your windows.

The last reason is cuz I’m sick of Mark next door. I went off on him last week and gave him every piece of my mind. His attitude sucks and he hates everyone so you can only imagine how much he hates himself.

I moved in here too fast cuz I wanted to hurry up and get into my own place and Andy and I thought studios rarely were vacant.

So now here’s the good news and the solution to the problem. I called cousin Boo and explained the situation to her telling her I’d never ask for money ordinarily and to please keep it our secret (though I doubt she will). Mom and Dad have helped enough and they send $50 monthly. She said she knew the move was rough, would be delighted to help, it was our secret and my b-day gift. The check should soon be here and I am ever so grateful for her help.

I went to the office and spoke to Judy, and I’m moving to Building 1 directly behind Andy! It’s apartment #247, and Oct. 2nd is when the move will take place. I’ve spoken to Tony, that really nice black guy, as well as the guy who’s gonna be below me in 147 and they will hopefully help with the move.

I told Judy not to mention the $95 transfer fee to my parents. I also called them and I told them I was in the office and overheard a woman say she wants the first floor and offered to swap with her.

Kara was over last week too, and her brother told me he’d help me move for free. However, Kara says he’s in Michigan where they’re from.

Fay’s moving into a trailer, and her brother, who also lives here and is helping her. Maybe he can help me as well. There’s not too much heavy stuff but there will be 10,000 trips. With asthma, it would be cool to get all the help I can. Only those willing to help as a favor cuz I have no money to pay them. Except for the bed, table and microwave I can pretty much handle it all on my own. I’ll load stuff in boxes, empty them there and go back and forth loading and unloading boxes. It’d be great to get a shopping cart.

Later…

I’ve written to family and friends and I’ve got to get more stamps. I got a package from my parents. Dad claims that all they have left is my old guitar but where are the rest of my pictures? They sent my typewriter, twin sheets, a twin blanket, my papers (legal papers), my albums, my tools and two awesome outfits. I was shocked and couldn’t believe they sent me something so stylish and non-baggy. I got a beautiful, tight, short black dress with silver studs around the neck and colored glass beads on the upper front part of it. Also, a tie-dye pair of pants with matching tops and they all fit perfectly. I do have to keep pulling up the pants but at least they’re not baggy. They’re all sizes small and my stomach is flatter since I used that cream down below. The infection had been bloating me out.

I got a short quick letter from Tammy as I wrote before along with $50 since she sold my couch.

Andy gave me 22 blank tapes he no longer wants. Now I have about 78 blanks!

I went grocery shopping the other day. A guy who lives in building 2 took me, saying anytime I need a ride and see his truck there to let him know.

I always thought male neighbors were better as they tend to complain less about loud music, but luckily I’ll have two female neighbors and a male below me. There are 4 apartments on each side and on Andy’s side there are two other gay men. Andy asked, “Is building 1 the gay building, or what?” There’ll be a woman next to me and another under her. Under me, there’ll be a guy named Jeff. I spoke to him at the pool and he said if he’s home he’ll help me move stuff. He said he has no problem with my music and I hope whoever she is next to me doesn’t mind. I told Jeff I appreciate the help but cannot talk to my neighbors. He asked if it was due to a boyfriend and I said no I’m not into that and he said we’ll talk sometime. I’m just gonna level with him and tell him I’m not available to him for sex and I choose not to know my neighbors as I want no problems. He does seem like a fairly decent guy, though. Then again, don’t they always?

I can’t wait to move.

Two nights ago, believe it or not, Andy wanted to go to the bar. I thought he felt like I do. I thought he was sick of the games. I know in my mind I can’t get what I want and in this day and age I’ve come to accept it and I’ve stopped fighting a losing battle. I go in there and either get what I don’t want or nowhere. The few that were fairly attractive could’ve cared less about me and the few I exchange numbers with never call. If I call them (if they’ve given me the correct number) they act like they don’t know me and brush me off. You get tired of the same old pattern. He was also upset cuz I’ve been asleep when he’s up. I thought he wouldn’t mind as he chewed me out for coming over every day when I first came here. It just so happens that when he’s free, I’m asleep. When I’m up, he’s asleep. I wish he were still a night person and he did say he was getting sick of getting up so early. I knew he’d miss being a night person.

He said he may want to go to the bars tomorrow night or the next night, and I’ll be asleep. Coincidence? Nope. God’s trying to reinforce the fact that it isn’t meant to be. I could hang out in gay bars every single night and it wouldn’t get me anywhere.

Next, I’ll write about Ray and this girl Melissa I met at the pool. Now I’m gonna make a bagel.

Later…

Well, Robert stomped and slammed his way off to school. Payback is gonna be a real bitch but not till I move so he can’t retaliate. All he could do is come to my door or tell me to knock it off if I see him at the pool. I doubt he’d come to my door and he’d never call the cops any more than I knew Mark would when he received that very threatening and sexual letter. It scared him, though. He told me if I saw the guy to call the cops and that he’s gonna get a gun. I don’t know if he really got a gun or not.

I hope I have a peephole in my door cuz I ain’t answering my door without knowing who it is first.

When I made some pranks on Robert while Andy was back east, he laughed about it at the pool. The things I’ll say over the phone won’t be threatening, but they’ll be very blunt, sarcastic and very weird. Perhaps sexual too, as I know he’d love that. He’s lucky cousin Boo’s helping me with the transfer fee as I’d surely have to round up a few people to set him straight if I had to stay here. Why do I always keep ending up in the same situation? I just moved from this even though his noise isn’t an eighth of what I put up with in Norwich. It isn’t so much the stuff he does, it’s his fucking stomping. He doesn’t know how to walk and he has no common courtesy. I also plan on visiting him at 1:00-2:00 in the morning when I know he’s asleep. I wish I had that long crank I had to open my skylights with in Deadfield.

I hope I hear from Kim soon so I can mail her tapes out to her. She said she’d send lots of stamps. I also want to try and see if she’ll help with the phone installation. Connecticut’s sending a letter of good credit but I don’t know if it’ll be accepted since I was only there for 4 months. I’d just as well find a way to pay for the installation so I can avoid the same hassle and waiting game I went through with the food stamps. If they don’t waive the $170 deposit, fine. In case of an emergency, I don’t like not having a phone. I can also leave messages for Andy while he’s asleep or at work, rather than leave him notes.

I wrote about a letter I wrote to Debbie a month or so ago. Non-threatening and non-sexual. It’s my constitutional right which they can’t prove. I also was told to deny anything, especially shit they can’t prove without a lawyer. Several lawyers have told me this.

Ray called to tell me he was denying my case. Over that? The whole situation is so stupid and my dad told me not to worry.

Oh, I’m not, believe me.

I laid out by the pool yesterday and got a little color back. I’m gonna lie out today, too.

Maybe I’ll see Melissa who’s so nice and pretty. I’ll write about her later.

Later…

Melissa’s a really nice girl I met with a body that makes mine look sick. She’s 5’ 4” with medium-length, thin, straight blond hair and a perfect figure. Her face is slightly plain but more pretty than plain. She has nice eyes and a pretty smile.

When I told her I was gay she said she admired my openness and knew many gay people including her boyfriend’s brother. She also wonders if her female roommate has tendencies.

She also told me, even though she’s addicted to her boyfriend, she thought I was very attractive. She showed me a book she was reading called addictive relationships. She says she’s too clingy, dependent and jealous when it comes to her boyfriend. It amazes me that they’ve been together for over a year.

I told her I was always alone cuz I’m not attracted to gay women and they’re not attracted to me.

We talked about lots of things and she said she gets badgered by guys and that women avoid her. Then, as I was about to tell her how well I can relate to that, she said she can see me getting the same thing.

I know I’ll never get her, but I’m used to wanting the ones I can’t have and she’s good as a friend at least. I hope.

Later I’ll write the good news I have about SS. Isn’t it shocking and amazing to actually have any good news about them? For now, I’m gonna lay down and veg out and enjoy Robert’s absence. Believe it or not, this guy’s home more than I was back east. He hasn’t worked since I have been here and he’s only out at school from 7 AM - 10:30 AM. I wish he were never home and always away traveling.

Later…

I called SS last Fri. to find out how much they plan to take from my check. She said they usually take 10%. I asked how much of a cut that’d be from $426. She said about $42. I said that’s crazy and she said she’d call to tell them to take only $5 a month. She asked me if I got SSI and I said I thought I didn’t qualify for that here in Arizona. She made the call and said I do get SSI, but haven’t gotten it cuz that’s how they’re collecting the bullshit overpayment. In 10 months I should have my SSI check back and she says they’re not gonna touch my SS check. Well, I sure hope she’s right cuz so many times one person will say one thing while another will say something totally different.

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, 1992 Several things have happened since I last wrote. Let me begin with Tara. She showed me tons of drawings she did which make mine look like I scribbled. She’s had lots of lessons and of course, I haven’t had any. She sat down with me and gave me 10 minutes of tips and pointers, and oh my God! I don’t know who was more shocked. She or me. I’ve drawn about 8 pictures since and they’re tremendously better.

Last Friday night she was supposed to come over at 2 AM after going out. Around 12:30 that evening, I heard a knock on my door and I thought it was her. When I opened the door it was Ed who I met at the pool. We’d always had some good talks at the pool and he said he knew this girl who was gay. He and his roommate seemed nice and open-minded and he said this girl looked like a centerfold. I doubt that if she’s gay. I never met her cuz he didn’t know her well or see her often. Anyway, he was at my door with a beer, obviously smashed, saying he was just wandering. Yeah, right.

I went to Andy’s phone and called 911. He just had to “wander” to my door, then on my patio. He never said or did anything about sex, but I wasn’t born yesterday. One thing would’ve led to another. Especially with a guy with a beer in his hand at that hour. Plus, I’m gay so that would make it all the more exciting for him, wouldn’t it? They’re God’s gift to women, as far as they’re concerned, and they love the resistance and challenge of “conquering” a gay woman.

When the cops arrived, he was gone. The cops and I went to his door. I told him I’ll be friendly and say hi to him at the pool, but if he comes to my door, there’s gonna be trouble. I was so caught off guard that it freaked me out. If he came around again I’d be ripped and there’s no telling what I may do to him. Let’s just say I’d take the so-called “thrill of conversion” right outa him.

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 10, 1992 I’ve been a bit lazy again as far as doing everything I need to do. I figured that since I can’t sleep, now’s as good a time as any to write.

Andy and I went to see the Twin Peaks movie.

I need to finish a letter to my parents and also write to Tammy. I have tons of editing to do still, but I have done some. Kim shocked me by sending 28 blank tapes! When I called to thank her she told me she’d send a letter along with some stamps. I’ve made her 5 tapes of convos and edits. I’m listening to a funny-as-all-hell tape of Andy. The other night he was over here listening to my latest edition of edits. We were also writing to Nervous and Fran using all those cards my parents sent. We were cracking up over what I enclosed in Fran’s envelope as well as Nervous’ - dead crickets.

I got some really cool and awesome new stationery of neon cats for a buck at Walgreens.

As I was addressing tons of envelopes and enclosing geometrical colorings I did, I came up with a great idea. I had Andy put the headphones on while I played Desde la Oscuridad. I told him to read the lyrics and sing what he thought the words were. It was so hysterically funny! It sounded like a Jewish cantor singing. We were dying of laughter.

Then, we went and teased Ellie. Man is that woman fucked up! I’ve only seen her that one time since she came over here and I shut her out. That woman is as crazy and as delusional as you can get, but funny if you only see her once a month to rank on her. At the same time we understand she can’t help being crazy, she’s so funny and perfect to have a field day with.

I’ll write more about Ellie, Tara and Tonya some other time. Other than that, not much else has happened. I had a flood in my bathroom, Fay’s moving, I’m horny and that’s it. The only major thing to write about is Tara. The rest is all little odds and ends.

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