#i think im only working until 4:30 this friday tho so it should be okay

[phagodyke]

lol handed in my forms and they looked them over and were like ok give us a call later this week and I was like ummm I can't bc im deaf I said on there and they were like ohhh well just come in on friday then.. girl I work full tiiiime 😭

[piamii]

Taking a mental health day from work today but was really conflicted about how to word it.

Last year I took a few mental health days but there were 6 of us so maybe it was less conspicuous

It’s only me this year and I for some reason keep feeling this push pull with my supervisor to be close and honest with her

Last night I was feeling ok about work. But after once again not sleeping properly I feel like somethings up with me

I’m feeling all the ways I used to feel about my mental health

Being small is not okay, it’s not okay to let go, I’m responsible for all of my clients progress and safety

Which is true in a way but

I also have beeen thinking about the difference between me and my supervisor

She’s the only person I see on a regular basis. Like I see her 4 times a week

So I don’t know how to be myself, a postdoc

I keep comparing myself to her

I wondered to myself would anyone else take a mental health day in my position?

Who cares, others aren’t me

It’s like I forgot I’m extremely sensitive and have been sobbing every day and not sleeping well at all during the weekdays

My nutrition and hydration and shit has been ok, so I’m not getting sick which is the weird part

Im so incredibly emotionally constipated

There are so many incredibly destructive thoughts in my head right now that haven’t been addressed

Things have just gotten increasingly harder for a long time now and I can’t tell where adjustment starts and my dysfunctional mental state ends

Is it really ok for me to say work is too much?

Does it make me pathetic?

Didn’t I feel this way in all previous years too?

2nd year, it wasn’t like this but at least I was more honest with myself about how anxious and nervous I was about work. I definitely took it easy and complained more often. I slept poorly frequently on clinical days and would feel really angry about it. I don’t think I got sick more than once that year

3rd year i wasn’t sleeping quite as poorly but still had sleep problems, hated my commute. That was the year I kind of had to start blocking people out of my life, like not completely but was so down and exhausted that I couldn’t function socially outside of work and school. I didn’t get sick much tho. Definitely noticed SAD symptoms starting this year but to be honest felt somewhat depressed on and off through early winter until spring which is I guess the colder darker months in OR. I think I had some SI but it was towards the end of winter

4th year was when I had more somatic issues. My sleep was honestly not bad that year comparatively speaking but when m and I broke up during internship application season I had a bunch of health issues that resolved shortly after my interviews ended. Tbh internship interviews were a nice reprieve from the dark slump that probably would have hit me if I had just done school in the winter. I had my first sinus infection in spring and went to see Slushii anyways Hahahha.

Internship year... I had a sinus infection too and got a cold maybe 2 other times. Last year was the most I’ve ever gotten sick. I took a mental health day maybe like 3 times and actually used sick days too. I want to say this was the hardest year for me mental health wise until this year in terms of symptoms but the best in terms of self care. By like April/May I was feeling really good about life. Maybe it’s the weather here too idk

This year feels so much harder than the other years combined. I’ve used one sick day and two mental health days and I’m having a hard time understanding where I’m at mental health wise in conjunction with who I need to be to do well at work. It feels like I’m growing at an unmanageable pace. I’ve had the most frequent SI I’ve ever had in my life which is somewhat alarming to me. I’m safe don’t worry but I’m just saying the thoughts coming into my head. My sleep is getting reallynfucked up over these last 2 weeks. I sleep like a baby on the weekends which makes me feel like it’s stress related. On one hand I’m acclimating to this insane amount of stress and on the other hand it feels like every day I’m being stretched open and carved out.

I’m not even ruminating that much before bed anymore. Like I’m not actively distressed like I used to be when things hit me hard last year. I’m just constantly unhappy and anxious this year which I feel like is my lot in life right now. My self care has gotten much better last year and this year, but this year it’s been harder to find ways to relax. Things went downhill really fast, when the seasons finally changed here and I started seeing 4 of my clients in the field. I am most definitely consistently working over 40 hrs a week now. I tried really hard last year to work less whenever I could and honestly the agency was pretty good about giving us a reasonable workload. But now it feels like I’m meeting the real world, where work just comes at you and never says sorry. You had to do extra and stay longer this week? Sucks for you. You have to completely uproot your already untenable schedule because one of your clients has really a really complex risk presentation? Welp that’s the price of doing this work.

Like when I was told the weeks here typically don’t go past 40 hrs I feel like I was lied to. I feel alone and singled out bc I’m the only postdoc this year. I want to know how C felt 2 years ago. If there were 2 of us I feel like I’d be having an okay time. Can you fucking believe they had a hard time building to full caseload last year? It cannot be just me in this position. I want to give up every day.

I don’t feel protected I don’t feel like I can ever let my guard down. There is no one I talk to regularly that I can be honest with. I don’t have the energy to relay this information to the people I do talk to regularly which at this point is my supervisor and M. And like hell im going to tell my supervisor this stuff.

Is this the real world?

Something tells me it is, but I have to find a way through it somehow

I’m still debating about this one client. She’s on my mind a lot and I’m scared which is probably a parallel experience to what her family is experiencing.

The fuck you mean our ethical duty? What am I supposed to take away from that convo? I know I have my own voice and opinion but that made me feel really bad for not doing exactly as you said. I know I tend towards the anxious paranoid side of things but that really scared me because instilll can’t think straight about this client and I sure as hell cant go to you.

The relationship between e and I has changed too, I think she’s overwhelmed too

Something that keeps popping up over and over again is- how fucking awful it would be for a client to complete suicide

I know it happens and it’s time I face that this could happen

It’s a terrifying thought and I almost don’t want to tell anyone that I’m having it

It feels shameful and dangerous to think about, because if I can’t handle it who could?

Who can contain this for me and tell me it’s okay? I don’t want to fucking hear that I should do more

It’s a complex mess of emotions inside my head. I understand why I would need to do more in this situation but there’s no room for it. I want help in trying to balance but my schedule is already unbalanced and bringing me into a dark place emotionally.

What if because I took today off no one sees my hospital patients all week?

Friday is going to suck ass if that’s the case

I could ask my supervisor directly to see them

But I want to be small today

And that would take a lot from me

How does the psychology service work at the hospital during Xmas break?

Uhhhh....

Shit.

I’m scared for some stupid reason that someone will make me stay during break or I’ll have to work some crazy stupid long hours on Friday

I hate ongoing patients bc they still need to be seen but it’s kind of your choice whether or not to see them

It’s like adding an automatic to do to the list every time I’m there but the task takes 2 hrs at least

I’m always scared I have to stay late at the hospital, luckily the latest has been 6:30 but I’m terrified every time I go in that it’s going to be longer

This is new for me and it’s ok to get freaked out

To not have a clear idea how much I am going to work each day and each week really puts me off

I feel pathetic because aren’t there a lot of jobs that are unpredictable like that? Especially once you become salaried ?

My stomach is starting to hurt

It’s weird because I haven���t gotten any somatic symptoms this year but I’ve also been sobbing my eyes out every day so maybe that’s why my body is feeling okay. I haven’t really cried the last few days because I’m just very tired of crying at this point, so maybe that’s why my stomach has been hurting a bit more

Every time m says something nice to me, hell anytime anyone says something nice to me I start to cry and I’m just so fucking done with crying and feeling out of control just to have nothing change and things even get harder at work

Fuck!!!!!

I haven’t properly dealt with this terrified feeling

I have to tell myself this feeling is informative but separate from reality

I’m so fucking scared.

[matronaa]

Jungkook “fuckboy?” drabble

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Word count: 1,637

Genre: Fluff/mentions of smut?

Okay look its about 1 in the morning while im writing this and i just got done literally scrolling thru @jungshookz  e n t i r e page and honestly ive been delusionally laughing over her stories for like an hour and a half like the tattooartist!jungkook fic legit killed me i love it  and i’m probably going to force my friend to check her out because legit i love it so much and she seems like such a funny person and if she sees this 1) ily and ur writing and i wanna be friends but idk how to start a conversation because im a awKwARd bEan and 2) im sorry for probably spamming ur notifications with likes okay i couldnt help it so now im inspired for the first time in a while to write but im way to loopy to put together an actual fic so enjoy this ig

Okay i should stop rambling (okay just note that im so sleep deprived that i had to google ‘words for excessive talking’ to remember the word rambling because im an idiot and i cant think and ooo its 1:11 am rn make a wish b*tches)

Okay im sorry ill begin~

A/n all of this is completely unedited and if bad grammar annoys you srry not srry

Lets talk about what fuckboy!jungkook is oki

I feel like in reality there are just a bunch of rumors about him but hes so smol and hes the quiet type so he doesnt have the energy to dismiss them

Like im sorry soft jungkook is way to good in my mind rn okay #cuddles4days im not in the mood for him to strangle me with his amazing biceps

Anyway

you never rlly met him in the 4 years of going to the same highschool as him (since you’re in those smart people classes like humanities) until senior year

You and him had the same AP Lit. class lmao english class is  l i t

Which surprised you bc of the rumors like i thought he was a badboy ?? arent those normally idiots ??

Nah my bby is a smart nugget, he just likes to look hella bf 25/8

First day of school cliche where you show up late to class and have to sit next to him because i  d i e  for those plots okay

But you dont know thats him because you’ve never seen him, so you’re confused on why most of the girls keep glaring at you

But soon enough you catch on and you’re like fml

And then the professor is like “where you are sitting is your assigned seating for the rest of the year” and you’re like f m L

He ends up introducing himself to you because i mean like table buddies

But hes really nervous because hes a cute little bean and you’re hella cute cuz lets be honest ur probably wearing like basic black leggings and a hoodie with your hood over your head to hide the bed hair you didnt feel like brushing that morning

Oh, just me? Okay…

He likes ur name because it rolls off the tongue and he thinks it suits you even tho he doesnt know you

Yet ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

You dont really think hes a fuckboy because he seems so nice and he has the cutest lil bunny smile sEE

That is until after school u end up getting to ur locker late because u left something in one of your classes

And u see him pinning a girl against the lockers down the hall

And ur like well shit nvm

And u quickly get ur shit and go because das  a w k w a r d

But then he sees u run off and hes like awh crap i dun fucked up

A few weeks go by and u notice he barely really comes to class so u usually sit alone

On days he does come his chair seems extra close to yours and he’s basically smothering you

But u dont mind because he smells nice

And on the days he does come you get kinda excited because

1) you get a partner who doesnt expect you to do all of the work

2) this boy cute when he gets all intelligent

Ur  like “yes pls continue speaking about the essay we are writing that i have no idea is on because i kept getting lost in the sound of ur voice”

He notices when u zone out because you start staring at his lips when hes talking and he thinks its the cutest thing

One day u get assigned a week long project and ur close enough friends with jungkook to basically scold and force him to come to class all week

But only if he can force u to come to his house to work on it after school

Which you’re low key nervous of because ur going to a ‘fuckboy’s house’ by yourself

And u dont wanna do the dirty because ur a pure child haha not for long

But you agree anyway

And honestly even after the project is done (which you got an A on) you continue going over to his house because his bed is comfortable and he always has snacks

And his mom loves you

Like legit on days you dont go the next day you do she’s like “wheRE WERE YOU”

When the semester is over the professor lets you pick seats but you both enjoy each other’s company so you stay seated together.

finally ur at his house one day and ur just laying on his bed scrolling thru insta and he’s sitting on his bean bag in the corner on his phone and u look up at him and realise

Shit

You like him

Like a lot

And u mentally face palm because this was not supposed to happen

But it happened and you’re too far down the hole to climb out

Sometimes u end up napping at his house after school because his bed is more comfortable than yours and one friday night u wake up in his arms

And its like the best feeling ever

Its so warm and hes so cuddly hes like latched onto you

You stay under the warm blankets before you question when he even got in bed since he was playing video games before you fell asleep

And then his phone lights up and ofc you check it for him bc ur a nosey bitch

But not before you observed how adorable he was while he was sleeping

Nope not creepy at all

its his friend tae texting him (you didn’t really know his friends since you had different friend groups)

You check it and its smth like “stop staring at y/n while shes sleeping and reply u creep”

And you’re like w a t

So you scroll up and see that while u were sleeping jungkook went on a full rant on how cute u are and how whipped he is

And ur like holy fadoodles dis boy likes me

And so u decided to text tae like “this is y/n, does he actually like me”

Which turns into you both having a convo on how thirsty jungkook is until he wakes up

Hes like wtf r u doing and he snatches the phone and reads through your messages with tae while u like sit up to stare at him

And he’s still half asleep so it takes him to realise whats going on

“Omfg y/n i can explain-”

He starts rambling about how long he had been crushing on u and that he didn’t want to tell you because you seemed uninterested so he kept it a secret and never told anyone

And honestly he was freaking out because the onE tiMe he tells anyone that he likes you, you find out

But while he’s rambling you’re coming up with an excuse to text your mom that you’re spending the night at his house, so you just say he’s not feeling well and his parents are gone for the weekend.

Lmao she doesnt care she’s just like “lmao ik ur lying but have fun dont get pregnant”

Or Maybe thats just my mom idk

You have to shut him up by snatching his phone out of his hands and kissing him

When you pull away you’re just like “you talk too much lmao”

You explain to him that you like him too and u just get under the covers again and snuggle up next to him, and he wraps his arms around you

And you stay like that for a while before hes like “its late you should get home”

And you tell him you’re staying the night whether he likes it or not

And he is so down for that

But then you end up just spending the weekend there because why not his parents love you

And every night is just filled with cuddling, watching netflix, making out, late night snacks, etc.

Saturday night he gets a lil touchy and soon enough ur like straddling him and grinding your hips against his

But then he’s like “Ive never done this before” and you c o m b u s t

Ur like aren’t you like the school fuckboy how have you not done this

And he tells you its all just rumors and hes too lazy to set the record straight

And you basically decide to take things slow that night since it was you’re first time too and honestly it was so cute

It wasn’t really steamy rough sex it was more soft fluffy love making that is filled with giggling and exploring and appreciating each other

That was definitely the night you fell in love with him

Which is big because you thought love was gross

The next day you’re cuddling and he’s like “you know ur my gf now”

And ur like duh

You start going on cute dates after that like going to cafes or amusement parks

He loved taking you to the beach during the summer because u looked gr8 in a bikini

You found out you were going to the same college with was fantastic, so you decided to rent an apartment together nearby the campus instead of living in a dorm.

Which normally you’d be against because moving in together so quickly ?? but you felt different like this relationship was going to last

UNTIL HE CHEATED

Lmao jk gotcha bitch

My baby is too pure and innocent to cheat

Well innocent until you both get into bed and then oh lord it gets steamy

He wants to experiment with like e v e r y t h i n g and honestly you were down

But ofc you set some boundaries.

There were lines he couldn’t cross

I mean sometimes he tried but you shut that down real quick

Overall your relationship was perfect and you couldn’t ask for a better boyfriend

I mean he brought you pizza rolls and dr pepper to ‘study dates’ how could you not love him.

Oml it took me over an hour to write this its like 2:30 am why am i awake anyway imma go to bed now, idk ur name jungshookz but pls write more fanfics i need more to read late at night okay gnite

[weneverfreeze]

Sydney. My dear. I will love you forever if you write samnat for one of those au prompts you just reblogged (im feeling 1, 6, or 7 for them, but really any prompt is fine 😄😄)

Okay sorry this is late Mercedes! This didn’t get a reread, just so you know, and I started writing the ending at around 1 AM and it’s 4:30 (lolol it’s 4:47 now) in the morning right now, so yeah:

1.  I’m sleeping over at my friend’s flat from university after study group and just got woken up in the middle of the night by their roommate, who is sitting in the kitchen, listening very loudly to the dirty dancing soundtrack and crying. Like wtf, I didn’t even know they had a roommate and normally I would yell at you but damn you are cute. You really need to stop tho dude, its 4am, some people in this house want to sleep AU

6. We work out at the same gym and you are my declared rival because we have the same workout routine and you are always better than me and on my way to the locker room I passed you in the shower where you were singing the opening of hannah montana and I can still hear you and you switched to the lion king now and even though I hate you I think I am kind of in love with you AU

7. I’m hiding in the bathroom of a restaurant from a spectacularly awful tinder date and you are in a similar situation because a guy at the bar just won’t stop hitting on you and now we are planning an epic escape together even though we only met ten minutes ago AU

WC: 5747

There are two gyms on campus. Two gyms for nearly 40,000 people, so it stands to reason that you’d run into people very rarely. Two gyms, 40,000 people, seven days in a week, fourteen hours give or take each day when they’re open, four floors of exercise equipment and courts and weights and two pools per gym. This isn’t even factoring in her work schedule or classes, but somehow Natasha’s managed to run into this asshole every single time she goes to the gym. Out of both gyms and all the rooms and all the possible exercise routines. Every single time.

The first time she thought maybe it was just coincidence. It happens now and then of course, that someone comes in and has a similar routine to the one she’s perfected over the last six years. Last time it was Clint though, and that was first semester sophomore year, and that was only because Nat asked him. He’d complained the entire time about how hockey’s enough exercise for the both of them, and Nat I’m going to mess up my legs or my arms or my nose, okay, you remember how I got a concussion swimming. Clint came with maybe four times before deciding to do yoga by himself.

Since then Natasha had been alone in her workout routine. Thirty minutes on the bike, thirty doing weights, and thirty on the thigh machine downstairs on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Saturday’s for lazy laps in the pool when she isn’t making burritos at Chipotle. Her routine is simple and easy. In and out within 90 minutes.

But this asshole. Showing up all cocky and self-important. He’s been mirroring her pretty consistently the last month or so. At first it wasn’t that noticeable—he’s cute, maybe, in that sweaty sort of athletic way that she won’t pretend not to like, but she’s dated girls and guys like that before, so—just another body on the bikes a little down the row, or another person curling dumbbells, or another guy waiting for a weight machine.

Then it started being a thing. Nat had glanced over week 1.5 of this whatever-it-is at the same time he had, and they shared a nod and went back to biking. He seemed like an asshole even then. It was something, she figured, to do with how he wore cologne even when working out.

Then, week 2, it had been a very full Wednesday, and the only bikes were right next to each other. He was definitely looking at the display on her machine and she’d never tell Clint or Maria that that was the reason she was walking a little stiffly for three days afterward, because she definitely hadn’t been going a little faster than she should have been and checking his display as well.

Weeks 3 and 4 had been more of the same, except at week 3.5 she’d realized what exactly is so asshole-y about him: he doesn’t sweat, and he bikes further and can lift more than she can. (She’s better overall on the thigh machine, thank you, hockey.) Natasha would be over here straining to go up one last hill while he’d be pedalling easy as anything, scrolling through some article on his phone.

Natasha had been hoping when she walked in today that he wouldn’t be here, but no such luck, and he’d taken the machine she favors. She glances to her left; he catches her look, and raises his water bottle in an obnoxious salute. Inwardly she flips him off.

Only five minutes in. She readjusts her headphones. Five minutes in. She can do this.

The men’s and women’s locker rooms share a wall. Through numerous, painful post-workout showers, Natasha’s determined that unfortunately the wall must be dividing the shower sections of both locker rooms; someone’s been having a field day singing show tunes and pop music and rapping while she’s in the shower.

The variety, she thinks as hangs up her towel, is pretty impressive. Today the singer’s belting out Best of Both Worlds from Hannah Montana.

It’s not unpleasant today, which is surprising. The singer’s voice goes oddly well with the theme song.

The singer switches to Circle of Life. She joins in and they sing together until the water goes cold.

(It goes cold after six minutes.)

New Text Message

Clintyyy: Takeout?

Me: You’re buying

Clintyyy: Hey now, no

Clintyyy: It’s your turn

Me: Don’t make me bring up Budapest again

Me: You owe me

Clintyyy: ….fine

Me: Good

Clintyyy: Preference?

Me: Anything but tacos

Me: Chipotle has me sick of tacos

Me: You’ve never known true taco hatred until even just the smell makes you want to throw ingredients everywhere

Clintyyy: Please tell me you did not do that

Me: (read at 7:39)

Clintyyy: Tasha?

Me: (read at 7:43)

Clintyyy: We gotta pay rent still you’ve got a job right

Me: Of course I do

Clintyyy: Don’t do that to me

Clint’s got fried rice, lo mein, and crab rangoon waiting on TV trays in the living room when she shoulders through the doorway. Or, limps through; she’d done too much on the thigh machine again today, which she’s pretty sure Asshole Guy had noticed. Light from NCIS flickers over his face as he raises an eyebrow. A noodle is hanging out of his mouth.

“Don’t tell Steve,” she says. She plunks down next to him on the couch, pokes his thigh until he gives her more room.

He says, “That’d be embarrassing for you,” and she glares until he raises his hands in surrender. “I won’t, fine; just don’t kill me, okay?”

“Who am I gonna get to rent with me next year if I didn’t have you?” She opens the fried rice and quirks a smile and he bumps his shoulder against hers.

They’ve rented together for two years now after Natasha’s freshman year roommate gave her a photo album of her sleeping at the end of the first semester. She’d spent the majority of spring semester staying over at Clint’s room, which worked out nicely because Clint’s roommate Steve’s just about the nicest most stubborn guy she’s ever met, and he’d only asked them once if they were dating (they weren’t). Most other people have a look that says I don’t believe you when they say they’ve been friends as long as they’ve known each other, but Steve had just nodded and gone back to sketching his calculator.

“We should live with Steve next year,” she says, thinking; it’s October now, if they get a move on they should be able to get a nice place. She steals a bite of noodle from Clint’s container.

Clint pulls a face, but he holds the container closer to her. Nat offers the fried rice in return. “Nah, I’m good.”

She smiles. “To the rice or to Steve?”

He pretends to think about it, stroking an imaginary beard, and she leans into his side and waits. Onscreen Gibbs slaps Tony upside the head again.

“Both,” Clint says. She makes a face. “Kidding. Steve’s rooming with someone next year, they’ve really hit it off, so.” He tilts his head to the side like he’s deliberating and adds, “Or not kidding really, because that kid wheezes so much when he tries to sleep. Snores like you wouldn’t believe.”

“I was there, remember?” she says with a smile, checking the crab rangoon. “Do you want the last one or shall I?”

Clint waves it toward her and says, “What song today?”

She’s been keeping him updated on the gym since he refuses to go. He knows all about The Asshole and The Song Guy. He’s convinced that there’s a love story in the making between the three of them, but since she threatened him (half-jokingly) with a spatula, he’s been keeping that to himself.

“Circle of Life.”

Clint nods and shrugs appreciatively. “Good choice.”

She says, yawning, “Better than the week of Thrift Shop.”

“You love Thrift Shop.”

He starts playing with her hair and it’s so soothing she almost drifts off.

“I do,” she murmurs, yawning again—it feels really very nice—and curling closer. Clint unfolds the blanket along the top of the couch and pulls it over them. “That’s why it was so bad. He didn’t know all the words.”

Clint says something like “Neither do you” but she’s just about asleep now and doesn’t really hear him. Or at least, that’s what she’ll say if he mentions it in the morning.

New Text Message

1-347-867-5309: Hey Nat! Do you wanna study together Saturday?

Me: Who is this

1-347-867-5309: Steve

Me: Ohh right right

1-347-867-5309: You didn’t know it was me did you

Me: Of course I did

Me: I know everything

Steve: Sure

Steve: You’d think that

Steve: Since, y’know, we’re friends and all

Steve: You’d save my phone number

Me: Don’t be offended

Me: I’ve been friends with Clint for fifteen years and I only saved his number since coming to college

Steve: I guess that helps

Steve: Maybe

Steve: Not really. Anyway: study with me?

Me: Worried for the test?

Steve: A little

Me: Me too

Me: Where/what time?

Steve: My apartment? I’m off work at three, so four?

Me: Sounds good

Steve: See ya then

Asshole Guy isn’t there today. Today she’s got her machine again and the world is at peace once more.

To be fair, it’s Tuesday. She never knew for sure, but she strongly suspects Asshole Guy only works out Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, like her. But this week Fury has her working the night shift on the line, so Friday’s workout’s cancelled.

She probably shouldn’t be in today. Her inner thigh is still sore. Steve would kill her if he knew she was straining it—he’s a history and art double major, but, since his dad’s a trainer, he knows a fair amount of things. Including the fact that pushing a hurt muscle is a terrible idea.

Natasha knows that too, though, and it’s starting to hurt more than it had, so she sighs and lets the weights down gently.

“You alright?”

She whips around, ready with a snappy retort for another dude bro trying to tell her how to do her workout. It dies in her throat. Two gyms, 40,000 people, seven days in a week, fourteen hours, an entirely different day, no less, and yet.

It doesn’t help that The Asshole has nice eyes this close. He clears his throat, and that’s when she realizes he’s wearing the khaki pants, blue shirt, and red backpack of a student trainer. He says, “It’s Tuesday. You don’t usually—I mean, this isn’t your max weight, and you usually lift longer than this.”

He’s been watching. Nat raises an eyebrow. “Observant.”

“Part of the job,” he says. His cologne is sharply out of place with all the sweat in the air.

“You work here.” She regrets it the moment she says it; his eyebrows shoot straight up, then settle again. Of course he works here. No one wears khakis to a gym.

Instead of answering he plucks at the hem of his shirt and moves on. “Are you okay? I have to ask when someone lets the weights down like that.”

“Didn’t realize they were that loud,” she says, to have something to say. “I’m fine. Little sore from yesterday.”

The Asshole sets his backpack down and kneels to sort through it, all the while asking about her hydration and whether or not she’s eaten and you know, you’ve gotta rest between these kinds of things, you can’t do the same exercises back to back and expect to be totally fine.

This rubs her wrong. “My work schedule’s different this week,” she snaps. “I’m not an idiot.”

“Sorry,” he says mildly. He hops back to his feet holding a blue crinkly something. Natasha glares up at him and he holds his hands up before saying, “I know you’re not an idiot, just needed to say that. Job description and all that.”

She’s got her arms folded, so when he tosses the crinkly something at her she’s completely unprepared. It bounces off her elbow before she catches it, somehow, on the rebound. It’s a Nutrigrain bar. She stares at him.

The Asshole rubs the back of his neck and says, “It’s blueberry, not too bad if you—I dunno, if you eat that sort of thing.”

“Thanks…?”

“Sam,” he says, starting to walk away.

She says “Natasha” and Sam smiles and walks out of the weight room.

There is a profound silence from the men’s locker room. Today the water stays warm for exactly eight minutes before threatening to crystalize on her skin.

When she’s dry, she squeezes her hair with the towel and dresses. The Nutrigrain wrapper’s in her pocket when Nat pulls on her jeans. She’s not sure, really, why she’s still holding onto it.

New Text Message

Steve: Hey were you working out today? At the Heli?

Me: Yeah, why?

Steve: No reason

Steve: (Steve sent an emoji)

Me: The halo’s not reassuring Rogers

Steve:

Early Wednesday morning she wakes up in Clint’s arms while Tangled plays for the third or fiftieth time. Squinting, she looks up to see that Clint’s awake and bedheaded as ever; she’s still not sure if he styles his hair like that intentionally or if, thanks to the innumerable naps he takes, that’s just the way his hair grows.

She pulls the blanket over her more and Clint starts. “Sorry,” he whispers, grabbing for the remote. He mutes the TV (Rapunzel and Flynn are just about to be trapped in the mine) and Nat closes her eyes again.

“S’okay,” she says sleepily. “How long’ve you been awake?”

“Somewhere around Flynn finding the tower.” He stretches carefully, rests his arm around her again. “You were saying something about Sam? In your sleep.”

“Mmm. No.”

“I think so. Fell asleep with my hearing aids in, so.”

“Your hair’s stupid” is all she says. He lightly pulls on one of her curls, and they drift off again.

Steve has to poke her six times to stay awake in lecture around noon. She’s lucky to have him there; Clint would’ve let her sleep and drawn mustaches on her with Sharpie. It’s especially important to be awake today because they’re reviewing for the exam, and she’s got a 93% right now and this test could solidify or jeopardize that A.

That doesn’t mean she’s not leaning on Steve right now. She’s lucky she’s on her left because she’s right handed, and even though he is as well he’s not the type to complain when he’s helping someone. Plus his right arm is ever-so-slightly more muscular than his left, so it’s somewhat more comfortable to lean against.

He’s really bulked up in the last two years; freshman year Nat used to be able to fit his wrist between her forefinger and thumb. Not so much now. He has a Russian pen pal according to Clint—kept in touch since they were five apparently—and they’ve been FaceTiming and working out together. She and Clint aren’t really sure what exercises they’ve been doing—or how you can work out with someone over FaceTime—but it’s working for Steve at least; they’ve doubled their efforts to get him on their hockey team.

Steve pokes her again as Professor Stark rambles on about medical experimentation during World War II.

“I’m awake,” she says. Their redheaded neighbor, Pepper, hushes them, and Nat sticks her tongue out at her. Quieter: “I’m awake.”

“I know,” Steve says, “you snore.”

“Hey!”

“Shh!”

Steve holds up a hand to stop either of them from saying anything. He whispers, “Did you meet Sam? At the Heli?”

Natasha stares at him. “How’d you know that?” Their prof changes the slide and she hurriedly copies down the information.

“He told me,” Steve says. “Ran into a redhead on the weights, said it wasn’t abnormal but for the fact that you don’t work out Tuesdays.”

“I don’t, it’s be—”

“Because of work, yeah.”

Nat worries her bottom lip. “You know him.”

“From high school,” Steve says. He nudges her and winks when she glances up. “He’s a good guy.”

She elbows him back, but she’s blushing a little. “You can’t be too sure. He wears cologne to the gym.”

Steve throws his head back and laughs so loudly that Stark stumbles over his lecture and stares, aghast.

“Excuse me, in the back; do you find this subject funny?”

Steve’s really doing an admirable job of biting back his laugh, she can almost see it straining to chime out. He hangs his head in the model of a subdued and solemn student. “Of course not, Professor.”

Stark narrows his eyes and resumes his lecture, casting dark looks at them from time to time. Steve whispers, “Cologne? Really?” and Natasha barely stops herself from laughing too.

Clint leans in her doorway while she ties her sneakers. “C’mon, Tasha.”

“I go to the gym on Wednesdays,” she says, sighing a little when she stands; her inner thigh muscles still hurt from yesterday.

What Natasha means is, Sam goes to the gym on Wednesday. She’s been thinking about him almost all day. She got on the wrong bus this morning because she was trying to remember the shade of his eyes. She’s even—it hurts to admit this, even to herself—she’s even bought him a blueberry Nutrigrain bar.

Clint knows her well enough and is, in general, smart enough to hear what she isn’t saying. “I get that, believe me I do, but. You’ve gotta rest up. You can go back to kicking butt and showing off next week if you want, or Saturday, but you’ve gotta rest.”

If she had enough momentum, she’d be ducking under his arm and in the hallway and on her way. Clint catches her stare and shifts into a more solid stance, the one that makes him look intimidating in his hockey gear but right now makes him look bedheaded and earnest and like her best friend.

Nat says, “I don’t really wanna go, but I do,” and Clint smiles with half of his mouth.

He looks up and runs a hand along the doorframe like it’s the most fascinating thing, still smiling like it’s just for her. “Wanna get out?”

“Where?”

“Dunno,” he says, and shrugs.

Their university does movies for free at the Union, so that’s where they go. Every Wednesday through Saturday at 9 PM whoever’s in charge of the videos cycles through blockbusters that came out earlier in the year, usually on a few month’s delay. It’s always very energetic; the room seats 150 people, give or take, and that many college kids in a room tend to laugh and talk to the screen now and then in very audible whispers.

It’s Moana tonight. Natasha buys the popcorn and Clint does the butter and salt in an easy routine that they’ve established over the last decade and a half, one born from Natasha having a job and but sense of what to do with butter and Clint not having a job but the amazing ability, somehow, to properly flavor even the vaguely cardboard-y popcorn served outside the theatre.

She’s checking his work—flawless, as always; he can’t seem to miss the mark—when he says, “Oh, hey Steve.”

Clint takes the popcorn back, which is good because she almost drops it. Steve smirks at her but she barely sees him; Sam’s leather jacket is filling up her field of view.

“Hey Clint, Nat,” Steve says. “Nat, I think you know Sam?” Nat glares at him and he shrugs in an I’m sorry kind of way, which would’ve been fine if his eyes weren’t plainly amused.

Sam says, “We’ve met. How’re your thighs?”

Clint makes a noise that sounds like he’s got popcorn stuck in his throat at that. “Her thighs?” Steve doubles over, laughing a little breathlessly.

“Fine,” Nat says, ignoring Clint and Steve, but it’s okay because she and Sam have both gone red now. “Just. Taking a day off. Rest day.”

“Good, good,” Sam says. He’s wearing what Natasha thinks is his my best friend is an idiot expression; she recognizes it because she makes the same face about Clint.

She looks at them—they’re not paying attention anymore, Clint’s showing Steve something on his phone—and then back at Sam and says, halfway between annoyed and flustered, “Wanna find a seat?”

And he says, “Absolutely,” and they sit next to each other and, in the dark, she imagines that this is, maybe, a date. A daydream ruined when Clint and Steve stumble over them to get to their own seats and spill Steve’s drink all over the floor, flooding over the tops of their shoes and making the floor obnoxiously sticky when they shift their feet.

New Text Message

Steve: yknow tht Sam liks you

Me: Are you drunk?

Steve: cant get drunk rmmber

Steve: scince

Me: That’s not how science works

Me: Are you okay? Do we need to come get you?

Steve: nahhhhh

Steve: mfine. got Sam

(Steve added Clintyyy to the chat.)

Steve: CLINT tell her

Clintyyy: What’s with the caps man?

Steve: phone bein weird

Steve: does that

Me: Are you sure you’re fine?

Steve: i am not Sam he’s in lov

Steve: *live

Steve: *lpbe

Clintyyy: We got you

Steve: you knoe what I mean

Me: He’s drunk

Steve: mnot

Me: Like Budapest all over again

Clintyyy: Ah the memories

Natasha has twelve missed calls from Steve when she wakes up. She checks through them, straining to separate the synth in the background from Steve’s slurred speech, and makes a mental note to make Steve the DD from now on. Boy can’t handle his alcohol very well.

She also has a series of quick texts from a number she doesn’t recognize, and she smiles when she sees them: Got him home safe, don’t worry. Got your number from his phone. Don’t forget to hydrate.

Clint walks with her to the bus stop, very blatantly reading over her shoulder. She lets him. “‘Don’t forget to hydrate’?” he says, one eyebrow raised.

Nat just shrugs and shows her ID to the busdriver. Clint follows behind her. He wants to ask something, she can tell, so she waits and leans the back of her head against the window. He pokes a hole in the knee of her jeans.

The bus slows to a stop by the main lawn five minutes later and they get up, sling backpacks over tired shoulders. Nat’s class is a little bit of a walk from the stop but Clint’s is in one of the old buildings ringing the lawn, so they hug and go on their way.

But he’s running after her a beat later, and he asks, winded (he should, she thinks, probably come with her to the gym), “You like him?”

“Maybe,” she tells him.

Clint studies her with the certainty and ease that comes from knowing someone for awhile. “You do,” he says, like he’s found something worth finding.

She says, “Yeah,” and they smile at each other.

New Text Message

Clintyyy: Still up for it?

Steve: Yessss

Me: Why not

Loud, overly flirtatious and forward drunk frat guys. That’s why not.

Thirsty Thursday is always a little over-the-top, but somehow, today, it’s one hundred percent worse; they’ve walked the entirety of College Ave. looking for a bar that wasn’t overflowing but still quality. There are approximately seven different bars within feasible walking distance—that is, within the distance that a still somewhat hungover Steve, an exercise-loath Clint, and a Natasha in relatively high heels would be willing to walk to. Seven bars for 40,000 students, maybe only half of whom can (legally) drink, maybe only half of that half who don’t have classes Fridays and would be out around this time. And, apparently, all of those students are tipsy frat guys.

They don’t say anything to her, per se, never do, but they’d said things to each other about her when she and Steve and Clint walk by, and once was enough for her to dislike them on principle.

The three of them had planned for eight. Eight was a dumb idea, evidently, because the bars they would have no trouble getting into Monday through Wednesday at eight o’clock are filled with lines a block long.

“Should we just call it?” Clint asks in frustration. They’re at the sixth bar on the list.

Nat shakes her head. “Let’s try the next one. We’re out, we’re cute, we may as well. And I really have to pee.”

“Well said,” Steve says.

The seventh bar is called The Triskelion for reasons Natasha hadn’t cared to ask about. The logo is the same curving lines as her boss’ tattoo, and Fury never struck her as the type of person to welcome questions about it, so she’d shelved her curiosity.

It’s a little, low lit dingy place with graffitied walls and peeling paint. But the bar is clean and so are the tables, and there aren’t as many frat guys here—there’s a few other people at the bar and one or two couples who seem to be on dates, but no Greek letters—, so Nat thinks it’s perfect.

“What can I get you all?” the bartender asks.

Natasha looks and Clint and says, “Surprise me,” and heads off to find the bathroom.

“I got you,” Clint calls. She raises a hand to say she heard.

It’s surprisingly clean, the bathroom. It’s unisex, so there are urinals and stalls, but there isn’t as much pee everywhere as she’d expected for Thirsty Thursday. She’s washing her hands when the door slams open.

“—right back,” someone says, talking to someone outside, and then: “Shit fuck.”

Nat glances to the door and immediately wishes she was back at the bar. “Hey, Sam.”

He smiles weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. “How you doing?”

“Fine. You alright?”

“You, uh. Heard that, then?” Sam says flatly. She nods, waits. He sighs. “It’s my date.”

Now she really wishes she was back at the bar. The sentence bounces around her head a moment before settling uncomfortably on her stomach.

She says, “Sorry,” and pinches off bits of her paper towel.

“Yeah. Don’t know what I was expecting, it’s just,” he says, and now he throws up his hands, “everything’s gone wrong, she told me that I was ‘just the sweetest thing’ and ‘so soft’ and that I remind her of her dead chocolate lab, and she didn’t answer if I asked if it was because I’m black. I mean, I was kidding, but not now, clearly.”

“She sounds interesting,” Nat says carefully. “I’m sorry.”

“‘Interesting’ is a little milder than I’m thinking,” he says. “It’s my fault really, it’s Tinder and I was gonna call it off, but she sounded so sad in the messages.”

“What’re you gonna do?”

Sam looks around the bathroom and says sheepishly, “I was going to pop open the window, actually. But there isn’t one. So.”

“I’m sorry,” Nat says. On an impulse she takes his hand and squeezes it. “You can do this. It only has to be a one-time thing.”

He squeezes her hand back. “I’ll try.”

New Text Message

Me: Abort

Nutrigrain Bar: What happened? Are you okay?

Me: Frat guy at the bar hitting on me

Me: buying me a drink npw

Me: Steve and Clint in bathroom

Nutrigrain Bar: One sec

“Hold on, I gotta tell Clint and Steve, they worry,” Nat says a little breathlessly, leaning against the brick wall of the library. Sam starts to back away but she catches his jacket sleeve as a sort of tether. She sends her text one-handed and pulls him closer, and the second kiss is as nice as the first, and the third is better.

New Text Message

Nutrigrain Bar: I had a very, very nice time last night

Me: Me too

Me: It’d be a shame if

Me: You know

Nutrigrain Bar: If it happened again?

Me: Exactly

Nutrigrain Bar: Well

Nutrigrain Bar: We’ve always got out standing date at the gym

Me: That’s a good start

Nutrigrain Bar: Well hopefully we’ll have a good middle too

New Text Message

Stevie: Told ya

Me: I know

Stevie: For the record

Me: I knowwww

Stevie: ;)

Me: Shut up

“Details,” Clint says, his arm a dead weight around her shoulder; they’re both still feeling last night.

The NCIS opening credits play, but they’ve got the sound off. This is one of Clint’s favorite things to do, sit around and read the lips of the actors on TV shows. Nat’s favorite part is when he gets bored of it and starts making up his own lines.

She tucks her knees close to her chest and leans closer to Clint. He mumbles Gibbs’ line, “Grab your gear,” and she says, “Doesn’t count.”

“Does so.”

“He says it,” and here she yawns, “every episode.”

Clint tugs on her sleeve. “It counts. It’s like the free space in Bingo.”

“Gonna pretend you didn’t say that, Barton.”

“Gonna pretend you aren’t dodging the question, Romanova.”

“You didn’t,” she says, yawning again, “ask me anything.”

“Don’t be a McGoofus, McGee” is what Clint says next. Then: “Fine. Details?”

Remembering it gives her goosebumps. She smiles. “About?”

Clint groans and buries his face in a cushion while she laughs harder than she would normally. His voice is muffled as he says, “The kiss, Tasha, the kissing, the Frenching, snogging, whatever.”

“You mean like, how was it?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“Tongue?”

“Maybe.”

New Text Message

Steviesteviestevie: Okay I’m presentable now

Steviesteviestevie: Are you almost here?

Me: Just got off the bus

Me: Be there in 5

Steve flings the door open wide and drapes himself against it, saying, “Welcome to my humble abode.”

He’s ridiculous. “You’re always so dramatic,” Nat says, laughing in spite of herself. She crosses the threshold and Steve closes the door behind her.

She’s never been in Steve’s apartment before. It’s about what she would’ve expected for a student on a college budget: small living room with a small TV and bookcase, small kitchen, small bathroom with a corner of the mirror missing. A hallway leads off the living room and has three doors, one being the bathroom, one Steve’s room, and then a closet, maybe.

He spread out cool ranch Doritos and Oreos and lemonade on the counter. After handing her a (paper) plate, Steve piles huge handfuls of the Doritos onto his own plate and sits.

The Doritos are now half empty. “You should’ve just taken the bag,” Nat comments. She deliberates for a second and then just takes the Oreo tray to the table.

“There’s time,” Steve says. “We’ve got a lot of studying to do.”

Nat plunks her notes and books onto the table. “That we do.”

Two hours later, Natasha hits the wall.

Thirty minutes after that, Clint texts her about an NHL game, so she commandeers Steve’s TV and watches that. Steve abandons his homework and joins her on the couch and they yell at a few missed calls, and she finally gets him to agree to join her and Clint’s team (thereby allowing her to win a twenty dollar bet).

Around nine, a Mythbusters marathon starts. Natasha and Steve have a competition to see who can stack and eat the most Oreo filling. Steve wins, but only because his mouth his bigger.

At ten Steve’s Russian pen pal FaceTimes him, and, after exchanging hellos in Russian, Steve introduces him to Nat. Steve’s pen pal has long hair and the unlikely name of ‘Bucky’ and is surprised when Natasha takes to him exclusively in Russian.

Sometime after that Natasha’s alone on the couch, and while the Mythbusters team blows stuff up onscreen, she falls asleep.

She hears it and holds a pillow over her head in sheer stubborn refusal to be awake. When she moves, her arm threatens to fall off; sleeping on the couch never really works out for her unless she sleeps on someone.

The lights are off in the apartment. Careful to keep her ears covered, she peeks at the TV and sees that someone turned it off. The singing’s coming from the kitchen, then. If she focuses extremely hard she can just make out the pitch on the voice, and from what she knows from several painful karaoke nights, Steve’s voice isn’t this nice to listen to. Even if it’s waking her up at—she checks the clock on the bookcase—four in the morning. She blearily considers the possibility that Steve’s being robbed.

Whoever’s singing (a musical burglar?) is getting into it. Their words filter through the pillow now: “Just remember, you’re the one thing I can’t get enough of”.

That’s it. She throws the pillow across the room and storms into the kitchen.

“What the hell are you—” That’s when she sees Sam.

He stops midword in surprise. “Nat?” he says, uncertain. “Why’re you here?”

She crosses her arms. “Why’re you here?”

“I asked first,” he says, yawning.

“Studying.”

He says, “Sleeping.”

This more than anything annoys her. “Trying to,” she says pointedly. “Was sleeping.”

It seems to take him a moment to put together what she’s saying. “Oh. Sorry.”

“Your turn.”

“I live here?” He raps his knuckles on the back of a chair.

She’s not awake enough for this. “Here?”

“Steve and I are roommates,” Sam says.

“I thought—” she yawns “—thought he lived alone.”

Sam says, in a tone too bright for this time of morning, “Nope.”

“Why Dirty Dancing in the kitchen? Can’t you practice in, I don’t know, the car? The shower?”

Sam looks at her oddly. “Yeah,” he says. “I do,” and this time it’s Nat who takes a moment to understand what he’s saying.

And then she puts it together. “The gym.”

He nods, smiling slightly. “Thought you knew.”

“No,” she says, rubbing her eyes. It’s too early for this.

“Shame.” He looks very determinedly at the ceiling. “I was trying to woo you.”

She laughs. “Through the shower.”

“Wasn’t sure what else to do,” Sam says, shrugging. But he’s smiling, and she thinks that maybe she’s found something worth finding.

“You’re an idiot,” Nat says.

He says, hopeful, “That mean it worked?”

“Maybe,” she says.

New Text Message

Me: Made it back fine, thanks for asking

Nutrigrain Bar: Good :)

Me: And it worked

Me: How’s Wednesday?