#i wrote this half asleep i am so sorry if its not coherent | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gingrrfrog · 5 years ago

Text

these nights (3)

pairing: na jaemin x female oc (Yejin) x lee jeno

genre: established relationship, mafia au

word count: 4.9k

warnings: none (?)

summary: jeno leaves and yejin is beginning to think she’ll go insane by herself.

a/n: yes hello this is the second part of the jaemjenoc that I wrote like...forever ago that you can find here! I ended up writing a female OC because I thought no one would read it but whatever: here it is :}

masterlist :]

An hour gone and Yejin was beginning to think that the clock was mocking her. Jeno had only left minutes before the hour, leaving Yejin alone, awake, and staring outside the window with Jaemin snoring in the background. She wanted to be annoyed with him, she wanted Jaemin to be awake and worry with her, but it was a selfish idea considering Jaemin was also due to be awake in less than thirty minutes. No amount of moping by the window could deny that she had a sick churn to her stomach, one that was telling her something would go terribly wrong.

Almost as if Jaemin had heard her nagging in his dreams, he woke up moments after the thought left her brain, bed-headed and automatically aware to her reactions to Jeno’s leave. He grimaced from his side of the bed, stretching his limbs out before walking towards her seat in front of the window, sliding behind her and wrapping his arms around her shoulder so that she leaned against his chest.

“He’ll be fine, Angel.”

“How can you be so sure?” Yejin finally croaked, tears flowing over her cheeks as she cried quietly in Jaemin’s arms. He could understand her fear but could only offer his embrace as solace.

“Because I’ll be there—Johnny and Jaehyun hyung will be there too,” He said softly, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. As convincing as the argument was, Yejin wanted to believe it, mostly because it was her only guarantee of getting any sleep tonight.

“I know you’re scared, and I know this is the first time having Jeno leave for a big job, but he’s more talented than you think. He’s not just good at spinning a gun around his fingers.”

She could only offer a deep sigh as she wiped tears from her cheeks, “I know. Will you call me if Jeno is busy? He said he would call me tonight, but something tells me he won’t be able to.”

“Of course, I’ll call you anyway.”

“I love you too, y’know? I worry about Jen because he’s in the line of fire, but I’m always worried about you too. I don’t want you getting involved in anything dangerous—“

“It’s too late for that,” Jaemin grinned, earning a slap to his shoulder.

“You know what I mean, Jaemin. You’re a nerd and a shit shot whose best trait is money laundering at best.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m fully capable, baby.”

“At what? Doing my taxes?”

Jaemin rolled his eyes, “har-har. If it weren’t for said tax skills you would be spending 10-15 years for fraud right about now.”

Yejin finally offered a smile, a small one, but one big enough to let out a small chuckle. “I’m kidding, but only partly. I know you’re capable, but I also want you to know that I’m worried sick for you too.”

“I’m aware, Yejin. You don’t have to worry about me too much—you also don’t have to explain to me that you’re worried more about Jeno either. I get it, I’m more worried for him too. I love him just as much as you do, so I’ll sure he comes home to us in one piece.”

Yejin’s smile widened as she turned to give Jaemin a kiss, “thank you.”

“Anything for you. For us,” Jaemin beamed. He pulled away to look at the time on the clock, frowning slightly before rubbing her shoulders. “It’s about time for me to get ready to go—do you want me to do anything before I leave?”

Yejin shook her head, “do you need something? Do you want me to pack you something to eat?”

“No, baby. I’m okay, Jihyun noona cooks,” Jaemin grinned.

Yejin rolled her eyes before getting off the chair, pinching his ear with a displeased look, “don’t make her cook for you! She probably already has enough on her plate with her being pregnant.”

“She offers! Who am I to deny my sister?”

“In-law! She’s not even your sister, they haven’t gotten married yet.”

“Formalities,” Jaemin scoffed, dismissing her claim with a wave of his hand.

Yejin snorted before snuggling back inside their large bed, watching as Jaemin skipped towards their bathroom, shutting the door behind him and listening to the shower start again. The unnerving settlement in her stomach calmed down but only slightly as she realized it wouldn’t go away completely until she had Jeno in her arms again. Sleep was beginning to weigh at her eyelids once again, but before she could fall victim to sleep, Jaemin got out of the shower and walked over to kiss her on the forehead. He smiled fondly at her before taking her cheek in between his fingers and pulling slightly.

“I’ll be home Tuesday, maybe earlier depending on how things pan out. I’ll call you later on today when I have a chance.”

Smiling was easier now that Jaemin was awake, but she couldn’t imagine what it would be like once he left. She pulled Jaemin in for an embrace, listening to him sigh as he snuggled into her chest.

“I would give anything to stay here right now.” He sighed, relishing in Yejin’s fingers threading through his hair before he peeled himself off. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” Yejin pulled him in for a kiss once more. “Be safe.”

“You do the same. If anything happens, you know the code, you know the room, you know where everything is.”

Yejin pursed her lips and nodded, “I know.”

“Good girl. I’ll see you soon, baby.”

“Bye, Jaemin.” She said quietly, watching as he walked towards the door with his bag in hand. He smiled at her before he closed their bedroom door and walked out of their home, causing Yejin to strain her ears to hear the front door click closed.

Yejin remembered the initial sleepiness she felt before Jaemin left, but now that he was gone as well, all she could hear was the obstructive sound of the heater going on in the background. It was clouding her brain, feeding into frustration as she could no longer fall asleep. She twisted and turned in her bedsheets prior to sitting up with her knees against her chest, tears poking at the side of her eyes once again. She allowed herself to weep quietly for a moment, silent tears falling over her cheeks and onto her pajama pants as she sniffled to herself.

Jaemin was right, they’ve had jobs before, and they’ve always been working, but this was the first time she was completely alone. Sulking in a king-sized bed with the sheets pulled over her knees like she was some sort of child. She half expected Jaemin and Jeno to reenter the bedroom door, grinning as they would and telling her that their job was miraculously cancelled and that they could stay home. However, as the wretched clock ticked, it proved that it wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

By the time she felt her fatigue come back, her stomach decided on more pressing issues as it demanded food. She huffed to herself before kicking the bedsheets off of her body, almost stomping to the kitchen and ripping the refrigerator door open. Not only was she not in the mood for breakfast, but she was also being particular with what to eat, settling on a cup of yogurt so that her stomach would shut up long enough for her to go to sleep.

Half cup of yoplait in, she heard the doorbell ring, causing the grumpy yogurt eater to furrow her eyebrows together in confusion. She dragged her feet towards the screen, turning it on to see Jihyun on the screen with a smile.

“What the fuck?” She muttered quickly to herself, running over to the front door and seeing Jihyun on the other side of the door. “Jihyun unnie—?”

“Surprise! A gift!” Said woman yelled, shoving a heavy paper bag into Yejin’s hands. Yejin grunted at the weight and noticed that it was from a department store as Jihyun invited herself in from the hallway. She kicked off her shoes and chatted eagerly to Yejin, who was still confused and still lugging her, what she could only assume, expensive gift in her hands.

“—so that’s why I’m here! Fun right?” Jihyun beamed. Yejin, half asleep and with only a half cup of yogurt in her system blinked repeatedly before walking towards the kitchen to place the heavy gift on the counter.

“I’m…more than glad to have you here, Jihyun unnie. I guess I’m just a little confused as to why you’re here, that’s all.”

“I just explained though?”

“I’m…not all here, yet.” She admitted sheepishly, glancing over to the yogurt cup that fell to its side.

“I was saying, that last night I talked to Jaehyun about coming over,” Jihyun started again. “He said that he was going to need both Jaemin and Jeno for the job they’re doing these next few days, and I started thinking about you and how lonely you’d feel here by yourself.”

“It’s not my first time being alone, unnie. I assure you that I’m fine— “

“Maybe you are, maybe you’re lying to me so I can leave but lucky for you I’m a parasite,” Jihyun winked. Yejin held back a sigh.

“Also,” Jihyun cleared her throat. “I know what it’s like to go through your boyfriend’s first job by yourself. You go crazy the first 24 hours, and you cry the rest of the 48. You think I’m kidding, but I’m sure you’ve already experienced a flush of emotions in the past 30 minutes.”

Yejin grimaced, causing Jihyun to smile. “That tells me enough. I’m sorry for coming unannounced, I thought Jeno or Jaemin would’ve told you last night that I was coming over, I’m sorry. I’ll call Jaehyun—“

“No, it’s fine!” Yejin scratched the back of her head, “I’m sorry, I really am. There’s a lot I’m trying to process here, and it’s only 5 am. I don’t think I’m fully coherent yet.”

“Well,” Jihyun walked over towards the brown paper bag, “let’s start by opening your early, early, early Christmas gift. I think you’ll like it!”

Of course she would. Yejin was under the impression that she would like anything Jihyun would give her considering she had the funds to spoil those around her. Let the records show that Yejin wasn’t poor herself either, Jeno and Jaemin give her more money than she knew what to do with, but even then, she didn’t practice in frivolous spending only because of guilt. Jihyun, however, had been around money all her life (gathering from what Jaemin had told her) and if it wasn’t Jaehyun’s, it was from her extremely successful restaurant, and if it wasn’t from that, then it was from the large cushion of money her father spent his entire life working for (again, Jaemin’s words).

Yejin shook her head out of her reverie to herself, pulling the large and heavy box out of the bag and peering at Jihyun on the other side of island, who had a massive smile on her face. It was a massive coffee making machine with several different espresso making options, causing Yejin to stare at the contraption with wide eyes.

“Oh my God, this is amazing—“

“Do you like it!?” Jihyun asked, almost bouncing in her place. “Jaehyun told me that you and Jaemin love to drink coffee regularly…maybe too much but I thought this would be a great gift.”

“It’s amazing, thank you but I don’t think I’ll be able to find you a gift this amazing by Christmas time,” Yejin smiled.

Jihyun simply chuckled and squeezed her arm, “just be my friend and we’ll call it even.”

Yejin placed the heavy box right next to their pathetic French press, turning to see that Jihyun had already sat down on one of the breakfast bar chairs to rub her belly. “The guy at the store told me there should be a Youtube video to explain how to set it up, but Jaemin worked at a cafe for two months, I’m sure he’d know how to set it up.”

Yejin awkwardly cleared her throat. A youtube video to set up a coffee machine? “Would you like some tea, unnie?”

Jihyun smiled and nodded her head, “that would be lovely. Thank you.”

Yejin nodded her head as she clicked the kettle on and searched for non-caffeinated alternatives that she knew she had somewhere. Jeno out of the three of them was most likely to drink tea, and she knew he kept his stash in here somewhere…

“How are you doing, Angel?”

“Um,” Yejin cleared her throat. “I’m okay? The house is never this quiet, even if there’s only two of us. I’m used to either Jeno or Jaemin trying to fill up the silence. I guess I could see it as a good thing, but I think it’s still too early to relish in silence.”

Jihyun chuckled quietly, “it’s always quiet at my house. Jaehyun likes to spend most of his free time listening to music or just thinking. It’s definitely nice sometimes, but I will admit I pick on him on purpose just to hear him say something.”

Yejin snorted, “I never have to say anything. Jeno and Jaemin bicker easily, and I argue with Jaemin more than I would like so it’s louder than you would think.”

“Just like a little family, then?” Jihyun smiled softly, watching as the corners of Yejin’s lips turned up into a small smile.

“Yeah, just like that.”

Jihyun thanked her quietly for the tea as she blew on the steaming liquid, cooling it enough so that it was a comfortable warmth against her tongue.

“Is it…” Yejin cleared her throat before continuing, obviously embarrassed at the question she was about to bring up. “Is it normal to feel this scared?”

“How so?”

“This morning I woke up and I felt awful, like something bad was going to happen. Maybe nothing will happen and it’s just my nerves, but part of me thinks I’m just overreacting.”

“It’s definitely normal. I still worry for Jaehyun everyday even though he works from home. He doesn’t get involved on the “field”, I guess, as much as Jeno would. That being said, considering what Jeno is in charge of, I don’t blame that you’re terrified one bit. Especially since it’s been a while since Jeno has had practice like this.”

“But,” Jihyun paused, taking Yejin’s hand as she saw her panic, “Jeno is talented and would never let anything go past him. You have every right to be worried, but he’ll be okay.”

Yejin let out a relieved sigh before laughing at herself, tears spilling over once again, “I’m sorry, I just feel so stupid—“

Jihyun frowned and slid off her seat, walking over to hold Jihyun into a warm embrace, “you’re not stupid. I understand completely.”

“I feel stupid because Jaemin told me the same thing. How many people have to tell me that?”

“Listen, a million people could tell you that Jeno will be alright. The fact of the matter is that it won’t settle in until you have Jeno with you again, and that’s okay. Worry all you want, Angel. I’m just telling you that he’ll be okay.”

Yejin nodded and sniffled, laughing at herself again before wiping under her eyes, “thank you. You’ve been here for fifteen minutes and I’ve already managed to cry.”

Jihyun laughed next, “lucky for you, these past few weeks have been hard for me too. Crying doesn’t begin to phase me.”

Yejin couldn’t begin to imagine the stress she was going through herself. Jihyun was the first one to find out anything knowing that Jaehyun was in charge of them all, she is the first to see him seethe out in rage, concern, and worry as he would have to strategically choose his next step. Yejin couldn’t imagine what it was like being the boss’ wife, and for a split second, she was glad she would never have to find out.

“My real name is Yejin,” she blurted out, almost randomly as Jihyun furrowed her eyebrows together.

“Huh?”

“Kang Yejin. I know Jeno’s never told anyone my real name because he wanted me to be safe when I followed him to Korea,” Yejin cleared her throat once again, making a mental reminder to turn on the humidifier if her throat was this dry. “I’m grateful that he did that for me, but I think I’m finally in the position where I can tell people. Especially you, Jihyun unnie, you’ve taken care of me since I’ve been here.”

Jihyun looked like she could explode. She pulled Yejin for another embrace, one much tighter than the last as she rocked her back and forth, “thank you for telling me. You have no idea how much this means to me—it’s a beautiful name and it suits you much better than Angel did.”

“I think so too.” Yejin smiled, returning her embrace.

“Does Jaemin know your real name?”

She nodded, “I guess I should’ve specified that. Jeno only told Jaemin my real name when I got here. He told Jaemin to keep my real name a secret for whatever paranoid reason he had, and Jaemin honored it.”

“You three really are a team, aren’t you?”

“We try to be,” Yejin snorted. “It doesn’t always work out the way we want it to though.”

“Listen, team building barely works with Jaehyun and I, and we’re only two.” Jihyun grimaced. “You, Jeno, and Jaemin…you’re all three together right? I’m sorry, maybe I’m being nosy but I’m just trying to understand.”

“Yes, we’re together,” Yejin smiled. She was used to people asking her about her relationship, not to mention Jihyun’s careful prodding was ideal instead of the people who fetishize them and ask for videos.

“So, are Jeno and Jaemin…you know…?”

“Gay? Together?”

“Both, I guess?” Jihyun shook her head, “I’m really sorry, Yejin. I really don’t mean to pry! You don’t have to answer if you don’t have to!”

“No, it’s fine! I really don’t mind, and I don’t think Jeno nor Jaemin would mind either.” Yejin reassured, smiling widely. “I think Jeno and Jaemin are their own special case, if that makes sense? We talked about it, and they mentioned that they don’t really care for other men the same way they care for each other, and they only just recently realized they loved each other romantically too.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Not really, it makes things a little bit easier if anything. I think they loved each other long before I came.” Yejin swirled the last bit of tea around in her cup before downing it. She glanced over at the clock and noticed that it was nearing 6 AM, causing her to chuckle again. “6 AM and we’ve already talked about my fears, my real name, and the dynamic of my relationship. God knows what’s going to happen in the next forty eight.”

Jihyun returned her laugh, once again slipping off the breakfast bar chair and walking over to put the cup in the sink, turning on the sink to wash her cup before Yejin stopped her, insisting that she would wash them later on. Jihyun stretched her limbs before looking towards the couches, puckering her lips before inching towards the living room.

“Do you mind if I sit on the couch, Yejin? My back hurts a little on the chairs.”

Yejin blanched at the memory of the mess left on one of the couches, “sure! Of course! Here, sit on this side, the heater and the humidifier hits better on this side.”

Jihyun scoffed and took a seat where she was instructed, “you didn’t have to seat me here. I want you to be warm too!”

“Well, you’re the one with the baby in her, I want you to be comfortable.” She added quickly, throwing a throw blanket over the dried stain before sitting over it. Yejin crossed her legs and watched as Jihyun leaned against the couch, sighing with her hands resting on top her belly.

“You can put your legs over the table if you want,” Yejin smiled, noticing that she almost lifted her legs. Jihyun smiled sheepishly before resting her feet on the coffee table. It really was no issue, the three of them did much worse on the table. Yejin, once again, had to clear her throat to shake the lewd memory away.

“Thank you, my feet are swelling like hams right now,” Jihyun frowned. “I’m not going to lie to you, it’s getting harder to feel like a human being the farther along I get along.”

“How far along are you now?”

“Twenty-six weeks,” Jihyun smiled. “I’m not all that big for some reason, and it freaked me out at first, but the doctor told me that it might be because Jaehyun was born pretty small.”

“Do you know what you’re having yet?”

“We found out yesterday, actually! We thought about having a gender reveal, but we were too excited so we changed it last minute. We’re having a girl!”

“Congratulations! That’s so exciting! It’s kind of funny to think Jaehyun is going to be a girl dad.”

“It’s cute, isn’t it?!” Jihyun swooned, “I kind of wanted a boy, initially. But, maybe a girl won’t be so bad.”

“I am worried about her loving Jaehyun more than me, but I guess that’s something all moms worry about.” Jihyun sighed before tilting her head, “what about you, Yejin? Who do you love more?”

Yejin gave an awkward smile before shuffling in her seat, “my parents put me up for adoption when I was young.”

Jihyun slapped her hand over her mouth, “oh my god, I am so sorry I didn’t know—“

Yejin laughed and dismissed her worry with frantic waves of her hands, “no, no! Don’t worry! It happened a long time ago, I don’t even remember them! It doesn’t bother me as much anymore.”

“God, I am so sorry, you should’ve stopped me.”

“Then that would’ve been rude,” Yejin took Jihyun’s hand and squeezed it in hers. “It doesn’t bother me, don’t worry.”

“God, wait till I tell Jaehyun about how much of a royal fuck up I’ve been today,” Jihyun laughed, hanging her head and patting the back of her head almost as if she were self-disciplining softly.

“Who did you love the most?” Yejin asked, watching as Jihyun lifted her head to only glance at her.

“How am I going to sit here and talk about my parents? Isn’t that rude?”

“It’s kinda rude if you just tiptoe around it…”

“Oh my God, I’m sorry—“

Yejin let out a laugh before pulling at Jihyun’s arm, “I’m kidding!”

“I don’t know if being around Jeno or Jaemin is doing you any good,” Jihyun pouted. “I feel like I’m getting white hairs.”

Yejin laughed wholeheartedly before shaking her head, “you don’t have to censor yourself because you think you’ll offend me. It takes a lot.”

Jihyun narrowed her eyes, “that in itself is alarming.”

Yejin gathered the bravery to roll her eyes, “no more tragic backstories. Favorite parent, go.”

Jihyun scoffed, “it’s not that easy to pick a favorite parent! I guess, when I was a kid, I was attached to my dad’s hip. I never left his side, and he always took me to his jobs—the non-dangerous ones, obviously—and that’s where I met Jaehyun.”

“Even up until my early twenties I was always clinging myself to my dad’s side. It wasn’t until I got pregnant that I got super close to my mom, she’s always telling me what to do when I have a shitty pregnancy symptom. My dad is kind of awkward around the baby, and my mom thinks it because he can’t believe that Jaehyun managed to get me.” Jihyun grinned.

“Does your dad hate Jaehyun oppa or something?”

“No, he loves Jaehyun,” Jihyun hummed. “I mean, you see my fiancé, he’s so tall…so sexy and brooding…but when we were kids he was kind of this chubby snotty kid that got sick all the time. Not exactly Kim Jihyun snatching material.”

Yejin couldn’t help but to snort, watching as Jihyun gave her a playful glare, “isn’t everyone a chubby, snotty kid?”

“I guess. Maybe that was my dad’s nice way of saying Jaehyun was kind of ugly.”

They both laugh at that, Yejin covering her face as she felt guilty for laughing at the charismatic boss. Just then, Jihyun’s phone rings from the coffee table, alarming them both from their giggle fest as Jihyun’s eyes widened.

“Oh holy shit, he heard me,” she gasped. “Hi, baby.”

Yejin watched with a smile as she replied to her fiancé’s questions.

“Mm, the baby is fine. She’s still sleeping I think, but I’ll eat something later and see if she’ll wake up.”

“Of course she’s here, she lives here. Angel took my surprise like a champ, don’t worry.”

“Huh? I don’t know yet, I’ll ask her.” Jihyun picked at her fingernails, “no, she went to the bathroom, she’s not in the room.”

Yejin could suddenly hear Jaehyun whines and declarations of love through the phone, grinning when she watched Jihyun roll her eyes and frown in embarrassment. “You’re embarrassing me! Are you trying to convince me to come back home?”

“Maybe. Is it working?” Yejin heard his voice ask.

Jihyun scoffed, “no, Jaehyun. It’s not.”

Another groan and a whine followed from the other side of the phone, causing Yejin to cover her mouth to stifle a giggle. “Stop being a baby, Jaehyun. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Yes, my love. I love you too, I’ll see you soon.”

Jihyun hung up the phone and whew-ed in fake exhaustion, “I don’t know how many times I have to apologize today but I’m about to apologize again. I didn’t know he was going to be a child.”

Yejin laughed fully this time knowing now that Jaehyun wasn’t on the other line, “you don’t have to worry. Jaemin does the same thing over the phone, with the exception that he does not care who is listening.”

“Oh no, Jaehyun would shrivel up and die if anyone heard that. But I’ve heard Jaemin’s declarations of love, and I’m a firm believer that Jaehyun gives him a run for his money.”

Just then, Yejin’s phone rang in the other room, causing said woman to laugh, “I think they’re both on to us.”

“The Jung telepathy skills are no joke, Yejin. Jaehyun can read my mind like a 80 year old psychic.”

Yejin smiled before jogging towards the kitchen, smiling at Jaemin’s caller id before answering, “Hello?”

“Hello, my Angel, how are you feeling?”

“I’m okay. I’m a lot better having Jihyun unnie as a sound board,” she smiled. “Although, I would’ve appreciated a heads-up, so I would’ve cleaned up yesterday’s mess.”

“I already cleaned it though?”

“Jaem, there’s a massive spot on the couch.”

“We’ll buy a new one.”

Yejin rolled her eyes, “not the point. Have you heard from Jeno? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine, Yejin.” Jaemin soothed, “I just got off the phone with him a while ago. He’s isn’t doing anything dangerous at the moment, just staking out with Mark hyung. He told me it might be a little hard for him to call you tonight, he told me to tell you he’s sorry.”

Yejin half expected that but couldn’t help but to feel disappointed either way, “okay. That’s okay, I understand. At least I heard from him somehow.”

“I”m sorry, baby. He told me to tell you he was sorry, and that he’ll try his best.”

“Tell him that it’s okay, I don’t want him worrying about me, I’m fine here. As long as you call me I think I’ll be able to sleep at night,” she reassured, tears prickling at the corner of her eyes. “But how are you, Jaem? Are you okay?”

“I’m great, Angel. You don’t have to worry about me at all. I’m still at Jaehyun hyung’s house and I don’t think I’ll be leaving until Jeno comes back. I’m safe.”

“Good…that’s good.”

“I’ve got to go now, I was barely allowed to squeeze this call in but I’ll call you later tonight, okay? I love you, Jeno told me that he loves you, even though you already knew that.”

“It’s still good to hear. I love you both so much, please come back with my heart.”

“…that was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever said to me maybe I should take longer jobs on purpose.”

Yejin rolled her eyes, “Goodbye, Jaemin.”

“I love you! I’ll call you later!”

The call ended with a sloppy kiss on the receiver and laugh from her part, clicking her phone shut before walking back towards the living room, Jihyun noticing her fallen face.

“You okay?”

Yejin gave a small nod, “yeah. I just miss them, that’s all.”

“It gets easier. Soon you’ll be begging for three day jobs.”

“What the longest Jaehyun oppa’s been away?”

Jihyun looked at the ceiling to ponder, “Six months?”

“Holy shit—six months?!”

“Mm…that was his first big job he had to do on his own before his dad gave him the business. I remember crying for weeks because he wasn’t allowed to call or text me. Then when he came back,” Jihyun smiled to herself, “you couldn’t peel me off.”

Yejin laughed awkwardly, “is this a conception tale?”

“God no, that’s more disgusting,” Jihyun laughed.

masterlist

#nct scenarios #nct smut #nct dream #nct 127 #nct fluff #jaehyun #jung jaehyun #jaehyun scenario #jaehyun fluff #jeno #lee jeno #jeno scenarios #lee jeno scenarios #na jaemin #jaemin #jaemin au #jaemin scenario #jaemin smut

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purple-spring · 7 years ago

Text

In here, too.

Post-2x12 extended moment.

Summary: The Jones trailer was a document of their story - of their love, their wounds and their scars. Tonight, they were writing a new chapter.

“Betty’s limbs were imbued with a will of their own, and though she was slowed by the headiness of the moment, she had never felt more sure of herself, or of what she was doing.

He wanted her. Needed her.

And she was going to give it all to him.”

Author’s notes: My first smutty fic, so please be kind! Thank you to the incredible @jandjsalmon and @theatreofexpression for all your help, encouragement and support as I wrote this, and to @aunt-imogene for the gorgeous gif.

Read below the cut, or here on my Ao3.

The Jones trailer was dotted with remnants of their history.

From where she sat, Betty had a clear view of everything. The spot in the living room where he first told her that he loved her. The kitchen counter where he had lifted her roughly, his mouth hot and searching on hers, overcome with passion. The door he creaked open to an ominous crowd of Serpents, who handed him his own jacket. The couch where they had fallen asleep the night they were investigating the Black Hood.

And where they sat now, silently watching TV.

What chapter of our history is this supposed to be? Betty pondered the question as she glanced at him tentatively. They were seated away from each other, their bodies not even touching, yet painfully, the closest they’d been in weeks. Her shoes were off and his beanie was lying flat on the space next to him - small items of clothing discarded casually, as though they were learning to be exposed and unguarded around each other all over again.

The last 24 hours had been a blur. By some twist of fate, they had fallen into the old rhythms of Betty and Jughead, Sleuthing Duo Extraordinaire, all over again. It felt familiar. It felt right.

But there was something else there - something aching and tender that lingered beneath the dynamic energy that came from bouncing ideas off each other and pursuing leads. To Betty’s surprise, Jughead had broached the subject of their relationship and had been open and vulnerable, apologising to her and owning up to so much - his regret over their breakup, his misdemeanours with Toni, his brief time as a drug mule, and his mutilation of Penny Peabody.

He was laying it all out for her, exposing himself willingly after weeks of shutting himself away from her.

And she was overwhelmed.

What does this mean for us? She looked over to him, fought the urge to reach out and touch his face. Is there still an ‘us’ to be salvaged from the wreck?

Jughead turned the television off. “Good old Hiram Lodge,” he muttered. “I wonder what he’s planning for us. On the Southside.”

She contemplated the question silently. “Maybe we can ask Veronica on Monday.” Oh god, Veronica. Betty winced at the thought of her best friend being drawn into this mess. How does she fit into all this? For the most part, she may have been reeling from the suddenness of being thrust back into Jughead’s sphere again, but still, she couldn’t help but wonder about what would become of them - Veronica, Archie, Jughead, herself. Even Josie and Cheryl. The children of Riverdale. The victims of their parents’ histories.

“Yeah.” Jughead sighed. “Maybe we should just investigate quietly, until we know more.”

Betty nodded, acquiescing.

“We haven’t saved the trailer park yet. And I’m on probation from the Serpents, whatever that means. Because of what I did to Penny.”

What I did to Penny. The thought of it still unsettled her. He hadn’t gone into detail, but Betty knew him enough not to feel angry or incensed - instead, she could only feel unbearable sadness at the desperation he must have been driven to, to feel as though he had no other option than to do what he did.

“But we stopped her from coming back,” Jughead conceded. “ And we got rid of Tall Boy.”

“ We. ” She couldn’t help it. Her face broke out into an involuntary smile. “It’s just nice to hear that again.” And it was. After the many lonely nights that followed their breakup, the dark days of the Black Hood, the emotional rollercoaster of finding her brother and being led into the sordid, clandestine world he inhabited, sitting here with Jughead felt… good. Stable.

He turned to her. “ Look, I’ll be apologising for it for the rest of my life, but I’m sorry. I am.” Betty looked up at him, and saw that his eyes were filled with remorse. “For feeling like I needed to shield you from what I was going through with the Serpents, or… my darkness.” He scoffed at that last word, seeming to cringe at the cliche, but finding nothing better to describe the bleakness of his world without her.

“I can handle it.” And I want to, she added silently.

“I know,” he responded, as if reading her thoughts. “I know you can.”

Betty exhaled. The weight of his words stirred something in her, and suddenly the door she had worked so hard to close since their breakup flew wide open, inviting her to walk through again. And though every part of her longed to do just that, she felt tentative and scared. There was still so much that she needed to tell him. So much that she feared to divulge.

She sighed, her yearning overcome by common sense. “I should probably…” she broke off. You should stay. You should stay. You should stay. “…start heading home.”

The fragile bubble of their moment deflated. But what else was she supposed to do? This had to be enough for her, for now - the simple hope that they weren’t done yet. She needed to leave on that note, because she wanted to fall asleep tonight with that hope tucked away into her heart.

“Or you could stay,” he said, in a half-whisper.

Oh.

Betty stared straight ahead, alarmed by the sudden turn of events and afraid that if she so much as breathed in his direction, she’d betray just how desperately she needed to hear him say that - a direct reversal of their ill-fated conversation in front of the Whyte Wyrm, when he told her to go home. This was anything but that. He was inviting her into his home, into himself. No more pushing each other away.

I guess it didn’t stick, after all.

She exhaled slowly, releasing a breath that had been constricting her chest. She still couldn’t bear to look at him, not now when every part of her - body, heart, mind and soul - was clicking into place as it pointed her to one inevitable conclusion.

“Stay,” he repeated.

His fingers grazed the edge of her dress, a wordless request for her consent. His eyes were fixed on her, all but begging. His mouth hung open, parted as it lingered on the remnants of that single word. Stay.

Betty’s limbs were imbued with a will of their own, and though she was slowed by the headiness of the moment, she had never felt more sure of herself, or of what she was doing.

He wanted her. Needed her.

And she was going to give it all to him.

…

Betty’s heart was clamorous in her chest as their lips met for the first time in what felt like an eternity. She felt curious rather than shocked at the sight of herself climbing up to straddle his lap and pin him against the couch. How did her body even know how to do such things? Then she remembered who she was kissing, remembered that his touch incinerated her unlike anything or anyone she had ever known, and she knew that the answer to that question was tied up entirely in him.

This is your doing, Jughead Jones. This is –

A sharp, metallic sound interrupted her thoughts, and suddenly she was aware of goosebumps raising on the bare flesh on her back as it met the cold air. He had unzipped her dress, and his hands now frantically, expertly grasped the hems, sliding them forward, away from her body.

If there had been any question about where this was going, they were swiftly answered in that one motion. She was now partially naked, her dress bunched around her waist, her silken lavender bra exposed. Hungrily, Jughead continued to kiss her, but his mouth now wandered downwards and away from her mouth, to her neck, her chest, the top of her breasts, leaving a trail of heat in its wake, every coherent thought undone. Underneath her, his desire was making itself evident as she felt his length harden against her, right where she was already growing wetter by the second. On instinct, her hips pressed forward, wanting this, wanting him with a primal, possessive fierceness. He bucked up in response, and she felt a jolt of pure, white-hot pleasure shooting through her body.

“W-wait, wait, wait…” she managed to breathe out. He barely let up, his lips now making quick work of her collarbone. “I need to tell you something.”

If Jughead heard her, it would’ve been entirely accidental. He was completely focused on her, and she remembered now how he always had a thing for kissing her neck, for nipping his teeth at her pulse point in a way that always elicited a breathy moan (which she always had to bite back whenever they were making out on her bed, afraid of the thin walls and of Alice Cooper’s wrath). She knew that if she didn’t physically pull away, he wouldn’t have paid her any heed.

“What?” he panted. “What is it?”

S he felt her body screaming at her, protesting now as Jughead’s lips left her skin. Yes, Betty, it huffed at her. What IS it?

She looked down at him - his head slightly tilted, questioning, his eyes soft and vulnerable but darkened by lust, his face flushed by the heat from its contact with her skin. She had stopped them with the intention of telling him the truth - which truth, she could barely say herself. There were… a few, to put it mildly.

But they were immediately overwhelmed and overtaken by the one truth that mattered most in that moment.

That she loved him. That she never stopped. Couldn’t stop.

And that this - this swirling storm of passion and lust that churned between them, even now as they were parted - was long overdue.

She decided to tell him that truth.

“Nothing,” she whispered in response to his question. Her fingers grazed his bare chest, longing to undo his shirt. “I just… want you. I want all of you. Tonight.”

All of him. Every last inch. Every shade of light and dark. Everything.

If Jughead was impassioned before, her words clearly switched on another gear. She watched him, with a faint sense of pride and smug pleasure, as his eyes grazed greedily over her breasts, evidently seconds away from ravishing them with his mouth.

No, she thought, as she gently tilted his chin up and pulled him in for a searing kiss. Not yet.

Betty needed him in slow motion, at least for now. Needed to savour each second of this encounter. To store up every last frame of it in her memory.

Jughead instinctively picked up on the hint and circled his arms around her bare waist, leaning into the kiss, gentler than before. She sighed into his mouth, their tongues tangling together as they sought a softer intimacy.

How long they spent there, suspended in the leisurely heat of their kiss, Betty had no idea. But as she felt his fingers inching their way up again to the clasp of her bra, she quickly decided that she’d had enough of being the only one naked on the couch. She broke away from their kiss and swiftly pulled him up by his suspenders, which she promptly slid off his shoulders.

Betty saw surprise register on his face at the abrupt change in pace before leaning forward to kiss him again, this time with her hands busy at his shirt. Her fingers sought flesh, and was rewarded when Jughead reached down and unbuttoned the shirt himself. Mirroring his early movements, she gripped the hems and half-tore the garment off his body, freeing his skin so that it was hers to explore. This time, it was her turn to gawk at him - the sinewy muscles of his frame, the slight shadows made by the ripples on his torso.

She had barely finished sweeping her eyes over the expanse of his skin when he pressed his mouth to her left shoulder, the lacy strap of her bra falling off as it gave way to his persistent need to taste her. Leaving a trail of hot breath in their wake, his lips caressed the downward slope of her right breast, and she tilted her head back, closing her eyes in ecstasy as she bit back a cry.

Jughead noticed that and pulled her closer to him, pressing his mouth against her ear. “You’re here with me, Betty, not in your room,” he murmured against her earlobe. “Let me hear you. Please.”

She was so caught up in the urgency of that whisper that she was stunned when her bra suddenly came loose, his clever fingers having worked the clasp, her breasts now freed and exposed to his hungry stare. As he bent down and took one peaked nipple into his mouth, the moans she had worked so hard to stop in her throat pierced the air of the empty trailer, fast and breathless.

“Yeah, Betts, that’s it,” he said, murmuring against her skin. She rocked on top of him, her pussy wet and in desperate need of friction. He was right there with her, thrusting his hardness up against her, and she thought - in between the ministrations of his mouth and the wandering of his hands - that if they kept this up any longer, she’d probably end up reeling over the edge of an orgasm before she even knew it.

Jughead broke away and looked up at her, their eyes level. “Turn around,” he said, his voice low but assertive, no trace of softness or vulnerability evident.

Betty arched an eyebrow at him as she stood up, discarding her dress on the couch, her body completely naked, save for her lacy lavender briefs.

“Wait,” he said, interrupting her as she began to turn. “Can you…? Just stand there for me.”

Betty obeyed him tentatively. They had done some fooling around prior to their break-up, but she had never been this nude in front of him before. His eyebrows were knitted together, his brow furrowed as he looked her over. Betty grew nervous as his silence extended.

“Is there something wrong?”

“No, nothing,” he said, his voice ragged, reverent. “You’re just… you’re breathtaking, Betty.”

His words reduced her to a hot, wanton mess. He inched forward in his seat and drew her closer, planting a flutter of a kiss on her abdomen while his hands grazed the back of her thighs. He reached up to cup her ass, then hooked his fingers underneath the flimsy material of her underwear, dragging it down slowly over her lithe, shapely legs.

Her heart was hammering in her ribs as his hands gripped her hips and swivelled her around before pulling her naked form down onto his lap, with the two of them facing in the same direction. Immediately, Betty saw why he wanted her positioned this way: his hands reached around, firmly groping her full, pert breasts.

Jughead’s hands had wandered before, and she had actively encouraged him, but those incursions upon her body were nothing like this: forward, dominant and sure. Perhaps the darkening days of Riverdale were propelling this need: if tomorrow can’t be promised, if death and danger were right around the corner, then…

“ Fuck, Betts.” He swore as she reached behind her to stroke his cock. Sitting up slightly, he pressed his mouth up against her jaw, whispering and groaning her name, loosening forth a stream of words incoherent, sweet and filthy all at once. In rare moments of lucidity, she watched her body in fascination as it squirmed and contorted in response to him, her legs spreading wide open, begging for him to touch her. When his fingers finally found her throbbing entrance, her back arched right off him, she let out an obscene moan, and he threw an arm around her to hold her down against his body.

“Stay with me,” he commanded. Her breath was coming out in wild spurts now as he traced circles on her clit. It took all of her restraint not to bear down and have the whole thing over quickly. She was frantic for release, but she needed more than that tonight; she needed intimacy.

Jughead slipped a finger into her, slowly at first, gauging her reaction. “Keep going,” she pleaded, and with one slick movement he buried it in. Her cries were pure and primal as he pumped it in and out of her, his voice still raspy in her ear, his other hand working her breast as she writhed in ecstasy.

The tightness that was winding up in her abdomen was now building up to an eruption. Betty recognised the onslaught, and reached up to grab a firm hold of Jughead’s hair - not enough to pull, but certainly enough to be felt. “I’m… I’m nearly…”

“Let me feel it, Betts,” he muttered into her ear as he nipped on her earlobe and pressed down on her clit. “Every bit of it.”

She clamped her pelvis down into his hand, shamelessly fucking his finger. “Jug. I’m, oh god , I–”

Explosions of white behind her eyes. Her mouth forming a silent, salacious scream. Every muscle taut with pleasure as she rode wave after wave. Then, just as she thought it had died down, the aftershocks of her orgasm shuddered through her body like small tremors.

It could’ve been seconds or hours later - she wasn’t sure. Time suddenly felt fluid, irrelevant. Her body lay limp in Jughead’s arms as he kissed her neck, which was now covered in a fine sheen of sweat.

“Jug… please. In me.” Her breath hitched and she was on the verge of incoherence as the last quivers of their encounter shook out of her.

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder before looking around the living room. “Here? You don’t want to move to the bed?”

If he had asked her the same question on that night when he unceremoniously slammed her against the kitchen cabinets, she would have undoubtedly said yes. After all, his bed was the trailer’s closest approximation to how she’d pictured their first time in her mind: a small, quaint cottage in the middle of nowhere, a four-poster bed covered in damask curtains, roses on the sheets, candles on the floor.

But she had tended to his wounds on this couch. Fallen asleep in it while enveloped in his arms. Sat upon it with him through happiness and tension and peace and instability.

It was perfect.

“No,” she whispered, as she turned around. “I want this. I want you. Right here.”

Jughead didn’t need to be told twice, as he undid his belt and pushed down his trousers, his hard length springing forth. Betty straddled him again and immediately started kissing him, her wetness slick on his cock. In between kisses, he managed to ask her, “Are you still…? Do I need to…?”

“I’m on the pill, yeah,” she murmured.

He leaned back and looked at her. “If you want… I can still get a condom, Betty. It’s no big deal.”

“No, no,” she protested, before fixing her stare on him. “I said I wanted all of you, Jug. I… I want to feel you, too.”

Jughead could only nod dumbly, much too overcome for speech. He wrapped his fingers around the back of her neck and pulled her in for a soft, sweet kiss. They locked eyes, and she nodded in assent. Yes. Now.

Betty sat up off his lap and lowered herself gently, gingerly, onto him. She hissed through her teeth as she felt her walls expand suddenly upon his entrance, a sharp pang of pain shooting through her body. Jughead groaned as he was buried to the hilt, but kept his eyes on her. As she winced, he grabbed her hands, gently prying her fingers open before kissing her palms, right where her scars were.

Betty was suddenly less alert to the pain and more conscious of the significance of that gesture. How was it that the person who had shattered her world just moments earlier was now being so gentle, so tender? She looked down at him before tucking her hair behind her ear, and bending down to kiss his shoulder - the very same one that Toni had tattooed with the symbol of his loyalty to the South.

When she said she wanted all of him, she meant it.

Every mistake. Every misdemeanour. Every dark and hidden corner.

Jughead began to thrust up into her, and though some remnant of pain lingered behind, she began to sense how this might feel good, how she might want to try it again, and soon. He leaned back on the couch, taking her forward with him, and the new angle sent sparks of pleasures through her. Slowly, they began to build a rhythm - thrust, grind, up, down.

She clenched down on him, experimenting with the sensation, wanting to see what he liked, what made him feel good. At times, he stopped their rhythm in order to press her down onto him, lapping up her tits, ravishing them again with his mouth. As he built up pressure, his speed increasing, she sensed it; he was nearing the brink, and he was ready for freefall.

She pushed up against him, grinding, bucking up her hips with wild abandon, the pain now a distant memory. He groaned his appreciation, all words lost in incoherent bliss, only sensation remaining. Tight. Wet. Euphoria. Faster, she rode him, every part of her thrumming and throbbing and present in the moment.

“Betts, I’m–”

“Yes, Jug,” She closed her eyes. “Yes.”

“I’m about to –”

His body tensed. Their voices mingled as they said each other’s names in tandem - her voice a whisper; his, a muted shout. Seconds of stunned silence followed as he wordlessly buried his head in her neck before breaking out into a deeper, more guttural groan. Betty held on to him, her nails digging into his shoulders as his warm release filled her. A final moan escaped his lips before he collapsed back into the couch.

A small laugh escaped her lips.

Holy.

Shit.

…

Later on, after they were both cleaned up and somewhat dressed, they did end up on his bed, only because she was cold and the couch was too narrow for them to lie on. His arm was slung lazily over her bare stomach, their legs entangled, their silence a comfort.

“I need to go home soon,” she finally said, her tone regretful as she stared at all the missed calls on her phone.

Jughead drew her closer. “You’re home here.”

Betty smiled and turned so that she was facing him. “I know. I am.”

She kissed him before she sat up and got off the bed, the soreness in her legs a pleasant reminder of their encounter. He groaned as she stood up, loathe to part with her. As she slipped her dress back on, combing her fingers through her hair, he fixed his eyes on her, unrelenting.

“You feel okay?” he asked.

“I’ve never been better, Juggie.”

“Good,” he said. “Do you want a ride home or something?”

“No, I’ve got the car,” she replied, somewhat reluctantly, the temptation to feel him between her legs again sorely inviting. “Thank you, though.”

They both fell quiet.

Three unsaid words hung in the air between them. It had been a while since either of them had verbalised it. If she really thought about it, Betty supposed that it might be nice to hear themselves say it. Complete the circle, as it were.

But the night had made that redundant, at least for now. And there were many nights ahead of them. Many days in which they could let it be said, whether whispered against a pillow or uttered in conversation or screamed at the height of pleasure.

Betty looked around Jughead’s room. She thought of the trailer, how it framed and reflected their story, and what her presence in his room now said about the next sequence in their narrative.

The Underwood typewriter she had given him sat proudly on his desk. His small library of books was piled high on the floor. His Serpent jacket was draped over a chair. His bedsheets of dark plaid were soft and inviting.

All of a sudden, she knew the three words that she wanted to and could say, right here and right now. They came out of pure desire, but also out of the promise that the chapters of their history had not shuddered to a halt; that they were being written again.

“In here, too,” she half-whispered to herself.

Jughead smiled, not quite catching it. “What was that?”

“In here, too,” she repeated more clearly. “It’ll happen again, and it’ll happen in here. You and me. We’ll make this ours.”

“‘Ours’,” he exhaled. “I like that.”

She stooped down to kiss him one more time. Quietly, she made it a vow. Imbued it with her love, her desire, her passion for him. Whispered into it the memory of tonight. Made it a wish for an infinite amount of tomorrows.

“Yeah,” she said, her laughter on his lips. “Ours.”

#bughead #bughead fanfiction #bughead smut #paperlesscrown writes

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yoongspd · 7 years ago

Text

The Deal

Genre: Fluff, Drunk!Hoseok, Friends to Lovers

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

Author’s Note: Heyy, this is my first time completing a one-shot and I have no fucking idea what i made. I just wanted some J-hope and I hope I killed this. The title was also made on the spot. I’m not so sure it relates to the whole story haha this is getting really awkward. Here goes nothing.

Disclaimer: I wrote this without proofreading on my phone so there probably will be A LOT of typographical/grammatical errors im so sorry. __

“Where are you?” you cut him off sternly. His reply is sloppy and incoherent from the apparent alcohol. “Where. The. Fuck. Are. You. Jung. Hoseok.”

“I’m at Squire Pub. I m-miss you so much.” He stumbles on his words. Fucking prick. He was your best friend, but if you could choose, you’d wish you didn’t know him during times like these. You grab your keys and wallet now, rushing to get to your car. Fucking asshole.

You expect the driving to calm your head, but once you get to the bar, you fume again. He’s there slumped on his stool, alone and resting his weight on the counter. You give the bartender a glare. “How many fucking times have I told you not to give him fucking drinks you fucking bastard!” Hoseok’s head shoots up weakly, and the bartender only cares to give you a shrug. “Ahh, Y/N I’ve missed you so so much,” he rambles, trying to reach out to you. You ignore Hoseok’s mutterings. He’s always like this when drunk, pretending he hasn’t seen you for years when you two did have lunch the past day.

You make your way to him to sling his arm over your shoulder, ready to take him to your place. Hoseok hugs you once you’re close. He reeks of alcohol and you hate him for it. “Let me kiss you please,” he tries to touch your face, but you smack his hand away.

“Please, Y/N, I just want to kiss you.”

“Fuck you, Hoseok.”

“But I want to. Why can’t I kiss you?”

“You’re not kissing anyone tonight, especially not me. Shut up,” you scold him the way you always do when he gets like this.

He slumps even more. “If I can’t have you, I want another drink now.”

“Hey, that’s a new line,” you say, quite amused. He nods excitedly.

“However, you’re coming home now, you spoiled brat. My place.”

Hoseok falls asleep, and you drag him to your car.

On the drive back, he mumbles again about how he has missed you and the alcohol. You turn up the radio to block out the noise he makes.

When you settle him on the couch, he holds your hand in desperation. “Please don’t leave me,” he whispers.

“I won’t, you fucktard. God, you’re so drenched in alcohol. Let me take off your shirt.”

“Mhmm, sweetheart. Anything for you.” You kick his shin for that.

He continues to pester you with questions like “Why must you be so mean to me?” while you struggle to take off his coat, his polo, and his shirt. Hoseok is now left half-naked in your living room. You go to your room to get a shirt from the stack of clothes he has left in your apartment. It’s as if he knows this will happen on a regular basis. Damn, is that boy right. Why did you have to be such a good friend??

“Come here.” you say while you are near the comfort room. “I won’t dress you up until you empty your disgusting self.”

He follows as best as a drunken Hoseok can. You help him to the toilet. You then start rubbing his back in circles for him to puke. You’ve always hated the stench of vomit, but you couldn’t, for the love of your conscience, stop patting his back and holding his hair away from his eyes.

Once the puking was over, he says thank you. And you immediately fill the glass atop your medicine box with water for him to gargle. “Don’t swallow this.” you warn before handing it to him.

He willfully does the things you ask him, gargle, brush his teeth, and change his jeans to your oversized sweatpants, and you now proceed to clean him up back in your living room with a damp towel you got. He didn’t talk much anymore now. You could tell he had a bit of sense already.

You start wiping his face gently. Over his eyes, his forehead, his nose, his cheeks, his mouth, his chin. “Seriously, Jung.” He meets your eyes. He looks a bit different now from how he had been earlier. “I’m getting really really impatient with you drinking so much then calling me. I’m not your fucking nanny. And you know what, I might just die of a freaking heart attack once you do this again. You get me so fucking riled up. Like what the fuck, how dare you mess with my sleep. I’ve actually put these thoughts in vague coherence, you know?”

You stop for emphasis. Hoseok only looks at you. You take some drinking water for him and wet the towel more. You ask him to drink, and he does. After settling the glass down. You start working on his jaws and down to his neck. He flinches a bit. You sigh.

“You know what the line I thought of was?” You search his eyes for any sign of interest, but he seems lost in his thoughts. “I thought that, the best time to plot murder is when someone wakes you up from a good sleep.” You smile triumphantly from what you deemed as a poetic phrase you created, but it seemed that the only time he paid attention was when you smiled. “Seriously this boy.” you mutter.

“You know what, you’re so beautiful, Y/N.” he says casually. You snort. “Of course I am,” only confident enough to give a response like that to family and close friends. Also, you think that if you had not known Hoseok, you would have seriously thought he had this big gradeschool crush on you whenever he was drunk. But he didn’t. That would be the greatest joke of your life. “Get some sleep, Jung. You’re not even listening to me.”

He does what you say, and you run the cloth throughout his chest and back in an attempt to get rid of the horribly mixed smell of alcohol, sweat, and vomit. You put the shirt on him, and guide him to your bed. You knew how much pain it would cause to sleep on the couch. You’ve accidentally tried it before when you fell asleep watching a movie. Thank you very much.

“Stay on your side, or I won’t hesitate to push you off this bed.”

He molds himself to the side you don’t sleep on and you walk around a bit to make sure the door to your living room has been locked and all the lights have been turned off.

When you leave for work the next morning, you leave the sleeping Hoseok a note telling him where you went and that he owes you big time.

You don’t get a text from him all day, and once you get back to your apartment, you find the note gone.

You go through your routines the whole week, save for your weekly lunch with him. You waited, but when he didn’t arrive after fifteen minutes, you ordered food and ate on your own. No texts, no calls. And you’ve also decided not to contact him first. This was the prat’s problem.

When he did knock on your door after three weeks with peach orchids which were alive and beautifully potted, you burst into cold anger. “You fucking ungrateful bastard.” He says nothing.

“How long has it been, huh?”

“A month,” he mutters, still, the door frame lies between the two of you.

“So why are you here?”

“I just wanted to say sorry and that I want to marry you.”

The words don’t register. “What?”

Hoseok puts the plant to the side. He drops on one knee and pulls out a small box, opening it to reveal a thin strapped golden ring hugging a small diamond in its center. “Y/N, will you marry me?”

You raise an eyebrow, and hoist him up. “Come here,” you open your arms to welcome him into a hug. He holds you tight, one of that tight Hoseok hugs. But now, there’s this different warmth in them. “You ruined the mood,” he says onto your neck. You stay frozen. He steps back to look you in the eyes. “I’m not joking around here, Y/N.” And you notice that he was dressed quite formal right now. That white long-sleeved polo you always said was your favorite, grey slacks, and brown coat. His hair was even neat today.

“Then we have to talk, Jung Hoseok,” you say professionally, just like how you would do it at work.

He nods and you direct him to your sofa. Hoseok begins, “You remember that deal we had when we were seventeen?” The memory comes back in a calm tide, but you panic. It laid only on the frays of your mind now, but you remembered it well. “You were in your crippling-depression-state-of-loneliness-my-cats-will-eat-my-all-alone-rotting-corpse-in-my-house-when-i-die-because-i-have-no one,” he recalls mockingly. You laugh. This was true.

“Your prophecy will almost be granted,” he says without the usual enthusiasm he used to always carry. You nod, that was also true. “But shouldn’t we consider each other an option once you turn thirty and still have no one?” This is where you shy away and say nothing.

“Well, I’ve thought this through the past few months. And please remember that I’ve dated quite a handful of girls before.” He says.

You chuckle. “Ah, this really saleable boy.” He laughs.

“But, no one has ever made me feel more alive than you do. No one fucking does, you know? You don’t even do things, but you have no idea how greatly you affect me.”

You hold his eye contact now, trying to understand the truth of his words. Things were surely flipping in your stomach, but you keep your walls up.

He closes his eyes, as if deep in thought. He opens them to look back at you. “I love you. And I don’t know where the line between friendship and romance is anymore with you, but I have never been more certain of this choice.”

You remember everything you’ve gone through together. You and Hoseok shared almost every meaningful memory together – both good and bad.

“I stayed away after what happened a month ago because I wanted to clear my head. I don’t know. Uhm, it just hurt me so much that you never gave me a second look. You had your birthday two months ago, and all I could think of since then was that deal.

"But you continued to act normal. You made it clear you had no interest in me. Then I got stupid and drank a lot. I’m so sorry for that. Really. I’m so sorry. I was probably really obvious then.”

“‘I really want to kiss you right now,’” you mock him and he laughs. “That was probably really true back then,” Hoseok only looks at the floor this time.

You turn his face to make eye contact and there is a bit of fear, or maybe longing, in his eyes. “How about now, Jung?” He blinks, taken aback.

“Fuck it. This better not be a joke,” and you kiss him full on the mouth. After a while, he reciprocates and slows down the pace.

Hoseok makes sure to savor everything in his movements, holding you gently as if you were to break any minute now but also with a definite steadiness as if you might just disappear without word. You pull back, overwhelmed by how it felt. Nobody has ever kissed you like that.

Hoseok interrupts your thoughts, “I haven’t kissed anyone like that.”

You grumble. “Now, I want to kiss you.” You say with a hand smacked on your forehead.

“Jagi, you were the one who kissed me first,” he fulls on laughs at you now.

“Pompous jerk.”

“Presumptuous but beautiful woman.”

You laugh again. This wasn’t a normal relationship. “Hmm, I’m not sure you’re playing the right cards, Jung,” you tease.

“Hey! I’m serious here.” He puts his hands on your shoulders, “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Wow, what did I do in my past life to deserve you? Are you really sure about this? I have a horrible temper. I can’t dance with you. My voice sounds terrible. I might put my work over you. Etcetera etcetera. And I’m behind so many leagues of your ex-girlfriend’s body.”

He shook his head through all the negatives and chuckled. “I know you, Y/N. Probably better than yourself. You’re perfect in your own weird way.”

“Thanks a lot. Very reassuring.” You say. “You know what, Jung. If you’re sure about this, I’d definitely choose you over anyone even though your sense lf humlr sucks.”

He smiles at you and your pajama-clad self. “Was that a yes?”

Your expression shifts to pissed off, and you stand up to take the potted orchid from outside. You playfully scold him before that, “If you can’t take the hint, can you even call yourself my friend?”

Hoseok quickly retorts, “I want to be called your husband.”

“I hate you, Jung Hoseok.”

#bts #hoseok #jung hoseok #jhope #bts jhope #bts fanfic #jhope fanfic #hoseok fanfic #fanfiction #one-shot #jhope one shot #writing

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baahsu · 8 years ago

Text

—To my love in 140 characters—

Jungkook struggles with his birthday post to Yoongi. Hoseok helps.

12:00 AM, read the bright screen of Hoseok's phone as it buzzed incessantly at his bedside table.

Hoseok shot up from his bed, grabbing the device in a hurry and running to the door of his and Jimin's bedroom, the younger boy still fast asleep.

As Hoseok opened the door and made to walk into the hallway he saw Jungkook dashing out of his own room towards the living room, laptop in hand and phone tucked in the waistband of his sweatpants, threatening to fall. Hoseok raised an eyebrow, curious, and followed after the maknae after sparing another glance at Jimin's sleeping form.

"What are you doing, Jungkookie?" He asked, stepping next to the couch where the youngest had settled himself on, laptop propped over the center table, a video editor software and ten other tabs — and was that a Yoongi fancam? — opened.

Jungkook jumped, not having noticed Hoseok's presence.

"Hyung!" He took one hand to his chest, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. Did Hoseok really have to creep up on him like that?

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart down, pressed "save" on the file he had opened and looked at Hoseok, "I'm working on my post for Yoongi hyung's birthday, I didn't have time to do it earlier, so I have to hurry now."

Hoseok hummed in interest. He bent down to get a better look at the computer screen while the boy went back to typing something in a notepad document. "And what is it that you're working on exactly?"

Jungkook opened his mouth to answer but stopped himself before he said anything. He wasn't about to reveal any details of his incredible birthday post before hearing about Hoseok's own.

"You tell me first, hyung, what have you planned for Yoongi hyung's birthday?"

Hoseok straighten himself, both eyebrows raised in slight surprise and amusement by Jungkook's defiance. The younger was just too cute.

"Well, I'm going to make seven tweets, with a picture and a nice caption each, for each one of the years I've known Yoongi hyung. Sounds good, right?" He stuffed his chest, proud of himself.

Jungkook took in Hoseok's words and his gaze unintentionally wavered, going from his computer screen to Hoseok and back to the screen. It sounded good indeed, like the type of thing that would send Yoongi down into memory lane and make him an emotional mess.

"Yeah… It sounds awesome…" Jungkook offered in a small and slightly quivering voice. He slapped himself mentally; he didn't need to be feeling like a total failure right now, not in front of Hoseok and, most importantly, not when he needed to concentrate on his hyung's birthday project.

Sensing the sudden shift on the younger's mood, Hoseok sit next to him on the couch and slung an arm over his shoulders, "What is it, Jungkookie?"

"I-It's nothing. It's just—" He sighed, "I'm sure Yoongi hyung will love it."

The intrigued look on Hoseok's face remained, though, "Well, yeah, that's the point of it… But what are you making? I'm sure he'll love it just as much."

With his gaze fixed on the laptop's keyboard Jungkook let his fingers tap lightly over the keys, not really typing anything.

"I wanted to make him a video, it's nothing much…"

"A video?!" Hoseok screeched, which caused jungkook to slam his hand on the keys, startled.

"Oh, sorry!" Hoseok lamely apologized as Jungkook fumbled to press "ctrl+z" and fix the text he had been previously writing. "I mean, are you really making him a video? That's amazing!"

A small smiled graced Jungkook's lips. He had to give it to himself, his idea was really good.

Yet, shortly after, the corners of his mouth turned downwards again. Even if the idea and its execution were amazing, they still wouldn't be on par to Hoseok's heartfelt tweets.

He shook his head to dissipate the intruding thoughts. He wasn't envious of Hoseok, he simply felt like his efforts weren't good enough for Yoongi.

Jungkook waited a few seconds until his mind was completely clear and began focusing on his editing again, but stopped before really doing anything, "Hyung, are your tweets ready yet?"

Hoseok blinked. Oh shit.

"No! I mean, kind of? I have the pictures and a draft of the captions I want to use, but I didn't get to post any of them yet. I better get working on that, though, I'm already half an hour late." Hoseok said after looking over at Jungkook's laptop. He scooted to the edge of the couch and fetched the phone he had thrown over the center table, quickly opening the twitter app.

It seemed like he would be the first one to post, Hoseok noticed and made a low squealing noise. Perfect!

As he started to type diligently on his phone, Jungkook glanced at the time in the corner of his computer and at the template of his video; 77 seconds in total and only a couple of frames ready. Panic started to settle into him, why haven't he started this earlier? There wouldn't be enough time now.

Jungkook's hands began to shake and he typed another set of words into another frame and set it in its place on the timeline. He hadn't checked if the soundtrack synched with the frames yet — and how could he, not even 1% of them were finished —, hadn't even checked if the giant letter he wrote to his hyung was coherent enough to be put on full display to the whole world. There was just so much to do, he wouldn't have time to finish it all!

And he might not have realized he had started crying, only being pulled out of his thoughts and stopping to take a deep breath when wet drips hit his hands and the keyboard keys, and Hoseok's hand started rubbing soothing circles on his back.

"What's wrong Jungkookie, why are you crying?"

Jungkook sniffled and rubbed a hand over his eyes, trying to stop the tears. He then thought better of it and decided to first use his shirt to wipe the laptop keys, he couldn't afford having his laptop getting damaged now. But obviously he didn't get every drop, the keys ending up somewhat wetter than before. Jungkook hiccupped, chest tightening and tears rolling down his cheeks at full force.

"I— there's no time, hyung. I won't be able to finish the video in time. There's so much left... Scratch that, there's everything left. I should've started sooner, now even if I hurry—"

"Shh, Jungkookie, it's ok, breathe with me. We have twenty four hours, there's no need to rush. You're doing great, take your time." Hoseok kept rubbing Jungkook's back, the act serving to calm both of them down. Seeing the younger so distressed only caused him to get distressed as well.

"T-Thank you, hyung. But look at you, I-I'm sure you’ve posted everything by now and Yoongi hyung has probably seen it already and is now smiling from ear to ear and—"

"Jungkook. Jungkook." Hoseok hold the younger's face in his hands, staring right into his eyes, "Jungkook, please stop rambling. I've only posted one tweet, see?" Hoseok showed him his phone as reassurance. "And Yoongi hyung is most definitely sleeping, he'd never check twitter, or any sns for that matter, without getting his cup of coffee or some tea first, and none of us have seen him wobbling into the kitchen, have we."

That seemed to do the trick. Jungkook sniffled a few last times and turned back to his laptop, his letter at the back of the screen and, at the front, the video software with the last edited frame playing on loop, bright and waiting for him to resume his work.

"Alright," Jungkook took another deep breath, "everything's fine. It'll all be fine if I keep working." He muttered as self reassurance. He just had to work hard. Twenty four hours — now twenty three and a half — were more than enough.

Hoseok smiled fondly at him, relieved he had calmed down, and pressed "send" on his next tweet. Five more to go.

"But hyung," Jungkook called him not two seconds later, "what if everyone else tweets before me. What if it takes me so long to finish this I only get to post it ten hours after everyone else?" And there he went again, hands shaking and lips trembling as despair made its way into his body once more.

Hoseok felt his heart hurt. As lovely as it was to have Jungkook so invested in working on something meaningful for Yoongi it also came at a high prince. Not only when it came to gifts and expressing their feelings, the younger was also always afraid he wasn't good enough for Yoongi, wasn't as good as Hoseok to be in a relationship with the older rapper, wasn't good enough to be together with two amazing people like Yoongi and Hoseok.

"Don't worry about that. I can space my tweets out a little, and after the others wake up I'll tell them to wait. You have time, it's ok." Hoseok said slowly and caressed his cheek for good measure, feeling the tear stained skin warm up under his fingertips.

A sweet smile made its way into jungkook lips, his nose crinkling slightly.

"Thank you, hyung." And he resumed his editing, as determined as ever. Everything was fine, he'd be fine and his video would blow everyone away. The giggle that followed got covered by his hand, but Hoseok didn't fail to notice it.

A huge smile formed on the rappers face and he got up, patting Jungkook on his shoulder to indicate he was leaving the room. He needed to check on the others and make sure his promised was kept. His Jungkookie was going to finish his birthday post on time and before the others, and he was going to make sure of that.

He walked into his room, finding jimin still asleep. The same went for the other members as he checked up on them. Even Yoongi himself, which always made something for the fans during his birthday, was lost in dreamland, curled inside a blanket cocoon. Hoseok fought the urge to walk over to him and place a soft kiss on his lips, but he knew that would most likely stir him awake and, as much as he loved him, Jungkook was his priority at the moment, and if there was something the younger didn't need right now was Yoongi wandering around the dorm.

He went back to his room and sat at the edge of his bed. He unlocked his phone to post another one of his tweets and waited. Someone was bound to wake up soon.

But soon didn't come as soon as he had hoped. He spaced his tweets out with about five minutes in between them — thinking back at it now, he sighed; he should've used a bigger interval, fifteen minutes, maybe… Yeah, that would've worked better —, went to the kitchen twice to get some water and also went over to check on Jungkook, to which the boy reassuringly smiled at him and said he was fine, but within an hour he was done, all posted, and no one was awake yet. He grunted, lying on his bed. More waiting was ahead of him.

Jimin was the first one to get up and Hoseok didn't even wait for the boy to gather his bearings before grabbing him by the arm and telling him to not post anything for Yoongi's birthday.

Jimin yawned and rubbed at his eyes, "What?" He croaked out, voice hoarse from sleep.

"Don't post anything for hyung's birthday yet, you have the whole day, there's no need to be all desperate and stuff." No need to be all desperate and stuff and yet here he was doing everything he could so Jungkook wouldn't become exactly that.

Jimin seemed to take a second to process what Hoseok had said then stared at him blankly. "What, why? Not that I care about the time I post my photo, but… Why? Does it really matter when I do it?"

"Of course it matters!" Hoseok said it so loudly and with such conviction Jimin stepped back, a half offended, half disgusted look on his face. "What's wrong with you, hyung."

Hoseok sighed heavily, "Jiminie, listen, Jungkookie is struggling with his post, he's afraid he's not going to finish it on time, so please just wait. I'll do whatever you want me to later to make up for it."

Jimin considered Hoseok's words once again.

"If you think I wouldn't refrain from doing something when Jungkook — or any of you, I guess — might get upset by it, then that's on you and I take deep offense to that," he said in a mockingly serious tone, but his words were no less truthful. Hoseok groaned exasperatedly and Jimin raised a finger to shush him, "but, I'll wait. Jungkook's been talking about this 'amazing video' he was going to make for weeks," Hoseok sent him an indignant glare and he immediately understood what it meant, "video that he didn't talk to you about in fear you'd open your big mouth and blurt everything out to Yoongi, and as I was saying, I don't really feel like ruining the surprise, so I'll just sit back, maybe get something to eat. It's too early anyway." Jimin finished and walked straight past Hoseok, heading to the kitchen. In his way he greeted Jungkook and said something to him, but over the walls of their dorm Hoseok wasn't able to discern any of the words they shared.

Jin was the next one to wake up and Hoseok told him the same thing he had said to Jimin, only in a more respectful tone — better not risk getting the elder to post some embarrassing picture of him and Yoongi as a birthday shenanigan.

Lastly Hoseok checked on Namjoon and Taehyung, finding the two sleeping and snoring in their shared bedroom. The curtains were closed and both of them had earphones in — Namjoon was even wearing an eyes mask, as if the room wasn't already dark enough. It looked like neither of them would wake up soon, and Hoseok wasn't complaining.

A few more hours passed and Hoseok was fighting the urge to lie on Jungkook's lap and fall into sleep's sweet embrace, but he didn't want to bother the youngest in his work and, besides, he still needed to keep watch in case one of the sleeping members decided to not be asleep anymore.

He yawned and stretched, willing his eyes to remain open, when Jungkook jumped to his feet next to him, hands in the air, screaming "I'm done!!" with a fiery passion in his eyes.

Hoseok jolted on the couch, both from shock and excitement. His heart almost ran out of his chest, but he willed it to stay put and pulled Jungkook into his arms in a tight hug.

"That's great, Jungkookie!" Hoseok whispered in his ear, taking the opportunity to leave a kiss on his neck. "Let's post it, then!"

When Yoongi, Namjoon and Taehyung emerged from their rooms it was already time to leave for the airport, no time for big cheers of "Happy birthday, Yoongi!!", only for a few pats on the back and reminders of "don't forget anything, we'll be away for a while."

As expected, Yoongi didn't really bother to check twitter, Hoseok noticed as he walked to their van with an arm draped around the elder. The shorter man only uploaded a photo he took a couple of days before with a brief message thanking everyone for the support during his birthday when they got into the vehicle, which almost didn't happen either, since his phone almost shattered on the ground when Jungkook grabbed him by the arm and pulled him onto a seat by his side. Hoseok observed everything with a grin plastered on his face and Yoongi only scoffed at him, just watch and see if I'll bother looking at what you guys posted for me.

Not true to his words (thoughts, to be precise) at all, Yoongi opened twitter as soon as he was relatively comfortable on his airplane seat, scrolling through the members' posts with badly hidden curiosity and enthusiasm bubbling out of his pores.

Hoseok and Jungkook shared a knowing and fond look while observing him, but didn't comment on their boyfriend endearing behavior; he had received enough teasing from the other members as it was.

A wave of affection washed over Yoongi when he finally saw what Jungkook and Hoseok had done, choosing to check their posts last in a sort of self-made surprise. And indeed a surprise it was. Birthday messages aside, just the amount effort and love put into them was enough to cause Yoongi's heart to grow three times in size.

As he looked at their posts one more time he was glad to see that by now Jungkook, on his right, a hand squeezing his own over the armrest, had his eyes glued at the window admiring the morning sky, and Hoseok, on the left, still clutching at his arm after the takeoff and head resting on his shoulder, was sleeping soundly, so they couldn't see the huge smile that formed on his lips nor the tears that swelled up in his eyes.

Yoongi kissed the top of Hoseok's head and the knuckles of Jungkook's hand, neither of them moving from their positions, and closed his eyes, the beat of Jungkook's video still faintly playing through his earphones.

#yoonkook #sugakookie #yoonseok #junghope #yoonkookseok #bts #i know this is late but i don't care #hobi and jungkook basically confessing their love for yoongi on his birthday was a too great of a thing for me to ignore it #i'll never get over it tbh #fanfic #bts fanfic #my fics

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positively-erinanne · 8 years ago

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I wrote this after spending a whole day reading about how the GOP wants to take away health care from me and millions of other Americans. Because I’m angry and I don’t know what else to do. It’s long and it wanders a bit, but it’s still more coherent than anything Donald Trump has said maybe ever.

In the very last days of March 2009, around two in the morning, I was walking home from a friend’s house. We lived in the same apartmenthome community, just a few streets apart, and half of the walk was on pedestrian-only walkways, away from public streets. It was also immediately adjacent to my college campus and for four years it had felt like a relatively safe area, so, I never worried.

I was passing by the montessori school in the neighborhood, with the school on one side of me and townhomes on the other, and silently remarking to myself that management had finally replaced the bulb in the street light that illuminated the sidewalk there so that my walk home was no longer in the dark. No sooner had I noticed this that I looked back and saw three young men jogging up the path behind me. They were dressed like many guys my age - somewhat baggy pants and hoodies. We had some fraternities on my college campus, but no frat houses, but my first thought was that they seemed “frat-like” and must be on their way to or from a party somewhere. It did not seem strange to me that they were jogging, and I did not feel as though I was in danger. As they approached me, I stepped off the sidewalk and into the dirt to let them pass.

They did not pass.

Instead, the three of them surrounded me, and suddenly I found a gun to my throat. A real gun. Pressed against my trachea. My thoughts were racing. I blurted out “Seriously?” I couldn’t believe this was happening. One of them told me to “shut up.” So, I did.

On one shoulder I was carrying a Trader Joe’s tote bag. It contained a hoodie, a bottle of water, and maybe some other things that have forever escaped my memory. On the other arm I was carrying a purse, filled with all the things a purse is filled with and then some. They began to remove the purse from my shoulder, and instinctively I clamped my arm down on the purse to make it difficult to remove. In a split second a voice in my head told me “Erin, this is real, just let go of the purse.” And so I realeased the grip my arm was making against my body, before they even had time to notice it had happened. They asked me where my keys were. I said they were in my purse. They fumbled through the purse, pulled out the keys, looked at each key and then handed them to me. Then, one of the guys patted me down to make sure I didn’t have anything else in my pockets. I waited breathlessly hoping they did not feel the thin flip phone in my pants’ pocket underneath my peacoat. (Terrified because they’d asked me if I had anything else and I said “no”; what would they do to me now if they found the phone?) They did not find it.

Then, as quickly as they’d come, they turned around, with my purse and my tote, and ran off in the direction from which they’d come. I just stood there for a second as a wave of sobs escaped my previously frozen being and then suddenly I began to run. My brain was telling me to go back to the house I had just left. I started running, but it was the same direction they were running. They stopped and looked back at me. Oh god, they think I’m chasing them. I froze. They then turned and continued to run as I stood there and cried. All I could think was “find somewhere safe.” As soon as they’d turned the corner and I couldn’t see them anymore, an old tan car sped passed and they were gone.

I ran full speed back the two blocks I had come. When I reached the front door I pounded with every ounce of my being as loud sobs escaped from somewhere inside me and then I collapsed onto the front porch with all of my weight against the front door. My friend opened the door and I managed some string of incoherent words that translated to call the police as I handed him the only thing I had left - my cell phone. A few minutes later the police arrived and they took my statement, they asked me to compile a list of everything that was in my purse and an estimate of its value, serial numbers, credit cards, etc.

Why am I telling you this story?

Because, Obamacare. Uhhh, what?

The Affordable Care Act. Yeah, WHAT?

Let me explain.

I’m uncomfortable throwing around the acronym PTSD, because I feel like it somehow suggests that I’ve experienced something akin to war or murder or some tragic event that made it to the news. It makes me feel like I’m attention-seeking or exaggerating. But after this night, I was diagnosed with PTSD.

I couldn’t eat, because whenever I tried to swallow, I could still feel the gun pressed to my throat.

I had vivid nightmares where I would be pulling large objects out of my mouth, that didn’t belong in there, that couldn’t possibly fit in there, and I would be pulling and pulling and they would never stop. Like those clowns that pull colored flags out of their mouths, but in my dreams it was weird things like seaweed and workboots and sail boats. I would wake up panting, drenched in sweat, like I had actually been pulling those things out of my mouth, trying desparately to breathe.

Everytime someone was walking behind me, jogging on a street, following too closely my heart would stop, sure that it was about to happen again.

I couldn’t fall asleep. I couldn’t go outside at night. I couldn’t carry a purse or a backpack or anything. I had trouble attending class and making it through study sessions. My apartment was a disaster, I was eating maybe once a day, but mostly not. I had no clean laundry.

Eventually I developed a cold that turned into a respiratory infection, throw in pink eye, add in some brochitis.

But despite all of this, amazingly, I graduated from college one month later, on time, with honors. Fantastic right?

Almost.

Pre-ACA, when I graduated in May of 2009, I lost my health insurance the day I was no longer a “student.” One month after being diagnosed with PTSD, anxiety, depression, after losing 25 lbs because I couldn’t eat. I no longer had health insurance through my parents’ employers, because I was no longer a dependent and I was no longer a student.

I moved out of my college apartment and 450 miles back home to live with my Mom. I needed help. My mental health was at an all-time low and I had no health insurance. My mother was graciously paying out of pocket for a therapist and a psychiatrist, because she could afford to, and I am SO SO lucky for that.

I applied for at least seven different health insurance plans. I received denial letters from every single plan. “Sorry, you’re too high risk to insure due to PRE-EXISTING conditions.” Some were bullshit pre-existing conditions: oh you had strep throat one time two years ago. Sorry. Seriously?

But the hardest one for me, the one the cut the deepest, was that every single insurance company flagged my mental health as a reason they could not provide me with coverage. One letter even stated that I needed to be free of all mental illness for at least 10 years before it would no longer be considered a “pre-existing condition.” TEN YEARS. WHAT?

Several months went by and the ACA was passed by the senate. Then by the house. Then Obama signed it into law. The minute it went into effect, I was again covered by my mother’s health insurance. Suddenly the mental health care, and all other care I needed was affordable and attainable again.

Truthfully, if I had continued to need relatively routine, outpatient mental health care, my parents would have been able to afford it until I could, and gladly would’ve helped. But what if I couldn’t? WHAT ABOUT ALL OF THE PEOPLE WHO DON’T HAVE MY PARENTS? WHAT ABOUT ALL OF THE PEOPLE WHO ARENT UNDER 26? WHAT ABOUT ME NOW, 7 YEARS LATER? WHAT ABOUT PEOPLE WHO ARE UNEMPLOYED AND HAVE PRE-EXISTING CONDITIONS? WHAT ABOUT EVERY SINGLE PERSON TO WHOM THE ACA PROVIDES INSURANCE WHO WOULD OTHERWISE NOT BE ELIGIBLE FOR COVERAGE?

The ACA has saved hundreds of thousands of lives, and I’m not even going to give you a fact-check site for that because it made 20 million people who were previously uninsured insurable. And I’m not a mathematician but statistically speaking, if you take a sample of 20 million people, a couple hundred thousand are going to need life-saving treatment at some point that they would only otherwise afford with insurance coverage.

As if one story about how I have personally benefited from the ACA wasn’t enough, exactly one year and 20 days ago I went to the ER with severe abdominal pain. I was unemployed, but paying for individual coverage through Covered California, which was established by the ACA. I had a CT scan (thousands of dollars) and some blood work (hundreds of dollars) and found out I had acute appendicitis and needed to have my appendix removed before it ruptured (thousands more dollars). Thirteen hours later I was discharged with what I would later find out was roughly $60,000 in medical bills. I’m not even exaggerating. The recovery room after surgery was $13,000 on its own. (That’s a whole separate, but related problem.) My insurance company was billed for these services and ultimately, I paid about $2500 out of pocket when all was said and done. I can definitively say, with 100% certainty, that if I did not have insurance coverage through the ACA when this happened, I would not have immediately gone to the ER. I would not have found out that I had appendicitis. Maybe a day or so later, if it got worse, maybe I’d go then. Maybe not.

I am alive and healthy because of the Affordable Care Act.

My stories are not unique. They are common. They are everyone.

#affordable care act #obamacare #health #personal #anxiety #depression #ptsd #health care #politics

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sending-the-message · 7 years ago

Text

I buy and sell memories by TobiasWade

You know those people who treat everything like they've just been asked to climb mount Everest? Where every little thing is an insurmountable ordeal, whether it's waking up, taking a shower, or even just going outside? Almost as if the whole world was an elaborate conspiracy designed solely to slightly inconvenience them, god-forbid some effort was actually required to survive.

That was my buddy Craig. What irritated me the most is that he wasn't always like that either. Growing up he read philosophy and filled notebooks with plans about what he was going to do when he grew up, meticulously mapping out possible career paths with their required steps. He graduated high-school with nearly perfect grades, and after he was accepted into MIT, I figured his whole life was pretty much set.

The only thing that could have stopped him from getting what he wanted was getting something he thought he wanted, and her name was Natalie. Controlling, obsessive, jealous, always putting him down for this or chewing him out for that. I have no idea why he stuck with her, but two years later when he dropped out I can only imagine that was the cause.

They broke up soon after, but the damage was already done. Craig was an absolute mess. He couldn't get out of bed without a beer, and every time we talked it was just him bitching about how much he missed Natalie and how worthless he felt without her. I thought it was just going to be a phase and that he'd move on, but the obsession just kept growing in an endless feedback loop.

He couldn't do anything because he felt like shit. He felt like shit because he couldn't do anything. And on and on, doubts feeding doubts. Hating her and loving her, and then hating himself for both. Even though I've known him since we were kids, I was getting to the point of just giving up on and cutting him out for good. Last week I decided to tell him to his face: one last shot at taking some responsibility for his life.

I hardly recognized the guy who opened the door. Clean shaven and grinning from ear to ear, Craig invited me inside. His apartment was immaculate all the way down to the gleaming grout in his tile floor. His laptop was open to spreadsheets and a color coded calendar. I couldn't believe the transformation. I congratulated him on finally getting past Natalie, but he didn't understand what I was talking about.

"Natalie? Who is Natalie?" he asked.

I thought it was a joke at first, but she was just one piece of the puzzle. He kept talking about high-school like it was yesterday, and how excited he was to start MIT. It didn't take long for me to realize the last two years of his life were completely gone. He seemed obviously better for it though, so I held my tongue in case I accidentally reminded him of something that sent him back into his depressive spiral.

It wasn't until I left when I noticed the business card half-concealed beneath his entry mat. Black card, back and front, with nothing but the words "I buy and sell memories" and a phone number.

I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't just seen the results. It was one thing to discard shameful or destructive memories, but the chance of buying new ones too? Maybe I could remember what it was like to travel the world without any of the expense or inconvenience. Or learn new skills without the effort of practice. My fingers were actually trembling as I dialed the number.

An automated voice guided me through the steps of setting up a free consultation. By the next morning I was in the office building, checking the directories for "Dr. Sinclair". Sure enough, there he was, his office listed as Cognitive Reconstruction.

"It's not magic," the beak-nosed doctor told me as I sat down. "My team has mapped a large archive of neuronal patterns which can be replicated with their corresponding electrical signals."

I didn't really understand what that meant, but throughout the session he drove his case home. Folders filled with brain scans, a wall cluttered with degrees, and my own mounting excitement proved an irresistibly combination. Within the hour I had signed consent for the treatment.

"We're going to put you under for this part," Dr. Sinclair told me. "The fluctuations of the conscious mind make it impossible to get an accurate reading of baseline activity. Just write down a list of memories you'd like to have when you wake-up."

I did so before reclining on his sofa while he set up the anesthesia mask.

"I'm not going to have to forget anything to make room, am I?" I asked.

"Old telephone numbers, the occasional date or address - nothing but clutter. Deep breaths now."

It seemed too good to be true. I was absolutely euphoric as I inhaled the strawberry scented gas. Dr. Sinclair briefly studied the list I wrote before crumpling it up in his hand.

"These are rubbish," he said, his words distorting like a radio with a weak signal.

The anesthesia was muddling my mind, but a brief surge of panic still flooded my veins. I started to sit up, but he put a hand over the mask and pressed my head firmly back into the couch.

"Most people prefer to hold onto their good memories, mind you," he said. "The ones they sell me tend to be a tad more... exotic. Why don't you just relax and let me choose?"

It wouldn't quite be accurate to say I fell asleep then. It was more like I fell awoke, slipping in an and out of consciousness so subtly that I didn't even realize time had passed. One second I was struggling against the mask, and the next I tore it off my face and sat up panting. Only now I was sitting on the sidewalk. The mask lay at my feet, dangling from its severed chords. Dr. Sinclair was nowhere to be seen.

And everything in the world was wrong. The roar of traffic bludgeoned me from the nearby street. I flinched and cowered as my every instinct screamed a warning for the impending collision, even though I was well out of harms way. Dark clouds had begun rolling in from the sky and I shuttered to imagine some phantasmic presence leering at me from behind them. The eyes of passing strangers cut me with their disdain.

Everything in the world was normal. I was the one who was wrong. In the space of those odd hours on Dr. Sinclairs couch I had lived through the nightmares of a hundred lives. A man like my father had beaten me to within an inch of my life, although I knew he wasn't the father I grew up with. My hand burned as it had when it was torn off by a tractor, even though I could see its perfect vitality at the end of my wrist. I had been shot at, maimed, humiliated, and betrayed a hundred times, and so could I feel the blood of my victims as fresh as the day they were choked to death by hands that were not my own.

I don't know how long I sat there screaming on the sidewalk before someone called the police. I'm vaguely aware of an ambulance picking me up, but my internal world was so much more vibrant and clashed do disorientatingly with the one I saw that I couldn't keep them straight. The hellish memories were mixed with my own so seamlessly that I couldn't figure out which were true and which were not. Maybe I had done these things, hurt these people. Maybe I deserved to suffer.

But the maddening conflict of a hundred contradictory memories made it impossible to maintain any coherent identity. By the time I got to the hospital, I couldn't have told you my own name. I didn't even know whether I was a man or a woman, having lived distinctly through the most traumatic ordeals of each.

Next I was able to make sense of the world was within a hospital room. Dr. Sinclair was there as I had seen him last, peering down at me from over a clipboard. His presence was branded into my mind, and I couldn't turn away from him to look at who he was talking to on my other side. He was the point of singularity: the one common aspect in all my separate lives. The person I most feared and most needed in the whole world. I had seen him from so many different eyes and known him from so many different minds that all these thoughts conjoined into an amorphous blob of desperate hope.

"Patient exhibiting signs of psychosis, schizophrenia, and multiple personality disorder," Dr. Sinclair was saying. "He is a danger to himself and others, and must not leave this room until I consent. Is that understood?"

"Yes doctor."

"I know he's your friend, so if you'd like to be reassigned -"

"No doctor. I can handle it," Craig said from my other side. "I just want what's best for him."

"We all do," Dr. Sinclair replied, his voice oozing with compassion. "I'll check in again at the end of my rounds. Buzz me if he remembers anything about that man."

I turned to Craig as the doctor exited the room. Craig was wearing a white lab coat as well, his own clipboard hanging limp at his side. My mouth twisted with uncertainty, trying to make sense of which language was natural to its shape.

"Get some rest," Craig said. "The Doctor knows best. He's going to make you better again."

"He did this to me," I managed to match my thoughts to English.

"Me too," Craig grinned. "He was my professor at MIT. He told me I was failing, and that I'd be expelled unless I participated in the experiment."

"But the nightmares -"

"Yeah, I guess I missed that part," Craig said. "I just had my last two years erased. I've been relying on him to fill me in on the details."

"Then why the fuck did he fill my head with this shit?"

"Sorry. We had to," Craig sat down at the end of my bed. "All those memories you've got came from the last two years of clinical trials. Someone has been trying to disrupt the study, and we need you to access the common memory to find out who it is."

"Then go ask them. Why'd you have to put them in me -" my words were failing. There was so much pain, and loss, and suffering spinning around my head. No-one should ever be forced to bury their son or endure their loved ones wasting away from cancer. Not once. How was I supposed to survive it dozens of times?

"That's the thing," Craig said. "They're being killed. One at a time. Every person who has participated in the study. You're the only one with their memories now, and our only chance of stopping whoever is doing this before he gets us too."

Craig patted my hand as he stood to leave. I was speechless, comprehending but bewildered by the situation I was forced into.

"And besides," Craig said as he passed through the door. "These memories will make you stronger if you can get through them. Stronger than you thought possible. Nothing will be able to hurt you after this."

"And if I can't get through?" I asked.

Craig shrugged. "Then you'll be left behind, same as everyone who can't move on from the past. Same as you were going to do to me. But don't worry, because I think you're going to be fine. Eventually."

I had no intention of helping Dr. Sinclair after what he'd done to me though. If I could push myself to examine each painful memory until I found clues to the one trying to kill him, then I figure I might just help him finish the job. Dr. Sinclair had turned me into a living nightmare, so it only seemed right to show him some terror of his own.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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