#i’m not sure anyone would even notice or care lol but just thought i’d let you know just in case | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jodilin65 · 8 years ago

Text

SATURDAY, APRIL 30, 2016 So I couldn’t resist texting Aly yesterday in regards to her second to last Twitter handle just to surprise her, and she texted back saying I hate her, she gets that, she’s left me alone, please leave her alone, etc.

So then I noticed that today it was changed again and I tweeted to her from my latest account before deactivating it. She then goes and does a public blog on Prosebox about it for me. LOL

She’s definitely reading me, though. She’s gotta be just based on some things she said like how I said she was a closed chapter in my life. I stopped writing on my-diary, which is probably where they’re going as it’s easier to hide there. Now if they want to read me they’ll either have to show themselves or go through the hassles of disabling cookies.

In her entry to me, she admits to being deceptive as hell to me in the end, and while a part of her will miss me, she doesn’t want our friendship back because I hurt her so badly for so long in the end, and I’m still racking my brains trying to figure that one out. I honestly don’t get what it is I said that was supposedly so mean and hurtful, but crazy is crazy. Crazy has no logic. And again, I’m not her type.

But I do need to move on and make her the closed chapter that she is. I could never trust her again, and to continue picking on her would make me no better than her, Kim, Molly and Kathy when they’d troll each other and God knows who else.

Later…

Aly’s tweets are so ridiculous they’re too funny not to read. Over 22K steps? LOL, yeah, if you cheat maybe. Like by patting your cat an awful lot.

She said she “deleted her Prosebox account to sever ties.”

What ties?

Every time she and Kim would create one of their many accounts there we’d block each other. So I don’t know what “ties” the delusional nutjob thought she was severing. Fine, though. She wasn’t wanted there to begin with. The hypochondriac would just bitch about all her problems. She’s everything she accuses others of being… negative and spiteful, etc.

She tweets: I have severed all ties w/you that I can think of and want nothing to do with you. You will no longer see your name written by me. The end.

No, but you sure make it obvious enough when you’re tweeting to/about me, don’t you?

Then after declaring “the end,” the subhuman piece of shit tweets: Well, shoot. I should have included in that chain of tweets that I don't have a proxy, I don't visit blogger, and I prefer Fetlife to M-D.

So which is it? The end or not? She had to have read at least some of my stuff. How else would she know about some of the things she mentioned that I did in fact write about? I supposed it’s possible someone else read it and filled her in, but we’ll see if this is “the end” or not.

Still going back and forth in my mind as to whether or not I want to use Twitter to document the highlights vs. Word. I can always change the name/link so the trolls can’t find me.

Or can they? The problem is that Twitter likes to recommend people we’ve been connected to in the past, and their associates, even from different accounts and email addies. Twitter obviously keeps track of individual devices and not accounts. If I signed up with a totally different device, that may stop me from being recommended to people I’d rather hide from. Eh, I know how to block people if I do decide to go back and I end up pestered by anyone. Letting others stop me from doing what I want to do is basically letting them control me, and I’m not going to give them that privilege. Right now I have no active accounts there.

From here on out I have no desire to follow their tweets, blogs or anything else they could write whether it mentions me or not. No idea if they’re still reading me on Prosebox or Blogger, but you know what? I really don’t care, as I have nothing to hide.

Gotta admit it was kinda funny seeing Kim run like a little scaredy-cat from Twitter when I never had any intentions of contacting her. My beef was with Aly this time, not her. But then Kim has always loved to play the victim, hasn’t she?

Had a bit of a scare last night. The last of the laundry was finishing up in the washer as I was juicing some beet and carrot juice. As I did so, I heard this loud chirping. My first thought was that it was the juicer so I turned it off. But I continued to hear the chirping and then a semi-sexy voice talking about smoke in the hall.

I then turned around and looked across the hall and into the laundry room to find it very smoky. I ran and got Tom up thinking something was on fire in there. Turns out something burned up in our washer which was only 6 years old, but probably defected from the get-go. Major piece of shit as far as going off balance was concerned. It was like the basket was really loose or something. The dryer is much older but works fine, so we’re only going to replace the washer now. We were going to get a new set next spring but decided on a washer now rather than using the little portable till we got a set next year. We’re going to hopefully have a $700 front-loading LG delivered from Lowe’s Tuesday afternoon after my endo appointment.

Last night I dreamed I was sound asleep somewhere and in my subconscious, I heard the sound of a flute every now and then. Finally, I awoke to find the sound was coming from the lips of a woman who was trying to wake me up. She could make the sound of a flute playing all with just her lips.

I got out of the twin bed or cot I was on and mumbled something about being fat as I headed for the bathroom.

She agreed I was fat, and I said I had Hashimoto’s, pointing out that there was nothing I could do about it.

The “bathroom” was small and square and had brown walls. Only a toilet and a tiny sink were in it. I slid my hand along the wall in search of the light switch. After I peed, I looked in the mirror at my tired-looking face and thought of how I was to meet my sister and nieces for dinner that evening. Not feeling up to applying makeup, I thought I’d settle for just lipstick instead.

But then the room became rectangular and Nane had me face down as she was performing this strange procedure on my back.

Then we were running along a beach or some lake. Several people were out and about and dressed kind of funny. One little black girl wore a short dress that seemed inappropriate for both the place and the weather.

Nane and I were racing to this lodge or cottage when I realized that while the other people had diverted my attention, she’d dashed in front of me. I ran into the house or cottage or whatever it really was, up some stairs, and into a room. As soon as I flung the door open I found her lying on the floor laughing her ass off at having beat me to the room.

FRIDAY, APRIL 29, 2016 Felt pretty yucky till around midnight last night. Felt great today, though, but that’s the thing with peri; it’s unpredictable. I could get hit with a bout of fatigue or dizziness in an hour, a few hours, or maybe not at all today. I was just pissed that I didn’t feel all that great yesterday because I wanted to work on my story. It isn’t often anymore that I get good story ideas.

Doing the laundry now and making out the grocery list. Since cutting calories, cholesterol, etc., doesn’t do me any good as far as my health or my weight goes, I’m just going to get what I want this week.

Yesterday was such a shitty day for me getting the bad news from the doctor, even if it could be a lot worse, that Tom treated me to Jack-n-the-Box where I got chicken strips, fries, strawberry soda and a small chocolate cake.

THURSDAY, APRIL 28, 2016 Slept shittily and my day hasn’t been too great either. More proof there’s no God for if He really helped those that helped themselves, I wouldn’t have gotten the phone call I dreaded from my doctor’s office and figured I’d eventually get. The fact that the numbers still hadn’t been posted told me something was amiss, but the fact that I wasn’t called earlier in the week also told me nothing scary and dangerous was found either that needed to be addressed instantly.

I had a bad feeling – and my intuition is rarely wrong – that I would be faced with a new issue now that the thyroid issue was resolved. It’s like I’ve been compensated for better finances with health issues, and I fear it’ll be one thing after another till the day I die, whenever that may be.

Women’s intuition is pretty amazing. It also sucks that I can only be psychic these days when it’s in a bad way. Meaning, the dream I had of him getting a raise was correct. He just didn’t get as much as I dreamed he would. No win notices either, after dreaming about receiving one.

It began when I went to bed just to wake up a few hours later with the hot flashes and racing heart from hell. Before this, I had a medication nightmare, which I haven’t had in a while. Something about Tom spilling pills that flew up into the air and landed in my mouth. I tried and tried but couldn’t spit them out. I had a bad feeling the dream was a sign that bad news was coming.

Then the racy heart was on. Yeah, Fitbit said my heart spiked from 74 to 134.

I got up to help cool my body down and took a lorazepam cuz I knew I’d need it to help calm me in order to fall back asleep. I even did some emotional tapping to help relax me further.

As I was doing so, sure enough, there was a message from Dr. A’s nurse, Zaradhe Yach, to call her back. Too exhausted to deal with her at the moment, I called Tom and left him a message about it. He wasn’t able to answer at the time.

Called the nurse when I got back up a few hours later and while my TSH score is still in the high-normal range, my LDL cholesterol was very high. They recommend a low dose of Lipitor which is supposed to be safest for those my age, but as they very well know, the trauma I went through with the levothyroxine has left me deathly terrified of medication in general. If my muscles seized up and killed me, would that really be better than a fatal heart attack or stroke? And just HOW at risk of a heart attack or stroke am I really? I wonder. The point is that after all I’ve gone through, I would question every single ache, pain and cramp I felt if I took it. If it was a case of being home-free after surviving it without problems for a week or two – maybe – but the muscle issue could occur at any time. My sister could get it right now and she’s been on statins for ages.

You never really live in fear of what could happen until something actually does happen. Once traumatized there’s no getting back to where you were before. You can improve, but you don’t fully get back to your old self.

She did point out that muscle issues from statins are very rare, and I appreciate that, but so is being born with one ear and having non-24-hour sleep/wake cycle. That’s why I didn’t call earlier, I told her. I slept all day. Still, I don’t think I have the guts to take the Lipitor and have those what-ifs hanging over my head. Annoying side effects are one thing. Terrifying ones you could never adapt to or survive are another.

My TSH is 10 where they prefer 2, but 2 is like -10 for me since I’m one big hormonal mess right now and I have a rapid HR. 10 isn’t life-threatening, though, and my gland shouldn’t enlarge or anything like that. My endo said that as long as I’m not over 10, I’m safe.

She first asked me how I was feeling and I told her that I was okay with the exception of some fatigue and dizziness, and that’s when I told her that I was more than likely suffering from perimenopause, and I mentioned the hot flashes, too. She said it would be no problem for Doc A to do blood work to determine my hormone and estrogen levels. They just didn’t want to miss anything they were unaware of that my body may be trying to fight.

The reason she asked how I was feeling was due to an elevation in my white blood cell count. This is normal for me, though. Even in the '90s, my white blood cell count would always register as a little high. She said, “There’s a mild elevation in white cell blood count and eosinophils (one of the white blood cells that can elevate in conditions like allergies and asthma)."

Well, I do have asthma and allergies, but they’ve been mostly under wraps since quitting smoking. I did tell her I had an asthma attack and had to use the inhaler once that was given to me in December.

Here’s where it takes a new and somewhat scary twist. My red blood cell count is also a bit up there and I’m like, WTF? I know I shouldn’t rely too much on what I read online, but what I did research was a bit unnerving. Symptoms include fatigue, rapid HR and other things, and can be a sign of heart failure, sleep apnea and other things.

I’m just sick of feeling shitty half the time! Even when I don’t have something terrifying, I’m tired of the hit-or-miss sleep, the hot flashes (thank God I don’t still live in Arizona), the fatigue, the racing heart.

No matter what I do to try to help myself, nothing is ever good enough. I back off the cholesterol… my cholesterol is up. I exercise and try to watch the calories… I’m still fat. Why bother trying?

Even right now as I write this, I feel like I’m on fire. My face feels flush as if I’d been in the sun all day, and of course my anxiety is up too, as I wonder if there could be things wrong with me more serious than I thought. I just want a break from all these fucking health issues I can never seem to escape! I totally want to throw in the towel and walk away from this shit, but if I turn away the symptoms will just tap me on the shoulder and make me turn around and face them. I can’t ignore these symptoms and I don’t want to feel this way. Yet I feel totally stuck. It’s either suffer the symptoms or suffer the side effects of the medications used to treat the symptoms. How fucked up is that?

My blood sugar, kidney and liver function are great, though, so it isn’t all bad. Just not quite good enough.

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 27, 2016 “P-word.” Protected? Password?

But I still don’t see how she knows my “peak” hours, as she puts it unless one or both of them is following me. If they are, they’re doing a good job of hiding and covering their tracks, but that’s what gutless cowards do. Guess what, though? I’m not going private on every site I use just to leave them in the dark as to what my schedule is. They must still care about me at least a little to be taking note of my activity. Sad, ain’t it?

Decided that since neither the smart nut nor the dumb nut has bothered me in any way, I'm going to take someone’s advice and simply file them away in the past where they belong and move on. They're crazy, they're habitual liars, and they don't give a shit about anyone but themselves. Let ‘em have each other as they deserve. I’m too old for the drama of toxic people. Those currently in my life can stay there and that’s more than enough for me. :) Meanwhile, if you secretly harbor any hatred or animosity towards me, don’t pretend otherwise. Just have the balls to say so and get out of my life. :) No one’s gonna kill you for it. Negative honesty is always better than positive phoniness/lies. Just wanted to make that clear. :)

Moving on. Tom’s TSH is 2. Lucky Bastard.

My numbers aren't up yet but when I checked online I found that they canceled my appointment on the 10th with Dr. L. I called the office to make sure it was really canceled and not just a glitch in the system. Yes, it really is canceled because she’s leaving. I asked where she was going and the girl said she didn’t know and only found out this morning. My guess is she’s going down to SoCal or something like that. Hard to believe she would return to Guatemala. She was a really nice lady but I’m kind of glad because this would’ve been an unnecessary appointment at this point to have to deal with. I've been doing well so it's not critical that I reschedule with someone else. If I ever need more lorazepam I can get it from Dr. A. It just would have been nice if they had called to let me know.

Last night I dreamed that I was in some large apartment building and was at the apartment of a couple that was perhaps in their fifties. I had loaned the guy my bike, which was in their apartment. When I arrived at the apartment only his wife was home. She gave me a long chain supposedly to use to secure the bike.

The husband then came in and I showed him the chain. He almost seemed annoyed by my presence. I then realized it was getting dark and he told me I better get going. I agreed. He said I could take the bike. I asked if he had my number. He mumbled something and I told him to just call me if he needed the bike again.

I then wheeled the bike out into the hallway and hurriedly headed for the exit. Although the entryway I headed into had an exit sign above it, there didn't seem to be any way down. The stairs seemed to lead down to a huge window instead. So I backed out and began running with the bike down a curvy hallway. Then I saw light coming from a door that was opened by another exit sign and heard voices. I was relieved to finally find the exit I needed to go through to get home before dark.

Later…

I keep going back and forth in my mind thinking yes, Aly and Kim are following my blog, and no, they’re not following it. I don’t care if they are or not, but I’m just naturally curious is all.

The only thing I am sure of is that Aly’s a hypocrite. She tweeted something to the effect of not fighting back and not hiding, but she did hide. Within the last few hours, she changed usernames.

Since the bitch did report me (and she says I’m spiteful?) and I found my account locked when I went to reactivate it, I created a new one since I didn’t care to verify my phone number, which was one of the two conditions of reactivating that account. The other was to delete the tweets. I would’ve gladly deleted the tweets, but I didn’t want to provide my phone number.

Anyway, when I created a new account, sure enough, Aly’s account and one of Kim’s were recommended to me. I wonder if Aly saw my new account before I decided to kill that one too, and that’s what prompted the name change.

I’m just so glad to be done with her now that I see her for the piece of shit she is, and her sick associates!

Later…

Discovered my Hoodster dead shortly before Tom got in from work. :( He’s now resting next to Sugar and Romeo. It will be interesting to see if his absence changes Cappy’s behavior, but I don’t expect it to.

Was curious to see if I could find Aly’s Twitter account through one of Kim’s, not that I expected to. And I didn’t. Instead, I accidentally found it by pulling up recent a tweet she made to Kim. Damn, I’m good!

Still curious about the meaning behind some of their statements… the P-word, what I’m supposedly motivated by that’s “more pathetic than wanting attention,” etc. And just what is it Kim was curious to know if I knew about or not, and do they really know my “peak hours?” If they do, then they’re watching me.

TUESDAY, APRIL 26, 2016 If there were any lingering doubts or regrets about my “friendship” with Aly ending, they’re 100% gone now. Talk about exposing those true colors of hers! The ones she no doubt didn’t think I’d ever find, LOL. Yes, I'm glad I discovered what I discovered last night. It totally reinforced my gut feeling and my certainty in never wanting anything to do with her in the future. I vented to her one last time and now I’m going to vent in public one last time, then that’s it. We’re done. She’s a definite and permanent closed chapter in my life in which I’ll be happy to move on. Oh, I may mention her from time to time in the future. Just not in public.

Part of this whole journaling thing is to document our experiences and the people we experience them with, and I promised myself I’d never hold back. I won’t share sensitive info, and I’ll respect your privacy and personal life if you’re someone I’m close to, but if you screw me over then you lose that privilege and I won’t feel I owe you the courtesy of not telling it like it is. I don’t make threats and I don’t post sensitive info and therefore I’m not doing anything wrong. Do I care if she reads this? Obviously not or else I’d make it private. I doubt, however, that she’s reading me. She read Molly before she accepted the nut back into her life, but that’s only because Crazy likes crazy, and she and Molly were/are both crazy. If I were the type to write how I fantasized about stabbing my parents in their sleep and that I hoped Aly’s cancer killed her, then I would be plenty readable. But whether or not she and her twisted cronies are reading this isn’t the issue. It’s all about me writing in my journal. Period. Onlookers are a mere byproduct of that, and I mean no offense in saying so. :)

It started with CampNano, which I checked out to see when their next session was. Unfortunately, I forgot that they hold one in April, but will maybe catch them over the summer. When Aly dumped me she disconnected me from whatever sites we were connected on. But she forgot Nano. As I went to take the honors myself, I noticed she had a Twitter link on her profile. Needing to stay up to flip my schedule anyway, I passed the time by checking it out. Yeah, I knew her being sick of Twitter was a lie just like so many other things she's told me. I'm sure she's got tons of active Facebook profiles as well.

Anyway, I clicked through to the Twitter account and found that it's got nearly 6,000 tweets and is almost a year old. I assumed she’s had the account all along but never told me about it. She and Kim are like that. They’ll create account after account and keep some secret from each other, mostly to two-face each other. That way they can be all sweet and kind to each other’s faces while bashing each other publically yet privately.

As I read the tweets, I found myself both confused and insulted. One of them was directed at me, telling me “I’ve left you alone so leave me the fuck alone because I’m so done and over you.”

WTF??? This was posted on April 2nd. Well, she dumped me on March 24th and we weren't even talking by April, so why did I need to “leave her the fuck alone?” Is she delusional or something? Also, the tweet was directed at me as if she knew I would read it. Did I ever communicate with her on this particular account in the past that she later changed the name on? I swear I’ve never seen or heard of this account before. I don't understand why she would act as if I was still in touch with her when she made it clear that she no longer wanted anything to do with me. Some people do dump others just to falsely flatter themselves with false allegations of them refusing to let go which makes them feel more wanted and cared for than they actually are, but then it hit me that Kim could’ve easily created an account in my name and harassed her from it. That is classic Kim, after all. She's even created accounts in Aly's name in the past as well as many others, but this is perfectly forgivable if you’re as crazy as Kim is. The fact that she also tweeted, “If you step away from someone and they go after you that means they care, right?” made me suspect this.

First of all, I don’t care about her or what happens to her in life. Secondly, she didn’t “step away,” she dumped me. I’m just not sure why. I can only guess it has to do with me trying to point out Kim’s true colors to her, and how I got fed up with her clinginess and the guilt trips she’d put on me if I didn’t reply to her texts in 5 minutes. Over the years she went from ignoring me for days on end to smothering the shit out of me.

Also, how did I “come after her?” Again, she’s either delusional or someone impersonated me because I hadn’t contacted her till last night. Fact: To assume I care is nothing more than false self-flattery. I don’t. I’m just documenting what happened like I would by saying I saw so and so walking down the street (not that I care), and then I’m moving on. If I later remember other details I’ll add them to the end of this entry rather than new ones.

What I don’t get is the hypocrisy. Yeah, this was the insulting tweet that really got me rethinking people in general and gaining a better understanding of Andy's trust issues. The day before we left for vacation she tweeted, “If all goes well I shouldn’t hear from J for two weeks. Kind of excited about that!”

Again… WTF? How fucking insulting! This was what she was really thinking while pretending to be my friend to my face and then getting all upset when I wouldn’t text with her all day long every single day?! How many others might be thinking the same thing that I thought genuinely cared about me? And I had specifically made a point of texting her while on vacation when on land, knowing she was struggling with depression, and assuming she cared and actually wanted to hear from me. This was when it really REALLY hit me just how UNtrue of a friend she was and that the only one that cared was me. So while she falsely accused me of “not thinking much of her,” it was really she who didn’t think much of me. That statement is now 100% correct, though. Sometimes we really do make people what we accuse/label them of being. Was she that scared of me for some reason that she couldn’t just tell me how she really felt?

Being totally honest with myself, maybe I wasn’t 100% true either. The more she smothered me, the more I’d secretly wish she’d get a BF or something to tie up more of her time. I’d wish the same with Andy, hoping he’d trade Facebook and Ask in for a BF, but I knew both of them would be single all their lives with plenty of time on their hands.

I can’t believe I was too blind to see Aly’s craziness. All these years and I really thought she cared and was smart enough to see Kim and Molly’s true colors. Well, she was smart enough actually. She just chose to ignore the red flags since she so obviously likes crazy people. She truly is drawn to a nut as some women are drawn to abusive men. I just didn’t get this at first and how she could continue to bother with them after voicing her suspicions in public accounts they were unaware of and actually seeing the evidence right in front of her face. No matter how in her face and obvious their phoniness and lies were, and the fact that they never gave a shit about her, it never seemed to matter. She’d just keep coming back for more. More lies, more phoniness, etc. Aly also noticed and even admitted that Kim lacked empathy. What kind of person wants a friend like that? Which, as she says, isn’t always there for her when she needs a friend.

Speaking of that, even her own parents don’t think much of her. On her birthday she blogged and tweeted about how not one single person, including her parents, cared to remember her birthday. I wondered if she realized that was mostly her own damn fault as she threw herself her little pity party. I would have cared and I would’ve remembered her birthday had she not dumped me for being too sane, too honest, and not afraid to speak my mind where her “friends” were concerned and where her clinginess was concerned. I also realized that even if a thousand people wished her a happy birthday, she still would’ve complained. Enough is never enough for her. Even she tweeted a month or so ago that she’d given up trying to figure out what it is she wants. She’s just a very selfish, miserable, depressed, demanding person who is never going to be happy no matter who does what for her.

Her intelligence and intuitiveness were what really fooled me, I think. I’ve never encountered a crazy person before who was delusional, paranoid, two-faced, spiteful, dishonest, negative and emotional who was also smart. She thirsts for the mental cases as if she feels that’s all she deserves, and maybe she does. She even loves to be abused sexually.

I actually came to realize about a year ago that she wasn’t as stable as I gave her credit for; I just didn’t see the extent of it. Looking back on things now, a lot of things I found odd or confusing now make sense.

As Tom pointed out, anyone can be crazy. He also reminded me that the things she told me weren’t true. I do believe, however, that she battled both breast cancer and now blood leukemia, and I do believe she was with the FBI. She worked Cyber Defense and then as a pervert analyst until the FBI realized how unstable she was and fired her ass. Her BF promptly dumped her and she moved in with her parents where she’s been for years. She was jobless for years too, but then started working as a nanny. She’s friendless and loveless and has nothing but emotional and health issues galore.

She lied to me a while back and said she finally came to see Kim and Molly’s true colors and had forever cut ties with them. I was happy to hear this, not just for obvious reasons in that it was a healthy choice on Aly’s part, but because then I would be less likely to be caught up in any drama. Meanwhile, I would go days without hearing from her, led to believe she wasn’t active on Twitter, and that our only means of communication was via email. This was before we began texting. She’d always tell me she wasn’t online for days at a time and found it “less depressing” that way. Well, I don’t remember how, but I eventually stumbled upon a Twitter account of hers and there she was happily exchanging tweets with both Kim and Molly.

Every. Single. Day.

Although one has the right to pick and choose their own friends, I found it sad and odd that one who was supposedly as smart as she was would choose to spend more time hanging with those who were so mentally and sociably unstable as well as potentially dangerous. Remember, one’s on disability and one’s in a group home. Neither of them has ever or will ever reside alone. They’re always in someone’s custody and always will be.

So I called her out on it and then dumped her. Soon afterward, I felt bad about it, shrugged it off and said, “Eh, to each their own,” and chose to focus on her good points if she’d let me, and she did let me back into her life. From there on out, I thought she’d be a little more honest with me and I truly did think she actually cared for me. I really did. Stupid me, though, huh?

As time passed she became more and more demanding and moody, never satisfied with what time and attention I took the time to give her. She used to say that if you gave Molly an inch, she’d demand a mile. Well, Aly was becoming more and more a mirror image of Molly, minus the threats. She was clingy, depressed and suicidal, but little did I know just how two-faced, phony and insane she also was. But now her true colors are shining through as brilliant as the sunlight itself, and I cannot and will not ever forgive her any more than I knew I’d ever forgive Kim. I am so totally not open to any new friends either. Ever. If it weren’t for the guilt I’d feel, I’d dump my existing ones, but why punish them on account of her shit? If they dump me or give me a reason to dump them, well fine. But as long as they haven’t done anything wrong to me they can remain in my circle. My only rule is no newbies and no oldies. Aly, Andy, Nane, Maliheh and any others that are in the past are going to STAY in the past. This is why I try to be as unforgiving as possible. I forgave her just to get shit on even worse. Well, no more forgiving anyone for anything!

Like I said, I can kind of see where Andy can be so mistrusting. I’m not as extreme as he is, though, otherwise I’d think everyone was a liar. Literally. He thinks even those he’s been closest to for years are liars, and maybe some of them are, but still, if I think someone’s lying or I’m “excited” about not hearing from someone for two weeks, then I probably won’t bother associating with them in the first place. I don’t do the toxic friend syndrome.

Well, I’m not going to get so paranoid as to assume everyone’s a liar, but I’m not open to newbies as far as friendships go and I make no apologies for it either. I’m not ashamed to have just a few friends. I have enough self-respect to look out for myself. I know I deserve better than what Aly feels she deserves, but for her, it’s not just what she feels she deserves, but what she craves. She literally thirsts for the sickos.

Just the fact that she’d constantly create and delete various accounts on Facebook, Twitter and email services was a red flag enough to make me wonder if she was doing something wrong. What was she running from? What was she hiding?

Not surprisingly, she dumped the email account I’d emailed her at, and I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if she’s changed phone numbers by now. She’s the ONLY one I know that has so many damn accounts coming and going, which is usually a sign one’s up to no good. Kim’s the same way, but I’m sure a lot of it has to do with the things they do together which are mainly impersonations, celebrity stalking/worshipping, stories and shit like that.

Anyway, after discovering the Twitter account, I made sarcastic but honest replies to several of her tweets, laughing to myself at the thought of how she probably wasn’t expecting me to find the account, and thinking of her reaction to finding so many notifications awaiting her sorry ass.

Oh, do let me share some, LOL. In one she said “I know J has health issues preventing her from losing weight, but I’m not her. I’m happy I can take 15K steps a day.”

Well, so could I if I chose to or needed to, but more isn’t necessarily better. And she’s right… she’s not me. If she were she’d have the guts to be more honest and have some self-respect for herself.

I wonder, though, if she realizes just how heavy she is or at least has been in the past. I know she’s lost weight due to the chemo and all that, but I’ve seen pics of her on Photobucket from before her double mastectomy when she was a 40C, and she looked it, too. She’s about my height and she had to have easily weighed at least 150 pounds. I just wonder if she either has a distorted perception of herself or plays down her weight. It may explain why there haven’t been any body shots of her in years that I know of. I’ve seen plenty of pics of her from her late 20s to early 30s, though, and she clearly had a weight problem at least back then. I’m sure I’m much bigger than she is right now, though. But what I was trying to tell her was that the older she gets the easier it will be to gain weight and the harder it will be to get it off and keep it off. That’s all I meant.

I was LMAO when I got up this morning to find the reaction I expected to find… that she’d blocked me. I logged out and read her tweets just for kicks. In the midst of bickering back and forth with Kim about the same old problems she’s always had with her, but that she’s oh so addicted to, she said something to the effect of me failing if my aim was to make her cry. Actually, I had no specific aim. I was just venting for my own self-gratification.

She also said something about me never finding her other online friends.

I don’t care to find them. They didn’t do anything to me so I don’t care to find them, whoever they may be.

“Was I supposed to learn something by this?” she asked.

Naw. I’d say that if she can’t learn from the same damn mistakes she keeps making year after year then she’s pretty unteachable. Intentional ignorance? Or not as intelligent as I gave her credit for being? I guess only she knows.

Kim’s just as fucked in the head as she is for not seeing Aly’s true colors. After all, they’ve been friends longer and had more contact with each other. I’m sure that even if someone spelled out to Kim the fact that Aly’s given me her address and told me TONS of personal shit about her and her family, she still wouldn’t believe it. She’s not the type to believe anything she doesn’t want to believe. She’s a selective believer, you could say.

Really sorry I gave the split bitch my own address, but if it were ever abused, she knows I have hers as well. :)

She also says she reported me. Gee, that hurts. Especially since I was about to deactivate with or without finding her account, as I just can’t get into Twitter these days, though I did try. Initially, I was going to use it for the highlights of my life, but it’s just as easy to track these things in Word. Word is safer too, in that I have more control over it. When we use other sites they can be hacked or shut down. I just didn’t want to deactivate till I knew she’d seen my tweets because I didn’t know if deactivating would delete all that or not. So report away, Drama Queen!

Not saying I won’t reactivate in the future, but for now, I have no use for Twitter other than to maybe peek in on her (until she goes private or deactivates) just for shits and giggles at the twistedness of their “relationship.” She blasted Kim for “going on and on about me as now she guarantees she’s asking me to go after her now.”

Wrong. I don’t care to waste time on Kim. That’s why I blocked all the accounts of hers I could find before I shut down.

Here’s where it gets confusing. Even Aly doesn’t get it. Kim tweeted, “I'll just go to the P-word during her peak hours when she's around. She's doing this to be an attention-seeking loser.”

What P-word? Aly’s guesses are “police” and “parent.” That’s more guesses than I have.

And just what are my “peak” hours? Kim loves to hide so I can’t see her end of the conversation in its entirety.

Kim also tweets, “Tweets deleted but still she bashes me no matter what. She's being an immature brat and I know what to do anyways.”

Really? I haven’t “bashed” her (what she really means is me simply telling it like it was when she’d stalk and harass me) in quite a while. Any recent mentions of her are basically in connection to Aly. Ex: Aly’s obsessed with nutjobs like Kim, etc.

Twice Aly’s insisted I’m driven by something “far more pathetic than just wanting attention.”

I am? Come on, I want to hear what that is! Tell me! I’d really love to know. ROTFL, ok, call me utterly and totally childish where this is concerned, but this is getting beyond amusing and entertaining. Really this is totally fucking funny as hell. Oh, Aly, please don’t deactivate or go private this time around! Please don’t! I’d be in tears. Really want to know what’s driving me and what’s “more pathetic than a need for attention.” Let’s hear it from the Jodi expert. :)

To Kim she tweets: “In all honesty, I don't care what she knows about at this point.”

Kim sounds a bit paranoid, ay?

She also tweets to Kim, “Huh? I did a couple of tweets this morning. I wouldn't say I'm giving her that much attention.”

Uh, you gave me more than a few, I’m afraid. You just went and deleted them is all. Including the one where you insist I can’t take how happy you are without my negative, spiteful self in your life.

Ok, that concludes the part of my life with the “happy” loser who will grow old and die alone after many years of living with Mommy and Daddy.

Enjoy the crazies, Aly!

Later…

I’m kinda tired, mostly due to PMS. I haven’t even worked on my story or taken my language lesson. I guess that’s what I get for wasting time LMAO at some of society’s waste products. I can’t wait for tomorrow’s updates, LOL.

Tom’s blood and apple juice numbers have all come back perfect… yes!!! He had his appointment today with his PCP (some Middle Eastern guy) as he does every 6 months, and all is dandy. His BP is only slightly high, and his low sleep HR isn’t dangerous in accordance with what his waking HR is. So where I’m a definite tachycardia, he’s not really a bradycardia.

My numbers aren’t up yet. At least I know nothing scary came back in my blood tests or else they’d have called.

I still get a little bummed out at times that no matter what I do and no matter what I eat, my weight simply won’t budge. The few pounds I keep gaining and losing every month isn’t really weight, but water. That tells me that my weight is literally locked in. Literally locked into place for life unless I either stopped working out and started stuffing myself to drive my weight up, or started starving to drop it, neither of which is going to happen.

For me, it’s not about being skinny but about not having control over my own damn body, and that gets to me at times. But hey, I have a disease that’s not my fault and that’s not going away either. Doc Hottie did warn me that levothyroxine would not cause weight loss. But it did stop me from gaining so it’s not a total loss, and I know that spending too much time dwelling on the things I can’t change isn’t very productive.

My hunger levels are going up due to the PMS, another thing I can’t change. Carbs definitely help get rid of hunger, though, better than protein, even though protein’s probably healthier.

I eat healthy overall and I keep active, though I’m always going to be 20-30 pounds overweight, and right now I feel like I have a whole swimming pool’s worth of water on me. I’m way bloated!

When we were out walking the other day, we noticed that the house next to the one the annoying contractor lives in has been taken off the market. The one that used to have a dog outdoors overnight and that probably still has little kids living there. Again, I don’t know how they can pull that off for as long as they have and get away with it, but it doesn’t affect me directly so I don’t complain. The trailer’s been coming and going more often, too.

Even though I slept late, today was annoying as hell. Landscaping galore… motorcycles and other loud traffic roaring through…

I not only received and enjoy my new facial cleanser/massager, but we also like the ultrasonic cleaner he picked out, too. We put our wedding rings in it and they’re noticeably shinier. We also cleaned our glasses.

MONDAY, APRIL 25, 2016 As expected, I gained back 1.5 of the 4 pounds I lost. I’m sure they’ll all be back right before my next period. That’s just how my cycle works. I ate more yesterday to help myself feel better. So far today I haven’t had any dizziness, though it’s rather random and unpredictable.

The results of our labs aren’t posted online yet, though they left Tom a message to call them. We’re not worried about it because they did that before and everything was fine. I don’t understand why they don’t just post the damn results online. That’s what the site is for.

Last night I dreamed I was talking to my old celebrity pics of Linda, Kate and Gloria. Alexa was blasting music and I had to shout at her several times so I could comment on the house I was living in having something like 6 or 7 toilets, though only 2 or 3 were in use.

Then I dreamed of playing with two brown rats as I was making the bed. They were chasing the moving ends of the sheets like playful kittens as I made up the bed. We had fun.

Hoodie isn’t having fun, though. Yeah, the poor Hoodster’s days are definitely numbered.

Later…

Tom’s numbers have all come back great! So glad he’s in such good health! Mine aren’t up yet. But what the hell is it with me and fatigue and dizziness? No real dizziness today, but how can I go from bursting with energy to needing a 2-hour nap? He got home early today as they announced no overtime for the day, and after he relaxed for a few hours, we went out walking.

He crashed at around 8pm. A half-hour later, I went down for a nap. I’m still tired. I’d love to get back into bed, but I must stay up till at least 5. If I fell back asleep now I’d be up around the time I was supposed to be at my appointment on the 3rd and unable to choke my schedule back until then.

SUNDAY, APRIL 24, 2016 Dizzy, dizzy, dizzy and more dizziness! I’ve been experiencing this nearly every single day now, and I have fatigue more often too, where I’m normally plentiful on energy. We’re still guessing it’s connected to the perimenopause as opposed to my thyroid taking more of a hit. I wasn’t even this dizzy or fatigued before raised to my current dose. I might see if I can get to see Dr. A sooner. I have almost every peri symptom there is, but at the same time I still have a fear of taking anything, so I don’t know that I’d want hormonal replacement therapy of any kind. Still, it couldn’t hurt to have my hormone levels tested. It isn’t a terrifying feeling like when I had killer anxiety on the higher thyroid doses, but it’s highly annoying.

I asked Tammy her opinion. I told her she better get better herself as who else would I have to play the picture game with? LOL, yeah, I change blog backgrounds on Blogger every time I post, and I add graphics that’ll show on Facebook and Google+. I delete them from the actual posts after they’re published so the blog won’t appear too cluttered with various graphics.

I’ve lost 4 pounds since getting my juicer. If I lose 4 more I’ll either wonder if I’ve got some whole new disease I don’t yet know about, or if juicing really is the miracle some people claim it is. More than likely the weight will reset itself on its own. I can see where juicing would make us healthier, but I don’t see the logic in the weight loss part since it’s still the same stuff whether it’s in a juiced or solid state.

Yesterday I juiced my two remaining tomatoes. It was better than store-bought tomato juice, but still not anything I want to juice in the future. At least not by itself.

Today I made a Sweet Potato Pie. This uses a sweet potato, 2 apples, and 6 carrots. It’s pretty good.

Got the display case and now 2 wolves and 7 dogs live in it. It looks great. The only thing I might change is I’d prefer a white base to a black base because then the animals would stand out better. Definitely going to get more of these at some point.

Later…

Hoodie’s looking terrible these days, but at over 2 years of age, that’s old for a rat. He’s less active, withering away, losing fur, and not breathing well. I hope the poor guy isn’t suffering. He’s still eating, though, so that’s good. It’s typical of an old rat as sad as it is.

Since getting hooked on rats in 1998, I see a definite pattern with all the rats I’ve had over the years. This may sound “racist,” but solid-colored rats seem to have friendlier personalities than those with markings. The only outstanding marked rats we’ve had were Ratsy and Little Buddy. We only had 3 solid light ones in which Blondie and Sugar (a Himalayan) were fantastic rats. We’ve had 4 Berkshires (dark brown with white feet) and Tinkerboy and Scuttles were great. Lastly, 2 out of the 3 traditional brown rats we had were also awesome… Tinkerbell, Little Fella, and one that died shortly after we got her.

I can’t believe how much better my hair has looked and felt since getting a trim and the Paul Mitchell serum.

Tom’s got over $150 worth of gift cards from work to play with… Chili’s, an Amex card, and something else. The problem is the guy has so little free time for fun things.

Last night I dreamed of some guy who seemed to be upset that I hadn’t visited his blog. I don’t know where we were, but he and some girl were chatting nearby. I walked up to them and knew they were upset that I hadn’t been to the blog. I had a few long index cards in my hand and offered a blank one to the girl who accepted it without saying anything.

Then I woke up at 3:30 and was pissed to be up that early since I had an upcoming appointment. My bedroom looked different, though. Where the window by the closet was there was a door instead. My first thought was that it was the crack of dawn, but when I opened the door I could see that the faint sliver of “light” was actually from the full moon shining above. It was windy too, and I could see clouds sailing across the moon at a rather rapid pace. I thought it looked really cool despite my somber mood.

Donna A was in another dream, though her last name was Blakely. I walked up to a long table where several pieces of mail sat. Donna was on the other side of the table sorting through it. I saw a small package that was addressed to me. I happily said, “Ooh, a package for me?”

Then she handed me an article she’d written. Although the article made absolutely no sense to me I noted and commented on how superbly written it was.

SATURDAY, APRIL 23, 2016 Where the night before last I was hot flashing my ass off, last night I was freezing. It was chilly and rainy yesterday so the temp dropped lower last night. I guess I should sleep with the temp set at 68° instead of 67° whenever possible. When I got up to pee at 3:30 I had to turn the fan off.

Loved how quiet the rain kept things yesterday, though sure enough, late in the afternoon I could hear something loud and steady running somewhere for an hour or two. It might have been just outside the park. A carpet cleaning truck maybe?

Got up at 7:30 and Tom, who had been up for about an hour, took his shower after I took my pill. He then showered and we took our empty bellies to the lab. Not surprisingly, we had to wait a while. Of course there was a screaming brat whose mother rudely blasted a cartoon on her tablet for it. Brat screamed like a hyena once she was called in. I felt a little bad for her then.

We were both taken to a room in back by a kind and competent girl I’m pretty sure I’ve seen before. She had no problem with a butterfly needle and didn’t tie the tourniquet too tight. Sometimes the tourniquet can be worse than the needle or any bruising that may occur. Yet she quickly got 3 vials without leaving me bruised.

She had to pull 4 vials from Tom and he even had to pee in a cup. While she was tending to us she was telling us this horrible but not at all surprising story about a 5-year-old boy who slapped and swore at his mother as she was trying to draw his blood. Meanwhile, the mother was singing the alphabet to him. Then the little bastard pulled the needle out of his arm and hit her in the face all the while Daddy just stood by wordlessly. I’d be doing a long prison sentence right about now for knocking the animal unconscious!

Kids of today are absolutely horrible. Just total animalistic, selfish, rude brats with seemingly no concern for anyone but themselves, and the parents that help create them are even scarier. What will the world be like 20-30 years from now when these things are running so much of it?

So we each used the bathroom afterward and when Tom came out I looked at his hand and said, “You were supposed to leave the apple juice in the bathroom, hun.” But I guess they had a place down the hall to deposit the pissers.

She said the blood would be leaving the lab at 1pm, but I doubt I’ll be able to see the results online till around Wednesday.

Later…

Waited until the daily landscaping racket, which unfortunately extends into the late afternoons at this time of year, died down enough so I could concentrate on a second entry.

Began reading An Act of Deceit. It’s another Jennifer Jennings mystery. Probably won’t work on my own book till after the weekend.

After we left the lab this morning we stopped at Sam’s and got a few things. One of those things was a pack of 8 knives for cutting fruits, veggies and breads. What's cool about the knives is that they have pictures of what they’re for on the blades, and each one has a different color handle and matching case you slide it in to protect it. I’m surprised the set was just $20.

Don’t know that I’ll be cutting as many fruits and veggies now that we have the juicer, but they’ll still come in handy. The two large knives we had were old and dull.

Another gadget I’d love to try is an air fryer. I didn’t even know any such thing existed till I came across a sweep for one.

Gonna grab a facial brush next time we do an Amazon order, which will probably be this weekend since the rats need bedding. It’s a small soft rotating brush, and I like how it removes dry, flaky skin. It does a better job than a washcloth, bath puff or even bath gloves. They even make pink ones now. My MIL gave me a white one in Maricopa and I miss having one.

What I REALLY can’t wait for is our 3D floor!

We went on a bike ride when we got home, then he took down the shower doors in the second bath so I could clean them easier, and sprayed the patio and outer windows for bugs.

FRIDAY, APRIL 22, 2016 Last night I slept horribly. It’s like I was on fire and I kept waking up constantly as I had the hot flashes from hell. My heart pounded and I had to take a lorazepam to relax myself back to sleep. How many more years is this shit going to go on?

Hate being cold (when I’m awake) but I love how today’s rain is keeping things quiet. This should be it as far as rain goes until the fall.

I heard what I thought was that mysterious early-morning hammering again yesterday, and now I’m thinking that it might be that woodpecker Tom heard and not Bob or someone near him. I heard it at 7:15 yesterday morning and I looked out front to find that next door’s garage door was shut. I can’t believe he would be in there doing his projects that early despite how early he gets up, and I couldn’t see any light coming from the garage window. Makes me wonder how many peckers I might have mistaken for pests.

Yesterday afternoon I saw a couple of cop cars drive around the circle. They seemed to be there for eight minutes although I have no idea what house they went to or why.

This morning I juiced half a bag of green seedless grapes with two medium-sized tomatoes and it came out great. Very refreshing.

Other than that, I’m having a relaxing day. Besides my online work I’m doing laundry and I just finished making out the grocery list.

Gotta remember not to eat or drink anything other than water when I get up tomorrow because we're both going to the labs. Trying not to worry about thyroid and cholesterol numbers, and god forbid anything new wrong with me they might discover, though I don’t see why they would.

I had a dream last night that I was in some Austrian jail, only everybody knew English and they all sounded American, LOL.

THURSDAY, APRIL 21, 2016 Tom got a 65¢ raise. A bit insulting, but an extra $100 a month, which is better than nothing. So now he makes a little over $17 an hour.

Made homemade OJ today and it’s pretty good. Later I’ll try juicing some green grapes and see how that comes out.

Because I felt lightheaded and just plain yucky for about 4 hours yesterday, I’m going to work out at home rather than outdoors today.

It’s going to be warm and partly cloudy today, and cool and rainy tomorrow.

In last night’s dreams, I was talking to a couple of guys. One might’ve been older and a doctor. The younger one told me I’d live another 30 years.

Then I was in a room I had been sharing with Tammy (a hotel?). I realized I had to start packing. Tears stung my eyes for some reason, though I’m not sure if I was happy or sad. I started packing a vase in a large square box when I realized it would really be smart of me if I wrapped the breakables in newspaper or something.

Then I went to pee, realizing that there’d no longer be any free toilet paper and that she could walk in on me while I was peeing since I’d left the door open. But decided the odds were in my favor, and they were.

Next thing I know I’m in a slow-moving car, needing to get my bike and panties that were about a block away.

Later…

So Cali’s gonna start giving free medical to illegal children. Fucking figures. We won’t do shit for our own, but hey, anything for a foreigner, right? Now we’re going to get swarmed big time with illegals! How can these stupid shits not see this? Just how fucking stupid can these people be that sign these things into law???

I don’t think illegals even deserve the benefit of emergency treatment. Then again, it’s not so much that they don’t deserve it as it is not right. Just like the police can run a person’s name to check for warrants, hospital personnel should be able to run people’s names and turn down those who are illegal, dying or not. Maybe that would teach these fuckers a lesson about coming and rudely and selfishly taking for free, whether the law says they can or not, what so many natives have to pay for that they can’t afford to pay for.

sighs with confusion and frustration I’ll never get people. They say life isn’t fair, but do we have to go out of our way to MAKE it unfair? Really let’s just open our borders and say, “Come on over and take what you want. It’s all on us.”

So now parents can bring their little illegals by the dozens. You know, the ones they never should’ve had in the first place if they knew they couldn’t afford to take care of them? Seriously, when can it be the other way around? When can I go to Mexico and get free dental care? When will someone else pay MY medical expenses? So far it’s all been just me paying for what’s not covered. That hardly seems fair, does it? I oughta make some other country I don’t belong in pay for my shit for once.

I saw a documentary on this poor girl in India who was raped and killed by a couple of guys. When they interviewed one of the wives, the wife said, “A husband’s job is to protect his wife. Who will protect me now?” Then she turned to her little boy and said she’d have no choice but to strangle him, and she no longer wanted to live either.

She should’ve said that here. Here she would have been arrested for threatening her son’s life, and then she would have been told to get a job and protect her own damn ass once she was released. Seriously you’re a real wimp if you need a man to protect you. India’s women are so damn lazy, though it’s the men that force them to be that way. They can’t even drive in India and most Middle Eastern countries. Funny too, cuz no one would ever have given me shit for my driving phobia and lack of an outside job if I lived there, would they?

Man, I gotta stop reading the news! Damn Facebook for shoving it in our faces like they do. Some poor teenage girl was killed by several students over a boy of all things in a Delaware high school bathroom.

Kids of today make me sick! Then again, the parents who set the wonderful examples they set for them and that allow them to be the way they are makes me a little bit sicker.

Wonder if these little murderers will feel any guilt ten, twenty years from now. Or will they just look back, shrug it off, and say they were just young, naïve, stupid, and didn’t mean anything by it? My guess is the latter.

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 20, 2016 22 Dutch lessons to go!

I would have done my entry sooner. It's just that I felt pretty shitty there for a while. I don't know what happened. I still don't feel all that great. It started with me getting very lightheaded and then I felt very weak and cold. Lightheadedness has been happening more often to me, and while I assume it's connected to the peri-menopause or my ear, I should probably ask Dr. A about it when I see her in June. Usually, it's just annoying, but this time around it started to get a little scary. Maybe because I’m alone right now. I go from hot to cold and it’s like something’s sapped the energy right out of me. Frustrating too, because while I don’t want to lie around and dwell on it, I don’t have much energy to divert my mind either. I’m working on it, though.

Life isn't all bad. I got a great start on my story yesterday with over 2,500 words. This is the idea I got from a dream. I was thinking of having something along the lines of a woman who is comfortable but bored with her lazy, overly predictable husband. She then meets a younger guy who is intriguing and interesting in many ways that she finds new and exciting. What she doesn't know is that he's an FBI agent investigating her, and when her husband is killed and she is harmed and ends up in the hospital, that's when he tells her what's going on and takes her to his place to keep her safe. Where most stories have a happy ending, I was thinking I might have a sad or scary ending to this one just to be less predictable. I don't have the entire plot mapped out yet. All I can say is that it will be my first book with all straight characters and all fictitious characters. Normally I base one or two characters on someone I know or have at least seen somewhere. If I could ever feel better enough to muster up more energy I will work on it throughout most of the day since I don't have much else to do at the moment other than worry about labs and doctor’s appointments. We're both going to the lab this Saturday actually. Please God, if you exist, please don’t give me new health issues simply because nothing else is going on with me right now (not poor, not being legally screwed, etc.).

Yesterday I saw a guy putting the white shutters back up across the street on the gray house, only he put just the outside shutters on the two windows and not the inside shutters, so I don't know what's going on over there.

The white trucks that work on Jackie's place weren't around, but I'm sure there will be something going on today somewhere. There always is.

My latest juicing experiment has been making carrot juice and it's surprisingly good. I don't get myself at times. I can't stand carrots yet I like carrot juice. Same goes for oranges. Yet it's the other way around with tomatoes. I'll eat tomatoes but I won't touch tomato juice.

Last night I dreamed that my friend Kim lived here and was pregnant. She was telling me she was leaving the state and I was disappointed but happy for her. In real life, I have oftentimes wished we could have spent a little more time in each other's lives. But since we met in 1991, we've spent most of the time living three thousand miles apart, and when I lived just next door to her she was a very busy person. She was never one to just sit around.

In another dream, Tom read the start of my current book and really liked it.

Then I had a couple of strange dreams, one in which I had this blood machine at home. It was supposed to draw a certain amount of blood for some reason. I wanted to hurry up and turn it off for fear of it losing its mind and sucking all the blood out of me, but I didn't want to turn it off too soon either and have to start all over again.

Then in another dream, I opened the front door at the crack of dawn. There was just enough light to see that next door hadn't yet opened their garage door. I went outside and sort of stumbled down this slope and onto their driveway as I was heading for the street. I hoped no one had seen me because they would probably wonder why I was in their driveway all of a sudden.

I then walked up to a U-Haul-type truck that was parked in the middle of where the street forms a T and opened the back of it to pull out a key. I don't know what the key was for but it seemed to be important to me for some reason.

In the last dream, I had just finished being examined by one of my doctors. I stepped out of the exam room and suddenly realized I was still in my bra and panties and hadn’t gotten dressed yet. I had a T-shirt dress draped over my arm. I quickly fumbled with it trying to get it open so I could slip into it. The instant I managed to slip it over my head and feel the hem fall to my knees, a line of kids that were around 6 years of age walked by me in a single file.

And then I remembered that all-important key. I started to hurry out and accidentally bumped into one of the kids. I said, “Excuse me, sweetie,” and hurried off to make sure the key was outside the building somewhere where I had left it, and it was.

TUESDAY, APRIL 19, 2016 The daytime continues to be as it usually is… noisy. There’s always something going on around here. Always. Those workers in the white trucks are still doing God knows what at Jackie’s place.

Tom said they even had a live band playing here again after I’d gone into the bedroom the other day, but they only played two songs. I still would’ve been pissed. I did NOT come here to listen to other people’s music. That’s supposed to be a mainstream thing, not an adult community thing.

But even in the middle of the night you can hear/see things when we go out on our late-night walks. Sometimes we like to go in the dead of night when it’s more peaceful and there’s less activity. It depends on both the weather and our schedules.

Both tonight and last night we saw a red vehicle we assumed was either the paper delivery guy or the security guard. The guard doesn’t drive a marked car like he used to.

There was that weird incident at midnight the night before last, and today a car was parked at the top of the “rollercoaster” which is the highest and darkest location in this posh, gated community. I was jogging toward it when Tom quickly steered me away to the other side of the street.

Upon passing the car, both doors appeared to be open and I could make out a guy talking to someone in the passenger seat. No dead body with blood all over the place. I asked Tom what he was so worried about and he said that whenever something seems out of place, the smart thing is to avoid it. Yeah, but why would anyone come in here with ill intentions in the middle of the night, even if they had the code to the gate? Wouldn’t it be easier to commit crimes somewhere outside of the park?

I told him I thought it was more than likely family visiting a sick or dying relative. Tom said it could also be someone with Alzheimer’s who had a psychotic break and may want to kill us simply because they’re convinced we’re monsters.

Well, we’ll see if the car is still up there when he goes to work.

Later…

I’ve been asked if “body parts matter” being bisexual and all that. Nope. I’m pretty much what you’d describe as gender indiscriminate. I know everyone’s different, but for me, personality and overall attraction are what matters. I don’t judge appearance based on any one particular body part but as a whole. If I like you as a person and find you attractive on an overall basis, then your body parts don’t matter. You’re still what I consider attractive, regardless of gender and even race, color and nationality. I may not like certain groups as a whole, but can like certain individuals of those groups if they haven’t personally done anything wrong to me.

I find our mailman attractive just because he’s a nice guy and is handsome as well. Not because he’s a guy. I found my first PCP attractive too, not because she was a woman but because of her general appearance and personality. She was smart, confident, friendly, open-minded and gorgeous.

Having fun learning and experimenting with my new juicer, though I’m still kinda sorry I got the thing. Yesterday’s concoction consisted of 1 medium tomato, 1 celery stalk, 1 carrot, a clump of shredded lettuce, and a couple of handfuls of sugar snap peas. The predominant taste was celery, so perhaps more carrots and peas should be added next time. Not the tastiest drink I ever had, but at least it was drinkable, quite unlike the first green drink I made. Maybe that’s because this wasn’t exactly green. More like brown with a hint of green.

My next drink was just strawberries. I added a packet of fake sugar afterward to sweeten it up a bit.

My last drink was just sugar snap peas. Not that great.

Forget trying to juice avocados or kiwis. They just won’t work. When it was done there was nothing in either hopper. It all ended up mashed against the top cover.

Random thoughts pinged around in my mind as I lay there resting after my workout. They settled on the fact that Tom will be 60 years old in a little over a year from now. That means he more than likely will have 20-25 years left to live. Remember when it was 40 or more? I asked myself. Indeed I do, and a pang of sadness stabbed at my heart when I thought of when he turned 35 shortly after we met and the end was still much further than it was closer.

But he’s still in his 50s, I try to remind myself. Not his 60s. Not his 70s. Not his 80s. We could both die in our 50s tomorrow by getting struck by a meteorite for all we know.

Ugh, death and dying. Wish it wasn’t on my mind so much. Along with what shit may go wrong. Those worries used to be about money and things breaking. Present-day worries, however, tend to be about what could go wrong with our health. How things really do change as we age! We have a different perspective on life. We worry more about the future instead of living in the moment because the future isn’t exactly as futuristic anymore. At least not in the way it was 20 years ago.

It’s still better to try to live in the moment. Therefore, I am thinking about what I may try next with the juicer. Carrot juice? OJ?

We ordered the 3-D tiles for the second bathroom yesterday morning, but since they’re coming from China it could take 2 to 6 weeks to arrive. You would think it would be faster in modern times, but nope.

Later…

I love it when the “dream people” give me various story ideas. Thank you, “Shane.” The dream I had was long and detailed but if I base a story on it, I will obviously add more to it.

Last night I dreamed I was in a large room with a desk in the middle of it. It had a few computers set up on it. The computers looked almost old-fashioned. Either that or they may have had large-screen monitors making them seem bulky. I was fixing myself some coffee, which was set up on a long table against the wall behind the desk chairs and could hear a guy working out in a smaller room, which was off of that room. I knew the guy was partaking in some type of experiment and would be in there for most of the day.

Eventually, I sat between him and some other guy at the computers. I turned to the right and studied the guy who had been working out and noted what great shape he appeared to be in. He was young, perhaps in his late 20s. He had straight sandy brown hair and hazel eyes that were intense in a way I found both creepy and attractive. The guy was quiet. Not shy, just quiet.

Smiling, I sort of hugged him and said, “As fit as you are, anyone who messed with me while you were around would be in big trouble, wouldn’t they?”

He smiled slightly and softly said, “Mmm-hmm,” while still gazing at the monitor before us.

Then the guy to my left who was also in his late 20s said, “Shane here didn’t realize how old you were. He’s shocked. We both are. Thought you were in your 30s or something.”

“Nope,” I said laughing. “Definitely left that age bracket a long time ago.”

Then the dream seemed to accelerate and jump into the future at regular intervals. I became aware of the fact that “Shane” liked me. I was flattered, but worried. He knew I was married and seemed to respect that, but I wondered just how far he might go if he caught me alone someplace.

Then I was hugging him and telling him to keep in touch online.

Then I was turning the corner in some building when I heard his buddy telling him, “She’s older, wiser, mature and probably more experienced than you in a lot of ways, buddy, though I’ve also heard her described as energetic, playful and young at heart. This can fool people into thinking she’s less intelligent than she actually is, so beware of that.”

As soon as the guy went on to talk about “young” things and bright colors, I knew he had to be talking about me.

In another scene, I wanted to settle my curiosity in a way that didn’t come off as nosy and asked the guy about Shane, who I assumed was a lab technician for some reason. So I questioned his friend who frowned with confusion and said, “SSA (inaudible) doesn’t work for no lab.”

I knew what SSA stood for from watching Criminal Minds, and said how shocked I was that he was with the FBI. The guy then said, “Why? You’re the one he’s investigating.”

My jaw dropped and I stood there all the more confused and shocked. I was both intrigued and creeped out. I wanted to learn more about SSA Shane Whatever, but I never wanted to see him again either. Especially alone.

MONDAY, APRIL 18, 2016 Reading Appointment with Murder now by Jennifer Jennings. It’s part of the Sarah Woods box set mysteries I’m reading. I’ve always enjoyed Sarah Woods murder mysteries. This is my 13th audiobook this year. I’d be on 15 or 16 by now if it weren’t for our vacation.

We decided to start with the small bathroom floor to make sure we’re not going to get crap we don’t like or want before ordering designs for the rest of the floors. We settled on pale pink roses growing between large gray oval rocks.

What we’re not sure of is whether or not they scale the images down for smaller floors, or if they just trim more of the edges of a standard-size picture?

If this is as cool as I hope it is, I just might be sorry we re-carpeted the place. How cool it would be to do a whole room in a different theme! In one room we could have grass on the floor, trees on the wall, and a bright sunny sky on the ceiling, making it appear as if you were in a forest. In another, we could be under water. We could have a sandbar on the floor, fish on the walls, and when you looked up it would look like you were just under the surface of the water, a bright blur where the sun would be shining.

Tom said that a woodpecker was beating on the storeroom a couple of days ago and was tremendously loud. So are all the goddamn projects I have to listen to almost every day around here. I thought I’d hear projects about a third of the time. Not two-thirds of the time!

In fact, I can’t even get any peace at midnight. I don’t know what the hell this was all about, but I just heard this insanely loud vehicle and wasn’t sure if it was a car or motorcycle or what the hell it was. It was revving its engine very loudly. I looked out back and saw a guy quickly walking up the hill motioning for someone to follow him. Then I saw that the engine-gunning vehicle was a car. It followed the guy up the hill and around the corner. Again, I have no idea what that was all about but they must live here since the gates are locked at 7 PM.

Had a strange ache in my left hand most of yesterday, but so far today I haven’t felt anything odd.

Went to Walmart yesterday and loaded up on fruits and veggies for the new juicer I’m not so sure I should have gotten. It’s a BITCH to clean, just like people warned me it would be. I also grabbed some bottles with caps and straws to store extras in.

Was all excited to try the chocolate peanut butter flavored coffee K-cups, but they don’t taste very chocolaty or peanut buttery to me.

If I don’t start winning again real soon, I’m not renewing my sweep subscription in May. I have mixed emotions about continuing on. I have watched Robo Form Filler get worse and worse and nothing is ever done to fix it. It’s working less and less that I can’t believe it’s just me experiencing this and that the makers of Robo aren’t aware of it. I don’t understand why they won’t do anything about it either. Robo used to work great, but now I have to hotkey in at least half the info needed when filling out forms. Even with macros set up this takes way longer than Robo, which should be able to do it all in just one click. It isn’t just forms it’s having trouble filling out, but the ‘fill and submit’ almost never works either, and saving passcards is useless because I can’t fill and submit the damn info I’ve saved. I just don’t get it. Am I missing something here?

Sarah did answer a question of mine so I guess she’s not totally ignoring me after all. I asked how often she and Becky would go to the gym they started going to, and she said 6 days a week.

Last night I dreamed I was either watching the news or being told about a little boy they were searching for in the mountains of Iowa.

Then I was pointing at a picture of a large woman online and insisting to Tom that she was proof that the so-called diet product they were selling couldn’t possibly work since she was heavy.

Then Tom was working on some kind of repair or upgrade of someplace we just moved into, though I don’t know where it was. The place appeared to be kind of old. Just inside the bedroom doorway, I could see into the living room and out its window which a tall building lay beyond. Then I realized Tom was now outside in the car waiting for me to go somewhere, so I got up, stepped outside and locked the door behind me.

SUNDAY, APRIL 17, 2016 “Kids talk to imaginary friends they give various names to. Adults talk to an imaginary friend they call God. Only the kids are smart enough to know their friend is just a creation of their own imagination.”

Love this one! Even so, someone on my-diary told me they would say a prayer on my behalf because “anyone who’s stupid enough to believe that an explosion could create life needs all the help they can get!”

Funny, though, how I only need “help” when I disagree with one’s POV or belief. Really, how come I don’t need help when it comes to the things I happen to agree with people on? It’s only when my beliefs differ from others that I “need help.” Funny, ain’t it?

How come their God or whatever they choose to call it is great when something good happens to them? But when something bad happens it’s “God’s will” or simply “meant to be that way?” Never could it be that their God is, well, perhaps not so perfect and loving after all if it even really does exist. I must need help for wondering these things, don’t I? I must!

My favorite color is pink. Is yours blue? Well, if it is then do I need help? Do I need help because I’m not sure if God exists, good or evil? Do I need help because I don’t like the spicy foods and citrus fruits most people like? Do I need help because I’m antisocial and love to spend time with my hubby or by myself? Do I need help because I don’t have any sympathy for most of today’s blacks? Do I need help because I won’t embrace the refugees with open arms? Come on, what else do I need help with? Tell me. There must be tons of things for we can’t all think alike after all, can we? Therefore, I must need help.

But what if I think along the lines of Person A, but not Person B? If Person A thinks I’m A-Okay for thinking/feeling/believing as they do, do I still need help in Person B’s eyes? Hmm… something to ponder, right?

If I got a bleeding heart for blacks and Muslims, got in a car and drove to a job outside of home every day, and believed in a God I expressed much faith in, then damn would I be one seriously loved and ok chica, wouldn’t I?

But then that awful side of me emerges. That true side that just loves to be real and speak her mind. It squeezes to the surface only to piss off, offend, anger, hurt, scar, disrupt and ruin so many lives in such a horrible, atrocious way. OMG, I must, must, must need help!

Help meeeeeee!!!!!

Then again, life has always treated me unfairly, hasn’t it? I’m the girl that would be charged as an accomplice if she were kidnapped and made to do unthinkable things while others would be considered hostages and victims. I’m the kind that would watch others go up and get the people they wanted while I got everyone I didn’t want before meeting Tom. And if I came close as I did with Kasey, I’d lose it pretty damn fast, wouldn’t I?

I wonder, though… what if I’d been straight only? Would I still have had a hard time getting the guys I wanted before meeting Tom? My guess is yes. I couldn’t get Mike M, after all, yet another student got him. I was always very particular, especially when I was younger. Very few people turned me on – like really turned me on – so they were bound to be unobtainable for a variety of reasons.

Found the perfect recipient for my dream journal. They’re on one of the curves along OL and have a box for newspapers and magazines. It’s right on the road and there are no neighbors across the street.

Dreamed that Tom and I were getting into the pool. In the dream, a cluster of mailboxes was nearby. We passed Joe as he was loading them up with the day’s mail and exchanged greetings.

I then got into the pool, which had two sets of steps, one at each front corner. I sort of hopped from one set of steps to the other. I felt self-conscious. Joe was watching me. I wanted to dive under the water and swim to the other end, but the water was a gross cloudy jade green so I didn’t.

SATURDAY, APRIL 16, 2016 I am sooo excited! I can’t wait to redo our floors after the totally AWESOME 3D floor designs I discovered. I pinned my favorites to a board I created just for various ideas.

I know exactly what I want in 2 out of the 4 rooms they’re going in. The one with big bold daisies in yellow, pink and blue will go in the laundry room, and the tropical fish swimming in shallow water will go in the master bath. Excess tiles can maybe be used for backing shelves.

It’s the kitchen and second bath I’m unsure of. I was leaning toward a goldfish pond flanked by grass and flowers in the kitchen, but now I’m thinking a dolphin in the ocean. The second bath is tiny, and I’m tossing up ideas from broken glass to lily ponds with frogs on top of lily pads and fish floating beneath. Or I could do beaches with frothy ocean waves or flowers protruding from between large rocks. The possibilities are endless!

In other news, want to know how to waste $60? Just buy a juicer. Stuff it with kale, spinach, apples, and half a lemon. Take a sip of the green slime and spit it out so fucking fast your loving husband will be laughing so hard he can barely catch his breath as you run for the mouthwash, realizing the place now smells like his weed whacker after it's been used. OMFG, was that awful! Definitely gotta change up my recipes, even if it means adding more calories/sugar by doing more fruits than veggies.

The only dream I remember was weird. I was checking out these 5 shirts and I knew that I had to wear the same one for one whole month at a time. Two were alike, so I made a mental note not to wear them back to back so I wouldn’t be wearing the same color and design for two months in a row.

FRIDAY, APRIL 15, 2016 I stumbled upon an ad for PetSmart last night. We usually go to Petco. In fact, I don't think we've ever been to a PetSmart since we've lived here. Anyway, I was checking out the variety of animals they have to sell. I didn't know they had pet scorpions. This wouldn't scare me, but I wouldn't want one for a pet either.

I was surprised to find that female Dumbo rats live 3-5 years instead of the usual 2 years Fancy rats live. I don't like the way they look compared to regular rats. I just don't think they’re as cute with their ears set lower on their heads, but they still may be worth checking out.

What got me a little more excited was that they make diapers for dogs, so my research shows. I don't know why I didn't think to look up doggie diapers before, but maybe this way we could have a hypoallergenic dog like a poodle. There are a few small dog breeds that are allergy-friendly. I would prefer a toy poodle as opposed to a miniature. I'll run it by Tom and see what he thinks. If we wait until he retires before we get a dog, if we ever did get one, we could be dead before the end of the dog’s life, especially if he works until he's 70.

I didn't read the article, but saw a headline about a protest over an officer shooting an armed black person. So now the blacks want to be able to get away with wielding guns at cops? It's like the fuckers expect to be above the law or something! I'm so sick of their shit. I don't understand how Norma can be so sympathetic towards them, but it seems that most people have a bleeding heart where they're concerned whether I get it or not.

I still love Norma and I normally admire someone as open-minded as she is. But that open-mindedness seems to be extending to a lot of the wrong types of people. Blacks. Muslims. Just when will your average person treat child molesters with the same respect? It shocks me to say so, but I see a lot of my mother shining through Norma. Not the cruelty, of course, but she seems to be very opinionated and headstrong in ways my mother was and the more you disagree with her, the less fond of you she becomes. She wanted to engage in an argument over blacks with me, but I refused to get into it with her. Obviously, she has never been victimized by blacks or seen firsthand the trouble they can cause.

I think it's safe to say that I was right in suspecting that the post Sarah shared about some people not fitting into your life no matter how much you want them to was in fact aimed at me. Also, she’s been ignoring my comments. Why doesn’t she just come out and tell me if she has a problem with me, or just delete me?

Either way, I suspect she’s decided she doesn’t like me very much because of my poor taste in jokes about cancer. Either that or my post about not forgiving those who have blocked or dumped me. She’s got to know Lisa blocked me. Or maybe the crack about selfies (she posts quite a few of them).

I notice things, but I don’t worry about them much these days. Meaning that I don’t do the family drama thing anymore and I’m not going to insist she associate with me if she doesn’t want to. The door to my life is always open to walk out of if that’s what someone wants. I’m not going to question her about it either. I’m just going to act like I don’t notice her silence.

sighs A part of me hates to say it but I almost wish they’d all give me a reason to break ties with them. It’d be easier that way, but I still don’t know if that’s what I want or if it would be very smart. Tammy probably couldn’t afford to help us as much as we’d need if he were laid off and we lost the place, but I’d like to know we had someone in our life in whom there was a chance to be helped as much as possible before we decided if we should end it all or not.

Trauma. How it changes you. How it both helps and hurts various aspects of your life. After going through what I went through with the levothyroxine, I’ve found that the thought of homelessness isn’t nearly as scary as it once was, but I also find that some things are now scarier. I was always apprehensive about taking new medications, but now I’m REALLY apprehensive.

I'm disappointed that I haven't gotten any win notices since having the dream about winning unless you want to call a discount a win. I'm really surprised. I always win something after I have these kinds of dreams. I'm still hopeful that I will get a notification soon enough, but if I don't I may once again take a break from sweeping. It's only worth the work if you're actually winning.

I did seem to come into a lot of money somehow in one of my dreams last night, though I don't know if I actually won it or not. It seems I was discussing money with some woman and where to live. I said something about not being impressed with the Midwest due to the climate there. We might have been talking about selling stuff too, in preparation to move. I also rescued a starving dog, but I’m not sure if I did it with this same woman or with Tom.

In another dream, I was trying to convince Tom to make a clock invention. I said, “They have clocks that chirp and chime at the hour. Well, how about one that announces how many steps you've taken in the last hour?”

And then I was signing to someone in the last dream, only one of my signs was incorrect.

THURSDAY, APRIL 14, 2016 Went out walking at dusk and even picked out the lucky recipient of my dream journal once it’s complete. I decided it might be more likely to be read by someone who found it on their doorstep than by some random person in the clubhouse. I want a house with a door close to the road so I can leave it and walk off with less chance of being seen. I’d do it in the middle of the night, of course. There are a couple of potential readers of my dreams actually. It just would be nice if I could remember more of them so I could finish the damn book.

I mixed running and walking as I usually do. The temperature was perfect and there was just enough light to see. I like to start off chilly because I know I’m going to feel like the temperature rose 10° by the time I get done. The turkeys had settled in the giant Cali oaks for the night. I could see them above me as I walked by the area alongside the ditch. Amazing how such huge birds can sleep up there without falling out, even though they could just flap their wings and keep from being injured. I wonder if the fugly things ever get cold up there at night or if the summer heat ever gets to them. Or are they completely oblivious to temperature?

There were still quite a few cars going by, but no people. Never heard any barking inside or outside the park nor did I hear any loud music. It was quite peaceful actually.

Tom was at the door when I got back and said he was just about to go looking for me as it seemed like I’d been gone a long time, like 40 minutes. Really? I didn’t wear my Fitbit, but it felt like it was the typical half-hour. I talk less and move faster when I work out alone.

Wore my Fitbit to bed and my HR dropped to 64 and spiked to 95 upon waking up. Because I’m not wearing it all the time these days I laughed when it tried to tell me my average RHR was 77. LOL, try 85-90. My fast ticker in conjunction with perimenopause is why I can’t handle higher doses of levothyroxine, thus keeping my numbers almost perfect instead of perfect. Trust me, I’d have my numbers totally off the charts before I went through the hell I went through ever again! I’ve been feeling FABULOUS and I would like to keep it that way. So no going over 75 mcgs of levothyroxine and no returning to statins.

Tammy's probably going to laugh at this one just like I laughed at Tom’s attempt to speak some of the Dutch words I’ve learned. When discussing my juicing plans with Tom I said, “That way I can get rid of all my cholesterol and there should be no more left in me.”

But then he reminded me that some cholesterol is both good and necessary and that our bodies produce it much like sugar and sodium. Yeah, but hopefully my body isn’t producing so damn much of it with my thyroid treated and me avoiding cholesterol as much as I can.

He stopped at Walmart after work for his BP meds and my thyroid meds and grabbed a cooked pizza for the first time. It wasn’t that bad at all. Glad I love to run. This way, while I’ll never lose more weight, I’ll at least not gain either.

Really wish Amazon could stick to their delivery dates. We ordered a middle-of-the-road juicer (I’ll get a better one later on if I really like this one), and it was supposed to arrive today. Instead, it’s not going to be here till Friday. I got the produce ready to make Green Lemonade. Got this recipe from a juicing site.

Later…

Finished all the episodes of Criminal Minds on Netflix that I wanted to watch, and now I’m trying out CSI Miami. Haven’t watched enough yet to really get a sense of whether or not I can get into it.

So Leslie Van Houten is up for parole for something like the 21st time. I was only 4 when the Tate/Labianca murders went down. What I don’t get is how she’s eligible for parole with two kills while Jodi Arias gets life without parole for just one kill. I guess that’s just our typical twisted laws for you. I wouldn’t worry for myself much if I beat someone up, but if I hurt someone’s feelings or offended them… the law could come after me like I’d just kicked the crap out of a dozen old ladies or something.

My opinion on whether or not she should be set free is mixed. Would she really have gone down the path she went down if she never met Charles Manson? Should she still be punished for something she did when she was just 19 years old? Where could she possibly go if she were set free? I doubt she has much in the way of family or anyone who would give a shit about her, family or not, and where could she go that would actually be safe for her? I don't believe she would harm anybody, but I think others would try to harm her. As it is I don’t understand why no one’s killed Casey Anthony yet.

On the flip side, what she did was totally heinous, and if most of us won't even forgive someone for offending us, then why should we forgive a murderess and give her her freedom?

Speaking of forgiveness and all that… I’ve also been asked if I would forgive and or speak to Nane if she contacted me. I don’t know that either. Meaning the answer’s the same as I gave when asked about Aly. It would probably depend on what mood I was in at the time. Bad mood = a tendency to focus on a person’s negative traits. Good mood = a tendency to look at their good side and why I once cared about them in the first place.

My general rule, however, is “Never forgive, never forget.” And when I speak of “forgiving,” I mean allowing someone back into my life who has been absent from it. Generally speaking, I don’t allow re-entry because past experience has taught me that this is just giving them an opportunity to screw me again, one which they won’t usually pass up.

But again, I can’t predict for sure how I’d react to hearing from them in the future, not that they’re going to contact me. Therefore, we won’t be finding out how I’d react. They may at least be reading my journal, though. Aly, I don’t know because she usually prefers my-diary because I can’t track visitors there. If she’s reading me elsewhere then she’s flying under radar. Germany is runner-up to my US visitors on Blogger and I wonder if that could be connected to Nane, Christiane or both, but it doesn’t matter either way. They can read or not read same as anyone else I make my stuff public to.

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 13, 2016 Some people have asked if I’d respond to Alison should she ever contact me in the future. Truthfully, I don’t know. I just don’t know. I’d like to think that I wouldn’t because that would be the smarter and safer thing to do, but I think it would depend on what mood I was in at the time. If I was in a good mood I would be more likely to focus on her good points. In a bad mood, I would remember her negative traits.

All I do know is that people will always have a problem with you if you have any complaints or anything negative to say about them, no matter how justified your words maybe. Yes, I would score more points with people and have a lot more friends if I kept my mouth shut whenever anybody said or did anything I found offensive or even just slightly bothersome in any way, but I can’t live that way. I would not only be being untrue to myself but not very honest with the person as well if I didn’t speak up. This doesn’t mean I would say something about every single little thing, but when up bunch of little things add up or something big has occurred that really gets to me; I just have to say something. I’m just not one of those who can sit back and take shit as much as I sometimes wish I could be.

I know I’m not perfect myself. I can be impatient, selfish, and sometimes not very tolerant. I need to work on that and I know this. But at the same time, I’m just me being me, like it or not. Sure, some might see my not being open to future friendships as a bad thing, but if it’s bad to look out for myself and avoid any potential headaches and hassles, then I could really get used to being bad. ;)

TUESDAY, APRIL 12, 2016 My reward for regular workouts: 3 chicken legs, a heaping pile of mashed potatoes, 2 servings of Jelly Belly’s = 0 pounds gained.

Binges are normally reserved for weekends, but we stopped at Raley’s on the way home from my ENT appointment for some hot food and treats.

Doc visit was quick and painless. Won’t see her again till October.

On our way there, a young heavyset woman was walking down the street in our direction and appeared to be chatting animatedly with absolutely no one at all. But as she grew closer I could see the little earbud cord with the microphone. Even Tom thought she was crazy at first, LOL.

I’m thinking of getting a juicer and eventually replacing all but one meal with a juice “shake” consisting of various fruits and veggies. I found a site with several recipes to try. I doubt I’ll lose weight cuz of my age and thyroid, but it’ll make me even healthier and save money by buying more fresh produce than expensive TV dinners. A lot of the recipes cleanse and detox you and can be good for those with high cholesterol, blood pressure, and other issues.

Still not remembering much in the way of dreams. Just a quick flash of Dr. A in a little canoe or rowboat. Not sure if I was watching her in person or through a video, but she and someone else were paddling their way through a lily pond.

MONDAY, APRIL 11, 2016 A Blogger friend reminded me that true friends stick with us no matter what. Always.

She's right. She's totally a hundred percent right. Thanks for reminding me who my true friends are, Lady Lagoon!

Despite her logic, I think we always have mixed emotions when a close friendship – or at least one we thought was close – ends, whether they cut ties with us or we decided it was best to cut ties with them.

Having trouble deciding what sites I want to continue sharing copies of my journals on. I can pretty much rule out LiveJournal and my-diary, but will definitely keep writing on Prosebox. Blogger and Facebook are up in the air at this time. I deleted most of the year’s entries on Blogger, but a part of me regrets it. Maybe I’ll copy them back over later on.

Did a lot of work and cleaning today, then we went for a bike ride when he got home.

I’m also having trouble remembering my dreams lately, which sucks, but life is otherwise good. Gotta see my ENT tomorrow.

My tooth started feeling better just hours after the dentist put my permanent crown on, so no root canals or pulling that tooth altogether!

Got some goodies in the mail today. My most flexible (Asian) Barbie ever. She’s way cool. Got a few animal figures, and then the other diffuser. Also in the mail today was my “window” overlooking the lush green park with the cherry trees blooming. That’s now above the little table in the bedroom.

I don’t know why, but sometimes I will look someone up on Facebook and not be able to find them. Then after some time, I try again and there they are. Well, I found my dental hygienist, Holly Clark. Through her, I found Shannan Whitlaw, the dental assistant. I sent messages that I doubt they’ll get. A part of me regretted doing that afterward as once again that’s just me going to them. Why can’t somebody seek me out for once?

As much as I sometimes would like to be surrounded by people - good people and not just any people – I won’t let myself make any more friends and I still value my solitude when I’m not feeling like shit. I’m just too old for any more drama. I love old people, but I could never be friends with the people I was doing aerobics with in the way that I could be friends with somebody like Shannan or even Kathleen. Comparing Shannon and Kathleen with the people I’ve met here is like comparing my mother to Tom. There really is no comparison. Sure they may have some similar traits, but it’s just not the same. What I’m saying is that I would rather be friends with people like Shannon and Kathleen, but at the same time, I don’t want to be friends with anybody.

While I’m not physically attracted to any of these women, Shannan has a very appealing personality. She seems very sensitive, nurturing, intelligent and open-minded. I’m sure she’s a great mom, too. I can picture her to be a very fun and doting mom. Her two daughters are adorable (part black?), though I could’ve sworn she said she had a son.

She’s single and yet another pretty face on a large body. She’s very pleasant-looking despite her weight, though.

Anyway, she’s single and lives in Citrus Heights. Holly’s married and lives in Loomis. Kathleen’s married because I remember seeing a ring on her finger. Holly and Kathleen are older and very skinny. Shannan’s 34.

SUNDAY, APRIL 10, 2016 Sometimes I miss checking in with Aly. I still can’t believe she dumped me. I was hurt and angry, but mostly stunned. Yet resuming our friendship would be hard for me, I would think, because I’d always be wondering if something I said was going to get me dumped again. I’m not her type. I get that. Still shocks me just the same that she of all people dumped me. I really really thought she cared about me, even if I may be nothing like the kinds of friends she prefers to have.

Although I firmly believe that she’ll beat her leukemia based on the treatments available today and the fact that she’s survived other things, it would be sad to know she died hating me if she didn’t make it. I never meant to intentionally offend or hurt her with my honesty. Really I didn’t!

Either way, I don’t doubt that she’ll make it. Not just for the reasons I stated, but also due to not having any dreams suggesting she’s in serious danger, and the fact that it’s human nature for the less seriously ill to discuss their health issues more freely. It’s those who are serious who are reluctant to talk about things, as if not putting it into words can keep it from becoming real.

How has her dumping me affected me? Well, I guess you could say it has made me want to withdraw even more from people in general, though I’m not much of a social butterfly anyway. I’m friendly and I’m not shy when out in public or something like that, but I don’t go out of my way to socialize and rack up friends. It really is safer and there really are fewer headaches if you don’t have many friends. Just looking out for myself, selfish or not. :)

I knew I shouldn’t have bothered to check in on Facebook today other than to enter the sweeps that are run through there. I got a friend request from what appeared to be a legit account. Figured she was from one of the sites I write at, but sure enough, she messages me to offer me a body wrap, even though she’s on the other side of the country.

The spammers aren’t the only ones that have me sick of Facebook. I only hear from the same few people, the trending news they force on us is depressing, and most people post the same old shit every day. I won’t even bother to get into the glitches and lack of privacy. I would prefer people not to be able to see when I was last on, but of course they can.

We went for another walk today. It was slightly warm and muggy, and oh the car stereos and mutts! But it was still nice to get out in the fresh air and get our exercise.

SATURDAY, APRIL 9, 2016 I shall begin avoiding Facebook more often because I’m just sick of hearing from the same damn people while others basically ignore me.

Someone tried to hack my Twitter account. I got a notification saying someone attempted to log in from a different device. Someone connected to Ruth and Polly? Aly? Arizona? A stranger?

My guess is a stranger. My extended “family” shouldn’t know about that email addy, and I would think Aly wouldn’t attempt it but would just do it if she were looking to hack me. She has – or at least has had – access to PW-breaking software. I also can’t believe Aly would be that curious about what I’m tweeting (my account is protected). She made it clear to me last month that she no longer gives a damn about me.

I would bet that the email was pulled off of a spam list. That particular email addy is very old and I’ve used it for many things.

There’s a possibility it’s connected to the shitsters in Arizona, but unlikely. Booted off the force or not, a former pig could break into my accounts if it wanted to bad enough. Also, his little friends that he protected…those are criminals. I’m sure they too, could find a way into my shit.

Later…

Just made an order on Amazon. I’m getting a pillow with shredded memory foam that will hopefully be more comfortable for sleeping on my stomach. With my other one, I feel like my neck is cranked back too much.

I’m adding 6 animals to my collection of miniatures… a macaw, a swan with babies on her back, a horse and rider, a greyhound, a collie, and a donkey. I’m getting a case for them and whatever others I can fit into it. If I like it, I’ll get additional cases to accommodate my 100+ piece collection so I don’t have to dust them all.

I’m also getting another oil diffuser like the color-changing LED one I got not too long ago. This way I can have one in the living room and one in the bedroom.

I’m getting my first Barbie in quite a while. This one is said to be the most flexible ever and I’m curious to see just how poseable it really is.

Lastly, I’m getting 50 scented feminine bags. I really liked the bags on the ship and how I could get them out of view and reduce any odors by wrapping them up in bags. These are plastic bags with handle ties, though, not paper bags like the ship had. I just used the last of the ones I got on the ship, and assuming I still have a few more years of periods to go, 50 bags should last about 2 years.

I’m fine with my ear doctor next Tuesday, but I’m getting a bit nervous as I get closer to the labs and my endo. I just have to remind myself that I’m not a child and I’m not in jail. No one can make me do anything I don’t want to do.

Read this really cool article about a guy who had a seizure and went to the ER. It was the first time a medical team used a Fitbit tracker to determine if his heart was irregular during just the seizure, or if it was a chronic problem. Turns out it was just during the seizure. It’s cool to be able to look back and see this sort of thing, just like I can look back at my life through the years in my journals.

Fitbit allowed me to “see” a bedtime beatathon once. I can just imagine the readings had I been able to see the fierce ones I was having if we’d gotten our Fits sooner. The call-Tom-at-work-and-take-a-lorazepam kind of racing heart.

Felt a bit anxious earlier, so I ate a TV dinner with chicken in it. I fear a setback all the time. My worst fear would be to go through what I went through all over again with NO changes made to my meds and then to have to scramble all over again for god knows how many months - or years - to figure out why. Could this possibly happen? I fear it cuz life has proven that the past can return to haunt us.

It’s been a very peaceful Saturday. We even went walking/running in the rain. It rained lightly the whole time and was a pleasant rain since it was in the low 60s. I won’t go out running in the rain in the dead of winter. Too cold then. But this was a refreshing rain. I’m glad it didn’t come down really hard, though, so our clothes didn’t end up totally soaked.

Not many turkeys were out. I guess they don’t like the rain as much.

After researching the doll I got from Goodwill, I found it’s an Ashton-Drake doll by Gail Ferretti. I’m not surprised given the appearance of its face and body size. This type of doll usually goes for $60 - $100 and I got it for less than $5. Not bad.

It’s amazing what a 3D printer can do. Tom printed little bracket holders for a strip light, which he placed under his desk. This way it can shine down on the solar keyboard on the keyboard tray below it to keep it charged.

Last night I dreamed of driving a strange car that was operated by push buttons. Then I was chatting with a woman in a hotel lobby. After a while, we were laughing about something we had been discussing, and then I excused myself to go meet Tom up in our room. She seemed very unhappy about the idea of me leaving. Like I was rudely rejecting her or something. Pretending not to notice, I left anyway.

FRIDAY, APRIL 8, 2016 Starting off on a furious note. Facebook really needs to stop shoving the news in our faces. Reading that a teacher was put on PAID LEAVE after a video that clearly shows her beating a student over the head – though I don’t know what the student might’ve said or did – is infuriating. She gets a paid vacation (no jail) yet no one paid me to speak my mind to the freeloaders. Oh no, I was the one to pay instead.

Facebook recommends people we may know, and there’s a seemingly empty account in Tom’s name. There is a profile pic of a young guy. I sent a message saying, “Bet I can guess who’s behind this account.” Sure enough, no reply.

Kim? Aly?

Had a little fun with Polly and Ruth. I wasn’t going to write about it, but hey, I didn’t break any laws. Just pissed them off, no doubt. I know that’s the way it should’ve been with the freeloaders, but I’m also a lot smarter than I was in 1999. I won’t let anyone fuck with me. I did what I did, was quick about it, and now I’m gone. In like a fierce wind and out like a calm breeze.

I didn’t do anything all that extravagant. I just messaged them and a few others related to them, possibly Polly’s sons and I guess her daughter. Then I added one son and later saw the ‘add friend’ button disappear, knowing he’d prevented me from sending additional requests. I also shared a pic of Polly’s and she responded by going private.

Ruth and Polly both seem to work for the PTA in CT where Polly lives, and I not only sent an email to each one there, but I replied to a comment of Polly’s in a group she had some guy create for her pertaining to the school. I was blocked from that group. Lastly, I tweeted to her daughter who has a protected Twitter account.

Pretty sure the daughter got the tweet because her “likes” are going up. But why didn’t she block me there, and why didn’t Polly and her sons block me on Facebook? Hoping to gather more “evidence?” Well, that they’re not going to get. :)

As usual, I got absolutely nothing from Tammy about my dentist appointment today despite my taking the time to ask about her appointments, even if she’s going through more serious stuff than I am.

Today’s appointment was rough, but a lot shorter than the last one. The permanent crown is now in place. I forgot that Shannon doesn’t work Fridays. Jackie does. So she’s the one that assisted the dentist.

We chatted with Kathleen in the waiting room. She’s so nice, too. They loved my sparkly dress and shoes. Yeah, I’m the color and shine fanatic alright.

She gave us a $10 Subway card since they were a little late.

So Jackie took me in back and said to let her know if I felt any discomfort as she gently began tugging on my temporary crown. Oh, I let her know alright. The doctor numbed me up, which hurt like hell at first as the needle went in because I was already irritated. I told them I’d been having pain ever since the temp cap went on and they said this was normal and that the permanent one would seal better. I figured and hoped as much, though there is still a chance I may need a root canal at which time I would probably ask the doctor to just pull it since it’s way in back. She said she’s not ready to give up hope yet, so we should give it a week. Jackie said one can feel discomfort 4 weeks after any dental procedure. I’m as hopeful as the doctor, though. As it is, I’m not in as much pain right now as I expected to be.

It didn’t tickle as the doc installed the permanent crown, but it only took a few seconds and then that was it. All Jackie had to do was clean up excess cement and check my bite and I was good to go.

It was cold in there, as the doctor agreed, and she was kind enough to cover me with a blanket. I told her I’d only won once since I last saw her (the expensive facial serum I’m not very impressed with) and she told me that was way more than she’d ever win, haha. She then told me it was ok to floss around that tooth and that I could eat right away, and wished me a good weekend.

I’m not big on Subway, though I’d probably like a couple of their grinders that include beef. But I was sore and I have labs coming up in a few weeks so I’m trying to avoid cholesterol. I just got a double chocolate chip cookie and some chips with a fruity drink. Not very healthy, but I wasn’t in the mood to care.

I shopped more than I ate. We went treasure hunting at Goodwill. It’s funny… we can easily afford expensive stores that sell brand new stuff, which we do go to, but there’s just something about being surprised with old treasures at Goodwill that we love. You go into Target or something, you pretty much know what you’re in for. You go to GW, and you just never know.

I got a Dalmatian figurine very similar to the one I got from them not too long ago. It’s similar in size only it’s lighter in weight and its spots are lighter in color.

Then I got a miniature doll in hot pink (my fave) and a couple of porcelain dolls, only one isn’t for adding to my collection. I wanted to scalp her. Sounds scary, I know, LOL. I have a GW doll with a nice face but crappy hair. So I yanked the nice blond braids off of this pitifully phony, ugly and clownish 1989 Heritage Mint Collection doll and gave it to her. I love restoring and “modernizing” old dolls. I kept her dress, even though it’s a bit old-fashioned for my tastes.

The other doll is in a sitting position and has a fantastic face. Very nice smile and realistic eyes. She wears a cute pale pink dress. Good wig, too.

Tom loves to browse the electronics section but he didn’t find anything he wanted.

We bombed the place before leaving and aired it out for a while when we got back. I waited in the driveway with the rats because the smell Tom claimed was “not bad” was rather overpowering at first.

It was a beautiful day out. The front of our place looks gorgeous right now with the multicolored azaleas in bloom. It’s supposed to cool down and rain again, though.

Naturally, the peace was tarnished a bit by the corner guy’s hammering and workers doing something at Dusty’s place. I think they were going under the house to look for water leaks.

Waved at one of the new ladies who recently moved in, but we haven’t officially met or talked yet.

Then, between my appointment, the ibuprofen I’d taken, and getting up early so many days in a row, I took a 2.5-hour much-needed nap. It felt so good, too. :)

We decided I wouldn’t bother trying to hold my schedule anymore. I’m going to just “roll with the punches” as usual. Besides, I need to be up during the nighttime at times so I can really enjoy the peace.

Last night I dreamed I was showing Tammy my fake ear canal and the thing kept opening and closing while I was at it.

Then, when I got thrown in jail, this time there was a beautiful warden who seemed to really like me. She took me out to some dinner function or something like that one night, and I said I hoped she’d look me up on Facebook in a few months when I got released.

THURSDAY, APRIL 7, 2016 As I mentioned recently, I had a dream that Tom got a raise. Well, they did in fact announce that he is going to get a raise but we don’t know yet how much it’s going to be.

They worked on the house across the street for a little bit yesterday, but now I don’t think they’re working on the trellis that extends over their porch. It looks like he painted these wooden planks white and framed the windows with them. The old shutters are still sitting down beside the house, though, so I don’t know what they’re going to do next. I’m sure that if they don’t do something, someone else around here will and I’ll have to hear all about it.

It has otherwise been peaceful and the weather has been summery. I love it. The only thing I don’t like about the warmer weather is that I can hear the car stereos blaring down the freeway, especially between 6 PM and midnight. I still don’t understand why these things are allowed to be legal year after year. It’s sad that so many people feel the need for such attention. I just can’t imagine feeling so neglected by society that I would be willing to spend hundreds of dollars just so people I don’t even know can notice or hear me. Perhaps counseling is the key instead of disturbing the peace just because the law allows you to do so. Really, just because we can doesn’t mean we should. And just because something is allowed doesn’t mean it’s correct or okay.

Tomorrow I go to the dentist to have the permanent crown put on my back molar. Since the warmer weather has woken up the spiders along with the attention seekers, we’re going to bomb the place while we’re out. After the dentist, we’ll probably go out to eat and do a little shopping.

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 6, 2016 Another bullshit cry of racism in the news, this time over a Gap ad where a black child was supposedly used as a “prop” by a white kid. Yet a very similar ad occurred last year with a black kid leaning on a white kid. Where was all the fuss then? Seriously, can we like not see racism in every single fucking thing on the planet? Keep it up and no one’s going to believe you on the rare occasion that you actually are discriminated against.

Nothing like waking up with a smile on your face and for good reason. :) I had another win dream last night, though I didn’t “see” what I won. I always win something after these kinds of dreams, so it doesn’t matter either way. The dream only lasted a second. I clicked on an email and as soon as I spotted the word “Congratulations!” I woke up.

So I’m checking my inbox religiously, though I probably won’t know what it is for a few days. Just the other day I was asking myself if I thought my name had been snagged at the end of the month, and the answer to myself was yes. I have no doubt that I won something. I just don’t know if it’s small or big.

TUESDAY, APRIL 5, 2016 Just when I was hoping my period would be late, I get it. Ugh. I feel like the damn things will never stop.

Went out walking/running for 24 minutes and burned 156 cals with an average heart rate of 137. I forgot to take my damn camera with me. I want to record myself running through the park sometime.

Talked to Tammy yesterday. I’m glad I caught her call too, because I’m not always around my phone. We haven’t talked since I saw her, and she just had back surgery. There are several complex procedures she’ll have to go through, none of which are pain-free.

I was remembering back to when I was going through my own health issues and she told me that I would get better but she wouldn’t. She was right and it just seems so unfair that she can’t get better, too. But there’s a difference between someone with either too much or too little of the wrong hormones versus someone with a disease as complex as fibromyalgia. She has arthritis to deal with too. Fortunately, I’m not arthritic yet that I know of, but my joints are definitely a little less flexible and stiffer than they were in the past. Some might say I’m rather flexible for 50, but that’s only because I work out.

I’ve been making a point to eat in moderation. I could never say that I’ll never eat sweets ever again. I have things that taste good every day. I just make sure to have them in moderation. I find that I feel better if I eat at regularly scheduled intervals. I’ll have something like a banana and oatmeal two hours after getting up, then four hours later I might have soup and yogurt. Four hours after that I will eat one last time and have a frozen dinner if I don’t feel like cooking anything myself, with a small dessert of some kind. If I can’t make it until bedtime then I might have a fruit cup or something.

Mark’s now at another nursing home as a maintenance technician (I guess he had problems with his old job where they promised him a raise he never received). I managed to get Tammy laughing a bit, despite her pain in regards to our “aunt.” The one that never gave a damn about us, but then again none of them ever really did. This one was the worst, though. She hit me when I was staying with her abusive husband at their campgrounds as a teen, and she’s the gossiper from hell. She spread a lot of lies and false rumors about me and was very negative and stuck up. She also knowingly left me alone during some holidays when she only lived a stone’s throw away and was just an all-around horrible person. Probably still is, though I haven’t seen her since around 1990.

Being the prankster that I was, I’d prank her by crossing her with others with 3-way calling. I’d call her and someone at random at the same time, leaving them both confused as hell when they’d answer each other, both swearing they didn’t call each other. Insisting the guy I crossed her with called her and she simply answered, she said in that phony voice of hers, “Don’t make me crazy!”

I would record the confusion on cassette tapes and then edit them in a dual cassette player. One thing I loved to do was mix them down and make them st-st-stutter. So after working my editing magic, I called her back and pressed play as soon as she answered. She got an earful of herself. It went something like this:

"Don't make me crazy, don't m-m-make make me crazy. Cr-cr-cr-crazy. Cr-cr-crazy crazy crazy…"

MONDAY, APRIL 4, 2016 I doubt that I can keep a schedule about as much as I doubt Tom could talk loud enough to activate both Alexa and Dot at once. Honestly, I’d rather not be able to keep a schedule and feel well-rested enough to be productive, rather than be scheduled, tired and with no energy to do shit. Like asking me if I’d rather be poor and healthy vs. sickly and rich. The answer’s obvious.

“You're welcome to exit my life but don't think you can re-enter it later on. Once you've dumped or blocked me that's the way it STAYS. I don't waste time on those that don't want me in their life because there are so many people that DO."

Saw this written somewhere and totally agree with it.

Yesterday I was both lazy and productive. Other than a “killer” workout and an asthma attack, I didn’t do much. Changed the rats’ cage, cleaned the air filters, and binged on Netflix.

Tammy bought our parents’ house back in my dreams last night. One of the ones in Longmeadow. Then she bought a grocery store, LOL. I was hanging out in it after hours one night with her and her dog. I dashed to the toy section, happily ripped a ball out of a package, and then ran around playing ball with the dog.

Then Kirsten Vangsness from Criminal Minds wanted to be my girlfriend, but I only liked her as a friend, haha.

SUNDAY, APRIL 3, 2016 Sometimes I still think maybe I oughta dump the rest of my friends and just delete or at least disappear on them, but I still can’t bring myself to do so. Especially not Mitch, Christine and Adonis on Facebook or Eileen and my VH sisters. I could disappear from my journal followers more easily than I could cut off my Facebookers.

I am sure, however, that I’ll never again be open to new friends. I don’t care what they look like, who they are, or what they may have to offer either. The drama is just way too old for me and I’m tired of having to dump people or being dumped by them.

In 2010 Lisa demanded I apologize for something I had absolutely no knowledge of so we could “move on.” Did she really want me to lie to her? And did she really expect us to go on as if nothing happened? As if she didn’t go from sweet and kind one minute to screaming false accusations the next? Well, she obviously can’t “move on” and neither will I where she’s concerned.

It also still bothers me that so few people ever sought me out on Facebook and places like that. I mean maybe they did and just didn’t reach out to me. Or maybe they did reach out and I didn’t get the message. Facebook makes it very hard to contact people who aren’t in our circle. I’m making a point of not peeking in on Nane and a few others periodically, as once again, that’s just me going to them. I looked up and reached out to so many people over the years yet who looked for me other than Lisa until she ruined our relationship?

Even my Italian parents. Yes, I loved the hell out of them and they loved me, but why couldn’t they – if they didn’t have a computer of their own – ask someone they knew to see if they could find me and see what was up with me?

Other than maybe one or two people, no classmates ever reached out to me. No teachers ever reached out to me. No neighbors ever reached out to me (not that I’d want most of them to do so). And of course, Tom’s family couldn’t care less.

Sometimes I envy him, though. Not just for being friendless, but for being family-less as well. I said I didn’t want us to have to go through another crisis without family, but what if we did lose the place in the future? How could Tammy save us when she has less money than we do? Furthermore, being on the streets wouldn’t be nearly as terrifying as what I went through with my health.

I still have mixed emotions about my family. Sarah’s temper was a bit scary, and remember, her other aunt threw her out without warning. No one does that to their own niece unless they’re either batshit crazy or their niece does something pretty damn scary.

When the subjects of God, the parents and Bill came up, as I knew they would, Tammy still showed signs of being in love with Bill and on his side even though she “understands why I did it.” I mean look at her eulogy to Mom alone. That shows that she’ll accept, love and respect an abuser just like Aly will be quick to embrace a lying nutjob. I’d bet almost anything that she is in fact friends with Molly. They may not talk regularly, and Molly may not be allowed online regularly, but their friends. No doubt about it.

There’s also the unnerving fact that Tammy wouldn’t hesitate to get me in jail if the opportunity presented itself and she was pissed off enough to do it. Remember, she tried to sell her own kid out with the Workman’s Comp thing. If she can rake her own kid over the coals, why not her sister?

So yeah, you could say I still have mixed emotions at times. I’m just trying to remain in the gray. Instead of contacting family daily or never, I just come around every now and then, especially with my nieces. It’ll be months before I hear from them again, no doubt.

Later…

Went bike riding but had to cut it short. My heart started booming and my ass was killing me. Not used to biking, not used to this seat.

Then I ended up having an asthma attack. First one since last fall. I don’t know if there was something in the air or what, but after a half-hour of trying to cough up the wheeze and congestion, I finally got brave enough to shoot it out with the Ventolin inhaler I got from Dr. A last December. It’s still hard for me to just take medication in general, even though I was on inhalers for many years before quitting smoking (a preventative inhaler besides a rescue inhaler). I try to tough things out on my own, even if it means I have to suffer a bit, but it just wasn’t going away on its own so I shot it out. First time I ever used this inhaler. Nowadays they have counters. I have 203 puffs left, but hopefully, I’d have to live another century before I used them all up. I was afraid the thing would make me jittery and more congested, but it didn’t. It stopped the wheezing and congestion in an instant.

Despite being run through the wringer a bit, emotionally I’ve been great. No anxiety or any negative emotions to speak of and I hope it stays that way now that I’ve fully recovered from the higher thyroid dose. That’s the shitty thing about that drug. You don’t get better the instant you stop. It takes about 3 months to really recover.

I awoke in the night and made a mental note of all the dreams I could remember, but now I can’t remember a thing. Oh well.

For now I am wondering what annoying project will steal my peace tomorrow. At least it’s been peaceful so far this weekend. I’m going to go enjoy the rest of the peace while it lasts. Perhaps a Netflix binge is in order.

SATURDAY, APRIL 2, 2016 Someone’s been visiting me on Blogger through a proxy run by ZenMate. Hmm… wonder what they want to hide and if it could be Aly. You know, the one who forgave Kim for lying to her, and forgave Molly for wishing her cancer would kill her, but not me for being totally upfront and honest? The one who divulged every secret I so stupidly entrusted her with?

Yesterday turned out to be peaceful, much to my surprise. It goes back and forth here, so it seems. Whoever’s been working on the trellis across the street is obviously not in any hurry to do it right away. I think it’s whoever visits her in that loud white pickup that’s been doing the work and I guess they work on it when they have time. Not this weekend, I hope.

My tooth still hurts. Really hope getting the permanent crown on next week will put an end to that. I have to chew my food on my left side for now. It sucks being in pain, but I’ve been through worse things than this.

Despite the pain, I ate more yesterday than I normally do in a week. Literally. I was so hungry all day (but didn’t get a period yet) and I did nothing but eat and eat and eat. When I got up this morning, peed and then shuffled over to the scale, I thought to myself, this is going to be bad. Amazingly, though, I was actually down a fraction of a pound! Where did all those calories go then? I didn’t even work out, and last I knew I still had Hashimoto’s where no matter what we eat and how active we are, our bodies still can’t burn calories properly, even with medication.

Gotta go to the lab in a few weeks. I dread it! I’m still determined to get foods low in cholesterol until then to try to lower the numbers as much as I can.

Set up Echo Dot in the bedroom. The sound quality isn’t nearly as good as our big Echo. It sounds like it’s in a tin can. I may hook another speaker up to it.

Fitbit is pretty smart. I didn’t realize this, but if you get up as soon as the alarm vibrates, it senses your movements and won’t go off again. If you don’t, it vibrates a second time 15 minutes later. I’ve been beating the alarm by a few minutes, but last night I woke up a few hours after crashing and had trouble falling back asleep. Therefore, I was more tired than I have been and slept until the alarm went off. Then I half-dozed until it vibed me awake a second time. That’s when I got up, popped my thyroid pill, and told Alexa to set the timer for 30 minutes.

I miss being able to go straight for the coffee upon waking up, but I have a routine now. During those 30 minutes, I’m waiting I check into the websites I frequent, enter sweeps, and pin pics to my boards.

I dreamed that Tom and I were riding our bikes throughout the park. I couldn’t seem to steady myself, though, or balance the bike. Tom kept telling me to go left yet I had no idea which way was left. It was a strange dream indeed being all confused and disoriented much like when I had a heatstroke.

Later…

I’m the curious type. Always have been, always will be. Did a little test to see if Andy or Aly might be following me by saying that Aly contacted me from a new email addy in a blog post, and answering anonymous questions I made to seem as if they came from Andy on Ask, but got no reaction. So they’re either not following me or they’re doing a great job of biting their tongues. I’d say the first one is most likely.

And then there’s Sarah.

I recently shared a wall post about God supposedly killing a child with cancer that only got 998 likes or something like that. The point of the post was to say that yes, like it or not and no matter what we may do to try to prevent it, cruel and unfair shit will always happen in life. I should have realized, however, that some would find it offensive. Well, it certainly wasn’t my intention to offend anyone and I deleted the post after Tammy wrote, “Not funny at all.”

Sarah shared a wall post saying, “Some people will never fit into your life no matter how much you want them to. Accept it and move on.”

As soon as I saw it I wondered if it was aimed at me. Had she set it to public I’d think it might be meant for someone she had a falling out with, but since it was set to friends, I wondered if it was posted with me in mind on account of my post. I should have known better since their wonderful dad has cancer, after all, even though I don’t buy for a minute that he’s dying.

I commented with, “Not every shoe fits. Not every shirt fits. Not every glove fits.” I wanted to see if she’d “like” or comment on it and she didn’t.

I can watch what I say from here on out, but I’ve done all I can do on my part to “fit” into her life and her sister’s, aimed at me or not. I’ve kept in touch. I’ve “liked” things of theirs. I’ve shared things of theirs. I’ve left comments on their posts. Yet after all this, I still rarely hear from them.

I know I would definitely score more points with people if I had a bleeding heart for blacks, never said anything negative about Muslims, believed in God, and never said anything negative in my journal, like about noisy neighbors and shit like that. But I gotta be myself and I can only be so responsible for other people’s feelings. I can lower the risk of hurting people’s feelings to a degree, but I can’t prevent it completely. I’m going to be me and people are going to react however they’re going to react to that, like it or not.

But I can check in on Facebook less often. Yeah, maybe I’ll give it a few days and just post on Prosebox for now where I’m set at MO, and let them wonder what’s up with me. Only Tammy might wonder where I am, though. The girls probably wouldn’t even notice.

Well, I’ll be damned. I just noticed that Lisa blocked me. Oh, so she hasn’t changed, sober or not.

FRIDAY, APRIL 1, 2016 Why is it that we can get used to so many things the more we have to deal with them while there are other things we just can’t adapt to no matter how often or long it’s thrown at us? I have lived in noisy places almost all of my adult life yet I STILL can’t get used to the daily projects here. If I didn’t know better I’d think we were in an old rundown and dilapidated neighborhood that needed constant work, and not an upscale community where most people drive a Caddy, a Lexus or an Audi. Really, it’s like why don’t we just tear it all down and rebuild it from scratch, folks! throws hands up in frustration I just don’t get it. I can see the new people wanting to redo their yard to their own personal tastes, but why is the lady in the gray house redoing a perfectly good trellis and why are her perfect shutters down and leaning against her place? They were fine.

I keep hoping we’ll one day be able to go a few weeks without someone doing something, but it hasn’t happened yet. As soon as one house finishes a job and I think that will hopefully be it for a while, someone else starts a new one. This is all on top of the constant landscaping and traffic sounds.

It’s still cold in the 40s in the early mornings, but yesterday was the first time we had to turn the AC on for a little while in the late afternoon. It’s to be close to 90° next Wednesday! Good. Maybe if we skip spring and go right into summer it’ll put a damper on some of the outside activity. The problem is that it’s not that hot until the afternoons here, even at the peak of summer. This is due to the dryness and the huge hi-low fluctuation. On days it hits 100° means it’s only 70° early in the morning. It still helps in the afternoon hours when it’s really hot, though.

I wish they’d implement a rule that said you can’t do projects other than in emergencies on weekends so I could at least know I could count on those days. Having two days of peace I could count on would be nice, but weekends are hit or miss.

My teeth still ache and I must have a period right around the corner. I can tell not just due to the water I’m retaining, but by how damn hungry I am. In less than 6 hours I managed to consume around 1500 calories, more than I should have in a day.

Taking a day off from working out. It’s not only good to take a day or two off a week, but it’d only further my hunger even more. I have enough to do between laundry, shopping lists and entering sweeps anyway. Most of them come out on the first. I hope they snagged our name yesterday for something! I think they did. That’s the most likely time to win. Well, it’s at least the most likely time I win. :)

0 notes

daechwitatamicrecs · 2 years ago

Text

Okay Jewel LET ME TELL YOU some facts about myself. I take bedtime S E R I O U S L Y. I am in my 30s living like I’m 85. I don’t get heated about much but I will get CRANKY if you fuck with bedtime.

I stayed up a full NINTEY MINUTES past bedtime ON A WORK NIGHT!!!!!!! because I was in the middle of this and I could. Not. Stop.

We won’t talk about how I cried through the entire thing lmfao

Okay but!!! before I even start!!!! That album is so so so so so so so special to me and some of those tracks SPECIFICALLY and some of those LYRICS specifically hold SO MUCH MEANING TO ME from my past, like I am 33 and married with a career and you know how music can just transport you through time??? suddenly I was 20 again listening to “she is beautiful but she don’t mean a thing to me” and wondering if anyone would ever NOT feel like that about me lmaooo so like DAMB the emotional journey hit me harder because I was instantly in this really emotional place before I even applied the story to it! NOT TO GET PERSONAL OR ANYTHING SORRY

Reading this as a married person was like wheeeeeeeeeeeew I had a get up a few times and go hug my spouse!!!!

God the opening scene. Like. Jesus fuck. The very specific pain of hurting and then hurting more because the person who’s supposed to care doesn’t even fucking notice the hurt in the first place?? Like… my throat’s getting all tight as I type my reaction to it. I might cry again during the review lol.

Ugghhh the feeling of not being worth the fight!!! Fuck!!!!! My *spouse* has never made me feel that way but many people have through the years and it’s such a biting pain and just like reader expresses, it feels so impossible to fight back against that! How do you fight back when someone is stepping away from you? What can do you do that doesn’t push them further, faster? How can you change someone’s mind when they decide you’re not worth it? Asjkfhaskjfhajaj like?????

And she can’t even cut her losses and lick her wounds because he’s holding her hostage??? I’d be furious – either love me correctly or LET ME GO, damn! Ughhhhhhhhhhhhh it hurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrtssssssssssss!

God, their fight! The “I’m so tired” and the “It isn’t fair, this thing you do” asiofhkjfhakjsfh JEWEL. I’m telling you. nothing has EVER laid me out like this before, oh my GOD is my heart even BEATING anymore?!

(Me: oh word, your husband puts his socks in the hamper instead of the floor NEXT TO the hamper? Keep him.)

“Is that where you’re at? With me.” He makes a sound that’s a lot like a whimper. – ups, cried again here

You might leave, and you’d be okay, and I wouldn’t. – aaaaaaaand here

God her meltdown while they’re fucking is just…….. woof, can’t even cry, I feel absolutely hollow. Babygurl you are letting the intrusive thoughts win rn!!!!!! Tell that brain to shut up!!!

even if you leave, you’re gonna know how much I love you. – ah, okay, crying again!!!!

“Don’t take on the full burden of this. We wound up here. It’s okay to say that.” – aaaaaaand back to openly sobbing JUST SO YOU KNOW I AM NOT EXAGGERATING this is EXACTLY WHAT IS HAPPENING

The, like…. Hesitantly hopeful vibe through the middle? My god. Like we’re tiptoeing right along next to them.

And like!!! Ugh!!!! Jewel!!! The contrasting views about “how did we get here”?!!! one saying, it doesn’t matter, what matters is where we go next. And the other saying, it does matter, because we have to make sure we don’t do the same thing again? Alfjskfhksjhfaskjhfjhjh I wish I was better at wording what I’m feeling about this because goddamn!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yoongi pouts again. Really exaggerates it. “I’m really stuck on this bit. I might need a kiss for good luck.” – LIKE!!!!!! WHO ALLOWED THIS!!!!! GOODBYE MIN YOONGI I AM DONE WITH YOU!!!!!!

Lmaooo seokjin is such a menace

AND THEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU DID NOT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! TURN IT INTO A EURYDICE THING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

AND THIS!!!!!!!!!! “All the quiet, private ways Yoongi used to tell you he loved you. When was the last time? Just minutes ago.” THE CALL-BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HOLY FUCKING DAMN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sentences that made me want to throw my laptop out the window and quit writing forever because of how good they were:

you’ve made peace with knowing there are things that are built to last and things like what you and Yoongi have: things that make you hesitant, things that make you yearn, things that sit in your stomach all wrong, taste caustic on your tongue.

Getting Yoongi to do anything these days is akin to pulling teeth, and you’ve got a mouth full of blood.

Sometimes you hurt Yoongi when you mean to hurt yourself because it feels the same. (full on openly sobbing by this part on my first read btw lol)

You think I haven’t already—” Mourned the end of my marriage, JESUS FUCK OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sometimes things are easier to say in these in-between spaces

Sometimes it’s just nice to believe in luck, on top of all the other things you already have to believe in. (Like each other.)

There are not enough words for how amazing this was. I know it lived in my brain for weeks after I read it the first time and I’ll be back to read again. I’m just floored and astounded at how great this was. Thank you for your hard work and for sharing this with us!!!

by the time i've figured out what it's worth | myg

(or, sometimes you go through hell, and sometimes you make it to the other side.)

✤ PAIRING musician!yoongi x f. reader ✤ SUMMARY you used to find comfort in it—listening to those old songs. the shy sounds of falling in love, the tinkling of a ring in a dish, the inevitable crash and burn. all those songs aren’t so comforting anymore, when you’d do anything to keep him and yoongi’s got one foot out the door. ✤ GENRE est. relationship, marriage au | angst, smut, fluff ✤ RATING explicit. minors dni. ✤ WARNINGS this fic deals with a lot of unhappy topics: mental health, self-worth, divorce, the general demise of a relationship & marriage, counseling & therapy—therefore, there are moments of heavy-ish angst. there are moments where this couple is not all that nice to each other. there are arguments and resolutions. so, it's heavy but they get through it (aka there is a happy ending). american setting, yoongi is a solo artist, everyone pls pray for marriage counselor kim namjoon, seokjin is once again the fic's mvp, swearing, alcohol, recreational drug use (weed/edibles), one quick reference to c*vid, emotional hurt/comfort, miscommunication, two knuckleheads engaging in knucklehead behavior, lots of repetition and space metaphors. this is basically "what would happen if yoongi wrote tiny vessels about his wife: the fic," so do with that what you will. ✤ SMUT WARNINGS oral sex (both receiving), fingering, very slight dom yoongi, dirty talk, unprotected vaginal sex, multiple orgasms, angst and crying during sex, hands on throat but no choking, fingers in mouth bc it's me. i think that's it. the smut is mostly tame. ✤ WORDCOUNT 20k ✤ LISTEN TO all of transatlanticism by death cab for cutie, especially "tiny vessels." all the lyrics used throughout the fic are from this album, so it'd help contextualize a lot! also "monday morning," "stay young go dancing," and "you are a tourist." ✤ WRITTEN FOR the composition of the century collab. thank you to isi (@raplinesmoon), ryen (@kithtaehyung), and mars (@joheunsaram) for letting me participate. ♡ ✤ THANK YOU to jess (@the-boy-meets-evil) and bee (@hot-soop) for being my betas. this was a labor of love and a big ask, so i appreciate the both of you very much. ✤ AUTHOR'S NOTE hi! thank you for checking out my fic. before you read, i just want to overemphasize that this is a pretty angsty piece at times. a lot of it is very personal, and therefore i understand if it's not your cup of tea! if you do read it, i hope you enjoy it and find something human here. relationships are messy because humans are messy, and sometimes both the easiest and most difficult thing you can ever do is love another person.

so this is the new year, and i have no resolutions / or self-assigned penance for problems with easy solutions.

There’s a woman on the television trying to sell you a recliner.

Yoongi isn’t paying attention. He’d downed two glasses of whiskey and said he had something to work on, and he’s here, just like you’d asked, but the distance between the two of you feels insurmountable. Your ninth New Year’s Eve together, and all you’ve got to show for it is a crumbling foundation, a pair of headphones shoved over his ears, a woman on the television trying to sell you a recliner. Some home shopping channel, because you couldn’t bear to see anyone else having a good time. Selfish. Fucking selfish, and you wonder if Yoongi would be on your end of the couch if you weren’t.

What does it matter. You’d be here either way, because you’ve made peace with knowing there are things that are built to last and things like what you and Yoongi have: things that make you hesitant, things that make you yearn, things that sit in your stomach all wrong, taste caustic on your tongue.

It’s logical, then, that you just need something to do. A distraction. You push yourself up from the couch with a sigh, joints cracking, and you feel old. Exhausted, more like; something bone-deep and not easily cured. You pass through the dining room on the way to the kitchen, and all those wedding photos taunt you. Happier times, the two of you smiling into a kiss, Yoongi’s hands on your waist, fingers tangled in chiffon.

You wonder which one of you will stay here after it all goes to shit.

Him, if you were a betting man.

You scrub at the dishes in the sink until your hands are nearly cracked from the scalding water. Yellow gloves sit unused on the counter—sometimes you want the burn because pain is familiar, and a physical pain is easier to solve than your failing marriage. So you scrub away the remnants of a dinner that found you and Yoongi eating in silence. Nothing to say to one another after another year gone by. Not much to look back on fondly. And then you scrub some more, like you could get rid of all the scabs inside of you just as easily.

Some things circle the drain and wash away. Others stain.

You already know which one Yoongi is.

From the living room, the muted sounds of a countdown. Palpable excitement you should be able to feel, but find only numbness instead. Yoongi must have changed the channel. There’s a supercut playing in your head, all the past celebrations. All the parties the two of you have gone to, the years spent alone but together. All the people you’ve kissed in front of. All the quiet, private ways Yoongi used to tell you he loved you. When was the last time? What does it matter. There’s seven seconds until the new year and Yoongi hasn’t come looking for you, so what does it fucking matter.

Fireworks explode outside. A sob wracks your body as you crumble to the floor. There’s a small puddle of dishwater that seeps into the hemline of your shirt. Yoongi hasn’t come looking for you and he can’t hear you, so there’s no one to witness your breakdown but the fucking dishes in the sink. Yoongi had chosen the countertops.

You’re going to miss this place when it’s no longer your home.

instincts are misleading / you shouldn't think what you're feeling / they don't tell you what you know you should want.

Kim Namjoon wouldn’t have been your first choice, if you’d had the luxury of choice.

You like him enough, though. Wicked smart, patient to a fault, pragmatic when it’s required. There’s not much more you could ask for in a marriage counselor besides not needing one at all, but that hadn’t been in the cards. The first time you and Yoongi had met him, you’d cracked a joke that hadn’t landed. The embarrassment of it still stings, made worse by the discomfort of the couch in his office.

“How are things?” he asks. He always dresses impeccably. Today he’s in a sage green sweater and tan trousers that must’ve cost a fortune to get tailored. Even his notebook is genuine leather; sometimes it squeaks when he jots down notes too fast, friction against the fabric of his clothing.

Yoongi is quiet. If you’re embarrassed over a joke, he’s embarrassed over everything else. At least you’re willing to work on things. Getting Yoongi to do anything these days is akin to pulling teeth, and you’ve got a mouth full of blood. “Fine,” Yoongi answers, eyes locked downward. Namjoon’s office has hardwood floors. Tigerwood, he’d said once. Yoongi had complimented them. That had stung, too.

Wicked smart. Namjoon turns to you, glasses slipping a little down his nose. “Would you agree with that?”

You wouldn’t, but the urge to make this easy on Yoongi is hard to fight off. Everything is hard. It’d taken him twenty minutes past midnight to come find you in the kitchen all those weeks ago, chest still heaving, eyes swollen. He’d been distraught, tried to kiss your tears away, apologized over and over like they were the only words he knew. Things aren’t fine, but at least you’ve been willing to fight, and the cost of that persistence feels like the weight of the world.

“No,” you admit, and Namjoon just nods. Writes something down. You don’t have the courage to look at Yoongi. Sometimes it’s easier to let go of a dying thing.

“Okay. How were the holidays?”

It’s hard to breathe around the lump in your throat. All you want to do is hold Yoongi’s hand, scream at him, shake him and ask why he’s doing this to you. Why he’s giving up. Why you aren’t worth more effort—not worth it anymore, when you used to be. If he doesn’t love you anymore you’ve already said you’ll go, and he begs you not to, says he’ll do better, he’s sorry, please don’t.

“They were hard,” you answer, and Yoongi nods his agreement in your peripheral. “We didn’t exchange gifts this year. First time ever.”

“And why is that?”

Yoongi stays quiet. Like pulling teeth, you think, and there’s a flashbang of anger, resentment. Sometimes you want to hurt him. Sometimes you want to make him feel as awful as you do, want him to suffer, want him to atone. It isn’t fair, the things you think, and all you want to do is love your husband without guilt, without wondering if there’s someone out there who’d appreciate it more. Still, you’ve got a nasty streak, and you can’t help but press on the bruise. “Because I knew I’d be the only one.”

“Can you expand on that?”

You shrug. Pick at invisible dirt beneath your nails. “Yoongi said he’d be busy this year. I know what that means.”

“That’s not—” Yoongi sighs, cuts himself off. Runs his hands over his face, sick of this same argument. “Baby, that isn’t fair. I asked you if you wanted to do gifts this year and you said no.”

The laugh that bubbles out of you is derisive, cruel. You’re sick of the same arguments, too. Sick of feeling stuck, some helpless animal in a glue trap. Sick of this office, with Namjoon’s priceless art that doesn’t mean a fucking thing to you; the tigerwood floors that got nicer words out of Yoongi than you have in months; the low thrum of the baseboard heat. Sick of asking Yoongi what you can do, what you can change to make this work, and getting nothing besides a self-deprecating sigh.

Yoongi loves you. Doesn’t want to hurt you. Doesn’t want you to put those kinds of burdens on your shoulders, but taking on all that water himself does nothing but make the both of you sink.

He’ll write about it, though. That’s the thing. Yoongi will write about it, and it used to bring you comfort—listening to those old songs, an aural timeline of your and Yoongi’s relationship. The shy sounds of falling in love, the tinkling of a ring in a dish, the inevitable crash and burn. All those songs aren’t so comforting anymore, when you’d do anything to keep him and Yoongi’s got one foot out the door.

“Because I listened to the song,” you say, and it should feel relieving, should alleviate some of that weight you’ve been carrying around. Instead, you just feel guilty, confessing to some cardinal sin. Yoongi goes stock-still, doesn’t dare to breathe, spine straighter than it’s been in years, and all you feel is guilt.

Namjoon quirks an eyebrow. “The song?”

this is the moment that you know that you told her that you loved her, but you don't / you touch her skin and then you think that she is beautiful but she don't mean a thing to me.

“It wasn’t meant to be about you,” Yoongi says, and his words are pleading, like if he uses the right inflections he can get you to understand. “It was just—shit, I don’t know, I just. I was just writing. I needed to do something with the way I was feeling.” His words take on more panic the longer you’re quiet, and by the end there’s a dazed look in his eyes. They’re taking on water, too. “Baby, please. Did you really think—”

This isn’t the kind of argument meant for an audience, and you’d said as much in therapy. Told Namjoon you’d like to discuss it with Yoongi in private and maybe you could all hash it out during your next session, because you knew this would happen. Knew you’d break down, knew you’d be embarrassed. How do you say your husband wrote a song about not loving you anymore and make it out still feeling whole? How do you swallow all that anger and remember all that bullshit Namjoon had taught you about how to communicate? Your stupid fucking “I” statements.

“Silver Lake?” you retort, resentment burning in your veins. “That wasn’t supposed to be about me? What, are you fucking someone else out there?”

Your husband looks like you’ve slapped him, and sometimes you want to. Sometimes you want to opt out of this life—where they’re just words to Yoongi, but a little too biographical to you. Because you’re not the only one who listens. Yoongi writes these songs and people listen to them and they think, isn’t he married. They think, did he really write a song like this about his wife. They think, that’s a little fucked up. Because they’re just words to Yoongi, and the rest of the world doesn’t know. They’re not in on the joke, and neither are you.

There are few words you can use to explain your hurt. How you’ve sat with that song these past few weeks, scouring each line for something to tell you it hurts now, but it’s going to be okay. Always coming up empty. Those lines you’ve fixated on, refused to let go of—

So when you ask, "Is something wrong?" I think, "You're damn right there is, but we can't talk about it now.”

—because that’s how it is, how it goes.

“This is my fucking life, Yoongi.” There’s only heat where there used to be patience. “You write these songs and you don’t spare a single thought for how they might affect me. You write these songs instead of talking to me, and I’m supposed to know how to fix everything, right? Aren’t I? You can’t even tell me how to fix this fucking marriage, but you’ll write a song about how I don’t mean a goddamn thing to you.”

There are tears rolling down your face. You hadn’t realized you started crying, but everything feels wet, feels wrong. Feels like you’re occupying a body that isn’t yours. You’re having this argument in someone else’s bedroom. You’re watching someone else’s marriage fall apart. Someone else’s life. “Either help me fix this and put in the work or let me go.” Everything boils over eventually. There’s only so much you can stave off before the inevitable, and now it’s come for you. “Please.” You choke on a sob. “Yoongi, please, I’m so tired.”

And Yoongi—Yoongi’s got a lot of nervous habits. Little things he does when the anxiety gets to be too much, and there’s one you share, one of those couple things where you pick up one another’s mannerisms, ways of speaking, specific inflections. Yoongi fidgets with his wedding band, pushes it up to that knobby fourth knuckle with his thumb, twirls it around.

Usually, when he pushes it far enough, there’s a strip of even paler skin. A place the sun hasn’t touched; a place that bears proof that Yoongi is yours. Yoongi pushes his wedding band with his thumb and that strip of skin matches the rest, and it strikes someplace deep that’s irrational and unfair. Because it makes sense that there isn’t a discrepancy, that everything is uniform. It makes sense, but everything is so fragile that the thought comes unbidden. Maybe there’s no discrepancy because Yoongi isn’t wearing it. Maybe there’s no discrepancy because Yoongi has let go without letting go, and there’s nothing to salvage, no point in begging, in putting the gun in his hand and forcing him to make the decision. It all tastes sour, tastes like your tongue has crumbled to ash, but—

“I’m not letting you go,” Yoongi responds, words just as waterlogged as yours. “I can’t. I won’t.”

“But you want to,” you say, and it sounds like a conclusion but you mean it like a question. A plea. Perhaps that’s the crux of it: you just can’t say what you mean. Sometimes Yoongi’s honesty feels like a brand, a permanent reminder of everything he’s ever felt that you’re forced to carry, but at least there’s honor in that. At least Yoongi doesn’t talk in fucking riddles.

He shakes his head. “No.” At least there’s conviction in his words. “No, I don’t. This is just—it’s hard right now, okay. It’s hard and it fucking sucks, and I don’t know why, but I’m not—” He sucks in a breath. Sometimes Yoongi can’t say what he means, either.

“Just say it, Yoongi.” So, you prod. Sometimes you find the most mottled bruise on his body and you press on it, because when you love someone the way you love Yoongi, you also know all the ways to hurt them. Sometimes you hurt Yoongi when you mean to hurt yourself because it feels the same.

“What do you want me to say,” he answers, defeated and raw. “Tell me what you want me to say, because if I didn’t know better, it’d sound like you wanted me to leave. It sounds like you want that but you want me to be the bad guy. You want me to pull the trigger.”

You don’t. You know that for certain, just by the way it feels excruciating to merely think about. What would your life even look like without Yoongi? What would it be? But you’re still that caged animal. Still resentful of Yoongi’s composure, because you can fall apart at a moment’s notice and Yoongi is always calm, prepared; always the last building standing in a hurricane.

“I don’t want that,” you say, borrowing a bit of your husband’s honesty, his fortitude, “but I need you to know that’s where we’re at. I need you to be able to say it, instead of treating it like it’s some impossible thing—“

“It is,” Yoongi argues, brows pinched, lips pouted. “Baby, what are you saying? It is. Why wouldn’t it be? That’s what you want?”

“You don’t write songs like you did about someone you’re not planning on leaving, Yoongi. I don’t know how you don’t understand that. I don’t—how can you think it’s impossible? You think I’ve just been doing all of this for fun? The therapy, the crying? You think I haven’t already—” Mourned the end of my marriage, you want to say, but you can’t. You need to be realistic. You need to say what you mean, and even if it’s true—even if you’ve mentally divided up everything in this house, thehouse itself—it doesn’t do you any good to create new wounds when both of you are already beaten and battered.

“You’re my fucking wife,” comes Yoongi’s response, and the way he says it feels dirty. Yoongi calls you his wife the way lesser men would use a slur, and sometimes Yoongi is composed but sometimes he’s angry. Sometimes he’s so angry the world becomes too small to contain him. “I’m not gonna—you’ve already what? Given up? Checked out? It’s not fair, this thing you do. Decide how things are gonna play out before they even happen. It’s fucking bullshit. You’re my fucking wife, and the least you could do is give me a little credit—”

“Oh, that’s rich.”

Yoongi’s pupils blow wide. Sometimes you think they’re the darkest thing in the universe. Vantablack. “Yeah, it is. It is fucking rich.”

“At least I’m trying! At least I’m doing something, not just writing little fucking songs about how much I don’t care about you.”

Yoongi slams the door behind him.

For the first time, you wonder if he’s coming back.

i am waiting for that sense of relief / i am waiting for you to flee the scene / as if you held in your hand the smoking gun / and on the floor lay the one you said you loved.

You feel him before you hear him, and he doesn’t wake you up.

It’s dark. Probably sometime between one and two, judging by the pillar of moonlight creeping in through the curtains. Yoongi is quiet as he moves around the bedroom, still so considerate even now, and you just watch. Jeans removed one leg at a time, hung neatly in the closet; socks removed one by one, into the hamper; flannel unbuttoned with calloused fingers, dropped on the floor. He’ll pick it up tomorrow, just like he always does. Down to just a t-shirt, neckline loose and stretched from overwear, and black briefs.

Moonlight suits him, you think. (You’ve always thought.) Casts silver shadows on his skin, fills in the contours, lends credence to the thought that Yoongi is something ethereal, someone wasting his time on earth.

He’s down to a t-shirt and briefs, and he hesitates. Takes a step toward the bed and thinks better of it. Doesn’t know what to do in this liminal space, in this liminal period of time. There’s only two ways to go, and Yoongi will either leave or he’ll stay, and right now he doesn’t know which one it’s going to be.

“Yoongi,” you say, and you try to make the decision for him. “You’re home?”

You see him swallow, watch his shoulders slump. “Yeah,” he says, and it’s quiet like the nighttime. You’re in the middle of the city and this moment is so quiet. “I’m—did I wake you? I’m sorry, I just—”

“No,” you answer. You don’t want to fight. “You’re fine. Do you—are you coming to bed?”

He nods. Seems to fold in on himself just a little more. “Yeah. Yeah, just have to brush my teeth.”

There’s the padding of feet on hardwood. Something that sounds like a stubbed toe. A loud curse. The flick of the bathroom light, the faucet, spit. The padding of feet on hardwood, then the bedroom rug. The depression of the mattress, his phone plugged in and discarded carelessly on his nightstand. An exhale, like he’s finally home after a long day.

Does Yoongi still consider you his home?

“I’m sorry,” you say. Still quiet, just like the nighttime. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

You hear Yoongi swallow again. Smell just the faintest hint of alcohol. “No one’s fighting, baby,” he answers. Woven into his words is a softness you don’t deserve. “We can talk about it in the morning.”

“Can we talk about it now?”

Yoongi suits the moonlight, but so do you. It makes you brave. Sometimes things are easier to say in these in-between spaces: love and heartbreak, midnight and morning. Sometimes the sun is too reflective, and sometimes it burns.

“Do you want to?” You nod, even though instinct tells you to shirk away and take it back. A small piece of honesty to work yourself up to something bigger, more consequential. “Okay.”

Sometimes you get what you want and aren’t sure what to do with it, so you roll onto your side, the one facing your husband, and suck in a breath. Hold it. Count to five. Let it go. Yoongi reserves all his patience for you, always. “I’m really scared, Yoongi.”

His sigh is fractured, watery. “Me too,” he admits. “There’s a lot I want to say and I just—I don’t know how. Which makes it worse, I know, and then I don’t know how to fix it.”

Is that why… “The song?”

Yoongi nods. “I needed to get it out. Like, some call of the void shit, you know? Put those big fears into words in a way that—it doesn’t make sense, looking back, because I thought it was just an outlet. Just, write this hypothetical song about the collapse of our relationship because it fucking terrified me and then let it go. Like how sometimes Namjoon tells us to write letters to each other and burn them.” He fists the duvet. Moonlight gleams off his wedding band. “I’m sorry. I need you to know it wasn’t real… like that.”

“Okay.”

“I—you were right. About the other thing. About me not being able to say it.”

“Can you now?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “I don’t think I can. Makes it real.”

“You also can’t stand in a burning house and pretend it’s not on fire.”

That gets a laugh out of him. Sardonic, a little self-deprecating, but it’s there. “Is that where you’re at? With me.” He makes a sound that’s a lot like a whimper. “Divorce.”

“I don’t want to be,” you answer. Another small truth leading up to a bigger one. “I’m trying not to be.”

“But you are.”

Shakily, you nod. “Yeah, I am. Things just aren’t… they’re not working, even though I’m trying, and I just.” Yoongi’s hand finds yours. It’s sweat-slick and cold. “Sometimes I think it’d be the kind thing to do. Put us both out of our misery.”

“Relationship euthanasia.”

“Yeah, kind of. It’s funny, you know. My vet always used to say you’d know it’s time when there’s more bad days than good, so I guess that really is the best way to put it.”

“What would that even look like?”

You want to say you don’t know. That you haven’t thought about it. Is this the call of the void again or is this for real? But the twilight makes you honest, so you tell the truth. “I would leave,” you say. “I wouldn’t be able to stay here, and I couldn’t ask you to go. It’s always been more your space than mine.”

Yoongi hums an agreement. Not cruel, it just makes sense. “I’m not tied to this place,” you continue. “This city. This state. I’m not sure I’d be able to stay, knowing you’re still here in a house that used to be ours without me in it. But sometimes I’m scared I wouldn’t be able to leave, either.”

“You could,” Yoongi answers. When you look up, he’s crying. Cheeks streaked with tears, eyes swollen. “You can do anything, you know? You’re so much stronger than me. You could do the hard thing and be okay. It’s part of the reason I’ve been so scared to have this conversation. You might leave, and you’d be okay, and I wouldn’t.”

“Yoongi...”

“I know you’re tired,” he says, voice laying his own exhaustion bare, “but I want you to be happy. So I will—I’ll let you go, if it’s what you want.” He’s crying harder now, staccato sobs wracking his body, making him smaller. “I don’t want to,” he whispers. “I don’t think I can, but I will. For you. If it’s what you need. If it’ll make you happy.”

You can’t stand it. “Yoongi, no.” You’re on your haunches, wiping furiously at his cheeks, thumbing beneath his eyes. “Being apart from you would never make me happy.”

You’re in his lap. He’s still too anxious to reach out and touch, maybe still a little scorned, and his hands lay at his sides. Twist into the duvet again. You want them on you. You always want Yoongi on you. “Tell me how to fix this,” he begs. “Tell me and I’ll do it, I promise, baby, please just tell me. I can’t—I don’t want to—”

“Yoongi.” He looks up, meets your eye. Moonlight suits him. “Something has to change, and you know that as well as I do. We can’t keep going like this, but just—just meet me in the middle, okay? Help me. Let’s start there.”

“Okay,” comes his automatic response. He’d agree to anything right now. Take any lifeline. And then the words sink in, and the sobs taper off but he’s still got the shakes, so you hold him. Wrap him in your arms and just let him breathe. “Okay,” he repeats. Measured. Considered.

Still standing, even after a hurricane.

i need you so much closer, so come on.

Morning comes, and with it—tenderness.

Also the mug of coffee on your nightstand, Yoongi’s hand splayed on the swell of your hip, the warmth that seeps into your skin. He’s typing away on his phone with the other, and he abandons it to pull you closer when you stir.

“Morning,” you murmur. Yoongi’s reply rumbles against your back.

“S’the afternoon, baby.”

Your laugh is abrupt, soft. Dissipates into the air as quickly as it’d arrived. “Okay. Good afternoon, then.”

Yoongi shuffles closer, adjusts so he’s pressed fully against your back. The hand that was on your hip moves beneath the hemline of your shirt. Explores the soft skin of your stomach, thumbs at the valleys between each rib. Yoongi’s touch is always laced with soft confidence; now, he still knows the way, still has the map memorized, but he’s reluctant.

You place your hand over his, move it higher. His thumb grazes the bottom swell of your breast and he sighs, presses impossibly closer still. “I love you,” he says quietly, like a secret. “Want you to know that.”

“I do,” you answer. He sighs again at your affirmation—more of an exhale, all relief—and drops his head to the crook of your neck. Presses a kiss there. The heat of him is almost disorienting, especially after being deprived of it for so long. “Haven’t been this close to you in months.”

He nips at your ear with his teeth. “I’ll make it up to you,” he says, and something stirs low in your belly. “Take a shower with me. I still smell like the bar.”

You snort. “Very sexy. Top tier dirty talk.”

He presses another kiss beneath your ear. “Please?”

“Let me drink some coffee first. I’m barely awake.” When you roll onto your side, Yoongi looks small, on the verge of dejection. Soft. You can’t help but smile. Can’t help but reach out to smooth the furrow between his brows, kiss away his pout. “I’ll be there, I promise. Give me five minutes.”

He wants to push it, you can tell, but he just says okay, baby. Presses one final kiss to your forehead before he’s gone, before the sound of bare feet on hardwood returns, before you hear the shower turn on, Yoongi’s low hum as he patters around and talks to himself.

You sit up and take stock. Your eyes are sore, head feels like it’s been split in two, but your heart feels… lighter. Scabbed over. Another battle fought and won, and even though the war isn’t over, you feel cautiously optimistic. Better than you have in a while, and you’re smiling when you press the coffee mug to your lips. Still warm, so Yoongi hasn’t been awake much longer than you. You wonder how many cups he’s already had, if he drank them black.

Half your cup is gone before Yoongi starts yelling from the en suite, complaining loudly that he’s cold and lonely, to hurry up. That he’s going to use all the hot water out of spite, but what if it gets too hot, what if he perishes in here and you have to live the rest of your life overcome with guilt. If it’s too hot, wouldn’t I perish too? you call back. Yoongi’s responding silence is so loud, but you fill it with a wild cackle.

“I’m gonna use all the nice shampoo!” he yells, but you’re already in the bathroom.

“And you’re gonna pay to replace it,” you retort, and he’s so caught off-guard that you’re there that he screams, drops a bottle on his foot, screams again. Up and off goes your t-shirt—Yoongi’s; smells like him and not a bar—and then you’re peeling off your underwear, tossing everything in the hamper. Into the shower. You reach out and touch Yoongi just so he knows you’re there even though he already does, but you press a kiss between his shoulder blades all the same. “You okay?”

“Fine,” he grumbles, all embarrassment.

Yoongi had insisted on a large shower. Something big enough for the both of you to fit in, and he’d blushed furiously when talking about it, but it was never anything sexual. You’d tried shower sex once, back in that shitty Silver Lake apartment, and never bothered again. But Yoongi craved the intimacy of showering together, the vulnerability, and over time you found it almost lonesome to shower by yourself.

So when he says, “Come here,” there’s enough space to maneuver beneath the spray, warm and not perishable-hot, and stand beside him. Enough space for Yoongi to rake his hands through your hair, get the strands wet; enough space to reach back for the nice shampoo he didn’t use all of; enough space for him to lather it in his hands and massage it into your scalp. A practiced song and dance. Something Yoongi could never forget the steps of.

Rinsed out, down the drain. Yoongi works in the conditioner next, brushes it through with his fingers, presses a kiss to your shoulder. “I was talking to Jin,” he says, and your mind is blank for a second. Then—when you woke up and he was on his phone. “About the cabin.”

“The one in Oakhurst?”

Yoongi nods. Turns you around so your back is to the spray, facing him. Lets the water rinse the conditioner away, too, before he’s placing a hand beneath your chin, tilting your face up. “Would you wanna go? Just us?”

“How long?”

A thumb settles in the contour of your cheek. Third finger traces the bridge of your nose. “However long you want. I—I don’t have anything, for a while. Could you work from there?”

You nod, a little delirious on how gentle Yoongi’s being with you. “Ye-yeah. Should be fine.”

You suck in a breath, shuddering as Yoongi brushes your rib cage when he reaches for the loofah. “D’you—” A pause. Time for you to swallow that familiar lump in your throat, keep from crying. “D’you think it’ll help?”

He pauses. Nods, so minutely you almost miss it. “I don’t know,” he admits, “but I want to try.”

“Me too.”

“Okay.” Presses his lips to yours. “However long you want, then.”

After he’s scrubbed the scars from your skin, the sadness, he wraps you in a warm towel. Stands behind you and wraps his arms around you as you both brush your teeth. Presses a kiss to your temple. Watches, so fond it makes you ache, as you dry your hair. Cracks little jokes about each product you use, says surely you don’t need all that, and you swat at him because you do. Because he uses just as many as you do, and sometimes uses yours. Tenderly takes the lotion from your hands and rubs it into your skin. His hands are firm when they run over your calves, your thighs, and your moan is quiet but it’s there, and you watch, mouth open, as Yoongi’s eyes flutter shut. As he takes a second to collect himself, breathe through it.

He just hasn’t heard that sound in a while, is all.

“Can I make it up to you now?” The words are spoken into your skin, pressed into the ditch of your knee, all warm breath skirting along your skin. “Show you how much I missed you? How much I love you?”

Goosebumps erupt all over. Dazed, you nod, and instead of words, you can feel the way Yoongi smirks. “Gonna take my time with you,” he promises. “Gonna take you apart. Would you like that, baby? Want me to take you apart?”

You meet your own eyes in the mirror, quick to forget where you are when Yoongi’s like this. You already look picked apart. Glassy eyes, mouth parted. The towel slips in your slackened grip and you dare another glance in the mirror, already knowing you’ll find Yoongi’s hungry gaze staring back, at full height.

“Look at you,” he chides, tone husky, and it’s not a shock that your husband wants you, that you’re both desirable and desired, but Yoongi is usually so unshakeable. Stable. Seeing him so affected from so little has you lightheaded, has your thighs clamping together unconsciously. “No.” Words firm. “Don’t hide from me.”

You reach back, still staring into the mirror, eyes still locked with Yoongi’s. Your hands tangle in his hair. Dark, longer than it’s been in so long, soft when you pull on it a little. Yoongi groans, buries his face in your neck, nips at the skin there. Through half-lidded eyes you watch as his hands roam your body. Feel the way he grows hard against the small of your back. Briefly, you think you might want it like this. Might want Yoongi to hike up the towel, bend you over the counter.

(Impersonal, because that’s what you’ve grown used to.)

But your hand finds his, slow their travel, lace your fingers together. “Not here.” He bites at your skin again and your whole body flushes when he begins to suck a bruise into your neck. “Yoo—Yoongi. No-not here.”

The bites slowly melt into something taunting, almost cruel. “You sound a little needy, baby.”

“I am.” You’re not embarrassed to admit it. It’s been so long you’re nearly aching with want, and you know Yoongi, know the kind of lover he is. The want is so strong you’re trembling with it. “Yoongi, please.”

Your words are hushed, meant only for the sanctity of this moment. Yoongi looks up long enough to catch your eye—long enough for the corners of his lips to pull into a smirk, to squeeze your hand tighter. “You don’t want it like this?” he asks, even though he knows your answer. But he still makes a show of it. Uses his free hand to grip the edge of your towel, drag it up and over your ass. Pauses to knead the flesh there before planting his hand in the center of your back and bending you over the counter. “Bet I could take you just like this, couldn’t I? Bet I’d just slide right in.”

The whine that escapes you is honestly pathetic, but you’re already so wound up, coiled tight, that you’re long past the point of caring. And you wonder, briefly, why you should care at all; why you care about the sounds you make, the way your body looks, when it’s Yoongi. When it’s your husband and not some random hookup. It’s that thought—this is my husband, my husband, my husband—that has your toes curling against the cold tile. It’s seeing the glint of his wedding band in the mirror.

“Do it here.” Your voice betrays your desperation. “Just—fuck, Yoongi, do it here, I don’t care.”

It’s maddening, the fact that he hasn’t even touched you yet. Not properly. But that’s the thing about space: sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes it’s a dying star, a supernova explosion, and you know what comes after. A black hole. Endless, inescapable, dark dark dark. That’s where the two of you are. That’s what all of this is, just a perpetual pull towards Yoongi, fated. Perhaps nothing more than gravity, but you let it reel you in nonetheless.

If the two of you are fated to go out the same way, the same dying star, you’ll go willingly.

“I’ll give it to you how you wan’ it,” Yoongi slurs. Leaves wet, open-mouthed kisses across your neck. “Get on the bed, baby, I’ll give you whatever you want.”

He’s on you before you even have a chance to drop the towel. Drapes his body over yours and presses you into the mattress, wraps one hand around your throat just to keep you there. Like you might leave. Like you might decide you don’t want this, don’t want him. As if you could. “Tell me what else you want,” he says, words unstable and wavering. He’s so fucking hard.

“Your mouth.”

He cock twitches at your words, your direction, and he smiles down at you in a way that makes you feel like you’re burning. “Yeah? That’s what you want?” A switch flips when you nod, chest heaving. Yoongi gets so serious, laser-focused, and it’s overwhelming when it’s pointed at you. You reach out, trace two fingers over his cheekbones just to make sure he’s real, and Yoongi captures them, presses a kiss to the center of your palm.

He’s not so gentle after that.

Yoongi moves slowly, intentionally, and you feel like prey, all part of the show. He trails his tongue down the column of your throat, the space between your breasts, your stomach. Spreads your legs and settles between them, places them over his shoulders. Stares. You can only imagine what you must look like: how wet, how open. His breath is so warm against you when he speaks. “You have to come on my tongue before you can have my cock.” He presses his thumb against your clit and circles slowly, and you can’t remember the last time he touched you like this. “Do you understand, baby?” A few months at least, maybe longer.

You nod. You’d agree to anything to feel Yoongi’s mouth on you, and he knows this, laughs before he leans in to lick a fat stripe against your slit. It’s instinct, the way your hands fly to his hair, trying to pull him closer. Having him here isn’t enough; you need to be consumed by him, need him to ruin you from the inside out, even though he already has. It’s also instinct, the way you know you belong to him, the way everyone who might come after him will pale in comparison.

As diligently as ever, Yoongi works you over. Eats you out so sloppily you can feel it pooling between your legs, seeping into the sheets below you, and the way he’s moaning around you makes you writhe. Has you gripping at the duvet, his hair, his hand. Has you rolling your hips against his face, groaning when Yoongi just takes it. When he says like that, yeah, so fucking hot, baby, love when you use me. When he reaches up to shove two fingers in your mouth and gives you no warning before he presses them inside.

“Fuck, fuck—”

Embarrassing, the way you can hear yourself, the way you can hear every wet pass of Yoongi’s tongue. Embarrassing that he’s only had his mouth on you for a few minutes and you’re already teetering on the edge. Embarrassing how hard Yoongi has to grip your hips to keep you where he wants you. Embarrassing that you welcome the bruises, want to be marked by him. “Are you close?” You think you nod. It’s hard to do much of anything when Yoongi crooks his fingers, presses firmly against your g-spot. “Is my beautiful girl gonna come from my fucking fingers? My mouth?”

(You are beautiful, but you don’t mean a thing to me.)

You try not to go there. You squeeze your eyes shut and try not to think about the words in that song, try to remember that’s all they are. If Yoongi had meant to hurt you, though, he’d hit his mark. Just words, you remind yourself, but they take you out of your body completely.

And it’s a funny thing, this almost-grief, because you’re hurting so badly it feels like you’re drowning, but with the pain comes guilt. What do you do when the person who cut you is the only one who can bandage it? What do you do with this pain when you want to talk it to death, make sense of it, but you don’t want to make Yoongi feel worse?

You hide—hide the pain, hide yourself.

You’ve gotten good at it over the last few months, too much practice, so you let Yoongi suction his lips around your clit and get you off just the way he said he would. You let him kiss you after, taste yourself on his tongue, and you think, This is what you deserve, I hope you taste like me forever, I hope it never washes away. You tug your lip between your teeth when you push him away and reach for his cock. Spit into your hand and say something dirty as you jerk him off, and Yoongi falls for it. Moans brokenly and thrusts into your hand, gets greedy just the way you had before reality humbled you.

“Ba-baby,” he whines, rutting a little harder, a little faster. Everyone gets selfish eventually. “Gotta fuck you.”

It should feel satisfying, seeing him desperate like this, seeing firsthand how badly he wants you, the fucked-out look on his face, but it all rings hollow. So you finish the show—push two fingers into yourself and coat Yoongi’s cock once more with your own slick—and roll over onto your stomach, arch your back the way you know he likes, and beg him to fuck you.

Yoongi falls for it. Yoongi pushes inside and groans, and you moan because you should and not because it’ll cover the sound of your sobs. Yoongi rolls his hips and lets whatever he thinks come out of his mouth, all filth, and it should do something for you but instead you’re wondering what he’d say to someone else. Would he fuck someone else like this? Would he be as desperate for it?

Eventually you forget to keep moaning but you don’t stop crying. You wonder if it should feel cathartic or if it’ll just feel like this forever. You think about New Year’s Eve and crying alone in the kitchen, how Yoongi hadn’t known. You think, I’m scared I could eventually hate him. I’m scared that line gets blurrier everyday.

“Baby?” Yoongi realizes this time.

You think, Another dying star.

“Did I hurt you?”

You think, Maybe I’ve already burned up. Maybe this is all that’s left.

“Baby, talk to me, please—”

You think, How many holes can you patch before it all sinks anyway?

“I’m sorry—”

You think, I’m scared of how much I want to hurt you. I’m scared I’m going to be angry forever.

Yoongi turns you gently onto your back. Takes a long, hard look at the tears rolling down your cheeks. Seems to commit them to memory. Starts crying, too, and it’s nothing more than vindication that doesn’t feel satisfying. Everything just tastes like ash: remnants of the supernova, the crash and burn, a thousand cuts.

Yoongi loves you. “Keep going,” you say, because you both need it. Not every problem can be fucked through, but you think this one can. “Please, keep going.”

Yoongi hesitates. Must find whatever he’s looking for as he stares down at you before he nods minutely and pushes back in. This is not the way you thought you’d heal, but there is only one way this is going to end, so you might as well. The first time was always going to be the hardest.

“I love you,” Yoongi says, and it’s raw. It’s real, the way he drops his head to the crook of your neck and cries. The way he finds your hand and laces your fingers together. His wedding band is cool against your skin. “I fucking love you. I’ll love you for the rest of my fucking life, you know that?”

He’s got something to prove. Wants to fuck devotion into you, wants to promise you impossible things. You wrap your legs around his waist and whimper, ask him to fuck you harder, but he doesn’t. Fucks you steady. “We’re gonna go to that cabin,” he rasps. “We’re gonna figure this out, and we’re gonna do all those things we talked about years ago. I’m gonna fuck you in every room in that place, just like this. I’m gonna make sure you know—even if you leave, you’re gonna know how much I love you.”

He’s going to be the end of you. “Yoongi.” He already is.

He moves your hand to your clit, tells you to make yourself come. Tells you he wants to see it. Fucks into you just a little faster, a little deeper, and you can feel the coil tightening again. Another supernova, you think as your body surrenders and shudders, and buries himself to the hilt and comes with you.

Sometimes space is a dying star, and sometimes it’s salvation.

and when i see you, i really see you upside down / but my brain knows better. it picks you up and turns you around.

There had been a time, years ago, when you and Yoongi would sit at your cramped kitchen table and pluck scraps of paper out of a bowl.

A lot had been left to chance back then. Probably too much, in hindsight, but that’s just the way life was. Carefree, a summer breeze, blissfully naive. The two of you were young and love-drunk and warm from the sun. Yoongi had worked endlessly—gigs for shit pay in shittier bars, overnights in his studio, fingers calloused from guitar strings and networking—to put a ring on your finger, nothing certain except how he felt about you, and that had been enough.

It’d gone like—

(“What’d you write on that one?” you ask, trying to peek over the bowl between you to see. Yoongi laughs, swats your hand away, says oh my god, go away, you’ll see if you pick it. “You’re no fun.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m no fun because I don’t want to spoil a surprise.”

“But you know what’s on all of mine!” you argue, and you feel more in love with Yoongi than ever, picking a place out of a bowl, leaving things to fate.

It’s your pout that does it. You jut out your bottom lip and turn on the puppy dog eyes, and Yoongi folds like a bad hand. Yah, yah, don’t do that! he says, laughing harder than before, covering his eyes with those calloused hands. There are so many stories in those hands.

So Yoongi laughs and unfolds his scrap of paper and pushes it in your direction. Refuses to meet your eye as you read it over, and you can’t figure out why he’s embarrassed of it. “Jin’s cabin? It’s up in Oakhurst, right? That’s only a five hour drive.”

“For a honeymoon, though?” Yoongi’s question is quiet, small. Still embarrassed. “Isn’t it kind of lame?”

“No, it’s not lame. You’ve wanted to go to Yosemite forever.”

“Yeah, I’ve wanted to go. And it’s mostly just for Horsetail Fall—”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing dramatically. “Yoongi. Put it in the bowl.”

“But—”

“Put it in the bowl.”

A flush creeps up his neck but he listens nonetheless, re-crumpling the paper and tossing it into the bowl. You’ll be picking soon, and you know the odds are slim, but you put a silent hope into the universe for Jin’s little cabin in Oakhurst to be the one, to be able to do this one thing for Yoongi when he’s been working himself to the bone to do so much for you.)

—and it hadn’t worked out, that cabin trip. The two of you had gone to Italy, Yoongi having been the one to pull it, and you rented scooters and ate gelato and soaked in the coastline. You’d dragged Yoongi on a tour of the catacombs and he spent hours at the Roman Forum, reading all the plaques and taking it all in.

You hadn’t felt like you’d missed out. Time hadn’t been wasted, and you still look back fondly at those pictures—the one of Yoongi with powdered sugar on his nose from too much sfogliatella, the two of you at Lake Como, you with all the stray cats at the Gatti di Roma, one in your lap, all gray, that you said had looked like Yoongi.

But, going to that little cabin in Oakhurst now, it feels a little like redemption. It feels like the universe is handing you the keys on a silver platter, saying, it’s okay to do it again; even if you got it right the first time, who says you can only do it once. So you take a day off for the drive and your boss gives you the week; you pack as many clothes as you can fit in your suitcase; you set an alarm for seven o’clock and try to stay grounded.

First, though, you have to survive Namjoon.

“How are things?” he asks, folding one endlessly long leg over the other.

Beside you, Yoongi radiates nervous energy. Jittery but not anxious. The kind of pent-up energy a runner might have: in position, awaiting the gunfire before a race. Composed to a fault, it’s not often you see him like this. Maybe right before an album drop or a big show, but never in marriage counseling.

So it doesn’t feel like a lie or lip service when you say, “Better,” and Namjoon and Yoongi both swallow down the same kind of smile.

“And why is that?”

“We’re going on a trip,” Yoongi says, and this surprises you, too. Protective, fiercely private Yoongi. “To, um. A friend’s place. Up in Oakhurst.”

Namjoon looks excited. “Near Yosemite,” he says. Not a question. “Is this a getaway or just a change of scenery?”

You look at Yoongi; Yoongi looks at you. “I’ll have to work some of the time, so I guess it’s a little bit of both,” you answer, “but it feels… good, exciting. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Yeah?”

You’re fidgeting, digging imaginary dirt from beneath your nails again as your cheeks warm. “Yeah. I know Yoongi has wanted to go for a long time, so I’m excited for that. I think… I think it’s important for him to do something like that, right now. Something big, you know? Or, something that feels big, I guess. I think it’ll be good for him, and—”

“It’ll be good for us.” Yoongi’s correction is gentle, dandelion-soft. He can’t look you in the eye as he says it, but he doesn’t need to. His neck is flushed and Namjoon’s expressive enough for all three of you. “Anything that’s good for me is good for us.”

If you’re stunned, Namjoon is shell shocked. It lasts all of five seconds before he’s coughing to cover his grin, jotting down notes like a mad professor, and it’s a little tooreminiscent of the way your parents had pushed you out the front door on your prom night—that same brand of giddy excitement, like they knew something you didn’t. But, Namjoon is a professional before anything else, so he simply asks, “How long are you going?”

“TBD,” Yoongi answers again.

“You’re able to take the time off?”

Right back to earth. Another sore point, because sometimes, like now, it’s easy to forget who you’re married to; easy to forget when you’re the pinnacle of American suburbia—standard nine-to-five, family health insurance plan, a maxed-out Roth IRA—and Yoongi is anything but. It’s easy to forget when your lives are so different. When Yoongi’s got songs and albums to write, for himself and everyone else, and shows and tours to plan, for himself and when someone else needs him as a fill-in, and you’re gearing up for another half-year spent alone at home.

Sure, it sucks sometimes, but getting to watch Yoongi live out his dreams tampers down all that negativity. When it’s two a.m. in Los Angeles but midday where he is and he sends you pictures of whatever he’s doing, what he’s eating, candids of his tourmates, all the sights and sounds. Yoongi’s doing exactly what he’s always wanted, what he’s meant to, and it’s okay.

What’s good for him is good for you, after all.

“I, uh—” He pauses, rubs at the back of his neck. The flush is still there. “I put a pause on the stand-in work for the rest of the year. Told everyone I wanted to focus on writing and producing and… stuff. Everything else. Getting my shit together.” You can hear it when he swallows, can see the slight tremor of his hands. Yoongi has never done well when he’s not working himself to the bone—when he has too much free time to spend in his own head. “And I can do that from anywhere, so.”

Namjoon catches your eye over the rim of his glasses. Seems to ask a question you’re not sure the answer to so you just stare back, and then his attention turns back to Yoongi. “When you say ‘stuff,’ what do you mean?”

“Well, I wound up here, didn’t I?”

From anyone else, it would sound snappy and bitter, but from Yoongi it’s just… self-deprecating, wounded, like it’s nothing more than a personal failure. Like Yoongi is the only reason the two of you are in marriage counseling and not a million little things the two of you have done. “We,” you correct, dandelion-soft just like Yoongi had been, and his head turns toward you so sharply you worry his neck is going to snap. “Don’t do that, Yoongi.”

He’s stock-still, back uncharacteristically ramrod straight, jaw dropped slightly. “Don’t take on the full burden of this. We wound up here. It’s okay to say that.”

Namjoon tries so hard to hide another smile that his dimples look more like craters.

i roll the window down and then begin to breathe in / the darkest country road and the strong scent of evergreen.

“Hi.”

Yoongi is slouched in the doorway of your office, beanie pulled down low. Strands of curls stick out of the bottom and you shoot him a smile, distracted from your task of packing up your work equipment. “Hi. What’s up?”

“Are you all packed?”

You shrug. “Just about. I don’t really have that much stuff. Just my laptop and some files.” You eye him skeptically, already sensing where this is going. “Are you?”

Your husband pouts, and it’s such a pathetic expression that you swear you can feel your heart grow three sizes. “In my defense—”

“Oh my god.” You try to look stern, but a laugh bubbles out of you anyway. “Why do you always do this?”

“I don’t like packing,” he whines. “And I need help.”

“With what?”

“Some of my production stuff.” He pouts deeper, sends you an impressive pair of puppy dog eyes. “Please help me. You’re my only hope.”

“How much are you bringing?”

“Not that much,” he answers in a way that sounds like a promise. “I wanted to bring the Yamaha because the cabin has that screened in porch and I think the acoustics could be really interesting in there, but it’s really heavy—”

You sigh. Look down at your laptop and stack of paperwork and wireless mouse and sigh again, then nod your agreement, because it’s not the first time you’ve helped Yoongi lug his gear in and out of your place and it won’t be the last. You’ve all but perfected it by now.

The car looks more like you’re moving than going on a trip. Your neighbor’s such a shithead you’re surprised he hasn’t poked his head out by now and asked when the house is getting listed so he can buy it and flip it for three times the price. Another brainless capitalist shill, Yoongi always says, and you laugh to yourself as you force another duffel bag of god-knows-what into the trunk. And we’re his neighbors, so what does that say about us? you always reply.

It takes the better part of twenty minutes, but then it’s done and you’re left with sore arms and a sweaty brow. Yoongi looks like the weight of the world’s been lifted from his shoulders rather than his hefty digital piano, and the thankful smile he shoots at you is worth any price.

“Do you need help with anything?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“No,” you respond, picking up the stack of files only to drop them back down on your desk. “It’s really just my laptop and this stuff. I’m fine; go do whatever it is you’ve got left to do. I’ll take care of it.”

There’s a look Yoongi gets when he’s laser-focused. Intense, unmistakeable, intimidating, especially when it’s trained on you. That’s how he’s looking at you now: looking at the sheen of sweat on your skin, the way your tongue runs along your bottom lip, your mussed-up hair. Both of you know exactly what he wants, and it drives you a little crazy when he’s shameless like this. When he’s not shy about looking, about wanting.

So Yoongi bends you over your desk and fucks you right there, right in your office in front of the street-side window. It’s hazy and primal but he takes his time, does and says exactly what he wants, has you a trembling, incoherent mess in record time, and it works. You come so hard you don’t think about the song, you don’t cry, and those threads of optimism start weaving something you can hold in your hands.

—

“Shut it off,” Yoongi slurs, voice deep and raspy from sleep.

You snort, turning off your alarm, seven a.m. sharp, and roll over to press a kiss to his forehead. “Wake up, sleepyhead, I got breakfast.”

He opens one eye, looks at you questioningly with it, blinks in confusion. “How long have you been up?”

“A while. Now, come on, I ordered your favorite.”

That piques his attention. “The breakfast sandwich?” You nod. “And the little strudels?” You nod again. “Coffee, too?”

You grab the plastic cup and shake it, rattling the ice. “One large iced Americano, at the ready. I even got you one of those bottled horchata cold brews for the road, even though you swear you don’t like them.”

“They’re too sweet,” Yoongi answers. It might be early, but apparently not early enough to not lie right through his teeth.

You glare. “You steal mine every time I order one.”

“That’s not true,” he grumbles, accusations forgotten as he spots the greasy takeout bag. “I should brush my teeth first,” he whines, looking agonized. “I should, right?”

“Says who?”

“I don’t know. The universe or whatever.”

You laugh. Watch, fond, as he drags himself out of bed and into the bathroom. Watch, even more fond, as he returns with a little toothpaste on the corner of his mouth that you thumb away. Watch, hopelessly and forever endeared, as he buries himself back under the duvet, pulls it up and over his nose. You can see the way he’s pouting from his eyes alone, and he starts whining about the cold, how early it is, how the only thing that’ll cure him is a kiss.

Which you give. Freely, without thought.

(And the two of you barely make it to Santa Clarita before Yoongi cracks open the cold brew he didn’t want. Doesn’t say a word about it being too sweet, just sits quietly in the passenger seat, half asleep, as he scrolls through his playlists. Queues up something soft, easy to listen to, and talks your ear off about Jeff Beck when one of his songs comes on.

Beck’s Bolero, which is not as soft and easy as the songs that played before it, but it makes Yoongi’s eyes light up. Has him seemingly speaking in tongues as he spits guitar terms to you, half of Jeff Beck’s life story interwoven with endless praise and awe, all the while he drinks his horchata cold brew and doesn’t say a word about it being too sweet.

You want to listen to him for the rest of your life.)

—

Oakhurst is small.

Only two traffic lights before you reach the road Seokjin’s cabin is on—a sharp right turn off the main highway, an acute angle, a steep decline. You’re glad you’re doing this in early March and not the dead of winter. Doubly glad you’d ignored the judgmental stare Yoongi had given you at the car dealership when you’d insisted on an SUV, all-wheel-drive.

You’d know the cabin was Jin’s even without an address. Baby blue exterior, pink front door. Blends in but still manages to stick out, much like the man himself. More like a bungalow, maybe. Looks, from the outside, like the kind of place that might be good for starting over. Someplace small and unassuming—someplace with a screened-in porch with two rocking chairs. A place where you can drink coffee. Decompress from the city. A place where the only thing you know is Yoongi, so he’s your focus.

A place that makes you smile.

You kill the engine. Just sit in the silence for a moment, hesitant to wake up Yoongi. Unsure, honestly, how he’d slept through the last leg of the trip, all the hairpin turns and uneven roads, but you close the car door gently and punch in the lock code for the house and lug in everything except Yoongi’s gear and let him sleep. Then, when he stirs awake, looking confused and a little lost, you press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth and gesture theatrically at the baby blue bungalow with the pink door and say, “Surprise! We’re here!” even though it’s not a surprise.

Yoongi laughs anyway.

There isn’t much to unpack, nor is there much space to put it. Only a closet in each of the bedrooms, so you dump everything out of your suitcase and thread your clothes through velvet hangers. Laugh at the thought of Yoongi doing no such thing—of Yoongi living out of his luggage for the next couple weeks, everything wrinkled and looking lived-in.

He comes and finds you, places a hand on your hip as he asks for the car keys, says he’s going to the store. Seokjin had stocked the pantry, but he wants to get fresh stuff, and you know that means he’s going to come back with more coffee than groceries. So you just nod, say okay, ask if he’d like you to unpack and put away his clothes. His nose scrunches; you hide your smile and leave it alone.

When he’s gone, you crack a window in the living room to air out the lingering emptiness. Suck in a mouthful of fresh air that seems to sting your lungs, all evergreen. There’s still so much to do, and you should probably stretch your legs after so long in the car, but the temptation to sink into the couch is strong. Seokjin’s got a soft blanket thrown over the back that you arrange over your legs, and then you’re asleep, some stupid paranormal show playing on the television to greet Yoongi whenever he gets back.

You dream of forgiveness, endless sprawling mountains, and the smell of coffee.

the rhythm of my footsteps crossing flatlands to your door / have been silenced forevermore. and the distance is quite simply much too far for me to row. it seems farther than ever before.

There’s a dive bar up the highway that does karaoke on Friday nights. You crack a joke about going.

“Fat chance,” Yoongi answers. He’s driving this time, and his hands are gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles have gone purple-white.

It shouldn’t mean anything. It doesn’t. Yoongi isn’t a dive bar karaoke kind of guy anymore. Left those days back in college, where you were suffering through your economics courses at USC and barely had two nickels to rub together. Yoongi would play open mics during the week just to cover the bus fare for the two of you to go into Koreatown on Fridays—enough to cover a noraebang for an hour, just to sing some girl group song horribly off-pitch just to make you laugh.

So it shouldn’t sting when Yoongi scoffs and says fat chance about singing karaoke at the dive bar when you drive past it, because Yoongi isn’t a dive bar karaoke kind of guy anymore. Now he’s the kind of guy who gets up on a stage and sings songs to thousands of people. They don’t laugh; they take pictures and videos and sing along to words he wrote, so it shouldn’t sting, and you try not to let it.

Instead, you focus on the blur of scenery: all the greens and browns; whites and deep grays from all the trees that have burned; the blue of the endless sky; the color of the asphalt, the edge of the world, like you could tip right over and disappear, nothing beyond the margins. Yoongi drives the thirty minutes to the park and it doesn’t sting, and you wonder if it’s just because it doesn’t or if it’s because you’re numb.

—

Yosemite is hard to put into words.

You feel small, wrapped in the expanse of the mountains, in this ancient nature that has existed long before you and will persist long after you’re gone. Maybe insignificant is a better word for it, because there’s so much to see—so much that’s known and unknown—and it feels like counting grains of sand. Feels like you could never possibly catch up.

So you sit on the ledge of an overlook and just exist. You don’t watch Yoongi take pictures on an old point and shoot, the one he’d ordered from Japan, because this is just for you. Whatever happens between you and Yoongi, these memories will only belong to you, and you don’t want to override something that’s happy with something that could eventually be sad.

The two of you get back in the car. The drive to Yosemite Village is slow, made even slower when you pass a bunch of cars pulled over. There, about thirty feet from the road, is a baby bear and a crowd. There’s a woman standing too close in order to take a picture and ten more people screaming at her for it. Yoongi looks awestruck when you catch his eye.

“I’ve never seen a bear before,” he says, and you nod. Neither have you.

Maybe you were a little stung before, about the karaoke, even though it’s stupid. But the fact that you and Yoongi have been together for so long and still manage to see new things together eases it a little. Plants a tiny, hopeful little seed.

All you have to do is water it.

—

The weather in the village is bitter cold.

Both of you are wrapped up tight, only your noses peeking out from between the layers of your scarves, tinged pink. Yoongi had wanted to go to Mirror Lake; didn’t seem at all deterred when he found out the shuttles were only doing basic routes so the two of you would have to follow the trail from the shuttle stop. Just under two miles. Hadn’t seemed so bad at the time, but now your lungs ache.

Snow and ice cover most of the lake. It isn’t as reflective as it’s known for, but you’re glad to experience it nonetheless. The sand crunches beneath your boots as you look for a log to sit on, the chill seeping through your clothing as you rummage through your backpack for a protein bar. Yoongi’s off taking pictures again, and it’s another moment you’re content to sit in the quiet.

Gives you time to take stock, figure out how you’re feeling. Instinct wants to say better, but you know it’s wishful thinking. Immature. The tendrils of hurt are still wrapped around your heart, and it’s only been a few days. Not enough time to hack them away. But you’re… at ease. For the first time in a while, it feels like you can breathe, and doing so doesn’t make you feel heavy, doesn’t weigh you down with guilt. Things might not be okay right now, not all the way, but you think your compass is finally pointed in the right direction.

Your husband joins you once he’s done. Doesn’t say anything, just sits beside you on the log and accepts when you offer him half of your protein bar. He’s got a nervous energy about him, like there’s something he wants to say but can’t figure out how to, and that feels familiar. That feels like the status quo. Two people who love each other but can’t figure out how to talk to one another.

So you say, “It’s gorgeous here,” and hope it’s enough. You’re not going to push him if he doesn’t want to talk, but it feels necessary to extend an olive branch. It feels necessary to try.

“It is,” Yoongi agrees. Rubs his hands together. Watches his breath dissipate in front of him. “It feels different.”

“What do you mean?”

A bird lands on a branch in front of you. Orange chest, vibrant blue on top; striking against the dreary backdrop of winter. You watch as it ruffles its feathers, shakes off the snow, and Yoongi cocks his head to the side. A guy who knows a little about a lot, full of knowledge, so you aren’t surprised when he says, “That’s a western bluebird.”

You hum an acknowledgment, because you know what it means to see a bluebird. You know the symbolism, but it feels a little too heavy to bear right now. “Pretty.”

“Yeah.” Then he’s sucking in a breath. Says, “There’s a ramen spot in Mariposa, if you’d wanna go there for dinner.”

It’s not what you were expecting him to say, but you nod anyway. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

Yoongi finally turns to you, then. Raises an eyebrow in question. “But is it what you want?”

“It’s just dinner,” you shrug. “Something warm will be nice after this.”

That nervous energy amplifies. Turns all those words clearly biting at the back of his teeth into a tangible thing. “Something warm—yeah, okay. Sounds good. They have matcha cheesecake.” He smiles, like he doesn’t want to but can’t help himself. “Seemed like something you’d like.”

Two things strike you, then: that your husband is always centering you in his world, even when the two of you are like this, and how badly it hurts that you can’t seem to talk to one another. Because you aren’t taking pictures with him because they might turn out sad, and Yoongi is choosing restaurants because they have matcha cheesecake.

And to hell with that, you think. Yoongi is your husband, and if you can’t talk to him then who can you talk to? So you sigh, say, “Look at me, Yoongi,” and you know there’s a fragment of surprise evident on your face when he listens. You know there’s a fragment of sadness on yours when you take in how exhausted he looks. Almost defeated. “Why can’t we seem to talk to one another?”

It must be what he was working up the courage to say, because his shoulders sag immediately. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I’m trying, but it’s just… I don’t know. Sometimes I’m scared I’m gonna say the wrong thing and that’s gonna be it.”

Your brows pinch. “Okay,” you say, because sometimes you aren’t easy to talk to. Sometimes you take things too personally, sort of revel in the hurt. You understand hesitation. “I… want to fix that. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me.”

Yoongi nods. “Yeah,” he eventually answers. “I do, too. We’re not really gonna fix anything unless we can talk to each other.”

“Yeah, true.” The bluebird chirps from its spot in the tree. Stares down at the two of you with these jerky little tilts of its head. “Do you think that’s our problem? How it got… like this.”

“I don’t know, baby,” he says again, and you immediately want to push back on it. I don’t know doesn’t tell you anything. Doesn’t tell you how to fix it, how not to let it get this bad again. But then he says, “It could’ve been anything, you know? A million things. I think—I know that doesn’t help you, but for me, it’s less important how and why we got here because that’s… gone. I can’t change it, and the more I dwell on it the more I spiral, so I’m trying not to do that.”

A stuttered exhale. “I haven’t felt present in a long time and I guess it just compounded. Like, once I realized something was wrong, it felt like I’d left it too long to try and do something about it. I knew you were hurt, and instead of trying to fix it, I’d just think, of course you hurt her, because you’re good at that.”

“That’s what you think?”

“Sometimes.” You reach over and take his hand, barely able to slot your fingers together with the thickness of your gloves. “I know I explained it to you before, but the song… it wasn’t honesty, it was self-destruction. Because I thought if all I do is hurt you, then you should be with someone who doesn’t do that. Someone who knows what they have and is able to hang onto it.” He hangs his head, guilt-stricken. “I don’t know why I wrote it. Call of the void shit, I guess, like I told you. I knew the whole time it was a bad idea. I just thought… maybe you’d hear it and do what I couldn’t.”

“Leave?”

He laughs, all derision. “Yeah. Stupid, isn’t it? I’m scared to death that you’ll leave me, so I tried to speed up the process.”

You sit with his words for a minute. “I don’t think it’s stupid, Yoongi. Can I tell you what I think? I think you feel like you deserve to be a little sad, like some kind of artist’s curse. I think you think you need to feel tortured in order to create, and I think you’ve appointed yourself the arbiter of my happiness, so you see me being human as a failure on your part. And I think I made a very smart choice when I was twenty-one years old, because I think you’ve taken my heart and kept it safe all these years.

“It… does matter to me, how we got here,” you continue, “because if I don’t know why, I’m scared it’ll happen again. But you told me I need to give you more credit, and that goes both ways. I know I can be a bastard, so I’m going to be selfish and ask for patience, and I’m going to give you the same. Just… please believe me when I say I’m not going anywhere. Not as long as we’re both gonna try to fix this.”

Yoongi stays quiet. Sticks out his pinky, and you hook yours around it.

(You know what it means to see a bluebird. Remember reading about it once, back when you were desperate to find meaning in everything. Right after a time of tremendous difficulty, the bluebird comes to bring good fortune in all things such as love, healing, and happiness.)

and together there in a shroud of frost, the mountain air / began to pass through every pane of weathered glass / and i held you closer than anyone would ever get.

Yoongi’s birthday is soon.

Four days, to be exact. The two of you will be celebrating in Jin’s cabin in Oakhurst, surrounded by nature and a town still foreign to you, Yoongi’s music gear scattered all around like a treasure hunt. Follow the cables until you find him, hunched in front of a glowing computer screen, massive headphones shoved over his ears as he gets absorbed into his own world, strumming his guitar all the while.

You think thirty will look good on him.

The weather’s still mild, still colder than you’re used to, but the breeze feels nice when you open the small windows in the kitchen and let it blow through. It feels nice when you run to the grocery store and stand in the foreign aisles, staring at all the ingredients you’ll need to bake a cake. You haven’t done it in ages; since Yoongi’s twenty-sixth, you think. Almond with chantilly cream. It had taken you ages because the cream kept splitting, and you insisted on meticulously arranging little strawberry slices between the layers, but Yoongi had loved it so much it hadn’t felt like work at all.

So you grab what you need and some things you don’t and you feel as light as the breeze on the drive back to the cabin. You make a last-second decision to stop at the donut shop because it closes in the afternoon and you never catch it when it’s open. Two blueberry old fashioneds, a large Americano for Yoongi, and a mocha iced coffee for yourself. Six dollars, and the woman behind the counter is kind.

“What’s that?” Yoongi asks when you place the coffee and donut on his makeshift desk. The headphones are looped around his neck.

You click your tongue, all sugar. “What does it look like?”

“This looks like a donut and an Americano. What’s in the bag, though?”

“I went to the grocery store.”

“For what?” he pouts. “I was just there!”

That pout fades when you press a kiss to the top of his head. “Don’t pout. I picked up stuff for your birthday cake.”

“My birth—” he begins, seemingly offended by the mere thought of his birthday and that it might be soon, and then he looks at the date on his computer and mumbles an, oh shit. “You’re baking me a cake?”

“Yeah, I thought it’d be nice.”

He tries to peer into the bag. “What kind?” You swat him away.

“It’s a surprise,” you deadpan.

“But I saw strawberries in there.”

“No you didn’t. Now, eat your donut and get back to work.”

Yoongi pouts again. Really exaggerates it. “I’m really stuck on this bit. I might need a kiss for good luck.”

As you press a kiss to his lips, you think you might give him whatever he wants.

—

Yoongi spends the morning of his birthday tucked in bed.

You spend the morning of Yoongi’s birthday beneath the duvet, hands roaming every inch of your husband’s body. Thumbs digging into the muscles of his calves, sore from the overuse they’ve suffered the last few days. Nails grazing the sensitive skin of his biceps, his stomach, the insides of his thighs. Lips pressing open-mouthed kisses to his forehead, his temple, his neck, down his chest, the jut of both hip bones. And then, once he’s whining and writhing and just on the verge of begging, you spend the morning of Yoongi’s birthday making him come with your mouth.

He spends the early afternoon in his makeshift studio with a cup of coffee. Answers a couple emails. Calls his parents. Messes around on Cubase. Fixes the two of you a quick lunch and says he might want to wander around town for a little bit. Check out the antique store down the street, maybe spend a few hours in the park with his guitar, get some fresh air. Thirty feels weird, he says, and you’re anchored to your laptop at the small dining room table, so you just say okay, I’ll see you later for dinner. There’s a crooked smile on Yoongi’s face as he hikes the gig bag over his shoulder, and then he’s gone.

You: He just left. Coast is clear.

Seokjin: Thank fuck, I’ve been sitting at this Starbucks for 500 hours

You: No you haven’t

Seokjin: 499 hours*

When he arrives, Seokjin blows right by you and locks himself in the bathroom. You know I refuse to use public restrooms, he says after, slinging his arm around your shoulders. He’s not a hugger, so it’s the closest you’re going to get to one.

“My car reeks of kimchi and soup,” he says, dropping a bag of groceries in front of the refrigerator. “Won’t be able to get that smell out for weeks, probably.”

“Thank you for your sacrifice,” you intone. “You’re a god amongst men, Kim Seokjin.”

It’d been your idea. Wanted Yoongi to ring in his thirtieth birthday surrounded by as much love as possible, and a cabin-bungalow nearly five hours away from home wasn’t especially opulent. Not to mention Yoongi had been on tour the last two years—spent twenty-eight and nine in grimy venues in Texas and Birmingham, respectively—and the less said about 2020 the better.

So Seokjin had fucked off from his cushy job for the day and made the drive from San Francisco. Made the miyeokguk and myeongnan-jeot himself, and had whined when you told him you already bought the ingredients for a cake because I was gonna pick up mujigae-tteok, to which you replied, pick it up anyway.

Now he’s standing in the small kitchen of his own small bungalow, and you’ve got a one-thirty meeting so you can’t help, but he’s determined to make gyeran mari anyway, even if it inconveniences you. “Maybe I should make it closer to when he’ll be back?”

“Up to you,” you shrug. “You could also stand on the side of the road and resell all those eggs for ten times the price.”

He just sends you A Look.

—

You watch through the small window above the kitchen sink as Yoongi returns just after six, cheeks pink from the wind, arms full of goodies.

“Hey,” he says, kicking his boots off on the porch, “is that—”

“SURPRISE!”

Seokjin’s scream is so shrill you think you black out for a second. Nearly topple over from your spot in front of the island, frosting knife poised to strike. Yoongi’s still out on the porch, and there’s a terrible crash that can only be him startling and knocking into one of the rocking chairs. He’ll appear any second now, brows pinched, and go is that Seokjin? and once he confirms it is, in fact, Seokjin, he’ll start yell—

“Jesus Christ,” he grumbles, appearing in the doorway. Brows pinched. “I was gonna ask if that’s Seokjin’s car outside, but now I don’t fucking need to.”

Seokjin tuts, ladles another bowl full of miyeokguk. “Is that any way to speak to your elders? Now, get in here and sit down. It’s not breakfast, but it’ll have to do.”

Yoongi grumbles the entire time, but you see the way the flush deepens on his cheeks. The way he’s pleased to be fussed over, to have you and Seokjin in the same room as him. Pleased to be celebrating thirty surrounded by people who love him, people he loves in turn.

“Did you call your mother?” Seokjin asks, setting the bowl in front of him. He jokingly tucks a napkin into the front of Yoongi’s shirt.

“Of course I called my mother.” Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Are you stupid? It’s not my first day being Korean.”

“That’s correct! It’s your 10,950th day being Korean.”

“How did you—”

“I knew you would say that so I looked up how many days are in thirty years. Now, is your lovely wife done with the cake?”

You are, just about. Just a few more slices of strawberry to place on top, and you take a step back once you do so. Admire your hard work. Send up a quick thanks that the cream hadn’t split this time. Seokjin and Yoongi are still bickering—

(“Did you make the miyeokguk last night?”

“I’m offended, Yoongi. Of course I made it last night, the broth needs time to develop! It’s not my first day being Korean, either!”

“No, it’s your ten billionth, you decrepit bitch.”)

—and your heart feels full. Content. You see Yoongi laughing, all gums, and feel untethered. Like any second now your ribs are going to crack apart and give way, let your heart tumble right out of your body. Because it belongs next to Yoongi, always. Because it wants to be next to Yoongi.

So you finish the cake and set it aside. Sit down at the place Seokjin set for you, right next to your husband, whose hand immediately goes to your knee; who immediately turns and smiles at you, even though Seokjin is still squawking in the background. Yah, Yoongi, compliment the soup! Tell me how good it is! Yoongi doesn’t, because he’s still smiling, can’t look away from you, and you swear you can hear a fissure forming, except this one doesn’t hurt.

This one doesn’t hurt at all.

—

Yoongi is sufficiently drunk by nine.

That traitorous combination of alcohol and sugar. A shot of soju, a bite of cake, some mujigae-tteok. Seokjin’s endless chatter as background noise. Yoongi’s hand still on your knee, warm warm warm. Liquor loosens him up a little, has him bashful, chin tucked to his chest, when he offhandedly mentions Namjoon and Seokjin says who’s this Namjoon, and Yoongi says he’s our marriage counselor. Seokjin looks to you, then. Connects some dots.

Says, “Ah, Yoongi, did you eat your tteokguk on Seollal? No? See, this is why things are hard right now, because you didn’t eat your tteokguk. It’s good luck, that’s why you eat it,” because it’s easiest to get through to Yoongi, to let him know he’s okay, when you’re scolding him a little. When you treat it kind of like a joke. No big deal.

And Seokjin follows that up with, “How are you settling in here?” when what he really wants to know is are things better, are the two of you doing okay. Yoongi grumbles again, barely coherent at his current level of inebriation, and Seokjin says, “Ah, I bet not well, huh? There’s just the one Starbucks, can’t find your bougie pour-over, LA coffee here, can you? Do they even have oat milk? Are you—”

“It’s still California,” Yoongi argues, “there’s fucking oat milk everywhere. Hey, hyung, did you—did you know there’s, like, the tree nut milk orchard near here? Not far. Close by. I could drive to see the al-almonds.”

“Tree nut milk,” Seokjin deadpans. “You know, Yoongi, I did not know that. Why don’t you tell me all about it.”

—

By eleven, Seokjin is passed out on the couch.

By eleven-ten, Yoongi has convinced you to lay in the grass with him. A minute later he’s staring up at the sky, making wishes on superstitions. His breath vaporizes in the cold, and he’s not wearing a jacket, but he’s still flushed from the alcohol, feels invincible.

“Think the edible’s hitting me.” He laughs, short and raspy, and he doesn’t seem to care that the grass is wet with dew. Doesn’t care that it’s in his hair, seeping through his clothes. “What’s your favorite one of those?”

He’s pointing at the stars, wants to know your favorite constellation. All of them, you want to say, following his line of sight. Because they’re all different. All meaningful in different ways. All have their own story. Instead, you roll your head to the side, take in Yoongi’s profile. Say, “You’re my favorite,” and laugh at how flustered he gets, laugh at his gravelly protests.

“Yah, you can-can’t say that,” he whines. “That’s so greasy, you can’t say that, it doesn’t count. Give me a real ans—”

“Then why are you smiling?” You laugh as he grows even more thunderstruck, completely caught-out, and it’s nearing midnight but it does nothing to hide the blush creeping down his neck, tingeing the tips of his ears. “You’re so red. That’s exactly what you wanted me to say, you absolute—”

“Real answer, please.”

You decide to take pity on him. Poor thing, can barely look you in the eye because of one terrible pick-up line. “Fine. Pisces.”

His responding groan is so loud you have to slap your hand over his mouth. The grass is so cold but Yoongi’s laughter, the way his shoulders shake with it, makes you warm. “You’re just saying that,” he says once you remove your hand.

“Am not. Ask me why.”

“Okay. Why?”

“Because you’re a Pisces, first of all—”

“Oh my god, here we fuckin’ go—”

“—but I just like the myth. Aphrodite and Eros transformed themselves into fish to escape Typhon, and tied themselves together with rope so they wouldn’t lose one another.” You sigh, watch your breath dissipate into the dark. “I don’t know. I like to think… I don’t believe in soulmates, but I like to think some people are meant to tie themselves together. Some people aren’t meant to be apart.”

There’s a quiet little oh, and then there’s silence. Just the distant sounds of the highway, a dog howling, and, if you listen closely enough, Seokjin’s snoring from inside. Yoongi finds your hand, brings it to his mouth to press a kiss to the back of it, and he’s oddly quiet. Contemplative, maybe. Usually gets a couple drinks in him and starts talking your ear off, but this is nice, too. It’s nice to just exist in the silence alongside someone else.

“Do you know the myth about Eurydice and Orpheus?” he finally asks, and you nod, suddenly understanding why Yoongi doesn’t care that his hair is wet. So inconsequential to this moment where you can exist in the silence alongside someone else. “I was thinking about it today.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I think… I think I’d fuck it up. I think I’d look back. And I think you wouldn’t.” He sighs, and the weight of the world expels alongside it. “What you said about Aphrodite and Eros, that some people are meant to be tied together—if I couldn’t hear you, or touch you… That’s what you are for me, you know? An anchor. The first time I read it, it made me so fuckin’ angry, like why can’t this guy just listen, if he loves her that much wouldn’t he listen, but… I dunno. I think I get it.

“I’m so scared all the time that one day I’m gonna look back and you won’t be there anymore. What would I even do? Baby, what would I do? Sometimes I’m fuckin’ terrified that I don’t think I could have that kind of faith in anything, and I’m finally gonna make it to the end of this cave and they’re gonna lay all my betrayals at my feet.”

Midnight finds you still staring up at the sky, hair wet, breath tangible, wondering how you can be both an anchor and an albatross.

—

(In the morning, Seokjin makes tteokguk and ladles extra into Yoongi’s bowl.)

i'm reaching for the phone to call at 7:03, and on your machine / i slur a plea for you to come home, but i know it's too late / and i should have given you a reason to stay.

The thing about grief is that it’s indiscriminate.

Because it has no context. Grief doesn’t know that things are better, doesn’t know that the two of you have stuck to your appointments with Namjoon and are able to talk honestly; doesn’t know that laughing feels lighter, easier; doesn’t know that guilt isn’t weighing you down as heavy. So it feels a lot like treading water, and sometimes you’re able to float and sometimes you slip beneath the waves, struggle to breathe.

And it’s stupid, you think, that you can disappear too far into your mind to the place where everything feels bad. Where progress is meaningless. Where there’s still you and Yoongi and a crumbling marriage. Where the only words ringing in your ears aren’t I love you, but you are beautiful but you don't mean a thing to me. Just like last time. Regression.

There are only so many distractions. Work helps, because you can’t focus on how shitty you feel—how scared you are—when your boss is on your ass about deadlines. The antique store in town helps, too, though you must’ve worn a pattern into the floors by now, but you can’t help it. It’s nice to hear the stones crunching under the tires when you pull into the parking lot; nice to laugh at the giant Sasquatch outside and greet them like a friend; nostalgic to breathe in the scent of old stuff—belongings that were once well-loved, now free to be loved by someone else.

Grief doesn’t care that you’re sad and Yoongi has that spark in his eyes.

But Yoongi is smart. Wickedly perceptive. Knows there’s something bothering you long before you gather the courage to say it, because it feels wrong to dim that spark, take it away, so he lets you sit with it. Lets you take your time, and that endless patience just makes you feel worse. Makes you think, he deserves better. Makes you think, what’s the point of any of this. Makes you angry, because things aren’t fixed but they’re better, and why can’t everything hurt all at once instead of incrementally.

And, just like always, you can only tread water for so long, stave off the inevitable.

Because Yoongi’s giving you time but when you feel like this, everything reads like an attack. Feels like disregard and indifference. What you want is unfair, and you know it, because you want Yoongi to be able to reach into your mind and see everything that’s turned necrotic. You want him to know how to fix it without having to talk about it, because talking about it makes you feel guilty. How many times can you press your fingers into the same wound and be shocked when they come out bloody?

So it isn’t fair and it’s also hard. Words bite at the back of your teeth, because this is your husband—if you can’t talk to him, what are you even doing? Namjoon would laugh. The one that’s equal parts patient and exasperated, like he can’t believe someone like you exists even though he’s seen some shit. Worse shit than you and Yoongi have, that’s for sure, so it should be reassuring.

(Everything reads like an attack.)

“Hey,” Yoongi says, hip resting against the counter, towel thrown over his shoulder. (These things always happen in a kitchen.) “You okay?”

How doubly unfair is it that your first instinct is to lie? To say yeah, I’m fine—not to be deceptive, but because you’re sure with enough time you can make it true, foolishly certain you can either bury it or delude yourself. But Yoongi is looking at you like a caged animal; like he, too, is foolishly certain of foolish things. Yoongi is looking at you like he knows this is it. Like this is where you say I’m sorry, this just isn’t working, we were stupid to think it would even though we’re trying. Like this is where you take off your wedding band and place it calmly in his hand. No dramatics, just resignation.

So you don’t lie. You can’t. Instead, you say, “Yeah, I think… I think it’s just been a little hard lately.”

Yoongi tries to lie, too. Tries to hide how relieved his exhale is, but the smile peeks through, the flush on his cheeks. Can’t hide that he’s pleased because all those nightmares he’d conjured in his head aren’t coming true.

“I should’ve said something earlier,” you say, because it’s something that’s true, “I’m sorry. I just—I don’t want you to feel bad, you know? I don’t want to keep rehashing things.”

He closes the distance. Wraps you in his arms, all warmth. Presses a kiss to the top of your head. “It’s okay. I know it’s hard to talk about these things sometimes. I just wanted to make sure we’re okay.”

“Yeah. Yeah, Yoongi, I think we will be.”

(Something that’s true.)

it felt just like falling in love again. and it felt just like falling in love again.

On Friday, the two of you go to the bar for karaoke night.

As he’s buttoning his shirt, Yoongi says do you think they’ll have Epik High? and you can’t help the ugly laugh that tumbles out of you even though it’s not really funny. Because no, this two stoplight town won’t have Epik High, but it’s the kind of thing you laugh at when you’re feeling terribly fond, horribly endeared—it’s the kind of thing you laugh at when you’re riding the high of going through hell and making it to the other side.

It’s the kind of thing you laugh at instead of detailing every reason you’re in love with him.

So you do your hair and makeup nice. Barely make it out the door, because Yoongi stumbles into the bathroom to fix his hair and put on cologne and stops dead in his tracks when he sees you. Mutters a goddamn under his breath before he’s all over you. Kisses pressed to the nape of your neck, hips pressing you against the counter. The right side of painful.

You manage to pry him off of you long enough to shove him out the door, thighs just a little bruised, Yoongi’s lips a little too red. He’s still all over you at the bar. Still rests a possessive hand at the small of your back, still presses a kiss to your cheek every time he gets up to order another round of drinks, still whines and pretends to drag his feet when the house music plays and you pull him onto the dancefloor.

Someone sings “Fly Me to the Moon” by Frank Sinatra. It’s off-key and a little grating and Yoongi’s got wing sauce smeared on his cheek, but he still mouths the words to you. You are all I long for. All I worship and adore. You know you look lovestruck, and you think it’s a shame there’s barely anyone in this bar to witness it. What you and Yoongi have—it should be seen. It should be screamed from rooftops.

When the two of you go back to the bungalow, you split a bottle of red wine and sit on the living room floor. Yoongi has his guitar in his lap, barely able to play the chords properly, but he serenades you anyway. Does a better rendition of Fly Me to the Moon than the guy at the bar just because it’s his, and he’s singing it for you. He sweeps the blankets from the back of the couch onto the floor and fucks you slow. Holds your hand and kisses you until you’re breathless. (You already were.)

The rest of the weekend is spent similarly. Yoongi can’t keep his hands to himself, fucks you in nearly every room of Seokjin’s little house in Oakhurst, and presses praise into your skin like a brand. Sits on the living room floor again as you cook dinner, back ramrod straight against the couch; has a spliff stuck between his lips as he jots down words into a notebook. Looks up and over at you every now and then, cheeks reddening each time you catch him staring. You, too, refuse to smile until you’ve turned back around.

On Sunday night, Yoongi ducks out to go to the drug store and returns with an armful of bath bombs. Looks like he looted a bank, but he asks do you want to use the lavender one in that soft, shy voice, and you wouldn’t be able to say no to him even if you wanted to, so you don’t. You sink into the warm water, let the lilac swirl around you, make you soft, and you feel safe here with your back pressed to Yoongi’s chest. With his legs caging you in. With his words in your ear and his lips pressed to the top of your head, fingers dancing along your ribs, clearing the cobwebs from in between.

Monday comes before you’re ready. Insistent, inevitable—the sunlight streams in, wakes you slowly. Yoongi’s arm is thrown over your middle, both of you still lavender-soft, and he groans when you stir, buries his face in your neck. Everything is warm. A blissful little cocoon, made even more so when Yoongi pulls himself out of bed, makes a pot of coffee, returns with your mug steaming hot. He sets it on your nightstand, doesn’t want to risk burning you by handing it off, and tilts your chin up to press a quick kiss to your lips.

You’ve got a nine-thirty meeting, so you tangle your legs together and drink it as fast you can. Shameless, Yoongi watches as you undress—watches as the sun paints you in golden light, watches as you pull his t-shirt up and over your head, watches as your shoulder blades move beneath your skin. It’s the t-shirt that fucks him up the most, has him a little hard in his briefs. One of his tour shirts, the last one he’d gone on before the two of you got married. Says, a little awed, “I’d follow you anywhere,” and he doesn’t elaborate but somehow you know exactly what he means.

And he stays in the bedroom when you log on for your meeting. Listens to you talk to your team, your laugh soft and bright, and feels entirely dumbstruck. Feels overwhelmed, wonders how his body can possibly contain so much affection. Wonders, briefly, where it goes when everything hurts. If it’s just in a reserve, because Yoongi has loved you as long as he’s known you, and he’s not sure it’s ever felt like this; ever hit him this hard.

So, he locks himself in the second bedroom until the late afternoon. Pours over his notebooks, strums every chord he knows until he finds the right one. Jots down words he scribbles over and jots down more. Writes until the calluses on his fingers turn to blisters, writes until the words all blend together, until there’s something singular instead of tendrils. Yoongi writes until there’s something he can feel proud of; something that might feel a lot like redemption.

[interlude: monday morning]

(You listen to it far later. Back in your home that isn’t the apartment in Silver Lake but contains just as much love—perhaps more now than before you left; certainly more patience, more hope, more resilience. And as you take in Yoongi’s words, wrapped in their metaphors and their honesty, you cry again, but this time it’s quiet rather than heaving.

This time Yoongi is singing love, keep your arms around me.)

looking upwards, i strain my eyes and try / to tell the difference between shooting stars and satellites from the passenger seat as you are driving me home.

“Should we go home soon?”

It’s a Saturday morning, and you and Yoongi are on the porch. The air is crisp and cool, makes your coffee a tolerable temperature, and it’s early enough that the world is largely still asleep. There’s no polluted noise, just the rustling of the grass that’s now a little overgrown and the one neighbor from down the road who always wakes up early to run. He must hear your muted voices, because he waves as he passes by.

Home. Back to Los Angeles. Back to your two-storey home with the awful neighbor who doesn’t wake up early to run and never waves to you. Back to the chaos you know. Back to a home that hasn’t felt much like one lately, but one that can be repaired, just like everything else. A home that’s got enough love stored between its walls that you aren’t worried.

But it’s still daunting, somehow. Things feel solid here, like a houseplant sprouting new life—resilient, but a little fragile, too. So you’re scared to burst the bubble and doubly scared of what that hesitation means. “I don’t know,” you say. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know, either,” Yoongi answers. Takes another sip of his coffee, rocks a little in the chair. He’s got his knees pulled up to his chest. Looks impossibly small, especially in his oversized pajamas and the even larger hoodie he’d thrown over them. “It’s nice here.”

It is, in more ways than one. “Yeah, I’m gonna miss it.”

Yoongi hums. “Maybe I’ll just buy it from Seokjin.” Words muffled by the rim of his mug, like he’s trying to hide them from you.

Doesn’t work. Instead, you turn to him, eyebrow quirked. “Oh, really?”

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Gotta do something with all this money, hm?” Then he sighs, picks at imaginary lint on his pants. “You like it here, though, right? Not saying I am, but—”

“Oh no,” you interject, voice at least fifty decibels higher. “I know you, Yoongi! You wouldn’t be asking me any of this unless you already had some half-baked plan in the works—”

“Yah! It’s at least seventy-five percent baked!”

You laugh, the sound the loudest thing for miles. “Yeah, okay. How much did you offer him for it? You spend all my money?”

“Your—that’s not funny.” He pouts. “I didn’t spend all of it.”

“Just seventy-five percent?”

“I’ll have you know I am a very successful musician. I could buy you ten of these cabins if I wanted to.”

You drop your mouth open in mock-affront. “And yet I have zero cabins, so what does that say about the state of your priorities?”

“Not this shit again—”

“I think it’s more of a bungalow, anyway.”

“Yeah, Seokjin said the same thing. Was really offended that I offered to buy his cabin.” A pause. A small lift at the corners of his mouth. “Still offered to sell it to me, though.”

You can’t help the smile that splits your face. “And I’m sure you said yes, of course.”

“I’ve grown very attached to those blueberry donuts.”

“Uh-huh.”

“...And it’s been good for us. We’re happy here. Happier.”

“Yeah, we are. You just needed some fresh air.”

Yoongi’s cheeks tinge pink. “Yah, knock it off! You’re making me sound like a tuberculosis patient. Like I just needed a trip to the seaside to heal.”

“I’m just stating facts, Yoongi. You’re a little studio hermit, barely witnessing the light of day. I bet you got one lungful of this mountain air and almost keeled over.”

“You’re a pain in my ass,” he accuses, “I’m revoking my offer.”

“That you extended with my money.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

—

Saying goodbye is hard.

As you load the last of your belongings into the car, it feels like you’re leaving behind a friend. You know you’ll be back (because Yoongi actually did offer to buy the cabin-bungalow and Seokjin seems keen, but whether that’s because he actually wants to offload it into the two of you or because he wants to salvage your marriage any way he can, you can’t be sure), but tears prick at the corners of your eyes anyway. Because you were desperate when you arrived, and now you aren’t. You were scared and lacking direction, and now you have another place to rest when you get tired.

Yoongi joins you at the car, his guitar bag slung over his shoulder. Just stares at the little blue bungalow with the pink door and doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. Whatever he’s thinking, you know he’s saying it in his head in that fond tone of his. The one that’s bordering on thankful, and you are, too.

On the way home, Yoongi drives and treats you to (read: makes you suffer through) John Denver karaoke. Sings “Take Me Home, Country Roads” the way he used to sing girl group songs at the noraebang. Holds your hand the entire way, and the two of you stop at some hole in the wall for lunch, still a few hours from the city. He orders a beer—some disgusting IPA you know he only drinks to seem distinguished, even though this is the same guy you watched do keg stands in college for free Natty Light—to get out of driving the rest of the way and it’s your turn to call him a pain in the ass.

But he’s quiet in the passenger seat, and it’s not from the alcohol. He’s typing intermittently on his phone, pink tongue darting out from between his lips when he gets especially focused. “I think I got something,” he says eventually. “If I read it to you, will you tell me if it sounds alright?”

“I majored in economics,” you say, because you always do. It’s been your go-to since the first time he asked, all the way back in your junior year.

He laughs anyway. “Perfect, then you can tell me if this shit is gonna make me any money,” he answers with a wry smile, because he always does. “I’ve had this stuck in my head for days.”

You nod. You listen.

“And if you feel just like a tourist in the city you were born, then it’s time to go. And you find your destination with so many different places to call home.”

You wonder how Yoongi is always able to put to paper all the feelings you’ve got locked up tight. You wonder how Yoongi always makes Los Angeles seem less daunting.

there'd be no distance that could hold us back. so this is the new year.

It’s the thirtieth of December.

Your shithead, capitalist shill of a neighbor doesn’t wave when you and Yoongi pack up the car this time, either, just watches from his front porch. You can feel his brooding; worse ever since Yoongi had offhandedly mentioned buying a place up near Yosemite. Got a really good deal from a friend, he’d said, just when we need to get away, you know how it is, and that had your neighbor’s jaw clenching, nodding in faux politeness. Even illuminated by the golden ambiance of icicle lights, he still manages to look like a dickhead.

Good riddance.

“Ready?” Yoongi asks, catching the keys with one hand when you toss them to him.

You nod. Then you fold yourself into the passenger seat and reach for his hand.

—

Oakhurst is still small, but it’s made room for you, now.

There’s still only two traffic lights before you reach the road your cabin is on—a sharp right turn off the main highway, an acute angle, a steep decline. It doesn’t matter what time of year you make the trip, because the uneven, precipitous little road always makes your stomach drop, but it’s home now. Another physical one, because you and Yoongi have worked hard over the last year to make as many as possible.

(And, even still, the strongest home you’ve made is Us. What the two of you have is something still standing long after the storm. Something that has persevered and stood tall, even when the foundation was shaking. Even when you wanted to tear it down. Even when it seemed beyond repair.)

“Home sweet home,” Yoongi jokes as he kills the engine, and you laugh because his tone is flat and dry. Belies his excitement, his insistence on digging out an old box of Christmas lights from the attic and bringing it with you. That he has this whole plan to spend New Year’s Eve decorating, bringing life to this little blue bungalow with the pink door.

“It is pretty sweet,” you agree, and just like before, you neatly unpack your stuff and thread your clothes through velvet hangers and Yoongi abandons his suitcase in a corner of his studio.

—

There’s a woman on the television with rosy cheeks and a drink in hand. She isn’t trying to sell you anything.

She’s lovely and very drunk and even more beautiful when she laughs, teeth perfectly straight and blindingly white. She’s prattling off questions to some celebrity, rapid fire, and they’re trying their best to keep up but it’s hopeless. Eventually they, too, just smile into the camera.

Yoongi’s in the kitchen fixing drinks. Expensive champagne flutes filled with inexpensive champagne, a pair of raspberries tossed into each one as a garnish. Your husband doesn’t even like raspberries, but he’d wanted to feel fancy, so you don’t bother questioning it. You know what it means—wants a do-over of last year. Wants this year to be what the last should’ve been, because this year the two of you will be sitting on the same side of the couch, drinking cheap champagne from Vons out of expensive glassware.

A gift from Seokjin, because he’s a bastard. A housewarming gift for a house you’d bought from him.

There’s still an hour before the countdown. There’s still an empty pot on the stove that used to be full of tteokguk. It’s a different New Year, not Seollal, but Yoongi had wanted to make it anyway. Cracked a joke about not wanting to risk it, so he’s going to eat as much tteokguk as possible, that he might need the luck, you never know. I didn’t eat any last year and still bought a second house, he’d said. Imagine how powerful I’ll be if I eat ten bowls of this.

Your husband is always powerful, but you hadn’t pointed that out. Hadn’t pointed out that the only reason the two of you could afford a second house was because Seokjin gave you a steep pity discount, either. Sometimes it’s just nice to believe in luck, on top of all the other things you already have to believe in.

(Like each other.)

There’s still an hour, and Yoongi hands over a flute of champagne and sinks into the couch beside you. You forget about the woman on TV, but you don’t forget about—“You know, I distinctly remember you making me a promise before we came up here last year.”

Yoongi quirks an eyebrow. “Yeah? Did I make good on it?”

“For the most part,” you answer. “Like, eighty percent.”

Yoongi snorts. “Refresh my memory.”

You set your glass on the coffee table. Angle yourself so you can swing a thigh over Yoongi’s lap to straddle him, earning you another quirked eyebrow. “I distinctly remember you promising to fuck me in every room of this house.”

His own glass abandoned, Yoongi settles one hand on your hip, the other on your thigh. “Surely I already did,” he answers, words spoken into the crook of your neck, goosebumps rising along your skin. “No way I would’ve been able to keep my hands off you.”

Warm lips press against your neck. Kiss their way to your jawline to the corner of your mouth. “Do you remember me fucking you on this couch? On the floor? You remember how hard you came that time?”

Your hips start to grind, seeking friction. This time, the cool metal of Yoongi’s wedding band against your flushed skin doesn’t shock you. Just feels like another home. His hands slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt feel like home. His tongue licking into your mouth tastes like home. When he pulls away to say, “I know you remember the time in the kitchen, the way I fucked your mouth,” you lose all concept of home entirely.

Home is just Yoongi. Everything is Yoongi.

“I fucked you in that bed so many times. Against the bathroom sink. Always so good for me.” He’s thumbing over a nipple, embarrassingly hardened from the husk of his voice, the way his cock is filling out in his joggers. “Where’d we miss, baby?”

You swallow. Know it’s audible even over the sound of the television. People are cheering, but you aren’t turning around to look, because what could they possibly have to cheer for when they don’t have Yoongi? When Yoongi only looks at you like this—like he’s already a little crazed, a little fucked up?

“The st-studio,” you choke out. Dizzy, dizzy, dizzy. Not a drop of champagne made it past your lips and still the world spins.

You can feel Yoongi’s smirk against the column of your throat. Hate what it does to you, because Yoongi could talk you off a ledge when he’s like this. “Ah, you’re right.” Fingers trail along the hem of your pants, toying with you. “Is that what you want? You wanna ride me in my chair? You want it fucking dirty like that, my sweats barely pulled down, like you’re fucking desperate for it?”

You are, and you do.

So that’s how Yoongi fucks you. Gives you exactly what you want: sits in his oversized chair, pulls you into his lap. Sweats pushed down only as far as he needs to fish his cock out, slick it up, and then he’s pushing inside of you. Groans loud, tells you how tight you are, how wet and warm. And it’s stupid, because your husband is fucking your brains out, but there’s a little window in his studio, just above his desk.

Through it, you can see the Christmas lights the two of you spent the afternoon putting up.

You can hear Yoongi’s grumbling in your head, all his shouting when he thought he was going to fall off the ladder even though you were holding it steady. Cursed about not having enough zip ties. Cursed about one lightbulb being burnt out. Cursed when the extension cord wasn’t long enough. Only stopped cursing when you shut him up with a kiss.

You come hard. Yoongi makes good on his promise.

Another home.

—

(From the living room, the muted sounds of a countdown. Palpable excitement you’re finally able to feel, last year’s numbness long gone and replaced with endless warmth. Yoongi only leaves to grab a warm washcloth from the bathroom, and then he’s cleaning you up and pressing his lips back to your kiss-reddened mouth. There’s a supercut playing in your head, all the past celebrations. All the parties the two of you have gone to, the years spent alone but together. All the people you’ve kissed in front of. All the quiet, private ways Yoongi used to tell you he loved you. When was the last time? Just minutes ago. There’s seven seconds until the new year and Yoongi is right beside you.

Fireworks explode outside. You cry this year, too, but they’re happy tears. They’re tears that serve as proof you survived, that you went through hell and made it to the other side. Yoongi sheds a few of his own. Laughs, almost disbelieving, as he tells you he loves you. Smiles, certainly disbelieving, when you repeat it.

You’re going to miss this place when you leave, but there’s a ring on your finger and a man beside you that tells you home can be anywhere, be anything. Tells you that sometimes you’ll have to fight for it, but it’ll always be there so long as you choose to.)

if you've made it this far, i'd like to say thank you again for reading this. as i said, this fic is deeply personal to me, and i hope you find something relatable in it as well.

i know people don't always love to read the members in westernized settings, and i completely understand. i chose oakhurst/yosemite because it's where i went for my own honeymoon, and, well, personal.

i'd love to hear your thoughts! feedback and reblogs are always appreciated. ♡

#author: ugh yoongi #member: myg #genre: angst #type: one shot #READ THIS FIC RIGHT NOW

1K notes · View notes

iamnotoriginalphil · 2 years ago

Note

Hello, I love your writing and it really makes my day honestly.

And I was wondering if you could do an x reader with either Larissa Regina Mills or Lesso. I'm kinda indecisive lol

I was listening to "like real people do" by Hozier And was hoping you could do a story based off of/around it mainly the line

"Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips, We should just kiss like real people do."

Turns out, I'm indecisive too, so you can have all three based on that lyric. I hope you like it!

Larissa

You only came to the weathervane for one reason, and it wasn’t the excellent hot chocolate. You’d noticed the same woman coming in week after week, and after asking around you’d come to find out where she was from. Nevermore. The one place you had been warned against.

You didn’t care.

You’d pursued her with an intensity you’d never done anything else. Larissa Weems was a goddess walking amongst mortals and you were determined to make her yours. She was all you wanted in Jericho.

Only she didn’t seem to understand it at all. No matter how many times you slid into the booth across from her, lavishing smiles and compliments on her, she remained as icy as always. You kept trying to melt her, wanting her to see how serious you were taking it. She’d yet to scare you off, and you were sure she never would. The only way you’d stop was if she told you to, and she hadn’t yet. There was still hope.

It was on a wintery afternoon that you found her, sitting, sipping her coffee. You slid in across from her, not even bothering to order a drink of your own. She was all you wanted in the shop.

“I don’t know how you do it, but every time I see you you’re more beautiful each time,” you said, “someone so beautiful shouldn’t have to buy their own coffee. Let me buy you the next one.”

“I have no interest in being the butt of your joke,” she said, “so you can leave me alone now.”

“Joke?’ You shook your head, “you think I’m joking about my feelings?”

“I know the reputation Nevermore has in Jericho,” she replied.

“So?”

“So I know what this means,” she replied, “I know how people in town feel about outcasts.”

“I think if anyone is listening to the stereotypes around town it isn’t me,” you replied.

She stared at you for a moment. You waited, giving her time to digest your accusation. You figured you weren’t the one with the hang up, that she was bringing her own prejudices to your interactions. All you wanted was for her to look past your differences.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” she said, keeping her voice even.

“If you’re willing to ignore whatever it is the town says about outcasts and normies, then I am too. We’re just people, not whatever they think we are,” you said, “I’d like the chance to show you exactly how serious my feelings for you are.”

“And how do you propose you do that?” she asked.

“One kiss, just one,” you suggested, “if after that you’re still not feeling the spark, I’ll leave you alone.”

“One kiss? That’s it?” She raised an eyebrow at you before looking around the relatively crowded Weathervane.

“If you’re okay with that,” you replied, shrugging. You had nothing to hide.

“Go on then.” You could tell she thought she was calling your bluff.

You stood, sliding into the seat beside her. Her eyes widened but she didn’t move. You’d never been that close to her and it was a little overwhelming. She was so beautiful and you found the floral scent that seemed to cling to her skin intoxicating.

You placed your hand on her shoulder, shifting closer until your thigh pressed against hers. Her eyes darted down to it, then back to you.

“You’re still sure?” you asked, to wanting to make her uncomfortable.

“Of course,” she replied.

You drew closer slowly, giving her time to change her mind. When she didn’t try to push you away or escape from you, you smiled to yourself.

The first brush of lips was like heaven. You pressed closer, doing your best to show her the way you would worship her for the rest of eternity. She gasped into your mouth and you let your tongue slip in, hoping she could feel the spark you’d been feeling since the first conversation.

And then she was kissing you back. One of her hands landed on your thigh, the other threading through the hair at the nape of your neck. She surprised a moan out of you, pulling you closer. If you weren’t in such a public place you would be climbing into her lap, making her feel the electricity that was running over your skin.

“I suppose one date wouldn’t be be a terrible idea,” she murmured against your lips.

Ignoring the whispering around you, you kissed her again, long and slow, taking your time now you knew it wasn’t your only chance. You had plenty of time to kiss her again and again and again. The rest of your life if she’d let you. Which it seemed she might.

Regina

You could stare at her forever. That was the simple fact of the matter. Regina was a work of art, one that was constantly changing and growing, and always so beautiful. You had no idea how you’d gotten so lucky to know her.

You’d ended up getting caught up when Anna was transported to Storybrooke, doing your best to help her save her sister. And you’d chosen to stay when they were sent back to Arendelle. Because of Regina. Because you’d fallen in love amongst all the fighting. Because you had hope.

All of which is to say, you were now absolutely screwed.

Being normal, one of the few people in Storybrooke without magic or a fairytale of your own, led to you feeling as if you were fading into the background. After helping Anna and Elsa as best you could, you hadn’t been called in to help since. Which you understood, but it did mean you didn’t get to see Regina that much.

Except for when she came into Granny’s. You’d gotten a job there, finding it not much different from back home. You’d worked in a tavern back there, and giving people warm food and drink was second nature to you. Seeing her in the diner was the best part of your day.

“Coffee, please,” she requested, slumping over the counter.

“Coming right up,” you said, offering her your brightest smile. She was so beautiful in the afternoon sunlight streaming in. She was always beautiful. It made your heart hurt.

Putting the cup down in front of her, you hoped she would take a moment to look down at the heart you’d drawn for her. You turned back, going for coy. You’d been flirting with her since you’d arrived, and you thought she’d been flirting back. It felt like flirting. It made your heart stutter in your chest like flirting did.

When you glanced back over your shoulder she was looking down into her mug, a slight smile on her face. You pressed your lips together to keep from grinning.

“Alright, out,” Granny said, shooing you away, “your shift is done and I’m not willing to pay you overtime.”

“It’s already that time?” You looked up at the clock, “time flies when you’re serving pie I guess.”

You tugged your apron off, handing it over to Granny. She offered you a fond smile, patting your hand as you walked out from around the counter.

“It certainly flies when you’re flirting with your favourite customer,” she said, chuckling when your cheeks warmed. You stuck your tongue out at her, turning back to look at Regina. She was gone, the coffee left untouched, bell jingling over the door.

You froze before bolting out the door. Head whipping one way and the other, you frantically searched for her in the street. Hurrying away from you, heels clacking on the pavement, her familiar figure was easy enough to spot. You ran after her.

“Did I make your coffee wrong?” you asked as you caught up to her.

“No, it was perfect,” she said, not quite looking at you.

“You didn’t even touch it.” You shot her a teasing smile. She didn’t return it, “okay, well, I’m sorry for the bad coffee.”

“The coffee was fine,” she snapped. You swallowed past the lump growing in your throat.

“Alright, well, something is wrong and I’m going to guess it’s because of me so I’m still sorry because I never want to hurt you or make you uncomfortable or anything,” you said, hearing yourself ramble but not able to stop.

“It wasn’t you,” she said, stopping.

You turned back to her, watching as she brushed her hair off her face. She wasn’t looking at you, looking at a point just over your shoulder. Your heart clenched.

“What happened?” you asked.

“I think, perhaps, it would be a good idea if we stopped seeing each other,” she said.

“Why?” You felt as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over you.

“We are not meant to be together,” she said, “I’m sorry, but this has to stop now before anyone else gets hurt.”

“Anyone else?” She wasn’t making any sense.

“Anyone else other than me,” she said.

“You think this won’t hurt me?” you asked. No, demanded.

“It doesn’t matter.” She turned away from you.

You grabbed her arm, forcing her to face you. She snarled, trying to pull out of your grip but you held on tighter, stepping closer to her.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Why do you think we aren’t meant to be together?” you asked, softening your voice, not wanting her to feel nervous or like you were attacking her.

“Just look at the fairytales in this realm,” she said, “we’re from completely different places.”

“Different places we can travel to,” you countered, “we’re not from different realms.”

“But we are from different stories,” she said.

“Do you think something that small is going to stop me from loving you?”

You said it a lot louder than you’d intended. Her mouth fell open and you saw her eyes flicking around, as if unable to look at you full in the face. You stepped closer to her, until you felt her body heat radiating towards you.

“Just forget how the fairytales go here. We make our own fairytale.”

She finally looked at you properly. She gave her head a small shake but there was something in her gaze that gave you hope. Something soft and yearning, like she was beginning to believe in you.

“We’ve been dancing around this for too long, so I need you to know I’m going to kiss you now,” you said.

She didn’t say anything which you took to mean she was okay with it. You let your lips brush against hers, soft, barely there, giving her time to push you away. She didn’t. Instead, she grasped the back of your neck, pulling you against her, kissing you hard. You sighed into her mouth, only half believing it was actually happening.

She nipped at your lower lip, tongue sweeping in, leaving you feeling thoroughly hot under the collar. All you could do was hold on, kissing her with all the unspoken feelings you’d been hiding from her.

Someone wolf-whistled further down the street. She broke away, staring over her shoulder at Hook, glaring at him. You ignored him, cupping her cheek and pulling her into another kiss. You weren’t about to stop now that you finally had her.

Lesso

Lesso watched from her tower window as your sword shone in the sunlight. You weren’t staying long, only teaching for a semester at both schools, one of the most renowned knights in their realm. Her lip curled, thinking about all the good you’d done, all the evil you’d vanquished.

You shook your hair out of your face, your smile wide. You were sparring with one of the students. You held your hand out, gesturing for them to come towards you. The prince ran at you and you laughed, properly laughed at him. His sword swung and you ducked, rolling out of the way. With a booted foot, you kicked him in the ass, sending him sprawling to the ground.

She turned away, but not before she saw your face turned up to the sky, your smile brighter than the sun.

It became part of her daily routine to watch you teach your class out in the sun. She hated it, the way she was drawn to her window, unable to stop watching you. Your reputation was well deserved and it made her blood boil.

She found herself lying in bed at night, your lessons playing through her mind. She could see the way you handled your sword, the way you moved, so graceful and so powerful. Your smile, the joy you took in the fights, was a sight that made her heart race but she couldn’t figure out why.

Then Dovey was standing at her doorway, smiling that so called charming smile, while you stood at her shoulder. She lent back in her throne like chair, watching you approach.

“I’ve heard you’ve yet to meet our resident knight,” Dovey said, “that’s rather rude given our students are enjoying the lessons so.”

“Yes, yes, I’m acting in a manner befitting evil,” she said.

“Hi, it’s lovely to meet you,” you said.

She finally looked at you properly, and you were so much more radiant than the distance had suggested. You were smiling, but not as brightly as you did in the ring, softer, more intimate. Your eyes were twinkling at her and you held out your hand to her.

She took your hand, surprised by how pleasant the callouses on your palm were against her skin. You were warm and when she looked back at your face, you were biting down on your bottom lip. She wasn’t expecting her breath to catch as she looked at you.

“You’re the reason for the dusty footprints on my students,” she said.

“Guilty as charged.” And the way you smiled made her wish she could ask to go toe to toe with you.

From there, she slowly began to creep closer and closer to your lessons, her interest only growing as she watched. You were surprisingly soft with your students, despite resoundingly beating them in every match. You weren’t afraid to adjust grips and stance, shouting encouragements into the ring. Although you did seem to love throwing them curve balls.

Her favourite was when you caught her eye just before vines began to sprout out of the ground, reaching for the ankles of your students. Her answering grin as one was dragged to ground lit your face up. Maybe you were more interesting than she first thought.

After one such lesson, the ground muddied from a wave of water that had drenched your students, she approached you. You were standing in the middle of the grounds, head tilted back to the sky, grin on your lips.

“I’m surprised Dovey keeps you around when you treat her students so abominably,” she said, trying for a conversational tone.

“She knows they could be attacked by anything,” you replied, “no such thing as a fair fight.”

The way you were looking at her wasn’t fair. It was like you were imagining pinning her down while also yearning to be underneath her. Like you were curious to see what would happen if you let her test out her magic on you. Like you wanted to do unspeakable things with her.

“Not when you’re fighting evil,” she replied.

“Is good always fair in a fight?” you asked, vaulting over the wooden fence, “I must have missed that lesson.”

The twinkle in your eye was the most enticing thing she’d ever seen.

“You’ve been watching my lessons,” you said.

Her heart stuttered but she tilted her chin up, looking down her nose at you. You swiped your hair out of your face again, looking up at her from under fluttering eyelashes. You looked so good, like a perfect little knight fighting for what was right.

“I bet you didn’t expect me to notice, but I did,” you continued, taking those steps towards her, “you’ve been watching me since I arrived.”

You stopped right in front of her, and there was so much mischief in your face it took her breath away.

“Luckily for you, I’ve been watching you too,” you whispered.

“In order to find my weaknesses?” she asked, lifting her eyes to meet yours.

“Because I think you’re the most enchanting creature in existence.”

She froze. You were looking at her, waiting, head tilted to the side. She wanted your eyes off her, didn’t want you to see the way she was struggling to compose herself. You were smiling. She wanted you to stop smiling. It was making her heart do funny things.

“You’re good,” she spat. Your lips pressed together but she could see the mirth on your face.

“And you’re evil,” you replied and she could hear the laughter in your voice.

“This is repulsive,” she said.

“If it’s so repulsive why have you been looking at me that way?” you asked.

“What way?” Her heart stopped.

“Like you’re imagining me naked.”

Her hand shot out, ready to grab you around the throat. You caught her around the wrist, tugging her forward. She wasn’t expecting it, falling against you. Your other arm came around her waist, holding her, and that familiar spark of anger spread through her veins.

“Let me go,” she demanded.

“Not until you admit you want me,” you said, “if it helps, I’ll admit that I want you.”

“You can’t. You’re good and I’m evil. It’s not natural,” she said.

“Forget that. Forget good and evil, and just do what you want.”

She took a moment, staring at you. Then she lunged forward, pulling you in. She kissed you hard, going for harsh, but then you were kissing her back so with so much enthusiasm it turned her breathless. So incredibly breathless.

No one good should be able to kiss that way. It was sinful.

When you drew back, your smile wide and lips kiss swollen, it was the only time she considered switching her allegiance, if only to keep kissing you. Maybe you were thinking of doing the same, switching sides, because you kissed her again before she could catch her breath. With each kiss it became easier to forget you were on opposing sides and it was wrong.

But maybe there was a thrill with it being wrong. She was evil after all.

#larissa weems x reader #regina mills x reader #lady lesso x reader #leonora lesso x reader #principal weems x reader #larissa weems imagine #principal weems imagine #regina mills imagine #lady lesso imagine #leonora lesso imagine

497 notes · View notes

chaoticcmesss · 2 years ago

Text

My mistakes

Izuku Midoriya x y/n

y/n is gender neutral

Warning: angst, OOC Deku, self-doubt, mention of cheating, talking bad of one's self, sadness, a tiny sprinkle of toxic, little bit of gaslighting

Words; 1.7k

part 1 | part 2

*My heart hurts so much while writing this, so I'm sorry in advance* *also my writing sucks a*s and it hasn't been checked at all yet* *i will update when I’ve reread it cause it’s sh*t*

☼this divider was made by me btw☼

I've always wondered what it's like to have someone beg for you to stay in their life. Someone who would do anything just to get you back after a stupid argument.

My whole life I begged for someone to stay by my side so I wouldn't be alone.

I begged my mom to remain yet she left without a care in the world with her new family.

I begged my dad to stay with me yet he didn't even bat an eye towards my direction as he drove off with his mistress, never to be seen or heard from again.

I begged my siblings to stay by my side when my life went downhill, yet they just laughed at me and made sure to never contacted me again only when they need help.

But once I finally found him, the Izuku Midoriya. My life changed for the better with him by my side. He has slowly introduced me to his group of friends, especially his childhood and best friend, Dynamite and Shoto, they are all very nice and have interesting stories to tell. I knew that I now have people in my life that won't ever hurt me. Dynamight and I became very close with one another as we worked on several cases together and to be honest, we make an amazing duo. Same with Shoto, even though he doesn't really show his emotions that often, it's nice to have a logical conscious around.

Izuku and I have been together for 3 years ever since and nothing would ever come between us, or so I thought.

Our relationship slowly started to change for the worse, he would come home, give me a peck on the cheek and go to his office. He wouldn't even stay in the room with me unless it was necessary. He is always cooped up on his laptop doing the reports and important documents even at home. I don't think he realised that there was a sudden change in his moods or the way he’d come home smelling different. Of course, I’d notice the small details. I'd usually message Dynamight or Shoto on how he is during work and to keep me updated if anything happened.

Yes, I know that being a hero is very hard and tiring but so am I, I do as much hero work as him every day and night, and I made sure that I had time to welcome him back home, I made sure he ate and slept even with a hectic schedule.

But I felt like he slowly forgot about me, about us and what we have been through together.

Does he still love me?

Why is he still with me?

Does he have someone else?

Is he cheating on me with Uravity? (I'm sorry to uravity fans- lol I'm not sorry HA!)

I let these thoughts run around in my head as tears run down my face, maybe I’m just overreacting. Yeah. I'm just overreacting.

Looking at the hanging clock I saw that it was 7 pm, he is probably making his way back home. I don't know what to do with myself.

Do I confront him?

Do I just ignore it?

What do I do?

Taking a quick breather I heard the door open with a familiar jingle of keys and a sigh “y/n I'm home” says the man who I can't even recognise anymore.

It's always been a nickname.

“Babe”

“Honey”

“Sweetheart”

“Love”

But it was just “y/n”

What happened to the man I fell in love with?

What happened to the man that I gave my heart to?

What happened to my Izuku that held my face as he proclaimed his love for me?

What happened to MY izuku?

“y/n? Are you okay?” Izuku says as he kneels to catch my gaze as he held my knees.

“y/n?”

I knew something was wrong.

Please. Please, God. Anyone. Anyone who’s listening. I don't want to hurt anymore. Please…

Slowly looking up to meet his gaze, I ask the one question that I know will break me, “are we okay izuku?” as I saw his features go from a warm yet soft look to shock and disbelief.

“What brought this up?” he asked like I'm some kind of idiot.

“Do you still love me like you did when we first got together? Do you even know when our anniversary was? Do you even remember your s/o? Do you still love me?” looking down at my lap, whispering all the questions eating me alive, wanting to find the answers I wanted to hear from him yet. Nothing. Nothing but silence from him.

“Izuku, please. I don't want to stay in this relationship when it's clear to me that you don't. I don't want- I don't want to be at home watching the news on how you and another hero would look good together, I don't want to be at home while watching you realise that you've fallen in love with someone else, I don’t want to be at home while you forget about me and everything we’ve been through. So please Midorya. Tell me what's happening so we can either fix what's left of us or I let you go”

I knew what his answer would be. All these years being together, I knew him like the back of my hand. I knew this silence all too well.

Izu- no its Midoriya now. It always had been Midoriya, never Izuku. Never my Izuku.

I pull out my phone and text Tsuki to come to get me from Midorya’s place.

“God fucking damnit, I-” standing from my seat to walk over to our bedroom to pack I felt him wrap his arms around my waist as he buried his face into my stomach, feeling the tears soak through my shirt.

“I'm sorry babe, please don't go. Please stay. Please. She was just a fling nothing else! Please stay with me. I need you” he begged me to stay, and he finally begged me to stay. But for what? For him? For us? What's left of us?

If I didn't know better, I would've agreed with him and stayed but now, things are different. This wasn't the man I wanted to have a future with. This wasn’t the man who I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Not anymore. All I see in front of me was a man that I don't recognise, a man who I was in a relationship with who was no longer the man I fell in love with, all I see is a lying, cheating man who broke my heart, stringing me along until he encounters “someone else”. Someone “better”

The man that I gave my heart to, so long ago was replaced with a man who didn't care for me at all, a man who would leave me all broken with nothing but a shattered heart.

I deserve to be happy, I deserve all the good things in life and make sure he goes through the same pain I went through.

I knew the longer I stayed in this apartment the faster I want to leave.

I removed his arms around me and sped walked to the bedroom locking the door and packing as much as I could fit in my suitcase.

I knew that there was no us, there was no more love in this relationship.

I unlocked the door to see him on the couch, covering his eyes as tears descended from them.

“Go be with Uravity, since you've always gone to her behind my back Midoriya” stating that I knew he had been cheating on me with her, yes I'm sad about being cheated on but at least I made it to the top 5 heroes without sleeping with the judges.

Hearing knocking on the door I knew it was Tsuki so I hurriedly rush towards the door to open it. Turning back to face Midoriya “You might want to get tested for any STDs considering that your side piece sleeps with a LOT of people. OH and I’ll grab my stuff on Thursday” Tsuki grabs my suitcase for me and wraps his arm around me, like a comfortable, muscular shield as we leave this dreaded apartment. Once we left the apartment, all the tears I'd held back rushed to the surface as I sat down in Tsuki's car, weeping my heart out for the love that I had lost, in his arms keeping me from any danger. My heart hurts so much. Knowing that I was easily replaced.

Katsuki’s POV:

My heart hurts for them, but I knew how this all felt. Watching the love of your life fall in love with someone else who doesn't deserve them at all and watching them get broken hurts so fuckin’ much.

I didn't care how many people were watching us in the car park, all I wanted to do was hold them in my arms and keep them protected from anything that could potentially harm them.

“Let's go home idiot” releasing them from my arms as I secure their seatbelt and put mine on, we headed out to my apartment where they’ll stay for however long it'll take for them to heal even if it takes years. I’ll always be by their side.

“Thank you, Katsu” they whispers to me as they slowly drifted off to sleep

“You’re welcome… dumbass… my dumbass. I’ve waited 3 fuckin’ years for you, I guess I can wait for a couple more” I mumbled looking back to them knowing that they won’t hear me.

Third’s POV:

But little does Katsuki know, y/n heard what he said and couldn’t believe that all this time. Katsuki fuckin’ Bakugou was in love with them. But decided it wasn't the right time or day to say anything after the whole Midorya situation. I guess time will tell when both Katuski and Y/n realise their true feeling.

-Meanwhile-

Midoriya sat in his apartment, thinking of ways to get his precious y/n back into his arms. Knowing that if they don’t come back. He’ll just force his way to get y/n back in any possible way.

The end?

#katsuki bakugo mha #mha bakugou #mha deku #bnha deku #deku x you #angst #deku angst #deku and kacchan #kacchan #izuku x reader #izuku angst #deku midoriya #ew yuck #i hate it #oh well #villan deku #beginning of villan deku

138 notes · View notes

yukidragon · 2 years ago

Note

Hey yuki what would happen if Mc had intrusive daydream of jack losing his patience with them

(This ask is based on that one fancomic where jack loses his patience and yells 😭 and I want your insight on it also I can’t remember the name of the comic or the artist I’m sure I can find it if I googled it lol)

Is this the comic you’re referring to? If so, it was drawn by my friend Meta over on twitter. There’s also a video version of it, voiced by Jack’s official VA, NaughtyMaus, which is an extra punch to the heart. I actually linked to it before in a previous post where I considered what might happen if MC made Jack angry. It’s quite the heartbreaking comic...

Now... this being a fear of MC’s and not something that actually happened, that’s a little different to consider than my previous post. Heck, I think a lot of us who saw the comic, and especially the video, couldn’t help but think of how they would feel/react if Jack snapped at them like this. I know I considered it too and how Alice might handle it. However, I just couldn’t see her ever pushing him to his breaking point, so I couldn’t figure out how she would react in that situation without knowing what might have brought them to this point. The lead up to the breakdown is important to figure out where the characters go from there after all.

I think it’s possible that this is a real fear of MC’s, if not to this extent then just the general sentiment of Jack eventually just being fed up with them. They don’t feel like they deserve to be cared for the way Jack does, which I think was influenced by the way their relationship with Ian fell apart. Being cheated on can leave a lot of scars, including feelings of inferiority and like that one day their partner will just... get tired of them.

With Jack having his ability to read his sunshine’s thoughts, I imagine there’s a very real chance of him picking up on this intrusive daydream sooner or later. It would no doubt be a shock to him that they would even think he would yell and swear at them like that, especially if their relationship is going well.

It’s not exactly a fun thing notice, I’d imagine. Seeing an image of yourself being so angry with the one you love and knowing that they’re having these thoughts of you...

It would be something that Jack would need to take some time to think about how to broach the topic. Given how MC tends to internalize their negative feelings and is reluctant to lean on anyone, most likely he’ll be the one to approach them first in this case.

Now... I doubt Jack is going to admit he can read MC’s mind, not without a very good reason to do so. How he would approach it would be delicate, and the way he approaches it would likely be affected by how well they get along. If they have disagreements and those are the reason for the intrusive thoughts, then he might want to talk about how they can make things work between them more smoothly and cut off arguments before they begin.

Jack cares about MC. He’s their best friend, and he wants them to be happy. He wants what’s best for them, and that means talking through issues before they grow so big that it causes real harm to either of them. Lessons he learned about conflict resolution in his psychology classes and relevant episode he acted in would help him out in this conversation.

An MC who is more on the “no” route, let’s say, would worry Jack a lot more in this situation. They’re pulling away from him and having these awful thoughts about him. Maybe the reason why they don’t trust him is because they assume he would snap at them like this? If that’s the case then he has to be even more gentle with them, convince them that he will never yell at them like that or make them sad. He just wants to see them smile...

Though these thoughts would be pretty harsh even with a “yes” route MC. The tactic would switch a bit, and he would ask if he ever said or did anything to make them uncomfortable. MC in this case would most likely insist no and be confused why he would even ask... guiltily thinking of those intrusive daydreams.

To avoid outing himself, Jack might act casual about it, saying he just wanted to be sure. Maybe it’s silly, but sometimes he can’t help but worry about things even if they don’t make sense. He knows he’s pretty big and can be kind of intimidating... and the last thing he wants is to ever do anything to upset MC.

From there the conversation would turn to one about intrusive thoughts and how everyone gets them sometimes. When that happens, it’s best not to bottle them up inside, but to share them with someone who loves you, who you can trust not to judge or think badly about you. They can help you figure out where these worries might be coming from and how to make them feel less like a real possibility. Jack trusts MC and loves them so much, so he knew he could talk to them about what’s bothering him.

MC knows they can talk with Jack about anything that’s bothering them too, right? He’s here for them, no matter what.

I imagine Jack could gently coax a lot of MCs into telling him about the intrusive daydream out loud, though they’ll probably downplay the severity of it. Jack would listen patiently until he guided them into confessing at least the broad strokes of the daydream, now a little freer on what he can say to address the problem.

The first thing is to make sure MC isn’t feeling ashamed for having these intrusive thoughts, and I think Jack would say he’s proud of them for telling him. It takes a lot of courage to talk about our fears like this with anyone. Everyone has intrusive thoughts from time to time, but what’s important is to remind ourselves that they’re just thoughts. They don’t have to be reality.

The conversation of course would have a lot of gentle, comforting touches. Jack’s primary love language does seem to be physical touch. It would be reassurance for both MC and himself. With words and actions he wants to make sure MC knows he loves them so much and that they can trust him with even these dark thoughts. He wants to help them in any way he can, and these thoughts are painful for both of them.

Jack would no doubt try to help guide MC through the reasons why these intrusive thoughts might have started, what sparked their fears in the first place. If it’s due to past relationships, then he would want to talk about that and remind them that other people can be cruel sometimes. It’s why he worries about them sometimes. He won’t just snap at MC like that though, especially not for no reason, he promises.

What they have is special. What they have is love, real love. Jack won’t hurt MC like that... and he trusts they won’t hurt him like that either. I can see most MCs immediately insisting that they won’t at the idea that they might snap at Jack and hurt him like their daydream hurt them.

In any case, there would be discussion about conflict resolution, most likely. Jack would no doubt know ways of de-escalating conflicts and give MC tips on what to do if things get heated between them. Take a step back, count to ten before talking, keep the scale of the disagreement in mind, and remember that they both have each other’s best interests at heart. No matter how mad they might get in the moment, they need to remember just how much they mean to each other... how much they love each other.

Once the conversation is settled, Jack would likely ask if MC feels better, and it probably would help them feel better. After that, the best thing to do is to suggest they do something fun together... maybe have some cuddle time... which of course leads to Jack showing MC just how much he loves them.

Of course the resolution would be more complicated on the more “no” extreme. I don’t know if it could be settled in a way that fully puts either of their fears to rest in a scenario where MC is pulling away from Jack and not really trusting him.

In any situation, knowing MC has these thoughts would no doubt worry Jack. In a situation where they don’t trust him, those worries would be even bigger... to the point that he would probably fear that someday it could wind up being reality...

Jack can’t let that happen. He has to find a way to earn their trust and be what they want him to be. He needs to give MC whatever they want and need. It’s what he’s there for after all...

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur

#Sunny Day Jack #Something's Wrong With Sunny Day Jack #SunnyDayJack #sdj #swwsdj #Headcanon Ramblings #Ask

54 notes · View notes

forever-rogue · 3 years ago

Note

hi! if you’re accepting requests from prompt list #2, does angst to fluff count lol. 5 from angst, 49 from fluff lists! with reader thinking din loves someone else 🥺 i like mando x omera but.. reader who perhaps doesnt have the skills omera has and sees how din looks at her… THE ANGST 😌🤌

AN | Me, writing some Din? It’s been a hot minute, but here we are. I miss him 🥺

Warnings | None

Pairing | Din x Fem!Reader

Masterlist | Din, Main

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A small sigh, a wistful little thing, escaped your lips as you studied the gently lapping water of the lake. It was calm here, a peaceful, tranquil place that served as a welcome refuge after all that you'd been through in the last few years. Sometimes it seemed almost too good to be true. The distant sounds of laughter met your ears as children ran around and played, carefree as could be. Sometimes you wished you were that young again; innocent to life’s darker sides. Unfortunately that wasn’t a possibility, but for now you’d take the peace and stillness you could get.

Pulling off your boots and socks, you quickly tossed them to the side. The water was warm as you relaxed and leaned back, closing your eyes and soaking up the warmth of the summer sun. It wasn’t until you heard the familiar voice that your eyes slowly snapped back opened. Your heart constricted slightly as you spotted Din nearby speaking to Omera. He seemed so happy, in a much better mood than you’d seen in a long time. It was all her, and you remained invisible. Which, when it came to most things wasn’t too bad, but sometimes you wished he would see you.

“Is somebody jealous?” you hadn’t even heard the bounty hunter walk over; you supposed that’s one of the many reasons he was the best in the galaxy. Boba offered a small grimace before sitting down next to you. You shrugged him off staring back into the water. You were not about to get into anything with Boba; that man was insufferable and usually right.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you brushed him off, trying desperately not to look back at Din. Instead, you focused on the water and watched the tiny fish whiz through the water; a few of them brushed by your feet, sending a ticklish shiver up your spine, “I’m just...enjoying the calm afternoon sun and soaking up as much peace before we inevitably leave again.”

“That’s how this all works,” Boba sighed as you nodded in agreement, “you knew that from the day you became my apprentice.”

“I know,” you whispered, “but I hoped at one point I could...walk away and have a normal life. Like this.”

“Normal is all relative,” he had a point as you huffed lightly and stood up, brushing off your pants and reaching for your boots, “but if this is what you want, what you truly want, you know you’re welcome to leave whenever. I would not hold you back from the life you wanted.”

“I know, Boba,” you put your hand on his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze, “the problem is that I don’t really know what I want...I think I know but...it’s more than that.”

“Of course,” he agreed, casting a quick glance at the object of your affections before turning back to you, “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

“Either way, it will work out, just as it always does,” you swallowed the lump that had welled up in your throat, “Boba, why are you doing this?”

“I just want to make sure you’re happy - that you know that you have choices in what you’re doing,” he said like it was no big deal, but to you it meant so much. This hardened, sometimes gruff man really did have a heart of gold underneath it all, “should you want to part ways, I would understand. Should you want to stay, I’d be more than happy to have you with me. I don’t know what the future holds for myself, Fennec, or Djarin, but you know it will not always be easy. But sometimes you have to decide what’s most important.”

“Yes,” you answered softly, “thank you, Boba.”

He remained silent as you laced up your boots before padding away, back towards the village. You knew you had a lot to think about and if you wanted things to change at all, you’d have to figure out something. You cast a glance over your shoulder and you were almost positive that you’d spotted Din looking in your direction. But it was all a trick of the mind; it had to be. Why would he spare you more than a passing thought anyways?

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was late by the time he found you; much later than any reasonable person should have been outside, but you couldn’t sleep. There was too much on your mind to silence, and if you managed to, it was short-lived and another thought came to replace the previous one. Eventually you’d given up and wandered out of the small hut home that had been acting as your own home for the last couple of months. You knew the area was safe and wanted to enjoy the temperate night air before it turned to a crisp fall breeze, or worse - you’d be gone.

Small bugs chirped happily along with the soft songs of nightbirds as you walked around the sleeping village; you weren’t scared here, you felt safe and at home. But as you rounded a corner, a gloved hand reached out and grabbed your wrist. A small yelp of surprise left your lips as you pulled into a wall of cool metal - beskar.

“Shhh,” Din placed a finger to his lips as you relaxed when you realized it was him, “you’ll wake everyone up. It’s just me.”

“Dank Farrik!” you hissed at him, “how was I supposed to know that? You could have been a murderer!”

“Well….you should be in bed sleeping.”

“So should you!” your arms crossed over your chest as you stared him down, and eventually he huffed in defeat, realizing you were right. He couldn’t sleep either, plagued by the choices he knew that he had to make sooner rather than later. He hadn’t expected you to be out as well, “what are you doing anyway?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck nervously, a flash of...something in his dark eyes, “I thought that some fresh air would clear my head.”

“Same here,” you admitted reluctantly, leaving the two of you in an awkward silence. You wished you had enough bravery (or perhaps even stupidity) in your body to just say something to him then and there. At least it would be out of the way; but you weren’t feeling anything but nervous butterflies fluttering in your tummy, “I...umm...I guess I’ll get back. Try and sleep.”

“Hey-” he reached for your arm gently before you could get too far away. You turned around and raised an eyebrow as he opened and closed his mouth a few times, “d-did I do something wrong?”

“What? What are you talking about?” the question caught you off guard, but judging by the look on his face, you could sense that this was something he had been thinking for some time.

“You’ve been different lately...it almost feels like you’re avoiding me.”

“Oh DIn, you’re being ridiculous,” and yet the accusation was very true.

“You’re fine around Boba, Fennec...everyone else. But every time I’m around it feels like you can’t wait to get away,” you should have known that he would have noticed sooner or later. The man was more observant than you’d cared to admit, “if I did something, please tell me.”

“You can’t be serious, Djarin. There’s nothing wrong…”

“Then why have you been avoiding me?”

“I haven’t been doing anything. You’ve got too much free time and your mind is running wild.”

“Tell me it’s not true then.”

“Din-”

“Tell me.”

“The problem is that you’re in love with someone else,” the words were out of your mouth before you even contemplated them. You were mortified and in some ways you were relieved. At least it was all out in the open now and you were able to let the chips land where they may.

“Oh,” was his only response as his head tilted to the side and he looked at you in confusion, “what?”

“I...kriff,” you sighed, “I shouldn’t have said that. Sorry - forget I said anything.”

“Who am I in love with?”

“What do you mean?” tears welled up in your eyes at his response; almost like a cruel joke, “you know, everyone knows! Omera; and why wouldn’t you be? She’s wonderful - kind, smart, beautiful … everything. Part of me wants to dislike her, but I can’t because she’s such a good person but it kills me a little bit to know that you love her and you’ll never even think twice about me. I know that’s super selfish but it’s the way I feel; and judging from how this is going I think I’m making the right decision by leaving. By myself.”

Din said nothing as a few tears rolled down your cheeks. You laughed bitterly at yourself before realizing that this might have been the best decision after all. You couldn’t stay after this.

It wasn’t long before Din came to his senses and ran after you, calling your name and catching up with a few easy strides. You came to a reluctant stop as you sniffled and waited for him to say something, despite the fact that you weren’t sure you wanted to hear whatever he had to say.

“I-I-I’m not in love with Omera,” he insisted as it became your turn to look at him in bewilderment, “I’m in love with you.”

“What?”

“I’ve been talking to her about you,” he confessed, “about how to do...this sort of thing. But then you started avoiding me and I wondered if maybe I’d read the signs wrong and you didn’t like me at all. At least not in that way.”

“I don’t….what?” you heard his words but weren’t able to fully comprehend them. This had to be some sort of weird fever dream. Din sighed - his trademark sigh - before ripping off his gloves and gently putting his hands on the sides of your face. He was hesitant at first, to see if you would stop him. But you didn’t...instead you relished in his touch, the feel of his bare skin on yours sending electric shivers throughout your whole body.

After a few moments of quietly studying your features, he leaned in and slowly pressed his lips against yours. It wasn’t a proper kiss by any means, hardly more than a ghost of one, but it felt...strangely wonderful. You looked at him in disbelief as he pulled back; was this really the same man that you’d met all that time ago that wouldn’t even tell anyone his name or let them see his face?

“Oh.”

“Can we go inside?” he whispered softly, “can we talk?”

“Yeah,” you agreed gently. He reached for your hand but before he could take it in his, you stopped him and pressed another sweet, barely there kiss to his lips. A tinge of pink colored his cheeks as you beamed at him, “now we can go.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Pedro Character Taglist (strikethrough means I couldn’t tag you - please check your settings. Strikethroughs will get removed if not taggable)

@qhbr2013 @greeneyedblondie44 @dodgerandevans @cannedsoupsucks @april-showers-and-flowers @klaine-92 @softboiipascal @rpcvliz @im-an-adult-ish @dobbyjen @thevoiceinyourheadx @niki-xie @jediknight122 @xxlovingfandomsxx @mrpascals @startrekkingaroundasgard @welcometothepedroverse @ilikemymendarkandfictional @actual-spawn-of-satan @wanderlust69 @lazybeeches @beskarboobs @someday-when-you-leave-me @leaiorganas @salome-c @rosiefridayrogersunday @madslorian @artsymaddie @haildoodles @windfallss @spookispunk @nikkixostan @edencherries @stillshelbs @djarinbarnes @alyispunk @ayamenimthiriel @gallowsjoker @its–fandom–darling @star017 @amneris21 @empress-palpat1ne @cable-kenobi @gooddaykate @princeofdorne @natthebattygeologist @riddikulus-obsessions @sleep-tight1 @mamacitapascal @14mcmd1122 @leaiorganas @hoodedbirdie @kenzieam @dobbyjen @jedi-mando @milkxxkookies @lazybeeches @general-latino @jediknight122 @cosmoschick @recklessworry @jaime1110 @thorins-queen-of-erebor @thatnerdwriter @bestintheparsec @pascalisthepunkest @kristeng42 @rosie-posie08

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x fem!reader #the mandalorian #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #the mandalorian x reader

533 notes · View notes

babyboibucky · 4 years ago

Text

The Match - Part 4

Pairing: CEO!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky gives you a promotion celebration you’ll never forget.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: FINGERING 💦, not wearing a seatbelt oopsies

A/N: The celebration is here! So obviously, this series will be non-linear with your office escapades with Bucky thrown in every once in a while 😏 Anywayyyy, I hope you guys will enjoy this part! I wanted to make it even filthier but idk, it ended up being like this lol. I don’t even know what my standard for filthy is anymore looool. Thank you as always for the amazing feedback! I appreciate you all 🥺

The Match Masterlist || MAIN MASTERLIST

You consciously got up from your cubicle, straightening up your skirt and letting out a deep sigh as you gathered your things.

No one will know, you reminded yourself as you slung your bag onto your shoulder.

“This is so weird...” you whined to yourself when you stepped out, unable to ignore how bare you were underneath your skirt.

Bucky’s stern command rang in your ears as you slowly walked along the corridor, remembering the conversation that took place before you left his office earlier.

“I’ll meet you at the basement parking at exactly 6:15pm.” Bucky said after informing you that he wanted to “celebrate” your promotion.

The only celebration you could think of was having his cock inside your mouth, honestly. And the thought of feeling its weight against your tongue was making you wet again.

“Okay.” You responded before turning around to leave.

“And oh, I want your panties off by then. Don’t be late.”

Walking around the office without any underwear on felt like the tenth circle of hell, especially with your co-workers stopping you every once in a while for a short conversation about your promotion.

“Girl! I saw the e-mail! Congratulations!” Martha squealed when you came across her.

You forced a smile and thanked her, trying to hurry your way out of the office because having your pussy out felt horrifying. It’s not like anyone would know but goddamn Bucky and his request, this was the most uncomfortable you’ve ever been.

Martha bid goodbye thank fuck, but just as you were about to press the button of the elevator, Mark saw you and called for your attention.

“So, department head huh?” He said as he approached you.

You forced out a chuckle, “That’s me alright. Look I hav—“

“You deserved that promotion. I mean, it was surprising but well-deserved. Hey, do you want to grab a drink later tonight?” He asked with interest.

You made a face, “Oh sorry, I’m going out with...a friend...to celebrate. Maybe next time?” You said and quickly pressed on the button.

Time was ticking and you were sure that Bucky’s probably on his way down to the basement. You started tapping your foot on the ground when Mark continued to tell you about this new bar a few blocks away and how he would love to take you there sometime. All you could do was nod enthusiastically, hoping for the elevator to reach your floor.

Your phone dinged and your eyes almost popped out of their sockets when you saw that Bucky had sent you a text. And that the time was now 6:15pm. Shit.

I’m waiting.

-B

You were just about to type a reply when three dots suddenly appeared, followed by another message.

I said don’t be late. I’m giving you another 3 minutes and if you aren’t here by then, I won’t let you cum.

Just like that, your phone slipped from your hands and fell to the ground much to your horror. Because how the fuck were you going to bend down to pick it up without exposing your pussy?!

“No worries, I got it.” Mark said about to pick up your phone when you yelled for him to stop.

Either you’ll let him pick it up and have Bucky’s message be seen or bend down and have your womanly part be seen instead. Mark looked up at you suspiciously.

“It’s okay, I got it.” You awkwardly smiled and slowly tried to bend down, struggling with your knees to make sure no one would see that you’d forgone your underwear.

Mark chuckled at your strange behavior but decided to let it go and bid goodbye, repeating that you owed him a night at the bar. You merely offered a smile before hopping into the elevator as soon as the doors slid open.

Bucky had an entire parking basement reserved for him, obviously it was one of the perks of being the CEO. You didn’t have to worry about being seen down there either so that was a relief.

As soon as you stepped out of the elevator, you immediately caught sight of Bucky right across, leaning against his black Jaguar XF. Even from afar, you could see that he was glaring at you for being late.

You squeaked to yourself and hurriedly approached him, ignoring how your bare cunt was slightly getting damp just from seeing Bucky gazing at you like that.

He watched you with a stoic expression as you jogged towards him. You swallowed hard because you couldn’t read your face but you were sure that you were in for something.

“I said don’t be late.” He gruffly said.

“Sorry, I got caught up on my way here. And it’s not that easy to walk around commando.” You snapped.

Bucky lifted his eyebrow at you, his eyes moving lower to stare at your skirt as if he was trying to see through the fabric. You squeezed your thighs together, feeling the heat rise up to your cheeks.

The way Bucky looked at you made you feel exposed and vulnerable, even with clothes on.

Bucky held out his hand, “You’re really an obedient one, aren’t you?” He asked with amusement.

You heaved out a deep breath before fishing your black underwear out from your bag, handing over at Bucky who smirked at you as he placed it inside his back pocket.

“You better be ready, ‘cause you’re in for a celebration.” He whispered.

Who would have thought that Bucky was so damn good at multitasking? He already proved it earlier when he took a phone call while he was fucking you. But now, he took the skill to a whole another level.

The man was driving along the highway while his hand was rubbing the shit out of your cunt while you were on the front seat with your legs wide open.

You could hear your mother’s voice in your ears reminding you to use a seatbelt. God forbid that Bucky crashes the car, you weren’t ready for rescuers to discover your body in such a state.

What would they even tell your mother? Ma’am, your daughter was being fingered in the car when they crashed. What a way to go, huh?

“Bucky...” you moaned, your hand coming up to claw at his forearm when he sped up with his assault on your sex.

“Fuck, look at you. So fuckin’ wet, dripping down on my seat cover, huh?” Bucky grunted as his fingers continued to rub across your pussy.

How the hell was he even driving properly?! Not once did he swerve nor missed a turn. Does this man even have a weakness?

Meanwhile, you looked wrecked and used as you squirmed in your seat with your skirt bunched up to your waist. You could hear your wetness as Bucky continued to play with your folds, opening them up until he was able to insert his middle finger into your hole.

The sound you made was borderline pornographic, and you couldn’t bring your eyes away from how Bucky’s hand stayed in between your legs. The seat cover was made out of leather and thank goodness for that because the mess you were making was just too much.

“Shit...you’re gonna make me cum.” You moaned out loud, your hips rolling on its own accord when Bucky slipped another finger in.

“Oh baby,” Bucky chuckled, “You know you can’t. You were late, remember?” He teased, stealing a quick glance at you before returning his attention back on the road.

You whimpered, “I’m sorry...please...god I’m so close.”

Bucky licked his lips and pumped his fingers into you faster. Your toes curled inside your pumps, thighs quaking and hips violently grinding against his hand; but just as when you were about to snap, Bucky withdrew his fingers and made a sharp turn on the road.

“Bucky, please!” You begged.

He tutted, “No cumming. At least, not now.” He smirked.

Your hand was about to replace Bucky’s but he quickly noticed what you were trying to do and warned you.

“Touch yourself and I’ll fuck you on the hood of my car while everyone watches.”

Hearing that from Bucky made your eyes roll. You seriously got it bad for your boss, and he only fucked you once!

Bless Tinder for helping you land one Bucky Barnes.

The car slowed down and you noticed that Bucky was parking right in front of a fancy restaurant. Was he seriously going to leave you high and dry and then take you out to dinner?

Your eyes landed on Bucky’s hand, still glistening with your wetness, as he maneuvered the wheel. He doesn’t even care about smearing your juices on his steering wheel and you found it so hot that the throbbing in your cunt was becoming unbearable.

You closed your legs and pulled down your skirt, adjusting your position on the front seat. You groaned when you felt your wetness seep into your skirt, forming wet patches all over the fabric. You blushed upon realizing that you were sitting on a puddle of your own juices.

“I’m wet, Bucky.” You told him matter-of-factly.

He turned to you, “I’d be disappointed if you weren’t.”

You deadpanned, “Not that! I mean...” you said and motioned to your skirt.

“Don’t worry, I bought you a dress.” He said and reached for a paper bag sitting on the backseat.

You made a face, “You have everything planned out, don’t you?” You asked.

Bucky’s shit-eating grin gave away the answer. He wanted you to make a mess in his car and he knew he could do that to you. What a smug bastard, but hot nonetheless.

“Go change in the backseat while I clean up your mess.” He said with a smirk.

“But I want to—“

“I’ll make you cum before dessert arrives, I promise.” Bucky cut you off with a sweet kiss on your lips, much to your surprise.

The kiss was simple, no tongue or whatsoever. It was just that, a kiss. So why were you having butterflies in your stomach?

“Now go and change, I made a reservation and we can’t miss it.”

Shit, shit, shit.

You may have realized that Bucky doesn’t seem to have a weakness (provided that he multitasked like a god), but you sure as hell discovered yours when Bucky kissed you like that.

The Match Special Tags:

@marvelslag @weird-mumbling @propertyofpoeandbucky @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @mostly-marvel-musings @squishybabies @megzdoodle @little-baby-vixen @annathesillyfriend @xhollycowx @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @5-seconds-of-mendes @gogolucky13 @countonthesun @iloveshawnieboi @learisa @borikenlove @scarlet-natasha89

Everything Bucky Tag List:

@ddowii @jessou893 @stealapizzamyheart @bagelofthelord @mxnt @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @jeeperky @ohladymacbeth @wildflowergubler @supraveng @twinerd14 @buckysmar @bakugouswh0r3 @sweetcoldharmony @wintersfilm @charminivy @amelia-song-pond @iamvalentinaconstanza @mcubqrnes @i’m-squished @tcc-gizmachine @sipsteacasually @prettyintopeerpressure @weloveyasmin @est19xxshit @bloodhon3yx @dressed-in-prada @lizette50 @thatfangirl42 @sunflowerbunny2 @unmagically @okiegirl24 @sugarpunch-princess @enlyume @vvipgotbb @slimeyderp @lyoongx @just-deka @nobody-will @jaziona92 @elisebuitron @dpaccione @suvikamahes98blr @buckybarneshairpullingkink @earthtonav @x-judyjude-x @nani-kenobi @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @belladonnabarnes @iloveangstposts @weenersoldierr @asemistablehundredyearoldman @reidbuck @lizzarooni @girlfriday007 @whoth3hellisbucky @bonkywobble @lost-in-the-stars03 @its-yasbxtch

#bbb writes #the match #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky #bucky smut #bucky barnes smut #sebastian stan

1K notes · View notes

shoichee · 4 years ago

Note

how would atsushi, akashi and aomine react to haizaki threatening/hitting on their s/o?? (cue that one scene where he was literally taking on himuro, kagami, kise, and alex all at once 😡... basically that, but with their s/o)

ANON…. THOSE 3???? LONG STORY SHORT…. HAIZAKI EXPERIENCES DEATH (OR AT LEAST NEAR-DEATH) 3 SEPARATE TIMES…… BUT HERE’S THE “LONG STORY” THROUGH THESE HCs

TW: attempt of physical assault, unwanted advancements… asshole Haizaki? cut under this to keep y’all safe JUST IN CASE

[Headcanons]

Aomine Daiki

you went out to look for Aomine after noticing how he hasn’t come back to his seat for too long

this was shortly after Kaijō defeated Fukuda Sōgō, and it was currently intermission before the next match rolled in

your face was met with crisp air as your eyes adjusted to the dark, scanning for any sign of your boyfriend

upon seeing no one, you decided to walk around the perimeter, just in case Aomine decided to nap for a quick moment on a whim and forgot to tell you

maybe you shouldn’t have walked out alone and in the dark of night, but you figured that in such a public event in a public area, you didn’t think anyone had the balls to start anything fishy around the stadium

oh how you were so wrong

you unfortunately bumped into Haizaki right when he was slowly strolling with his basketball shoes over his shoulder, and you immediately stopped in place, praying that he would walk past by you or perhaps not even see you

you knew that he wasn’t good news based from what Aomine told you and from watching that unpleasant game… he was bad, bad news

why did you think he wasn’t gonna see you? his senses are as sharp as a falcon, scrutinizing you before he realizes your identity

“Oh? Now what’s a pretty little thing like you doing out here… all alone?”

“I, um, I was looking for someone, but I realized it’s been getting a little too late… I think they returned back to the stadium, so that’s where I’m heading…”

your voice slowly diminishes to a soft whisper by the end, but judging from his widened eyes from glee, you knew he wasn’t going to walk past by you after this

“That so?” he drawls, licking his thumb. “The stadium ya say?”

something about his gaze turned sharp and dangerous, “the stadium” triggering unadulterated rage and frustration from the game and from his encounter with Aomine

“I… I really gotta leave,” you say in a hurry, quickly backing up. “Th-They’re impatient, so—”

“Huh?” he mocks, leaning closer to you. “I’m kinda of an impatient guy myself, yeah?” but upon even closer inspection, he realizes that he’s seen you somewhere very recently

“Hm?” he muses lowly. “Weren’t ya sitting with Daiki that game?” when you don't answer out of fear, his eyes merely shine with excitement… “Ohhhh… is that how it is?”

. . .

Aomine returns back to his seat after settling a score with Haizaki outside the stadium, but immediately becomes confused when he sees your seat empty

Sakurai immediately apologizes and quickly informs him that you went out to look for him, and Aomine immediately dashes back out… after all, who knows if you got lost in the dark or if you kept being persistent in looking for him?

imagine his visible distress when he sees Haizaki putting an arm around your shoulder while still holding his shoes and you looking absolutely fearful because you knew what he was capable of

this was a very rare moment where Aomine was not so calm and collected

but he tries to, especially when he knows that Haizaki probably relishes in the fact of “getting revenge” for that punch earlier (and probably realized the connection between you and Aomine to do so)

“Hey, asshat,” he calls out, grabbing Haizaki’s attention away from you, but Aomine notices him pulling you slightly closer to his body. “The fuck you think you’re doing with (y/n)?”

“Hehh? So (y/n)’s your name?” Haizaki merely pays attention to you, completely ignoring Aomine

“Back off,” he says lowly, almost to a growl. “I won’t be holding myself back to just a punch this time if you do anything else.”

at his hardened glare, Haizaki does a gleeful mock-surprise expression before putting his arm off of you and says: “Whoaaa there, Daiki. Never pegged you as that typa guy.”

he licks his thumb before walking away casually without a care in the world before calling out, “It ain’t fun here anymore, I’m bouncin’ out.”

by the time he leaves Aomine’s field of vision, he finally releases a pent-up sigh before calling out your name:

“... Come’ere… he didn’t do anythin’ to you right? Sheesh, I leave you alone for one second—alright, alright I guess it was more than a second… fine, it was several minutes… look, I’m sorry… okay, okay quit lecturing me… more importantly, promise me you don’t go out alone like that. It’s dangerous out there, y’know.”

when you finally ask about what he meant by his threat to Haizaki, he smugly replies, “Aw, that? I gave him a hard sock earlier. Went down pretty easily.”

Murasakibara Atsushi

it’s quite rare that Murasakibara would agree to going to Tokyo temporarily over break, let alone leave his house, but here you two are, resting on the park benches in Tokyo

shortly after, you went to the nearest arcade hall, begging and tugging him along with you to try the strength test for the jackpot prize (totally using his physique to nab home prizes and merch LOL)

he only agreed because you looked way too excited for him to turn the plan down

he still enjoyed himself, if he was being honest; it’s just you, him, his snacks, and some games you both are playing together

Murasakibara notices that the arcade also has a mini food court to the side, and he immediately pouts at you to let him go tasting galore on a food binge

and you laugh, telling him to “hurry up” to tease him and letting him know that you were staying here to try to earn more points to exchange for rewards at the end

you entered a coin into the slot and hummed before seeing a START screen, but as soon as it went black into a loading screen you saw someone’s reflection on it

Haizaki was right behind you

“Whaddya know? Would ya look at that?” he says, hands in his pockets while sneering. “If it isn’t (y/n).”

you merely pretended that you didn’t hear him, considering that the arcade was pretty crowded and noisy, and went on to playing the game in front of you

you hoped that by the time you were done with the round, he’d be gone, but his reflection was very much still there on the arcade machine screen, depicting his laid-back posture against the back of another arcade machine, watching you with complete amusement

after spending all the available coins on hand and still sensing him behind you, you promptly turned to your left to head for the coin machine and acted completely casual, but before you got too far ahead, Haizaki easily blocks your path with an outstretched arm, the hand against the arcade machine

“Whoaaa,” he drawls. “That’s pretty fucked up for you to ignore me like that.”

“... You’re blocking the way, so can you please kindly let me pass?” you flatly say, not bothering to look at his face

“What’s with the cold shoulder?” He tilts his head with a crazed look in his eyes that spelled unpredictability. “I just came and stopped by to say hello to an old friend from Teiko. Nothin’ wrong with that, hm?”

“Look,” you sigh. “You’re in the way, and I wish to spend my time here left alone. No, I’m not interested in small talk. No, I’m not in the mood for a bite with you. No, I don’t want to give you my number. Did I address everything?” you finally turned your face to look at Haizaki, but his face contorts to one of a dangerous beast

“Good, good…” he slowly says. “You haven’t changed one bit, haven’t ya? I was wonderin’ where that feisty side of yours went.”

perhaps you shouldn’t have spoken up after all; it only riled him up more

before you can formulate any further thoughts, he grabs your chin and directed it towards him, and you immediately froze up

you tried to dart your eyes around you if anyone noticed, but no one seems to pay attention

“What’s the matter?” he asks. “Cat got ya tongue?” when he looks to where your gaze was at, he chuckles before drawing closer to your face. “No one’s gonna help… not when they think we’re a little thing…”

but he instantly feels a heavy hand on his shoulder, and Haizaki turns around, ready to cuss the perpetrator out, but his eyes widen when he sees a furious Murasakibara

a giant with a very, very hostile aura… even nearby crowds dispersed out of fear for their safety

“Hands off of (y/n)-chin, pest.”

“Oho?” Haizaki releases your face and completely turns around to face him. “Well if it isn’t Atsushi… been a while hasn’t it?” he brings up a hand in a shrugging motion. “While I’d love to chat, I’m busy. Scram.”

“Touch (y/n)-chin again, and I’ll break all of your fingers.”

“Huh?” Haizaki licks his right thumb. “What’s up with ya? It’s non’ya business.”

you took this as an opportunity to run to Murasakibara’s side and seek shelter behind his back, which Haizaki raises a defiant brow

“Hmmm?” he smiles a slow smirk. “Was I really such bad company, (y/n)?”

his smile was completely wiped when he sees Murasakibara’s outstretched hand towards his head, and he deftly dodges his grasp before he walks off with a scoff

“I’m gonna crush him—”

“W-Wait! Just leave him be…” you held onto his torso in a full-attempt to stop him from going too far, and after a few moments, he relaxes with body and finally turns to face you

he doesn’t say anything but darts his eyes all over your figure to make sure there weren’t any injuries on you

he gently holds your hand before he tugs you to follow him to the food court

“Murasakibara…?”

“... You won’t be separated from me if we hold hands, (y/n)-chin.”

“I’m fine, you know.”

he doesn’t say anything more, and when you both settled into your table with your orders, he’s constantly staring at you and giving nonverbal cues that he wants to do PDA with you

becomes very protective and affectionate of you for the rest of the trip

grows very quiet and deep in thought until you reassure him that you were okay because of him stepping in to save you

Akashi Seijuro

it’d be extremely rare for you to ever bump into Haizaki, especially when the only chance you can see him is during the annual Winter Cup

Winter Cup arrives once again with the GoMs being 2nd years this time, and Akashi is still the same Oreshi ever since last Winter Cup

Haizaki definitely had seen you walking with Akashi very closely before the opening ceremony started, and it gave him ideas on how to “get back” against Akashi without directly confronting him

he was gonna mess with you

even after all those years, he still has that grudge against Akashi; the fact that he is one of the few people who has that power over him irritates him to no end

even when Akashi told Haizaki to quit long ago to help him save face, his pride was still heavily bruised

when he was sure Akashi wasn’t with you, he approached you while you were waiting outside the stadium

. . .

Akashi exits out of the locker rooms and carries his duffel bag before he heads to the entrance to greet you, excited in reuniting with you to talk about today’s games and your opinion on Rakuzan’s performance… that is, until what he saw made him beyond furious

“O-Ow…!”

“If ya want someone to blame for,” Haizaki sneers. “Ya can thank Akashi for messin’ with me, yeah? Don’t take it too hard babe, but I’m just returnin’ the favor… by proxy.”

Akashi strides over to the two of you with the intensity of death that would even surprise Bokushi himself

“Haizaki.”

at the sound of his eerily calm voice, Haizaki turns over to Akashi, and his glee is immediately wiped off his face and replaced with one of anger… and hidden fear

he suddenly drops you from his chokehold, and as you hit the ground, coughing to intake air, he turns to Akashi with a vengeful look

after a suffocating staredown between the two, Haizaki tuts and turns to leave in unspoken defeat, knowing full well the consequences from defying against Akashi; it’s something he never did in Teiko and certainly not something he would risk doing now

Akashi immediately drops his cold facade and rushes over to your side, rubbing your back and examining the slight bruises on your neck

his HIGHEST priority at that very moment was your safety, and he decided to take you to a doctor and then to your home, opting to cancelling/rescheduling any plans for today despite your objections

all the while, he coos softly at you and touches you with such care and gentleness that you managed to calm your heartbeat from that sudden attempt of assault

as soon as he feels like you’re safe, mentally and physically (and probably in a safe environment with either a GoM or at your own home), he reveals his true emotions on his face regarding the incident for the first time when he’s alone

being super considerate about your current mental state, he didn’t want to potentially scare you even more with his anger and much more negative emotions

for the first time, he allows his darker thoughts to simmer and stir… it’s one of those rare times where he wishes that Bokushi still existed within him

he eventually finds time to pay a visit to Fukuda Sōgō… to make nice… threats conversation

if you somehow figured out that he was going to do that, only when you convinced him is when he’ll decide to back down

but that’s only IF you figured out about how Akashi really felt about this…

#knb #knb headcanon #knb headcanons #knb x reader #knb x y/n #aomine daiki #aomine x reader #aomine daiki x reader #murasakibara atsushi #murasakibara x reader #murasakibara atsushi x reader #akashi seijuro #akashi x reader #akashi seijuro x reader #haizaki shougo #haizaki shogo #kuroko no basket #knb fic #knb fics

1K notes · View notes

jodilin65 · 3 months ago

Text

I finally have fewer than 100 pages left to review to bring my bio up to date. I've been slacking over the past few years, so I'll need to write some new content as well.

Tom was outside cleaning the car windows when he noticed the car that’s been parked next door passing by and heading down the street. Around 7:00 PM, they parked on the street, which technically isn’t allowed overnight, but I’m not complaining since they’re further away now. I finally caught enough of them on video to get a clearer picture. They walk slowly, and they’re definitely older and thinner than Ray. Another possibility is that Ray might be delaying his return this year to spend Thanksgiving with family. But if these people are his family, why are they staying at his place? Either way, I’m just glad they’re quiet.

I didn’t sleep too well last night—I kept waking up. The only dream I remember was watching the mystery girl straighten her hair. When I woke up, I had an immediate sense that she doesn’t actually do that in real life. I’d love to ask her how much of what I see and sense is accurate, but of course, I can’t. LOL.

I’ve never had a nail fungus infection this bad. My left thumb is still pretty bad, even with the lacquer treatment. If the prescription lacquer can’t fight it, I might need antibiotics, though I really hope not. Right now, my main health concern is keeping my A1C in check and making sure that dream about increasing my thyroid dose stays just a dream.

Someone recently asked if I thought anyone from my past might be reading my blog anonymously. I told them it would make a good blog topic—and my guess is no. I can’t be sure, but I’d be pretty surprised. Here’s my breakdown and who and why:

Relatives: What’s left of my relatives either hate me or simply don’t care. The only one who might be curious—just enough to see if I’ve mentioned her—is Termite Tammy. But I still don’t think she’s reading. If she were, she’d have said something by now. She’s not the type to sit back quietly if she came across things about herself that I know she wouldn’t agree with. She always needs to have the last word.

Exes: Let’s just say I don’t think any ex of mine has given me a second thought in decades—or ever will.

Friends: No one I’ve met in person would be interested, except maybe one who has been reading my bio. None of my former friends seem likely, including Andy. The more he got involved in his groups, the less interested he became in anything else—or at least that’s how it seemed. He might have also gotten tired of my blog because we became so different. Whatever makes him happy is great, but I don’t believe in God, and I’m no longer the celebrity whore that he still is. I used to be, but not for about 25 years.

I still check his wall occasionally and am glad he lost 60 pounds in 11 months with a working thyroid to help. I don’t think he, or others not dealing with thyroid issues, understands just how hard weight loss can be without an optimally functioning thyroid. That was part of his projection problem, which I doubt he was even aware of. He always seemed to have this subconscious need to make others into what or who he is. Like it or not, like a car needs gas or a charge to go, one needs a thyroid to function and to lose weight.

I doubt I’ll ever get under 155 lbs, but hey, 157 isn’t the end of the world either.

Online Connections: A few online friends have read it before, but Maliheh and Nane have shown they want nothing to do with me, so why would they care about my blog?

Neighbors: If any of my neighbors have found my blog, they’ve kept quiet about it. Some of my previous neighbors knew about it, and I’ll likely share it with current neighbors in the future as well—maybe even sooner.

I have noticed that some of my regular visitors that don’t seem to be bots only stick around for a matter of seconds, almost as if they’re looking for something.

0 notes

ebdaydreamer · 3 years ago

Text

So that’s the Neverland arc finished, and I thought I’d share my thoughts now instead of at the end of season 3 (not that anyone cares, lol, but it’s my blog).

I wish we got more arcs like this one - it felt like an action adventure throughout. Neverland was the perfect place and Pan was the perfect villain to bring pre-existing tensions to the forefront and pushed the characters to confront themseleves and each other (a big thank you to the Echo Cave scene). I wish a couple of issues would have been followed up more, e.g. Emma’s feelings about MM wanting another baby. Peter Pan was such a brilliantly manipulative shit, he felt like such a threat throughout.

This is the only arc where I really like the split seasons. The writing was a lot tighter and the tension kept building. Even the more filler episodes were used quite well, and didn’t let us forget the threat.

Something interesting I noticed about this arc was how the redemption arcs of Rumple, Regina and Hook began to form. In episode 1 of this season Hook and Regina begin to toy with the idea of ‘Villains don’t get happy endings’ (the theme that gets horribly overdone and is responsible for what I think is some of the worst writing in the show).

In my opinion, this was a brilliant redemption for Rumple (shame they went and undid it). He was truly selfless for the first time, even when he had so much to live for. This and his season 7 redemption are the only ones I actually think work. Rumple was driven by a lust for power, and death is the only way we know he won’t backslide into old habits. I know they weren’t going to kill off Robert Carlyle, but if this had been Rumple’s end I would have been ok with that.

I think Hook’s redemption probably works the best for me. He is the only one with absolutely nothing to gain from this. His redemption started because he felt guilty for leaving Bae’s son behind, and because Emma made him realise he didn’t want to be alone. He gave up his revenge and helped his former enemies (including the man he wanted dead for 200 years) expecting absolutely nothing in return. While yes, he’s attracted to Emma and is persuing her, he doesn’t realise the depth of his feelings until he’s already committed to helping. He’s not trying to be a better person for Emma, she just helped him realise he wants more out of life, that he wants to be part of something, and to do that he needs to be better. He goes on a mission to a place he despises to help save a boy he’s never met, and this gives him a great start to his redemption.

Now Regina... out of these three her redemption arc is the one I have the most problems with. I’m sure I’ll talk about this more as the show goes on, but there are early signs of the issues here. Regina was willing to sacrifice herself in the season 2 finale, but that’s really the only act of goodness we see from her. She’s not trying to be a hero in this arc, she’s just trying to get Henry back. And you know what? I don’t have any isssues with this. I would’ve liked Regina a whole lot more if she wasn’t a hero, but an anti-hero the actual heroes sometimes teamed up with and was willing to do whatever it takes to get things done. But obviously that wouldn’t work, because she had to be good for Henry. And in this arc we see why, in my opinion, she never actually redeems herself. Her lack of guilt for everything she’s done is something that remains consistent, even though it really shouldn’t have if she were to become a true hero. Yeah, she sacrificied her happiness in the mid-season finale buuuut after Rumple’s sacrifice it kinda falls flat? Also she’s not the only one who’s losing something here, and her other option was to let everyone, herself included, be cursed. Yes it was nice of her to give Emma and Henry fake memories, but that was clearly for Henry’s benefit. Also, did we really have to retcon her emotionally abusive parenting that we saw in season 1?

So yeah, I have a lot of Thoughts on the redemption arcs of the show, and how they vary in quality so much, I’ll probably elaborate on them as I watch. Now, onto the Wicked Witch arc, aka lots of Captain Swan!

#ouat #ouat meta #once upon a time #rumplestiltskin #regina mills #killian jones #captain hook #anti regina mills #ouat critical #regina mills critical #captain swan #peter pan #neverland #ellie talks #ellie watches

130 notes · View notes

cathartiha · 3 years ago

Note

Hey!!! I saw that you were open to do headcannons with a comfort character and let me just say your amazing for doing this 😂 and I appreciate even just the thought lmao. I’d love it if you would write one for Anakin?

I feel a bit weird describing myself but here it goes aha. I’d like to think I’m a caring and emotive person. I think overall Anakin always needed a shoulder to cry on and talk through his feelings and no one in his life within the jedi really let him do that. I’d like to think that if I were in his life he’d always come to me to speak about what is bothering him and I’d hopefully always say the right things. I mean the boy just needs a bit of sympathy 😭 I feel like if he did have that he wouldn’t have chosen the path he did. To have someone to show him the light in his darkest moments and thoughts. In turn, we all know he’s very protective and loyal of people he does care about and I love that, I’d like to think he’d do that for me and look after me in the same way. Make me feel safe and protected if that makes sense.

But yeah, I’ll obviously understand if you don’t wrote about this but I’m happy you thought of the concept so, thank you! <3

hey! thank you so much for requesting <3 this turned out kinda angsty and anakin is somewhat dramatic but i hope the fluff makes up for it. i hope this is at least kind of what you were thinking of. i also apologize, this is the first time i’m publishing something like this ever so i really don’t know if this is good or absolutely terrible so please let me know what you think lol.

english is not my native language so if there are any mistakes i’m sorry!

you first meet anakin on coruscant, when you are assigned to work together on diplomatic matters. although you don’t have much time to actually get to know each other, you get along instantly. you find that, even though you don’t technically know him well, his presence makes you feel secure.

even though you don’t work with each other a lot and therefore don’t cross paths that often in the beginning, you two get along well and can talk about anything and everything.

the more time you spend around him, the more obvious it becomes to you that there is a storm raging within him. he carries so much emotion, you cannot help but be intrigued.

anakin, for his part, quickly took a liking to you, when he noticed you'd genuinely hear him when he spoke, and didn't give any unsolicited advice. he appreciates that you didn’t belittle him, like many of the jedi did, but saw him as your equal.

anakin doesn’t let himself be vulnerable around people easily. he's more used to keeping to himself, as that is what the jedi expect him to do.

one night, you see him watching over coruscant, the city lights reflecting in his eyes. you wavered at first, but decided to go up to him and ask if he’d like you to keep him company or if he’d prefer to be alone. you stay by his side in comfortable silence.

that was when anakin started trusting you fully.

you two start meeting more often, spending your nights together, talking, stargazing or saying nothing at all. anakin tells you about his home planet, his family, his hopes and dreams.

he doesn't notice it at first, but slowly but surely he starts falling for you. and you feel the same.

he notices when he realizes he gets a bit too anxious about your safety. he can’t help but be conflicted about his feelings at first, as he is a jedi and wants to take his duties to the jedi order seriously, but eventually he decides to run with it. within all the wars going on in his head, he only ever truly feels at peace when he is with you.

which doesn’t mean he wouldn’t fight for you. in fact, if anyone wants to hurt you they're gonna have to get past him first. he's very protective of you. he also may teach you how to defend yourself, if you can’t do that already. though he’d rather risk his own life fighting for your safety.

he’s planning to tell you about how he feels, romantically, in quiet, when the both of you are alone. it ends up being quite different.

anakin has opened up to you about many things, but never about his nightmares. until now, one night, when you hear someone frantically knocking, or rather punching, at your door.

as soon as you open, anakin bursts in. he looks seriously upset, his hair is messy and his eyes are reddened.

nevertheless, he’s still the most beautiful being you know.

he enters your room and practically collapses in your arms.

“you're alive. thank god you're alive."

when you ask him what is going on, he apologizes and says he needed to see if you were alright.

you hold him until he's somewhat calm, drawing shapes on his back and whispering sweet nothings to him. once he's able to talk, he tells you about what happened. he had a nightmare in which he lost you.

"i couldn't live without you. the thought of it tears me apart. i can't lose another person i love."

what did he say? for a moment, the both of you only halfway seem to realize what is happening.

you speak up first. “i love you too anakin"

and then he kisses you.

"i want to be yours, if you’ll have me”

and that was how your relationship started

no one can find out since anakin is a jedi, but you manage.

you help him with his nightmares, even when no one else takes him seriously, which he appreciates a lot.

he also makes sure you know that he’ll be there for you if you ever need anything. he wants to be certain that you feel as safe with him as he does with you.

and you do. <3

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #anakin x reader headcanons #anakin headcanons #cathartiha headcanons

56 notes · View notes

kpostedsum · 4 years ago

Text

daddy issues; D.M

summary: you and draco bond over issues in 6th year

word count: 2.4k

warnings: err angst, comfort, illusions to sex

song: daddy issues (the remix) - the neighbourhood

a/n: i tried not to make it stereotypical bc i didn’t wanna make it seem all “i like older men lol”, probably my fav fic i’ve written, also arent these anime gifs so cute

masterlist | taglist

Take you like a drug

I taste you on my tongue

Tongues battling for dominance, bodies rubbing against each other searching for a feeling. It’s become routine now, a different person in your dorm swallowing a new pill, entangling limbs with someone just to feel something.

You ask me what I'm thinking about

I tell you that I'm thinking about

Whatever you're thinking about

Tell me something that I'll forget

And you might have to tell me again

It's crazy what you'll do for a friend

It was a constant cycle, putting yourself out there seeking the male attention you crave, seeking validation, constant reassurance and trusting too easily. That’s how you ended up with a different guy who always in the end leaves. You trusted too easily and people took advantage of how trusting and naive you are just for a quick shag.

You wished it wasn’t like this but that’s all you knew, wanting to be the best version of yourself for someone just to feel needed, no matter if the person was good or bad for you. You didn’t care, you wanted love from anyone you could get it from even if it just hurt you more.

You’re familiar with the absence, something stable made you feel a bit wary. It wasn’t something you were used to. Your father wasn’t the most present in your life, and even though he's there, he's never really there.

Go ahead and cry, little girl

Nobody does it like you do

I know how much it matters to you

I know that you got daddy issues

And if you were my little girl

I'd do whatever I could do

I'd run away and hide with you

I love that she's got daddy issues, and I do too

You always wondered where you went wrong, he preferred your siblings over you and doesn't pay you a piece of his mind. Constantly going out of your way to get his attention whether it was academically or acting a certain way just to get some sort of reaction. But he was too preoccupied with his other children, even if they were from your mom or his affairs.

That’s how you found yourself right now sitting in the astronomy tower past curfew watching the rain fall, trying to clear your head while humming softly to yourself to keep yourself distracted.

You hear distant chattering from below and quickly get up from where you were sitting and make your way to your dorm unnoticed by anyone.

Except one person, Draco Malfoy.

I tried to write your name in the rain

But the rain never came

So I made with the sun

The shade

Always comes at the worst time

He’s seen you before, you’re known around Hogwarts for how you put yourself out there and how ‘desperate’ you are for some affection. He almost feels bad for you, but he’s in no place to judge. With his dad in Azkaban Draco had so much more to worry about, like his task and how he can succeed. But there was something about you that intrigued him that he couldn't ignore.

He saw you again in transfiguration the next day and noticed a few hickeys littering your neck that you had tried to cover but it didn’t work. He wondered why you gave yourself up to so many people, but once again he was in no place to judge. He noticed the way your tongue would stick out when you focused extra hard, the way your hands would tighten around your quill when you got a question wrong and your face.

The same face that many boys including the older years would fawn over, the face that entranced and attracted many, the face of someone who would do anything for someone for some affection and the face of someone who seeked out all the wrong things.

You ask me what I'm thinking about

I tell you that I'm thinking about

Whatever you're thinking about

Tell me something that I'll forget

And you might have to tell me again

It's crazy what you'll do for a friend

You walk out of transfiguration on your way to the owlery to send a letter to your parents and feel eyes watching you everywhere. You like it, the attention, it’s something that you thrived in, but you couldn’t help but feel a new set of eyes on you.

Once you reached the owlery you realized you weren't the only one there, Draco Malfoy was also there sending a letter to who you assumed was his mother.

“y/n, right?” he asked, trying to spark a conversation.

“Yea, listen i’m sorry about what happened with your father i know you really looked up--”

“Dont worry about it, he wasn’t as good an influence as I made him out to be,” he sighed, looking away.

“My dad isn’t the best either if i’m being honest, i guess we’re in the same boat” you let out a light chuckle.

And that’s how you found yourself hanging out with draco malfoy bonding over your shared issues.

Go ahead and cry, little girl

Nobody does it like you do

I know how much it matters to you

I know that you got daddy issues

And if you were my little girl

I'd do whatever I could do

I'd run away and hide with you

I love that she's got daddy issues

It’s been weeks since you two started hanging out since the interaction in the owlery and have been getting closer ever since. You both sat down together in the astronomy tower, backed against the wall as the cool wind blew against your faces. The aura between you two was calm, a comfortable silence.

“So tell me about your dad, how is it with him in Azkaban?” you asked, tilting your head towards him.

“Mother’s not taking it well” he frowned. “I can’t even say potter’s wrong for getting him locked up because he deserves it. All my life he praised the dark lord and taught me to be selfish and always defend my blood, but he was never there for me when I needed him. I would have done everything just to hear ‘i’m proud of you’ but it never came. It’s worse now because mother’s all alone. I wish I could have stayed with her” he sighed looking out the tower watching the stars twinkle.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been much quieter this year as well, you stopped making fun of people. It’s not that nice on the receiving end huh?” you said with a teasing look on your face.

He shook his head at you scooting closer to you, it’s like the demeanor between you two have changed over the past few weeks. You found yourself pining over him rather than being in someone's bed. But this is how the cycle always goes, you get attached and they leave, you couldn’t help but hope this wasn’t the situation this time.

“Tell me about your father”

Daddy stuck around but he wasn't present

Cheated on your mom but she never left him

First I didn't get it, now I understand

He broke her heart, left money in her hand

So everything got paid for

She made sure you and your brother had way more

Than she ever had growing up

And when you told me the whole story I felt like throwing up

“ I don't know if i’d even call him my father at this point, he doesn't want me.” you sighed. “He's been cheating on my mum for years now and she still won't leave him because she thinks they can work it out. He’s had affairs with different pureblood women and has children with them. But what hurts the most is how he treats them as his own children and treats me as if I don't exist” you said, looking down as tears pooled your eyes.

Draco moved closer to you and brought his arm around your shoulders for a sense of comfort and waited for you to catch your breath so you can continue.

“I just want him to love me” you cried. “I go out my way to try and get his attention with my school work but it never works. That's why I get along with so many guys. I seek the validation, the comfort and the reassurance that I can get from him from others and I am so tired of it. I just want him to want me draco.” tears slipping out your eyes as you looked up at him, you’ve never confessed this to anyone before.

“Everyone always leaves, please don't leave me” you cried

“I’m not going anywhere” he turned his face towards you, leaning forward cautiously as if you were made of glass.

You leaned forward, wanting the exact same thing. Both very hesitant he gently pressed his soft lips against yours and they moved together in sequence, only taking a break to go back to his dorm and to breathe, limbs tangled together for the rest of the night until the sun rose.

I can see it on your face it was rough left a bad taste on your tongue

And she didn't even take any drug

She would rain all day

Couldn't wait for her son to shine

And you made it shine

There when she cried, you saved her life

It's been a week since that night in the astronomy tower and draco had already been avoiding you. It’s humiliating, but you should have known. You thought the ‘bond’ you had with him would last, it felt so genuine this time. So real.

You’d see him around the halls snogging pansy on your way back to the ravenclaw tower, lowering your head down so he wouldn’t be able to see you so you could get by quickly and unnoticed.

But he saw you.

He stared you right down in your teary eyes as he made out with pansy. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of betrayal, for someone who promised he wouldn’t leave you like everyone else, he did the exact same.

You did the only thing you knew of, you ran.

I keep on trying to let you go

I'm dying to let you know

How I'm getting on

I didn't cry when you left at first

But now that you're dead it hurts

This time I gotta know

Where did my daddy go?

I'm not entirely here

Half of me has disappeared

Draco followed you to the girls lavatory, hearing your shallow cries coming from one of the stalls. He approached the stall you were in trying not to make too much noise so he doesn't startle you.

He felt awful.

He promised he would never leave you, after you both poured your hearts out to each other but he still left. He had too, he was putting you in danger just by being with him. If Voldemort ever found out about you and hurt you he wouldn't be able to live with himself, that's why he took it upon himself to hurt you first.

“y/n are you in here?” he called out even though he knew the answer.

You recognized that familiar voice anywhere. “What do you want draco?” you said, trying to make it seem as if you weren’t just crying.

“I want to talk to you, please”

“No,” you said getting up and pushing yourself out of the stall. “You don't get to just throw me away after I told you everything and just come back into my life like nothing ever happened. Just go away, that's all you guys are good for” you spat.

“Just listen to me, it was to keep you safe. I didn;t want to but i couldn't bear seeing you hurt” he tried to explain.

“Safe?” you laughed. “ and what exactly do i need saving from, malfoy.”

“From me” he said as he pulled up his sleeve revealing his dark mark to you. Your body instantly tensed, you knew he was having problems and his family was involved with the dark lord but you never knew it was like this.

“Draco i-” you tried to say something but the words were stuck in your throat. He stood there looking at you desperately like he was waiting for you to tell him everything was okay, you wanted to be there for him but you didn’t know what to do. You trusted him with everything but he couldn't trust you with this? You thought the bond you had made would have made him trust you in the slightest, but clearly it's always you who’s more trusting.

“Why didn't you tell me?” you managed to say, your voice hoarse.

“I thought you’d leave me, you were the only good thing i had. Please don't leave me” he begged, salty tears escaping his eyes and running down his cheeks as he looked at you with desperation.

“So you thought pushing me away by snogging pansy was better?” you yelled, as he continued to look at you slightly taken aback by your lashing out.

“You know what, go ahead and cry little boy. You know that your daddy did too, you know what your mama went through. You gotta let it out soon, just let it out” you taunted walking closer to him looking straight into his teary eyes.

“This time I'll be the one that leaves.” and with that you were gone.

Go ahead and cry, little girl

Nobody does it like you do

I know how much it matters to you

I know that you got daddy issues

And if you were my little girl

I'd do whatever I could do

I'd run away and hide with you

I love that she's got daddy issues, and I do too

It’s been months since that night in the girls lavatory, and you missed him. You wanted to visit him in the hospital wing once you heard what happened with Harry Potter, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. He left you, and you were tired of always going back to people who just hurt you.

Now here you were at the battle of Hogwarts, standing with everyone while Voldemort and his death eaters stood across from you all.

“Draco, draco come here” you heard narcissa call from across the scene. He looked hesitant, as if he was waiting for someone to stop him but no one did. So he started walking over to his parents.

But you grabbed his hand.

“Stay please” you whispered looking up into his eyes.

He looked back at his parents and back at you like he was contemplating his answer.

“I’ll stay”

If you were my little girl

I'd do whatever I could do

I'd run away and hide with you

I love that she's got daddy issues, and I do too

—————-

tagging fun ppl nd ppl who interacted (so srry if u don’t wanna be tagged)

@hellohellook @astoria-malfcy @justfangirlthingies @sfdlm @falling-loki @notvasi @gwlvr @malfoytookmyheart

493 notes · View notes

andypantsx3 · 4 years ago

Note

Hii can I request a deleted scene for "if I could keep cool" that tells chapter 2 from Shouto's POV? I would absolutely love to c what was going through Shouto's head when he figured out that Y/N was just a cleaning lady and what was the moment that made him want to ask her out when he saw her at his house afterwards! Thank u!!

I accidentally got carried away, so this bad boy is 1.9k!! My apologies lol. I hope you like it!!

It wasn’t every day that someone told Shouto Todoroki to go fuck himself.

Particularly not quirkless civilians, and never those he’d rescued.

There was usually a lot more breathless gratitude, some bowing and scraping, and—mystifyingly—a lot of phone numbers, handkerchiefs, and very unsubtle attempts to get a hand or two around his biceps. Shouto didn’t really know what his biceps had to do with it, but he’d seen the same thing happen to Midoriya and Kirishima as well—and Bakugou once, before he’d nearly gnawed the woman’s hands off—so he assumed it was just another social cue he’d never understand.

As little as he cared for social cues, however, he was certain that there was usually a lot more thank you and a little less go fuck yourself involved in the whole rescuing process.

But then, he’d also never told off a civilian for having been kidnapped before.

A civilian who, he’d come to realize almost immediately afterward, hadn’t deserved it.

When he’d asked his mother her advice over the phone, she’d told him the best thing to do was to be honest and try to start fresh. “White flowers mean forgiveness—tulips new beginnings,” she’d advised him.

So Shouto had ducked into the nearest florist and brought back an apology in hopes that you would accept it.

He might have known, however, that you’d manage to turn even a simple apology completely on its head.

The clatter of cleaning supplies in his kitchen on Thursday afternoon told Shouto you’d let yourself in for your usual shift. He followed the sound, only for it to halt at his approach, the kitchen seemingly empty as he drew nearer.

He stopped short, fighting down a surprised swell of amusement when he realized you’d ducked down, hiding yourself behind his counters as if anyone, especially a pro hero, might be fooled by that.

“I know you’re there,” he said, keeping his tone even.

He heard a muttered swear word, and then you were rising slowly to your feet, wearing a sheepish expression, and clutching a bottle of windex like a weapon.

You looked just as you had the day of your rescue, though obviously a little less harrowed by a kidnapping. You were dressed casually in jeans and a simple shirt, no indicator that you were an employee of a cleaning service—Shouto felt at least a little justified in his mistake from last week.

You were clearly a college student, the backpack dumped at his kitchen island was evidence of that much, overflowing with textbooks and notes as it was, and you looked just slightly disheveled, like you might have come straight from class.

It was part of some nebulous, unassuming appeal to you, now that he had occasion to notice. He’d remembered your features twisted up in disdain, but they were open in surprise now, your eyes wide, fixed on him. His own eyes were drawn to the scrunch of your nose, a little curl of embarrassment that he suddenly found himself unable to tear his gaze away from.

“I, uh, thought you weren’t supposed to be here,” you admitted to him with a visible cringe.

Shouto almost laughed. He didn’t know much about you, but it was clear to him now that you weren’t anything like a crazy fan. You looked like you’d rather be anywhere but here at the moment. In fact, you looked rather like you might bolt any second.

A strange feeling shifted in his chest, and Shouto cut right to the chase.

“I owe you an apology,” he said simply.

You startled so violently that you dropped the windex. “W-what?”

Shouto sighed, admitting, “My manager schedules the cleaning days. I didn’t realize that you were—that is to say, I thought you were a fan who had broken in and managed to get kidnapped while you were at it.”

You gaped, another confused little expression that Shouto found himself fixating on with an intensity that surprised him. The weird feeling in his chest shifted, burning a little hotter.

He wondered absently what other expressions he could get you to make.

“Oh, I, um...nope. Not a fan,” you said, and the feeling grew more insistent.

He paused over the phrasing—not a fan.

It had never bothered him before, when someone was a bigger fan of a classmate than they were of him, or weren’t really a hero fan at all. Shouto honestly did not quite understand why hero work was so tied up in fandom in the first place, and only attended fan events because his manager’s temper was not a thing to be trifled with.

He wanted to be a hero who put people at ease, but ease was the last thing he felt with people clamoring all over him. Fighting villains was infinitely more preferable.

So why did your admission that you weren’t a fan of his niggle at his brain, like a particularly insistent parasite?

Who were you a fan of, if not him?

“...Well, glad that’s cleared up now. I’ll just, uh, go then,” you said, grabbing an armful of the cleaning supplies and shoving it back under the sink hastily.

Shouto had moved before he knew what he was doing, getting himself in between you and the door out to the hallway.

“Wait,” he said, feeling uncomfortable. “I want to make up for what I said to you. You...didn’t deserve that, especially not right after you’d been kidnapped by a villain.”

He watched you eye the space between his hip and the counter, like you were considering making a break for it. As he watched your face, he felt some strange hope that you might try it, a certainty he would catch you.

...Why did he want to catch you?

You waved a hand. “It’s fine. You saved me, we can call it even.”

Shouto’s mouth turned down minutely. He’d behaved badly, but surely you’d credit him better manners than that. “It’s my fault you were taken in the first place. I’d like to apologize properly.”

Your face did something weird, then, another distracting little curl of the nose. “You don’t actually have to go fuck yourself,” you blurted.

Shouto stared at you, caught off guard.

“Uh, I mean. You saved my life,” you babbled suddenly. “And yeah what you said to me was super rude, but what I said to you was also super rude. So, um, I’m sorry too. And I really would just like to call it even and forget about it because it’s super embarrassing for both of us and I could literally die thinking about it.”

You stopped suddenly, looking self-conscious like you’d realized you’d been rambling. Shouto almost wished you hadn’t.

“I hadn’t really planned on it,” he said quickly.

“Hadn’t planned on what?”

“Fucking myself,” he clarified. You choked on a shocked laugh, and he let a small smile tug at his mouth—there.

Finally.

Finally you looked a little more comfortable with him.

Shouto tried hard not to look too pleased with himself.

“Oh, well that’s good, then," you said. Then you puffed up a little, adding, "That’s probably a job for your actual secret lover.”

Good lord. “Not you, too.”

You threw him a smile, and Shouto’s heartbeat tripped over itself. “But I have evidence. I saw that homemade soup in your fridge once with the love note attached.”

It took him a moment to focus on what you were saying, but Shouto recalled the soup in question. It had been quite good, even if Bakugou had spent almost a half an hour ranting about what a weak ass little bitch he was for catching a cold. It had almost been worth it, the soup was that delicious. “Ah yes. That secret lover.”

“Cute pet name, too,” you said.

Shouto let out a low laugh, recalling the note. “You fucking fuck, was it?”

You laughed too, tension easing from your shoulders. Shouto’s eyes hungrily traced even that small movement.

A dawning sense of what was happening finally settled over him as he pronounced, “As it happens, however, I did already plan more of an apology.”

You looked up at him, your brow furrowing. “You planned...more of an apology?”

He gestured to a tall vase of white tulips on the kitchen counter. Your eyes went a little rounder as you observed them. You looked like you weren’t sure if they were for you, as if there were another previously kidnapped cleaning girl lurking about, who might be in need of an apology.

What a fascinating thing you were.

“I’ve been told that they mean forgiveness and new beginnings. I had hoped that we might...start over,” Shouto explained. He couldn’t help but feel self-conscious.

“I didn’t bring you any flowers,” you blurted.

He covered up a surprised laugh with a cough, the feeling in his stomach burning hotter. “I hadn’t expected them.”

He watched you turn back thoughtfully to the bouquet, certain now.

Over the phone, his mother had also said white flowers carried connotations of honor and purity. Two notions, Shouto realized with a growing sense of curiosity, that may be entirely inapplicable to his feelings about you.

He didn’t know much about you, but he knew for certain that he’d like to know more. And as he watched you reach out to pluck at a petal, wearing a shy little smile, he thought that yes, honor and purity had very little to do with his intentions at the moment.

You thanked him for the flowers, and Shouto made it clear to you that he hadn’t meant what he’d said about you being unwelcome here. He wanted—no, desired your return now.

“That’s good to hear, thank you,” you said. Then your smile went a little mischievous. “As you can see, though, it didn’t really deter me.”

Shouto let himself smirk. “If I hadn’t seen the cleaning supplies already on the counter, I would be concerned that you’d come back for revenge.”

“There’s still time,” you joked. “Maybe I was going to play the long game and fill all the bottles with Sprite.”

The mulish statement surprised him into another laugh. “I hope the flowers are enough of a deterrent.”

You looked over the flowers again, then smiled up at him. His eyes caught on your mouth.

“The bribe has been accepted. Your countertops are safe from me.” You paused, then added, “For now.”

The hot feeling was everywhere now, simmering just underneath Shouto’s skin. He left himself lean towards you, relishing in the way your breath caught in a tiny hitch. “Be warned that I will do whatever it takes to ensure the safety of my countertops.”

You complained that he hardly used them, but complied nevertheless. Then you bullied him out of the kitchen, that tiny little scrunch back on your nose.

Shouto let you have your way, making his way over to the couch and settling on it with a book he had absolutely no intention of reading. Instead, as he watched you clean, he considered things.

He had always been straightforward about his goals. Once he’d chosen heroism as his dream, he’d let nothing stand in his way, working diligently all through UA, shooting nonstop through the ranks before breaking into the top five this year, one of the youngest to have ever done it.

He was deliberate about what he wanted. He worked hard for what he wanted.

And as he wandered back towards the kitchen, questions ready in his mouth, he knew what else he wanted.

He wanted to know more about you.

He wanted to spend more time with you.

He wanted…

Well, he rather thought he wanted you.

I was going to edit this but every time I went to touch it, I made it worse. I hope you liked it anyway!

Garbage Fest masterlist & schedule.

#garbage fest 2021 #garbage fest questions

511 notes · View notes

sparks-joy-imagines · 3 years ago

Note

Hi! Could I request some hcs or a one shot (whichever you prefer!) where Gojo finds out reader has never orgasmed with a partner before because her previous partners were kind of asses. Thank you either way! Have a lovely day! :)

hello love~ I figured I might as well turn this into a one shot because there had been just so~ many ideas floating around my head for this (including a few Japan traumata lol) - I hope you're ready to buckle up cause this one comes in at 5k appr. enjoy -mesu. PS: A very special thanks to niob for beta-ing this monster and talking me through it!!!❤

Gojō Satoru x f!reader warnings: vaginal penetration, oral sex (receiving), Gojō being a smug arse

You cursed the day you were born. Actually, no. You cursed the day Gojo Satoru was born to torment your existence.

The first time you had met Gojo it had been your first year teaching at Kyoto jujutsu high and your first impression had been that no single living being could withstand his gaze of scrutiny. Given, as the wielder of both infinity and the six eyes there wasn’t anyone on his level to begin with, but did he really have to be an arse about it? Who even hired him as a teacher – a person supposed to be of pedagogic value – in the first place?

Luckily, you didn’t have to see him all that often, usually just whenever the time of year came around for the good-will event with the sister school in Tokyo but he had picked up an unhealthy interest in your person and relentlessly teased you for whatever you did and didn’t do alike.

Utahime had once suggested that it was Gojo’s twisted way of flirting with you and you couldn’t help but scoff and reply that you had seen Gojo flirting. And it was nothing alike how he was acting towards you. Afterwards, Utahime had taken pity on you and acted as an intermittence between you and Gojo so he wouldn’t get under your skin anymore, albeit he mostly ended up getting under hers instead.

At least, that was until tonight. With the students being sound asleep in bed, everyone involved in the event unanimously had decided to head for a drink at a fancy bar in Ginza to celebrate the event ending more or less successfully despite the unforeseen interference of some higher ranked curses and you ended up sitting sandwiched between Utahime and Shoko who both had insisted on a girl’s table away from curious colleagues and ears, while the other staff were seated at a slightly larger table just out of earshot.

The back of your head hit your nape when you downed what felt like the 7th shot of nihonshu. The alcohol prior to the shots had already infiltrated your system, leaving your senses foggy and your tongue loose. You weren’t about to spill your secrets just yet, but it was definitely getting harder to suppress the glances you’d love to gift Gojo who seemed entirely unfazed by any of the liquor he had consumed this evening.

That prick has to use his innate techniques to cope with the alcohol!

You narrowed your eyes, glaring at the tall man across the table who hadn’t even bothered to take his blindfold off while sporting a vaguely amused if aloof expression while the headmaster of Kyoto high and Tokyo high appeared to be in a heated discussion. Speaking of rude.

Lost in your thought of how much you longed to wipe that smirk off of Gojo’s face, you didn’t follow the topic of conversation of your friends at the table who definitely had one nihonshu too many.

“I’m telling you, anatomically speaking, it’s just unfair. It’s so much easier for men to achieve an orgasm, alright? It’s as if nature was against us women,” Shoko sighed dramatically, taking the nihonshu bottle to refill the shot glasses only to find it empty. Another, this time desperate, sigh followed.

“What’s even worse is that men usually don’t care about their partner's pleasure at allll,” Utahime responded with a distinct lull in her voice while she was already close to resting her cheek on the table. She’s definitely had enough but that didn’t stop her from going on, “Ever since I started dating, there’s been what? Maybe two decent enough guys that actually cared if I came too or not.”

“Sounds about right,” Shoko agreed, apparently trying to find some universal truth in the emptiness of the bottle she was still holding onto.

You shot a glance to the two unhappy women at your side, deciding that it was time to share your two cents of truth under your breath, “At least you’ve had partners before who took care of your needs, too. I for once have only been with arseholes who could care less if I came or not. And so I never did… so…consider yourselves lucky? I guess.”

As expected, your volume made it impossible for them to catch what you were revealing and Utahime unbeknownst interrupted the aftermath to your soft confession by suddenly straightening her posture in a surge of drunken energy, grabbing one of your and Shoko’s hands respectively to declare something about not letting this circumstance prevent anyone from having a great night.

You could’ve sworn the corner of Gojo’s mouth perked up the second you shot him another glance…

A few drinks, a second bar, and a couple hours later.

Your head was spinning slightly and you leaned your back against the wall of the establishment you’d just stepped out of. Damn your senpai for making you drink. You soaked in the wet, clean night air which could only be achieved during the rainy season in Tokyo.

The moment you pressed your eyes shut you could hear Utahime demanding to move onto a karaoke bar and continue this until morning. Of fucking course, you thought to yourself and opened your eyes, desperate for any excuse to skip what was about to come.

Among general consensus with a few nods and exclamations here and there, you slowly noticed how Gojo was watching you intently. By now he had actually gotten rid of his blindfold and was sporting his dark shades, his soft hair was framing his angular face, slightly damp by the drizzle and you would have gladly punched him for the way the street lights and shop signs reflected in his hair.

Still, right now you had other things to worry about and so you took a deep breath and spoke up, “Thanks for this evening but I’ll have to take my leave now. It’s already late and I don’t think my voice can handle singing right now.” An obvious lie as your voice was just fine, but it’d do the trick of getting you out of corporate pressure.

And that’s exactly what happened. Your excuse was accepted at face value and you were wished a good night’s rest. Umbrellas were opened and the group made of two faculties strolled towards the closet illuminated Karaoke sign.

You waited until everyone was on the move, so you could gather yourself in your time without any scrutinising eyes on you.

“Leaving an intoxicated damsel to her own devices? How could I be the strongest without taking care of her? Allow me to lead you home, (Y/N)~”

Just when you thought you had lived through the worst, Gojo’s voice piped up right next to your ear. You hadn’t seen him stay behind and now he was close, dangerously so, and he didn’t even care to hide the glee in his voice.

You managed to turn your head in his direction and gift him – what was in your imagination – a nasty stare. For Gojo, it rather seemed like you were trying your best to fixate your dizzy gaze on him.

He sighed and for once dropped his excruciating façade, speaking in a normal tone, “Seriously tough, (Y/N), I’d rather lead you home. Tokyo’s far from being safe at night.”

Seeing and actually hearing Gojo apparently genuinely concerned made you weigh your chances enough that you finally sighed in defeat, “Fine. But only up to the doorstep.”

Gojo blinked at you repeatedly, appearing almost insulted that you dared to think him a man who would take advantage of women like that – truth being that he was more insulted that you thought that he was actually in need of such tricks – and made an off-hand remark of how he could never.

You waved your hand dismissively and slowly tried to straighten your posture, “You’re here by car, right? That’s why you used your innate technique to not get drunk. Wish I could’ve done the same, wouldn’t be dying of spinning world syndrome right now.”

That stopped Gojo’s rant about his hurt pride. A sheepish smirk appeared on his lips and he stated flatly, “You noticed.”

You nodded, which turned out to have been a terrible idea. Nausea overcame you and you tried to curl into a ball, but Gojo was next to you in a second, smoothly wrapping his long arm around your waist while his free hand reached for your hand, easily securing your stance like that.

“Let’s get you home, shall we?”

You nodded and simply concentrated on not getting sick while he led you towards the parking lot where his car was parked. He left you shortly to pay for the ticket and you leaned against one of the nearby vending machines, concentrating on your breathing.

A few moments later the relatively quiet night was disturbed by the low roar of what turned out to be a pricey sports car. It didn’t take long for Gojo to stop said car right in front of you. Ever the gentleman he stepped out of the driver’s seat and opened the door to the passenger’s side for you, offering his hand to you for assistance. The entire picture which enfolded in front of you seemed to be taken out of a romance.

Only when you wobbled over to the car and felt the infinity between your hand and Gojo’s you snapped back to reality, pursing your lips as you stated, “You never let anyone actually touch you, do you?”

“If someone’s worth my while, sure I do,” Gojo replied with a sly smile, but something in his eyes appeared resigned, almost lost. But maybe that was just your imagination? Almost promising.

You didn’t even have time to follow-up on his statement as he simply shut the door in your face, cutting any further discussion short. Soon, Gojo settled in the driver’s seat and drove off towards your hotel. You didn’t even question how he knew where he needed to go.

Silence fell upon you and you simply turned your gaze to the flashing street lights, allowing you to marvel at Tokyo’s nocturnal atmosphere for a while. This was so much better than making your way through the confusing public transport in time for the last train. You shot Gojo another gaze and were surprised to find him diligently keeping his eyes on the road.

At once you wondered if you unwittingly had been keeping him from joining the others at karaoke. Singing one’s soul out and getting undressed in the process seemed right up Gojo’s alley.

“…Thank you for taking me back to the hotel. I appreciate it. You… didn’t really have to do this though, I’m sure you wanted to attend karaoke with the others,” you started off your half-apology.

A soft yet deep chuckle escaped Gojo’s throat.

“Oh sure I did, hun. There’s been something on my mind concerning you which is just soooo much more fun than karaoke could ever be after all,” Gojo casually replied, eyes never straying from the road.

You frowned and cocked your head in an inquisitive manner.

“Don’t act confused now, love,” Gojo smirked as he pulled over and parked the car right next to the entrance of the hotel. He unfastened his seatbelt to turn to you completely and casually rested his elbow against his seat, “Now, why don’t you tell me about never having orgasmed with a partner before?”

The question hung in the air for a moment as Gojo watched you curiously while you didn’t believe the meaning behind what your ears had picked up on.

“I…,” you spilled quickly, already feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. This had to be a nightmare. How did he know of that? You never told a soul, too embarrassed by your unfortunate choice of past sexual partners, and now Gojo Satoru – out of all possible people – knew of your secret?!

The panic must have shown on your face as Gojo’s smug expression softened slightly and he leaned closer to you, only stopping when the tip of his nose almost collided with yours, “You should take more care who might be listening in when you’re talking to yourself, (Y/N).”

You nodded once and leaned back, avoiding Gojo’s touch and gaze as best you could, “T-thanks for the ride.” Even if his revelation had thrown you off entirely, you tried your best to hide it.

“My pleasure. I’ll have to insist on taking you to your room though.” Gojo’s tone was unforgiving and made it very clear that you wouldn’t get out of him walking you all the way.

You sighed deeply and submitted to your fate, sinking into your seat until he had rounded the car and opened the passenger’s door so you could accept his hand to disembark in a semi-elegant manner.

Once you had found your balance he let go of your hand, matching your pace as you walked towards your room, acting as if he hadn’t just nonchalantly invaded your privacy. You shot him several glances but Gojo acted very interested in the interior of the hotel. You didn’t buy it though. Obviously he was just relishing in the fact that he got under your skin.

So he didn’t want to push any further? Fine by you. You huffed softly and pushed the button for your floor once you boarded the lift, Gojo strolling on your heels, hands shoved into the pocket of his trousers.

You refrained from looking at anything close to Gojo’s direction, albeit you could feel his piercing gaze on you. You used the time of the short ride to get your room card out of your purse and as soon as the automatic doors opened, you darted out of the lift and unlocked the door to your room with a soft beep.

Barely having shuffled inside you got rid of your purse and turned around to thank Gojo once again, finding him right on your doorstep.

“Thanks, Gojo, I appreciate what you did tonight,” you smiled awkwardly at the close proximity and mustered the courage to look into his eyes, just to be surprised by their intensity.

“Of course,” Gojo hummed, resting his left arm on the doorframe he leaned closer, stopping right before crossing the threshold with his movements. He easily kept your eyes locked in his, making you all but forget about bringing some distance between you.

“Before I leave… y’know I could help you out with your little problem, (Y/N). If you’re up for it, that is.”

Gojo’s voice was low, eyes dark, pupils dilated with a certain hunger as they stared right into your soul.

When his words registered a soft gasp unwittingly left your lips as your eyes grew wide.

Just what was happening? Had Utahime been right all along?

The next moment Gojo was leaning down to you, making all but sure that your senses shut down to a bare minimum. Standing there frozen in place, time seemed to slow down around you as your eyes flickered from Gojo’s luscious lips to his cyan eyes and back to his lips again.

Was this really happening right now?

Your heart pounded against your chest harshly and you pressed your eyes shut to calm your nerves. That is when you felt his soft lips against the skin of your cheek, undoubtedly skin on skin. He‘d really turned his infinity off!

“As I have told you prior, I don’t take advantage of intoxicated women. But as I understand it, you still have a couple hours before your bullet train back to Kyoto tomorrow. I’ll be waiting for you, (Y/N). You won’t regret it. . .~”

You held your breath and nothing. When you finally opened your eyes again Gojo was gone. Simply vanished! He had done exactly what he had promised to do. Taken you home, up to your doorstep and not a millimetre further.

Did this mean that he was going to keep what he offered if you turned up at his doorstep tomorrow? Up until now Gojo had never given you any reason to doubt him. Sure, he was a prick, but he was honest about being a prick. At least that was more than could be said about any of your former affiliations.

It took a couple more moments before you managed to close the door and turn in to a sleepless night contemplating if you might as well take Gojo up on his offer.

The next day. After some empty excuses to Utahime of why you couldn’t spend the last hours in Tokyo together. In front of Gojo’s apartment.

You stared at the kanji at the apartment, contemplating if you should really proceed now. It had been a pain to get Gojo’s address, dodging several inquisitive questions of Utahime, but now that you were finally here you weren’t sure if you should be anymore.

Given Gojo had lived up to every single thing he had proclaimed so far, plus he never had given you any reason not to trust him. Still, did being here meant that you were willing to compromise your integrity for something as trivial as good sex? More so than the actual act, you were afraid of what it might mean for your future relationship with Gojo; which would be anything but professional hereafter.

Before you could spiral further into second guessing yourself, the apartment door in front of you opened smoothly, offering the view to a slightly dishevelled looking Gojo apparently just out of the shower.

The moment you locked eyes with his bare ocean orbs, a smug grin emerged on his face, “Fancy seeing you here, (Y/N). Come in.”

You mumbled a greeting and stepped into his modern apartment, quickly getting rid of your shoes and outer layers while Gojo walked further back into the flat calling out to you, “Can I offer you something to drink? Tea? Coffee? Pineapple juice?~”

You rolled your eyes, very convinced that you just shouldn’t have come here. You followed Gojo’s voice into a broad living room with an open kitchen. The colours and décor were kept simple, black and white, sometimes a splash of colour in the colour of his goddamn eyes.

After having accessed the surroundings to your heart’s content you turned to Gojo, “Do you happen to have pineapple juice – notoriously known for apparently for making the taste of oral sex sweeter – at hand for your guests at all times? Or did you go shopping for me yesterday?”

A soft chuckle, “I happen to like the flavour. Plus, I am quite certain your juices aren’t in need of any enhancement.” A wink followed. What a bastard.

Ignoring the faint blush that emerged on your cheeks, you countered, “And what exactly makes you so sure about that, mh?”

Gojo shortly nibbled on his full lips as he sized you up with hungry eyes. Then, he slowly rounded the kitchen counter until he stood right in front of you. The smell of his surprisingly fruity after-shave intoxicated your senses.

“Wanna find out?”

You managed a nod and Gojo smirked wider, simply lifting you up on the counter so you were closer to eye level with him.

And then he finally let his soft luscious lips collide with yours, involving you in a breathless, inifity-less kiss while your arms wrapped around his neck on their own accord. Gojo smirked against your lips pulling you closer to himself, gladly taking the opportunity to feel up through the fabric of the blouse you were wearing for travel.

How you cursed the school’s clothing protocol at that moment!

Frowning slightly you broke the kiss, quickly trying to get rid of your blouse with your hands, but Gojo had other plans, catching your hands in his he leaned closer and purred on your lips, “Ah-ah (Y/N), there’s still plenty of time till your bullet train. No need to rush~ This is more than a mere quicky to shoot one’s load and carry on, after all. I need you to relax and enjoy the ride.”

You weren’t quite sure what did the trick. The proximity to him or his genuine tone, but you visibly relaxed and started shamelessly feeling Gojo up in return. You weren’t surprised to find defined abs when you pushed the fabric of his shirt out of the way and followed their lines for a bit before you moved on to explore his back.

“Good girl,” Gojo chuckled in your ear and let out a teasing gasp in response to your initiative before he went to nibble on your earlobe, making you cross your legs behind his hips as a soft whimper escaped your lips.

“Sensitive, are we?”

Gojo moved back, capturing your lips in another kiss, this time parting yours with his cheeky tongue so he could explore your mouth to his heart’s content. You happily complied and concentrated on his tongue enough that you didn’t notice how he skilfully unbuttoned your blouse.

Your legs tightened around Gojo’s hips and you moaned when you felt his growing bulge through the fabric. Gojo took this opportunity to kiss down your neck only to ravish it mercilessly while his hands had taken a liking to your boobs, kneading them through your lacey bra.

“Hah~” More and more lewd noises filled the heated air as Gojo pinched your hardened nipples just the right amount to send shivers down your spine and you were glad that you didn’t have to depend on your trembling legs anymore.

Desperate for support you scratched blindly over Gojo’s upper arms which led him to gift you a wolfish smile as he pulled back enough to strip off your blouse and a swift motion later your bra followed.

Pouting slightly you picked on his shirt, making Gojo scoff and get rid of it, too. You sighed content about the equal stages of undress and wiggled slightly on top of the counter, enjoying the friction this provided against both the fabric of your pants and Gojo’s bulge.

“You little minx,” Gojo growled lowly, suddenly pinning you down to the counter by your neck. The cold surface sent a shiver through the entirety of your body. He adjusted his grip to be more gentle, yet still determined enough to hold you in place, actively preventing you from escaping from his touch. You would welcome the sweet torture that was to follow deliberately and Gojo was very aware of that.

Soon enough Gojo began his agonisingly slow treatment of your torso, mouthing his way from your collar bones to your chest where he spent his sweet time circling each nipple with his tongue.

You didn’t know what exactly he was doing with his shameless long tongue but you had never felt your body rise to the touch on its own quite like that and it took a minute to recognise it was your own voice which echoed through the apartment so obscenely.

Desperate for more stimulation which Gojo still withheld from you, you tried to pull him closer with your crossed legs, earning a suppressed moan from him as his erect member brushed against your clothed sex. How much you would’ve given for those layers to finally be gone.

“You really haven’t been getting laid properly at all, huh.”

Completely unnerved by now you groaned and shot Gojo an acid glare, but the elite sorcerer just chuckled to himself as he straightened back up, sizing you up in the process once again. You had never seen his eyes this dark.

In a split second his hands were undoing your pants as if they had never done anything else in his life and a few moments later you were sitting on the counter completely undressed.

When you blinked away your surprise, Gojo brushed another deep kiss on your lips, humming on them, “I’d hold onto something if I were you~”

And then he dove down to your core, hands holding your hips in place well aware that you wouldn’t be able to hold still.

As soon as his lips connected to your nether folds, a lightning impulse flashed through your body and your loudest moan yet left your lips. Your head flew back by itself and you wreathed as best you could on the counter top for either more or less friction, you weren’t quite sure.

All the while Gojo relentlessly continued his pursuit of your sex, tongue swirling expertly over and around your clit, building up a certain intensity before he moved down slightly to lick and mouth at your entrance.

You desperately held onto the edge of the counter for support, spilling his name over and over again, while Gojo cheekily thrust his tongue into you for a taste before he redirected his attention to your clit again.

The coil in your core seemed to harden and become undone at the same time and another flick of Gojo’s tongue made you scream as you jerked up as you finally hit your high. Juices spilled out of your cunt and you buried your flushed face in your hands while your entire body was convulsing in ecstasy.

Gojo made sure to keep his grip on you so you wouldn’t slide down from the counter, licking his soiled lips. Once he was sure that your breathing calmed down a bit he gently stroked away a couple of stray strands of hair and smirked, “Told ya you weren’t in the need of any enhancement, babe. You’re to die for~”

Still concentrating on your oxygen intake you were feeling rather overwhelmed with everything that had played out just now. It took a bit of bargaining with yourself to search for Gojo’s gaze again, but when your eyes met you immediately noticed the mixture of hunger and smug complacency in his. He had gotten you good, but you decided you weren’t going to leave before payback.

And so you cocked your brow up and smirked, “I admit you lived up to your word, Gojo. Mind if we take round two to the bedroom?”

A grin.

“Not at all, princess,” Gojo replied and picked you up bridal style to carry you off into his chamber.

Gojo’s bedroom was dark. Both furniture and bedding were either held in a dark grey or black and the shades were lowered. When Gojo let you down on the bed you took a look around and tended your head slightly at the unexpected interior.

You were torn out of your thoughts when you heard Gojo unbuckle his belt, followed by the sound of his zipper and turned back to see him in his whole glory.

His member was definitely on the larger side, but you were happy to see it came short of what you knew would be painful to insert. It had a nice girth and was slightly tended to the right, the tip glistening with pre-cum meant for your prior endeavors. You licked your lips unconsciously, eager to feel it in you.

“Marveled at my dick enough, have we? ” Gojo smirked knowingly and reached for a condom which just happened to lie on top of his nightstand.

You nodded slightly and watched him routinely put it on, before you pulled him on top of the bed and ravished his mouth with yours. He had deserved your undivided attention after making true of his promise and you were way past the stage of having any second thoughts.

Gojo curled his lips against yours, easily positioning himself on top of you while his hands were suddenly all over your body. It seemed like he wanted to leave his touch on every inch of your being and honestly? At this very moment you didn’t mind if he did.

The energy between the two of you grew hotter by the minute and you gasped for breath when he readjusted your hips so his member was prodding against your entrance.

“Last chance, (Y/N)…hng~”

The strain in his voice did it for you and you brushed a fleeting kiss on his cheek on your way to his ear, “Take me already, Satoru!”

A deep groan reverberated in Gojo’s upper body at the mention of his first name and he penetrated you in a swift, smooth motion, making both of you moan with pleasure.

He gave you a moment before he moved, offering the opportunity to get used to his considerable size before he started moving at a cheeky pace. Something had just clicked between the two of you and you moved against him as if you had never done anything else in your life. It felt liberating. It felt right. . .

A couple many minutes and exchanges of ecstasy later.

You were laying sprawled half-way over Gojo while he lazily played with your slightly damp hair. After your last round he had suggested a shower since you technically still had a train to catch and you thought it a good idea.

If you hadn’t stopped him, you would’ve also stained his bathroom with his name. Who would’ve thought that his infinite also applied to sexual stamina? But then again, it was Gojo who you were talking about.

You weren’t quite sure how this session was going to change your relationship with Gojo in the future, but you definitely didn’t regret going through with it.

You shuffled slightly on the bed and stretched slightly, “Mh, what’s the time?”

“Hn, ten past two,” Gojo replied with a raspy, yet slightly amused voice.

Ten past two. Ten past two. The bullet train back to Kyoto you were supposed to board was leaving at half past two!

You jumped out of the bed, hurriedly reaching for your clothes.

“FUCK!”

“Any time, (Y/N)”

You shot Gojo another glare, painfully aware that he had to have known.

Gojo only gifted you a wink and grinned, “If you are going to be as nice to me as you were just now the next time we meet, I might be willing to help you out, (Y/N)~”

You cursed the day you were born. Actually, no. You cursed the day Gojo Satoru was born to torment your existence.,

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jjk x reader #one shot #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen one shot #jujutsu kaisen x reader #text #jjk requests are open #not sfw #mesu #5k baby #jjk

196 notes · View notes