#’if I don’t have that report for u by tomorrow you get to KEEP THE $100.’ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Tumblr is available in 18 languages.

#’if I don’t have that report for u by tomorrow you get to KEEP THE $100.’

knowyourplace-fool · 5 months

Note

Bully gojo and shy oc !! Who always torments you and humiliates you. Makes you do all his works and you do out of fear. You don't question him and feels smug . He tells how he hates you( but actually he likes her a lot but he doesn't confess because ypu keep rejecting every guy so he thinks you don't accept him either) and tells you that you are just a burden on this earth but then you get into an accident and don't come to scl for a week. Gojo doesn't know what happened to you and can't find out cuz you don't have frnds either. After a week you come to schl with a bandage to your head and a fracture sling on your arm. He gets worried and clings onto you and tou lash out for the first time telling him that he got what he wanted and he could be happy now. He gets angry and kidnaps you and fucks you🙃

-> omfg YES! gojo is such a bully

-> sorry for any mistakes!

⚠️: NON CON, Kidnapping, Mean!Gojo, physically, mental and emotional abuse, manhandling, bullying, biting, groping, size difference

-> THIS IS REALLY DARK AND FUCKED UP PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK !

All you’ve ever done is mind your own business

Sure, you don’t have many friends but that doesn’t really bother you

You enjoy being independent. Your grades are high in the air, your part time job in your school is more than enough for you to live comfortably. (In this universe, inflation doesn’t exist)

You don’t really talk to anyone, not even family. Whole bunch of drama happened, and they were toxic so you ended up leaving them for university.

Everything seemed to be going as planned until a 6’4 menace walked into your life.

Gojo Satoru was your typical frat boy and the star of the university’s basketball team.

Some may even say the Golden Boy of your university. He was smart, athletic, had a good reputation among the professors and just with people in general. Not to mention, he was ridiculously handsome. Man literally had girls fighting over him.

You’ve seen him in the hallways but never actually interacted with him. He was in a few of your classes but luckily, you guys never were put together in a group.

Until today. Your prof is running a lab and gathered the smartest students he knows to do it for him. It’s kind of a two in one for him, the lab gets complete and you guys gain some experience.

Anyways, the group consists of you, Satoru and his friend Suguru and some other nerdy people

Now unlike Gojo, you already sorta knew Geto. He was really friendly and kind towards you so you were kind of excited to be working with him.

A few days into the lab and Gojo has a sudden fixation with you. Well he always had, but this lab is letting him work closely with you and it’s making his obsession worse.

You’re stupid if you think that Gojo Satoru hasn’t kept on eye out for you. Every time you walk by him in the halls, he gets a hard on just by catching a whiff of you. The cute skirts and the pastel closet you have drives him over the fucking edge.

It takes every cell in his body to resist the urge of grabbing ur wrist, pulling u into the janitors closet and fucking you absolutely dumb and stupid.

You look so cute and innocent, like a little bunny. And god, you are just an easy target to corrupt.

So, Gojo plans a party. A party on the following Saturday after your lab is complete because he knows that you’ll be free.

His plan is to get you to come, keep you company, get you a little hammered, then get a feel of your pussy. Simple plan.

It’s now up to Geto to get you to come to this party. And of course, for his best friend, he’s 100% on board with his plan.

All goes well in the lab and in your final days of completing the report, Geto asked the big question.

“Satoru and I are throwing a party tomorrow. If you’re free, we’d love for you to come. You can bring anyone you want.”

You blush. Party? Your first party? Your brain breaks out in celebration because as much as you liked to spend your weekend relaxing, you also have a severe case of fomo. (Fear of missing out)

Your eyes lit up, saying yes on the spot in excitement. The following day, you went back to your dorm and tore your closet apart, looking for a nice dress. You settled for a blue, body con, summer dress. (despite it not being a party dress but who gives af bc it’s summer)

The next night, you got all dolled up for the party. You made arrangements with Geto to pick you up. He made it on time, looking handsome in his all black fit with his hair in a bun.

You were excited… for nothing.

There was a party (a lit one), but you realized a little too late that your social skills were next to non existent. The whole time, you felt out of place. So you stood in the corner, drink in hand and watched others dance and interact with each other.

“You don’t look like you’re having fun.”

You turn your head only to be faced with a bright blue eyed man, the one and only Gojo Satoru.

“I guess partying is not my thing.”

“Oh come on, come with me.”

He grabbed your hand and headed towards the beer pong table

You and Gojo were a team and surprisingly you two worked perfectly together

The alcohol in your system made you flush, and you found yourself loosening up a bit and having a bit of fun.

Gojo’s plan seemingly was rolling out perfectly. You were a bit drunk, so he took you back to his room to “sober up” (but it was just an excuse to get u alone so he can fuck u but u don’t know that)

Now listen, Gojo got rizz alright. So imagine the look on his face when he went in to kiss you and you slapped him so hard, his face turned the other way.

“I’m not some whore you can use for tonight. I was genuinely having a good time with you, I don’t know why you had to make it sexual.”

You felt like crying. Is this what all guys think about?? Sex?

You get off the bed and head towards the door before you’re pulled back and thrown on the bed

“Satoru, stop! I want to go home.”

And just like how you did with him, he slapped you. Much, much harder.

He didn’t say anything, he just had this look in his eyes that could honestly kill. He took a hold of your wrist with one hand and let his other roam and touch your body.

He pulled your dress up, revealing the lacy, white, underwear you wore. You were a teensy bit wet, not because of him but maybe the alcohol? Or his best friend?

You don’t know, but Gojo thought the wet spot was because of him.

“Tch, saying you don’t wanna hook up but you’re fucking wet f’me.”

He pulled you closer to the head board, reaching out to his night stand and pulling out,,,, cuffs?

“Wait wait wait wait!” You say in a panic. You squirm to get your wrist free but once you feel the metal snake around your wrists and the click afterwards, you were doomed.

Your dress was ripped off by him. Your panty was somewhere on the ground and he easily took off your bra by doing the same thing he did with your dress. You laid nude under him, against your will.

As you can imagine, the night went terribly for you. You weren’t a virgin but it had been a while since you had sex (all the way back in high school) and really it was your first time with someone so experienced.

The next morning, you woke up with him cuddling you from behind while his lanky legs were intertwined with yours

You somehow managed to escape his grip and sneak out of the house before anyone could notice. You did have work, but decided to call in because of… well for obvious reasons.

On Monday, you dreaded to go to school. But with midterms coming around the corner, you couldn’t afford to miss a lecture. You dressed in baggy clothes and took a different route to class to avoid Satoru.

The day was going alright until you had to go to the library to pick out a few books to help you on an assignment.

While you were reaching on your tippy toes, someone behind you grabbed the book which made you quickly turn around. Your eyes meet his bright, blue eyes.

“You’re avoiding me now?”

The anger that overcame you in that moment was indescribable. You wanted to scream at him, hit him, threaten him or somehow bring him down, but you couldn’t.

“Did I fuck you mute? Answer me.”

You took a deep breath in and said, “leave me alone”

“Why? What, you think you’re too good for me? That I don’t have enough worth to fuck you? Is that what it is?”

He grabbed your cheeks with one hand and squished them together, pushing you back against the bookshelf in the process. He was holding you so hard, you couldn’t move.

“Listen to me, you slut. Don’t get our roles mixed here. You’re literally a piece of shit next to me. You hold no value in this world. If you died, no one would even think twice about it because no one gives a flying fuck about you. You think you’re soooo fucking special or something. You think you’re too good for everyone. Well you’re not. You’re just a broke whore, with no friends, no family, no hobby— nothing.”

He roughly let’s go of your face that you nearly fall to the floor. You tried your best but couldn’t help but cry at his words. Gojo swings off his backpack, grabs a note package and hands it to you.

“This assignment is due tomorrow at noon. I haven’t gotten the chance to start it because of basketball. So you’re going to do it for me cause you’re a worthless, bunny that has nothing else to do after school hours. And before you think about handing in something stupid, take a look at this.”

He pulls out his phone and in a matter of 10 seconds, you felt your heart drop to the pit of your stomach.

A video. Of you. Getting fucked by the Gojo Satoru. It’s evident that you’re crying but it’s easy to cover it up with an “excuse”. Your face held a horrified expression.

“P-please, delete that! Please, I’ll do it but please just- just delete the video please!”

“No, not until that assignment is handed in and I have to get 100% on it. If it isn’t handed in or I don’t receive 100%, this will be leaked to everyone in a matter of minutes. I’ll post this shit everywhere with your full name on it, got it?”

You felt like crying and throwing up at the same time. This felt worse than a nightmare. This felt worse than dying even. “Okay, I’ll try my best but I don’t know if I can get-”

“If you don’t get 100 on this assignment, I’m leaking it. I don’t give a shit. I already showed Suguru— sick bastard got off to it, and I’m sure many more will too if you don’t score 100.”

He picks up his backpack and leaves while you stood in distraught. The following night, after work, you immediately started on his assignment. You saw the assignment date and it was assigned 3 weeks ago. He wants you to do 3 weeks of work in 15 hours.

Somehow, you pulled through the night. Researching the best you can on the internet and trying to make it as best as you possibly could. You were able to send him the file at 11:30am so he could skim through it and hand it in.

You ended up leaving early for the day so you could go home and get some sleep. When you woke up the next morning, your nearly dead phone kept ringing over and over.

You pick it up and see hundreds of notifications on various social media’s and a few iMessages

Your thumb clicked on one of the iMessage notifications and there was Satoru’s name with the following message:

“I told you, only 100%”

Below the message was an image of his mark

A 98%

You swipe off of iMessage and open Instagram and boom

Hundreds of new follower requests, numerous dms and clicking of Gojo Satoru’s story, was the video of him blowing your back.

You checked Snapchat and there it was on his story too. You wanted to die. You wanted to dig a hole and bury yourself alive than live another day in this situation.

Later that day, you had received an email from the dean’s office regarding a “very sensitive and confidential” meeting that would be taking place tomorrow.

You had an idea of what it might be about but hope and prayed to god that it wasn’t what you were thinking.

But to your luck, this meeting was regarding your sex tape and how there is no longer a spot for you on the dean’s list or team.

Your whole world was crumbling apart. You spent your whole life to get to where you are today, only for him to ruin it in a matter of 12 hours.

You left the building slowly, still deeply thinking about what you could’ve done to prevent this. How stupid you are to go to that party and slap the Gojo Satoru.

“Why is this happening to me?”

All of a sudden, everything goes black.

You wake up in a hospital. Your head felt heavy and your arms was twitching. You look around and see… no one. The nurse catches a glimpse of your eyes and quickly walks in to check on you.

She explains that you were in an accident and that they tried to get in contact with an emergency contact but you hadn’t stated anyone. You stayed at the hospital overnight so they can monitor your brain activity and fortunately they were able to discharge you the next morning.

You took the rest of the week off from school and Gojo Satoru was losing his mind. He had spammed called you from various numbers but you weren’t answering your phone at all. He went from his usual mean insults to angry insults to pleading for a response back.

He doesn’t see you until Monday, with a bandage around your head and your arm in a cast which is also in a sling. He nearly runs to you, wanting nothing but to embrace you.

And he does. Holds onto you tightly, inhaling your shampoo until you knee his in the balls.

He immediately drops down and you completely lose your cool. “Don’t fucking touch me! I hate you! You ruined my life! You’re not allowed to touch me after you forced me to have sex with you and shared the video with the entire campus! You got what you wanted Satoru! You stole everything from me! Broke my entire world, burned my hard work down! Made me feel worthless! And now you want to act all concerned?! I hope you rot in hell!”

You ended up going home for the day, otherwise another headache would’ve set in. You took a quick lap before getting up and getting ready for work because those hospital bills weren’t going to pay themselves.

You had the closing shift and although working with one hand was quite the challenge, you desperately needed the money.

After closing up, the walk to your apartment is about 10 minutes away. Everything was going fine until a car quickly pulled up next to you, two men sprung out and shoved you into the car before you even had the chance to react.

One of them had his hand over your mouth while the other held your legs together.

You were blindfolded and tied in the car and after a while the car came to a stop and you were carried out.

You were thrown on the floor and when the blindfold was removed, you were met with his eyes again.

You immediately started crying. You were afraid and quite frankly exhausted of everything that’s happened over the last week.

“Please. I’m sorry. Just let me go. I’ll never ever bother you again. I’m sorry.”

You plead and beg but you hear his belt unbuckling. “Please! Please, I beg you Satoru! I’m sorry! I can’t- I can’t do it again please!”

You were left unheard. He threw you on the bed and tied your limbs to the bed. One of your arms was already in extreme pain and the other arm was starting to hurt too because of how tightly he tied you.

Every ounce of hope drained from your body when you felt his cock push into you. He pushed your head into the mattress and fucked you hard, like there was no tomorrow. Your tears soaked the mattress. Sweat, tears and snot covering your puffing face.

Satoru went on for hours. Abs glistening in sweat, his arm veins popping out because of how hard he was holding you. Not to mention his cock was coated with loads of cum.

You were passed out by the time he finished with you. Your body shaking on its on, cum dripping out your cunt and marks/bruises left all over your soft skin.

Hopefully his bunny learned her lesson.

#tw: dark fic #tw: noncon #gojou satoru x you #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk gojo #jjk smut #bully!gojo #gojo satoru #gojo satoru smut

1K notes · View notes

performativezippers · 1 year

Note

Personally I would love a part 2 from Lucy. I love the way you write them. Also, poor Kate, having to take an Uber to the hospital because she doesn’t have anyone to call. 🥺

Okay part 2 got too long (shocking i know) so i wanted to put both part 1 and part 2 on AO3, even though they're way less polished than my usual stuff but AO3 is currently down for maintenance! So they'll be up later today or tomorrow, but you can read all of part 2 here. it's too long for tumblr but we can prevail!

but like...uhhhhhh...if you want to also leave a comment on ao3 when it's back up that would be like........extremely fun of you.

anyway! enjoy, or whatever it is i should say before feeding you some angst!

Part 2: Lucy

[part 1 fit within canon; this part does not and definitely happens before 1x19]

It’s been a long day. They all seem to be, now, the hours that used to feel exhilarating and meaningful becoming more and more of a grind. It should be the opposite: since the breakup, Lucy’s had so much less to do after work, so the work hours should feel like less of a burden—they’re not keeping her from something anymore—but they don’t. She feels like she’s been worked down to the bone, just ground down into nothing.

It's late, the sun went down hours ago, but she’s still buried in a report Whistler brought over a couple hours ago.

It’s easier for Lucy to think of her as Whistler, here at work. Whistler, who works at the FBI now, and seems to be enjoying not having to block them at every step anymore. Whistler, who Tennant is bringing into more and more cases. Whistler, with the crisp ponytail and creds hanging from her neck. Not Kate. Not Kate who wore tshirts and loose shorts and only pulled her hair up if it was getting in Lucy’s face in bed. Not Kate who pretended like Lucy mattered to her, like she felt what Lucy did, like what they were building in the sanctuary of her apartment meant something to her.

Not Kate who cheated on her. Not Kate who lied to her face, over and over, for months. Not Kate who broke her heart into a million pieces. Not Kate who Lucy was fucking in love with and who was seeing someone else the whole time.

Not Kate who Lucy let herself picture a fucking future with, a life with, a comfortable house and a cat and sunrise jogs and coffee runs and late nights whispering affection under the covers.

It wasn’t Kate who dropped off the files before leaving for the day, it was Whistler, and that’s the only way Lucy can get through these long, exhausting, grinding days.

Whistler had put the files together in a hurry as a favor to Tennant, so they’re not as neat as what she usually brings over. Not color-coded or cross-tabbed or any of the nerdy shit she likes. It’s a loose collection of file folders and even a few errant pieces of paper, which is very unlike her. Her DIA habits run deep—she always protects the intel.

Lucy tries not to think about how good she is at that, how well she protected the intel from Lucy. But, no. That was Kate, and this is Whistler, and Lucy has to keep it compartmented or she’ll fucking lose it right here in the bullpen and she’s not interested in doing that again.

She flips to the last page in the pile, and it takes her a second to figure out what she’s looking at. It’s not an official FBI document, and she feels like her brain is going in slow motion, but as soon as the words pierce the fog in her brain, she feels her heart drop into her gut with a wet, sickening thud.

It has the Queen’s Hospital logo on the top left. Then it says KATHERINE M. WHISTLER, with her birthday and her medical record number. In the middle, prominent and bold, it says RESULTS FROM ECHOCARDIOGRAM.

Lucy blinks at the document a couple of times, like maybe the paper will morph into the financial details of their suspect if she just tries harder. This can’t…no.

She immediately understands what happened. Tennant was rushing Whistler, and she grabbed the stack of files and papers off her desk without triple-checking them like usual, and this personal paper was underneath the stack. It’s a mistake Lucy can barely imagine happening, a mistake that is so un-Whistler-like that if Lucy didn’t have the evidence in her hand, she’d be wondering if something was wrong with Whistler.

But yes, something is obviously wrong with Whistler, because healthy people don’t get Echocardiograms. And having a health problem is distracting enough to not triple-check a stack of documents, sure. It all makes sense, except all of Lucy’s feelings are dialing up instead of easing back now that she’s solved the mystery.

She flips rapidly and erratically between confusion and fear for a minute before she firmly settles on rage.

She’s fucking furious.

She’s furious with Whistler for dropping this paper on her desk by mistake, making this Lucy’s problem. She tries to focus on that, but it doesn’t work. She tries to hold herself there, but the target of her rage keeps sliding from Whistler for being careless to Kate for being…something. Something that Lucy wishes were “secretive” but might be “hurt.”

She’s fucking furious at Kate for being sick. And she’s fucking furious this is the way she’s finding out—late at night, in the bullpen, by accident in a way that would absolutely horrify Kate if she knew about it.

She’s out the door before she’s decided what to do, seeing red, the paper crumpling in her white-knuckled grip. She drives to Kate’s apartment on autopilot, so angry that the waves of sadness that always swamp her when she thinks about the last time she was here barely catch her attention. She’s focused and furious and intent.

She knocks on the door and tries to hold onto her rage as flashbacks of Cara’s blank, expectant face threaten to drag her under and try to bring tears to her eyes.

It’s Kate who opens the door this time, and Lucy forces Cara out of her mind. It’s Kate, not Whistler, because she’s in yoga pants and a Northwestern tshirt that Lucy know she sleeps in, and her hair is down and fluffy like she showered after work.

“Lucy?”

“What the fuck is this?” Lucy holds out the paper, wrinkled now from her sweaty, clenched fist.

Kate looks confused—understandably, because Lucy hasn’t been here since that night and they’ve barely talked but they’re trying to get to a place of being civil at work, and now Lucy’s here at her apartment, after nine at night, cursing at her with no context.

But then Kate realizes what the paper is, her eyes catching on the hospital logo, and Lucy watches as the blood drains from Kate’s face, leaving her ashen and somehow haggard.

“Where did you get that?” Kate snaps, ripping the paper out of Lucy’s hand.

“It was in with the Smith files,” Lucy says and watches as all of the fight leaves Kate’s eyes, her shoulders slumping and some part of her defensive façade falling away. Lucy had gotten so used to seeing it, to seeing Kate with armor up, that she’d forgotten what Kate looks like without it.

She looks too lost and tired and resigned now to be beautiful, exactly, but she makes Lucy’s heart hurt anyway.

“I’m sorry,” Kate manages to say, and Lucy can see that she’s fighting through a lot to be able to speak at all. She’s not sure if it’s embarrassment or shame or fear or maybe a little bit of the rage Lucy feels, but it’s a lot. “That was unacceptably unprofessional.”

Lucy’s trying very hard to stay furious and not slide into something like afraid and in love, so she rolls her eyes.

“I apologize,” Kate says stiffly, pretending she’s Whistler even though they both know she’s not. “Thank you for returning it to me.” Saying Whistler’s lines without Whistler’s armor makes her look remarkably naked, like a child pretending to be a warrior.

Lucy could slice her in half without breaking a sweat. Lucy could destroy her, and she should want to, but, even full to the brim with rage, she doesn’t want to.

“What happened?” Lucy can hear that her voice is harsh and a little snappish, too loud and not at all caring, and she likes it.

“I had it on my desk and I must have picked it up with the other—”

“No,” Lucy interrupts. “Why the fuck did you have an echo, Kate?”

Kate blinks a couple times, and Lucy wonders when the last time she called her “Kate” was. Probably the last time she was actually inside this apartment, back before she knew Kate was a lying, cheating, broken asshole.

“It doesn’t matter,” Kate says, but Lucy takes a step forward and something almost happy flickers in her chest at the way Kate takes a quick step backward. She’s not a match for Lucy—not ever, and especially not right now when Lucy is on fire with anger.

“Talk,” Lucy orders, and Kate shakes her head but she steps back again, clearing the doorway and wordlessly inviting Lucy inside.

Lucy steps in and slams the door loudly behind her, not bothering to take her shoes off. She doesn’t say anything, just stares, her jaw clenched and her arms crossed over her chest.

“It was just a precaution,” Kate says, moving a little slowly now, like Lucy’s a dangerous animal and Kate is trying not to be skittish or otherwise remind her of prey. “It came back normal.”

“Bullshit,” Lucy says. Precaution for what, exactly? Yeah, no. That’s not the whole story, not by a long shot. “Try again.”

Kate looks like she can’t decide if she wants to smile at the way Lucy knows her, or shove Lucy out of her apartment for demanding information she has no right to. Or cry.

“I fainted a few weeks ago,” Kate finally says. “They weren’t sure why.”

Lucy blinks again, more times. “You…what? When?”

She doesn’t remember anyone talking about it, and if Tennant or the guys knew, they’d have told her. She’s—frustratingly—seen Whistler almost every day since she started at the FBI, and she always seemed fine. When the fuck could this have happened?

“Um…the week before I started at the Bureau.”

She’s twisting her hands together like she’s nervous, and Lucy’s investigator brain wonders what she still has to be anxious about, what she still hasn’t told Lucy.

“Where?”

Kate tilts her head a little. “What?”

“Where were you when it happened?” Lucy knows that she’s slipped into interrogation mode, but she can’t be bothered to stop. It’s the fastest way between point A and point B, and Lucy’s not trying to linger on the journey, not when the journey involves being alone in a room with Kate Whistler, a room where she used to feel cared about and valued and loved, back before she learned it was all a lie.

“Here,” Kate says softly.

“You were alone?” Lucy asks, and Kate clenches her jaw. Lucy’s heart sinks even further—she wasn’t alone. She was with someone.

Cara, probably.

That’s why her fingers are turning white in her grip, why her breaths are high and fast in her chest, why she still looks pale but with embarrassed splotches of red on each cheek. She was with fucking Cara, and everything she said that night, everything about Lucy being more than she’d bargained for, about breaking it off for real—that was all a lie too.

Lucy wants to throw up, or maybe deck Kate in the face.

But then Kate says, “Yes,” and the way she says it—looking down, scuffing her bare toes against the floor, makes Lucy believe her.

She was alone.

So if not Cara, if she’s not ashamed of still being with Cara or of seeing someone else, then what? What’s the other shoe that she’s so afraid of dropping?

“Tell me exactly what happened,” Lucy says through gritted teeth. “From the beginning.”

Kate seems to have accepted that she’s not getting out of this interrogation until Special Agent Tara is satisfied, and maybe she’ll get a lighter sentence if she starts fully cooperating. “I woke up on the bathroom floor,” she says, and already something pinched and horrible is seizing Lucy’s heart. She can picture it perfectly—blonde hair splayed out on pristine white tile, long limbs akimbo, unsteady breaths puffing out onto the floor.

“I…there was blood,” Kate says, quickly, like she’s trying to get this part over with. “It was from my head. I must have hit it when I fell.” She touches a spot behind her right ear, and the vision in Lucy’s mind shifts.

The floor is no longer the clean, pristine white tile that Kate is obsessive about cleaning, but is now smeared with thick, coagulating blood. It smells like hot metal and pain in her imagination, and the blonde hair on the floor is clumped and clotted with blood. The face underneath is paler, and the breaths leaving condensation on the floor are shorter and shallower. Her cheek is stuck to the tile with a layer of sticky, drying blood, and it’s running down her neck to her elbow and under her shoulder blades, sinking into her shirt and dripping off her forehead.

“They ran a bunch of tests at the hospital, but they didn’t find anything,” she says, almost rueful. “I got a few stitches, and that was it.”

Lucy pictures Kate in a hospital gown, pale and bloody, unsteady and wavering on her feet. Alone under a white sheet, up against a white wall, hooked up to white machines, every non-answer striking fear deeper and deeper into her heart that she’d leave the hospital as confused and afraid as when she arrived.

Kate is taller than Lucy by a good six inches, but she seems small right now, curled in on herself, like she’s bracing herself against something heavy and devastating.

Lucy’s forgotten to be angry for the last few minutes, too focused on figuring out the mystery of what is making Kate so twitchy, on picturing the woman she loved lying in pool of her own coagulating blood, but as the answer makes itself clear to her, she can already feel the rage starting to simmer in her gut again.

It’s the only gap in the timeline. It’s the only thing that makes sense.

All she has to say is, “How’d you get to the hospital?” and Kate looks up at her, pressing her lips into a thin, white line, the worry lines in her forehead standing out, stark and deep against the unhealthy pallor of her face.

Kate doesn’t bother to lie to her. “I took an uber,” she says, and, there it is.

Lucy fucking loses it.

The image of Kate in a fucking stranger’s car, huddled in the backseat, hiding her blood and her fear from some strange man, someone who could have taken advantage of her, hurt her even more. He must have smelled the blood, seen the clots in her hair. Lucy finds herself wanting to rip his head off; he, who was there at Kate’s most vulnerable moment, when he did fucking nothing to deserve it.

He, who was there when Lucy should have been.

The fury finds Lucy again and sweeps her off her feet, carrying her along in a wild current. She can tell that underneath the rapids are huge boulders of fear, but she lets herself skim the surface, only letting the pure rage touch her.

“You don’t take a fucking uber to the hospital, Kate!” Lucy spits at her. “You fucking call someone! I’d have thought someone as smart as you would have known without being told that if you wake up in a pool of your own fucking blood, you fucking call someone!”

“I was fine,” Kate protests, but Lucy scoffs as loudly as she can.

“You were bleeding,” she spits. “You were bleeding and alone and you could have died, and then what would have happened?”

The corner of Kate’s mouth twitches, which makes Lucy even angrier. “Well, nothing else would have happened for me, if I were dead,” Kate says like this isn’t fucking serious, and Lucy feels herself actually snarl.

She’s a step closer now, and the light fades from Kate’s eyes at the look on Lucy’s face. “This isn’t fucking funny, Kate,” she snaps, and Kate nods quickly, like she’s trying to pacify Lucy.

“I know it’s not,” she says softly. “I know it’s not.”

“You should have fucking called me,” Lucy says, breathing hard like she’s been running.

“I thought about it,” Kate admits, small again. “But I didn’t…” Her lips twist again, almost into a smile, but this one is wry and self-deprecating and very aware of every single thing she ever did to hurt Lucy. “I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.”

Lucy has been furious for a long time now—since Kate told her about the blood, since she found the document, since Cara opened the front door and ruined everything—and she’s tired. She’s exhausted. She’s sick of being so angry and sad all the time, so tired of reminding herself to play nice with Whistler at work, so fucking over pretending that looking at Whistler doesn’t make her want to burst into tears, every fucking time.

She’s exhausted and the days have been such a grind and the spike of fear and adrenaline from finding the letter about the echo has faded, so now she’s just mad and tired and so, so painfully sad.

She wants to say something nicer, something more neutral, but instead she hears herself yelling at Kate. Actually, honest to god yelling, her voice loud and cracking, her hands balled up fists, tears in her eyes. “You don’t get to make me into the fucking bad guy,” she yells at Kate’s sad, pallid face. “You broke my heart. All I did was love you, and you lied to me and cheated on me, and I refuse—no, let me say this—” Her voice breaks, and she can feel herself crying now. “I refuse to be the reason you almost died alone in your apartment, Kate. If you were too scared or ashamed to call me, that’s on you, not on me.”

The silence after she closes her mouth is thick. A horrible, loud silence, broken only by her own harsh ragged breaths, and then the heartbreaking sound of Kate trying not to cry.

“I’m sorry,” Lucy says, shaking out her fist and then holding up her hands, palms out. “I didn’t mean to yell.”

She also didn’t mean to say that she loved Kate—she’s pretty sure she said it and she knows she meant it, but she hadn’t meant to say it. Had never meant to let Kate know, to confirm to her how deeply and convincingly she’d played Lucy, how far gone for her Lucy was when all Kate was doing was fucking around.

“No,” Kate says, but she shakes her head and that makes the tears slip out of her eyes. “I’m sorry. I keep—it’s the last thing I want to do, but I just keep hurting you.”

Lucy considers her for a long moment, and then says something so true that she shouldn’t have said it at all. “The thing that would hurt me the worst is if you were seriously hurt, Kate.”

Kate looks up at her, then, like she’s trying to figure Lucy out. To measure her, to rewind and replay that moment with the subtitles on, to figure out if the tiny swell of hope Lucy can see in Kate’s eyes is justified.

“I’m okay,” she says softly, this time like it’s for Lucy, not to protect herself from Lucy.

“You were hurt,” Lucy says, somehow not over it even though she can see Kate standing in front of her, tall and clearly okay, even though she’d tried not to look but her eyes had caught on the words no abnormalities detected on Kate’s echo paperwork.

“I was,” Kate says, and there’s something different about her softness now. Before she held her naked vulnerability like it was a weakness, like she wanted to protect it from Lucy, but now she’s giving it to Lucy as a gift. Here, she’s saying. Here’s my soft underbelly, here’s myself, and I want you to see it. I want you see that I want you to have it. “And I’m sorry I didn’t call you. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

Lucy wishes she were still angry, that it didn’t feel so fucking awful to rage at someone who so clearly doesn’t want to rage back, who bore all of the abuse Lucy threw at her like she deserved it, who clearly absorbed all of the criticism into the soft animal of her body like it belonged there.

Instead she’s right back here, crying in Kate’s apartment, standing too far away from a person she so badly wants to fling herself at. She wants to press a gentle kiss to Kate’s stitches, to hold her hand, to put her head on Kate’s chest and hear that steady heartbeat for herself.

She brushes the tears off her cheeks, and Kate looks at her like she’s making a decision, weighing if she should say something or not.

“I loved you too, you know,” Kate finally says, conversational, like it’s nothing. “I mean, I never stopped—I still do. Love you. I hope you know that.”

Lucy shakes her head. That can’t be true. Kate can’t have loved her, because Kate broke her heart. Kate ruined everything; she built it on a foundation of lies and then she threw it all away.

“I’ll never say it again if you don’t want me to, but I need you to know it,” Kate says, soft but unyielding. A bit of her usual steel back under her gentleness. “I lied to you, I wasn’t honest with you, and I hurt you, but it was never because I didn’t love you, that it didn’t matter to me. That you didn’t matter to me. Because you did. More than you could know.”

Lucy wonders if Kate’s concussion shook something loose in her brain. “That’s hard to believe,” she says, and Kate nods.

“I know,” Kate says. “Sometimes the truest things are.”

Lucy wonders if she needs an echocardiogram, if her heart is still beating right or is even in the right place. She can hear a heartbeat thundering in her ears, like it’s trying to drown out the sound of Kate saying those words, but they’re all Lucy can hear anyway.

“Okay,” Lucy says after a long pause. “Okay, well. I’m going to, um…” She can’t stay here any longer. Not now that she’s not furious, not now that Kate is saying these impossible things that are making her reexamine everything that’s happened, forcing her rewrite the story of what happened between them, to replace so many periods with question marks.

“Okay,” Kate says, still so soft and open.

Lucy doesn’t know what else to say. Bye sounds too final, and take care too pointed. See you at work is crossing the streams between business and personal that they’ve tried so hard to keep separate.

She ends up just nodding at Kate before turning and letting herself out the front door.

She doesn’t make it down to the parking lot. As the elevator passes the fifth floor, Lucy panics and smashes the button for the fourth floor. She steps quickly out as soon as the doors open and immediately jabs the up button, tapping her foot and muttering until the other elevator shows up to take her back up eight floors.

She knocks too loudly, and the Kate who opens the door has red eyes and looks as startled as Lucy feels.

Lucy can’t look at her. She flings herself into Kate’s body, and she hears a little oomph as Kate absorbs her impact, Kate’s arms coming up around her without hesitation, like they belong there. Lucy can feel Kate’s chest shuddering, and she digs her fingers into Kate like something is going to try to rip her away.

Kate’s holding her tightly, her palms pressed hard against Lucy’s back, her fingers twitching like she’s not sure how much she can touch, how much she can have.

Lucy can feel Kate’s fear fighting with her desire as one hand slowly slides up, settling at the base of Lucy’s skull like Lucy is the most precious thing she can imagine.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Lucy mutters into Kate’s neck. “I’m sorry you were alone.”

Kate makes some little humming sound into her ear, still shaking against Lucy.

“Promise you’ll call me next time,” Lucy demands, speaking mostly to her favorite of the moles on Kate’s neck. “Promise me.” She hopes Kate knows she doesn’t just mean if she faints again, or hurts her head, but if she needs something. If she’s sick or she’s scared or she just needs to call.

“I promise,” Kate says, her fingers sliding through Lucy’s thick curls.

Lucy gives herself five more breaths. Five more deep breaths, where she can smell Kate’s skin and feel Kate’s arms, strong and afraid, tight around her back. Five more breaths to dig herself as far into Kate as she can, to live in this fantasy moment where everything bad is behind them.

After five, she pulls back.

“Okay,” she says.

“Okay,” Kate says, her smile like a rainbow during a thunderstorm. Like maybe one day this part will be over, and there will be something new between them.

“See you tomorrow,” Lucy says, and Kate nods.

“You will.”

Lucy makes it to the parking lot this time, and into the car, and all the way to her apartment.

She’s not angry anymore, Kate’s scent still in her throat, the ghost of her smooth skin under Lucy’s fingertips, and for tonight that will have to be enough.

#hey look i can write a sad lucy headcanon too!#i guess i'm ambidextrous #kacy #lucy tara #kate whistler #ncis hawai'i #ncis hawaii #zipps fic #ask zipps

113 notes · View notes

mykuup · 1 year

Text

Be my muse

Summary : You are a photograph for the Hawkins newspaper. But as you love music and arts in general, your biggest wish is to become a reporter for a band or a music magazine. As you are looking for new models for your book, you remember about a guitar and D&D player, studying at the same History class as you.

Maybe you could ask for a little help…

wc : 4,3k

Warning : graphic smut // minor DNI 18+ // fluff and smut // unprotected sex (piv) // PwP

A/n : I had to write something sweet with Eddie bc he deserves the world. Again, english isn't my native language and it's not beta'd / proof read so all the mistake u spot are my own

Originally posted on Ao3

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You’re desperate as you take another picture of the cheerleader of Hawkins. Sure the girls were all pretty but you couldn’t see their faces for another second. In the red room as your pictures are developing, you dream about being on the road with a group of musicians or with your reporter card around your neck as you enter backstage.

You sigh, the face of Crissy Cunningham revealing in your last picture gets you out of your daydream.

You give your work to one of your classmates at the journalist club. Music playing in the headphones of your Walkman, an idea pops into your head. You needed to show people what you were really capable of. Something arty, not common. You wanted to show music and arts in your pictures, your boldness.

That’s it.

You need to show how bold and how far you could go with your art. It may be shocking but for you, it was the definition of art with a capital A.

Your dad hadn't arrived yet when you came back home. Great. You will be able to listen to your Mötley Crüe vinyl at the maximum volume. You needed to brainstorm for your project. The drums and guitars ringing in your ears and in the whole house. The music was something that could bring you so much energy. Song after song, you scribble a few ideas, in vain. But it’s when you hear the first note of Starry eyes that something comes up in your brain.

Glamour.

A picture building itself right before your eyes : music, makeup, blur. You will need to improvise a background in your already improvised studio in your room. But you needed something feminine and shiny to contrast the man you will photograph. It had to be a man. The glam metal you were listening to taught everybody how a man could wear makeup to shock and amazed people. But you knew deep down that the musicians in Hawkins’ orchestra will never say “yes” to such an idea. You think again and again at every person you know, close relation or not. And after a few minutes, you write a name on your textbook.

Eddie Munson.

You laugh at reading his name. You were already picturing him, full of makeup right before your camera.

You smile at the idea that Eddie “the freak” Munson will be in your room, with you. Realizing this, your smile fades to let a concern look in your face. Of course you had a thing for him. Of course you liked him a lot and of course you were classmates. You knew each other since middle school. But will you be strong enough to not let your feelings mess up your work ? Will you be brave enough to ask him to do this, for you ?

You bite your lower lip, thinking.

Someone opening the door downstairs takes you out of your thoughts. Your dad’s finally home, you will think about a plan later.

Few days have passed since you had your wonderful idea. It’s Thursday and you will not see Eddie before tomorrow morning at your History class. All day long, you try to make a proper sentence to ask him to come over to your place after class. Knowing that your dad will be there later helps you keep your cool in case your feelings decide to show up during the photoshoot.

That was your plan.

But everyone knows that plans don’t always come as we thought.

Friday morning. You were so stressed that you were almost late for your History class. As you enter right before the bell rings, you spot Eddie at the back of the room. You take a deep breath and walk straight to him before sitting next to him. He glanced at you, curiously. It wasn’t your usual place.

“Hello !” he whispers, a smile on his face. You’re hanging out at your textbook as you answer him, your voice trembling a little.

“Hi.”

You find courage to turn your head to face him and oh lord what did you just do. You dive into his dark brown eyes so easily. It helps you calm down instantly. Seeing that you’re staring at him without saying anything, he waves his hand -and silver rings- in front of you.

“Oh I’m sorry ! What did you say again ?” you ask, embarrassed.

“I didn’t say anything. But I think you wanted to.”

“Oh hum… yeah.”

“I’m listening.” he smiles again.

“Does one of you guys want to share something with the class?” your teacher asks, bothered by your chatting.

“I’m listening carefully.” his voice is so low it sounds like a dark mumble.

“I wanted to ask you something” you start whispering, trying to not be caught again by your teacher. “I need your help.”

“For what ?”

“Come to my place tomorrow after class.”

It’s not the way you wanted to ask for help but you felt your teacher’s gaze on you and you wanted to avoid being retained. Eddies says nothing, visibly shocked by your invitation and a bit curious too.

“I usually do this in my trailer.” You could see his grin while he faked at writing something in his notebook.

You hear your teacher clear her throat again, annoyed by you and Eddie still chatting.

“Just come, please.” you add before shutting up during the rest of the hour.

“I can’t.” says Eddie as you were both walking out of the classroom. “D&D club is Friday after class.”

You sigh as you see your plan turning to ashes. Eddie sees your sad look so he makes an offer.

“But I’m free Saturday afternoon if you really need me for… whatever you need me.” his grin’s back again.

You look at him in awe. You’ve never thought of Saturday. And you will be alone as your dad works on Saturday.

“Are you okay ?” Eddie asks, seeing you frozen in time.

“Yeah ! Saturday’s perfect !” you offer him a wide smile before leaving him. You don’t even dare to look back as you realize what you just said to him.

Later that day, you walk by your favorite shop to buy more photo rolls and a few accessories. And after the dinner, you decide to set everything up for tomorrow. You move your bed to one side of your bedroom to get enough space. You found a light purple sheet to use as a background and you took all your makeup out of your drawer. You had some glitter and coloured eyeshadows and a few lipsticks.

You start to plan all the poses so it would be easier for you. You’re scribbling ideas with different makeup and outfits. You pictured him wearing only his sleeveless denim jacket and glitter all over him.

Damn, this vision stopped you from breathing correctly.

You also took out from your drawer an old pair of fishnet tights so you could cut them and use them as gloves or something.

You spent several long minutes planning everything before getting some sleep. As you lay down in your bed, you start thinking about your idea. This was a very good one and you hope that you will be able to do more and more experiments like this with your art. You know you’re capable of beautiful things and you will show it to the world.

You wake up with the sweet scent of breakfast and hot coffee. As you come downstairs, you look at your father, who’s waiting for you to start eating.

“Hello sunflower, how was your night ?” he asks with a big smile on his face. You loved the link you had with him and these kinds of moments were pure treasure.

You smile back at him before taking a sip of coffee.

“Good, thank you. Ready for work ?”

“Yeah, about that, you remember that I will come back tomorrow, as I’m taking Maria to dinner tonight.”

Of course you don’t remember. As you hear his sentence, your memory is flashing back to the day your dad told you he dated someone.

“Of course I remember !” you lied. “How could I forget Maria !” Your laugh was fake but right now, you just wanted your father to not notice the panic in your eyes.

He laughed too before eating his breakfast.

After your dad leaves the house, you put a record on your music station to listen to your music at high volume. You needed to think about something else than the arrival of Eddie. Electric guitars and drums help you relax. As you finish preparing your bedroom, you hear the doorbell ring.

“Hello y/l/n.” says Eddie with a wide smile as you open the door. He’s wearing his denim jacket with a black leather perfecto. A Black Sabbath t-shirt and his old pair of black ripped jeans.

“Hi !” you answer, avoiding his eyes. “Hum…Please come in.”

“I didn’t know you had such good taste in music !” he teases, vibin to the track that was playing. “So, I’m here and maybe you could explain to me why you need my help ?”

“Oh yeah sure… hum…” you’re biting your lips, and Eddie could see your foot tapping the floor.

“You okay ?” he asks, a bit concerned. “We don’t need to do this. Give me the world and I just walk away…”

“What are you talking about ?” you were surprised about his sudden change of mood.

“I don’t know y/n, you’re not the kind of girl I’m used to see when I’m selling weed.”

“What ?! No ! I didn’t ask you to come here for that !”

“No ?! You were acting weird in Mrs.Clapton’s class y’know.”

You sigh, head in your hands. You didn’t know if you were ashamed or if you wanted to laugh out loud about the whole situation. Eddie misunderstood your intentions but you couldn’t blame him. And it’s true that you were acting weird as you were stressed.

You let out a soft laugh before answering to Eddie.

“Eddie, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to fool you !” you can see his eyes lighting up again and his smile coming back. “I was a bit embarrassed to ask you if you could model for me.”

There they are. You said the words with such ease you couldn’t even believe it. You look at Eddie to see his reaction. At first, he looks at you, brows frowned. But then, you could see in his eyes his curiosity peaking.

“Modeling. For you.” he repeats, looking straight and pointing at you.

“Glam modeling.” you add with boldness. “And I know you’re perfect for this.”

Eddie gapes at you, then smiles.

“The good news is, flattery works with me so…”

“I know.” you smile back at him before showing him the way upstairs.

As you show him the way, Eddie’s glancing at you, wondering how he ends up in your room. He looks around him to see his surroundings. He sees your improvised photo scene but he also notices the makeup lying on your bed.

“What’s this ?” he asks, taking a thing on your bed.

"Lipstick." You take it from him to open it up. “Dark red lipstick.” you add before throwing it away with the rest of your makeup. “And before you ask, yes. This is all for you.”

“Even these err… glitter ?” Eddie’s arching an eyebrow as he kneels before your bed to look closely at your makeup.

“Is there a problem?” You start to feel stressed as you see that Eddie isn’t really into it. Maybe your idea wasn’t that good in the end. But your classmate feels your doubt and gets up to reassure you.

“Oh no! No problem at all ! It’s just… I’ve never…” he shakes his hands in front of his face. “I’ve never done this before. Wearing makeup and all of that…”

“I guess yeah… Are you okay with that or… ?”

“Yeah ! I trust you. You’re the artist after all !” he adds, smiling at you.

You smile back at him. Eddie was kind and sweet with you. He has always been. You clap your hand before starting the photoshoot. You shared your ideas with him, glancing at him from time to time to see if everything was okay for him.

“Well, where should we start ?” he inquired.

“For now, stay like this and go in front of the background so we can both get in the mood !”

“Okay well, I’ll just listen to your music and… go with the flow !”

You both laugh at his tone. As Eddie’s starting to move and pose, you start to take some pictures. The flash of your camera enlightens his face. After a few minutes, you could feel that Eddie’s more relaxed as being your model. That is when you decide to start your initial project.

“Great ! They turned out great ! But now it’s time for makeup ! Shall we ?”

Eddie looks at you, a bit hesitant.

“I don’t know how to use all this y’know…”

“Hum… but if you’re okay, I can do it for you.”

Eddie nods and sits at the edge of your bed, looking up at you. You started to blush when you kneel between his legs to be at the same height as his. You search for your eyeliner crayon first to start slowly.

“Okay, please close your eyes.” you almost whisper, approaching closer to his face. You could both feel the breath of the other. “Tell me if it hurts.”

He nods and closes his eyes. Very gently, you put your left hand on his cheeks. He jumps a bit as he couldn’t see you but then calms down as he feels something on his eyelid. You darkened his eyes very carefully. As you’re done, you ask him to open his eyes again. He blinks a few times before looking straight at you.

“So ? How does it look ?” he playfully asks.

You look at him in awe. Thank god he doesn’t wear eyeliner everyday or you would never graduate. It gives an extra something to his eyes in which you would gladly dive.

“It’s…” you gape at him before handing him a mirror.

You see Eddie looking at himself in the mirror. He brings his fingertips to his eyes and the mirror closer to his face to check on what you just did.

“It suits you very well.” you admit with a smile.

“I kinda like that to be honest !”

He smiles back at you before getting up. You ask him to take off his denim jacket for now and then take more pictures.

The time passes by and you and Eddie are having some fun. You laugh and sing at the songs that are currently playing. You tried several poses with different looks and styles. You both took a break before a new set of pictures with a new outfit.

“Are you ready ?” you ask, a bit stressed.

“Yeah sure ! What do you want me to do now ?” Eddie can see that you’re avoiding his eyes. Your cheeks are turning crimson red as you take one of your glitter pot.

“Would you hum… would you take off your shirt? I… I want to try something…” You glance at him to see his face before turning back to face your door instead of him. You could hear that he’s taking his jacket off and his shirt.

“You know that you don’t have to hide your face.” he says. “You will see me anyways.”

You turn back to him, very slowly, the glitter pot still in your hands. When you’re facing him again, you couldn’t avoid your eyes to scan his face and torso. You knew he had tattoos but it’s the first time that you could see them.

You take a step closer, and without a word, you open the lid of the glitter container. You look at Eddie’s eyes and your cheek becomes red again. He leans his head to have a better look at you and at what you’re doing. You dig your finger in the glitter before approaching them to his collarbones. You’re trembling a little but you find examining his tattoos calming. Gently, you start to put silver glitter on him. His skin is soft and hot. You could feel his heart beating as you added glitter in this area. His breath smells like weed as it makes a few strands of your hair moving.

Not knowing why, you could feel his breath grow heavy as you see his chest raising.

“Is… everything okay ?” you ask, almost whispering.

The music that is still playing is now just a buzzing sound to your ears. And as Eddie doesn’t answer you, you realized that maybe he didn’t hear you.

“Eddie ?” you insist, a bit louder but still with a sweet tone in your voice.

“Hum sorry y/n. What did you say ?” You could see him blushing as he looked into your eyes. You shake your head.

“Nothing, I’m almost done.”

You put a few glitters on his eyelids too before taking a step back. You clean your hand on your jeans before taking your camera again, making a sign to Eddie so he could go back in front of your improvised background.

You could see that Eddie was looking at you. His stare was deep and straight to the camera. You almost feel like he could go through to scan your soul.

You came closer to him to help him find the right gesture. You took his hand -with his many rings- and put it on his cheek, the other one wrapping up his arm and laying on his shoulder. He wasn’t really facing you and you asked him to look lost in his thoughts.

The truth is that he was already deep diving in his mind when you first came closer to him earlier. He couldn’t stop himself thinking about your fingers on his skin and your scent that embraced him. He kept the pose until you said you were done with this scene.

“Can we take a break ?” he asks gently. “I need a cigarette.”

“Yeah sure ! Downstairs, in the kitchen. The door to the garden !” you smile at him.

“Thank you.” he walks over to you to exit your bedroom. You followed his steps as you needed a drink.

After your glass of water, you take a glance outside. Eddie’s smoking, his back laying on the wall. He was half under the porch but the sunrays make his chest glowing like millions of diamonds. You couldn’t miss this opportunity of such a picture.

You sneak out in your garden, and squat down. Through the camera’s lense, you could see Eddie and his nonchalant posture and the smoke he just breathed out from his lungs.

This was a perfect shot.

You couldn’t be happier with this one. And thinking again, you decide it would be the last picture of him. You could understand that even if he was acting okay, he was maybe annoyed by all of that. You came back to your bedroom to start cleaning all your mess while Eddie was still outside, smoking.

“Hey, what you’re doing?”

You jump as you didn’t hear him coming back.

“Cleaning. I think we’re done. I have everything I need.” you didn’t know how you sounded before Eddie worried.

“Have I done something wrong ?”

You stop what you were doing to face him.

“What ? No, of course not ! But I thought that you would start to be annoyed with all of this.”

“How could I be annoyed ? I’ve never done something more fun than that !” a wide smile enlightens his face.

“Stop being a liar Munson ! How about your D&D sessions ?” you add, rising an eyebrow as you start to laugh.

“Yeah, maybe D&D is fun. But this was…” you could see Eddie searching his words. “A very interesting experience.” he finally says, still a grin on his face.

“Well, I am more than happy to know that I was an interesting experience !” you laugh. “But let me help you with all this mess!” you add, gesturing at the glitter all over him.

You run to the bathroom to take a wet washcloth.

“It may be a bit cold.” you inform Eddie before you put the washcloth on his chest. He startled before you started rubbing off the glitter.

Again, Eddie had his eyes fixed on you. Slowly, his hand rose to grab your chin so he could see your face. He locks his eyes in yours and you stop breathing. You blink a few times before breaking the moment.

“Is… is everything okay ?” you mumble, gently. You could feel his breath caressing your mouth and you could almost taste the tobacco.

He doesn’t even respond to you before his lips gently kiss yours. It was surprisingly sweet and slow. You let the washcloth fall down so you could wrap your arm behind his neck. At this move Eddie intensifies his kiss as he brings you even closer to him, his tongue trying to reach yours. You could feel his smile as you let him in. Your tongues dancing as you both start to move in sync close to your bed. As Eddie wants to lay you down gently, you turn at the last second to push him onto your bed. You crawl over to straddle his lap as your hands land on his chest.

“Wow.” was the only word he could let out right now. Gapping at you, he was waiting for your next move, his hand grabbing your hips.

You blush as you see his reaction. But you couldn’t stop. You wouldn’t stop this right now. You french kiss him again, very slowly this time. You could feel his hands running on your back and one grabbing your butt.

“Can I take this off?” he mumbles between two kisses, as he pinch the hem of your shirt.

You nod before sitting back so he could easily take away the piece of clothes. After throwing it away, he hugs you. His arms are strong around you, his skin hot and you find his lips on your neck very pleasing. You moan at his touch and you could hear a low growl as Eddie start to gently play with your breast under your bra. You arch your back as his lips are getting down. He gently takes off your bra so he could have a better access to your nipples. But before tasting your skin, he gently caresses your cheek with his hand, his rings bringing a cold sensation.

“You’re beautiful.”

You lose it at these three simple words. You smile at him before kissing him harder, making you both swing onto the bed again. This time, Eddie embraces you and turns so he could be on top. His eyes lock on your, he takes off your pair of jeans, before doing the same with his. You could see how hard he already was as he could see how wet you were. He crawls back to you, kissing every part of your body from your belly to your neck. As you wrap your legs around him, you feel his length rubbing your center.

You moan again.

“Ed…Eddie…” you groan.

“Yes sweetheart?”

“I want to feel you.”

As your word, he stops kissing you and takes off the last piece of clothes you both were wearing.

“You’re so wet.” he says as his fingers run to your fold. He first plays a bit with your clit, rubbing it gently in circular motion. He loved the way you were responding to his touch. Then you feel the tip of his cock at your entry. Again, he teases you before gently sliding inside you. His body on yours, he kisses you as you let out louder moans, feeling every inch of him inside you.

“God you… you’re so tight.” he says with a quaver in his voice.

He lets you accomodate to him before starting to move slowly. You both quickly find your pace and Eddie starts to thrust into you faster. Your nails are digging on the skin of his back as he could see your breast bouncing under him. Your moan is getting louder as you hear him growl close to your ear.

He made you scream when he dived himself to the hilt, reaching your deepest spot.

“This is my favorite music.” he mumbled with a grin, hearing your loud moan.

You both move faster, his skin slapping yours. You were both dripping sweat and your orgasm was getting closer. One of your hands gets lost in his hair as the other finds his. You take it to guide him to your clit so he could touch you where you needed him the most. He presses your clit, rubbing it faster and faster as he is pounding into you.

“I… I’m coming !” you shout as you feel a heat wave in your body. You hear the guttural sound that came out from Eddie’s throat as he trusts himself one last time.

Your breath is heavy and you’re both exhausted from what just happened. As you take a look at him, you could see his chest rising from his heavy breath, glitter still on his skin at some spot. You let out a subtle laugh at the view.

Eddie looks at you, raising an eyebrow. You come closer to caress his chest where the glitter was.

“You still shine a bit from earlier.” you gently say with a smile.

“You’re a shining star too sweetheart !” he smirks as he points at you.

As you look at yourself, you could see that your body gets some glitter in the way. You both laugh before he takes you in his embrace, kissing your temple gently. Your fingers tracing gentle lines on his skin, you feel his breath slowing down.

You smile.

“Whenever you need a model, please call me first.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things #friends to lovers #eddie lives

47 notes · View notes

okaykawaa · 2 years

Text

𝙄’𝙈 𝘽𝙇𝙊𝘾𝙆𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙔𝙊𝙐 - tbp texting fic !

(This story includes cursing,non- canon reactions these on not my characters this is just for fun 🫶 I might make this a series)

bruce : mintisthebest

griffin: acrobat

billy: readallaboutit

robin : redrobin

finney : iheartspace

vance : pinheadvance

gwen : thebetterfighter

donna : maincharacterfr

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐳𝐞𝐫𝐬

Text Message

Thursday 1:13 PM

iheartspace : pls send help 🙁

mintisthebest : what happened this time 💀?

iheartspace : so today In class I fell asleep right Mr Fletcher Called on me and when I didn’t answer he hit the desk in the middle of class and everyone was staring at me it was embarrassing plus I think I was drooling ☹️

acrobat : sounds like a you problem 🤷

iheartspace : kys

acrobat : love you to pookie 🥺

iheartspace : STOP.

mintisthebest : hold on isn’t Robin in the same class as you?

iheartspace : yes… and he heard me snoring in class 😟

mintisthebest : 😨 ..nah that’s embarrassing 💀

iheartspace : don’t remind me ☹️

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐳𝐞𝐫𝐬

Thursday 9:17 PM

iheartspace : YALL ROBIN JUST POSTED 😍

acrobat : if you don’t shut the fuck up and go to sleep.

iheartspace : NOOO LOOK :(

iheartspacehassentapost!

mintisthebest : finney… he just posted that 55 seconds ago so how the fuck ?😟

readallaboutit : bro stalking???? 😭

iheartspace : IM NOT YOU GUYS I SWEAR 🙁 IT WAS ON MY FEED

readallaboutit : 😟.. sure

iheartspace : do you guys wanna go somewhere?

mintisthebest : ..like right now? 🤨

iheartspace : yeah..

acrobat : HELL NO. GO TO SLEEP

iheartspace :

mintisthebest : WAIT WAIT

iheartspace : what.

mintisthebest : Vance is online I’m scared I think of texting him but idk what to say 😞

iheartspace : still can’t this get that this is who u like 💀 bros a criminal

acrobat : HOLD ON DIDNT YOU HOLD THE DOOR FOR THE POLICE THAT DAY ?? 😟

mintisthebest : .

mintisthebestisoffline !

readallaboutit : LMAOOO

mintisthebestisonline !

mintisthebest has blocked iheartspace !

iheartspace : DID HE JUST ????😟

acrobat : 🤷

iheartspace : BRUCEY WUCEY IM SOWWY ☹️

readallaboutit : he’s gonna def keep you blocked after that 💀

Iheartspace : STFU

iheartspace : BRUCCEEE PLS IM SORRY UNBLOCK ME 🥺

acrobat has taken 2 screenshots of chat

iheartspace : what did you just ss…😰

acrobat : I’m texting Bruce rn he said to say sorry then he’ll unblock you 🤭

iheartspace : …apologize? nah his crush is the criminal Britney Spears song 💀

acrobat has taken a screenshot

acrobat : he said he’s not unblocking you for that

iheartspace : B-B-B-BUT ITS TRUE ☹️

readallaboutit : I know you didn’t just stutter through text. 💀

iheartspace : yeah I did and what about it 🤨

acrobat : better be glad I don’t send these messages to Robin 🤭

iheartspace has went offline !

readallaboutit : 😭

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐳𝐞𝐫𝐬

Friday 2:23 AM

mintisthebest : GUYS

acrobat : why are you up

readallaboutit : ur up also 💀 fym?

mintisthebest : so like I don’t know what to do I think I’m gonna ask Vance to hang out tomorrow 🙁

acrobat : okay…big step

mintisthebest : ..I might have to unblock finney for this one

mintisthebest has unblocked 1 contact !

iheartspace : now what the fuck why’d you unblock me it’s ..2 am 🤨

mintisthebest : finney dms.

readallaboutit : oh he’s serious he added a dot 😟

acrobat : that’s a period you dumbass

readallaboutit : yeah 4 u pookie Wookiee 🥺

acrobat : you must want to get blocked n reported.

bruce 🫶🏼

finneywinney : so what’s up?

bruce 🫶🏼 : I was thinking of yk hanging out with Vance and asking him I don’t know what he’ll say so I need you as back up and to help me ☹️

finneywinney : okay..I hope it’s good help

bruce 🫶🏼 : good help? Tf is good help?

finneywinney : idk but it’s good help 🤷

bruce 🫶🏼 : okay..well as I was saying I need your help I have a feeling he might invite Robin yk so..I need you to come in

finneywinney : WAIT FR????

bruce 🫶🏼 : most likely BUT I’m not sure so don’t get your hopes up

finneywinney : oh okay

bruce 🫶🏼 : I’ll either text him or ask him at school I’m not sure yet

finneywinney : you know you can’t catch that mf at school he always in fights 🤨

bruce 🫶🏼 : your this close 🤏🏼 to being blocked again

finneywinney :

#finney blake #finney shaw #finney x robin #robin x finney #robin arellano #the black phone #tbp era #billy showalter #griffin stagg #texting #group chat #bruce yamada #bruce x vance #vance hopper #gwen blake #Donna #tbp fanfic #tbp #text fic

139 notes · View notes

anthrofreshtodeath · 11 months

Note

hmm 15 or 16 (i literally cannot decide) for the otp prompts pls ! can be crossover or not, up to u :)

I picked 15! And since you mentioned the crossover, I went ahead and did that too. It does contain sex, so the majority of it is under the cut. Thank you for the prompt! Find all previous crossover work here.

___

Phones ring nonstop out front in Troop B headquarters for the State Police; it’s nine in the morning and the Staties have just opened up the tip line for the cluster of recently discovered murders. The public knows the FBI is involved, and the public also knows that the authorities don’t really know who committed the crimes right here in idyllic western Mass because, well, they’ve been asked to call in with any information they might have. Meaning the police have next to none.

And so, out of panic, people all over the county are calling into Northampton station in attempt to offer anything that might make the nightmare go away. People call in neighbors, distant family members, strangers off the street that look suspicious, and it’s all expected. Especially in a situation like this: citizens are scared. So they report what they hear through the grapevine and what they think others might be capable of under the right circumstances - either way, you all should keep an eye on him. Somethin’s not right. Something is definitely not right, and one of these callers, god willing, may actually have something of worth. Hopefully soon, given that the most recent killing goes back no more than six months.

At least, that’s what Maura is trying to think about as they receive a team update from Detective Captain Richmond in the conference room. She counts the people in the room, twenty-four, separates them into two groups: people she knows, people she doesn’t. Agent Booth stands with his hands on his hips next to the Detective Captain, Doctor Brennan leans against one of the rolling tables in the back of the room, arms crossed and listening intently.

Jane is right next to her.

Jane is right next to her, arms crossed, legs in a wide stance, erect at her full height. Jane stares intently at the man updating them on both timelines and personnel placement for the next week, and god Jane smells like motel coffee and lavender perfume.

It’s the damn scent that dismantles Maura now, above everything else. And it’s not even mostly the lavender, though that reaches into the deeper recesses of her amygdala and stirs her up. It’s the coffee today. The strong coffee that Jane prefers, despite years consuming Maura’s organic, fair trade beans. It smells burnt, and like control. Like dominance. This is the coffee that brewed at Jane’s apartment whenever Maura stayed the night and got ready for work in the morning, this is the coffee that tattooed her tongue just before Jane left traces of it all down the front of Maura’s skin, traces of it inside Maura before they left for headquarters and Jane drank more from the Homicide department pot by Korsak’s desk.

Combine the coffee with the cowboy posing, unintentional though it is, and Maura crosses her legs to stave off the worst of the want, the one that beats like a drum just under her hips anyway.

“And so if Agent Booth and Detective Rizzoli make any headway in the interviews they have scheduled for today, or we get any promising leads from all the calls we got flooding the lines, we’ll regroup tomorrow, but for now…”

Detective Captain Richmond is drowned out, gets pulled away by the tide of Jane’s whisper in Maura’s ear. “You’re doin’ the thing,” she says, just low enough for Maura to hear.

Maura gulps. She runs a hand through her, as always, impeccably styled hair. “What thing?” she returns, careful to keep her face neutral lest the Detective Captain, or god forbid Agent Booth, look right at it.

“You’re squeezin’,” Jane asserts. Her arms stay folded and her eyes point down to Maura’s crossed ankles. “You’re squeezin’ ‘cause you’re wet. ‘S it my shirt?”

Maura rolls her eyes. “No,” she says truthfully, though she doesn’t expand. The shirt doesn’t help matters, starched and new and white. The best look on Jane because her undershirt, that ribbed tank that hugs all her musculature, bleeds through. But she takes stock of the reactions of her body and Jane is right. Fuck Jane.

Really, though. That’s all she wants to do.

Jane reads Maura’s mind as well as her body apparently. “I know a place,” Jane says. “Meet me over in front of the bathroom right after he shuts up. We won’t get caught.” Then, like nothing has been said, like no rendezvous has been proposed, Jane straightens up and returns all her bulldog concentration to the men up front. Detective Captain Richmond turns the floor over to Booth, who has some updates on the federal side of things, including lab results, and he nods to Jane seriously just before he begins.

She nods back at him, like she’s been all business the entire time.

___

Maura has barely enough time to find an inconspicuous spot to wait by the women’s restroom before Jane appears from around the corner and tugs her toward an unlabeled gray door. Everyone would have heard Maura stumble to keep up if there weren’t carpet below them, the industrial kind that gobbles up all manner of sneaking about. This proves fortuitous for Maura, because as soon as Jane leads her into what is clearly a supply closet, Jane’s tongue swipes across the back of her teeth; Jane’s lips smash against her own. They stumble into a mop bucket, and Maura laughs when the handle of the mop hits her in the back.

“Shh, shh, watch it,” Jane chuckles, too, but she’s whispering just after their kiss is broken. Maura then moans because Jane’s hands rub all over her body. Without shame they roam over hips, her ass, her spread shoulders as they reach up for Jane.

“Jane,” Maura says, an amalgam of admonishment and pleasure. She speaks the name around Jane’s mouth, inside of it, against it. “The janitor’s closet? Really?”

“Genius, right?” Jane teases. “They never lock it,” she explains as she moves one set of fingers to lock the door from the inside. Maura hmphs, feeling distinctly less sexed.

“Not… oh. Not the most romantic of places we’ve come together-” says Maura as Jane returns to her, as she’s picked up by the backs of her thighs and carried through a minefield of cleaning supplies and racks of extra paper products, until she’s deposited on a shelf against the back wall. Her shoulders hit painted cinderblock and she winces because it’s cold just as much as it’s hard.

“Not the least romantic, either,” Jane finishes for Maura, brushing Maura’s blazer away. Jane must have seen Maura shiver, must have already connected it to the wall behind them, because lord knows how she manipulates Maura’s reactions to changes in temperature - nothing extreme, an ice cube slithering down Maura’s spine, candle wax pooling on her belly as she sucks it in from the heat. Jane, a font of ingenuity, uses their surroundings for the same purpose now. “Remember the alley behind The Naked Barmaid?”

Maura sucks on Jane’s lower lip before she scrapes it between her teeth. Jane leans Maura back, settles her even further, and then herself leans in. When Maura arches her back against the coolness, Jane smiles into the kiss. “An unfortunate, but apt, name for a bar,” Maura grumbles. Jane’s hands have fallen off of her again, and even though they’re occupied with tearing away at Jane’s belt, her zipper, Maura can’t help but pout. Jane pushes her pants open just enough for them to drop to around her knees, and Maura’s fingers find the inside of the boyshorts she’d watched Jane put on in their motel room this morning.

“Oh, fuck,” Jane moans this time.

Maura eats it. She uses her free hand to grasp Jane’s jaw, hard, and bites the breath between them, the one the fuck travels on. Jane stares, this time less confident and more awestruck, but she’s not immobile. She uses a rough tug to bring Maura’s thong down to mid-thigh. Fabric stretches; there might have been a rip, but neither of them care. Maura bites her own lip when fingers enter her, and she repays Jane in kind.

They are off to the races.

Soon, Maura grows antsy, writhing when the pleasure-pressure builds, when Jane seems to brush her clit by accident at first, then irregularly, then occasionally. After she rips her sleeveless blouse from its tuck, one arm grips Jane’s shoulders and she kisses a sloppy, wet trail from Jane’s cheekbone to her ear. “I want to take this off,” she pleads. “I want to show you all of me.”

On instinct, both of their gazes drop to her heaving chest. Her breasts are professionally covered, but the tops of them are visible. She presses them towards Jane’s open mouth.

“Uh uh,” Jane says to them. “You’re just sayin’ that because you know bringin’ out those things means I’ll do whatever ya want. And that is not a good idea when all our coworkers are just on the other side of that damn door.”

Maura huffs, the best she can do to concede the point. “Fine,” she says. “Then hurry up. We have work to do.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jane laughs. They do just that, and after a few more frenzied minutes, Jane comes first, and Maura falls apart after.

The kiss they share in the aftermath is slow, and it strings between them, liquid and sweet, before Maura comes forward to start it all over again. “Help me,” she orders when they break again.

Jane nods, and pulls up her own pants. She buckles her belt, but then those hands find Maura’s waist and lower her gently to the floor, until the flat heels of Maura’s boots touch. “You need-?” she begins to ask, and then bends awkwardly to hook her fingers in the elastic of Maura’s thong under her skirt.

“You don’t have to be that chivalrous,” says Maura, smiling when she swats Jane away and pulls her underwear up by herself. “In fact, I need you to leave. Now.”

“Wait, what? I thought we-” the fear on Jane’s face is evident. Maura’s heart skips a beat, thinks back on what she’s done to put it there.

“We need to put time between us,” she clarifies. “In case there’s anyone in the hall. How would it look if we both walked out of here, disheveled and flushed?”

“It’s a broom closet, Maura. Anybody walkin’ outta here who isn’t the janitor is gonna raise some eyebrows,” Jane says. When Maura shrugs, she takes Maura’s face in her hand, rubbing her thumb over Maura’s chin, and kisses her softly. “But I hear ya. I’m outta here. I got work to do anyway.”

“The interviews,” Maura teases with a wink.

“Yeah. Booth and me and the backest of the backwoods,” says Jane as she hangs on the door she’s just opened. “See ya later.”

“See you later,” Maura returns. And speaking of Booth, Maura hears Jane greet him, gruff and sarcastic in their usual style, just as the knob clicks into place. Then, Maura’s enveloped in silence, the kind she likes. The kind that fosters thinking, and she needs to do a lot of that, if the happiness in her chest is any indication.

___

When Booth finally finds Brennan the next day, it is the afternoon, and light trickles into the morgue through the thin trio of windows right above the body storage. She’d called this lab rudimentary, Bones-speak for underfunded and inadequate. And Booth tends to agree, especially because that bozo Pike runs things down here - down here being stuck in 1983, from the coffee colored linoleum to the squeaky autopsy tables and the way he talks to women. Booth isn’t exactly, y’know, feminist of the year, but at least he’s got respect. And if you’re gonna have the audacity to be a chauvinist pig, at least be good at your job.

Booth is distracting himself.

No matter, however, because when he pushes through the swinging double doors, he spots Brennan. One look at her hair up in a bun, her arms folded over her chest in that I’m the boss stance, her head cocked as she judges Pike, and Booth’s heart hammers in his chest.

Pike rambles on about the set of remains, all bone, in the drawer Bones has instructed him to open because he missed that it might be related to the case they’re all running themselves into the ground to solve. She’s mad, and Booth takes a second to pause and imagine Bones’ foot on Pike’s neck.

He revises - Bones’ foot on his neck. Oh boy. “Hey, uh, Bones,” he starts. He clears his throat and takes his voice as deep as it’ll go without being weird. “You - you got a minute? For somethin’ upstairs.”

When they find Booth, Bones’ blue eyes, sharp as always, turn as soft as they had when he and she had finally, finally, spoken through their own insecurities just a few nights ago. The corner of her mouth turns up in the faintest outline of a smile, then he smiles.

He can tell she’s remembering the kiss. That one. The one right before he didn’t go back to his hotel room for the rest of the night and they’d almost gone all the way and now he remembers it, too. They bounce off each other, refracting light, electricity attracted by lightning rods. Changing each other, attracting each other, bending each other.

Booth would like to get to the bending now. Bones seems to pick up on that. “An interrogation?” she asks, her voice exaggerated and playful. Luckily, Pike is an idiot, because he just stares between them, confused, instead of picking up on Bones’ garish gameplay.

“Uh, somethin’ like that,” Booth says. “I’m gonna borrow her for a little bit here, Pike.”

Booth barely resists dragging Bones by the arm, but only because she’s already past him at the door.

“I just pulled these remains!” Pike shouts as the two of them back out the way Booth came.

“Owe ya one!” Booth shouts back. He’s never meant anything less, and he doesn’t even care about the lie when he watches Bones lead the way to the elevator.

___

“I knew… the interrogation was… a ruse,” says Bones, laughing, kissing, breathing all at once against Booth’s lips. He swears he’s never felt anything like it, like the buzz that jumps from his mouth all the way to his hips and back up again.

“So glad you picked up on that,” he tells her with a chuckle of his own. His large hands are under her blouse, one cupping a breast through her bra, the other thumb stroking gently against the small of her back. “Now let’s cut the talkin’.”

No chance of course. And he likes that about Bones. Loves that she doesn’t listen to a damn word he says. Instead, she narrows her brows when she grabs onto his ass. He really, really likes when she does that. “The shape of your glutei are impressive,” she tells him, but then she reaches just below that to feel the insides of his thighs and he yelps. “But your adductor magnus show the most promise.”

“I wish I knew what the… mmm,” he starts, but then her tongue is in his mouth, laying heavy against his own like that’s where the lovemaking starts. “What the hell that means.”

“It means we haven’t consummated,” Bones starts. She shifts her fingers to the front of his slacks when his grip on her own glutei. “And while the broom closet of the State Police isn’t exactly where I want our first time to be, your musculature tells me that it’ll be a good time anywhere,” she says. Booth winces when one hand snaps open his cocky belt buckle, slips down between his pants and his boxers, and wraps around the length of him all in one swift go. “You’re erect,” she snickers, her pursed lips pecking quick, sweet kisses against his cheekbone like she’s pitying him.

He can’t explain why that makes him harder, but he’s gonna push back in some kind of way, just so that he doesn’t minuteman his way through this janitor closet afternoon delight. With his back to the door, he lifts her, tossing her roughly up onto the high shelf in the back of the room. This time, she winces, and then she laughs, too. He calls her out. “Isn’t that the point? And hey, you gotta be so clinic-”

“Oh my god!” comes a voice from the door, and a rush of light floods the dark room, freezing Booth in place.

Oh no.

Normally he’d shoot the person interrupting the farthest around the bases he’s gotten with Temperance Brennan, but his body is the only obstacle between her open blouse and the eyes of whoever just barged in. Plus, you know, the whole erect thing. “Hey, what the hell!” he settles for, and he’s got to admit that it sounds lame, even to him, even in his deep army boom.

“Sorry!” he hears, and that voice he recognizes: Doctor Isles. Maura. Oh Christ. That means the other one… yup. Rizzoli caught so off guard that it rose a couple octaves.

“It’s ok,” Bones calls out, untangling herself from Booth so she can hop back down onto the floor. “We were going to have intercourse, but obviously we’ll come out now.”

Booth stares at her, eyes wide and wild. “You kiddin’ me?! It is not ok!”

“No no, our bad, we’re outta here,” Rizzoli talks over him, and when he turns, adjusting himself, Jane’s got her eyes covered with her hand and the door open juuuust a crack. Her entire body is facing away from the scene and that tickles him a little bit. He almost smiles. Maura’s already gone, clearly, and Rizzoli’s on her way out, too. But not before she snaps, “I told you about this place in confidence, Booth. Christ!”

“Yeah yeah, sorry,” Booth waves her away, the adrenaline wearing off. He’s panting like he’s just run a marathon, and releases an exhilarated little chuckle. When the door slams, he turns to Bones. “She did make me promise not to tell anybody, Bones.”

Bones shrugs, buttoning up her shirt. “You didn’t tell me, you showed me,” she says. She straightens her blazer and has a hand on the door when she turns her head back to him. “I find my libido undeterred despite the interruption. Do you want to take a long lunch?”

“Hell yes,” he says, adrenaline spiking again, putting a pep in his step and a kiss on the back of Brennan’s head as he opens the cracked door for her from behind.

He supposes he can let Rizzoli have this place - finders keepers and all.

#otp prompts june 2023 #rizzoli and isles #bones tv #lauren writes crossover fanfiction #unintentionally edging booth in this snippet whoops #sorry seeley #starting to get more comfortable with b&b now #not super comfortable but better #imagine for this snippet that it is toward the end of this story with Jane and Maura reconciling and B&B getting together #maybe #no timelines!

19 notes · View notes

f1fanfiction · 1 year

Text

Viv - Pierre Gasly x OC part 1

masterlist

word counts: 571 (small one x)

Pairing: Pierre gasla xx fem!reader warnings: minor cursing, age gap?(3/4 years) Characters:

(OC)Viv Elizabeth van Hout (she/her)

Pierre Gasly

Charles Leclerc (mentioned)

This is fiction, nothing here is real, this takes place in 2022, not hate to Ferrari nor their team and everyone who worked there

2 am

I finally reached my hotel where I stayed for work, my jacked it soaked from the rain. The lady behind the desks looks disgusted at me.

I take the electric up to my room (12th floor). Just before the doors close I see a man running toward it. I put my feet between the doors and they open again.

The man looks at me and I just felt weird. I know him from work, Please don’t make this awkward.

“Hey is everything okay miss?” He asked

“Yeh I’m okay -“ my sentence is cut off as the elevator stops and the lights turn down. It’s not dark just enough light to see.

Looks like we are going to be here for awhile the man says.

“Ugh I can’t do this today, I have work tomorrow and I have to finish some stuff for tomorrow.” Viv says annoyed.

‘What kind of work if I may ask” the man says. “I have to write about like how the race went etc ‘ yeh I know wo you are Pierre” I say laughing. Try

“Wait c1? you work for Ferrari right?” Viv looks past him as she answers “well yeh I do but I won’t soon, they fired me after I said that they should have a better strategy. I Just find it shit how they just Ugh, im sorry Pierre I shouldn’t annoy you with this”

He looks at her with a little smile, knowing he could offer her a job and says “well looks like we have a while until they fix the elevator so tell me”

Viv is quiet for a minute, can she trust the Alpha Tauri Driver with Ferrari news?

“I find it shit how they treat Charles and Carlos, if hey had a better strategy and would just listen to the drivers they could’ve won the championship. And someone overheard me talking about it to my ex and told the HQ. So that same day they called me into the office and just straight up fired me.

Viv’s eyes started to water and Pierre put his arm around her.

“Hey, they don’t know what they’re missing, I talk to Charles all the time and he thinks it’s BS what Ferrari told u. So now, what are you going to do with life?”

“I have been thinking about going to college, since I’m about to turn 21 I can still go. I have still have the money, I didn’t go 2 years ago because I took a gap year and then I got offered this job. So today was my last day in Monaco, My flight back home goes tomorrow. So I have exactly 7 hours left until my flight goes. Viv says

Pierre keeps looking at Viv

It’s something about her, he read her work multiple times and he loves the way she writes. Not only did he read her reports, he also read her book. But she doesn’t know that and he wants to keep it that way.

“How about we go to my room, don’t take it in a weird way please. But, we go to my room, u freshen up, I order some room service and we’ll watch a movie. When this elevator gets fixed.” He says

doubt it for a seconds but says yes, as she answers the elevator moves again and they both go to the 12th floor and the two went to Pierre his room

#pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly #ferrari #charles lecrelc #pierre gasly x oc #fanfiction #pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 imagine #charles Leclerc x reader

15 notes · View notes

primofate · 3 years

Text

Genshin [Volleyball Team AU - Inspired by Haikyuu!] What it’s like to be their manager Headcanons

Note: I think a lot of people misunderstand the role of the manager XD It’s not that the whole team is dating you. It’s that the whole team treats you like their family/sister. So you’d better bet that all of them are gunna be hella protective of you XD

Scenario: What do you do for the team and what do they do for you? :D

Warnings: not proofread, fluffy, might have some swear words, platonic relationships

Characters: Zhongli, Diluc, Kaeya, Albedo, Tartaglia, Kazuha, Xiao, Tohma, reader as the team manager

Other works in the Volleyball Team AU Series: Click Here

Genshin Volleyball Team manager

It’s just fuckin’ chaos

On your first day you’re already bombarded with questions by Tartaglia and Kaeya

“So which class are you?” “What’s your height?” “Are you single?”

Captain Zhongli just cannot be bothered to reign them in anymore.

So Vice Captain Diluc does it and grabs their collars. “You idiots, you’re scaring her off!”

Possibly Kazuha and Tohma are the ones you really try to rely on, on your first few weeks.

So how do you gain the trust of your team? Let’s start with each player shall we?

#1 Zhongli (Captain/Wing Spiker/Ace)

Zhongli is just handsome and mature. He’s strict and needs to be the pillar of the team.

You’re intimidated by him the first few weeks and he just seems...a little far. He’s always so focused that you can’t seem to catch a moment to just chat with him.

There’s a day where you notice that his form is a little off, you suspect that he hurt his wrist a little.

You fidget uncomfortably in the gym as they practice, but finally turn to the coach “U-Umm... The captain is... I mean! I’m not sure, but... I think he needs to take a rest,”

The coach calls for someone to substitute Zhongli and suddenly asks you to check on him.

“Huh?! Me?!” the coach pushes you towards him, and Zhongli is just looking at you quizzically, you can practically see the question mark on his face.

“C-Captain, d-do you need some bandages on your wrist?”

Zhongli is taken aback, but silently puts his right wrist out for you to wrap.

Only when you’re done tending to it does he look you in the eye and ask.

“How did you know?”

“...Because I always watch, and all I can do is watch. If I can’t even spot that out then I’m not a very good manager am I?”

Zhongli has a newfound respect for you. He thought you were just a meek and shy thing sitting around and passing them balls but he feels his heart swell that someone like you is seriously watching over them.

#2 Diluc (Vice Captain/Wing Spiker/Defense Specialist)

Diluc is probably the second hardest to get along with or break the ice with.

But he gradually warms up to you when he notices that he’s always the first one you pass a towel and water bottle to.

You’re not doing that on purpose, it’s just him who always comes up first.

After a few days he deliberately goes to you faster cause he always wants to be the one to receive a water bottle and towel from you first. Secretly a puppy.

The moment he realized that you were reliable was when you stayed behind to help him practice when everyone else went home already.

You didn’t let up in your constant praise of “nice receive”, “great spike!” and “that’s so cool!”

He thinks he saw stars in your eyes at some point.

“Hey, Diluc, it’s getting late, let’s leave some energy for tomorrow, yeah?” he could tell from your mannerisms that you were tired too, but you tried not to let it show on your face and still cleaned up with him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then!” you wave but you’re stopped by a quick. “No,” from him. You tilt your head in wonder and he just looks at you as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“It’s late, I’ll walk you home,”

#3 Kaeya (Middle Blocker)

You don’t have to impress this guy, anyone of the female gender impresses him.

lol jk

safe to say it’s not difficult to befriend Kaeya, just bring him a cheering squad and some food.

all jokes aside the way to this guy’s heart is through his stomach.

He’s not a particularly hungry person but there’s this one time he forgot to bring lunch. He was running late, or something of that sort, honestly not something new for him.

He ALSO didn’t bring money so he couldn’t eat food from the cafeteria.

Ask his friends for money you say? Tartaglia would go, “Haha no way!” Albedo would go, “Let this be a lesson for you,” his brother would go “Serves you right,”

By club time he’s famished and dramatic. “Guys, go on without me, this is as far as I go,” as he sprawls on the gym floor.

You ask if he’s okay and he doesn’t answer so Diluc is the one that answers for him. “He forgot his lunch, as always,”

You make a sound of understanding and the next thing you know you’re taking out a lunch box and Kaeya has lifted his head up, sensing food.

“I packed onigiri for everyone today, actually... In case someone was hungry. It’s not much but--”

Kaeya comes alive from the dead and clutches your hands to his chest. “Manager you really are an angel,”

Diluc jump kicks him away from you.

#4 Albedo (Setter)

You also don’t know how to approach this guy

He always looks mad or stoic or something. Like he’s always thinking about something.

He low key actually is always thinking about play strategies and how to set the ball better for his teammates.

You really do think he works so hard while the game is going on, so you decide to help him out a little bit.

You watch a few more of their games and somehow come up with a list of what kinds of sets are better for each different spiker in the team.

There’s surprise in his eyes when you pass the document to him and modestly exclaim “...but, it might not be accurate, since I’m not that experienced,”

He still nods and says “...It’s the thought that counts,”

When he does read your report and try the techniques out he notices that it does hold some merit in it

Is amazed like how Zhongli is amazed. He thought you were just there to hand them bottles and cheer for them but he had never been so wrong as to what a manager’s role is.

Will trust you enough to ask you about his set performance.

Will sometimes slam Kaeya with an insult. “Kaeya, your spike sense is horrid, Y/N can read the moves better than you,”

#5 Tartaglia (Middle Blocker/Wing Spiker)

It’s not that he has a hard time trusting people but let’s just say he has the tendency to make you feel like he likes you but then he actually does that to everyone.

For example: He’ll throw compliments like “Oh that’s amazing Y/N!” but then back in the classroom you’ll hear him say “Oh that’s amazing!” to, like, every other person.

That kinda disappoints you cause then the comment doesn’t really hold that much meaning to it if he keeps on saying it to others too.

He encounters a crisis mid year because this guy is just... he struggles with his grades.

Captain Zhongli has told him he can’t play volleyball if he fails even one subject.

This boy is panicking and has semi-accepted this is the end of his volleyball career.

So you offer to study with him and he’s legit stoked.

Intensive and strict study sessions commence. Note taking, pop quizzes, surprise questions and even sudden random calls from you wherein you ask him a question and he has to answer within 5 seconds.

You’ve pulled all the study techniques you know here, this man better pass everything.

Welp, he still fails History....but since he worked so hard Captain Zhongli excuses it.

He’s so happy that he can’t hold back the stupidly wide smile on his face. He turns to you and for the very very first time in months, he bows and THANKS you.

You realize that he’s never thanked you before. Not even when you pass him water bottles or towels.

You consider it a win, getting rare and sincere appreciation from him.

#6 Kazuha (Decoy/Middle Blocker/Wing Spiker)

One of the easiest to get along with but at the same time, he’s so mature that you feel like you’re not even in the same age range as him.

Definitely someone you can count on though, so you ask him many questions on the first week.

Still, it’s one of those things where you can kind of talk to him but there’s still a wall between you two.

One day while walking around in school there were these boys who were commenting about his height, and questioning his abilities as a volleyball team member.

You didn’t really think much about it when you speak up, “But he’s a really good middle blocker and spiker,”

Those boys look at you weirdly and you realize that you’ve unconsciously spoken up. So you hurriedly walk away.

Little did you know that Kazuha was in some secret corner and heard the whole thing.

Just like that, the next day, it seems as if the wall between you two was gone, and you’re able to talk freely.

That, and he seemed to like asking you to help him practice his spikes and throw balls for him now.

#7 Xiao (Libero)

is deceivingly easy to get along with. Just has a rough exterior but is actually a softie if you squint.

You know this because there are subtle things he does.

He doesn’t speak to you much but then he would be the one picking up the balls with you, or sometimes there’s magically a new set of clean towels on the bench that you don’t remember taking out from the storage room.

This guy is passionate for the game, so he really beats himself up when he isn’t able to receive a ball during actual games.

You worry about his mentality sometimes. I mean, it’s a team game, it’s not like he alone can save the whole game

So you talk to him about it the other day

“You’re already a really good libero Xiao, I mean... I’m not saying you should stop practicing but you don’t have to feel so bad...” you pause because this doesn’t feel like the message you want to convey

“Sorry, what I mean is... You CAN feel bad, but share the burden with your team, you know?”

He knows what you’re saying and contemplates it for a while. He knows that his team has his back, but sometimes just needs reminder about it.

He looks at you and asks, “...Can I share the burden with you too?”

You blink “Huh?”

“You said I can share the burden with my team, but can I share it with you too?”

There is a blush on his cheeks at this point.

“Oh, yea! Of course! I don’t play but I’m still part of the team you know!”

Ever since then, during games, if he feels a little frustrated he’d glance at you on the bench and you’d give him a thumbs up for a job well done.

#8 Tohma (Pinch Server/Middle Blocker)

You’re like bffs the moment you see each other

lol jk

You’re still awkward with him the first few days cause that’s just how first meetings are.

But he is very easy to talk to and always makes you feel at ease

Will always be the one to ask how you are if you need any help or if class was okay in general

Seems like the type of person to care more about others than himself

So he’s surprised when you come into the gym and you beat him to asking his usual questions.

“Tohma, how are you today? Did you have a proper lunch?”

“Tohma, are you getting tired? Want some water?”

“Tohma, how was class today?”

All the other members of the team turn to look at the two of you, thinking ‘Why does Tohma get extra attention?’

Tohma certainly doesn’t get extra attention you just TALK to him more. The other members deadass are also getting cared for by you, just in different ways.

This boy has some insecurities though, when it comes to playing the game. He hasn’t been in it for long so he’s the least experienced and that gets to him sometimes.

“Oh, really? But you play really well! I couldn’t tell that you’re new”

His serves are really amazing though.

“Also! You always score points for us with the serves. Sometimes, your serves are my favourite part of the game!”

Has practiced extra hard so as not to let you down.

Masterlist

https://primofate.tumblr.com/post/653296890583154688/masterlist-for-mobile-version-main-links

Taglist (Want to be notified when something new comes out? Sign up! I’ve added some other fandoms as well, so if you’re interested in those, fill in the form again!):

https://forms.gle/VZmJXQssHcv7YzQc6

Commissions are open on my kofi :) and there’s only a limited amount available. Make sure you read the description of what kind of commissions I do:

https://ko-fi.com/primofate

Taglist: @softlybeloved @bobaducky @normalisthenewnorm @how-simpy @atasi-luna @berryqueue @hallohun @milkypompon @fadinganchornight @coldstonecrematorium @probablybethere @hanachan_2481 @gultonluvv @batcatistruemaster @plumpkie @amigenshin @foxxtrot-116

#genshin au #genshin volleyball au #primofate #genshin headcanons #zhongli x reader #diluc x reader #tartaglia x reader #childe x reader #xiao x reader #kazuha x reader #tohma x reader #albedo x reader #kaeya x reader #genshin fluff

2K notes · View notes

rainbow--panic · 2 years

Note

can u do moon drop x reader NSFW and add degrading ? :] i hope u have a nice day/night!

Pairing: MoonxSecurity guard!reader

Warnings:Sexual content, fingering, slight degradation

Minors DNI

Hello hello! I'll be completely honest, moon scares the crap outta me, something about his character design is genuinely creepy to me so sorry if this is not on par with any of my other works, i stayed up till 1 am last night writing it and spent a couple hours this morning writing a bit more. Regardless I hope you enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The time is 12:00, midnight.You were patrolling the Pizza Plex after one of the bots near the Daycare had been alerted to a possible intruder. This particular bot has been acting up alot and made many false alerts in the past, you were sure this time was no different, however the job paid well and you didn't want to lose it so you went to check it out.

You scan the area and find nothing and decide to report it on your radio. The person on the other side tells you that they are scheduled to have the bot replaced tomorrow night but asked you to check the daycare just in case. With a heavy sigh you agree and go in.

It was as bright as bright could be. Your surroundings seemed to be trying to blind you. You go into the play area via a small slide.

You continue to walk into the ball pit to make your way across. Suddenly you hear what seems to be a muffled laugh but it stops as quickly as it starts. You look around and don't notice anything so you put it up to your mind playing tricks on you. You walk around and inspect all of the play areas, then the security desk. You call in to the person on the other end and tell them that you don’t see anyone.

“Hm, must be a faulty alert. Ok you can go back to your usual patrols, oh and watch out for the animatronic that is in there, I heard they were a real nut-job. Oh and um, keep the lights off, it freaks him out or whatever when they’re on. I'm going to go on break now, see you in 15” with that he cuts off.

“Hello? Hello? Ugh” you say. Would it really kill your bosses to hire someone who cares about their job? Regardless he did say something about the lights being off in order to calm the bot or something. You hear what sounds kinda like footsteps and look up but see nothing.

You thought to yourself ‘maybe the animatronic hides because he's bashful, maybe he gets braver in the dark’ and with that you turn off the lights and then call out to him. “Come on out fella, you don't have to be scared anymore, I turned the lights off, you're safe to come out”.

A few more seconds of silence wash over you before you hear laughing immediately to your right. You turn your head quickly only to be face to face with what you assumed was the animatronic, his face illuminated by the computer light. Scared, you jumped back and tripped over your own legs, falling to the ground with him moving in a way that he was now positioned directly above you, right hand holding onto the desk, left hand on the side of your hip.

“The lights are off! Why did you turn the lights off? Naughty naughty girl! You should be punished!” he practically yelled.

You were shocked, trying to wrap your head around what just happened and what he said. “Punished?” You repeated questioningly.

“Yes, all naughty girls who turn off the lights must be punished!” He stated once more. You look at him, then try and properly take in the rest of his look, you could also say that with what light you were granted you used to check him out.

His face wouldn't be called necessarily attractive by….sane people. He had an insanely thin torso that the kardashians couldn't even dream of having. He had some straps on his shoulder that lead down to his pants, overalls perhaps?

You looked back up at him and bit your bottom lip, getting an idea. “When you say punishment, what type of punishment are we talkin?” you say with a sly grin.

He stared at you. In all honesty he had no idea how to punish you. He was used to punishing children but you were not a child, you were an adult. “I'm not actually sure” he said as he moved his right arm away from the desk and onto his chin. “Have anything in mind?” he asked.

“Well I had a few things in mind” You answer.

After some convincing you were able to get him to agree to have sex with you. After telling him everything he could do to make this a real punishment and promised him that if he punished you this way you were sure not to make the same mistake twice.

While still laying on the floor behind the desk, still in the light of the computers (and of course moving the chairs out of the way) he began to use his left hand to feel up and down your hip. He did this a few times before untucking your shirt and putting his clawed hand under, repeating the same motion. He then placed his hands on either side of your buttoned shirt, that's when he noticed your name.

“(Y/N), is that your name?” he asked. You nodded with a silent ‘Yes’.

“Well (Y/N), get ready for your rough punishment” he said with a chuckle.

He gripped your shirt on either side and ripped it open. Buttons flying off in every direction.

He next noticed your bra and decided to rip that off so that now he could only see your exposed chest. He started rubbing your nipples in a circular motion with his thumbs gently while his other fingers messaged the sides of your breasts.

A quiet moan came from your mouth and he stopped what he was doing and looked into your eyes. “What was that sound? I like that sound, do it again” he commanded as he pinched your nipples causing a loder moan. He repeated his actions a few times with the same result.

Getting curious, he looked down at your pants. “(Y/N), take off your pants, now!” he commanded. You unbuckle your belt quickly and slid them off, leaving your panties on.

He runs his hand slowly down your hip to your thighs and gives you a squeeze. He moves his hand in between your thighs and starts to rub you over your panties, earning a few soft moans from you. You buck your hips into his finger in an attempt to get more friction but he moves his hand away. “Nuh uh uh, naughty girls aren't allowed to enjoy this until they learned their lesson” he chuckled to himself.

He moved your panties so he could gain more access to you. He rubbed your folds some more before inserting a lengthy figer inside of you. He began pumping his finger slowly at first, enjoying the sounds of your moans. “(Y/N)” he calls “Naughty girls must learn their lesson” he inserts another finger. He starts doing a scissoring motion getting you closer and closer to your climax before he just stops. You whimper.

“Only good girls get to enjoy this, can you be a good girl (Y/N)?” he asks. You nod. “Then tell me, what do good girls not do with the lights?”

“Turn o-off the lights” you say shyly, face flushed red.

“What was that? I can't hear you when you speak so pathetically” he remarks.

“Good girls don't turn off the lights!” You yell. He continues to thrust his fingers into you, going faster than he was before. “Are you a good girl (Y/N)?”

“N-No, I'm a bad girl so I'm being punished,” you answered. “Because bad girls turn off the lights” you continued.

“You're a very good girl (Y/N), you have permission to enjoy this” he says.

His thrusts were rhythmic and deep. You got closer and closer to your climax, you were ready to burst, moon knew this. “(Y/N) tell me, what are you”

“I'm a naughty naughty girl” you moaned out to him as you came onto his fingers.

He continued to do a few more pumps before stopping and pulling his fingers out.

“Now good girl, get dressed and turn the lights back on '' he says as he gets up, does a backflip and disappears among the play area. You put your pants on and what remained of your shirt you tucked in, luckily one button was spared so it would work in the meantime. You turned the lights back on and made your way out of the play area.

“Hey (Y/N)?” said the voice over the radio. “Yeah?”

“Hey, are you sure no one was in the daycare? The camera shut off in the play area but the audio was still working. I heard a voice say something about naughty children i think”

“I think you're imagining things,” you replied quickly. “So anyways about that game last night” you change the subject.

What happens in the plex, stays in the plex.

#moon x reader #security breach #security breach x reader #x reader #moon drop x reader #moondrop x reader

820 notes · View notes

tenkasato · 2 years

Note

The first time I saw ur blog, I read "Ten, she/her" after reading ur akashi x reader and aomine x reader.... I freaked out cuz I thought u were actually ten years old. Cuz, u wrote so well. and aot and knb are not really for kids. Anyways, I luv your writing, Ten! U r wonderful. Try and do some Akashi Seijuro comfort/fluff fic for me, please...

Nonnie, when I read your message, my heart was screaming in absolute happiness, I swear. Thank you for the kind and encouraging words. These kinds of messages inspire me a lot. Anyway, I hope you find this short fic enjoyable and heartwarming. Take care, and thank you for reading!

Pairing: Akashi Seijuro x reader

He smells like amaryllis flowers.

You mull over this as you take a subtle peek at your boyfriend who was relentlessly typing on his laptop, eyebrows scrunched in concentration. The soft glow from the television casts shadows on his face. You’re tempted to reach over and push that stray strand of hair from his face.

You lean back on the sofa and sigh before saying, “Seijuro, you don’t have to stay here, you know. I understand you need to finish that report by tomorrow.”

“Nonsense,” he replies, glancing at you briefly. “I promised we’d spend time together tonight, didn’t I? I apologize if it’s taking a while. I made a few careless mistakes earlier.”

You shrink into yourself, burying your chin into his hoodie as you rub your arm to ward off the chill. Seijuro’s hoodie was obviously large for your size, its edge falling below your waistline. Its sleeves swallowed up your hands until only the tips of your fingers were visible. You smile fondly.

Seijuro interprets your silence wrongly. He folds his laptop shut, setting it aside. He turns his full attention to you. “Are you mad?”

Taken aback, you blink at him. “What? Why would I be mad?”

“We were supposed to be watching a movie tonight. The Call, was it? You told me how much you wanted to watch this thriller movie weeks ago. And yet, here I am, spending these precious times with you hunched down in front of my laptop.”

You note the way his lips curve down to a mild frown. Even wrapped around by the darkness of the room, you could see the faint hints of frustration and self-loathing playing around his eyes. Giving in to your earlier urge, you scoot towards him and gingerly sweep your fingertips through his hair.

A smile unfurls your lips as you watch him lean to your touch.

“What?” he asks when you proceed to giggle at him.

“Has anyone told you that you're cute when you sulk like that, Sei?”

Slightly displeased, he shrugs your hand off. “I don't think anyone has the audacity to say that in front of my face.”

“Well, I’m telling you now,” you wink.

“You have my gratitude,” he shoots back with scandalized amusement.

You laugh as you clasp your hands together.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers as you lean your head against his shoulder. “You deserve more than scraps of my time. I can’t—”

“Sei,” you interrupt him, “I knew what I was getting into before I said ‘yes’ to you. You're a man with heavy responsibilities not a normal person could bear on a daily basis. You have high expectations placed on top of your head. In fact…”

The pause in your voice makes him look down to glance at you, only to catch a glimpse of the breathtaking smile that made him fall for you in the first place. He stares at you and holds the softness of your eyes to himself.

“...I admire and respect you a lot,” you continue. “Most of all, I appreciate that you make every effort to be with me. You could've easily finished your reports if you had been home, but here you are, working your way diligently on my uncomfortable sofa with the television noise in the background.”

You wave your hands in front of him bashfully. “Besides, wearing your clothes makes me miss you less. It has a sweet, familiar scent to it. Smell just like you.”

“If you keep this up, I’m going to end up with an empty wardrobe,” he comments and tugs at the sleeves playfully.

“You can always buy new ones,” you throw in, sticking out your tongue mischievously.

Boisterous laughter resounds from the TV program none of you were paying attention to. You stare out the window, idly watching the darkened clouds scuttling over the pale moonlight. A twinge of melancholy slithers into your heart as you unwind your hand from his.

“To be honest, I feel like I’m the one who's inadequate in this relationship,” you mumble, closing your eyes in shame, “I couldn't do anything to support you. Sometimes, I wished I could've been more capable and skilled to help you out at work.”

Your eyelids flutter open, a gasp escaping the confines of your mouth when you feel Seijuro’s thumb brushing your lower lip. His crimson eyes lock into yours, steel hard with conviction but molten with desire and unrelenting adoration. You shiver under the intensity of his stare.

His hand travels to the back of your neck before you feel him tip you towards him. He draws closer to you, resting his cheek against the pulse of your neck.

“Looking down like that doesn't suit my empress,” he whispers. He dips his head to press his lips at the curve of your shoulder. A soft exhale leaves his mouth, tickling your skin and sending pleasant shivers down your spine.

Wordlessly, you bury your hand in his hair.

“Please don't ever think less of yourself,” he continues, reaching at your waist to pull you even closer. “Your presence is my reprieve. Simply being with you lightens my burdens, and for that, thank you.”

You pull away, gently capturing his face in your hands. Measured strength marred by delicate vulnerabilities. Beautiful. You are certain he is the most beautiful man you have ever seen.

“Thank you, Seijuro.”

#akashi seijuro x reader #akashi x reader #akashi seijuurou x reader #akashi seijuro #akashi seijuurou #akashi seijūrō #knb #kuroko no basket #the basketball which kuroko plays #anon request #precious anon #thank you for the request

249 notes · View notes

obae-me · 3 years

Note

Lucifer: Just exists

Me: Sir would u like some sleep? Perhaps a full 9 hours? A nap?

Okay, so my requests are still closed (I have some I haven’t finished yet but we don’t talk about those, my brain is broken give me time) but something about this just gave me the overwhelming urge to write some sleepy Lucifer…so I’m going to do that. (Plus I need to get back into the writing groove before I tackle my bigger projects)

_______________________

Meeting after meeting, report after report. Demons could go days without sleeping and come out with little more than a headache, but still, it had been a week straight of Lucifer’s non-stop work, so you were bound to feel some concern. Well, ‘some’ was an understatement. In fact, you were losing precious hours of your own sleep just by worrying about him. None of your fretting did anything about it either, he was too prideful for that. Regardless of the ever blackening circles under his eyes, the rapidly diminishing bags of coffee beans, or his simple mistakes he’d usually never make, he acted as if he was the pinnacle of health.

There was bound to be an end to it eventually, there always was.

Lucifer’s insomnia had infected you, and during the early reaches of this particular morning, unable to sleep, you decided to check on the eldest. It was wishful thinking to hope you could find him in his room. Alas, it was empty, practically gathering dust, he might as well take up permanent residency in his office by now. So, you padded down quietly to his office.

The entrance was wide open, the soft somber melody of a record drifting through the library. You knew well and good that he had pushed himself too far, his own body taking the consent of sleep from him. However, if anything, the moments like these were the ones that made you fall for him even harder. The way his body released the tension of stress as he slept. The way those gentle sighs of his somehow played in a symphony all their own. The way his chest didn’t puff out with pride like normal but instead rose in the softest way as he finally took a moment to breathe deeply.

Stifling a chuckle, you tiptoed over to him, tilting your head to observe his face in peace. Cheek against a half-written report, one of his arms was bent across his eyes, his fade nestled in the crook of his elbow to block out the light, his lips ever so slightly parted. A pen was still lodged between his middle and pointer finger, the end of it tangled in his hair. You would be tempted to just stand and watch him for a while longer, but you’d much rather see him to bed.

“Luce...Luci...” He stirred, shifting slightly, turning the other way, the paper still stuck to his cheek, eliciting a small vocal chuckle from you. You snapped a quick picture for your private collection and then reached out to him. One hand settling over his own, the other landing between his shoulder blades, you embraced him, speaking up a bit louder. “My darling Morningstar?”

Reflexively, he turned his wrist and gripped your hand, a bit too tightly until he realized it was you. He interlaced his fingers between yours and pushed himself up from his desk by his elbows. You hummed to yourself in amusement, grasping the paper stuck to his face and placing it amongst his other reports. He took a waking breath into his nose and blinked slow and unevenly. “What time is it?”

You wrapped your arm around his shoulders, hugging him from the side. “Time for you to head to bed.” He opened his mouth to spout some nonsense about work needing to be done, but you stopped him with a kiss to his cheek. “Bed. Your pact-master commands you.”

“Hm? You tease but you really could order me if you wanted to.”

Reaching up, you caressed the side of his face, feeling him tilt into your touch. “Why would I do that when it’s so much more satisfying when you follow me of your own volition?” You traced your finger down and traced his bottom lip. He looked up, his cheeks slightly pink, his eyebrows slightly raised as he looked at you in comfortable wonder. You lowered your head to meet his lips, but you pulled away at the last second, squishing his cheeks. “But I won’t force you.” You dropped his hand and turned, listening to his sharp intake at your taunting. Before you could take another step, his arms were already wrapped around your torso.

“I’m coming, you demon.”

“Oh yes, I’m the evil one for making sure you get some rest.” You rolled your eyes but took his arm in yours as you left his study.

“You are indeed,” he laughed, his tone still groggy from his nap. You kept a steady hold on him as he worked on keeping his week legs straight. He’d pushed himself far too long this time, his limbs were crying out for rest. He’d have to take the extra brutal punishment of sleeping in tomorrow- well, today. Back inside his room, you guided him beside the bed, folding back his sheets and sliding in first yourself. They had soaked up the chill cold of the night, and so you shivered. He kicked off his shoes and unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it at the end of the bed, and you faked a gasp.

“How uncouth!”

Shirtless and still in his work slacks, he crawled in under his sheets, pushing you down against the pillow, a smile on his face. “Don’t start with me.” The playful mood quickly ebbed as he rubbed your noses together before planting a kiss over your lips, obviously desperate for it ever since you had denied him in his study. “Come now.” He laid flat against the mattress, pulling you over and tucking you under his arm with your head against his chest. Even if you hadn’t been so close there was no denying the large content sigh.

“See?” You asked, pulling the covers up tighter against you both. “Isn’t this better than a dreary old desk?” Only, there was no response. In regular Belphie fashion, Lucifer must’ve fallen asleep right as his head hit the pillow. You snuggled tighter against him, careful not to move him too much, although you figured it would be rather difficult to get him to rouse again tonight. Closing your eyes, you whispered to him, hoping he’d hear the message in his dreams. “Goodnight, love.”

#asks #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer x mc #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines

617 notes · View notes

saltyhyunjae · 3 years

Text

THE STEALER CHAPTER ONE: PULL THE TRIGGER

genre/warnings: angst, fluff, slow burn, enemies to lovers (?), kidnapping, criminal!tbz, mentions of guns & knives, quick mention of suicide

word count: 2,5k

summary: As y/n is leaved to close the store on her own, the last thing that she expects, happens to her

pairing: tbz x fem reader

“Y/n! You’re closing the store tonight, I have an emergency at home and I need to get going.” You hear your boss, Jiyoo yell from the back of the store as you put some new clothing items up on the racks. You sigh. “Okay!” You yell back at her and look at the time. 8:30PM. The store closes at 9 so you won’t be alone for a long time.

“The store is super quiet right now so I'm sure you can handle the last 30 minutes on your own.” Jiyoo smiles as she walks towards the entrance of the store. ‘I hope so.” You smile back.

She tells you to put the money in the safe and clean the store a bit and then quickly leaves the store, leaving you alone with 2 customers and the loud music of the speakers playing Bad Guy by Billie Eilish.

After the last customers leave, you look at the time again, 9:58. You make your way to the entrance to close the door and turn off the lights so nobody starts knocking, begging you to let them in, then you tidy some stuff up as you make your way back to the counter. As you reach the counter the radio switches to the news.

“The infamous criminal group ‘The Boyz’ have gotten away with yet another robbery just yesterday making it their 12th theft of the month. The police still have not been able to catch them due to the group's large number of members.”

You sigh. Instead of partying with your friends on this friday night you have been put in charge to close the store. “I don’t get paid enough for this.’ you murmur as you grab the money they earned today and start counting them. The sound of something falling shakes you out of your thoughts.

“What the- oh it’s just the broom that fell.” Just as you are about to go back to counting you hear a faint thud in the storage room. “Ok, I'm getting really scared now.” You whisper to yourself.

You decide to shake it off and go back to counting when you suddenly feel cold metal against the back of your head.

Oh fuck.

“Put the money down,''

You hear a male voice say. You do what he says as you start praying internally. You then feel a sharp object pressed against your lower back.

“Listen up, as long you’re doing as we say, you’re not gonna get hurt.”

‘That’s what they always say.’ You think but would never dare to say out loud. You’re on the verge of tears thinking this is your last day when you hear another thud.

“OW!” You hear another voice yell.

“Dumbass.” You hear another voice say.

‘How many of these motherfuckers are there.’ You think

“Grab some stuff over there.” You hear the one holding a gun against your head say as you see another figure grabbing the money you just dropped on the counter.

“I can’t see shit in here.” One of the voices further away from you says.

“Turn the lights on hyung!” The other one says.

You flinch as the lights turn on. Not daring to look at thieves. No Y/n u need to remember their faces just in case they actually don’t kill you. As you look up you make eye contact with the one that took the money. Your eyes widen at how handsome he is. “Bring us to the safe.” The one holding the knife against your lower back says. You slowly turn around making eye contact with the one holding the gun.

Shit, he’s handsome too.

You slowly start walking to the storage room.

“Changmin! Eric! We’ll be right back, grab everything you can!” Gun guy says.

When you arrive at the storage room, you walk to the safe and kneel in front of it, the three guys still behind. As you type in the code you hear a walkie talkie go off followed by another voice.

“What is taking so long.”

“Shut up, we just got to the safe. Anybody nearby?” The one without a weapon, as far as you know then, asks.

“No, it’s dead, everyone is going out a few blocks away.”

“Give us 10 minutes.”

“Fine.”

You take the money out and hand it to knife guy, who puts it in a bag.

“Please don’t kill me.” You plead.

“We won’t.” Gun guy says.

“Hyunjae, come with me. Juyeon, keep an eye on her.” Gun guy commands as he walks away with Hyunjae.

You took the opportunity to look at knife guy, Juyeon.

Fuck, he’s beautiful too.

You guys just stay there in silence till the two guys come back into the storage room. But this time they came back with the two other guys.

“Plan changed, we’re taking you with us.” Hyunjae says. Your eyes widen and you try to get up and escape. Just as you get up, Juyeon grabs your left arm, pulls you back and holds the knife against your neck.

“Do as we say and you will not get hurt.” Gun guy says. Your hands get tied behind your back and you decide to give in and follow the guys outside.

“Took you long enough.” You see three other guys waiting outside. One shows a bored expression, the other is very tall and the last is...very cute? They’re all handsome too. You mentally cry.

“Who’s that?” The ‘cute’ one says with a softer voice. “Our new friend.” Hyunjae smirks. You internally scoff as they walk you to the bus. When they open the bus you see three more guys.

How many of them can there be?!

“Hi, ooohh who’s that.” One of them behind a huge computer screen says.

“They brought a souvenir.” The tall guy that was waiting outside laughs.

They put you in the car and start driving. Tears are threatening to leave your eyes as you think about your friends and family. What if you get killed? Or they never let you go? or even worse… you get Stockholm syndrome?!?!

“What’s your name?” The ‘cute’ one with a soft voice asks you. You still look down refusing to talk.

“Cat caught your tongue.” Hyunjae scoffs.

“I’m jacob.” The one with a soft voice says, you look up to see him give you a soft smile.

“Y/n.” You murmur and the boys start introducing themselves to you. You nod at them and for the rest of the car ride you stay quiet.

After maybe 45 minutes the car stops and they open the door and help you get out. You look up to see a huge villa remote from the city. You guys make your way to the villa and once you're inside they guide you to the couch. They all sit across from you while Sangyeon stands.

“Y/n, do you happen to know who we are?” He asks

You slowly shake your head looking at the 11 boys. Wait. 11 boys? NO WAY! You suddenly remember the new reports for the last two months. You've been kidnapped by…

The Boyz.

You hear the boys laugh at your shocked expression.

“Listen up.” Sangyeon speaks up “It wasn’t in our plan to keep you hostage, but now that you’re here we’ve got to make the best of it haha. As you can see our house is very messy and we’re desperately in need of a cleaner. So we’ll point out your room for you to get some rest, you start tomorrow. Any questions.”

“I don't have any clothes to wear besides these.”

“Well thank God we robbed a clothing store.” Kevin laughs.

“We’ll make sure to buy all the necessities you need.”Sangyeon assures you. He tells you what time they’ll come and wake you up and commands Jacob and Kevin to bring you to your room while Changmin grabs some bed sheets and pillows.

As they open the door to your new room, you see that it’s huge and empty with only curtains and an empty bed in the middle of it.

“You can decorate as time goes by.” Kevin tells you and you nod. Changmin comes in with the pillows and bed sheet and the 3 boys help u set up the bed.

Once your bed is all made up, Younghoon comes in with two pairs of pajamas and some normal clothes for you to wear. All hail one size fits all clothes. Once you put on your pajamas, you lie in bed and think about everything that has just happened until you fall asleep.

—————————————————

The sun shining through your curtains wakes you up. You groan in annoyance, put a pillow over your head and close your eyes again. Right as you begin to doze off again, your door opens. “It’s time to get up.” You hear someone say. You turn around to see Chanhee standing at your door. “Be downstairs in 30 minutes” He says, closing the door again. As you get up, you get a moment of realization.

You’ve been kidnapped…… YOU’VE BEEN KIDNAPPED! YOU NEED GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE.

But how.

While you get dressed you think of all the ways you could escape. Jump out of the window? Suicide. Grab a knife and kill them? You would already have been killed before you stabbed one of them. Sneak out of the house while they’re sleeping? PERFECT. But you needed to stay a bit to figure out the plan in detail. You need to know your way out and their sleeping schedule, you also need to gain their trust. You needed to be super nice to them for them to trust you.

You take a deep breath and step out of your room. When you arrive downstairs you see that all of the boys are awake. “Good Morning!” Haknyeon jumps up from the couch. “Good morning.” You respond back.

“Ah, you’re awake.” Sangyeon walks into the living room. “Sit down, I'll explain what you need to do.” He starts talking about you making their meals and doing their laundry followed by cleaning the whole house. You mentally sigh. This isn’t going to be easy.

Kevin introduces you to the kitchen and offers to help with making breakfast.

“Haknyeon, stop it!” Kevin grabs the spoon that Haknyeon is about to dip in the soup.

For the third time.

“I’m just tasting it for you guys.”

“You’ve tasted enough, get out!” Haknyeon pouts as he walks out of the kitchen, making you giggle.

“So, Kevin, how many times a week do you guys go out to steal?” “Hmm, maybe five to six times a week. Why?” He looks up at you. “Oh just wondering.” You lie. “Must be tiring.”

You continue to make the soup while wondering if it was possible to escape while they’re out stealing. You decide to ask Kevin for more information and he tells you that it usually takes 30 minutes to an hour for them to finish a small mission and that bigger missions sometimes take up to three hours.

He also tells you that he, Haknyeon and sunwoo are in charge of hacking, Younghoon, Jacob and Chanhee are always on the watch and Sangyeon, Hyunjae, Juyeon, Eric, and Changmin are the ones in action.

—————————————————

“Wow this is good!” Eric says, stuffing his mouth with the soup you and Kevin made.

I should’ve put poison in it, you think to yourself.

“So Y/n, tonight we have another mission and since we can’t trust you alone in this house we have to take you with us from now on.” Sangyeon speaks up.

Fuck.

“Sure” You simply say. “So what’s tonight’s mission about, hyung?” Changmin asks. “Tonight we’re robbing the new shoe store in town.”

And they all go crazy

“Finally! I needed new Jordan's.” Eric jumps up from his seat. “We should rob a Balenciaga store next.” Sunwoo sighs. After the boys finally calm down and finish their breakfast, you go wash the dishes while they prepare for tonight’s robbery.

Finally the time has broken for tonight’s mission. While in the car, Sangyeon instructs you to stay in the car with the hackers while the rest of them go to their usual position. When it’s time for the rest to leave the car, you lean back and sigh.

You have no phone, no nothing, all you can do is pray you get out of this situation soon.

“I see you’re enjoying yourself.” Sunwoo chuckles. “Leave her alone Sunwoo. Why don’t you come and look at how we work?” Kevin motions for you to sit next to him.

You sit in between him and Haknyeon and look up at the huge screen. Kevin clicks on a couple of things and all of a sudden a bunch of security camera screens pop up. In one of them you see Jacob, Younghoon and Chanhee on the lookout while the rest make their way around the back of the building.

“If I click on this, all the footage of tonight will be deleted, but I'll do that after the guys come back.” He points at a key on his keyboard. “Now we have to crack the password. Haknyeon?”

You look at your right to see Haknyeon click on a bunch of keys to reveal the password.

“1206” He says, and Sunwoo repeats it into the walkie talkie.

After 30 minutes the rest rushes back in the car with a bunch of bags full of shoes and money.

“We almost got caught.” Eric pants out of breath.

“I saw no one in the store though?” Kevin asks, while deleting the camera footage.

“There was this old lady walking in the alley and Eric started freaking out” Hyunjae huffs.

“So an old lady walking in a dark alley in the middle of the night isn’t sus?!” Eric yells, making the others laugh.

When you guys arrive ‘home’, you decide to go to sleep first because you're exhausted. When you lie in your bed, you fall asleep almost immediately.

—————————————————

“I’m kinda getting bored of robbing, I need more thrill.” Changmin lay’s down on the couch.

“Yeah me too, I want some adrenaline.” Eric plops down next to him. “Try jumping off a cliff.” “Not funny, Sunwoo.”

“Oh! I have an idea!” Haknyeon jumps up. “Y/n is our maid now, right?” “Maid.” Younghoon snorts. “She’s cute, right? And we steal stuff, right?”

“Get to the point.” Sangyeon sighs.

“Let’s steal her heart.”

Hyunjae burst out laughing. “Are you insane? Why would we do that? That sounds so dumb.”

“You guys said you were bored and this sounds like a fun mission to me.”

“I agree, this could be fun.” Eric jumps up from the couch.

“So you wanna make her fall in love with one of us?” Jacob sits up. “Why would she do that, we’re holding her hostage.” Sunwoo laughs.

“That’s what makes it hard and more of a fun mission!”

“And when does the winner get?” Sangyeon speaks up.

“We have to do anything for that person for two whole years.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Hyunjae scoffs.

“I like the idea, I'm with Haknyeon.” Juyeon sides with the younger one.

“Fine it’s a good distraction, we need to get off the radar for a week, the police are still on our heels.” Sangyeon gives in while Haknyeon and Eric cheer.

247 notes · View notes

venomous--fics · 3 years

Text

Anon asked: maybe a continuation of the peter b parker kid thing where they finally confront the mom and get the readers things back 😩💞💞

a/n: ask and thou shall receive! this spent so long in the drafts bc i felt so insecure about it tbh, so any feedback is appreciated! I love seeing messages about what you guys think! really keeps me motivated! also, requests are open

Warnings: mentions of past abuse

Peter was sitting at the kitchen table, constantly looking at the clock. It was almost 5pm, you were supposed to be home an hour and a half ago. Yes, he keeps track of everyone's schedules, yes he knows the exact second you should be walking through the door. He's already texted you, but maybe you had detention. Nah, you were a good student, he highly doubted you'd have to stay after school.

His phone finally rang, and he was way too quick answering it.

"You okay?"

"I need some help."

"What is it?" he was already out the door.

You sighed, knowing he was probably going to give you an earful later.

"Well, it's a really long story, right.. But my mom showed up after school-"

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, I think. Anyways, we got into it on the way home, which is no- Not normal." you adjusted how you were sitting, "And since she was dragging me back to the house, I figured I'd just get my crap and come home, right? Makes sense, saves us the tri-"

"She took you without permission?"

"Technically she is my m-...Parent. I guess, y'know, legally she can do whatever- But..Okay." you began to feel bubbles of anxiety and pain and even resentment form deep in your core, "She locked me out." You rubbed your neck.

"Are you," he paused, looking around at all the faces passing by him, "Still there?"

"Yeah. Unfortunately. I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for? Don't apologize, you didn't do anything."

"I keep causing problems for everyone."

"Not for me. Or Mj."

It was quiet on your end.

"You still there?"

"Yeah."

"I'll be there in like ten minutes."

"You probably shouldn't."

"Nah, nah." He said, having a sudden wave of anger rush over him, "Let me take care of this."

And true to his word, Peter was there in ten minutes. You hopped up from your spot on the porch as he made his way up to the door and knocked on it as hard as he could. He gave you a reassuring pat on the back.

The door swung open, and your mother seemed awfully surprised and confused to see some random man just standing there. Peter held no emotion has he looked her dead in the eye, "Can we come in."

She opened the door wider so that way you two could step in.

"Go get your stuff." is all Peter said to you.

Wasting no time, and not wanting to be in the middle of a potential argument between the two, you skedaddled to your room. It almost felt like too much to be in there. It looked so empty and barren compared to your room at Peter and Mjs place. Seems really dull. Lifeless, almost. Dust covered every surface, which meant that nobody had ever even bothered to see if you were even still in there.

You heard their voices from the living room, but they seemed so distant, seeing as all you could focus on was every shitty thing that woman put you through.

You remember the day that you got bit. It made you deathly ill, and you just thought you were dying from some sort of allergic reaction to the spider bite. You tried to get her to take you to any doctor or anywhere that could help because all you could seem to see were stars.

Everything then was so loud. Everything was so bright. It was all too much, and you were certain that the reaper was waiting for you. What did she say?

"Suck it up and stop pretending. Everything has to be so dramatic with you."

Or that time you forgot a single item on the shopping list. You got this whole speech about how stupid you had to have been. To forget one item. It was the world's most useless item.

Everything else seemed to play all over again, all at once. Like a waterfall. It should've made you sad. It should've made you cry, or scream.

You recounted all the times you wanted to fight back, or just run away. Leave everything behind and just run until your legs gave out. But you never did. You always found some reason to linger.

The conversation was growing louder where Peter was.

"You aren't going to do this to them ever again. Sign the papers."

You nearly dropped your last belonging on the floor as you scrambled to your door. Papers? He wasn't serious. Well, obviously he was. He just said it.

"Fine. It's not like the-"

"Zip it. Sign the papers."

"Who are you anyways? The law? If so, whatever they've told you is a b-"

"Listen, lady. I didn't ask for any attitude. I told you to sign the papers." he seemed to huff in annoyance, "That doesn't require talking."

"I'm a good mother."

"And I'm the king of France."

"Really. I gave them a good home. I have fed them and kept them warm-"

"Really? You think you did all that? Or are you convincing yourself that you did all that?"

"I am-"

"Can I be honest with you?"

"Ye-"

"I've never said this about anyone, ever. I don't like speaking to or about anyone like this.. Ever, but, you? I think you're a piece of shit."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, look. You finished signing the papers. I'll take those. Thank you."

Realizing that it was your time to go, you stuffed your blanket into your duffel bag and rushed out the door and down the hall. Peter looked at you, expecting to see at least three bags. But he only saw the one.

"Where's the rest of your stuff."

"Uhm," you shuffled around, pretending as thought you dropped some, "This...This is all my stuff."

"That can't be ri-" He laughed a little, and noting the expression on his face, you saw that he was NOT happy. "That? That single duffle bag is all you have? That's it?"

"Yes..." you took a step back, "This is all.."

"I can't believe it." he said, "You're joking! One bag worth of stuff?"

He turned his attention back to your mother, who, for the first time in your life, actually looked like she got caught red handed, "You're pathetic. Absolutely pathetic."

"But they're so u-"

"No! No, you don't get to talk anymore. You've done enough."

You awkwardly shuffled behind him, in the event that you two had to make a mad dash out the door. That and you needed to not be seen as you tried to hide your almost evil grin.

"The hell is wrong with you? You have this amazing kid, and THAT'S all you've ever gotten for them? And you sit there and call yourself a mother? Absolutely, without a doubt, bullshit. I'd be ashamed of myself to call myself a father if that's all I've provided for my kid. Don't even get me started on you as a person, we made that clear."

It almost felt cursed to hear him swear, seeing as he made it a point to tell you to not swear. Every time you did, you have to give a quarter to the swear jar. Mj was always on your side, though. She'd say a swear that was much worse and have to pay a dollar. Each word had a value.

"Maybe we should just go." you suggested, tugging on the sleeve of his arm, "She's not worth it anymore."

"She was never worth it, it seems."

You finally made eye contact with her, and the look in her eye. It's like she understood, but was choosing to not do anything about the situation. She could look sorry all she wanted, but you knew she wasn't.

"I'm sorry, Y/n. You know that right."

"That means nothing to me."

"I can change."

"If you can change now, that means you could've changed then. You just chose not to."

"But I'm your mother, you should realize how I feel. You should want-"

"You're not my mom. You stopped being my mom the first time you-" You turned towards the door and started walking towards it, "Whatever. You mean nothing to me."

You practically kicked open teh door just to leave, and Peter was right behind you, shouting about how he'd make sure to egg her house everyday, just to piss her off.

"Do you really think I'm amazing?" you asked, the walk home feeling rather quiet.

"I think you're more than that. Just can't put it into words."

"Did you really mean it...That we could egg her house?"

"You want to? There's a store right on the way home."

"How about tomorrow."

"I'll have to clear up my busy schedule. See if I can work in a drive by egging. Well, swing by egging."

"You promise?"

"You kidding? I haven't egged anyone's house since college."

You had so much more you wanted to get off you chest, but you opted to just talk about it at home, with everyone present. You wanted to talk about how you felt about everything, and the papers. Whatever those were. But you were, for the moment, busy laughing about Peter's story about how he used to Egg this one reporters house. Someone named Jonah.

You wonder if Jonah ever put two and two together.

#marvel imagine #marvel x reader #into the spider verse x reader #into the spiderverse imagine #peter b parker imagine #peter b parker x reader #peter parker imagine #spiderman imagine #spiderman x reader

208 notes · View notes

etherealino · 3 years

Text

fake dating, skz.

ot8 scenario.

content/warning(s): fake dating au, just small scenarios. some are idolverse, some aren’t. swearing, hating on jype, nagging mother. tell me if i missed something!

note: i might do full length fics for each babies. what do u guys think?

chan. —

the one where he’s being pestered by his best friend to bring a plus one to his best friend’s wedding and it can’t be a random person but someone he’s actually dating.

minho looks at chan who just whines. “please?” minho says which is unusually gentle than his nagging teasing tone. “it’s been years and i think it’s time for you to finally go back to dating.”

“i will bring someone, i promise.” chan says, smiling lightly. minho could be annoying about this whole dating thing but he knows minho just wants him to be as happy as he was before.

“not just anyone?” minho says and chan nods. “someone you’re dating.”

chan looks up, eyes widening and minho frowns. what the hell does he do? chan knows how determined minho is, he won’t stop. “hyung, jeongin’s on the verge of asking his girlfriend of marrying him and—”

“y/n.” chan cuts him off with the first name that pops in his mind causing minho to raises his eyebrow. “i’m bringing y/n.”

“i said someone you’re—” minho cuts himself off, looking at chan with his eyes widening. he looks behind, seeing you having a conversation with his fiancé probably helping her with something on the wedding as she is showing you a sample from the magazine. minho looks back to chan who looks at him nervously. “hyung?”

“two weeks.” chan lies.

“why didn’t you tell me before?” minho asks and chan shrugs.

“i.. wanted to be sure.” chan says, seeing minho’s shock expression not going away and is probably not going away anytime so soon. “but now, i’m sure.”

“then, i’ll tell my girl that y/n will sit with you.” minho says and chan nods, mumbling a thanks. when minho’s fiancé pulls away from you to go to minho, chan immediately goes to you to explain the mess he has dragged you into.

oh, how frustrated you are going to be. chan could already see it.

minho. —

the one where you two are roommates and he can’t help but overhear how your mother would always bug you about not having a boyfriend among other things, so he decides to just save your ass because deep down you’re one of the few people in his list who he would do everything for.

throughout dinner, all minho has ever heard how your mom would pick on the littlest things that you would do and not do. minho was starting to get irritated because clearly, your mother doesn’t know how much of an amazing person you are (but of course, he’d rather go to jail than let you know that).

as minho cleans on the table, you are still by the door with your mom.

“i didn’t want to bring this up earlier right in front of your roommate because it would be humiliating,” your mother says and minho rolls his eyes. as if she hasn’t humiliated you the whole night. “but do you ever plan on having a boyfriend?”

“mom, i just graduated college. i have a lot of things to focus on, i don’t have the time—”

“well, do it faster. no one is available forever.”

that was it. minho couldn’t hold it any longer. he just wants your mom to stop and let her know how unbelievably amazing you are. as he puts the table rug down, he loudly says, “my love, can you help me?”

you turn your head to him, looking at him and minho doesn’t do anything but shrug. “y/n, love,” he calls again, walking to you and acting as if he was surprised to see your mother is still there on the doorway. “mrs. y/l/n, i’m sorry. i thought you went off already.”

“are you two together?” your mom slowly asks and your jaw drops, minho placing his hands on your shoulders. “why didn’t you tell me?” she asks and you look at minho.

“we decided to keep it between the two of us for now.” minho says and you let out a noise, eyes widening at minho as you pull away from his hold.

“you could have just told me, you silly girl.” your mom says and you look at her. “alright, i’ll be going. you help your boyfriend with the cleaning. remember the things i told you and bring minho by the house when there’s a gathering if he’s allowed to.”

you blink. “o-okay.” you stutter, leaning forward to kiss your mom on the cheek. minho does the same and your mom smiles. “take care, ma.”

“stay safe, mrs. y/l/n.” minho says and she nods, thanking the two of you as she walks to the elevator. you shut the door, glaring at minho. damn, this is going to be a long night of scolding.

changbin. —

the one where people think he’s dating an idol and keep insisting that that person is the inspiration behind his songs but in order to not drag that other idol into the mess, he drops the name of his non-idol best friend that nobody’s ever heard of.

changbin jumps when he hears the door of his room barge open and he sees you glaring down at him. “what. the. hell?” you grit your teeth, fuming at your best friend as you glare at him. changbin whines, knowing how fucked up did he do about the whole situation.

sure, he was thinking about the other idol who he never has exchanged at least one word with but he never though about his best friend. he was.. caught up in the moment.

“y/n, i’m really sorry. i didn’t think this would bring so much chaos.”

“you think?!��

changbin whines. he may be all buff and strong and one of the most feared in stray kids but when it comes to you, he’ll fold even before you come at him. “y/n, i’m so sorry. i wasn’t thinking. plus, you’re profession is different from us they wouldn’t just..” changbin trails off when he sees you tapping your foot impatiently. right, dispatch could be a big bitch.

“y/n,” changbin calls, standing up from his bed and walking forward to place his hands on your shoulders. “just please, go along with it? just for a few months, i promise. i wil protect you from the reporters, i swear. just.. do this favor for me, please.”

you sigh, brushing your fingers through your hair. you wrap your arms around his torso, pulling him in and changbin returns the hug. “fine.” you say and changbin sigh in relief. “also, go take a bath. you stink.”

changbin laughs, kissing your temple.

hyunjin. —

the one where the company is being a huge pain in the ass by telling the two of you to pull a public stunt which is fake dating one another.

“what?” you and hyunjin said in unison. you looked at your manager in disbelief who just shrugs, shaking her head in disagreement as she turns away with a sigh.

“just for a couple of months.” the staff says in a gentle, manipulative tone. “just to get the heat off of the company.”

hyunnjin brushes his hand through his long locks, hiding his frustration even though he knows you feel the same just as he does. you sigh, putting your forehead on your palm as you close your eyes.

“it will help you with your upcoming comeback.” the staff says to you and you visibly scoff, causing your manager to lightly nudge you behind. you groan, looking away. “it will also help you with the votings and streamings.” the staff tells hyunjin and he only looks down, playing with his fingers.

silence takes over, everyone feeling your and hyunjin’s anger to the staff. but after a few minutes, hyunjin speaks up. “how many months?”

silence takes over again and you look at the woman in front of you who sighs. “12 months.” she sheepishly smiles.

“that’s a whole ass year.” you say and she smiles.

“we’ll send dispatch something tomorrow. so just be ready.” she says. “you’re dismissed.” the moment those two words left her lips, you and hyunjin immediately rose up to exit the office. when your manager closes the door, you went straight to the wall, covering your face with your hands as you lean against the wall with a groan leaving your lips.

you feel a hand on your shoulder and you look up to see the tall long haired boy. “hey.” you greet and hyunjin chuckles.

“we’ll get through this.” hyunjin encourages and you smile, holding your fist out.

“yeah, we will.” you said and hyunjin looked at your fist, blinking then back to your eyes.

“i’m going to be your boyfriend tomorrow and you’re giving me a fist bump?” hyunjin deadpans and you laugh, lightly pushing him as he laughs loudly.

jisung. —

the one where he’s your best friend and someone takes a liking on you but you’re too soft to reject someone so you randomly ask jisung to be your fake boyfriend.

“what do you want?” jisung says and you pout lightly, looking into his eyes.

“ji..” you softly call and jisung crosses his arms over his chest. “i think.. changbin’s going to confess tomorrow.”

“and?”

“i need you to swoop in and tell him we’re dating.” you say as you play on chips of his door. jisung’s eyes widen, laughing lightly as he blinks.

“come again?” jisung says and you whine, looking at him. “no!”

“why not?” you ask.

“just say you like me instead of pulling this stunt!” jisung says.

“hey, i don’t!” you say, scrunching your nose as you look down. “i just really don’t want to confront changbin about it and you know me. i’d just end up saying yes and—”

“it’s okay to say no.” jisung says but you only pout looking at him. jisung pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. “y/n, i swear to god—”

“free cheesecakes as long as this goes on.”

“—you’re the bestest friend ever.”

felix. —

the one where you’ve been wanting to experience what’s it like to have a boyfriend so felix being the best friend, he lets you have the experience you deserve once you have an actual boyfriend. (got it from here.)

“lix,” you called and felix turns to you with a smile on his face. “i’m kind, right?”

“yeah,” felix answered. you truly are. whenever felix is in need of your help, you would always be there. and by always, i mean even if you’re about to do something for yourself, you’d put felix first.

“i’m not that dumb, right?” you ask.

“you’re actually really smart, y/n.” felix answers. you are. felix would always ask for your help when he’s having trouble with some subjects. and everytime you two would get into talking and there’s a test that’s to be taken by that day, felix knows you didn’t study. you never study. but how the hell do you still get high scores?

“i’m not that ugly, right?” you asked.

felix looks at you weirdly, eyebrows scrunched together as he shakes his head ‘no’. “everyone finds you extremely attractive, y/n. your beauty is simple, unlike the others.” felix says and you blush lightly, but still you want to continue with your drama.

“then why don’t i have a boyfriend?” you asked and felix just chuckles at you, continuing on doing his work. “hey,” you said with a pout. “i’m serious.”

felix softly smiles at you and places the slate and marker on his chair. “i’ll be your boyfriend,” felix answers and leans in to place a kiss on your forehead. your eyes widens, but felix continues to move as if nothing happened.

still with the soft smile on his face, felix grabs the slate and goes outside to seungmin.

seungmin. —

the one where you both decide to fake date for the sake of the annual movie fest happening in your university and the genre assigned to you is romance but seungmin, the director and you, the scriptwriter have no experience in that area which makes it hard for the two of you to bring it to life.

you softly sigh, rereading jisung’s text over and over again. seungmin gazes at you, noticing the expression that he was unable to decipher. “what did jisung say this time?” he asks and you look at him, turning the phone screen to him. seungmin reads the test and he leans on his seat, not removing his eyes on the text.

well, it’s not bad actually.

“what do you think?” seungmin asks and you shrug, softly sighing.

“it’s not a bad idea.” you softly say. “are you alright with it?”

“well, it is a good idea and we could work on it together.” seungmin says and you nod. “so, we’re doing this?”

“i guess?” you say, a bit unsure of it. you look at your wrist watch, seeing the time making you fix your things. “i have class in a few minutes, seung.”

seungmin nods, standing up as he helps you. when you sling your bag on your shoulder, he takes your laptop bag putting it on his shoulder and grabs your books as well. “what are you doing?” you ask.

“what kind of boyfriend lets his girlfriend go to class alone and on top of it, with so much bag as if she’s going to run away from home?” seungmin deadpans and you look at him.

“oh, we start now?” you mumble.

“we only have four weeks to pass the script.” seungmin says and you chuckle, nodding with a sigh.

“gosh, you need to be my boyfriend to help me with carrying my stuff.” you mumble and seungmin looks at you, pulling his tongue out.

jisung: this maybe stupid but also makes sense

jisung: date each other even just until you passed the script

jisung: just so you know what to do and stuff

jisung: just don’t fall in love

jisung: but if you do, please mention me in your wedding vows and speeches

jeongin. —

the one where he thought it would be a good idea to get his fangirls off his back by telling them he’s dating you in secret.

jeongin knocks into your apartment, giving you his charming cute smile. you raise your eyebrow, lightly chucking. “what’s up, yang?” you say, looking at him. jeongin gestures with his hands to go inside your apartment and you open your door wide to let him in.

“you know how were the bestest of friends?” jeongin asks, looking at you with his smile that not even a second did it fade.

you look at him. “no, not really.” you deadpan and jeongin sighs, frowning as he looks at you. “what do you need?”

“remember when you mentioned about the girls in uni going crazy about me?” jeongin says and you nod. “i kind of told them that i was dating someone in secret.” jeongin told you and you nod.

“you are?” you ask and jeongin shakes his head. “so you lied just to get them off your back?” you asked and jeongin nodded. “okay, so?”

“they wouldn’t let me go until i tell them who it is.” jeongin said and you nodded. jeongin just stares at you and you raise your eyebrow, not getting where the conversation is going. jeongin slowly tilts his head, staring at you and your eyes widen, hitting his arm.

“you told them it was me?!” you exclaimed.

jeongin blinks at you. “ow?” he says and you groan.

“jeongin!”

“i know it wasn’t the smartest decision—”

“the smartest?” you repeat with emphasis because it wasn’t even smarter, it wasn’t smart. it was the dumbest. ever. “jeongin, those girls are oing to—”

“i’ll give you hyunjin hyung’s number after all of this is over.” jeongin cuts you off and you look at him. “it was obvious. he’s just... dense as fuck.”

you sigh, “you pick me up tomorrow at 7.”

“thank you, y/n!” he exclaims, hugging you as he presses your body against his. “thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“alright, go home.” you say and jeongin laughs, pulling away from you. jeongin giggles, kissing your cheek as he exits your apartment to go home.

make me do it a full length au thanks. lmAO SDHBJHS,, im going to !! tell me if u want to be tagged <3

425 notes · View notes

officialscaramouche · 3 years

Note

ayo feel like doing a gorou confession fic for me? pretty please with sprinkles on top (you know that fucking tiktok)

Ofc Pizzato anything for u my dear 🥰

Pairing: Gorou x gn!reader

Warnings: slight angst

Word count: 1,969

You heard a couple friendly knocks on your office door, eyes glancing to the clock to see it was a little past noon and you knew exactly who it was. “Come in,” you chime, putting down your pen and stretching upwards with a smile.

“Helloooooo!” You hear as the door swung open, Kazuha flaunting an envelope between his fingers. “Letter time!”

You sweep to your feet and give him grabby hands. “Give it to me!” He chuckles and places the thin paper into your hands. “Tell me who it is already,” you giggle as you rip it open and slide the letter out.

“No,” he sighs, rolling his eyes. “I keep my promises.”

You quirk and eyebrow before you fold open the letter. “Even if I bribe you with dango?”

Kazuha smiles. “Even if you bribe me with dango.”

You grunt and groan but it quickly stops when you unfold the letter, reading the contents.

Good afternoon, cupcake, it starts. You blush at the pet name. I hope your day is going as well as mine. I’ve just won the office lottery! I’m going to ask for more snacks in the break room. That way, everyone benefits too! Specifically though, I want more sakura mochi! The ones you made for us were delicious. Share your recipe? :3

I adore you, your secret admirer.

You squeeze the letter to your chest and squeal, your face warm from blushing and your heart pounding against your chest. “Oh, Kazuha, whoever this person is, I really wish they’d come up and confess!”

Kazuha tuts and wiggles his finger. “But then the mystery wouldn’t be there anymore.”

“Screw mystery!” You squealed, gazing down at the illegible and scratchy handwriting, the mysterious stains and fur all over the page. “I’m ready to hear these words in person.”

Just then there was a knock on your door and a quick turn of the knob, one of the top brass leaning against your door frame. “Good morning, Chatty Cathy’s,” sang a familiar voice and ear twitches.

You wave while Kazuha bows, hiding the letter behind your back. “Good morning, General Gorou.”

The tail behind his back wagged discreetly as the two men share a knowing glance. “Kazuha,” the general clears his throat. “May I speak with you?”

The samurai nods his head and gives you a little wave as he walks out the door. “Bye boys!” You sing, tucking the letter back into the envelope and putting it away.

The next day, as routine, a little past noon you heard three friendly knocks on your door. You excitedly put your pen down, closing your ledger and standing out of your chair and onto your feet. “Kazuha,” you grinned. “Come in!”

He pushed the door open with his back, lugging a big box with some plastic sticking out from the top. “I’m just a mule to you guys aren’t I?” He groaned, lifting the box up and onto your desk. “This is ridiculous.”

You stood on your tippy toes to try and peek inside the box without being obnoxious. “What is it?” You hum, getting more and more restless.

“Your letter, what else?” He kind of snapped, letting out a deep sigh and rolling his eyes. “I wish he’d confess too. That way I don’t have to carry these things.”

You pulled back the top of the box that was just out of your reach. “Here,” pushing your hands away, Kazuha tore the box apart to expose a giant basket full of goodies and flowers. “The letter.”

Kazuha snapped the taped-on letter from the plastic and handed it to you. Wasting no time at all, you rip the envelope open and unfold the letter.

Dearest [Y/N], you’ve pierced my heart like an arrow through a target and I simply cannot get you off my mind. I heard from the grapevine that you wish for my confession. …Maybe I shall do so in the near future? It’s not that I do not want to be yours, but rather that you make me quite nervous. Still, we see each other for terribly brief moments but these moments are the most precious to me. Hopefully I can muster up the courage to finally tell you how I feel. In the meantime, please accept these treats and toys imported from across the globe. My favorite are the dog-shaped biscuits.

Your shy admirer.

Looking up from the letter you find Kazuha stuffing his face with some chocolatey cookies from within a tin box labeled ‘Fontaine.’ “Are those good?” You ask, reaching in and stealing one.

“Mhm,” Kazuha hums, taking a bite out of the one in his hand. “I’ve never had Fontaine chocolate. I guess the rumors about being the best were true.”

You melt under the sweet taste and crunchy texture, thinking that if your crush’s letters had a taste, it would be like this. “This is so nice,” you sigh, eyes sparkling as they gaze upon the basket. “Do you think he’s going to confess to me?”

Kazuha stares out the windows of your office that peer into the rest of the building, watching a certain general spill water on himself and the resistance leader. He takes another bite of a cookie. “Maybe.”

You squeal in delight and spin around in joy. “My heart’s beating so fast! I hope he does it soon or I’ll explode!”

Kazuha chuckles and playfully shoves you aside. “If you explode, I’m eating all of your snacks.”

“No! They’re mine!”

Weeks— almost a month— go by with no further letters. Kazuha stopped coming by, whether at noon or otherwise. The only knocks you got were visits from Kokomi about the budget or from other soldiers carrying reports and receipts from spending. Your heart ached at the sudden lack of contact, wondering if you had done or said something wrong.

Maybe your eagerness was intimidating and this mystery man just wanted someone to flirt with without commitment. Maybe he got bored of you. Maybe he didn’t want to talk to you anymore.

Regardless, you wanted to try and spark it back up in case you’ve stepped on some toes without realizing. That night when you got home, you tossed the ingredients for sakura mochi into a bowl and got to mixing.

The office ate everything you brought before lunchtime rolled around. With such great success, you had confidence that he’d reach out to you tomorrow, if not today.

But alas you were left in silence once more, leaving your heart to crumble and ache. You were quick to recover, considering you never met the guy— let alone knew his name. But you had no time to be worrying anyway, because in a couple of days one of the squads were returning from the front lines and you needed to factor in medical costs. Apparently they took a hard hit when Sara Kujou showed up with her samurai. Kokomi was depending on you, and you didn’t want to let her down.

You spend these few days really crunching the numbers, making sure that every wounded soldier would get the basic medical necessities with some left over for any miscalculations. With every i dotted and every t crossed, you stuffed your report into a fancy envelope and handed it to Kokomi. “Thank you [Y/N] for your hard work under such a sudden timetable.” She thanked, tucking the envelope under her arm. “The team should be arriving tomorrow, so I will be submitting this for review immediately.”

You bow respectfully and offer your thanks for praise. “It’s no problem at all, Her Excellency. I was given ample time to prepare the balance sheet.” You begin to turn when you’re stopped once again by her.

“Before you go,” she smiles softly. “Would you mind helping out at the infirmary? We’re short handed right now with the sudden intake of Delusions.”

“Of course, Her Excellency. I will be there whenever you need me.”

You weren’t specialized in medics but you had helped around often enough to know the basics. And anyone could become a master at immediate medical attention after doing it so many times.

The flood of gurneys was a little disheartening to see, but you were still thankful for all that they do for the greater of the country. It must be scary being at the front lines, but everyone knew what they were signing up for.

You catch sight of Genera Gorou and Lord Kazuha chatting with Lady Kokomi before you were assigned to a batch of wounded soldiers, feeling a little bad for harboring ill feelings toward the young lord for disappearing. ‘You could’ve at least told me that you were leaving,’ you thought as you rinsed the injured area.

“I can take over from here,” the head medic stepped in, slipping on a new pair of gloves before getting a closer look at the soldier before you. With most of everyone patched up and recovering, the medic team was able to take control of the infirmary once again.

You wash your hands and check the clock. A little past noon. It’s funny how at this time you would’ve waited with bated breath for a couple of knocks. But not anymore.

You step out of the infirmary and find Kazuha and General Gorou sitting outside on the benches there. “Oh, hi boys,” you say surprised.

Kazuha grabs and shakes your hand. “Thank you for helping out our soldiers,” he says seriously.

“Oh, it’s not that big of a deal,” you mutter. “I do this all the time.”

A calloused hand pushes Kazuha’s away and shakes your hand firmer, harder. “No, [Y/N],” Gorou says with a sort of oomph behind his words. “These are my men…my family. They would be suffering if not for your help.”

You look to the side uncomfortably, a little put-off by the tension in the air. “And that’s why—!” Gorou continues, suddenly eight decibels louder. You hold eye contact with the general, his face darkening into a deep red flush, his eyes glassy and ears twitching. He squeezed your hand harder and shut his eyes. “M-My C-C-Cupcake!!! P-Please let m-me take you on a date!!!!”

Kazuha winced at the loudness of his friend, covering one of his ears but still smiling nonetheless. The people walking by stared and mumbled, but it didn’t matter as you felt your heart pound against your chest. You felt your eyes well with tears as now your face flushed red, the general cautiously opening his eyes to see your trembling lips and pathetic pout. “A-Ah! [Y/N], don’t cry!!”

You tug on his hand hard, pulling the man into your arms and squeezing him tight. You sobbed into his chest, hearing and feeling how frantic his heart was beating as well. “You idiot!” You shout into his battle-worn chest. “Don’t disappear without telling me…”

Gorou caressed the back of your head and chewed on his lip, his tail drooping with guilt but twitching with excitement for being in your arms. “Did I…scare you?” He whispered tentatively, choosing his words carefully.

You pull away and wipe your eyes, Gorou watching you closely and holding tightly onto your waist. “I thought you got tired of me…because I stopped hearing from you.” Gorou frowned and cupped your face, thumbing your cheeks gently. “I even made sakura mochi and I didn’t—”

“You made sakura mochi??!??!!! Is there any left?!?” Gorou’s jaw dropped. He let you go to turn and run to the break room, halting before running back to embrace you once more. “Heh, uh…” he chuckled nervously. “I’d actually…rather hold you like this…”

You couldn’t fight the smile that spread across your cheeks, flushing your body against his chest. “That’s okay,” you giggle. “There aren’t any left.”

You had no idea that his ears could flatten sadly like that.

#writing #Gorou #Gorou x reader #angst #fluff #oneshot #a stupid capricorn

157 notes · View notes

hansolmates · 3 years

Text

17 going on 27

summary; one second, you’re sobbing at prom because the most popular guy in school dumps you due to your relationship being a little prank to break your heart. the next? you’re a creative editor at Ego, the hottest young adult fashion magazine. as you try to figure out what’s the deal with this sudden time skip into adulthood, you come across relationships and friendships that are made to be cherished and made to be broken. pairing; photographer!jungkook x editor!reader (f) genre/warnings; fluff, crack, future enemies to lovers, teenage and adulthood angst, time skips from high school!au to late twenties!au, 13 going on 30!au, all your romantic movie tropes come to life! a really big mess honestly, various movie and music references, mentions of sex, use of alcohol, everyone give jin and jimin a big ol hug, language, a surprise guest from the queen of england w/c; 22.6k a/n; it’s that time of the year baby! the time of the year where i binge watch the good ol’ early 2000s romcoms that make absolutely no sense! a huge thank u to @eerieedits for making this beautiful banner. vivi got the whole delia’s/claire’s vibe down to a t!

if you enjoy this fic pls consider giving it a like and a share✨✨✨

March 19th, 2011

Thirty, flirty, and thriving!

You finger the dog-eared magazine, last month’s issue of a shoddy fashion magazine that featured top actress Jennifer Garner on the front cover. Her caramel brown highlights practically glow on the page, blown out and beautiful. You suppress a sigh, you long to be the radiant young woman on the cover. The headline is glittery, sparkly and just begging for attention.

Swiping a hand through the pages, your eyes are crowded with over-stimulation. Colorful models dressed up in the latest designs, Chanel and Burberry suits you can only dream of, and happy women at the prime of their lives.

Twenty-seven and in Heaven! You smile wryly at the cheesy rhyme that headlines the following pages, but nevertheless the happy model on the spread does indeed look like they’re in heaven.

Sure, you’re no shrinking violet. Heck, you don’t even consider yourself painfully average. You may not be on the traditional spectrum of popularity in high school, but you get around and have a wonderful best friend and an even better boyfriend. However given the social classes that preside, you do get those moments where you second guess your life’s position. Good thing high school has an expiration date, and you’re close to the end.

“Baby Bun, what are you doing?” the magazine is snatched from your grasp, thrown on the table without a care in the world. Jennifer Garner’s hydro-whitened smile gleams tauntingly at you, “reading that junk is gonna mess with your head.”

Your boyfriend returns from his final suit fitting, his outfit for tonight all pressed and ready to go. He pouts at you, pulling you up by the hand to lead you out of the Men’s Warehouse. Jeon Jungkook. Captain of the lacrosse team, flying by high school with a sports scholarship already in the bag. Eats up attention like plants soak up the sun. Secretly loves taking photographs of his dog and watching Netflix animes at your house.

“Aren’t you excited for prom?”

“Excited to listen to LMFAO’s Party Rock Anthem on repeat?” you guaff, “as if.”

He pinches your arm lightly, “You also forget that we’re gonna tear up the floor to Nicki Minaj’s Superbass.”

You shrug listlessly, crunching the white plastic closer to your body.

Before you can suck all the air out of the garment bag, Jungkook carefully extracts it from your grasp, easily holding it between his one arm so he can thread his other hand through yours. “I am excited! It’s just that… Jimin’s not gonna be there and we’re sitting with the Yearbook committee.”

Looking down at the floor you extract your hand from his, slipping into his parent’s Honda Civic. The yearbook committee, meaning you’d be sitting at a table with head editor Jennie and her group of friends. Friends that are popular and pretty, just like Jungkook.

Jimin is currently on a flight back from Korea due to a family funeral, therefore leaving a seat empty at your prom table. It was only seat that you cared about, other than Jungkook’s. It’s no one’s fault and Jimin of course is doubly upset to miss prom, but without your best friend you’re not sure if you can survive the night.

One of the few secrets you keep from Jungkook is the fact that Jennie and you aren’t exactly friendly to each other. You don’t know why, maybe it’s the fact that you don’t run the in same friend group or you always win the debate in Civics class, but Jennie clearly expresses her dislike for you as easily as she expresses her love for Jungkook.

Which makes you incredibly insecure, but Jennie and Jungkook have been friends for longer than you and him have been together, who are you to intervene?

Jungkook slips in the driver’s seat, but not before pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek.

Right. You’re Jungkook’s girlfriend, and that should matter more than his friendship with Jennie.

But the smell of his freshly cleaned lacrosse jersey, his duffle bag overflowing with protein powder and unfinished assignments remind you that you have your world and he has his. A conversation about your insecurities could wait until tomorrow.

“When’s Jimin’s flight?” Jungkook asks, one hand on the steering wheel and the other tapping on your thigh as he pulls out.

“He’ll be back two hours into the dance,” you report, albeit glumly as you rest your head against the cool window.

“That sucks,” Jungkook replies, a bit of sadness in his tone, “he has to miss out on his prom night.”

You shrug, “Prom isn’t everything, it’s about the people you spend it with.”

“Well then,” he squeezes your thigh, “I’m glad I get to spend it with you.”

You only have a few hours to get ready until you meet Jungkook at his house for pictures, so when you get dropped off, you tell him that he doesn’t have to get out of the car to escort you into your home. But Jungkook is insistent, putting the car in park and getting out your dress for you with such delicacy that you’re positively sure there’s no wrinkles in the fabric. Taking the dress from his grasp you wish him goodbye and a promise to meet each other later.

“Wait,” Jungkook is biting his lip, unable to let go of your hand even though you’re already up the stairs. You’re looking down at him, a rarity considering his tall frame.

“What’s wrong, Kook?”

“Uh, I was just thinking,” he’s scratching the back of his head, and you soften. The little quirk he has is a sign of insecurity, being the star player Jungkook is forced to exude confidence to a fault. “Maybe, we could skip the prom thing? You said so yourself that prom is about the people you spend it with.”

Your eyes widen, clutching your dress tighter. “What? Jungkook, that’s ridiculous. Between the both of us we’ve spent a lot of money on the clothes and the tickets.”

“Right,” he forces a laugh, and you put a hand on your hip to think it out but you can’t quite place what’s going on. “Sorry Bun, I just know how the finale of our favorite anime airs tonight.”

“You’re so silly,” you chastise, reaching down to pinch his cheek. Normally he hates it, but you can’t help but melt when he leans into your touch a little more. “C’mon, I know suits are stuffy and stuff, but let’s just do this high school rite of passage thing. Afterwards we can go to McDonalds or something and watch the recording.”

“You’re right,” his face is red, “what was I thinking? Can’t miss out on a night to see my beautiful girlfriend all dressed up.”

He squeezes your hand one last time, a little too tight for comfort. With a half smile he waves, going into his car and driving off.

You don’t have time to dwell on his weirdness (and trust when you say that Jungkook is plenty weird and it astounds you how the rest of your class has no idea) so you fly up to your room to get your hair and makeup ready. Your parents greet you excitedly along the way, telling you there’s a package left for you on your vanity.

It’s a plain cardboard box, already cut and unwrapped by your parents for convenience. The address shows it came from Korea, proudly displaying the name of your best friend on the return address. Inside is a beautiful compact, made of brushed gold and pink metal. The makeup inside is a loose glitter from a brand that you don’t recognize, but since it’s a gift from Jimin, you trust his taste.

I have to be at prom somehow, Jimin’s note on the box reads, don’t overthink and have fun!

You snort, reading the sticky note over and over in Jimin’s voice. Looking over the shade, you can’t help but grimace at the cliché name. Wishing Dust. The color is a little too white and silvery for your taste, but you’ll wear it in honor of Jimin.

The dress, the hair, the makeup all come together little by little. You like the ritual of getting ready, building yourself up to the highest order and feeling closer and closer to the beautiful women in magazines. Surprisingly, your favorite part of getting ready is applying the glitter that Jimin gifted you. The puff enclosed is cloud soft, and surprisingly the color doesn’t look too ashen on your skin. The glitter sinks into your skin like a soft butter, accentuating your collarbones and cheeks as if you are glowing from within.

You smile at yourself in the mirror. A little part of you wishes you could look like this everyday. You wish you could always look and feel this confident, and act mature and graceful.

A buzzing on your desk stops your wishful thinking, and you frown at the message that lights up your phone.

Jungkook: sorry bun, but the civic finally broke down and its on its way to car heaven. Could we meet at the party hall instead? We can take pictures there, jennie mentioned yearbook hired a photographer

Disheartened, you send a quick text back saying it’s fine. Any more explanation on your feelings would reveal your disappointment. You don’t know how you’re going to tell your parents that they won’t be taking pictures with your boyfriend anytime soon. So you suck it in and take solo pictures for your parents and some group selfies. This is just one bump in the night, the rest of it should be smooth sailing.

But when your parents drop you off at the venue your eyes first land on a beat up Honda Civic. You’re pretty sure car heaven isn’t at the prom.

The rest of your entrance is a blur as you go through every corner of the venue, searching for your boyfriend. You’re clutching his matching flower in your hand, a beautiful red rose with baby’s breath circling around it, all clutched together in a black silk ribbon. You wonder what kind of flower he bought you.

But it’s nearly impossible to find him. Not at the photobooth, the appetizer buffet, or in the lobby. It’s not until you’re sweating at the brow and nearing the corner of the venue that you do find him.

Lips locked, kissing Jennie.

The plastic encasing Jungkook’s boutonniere drops, clanging to the ground.

Whispers of you circle the air, meeting your ears and confirming all your insecurities.

“Oh my god, I knew Jungkook was cheating on her!”

“Wow, how pathetic. She ran all the way to prom alone to see this?”

“I thought his girlfriend was a smart girl. How did she not know that their relationship was a bet all along?”

Jungkook and Jennie are on the balcony, looking picture perfect in matching formal attire and flowers. The sun is setting, not taking its time as it sinks deeper and deeper into the horizon. The sky darkens and the air is chilly, much like your heart.

Jungkook's eyes are wide and in shock as he watches you from the balcony, but Jennie’s are sharp and satisfied. Satisfied, as if the whole thing had been orchestrated.

While you can’t hear him because he’s so far away, you can see the ghost of your name on his lips. Your ears are ringing, numb to the laughter of the students watching and the pity that others are throwing at you. You feel dumb. You feel like throwing up. In a bout of anger your heel digs into the plastic of the boutonniere, crushing the innocent rose in its clear coffin.

You don’t make it far out the door when one of your favorite teachers snatches you in concern.

“Honey, any further and you’ll be running on the highway," Mrs. Song jokes, pulling you away from the entrance.

You feel like a newborn deer in your heels and incredibly heavy in your dress as Mrs. Song drags you over to a staff bathroom. It's far, far away from the actual party. Mrs. Song doesn't say anything, and just gives you a sad smile as she let's you go into the single stall alone.

Sitting on the toilet and not giving a care that your dress is probably getting soiled, you bury your face in your hands and finally let the tears flow. Fat, frustrated tears roll down your cheeks without a care in the world.

"Mrs. Song please, I need to get in there."

"Now Jungkook, I think you've done enough for today. Go back to the party and don't worry about it."

You can imagine Jungkook now, he hated it when people told him not to worry. It only made him more annoyed, fists probably clenched under his perfectly tailored suit and his cute teeth uncharacteristically gritted. He cared to a fault, at least you thought he did. He ruined your night, he made you feel so dumb and silly.

But the longer you stayed in the dim bathroom, you could care less. Thank goodness for Mrs. Song guarding the door. Why would he bother to follow you? It turns out all your insecurities are not in vain, and that you’ve been ignoring a gut feeling you’ve mistaken for your lack of trust. You shouldn’t have trusted Jungkook. You shouldn’t have been so tolerable of Jennie.

Goodness, you feel so stupid. You hope that there are other bathrooms for staff to use, because you want to coop yourself in here until the last dance. Mascara drips on your sleeves, your hands swiping at your cheeks to stop any tears from staining your dress even further.

The more you hear Jungkook and Mrs. Song argue, the more you want to disappear. You bury yourself on the floor, uncaring of how dirty the tiles are. Glitter smears across your cheeks and sticks to your hands, and you no longer feel like the thriving young adult you once felt when you walked out the door this evening.

All you can do is cry and pray you can get through the night. And the next day, and the rest of senior year. You don’t want to see Jungkook or Jennie until graduation, when they walk out of the door and permanently out of your life. You wish you could skip the rest of the semester, and fastforward to the life you’ve carved for yourself in your dreams since freshman year. You wish you could be like the woman on the magazine, who has her whole life put together. To be a woman who holds all the confidence in the world and doesn’t have to worry about stupid men.

Just like the cover. Thirty, flirty and thriving. Just like the models in the magazines. Twenty-seven and in heaven.

Just once, do you want to taste the feeling of having life on your side.

March 20st, 2021

Your first thought is that you feel disgusting.

Of course, falling asleep in a random bathroom stall will make you feel those things. Your dress clinging uncomfortably to your sweating form, lulled to the sounds of Mrs. Song’s temperamental voice and Jungkook’s arguing.

But for some reason it’s a different kind of disgusting. The feeling is rotting in your throat, as if there’s a tang stuck to the roof of your mouth. You also feel impossibly dehydrated, as if you’ve run a marathon. And for some reason you’re sore? Especially in the crotch, and you don’t remember experiencing any cramps yesterday.

Your hands come to your body, and instead of feeling tulle and taffeta your hands are greeted with a silky black negligee that hangs across your waist. Panic stings in your bones like a stroke of lightning.

Eyes snapping open, your breath catches in your throat when you take in the room. You’re on a large plush creme couch, large enough to be a bed. The organza curtains are a shade of bottle green and are opened slightly to let the morning sun in. From your view it seems like this is the top floor of the complex, overlooking the city horizon.

You feel the covers shift slightly, and you realize there’s a naked man sleeping next to you. You scream.

The man screams back with an even higher pitch, falling off the couch and clutching the sheets like a lifeline. “What?” he panics, eyes darting back and forth across the room like he’s on a reality television show. “What the fuck? Is there something on my face! Why are you screaming so early!”

The fact that he’s an adult man and you’re seventeen is even more terrifying, and you feel absolutely naked despite the fact that you’re nearly clothed. But what confuses you more is that this man looks awfully familiar.

Familiar in the sense that you’ve seen him in one too many television sitcoms to count. This man in front of you looks like Kim Seokjin, the protagonist of your favorite television show: Sky City. He has the same plump lips and pretty face, only aged up. But last time you checked on Soompi, Seokjin is supposed to be twenty years old and filming the next season in New Zealand. Arguably he could be his older brother, but he never acted and you don’t think he’d be the spitting image.

“Seokjin?” you taste the name on your tongue, “Kim Seokjin?”

Seokjin relaxes considerably, and he finds it appropriate to return to the couch, placing a tentative hand on your thigh. “Right, were you really that drunk? You got my name right, but it seems that you’ve forgotten that the only name you called me last night was sex god…”

His plush lips meet the ends of your earlobe, and you squeal at the strange sensation.

You’ve had sex with this man and you can’t even remember it? Furthermore how can a peasant like you be in contact with a celebrity? What on earth happened last night? Shouldn’t you be calling the police or panicking more? Where’s the pepper spray and sharp knives where you need them? You can’t even find it in you to find a sharp weapon at your once cherished-idol, who’s apparently unfazed and drinking in your body like he has a taste of it every night.

“What’s the date?” you push him away, looking around for any signs of where you are and how you ended up here.

“It’s the first day of spring,” Seokjin says easily, stretching out on the couch. “I wonder when the cherry blossoms will bloom. Should we have a picnic with Bogum?”

“Where’s my phone, I can’t find my phone!”

Seokjin doesn’t bat an eye as he digs through the couch, pulling something from under him. He waves it in front of your face. “That’s not my phone,” you deadpan.

“Okay I guess you were actually that drunk,” Seokjin rolls his eyes, forcing the large piece of plastic and metal on your palm. “When you went to the bathroom last night you dropped your old phone in the toilet. We picked up a new one on the way to the next bar. Good thing the new Samsung dropped last month!”

Since when are phones this large? You carry the strange weight in your hands, confused as to why Seokjin thinks this is your phone. You own a beat up 2G that barely gets any reception in the school basement. But when you turn it on, the screen recognizes your face immediately and unlocks. Wow, since when do cell phones do face recognition?

A selfie of you and Seokjin appears on the homescreen, looking totally happy.

Is that you?

No longer do you have acne lining your brows, or uneven skin texture. Your smile is high and prominent. Your visage is clean and done with minimal makeup, highlighting your beauty.

The date flickers on the top of the screen. March 20th, 2021: 7:42AM.

You scream again. Seokjin screams again for the heck of it.

“How did this happen!” you shriek, dropping your phone to step up to the window. You bask in your reflection, mildly impressed and even more so afraid of what’s in front of you. Your body has filled out like an adult, and considering it’s ten years into the future, other things have filled out as well. Experimentally, your hands go out to your chest, squeezing. Yep, those knockers were not there the last time you checked.

“Well, you came back from work completely drained from a shoot and I just finished filming my Everyday Skincare Routine video with Vogue,” Seokjin comes up to you, blanket tied around his waist like a long towel. “We met at our usual bar and do what we usually do when we’re both stressed: bang it out.”

You watch as Seokjin’s hands snake around your slick silk, hugging you from behind like it’s second nature. “Is this a dream?” you ask yourself, because it’s not unlikely that you’ve had a sex dream with Seokjin and this is the aftermath dream.

“Nope,” you yelp when Seokjin pinches your butt, hard. It stings. “This is real life, baby.”

“Are we dating?”

You feel Seokjin’s grip tense, and he shoves your innocent question away with a coarse laugh. “You know both you and me don’t do serious relationships. It’s why we work so well together, you know that.”

“Right,” you reply softly. That doesn’t sound like you at all, and it scares you considerably.

“So, I gotta go,” you panic when he lets go and starts searching around for his clothes. Your face heats up at Seokjin’s perky ass staring back at you, and your eyes dart to a random spot in the corner. “I got a green meeting with Ellen, and lord knows I don’t wanna face her wrath if I’m late.”

In seconds he’s fully clothed in a plain shirt and jeans, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Call me beep me, if you wanna reach me,” he sings, throwing a wave over his shoulder as he leaves you in the large apartment.

The door slams with a hard smack and that’s when you collapse on the couch that feels foreign and strange, breaking into tears.

The next time you wake up, it’s the next day. It’s a glaringly bright Sunday and for whatever reason you’re still in this aged-up body. Maybe time travel makes the body really tired. This isn’t a dream. You panic for the second time, walking back and forth around the loft that’s apparently yours. It seems like it’s yours, because the bills that linger on the coffee table have your name and the pictures in the one bedroom are of you and your family.

But the refrigerator in the nook is digital and has fancy ice settings, something you could never imagine owning. Your closet is filled with brand named suits, and with every designer label you pass you mentally rack up the total of just one section. It’s enough to pay for your college tuition if your first choice accepts you.

Wait. You’re apparently twenty-seven, college is long gone.

Lying in your bed feels better, surrounded by familiar pictures of your cousins and family. Your favorite snacks are tucked with care in your nightstand, and it makes you feel a tiny bit better knowing that your favorite chocolate and chips will never change.

What happened in the past ten years? Why don’t you remember anything and are you entirely sure this isn’t some strange fever dream?

Time ticks slowly as you spend the afternoon, glued to your phone. It’s a 25 Note+ and it’s filled with multiple doohickeys and settings that make you feel technologically inept. You never thought you were bad with technology, but clearly these phones have a learning curve attached to them.

You try to call your family, but according to the voicemail left they’re on a Disney cruise that you paid for. Your heart aches at the excited voice of your parents. Why are they on a vacation without you?

The next thing you aim for is finding Jimin’s contact. According to Google Maps, you’re not far from your hometown and you know that Jimin’s always wanted to move to the city so he must be nearby. To your chagrin, his name isn’t on your contact list. Strange, he’s always number two on speed dial.

Clicking on the internet browser, you go to the online Whitepages and search up Park Jimin. There may be a million ones, but maybe you could get a lead. When a picture and an address show up easily with one swipe, you scoff. The internet has no room for privacy ten years later, huh?

The most casual thing you own in your closet is a Free People dress, reaching mid-calf with flowing bell sleeves. Heck, you couldn’t even find a single pair of jeans. You don’t care however, as you swipe your keys from the counter (you gape, you own a Tesla?) and race down to the parking garage.

Jimin’s apartment is on the other side of the city. It’s strange, transitioning from high rises and shiny windows to quaint brick walls and lived-in patio spaces. You feel like it’s a race against time as you make it all the way to his room, knocking feverishly on the mahogany red door.

“What? Who is it?” it’s clear that his room is cheap, the walls thin as you hear his voice shuffle throughout the room. Why are you shaking? It’s just your best friend.

The door swings open and you and Jimin drink each other in. His baby fat has melted from his cheeks, revealing a handsome and charming jawline. His hair is no longer a natural black, but has been dyed to a sandy blond that suits his tan. His eyes, wide in surprise, are still a soft brown but not as bright as when he was seventeen.

“Jimin,” your third round of tears hits you like a truck at the sight of your best friend, and you immediately run into his arms.

But he doesn’t hug you back immediately. In fact, he doesn’t know what to do at all. Your name rolls off his lips like he’s seen a ghost.

You pull away, as if you are burned. You flinch at the way Jimin regards you. “Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know,” he looks at you, crossing his arms, “I don’t know what to feel when your old best friend suddenly shows up at your doorstep after ten years.”

What?

“Why would I do that?” you whisper, bracing your hand against the doorframe to steady yourself.

“Well, after graduation you chose a college at the last minute. Decided to go to a prestigious fashion university in Europe. Shacked it up with some British guys and well, forgot about your past but I guess I can’t blame you.”

“But I couldn’t have left you,” you know you’re not even talking to Jimin, but in fact scolding yourself for being so stupid these past ten years. “I was crying for you that night at prom. All I wanted was for you to be there and hold me!”

That strikes a cord. Jimin pops his head into the hallway, looking back and forth to see if anyone is watching. He sighs when your tears turn into sobs, shaking your form. “Come in,” he mutters, ushering you inside.

Jimin’s apartment feels more like home than your apartment does. Cosy and warm with the scent of jasmine brewing on the stove. The pour of tea soothes you slightly as you relax on the worn leather couch.

Jimin hands you a mug, sitting opposite you against the rickety living room table. “Are you okay?” he asks, showing genuine concern for the first time.

“I’m,” you roll the muddy liquid in your grasp, watching the tea leaves tumble. “I just came back from the hospital, actually. Hit my head drinking last night and I’m suffering from memory loss,” you clutch your head for good measure, feigning injury.

“Memory loss?” he gapes, unable to see through your lie.

“Yeah uh,” you wince, “almost ten years of memory loss.”

Jimin isn’t a man who thinks ahead, preferring to live in the moment. You figure he’s not going to question your excuse. Your former best friend nearly drops his tea in the process, hot drops burning his hand. He hisses, placing the plain mug on the table as he goes to his shelves, pulling out your class yearbook.

“Ten years,” he shakes his head, looking like he’s just stepped into a Korean drama. “Is that even possible?”

“Must be,” you sigh, not wanting to delve into the details of how you ended up in the future, “the first thing I did when I woke up was scream my head off. Then I woke up later and the first person I called were my parents who didn’t pick up, and then I wanted to call you but,” you squeeze the cup in your hands, “I couldn’t find your contact so I searched you up.”

“Should we call the hospital or something? Maybe you shouldn’t be walking around like this.”

“Don’t worry, they said the memory loss is only temporary,” you force a smile, knocking your head lightly with the heel of your palm, “I just gotta y’know, catch up a little bit. I thought you could help.”

Jimin is patient, albeit a little nervous, watching carefully as your eyes glaze emptily over the old yearbook. You’re unfazed at the familiar faces and events that are described to you in detail, unable to recall what happened during the events that followed graduation. There’s barely any pictures of you, so it doesn’t help when he tries to explain as much as he can.

You stop him at the sports section, pointing a finger at Jungkook being carried by his fellow teammates during the lacrosse championships. “What happened to Jungkook?”

Jimin shrugged, “Blew his sports scholarship,” your eyebrows float to the top of your forehead, appalled that your former love would do such a thing, “decided to pursue his passion and went to an art school for a degree in photography.”

So much has changed in the past ten years.

“Hey, can you please stop crying?”

“I’m sorry,” you warble, wiping at your sleeve as if the fabric didn’t cost hundreds of dollars, “I must be making you so uncomfortable by barging in. I’ll get out of your life—”

“No, not that. I just don’t like seeing you cry,” Jimin sighs, squeezing your knee, “of course I was upset when you suddenly upped and left town to study in another continent. But I was still happy for you. On the internet you seemed tons happier since highschool.”

“I can say that’s no longer the case,” you mutter sadly, taking a long drag of your tea. The burn flows down your throat, digging you to reality, “I guess I just woke up and wasn’t prepared to be the person I ended up being.”

“Well, what can your former best friend do to make it better?”

Your eyes widen at Jimin’s uneasy stare, as if he’s wondering whether he said the right thing or not.

“Um,” you bite your lip, “will you go shopping with me? I realized I don’t own any sweatpants or sneakers and I would really like to wear something comfortable right now,” you look despondently on your uncomfortable dress, swinging around the sleeves that seem to snag onto everything.

“Okay,” he nods easily, “will you also buy me new sweatpants and sneakers? And dinner? I really want a New York Strip.”

“What?” you furrow your brows, “can I afford that?”

He chuckles to himself, pulling you up and wiping the tears on your face with a tissue from his pocket. You don’t even care to ask whether the tissue is clean, only focusing on the tender gesture that you’ve missed so much.

“Honey, you’re one of the co-editors of Ego. I’m sure a couple pairs of sweatpants and steak will barely make a dent in your bank account.”

You’re flabbergasted. Ego? The fashion magazine that’s on billboards and commercials? That Ego?

After a couple checks through your bank account, and a triple check with a phone call and trip to the ATM, you’re sure the money is yours. It scares you, but also comforts you knowing that you’ve always been able to make it big.

You barely bat an eye as Jimin tugs you around the city with a familiarity that has you reeling. You struggle to remember the streets you pass and the signs that indicate what part of town you’re in, all whilst Jimin basks in the fruits of your labor. You don’t give a shit, obviously. It makes you happy seeing Jimin slowly melt and grow more comfortable throughout the day.

This is the kind of life you envisioned. One where comfort isn’t discarded for luxury, where the two cultures can marry. Jimin busts a gut when he sees you angrily shove your Free People dress deep in your shopping bags in favor of a black Adidas tracksuit that makes you feel like a soccer mom. Of course, he doesn’t know why you’re so aggressive with all your luxurious items, heck you even make him drive your Tesla, but nevertheless each passing hour brightens you up considerably.

When you two arrive at a fancy steakhouse with a dress code, the manager doesn’t hesitate to chide you and suggest the Applebee’s down the street.

You retort back that you’re an editor of Ego, and in seconds you’d have this restaurant swarmed with bad reviews. You know nothing about culinary review but you’re sure the manager doesn’t know that, and no arguments are placed after that.

The evening puts you in higher spirits, and you’re almost convinced that you’re a successful twenty-something catching up with your former best friend. You’ve always been mature for your age, high school can do that to a person, and it makes it vastly easier to keep up with the new decade.

“So,” you help Jimin get his bags up into his apartment. A little part of it feels like a bribe as you carry all the name brands on your arms, but you chalk it up to being compensation for the last ten years, “who are the people you hang out with now? Anyone I know?”

“Well, Taehyung sometimes drops by if he’s free. He’s traveling the world now, he actually works with you,” Jimin provides the information smoothly, “only he works in the international business column. But surprisingly, the person I hang out the most with is—”

“Jungkook.”

Standing face-to-face with your old high school sweetheart disarms you, and you’re sorely reminded that just you’re a seventeen-year-old in a twenty-seven-year-old’s body.

Jungkook looks tired, and he rubs his eyes a bit as if to make sure he isn’t dreaming. You in the flesh, looking purposeful and confident as you hold three bags on each arm, each piece probably costing more than his rent. He’s filled out, what once was lean muscle and minor definition has turned into full muscle mass hidden beneath a large t-shirt and sweatpants that are two sizes too big. His face is still sweet-looking and baby-like, but his hair is overgrown and waving in front of his eyes without a care in the world.

“Did I mention we’re neighbors?” you can practically hear the wince in Jimin’s voice, probably regretting that he hid that chunk of information from you.

Jungkook tastes his name on your lips, and it sounds foriegn and strange coming from the both of you. “Good to see you,” he says, voice low.

You barely formulate a response, replying with an equally nervous “right back at ya” and then you two resume staring at each other. While Jungkook hasn’t seen you in the last ten years, you saw him yesterday. Yesterday, where you started the day all peachy keen and it spiraled downhill shortly after. It’s jarring, knowing that your body doesn’t fit your conscience.

“Well I uh,” Jungkook lifts his indicator to leave, a large garbage bag, “bye.”

Jungkook shuffles out of the small hallway, and you get a whiff of his scent. It’s still the same, fabric softener mixed with his own musk.

“I,” you start off slow, “maybe I should go talk to him?”

“No,” he warns. “You and Jungkook are completely different people now, he’s just gonna think you’re pitying him if you go up and talk to him out of the blue.”

“But we’ve always been different people.”

“You really think that?” Jimin shakes his head, “I know what happened at prom was rough but, I really didn’t think much of your relationship with Jungkook before that. It seemed like you were pretty compatible—”

“Up until the point he was kissing Jennie in matching flowers on the balcony like some kind of romance film?” you scoff, crossing your arms, “right. Super compatible.”

Jimin sighs, as if he’s chastising a teenager. “Prom happened ten years ago, don’t act like it happened yesterday. People change.”

You frown, because in your mind it did happen yesterday.

Sleeping last night was hell. It’s one thing to be completely zonked out of your mind and unsure if you’re in a dream or weird coma, but knowing that you’re going to be stuck here for awhile is painful. Your loft is too big for your tiny body, your mattress cold and empty with just you in it. Without your parents to call and you feeling wholly insecure about your rekindling with Jimin, the only person you can really call is… Seokjin.

And you really don’t want a repeat of your first night.

So you suck it up, spend your waking hours in your office and quickly learning your tasks for work. You don’t even know what time you’re supposed to clock in, but from a sticky note attached to your MacBook it seems that you have a creative meeting at 10AM. You allow yourself two hours of sleep before you get moving.

The one exciting thing about your morning is that your outfit choices are virtually limitless. You feel like Cher in Clueless, all your outfits color-coordinated and organized by season. You pick out a springy Chanel number, a pale pink tweed skirt suit that has you feeling equally parts cute and an independent working woman. You even make time to buy yourself a coffee, because that’s what adults do right?

Your office is gorgeous. Also located in the upper part of the city, the glass desk and high windows fit right in. You have an ideas board filled with various designs, fabrics and models to choose from. There’s a little frilly notebook straight out of the 2000s, all filled with phone numbers and special contacts all at your disposal. You even have your own cold press coffee machine complete with a mini-fridge.

“You’re never this early, nervous for the meeting?”

You squeal, nearly dropping your coffee as you take a tour around your office. You fight the urge to gape and point accusingly at the woman standing at your door.

“Jennie?”

“In the flesh,” she gives you a cool smirk, holding her arms out for a hug. It really throws you for a loop, and you’re left stricken in your spot as Jennie closes the gap and squeezes the life out of you. Her grey pinstripe pantsuit crumples against your softer fabric. “You know you can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Jennie and you are practically besties,” Jimin sounds a little jealous while saying that, forcing you to scroll through your Instagram page to see the countless selfies of you and your high school rival, “I mean, at least that’s what the internet says. Went to college in Europe together and everything.”

So it’s true. You awkwardly pat Jennie on the back, and she doesn’t seem to mind when she pulls away and tells you to meet upstairs. You mindlessly follow after her to the conference room, wishing a kind good morning to everyone that greets you.

Once you make it upstairs, you flinch at the loud screech of your voice. “My favorite editor!” someone in a plaid red suit runs up to you and throws an arm around your shoulders. The editor-in-chief Jung Hoseok smiles brightly at you, leading you to a seat at the head of the table right next to him. You’re cosy with the editor-in-chief? This is crazy!

“G-good morning Mr. Jung,” you stutter, trying to remain cool.

“Did something happen to you this weekend?” Hoseok jests, pinching your cheek like a long lost sister. “You always call me Hobi.”

“Oh,” you force a giggle, “you don’t even know how crazy this weekend was.”

Hoseok simply laughs and gets himself settled for the meeting.

“I’m so jealous,” Jennie sing-songs, a manicured finger trailing over the back of your chair, “only the best of the best can sit next to the big boss.”

The comment has you bristling. Are you really friends? Giving her a tight smile, she saunters to another corner of the meeting. On your section of the table is your itinerary and iPad, ready for note-taking.

“One thing that we do at Ego is consistency,” Hoseok pulls up a projection of this year’s editions, all carbon copies of the same cover. “And while that is admirable, I want to put my top editors to the test and come up with the theme for next month’s issue.”

Hoseok sends you yet another pearly white smile, and due to the sheer closeness you know that secret smile is only reserved for you. That makes you squirm in your seat, already feeling the pressure building in the pit of your stomach.

“Take two days off this week to plan. Work out the days you’ll be out of the office with HR, those days you’ll be working in the city, finding ideas and inspiration for the issue. Remember, think outside the box!” Hoseok does a little fist pump, cutting through the air like his life depends on it.

The whole lot of the group continues to stare at Hoseok, waiting for his next instructions. Then, the adults begin to panic, similar to a high school class that’s been told they have a pop quiz that’s worth half their grade. You sigh internally, you suppose high school never ends.

“C’mon,” Hoseok urges, flailing his arms around, “get out there! Make moves, make money!”

But the only moves you’ve made since 2PM are fleeting trips to the bathroom.

Obviously you don’t have any memory of your degree or experience, so instead of feeling like an editor you feel more like a teenager playing dress-up. You couldn’t even sneakily ask Jennie for help because she deadpanned: “I’m not sharing any secrets, doll.” It seems that being backhandedly mean is a theme in your relationship, so after that you rolled your eyes and locked your door. Thankfully you packed a pair of sweatpants so you can comfortably lie down on the floor while you spread out your workspace. Magazines littered the hardwood, all sultry and sexy looking models staring back at you with the same half-lidded stare and overdone makeup.

It makes you cringe, thinking back to the other day when you were jealous of these people. Now that you have this life, thriving and full of beauty, is that the only thing you want to show to your audience? How can they possibly relate to models who make triple their salary? What about the authenticity? The ingenuity?

And that’s when it hits you.

Scrambling to your computer, you search up a photographer that you know will be completely and utterly transparent.

My Time Studios: Capturing the raw moment.

You know exactly what you want for next month’s issue.

Jungkook does not expect to see you through the peephole of his apartment, fiddling with the threads of your clothes and eyes glued to the ground. He mutters a curse under his breath, jamming his fingers between the metal double lock to swing his head out. He doesn’t even bother to open up all the way, just enough to stick his face out.

“Jungkook, hi!” he still can’t believe you’re around. Jungkook winces at your tone, high and sounding like a teenager. He thought by now you’d be traveling the world, climbing to bigger and better things. Then again, the upper part of the city is certainly an upgrade. He just thought you’d want to be far, far away from him. “I b-brought you McDonalds.”

You hold up a greasy bag of fast food, and his nose immediately responds to the smell of fresh fries and a quarter pounder (with cheese, of course.) It annoys him that you still know his weakness, but he isn’t going to go that easily.

“Why are you here?” he asks a little too sharply, hands gripping the doorknob.

“I wanted to offer you a job,” you get straight to the point, as if you know your time at his doorstep is limited.

He scoffs, “You? Want to put my photos on Ego? You know my business extends to weddings and the occasional Bar Mitzvah. Why would you want me?”

You frown, crossing your arms. He looks down at your attire, a nicely fitted suit on top, but the skirt is replaced with grey sweatpants. Comical, really. “I’ve always loved your photos,” you admit to him, “you know that. And they’ve gotten so much better since then.”

The furrow between Jungkook’s brows softens a fraction, smoothed by the honesty in your voice. You’re right, you always made sure to tell Jungkook how much you loved his other talents. Namely, the photography, and sometimes his singing. He can still remember how easily you slept in his arms watching Sky City for hours, all at the melody of your favorite song. While his teachers and classmates loved to venerate his position on the team and his ability to garner attention, you encouraged him to work on the things that mattered to him the most, even in secret.

Nevertheless, that was ten years ago.

“I don’t need your charity,” he spits, “Jimin might be able to be bought by some designer clothes and an eighty dollar steak, but not me.”

The pain in your gaze is glaringly evident, and you don’t even try to hide that you’re upset as the paper bag falls against your lap. If there’s one thing Jungkook knows he’s good at, is hurting your feelings.

“You think this is charity?” you whisper, hurt delicately lacing your voice.

“Are you kidding? Last month you got Xu Minghao to photograph your spread for Ego. He’s photographed the damn Queen of England,” if you notice that he’s babbling about reading your magazine, you don’t show it in your face, “the point is, I don’t understand why you’re trying to come into my life again. I don’t want to get involved in your fancy dinner galas or anyone else from high school. So please, just go back to your picture perfect life.”

And without another qualm he slams the door in your face, effectively shutting you out. It doesn’t feel as good as he wants it to feel, clearly. He feels even shitter than before. His eyes glaze over to his rickety coffee table, cluttered with bills and credit card payments that should’ve been dealt with a long time ago.

He slugs himself over to his couch, throwing his body over the couch that’s way too short. His legs dangle in mid-air, but it doesn’t stop him from throwing an arm over his eyes to block out the sunset. The bills can wait a little longer. Seeing you was too draining.

The nap turns into a full-fledged night’s sleep, and by the time he wakes up the sky is dark and it’s the start of a new day. 12:08, the screen of his iPhone confirms. Feeling even crustier and worse than before, his stomach decides to harden the blow and go straight for the gut. He’s sorely reminded of the food you offered him hours ago.

Quickly pulling on a large denim jacket, he grabs his keys and heads for the 7-Eleven down the park. Nothing like a frozen pizza to fill the gut, fast and cheap. Despite the fact that it’s dark and late, there're still some stray people in the park. A few homeless, some high school stoners who are meeting in secret, and you are typing away on your MacBook.

Wait, what?

You’re sitting on a bench in the park, typing away without a care in the world. Shoving soggy fries that he earlier refused in your mouth, you let a couple stray potatoes hang from your lips as your eyes succumb to the screen. You look positively silly, still in a pink blazer and baggy sweatpants.

He must have been staring a little too long, because soon enough you turn your head, gasping at his figure. You quickly avert your eyes, but don’t make any move to leave the park. That interests him further.

Shamelessly, he calls your name. His legs get to you in an instant, towering over your tiny figure.

“What are you doing here?”

“Uh, I’m waiting for Jimin,” your eyes flicker to your open laptop, “and working.”

At least one of those reasons is a lie. Last time he checked, Jimin always sleeps over at Yoongi’s house on this day. He knows it’s a lie, and you know he knows it’s a lie, but neither of you make the effort to correct it.

“And what could you possibly be working on at 12AM?”

“Finding a photographer,” you hunch over your laptop, avoiding eye contact. “I don’t have much time and none of my usual contacts are good enough. This project is… personal.”

It makes him want to ask further, he can’t lie and say he isn’t intrigued in the kind of vision you’re going for in your next issue. “But why can’t you work at home?”

“Don’t wanna go,” you reply casually, “it makes me feel lonely.”

Lonely? You feel lonely? He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated at the display of nonchalance. Back in high school he always encouraged you to feel confident, but not like this. “Hey, it’s nice that you feel comfortable enough to chill in the park at 12AM, but it’s really dumb. You’re lucky you haven’t gotten mugged from all that money you’re carrying around!” he gestures to your fancy clothes and laptop, “and if you feel so lonely, call up one of your rich friends I’m sure they’ll—”

“Oh my god, Jungkook,” you slam your laptop shut, darkening the two of you. “I thought you wanted me to go back to my ‘picture perfect life’, so why do you care?” you get up in his face, standing on the bench so you’re nearly eye-to-eye, “why don’t you pester those kids over there? Tell them to drink their milk and go home,” you scoff, shoving your stuff in your bag. You don’t spare him another glance as you stalk off in the other direction.

He groans, unable to untangle himself from the mess, “Where are you going?”

“To a park where you’re not in!”

Despite the exchange for sweatpants, you’re still wearing shoes not fit for walking. They’re little white pumps, not too tall but not remarkably comfy either. However, that doesn’t deter you from getting the heck out of there, seemingly walking in any possible direction to get away from Jungkook.

“You’re being ridiculous,” he chastises once his hand clasps around your hand, pulling you around.

There’s a little resistance, as you try to hide your face to no avail. Jungkook fumbles a little, not thinking you’d be crying. But tiny, shy tears are pooling around your eyes, looking flustered at your display of emotion.

“God,” you mutter to yourself, “I feel like such a kid.”

That strikes a chord in the twenty-something man. The last time he saw you in the flesh was when you were both kids. Young, unbridled, and stupid. Well, only Jungkook was the stupid one.

“Do you want me to take you home?” Jungkook offers, feeling guilty about his roughness.

You shake your head. “No, I told you I don’t want to.”

“Can I at least call you a cab? Or a friend so you won’t get lonely?”

“Jungkook, if I had that option would you think I’d be here right now?” he’s trying, he really is. But you’re equally as miffed about this whole situation and at a loss. The two of you engage in a staring contest. It only takes a few seconds for you to crumble, and he frowns when you shiver in your thin blazer.

Instantly, he rips off his jacket, pulling it over your body. It’s huge on you, swallowing your body and hopefully containing some of his residual heat.

And finally, he relents. “If you want, I’ll come over and stay until you fall asleep.”

“Okay,” your eyes widen in instant agreement, pulling something out of your pocket. “Will you drive?”

His eyes widen at the shiny, minimalistic car key. Your sudden one-eighty has him second guessing his decision. “You drive a Tesla?” he gapes, taking your key like he’s holding the Hope Diamond.

You got your license in February. One month ago, and only because the instructor felt pity on you since it was your second time retaking it. The fancy car terrifies you, and you’re sure Jungkook has much more experience driving (over ten years worth.)

You shrug, “Not very good at driving. Haven’t had much practice.”

“Um, the car drives itself?”

“It does?” you tilt your head, dazed, “wow, technology is amazing.”

He shakes his head, putting a hand on your back so you can lead the way. You must be tired, because it seems like your head isn’t entirely there anymore. He takes charge, buckles you in and takes a couple minutes to fumble with the car settings. Nevertheless the drive home is smooth (and it takes all of Jungkook’s willpower to not squeal in excitement when the Tesla does in fact, drive itself.)

You lead him inside your loft like a tiny zombie, throwing your shoes to one corner and throwing your jacket on the kitchen table.

“Must be hungry,” you can’t even form complete sentences, “there’s food in the fridge, Kook. Sorry if it’s not to your taste.”

Shuffling away to your room, Jungkook is left to gawk at your apartment. The baseboards of your walls are crusted in pretty pearl designs, swirling around the whole expanse. There’s a television that stretches the wall of the little living room, with a sound and video game system he’s only seen in movies. Your tables are meters and meters of granite, and he wonders how the floor of your apartment can hold all this weight.

But he supposes it’s because there’s nothing much to hold. No pictures line the walls, only vague looking art to fill up blank space. There’s no touch of warmth despite the heating system under the floor that relaxes his toes. For such a big home, he can only imagine how small you must feel in it.

Your fridge is just as empty, decorated with a couple of sad-looking salads and some protein shakes. He sighs, grabbing two chicken salads and a banana shake and bringing it to your coffee table. It’s a little two quiet for his liking, so he turns on the television real low just to make the room feel a bit fuller.

Halfway through one salad he realizes he probably should’ve made you eat as well. Even though these salads aren’t remotely filling, they’re much healthier than some soggy fries. A piece of limp lettuce hangs from Jungkook’s mouth, suddenly feeling guilty for soaking up all of your amenities without inviting you. After all, it is your house. Wiping some sauce from his lips he dusts off his pants, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he makes his way to your room.

Calling your name, the only reply is the whir of the heater. He only cracks the door a tad, but he sees you slumped against the edge of the bed, bare feet hanging from the end. You barely made it, your clothes strewn across the floor, an oversized t-shirt ruched across your barely covered thighs. Without a thought he quickly scrambles to move you closer to your pillows, and then wraps your body in your plush duvet. You’re out like a light.

You’re sleeping, so Jungkook should go home. That’s what you two agreed to. He goes back to his late dinner (early breakfast?) mindlessly listening to an infomercial on rare dollar coins. He’ll leave after he eats.

He didn’t leave.

Jungkook awakes to a scream, your shrill voice echoing all the way down the hallway into your living room. It takes a second for him to register the empty white walls and the fact that he’s not in his apartment, but eventually it goes back to the point that you’re in distress. He jolts, scrambling off the couch to run to your bedroom.

“What is it?” he exhales into your doorframe, socks sliding.

Your hair is in a disarray, shirt rumpled and face scrunched in pain. You shove your phone in his face. “Since when did Iron Man die!” you cry, genuinely horrified at whatever entertainment article you’re reading.

He slumps against the wall, running a hand over his dry face. “Since Endgame, obviously. That was literally two years ago. Is that why you woke me up?”

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t know!”

“Have you been living under a rock or something?”

“Or something,” you frown, throwing your phone across your bed, “I guess I should go get ready for work.”

Jungkook watches as you shamelessly hop off your bed, uncaring that your shirt has ridden up, revealing the full expanse of your thighs and then some. You pull out a pair of sweats from a shopping bag, nicking off the tag to put them on your legs.

“Do you have work?” you ask casually.

“Uh, no,” Jungkook coughs, crossing his arms. It’s been awhile since he’s had a solid gig. Two whole weeks have been spent doing more personal work which was fine, but at the same time his bank account could beg to differ. “I’m off today.”

“Oh, alright,” you shrug, “do you know where I can buy a good camera?”

“Why?”

“Gonna go take pictures,” you snatch your wallet and keys from your bedside, stuffing it in a fanny pack. He watches you curiously as you zip your bag shut, muttering something about how you can’t believe that fanny packs are back in style. Swinging the strap over your back, you brush past him. “You can stay if you want,” you add pointedly, before you slip into the bathroom.

Jungkook doesn’t understand as to why he’s slipping into sensory overload. The house is a shell of itself and the antithesis of a rainbow. Maybe it’s the fact that he woke up ten minutes ago or how you look completely peaceful and want to leave as soon as you wake up. Or how shocked you were that Iron Man has passed and you’ve completely missed Phase 3. Or that you’re not even thinking about breakfast or not wishing him a farewell, practically throwing him into your apartment like a second home.

He wobbles back to the couch, trying to look as nonchalant as possible as he drapes the fuzzy blankets over his body. He flips through the channels, before finally settling on an old episode of Sky City.

When you walk out into the living room, you scrunch your face in pain when you make eye contact with Kim Seokjin’s on screen appearance. Oh, how things change. Jungkook knew how much you loved watching Sky City, indulging in the protagonist's attractiveness.

“Y’know,” Jungkook says over his shoulder, “if you leave me here, I could steal whatever I want.”

“Go ahead,” you reply flippantly, already slipping on your sneakers. “There’s nothing of value here.”

What is wrong with you?

“Wait!” Jungkook throws all his pride at the window, unable to conceal his worry for you. Half your body is out the doorway, and you’re looking at him like he’s grown a second head. His voice takes up the entirety of the room, startling you. “I need to come with you,” he finally settles on, looking serious. “You’re going to buy the wrong camera.”

“Okay,” you concede immediately, throwing the keys on the couch, “you drive.”

Jungkook must know something’s wrong with you.

You don’t know how to act around him. Your heart is hurt and your body is a decade older than it was a week ago and everything in your life and mind is a complete wreck. It still aches to look at him, despite the fact that you want him around, all the time. You wish you could know a little more about your adult life, you feel like a proverbial Bambi sitting in a car worth more than your childhood home. It’s a wobbly, shaky road to adulthood, and you’re not having it.

Jungkook sleeping over is the last thing you thought would happen last night. You didn’t even think he’d relent to coming to your house, since he was pretty hellbent on not being your photographer.

But now he’s driving your Tesla again, after you instructed him to park the car where you parked it last time. That way, you can go back to the playground you were in the night before. You have a vision for the issue and it starts there. Fiddling around with the expensive camera Jungkook picked out, you feel his gaze burning into your shoulder.

“Am I doing something wrong?” you ask archly, “I read the manual and everything. Or are you just being a perfectionist again?”

“What’s wrong with being a perfectionist?” Jungkook shoots back, putting the car in park. As soon as the car stills in the parking lot, he grabs the camera from your grasp like a petulant child. “I’m just trying to make sure you don’t break it. Face it, you’re terrible at technology.”

“Excuse me! I have a Samsung 25+ and a Tesla!”

“Yeah? So why did I catch you struggling to use your pay feature on your phone when we grabbed coffee?”

“It’s new,” you mutter under your breath. Everything is new to you.

With a growl you snatch back the camera, and Jungkook for once doesn’t act like a baby with a sharing complex and relents. Of course, Jungkook manages to calibrate the camera and figure out the color balance before you could. This only annoys you further, wondering why Jungkook is still sticking around after all this time.

“Alright,” you step out of the car, slinging the camera around your neck. “Thanks for driving me around, your apartment’s just down the street, right?” You dart your hand out, and Jungkook reluctantly hands over your key beeper. Maybe it’s because he seems to love the car so much, that he has a hard time giving it back. “I’ll see you around.”

“Wait,” is that his word of the day? Wait wait wait.

“What is it now, Jungkook?”

He’s never seen you so full of negative emotions. You’ve been waiting for him to tire of you all day, from your clipped replies and unease ever since you two stepped out of your apartment.

“Um,” he looks embarrassed, scratching the back of his head, “are you really going to take pictures? You always took really blurry pictures in high school.”

The mention of high school has you icy, gripping the matte black digital camera to hold your feelings at bay. “Yes, I’m going to go take pictures because the photographer I wanted so rudely rejected me,” you revel in the way he shrinks, probably regretful already. “So if you’ll excuse me, I have a deadline.”

He continues to follow you, all the way to the park. You make your way to a little garden, and start to take some test photos next to the little daisies that decorate the patch of dirt. You practically feel Jungkook breathing down your neck, feeling antsy everytime you click the shutter. Ignoring him is difficult, especially when he makes little noises of discomfort when you presumably do something wrong.

“Jungkook, are you going to say something?” you seethe, not caring that the heavy camera strains your neck when it falls against your chest, “or are you just going to make me wait.”

Jungkook’s face is scrunched up, and finally he blurts, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“For saying your life is picture perfect,” he sputters quickly, looking very sweaty. Jungkook always got sweaty when he did things a little too hard. Playing sports, thinking, campaigning on video games. “I—I didn’t mean it. I don’t know. I guess I was just upset at myself and I took it out on you.”

“Well why are you upset at yourself?”

“I’m upset because I—I don’t know, it’s complicated,” he plops down on the nearest bench, and while you follow him, you don’t let yourself sit next to him. If you do, you know your subconscious will want to wrap your arms around him and comfort him. That would probably be the worst possible action to perform. “I don’t really do the whole photoshoot thing. Like I said, I’m just doing some weddings and parties here and there. I shouldn’t have said those things about Jimin and how you’re only talking to us out of charity. It’s my fault for not considering how complicated your life could be too,” he looks down at the ground, shameful, “so if you still want me, I would really like to photograph for Ego. And I would also really like that camera back.”

Unable to resist, you reach over to give him a pat on the shoulder. “I forgive you,” you reply numbly, thinking he was going to apologize for something else. You suppose he’s forgotten about that fateful prom night, just like everyone else. “It’s actually not for Ego, at least not yet. My boss is pitting us against each other, the best idea wins the cover theme.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll win,” his face eventually breaks into a grin when you remove the camera from your body. “Come to daddy, baby,” he cooes, holding the shiny new camera in his hands like a newborn.

“Gross,” you twitch, although you’re feeling all the more relieved knowing Jungkook will now be taking the visual reins. “You haven’t had a chance to look at the contract made up, but being paid five-hundred okay?”

“Five-hundred a week?”

“No, per day,” you correct, “why wouldn’t I pay you just like I pay the others?”

Jungkook’s dark brows fly to his forehead. He practically chokes on his spit at the way you put Jungkook in high regard. A blush overtakes his visage, proud and pink as he rushes to get away from you.

“You don’t even know my concept,” you called after him, chasing the midday sun.

Jungkook is already in position, fitting the lens between two buildings. The afternoon sun looks like an egg yolk, melting between the clouds. “Well then is it?” he asks, bending down on one knee to get the perfect angle.

“Well, yesterday when I thought of the idea I just wanted to be reminded of how easy being a kid was,” you don’t even know if Jungkook’s listening properly, given the rapid click click clicks of the shutter and Jungkook constantly moving around to get as many shots as possible. “I realized that not everyone can relate to the models or the clothes we advertise on Ego. Why would I want to see people I actually admire? Like, my friend’s older brother. Or Jimin, president of the drama club. Or even Jungkook, captain of the lacrosse team.”

“So, nostalgia. The 2000s are back in style, I like it,” he replies simply, tilting the camera towards you, “pose for me.”

“What? Jungkook,” you frown, holding a hand over your face. He doesn’t relent, continuing to snap you in different angles.

“Oh! That was a nice one,” he turns the camera to reveal the screen of your furrowed brows, hand over your face, “looks super grunge. Totally a throwback look.”

“Jungkook, I don’t model. I’m just the one who throws the ideas.”

“Yeah, but. Wouldn’t it be cool if the readers of Ego could see the genius behind the paper and ink?” he gestures vaguely to your outfit, “and you’re wearing Fila. So that’s like, kind of designer?”

“I don’t know,” you hug yourself, “I’ll think about it, okay? Let’s focus.”

“Fine,” Jungkook stops buzzing around you, putting the camera down and following you as you walk back to your car. You don’t think you really need anymore park photos, and Jungkook seems to telepathically agree as well.

“We need to plan some outfits and some backgrounds. I’ve already arranged a meet up tomorrow in front of our old high school with a couple of models. The school is on a grade-wide trip, so we’ll even have access to the track and field. I was also thinking disposable film? We could scan those.”

“Alright, who are your models?”

“Oh, you know. Just friends from school. I wanted it to be as authentic as possible. Taehyung flew back from Hamburg last night, so he said he’ll come. Jimin, obviously.”

“Well you only had like, two friends in highschool.”

“And you,” you clip on with a frown, “so don’t dress like a potato sack tomorrow, okay?”

“I’m not modeling.”

“Well, I’m still looking for a celebrity model to tack onto so. Don’t look like a chump.” you stick out your hand, while Jungkook pouts at your outstretched limb. If he feels sore that you called him a chump, he doesn’t comment on it when he clasps his larger hand in yours. “Partners?”

“Partners.”

“Why didn’t you tell me your celebrity model was him?”

“I specifically told you not to dress like a paper bag. Why did you continue to do so!”

“You didn’t specify that your model was Kim Seokjin!”

The current conversation is hushed, hissed between large reflective light panels and a parked car that held all your rented equipment. Currently, Taehyung, Seokjin and Jimin are huddled on the bleachers of your old stomping grounds, laughing at whatever funny video Seokjin has pulled up. They’re all dressed in variants of the same sweatsuit, a combination of Taehyung’s choosing since he’s one of the many color coordinators at Ego.

But you haven’t started yet, and you would like to get some morning shots in before it gets any warmer. Jungkook is still petulant, pretending to buy time by balancing his tripod. He’s wearing his Birkenstocks, so old they’re definitely the same pair from highschool, and yet another black sweatsuit.

“Seokjin’s like a big, fat cheeseball,” you assure Jungkook, who’s actually shaking from being in the presence of a celebrity. “No reason to be nervous.”

“That man has literally been part of our Sitcom Sundays for three years,” he gripes, “of course I’m nervous!”

“Just go to the car. If you want to change I’m sure Taehyung’s brought something that fits you.”

“Well if they see me change they’re gonna see I’m trying too hard,” Jungkook pouts, he actually pouts.

“I can’t,” you turn around, your Miss Frizzle-esque solar system dress whirling around your waist. The stars twinkle, glittering into Jungkook’s eyes. “Jungkook, do whatever you want. But we need to start in ten! No, five! I’m not paying you to try on Balenciaga and Off-Brand!”

If Jungkook is shocked by your sudden snippiness or need to get things wrapped up, he doesn’t say anything to it. For once, he’s quiet about his needs and you’re thankful for it. Once he’s gone, you have a chance to breathe. It’s all wholly overwhelming to dive right into the job. Your brain is still in 2011 unfortunately.

“Babe, everything alright?”

Seokjin appears behind you, having ditched Jimin and Taehyung after he saw you and Jungkook argue. He smooths his hands over your biceps. You’re still unsure over the exact nature of your adult-self’s relationship, but it seems that sans sex you two are relatively close with each other.

“M’fine,” you mumble tiredly, trying not to stiffen under his hold. You suppose Jimin isn’t going to be the friend you confide into this lifetime. “I’m just nervous. We’re doing all this work and it can potentially go down the drain after this week. What if my idea’s stupid and we’re wasting time? Jennie texted me that her concept is going to be killer and now I’m scared this concept is too aesthetically soft and people don’t care about nostalgia anymore and I feel like simultaneously throwing up and crying—”

“Whoa whoa, who’s replaced my confident editor and where did she go?” Seokjin decidedly goes with the notion that you’re definitely not fine. He swings his neck back and forth, peering behind the bleachers and over the football field. “My confident editor would never talk bad of herself like this! She commanded a whole crew of fifty within seconds when she did the Kim Taeyeon shoot in Milan! She never cowers under a challenge, the challenge cowers to her!” and in his gallancy you no longer try to shy away, in fact you even giggle at his silly way of comforting you. “And most importantly, she’d never compare herself to a wench like Jennie.”

Seokjin doesn’t hesitate to swipe the moisture right under your waterline, making sure any traces of your crying are undetectable. “W-wait,” you sputter, “you mean, me and Jennie aren’t actually friends?”

He chuckles, pulling you into a hug. “Even now, you’re such a good actress.”

You let Seokjin continue to hold you as the pieces in your empty mind come together. If Jennie is truly not your friend and you two have been faking it all this time, how serious is it? And if so, are you the competitive type? You know for sure Jennie is, and will she stop at nothing to make sure she gets the spread?

This fear is combined with an equal amount of sadness. You were a little excited to have a lasting friend from college, but your mother always told you to never believe anything on the internet. You suppose those selfies of you and Jennie on your Instagram are nothing but a facade.

But at the very least Seokjin’s care for you isn’t fake, and you’re thankful that you have at least one friend in this life. If you didn’t do this time skip, would Seokjin remain your only friend? You try not to think too hard about it, “Thanks, Seokjin. I really appreciate you.”

“Will you appreciate me tonight then?” Seokjin makes a move to kiss your neck, and the moment is promptly ruined.

Shoving him away you say firmly, “Touch me like that again and I’ll rip your dick off in front of this whole crew.”

“I love it when you get feisty,” Seokjin melts, but salutes you like a drill sergeant as he runs back to the men on the bleachers.

It’s then you feel a presence looming over your shoulder. Tall, dark, and emanating. He’s changed, in favor of some fitted jeans and a plain white shirt, paired with black boots. Jungkook is behind you, glaring over your shoulder at Seokjin. So much for showing off your professionalism. Crap, how much of that did he hear?

“Jungkook, I–”

“Let’s start,” he mutters gruffly, stepping past you to get to the equipment.

You slap a hand over your face. It’s going to be a long day.

However, the hours following are probably one of the brightest hours of your life since you’ve appeared in your future-self’s body. At first Jimin was anxious at your invitation, despite being in the high school plays and being okay at public speaking, he didn’t know he’d have the potential to be a model. A couple test shots and some coaching from Taehyung, Jimin is a natural, his photogenic energy strong enough to compete toe-to-toe with Seokjin.

You also have to hand it to Taehyung, who has been running back and forth between modeling and choosing outfits for the boys. Jimin and you didn’t run in the same group as Taehyung back in high school, but time changes things and if given the opportunity, you would’ve loved to be friends with him back then.

By the time you are done for the day and you feel like all the possible shots have all ready been taken, you circle around the school. You previously went inside empty classrooms, posed in the cafeteria, even pretended to reenact your school rendition of RENT in the auditorium.

Everything is mostly packed up and put into the car by the time the sun is setting, and you just wanted to perfect this one shot.

The gymnasium looks a lot smaller than it did as a child. As a teenager, you constantly feared getting hit in the face by a stray wiffleball, or throwing up during the pacer test after the 100th lap. But now, it just looks like an old gym.

“It smells like sweaty balls in there,” Taehyung curses, adjusting the patterned button down by smoothing down his chest. He jabs a finger in the boys locker room, where Jimin comes out with another new outfit.

“I think the sandwich I left in senior year is still there,” Jimin adds, pulling the collar around his burgundy knitted sweater.

The back of the gym is decorated in balloons. Overnight you managed to build a balloon ring off of Pinterest, one of your proudest moments as you made Jungkook haul the rainbow colored arc and shove it into the trunk. Seokjin is sitting directly under the arc, decorating a letter corkboard. It’s one of those cork boards all the teachers display in class, often decorated with some witty quote or a basic “Welcome to Mr/Mrs/Miss _____’s Class!”

Jungkook is setting up the camera on a tripod, wanting to do it the old fashioned way. Aside from the freakout he had in the beginning when he realized he was photographing Kim Seokjin, he’s been quiet and strictly professional throughout the whole ordeal. It’s amazing to see this side of him, as he seamlessly transitions from shoot to shoot knowing exactly what he has in mind for each photograph. His direction is soft but impactful, and the boys have no problems following directions.

“Okay boys, everyone under the arc!”

Working like this is a rush you can’t even imagine. In high school the path you were in the process of choosing wasn’t clear cut up until this point, but now you know exactly what you want to do for the rest of your life.

Seokjin holds the finished corkboard in the middle, a proud Class of Ego in white block letters.

Jungkook only gets a few shots in before Seokjin bemoans, letting the corkboard fall in his lap.

“Guys, this picture’s gonna stink.”

Jungkook’s appalled, “Excuse me—”

“Because you two aren’t in it!” Taehyung agrees easily, “c’mon, JK. Put your camera on timer mode and let’s have all of us in it!”

A blush melts on Jungkook’s neck, all the way to the tips of his ears. “What? No, that’s silly Tae. I really don’t—agh!”

The three men are in a controlled frenzy, aiming to get their mission done. Seokjin rounds the camera and makes quick work of enabling a timer and a burst shot. Jimin pulls you by the waist, tugging you ungracefully to the center of the arc. Taehyung is doing a pretty good job of hauling your muscle hunk of a photographer, pressing his shoulders across yours.

And finally, Seokjin hands you the corkboard. “You should be holding it. After all, you’re the brains behind it!”

At first it feels awkward, squished between new friends and old friends. First loves and last loves. Despite his warm bicep pressing against you, Jungkook is akin to a sheet of cardboard, arm-to-arm and stiff as a board.

“Alright people, let’s move it!” Seokjin yells unnecessarily loud, the noise echoing throughout the high walls. “Last couple shots here, and we’re not re-doing it because I’m tired as hell! So look alive and pretend to like each other!”

The first click of the camera stuns all of you, akin to many terrible school photos where the flash disarms you and your face twists. But that click suddenly gets Jungkook into gear, and you feel him slide a hand over your shoulder, squeezing you toward him so you’re pressed against the side of his chest. He still smells like floral fabric softener, and that makes you smile.

And suddenly you feel like you’re seventeen again, surrounded with the people you care for the most.

“So, the tabloids are true huh?” Jimin smirks, waving a flimsy fry in your face.

“T-tabloids?” you sputter, dabbing the ketchup off your cheek. The greasy burger slips off your grip and onto your plate. Your expression says it all, it’s painfully innocent and genuinely confused as you attempt to swallow the cheese and lettuce as fast as possible.

The crew sans Seokjin is eating a very late dinner with you at the restaurant of their choice. They put it to a vote, while you desperately wanted some McDonalds everyone else voted for a more high end restaurant. After all, you’re paying.

“Ah, don’t try playing coy with us,” Taehyung jests, “the office talks.”

“Well, whatever you’ve heard isn’t true,” you huff, crossing your arms. “At least, not anymore.”

“What?” Taehyung bugs out, “I thought you loved your no strings attached relationship with Jinnie.”

“I guess I did,” you frown, deflating against the plush booth, “I don’t know. I don’t know what I liked back then.”

You resume eating your burger, trying to ignore the worried look Jimin sends you. He reaches over the table to press his thumb to the little 11s in your forehead, a product of stress. “Does your head still hurt?” he asks.

Jungkook’s chewing slows considerably. He’s been strangely quiet this evening, opting to order a handful of appetizers and gorging on every single edible thing on the table like a glutton. But at Jimin’s question he turns his head to look at you, “Why would your head still hurt?”

“She hit her head when she went out drinking with Seokjin last week,” Jimin supplies, “messed with her memory.”

“Chim,” you frown, gently shoving him off you, “I’m fine now. Pretty much caught up. Just reevaluating my life choices, okay?”

“How could Seokjin let that happen?” Jungkook asks, putting his fork down.

“He wasn’t even there,” you shake your head, trying to clear Seokjin’s name as fast as possible. After all, this lie is completely fabricated, a blanket to cover the magical properties your true nature being here has. “I’m fine, Jungkook. Don’t worry about me.”

He huffs, resuming his meal. “Wasn’t worried,” he disarms, reaching over the table to snatch a mozzarella stick.

You cover up your disgusted expression by wiping your chin with a soft blue napkin. Jungkook is really out here inhaling the whole table and being a bit of a jerk.

“Well,” Taehyung claps his hands together, regarding all of you with a closed-lipped smile stretched so wide you’re worried he’ll break. “This is nice. I can’t imagine a time where I’d be reunited with you three. It’s weird. But a good weird.”

“Ditto,” Jimin echoes, lifting his glass to clink with Taehyung’s. Throwing an arm over your shoulder he remarks, “could’ve never imagined my ‘ol best friend would’ve wanted to pursue fashion.”

“What?” you glower, pinching his thigh, “I love fashion! I spent months planning my Clueless Halloween costume and our summers cosplaying!”

“Right, Cher,” teased Jimin, “that yellow plaid suit that made you look like a bottle of mustard?”

“You little–”

Taehyung begins to laugh when you start to tickle Jimin in the sweet spots, causing Jimin to curl his leg around your ankle and pull you onto his lap for a hair pull. It’s all in fun and nothing hurts, but you’re so caught up in it you’re sure people are worried about your well-being. Even Jungkook is laughing, egging Jimin on while Taehyung weakly attempts to pull you away.

If you could rewrite the last ten years of your life, this moment would define the remake.

“Why are we here?”

“For research purposes.”

“Are you sure the actual purpose is because you don’t feel like working in the office?”

“Jungkook,” you groan, tired of his infinite amount of negativity. “This was our senior trip! Of course I want to get a couple shots in before my big presentation.”

“You’re risking my baby’s life,” Jungkook cradles the digital camera closer to his chest, swaddling it between its felt case. Ever since you purchased the camera, Jungkook has been unable to let it go. This adoption is both equal parts cute and strange, and you’re a little too scared to ask for it back.

“I promise, no big rides,” you roll your eyes, “your baby will be fine.”

The local amusement park is a fan-favorite amongst the city-goers, a reprieve from the hustle and a chance for you to spend your copious amounts of money on overpriced sugar and popcorn. The last time you went here was two weeks ago—in your mind. In Jungkook’s mind it was over ten years ago and he probably doesn’t even remember the time spent roaming the artificial floor and the infinite amount of bubbles that seem to eject from the air to add to the whimsical charm.

Jungkook isn’t even paying attention, citing it as an artist block because he’s going through sensory overload with the amount of stimuli in the crowd. Screaming teenagers wailing under him from a nearby rollercoaster, the smell of sticky caramel apples pumping through the diffuser stands, and the amount of gaudy color that decorates every single logo of the park.

He plops himself down on a nearby bench while you wait in line to get some food. It’s early in the morning and a weekday, so you figure this is the best time to get some photographs in without any passerbys. You figure Jungkook will get the hang of it once he has some food in his stomach.

“A funnel cake?” Jungkook is bewildered when you return with the confection in hand, “it’s ten A.M.”

You raise a brow, knowing how much Jungkook loves sweet foods. The funnel cake especially, he ate at least three when you went to your senior trip, one for every meal. But you’re an adult, or at least posing as one, and you shrug loftily, plucking a hot piece of fried dough from your plate. “Alright then,” you reply, “I’ll just eat the whole thing.”

Once the cake touches your tongue, you can’t help but make an exaggerated moan in pleasure. You can feel Jungkook squirming like an earthworm next to you, either from the scrumptious smell of funnel cake or the way you’re so enthusiastically eating it.

“W-wait,” Jungkook’s stomach growls at the perfect moment, “I want some. But I don’t want to get the camera dirty, pass me a napkin.”

“I can just feed it to you!” you quip innocently, immediately ripping off a piece and shoving it between Jungkook’s pink lips. You feel a little slick in the finger, saliva briefly coating your digits before you pull away. You swallow, feeling a familiar tingle in your tummy and a sickening heat low in your belly.

You fight back a sigh, wondering if your libido also did a massive growth spurt in your twenty-seven years of age.

Jungkook is placated at the touch of food, and you take turns feeding yourself and feeding him while more customers trickle in the park. Confectioners sugar dusts Jungkook’s long-sleeved tee, the white color staining the dark fabric. You reach to pat his chest, ignoring the toneness that still remains from high school.

“Alright, let’s ride,” you declare, pulling Jungkook up once you’re done eating.

“Do we have to?”

“What happened to the adrenaline junkie I once knew?”

“He realized being an adrenaline junkie doesn’t make money and he should stay on the ground.”

“Alright, Negative Nancy,” your reply has no bite to it, and suddenly you wished you invited Jimin or Seokjin before Jungkook. Jungkook may have the talent, but he certainly doesn’t have the attitude. You don’t even get why he’s still defensive, after all you thought he apologized in the beginning. It’s not like you’re the problem.

“Gimmie your hand,” your thoughts cut out when Jungkook offers his large hand in front of yours, palm up.

“Why?”

“C’mon,” he whines, settling for snatching your hand instead. His palms feel larger, rougher as they enclose your smaller hand. “Now hurry up and walk in front of me. I’m gonna take a picture.”

You already have a feeling as to what this picture is going to look like, so you scrunch your nose. “That is so cheesy.”

“It’s for the nostalgia factor, now hurry up and pretend we’re on a date.”

You roll your eyes but relent, jogging a few steps ahead so you can get into character. This pose used to be a popular one, where the sweet boyfriend would be dragged around by the girlfriend’s hand, tugging him to wherever she wanted to go. It’s super cliche but if Jungkook figures it’ll fit your theme, you’ll do it. Eventually you forget that you’re holding his hand, and point ahead to some rides you want to try out.

“Oh, Jungkook! Remember that one?” you point to a teacup ride, with guests spinning vigorously through their own seat. “Jimin got so sick he fell asleep in the car for an hour!”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, so you turn around and face him. Click. Jungkook smirks at his little trick, which makes you rip your hand from his and walk further.

“Hey, hey,” he chuckles, the first smile of the day. Food really does make him peaceful. “The shot looks good, you look good.”

“Could’ve just asked me to turn around and pose,” you huff.

“Then it would ruin the fun,” he replies, “now c’mon, let’s ride the teacups. For old time’s sake.”

Ten minutes later and the both of you are soon regretting that decision. You’re once again slumped on the bench, this time unable to keep your head up so you rest it on Jungkook’s shoulder while he leans on your head.

“Haven’t rode that since I was a teenager,” Jungkook moans, holding his stomach. “Remind me not to eat so fast before getting on that kind of ride.”

You mirror his expression, feeling green. “Is this what late-adult life feels like?”

“Yep,” Jungkook replies, unbeknownst of how shocked you are at how weak your body has become. “You wake up with back pain, pre-arthritis from all the typing you’ve done over the last decade, and a lot of stress. Definitely not the fantasy you’d imagine from your 20s.”

“You think you’d be less stressed if you kept your lacrosse scholarship?”

“Nah, I think I saved myself,” Jungkook shakes his head, “before I could be any more awful than I already was.”

You refuse that notion, sending him a bitter smile. “Well, look at me. I became awful right after high school.”

“I didn’t mean you—”

“I know,” you hold up a hand to stop him. The two of you follow a red path up the hill, leading to a simple cable car ride. It’s a slow travel ride, made to get from one side of the park to the other with a beautiful view over the lake. “But you see those tabloid articles. They must be true.”

“I—I didn’t think they were all true,” Jungkook’s lying through his teeth to make you feel better, but you don’t care. “Why do you sound unsure?”

You shrug, “Probably wasn’t sober for most of my bad decisions,” considering your friendship with Seokjin and his boisterous drinking attitude, you wouldn’t be surprised, “If they weren’t true, I believe Jimin and I would’ve stayed friends. I can’t imagine why I left my home like that. But I guess it doesn’t matter too much because I came back. And I mean, we’re here together doing work,” you gesture between the small space between each other, “I think that counts for something.”

The two of you walk in silence for a bit, contemplating. The line to the cable car isn’t long but it’s slow, considering the cable only moves a couple meters a second. The take-off area is a risen slab of concrete, and the cars are continuously moving so you have to hop on one car as soon as another guest exits.

There’s a little bit of space between it, a centimeter gap that could be nerve wracking if there’s no staff around. You think nothing of it as you fiddle on your phone, waiting for the staff member to let you and Jungkook in on the next car.

Jungkook enters first, taking great care to cradle the camera in one hand so it doesn’t sway against the car. The car swings a little as well, and Jungkook holds out a hand for you to grab.

Instead you focus on how the once bright glassy pink is sun-ravished, faded and rusting on the metal door flaps. The color is almost pearlescent, vastly different than the vivid color you saw two weeks ago. You almost want to reach out and touch it, wondering where that quality went.

“Bun, be careful!”

The tip of your heel nicks on the stepping stone, slipping like butter as you topple forward. Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to scoop you up, hauling you into the car just as the metal door locks into place. The hard plastic of the camera digs into your chest uncomfortably as you plop on top of Jungkook, between his legs as half his thighs rest against the uncomfortable seat.

“Were you not watching where you were going?” Jungkook huffs, blowing his bangs over his forehead.

Instead of an artful answer you blurt, “You, you called me Bun.”

His eyes widen at your response, and his grip loosens around your body. His eyes dart anywhere but your face, his cheeks ruddied and stained coral as he moves to remove you from his body. “It was a slip of the tongue,” he coughs, turning on his camera and getting shots of the lake.

You huff in response, sticking to your side of the carriage. “I missed it,” you murmur to the wind, although you make yourself loud enough for him to hear.

You try to bury your sour expression in your sleeves, just to hide how absolutely childish you feel. You don’t even care that Jungkook is trying to take pictures of you looking out the view, only trying to eradicate the feelings that are still down deep in your blood. Even the twenty-seven year old Jungkook is charming, albeit in a completely different way.

The grown, mature Jungkook toots to his own horn. He isn’t concerned about a team or an image, and gave it all up to pursue an art he loves. The lacrosse jerseys exchanged for bulky long sleeves, the sport for a camera, and a mask for his true image.

“Let’s go,” Jungkook takes your hand again when the ride stops, not letting go until you’re on steady ground. You figure he must think you walk like a toddler barely on her first mile.

Would Jungkook like you even as an adult? With all this money, this power and this confidence you envisioned as a seventeen-year-old, it still doesn’t feel enough for him. In fact, you feel like a sore thumb sticking out, decorated in silly rumors and expensive clothes that separate you far from your roots.

“Hey,” Jungkook touches your arm, pointing to a basketball carnival game, “remember this one?”

“Yeah,” forcing a smile, you follow him to the small crowd that starts to form around the basketball game. The baskets are a short distance from the player, but so high up that it’s hard to tell the shape of the hoop. “I tried to tell you that it was completely rigged. From an angle you can see it’s still oval-shaped.”

“And I told you it didn’t matter if the hoop was an octagon, I’d get you that prize,” he jerks a thumb to the prize booth, where a blue Piplup plush sits proudly with all the other starter Pokemon. “And I did.”

“It’s still in my room,” you reply proudly, even though Jungkook is acting almost immaturely smug. “I, I mean it’s still in my room in my parent’s house. It’s probably lonely because my parents have been on a cruise for almost two weeks.”

He raises a brow, eyes drifting to the booth. “Should I win another one to keep your bed in the city warm?”

“That sounded oddly sexual.”

“You know what I mean,” and Jungkook’s rolling up his sleeves, handing you the camera.

“Jungkook,” you whine when he pulls out a roll of bills from his pocket, as if he prepared for this moment, “Jungkook c’mon—I don’t need any stuffed animals. Ugh.”

You swear that the majority of your day is spent watching Jungkook blow cash on a low-quality stuffed animal with packaging pellets for the inside. Turns out carnival technology has also enhanced over the years, and it takes both your whining and the clerk’s whining to stop Jungkook from blowing his entire wallet to get one basket in. Eventually the staff relents and lets Jungkook take a Piplup keychain instead, glumly handing it over to you.

“I like this better,” you chirp, clipping the ring onto your car keys, “now I can bring Piplup everywhere.”

A small, barely there smile appears on Jungkook’s face.

The rest of the day melts away like that, and before you know it the sun is slipping into the horizon and you’re being dropped off at your apartment. Jungkook even insists to walk you to your door, because your prizes are heavy. (Yes, he went back for the oversized Piplup.)

It’s all too familiar, the way the walk upstairs is achingly slow, as if the moment is stretching itself down the hallway. How Jungkook looks so prideful holding the fruits of his labor, following you with a tug of your hand because the prize is too big for Jungkook to see straight.

At the same time it’s different. The way you wobble around the hallway because you’re a little tipsy from wine flights is noticeable, even cute. How easy it is to not feel nervous when you clutch at his hand. How you two look like a seasoned couple, coming home from an all-day date.

It ends at the front door, and you crack it open so you can slip your prizes through the crack.

“Thanks, Jungkook,” you hold up the SD card that held all the precious memories of this week.

This is where you part ways. You’ll spend the rest of the night editing your presentation, while Jungkook promised to go to a bar with his friends. A little part of you hoped you’d be invited, but you knew that would be impractical considering you have work in the morning.

“Break a leg,” he says, leaning on the balls of his feet with his hands in his pockets, “you’ll do great. You’ve always been meant to do great things.”

The investment he lays on you is insurmountable, and you feel yourself flush with simultaneous excitement and anxiety. Unknowing how to calm your nerves, you give him a small “thank you” and put your hand on the knob to slip away.

“Wait—”

You blink, a deer in the headlights as Jungkook swoops down and kisses you.

You’ve received kisses—kisses reserved for a twenty-seven year old, before. Seokjin is an eager lover, and you felt it that fateful morning and even during your photoshoot when he tried to be sneaky and pull you away. Fleeting bites, kisses to the neck that are wet and hot.

Jungkook’s kiss does not feel like that. It feels like home. It feels like coming home after a long day of work, wrapping yourself in an old afghan and a hot cup of tea. The feeling of hot laundry, fresh front the dryer and smelling of floral softener. It tastes like ten years lost in a void, returning to your senses and lighting you up.

He holds you as if you’ll disappear right in front of him. Large hands cup your face, like a precious thing he never wants to let go. Your hands can do nothing but grapple after his, nails digging into his skin.

“Good night, Jungkook,” you send him a lovestruck smile, a puppy love face.

“Good bye, Bun,” he replies simply, jogging down the hallway.

Being twenty-seven starts to feel a little more like heaven.

Jennie used to annoy you in high school, but now she just down right scares you.

Her presentation is one straight out of a thriller, with red shadow lights and neon green splattered in the dark room. Her models are intense, her designs are beautiful but overwhelmingly chaotic, and the whole affair is rather grotesque. The headline Fashion Suicide glares at you in a morbid scarlet font.

Hoseok sends her a tight-lipped smile, and presses a button on his desk. “I need my antacids, Krystal,” Hoseok deadpans.

Nothing betrays Jennie’s wicked expression, in fact her smirk widens at Hoseok’s fear.

You on the other hand, are cool as a cucumber when you walk up to the front of the conference room. In fact, you barely have to say anything as the presentation presents itself. Jungkook took the liberty of making a video compilation for you, one that they could use in YouTube and Instagram promotions.

“This, is preserving our youth,” you declare proudly, letting the video play. The music that accompanies it is very coming-of-age, like a yearbook slideshow of all the pictures you took. Taehyung, Jimin and Seokjin hold their arms around each other in matching attire, looking like friends for life. There’s even some videos of you and Jungkook at the park, playfully arguing at each other. “I’m tired of seeing people who could care less about my life, who I can’t relate to.”

“This issue is for the unsung heroes—my best friend’s older sibling, the captain of the football team, and the black sheep with a dream.”

The video cuts to Jungkook, looking ultra cool at the camera while he’s dictating Seokjin’s moves. It was taken on your phone, and you’re zooming in on Jungkook’s serious face before it breaks into a laugh, eyes crinkling and bunny teeth showing at whatever stupid thing Seokjin said.

And finally, the video fades into a mock cover. The five of you are beaming at the camera, cheek-to-cheek as you hold up the placard: Ego: Class of Youth.

Needless to say, the issue is yours.

You ignore Jennie’s icy stare as you leave the room to negotiate with the creative teams on a set schedule. However, it seems that you can’t get a bit of rest when Jennie waits for you in your office.

“Jennie, get off of my desk,” you frown, watching a coffin-tipped nail flicking against a photograph of you holding hands with Jungkook in the amusement park. It hangs on a corkboard, standing up with all the other ideas that you and Jungkook have spent the last week meticulously planning.The black enamel scratches at your smiling face. You are not having this, not after all your hard work and all the meetings that have just been planned.

Her feet dangle in the air, kicking back and forth as she sings your name. “You’re still such a child,” she sighs dramatically. “In fact, I think your cute little-wittle idea would suit something more like Highlights or Disney Monthly.”

“You’re just upset I did better than you,” you cross your arms.

Jennie’s nail slices your visage in half.

“You’re right,” Jennie turns a 180 and gives you a bright, candy-coated smile. “Your idea is so good, it doesn’t suit Ego. In fact, I’m sure the editors at Mono will pay a pretty penny.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ugh, you are such a fake.” Jennie giggles, “now, did you send this idea to Namjoon yet? Their publishing date is two weeks before ours, so I’m sure they’re getting to work on this whole Throwback Thursday spread.”

You can’t believe the words coming from Jennie’s mouth. Before all of this, just how awful of a person were you? How could you sabotage your company on the regular, just to get paid a little extra dough for a rival company? It makes you think about what could’ve possibly changed. Had leaving your friends without a care in the world made you into this lost adult, grappling at the seams for attention? In college, did Jennie coerce you into being manipulative and backstabbing, and because without Jimin and needing confidence in a friend, you reluctantly agreed?

The coffee from this morning starts to back up in your throat, but you immediately tamp it down. No, you can’t be pushed around like this. You can’t keep pushing people around. You don’t want a life like this, and if you ever return to your old life, you’ll damn make sure you’ll create a future without Jennie in the picture.

“I’m not going to send anything to Mono, and I’ve already fessed up to Hoseok,” you lift your nose in the air, voice impeccably clear for someone who’s absolutely bluffing. But Jennie’s face hits the ground, immediately buying your lie. You suppose you did become a good actress after ten years. Maybe Seokjin taught you a few pointers. “So if I were you, I’d swallow your tongue before words get around. I worked it out but don’t be surprised if a pink slip comes your way.”

Turns out that no matter what, high school never ends. There will always be backstabbers and freaks and geeks. A mean girl that you subconsciously try so hard to appease, a grade that defines your life, and drama up to the neck.

“He doesn’t like you, y’know,” Jennie whispers, but the words are loud and clear and you know exactly who she’s talking about. “Never had, and never will.”

“You’re wrong,” you hold your hands, clasping them together to keep them from trembling, “he likes me.”

So you leave the office, determined to prove yourself. That kiss last night was nothing short of magical, and it took a lot of strength for you to not drive up to Jungkook’s apartment in the morning in the hopes for another one. You pick up a pizza near his place, filling it up with your favorite toppings on one half and his favorites on his. A bottle of peach champagne is nestled between your arms. In the bathroom while waiting for your pizza, you’ve wriggled out of your tight suit and into a blue hoodie and bicycle shorts. Tonight, you’re celebrating.

You’re vibrating as you’re knocking eagerly on his front door, excited to tell him the news. You hear a rustle from the couch, and some blankets shifting about. He must’ve passed out after going to the bar, how cute.

But when the door opens, the vision in front of you is far from cute.

A woman, with cat eyes and a slim figure, tilts her head at you. She’s dressed in a large white shirt, transparent enough to show her lacy black bra and panties. Bruises decorate her neck and thighs, like red and purple gems. Her long black hair swishes, slightly frizzy at the bottom.

“Can I help you?” her voice is sultry and velvety. “Are you looking for JK?”

It’s obvious as to what transpired. Jungkook dipped after kissing you and fucked another woman. A woman who’s the complete opposite of you. Someone flirty and sexy and willing to give Jungkook what he wants. You don’t know who you should be mad at.

“Who’s at the door?” Jungkook calls from the inside, and you nearly drop your bottle at the sound of the rasp. They must’ve had a fuckfest if they’re just waking up now.

Your cheeks are burning. Your heart is aching. And the vile that bubbled up from Jennie’s tirade is now resurfacing. From the way your eyes are watering, you must look like a crybaby.

“Say, JK,” the woman closes the frame tighter around her small head, preventing you from seeing inside and for Jungkook to peer, “do you have any pathetic ex-girlfriends?”

“No,” comes the muffled reply, “come back to bed, it’s getting cold without you,” the pizza starts to burn uncomfortably against your grip, “why the random question?”

“Dunno, seems like you’ve had at least one.”

At that moment, your savior appears in grey jeans and a beige hoodie. Jimin walks up to the floor, clutching a bag of groceries. It’s not hard to put two and two together as he spots you looking incredibly small in front of the strange woman, trying so hard not to break down.

Your tears finally fall when Jimin reaches you. “Wrong room,” you mutter under your breath, quickly following your old best friend when he shoves you in his apartment.

No words need to be explained when Jimin leaves the groceries on the coffee table and he’s pulling you onto his lap. You clutch him like a koala, rubbing mascara and blush all over his clothes as you sob. He pats your back and soothes your hiccups by offering you a glass of water. The stages of your meltdowns are pretty cut and dry, even after ten years. He still encourages you to finish the whole glass. He makes sure you have something to eat. He cuts your pizza into little bite sized pieces and feeds you. He doesn’t pressure you to talk until you’re ready, although he has a hunch as to what’s going on.

And when you talk, he doesn’t expect a firm, “Take me home,” from you.

“O-okay,” Jimin agrees immediately, pulling you into a sitting position. “Uptown, right? We can call an Uber or something and order from a restaurant.”

“No,” you reply firmly, “Home-home. I want to go back to my parent’s house.”

“That’s fine too,” he squeezes your shoulder, accepting the fob you hold out to him, “it’ll take about an hour, but I think the drive will be nice.”

So you two sneak off into the sunset, clutching twin slices of pizza as you roll away into your Tesla. Jimin is right, ten minutes into the drive and you’re soothed by his smooth driving and the scent of fried cheese and dough. Your friend has been calm all this time, so you figure this is the right time for him to pop off. Again, this is also part of your breakdown routine.

“Say, does this thing do calls?” Jimin asks, fiddling with the settings on your steering wheel, “Tesla, call Jeon Jungkook.”

“Jimin,” you say weakly, although the little malicious side of you wants to goad him on. You don’t bother to fight the best friend territorialism, you just watch as his hands clutch at the steering wheel as the speakers ring.

Jungkook picks up on the second ring, “Hey!” he says brightly, and it makes your chest pang to know how oblivious he is, “how did the presentation go?”

“Fuck you, Jungkook!” you cover your free hand on your ear at Jimin’s shrill yell, louder than the speakers that carry Jungkook’s voice. “Fuck you for breaking my best friend’s heart twice!”

The silence is deafening. It’s scary, like you could slash a butter knife right through the tension.

Jimin continues, “I can understand high school because you were a real doofus, but this! You fucking lead my best friend on, only to fuck another girl right under her nose! She came all the way to your apartment from a long-ass day at work to celebrate and you ruin that day! I thought you’ve grown for the better but turns out nothing has changed since prom night. You’re still the stupid, confused little boy that doesn’t want to admit how they really feel,” you gasp at the blow, watching Jimin’s gritted teeth as he zooms down the freeway on a mission. “Good fucking riddance, Jeon!”

Jimin punches the “hang up” button. A couple seconds of heavy breathing, and he turns to you with a gentle smile.

“So, you want to listen to Taylor Swift’s new album?”

Your room is lost in time. The Hunger Games novels are stacked on your shelf, looking old and worn. A Glee poster hangs over your four-poster bed, the yellow and red faded and the corners hanging by a thread from the old tape. The sheets are a pale pink, ruffly and definitely not in style anymore. When you sit on it, it creaks uncomfortably.

You hug yourself, tucking your knees in as Jimin marvels at the room with an equal amount of awe.

“If you could, would you go back to high school?” Jimin asks, sitting at the edge of your bed.

With a lazy shrug, you smile at your collection of polaroids that are hanging above your vanity. You’re still hurt, but the pain is no longer rolling in waves. “Maybe,” you reply, “probably would’ve taken you to Europe with me.”

He chuckles, “Is that the only thing you would change?”

“If I knew what I knew now?” you tilt your head, “I don’t know.”

Jimin gets off your bed, pressing a kiss into your forehead. “I’m gonna raid the kitchen and see if we can make something for dinner, yeah? Since your parents are on vacation and your fridge is probably empty, don’t judge me if there’s only Totino’s pizza rolls and nuggets in the freezer.”

When Jimin leaves your room, you quietly close the door and lock it. You lean against the cracked wooden door, falling onto the carpet and letting the tears fall. Is this what the rest of your life is going to be like? Evading pain and working too hard and trying everyday to stay afloat? Is adult life always going to be this difficult?

These past two weeks have been nothing short of a rollercoaster. Major highs and major lows, and after today you thought you reached the end of the ride. However, it’s looking like the ride has no destination in mind, rolling in waves and finding a new hill or loop to catch you off-guard.

“Are you kidding—how did you know we were here?” Another corkscrew.

“You’re a turtle on the road, Jimin. Now move out of the way.”

Jungkook’s voice startles you, and you tense when you see the gold door knob jiggle. Of course as strong as Jimin is, he’s no match for Jungkook. You hear Jimin grumble to curse Jungkook out, and the sound of him stomping down the stairs.

“Hey, open up. Please,” Jungkook’s voice is weak and strained, and you only hug yourself tighter as the knocks continue. “Or, don’t. It seems like you can listen to me perfectly from here. I can hear your breathing.”

You don’t say a peep, preferring to let everything fizzle out. Hopefully Jungkook will give up, say a pathetic sorry and be on his merry way. You don’t know why he’s followed you all the way over here, why would he bother coming when the damage is already done.

There’s a slide of fabric across wood, and you can feel the door shake against your back as Jungkook leans on his side out in the hallway.

“Back in high school, Jennie proposed that I date you to get back at you for stealing Jennie’s sewing sample and getting the higher grade,” you close your eyes, letting the story unravel. “She wanted to build you up before breaking you down, and back then I was vulnerable and thrived on attention, so I thought nothing of it.”

You hear a breathy exhale from his side, as if it pains him to continue, “But obviously, it wasn’t true and I only realized it until I was way too deep. I liked you, so much. Heck, I think I might’ve loved you. We were so wrapped up in this relationship I even convinced myself it was real, until Jennie said she’d crush you at prom night.

“I should’ve tried harder to convince us not to go. I should’ve told Jennie to fuck off. I should’ve come clean. I should’ve done something,” his fist bangs against your door, the vibrations of the impact thrumming in your back, “seeing you so beautiful in that dress all heartbroken because I didn’t act sooner. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Hearing him pour his heart out is like watching your memories in his shoes. The pieces find homes and paint a picture left unfinished.

“And then when you showed up at my doorstep, I was so angry. I knew you felt it. But I wasn’t upset at you, I was upset at myself. I felt so fucking guilty. I hated how easy it was for you to let me back into your life. I hated how easy it was to fall for you all over again. I knew how much I didn’t deserve your forgiveness, but you gave it to me and I was too selfish to refuse. I had so much fun, the most fun I’ve had in awhile.

“I’m sorry I kissed you. I didn’t intend for it to I just, I couldn’t help myself. And then I was so scared that I turned away and made the second biggest regret to date.

“But it proves that we’re not meant to be together. I don’t deserve you,” the last part is hushed, a nail in the coffin, “we can’t turn back the time, but if I could I would change it all. I would be by your side and make your world even better than it is right now. I’m sorry it’s too late.”

You clutch your mouth, suppressing the cries that muffle through the door. You hear Jungkook get up from your old carpet, turn the other way and head downstairs.

Your first love just closed the chapter for you. His words show how much he cared for you, but didn’t know how to express it. How immature he was, how he realized everything too late. And now, he wants to set you free. Even if it is a good thing, it still tears you to shreds.

Moving to your vanity, you pull out the chair and lean your head on the table, eyes poking through your hair. You look awful. The skin under your waterline is puffy and your eyes are red and bloodshot. Your forearms feel greasy, and you lift them up to reveal glitter painting the entirety of your skin. Your eyes dart to the open glitter, the package that Jimin gifted to you that fateful prom night. The compact is broken in half and left on the table, probably a product of your younger cousins fiddling through your old room.

Ignoring the sticky feeling, you let yourself continue to cry. You feel like you’re stuck in the bathroom of the prom venue, waiting for an opportunity to sneak out and go.

But you want nothing more than to go back to that moment. As amazing as your twenty-seven year old life is, you’re not ready for it. You don’t want a life without Jungkook, or a life having to constantly catch up and mend your relationship with Jimin. You don’t want to be the backstabbing bitch that tips off other magazines, or the two-faced woman who messes around with others for the sake of pleasure.

You long to go back. You long to live and grow. To be seventeen and have time to grow in-between.

When you lift your head from your vanity, you’re ten years younger.

You scream.

Your parents dash to your room with a kitchen knife and a confused face. With a wary smile and a teary gaze you say that it’s only a pimple. Your mother giggles and drops the knife, hugging you and helping you conceal the invisible mark. The hug is so warm and so missed that you nearly sigh in content. You’ve missed them.

It’s a little strange to think well beyond your years, your brain still reeling from the trip you’ve just had. Your hands smooth over your body, the previous curves and maturity hidden away in your skin. That’s okay, you don’t mind waiting anymore. There’s much more important things at hand.

If Jungkook isn’t going to realize his mistakes until it’s too late, you have to speed up the process.

Stealing your parent’s keys and hopping in your Accord, you drive off to Jungkook’s. Hair and makeup not done, and still in your plain shirt and jeans. An hour from now, Jungkook will text you saying his car is down and he’ll meet you at the venue.

It’s still rush hour, so he doesn’t notice when you park a few houses down. He’s sitting on his front porch, looking out the road. There’s really nothing in front of him, he’s just staring aimlessly, probably nervous about what’s about to go down tonight. You suppress a sigh, engraving the vision to memory. He looks great in his fitted black suit and tie, a little silver pocket square on the breast to match your dress.

He gets up quickly when he sees you, as if caught in the act. Staring at your plain clothes he asks, “Bun, why aren’t you dressed? Prom’s soon—”

“Jungkook, I want to break up.”

You see it in his eyes. Vulnerability. No longer do you feel insecure, the future told you that Jungkook genuinely did care for you back then. Or in this case, right now. His usual cheery expression crumples at your feet, and his hands fall at his sides. It feels a little unfair, knowing that you have experience under your belt, and Jungkook’s experiencing these feelings for the first time, unprepared.

“What?” he wilts, “why?”

“I know about Jennie’s plan,” you say instantly, unfazed. You give him a tight-lipped smile when realization hits his face. “So I know this whole relationship is orchestrated. The sewing sample fiasco is wrong, obviously. But I’m not going to get mad at you, I know she played you as much as she played me,” you clasp the straps of your purse, stopping you from fidgeting, “we graduate in a few months anyway. We don’t have to see or talk about this ever again. You should go enjoy your prom night with your other friends.”

The present-day Jungkook is still young and confused. He’s at a loss, looking like he’s on sensory overload as he absorbs all the information. You see his eyes flicker to where your Accord is parked, your prom dress hanging on one of the arm pulls. You never even pulled it out of the bag.

“Here,” you pull his corsage from your purse, placing the white rose atop the porch. If you try to put it on him, you fear you may never leave. With a determined huff, you turn around in the direction of your car.

“Where are you going?” he asks, clutching the railing of his porch, “what about prom?”

“I have other plans,” you shrug over your shoulder, “have a good night.”

You don’t look back, although you feel Jungkook’s stare burning in your head. You take great care in going into drive and punching in a new destination in your clunky GPS. This time you have to do things one at a time, once you get your Tesla ten years from now, you’re sure this process will be much easier.

Jimin’s family comes out of the airport, looking impeccable as always. Ten years younger, with puffy cherub cheeks and bright eyes. To your surprise (but also all things considered, it’s Jimin), your best friend comes out in a three-piece suit. It’s burgundy, and suits his dark hair well. He places his luggage into your car, hugs his family good-bye and waits for them to depart in their cab.

“You are all dressed up, and for what,” you chuckle, driving out of the airport.

“Well, when you sent that voicemail that you’d be waiting for me, I changed in the bathroom,” Jimin quips, already fiddling with your radio to play some poppy overplayed music, “but why aren’t you dressed? I thought we were going to be fashionably late to prom. Spill.”

“Hm, let’s talk about it in the morning. I wanna enjoy my prom night,” and you reach over to ruffle Jimin’s soft black strands, “y’know, you’d look really sexy as a blond.”

He pulls down your mirror, positioning it over his face. Pursing his plush lips, he tilts his head. “Yeah, maybe when I’m older,” he grins at his reflection, “so if we’re not going to prom, let’s go get pizza.”

So the two of you get pizza. But not before you take your prom pictures. Your parents meet you at the park with their old digital camera, ready for your impromptu photoshoot. Jimin uses an old tarp to cover the car up while you change in the car, shimmying in your sparkly silver tulle dress. Your hair is held up and away from your face, looking clean enough to be presentable as you pose for the camera. The two of you pick yellow dandelions from the grass, matching flowers as last minute dates. Your parents coo and are happy for you, knowing that even if you don’t attend the actual dance, the pictures will last forever and you’ll smile at them for years.

Eventually you tell Jimin about Jungkook and the whole fiasco (sans the ten year mental time jump.) The reaction is expected, Jimin says he wants to fuck Jungkook up. Surprisingly for him, he doesn’t have to do much to console you. In fact, you sip coolly from your smoothie and say Jungkook will probably let Jimin get a punch in even though Jungkook can bench press his tiny body in half. But you tell him you’re okay, and all you want to do is go home and binge watch.

Jimin carries the pie in his lap while you pull up your driveway. The smell of toasty cheese and fresh dough fill your car.

“I want to watch Sky City,” Jimin sing-songs, “Kim Seokjin is God’s gift!”

You crinkle your nose, “He’s alright.”

“What! You thought he was so hot like, last week.”

“Things change.”

Jimin makes it to your room first, saying he’ll take care of setting things up. He’ll probably steal all the available cushions and make a fort for himself while he puts a picnic blanket on the floor in front of your television. You can imagine him hogging all your stuffed animals, placing it on his side of the carpet while he rifles through your drawers so he can change out of his suit.

Your parents tell you to take out the trash before you have fun tonight. Careful not to get your dress dirty, you hold it away from your body as you waddle out the front door. You make it two steps into the driveway before the soggy trash bag is whisked from your hands.

“I got it,” Jungkook says quietly, and it takes little to no effort for him to haul the large bag into the waiting trash can. His shoulders are slumped under his white button-up, his suit jacket probably stuffed somewhere in the back of the car.

“Jungkook,” you reply, dumbfounded, “it’s only eight, prom isn’t even over yet.”

“I know… but then I realized you weren’t gonna get your money’s worth if you didn’t go. I asked the waitress if she could get me a doggie bag for my date and,” he holds up a stapled bag, presumably the dinner that was supposed to be served, “it’s your favorite.”

“Thank you,” you give him a small, grateful smile as you accept the bag. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

He bites his lip, stuffing his hands in his dress pockets. “A-and you told me before you left that I should go spend prom night with my friends,” he ruffles his hair, blown out of the pomade and falling into his eyes, “and then I realized that you were right. Jennie and all those people out there aren’t really my friends. They like my rep and they like my attention, but they don’t like me.”

You shake your head, “Jungkook, you’re very likable. Jennie and her group are just one bad bunch.”

“But I don’t wanna be liked by my rep. I wanna be liked for the things I love,” he steps a hesitant step towards you, and he relaxes when he sees that you don’t recoil, “I haven’t told anyone this. But I want to drop that sports scholarship. I applied to an art school, and I got in.”

Suppressing a grin with a bite of your lips, you cheer silently in your head. Things are changing. “I’m so happy for you, Jungkook. Congrats.”

“And I’m sorry for all the fucked up things I did. Jennie may have manipulated me but I definitely was a big part of it,” Jungkook pulls the words out of the sky, finally having enough time to formulate an apology, “but please don’t doubt for a second that my feelings are fake. I really like you, and I wish we got to know each other under better circumstances.”

“I wish we could’ve,” you echo sadly. “But our futures—”

“I don’t want to lose you.”

“I liked you, so much. Heck, I think I might’ve loved you.”

You shake your head, frowning at his kicked puppy expression. “I’m considering a fashion school in Europe,” you reach for Jungkook’s hand, squeezing it. Letting him know that everything’s going to be okay. “You and Jimin can visit me during the breaks, Europe has some great spots to photograph.”

Something in Jungkook’s gaze tells you that it’s not enough for him. He wants to be selfish and hold onto you tighter, but you know that’s not good for the both of you right now. “That’d be nice,” he says vaguely, giving you a pained smile.

Jungkook rubs his thumb over your hand, relishing in the softness of your skin. “You look really pretty,” he says, looking forlornly over the dress. He can only imagine how ethereal you’d look under the fairy lights that decorated the venue, “I wish we could’ve had one dance.”

You shrug, “The night’s still young,” you gesture to the space in the driveway, and the lights that overhead the garage.

The slow Taylor Swift music that plays from his pocket is muffled, but it doesn’t deter either of you as he places his hands on your waist and you wrap his around his neck. You’re wearing your bunny house slippers and Jungkook’s neck is moist from his nervous sweats, but you know that this memory will be engraved in your brain for years to come.

It feels good to know that from now on, you don’t have to be so concerned about the future now that you’ve had a taste of it. All you want now is to take it one day at a time. At this moment the, the only thing you want to do is focus on how you’re going to hold onto Jungkook for the last time. At least for now, who knows what will happen in the future.

“I really want to kiss you, Bun,” he leans in, foreheads touching, “but I don’t deserve it.”

“You’re right,” you tease, “you don’t.”

He frowns playfully, “Ouch. But fair.”

Yet you figure you’ve made enough headway these past few weeks, and you deserve to be a little selfish. One last kiss, you think to yourself. Your fingers flatten against the pressed material of his collar, meeting in the middle to clutch Jungkook’s slim black tie. Jungkook bites his lip, looking down at you for permission. With the tiniest of nods, you get on your tippy toe toes you lean forward and you can smell the apple cider lingering on his lips—

“Ohmygod—are you broken up or not!” both of you whip your heads up to see Jimin hanging over your open window, looking absolutely bored. His arms dangle over your sill, wearing a frayed high school jumper. “Either tell him to get lost or invite him over to watch television because I’m hungry!”

You pull away from him fully, squeezing his biceps. “Want pizza?”

He shakes his head, “I think it’s a trap. Jimin’s waiting for me to come up so he can rip my head off,” he gives a tentative wave to the second floor, but Jimin just scoffs and goes back inside, “but I’ll see you Monday.”

“Okay. Good night, Kook.”

“Good night, Bun.”

Your heart pinches a little as you watch him drive away. Before, you knew what the end game was between you two. It didn’t end pretty. Now, you’re not so sure. At the very least, it isn’t ending on a sour note.

Some time later.

“Your majesty,” you give her a practiced smile, taking careful measures not to brush the lady’s shoulders too hard in the fear she’ll whittle away, “emerald is an impeccable color on you.”

The Queen of England (the McDuckin' Queen of England!) just laughs at you and waves you off. You can’t believe you’re photographing a real queen. This is like the childhood equivalent of meeting Malibu Barbie. You thank every single choice and mistake you’ve made in your entire life that has brought you up to this impeccable moment. She’s a vision, you could cry. In fact, you’ll cry later in the comfort of your hotel room. “Do you think the photographer will take long?” she asks, frowning, “I have drinks with my friends in an hour.”

You smirk, pleased to know she’s still kicking it in her golden years. “Yeah, just so long as my husband doesn’t get distracted. Fifteen minutes, tops.”

“I’m not distracted,” Jungkook huffs, pulling away from his tripod. He gives up on trying to stabilize the camera, instead preferring to go freehand for this one. He gives you an incredulous look, hands on his hips, “I have two queens in my viewfinder and I only got room for one. Get out of the shot, Bun.”

With a playful roll of your eyes, you step away from the lady of the hour to let Jungkook do his thing. He’s right in his element, blurting choreographed poses and telling the lighting people to move at his beck and call to get the perfect angle. You stand a distance behind him, letting him take control.

“I’m so hungry,” your whisper is low enough to blend between the jazz music, but loud enough for Jungkook’s ears to listen in, “please tell me you’re almost done.”

“Oui, oui.”

“Wrong language, Kook. Please don’t offend anyone,” and discreetly, you take one step closer in your Tory Burch flats, “did you get any candids of me and the Queen?”

“Duh, Bun,” you can’t see his face but you know he’s grinning, “Jimin will faint.”

"Oh, yes! Thank you, I love you," you gush, reaching over to discreetly pinch his butt.

He shakes his head, looking over his shoulder to give you a brief smirk, "Show me how thankful you are tonight."

So silly, you think. It's amazing how well you work together as two separate entities of a photoshoot yet share a brain cell in the presence of each other. In another world, Jungkook said if given the chance, he'd be by your side and make your world a better place.

Ten years later, it's exactly that and more.

#jungkook x reader #btswritingcafe #btsghostie #kwritersworldnet #jungkook fic #bts fic #bts fluff #bts angst

2K notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

midgerino

Heyy Gurl

cybertwinke

Stuff & Things...

forgottenshoes

The Forgotten Shoes of 1984

maxpetenbard

Max Petenbard

uncensoredworldorder

Uncensored Opinions