#it looks like netflix has FINALLY CRACKED THE SECRET as to make a good live action anime hybrid

[mugiwara-lucy]

Well guys, I've finished the One Piece Live Action series!

And I've gotta say....

....

It's definitely a LOT better than what I originally gave it credit for! You can tell they REALLY put EVERYTHING INTO THIS and a good effort is something any hardcore fan of this series can appreciate 😊

And given this covers the entire East Blue Saga, there are obvious changes like the reduction of characters and changes to the source material (which is to be expected since if you think other adaptations like the Harry Potter movies are 100 % like the books.....think again 😂)

Now the changes l didn't mind were Garp being more involved in the East Blue Arcs (even though he didn't genuinely appear until Enies Lobby), Nami playing more of a role in the Captain Morgan stuff along with Coby and Helmeppo being involved with the Arlong situation and the DEATHS like Don Krieg and Merry getting killed off GENUINELY took me by surprise!

Although...without light there is darkness and there is some stuff I wish could've been done better like Garp and Makino. Garp was WAY TOO SERIOUS (although maybe when we get to Enies Lobby he'll be more laidback) and Makino was WAY too grumpy and moody to be like the Makino in the original series and honestly....she was more like Dadan. I also wish we could've gotten some more with usopp in the Syrup Village episodes too...

BUT....apart from that any One Piece fan would NOT be wasting their time with this show and I recommend it as I give it an 8/10!

And one last thing....while yes I know Live Action-Anime adaptations have a sour reputation in the minds of anime fans (for justifiable reasons, I was pretty negative to this going in) JUST GIVE IT A SHOT because if this series does well, it'll help expand the series to non One Piece fans and given how much of a flop One Piece was in the West compared to Naruto and Dragon Ball Z, we NEED this to do as well as possible!

Overall, give the One Piece Live Action a try!

#one piece #one piece live action #netflix #it looks like netflix has FINALLY CRACKED THE SECRET as to make a good live action anime hybrid #hopefully this can get big!

[hansolmates]

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! 

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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

[ohnococo]

Putting Out Fires | Reiner x GN!Reader

Summary: Reiner expects you and Annie to be out for the night so he'll have the apartment to himself. When Annie gets called into work, you end up home hours early and walk in on something interesting.

Notes: Inspired by the anon asking for reader walking in on Reiner masturbating! Ty anon ^-^

Warnings: MODERN!AU, caught, masturbation, hand jobs, whining, begging, overstimulation, cum shots, (light) cumplay

MINORS DNI/18+ ONLY UNDER THE CUT!

It had been so long since you and Annie had gotten to spend time together doing something other than cleaning the apartment or making a quick meal before one of you had to rush off for a shift at work - so when you and your roommate-turned-best-friend finally had your schedules lining up you were more than excited to finally let loose and have more than a few drinks. Except more than a few drinks turned into half of one before Annie was staring down at her buzzing phone as if her gaze alone might vaporize it and save her from having to answer the call.

She has to answer it though, and sighs as her manager’s panicked voice begins apologizing and begging her to come in. It was always one of the two of you getting dragged in to put out fires at your respective jobs, so despite a bit of grumbling you both accept it and decide to reschedule yet again as Annie slides her drink to you to finish and sets off. You’re quick to down yours, and hers, deciding that at least you’ll be able to spend your night off on the couch in something more comfortable - you might even be able to corral your other roommate into having a few drinks and watching something with you.

You arrive home to find that he’s already set up in his room, music loud enough to be heard from the living room, so you decide to watch something on your own - something cheesy that your roommates probably wouldn’t enjoy anyway since you get to have the big tv all to yourself. Annie would kill you for watching any of the shows you all enjoyed together without her - even if her odd hours had led to you all falling so behind.

You’re quick to shrug out of your jeans, and into your sweatpants, as you settle onto the couch with a beer and begin checking through what’s on Netflix - intent on finding something so bad it’s good. You don’t get far into your selection before you find that the sound of Reiner’s music was too loud for you to focus on the poor dubbing on your film of choice, and decide to ask him to turn it down a little. It was rare that he had his music on so loud, usually the type to opt for headphones, but maybe in asking him to turn it down you’d see if he wanted to join you as well.

As you approach his room the door is cracked just a little, and you can see his light is on so you don’t even think twice about entering. There was a very clear rule in your apartment - if the door is shut then knock first, if the door is cracked you’re fine. The three of you were all fairly comfortable with each other, and all had your rooms set up in such a way that leaving the door open a crack would reveal nothing. Besides, it was a no-shoes household so if any of you had someone over you’d see an unfamiliar pair at the door, and you hadn’t on this occasion.

It seems Reiner was banking on having the house to himself a little too much, though, as you open the door to find him naked and panting on his bed, working furiously at his own cock with his eyes shut tight. The sight before you thrusts you into a complete out of body experience, feeling both numb and as though your heart would beat out of your chest at the same time - here was your roommate, your friend, and your not that secret crush, naked and gorgeous and - oh god is he holding your hoodie? Holding it in the hand that isn’t jerking himself off right before your very eyes??

Your head is spinning, and you feel like you’re taking in far too much information at once for your brain to handle, but there it is, one of your favorite hoodies - and there Reiner is, flushed and groaning as he brings it to his nose and breathes deep, bucking up into his hand.

You’d like to blame the drink and a half for your boldness - but really you’d had that a good while ago now and had barely touched the other beer you’d cracked open once you got home. There you go, though, shocking Reiner - and yourself - as you move to his desk and pause his playlist.

His eyes open, locked on yours as he releases your pilfered clothing from his hand. What he doesn’t release, however, is his cock. You look him over slowly, wanting him to watch you as you do so. He’s already so flustered and needy, and though his hand has stopped moving at its prior furious pace, instead just squeezing and stroking slowly as he makes sense of what is happening.

He swallows hard, his mouth having gone dry at being caught like this, “S-sorry…”

You smile without thinking, here you were barging into his room and he was the one apologizing? Despite his breathy apology, he was still touching himself, too far gone to stop now - not when the very person he was fantasising about was right here before him, and licking their lips as his hand milks a bead of precum from his slit. And with you looking so beautiful, so enraptured at seeing him like this - naked and vulnerable and blossoming before you as his cock aches for release - you’re adding fuel to his already blazing fire.

Locking your eyes back on his elicits a gasp from him and it’s as if you’re willing him to continue with a look alone. He begins to pump himself faster again, begging without speaking until you’re compelled to move forward, so you do. You approach him slowly, settling down next to him and looking him over. His brows raise high as he shivers under your gaze, letting out a deep whimper when you put a hand on his thigh. His stomach clenches as you trail your fingers up the sensitive skin, across his hip, then push his hand to the side, gripping his cock tightly.

As you take over with a pace as quick and unforgiving as his own was when you’d first entered, he begins to run his fingertips lightly all over his own chest and hips as he throbs in your tight grasp. Soon enough little whines begin to make their way out from deep in his chest as he looks from your hand pumping his leaking cock, to your face taking in his trembling body.

Finally, he offers something other than a half-hearted apology as he groans your name, followed by a low whine of, “Pleeeease...”

You know what he’s asking for, and tell him, “Cum for me, Reiner.”

“Yes,” each word is a whisper as the fast and hard rhythm of your hand leaves him breathless, “for you... cumming for you!”

He hangs over the edge for ages, coating his own stomach in shot after shot of cum, sending it cascading off of his heavily-muscled body and onto his own sheets as he’s left shaking while you show no signs of slowing. His cock is still hard, but lets nothing more loose as he twitches and whines under your steady work.

“Too much... oh god... T-too much...” he’s squirming and bucking, but not pushing you away or telling you to stop as he so easily could. So you continue, bringing your other hand up to trace your fingers over his chest as you’d seen him do before, making a path through the cooling cum on his body and stopping at his chest when your fingers graze his nipples and leave him crying out.

He mewls your name again and again, not as a warning, but as a prayer for release, while your hands fling him straight from painful overstimulation right into another orgasm. He has no time to ask for permission, only time to moan and shudder, cock offering only the smallest watery droplets of cum to leak out and over your knuckles as you work him through his second orgasm. This one is quick, and while it leaves him twitching he’s not set adrift for long before he comes down from this high.

He places a gentle hand over yours, letting you know he’s truly had enough this time, and you release his cock - bringing your sticky hand up to his mouth. Obedient as he had been from the moment you walked into his room, Reiner spreads his swollen lips to allow entrance. He hums low as he sucks and licks his mess from your fingers, holding your wrist to make sure you don’t pull away before he’s had his fill. When your digits are thoroughly cleaned he kisses each of your fingertips softly and lies back.

“Thank you.” His voice is low, almost ragged as he tries to catch his breath.

“Thank you, Reiner.”

His softening cock twitches ever so slightly in interest when you say his name, but you decide to allow him time to rest as you lie down next to him in bed.

#not sfw #my writing #aot fic #aot smut #reiner #reiner x reader #reiner braun x reader

[harrysweasleys]

are you ticklish? // c.d

summary: can i request cedric diggory baking with the reader? i just need a lil fluff in my life 🥺 i LOVE U AND UR WRITING SO MUCH I HOPE U KNOW THAT! THANKS!

warnings: there’s no plot. its just fluff, my friends.

word count: 1.6k

a/n: sorry this is so late! i have been having writer’s block for like two weeks now so production has been slow here lol. thank you all for being patient! (also i’m sorry this doesn’t involve baking per say, but i hope you enjoy anyways!)

——————

The smell of warm, gooey cookies filled your shared home with Cedric as you sat yourself in front of the oven, impatiently staring into the little window and counting down the fifteen minutes until they would be ready. It was hard to stay away from them, you thought. The smell was just teasing you — taunting you, as if saying ‘the cookies are in progress, but you can’t touch them just yet.’

Cedric, leaning against the counter and taking a sip of his tea, fought the urge to chuckle as he watched you, seated comfortably on the floor with a blanket wrapped around you and a silly grin on your face.

Oh, how he adored you. Every little thing about you. From you desire to crack jokes only to see people laugh, to the way small things — like baking — would render you utterly happy. He had fallen for you all those years ago at Hogwarts, and never regretted a moment of it. You captured his attention as much now as you did all those years ago.

He watched, content as ever, while you eyed the timer above the stove.

“Come sit with me,” you reached out to him, giving him a soft smile that he knew he couldn’t say no to even if he wanted to.

He placed his mug down on the counter and leaned down, sitting on the cold floor and scooting as close to you as he could. His heart did a little flip as you lifted your arm and wrapped your blanket around him — he could smell you and feel the heat radiating off of your body. He really did love it.

“It smells nice in here,” you said, leaning your head against his shoulder.

He nodded softly before leaning his head against yours, lifting his hand and placing it atop your knee, “It does. Bet they’ll taste better than they smell.”

“Well, of course they will,” you scoffed, poking him in the side and causing him to jump slightly at the ticklish sensation, “Cookies always taste better than they smell. Besides, smelling them doesn’t put them in my belly.”

Cedric couldn’t fight the laughter that bubbled within him, the vibrations from his body causing you to let out your own laughter. He found your laughter infectious — unique in its own adorable way — so your laughter only egged him on to laugh harder.

The two of you were just sitting on the floor, wrapped in a blanket and staring at an oven, giggling away while the clock on the wall flashed 2:34am.

“Reckon we’ll have any left tomorrow?” Cedric found himself asking after a few moments of silence, the comfortable air in the room not previously needing to be broken by conversation.

“Nope,” you replied rather quickly, lifting your head off of his shoulder and giving him a toothy grin, “I’ll eat them all while we go watch telly in bed.”

Cedric had recently introduced you to a Muggle service called Netflix — which you had to admit, you really liked. It was hard to go to sleep without watching a few episodes. The two of you had recently started a new series and were up late binging it — only, you had had no snacks. 

That’s how the two of you ended up in the kitchen at this hour of the morning, the smell of chocolate cookies wafting through the quiet apartment and the low rumble of your stomach signalling your impatience.

Beep!

Cedric stumbled over as you jumped up, picking your wand up off of the counter and opening the oven. He was eye-level with the blast of heat that emerged, causing him to grimace and stand up hastily, waving his hands in front of his face.

“Oh, the smell of joy,” you grinned, eyeing the cookies as you lifted your wand, lifting the tray out of the oven and placing it atop the stove. The smell was now ten times stronger that they were out of the oven, and even Cedric couldn’t fight the hungry grumble in his belly.

He came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder, “They don’t smell as good as you, though.”

He grinned to himself as a blush rose on your cheeks, the corners of your lips curving up. You always became rather flustered at his compliments — one of the many reasons he loved showering you with them any chance he could get. The way that your cheeks and ears turned pink as the shy smile grew on your face — it was one of Cedric’s favourite things.

“Oh, such a smooth talker, Ced,” you giggled, turning around and wrapping your arms around his neck, his still wrapped comfortably around your waist. You could feel the heat coming off of him, surrounding your flushed body comfortably and making the dingy tile floor feel less freezing against your bare feet.

“You know it,” he smirked, leaning forwards and pressing a light kiss against your nose, “Theres no one else I’d want to make cookies with at 2am.”

You nodded your head, “Same here.” And it was true — there was no one else you’d want to do this with. Cedric was it for you, no one else would ever come close. 

He leaned down and pressed his lips against yours. They were familiar and warm, but they didn’t fail to make sparks fly in your belly no matter how many times you kissed. The feeling of kissing him was intoxicating — intoxicating enough you nearly forgot about the baked goods sitting on a tray behind you.

Cedric, however, couldn’t care less about the cookies at this point. He was utterly lost in your touch, in your kiss, in your smell. He didn’t want to stop and there was nothing in the world that could change his mind.

“They’re gonna get cold,” you pulled away from him slightly, mumbling against his lips.

“I’m afraid I don’t care,” he replied, wanting to pull you closer and continue kissing you until the sun came up and brightened the dim kitchen. 

You giggled, lowering your hands down from his neck to his waist, poking him in the sides and causing him to jump back. He screeched slightly at the ticklish sensation, pulling his lips away from yours and glaring you down.

“Well,” he brushed his shaggy brown hair out of his eyes, “That’s not fair.”

You raised and eyebrow, winking at him, before turning around to face the cookies, “They’re gonna get cold!”

Without waiting for him to retaliate, you picked up a cookie off of the tray, the softness and heat of it causing it to crumble slightly in your hand before you shoved the whole thing in your mouth.

You had been utterly wrong about them getting cold, however, because the second the cookie hit your tongue, it felt like it was on fire. The chocolate was scalding and your tongue felt fuzzy immediately. You let out a small cough and opened your mouth.

“I’m going to guess by your expression that they’re not cold?” Cedric smirked, placing his hands on his hips.

You gave him a glare, eating the cookie with your mouth open to cool it down, “I have made a terrible mistake.”

He nodded slowly, pursing his lips, “Karma for the tickling.”

You continued awkwardly chewing your cookie, glaring him down with narrowed eyes. His smirk never faltered, however, and the second that you swallowed your burning cookie, he lunged forwards with his arms out and his hands went straight to your sides.

You let out a loud yelp at the feeling, the ground beneath your feet disappearing as he lifted you up, wrapped you in his arms, and tickled you like there was no tomorrow. His laughter was bouncing off of the small kitchen walls as you began kicking and pushing him, hoping to get some sort of relief from the ticklish torture.

“Ced! Stop!” you gasped for breath through your laughter and shouting, hoping your neighbours down below wouldn’t hate you too much for causing such a ruckus at this early hour. Your laughter echoed through the small apartment as you struggled to breathe properly.

“Stop!”

“Fine, fine,” Cedric sighed dramatically, placing you down on the ground and standing above you. You finally touched the floor with your feet and let out a sigh of relief, the ghosting feeling of his hands on your waist making a shiver run down your spine. Cedric had always loved tickling you every chance he could get — but you, on the other hand, enjoyed it a little less.

You looked up at him, his eyes bright and his smile practically radiant. You couldn’t even bring yourself to pretend to be mad at him with that look on his face. He looked like a giddy child — a giddy child that had just received the exact gift he wanted on Christmas morning. And for some cruel reason, tickling you had been the gift he had longed for.

“Tickling should be a form of torture, you know,” you pulled down the hem of your shirt from where it had ridden up moments before, “I’d spill all of my deepest darkest secrets.”

His eyebrow cocked up and a glint of playfulness was evident in his eyes, “Oh, deepest darkest secrets, you say?”

Immediately regretting how close you were standing to him, you dodged his hands and took off towards the living room, Cedric’s loud footsteps letting you know he was chasing after you.

He was a rather quick runner, this you knew, but luckily he was in a playful mood and therefore was letting you outrun him as you darted down the hallway to your shared bedroom, continuously avoiding his grabby hands and the mischief in his eyes.

Unfortunately for you, the cookies had now long been forgotten.

——

taglist

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#cedric diggory #cedric diggory imagine #cedric diggory imagines #cedric diggory one shot #cedric diggory one shots #cedric diggory fic #cedric diggory fics #cedric diggory x reader #cedric diggory reader insert

[melismaticmadness]

INTERVIEW

Request: “Something in the lines of reader playing reggies gf on the shows s2 and she becomes bffs with charlie but people keep shipping them. Something in like interview style or so....”

Description: FLUFF

1811 Words

Warnings: one curse word!

Charlie x Reader, Featuring Jeremy

Hope you like it!!

Press was always an exciting time as an actor, but even more so with this cast because of what happened before press events for season one. Their virtual press was great, but you can tell how excited they all were to experience it together this time around. Julie and the Phantoms was the best job I had gotten since moving out to LA. Honestly, it could be my big break. I was playing opposite Jeremy as his love interest, but our off-screen relationship was strictly platonic. Obviously, he and Carolynn are married and she is the sweetest. Jeremy is more of a mentor to me.

I sat in between Charlie and Jeremy for our first interview of the day when a production assistant came in and prepped us for the topics for this interview. Each interview has a slightly different focus, so it’s helpful that we know before we get started. The soft-spoken man raddled off some talking points: Charlie’s sleeves, Jeremy’s new character arc, my relationships/experience joining the cast, and then all of us would have time to add in stories of our choice if there was time. Easy. This cast makes it really easy to connect and bond. They are a family and I am so lucky to be a member of it now.

What I didn’t expect was to get so close to Charlie during rehearsals and filming in Vancouver. The two of us were instantly inseparable. He came to watch my film on set, I came to watch him. We rehearsed our lines together almost every night after long days, and Owen even considered me his other roommate because of all the nights I was asleep on their couch. Hanging out with Charlie felt like we had known each other our entire lives, but it had only been about a year.

Interviewer: “So, y/n, you seem really well connected to this cast, even though you’re sort of the new kid in the group. Would you mind telling me how you felt about joining this project?”

Y/N: “Oh I definitely felt welcomed right into the group. I remember my first night in Vancouver, Charlie came to check out my apartment, Owen came too, and I remember Charlie and I trying to prank Owen when he fell asleep on the couch but it was an epic fail. We had water and shaving cream all over the floor and ourselves, oh my god it was a mess, but that’s kinda the proof of how fast I became part of the group. Night one and they were already including me in their fun. The same goes with the girls, Jadah, Madi, Sav, Tori- we immediately were meeting for breakfast before filming together and having movie nights. It was the best welcome I could have imagined, knowing how close they all were from last season.”

Interviewer: “Jeremy, what was it like having this new energy come in, especially to shake things up for your character Reggie, who really was much of the comedic relief last season, but now has this mutually flirty relationship with y/n’s character?”

Jeremy: “Well, it was great having y/n come in and it allowed us all to explore Reggie outside of his quirky one-liners. It’s not that hard acting opposite, y/n, the talent they bring in was insane and we got along really well so it made it a lot of fun exploring Reggie as somewhat of a ‘ladies man’.”

Interviewer: “Yes it was fun getting to see more of who Reggie is, or was? Spoiler alert if you haven’t seen season one, Reggie is dead. All the boys are dead. Anyway, speaking of seeing more of something- Charlie, I noticed the sleeves on all your shirts this season were barely there. Is this a Charlie characteristic that just carried over to show off or was this specifically written for Luke?”

Charlie: “Oh gosh, haha. I think it’s a little bit of both. I definitely bring a lot of myself to Luke, but even in season one, Soyon, our amazing costume and wardrobe supervisor, was cutting the sleeves off Luke’s shirts. I think it played into his 1995 bad boy persona, and now it’s just him.”

Y/N: “and you just like showing off...hahaha!”

Charlie: “If you got it, flaunt it!” With that, all three of us and the interviewer were cracking up laughing and Charlie was flexing which kept us going a minute longer.

Interviewer: “AH,” they sighed, “Y/N, the internet is freaking out about you, truly, because of some photos of you with Mr. Gillespie over here. Let me read some things for you - ‘my heart is broken because I can’t have Charlie, but at least y/n can. I ship it,’ under an Instagram photo of you two the caption reads ‘ship it so hard it’s like the Titanic,’ which is my favorite. It’s too funny. So my question is, what is going on here? Is there a secret showmance that you’re hiding behind Reggie?”

Charlie and I are now laughing hysterically again. I don’t think the interviewer realizes how nervous our laughing sounds compared to before, but hopefully, it’s not noticeable to fans or the rest of the cast. I wasn’t expecting to get questions about Charlie and my relationship when I was supposed to be talking about my character, the whole experience, and all my scenes with Jeremy.

Y/N: “Oh no, no, no. We are friends! Nothing is going on,” I looked over at Charlie who had his eyes locked on me most admiringly. He was going to let me handle this however I wanted. “Charlie and I just happened to click right away during rehearsals and now I feel like he’s the older brother I never had!”

Charlie looked a little hurt at that ‘brother’ comment, but he jumped in to echo what I had said.

Charlie: “Ya know, the fans are so great. They love to keep up with our lives and find little hidden clues in the show about the backstory, and I think that’s just what happened with our friendship. We’re best friends, we have so many inside jokes, we hang out a LOT. But, Nah, nothing is going on here. It’s cute though that they ship us! Look out, Jere! I’m stealing your girl!.”

Interviewer: “You heard it here first everyone, Mr. Gillespie isn’t off the market! Thank you all for your time today. Everyone make sure to check out season two of Julie and the Phantoms, now on Netflix!”

*****************************

After a long first day of press, I was finally walking back into my hotel room in New York when my phone went off.

I tossed my stuff on the couch and plopped down to see what I had missed all day. Charlie had just texted me asking to meet him on the roof.

“The roof?!” I grunted, “How did he even get on the roof?” Back out the door, I followed signs to the roof. Swinging the door open once I got up there, my breath was taken away. New York City right at dusk, with the cool breeze hitting me, was so beautiful.

“Gillespie, are we allowed to be up here?”

“Kenny said we’re less likely to be followed or have our picture taken together if we were up here and came up separately. So, if we get in trouble, it’s on Kenny...”

“The view is amazing. Not surprised Kenny knew about it.” I said as I went to look out over the glass barrier at the edge of the building. We looked out in silence for a minute or so when I heard Charlie exhale.

“Y/n, what was that today?” he said running his hands through his hair.

“What was what today?”

“That whole ‘Charlie is my brother’ thing,” he made his voice go up in pitch to mimic my voice when he said it and I could tell it was bugging him, but I didn’t know why.

“I was caught off guard...I mean we’re friends.. but I figured no one would believe that if I didn’t squash the rumors right there. Sorry if it was like, emasculating, or made it seem like you don’t have any game, lol.” I playfully hip bumped him to get him to laugh a little and it worked but there was still something on his mind.

“Char, is your manager upset with what I said? I can fix it tomorrow, I’ll figure something out-” I said tilting my head in front of his so he was looking at me instead of the view.

“No, y/n, no, it’s okay..” he hesitated, “but is that really what’s going on?”

It felt like the wind was knocked out of me at that moment and all I could do was slide my back down the glass and sit on the roof. My head was in my hands and I didn’t want to say the wrong thing next.

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry if I caught you off guard,” Charlie said squatting down to my level. “I just thought..maybe you felt something, anything, telling you this was more than a friend to friend relationship..” Now he was rubbing my back. Damn, this boy is my best friend.

“Charlie, I- I don’t want to lose my job. I love working with you and with everyone,” I took a deep breath, “but I can’t say I never thought about it. I have definitely thought about it.”

“Okay, so what are you thinking in that head of yours?”

“I’m thinking that I care about you and that I have for a while but didn’t want to admit it to myself until now,” looking up at Charlie I could tell he was fighting to hold back a smile.

“Kenny, won’t fire you. I talked to him in LA before we went up to Vancouver because I didn’t want him to be disappointed in me because of how I felt.”

“You told him in LA?! He’s probably been watching us and laughing at us for MONTHS. Oh my god.”

“No, it’s cool. He just warned me to make sure I wanted to be more than friends because he didn’t want to lose you.”

“Wow. Okay.” The weight I didn’t even know I was holding, had been lifted off my shoulders. “The fans really do know us better than we know ourselves.”

We both laughed and Charlie finally settled down right next to me.

“Look, I’m not saying we rush into anything. I knew I had to say something before the opportunity was gone. Now that the show’s out, you’re going to have guys banging down your door for a date.”

“I guess it’s a good thing the only guy I am looking for is you then, hmm?”

“Thank god for that interview…” Charlie said under his breath.

#charlie gillespie imagine #charles gillespie #charlie gillespie #julie and the phantoms #jatp fanfic #jatp #owen joyner #owen x reader #owen joyner imagine #owen joyner x y/n #owen patrick joyner #luke patterson #Jeremy Shada #Reggie Peters

[giorno-plays-piano]

Money, Money, Money Part 1

Pairing: mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader, slight Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: lots of swearing, silly drunk mobs, mentions of alcoholism, parody, Peter is adult, is this a crack fic??

Words: 2578.

Summary: When Steve finds out somebody has stolen their money, Bucky realizes he has to take his ass off the leather couch in his office, finally.

P.S. This is my first attempt to write humor and I’m sorry in advance for everything I’ve written here 😅

_________________

“BITCH, DID I STUTTER WHEN I SAID TO KEEP THAT SAFE CLOSED AT ALL TIMES?”

Allyson massaged her temples softly and let out a groan: if Mr. Rogers continued to yell like that, he would definitely choke soon. This morning he had been pretending to be the death, vengeance and fury, ready to kick the ass of her immediate superior, James Barnes, who acted like he was deaf, unable to pull himself from the couch where he slept after getting drunk as a fish last night. Oh, poor Bucky. Apparently, he fucked things up again if Mr. Rogers stormed into his office like he was getting chased by a 200-pound dog.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, you son of a...” glancing at a pouting man-child with a three-day beard, Steve covered his face with his palm and let out an exasperated sigh, “... respectable woman who would die of shame if she saw you now!”

“Come on, Stevie,” the man yawned, finally moving his huge, muscular body up to sit instead of just laying on the couch since he felt a little guilty Steve was getting all riled up while he just chilled, “why so serious? Yeah, somebody took a bit of cash from the safe, it’s not a big deal.”

Allyson heard everything as if they were speaking right in front of her - Bucky was a real Mr. Cheapo who didn’t want to rent an office with decent walls - and quickly closed her ears, wishing she had taken her earplugs today. Her boss just made a grave mistake, and now both of them were going to pay for it with their eardrums.

“NOT A BIG DEAL? NOT A BIG DEAL, YOU MASSIVE BAG OF DOUCHE?! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH MONEY WAS THERE, HUH?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THOSE MONEY WERE FOR?!”

Seriously, she considered getting a new job, but these free daily standup shows were both tiring and so fucking funny she was afraid she might wet her seat.

“Oh my fucking God, Bucky, I swear I’ll kill you, I’ll... no, I have a better idea!” Steve gave his best friend a dirty look. “I’ll call your uncle. Yeah, you know which one. He’ll be sooo happy to take you drunk ass to jail and then give your mama a call. I bet she has a cure for both your attitude and alcoholism.”

“You wouldn’t do that!”

Suddenly realizing the danger he was in, Bucky quickly got up, almost falling to the floor but holding on the leather chair in the very last second. When Steve talked about calling his uncle, a chief of police of the neighboring town where his whole family lived, it meant things were going bad. Real bad.

“Bucky, it was the part we were going to invest into Pierce’s casino. I have to take it to him tomorrow morning. TOMORROW FUCKING MORNING, DO YOU HEAR ME, YOU STINKING DRUNK?”

“I’m drunk but not deaf, Steve!”

“Oh my God, I’m driving you to a rehab, go gather your stuff right now!”

Allyson sighed, getting up and proceeding to choose the most beautiful cup to fill it with fresh coffee: when their conflicts escalated to threats, it meant her boss would soon start to sweet-talk, apologizing to his best friend and promising to sober up and get things right. Every time she felt like Mr. Rogers would really do something to Bucky, the guy used his natural charisma and charm and got away with anything by just reminding Steve how he fought for his best friend in the dark alleys when Rogers was a sick, skinny kid. It worked every damn time.

There they were again, talking about same things with Bucky swearing on his mother’s life that he will find the money and bring it back to Steve. Usually it meant the threats were coming to an end, and soon Mr. Rogers would open the door and come out red as a lobster, breathing heavily as if he just ran a marathon. There he would see her with a cup of nice coffee with cream and two spoons of sugar just like he preferred, gladly accepting it and saying nobody understand him but her. Then Allyson would smile compassionately, listen to his small talk before he went out the office, and wait until her grumpy boss would fall out the room, reeking alcohol, and ask her what the fuck had happened yesterday.

After that in a couple of minutes things would finally settle down, and Allyson would have a chance to give a call to her best friend.

_______________________________

Your day couldn’t start better: you had finally received your Amazon order - hooray to the stupid makeup tools you would use, like, once a year - and even watched your favorite Netflix series with a cup of a fragrant coffee with marshmallows because it was Sunday and you were finally free from both work and cleaning the apartment. It felt so nice to just do absolutely nothing, laying on your couch with a piece of pizza in your hand. Seriously, even a workaholic like you had to do it more often.

Your lazy morning was interrupted by Peter, a sweet college student who was getting into troubles more often than a drunk in a local bar: you seriously considered calling him Harry Potter after you found him half-naked with a scratch on his forehead standing in the corridor of your building and holding a broom. To protect himself from bullies, he said, by the look on his face you could tell it was as good as a magic wand against 6"4 ft tall guys, seriously.

Since he rented an apartment with other unlucky nerds who had zero skills how to survive in this cruel world, you ended up nearly baby-sitting Peter, patching him up after he was getting in a fight and lending him some money time after time when he struggled to pay rent or buy food. His parents were elderly people with income below average, but they still did whatever they could to give him an education, so you decided to give the guy a hand.

Now that baby was standing in front of you, lit up like a Christmas tree, with a bouquet of wonderful pink roses, big box of hand-crafted chocolates and a whole bag of what looked like some very fine food, even a bottle of champagne clinking inside.

"Good morning, Fairy Godmother! I came to bring back what I owe you!" His smile was a mile wide when he looked at your face, happy to the point he couldn't stand still, dancing like those Duracell rabbits in the tv ad.

"You're up early, Cinderella."

You yawned, laughing when you saw the guy pouting at the nickname you gave him - tf he expected for calling you Fairy Godmother?

"Don't stand there, come in."

When he actually handed you the flowers and chocolates, giving you a quick peck on the cheek shyly, you froze, finally realizing he brought all this for you. Wait, what? Where the heck did he get so much money to buy that expensive stuff? You thought he was helping his other neighbor who was planning to finally propose to his girlfriend. Perplexed to the point you nearly missed that peck, you blinked at tomato red Peter.

"Please don't tell me you robbed your 90-year-old paralytic professor."

"Why don't you ask if I robbed a bank?" He pouted again, putting the bag on the floor and getting a hundred dollar banknote out of his old leather wallet. "I actually came to thank you for everything you've done for me. And I didn't rob anyone! I got a real job!"

"Real job?" You eyed him curiously. "But don't you already have a job in delivery?"

"Pfft, you can't call it a job. It was getting one nasty smelling pizza from one place to the other while looking miserable."

You barely held your laugh, leaving the bouquet and chocolates on the side table and rubbing guy's back. Poor Peter, nobody was giving him a hand - while you couldn't question people's decision since the guy wasn't the most reliable one, it was still a shame he wasn't treated decently as if all of them weren't young and careless once.

Wait, but who on Earth gave him such a well-paid job all of a sudden? He must have spent hundreds of dollars on the bouquet, chocolates, food and champagne, not even counting those 100 dollars he owed.

Oh God.

"Please don't tell me you're working for some shady business." You looked at him in horror, your hand flying to your mouth. "Peter, is it Tony's band?!"

"Jesus woman, why would I work for some stupid mob." The guy rolled his eyes, and you sighed in relief, not knowing what to except from this trouble on two skinny legs. “I’m telling you, it’s nothing bad! I just have to keep it a secret before I get a contract. Once I figure it out, I’ll explain everything, I swear!”

“Alright, alright, don’t stress over it, I’m not your Ma.” Smirking, you went to take a square glass vase you hadn’t use in ages, filling it with water to drop the bouquet inside. “Let’s celebrate it, then! Woah, careful there, give me that bottle until you drop it on my clean floor, I’ve been scrubbing it for hours yesterday!”

_______________________

Bucky still felt like Steve was making too much of a big deal out of it: obviously, it was Tony who went to him at night when Bucky was already drunk like a monkey, celebrating the birth of Clint’s daughter. Nobody else had the courage to steal from him, Steve’s right hand, an ex-soldier who had a reputation of a man killing with the first punch. Not that Bucky ever killed anybody, actually being a ex-trumpet in an army band...

Anyway, the man was heading over to Stark’s Tower, a motel where he and all his guys lived when his wife Pepper was out of town. Pepper had definitely been out of town lately since Tony didn’t call: when she was coming back, Steve and Tony were having a two-day truce with nobody getting in a fight because it was making Mrs. Stark upset, and when she was upset, both Steve and Tony didn’t risk getting out of their holes to face this enraged blonde woman who could make anyone wet themselves with one her glance. If there were anyone killing with just one punch in the town, it got to be Pepper.

As he got closer in his Cadillac that looked like it went through fire and water before being sold to Bucky, Barnes stared at the motel suspiciously: it was strangely quiet with everyone hiding inside, not a man guarding the motel’s entrance. What the hell happened? Tony loved showing off, pretending he ruled over the town, and he would definitely act like a king after stealing Steve’s and his money. It was unbelievable Bucky so nobody welcoming him with a smirk.

Hoping he didn’t use all that money for emptying a liquor store, Bucky parked the car and went to the motel, dying to have some beer: one heartless blonde boss of his emptied his fridge.

“Oh, more drinking partners returning to continue the fun, huh?”

Bucky froze immediately, staring at Pepper who stood in the doorway with a face of an iron maiden. Jesus fucking Christ. She returned to the city way before Tony told him, and it was clear she found him not in the condition she expected to. While Bucky considered whether it was better to run, Tony’s head appeared somewhere behind his wife, and Barnes saw Tony was as drunk as him, if not even more. He could see a huge blue mark from Pepper’s heavy hand on Stark’s cheek.

“Who’s that, honey?” The man asked innocently, earning an enraged glance from his wife, and Bucky thought he should have run. “Hi, Buck! Come on in, it’s ok if you didn’t bring beer even if I asked twice.”

Oh. Something was going on. Of course, Bucky could rat the man out immediately, telling Pepper he wasn’t drinking with Tony yesterday’s night, but he wasn’t such a heartless bastard - by the look on Stark’s face Barnes could see his sweet blonde wifey would beat poor Tony to death with her Dior handbag.

“Sorry, I blacked out for a couple of hours in my car.” He mumbled, bowing his head in respect. “Pepper, such a pleasure to see you.”

“Come on in, alcoholic.” Her gaze was heavy, and Bucky shivered a little, carefully leaving his shoes near the door and scurrying away to the coach where Tony sat, nervously biting his fingers. “Well, do you wanna tell me something, huh? How many hookers have you brought here yesterday?”

Glancing to Tony and back to Pepper, Barnes suddenly realized his frenemy had been so drunk he had no hecking idea whether somebody really brought hookers to the motel - it was a total taboo, but once they got drunk they could barely control themselves. Once they literally woke up to a Santa Claus singing Jingle Bells in the tub in the middle of June because Tony missed Christmas.

Of course, Stark would never slip up the night before Pepper was coming back to town, but, apparently, she didn’t stay with her mom for as long as she planned, and Tony was royally fucked.

“I’ve asked you a question.”

And now Bucky was, too, if he didn’t think of something quick. Of course, he could tell her the truth, but it meant losing Tony completely, and Barnes didn’t want that. A real mafioso should have at least one strong enemy, right?

“I’m sorry, Pepper, but I don’t think there were any hookers here last night.” He said, carefully choosing words. “You see, first, Tony never allows us to. Second, we’re good Christians. We would never invite some hookers when we celebrated the birth of Clint’s daughter!”

As he got silent, enjoying the effect his words were having on Pepper, Bucky looked at the man sitting to his right, watching Tony’s eyes watering: it was definitely God himself who sent Barnes his way that morning, saving his from near death. Nothing would work better than this excuse. Clint and all Bucky’s guys were so drunk to the point they barely remembered what had happened, and it would be easy to convince them Tony and his gang came to see Barnes for something and ended up staying with all of them.

Besides, there was a nice bonus Bucky could add to make it work even better.

“By the way, Clint named her Natasha. That’s also the name of your mom, right?”

By the look on Tony’s face the man realized he was ready to sing.

“How did he know my mom’s name?” Pepper eyed Steve’s right hand distrustfully, but he could tell she was less irritated.

“Oh, you know, he and his wife couldn’t choose the name, so we started saying whatever names we knew, and Tony mentioned Natasha.”

For a second Bucky thought Stark was going to kiss him through excess of joy.

When he finally left the motel, getting his pack of beer given him by lovely Pepper who changed the anger to mercy, Tony ran out of the house after him, giving him a pat on the shoulder and whispering quietly, “I own you one, brother.”

Bucky sighed. Stark didn’t take the money.

______________

Tags: @finleyjayne​​ @alexakeyloveloki​​ @helenaeisenhower​​ @villanellevi​​ @hurricanerin​​ @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @chris-evans-indian-fanfic​ @navegandoaciegas​ @rosalynshields​ @brattycherubwrites​ @sllooney​ @angrythingstarlight​ @lookiamtrying​ @buckysbunny​ @soleil-dor​ @stargazingfangirl18​ @dillybuggg​ @literate-lamb​ @cosicas-cuquis​ @sarge-barnes-sir​ @buckybarnesplumwhore​ @jaysayey​ @megzdoodle​ @gotnofucks​ @lux-ravenwolf​ @iheartsebandchris​ @ximebebx​ @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​ @sourpatchspinster​

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #steve rogers #peter parker #peter parker x reader #winter soldier #mcu #crack fic #mcu fanfiction

[filmmakerdreamst]

How Xena: Warrior Princess Allowed Me To Accept Myself

I was living in a city all alone and these two characters showed me that it was ok for two women to love each other.

In order to understand the following story, there’s something you need to know about me. I have always loved fiction. From the age of about 5 to 11, I loved books more than I loved people. I was a shy child who found it easier to emotionally engage with fictional worlds than the real one around me.

See, fictional worlds are created for your brain’s enjoyment. Their rules make sense. Events happen for a reason. The narrator tells you why characters behave the way they do, allowing you to empathize with them on a deep emotional level. Easy to understand, easy to identify with, easy to love.

But real people are complicated. The real world is complicated. And things are seldom laid out nicely in a coherent narrative format for you. Real things are much harder to love.

This emotional disengagement continued from the age of 11 onwards, although it was no longer as pronounced. My habit of retreating into fiction would fade during good times and come back in force during difficult or stressful periods. During the stressful periods of college, the rise of Netflix allowed me to become certifiably obsessed with my favorite TV shows. And naturally, I joined Tumblr in order to more easily fangirl with people who shared my interests.

Only for some peculiar reason that I didn’t care to examine, my interests were slowly gravitating towards girl-girl couples. Soon I was shipping, reblogging, and reading fanfiction almost exclusively about female couples. But I, who had always considered myself straight despite lacking interest in the boys around me, didn’t think this meant that I was gay. I probably just found female couples more emotionally satisfying. I was friends with mostly women, I was a woman myself, so it was natural that I just understood them better. Yeah, that was probably it.

Fast-forward to nine months ago. I was living in Boston and incredibly depressed about it. My job and my boss were making my life miserable and I had very few people to socialize with. I was making the rough transition from the constant socialization of college to the isolating pressure of a city where I had few connections. My days and nights were some of the loneliest I had ever experienced. I looked for something, anything, to lift the heart-crushing emotional silence.

My solution was the same one I always chose when I was dissatisfied with the real world; obsession with a new TV show. And thanks to my femslash-focused tumblr community, I knew just what my next feel-good show was going to be.

My tumblr friends had told me this: Xena: Warrior Princess is an action-fantasy show that enjoys a cult status, much like Buffy: The Vampire Slayer (which I watched and loved). The two shows were made in the same mid-to-late 90's era, with similar bad special effects and endearing campiness. But XWP is much… MUCH… more gay.

That was about all I knew about the show going in. And amazingly, that was all I needed to know to be excited about watching it. You’d think that fact would have told me something about myself, but no. The mental walls of denial were years in the building and needed more force than that to be shattered.

For anyone unfamiliar with the show’s premise, Xena: Warrior Princess is about the title character and her quest for redemption. You see, Xena did some bad things in her previous life on another show (Hercules: The Legendary Journeys). In her storied career as a warlord, she committed such petty crimes as genocide, the slaughter of innocents, that kind of thing. But now she has seen the light and wants to atone for her crimes. Except she can never undo the terrible things she did. All Xena can do now is help people on a day-to-day basis and hope that it’s enough for someone to show her mercy.

Which is already fantastic from a character standpoint. But there is a secret mirror to Xena’s journey that is not reflected in the show’s title, and that is Gabrielle and her character arc.

Oh! Gabrielle! When I met her in the very first episode, I loved her straightaway. She is a feisty, naive, talkative small-town girl who accompanies Xena on all her adventures. Her character quickly assumes paramount importance in the narrative. Gabrielle is Xena’s only friend. She comes to know her better than anyone else and love her for who she is, all the while believing Xena can reach redemption. Yet Gabrielle is not just a support system for Xena; she goes on her own heroic journey. The two character arcs intertwine and co-develop in a way I have never seen in any show before or since.

As each episode rolled by and their relationship grew in complexity, I found myself more and more engrossed. And I came to realize: this was something I wanted. The day I accepted my own desire was the day I accepted myself. What could be more strangling than denying the existence of your own feelings? Yet I had been doing this to myself for years — cutting off the possibility of being attracted to other women — without even realizing.

Before beginning the show, I thought the fandom had read in between the lines to construct a romantic relationship between the two characters, the same way as femslash shippers do in all other TV shows. Except not this time. This one is mind-blowingly different.

Not only does the narrative place utmost importance on the relationship between Xena and Gabrielle, but the actresses bring such multi-dimensional love to their parts. When I saw Lucy Lawless (Xena) and Renee O’Connor (Gabrielle) interact, I could so easily believe that these two women loved each other beyond friendship. Xena and Gabrielle display every kind of love you can think of. They protect and sacrifice for each other. They tease and flirt. They cuddle and console. They have inside jokes with each other. They dance sexily. They play pranks and drive each other crazy. They sweetly kiss. They come back from the dead together. They bathe together. They raise each other’s children. They meet in alternate timelines and fall in love all over again.

I could have left my mental walls of denial in place. I could have said to myself “oh yes, I want this. But with a guy.” But no. Lawless and O’Connor’s incredibly attractive faces and bodies broke down the door of my mental closet. Precisely because they were fictional, I felt safe to admit my attraction to them. One of the key mental blocks I had always had towards accepting any attraction towards other women was the thought that I was being creepy. That since they could not possibly feel the same way about me, it was wrong to feel the way I did. But in my mind, that barrier didn’t exist with fictional characters. They couldn’t feel anything for me. Therefore, it was fine to feel whatever I want about them.

The walls cracked. The water came rushing in. Oh my god. I am attracted to other women. Like, every day of my life. Those flickers in my stomach when I talk to an attractive female coworker suddenly make a whole lot of sense now. I now saw my historical awkwardness when talking to beautiful girls, which I always dismissed as “me being weird”, for what it was. All those short-term girl crushes on older girls throughout high school. How was I so sure they were platonic? That heart-aching infatuation I had with my best friend that lasted for years? Yeah, add that to the ‘definitely gay’ list.

Since then I’ve realized that my feelings are valid regardless of what others feel for me. Just because feelings are unrequited doesn’t mean they aren’t real. That’s what Xena and Gabrielle taught me. Their fictional example was the final blow to my rapidly-crumbling resistance to the idea of homosexuality.

In our culture today, so many forms of media reinforce heteronormativity. How many commercials have you seen that assume attraction between a man and a woman? How many billboards tell women that they need to look sexy for the men in their lives? How many times has a movie ended with the guy getting the girl? It’s the combined action of a thousand small rocks shifting to make a cultural avalanche. You can’t move against it. All you can do is stand still and try to maintain your footing against the current, to maintain your identity in the face of a world where you and people like you are often swept away by the mainstream.

Xena: Warrior Princess is one of those rare stories that dares to go against the grain. It celebrates a romantic relationship between two women as the most natural thing in the world. And in doing so, it provides a mirror for me and people like me to recognize themselves in. There we are. Look at us fly.

This story isn’t over yet. I still have a lot of work to do to accept myself, but thanks to Xena and Gabrielle I’ve taken one huge step towards living the open life I want to live. I moved on from that horrible job and lonely city, but in the end I’m grateful. Grateful that circumstances pushed me to the depths of loneliness necessary to bring down the prison I had built in my own mind.

- How Xena: Warrior Princess Allowed Me To Accept Myself by Lyra Hall

#if this doesn't convince you to watch the show i don't know what will #i love this article so much! #xena #xwp #xena warrior princess #xena x gabrielle #gabrielle #gabrielle x xena #xena/gabrielle #renee o'connor #lucy lawless #tv show #lgbtqia #lgbt #article #quote #passage #xena & gabrielle #gabrielle/xena #xena: warrior princess #subtext #lesbian #bisexual #lesbian subtext #queer subtext #analysis #review #discussion #xena and gabrielle #gabrielle and xena

[commanderserwin]

heart says?

pairings: levi ackerman x reader

genre: modern AU; angst & fluff

request: Could u do a angsty fluff love triangle story pls? + I’m the love triangle anon and could you do it with Levi please? Like another male/female character it’s up to u but it’s ultimately ends up being Levi and reader? 🥰🥰🥰

a/n: here you go! i made it into a whole scenario so i hope this is okay! enjoy and thank you! ♡

It’s very flattering.

But it made you so guilty and confused because you didn’t want to break another’s heart. It wasn’t suppose to happen, being stuck in a confusing pile of love with two choices between them. It’s very flattering but it’s very confusing.

One is a friend. The other is a great friend. 

By great, it means thinking of doing things usual friend wouldn’t do. Be it kissing, cuddling, sex— but not all that. It was their affection that you craved. The lingering looks. The subtle touches. The words that reassures you. The more time spent together, because you wanted more and more of it. You like spending time with them, getting lost in hours just talking, walking together, even texting. The tingles because of the butterflies in your stomach. The rush of blood evident on your cheeks if they even move a little closer. The brush of hands as both of you walk down the street. All the little things. 

It was falling in love; being in love.

Hugh winked his way over, raising his hand in greeting while you did so. Levi avoided your eyes as he walked by. 

Hanji nudged your shoulder with theirs, winking just like how Hugh did. And it made you barf, because Hanji just over did it, and they ended up laughing beside you. 

“So who are we picking?”

“What?!”

“Oh, everybody knows.”

“Knows what?”

Hanji gave you a pointed, knowing look as they stopped chewing their lunch to give you that look. You followed Hanji’s eyes as they pointed at Hugh who was in line for food with a smile gracing their face as he talked animatedly to your co-worker; while Levi... Levi crossed his arms, waiting for his turn. 

“No.”

“Yes.”

“God.”

Your eyes moved back and forth towards them, like a hawk choosing its prey which is morbid because you have to make a choice. Nobody is forcing you but while you make this situation any longer, if you drag it any longer, people will get hurt. You will get hurt because the torture of guilt will corrupt your mind because you know who to choose. You weren’t ready with the responsibility of choosing. One will succeed, you’ll be happy, and the other would wallow hung their head low because they lost. 

Hugh was a friend. He clicked with you the from your first day at work. He ran through everything you have to do, lingered in your space longer than you wanted but you took it all in good graces. He was just showing you around, which is common courtesy for a new co-worker. As time goes by, both of your office hours would begin with a conversation that was left off from yesterday, continuing with such ease that you found yourself smiling and joking around with him. It was always like that, done in good graces and you enjoyed your time with him. Until one day, it clicked. His actions showed that he wasn’t looking for a friend, he was looking for something more and he made that very clear. But you steered off those actions, and tried to make it as you were oblivious to it. 

Levi was a great friend. It surprised you because the first day, he didn’t once speak with you. Then, it surprised you even more because you two were walking the same way home. He turned around, stopping in his tracks as his brows dipped in the middle, curious as to why you were walking behind him. Both of you were stumped that day, while you explained that it was your way home. Then it got too weird, because you followed his steps up an apartment, and the turn once more. He realized what was happening, and he brushed it off. Until, it has become a routine for the two of you. It’s either you who waits for him; or him who waits for you. No talks, just comfortable silence as your shoes hits the gravel with every step until two of have to break away to get inside their respective apartments. 

Then, you have to factor in the things that happens by being neighbors. It’s surprising when Levi was the first one to knock on your door to ask for some sugar or salt. Then it was your turn, who asks for a nearby take-out place. Then at some point, Levi gives you a beer, and leaves. So, the decent thing to do was to knock on his door, with the beer in your hand and a quick grab of the half-eaten chips on your pantry as you invited yourself inside his home. 

Levi was always quiet, but you weren’t dumb too. He was a friend, but it feels different with him. The minutes spent together feels like heaven, and you could only pray that it lasts forever. The lingering stares that you aren’t a stranger to, you wanted that. And as a hint, you gave it to him. It was probably the first time you’ve seen him blush as he does. The little knocks on the door, if he asks for something and when it was your turn, he’d eventually leave you be in his kitchen to grab whatever you would need while he browses his Netflix suggestions— and you’d be left stunned because he has plenty of salt and sugar.  

Or when he waits by the entrance of the building, or by the elevator to join you in the walk home. 

“Hey!”

“Hugh.”

“That’s me!” Hugh exclaimed, taking the seat in front of you and Hanji. He waved his hand in front of your eyes and you only raised a brow, “Thinking of something deep?”

“Oh, uhm,” you licked your lips, stabbing the salad with your fork as you blew a sigh, in a hurry to think of something. “No! No! I was thinking of... work.” 

“Boss got you doing more stuff?” Hugh asked, rubbing your hand with his thumb. It feels so weird, and unnatural that you used it to grab a napkin to wipe your mouth. Hugh brushed it off, starting to eat his meal. 

Your eyes followed Levi as he walked towards the table, but in perfect mask, he flung his head towards the other table, perfectly walking away from you. 

“I have to do something,” Hanji stood up, squeezing your shoulder in secret, as they smiled at you. “I’ll leave you two be.” 

Before you could stop, Hanji is off to Levi’s table, animatedly talking while Levi would only grunt and nod occasionally. 

Levi knew what it meant— and that Hugh was eating with you, again. He is always is too late, too slow, a big coward when it comes to you; and this is how the universe repays him. He wallows in his meal, chewing forcefully at how much he hates Hugh’s face. His whole being— dislike. A big dislike. Couldn’t Hugh take a hint that you didn’t want him? But whenever Levi thinks of that, he couldn’t help but cringe for thinking that— because he doesn’t even know if you like him like that. He’s too dumb for words so he settles for his actions. 

He likes being near you. He enjoys both your loud and silent company, for the days when work was fun and for the days when work was heavy. And whenever he isn’t around you, it makes him feel incomplete. It wasn’t in his book to fall, he just couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help that he finds you so endearing. Like a thread pulling him closer to you. 

But with Hugh? He’s a lost cause. 

Still, Levi finds himself waiting for you by the exit, just like any other day.

He buttoned his coat, waiting by the door as he watched you slip past the crowd with a smile reserved just for him— the one that says: ‘There you are.’ 

But it was cut short when Hugh appeared in the scene. Levi watched your eyes flutter to him, and back to Hugh, struggling to make up an excuse as he could see it in your face. Ultimately, Hugh has got his dazzling smile and an arm around your shoulder as he showed you the way to his car down at an another exit. Levi stayed watching Hugh drag you, until you raised your phone and mouthed: ‘Text you!’  

Levi walked himself alone, clutching his phone in his hand, waiting for you to text him. But you didn’t.

It was close to midnight when Hugh dropped you off at your building, thankful that you’ve got the day-off for tomorrow. You raced up the stairs, leaving a loud ‘Goodnight!’ towards Hugh, while you finally reached the top to open the door to the building. You almost slipped, making you clutch the railings in relief as well as the hot take-out you’ve got in your arms. You turned around the corner, avoiding your apartment door because Levi lives on the second flood, and relief flushes through you again, because he was still awake. 

You cleared your throat, fixing your hair as you prepared to knock with a smile. 

Levi didn’t even need to know who scrambled right in front of his door, because he could hear your loud panting across from it, as he opened the door right away from your hands. 

“Hi,” you breathed, cheeks flushing in embarrassment as Levi only stood there in his pajamas. “I… I brought food. Take-out from our favorite place?”

“Where’s Hugh?” Levi asked, never moving the door an inch wider as he stared at you. He shouldn’t feel bitter that you forgot about him, but his feelings are all over the place and he couldn’t pinpoint if its right or wrong. He’s in a debate if he should let you in or not, or whatever else is running through his mind. 

“Oh! He left. He dropped me off,” you answered, licking your lips as you breathed deeply. You waved the take-out in his face, with a wide smile, and brief desperation on your eyes when he didn’t move a muscle. “So? What do you say?”

“I say that you need to,” Levi started, clutching the doorknob, his thoughts in shambles as his heart was in thudded harder and harder. He read your eyes, and he almost opened the door wider, but he fought himself. Stay. “Go home.” 

“Are you sure?” You asked quietly, pushing the take-out through the small crack. He only followed your hands, “It’s your favorite.”

“I had dinner already.” 

“Oh, but... Right, right. It’s okay. Goodnight, Levi.”

Levi tapped his fingers behind the door, holding his ground. As empty his expressions are, his thoughts are the complete opposite. He scanned your face again, desperation on full display as you shook your head, pulling away from his door. Levi could only watch as you nod your head repeatedly, holding the food on your chest as you stepped away hurriedly. He closed his eyes, sighing as he listened to your footsteps fade into the hallway and down into the stairs, until he could hear the faint closing of your door. 

Levi couldn’t close the door. He couldn’t just stay there by his door, hanging on to the sound of your door closing. He went back inside his apartment, fiddling with his phone as he checked his notifications for something that could differ his attention away from you. But he couldn’t stop to see your face— on how it broke down the instant he rejected. The way he didn’t open his door any wider than he would look.

Perhaps, he was hurting himself for his sanity. He didn’t want to be tossed like rag-doll, get dragged like a rag-doll because he didn’t want to be dragged at where you thought it was possible. He doesn’t want to follow your every step just because he likes you. He doesn’t want for him to be tossed at any direction possible, but only towards at you. 

Maybe it was for the best. 

Maybe all he has to do was power through this, breathed through this— yet he found himself standing up from the couch, looking at the clock as it struck midnight, and like a prince in a movie, he follows you. 

Hugh understood. He could never compete with a guy like Levi. He read it from your face the moment your first day ended. He is just strung-up with the idea of you, and that idea has to vanish because it was never him. So, Hugh understood. That’s why he dragged you for a late dinner, fully knowing that Levi was watching. Because Hugh could instantly read what was happening, he just didn’t want to see it. But at some point, he understands so well that he had to tell you it. 

You held your breath like you were underwater when Hugh confessed. It was supposed to feel magical, the tingles, the blushes— but all you felt was flattery and admiration because somebody confessed to you like that. You wished you had the guts to confess like that. Hugh confessed his heart out, but instead of watching the eyes sparkle, it glinted hopelessness and bravery for doing so. 

“But, I know you like Levi,” Hugh ended his confession as he clunk your glasses together through the dinner. 

“Hugh…” you sighed, rubbing your temples with your fingers because it felt too nauseating, too real, that he said that. You blinked, mustering courage as you finally looked at him. “You’re a nice guy, but-,”

“I’m not Levi,” Hugh added, nodding to himself. He chuckled softly when you groaned before him, and because this was the only time he has seen you so disturbed at the reality. He softly voiced his thoughts, but it has rung the alarms in your whole being. “Go get him.” 

You lifted your head up, mouth parted as Hugh nodded. He rubbed your hand one last time, comforting as always, and you let him. He leaned in forward, raising his glass at you, ushering you to clunk them together, one last time. Hugh held his head up high, finally letting go as you stared in shock. 

“Go get him.” 

And you did, but he didn’t want to be get. 

The food has gone cold on coffee table, still wrapped up in plastic as you removed your shoes and jacket, chucking them on the floor and on the chair. The only company you have was the phone in your hand, and the deep ringing sound when it has been too quiet. It’s staring into an abyss, waiting for something to happen, because you wanted something to happen. 

Maybe it was your mind playing games on you, thinking that he likes you back. Maybe a figment of your imagination. Maybe you read the signs wrong. Maybe it was nothing. It is nothing, and you were right about that. 

“Fuck,” you groaned into your hands as you hung your head low back into the sofa, thinking of how embarrassing it was. “I’m not good at this.” 

The silent void filled you, coloring your thoughts into static, thinking of how it went so badly that you wanted the ground to swallow you whole. It went so badly that you wanted for it be vanish into nothing. “Oh, help me.” 

Somebody knocked on the door, making you jump up in your sit, scowling as it got your heart beating so fast, that you only stared at the door. Nobody knocks on your door at midnight. Even if you’re crazy enough for some guy, you weren’t crazy enough to open the door at midnight. They knocked again, and you only leaned into the sofa, closing your eyes as you waited for them to leave. 

“Oi.” 

Levi. 

“Open the door.” 

Levi. 

“I know you’re in there. Lights are still on.” 

You have never jumped so quickly out of the sofa, scrambling hard to get to the door. Your hand hovered by the doorknob, breathing hard if you have enough face to face him. 

“Open.”

The ever so demanding. 

“Hi,” you smiled, opening the door for him. 

He crossed his arms, eyes looking behind you, and he finally spotted what was supposed to be his conversation starter.  “Dinner is still on?”

“I thought you already ate.” 

“I did.” Levi pointedly looked, nibbling on his lower lip as he waited for your answer that felt like eternity. He could easily read your mind and you knew something was bothering you. Maybe this was a mistake. “Let’s eat.”

“Listen, Levi,” you whispered, leaning on to the door as it swung slightly open, trying to avoid his eyes. “About Hugh…” 

“Me?” Levi asked, taking a step backwards. It was a mistake. 

“No! Hugh! H-U-G-H!” You almost exclaimed but you caught yourself at the last second. “I… You! Levi!,”

Levi stopped, and tilted his head to the side, as you closed your eyes. He couldn’t believe his ears when you said it. He had to lean in forward as you mumbled your words again, finally opening his eyes to match his greys’ stares. 

“I like you.” You confessed, channeling Hugh’s bravery from the dinner. 

Levi only stood there, brows furrowed as he crossed his arms. He nodded, his face turning to stoic— just like from the first day. Just like when you followed him home, to realizing the two of you lived in the same building. Levi thought of all the princess movies he’s had knowledge from— watched, because at some point you picked the movie in his Netflix suggestions, and he couldn’t say no. He thought that if princes run after their princesses, happily ever after would magically appear. But in his sorry case, it didn’t. It was pathetic.

“Okay,” Levi sighed, eyeing the food again. If this was the last thing he could ever get to do with you, he’ll do it with shame and honor all horribly mixed into one. It wouldn’t go away anytime soon because he works with you. Lives in the building with you. Walks with you. So he focuses on his last hurrah, the last take-out dinner night. “Are we still on with the dinner?”

It was like whiplash. Levi nonchalantly pointed at the food, making you look all confused, because you don’t know what’s happening. He was supposed to blush! Stutter! Murmur his confession to you! But, he didn’t do any of those. 

“Did you hear what I just said?”

“You like Hugh.” 

“God,” you sighed, almost falling into your knees, begging for him to understand. 

Tears were falling from your face from confusion, and the feeling of the nonexistent patience you thought you had with confessing. Maybe you did have to kneel. You took Levi’s hands, turning them over in yours and the memories of having to brush them against yours for every walk you have to endure without exploding about him— it all came crashing on you. “You! L-E-V-I! I like you!” 

It finally dawned on him, and the tingles were back on track. For the amount of times he’s cleared his throat to cover up the absence of his words, he is sure he’d have no throat to use tomorrow. 

Levi stood there like a mannequin, and like a thread pulling him to you, he lets it guide him. Until he’s inches away from you, lips all parted, waiting for somebody to fill in the silence still. But maybe it wasn’t needed. 

You shudder with how close he was, and you’re drinking it all. His grey eyes traced your very features, he’s drinking it all. He shivered under your touch, as you placed a palm over his heart, and you smiled with how his heart is making up for his loss of words. His heart thumped underneath your touch, hard and fast, and you nodded. You looked for his hand, turning them over as you guided him to do the same. His hand was warm over your thin blouse, moving slightly to feel your heart thump the same. Beat the same as his, feel it ride its high with just being with him. 

Both of you listened, small smiles gracing each other’s lips as both of you let your hearts speak the same language. 

#levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi imagines #levi imagine #attack on titan imagines #attack on titan imagine #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman imagines #levi ackerman imagine #aot imagines #aot imagine #snk imagines #snk imagine #shingeki no kyoujin x reader #shingeki no kyojin x reader

[cosmiclatte28]

Won’t Let Go (Taeyong x you, you x Jaehyun) angsty-fluff-romance!

Hey there, I am in the mood for some plot like this (no spoilers, read it to find out :P ) Though it might be cliche, I am soft for this kind of Taeyong... and sorry if Jaehyun looks so bastard here, I swear he won’t be like this at all in real life. Jae is a sweet heart too. It’s a happy ending :D

Warning : drunk, bastard! boyfriend Jaehyun, cheating scene.  Taeyong is  your room mate *coughs* he is your savior, Tae is the sweetest caring man you can imagine. Last parts refer to the famous song “say you won’t let go.” Guys please do not follow this kind of attitude, cheating and getting drunk are not to be followed. Do not get drunk, you might pass out or worse got alcohol poisoning.

Enjoy! it’s a bit angsty soft honest drunk talk in the end between you and Tae (okay i spoiled it, but find the details below. A bit long, but I promise it’s engaging) I pour my soft emotion on this :”)

                                    ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

It's two weeks to finals and on the last thanksgiving break, you decide to join the loud crowded party Johnny held this Saturday. Your best friend, Taeyong had reminded you not to come, because you'll regret coming to it on Sunday. Sadly, you brush it off and choose to invite Taeyong to join. "Don't go, you know the last time you went to that party Johnny and his friends set up, you passed out." Taeyong pinches the bridge of his nose. You roll your eyes to the dull roommate you have, "You need to loosen up Tae! Look, it’s Saturday, we have the whole Sunday to sleep and have no regret. It's good for your body to slacken a bit." You turn your heels to open the cabinet behind your back and search through the clothes. Taeyong sighs, "Is your man coming?" he sounds a bit annoyed, well there was some war history between him and Jae. You nod your head, "Of course Jaehyun is coming, he co-hosts the party as long as I know." Taeyong groans, "Now that is another reason why you really want to come." Taeyong knows you're not the party goer. He remembers taking care of you after your first drunken experience, you clearly said you're not coming to any of those things again, yet here you are begging him to come along and insisting to come.

"Yes, Jae is there to make sure I'm alright. Last time it was my fault okay, he was away but I come to Yuta's birthday party, he's my best friend." you give Taeyong your puppy eyes. "How does this look?" you pick out a dress from the cabinet and press it to your body, asking Taeyong who's leaning on your door frame to examine the dress. "Nice, it's cold outside don't forget your coat." he clicks his tongue, "I am not dumping a pile of blanket over you if you got home frozen." "Oh I won't come back frozen, even if I do, I know you'll dump me all of the blankets we have." You laugh and Taeyong hates to admit that he will do that, you're too precious to die on him. "So, you want me to come and what? be your driver?" he asks You throw him a sad look, 'Yak I'm not planning to get wasted. I just need you to enjoy the night, besides your rap group will come. Doyoung told me." "Yeah Johnny told me too, he's also in the group honey." Taeyong clicks his tongue, how can you forget Johnny is practically in Taeyong's main squad. "You know what, I kinda miss all of the boys, I'll join you." He gives up and you squeal. "Now that is more of the Taeyong I know." you clap your hands. Although he is not like that. There's just a small feeling of safety when Taeyong is around and Taeyong, he won't let you alone in the dark, not when he knows Jaehyun is not the best man in taking care of a girl. You and Taeyong share a cab to the house Johnny rented for the night. It was all good and nice, you meet your friends and some of your man's friends. You; however, did not see Jaehyun at all since coming into the room. "Oh hey (y/n)! Did not see you there, I thought you're snuggle in your room watching Netflix." Doyoung seems taken aback when he sees you taking a water bottle from the table. Doyoung is one of Jaehyun's closest friend. "Oh Doyoung! Yes, I'm here with Taeyong. Where's Jaehyun I haven't seen him." you hopefully ask Jae's closest friend "I miss him and want to see him." Doyoung throws his eyes away from you to scan the room, "I saw him earlier when I came, but we haven't bumped each other again." You shrug the uncomfortable feeling in your heart aside. Something felt wrong, but no you don't want to trust your instinct, not in your state where you have drunk some of the colourful drinks there. "Okay tell me if you see him, tell him I'm here, he hasn't read my text." you wave your hand and make your way back to the sofa. The night deepens and you have wandered through the big crowded living room and the pool, but there was no sight of Jaehyun. "Yong have you seen Jae?" you give up looking for him and decide to just ask people around. Taeyong is seating in the big sofa with his friends, talking about joining a rap battle. He looks decent, he must not drink much since he's not a good drinker. Taeyong shakes his head. Mark and Lucas also shook their head. "Try the second floor." Yangyang suggests, you cock your head there is a second floor? "The stairs are accessed from outside," the young man explains before you can ask him. You smile, "Thanks!" and quickly rush to the stairs outside the house. Weird construction, but oh well you make it to the top and there are rooms inside. You carefully walk and put your head into the empty rooms, your heart is beating fast somehow as you inch to the last three doors where one of them is locked. You press your ear to the last door and your eyebrows rise in surprise. No, you're not supposed to be hearing this, there is someone having their private time. You want to move away but a pleasured scream a name you've been looking for the rest of the night stops you in track. You clearly hear a woman screaming "Jaehyun" in the most sinful way. You take a peek from the keyhole and clasp your hand over your mouth. Breathing is hard and you hold back the tears that are trying to escape your eyes as you make your way down. You bump into Taeyong who's on his way to check if you're good and he knows something bad happened up there that you're running over him crying. Taeyong runs to catch after you, he lost you in the crowd but soon finds you in the kitchen, serving yourself a big cup from the punch bowl. He shakes his head, knowing this isn't going to end well. "Stop! Enough! You're killing yourself" Taeyong forcefully grabs the red cup away from your mouth, your eyes are wet and you're already a broken-hearted sobbing mess. He throws the cup away and holds both of your hands so you cannot reach anything else. You're crying, his heart hurts seeing you like this. "He cheated." was all your lips mumble before you plant your face on his chest to cry your heart out. Taeyong awkwardly places his hand on your back and runs it slowly over your back, calming you down. "I think we can go back home?" he asks nicely, though he will do it even when you did not want to. You just nod your head and thanks to Mark's kind heart he and Lucas drive the two of you back home since it's faster and safer that way. Taeyong thanks his friends and quickly brings you back to the room. You slump on the couch, head too heavy to sit down and Taeyong is busy making you a cup of water. He makes you drink the water and lets you calm down a bit. You're crying and Tae is just there offering you his shoulder. It lasts for a while, his shoulder is cold from your tears but his heart is burning with anger towards that specific man who broke your heart. "You're right I shouldn't have come." you slurred. "Jae cheated, I'm sure it was him, the voice was his." you rub your eyes. "You deserve better, way better. Now, may I suggest you lay down and sleep. Finish the problem tomorrow." "I should've dated you." you look at him with glazy eyes. Taeyong hides a small smile, "You're just drunk and heart broken." You shake your head, "I've been keeping this to myself, but I always hope I can see you as someone more than a friend or a brother." Taeyong feels the whole zoo in his stomach, he cannot deny it that he also likes you a bit more than friends, but he is not taking this time to confess. Not when you just discovered your man cheating, got drunk, and because he takes care after you, you're swooned. You roll on the sofa, "Don't hide it Tae, I know you care about me more than Jae actually cared about me." your eyes are teary again. Why can't you sense it earlier, Jae has been distant and a bit secretive than usual. "I'm glad I come to the party with you." Taeyong sighs and takes off his accessories, man he is fashionable. In your hazy state you chuckle, "Guess it was fated that you come tonight to save me." He runs a hand carefully on your red wet cheeks, "Good thing your mascara is waterproof, you don't look creepy or miserable." he teases and makes you laugh. The tension in the room is no longer thick and sad thanks to his crack joke. "Thank you Tae," you close your eyes and exhale the tight air in your lungs. "Don't mention it," he leans back to the sofa. You move and position yourself to lay your head on his lap. "Can I?" you ask before resting all your head there, Taeyong nods his head and you relax your body. He carefully cards your brown hair with his long fingers and slightly massages your scalp, "Go to sleep, will you? I'll make sure you're not choking. If you want to throw up, just punch or slap me." You cry again, this time feeling so grateful to have Taeyong, he wipes your tears and laugh at your soft heart. "You're really an angel sent for me." your cloudy mind is back and Tae can only laugh, tomorrow he might be the only one who remembers this sweet painful moment, yet he likes that better than this never happening. Your eyes turn heavy and you control your breathing sequence to match Taeyang’s calm one. With his hand sending soft pulse in your head, you make yourself to bed. Like his promise, he did not move away and is alert when you feel your stomach acting up in the middle of the night. He wakes up, brings you to walk to the restroom and after you crouch, he nicely holds your hair and massages your nape as you barf into the toilet bowl. You smile from your shoulder and Taeyong feels his heart clench, he pulls you close and wipes your mouth with a wet tissue. He offers you the mouthwash and you're super lucky to have him. You're clean and when you see his worried smile, you dive yourself into his embrace and Taeyong hugs you close in chest. He knows in that moment; you're made for him. He wants to be the one taking care of you and loving you with all his heart. He wants to pamper you with attention and affections. As of you, you know you're supposed to always believe your heart. It's been yelling Taeyong all the time, but you're blinded by Jaehyun. "You should go take some rest now." he carries you to your room and after you change into a comfy pyjamas he sends you a good night kiss. The next morning, Taeyong makes a hungover breakfast for you although he is ready to answer all of your questions in case you forgot what happened last night. You surprise him with a back hug and snuggles into his back, "Morning! Thank you for last night. I don't know what will happen if you're not there. Thanks for everything. I remember everything." you whisper and he smiles. Taeyong turns to hug you and ruffles your hair, "So, do I get the chance to flirt and win your heart?" You chuckle, "You do not need to flirt. You've won my heart since long time. But I like the offer." He bops your nose, "Sit down, breakfast is coming in your way." You feel a great warm feeling in your heart, it's like spring decided to plant their garden of flowers in your heart, not to suffocate you but to make you feel like you're in cloud 9. You can see your future with this man, breakfast and dinner with him and if you're lucky maybe some cute Taeyong junior and a carbon copy of yours too. "I am not letting you go off my grip again," Taeyong smirks, "I was a fool for letting Jae took your heart."

end. 

thank you for reading, how was it? (p≧w≦q) i hope you like it

#jaehyun x y/n #jaehyun x you #jaehyun x reader #taeyong x reader #taeyong x you #taeyong x y/n #taeyong fluff #taeyong fanfic #taeyong imagines #jaehyun angst #jaehyun oneshot #jaehyun imagines #taeyong angst #nct x reader #nct angst #nct hurt #nct imagines #nct oneshot #nct fanfic #taeyong scenarios #jaehyun scenarios

[goddamnitkastle]

Tell Me Where Your Heart Is

Hello Brooke! (@the-restless-brook)! Yes, I am your Kastle Secret Santa. Ta da! 

You prompted me with “anything cozy, domestic, or angsty (as long as there’s a happy ending).” 

So full disclosure I really had no idea what I was gonna come up with for your gift. I thought about doing some sort of AU for you (because you really are the the Queen of the Kastle AUs) but that ended up being a red herring cause Season 2 of Virgin River came out and OH BOY did I get inspired lol

And so I ultimately decided to go full on angst, which I hope you will like. There is a happy ending, I promise. And there’s also a couple Marvel/Netflix Universe nuggets I threw in, I hope you’ll catch them :)

But to keep it simple, here’s a post The Punisher Season 2 fic in which Frank and Karen meet up at Josie’s. Will they make their way back to each other? (well, yeah, duh but it will be an angsty ride).

Enjoy! And Happy Holidays, Kastle Fam! <3

Josie’s on a Monday is pretty dead, even in December. Honestly a graveyard is more lively on this weekday than the bar in Hell’s Kitchen, despite the homely effort of the Christmas decorations put up by Josie herself. So when Karen comes strolling in, just dodging the light rain, and takes a seat, she’s not surprised by the look on the bar owner’s face.

“Wow. Must’ve been a hell of a day. Starting early for the week, huh?”

“I guess you can say that. Can I get a bourbon?” Karen asks as she places a twenty down on the bar top.

“You got it.”

Josie turns around and grabs the Four Roses bottle off the shelf. Karen takes a quick survey of the scene, clocks everyone here. Rob and Mira Donohue are having drinks at the table by the pinball machine and Tom Belkin is at the pool table with a friend.

“Here ya go, love.” Josie places the glass in front of her and takes the twenty. Karen takes a sizeable sip, tries to focus on the burn going down her throat rather than her rattling nerves. She doesn’t miss Josie’s eyes go wide though when she gives her her change. 

“Hey should I be worried tonight, Page? This isn’t your usual night and look, I don’t mind... usually…”

“It’s fine, Josie. I’m just... meeting someone. And I need this place to be quiet. I think they need... quiet.”

Josie shakes her head, walks over to the end of the bar. She pulls back a small curtain, revealing a safe hidden under the register. She turns the combination lock, opens it, and pulls out a 9mm.

“Josie come on, that’s not…”

“It’s a precaution. I do trust you... usually... but I got an establishment to protect.” Josie says as she ejects and checks the mag.

She clips it back in and clicks the safety off when the bell rings by the entrance door. Karen resists turning around, even though she is dying to see him.

God how long has it been since the hospital she thinks.

She goes for another sip of bourbon, tries to feign casualness even though his very presence has changed the mood of this dull Monday night. The Donohues have stopped talking and Tom and his friend have stopped playing. Heavy boots pad their way to the bar. Out of the corner of her eye, Frank Castle comes into her line of sight. He’s in all black, sporting a full beard, and scowling, but it doesn’t feel lethal to her. Josie though is gripping her gun like a lifeline.

“What can I do for you... scary hipster?” Josie asks.

Karen has to choke down her laughter. She covers her mouth with her hand and squeezes her eyes shut.

“I’ll just take a beer.”

Frank sits down a seat away from Karen and the tension lifts once Josie clicks the safety back on. The bar patrons resume their activities as she quickly serves Frank a beer, gun still in hand. Josie walks toward the end of the bar toward the safe but not before giving Karen a quick I will never let you in here again if there’s trouble tonight look. She just shrugs in response.

Neither of them say anything for a good while. Karen just focuses on her bourbon. Frank was the one who called her, he can start this. Not like she has anywhere to be...

Although drinking at Josie’s on a Monday night isn’t exactly at the top of her list.

“Hell of a place you picked.”

“Didn’t know what I was getting into. Knew it wouldn’t be crowded here... and I needed a drink.”

“What about your place? Don’t tell me you had to move again…” Frank cracks as he takes a swig of his beer.

“Nope, I’m still there.”

Frank takes a step closer to her. Karen can’t help it, she turns to face him and take him in. No bruises and his hair is growing out again. He looks the way he did when he first came back into her life, just without a blanket and not asking for change.

“Wasn’t sure you were gonna say yes to meeting me.”

“I wasn’t either. Still debating on leaving, actually…”

“Do you want to?”

“Honestly? Yes.”

“Okay. You can go.”

“Right.”

Karen starts to get up and she wishes she missed Frank’s face. Looking like a puppy who got kicked for chewing on someone’s flip flop.

“Hey.” Frank says intensely as he grips her arm. “Come on. Don’t…”

“Don’t what, Frank?”

“Don’t... go.”

“You literally told me I could go. Look, what do you want Frank? Can you just tell me why you called…”

“I will when you stop this.”

“Stop what?”

“Being pissed at me.”

“Being pissed... oh boy.”

She bites down on her bottom lip; a suppression to not straight up scream at him.

“I want to talk, Karen. But if you need to say something to me just say it. Just get it out in the open so that we can move forward.”

His eyes bore into hers. Karen hopes Frank isn’t looking into her soul, he doesn’t get to do that anymore. She knows she needs to break this, needs to move on. He chose the war. He chose to continue being The Punisher. The people that care about him, the peace he could have found... he pushed it all away. And he can’t just decide to want it now after almost a year of silence.

“Fine. I do have some things to say. But first, you’re gonna buy me a drink. Okay?”

“Okay.”

She walks back over to the bar and sets her bag and coat down again on the chair. Frank follows. Josie saunters over.

“Another bourbon, Page?”

“No I’d like two shots of whiskey please. He’s buying.”

Karen jerks her head toward Frank who immediately pulls out a wad of cash from his coat pocket.

“You got it.”

Josie walks away to get the shots. Karen takes a seat and Frank takes the one next to her.

“Didn’t take you for a hard liquor kind of girl.”

Karen opens her mouth, then closes it. How exactly is she supposed to respond to that? People have been making assumptions about her all her life and she’s in no mood to tell Frank that he’s wrong.

“But I guess I don’t know that much about you, do I? You always... surprise me.”

The genuineness throws Karen off. She wonders if she should cut him some slack. It’s not like they owe each other anything. The connection that Madani had told her they had will probably always be there but as it stands she doesn’t fit into his life and vice versa. What’s the point in trying to make it work?

“No. You don’t know anything about me.” She says after a prolonged pause.

Josie comes back with the shots and makes herself scarce again. Karen takes the shot and gestures to other one.

“Come on.”

“Jesus…” Frank mutters.

“Not into hard liquor like me? Wait. Let me guess. You actually love wine.”

“I do actually.”

He stares at the shot glass then back at her. He sighs and downs it. The grimace he makes is brief, but then he turns back to her and she knows what has to come next.

“It’s been a year since the hospital Frank. ” Karen starts as she rotates her empty shot glass with her fingertips.

“I think. I’m honestly not sure… anyway. I thought we were done. I thought you were finally out of my life and then those pot of white roses landed on my desk last week and… I really don’t understand what you want for me at this point. If it’s to get information I am not going to do that for you. If you are looking to reconnect I don’t want that either. Not while you continue to wage this war of yours that you chose. Over life. Over love. Over… me.”

She places the shot glass down, the clink on the wooden bar top being the loudest noise in her ears.

“I’m sorry. About that day. And I’m sorry I never called you after that. But I thought you understood.”

“Understood?”

“Why I am doing this. Why I couldn’t accept what you were offering me that day in the hospital. I lost my entire family, Karen. I had to watch them die and then bury them. You can’t even begin to imagine…”

“I’ve buried people that I loved. I absolutely know what you are going through. I know hurt. I know guilt. I know how it feels to want to drive a knife into this world just to feel like I had some kind of control over it. So don’t you dare try to tell me how I feel. I just���”

Karen huffs as she runs her fingers through her hair. Frank scratches at his beard, clearly processing.

“Do you think I like feeling like this? I am never going to see Maria again. I am never going to hold Lisa or Frankie Jr. in my arms. They are gone, Karen. And it is my fault that they are gone. If I let myself love you…”

“Frank…”

“It’s just a risk I can’t take. If anything happened to you… I wouldn’t be able to survive it.”

Frank’s trigger finger taps away on the bar top.

“So is that it? Is that why you called me? To tell me that you will forever be stuck in this black hole of a life? Stuck in a war that can never be won and you think it’s what you deserve?”

“It is what I deserve.”

“No it’s not Frank. The loss of your family… that is something that you will carry with you with the rest of your life. And the grief will always come straight at you, unexpectedly. But you deserve an after…”

“Karen, no…”

“You do. I know you can’t see it but you will come to a day where you’ll be able to think about them but still go on with your life. And that won’t feel like a betrayal...”

“I can’t do this. I’m sorry. I should’ve never called you.”

He practically bounds out of the bar stool and heads for the door.

“Frank!” Karen shouts.

The door swings and he’s gone.

This is a crossroads moment. Karen can feel it. She could let him go, never see him again. Maybe at last find peace with this pain. Find someone else to build a life with.

“You love him don’t you?”

Karen turns around to find Josie looking at her. She’s cleared their shot glasses away and is washing them in the sink.

“Josie…”

“Don’t try to deny it. And he loves you too.”

“Yeah, sure he does.” Karen replies sarcastically.

“He does. I remember that news story a while about that crazy asshole who shot up that hotel trying to kill ya and that senator or whatever. I read that he took a few bullets for you. That’s love.”

“How did you... nevermind. Yes, that is true, but then when I offered the option to love someone else, he said he didn’t want to.”

‘Yeah but then he asked to see you again. Timing is a bitch, that much I know. Come on, at least go out there and give the man a hug. Man looks like he could use one.”

Karen turns back to the front door. Before she can process it she is heading out the door, barely catching Josie‘s laugh.

The sharp, winter air hits her and the light rain Is back. Karen looks down both sides of the street, knowing that he is probably long gone by now. The man knows how to disappear, and will only be found if he wants to.

She goes to her left to head home. As she turns the corner, he’s there. Against the wall of Josie‘s, barely standing.

“Frank?”

She walks toward him but he doesn’t acknowledge her. He looks so broken, looking up at the sky.

“You belong with someone else, Karen. Not with me.”

“Don’t.”

“You do.”

“Well I don’t want someone else, Frank. I want you.”

He turns away from the sky and stares at her, wide eyed.

“Yeah. It’s still on the table. But if you’re not even going to open yourself up to the possibility of an after… And I’m not saying an after with me. I mean for yourself. If you won’t even allow yourself to try to find it then it’s not going to work. I need hope, Frank. I need to believe that there is a better world to make and to be had. Even if that means I am not going to be around for it. I am still going to try to leave it better than I found it.”

“Who was it?” Frank asks after a few moments.

“What?”

“Who did you bury?”

“My mom. My brother, Kevin.”

“Tell me about them?”

“Okay. Walk me to my car?”

She thought it would be a lot harder to tell him about what happened to her mom and Kevin, about who she was before she came to New York City. But it fell out of her, everything. He doesn’t interject nor interrupt her. They’re still a block away when she’s done talking.

They reach her car as Karen fishes for her keys. They are stuck at the bottom of her bag and she groans in frustration. She had almost forgotten that Frank is still with her but then she feels a hand lightly touch her shoulder.

“Karen.”

She looks up. He is looking better but there is still that same lingering, soul crushing sadness in his eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

The sincerity of his apology stuns Karen. Then it comes back. The memory of when she told Matt about what happened to Kevin.

“Jesus Karen.”

Matt was wrapped up in trying to take down Fisk at the time. Karen was trying to pull Matt back, she knew it wasn’t the right time to tell him. She knows he would’ve probably have had a different reaction under different circumstances. Karen knows this. But Karen would be lying if his response didn’t haunt her dreams every now and then.

“Well I should get home. If you ever wanna talk… well I’m sure you’ll reach me somehow. I’ll keep an eye out for another pot of roses.”

She gets her car door open and climbs into the seat. She turns the key in the ignition but the engine stalls.

“Come on.”

Karen keeps turning the key but the engine continues to stall.

Frank knocks on her windshield window.

“Hey, let me check. I can probably jumpstart your car.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Jesus Karen.”

“I don’t want you here, Karen.”

Karen smacks the steering wheel repeatedly and then screams. And screams. And screams.

“Karen! Karen!”

Frank’s voice is muffled and Karen barely registers that he’s opened her door and is pulling her out of the car.

“Karen it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here.”

The screams turn into sobs and Karen stops trying to pull away from Frank.

She doesn’t know how long they stand there in the light rain while he holds her. Her crying does subside in time and all Karen feels is his heartbeat and his hand running up and down her back.

“I know. I know.” He keeps repeating into her ear.

Frank asks if Karen wants a ride home. Karen just simply nods, now realizing that her legs are numb.

“Okay. Let me make a quick phone call.”

Frank gets on the phone and says hi to Micro. Karen manages a small smile. Good to know that he’s not dead.

“Okay so Micro is calling in some favors. Your car is gonna get towed to a lot nearby. I will take care of it tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Frank.”

“Let’s get you home.”

Frank holds his hand out and Karen takes it. 

...

It takes an hour but they arrive in Karen’s neighborhood. Frank has to park ten minutes away from her apartment, which has him apologizing and cursing alternate side parking in one breath.

Karen feels simultaneously exhausted and wired. Frank hasn’t taken her hand in his since they got out of his van but they keep drifting and bumping into each other as they walk.

“Thanks for driving me back.”

“You’re welcome. You okay?”

“Yeah I just… I told Matt. About Kevin. And it... wasn’t the best timing and I had never told anyone before that moment and…”

“Yeah well I don’t think altar boy has the best bedside manner. Even on a good day.”

Karen can’t help but laugh. They walk up the front steps of her apartment building.

“Don’t worry about your car. It’ll be safe. I’ll pick it up tomorrow and take it to the shop. It’s probably the alternator.”

They reach her door.

“Okay so I have your car keys but you probably need these back.”

He hands her the rest of her key ring. He turns to go down the steps, their fingers interlocking around each other.

“So hold onto it. You have everything. Use two hands and never let go.”

Never let go.

Never let...

She grips on his fingers and he turns around. She doesn’t say or do anything but hold on to the key ring and his fingers. They just stare at each other but something changes, something shifts.

He walks back up the two steps, and they’re now face to face.

Karen can’t explain it but she’s filled with such a longing that she thought she had buried a long time ago.

They are still holding on to her key ring, the metal becoming warm from the heat of their hands. She inches closer and closer to his face, eventually ghosting her lips over his.

Karen places a small kiss on his mouth. He doesn’t react, which isn’t surprising, so she tries again. She can feel how taken aback he is but he starts to reciprocate soon enough. He angles his mouth as she pushes her tongue past his teeth, his hands cup her face as she wraps her arms around his neck.

The flurry and fury of their movements push them up the stairs. Karen has never been more grateful for her one floor walk up. He gets the door open as she gets to work on getting his jacket off. He helps her out of hers with ease, his mouth never leaving hers.

Karen is trying to take it all in but it’s too much. The ridges of the scars on his skin that have stories and how she wants to know all of them. How strong he is, taking her shirt off with a gentle force she has never felt. How soft his hair is, how his beard feels so fucking good on her neck.

They fall into her bed, still partially clothed but Karen doesn’t mind, she’s content to just kiss him and hold him close to her.

His mouth leaves hers and Karen tries to reach for it but stops. It’s that stare of his again. But it’s different this time. She’s seen him vulnerable but never this vulnerable. He honestly looks terrified.

“Frank what is it? We can stop…”

“No. I want to. I want this... I just... when we’re not together... when I don’t see you... it scares me. And I tried to hide from that feeling all year. Karen don’t…”

She runs her hands through his hair and he frames her head with his.

“It’s okay. It’s okay Frank.”

Instinctually, her hand slides down to his chest. Over his fast beating heart.

“It’s safe. You’re safe.”

She reaches for his face, her finger tips brushing against his lips. He kisses her palm and she pulls him back in.

...

Frank is warm. A comfortable warm, not the searing kind that comes from his nightmares. Hands are wrapped around his head and his face is pressed against soft skin. Karen’s skin. This stillness, after all that transpired last night between them, is strangely comforting. As is her slow, deep breathing. And when she wakes up, a smile forming at the sight of him, he still wonders if this is all a dream. 

“Morning.”

“Morning.”

“How do you feel?” Karen asks as she pushes away a strand of hair from his forehead.

“Happy.” Franks answers honestly. 

“That’s good.”

“And safe.” Frank admits quietly.

“That’s exactly how I want you to feel.”

“I do. With you.”

“So do I.”

He reaches for her face, brushes the pad of his thumb on her cheek. For a brief, sudden moment he sees smoke and a bloody cut on Karen’s forehead. How close he came to losing her that day…

“I will come for you.”

Frank shakes away the memory and tries to focus on this one. He wants these kind of memories with Karen, not the ones filled with violence and open ended goodbyes.

“Is everything okay, Frank?”

“Look Karen… I want to be honest. I don’t want to lie to you anymore and… you should know why I called you.”

Frank pulls away from her and sits up against her headboard. Karen follows suit, pulling her comforter up.

“Okay.” 

“I... want to be done. The Punisher… I want it to be over.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I won’t, uh, bore you with the details but… I was near death. About a month ago. I really don’t remember much but I wasn’t… planning to come back from this job. But I guess Curtis and Madani weren’t on board. They got me out and… I just remember cracks of light. From the car windows. And each time, I saw you. I honestly thought you had come with them. I kept wanting to let go though, finally be with… but you were there. Telling me to hold on. Cause there was another side to this. An… after. And I did. When I finally came to, I asked where you were. And yeah, I found out you weren’t really there but… it was real. And it got me through. And that was why I called. I want you there. But then you were ruthless... stomped on my heart... which I deserved... and I got scared. I’m still scared, Karen. But I don’t want to live without you anymore. And I don’t expect…”

Karen takes his hand, puts it in her lap. Whatever he was going to say next dies on his tongue.

“This is real, Frank. You know that, right?”

“I do.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

He leans in to kiss her and it is the sweetest touch he can muster. He hopes it is enough.

It was a hell of a journey for them to get to this point. And they still have a long way to go. But her heart is safe with him. And now his heart can be safe with her.

#kastlechristmas #kastlechristmas2k20 #kastle #kastle fanfiction #meganerinff #frank castle #karen page #kastlenetwork #therestlessbrook #daredevil #the punisher #tell me where your heart is #I hope you enjoy it!

[demonfox38]

Okay. Made it through the last season of Netflix's "Castlevania" interpretation. Thoughts are below the cut.

I've often thought of this series as the exploitation version of "Castlevania," and hiring Malcom McDowell confirms that.

Although, I find it hilarious that both Malcolm McDowell and Patrick Stewart have ended up voicing the same character. I'm sure there's a "Star Trek Generations" joke to be made in there, but I'm not Mike Stoklasa.

Also, I was cracking up a bit when Varney's plot twist happened. Mostly, because it came off a bit Skeletor-esque in vocal performance.

Also, also—laughing that the final boss went the "Castlevania: Lament of Innocence" route despite barely touching on that game's plot.

Animation had its ups and downs with this season. It seemed like there were some frame issues (not enough inbetweening.) I do appreciate how they incorporated more of Alucard's SOTN animations into his fights, however.

Additionally, some of the fight scenes' pacing seemed to have issues, particularly regarding weapon recovery.

The whole bit with St. Germain was off. Like, he's a weird asshole in "Castlevania: Curse of Darkness", but he's more of a weird asshole there in the same way that casually encountering "Doctor Who"'s Doctor would also be strange. Not a straight up villainous boob. Kinda makes sense thematically to have another character who is willing to do horrible shit for their lost loved one, but the series honestly did not do a good job establishing her. Like, did she even have a voice actor? Or a name? All I'm saying is it was much easier for outsiders to get the Lisa revenge thing Dracula had going.

Also, how dare you joke about not being deaf and then have a villainous monologue, TV show.

Greta's a good girl. Well, outside of being an occasional homewrecker. Point is, she's competent and trying her best to save people in a bad situation, and anyone having issues with her is not to be trusted in the same way that you don't trust people who don't like Rochelle from "Left 4 Dead 2."

Look at me. Do not trust people who do not like Rochelle from "Left 4 Dead 2." Yes, her writing could have been better, but she's still a viable character. Let people Thunder Child their ships on the rocks of your better self. Got me?

Also, y'all really need to embrace more polyamory. Or understand the fact that Alucard's not going to love just one person in his life. Dude lives to be at least 600 in the game's timeline. For a dude who loves humans, constricting him to just one who may live to be 100 at best is cruel.

There are some interesting philosophical dialogues going on here, but I can see where some people may lose their patience for them. Considering one of Castlevania's most popular memes is a philosophy debate, you're just gonna have to suck that up. My personal favorites included the topic of acting versus reacting, as well as having agency in one's story.

Striga's battle theme was cool, but otherwise, the music was forgettable. Yes, that is a sin. Punishable by Death? In this series, maybe!

The gore's still over the top. Which, okay, fine. There's a bit of that in game. It's just generally a bit more reserved with it or uses it in crucial boss fights.

RIP doggie.

The Targoviste plot's a bit of a wash, but it doesn't feel as useless as Trevor and Sypha's previous plot predicament. It's just nothing of a surprise, considering how many times the writing has played the "authority figures are useless" and "dark secret surprise" tropes in this series. Like, Greta being reliable is actually more surprising than anything with this plot.

I cannot emphasize enough how boring I found Carmilla's interpretation and plot arc. You guys could have had a giant, naked lesbian riding a skull and spewing magic at people while her cat-eared girlfriend jumped them for extra damage. But no. Vanilla lady with a scarlet sword for you. So long. Farewell. Auf Wiedersehen. Good night.  

Gotta say, as much of a deviation from his source character as he is, Isaac really turned out well in this series. He's definitely evidence that you don't always need to stick to source material.

His Abel is fucking sick, dude. Way to go, king.

Also, I was expecting more violence from Hector this season. Oh, well. At least he got a teeny bit of a spine.

Look. I'm not an alchemist by any means. I'm just a bit baffled by this season's emphasis of obtaining a Rebis. Like, any time the game series has talked about the Magnum Opus of Alchemy, it's more been in pursuit of making a Philosopher's Stone (or at the very least, a Crimson Stone, as seen in "Castlevania: Lament of Innocence.") Pulling a Rebis out of the aether is…well. Could have been more interesting than it was. I mean, it was a bit nightmarish, but it really didn't do much.

Sypha's really never getting back to her family, is she?

Love the idea that the cross subweapon is basically a fancy chakram.

GERGOTH. BUDDY. FRIENDO.

Really appreciating the monster variety in these last two seasons. I mean, that's a big selling point of the "Castlevania" games. Not so much vampires standing around and bickering in dick-waving contests.

Breaking out of the bullet points to hit on the big subject of this season—that is, the ending being surprisingly happy.

There's been a lot of shit that's happened over the last few years. Obviously, a pandemic. Konami's run by pricks. Then, there's the situation with the allegations of sexual coercion with Warren Ellis. Additionally, the terrible ending of "Game of Thrones" likely impacted how this season was developed, considering it seemed to be chasing its progression in construction. (I mean, look at Carmilla and Daenerys.) I don't know how many people were happy with the last season of "Castlevania," but from my POV, it double-tapped itself in the foot with the way it pushed simultaneous sex and violence in its last two episodes. My point is, there was little taste for additional darkness, considering everything that has been happening. Society is drained.

A happy ending was what people really wanted. And man, did this pull through, in that regard. But, there's a conversation to be had in if this swerved too far or if it violates some artistic integrity to give people what they want. So, let's have it.

Look. Man. Have you seen a "Castlevania" ending? When you do it right, it's crumbled castles and rainbow-colored skies. If you do it really right, it results in a pretty girl holding the main character's hand. There is happiness in these games. Hope. Forgiveness and redemption. If this is supposed to be any bit an accurate interpretation of these games, it absolutely should end in such a joyful fashion. (Okay, maybe giving Dracula and Lisa a second honeymoon at the end was a bit much, but I get where people would want that.)

Did some items need to be addressed more? Absolutely. Alucard staking people and Hector getting sexually coerced into servitude are some pretty big topics to just wave away. (Oh, shit. That second part is even worse now with what Ellis was allegedly doing, isn't it?) I suppose I'm just glad the series didn't go full Sephiroth with Alucard. And at least Hector finally took some stand in his situation, even if it wasn't the bombastic, hateful revenge I'm used to seeing from this character in other stories.

I think the creators of this series were trying to save this show from the fate of "Game of Thrones." (To some extent, perhaps the "Voltron" re-interpretation as well.) There's so much media out there anymore that if a production team doesn't nail the ending, their creation gets wiped out of the collective consciousness. To that extent, I think the creators were successful in saving their series. Did it do damage to itself in yanking out of its construction and themes? A bit. But, in doing so, it pivoted back to being more like a proper "Castlevania" product. (And of course, by proper, I mean anything ignoring "Lords of Shadows." God, people need to stop chasing other products when developing "Castlevania" stuff and just let the series be as it is.)

I am very curious as to how much of this season was part of an original draft and how much was revised in backlash to everything that has happened. It doesn't seem like Trevor was intended to survive, but to some extent, Sypha had to. (I mean, until she has a kid, anyway. See "Lords of Shadows" series for dickery regarding that.) I'm also wondering if there was more intended for the Carmilla subplot, as much as the series was banging on about her invading locations. I'm not even sure St. Germain was intended to be a villain all along. Getting into a bitchfight with Death? Sure. Doing what he did here? That's a weird arc, dude.

If you come away from my POV with anything, it should be this: GO PLAY THE GAMES.

Do it. Do it, you ghouls. Go to the Steam store and download the "Castlevania Anniversary Collection." Boot up your PS3 or 4 or 18 or whatever and get "Symphony of the Night." Throttle Nintendo's stores until "Aria of Sorrow" or "Dawn of Sorrow" or "Harmony of Dissonance" or whatever rattles out of their moldy pockets. Find a ROM. Find an ISO. Just play a game. Especially, one of the ones made before 2010.

"Castlevania" as a game series isn't about hordes of vampires dick-waving at each other or edgy swearing or being grim and dark. Some of that stuff's there, sure. But, at its core, it's what game developers created when they looked at Universal Monster Movie creations and went "That's cool. Let's fight that!" It's a series about pushing technology in MMC chips to make rich, vibrant music. It's about flourishing artwork and layers of sprites dripping particles and gore onto players. It's sober and goofy and very pro curry.

The thing is, "Castlevania" players have their own unique connection to the series. We're the weirdos you see clapping their hands when a mutilated dinosaur shows up on screen. It's not because the monster alone is cool. It's that we've fought and struggled and bodied that thing through several floors like a goddamn "X-Men: Children of the Atom" stage. It's kicked our asses. We've kicked its ass. We've got a connection to it that you just don't get from passively watching it barf lasers through a computer monitor or TV screen. Like, you know how people go, "Well, the movie wasn't as good as the book?" It's obnoxious, sure. But, those who read the source materials have to go to the effort of constructing their own sets and people to understand what's happening. In a similar fashion, game players build up their own skill set to reach that next rung.

Maybe you don't always get a payout when you invest your resources into something. But, there is a sense of accomplishment, seeing what you can do.

There's a reason this series got an adaptation. I mean, outside of Konami's head executives wanting easy money. "Castlevania" is a fantastic video game series. Has it got a few problems? Oh yeah. Especially after outsourcing and pachislot machines became all the rage. But, there's a reason Simon and Richter Belmont are playable in "Super Smash Bros. Ultimate." There's a reason I spent a significant amount of time playing these games and writing or drawing fanworks for it. These games are wonderful. Beautiful. Difficult, but inspiring. Reasons I will still bang on about them decades years down the road.

When I get exasperated by layers of angst and edge lord content this Netflix series generated, I want you to know why. The roots of this show are good games held captive under poor management. Some people on staff know this. I wish they had more scenario and writing control. But mostly, I don't want to shit on them or their work. (Well, other than perhaps the obvious target.) I just want you to see what I love in these games.

And also to watch Crashervania. Because that's legit.

#castlevania #netflix castlevania #spoilers #tl;dr play ball or SOTN or a Sorrow game or something

[tokoyamisstuff]

Oneshot: Substance - Bucky x Reader

Summary: After stumbling upon certain things on your boyfriends phone, your self-esteem drops below zero.

Warnings: Self-hatred, Angst, Fatshaming, kinda Self-Harm (like withdrawal, not eating enough and overly excessive sport), one or two Swear Words.

Words: ~2900

A/N: Didn’t want to keep you guys waiting any longer, so this has been written in an hour without proof-reading. please have mercy with my soul

“Heya, sweetie-pie. Mind giving me the usual?”

There he was, 12 o’clock as usual. Bucky was leaning over the counter and staring at you with his piercing blue eyes.

He gave you a wink as he shoved the money over the counter, looking around the small but full diner. It was always that crowded at this time of the day.

“Come on, you doofus. You know it’s on me” you chuckled as you pressed the coins back in his hand, relishing at his warmth for a brief second before stepping back.

It has become a ritual to prepare his favourite on almost every single day, even though he claimed to love everything on your menu. His therapist once told him that a certain routine would help him adapt to society again, and he stuck to it pretty closely.

And visiting your restaurant was an important part of his day.

“Do you think we can spend the evening?” Your boyfriend was sipping on his coffee, eyes lighting up when you finally got him his piece of plum pie with whipped cream.

When you watched him eating it in almost one bite, you kind of admired him for being able to eat basically anything without gaining weight. But well, on the other hand, training and fighting were his daily bread, so it was no wonder those calories would be burned like it was nothing.

“Gosh, delicious as always” Bucky mumbled and you couldn’t surpress a quiet laugh at your dork while you were serving another customer. “And I mean you in that dress, not the food. Love your style.”

You usually avoided to fuel his stupid way of flirting, no matter how flattered you felt anyway. So you simply changed the topic. “Dunno. Might get late. Today seems to be very profitable.”

It was just wonderful how understanding Bucky was. Well, he knew he was a piece of work as well. Why should he be mad if you were sucessfull anyway?

So he just shrugged with a wide grin as he handed you over the empty plate, saying “Well, then I’ll tidy up the flat until you’re done. Guess who’s gonna get a back rub when they’re back home?”

“Sounds like a Netflix and Cuddle evening?”

“Everything you want, doll.” He gave you a quick kiss on the cheek, knowing you weren’t all that comfortable with PDA - at least at work. “I won’t bother you any longer.”

“You’re never bothering me.” Smirking, you admired the way his muscles bulged through his sleeveless top. “Distracting is a far better word.”

He won’t comment on your statement, rather winking at you and mumbling something like “You just wait until later...” as he already rushed out of the entrance.

Six hours later you were finally able to end your twelve hour shift and close the restaurant almost on time - well...plus the few customers who came about five minutes before closure, and having to clean up the mess you’d always leave behind when cooking as quick as possible.

“I’m home, darlin’!” you cheered as you threw your bag into a corner and got rid of your shoes.

Seems like he was in the shower, at least he yelled something like ‘having something for you when he’s done’.

Well, if the surprise was something cute or nasty - you’d have no problem with either one.

“Hey, babe!” his voice called you out of the bathroom. “Can you look up when we made the reservation for cinema? I made a screenshot from the booking confirmation.”

He’d always ask for that kind of stuff in the weirdest situations. Probably because he knew he’d forget it otherwise.

“Alright.” His smartphone was placed on the nightstand, as usually. It was a miracle that he learned to use it that quickly, but on the other hand he’d always been very invested with new technology.

The two of you had no secrets. And even if: Taking each others cellphones wouldn’t really tell you something you didn’t already know about each other, so it had never been a no-go to use the others phone.

You sat down on the edge of the bed after throwing your sweat-soaked and stained clothes into the basket, wishing Bucky would hurry up so you could clean up and enjoy some hot water.

Scrolling through his picture folder, you hummed a happy little song, already wondring what you’d do on your day off tomorrow.

James is still pretty awkward in todays society, but hell he knew how to treat a woman. And dates were his speciality.

“I can’t fi-” Your words turned into a loud gasp as you saw the preview image of a seemingly naked woman. Shocked, even though you felt bad for prying instead of trusting your partner, you klicked on it to see the whole picture.

It was exactly what you thought it was. That sort of picture drunk elderly men would send each other in Whatsapp Groups.

A beautiful woman, only wearing a thong and presenting it in a - let’s call it ‘seductive’ pose.

And the worst of all was the headline, floating above the models face:

“The Perfect Woman”

This was not the only pic of some sort - you found a dozen of it, videos as well.

Disgusting was the only thing that came to your mind.

Not the woman, though. You were not one to slut-shame anyway.

But a feeling of disgust came up when you layed down the phone and went to the mirror, watching yourself closely. And for the first time, you were not satisfied with what you were seeing.

Sure, you’ve always been kind of chubby. But up until now you’ve never doubtet your beauty.

Curves were always something beautiful to you, even though you had to admit that some days, you were asking yourself why you had to be the only one of your friends who had that hard cellulite and stretch marks.

Maybe if you’d already have kids or were older, you’d be fine with it, but...

On the other hand, your friends would admire the fact that you had bigger breasts and a ‘peach ass’, as they’d call it.

Your mother used to call it ‘atomar boobs’ and ‘birth-enthusiastic hips’, always making you laugh about how self-ironic she was. But on the inside you knew how much she was struggling as well.

There were so many forms of beauty, and you loved every single one of it - including your own. But now..

“Ugly” you told yourself again and again, while trying to find a suitable pose that didn’t make you look like a small, wobbly piece of fat.

Did the opinion of a man really matter more to you than your own? Now you also felt kind of pathetic.

Actually, you were just hurt. Of him not being honest, and obviously searching for something...you didn’t want to say ‘better’, but rather ‘different’ than you.

As former Winter Soldier, he might not be that popular, but his looks sure did the trick anyway. So why not searching for a thin woman if he loves them so much?

Or does he already know them? What if those were not mere pictures, but woman he actually contacted?

The thought alone made you tear up.

You’ve tried. Your whole life you did and he knew that.

It’s a problem you’ve been struggling for your whole youth, after all.

No matter how much sport or diets you tried out, your body just wouldn’t change. Even after you’ve got diagnosed with hypothyreosis, the medication would only do so much as prevent further weight gain.

Things got a lot easier when you were grown up, and the bullies would decrease.

You learned to love yourself, and realized that many people were into exactly your kind of body-type. After finding your own style and way of living, things became so much easier and you could finally be yourself.

“Heya, there” a familiar voice snickered behind your back, “What’s cookin’, good lookin’?”

The only reaction Bucky would gain was a pained groan, yet you didn’t dare to make a scene just yet. You wanted him to take the hints and be honest with you, that was what you had decided.

“Didn’t find the picture. Go look yourself.”

With that said, you’d walk straight past him and towards the bathroom. It took you quite a while to cry to your hearts extend, sobs being deafened by the pattering sounds of the shower.

You wrapped a towel around yourself, but when you saw your reflection again as you put on some lotion, you decided to wear the bathrobe.

No matter how you moved, you felt like some fat would always wiggle or roll up somehow - and Bucky felt your discomfort as soon as you greeted him with a twisted face.

“C’mon here, babydoll. We can talk.” He patted the spot right next to him on the bed, and goddamn it was just too unfair how he was posing there on the mattress, looking like a fucking adonis compared to you.

The very second you stiffly layed down next to him, you felt his hand slip under your bathrobe and squeeze your thigh, making you gasp.

“Maybe I can cheer you up otherwise before we talk...” he breathed into your ear, adding a bittersweet “I missed you.”

“Bucky, please. I’m tired.” Perfect. You managed to get that sentence out without your voice cracking once. Now you just needd to turn around and wrap yourself in your comforter before he’d see the tears in your eyes.

You didn’t want him - or anyone else - to touch you ever again.

“O-okay...” James stuttered, already reaching out his hand to touch your shoulder. But in the end, he retreated it, realizing you needed some time for yourself. “Imma be at the sofa if you need me.”

“Or tell me what the fuck is wrong all of a sudden...” He kept himself from saying that.

The following days were the hardest ones yet to come - for both of you.

It all started with you declining all offers from friends to go swimming or visiting some food-places, slowly but steadily withdrawing you from the happy, active life you’ve built up out of anger and shame.

You had grown quite distant as time passed, at first finding any kind of excuse for intimacy, and afterwards not even bearing any kind of physical contact. Not to speak of simple and carefree talking...

The air had become strained around the two of you, but Bucky was too afraid to ask you what was wrong.

Instead of letting off some steam through work as always, you took a few weeks off. It wasn’t like you needed the money anyway, looking at how successfull your work was.

Your restaurant, even though being more of a small diner, had been on the top of New Yorks most popular ones for years. And you were damn proud of it.

Bucky would always say you’re the only one who cooks just like home, and meanwhile you knew all of his favourite dishes.

An unconscious smile ghosted your lips when you thought back to the day where Bucky would go all Winter Soldier on a dude that made fun of you for being “a wandering cliché: a fat woman running a kitchen”. Ouch.

You didn’t go on vacation those days - there was different work to do.

Actually, you liked sports. For fun, that is. Like going to swim with your friends, or going for a walk. Sometimes visiting the gym, even. To you, it was more part of a healthy lifestyle instead of a competition for appreciation.

But now, things were different. You tried to built up your confidence again through secretly visiting the Avengers training rooms - yet to no avail.

Steve kindly offered you help with any certain training, but you declined. This was something you wanted to achieve yourself.

As if that would change anything about your feeling of betrayal...

“Fuck!” you exclaimed after almost falling off the treadmill, having to use the emergency turn-off. Even though many people assumed it, you weren’t really unfit. But those past days, you’ve just overloaded yourself through excessive training and eating almost nothing.

You kneeled down, desperately trying to catch your breath. Looking down, you saw your bruised knuckles from punching the bag earlier and thinking of that damn beautiful woman on Buckys cellphone.

If only you would have the courage to talk this through with him...but you were afraid of the outcome. Of the truth.

Knowing you were all alone on the floor, you finally gave in to your emotions, huddling to a fetal curl and starting to sob over your deadlocked situation.

“Y/N?”

Dear god no - it was Bucky. What was he doing here? It was not his usual training time!

On the other hand: What else did he have to do in his free-time, now that the other Avengers are on a mission and his girlfriend is avoiding him at all costs?

Actually, he wanted to let off some steam as well. But seeing you like this swung his mood in an instant, and he aided you immediately.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?!” There was genuine compassion in his voice, sorrow even. As if it was his fault.

He was kneeling right next to you, and for the first time in two weeks, you wouldn’t flinch at his touch. “Let me help you...”

“You don’t need to play anymore, James” you whimpered, slapping his hand away. “Just get this over with.”

Now you’ve got him mad. “What the fuck did I do wrong to deserve this, Y/N?!” he screamed and his metal fist would meet the floor, cracking it broken.

“I know damn well I’m far from the perfect boyfriend...” Bucky began to sniffle, still clenching and unclenching his fists. “But I thought you’d love me as I am.”

“You’re one to talk.” Fuck it, now that you seemingly screwed up anyway you could talk freely. “I’ve seen the photos, Bucky. Of the perfect woman. Many of them. Seems like you prefer something not remotely close to me.”

For a while, there was only silence.

Bucky dug his face deep into his palms, as if he wanted to disappear in them - or simply to facepalm in a pretty weird way.

“Doll, is that what all this is about?”

His reaction made you feel kinda strange. “Y-yeah.” Did you overreact?

“You know I don’t possibly know her. Don’t care about her or her body either.” He sat there, cross-legged and with a face as dark as your heart had been those past weeks.

“Then why do you keep a ton of photos of naked models on your phone?!” You jumped onto him, effectively knocking him over and pinning him on the floor. Out of a whim, you wanted to run away, but he trapped you in his hold.

“Gosh, why can’t you talk to me for once?” It almost sounded like he found it funny. “You’re usually one to be upfront about everything.”

A sole tear escaped every eye, but Bucky would catch them with his thumb.

“Sam sent them to me. We have that Whatsapp-Group, and he’s simply that single, horny dude that finds that kind of stuff funny. You know I never delete anything. I have over 5000+ photos on that shit phone.”

You were stunned, looking at him in disbelief. “I’m sorry, doll. I should’ve know you’d stumble across them eventually. But you were always so confident and strong, the thought of it bothering you never crossed my mind.”

“Y-you-” Gosh, what a fucking idiot you were. “You’re not at fault, Buck! I’m so sorry! I feel so stupid right now.”

“And I thought you wanted to leave me...” he murmured, mainly to himself.

“Wha- how could I ever?! You’re the love of my life! Why else do you think your opinion matters this much to me? Look where we are right now!”

“And you know that the beauty-standarts of the 40s are exactly what you look like, right?”

The situation changed so drastically, it left both of you in boisterous laughter.

When you finally catched your breath, holding your thummy at how much you laughed, Bucky would not give you a break - rather cupping your cheeks and pulling your lips onto his.

“Look” he breathed out calmly, his cheek barely brushing yours. “I feel stupid for even saying this, but: My girl doesn’t have to be a model. Beauty is a concept, dear. Everyone pictures something else when they think of it. And I think of you.”

You had already snuggled up onto his chest as he swiftly picked you up, your ear able to sense his heartbeat. Absentmindedly running your hand over his prosthetic one, you realized that you were not the only one who was self-conscious about their appearance.

But just like you never doubted the true beauty of your lover, neither did he.

“Y/N...You’re strong and smart and kind. No one had ever touched my heart the way you did. That’s all that counts.”

_______

Taglist:

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#Bucky x Reader #Bucky x You #Bucky/Reader #Bucky/You #BuckyxReader #BuckyxYou #Winter Soldier #Bucky Barnes #James Buchanan Barnes #White Wolf #Marvel #Avengers #Self Insert #Chubby! Reader #Fanfiction

[procrastinatorimagines]

Could Have Been More

Fandom: Chicago Fire / Chicago PD / One Chicago

Series: Could Have Been More

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 (Final)

Character/s: Reader x Voight, Foster, Brett, Kidd, Severide, Casey

Warning/s: break up, minor swearing

Word Count: 1,309

Request:  Imagine request for some Hank Voight dating a paramedic and she keeps it a secret from the fire house (they know she as a bf) until Hank screams at her breaking up at the firehouse, lots of angst and comfort please And thank you 🙏🏼 xx

Summary: Reader interferes with one of Voight’s cases and he questions whether they’re relationship is going to work, but luckily 51 has her back

Sylvie’s sideways glancing in the ambo all day told you she knew something was up with you, you’d told her you were fine but she wasn’t convinced. You wanted nothing more than to talk to her, but how could you tell her about your boyfriend troubles without letting slip who you were dating? They’d managed to figure out that it was a cop some time ago, but they hadn’t even come close to figuring out that you’d been seeing Hank Voight, and you both prefered to keep it that way.

So you drove along in relative silence, mind wandering to Hank more often that you’d like. He was going to be pissed when he found out, you knew you couldn’t keep it a secret for long, you just hoped he’d understand.

Even if you told your partner what was going on, it wasn’t like your problem was a normal relationship hurdle, you’d snuck a look at a case file Hank had been pouring over at the dining table before bed, trying to figure out the link between a dead banger and a dead waitress from a cafe in Canaryville. You were only trying to help, this case had hit a brick wall and the Commander was threatening to pass it on to homicide to take care of, and it turned out you actually knew someone who worked at that cafe, so you’d put in a word to try and see if they knew more than they let on.

Well, as it turned out, your friend talked to their manager about your call, their manager the actual killer, as it turned out, who Intelligence had been gearing up to take down but was now in the wind. Thanks to you. Shit.

You knew how Hank was, how he never revealed everything he was doing, even to his own unit, let alone his girlfriend, and you knew it was only a matter of time before your friend at the cafe told PD about your conversation.

“Is that Sergeant Voight?” Sylvie asked, looking into her mirror as she reversed back into the station. You turned to see Hank leaning against the entrance to the firehouse, and you knew he was there to see you. “I wonder what he wants,” Sylvie mused, parking the ambo and jumping out. Voight approached as you both got out, eyes fixed on you. “Hey Sarge, everything alright?” She asked, his eye were still trained on you as he answered.

“Need to talk to your partner for a minute if that’s okay.” He said, his balanced tone revealing absolutely nothing. Sylvie looked between the two of you in confusion, but left when you nodded for her to go.

“It’s all good,” you reassured her. 

“Umm, okay, I need to get started on restocking anyway,” she said, and Voight gestured for you to follow him to a more seculded part of the floor.

“Anything you want to tell me?” He asked when you were alone.

“Hank, I was only trying to help-” You tried but he shook his head.

“It wasn’t your place,” he interrupted, “we keep our work and our personal lives separate, that’s one of the main reasons no one even knows about our relationship, and that was something we both agreed.”

“I know but-” he cut you off again, looking increasingly angrier.

“Now we have a murderer in the wind,” he snapped, “and this guy doesn’t just know we’re on to him, he knows your name Y/N!” You jumped as his voice suddenly got louder, noticing that all talk at the Squad table had ceased. Voight didn’t seem to notice, however, so angry he’d forgotten you weren’t alone.

“I’m sorry Hank, I’m messed up, I’m sorry.” You apologised.

“You’re sorry!? Y/N, how am I supposed to explain how you even knew about our operation, how am I supposed to keep you safe!” He yelled and you took a reflexive step back as you saw Kelly get up from his chair at the other side of the room. 

Voight sounded worried, and you knew his main problem wasn’t that you’d interfered, that he could probably have gotten over, but the worry in his voice told you what really got to him was the thought of something happening to you. 

There was a pause as you both looked at one another, you honestly didn’t know what to say, words couldn’t express how sorry you were for putting him in this position.

“I don’t think I can do my job and be with you,” he said at last, much softer his time, and you took a breath, feeling a tear fall down your cheek.

“I never meant for this to happen,” you told him, voice cracking as you finished.

“I know,” he said, “neither did I.” Now he was calmer he became acutely aware of all the eyes on the two of you, so with only one more glance at you he left without a word, leaving you standing there lost.

You took a look around the ap floor, all eyes were on you, Sylvie made a move from the ambo where she was restocking, opening her mouth to say something. But you swallowed hard, wiping your face and heading straight for the toilets, not needing to hear what anyone was about to say.

Sylvie obviously followed you, Stella and Emily in tow, all three standing by the door as you splashed for face with water, as unsure of what to say as you were.

“You know my money was on that cute patrol officer,” Emily said tentitively, breaking the silence. Sylvie glared at her and Stella shook her head but you laughed a little anyway, drying your face with a paper towel.

“That sounded rough,” Sylvie said.

“Yeah, you wanna talk about it?” Stella asked but you shook your head.

“Honestly not really,” you told them, “did everyone hear that?”

“Yeah, yeah they did, sorry.” Emily replied.

“But everyone’s concerned about you, they’re not judging,” Sylvie added.

“Great, just- just what I needed,” you crunched up your paper towel and threw it hard into the trash. “God I feel so stupid.”

“You’re not,” Sylvie approached you and put an arm around your shoulder, “we’ve all had our hearts broken.”

“Maybe not by Voight obviously,” Emily added and you all laughed, “but yeah girl we’ve all been there, and we’re here for you now.”

Stella put her arm over you from the other side, “look shift’s nearly over, we can hang out in the bunk room until then, or in Kelly’s office even, I’m sure he won’t mind, ride out shift and go get a drink.” You shrugged.

“I’m not really feeling Molly’s tonight,” you said.

“Fine, then we’re all coming over to yours, ice cream, brownies, booze, you name it, we can watch some cheesy Netflix and order take out,” Emily said instead.

“Trust us,” Sylvie gave you a light, friendly nudge and you grinned a little, “when have we ever steered you wrong?”

“Okay,” you said finally, grateful to have your friends here with you, and extra grateful they weren’t judging you. 

You untangled yourself from them and went to double check how you looked in the mirror. “You got this,” Emily squeezed your shoulder and opened the door, “just another hour left of shift.”

“Yeah, I can do this.” You straightened out your uniform and headed out with the girls just as Matt and Kelly were heading past. Kelly opened his mouth to make a remark but Stella stopped him with a pointed glare and he held his hands up in surrender, Matt just shrugged and didn’t say a word even though you could tell he wanted to. 

This was going to be a long hour, and you couldn’t stop thinking about Hank, but at least you had your girls to help you get through it.

#hank voight #chicago pd #one chicago #hank voight imagine #chicago pd imagine #hank voight imagines #chicago pd imagines #hank voight one shot #chicago pd one shot #one chicago one shot #one chicago imagine #one chicago imagines #one shot

[mulletcal]

words with friends - ashton irwin blurb.

a/n: okay so i got this dumb idea when i saw lau ( @sexgodashton​ )’s tags on this post pls forgive me 

word count: ~1.8k

warnings: none

****

At first, Ashton thought that the lockdown with his 14-year-old niece wouldn’t be so bad - he’d have someone to talk to, crack jokes with, and binge Netflix with.  But about a week into them being told they couldn’t leave the house at all is when things started to get a little rocky.

“Uncle Ash, your WiFi is the absolute worst.  This is the 10th time it’s buffered for this episode of Peaky Blinders.  It’s too much,” she sighed, pausing the TV so that she could turn to him, “You need to look into getting a better service provider.”

Ashton frowned, glancing up from the game he had just lost on his phone, “Is that why I just lost this game of Words with Friends against Calum?”

“Probably! You both have terrible WiFi - so it was one of you,” On her screen, Ashton could see her looking up potential service providers that could be newly set up without them having to enter your home.

“I think it’s his, I’d put my money on it.  My internet’s been fine all this time,” Ashton typed up a message to Calum that said ‘bro your wifi is shit get it fixed’. 

“Fine, or were you just never home long enough for it to become a problem?” 

“Wow, hard hitting facts for a 14 year old.” Ashton’s phone pinged, a simple middle finger emoji as a response from Calum.

“Look, I found one that has contactless set up, and their reviews are great.  Just think about it - you don’t know how long this is going to last, and you don’t want to be in the middle of kicking Calum’s ass--”

“Language!” He laughed, placing a hand to his forehead, “Alright, alright. I hear you.  Send me the number so I can contact them about it.”

Within a few hours, everything had been arranged - Ashton realized he had a weird sense of attachment to his internet service provider, feeling guilty that he was cancelling on them, especially during a hard time like this.  Some reassurance from his niece helped though, and he accepted that his life would likely be better if when he was home he could watch a movie straight through without needing to pause it, go make a snack or two, and come back to see if it had loaded enough.

The next day, the new router arrived on his doorstep, and the man who delivered it was outside in his van, phone at the ready so he could walk Ashton through the setup.  Overall it was easier than expected, everything ready to go in less than an hour - he had expected some type of all day event; but much to his delight he was back settled into his couch, underneath a cozy blanket as he opened Words with Friends once again.

He was eager to be able to call his friend out on his poor WiFi, now knowing (hoping) that it would go rather seamlessly.  Unfortunately though, Calum was busy at the moment, so Ashton was left to select playing against a stranger the game suggested was his match of the day.  It wasn’t often he did that, trying to keep it to just the people he knew - but just this once couldn’t hurt.  What did hurt was the fact that this person was absolutely kicking his ass, making his jaw drop with every word they made.

At the end of their game, Ashton frowned when he realized he lost by almost 100 points - how was that even possible? His phone notified that this person wanted to go again, and he wondered for a moment if they wanted to face him again because he seemed like an easy person to win against.  His competitive side came out tenfold for this round though, trying his best to think of words that would give him the most bang for his buck, as it were.  He almost had them, a few points ahead - but then they put down a word that completely obliterated him.

Ashton almost threw his phone, he did, not used to losing so easily against someone.  He liked to think of himself as a wordsmith, he was a songwriter after all, he should be able to be better at this. Tapping the ‘chat’ option, his fingers hesitated over the keys before typing out ‘HOW?’.  Aggressive? Maybe, but he needed to know what their secret was.

Their reply was quick, a casual ‘😇’ and somehow that frustrated Ashton more.  Maybe he needed to go for a walk.  There was no reason why he should be such a sore loser about a game, maybe being on lockdown was driving him slowly stir crazy. His phone buzzes with another notification and the person asked ‘Another round, or are you too scared to lose again?’.  Oh, now it was on.

A couple hours, and many rounds later with some occasional banter back and forth between the two of them, Ashton finally needed to stop - his eyes felt like they had gone dry from staring at his phone for hours on end.  His niece came into the living room, her head cocking to the side.

“You’re in the same position that you were when I last came down here - have you finally turned into a couch potato? Should I call mom that I’m gonna have to start using you as our produce?” she asked, a grin on her lips.  His niece was a mirror image of his sister, and it made him frown - missing her more and more every day. “Why is your face so red? You feeling okay?”

Ashton hadn’t even realized that his face was warm - was he getting sick? Or was it the witty banter back and forth with the person from the game that had gotten to him? He hoped it was the latter, he’d feel incredibly guilty if his niece was stuck in his house with him while he was fighting what was likely the common cold, but the times were uncertain.

“D’know, doesn’t matter.  What do you want for dinner?” He asked, brushing off her questions as he followed her into the kitchen.

***

Days later, Ashton had kept up the banter with this stranger.  Their conversations were more frequent, and their games less so.  It was kind of nice to talk to someone new, someone who didn’t already know what to expect from him, or things to say.  His stranger friend seemed off today, and it made him frown slightly, thinking that maybe they were growing tired of talking to him.

‘Your wittiness is off today, friend, you doing alright?’ He typed out, pausing for a second before he pressed send - was it weird to ask that of someone? 

It wasn’t long before his phone lit up with a response, ‘Sorry, just tired. My neighbour likes to stay up until ungodly hours playing music, or drums.  Sometimes both at the same time.’

Ashton was mid-yawn as he read the words, a small laugh falling from his lips as he recalled his night; staying up until 3 am in his studio playing drums.  ‘Wow. Sounds like me and your neighbour could be buds, you should put in a good word for me.’

‘Would if I knew them, I moved in not long before all of this started.  Didn’t get a chance to be the weird neighbour that pops by with cookies.’ 

Ashton bit his tongue at that, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips, ‘Do it anyways, be even weirder and leave them on the doorstep, give em a scare and a treat.’

‘Should I leave a nice note saying ‘please keep any and all banging prior to midnight’?’

‘I’d leave out the banging part, but that sounds like an amusing idea.’

Ashton left their conversation at that, figuring he could continue with his day.  Not that his day would consist of much, just attempting to write songs, and test out new recipes with his niece that she always ultimately hated, but it was worth a try.  She decided they should go for a walk around their neighbourhood in the afternoon, and after some contemplation he agreed.  He never ended up going for a walk the other day like he had meant to.

The sun was warm on their skin as they walked, and his nose picked up the faint smell of apples, making him smile.  He thought of his Words with Friends friend, hoping their baking was going well too if they had decided to bake a treat for their new neighbour. 

Ashton hadn’t realized how long he and his niece had been gone until his phone buzzed with a new notification from his RING app, alerting of someone at the door as well as making him aware of the time.  Wasn’t uncommon, he was waiting on a couple packages - but when he opened the app, he saw someone set something down on his doorstep before walking away.  They didn’t appear to be dressed in any type of mail carrier uniform, and Ashton grew a bit distressed by the idea of a foreign item being left on his doorstep.

In an attempt not to worry his niece, he didn’t voice his concerns, instead voicing they should head back.  It wasn’t much of a ways away, them already on their way back - but when they arrived Ashton saw a small red tupperware container sitting there with a note on top.

“What’s that?” His niece asked, leaning down to pick up the note - a smirk spread across her lips, eyes flickering towards Ashton, “Seems like your neighbour doesn’t appreciate your late night drum covers,” she spoke, handing him the note.

Reading over the note, Ashton made the connection almost instantly, his heart racing.  

“What’s wrong? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“That person that’s been annihilating me in Words with Friends, apparently they are our neighbour.  We were talking earlier and they mentioned making cookies for their neighbour since they’d just moved to the area.”

His niece nodded, a knowing smile on her lips, “Seems like you guys talk about more than just what is basically Scrabble.”

Swatting at her arm gently, he shooed her inside, picking up the container and opening it - he realized then that the smell of apples that had invaded his senses earlier was them, and it made his heart warm at the thought they were so close.

Taking out his phone, he snapped a quick picture of the container to send to them, simply adding a ‘Thanks for the cookies, I’ll try and keep it down.’ Below it before tucking his phone into his pocket to enjoy one of the cookies they had made.

That’s one way to socially distance meet new people, he supposed.

tag list: @haikucal​ @talkfastromance4​ @softbabiestan​ @boyfriend-cal​ @calum-uncrowned​ @wildflowerirwin​ @irwindoll​ @gosh-im-short​ @atlcalm​ @thesubtweeter​ @heavenisapeach​ @ridingcthood​ @loveroflrh​ @wokeupinjapanisabop​ @mantlereid​ @inlovehoodx​

#ashton irwin #ashton irwin blurb #ashton irwin fanfiction #5sos fanfiction

[hartigays]

ooh if you’re still doing the fluff/angst prompts could you do 14 + harringrove? I love your writing and you could do something amazing with this 🖤

14. “Get your hands off of me!”

“harrington, what the hell are you doing?”

steve doesn’t answer, not bothering to look up. he’s focused intently on the row of dominos that he’s carefully setting up, his tongue poking out and his brow furrowed in concentration.

“voilà!” steve shouts, finally getting the last domino in place. he claps his hands and rubs them together in anticipation.

billy arches a brow, giving steve a bored look. but steve doesn’t pay him any mind, just tiptoes carefully over the dominos weaving around the living room of their apartment, kneeling down and counting backwards from three before setting them in motion.

it takes all of thirty seconds for the carefully constructed line to fall, but steve still looks at billy with a goofy smile, his eyebrows raised in question. as if to silently ask pretty cool, huh?

“oh, come on,” steve huffs at the unimpressed look billy levels him with. “that was at least kind of cool, admit it.”

“you spent three hours setting that up,” billy points out. “instead of taking out the trash. like i asked you to do earlier. three hours earlier, to be exact.”

it’s steve’s turn to roll his eyes. he spins on his heel and flops backward onto the couch. “whatever. time is arbitrary in quarantine.”

“don’t whatever me,” billy says with a sniff, examining his cuticles. “just clean it up before bed. i don’t want to come out here for water in the middle of the night and break my ass slipping on a fuckin’ domino.”

“fine, mom.” steve tosses a tennis ball in the air as he speaks, making faces at the ceiling like a child. “whatever you say.”

billy moves to lean over steve on the couch, flicking him on the forehead while flashing a toothy grin. “damn right.”

it’s been three weeks since the governor issued an official stay-at-home order. three weeks of binging netflix, playing video games, and scrolling through the same few social media apps over and over.

steve had grown antsy and stir-crazy by the end of week one, needing to find some new activity or another to occupy his mind and body to keep from going nuts.

billy, on the other hand, has kept himself busy with a stack of books about a mile high, and his at-home workout routines. steve’s also been eating better, given the amount of cooking billy’s been doing now that he’s home full time.

while steve bounces from one activity to another, restless and understimulated, billy seems to be transitioning easily into their new way of life, as he tends to do with most things.

steve is only a little bitter.

“how are you not bored out of your mind?” steve gripes. he tosses the tennis ball onto the armchair adjacent to the couch, already tired of it.

billy had moved into the kitchen, and he looks up from the cookbook he’d been flipping through. “i dunno. ‘s not so bad. i can sleep in now, cook dinner more. i even learned how to make paella recently.”

“the fuck is paella?” steve snorts, sitting up on his elbows to stare at billy over the back of the couch.

“it’s going to be dinner tonight,” billy says easily, shrugging. “it’s good, trust me.”

steve just shrugs, flopping back down and closing his eyes. he doesn’t care what billy puts in front of him - the less he has to cook, the better. it’s just not in his wheelhouse.

besides, billy is a natural cook. there hasn’t been anything he’s made that steve’s been unimpressed with. so he leaves billy to do his thing, pulling out his phone and scrolling through twitter, half-listening to the familiar sound of billy puttering around the kitchen.

steve spends a few hours going between napping and mindlessly scrolling through his phone. by the time he pushes himself off the couch with a yawn and a stretch, it’s already getting dark outside. he shuffles into the kitchen, following the delicious smells coming from within.

billy’s still cooking away, his brow furrowed in concentration. he’s stirring something on the stove, poring over the recipe in the cookbook before him. he looks incredibly in his element, moving about with ease, seamlessly transitioning from one task to the next.

steve doesn’t think it’s weird that he could watch billy do this all day. it’s always nice to see someone doing something they’re passionate about with such dedication. and if there’s a secret part of him that has an innate appreciation for billy in an apron, well.

sue him.

it’s not like finding billy attractive is anything new to steve. it’s the 21st century, steve tends not to dwell on those kinds of things. he doesn’t, however, feel the need to clue billy in to those particularly appreciative thoughts about him in his cooking attire.

they’re stuck in isolation together for the foreseeable future. there’s no sense in stirring up trouble or discomfort - they’ve got enough going on already. steve’s not-so-G-rated thoughts about billy and his apron aren’t between anyone but him and god himself.

he just admires from afar, trying to not indulge too often in his racy thoughts about his roommate, who also happens to be his long-time best friend.

it’s no secret, however, that those thoughts had been easier to ignore before, when they spent a large part of their days apart. billy would be at work or in class and steve could always be found guiding himself through his own busy schedule.

as university students, they’d had pretty chaotic lives before the world came to a grinding halt. they were both generally busy with their own lives, and steve had enough going on that he didn’t often have time to dwell on how his thoughts were increasingly crossing the line between friendship and something more.

and just because they’re now together 24/7, with all the time in the world for steve to confront the reality of his little predicament, it doesn’t mean steve is worried. not at all. not even a little bit.

steve has this silly idea that maybe if he says it enough times, he’ll start to believe it.

“smells good in here,” steve comments. he leans up against the counter next to the stove, peering over billy to sneak a peek at what he’s working on.

billy pauses his stirring, scooping a small portion of what looks like rice onto his spoon and holding it up to steve’s lips. he lets billy pop the bite into his mouth, his eyes lighting up at the burst of flavor that spreads across his tongue. whatever it is, it’s delicious. steve licks his lips appreciatively.

“yum.”

billy just nods, looking pleased. “it’ll be ready in about ten minutes. hey, grab me a beer, will you?”

steve grabs two beers from the fridge, passing one off to billy and cracking the other one open for himself. he heads back into the living room, curling back up on the couch and scrolling through netflix.

by the time he manages to find a documentary that they haven’t seen before, billy’s walking into the living room, balancing two plates in his hands. his beer is stuffed in the crook of his elbow, and steve sits up to grab the plate from billy before he can spill beer all over the floor.

“what’d you pick out?” billy asks once they dig in, nodding at the television.

steve swallows a mouthful of food, giving a satisfied hum of approval. “some new nature documentary. i think it’s about whales or sharks or something like that.”

“sounds like a real fleshed-out choice,” billy snorts, but he doesn’t object to steve’s selection.

“hey, you’re the one who’s always complaining that we waste so much time scrolling through the same stuff every day,” steve points out. “i’m just saving us the trouble.”

billy just huffs out a laugh before taking a swig of his beer. “i never said not having to scroll for an hour was a bad thing.”

the lapse into silence as the show starts, watching with meager interest as the intro credits begin. it’s quiet until steve takes a particularly delicious bite of his food, practically moaning around his spoon.

“this is delicious, by the way,” steve says, glancing over at billy. “what’d you say this is called?”

billy’s giving him a strange look, one that has steve’s cheeks heating up and the tips of his ears turning pink.

“paella,” billy answers finally, clearing this throat and averting his eyes

steve stares at billy for a moment longer, opening his mouth to speak before realizing he doesn’t even know what he wants to say, letting it fall shut again.

there’s a weird tension hanging between them for the rest of the night. steve tries not to fixate on it, but it’s hard when he’d picked out the most boring documentary in the history of time itself.

billy doesn’t even meet his eyes when he says goodnight later, after they’ve watched a few episodes and cleaned up the kitchen. steve can’t help but wonder if maybe he said something wrong without realizing it, watching billy retreat to the safety of his bedroom.

steve tosses and turns for most of the night, plagued by incredibly weird and startlingly vivid dreams. dreams about monsters that lurk in the shadows and kids with superpowers and bad men in their secret labs. similar to the ones he had back in high school, back when his life was turned inside out and upside down. only these are brighter, more intense, somehow weirder than before.

there’s a gasp dying on steve’s lips when he bolts upright in bed, the image of a hyper-realistic demogorgon with a decaying human face that he’s uncomfortably sure was barb’s still burned into his mind. he’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his stomach churning. his mouth is unbelievably dry, his tongue sticking to the roof of it.

steve pushes his sweat-matted hair from his forehead, climbing out of bed and padding into the kitchen. he gulps down two glasses of water, trying to will away the trembling of his hands.

it’s when he’s walking back to his room that he slips on something, crashing backward and busting his ass hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs. steve’s tailbone collides with the ground first, followed by his elbows, and then his head.

steve groans, pushing himself up off the ground. he feels lightheaded and disoriented, the back of his head throbbing something awful. distantly, steve hears what sounds like a door opening, followed by footsteps.

the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up when someone crouches down beside him. steve can’t get his eyes to focus while he’s this dizzy and the room is this dark. he jumps nearly a foot in the air when a hand comes to rest on his shoulder.

“get your hands off of me!” steve yelps, smacking the mystery hands away from him and scooting across the floor to put distance between him and the body hovering next to him.

“hey, hey, steve, calm down, it’s just me. it’s just billy.”

steve squints through the darkness, his heart hammering in his chest. he can finally make out the defining features of the person that is most definitely billy, crouching in front of him and looking at him with a mixture of pure bewilderment and what he’s pretty sure is worry.

groaning, steve rubs the back of his head with a grimace. “ow...”

“told you to clean the damn dominos up,” billy mutters, sitting back on his heels as he tilts steve’s head down, examining the damage. “did you hit it hard?”

steve just nods, wincing as he does. “yeah. hit my ass and elbows harder, though.”

billy huffs out a soft laugh, taking steve’s bicep and lifting his arm to inspect his elbow.

“i think you’ll live,” billy says after a few moments, letting steve’s arm drop. “the hell were you doing wandering around the house in the dark at three in the morning, anyway?”

“i was getting some water,” steve tells him, rubbing his elbow with a frown. “i was having really weird dreams. i feel dizzy, are you sure i don’t have a concussion?”

billy shifts closer, trying to move steve’s mass of hair enough to look more closely at the lump on the back of his head.

“well, you’re not bleeding. if you have a concussion, it’s mild,” billy says with a shrug. “but i think you’re in the clear. what kind of dreams were they?”

steve doesn’t say anything for a moment before giving a halfhearted shrug. “same dreams i always have. they were just, like....super vivid this time, you know?”

“might’ve been the shellfish in the paella,” billy muses, humming thoughtfully. “certain foods can give you more vivid dreams, almost like fever dreams. shellfish are a pretty common culprit.”

billy takes one last look at the back of steve’s head before grabbing his hand, tugging him up off the ground. steve’s head swims once he’s upright, and he tips forward, crashing directly into billy. billy’s arms go around him immediately, holding him steady.

“you okay?” billy asks, his brows furrowed in concern.

steve blinks rapidly, his brain slowly catching up to the position he’s currently in. he feels the tips of his ears get hot, disentangling himself from billy and backing away, putting several feet of distance between them.

“yeah, i - um. sorry, that wasn’t intentional.”

steve averts his eyes, though billy’s stay trained on steve, that strange look from before back on his face. something shifts in his expression, billy giving him a thoughtful look.

“on second thought,” billy says finally, “you should crash in my room. so i can keep an eye on you. wouldn’t want you nursing a head injury alone, in case anything happens.”

“the hell do you mean, if anything happens?” steve questions, his hand flying up to the back of his head. he opens his mouth to ask another panicked question, but it closes quickly once he realizes what billy is offering. “wait, you mean you want me to stay with you? in your bed? like, together?”

“sure, if you want,” billy says, sounding casual while looking anything but. “you know, for safety.”

“for safety,” steve repeats slowly, swallowing thickly. “okay. okay, yeah. do you think i might need - um. mouth-to-mouth? for safety?”

steve’s heart is hammering in his chest before the question fully leaves his mouth. billy just stares at him for a long moment, before cracking a goofy grin, giving him a slightly disbelieving look. “steve, that is the corniest fucking thing you have ever said.”

“oh, shut up. i have a traumatic brain injury,” steve counters with an unimpressed sniff, trying to play it off like his heart doesn’t feel like it’s about to beat right out of his chest. “sue me.”

“right, your horrific bump on the head,” billy nods, fighting a smile. “guess you should come over here and let me take another look. for safety, of course.”

“safety’s very important,” steve acknowledges as he crosses the room, slowly putting one foot in front of the other.

steve stops short in front of billy, hesitating. billy closes the remaining distance, reaching up to gently feel the bump on the back of steve’s head, though his eyes never leave steve’s.

“that really is a nasty knot,” billy says offhandedly, a flicker of concern appearing in his eyes and disappearing just as quickly. “maybe some ice would help?”

“thought you were writing me a prescription for something else,” steve mumbles.

billy looks momentarily confused, before steve closes the distance and seals their lips together. billy yields almost instantaneously, his mouth opening to steve as if they’ve done this a million times before.

now that he’s face-to-face with it, steve isn’t sure how he was able to dance around it for so long. billy’s lips are soft and pliant beneath his, and he kisses steve languidly, like they have all the time in the world and he knows it. he has one hand curled into steve’s hair, the other splayed across his jaw. when billy nips at steve’s bottom lip, it sends sparks skittering down steve’s spine and goosebumps erupting across his skin.

all steve can see, smell, and taste is billy and he’s dizzy with it, unsteady on his feet. which could be attributed in part to steve’s little bump on the head, but he pushes that thought to the back of his mind to worry about later. he sways a little, causing their mouths to break apart. billy takes steve’s hand keeping him steady.

“c’mon, let’s get you to bed,” billy says, his breathing a little ragged. “you can get the full hargrove treatment in the morning, when you’re not borderline concussed.”

“you’re the one who’s getting a medical degree,” steve protests, even as billy pulls him to his bedroom. “i was just following the doctor’s orders.”

“right, well. this doctor is ordering you to lay down and get some sleep,” billy counters. he helps steve climb into bed, scooting in next to him once steve has slid over to give him some room.

billy lets steve wrap himself around him like a koala without protest, only humming softly in approval.

“maybe quarantine’s not so bad,” steve muses after a few beats of silence, yawning.

“you’re just saying that because you get to kiss me every day now.”

“that so?” steve asks, chuckling softly. “guess that means i should get some sleep so i can be well-rested for a big day of kisses tomorrow.”

“go to sleep, harrington,” billy snorts, burying his face into steve’s neck.

“‘night billy.”

“sweet dreams, princess.”

#pardon my lack of knowledge on how to cook things #idk how to cook paella i just made some shit up bc lazy #here u go bby enjoy 💓💓💓 #harringrove #stranger things #my fics #ask #anon

[yootaesowlwrites]

Scenario Prompts - [1]

Prompts are below the cut from what you can choose from for when my requests are open.

Please make sure to add ‘C’ along with the number of your choice when requesting.

More prompts

[ one ]

Prompts | Smut prompts | AU prompts | Christmas scenario’s | Christmas prompts | Vampire Prompts |

Credit to the people that created these prompts, I found them on pinterest and on tumblr.

C1— we just had a one-night stand but a massive storm hit so now we’re snowed in, hello awkward

C2— you were supposed to have a beautiful winter wedding but you were ditched during the vows and my idiot sibling/best friend just cracked a joke about how maybe I’d finally tell you how I feel about you and you heard

C3— someone assumed we’re dating but I didn’t realize that’s what they meant until it was too late and I had committed us to a couples’ retreat weekend

C4— you jokingly propose to me at the bar but it ends up all over social media so now I have to track you down because I don’t even know your name

C5— you were a dick to my coworker so I’ve been writing insults on your cups and why the hell do you keep coming back here anyway

C6— you’re my ex who I’ve never really gotten over and you just surprised me by paying for my coffee and I’m not prepared to see you

C7— my coworker wrote my cell phone number on your cup when I wasn’t paying attention and now you’re texting me

C8— I’ve been getting really creative with my foam art and I do some naughty-bits to amuse my coworker on their drink when you mistakenly take it and think I’m hitting on you

C9— you join me at my table thinking I’m your blind date and you don’t stop talking about how nervous you are for this date so I don’t get a chance to tell you that you have the wrong person when your actual date comes up and thinks you were hitting on me while waiting for them

C10— when people hit on me and ask for my number, I usually make up a number to put on their cups, and today I just happened to write your number on your cup so you call me out

C11— I’m sorry for laughing at you walking into the glass door/window, please let me help you up

C12— I know your sign says ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ but can I please give you a really long explanation as to what has led to me desperately needing coffee without a shirt or shoes

C13— you dropped to your knee to tie your shoe but suddenly, people are congratulating us on getting engaged and we just scored free coffee so we roll with it

C14— I ask you to come look at houses with me and the real estate agent just gave a very convincing speech as to why this backyard would be a great place for a wedding

C15— I like to go skinny dipping by myself at 5 am when the sun starts to rise and you’ve started to go running at that time

C16— it’s almost 3 am so I go down to the lake to skinny dip and you decide to join me but you don’t realize I’m naked

C17— everyone assumed we were going to end up together, but it’s your engagement party and you overhear me talking about how I’m in love with you

C18— we agree that this is until one of us meets someone else but I think you just met someone else and I’m freaking out

C19— my drunk friend announces in the bar that I’m in love with you, but we didn’t know you were here with your friends too

C20— my email address is really close to the popular person’s, so you think you’re emailing them and I think I have a secret admirer and when the truth comes out, we’re both in too deep

C21— six months ago we slept together and I never expected to find you outside my front door in tears asking if you could stay the night because you have nowhere else to go

C22— I’m assigned to write a piece rounding up all the bad press that you, a famous celebrity, have been getting and you show up in my office and demand me to write a retraction and get the ‘real’ story

C23— I’m at the 24/7 gym at 2 in the morning and I thought I was alone so I’m singing in the showers, but when you start singing with me, I’m startled and slip so the first time we meet, we’re both wet and naked

C24— my twin clearly did something to piss you off, but you obviously don’t know I’m a twin so I’m listening to you tell me how much of an asshole I am and am very amused and it’s making you angrier

C25— you’re a celebrity/prince/princess/etc. who has decided to don a fake persona to go to school undercover and I figure it out within the first month of class but I keep your secret until the whole thing blows up in your face and you need help hiding from the paparazzi

C26— I like to go skinny dipping by myself at 5 am when the sun starts to rise and you’ve started to go running at that time

C27— it’s almost 3 am so I go down to the lake to skinny dip and you decide to join me but you don’t realize I’m naked

C28— after a huge fight, we fall out of touch, but it’s our high school reunion and I don’t want to lose you again

C29— you overhear me talking to our mutual friend about how I’m scared that you won’t feel the same way about me

C30— I strip because I enjoy it and it’s good money, but I didn’t expect to be hired for your friend’s bachelor party.

C31— we fall asleep on the couch watching Netflix together and when I wake up, our fingers are intertwined

C32— you misdial at a telephone booth and ask in a very upset voice if I can pick you up, and I don’t know why, but I ask where you are so I can pick you up

C33— six months ago we slept together and I never expected to find you outside my front door in tears asking if you could stay the night because you have nowhere else to go

C34— I ducked into this tiny bakery to get out of the rain, but oh my goodness, it smells so good here that I might just have to stop for a bit and try just one cookie…

C35— I have been having the crappiest week ever, but you surprised me with a bubble bath and comfort food and I cannot even right now. What did I do to deserve you?

C36— Character A comes home from work one day to find Character B on the couch, wrapped up in blankets and wearing one of Character A’s favourite sweatshirts. There’s a box of tissues next to them and Character B looks absolutely feverish and awful

C37— I met you last night when you were drunkenly patting my dog in my backyard at 3 am in the morning and when I asked you what the hell you were doing you slurred something about dogs being great and then you threw up on my feet and then fifteen minutes later you were passed out on my couch so that’s why your here right now also what the fuck is your name and why were you patting a dog in a stranger’s backyard in the middle of the night.

C38— You live in the apartment above me and your water pipe burst and is flooding into my apartment and you can hear me yelling so you come down to my apartment to see what’s going on and witness me standing in my kitchen/bathroom/whatever, holding an umbrella, screaming at the water pouring out of my ceiling and crying because I have no idea what to do and we both just kinda stand there in shock as my stuff gets ruined and you let me crash in your apartment until my apartment gets fixed because you feel bad.

C39— I’ve been in love with you since you first moved in and I finally built up the courage to knock on your door but when you answered you had just woken up and didn’t have a shirt on so I ran away

C40— I locked myself out of my apartment so I have to climb out your window and onto my balcony

C41— You’re drunk and walked into the wrong apartment and fell asleep on my couch oh god you’re going to be so confused in the morning

C42— Your laundry got mixed up with mine somehow and now we’re sitting in silence sorting underwear

C43— I walked in on your ex yelling at you so you grabbed me and kissed me so she’d go away and I’m kind of freaked out I literally just met you last week

C44— Ice breaks underneath Character A’s feet and Character B sees when they’re walking past the lake and saves them.

C45— You walked here in a blizzard to get your hot chocolate but you forgot your wallet at home, here, let me buy your drink for you.

C46— Mistaking Character A for someone else, Character B runs up to them and hugs them out of nowhere… or worse, punches them

#prompts #prompts list #athenathesharkwrites