#shading gold sucks why do you have to wear all gold
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Lizzie Saltzman Quote Rp Meme
I’ve got a lot of secs...I mean time.”
“I’m trying to rise above it so let me freaking rise.”
“Did she who must not be named just fat shame me?”
“Are we poor?”
“That is why I have decided to permantly release my inner bitch.”
“If you hurry, you can catch up with blair bitch and tongue chum her again.”
“Distracted during a monoluge, classic villain mistake.”
“For the record, this selfless act of heroicism fully cancels out my previous dodgy behavior.”
“I just have this feeling that everything is going to work out just fine.”
“Only a threat to those dumb enough not to fall in line.”
“Great luck sending jimminy cricket after me.”
“”Aparently not long enough to think of something clever to say.”
“Fifty shades me.”
“This sentient jar of artisinal maynoaise.”
“Don’t worry. I will just ask him about star wars and he will talk the whole time.”
“This is a nergasm, not a plan.”
“If I am destined to die in my prime, at least let it be in a blaze of heroes glory.”
“I know that I am great, but everyone else- terrible.”
“I spent a lot of time bettering myself over the summer and I am gonna need you all to rise to my level.”
“This is terrible news. It’s freaking fall not winter. What am I gonna wear?”
“I’ve always wanted to be apart of a power couple.”
“I’m mad at the world and you just happen to be in it.”
“Thanks a lot. Way to ruin life for the rest of us.”
“One word. one word and I could burn her perky little boobs to ash.”
“We aren’t in the prison yard, ass hat.”
“Would you like to be the robin to my batwoman?”
“You’re fine. Just a little- Slutty.”
“We are gonna suck?”
“Anything to keep me from picturing my sister’s tragic visit to the shire.”
“Sometimes, she was just tired or having a bad day or whatever.”
“I just want to soak in this gold moment when we thought that your plan would work.”
“You are pagent pretty, reasonable well spoken and the added benefit of being an orphan.”
“It’s effective, but her methods- quaint.”
“Screw this world.”
“Well, in that case, screw personal growth.”
“I’m sorry. We can’t all be born with resting pouty face.”
“We get it you came back. Now, disapear again.”
I fancy sex with you. The jury’s out on all the rest.”
“For the love of frodo, go rescue your hobbit. We will muddle through.”
“I’m a taste maker. An influencer. people don’t know what they want til I tell them they want it.”
“I’m pretty sure I’ve seen that on a poster at the dentist’s.”
“New plan. The gloves are off. Let’s burn these bitches to the ground. We’re going to give these townies a taste of what we’re really made of.”
“No one has been better off without you.”
“And we don’t exist for just one boy.”
“This is an honor. It’s so nice to know that you all love me as much as I love myself.”
“Epic former frenemy reunion is going to have to wait.”
“A mission for a hero and her league of- whatever.”
“In order to conquer, we had to divide.”
“i thought you would have wanted to spend the day canoodling with your hipster boyfriend.”
Ew. Wait, that leaves me with High-and-Mighty Granger. Like Hermione Granger, but just more stuck-up?”
“You only get one chance to make a good first impression, and you don’t want to be the girl that wears a uniform to a school that doesn’t have uniforms.”
“That wreath can’t go there. That is where the doves are being released which is after the video, remember?”
“Oh god, he has got you speaking nerd.”
“I’m getting back to me. I am who I am.”
“If you would be happy to be my date to my birthday on Friday.”
“Do I look pretty when I play quarterback?”
“You are not friends. Your just a montage.”
“I’m not worried about losing the election. I’m worried about what I’m going to wear to my victory rally. The outfit makes the speech.”
“No, I am not a virgin.”
“Oh god, that was my inside voice.”
“For once, your weird relationship with my dad is paying off.”
“You cannot leave me alone with just her for company.”
“I was making an entrance mop head.”
“If she still wants to kill me, the safest place I can be is right next to you.”
“No, I am right on time to kick your ass.”
“On a scale from horrific to apocalyptic, a 12.”
“That is such a move.”
“I am nosey, in like a charming way.”
“Do I look like a nerd?”
“nothing that you and I will be proud of.”
“It’s hero time.”
“Nu-uh, we are all good.”
“Are you seriously telling me that I am going to die because I become a better person?”
“on the bright side, we are all happy that you are single.”
“I don’t do trash.”
“I should have said this earlier but black isn’t your color.”
“No wonder you had a thing for me.”
“Is it because I am prettier than you?”
“It’s so much less impressive when you give the hero speeches.”
“Oh god, I am having an episode again.”
“I did. I do. Also- I am incredibly turned on by him.”
“I prefer to die with dignity.”
“Unchain me, and maybe I will tell you. You thrift store hobbit.”
“Trust me, no one thinks that.”
“We are about to die. Figure something out.”
“I’m unique and special and for some reason I am angry at the world because of it.”
“Good morning... more like despair.”
“I care that instead of being welcomed at the airport, we were stuck taking a shuttle that smelled like a sewer for three hours.”
“See the new you is so snarky.”
“Be surprised quitely.”
“So buckle up. We are in this tell the bitter end.”
“It’s okay. Just let it out the real way. Like you have needed too all this time.”
“All good things, I hope.”
“What is with the performance anxiety?”
“Why? I am wearing polyester.”
“Who is this trollop?”
“When I said that I wanted to hang out, this is not what I had in mind.”
“This is the definition of girl power. I am proud of us.”
“If you tell anyone else this, I will deny it, but I am glad you are back.”
“WIth global warming, I might never see the florida keys because of you.”
“who better to put a touching memorial to me than me?”
“That hair, that shirt... oh, I see you have a point there.”
“We are airy clouds flying high above a tuburlant sea of teenage drama.”
“He is hot and crazy and the language barrier would make it hard to communicate. Just how I like it.”
“Why are you carrying a sword?”
“Sorry, I think.”
#open to all#open to anyone#open rp#ask meme#open meme#open to anybody#rp meme#ask prompt#roleplay meme#memes#lizzie saltzman#elizabeth saltzman#hizzie#hope mikaelson#landon kirby#josie saltzman#legacies starter#legacies#open legacies rp#open legacies starter#open tvd rp#open tvdu roleplay#open tvd starter#tvd rp#legacies rp#jenny boyd#mg#open vampire diaries starter#open vampire diaries roleplay#tvd universe
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No Time To Die (Foolish_Gamers)
Hello sorry, I haven't been active. But I promised I'm still here. The ending kinda sucks I am sorry, I was stuck between two different endings. So I just stand by this end This is a mortal and god au. Lastly, the song is 'No Time To Die' by Billie Eillish. Also, this is over 2000 words
Foolish list Masterlist
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Foolish Pov
At different times I would wait for them. each time it was the same result death. I wished I hadn't met the first time but we were distant. That's what the Gods say. But I'm a God of Gold, Rebirth, Architecture, and where the sky and sea meet and worse I have lived for a long time.
In each era, I would watch how their attitude, personality, and looks change but their eyes and marks would be the same slowly adding another. Each death they had would add a mark and I only realized the 4th time it had to happen. It meant where they died. The marks would be like small moles or just birthmarks. Around their body for me is like a reminder of how they died. For them, they just watch their body connecting the dots wondering what it means.
This time they were in Greece. This is one of the times they were royal. Y/n Philips the High Priestess. They were will respect everyone rich or poor. Putting a smile on your face. Their dark hair and brown eyes. Those same eyes that I would fall for all over again. I saw them today near the fountain reading to the kids telling them stories about the gods and goddesses. Watching from afar. The small crowd of children heard their voices so intrigued by what they were saying.
"Honestly you need to get over them. This isn't healthy, Foolish?" Hearing a friend as I turn my head. "Well if you were in my position of being in love with mortal you would understand Karl. But you don't, you love two gods and they don't die. Also one involves fire and the other involves parties with a side of gambling if I might add."
The boy with brown shaggy hair with a palla of a shade of purple. Karl, the God of Time, Universe, Stories/Tales, and Messages.
"How's time?" Karl looked at me with a side-eye as I laugh. "Hahaha ask the boy who is the god of time ask for time." Another 2 more laughs appeared behind them.
Sapnap stood to the side of karl wearing a red chiton with white. Sapnap, the God of Fire and Fighting. Quackity, the God of Gambling, Revenge, Parties, Fun, and Opportunity
"Karl right you know you gotta stop this." I sighed. "How am I supposed to stop? Y/n is mine forever. You both understand it you three are gods you can't die. For me I watch them die over and over. Plus I am the God of rebirth so I see them even more so I follow." Sapnap pats my back. Hearing voices in the distance saying 'thank yous' Y/n finished the book as they stand up. I watch with a sigh. Till I noticed they are walking up to us.
Y/n pov
The children thank me as I smile and nod seeing some parents talk as well. Something caught my eye behind the women are four men. I haven't seen them before so I wanted to introduce myself. Feeling someone approaching me. "Hi Callahan do you think the children enjoy the reading today?'" I stood closing the book to look at him. He nods as I face him." Callahan do you know those four men there by the Parthenon?" He turned to see and immediately shook his head. To say weird is an understatement. Usually, it takes him a second to look at a person but with the three men, he didn't take a second or even a second glance. Wanting to question his action but I didnt wanna push. "Well since you don't I have to introduce myself it would be rude of me if I didnt." starting to walk toward the three it felt like he panicked so he stood in front of me and the three. shaking his head furiously. "What why can't I go talk to them? There is no reason why I shouldn't go talk to them." No words were written as I waited. "Okay, then let us go."
Foolish pov
"Why is Callahan with them?" Sapnap asked looking at me. "Because In every life. Callahan would be there for them just like me." I said watching them get closer.
Callahan, the God of silence and secrets.
"Hello, I don't think I know you four. Are you new around here?" karl shook his head well y/n scanned us. "You know everyone here by name?" Quackity asked and they nodded. "By name, what they wear, what they do for work, and how they act. I just like to remember things," They flash a smile, "I'm y/n and this is Callahan." They pointed at him as we nod. "This is Sapnap, Karl, Quackity and I'm Foolish." Pointing to each one then looked at me with a head tilt. "Foolish? Is that your name?" The question as I nod looking down. "It's different I like it." Hearing their name be called in the distance. "Sorry I must go but I hope to see you all later. at the festival" I stop them before they left. "Um, what are we celebration tonight?" They looked back with a squint in their eye. "You must be far travelers if you don't know. That fine Tonight is for the gods and goddesses. A festival to Thank each of them." With that, they left with Callahan. "Now we know what tonight is for mortals and the god and goddesses," Sapnap said.
Y/n pov
Hearing a knock on my door while I change" One second please," I answered walking to open the door only to see a box, Looking out of my room and turned my head to see no one, bringing it in to see one note.
To the High Priestess, Y/n Philips, This is from a present sent from above from Hannah the Goddess of Peace, Mercy, and Plantlife. Please wear this. It will save you from the challenges that might occur tonight.
Inside it was just a necklace in blue and red. It was weird because why would this godded choose these two colors? To me, these colors would represent another god. so I put them on walking out to see the festival begin. The colors were vibrant. The moon was bright like a spotlight on the people who worship their god and what they believed in. Seeing the kids run around playing games. while the adults dance with their partners. Looking around four men for this afternoon. Leaving a sigh Hearin the footstep as I turn my head to the side, "You know we have to stop meeting like this." A smirk appeared on his face. "Oh Punz you always find yourself to the side of me don't you?' Laughing at my words he hugged me. "How's the war?" He shrugged, "You know your father best and more importantly your brother, Sam." With that, I nod looking to the pillars and seeing them as I smile. Punz noticed my smile as he true his head. "I've seen you meet the newcomers." I turn back as I nod. "You know they didn't know what tonight was it was weird," Punz shrugged, "I should show them around bye punz." As I walked punz yelled, "Save me a dance tonight Y/n." I laugh at his action walking up to them.
Foolish pov
Walking towards the temple, my heart was pumping seeing y/n. My hands were sweating as I played with my fingers. "Stop stressing over tonight, will you? You will see them tonight they are important around here" said Quackty. Sapnap and Karl agreed walking up the stairs. "But what happens if tonight something happens and I have to wait another 100 years?" I tried to stay calm hearing the music. "It won't happen okay you have us here," Karl replied. I know it should've made me calm a little in reality it didn't one bit. Glancing around to see the whole city was here at this celebration. Then a yell saying their name caught my attention. To only see them laugh walking up to us. "Hi, I'm so glad you four could make it." Glancing at us then their eyes stayed with me. My head was in the clouds when they looked at me. "Yeah well this man," Sapnap put his hands on my shoulders shaking me a bit," Wouldn't stop talking about it, right?" Their eye left off of sapnap to mine as I just nod. "Well, would you want a to-" They object, "No but I think Foolish would love one We three are gonna hang out" They just nod at stare at them, "Well I hope you enjoy it and Foolish are you ready?" Still, no words came out as I put my arm out to see them linking their arm to mine as we walk.
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Y/n pov
It was midnight the moon slowly moved as the music changed. It was only the adults who were there. The dancing was slower as I looked over at Foolish and notices his features. The hair strand on his face as he tries to move it away as it just falls back. The smile he makes when something happens. It was like I know him. Like I thought about this all before in different lives describing all of him. My thoughts were broken from him shaking me, "Are you alright I thought I lost you there?" He gave a small chuckle as I did the same. "Yeah, I just-- Nevermind it's gonna sound stupid." Turning my face to the couples. Feeling a hand on the side of my left cheek to face him once more. "It's not gonna sound stupid I promise you." Feeling my face go red as I nod. "Well, I feel like I've known you before you know." He just stared at me with no words coming out. "Foolish are you okay?" It's like something snapped as he got up. "Dance with me?" He held out his hand as I took it in seconds with a smile. "Of Course.
Karl pov
"He did it, "I told sapnap and quackity clapping so they wouldn't turn. They were dancing. Twirling till I saw the necklace. "Hey, Sapnap that necklace y/n has does it remind of something." He looks around their necklace. "I don't think I do." I grab my book as I notice the words appear in someone's life. Sapnap came close bringing in Quackity to reading the words. "It's happening tonight, the war?" They looked over at the two. "We have to war-' Quackity stop his words. "We can't we weren't even supposed to see this. We can prevent this in the book." They both argue as I looked to see Foolish smile. "We have to warn Foolish and y/n,' They both stopped talking, "I don't want Foolish to be upset and wondering when he will see them again." A comet appeared from the skies. Sapnap saw the comet then turned to Quackity." We have to do this now we don't have enough time."
Y/n pov
He held me close as I smiled. "you looked very t=nice tonight /n" I nod as I looked at him. "You do too thank you Foolish." " Noah." I furred my eyebrows. "My name is Noah." Nodding." Nice to meet you, Noah." The music continue turning my head to see the boys talking while they looked at us. "Wanna go somewhere?" I moved away slowly as Noah nodded. Holding his hand as we walk to a garden with a fountain, seeing the statues of the gods and goddesses holding. "I know it's not a secret spot but it's calming here. right?" I turned to see him just staring at me. "Noah, why are you staring at me?" His face was red so I laugh looking at the statues. "You know i would like to meet a god."
Noah pov
My heart was beating when they said that. "What would you do if you did meet one?'' " Say thank you, ask questions." We stop in front of mine. My hands feel sweating. Ther looked at me. "You look like him?" Taking a quick glance. "y/n I need to tell you something.' They waited for the smell of burning to appear. Then hearing running. Karl appeared out of breath. I"We need to go," we were confused as the screaming started. Making y/n run to the building. Hearing the scream I was gonna run till karl grabbed my wrist. "Noah, you have to get y/n out of here and fast" "KArl what's gonna happen?" Karl just shook his head. " Noah you both have to leave Dream and Jack are back." Hearing the yelling i ran. The building was collapsing as i help some looking over to see Sapnap. "Noah we kinda need help." Bringing everyone out I tried to see y/n. The smoke was getting dark. "We have to leave now." "I can't find them" Hearing the laugh as Dream appeared. "It was such a good party now all their dead bodies.' Jack comes behind with y/n covering their face. Hearing the screams "Let them go back. " He laughs as Dream nods. He goes over to me passing flames. Dropping them into it. I was too late to get them. Just to hear their screams as Dream walked over to me. "This is what happens when you fall in love with a mortal." With that, they both left. Foolishly, tried to find water as the other three just stood there seeing his friend in denial. "Don't stand there just help me!" screaming to them, "Noah-" I stopped as they tried to reason with me. "I just got them back Karl." All he did was nod.
#mcyt fanfiction#x y/n#fanfic#twitchstreamer#mcyt x y/n#feral boys#foolish x y/n#foolish gamers#foolish x reader#god au#foolish gamers x reader#foolish gamer x y/n
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I dig V7!Yang's bomber jacket and could *generally* roll with the coveralls, but that Vernal-callback garter & pokey-looking belt buckle still make me wanna mash the equivalent of a button keeping Meowth from evolving to Persian. Yeah, yeah, asymmetry, but there's plenty of that with her mitts & Blake-kerchief. Speaking of, that catsuit really did need a zipper around the midsection, not on every other edge of her coat.
Okay I guess it's time to finally explain why the Atlas outfits fucking bother me so much
Putting it under the cut so people who don't want to read criticism don't have to
I'll go into detail about the little things in a second, but the main issue I have is that they just do not make sense for fieldwork in the cold. Yeah, I know it's anime, I don't expect perfectly practical outfits at all times, but the series explicitly emphasizes the danger of the Solitas cold, so it bugs me that the outfits the characters wear, including the trained and experienced Atlesian Huntsmen (ffs Clover where are your sleeves), do not reflect the debilitating effects of being unprotected against the elements. If the threat of the cold wasn't specifically a plot point, I'd be more willing to handwave the outfits not being good at protecting against it and just assume Aura limited the effects of the temperature or something, but that's not the case. The way they actually set things up just makes the characters look stupid.
If you want to argue that a lot of the Atlas Volumes take place in Atlas/Mantle, which is temperature-controlled and thus they don't need heavy protective clothing, then fine, but that doesn't change the fact that Team RWBY and their allies are regularly participating in operations outside that safe zone. I imagine it would take extra modeling/rigging and so on, but you can solve the problem well enough by giving them jackets or something to throw on once they leave the safety of the city and it's artificial heating. Either that or just don't make the cold a goddamn issue in the first place. It wouldn't be the weirdest thing the show has asked us to accept, and the rules surrounding Aura are vague enough that they could easily explain it away.
Anyway, I'll cover the outfits on an individual level now. Let's start with Yang and go in reverse order.
I gotta say, Yang is the type of woman who could look good in a burlap sack, so it's amazing to me that I've never really been a fan of any of her canon outfits. I've always found the shades of brown the character designers love to stick her into be pretty drab and dull, especially since they changed the color of her hair from the brighter gold it used to be to the honey-blonde it is now. Really wish they'd made more use of her color (yellow), she's the brightest of the bunch and needs something to make her pop. I would ascend straight to heaven if they gave her Blake's colors, too - let her have some more purple or black in her outfits.
Anyway, I wouldn't even think this is a bad outfit for Yang if not for the context. It's not amazing, but it fits what's established as her style, and I just love women in pants and jackets. The problem is that she's wearing this outfit in Solitas. This outfit has a fucking thigh window in sub-freezing temperatures, temperatures already established to be deadly by the narrative. I can begrudgingly accept the cleavage, both because showing cleavage is kind of Yang's thing and something the people designing her looks have made an essential part of her aesthetic and because Yang's boobies are very important to me, but the thigh window breaks my suspension of disbelief (to be honest, I wouldn't have even minded if they had covered up the tiddy (shocking, I know). There are plenty of ways to remind us Yang's a bombshell without showing lots of skin). This outfit would've been fine in Vale or Anima tbh even if the thigh window still just fundamentally looks dumb to me.
Blake's outfit just sucks. It's the worst of the bunch. Between the dumb boob socks, the zippers that do literally fucking nothing, and the way she has to wear an adult diaper into combat, this is just so ass. She looks like she ripped off a Square Enix character or something. You're not in a JRPG, honey, wear something that makes sense.
This is so disappointing after her amazing Mistral outfit.
Also, I don't like the short hair at all, but that's more of a personal preference thing. Please let her grow it out again. Please.
I don't mind Weiss's outfit too much besides the stupid fucking belts, if we're being honest. It's not really practical for cold-weather operations, but it's good enough by the standards of anime outfits in general and this series in particular. Not a fan of the little boob window since they're in Solitas, but I can accept it because I've known people who wear shorts in sub-freezing temperatures and Weiss is a native of Atlas. I'm willing to handwave her lack of protective clothing based on the fact that she grew up in this environment and is thus likely to be more used to the cold.
Also, I don't know how her hair suddenly doubled in volume to create that monstrosity of a braid, but whatever. I think she actually looks pretty cute with the new bangs.
Ruby's is my favorite overall. It's not truly cold-weather gear, but it's not so egregiously unsuitable for the environment that it breaks my suspension of disbelief. She manages to look like she's growing up without showing off skin, the new hairstyle is nice, and there's nothing about her Atlas look that really makes me go "ugh, why?", unlike any of her teammates.
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Hi! Can you please give me some advice on how to choose the right shade of foundation? 🥺 For me it's always either too dark or yellow or too light
hiii! i feel flattered that u want advice omg hehe <3 i reaaalllyyyy suck at explaining shit so i hope u understand what i mean 😭
one of the main reasons why ur foundation might look a little off is because the undertone doesnt really match that well. so, first u need to find ur undertone. so, lets say u have olive skin for example, ur undertones are yellow and green-ish.
-> neutral skin has : red and yellow undertones
-> cool skin has : pink and blue undertones
-> olive skin has : yellow and green undertones
-> warm skin has : yellow and golden undertones
ur skin tone = depth of ur complexion
ur undertone = ur overall skin tone
theres actually a really easy way to find out what ur undertone is. i use this trick aaalll the time. depending on what jewelry u wear, silver or gold, u can find out what category of undertones ur in.
lets say silver flatters ur skin more -> cool tones
gold -> warm tones
if ur luckier than i am, and can pull off both colors -> neutral tones
oh, and, theres another way. if ur veins appear blue-ish -> cool tones
id ur veins appear green-ish -> warm/golden tones
so basically, once you've figured out ur undertone/s, all u have to do is pick out the shade that has these undertones.
if u still cant find ur right shade, i'd recommend asking a professional in a drugstore or sephora or something. they can help u better than i can lmao. they'll give u the right shade and they can explain it better and show it to u :) u could always do a online test too, however i dont know how good they are since ive never done one. and i also recommend watching youtube videos. there are plenty out there who explain it better than me and they can show it to u as well, maybe you'll understand it better that way lmao.
basically, u need to find out what ur undertones are and if ur skin is more neutral,cool,olive or warm. then it should be easier to find a shade that matches u well. if u pick a shade thats a little too light, u can always deepen it with other products like contour and bronzer. if u pick a shade thats a little too dark, u can always lighten it again with a lighter concealer or lighter face powder. the key is really just finding ur undertone/s.
ahhh i truly at this 😭 i really hope this helped u a little 😭🫶
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After the End
(Prompt No. 2 and 7)
The world is broken so you try to fix it with your bare hands. Your nails break, your palms bleed and you can't give up. the world is broken and you are the only one who tries to fix it anymore. There is a scream trapped in your throat. Or is it a cry for help? Doesn't matter now. No one else seems to care. The world is old bones and ashes and dried blood and torn skin. The world bleeds and you try to staunch the flow with your kind actions and considerate phrases. It does not work. Your hope flickers like a candle, and you are afraid, so afraid that the world is going to bleed out. You try not to cry.
Something warm covers your hand. You look up and stare into the eyes of a human. Another human. She cares too. She had skin lighter than yours, and her eyes are how you remember the sky once looked like, before the ashes gave the sky its eternal grey. Her hair is the shade of the last sunrise you saw before the world went dark. She smiles at you. Blue and gold. Gold and blue. Bright, beautiful colours. She kneels beside you to heal the world and you shed tears. She wipes them away. There is too much and not enough. Light strikes her and you can see the silver glint of her pendant. It is in the shape of a plus sign. You have forgotten what it meant. She speaks and you do not understand a word of it. She is a child, just like you. You hold back your tears.
Then there is a boy. He has red hair (red like blood, red like autumn leaves, red like life) and brown eyes (the dream of an earth where plants grew) and a big smile (why does he smile? What is there to smile about?). He kneels next to the open wound of the world and prays. You do not know enough to know what he says, but you know enough to understand that it mourns. He looks up at you with the same smile, this time tinged with sadness and whispers one word "Kaddish". Your mouth shapes itself around the foreign word. It reminds you of another word. Torah. That was the book of Jews, wasn't it? Did it even matter, in this barren wasteland? Kaddish. The word feels like the last sigh, the last released breath.
As the echoes of the prayer fade, you hear the crunch of footsteps on stones. That is all there is left in this world. Stones and dust and ashes, because the world has no place for life now. All its life was sucked out by power hungry men. What they forgot was that the world hungered too. It hungered for revenge and devoured those men. And now you are one of the few left alive and maybe those beside you care too. You didn't think it was possible. The footsteps come closer. It is another girl.
She wears a black fabric over her head. You vaguely recognise it as being called a Hijab. Or was is a Burkha? You are not sure. After all, no one had been terribly concerned about the other cultures towards the end. What was it to them? The men had asked (Terrible, greedy men who now lay rotting beneath the Earth in their shallow graves. Served them right) The girl looks at you. She has brown eyes too. That is three people with brown eyes here. Only two sets of them look alive. Yours look as if it were pasted onto your face after being cut out of a dead body. Morbid thoughts. You shake your head, trying to dispel them. There is something in your eyes. Tears? It drips down to the earth. Oh. Blood. Maybe you will be gone soon, like those men that never cared. It does not matter. Other people do care. In all of your sixteen years on the world, you have seen war, death, devastation. You are tired. You want to rest, to dream of the green and blue you think you remember.
The girl takes a step forward. She unwrapped the cloth (Are they supposed to do that?) and moves towards you. Is she going to hurt you? Maybe. You would deserve it, for not remembering the customs of the world. Everyone forgot, but it was no excuse for you to forget too. There were so many factions. Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists. You forgot them all. So many names and cultures, fractured and lost. Your side wore crimson and vermillion, too proud to call the colours red and orange, like they were supposed to be. The wars had been fought with emerald, snowy, cyan and magenta. Yet all there was left in the battlefield at the end had been black and red and ash grey. And now the green Earth was black and the blue sky was grey and no bright colours remained. Good. The base layer of the world was exposed and it bled into your hands. You pressed your palms to the wound and tried to make it stop bleeding.
The girl is still moving forward. You are still dripping blood. The girl is touching her lips to the silver cross and the boy is uttering prayers. You want to die. You want to live. You want to scream "We were just children. We are just children. We do not deserve to rot away like your hearts did, full of hatred and resentment!" The words are stuck in your throat. There is no one there to hear them. She takes the cloth (black. Black like the moonless skies. Black like your hair. Black like the weight of the sins of the dead men) and wraps it around your forehead. It stops the blood. She sings. You think it is Arabic. Or is it Urdu? You don't know, you never bothered to learn. You make a promise to yourself to learn Urdu, Arabic, Hebrew, English, German. Anything except the clipped Hindi and Sanskrit that the men told you once were the only civilized languages. Your thoughts slow down. Your eyes feel heavy. The world has stopped gushing blood. It still flows, but the flow is light. The cloth wrapped around your head helps. The girl is now without her headgear. She is a child too. About your age. They all are. The one generation who saw the results of centuries of war. You want to close your eyes. Just for a moment. You feel yourself starting to float away, and hear a whisper. It sounds like "Sleep, my friend." But it cannot be. No one is of your world. Huh. Your last thought before unconsciousness snatches you away is that maybe you are not all as different as the misguided men might have led you to believe.
===============================
You open your eyes and think that maybe you are still asleep. The world is gold. It is red too. There are hints of blue peeking out of the grey sky. You look down. The earth is still the same scorched black, but in the middle of it, where the wound lay yesterday, gaping and gushing blood, there is a plant. It is fresh green, filled with life and so, so delicate. You move to get up. There is something pressing into you on all sides. You look around and smile. Three somethings. You have all turned into pillows for each other. And all of your hands lie near the plant. New life. New dawn. New magic in the air. So the men were wrong after all. Kindness is not weakness. It is strange and wonderful and it makes life bloom. You close your eyes and whisper to any God that might be listening "Thank you." And you go back to sleep. It is early and you would have work to do later in the day. Besides, you wouldn't dare wake the others up, would you?
#writing exercise#writing challenge#short fiction#short story#flash fiction#the despised ones#writeblr#writing prompt#writing prompts#writing#new blog#new story#original story#original content#hopelessness#hope#post apocalypse#end of the world
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Drew a Moist von Lipwig for a school presentation on Going Postal cause my teacher asked for more pictures. For a book. With. No pictures in it. Anyways, now you can enjoy it too!
#discworld#discworld art#moist von lipwig#going postal#my art#shading gold sucks why do you have to wear all gold#why did i put so much effort into a drawing for a one off presentation#anyways heres my favorite from the discworld
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Victorian DILF Brahms x Female Reader
Series: Don't forget who you belong to.
Chapter 2 - Give me your answer, do
Underthecut - NSFW, Male Masturbation, Oral - Male Receiving.
Brahms sat idly in his living room, leaning back in his large leather recliner. Feet shuffling along the Egyptian carpet, thumbs twiddling as he hums Daisy Bell by Harry Dacre,
"I'm half crazy, all for the love of you." He smiles as he thinks of her. How her hair shines in the sun, like a halo above her head. Her eyes sparkling whenever she laughs, how the corner of her eyes crinkles ever so slightly. How her smile makes his heart skip a beat.
Brahms sucks in a breath, his hum-singing continues, "There are bright lights the dazzling eyes of beautiful Daisy Bell." He sits up straight, eyes on the unlit fireplace, the gold gate held an ornate Chinese dog welded on the front. He looks above the fireplace to the mantel, the rows of photos in their ash wood frames.
His face is stern as he glances at a particular photo. He, a half-smile as his hand rests on his son's shoulder. Lawrence when he was a boy of eight. Lawrence's other shoulder had a delicate white hand upon it. Gerti, her lips dark with her favourite shade of lipstick, her slight freckles littered her face, her silky blonde hair up in a beautiful age-appropriate bun.
His hum-singing fades as he continues to stare, the family photo, the family in the photo appearing as sharp and elegant as their social standing. That day, Gerti had scolded him all morning, her eyes wide and glossy, her alabaster skin held a blue and yellow hue under her eyes. Her fingers were cold and clammy.
"For the love of everything, Brahms, hurry for once." Brahms flinches as he can still hear her screeching, "Lawrence, get the cat's paw out of your mouth and stop pulling its tail!" He chuckles,
"I miss that cat," Brahms laughs to himself. Never one for pets but how that scraggly little beast could make his son laugh in the most jovial way, warmed him greatly.
His amused grin falls as his eyes lock with Gerti's. Grabbing the photo, his thumb ghosts over her image, remembering how once soft her skin was. His stomach churns as a chill seeps into his bones, shaking him in his spot.
He places the family photo back on the mantle, right next to a photo of her. Her hands grasping each other, face tilted slightly, a timid smile upon her face. "Sir, I don't need my photo taken!"
"Y/n, as my employee of a year, you are practically family." Brahms let out a shaky breath as his mind replays the conversation. "And you may call me, Brahms. You address Gerti by her full name."
"Gerti and are intimate in ways that have allowed us to be close."
"Pray tell may I watch these intimate moments?" His cheeky reply had cost him an ear full from his wife when she had found out. Brahms still never understood why women used such charged words to describe a close friendship.
Brahms left the living room, a stirring in his gut had him heave. He wanted to call upon her for aid, 'Fetch me a water with some ice, and actually bring some black tea and one of our lemons from Italy.' he clears his throat at the thought of dryness being washed back by the cold refreshment.
He had given her a few hours a week for personal time. Free to be spent however she pleased. Ever since the death of his wife and Lawerence attending Rugby School for Boys she had more free time. Much to Brahms immense displeasure.
Brahms had taken to stalking her on her days off. Wanted to see what she got up to. Where she went and specifically with who. He would linger twenty feet behind, always darting behind stalls and other tall men to hide, he even took to wearing a coat that he kept hidden in hopes she would not recognize him further.
He stared in amazement at how well she helped an old lady onto the trolley all the while juggling her belongings, refusing a 'tip' "It's the nice thing to do." in reference to helping others.
His cheeks flushed whenever she stopped to smell the flowers, literally. A quaint smile as she turned down the offer for a free one from the vendor. She often stopped to sniff the white and yellow flowers. He had noticed Daisys were her favorite.
He seethed when one day you were stopped by a handsome Youngman, his tall lean frame stood confidently as his dark brown eyes held a softness as they looked down at you. He had overheard the name in a distinctly American accent, "Dan, yeah I'm studying medicine with my colleague, I'd introduce you but..." He hated that you always walked near the campus, hated all the young men eager, too eager to chat up a single young lady.
Dan had never gotten farther than chaste conversations and one quick feather-light kiss on her cheek.
Brahms wondered if he should up and move, just to be a little further away from the university, away from the young men, away from one of them stealing her away. She was his, he had just yet to convince her. Ask her, even bring it up in any conceivable way.
One occasion made the blood sear in his veins. He should have been more away, should have been more vigilant of this Dan fellow. He watched from a distance as Dan rounded the corner and collided with her. His tall body fell over hers, his hand had just managed to catch the back of her head, softening to the blow to the ground.
"Oh, God! I am so sorry!" Dan's eyes wide in shock, "Oh, I'm so sorry."
She laughed, "No, no, it's fine," Brahms gritted his teeth.
"No, it's not." Dan pulled himself and her up, his hand holding her in a firm grasp. "I am so sorry." He scratched the back of his head, his expression doleful.
"Accidents happen." She assured, grabbing his hand still wrapped around hers. " It's okay Dan."
"You remember me!" Dan's brown eyes lit up. A Radiant smile over his face as he stepped closer to her.
Brahms seethed as the scene played out before him. She smiled, he smiled. She laughed, he laughed. The words between the two began to fall effortlessly between them both.
He watched despondently. How she could let herself relax so easily in another man's presence. How her demeanor shifted around Dan. Those stiff shoulders eased themselves as Dan placed his hand on her shoulder and winked.
Brahms cursed, the university's chapel bell rang out. Every thunderous clang shot through Brahms. Every clang was a reminder he had another place to be. The dreaded desk in the dreaded little corner of his office.
He turned one last time, eyes watched as she smiled with a warmth he'd never seen, how she leaned into Dan as his smile shined bright.
Brahms walks up to his maid's room, thanking Gerti for installing a sense of comfort in Y/N as to never locking the door.
He jiggles the door handle, "Hm..." Again, "Weird," his eyes narrow, "Bloody thing is locked." He jostles the handle, "Bloody woman..."
Click
"Ah, there we are." He hums in approval as the door creaks open. Forever grateful for the previous owner teaching him how to easily unlock a door in the house without a key "Rickety ol' tings" Brahms mocked the man's heavy accent.
He inhales as he enters her room. The simple little abode warmed his heart. Her bed and the nightgown left upon it stirred his loins. He walks to the bed, grabs the nightgown, bringing it to his nose, he growls as he inhales, her natural scent lingered on the garment.
Brahms holds the garment in his teeth as he shucks off his pants, freeing his painfully erect cock. The thoughts whirl in his mind as he plops onto her bed, sighing with content as he sinks down into the mattress and a sneer as he grips his cock.
The same bed she slept, where when the night calls for it, he knew she'd sleep naked. "Fuck..." He growls through the nightgown, ripping it from his mouth to place it over his chest. Her bed, her bed where she no doubt has touched herself, even if briefly in a beautiful sinful manner.
Does she shy away as she dipped those delicate little fingers into her dripping pussy? Does she bite her cheek to stifle her pitchy moans when that jolt of pleasure shot through her?
Brahms collects some spit in his large hand, sucking in a breath as his cold spit touches his cock. His hand pumps eagerly around his thick member, a low groan as the image of her crawling up to him floods his mind. He sighs as he pictures it as her hand gripping him, gasping at how large it is,
"Brahms, my fingers can't even wrap around it!"
"That's okay, love, use those pretty little lips and that wet little tongue to help you."
"What if my make-up smears?"
"Oh, love, that's what I want." Brahms throws his head back, thumb circling his swollen head, picturing it as her delicate wet little tongue. He grips himself harder as he swears he can feel her lips wrap around his cock.
His low groans and breathy moans fill her little room, her name falling from his lips, "So beautiful, Y/N. My love, so perfect, mhm, yes, further down your throat, moaning around it."
Brahms breathing hitches as he pictures her, clawing at his chest as tears prick the corner of her eyes, "I'm a little nervous," She says as she rubs her glistening pussy, inches over his leaking cock.
"You got this, my love." Brahms keens,
"Will it fit, Brahms?..." She bites her lip, a hand groping her beautiful chest.
"My love, just relax, I have you." He pictures gripping her hip to ease her down onto him, gripping his cock as he imagines her warm pussy gripping him.
Audible slaps from the fisting of his cock, mixing with his now desperate pleas and moans fill her room. She's on top of him, her chest flushed against his, she's commenting on how she loves the feel of his hairy chest, praised-filled moans as she comments on his pecs flexing under her.
Brahms bucks his hips into his hand, "Hold you close." He moans as he pictures rolling on top of her, her legs wrapping around his lower half, arms pulling him in close, whispering in his ear,
"Brahms cum in me, cum in me, make me yours." He grips squeeze around his cock, imaging it's her pussy clenching around him, "I love you, Brahms."
He hisses as his body shakes, muscles flexing, toes curling as he snarls out his release. The image of her accepting his seed sends heat washing over him. His cock pulses in his grip, his cum spraying over her nightgown, the remaining spilling down his fingers and cock.
His temples pulse, his ears ringing. His toes unfurling as his legs ceased in their shakes. He squeezes his cock a few more times, hearing her breathlessly thanking him, "It's so warm in me. Thank you, Brahms." He swears he can feel her nuzzling into his chest as if she was there.
Brahms coughs as he sits up, shaking his head as he gingerly throws his legs over the side, placing his feet on the door. The nightgown falls over his cock. He snorts, using it to clean himself. He stands up, placing the nightgown where he had found it. A wicked and mischievous grin spreads over his face at the thought of her wearing his spent at night.
He grunts as he retrieves his trousers, pulling them up in haste, tucking his chub back in. A content sigh as he eyes the bed and nightgown. She wouldn't be sleeping alone for much longer.
Brahms snaps his attention to the trill of his front doorbell. He clicks his tongue as he makes haste to the door. He debates on if he has time to properly clean his hand, decides to just wear a fancy white-glove he leaves, conveniently, near the front door instead.
"Coming! My Maid is out currently," He sucks in a breath as he pulls a glove over his right hand, he cocks his head quickly before opening the door. "Sorry, it'd have been answered sooner...who are you?"
Brahms stared down at the short man before him. His brown hair combed expertly to the side, his brows immaculate under his thick glasses. He wore a glowering expression, his lips in a tight line.
The man clears his throat, "Herbert, Herbert West." Brahms makes note of his American accent, "I believe this paper is for the lady of this residence." Herbert whips the paper in front of him, his expression changing to say "Well, hurry and take it!"
"Mr. West."
"Herbert."
"Herbert, If by Lady you mean, Gerti? She passed awa-"
"I don't mean your dead wife."
Brahms's eyes narrow at Herbert. He opens his mouth the speak.
"I mean, Y/n. She is the only lady living here. So Dan tells me."
Brahms's jaw slackens, "Dan." He says more to himself.
"Yes, it's an invitation to a formal at the university. He already invited her. Just wanted to make sure she got all the details, it's all there on the paper." Herbert whips it again in front of Brahms.
Brahms yanks the paper from Herbert, eyes scanning it wildly.
University of London
Residents of Handel Mansions we formally invite you to bring along the most beautiful dame for the start of our fall formal.
September 28th, 1900
Entrance fee 1 pound, with a beautiful dame on your arm the fee is waved.
Brahms stares back at Herbert who pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "Well," Herbert begins, "I figured be best to drop it off for Dan. He's been awfully busy." He flashes a smile to Brahms as he turns, "Dan also says to let Y/n know he wishes her luck at her new job on Robitaille's farm." He turns back around to Brahms, "Oh, it was nice meeting you, Mr.?"
Brahms pauses, clearing his throat, "Brahms Heelshire."
Herbert clicks his tongue, "I knew that." He walks down the stairs, a pep in his step, "Was nice meeting you Mr. Heelshire."
Brahms stares at the short man walking away, nodding to a man walking past. He turns back around, slamming the door behind in, the frame shook.
He stares down at the paper, eyes reading it over and over again. "A formal." He starts, "That Dan..." His breath catches in his chest, "A job?" he questions aloud.
He collapses against his door, slumping over as he crunches the paper in his hands. His thoughts raced to her, cursing himself for not intervening that day she ran into Dan. Wishing he just took the reprimand from his employer and raced in to shove Dan away from you. Creating some fantastical lie as to why he was suddenly there.
Brahms's thoughts slip to his son. Lawrence, his green eyes shine whenever he and Y/n play. He hugs her like he did his mother. How y/n always promises to play with him, tuck him at night. How were you going to tuck him in if you were to be away? How were you going to be there to kiss his little cheek as he falls asleep?
"How are you going to be there for me?"
#brahms heelshire#Brahms x reader#Brahms x you#Brahms imagine#Brahms heelshire x reader#Brahms heelshire x you#Female reader#Slasher x reader#Slasher x you#Slasher imagine#Herbert West#Dan Cain#Smut#Lemon#Victorian AU#Victorian era#late victorian era#edwardian era
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17 going on 27
summary; one second, you’re sobbing at prom because the most popular guy in school dumps you due to your relationship being a little prank to break your heart. the next? you’re a creative editor at Ego, the hottest young adult fashion magazine. as you try to figure out what’s the deal with this sudden time skip into adulthood, you come across relationships and friendships that are made to be cherished and made to be broken.
pairing; photographer!jungkook x editor!reader (f)
genre/warnings; fluff, crack, future enemies to lovers, teenage and adulthood angst, time skips from high school!au to late twenties!au, 13 going on 30!au, all your romantic movie tropes come to life! a really big mess honestly, various movie and music references, mentions of sex, use of alcohol, everyone give jin and jimin a big ol hug, language, a surprise guest from the queen of england
w/c; 22.6k
a/n; it’s that time of the year baby! the time of the year where i binge watch the good ol’ early 2000s romcoms that make absolutely no sense! a huge thank u to @eerieedits for making this beautiful banner. vivi got the whole delia’s/claire’s vibe down to a t!
if you enjoy this fic pls consider giving it a like and a share✨✨✨
March 19th, 2011
Thirty, flirty, and thriving!
You finger the dog-eared magazine, last month’s issue of a shoddy fashion magazine that featured top actress Jennifer Garner on the front cover. Her caramel brown highlights practically glow on the page, blown out and beautiful. You suppress a sigh, you long to be the radiant young woman on the cover. The headline is glittery, sparkly and just begging for attention.
Swiping a hand through the pages, your eyes are crowded with over-stimulation. Colorful models dressed up in the latest designs, Chanel and Burberry suits you can only dream of, and happy women at the prime of their lives.
Twenty-seven and in Heaven! You smile wryly at the cheesy rhyme that headlines the following pages, but nevertheless the happy model on the spread does indeed look like they’re in heaven.
Sure, you’re no shrinking violet. Heck, you don’t even consider yourself painfully average. You may not be on the traditional spectrum of popularity in high school, but you get around and have a wonderful best friend and an even better boyfriend. However given the social classes that preside, you do get those moments where you second guess your life’s position. Good thing high school has an expiration date, and you’re close to the end.
“Baby Bun, what are you doing?” the magazine is snatched from your grasp, thrown on the table without a care in the world. Jennifer Garner’s hydro-whitened smile gleams tauntingly at you, “reading that junk is gonna mess with your head.”
Your boyfriend returns from his final suit fitting, his outfit for tonight all pressed and ready to go. He pouts at you, pulling you up by the hand to lead you out of the Men’s Warehouse. Jeon Jungkook. Captain of the lacrosse team, flying by high school with a sports scholarship already in the bag. Eats up attention like plants soak up the sun. Secretly loves taking photographs of his dog and watching Netflix animes at your house.
“Aren’t you excited for prom?”
“Excited to listen to LMFAO’s Party Rock Anthem on repeat?” you guaff, “as if.”
He pinches your arm lightly, “You also forget that we’re gonna tear up the floor to Nicki Minaj’s Superbass.”
You shrug listlessly, crunching the white plastic closer to your body.
Before you can suck all the air out of the garment bag, Jungkook carefully extracts it from your grasp, easily holding it between his one arm so he can thread his other hand through yours. “I am excited! It’s just that… Jimin’s not gonna be there and we’re sitting with the Yearbook committee.”
Looking down at the floor you extract your hand from his, slipping into his parent’s Honda Civic. The yearbook committee, meaning you’d be sitting at a table with head editor Jennie and her group of friends. Friends that are popular and pretty, just like Jungkook.
Jimin is currently on a flight back from Korea due to a family funeral, therefore leaving a seat empty at your prom table. It was only seat that you cared about, other than Jungkook’s. It’s no one’s fault and Jimin of course is doubly upset to miss prom, but without your best friend you’re not sure if you can survive the night.
One of the few secrets you keep from Jungkook is the fact that Jennie and you aren’t exactly friendly to each other. You don’t know why, maybe it’s the fact that you don’t run the in same friend group or you always win the debate in Civics class, but Jennie clearly expresses her dislike for you as easily as she expresses her love for Jungkook.
Which makes you incredibly insecure, but Jennie and Jungkook have been friends for longer than you and him have been together, who are you to intervene?
Jungkook slips in the driver’s seat, but not before pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek.
Right. You’re Jungkook’s girlfriend, and that should matter more than his friendship with Jennie.
But the smell of his freshly cleaned lacrosse jersey, his duffle bag overflowing with protein powder and unfinished assignments remind you that you have your world and he has his. A conversation about your insecurities could wait until tomorrow.
“When’s Jimin’s flight?” Jungkook asks, one hand on the steering wheel and the other tapping on your thigh as he pulls out.
“He’ll be back two hours into the dance,” you report, albeit glumly as you rest your head against the cool window.
“That sucks,” Jungkook replies, a bit of sadness in his tone, “he has to miss out on his prom night.”
You shrug, “Prom isn’t everything, it’s about the people you spend it with.”
“Well then,” he squeezes your thigh, “I’m glad I get to spend it with you.”
You only have a few hours to get ready until you meet Jungkook at his house for pictures, so when you get dropped off, you tell him that he doesn’t have to get out of the car to escort you into your home. But Jungkook is insistent, putting the car in park and getting out your dress for you with such delicacy that you’re positively sure there’s no wrinkles in the fabric. Taking the dress from his grasp you wish him goodbye and a promise to meet each other later.
“Wait,” Jungkook is biting his lip, unable to let go of your hand even though you’re already up the stairs. You’re looking down at him, a rarity considering his tall frame.
“What’s wrong, Kook?”
“Uh, I was just thinking,” he’s scratching the back of his head, and you soften. The little quirk he has is a sign of insecurity, being the star player Jungkook is forced to exude confidence to a fault. “Maybe, we could skip the prom thing? You said so yourself that prom is about the people you spend it with.”
Your eyes widen, clutching your dress tighter. “What? Jungkook, that’s ridiculous. Between the both of us we’ve spent a lot of money on the clothes and the tickets.”
“Right,” he forces a laugh, and you put a hand on your hip to think it out but you can’t quite place what’s going on. “Sorry Bun, I just know how the finale of our favorite anime airs tonight.”
“You’re so silly,” you chastise, reaching down to pinch his cheek. Normally he hates it, but you can’t help but melt when he leans into your touch a little more. “C’mon, I know suits are stuffy and stuff, but let’s just do this high school rite of passage thing. Afterwards we can go to McDonalds or something and watch the recording.”
“You’re right,” his face is red, “what was I thinking? Can’t miss out on a night to see my beautiful girlfriend all dressed up.”
He squeezes your hand one last time, a little too tight for comfort. With a half smile he waves, going into his car and driving off.
You don’t have time to dwell on his weirdness (and trust when you say that Jungkook is plenty weird and it astounds you how the rest of your class has no idea) so you fly up to your room to get your hair and makeup ready. Your parents greet you excitedly along the way, telling you there’s a package left for you on your vanity.
It’s a plain cardboard box, already cut and unwrapped by your parents for convenience. The address shows it came from Korea, proudly displaying the name of your best friend on the return address. Inside is a beautiful compact, made of brushed gold and pink metal. The makeup inside is a loose glitter from a brand that you don’t recognize, but since it’s a gift from Jimin, you trust his taste.
I have to be at prom somehow, Jimin’s note on the box reads, don’t overthink and have fun!
You snort, reading the sticky note over and over in Jimin’s voice. Looking over the shade, you can’t help but grimace at the cliché name. Wishing Dust. The color is a little too white and silvery for your taste, but you’ll wear it in honor of Jimin.
The dress, the hair, the makeup all come together little by little. You like the ritual of getting ready, building yourself up to the highest order and feeling closer and closer to the beautiful women in magazines. Surprisingly, your favorite part of getting ready is applying the glitter that Jimin gifted you. The puff enclosed is cloud soft, and surprisingly the color doesn’t look too ashen on your skin. The glitter sinks into your skin like a soft butter, accentuating your collarbones and cheeks as if you are glowing from within.
You smile at yourself in the mirror. A little part of you wishes you could look like this everyday. You wish you could always look and feel this confident, and act mature and graceful.
A buzzing on your desk stops your wishful thinking, and you frown at the message that lights up your phone.
Jungkook: sorry bun, but the civic finally broke down and its on its way to car heaven. Could we meet at the party hall instead? We can take pictures there, jennie mentioned yearbook hired a photographer
Disheartened, you send a quick text back saying it’s fine. Any more explanation on your feelings would reveal your disappointment. You don’t know how you’re going to tell your parents that they won’t be taking pictures with your boyfriend anytime soon. So you suck it in and take solo pictures for your parents and some group selfies. This is just one bump in the night, the rest of it should be smooth sailing.
But when your parents drop you off at the venue your eyes first land on a beat up Honda Civic. You’re pretty sure car heaven isn’t at the prom.
The rest of your entrance is a blur as you go through every corner of the venue, searching for your boyfriend. You’re clutching his matching flower in your hand, a beautiful red rose with baby’s breath circling around it, all clutched together in a black silk ribbon. You wonder what kind of flower he bought you.
But it’s nearly impossible to find him. Not at the photobooth, the appetizer buffet, or in the lobby. It’s not until you’re sweating at the brow and nearing the corner of the venue that you do find him.
Lips locked, kissing Jennie.
The plastic encasing Jungkook’s boutonniere drops, clanging to the ground.
Whispers of you circle the air, meeting your ears and confirming all your insecurities.
“Oh my god, I knew Jungkook was cheating on her!”
“Wow, how pathetic. She ran all the way to prom alone to see this?”
“I thought his girlfriend was a smart girl. How did she not know that their relationship was a bet all along?”
Jungkook and Jennie are on the balcony, looking picture perfect in matching formal attire and flowers. The sun is setting, not taking its time as it sinks deeper and deeper into the horizon. The sky darkens and the air is chilly, much like your heart.
Jungkook's eyes are wide and in shock as he watches you from the balcony, but Jennie’s are sharp and satisfied. Satisfied, as if the whole thing had been orchestrated.
While you can’t hear him because he’s so far away, you can see the ghost of your name on his lips. Your ears are ringing, numb to the laughter of the students watching and the pity that others are throwing at you. You feel dumb. You feel like throwing up. In a bout of anger your heel digs into the plastic of the boutonniere, crushing the innocent rose in its clear coffin.
You don’t make it far out the door when one of your favorite teachers snatches you in concern.
“Honey, any further and you’ll be running on the highway," Mrs. Song jokes, pulling you away from the entrance.
You feel like a newborn deer in your heels and incredibly heavy in your dress as Mrs. Song drags you over to a staff bathroom. It's far, far away from the actual party. Mrs. Song doesn't say anything, and just gives you a sad smile as she let's you go into the single stall alone.
Sitting on the toilet and not giving a care that your dress is probably getting soiled, you bury your face in your hands and finally let the tears flow. Fat, frustrated tears roll down your cheeks without a care in the world.
"Mrs. Song please, I need to get in there."
"Now Jungkook, I think you've done enough for today. Go back to the party and don't worry about it."
You can imagine Jungkook now, he hated it when people told him not to worry. It only made him more annoyed, fists probably clenched under his perfectly tailored suit and his cute teeth uncharacteristically gritted. He cared to a fault, at least you thought he did. He ruined your night, he made you feel so dumb and silly.
But the longer you stayed in the dim bathroom, you could care less. Thank goodness for Mrs. Song guarding the door. Why would he bother to follow you? It turns out all your insecurities are not in vain, and that you’ve been ignoring a gut feeling you’ve mistaken for your lack of trust. You shouldn’t have trusted Jungkook. You shouldn’t have been so tolerable of Jennie.
Goodness, you feel so stupid. You hope that there are other bathrooms for staff to use, because you want to coop yourself in here until the last dance. Mascara drips on your sleeves, your hands swiping at your cheeks to stop any tears from staining your dress even further.
The more you hear Jungkook and Mrs. Song argue, the more you want to disappear. You bury yourself on the floor, uncaring of how dirty the tiles are. Glitter smears across your cheeks and sticks to your hands, and you no longer feel like the thriving young adult you once felt when you walked out the door this evening.
All you can do is cry and pray you can get through the night. And the next day, and the rest of senior year. You don’t want to see Jungkook or Jennie until graduation, when they walk out of the door and permanently out of your life. You wish you could skip the rest of the semester, and fastforward to the life you’ve carved for yourself in your dreams since freshman year. You wish you could be like the woman on the magazine, who has her whole life put together. To be a woman who holds all the confidence in the world and doesn’t have to worry about stupid men.
Just like the cover. Thirty, flirty and thriving. Just like the models in the magazines. Twenty-seven and in heaven.
Just once, do you want to taste the feeling of having life on your side.
March 20st, 2021
Your first thought is that you feel disgusting.
Of course, falling asleep in a random bathroom stall will make you feel those things. Your dress clinging uncomfortably to your sweating form, lulled to the sounds of Mrs. Song’s temperamental voice and Jungkook’s arguing.
But for some reason it’s a different kind of disgusting. The feeling is rotting in your throat, as if there’s a tang stuck to the roof of your mouth. You also feel impossibly dehydrated, as if you’ve run a marathon. And for some reason you’re sore? Especially in the crotch, and you don’t remember experiencing any cramps yesterday.
Your hands come to your body, and instead of feeling tulle and taffeta your hands are greeted with a silky black negligee that hangs across your waist. Panic stings in your bones like a stroke of lightning.
Eyes snapping open, your breath catches in your throat when you take in the room. You’re on a large plush creme couch, large enough to be a bed. The organza curtains are a shade of bottle green and are opened slightly to let the morning sun in. From your view it seems like this is the top floor of the complex, overlooking the city horizon.
You feel the covers shift slightly, and you realize there’s a naked man sleeping next to you. You scream.
The man screams back with an even higher pitch, falling off the couch and clutching the sheets like a lifeline. “What?” he panics, eyes darting back and forth across the room like he’s on a reality television show. “What the fuck? Is there something on my face! Why are you screaming so early!”
The fact that he’s an adult man and you’re seventeen is even more terrifying, and you feel absolutely naked despite the fact that you’re nearly clothed. But what confuses you more is that this man looks awfully familiar.
Familiar in the sense that you’ve seen him in one too many television sitcoms to count. This man in front of you looks like Kim Seokjin, the protagonist of your favorite television show: Sky City. He has the same plump lips and pretty face, only aged up. But last time you checked on Soompi, Seokjin is supposed to be twenty years old and filming the next season in New Zealand. Arguably he could be his older brother, but he never acted and you don’t think he’d be the spitting image.
“Seokjin?” you taste the name on your tongue, “Kim Seokjin?”
Seokjin relaxes considerably, and he finds it appropriate to return to the couch, placing a tentative hand on your thigh. “Right, were you really that drunk? You got my name right, but it seems that you’ve forgotten that the only name you called me last night was sex god…”
His plush lips meet the ends of your earlobe, and you squeal at the strange sensation.
You’ve had sex with this man and you can’t even remember it? Furthermore how can a peasant like you be in contact with a celebrity? What on earth happened last night? Shouldn’t you be calling the police or panicking more? Where’s the pepper spray and sharp knives where you need them? You can’t even find it in you to find a sharp weapon at your once cherished-idol, who’s apparently unfazed and drinking in your body like he has a taste of it every night.
“What’s the date?” you push him away, looking around for any signs of where you are and how you ended up here.
“It’s the first day of spring,” Seokjin says easily, stretching out on the couch. “I wonder when the cherry blossoms will bloom. Should we have a picnic with Bogum?”
“Where’s my phone, I can’t find my phone!”
Seokjin doesn’t bat an eye as he digs through the couch, pulling something from under him. He waves it in front of your face. “That’s not my phone,” you deadpan.
“Okay I guess you were actually that drunk,” Seokjin rolls his eyes, forcing the large piece of plastic and metal on your palm. “When you went to the bathroom last night you dropped your old phone in the toilet. We picked up a new one on the way to the next bar. Good thing the new Samsung dropped last month!”
Since when are phones this large? You carry the strange weight in your hands, confused as to why Seokjin thinks this is your phone. You own a beat up 2G that barely gets any reception in the school basement. But when you turn it on, the screen recognizes your face immediately and unlocks. Wow, since when do cell phones do face recognition?
A selfie of you and Seokjin appears on the homescreen, looking totally happy.
Is that you?
No longer do you have acne lining your brows, or uneven skin texture. Your smile is high and prominent. Your visage is clean and done with minimal makeup, highlighting your beauty.
The date flickers on the top of the screen. March 20th, 2021: 7:42AM.
You scream again. Seokjin screams again for the heck of it.
“How did this happen!” you shriek, dropping your phone to step up to the window. You bask in your reflection, mildly impressed and even more so afraid of what’s in front of you. Your body has filled out like an adult, and considering it’s ten years into the future, other things have filled out as well. Experimentally, your hands go out to your chest, squeezing. Yep, those knockers were not there the last time you checked.
“Well, you came back from work completely drained from a shoot and I just finished filming my Everyday Skincare Routine video with Vogue,” Seokjin comes up to you, blanket tied around his waist like a long towel. “We met at our usual bar and do what we usually do when we’re both stressed: bang it out.”
You watch as Seokjin’s hands snake around your slick silk, hugging you from behind like it’s second nature. “Is this a dream?” you ask yourself, because it’s not unlikely that you’ve had a sex dream with Seokjin and this is the aftermath dream.
“Nope,” you yelp when Seokjin pinches your butt, hard. It stings. “This is real life, baby.”
“Are we dating?”
You feel Seokjin’s grip tense, and he shoves your innocent question away with a coarse laugh. “You know both you and me don’t do serious relationships. It’s why we work so well together, you know that.”
“Right,” you reply softly. That doesn’t sound like you at all, and it scares you considerably.
“So, I gotta go,” you panic when he lets go and starts searching around for his clothes. Your face heats up at Seokjin’s perky ass staring back at you, and your eyes dart to a random spot in the corner. “I got a green meeting with Ellen, and lord knows I don’t wanna face her wrath if I’m late.”
In seconds he’s fully clothed in a plain shirt and jeans, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Call me beep me, if you wanna reach me,” he sings, throwing a wave over his shoulder as he leaves you in the large apartment.
The door slams with a hard smack and that’s when you collapse on the couch that feels foreign and strange, breaking into tears.
The next time you wake up, it’s the next day. It’s a glaringly bright Sunday and for whatever reason you’re still in this aged-up body. Maybe time travel makes the body really tired. This isn’t a dream. You panic for the second time, walking back and forth around the loft that’s apparently yours. It seems like it’s yours, because the bills that linger on the coffee table have your name and the pictures in the one bedroom are of you and your family.
But the refrigerator in the nook is digital and has fancy ice settings, something you could never imagine owning. Your closet is filled with brand named suits, and with every designer label you pass you mentally rack up the total of just one section. It’s enough to pay for your college tuition if your first choice accepts you.
Wait. You’re apparently twenty-seven, college is long gone.
Lying in your bed feels better, surrounded by familiar pictures of your cousins and family. Your favorite snacks are tucked with care in your nightstand, and it makes you feel a tiny bit better knowing that your favorite chocolate and chips will never change.
What happened in the past ten years? Why don’t you remember anything and are you entirely sure this isn’t some strange fever dream?
Time ticks slowly as you spend the afternoon, glued to your phone. It’s a 25 Note+ and it’s filled with multiple doohickeys and settings that make you feel technologically inept. You never thought you were bad with technology, but clearly these phones have a learning curve attached to them.
You try to call your family, but according to the voicemail left they’re on a Disney cruise that you paid for. Your heart aches at the excited voice of your parents. Why are they on a vacation without you?
The next thing you aim for is finding Jimin’s contact. According to Google Maps, you’re not far from your hometown and you know that Jimin’s always wanted to move to the city so he must be nearby. To your chagrin, his name isn’t on your contact list. Strange, he’s always number two on speed dial.
Clicking on the internet browser, you go to the online Whitepages and search up Park Jimin. There may be a million ones, but maybe you could get a lead. When a picture and an address show up easily with one swipe, you scoff. The internet has no room for privacy ten years later, huh?
The most casual thing you own in your closet is a Free People dress, reaching mid-calf with flowing bell sleeves. Heck, you couldn’t even find a single pair of jeans. You don’t care however, as you swipe your keys from the counter (you gape, you own a Tesla?) and race down to the parking garage.
Jimin’s apartment is on the other side of the city. It’s strange, transitioning from high rises and shiny windows to quaint brick walls and lived-in patio spaces. You feel like it’s a race against time as you make it all the way to his room, knocking feverishly on the mahogany red door.
“What? Who is it?” it’s clear that his room is cheap, the walls thin as you hear his voice shuffle throughout the room. Why are you shaking? It’s just your best friend.
The door swings open and you and Jimin drink each other in. His baby fat has melted from his cheeks, revealing a handsome and charming jawline. His hair is no longer a natural black, but has been dyed to a sandy blond that suits his tan. His eyes, wide in surprise, are still a soft brown but not as bright as when he was seventeen.
“Jimin,” your third round of tears hits you like a truck at the sight of your best friend, and you immediately run into his arms.
But he doesn’t hug you back immediately. In fact, he doesn’t know what to do at all. Your name rolls off his lips like he’s seen a ghost.
You pull away, as if you are burned. You flinch at the way Jimin regards you. “Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know,” he looks at you, crossing his arms, “I don’t know what to feel when your old best friend suddenly shows up at your doorstep after ten years.”
What?
“Why would I do that?” you whisper, bracing your hand against the doorframe to steady yourself.
“Well, after graduation you chose a college at the last minute. Decided to go to a prestigious fashion university in Europe. Shacked it up with some British guys and well, forgot about your past but I guess I can’t blame you.”
“But I couldn’t have left you,” you know you’re not even talking to Jimin, but in fact scolding yourself for being so stupid these past ten years. “I was crying for you that night at prom. All I wanted was for you to be there and hold me!”
That strikes a cord. Jimin pops his head into the hallway, looking back and forth to see if anyone is watching. He sighs when your tears turn into sobs, shaking your form. “Come in,” he mutters, ushering you inside.
Jimin’s apartment feels more like home than your apartment does. Cosy and warm with the scent of jasmine brewing on the stove. The pour of tea soothes you slightly as you relax on the worn leather couch.
Jimin hands you a mug, sitting opposite you against the rickety living room table. “Are you okay?” he asks, showing genuine concern for the first time.
“I’m,” you roll the muddy liquid in your grasp, watching the tea leaves tumble. “I just came back from the hospital, actually. Hit my head drinking last night and I’m suffering from memory loss,” you clutch your head for good measure, feigning injury.
“Memory loss?” he gapes, unable to see through your lie.
“Yeah uh,” you wince, “almost ten years of memory loss.”
Jimin isn’t a man who thinks ahead, preferring to live in the moment. You figure he’s not going to question your excuse. Your former best friend nearly drops his tea in the process, hot drops burning his hand. He hisses, placing the plain mug on the table as he goes to his shelves, pulling out your class yearbook.
“Ten years,” he shakes his head, looking like he’s just stepped into a Korean drama. “Is that even possible?”
“Must be,” you sigh, not wanting to delve into the details of how you ended up in the future, “the first thing I did when I woke up was scream my head off. Then I woke up later and the first person I called were my parents who didn’t pick up, and then I wanted to call you but,” you squeeze the cup in your hands, “I couldn’t find your contact so I searched you up.”
“Should we call the hospital or something? Maybe you shouldn’t be walking around like this.”
“Don’t worry, they said the memory loss is only temporary,” you force a smile, knocking your head lightly with the heel of your palm, “I just gotta y’know, catch up a little bit. I thought you could help.”
Jimin is patient, albeit a little nervous, watching carefully as your eyes glaze emptily over the old yearbook. You’re unfazed at the familiar faces and events that are described to you in detail, unable to recall what happened during the events that followed graduation. There’s barely any pictures of you, so it doesn’t help when he tries to explain as much as he can.
You stop him at the sports section, pointing a finger at Jungkook being carried by his fellow teammates during the lacrosse championships. “What happened to Jungkook?”
Jimin shrugged, “Blew his sports scholarship,” your eyebrows float to the top of your forehead, appalled that your former love would do such a thing, “decided to pursue his passion and went to an art school for a degree in photography.”
So much has changed in the past ten years.
“Hey, can you please stop crying?”
“I’m sorry,” you warble, wiping at your sleeve as if the fabric didn’t cost hundreds of dollars, “I must be making you so uncomfortable by barging in. I’ll get out of your life—”
“No, not that. I just don’t like seeing you cry,” Jimin sighs, squeezing your knee, “of course I was upset when you suddenly upped and left town to study in another continent. But I was still happy for you. On the internet you seemed tons happier since highschool.”
“I can say that’s no longer the case,” you mutter sadly, taking a long drag of your tea. The burn flows down your throat, digging you to reality, “I guess I just woke up and wasn’t prepared to be the person I ended up being.”
“Well, what can your former best friend do to make it better?”
Your eyes widen at Jimin’s uneasy stare, as if he’s wondering whether he said the right thing or not.
“Um,” you bite your lip, “will you go shopping with me? I realized I don’t own any sweatpants or sneakers and I would really like to wear something comfortable right now,” you look despondently on your uncomfortable dress, swinging around the sleeves that seem to snag onto everything.
“Okay,” he nods easily, “will you also buy me new sweatpants and sneakers? And dinner? I really want a New York Strip.”
“What?” you furrow your brows, “can I afford that?”
He chuckles to himself, pulling you up and wiping the tears on your face with a tissue from his pocket. You don’t even care to ask whether the tissue is clean, only focusing on the tender gesture that you’ve missed so much.
“Honey, you’re one of the co-editors of Ego. I’m sure a couple pairs of sweatpants and steak will barely make a dent in your bank account.”
You’re flabbergasted. Ego? The fashion magazine that’s on billboards and commercials? That Ego?
After a couple checks through your bank account, and a triple check with a phone call and trip to the ATM, you’re sure the money is yours. It scares you, but also comforts you knowing that you’ve always been able to make it big.
You barely bat an eye as Jimin tugs you around the city with a familiarity that has you reeling. You struggle to remember the streets you pass and the signs that indicate what part of town you’re in, all whilst Jimin basks in the fruits of your labor. You don’t give a shit, obviously. It makes you happy seeing Jimin slowly melt and grow more comfortable throughout the day.
This is the kind of life you envisioned. One where comfort isn’t discarded for luxury, where the two cultures can marry. Jimin busts a gut when he sees you angrily shove your Free People dress deep in your shopping bags in favor of a black Adidas tracksuit that makes you feel like a soccer mom. Of course, he doesn’t know why you’re so aggressive with all your luxurious items, heck you even make him drive your Tesla, but nevertheless each passing hour brightens you up considerably.
When you two arrive at a fancy steakhouse with a dress code, the manager doesn’t hesitate to chide you and suggest the Applebee’s down the street.
You retort back that you’re an editor of Ego, and in seconds you’d have this restaurant swarmed with bad reviews. You know nothing about culinary review but you’re sure the manager doesn’t know that, and no arguments are placed after that.
The evening puts you in higher spirits, and you’re almost convinced that you’re a successful twenty-something catching up with your former best friend. You’ve always been mature for your age, high school can do that to a person, and it makes it vastly easier to keep up with the new decade.
“So,” you help Jimin get his bags up into his apartment. A little part of it feels like a bribe as you carry all the name brands on your arms, but you chalk it up to being compensation for the last ten years, “who are the people you hang out with now? Anyone I know?”
“Well, Taehyung sometimes drops by if he’s free. He’s traveling the world now, he actually works with you,” Jimin provides the information smoothly, “only he works in the international business column. But surprisingly, the person I hang out the most with is—”
“Jungkook.”
Standing face-to-face with your old high school sweetheart disarms you, and you’re sorely reminded that just you’re a seventeen-year-old in a twenty-seven-year-old’s body.
Jungkook looks tired, and he rubs his eyes a bit as if to make sure he isn’t dreaming. You in the flesh, looking purposeful and confident as you hold three bags on each arm, each piece probably costing more than his rent. He’s filled out, what once was lean muscle and minor definition has turned into full muscle mass hidden beneath a large t-shirt and sweatpants that are two sizes too big. His face is still sweet-looking and baby-like, but his hair is overgrown and waving in front of his eyes without a care in the world.
“Did I mention we’re neighbors?” you can practically hear the wince in Jimin’s voice, probably regretting that he hid that chunk of information from you.
Jungkook tastes his name on your lips, and it sounds foriegn and strange coming from the both of you. “Good to see you,” he says, voice low.
You barely formulate a response, replying with an equally nervous “right back at ya” and then you two resume staring at each other. While Jungkook hasn’t seen you in the last ten years, you saw him yesterday. Yesterday, where you started the day all peachy keen and it spiraled downhill shortly after. It’s jarring, knowing that your body doesn’t fit your conscience.
“Well I uh,” Jungkook lifts his indicator to leave, a large garbage bag, “bye.”
Jungkook shuffles out of the small hallway, and you get a whiff of his scent. It’s still the same, fabric softener mixed with his own musk.
“I,” you start off slow, “maybe I should go talk to him?”
“No,” he warns. “You and Jungkook are completely different people now, he’s just gonna think you’re pitying him if you go up and talk to him out of the blue.”
“But we’ve always been different people.”
“You really think that?” Jimin shakes his head, “I know what happened at prom was rough but, I really didn’t think much of your relationship with Jungkook before that. It seemed like you were pretty compatible—”
“Up until the point he was kissing Jennie in matching flowers on the balcony like some kind of romance film?” you scoff, crossing your arms, “right. Super compatible.”
Jimin sighs, as if he’s chastising a teenager. “Prom happened ten years ago, don’t act like it happened yesterday. People change.”
You frown, because in your mind it did happen yesterday.
Sleeping last night was hell. It’s one thing to be completely zonked out of your mind and unsure if you’re in a dream or weird coma, but knowing that you’re going to be stuck here for awhile is painful. Your loft is too big for your tiny body, your mattress cold and empty with just you in it. Without your parents to call and you feeling wholly insecure about your rekindling with Jimin, the only person you can really call is… Seokjin.
And you really don’t want a repeat of your first night.
So you suck it up, spend your waking hours in your office and quickly learning your tasks for work. You don’t even know what time you’re supposed to clock in, but from a sticky note attached to your MacBook it seems that you have a creative meeting at 10AM. You allow yourself two hours of sleep before you get moving.
The one exciting thing about your morning is that your outfit choices are virtually limitless. You feel like Cher in Clueless, all your outfits color-coordinated and organized by season. You pick out a springy Chanel number, a pale pink tweed skirt suit that has you feeling equally parts cute and an independent working woman. You even make time to buy yourself a coffee, because that’s what adults do right?
Your office is gorgeous. Also located in the upper part of the city, the glass desk and high windows fit right in. You have an ideas board filled with various designs, fabrics and models to choose from. There’s a little frilly notebook straight out of the 2000s, all filled with phone numbers and special contacts all at your disposal. You even have your own cold press coffee machine complete with a mini-fridge.
“You’re never this early, nervous for the meeting?”
You squeal, nearly dropping your coffee as you take a tour around your office. You fight the urge to gape and point accusingly at the woman standing at your door.
“Jennie?”
“In the flesh,” she gives you a cool smirk, holding her arms out for a hug. It really throws you for a loop, and you’re left stricken in your spot as Jennie closes the gap and squeezes the life out of you. Her grey pinstripe pantsuit crumples against your softer fabric. “You know you can’t get rid of me that easily.”
“Jennie and you are practically besties,” Jimin sounds a little jealous while saying that, forcing you to scroll through your Instagram page to see the countless selfies of you and your high school rival, “I mean, at least that’s what the internet says. Went to college in Europe together and everything.”
So it’s true. You awkwardly pat Jennie on the back, and she doesn’t seem to mind when she pulls away and tells you to meet upstairs. You mindlessly follow after her to the conference room, wishing a kind good morning to everyone that greets you.
Once you make it upstairs, you flinch at the loud screech of your voice. “My favorite editor!” someone in a plaid red suit runs up to you and throws an arm around your shoulders. The editor-in-chief Jung Hoseok smiles brightly at you, leading you to a seat at the head of the table right next to him. You’re cosy with the editor-in-chief? This is crazy!
“G-good morning Mr. Jung,” you stutter, trying to remain cool.
“Did something happen to you this weekend?” Hoseok jests, pinching your cheek like a long lost sister. “You always call me Hobi.”
“Oh,” you force a giggle, “you don’t even know how crazy this weekend was.”
Hoseok simply laughs and gets himself settled for the meeting.
“I’m so jealous,” Jennie sing-songs, a manicured finger trailing over the back of your chair, “only the best of the best can sit next to the big boss.”
The comment has you bristling. Are you really friends? Giving her a tight smile, she saunters to another corner of the meeting. On your section of the table is your itinerary and iPad, ready for note-taking.
“One thing that we do at Ego is consistency,” Hoseok pulls up a projection of this year’s editions, all carbon copies of the same cover. “And while that is admirable, I want to put my top editors to the test and come up with the theme for next month’s issue.”
Hoseok sends you yet another pearly white smile, and due to the sheer closeness you know that secret smile is only reserved for you. That makes you squirm in your seat, already feeling the pressure building in the pit of your stomach.
“Take two days off this week to plan. Work out the days you’ll be out of the office with HR, those days you’ll be working in the city, finding ideas and inspiration for the issue. Remember, think outside the box!” Hoseok does a little fist pump, cutting through the air like his life depends on it.
The whole lot of the group continues to stare at Hoseok, waiting for his next instructions. Then, the adults begin to panic, similar to a high school class that’s been told they have a pop quiz that’s worth half their grade. You sigh internally, you suppose high school never ends.
“C’mon,” Hoseok urges, flailing his arms around, “get out there! Make moves, make money!”
But the only moves you’ve made since 2PM are fleeting trips to the bathroom.
Obviously you don’t have any memory of your degree or experience, so instead of feeling like an editor you feel more like a teenager playing dress-up. You couldn’t even sneakily ask Jennie for help because she deadpanned: “I’m not sharing any secrets, doll.” It seems that being backhandedly mean is a theme in your relationship, so after that you rolled your eyes and locked your door. Thankfully you packed a pair of sweatpants so you can comfortably lie down on the floor while you spread out your workspace. Magazines littered the hardwood, all sultry and sexy looking models staring back at you with the same half-lidded stare and overdone makeup.
It makes you cringe, thinking back to the other day when you were jealous of these people. Now that you have this life, thriving and full of beauty, is that the only thing you want to show to your audience? How can they possibly relate to models who make triple their salary? What about the authenticity? The ingenuity?
And that’s when it hits you.
Scrambling to your computer, you search up a photographer that you know will be completely and utterly transparent.
My Time Studios: Capturing the raw moment.
You know exactly what you want for next month’s issue.
Jungkook does not expect to see you through the peephole of his apartment, fiddling with the threads of your clothes and eyes glued to the ground. He mutters a curse under his breath, jamming his fingers between the metal double lock to swing his head out. He doesn’t even bother to open up all the way, just enough to stick his face out.
“Jungkook, hi!” he still can’t believe you’re around. Jungkook winces at your tone, high and sounding like a teenager. He thought by now you’d be traveling the world, climbing to bigger and better things. Then again, the upper part of the city is certainly an upgrade. He just thought you’d want to be far, far away from him. “I b-brought you McDonalds.”
You hold up a greasy bag of fast food, and his nose immediately responds to the smell of fresh fries and a quarter pounder (with cheese, of course.) It annoys him that you still know his weakness, but he isn’t going to go that easily.
“Why are you here?” he asks a little too sharply, hands gripping the doorknob.
“I wanted to offer you a job,” you get straight to the point, as if you know your time at his doorstep is limited.
He scoffs, “You? Want to put my photos on Ego? You know my business extends to weddings and the occasional Bar Mitzvah. Why would you want me?”
You frown, crossing your arms. He looks down at your attire, a nicely fitted suit on top, but the skirt is replaced with grey sweatpants. Comical, really. “I’ve always loved your photos,” you admit to him, “you know that. And they’ve gotten so much better since then.”
The furrow between Jungkook’s brows softens a fraction, smoothed by the honesty in your voice. You’re right, you always made sure to tell Jungkook how much you loved his other talents. Namely, the photography, and sometimes his singing. He can still remember how easily you slept in his arms watching Sky City for hours, all at the melody of your favorite song. While his teachers and classmates loved to venerate his position on the team and his ability to garner attention, you encouraged him to work on the things that mattered to him the most, even in secret.
Nevertheless, that was ten years ago.
“I don’t need your charity,” he spits, “Jimin might be able to be bought by some designer clothes and an eighty dollar steak, but not me.”
The pain in your gaze is glaringly evident, and you don’t even try to hide that you’re upset as the paper bag falls against your lap. If there’s one thing Jungkook knows he’s good at, is hurting your feelings.
“You think this is charity?” you whisper, hurt delicately lacing your voice.
“Are you kidding? Last month you got Xu Minghao to photograph your spread for Ego. He’s photographed the damn Queen of England,” if you notice that he’s babbling about reading your magazine, you don’t show it in your face, “the point is, I don’t understand why you’re trying to come into my life again. I don’t want to get involved in your fancy dinner galas or anyone else from high school. So please, just go back to your picture perfect life.”
And without another qualm he slams the door in your face, effectively shutting you out. It doesn’t feel as good as he wants it to feel, clearly. He feels even shitter than before. His eyes glaze over to his rickety coffee table, cluttered with bills and credit card payments that should’ve been dealt with a long time ago.
He slugs himself over to his couch, throwing his body over the couch that’s way too short. His legs dangle in mid-air, but it doesn’t stop him from throwing an arm over his eyes to block out the sunset. The bills can wait a little longer. Seeing you was too draining.
The nap turns into a full-fledged night’s sleep, and by the time he wakes up the sky is dark and it’s the start of a new day. 12:08, the screen of his iPhone confirms. Feeling even crustier and worse than before, his stomach decides to harden the blow and go straight for the gut. He’s sorely reminded of the food you offered him hours ago.
Quickly pulling on a large denim jacket, he grabs his keys and heads for the 7-Eleven down the park. Nothing like a frozen pizza to fill the gut, fast and cheap. Despite the fact that it’s dark and late, there're still some stray people in the park. A few homeless, some high school stoners who are meeting in secret, and you are typing away on your MacBook.
Wait, what?
You’re sitting on a bench in the park, typing away without a care in the world. Shoving soggy fries that he earlier refused in your mouth, you let a couple stray potatoes hang from your lips as your eyes succumb to the screen. You look positively silly, still in a pink blazer and baggy sweatpants.
He must have been staring a little too long, because soon enough you turn your head, gasping at his figure. You quickly avert your eyes, but don’t make any move to leave the park. That interests him further.
Shamelessly, he calls your name. His legs get to you in an instant, towering over your tiny figure.
“What are you doing here?”
“Uh, I’m waiting for Jimin,” your eyes flicker to your open laptop, “and working.”
At least one of those reasons is a lie. Last time he checked, Jimin always sleeps over at Yoongi’s house on this day. He knows it’s a lie, and you know he knows it’s a lie, but neither of you make the effort to correct it.
“And what could you possibly be working on at 12AM?”
“Finding a photographer,” you hunch over your laptop, avoiding eye contact. “I don’t have much time and none of my usual contacts are good enough. This project is… personal.”
It makes him want to ask further, he can’t lie and say he isn’t intrigued in the kind of vision you’re going for in your next issue. “But why can’t you work at home?”
“Don’t wanna go,” you reply casually, “it makes me feel lonely.”
Lonely? You feel lonely? He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated at the display of nonchalance. Back in high school he always encouraged you to feel confident, but not like this. “Hey, it’s nice that you feel comfortable enough to chill in the park at 12AM, but it’s really dumb. You’re lucky you haven’t gotten mugged from all that money you’re carrying around!” he gestures to your fancy clothes and laptop, “and if you feel so lonely, call up one of your rich friends I’m sure they’ll—”
“Oh my god, Jungkook,” you slam your laptop shut, darkening the two of you. “I thought you wanted me to go back to my ‘picture perfect life’, so why do you care?” you get up in his face, standing on the bench so you’re nearly eye-to-eye, “why don’t you pester those kids over there? Tell them to drink their milk and go home,” you scoff, shoving your stuff in your bag. You don’t spare him another glance as you stalk off in the other direction.
He groans, unable to untangle himself from the mess, “Where are you going?”
“To a park where you’re not in!”
Despite the exchange for sweatpants, you’re still wearing shoes not fit for walking. They’re little white pumps, not too tall but not remarkably comfy either. However, that doesn’t deter you from getting the heck out of there, seemingly walking in any possible direction to get away from Jungkook.
“You’re being ridiculous,” he chastises once his hand clasps around your hand, pulling you around.
There’s a little resistance, as you try to hide your face to no avail. Jungkook fumbles a little, not thinking you’d be crying. But tiny, shy tears are pooling around your eyes, looking flustered at your display of emotion.
“God,” you mutter to yourself, “I feel like such a kid.”
That strikes a chord in the twenty-something man. The last time he saw you in the flesh was when you were both kids. Young, unbridled, and stupid. Well, only Jungkook was the stupid one.
“Do you want me to take you home?” Jungkook offers, feeling guilty about his roughness.
You shake your head. “No, I told you I don’t want to.”
“Can I at least call you a cab? Or a friend so you won’t get lonely?”
“Jungkook, if I had that option would you think I’d be here right now?” he’s trying, he really is. But you’re equally as miffed about this whole situation and at a loss. The two of you engage in a staring contest. It only takes a few seconds for you to crumble, and he frowns when you shiver in your thin blazer.
Instantly, he rips off his jacket, pulling it over your body. It’s huge on you, swallowing your body and hopefully containing some of his residual heat.
And finally, he relents. “If you want, I’ll come over and stay until you fall asleep.”
“Okay,” your eyes widen in instant agreement, pulling something out of your pocket. “Will you drive?”
His eyes widen at the shiny, minimalistic car key. Your sudden one-eighty has him second guessing his decision. “You drive a Tesla?” he gapes, taking your key like he’s holding the Hope Diamond.
You got your license in February. One month ago, and only because the instructor felt pity on you since it was your second time retaking it. The fancy car terrifies you, and you’re sure Jungkook has much more experience driving (over ten years worth.)
You shrug, “Not very good at driving. Haven’t had much practice.”
“Um, the car drives itself?”
“It does?” you tilt your head, dazed, “wow, technology is amazing.”
He shakes his head, putting a hand on your back so you can lead the way. You must be tired, because it seems like your head isn’t entirely there anymore. He takes charge, buckles you in and takes a couple minutes to fumble with the car settings. Nevertheless the drive home is smooth (and it takes all of Jungkook’s willpower to not squeal in excitement when the Tesla does in fact, drive itself.)
You lead him inside your loft like a tiny zombie, throwing your shoes to one corner and throwing your jacket on the kitchen table.
“Must be hungry,” you can’t even form complete sentences, “there’s food in the fridge, Kook. Sorry if it’s not to your taste.”
Shuffling away to your room, Jungkook is left to gawk at your apartment. The baseboards of your walls are crusted in pretty pearl designs, swirling around the whole expanse. There’s a television that stretches the wall of the little living room, with a sound and video game system he’s only seen in movies. Your tables are meters and meters of granite, and he wonders how the floor of your apartment can hold all this weight.
But he supposes it’s because there’s nothing much to hold. No pictures line the walls, only vague looking art to fill up blank space. There’s no touch of warmth despite the heating system under the floor that relaxes his toes. For such a big home, he can only imagine how small you must feel in it.
Your fridge is just as empty, decorated with a couple of sad-looking salads and some protein shakes. He sighs, grabbing two chicken salads and a banana shake and bringing it to your coffee table. It’s a little two quiet for his liking, so he turns on the television real low just to make the room feel a bit fuller.
Halfway through one salad he realizes he probably should’ve made you eat as well. Even though these salads aren’t remotely filling, they’re much healthier than some soggy fries. A piece of limp lettuce hangs from Jungkook’s mouth, suddenly feeling guilty for soaking up all of your amenities without inviting you. After all, it is your house. Wiping some sauce from his lips he dusts off his pants, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he makes his way to your room.
Calling your name, the only reply is the whir of the heater. He only cracks the door a tad, but he sees you slumped against the edge of the bed, bare feet hanging from the end. You barely made it, your clothes strewn across the floor, an oversized t-shirt ruched across your barely covered thighs. Without a thought he quickly scrambles to move you closer to your pillows, and then wraps your body in your plush duvet. You’re out like a light.
You’re sleeping, so Jungkook should go home. That’s what you two agreed to. He goes back to his late dinner (early breakfast?) mindlessly listening to an infomercial on rare dollar coins. He’ll leave after he eats.
He didn’t leave.
Jungkook awakes to a scream, your shrill voice echoing all the way down the hallway into your living room. It takes a second for him to register the empty white walls and the fact that he’s not in his apartment, but eventually it goes back to the point that you’re in distress. He jolts, scrambling off the couch to run to your bedroom.
“What is it?” he exhales into your doorframe, socks sliding.
Your hair is in a disarray, shirt rumpled and face scrunched in pain. You shove your phone in his face. “Since when did Iron Man die!” you cry, genuinely horrified at whatever entertainment article you’re reading.
He slumps against the wall, running a hand over his dry face. “Since Endgame, obviously. That was literally two years ago. Is that why you woke me up?”
“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t know!”
“Have you been living under a rock or something?”
“Or something,” you frown, throwing your phone across your bed, “I guess I should go get ready for work.”
Jungkook watches as you shamelessly hop off your bed, uncaring that your shirt has ridden up, revealing the full expanse of your thighs and then some. You pull out a pair of sweats from a shopping bag, nicking off the tag to put them on your legs.
“Do you have work?” you ask casually.
“Uh, no,” Jungkook coughs, crossing his arms. It’s been awhile since he’s had a solid gig. Two whole weeks have been spent doing more personal work which was fine, but at the same time his bank account could beg to differ. “I’m off today.”
“Oh, alright,” you shrug, “do you know where I can buy a good camera?”
“Why?”
“Gonna go take pictures,” you snatch your wallet and keys from your bedside, stuffing it in a fanny pack. He watches you curiously as you zip your bag shut, muttering something about how you can’t believe that fanny packs are back in style. Swinging the strap over your back, you brush past him. “You can stay if you want,” you add pointedly, before you slip into the bathroom.
Jungkook doesn’t understand as to why he’s slipping into sensory overload. The house is a shell of itself and the antithesis of a rainbow. Maybe it’s the fact that he woke up ten minutes ago or how you look completely peaceful and want to leave as soon as you wake up. Or how shocked you were that Iron Man has passed and you’ve completely missed Phase 3. Or that you’re not even thinking about breakfast or not wishing him a farewell, practically throwing him into your apartment like a second home.
He wobbles back to the couch, trying to look as nonchalant as possible as he drapes the fuzzy blankets over his body. He flips through the channels, before finally settling on an old episode of Sky City.
When you walk out into the living room, you scrunch your face in pain when you make eye contact with Kim Seokjin’s on screen appearance. Oh, how things change. Jungkook knew how much you loved watching Sky City, indulging in the protagonist's attractiveness.
“Y’know,” Jungkook says over his shoulder, “if you leave me here, I could steal whatever I want.”
“Go ahead,” you reply flippantly, already slipping on your sneakers. “There’s nothing of value here.”
What is wrong with you?
“Wait!” Jungkook throws all his pride at the window, unable to conceal his worry for you. Half your body is out the doorway, and you’re looking at him like he’s grown a second head. His voice takes up the entirety of the room, startling you. “I need to come with you,” he finally settles on, looking serious. “You’re going to buy the wrong camera.”
“Okay,” you concede immediately, throwing the keys on the couch, “you drive.”
Jungkook must know something’s wrong with you.
You don’t know how to act around him. Your heart is hurt and your body is a decade older than it was a week ago and everything in your life and mind is a complete wreck. It still aches to look at him, despite the fact that you want him around, all the time. You wish you could know a little more about your adult life, you feel like a proverbial Bambi sitting in a car worth more than your childhood home. It’s a wobbly, shaky road to adulthood, and you’re not having it.
Jungkook sleeping over is the last thing you thought would happen last night. You didn’t even think he’d relent to coming to your house, since he was pretty hellbent on not being your photographer.
But now he’s driving your Tesla again, after you instructed him to park the car where you parked it last time. That way, you can go back to the playground you were in the night before. You have a vision for the issue and it starts there. Fiddling around with the expensive camera Jungkook picked out, you feel his gaze burning into your shoulder.
“Am I doing something wrong?” you ask archly, “I read the manual and everything. Or are you just being a perfectionist again?”
“What’s wrong with being a perfectionist?” Jungkook shoots back, putting the car in park. As soon as the car stills in the parking lot, he grabs the camera from your grasp like a petulant child. “I’m just trying to make sure you don’t break it. Face it, you’re terrible at technology.”
“Excuse me! I have a Samsung 25+ and a Tesla!”
“Yeah? So why did I catch you struggling to use your pay feature on your phone when we grabbed coffee?”
“It’s new,” you mutter under your breath. Everything is new to you.
With a growl you snatch back the camera, and Jungkook for once doesn’t act like a baby with a sharing complex and relents. Of course, Jungkook manages to calibrate the camera and figure out the color balance before you could. This only annoys you further, wondering why Jungkook is still sticking around after all this time.
“Alright,” you step out of the car, slinging the camera around your neck. “Thanks for driving me around, your apartment’s just down the street, right?” You dart your hand out, and Jungkook reluctantly hands over your key beeper. Maybe it’s because he seems to love the car so much, that he has a hard time giving it back. “I’ll see you around.”
“Wait,” is that his word of the day? Wait wait wait.
“What is it now, Jungkook?”
He’s never seen you so full of negative emotions. You’ve been waiting for him to tire of you all day, from your clipped replies and unease ever since you two stepped out of your apartment.
“Um,” he looks embarrassed, scratching the back of his head, “are you really going to take pictures? You always took really blurry pictures in high school.”
The mention of high school has you icy, gripping the matte black digital camera to hold your feelings at bay. “Yes, I’m going to go take pictures because the photographer I wanted so rudely rejected me,” you revel in the way he shrinks, probably regretful already. “So if you’ll excuse me, I have a deadline.”
He continues to follow you, all the way to the park. You make your way to a little garden, and start to take some test photos next to the little daisies that decorate the patch of dirt. You practically feel Jungkook breathing down your neck, feeling antsy everytime you click the shutter. Ignoring him is difficult, especially when he makes little noises of discomfort when you presumably do something wrong.
“Jungkook, are you going to say something?” you seethe, not caring that the heavy camera strains your neck when it falls against your chest, “or are you just going to make me wait.”
Jungkook’s face is scrunched up, and finally he blurts, “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
“For saying your life is picture perfect,” he sputters quickly, looking very sweaty. Jungkook always got sweaty when he did things a little too hard. Playing sports, thinking, campaigning on video games. “I—I didn’t mean it. I don’t know. I guess I was just upset at myself and I took it out on you.”
“Well why are you upset at yourself?”
“I’m upset because I—I don’t know, it’s complicated,” he plops down on the nearest bench, and while you follow him, you don’t let yourself sit next to him. If you do, you know your subconscious will want to wrap your arms around him and comfort him. That would probably be the worst possible action to perform. “I don’t really do the whole photoshoot thing. Like I said, I’m just doing some weddings and parties here and there. I shouldn’t have said those things about Jimin and how you’re only talking to us out of charity. It’s my fault for not considering how complicated your life could be too,” he looks down at the ground, shameful, “so if you still want me, I would really like to photograph for Ego. And I would also really like that camera back.”
Unable to resist, you reach over to give him a pat on the shoulder. “I forgive you,” you reply numbly, thinking he was going to apologize for something else. You suppose he’s forgotten about that fateful prom night, just like everyone else. “It’s actually not for Ego, at least not yet. My boss is pitting us against each other, the best idea wins the cover theme.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll win,” his face eventually breaks into a grin when you remove the camera from your body. “Come to daddy, baby,” he cooes, holding the shiny new camera in his hands like a newborn.
“Gross,” you twitch, although you’re feeling all the more relieved knowing Jungkook will now be taking the visual reins. “You haven’t had a chance to look at the contract made up, but being paid five-hundred okay?”
“Five-hundred a week?”
“No, per day,” you correct, “why wouldn’t I pay you just like I pay the others?”
Jungkook’s dark brows fly to his forehead. He practically chokes on his spit at the way you put Jungkook in high regard. A blush overtakes his visage, proud and pink as he rushes to get away from you.
“You don’t even know my concept,” you called after him, chasing the midday sun.
Jungkook is already in position, fitting the lens between two buildings. The afternoon sun looks like an egg yolk, melting between the clouds. “Well then is it?” he asks, bending down on one knee to get the perfect angle.
“Well, yesterday when I thought of the idea I just wanted to be reminded of how easy being a kid was,” you don’t even know if Jungkook’s listening properly, given the rapid click click clicks of the shutter and Jungkook constantly moving around to get as many shots as possible. “I realized that not everyone can relate to the models or the clothes we advertise on Ego. Why would I want to see people I actually admire? Like, my friend’s older brother. Or Jimin, president of the drama club. Or even Jungkook, captain of the lacrosse team.”
“So, nostalgia. The 2000s are back in style, I like it,” he replies simply, tilting the camera towards you, “pose for me.”
“What? Jungkook,” you frown, holding a hand over your face. He doesn’t relent, continuing to snap you in different angles.
“Oh! That was a nice one,” he turns the camera to reveal the screen of your furrowed brows, hand over your face, “looks super grunge. Totally a throwback look.”
“Jungkook, I don’t model. I’m just the one who throws the ideas.”
“Yeah, but. Wouldn’t it be cool if the readers of Ego could see the genius behind the paper and ink?” he gestures vaguely to your outfit, “and you’re wearing Fila. So that’s like, kind of designer?”
“I don’t know,” you hug yourself, “I’ll think about it, okay? Let’s focus.”
“Fine,” Jungkook stops buzzing around you, putting the camera down and following you as you walk back to your car. You don’t think you really need anymore park photos, and Jungkook seems to telepathically agree as well.
“We need to plan some outfits and some backgrounds. I’ve already arranged a meet up tomorrow in front of our old high school with a couple of models. The school is on a grade-wide trip, so we’ll even have access to the track and field. I was also thinking disposable film? We could scan those.”
“Alright, who are your models?”
“Oh, you know. Just friends from school. I wanted it to be as authentic as possible. Taehyung flew back from Hamburg last night, so he said he’ll come. Jimin, obviously.”
“Well you only had like, two friends in highschool.”
“And you,” you clip on with a frown, “so don’t dress like a potato sack tomorrow, okay?”
“I’m not modeling.”
“Well, I’m still looking for a celebrity model to tack onto so. Don’t look like a chump.” you stick out your hand, while Jungkook pouts at your outstretched limb. If he feels sore that you called him a chump, he doesn’t comment on it when he clasps his larger hand in yours. “Partners?”
“Partners.”
“Why didn’t you tell me your celebrity model was him?”
“I specifically told you not to dress like a paper bag. Why did you continue to do so!”
“You didn’t specify that your model was Kim Seokjin!”
The current conversation is hushed, hissed between large reflective light panels and a parked car that held all your rented equipment. Currently, Taehyung, Seokjin and Jimin are huddled on the bleachers of your old stomping grounds, laughing at whatever funny video Seokjin has pulled up. They’re all dressed in variants of the same sweatsuit, a combination of Taehyung’s choosing since he’s one of the many color coordinators at Ego.
But you haven’t started yet, and you would like to get some morning shots in before it gets any warmer. Jungkook is still petulant, pretending to buy time by balancing his tripod. He’s wearing his Birkenstocks, so old they’re definitely the same pair from highschool, and yet another black sweatsuit.
“Seokjin’s like a big, fat cheeseball,” you assure Jungkook, who’s actually shaking from being in the presence of a celebrity. “No reason to be nervous.”
“That man has literally been part of our Sitcom Sundays for three years,” he gripes, “of course I’m nervous!”
“Just go to the car. If you want to change I’m sure Taehyung’s brought something that fits you.”
“Well if they see me change they’re gonna see I’m trying too hard,” Jungkook pouts, he actually pouts.
“I can’t,” you turn around, your Miss Frizzle-esque solar system dress whirling around your waist. The stars twinkle, glittering into Jungkook’s eyes. “Jungkook, do whatever you want. But we need to start in ten! No, five! I’m not paying you to try on Balenciaga and Off-Brand!”
If Jungkook is shocked by your sudden snippiness or need to get things wrapped up, he doesn’t say anything to it. For once, he’s quiet about his needs and you’re thankful for it. Once he’s gone, you have a chance to breathe. It’s all wholly overwhelming to dive right into the job. Your brain is still in 2011 unfortunately.
“Babe, everything alright?”
Seokjin appears behind you, having ditched Jimin and Taehyung after he saw you and Jungkook argue. He smooths his hands over your biceps. You’re still unsure over the exact nature of your adult-self’s relationship, but it seems that sans sex you two are relatively close with each other.
“M’fine,” you mumble tiredly, trying not to stiffen under his hold. You suppose Jimin isn’t going to be the friend you confide into this lifetime. ��I’m just nervous. We’re doing all this work and it can potentially go down the drain after this week. What if my idea’s stupid and we’re wasting time? Jennie texted me that her concept is going to be killer and now I’m scared this concept is too aesthetically soft and people don’t care about nostalgia anymore and I feel like simultaneously throwing up and crying—”
“Whoa whoa, who’s replaced my confident editor and where did she go?” Seokjin decidedly goes with the notion that you’re definitely not fine. He swings his neck back and forth, peering behind the bleachers and over the football field. “My confident editor would never talk bad of herself like this! She commanded a whole crew of fifty within seconds when she did the Kim Taeyeon shoot in Milan! She never cowers under a challenge, the challenge cowers to her!” and in his gallancy you no longer try to shy away, in fact you even giggle at his silly way of comforting you. “And most importantly, she’d never compare herself to a wench like Jennie.”
Seokjin doesn’t hesitate to swipe the moisture right under your waterline, making sure any traces of your crying are undetectable. “W-wait,” you sputter, “you mean, me and Jennie aren’t actually friends?”
He chuckles, pulling you into a hug. “Even now, you’re such a good actress.”
You let Seokjin continue to hold you as the pieces in your empty mind come together. If Jennie is truly not your friend and you two have been faking it all this time, how serious is it? And if so, are you the competitive type? You know for sure Jennie is, and will she stop at nothing to make sure she gets the spread?
This fear is combined with an equal amount of sadness. You were a little excited to have a lasting friend from college, but your mother always told you to never believe anything on the internet. You suppose those selfies of you and Jennie on your Instagram are nothing but a facade.
But at the very least Seokjin’s care for you isn’t fake, and you’re thankful that you have at least one friend in this life. If you didn’t do this time skip, would Seokjin remain your only friend? You try not to think too hard about it, “Thanks, Seokjin. I really appreciate you.”
“Will you appreciate me tonight then?” Seokjin makes a move to kiss your neck, and the moment is promptly ruined.
Shoving him away you say firmly, “Touch me like that again and I’ll rip your dick off in front of this whole crew.”
“I love it when you get feisty,” Seokjin melts, but salutes you like a drill sergeant as he runs back to the men on the bleachers.
It’s then you feel a presence looming over your shoulder. Tall, dark, and emanating. He’s changed, in favor of some fitted jeans and a plain white shirt, paired with black boots. Jungkook is behind you, glaring over your shoulder at Seokjin. So much for showing off your professionalism. Crap, how much of that did he hear?
“Jungkook, I–”
“Let’s start,” he mutters gruffly, stepping past you to get to the equipment.
You slap a hand over your face. It’s going to be a long day.
However, the hours following are probably one of the brightest hours of your life since you’ve appeared in your future-self’s body. At first Jimin was anxious at your invitation, despite being in the high school plays and being okay at public speaking, he didn’t know he’d have the potential to be a model. A couple test shots and some coaching from Taehyung, Jimin is a natural, his photogenic energy strong enough to compete toe-to-toe with Seokjin.
You also have to hand it to Taehyung, who has been running back and forth between modeling and choosing outfits for the boys. Jimin and you didn’t run in the same group as Taehyung back in high school, but time changes things and if given the opportunity, you would’ve loved to be friends with him back then.
By the time you are done for the day and you feel like all the possible shots have all ready been taken, you circle around the school. You previously went inside empty classrooms, posed in the cafeteria, even pretended to reenact your school rendition of RENT in the auditorium.
Everything is mostly packed up and put into the car by the time the sun is setting, and you just wanted to perfect this one shot.
The gymnasium looks a lot smaller than it did as a child. As a teenager, you constantly feared getting hit in the face by a stray wiffleball, or throwing up during the pacer test after the 100th lap. But now, it just looks like an old gym.
“It smells like sweaty balls in there,” Taehyung curses, adjusting the patterned button down by smoothing down his chest. He jabs a finger in the boys locker room, where Jimin comes out with another new outfit.
“I think the sandwich I left in senior year is still there,” Jimin adds, pulling the collar around his burgundy knitted sweater.
The back of the gym is decorated in balloons. Overnight you managed to build a balloon ring off of Pinterest, one of your proudest moments as you made Jungkook haul the rainbow colored arc and shove it into the trunk. Seokjin is sitting directly under the arc, decorating a letter corkboard. It’s one of those cork boards all the teachers display in class, often decorated with some witty quote or a basic “Welcome to Mr/Mrs/Miss _____’s Class!”
Jungkook is setting up the camera on a tripod, wanting to do it the old fashioned way. Aside from the freakout he had in the beginning when he realized he was photographing Kim Seokjin, he’s been quiet and strictly professional throughout the whole ordeal. It’s amazing to see this side of him, as he seamlessly transitions from shoot to shoot knowing exactly what he has in mind for each photograph. His direction is soft but impactful, and the boys have no problems following directions.
“Okay boys, everyone under the arc!”
Working like this is a rush you can’t even imagine. In high school the path you were in the process of choosing wasn’t clear cut up until this point, but now you know exactly what you want to do for the rest of your life.
Seokjin holds the finished corkboard in the middle, a proud Class of Ego in white block letters.
Jungkook only gets a few shots in before Seokjin bemoans, letting the corkboard fall in his lap.
“Guys, this picture’s gonna stink.”
Jungkook’s appalled, “Excuse me—”
“Because you two aren’t in it!” Taehyung agrees easily, “c’mon, JK. Put your camera on timer mode and let’s have all of us in it!”
A blush melts on Jungkook’s neck, all the way to the tips of his ears. “What? No, that’s silly Tae. I really don’t—agh!”
The three men are in a controlled frenzy, aiming to get their mission done. Seokjin rounds the camera and makes quick work of enabling a timer and a burst shot. Jimin pulls you by the waist, tugging you ungracefully to the center of the arc. Taehyung is doing a pretty good job of hauling your muscle hunk of a photographer, pressing his shoulders across yours.
And finally, Seokjin hands you the corkboard. “You should be holding it. After all, you’re the brains behind it!”
At first it feels awkward, squished between new friends and old friends. First loves and last loves. Despite his warm bicep pressing against you, Jungkook is akin to a sheet of cardboard, arm-to-arm and stiff as a board.
“Alright people, let’s move it!” Seokjin yells unnecessarily loud, the noise echoing throughout the high walls. “Last couple shots here, and we’re not re-doing it because I’m tired as hell! So look alive and pretend to like each other!”
The first click of the camera stuns all of you, akin to many terrible school photos where the flash disarms you and your face twists. But that click suddenly gets Jungkook into gear, and you feel him slide a hand over your shoulder, squeezing you toward him so you’re pressed against the side of his chest. He still smells like floral fabric softener, and that makes you smile.
And suddenly you feel like you’re seventeen again, surrounded with the people you care for the most.
“So, the tabloids are true huh?” Jimin smirks, waving a flimsy fry in your face.
“T-tabloids?” you sputter, dabbing the ketchup off your cheek. The greasy burger slips off your grip and onto your plate. Your expression says it all, it’s painfully innocent and genuinely confused as you attempt to swallow the cheese and lettuce as fast as possible.
The crew sans Seokjin is eating a very late dinner with you at the restaurant of their choice. They put it to a vote, while you desperately wanted some McDonalds everyone else voted for a more high end restaurant. After all, you’re paying.
“Ah, don’t try playing coy with us,” Taehyung jests, “the office talks.”
“Well, whatever you’ve heard isn’t true,” you huff, crossing your arms. “At least, not anymore.”
“What?” Taehyung bugs out, “I thought you loved your no strings attached relationship with Jinnie.”
“I guess I did,” you frown, deflating against the plush booth, “I don’t know. I don’t know what I liked back then.”
You resume eating your burger, trying to ignore the worried look Jimin sends you. He reaches over the table to press his thumb to the little 11s in your forehead, a product of stress. “Does your head still hurt?” he asks.
Jungkook’s chewing slows considerably. He’s been strangely quiet this evening, opting to order a handful of appetizers and gorging on every single edible thing on the table like a glutton. But at Jimin’s question he turns his head to look at you, “Why would your head still hurt?”
“She hit her head when she went out drinking with Seokjin last week,” Jimin supplies, “messed with her memory.”
“Chim,” you frown, gently shoving him off you, “I’m fine now. Pretty much caught up. Just reevaluating my life choices, okay?”
“How could Seokjin let that happen?” Jungkook asks, putting his fork down.
“He wasn’t even there,” you shake your head, trying to clear Seokjin’s name as fast as possible. After all, this lie is completely fabricated, a blanket to cover the magical properties your true nature being here has. “I’m fine, Jungkook. Don’t worry about me.”
He huffs, resuming his meal. “Wasn’t worried,” he disarms, reaching over the table to snatch a mozzarella stick.
You cover up your disgusted expression by wiping your chin with a soft blue napkin. Jungkook is really out here inhaling the whole table and being a bit of a jerk.
“Well,” Taehyung claps his hands together, regarding all of you with a closed-lipped smile stretched so wide you’re worried he’ll break. “This is nice. I can’t imagine a time where I’d be reunited with you three. It’s weird. But a good weird.”
“Ditto,” Jimin echoes, lifting his glass to clink with Taehyung’s. Throwing an arm over your shoulder he remarks, “could’ve never imagined my ‘ol best friend would’ve wanted to pursue fashion.”
“What?” you glower, pinching his thigh, “I love fashion! I spent months planning my Clueless Halloween costume and our summers cosplaying!”
“Right, Cher,” teased Jimin, “that yellow plaid suit that made you look like a bottle of mustard?”
“You little–”
Taehyung begins to laugh when you start to tickle Jimin in the sweet spots, causing Jimin to curl his leg around your ankle and pull you onto his lap for a hair pull. It’s all in fun and nothing hurts, but you’re so caught up in it you’re sure people are worried about your well-being. Even Jungkook is laughing, egging Jimin on while Taehyung weakly attempts to pull you away.
If you could rewrite the last ten years of your life, this moment would define the remake.
“Why are we here?”
“For research purposes.”
“Are you sure the actual purpose is because you don’t feel like working in the office?”
“Jungkook,” you groan, tired of his infinite amount of negativity. “This was our senior trip! Of course I want to get a couple shots in before my big presentation.”
“You’re risking my baby’s life,” Jungkook cradles the digital camera closer to his chest, swaddling it between its felt case. Ever since you purchased the camera, Jungkook has been unable to let it go. This adoption is both equal parts cute and strange, and you’re a little too scared to ask for it back.
“I promise, no big rides,” you roll your eyes, “your baby will be fine.”
The local amusement park is a fan-favorite amongst the city-goers, a reprieve from the hustle and a chance for you to spend your copious amounts of money on overpriced sugar and popcorn. The last time you went here was two weeks ago—in your mind. In Jungkook’s mind it was over ten years ago and he probably doesn’t even remember the time spent roaming the artificial floor and the infinite amount of bubbles that seem to eject from the air to add to the whimsical charm.
Jungkook isn’t even paying attention, citing it as an artist block because he’s going through sensory overload with the amount of stimuli in the crowd. Screaming teenagers wailing under him from a nearby rollercoaster, the smell of sticky caramel apples pumping through the diffuser stands, and the amount of gaudy color that decorates every single logo of the park.
He plops himself down on a nearby bench while you wait in line to get some food. It’s early in the morning and a weekday, so you figure this is the best time to get some photographs in without any passerbys. You figure Jungkook will get the hang of it once he has some food in his stomach.
“A funnel cake?” Jungkook is bewildered when you return with the confection in hand, “it’s ten A.M.”
You raise a brow, knowing how much Jungkook loves sweet foods. The funnel cake especially, he ate at least three when you went to your senior trip, one for every meal. But you’re an adult, or at least posing as one, and you shrug loftily, plucking a hot piece of fried dough from your plate. “Alright then,” you reply, “I’ll just eat the whole thing.”
Once the cake touches your tongue, you can’t help but make an exaggerated moan in pleasure. You can feel Jungkook squirming like an earthworm next to you, either from the scrumptious smell of funnel cake or the way you’re so enthusiastically eating it.
“W-wait,” Jungkook’s stomach growls at the perfect moment, “I want some. But I don’t want to get the camera dirty, pass me a napkin.”
“I can just feed it to you!” you quip innocently, immediately ripping off a piece and shoving it between Jungkook’s pink lips. You feel a little slick in the finger, saliva briefly coating your digits before you pull away. You swallow, feeling a familiar tingle in your tummy and a sickening heat low in your belly.
You fight back a sigh, wondering if your libido also did a massive growth spurt in your twenty-seven years of age.
Jungkook is placated at the touch of food, and you take turns feeding yourself and feeding him while more customers trickle in the park. Confectioners sugar dusts Jungkook’s long-sleeved tee, the white color staining the dark fabric. You reach to pat his chest, ignoring the toneness that still remains from high school.
“Alright, let’s ride,” you declare, pulling Jungkook up once you’re done eating.
“Do we have to?”
“What happened to the adrenaline junkie I once knew?”
“He realized being an adrenaline junkie doesn’t make money and he should stay on the ground.”
“Alright, Negative Nancy,” your reply has no bite to it, and suddenly you wished you invited Jimin or Seokjin before Jungkook. Jungkook may have the talent, but he certainly doesn’t have the attitude. You don’t even get why he’s still defensive, after all you thought he apologized in the beginning. It’s not like you’re the problem.
“Gimmie your hand,” your thoughts cut out when Jungkook offers his large hand in front of yours, palm up.
“Why?”
“C’mon,” he whines, settling for snatching your hand instead. His palms feel larger, rougher as they enclose your smaller hand. “Now hurry up and walk in front of me. I’m gonna take a picture.”
You already have a feeling as to what this picture is going to look like, so you scrunch your nose. “That is so cheesy.”
“It’s for the nostalgia factor, now hurry up and pretend we’re on a date.”
You roll your eyes but relent, jogging a few steps ahead so you can get into character. This pose used to be a popular one, where the sweet boyfriend would be dragged around by the girlfriend’s hand, tugging him to wherever she wanted to go. It’s super cliche but if Jungkook figures it’ll fit your theme, you’ll do it. Eventually you forget that you’re holding his hand, and point ahead to some rides you want to try out.
“Oh, Jungkook! Remember that one?” you point to a teacup ride, with guests spinning vigorously through their own seat. “Jimin got so sick he fell asleep in the car for an hour!”
Jungkook doesn’t reply, so you turn around and face him. Click. Jungkook smirks at his little trick, which makes you rip your hand from his and walk further.
“Hey, hey,” he chuckles, the first smile of the day. Food really does make him peaceful. “The shot looks good, you look good.”
“Could’ve just asked me to turn around and pose,” you huff.
“Then it would ruin the fun,” he replies, “now c’mon, let’s ride the teacups. For old time’s sake.”
Ten minutes later and the both of you are soon regretting that decision. You’re once again slumped on the bench, this time unable to keep your head up so you rest it on Jungkook’s shoulder while he leans on your head.
“Haven’t rode that since I was a teenager,” Jungkook moans, holding his stomach. “Remind me not to eat so fast before getting on that kind of ride.”
You mirror his expression, feeling green. “Is this what late-adult life feels like?”
“Yep,” Jungkook replies, unbeknownst of how shocked you are at how weak your body has become. “You wake up with back pain, pre-arthritis from all the typing you’ve done over the last decade, and a lot of stress. Definitely not the fantasy you’d imagine from your 20s.”
“You think you’d be less stressed if you kept your lacrosse scholarship?”
“Nah, I think I saved myself,” Jungkook shakes his head, “before I could be any more awful than I already was.”
You refuse that notion, sending him a bitter smile. “Well, look at me. I became awful right after high school.”
“I didn’t mean you—”
“I know,” you hold up a hand to stop him. The two of you follow a red path up the hill, leading to a simple cable car ride. It’s a slow travel ride, made to get from one side of the park to the other with a beautiful view over the lake. “But you see those tabloid articles. They must be true.”
“I—I didn’t think they were all true,” Jungkook’s lying through his teeth to make you feel better, but you don’t care. “Why do you sound unsure?”
You shrug, “Probably wasn’t sober for most of my bad decisions,” considering your friendship with Seokjin and his boisterous drinking attitude, you wouldn’t be surprised, “If they weren’t true, I believe Jimin and I would’ve stayed friends. I can’t imagine why I left my home like that. But I guess it doesn’t matter too much because I came back. And I mean, we’re here together doing work,” you gesture between the small space between each other, “I think that counts for something.”
The two of you walk in silence for a bit, contemplating. The line to the cable car isn’t long but it’s slow, considering the cable only moves a couple meters a second. The take-off area is a risen slab of concrete, and the cars are continuously moving so you have to hop on one car as soon as another guest exits.
There’s a little bit of space between it, a centimeter gap that could be nerve wracking if there’s no staff around. You think nothing of it as you fiddle on your phone, waiting for the staff member to let you and Jungkook in on the next car.
Jungkook enters first, taking great care to cradle the camera in one hand so it doesn’t sway against the car. The car swings a little as well, and Jungkook holds out a hand for you to grab.
Instead you focus on how the once bright glassy pink is sun-ravished, faded and rusting on the metal door flaps. The color is almost pearlescent, vastly different than the vivid color you saw two weeks ago. You almost want to reach out and touch it, wondering where that quality went.
“Bun, be careful!”
The tip of your heel nicks on the stepping stone, slipping like butter as you topple forward. Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to scoop you up, hauling you into the car just as the metal door locks into place. The hard plastic of the camera digs into your chest uncomfortably as you plop on top of Jungkook, between his legs as half his thighs rest against the uncomfortable seat.
“Were you not watching where you were going?” Jungkook huffs, blowing his bangs over his forehead.
Instead of an artful answer you blurt, “You, you called me Bun.”
His eyes widen at your response, and his grip loosens around your body. His eyes dart anywhere but your face, his cheeks ruddied and stained coral as he moves to remove you from his body. “It was a slip of the tongue,” he coughs, turning on his camera and getting shots of the lake.
You huff in response, sticking to your side of the carriage. “I missed it,” you murmur to the wind, although you make yourself loud enough for him to hear.
You try to bury your sour expression in your sleeves, just to hide how absolutely childish you feel. You don’t even care that Jungkook is trying to take pictures of you looking out the view, only trying to eradicate the feelings that are still down deep in your blood. Even the twenty-seven year old Jungkook is charming, albeit in a completely different way.
The grown, mature Jungkook toots to his own horn. He isn’t concerned about a team or an image, and gave it all up to pursue an art he loves. The lacrosse jerseys exchanged for bulky long sleeves, the sport for a camera, and a mask for his true image.
“Let’s go,” Jungkook takes your hand again when the ride stops, not letting go until you’re on steady ground. You figure he must think you walk like a toddler barely on her first mile.
Would Jungkook like you even as an adult? With all this money, this power and this confidence you envisioned as a seventeen-year-old, it still doesn’t feel enough for him. In fact, you feel like a sore thumb sticking out, decorated in silly rumors and expensive clothes that separate you far from your roots.
“Hey,” Jungkook touches your arm, pointing to a basketball carnival game, “remember this one?”
“Yeah,” forcing a smile, you follow him to the small crowd that starts to form around the basketball game. The baskets are a short distance from the player, but so high up that it’s hard to tell the shape of the hoop. “I tried to tell you that it was completely rigged. From an angle you can see it’s still oval-shaped.”
“And I told you it didn’t matter if the hoop was an octagon, I’d get you that prize,” he jerks a thumb to the prize booth, where a blue Piplup plush sits proudly with all the other starter Pokemon. “And I did.”
“It’s still in my room,” you reply proudly, even though Jungkook is acting almost immaturely smug. “I, I mean it’s still in my room in my parent’s house. It’s probably lonely because my parents have been on a cruise for almost two weeks.”
He raises a brow, eyes drifting to the booth. “Should I win another one to keep your bed in the city warm?”
“That sounded oddly sexual.”
“You know what I mean,” and Jungkook’s rolling up his sleeves, handing you the camera.
“Jungkook,” you whine when he pulls out a roll of bills from his pocket, as if he prepared for this moment, “Jungkook c’mon—I don’t need any stuffed animals. Ugh.”
You swear that the majority of your day is spent watching Jungkook blow cash on a low-quality stuffed animal with packaging pellets for the inside. Turns out carnival technology has also enhanced over the years, and it takes both your whining and the clerk’s whining to stop Jungkook from blowing his entire wallet to get one basket in. Eventually the staff relents and lets Jungkook take a Piplup keychain instead, glumly handing it over to you.
“I like this better,” you chirp, clipping the ring onto your car keys, “now I can bring Piplup everywhere.”
A small, barely there smile appears on Jungkook’s face.
The rest of the day melts away like that, and before you know it the sun is slipping into the horizon and you’re being dropped off at your apartment. Jungkook even insists to walk you to your door, because your prizes are heavy. (Yes, he went back for the oversized Piplup.)
It’s all too familiar, the way the walk upstairs is achingly slow, as if the moment is stretching itself down the hallway. How Jungkook looks so prideful holding the fruits of his labor, following you with a tug of your hand because the prize is too big for Jungkook to see straight.
At the same time it’s different. The way you wobble around the hallway because you’re a little tipsy from wine flights is noticeable, even cute. How easy it is to not feel nervous when you clutch at his hand. How you two look like a seasoned couple, coming home from an all-day date.
It ends at the front door, and you crack it open so you can slip your prizes through the crack.
“Thanks, Jungkook,” you hold up the SD card that held all the precious memories of this week.
This is where you part ways. You’ll spend the rest of the night editing your presentation, while Jungkook promised to go to a bar with his friends. A little part of you hoped you’d be invited, but you knew that would be impractical considering you have work in the morning.
“Break a leg,” he says, leaning on the balls of his feet with his hands in his pockets, “you’ll do great. You’ve always been meant to do great things.”
The investment he lays on you is insurmountable, and you feel yourself flush with simultaneous excitement and anxiety. Unknowing how to calm your nerves, you give him a small “thank you” and put your hand on the knob to slip away.
“Wait—”
You blink, a deer in the headlights as Jungkook swoops down and kisses you.
You’ve received kisses—kisses reserved for a twenty-seven year old, before. Seokjin is an eager lover, and you felt it that fateful morning and even during your photoshoot when he tried to be sneaky and pull you away. Fleeting bites, kisses to the neck that are wet and hot.
Jungkook’s kiss does not feel like that. It feels like home. It feels like coming home after a long day of work, wrapping yourself in an old afghan and a hot cup of tea. The feeling of hot laundry, fresh front the dryer and smelling of floral softener. It tastes like ten years lost in a void, returning to your senses and lighting you up.
He holds you as if you’ll disappear right in front of him. Large hands cup your face, like a precious thing he never wants to let go. Your hands can do nothing but grapple after his, nails digging into his skin.
“Good night, Jungkook,” you send him a lovestruck smile, a puppy love face.
“Good bye, Bun,” he replies simply, jogging down the hallway.
Being twenty-seven starts to feel a little more like heaven.
Jennie used to annoy you in high school, but now she just down right scares you.
Her presentation is one straight out of a thriller, with red shadow lights and neon green splattered in the dark room. Her models are intense, her designs are beautiful but overwhelmingly chaotic, and the whole affair is rather grotesque. The headline Fashion Suicide glares at you in a morbid scarlet font.
Hoseok sends her a tight-lipped smile, and presses a button on his desk. “I need my antacids, Krystal,” Hoseok deadpans.
Nothing betrays Jennie’s wicked expression, in fact her smirk widens at Hoseok’s fear.
You on the other hand, are cool as a cucumber when you walk up to the front of the conference room. In fact, you barely have to say anything as the presentation presents itself. Jungkook took the liberty of making a video compilation for you, one that they could use in YouTube and Instagram promotions.
“This, is preserving our youth,” you declare proudly, letting the video play. The music that accompanies it is very coming-of-age, like a yearbook slideshow of all the pictures you took. Taehyung, Jimin and Seokjin hold their arms around each other in matching attire, looking like friends for life. There’s even some videos of you and Jungkook at the park, playfully arguing at each other. “I’m tired of seeing people who could care less about my life, who I can’t relate to.”
“This issue is for the unsung heroes—my best friend’s older sibling, the captain of the football team, and the black sheep with a dream.”
The video cuts to Jungkook, looking ultra cool at the camera while he’s dictating Seokjin’s moves. It was taken on your phone, and you’re zooming in on Jungkook’s serious face before it breaks into a laugh, eyes crinkling and bunny teeth showing at whatever stupid thing Seokjin said.
And finally, the video fades into a mock cover. The five of you are beaming at the camera, cheek-to-cheek as you hold up the placard: Ego: Class of Youth.
Needless to say, the issue is yours.
You ignore Jennie’s icy stare as you leave the room to negotiate with the creative teams on a set schedule. However, it seems that you can’t get a bit of rest when Jennie waits for you in your office.
“Jennie, get off of my desk,” you frown, watching a coffin-tipped nail flicking against a photograph of you holding hands with Jungkook in the amusement park. It hangs on a corkboard, standing up with all the other ideas that you and Jungkook have spent the last week meticulously planning.The black enamel scratches at your smiling face. You are not having this, not after all your hard work and all the meetings that have just been planned.
Her feet dangle in the air, kicking back and forth as she sings your name. “You’re still such a child,” she sighs dramatically. “In fact, I think your cute little-wittle idea would suit something more like Highlights or Disney Monthly.”
“You’re just upset I did better than you,” you cross your arms.
Jennie’s nail slices your visage in half.
“You’re right,” Jennie turns a 180 and gives you a bright, candy-coated smile. “Your idea is so good, it doesn’t suit Ego. In fact, I’m sure the editors at Mono will pay a pretty penny.”
“Excuse me?”
“Ugh, you are such a fake.” Jennie giggles, “now, did you send this idea to Namjoon yet? Their publishing date is two weeks before ours, so I’m sure they’re getting to work on this whole Throwback Thursday spread.”
You can’t believe the words coming from Jennie’s mouth. Before all of this, just how awful of a person were you? How could you sabotage your company on the regular, just to get paid a little extra dough for a rival company? It makes you think about what could’ve possibly changed. Had leaving your friends without a care in the world made you into this lost adult, grappling at the seams for attention? In college, did Jennie coerce you into being manipulative and backstabbing, and because without Jimin and needing confidence in a friend, you reluctantly agreed?
The coffee from this morning starts to back up in your throat, but you immediately tamp it down. No, you can’t be pushed around like this. You can’t keep pushing people around. You don’t want a life like this, and if you ever return to your old life, you’ll damn make sure you’ll create a future without Jennie in the picture.
“I’m not going to send anything to Mono, and I’ve already fessed up to Hoseok,” you lift your nose in the air, voice impeccably clear for someone who’s absolutely bluffing. But Jennie’s face hits the ground, immediately buying your lie. You suppose you did become a good actress after ten years. Maybe Seokjin taught you a few pointers. “So if I were you, I’d swallow your tongue before words get around. I worked it out but don’t be surprised if a pink slip comes your way.”
Turns out that no matter what, high school never ends. There will always be backstabbers and freaks and geeks. A mean girl that you subconsciously try so hard to appease, a grade that defines your life, and drama up to the neck.
“He doesn’t like you, y’know,” Jennie whispers, but the words are loud and clear and you know exactly who she’s talking about. “Never had, and never will.”
“You’re wrong,” you hold your hands, clasping them together to keep them from trembling, “he likes me.”
So you leave the office, determined to prove yourself. That kiss last night was nothing short of magical, and it took a lot of strength for you to not drive up to Jungkook’s apartment in the morning in the hopes for another one. You pick up a pizza near his place, filling it up with your favorite toppings on one half and his favorites on his. A bottle of peach champagne is nestled between your arms. In the bathroom while waiting for your pizza, you’ve wriggled out of your tight suit and into a blue hoodie and bicycle shorts. Tonight, you’re celebrating.
You’re vibrating as you’re knocking eagerly on his front door, excited to tell him the news. You hear a rustle from the couch, and some blankets shifting about. He must’ve passed out after going to the bar, how cute.
But when the door opens, the vision in front of you is far from cute.
A woman, with cat eyes and a slim figure, tilts her head at you. She’s dressed in a large white shirt, transparent enough to show her lacy black bra and panties. Bruises decorate her neck and thighs, like red and purple gems. Her long black hair swishes, slightly frizzy at the bottom.
“Can I help you?” her voice is sultry and velvety. “Are you looking for JK?”
It’s obvious as to what transpired. Jungkook dipped after kissing you and fucked another woman. A woman who’s the complete opposite of you. Someone flirty and sexy and willing to give Jungkook what he wants. You don’t know who you should be mad at.
“Who’s at the door?” Jungkook calls from the inside, and you nearly drop your bottle at the sound of the rasp. They must’ve had a fuckfest if they’re just waking up now.
Your cheeks are burning. Your heart is aching. And the vile that bubbled up from Jennie’s tirade is now resurfacing. From the way your eyes are watering, you must look like a crybaby.
“Say, JK,” the woman closes the frame tighter around her small head, preventing you from seeing inside and for Jungkook to peer, “do you have any pathetic ex-girlfriends?”
“No,” comes the muffled reply, “come back to bed, it’s getting cold without you,” the pizza starts to burn uncomfortably against your grip, “why the random question?”
“Dunno, seems like you’ve had at least one.”
At that moment, your savior appears in grey jeans and a beige hoodie. Jimin walks up to the floor, clutching a bag of groceries. It’s not hard to put two and two together as he spots you looking incredibly small in front of the strange woman, trying so hard not to break down.
Your tears finally fall when Jimin reaches you. “Wrong room,” you mutter under your breath, quickly following your old best friend when he shoves you in his apartment.
No words need to be explained when Jimin leaves the groceries on the coffee table and he’s pulling you onto his lap. You clutch him like a koala, rubbing mascara and blush all over his clothes as you sob. He pats your back and soothes your hiccups by offering you a glass of water. The stages of your meltdowns are pretty cut and dry, even after ten years. He still encourages you to finish the whole glass. He makes sure you have something to eat. He cuts your pizza into little bite sized pieces and feeds you. He doesn’t pressure you to talk until you’re ready, although he has a hunch as to what’s going on.
And when you talk, he doesn’t expect a firm, “Take me home,” from you.
“O-okay,” Jimin agrees immediately, pulling you into a sitting position. “Uptown, right? We can call an Uber or something and order from a restaurant.”
“No,” you reply firmly, “Home-home. I want to go back to my parent’s house.”
“That’s fine too,” he squeezes your shoulder, accepting the fob you hold out to him, “it’ll take about an hour, but I think the drive will be nice.”
So you two sneak off into the sunset, clutching twin slices of pizza as you roll away into your Tesla. Jimin is right, ten minutes into the drive and you’re soothed by his smooth driving and the scent of fried cheese and dough. Your friend has been calm all this time, so you figure this is the right time for him to pop off. Again, this is also part of your breakdown routine.
“Say, does this thing do calls?” Jimin asks, fiddling with the settings on your steering wheel, “Tesla, call Jeon Jungkook.”
“Jimin,” you say weakly, although the little malicious side of you wants to goad him on. You don’t bother to fight the best friend territorialism, you just watch as his hands clutch at the steering wheel as the speakers ring.
Jungkook picks up on the second ring, “Hey!” he says brightly, and it makes your chest pang to know how oblivious he is, “how did the presentation go?”
“Fuck you, Jungkook!” you cover your free hand on your ear at Jimin’s shrill yell, louder than the speakers that carry Jungkook’s voice. “Fuck you for breaking my best friend’s heart twice!”
The silence is deafening. It’s scary, like you could slash a butter knife right through the tension.
Jimin continues, “I can understand high school because you were a real doofus, but this! You fucking lead my best friend on, only to fuck another girl right under her nose! She came all the way to your apartment from a long-ass day at work to celebrate and you ruin that day! I thought you’ve grown for the better but turns out nothing has changed since prom night. You’re still the stupid, confused little boy that doesn’t want to admit how they really feel,” you gasp at the blow, watching Jimin’s gritted teeth as he zooms down the freeway on a mission. “Good fucking riddance, Jeon!”
Jimin punches the “hang up” button. A couple seconds of heavy breathing, and he turns to you with a gentle smile.
“So, you want to listen to Taylor Swift’s new album?”
Your room is lost in time. The Hunger Games novels are stacked on your shelf, looking old and worn. A Glee poster hangs over your four-poster bed, the yellow and red faded and the corners hanging by a thread from the old tape. The sheets are a pale pink, ruffly and definitely not in style anymore. When you sit on it, it creaks uncomfortably.
You hug yourself, tucking your knees in as Jimin marvels at the room with an equal amount of awe.
“If you could, would you go back to high school?” Jimin asks, sitting at the edge of your bed.
With a lazy shrug, you smile at your collection of polaroids that are hanging above your vanity. You’re still hurt, but the pain is no longer rolling in waves. “Maybe,” you reply, “probably would’ve taken you to Europe with me.”
He chuckles, “Is that the only thing you would change?”
“If I knew what I knew now?” you tilt your head, “I don’t know.”
Jimin gets off your bed, pressing a kiss into your forehead. “I’m gonna raid the kitchen and see if we can make something for dinner, yeah? Since your parents are on vacation and your fridge is probably empty, don’t judge me if there’s only Totino’s pizza rolls and nuggets in the freezer.”
When Jimin leaves your room, you quietly close the door and lock it. You lean against the cracked wooden door, falling onto the carpet and letting the tears fall. Is this what the rest of your life is going to be like? Evading pain and working too hard and trying everyday to stay afloat? Is adult life always going to be this difficult?
These past two weeks have been nothing short of a rollercoaster. Major highs and major lows, and after today you thought you reached the end of the ride. However, it’s looking like the ride has no destination in mind, rolling in waves and finding a new hill or loop to catch you off-guard.
“Are you kidding—how did you know we were here?” Another corkscrew.
“You’re a turtle on the road, Jimin. Now move out of the way.”
Jungkook’s voice startles you, and you tense when you see the gold door knob jiggle. Of course as strong as Jimin is, he’s no match for Jungkook. You hear Jimin grumble to curse Jungkook out, and the sound of him stomping down the stairs.
“Hey, open up. Please,” Jungkook’s voice is weak and strained, and you only hug yourself tighter as the knocks continue. “Or, don’t. It seems like you can listen to me perfectly from here. I can hear your breathing.”
You don’t say a peep, preferring to let everything fizzle out. Hopefully Jungkook will give up, say a pathetic sorry and be on his merry way. You don’t know why he’s followed you all the way over here, why would he bother coming when the damage is already done.
There’s a slide of fabric across wood, and you can feel the door shake against your back as Jungkook leans on his side out in the hallway.
“Back in high school, Jennie proposed that I date you to get back at you for stealing Jennie’s sewing sample and getting the higher grade,” you close your eyes, letting the story unravel. “She wanted to build you up before breaking you down, and back then I was vulnerable and thrived on attention, so I thought nothing of it.”
You hear a breathy exhale from his side, as if it pains him to continue, “But obviously, it wasn’t true and I only realized it until I was way too deep. I liked you, so much. Heck, I think I might’ve loved you. We were so wrapped up in this relationship I even convinced myself it was real, until Jennie said she’d crush you at prom night.
“I should’ve tried harder to convince us not to go. I should’ve told Jennie to fuck off. I should’ve come clean. I should’ve done something,” his fist bangs against your door, the vibrations of the impact thrumming in your back, “seeing you so beautiful in that dress all heartbroken because I didn’t act sooner. I’m so fucking sorry.”
Hearing him pour his heart out is like watching your memories in his shoes. The pieces find homes and paint a picture left unfinished.
“And then when you showed up at my doorstep, I was so angry. I knew you felt it. But I wasn’t upset at you, I was upset at myself. I felt so fucking guilty. I hated how easy it was for you to let me back into your life. I hated how easy it was to fall for you all over again. I knew how much I didn’t deserve your forgiveness, but you gave it to me and I was too selfish to refuse. I had so much fun, the most fun I’ve had in awhile.
“I’m sorry I kissed you. I didn’t intend for it to I just, I couldn’t help myself. And then I was so scared that I turned away and made the second biggest regret to date.
“But it proves that we’re not meant to be together. I don’t deserve you,” the last part is hushed, a nail in the coffin, “we can’t turn back the time, but if I could I would change it all. I would be by your side and make your world even better than it is right now. I’m sorry it’s too late.”
You clutch your mouth, suppressing the cries that muffle through the door. You hear Jungkook get up from your old carpet, turn the other way and head downstairs.
Your first love just closed the chapter for you. His words show how much he cared for you, but didn’t know how to express it. How immature he was, how he realized everything too late. And now, he wants to set you free. Even if it is a good thing, it still tears you to shreds.
Moving to your vanity, you pull out the chair and lean your head on the table, eyes poking through your hair. You look awful. The skin under your waterline is puffy and your eyes are red and bloodshot. Your forearms feel greasy, and you lift them up to reveal glitter painting the entirety of your skin. Your eyes dart to the open glitter, the package that Jimin gifted to you that fateful prom night. The compact is broken in half and left on the table, probably a product of your younger cousins fiddling through your old room.
Ignoring the sticky feeling, you let yourself continue to cry. You feel like you’re stuck in the bathroom of the prom venue, waiting for an opportunity to sneak out and go.
But you want nothing more than to go back to that moment. As amazing as your twenty-seven year old life is, you’re not ready for it. You don’t want a life without Jungkook, or a life having to constantly catch up and mend your relationship with Jimin. You don’t want to be the backstabbing bitch that tips off other magazines, or the two-faced woman who messes around with others for the sake of pleasure.
You long to go back. You long to live and grow. To be seventeen and have time to grow in-between.
When you lift your head from your vanity, you’re ten years younger.
You scream.
Your parents dash to your room with a kitchen knife and a confused face. With a wary smile and a teary gaze you say that it’s only a pimple. Your mother giggles and drops the knife, hugging you and helping you conceal the invisible mark. The hug is so warm and so missed that you nearly sigh in content. You’ve missed them.
It’s a little strange to think well beyond your years, your brain still reeling from the trip you’ve just had. Your hands smooth over your body, the previous curves and maturity hidden away in your skin. That’s okay, you don’t mind waiting anymore. There’s much more important things at hand.
If Jungkook isn’t going to realize his mistakes until it’s too late, you have to speed up the process.
Stealing your parent’s keys and hopping in your Accord, you drive off to Jungkook’s. Hair and makeup not done, and still in your plain shirt and jeans. An hour from now, Jungkook will text you saying his car is down and he’ll meet you at the venue.
It’s still rush hour, so he doesn’t notice when you park a few houses down. He’s sitting on his front porch, looking out the road. There’s really nothing in front of him, he’s just staring aimlessly, probably nervous about what’s about to go down tonight. You suppress a sigh, engraving the vision to memory. He looks great in his fitted black suit and tie, a little silver pocket square on the breast to match your dress.
He gets up quickly when he sees you, as if caught in the act. Staring at your plain clothes he asks, “Bun, why aren’t you dressed? Prom’s soon—”
“Jungkook, I want to break up.”
You see it in his eyes. Vulnerability. No longer do you feel insecure, the future told you that Jungkook genuinely did care for you back then. Or in this case, right now. His usual cheery expression crumples at your feet, and his hands fall at his sides. It feels a little unfair, knowing that you have experience under your belt, and Jungkook’s experiencing these feelings for the first time, unprepared.
“What?” he wilts, “why?”
“I know about Jennie’s plan,” you say instantly, unfazed. You give him a tight-lipped smile when realization hits his face. “So I know this whole relationship is orchestrated. The sewing sample fiasco is wrong, obviously. But I’m not going to get mad at you, I know she played you as much as she played me,” you clasp the straps of your purse, stopping you from fidgeting, “we graduate in a few months anyway. We don’t have to see or talk about this ever again. You should go enjoy your prom night with your other friends.”
The present-day Jungkook is still young and confused. He’s at a loss, looking like he’s on sensory overload as he absorbs all the information. You see his eyes flicker to where your Accord is parked, your prom dress hanging on one of the arm pulls. You never even pulled it out of the bag.
“Here,” you pull his corsage from your purse, placing the white rose atop the porch. If you try to put it on him, you fear you may never leave. With a determined huff, you turn around in the direction of your car.
“Where are you going?” he asks, clutching the railing of his porch, “what about prom?”
“I have other plans,” you shrug over your shoulder, “have a good night.”
You don’t look back, although you feel Jungkook’s stare burning in your head. You take great care in going into drive and punching in a new destination in your clunky GPS. This time you have to do things one at a time, once you get your Tesla ten years from now, you’re sure this process will be much easier.
Jimin’s family comes out of the airport, looking impeccable as always. Ten years younger, with puffy cherub cheeks and bright eyes. To your surprise (but also all things considered, it’s Jimin), your best friend comes out in a three-piece suit. It’s burgundy, and suits his dark hair well. He places his luggage into your car, hugs his family good-bye and waits for them to depart in their cab.
“You are all dressed up, and for what,” you chuckle, driving out of the airport.
“Well, when you sent that voicemail that you’d be waiting for me, I changed in the bathroom,” Jimin quips, already fiddling with your radio to play some poppy overplayed music, “but why aren’t you dressed? I thought we were going to be fashionably late to prom. Spill.”
“Hm, let’s talk about it in the morning. I wanna enjoy my prom night,” and you reach over to ruffle Jimin’s soft black strands, “y’know, you’d look really sexy as a blond.”
He pulls down your mirror, positioning it over his face. Pursing his plush lips, he tilts his head. “Yeah, maybe when I’m older,” he grins at his reflection, “so if we’re not going to prom, let’s go get pizza.”
So the two of you get pizza. But not before you take your prom pictures. Your parents meet you at the park with their old digital camera, ready for your impromptu photoshoot. Jimin uses an old tarp to cover the car up while you change in the car, shimmying in your sparkly silver tulle dress. Your hair is held up and away from your face, looking clean enough to be presentable as you pose for the camera. The two of you pick yellow dandelions from the grass, matching flowers as last minute dates. Your parents coo and are happy for you, knowing that even if you don’t attend the actual dance, the pictures will last forever and you’ll smile at them for years.
Eventually you tell Jimin about Jungkook and the whole fiasco (sans the ten year mental time jump.) The reaction is expected, Jimin says he wants to fuck Jungkook up. Surprisingly for him, he doesn’t have to do much to console you. In fact, you sip coolly from your smoothie and say Jungkook will probably let Jimin get a punch in even though Jungkook can bench press his tiny body in half. But you tell him you’re okay, and all you want to do is go home and binge watch.
Jimin carries the pie in his lap while you pull up your driveway. The smell of toasty cheese and fresh dough fill your car.
“I want to watch Sky City,” Jimin sing-songs, “Kim Seokjin is God’s gift!”
You crinkle your nose, “He’s alright.”
“What! You thought he was so hot like, last week.”
“Things change.”
Jimin makes it to your room first, saying he’ll take care of setting things up. He’ll probably steal all the available cushions and make a fort for himself while he puts a picnic blanket on the floor in front of your television. You can imagine him hogging all your stuffed animals, placing it on his side of the carpet while he rifles through your drawers so he can change out of his suit.
Your parents tell you to take out the trash before you have fun tonight. Careful not to get your dress dirty, you hold it away from your body as you waddle out the front door. You make it two steps into the driveway before the soggy trash bag is whisked from your hands.
“I got it,” Jungkook says quietly, and it takes little to no effort for him to haul the large bag into the waiting trash can. His shoulders are slumped under his white button-up, his suit jacket probably stuffed somewhere in the back of the car.
“Jungkook,” you reply, dumbfounded, “it’s only eight, prom isn’t even over yet.”
“I know… but then I realized you weren’t gonna get your money’s worth if you didn’t go. I asked the waitress if she could get me a doggie bag for my date and,” he holds up a stapled bag, presumably the dinner that was supposed to be served, “it’s your favorite.”
“Thank you,” you give him a small, grateful smile as you accept the bag. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
He bites his lip, stuffing his hands in his dress pockets. “A-and you told me before you left that I should go spend prom night with my friends,” he ruffles his hair, blown out of the pomade and falling into his eyes, “and then I realized that you were right. Jennie and all those people out there aren’t really my friends. They like my rep and they like my attention, but they don’t like me.”
You shake your head, “Jungkook, you’re very likable. Jennie and her group are just one bad bunch.”
“But I don’t wanna be liked by my rep. I wanna be liked for the things I love,” he steps a hesitant step towards you, and he relaxes when he sees that you don’t recoil, “I haven’t told anyone this. But I want to drop that sports scholarship. I applied to an art school, and I got in.”
Suppressing a grin with a bite of your lips, you cheer silently in your head. Things are changing. “I’m so happy for you, Jungkook. Congrats.”
“And I’m sorry for all the fucked up things I did. Jennie may have manipulated me but I definitely was a big part of it,” Jungkook pulls the words out of the sky, finally having enough time to formulate an apology, “but please don’t doubt for a second that my feelings are fake. I really like you, and I wish we got to know each other under better circumstances.”
“I wish we could’ve,” you echo sadly. “But our futures—”
“I don’t want to lose you.”
“I liked you, so much. Heck, I think I might’ve loved you.”
You shake your head, frowning at his kicked puppy expression. “I’m considering a fashion school in Europe,” you reach for Jungkook’s hand, squeezing it. Letting him know that everything’s going to be okay. “You and Jimin can visit me during the breaks, Europe has some great spots to photograph.”
Something in Jungkook’s gaze tells you that it’s not enough for him. He wants to be selfish and hold onto you tighter, but you know that’s not good for the both of you right now. “That’d be nice,” he says vaguely, giving you a pained smile.
Jungkook rubs his thumb over your hand, relishing in the softness of your skin. “You look really pretty,” he says, looking forlornly over the dress. He can only imagine how ethereal you’d look under the fairy lights that decorated the venue, “I wish we could’ve had one dance.”
You shrug, “The night’s still young,” you gesture to the space in the driveway, and the lights that overhead the garage.
The slow Taylor Swift music that plays from his pocket is muffled, but it doesn’t deter either of you as he places his hands on your waist and you wrap his around his neck. You’re wearing your bunny house slippers and Jungkook’s neck is moist from his nervous sweats, but you know that this memory will be engraved in your brain for years to come.
It feels good to know that from now on, you don’t have to be so concerned about the future now that you’ve had a taste of it. All you want now is to take it one day at a time. At this moment the, the only thing you want to do is focus on how you’re going to hold onto Jungkook for the last time. At least for now, who knows what will happen in the future.
“I really want to kiss you, Bun,” he leans in, foreheads touching, “but I don’t deserve it.”
“You’re right,” you tease, “you don’t.”
He frowns playfully, “Ouch. But fair.”
Yet you figure you’ve made enough headway these past few weeks, and you deserve to be a little selfish. One last kiss, you think to yourself. Your fingers flatten against the pressed material of his collar, meeting in the middle to clutch Jungkook’s slim black tie. Jungkook bites his lip, looking down at you for permission. With the tiniest of nods, you get on your tippy toe toes you lean forward and you can smell the apple cider lingering on his lips—
“Ohmygod—are you broken up or not!” both of you whip your heads up to see Jimin hanging over your open window, looking absolutely bored. His arms dangle over your sill, wearing a frayed high school jumper. “Either tell him to get lost or invite him over to watch television because I’m hungry!”
You pull away from him fully, squeezing his biceps. “Want pizza?”
He shakes his head, “I think it’s a trap. Jimin’s waiting for me to come up so he can rip my head off,” he gives a tentative wave to the second floor, but Jimin just scoffs and goes back inside, “but I’ll see you Monday.”
“Okay. Good night, Kook.”
“Good night, Bun.”
Your heart pinches a little as you watch him drive away. Before, you knew what the end game was between you two. It didn’t end pretty. Now, you’re not so sure. At the very least, it isn’t ending on a sour note.
Some time later.
“Your majesty,” you give her a practiced smile, taking careful measures not to brush the lady’s shoulders too hard in the fear she’ll whittle away, “emerald is an impeccable color on you.”
The Queen of England (the McDuckin' Queen of England!) just laughs at you and waves you off. You can’t believe you’re photographing a real queen. This is like the childhood equivalent of meeting Malibu Barbie. You thank every single choice and mistake you’ve made in your entire life that has brought you up to this impeccable moment. She’s a vision, you could cry. In fact, you’ll cry later in the comfort of your hotel room. “Do you think the photographer will take long?” she asks, frowning, “I have drinks with my friends in an hour.”
You smirk, pleased to know she’s still kicking it in her golden years. “Yeah, just so long as my husband doesn’t get distracted. Fifteen minutes, tops.”
“I’m not distracted,” Jungkook huffs, pulling away from his tripod. He gives up on trying to stabilize the camera, instead preferring to go freehand for this one. He gives you an incredulous look, hands on his hips, “I have two queens in my viewfinder and I only got room for one. Get out of the shot, Bun.”
With a playful roll of your eyes, you step away from the lady of the hour to let Jungkook do his thing. He’s right in his element, blurting choreographed poses and telling the lighting people to move at his beck and call to get the perfect angle. You stand a distance behind him, letting him take control.
“I’m so hungry,” your whisper is low enough to blend between the jazz music, but loud enough for Jungkook’s ears to listen in, “please tell me you’re almost done.”
“Oui, oui.”
“Wrong language, Kook. Please don’t offend anyone,” and discreetly, you take one step closer in your Tory Burch flats, “did you get any candids of me and the Queen?”
“Duh, Bun,” you can’t see his face but you know he’s grinning, “Jimin will faint.”
"Oh, yes! Thank you, I love you," you gush, reaching over to discreetly pinch his butt.
He shakes his head, looking over his shoulder to give you a brief smirk, "Show me how thankful you are tonight."
So silly, you think. It's amazing how well you work together as two separate entities of a photoshoot yet share a brain cell in the presence of each other. In another world, Jungkook said if given the chance, he'd be by your side and make your world a better place.
Ten years later, it's exactly that and more.
#jungkook x reader#btswritingcafe#btsghostie#kwritersworldnet#jungkook fic#bts fic#bts fluff#bts angst
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Short Leash /// Lev x f!Reader x Alisa (18+)
Summary: [Post-timeskip] The Haiba siblings get up to no good with their favorite pet.
A/N: Lev really went from skinny goblin to sugar папочка, and don’t even get me started on Alisa 😭 Also, imma lay heavy on those Russian terms of endearment 🇷🇺 I know Lev doesn’t speak Russian but I feel like post-timeskip he might, and it makes me horny so…
Dedicated to my eternal muse @koiibito for thirsting with me and stoking my lust for this duo and to @thisisthehardestthing for providing the fashion references that brought this fic to life for me (although I still can’t describe clothing for shit). Thank you!!!
Tags/warnings: (slight) pet play, threesome, alcohol/drug use mentions, size kink (yk Lev is 6’5 and Alisa is 5’10), dom/sub, orgasm control, rough sex, filming, breath play, crying, reader is a sugar baby in denial, no incest but the siblings fuck you together, yandere-ish, established BDSM relationship, all characters are adults
They like playing dress-up.
With you, if that wasn’t obvious. They’re models, so you could say that playing dress-up is a career for them, a method of putting food on the table…and Balenciaga in the closet…and every luxury pharmaceutical known to man in the medicine cabinet. And they’re so beautiful, both of them. They look good in anything. But when it comes to you, playing dress-up is a labor of love.
Today was Alisa’s turn, which means today was red: crimson lingerie in a box she had delivered to you before the party tonight. The box…it looked so out of place propped up against the bottom of your shabby apartment door that it’s a miracle no one stole it. Black packaging, lettering in gold, and the label printed on the box was French, you think? The two years of language class you took in high school didn’t help you read it, but you had no trouble understanding the number at the bottom of the receipt Alisa included with the set.
She left it on purpose, you know that. She wants you to know that the money she dropped on these flimsy little undergarments could have paid your rent for two months. But you can’t tell her that, or she’ll just insist again that your apartment is so small and ugly, it’s not worth it, it’s high time you moved in with her and Lev already, they would love to have you, and you’d never have to worry about rent again.
Spoiling you. That’s what they call it. Sometimes you think the Haiba siblings spoil you because they know it makes you uncomfortable.
Either way, you can’t say no. You’ve tried, over and over, told them they need to stop buying you clothes and shoes and diamonds but they just laugh you off. Lev, especially—he’s got this way of tipping his head to the side and blinking down at you while you try to explain how nervous it makes you to be dripping in excess, smiling lightly like he’s watching a child throw a tantrum. They just don’t get it. Or they do, and they think it’s funny.
Yeah, it’s probably the latter. You were raised right, raised not to accept gifts like this when you have nothing to give in return—but you were also raised to be gracious to the kindness of strangers, and while they aren’t exactly strangers, it’s just too exhausting to try to deny their generosity. Over time, little by little, you’ve given inches and the Haiba siblings have taken miles.
The Haiba siblings. That’s who they are, constantly presented in juxtaposition since Lev made his debut. They were born for this, and not because of their height. It’s the eyes—something savagely beautiful about that shade of green, those pale eyelashes, the slitted pupils like a cat’s.
The lingerie was Alisa’s choice, but the dress was Lev’s which is probably why he can’t keep his hands off you at the party, grip gliding down the low back and breath ghosting over your neck every time you try to put some distance between you. He’s usually more careful than this—Alisa can get away with the playful touching (groping?) because the cameras will just play it off as friendly skinship, but if someone catches Lev stroking across your thighs or tracing those long fingers over your spine while you move together on the dance floor, there’s going to be trouble. Not that it’s your problem, but one of you has to be responsible tonight, and judging by the number of times Lev’s excused himself to go to the bathroom and come back blinking and grinning and rubbing his nose, the responsible one is going to have to be you.
This time when he returns his gelled-back hair is mussed and—Jesus, how careless can he get?—there’s a little dusting of coke spilled over the collar of his black shirt. You roll your eyes and reach up to brush it off for him but he catches your hand and lifts it to his mouth. A kiss on your inner wrist first, and then his teeth are grazing over that tender skin, blunt edges digging in and drawing dents. A bite.
It’s just on the edge of painful when you belatedly yank your hand away. “Lev—you got it on your shirt, seriously—“ You try to make your voice sound scolding, but it comes out too high.
Lev’s eyes are dark, dilated; he laughs breathlessly and nudges closer to you, trapping you between his long arms and the bar. “You want some? Kotyonok, little kitten wants a treat?”
“No…I’m just drinking tonight. I don’t want to be out too late.” The vodka soda in your hand isn’t nearly strong enough, but if you have any more you’re going to be too drunk to keep your act together and deal with their antics. You don’t have the tolerance they do, and just because they can get away with all the coke and the alcohol and whatever else they’ve been playing with tonight doesn’t mean you can.
…Not that your relative sobriety stops Lev from dragging your face up to meet his, lifting your chin with both hands wrapped around the back of your head and bending down only enough that you still have to rise up on your tiptoes to kiss him. You only catch a hint of the smell of honey before the sour-sweet taste of Lev’s favorite drink (that medovukha mead stuff, it’s Russian, you think) is filling your mouth and his long tongue is sliding over yours. “Mmph—“
“Kitten, always so good,” he sighs, pressing closer so your face has to arch up to the ceiling to meet his. In your limited view you can see the muscles in his jaw flexing as he kisses you, sweeping over your tongue, biting your lip and laughing into your mouth. “So sweet…and impatient, yeah? Want to go home with us already?”
His hand on the small of your back is bunching your dress up, giving him the space to push his knee between your legs. You gasp sharply but it just eggs him on and his mouth dips down under your jawline, his body covering yours, so sudden and so public that your eyes flash around the room, wondering who might witness Lev—the international model Lev Haiba—sucking on your throat. “L-Lev, wait, someone—someone will see—“
“You’re asking to go somewhere private? Greedy girl…Alisa’s still having fun.”
You try to come up with a response, but it’s not easy to think straight when he’s holding your waist, circling it with those big hands and petting up to your ribs, cupping your tits while his thigh rubs between your legs. You can smell his cologne, bergamot and amber, and—and—you can smell his cologne—
“Lyovochka~” Alisa’s voice rings out and you know just by hearing it that she’s had as much as Lev. Her hand fists in her brother’s hair and pulls him off your neck none too gently, ignoring his curse and complaints. “Naughty, naughty. Playing without me, were you?”
“Alisa, you’re fucking up my hair,” Lev whines, but he straightens off you, pulling Alisa into your tight little trio at the bar. “Kitty says she wants us to take her home.”
You feel your cheeks heat up and wonder if they can see the blush under your foundation. “I didn’t— I can go home myself—“ Not that you have a chance in hell of leaving the party without them, but still. You can pretend to play coy.
“No.” Alisa places a finger on your mouth to shush you and then her eyes lower and her fingernail—painted silvery white, her signature color—pushes into your bottom lip. You stumble closer, hands meeting her shoulders through the thick white padding of the jacket she’s wearing, over the glittering crystals that look blindingly bright under the blacklights.
Silver and white. Always silver and white.
Her fingernail traces down your lip, drawing a fine line on your chin; on instinct, you tip your head back to give her access to pet down your throat until she comes to a rest on the neckpiece of the harness she included with the lingerie set. When her hand reaches the ring in the center of the choker she grips it, pulling your face away from Lev’s and toward hers. “Lyovochka, what do you think…? I saw it and thought of kotyonok. A collar for our little kitten.”
“Hm, I don’t know. I need to see more.” Lev’s hands are on you again now, splaying flat over your chest before his fingers curl, one by one, around the harness strap that leads from the ring at the choker down between your breasts until it disappears under the neckline of your dress. He’s tugging on it—lightly, but you can’t deny the feeling that it’s like a leash…or the feeling of heat gathering in your pussy at having the two of them all over you like this.
You shouldn’t be letting them touch you (and they are touching you, Alisa’s hand stroking your throat and Lev tugging your side into his chest). There’s always people watching at parties like this; you’ve attended these things on Lev’s arm or Alisa’s enough times to know better than to let them do as they please. You’re supposed to be the responsible one. Too bad your body is craving a lot more than the innocuous touches they can give you in public.
You swallow and Alisa grins, dark-painted lips stretching over those perfect white teeth. “So. Kitten, would you like us to take you home? Say please.”
You don’t have to say it. You could ask yourself why you let them get away with this, why you keep letting yourself fall to the mercy of these siblings, why they even want you in the first place, but those are questions for tomorrow morning—tonight, even though you should hate it, there’s a part of you that wants to purr every time they call you kitten.
“…Please,” you murmur, and as soon as the word is out Lev’s grip on the harness tightens, pulling the choker taut around your neck.
///
They end up ripping the dress.
You kind of hate them for it when you think about how many bills you could have paid with the money they spent dolling you up for tonight. But by the time they get around to it, you’re pretty much too horny to care.
They didn’t even wait til you got home (their home, you remind yourself, not yours), although that shouldn’t have surprised you. From Alisa tugging on your hair and Lev’s arm draped possessively around your shoulders, you should’ve seen it coming, but it still takes you by surprise that the three of you have barely piled in the back of the Uber when Alisa’s dragging you to sit on her thigh, unceremoniously pulling your dress over your hips and sliding her hand up the slit where the fabric falls open to rub your pussy.
You whine and squirm but can’t quite make yourself say the word “no”, instead squeezing your eyes shut and trying to focus on Alisa whispering in your ear that you’re a good girl, getting so wet for them. All three of you can hear the squishy damp noises your pussy is making sucking around her fingers, and dear god you hope the driver can’t hear it too—wait, is he looking? Your eyes peek open, traitorously seeking out the rearview to see if there’s a possibility he’s watching the show, but before you can work up the guts to tell them to quit it, Lev’s hand is folding around your jaw again and forcing two of his fingers past your lips for you to drool on. And—fuck—Alisa’s petting over your cunt, drawing slow lines up from the wetness gathered at your hole up to your clit.
By the time you’ve reached the building Lev and Alisa are staying at in Tokyo, you’re past the point of caring that other people are around. Lev has to pull you out of the car and off Alisa’s lap to get you to stop humping your ass into her lap and trying to push your mound into her fingers. Alisa winks at the driver—probably earning herself a 5-star rating despite all your bad behavior—and then the two of them are steering you past the doorman and into the elevator.
As soon as you’ve got the barest semblance of privacy, Lev pulls your back into his chest and grinds himself into you. You can feel how hard he is, the heat of his body leaching through the fabric of your clothing directly into your skin, hands around your waist forcing you to mold yourself into him while he layers kisses over the side of you neck. “L-Lev, ah— mm, someone’s gonna come in,” you whine as he pushes the bulge of his stiff cock against your lower back, but he just lets one of his hands drift up to scratch at the choker of the harness again.
Alisa’s hands meet your cheeks on either side, framing your face for a short moment so she can study your dazed expression, the flush on your cheeks, your sex-glazed eyes. You look like you want to get fucked, you know that? You look like you want them to push you down in the elevator and fuck you right there. “But kotyonok, you’re so darling. We should let other people get a chance to see, no?”
Lev’s hand spans the breadth of your throat, not quite pressing down (yet), so he must be able to feel the way your muscles contract and release when you swallow—not to mention the edge of tension that enters your body at the thought of someone seeing you in such a compromising position. “Ahh, kitty wants to be all ours, doesn’t she? She doesn’t want us to share.”
“Is that so?” Alisa doesn’t give you a chance to answer, just tipping your face up and letting her lips close over yours. She tastes more bitter than Lev did and for the brief moment you have between getting pressed between them and your brain short-circuiting, you wonder what she’s been drinking. “Are you being selfish?”
“Nnnh, I—“ you don’t have an answer for her, but it doesn’t really matter because the elevator is dinging at the penthouse and Alisa’s pulling you away from Lev into their apartment by the center strap of the harness. You’ve got no choice but to follow, and you consider telling her to quit dragging you around by your neck but there’s something about the pressure on your throat that isn’t…entirely unpleasant, so you hold your tongue.
Lev murmurs to Alisa in Russian—you hate when they do that, especially because you know they’re only doing it because they don’t want you to understand—and then you’re in the spare bedroom, the one that the siblings insist on referring to as your bedroom. Even though you don’t live here. Even though you do everything you can to avoid staying here. Even though the only times you ever spend the night are when you’re too fucked-out by the two of them to consider putting in the effort to get home.
Something tells you this is going to be one of those nights.
They work in sync, teasing down the straps of your dress and easing you out of it until Alisa snaps the harness between your tits and Lev gets impatient and someone pulls the back of the dress a little too hard and that’s when you feel tearing. “Shit,” you hear in Lev’s voice, a soft curse in Russian from Alisa, and then a reluctant peal of laughter as the dress flutters down to the ground.
“Did you—“ You’re about to curse them out for ruining something so fucking expensive, but Lev clucks his tongue and shakes his head and you fall silent. He’s pulling back from you—so is Alisa—and your heart jumps for a second wondering if you did something wrong until you realize they’re just looking at you, drinking in the image of you naked except for the lingerie Alisa picked out for you.
“Bordelle?” Lev murmurs, running fingers down the straps cinching around your waist, the belt holding up the garters—as usual, you don’t know whether to move away from his touch or melt into it.
Alisa smiles. “It was made for her, don’t you think? Our kitten looks good in red.”
Honestly, they call you kitten, but the way they look at you is less like the way owners look at a pet and more like wolves sizing up a little lamb they’ve cornered. Hungry. Starving. You’re not sure which you prefer, but it makes you self-conscious. You’d felt pretty confident about the way you looked when you examined yourself in the mirror before the party—Alisa has good taste, even if the lingerie is just this side of bondage gear and not something you would’ve bought for yourself in a million years—but now you have to fight the urge to cover yourself up with your hands…not that they’d let you.
True to your prediction, as soon as your hand twitches with the instinct to cross your arms over your bound-up tits Lev snaps down to catch it. “Let me see,” he instructs, and the authority in his voice is so definite that your arms fall back down to your sides automatically. “Good girl. Alisa, do you think we can keep it on while we fuck her?”
While we fuck her.
He says it so nonchalantly. And it’s not like you didn’t know that’s what you’re here for. You’re a grown-up, you’re sober (ish), and you’ve been in this room with the two of them enough times that you’re well aware there was only ever one way this night was going to end up. But the way he says it makes you shiver. They’re going to fuck you…like they own you. And it’s kind of terrifying how much you want to be owned.
“I think we can get the panties off without taking off the rest,” Alisa says to respond to Lev’s question, even as she brushes a stray lock of hair away from your eyes. “Besides, I have a surprise for her.”
A surprise? It wouldn’t be the first time one of them has pulled out something unexpected in bed—last time it was a ball gag and nipple clamps, and the time before that it was a magic wand vibrator (plated in literal gold, because the Haibas are nothing if not excessive) that had you begging and crying and creaming all over the sheets. You can’t help your anxiousness as Alisa pulls something out of the otherwise-empty dresser and sets it up to face the bed.
It’s…a camera. A camera? “You want to film it?” you blurt out, your voice sounding pitchy and nervous even to your own ears.
“Great idea,” Lev says, patting your head like that’s all it’ll take to make you feel better.
“Yes, kotyonok. I’m going to film you,” Alisa replies, fiddling with the settings and batting those long blonde eyelashes at the lens once she’s satisfied.
“Wait, I—I don’t know. I’m not like you, I can’t just—” you stammer. Sure, the twins will look perfect and irresistible and bewitching, but you? You’re not sure you want to have a video of yourself getting fucked stupid in their hands. “What if I don’t want to…?”
“But I want to.” Alisa’s gaze sweeps down over you and you lower your eyes so you don’t have to meet it, don’t have to feel the weight of it holding you down more securely than any leash. There’s a reason she’s a model—she could sell anything. Those eyes. How are you supposed to say no?
You want to step back away from her. You almost try, but Lev’s at your back already, long arms draped over your shoulders, a loose hold that nonetheless keeps you from moving. So instead of backing up, you just bite your lip.
Alisa’s face softens—she’s good at that, good at picking up the cues when she’s pushed a little too far for your comfort—and a second later you feel her hand wrapping around yours, holding it. “Safeword?”
Cherry. The safeword is cherry. It’s not that you’ve forgotten. It’s her way of reminding you that you have a safeword, and you can use it, and it’ll be okay. This isn’t even a full-on scene, but Alisa must be able to sense that the addition of the camera made you scared.
Picking up the change in mood a second later, Lev’s hand finds your other one and he strokes his thumb over your skin reassuringly. God, maybe it’s wrong that they can make you feel hunted one second and adored the next, but you let out a breath and relax, shaking your head to indicate that you’re not stopping.
She brings your hand up to her mouth and kisses it so lightly her lipstick barely leaves a mark—wait, oops. You’d forgotten she was wearing lipstick. You must have it all over you by now.
“Good girl. We take good care of you, don’t we?”
“…Yes.”
“We do.” Lev’s impatient, you can tell from the way he’s adjusting his grip to your waist and pushing you over to the bed. “We’re not going to share the video, if that’s what you’re worried about. Alisa likes to joke, but really…”
Your ass hits the mattress so you’re half-sitting, half-lying on the covers, propped up on your elbows, peeking through your eyelashes at the two of them looming over you—and, oh, there they are again.
The wolves.
“…we don’t want anyone else seeing you like this,” Alisa finishes, holding up the camera and flicking the little red light on to record.
///
Lev starts, like usual. You think maybe it’s a control thing, that Alisa doesn’t let you touch her until you’re already falling apart on Lev’s fingers, his tongue…his cock. As much as she likes it when you bite back, you’re cuter when you’re begging.
She’s holding your face off the bed by a hand under your chin, wrenching your neck back so your wrecked face is level with the camera. You’re on your hands and knees—or, more accurately, your hands and elbows, with your ass arched up and Lev’s face buried in your slit. “Nngh, nnnnn, fuck please please—“ Your whining is barely coherent, but Lev knows what you’re asking for and he digs his fingers into the meat of your ass to hold you still as he latches his mouth over your clit and sucks.
Fuck— you keen and try to drop your head down to the sheets to angle your dripping cunny closer to his mouth, but Alisa’s grip on your jaw prevents you from getting any further out of the camera frame. “Uh-uh, no. I want to see you.”
“Alisa…ahhh…” Your tongue is lolling out of your mouth and you know you must look like a mess, spit practically falling over your lips as you try to stop yourself from cumming right here. Fuck, it feels good, feels so hot and wet that your juices don’t even have time to cool on your thighs before more is dripping down.
“Tell the camera what’s happening, kotyonok,” Alisa purrs, wiping the saliva off your lip and then pushing her fingers over your tongue.
“…eating me out, he’s—uhhhn—licking my pussy…” you slur around her fingers. Your glassy eyes flit between her appraising expression and the lens of the camera—even though you trust that they won’t show the video to anyone outside this room, it’s making you shudder to think about what’s on the little screen you can’t see—Alisa’s pretty silver fingernails coated in your drool as she presses them deeper into your throat, your body all bound up in red straps and gold fastenings, and Lev behind you, hair falling out of its careful style as he shoves his face deeper between your legs.
The edge of Alisa’s finger bites into the plush of your lip as you moan and unsuccessfully attempt to wriggle your ass under Lev’s grip. “Who’s licking your pussy?” she asks calmly, like she’s asking what the weather is like today.
“Lev, it’s, it’s Lev—fuck ohh, oh,” you whine as Lev slides his tongue flat from your clit up to your hole and pushes the slimy wet muscle inside. It’s so long, you’re never going to get used to how stupid long his tongue is, licking out your walls and making slurping sounds that are downright fucking vile.
Heat is gathering quickly in your abdomen, and you can feel it—that plateau rising before you hit your peak, and the tension in your thighs making them twitch and quiver as your muscles contract in anticipation—and his tongue is so long and thick it’s almost reaching your g-spot, almostalmostalmost, god-fucking-damnit. Your spine curls even further, arching yourself into him, wordlessly begging for him to keep doing exactly what he’s doing. “Gonna cum, fuck Lev please make me, make me cum!”
“Oh? Did I say you were allowed to cum?” Alisa asks, cat-like eyes narrowing.
Shit, fuck, she didn’t, but you don’t know if you can help yourself. Your hand fists in the sheet, curling your fingernails around the fabric to try to ease up the heat where Lev’s mouth is latched to your cunt. “Please Alisa—I need to—“
Alisa shakes her head. “But you don’t get to decide what you need, kotyonok.”
She’s right, but—but, it’s not fair, Lev’s switching between dragging his tongue over your clit and fucking you with it—you try to pull your hips away from his mouth but he doesn’t let you, effortlessly holding you in place while he teases you even higher.
“Who decides?” she continues, petting your jawline and wiping away the first hint of a tear from your cheek as you try to hold it back—
but you can’t.
“You-you decide! You decide when I cum!” you gasp, but your body is already betraying your words, convulsing and contracting as your climax hits you like a truck. You try to hold yourself through it but it’s impossible—your eyes roll back and arms go slack, dropping flat on the bedspread with your ass still pushed up into the air as your pussy walls contract around Lev’s tongue.
He’s still licking you—slower now at least, but you’re shaking at the feeling of him stimulating that sensitive bud. “Stop…too much,” you whine weakly, but he just raises a hand off your ass cheek to give it a light smack.
“Bad kitty,” he murmurs with his mouth still pressed against your slit, and the contact makes you seize up and twitch.
“Yes. Very bad.” Alisa doesn’t look angry—she’s never angry with you, even when you’re…disobedient, you guess—but there’s a note of mischief in her eyes that sends a thrill of fear (and not just fear) down your spine.
“S-Sorry, I’m sorry,” you whimper, but Alisa’s already pulling you upright by the ring on your choker.
“Did you cum? Even though we didn’t give you permission?” she asks, even though all three of you know you did. You nod, avoiding looking at both her and the camera as if that’ll disguise the obvious flush painting your cheeks red. At your admission, she smiles indulgently and murmurs something in Russian that you don’t understand, but you get the gist.
You’ve been naughty. And you’re going to get punished.
You hear the bedsprings squeak and feel the dip of the mattress as Lev climbs up behind you, settling his body against yours so the bulge in his pants is pressed against your back again. He’s still wearing most of his outfit from the party—they both are, and you note (not for the first time) how ridiculous it is that the siblings are willing to fuck you together but being naked in front of one another is the one boundary they won’t cross—but you don’t have to wait long before you hear him undoing his pants and pulling his cock out to rut it lazily against your back.
Automatically you shift your legs apart and reach down to finger yourself like you usually do, stretch your cunt out so you’re ready to take him. But before you can reach your pussy, Lev’s hand is folding over yours and lacing his fingers over your hand to stop you. “L-Lev?”
“No, kitty,” he tells you firmly.
You shiver. Alisa pinches your cheek and rubs over your ear. “What…”
“You already came,” Lev continues, and then you feel his cock sliding between your thighs, between your soaking-wet lips, using your cum as lubrication. “You came, so you don’t need to get ready. You’re going to take all of me, okay?”
All of him. You swallow. The full length slowly rubbing between your legs is going to go inside of you, without any preparation beforehand. “But…if I don’t, it’ll—it’s gonna hurt…”
“Yes, it’s going to hurt.” He waits for a moment, giving you a chance to say the safeword, but you don’t. “It’s going to hurt, and then it’ll feel good, and then you’re going to cream yourself on my cock like always. Yes?”
“Uh—“ You blink rapidly, already feeling his cockhead pushing between your lips toward your hole. Alisa combs your hair out of your face and you turn toward her. “Alisa?”
“Don’t ask her. You need to learn that your owners will take care of you. You need to trust us.” Lev presses in, stretching your little cunt around the thick head, and you suck in a sharp inhale.
“A-Ah—it’s too big,” you whine, scrunching your eyes shut and biting your lip as he slides himself deeper into you. And yeah, it hurts…but with how riled up you are, it definitely doesn’t hurt enough for you to want it to stop. The burn from the stretch is just making you wetter, and the feeling of being filled up by him is unbelievable. This was supposed to be a punishment, right?
Alisa cups your face to kiss you gently, and then her hands drift lower to circle your neck. Lev’s still sliding his cock into your pussy, slowly, slowly, so you can feel everything, every inch of his skin and every vein dragging against your g-spot. The deeper he gets, the more it hurts and the more you want to stop him, to take the lead—but he doesn’t let you.
“Are you going to cry, kitten?” Alisa asks you, reaching down to take one of your hands and pull it over her shoulder so you’re holding her. You grit your teeth and shudder and shake your head, making her lips quirk into a smile. “It’s alright if you cry. You’re still cute when you’re crying.”
With another roll of his hips Lev’s pushing up against your cervix and you choke out a curse. “F-Fuck, I’m not—not gonna c-c-cry…”
“Shh…” Upright on his knees behind you, Lev’s body is so big curled over yours that you feel smothered between him and Alisa. You sneak a glance back and there’s a pale pink flush over his cheeks and shoulders. “You’re taking me so well…taking my cock like that, going to make me forget you were bad…”
You stay still because it hurts more when you try to move, and you need to get yourself adjusted. You have to relax, you have to, but he’s so big, heavy and thick between your aching legs. You still haven’t recovered from cumming earlier, and every time one of the aftershocks hits you and you clench around him, the mix of pleasure and pain is almost too much. Even as aroused as you are, your cunt sucking him in for all you’re worth, he’s pushing against your cervix…and his hips haven’t even hit yours yet. He hasn’t bottomed out.
You’re going to take all of me, he said. You’re not even sure you can. But no matter what, you’re not—you’re not—gonna cry.
Until Lev pulls his hips back, sliding his cock out of you so it’s only his head sheathed at the entrance to your cunt, and then snaps forward again, filling you back up in a single stroke. He knocks into you so forcefully that you jerk forward, your chest mashing into Alisa’s. The force and his weight pulls a squeak out of you and—fuck, fuck—you feel tears welling up in your eyes.
“—t-t-too fast,” you pant, squeezing your eyes shut as if that’ll prevent them from getting glossy. The pads of Alisa’s fingers are skimming over your cheeks, and her skin is so soft and silky that you want to nuzzle in for comfort.
“But Kotyonok likes it fast, doesn’t she?…you feel how wet you are on my—my cock?” Lev’s face nudges against your shoulder, and you can feel his hands curling around your upper arms, securing you underneath him, holding you in place as he pounds into you.
You like it…like it fast? Your head is spinning, you’re dizzy and hot and feverish, Lev’s cologne is mixing with Alisa’s perfume and you feel like you’re drinking it, ugh. Fuck. Feels like you’re getting bruised up inside and it feels good. Your legs are jerking, weakly trying to push yourself back on his cock to make him fill you up deeper than your pussy can take but you’re totally at their mercy.
“Let her down, Lyovochka. I want kitty to lick,” Alisa says, looking over your shoulder to make eye contact with her brother. She shifts back on the bedspread, easing herself into the pillows and pushing the skirt of her dress up over her waist to expose her panties: mesh, lace, powder-pink. They’re so pretty against her pale skin that you just stare down at her for a second, open-mouthed, before Lev’s releasing his grip on your arms and splaying his palm into your back, shoving your face down toward her lap.
You catch yourself on your elbows—barely—but you don’t have time to adjust to the new position and how stupid fucking goddamn deep Lev’s cock is hitting you before Alisa’s pulling your face up closer to her clothed pussy and adjusting her thighs to make room. Is she going to keep the panties on? Fuck—you almost ask her to take them off but you know you aren’t allowed so you just angle your face in and let drool coat your tongue so you can try to lap at her pussy through the fabric.
The awkward angle means you can barely taste her, but fuck, what you can taste is so good—they’ve conditioned you, the two of them, conditioned you like Pavlov’s dogs to crave what they’re doing to you so badly you can’t even think. The slightly-bitter taste of her cunt soaking through to your mouth has you intoxicated. She got like this from watching you, watching you cum all over the pretty lingerie she bought you, watching you get fucked so hard you’re crying. The thought of her getting off on watching you squirm makes your pussy clench around Lev’s cock.
“Gonna cum again?” Lev asks with laughter in his voice; his pace slows, dragging out the stimulation to your g-spot right as you feel him reach down to tease over your clit. You squeak out a denial but he doesn’t believe you—and why would he when he can literally hear the nasty wet noises from your pussy eating up his cock? “Yes…you are."
“I’m—n-no, I’m noooot…”
“Poor baby, can’t control herself.” Alisa’s pushing you back into her cunt, fingernails scraping over your scalp as you desperately try to lick her pussy. “Don’t be cruel, Lev.”
Another laugh, low and raspy and juddering from the pace of his cock stretching your walls and pushing against that sweet spot inside you. “I’m not the cruel one.”
They’re both cruel, you think, but that’s the only thing going through your mind because you’re pretty sure you’re going to go fucking crazy, your pussy is so hot you feel like you’re melting around him but you keep at Alisa’s cunt because you want to be good, want to be their good girl, want to be their good little kitty.
You want to be theirs.
“Please—please, can I, can I? Please let me, please I need you to let me…” you beg—somewhere in the back of your mind you know you’re going to hate yourself for giving in to them tomorrow but you want it so so so bad and you can’t cum without their permission, you can’t, you can’t be bad again.
“Well…what do you think, Alisa? Has she earned it?” There’s a growl in Lev’s voice—is he holding himself back? Yesss… He’s slowing down, fucking you up from the inside and the outside, pulling that heat out of you, making you squeal and whine and plead just like he said he would.
You want to, you need to, need to earn it, be good make Alisa feel good earn it—fuck, you have to try harder, and you flutter your tongue over her clit through her panties as well as you can, knowing you’re being sloppy but you don’t know how to help it. She waits a long moment and then sighs, pulling her fingers through your hair, pulling it away from your face so you can look up at her, those pretty pretty eyes looking down at yours so indulgently. Adoringly. Like you’re something to be cherished. “Mm…yes.”
And that’s all it takes.
Your mouth falls open and your pussy does something, convulsing—
“—cumming I’m cumming Lev, A-Alisa—“
fuck, can’t breathe why can’t you breathe? something digging into your throat—
Lev’s, Lev’s hand under the choker dragging you upright tightening cutting off the sounds coming out of your mouth, choking your scream into a pathetic little mewl so he can hold your body up next to him while he fucks you through your climax—you can feel your face turning pink, your cunny holding around him, squeezing him so tight he can barely move but he still does, hips thrusting against your ass, the pleasure so bright and heavy you’re seeing sparks, head rushing, or maybe that’s just the lack of oxygen,
too tight the choker’s too tight you bring your hand back and tap against Lev’s and he lets go immediately. “Shit—sorry, are you alright? Can you breathe?”
You can feel him pulling out, and just that movement is enough to set off another round of clenching in your pussy. You’re sputtering, throat contracting in time with your cunt, not too painful. Just raw.
“Try to breathe, (Y/N),” Lev repeats, stroking down your back to soothe you. He sounds worried, and…that’s your name, isn’t it? It’s been a while since you heard one of them actually say your name instead of just kitten or kitty or kotyonok. It’s not like you can really bother pretending you’re not at least a little bit into the nickname, but hearing your real name out of his mouth stokes some kind of soft, nervous pleasure in you. And goddamn, you do not have the brainpower to analyze why.
It takes a moment for you to catch your breath—the air tastes sweeter than it did a minute ago—and then you roll over. “Did...did you cum?”
Lev shakes his head. You turn toward Alisa, and she just pats your cheek—of course she didn’t cum. Which means you’ve gotten to cum twice, and you didn’t get either of them off.
You bite your lip, turn to the side, and try not to let your eyes water for the—third? fourth?—time tonight. “I’m sorry, I—I’ll do it again, I’ll be better—“
“No,” Alisa says gently, adjusting her position to sit next to you and kiss your forehead. “You were so good, (Y/N).”
Lev mirrors her actions on the other side so you’re bracketed by the two of them. After a second of stillness to gauge your comfort, he starts undoing the clasps at the back of the choker and massaging his fingers over the tender skin underneath. You sniffle and then feel him lay his chin on the top of your head, arrange his arm over your side. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You know we like you no matter what, right?”
Alisa nods in agreement, pupils coming to a rest on the skin of your throat as she helps Lev remove the tangle of red satin straps from your body. “Our perfect little kitten. Who’s a good girl?”
Kitten.
Your stomach drops. Not your name. Just kitten.
It must be the twentieth time she’s called you that tonight, but somehow this time it’s different. You cringe, feeling cold where she touches you, but that doesn’t stop her from wiping away the smeared mascara and tear tracks from your cheeks. When you try to flinch away from her, Lev huffs out an annoyed breath and pushes you back into place. “Myesto. Stay.”
It’s a command. Like you would give to an animal. When you freeze, Alisa smiles and then she’s tilting your chin up with her fingers and bringing the camera—the camera, you forgot about the camera—to your throat so she can capture the mess of pink lines and indentations from where the choker bit into your neck…
…and who are you kidding? It’s not a choker, it’s a fucking collar. And you’re not their lover, or their girlfriend, or even their fuckbuddy.
You’re their pet.
#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu imagines#lev haiba x reader#alisa haiba x reader#yandere haikyuu#haiba lev x reader#haiba alisa x reader#yandere haikyuu x reader#lev haiba#haiba lev#alisa haiba#haiba alisa#haikyuu#lev x reader#alisa x reader#haikyuu spoilers#hq x reader#hq imagines#yandere
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top shelf, m | jjk
pairing(s): jungkook x reader
summary: Sometimes you just want to be pinned down and fucked like a whore, you know? Should you ask the strange woman wearing the leather bondage collar to do it? Probably not. But she’s going to ask for a shot of Don Julio and Jeon Jungkook’s going to ask to get fucked.
warnings: rated M (18+) for language; smut (fem reader, sex on top of a bar, the wrong use of tequila including [but not limited to] sucking a shot off JK’s balls, handjob, m-receiving oral, cowgirl); non-idol!BTS; black-haired, ponytail, bartender, sub!Jungkook x pansexual, dom!reader; Jungkook’s POV, ft bartender!Taehyung
did i maybe question if i should put this on the internet? eh, it’s here now
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"Shot of Don Julio, please."
He poured it out. Placed in front of her. She smacked the payment down on the bar. She didn't have to tell him to keep the change. He already knew. His eyes trailed from her smirk to her neck.
"Let me wear it tonight."
Kim Taehyung, his co-worker and fellow bartender for the night, spoke up.
"You're a fucking psychopath, Jungkook."
She raised the shot glass and grinned. Downed it with one gulp. Tipped her head back to do it, so the white leather collar covered with clear Swarovski crystals glittered menacingly, the large silver ring on the center thudding against her collarbones. There was a chain attached to the ring, the end looped around and hooked to a white leather band her left wrist.
She lowered the glass, placing it on the napkin upside down. Unfazed, acting as if she had just taken a sip of water. That wide grin still playing on those dark red lips, teeth white and brighter than most people’s futures. She reached up behind her head.
The buckle unclicked with finality.
The club was insanely busy, but it was like time stopped. Nothing but those dangerous eyes, red lipstick and the scent of her perfume, clinging on to the white leather as it neared, closer. Closer. It disappeared from his vision, brushing against his neck. He could smell her perfume on the leather now.
Sweet chestnut. Spiced pepper. Hint of musky, burnt wood.
Intense.
"Here you go, Jeon Jungkook," she purred, fitting the bondage collar into place and pulling it taut. He gasped. She loosened it a hair. He could breathe just fine, but it was molded to his neck now, the metal ring hitting his tie and shirt collar.
"You know he has a whole damn shift, don't you?" Taehyung muttered, in the middle of making a cocktail.
She chuckled.
"Of course."
She backed up, and Jungkook almost whimpered, but he controlled himself. She unhooked the chain from the ring, still grinning. Dangerous. So dangerous.
"Now you can work."
Jungkook couldn't take his eyes off her.
"You know how this goes, pet. You've watched me all this time, haven't you?"
She laughed, almost maniacally, and disappeared into the crowd.
"You. Are. Crazy," Taehyung hissed. "You're lucky the manager isn't here tonight and I'm in charge."
Jungkook turned to face his friend. Curly dark hair, honey tan skin, handsome strong features, and a scowl on his normally boxy smile. The metal ring knocked into Jungkook's chest, heavy and foreboding. The Swarovski crystals glittered points of light all over his chin and vest, scattered by the flashing club lights.
Jungkook’s lips curved into a wicked smirk. Taehyung rolled his eyes, already knowing his reply.
"That's why I asked."
-
"Shot of Don Julio, please."
Jungkook did not know it then, but this request would become familiar to him.
"Hey, hey, been a while. How's it going?"
Jungkook was in the middle was chatting pleasantly with three girls when she slid up to the counter. He was making the girls' cocktails, but they all froze when they saw her. The entire length of the bar seemed to still at her appearance. Guys, girls, everyone in between and on the fringe, sneaking glances or just full-on gawking. It was hard not to stare.
The woman was wearing a white bondage collar covered with Swarovski crystals.
The metal ring that laid against her collarbones had a silver chain that connected to a matching leather band on her left wrist, the excess wrapping around several times. It clinked against the wood top of the bar as she elegantly laid her hands on the edge. She was wearing a long, slinky, forest green satin dress with high slits in the front, hair slicked back into a ponytail, ears dotted with dangling green gems and silver studs. Dangerous eyes framed with black, dark red lipstick.
She acknowledged no one but Taehyung and yet her presence silenced them all. Only Taehyung was completely unfazed, pouring out the shot cleanly, with extended reach and his typical showiness.
"Ah, business trip and all that nonsense. I did end up going to Vegas, which was fun, but you know me, I'm not a gambler," she sighed dismissively.
Taehyung chuckled. "You bring the collar?" He spoke to her with his usual smooth baritone voice.
She snickered. "Maybe." The faintest hint of a smirk on her lips, making one question if it was there or not. Taehyung’s brows raised, his attention on her and her alone.
"Bad girl."
It was hard to tell if Taehyung was flirting or not. But that was the point. His brown eyes sparkled with amusement. Newcomers would swoon over that look. Regulars cooed over that look. Her? She merely traced a finger over the lip of the glass and ticked an eyebrow, full smirk on display now.
Then she picked up the glass and downed it with one gulp.
Jungkook's eyes widened. He expected her to choke or at least make a face, but she placed the glass upside-down on the bar calmly. Not even a shake of her head. So quick, so efficient, leaving nothing behind. She placed the bills on the counter. Taehyung grinned.
"Keep the change, Taehyung."
She was about to leave the bar, but Taehyung called her name in a low purr. Jungkook jerked his head to him, confused. Taehyung only used that tone when he was trying to entice someone. It always worked. She turned her head, ponytail swishing, eyebrow arching elegantly.
Taehyung quirked his head to Jungkook beside him.
"New guy. Jeon Jungkook. Say hello."
Her gaze shifted to him. He got a good look into those dangerous eyes now. The tip of her tongue flitted out and licked her lips. Jungkook felt his chest constrict.
Smirk.
"Hey, Jungkook."
A cold shiver slid down his spine.
She turned around, disappearing into the crowd.
-
"What's her deal?"
"You'll see," was Taehyung's answer.
-
Later that night, Jungkook saw her again in the chaos. Except she wasn’t at the bar. She was standing off to the side, the chain wrapped around her left hand.
Her neck was bare.
The leather bondage collar was on a woman who was nervously ordering a martini from Jungkook, eyes flitting about, her already blushed cheeks three shades redder.
Jungkook was used to the patrons being nervous around him. He had a work persona – suave, personable, charming. But it was clear she was apprehensive for a different reason. The crystals on the white collar glittered on her neck, scattering light across her chin and the top of her gold minidress. Even Jungkook couldn’t keep up his work persona seeing this obvious display of power. He just made the drink mechanically and slid it over to her with a napkin.
He saw the woman reach down to her purse, but then an elegant, chain-covered hand slid down her shoulder, resting just above the collar of the square-necked dress. The young woman gulped leaning back against her. Dangerous eyes. Dark red lipstick.
“Don’t you remember, pet? Drinks on me.”
She placed the crisp bills on the counter. Her fingertips brushed against the top of the woman’s breast and she squeaked, pressing back into that green dress. Those dangerous eyes found Jungkook’s shocked ones. Her lips parted, tracing her teeth. She leaned in, lips brushing against the woman’s ear, right in front of him.
“What do you say to the sweet man who made you your drink?”
Pink tongue sliding out, tracing the woman’s earlobe. If possible, the woman turned redder, backing into that green dress and those graceful arms, as if she could hide while wearing a crystal-studded bondage collar.
“T-Thank you.”
“His name is Jungkook, pet.”
Jungkook’s eyes widened.
The woman’s eyes glazed over a bit with the soft, teasing licking to her ears.
“T-Thank you, J-Jungkook…”
Now Jungkook’s dick was impatiently punching the inside of his pants, fighting to get out.
“N… no problem…”
That chain covered hand reached out and curled around the martini, pulling it towards the two women. Those dangerous eyes lingered on him before they returned to the woman in the gold dress.
“Let’s find a quiet corner, you and I,” she purred darkly.
And then she disappeared into the crowd, leading the woman by the chain leash.
-
“Holy shit.”
“Yup,” was Taehyung’s calm reply.
-
She would always come in with the same leather collar and leave with someone else wearing it.
Leading them with the silver chain wrapped around her left wrist.
Men.
Women.
Those in-between.
Those on the fringe.
All of them different in their own ways. All of them willingly led around for a few hours with a crystal-covered white leather bondage collar before leaving for what Jungkook could only assume to be a very good night. When they looked nervous, her arm would be around them, cooing in their ears, offering sweet praises or stern reprimands. They must have discussed beforehand, because Jungkook could tell they were into it, hanging on her every word, eagerly letting themselves to be seduced by a stranger. Some she would kiss freely, the other embarrassed and aroused. Some she would barely touch, the other pining quietly, desire building with every look. Probably at their own request.
One commonality.
In the collar, they were all her pets.
“You should thank Taehyung, pet.”
“Don’t be rude to Jungkook, pet, or you’ll be punished.”
“You talk back one more time and I will pour this glass onto the bar and make you lick it up like the pet you are.”
Jungkook was glad he worked behind the counter. No one could see his reactions to her words. Well, except…
“Bro.” A flick to the back of his head. “Pay attention to the customers.”
Jungkook jumped at the baritone voice. Taehyung raised an eyebrow at him. Then he smirked, glancing his eyes down for half a second. Jungkook jerked his hips away, scowling, turning to a waiting patron, who was also staring at this woman curling her fingers around the silver collar ring, yanking the man in a suit forward to whisper in his ear, turning his face red and his knuckles on the counter white. Jungkook only heard a little bit.
“…if I make you cum right here? Let you explode in your underwear right now and make you walk around with your own cum soaking through your pants and the collar around your neck like the dirty pet you are?”
Even Jungkook’s ears heated.
“… M-Master, please…” the man whispered, nearly a moan.
Something was happening on the other side of the bar.
Jungkook could not let himself hear anymore, otherwise he was going to explode in his pants.
She seemed to have different styles that she rotated between, reflected by her clothes. Slinky dresses, tailored suits, casual streetwear, cute minidresses, but always with the white bondage collar and chain. Her different outfits reflected what she was looking for that night. Someone feistier usually went for the more covered-up, elegant ensembles. The timid ones went for the sexy, confident style. It was fascinating and intimidating to watch. Taehyung seemed to be amused whenever she appeared, verbally pointing out prospective targets to Jungkook, casually betting on who would be tempted next.
Time passed.
Weeks.
Months.
Play it cool, Jungkook.
“Shot of Don Julio, please.”
He poured the shot. Slid it over on a napkin, smooth.
Those dangerous eyes raked over him. He was in his uniform – black vest, white dress shirt, neat tie, black apron, crisp black slacks, although she couldn’t see his lower half. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing his tattooed right arm. His black hair was getting long, so he tied the back of it up, leaving a small ponytail and exposing his undercut. His bangs framed his face, brushing against his brows and temples.
The women loved his ponytail.
She inspected his face, the hint of a smirk on those lips. Pulled the glass to her, licking her lips. Today she was in all white. White mesh shirt with a white bra underneath, baggy high-waisted white cargo pants, and white sneakers. Hair slicked back into a high ponytail. Dark eyes, scarlet red lips. As usual, the Swarovski crystal-studded white bondage collar around her neck, chain wrapped around her left wrist.
Fucking hot as hell.
She rose the glass, cocked a brow at him.
“I like hair long enough to pull.”
She downed the glass, lowered it, turning it upside-down and sliding it back to him. Full-on smirk now as his ears heated. He was about to make small conversation, but she raised her right hand, placing her index finger on her lips. The left suddenly produced the bills, setting them on the counter.
“Keep the change, Jungkook.”
Purred his name like a lover. Chuckled and turned away, disappearing into the crowd.
“Your mouth forgot how to work?” Taehyung mused beside him.
Jungkook clicked his tongue. “Shut up.”
Taehyung chuckled.
-
“You ever ask to wear it?”
Taehyung snorted, in the middle of cleaning the glasses after closing. “Hell no. I heard once she got a guy to jack off on the hood of his own car in the parking lot. I’ll keep my dick to myself, thanks.”
Jungkook was wiping down the counter. “Mmm, you sure collect a lot of numbers for a guy who keeps his dick to himself.”
Taehyung snickered. “That’s part of the job. I’m not actually going to call them. That’d be crazy.” He pointed his towel at Jungkook, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Don’t tell me you’re considering it. During work? Are you insane?”
Jungkook shrugged.
Taehyung shot him an exasperated look. “If the manager finds out–”
“What if he doesn’t?”
“What if she’s a serial killer?”
“I didn’t say I was going to take her home or let her take me to her home.”
Taehyung jabbed the bar counter. “What the fuck are you going to do? Let her fuck you right here?”
Jungkook didn’t say anything.
Taehyung threw up his hands. “No!”
“Maybe.” The mischief was sneaking into Jungkook’s tone now, unable to hide it any longer.
Taehyung looked like he was having an aneurysm. “What, are you into that shit or something? Actually no, don’t answer that. I already knew the answer,” he winced, slapping the towel on his shoulder. “You can’t be serious. She’s a regular! Everyone is going to know why you’re wearing it.”
Oh, Jungkook knew that. His dick knew that too. Fuck. It was making him hard just thinking about it.
“Okay… Okay…” Taehyung seemed to be steeling himself even though he wasn’t the one that was going to be doing it. “I don’t actually think she’s a psychopath. She’s come here for a long time. I think you’re a psychopath for wanting to wear it during work. All night, dude.”
Jungkook’s cock twitched, soaking his underwear.
Fuck yes.
“All fucking night. Jeez.”
-
"Shot of Don Julio, please."
This was it. This was the night. Black leather two-piece set of bra and miniskirt, matching thigh-high boots, black bomber jacket with a white dragon on the back. Glittering crystal-studded white leather bondage collar, silver chain from the collar ring to her left wrist. Black liner framing dangerous eyes, dark red lips.
“Let me wear it tonight.”
Jungkook had agonized on how to ask millions of times, chewing on his lip as he stared into the bathroom mirror at home. He thought about how it would make him feel. Edged himself to it. Didn’t let himself finish. He didn’t want to finish with imagination.
He wanted to finish to the real thing.
Sweet chestnut. Spiced pepper. Hint of musky, burnt wood, mixing with the scent of leather. Smelled so fucking good, intoxicating him, making his cock throb. The heavy weight was on his neck now. Jungkook didn’t have the chain. He wanted it, but he couldn’t work like that. She seemed to know in advance, taking it off without asking, and letting him be. All the eyes on him, knowing. He acted as if it wasn’t there, charming and suave as usual, nerves jumping and jittering under his skin.
Guys. Girls. Everyone in-between and on the fringe. Looking at him with envy, with pity, with lust, sometimes all three. Jungkook made drinks all night, the heavy silver ring banging against his tie, sending shocks of anticipation through his torso and down to his core. Taehyung was beside him, mumbling under his breath every time he saw it.
“You’re crazy, my dude, actually insane…”
Jungkook thought he would be nervous, but he actually felt calm. Relieved. She had handed it over with a gleam in her eye, not hiding how pleased she was.
“It looks pretty on you, pet.”
All the way at the far end of the bar. Jungkook turned to face her, seeing her chin perched on the back of her hand, staring at him with a hungry expression. Shivers danced up and down his spine, breath catching his throat. He tilted his head.
“Shot of Don Julio?”
She smirked. “Oh, I’ll take more shots. But later, my pet.”
Oh, fuck. The way she drawled out her words, red lips forming them neatly and sensually. Thank God he was behind the counter.
“I can’t wait to ravish you.”
She turned and re-disappeared into the crowd. The pre-cum in his underwear was making life unbearable, the tip of his cock sliding against it and stimulating himself just the slightest amount, but not enough to be satisfied. Jungkook wanted to run to the back and get off right then and there, but he couldn’t.
He couldn’t and that made it better.
-
"Don't forget to lock up."
Taehyung was about to turn around, but spun back, jabbing Jungkook in the chest with his finger.
"And clean up after yourself, you animal."
Taehyung pointed to the end of the bar. A single bottle of Don Julio Blanco with the pour spout in it. One shot glass.
"She paid for the whole damn bottle," he muttered. "I really don't wanna know what you two are going to do with that."
-
She swung the chain round and round.
The anticipation in his chest was threatening to explode.
Smirk on those red lips. Dangerous eyes.
"You want to tell me what you like? Or you want me to take you on a ride?"
The chain wasn't attached yet. She was standing maybe a meter away from him, swinging it in the air from her left wrist. He was standing in front of the bar, hands in his pockets, apron removed, black oxfords together. Still wearing the bondage collar. He didn't take it off all night. A few people asked about it. Some teased.
"Felt like being decorated tonight. You like it?"
"Heh, maybe you'll let me wear it," one woman flirted.
"Oh, it's not mine. It's hers."
"Hey, darling."
Her chain clinking against the bar as she smiled at the startled woman.
"My pet providing excellent service to you? Or do I have to reprimand him later?" she purred.
"O-oh... I didn't know he was taken. I'm sorry!"
And the woman had scooted away quickly, not even collecting the drink she paid for.
Jungkook liked that. The idea of being taken. Forcefully, with very little discussion. He smiled at her now, listening to the chain swish through the air. In general, he was careful with his sexual partners and his heart. That was the safe thing to do.
But sometimes he just wanted to be pinned down and fucked like a whore.
He locked his gaze with hers. Those dangerous eyes. Slow hungry smirk on those dark red lips. He hadn’t had a chance until now. Waited a fucking long time for the stars to align. Now the chance was right in front of him.
"Take me on a ride," Jungkook breathed.
The chain jerked and wound around her forearm rapidly, snapping into the sleeve of her satin bomber jacket. The sound of metal on metal was loud in the empty club.
"Did Taehyung tell you that you're crazy?" she chuckled, taking a step towards him. Her black leather thigh-high boots made a loud thud when the heel hit the floor.
"Yeah."
She advanced on him slowly. "Are you?"
"Little bit."
Stopped right in front of him. She dropped her arm and the chain tumbled down, landing in her right hand. She took the end, held it up next to her head, clicking the carabiner. To be honest, it wasn't a very thick or strong chain. Definitely only for decoration and symbolism.
"You can call me Master or by name. Nothing else."
Jungkook smirked.
"Yes, Master."
She hooked the chain onto the metal ring on bondage collar.
"Polite. I like that."
Those dangerous eyes flashed.
"Get on the bar.”
-
Sweet chestnut.
Spiced pepper.
Hint of burnt wood, like a smoking fireplace.
Standing over him.
She climbed onto the bar top, her sleek ponytail swaying. She had removed her jacket, standing over him in that bra, miniskirt, and thigh-high boots combination, all black leather. Legs, waist, tits, all looking so fucking good standing on the very bar he worked at less than an hour ago. The two of them were connected by the chain from her left wrist and the ring of the bondage collar around his neck.
"What gave you the idea to do something so crazy, pet?"
Heart beating fast, trying to take it all in, that dark alluring voice and those delicious red lips forming each syllable neatly and sensually. She tugged sharply at the chain and he squeaked, rising to his elbows.
"Answer."
Jungkook swallowed, almost moaning at the tightness of the crystal collar, the prefect unyielding pressure surrounding his throat. "I... watch you whenever you come in. Listen to all those things you say to them." Arousal stirring, flaring up inside him, remembering all those dirty words, all those people with those dark lips against their ears. Wanting it to be him. Wanting to wear that heavy prize on his neck. "They always look so... satisfied being held by you."
She smirked. Crouched down, getting onto her hands and knees, crawling between his legs. A cat-like prowl, eyes dazzling. Was it due to the crystals on his neck or the predatory glint in those approaching orbs?
"You want to be satisfied too, pet?"
"Y-Yes."
"Used or denied?"
"U... used."
The scent of sweet chestnut, spiced pepper, burned wood, stronger and stronger as she neared, now in between his thighs. He could see down her cleavage, the prefect swells of her breasts, and, behind her head, the black leather stretched taut over her ass.
"Kisses?"
"N... need them."
So close he could feel her heat. She lifted her hands, placing them on either side of him. Breasts almost touching his chest. He was breathing hard and every inhale very nearly brushed against the black leather.
“Abuse?”
He opened his mouth, but she snapped forward suddenly, leaving him breathless.
“Ah, sorry, Jungkook.” Lashes lowering, making those dark eyes even more dangerous. “That was rhetorical.”
There was no way to describe her kiss except intoxication. Soft, demanding, intense, smearing lipstick onto his skin, tongue tracing the inner rim of his lips, making him beg for more. She flicked her tongue onto his teeth and he gasped, trying to open his mouth more, hoping she would do more, but that slippery tongue escaped him every time. He tried to lean in and yelped as her hand darted up and fastened around his ponytail, sudden pain shooting from his scalp, yanking back roughly and breaking the kiss.
“N-no!” he whined. “P-Please… want more, please…”
Jungkook could see her lipstick was smeared onto her chin a little. He probably looked worse. She flicked her wrist and he moaned, pain snaking through his head.
“Down.”
He slid his elbows down, head now against the counter. She towered over him, face hovering millimeters from his. Snickered against his lips before kissing him again, putting her full weight on his chest. He moaned into her mouth, leather, skin, sweet chestnut and spiced pepper all over him now, crushing him with softness, grinding against his entire torso as she made out with his face, tongue thrusting brutally into his mouth, fast, hard, rough, leaving him gasping and shuddering for breath. He tried to touch her waist, but she grabbed his wrist and slammed it down onto the wood. Jungkook whimpered and his other hand was pinned down too, growl in her chest.
Her body slid from side to side like a snake. Jungkook groaned into her mouth, body suddenly on fire as her leather-covered one pressed all over him, onto his thighs, his crotch, his stomach, his pecs, chain between them clattering on the bar. He couldn’t focus on one sensation, all his senses crowded and overwhelmed, nails curling into the wood, lips swelling from the force of her kisses, cock twitching in his already ruined underwear, his muscles flexing at the flashes of pressure invading his whole body, the wood counter uncomfortable and hard against his back.
Neck gripped by the bondage collar, preventing him from taking large breaths, reducing them to shallow, needy pants.
She ripped her head from him and he whined, palms smacking the bar. She chuckled, lifting her right hand, his left. Turned it around. His sleeves were still rolled up. Through hazy eyes, Jungkook could see her lipstick was everywhere. She pressed her lips into his wrist and he shuddered, feeling her kiss all over his forearm, wiping her lipstick onto his skin, using him like a fucking napkin. He shivered as she bit down near his wrist, sucking hard, his pulse stuttering against her lower lip.
“S-so… much…”
So much sensation that he felt lightheaded, pricks of pain as she nibbled on his wrist, leaving a large, visible hickey on his skin. Jungkook’s brain couldn’t even comprehend that he would probably have to hide that tomorrow. He just wanted more, eyes rolling back as she licked up his arm, all the way to his elbow.
She lifted her body off his suddenly. He found himself rising, trying to chase the escaping warmth.
“Sit up for me, pet. Knees over the edge.”
He scrambled to comply, but it was apparently too slow, because she grabbed him by the black tie and yanked him up, unfurling it in the process. She slid off the bar, boots thumping loudly against the floor. His tie was slipping off, wrapped around her fingers. The chain connecting them jangled, reminding Jungkook of his position. He sat up, turning so he was sitting on the edge of the counter.
She undid his tie expertly, tossing it aside carelessly.
“Unbutton your vest and shirt.”
He undid them, not really watching because she was moving away from him. It took him a second to realize she was going for the bottle of Don Julio. Poured herself a shot, smaller than how much he usually gave her. Threw it back and put the glass on the counter.
Upside-down.
Came back to him, dragging the bottle along the bar top.
Jungkook sucked in a breath, chest now exposed, shirt still half-tucked in. He wasn’t sweaty from work, but he wasn’t exactly clean either.
“Lean back.”
He gasped as the alcohol splashed against his chest, a foreign coldness that was quickly replaced by her lapping tongue, sending shocks and shivers all over his skin and tearing moans from his throat. She put the bottle down and ripped his shirt out of his pants, pushing it down his shoulders, tongue running all over his chest, wet and dripping, the scents of sharp tequila and sweet chestnut mixing together.
“Mmm, yes, I prefer this to the glass,” she murmured against his skin, curling her tongue around one of his nipples and flicking it hard. His body squirmed from the strong burst of pleasure. She fitted her left arm under the small of his back, chain digging into his skin, and pressed him down on it, forcing him to arch his back awkwardly. Licked up and down his abs, pouring a little more tequila onto his stomach and slurping it up. Jungkook hissed, biting his lip hard as he watched her red-stained lips suck and lap at his hot skin, leaving red scrapes from her teeth.
“Ah, I apologize,” she breathed. Dangerous eyes flicked up to him. “I can mark you, can’t I?”
“Fuck yes, you can,” Jungkook blurted out, panting hard. “Whatever you want, Master.”
She chuckled, abruptly dropping her left arm. He almost fell but she clamped her hand around the chain and pulled it taut, yanking him forward. The force wrapped around his neck and placed the pressure at the base, straightening him immediately. His shirt and vest hung by his upper arms, torso naked and trembling.
Jungkook reeked of expensive liquor and her perfume.
His eyes shifted to the bottle of Don Julio beside him. “You like top shelf.”
She ticked her eyebrows and grinned. “That’s why you’re on top of the bar, pet.”
His heart stopped. If possible, the praise made him more breathless than the kissing and the licking.
She placed her elbow against his thigh, using her other hand to tap his belt buckle. His breathing hitched as her palm planted down, rubbing his semi-hard length through his slacks.
“You like watching me, Jungkook?” she drawled. “I know Taehyung does.”
He exhaled hard, hips quivering with every roll of her wrist, cock jerking happily from the much-needed stimulation. “Yes and no.”
She quirked her head, ponytail swishing. “Oh? Elaborate.”
Jungkook winced as her fingertips began to focus on the head, a little too forceful for the sensitive skin, but he liked it. Craved it. “B-Because… I wanted it to be m-me…” His words extended out to a moan, now rutting his hips into her hand, chasing the pleasure.
“Oh, I know.”
She increased the pace as she spoke. He inhaled a little too fast, squeaking out a surprised noise.
“I see you trying to eavesdrop every time I approach the bar. Naughty little pet. You shouldn’t be so nosy.”
“T-They want it… They w-want someone to hear…” he gasped, rocking his erection into her fingers, the intense pleasure and borderline pain crawling into his core, pooling into every crack of his sanity. Too good. It felt too good. He could barely think. “They want someone to k-know…”
“Takes one to know one,” she purred.
Close. So fucking close.
“D-don’t… finish me…” he breathed.
“Okay.”
She removed her hand.
He whined at the loss even though he was the one who asked for it. She clicked her tongue, highly amused. Her left wrist flipped and the chain smacked him in the chest, the cold metal making him jump and hiss. Her hand shot out and slid the tequila bottle further away from his body.
“You knock that over and I’m going to make you lick it off this dirty floor,” she barked. “Too expensive for you to be wasting.”
She was very clearly wasting it before by pouring it all over him, but Jungkook suspected that he shouldn’t mention it. “Y-Yes, Master.”
She tapped his erection. His cock throbbed, begging for release.
“Get these clothes out of the way.”
Jungkook hastily reached down and fumbled with his pants, unbuckling his belt, pushing them down, grimacing as his bare ass touched the bar. It was clean, he had cleaned it after all, but it still felt fucking wrong to be sitting on it mostly naked, pushing his pants to his knees. He pulled his hands out of his shirt and vest, dumping them on the counter. His stiff cock stuck straight up, the veins straining against the length, head red and aching, pooling pre-cum at the tip.
His hot balls were touching the cold bar.
That was wrong.
Fuck.
His cock twitched as the thought crossed his mind.
“Move it out of the way.”
She waved a hand at his cock. He whimpered, using his right hand to hold it back, shuddering as the tip touched his lower belly, smearing himself on his skin. It pulsated against his fingertips, pleading for release. She grinned. Jungkook gulped. Those eyes were dangerous. So dangerous.
She cupped her hands under his balls and scooped them up.
He squealed at the sudden kneading of the sensitive hot-cold of his skin. It didn’t hurt yet, but it was teetering on the line of strangely pleasant and slight agony. Hold on a second, Jungkook thought – he didn’t want to get his nuts destroyed before he came at least once.
“A-ah, w-wait, don’t hu–”
“Silence.”
Jungkook shut his mouth at her harsh tone. Maybe she was a serial killer.
She cocked a brow, seeming to notice his unease. She pulled at them. He gulped. Looked down. Her fingertips were holding the edges taut, his actual testicles dropping down as she stretched the skin of his scrotum.
Wait.
“Pour me a shot.”
What?
“S… sorry?”
She ticked her chin to the bottle. “Shot of Don Julio, please.”
Oh my God.
She wanted him to pour the expensive tequila on his fucking nuts.
His balls were barely going to hold a sip. She stared at him intently, brow still raised, waiting. His cock swelled even more. This didn’t exactly hurt, but the heat of embarrassment was creeping up Jungkook’s neck, to his ears, all over his cheeks. His free hand crawled across the bar top, feeling for the bottle, not taking his eyes away from that dangerous gaze. Her red-stained lips curved into a wicked smirk. His hand was shaking, the Don Julio splashing in the clear glass. He tipped the bottle slowly.
Jungkook poured a little on his balls.
“F-Fuck!”
It was cold. He nearly dropped the liquor because she instantly swept down, slurping it off his scorching skin. He quickly put the glass bottle on the bar and pushed it away lightly, moaning as she sucked one of his balls into her warm mouth, squeezing his eyes shut as her tongue assaulted him, swirling around his now tequila-covered balls, replacing the alcohol with saliva, her groans of satisfaction vibrating his skin, sending tremors of pleasure up his spine.
“Oh, s-shit…” Jungkook wheezed, feeling her pop off and switch sides, just as intense, only now realizing that both alcohol and her spit was dripping onto the countertop, collecting under his ass, but he couldn’t even think about how uncomfortable that was, because there was too much pleasure in the warmth of her suffocating mouth, he could think of nothing else, hands splayed out, gasping for air, chest heaving with effort.
She brushed his hand away from his cock and began pumping him as she sucked his balls, adding to the overwhelming ecstasy, his erection finally getting some fucking attention, and it was all happening too fast, too much sensation at once, leaving him hopelessly panting out her name. The pressure in his core torrented, threatening violently, but he didn’t want to cum, not yet, wanting to last as long as possible in this crushing mouth sucking on his balls and this relentless jerking of his dick, her fingers pinching the base of the head, the slickness of his own pre-cum adding the right amount of lubrication so it didn’t exactly hurt.
It just almost did.
And that felt amazing.
“I-I’m gonna cum, fuck, is that o-okay…? Fuck, please, Master, is it okay?”
She didn’t actually speak, only dialed up the ferocity and speed of her stroking and the suction on his balls and Jungkook tipped over the edge, immediately in free-fall, throwing his head back and wailing as he came fiercely, shooting strings of cum all over her right shoulder and onto the leather bra, splattering it with white. He choked, panicking slightly when he realized his mess, but he didn’t have long to consider it because she detached from his balls and wrapped her lips around the head of his cock, sliding all the way to the base, the sensitive tip hitting the back of her throat.
“Oh, fuck me!”
Jungkook saw flashes of light, pleasure turning white-hot, racking his entire frame. The grip on the chain tightened and she pulled hard, his head arching even further back so his long hair brushed against his shoulder blades for a split second, the sides of his neck pinched because of the bondage collar being tugged down by the metal ring. He became lightheaded, her mouth moving up and down, the warm, wet vise taking over, claiming his senses, moans ripped from his throat as his length was compelled to hardness once more, the head rubbing harshly because of how deep she was going, so fucking tight that it didn’t seem real or possible. Her nails dug into his thighs, keeping them spread wide.
“So f-fast, ah, too fast, p-please, oh fuuuuuuuk…”
Jungkook had no idea what the fuck he was saying or if he sounded sexy or not, because he was too desperate to cum again, watching his previous orgasm trickling down her shoulder and breast due to how fast and wild she was going, the sloppy squelching mixing with her grating, feral noises of lust, pushing him to the edge once more, no, basically throwing him off the cliff, his orgasm slamming into him violently.
“Fuck!”
He could do nothing but scream at the top of his lungs, erupting in her tight throat, euphoria soaring through his nerves, half-strangling himself with the leather collar, the low oxygen intensifying everything, soaring him to a new peak of pleasure. She gulped him down, throttling his cock a little with her swallows. He moaned deeply, head falling to his chest, oxygen rushing back, gratification ricocheting in waves up his torso and flooding his mind.
Everything smelled like expensive tequila, cum, and her sweet-peppery perfume.
Holy fucking shit.
He was vaguely registering that she was still licking him, slower, softer this time. Continuously. Jungkook was going to work behind this bar tomorrow. Maybe this was a bad idea. How was he not supposed to think about this the whole fucking time he was working? How was he supposed to look at Don Julio tequila and not think about pouring it on his balls and her sucking it off?
Taehyung was right.
He was a fucking psychopath.
Still gently, carefully licking him. His cock twitched, swelling once more. There was no way. He couldn’t believe it. The chain clinked and she tapped it against his pecs steadily, the cold metal hitting his sweaty, heated, shaking chest. He shivered. Her tongue pressed against the base of the head, teasing the thin skin there.
“A-ah… Master…?”
“Hmm?”
That was the closest thing to a verbal response Jungkook had received in the last ten minutes.
“It’s… s-sensitive…”
“Mhm.”
Well, Jungkook might think he couldn’t get out another, but his dick certainly had other plans. The consistent softness of her tongue was building his arousal once again, borderline painful. He whimpered her name. A mistake.
Those dangerous eyes opened and locked with his.
Hungry. Predatory. Daring him to tell her to stop.
Jungkook sucked in a tight breath, cock now fully at attention. She smirked, sliding her mouth off, slow. So slow. The thin moan escaped from his lips, drifting down his chin. Ghosting her tongue over him, barely enough friction, somehow always knowing the thin tightrope. She straightened, letting out a measured breath. He noticed the heaviness of her exhale despite her smug expression. She was affected.
Good.
She reached over and plucked the pour sprout from the tequila. Tossed it, letting it roll across the bar. It fell over the edge, clattering onto metal. Jungkook’s eyes widened. It had fallen into the sink. A simple, almost lazy action that reflected much more. She knew exactly where the sink was. Highly observant and well-calculated.
She clutched the neck of the bottle and brought it to her lips, taking a sip.
Acted like it was fucking water and not burning death.
“Having fun, pet?” she drawled, the lush scent of Don Julio smacking him in the face as she spoke. He nodded quickly. She wound the chain around her left hand, shortening it. Put the bottle down and reached over to her jacket, flipping it open. There were pockets on the inside. Was it reversible? He didn’t have time to ponder as she pulled out a foil packet. Brought it over with one swift sweep of her arm, tapping him in the nose with it.
“Put this on for me.”
Jungkook took the condom with a shaking hand. “Should I–”
“Put it on? Yes.”
He was going to ask if he should change positions, but he cut himself off and hurriedly ripped open the condom, sliding it on. He hissed; the head of his cock was so sensitive it was dark purple. How was he going to last any amount of ti–
“Lift me.”
Jungkook bit his lip and placed his hands on her waist, picking her up. She helped him, springing onto the bar easily. He only had to give her a small boost and then she was in position, knees on either side of his thighs.
“What–?”
Jungkook didn’t know why he was asking questions anymore because she didn’t bother answering. Her reply was yanking up her miniskirt, revealing her thin panties sucked into her pussy due to the wetness between her legs. The peppery warm chestnut of her perfume mixed with the scent of pure sex, her core dripping a honey-like sweetness. He choked a little on his words, breathless as she moved her panties aside with a deft hook of her fingers.
He had maybe one second of appreciating the prettiest pussy he had ever seen before it nearly made him black out by sinking onto his overstimulated cock.
“Oh my fucking fuck,” Jungkook moaned, not making any sense, but it didn’t matter because she purred in satisfaction, squeezing his length deliciously and making him harder. Tight, but soft, almost too hot, but also perfect, planting down onto his balls, smearing them with her juices. Had his balls ever gotten such attention before? No. Had there ever been so many fluids on his balls before?
Also, no, because no sane person pours tequila on their nuts.
“Mmm, feels nice, Jungkook,” she breathed deeply, rocking her hips. He planted his hands on the bar, groaning as she began to ride him, the black leather of her boots and skirt squeaking as she moved. “Gonna use this dick to cum.”
“Y-Yes, please…” he shuddered.
She slapped their hips together, leaning forward so she wouldn’t fall. The heady scent of her perfume invaded his nose, smokey and distinct. He heard the sound of glass scraping on wood, and then a slosh of alcohol. The bright, rich scent of Don Julio beside his head.
She was drinking from the fucking bottle while riding his cock.
Jungkook didn’t know if that was disrespectful or attractive, but she was increasing the speed and force of her movements, snarling low in her throat. He lifted his hips slightly and gasped as he hit deeper, her walls closing in on the head.
“Ah, fuck, yes, Jungkook,” she moaned, raspy and animalistic. The tequila was dampening her inhibitions and she kept fucking him harder and harder, body line waving and smacking her ass down onto his thighs. The liquor sloshed in the bottle; two-thirds gone. “That’s it, you perfect little pet, fuck, how dare you hide all this behind the counter?” Dangerous eyes flashing, pressing her forehead into his, her chain-covered hand tangling into his ponytail and tugging on it roughly. He whimpered into her lips, gasping her name, and she grinned like the devil. His hips were matching her pace, rising as she came down, increasing the force, amplifying the overbearing ecstasy, every thrust threatening to drag him over the edge, but he refused, he absolutely refused, gritting his teeth and fucking her back, now growling too, an animal on the chain leash, wearing her crystal-studded collar, sweat dripping down his back.
“Cum, Master,” Jungkook snarled. “Want you to cum and murder my dick, choke the fucking orgasm out of him.”
She chuckled, and now both arms were on his shoulders, one hand pulling on his hair, the other still holding the bottle of Don Julio, riding him so hard and rough that some of the liquor splashed down his back, soaking into his skin, mixing with sweat, a whole damn mess all over the bar. He didn’t care, staring into those dangerous eyes, seeing those pupils dilate, ravenous and drunk, not with alcohol, but power, the power of aggressively fucking the damn bartender at the very spot she had ordered her first shot of the night.
She threw her head back, an elated gasp of erotic validation as his name seeped out from those red-stained lips.
“Oh, fuuuck, Jungkook!”
All the way to the top.
Top shelf, even.
And the plummeting fall, his orgasm smashing into him with the harsh clench of her pussy, her juices gushing all over his length and sliding down his balls, adding to the large puddle underneath him. Her walls clamped around his jolting cock, strangling the head, and he saw fucking stars, gasping out her name as he shot aggressively into the condom, probably not that much, but it still felt like the life was being sucked out of him, dirty ecstasy burning through his veins, the leather bondage collar pressing against the sides of his neck and shooting a firecracker rush of sinful pleasure straight up into his head, flaring all over his stinging scalp.
So.
Fucking.
Good.
Easily the hardest he had ever cum in his entire life. All three times this night.
Holy fuck.
He felt the grip on his hair loosen. She was panting into his chin, eyes closed. Brought her right hand around, barely any left inside that glass bottle. Most of it was splattered onto the bar top, dripping down his body, or underneath his ass.
She drank the last of the liquor, chuckling.
“What a great use of Don Julio.”
-
“Do I even wanna know?”
“No.”
Taehyung looked at the bar, wincing at the scent of industrial strength cleaner still clinging to the counter even though Jungkook had sprayed it down with water about three times. Jungkook’s dress shirt sleeves were not rolled up today.
“You’re lucky it’s Monday,” Taehyung muttered.
“Mhm, and tomorrow is my day off.”
Taehyung raised a hand. “Do not tell me. I do not want to know.”
Jungkook grinned.
Are you doing anything tomorrow night?
She had handed him the end of the chain when he inquired.
Where will my collar be tomorrow night? She had asked with a dangerous gleam in her eye.
The crystal-studded, white leather bondage collar and silver chain were sitting on his bed, waiting for the night to arrive.
--
masterpost
#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#jungkook smut#bts smut#jungkook fanfic#jungkook scenarios#jeon jungkook x reader#jeon jungkook x you#jeon jungkook smut
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Warm Hug
Mentions & Implications: This is a Bakugou x Fem!Reader fic. This is part of the BNHAREM collab. This month is all about our favorite blasty boi, Bakugou! Also I hope all of this makes sense. I wrote this in many parts over the past few weeks and I'm eternally distracted. So while I normally spell check and grammar check everything, this fic did not receive any of that lol.
No warnings really unless you count language because let’s face it, this is about Bakugou and according to fandom, he curses. But since this a fluff, I kept it to a minimum. Also, I really suck at fluff, so if you actually like this, please let me know. I could use the serotonin and dopamine.
He watched her glide on water and come sliding to a stop, spraying water in the villain’s face. For the first time he was starstruck. How had he not noticed her before? They were in the same class together. They graduated together, right? Surely he’d trained with her at some point. So why was today the first day he actually SAW her?
She felt eyes on her. Cold, calculated, crimson. Her breath hitched and she almost lost her footing if it weren’t for the fact she remembered she was in the middle of apprehending a criminal. After the handoff to police, Y/N wondered if it actually happened. Did he really look at her? Did he finally notice her after all these years? A side glance from behind her shades told her that yes, he was most definitely looking at her.
He was angry at himself for not remembering. Affirmations about you from Kirishima solidified that you were there. You’d always been there. You’d been quiet, while he’d been loud. You’d been slow and steady, while he rushed ahead. He had Mina speak about you. She eagerly complied and caught him up on everything that made you-you.
“Did you really forget about Y/N being in our class? She hung out with everyone!” Mina laughed.
“Not with me. Tell me more about her.” He filled out paperwork as Mina chatted on, while on the opposite side of the building, Kirishima was having the exact same conversation with Y/N.
“It’s disheartening that he’s just now noticing that I exist. But that’s okay. He’s been hyper-focused on trying to be #1. No one should fault him for that.” Y/N played with the hem of her shirt before sighing and picking up the sandwich on her plate.
“He’s still a good guy, Y/N. He’s just never been good at socializing.” Kirishima took a bite of his food and downed it with a gulp of lemonade.
“Oh I know. It’s okay. I’ll just keep watching him from afar. I don’t want to give him a reason to lose his focus.
/*-+-*/
He watched her in the office. She gave him side glances on patrols. They would discreetly help each other while taking villains down. And then one Winter day he asked her to train with him.
"Oh! Oh sure, that sounds like fun!" He and Y/N made their way to a nearby facility and lost themselves in a few hours of teaching how to support the other with their quirks.
/*-+-*/
"I wanna ask her out on a date, but I don't at the same time."
Kirishima looked at his friend with confusion. "You know it's obvious that you two like each other, right? I mean... literally everyone can see it. You two spend almost every waking minute with each other. What's stopping you?"
"I really like her. I don't wanna scare her away." He rose from his place on the couch and frustratingly ran his fingers through his hair as he made his way to the oversized window.
/*-+-*/
"Can I borrow this? Mine got ripped to shreds when a villain fought me on my way home the other night." Holding up a black sweatshirt, Y/N waved it in front of Mina's face. Mina blinked in thought before breaking out into laughter and nodding. Y/N slipped it over her head, inhaling the faint scent of smoked caramel. “Thanks! I’ll keep it until I can get another one!” With a sly smile, her pink alien friend waved her off and told her not to worry about it.
The cold wind was sharp on her face when she pulled the hood over her head and inhaled. The scent calmed her like a warm hug as she hurried home. Thoughts of a spiky haired man invaded her mind, making her already pink cheeks burn. She loved the man since their first year at UA. He never looked her way, never knew she existed. But she watched him as they faced trials and tribulations as a class, as individuals, and now as heroes. What made him finally look at her? She entered the dark apartment and kicked off her boots in favor of the memory foam bunny slippers, sighing as she shuffled to her room. She fell against the pillows and plushies on her bed and fell asleep still wrapped up in the black sweatshirt, a smile on her face as visions of Bakugou invaded her dreams.
/*-+-*/
“What’s so funny?” Y/N tilted her head, looking at a giggling Mina as they entered the doors of the agency.
“Oh nothing!” Mina sang as she skipped into the room. Bakugou was already stationed at the coffee pot, glaring at it as if willing it to drip faster with the black gold. A side glance stilled his heart for a fleeting moment when he saw Y/N walk in. All smiles and sunshine next to her friend. Then he saw it. Bakugou couldn’t help but notice the familiarity of the pullover. There was a certain tear by the pocket with a singed edge. “Where did you get that sweatshirt?”
She hugged herself in the oversized sweater, “Mina let me have it, why?”
“It’s mine.”
“Oh. … OH!” Shrugging off the garment hastily, she folded it over and offered it to him, “I’m so sorry, Bakugou! I had no idea!” Keeping her eyes down, she heard a soft ‘tch’ and a shadow moving away.
“Hurry up and get changed so we can go train.”
She watched him walk away, and heard stifled laughter behind her. Turning to see Kirishima and Mina huddled together at a corner table, Y/N walked up to her friends and hissed, “What is so funny? He’s clearly upset that I have something that belongs to him!”
“Oh sweet summer child, you really are clueless, aren’t you?” Pinky beamed and grabbed Y/N’s hand. Kirishima shook his head and laughed, “He really likes you!”
Stars lit up in Y/N’s eyes as she turned in time to watch Bakugou turn the corner. “He...likes me too?” Still clutching the pullover in her arms, she quickly followed after him, only to see him enter the locker room. Turning around, she noticed the door to his office was open. She entered his room and left the sweatshirt on his desk before leaving to get ready to train.
/*-+-*/
Hours later, Bakugou walked into his office, narrowing his eyes at the black bundle on the desk. He picked it up to examine it when soft notes of jasmine and vanilla wafted up to his nose. He narrowed his eyes and tucked the shirt under his arm as he took a folder into his other hand and left the agency.
The entryway of his home lit up when he turned the key and opened the door. Kicking off shoes and padding down the hall, he deposited the jumper and folder onto the table before unwinding for the evening. Once evening chores, dinner, and paperwork were all caught up, it was time for bed. He started for his bedroom when he spied the hoodie on the table. Gingerly picking it up he took it to his bedroom and slipped into bed. Cuddling the garment close, he inhaled the vanilla jasmine scent, and all thoughts of Y/N consumed him as he fell asleep.
Bakugou walked into the agency the next morning and took notice of Y/N wearing a new sweatshirt in an ombre gray. Scoffing to himself, he poured himself a cup of coffee. “...look better in black.”
Y/N turned at Bakugou's mumbling, “Hmm? Did you say something?”
“I said you look better in black!” Narrowing his eyes he gave her a severe look and stomped out of the room to his office, slamming the door behind him. He never did see the small smile and blush that crossed her features.
/*-+-*/
Weeks of lighthearted flirting turned into months, and the cool morning of Spring kissed Y/N’s skin as she walked into the lounge room of the agency rubbing her arms for warmth. He was already pouring a cup of coffee when she came in. He cocked an eyebrow and scoffed. “It’s not even cold outside anymore.” He watched her sunshine smile as she stepped near him, only to open the refrigerator door.
“It is to me!” Y/N blushed as she hid her face on the other side of the door, before pulling out a bottle of orange juice and retreated to her office. A bundle in black was draped over her chair. It was the hoodie she had returned to Bakugou months ago. She turned the covering over her arms, the scent of caramel and smoke filling her senses, a smile of giddiness on her face.
“Just tell him already!”
Y/N jumped to find her pink friend leaned against the doorframe. “Mina! I-I can’t do that. He’s got to focus, remember? I don’t want to get in the way of him trying to achieve what he wants the most.”
Mina crossed her arms and shook her head. “You’re so dense sometimes, Y/N. He gave that back to you. He clearly likes you. And you! Your cheeks might as well be permanently pink, and you have hearts in your eyes! Everyone in this building can see how in love you are. I’ve been talking to Kirishima and he agrees with me. We’ve been watching you two flirt for a long time, and it’s agonizing! And you know what? He’s scared of asking you out. He’s afraid to run you off. You’re going to have to be the one to do it. You’re going to have to ask him out.”
Floored by the new information, Y/N sunk into her chair, clutching the hoodie close to her heart. Her mind faltered and unable to form words, she stared dumbly at her best friend. “But- I… He’s scared of running me off?”
/*-+*/
“You just left it in her office? Why didn’t you just give it to her? Everyone in this building already knows you like each other! Be manly and just tell her already, bro!” Kirishima exclaimed, zipping up his duffel bag. “You know what? If you don’t go ask her out, I will. I think she’s pretty cute and I bet we’d have a great time at this new ramen shop that just opened across the street.”
A low growl emanated from the explosion hero, “Don’t you dare.” Still in his hero uniform, Bakugou stormed out of the locker room leaving his best friend to snicker and shake his head.
/*-+-*/
Hearing a familiar stomp down the hall, Mina gleefully smiled before moving aside to allow Bakugou to enter. “I’ll see you later Y/N! I expect a call or text soon!” Mina shut the door as she waved her goodbye, leaving both heroes to stare at each other, their voices trapped from shyness.
Remembering the sweater in her arms, Y/N rose from her chair and slowly walked toward the tall blonde. “You left this for me?”
“Yeah.”
“Are we sharing this hoodie now?”
“I’m letting you borrow it. It’ll keep you warm better than that crappy one you had. It’s going to be cold tonight when we go to the ramen shop across the street.” Shoving his hands into his pockets, he turned away in an attempt to hide the slight blush that formed on his face.
Eyes enlarged with disbelief, Y/N brought the pullover up to cover the astonishment expressed on her face and mumbled, “We? Are you asking me out on a date?” Gazing up at the man before her, she couldn’t help but notice the tips of his ears were turning red. He didn’t look at her when he nodded, but once the bells of her happy voice rang out, he turned and couldn’t stop himself from smiling.
/*-+-*/
*15 YEARS LATER*
“Remember I’m going to be late tonight because Todoroki is holding a study group at his house! Hurry up Harumi, I don’t wanna be late to school because of you!”
“Sorry Raiden! Bye Mom, bye Dad! Love you!”
The door slammed and all was quiet. Y/N stuck her thumbs through the torn holes in the sleeves and started clearing the table when she heard the door of the bedroom shut. Picking up a cup of leftover orange juice, she brought it to her lips when two arms snaked around her waist and she felt a kiss on the back of her head.
“You still have that? It’s worn all to hell. Let me get you a new one.”
Y/N glanced at him mid sip. Smiling into the cup, she finished her drink, her other hand lovingly patted her husband’s arm. Finishing her drink, she wiped her mouth on the sleeve. “A new one? But this is my favorite! I plan on wearing it until it completely falls apart!”
Rolling his eyes, Bakugou peppered Y/N’s face with kisses, ignoring squeals of laughter and the playful pushes against his chest. “Move so I can help you with the dishes before we head to work.”
/*-+-*/
Filing paperwork was the best way to wind down after a long day of apprehending villains. Huddled over her desk Y/N was writing up the last report of the day when the door to her office swung open and her sweaty husband swaggered inside. She narrowed her eyes at his appearance.. Was he wearing a new pullover?
“Just got done going for a run. You ready to go home yet?” Bakugou removed the hoodie, a hint of his waning abs peeking from under his shirt. “Tch. Put those eyes back in your sockets, woman.” Holding out his hand to a giggling Y/N, he pulled her away from the desk and against him for a quick hug before leaving hand-in-hand from the agency.
A sudden breeze blew against the two, causing Y/N to rub her arms. In a side glance, she saw her husband putting on the sweater.
"Sharing is caring, now give me the sweatshirt!"
“Hell no! You chose to not bring your old piece of shit hoodie even though I said it was going to be cold tonight. Suffer the consequences, ya brat.”
“Please sweetheart? I know I should have listened this morning, and you’re right of course. I’m just so cold. You don’t want me to get sick, do you?” Her sugar sweet words twisted around his heart as she gently wrapped her arms around him and tilted her head up and batted her eyes in a most heartfelt manner. Bakugou glared at his wife and paused before grunted his displeasure. With a sigh and an eye roll it was all over. The man scoffed and shook out of the sweatshirt and slipped it over Y/N, pulling the hood over her head.
Face flushed red, the towering blonde pillar looked anywhere but at her. “Dammit woman, why do you do this to me? Next time listen to me and don’t be so stubborn. You’re lucky I love you.”
Enveloped in the warm hug scented of woodsy caramel, she pulled the oversized sleeves over her hands and cupped the tall hero’s cheeks and turned him to face her, “I am the luckiest girl in the world, aren’t I? Thank you for my new hoodie. I love you.”
Lowly growling at the woman before him, Bakugou cocked a brow before breaking out into a smile, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous, woman, tricking me like that. I love you too. Now let’s get home and have some quiet time before those brats get home.” Putting his arm around her shoulders, he pulled her against him and felt Y/N’s arms wrap around him. He smiled against her hooded head as she giggled and together they walked, their steps in sync toward home.
#bnha x reader#mha x reader#bnha#mha#boku no hero academia#my hero academia#bakugou katsuki#bakugo katsuki#bakugo#bakugou#kastuki#bakugou x reader#bakugo x reader#katsuki x reader#bakugou katsuki fic#bakugou katsuki imagines
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you go on a picnic date
In which Bakugou invites you on a picnic date and is left mesmerized by your beauty.
a/n: did I write this just to indulge in my obsession of bakugou wearing a gold chain? perhaps
genre: fluff, suggestive towards the end
warnings: food, slightly suggestive content, aged up characters.
word count: 1k
pairing: katsuki bakugou x f!reader
my girl - the temptations
It’s a hot summer day, one of those days where you’re aware of every layer of fabric touching your skin and you absolutely hate it.
You’re not a fan of the beads of sweat that form on your temples whenever you’re outside for more than a few hours at a time.
It’s your least favorite type of weather and yet, your boyfriend thrives in it. He loves to feel the sun beaming down on him as if to let everyone know, “Hey, look at me!”
He spends his days outside, basking in the sun while you scowl in the shade, unable to comprehend how he can be so comfortable in this unbearable heat.
So of course, when your boyfriend suggests going on a picnic date at the park just down the street from your shared apartment, says he worked hard on the menu… you couldn’t bring yourself to say no.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
You groaned for the fourth time in the past five minutes, fanning yourself with a paper plate that you’d turned into a makeshift fan. You sat on the edge of your bed in only your underwear, dreading the thought of having to wear any amount of clothing in the outdoors which your boyfriend loved so much.
“Hurry up and get dressed, the food will go bad by the time you finish getting ready at the rate you’re going.” Bakugou pinched your side as he walked past you, adjusting the gold chain around his neck.
You rolled your eyes, “why can’t we stay inside? It’s way too hot outside to even be able to enjoy the food.”
“No more whining, I spent all morning preparing the food so you better suck it up and get dressed.”
It was with a huff that you pushed yourself off the bed, entering your walk-in closet in search of an outfit appropriate for the occasion— and the weather. You skimmed through your collection of clothes, swiping hangers left and right before finally finding a pretty white sundress in the very back of the closet, small cherries printed on the fabric. Satisfied with your findings, you slipped it on and paired it with some gold hoops that Bakugou had gotten you for your birthday two years ago.
You walked out towards the kitchen, picking up the wicker basket from the island and going off to find your boyfriend.
“Katsu? Where are you?” You called out, peering into the living room.
Bakugou shut off his phone with a click, turning his head to look at you. His eyes widened as he took in your outfit, immediately getting up to walk over to you.
“Hey, you look good,” he took the basket from you and set it on the ground, “can I get a kiss?”
“Mhm.”
Bakugou smirked, resting his hands on your hips before tilting your chin up. He leaned down and pressed his lips against yours, chuckling at the squeal you let out when he grabbed your ass through the thin fabric.
He pulled away with a smack on your ass, “let’s get going, yeah?”
You let him carry the basket on the way to the park, welcoming the fresh breeze as it graced your skin. At first, Bakugou decided to walk a few steps behind you, glaring at anyone who dared to look at what’s his. He eventually caught up to you, holding your hand and smiling down at your matching rings.
The walk to the park itself wasn’t very long, however finding a good place to settle down for the picnic? That proved itself to be a great challenge. Your boyfriend refused to sit too close to the lake claiming that a duck could come and steal your food, or too close to the playground because the last thing he wanted was for some little brat to kick a ball directly into your meals. Bakugou picked out a secluded area in the park, hidden at the end of a hill under a large oak tree which provided plenty of shade.
You ate your meals over casual talk about your plans for the week and how excited you were for the new furniture that would be coming in the mail soon. And when you finished the food and put away the plates back into the basket, Bakugou called for you to sit on his lap while he laid back, resting his head on his arm.
“That new bookshelf we got is going to go so well with our…” you blabbed on.
He watched you with a lazy smile, definitely not paying attention to the conversation but rather how good you looked in your dress. It had ridden up the slightest bit but it was enough to expose your thighs and that was all the temptation he needed to use his free hand to rub patterns on it. Thinking that you were too lost in the conversation to notice his advances, he sneaked his hand under your dress and placed his hand on your ass, thumb fitting comfortably in the crease of your thigh.
“Katsu! We’re in public!” You gasped, looking around to see if anyone was watching.
“Not gonna do anything, just appreciating how pretty my girl looks today.” He replied nonchalantly.
You smiled at him, “Yeah? Well, you look extra pretty today too.”
You rubbed along his biceps, admiring the years of dedication he’d put into maintaining his physique. His black tank top had left his collarbones on display, his chain sparkling in the sunlight. You played with the single charm of your first initial, fidgeting with it before cupping his cheek.
“Wanna kiss you…” you pouted, lips slightly stained from the cherries and strawberries you’d been snacking on.
Bakugou’s lips curled into a grin, “don’t have to ask me for permission, baby. Could never say no to my pretty girl.”
You leaned down and kissed him gently, eyes fluttering shut. While Bakugou was more than happy to feel you fully pressed against him, he didn’t want anyone looking up your dress so he pulled it down to ensure you were covered. He hummed at the sweetness in the kiss, the taste itself was vague but it was enough to give him a mini sugar rush.
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@combat-wombatus @sunflowersuki
#hanimehub#bakugou#bakugou fluff#bakugou imagine#bakugou headcannon#bakugou x reader#katsuki bakugou fluff#katsuki bakugou imagine#katsuki bakugou headcannon#katsuki bakugou x reader#bnha#bnha fluff#bnha imagine#bnha headcannon#bnha x reader#mha#mha fluff#mha imagine#mha headcannon#mha x reader#my writings
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Unexpected - R.L
Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompts
Remus Lupin (Marauders Era) x Fem Reader
Prompts:
62: He grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you into him, you could tell he was furious, jealous, and mortified.
65: Your lips crashed against his whilst his hands fumbled with the zip on the back of your dress.
Requested/About: Lupin and one of his good friends meet up a few times a month to have sex, one night at a party, Lupin sees her getting too close to his best friend and he hopes that their night of passion will change that. Unfortunately, their night of passion leads to something unexpected and only makes things worse.
Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex, jealous Lupin, pregnancy, and swearing.
“So what’s going on with you and Mooney, then?” Sirius asked, leaning back in his chair, staring at your answers.
You looked over your shoulder, smiling at Remus, he looked up at you and smiled back shyly, his pale face and tired eyes more noticeable than usual.
You covered your answers with your hand, rolling your eyes at him “I don’t really know” you replied “we don’t really feel the need to put a label on things, y’know”
You and Remus considered many labels but none of them was able to justify how the both of you felt about one another without knowing each other's feelings. You’re both really really good friends that fuck, nothing more, nothing less - but outside the bedroom, his friends would always treat you as if what you had with Remus was so much more than the casual hook-ups.
“Have you fallen for our dear Mooney?”
“Now now, don’t get too excited, he doesn’t get any kinkier once he’s back to normal”
You were fine with being friends that fucked for the rest of your life, you never felt like you were in any hurry to make him your boyfriend or to put a spin on things, but not knowing how Remus felt - that sometimes bothered you, perhaps he wanted to be so much more than what you’re happy with.
Sirius stared at you, the corner of his mouth curling into a grin whilst Professor Flitwick collected in your mock papers.
James turned around in his seat, smirking with Sirius “will you be coming to the party tomorrow?” James asked.
You nodded your head and yawned, “yeah” you replied, stretching in your seat “It’ll be the last time I get to see him before the full moon”
Sirius wiggled his eyebrows up and down, causing James to smirk more, both of them breaking out into a laugh when you covered your face, your cheeks turning red.
“Look” you sighed, pointing at James “you try anything, and I mean anything at all, and you can kiss your second chance with Lily goodbye.”
James put his hands up in defence, pretending to be scared and murmuring “oh Y/N! please don’t set S-Snivellus on me, I’ll behave, I-I promise!”
Sirius couldn’t contain his laughter, shooting glares at Severus as he glared at you all from his desk. Peter looked a little afraid and cowered in his seat, you rolled your eyes at James, Remus blinked heavily to stay awake, smiling to himself at the sight of you.
You wound your hair around your wand, holding it for a moment and then letting go, watching your now springy curls twirl down and bounce, Lily walked around the room, applying the tiniest bit of blusher to her cheeks.
“You can get away with wearing such little makeup!” her friend commented as if she read your mind.
You applied your mascara and matte lipstick, looking at yourself once more in the mirror - you’d think you were going out for a meal, or to a dance, but you were only going down to the common room, you felt kind of silly for putting this much effort in, especially since Remus and you were friends; who did you have to impress?
Lily shook her head “I only wear it for special occasions, hopefully, this shade will keep that James Potter as far away from me as possible.”
“Hey” you called out, turning away from the mirror and walking towards Lily and her friend “I know you can’t stand him, and his ego is bigger than his shoe size, but James can be really nice once you get to know him” you defended your house teams seeker, walking towards the door “give him a chance.”
Bursting into the common room the smell of fire whiskey, smoke from the fireplace, and butterbeer overpowered the room, the chatter and laughter drowned out your thoughts whilst you searched for Remus.
You caught many eyes in the common room, none the beautiful shade of green you were so desperately interested in and searched for - you couldn’t find him anywhere.
“Bit lost, Y/N?” Sirius called out, nudging you in the arm playfully, another smirk creeping on his face.
You frowned, continuing to look for Remus on the spot, “I can’t find him anywhere, did he cancel?” you looked through the window at the night sky, searching for the moon.
“No, love” Sirius replied, taking a sip of fire whiskey “he’s a bit weaker tonight but he promised he’d be here.”
Part of you wanted to go into his dorm room and check, but you were friends - you couldn’t invade his privacy even if you were given permission to do so.
You nodded, feeling slightly better but also more worried about Remus, he hated the plague that was forced upon him and took over him once a month - you started to question whether or not he was already in the shrieking shack, all alone and falling apart.
Sirius noticed your sudden dip and put his arm around you, pulling you in closely “he’s going to be okay, Y/N” he said lowly into your ear “we’re all worried about him.”
Remus stood across the room, staring at you seemingly melting into Sirius’s embrace. Despite feeling sick, drained, and weak, he felt like transforming then and there, ripping Padfoots arm off his body.
“thank you” you smiled up at Sirius, part of your worries dissipating “I’m glad he has you lot to look after him”
Remus couldn’t bear it anymore, watching whilst his best friend got closer and closer to taking you away from him - he clenched his sweaty palms into fists, storming over to you with all of his strength, shivering against the cold despite the amount of heat engulfing you all in the room.
You looked over your shoulder, your eyes finally meeting those beautiful green ones you spent ages searching for. Pulling away from Sirius you hurried over to Remus and wrapped your arms around him as gently as you could, you nuzzled your face into his neck, his cool skin relieving you from overheating.
“I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” you breathed, now pulling away and smiling at him, then frowning “I thought you cancelled.”
“is that why you were so close to him?” Remus spat, his temper ticking like a time bomb casually jolting in his stomach.
You flinched away from him, staring into his eyes feeling taken aback.
“He’s my friend” you replied as softly as you could “are you alright?”
He grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you into him, you could tell he was furious, jealous, and mortified. Your lips crashed against his whilst his hands fumbled with the zip on the back of your dress.
You pulled away from the heated kiss “not here” you pulled his fingers away from your zip.
Remus licked his lips slowly, staring at you as if you were something to eat, he grabbed you by the wrist again and lead you to his empty dorm room, fighting against his paranoia.
James and Sirius watched the two of you leave the common room, muttering to one another about the status of your relationship, debating whether or not to make a bet with the little gold that sat in the bottom of their pockets.
“Potter!” Lily called out, walking over to the two troublemakers “your hair looks ridiculous”
The two of you got undressed and couldn’t keep your hands off one another, Remus pushed you down onto his warm bed, his cold hands tracing around your breasts whilst he planted kisses down your neck, your soft moans filling the dorm room and exciting him even more.
Remus sucked on your neck softly, leaving little love bites before pulling away and taking your breast into his mouth, sucking slowly as you took his length into your hand, pumping it. Moaning against your breast, Remus pulled away and reached for the lube in the drawers on his bedside table.
“are you sure you want to?” you asked nervously, staring into his lust-filled eyes.
He nodded and smiled softly, “of course” he replied, “do you?”
You mirrored his smile and nodded your head “of course I do, Remus.”
He applied the silky lube onto his length, and then more onto his fingers which he spread across your entrance, slipping two of his fingers inside of you, pumping in and out to get you warmed up.
His cock hardened and you watched him in awe, biting your lip and moaning at the feel of his touch, he held the base of his cock with his other hand and looked into your eyes for approval, you nodded and he lined himself up against your entrance, pushing himself inside of you slowly, filling you up as your walls tightened around him.
You moaned out softly, watching his perfect scarred body move whilst he thrust inside of you, Remus moved closer and wrapped his arms around you, pushing himself deeper inside of you. Your arms wrapped around him and pulled him closer, your lips hovering against his ear, each and every one of your moans you let out not going unheard.
His lips grazed against your collarbone, the sight of his lower back and bum making you blush with each thrust. Your hands travelled up higher, your fingers now tangled in his light brown hair, Remus pulled away from you and grabbed onto your legs, propping them up upon his shoulders, his cock travelling even deeper inside of you, the head brushing against your G-Spot.
“Remus, I can feel you against my-” you scrunched your eyes shut, unable to control your moans.
Remus felt his heart flutter as you moaned out his name, seeing you look so exquisite and blissful whilst he pleasured you - no one else, just him.
Bucking his hips, Remus groaned out and gripped onto your waist, keeping you in line whilst he fucked you deeper and faster, hitting your G-Spot over and over, sending you over the edge, your hands gripping onto his bedsheets so tight that your knuckles turned white.
“You feel so fucking good!” You moaned out again, your lip now red from all of the biting “I’m-” your legs began to jolt uncontrollably “I’m getting close!”
Each and every time you came undone onto Remus, it flicked switches inside of him, his cock started to throb inside of you, twitching with each and every thrust - he felt himself - like you - getting closer and closer to bursting.
The sight of your legs jolting, your back arching, your mouth wide open, the sound of you moaning his name, telling him how good he felt, your walls tightening around him, the thought of your cum spilling down his cock - he couldn’t take it anymore, and before he could control himself, he released his seed deep inside of you, being too dazed to realise what he had done.
Remus collapsed on top of you, chasing his feeling of bliss before his other feelings of shame and disgust crept upon him.
You laid there, Remus on top of you, your heart pounding in your chest, not knowing what Remus had done, your stroked his hair and felt yourself getting closer to drifting off to sleep.
After five minutes of cooling down, Remus’s body language made it pretty clear that he wanted to be left alone, guilt and hurt surged inside of you, a few meters behind the panic - you quickly scrambled to your feet, getting dressed and hurrying out of his dorm room.
James and Lily were having the smoothest conversation together than anyone had ever seen, not a single argument had broken out and Sirius watched, scanning the room for more fire whiskey with each cup he emptied.
Seeing tears run down your face as you scrambled towards your dorm, he tried to follow you but stopped in his tracks, realising there was no way he could get up there, instead he walked towards his own, bumping into a very poorly, annoyed, and irritable Remus.
Sitting on the tile floor of the shower, you pressed your eyes into your hands, seeing colourful stars appear in the darkness. Remus didn’t say a word to you since that night and he had been at the shrieking shack for over a week, refusing to return despite the begging and convincing of Padfoot, Prongs, and Wormtail. Your period was also late, your breasts swelling and constant nausea made you worry.
You wanted to sit under the flowing hot water for the rest of the day, but you knew you couldn’t, in a few minutes time your life could be changed forever. Your hand rested on top of your stomach, the thought of another life in there bringing you to tears.
Standing up, you turned off the water and grabbed your towel, drying yourself and wrapping it around you, trying to stay as warm as possible.
Getting changed into some comfortable clothing, you walked into your empty dorm room, opening your drawer and peering over at the pregnancy test two thick red lines peered back at you through their little windows; your now stomach doing flips, your heart sinking down into your flipping tummy, and your life-changing forever.
With your test stuffed into your tracksuit bottom pockets, you hurried across the Quidditch pitch, running over to James who was too busy waving at Lily up in the stands to notice you.
“Where is he!” you demanded.
James looked confused and slightly alarmed “who? Mooney? You know-”
“No!” you hissed under your breath, trying not to cause a scene “Sirius, I need him, where is he?”
“He’s catching up on homework by the lake-”
You took off and sprinted past James, too focused on finding your best friend to thank him or care about disrupting Quidditch practice.
Finally reaching Sirius you collapsed next to him on your knees, against the tree, tears running down your face and your lips going bright red and swelling.
Sirius dumped his books on the grass without a second thought, accidentally spilling his inkpot across the pages he had worked so hard on.
“I don’t know what to do” you cried, your head going back into your hands, rocking yourself forwards and backwards.
Sirius could feel his heart pound like yours, he put his arm around you and pulled you back into his arms.
“What’s the matter, Y/N?” he asked softly, rubbing your arm “please tell me.”
You dived into your pocket and pulled out the pregnancy test, handing it to him.
Sirius stared at the test, his heart dropping when he finally understood the results, knowing how Remus would react if he found out about being the reason an innocent baby would turn into a monster.
“I don’t know what to do” you cried “he’s just my friend, this was never meant to happen.”
Sirius debating many of the plans that swam around his head, but he picked the one he knew was best.
“We can’t hide this from him,” he said softly, lifting up your chin so you would finally look at him “he’s our friend, he deserves to know.”
Remus finally broke out of hiding, appearing and feeling much better than before, but unfortunately, he had walked over to you and his best friend at the wrong time - getting the wrong end of a very confusing stick.
“deserves to know what?” he called out, his voice shaking.
You jumped out of your skin and looked at Remus, more open wounds on his face slowly healing.
“Remus-”
His eyes fell on the pregnancy test in his best friends hands “are you...” he sounded breathless.
You nodded your head slowly “yes” more tears formed in your eyes.
Remus shook his head and swallowed hard, clenching his fists, his eyes shooting daggers into Sirius.
“I trusted you, Padfoot!” you raised his voice.
Sirius got to his feet quickly, shaking his head “Remus, settle down, this isn’t what you think-”
“sure it is!” Remus flashed you a glare “you’ve always been close to her, you’ve always tried to push me out so you could have her!”
“Remus, please!” you begged, standing up and pulling on his arm “let me explain!”
“explain what exactly?” Remus croaked “that you’re carrying my best friend’s baby?”
You shook your head, hyperventilating whilst your hot tears ran down your red cheeks “no, the baby isn’t his you idiot!”
Remus paused, stopping himself from inching closer to Sirius, his eyes desperately searching yours.
“W-What do you mean?” Remus asked.
“The baby I’m carrying” you choked “it’s yours.”
Taglist: @amourtentiaa @reeophidian @inglourious-imagines @alwaysnforeverfangirl @impulse-anchor
#harry potter#harry potter fanfiction#Harry Potter fanfic#the marauders#marauders fanfiction#marauders x reader#marauders imagine#marauders oneshot#marauders era#hp marauders#remus lupin#Remus Lupin x reader#remus lupin imagine#remus lupin oneshot#sirius black#Sirius black x reader#james potter#James Potter x reader
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when the ball drops, our hearts stop | mk.l
gif created by @nctsworld
SYNOPSIS ☆ In which being dragged and ditched at a New Year’s Eve gala with your so-called enemy doesn’t end as badly as you thought it would.
GENRE ☆ enemies-to-lovers!au, fluff, suggestive
PAIRING ☆ mark lee x (f) reader
WORD COUNT ☆ 2666
WARNINGS ☆ suggestive content ahead!! dirty dancing, neck kisses, alcohol consumption, mentions of cheating, cursing
PLAYLIST ☆ new year’s day - taylor swift
“What are you doing on New Year’s Eve?” had to be the number one question that was sent your way and unlike last year, you didn’t have an answer. Finding your lack of plans to celebrate the upcoming year with a bang, your best friend Wendy decided to drag you to the great outdoors.
And by the great outdoors, she meant the biggest New Year’s Gala in the city. So there you were, in the grandest hotel in the heart of the city, downed in a glittery silver power suit that hugged your body in just the right way. A matching belt wrapped around to cinch your waist and the low cut of your blazer and lack of undershirt only accentuated the curves you usually preferred hiding. Hair curled up and face painted with the most flattering colors for your skin tone, you were rocking and ready to go.
The gala was packed with people your age and older with a mix of top forty music blaring from the loudspeakers. Everyone was dressed to the nines, wearing suits and dresses that went with the gold and silver theme. Bodies were pressed against each other on the dance floor and you were sure Wendy and her boyfriend Johnny were in that crowd as well. They were always the type to be caught up in all the fun— you, not so much, not since your breakup with your ex that occurred five months ago anyway.
You wanted to stray away from the party scene since it was your ex’s scene as well but fuck it, it was New Year’s Eve and you deserved to have fun. Your definition of fun included an obscene amount of alcohol, courtesy of Son Wendy and the credit card she slipped into the palm of your hand before making her way to the dance floor.
Of course, you promised that you would chat and get to know some people, maybe find someone to share a New Year’s kiss with but it was all a lie. You just wanted your free drinks and the loneliness haunting your mind to fade away.
Three Long Island Iced Teas and a bit way past tipsy into your night, a person pushed their way next to you at the bar, their body pressing against your side as they ordered a drink. You couldn’t see them, your hair creating a curtain and blocking them from view but you felt their eyes on you. It wasn’t until you leaned forward and took another sip of your drink that the person talked to you, immediately recognizing your face.
They called your name a bit cockily and you flinched at the sound, sober enough to pinpoint the exact person next to you but drunk enough to engage in a conversation with him. Swiveling your barstool to face him, you shot him a curt smile, lifting your drink up from the bar in greeting. “Mark,” you nodded as you drank him in.
“Yo.”
As much as you hated to admit it, Mark Lee was handsome. His hair had been dyed a shade of blond and was styled in a way that made your heart unwillingly skip a beat. His grey velvet suit clung onto his body oh-so-well and the black tie that contrasted against the bright white of his shirt looked almost too tempting, the drunken state of your mind was urging you to pull it so he could step closer to you.
What did people say? Drunken thoughts, sober words? Yeah, fuck that.
“Johnny invited you?” you questioned as you sucked on the straw of your drink. You watched as his eyes flickered from your eyes to your lips for a fraction of a second, his lips curving into the smirk you wanted to punch off his face. Or kiss.
“Yeah, should’ve figured I would see you when John invited me. You and Wendy are like a packaged deal, you know?” he replied as the bartender dropped off his drink. This time, your gaze was glued to his mouth as he took a swig of his drink, eyes slightly widening as his tongue peeked out before he downed the liquid courage.
Coughing out of embarrassment, you looked away before Mark could catch you eyeing his seemingly delectable mouth.
“You look like the mirrorball that’s about to drop,” he commented on your fit of the night. Glancing down at your suit, you frowned. It didn’t look that bad, did it?
When you shifted in your seat yet again, it sent your head spinning for a second, leaving you to grasp against Mark’s toned arm for balance. “I feel like one too,” you threw back. “Is the room spinning?”
“Shit, dude, how much did you drink?” His voice dropped lower in slight concern.
You hold up three fingers before blinking. No, it was four. You raised another finger.
“All of them iced teas?”
“Yup!”
He cursed “Where’s your asshole of a boyfriend? Don’t see him around anywhere— doesn’t he know it’s not safe to leave their girl alone at the bar?” Mark pushed, suddenly worried about your safety. He asked if anyone had hit on you yet and let out a sigh of relief when you reiterated that no one had bothered you. Despite the insult thrown your ex’s way, you remembered how considerate the guy was. The only real reason you hated Mark was due to the rivalry he held with your ex-boyfriend.
“I dunno,” you shrugged, shoulders raising and the material of your blazer shifting. Mark coughed, eyes quickly darting away so they wouldn’t land on the deep cut into your cleavage. “Probably sucking face with the bitch he left me for.”
Another long swig of your iced tea and suddenly, the drink was gone with only ice in the glass. You pointed a finger at his face, “Don’t cheat, folks. It’ll wreck a person.”
“Fuck,” Mark muttered under his breath, now fuming with anger that someone would cheat on a girl like you. It only grew when he realized your best friends had left you at the bar alone. He was going to rip their heads off later— how irresponsible of them.
“Maybe that’s enough drinking for you today,” he told you, wanting to cut you off so you could sober up. He waved a hand in the air to call the bartender over to request two glasses of water, which was immediately prepared for you.
“Drink up,” Mark commanded, holding the straw to your lips.
You thanked him with a lazy smile before drinking away, sighing at the refreshing feeling of the cold water running down your throat. He held the drink for you in his hands as you continued to work on the glass, only setting it down after you finished it.
“Thanks,” you whispered, touching your forehead to his shoulder. He felt comfortable and you didn’t want to move as you breathed in the addicting scent of his cologne. You always preferred Mark’s fresh cologne over your ex’s overwhelmingly woody scent. It was consoling and safe and nice and—
“Hey, why don’t we move you to a booth? You’ll be more comfortable there,” Mark softly suggested.
“But what if I want to dance for once?” you whined.
“Let’s get you to sober up a bit more and then I can take you dancing, how ‘bout that?” His breath hit your ear and you laughed at the cold sensation before nodding. A flush that had nothing to do with the alcohol you consumed took over your face as the man you said you hated wrapped a supporting arm around your waist.
An hour later, your drunken state was fading as was the loneliness you were dreading. Mark Lee made an excellent company; he wasn’t at all what your ex painted him out to be. He was kind, caring, and endearingly sweet with the prettiest pair of eyes to match. The way his body wiggled to match his overflowing giggles brought the brightest smile to your lips, something you hadn’t experienced in quite some time.
The time spent with him in the small booth rekindled the crush you harbored for him before you met your sad excuse of an ex, heart fluttering against your chest.
“Hey,” he leaned over the table, his face so close to yours. “You wanna move closer to the screen so we can see the ball drop clearly? It’s forty to midnight. We can dance, too.”
Your eyes curled up in excitement as you agreed, easily slipping your hand in his like you had done it a million times before. The feeling of his larger hand wrapped around yours sent you into a high that you couldn’t really describe. All you knew was that you didn’t want him to let go and thank god he didn’t.
Mark only held you tighter as you arrived on the dance floor with a clear view of the screen. The bass thumped as he tentatively quirked a brow, silently asking you to dance. You replied by draping your arms over the slopes of his shoulder, your fingertips playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. Tugging you closer at the waist, Mark shot you another look to see if you were okay. The tightening grip around his neck was enough of an answer for him.
You shivered as his hands ran up and down the sides of your body, his touch almost burning through your glittered suit. When Mark least expected it, you turned around in his hold, pressing your backside against his front. A groan slipped out of his lips before his head dropped against your shoulder, his moist lips ghosting against the exposed skin of your neck. You reached back to hold his head in place as your body grinded into his.
The hand holding your waist tightened at your ministrations, squeezing you in a way that drove you crazy and the pair of lips that left a cautious kiss drove you crazier. The moan you let out and the way your free hand depressed against the one placed on your side was all the confirmation Mark needed to continue the trail of kisses he planned on leaving over the expanse of your neck. You enjoyed the feeling of his lips on your skin so much, your head rolled back and your eyes fluttered to a pleasured close as he nipped at your skin.
The next half hour was spent with you encaged in Mark’s hold and you weren’t ashamed to say that you enjoyed every minute of it. When catching eyes with Wendy and Johnny across the dance floor, you laughed as your best friend wiggled her brows at you and shot a thumbs up your way. It was then, you realized, that it was their plan to get you two together all along.
Your friends had always mentioned you would get along great, the only thing stopping you was the blasted and unnecessary rivalry that blossomed between Mark and your ex. Now that the terrible excuse of a person was out of your life, there was room for a new man and you found yourself not hating the idea of Mark being the next keeper of your heart.
Five minutes to midnight, you turned around in his hold and smiled up at him. He returned the look with a soft grin of his own.
“You’re not as bad as I thought you were, Mark Lee.”
“Took you long enough to notice,” he chuckled lowly, the sound sending a warm feeling to the pit of your stomach. “I never thought of you as bad, you know?”
“Is that so?” you countered, your hand freely running through his blond tresses.
“Yeah, I always thought you were great.”
“Just great?” you teased, leaning a bit forward.
He groaned, “Ugh, dude, you know what I mean.”
“I don’t think I do, dude,” you pushed further, leaving him to touch his head against your shoulder again. You were starting to think that he loved to do it.
“I always thought you were pretty special,” he whispered into your skin.
Placing a kiss on the top of his head, you answered back, “I never wanted to admit it but I thought you were pretty special, too.”
“Glad to finally see that the feeling’s mutual,” he laughed before he returned the favor with a kiss to your jaw.
When the countdown from twenty began, Mark shifted both your bodies to face the screen as the people around you started to shout the numbers at the top of their lungs. Wendy and Johnny fought their way through the crowd to get to you and you briefly squeezed your best friend’s hand in greeting. Ready to leave the current year behind and welcome in the new one, you pressed your side into Mark’s before joining in on the countdown.
You were shining, Mark noticed, like the mirrorball that was projected on the screen. It wasn’t like he mentioned earlier— it had nothing to do with the silver of the suit. It was just you and the way you shined so brightly as your voice blended with the others in the room. You were lost in the feeling and he loved the way you looked under the dim lights.
He hoped he could see you in more nights to come, for more opportunities to hold you the way he did on the dance floor.
Mark Lee, who was in love with you longer than he could even remember, wanted your midnights and more. He wanted to hold on to the memories of keeping you close and to create new ones if you would let him.
Hold onto the memories and they’ll hold onto you or so they said.
His eyes were stuck on you like glue as the crowd reached number ten.
Nine!
Mark’s hand wriggled around the ends of your blazer.
Eight!
His fingertips were hot against your bare skin.
Seven!
Mark tugged you closer to him, making you lose your grip on Wendy’s hand.
Six!
He found your hand reaching for his, fingers tangling together like the red string of fate.
Five!
His heart was beating a mile a minute at the feeling of your thumb rubbing against his skin.
Four!
You jerk your head towards him with glistening eyes and the widest smile. His eyes darted down to your colored lips before shifting back to meet your gaze.
“You wanna kiss me so bad,” you teased as your eyes followed his actions and ended up watching his tongue peek out to moisten his now dry lips.
Three!
“And what if I do?”
Two!
“Well, I’m not going to stop you,” came your flirty reply.
One!
And when the ball dropped from the sky, your hearts stopped for a brief moment.
Cheers for the new year came from all around but Mark Lee didn’t care— all he cared about was your lips fiercely crashing against his. He spun your body round so it slotted so perfectly against his, much like two pieces of a puzzle coming together as a whole.
The sensation of finally kissing your lips after secretly longing for you was more than satisfactory; it was addictive, more addictive than the drinks he consumed or any other tempting substance that existed in the world. Mark Lee was enthusiastically devoted to kissing you and the idea of ceasing never crossed his mind.
The only reason he did was for you to catch a breath. His eagerness never faltered, his lips running down to your jaw and the sides of your neck. He pecked your temple and forehead as you giggled at his over-the-top display of affection and it was music to his ears.
Pulling you flush into his chest, he whispered a late greeting into your ear, “Happy New Year.”
With your hands resting against his pecs, you glanced up at him with a charming smile, making his heart drop for the second time in the new year.
“A happy new year indeed.”
author’s note ☆ surprise! happy new year, everyone! (and happy 500+ followers to me!) i coughed this out in like five hours so it’s unedited and not my best work, but i wanted to release something in time for the new year! wishing you the best 2021!!
this was originally a request and i finally filled it!! ✨
#dreamwritersnet#cznnet#neowritingsnet#mark lee#nct mark lee#nct x reader#nct scenarios#nct imagines#nct fluff#nct smut#mark scenario#mark imagines#mark fanfic#mark fluff#mark lee x reader#nct 127 scenarios#nct dream#nct dream scenarios#nct 127
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It’s a book Steve’s actually read.
Well, Nancy kinda mostly read it to him. Which really just makes the whole thing hurt a little bit more.
His speakers were crackling and he had turned the bass up high enough that the song was distorted, vibrating through his car.
It was embarrassing. Scream-singing to Kate Bush while sobbing into your steering wheel in the high school parking lot.
He’s just got a lot of feelings, and Nancy dumped in that alleyway, he can literally see it and Heathcliff, it’s me, I’m Cathy. I’ve come home, I’m so cold.
Which, it’s all just bullshit. Pardon the word.
Because, Catherine and Heathcliff don’t even fucking end up together. There’s something about family difference and he remembers Nancy saying socioeconomic like that word meant anything to him and Catherine winds up dead of bad brain-itis and Healthcliff is a dick so they never should’ve been together anyway.
But, whatever.
He’s feeling very much like Catherine right now. Standing on the moors with a broken heart.
Because fuck Heathcliff. And fuck Nancy.
Kate Bush is the only one he can trust anymore.
Her and her red dress and Steve’s insides feel like that red fucking dress in a way he can’t explain and Heathcliff, it's me, I'm Cathy. I've come home, I'm so cold. Let me in your window-
He just about jumped out of his skin when the passenger door opened.
One too-tan hand reached out to crank the volume down on the song, and a too-pink tongue slid across too-white teeth and
“Harrington, I’m obligated to tell you that you’re acting like a pussy.”
Hargrove.
Y’know, he’s the top of Steve’s Fuck List. Right there with Nancy and Heathcliff, and everyone else who sucks shit and makes people feel bad.
“Can it, dickhead.”
To be fair, Steve was ugly crying to Kate Bush by himself in his car, but he’s allowed to be a pussy by himself in his car.
Hargrove just gave Steve a look that Steve’s pretty sure meant I’m resisting the urge to punch you in the face right now, but was undercut by that stupid fucking tongue of his lolling around like some kinda hyper-sexual golden retriever.
Meanwhile, Kate Bush was still singing and Steve was still Cathy on the moors.
“I’m fucking sad, or whatever. Let me be a pussy.”
“Oh, come on, Harrington. You really this cut up about some prissy little princess? She’s not even the best this town has and that is saying something.”
“Y’know, for a guy that’s constantly calling all the girls in town ugly, you sure do fuck a lot of ‘em.”
“At least I’m getting some. When was the last time the princess put out, eh? Or was she savin’ it for marriage? I could see her bein’ one of those types.”
He said those types like he wasn’t wearing a saint’s pendant around his neck. Like Steve didn’t see his family all sitting uncomfortably silent together in the diner after mass every single Sunday afternoon.
It was weird, seeing Billy in a nice shirt. All buttoned up properly with his hair looking all respectful. Especially since Steve was usually high off his ass and slurping down a strawberry milkshake with cheese fries like he’d die if he didn’t.
“I’m not gonna talk about my sex life with you, Hargrove.”
“Aw, why not, Harrington. Don’t wanna compare body counts? You embarrassed or something?” Billy was grinning that shitty sharp grin of his, still waggling his fucking tongue as he leaned closer to Steve. “You still a virgin, King Steve?”
The song ended. Steve rewound the tape. It started up again.
He needed Kate now more than ever.
“Of fucking course I’m not. I’m just not some gross asshole that goes around telling everyone who’ve I’ve fucked. It’s called being a decent guy.”
“It’s called being a prude. Now, c’mon. Tell me who’ve you fucked. Maybe we’re tunnel buddies.”
Steve wanted to throw up. Kate was on the moors again.
“You’re disgusting. Tunnel buddies. How gross can you even get?”
“I hope that’s a rhetorical question.”
“I don’t know what that means and you’re a shithead.”
Hargrove tossed his head back and laughed, showing off those teeth that looked like they could take a chunk out of Steve’s flesh if Billy got close enough to try.
You had a temper like my jealousy. Too hot, too greedy.
“Seriously, though.” Billy had stopped laughing. “What is this shit?”
“She’s Kate Bush and she speaks to my heart.”
Billy just stared at him.
Yeah, that was a pretty pussy thing to say.
“I just got fucking dumped, dude. Let me be sad about it,” Steve backpedaled.
And then Billy did something very unexpected.
Well, he did something very normal for his character, and then he did something unexpected.
He lit up a cigarette.
And then passed it to Steve.
Steve filled up his lungs with a thick drag of smoke. He held it for as long as he could.
Which was really long.
Swimmer’s lungs. And that.
He blew out the smoke. Heathcliff, it's me, I'm Cathy. I've come home, I'm so cold. Let me in your window.
“Is this fucking song based on Wuthering Heights?”
“Yeah, you dumb dumb. It’s fucking called Wuthering Heights.”
“Okay, dumb dumb, I clearly don’t even know this song.”
“Maybe you’d be less of an ass if you did. Dumb dumb.”
Billy lit a cigarette for himself, letting the smoke trail out of his mouth like he was some kind of dragon.
Billy probably fancies himself a dragon. Thinks he’s this big scary creature that just goes around breathing fire and ransacking villages for their gold.
Ooh, it gets dark, it gets lonely on the other side from you. I pine a lot, I find the lot falls through without you.
Really, he’s probably like a dog of some kind.
Domesticated.
“You’re staring at me.”
Yeah. Steve was staring at him. Watching him smoke while Kate Bush played loudly. The speakers still sounded like shit even though Billy had turned down the song considerably.
Steve didn’t know when he had stopped crying.
Probably right when Billy had let himself into his cave of self pity, but his face was still wet.
He wiped it off, not pointing out that Billy had been staring at him too.
“Why are you here so late? Practice ended like, an hour ago.”
Billy shrugged lamely. He kinda looked like a little kid.
Heathcliff, it's me, I'm Cathy. I've come home, I'm so cold. Let me in your window.
“Bored. Didn’t feel like being home.”
“So you came to sit in the break-up mobile with me. How nice.”
“Mostly I just wanted to make fun of you for listening to this garbage. I could hear it across the lot.”
And sure enough, Billy’s car was parked a good ways down from Steve, about as far away as their two cars could be from one another.
Steve doubts Billy heard Kate all this way, but what’s he gonna do, bring that up?
No. He’s rather sit in this weird silence that settled between them, feeling awkward about himself and his body and listen to Kate.
I'm coming home to wuthering, wuthering, Wuthering Heights
“She’s not worht it, y’know.”
Steve had to do a double take to make sure it was still Billy sitting in his passenger seat, and not some cheap imposter wearing a Billy-suit and saying almost nice things to Steve in a not-mean voice.
“What’d you say earlier? Plenty of bitches in the sea?” Steve would’ve laughed at that comment when Billy made it if they weren’t naked together.
There’s something things you don’t do while naked with another guy, and laughing just isn’t one of them.
Plus, he had been a little too focused on figuring out why Billy’s nudity had given him that same hot feeling that nearly seeing Rob Lowe’s dick in The Outsiders movie gave him last year.
“I mean, it’s true. Don’t sweat this break-up. She seemed like an uptight bitch anyway.”
“Hey.”
Steve was still a little too sore, a little too fresh from the split to trash talk Nance like that.
“Whatever. Get high. Look at some porn. You’ll be fine.”
Ooh, let me have it. Let me grab your soul away.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
Silence again.
Kate was back to the chorus.
The song was almost over.
“You could always go on the rebound. get her out of your mind with someone that’ll actually put out.”
Hargrove had barely even said it before he was yanking Steve forward, giving him no time to prepare as their mouthed smooshed together in something that was very very awkward, and very very sloppy.
Steve still had tears on his cheeks, and his cigarette was getting dangerously close to the filter, threatening to burn his fingers, and Kate was still singing, and Billy was kissing him, and dear God Steve’s at least a little bit gay.
Heathcliff, it's me, I'm Cathy. I've come home, I'm so cold. Let me in your window.
They drifted apart from one another just in time for Steve to rewind the song again.
“So, uh, yeah,” Billy said, and his cheeks were this wonderful shade of red, and Steve couldn’t stop thinking about Kate’s red dress and that fucking kiss and he was on the moors again, but this time he and Billy were making out in the grass and oh fuck, oh fuck-
“Yeah. Good.”
“Good?” Billy raised on of those dark eyebrows at him, his cheeks still burning.
“Good. Very good.”
Billy nodded a few times, sucking on his cigarette. Steve suddenly remembered he had dropped his on the floormates and tried to stamp it out before it got singed to bad.
“Okay then. Good.” Billy opened the passenger door, stepping out and flicking away his cigarette. He seemed to think for a moment, before turning around, leaning his upper body into Steve’s car.
Steve thought they were going to kiss again.
He was ready to go for it, ready to let his eyes close and maybe let it lead to more. He was Cathy and he was ready for some action.
But Billy just grinned again.
And skipped the song.
#yes i know when nancy and steve break up billys only been in town for like three days but its my fic and ill make up a timeline if i want to#yeah i call people dumb dumb all the fucking time so i had to put it in#this idea came from me listening to this song on a loop for fifteen minutes in the parking lot before work and crying before going in to wor#k#also i've never read wuthering heights everything i know abt it is from the song and this one fic i read that mentioned it#also the way that this is probably technically a song fic#i hate it#yikes writes#steve harrington#billy hargrove#harringrove#this is so self indulgent omg
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Up the Rabbit Hole
Summary: You have a problem- you can't stop thinking about how good Barbatos looked in that bunny costume. It's interfering with your studies, duties, and even your friendship with him. With no clue what to do, you begin to avoid him.
Barbatos, however, is not fond of this fix, and when his patience runs thin, he offers you a more unorthodox solution.
Pairing: Barbatos/ Reader
Rating: Explicit
CW: Prostate massage, anal fingering, collars, slight master/pet
Read below the cut or on AO3
A gift for my friend for Barbatos’ birthday! Enjoy!
It was all that bunny suit’s fault.
Ever since everyone was forced to don those dumb bunny costumes, you had been an utter wreck. You couldn’t focus on your studies, earning you an earful from Lucifer. You couldn’t focus when you were cooking, earning complaints about the pitiful state of dinner from everyone but Lucifer. You couldn’t focus on Mammon’s schemes, or Levi’s games, or Satan’s recommended books, or Asmo’s fashion advice, or Lucifer’s lectures, or Beel’s workouts, or even something as simple as napping with Belphie. You couldn’t focus on anything.
Except for the mental image of Barbatos in that bunny outfit.
Why it had enchanted you so much was a mystery. Maybe it was the change in wardrobe; the way the vest highlighted his slender waist and broad shoulders, the lime green tie bringing out the same shade in his eyes. Maybe it was the ears themselves and the charming tail that accompanied them; the ears revealing a cutesier side to the ever-serious butler, and the fluffy tail drawing attention to his rounded behind. Maybe it was watching him work in the suit, catering to guests as serious, as dedicated, as always, despite the circumstances. Maybe it was the way he wore it all with no shame, not embarrassed in the slightest at the large ears, rounded tail, and odd situation, retaining his confidence through it all…
Maybe it wasn’t a mystery why you liked it so much after all.
Either way, your thoughts and preoccupation with the memories of Bunny Barbatos were providing you with issues- the biggest of which being that you couldn’t even talk with Barbatos anymore. You couldn’t make eye contact with him without thinking about floppy ears and a firm build. You couldn’t listen to him speak without the deep timbre of his voice igniting fantasies mid-conversation that left you a stuttering mess. Even simply being near him caused your brain to derail, hands to sweat, and heart to pound.
In one moment of weakness, you bought a dark green collar you saw while browsing the web, one you knew would look amazing on Barbatos, especially paired with the cursed ears and tail. You hid it in your bedside table, refusing to acknowledge just how far gone you were, refusing to acknowledge the new images, fantasies, and dreams it sparked.
You, in embarrassment and for your sanity, started to avoid him.
You weren’t dumb enough to think this would solve the problem, especially with how sharp Barbatos was. What you had hoped was that Barbatos would tolerate your finicky behavior without prying just long enough for you to get this problem under wraps.
For a while, it worked- Barbatos allowed you to make your escape, sending any messages he needed to tell you through the brothers. He left sweets wrapped with notes attached on them for you to enjoy on your bed. If you ended up in the same hallway, he kindly ducked into a nearby corridor in order for you to pass unhindered.
This game continued for two weeks- you avoiding him, and Barbatos letting you. His patience was commendable, and it was just another thing you admired about him. He let you go, again and again, in an unusual game of cat and mouse.
But everyone’s patience runs out eventually.
It was on the fifteenth day of this arrangement that Lucifer handed you a note. It read:
Dear,
Meet me in your bedroom tonight at eight ‘o’clock sharp. There is something we must discuss. No more running from me.
Sincerely,
Your faithful servant, Barbatos
You read over the note again with trepidation and glanced at the time on your D.D.D.- 4:01. You had four hours to prepare yourself for the inevitable conversation you knew was to come. Four hours to get yourself under control. Your stomach tied itself in knots.
Stupid bunny outfit.
-----
Time flew, and before you knew it, eight was upon you.
You paced outside your door, fidgeting with your hands and hair. Your nerves were getting the best of you. What if he rejected you? What if he no longer even wanted to be friends with you? What if he called you a kinky freak and exposed you? What if he convinced Diavolo to send you back to the human world?
‘What if’ upon ‘what if’ piled up in your mind, each one more ridiculous and implausible than the last. It was agonizing, not knowing what was going to happen when you stepped through the door and faced Barbatos. You felt the seconds tick away, each pressing down on you more and more.
Finally, you couldn’t stand the pressure and anxiety anymore. You flung the door open and stepped into the dimly lit room. There, on your bed he sat with-
With bunny ears on and the suit to match. Suddenly, you felt like passing out.
When he saw you enter, he moved to stand, and a flash of light from his neck caught your eye. The bunny ears had distracted you from the rich, dark green velvet adorning his slender neck, the gold chain attached matching the golden detailing and swirls on the green.
It was the collar you had bought. He was wearing the collar you had bought and hid.
“That- that’s the- But I- How’d you- Why’re you-,” you stuttered. Your thoughts were a jumbled mess, and they all came rushing out in an incomprehensible mess you continued to stumble through, even as Barbatos glided towards you. He raised a gloved hand and caressed your face when he was near enough to. He shushed you.
“A few days ago, I came in here to drop off a slice of Devil food cake, and I intended to leave a note. However, I seemed to have forgotten a pen. I didn’t mean to pry, but I figured that one such as yourself would keep a pen near your bed, so I looked in your bedside table. While I certainly did find a pen to write with, I also found this charming collar hidden away. It seemed to match perfectly with a certain outfit I wore not too long ago. Care to explain?”
His facial expression never changed, but his eyes shown with a mischievous sheen, his voice filled with amusement, and there was a slight self-satisfied quirk to his smile. You could try and lie your way out of this one, but it was clear he had figured you out long ago. You sighed.
“I think you already know everything, jerk,” you grumbled, before continuing louder. “Fine. You were really hot in that bunny outfit, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I bought that collar because I thought it would look good on you, and I was right. I’ve been having inappropriate fantasies about you, which is why I’ve been avoiding you. There, happy?”
He chuckled. “Quite. Hearing such flattering words come from you is always welcomed. Since you were so honest with me, I believe you deserve a special treat.”
“What do you mean by ‘special treat?’ Like dessert?” He hummed, obviously amused.
“No, I believe something else is in order. You mentioned certain… fantasies pertaining to me, did you not?” You nodded dumbly. His lips twitched, and he reached for his tie, slowly loosening it. “Well then, since you were honest about having them, as a reward I’ll allow you to fulfill them.”
Your brain was running a mile a minute but still couldn’t seem to catch up. “Fulfill my fantasies?” you questioned.
He fully removed his tie, moving to lay it on the bed. He then began to undo the buttons on his vest and shirt, revealing inch-by-inch more of his pale skin. “Yes, fulfill your wishes. Touch me as you wish, direct me as you want. Command me, your humble servant.”
It was like his words had cast a spell on you, because suddenly all the desire and lust you had been repressing for the past weeks welled to the surface. Your hands itched to touch, your tongue to taste, and your eyes to look upon him below you.
“Lay down on the bed.”
He did as told, and you closed the distance in a second, straddling his body. His dark hair fanned out against the pillows, bunny ears tapping the headboard. His eyes practically glowed with a mix of satisfaction and interest. His shirt and vest were completely undone, hanging open. You swallowed.
You pushed the shirt and vest down his arms, and with his help, you removed them completely. Now that his upper body was completely visible, you couldn’t stop your hands from dancing along his shoulders, collarbones, and chest with frantic energy.
“You know,” you started, voice thick, “In my fantasies, I like to spoil the always-composed butler with attention and pleasure till he so overwhelmed that his mask breaks, and I get to see him beg. Spoiling someone who always works so hard, like they are my pet who did a good job, and this is their reward.”
“Then by all means, Master, reward me, your humble bunny.”
You didn’t need to be told twice. You leaned down, pressing kisses along his flawless skin from his partially exposed neck, to his collarbones, to his nipples. Your lips latched onto one, sucking and tugging lightly with your teeth, while the other one was pinched with your eager hand. You heard him sigh, but that wasn’t enough- you wanted to hear him lose his composure completely.
You move to the other nipple, laving it with attention as well, till both nipples were hard and perky. Once you were satisfied with that, you continued your path downwards. You alternated dotting his skin with kisses and light nips, stopping to suck here and there. When you passed his belly button, getting ever so close to the waistband of his pants, you felt his stomach tighten in anticipation.
You reached for the button on his pants, undoing it and shoving them down to his ankles, stopping to admire the bulge in his boxer briefs before shoving those down, too. His cock now free and hard, it stood proudly towards his stomach, leaking precum.
You wrapped your hands around it, looking up at Barbatos’ face for any sign of change, but his expression was as placid as always. Using the precum dripping from the tip, you wet your hands, before setting a steady pace of jerking him off, slowing at the tip to rub your thumb against it.
You looked up at his face, yet his expression had not changed despite the pleasure.
You were going to have to up your game if you wanted him to melt beneath you.
You stopped your ministrations, leaning over Barbatos to reach into your beside table. You pulled out the lube you had stashed there, closing the drawer, and moving back down Barbatos’ body. You spread his legs and settled between them, popping the lube open. You poured a sizable amount onto your palm, then began rubbing your hands together to warm the liquid.
“This okay?” you asked, circling your middle finger around his tight hole, but not entering.
“Touch me as much as you want, wherever you want,” he said, voice husky. You rolled your eyes.
“Is that a yes? I need a clear one.”
“Then, yes.” He spread his legs even wider, giving you ample access.
Now that that was out of the way, you tentatively pushed your finger into his tight hole. With your free hand, you grabbed his cock once more, stroking it to make sure he felt good even while you stretched him.
You began to thrust your finger in and out, letting Barbatos adjust to the sensation. When you felt him relax and loosen slightly around you, you added a second finger. He hissed at the additional digit, and when you checked to make sure he was okay, his eyes were closed, eyebrows raised and furrowed.
You stopped moving. “Is this-,”
“Yes, it’s okay. Keep going,” he grunted out, wiggling his hips. You started thrusting your fingers again, and he sighed.
Oh, okay.
So, he was feeling it, but you still wanted more.
You replaced your random thrusting with rubbing against his inner walls, searching for what you knew would cause him to crumble. It took a few moments, but you knew the second you felt the bump that that was what you had been looking for.
You began to circle the small bump, applying steady pressure, causing Barbatos to arch off the bed. Proud that you had gotten such an obvious reaction out of him, you doubled down, circling faster and tightening your grip on his cock as you continued to jerk him off.
You then alternated between circling, tapping the bump, and rubbing it in a ‘come hither’ motion. Barbatos’ legs began to quiver, and when you glanced up, you saw he had become a mess- panting with his mouth open, sweat beading on his brow, and cheeks flushed pink. You stared in wonder, adoring his reactions.
And yet, it still wasn’t enough- he still hadn’t made any noise.
Desperate for him to moan or gasp or anything, you replaced your hand on his leaking cock with your lips, circling the tip with your tongue and licking the underside, before taking him in your mouth.
“Ah!” he gasped, bucking his hips, pushing his cock further into your mouth, the taste of his salty precum and his smell overwhelming your senses. As you took him deeper, you applied more pressure on his prostate, all while keeping your motions random.
It was then that Barbatos’ poise began to collapse completely. He started wiggling his hips, thrusting forward and backward like he was chasing both the warm heat of your mouth and the shocks of pleasure your hand was providing with his prostate. One of his gloved hands came down to rest on the back of your head, fingers wrapping your hair and holding you in place as he used your mouth. He moaned as he fucked your mouth roughly, cock touching the back of your throat.
Then, a loud moan he released caused you to look up once more, only to meet his hazy gaze as he stared down on you pleasuring him. Your eye contact seemed to add fuel to the fire as the grip on your hair tightened, and his thrusts became faster. From how he was biting his lips and arching his back, you could tell he was close, so you ground your fingers against his prostate, harder than before, right as his cock was fully sheathed in your mouth.
With the simultaneous overpowering sensations, he came, sighing long and low as he filled your throat with his cum. You managed to swallow most of it, though some slid down your chin. After a few seconds, when he was done basking in the afterglow of his orgasm, he pulled his softening cock from your mouth, and you moved back from between his legs so he could pull his pants up.
Once he was tucked back in and pants buttoned, you figured you were done and went to stand, only to end up flat on your back on the bed, Barbatos straddling you in a surprising role reversal of earlier. You gaped up at him. His face was already back to normalcy, but his lips were shiny with spit and his hair tousled.
He reached up, taking off his bunny ears and putting them on you. He leaned down, licking the cum off your chin before whispering against your ear.
“Now, it’s my turn.”
#barbatos#barbatos x reader#obey me#shall we date barbatos#shall we date obey me#writing#hope you like it!#remember my requests are open!#comments likes and reblogs appreciated!!#happy birthday barbatos#bunny barbatos
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