#a violet shrinks until you give it love

[imxnotxhere]

Acotar Men Fic Recs

** Updated 03/07/2024 **

I already made a list for azriel which was actually meant as a list for all the characters I read for but I read a lot more of azriel fics because he's my baby and the list was getting too long. So here are the rest of the characters and I also added some more azzy drabbles sorry

Rhysand

@azsazz

dioxazine part 2 - fluff, smut, modern au, art school au

the lord's work - smut

if you should die before you wake - smut, rhys x cass x azriel x reader

just hold on - smut

a court of four horsemen - smut, part of a series

double duty - smut, rhys x reader x cass

what's mine - smut, rhys x eris x reader

lavender haze - fluff, suggestive

@tadpolesonalgae

mine - smut, check warnings!

knocked up - smut

vampire!rhysand drabble - smut

professor!rhys headcanons part 2 - smut

soothing - fluff, aftercare

@leafsandstarlight

easy like sunday morning - fluff, smut

@azrielbrainrot

my body keeps saying it's yours - smut

all over my skin - smut, rhys x reader x azriel

@writingsbychlo

home to us - fluff

rhys as a pleasure dom - smut - technically a drabble? blurb?

@azrielscrown

mirror mirror - smut

daylight - fluff

@acourtofwhatthefuck

shrinking violet - smut

@shadowdaddies

if i catch you i fuck you - smut

@fieldofdaisiies

rhysand... - drabble, smut

Cassian

@azsazz

mirror mirror - smut

take it - smut

a court of four horsemen - smut, part of a series

@tadpolesonalgae

on the strategy board - smut

pools of sunlight - fluff

@leafsandstarlight

halley's comet - angst, smut

@princess-tulip-writes

drabble - smut - az x cass x reader

@fieldofdaisiies

cassian... - drabble

@illyrianbitch

words of affirmation - fluff

Eris

@acourtofmenandthirst

runaway - angst, smut

fox hunting - smut

closed until further notice - fluff, smut, coffee shop au

smut blurb

smut blurb II

@leafsandstarlight

destiny's battleground - angst, smut

my lovely throne - smut

despite our differences - angst, smut, series

the prince of blood part 2 part 3 - vampire!eris

@tadpolesonalgae

servitude - smut

thumb prints - smut

@serpentandlily

sly fox, dumb bunny - series

@azsazz

the burning of the autumn leaves and the roaring of my yearning heart - angst, smut

soul on fire - smut

a court of four horsemen - smut, part of a series

@azrielbrainrot

fire on fire - angst?

mind over matter - angst?

@gothicbabydollz

riding eris' face - smut, drabble

riding eris' thigh - smut, drabble

@honeybeefae

cauldron fated - angst, smut

@princess-tulip-writes

making out with eris while giving him a handjob - smut, drabble

praise kink eris - smut, drabble

@fieldofdaisiies

eris' hands... - drabble

eris... - drabble

@theostrophywife

like you wanna be loved - fluff

Lucien

@tadpolesonalgae

solecist night - smut

@acourtofwhatthefuck

yell at me again - smut

personal problem - smut

the moon on a string - fluff

@princess-tulip-writes

drabble - smut

drabble - smut, az x lucien x reader (kind of)

@gothicbabydollz

dom lucien - smut, human!reader

@fieldofdaisiies

lucien... - smut

@ceoofyearning

say yes to heaven - fluff

Helion

@leafsandstarlight

a high lord's scholar - fluff

@tadpolesonalgae

new mechanisms - smut

sweet like peaches - smut

[ivymarquis]

Say You Won’t Let Go

A Zombie Named Fred

Pairing| John Price x F!Single Mom!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 2.9k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Post Apocalypse!AU, Single Mom!verse, pregnant reader, the author is still on her bullshit about the pepperoncinis, they’re both a little crazy but it’s the end of the world, the author does not have first hand experience nor a formal education on pregnancy, John is giving soft dom vibes

First Chapter | Previous Chapter

Not even 48 hours in and you’re having your first argument.

You can tell by his expression that you’re not giving him the expected response. However he’s clearly no shrinking violet and doesn’t cow to your anxiety-turning-agitation.

“I was only gone for a bit and you were asleep,” he defends himself, standing his ground.

You pry your gaze from the stash of goodies he very obviously acquired with you in mind, the wheels in your brain clearly turning as you decide how much effort this will warrant and if you’re willing to expend that effort.

You’ve been a loose, limp thing for him to drag around as he sees fit. No protests so far as he uses his teeth to scruff you.

“You didn’t even tell me! It’s dangerous out there- what if something had happened?”

“I’ve been in far worse situations, Love, I can assure you that. If I’d have told you last night would you have still gone to bed?”

No.

The apocalypse has taken societal norms and attachment styles and turned them on their heads with no hope for recovery.

This man is a complete stranger to you and yet he is firmly entrenched as the center of your social circle at the moment. You most assuredly would not have responded well last night.

Your silence is loud, giving away the answer entirely.

“I needed you safe, tucked away, and not fretting,” you can feel yourself being mollified against your will, softening back up despite your desire to still prickle in displeasure.

“We don’t know how long we’ll be here until it’s safe to leave,” he continues, “and you are in no condition to be traveling far- we need supplies stocked while the area is still mostly clear from the last herd wandering through.”

That is the one good thing about herds even if they’re an absolutely terrifying sight.

Lions and tigers and bears might be scary predators, but living predators aren’t mindless killing machines. They act in a reasonable way for their species. Leave them alone, don’t fuck with their offspring and don’t make yourself look like easy prey, and they will likely leave you alone.

Zombies? The virus eats away at any rational reasoning or need to sate an ingrained desire. They want to bite, to consume, to spread the virus.

So put together a group of several hundred or several thousand and they are the stuff nightmares are made of.

But if you survive a wave of them wandering through, they pick up any stragglers in an area. They’re gregarious, for whatever that’s worth.

Still terrifying though. The peace in knowing that the local zombie population drops drastically is knowing the price comes at more individuals being added to the herd.

In short, now is about as safe a time as ever to scavenge.

You’re still staring him down, still resisting acquiescing to him on principle.

Of course, there’s little doubt that the captain views your displeasure on par with a disgruntled kitten- yowling and hissing and batting at him but harmless and ineffective.

He steps towards you- close enough he makes you tilt your head to maintain eye contact. “You can just say “Thank you” and go enjoy your peppers, Love,” he asserts, offering you an easy out.

The thought crosses your mind to dig your heels in and be stubborn.

But just the mention of the jar of pepperoncinis placates you as your craving from yesterday returns in full force, pulling your attention away from John and to the jar sitting on the counter.

He’s got you hook, line, and sinker and he knows it too.

“Thank you,” you yield, once again becoming soft and pliant in his hold.

“You’re welcome,” he steps away then, eyes following your every move as you slip past him and do in fact beeline for the peppers.

It’s the end of the world- you can have peppers for breakfast if you want to.

The only problem though is you can’t get the damn jar open.

There are certain changes with your body that you expected with the discovery of your pregnancy- the swell of your belly and your breasts, the stretch marks that criss cross your skin- and some that you learned first hand and it’s annoying.

It’s your body starting to relax itself to prepare for labor, you were told. The tendons and ligaments relaxing. Hips widening.

It also makes your grip weaker which is so incredibly frustrating.

John is at your side in a moment, prompting you with a “Give it here,” to hand him the jar to twist the lid for you.

Any lingering surliness from the discovery of John’s midnight stroll abates entirely as the smell of the peppers hits your nose.

He looks pleased with himself, giving you back the jar as you thank him.

The rest of the day passes peacefully between the two of you. This is not a permanent home, so no renovations or improvements to be made. The biggest line of defense you have here is blending so well into the rest of the abandoned houses that nothing will draw unwanted attention. The windows covered and boarded. There’s no true perimeter to check. You don’t want to catch anyone’s eye by wandering around outside.

You’ve been on the move for so long, constantly fighting and scrapping that it is nice to just sit in one place. The preggie pops despite their silly name are a Godsend. You feel like a person for the first time in months rather than a vessel just waiting to vomit at the wrong provocation.

You get nosy, looking through photos and albums of the owners. The man’s name is Fred. The woman’s name is Wilma.

There’s a fucking lego set that Fred and Wilma never got around to opening. You alternate killing time between working on that and reading. You’re in no hurry, taking your time. John putters around doing something but swings back every so often to check on you.

Eventually you will need to sort laundry, but that can probably happen in a day or so and doesn’t need to be right now.

The water still works so you figure you can just wash your clothes in the sink and then hang them somewhere outside to dry. Simple, but will occupy some time and establish a sense of normal for you. Maybe you can find some sort of clothes line if there’s not one already.

Once again the sun sets and John comes to round you up for the night and herds you up the stairs. You settle into your bed and hear John getting ready over in his and yet despite the fact your pregnancy exhausts you, you can’t sleep.

Your ears are honed in for any sort of attempt on John’s end to sneak out again.

You try to quell the concern and anxiety coiling within you, but everything is a feedback loop just building intensity until you feel like you’re going to snap.

Sleep is a lost cause at this point.

Getting out of bed is a process so you’re not rendered immobile like a turtle on its back. It takes a moment but you manage on your own.

No sooner than you sneak out to the landing you have your answer if John is still in the house. It’s not obnoxiously loud, but you can clearly hear the sound of him snoring on the other side of his door.

Your anxiety quells with the knowledge that he’s still here but doesn’t dissipate entirely.

Not quite ready to return to bed, you decide that maybe a quick snack (something other than the pepperoncinis, the baby says) is in order.

Despite being a grown adult, there’s a part of you that feels akin to a teenager sneaking out of the house.

You are not going to leave. Unlike a certain captain, you don’t have a death wish sneaking out in the middle of the night. While the soft sound of his snores assure you that he’s still sleeping you know he’d be displeased knowing you’re about to venture down the stairs by yourself.

You’re careful- equal parts trying to avoid the parts of the stairs that squeak because you’re not sure how light a sleeper John is, and equal parts simply not wanting to eat shit on the stairs. God forbid you give his concerns credibility- you don’t even want to think about what he’d do.

You haven’t been downstairs after sunset since the first night you stumbled into the house. John rather jealously keeps you herded upstairs.

You contemplate what the baby wants for a midnight snack as you cross from the stairs through the living room and into the kitchen.

Chef Boyardee sounds appealing and you don’t care about eating it cold- which is a plus because it’s one less thing for you to do versus something you’d want to eat warm.

The quiet in the house gives you time to come up with stupid fucking ideas like looking out the windows.

By and large you have been leaving them alone. There hasn’t been any sort of conversation about it between you and John, but you feel you’ve got enough of a read on him by now.

The main defense you two have is that the neighborhood is abandoned and there’s nothing special about the outside of the house. If someone happens to be strolling by and sees you moving the curtains in broad daylight- well, that seems like a good way to get your ass chewed on by John. Hence why you’ve left the windows alone.

But it’s nighttime and you’re alone.

The windows at the front of the house are boarded up, but in a slapstick, hurried fashion- there’s large gaps you can peek through as you bring your opened can of ravioli.

The street is deserted which is exactly what you expect. Not so much as a zombie shuffling through.

The neighborhood seems like it was beautiful before the end of the world. The kind of place that you always fantasized about living in.

What a weird way to get what you want.

Your mind wanders, focusing on the practicality of the fact you need to wash your clothes.

When out in the wild and forced to survive how you can, you learned to make do with dirty clothes that were lived in far longer than you prefer. But if you’re going to be cooped up in the house until your little hostage evacuates, it would be a good idea to clean them.

Curious if the backyard already has a clothes line, you carefully peel back the curtain blocking the view-

Only to be greeted with the sight of a zombie standing on the back porch right on the other side of the glass.

Your startle reflex has been trained out of you. There’s no big yelp or jump or dropping your food. Making loud noises like that can get you killed in situations where you might be able to survive if you can sneak away unnoticed.

Safely on the other side of the glass and obstructed by darkness- the zombie cannot see, hear or smell you. He gives no reaction to you, clearly having no knowledge of your existence.

You realize rather quickly that this is Fred, albeit far more gray and decayed than in the photos of him in the house. You wonder what happened to Wilma.

(It’s the goddamn apocalypse so you know statistically what happened, but a macabre curiosity for the details eats at you)

It’s not often (re: ever) that you’re in a situation to just…observe the undead. Always keeping an eye on them, always keeping tabs on what currently holds their attention, but never just a passive observation. They’re always a threat and you’re always trying to figure out how to get by or through them unscathed.

The small flick of you moving the curtain might have initially caught Fred’s attention but without the confirmation that you’re a meal to be devoured he shuffles slowly and moves away from the glass.

He’s caught in the yard, confined by the perimeter fencing. No chance of joining the herd.

You wonder why John hasn’t killed Fred yet. A singular zombie isn’t much of a threat.

Maybe he hadn’t seen Fred? The curtains had been drawn shut when he picked this house and he just kept them that way?

Seems unlikely, but arguably plausible.

You don’t see any sort of established clothing line to dry your clothes after you wash them.

You’re so fascinated by the Fred situation that you’re oblivious to the fact that John’s snoring stops. Or his door opening. Or his pause at the landing, eyes falling to your open door. Or his descent down the stairs and the huff of relief when he lays eyes on you.

You are not oblivious to the way he snarls “What in the devil are you doing?”, closing the distance between the two of you to haul you away from the glass.

The drop of the curtain catches Fred’s attention again but not enough to do more than cast an eerie shadow as he approaches.

“Why is there a zombie in the backyard?!” You keep your voice low as you hiss at John despite acquiescing as he pulls you along back towards the stairs.

“He wasn’t worth the bullet but that was before I realized you were going to go opening doors in the middle of the night!”

“I wasn’t opening the door!” You protest, suddenly aware that this conversation isn’t entirely unlike this morning’s argument when John slipping out in the middle of the night had ruffled your feathers.

“Then what are you doing down here?” He stops at the foot of the stairs, his question answered as his eyes land on the can in your free hand.

“I was eating!” You hold up the can as a beacon of your innocence, not missing the way the agitation on John’s face softens ever so slightly.

You take advantage of the opportunity to pull your arm out of his grasp.

He doesn’t try to wrestle you back into his grip- satisfied with your reasoning and the confirmation you hadn’t gone bat shit insane trying to let zombies into the house in the middle of the night.

In another life, one where the dead stay dead, you think maybe you’d still be able to wrap the captain around your finger and make him fold to your whims as easily as you accept his.

You’re pretty sure, however, that it’s just your delicate state that’s got him yielding to you. That keeping you alive, and ultimately getting you and your baby back to this settlement that he and his group watches over gives a sense of purpose where he’s otherwise aimless, trapped like an animal in a vivarium until he can safely find his way back home.

“Go finish your food,” he tells you firmly- still far more subdued than moments ago.

Again, not unlike this morning when he diffused the argument then.

Both of you are still maintaining your ground, but finding a way to keep the peace- you’re all the other has got in this situation.

He hovers as you make your way back to the kitchen- the moonlit shadow of Fred gone from the curtains, implying he’s aimlessly wandering the yard.

You don’t have much left of it, which is a good thing because eating while being watched just feels weird. You know he wants to drag you by your scruff back up the stairs and situate you for the night.

And that’s exactly what he does after you quickly clean after yourself.

Always with him and the stairs, he guides you up while following behind.

Where he throws you for a loop is when you expect to slink off to your own room, only for you to find one of his arms wrapping around your torso and cutting you off from your intended destination.

“Need to make sure you don’t go sneaking off again,” is all the reason he gives as he herds you towards his bed.

He’s the one who started all this by leaving last night on his own, but you decide to not light that particular candle. You can admit to missing the comfort of sharing a bed, and that the nights have been getting colder as fall begins to give way to winter.

Before the end of the world, you’d be giving this a long hard think. But the rules are different now- the way you interact and mesh with people has changed so drastically. Everything is in the fast lane.

You’re utterly dependent on John. Been at his mercy for days. If he was going to do something, surely he would have done it by now?

So you yield to the arm pressing lightly at your side- a request that while stern is not escalating to a demand.

You let him guide you towards his room.

A wave of exhaustion hits that holds your interest more than the decor of the room- there’s no personal touches or stashes of goodies hidden away. You get yourself situated under John’s watchful eye, and yet somehow it feels weirdly intimate to watch him so you look off at the wall as he gets in.

John stays on his side between you and the door, you stay on yours and if he says anything you don’t hear it. One second you’re blinking at the wall and the next you’re out like a light.

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

you as a Fatui healer, one of the most reliable in the entire organization. it's no surprise that you've been assigned to work under the Harbingers- you're a more helpful doctor than Dottore, since you prefer to heal and mend wounds rather than experimenting on them, and you're also pleasant to be around which can be quite rare in the Fatui. your most frequent patient is by far the Young Lord, Tartaglia- rarely does a week go by without a drop in from the Eleventh Harbinger, a charming grin on his face and some new gash or injury somewhere on his body. it almost seems like he enjoys getting hurt as much as he loves battle, and when you say as much with an exasperated sigh he simply laughs and teasingly replies that maybe it's you he likes. you scoff and roll your eyes, but you can't prevent the corners of your lips twitching up occasionally. sometimes it seems like it's true, too, with the way he greets you outside of your clinic and the playful ruffles he gives to your hair- but he's a Harbinger and you're just a medic, so of course it can't be reality no matter how much you secretly want it to. Tartaglia's only love is battle, so you'll settle with patching him up and sitting on the sidelines until you're no longer useful to the Fatui. it's late one night when you're reorganizing your supplies, all the other agents either home or asleep somewhere in the Headquarters, when something quite literally crashes through the door and into your clinic. your head snaps towards the sound, hand already hovering over the small blade you keep on your person at all times as you silently stalk towards whatever, or whoever, dares disturb the peace so late. when you round the corner you come face-to-face with a terrifying monster- twice your height and covered in violet and charcoal armor, a red mask covering its face with two twin horns, and claws so sharp and deadly they send shivers up your spine- for a moment you see your life before your eyes, but you stand your ground, clutching your blade. "Who are you and what do you want?" to your surprise, the monster doesn't attack- instead it simply lets out a frightened whine and presses its back against the wall, sliding down until it's sitting with its head in his knees. tentatively you come closer, blade still in hand, and the monster shrinks away with a pained whimper. upon closer inspection you can see its armor is littered in wounds both large and small, allowing glittering, inhuman blood to drip through, and your heart aches for this poor, scared creature. so you do what you do best, and fetch a medical kit. the monster looks at you, shivering, but you simply kneel and begin tending to its injuries, shushing it gently when it yelps or flinches in pain. soon the trembles wracking the beast's body slow and it allows you to continue in silence, claws occasionally tapping on the floor. by the time all the wounds are treated you're exhausted, but smiling because the creature lets out a quiet, grateful chirp before scooting closer to you. you stare up into its single crystalline eye, and it stares back down at you earnestly, leaning as close as it can without actually touching you. "Who are you?" the monster rumbles softly, one hand coming up to rest on your shoulder and the other moving towards your head. you watch, but stay still, curious to see what the creature has in mind, and as gentle as can be, you feel claws delicately ruffle your hair before retreating. your eyes widen as you crane your neck and continue to gaze into the azue eye of Lord Tartaglia, and he, in turn, settles his forehead against the crook of your neck, star-dotted wings fluttering weakly but happily with the knowledge that he's been reunited with the person he's loved ever since he saw you. your hands find purchase in his fluffy ginger hair, and you swear you hear him let out soft purrs as you thread your fingers through the locks, mumbling out the only thought on your mind. "What happened to you...?"

[oldmanenjoyer]

Hi it’s the Wally anon! Thank you for answering my question and I wanted to ask for a long request if you’re up for it:

Can you do a Wally x reader who has a secret identity of a supervillain with powers(you can choose the power)? When they are in their disguise, they are loud, bombastic and demanding (like a Disney villain). They don’t hurt anyone but they do often declare the neighbourhood as theirs, demands stuff from the neighbours and ruin major events when they don’t get their way. They even paint on the neighbour stuff to signify that something is theirs. When they are not in their disguise, they are nice, helpful and shy to cover their tracks and no one would guess their true identity. I like the idea of The neighbours talking together about how the villain( you can choose the supervillain name) is such a terrible person and how they plan to get them back while the culprit is helping them bake a pie while they rant. They would never know until the reader falls for Wally. They continue get closer to him and he falls for them as well until after a while, he finds out about their secret( you can choose how he finds out). He then confronts them in their disguised form as they kidnap his friends and he exposes them in secret and says he wouldn’t like to get closer to a bully and they start to go through a redemption arc. All of this is your choice. I’m just giving the form and I want to see it in your writing. I’m excited about it if you ok with taking it on.

No one in the Neighborhood truly understood you. Antagonist as you were, none of them seemed to get that in order to have balance, good needed to be compared to bad. How could you be happy without being sad first? You tried to show them, donned silly outfits and a mask to flock throughout the neighborhood and cause mayhem, truly terrible things that showed them how true happiness felt.

And it worked! Your displays of terror led to the neighborhood coming closer together. Julie and Frank would work together to fix decorations. Poppy and Howdy would remake ruined food. Barnaby and Eddie would call a truce long enough to fetch anything anybody needed. Sally would happily lead the entire gang along. And you? You'd find yourself working with Wally, at the behest of the others.

Seems your feelings weren't as hidden as you thought. But that's okay. None of them suspected you. Why would they? You were what Julie liked to call a shrinking violet. Too much attention had you cowing away from a group activity, no matter how fun. You blushed easily, held hands with everyone, you cried when the villain destroyed your work. You were the last suspect to be on the list.

So how did he figure you out?

Wally was too observant for his own good. His eyes bore into you like black holes, sucking in all the light around them.

You clutched the crumbled paper heart in your hands, ripping it in half.

"You're a bully." Wally said, matter of fact.

"I'm helping the neighborhood." You retorted, ignoring the hollowness in your chest. "Things are too. . . peaceful. Without drama, without a common enemy, you'd start hating one another!"

"No." Wally said with a shake of his head. "We wouldn't. Because we're friends. Friends trust each other." He glanced away, like he couldn't be bothered to look at you. It hurt more than it should. "I trusted you. I thought you trusted me."

You hiked your shoulders up. "The world-"

"The neighborhood loves you." Wally interrupted. He turned away fully now, and you get so mad. But who were you mad at? Him? The world? Yourself? You couldn't tell. "But you don't love the neighborhood, huh?" He walked away, and you stood amidst your destruction, unsatisfied with this result. "Goodnight, neighbor."

You cringed. Guess first name basis was lost.

As you were left alone, your emotions began to rise over you, strong waves ready to drown you in their intensity. The disappointment Wally showed somehow made all of your intentions seem. . . insignificant. You didn't feel justified anymore, even if you knew how things would turn out tomorrow. That is, if Wally didn't tattle on you.

You shook your head.

Maybe. . . maybe you should rethink some things. Maybe the neighborhood was due some peace from villains and drama. And maybe the neighbors, who were all so kind to you, deserved apologies. Sincere ones.

But that could be handled in the morning.

[church-of-lilith]

Vinylatte Good Omens Fic Masterlist

the maggie/nina tag on ao3 post season 2 has been almost impossible to navigate if you’re trying to find actual fics of them. so i decided that i would compile all of them i could find and put them here in one place for anyone who’s been looking.

**denotes fics where they’re more of a background pairing, but still prevalent

Pre-Season Fics

Shrinking Violet by deathbymistletoe

Really cute one shot written and published after the early screening of the first two episodes. Explores Maggie’s feelings for Nina but is canon divergent after 2x02

divine intervention by literary_lesbian

In which Nina thinks her intentions are pretty clear, but Maggie needs a bit more reassurance.

all this (and heaven, too) by literary_lesbian

5 times Nina & Maggie assume Aziraphale & Crowley are together + the 1 time they actually are.

Collections/Series

Atlas (then suddenly, I saw you) by Andnever_ever_eatpears

A collection of fics set throughout Maggie & Nina’s relationship. Currently at 8 works but the author says there’s 11 planned so definitely keep an eye on this one!

When I’m Ready I Hope She’ll Be There by gutsandglitter (@applebottomclaudiajeans)

A collection of fics that take us through Maggie & Nina’s relationship as it develops. Currently at 4 works and they’re some of the sweetest most well written stories you’ll ever read.

One Shots

The times, they are a-changing by WrittenMemxries

4 times Nina enters Maggie’s shop + 1 time she enters her house

i’m begging for you to take my hand, wreck my plans, that’s my (wo)man by Lavenderknives (@lavenderknivess)

Maggie is closing up the record store, but Nina has something she wants to say.

lost in your current like a priceless kombucha by Lavenderknives (@lavenderknivess)

Short crack-ish fic where Maggie makes her own kombucha and brings some to Nina.

my, my, how can i resist you by Lavenderknives (@lavenderknivess)

Maggie and Nina have a silly little movie night because they deserve it!

and she aches (just like a woman) by literary_lesbian

A year after The Whickber Street Traders and Shopkeepers Association meeting, Nina comes to terms with what she really wants.

and yet it moves by literary_lesbian**

Aziraphale knows he should leave Earth behind entirely, if he means to take his role in reforming Heaven seriously. But when Maggie calls out to him, he can’t help but listen in. He never was very good at following the rules, even his own.

a new light by literary_lesbian

Nina has always hated the holiday season and the decorations her fellow Shopkeepers on Whickber Street enjoy utilizing to the extreme, year after year after… Until Maggie comes along and sheds some light on a few things.

terms of endearment by literary_lesbian**

In which Crowley learns something new about humanity, and he and Aziraphale finally come to terms with their feelings.

hymns for a broken heart by andiwriteordie

Five records Maggie gives to Crowley, plus one she gives to Aziraphale

worm-hearted by findmebythemilkway**

“Would you still love Mr. Fell if he was a worm?” Maggie blurts out and immediately blushes. Nina snorts in her respective corner. Crowley, who’s been busy eyeing both the television and the bookshop, redirects his eyes to her. Maggie offers him a toothy grin. “I’m… sorry?” Crowley asks. He can’t wait for Aziraphale to arrive and hear this.

I’m ready by Culties

Nina has a confession to make and reminisces on her relationship with Maggie so far.

Like Real People Do by My__name__Leo**

Aziraphale and Crowley are on a double date with Nina and Maggie. But what happens when Crowley gets overwhelmed?

who wants to live forever? by lovelosvers**

“Maggie,” he turns mock serious. “Would you describe The Velvet Underground as bebop?” She looks bewildered. “Never in a million years,” she says. “So you see my point, then,” Crowley grins.

Tilt by DoonaRose

Maggie tells Aziraphale that her and Nina have started a relationship but that he can’t tell Crowley because Nina doesn’t want to hear ‘I told you so’. Aziraphale tells Crowley because he can’t help himself and then Crowley decides to show Nina that him and Aziraphale are also now doing the kissing and being a couple thing.

a little uncertainty by TheTellersEye

Maggie and Nina talking about the future and being cute.

Mr. Fell is Back by ughdotcom

Mr. Fell is back. Nina and Maggie have a few comments.

Multi-Chapter Fics

Moving On by neowitcher

Maggie and Nina have endured a lot in a short amount of time and now that Aziraphale is off to Heaven, any heavenly or demonic threats seem to have departed. Now, the two women are left spending their days in each other's company and are steadily growing fonder of each other. Maggie fears she's moving too fast when all Nina wants to do is move on.

The Third Fall by cordsycord

The Second Coming of Jesus Christ, son of God, came to Earth, against the predictions of dozens prominent religious scholars, on the relatively normal day of June 21st 2024, four months before the Earth's 6028th birthday. It was raining in London. The M25 was backed up. The Tube was late arriving to one station, and early arriving to another. Tourists took pictures at all the places that tourists enjoy taking pictures at.

Coming Back Around by CLOVERTOWN3

After Aziraphale leaves Earth, Crowley is left to drown in his sorrow. Together, Maggie and Nina weigh the tasks of keeping Crowley in check and solving the mystery of Aziraphale's strange and sudden promotion. All the while Muriel learns more about love, heaven, and the nature of humanity.

Whickber Street Relationship Counseling (And Rescue Service) by staroversea

The incredible true story of how 8 shopkeepers become responsible for a very emotionally fragile demon.

Uncharted Territory by Justanothernerdsstuff

Seven months after Aziraphale took his new position in heaven, Crowley is coping the best he can.

Most Ardently by borealisaurora**

Aziraphale brings Pride and Prejudice with him to Heaven, and with its help and the help of some friends, he realizes where he went wrong with Crowley and what he needs to do to fix it.

We Could’ve Been Us by elusive_ellipsis**

Aziraphale's last words to the one being he could ever say he loved were "I forgive you," but he knows that Crowley will never forgive him. Nina and Maggie try to convince him that he can make it up to the demon, but Aziraphale is only staying on Earth until he accepts that their relationship is truly over.

You’re Crashing but You’re no Wave, You’re Just an Angel Cast out of Heaven by Blueleaf12

Where is Crowley supposed to go after the Metatron whisked Aziraphale away to heaven? Bunk across the hall from where the Archangel Gabriel once resided in Aziraphale’s bookshop? Fuck no, now was the time to mope with those two human women you royally messed up trying to get together.

Something lasts forever by Aidaran

After Aziraphale leaves, Crowley is left to drink himself to death and be just as miserable as he can be. Lucky for him, Nina doesn't have patience for drunk demons in his shop, and Maggie is always willing to give a helping hand.

what it all comes down to by dollsome**

Aziraphale starts sneaking out of Heaven to visit Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death. It helps immensely.

Shepherds of the Damned by angelwithawand**

After Aziraphale leaves, Crowley carves out a life of his own.

on the inside and no sunlight by the_moonmoth**

In which Crowley makes some friends, Aziraphale does some thinking, and they both learn a thing or two about communication

[minumi-chan]

A Twin Thing - Finale - 16 years old

Due to formatting, this chap is best read on A03 Rated: G Summary: How much do you know? His twin’s brow furrows deep, and Donnie looks tired, so tired when he finally whispers. “Everything.” Leo’s face pales. His eyes sting again at the corners. “E-Everything?” Everything.

A/N: This chapter is a sort of reversed mirror to the last one and intersects, if you skipped chap 6, the story will make sense but it will lose some clarity. If you elect to reread the pain train, I'm sorry in advance but also you're welcome for how this slots into place.

::CH1::CH2::CH3::CH4::CH5::CH6::

I also recommend a little bit of background ambiance music to help bring the feels home. Set this playlist to loop on your spotify (or wherever you like your jammy jams) and read: Home and Reunion -- Alkis Livathinos (From Hue OST)

~~ 16 years old ~ Finale ~~

“Mikey, it’s over,” Raph urges him gently. 

Donatello releases a shuddering breath, not yet willing to face his youngest brother’s grief when he is still choking on his own. But Mikey’s voice rings clear and determined across the empty parking lot. 

“Leo never gave up on us. I’m not giving up on him!”  

The air around them sparks to life with electric golden light as Mikey groans with effort. Turning in surprise, Donnie feels a stir deep within himself the moment that the air before his little brother splits into a golden seam. He inhales sharply, several more tears escaping as his eyes widen. 

“Mikey?! Whatever you’re doing-- don’t stop!!” Raph instructs as he rushes forward. 

Donnie follows hot on his heels towards the inexplicable pull of what lies beyond that spark of mystic power. It pulses with an energy that tickles at the edges of the void throbbing in his chest. As he grasps his little brother’s shoulder tightly, he never takes his eyes off the glowing golden light ripping open space before them. 

“We’re here, Mikey. Together!” 

Mystic energy disseminates through the three of them and crackles their skin with Mikey’s golden light. The doorway opens into a dim lifeless space, filled with decaying frozen remnants of destroyed ships and krang carcasses. 

With every inch the portal grows, Donatello feels the cold emptiness inside him shrink and fill with a presence he had not realized belonged there until this moment. A tiny mote of fury, a splash of humor, a blaze of passion, a wave of loyalty, and the warmth of a love he took for granted every second of every day of his life because Donnie has never once had to go without it until now. A presence he never wants to feel the lack of ever again.

Golden light illuminates Leo’s bruised face, and the dum dum has the gumption to smile as he reaches towards them, “Heh... took you guys long enough!” 

Raph projects his arm through the portal without hesitation to pull their brother out of the darkness, but the menacing glint of a scarlet eye rears its ugly head behind Leonardo. The tears that still leak from Donnie’s eyes spark into seething streaks of violet mystic energy as he growls with unbridled rage at the Krang. Shaping his fury into a massive drill, he aims straight and true for the monster who nearly ripped his twin from him, buying just enough time for Raph to get Leo through the portal and into their waiting arms as Mikey closes it behind them. 

The ringing he had heard is gone. As is the icy void in his chest, the aching emptiness he had felt when the krang portal snapped closed. Falling to his knees, Donnie studies Leo’s bruised and broken body in silent horror, words having left him as his head fills with a faint buzz of pain from... well everywhere.

“Leo?” Raph asks nervously beside him. 

“Hey,” Leo answers tiredly after a brief moment, finding the strength somehow to offer them a smile. His gaze travels over each of his brothers’ faces, reaching Donnie last and pausing. The swollen skin around his eye twitches and his brow wrinkles slightly with concern as he eyes Don’s unusually obvious distress. 

Donatello’s eyes water again as he feels the question that goes unspoken between them. 

You good?

Pressing his lips into a tightline, Don minutely twitches his head in a nod and releases a shuddering breath when words cannot form on his tongue. Leo understands, because of course he always has, and moves his gaze elsewhere taking in their surroundings. 

“ Ewww! Are we in Staten Island?” 

Raphael pulls all his brothers into a hug full of relieved teary laughter as they cling to each other, shaking from the adrenaline and emotions still running high between them. He feels the way Leo winces through his laughter, an echo of a sharp sting in his own chest follows. Slowly, carefully, he reaches for Leonardo’s hand, the one that isn’t trembling and squeezes. Leo finds his gaze again with wide eyes, searching his face as if seeing something new, before squeezing back. Don feels his face grow damp again, and doesn’t bother to stem the fresh flow of tears this time. 

He doesn’t let go of Leo’s hand. Not while they wait huddled together for April, Casey and Papa to get to their location. Not as they all pile into the ‘acquired’ van that will get them back to safety. Not for a moment during the long ride to get back into the city through the chaos and wreckage the invasion had caused. Not as his body temperature slowly drops, despite being surrounded on all sides by his brothers. Not when his eyes droop closed in spite of everything racing through his mind telling him to stay awake.

Voices murmur around him, but he’s reached the stage where he can’t understand them. It’s all just radio static. No one presses him for words he can’t find. He sits quietly, breathing slow and shallow through the pain, hand still locked with Leo’s where his twin sits propped up against Raph’s chest. Mikey is pressed close beside him, arms folded carefully in his lap unmoving when normally he’d be playing with his phone. 

His little brother is in pain, Donnie realizes. It radiates off of Raphael as well, in the tenseness of his muscles, and the way he grinds his jaw. Leo is like a beacon of it, pulsing with hurt and yet still finding it in himself to keep smiling, making soft voiced jokes probably to soothe all of their nerves and to keep himself awake. They should all stay awake...

Donnie should be planning their next move, should be assessing each family member's damage to know what they’ll need when they arrive home. With Leo out of commission, he’s going to need help. Did his brothers shred the manuals for all of the medical devices in the medbay like they did for the Turtle tank? Maybe he should just send the digital backups straight to their phones for ease of access... Do they even have enough supplies for how injured they all are? He tries to move through a checklist of what he knows is stocked in their small, about to be proven inadequate medbay... only to find his thoughts moving like a spoon through a thick lumpy soup. Nevermind that he cannot recall exactly what is in stock at home, they definitely are going to need more of everything , and should make a pit stop before reaching the lair. 

He tries to say as much, only his tongue clicks in his mouth and no words leave him. Trying again results only in another series of clicks, ending with a very soft chirp.

Leo catches the small noises immediately, looking at him with increasing concern. The distortion of unintelligible words continues around him and Don blinks slow, almost doesn’t open his eyes again. His tongue clicks again trying to form words, except it gets stuck in a long strangled sound that nearly makes him gag this time. 

“Donnie, you okay buddy?” 

Raph is speaking now, and it takes real effort to drag his eyes up to his eldest brother. The larger turtle moves his hands tiredly, there’s something wrong with his right arm. Donnie can tell by how stiffly he moves and the sloppiness of his hand shapes.

 [[ Sign? ]]

Don swallows thickly, clicking again. The fingers of his free hand lift and twitch through the pain, but the signs won’t come, locked in his mind. 

“Hey Dee, you with me?” 

Donnie shifts his gaze to his twin who’s right eye has nearly swollen shut, Leo squeezes their still laced fingers and it hurts . Everything hurts .

The edges of Don's vision are as dark as the bruises ripening along all of their bodies. In lieu of answering, his eyes fall shut as a violent shiver runs through him and he whimpers. Gravity does something funny, and Donnie hears what might be his name frantic on Mikey's tongue. 

Only then does his grip on Leo’s hand finally loosen, and all fades to unforgiving black. 

The anxiety, fear, and pain they have all been suppressing throughout their hard won fight bubbles up the moment Donatello keels over like a limp noodle. For several minutes, the back of the van is pure chaos, raised voices, worried cries, upset tears and distressed movement, before Leo can finally wrangle everyone’s attention and energy into effective triage. Not a single one of them is whole, but they do their best to follow his shaky instructions. 

Everything in his body aches like a raw nerve, so much so that Leo could hardly feel the steady undercurrent of his twin’s echoing pain beneath his own. He can’t know everything that his little brothers endured when he separated from them inside the technodrome, but even just the blow that broke through Donnie’s shield at the top... Leo intimately knows the power behind those blows. He should have known -- should have realized sooner that Don could not have remained unscathed after such a direct hit. He should have been paying attention to everyone's condition...

Leo fights back the pure panic that washes through him when darkness starts to edge at his own vision. He can’t pass out on them too, they need direction and with Donnie out cold, there’s no one else with enough medical knowledge to walk them through dressing the wounds they’ve suffered, or using the equipment in the medbay. It takes Leo a moment to realize the scared whimpers he’s hearing distantly are his own. He’s waited too long, and now there is no telling who will konk out next, and whether or not they’d even wake up again. 

“Easy, Leo. Just one step at a time. We’ll get through this together, like we always do, okay?” Raph assures him with a gentle squeeze to this shoulder. 

He must be speaking out loud, but he can no longer hear himself above the ringing in his ears. He’s floating as the room gets dimmer. No, no, no, he doesn’t want to be alone in the dark again. 

“My son,” Splinter’s voice is the gentlest he has ever heard it as his pink hand brushes over his brow, “We’re here, you’re here with us, you're safe now.” 

Casey nervously pipes up, but he’s so very far away to Leo, “Isn’t there a medical facility we could go to?” 

“T-There aren’t any that would be non-human friendly yet, Casey,” Even April sounds shaky. 

“Barry-- we should call Barry, omigosh-- do we even know if he’s okay?? April could you, o-ow eheh...” Mikey’s weak laugh is a poor cover for his obvious pain as he pulls out his phone and nearly drops it when handing it over to her. His hands are shaking too much to work it. Leo tries not to think about nerve damage and how little he can do to reverse that...

“Nice thinking, Mikey...” Leo offers weakly and shivers as his eyes droop against his will, “Could-- could someone... turn on the l-lights...please?”

Several frightened voices call his name as he sinks deeper into the darkness, feeling small and terrified . Alone. Again. 

The Krang’s laughter echoes ominous around him and Leo feels his breath start to freeze in his lungs as--

Familiar warmth fills his chest, easing the chill, calming his breaths, sharing the pain . Leo wants to cry when he feels the presence somehow standing with him.  

I’m here. 

Relief battles against the agonizing memory of that cold dark void, trapped, terrified, alone-- 

Please-- please don’t leave me alone--

I won't.

Leo believes in those words, and finally lets go of conscious thought. 

.

.

.

The next several hours are a haze of agony and severe anxiety every time he wakes up dazed and unaware of where he is. Pain is always the first sensation, followed by dread, and cold. The endless cold vastness of dead space, alone --

I’m here. 

Leo clings to the comfort of those words and fades out again.

.

.

. 

Splinter and Draxum argue quietly when next he wakes up. He can’t really understand what they’re saying through the fog of hurt. It takes them a moment to even realize he’s staring dully between them as if following a ping pong match. 

“You shouldn’t be alive ,” the yokai sounds oddly fond as he injects something into Leo’s IV bag that makes the world go soft around the edges. There’s a thump followed by a grunt from Draxum.

“What I mean is. I am. Glad. That you. Are not extinguished,” he finishes awkwardly. 

“I still h’ven f’got you... you threw m’off a buildin’,” Leo slurs, barely able to keep his eyes open from the heavy combination of drugs keeping his pain and stress levels manageable.  

“And he still has not apologized for it,” Splinter gruffs, smoothing a hand over his brow. Leo closes his eyes and drifts away again before he can make out Draxum’s haughty laughing rebuttal.

Another laugh echoes sinister around him in the dark and he tenses. 

I’m here. 

He relaxes . 

.

.

.

The next time he wakes up, it’s with the dissociative numbness that only comes from a very strong cocktail of painkillers. He’s on his side... man he hates sleeping on his side, leaves such a bad crick in the neck... The dull pulsing throb in his shell even through the haze of medication tells him why it must be so. Bit by bit he registers his surroundings. 

Mikey is curled up carefully beside him. His little brother’s head is wrapped, and he can see a line of butterfly stitches peeking under the gauze. His mind moves like molasses through the fight, recalling the hit that separated them. How Leo had cracked his shell for the first time (but not the last) against the concrete slabs surrounding them, but Mikey-- Michelangelo had smacked head first into one. Mikey's hands are also bandaged up from fingertips to the elbows... and from what his blurred vision reveals, Leo has even more bandages all over his own body along with a few casted limbs. Mikey’s bandaged palm is on his plastron, just over where his heart beats. He’s so unnervingly quiet and still in his repose, so unlike the vibrant Michelangelo he knows, that it makes Leo’s heart speed up in fear . The machine he’s connected to beeps in tandem with his rising heart rate, betraying his conscious state. 

“Hey, Leon~” he can hear the smile in Mikey’s tired voice before he drags his eyes back to his little brother’s face. The skin under his eyes is bruised and puffy, no doubt from long hours of too many tears and not enough sleep. 

He croaks what is supposed to be Mikey’s name. His eyes blink closed for a long moment, and he jerks to fight it, feeling several injuries protesting at the violent movement. Groaning at the residual throb now thrumming throughout his battered limbs and shell, he shifts his gaze around the room desperately until it lands on another brother. 

Raphael is squished into a chair that’s just barely big enough for him, one arm in a sling, an eye hidden under bandages, and his cheek smushed where it rests against his less injured shoulder. He will definitely have a crick in his neck later... Raph’s good hand is curled protectively over the crown of his Donnie’s head where he lays with his back to Leo in the bed opposite him. 

His single eye that isn’t swollen shut widens in horror at the sight of the bloodied bandages all over his twin’s back. The heart monitor picks up the pace again. 

“Hey, hey--” Mikey shushes him softly, patting his plastron gently.

“Whas--”

“It’s okay, Leo--”

“H-happen--” his breath stutters as his chest aches from the pressure of his quickening breaths against his broken ribs. 

“Leo please, take it easy,” Mikey’s cracking voice finally makes him tear his sight away from twin’s unmoving form to his little brother now openly crying before him. “He’s gonna be o-okay. You’re both gonna be okay.”

“Mikesh, whappen--”

“I can’t talk about it right now, kay? M-Maybe later?” Mikey takes a shaky breath and wipes his cheek with a bandaged arm before hissing in pain.

“O-Okay, Migs,” Leo slurs, his eyes are drooping, but he forces his only good hand-- were they all just a band of one armed, no-armed ninjas now or what -- and clasps the hand Michael still had against his heart. “Wer gon be good, yeah?”

Michelangelo gives him a watery smile and nods, “Yeah.”

Leo’s eyes shut against his will. As the darkness surrounds him, he shudders. The glare of a red eye falls upon him. No, not again--

I’m here. 

Leo holds tight to that like a shield. 

.

.

.

Raph’s chair is now between their beds when consciousness finds him again. His big brother is asleep once more, but someone has found him a neck pillow to brace under his chin. The result is him snoring like a chainsaw. Leo’s eyes are gritty and he wants to rub them but moving is so hard so he just blinks several times. 

Donnie’s back is still to him in the next bed over, but his bandages are only tinted pink this time. He shivers at the memory of the blood and his heart monitor skips a beat. Raph snorts and stirs in his chair, his one good eye peeking open. He starts when he notices Leon awake. 

“Leo!” He winces, realizing how loud his excitement is, and looks over at the other bed, “Sorry Mikey just fell asleep, so we gotta be quiet.”

Leon squints at the other bed and sees a slip of orange bandana over the curve of Donnie’s bruised shoulder. Distracted, he traces all the visible injuries on his twin that he can see from his limited vantage point. 

“Why’s Don give’m a run fer my mummy?” he mutters, brow furrowed as he drags his eyes up to Raph and slowly lifts one corner of his mouth in a smile. 

Raphael watches him wide-eyed before rubbing a hand over his maskless face with a quiet groan, “You did not just say that on purpose. It’s the drugs. I’ma chalk it up to the drugs--” 

Leo tries to shift to get a better look at the other bed’s occupant only to end up whimpering as pain stabs through him. When it’s over, his eyes are watering and Raph has gotten up from his chair to reach for him. 

“Why’s Donnie lie that? Wha’ happened?” he wheezes out. 

“Easy, did ya want to move a bit? Raph can help, tell big bro what ya need.”

“Raphie, don’t-- yer putin’ t’much stress on yer injuries, I just know ish,” Leo grunts as he tries to wriggle away from Raphael’s touch, breaths quickening and the damn monitor broadcasting his agitation .

“Okay, okay, look I’m sitting, witness me sit. There, ya happy?” Raphael doesn’t quite manage to hide a grunt of discomfort as he settles down. “Don’t say I told you so, I will get a sandal, don’t try me.” 

Leo manages a true giggle at that, breathing becoming easier before pinning his older brother with a knowing look, “Yer dodgin’ my ques’... ques’.. Jus’ answer.” 

Raphael sighs but offers a lopsided smile, “I guess you an’ Donnie wanna compete even in this, huh? You guys keep waking up out of sync. Very un-twinlike of ya. Demanding answers about everybody, without ever thinking about yourselves.” 

He trails off, swallowing thickly and looking over at the other bed where their little brothers rest. 

“Whas happen, Raph?” Leo insists again, “Tell me?”

“It’s been a long three days, bro.”

Leo gapes, “T-Three days ?” 

“Yea, lemme fill ya in,” Raph’s eye is shining with unshed tears even as he smiles at Leo and reaches out again to rub a large thumb across his brow back and forth. Leo’s too honest when drugged to pretend he hates it, so he chirps softly instead and half closes his eyes as he leans into the petting. 

“Barry actually came in clutch, probably woulda lost my eye if he hadn’t been here... When the bandages come off, we’ll see how my vision is. Arm’s broken, shell’s busted, some burns from... from that stuff,” Raph pauses with a shaky breath, going silent for a long minute and just breathing. 

Leo blinks his eyes open, he can finally open both of them again, though his right one still feels sore. His big brother is looking into the middle distance, never stopping his gentle touch over Leon’s brow. 

“Raph?” Leonardo says barely above a whisper, wrapping his good hand around Raph’s wrist, “S’okay, ya dun hafta if--” 

"Mikey's got a lot of bruising and one hell of a concussion. He’s still getting around on his own the best out of all of us though. Donnie--" Raph interrupts his attempt to offer an out of the conversation, looking over at the other bed, and pride rolls off him like the single silent tear that rolls down his cheek, his voice is slightly thicker when he continues, "Mikey said that blow at the top wasn't the only one Donnie took for him that day. Dee did a good job being The Big Bro while we were both uhh... occupied . Kept Mikey safe . But his arms, Mikey’s arms haven’t stopped shaking, so Casey's been doing most of the cooking. It's been an experience learning that Casey knows next to nothing about spices. But well, Mikey, Dad and me take turns showing him what to add in. You gotta watch the kid drink some cinnamon cocoa, you’d swear it was the nectar of the gods...” 

Leo huffs a laugh, and feels relieved when it brings a smile back to Raph’s face.  

“That’s been helping keep Mikey distracted too. He's... not doing so good with being separated from anybody for too long right now."

Leo thinks back to waking up with Mikey curled up beside him. Looking back at his twin's bed and seeing him tucked against Donnie, clinging in much the same way he had to Leo at that time.

"He's taking turns," Raph explains, following his gaze, "Sometimes he sleeps with you, sometimes me, right now it's Dee..."

"Whas happen to Don? Why’s he s’hurt?"

"Donnie... he-- he got ripped out of the control console. Dee's not very talkative right now but Mike was there. To control the ship he said Donnie had to..."  Raphael shudders, closing his eye briefly, "Said he had to integrate with it through his shell... Then that hit from that asshole... He keeps waking up looking for you, like he thinks yer still in... in that place. I’m guessing concussion stuff? Won’t calm down ‘till he can see ya. Haven't seen you two so keen on each other since we were little. It'd be cute, if everything else wasn’t so..."

"F'dged?" 

"Did you censor yourself on purpose?"

"Nuh...fud. Fug... Fudgeh...f'rget it..."

Raph actually laughs, and Leo feels a million pounds of stress dissipate at the sound, chest aching with not a small amount of pride to have inspired even a little bit of humor in Raph. Things can't be so horrible, if he can still make Raphael laugh.

"Wer... gon'be okay, right Raphie?"

"Yea, little bro. We're gonna be okay," Raph's voice trembles but he's smiling as he says it, thumb never pausing its soothing motion across his forehead. 

It's too soon when sleep tries to claim him again, blurring Raph’s words and making them almost unintelligible in the fog creeping back over his mind. He whines and shifts trying to fight it. 

“Shh, Leo, rest. Raph’ll be here when you wake up,” Raphael promises. 

He has no doubts that Raphael will keep that promise, but he isn’t afraid of being alone while awake . 

What he fears is being alone and cold in the dark. Alone and floating in the vastness of space. Alone under the beam of a red eye . Alone--

I’m here. 

Leo weeps, but it’s from relief .

.

.

.

The next time he blinks into quasi-awareness the pain has somehow doubled, like two conflicting songs being played in the background, low enough to not compete with each other, but loud enough to make out the lyrics of both if you chose to focus. Whatever drugs were in his system must be running low if Leo can feel his twin’s agony alongside his own... Or maybe it’s Donnie’s morphine that has run its course and his twin is in enough suffering that even he can feel it. Has he been projecting on Donnie this whole time too? The thought curdles his stomach with worry . 

His movement is sluggish as he shifts to look for his twin. He’s still in the bed across the way, however this time facing towards him. With his mask off, it’s easy to see the harrowed creases of Donnie’s forehead. Sweat beads on Donnie’s brow, and there’s an ugly bruise discoloring the whole right side of his face, cheek puffy with swelling still. His arms are curled in front of him carefully, one is casted to below the elbow, the other has a stiff wrist brace, a phone still cradled loosely in his better hand. Leo frowns, knowing his dum dum brother has probably been trying to work on whatever nerdisms he can while barely being able to use his damn phone. The steady beeping of the heart monitors they are connected to is somehow nerve wracking and soothing all at once. It at least lets him know his twin is stable, and there are no immediate concerns.

Mikey sighs in his sleep nearby and Leo’s gaze jumps to his little brother, curled up asleep in the chair between their beds that Raph usually occupies. There’s a teddy tucked in his bandaged arms, one of Raphael’s, and he’s smushed into the large pillow draped over the arm of the chair. Though Mikey is small, it still can’t be comfortable to sleep there. 

“He won’t sleep outside the medbay. Hasn’t since we got back,” a warm human hand brushes over the back of his neck and he jumps before the slow soothing motions make him recognize the touch,  “Hey, it’s April, you’re alright... You said that out loud by the way.” 

“Why I kep doin’ that--” 

“The drugs I’m sure, or the concussion, or both probably. Either way, you’ve been a wealth of entertainment, especially when you’re extra out of it,” April chuckles, and something cool and soothing is being applied to his shell. 

“Fugg, nooo-- What I say?” Leo whines, hissing when shifting pulls a wave of fire through the cracks in his shell. April shushes him quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder to squeeze gently, thumb tracing over one of the yellow stripes on his skin. 

“Ask Donnie to show you later, he records everything,” She answers bemused, before continuing her work at his shell, “Raph’s gone to take a shower, I promised him I’d change your shell dressing and stay ‘til he was back so Mikey didn’t get anxious. You doing okay? Need anything?” 

He cranes his neck to give her a tired smile, “Not f’me... Dee, Dee’s in pain tho. Needs mo’meds.”  

April looks at him silently for a long moment, before turning to look at Donnie, seeing the discomfort now broadcasting on his sleeping face. When she looks back at Leo she raises a brow over the rim of her red glasses. 

“Is this one of your freaky twin things?”

Leo grins though it makes half his face ache. 

April shakes her head with a small laugh, “Well, thing is Donnie asked for us to back off his painkillers. Makes his mind too fuzzy to work. Yes, I know he shouldn’t be, but--” 

She trails off avoiding his gaze. 

“Whas it? Whas wrong?” When she doesn’t respond right away, Leo’s heart monitor picks up in rhythm, he prompts her again, “April, tell me...” 

“Donnie’s been remotely upgrading the Lair security. Said it was serious, that it couldn’t wait. We still have the key-- and we’re in no shape to defend it if anyone tries to take it right now. He won’t--” she hesitates again, before steeling herself with a slow breath, “He won’t say what exactly, but he saw something when he took over the ship.” 

Leo’s mind is spinning in a million directions. The technodrome-- he asked him to hijack it. Raph told him, Donnie integrated into the ship-- it’s what caused such terrible injuries to his shell. Guilt twists his guts as he stares at his twin. 

“He was adamant we let him work, and after everything, well... we agreed as a family. Sorry Leo, you were asleep for that meeting, and something tells me it was for the best,” April finishes with a sigh, rubbing his arm soothingly as his heart monitor beeps in warning. 

“No, no--” Leo’s brow furrows, eyes never leaving his brother, “I trus’ Don. If ‘e says it needs t’happen, then, it neesh to... Hey, Big Sis?” 

April squeezes his shoulder again and he can hear the smile in her voice, “What’s up little bro?”

“Could you...” 

Leo’s fading again. He hates being this tired all the time, being unable to hold more than a three minute conversation before the darkness claims him again. When he shivers at the memory, April must mistake it for cold because she pulls the blankets tighter around him. 

“Ask Raphie t’put... put our besh togesh peas?”

“You got it, that’s an O’Neil promise.”

He tries to thank her but the shadows take over his vision. This time, he doesn’t simply wait in the void of his memory's making. He’s pushing through the terror and reaching, pushing out of the darkness, towards the familiar warm light he can always feel inside him, until he hit the barrier his twin has always kept around himself to buffer their connection. But something doesn’t feel right, something is different, off about the arrangement this time. He isn’t being kept out, rather something is being kept in . He pushes further, bumping along the edges, with a little more pressure, a little more insistence each time until he finds a soft spot, until something gives, until he can slip into a crack past his brother’s defenses and--

Leonardo nearly shrinks back at the inescapable tangle of horror .  

Everything feels slimy.

And slippery. 

And slithering.

I’m here!

Flashes of translucent pink-violet tentacles surround him and Leo is consumed with a dread and disgust so violent he chokes down the urge to vomit. His head is full of images, most flashing faster than he can process, and he’s thankful because those that he can glimpse are nothing but death and annihilation, but he pushes through the pulsing and the writhing terror of it all until--

I’m here, Dee! 

Another wall, the dam behind which Donatello has always withheld his emotion. Pink fleshy tendrils encase it like a tomb, only a sliver of violet light peeping through here and there. It nauseates him, but Leo pulls and tears against the tumorous growths, ripping them away from his brother’s essence, reaching for the light. 

Let me be here for you too!

The horrifying images stutter like a film projector getting tangled in the feed and the pictures start to burn away. He pushes harder , reaches deeper into the nest of awful sensory nightmare .

I won’t leave you alone with this!

The tendrils slowly slide away from the cracked walls in near shambles but somehow still standing, and in their place he is wrapped with a distant echo of gratitude . 

.

.

.

In the place between memory and dream, he floats...

You-- You’ve ruined everything!

Every ache in his body makes itself known. So much so that he cannot tell if he is recovering from the worst beat down of his life or still enduring it. In the distance, something beeps rhythmically and fast... too fast. 

And now... my wrath will be reserved for you alone . 

He floats. In a blanket of darkness, with carcasses of decaying krang amalgamations, of fragmented ships and wreckage. The cold seeps into every pore of his being, choking the warmth out of his skin. 

You think you’ve won?

I’m here!

No, he chokes on the blood pooling in his mouth, and in his lungs from the impact of each hit. 

You wretched

I’m here!

His chest aches for the sweet lightness of air, but instead there are claws beating him down.

Little

I’m here!

Down, down, down, down, under the glare of a red eye... 

PEST!

Leo~!

Deep into the crushing weight of his own terror.

Wipe that grin off your face!  I’M HERE~!

He whimpers breathless, tensing, waiting for the blow that will break him. The swing comes down and he feels--

FURY whirling around him like a hurricane, violently dispelling the memory of the blow that broke nearly all of his ribs. Melting the breath frozen in his lungs and he gasps for air, mind spinning and dizzy with foreign emotion. Burning away the beam of scarlet in the darkness until it shifts into the soft hazy LED white of the overhead can lights Donnie had installed in the medbay last year.

Two sets of heart monitors are screeching with elevated heart rates in the distance. Distance? Leo blinks and the tears flow over his face leaving uncomfortable trails of moisture, but he can’t move. Fingertips lightly pat his plastron with a repetitive motion. He struggles to focus his doubled vision to the casted arm moving frantic in front of him, back and forth, back and forth in a familiar sign, over another’s chest. It repeats again and again, along with a careful tapping on his bandaged plastron. 

His mind finally registers the sign for breathe and Leonardo gasps around a broken sob, closing his eyes and shaking apart. With the release of all the tension in his body comes the pain of every injury he stressed during his panic. Another sob tears from his throat and he curls up as much as his injured body will allow. The din of half a dozen voices begins to filter through his frazzled mind. Whimpering a pathetic broken sound, he wishes only to hide from everyone, yet he doesn’t want to be alone . 

Protectiveness washes over him in a soothing wave, gradually quieting his broken sobs into soft whines of discomfort. He reaches for Donnie’s hand and holds it carefully, wary of causing any pain to his damaged wrist. Don folds a hand around his in a firm grip and squeezes. It takes several moments, but soon the room falls silent save for the calmed beeping of their heart monitors and Leo’s hitching breaths as he winds down slowly. 

“Where’d everybody go?” Leo pretends his voice isn’t so wobbly several minutes later as he finally uncurls to look around them.

Donnie releases his hand momentarily and signs more calmly now, but the motions are still made awkward between the cast and the brace.

[[ Asked them to leave us. ]]

The sound of quiet sniffles in front of him draws his eyes up to his brother’s face and Leo is startled to find Donnie’s eyes shining with held back tears as he glares at the bed covers between them. Leo studies his brother trying to understand the feelings Don cannot express with the same ease as himself and their brothers always have. He reaches out into the ephemeral space between them, spirit stretching in a motion made natural from years of practice, until he can brush up against his brother’s edges and--  

It is like walking up to an overburdened dam, the violet walls are meters thick, tall and imposing, and yet they groan and buckle with the immensity of what they hold back, spider cracks spreading like wildfire along the surface, leaking tiny jets of emotion that lap against his ankles in little waves. Just behind the immense barrier, an ocean of feeling that Leo has only ever caught glimpses of before, threatening to burst forth at any wrong move.

In front of him, Donnie continues chewing his bottom lip hard enough that he will be bleeding soon if he does not stop.

“Dee?” he whispers, and as soon as he has Don’s attention, motions to his own mouth, “Want something else to chew? Maybe the blanket?”

The furrows in Don’s brow deepen and he chews harder, almost spiteful.

“Donnie, stop-- please ,” Leo squeezes the hand he still holds hard enough to know it has to hurt, but it works as intended.

Donatello closes his eyes with a sigh, tears finally leaking from his eyes as he does, but stops chewing. He keeps his eyes closed, brow creased, silent save for his shaky breathing. In the space that only exists between their souls, Leo senses himself still wrapped up in a feeling not his own. He’s being guarded , he slowly realizes, from the tremor of fear still waiting in the back of his mind along with his horrid memories, from the festering wraiths still tugging at his twin’s edges.

For as long as Leo can remember, this has been his role, reaching out without hesitation whenever he sensed his twin needed. He cannot recall a time when their connection has been so free flowing. So... reciprocated, even with everything Donnie was still holding back . It almost feels like they don't need words. Leo is fascinated, and projects his curiosity through the open channel between their spirits. Donnie doesn’t withdraw for once, and the dam groans as the cracks spread. 

He looks at Leo with a knowing clarity, then shifts his gaze away with a shrug. 

For so long Leo has reached out, and while not exactly rejected, Donnie never reached back. His walls permanently affixed between them and growing thicker with every year they got older, with every year Donnie thought himself wiser to what he deemed Leo’s childish whim of their ‘twinhood.’ Leo thinks he senses shame and immediately responds with reassurance. 

Donnie scoffs aloud, and tries to pull his hand away, but Leo won’t let go, he laces their fingers together and holds tighter. 

"You kept being asleep whenever I'd wake up,” Leo whispers between them, slightly off balance from the new sensations and the extra set of emotions coursing through him, but still manages a shaky smile, “Hi.” 

The sudden fondness that spills over the top of the dam and waterfalls onto him makes his eyes mist up. 

“T-This is new...” his voice cracks on the whisper.  Guilt  follows heavily at the admission. 

“What’s wrong?” Leo asks gently. 

The feeling intensifies, until Donnie looks away, covering his face with his casted arm. Leo finally shakes their hands loose at this, and Donatello seems to take this as a bad sign because he whimpers and curls in on himself. 

With everything in his body stinging like a raw nerve, Leo drags himself closer, inch by agonizing inch until he can throw his own casted arm around Donatello’s trembling shoulder, careful of his injured shell. His twin releases a shuddering breath, chirping a confused little whine as he blinks up at him in surprise. 

Leo offers his own consoling chirp as he settles and meets Donatello’s gaze.

After a moment of silence, Don offers a lazy salute sign with his mostly good hand.

[[ Hi. ]]

"There you are," Leo half smiles.   

Donatello presses his mouth into a thin line, and Leo knows it’s to prevent himself from chewing on his already tattered lips again. His twin’s throat works, and his jaw moves but he only makes a few agitated clicks, no words finding their way to his tongue. With a deep breath, Donnie shapes several frustrated signs. 

[[ Why are you comforting me?? ]] His hands point between them with sharp jerky movements. 

Leo looks blankly at him, because isn’t it obvious? He’ll chalk it up to the major concussions they’re both still recovering from. 

“Because you’re having gross feels time... duh?”

[[ What about you? ]]

“W-What about me?” Leo stutters and tries to laugh but it’s weak.

“Leon,” Donnie croaks his name out loud, thick with frustration. 

“Not everything's a competition, Donald," Leon huffs with false bravado to hide the inadequacy that chokes him as he looks over his brother's battered form, “It’s not about me.” 

It’s what he comforted himself with, in the cold . In the dark . Through the pain . And the fear . When he was sure he would be dead . 

Donnie shivers before him staring intently, as if he can feel every thought in his mind. Donatello moves his hands, but aborts the signs too soon for Leo to catch his meaning. He waits through several false starts patiently before Donnie finally reveals his thoughts. 

[[ Mad at you. ]]

Leo chuckles, disheartened , "Yea, what else is new?"

He feels alarm bubble back at him. 

[[ NO. ]] 

Donnie stresses with a long click in his throat. 

[[ Not like that -- Not good at this . ]] 

His twin heaves a frustrated breath as he motions between them before curling his hands towards his plastron and scratching.

“Are you... trying to have a heart to heart with me, Donbon?” he can’t help but tease, it’s his default coping mechanism. 

[[ Stop! Being serious . Pay attention. ]] 

Donatello’s glare is scarier without his eyebrows on, and no one will convince him otherwise. 

“You have a captured audience, bro-- literally. I can't go anywhere,” Leon wiggles his casted limbs to emphasize.

“ Leo ,” Donnie speaks aloud again, his voice cracking on the name. And Leo quiets at his seriousness and watches his twin sign solemn. 

[[ You left us behind. ]]

“I’m not apologizing for that,” Leonardo growls around the knot in his throat, looking away stubbornly. “I did what had to be done.” 

[[ Could have worked together--]]

“You were miles away, Don! You got knocked out of the sky! After that hit, I didn’t even know if you were stable, or alive , or--” Leo cuts himself off when his voice cracks, clearing his throat, “There wasn’t another way. Either three of us walked out of there, or none of us did. The latter was not an option I was gonna entertain.”

Donnie is nearly seething, his hand movements twisted awkward between the cast and the rage bleeding from his spirit. 

[[ There always is another way-- ]] 

“We had one shot, and I took it. If I hadn’t --” 

Leo feels the aching darkness of the prison dimension in his mind and trembles, remembers the flashes of doom from his twin’s dreams and they both shiver in tandem. Taking a calming breath, he tries a different approach. 

“Don, if you’d been the last one up there, what would you have done?”

[[ Thought my way out!! ]]

“Yea well, I’ve never been as smart as you...” Leo grumbles, hunching in on himself. His chest pangs with the feeling of wrong wrong wrong . 

His brother tries to speak again, but the words die on his tongue as he smacks his lips together in annoyance. His fingers curl closed at his chest, wordless there as well. Leo feels the frustration building, the dam rumbling between their channel, and acts on instinct. 

Tell me this way?

Donatello’s eyes snap up to his in surprise. Doubt filters through to him. 

S’okay. Just try?  

Donnie stares at him in silence, until his eyes begin to take on a watery shine again.

Gone.

Leo shakes his head in confusion. 

You were gone.

He watches as Donnie taps the middle of his plastron absently. 

You were gone, from here.

Leon remembers the cold of the prison dimension. How it felt like it was not only surrounding him, but was coming from inside him, and wonders now how much of that had been their disconnection. Donnie shivers with him at the memory, closing his eyes with a stuttered breath. 

You can finally feel me? 

He can’t quite hide the longing, the years of loneliness he has endured in the question. 

Donnie stares at him in growing realization.   

Didn’t understand. So I just... 

Pushed me away... 

Remorse floods into him, and the strength of it chokes the air from his lungs. He pushes through the wave with ready forgiveness , wrapping his twin in it. 

The dam groans louder, like a wounded beast in its death throes.

Donnie curls in on himself as much as his injuries will allow, rubbing the uncomfortable dampness gathering once more in his eyes. He tries to pull away as usual, and it pains Leo to give up the flow of their connection even a little bit, after so often starving for it, after finally getting a taste of what it could be like. For so long, Leon has existed alone in this space, that he doesn't remember how open their channel now is. He doesn’t think about how any of his thoughts echo between them as Leo lets go, like he always does for his twin’s solace. 

His twin shakes as he tries to sign. 

[[ You took away our choice. ]]

“I’d do it again,” he holds firm to his self-sacrifice , and then--

The dam erupts .

Leo’s chest jams with a cacophony of feeling as the barrier crumbles, the full impact of all of his twin’s repressed emotions crashing over him, into him, through him all at once like a tsunami rushing ashore.

Grief. 

Despair. 

Loneliness. 

Loss. Loss. Loss. Loss. Loss. LOSS.

“Donnie--” Leo almost can’t breathe from the weight of the anguish flowing out of his twin. 

The intensity makes his skin pebble, and he shivers against the sensation of  too much too much!! The bleed through is so strong he can't tell if it's coming from his twin, or himself, or both . He makes to move his arm away, to give Donnie more breathing room, but when his twin chirps in utter distress, he aborts and stays put. Overwhelmed with sentiment, he moves closer on instinct until their foreheads knock together gently, closing his eyes against the tears streaming suddenly down both their faces. 

I’m here.

You’re back.

I’m here, Dee.

You’re back.

I’m here. I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.  

You’re back. You’re back. You’re back.

Silence settles between them as Leo waits for the crunchiness of the air against their skin to die down, to stop buffeting them until they feel raw. Time crawls like molasses around them while the wave of emotion ebbs and recedes, and their breathing calms, and their eyes stop blurring with salt and water. His soul is dragged over three miles of prickly reef while churning through the waves and back, and still he reaches . 

I’m still here.

I’m here too.

Donatello nods, watching him like he can see every doubt in Leonardo’s mind now. It’s unnerving and yet Leo feels somehow... comforted . 

I won’t push you away anymore...

Leo grabs a corner of the blanket and uses it to wipe at Donnie’s tear soaked face. His twin protests with several annoyed clicks deep in his throat, but doesn’t actually try to stop him. Instead, he grasps another part of the blanket and returns the favor as Leo exhales a watery laugh smothered by cotton. 

Promise?

When he releases the blanket, Donnie stares at him solemnly as he places his pointer finger against his lips, then brings the hand down with the palm flat against his top of the thumb-side of his curled fist. 

Leo squeezes his eyes shut and bites his bottom lip so he doesn’t tear up again and nods. They rest quietly for several long minutes, comfortable with the silence in the room because of the welcome noise of their hearts beating in tandem. 

With a stealing breath, Leon braves a question, feeling as though he already has the answer.

How much do you know?  

His twin’s brow furrows deep, and Donnie looks tired, so tired when he finally whispers. 

“Everything.”

Leo’s face pales. His eyes sting again at the corners. 

“E-Everything?”

Everything.

The thought echoes between them as Leon’s breath quickens. As his memories treacherously turn back to the glare of a red eye in the dark. The desolate isolation of his torture under outraged claws--

I’m here, Leo.

And just like that, his mind’s eye turns gently away from the horror, and instead is swathed in violet light until he blinks it away. Fresh tears paint his face.

“C-Can you see it?” Leon whispers, trembling. 

“More like... feel it...” Donnie confesses into the quiet between them. He looks away with a shrug. “But, I record everything so... after your first dream, I pulled up the file.”

“What?” Leo’s voice pitches high with alarm. 

Did you watch??

Donatello looks back at him, calculating, and then nods. 

“Why-- why did you watch that, Don?” His chest heaves with something between annoyance and betrayal, and he tries to shrink back from his twin. “I didn't want you to know... I didn't want a-anyone to know--”

So you wouldn’t be alone.

“What?” 

With what happened.  

“I'll erase the file if you want. Delete it, shred it-- corrupt the file so it can never ever see the light again,” Donatello speaks with a clear concise wrath , purple scales flickering with furious mystic energy for a split second. “Just like that monster .” 

The angry response Leo was gearing up short circuits in his brain, and he stares. Donnie stares back, unblinking. 

I can’t do the same here... 

But whenever it comes back to you. 

I’ll feel it. 

And I’ll be here. 

You won’t be alone with this.

At the silent promise, Donnie won’t look at him. He’s too busy studying and picking at the little pills on the sheets between them. Leo gawks in awed silence for long enough that Donatello starts to squirm. Then he whispers.

“What about you , Dee?”

Leo remembers the sickening slithering horror crawling within his twin’s dream and a shiver runs up both their shells simultaneously. 

“You record everything right?” He gives him a tired, very small grin. Donnie glares at him and his silence is answer enough. Leon has the gall to laugh. 

“ Curse your deductive skills, Nardo...”

But then Donatello takes a shuddering breath, eyes distant.

What It showed me though... 

That’s only here.

Leo gets a flash of what he’s sure the future would be like if they had failed... if they yet fail. He begins to realize what has haunted his twin for days, what has urged him to struggle through the pain, and fatigue, and injury to reprogram miles of code, to bolster up defenses, to protect . He pushes past the dread sense of inescapable horror with the same defensive ferocity with which Don had dispelled his own bad visions. 

You won’t be alone with this either. 

Whenever It comes back...

I’ll be here too. 

Don watches him quietly with the same pensive stare he gets whenever he’s solving a puzzle. When he finally finds his voice again, he doesn’t ask a question, he offers a conclusion as he taps lightly over his plastron.

“You’ve always been here, haven’t you...” 

Leo’s heart skips a beat, and his heart monitor blips out of rhythm in protest. The answer gets caught in his throat, and he can barely breathe around the hope swarming around his heart. 

“So... how would you rate my ability to finally accept that you were right about us all along?” Donnie asks. 

“Huh?” 

“That we are, in fact, twins ... have been all this whole time,” Donnie blows out a long breath of defeated acceptance, looking flatly at Leo as he continues, “Very unsatisfying, very very unsatisfying, wish Donnie were less of a dum dum sooner --”

“Satisfying. The most satisfying ‘I told you so’ in all of existence,” Leo croaks, shuffling close again to bonk their heads together gently, “To the scale of infinity squared--”

“Technically ‘infinity’ constitutes all numbers, so you cannot multiply it or--”

“Shut up , Donnie, please let me have this...”

Donatello sticks his tongue out between his teeth and bites it with an irritated chirp, and that’s as much of a concession as he’s going to get from his twin.

Leonardo feels somewhere deep in his soul, like he has had this conversation before. In another place, in a forgotten time, but the pieces don’t line up quite the same, like the image shifted midway in the making somehow from despair to hope. All he can do is blink in confusion, and let the unexpected tears that have sprung forth fall. He is so over how much his tear ducts keep betraying him today. 

He grasps his twin’s hand once more, overwhelmed with the sense of déjà vu. When Donnie does not pull away, rather grasps back, he knows his twin feels it too. Leo allows Don to enjoy the peace they’ve found between their connection for exactly three minutes and eighteen seconds.

Wait... so are we mind melding?

No. This is strictly a Twin Thing, open parenthesis trademark close parenthesis. 

I’m pretty sure we’ve at least talked like this with Raph and Mikey during fights.

Well, I don’t feel their feelings, thank Hawking. And as for speaking, we could probably do it first . We just... never tried...

Leo grins slowly. 

Shut. Up. 

I haven’t said anything.  

You’re literally THINKING it. 

Am not.

Nardo, you’re ruining the moment! 

C’mon Donbon, you know it’s not a moment unless I do... 

And Leo laughs through his tears, squeezing his twin’s hand tightly, extending the warmth he feels inside to surround his twin, because despite everything he's not brave enough to say it aloud. And his twin-- 

Donnie squeezes his hand back just as tight, smiling small and lopsided as tears roll down his face too. Warmth surrounds Leo in return, and that tells him everything he needs to know.    

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A/N: I have.... so much more in my brain that did not fit into the context of this fic. So I will continue with this universe via the other brothers’ stories. I have spent way too many hours crying over these turtle children to stop at this story alone. Please come along on the journey with me if you liked this story. Thank you to all the beautiful commenters and especially those who cried with me in the last chapter. Thank you for feeling these feels with me. Much love~💜💙💖🧡

Donnie and the bros using sign language inspo was derived from so many incredible artists, but my main influence was HappyFoxx-art's Aftermath comic. This also inspired my thought process on how severe the boys' injuries might actually have been and got a lot of my wheels turning on what recovery might look like for them. Shout out to all authors/artists juggling aftermath stories or arcs because holy bajeebus handling that many characters in one setting is challenging.

If anyone is interested in some cutting room floor talk, feel free to ask me questions here or on my tumblr. Thank you all!

[tensleepshrike]

HOLLAND MAY - BROTHER, SHAPESHIFTER.

BASIC INFO

Holland May AKA Kyle Kissimmee is 36 years old, he/him pronouns.

Holland May is a talent agent in West Hollywood. Kyle Kissimmee is his public-facing actor/model persona. He manages himself and pretends to be two different people.

Eldritch magic user. Unlike his sister, whose divinity was given freely, he has had to bargain and pay a steep price for all of his abilities. His primary ability is shapeshifting. The catch is, he can only take on the attributes of people he eats. Sometimes he eats the whole body to change his entire appearance, sometimes only pieces to change parts of it.

QUICK HISTORY

Unearthed a sizable piece of bloodstone working on Noone's farm, finding it hot to the touch, and strangely whispering when held against his ear. He would listen to it daily and carry it surreptitiously, trying to understand.

After about a year, he finally understood the stone's request for blood, which Holland happily supplied from his own wrist, singlehandedly resurrecting an ancient divine being who had been dormant and bound in the stone for centuries.

Here, they struck a bargain: Holland would give his life in service to and worship of the dread god, and in exchange, he would receive the power to shapeshift by eating people whose physical appearances he wanted to take on. This deal is highly transactional and only valid so long as Holland keeps bringing the god blood.

FUN FACTS

Incredibly, annoyingly virtuosic; he plays about seven different instruments, sings, tap dances, does his own stunts, etc. Also has a million gigs. He likes to stay busy!

Perpetual case of meat sweats due to literally needing to consume people to keep up appearances.

More experienced eldritch magic user due to simply leaning into it and practicing it, unlike his younger sister. Of course, the price is steep and corrupts absolutely; therefore he's not quite as hinged, and much more Thing than person lately.

Big fucking crybaby, cries for joy, sadness, anger, fear, hunger, frustration, you name it, that's why he's crying. Pathetic and crumpleable.

Masochist to the maximum. Self-flagellation with a cat o' nine tails isn't just a way to pay tribute to his patron god, but a form of ecstasy and release. You can kick his ass but he might cum about it.

RELATIONSHIP WITH MILLIE

When they were younger, before their parents' death and subsequent relocation to the cult in Ten Sleep, Millie loved and greatly admired Holland. He enjoyed being an older brother and entertaining the twins. The three were joined at the hip until he moved away at 18.

Holland is looking for Millie because they have a mutual acquaintance in the dread god who gave them their respective gifts. He wants to know more about her power, and is contemplating eating her to gain it, thereby emancipating himself from the dread god whose benevolence he depends on for his shapeshifting. Hasn't decided yet — the still-human part of him is still racked with guilt over his abandonment of his siblings, and he may want to make amends.

Millie is looking for Holland because she knows he's alive, wherever he is, and she wants revenge for being conscripted against her will into the cult, then abandoned by the person who conscripted her into it. Unlike Holland, she has made up her mind quite resolutely that she's going to make him squeal when she finds him. Unaware of his relationship with the eldritch divine or his shapeshifting ability — still thinks of him as the shrinking violet she grew up with.

[eighthdoctor]

in your opinion, what do you think are jaina's most important qualities, characterization wise? love your fic, by the way!

fun question! sylvanas i literally boiled down to 3 points, jaina's a little bit harder.

jaina is: smart and compassionate.

she's a fucking genius in her own field, although she doesn't know everything, and as you move into technical fields UNrelated to magic she's going to start fumbling. but she learns fast, she rarely needs more than one explanation or one wrong answer to change course, and she's extremely open to new knowledge.

second, jaina will repeatedly go out of her way to help others. even if it requires sacrifices from her. even if they're her enemies. she wants to help others, she wants to be useful, she has a fatal case of Eldest Daughter Syndrome which is funny as hell when she's not the eldest daughter.

jo put it as--i went WAY back through our message history to find this:

Jaina's entire life is just her, over and over again, refusing to divide the world into black and white, Horde vs Alliance, Good vs Evil, holding out her hand, over and over and OVER and over and over again having someone betray her and everything fall traumatically apart around her

so she wants to help, she'll kill herself trying to help, and she thinks in ways that means she's very likely to be able to help (and come up with responses another wouldn't necessarily have thought of). she gives second chances. she's generous.

she also will carry through on those ideals. in every way, standing aside at theramore was the right call, but that's making the right call when the person who's about to die for it is your dad. that's a hard fucking consequence to accept, and she accepts it, and then she accepts the next 20-odd years of fallout from it. because it was the right choice.

and then there's the trauma. jaina VERY much has a temper and VERY much will use it in defence of those she cares about, and sometimes that's fine and sometimes it's not fine. sometimes she's saying "yes vereesa fuck the sunreavers" and then not checking in again until there's mass slaughter in the streets of dalaran. she is absolutely on a hair trigger following theramore's destruction, for obvious reasons, but like. she always had a temper. it's just worse now.

writing jaina is a lot of "what's the right thing to do if you are willing to accept the consequences", but as i yelled about earlier--she's not a shrinking violet. she's going to do the right thing, and she's going to accept the consequences, and then she's going to continue not practicing ANY sort of self care and having a breakdown about it that leads to multiple levels of war crime--

[mamamittens]

Seeing it Through (+18)

Fandom: One Piece

Ship: OdenXOC (Hinamon) (Possibly OOC behavior on Oden’s part, I’m very unfamiliar with his character tbh)

Warnings: Oral sex (female receiving), praise kink, unsafe sex, and implied size kink.

@elisabethvanroseblood

Word Count: 1,586

Hope this was worth the wait (and thank you for being so patient too). If I got any details wrong let me know and I'll edit it.

Oden enjoyed many things in life. Good booze. Beautiful women. Great adventures. Amazing fights.

And he’d sampled plenty in his relatively short time in this world starting from a young age. Wrecking havoc in his homeland and traveling the world with Whitebeard and Roger until duty called. It was time to return home for many reasons. He liked to think that his time on the sea calmed him. Helped him mature and grow in a way he never could in Wano. This was true but… well, old habits die hard, don’t they?

Nearly getting his balls cut off with a bamboo spear was quite the attention grabber.

Small and delicate, the woman reminded him of his lovely Toki. Danger and beauty wrapped up in a deceptive package. Hinamon, and her faithful snake companion Snow, captured his attention swiftly. He wasn’t even sure what he did to offend her, but Oden was quick to apologize—and not just for the sake of his balls either. His attendants had sighed, already aware of where this was going, as Hinamon accepted his apology after a long moment of silence.

White bangs brushed over sightless eyes where twin scars streaked down her cheeks. The edges pulling with a small smile as she laughed at him in amusement. Dangling flowers clicking together from the hair sticks holding back her tresses. Oden had to remind himself that he was a man now. Not a precocious boy who would do something so blatant as nick accessories from a lady without asking just to see if her hair looked like moonlight spilling over her kimono.

It wasn’t easy to woo her, Hinamon aware of who he was and his status. Having no real desire to entangle herself with the reputation Oden had thought he put behind him. Still, part of growing up is dealing with your own consequences, so he simply put his best foot forward at every opportunity. Toki, still dealing with some lingering weakness, laughed at him as she reminded him to mind his manners. His good looks couldn’t save him if she simply couldn’t see to begin with.

Though lack of sight never stopped her from knowing exactly where he was at all times—a skill Oden admired greatly among many.

Still, it was worth it.

It was worth it to earn the soft, gentle invite. Snow and his attendants excused themselves to allow them privacy. Bamboo hut a far cry from the luxuries he could shower her with—perhaps later after she and Toki meet. His hand brushed her back as he stepped inside, fingertips skimming over the collar of her kimono to her neck, causing a light shiver as she sighed. He almost touched her hair when she slapped his hand.

“Don’t even think about it, Oden.” She chuckled, reaching up to pull the hair sticks free. Effortlessly, her hair fell to her hips like silk unfurling. As he thought, it looked like the moon poured over her back. Without thought, he kneeled and brought it up to his lips before brushing it over her shoulder. He kissed the exposed skin of her nape with a heated chuckle as she moaned.

“You give me such beauty, hime~” Oden teased.  “It makes me wish to partake in everything you can give me.” She looked back at him, fair skin flush as she scoffed.

“You’re already here, Oden. You hardly need to keep flattering me now.” She sighed as he reached around to caress her hands as she readied herself to loosen her kimono. Oden pressed his nose into her warm skin with a smirk.

“Actually, it’s more important than ever that I keep reminding you how thankful I am to share your bed tonight.” Oden admitted. He had grown much more… smooth compared to his youth, and he was thankful for it. Hinamon was hardly a shrinking violet but still, she deserved a more soft touch.

Silk fell away to the floor to pool at her feet, exposing soft skin to his touch. And he kissed along the length of her bared shoulders, scarcely allowing his lips to leave her body as he whispered sweet nothings. But he still ensured that he returned to her neck, drinking in her soft moans as he teased the sensitive area. His hands settled over her curves, driving away the lingering chill in the room as his blood began to heat up.

She turned in his arms, grasping his kimono as he finally kissed her. Careful, ever so gently to not overwhelm, he deepened the kiss as he shrugged off his clothes. Stepping further into the room to lower them onto the futon. She tasted sweet, like fruit, and soft. Eagerness growing as he fondled her skin. Soft pants and moans poured from her lips like sweet wine he chased.

“O-Oh-den~” She whispered, nails scratching his sides as her legs shifted restlessly.

“I’m right here. Drinking in your beauty.” Oden promised, following down her body with restless kisses on her skin. His calloused palms parted silky-smooth thighs easily, her cunt soft and wet from what little they’d already done.

She gasped when he lapped between her folds, thighs trembling and straining against his arms as he groaned. Teasing her clit before adjusting her legs to drape over his shoulders. Oden eagerly slipped in a finger, balls aching at how soft and tight she was from that alone.

Clearly, he had his work cut out for him if he wanted to ensure Hinamon enjoyed all their time together. But he never backed down from a challenge before. Especially not one that promised to be as sweet as this. He teased her clit with his thumb, dragging his finger against her walls.

One by one he slipped in his fingers, gently stretching her out as she quickly soaked his hand. Her thighs quivering against his cheeks as she squeezed his face. She pulled his hair, panting and crying out every time she came on him. But Oden never wavered. Determined to both enjoy how she moaned his name and how eagerly her pussy adjusted to his ministrations. When he reached four, he focused again on her body.

How she trembled when he dragged his tongue over her clit and drenched his fingers. Nails scrapping his scalp as she came. Slick pouring from her as she sagged into the bed.

“—Oh! Oh-den~! P-Puh-lease! Please I-I can’t t-take i-it~! Ahhnn~! Oh-den~!” She screamed.

Grinning, cock leaking precum, Oden helped her ride out her pleasure. She sagged against the futon, panting and skin glistening in the moonlight. Hair mess around her body. Oden wasn’t sure how many times she fell over the edge or how long he teased her wet pussy, but it was worth it for this sight alone.

Slowly, Oden leaned back up, pressing slow, wet kisses to her body as he went. Nipping her neck with a grin as she moaned weakly.

“Hold onto me, hime~” Oden advised, his cock sliding against her soaked cunt. He dragged his thick length against her clit as she moaned. Arms wrapping around his neck as he eased his hands under her ass. Gently positioning himself.

Slowly, he sank into her. Her pussy so hot and wet for him. Because of him. Her lips pressed against his ear as she moaned loudly. He wouldn’t be hilting tonight, but he got surprisingly close. Oden groaned, tensing his body as he tried not to cum prematurely. She pulsed and squeezed his cock, keening pitifully as he pulled out. Leaving only the fat head as he leaned back to see her debauched face. Flush and wet with tears, she panted for him openly.

His hips snapped forward and she screamed, back arching as her ankles slammed into his thighs. It was almost too easy to lose himself. Hinamon’s small body fitting perfectly underneath him as he started fucking her senseless. Her cunt struggling to take all of him as he chased their satisfaction. Oden kissed her deeply, groaning as his tongue overwhelmed her with ease.

Her moans stuttered and started against his lips as she began trembling violently beneath him. Relishing the challenge of his thick cock as he realized with a rush of arousal that he was nearly there. Her delicate hands reached up and sank into his hair, pulling hard as she arched against him. Throttling his cock as he struggled to keep moving in the vice grip he found himself in. Every harsh pass pulling him closer to the edge until he thrust forward, lips disconnecting with wet strings as he moaned loudly.

Oden couldn’t resist grinding his hips closer as he came, his cum spilling out as he pressed filthy kisses to her lips. Still moaning as he did so until he finally ran dry.

Breathing heavily, Oden fell to the side, slowly slipping out as Hinamon moaned softly at the loss.

Beaming, Oden tiredly brushed the hair from her face.

“How do you keep getting more beautiful?” Oden asked breathlessly. Hinamon laughed tiredly.

“You’d know if you weren’t a fool.” She teased, curling against his side with a sleepy moan.

Oden laughed, pulling the blanket over her body. It wasn’t exactly made for his size, but he didn’t tend to get very cold anyway.

“I hear fools learn with practice.” Oden mused. Hinamon snorted but refused to respond. Instead choosing to fall asleep. Oden found himself a little disappointed but settled anyway. Quietly marveling at her delicate beauty as he followed her soon after.

Absolutely worth it.

[weirdthoughtsandideas]

So I have not seen Human Resources nor Big Mouth, could you explain the creatures to me?

Sure! So, all of these creatures basically manage people in their everyday life, and in Big Mouth we focus on the human’s sides of things while in Human Resources, we see the creatures in their everyday life.

There are the hormone monsters, which are pretty much monsters that are horny 24/7. They are out for simply making people touch themselves or have sex with each other - in Big Mouth, we follow a bunch of middle school students going through puberty and the hormone monsters help them navigate that with everything that comes with it.

Then there’s love bugs, which basically are these… well, insects that just are all for love and romance. They want romantic gestures, they love the ideal love stories and just sees the world as a romcom. But they are not just for romantic love, platonic love too, and love for objects. There was also one instance where the love a person felt was for his cat and the assigned love bug was there for that reason. However, love bugs can at any point turn into

hate worms, which is worms that just run on hate. As you can imagine, if you for example get assigned a lovebug and they turn into a hateworm, you’re fucked. At the same time, if you get assigned a hateworm at a hateful time in your life, your life will be more loveful if they turn into a lovebug. Both love bugs and hate worms have their positive sides and negative sides. Love bugs for example can have too much optimism sometimes, even if they always want to make your life positive, while hate worms are careless and wants you to get rid of everyone, but they can also help you get through some tough situations.

There’s the anxiety mosquito that I legit wonder is just one and the same mosquito multiplying. Basically self explanatory. Is there to make you anxious asf

The shame wizards are there to give you shame for your actions. Basically is there to make you feel bad, though at the same time can help you from going too far in some situations.

Logic rocks are there to basically talk sense into people. However, they can sometimes be stiff and can crash with other creatures, particularly lovebugs and hormone monsters who act on feelings, while logic rocks act on thinking and, well, logic.

Ambition gremlins help you to achieve your goals in life. They make you work hard, you have to earn it. They help everyone from business people to suceed in their careers, to helping teenagers choose the right college for their futures, and in one instance, an ambition gremlin helped a 4 year old nonverbal child to communicate that he really wanted a toy truck (with the help with hope… oh, speaking of!)

Hope is… well this creature that gives hope to people. She’s very cool, she has discoballs as boobs.

Depression kitties are these violet cats that manage you under depression. They can be milder, and they can be quite heavy. One cat for example sits on top of you so that you can’t get out of bed. Depression can also grow and shrink depending on the human’s actions and their overall mental health.

Addiction angels are there when you have an addiction to something. This ofc includes drugs, but the only person we’ve seen been addicted has been a dude who was addicted to pop tarts.

Need demons are demons that exaggerate human people’s needs and goes on rampages until the needs are fullfilled. We’ve seen this creature assigned to a newborn baby, a pregnant woman and, while we never saw him in action then, we also saw a need demon assigned to the nonverbal 4 year old, which makes sense. Also, with the pregnant woman, once she gave birth to her baby, her need demon shrinks to a little straw basically, because as a new mother she has to put her own needs at the side to fullfill the needs of her baby.

Then there’s the grief sweater, that’s a sweater that helps you during grief. Keith from Grief is awesome.

There’s also creatures mentioned that we never see, like a bladder beaver and a self harm walrus (very glad they have not included the latter).

There’s also the DNApe that is just this ape explaining DNA in humans. I am not sure about his function other than that. There was also an ambition armadillo they showed, but I have not seen them since. Idk if they replaced it with an ambition gremlin or if it was just an armadillo that also was working in ambition. Oh, and there’s this frog in big mouth that goes around showing gratitude, so that’s another creature.

I’ve definitely forgotten a creature lol. But that’s a majority of them.

[phoebe-prescott]

-phoebe pheebs prescott.

age: 39. birthday: January 30th, 1989 pronouns: she/her. birthplace: san diego occupation: employee - the last chapter best traits: free-thinking, playful, nurturing worst traits: guarded, head-strong, commitmentphobe. sexuality: bisexual.

-more. tw, infidelity, domestic violence, teenage pregnancy, death

phoebe was born and raised in california, and her childhood was a happy one until her father cheated on her mother but they still tried to make the marriage work. there was a lot of arguments, fighting and aggressive behavior in the household after that. 

phoebe became a runaway at fifteen with her good friend luke prescott, and while on the road together they fell in love.

at sixteen, phoebe had a surprise baby who is @teddy-prescott so her and luke settled in the nearby town of lockwood springs. she’s lived in lockwood for 23 years now.

the keepers helped the young parents a lot and eventually luke joined the club. 

phoebe and luke eventually got married and slowly figured out how to be stable parents to little teddy. they were crazy about one another, so it was a very happy time of their lives.

over time luke became sgt in arms for the keepers, but sadly was killed on a run four years ago. 

phoebe lost her sparkle and was not her usual upbeat self, but eventually has worked towards finding herself again. if it wasn’t for her daughter, she doesn’t think she would have been able to.

phoebe is hippie vibes all over, and she’s very relaxed and playful. but she also speaks her mind and isn’t a shrinking violet at all. 

lives by the motto “you do you” and probably says it a lot too. 

meditates, smokes and tries her hand at a whole bunch of hobbies. 

doesn’t have a lot of money but will still give her last dollar to someone who might need it more.

protective mama bear if provoked about teddy but also isn’t in-denial that teddy has one of “those” personalities that can rub people the wrong way.

[ivymarquis]

Kinktober Day 1

Am I late? Yes. Should that surprise anyone? No. I'll try to catch up

Pairing| Ghost x F!Reader Word Count| 1.3k Kinks| Collaring + Pegging Content/Warnings| Collaring, pegging, strap on, F!dom, spit, heavy feels

The power this man willingly hands over to her is addictive.

He’s no shrinking violet at an impressive 6’4 and 270lbs. She can’t physically force him to do anything he doesn’t already want to do. And yet he’s so eager to give her everything. 

All she wants is for him to be able to relax into her grip and let go.

“I have a present for you,” she tells him as they return to her flat after an evening out. The buzz she’s earned is wearing off, the pair of them more interested in watching the game than their pints. 

She knows he already likely knows what it is. He’d been so excited when she’d wrapped the fabric measurer around his neck to get a gauge of what size she’d need to order.

He doesn’t comment but watches keenly as she moves further into the flat, fishing out the box. The packaging is lovely- the box is nice and sleek, though still a good size given what it contains.

The smell of leather is tangible as he removes the lid. Warmth and affection coil in her gut at the way his eyes widen ever so slightly at what is inside. 

He’d known what it was before she’d handed it to him. He’s not surprised by the gift, but clearly now that he’s seeing it he’s pleased with the finished product presented to him. 

The collar is custom made- thick, heavy leather with sturdy hardware. A solid buckle ensures the collar will stay in place until it’s removed by her, and the sturdy D ring gives her a designated tie off spot when she wants to restrain him. 

He’s quiet and contemplative as she gestures for him to kneel at her feet.

He sits like a statue as she wraps the collar around his neck, and it does not escape her notice how he shivers at the bite of her nails against the skin- he doesn’t twitch or flinch away from the contact. If anything, as the smell of freshly oiled leather fills the space, he relaxes into her hold.

That’s all she wants. The way he’ll relax against her, the tension melting from his shoulders.

He’s ‘on’ all the time. At work he has an image to maintain- the dauntless Lieutenant Ghost who’s defied death more times than anyone has a right to. At home he still struggles with setting Ghost aside and just being Simon. Even then there’s always an edge lurking under the surface. A threat that could arrive at any moment and force Ghost to reappear.

Loving Simon means loving all of him, and that means learning to embrace the quirks and idiosyncrasies that accompany a man who is slowly learning to separate himself from the shield he’s crafted to protect himself.

Much like how when he dons the mask he becomes the reserved, taciturn lieutenant- as soon as the leather of his collar slides through the clasp of the buckle it’s like a switch flips and Simon can finally relax.

He’s putty in her hands, absolutely trusting and vulnerable and exposed.

The leather is soft, molding to the girth of his neck well. Sliding the excess through the keeper she slips two fingers between the collar and his neck, giving a slight tug to ensure a proper fit.

His trust is not something that she takes lightly, and strives to prove that she is worthy of it.

All she wants is for him to relax, to let go, and let someone else (preferably her) worry about the finer details for just a while.

And she gets her wish in the best way possible with him on his back.

It was a learning curve for the both of them- fumbling, sloppy attempts eventually letting them get their feet underneath themselves.

But oh the look of bliss on his face when she’d learned how to rock her hips just right to get the strap on to rub against his prostate? The sound that escapes him when she does?

He’d been so embarrassed, face flushed red and eyes glassy.

She’d soothed him, leaning forward to pepper his face in kisses. “It’s okay, baby- I got you. Relax for me. I just want you to feel good.”

But God he just looks so pretty taking her strap. Thighs pulled up and splayed open, giving her as much room to work as she needs. She wants to see them twitching.

He’s a big boy all over, his erection straining neglected and untouched as her hips cant against his.

Her hands can’t quite settle- roaming from teasing his nipples to dragging her nails lightly down his abdomen. Grabbing his hips for better leverage before trailing up and down his leg. She takes note of each reaction, what seems to ramp him up most and focusing on that deliberately before letting her hands wander on purpose- the sharp, spoiled look of why’d you stop written across his face making her bark out a laugh.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop being mean,” Well that wasn’t entirely true- but rather than being content to just let him enjoy the ride she shifts her focus to actively trying to get him to finish.

She raises a hand to his mouth, palm facing him. He doesn’t need the verbal instruction to know what she wants, spitting onto her hand on cue.

That same hand wraps around the length of him, finally paying attention to that one part of his body she’d been deliberately ignoring.

Her hips thrust in at the same moment she takes him in hand, knocking a sharp grunt out of him.

“I wanna hear it, baby. You sound so pretty taking my cock.” He moans at that, a sound that has her belly twisting into delicious knots.

She knows now the pace he likes- the right amount of force from her hips, the right pressure of her hand wrapped around his cock. She uses that knowledge to make him sing for her. Low, rumbled moans she can almost feel as much as she can hear with each wet thrust.

“Right there? You like that?” she teases like the answer isn’t abundantly clear.

“Yes,” he hisses back at her, “Fu-fuck. Don’t stop!”

So she doesn’t. He’s been dribbling precum long before she’s touched him. He’s making a mess of himself now and from how his thighs have tensed and started twitching he can’t be that far off.

All she wants to see is that glazed, fucked out look on his face that he gets after she’s finished with him. She’s getting her kicks when her clit knocks against the strap on just right, but her pleasure isn’t at the forefront of her mind and not what she’s worrying about at the moment.

“Come on baby, show me- I wanna see you cum.” It takes a few more thrusts of her hips and strokes of her hand before he’s there, biting out Fuck- please- fucking hell. But he’s there and she gets everything she wants with that star gazing look on his face, like she’s hung the moon just for him.

It’s a different kind of vulnerability- the trust he’d given her to allow them both to try something- in particular something that left him as the more vulnerable party. Now that trust has morphed into the firm security that she will not lead him astray and will not do him wrong.

It’s a faith she hopes to never compromise. It is heavy and important and sacred and if anything happened to it?

It would break her just as much as it would him.

She hates taking the collar off of him. She’s the one who puts it on him, who flips the switch that tells him he can relax. So naturally when she takes it off it feels like she’s the one who’s flipping the switch again. That he needs to be ‘on’ and ready for anything once again.

She will- eventually. She has to. But for now she contents herself with soothing him through the come down of hormones flooding him, reassuring with words and touches before parting to help clean up.

But for now, the collar stays on just a little while longer.

Age in bio/pinned or I will block you ♡

Click (here) for the kinktober 2023 masterlist

[multistoty]

Even a man who’s spent his whole life at sea has reason to fear her when she’s angry, but she loved at fiercely as she lived. Everyone has darkness inside them, however hidden. The fierce dragon of a targaryen roaring in her stomach begged for blood. The part of herself she hated. Time goes on even when we do not.She had always wondered about raindrops.Sbe wondered about how they're always falling down, tripping over their own feet, breaking their legs and forgetting their parachutes as they tumble right out of the sky toward an uncertain end. It's like someone is emptying their pockets over the earth and doesn't seem to care where the contents fall, doesn't seem to care that the raindrops burst when they hit the ground, that they shatter when they fall to the floor, that people curse the days the drops dare to tap on their doors. She was a raindrop. And yet her fire was blazing. To be clothed in spit and her own blood was a thing on its own.But she was a mother bear angry and ready for this revenge.Hate looks like everybody else until it smiles. Find her  a cure for these tears, she’d really like to exhale for the first time in her life. Because she wanted to hurt him. She wanted to say the blood. And that terrified her for that wasn’t what Alicent had created her to be. Thusnelda and Aemond together would be terrifying. The queen. A name she still wasn’t used to. A name Rhaenyra either wanted them killed for or her fanatics did.

Love is a heartless bastard. In this moment,  nothing more than the consequence of catastrophe. Truth is a jealous, vicious mistress that never, ever sleeps. She had told herself, ‘If you hide your heart, he will never be able to take it from you'’. She would no longer be afraid of fear, and she  will not let it rule her.Fear will learn to fear her. Her eyes are two buckets of rainwater: deep, fresh, clear. Hurt. Her mind was a warehouse of carefully organized human emotions.She locked away the things that do not serve her. She had a heart, says science, but she was a monster, says society.Thusnelda is a soft, deadly creature. Kind and timid and terrifying. Helaena was enchanted by her pretend-innocence; jealous, even, of the power she wields so unwittingly. She had always  wanted so much to be a part of her world. She wanted to know what it's like to be in her mind, to feel what she feels. It seems a tremendous weight to carry. They both were such beautiful diasters with people trying to put them in boxes.they were  synonyms but not the same.These letters are all she had left.26 friends to tell my stories to.26 letters are all she needs. She can stitch them together to create oceans and ecosystems. She can fit them together to form planets and solar systems. She can use letters to construct skyscrapers and metropolitan cities populated by people, places, things, and ideas that are more real to me than these 4 walls.She needed nothing but letters to live. Without them she  would not exist. Hell is empty and all the devils are here.Sometimes she wishes she could step outside of herself for a while. She wants to leave this worn body behind, but her chains are too many, her weights too heavy. Why had she never seemed so beautiful as an avenging angel with her hand cracked around the middle of a demons throat? Honestly, her sister was as much a warrior though Aemond took his revenge for his siblings with the kind of valor one would find impossible. “For once, for the sake of my children. You have freedom to do whatever monstrosity you wish. Though- I will not allow myself to look away. If I am queen, I can not give orders or ask so much from those who mean the most to me.I would prefer my nightmares to be of his death than the monstrocity he has created. I need to not be a shrinking violet when you are a lioness. He wished to pull me by my roots from this world to murder my innocent children. This is different. Justice. A woman scorned and a woman delivering that which was failed and necessary is right. I am not the queen my mother was. If that is good or bad is still in the realm of possibility.” Her voice did not shake as her body had. Still, a hand reaching to pull at the embroidered cloth against her face. A slight smile sent to the girls way. The freedom thusnelda had would always covet her. She was more targaryen than Helaena could ever even attempt. ‘We are dragons. And you will feel the weight of our fire”

@thusnelda-targaryen

[marieadeledracherambles]

Buying Hope: Intro

A couple months ago, Tapas recommended to me the webtoon Yongsa High: Dungeon Raiders, which is an infinite flow/dungeon raider story about a school for adventurers. Yoo Jaryong is a smuggler/poacher paying for his retired adventurer dad's medical bills. On one of these missions, he runs into a student of Yongsa High, Jin Saerom, who hires him to get into YH and be part of her party. (She's a Rich Girl.) Jaryong needs the money, so he accepts. Season 1 is about his getting ready for the transfer exam and meeting his dad's old colleagues... the ones who didn't betray him and leave him penniless, anyway.

I figured I'd give it a shot, since I'm a fan of BNHA and My S-Class Hunters.

And I fell in love.

Yongsa High (also known as Warrior High: Dungeon Raid Department, if you like me got hooked and couldn't wait for the official translation any longer) is SO GOOD. The characters are likeable and/or have motivations beyond the needs of the plot. The world is interesting. The plot is layered. I sped through all the free episodes, then spent two days looking for the unofficial translation. After I'd finished it, I went looking for fanworks on AO3 and found...

nada.

There are no works for this comic on AO3 and five posts about it on Tumblr, even once you use the more well-known name for it.

I decided then to write fic for it. And I already had an angle.

There are two things that really bother me and keep the comic from being perfect: the fact that there are very few female characters at all, and the fact that the overarching plot being set up is "dragons wanted to rule the world, got beat back, so they started infiltrating society to destroy it." The first is typical of genres aimed at young men, but still not okay. The second skims way too close to "lizard people are controlling/destroying society," which for those who don't know is an antisemitic conspiracy theory meant to make people target Jews for existing.

The first thing I'm taking the hammer to is the dragon conspiracy theory. In Buying Hope, there are two villains! The first antagonist, which is the canon Big Bads, is instead of being dragons in human guise a group of anarchists who got their abilities from equipment and magic. They want to take down society because it's corrupt. The second is the dragon who poisoned Jaryong's dad and sent him to the hospital in the first place. The dragon believes that if he bides his time until humans lower their guard, he'll be able to take over.

The second change I'm making is that Jin Saerom Is More Than A Sexy Wallet. (Upon rereading, that was a slightly unfair appellation. She does stuff! Plot relevant stuff, even! She just also is a font of cash money who stands in a corner and looks upset while her upperclassmen/cousin's friends harass her and Jaryong.) The title comes from Saerom's belief that money gets her almost everything she wants, and how she's simultaneously proven right and disillusioned. Buying hope isn't usually possible, unless your dad runs an incredibly profitable company.

Jin Saerom is probably my favorite character because she has depth. She wants to be an adventurer, but she's not very talented. She works hard until her cousin shows up, at which point she turns into a shrinking violet. And yet another YH guy describes her as "never lowering her head," and she's still persevering despite some pretty intense social ostracization. She's slightly naive and tosses money around like it's nothing, but also she genuinely wants to be helpful, it's not a flex. I want to braid her hair and educate her on class disparity. So, naturally, she's the main character of Buying Hope.

There's also hefty amounts of teenage chaos, because there's five teenagers in this friend group and they're all outcasts/really weird. So when Saerom and co aren't terrorizing the large-scale antagonists or whatever poor dungeon their teachers unleashed them on this week, they're terrorizing the school bullies.

And a mecha-Toothless battle mobility aid.

This is gonna be FUN.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

I realize this is a touchy subject (feel free to ignore this request if you don't feel comfortable writing about it) but I want to request a piece in which the reader has been sexually assaulted.

I, unfortunately, experienced this myself and I am well on my way in my healing process, which makes it easy for me to talk about it. I am currently in a healthy relationship but due to traumas I haven't had sex in months. my fear was triggered when my lovely boyfriend got a bit too pushy in the bedroom.

I know that sex was a must for most men back then. but can you write a little bit about how Anthony would react if he finds out that the reason behind the readers' reluctance is because of trauma related to her past with sexual assault?

I am asking you this because you are a wonderful writer and your writings bring me comfort. sending you lots of love -y

A/n: please do not apologize, I will be happy to write this for you. That means a lot knowing my work helps you and I am so sorry that you ever had to go through something like that.

If you ever need to vent, I am here!

Warnings: Mentions of SA { will tag the proper triggers }

Anthony loved you, more than anything. The moment he laid his eyes upon you he found himself drawn to you. You were far different than any woman he’s met though on your wedding night you refused him. He couldn’t understand why? Did he do something wrong. When he kissed you, you seemed fine yet when he slid his hand under your dress you tensed, a whimper escaping your lips, a tear sliding down your cheek.

He could not act on his desires, how could he when you were so afraid. Instead he held you close, your fingers clutching his shirt tightly. His hand rubbing your back gently until you fell asleep. Maybe he should ask his mother about it? She just know what troubles you so.

++

Violet frowned shaking her head, she placed her hand upon her husbands shoulders. “It is not my place to tell you Anthony. You need to ask her yourself but she says nothing then you need to accept it and give her time.”

That confused Anthony even more so when he went to ask you, he watched your form shrink even more. Seeing look like a skittish mouse broke his heart. He did not want you to be afraid of him. That was the last thing he wanted. “Y/n…talk to me…please….as your husband it is my job to protect you.” Sitting next to you he grasped your hand gently. “Please.” He whispered.

“I am afraid you will no longer love me Anthony.”

Placing his hand on your cheek, you tensed then slowly relaxed into his touch. “That is impossible, I could never stop loving you.”

Biting your lip you gave him a weak smile, swallowing the lump in your throat you started to explain to him what happened to you before you met Anthony. You told him about the man who tried to court you. Your refusal and how angry he got, you told him what he did to you. You sobbed as he pulled you into his arms, his hand messaging your back as he placed tentative kiss to your head.

He could feel anger course through his veins, he wanted to find that man. He wanted to find and Jill him for putting you through that pain. But this was not about him, this was about you. This will always be about helping you and he would do anything to make you comfortable.

“I am here for you Y/n. I will always be by your side, nothing will change that, nothing will change my love for you…know matter how long it may take I will be here.”

Sniffling, you let out another sob giving him a weak smile as you felt Anthony brush your tears away, shaking your head your pressed you face into his chest as he continued to pet your head.

“Thank you.”

“You have nothing to thank me for my dear….now get some rest.” He shifted his body so you were more comfortable, your head now resting on his chest clinging to him. “I will be here when you wake up.”

[hansolmates]

17 going on 27

summary; one second, you’re sobbing at prom because the most popular guy in school dumps you due to your relationship being a little prank to break your heart. the next? you’re a creative editor at Ego, the hottest young adult fashion magazine. as you try to figure out what’s the deal with this sudden time skip into adulthood, you come across relationships and friendships that are made to be cherished and made to be broken. pairing; photographer!jungkook x editor!reader (f) genre/warnings; fluff, crack, future enemies to lovers, teenage and adulthood angst, time skips from high school!au to late twenties!au, 13 going on 30!au, all your romantic movie tropes come to life! a really big mess honestly, various movie and music references, mentions of sex, use of alcohol, everyone give jin and jimin a big ol hug, language, a surprise guest from the queen of england w/c; 22.6k a/n; it’s that time of the year baby! the time of the year where i binge watch the good ol’ early 2000s romcoms that make absolutely no sense! a huge thank u to @eerieedits​ for making this beautiful banner. vivi got the whole delia’s/claire’s vibe down to a t! 

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.