#been debating on how to put things lightly because this whole thing has been a long time coming

[nohomie]

I owe you guys an apology for letting you all wait for so long only to receive silence. It may not be a big deal for some, but I believe I should at least give an explanation. I haven't been drawing as much welcome home as I used to because as time went on it started feeling more like a chore to draw. It probably didn't help that I was going through a major burnout not long ago and it's been reoccurring every now and then. It got bad enough that at times the quality of my art would just get lower the more I push myself. Then other things came to light that I had to put to priority and eventually I just kept pushing this Hunter vs Hunted AU so far back that it's almost abandoned for long periods of time.

While I still love Welcome Home and would want to keep drawing every now and then, I'm not confident that I can be consistent, much less do a series with the state that I am right now.

So what happens next? I'm not entirely sure. I won't say that the AU is discontinued only that it won't be in comic format anymore. It's a huge downgrade ik but it's for the best if I wanna keep drawing more WH art without the risk of ruining the quality.

I can't thank you enough for the people who stuck around, when all I've given for the most part is silence and worry. I hope to make it up to you all

[lanitalay]

Before I Say Goodnight

Chapter 9

a/n: can't believe that we're already at chapter 9, that's crazyyy

warnings: none, really

Word count: 2.8k

Other chapters

Eyes flutter open and you swear you can still feel a blush heating your cheeks. You had no idea how the kiss -well, kisses- even happened. One moment you were heading to your room, the next you were sitting on the counter while Azriel kissed your mouth and neck… Your whole face is red now. Getting up from the bed, you go to the bathing room and fill the tub with cold water. I need to calm down.

Looking in the mirror you see perfectly braided hair, a beautiful deep purple long sleeved dress that fits your torso snugly and flares beneath the hips paired with delicate sandals only worn on days spent helping the priestesses with menial tasks. You wished you had a necklace to really complete the look but didn’t see the point in purchasing one. Before leaving the room you find a bottle of lavender oil you had been using for relaxing baths and aromatherapy and place a few drops on your neck and wrists. Since arriving, you have never put that much effort into how you look. Your priorities having always been lying elsewhere but… you can’t deny that you like Azriel. At the thought, a girlish grin appears on your face. You hadn’t liked anyone since Mathew. When that relationship ended everything else in your life seemed to fall apart and romance was the last thing you were thinking about. Even on your trip, you had seen attractive people all over but never made an effort to speak to them. Mathew… you wonder what he’s been doing. It has been nearly a month of you being gone. Disappeared. A month… the smile vanishes, replaced by a subtle frown. You had been so desperate to return once you arrived, the shock of a new world sending you into panic mode. But guilt fills you up as you realize that the last few days you had barely thought of getting back. You think of your friends and your family all the time, but the urge to see them again has… diminished to a certain degree. Life in the House of Wind has been very comfortable, but just abandoning your whole life is a giant leap to make because of comfort. You compose yourself, not wanting to go into a spiral before having breakfast, and head to the dining room.

You’re relieved and horrified to see that only Azriel is in the dining room this morning. “Good morning” you greet and sit down, immediately filling up your plate with an egg dish that looks delicious. He clears his throat “good morning”.The only noise is metal lightly scraping against delicate porcelain. Shadows lurk their way towards your face, no doubt telling their master what they see. You haven’t looked at him yet. Blush still wild on your cheeks. Images of his hands, his beautiful scarred hands, and all the places they touched replaying over and over and over. He pulls his shadows back and clears his throat again “did you sleep well?” It had been sun up by the time you two had disentangled, but for at least a few hours you had managed to sleep without the disturbing nightmares. “Yes, what about you?” he shook his head, “I had training at dawn”. Your eyes widen and you finally look at him. He looks great, freshly bathed, his hair still damp and his Illyrian leathers hug his biceps in such a way… You look away from him again and focus all of your attention on the eggs. “About last night…” Azriel begins and your throat closes up “what about it?” He pauses and continues “we can pretend it didn’t happen if you want” you look at him again, brow furrowed. “Why would we do that?” he shrugs “it’s just a suggestion, I don’t want things to be uncomfortable between us”.  “Do you want to forget about it?” He remains still, you swear you can see his internal debate. After a moment he shakes his head “no”. “Me neither, but I think we should remain friends, until the portal thing gets resolved” he looks at you, unwavering. “Do you want to go back?” You shrug “I think I have too” “you don’t have to do anything you don’t want”. You break the stare “I don’t know Az, I really don’t” when you look back his face has softened and he nods “it’s ok”. You finish your food and pour yourself some tea, “Lucien is going to be at the River House today, do you want to go?” You perk up at the mention of the red haired male “of course”. 

It had been a while since you had visited the beautiful house on the river bank. Autumn had changed the leaves' colors to shades of red, orange and yellow. You had been excited to hear that Lucien was finally coming to the Night Court. He was the first to help you here, even if it had been a… rough start. You missed him and the other exiles, forever saving a place in your heart for them. “Who invited you?” Lucien teased once he saw you walk through the main door. You roll your eyes but can’t help the little walk-skip-run you do to hug him “you shouldn’t speak to me like that, emissary. You never know how useful I could become for your diplomatic endeavors” you say in a mock-stern voice. “I’ll see you at lunch, Rhysand wants to get the meeting out of the way” you nod and he walks into the High Lord’s study. Azriel speaks “I’ll me at the meeting too, Elain is in the kitchen if you want company in the meantime” “alright, see you later”. 

The kitchen smelled of yeast and sugar and flour. “Hi, Elain” she didn’t look up from the cake she was decorating as she greeted you in return. There was a big mess everywhere you looked. You could clearly tell where she had mixed the frostings to make different colors and where she had combined all of the ingredients to make the cake batter. You even spotted where she had kneaded the bread that was currently in the oven. “Want me to help you clean up?” she looked up at that, eyes filled with genuine gratitude “I would appreciate it if you could” and offered a sheepish smile. Despite the mess all around her she looked perfectly intact. Maybe she has some sort of magical stain repellent. “Is there an apron I can put on?” without stopping her task she answers “there are some in the first drawer” and motions with her head. You put on the apron, roll your sleeves up and get to work. 

Wiping the sweat off your brow and fanning yourself with a rag you admire your work. The kitchen was spotless. You were very tempted to take a slice of the cake but had already been warned that it was for after lunch. “Are you happy to see Lucien?” You asked Elain, but quickly regretted it because you were not nearly close enough to her to ask questions about something so personal “I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer. I just know about the mating bond but it’s none of my business”. She sighs, like she’s been thinking about it all along. “It’s ok, but to be honest, I don’t know” you nod and are surprised as she goes on in a hushed voice “he is a good male. Truly, he is, you know that. But before this life I was engaged to man that I was in love with. We had chosen each other and were committed to a lifetime together” she looks directly at you for the first time today “and the promise of that was ripped away from me along with my humanity. The concept of mates is still new to me, but my sisters and I have been told that we have been very lucky in that regard. And I can’t deny that I feel attracted to him, like I’m being pulled to be near him constantly. When he’s away I feel it in my bones… but I didn’t choose him. He was assigned to me by some predetermined fate. And I’m constantly suppressing the instinct to be with him because it is the only shred of free will I have left. If I choose to be with him, I’d feel like I’d be forfeiting the last part of myself that I have control over” you had never heard her speak so much. Reaching for her hand, placing yours atop hers “in my realm, I felt very similarly to you. I felt like I was being controlled and molded into someone that just was not me. I had a fiancé and instead of feeling lucky I felt like I was drowning and everyone in my life kept pushing me underwater. So I ran, I left it all behind and… well now I’m here. It did not go how I thought it was going to but” you lower your voice, hearing the doors to the study open “I don’t regret making my own decisions. I asked you because I’m nosy but if you want my unsolicited advice” she nods, “do whatever you need to do, even if it takes you out of your comfort zone. Travel, meet new people, share your knowledge with someone, visit a neighbor, whatever but don’t lock yourself away”. She squeezes your hand and smiles gently. 

 After lunch you go outside to enjoy the sun. As winter approaches the days get shorter, making every drop of sunshine extra precious. The rest of the group stayed inside near the toasty hearth. The constant breeze that comes from the Sidra chips away at your exposed skin and you shiver. A warmth emanating male comes to stand next to you. You take a side step to be closer to him “how was the meeting?” Lucien looks around and answers “fine, there weren’t many updates to give. How has it been here?” You look at him and realize you trust him. In the beginning you had to, it was your only option. Now, you trust him because he’s earned it “Azriel and I kissed last night” you just had to tell someone and prayed to god none of his shadows would not report this back to him. Lucien’s eyes widen and he laughs, a bit too loudly in your opinion. “Want to elaborate?” you shook your head “I just needed to tell someone” “I’m flattered”. You scoff  “you should be” a harsh gust blows some strands of hair out of your braid and your eyes water from the cold “it was a bit weird in the morning but then it was fine. I don’t know what to think about it though, since I’m supposed to leave soon”. Lucien lifts a sharp brow “he wasn’t fond of the idea of you returning, something about a trap?” “It’s just a feeling I have, and the nightmares don’t help” “Rhysand is eager to try the portal” you laugh at that “I get the  feeling he doesn’t like me very much”. Lucien chuckles “he really only likes Feyre”. You remain quiet for a bit until Lucien speaks again “you are supposed to fly down to the clearing tomorrow”. Ice runs through your veins now, a mixture of the  wind and the impending trip back home. “Oh” is all you manage to get out.

You open the drawer to your bedside table and place the few belongings you have in your bag. The clothes you had worn on your first day here were clean and folded atop the dresser. You were ready to go home. There wasn’t much to pack. The group had gone to Rita’s for dinner and it was a nice distraction for about an hour, Azriel had flown you to the House of Wind after you finished eating. You hadn’t spoken much to him today. Not knowing what to say or what to think or what to feel. Nervous? Excited? Scared? You take your blanket from the bed and sit in front of the windows. It could very well be your last night here, the view was something you’d want to remember and you curse at yourself for not taking a picture when you still had a phone. 

The flight to the clearing was brutal. The temperature was so much lower in the skies and without any type of shield it felt like razors were slicing through any exposed skin. So you were extremely relieved to have landed in the still temperate Mortal Lands, autumn here was still in its early stages and by the looks of it they still had several weeks before the cold made life more difficult. You had been helping Gwyn with the symbols by holding up her notebook while she drew every line with a thick white pigment. “The lines must be intact” she had said sternly when Cassian groaned about carrying two cans of it. She was nearly done now, only a few more symbols to complete the circular portal. That’s when Azriel asked Cassian to hold the notebook. You looked at him with narrowed eyes as he led you away from them. “I don’t think you should go”. No words came out when you opened your mouth. You try again “what?” It comes out as a whisper. “I don’t think you should go” you huff “why?” He inhales “because the risks are far too big and I don’t think you want to go back but are afraid to admit it to yourself” you cross your arms at your chest, defensive “why would you say that?” His voice is steady “I agree with you, I think it’s a trap” you shake your head “no, why do you think I don’t want to go back to my home?” His expression is stern now “y/n, you’ve told me about your home. I don’t think you were happy there, you could be happy here-” “Doing what? Looking for books my whole life and then drop dead in that damn library while all of you keep living? Azriel, I can’t stay locked away at the house forever”. He pinches the bridge of his nose “that’s not what I’m saying, you could find something else to do, anything really. You could find a place to live in town and build a life for yourself” he’s pleading, your heart feels like it’s in your throat. He goes on “what do you have to get back to anyways?”. You step back from him “you cannot be serious, I have family, friends. Azriel I have a whole life and I can’t just throw it all away. I have no future here, no sense of belonging, no career, nothing” he steps closer to you “I’m saying you could have any life you want here, I’ll help you-”

 “Stop” he stops talking, his shadows have curled around your legs, anchoring you. “Guys, this is pretty much ready” you hear Gwyn announce. You tear your eyes from Azriel and look at the nearly completed circle. Only one line remained. 

“I don’t want our last conversation to be like this,” you say. Azriel insists, “y/n please, stay, you’re being stubborn”. Your eyes roar “you’re being an ass” and walk over to Gwyn and Cassian. They are pretending they didn’t hear every word of your conversation. “Do it” and with a final stroke Gwyn finishes the portal. The four of you stare at the circle in the center and… nothing. Absolutely nothing happened. You feel Azriel sag with relief “Gwyn, what happened?” You ask, she’s double and triple checking the markings on her notebook “I don’t know… we must be missing something, the marks are perfect” you take a breath and turn to Azriel “happy?” he puts his hands behind his back “I think it’s good you’ll have more time to think about what is best for you” you roll your eyes “don’t treat me like a child, just because I'm not a million years old doesn’t mean that I don’t know what’s best for me”. You don’t, and you weren’t feeling one hundred percent sure about returning. But that was your decision, not anyone else’s. “Cassian, can you take me to the Manor?” Azriel looks confused “let’s just go home, y/n. We can be back before nightfall” you shake your head. “No, you guys can go, I’m staying here for a while”. Azriel goes to move towards you but you walk towards Cassian “please?” He nods and you leap into the sky before Azriel can say anything else. 

“Too bad the portal didn’t work out,” Lucien says. “Yeah, too bad” you sit looking at the hearth. “What are you going to do now?”

You shrug “I have no idea”.

tag list: @luvmoo

[bowievanfleet]

a merry little christmas

pairing: jake kiszka x gn!reader

genre: PURE ACHING TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF. I AM SO SORRY.

wc: 2.5k

warnings: none!!

a/n: probably my favorite thing i've ever written! i hope this brings all of you comfort and cozy vibes during the cold weather <33

songs!! the christmas song / nat king cole / have yourself a merry little christmas / phoebe bridgers / o tannenbaum / vince guaraldi trio / literally any soft xmas song you can think of

this was home.

sitting criss crossed on the white, rough carpet in front of the couch, listening to the old charlie brown christmas record that was broken out every year because of your fondness for peanuts and the jazzy piano score. 

you stared, mesmerized, at the little twinkles that the lights on the tree emitted every now and then. maybe it was all in your head, the lights seeming brighter and warmer through your dreamy haze, but it didn’t really matter to you. 

you sat between the outstretched legs of the boy that is and has always been your whole world. his arms curved around both sides of your middle and your hands up and around his neck, twisting and combing through his messy hair that fell like a waterfall down his neck.

it was 3 days until christmas. there were presents overflowing from under the tree, willing to sit there until their rightful time to be opened. 

you let everything seep into you. warm glows, people that you so deeply loved and trusted surrounding you, your back pressed to a chest that radiated the most genuine warmth you've ever felt. 

his chin rested on your shoulder, swaying you back and forth every now and then, tiny taps of his fingers on your stomach in time with the staccato piano playing from the record. 

the snow had come late this year, but finally, all the window edges were lined with white. it looked like a scene out of a movie, and you were more than happy to play a role in it. 

you looked around you, noting the people who were still around. sam was sitting diagonally from you and jake in front of the other couch, eyes trained intently on the movie playing (home alone, his absolute favorite, for good reason). josh was stretched out on the couch above you, eyes half lidded, trying to watch the movie without falling asleep. 

you and jake were miles away in some other world, his head had shifted so now his cheek was pressed to your shoulder, and your arms slowly moved down from his hair to his forearms. 

you would whisper things back and forth to each other every now and then- guessing what was in the neatly wrapped boxes under the tree, making fun of sam and how focused he was on the movie, debating your favorite christmas songs. 

it was normal, but different at the same time. something in the air was new, and you welcomed it with open and eager arms. 

whatever it was, it made you feel all soft around the edges, and you can't remember the last time you felt like that. 

suddenly, josh sat straight up, pushing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “i gotta get to bed, i’m tired of fighting this shit” he said sleepily, forcing himself off the couch above you and dragging himself up the stairs without even a word of parting. 

the three of you snickered and shook his head at him, the end credits coincidentally rolling on the tv as sam flicked it off. 

“well, i guess that's my cue, too” he said, putting his hands on his knees to shove himself up, trudging up the stairs, followed by the sound of his door shutting. 

the charlie brown record was still going, and you shifted your head to the side a little to see jake’s face. he shifted his eyes up to you, unable to say anything because of his nose and mouth that was buried in your shoulder. 

“you okay back there?” 

his eyes shifted with a contented smile you could barely see. “mhm,” he hummed with a little nod, pulling you even closer to him, the warmth radiating such intense comfort to your heart. you let out a breathy laugh. 

“you’re awfully clingy tonight,” you teased lightly. he laughs through his nose, another “mhmmm” 

you grin and lean into him more. “what do you want for christmas? we haven’t talked about that yet,” you ask, tapping your fingers along his arms to the beat of the music. he raises his head finally, his chin replacing where his cheek was. 

he raises his eyes up at you, and he’s so close that you can make out every individual eyelash fanning out above his eyelids.

 a thought flits through your near-blank mind, certainly not an unfamiliar one either. there and then gone again.

he's so pretty.

he smirks lightly, “hmmmm, what do i want for christmas?” he asks himself, pretending to think. “well,” he starts, looking you in the eye, “i could use a new necklace, and a new pair of vans, and some new button ups, and maybe a vintage pirate sword if you could find one,” he rattles off more random things, and it makes you grin ear to ear. “you know what? how about we just go to the mall and buy the whole thing out?” he teases, and you laugh quietly. you turn back to him, and this time he’s smiling too. “what do you really want?”

he lowers his eyes for a split second before they find you again. he speaks earnestly, “i already have everything i want.” 

you throw your head back in laughter, and he smiles too, but his brows furrow, “what?” 

“that is such a cheesy answer!” you exclaim. he giggles along with you. “im sorry! it’s true though, i don’t really have anything i want that badly.” you turn your face to him, looking him straight in the eyes, and turning fake-serious. 

“jacob thomas kiszka. i know you. i’ve known you for almost 10 years now. i know there is at least one thing that you’ve had your eye on all year that you want so badly. there’s always something, every year. last year it was that near-thousand dollar necklace, the year before that, it was a fancy wine-tasting set that you wanted so badly to try with me. then i remember one year a really long time ago where you just wouldn’t shut up about those expensive-ass guitar strings until your dad finally got them for you. you always have some specific thing you want.” 

he squints his eyes at you, “you know me too well, you know that?” and he’s grinning, a twinkle in his eyes akin to the lights on the tree you were mesmerized by earlier. all you do is raise your eyebrows and offer a soft, knowing smile in response.

his gaze is still a little humorous as he loosens his arms around you ever so slightly, so he can move his hands up to cup around your sides, where your ribs are. he rubs his thumbs along your shirt. he’s making you even warmer than you were. a pool of anticipation appears deep in your stomach. 

you can sense he's about to do something, but what? you’re never once alarmed, though. you could never feel uncomfortable in this moment, safe and secure and warm. you’re still leaned into his chest, so you can feel it when he ever so slowly dips his head down to your shoulder again. he’s a lot closer to your bare skin this time. your head is still tilted to where you can see his eyes, and he speaks softly. “fine. you wanna know what i want this year?” he corrects himself, “what i’ve wanted for several years, actually.”  you’re mind blanks. you know what he’s doing, you can feel it. you’ve known him for too long to not know. but your mind is blanking in disbelief. is he really about to do this? right here? right now? can he read your mind? 

he breaks you out of it by rubbing his hands up and down your sides again, squeezing a little. “you gonna answer me, bug?” he asks softly, not a hint of mockery or teasing, just a question. 

you nod, a barely discernible movement. “yeah. yeah, i wanna know.” 

you’re not scared. you’re not even really nervous. you’ve been this close to him before, only this time, you were both taking an extra step. 

he breaks his gaze and bends his head down again. 

his lips suddenly touch right where your neck and shoulder connect, and a quiet, embarrassing little gasp leaves you. it's such a feather light, barely there thing, and it makes it so much harder to process for some reason. 

you can feel it when his lips tilt up a little at the sound you made. his lips are there again, but this time you can feel them much more. it's a real kiss now. a firmer touch. you can feel every miniscule move his body makes. his mouth presses down for a few seconds before he comes up, moving his head and giving you no time to think before he does it again, further up on your neck now. 

your eyes widen as you turn your head back around to face in front of you, subconsciously tilting your head to the left so he can have more room. 

his hand is at the other side of your neck in an instant, softly moving it back upright as he strokes his thumb along your skin. “nuh-uh,” he whispers, “too warm to be movin’ away from me like that.” 

he places another kiss right behind your earlobe, and you inhale sharply through your nose. something pangs through you like a lightning strike. a feeling that you’ve never really felt before. you’ve felt versions of it, but this time it’s so raw, completely undiluted and the tiniest bit overwhelming. 

he grins wide at your reaction, his hands on your hips gripping ever-so-slightly harder than before. “oh, i think she liked that” he whispers, a little amused, but not taunting. 

you take a deep breath and shift your head, turning his head back to him again, yearning to see his face. he nuzzles his nose into your cheek a little, then turns to rest his forehead on your temple. “this okay? can i keep going?” you smile at his thoughtfulness and nod quickly. “mhm. you still haven’t told me what it was you wanted.” he snickers into your neck. “oh yeah, right,” 

he moves back up to your ear, trailing kisses along the outside of it. “what i really want for christmas,” he begins, kissing your cheek one more time, “is to kiss you. it's all i’ve ever wanted.” you turn your head toward him further, meeting his eyes, almost glowing in the christmas tree lighting. he brings his right hand up to your cheek, knuckles softly brushing over your cheekbone. a small grin appears on your face, widening when one spreads across his face too, mirroring you. you feign contemplation, looking away and furrowing your brows before looking back up at him once more. “i suppose i can give you your christmas present early,” you whisper, and his grin gets even wider. 

his palm moves to your neck, thumb on your cheek, as he tilts your head up. he’s looking at you with such adoration that you don’t know if you’ve ever seen from him before. at least, not at such high intensity. you get so lost in the beauty of his eyes that you almost miss him getting closer and closer to you. eventually, your lips are centimeters from each other. he breathes over your mouth, a ghost. you lean forward, eager. he leans backward an inch. he open-mouth smiles, taunting you in such a jake way. all of a sudden, the nervousness hits you in a wave and you start to fidget with his hair. “jake you know i’ve never had a real kiss before.” you whisper anxiously. you’ve kissed people, of course, but it was never right. there was never anything there. always a quick touch of the lips, and a sinking disappointment in you. but now, now, you could feel the electricity from this and your lips haven’t even touched yet. you were scared that you would end up doing something wrong, something that would fuck this whole thing up and ruin the night. it was always awkward after you kissed someone, and you don’t know if you could handle that type of awkwardness with jake.

he smiles reassuringly at you, and brushes some pieces of hair out of your eyes. he gives a knowing nod, “just follow my lead, bug. okay?” you nod, and somehow the nervousness melts away. he leans in again, and you know it's for real this time. he whispers something, barely audible, and so close that you can feel his lips moving against yours as he says it. 

i got you

and those are the words that are echoing in your head as his lips press against yours, sure and steady. 

he is everything you’ve ever imagined him being. he is a warm fireplace on christmas eve, steaming hot chocolate in your favorite mug. he is all your favorite christmas movies, and all your favorite christmas records. he’s a warm flannel, he’s a pair of boots walking on fresh snow, he’s a freshly cut spruce tree. he is everything. he is everywhere. 

you can feel him filling up your head like snow falling onto a field that’s been empty and barren for years, and only just now experiencing true winter. 

he’s all the metaphors you could ever make, wrapped up into one human being. he is extraordinary.

it overwhelms you so much that you have to pull away, just to look at him. you grasp his face like he’ll disappear. 

he’s dropped his confident facade- he’s on your level now. his heart is splayed out in front of you on a silver platter, free for you to take. 

you don’t notice that you're crying until you feel his thumb wipe the tear from your cheek. he frowns, “what's wrong, bug?” 

you smile wide, and choke out a laugh. it's simple. 

“i love you.”

you're so incredibly happy that you're beside yourself, as he takes your face again and kisses you like he’s never going to get to again, even though you know that this is far from the last time. 

you don’t- can’t- think of anything else but him and his lips against you, moving so soft and gentle and steady, guiding you to a place you’ve always wanted to go. 

it truly is home. 

the kisses start to overlap, one after another after another, until you can’t breathe anymore and pull away as if you were underwater. 

both of you are softly gasping as you lower your forehead into his chest, and he cards his fingers in your hair. 

you feel him kiss the top of your head, and you let out a giddy laugh. he chuckles at this, and you look up to see his smile. he’s so beautiful that you gather the courage to lean up and give him another few pecks, both of you smiling like idiots. 

it seems only right that you cup his face once more, and whisper through your wide smile.

merry christmas

taglist!!

@dakotadovato @doodle417 @its-a-metaphor-barnes @weightofdreams-gvf @gretavanbitches @jordierama

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[blade-that-was-broken]

I’m going to spit out a theory on how jd lost his leg in the soldier au. I know this is probably wrong but I want to theorize. I think Tres was driving one of those military jeeps with the whole squad in it (except delta) and ran over a landmine it was an old kinda shittily made landmine so the explosion didn’t kill anyone but John was sitting shotgun and the jeep hit the mine with the shotgun side wheel so he took the worst of it while everyone else got surface burns. Anyway jd was kinda completely out of it on painkillers and getting back to back surgeries for like a month or two and that’s why he doesn’t actually know if his leg is in Sudan or not because he doesn’t know if it got amputated immediately in Sudan or if it got amputated when he was back in the U.S.

That’s why tres blames himself but jd doesn’t blame tres at all cause well jd also did not see the explosive on the road that thing was hidden well.

Anyway I love this au a lot. An idea i have about it is that JD was the one who tapped out tres in his graduation ceremony. Idk why jd would have been there but they clicked well cause Tres has no family beyond his squad and his squads family and neither does JD (at the time at least) and the second jd talks about tres to bruce, the dad in him realizes that tres is jds unofficial adopted son and Bruce is very much an uncle.

Anyway welcome to my Ted talk this is just a theory I love this fic so much thank you for writing it.

First and foremost... I was going to write something about this and then... major burn out. Either that or my brain is just NOT cooperating with this. However, I've got notes instead.

Okay so... you aren't entirely wrong. This is actually pretty on track. However... it gets worse... it gets so much worse. I don't have a lot of details but this stuff is janky and its a lot longer than over the course of one explosion. The explosion from the truck isn't actually what takes John's leg but they go through a whole ordeal that lasts at least a few weeks before getting back home to the states. The ending part especially is something John is extremely fuzzy on so that's why he's not entirely sure where his leg is. But it's also a joke with some of his darker humor.

When I said this ordeal kind of gives Tresillo an out of the military of an honorable discharge or something, I mean it. It was gnarly and that is putting things lightly.

Tresillo's feelings of guilt goes deeper than an IED that no one noticed - it's a bit more up close and personal than that which is probably.... it's just yikes. Tresillo blames himself because he's thinks he never should have been on a team with such more experienced soldiers and that they wouldn't be in that mess if it wasn't for him, and John wouldn't have gotten hurt if he wasn't busy trying to protect Tresillo. This isn't true, however, but Tresillo is a kid and he likes these people and he just has a lot of guilt and shame that he really shouldn't.

So, I'm very pretty sure that's not how anything works but since this is an au, I can do what I want so I'm going to absolutely roll with it. I'm just going to roll with JD and the others knowing this kid was going to join them and they go to the graduation (or maybe even meet him beforehand/get to know him beforehand etc.) and quick to realize that no one is gonna tap him out and John just doesn't even hesitate.

Tresillo is kind of an undisciplined brat at the beginning. It's how he knows how to get attention. I'm also debating on whether he had to choose between prison or the military so that might be a factor. Anyways, they don't give up on him and are super good and chill and eventually he just kind of sinks into it all. They all bond and become friends/family. John is very proud of him and although would never really say the concept of brother/son/etc. he sees all of these people - including Tresillo, possibly not Chaz - as family. He just doesn't always use those types of labels.

Bruce however, very well might.

I'm really glad you like this au! I find it super interesting to talk about and ya'll come up with some really great ideas and questions which make ME come up with more stuff too!

[burgundybmw]

Munson's Mixtape

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Cunningham!Reader

Word Count: 2,201

Warnings: Descriptions of death (no actual death tho),

Summary: Chrissy has been acting weird, and like a good big sister Y/N drives to Hawkins from Notre Dame to check in on her. Only to find out she has plans to meet up with Eddie Munson. Things take a turn for the worse and now Y/N gets wrapped in to the horrors of Hawkins. Hey, at least she has the company of the guitarist she was sweet on back in high school for comfort.

Author’s Note: This chapter was SO HARD TO WRITE. I decided to break up episode 8 canon into two parts for this fic. I hope you guys enjoy a bit of a shorter chapter! Hopefully the next one won't come out so late hahaha.

Track Seventeen

The sky was still dark outside of Eddie's trailer, but the faint sounds of birds chirping woke Y/N up from her light slumber. Steve suggested they all get some rest, wait for everyone to calm down before she told everyone what she saw, what Vecna showed her. Eddie dragged his mattress back to his bedroom where Y/N now rested. He was laying beside her, one arm wrapped tightly around her waist. She didn't know where everyone else slept for the night, if any of them were awake now. One thing she did know for sure was that Eddie wasn't sleeping. Y/N didn't know if he woke up just before her, or if he didn't sleep at all, but she could feel his long eyelashes brush against the skin of her neck as he blinked. He didn't say a word to her last night after she comforted him, just held his hand out and slowly dragged her into bed with him. She followed without complaint.

He held onto her so fiercely throughout the night. She knew he was terrified, still reeling from the whole ordeal. Eddie tried to put on a brave face, but Y/N saw right through it. The last time she saw him that panicked was the last time she sat in this bed. The night that Chrissy died. She couldn't help but remember what the other Eddie said to her, what she saw happen to him. Y/N knew that it was just one of Vecna's tricks, but the way he said it, it sounded so prophetic. As if Vecna was a dark twisted oracle showing her the future, like some greek tragedy. It scared her more after he showed her his plans for Hawkins, for the world as she knew it.

Y/N could feel her body shaking, her skin riddled with goosebumps. Eddie must have felt it, because he just held her tighter. He didn't say anything, not at first. He waited for her to tell him what was wrong. That was one thing she loved about Eddie, how patient he was with her. He had this ability to know exactly what she needed from him. Whether it was to make her laugh over something stupid, debate movies and music they like when she needed a distraction, a hand to hold, a shoulder to cry on, someone to keep her warm at night while they slept on an old mattress with no sheets to cover them. Y/N used to resent how much she relied on him, but now she allowed herself to be comforted, because now it was equal. Eddie was there when she needed him, and she was there for him in turn. She just hoped he knew that, how much he meant to her. She didn't want to tell him, not now, not with everything going on. But she tried to show him. Show him the things she was too nervous to say out loud.

"Hey Eds?" Y/N asked, slowly turning around to face him. It was difficult at first, Eddie's firm grip keeping her in place, but he gently yielded to her will. She looked up at Eddie's tired face, still covered in dirt and grime from the Upside Down. Y/N slowly ran her fingers through his long curly hair, starting at his trimmed bangs, gradually moving towards his ear, the back of his head, and down his neck. She repeated the motion over and over again, patiently waiting for him to answer her.

"Yea Y/N..." Eddie whispered. His eyes were closed again, head leaning into her touch.

"Are you okay?" Y/N knew it was a dumb question to ask, but she needed to know. Eddie sadly chuckled, lightly shaking his head.

"No, not really sweetheart." She knew that answer was coming, but it didn't make her feel any better. Y/N continued running her fingers through his hair, twisting each lock as she went. Eddie sank deeper into the mattress, breaths coming in and out more evenly. He looked so exhausted.

"Did you sleep at all last night?" Eddie struggled to open his eyes as she spoke.

"Yea, I got enough... Don't need to worry about me..." How could he ask that of her? Not to worry? How could she not? All she did was worry about him.

"Liar." Y/N quipped, lightly tugging on Eddie's hair. It was sort of like what her father said back in pre-school, boys pulling a girl's pigtails. She never liked the concept, causing pain to someone you care about, but she didn't hurt Eddie, wouldn't hurt Eddie. That didn't mean she didn't like to tease him, just a bit.

"Try that again and see where it gets ya." Eddie groaned, voice husky from exhaustion. He was half conscious, barely teetering on the edge of sleep. Y/N wanted to test her luck. She ran her fingers at the base of his skull, gathering most of his long brown hair, and pulled. Barely a centimeter, just enough for him to know her intention. For Eddie to know that she really wanted to see what it would get her.

He reached behind his head and yanked her hand out of his hair, pinning it to the bed above the pillow she slept on. Before Y/N could think to move, Eddie grabbed her other hand and pinned it there too. He slowly began to sit up, his right knee nudging his way in between her legs. The only place Eddie touched her was around her wrists. The rest of his body hovered above her, the ends of his hair tickling her face as he looked down at her. The gap was too large, she wanted him closer to her, like when she slept mere minutes ago.

"Now Y/N, care to explain to me why you thought that was a good idea?" Eddie asked in mock sweetness. Y/N's eyes widened as the room slowly began to fill with light, a soft yellow hue dusting across the bed. There was a moment of tense silence, the only sound that could be heard was Y/N's hitched breathing, then Eddie seemed to realize what he was going and slowly inched away from her. Y/N didn't want him to go, she needed him to close to her, she needed to feel his heart beat against hers, she needed to know he was still alive. She didn't know where the panic came from, all she knew was that it was back with a vengeance.

Y/N quickly wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him on top of her. Eddie let out a surprised gasp before his face smushed into the pillow beside her head.

"Don't go." Y/N whispered as she held on tight to Eddie. He was wresting his forearms on both side of her shoulders, legs tangled with hers. His heart was pounding in his chest, stunned to be in the position he found himself in. He could feel her shudder against him, but it wasn't the kind of shudder he would feel if he was truly in bed with her. No, she was panicking.

"Y/N?" Eddie didn't know how to handle himself in that moment. He didn't know what she needed, what she wanted from him. He didn't know what to do with the physical body he possessed. The only thing he did know for sure was that he needed his other head to get with program. It was not the time nor place to be getting excited, despite how warm and soft the girl was beneath him.

"I need to know you're alive." Y/N whispered into his shoulder. That immediately got his attention. He knew that Vecna showed his victims their worst nightmares, he didn't want to imagine the horrors she witnessed while she was under.

"Of course I'm alive sweetheart, I'm right here with you." Eddie adjusted himself within her hold. He slowly turned on to his side, dragging Y/N along with him. He tucked her head under his chin, one arm under her neck and the other softly rubbing up and down her spine. Their legs were still tangled together, and Y/N wrapped one of hers around his hips, pulling him closer to her.

"You weren't though... I watched you die." He froze. That's what Y/N saw while she was in Vecna's control. His death. Her worst nightmare was Eddie dying.

"How did I bite it?" Eddie said with a touch of dark humor. He tried to lighten the mood, not make it as ominous as it was.

"I watched chunks of your flesh get torn out. Your neck, your ribs, your legs... Like you were being eaten alive. There was blood... So much blood... You said it was my fault. That you were going to suffer because of me. That you died because of me..." Eddie gently lifted up her chin to look at her. Y/N was crying, her lashes dark and wet from tears. He wiped away the ones threatening to fall out of the corner of her eye, the eyes that were locked onto his.

"No matter what happens Y/N, none of this is your fault." Eddie said with a small smile on his face.

"But-" He moved his thumb from her eye to her lips, softly shushing her so he could continue.

"No buts. Listen I, uh, I can't imagine what that shit you saw was like. If I could've traded places with you I would've in a heart beat, trust me on that." Eddie continued, "But it doesn't matter now. I need you to know, that even if I don't make it at the end of this, or something else shitty happens to me, it will never be your fault." He didn't know if he should tell her about what he thought about when Chrissy died. Eddie relished in the idea that Y/N thought he was brave, that she had faith in him. If he told her how much of a coward he actually was, would she have stuck around as long as she did? Would she regret staying with him? He knew he had to be honest with her, she deserved to know.

"That night when Chrissy died... I was going to run. Shit, I was going to leave you right there with her. I had my hand on the doorknob and everything, all ready to go, but I didn't. I stayed. That was my choice." He needed to get the words out, he needed to get this right. "And if I do kick the bucket, I will die with zero regrets. I can promise you that."

"How? How could you say you'd have no regrets if I was the reason you stayed? How could you not hate me for putting you through this?" Y/N looked so pretty in that moment. Her beautiful eyes, although tired and sad, staring back at him. Like she was starting directly into his soul, and he wanted her to.

"Because despite all of the bullshit, spending these past few days with you in Rick's lake house have been some of the best days of my life. I wouldn't trade that time for anything else in the world. If I died tomorrow, I'll die knowing what it's like to wake up next to you." He wanted to bear his soul to her, give her a piece of it. He might as well, she already had his heart.

"I'll die knowing who you really are, not just some image I had in my mind. I'll die knowing you like Metallica, that you have strong opinions about Star Wars, Christ, that you're some amateur palm reader." Eddie chuckled, bittersweet and fond.

"I'll die knowing Y/N Cunningham, for whatever reason, genuinely cares about me. That you'd go after Carver and his goons for me, spend all night searching for me, even lie to the police for me. That's more than the Eddie Munson a week ago could ever hope to dream of." Eddie paused, holding both sides of her face so carefully it ached inside of him.

"The only thing I would ever regret, is if I die before I-"

"Munson, Cunningham, wake up! We gotta go!" Steve yelled from the other room. Eddie might've dove straight into Lover's Lake to save Steve from getting strangled by demobats, but he was half considering finishing the job.

"Say it Eddie. Please say it." Y/N begged, her eyes wide and nearly frantic. He placed his forehead against hers, and took a deep breath.

"I promise I'll tell you. The second we are alone together I will tell you everything, sweetheart. Everything I was too chickenshit to say, I will." He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, and got up from his spot on the bed. Y/N quickly raced after him, grabbing his wrist to keep him in the bedroom.

"I swear to God Eddie, I will hold you to that." Y/N said, the fire lit and burning bright in her eyes. The same fire he saw in the boathouse when they were cursing Vecna's name. The fire that made him want to kiss her till his lips fell off. The fire inside of her that he loved with every fiber of his being.

"I know."

Taglist:

@imchangkyunned , @creativedogs , @nightless , @kik51199 , @thecraziestcrayon , @dabzzallday420 , @science–hoes , @efvyqrs , @justanotherkpopstanlol , @secretsicanthideanymore , @heartandhead2018 , @piperd06 , @kellysimagines , @writing-fanics , @munchabunch , @ultradangerouspie , @givemeeverything , @mrs-billyrussooo  ,  @sweetpeapod , @cevans-winchester , @hopingforromanoff , @nativity-in-black , @mn2222222 , @mslunawinchester , @imnotsiriusyouare , @iwillduckyou-up , @coltonthekanima , @mcueveryday , @kikis-writing-world

[thelordofgifs]

hi! while I hate to enable procrastination, I am... kinda doing the same thing and would love to read a dissection of the stabbing scene 👀

also for @that-angry-noldo, @aurorafaann and an anon!! Ty all for indulging me hehe <3 (and sending procrastination solidarity!)

Ok SO. Preface that I figured out the stabbing would occur only after writing part 12 - hence why part 13 foreshadows it very heavily and parts 11-12 more lightly. This is also why I feverishly wrote and published parts 13 and 14 very close together; I was gripped. consumed. I had a VISION. For this reason, the stabbing scene is not actually my best work ever. But! I did put a good amount of thought into it and, a week+ later, I think it holds up.

(This is also a good point to say that I genuinely did not intend to write a really mean cliffhanger and then not update the fic for ages. And I am sorry about that. Frankly, the stabbing felt like an excellent twist and I was worried about how to move the fic on from there without somehow destroying the emotional arc of the last few parts, but I've managed to work it out in the past couple of days which is cause for celebration!)

Anyway, we start out the stabbing scene with Maglor, who has not been having a very fun time lately, just glad to see his big brother again - uncomplicated gladness, for an instant at the end of part 13, but now he slips into his normal mode of feeling Guilty and Inadequate and starts to apologise to Maedhros for losing the Silmaril. But Maedhros is deep in the whole delusional episode situation and reacts oddly to Maglor's apology - which Maglor notices pretty much immediately:

Maglor has made Maedhros his chief study for many years.

He looks at him, now, and understands.

Subtext: Curufin is an Idiot who does not notice thingss but Maglor is a very good brother and we love him <3

Then there is the quiet refrain of Maglor's Rules For Dealing With Maedhros In A State: he is very careful with him, trying not to startle him or contradict him, making sure not to touch him. He is doing everything right! It's just that Maedhros has been spiralling so badly that that isn't enough.

Sidenote, but: I love writing Maedhros and Maglor interactions. I am in the silm fandom to write Maedhros and Maglor interactions. They are my bread and butter. This is the first time the two of them have met since Part 3, the first time they've had a proper conversation since Part 1 (!!), and so in addition to having obvious plot significance I really wanted this scene to depict some of the essential elements of their dynamic as I see it. So: Maglor's guilt, a dollop of mutual caretaking, all that endless complicated love, and! a thing I like to do! Mirrored dialogue!!

OKAY now I get to talk about the dialogue in this scene, which is my favourite part of it.

The boys' last conversation in the silm is one of my favourite pieces of dialogue, like, ever. It has so much tragic weight behind it; and the way their lines build off each other, reflect each other, is just perfection. Maedhros: "Who shall release us?" Maglor: "If none can release us..." To me this sets them up as foils for each other SO perfectly. When I write them I try to incorporate a little of this dynamic - they are both good with words, they like to debate with each other, and they often good-naturedly turn the other's words back on them.

I couldn't do this overtly in the stabbing scene because, frankly, I was in a possessed haze and wasn't thinking that deeply about it. But it did come through a little: "No doubt it amuses you," Maedhros says, and Maglor responds with, "Nothing that hurt you could ever amuse me." (Also, more subtly: "If none of it was real at all--" -> "It was real, Nelyo, I promise.")

More intentionally, Maedhros and Maglor are using very different registers of speech in this scene. Generally in tfs I don't make too much effort to make dialogue sound Tolkien-esque, as I do in my other fic; part of the tfs style is rooted in informality, so that Fingon can make a veiled sex joke to Curufin, and Mablung can casually say "Sure is" in response to a question. Maglor is adhering to this "standard style", so to speak: he uses contractions liberally, splices his commas, and so on. Maedhros, on the other hand, is speaking very formally: no contractions, a slightly more archaic way of constructing sentences: "If he lives" vs the more modern "if he's alive". This is deliberate! They're speaking Quenya in this scene, the language of their childhood, but while Maglor is using casual, familiar tones, Maedhros has reverted to very formal, classical Quenya - the sort that's one step removed from being a language solely of lore. This is what Maedhros spoke in Angband (Sauron is a language enthusiast, after all!) - a conscious effort to demarcate himself the High King of the Noldor, and the son of the world's best linguist. But because he's in such a bad place he is also swinging between registers, dropping in contractions on occasion, stumbling over and repeating his words as he grows more overcome.

I do humbly think Maedhros went OFF with dialogue here actually. "You have overstretched your hand, Sauron. He cannot be both dead and alive. You will have to pick one." and “Well, then, which is it? If he is dead then you are only a wraith wearing his shape. If he lives – and – and none of it was real at all—” and "I do not, I do not want this anymore. It was – it was not so terrible, when I could still pretend – but now – you are only taunting me now, doing this. Let it end." HE'S SO UPSET

Another thing that's impossible to get through in English is the use of formal vs informal second person: unfortunately in modern English, "thou/thee" sounds hopelessly archaic, so I couldn't have Maglor use it without breaking the casual and familiar vibe I was going for with his dialogue. But, in my head, he is thou-ing and thee-ing the whole time, whereas Maedhros is using the crushingly formal "you" instead. A little of this came across, hopefully, through Maglor's repeated use of Maedhros' childhood nickname: he calls him Nelyo in pretty much every sentence he speaks, whereas Maedhros, importantly, does not address Maglor by name even once.

Okay I just spent five paragraphs talking solely about dialogue WHY are you people indulging me like this. Moving on. In terms of actual plot... well, I think how well the scene works depends on how overt you found the foreshadowing in earlier parts. Did anyone predict that Maedhros would attack Maglor? If so, I imagine a lot of the mounting tension in the scene is kind of pointless. If not... the fact that Something Is Wrong is hopefully obvious from the start; the reader knows, unlike Maglor, that Maedhros has been having a terrible time of it. By the time Maglor has failed a couple of times to make any headway in convincing Maedhros, I was intending you to grow steadily more stressed. And

(It's worth noting that, with the exception of the twins, Maglor and Curufin are the two sons of Fëanor who most resemble each other: they have the same colouring, and they're both slighter than their brothers, with the same long skilful fingers.)

(It is not implausible that a shape-shifter, tired of impersonating Curufin, might switch to Maglor's form without too much difficulty.)

This small break from the close, limited Maglor POV that most of the scene is in, to give a quick glimpse of what's going on in Maedhros' head, was intended to Freak The Reader Out. Maedhros has literally just planned to kill the thing impersonating Curufin in Part 13 - if he is now starting to suspect that it's here with him, that killing it is the key to breaking the illusion, shit is getting serious.

Maglor gets out of bed. MAGLOR WHY ARE YOU GETTING OUT OF BED. He is almost afraid of Maedhros. MAGLOR BE MORE AFRAID OF MAEDHROS.

Maedhros says, "It was – it was not so terrible, when I could still pretend – but now – you are only taunting me now, doing this. Let it end." He has spent some time debating whether or not he prefers the illusion to the reality of his captivity - and he wasn't sure - but now that Sauron is mocking him with the image of his dead brother, he has decided enough is enough.

Maglor's bad leg gives out. Before he can fall Maedhros catches him, putting his right arm around Maglor's waist.

This is partially cute. Maedhros still has his big brother instincts, even like this! He isn't going to let Maglor fall!

But alarm bells were intended to be Extremely Ringing here. Maedhros puts his right arm around Maglor. His left hand is still free. His left hand is still free–

And Maglor, who is still just absolutely not realising how much danger he is in, responds to this extremely worrying statement by saying, "Thank you, Nelyo," - was he not LISTENING?? Maglor!!!!

Then, of course, Maedhros stabs Maglor, Maglor's instinctive response is to comfort him (do I need to get back on the "Maglor is an excellent brother" soapbox or can we take that as given), he sings him a lullaby - callbacks to Part 1 and the Carcharoth encounter, Maglor has sacrificed himself for Maedhros more than once in this fic - before just sitting down to die. That was a clear image in my head for a while: Maglor sitting in a pool of blood, singing quietly, Maedhros' head in his lap and the Silmaril in his hand, and then the orc-horns sounding outside for extra cliffhangeriness. In fact this is probably my single favourite image of the fic. I just love them ok.

This is SO LONG and so procrastinatey but also an extremely fun exercise actually!! I am now fired up to go and work on part 15.

[moth--blood]

ive started making my own demons :) info under the cut i loove them all sm

LUCIFER

Lucifer has jurisdiction over sinners who have either been treated unjustly in life or thought themselves above the universe/deities. he keeps to himself, and he's always seen with tear tracks on his face. it's debated whether they're scars from the fall or if he's just constantly crying over something. he's the most lenient of the 7 sins, and he takes heavy favour over the more defenseless or innocent sinners he thinks deserved salvation. he pretends to live in Purgatory, saving lost souls to reclaim his place as an archangel.

MAMMON

mammon however is well aware hes hot shit, absolutely adores it. he NEEDS attention, and it was the whole reason he was cast from heaven. he fought along side lucifer because he wanted the stories in both heaven and hell, he wanted to be known as a rebelled warrior, and he is. he's no longer a warrior in hell. he's feared but Mammon does not fight, instead he sends his loyal imps and elves off to do the fighting for him. his corner of hell treats him like god, something Lucifer resents him for, and he likes to joke he's more a glutton than anything.

LEVIATHAN

Leviathan to put him lightly is a miserable bitch. he sees everything the other sins and the princes have that he's never even liked until now, sees how happy it seems to make them, and he internalizes that. for centuries. it's insufferable. despite that, the demons he rules over adore him. they're just as miserable as he is and he does do his best to provide, and when he does he does WELL. whatever the product is there's more than enough for every little serpent and siren he can see. despite being so miserable, he really does love his so-called subjects. he likes to think it's the one thing he has over the others.

ASMODEUS

Asmodeus is a picky one. his list of subjects he respects is few and far between, it's borderline impossible to win him over. that being said he's very sweet, and his section of hell is almost an exact replica of King Solomon's temple. this part of hell is where you can find most decent bars and clubs, most of which based off his likeness

BEELZEBUB & BELPHEGOR

Beelzebub and Belphegor, because I'm biased, work in tandem. they fucking hate each other and they can't cooperate to save their souls, but they've found humans fall to temptation faster if both sins are involved. Beelzebub does the hard stuff and Belphegor finishes the deals. (Belphegor tried this tactic with mammon many many centuries ago and promptly gave up trying when mammon insisted they refer to him the way his subjects do.) they cant be left alone anymore because the one time they were Beelzebub nearly lost a wing. Abbadon has to supervise, rip

SATAN

Satan is the fun one since again I'm biased. she is lucifers daughter. she's the youngest of the sins and the most ruthless, she is the epitome of eldest daughter rage and i love her so much. she absolutely despises Lucifer for creating her, and despises the rest of the sins just as much, mostly for past "you're just like him" comparisons.

fun facts:

Leviathan is Satan's favorite

Leviathan is also a raging fucking nerd and if he cared about human media he would be a brony. he would make all his demons bronies. it is a circle of mlp. Asmodeus is demi, and the only person he's properly been interested in was Solomon

Belphegor and Abbadon are the less cutesie versions of fizz and ozzie and as much as they disagree, Beelzebub is the only one who gets a free pass on teasing Bel about it.

song assignments:

Lucifer - Bloody Angel (Avatar)

Mammon - King For a Day (Pierce The Veil)

Leviathan - Misery Loves Company (CircusP)

Asmodeus - Blood (In This Moment)

Beelzebub - Cannibalove (Reoni)

Belphegor - Nocturnal (New Year's Day)

Satan - Brutus (The Buttress)

[caralara]

Why this Babygate situation is so different than before (but the same, too) and why it’s leading to The End

I don’t think I can count the number of anons in my inbox telling me to stop believing babygate will end soon because “the fandom has hoped before again and again and it never ended, we’ve been through this so many times” and of course it’s always accompanied by an “it’s for your own good sweetheart I just don’t want you to get disappointed and hurt” and yes yes yes thanks for the concern but I don’t take this lightly, you know? 

My optimism isn’t based purely on a gut feeling, and it’s not just based on Louis mentioning Freddie every now and again or him wearing one or two funny shirts. Nope. I looked at the big picture, the time frame from when Babygate began in 2014 (yes 2014) until now and looked at everything I could get my hands on and had a few thoughts about the why and how, so let me walk you through it, just so you can stop filling my inbox with concerned messages <3

First of all - if you’re new here go read my Xarry post to get some background info on why I think babygate even happened in the first place and why Louis went along with it more or less willingly, at least to some degree.

TL;DR: to make it possible for Harry to come out as bi (regardless of his true sexuality), Louis had to appear Super Straight™ in order to not out Larry in the process, and Harry had to sort of stunt with a man that wasn’t Louis - and how do you do that? Babygate & Xarry.

Ok, let’s dive right in. 

The Set-Up and Execution

Seeing as it seems they had Briana’s social media wiped clean by approximately end of 2014, the plan must have been in place by then already. This is just to illustrate that these sort of things are planned way ahead into the future - this is about 1.5 years before the baby was even born. 

In my opinion, it is debatable if it was ever clearly communicated to Louis or even planned to go through with the entire pregnancy and have the baby born from the beginning. I personally believe that from Briana’s side, they were more than happy to be along for the ride and stay in the spotlight for as long as possible, and management might have suggested something like that to them quite early on, as the Briana Tomlinson and baby Tomlinson URLs had been around at a very early point in the time line already - however, once it was clear that a baby would be born, and paraded as his child, as they saw that even the pregnancy news did very little to convince people that Louis was A Heterosexual, they seemed to push for the full blown execution of the baby-having-business.

Even though Louis managed to sabotage any narrative of a “Happy Couple Expecting a Baby” by calling the paps to Glastonbury where he was holding hands with Tamara Bell, management kept pushing the narrative of Louis and Briana getting back/staying together non-stop (which made it all so messy and confusing to the gp and fandom) and even engagement rumours were seeded.

This culminated in OTRA Belfast being cancelled on 20 October 2015, where Louis did babygate interviews all day long and that “Baby [Boy/Girl] Tomlinson Is Born” was accidentally published early - I believe, this is where Louis found out for sure they were after all planning to go through with the whole birth and him being a father, and not limiting the stunt to a “pregnancy,” and he & Harry and the other boys put their foot down and walked out. He went on and leaked Home that night, and almost exactly a month later he had Danielle Campbell as his new girlfriend introduced - I believe he sought out a beard / PR girlfriend as insurance to not get dragged further into any marriage/relationship stunts with Briana (also the reason why they worked and looked so well together, she was the only beard he ever chose for himself instead of management - and she meant autonomy, something positive, to him).

But can you see how he’s working the chess board, how he’s sacrificing one thing to gain another? How he’s creative and finding solutions to these situations, to get the best possible outcome for Harry and himself from these dilemmas? How he’s utilising what he learned from being in the middle of the storm of the music industry? All the tricks and hacks? How he - even back then - used clothes and double meanings to signal (The Future Is Now shirt, the only shirt ever he re-wore (two days in a row!) on stage - precisely the two shows he called the baby doll thrown on stage a fake baby, and the other one when Harry put the balloon under his shirt during Little White Lies on the day exactly three weeks before the One Conception article?). How he’d learned to manipulate the media? Instrumentalising that horrible “fan” phone call where a deranged person is threatening a literal baby (regardless whether you think it’s real or fake), he highly publicised it at precisely the perfect moment, exactly 6 months after we got the first real pap photos of Freddie - coincidentally also the limit to employ infant actors per year in California, he uses the phone call to plead for privacy, after a bazillion planned pap walks, and making the fandom self police and create a taboo about the topic babygate so they’d quiet down, that it wouldn’t get talked about, questioned and brought up as much anymore and he could put it to sleep for now (-- worked really well, didn’t it? /s).

He knows fandom dynamics, he knows what we talk about, he knows what the different sub bubbles of the fandom like antis, solos, twarries and larries need and he also knows he can trust us, larries, to have his back throughout all of that, picking up on his signalling and sticking around for his true self.

The Quiet Years

By now we’re in late 2016. Louis is an established dad, he’s throughout has signalled he’s not happy with the stunt but he is going along with it - he’s signalled with clothes, with songs recommended (like the Devlin Album or Daddy Cool), he’s referenced FRIENDS with the Sunglass Hut, follows people with paternity scandals on social media, and he’s flatout leaked and protested. 

print!Louis has explicitly not taken a paternity test, and he’s taken Briana to court approximately 28 times over custody, while he actually has never done that, and he’s paying less than $6k in child support each month as a multi millionaire.

So why did he not end it then?

First of all. Jay passed in December that year, may she forever rest in peace. I don’t even want to think about it too much, I will never be able to fathom the pain of this loss. And he still went through with his first single.

I think it is important to remember why he even agreed to do it in the first place: it was to make a coming out possible for Harry, without outing Larry in the process. By now, there’s such a gigantic heap of lies by and about a lot of important people connected to a Larry coming out accumulated, it would already be incredibly difficult to manage a coming out on it’s own - and now make it a move that won’t destroy both their careers: I don’t think the world / industry was ready for that in 2017 (or is today, if I am being honest). So. We always have to consider what Harry is doing and how gay Harry is, to see if an end is possible for babygate. So obviously, Harry didn’t come out as bi, and I believe it had to do with him signing with Jeff and Jeff doing a 180° turn, pouring honey into his ears to delay a coming out until he’s established as a solo artist, turning up the Hendall heat almost immediately. And we all know, that Harry trust(ed) Jeff, so there was no coming out at that point (they told me that the end is near, always running from the bullets, we never knew we were here before...)

So. In January, Douis break up and Louis gets back with Eleanor, and jets off to Jamaica, where Harry is also spotted. 

Harry kicks off his solo career with his first solo performance in May 2017, while Louis dives back into work, announcing Back To You for July 2017 and deals with his grief on top of that. And guess what gets dusted off for promo season? Yep, suddenly Louis remembers he has a son. It is funny, just a little bit, that every single tweet, insta post and interview mention about Freddie is always in close proximity to a release. I made a fancy google calendar to visualise it, and it is so clear - usually he mentions him about 6 weeks before something gets announced, and then during promo for the Announced Thing. Like for Just Like You which gets released in October 2017, and then the same for Miss You early December 2017. Louis keeps signalling, with the Billie Jean shirt and the Just Like You music video, while Harry gets a big scary demon bee tattooed and sings Kiwi thrice on the three year anniversary of the One Conception Article.

The entirety of 2018, Freddie is basically non-existent - Louis also isn’t putting anything out. He’s in the studio a lot, and besides the recycled and rerecycled Carbon Copy Article that periodically gets published every two months, there’s nothing in that year. 

Then, first Freddie postings happen again beginning of 2019, and guess what - Louis announces the release of Two Of Us. For the promo interviews, Freddie gets dusted off again. Louis releases the TOU music video the day before International Day Against Homophobia.

So why did he not end it and ride the publicity wave for Walls? I think there are a few different reasons why not. For starters, Harry released Fine Line, a very very gender and queer album around the same time. I don’t think Louis wanted to overshadow it with Babygate stuff. Secondly - maybe Louis wanted to see if he could pull off Walls without having to use the promo from a scandal, to prove to himself he could make it as a solo artist, too. I also think the push pull behind the scenes with Syco was coming to a head at that time. Shitty promo, no faith in him as an artist, and their past... Focus on one fight at a time - free himself from the people who were responsible for that horrible closet in the first place, then get rid of the collateral damage. And finally: the End needs proper preparation to be pulled off with minimal damage to Louis’ career and his loved ones. It is a huge pile of lies, and he needs to be disentangled from it with a delicate plan and patience. With all the factors behind the scenes being unsure, it is difficult to create a plan that will need at least a year to be executed if you don’t know who will be on your team next month.

The End - Attempt #1

I believe with the release of Walls, they started to execute the plan to end it after LTWT and to use the scandal to push visibility for LT2. They had announced the tour end of October 2019, and Walls was released 31 January 2020 like a lil birthday present for H - and that’s where they started the groundwork for Babygate to end: an album sporting a handwritten note, dedicating it to his littleladfreddie, missing any and all songs about fatherhood, or the joy and struggles of having a child. 

Why? Because in order to End It, they have to make the fandom and gp think he’s the most devoted Daddy of all times, so that when the news hit that he turns out to not be the father after all, having taken that way overdue DNA paternity test, everyone will believe him that he really believed he was the dad to littleladfreddie and that he’s actually a victim of the scammer Briana.

They make the groundwork for that, too, in May 2020 - two months after having to push LTWT back to August because of Covid. There’s several articles of Briana dating Brody Jenner (of the Kardashian Jenner clan, yes) purely to get her back into the limelight, to make her interesting for the public, for it to make sense why it has to be in the papers what she’s doing. Between May and September there’s at least (!!) 22 articles about Briana dating Brody, to then have a BUA and immediately, and then, three weeks later, in October, we get Boobiegate - painting an image of scammer!Briana, with a sugar daddy literally telling Louis in an open letter that he hopes she didn’t scam him, too. Oof, what a story!

So why did it not end then? Why did it go quiet for the entirety of the first half of 2021?

Covid. Louis had to push back his tour, again - this time to 2022. It pretty much coincides exactly with the first article coming out about Briana and Brody - this part of the plan was already in motion. And remember, Louis is playing the long game. Making it googleable that Briana is a scammer, it’s not a bad thing if it’s already longer ago than just one promo cycle - makes it look more organic. Boobiegate was important groundwork - but not actually a sign it would end within a couple of months of it. So they pulled it off, the whole boobiegate thing unravels until the end of November, and then it goes very, very quiet. They pushed back the tour by a whole 10 months, so until then - sit and wait. We have almost zero activity from Louis between January and June 2021 - except for some Euros and studio content.

The End - Attempt #2

The next attempt gets kicked off with a “Briana topless article” in June, the day after we get Louis and Freddie at an empty arcade, super recognisable and Louis in full on babygate gear and a two days later Briana refollows Louis on instagram. The fandom goes wild - aww daddy content, especially after Louis poses with little Louies for photos!

September it picks up again: Louis starts to heavily signal with clothes (in the afhf, Obituary, Beatles, sunglasses,...) and then is seen in LA, assumendly seeing Freddie. 

October, Louis gets seen clubbing with Annas (key player during babygate seeding in 2015) wearing his H shirt.

November, we get the Bentley push: facetime where he calls over Freddie to talk to Bentley. The mum herself describes how Louis took a week to find the best time slot to call - in the mean time he flew to LA and honestly, he’s so great, he loves his fans so much that he takes out time from his precious son-daddy visit to call a fan up! so thoughtful. He then gets spotted in LA with Freddie, again in full babygate gear (grateful dead “steal your face” shirt and bbg sunglasses!) and Daisy posts a photo of Louis with Freddie.

December: Louis likes babyphotos of friends, and poses with other friend and their baby while wearing a Lacoste crewneck with a huge alligator on it (baby-gator anyone?). Then: christmas and birthday with a 10 £ cake from m&s, and a Freddie within the Tomlinsons who sticks out like a sore thumb. we accidentally get an instagram video of Louis telling Freddie he looks just like him (carbon copy steal your face gasp) with his lips etc. Freddie poses with a surf board Louis gifted him that’s called DNA. Louis wears Beatles again.

January 2022: Louis congratulates his 6 year old son in a tweet. at half nine pm. but freddie goes to bed at 7 doesnt he louis and Daisy posts carbon copy post of Louis and Freddie

February 2022: Louis sees an opportunity and takes it: has the tourbus stop for a little Louie hislittleladfreddie’s age, and in front of hundreds of phones filming him, he tells him he’s got a son just like him (cue aaaaw daddy Louis)

March 2022: Louis gives Freddie a shout out during his LA show, no one gets it, so he does it again. before all of this, he tells Charlie where to film (we’ll get it in the documentary to make it real y’all) he’s spotted on a daddy son day out at Santa Monica pier

Throughout the rest of tour, the intensity and frequency of signalling through clothes get more and more, Louis wears beatles, bbg sunglasses, and: starts wearing chequers and following F1 accounts, joining F1 & DNA spaces on Twitter ensuing in the Chequered Flag Theory, signals with playlists and likes and follows and more while posing with as many 6 year old kids as possible, specifically requesting to be photographed next to them. He starts signalling about September.

June: his new merch is influenced by Dalí, who’s latest publicity came from a postmortem dna test proving the child claimed to be his wasn’t his after all.

He wears Lacoste and Palace (=Queen=Freddie Reign) and chequers almost non stop.

July: Louis messages Bentley’s mum on Twitter (after her proving to share absolutely everything for clicks and engagement) to tell her he loves his son

August: his new Album is announced: Faith In The Future. Reminds a lot of the Future Is Now shirt. Louis (and Harry!) use a lot of 7s. As in 7 years are enough?

September: LT2 Promo starts. There’s an onslaught of melittleladfreddie, see this post.

Conclusion

So. Here we are. I just wanted to explain how this time it’s different, by explaining the reasons and context of bbg related things happening in the past. that the things that are usually being called on to prove “he talked about freddie before” or “there were patterns before” are true, but they were in a different context.

so on the one hand, you’re right - we’ve sort of been here before, in 2019/2020 when they initially wanted to end it, but no one could predict covid would happen, so they had to adjust their plans. and it’s the same for this now: I am absolutely sure it will end. and if it doesn’t, it means there’s a reason they had to change plans again. remember, they have to consider Harry as well. and something shit like covid can always happen, as we’ve learned. doesn’t make freddie any more related to him though. I think this is truly the first opportunity for him to safely end it. 

sorry this got so long, but honestly, it IS complicated and complex and i simplified it A LOT. if you have specific questions, feel free to inbox me!

To the end, my friends - Faith In The Future!

[berniecranes]

One thing that kind have irked me a little bit is John's views in the game. No, not the fundamentals I disagree with, as that is obvious. But the inconsistencies with what they built up for him. They're minor details, it doesn't really change much, but excuse this ramble I am going into. It's going to be talking about the VW, and some of the tactics used in it, so I want to give a full warning for this.

Also I want to preface this as this is not to defend John. I have been more than adamant on the fact that John is a scary, shitty, C*A Officer regardless of anything else.

As you may know, John makes a passing comment to Lincoln about how LBJ is handling the war. He says "President Johnson is a goddamn pussy. He started that war, he should finish it." which clearly shows John, a. Puts blame on LBJ for pushing the war, obviously being lighter towards Jack's actions earlier on. Whether he is a believer that Jack wouldn't have escalated the war, or he wouldn't have had it get this bad/would have handled it better, that is up for debate. And b. He wants it to end. Which is an obvious, I think assuming him and Lincoln want this war to be over makes sense. But, especially with the idea he was a C*A Officer; because at this time, the C*A and M*litary were not hand in hand allies, as I believe that happened either with N*xon or the 80s, I cannot remember fully right now. They often opposed views. And with this, the C*A believing they "ACTUALLY want to the end the war"; whereas the m*litary wants "glory." Now, I would like to point out, just because John wants the war to end doesn't make him anti-war. As we hear how he feels abt anti-war protesters. Clearly he still believes they should do their """civic duty""" or whatever. Regardless of if you're happy with it or not, or be quiet and go along with it, I guess.

But this really is where my biggest gripe comes in. John says the way to end the war is "filling up the sky with B-52s" AKA, keep bombing V*etnam. This has been the tactic that has been FAILING. LBJ has been critiqued even in his own Party that he needs to stop the bombing & to start negotiations. But the thing with LBJ, he is too stubborn likes to do things his way. And, do you know who opposed continuous bombing? The C*A. While I know clearly not EVERYONE did, but then tell me why....when they established John is unhappy with how things are going, especially with what LBJ is doing.....WHY he would be pro the tactics that ISN'T working? UGH! It just makes no sense to me. And to go on and continue to mock him when he haults the bombings? Like hello?

And no, I do not believe he would want N*xon or whatever because I still do believe he is a democrat. I think his staunch support for Jack should definitely still be noted. He wouldn't go SO hard for a politician he believed in...if he didn't believe in him you know? Remember John is a man of this time, he's an actively present adult. He isn't looking at it 60 yrs later, he's looking at it in the moment. I think it's more than fair to say his frustration of LBJ doesn't show he is suddenly against him or whatever. Because they're just that; frustrations. Especially in the conference, we see how the war fucked with John and how he feels about everything as a whole. But it is true, the handling of the war overshadowed literally EVERYTHING LBJ did. And I'm not saying that is a bad thing, when your screw up (putting that lightly) is a literal mass killing of an entire group of people, that is GONNA be the focus of what you did. Oh, but with the line where John says if Jack was still around N*xon wouldn't be president. I believe that is a rather loaded answer, not as simple as Jack would be elected, because he couldn't have been, it would already be 2nd term. The plan always would have been Bobby would try after Jack, then Teddy. But I think he still holds a lot of his hopes in what the nation could have been with him, and truly feels Am*rica "lost its way" or whatever. But yeah, I think it's clear he still is aligned this way regardless of the many wrong things John does or say.

Like I mentioned, this is by no means me defending him or the C*A, as they were doing terrible shit. As we know the Ph*onix Pr*gram (which to remind you, M3 has John AND Lincoln involved in that for some reason...) exists, and many other things are public about their doings there. I just think this shows how the game lacks to really show anyone's core views or thoughts. Instead of using John as a way to show the many different views, they should have stuck to one and have him do that. Instead, they went with this, something that literally makes NO sense.

Below the cut are all the John lines I mentioned and also a passage or two from the book V*etnam: A History by St*nley K*rnow

Added in alt text so hopefully they're all easier to read, I apologize abt the book pictures, they were taken last year in the middle of me reading so often I just got a quick pic and continued on, aha

[raven-eruri]

Levi takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and knocks. One time, gently, almost a rasp on the door. He waits, but there’s no answer, so he enters the room. Erwin is asleep at his desk — and for a second there, Levi forgets how to breathe. 

The candles are burning low, and the golden shadows they’re casting are illuminating his skin. He’s resting with his head in his arms and his eyes close. He looks younger in his sleep — there’s a childish innocence in his face. Peaceful. A few strands of hair have escaped his neatly done fringe, and Levi has to resist the physical urge to put them back in place, to gently run his fingers into his blonde locks. He looks so beautiful Levi could cry. 

He’s debating whether to wake him or simply go back to his own room when Erwin’s eyes flutter open. 

“Levi?” asks Erwin sleepily. He’s smiling — and his smile is so soft, so different from the hardened Commander’s mask he wears all day. 

“Yeah. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up. I — I saw light under your door, and I thought — maybe you’d be hungry,” Levi finishes weakly, gesturing to the tray in his hands. 

“How thoughtful of you,” says Erwin, straightening up in his chair. He yawns widely, rubbing at his face as he does so. “Please, Levi, would you join me?”

“I —” Levi hesitates for a second. “You should go to bed, Erwin. You look exhausted. You’ll get wrinkles if you’re not careful,” he adds playfully. 

“Ah,” Erwin laughs quietly, “that would be unfortunate, really. Still, I’m afraid I still have a lot to do tonight and I could use a break, if I’m being honest. Will you keep me company for a while?”

And how can Levi say no to that? Truth is, he’s perfectly aware that he’s incapable of saying no to anything Erwin may ask of him. So he puts the tray down on the small table in front of the fireplace and takes a seat on the couch next to it, letting himself sink into the cushions, crossing his legs. 

“Well?” Levi says, raising an eyebrow. “Are you gonna take an actual break and come sit down with me, or are you only gonna pretend and keep working?”

“I need to finish that report, Levi.”

“Get your ass over here, Smith, or I’m going back to my room.”

And Erwin laughs. A real, genuine, honest laugh and Levi barely represses a smile of his own at the sight. When Erwin laughs, his whole face lightens up, and Levi thinks that he could stare at it for the rest of his life and die a happy man. It’s almost... painful. Watching him forget about the Survey Corps, and the titans, and the deaths, just for an instant. It makes him wonder if they had met in another life, in other circumstances, maybe, just maybe, things would have been different for them. His heart sinks in his chest, so Levi bends over and pours the tea into the small porcelain cups. He’s found them in Trost’s market one day and bought them with his first pay from the Survey Corps, and he remembers thinking that it was the first time he had something that was only his. He doesn’t mind sharing his cups with Erwin, though, because Erwin is the only reason he can even buy cups, let alone use them. 

They sit quietly for a moment, next to each other, close enough to take comfort in each other’s proximity but far enough that they don’t actually touch. Erwin takes a sip of tea, cradling the cup into his hands, and leans back against the couch. He spreads his thighs in the process, so they brush lightly against Levi’s own for a split second, and the brief contact lights every nerve in Levi on fire. It’s unfair, really, how much Erwin can affect him. He never used to be like this before. He always despised physical contact. People are gross and filthy, and they always have an ulterior motive — sex, money, or murder. So, he avoided physical touch with a passion, but Erwin, Erwin is different. He’s bright and tall, and he smells like soap, after-shave, and the weird hair product he puts on his hair to make it stay in place. Levi doesn’t know what to do with that. He’s never met someone who made him feel like he just wanted to be — touched. He wants Erwin to touch him so bad it’s killing him. He has ruined him, he thinks; Levi is ruined now. He will never be able to focus properly ever again if Erwin is close to him — hell, even if he’s on the other side of the room. 

“It’s nice, not being alone tonight,” Erwin says suddenly. He’s looking straight into the fire, and Levi knows what he sees in it — the faces of all those who gave their lives for Humanity. Levi doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s never been good with words. He kills titans; that’s what he does. Killing titans doesn’t require much eloquence. So he hums lightly, blowing on his cup. 

“You should go to bed, Levi. You have training in the morning,” adds Erwin. 

“So do you. And yet you will be writing your reports until your fingers don’t work anymore and the sun is rising. You’ll fall asleep at your desk like you were when I found you earlier, and your neck will be all sore and stiff tomorrow.” 

Erwin smiles again, and oh, Levi relishes in the thought that his Commander’s smiles are scarce, but they’re reserved for him. It’s not much, but at least he has that — Erwin’s smiles. 

“You take such good care of me, Levi. I don’t know what I did to deserve that.”

“Don’t be stupid. I’m merely trying to make sure you don’t kill yourself working so hard. The Survey Corps needs you.” 

“Do they,” whispers Erwin, so low that Levi wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t sitting so close to him — when did he get so close? 

They’ve done this a hundred times, sitting together quietly in the middle of the night, drinking tea, taking comfort in each other’s presence. But tonight — tonight feels different. Erwin is looking at him now, and there’s something in his eyes, something desperate almost, and Levi can’t look away, no matter how hard he tries. 

“And what about you, Levi? What do you need?” 

I need you, he thinks. I need only you, if you only knew, Erwin. But it’s Erwin Smith, and he’s merely Levi, just Levi, so he answers instead:

“I don’t need anything. You’ve already given me so much, Erwin. I mean — the Corps, they’ve given me so much. They’ve given me a purpose, I guess. I mean, I was nothing before, I was — I was just a scrawny rat from the Underground, and now I — I guess I know why I fight, and that’s something, right? That’s enough.”

Yes, that’s enough, he thinks. It’s more than most have, really. At least he has a purpose. He kills titans. It’s better than to rot in the Underground, away from the sunlight, waiting to either be gutted in the streets or to simply wither away in the darkness. It’s enough. He can be content with being on the surface. And even if he sometimes indulges in dreaming about being more — well, that’s just dreams, isn’t it? Everybody has them, it’s a human thing, and he’s human, after all. God, he’s only human. 

“But you deserve so much more than just fighting, Levi. You don’t know, do you? Goddamn, you have no idea.”

Erwin is close, he’s so close Levi could count his eyelashes, and they’re so blond and thick, framing his piercing blue eyes, and  — when did he get so close? Levi can barely move, and suddenly he can’t stand it. He really should get out of here before he embarrasses himself, even more, so he stands up abruptly, nearly toppling down the table and the cups because he has no idea how to do this — whatever this may be.

But Erwin stands up too, towering over him — Fuck, why does that man have to be so tall? And he’s looking at Levi, but Levi keeps his eyes away from him, fixed on the floor, away from Erwin’s gaze, because he knows that if he looks up, he’ll —

“Levi... look at me,” asks Erwin, gently, oh so gently. “Please,” he adds.

So Levi obeys.

And the moment he does, he’s lost. Utterly, completely, and unconditionally. 

Darling | NSFW

[12loona]

[FANCAFE] 221128 | LOONA Fancafe update - Yves’s 5th Anniversary 🎉

Yves’s letter to Orbits is located under the cut:

To Orbit 『A certain thing glows as it burns itself. It is because it is leaking memories past in each moment. It is because sorrow passes by it in each moment. How is a person made complete. How does time manipulate fear. Where is the joy in singing the same song as everyone else. No one, not a single one, tells you where you must go. You must rediscover the voice unique to you. You must approach the varied forms and textures of things that are. Reconstitute in your memory, a light that diffuses and radiates. It is okay, even if you sink into an even deeper bottom, in an even deeper darkness. In the way of dying, hand over a flower that blooms.』 . . We choose to bless all things that disappear. For time is not something that disappears, but something that accumulates.This is an excerpt from “When We Walked Through the Mist, the Night Guided Us”, part of the poet Lee Jenny’s 『Things Flowingly Written As Such』. I debated for a long time how to begin this post.. Then I lightly picked up a book, and I felt a sensation of being absorbed before I knew it, and so this is how I begin. For some reason, when I read those passages, I was so comforted that I made the ridiculous mistake of thinking, “What if all of the time I’ve passed by and experienced was just so that I could read this poem?” Well, I am not yet sure what words the poet is delivering to me, with what intent and emotion. Nor am I yet sure what in the world I am trying to tell all of you, going ahead and writing down this poem of the poet. But one thing I can tell you for sure is, those passages gave me a great deal of consolation And rather than the obvious and common flashy greetings, what I wanted was to return consolation to all of you, writing down my truthful feelings word by word. The consolation I give you on my 5th anniversary may sound a little funny. Even so, I sincerely congratulate us on our 5th anniversary of being together. When I put a dot on the word ‘congratulation’ and look closely What I see is not a brief serenade for a happy ending, for just that one moment; but rather I see a heart that comforts you, in all of those times when you were working so hard to reach something. I have become able to see through the essence of a word in this way, despite my bad eyesight, because I have learned how to see with my heart. A heart with fine and well-polished texture has a polarity that is opposite of my own coarse heart; and so when it faces me, like magnets we embrace each other and offer up the warmth of our sides. But an edged heart that is rough and sharp succeeds in scratching my own heart and pushes me away. In this way, some hearts and other hearts, with the same pronunciation Create such different sounds. The hearts that wanted to comfort me, and conversely the clumsy hearts that never were comforted and grew crooked. All the moments I have passed by, ones that have made me laugh and made me cry in silence, reach their long arms out to me and offer me consolation at the tip of their tenuous fingers. And when they do, I want to yell and hand over a flower, so that when I am in the darkness someday, I may be able to hear. That everything is okay. Some people might say it has ‘only’ been five years. But the five whole years I have been through somehow feel like a dizzyingly long time. And of course, in those times I was never alone. Despite that, why do I only understand after five ‘whole’ years have passed. When I had to walk the abject darkness, when I could not see an inch in front of me, I had nothing, and so I had to burn myself to make light. For that was the only way my cowardly self could walk forward. That light made me move forward, but also step back at the same time. As the light grew dimmer and dimmer the more I walked, I blamed myself, but by then I was all burnt up and nothing was left. If only I had not looked ahead, but looked to my side, looked behind me… Then I could have faced my Orbits in truth a little earlier. Even when I did not notice you and walked past you, Orbits must have protected me for a long time from behind me, from my side, yes? Now I too want to tell you. That I will always be here, so you should not worry. That when Orbits sometimes look back, and look to your side, I will be standing there so you can see me easily, always. I think once again. It has already been 5 years of us being together. As the years go by, it seems that my affection, the words I want to say, and the words I still cannot bring up, all grow in proportion. Needless to say, light exists because darkness does And darkness only feels dark because there is light. I could not feel darkness before I met Orbit, and then I met Orbit; now, even if I close my eyes at your dazzling bright light, I clearly see your afterimage. Even when I sometimes fall into a deep, dark dream again, I am not afraid. No, you set me at ease, telling me I do not have to be afraid. Even when I cannot see an inch ahead, following the light that I sense with my heart, I close my eyes and take a step towards the dawn. Before I know it, the wind that comes through the window in my room has become cold. Today, I opened up the snowy white heart that was piled up in a heap, and it was the memory we had sent to us from last year. I took a deep breath to read it, tightly packed into a breath my wishes that we should open it together again next year, and then folded and sent it out of the window. As we wait for the coming spring, summer, fall, and this time of year around winter, I hope we’ll open up today, together, once again. Picking back up the words that still try to force their way out, I would like to substitute the passages that conclude the poem I wrote for you before, in place of my feelings. Again in this coming winter, trust me, let us trust each other, and let us move forward. No matter what. . . . 『There is a memory that seeps beyond the boundary of darkness. It is light, but it does not tear easily, and it recovers robustly. In a borderless voice, it asks a clear question. Where are you. Are you here now. As we walk through the mist, we arrive at the center of the night. Referring to the unknown as the darkness, we proceed dimly. You must know that even when you walk in place, you are moving forward. The first sentence has fallen to the ground, and the final sentence opens up into wings. Knocking on the future, we create the past. The entrance of the world is opening. There is a beauty that you hear behind the breathing.』 From Sooyoungie

English translation © Team Subbits

[stitchthesewords]

Here's some fun, non-to-lightly spoilery Rift AU thoughts for everyone!

So Ren in Rift AU is inspired by the faon interpretation [maybe closer to canon? I havent watched s7] of Mayor Scar mixed w the Red King from 3rd Life - Specifically, Ren is inspired by @mochiwrites's Scar in her Good Crimes AU [Which if you haven't read you ABSOLUTELY should]. I just love how she wrote Scar to be publicly one way and Privately another, and while I certainly don't imagine that Ren the King is quite as beloved, the inspiration is there.

Originally, Rift AU was tagged w Watcher Grian but I changed that because I want to mess with the Rift as it's own separate force and leave the Watchers for something else. I think the Watchers [And Listeners! *looks at Martyn*] function more as an ancient, ANCIENT religion, maybe even older than the ancient cities.

Also another original idea that's been put to the side for now is that the Warden was a watcher - I don't know where I was originally going with that idea, but it was my first pivot after deciding Grian wasn't going to be the watcher.

For anyone curious, and because I don't know if I'll name it directly in the stories or just leave it more ambiguous, I'm basing Scar's mobility issues and chronic pain off my own experiences with Cerebral Palsy, among other things. I have a very mild for of Cerebral Palsy that left me with a weaker right side and mobility issues and I absolutely wanted to make sure Scar was still disabled even if he isn't wheelchair bound. I imagine that he certainly has a wheelchair for bad days, but those would be like. Really bad days. The staff - to - cane that he has, made out of the same magical wood as his tree, is probably good for most of the sort of bad days.

Rift AU actually started as a way for me to explore sculk and ancient cities in fiction, which is funny given that we are now 17k in and counting with no mention of either. I have plans for it, but the story needed more work up than I was originally anticipating, which is great! I'm really enjoying returning to my roots with fanfiction, which is the whole reason I started writing Rift AU in the first place

Obviously I'm sort of picking and choosing what elements from hermitcraft [and the life series] I want to include in Rift AU but I am a little bit grumpy that I started writing it before I really fully understood the king plot [When I started, I had only watched Grian and Etho. Now I've caught up on Ren, Impulse, Mumbo, and Cleo, with plans to watch Pearl, Tango, Zedaph, and Doc next. I also really want to watch Beef and Iskall lol] because now I really wanna jam the whole royal council shenanigans in there and I'm not gonna be able to without probably retconning Scar and Ren's relationship which I refuse to do!

Obviously, Mumscarian and Treebark are in the story, and there's also going to be platonic Soup Group and platonic Team ZITS [bc. Skizz deserves to be here. I love him]. I won't tell you ALL of the pairings that end up in the story because a. I feel like we're be here all day but b. some of them are spoilers but I AM planning on having Solidaritek [Apparently team ranchers is only for platonic or something???] and ZedBeef and also Ethubs all make their own appearances. There might even be some like short stories following a few of the other couples in the story because I have attachments to Ethubs in particular. IDK if you can tell but Etho is my favorite hermit and I used to watch him all the way back in 2011 on his singleplayer world. I remember the boat dispenser. My baby girl.

One of these days I will genuinely type up an essay about my latent energy theory but in case anyone else is interested here's a very short tldr version: Redstone, Glowstone, End Rods, debatably sculk [I havent decided if it falls into the same category yet tbh], etc etc all power themselves via latent energy. That latent energy is compatible with electricity in some way, as evidenced by the fact that lightning rods can be used to power redstone machines, but it's different. More in between electricity and magic - either because it actually is or because it's not as understood by the people who work it. That same latent energy is the stuff magic feeds off, like is seen in Changing of the Season to help rejuvenate Scar. Whatever it is is old. Older than the Ancient Cities since they knew to build redstone machines to distract the Warden. It's older than the end cities, too, since end rods exist. Arguably it has always been and will always be around in some way.

Also this might not interest anyone else but thoughts on vampires and elves. Vampires are more closely related to Zombies, whereas Elves [Who are Fae, which means the Vex are included here] are more closely related to Endermen than anything [<- that will come up again] - and then the Warden and sculk are like. Very distant cousins of vampires. Sort of. Their trees connect somewhere.

[daedalmirage]

bittersweet ♥ marigold ♥ r.e: gawain, tezuka

"The mirror ritual doesn't work anymore."

Marigold chimes in with no prior warning, no feedback to all that had come before her: only a nod to Gawain when he mentions the still-warm candles.

"In the past... however long it's been, I've tried to do the mirror ritual twice. Once with the setup in that bathroom Gawain mentioned to see if the mirror having no reflection meant anything, then again in my room in a mirror its definitely worked in before to see if it was just that bathroom mirror."

Swirling in the odd feeling that was her investigation group letting her drift off by herself, for once shielded from possible accusation, it had occurred to Marigold as she lit candles with only her empty bathroom bearing down on her shoulders as witness the sheer amount of insane information she'd learned in the past week or so alone, never mind her whole month here. Yet even she didn't quite know yet how she was so casual talking about an urban legend as simple fact rather than something to be excited over, just to name one thing. Marigold had read a lot of supernatural fiction, but the image of Bella dead in the back of her mind had her wobbling on if she was quite ready to be a supporting character of one yet. 

"I don't know why the ritual would fail, but my main guess is the messenger's already out on business so can't show up. Those candles still seemed recently placed even before I tried, so if Misery delivered the name promise immediately after Bella died... oh my god, they were probably sending a message while I was running to..."

Before Marigold's words can falter and die off in a weak looking way she stops the flow herself with a swig of coffee, which she's been chipping away at while others have been saying their pieces.

"...Anyway, that might be what's bothering Misery. Someone here knows their name now, and has already put out a message for... help or info or a goodbye or whatever. Would be stupid for her to be bothered, it was her prize offered, but..."

Marigold trails off in a more complete way there, but its an awkward one: her shoulders are tensed and gaze for once down and to the side, rather than sweeping the room or focusing on one person in particular. But after a beat she seems to come to some kind of resolution, sighing lightly and looking up at Bella's empty seat.

"...You know, I was kind of expecting I'd be taking this secret to the end of time too, but... I guess it's null and void now, huh? Okay."

The bottled coffee is getting a lot of action as a means of buying time.

"I said Bella was alive, and Bella died. That's all true, because Bella told me... even though she'd been brought back to life after she died, what tried to kill her was still trying to kill her. That's how I figured out how she'd died- I dunno if she was just talking in paranoia that it would come back, or if it was actually true and something was still in her body trying to kill her, but either way... I wouldn't be surprised if her healing ability was due to whatever magic brought her back. Which must be some magic that was beaten by something else presumably in that numbing bite."

Marigold's voice hushes, just a little bit.

"We did have a debate or two about what might cancel stuff out, but that was like... mostly vampires trying to change her, so... I dunno."

[banqdanfnfic]

which, as they kiss, consume | jjk

you just wanted to get a tattoo from your boyfriend

pairing: tattoo artist!jk x reader

genre: established relationships au, tattoo artist au, smut

word count: 4k

warnings: unprotected sex, biting, making out, grinding, licking, nipple play, jk has a lip ring, oral (f receiving), fingering, shy jk and oc, sexual tension, slight choking, slight aftercare

♫ : Streets by Doja Cat, Candy by Doja Cat

♡ Aesthetics: Playlist | Moodboard

He visibly chokes on his glass of beer as he almost snaps his neck to meet your gaze. He could say that you were awfully drunk and hence the sudden confession out of the blue, but behind your heavy lidded eyes, Jungkook could sense that you were serious.

“You what?”, he gulps abruptly, moving closer to your face, doe eyes pleading to repeat yourself.

“Yes Kook. I want that tattoo on my breasts. I’ve decided”.

It’s not that Jungkook didn’t have experience in his career with inking on different parts of a human body. He just had never given a tattoo to someone who is romantically associated with him and the thought of seeing you half naked made him chuck down the rest of his drink in one go.

The most physical he had ever gotten with you was a kiss shared occasionally since it’s only been over two weeks you had started dating. Okay maybe you made out once in his car but that’s it. It never got to the point of shedding clothes or anything intense.

“Are you sure?”

You giggle at the sudden hoarseness in his voice and nod positive. Ironic how his aura never matched his personality. His inked skin, athletic body proportions covered in black monochrome bad boy outfits gave out default energy that he is a local heartthrob with multiple chicks wrapped around his finger each night and a heavy demeanor to carry in his smirk.

You were one of those believers until Jungkook asked you out in the most hopeless romantic way possible after constantly visiting the café you work in, a few shops besides his parlor. He was a gentleman with respectful boundaries, warm hands to hold yours and sweet sensual kisses though you are pretty sure he probably has a good game.

For any outsider it looked like those cliché bad boy and shy girl love stories, but for real both of you were a good percentage of introverts.

Jungkook runs his tongue around his lip ring while he is stressfully ruffling his dark locks into a mess. He is trying to explain his reasons to postpone your decision considering how shy he got at this point. But then that’s exactly why you were requesting him with soft eyes, it would be so uncomfortable to be shirtless in front of anybody else. Or maybe it’s your way of saying the relationship is open for higher levels of physical affection.

After debating around in vain, he finally hums and clears one of his slots for his beloved client.

Friday approaches way quicker than you assumed and now your heart is beating in your throat. Right after you are done cleaning the tables, you have to make it to Jungkook’s parlor for your appointment.

Running on three hours of sleep, black under eyes even after a decent amount of makeup, you groan as you check yourself out in the mirror. You opted for a simple shirt and skirt (also known as the outfit you bought for occasions with Jungkook), light beach waves resting on your shoulders. Hoping that a few cups of coffee will save you, you stride across the street to stop before the infamous parlor he worked in. Hopefully the full body shave and chocolate body butter has kept its excellence on your skin below the clothing.

The door chimes as it opens with a dragged creak on the musky wooden flooring. It felt like an otherworld where air smelled like men’s perfume and faint tint of cigarettes. In other words, intoxicating.

You ask the first person you meet at the reception, one of Jungkook’s companions at the shop and he assists you to his cabin located at a comfortably remote location.

His space is hidden with a simple black curtain. You are met with Jungkook’s back facing you, working determinately on a client’s arm and cares to spare a glance only when the guy with you is informing him about your presence.

“This will be over in a few”, he grins to your face and goes back to focusing his coil on the skin of a woman in her late twenties laying down his chair. The vibration from his inking machine fills in the silence and you excuse yourself to sit on a small black couch beside them.

This was the first time watching him at work and now you can understand why people rumored so much about his attitude because damn it is intimidating.

Brows knit together and inked muscles flex as he drags the needles around for finishing touches. Meanwhile you can pretty much smell the drool from the woman who is shamelessly checking out your boyfriend. Though you are pretty sure Jungkook gets such glances more than he can count every day, you can’t help but feel jealous. Partly because of the childish possessiveness and partly because you want to be the reason behind his dark eyes and intricate concentration, in profession or not.

To stop from mentally throwing daggers on the client’s way, you grab a random fashion magazine from the side table and flip through pages, though other four senses are inclined on your man. With a close attention to his low sigh you conclude that he is done.

The customer with now a fresh tattoo on her arm is discussing random useless topics to get him to talk, a very vain job realizing how Jungkook doesn’t bat a friendly lash at anybody, especially to those who hit on him. To be honest a large part of the ink business was linked with the obsession to attractive people who worked here, even if it meant trading an area of your skin. You grip the edges of the magazine a bit hard, not able to contain the sanity particularly at the high pitch voice she mumbles in before finally leaving his cabin.

A little excited and a lot nervous, you stand up as Jungkook bids goodbye to the third person.

He is quick to notice your discomfort, though not sure if it was the woman or the thought of finally getting the tattoo, he knew you were nervous and surviving in several cups of espresso by the dark circles slowly showing through the faded layers of your concealer. But nothing pulls down the opinion he has about you, beautiful and simple, no dramatics attached.

“Hey are you okay?”

You nod as soon as you sit down on the black tattoo chair, shifting a little to find a comfortable position. He is taking out a box full of equipment and fine needles, already making you break a sweat at the side of your forehead.

But more than that, it’s the way he is sharp and professional that catches your attention more.

You have never seen Jungkook this serious before. The choice of his vetiver perfume digging through your nostrils was driving you insane. If he doesn’t smile soon, you are going to melt into a puddle at his gaze.

“Are you nervous?”, he smirks this time, a newfound reason for your worsening gut health.

It’s mostly going in cycles at this point. Every bit of his skilled motion causes a vigorous hormonal reaction which initiates his next set of effortless teasing.

“I’m a little nervous”, you say, fiddling with your freshly painted nude nails.

“Me too”

It’s something you least expect to come out of his mouth observing how confident he looks right now. He basically has you cornered with his gaze. But whenever he had been truthful about his emotions it felt like a hug.

“I can take off my shirt too, so that we are even. Is that okay?”

He said it so softly like he is handling a child and the duality of the situation had your mind fogged and limbs frozen for a few minutes.

“Yeah it’s okay” It’s far beyond than okay. It’s great actually.

Jeon Jungkook is ripped, a Greek God sculptured masterpiece covered in self designed artwork you are more than happy to wake up to every morning. He hears you gulp at the feast before your eyes while he discards his black t-shirt to a nearby chair.

Now you don’t know if this whole thing is supposed to warm your heart or make you play several erotic fantasies like a movie before your eyes.

Both of you share a small smile while his long fingers are tugging at the hem of your shirt and pulling it up over your head.

He almost wishes you don’t opt to wear a bra but he is met with lacy black, a-bit-over your-usual-budget fabric hugging the roundness of your breasts.

It seemed like you were way too competitive about today. Anything less than complete awe from Jungkook for you was straight disappointment, you don't want anything less.

Well it seems like it did from how blown his pupils were at this point. He peels his gaze off your chest with a sharp gulp to look at your eyes suddenly devoid of any fear and staring back at him with all ease. He is filled with an exapnse of warmth and he isn't sure why does spending just a little amount of time with you had such a grip on him. He can’t wait to propose the idea of getting a couple tattoo together soon and as far as you know how Jungkook is, he is very serious with his body art so apparently he does trust you a lot already.

“Where exactly are you trying to get it?”, his voice is a lot deeper suddenly as he waits for your fingers to guide to his canvas.

You softly trace the spot at the upper circumference of your right boob, “Here”.

You suck a breath through your nose as his own fingers are mimicking your gesture, lightly pulling down the lace to inspect the fitting of the design at hand.

These violent delights have violent ends

And in their triumph die, like fire and powder

Jungkook traces each word on your burning skin, now leaning dangerously close which was questioning your control to put your palms flat on his pecs. He doesn’t notice that though, his mind is busy creating his own fantasies about the women under him.

After two minutes and twenty four second long of inspection and mutual thirst, Jungkook is selecting a bunch of needles to set into the rotary machine. Five fine sharp like a painter's brush moves in and out at a set regularity as Jungkook tests it out.

The next of his actions had you flushed into a pool of crimson. He gently lifts up your resting torso with one hand while the other is unclasping the hook of your bra, making you half naked for the sake of the tattoo.

"I'm going to start", he says shyly.

You still have time to save yourself from the growing phobia for the object, but another unlogical part of your brain says it's a piece of cake considering you have a whole distracting full course meal in front of you.

It stings at first. Well, okay it hurts like hell but your face is devoid of any indication, except your right hand is gripping on the rim of the chair for dear life.

Jungkook on the other hand had never felt this much diversion of mind during his work. He knows that you are probably hurting very badly, especially for a first timer. He is biting into his lip ring, trying to get this over with for the well-being of your pain and his hormones.

After he had scribed one word into your dermis, you are no longer able to contain the ache so you give out a small squeak out of your glossed lips and the vibration of the machine at his hands stops as he looks at you.

"You want me to stop? ", he is relaxing his face as he cups yours with one hand. You don't want to answer that question, but the drumroll of the current situation is making your heart flutter and everything about the little burn on your chest is forgotten.

"No. It does hurt but I'll be fine I guess", you whisper. His breath is mixing with yours slowly as he is leaning more towards your face. If it isn't for a kiss then you are likely to be disappointed.

"It'll be over before you know it. I'll make it quick", and then he kisses you, a small act to get off the pressure of sexual tension between your bare upper bodies.

Before you think of any tongue in the act, he is breaking off the contact and returns to his position on your chest. He misses the pout that forms on your mouth but right now both of your heads are in cloud nine.

The pain starts again, only this time you are busy reliving how his lips felt in yours; soft, firm and controlled.

You gasp when you feel one of his hands cupping your right breast to further his design but it's lowkey an act empowered by lust which is straining behind the so called professional eyes.

You just sit there flustered out of your mind and then Jungkook is suddenly squeezing, full palm hiding your breasts like it's a protected treasure, but he isn't showing the slightest facial expression other than determined eyes and his lower lip caught between his teeth.

Fuck you can't take it anymore. Jungkook can feel your nipples harden against his hand and his brain isn't helping much to concentrate on the design. But by the grace of some positive karma left on his side, he makes it through the long text and when he is letting go of your chest and standing tall, your skin is popping out with redness on the places the text lays embedded.

He fishes out a mirror for you to look.

"It looks beautiful thank you Jungkook", you smile.

"Can I give you one more tattoo on your left one?", he asks while you are contemplating whether going through the pain is worth it, not to mention you really want to get back at a private space with Jungkook as soon as possible.

"It won't hurt I promise", and then he is kissing you a lot filthier than before; all tongue and teeth, while his hands are grazing on the skin of your waist, pressing a little firmer than before.

The coldness of his lip ring rivaled around your mouth, and you try sucking on it to which Jungkook responds with a growl and pushes his body adamantly against yours.

Skin to skin, you are lost in euphoria of everything happening and finally, you roam your eager hands around his body, to his pecs and the definition of abs.

As your fingers scraped against his scalp, Jungkook is biting eagerly down your jawline to your collarbone and continues his ministrations at a particular spot which is bringing out melodic moan variation from you.

He is going down your skin, licking on your left boob before he starts planting violet tattoos as he had promised. As if it couldn't get better, he is massaging the right breast, in a way to soothe pain.

He loses it when you stutter his name, but he is just a fucking tease when it comes to making love and doing anything in a public space is the last thing he wants to do. There isn't much room for all that he wants right now.

"Why did you choose this particular tattoo Y/n?", he rasps while he is planting small pecks on his artwork, and you reply when he is finally eye level with you

"I just felt like it's a good one", your breaths are uneven and mostly caught in your neck. He pecks your lips before speaking, "Those are lines from Romeo and Juliet".

He takes your hands to trace over a line of text among the many designs on his chest.

which, as they kiss, consume

"We pretty much have a couple tattoo now Y/n", his breath is matched with your pace and you are not very sure how to respond to this new knowledge.

"That's… hot"

You break into giggles along with him, he just can't stop dragging his lips around your skin, but he isn't able to word his feelings right now either.

"I have some aftercare healing ointment for the tattoo at my place, wanna come over?" Now that may be a little lame of an excuse to get his little friend out of his pants but you are too unfazed to analyse any of that.

His hands find place on your ass under the skirt as soon as the door to his apartment closes, and before you know it, you are in his bedroom, sitting on the soft mattress and tongue lost devouring each other.

While eagerly getting rid of every article of clothing, Jungkook notices that you don't have your bra on beneath the shirt, so it's probably back at the parlour, but none of you have the slightest care for it, might as well make an excuse with it later to fuck you in his cabin.

He is pushing you farther towards the headboard, him on top, grinding sensenslesy while your lips mould with his. Though he has his whole body pressed against you, you can't seem to feel his weight at the slightest, every one of his actions were just balanced and perfect.

As Jungkook goes down on you, his smile is evident against your skin, finally able to find out how every one of those scenarios in his head will come to look like. He lets out a satisfied hum being finally able to suck on your tits, your fingers finding place on his hair, twisting it out of stimulation.

His pelvis is flushed harshly against yours, grinding and rubbing against your pussy for as long as he is rejoicing the feeling of moving his tongue around both the nipples.

He stops rubbing after some point and you whimper at the loss but his fingers are soon to meet your core as a quick apology. All your later moans are muffled on his mouth once again.

Feeling the controlled movements of his fingers on your clit, you dig your nails down on his toned shoulders. It's becoming impossible to reciprocate his lewd movements of tongue on your lips at this point as the excitement between your thighs is growing every passing second.

Your mouth remains slightly parted as he removes his face to watch you squirm underneath, lips swollen, deep red and glossy from all the saliva.

He pecks at the shell of your ear before going down past your navel.

You haven't had much heads in the twenty years of your life, most of the guys being completely against the idea which made you feel insecure to bring up the topic in bed, but Jungkook does it like his life depends on it.

He growls at the sight of you dripping into his sheets and he seems to enjoy the idea of being the influence behind it. But none is going through your head at the moment, not the metal on his lips grazing against your folds, or the fact that Jungkook is grinning each time you cry his name, it feels unreal to feel something like this.

His mouth is wrapping against your entrance and he is balancing your lower body on his palms to help him reach the right depths inside you. While all you can muster up is the strength to grope the bedsheets in your fist and close your eyes at the pleasure.

Jungkook brings his head higher to give some attention to the throbbing clit, catching it between his teeth and triggering the bundle of nerves just the perfect dose to have your hips jolting up to his face.

He can't take it himself when you are now whining and chasing for your release, so he is slightly humping against the bed to get some friction.

He licks a slow stripe up till your abdomen and slowly raises to your face, already fucked out and dishevelled to keep up with his dominant orbs.

He swears he had never felt so much warmth and care for sex with any of his previous partners, in relationship or not, all he could think is how good can he treat the pleading eyes underneath him.

"Is there something you like that you want me to do?", he says, fingers grazing once again to your crotch to not deny you from his contact. Only this time he is exploring the tightness of your pretty cunt with two skillful fingers.

Is there? You are not sure. Or in other words you are too caught up at the sense of him fingering you. It's not like you had enough experience or people who cared enough to ask that question. It astounds you that never in this entire foreplay he asked for any favor for himself.

"I'm not sure…", you whisper and then maybe you have something on your mind " um I guess I would like to be choked" Okay this felt embarrassing.

He smiles before sliding his free hand from your lips to your neck, and applies slight force, careful to not hurt you in the slightest bit.

"Is that fine?"

"Yeah", you muffle through the decreasing course of air.

He pulls up your face by the throat to attach lips once more. He just can't seem to get enough of kissing you senseless. Then, the tip of his long ignored cock is teasing the length of your pussy twice before it's stretching you out to the brim.

Bodies flushed and hot, his pace is deep and slow, making sure to kiss the cervix every time he is inside.

He watches as your eyes close shut and flutters around whenever he is grazing against your sweet spot. Both of your ears lost and eager for the moans looming out of each other, his more like what he sounds at the gym. Nice observation Y/n.

In this span of sexual energy you shared, you can make some obvious conclusions. Sex with him was surreal, both in terms of domination and the care he had. Rocking against him and keeping up with his hips was attainable— Compared to the intense eye contact he tries to hold, or the way he cups the side of your face and rubs the pad of his thumb on your cheeks while he kisses you during sinking back in, or the way his eyes glow at the beauty of your body open for him. It makes you feel special and it's difficult to respond to these gestures when you never felt this way before.

Jungkook could tell that from your face, but he hopes he lasts with you enough to help you know the worth you hold. You couldn't think too much about anything when you are busy squeezing around his length and coming twice in the first ten minutes.

By the third orgasm Jungkook is nearing his own and he pulls out to pump a few times before coming on your stomach.

"Was it okay?", his voice is all over the place, still balancing his body on his arms while you are amazed by his strength.

"It was amazing Jungkook", you smile. You have known a lot about Jungkook over the few dates you spent with him. That he likes literature, classics and philosophy, designs tattoos as a subconscious thing, that his game is A-1, and he likes working out almost three hours a day. Good for you. But it wasn't until now you know him to be gentle, like he is afraid to crush you under a feather touch. You don't know him as someone who is staring deep into your face after a good fuck, speaks nothing, smiles widely, and plants a peck on your forehead before getting off the bed.

He does the honors of cleaning both of your bodies with a towel, it's not like you have any strength left in you anyway. And then pulls out an ointment from the bedside table and plops next to your body.

"There. You need this to protect the tattoo", he takes off the nozzle and applies a required amount against the words on your chest and massages against them.

"Now go to sleep Juliet", he mocks, pulling up the sheets over you both "good night".

You snuggle against his hard chest, kissing his pecs before resting on it, "Good night Romeo".

thank you so much for reading!! please leave a feedback!!

★ taglist: @pjmochii (dm, ask or comment to enter the tl!)

★ credits: @/rainbeary on spotify : songs that'll make you feel everything's in slow motion playlist

★ banner & boards: by me :)

a/n: this is my first time writing smut and i basically died of second hand embarrassment during the process. pardon for my untalented ass, i tried this wip continuously for a week and i seriously don't think it could get anything better though it's probably not much.

© banqdanfnfic 2021, all rights reserved. do not modify, translate, or repost my works. modification, translations, and/or redistribution of my works on any platform is strictly prohibited.

[randomshyperson]

Can I request a modern angsty Wanda x Female reader where they’re best friends? R is openly out while Wanda is still in the closet. They very much like each other but Wanda still pushes her feelings away. And R says something like “I wish we could stop playing this game where we act like you don’t love me...it’s getting tiring to not love you in the way I want.” And like hopefully a happy ending :)

Hey, hope you’re fine :) I wanted to make something nice to you ‘cause you’re always so nice to me. Really hope you like this, i tried to follow everything you request.

Good reading!

Gif is not mine, and it doesn't really match any scene, but Lizzie just look so good in this. who even look this good while fighting.

Wanda Maximoff x Reader - Friends never love me like you

Words:  6.785k // Read in AO3 too

Warnings> 16+, hints of smut, soft angst, fluffy i think, language.

You're dreaming about Wanda again, and it makes sense, because your face is buried in her hair as you sleep in her bed. 

And then the alarm clock is ringing and you grumble, scrambling up in bed to reach the device on the nightstand. 

- Come on, Wandy, we need to get up. - You say as you stretch and sit up in bed, having turned off the noise. Wanda grumbles in displeasure, and puts her pillow over her face. You laugh, moving closer. - Wandy... wake up...

And then you are tickling her, and she is squirming as she laughs. But you let go quickly, laughing too.

- You're mean. - She says, and you shrug, getting up.

- Come on, it's our last week. - You say as you walk toward the bathroom. You have a toothbrush at Wanda's, a friend thing.

Then many minutes later, you are at school, surrounded with your group of friends in the cafeteria area, Wanda's head resting on your shoulder.

Everyone is used to the demonstrations of affection from the two of you, and even though you have been out since elementary school, none of your friends hint at anything about it. Wanda has been your best friend since kindergarten, and you really believed that she would be a part of your life forever.

And as you hold her hand through the hallways, or exchange messages between classes that you don't share, you smile, and think that nothing could ever change that.

//-//

Things begin to change on prom day. 

Trish Walker has been your classmate for three years, and she has always hated you for no apparent reason. Well, you guessed the reason, really. You remember how she tried to humiliate you last year by making a mean comment during a debate in history class, and you just turned to her with a wry smile and said "You don't have to fight me to get my attention. Just ask me out," and you watched her turn pink and mumble that this was absurd, as she quickly left the room. But that's past, and you've forgotten. 

And so here you are ignoring the strange feeling in your stomach that settled in when you saw Wanda dancing with Vision, a boy from your class who asked her to the dance at the last minute, justifying that he was embarrassed. You smiled when Wanda told you, even though you weren't happy about it. And now she was dancing, and you were walking outside with your hands in your pockets when you heard someone crying.

Trish was sitting on the sidewalk, and you approached slowly.

- Hey. - You greeted her, and she quickly began to wipe away her tears, letting out a humorless laugh. - Can I sit with you?

- It's a public street. - She replies, extending her arm. You chuckle lightly, sitting down next to her.

- Can I ask why you are crying?

- Why do you care?

You shrug, looking at the parking lot in front of you. 

- I am curious. - You say simply, and Trish holds back the tears in her eyes as she looks in the same direction as you, and hugs her knees.

-I'm just... - She starts and takes a deep breath to control her tears, and then lets out a wry laugh. - You were right about me.

You raise your eyebrow slightly, turning toward her. But she is still looking straight ahead.

- I like girls. - She confesses, tears streaming down her face. You frown. - And I just told my boyfriend that. And he didn't take it very well.

You let out a sigh.

- You want me to punch him? - You offer with a smile and she laughs, wiping her face. But then you change your posture to a tender one. - I'm sorry about that, Trish. - You say and she nods slightly, looking down at her lap. - I know you hate me and all, but I'm here if you need to talk about it.

Trish lifts her head, blinking in confusion. And then she laughs, and you look at her in surprise.

- I don't hate you. - she says with a shy smile. - I never hated you. I just... It was because of you that I told Peter I was bi.

You're really surprised.

- Wow, really? - you ask, and she nods, her face flushed. And then she moves forward, kissing you quickly. You swallow dryly as you pull away. - Trish...

- Damn, I'm sorry! - she asks, shaking her head and closing her eyes. - I'm so stupid!

- Hey, no. - You tell her sweetly, hoping she'll look at you again. - It's just that I was surprised. And well, you haven't been very nice to me over the years. - You point with a smile. - I didn't expect that.

Trish raises her eyebrows slightly.

- But last year, you made fun of me. - She retorts and you frown, not remembering, and seeing her expression, she sighs. - I guess I thought about it a lot more than you did. - she comments. - Last year, when I found out that I liked you, I tried to torment you at school for no reason. And then you retorted my teasing by saying that I was probably in love with you.

You let out a little laugh, remembering.

- Yeah, sorry about that. - You say. - I wouldn't have said anything like that if I had known it was true. It's not nice to bring people out of the closet.

Trish nods slightly, and you are silent for a moment.

- Do your parents know? - she asks curiously. You start to fiddle with your shoelaces.

- I told my father when I was 13. - You say. - I think my mother heard about it from him. And yours?

Trish lets out a humorless laugh.

- No chance. - She denies it. - My mother would kill me. I need to be far away from this place if I'm ever going to date a girl.

- This sucks. - You remark before you return to silence.

And then there is a noise and you turn your head slightly back to see two students stumbling out of the gymnasium as they exchange a passionate kiss, and you laugh lightly.

- I think you should go back to the party. - You say with a smile and Trish looks at you with a furrowed brow. - You look very pretty, Trish. You shouldn't be crying in the corner, especially since you're going to be prom queen for sure.

Trish laughs, looking away. And when you stand up, and offer your hand for her to hold, she accepts it and gets up. 

You walk side by side back to the party, the place is packed and the music is pleasantly loud.

As your gaze wandered around the room, you felt your chest tighten. Wanda and Vision were kissing softly as they danced in a far corner. You swallowed the lump in your throat, and felt Trish pull your hand gently, asking you to dance with her.

When she was crowned prom queen a few songs later, you let her kiss you again, and this time, you kissed her back.

//-//

You keep telling yourself that nothing is different in your relationship with Wanda. 

Because in theory nothing has changed. You still spend a lot of time together, and there are still messages, and jokes, and coffees and outings. And then you are packing for college, because of course you two were going to the same place, and her hand is in yours all the way there.

What has changed is the notifications from Vision on her cell phone, and the phone calls you get from Trish. But you two play along. There is nothing to talk about. 

Unfortunately you are not in the same dorm, and Wanda lets out a dissatisfied sigh when you hug her last to grab the boxes you need to carry to your room.

- I'll be at the end of the hall, Wandy. - You comment but she is not happy at all. 

- That is so unfair. - She says with a pout. - I wanted you to stay with me.

You let out a little laugh, ignoring the pounding of your heart. You were going to tell her that you would see her every day, but then there is a girl coming into the dormitory next.

- Hello - she greets you both with a smile. - Which one of you will be my roommate?

- Tha'ts me. - Wanda says with a smile as she extends her hand to greet the girl. - I'm Wanda, and this is Y/N.

- Monica. - The girl says smiling. - Is your girlfriend going to study here too?

- She is not my girlfriend. - Wanda harshly clarifies, and you frown for a moment, surprised at her aggressiveness. Monica doesn't seem to mind, and lets out a giggle, explaining that it was common for boyfriends and girlfriends to help freshmen get settled in.

And then you nod slightly at her, and pick up your boxes from the floor, carrying them to your room at the end of the hall.

There is a girl in your room sitting on the bed opposite the room, and you smile at her, while she seems to be appraising you.

- Hello, it looks like we're going to be roommates. - You say amiably as you leave the boxes on the floor.

The girl ends up interrogating you for the next few minutes, and you are surprised to find out that she is studies business, not espionage. She asks your major, your age, your parents' names, and how many friends you have. It's a little intimidating, but you answer honestly. And then she smiles and stands up, saying that you were nice and she was happy to have you as a colleague. She invited you to have coffee with her when you're done before she left the room, and you were quite surprised by the whole thing.

- Hey, did you get everything? - Wanda asked as she entered your room. You were still slightly upset by the way she had reacted earlier, and just nodded. - Can we have a snack?

- Sorry, Wands. - You denied it by organizing one of the last books. - I'm busy.

Wanda blinked in surprise, and crossed her arms.

- What's wrong? - She asked, but you didn't look at her, which seemed to bother her more.

- It's nothing, I just want to finish tidying up. - You lie. 

- Fine then. - She says, sounding upset. - I'll see you later.

And she leaves. You feel like running after her, and apologizing for, well you don't know what exactly. But you just slam the book down harder than necessary.

//-//

You only see Wanda the next day, as she answers a call from Vision outside her room. You swallow the bitter feeling in your throat, and smile, giving her a kiss on the cheek to greet her before heading toward the cafeteria. You have coffee together, and share class schedules so you know when you have time together.

- Is your roommate nice? - You asked as you poured yourself some more cereal, Wanda was leaning her head on her hand, looking at you.

- She is noisy. - Wanda says. - Like you.

You laugh before putting a spoonful of cereal in your mouth. As you chew, Wanda speaks again:

- Your seems grumpy. - She comments and you nod in agreement, causing Wanda to smile slightly.

You drink some orange juice before speaking again.

- She is surprisingly nice, actually. - You comment. - She took me out for coffee yesterday, and we talked.

Wanda murmured, looking away. Maybe she was still upset that you refused to go out with her, but you didn't say anything. 

When you finish breakfast, you have your first classes. You expect to see Wanda soon, but your schedules don't really match.

You just hope it doesn't affect your relationship too much.

//-//

College was a stressful and uncomfortable experience. The classes were difficult and long, and the assignments were even worse than those in high school. And the little free time you had, you wanted to spend with Wanda, but you couldn't neglect your other friends, and you had to divide this little time very well. The parties were good because you got to see all the people at once.

So, two months since you started studying at NYU, you were on the roof of the boys' dormitory, at one of the numerous parties, laughing at Carol Danvers' joke about adult life. 

And your friends are all around you, laughing and talking. And you think you're staring too much at Wanda, who looks stunning in her black dress, but you've been drinking for a few minutes, so you don't care.

Someone turns up the music, and your friends cheer, and then Carol is pulling you by the hand inside, while Nat, Tony, Steve, Sam, Bucky, Wanda and Monica follow behind. 

You begin to dance all together, and you let the beat of the music command your movements as you close your eyes. Then you end up in front of Wanda, because it has always been this way, your bodies always pulled together. 

And it's okay to dance close together, because it's a party. You don't complain when your bodies come together, and she doesn't complain when your hands go down her waist, or when your hips rub against each other. No one seems to notice that your foreheads are together, and you both gasp out of breath shaken by the intensity of your movements.

But someone is drinking too much, and they bump into you, breaking the spell as you stumble away. Your head is spinning a little, and there's someone yelling fight, and then your friends are pulling you by the hand out of the building. 

With the night air, you breathe better. And your gaze searches for Wanda, but she doesn't look happy. She says from a distance that she is tired, and turns toward her own dormitory. You want to go after her, but the look on her face says she wants to be alone. So you take the after party invitation your friends offer.

You are getting used to having more friends that are as close as Wanda. You realize that adult life changes relationships considerably, especially since you no longer have the same amount of time. You prefer to believe that you are getting closer to other people, rather than further away from Wanda.

//-//

It is during the Thanksgiving holiday that you discover that Wanda likes girls. 

The two of you have returned home, and your father has joined Wanda's family in celebration.

After eating a lot, laughing and playing fun games with the whole family, you and Wanda have had many sips of wine, and you are tired and giggly.

You go up to Wanda's room, and talk about college with your heads on the pillows. And then both of you are with your eyes closed, whispering, and practically asleep.

- I am pansexual. - She whispers weakly..

You thought maybe you were dreaming, and it took you a few seconds to fight the sleep and open your eyes, finally understanding what Wanda said. But when you looked at her, she was asleep. You frowned in surprise as you sat up in bed. You ran your fingers through your hair, and moved closer to Wanda only to cover her with the blanket. You lay back down, trying not to stare so long at her sleeping face, but she looked so beautiful and peaceful. Your heart was racing, and you lied to yourself that it was just because of her words. And then you closed your eyes, and it didn't take you long to fall asleep.

The other day, Wanda said she didn't remember anything. And you didn't press her, believing that when she was ready, she would talk to you about it.

//-//

And then you decided to just have lunch with your father before you went back to college, and while you were eating, you thought about how you told him.

"You were thirteen, and you two were sitting watching television, each in an armchair. It was between one score and another. And your heart was beating so loudly, it seemed impossible that he wouldn't notice. 

- I like girls. - You suddenly confessed. Your father blinked in surprise, looking at you quickly, before turning his gaze back to the television.

You swallowed hard.

- I don't know what to say. - He says. - It makes no difference to me.

You nodded frantically, holding back your tears as you stared at the television. And then your father sighed, straightening himself in his chair and turning off the television.

- Come here, darling. - He asked, and you stood up robotically, walking over to him while your gaze was on the floor. - I'm sorry, I'm not good with these things. - he says. - But don't worry, okay? I love you, kid. No matter what, i love you. - And then he lifts his hand and places a finger on her chin, lifting it up gently. - Head up like I taught you, okay? Never let anyone tell you what you can and can't be.

You let your tears flow when you hug him. And you watch the soccer in the same armchair, cuddled in the blankets."

You blink slightly, awakening from the memory. You exchange a smile with your father before going back to eating.

//-//

In the second year, you have your first fight with Wanda since you became friends.

It's stupid, really. You were supposed to meet earlier, and you got the schedules mixed up, and then she got angry and you ran out of patience. Pretty soon you're yelling and accusing, and then she's storming out of your room with a slam on the door.

It is the same day that you see Wanda kissing a girl for the first time too.

Because Tony loves parties, and he invites you over, and there's lots of drinking. And you know you should talk to Wanda about the discussion earlier, but then she is avoiding you and you think you'd better start drinking.

The hours go by, and you should leave because it's a school day tomorrow. But you want to get some air, after having spent the whole party pretending to listen to your friends while your gaze searches for Wanda. And so you go to the roof, shortly after you have lost sight of her, and try to sober up a little with a bottle of water.

You choke as you look around, seeing Wanda being pressed against the wall by a girl you don't recognize.

But they don't see you, and you turn your feet in the opposite direction. And when you are outside, there is a message from Trish on your cell phone saying that she misses you, and you decide to say that you miss her too.

//-//

When your friends ask Wanda about the mysterious girl, she laughs and says it was just a party, that people do that sort of thing. And nobody pressures her. And then Vision is calling her again, and you're too busy to listen because you're texting with Trish.

In February, Trish comes to see you in your dorm. You talk a lot, and it's nice and safe. And you ignore the feeling that it is not right. And then Nat opens the door, and gives you a mischievous smile, before taking her bag and leaving again.

And then other dates happen after that, and the more time you spend with Trish, the less you spend with Wanda. And that's okay, because you're adults now, and these things happen. And now Trish kisses you as often as Wanda goes on dates with Vision. And then you want to ignore the nervousness in your stomach when you're kissing while there's a sock on the doorknob. 

- I can't do this. - You confess breathlessly with swollen lips.

Trish doesn't mind. She is thoughtful and patient, and she tells you that everything is fine. And the dates continue for a few weeks, until you tell her that you are not in love with her. She hugs you, and says you never seemed to.

But when you walk back to your dorm, Vision has come to see Wanda. And she smiles, and kisses him. And you want to throw up, but you nod politely as you walk past them and throw yourself on your bed in your dorm. 

- What's the matter with you? - Natasha asks the next moment. She is sitting at her desk, probably doing some homework.

- I broke up with Trish. - You say this as if it were the real reason. Nat lets out a grumble of understanding.

- Why don't you try hanging out with Wanda for a while?

You close your eyes and bury your face in your pillow at the mention of her name. But then you feel irritated, and are sitting up in bed.

- Vision is here. - You comment with irony, and Nat giggles.

- Wow, this is bad. - She says, writing something in her notebook. - It must be hard to share a girlfriend.

Her teasing bothers you. Or maybe it is something else.

- We're not girlfriends. - Nat giggles, and you let out an impatient sigh. - I'm not laughing. What are you trying to imply?

Nat turns her head toward you, her eyes gleaming in defiance.

- Insinuating? I am presenting facts. - she says with a slight irony. - What would you call "friends" who act like you and Wanda? I know them as a couple.

- That's ridiculous. - You retort. - We act like everyone else.

- Excuse me, when was the last time you had a nightmare and crawled into my bed in the middle of the night? - She mocks. - Or got all upset when I went out with a boy? Oh, I have an amazing one. When you became my emergency contact for everything?

You blink in surprise. Nat doesn't look angry, just impatient. You don't like the feeling in your stomach.

- Just because you are not as good of a friend as Wanda, doesn't mean that we are dating. - You accuse grumpily, and regret it at the same second. So Nat is looking at you with disbelief and irritation, and then she leaves the room.

You wish you could disappear, but you force yourself to get up, hoping to catch up with her in time. But when you leave the dormitory, you don't see her anywhere.

You resist the urge to punch something.

It is already evening, and Nat has not returned to the dormitory yet, and you are anxious and impatient as you wait in your room, after having spent the afternoon trying to distract yourself with some pending lessons. And then you go outside again, and try to call. After falling into the mailbox a few times, you decide to leave a message, while leaning on the balcony bench at the entrance to the dormitory.

- Hey, Nat. It's me. - You say on the phone. - I'm sorry for saying that you are not a good friend. That is absolutely untrue. You are loyal, and fun. And you put up with my shit even when I'm being a brat. I'm sorry that I acted without thinking, I guess I didn't want to see the truth. No one has ever confronted me about Wanda like that. - You confess, and take a deep breath. - Anyway, I hope you don't hate me forever, it would be hard to get along in the dorm. - You joke last. - Please call me when you can.

You put the cell phone back in your pocket, running your hand through your hair. And then there is a female voice that you know well.

- Are you all right? - Wanda asks walking towards him. She was coming from the dormitory entrance; she had probably just said goodbye to Sight.

- Everything is fine. - You reply with irony. - I'm just making sure Nat knows she' s a good friend.

Wanda blinks in confusion, and then assumes an ironic posture.

- Wow, I would like to hear that I am a good friend. - She jokes, and you bite your lip, feeling your irritation rise. 

- This whole fight only happened because of you, so I find it difficult. - You retort aggressively, and Wanda frowns in surprise.

- What's the matter with you?

- You, Wanda. - You retort, straightening your posture. - I'm tired of it all.

Wanda takes a step back, confused, and you feel your body boil with anger.

- I don't know what you are talking about.

- I'm talking about us. - You clarify impatiently. Wanda blinks in confusion, crossing her arms and lifting her chin.

- There is no us. - She retorts. - I'm with Vision...

You laugh wryly and approach her.

- I'm tired of this game where we pretend you're not in love with me. - You say seriously. - It's exhausting not loving you the way I want to.

Wanda shakes her head in denial, her eyes filled with tears as she takes a step back.

- I don't...

- Wanda.

- No. - she says seriously. - Just because you're gay doesn't mean that all girls are.

She seems to regret her own words as soon as she speaks them, because she takes a step toward you, but you let out a dry laugh, before walking away. Maybe Wanda has called you, but you don't look back.

//-//

You are on the verge of emotional misery, but you feel better when Nat brings you some hot chocolate. She forgave you for the fight, and apologized for pushing you, but explained that she couldn't stand to see you grumpy anymore whenever Wanda answered the phone and it was Vision calling. And then you told her about your conversation with Wanda, and she hugged you, and said she hoped things would work out.

You weren't talking to Wanda for the time being. It was strange, and it felt like a piece of your life was missing, but you tried to fill it in with homework and television series.

When the mid-year exams came around, you wished you had never come to college in the first place. It seemed like you were going to explode with anxiety and stress at any moment. 

 And then the vacations came, and you went back home, this time you took the train. 

Pietro visited you the day you arrived. You went out for hamburgers, and after you talked about people from college, he mentioned Wanda.

- She misses you, you know? 

You were sitting in the empty stands of your old high school, and you leaned your arms on the metal and your chin on top of them, looking at the field. Pietro was with one of his legs crossed in his lap, looking at you.

- I miss her too. - You confessed. - But we both said stupid things, and there's no going back from that.

Pietro took a bite of his burger before speaking again.

- I just think it's weird to go out with you without her. - He remarks, and you laugh softly.

- Hey, we are friends too.

- Of course we are. - he says. - But you were like, well, I don't know, soul mates maybe.

You feel your heart break, but force a smile.

- You're too corny, Pietro.

He laughs and goes back to eating. And then he lets out a low exclamation, as if to tell you something.

- I guess you two must have talked about it already, and all that. - he says. - But Wanda told our parents that she is pansexual.

You raise your head quickly and end up hitting the top iron of the railing, and Pietro looks worried, but you just ignore his look, and ask:

- What did you say?

He looks surprised as you massage the spot where you hit your head. But then he shrugs his shoulders.

- She told us during Dad's birthday. Just before the weeks of exams when she came here. - He says. - It was fine, Dad was surprised and Mom didn't really know what to say, but they took it very well.

- And you?

Pietro laughed.

- I bought her a flag the next day.

You laugh, pushing Pietro lightly by the shoulder. 

- Wow, that's good to know. - You say. - She must have been happy.

- Yeah, well. I think she would have liked to have you there, though. - Pietro says and you look away, knowing that he is right. - I always thought you would be the first person she would tell.

You swallow dryly, remembering that Thanksgiving night. But then Pietro's cell phone rings, and he says he has to go, so you are driving home mumbling songs into the radio in Pietro's car.

//-//

It's good to go back to college, because you see your friends. But it also means that you see Wanda in the dormitory hallways, and occasionally in the college building.

- You are staring again. - Natasha warned you when you were in the library, and you blinked in confusion, looking away from Wanda, across the room.

- I wasn't. - You grumbled, looking at your book. Nat laughed.

- Jesus, why don't you two just talk to each other?

- She has already said what she has to say. - You retorted with a shrug. Nat sighed.

- What about you? - She asks and you frown in confusion. - Have you said everything you wanted to say?

You look away again, thinking. No. You haven't said half of what you wanted to say. Honestly, you couldn't even tell Wanda that you were proud of her for coming out.  But you pushed those thoughts away for the moment.

You went back to studying for a few minutes, trying to distract your thoughts. But then Nat received a message and let out an excited exclamation.

- Party on Saturday. - She announced, looking at her cell phone. - I'll confirm our presence.

You let out a grumble, and she looked at you.

- Don't even start with that. - She said. - You need to get out of that room, for God's sake.

You laughed lightly, laying your head against the books. Nat massaged your hair with one hand while she sent Steve an audio message saying that you were behaving like a crybaby, but that you were going to the party.

//-//

The party was bubbling with noise and people. Nat stood next to you for the first five minutes, and then you laughed when she let out an exclamation when she saw older foreign students who were very handsome, and you gave her a little push to go talk to them. 

Your gaze finds Wanda in the room almost within the next minute. Looking fucking gorgeous. And she looked back, so you found it hard to breathe in there, and looked for the exit.

It was amazing how you always ended up on the rooftops in this place.

You lean your arms on the balcony, enjoying the cool evening breeze. And then you feel a glance behind your back, and you don't have to turn to know who it is.

The next instant Wanda is beside you, mimicking your position.

- Hi. - She greets you by looking forward as you do.

- Hi. - You answer softly. - You look beautiful.

You watch her smile slightly from the corner of your eye.

- How are you? - she asks. And you bite the inside of your cheek. 

You adjust your posture and turn to her.

- I need to say a few things to you. - You say, and she looks surprised by the sudden change, but also turns and looks at you. You take a deep breath to build up courage. - I'm sorry I pushed you that day. I shouldn't have done that. - You say and Wanda looks ready to say something, but you add quickly, believing that if you don't say it all, you won't say it anymore. - Also, I visited Pietro during the vacations, and he told me that you told your parents that you were pansexual. And I'm proud of you for that, and I'm sorry I wasn't there with you.

Wanda looks at you wide-eyed, and you let out a sigh.

- Wow, you said a lot of things. - She then declares with a slight frown, and you let out a short laugh. - But I need to apologize too. I was mean to you. And I'm sorry for that. - She smiles next, looking down at the floor. - But what about all those things you said about ... us. Are you sorry about that too?

You swallow dryly, feeling your heart race. And Wanda looks at you with sparkling eyes.

-No. - You tell her. - I meant every word.

Wanda's cheeks flush as she smiles, but then there is a loud noise and you both look over to see Natasha snuggled up to a boy entering the roof area. She steps aside to close the door, and then she notices you both, giving you a mischievous smile as she pulls the boy by his shirt into the corner of the roof. You and Wanda laugh at the scene, but the moment from before is broken. Especially since you can hear Natasha kissing a few feet away.

- So... friends? - Wanda asks, holding out her hand to you after you look at her again. You shake her hand, smiling.

- Friends.

//-//

Things are going great. You are doing well in the tests, you are having healthy habits and you are about to combust every time you are with Wanda, maybe the last part is not so good.

You have resumed your friendship in the same way as before. And when you told Natasha about this she laughed for fifteen minutes.

And then you eventually found out that Vision was no longer in Wanda's life. Pietro called you and mentioned this superficially, as if it wasn't something that completely changed your dynamic. Maybe you were overthinking it. 

The relevant thing was that there was a tension in your relationship that you were not used to having. Or maybe it had always been there, and you just ignored it better.

Like now, studying in the library, sitting side by side, with your legs touching under the table. You have spent the last twenty minutes repeating to yourself not to think about it so much instead of actually studying. 

- How did you do exercise number thirteen? - Wanda asked suddenly. You almost choked with fright, but you masked it by turning the pages of the book. You hadn't even done any exercises. But then Wanda came closer, looking at your notebook, and you resisted the urge to close your eyes as the smell of her shampoo invaded your senses. - Are you all right?

You blinked in surprise when Wanda looked at you. She had turned her head toward you, and you could see her eyelashes clearly. 

- Huh? - you mumbled, feeling hyperaware of the proximity. Wanda frowned, bringing her hand to your cheek.

- You're warm. Are you getting sick?

You were trying to disguise that you were trembling at her touch, and then Natasha arrived, throwing the books on the table and looking at you both with curiosity over your position. But Wanda turned away with a smile, and greeted Nat, while you tried to normalize your heartbeat.

The three of you went back to studying together, it was easier to concentrate now that you had Nat's judgmental gaze on you, waiting for a slip to make a comment that would embarrass you.

//-//

You have a free period in the late afternoon, and go back to your dorm. Nat is lying on the bed with a book on her lap.

- God, don't you seniors ever study? - You sneer as you enter, and she laughs. 

- Pick the right classes and you'll have as much free time as I do. - She replies without taking her eyes off the paper. You flop down on your bed, let out a sigh. - What's wrong?

- I didn't say anything. - You retort with humor. Nat closes the book and crosses her legs, looking at you.

- It's your energy. - She says, and you laugh with confusion. - You have a charged energy, my friend. What's going on?

- I really don't know what you are talking about. - You say with a slight laugh and turn over on the bed to rest your head on her arm and look at her.

Nat is thoughtful for a few seconds, and then stands up in the direction of the room, picking up her cell phone. She reads something on her screen for a while, while you stare at your sheet, and then she lets out an exclamation.

- Aha, here it is! - She says without taking her eyes off the device, but turning her body toward you. - The sexual aura is detected through...

- Oh my god. - You interrupt by throwing a pillow at her, and she just laughs and deflects, while putting the phone down. You bury your face in the bed, feeling it warm.

- Girl, you are emanating a sexual lust! - Nat exclaims, throwing the pillow back at you. - You need to get laid!

- Please shut up! - You ask, your voice muffled against the bed sheet. Nat laughs as she walks around the room.

And then there is a knock on the door, and someone enters. You pull your face away from the sheet to see Wanda.

- Wow, it's fate. - Nat sneers and you move quickly on the bed to attack her, but she laughs and deflects your hands, running away. She shouts something like "don't forget the sock" before slamming the door on her way out.

- What was that? - Wanda asks with a giggle as you throw yourself back onto the bed, your face reddening.

- Nat is crazy, don't listen to her. - You grumble and then adjust your position to sit up in bed. - I didn't know you were free now.

Wanda smiles, dropping her backpack on the floor. 

- The teacher let us off early. - She says as she walks over to you, sitting down across from you on the end of the bed. - I thought about watching a movie.

You let out an exclamation of agreement, moving on the bed to reach for your notebook. Wanda lies down beside you.

And things go well for about forty minutes. You think it's the choice of film that's to blame. If you had chosen one of the sitcoms that Wanda likes, you would be laughing right now. But you decided to watch Carol's recommendation given a few weeks ago. And so now you watched in silence a particularly visual lesbian sex scene.

You weren't sure whether your heart was pounding in shame or excitement, but judging by the rising heat at the tip of your belly and in your cheeks, it was easy to guess.

You want to think of something to say that might lighten the mood, but Wanda moves again, as if interested.

- Wow, did you ever do that? - she asks, pointing briefly at the movement on the screen. You swallow dryly.

- No. - You say in a slightly husky voice. - I've never...

And then Wanda looks at you in surprise.

- I thought you and Trish...

You let out a clumsy laugh. 

- Yeah, almost. - you say. - But I told her I couldn't.

- Why not?

You look away from her.

- You know why.

Wanda lets out a sigh, and then she turns to the notebook, closing the equipment and placing it on the other end of the bed. You look at her confused, wondering if she was angry, but your brain short-circuits as she turns to you and sits on your lap.

- Oh, okay. - You sigh shyly as Wanda relaxes her weight on top of you. She smiles as she puts her hands on your shoulders.

- What do you want to do? - she asks softly, looking into your eyes intensely. You feel your heart beating against your ears. 

- What do you mean? - you ask with a trembling voice.

- What do you want to do to me? - She asks with a slight blush on her cheeks, bringing their faces together until their foreheads are resting against each other. - Do you want to kiss me?

- Fuck. - You sigh. - Yes, a lot.

And then Wanda breaks the distance between your mouths, gasping against your lips. You feel your whole body electrify, and move your hands up to her waist. And then she pulls away again.

- Was that good? - she asks breathlessly.  You are trembling as you pull her back, this time kissing her with your tongue. And this time she doesn't interrupt.

When you part your mouths again, your bodies are sweaty and tired.  And she blushes when you smile at her, burying her face in your collarbone.  You cover yourselves with the blanket, and close your eyes. 

Many hours later, when you wake up for a snack and meet Nat in the cafeteria, she tells you that your aura is clear as she gives you a suggestive look.

You are dreaming about Wanda. But that's okay, because she is curled up against you, and you have rings on your fingers, and shared key chains.

[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.