#my baby’s just fine she knows all of her rhymes… her tables and her times… the world claps when she smiles…..

[venti-death-watch]

callout post for the maker of deep-sea encore but like in the context that that one animatic they made introduced me to no more birthdays by sophie may and now i can’t stop thinking about the second verse with freminet in mind and getting emotional about it

[shares-a-vest]

had to write a Steve-centric Mother's Day thingy too. this one is sad like my Eddie one yesterday, but at least my boys are smiling by the end???

Mother's Day, 1998

Eddie tries not to watch from his prime position on the couch as Steve paces back and forward in the kitchen. He stops every now and then to linger by the phone mounted on the wall near the table.

Okay so maybe Eddie peers above his notebook once or twice and follows swiftly by looking down at Joanie, surrounded by a kaleidoscope of crayons as she colours at the coffee table. Steve sighs loud enough that the sound travels into the living room. Eddie listens as he punches in a number and walks off, presumably stretching the cord as far from earshot as possible.

"Shit," he curses.

"You swore," Joanie chimes, not looking up from her colouring book.

"I expect a freebie today, munchkin," he peeks out from his notebook to find Joanie glaring.

"...Fine," she agrees after a long pause.

He grumbles and scribbles out the most recent lines of his poem, the rhyming couplet suddenly feeling too saccharine for the general mood of today.

He should have known better, considering Steve emerged from the bedroom relatively late (for him) cradling his favourite sickly little furball Meatloaf like a baby - which he continued to do all morning. The poor thing is now teetering on the kitchen island, abandoned and desperate to get down.

Eddie hops up, rushing to the cat before he can get into too much trouble. Meatloaf whimpers, his meow more like a cry, regardless of whether his keeper has left him on his lonesome or not. He cringes at the sound. It's just so goddamn sad and certainly, a noise he could do without today especially.

He releases Meatloaf, now free to roam the apartment. But the scamp follows the phone cord stretching to the bedroom, his wobbly back legs catching and slipping every few steps as he hurries along, presumably on his way to get stuck under a piece of furniture.

Eddie makes a beeline back to the couch, not wanting to eavesdrop on Steve's phone call. He can hear murmuring, which he convinces himself is a good sign. At least Steve's mother actually picked up the phone this time.

Eddie tosses his notebook to the side, now uninterested in his tradition of writing a Mother's Day poem for his own mother. He chews at his nails, a fidgeting tactic to stop himself from twirling his hair. At least if he chews his nails, the worrying technique will be lost on Steve who won't be able to fixate on Eddie's feelings to distract himself.

"What going on?" Joanie wonders suspiciously, craning her neck to look down the hall.

"Uh…" he hums.

He really doesn't know how to answer. Mrs Harrington isn't exactly a frequent topic of conversation - if at all, for that matter.

"Is Dad calling Ganma?" Joanie's eyes light up at the enquiry.

If Eddie was feeling mean enough, he'd blame all of this on Dustin and Suzie. Traditionally they all spend Mother's Day doting over Claudia, aka, Joanie's precious Ganma (a toddler mispronunciation turned official familial title). But this year Dustin was far too busy with work to take time off, let alone a weekend plus a few days, so Claudia took it upon herself to travel to them. And, with Nancy and Robin back in Hawkins visiting Karen Wheeler, Eddie was left with Steve and Joanie in the city for Mother's Day weekend.

In hindsight, he should have called up Wayne to come for a fun-filled Pa-centric weekend instead.

Joanie walks over to the couch expecting an answer.

"Oh, uh. No, honey," he splutters, "Dad is calling his mom."

His daughter frowns, "Oh."

Yeah, kid. 'Oh' is an understatement.

Eddie pats the empty space next to him and Joanie reaches up with grabby hands, wanting uppies. He obliges.

Joanie fiddles with the buttons on the front of her unicorn-patterned onesie, lost in thought for a long while before cutting the silence with a heartbreaking, "He'll be happier when we call Ganma."

Eddie reaches for his notebook, deciding on writing his mom a verse about this blessing of a kid.

Steve soon comes back, hanging up the phone without a word and sets about making lunch. Eddie quickly scoops up Joanie and plops her on the floor to resume her colouring.

"Steve?" he asks tentatively as he practically tiptoes to the kitchen.

"What?" Steve snaps, tone biting.

He fusses with the twist tie at the top of their loaf of bread, not really committing to any of the sandwich-making efficiency he typically possesses.

"We could go out for lunch?" Eddie suggests, immediately regretting it.

"What, so we can see everyone celebrating Mother's Day? Even though my mom hates me? I shouldn't have done that... Idiot... Stupid."

Steve shakes his head.

"Sweetheart."

"I'm sorry," he whispers, voice throaty and strained, "Today is worse for you. I just set myself up to be upset."

He looks up, teary-eyed.

Eddie chops his hand through the air between them, insistent, "Completely difference circumstances, Stevie," he takes his hand and tugs, "Come sit down, I'll make us some lunch in a bit, yeah?"

They turn to exit the kitchen and are faced with Joanie, clutching her colouring book to her chest while Blondie and a surprisingly not lost Meatloaf circle her feet.

"Can we call Ganma now?"

Okay, so this kid is absolutely a precious little bean, a blessing who is the light of Eddie and Steve's lives in ways they can barely articulate sometimes.

But she often lacks the ability to read the room as she escorts her battalion of cats around the apartment.

Eddie could blame the sheer amount of time Joanie spends with Robin 'I Don't Have A Strong Grasp of Social Cues' Buckley, but he knows he is the exact goddamn same.

Steve pinches his nose before removing his glasses to rub at his eyes, "Yeah, baby, we can call Ganma."

He recovers enough to check his watch, needing to extend his arm almost fully to see it. Meanwhile, Eddie quickly shoos Joanie back to the living room as he picks up the phone.

They let Joanie take the reins, watching on from the couch as she excitedly recounts her week at preschool to Claudia (and she spoils the gift they had bought that is currently in transit while she's at it).

Eddie feels Steve sinks down in his seat and lean into his side.

"You wanna talk about it?" Eddie asks, trying to remain casual by doodling in the margins of his now-finished poem.

"Maybe later," Steve breathes heavily.

"We aren't doing this again, staying here. We'll at least see Wayne for the weekend."

Before Steve can argue, Joanie is waving the phone in Steve's face. He takes it and sniffles.

"Happy Mother's Day, Claudia," he says, clearing his throat, "I love you."

Whatever Claudia says in return, it's enough to make Steve smile.

more of this informal au HERE

[gumyfish]

I’m cringeposting about Batman again: What does Bruce Wayne’s Trauma have to do with the song “No More Birthdays?”

a mini spitball essay from the guy who’s written two finals about the lego batman movie. if you know me irl please ignore this

For those who haven’t heard “No More Birthdays” by Sophie May, I highly recommend it not just for the purposes of this “”essay”” but also because it’s just a beautiful song. Regardless of whether you want to listen to it before reading this, I’ll be providing the lyrics here real quick:

My baby don't cry

She just sleeps through the night

She don't fuss, she don't whine

She stays perfectly quiet

But while I watch her grow (i watch her grow)

My poor heart grows a hole

Oh, lord, say (say it ain't so) it ain't so

Can't you please make an exception? I've got good intentions

I just crave protection for my ball of perfection

Why can't you stop time?

How long before I can't call you my sweet little girl?

Help me stop time, you're not allowed to be nineteen

You have to stay my precious baby

No more, no more

No more birthdays

No more, no more

My baby's just fine

She knows all of her rhymes

Her tables and her times

The world claps when she smiles

I know she'll never swap (she'll never swap)

Tiaras for make up

She's a good (good girl) girl at heart

I'll find a magical potion to mix with her lotion

And she'll stay my princess for life

Why can't you stop time?

How long before I can't call you my sweet little girl?

Help me stop time, you're not allowed to be nineteen

You have to stay my precious baby

No more, no more

No more birthdays

No more, no more

No more birthdays

Now, I will say right off the bat here (ha), my view of this song and its meaning related to my own trauma is heavily influencing how I apply it to Bruce’s. Now let’s get into it.

Your first instinct is probably “oh, I get it, like Robin!” No. “Oh, I get it, it’s like Martha’s view on Bruce!” Also wrong but definitely closer. I’d like you to view this song from kind of a weird lense - this song, to me, is best applied through Bruce’s perspective, in reference to himself.

Based on my own experience, the kind of trauma Bruce went through — the death of very important (in his case primary) parental figures in his formative years — can give one an odd dynamic with their own childhood self. When it happened, Bruce stopped having a childhood. He stopped being a child. He was young and confused but suddenly there was this grief in him that forced him to grow up far too fast. It’s not an uncommon sentiment that Bruce, the Wayne Family’s one and only child, died that night as well. This sentiment is incredibly important here, as it establishes that Bruce Wayne, the man who’s alive now, is not by any measure the same person as the child who watched his parents die. From that moment on, he was someone else — he grew around the grief, and it became such a key part of him that it’s impossible to simply picture him without it to see a better outcome.

What does this have to do with the song? Again, using my own perspective on it as a starting point, when (or if) the healing begins and he realizes he didn’t deserve what happened, the realization that the child who died to make him who he is now REALLY didn’t deserve it… it sets in fast. There’s this sudden feeling of vindication, of raw and childish unfairness that that was a child, he didn’t deserve that. When you have that kind of realization, it suddenly becomes a lot easier to separate your current self from the one who was lost all those years ago. There becomes this dynamic of not quite being a parent, or a sibling, or a babysitter or anything else towards this… child, who isn’t you, but it is, but it’s not because they died to make you. He is you but he’s not, but you are build off of his bones and ashes.

It’s easy to become protective of a child like that. This song is a perfect representation of this sentiment, to me — it is both about the desire to keep this child safe, and the wish for anything to have been easier for him. My baby is quiet and still because he has been hurt in a way he can’t even define yet. My baby is innocent and sweet and he has no idea what’s coming. He shouldn’t know what’s coming, it shouldn’t be coming at all. He is going to be young forever, and someone else is going to age instead of him. He did not get a childhood, and he’s never going to see adulthood, not as himself.

Then there’s the fact that there’s Bruce. The man who took the place of that child, the night he died. He didn’t get a childhood, and the song is about him, too. Why can’t you stop time? Why can’t he go back, why will no one save him? It’s not fair. He is the guardian of a child that died, the child is him, and he’s stuck with it forever. There is no going back, there is no doing it over, there is no way to get back the childhood he was cheated out of.

All that being said, it’s better to acknowledge that you were cheated out of a childhood than to just go on forever thinking you need to avenge your parents for the horrific crime of Being a Child and wanting to See a Movie. This is speculation on something that would reasonably be devastating to realize, but would be better to recognize in the long run.

That’s. that’s my cringepost for the month. Godbless.

[itsnunoclock]

supervillain mums (completed)

Summary: After years of wreaking havoc across Gotham City, notorious supervillains Ava Quinn and Poison Beatrice face their greatest challenge yet - parenthood. Chaos and mayhem ensue.

Chapter 1: The One Where They Bring Home the Baby

Ava sighed loudly, peering into the crib. “Jet, this ain’t workin’. All she does is cry.”

Beatrice looked up from watering her plants. “Be patient, she’s just a baby.”

“That’s easy for you to say, you can just talk to your plant buddies. This one don’t talk back!” Ava scooped the screaming infant from the crib. “What’s wrong with ya, huh? Ya hungry? Gassy? Need a change?”

The baby just cried louder in response. Ava scowled, bouncing her up and down. “Pipe down already, before ya wake the dead!”

Beatrice rolled her eyes, wiping the soil from her hands. “Here, let me try.” She took the baby gently from Ava’s arms. Rocking her softly, she began singing a soft lullaby about springtime. Within minutes the cries faded to sniffles, then silence as tiny eyes drifted shut.

“Show off.” Ava huffed, plopping down on the worn couch. “Ya make it look so easy.”

“Babies respond to patience and affection, not manhandling.” Beatrice replied, tucking the sleeping infant back into her crib. “This was your idea, you know. We can still change our minds.”

Ava gazed at the sleeping baby thoughtfully. As much trouble as she was, there was something about her tiny face that tugged at Ava’s heart. Maybe this parenting thing wouldn’t be so bad, with a little practice.

“Nah, I’m in it for the long haul now.” She decided. “Just gotta figure out this mom thing step-by-step, right?”

Beatrice smiled, brushing a gentle hand through Ava’s hair. “Right. And I’ll be here to help you, darling.”

Chapter 2: The One With All the Adjustments

Baby Emma’s cries woke Ava before dawn. Grumbling, she threw off the blankets and stomped to the nursery. “What is it this time, kid?”

Emma’s face was red and scrunched up, tears streaming down her cheeks. Ava scooped her up with a sigh. “I changed ya, fed ya, burped ya...what more do ya want from me?!“

At her wits end, Ava carried Emma downstairs to find Beatrice in the kitchen, fixing a pot of coffee. “She’s all yours, Jet. I need some z’s before I lose my marbles.” She deposited the screaming bundle into Beatrice’s arms.

Beatrice cradled Emma gently, feeling her damp diaper. “Her diaper’s soaked through. Go back to bed, I’ve got her.”

Ava rubbed her bleary eyes. “Nuh-uh, I gotta learn to handle this diaper thing myself.” She fetched a fresh diaper and wipes from the cabinet. Laying Emma on the kitchen table, she undid the messy diaper with a determined expression.

“You’re doing fine, Ava.” Beatrice encouraged. But as the soiled diaper came off, Emma’s flailing arms sent a spray of waste across the room. It hit the windowsill and splattered onto Ava’s face with perfect accuracy.

Ava stood frozen in shock, droplets of poop dripping from her nose. Beatrice clapped a hand over her mouth to hold back laughter. “You wanted to learn…” she snickered.

Ava wiped her face with a grimace. “This parenting gig is for the birds. Let’s drink bleach and start over as supervillains.” But despite her grumbling, her eyes held only affection as she cleaned and powdered her daughter. Maybe there was something to this after all.

Chapter 3: The One At the Park

A few months had passed since Emma joined their unusual family. Despite a few mishaps, Ava was growing more confident in her mothering abilities each day.

One afternoon, Beatrice entered the living room to find Ava pushing Emma in a makeshift baby carrier—an old Amazon delivery box with straps fashioned from duct tape. “Going for a stroll?” she asked.

“Yep! The doc said it’s good for her lungs.” Ava pushed Emma around the room while singing a nursery rhyme about blowing up banks.

Beatrice bit back a protest, knowing Ava meant well. But her song choice gave her an idea. “You know, a change of scenery might do you both good. What do you say we take her to the park?”

Ava’s eyes lit up. “Can we?” Outside time was a rare treat these days.

At the park, Ava strapped Emma into a real baby carrier and began walking the trails. Emma cooed happily, gazing up at the trees.

All was well until a figure loomed into view—Catwoman, out for her own afternoon stroll. “Well well, what do we have here?” she purred. “Has little Ava Quinn gone soft?”

Ava bristled. “Back off, Toots. I’m just takin’ my kid for a walk.”

Lilith peered into the carrier. “Aren’t you an adorable thing. Bet your mummies give you everything you want, huh?” She tickled Emma’s chin, much to Ava’s annoyance.

As the two playfully argued, Emma began to fuss. Ava jiggled the carrier, trying to soothe her. But Lilith’s eyes suddenly lit up deviously. “I’ve got an idea. How about we have a race and see who can calm Emma first? Loser buys the winner dinner.”

Ava’s competitive spirit was piqued. “You’re on, Kitty. Just don’t cry too hard when I win!”

“We’ll see about that.” Lilith leaned down with a silly face in front of Emma, crossing her eyes and sticking out her tongue. But the baby only cried more.

“My turn!” Ava lifted Emma out and began dancing around, blowing raspberries on her tummy. Within moments, Emma’s tears turned to giggles.

“Looks like I win, puddy tat. Dinner is on you tonight!” Ava stuck her tongue out triumphantly.

Lilith pouted in mock disappointment. “You got lucky this time, Quinn. But next time the winner is mine.” She bopped Emma’s nose gently, making the baby smile.

Waving goodbye, Ava strapped Emma back in and continued their walk, her daughter’s happy laughter music to her ears. Maybe she was getting the hang of this whole mom thing after all.

read the next chapters in ao3

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

I’ll Take X-pecting for 200, Alex

Summary: Dr. Spencer Reid plays a trivia game at the request of his wife, Y/N, but he’s in for more than some heaving hitting questions. 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Wife Reader 

Word Count: 1.5k 

Author’s Note: I really don’t think that this summary does this justice

I’ll Take X-pecting for 200, Alex 

Shuffling the cards with a shake in her hand, Y/N tells herself to just breathe. This is something that Spencer and her have been looking forward to, dreamed about, and constantly discussed. Regardless of how much she knows Spencer loves her, there’s a lingering seed of doubt that only grows with the sound of Spencer walking into their house. 

“Y/N!, I’m home, darlin’,” Spencer calls from the hallway, dropping the “g” because he knows that Y/N finds it endearing. 

“Baby,” Y/N yells from the table. “I’m in the dining room. I made us a trivia game! Come play with me, I need your brains,” she finishes, smiling at her husband, who has been away for nearly two weeks.

“You know do I love trivia, Y/N,” Spencer says. He takes a seat next to his wife, but before he can kiss her, she pushes him out of his chair and motions for him to take the seat opposite of her.

“Before we start, how was the case? Everyone make it home in one piece?” Y/N asks concerned over the wellbeing of some of her closest friends. 

“Everyone’s fine, Y/N. The unsub ended up being a team. Two women hellbent on getting revenge for their children’s murders. One of them got away,” Spencer explains, solemnly. 

“Oof,” Y/N says, letting out a sigh. “It’s at times like these that I’m glad I don’t have your job. I’m kinda glad she got away, between you and me.” 

“It’s hard, sometimes we don’t really know who we’re bringing justice too. But, I’d do anything to protect my future children, and you. Anything I needed to do to keep you safe,” Spencer tells her, leaning across the table and kissing Y/N’s hand. She gives him a sheepish smile, but inside her mind is eager to get this trivia game started. 

“You’re a charmer, Dr. Reid,” Y/N flirts. 

“Just for you, Y/N. Now you mentioned something about trivia,” Spencer says, clapping his hands together excitedly. 

“I just thought you’d like to rest your brain after a case but shifting though all those facts you got stored up there. And I always said you should try out for Jeopardy,” Y/N says as she collects the cards with the clues. 

She spreads out the categories, Child Psychology, Children’s Books, Labor & Delivery, Nursery Rhymes, X-Epecting, on the table. They were all handwritten on different colorful pieces of cardstock and decorated with baby animals and block letters. Y/N read the categories aloud to her husband, allowing herself to steal a glance at his face while he concentrated on the categories, as if he already could answer the questions. 

“All right, Spencer, you pick first,” Y/N says, in her best Alex Trebek impression. 

“I’ll take Child Psychology for $200,” Spencer chooses, looking up to smile at Y/N. 

“This is the substitute mother that baby monkeys formed an attachment to in Harlow’s psychological experiment,” Y/N asks.

“Terry-Cloth,” Spencer interjects. 

“Not uh, Spence, you need to answer correctly,” Y/N teases. She looks up at him expectantly to choose the next clue. He rolls his eyes at her, but secretly he enjoys the playful banter they still share even after all these years. 

“Um, Children’s Books $200,” 

“This is the story of the clever spider that can weave words in her web,” 

“What is Charlotte’s Web?” 

“Correct, pick again please,” Y/N says, as she tries to maintain a stoic composure. 

“This is the average of days that newborns keep up their sleepless parents,” Y/N asks, sure that this question would stump her genius husband. But to no avail, Spencer answers the question correctly. 

“Okay! Next time try-outs are around, I’m forcing you to take the test,” Y/N says running over to kiss Spencer on the cheek. 

“You know judges are supposed to remain impartial, Y/N” Spencer tells her, putting his arm around her waist as if he’s signally her to sit in his lap. 

“I can’t help it, how about you win kisses every time you get a question right, Spence,” Y/N proposes. 

“I guess it’s worth more than fake money,” Spencer teases.

“You offend me, baby!” Y/N pretends to be hurt by Spencer’s words, but urges him to continue the game. 

“You only got a couple more left, Spence,” 

“Okay, how about X-Expecting for $200,” Spencer chooses. 

“This chromosome is linked to the baby’s mother,” Y/N quizzes, finding it difficult to keep her smiles and secrets at bay when Spencer’s arm tugs around her waist tightly and his fingers draw patterns under her shirt. 

“What is X-Chromosome,” Spencer answers before Y/N can even finish the clue. 

“You know that you’re supposed to wait until the clue is read, Spence. I should redact kisses,” Y/N fake threats. 

“No! Y/N I’ll die without your kisses, please!” Spencer cries out in pretend disain. Much to his amusement his goofy behavior leads Y/N to plant small pecks on his forehead. 

“There, that should hold you over,” 

“I doubt it, Y/N. I miss you already,” Spencer mutters into her shoulder, as if he’s trying to get closer to his wife more than he could already be with her sitting on his lap. 

“Two more clues till Final Jeopardy,” Y/N announces, ignoring the fact that she’s bypassing the rest of the clues and totally disregarding Double Jeopardy. 

“Hmm, let’s go to Nursery Rhymes for kissing for the rest of my life,” Spencer picks, peppering Y/N’s shoulder with kisses. 

“Huh! Look at that, Spencer, you got the Daily Double, so whatcha going to wager?” Y/N asks, knowing she’s pulling this Daily Double straight out of the air, but Spencer’s affection for only one lifetime is not nearly enough for her. 

“I’ll make a true Daily Double, darling. That means double the amount of kisses,” Spencer tells her, ticking the sides of Y/N waist. 

“Here’s your clue, Jack is urged to be nimble & quick, helping him do this,” Y/N reads from the card. 

“What is to jump over the candlestick?” Spencer guesses, closing his eyes to be assaulted by Y/N’s eager lips. 

“Yay! Double kisses!” Y/N yells happily as she pecks Spencer’s eyelids and nose, causing him to laugh at her light affection. 

“Next question, it’s the last one so you don’t get a choice, but I have so much confidence in you, my genius husband. These are the names of the 3 stages of labor?” Y/N questions, looking over her shoulder to get a glimpse of Spencer’s mind at work. 

“What are dilation, expulsion, and afterbirth,” Spencer answers, once again perfectly. 

“Okay, Dr. Reid you’ve accumulated a total of double kisses for the rest of our lives. Your Final Jeopardy category is, Ready For It…” Y/N announces. 

“Last one,” Spencer says, and Y/N wonders if Spencer’s figured it out by now. She hands Spencer the small cardboard box. He looks at it curiously and Y/N can feel her heart in her stomach. He must know by now, she thinks. He’s brilliant, but sometimes he can be a little clueless when it comes to things like that. Y/N thinks back to how they danced around each other for years before Derek practically had to force them out on a date. He must know. 

“You’re clue is inside the box, Spence,” Y/N tells him, her voice shaky and unsure. 

Spencer carefully opens the cardboard box and reaches in to pull out the small pregnancy test that lay hidden inside. He looks it over, reading the test twice, three times, maybe even four times. He honestly can’t remember taking longer to read something. Spencer looks up at a terrified Y/N. 

“You’re pregnant? We’re going to have a baby?” Spencer asks, desperately wanting to believe what he holds in his hand. 

“You’re gonna be a daddy, Spence,” Y/N tells him, her smile struggling to conceal itself in between the bouts of happiness and joy that courses through her veins. 

“A baby! Oh Y/N. A baby!” Spencer shouts rushing over to where his wife stands in between the entrance from their kitchen to their dining room. 

“You’re happy, right Spence. You want this with me-” Y/N starts, a sudden rush of fear lodging itself in her heart. 

“Of course I’m happy, Y/N. I’m so happy to be a dad. You’re going to be a mom! You’ll be the best mom, Y/N. I love you, Y/N,” Spencer says, crouching down to rub his hands on Y/N’s belly. 

“Hi sweet baby,” Y/N says softly, looking down at her belly and covering her hand over Spencer’s. “I want you to meet your daddy. He’s going to take care of you so well, he might talk a lot but you get used to it” 

“Hey, baby. It’s your dad,” Spencer murmurs quietly into Y/N’s belly. “I’m so glad that mommy told me about you. You gotta do some growing in there before you can meet us, but we love you so much, baby,”

“I really love you so much Y/N,” Spencer says as he sits up to kiss his wife. 

All his life Spencer’s loved science. He loves discovering the undiscovered. Memorizing all those theories and facts and methods could never prepare him for the awe that sat before him. He realizes that he’s looked at science all wrong. There's a beauty in science- a natural, unadulterated beauty that’s so rare to find. But he’s found it and he’s never letting go.

Thank You for Reading!

Taglist: @calm-and-doctor​ 

If anyone wants to be tagged in new posts, feel free to comment and I’ll be thrilled to tag you <3

[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. 

[wizkiddx]

heyheyhey idk if u do req but love your dad tom stuff! PLZ PLZ do tom helping his kids with homework but cant do it and reader has to help and its all fluffy 😩💕

ye im down to do req and this had me going completely ott cos its v cute (and a lot less angsty than what ive written recently aha) so apologies for my ramblings:

Summary: tom has the kids for a day and maths homework throws a spanner in the works - tomhollandxreader

implied smut + v slight reference to porn but basically just fluff I promise xox

\\\\\\\\\\\\///////////

Tom had dealt with a lot of whining today. Nova and Leo were the absolute joys of his life, there was no doubt about it. Of course, he also loved you a hell of a lot too - sometimes to his detriment though, hence the position he was in now. 

You’d had a busy week at work and he had been away for the first half of it - leaving you as an almost single mother to a 5 and a 7 year old. So completely fairly, you’d asked if he wouldn’t mind watching the kids for a the day on Sunday, allowing you to go to a friends baby shower. There was no answer but to agree, Tom loved quality time with the kids and he wanted you to kick back and relax with you friends too. 

However the afternoon had not been nearly as idealistic as it were supposed to be in his head. You had left him only one real job (apart from the unavoidable essentials of keeping the kids alive with food and water, something you’d hope he need not be reminded about now). Really it shouldn’t of been that hard, it was just each kid had two pieces of homework. After convincing and cajoling the kids into sitting at the table which he’d already set up with Nova’s ‘Liverpool FC’ and Leo’s ‘captain marvels’ pencil case, the English was easy. 

In fact 5 year old Leo took great joy out of writing a poem with his Dad, which basically involved trying to rhyme any word with another - especially when he tried to convince Tom that all his completely fictitious words were real and worked together. A personal favourite had been ‘snakes’ and ‘palakes’ which Leo was convinced meant pancakes - arguing so vehemently Tom almost started to doubt himself on basic English. 

Thankfully though his eldest and most sensibly child eventually took him out his misery. If anyone had any control over the Holland boys, Leo and Tom - it was the Holland girls. You and Nova had both boys completely under you spell, often taking advantage of the fact too. It was only when Nova got bored of hearing Tom and Leo mock arguing, interspersed with the little boys giggles that Tom tried his absolute hardest to keep a straight face at, that she swooped in.

“Stop being silly Leo, mummy told you he’s not good at school!” She looked oh so innocent, eyes immediately flicking down to continue the little short story she was happily going on with. In response  Tom scowled, knowing your highly curious and intelligent daughter had asked you (for one reason or another) why he was not so academic. Yet instead of Leo bursting out laughing, instead he just nodded and accepted it too - making Tom scowl even more. Not even Leo thought it was a joke. 

So apart from his children apparently taking pity on his simple mind, it was all going smoothly. Perhaps, due to the thankful fact your children had inherited their brains from their mother - something Tom was forever thankful for, until he was shamed for his substandard intellect in the family. Then again though, he was Spiderman. So take that. 

Until Nova brought out her maths sheet. Then the afternoon quickly descended into chaos. It was fractions, something she hadn’t quite grasped from school yet - a concept that still hurt her head somewhat. Normally though it’d be fine, she’d bring the sheet to you and the two of you used ‘ girl power’ to figure it out… you prior experience as a tutor while in uni helping you know how to break through to her. 

Unfortunately Tom didn’t share this same experience. Nor did Tom share a maths qualification… something that had evaded him completely during his schooling career. Of course, it had never been a particular issue, acting didn’t require the use of maths and algebra and Tom was in a very lucky position of being able to pay someone to manage his finances from a very young age. So no, dividing 2/3 and 3/7 didn’t come the most naturally to him. Or at all to be quite honest. 

“I CANT DO IT AND GRACE IN MY CLASS COULD!” For context, Grace was one of her school friends, who forever liked to compare herself to the young Holland - especially because she was normally ahead. Nova had gone from quiet frustration, staring at the questions with her tongue sticking out slightly, to one of pure rage - yelling at her dad with tears in her eyes. Nova was normally incredibly intuitive, she always found it difficult when she couldn’t do something. Now, with a ‘teacher’ who was more useless than her - the frustrations inevitably bubbled over. 

“Hey, we can work it out, just calm-“

“YOU CANT DO IT EITHER YOUR STUPID “ She was just young and frustrated, Tom tried not to take it personally but … it wasn’t always easy. Chiefly because this was the height of offensive statement Nova knew - this was her version of adult explicit language. 

“Nova you can’t be rude.” He used his stern voice, something Tom very rarely used with his little girl. Though he never wanted to upset her, neither did he want her to think it was ever okay to be so rude to anyone like that- no matter how crappy at maths they were. It hurt him to do so but it was necessary - life lessons about the importance of being kind needed to be learnt. And it worked… if what Tom was aiming for was his beautiful baby girl’s eyes to brim with sparkling tears, her bottom lip quivering slightly. 

Instantly Tom’s eyebrows drooped, trying to fight his natural reaction to scoop her onto his knee and reassure her everything was okay. But as you had lectured him many a time before, he had to put his foot down once in a while. So instead, the father and daughter were locked in a silence and intense eye contact, until Nova hesitantly began to speak. 

“I’m sorry Daddy.” During which, Nova shoved her chair back, making it screech against the tiled floors uglily before running off up the stairs. Tom knew she was crying a lot. Knew this was going to take a bit of fixing. 

With a sigh of his daughters name, Tom popped his head into the living to check on Leo who had already finished all his stuff. Seeing him completely zombified in front of ‘paw patrol’ on TV, Tom trudged up the stairs. He knew where she was, when Nova was upset she always hid in the corner of her wardrobe and cried in the darkness. So after steadying himself with a little internal monologue of how to approach the situation Tom walked in and sat down beside the wardrobe - knocking on the door slightly. 

“Nova… can we talk please?” All he heard was sniffing echoing from the wooden chamber until she tried to shout through the door.

“Go-go… go away daddy.” It broke his heart, the way her voice wavered, making Tom pout - gently letting his head fall against the wardrobe doors. 

“I don’t want you to be upset beautiful…. And you did apologise which I appreciate. You know why Daddy got angry right?” Her sniffles heightened before she muttered a quiet ‘yes’. “And you are sorry? Because that might’ve made me really sad too.”

“I’m s-s-sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

“Then that’s good and we don’t need to cry. You want a cuddle little one?” Before Tom could even properly get up the door was being pushed open by her little hands, revealing a tear stained face and big glassy eyes looking up at her Dad. Swiftly Tom scooped her up and out of the cupboard, whispering to her while she buried her face in his chest. 

“Oh come here my little bean.”

//////////////////////

When you came home late that evening, only mildly exhausted from spending the whole day gossiping with your girls, it was weirdly quiet. All the lights were out in the front room, which made you close the door gently, thinking Tom had managed to exhaust the kids - and himself in the process. With a relieved sigh at the peace you pattered into the kitchen to get yourself a drink (it had been a little concern that Tom would’ve worked the kids into a hyperactive and delerious state that kept them up long past bedtime - which ultimately you’d have to deal with). The house was remarkably silent and though it was clear from the littered toys everywhere that it had indeed been Tom alone in charge, everything seemed pretty okay. 

It was only as you were about to head upstairs to join your hubby in bed that you realised the study light was still on, streaming through the small crack in the doorframe. Assuming Tom had just neglected to turn it off, in otherwords Tom being Tom, you nudged it open with your hand. Surprisingly though, there was your husband, hunched over the desk, looking almost angrily focused - between the computer screen and a piece of paper below him. Normally you would’ve just assumed it was another script sent over or an edit Harry had sent of another screenplay they were writing together. 

But no, the blatant red flag was the screen that you could see. A screen on YouTube, of a man pointing at a whiteboard of fractions. 

So with a soft wrist you wrapped your knuckled on the side of the door, even if you had technically already entered the room. The reaction had you stifling a laugh, it was as if you’d caught him watching something *less PG* the way he jumped out his seat, closing the browser immediately. 

“Love!! I -er … didn’t know you’d got back?”

“I just did.” You smiled gently, while walking into stand behind his chair, wrapping your arms round his neck and pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Soooo…. what’ca doingggg” The glee in your voice was evident, making Tom groan and shut his eyes. 

“I hate you, you know that right?” 

“No you don’t… but you were watching a primary school video on fractions, if I’m not so mistaken?” He sighed deeply, making a point of turning the paper with his scribbles over to obscure it. 

“Nova’s homework.. she couldn’t do it and neither could I, so then she basically screamed at me for being thick and udseless and then had a breakdown.” 

Now you felt guilty. This was a bit of a sore spot with Tom, he always for some reason felt inferior because of his academic ability. Which was stupid- mainly because he was the most clever and talented man you’d ever met. Just…. Just not at fraction. 

“Oh T… you could’ve just left it for me to do with her, I don’t mind.”

“That’s not the point Y/n.” He snapped a little, shrugging your arms off him and spinning in the chair so he could face you. “She’s my daughter and I should be able to help her! It’s not like it’s that hard, it’s just I’m unbelievable thick.”

“Tom stop. Look - you can do this I assure you, it’s just been a long old time ‘kay? Your rusty and that’s only natural.”

“I really don’t think I could ev-“

“Can I teach you? It’s just the method and then I promise you’ll get it.”

It took a bit of persuasion but eventually Tom agreed, letting you pull the corner chair forward to beside his desk so you could demonstrate it to him. To be fair, he really could do it- just a bit of familiarising on the ‘stick-change-flip’ method. The way the lightbulb moment literally caused his face to light up; scurrying to do the question for himself, tongue sticking out in the process; then presenting it to you proudly - well it had you melting in your seat. 

“See! That took all of 5 minutes and you got it.” You elbowed  his side by leaning forward in the chair, which instead of letting go, Tom reached and caught, before pulling you up and round. You landed with you bum perched on the edge of the mahogany desk, Tom now stood up- his legs in-between your parted thighs - your feet hooking round the back of knees. 

“It’s all down to my incredibly talented teacher.”

“No…. No I really don’t think it is” You mused with a soft voice, fingers instinctively going to the nape of his neck - twirling the little curls round your fingertips. 

“Well even so… I think I could teach you a thing or two too.” Never one to mull on anything, Tom’s tone had immediately switched to something a lot more… mischievous. 

“Not even going to ask about my day? Wheres the chat mr smooth?” He had to repress the grin at your smirk because as much as you infuriated the hell out of him - you also had this weird ability of making him feel so entranced and helpless. He relented with a sarcastic chime.

“Fine, how was your day love.”

“Good…. but I have a feeling you’re about to make it a whole lot better.”

That was all the signals he needed to lean forward, in doing so forcing you back until your back landed completely on the cool wood. His lips feathered yours, both hands pinned either side of your head.

“Oh darling… you have no idea.”

[lottiebagley]

Happy Together

I really recommend listening to Happy Together by Gerard Way while you read this xx

*****  Fred sat on his bed watching as she moved around his empty dorm, fixing her hair and makeup and redressing. They were in no way official all though neither of them was seeing anyone else. The problem was that she was in Ron's little group and the drama that came with their relationship didn't feel worth it to Fred. That's what he had told her when she has asked and she had to force herself to not let the comment hurt. He hadn't meant that she wasn't worth it even if that's how it sounded and felt, he simply meant that he'd rather just be together in private and not have everyone talking and looking.

"So, we should talk about the ball," He comments, he had no right to dictate who she went with, she wasn't his girlfriend, but that didn't mean he wouldn't try.

"What about it?" she questions, stepping into her skirt, needing to be ready to head to the library to study with Hermione in 5 minutes.

"Well, obviously we can't go together," he comments, she tries her hardest to ignore the sting in her chest. She thought that now, after six months of seeing each other he would finally come around to letting their relationship be public.

"Obviously," she states, Fred is immediately cocking his head to the side, immediately noticing the slightly hurt look on his face.

"But I don't want you going with just anyone," he adds, she turns to look at him, re-buttoning her shirt and she easily catcher her tie when he throws it to her.

"What's your point here, Freddie?" she questions, hands rolling her skirt up to make it shorter as she scans the ground for her school jumper.

"We should pick each others dates," he decides, he figured the raging jealousy he feels in his chest every time a boy even looks at her will hurt a lot less if he gets to pick her date.

"No," she speaks in a harsh tone causing him to look abruptly "If you're embarrassed of me and don't think I'm worth arguing with your little brother that's fine-"

"Hey, you know that's never ever been why I wanted to keep us private. I'd argue with Ron every day for the rest of my life for you and I am the furthest thing from embarrassed of you," he protests, his heart hurts that she ever thought that's how he felt.

"If you don't want to take me to the ball that's fine Fred, but you don't get to dictate who I go with. If someone asks and I like them I'll say yes," she announces, he looks slightly dumbfounded as he stares at her, tugging her jumper over her head and moving towards the door and slipping out of his room without another word. His usual quick kiss goodbye gone.

Fred knew that so far three boys had asked her to the ball, the same boys had coincidentally all ended up pranked in some way, shape or form. He knew she has turned them all down. He also knew that Dean Thomas was planning on asking her and that her friends often teased her for fancying him, unaware she was seeing Fred. Supposedly she had fancied him since their second year, at least that's when the teasing began.

With this on his mind and a worry that Dean Thomas was going to come in and swoop the girl he was pretty sure he was in love with away from him, he rushed to change and exit the room to find Lee and George, if he was going to ask her to the ball it needed to be big and public. It needed to rid her mind of any thought that he was ashamed or embarrassed of her.

**

Fred Weasley didn't get nervous, but standing outside the great hall two day's later, knowing the rest of the school were eating breakfast he couldn't help it.

When he had explained what was happening to the boys, George had come up with the idea that Fred should write her a song and perform it at breakfast. Fred was a good singer and between the three of them surely they could pull something together. So, for 48 hours the boys wrote a song, added Lee and George some backing vocals and a bit of dodgy looking choreography, enchanted a load of instruments to play the music and now it was time.

"Ready Fred?" George questions walking towards him from inside the hall, having managed to load the instruments into the hall and his them around before breakfast had started. Fred nods, glancing to his brother.

The twins enter the hall, Lee immediately grabbing his wand ready to enchant the instruments to begin playing from his seat next to Angelina. Fred takes a deep breath, marching towards the table and jumping onto it. Immediately, the whole hall is looking at him

"Mr Weasley, get down from the table this instant!" Professor McGonnogall begins to scold

"I will get down, just give me one minute. There's something I have to do," he announces.

He's vaguely aware of Harry and Ron laughing opposite the girl who is watching with curiosity.

The instruments start and Lee and George climb onto the table behind him. The minute he makes eye contact with her she starts to blush, knowing whatever is coming is about her.

'Imagine me and you I do I think about you day and night It's only right To think about the girl you love And hold her tight So happy together'

He starts singing, aware the whole school are watching as he walks down the table towards her. Ron and Harry are looking around wildly, trying to work out who in the world he could be singing too, Hermione is sat with a knowing smirk on her face next to her best friend who is blushing wildly but sat with a small smile on her face. George and Lee follow him up the table, supposedly doing backing vocals but acting more like hype men.

"MR WEASLEY! GET DOWN NOW!" Snape is shouting loudly but is shushed by the other teachers, everyone seemingly enjoying the performance, there's an air of intrigue in the hall, people wondering who it's all for.

If I should call you up Invest a dime And you say you belong to me And ease my mind Imagine how the world could be So very fine So happy together

His singing continues and he's so close to her now that he can hear her giggling mixing with the rest of the laughs and cheers in the hall. He steps over a serving plate of pancakes, smirking when she catches eye contact with him and blushes even more, looking at her lap and letting out a laugh, biting on her lip to stop herself from smiling.

I can't see me lovin' nobody but you For all my life When you're with me Baby the skies'll be blue For all my life

George and Lee add in some ooo's as he sings. He finally arrives directly in front of her. Smirking at the loud gasp that leaves Ron's mouth at the realisation it's his friend being sang to. Ginny lets out an excited squeal from a few seats down as she loves the girl, chatter and laughter fill the hall as they all realised exactly who this all for, more than a few girls feeling jealous of the entire thing.

Me and you And you and me No matter how they toss the dice It had to be The only one for me is you And you for me So happy together

The excited chatter get's impossibly louder as Fred begins to join in with George and Lee's ridiculous dance moves, smiling when he hears the laughter she lets out, vaguely aware of Ron's demands that she can not date his brother and Hermione telling him to shut up. Even the Slytherins are enjoying the show, despite it being a Weasley, and are laughing and dancing along with the rest of the school.

I can't see me lovin' nobody but you For all my life When you're with me Baby the skies'll be blue For all my life Me and you And you and me No matter how they toss the dice It had to be The only one for me is you And you for me So happy together

Loud cheers erupt from the hall when he holds out his hand when he jumps from the table squeezing into the small space between her and Hermione, who shuffles up the bench to make space for him, his arm wraps around her shoulder as she laughs looking at him, eyes shining with happiness as she smiles and he feels his heart melt at the sight of her looking so at ease at his side, he squeezes her tighter to him as he continues to sing, taking a look at George and Lee who are now doing some kind of two person robot Mexican wave, clearly improvising.

Me and you And you and me No matter how they toss the dice It had to be The only one for me is you And you for me So happy together

He leaps back onto the table, extending a hand to her that she takes with slight apprehension in her eyes, allowing him to tug her up onto the table behind him. She laughs as he spins her around, dipping her and twirling her over the table, enjoying the little giggle she lets out. If it were anyone else she'd never have taken their hand but something about Fred made her feel so comfortable that she would go wherever he asked.

So happy together How is the weather So happy together We're happy together So happy together Happy together So happy together So happy together

The song draws to a close and with his hands on her hips he tugs her towards him, she smirks up at him as he beams down

"How is the weather?" she questions

"Not a lot rhymes with together and I had to act quick before someone else swept you off your feet," he shrugs, she giggles, vaguely aware that the whole school is watching them

"So what do you say? Go to the ball with me?" he suddenly seems to loose all his confidence

"Of course I will," she smiles. He grins brightly and crashes his lips to hers, unbothered that the whole school is watching, the hall erupts in cheers that he's pretty sure is started by Dumbledore himself.

She pulls away after a few seconds, aware of the whole school watching

"Did you notice that I said I love you?" he questions, a whisper unheard by anyone but her amongst the cheering

"I did," she confirms

"Cause I do, love you I mean,"

"I love you too Fred," she beams, pressing another chaste kiss to his lips before hopping down from the table and he follows, falling into the seat next to her.

"You can't date Y/N. She's my friend and you can not just come along and steal my frien-" Ron begins his protest but Harry slaps him round the back of the head, effectively silencing him as the hall returns to normal.

"And that boys," Fred starts, glancing between the dateless Harry and Ron "is how you ask a girl to the yule ball,"

"Got one of the good ones," George remarks, falling into the seat opposite Fred

"I got the best one," Fred corrects, smiling at the blush flushing her cheeks and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

**

Masterlist

[all-my-love-for-harry]

Delicate. — Part 1.

word count: 2.6k

a/n: Here we are fam, i gotta be honest with y’all, this is heavily inspired in the fact that i watched Miss Americana twice this month, what resulted in me going through my taylor swfit phase again. Pls bare with me, i haven’t written anything like this before.

catch up here!

They said artists become what they are because deep down they are as insecure if not more than normal people. Because they craved constant validation in what they do. 

At least it was the case for Y/n. 

A girl who has built an entire system around being accepted by the public, someone who their major source of happiness is provided by strangers all around the world. When you are living from the approval of strangers and that is where you drive all your joy and fulfillment, one bad thing can cause everything to go down. Y/n has spent her whole life trying to please the world so they would like her, so what she has achieved over the years would last. 

When the world turned their back on her, Y/n had no choice but to disappear, because she thought that was what everyone wanted. Even then, she made her choices around what she thought would make them happy.

Y/n knew she could not hide forever, but for now, it was a necessary evil she had to take. Deciding to take a break from everything was the healthiest decision she has ever made, shutting down her social media, getting out of the city and going back home with her family was exactly what she needed. 

"Mom was sad she couldn't pick you up from the airport."

Seventeen-year-old Jensen, whose driving license was still new and fresh, was the one who picked Y/n up when her flight landed. In complete honesty, she did not like using a private plane, but she could not risk someone seeing where she was going. Jensen was good at driving, well, he has not crashed into a tree yet, so they were safe. 

"She would've brought Chase and scare Pandora and Lizzie." 

Jensen chuckled. "She's obsessed with him. I haven't started college yet and she's already thinking about turning my room into Chase's." 

Her parents’ house was a gated property away from others since it was safer that way. Y/n would not stay there the whole time since she had her own apartment a little closer to town. Her luggage, as well as her cats, were picked up separately and taken to her home, she would go there after lunch with her family. Jensen parked next to a black range rover that belonged to their dad, meaning both of their parents were home. 

Y/n threw her backpack over her shoulder as she stepped out of the car, eager to finally reunite with her family, especially her mother. She is in desperate need of a tight hug, a mug of hot chocolate and a shoulder to cry on. Y/n did not realize how mentally drained she was until she saw her mother open the front door. 

"My baby!" Louise exclaimed, embracing her daughter in a tight hug. "How was the flight?" 

"It was fine. I'm starving though." 

They walked into the living room and Louise closed the door behind them. Y/n dropped her backpack on one of the couches and sighed in relief. “Where’s dad?” Jensen went straight to the kitchen and opened the fridge.

“Get the white wine.” Y/n told him.

“It’s too early to drink that.” Louise took the bottle from Jensen’s hands and put it back in the fridge. “Dad’s outside. We bought some roses that will look beautiful by the pool.”

“You’re buying a lot of plants lately.” Y/n pointed a big vase full of daisies, her mom’s favorites, on the kitchen’s island. 

“I like supporting local business.” She shrugged.

“That and she’s obsessed with the owner of the flower shop.” Jensen chuckled, cracking open a water bottle. 

“Hey! That’s not true.” 

“Mom, you there like… every day. Who needs new flowers every day?”

“Shush.” The elder woman faked offense then gigged. “Handsome young man, he is. I’ll take you tomorrow.” She turned to Y/n. 

“Oh, no, mom. I’m going to lock myself in my apartment and try to write.” She said, making Louise scoff. “I’m serious!”

“I know you are. But living like a hermit is not going to do you any good.”

“I agree, sis.” 

Y/n rolled her eyes, knowing they were right as always but did not want to admit it. The truth was, she wanted to write some songs, so badly, but could not find the right words. She was hoping to get some peace and quiet to get her ideas and emotions in order again. Before any of them could say anything else, David entered the kitchen while taking off his gardening gloves and smiled widely when he spotted Y/n.

“And who do we have here?”

“Hi, dad.” Y/n smiled at him brightly before wrapping her arms around her dad, who hugged her back just as tight. 

“Good to have you home, darling.” 

The family of four sat on the kitchen island and started to catch up. Jensen talked about his different college options and how he was considering getting a summer job this year. Louise kept talking about how nice the owner of this flower shop was, making emphasis on how he was also single. Y/n didn’t know what she was trying to do, but she didn’t pay much attention either. 

Overall it was nice for Y/n to get out of her head for a little bit, and her family was always a great help for that. She knew she still had a lot to deal with, and she would probably get a call from her publicist and a lot of other people soon, but for now, she just wanted to think about anything else that wasn't the whole world hating on her. 

"How are you doing, Y/n? Be honest." Her mom asked after they stayed alone in the kitchen.

"Been better." She sighed. "I don't want to think about it, mom."

"You have to talk to someone, sweetie. I know your team cares for you and is trying to handle the situation, but you can still talk to me."

"I know, thank you. I'm just trying to figure it what I'm going to do."

Louise sighed. "You sure you don't want to stay here? You have your room and everything."

"Thanks for the offer, mom. But I sort of want to be on my own." She said. "But I'll come for lunch every day, I promise."

Although Louise wasn't convinced by her daughter's words, she chose to not push it. She knew Y/n had her own ways to express her feelings, and she'd talk whenever she felt like it. So she let her go, making her promise she'd come to visit soon.

"Do you need a ride? I'm going to town anyway." Jensen offered, taking the keys of his car from the little plate they kept on the table beside the front door. 

"Yes, please."

The drive to her apartment wasn't a long one, and in less than ten minutes she was opening her front door and being greeted by her two beautiful cats rubbing themselves on her legs. Y/n sighed, thinking about how much she needed to unpack now that she was here. The truth was, she didn't know for how long she'd be staying here, but she figured it'd be a long time so she packed a lot. Now she kind of regretted it because she would probably be in her pajamas all day anyway. 

After cleaning Pandora and Lizzie's sandbox, Y/n decided to grab an acoustic guitar and try to come up with some melodies. She wasn't quite sure about any lyrics yet, but it was always good to have a little something to start a song. 

She went from playing the guitar to play the piano, hoping she'd get more inspirations somewhere. But she had nothing. Not even one decent note. She was empty. 

"Don't pretend is... mhmm. Think about the... No." She groaned and slammed the palm of her hands on the keyboard, growing frustrated. Why all of a sudden she couldn't even rhyme? Maybe she needed a break, or perhaps she was tired from her flight and tomorrow she'd be able to write something.

//

Turns out her writer's block was here to stay. A week has passed since her arrival and Y/n hasn't been able to finish one single song. Everything she started ended up being erased or in the middle of her living room after the ripped the page off her journal. 

"I told you, you shouldn't hurry. Inspiration will come eventually, it always does."

"I guess. I just have nothing else to do other than play scrabble with you and write songs, or at least try to."

"Let me take out then." Louise started and Y/n shakes her head. "C'mon, let's eat somewhere or buy groceries and I'll cock at your place." Y/n looked at her mom and realized she wouldn't stop until she accepted, so Y/n offered Louise a nod. "Marvelous. There's this little café that I absolutely love. You'll love the owner."

"What is it with you and the owners of local shops?"

"They're my friends. Oh! We could drop by Blossom House. You could use some flowers around your house so it would look like somebody actually lives there."

"Stop dragging me, woman."

Louise drove them to this café called Furry Cakes, which turned out to be a cat café. Y/n obviously lost it as soon as they walked in, and nearly cried when she saw all the kittens, and absolutely shed a tear when the girl behind the register said every kitty except for one named Chaster was up for adoption. She felt like a little girl all over again when her mom told her she couldn't take every single kitty home. 

Y/n was wearing a hoodie that was twice her size, plus some big sunglasses she refused to take off, even inside of the café. She was praying she wouldn't get recognized as she knew people were dying for a picture of her, see how she was after the entire world canceled her. 

"We'll leave the car parked here, the flower shop is just around the corner." Louise pulled from Y/n's hand to make her walk faster. There weren't a lot of people on the streets and she was grateful for that, she hasn't gotten a proper walk in what felt like ages. 

They stopped outside a modern-looking building with a big, bright sign that read 'The Blossom House'. It was simple yet cute. The pair stepped in and a little bell ringed. Y/n looked around, admiring how everything looked like it was straight out of a fairytale. There were little pots hanging from the ceiling and she looked up, she saw the ceiling was pure glass, which made the whole place brighter. Flowers weren't really her thing as she could barely keep them alive, but seeing this amount of flowers all in the same place... made her somewhat happy and warm inside. 

She was so deep in thought she didn't even realize her mom left her and was nowhere to be found. It doesn't look like it from outside, but the shop was actually big and very spacious. It was also empty right now, not even an employee was around, so she decided to have a look on her own. It looked like they had all kinds of flowers in here, which made her even more excited because that meant they had-

"Azaleas? They're also my favorites." A deep voice interrupted her thoughts. She jumped on her place as she wasn't expecting it, which made the person behind her chuckle. "I didn't mean to scare you, sorry."

"It's okay..." She turned around and it was fair to say that was she saw stunned her right away.

In front of her, a gorgeous looking man was standing there with a bright smile on his face. She noticed the two dimples poking at each side of his face, making his smile even more beautiful. His emerald green eyes were the greenest eyes she has ever seen in her life, she believed. He had crinkles by his eyes due to his smile being wide. But to her, the icing of the cake was the beautiful mop of chocolate curls he had on the top of his head. She suddenly felt the insane urge to run her hands through it just to see if they were as soft as they looked. 

"Harry, darling!" Louise appeared out of nowhere and wrapped her arms around the man, who only chuckled while reciprocating the greeting.

"Hello, Louise. What's it gonna be today? Tulips? More daisies?" Oh God, he's British. Y/n thought to herself. 

"Gosh, you know me so well. I'm actually here just to look around, I see you found my daughter though." She smirked.

"I surely did. I'm Harry, nice to meet you, love." He offered her a hand for her to shake.

Y/n was a little surprised by the pet name but took his hand nonetheless. "I'm Y/n, nice to meet you too."

"I want her to get some plants for her house." Louise spoke again.

"Well, you're in the right place then." He said. "Do you want them for your garden?"

"No, uhm... I don't have one. I live in an apartment."

"Personally, my favorite to keep indoors are Begonias." Harry guided the two women to a different section of the flower shop and pointed to some pretty ones in pink color. "But I also enjoy Daylilies, although they're a little harder to maintain."

"Yeah, maybe not those then. I'm not very good at keeping plants alive."

"She killed a cactus once." Louise mentioned. 

"No way." 

"I didn't know they'd drown if I watered them more than once a week!" Y/n defended herself. 

"Amateur mistake." He joked. 

The truth was Y/n was too busy to have a garden, she was always traveling and didn't stay too long in one place so even if she tries to have one, it'd be dead by the end of the month. 

"What plants are cat friendly? I have two at home."

"Bromeliads are cat friendly, they're easy to maintain too."

They looked around for a little bit. Harry said a fun fact about every type of flower Y/n pointed out, never failing to make her laugh. The funny thing was, it didn't look like Harry knew who she was. Either he hasn't recognized her, or he didn't know about her. Which by the way, not to be a narcissist, would be highly unlikely.

She ended up taking a couple of new plants home, starting to grow excited about them. It was true, her apartment could use a little more life to it, and now she was sure her new plants would do that for her. Harry was wrapping everything for them while he stood behind the counter.

"Oh, here. This one's on the house." Harry handed her a pot with some beautiful blue Azaleas. She took them with a growing blush on her face, a blush that went deeper when their hands brushed with each other. "Try to not kill them though." He teased.

Y/n rolled her eyes as her mom chuckled behind her. "I'll report their aliveness back to you, you'll see."

"You better. Have a nice day, ladies. I'm guessing I'll see you around, Y/n?"

"Sure, I'm uh... I'm living here right now."

Harry smiled at them one last time before they exited the shop. After the door closed behind them, Louise turned to Y/n. "He likes you."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"What do you say if we invite him for dinner sometime?"

"Like, at your house?" She asked surprised.

"Yeah, why not?"

"I have to keep a low profile, mother. For all I know he could be tweeting about I just exited his shop."

"Don't let the paranoia ruin the possibility of forming new friendships... or more." Louise sent her a wink.

"Okay, that's enough."

Y/n brushed her off, trying not to think much about it. A new friendship sounded impossible at this point of her life, let alone pursuing a new relationship with someone. She had made up her mind, she was better off being alone.

[punkrockmads]

Found Family

Abby x F! Reader Mini Series

Song used: The Mother by Brandi Carlile

*...*= Evangeline's Age

Chapter Ten; The Mothers

*TWO MONTHS OLD*

ABBY'S POV

"Abby." I hear someone mumble. I groan, hiding my face in my pillow. "Abby." The voice calls again. As soon as I realize it's Y/N, I look up, blinking the sleep from my eyes.

"Yeah?" I yawn, seeing her holding Evangeline. Evangeline clings to her finger, resting peacefully in her arms.

"Watch." Y/N says. She sits beside me on the bed, a mischievous smile on her face. She takes her finger out of Evangeline's hand and Evangeline immediately starts crying. Y/N lets Evangeline take her finger again and she calms down instantly. I chuckle, watching as Y/N takes her finger away and gives it back once more. "She likes my fingers just as much as her Momma." Y/N snorts.

"Jesus christ." I scoff, laughing. "That's awful."

"You love me." Y/N grins. I sit up, shuffling over to sit behind her. I pull her body against mine, my legs resting on either side of her as I wrap my arms around her torso.

"I do." I mumble, kissing her neck. She sighs as my lips brush against that one special spot. "How long has it been since we-"

"Too long." Y/N cuts me off with a chuckle. "I'm touch-starved."

"Aww, my poor baby." I hum, kissing behind her ear. "I bet you're missing my fingers just as much as I miss yours, huh?" Y/N tenses, nudging me away with her elbow. "You miss the way I make you moan?"

"Little ears listening, Momma." Y/N warns with a smile. I feel a very familiar warmth in my gut at the sound of her calling me 'Momma'. I'll have to tuck that away for the next time we get the chance to pleasure each other. "Finally, she's asleep." Y/N sighs, pulling me out of my thoughts. "Can you take her so I can make lunch please?"

"Yeah, of course!" I nod, taking Evangeline in my arms. As soon as Y/N pulls her finger out of Evangeline's grasp, I quickly replace it with mine, feeling Evangeline latch on. Her tiny fist can just barely fit around my finger. I feel so much pride as I look at her. She looks so much like Y/N. I didn't think I'd ever feel a love like this, but... thanks to Y/N and Evangeline, Lev and I have an even bigger family, one full of love. "My little Evie." I whisper, kissing my baby's forehead. She scrunches up her nose and sticks her tongue out before relaxing again, sleeping peacefully in my arms. She's so little. So so tiny. "Wait..." I pause. "Lunch? How long did I sleep?"

"It's noon, honey." Y/N chuckles, kissing my cheek as she gets up. I follow her out of the room.

"Why didn't you wake me?" I ask, wondering how much she had to do on her own while I was asleep.

"You were exhausted." Y/N says. She stops in front of me once we get downstairs. "It's okay. I wanted you to sleep in for once." She smiles.

"Thank you, sweet girl." I sigh, kissing the top of her head.

"You can thank me by changing Evie's diaper." Y/N says with a laugh.

"Fiiiine." I groan. "You're lucky I love you."

"I am very lucky." Y/N says, walking into the kitchen. "And I love you too!" She calls as I walk into the living room. I look around for Evangeline's little backpack. Kayla found a really cute Hello Kitty kids' backpack and Y/N stuffed it with things like diapers, bottles, pacifiers, anything Evangeline might need that we can grab quickly.

"Hey, babe!" I wipe a bit of drool off of Evangeline's lip with my pinky as she stares up at me with big sparkly eyes. "Where's Evie's backpack?"

"Um..." Y/N pauses, the sound of clinking plates coming from the kitchen. "It's by the TV stand!" I spot it almost immediately, picking it up and carrying it and Evangeline over to the couch.

"Got it!" I let her know. I lay a baby blanket on the couch, setting Evangeline down carefully. She begins to whimper. "Shh. It's okay, honey." Evangeline starts sniffling, I can tell she's about to cry. "Oh, I know, baby. You just wanna be held, huh?" Evangeline kicks her feet, starting to get fussy. "Momma's gonna hold you in just a bit, baby." After five minutes of trying to wrestle a diaper onto my squirming bean child, I finally get her changed. As I go to set Evangeline's bag back by the TV stand, I trip on the foot of the coffee table, landing on the floor with a loud thud and prompting Evangeline to start wailing at the scary sound. I hear glass shatter as Y/N runs into the living room.

"Abby?!" She looks panicked, quickly picking up Evangeline and kneeling by my side as I sit up. "Holy shit, are you okay?" Evangeline continues to cry in Y/N's arms.

"Yeah." I groan. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just tripped." Y/N puts a hand on my shoulder, rocking Evangeline.

"Jesus." Y/N sighs, hiding an amused grin. Despite her efforts, she can't hold back a laugh. I smile, starting to laugh with her. "I dropped a fucking plate." We laugh harder at our clumsiness. "Oh, my little Evie." Y/N kisses her cheek, trying to get her to stop crying. She just cries louder, starting to make a little pouty face.

"I think it's this goober's lunch time, too." I chuckle. Y/N nods, fixing Evangeline's flower patterned jumper. "Want me to bring you something to eat?"

"Please." Y/N nods, already unclipping her bra underneath her shirt. "Everything's already made. And can you-" She pauses as I help her take her left arm out of her sleeve, maneuvering Evangeline so she can eat. "That. Thank you." She chuckles.

"Hey." I mumble, making her look up at me. "You're incredible." I smile. Y/N rolls her eyes, grabbing the collar of my shirt and pulling me into a kiss. I can't help but let out a low growl from deep in my throat, making her smile into the kiss, her teeth meeting mine. She pulls away, leaving me breathless as she stares at me with a knowing smile. The things she does to me. "Oh." I grab the pillow from the wooden chair in the corner, leaning it against the arm of the couch. "Here. This should be more comfy for you." I say, helping her reposition herself so her legs lay flat across the couch and her back rests against the pillow.

"God, I love you." Y/N sighs as I kiss the side of her neck. Her stomach grumbles, making me smile against her skin.

"Your affection will have to wait." I chuckle, putting a hand on Evangeline's back. "Mommy's gotta eat too." I tell her. Y/N hums, no doubt thinking the same thing I did earlier. I squeeze Y/N's shoulder before heading into the kitchen to finish preparing lunch. As I scoop fruit salad into bowls, I hear Y/N start singing to Evangeline. I pause, letting myself listen to my wife's beautiful voice.

'Welcome to the end of being

Alone inside your mind

You're tethered to another

And you're worried all the time

You always knew the melody

But you never heard it rhyme

She's fair and she is quiet, Lord

She doesn't look like me'

I smile a bit at the irony of that line. Evangeline looks so much like Y/N already.

'She made me love the morning

She's a holiday at sea

The New York streets are as busy

As they always used to be

But I am the mother of Evangeline'

[maxineswritingcenter]

You Saved Me - Derek Hale x fem!reader part 25

-----------

2005

It was the semi-finales for girl’s lacrosse. Miraculously, I was made captain as a freshman. Which meant, for some reason, people were offended and thought that I should be picked on more. Fact of the matter is that lacrosse is a game of strategy. Together; with the help of my teammates, we would play to win. Being captain wasn’t a choice, Finstock made me captain and the role was a big shoe to fill. But here we are, semi-finales.

As we made our way out to the play, I looked at the stands. Mom, Dad, Uncle Noah, Stiles, Scott on one end. Laura and Derek on the other side. 

There were fifteen minutes left in the game, the score was tied. We needed to make one more goal to win and get to the finales. For this next play, I was face to face with the other team captain, waiting for the pearl to be thrown. 

“You don’t deserve to be captain.” The girl glared, her eyes looked like they wanted to melt through my helmet and into my brain. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You heard me. I worked my ass off for four years to be captain. What makes you so special?” 

I blinked at her, a little confused as to where this hostility was coming from, “I’m just playing a game.” 

“A real captain knows the lacrosse is more than a game.” She smirked, “When we win this, I’m getting a scholarship to So Cal, so why don’t you just do what freshman do best and lose.” On one hand I felt bad for her. She probably had parents that pushed and pushed for her to be the best. And I also felt bad because I knew we were gonna win.

The ref blew the whistle starting play. And everything was going according to plan. That was until I was passed the pearl. I ran with it, tossing it to another player. Meaning that it was completely unnecessary for me to be tackled and would be considered aggressive. But that didn’t stop the other captain from using her entire body to slam me into the ground. One minute I was standing and the next I had was on the ground. My chest felt tight, like I was straining to breathe. When I opened my eyes, I saw her face over mine, smirking down at me. 

“HEY!” I heard Finstock’s booming voice, “Ref! Aren’t you gonna call that?!” No whistle, either the ref hadn’t seen it or he was allowing it. But Derek wasn’t allowing it. I heard multiple shouts and then watched the player who stood above me get shoved away, Derek replaced her. He knelt down, placing a hand on my shoulder. 

“Derek, what are you doing?” I groaned. 

“Can you get up?” He asked, trying to help me sit up. I hissed at the movement. 

Derek turned back to the bench, “Get a medic!” And only then did the whistle blow. The girl had given plenty of excuses, but they still gave her team a three minute penalty that made them lose the game. Looks like I had been right. 

I was taken to the hospital and diagnosed with a concussion but I would be fine just in time for the finales. The whole time in the waiting room, in the room itself, and even when we got home, Derek had been right beside me, holding my hand.

- 

I had grown to hate hospitals and everything about them since the last time I had been to one I had been stabbed. The gowns with the open backs that were way too open to the public. That smell that was a cross between cleaner and the latex and rubber of gloves. The beds that were as hard as a rock and were covered in paper that would crinkle and make noise even if you weren't moving. That apprehensiveness that would build up in your stomach every time you heard footsteps coming down the hallway.

Thankfully, I didn't have to go through any of that. Since I was a pregnant werewolf, going to the hospital in Beacon Hills was a definite no-no, so the next best option is Dr. Deaton, a veterinarian and a makeshift supernatural doctor. Not to mention a full blown druid in this day and age. But from what I've learned in the past couple years, old magic was very much alive. 

I was sitting on the metal table used for the animals, swinging my legs back and forth, waiting for Deaton to come back from getting my medical records emailed to him by Melissa. He could have gotten them himself, he just figured it would be less illegal if he got them from a nurse. 

Thoughts were racing through my head for no rhyme or reason. Since I became a werewolf, every scar or scratch on my body had become only a memory. My stab wound, the acid burns on my legs, the cuts on my face from being tortured all those months ago which really felt more like a lifetime. It had been a different life, a life fabricated through magic and spells. A life that almost didn't feel like mine anymore.

"Sorry, for the wait, (Y/N)." Deaton walked into the room, his eyes scanning over the stack of papers in his hands.

"You're alright, Doc." I smiled, leaning back on my hands, "So how am I looking?"

“Very pregnant.”

"Nothing gets past you, huh?” I smirked. To be fair, I was approaching the three and a half month mark. Deaton smiled, taking my vitals and a vial of blood. 

“So I’ve been made aware that Mr. Hale is the father.” He said, pressing a cotton ball to my skin after removing the needle, “How's that going?"

“About as well as you can imagine.” 

“So not at all?” He asked. I nodded, shrugging my shoulders. 

"Everything looks normal," He smiled as he wrote everything down on his clipboard, "Just need to get a look at the little guy." He looked up, "You said it was a boy, right?" He asked, moving over to get the sonographer that I’m sure had never been used on a human before.

“Unless the baby’s sprouting a third arm. That'd be cool." I smiled, “But yeah, that’s what the ultrasound tech in Scotland said.”

He chuckled and shook his head, "Alright, lay back and lift your shirt up." I laid back on the table, lifting my shirt up. The jelly he put on my stomach was cold and reminded me of the goo that had encased Jackson when he was a lizard person. He moved the sensor over my stomach and looked into the monitor. Ultrasounds were usually a little hard to see anyway, just like a fancy warschak paintings. And the fetus? Kinda like a funky jellybean.

“There we are.” He grinned, “Little werewolf.”

Craning my neck, I looked up at him, "You can tell he's a werewolf?"

"No.” He took the monitor off, handing me a paper towel so I could wipe off my stomach, “But odds are since his parents are both werewolves, it would make sense that the child would be also. However, you had the dormant gene, maybe your child will too." He turned off the sonographer.

“Have any names picked out?”

"I have a few... I liked Jacob, which Derek hated because it was too ‘Twilight’. Then there's one other but I don't know about it." The name that Derek loved more than anything for some reason, "Nicholas." And damn was it good. 

"What about Nicholas Jacob? Just use both of them." 

"Or I could name him after Stiles" I smirked to myself, "Mieczyslaw Nicholas.”

"Maybe that would be a little too much."

“Stiles is a little too much.” I smiled to myself

-

"So Nicholas?" Sheriff looked at me from across the table, a cup of coffee in his hand. I hummed and nodded, sipping my hot cocoa.

"Nicholas?” He asked again.

"Mieczyslaw?" I raised my eyebrows at him.

He raised his eyebrows, "It was his mother's father's name." 

“I remember Grandpa Mitch, trust me." I smiled, holding my mug in both hands, “I was thinking maybe Nicholas Noah.” I avoided looking in his eyes. Emotional talks were never really his strong suit, especially after Aunt Claudia. I wanted to honor him somehow.

He smiled, blinking a few times, “Sounds pretty good to me.” After a moment he asked: "What are you going to do now?"

I finished my drink and stood up to put it in the sink, "My plan, right now at least, is that I'm going to stay here to have the baby... Then...” I washed out the mug, “Then I'm not sure. I don't know if I want to go back to Scotland or stay here." He stood up as well and pulled me into his arms for a tight hug. I wrapped my arms around him, blinking my own tears away. 

Uncle Noah stroked my hair and kissed the top of my head, "Whatever your decision, I'll be there for you. Whenever you need me. I'll always, always be there for you." 

-

My pajamas had taken a turn for the worst. No more t-shirts and shorts, it’s moo moos and nightgowns from now on. I pulled my night gown over my head, smoothing out the skirt. Did I look like I had raided a grandmother’s closet? Absolutely. I looked down at my stomach, rubbing my hand over my bump.

"Are you a little alien?" I smiled after a moment, listening deeply to his little heartbeat, “Nice.” I glanced over at my desk, then pulled back my blankets to get into bed. I stopped, my head snapping back towards the window where there were red eyes staring back at me. 

 Now, if this was two years ago I would be losing my mind over the fact that there were red eyes staring at me. But since I've gone through emotional Hell, I was feeling rather annoyed by some alpha that just thought they could mosey around my house, around my window, and around my goddamn personal space. I stalked over to the window and slammed it open. 

"Listen, pal, you have about five seconds to get out my yard or I swear by all that is damnable, I will put you through so much pain that your great-grandchildren will be sore."

The eyes came closer, revealing a familiar crooked jaw, "Nice to see you too." 

"You could have just come through the front door, ya know? If Stiles can make a spare key to your house, then he can make you one for his." Scott only looked at me seriously. It was like the kid from three months ago was gone and all there was left was a battle hardened man. 

"Can I please come in?" I stepped away from the window, watching him crawl inside and stand up.

"I've been great, Scott, I've only been in Scotland for months, crying and wondering why none of my friends or family were contacting me. How have you been?" Was it petty? Absolutely, but the hormones were raging. Even if Derek told everyone to stop talking to me, what hold did he have over anyone when Scott was around?

"I'm sorry about that, I really am. But I came to-"

I cut him off, after finally connecting, "Who did you kill?"

“What?”

"To become an alpha, who did you take it from?" 

"I didn't kill anyone!” He said in an exasperated voice, “Why does everyone ask that? Not killing people has been my thing since Peter bit me." He ran his hand through his shorter hair, it suit him.

It then dawned on me. The one thing that had little to no documentation of. Even the Lunar Circle had just the basics. It was the stuff of legend, a hear say. I didn't think it was possible. 

"A true alpha." He stared at me for a second and blinked a couple times.

"You're a true alpha." I grinned, "Oh my god, Scott, this is unbelievable." I grabbed his shoulders and gave them a slight squeeze, "Tell me everything. I wanna know how it happened and what situation you were in. How were you feeling? Were you hurt? Was your body under so much stress that it just happened?”

Scott grabbed my hands and placed them by my sides, "(Y/N), maybe another time I came here for a reason."

"Oh, right, of course." Probably looking ridiculous, “What’s on your mind?”  

"I really don't think it's safe for you here." 

"Here we go agai-" 

"Will you just listen to me before you start whining?" He growled. That certainly shut me up. I raised my eyebrows at him, but I guess I should hear him out. I motioned for him to continue.

"I'm not so much worried about you.” He said, “I know you can take care of yourself. I'm worried about..." He paused, "Uh..." 

“Nicholas.”

"Yeah, I'm worried about Nicholas." He sat in my computer chair and leaned forward, "The pack we're facing don't care who they kill or why, all they want is to hurt us. You're my friend, (Y/N). I don't want anything to happen to you. And I don't want anything to happen to your kid. Please." He rolled forward and took my hands in his, "Please, go back to Scotland. I promise you, you won't be in the dark. You don't deserve to be left out. I'll call myself, and if not me, Stiles will. It's not safe for you.” I looked down, gnawing on my lip. Scott was right, he was completely right. It wasn't safe. I couldn't be a tough alpha when I had so much to live for. Keeping this kid safe is my top priority. As much as I wanted to stay home, it wasn’t safe.

"You'll tell me when it's safe to come back?" 

"You have my word." 

I sighed, looking up at him with a half-smile, "I may be stubborn as hell, but that doesn't mean I can't admit when someone's right. And you're right, Scott. I'll go." 

He closed his eyes, like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He dropped my hands and rolled back, "I'm so glad you agreed with my first speech, if you hadn't I would have been improvising for my life." He chuckled.

Shaking my head, I grinned at him, “It’s good to see you again.” 

“It’s good to see you too.”

- 

"So you're going back?" Uncle Noah looked over his coffee with tired eyes, spying my luggage that had only been unpacked for two days. It was a new day and another plane ride.

"It's not safe for me. It's not safe for any of you." I rested my head on his shoulder, "But I know that will never stop you from helping the ones you care about." 

A small smile pulled at his lips, "You're way too good at reading me." 

"Well, I've only known you my whole life." 

He set down his coffee and hugged me tight, like this was the last time he would see me. I know he was worried about me and Stiles, it was in his nature. This was the best option for me. As much as I wanted to stay and fight. I couldn't fight if my child was kidnapped and hell knows what would happen to him. 

Giving him one last squeeze, I pulled away, the honking outside meant that Stiles had pulled in and was ready to drop me off at the airport. 

"I'll call you when I land. Or text you. Depends on the time." I kissed his cheek, "Bye Uncle Noah." 

“Goodbye, sweetheart. Stay safe." I kissed his cheek. My head held high, I grabbed my bag and my rolling luggage and went out the door. Stiles grabbed my bags, opening the back of Roscoe to throw my luggage in. That was until a familiar black Camero pulled into the driveway, blocking Stiles in. 

"God. Dammit." I muttered to myself. My life was just going swell, wasn't it? I looked down at my stomach and sighed. I felt the burn of acid reflux in my throat, my child showing obvious discomfort as well. Me too, little man. Me too. 

There was no way around it, I couldn’t leave without talking with him. Not that I should have to begin with. I sucked. 

Derek got out of the car, coming around quickly and standing in front of me. 

“Derek, I don’t think you should be here.” Stiles stepped forward. Very sweet, but realistically Stiles wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing against Derek. They stared each other down, the air just filled with masculinity.

“Stiles...” I said, grabbing my bags, “If he wants to take me to the airport, let him.” 

Stiles eyes widened, “You’re really giving him the time of day? Really?” 

Sighing, I pulled Stiles into my arms and hugged him tightly. He hesitated, but hugged me back. 

“I know that this seems like a bad idea, and most of my ideas are bad, but I got this. Trust me.” I smiled and kissed his cheek, “I love you.” He pulled away, looking between Derek and I. 

“I love you too. Scott and I will let you know when it’s safe to come back.”

“You better.” I turned back to Derek, trying to keep up the attitude I had to keep Stiles at ease. I held out my bags. He took them without a word and we both started the trip to the airport. It was hard to get a read on him at the moment. He emotions were dull, nothing that stood out. He still looked as tense as ever. His brows were knitted together and his piercing green eyes looked hard. 

“So...” He said after a while, “What are you going to do about...” He trailed off. 

“Him?” I looked down at my stomach, “I’m just preparing and getting ready for him. I picked a name too. Nicholas.” 

A small smile pulled at his lips, but he hid it, “Hmm.” 

“Derek....” Now or never, “I just need to know why?” 

He inhaled deeply, “I wish I could tell you. I don’t even remember it happening. Like I was under a spell and I couldn’t break out of it.” So he had experienced what I had when I was under Matt’s control. In this situation, in Beacon Hills, there was no reason not to believe him. His heart told me it was true. 

“I’m sorry that I hit you.” 

“I don’t blame you.” He glanced over at me, “If I felt the same thing you did, I would probably lose control too.” 

“I’m tired of people taking advantage of you. If I see that bitch-” I hadn’t realized that my eyes had turned red. 

“(Y/N)...” He reached over his right hand, placing it on my knee, “Calm down.” I took a deep breath and leaned back against the seat, closing my eyes. Just the simplest touch could calm me down and it was something that I missed. 

“Nicholas, huh? I like it.”

Happiness welled up in my chest, “I sure hope so since you picked it.” 

“I didn’t think you liked it.” 

I sat back up and opened my eyes, “What are you talking about? I’ve always liked that name.”

“Riiiiight.” 

By the time the conversation ended, we were at the airport. I reached for the handle to open the door when he reached over to stop me. 

“I let you leave alone last time, I’m walking you in."

We got inside and checked in, the only thing left was for me to board. Maybe it was a good thing that he didn't take me to the airport last time, because now that he was here, I didn't want to leave him.

"How selfish would it be for me to ask you to drop your life here and come with me?" I leaned on his arm.

"Very. Trust me, the thought crossed my mind. I'm needed here. I have to be here for Cora."

I smiled slightly, "We're gonna get through this. Soon we'll be together again and we can have that big happy family that you deserve. That we deserve."

Derek sighed, resting his head on top of mine, "Is it cliche to hope that this all ends tomorrow?" 

My smile faltered, "Don't believe in miracles, Derek."

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

Read part 26 here!

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[guessimate]

I’m starting this post with the traits I randomized for the Carbonneau family. This is the last family whose head is going off to war, so they are not getting a ROS this time.

Eustacia got randomized into: Born Saleswoman, Gatherer, Hopeless Romantic, Great Kisser, and Heavy Sleeper.

Cyprian got randomized into: Handy, Good, and Clumsy Vegetarian that’s Never Nude.

Aubrey got randomized into: Clumsy, Eccentric, with Green Thumb.

Cecilia got randomized into: Neat, Brooding, Star Quality.

I’m guessing she likes it that her mother wears fancy clothes and she’s going to take this over somehow. I just added random traits to her, no inheriting, because she’s not really related to the Carbonneaus by blood, as her biological parents are some random townies. I guess she also doesn’t mind cleaning the house for her family and she might feel like she’s a bit below them.

In terms of personality:

Eustacia is a Gemini, 7 active, 5 outgoing/playful, 4 neat/nice.

Cyprian is a Taurus, 6 playful/outgoing, 5 neat/active, 3 grouchy.

Even though Cecilia is not related to her adopted parents, it turned out she was a Taurus, like Cyprian. She’s max outgoing, 8 playful, 6 neat, 4 grouchy, 1 lazy.

Aubrey definitely doesn’t suffer from the firstborn syndrome. He’s a Libra, max outgoing/playful, 8 nice, 1 sloppy/lazy. His one true hobby is Nature.

~*~

Aubrey learnt all of the toddler skills and the nursery rhyme by the time his adopted sister aged up into a toddler. Thanks to that Eustacia was able to give her attention to her adopted daughter, as well.

Since Cyprian is a Vegetarian, I guess that means no more fish on the table in the house when papa’s home... I know there is a mod that disables certain food for vegetarians, but I think it would only disable it for Cyprian and the master of the house is not cooking. His wife might, although they should get a servant, but there really aren’t enough sims for that now. I also just have a feeling Cyprian’s going to eat a lot of desserts because of the vegetarian trait, which is… questionable for an army man.

For now Eustacia’s been feeding him spaghetti, since that normally requires tomatoes in TS3, I believe, and that’s the only vegetarian food she can make with her limited cooking skill. I’m just ignoring the fact that this spaghetti might have some meat in it and I’m pretending it’s a vegan version. Also, Hortensia Gardiner came over to pay the Carbonneaus a visit. I took it to mean she wanted to sell them her tomatoes as soon as she found out Cyprian was into veggies. That was wise of her. I guess it worked out in Eustacia’s favour that she had some lower class friends that could provide her with harvestables.

~*~

On Saturday the priest came over of his own accord, as well. I took it to mean he came to christen the kids. Sadly, the heir had already become a child by then. I think he aged up on Friday night. But it’s not like only babies and toddlers can be baptized. Even though Aubrey is 2 days older than Cecilia, they went to school for the 1st time on the same day (Monday), which is quite realistic, in my view. Now that I’m thinking about it though, shouldn’t only boys go to school and girls – be homeschooled…? Oh well, whatever. We have so few kids for now it’s fine.

~*~

Cyprian rolled some romantic wants towards his wife and he did want to go on a date last minute before he would go off to war, so... I feel like almost my entire ‘hood is pregnant now. Got to make sure your wife is with a child before you go off to war, am I right?

Cyprian also wanted to become fit, which is cute, because his wife likes fit guys and her one true hobby happens to be sports. A lot of my town’s ladies seem to be suffering from the same problem – they like their husbands, but their husbands are only neutral towards them, in terms of chemistry, eh...

~*~

They had 20,725 in the bank left over from the last round. I got them a manuscript you can write with instead of using a computer [but my experiment failed, Eustacia still couldn’t get paid for writing, so it must be something else that messes it up for me]. They also got a crib for Cecilia. They bought a chess table, because Cyprian’s one true hobby’s Games. They got the invisible training dummy [perfect for Eustacia, because her one true hobby is Sports] and the wooden sword for duels, since Cyprian is an army man. I think it’s enough of prestige items for promotions for now. I also got Cyprian the job stopinator, when he got to level 6 of Military career (I think it cost 1$ so I’m just ignoring that).

So after the initial shopping they started with 19,320$. And they ended up with 24,709$, so their income was 5389$. They need to pay:

539$ [rounded down to 500$] – tax.

3000$ – rent.

= 3500$ – to the Royal Wallet. There is 58,100$ in the treasury.

500$ tithe – to the priest. The Church has 10,100$.

They should be left with 20,709$. Just a reminder – next round they will be left without the family’s breadwinner, as he’ll be off to war… unless I make Eustacia paint portraits or something, but since they are the richest family in the hood, besides merchants, I don’t think I will. They need Aubrey to become a teenager.

I totally forgot about the treasure tax, but that’s honestly just pocket money for them (only 20% taxed for gentry). I’ll try to remember and pay it next round. They dug up a 200$ tiki idol. I quite like the idea of keeping those treasures as dowries, or part of them.

[karlajoyner]

Stole My heart (Owen Patrick Joyner x Reader)

A/n: Hey guys so there’s this imagine let me know if I should make a part 2? Possibly a smut? I don’t know let me know! Also let me know if I should post these on wattpad too!!!

Warnings: None

————

"Owen seriously if someone catches us I'm gonna kill you"

"No ones gonna catch us. They're filming a scene" He mumbled leaving a trail of kisses down my neck.

"That's what you said last time"

"They didn't catch us" He said pushing my shirt down my shoulder.

"Yeah but they almost did- wait. Are you? Owen" I scolded pushing him away.

"What?" He asked innocently.

"What do you mean what? The makeup department will literally kill me if I show up with another hickey. Then their gonna interrogate me like they did last time since there are limited people I see daily" I groaned.

"They're not gonna kill you y/n. Relax"

"I can't relax. Now that we landed a season 2 the chances of us getting caught are much higher now. Plus my character has such a bigger part now" I spoke pacing back and forth in the dimly lit room. Julie's room set to be exact.

"I know. But you can't let that get to you now. You did amazing the first season and your gonna kill it this season. And if we get caught then oh well"

"Oh well? Oh well. Owen I already told you I don't want anyone to know about us until-"

"Until we're sure it's not gonna effect our worth ethic. I know" He muttered sitting down on the bed. I sighed realizing he was upset. It was never my intention to date my co-star. Let alone fall in love with him. But after spending countless of hours on set and off set with him there was no denying the chemistry. And what to everyone seemed like an amazing friendship was actually something more.

"Hey, I'm sorry. I wish things could be different but-"

"But this is your first big part. I get it" he said moving to sit me on his lap.

"I'll back off. We'll just have to keep sneaking around"

"Owen-"

"No harm. No foul. If this is what I have to do to be with you I'll do it" He said kissing the spot he had previously been sucking on.

"And I'd do it again" He whispered kissing my skin once more.

"And again" Another kiss.

"And again" He spoke finally meeting my lips. The kiss last longer than the ones shared previously. It was much more passionate on both ends. The risk of getting caught high.

"Owen" I giggled as he flipped us over on the bed.

"Yes?" He questioned as his fingers made their way up my shirt.

"Baby" I moaned as his hands cupped my left boob.

"Mmm" He muttered against my lips.

"We've got to get back on set soon. I have a scene with Jer" I panted pulling away.

"Don't do it"

"Owen" I warned.

"Fine" He groaned getting off me.

"But for the record if they did know we were dating I would not give my approval for the stupid kissing scene" He said kicking the ground like a little kid. Referring to the fact that my character became Reggies love interest this season.

"Be careful there babe the jealousy is peeking through. Just be lucky he's married and they cut it down from a whole make out scene" I teased checking myself in the full length mirror.

"Yeah yeah. God the unholy things I would've done to you in that bed" He whispered in my ear as his hands explored my body.

"Don't temp me Joyner" I said a smirk making it's way onto his face.

"I'm here!" I called running onto set.

"Finally! Where were you?" Charlie asked exasperatedly standing beside Kenny who was looking at script at hand.

"We don't have time to interrogate her Charlie we've got to get this scene filmed if we wanna stick to schedule. Y/n next time be on set 5 minutes before"

"Yes Kenny. Sorry I was um was distracted. Lost track of time" I said noticing Owen had walking onto set casually going to talk to Mads and Savannah.

"Okay so this scene your gonna walk in on cue to your mark. Find Luke sitting on the couch playing his guitar. Sentimental talk. Confess your undying love for Reggie. Then Jers gonna come in tell y/c/n he loves her too. But he can't be with her because he had this girlfriend back in 95 who he never officially broke up with. Then he says screw it. You kiss. End scene"

"Oh the kiss. That's this scene?" I asked finding Owen who was deeply in conversation.

"Yeah. Is there a problem?"

"No, no I'm ready" I said not expecting to have to do this in front of my secret boyfriend right now.

I sighed going to stand on my beginning mark. I watched as Charlie did the same.

The lights dimming in the studio to replicate nightfall.

"And action!" Kenny yelled.

I opened the barn like doors walking in slowly.

"Oh Luke. I didn't know you were here sorry I'll go-"

"No. No it's okay. I was just messing around. What's up?"

"I was looking for Reggie"

"Looking for Reggie? Oh he's with Alex and Willie. He should be back soon"

"Then I'll just go. Thanks I guess"

"Wait. Can I play you something?" Charlie questioned taking a hold of my wrist.

"Um sure. Why not?" I asked sitting down next to him. I listened as he began strumming his guitar to a familiar tune. A small smile forming on my lips.

"That was great Luke. Did you write that? Maybe about someone whose name rhymes with Judy" I spoke in a teasing matter.

"No. Actually Reggie wrote it. About someone who name rhymes with yours" He said a blush forming on my face.

"Okay. I get what your saying" I said playfully rolling my eyes.

"Good. I thought I'd have to follow up with home is where my horse is" He said making me giggle.

"How could I possibly tell a ghost who died 25 years ago that I'm completely head over heels for him?"

"Maybe the same way your telling a ghost who died 25 years ago right now" Charlie said jokingly bumping my shoulder.

"Right... I just- I don't want to get rejected by a ghost. It's one thing when they're alive but if the dead doesn't want me I think that's saying something"

"Y/n, Reggies in love with you. He'd be thrilled if you showed any romantic interest in him. At least more than you already do" He teased me once again.

"Thanks Luke. I just hope he doesn't freak out on me like last time"

"Last time?"

"Yeah last time I brought up relationships in a topic he got all weird and left. So I just never did it again"

"Oh. Look y/c/n back in 95 we had a decent following and a ton of girls following after us" A strange look forming on Charlie's face.

"Okayyy" I stretched out the word.

"And Reggie. You know him he uh well he's a fl-" Charlie words were cut off.

On cue Jeremy strolled into the studio set as Charlie and I sat facing each other stiffly.

I stifled a giggle knowing this would later be edited so it'd look like Jer flashed in out of nowhere.

"Y/c/n? Luke?"

"Oh Reggie. Hi" I stood up continuing the scene.

"Hey. What are you doing here? I thought you'd be home"

"I was. Julie invited me over for a bit and I thought I'd say hi before I uh left. I though maybe we could talk for a bit"

"Oh. Okay yeah" He slightly smiled before turning to the brunette beside me.

"And what are you still doing here?" Jeremy asked looking at Charlie.

"Hey, I was just leaving man. She's all yours" Charlie smirked at us before walking off set.

Jer and I paused until his footsteps could no longer be heard before continuing.

"So um what did you want to talk about?"

"Just um stuff" I said standing still in my spot.

"What stuff?" He asked coming to stand in front of me.

"Luke. He played me your song" I said picking up the piece of paper with chicken scratch from the coffe table.

"Lifer Girl?" I finally read the title before looking up into his brown eyes.

"Uh yeah. I'm still working on the name. Did you like it?"

"I loved it. This lifer girl. She's one lucky girl. Do I know her?"

"Of course you do. Your practically the same person" he said a piece of my hair falling to the front of my face. I nervously played with my fingers as he pushed the strand behind my ears.

"Oh. Can you tell me about her?"

"Well she's funny and makes me feel happy when I'm around her. She's really smart and her grades skyrocket compared to what mine use to be. And she's beautiful, drop dead gorgeous" He whispered tilting my head up with his fingers.

For a moment I looked up into his brown eyes wishing. Longing for them to be someone else's. I felt his finger leave my chin before he turned away dramatically.

"I shouldn't"

"Shouldn't?" I asked curiously.

"I can't"

"Can't? Why not?" I questioned once more.

"Y/c/n there's something I need to tell you"

"What is it Reg?"

"Back in 1995 you know before we died. I uh-"

"You what?" I asked urging him to continue.

"I had a girlfriend and well then we died. So we never officially broke up" Jer said.

"Oh" I mumbled backing away from him.

"I get it"

"No wait y/c/-"

"No Reggie it's okay. Your still in love with her. Of course you are. God how could I be so stupid to think that you'd actually love me. Let alone like m-" My eyes widened as I felt him crash his lips into mine completely going off script. Which wasn't uncommon. But it was supposed to be a short kiss. There were lines that were missing.

Slowly I pretended to sink into the kiss. Pulling away after a couple of seconds amongst hearing the word.

"Cut!" Kenny yelled Jeremy finally letting me go.

"That was amazing! Spectacular! Great improve Jer! We're done with this scene!" He called out to us. But all I could focus on was the look plastered on Owens face. He was hurt. But not because of the kiss. But because of the fact that he couldn't do that. Not out in public anyways.

"Yeah great going Jer" I commented to the boy in front of me.

"Thanks y/n. You did great too" He said getting near me.

"But if I were you I'd go talk to your boyfriend before he bursts" He whispered in my ear leaving me wide eyed.

"H-how'd you?"

"Know? Please everyone knows. I mean you guys aren't great at hiding things. There's actually a poll between Kenny and Charlie. Whichever one of you slips up firsts. My bets on Owen" He chuckled.

"Seriously?" I asked.

"Seriously"

“Who was the first one to know"

"Sonya in makeup. The first hickey you showed up with only matched with the timeframe that you and Owen had been together. Clearly not getting lunch like you had said you were"

"That long?" I asked.

"Yup" He spoke popping his p.

"Just don't tell anyone I told you. Carolynn insisted I put you out of your misery"

"Thanks. I think" He smiled at me before walking away.

A grin began to form on my face as I made my way toward the blonde who was leaning against a wall twirling one of his drumsticks in his left hand.

"Hey. Great scene back there" He commented as I now stood in front of him.

"Thanks. You know Jers a good kisser and all but I think your better" I spoke aloud noticing Savannah's and Madison's head whipping towards us.

"What?" He asked making sure he heard right.

"You heard me Joyner" I spoke giggling at his shocked reaction.

"Now shut up and kiss me would you?" He tilted his head to be extra sure. Something I adored about him.

He always wanted to make sure I was certain about these things. I simply nodded feeling his arms wrap around me bringing his lips to meet mine.

I smiled into the kiss as he turned us around pushing me up against the wall. I giggled upon hearing clapping around us from the cast and crew.

"Finally!" I heard Savannah shout.

"Keep it PG kids!" Kenny shouted laughter following.

"You owe me 20 Gillespie!" He yelled again followed by a groan by presumably Charlie. I finally pulled away first leaving Owen in shock.

"I'm gonna need you to come back to reality lover boy" I said rubbing my thumb against his cheek.

"What made you change your mind?" He asked keeping a tight hold on my waist.

"Let's just say you have Carolynn to thank for that. Apparently everyone knew"

"What? How?"

"I guess we weren't as good at keeping a secret as we thought"

"How long?"

"First hickey"

“That long?"

"That's what I said" I laughed as he pressed a kiss to my forehead.

"You two are so cute"

"Thanks Mads" I smiled at the girl.

Finally able to wrap my arms around the boy who had stolen my heart without any warning.

[let-the-dream-begin]

In My Daughter’s Eyes Chapter 22: Can’t Refuse

Chapter 21

Read on AO3

Jamie pulled up in front of the Beauchamp apartment, his heart hammering. For some reason, he was even more nervous than their first date. And for some reason, even though he’d eaten dinner with both Claire and Faith in that very kitchen once before, it still felt brand new and very frightening.

Claire had texted him on Monday afternoon that her shift ended at five on Wednesday, followed by:

So how’d you like to make good on that promise of homemade lasagna?

He got out of the car and wiped his sweaty palms on his cargo shorts, then opened the back seat to retrieve the prepped ingredients that he’d taken care of last night. He’d already browned the beef and onions and portioned out all the cheeses so all they had to do was layer the ingredients and pop it in the oven.

By the time he’d finished with his last client at the stables, got home, and showered the smell of horses off of him, it was already almost six. He jogged up the driveway, bags in hand, and his heart immediately felt lighter to see Faith in the front window, nose pressed against the glass, flapping her hands. Claire pushed aside the curtain and firmly grasped one of her daughter’s hands before opening the front door before Jamie even reached the top step.

“Hallo there, Princess Faith,” Jamie said fondly, his cheeks already sore from smiling. She was humming loudly, on the verge of even yelling.

“Hey, hey…” Claire bent down and hoisted Faith up despite her protestations, holding her close and rubbing her back. “Yes, I know…we are very excited to cook with Jamie…”

They shuffled out of the doorway and Jamie closed the front door, locking it again behind him.

“Shh…easy, baby…”  Claire bounced her gently and stroked her back. “I know, I know…”

She tried launching herself forward toward Jamie, nearly toppling headfirst out of Claire’s arms, and Jamie leapt forward to catch her.

“I got her,” Claire assured. “Hey, hey, it’s okay…I know…”

Her shouting quieted to a constant buzz of hums, and she rocked forward and back in Claire’s arms. “There you go. Good girl.”

“Aye, there ya go, lass. Good job.” Jamie offered a thumbs up, which Faith returned, still rocking.

“Okay, time to wash up. Can’t cook with dirty doggie hands.” Claire scrunched her nose up and leaned close to Faith’s face, and Faith giggled, shaking her curly head.

“Say hello to Angus and then wash your hands as well,” Claire said, putting Faith down. “No dirty doggie hands for you either.”

Jamie chuckled. “Aye, aye, captain.”

He put the bags down in the kitchen then knelt down to scruff up Angus’s neck. He heard Claire’s lilting voice from the bathroom, saying some sing-song little rhyme to help Faith wash her hands, and he sighed with contentment. What a gift it was to be privy to hear something so intimately beautiful that mother and daughter shared.

Claire and Faith emerged from the hallway, Claire holding both of Faith’s hands and waddling awkwardly, and then Jamie noticed that Faith was standing on her feet.

“Can’t have her touching anything,” Claire explained.

“Ye keep her sterile like a surgeon before dinner?”

Claire gave him a look, rolling her eyes. “Go on, Fraser. Sanitize.”

He saluted her before making his way to the bathroom to follow orders. As the water ran over his hands, he heard music coming from the kitchen, followed by little hands clapping. He smiled again, drying his hands, then made his way back to the kitchen. Claire had taken everything out of the bags and created a spread on the table for them to work with, and Faith was sitting dutifully in her chair, rocking back and forth to “Heigh-Ho,” that sweet, absent smile on her face. She was wearing a little yellow apron with bumblebees on it.

“Almost forgot,” Jamie said. “Cooking time is music time.”

“That’s right,” Claire said, taking the phone off the table. Faith moaned, reaching up to take it back. “I’m not turning it off, I’m just moving it. Look. See?” She put the phone on the counter and raised the volume a bit. “See? We need room to cook on the table. Yes?”

Faith leaned heavily on the table to hoist herself onto her knees in her chair.

“Alright. Are we ready?” Claire sat down, and Jamie sat down across from her so that Faith was in between them. Faith slapped the table excitedly. “Quiet hands, Faith. Thank you.”

“Alright,” Jamie said. “Let me show ye, now — oh! Did ye heat the oven?”

“Started when you were washing your hands.”

He nodded curtly. “Bonny.”

He spread a thin layer of sauce in the pan, then dumped the beef and the remaining sauce into a large stirring bowl. He gave Faith the wooden spoon and instructed her to stir.

“Watch, a leannan.” He made big stirring motions with his hands, and Faith began copying him with two hands, causing the bowl to spin.

“Woah!” Claire cried, seizing the bowl before it could spin out of control and create a disaster. Faith squealed at the commotion, but she resumed her task, clumsily trudging the spoon through the bowl.

“Good job, lass. Fine stirring,” Jamie encouraged her. “Let me finish it off, now, so it’s all ready. May I have the spoon?”

Faith yanked the spoon out of the bowl, splashing sauce and beef onto the table and Jamie’s shirt, which was thankfully black, him having anticipated a possible mess. Claire, to her credit, was wearing black shorts, but a lavender t-shirt. The adults laughed off the little mess, and Jamie took over stirring, getting it evenly mixed.

Next, they began layering. Jamie would put in the liquid ingredients while Claire counted out loud with Faith, one through five lasagna noodles, and then they placed them inside. They repeated this until the ingredients were depleted and the dish was full.

“And look at that! All ready fer the oven!” Jamie said.

“Yay!” Claire said, waving her hands in applause. “Good job, little chef.”

Faith jiggled her hands as well, and then looked back at Jamie to be sure he was applauding her as well, and he was, of course.

“Alright, lovie, sit with Mummy while Jamie opens the oven.” Claire pulled Faith into her lap and held on tight, nodding to Jamie when she was secure. He popped the dish in and set the microwave timer for an hour. Claire tried to take Faith’s apron off, but she groaned in annoyance, and pawed Claire’s hands away.

“Suppose she’s no’ done being a chef until it’s cooked, aye?” Jamie smirked, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter.

“I suppose not,” Claire said, releasing Faith to scramble off her lap. She pattered over to the counter where Claire had put her phone down and picked it up again, wanting to hear the music more clearly. The song changed and Faith hummed excitedly. From the French in the opening lines, Jamie deduced that “Be Our Guest” was about to play.

“Ah! They're making dinner in this song, aye? Like you, wee Faith,” he said.

Faith put the phone back on the table and threw her hands up, then proceeded to skip around the kitchen in time with the music, flapping her hands all the while.

“Sings and dances?” Jamie said, sidestepping her path to make his way back to the table.

“Hm. Yeah.”

Jamie sat down in Faith’s seat, closer to Claire, and he gingerly reached out for her hand. She looked up at him, and then they both leaned in for a brief, sweet kiss.

“Hi,” Claire said, stroking his stubbled chin.

“Hi,” he returned, tucking a curl back that had slipped loose from her ponytail.

Claire opened her mouth to say something else, but before she could, two little hands slapped one of each of their knees. Faith looked up at Claire expectantly, and then Claire turned to look sheepishly at Jamie.

“She wants me to dance with her.”

Jamie’s grin widened. “Then who am I to stop ye?”

Claire blushed and got out of her chair, taking Faith’s hands in hers. The grand finale of the song was nearing, and Faith kept insisting on being twirled. Jamie noticed that she was entranced by the way her apron swished about when she twirled. The song ended, and Jamie applauded from his seat.

“Bonny dancers, both of ye,” he said. Faith gave a dramatic, silly little curtsy, holding the edges of her apron.

A familiar drum riff came from the phone, and Faith began jumping up and down.

“Oh no…” Claire said, blushing at Jamie again.

“What?”

“I only have myself to blame for always getting so into it…but she expects a full performance of this one whenever it comes on. Every time.”

Jamie tossed his head back in a barking laugh, and Faith continued tugging on Claire’s hands. Claire did not look ready to give a full performance; she looked like she wanted to melt into the floor.

Well, James, looks like there’s only one choice.

He jumped to his feet with a flourish, and jumped in with the singer:

“Let’s get down to business to defeat the Huns!”

He watched as Claire’s jaw fell slack and Faith whipped around, abandoning all hope for Claire’s performance and focusing on Jamie’s instead. They’d discussed Jamie’s lack of pitch before, so it was no surprise to him that Claire was soon doubled over in her chair, tears of laughter leaking out of her eyes. It sounded just fine to him, and to Faith as well, he supposed. Though he wasn’t sure if Faith laughed her head off when Claire sang.

By the end of the song, Faith was tugging on his hands, insisting he dance with her. And Claire was still howling with laughter.

Those three-and-a-half minutes would burn themselves into Jamie’s permanent memory, never to be forgotten or replaced.

“Alright, alright,” Jamie said at the end, trying to stop Claire from fully falling over. “I’ll stop before ye die of secondhand embarrassment.”

“I’m sorry! It’s just…” she wheezed, wiping her eyes again. “I had no idea you knew all the words…”

“Jen’s favorite movie. Warrior woman and all that,” he explained. “Plus Mam was a big Donny fan.”

She shook her head, finally calming herself down. “Well, you did splendidly.”

“Aye, sure I did.”

But he was apparently not done yet.

The entire rest of the hour the lasagna was baking, Faith did not let Jamie sit down. He didn’t know the words to every song, especially not the newer ones, but he didn’t do too poorly if he said so himself. The bairn seemed happy enough.

At some point in the proceedings, Faith took the phone in her hands and scrolled through the songs on the playlist, the corner of her tongue sticking out between pursed lips. Jamie waited patiently to see what she wanted to play next. She usually let the music play in whatever order shuffle chose, but sometimes she wanted to repeat a particular favorite. A gentle, lilting intro began, and Faith gave Claire the phone instead of putting it on the counter. Jamie was able to place the song when the lyrics began discussing the hundred-acre wood, and Faith approached him with eager hands.

“D’ye want to dance?”

Before he could even begin swaying her arms, she started yanking on his hands, pulling him out of the kitchen. Jamie looked up to Claire for an explanation, and she was already standing up, a knowing smile on her face.

“She wants to show you something.”

Jamie allowed her to lead them both through the living room and into Faith’s room. She let go of his hands when she opened the door, and she scampered right over to the giant yellow bear that was exactly where Jamie had left it on Saturday night, right next to her bed. She giggled as she threw her arms around it’s neck, barely having to crouch in order to do so.

Something had changed, though: it was now wearing a red shirt.

Jamie felt a lopsided grin melt into his features, and he turned around to see Claire holding up the phone as the Winnie the Pooh theme song continued.

“It was the first thing she did when she woke up to see it there,” she said. “I took a picture to send you, but I figured she’d want to show you, and you’d rather be surprised.”

“Would ye look at that,” Jamie said, walking over to Faith and her bear and crouching down beside them. “It would appear I didna bring home any ordinary bear from the carnival. It was Pooh Bear all along, aye?” Jamie poked his squishy tummy, and Faith giggled.

“I didn’t even think of that when I told you to ask for the yellow one,” Claire said, joining them by sitting on Faith’s bed. “She woke up, freaked out to see it, and then ran right to her dresser to pull out one of her red shirts. She turned it inside out so you can’t see the print, because then it wouldn’t be plain red like Pooh’s. She made me cut the tag off the back, too.”

“Ye’re a clever lass, a leannan.” He signed smart. “Smart girl, Faith.”

Faith swayed with her giant Pooh Bear, and then took Claire’s phone back from her again to restart the song.

“What does that mean?” Claire asked.

“Leannan?” Jamie said, sitting back on the floor and leaning on the bed. “Means my darling, sweetheart. That sort of thing.”

He felt fingers thread through his hair, and eagerly leaned into her touch.

“That’s…very sweet, Jamie.”

He took one of her hands and kissed it, holding it against his cheek as she continued to play with his hair.

“You said it at her birthday,” Claire said thoughtfully. “And a little before that, too.”

“Aye, well…she was my little darling long before I had the guts to tell ye.”

He heard her shifting behind him, and then she was on the ground beside him, nuzzling into him and kissing his cheek.

“I am one lucky lass,” she said softly. “And so is Faith.”

For the rest of the baking time, Faith gradually lost interest in dancing, and she began puttering around her room. She pulled out toys to hand to Jamie and Claire, she sat at her little table and colored, she sat cross-legged on the floor with one of her little toys that lit up and made sounds, this one in the shape of a guitar, playing the same sound over and over before switching to the next. When the timer went off, she was out of her room like a shot, leaving Jamie and Claire to scramble after her lest she try and open the oven, Claire crying “wait for Mummy!” after her.

By the time they got there, the timer had stopped, and Jamie had to hide his grin to see that Faith had dragged over a chair to reach the microwave to stop the timer herself.

“No climbing, Faith!” Claire scolded. “Get down at once, and put the chair back.”

Faith obeyed with clomping feet.

“If you want to push the buttons, you ask Mummy or Jamie for help. Do you understand?”

Claire put on a timer for a few seconds just so it would go off again. “Come here,” she said, picking up Faith and holding her up to the microwave. “See? Mummy can lift you, no climbing. Press the button. There. Good girl.” She walked a safe distance away from the oven. “Jamie is going to take the lasagna out of the oven now. Almost time for dinner, lovie.”

Jamie set it to cool on a hot plate, and then enlisted Faith’s help to set the table while Claire prepared the scooper and water for Angus’s dinner. By the time all of that was settled, and Faith fed Angus, Claire was cutting up the lasagna.

“I can already tell you it smells better than the microwave one,” she said over her shoulder.

“Aye. That it does, Sassenach.”

“You’re going to have her spoiled,” Claire said, putting Faith’s plate in front of her. “She’ll never eat my microwave cooking again.”

“Och, would be a shame if I’d have to come over just to cook fer the lass every night.” Claire paused to raise a brow at him, and he smirked and winked. She rolled her eyes with a giggle as she returned to the counter to serve Jamie, and then herself.

The meal was quite delicious, if Jamie did say so himself. He’d always been a moderately good cook; at least he was always satisfied with what he made, living alone and all. But to see Claire enjoying it so thoroughly, and Faith devouring it without a thought, was satisfying beyond words.

Faith’s dessert of choice hadn’t been Oreos as Jamie had thought it would be. The last time he was here had been during the winter, so it would only make sense that now Faith would request ice cream regularly.

“I hope you like chocolate,” Claire said, retrieving the tub from the freezer. “It’s the only flavor she’ll touch.”

“Of course I like chocolate,” Jamie said with feigned offense that she would even need to ask such a question.

“Just making sure! Here lovie, sit down.” Faith took the bowl and spoon handed to her and got back into her chair. Claire sat down with her own bowl and handed Jamie his. Claire took the longest to eat, being that she constantly had to stop to wipe Faith’s mouth or the table from her dripping. Claire had to raise her voice to stop Faith from digging through her movies without washing her hands clean of sticky ice cream, and then eventually had to hold her hands still under the running water in the kitchen while the lass squirmed and moaned in protest.

Claire sighed as Faith finally escaped the kitchen, clean as she was going to get. Jamie chuckled as he stood to help her clean up. Claire bent to retrieve a container to give Jamie some lasagna to take home, but he waved her off.

“Keep it all, Sassenach. Save ye some trouble later.”

She tried to protest, but Jamie wasn’t having it. She relented and put the entire covered dish in the fridge.

“Did you mean it? You’d come over to cook again? Not every night, I mean,” she added quickly. “I just mean…well…I’m a terrible cook. And Faith had fun tonight.”

“Ye can say it, Sassenach. Ye like my cooking.” He crossed his arms, leaning against the counter with a smirk.

“Well! Yes! It was very good!”

“And ye can say that ye enjoy a home cooked meal. Since ye never get to have such a thing.”

“Well…yes…I suppose.”

“And I can say that I enjoy cooking for ye, lass.” He pushed himself off the counter and crossed to the fridge to take her in his arms. “Does my heart good to give ye something nice after a long day. I ken ye dinna get that much.”

Claire hummed sweetly, then kissed him lightly. “You’re too good to me.”

“Ye deserve it, mo nighean donn.”

Before Jamie could kiss her back, the pitter-patter of Faith’s bare feet reentered the kitchen. They separated just a bit, but remained in each other’s embrace. Faith patted Claire’s thigh and reached up with a DVD box in hand.

“Ah! Tangled, tonight!” Claire held the box up to show Jamie. “Have you seen this one?”

“I havena actually,” Jamie said. “It came out before Jenny had any of her bairns, and I dinna exactly know any other wee lasses or laddies.”

“Ah, I see,” Claire said. “Well, you’ll love it. I know I do; it’s very funny. It came out the year Faith was born. Right, darling?”

In response, Faith tugged on her hands, and the adults followed her into the living room. It was familiar for Jamie, sitting in this living room in the fading light with the tellie flashing. Faith was wedged between he and Claire, just like last time; Claire held onto his hand the whole movie, just like last time; they laughed and swayed together, and Faith hummed the melody of the songs, just like last time. The scene in the tavern had Jamie wiping his eyes from tears of laughter, and the rousing love duet in the boat had his heart swelling and his hand squeezing Claire’s, bringing it to his lips and kissing it behind Faith’s head.

Christ, am I glad we see the light.

The ending had him tearing up again, even though he knew Eugene couldn't really be dead. He still cried every time he watched Beauty and the Beast, even knowing that the Beast would be fine soon, so of course this movie couldn't be any different. He could feel Claire’s eyes on him, inwardly chuckling at him in this emotional state. When the movie ended, Faith jumped up to dance to the ending-credits-music, and Claire scooted into Jamie, sitting on her hip with her legs curled next to her.

“Alright there, Soldier?” she asked, kissing his cheek. “Relieved that everything turned out alright?”

“Och, leave me be.” He lightly swatted her arse, but then tenderly kissed the top of her head. “Ye were right, I enjoyed it. Dare I say I like it better than Frozen.”

Claire pushed herself off of him and looked at him, gravely serious. “That is a heavy statement in this home.”

He laughed. “Oh, aye, dinna tell Faith I said so.”

Upon hearing her name, Faith momentarily paused her dancing to look at them. Jamie laughed sheepishly and waved at her, and she waved back, blissfully unaware, before resuming her dancing. Jamie and Claire shared another loud laugh that ended with their lips together.

After the music ended, Faith ejected the DVD and put it away. She scrambled onto the couch to plant herself in Claire’s lap, wedging her little body between the adults. They both chuckled, and Claire squeezed her daughter, kissing her head.

“You like watching movies with Jamie, don’t you?” she said. “Was that fun? Yes?”

Faith was smiling absently as Claire rocked her, playing with Jamie’s fingers in her small hands.

“You…don’t have to leave, you know,” Claire said hesitantly. “You can hang around while we get through bedtime routine, and then I can join you right back on the couch for another movie. I’ve got drinks, too. If you want.”

Faith began rhythmically patting the back of Jamie’s hand, and he felt warmth spreading from head to toe.

“Aye. That sounds great, Sassenach.”

Her nervousness melted away, and she broke into a wide grin. “Okay. Just wait here while I get her settled. Should only be twenty minutes.” Jamie nodded. “Faithie, say goodnight to Jamie. It’s time for bed. Say goodnight.”

Faith patted his cheek and then slid off of Claire’s lap, tugging on her hand.

“Goodnight, Faith. Sweet dreams,” Jamie said, and the lass waved over her shoulder as she pulled Claire into the bathroom.

He stretched out on the couch, contentment filling him to the brim as he listened to Claire coax Faith into swallowing her medicine, then talk through their teeth brushing routine.

“Open wide, Faith. Let me get the back— I said open…”

“Now rinse and spit, lovie. Rinse and spit. Good girl.”

It was so domestic, so normal. And yet it was music to his ears.

He heard them shuffle from the bathroom to Faith’s bedroom, and Claire called Angus. He shot up off the floor where Jamie had been occasionally reaching down to pet him, and he trotted into Faith’s room. A few minutes later, Claire returned to the living room and leaned over the back of the couch.

“Alright. She’s not asleep just yet, but she will be soon. She sleeps much better now that we have Angus.”

“Glad to hear it,” Jamie said. “What’s this about drinks, then?”

“Come on.” She grabbed his hands and he hoisted off the couch, following her into the kitchen. “Faith can’t reach this, not even with a chair,” she said, indicating the cabinet above the microwave. Claire reached up on her toes to stretch into the cabinet, sighing triumphantly when she emerged with the bottle.

“This is what we call big-girl-juice,” she said, smiling crookedly, waving the bottle around. “Though you don’t seem like a red-wine kind of lad.”

“I’ll drink whatever ye give me, Sassenach.”

“Good. Because I also have…” She stretched back up, and the bottom of her shirt inched up, exposing the smooth expanse of her back. He could focus on nothing else until he heard her sigh, and the shirt slid back into place. His eyes flicked back to her beaming face, slightly flushed with exertion.

“This!” she finished, holding up a bottle of whisky.

“Ye didna trouble yerself to get that fer me,” he said, though he couldn’t help but smile.

“No trouble at all. I just had a feeling when I was out buying the wine, so I grabbed this, too. Mostly for you, but I drink it too.”

He chuckled, closing the space between them and kissing her softly, cupping her waist with one hand. He laughed again, breathing it into her mouth.

“What?” she said coyly, peering up at him through her lashes.

“Jest imagining what ye’ll taste like after a drink,” he mused, snaking both arms around her waist. “Fruity, sweet, tangy, the crisp alcohol taste, of course.” He gave her a small peck. “Sticky, perhaps?” He flicked his tongue briefly over her bottom lip, and she squealed, swatting at his shoulder.

“Oh, enough,” she giggled, squirming out of his grasp. “I need to get us some glasses, unless you prefer to drink out of the bottle.”

“D’ye take me fer a heathen?” he said, aghast.

“What? I’ve had plenty a wine-night with Gi where we just pass the bottle back and forth. Glasses can be overrated.”

“Good whisky should be savored, treated wi’ respect.”

She shot him a look from the cabinet as she pulled out the glasses. “You’re serious?”

“Aye, I am.” He nodded.

She sputtered with laughter again as she put the glasses on the counter. “You really are a Scot.”

“Ye doubted me, then?” He arched an eyebrow, coming up behind her as she uncorked the wine bottle, snaking his arms under hers and clasping his hands over her stomach, bending to rest his chin on her shoulder.

“Of course not,” she said with a laugh. “You’d have to be one hell of an actor to fake a dialect that authentic.”

“Ye say that as if I couldna be a hell of an actor.” He pressed a kiss to her jawline, and she gave him the most attractive side-eye he’d ever seen.

“I’m sorry, darling, but I’d have to say you couldn’t.” She turned her head and closed her eyes, pursing her lips adorably, waiting for him to kiss her. And who was he to deny her? He obliged, kissing her slowly and sweetly, his heart straining as he felt her smile against his lips.

“I can always see right through you,” she finished, a devilish glint in her eye. He went to kiss her again, but she turned her head, and his lips landed on her temple instead. She giggled, and the sound made his stomach flip. She took the uncorked wine bottle in one hand and her glass in the other, and Jamie grinned. He unwound his arms from around her waist, circling around her shoulders instead, then closed his hands around hers.

“Allow me, Milady.” She slid her hands away, resting them on the countertop as he poured the deep red liquid, keeping his lips buried in her curls all the while. Wine glass full, he moved to the whisky bottle, opening it and pouring his own glass, keeping her pressed against him. She innocently wiggled against him, just a bit, and his hands jerked, causing a small splash of whisky to land on the counter.

He didn’t think she realized, not at first anyway. But now, there was no way she didn’t.

He was hard as rock with her bonny round arse wedged right against him.

——

Claire immediately felt liquid heat rushing to her stomach as soon as she felt it. She felt paralyzed, completely unaware of what she should do.

Her mind immediately went to the incident in the car, how she’d almost ruined the entire evening. She could tell easily enough that he was not the type of guy to put out on the first date, and she’d been painfully ashamed when she’d pushed that boundary too far and crossed a line.

Did this even count as a second date? They’d just finished watching a princess movie with her five year old daughter, who was now asleep right off the living room.

His whisky was poured, and he managed to close the bottle with surprising ease given the state she knew he was in. She knew she should just ignore it, not embarrass him further…but God, the urge to rub her arse up and down over it, just to hear him groan, maybe even grab her hips…

Thank God she didn’t have any more time to contemplate that, as he left her side to grab a paper towel to clean the little spill.

“Sorry ’bout that,” he said, quickly swiping at the counter.

“Oh, it’s fine. You’ve no idea how many spills these counters have seen.” She forced a small laugh, and he chuckled as well. After tossing the paper towel in the bin, he returned to pick up his glass, and he smirked down at her.

“Slaínte,” he said, clinking his glass into hers.

“Cheers.”

They took a small sip, and then Claire snatched her wine bottle off the counter and made her way out of the kitchen. She looked over her shoulder to catch him staring at her arse, and she blushed from head to toe. He cleared his throat before grabbing the rest of the whisky and following after her.

Claire put her glass and the bottle on the coffee table before plopping down on the couch with a contented sigh. “So, what’ll it be tonight, then?”

“I figured I’d let you choose,” Jamie said, sitting down beside her. “Since it’s your home and all. If ye’re ever at my place, we’ll pick my favorite princess.”

Claire guffawed and swatted at his arm. “We are not watching another princess movie, thank you very much.”

“A right shame,” Jamie said, smirking behind his glass.

Claire rolled her eyes, flicking on the tellie with the remote. “I’m terrible at making decisions. What are you in the mood for?”

She couldn’t stop herself from flicking her eyes downward to his lap.

Well…I know what he’s in the mood for.

“Ye have Hulu?” Jamie said excitedly. “I’ve only got Netflix and I’ve seen just about everything on there. Though I wouldna mind watching something again if ye havena seen it.”

“No, that’s okay. Peruse Hulu all you want.” She opened the application and handed him the remote, taking another sip of her wine.

Jamie scrolled for a while through various titles that either one or both of them had seen. He stopped, though, tensing with excitement.

“Ah! I haven’t seen this one in ages,” he laughed. He was stopped on The Godfather. “A classic.”

Claire cringed a bit. “How many brownie points do I lose if I tell you I’ve never seen it…?”

“Never seen The Godfather?” Jamie was aghast. “It’s a cinematic masterpiece, Sassenach!”

“Well, I’m sorry! If I’d known you were such a serious film critic I’d have brushed up on the classics!”

“Ye ken we have to watch it now, don’t ye?” He raised a brow at her, remote poised to hit play.

“Go ahead! I’d love to finally know what all the fuss is about.”

“Fuss!” he said haughtily, hitting play and putting the remote on the coffee table. “It’s certainly worth the high praise. The first one at least. The rest leave much to be desired.”

“How many are there?”

“Three. I willna subject ye to the rest.”

“Well, what if I want to be subjected to it?” She scooted a bit closer to him, leaning against his shoulder. “Needing to watch sequels is an excellent excuse to see somebody again.”

“Ye need excuses, then?” He was feigning shock and offense, but Claire could hear the soft, endearing undertones as the trumpet theme began, the lone chair occupying the screen.

“Hm. Perhaps.” She snuggled in tighter, and he draped his arm around her, then she placed a kiss on his pectoral.

He made one of those Scottish noises of his, but he kissed the top of her head and rubbed his hand up and down her arm.

“Much easier to cuddle without a child sitting between us,” Claire remarked with a smile, and Jamie chuckled softly.

“Aye, that it is. Though having the bairn between us is special for its own reason.”

That warmed Claire from head to toe.

The wedding sequence began, and the both of them began steadily intaking their respective drinks. Claire remarked that she’d love to go to an Italian wedding, and then Jamie held her at arms length to quirk his brow at her.

“No’ one filled wi’ mobsters, I should hope?”

“Not all Italians are mobsters, you bloody Scot!” She swatted at him again, but was laughing heartily. “I know quite a few Italians — ”

“Aye, we’re on Long Island — ”

“And none of them are in the Mafia.”

“Never seen a Scottish wedding, then?”

“No, I actually haven’t.”

“I think it could rival this. And no mobsters necessary.”

“Oh, stop that!”

They fell into more laughter and more drink, and they were both already refilling their glasses before Marlon Brando even stepped on the scene. When the scene inside began, Jamie leaned forward excitedly, and Claire almost teased that he looked like Faith watching Frozen. When the Godfather himself said his iconic line, Jamie felt compelled to repeat it:

“I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse,” he garbled, and Claire immediately doubled over in howling hysterics.

“That’s horrible!” Claire wheezed.

“Och, come on, now!” he said, his face bright red. “Da always said I got it spot on!”

That sent her howling again, and before long she was laying with her head in his lap, tears of laughter leaking out of her eyes.

“Your father has never lived outside of Scotland has he?”

“Well…no…”

“Oh, God…” She wiped her eyes, and then looked up at him from his lap. “Do it again! Please?”

“After the brutal treatment I just received? No chance.” He pointedly looked away from her, staring at the tellie. “You’re missing important stuff, ye ken.”

“Oh, come on…” Claire sat up, getting on her knees on the cushion. “I’m sorry, darling…I take it all back.”

He took a sip of his whisky, his face remaining stoic aside from a small twitch of his brow.

“Jamie…” Claire whined, putting her chin on his shoulder and pouting her lips right against his jaw. “I’m sorry for teasing…You make a smolderingly handsome mobster.”

She kissed his cheek, and he looked at her from the corner of his eye. “Do I?”

“Mhm.” She kissed his cheek again and threaded her arms around his neck. “With a silly voice.”

Before she could even blink, Jamie ducked his head and seized her around the waist, pulling her off of him and pinning her into the cushions. She squealed loudly, and he put a finger over her lips.

“Dinna wake the bairn, lass.”

She glowered up at him, feeling a blush creep all the way down her chest, more heat gathering in the pit of her stomach. Before she could do anything about it, he was leaning down himself to press their lips together, and Claire sighed contentedly, enjoying the feeling of being pressed into the couch cushion far too much. He pulled away by dragging his teeth against her bottom lip, causing another squeak. He then sat straight up and turned his attention back to the screen, taking another sip of whisky.

“You bloody tease…” Claire sat up, shaking her head and downing the rest of her wine.

“You started it.”

She snorted. “Who’s the bairn now, hm?”

“Mm…I like hearing ye say Scots words.”

“Do you?” She batted her lashes at him as she poured more wine.

“Aye…in yer silly Sassenach voice.” He flashed her a wicked side eye, and despite herself, her stomach flipped.

“What other Scot words do you want to hear, hm?” She inched closer on her knees.

“I’m trying to watch the movie.”

As usual, she could see right through him; could see how he was flushed red down to his chest, how his brow was sweating, and how the bulge in his pants had gotten all the larger.

“Mm…” She put her wine glass down, and then plucked his whisky out of his hands as well. “I’m…enjoying it so far.”

He quirked a brow at her. “The movie?”

She licked her lips and moved in closer. “Sure.”

She had no idea what was prompting her to be so bold — probably the wine. Had she not just finished telling herself that she’d crossed a boundary on their last date, and that it would be wrong to even come close to doing so again?

But then Jamie exhaled loudly, and she could swear it was a growl.

And she completely lost her senses.

She resumed her former position, arms around his neck and face buried in his shoulder, and began kissing his neck and jaw, humming softly as she did. He growled again, much more obvious this time, then captured her face with his hands and kissed her, hard. She groaned immediately at the contact, plunging her tongue between his lips right away.

“Christ…” Jamie breathed out, before plunging his tongue in her mouth as well. They remained in this position for a while, Claire on her knees and Jamie awkwardly twisting his torso to reach her properly, until Jamie’s hands wandered lower and lower to try and find that arse that she knew he was admiring earlier.

Well, she knew of one position for him to hold it easier.

She pushed his shoulders back and straddled him on her knees, and Jamie groaned again when he could finally properly squeeze that soft flesh that he so desperately needed in his hands.

“You like that, don’t you?” Claire teased, running her own hands up and down the rippling muscles of his chest.

“Christ, Sassenach…” he gasped against her mouth. “Ye’ve the roundest arse I’ve ever seen.”

Just those words had her moaning again, and she sealed her lips to his once more as he squeezed and pressed and released. He occasionally ran his hands up her back, grasped her shoulders from behind, even tugged on her hair, but they always found their way back to her arse. The more he pressed on it, the more he was pressing her heat into his rock solid erection.

She didn’t mean to start rocking against him. She really didn’t. But then his lips latched onto that spot on her neck, just as his cock pressed right where she needed it. And she couldn’t help it.

She cried out and started moving, and he sighed with what she could only perceive as relief.

It’s different this time. We’re not in the car, it’s not the first date.

“Fuck…” she groaned, gritting her teeth as his hands moved from her soft flesh to the sides of her hips so he could help control the pace.

He wants this.

She ground down harder, undulating her hips erratically, their mouths clashing messily. Jamie muttered something unintelligible, perhaps in Gaelic, and he arched up into her, pushing and pulling her hips at a faster pace.

His hands suddenly left her hips and she cried out as they gripped both of her breasts just as firmly as they’d been gripping her arse. She braced her hands on the back of the couch behind his head, throwing her own head back as Jamie pushed her breasts together and apart, buried his face in them, dipped his tongue between them.

“God, Jamie…I’m going to come like this…”

The question was…did she want to?

His hands moved back to her hips, and she threw her arms around his neck, locking their lips together again.

It would be so easy…just a little faster, a few small circles of her hips…

But she could have him. He seemed eager enough. And God…did she want him.

It’s different. We’re not in the car. My bedroom is right there.

“Will you…” Claire panted, unable to stop herself from kissing him again before finishing her sentence. “Do you want to…”

She cut herself off again, inhaling sharply through her nose as their tongues clashed, her teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

“Claire…” he groaned out, and the sound of her name coming out of him like that was enough to send her hips pumping harder. His grip on her hips tightened almost painfully, and she moaned loudly into his mouth.

“Claire,” he said again, and she suddenly couldn’t move her hips anymore. He was holding her…stopping her.

Oh.

Breathless, Claire stopped fighting against his grip and tried to focus her bleary vision on his face. Her hands slid from his neck to rest on his shoulders, and she wet her swollen lips nervously.

“I’m sorry,” Jamie stammered, his face red and hot. “I should've stopped ye sooner…I’m…It’s no’ that I dinna want to. Please dinna think that.”

Her word processing was admittedly quite slow at the moment — arousal and now confusion closing her mind — so it took her a while to actually register what he was saying.

“It’s jest that…” He went on before her fevered brain could catch up, and she could feel her heartbeat in her throat.

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Jamie,” Claire said quickly, feeling his discomfort, and wanting to bury herself alive yet again. She chuckled uncomfortably, then awkwardly slid off his lap, sitting beside him. She could not help but feel some sort of loss at no longer having him pressed against her.

“It’s…been a while. Since I’ve felt…this way,” Claire continued, avoiding his eyes. “I just got…excited.”

“Dinna be sorry fer it,” Jamie said, taking her chin in his fingers and forcing her to look at him. “Please. Don’t.” As if to prove to her that he was alright, he closed the small distance to kiss her sweetly. “Have I upset ye, Sassenach?”

“No, no, Jamie.” She took his hands in hers. “It’s alright.”

They spent a few seconds in uncomfortable silence, shoulder to shoulder, fingers laced together, both of their eyes fixed on the colorful images on the television that were largely going ignored.

“I, uh. Haven’t. Since Frank,” Claire said, finally breaking the silence. “So it’s been a while for me.”

She cringed even as she said it, feeling like a teenager and an old maid all at once. A divorcee at twenty-seven, randy as a sixteen year old and yet starved for attention as an old widow. The man beside her was a young bachelor, handsome as all hell, and childless to boot. She cringed even harder to think of all the women he’d had while she was crying herself to sleep after cutting her ex-husband out of yet another photograph, an ex-husband that hadn’t even touched her for years before they finally cut the cord.

She heard Jamie swallow, and she tensed, anticipating hearing that he’d gotten some just last month.

“I…haven’t.”

Her brow furrowed. It had been a while for him, too? Had he really not seen anyone in the time they’d met? Were his feelings that strong all along?

“Ever.”

Claire felt like she’d been smacked in the face.

“You…you’re…” She looked up at him for the first time in several minutes.

“A virgin. Aye.” He was redder in the face than he’d been when she was straddling him.

Claire must have looked as gobsmacked as she felt, because he actually laughed.

“Does that surprise ye, Sassenach?”

“Well…it’s not that there’s anything wrong with it…” she stammered, studying the lines of his face, feeling his arm muscle against her, only one word echoing in her mind:

How?

“You’re just…” She exhaled, flustered. “You’re…you’re a young man…” She had to give a conscious effort to not say out loud that he was a fucking Adonis.

“And quite…attractive.”

He laughed again, blushing deeply.

“Think so?” He smirked at her.

She chuckled nervously. “Well, of course, but I don’t think I’m biased…what I mean is…it can't just be me.” She ran her thumb back and forth over his knuckles, almost subconsciously.

“I ken yer meaning, Sassenach,” he said sheepishly. “There were lasses with…interest, I suppose. But I ne’er felt right doing it unless she was my girlfriend. Didna matter what the lass thought, I jest couldna get past thinking I’d be dishonoring her. Jest the way I am.”

His face was impossibly more red than it had been before, and it made Claire’s heart feel strained. She could tell that he was embarrassed, that he felt like he should have some sort of explanation for why he was the way that he was.

“I think that’s very sweet, Jamie,” Claire assured him, threading her fingers in his curls and caressing his head.

“Ye dinna find me any less manly?” He was teasing, but she heard the underlying insecurity, his need to be reassured.

“Of course not,” Claire said, kissing him gently, massaging his scalp. “It’s part of what makes you you. And I quite like you. Very much.”

“And thank Heaven fer that,” he chuckled, giving her another light peck.

“So you…” Claire thought perhaps she should put a cork in it, but she was too curious, too eager to know what made him tick. “You didn't want to outside of a relationship. So you’ve never…”

“I’ve had girlfriends, Sassenach, if that’s what ye’re getting at,” he said casually. “I would wait until it felt right, and either we didn’t last that long, or it never felt right. That’s all.”

Claire nodded in understanding. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Dinna thank me. I’m only telling ye to spare my pride,” he joked. “Had to let ye know there was a reason, lest ye think I was some sort of prude.”

“Well, I do know that isn’t true, at least,” she teased, tracing her finger down the length of his arm and onto his hip bone. “But even if you were, I wouldn’t judge you at all. Though I can’t say I’m not glad.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her, a glint of something she couldn’t name in his eye. “Couldna keep chaste around me, Sassenach?”

“I could, if you really felt strongly about it. It would just be…” She bit her lip, feeling herself blushing again. “Very difficult.”

“Aye, I ken what ye mean.” He tightened his grip on her, pulling her into his side. She nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck, then rested her head on his shoulder. “Ye’re irresistible, mo ghraidh.”

That sent an electric shiver through Claire from head to toe.

“So, ye see, it’s no’ that I dinna want ye, Claire. Because I do. I verra…” She felt his throat muscles swallowing against the crown of her head. “I verra much do. And it’s no’ even that it doesna feel right. You…this feels more right than anything ever has.”

It was Claire’s turn to swallow thickly, anxiety clawing at her throat as he pressed a fervent kiss to the crown of her head.

He is so sure.

“I jest…I want it to be right, is all. I want tae honor ye the way ye deserve."

"Suppose my frantic clawing at you on the couch doesn't exactly create the perfect moment."

"It's alright, Claire," he insisted again, squeezing her shoulder. "I did...enjoy that."

She smirked against his neck, pressing a dangerous kiss there. "I could tell."

He made one of his Scottish noises, decidedly an amused one.

"I agree," Claire said. "That we should wait, I mean. I didn't realize...about you. And I think I need to, as well. For different reasons."

She'd been so wanton, so desperate to be physically closer to him, so frantic to forgo words and use her mouth to claim him rather than to open up to him, that she'd nearly ruined their first time. His first time, ever.

"I tend to..." Claire began, feeling the need to explain herself. "Avoid words, sometimes...a lot. I'm not as eloquent as you are. My body knows what to do when my brain doesn't. And that's not always a good thing.”

He gave her shoulder another squeeze, then began soothingly rubbing her upper arm. “Thank ye fer telling me that, Sassenach.”

Claire supposed that her body was ready for his, but her mind could not fully process how deeply everything ran, while Jamie had his mind more than made up about her, but he was not yet ready to give her that final piece of him.

They’d have to meet in the middle somehow.

“I trust you, Jamie.” Claire peered up at him and stroked his stubbled jawline. “It’s myself that I don’t trust quite yet. I’m trying.”

“I ken, mo ghraidh.” He kissed her head again. “It’s alright.”

“Can you…be patient with me?” She lifted her head off his shoulder so she could look into his eyes, keeping her one hand on his chin and the other on his shoulder.

Jamie smiled warmly, tenderly pushing some hair away from her face. “Of course.”

They shared a lingering, passionate kiss, and by the end, Jamie had pulled her into his lap, both legs draped over him, feet tucked between the cushion and the arm of the couch. They shimmied around a bit so they were both comfortable, Jamie nestled into the cushion and the arm, Claire’s legs curled up, and her arms draped around his neck. Heads resting together, they actually turned their attention to the television and restarted the movie they’d been ignoring.

“Is this alright?” Claire whispered, afraid of stirring something up again by sitting — however innocently — in his lap.

His massive hand moved soothingly up and down the expanse of her back.

“Aye, Sassenach. I like ye in my lap jest fine.”

[twoidiotwriters1]

Just one chance (Diego Hargreeves x Fem! Reader)

A/N: I'm really excited because a lot of people liked Diego's previous one-shot so ... here's another one. it has nothing to do with the other, I hope you like it, thank you soooo much for reading. <3 - Val

And btw, Thank you very much for the 300 followers, REQUESTS ARE OPEN ONCE AGAIN !!   Check the post we made for the celebration.

Words: 3,035

Diego walks through the corridors of the house. He sighs, taking courage, and knocks on the door. When it opens, his sister Vanya is at the other side.

“Hey, Diego,” She says with a smile.

"I need your help, it’s urgent," He answers nervously. She frowns and lets him walk into her room.

"What's up?" Diego sits on the bed and plays with his hands. "I've never seen you so nervous…”

"Nervous? Me? Please,” He scoffs.

"What? You’re in trouble?" Vanya stands in front of him and crosses her arms.

"Something like that," he finally says.

Vanya knows what her brother does at night. Using his skill with knives and the arduous training everyone had in their childhood, Diego takes it upon himself to aid helpless people.

"Do you need me to call the police?"

"No, not that kind of problem,” he says wiping his hands on his pants.

“Okay, I don't mean to sound rude, but you're not giving useful information. So maybe you better ask someone else for help?”

"No!" Vanya startles, pulling away a bit. "Shit, I'm sorry– I didn't want to scare you, just that- uh, I-" He growls. “You're the only one who can help me, Vanya.”

The relationship she has with her brothers is somewhat complicated. With Diego, she’s sure that she’s not Diego's first choice when he needs help, so this is confusing.

"What's going on?" She sits next to him on the bed.

"I'm not good at these things,” He answers through gritted teeth. "But I’m desperate, this’ll be my last try,” Vanya raises her eyebrows. “I have problems with... girls?"

Both of them are silent for a few seconds.

"Since when? How come only I can help you?"

"Oh come on, you're the only one with a stable relationship!”

She can't help a little smile.

"Sissy is not my girlfriend.”

"But you haven't ruined it yet, you're the one that has lasted the longest out of all.”

Maybe that's true.

"And Allison? She’s still with Raymond.”

Diego makes a face and scratches the back of his neck.

"She wouldn't help me for this.”

“Why?" Vanya now understands the big problem. “Oh… Are you sure you want to try?"

"You already regret wanting to help me?"

“No, it's just that- well… are we talking about Y/N? Allison's best friend?” She asks.

They met Y/N when they were twelve years old and since then she and Allison have been inseparable, actually, they all like her and over time she’s gained the trust of the Hargreeves.

"But doesn't she hate you?"

Diego nods, feeling hopeless. It’s true that for his last -perhaps only- opportunity, he needs Vanya's help and her attitude is not helping at all, or at least that’s what he thinks.

Vanya grins and Diego looks at her in disbelief.

"I'm not laughing at you, idiot,” She smiles. "I thought you’d already given up with her.”

"I guess I can still attempt something, but this is my last try,” He says.

From the moment Diego saw Y/N, he thought she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen in his life, but every time he tried to talk to her the girl would walk away or try to avoid him, so the only solution a 12-year-old could think of was to tease her; from pulling her hair, making fun, throwing knives at her -without hurting her- and as they grew older insults were added. In a way, Diego's plan worked, Y/N noticed him more, but it was only to yell at him. All this caused Diego's feelings for her to grow faster. He explained it to Vanya and she laughed again.

“So, all those bruises, yelling and insults were because you like her?” She says.

"Hey, I was just a kid!” He defends. "Now's different and I really want to do things right."

His sister is surprised, this is not a game, Diego’s asking her for help to conquer a girl and Vanya thinks it can work.

"I just want to add, I always believed you’d be a good couple.”

Diego's eyes light up.

“You'll help me?"

“That's right, brother. But you have to follow my lead…”

"I promise. Thank you, Sis! " he hugs Vanya very tightly making her squeal.

Later the doorbell rings, Allison's voice sounds soon after.

"Oh, that's right,” says Vanya with a smile, looking at her brother. “Y/N'll have dinner with us.”

Diego's breath hitches and his muscles tense.

"Oh.”

"First lesson, Diego."

***

After a few hours, they are whispering in the main hall, Diego’s about to panic as Vanya tries to reassure him.

"What am I supposed to do?"

"First, breathe,” she says. “It’s only dinner, relax. You can start with compliments, maybe of what she’s wearing, things like that.”

"Ok, ok, I can do that,” answers Diego.

“Well, let's go.”

Vanya takes his hand and they both enter the dining room, the other members are already waiting. Luther is the first, and on his left side are Allison, Y/N and then Ben, opposite to Luther is Klaus, then Five. Vanya tells Diego to sit across from Y/N and she sits at the end of the table.

Diego feels his legs shaking when he sees the girl for whom he’s trying his best not to scream. She’s laughing at something Allison said, the boy can't help but smile when he sees her happy. He sits down and waits patiently for dinner.

For a few minutes he only allows himself to admire her without saying anything, everything that Vanya said to him disappeared and he can't help but think how great it’d be the reason why she laughs, to take her hand under the table, whisper in her ear and kiss her cheek…

But his fantasies are interrupted by Vanya, who clears her throat to get their attention. While Luther helps his mother serve food, the others talk different things.

"It's good to see you again, Y/N,” says Vanya looking at the girl and she smiles at her.

“Same here, Vanya. How’s Sissy?"

"She’s fine, actually, we've thought about going to see a movie, any recommendations?"

Vanya could remember that Allison's best friend wanted to see a movie, and she had no one to go see it with, because none of her friends liked it, but she knew a certain man that would be willing to go without problems. The girl's eyes lit up, but then she grimaced.

"Oh yeah, they released a good one, but I'm not sure you’ll like it.”

"Are you still crying about it?" Says Five entering the conversation. Y/N looks at him offended.

"Shut up, I thought you’d be my salvation, but I only suffered from your betrayal!”

"That rhymed!" Klaus claps and Five rolls his eyes.

“None of your siblings want to go, but if you do, can I go with you? I don't mind being third wheeling…”

That's Diego's chance, but he doesn't say anything, so Vanya lightly kicks his leg.

"I could go with you!”

Everyone at the table looks at him in surprise and Vanya just wants to hit him again. Apparently yelling wasn’t part of Diego's plan. Y/N raises both eyebrows and huffs.

“Yes, right. I don't want you to be throwing popcorn at me during the whole movie, Diego. And surely you’d be talking all the time,” She rolls her eyes and Diego lowers his head. He knows the reason why she thinks that. It wouldn't be the first time that a movie went wrong because of their arguments.

Ben could notice how uncomfortable his brother is, so he decides to change the subject and now everyone forgets what happened. Vanya leans over to talk to Diego.

"What the hell was that?"

"I don't know, your help was useless!”

“You have to slow down, Diego. Baby steps, come on, give her a compliment!”

"Yes, okay,” He says nodding and they both turn to her.

Diego takes the time to think through his next move. Everyone has finished eating. When Diego leaves the dishes in the kitchen, he returns to the table and sees Y/N alone, perhaps waiting for her friend, so he approaches a little and notices her outfit.

He clears his throat to get her attention and smiles, hiding all the anxiety he feels.

"Hey, that blouse suits you very well, it matches your eyes,” While Diego expects a positive response, he receives the opposite.

"If that's your way to check out my breasts, let me tell you it's a pathetic attempt.”

Diego straightens up.

"No, no, no, no, n-o is not what I- uh, I didn't mean to," He stutters and behind him comes a laugh.

"My pathetic brother,” says Allison reaching her friend's side. Y/N huffs and they both leave the house.

Diego is startled when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

"Ok, that went wrong,” says Vanya. "Maybe you can offer to take her home?" She tries.

 “She'll probably think I'm going to kidnap her," he says with a grimace.

***

The next day Diego and Vanya talk for hours about all the possibilities in which his comments can go. After last night, Diego can't take any risks.

"Hey, it's not my fault that your favorite hobby was teasing her."

"I know! I know I was an idiot, but I didn't think this was going to happen,” He says.

"Now we can only hope for a miracle."

Diego complains again and hides his face with a pillow.

"Vanya, have you seen my skirt?" Klaus says entering the room. "Trouble in paradise, Dieguito?"

Diego restrains himself from throwing a knife at his brother.

"No, Klaus, I haven't seen it, are you going out?"

"Oui, mademoiselle. Y/N and Allison invited me to a party- Oh! There it is…”

Klaus grabs the skirt from the floor and leaves the room and as soon as the door closes, Diego sits on the bed and takes off his pillow. Both siblings share a hopeful look.

***

“Now, tell me how the hell am I going to be able to talk to her if she's with an idiot,” says Diego speaking louder so that Vanya could hear him above the music.

"As soon as she’s alone, you must go at it,” she answers.

These days have been stressful for the boy, he cannot believe his bad luck and he’s not used to this. Normally he has no problems with girls, he’s dated and even had a serious relationship with Patch, why is it so difficult with Y/N?

Hours pass and it comes to the moment when Diego is left alone on the balcony of the host's house, cursing every happy couple that passes by, and snorting every time he sees Klaus with a different drink. But everything changes when he hears a voice complaining near the balcony.

The boy walks away from the railing and toward the doors, only to find Y/N yelling at the boy she was with earlier. Diego doesn’t know what is happening, but he can get an idea of ​​how it will end, especially when he sees that the boy takes Y/N by the neck and forces her to kiss him. Anger runs through the boy's body and he's about to go and hit the jerk, but halfway he stops totally shocked.

Y/N steps away from the idiot and punches him hard on his nose, causing him to fall to the ground and scream covering his face with his hand. Everyone around him reaches out to help and see what happens. The girl takes advantage of the opportunity, runs out of the scene, straight to the balcony passing Diego without noticing him.

The boy follows her, he can see that she’s holding her wrist and complaining, so he runs around the house and gets a bag with ice as if they were chasing him, he returns just as fast.

“Hey,” He catches her attention and she looks up with teary eyes.

"Diego, please, not now," She says in a tired voice.

"I brought you ice, for your hand,” He says quickly.

She looks at him and nods raising her injured hand. Diego gently takes it and puts the ice on it. He tries to ignore the chill that runs through his body at feeling her soft hand.

"Does it hurt too much?" he asks trying to distract her.

"I've never hit someone before," She says with a grimace. Diego smiles sideways, he can't help but be proud.

"Maybe I could teach you one day, I'm an expert in punching and receiving every day…” He says without much thought and she laughs slightly.

"I've only seen you fight with your brothers, but something tells me that you are not lying," She adds with amusement.

"It was a great blow, surely he deserved it.”

"Some people don't know what ‘No’ means" She sighs.

"I think it’s clear to him now.”

"I didn't know you liked parties," She replies, looking at him.

"Today I had a good reason to like them,” He shrugs.

"A girl?" When he nods she laughs again. "I think it's the longest conversation we've had without insulting each other…”

Diego laughs too.

"In my defense, I've tried to have a civil conversation with you for a couple of days, but you weren't helping much,” She frowns.

"I know you well, Diego. You always try to make fun of me.”

His smile disappears.

“I don't want to do it anymore, Y/N,” His serious face confuses her.

"What are you talking about?"

Before Diego could answer, Allison reaches his side and checks on her friend, pushing her brother away. Y/N assures her that she's fine, mentioning Diego's help, but Allison doesn't care.

"I'm glad but– uh, we have a problem.”

"I'm not in the mood to have another one,” complains the girl.

“Ray’s car just broke and we have to go with some friend of his, I have to take Klaus before we lose him and Vanya and Sissy left already, so... there's no place for you,” says Allison with a grimace, “Sorry.”

Y/N complains taking the ice from Diego's hands.

"Are you serious?"

"I'm sorry, really, Ray said that he offered his place for you, but you know he lives far away…”

Y/N doesn't live very far, but she can't go alone in the dark and Diego knows that.

“I'll take you home,” He offers.

“Diego…” starts Allison, but he cuts her off.

“It's not a game, I promise. Come on, I can't let her walk alone, I can watch over her,” He puffs out his chest.

"Okay, but if something else happens, I won't hesitate in saying the magic words to you, brother,” threatens Allison. The boy stirs uncomfortably knowing very well what the magic words are.

Both friends say goodbye and Allison returns to the party. It doesn't take long for her, her boyfriend, and brother to leave.

"Do you want to go?" Diego asks shyly and she nods.

***

The two of them walk slowly towards Y/N's house in a slightly awkward silence. She keeps holding her wrist.

"What did you mean before?" she asks suddenly.

"What?"

"When we were on the balcony, you said you didn't want to make fun of me anymore.”

Diego fortunately remembers Vanya's advices: ‘Don't be too hasty’, ‘Tell her how you feel when you get the chance’, ‘Don't scare her’, ‘Be honest’, ‘No, you can't just kiss her and then run away’.

He shakes his head and keeps walking.

“Sorry for being an idiot all these years. You may not believe me, but I want to try to fix things with you.”

"How?"

"Good question,” He replies with a grimace. “I don't know, these days I've tried to be nice to you, but you think I'm still playing– I don't blame you!” He raises his hands. “You have many reasons, but– I just want to say that…” He sighs. “I don't want to continue with that.”

She frowns in confusion, but also wants to know more.

"Why do you suddenly want to do it?"

"It's not something spontaneous, I- uh…” He fidgets. "Since I've known you, I wanted to be your friend and I thought you were beautiful and all,” He says with honesty. "But you always did your best to ignore me, so I did all those things to get your attention.”

Confession takes weight off his shoulders. Y/N stays silent, thinking about Diego's words. Without realizing it, they both arrive at her house. The girl steps forward a bit, but Diego takes her free hand and draws her.

"Listen, I know it's a lot to think about and you might not believe me, but I really want to be with you."

She knows that he’s not lying, Diego had never dared to talk to her like that, but there’s still something that prevents her from trusting him.

"What are you really asking me, Diego?"

He thinks about it and smiles sideways.

“I’m asking for an opportunity. Just one, you won't regret it.”

Y/N laughs at his confident demeanor, then he gets a little closer, looks directly into her eyes and puts a lock behind her ear with gentl e fingers.

"When we were kids,” She says, taking a step back. "I used to walk away from you because I thought you were cute, I liked you, but when you wanted to talk… I’d get nervous and run away,” She admits. "Then you started teasing me so I thought you hated me and eventually I gave up,” She shrugs.

Diego can't believe what he's hearing and feels stupider. He could’ve had the girl of his dreams much sooner if only things weren't wrong. They’re both silent, she waits for an answer but Diego continues to panic. Finally she sighs again.

"One chance, Hargreeves.” She points out and Diego's eyes lit up.

"Only one,” He says avoiding the urge to jump for joy. She shakes her head, but smiling sweetly.

Y/N goes up the stairs of her house and before opening the door she turns back to find Diego doing a very strange dance. As soon as he notices her look, he stops and smiles innocently.

"Good night, angel," He says, smirking.

"Good night, Diego.”

Would you like a second part?

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 2: Roceit

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 2: There is a timer that counts down to when you will meet your soulmate

Content warning: vague neglectful/bad home life mentions, liquor store mention (no drinking), implied past parental death.

Word count: 2.6k

When they first met, they didn’t like each other. Would they go so far as to say they hated each other? Probably not. But it was no secret that Roman and Janus didn’t get along, even if they traveled in a mutual friend group. If the two interacted at all, it was in snide remarks and gripes that had everyone else in the group groaning in annoyance. They just wanted five minutes of peace, that’s all. Just five minutes.

Roman was too preppy, Janus said. He was loud and abrasive and presumptuous and arrogant, an annoying theatre boy with too much energy. Other’s feelings came second to his dramatic and overplayed grievances. 

Janus was too self centered, Roman retorted. He was untrustworthy and creepy and a compulsive liar, a loner with a mysterious backstory. Everything about him was kept hidden under a mask of indifference.

These things were true to some extent, but the group still loved them both too much to reject either one. So they both stayed, bothered by the other’s presence and unwilling to admit that maybe they disliked the other because they were so similar. They were both extravagant and theatrical and burdened with concealed insecurities, points that all of the rest of the group brought up regularly and they both vehemently denied. 

It all changed one morning during school, on a regular Wednesday with average weather after an uneventful English class, when Roman got overly excited at the cast list for the newest show being put up and dropped his art bag. Without a second of hesitation, Janus crouched to help him collect the supplies that had flown across the hallway. That was when Roman’s sleeve slid up, as he was reaching for a paint pen that had rolled up against a locker, and Janus nearly choked.

00:00

He blurted out his accusation before he could stop himself.

“You said you haven’t met your soulmate! And you call me secretive?”

Roman snarled almost animalistically, covering his completed timer back up and grabbing the now full bag off the ground.

“If you must know, my timer’s always been like that. I don’t know when it ran out; too young to remember. I don’t even know if it was ever counting down in the first place. Defective.” He flicked the numbers on his wrist.

“Does anyone else know?”

Roman narrowed his eyes at the uncharacteristic sympathy in Janus’ voice. “Just Remus.”

“Why haven’t you told them?”

“Why all the questions, Fibber on the Roof? Since when do you care about anything I do?”

Janus was quiet, breathing out a frustrated breath before folding down the bottom of his gloves, the same gloves that Roman taunted daily for making him look like every single Disney villain, the same gloves that made Roman turn to the rest of the group and insist that the guy was hiding something. Turns out he was right.

“My timer’s out too. I was too young to remember as well.”

Roman wasn’t able to respond, and Janus was surprisingly relieved. The silent solidarity in the other’s eyes was enough of an olive branch, just another thing they had in common. It was a pain the others didn’t understand, a frustration that couldn’t be fixed. So if from that point on, the bickering lessened and they finally allowed their shared interests to overlap, they surely wouldn’t be the ones to bring it up.  

That’s how they found themselves, almost half a year later, sitting on the swings of a musty playground near Janus’ house, watching the sunset in an unspoken agreement to put off going back until absolutely necessary. It was just another thing they had in common; shitty home life. They didn’t talk about it much, because they knew how much it sucked to discuss, so they let the facts stand at the forefront and the nitty gritty emotions and smaller mental repercussions stay healthily buried. What did it matter? Their parents were awful, ‘nuff said. 

“I just think it’s ridiculous, the amount of time he spent writing it.”

“He wrote and composed an entire play single handedly, J! Not a single word of it is dialogue, and it all rhymes! You try doing that in seven years.”

“I’m just saying, doesn’t it come to the point where you have to admit it’s too much work? Did he even know for a fact it would be successful?”

“He made it work, didn’t he? That’s what faith is for.”

“I wouldn’t have done it.”

“That’s what makes Lin Manuel Miranda a god, and you, a worm.” 

Janus gasped and raised a mock hand to his chest, drawing a loud laugh from Roman. While the shorter of the two still wore his gloves daily, the other had slowly gained the confidence to wear short sleeves and display his empty timer, though god help the fool who asked him anything about it. The conversation with the group had gone well, though Jan hadn’t admitted that his situation was the same. They hadn’t known him as long, and they both agreed that it was a sensitive topic. Roman didn’t push him. 

“The sun’s setting.”

“I had no idea,” Janus smirked, although the implications of the fast approaching darkness made a pit settle in his stomach.

“We don’t have to leave yet. I just don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“I don’t really get in trouble that often,” The shorter murmured, kicking his feet in the dust under him, “She’s more just... forgetful. Ignorant. I’m not even sure she fully knows I exist all the time.”

Roman raised an eyebrow at the first bit of information he’d learned about Janus’ home life, besides knowing it was just ‘bad’. He was debating between quietly prodding him to continue or to just let it sit when Janus made the choice for him.

“The other day she asked me to go to the liquor store for her and literally didn’t believe me when I said I’m only eighteen. Then again, she’s forgotten my birthday for the last, what, ten years? So I guess she just lost track, got ahead of herself. I don’t know.”

“When’s your birthday?” It was the only response Roman could think of. 

“August seventh,” He whispered, almost like it was a dark secret he was scared to admit.

“Wait, actually?”

Janus turned to him, eyebrows furrowed, “Yeah?”

“You’re joking. This is a joke, right?”

“I can probably find my birth certificate if you need proof. Why are you losing your shit?”

“That’s my birthday too!” 

Janus matched Roman’s face splitting grin with one of his own, his worries slipping away. They’d all been irrational anyways, so good riddance. He quickly settled his face into a more neutral one, the unusual expression hurting his cheeks. A calm air settled between them as their eyes locked, almost in a trance, before Janus snapped out of it and turned his attention to the pink hues of the dimming sky.

“What are the chances?”

There was a lot Roman didn’t know about the newest member of the friend group, he realized after dropping Janus off at home and starting the walk back to his. Usually he’d pop in his earbuds, taking the longest back roads and detours to put off arriving even more, but today his head was lost in his thoughts. What else didn’t he know about the blond boy he was so infatuated with?

Two weeks later, Janus edged the front door of his house open, calling out a tentative “Mom?” before pushing it open all the way and pulling Roman in. There was no answer through the empty halls so he yanked the taller boy upstairs, praying that his mom wasn’t home instead of just ignoring his call. It wasn’t until he shut his bedroom door and leaned heavily against it did he remember to breathe, meeting Roman’s eyes shakily.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I get it. Parent’s are…”

“Yeah. It’s better if she doesn’t know you’re here.”

Roman nodded, finally looking around the room. One wall was completely adorned with old records, some cracked in places or missing pieces entirely. He found himself drawn to it, running a finger down the closest one to him as Janus collapsed on his bed, ruffling the yellow blanket beneath him. He took a moment to pull off his gloves, revealing his soulmark, a secret that only Roman had the honor of seeing. An old jukebox stood proudly in the corner, covered in a fine layer of dust.

“You definitely have an aesthetic,” Roman hummed, taking notes on the implications of the dust and not approaching the old machine. If Janus didn’t touch it, neither should he. Instead he sat down at the other’s desk, spinning himself lazily in the chair.

“It was all my dad’s old stuff. He loved music and antiques a lot. The record player was his, too.” 

He followed Janus’ gaze and nodded, overly tempted to take one of the records from the wall and trying to play it, but knowing that would only end badly. The record player was covered in the same thin sheet of dust. 

“Holy Hera, is that a baby picture of you?” His mind, apparently unable to stay on one topic for more than ten seconds, had decided to focus on the framed picture on the bedside table. He crossed the room and sat next to Janus on the bed, leaning closer to the photo but not daring to touch it. He inspected the woman, who could only be Janus’ mother, holding the tiny bundle and smiling weakly at the camera, her eyes tired and hair tied in a messy bun.

“Yeah,” Janus rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, “That’s the only picture I have with her. She hates cameras, always said she was self conscious and shit. It sucks that the only one I have, I don’t even remember taking.”

Roman knew he should respond to the surprisingly vulnerable statement, but his eyes had zeroed onto the still slightly slimy, wrinkly baby in the photo. Its little fists were tucked against his face, eyes closed peacefully, a moment of bliss that time forgot. That’s not what caught his attention, though. He squinted, edging just that much closer to the photo.

“You were born at Jacob Banks Memorial Hospital? I thought you lived in Chicago before you moved out here.” The tiny golden embroidery in the edge of the blanket was just focused enough to make out, as if he didn’t have an identical blanket at home, stashed under his bed in a box of other memories that were too special to throw away. He’d run his finger over the stitching a hundred times, reread the words and committed the blanket to memory, just for that high of simple childhood. And now, here was Janus as a baby, swaddled in the same blanket.

From the same hospital.

From the same day.

“Yeah. My parents were visiting relatives in town when my mom went into early labor. We didn’t end up actually moving here until a couple years ago.” Janus didn’t seem to notice the gears turning in Roman’s head as he reached forward, plucking the picture off the table and bringing it closer to his face. He tapped the glass, just above baby Janus’ arms.

“Right there, my timer. It’s just a few minutes left. I met my soulmate as a baby and no one cared enough to check who it was.”

“Janus.”

“I called the hospital as soon as I was old enough to comprehend, but they said they couldn’t help me. Didn’t have a record of anything to do with soulmates. Some help, huh.”

“Janus!”

“What? I’m trying to be melodramatic, Roman.”

“That’s the same hospital I was born in.”

“Okay? It’s the only one in town, I’m not overly surprised-” The lightbulb went off, and his head jerked up. “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’.”

They both were quiet for a moment, like the whole house was holding it’s breath, before Janus finally spoke, his voice a choked whisper. “Imagine with me, if you will,” he murmured, taking the picture and inspecting it closely. Not so much for sake of searching for details he wouldn’t have missed the hundreds of hours he spent inspecting the photo, more so just to avoid looking at the person beside him. “Two babies, born in the same place on the same day, put into the same small hospital nursery. They see each other, and click, their timers are out. Except both their parents don’t give a flying rat’s ass-”

“And so they never realize they met, and live their entire lives shrouded in mystery,” Roman finished quietly, suddenly terrified of the new ice they were walking on. 

“Hypothetically, of course.”

His head snapped up and the spell was broken, meeting Janus’ pale eyes and jumping to his feet, flapping his hands to dispel his nervous energy. “Okay. Okay! That could… that could make sense! All signs point that way, right?” He began to pace the length of Janus’ room, head tilted towards the ceiling, “And I mean, god, I’ve liked you for how long now? So I’m definitely not upset!”

“You’ve what?”

“Alright, so we can call the hospital, or go there, or something! I’m sure they can tell us how many babies were born that day, that doesn’t seem like confidential information, right? And if it was just us three, you, me, and Remus, then that’ll settle it!”

“Wait, no, Roman, stop!”

Janus launched himself at Roman before he could click the call button on the Google search of the hospital, already dedicated to his plan. He ripped the phone from his grasp and tossed it onto the bed after pressing the power button, grabbing Roman’s hands tightly.

“Jan, what the hell? That’s the only way we’re going to know for sure if we’re-”

“But what if we’re not?!”

The two settled into silence after the outburst, searching each other’s faces intently. They both shared scared expressions, eyes wide with excitement and nervousness, the possibility of years worth of questions finally being answered. The promise that their two soulmarks weren’t dysfunctional, weren’t broken, and fate that had led them together one way or another. 

But what if they weren’t?

“What if it’s a coincidence? What if you find out that your mom checked out before mine even got there, or our paths never could have crossed, or there were twenty babies born that day and there’s no sure way to know that we are each other’s soulmates? What if you find out that your soulmark said two years and mine ran out with someone else completely?”

“You’re starting to sound like Virgil,” Roman said quietly, almost fondly, a gentle smile tugging at his lips.

“Roman, if you’re my soulmate, I’d be elated,” Janus’ hushed tone matched his, “But I don’t know what I’ll do if I build my hope and then find out it’s not true.” They were quiet again, and Janus was suddenly hyper aware that he was still holding Roman’s hands, a furious blush rising to his cheeks. He fought the urge to look away, look anywhere other than Roman’s bright eyes, because this was the closest they’d ever been and he was scared one flinch might break the charm they were in. 

“We don’t have to check,” the taller whispered, “If you are, I’m content just… believing it.”

“You always were a cheesy romantic.” The phrase was meant to be cutting, but the uncontainable grin across his face greatly lessened its impact.

“I’m a Disney lover, what can I say?”

Janus snorted, dropping his head on to Roman’s shoulder, his heart nearly stopping altogether when the taller boy wrapped his arms around him and pulled them a step closer together. “So we’re agreeing on this? That we’re soulmates?” His voice was muffled against Roman’s shirt.

“As far as I’m concerned, yes. Fuck the system, right?”

“Overthrow the government. Commit arson in the name of anarchy. Society is a prison.”

“Dramatic, and that’s coming from me,” Roman drawled, rocking them back and forth slowly, dancing to unheard music, “Hey, Janus?”

“Yes?”

“Can I kiss you?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”