#red i am giving u a big kiss on the cheek i love these fics so much

[strawberrycamel]

literally couldn't not make this. i think i have a new favourite trope @redead-red

fics & recs below

fucking amazing UFS time travel fic that is sort of connected to Naked Truth Lies which is another banger UFS fic. literally my beloved.

Summary:

Wes Weston finds himself ten years in the past facing down his teen years on a wild fetch quest for his ghostly boyfriend. Too bad his teen self is doing everything in his power to make his task miserable...and the teenage version of said boyfriend definitely isn't helping. (Or: You Won't Believe How Nostalgic This Author Is For 2005)

there's a scene near the end where someone is fucking Terrifying with a capital T that i think about so fucking often i love it so much. and the descriptions in this fic? impeccable, amazing, fit the tone and mood of the chapters/scenes so very well.

The older/future boys (danny & wes) are so gay for each other in the times we see them together. also. Very good descent from 'Baby Wes what the fuck. why are you doing these things.' to 'WHAT THE FUCK, BABY DANNY HELLO?' to 'wow, they both suck in horrible, yet different ways. very compelled as to how they end up even becoming friends when they hate each other so much.' Also, 'future Wes pls. you're right but also. he is just a lil guy.'

As previously mentioned, Kyle. i love him, he's such a guy. Guy of all time. Works at Blockbuster, tricks future Wes (going by West and pretending to be his long lost cousin, lmao nice one) into helping him at work, is overall a menace, but very clearly does love his brother, Baby Wes. And Vlad hehehehe, i loved reading about him and i could feel future Wes' panic in his presence. this fic is so much. it's everything. i love it. probably one of my favourite dp fics ever.

im only just starting chapter 4 so far but im hooked.

Summary:

Jazz fell asleep in 2016 and woke up in a hospital bed in 2004. While trying to find her way back to her time, Jazz finds herself haunted by both the past and the future…literally.

it is so creepy at times and i feel so bad for Jazz and Danny and like. the horrors. A mentally 29 year old Jazz has to go through high school again. including french class. Literal nightmare to me. Kyle is also here and being as cryptic and carefree as he ever is working at Blockbuster. Very interesting read so far and i am v excited for the next chapter.

[girlboypersonthingy]

hiiiii!!!! so i’m thinking of a velvette fic where u meet the vees after having dated her for a bit (a few weeks maybe). you hate them. you think they’re creepy and just assholes, even for being in hell. (you’re a bit more wholesome but yk still a sinner) like you just do NOT like the guys. you’re super worried abt velvette’s reaction to that fact so u try to sugar coat it but she’s just like “thank lucifer! i didn’t want them to be creepy bad influences on u!” and u’re both super relieved. i love her.

Heeyyyy I was wondering when you’d send in a Velvette request ☺️ you got it friend! Enjoyyyy~

TW: Val being a perv 😎 for like one second tho, Velvette gets a bit suggestive,?? Lots of cussing lol

The Only V For Me 💜

“AAHHH!!! Darling, you’re finally here! How was the drive? How was the driver?” Velvette watches as you walk through the doorway of her studio, looking around with big doe eyes at all the bright lights and flashy outfits and really beautiful model demons.

“Velvette!” Before you can say anything more, she’s pulling you into a a deadly tight hug. “It was actually…like way too much, babe. You don’t have to do all that fancy shit for me, ya know? But…yes, it was really nice. Thank you.” Velvette offers you a cheeky smirk followed by a quick kiss to the cheek.

Your darling girlfriend snaps her fingers and yells out a command to one of her assistants. “You! Come here.” She makes a ‘come here’ motion with her finger as she turns her attention back to you, her lips upturned into a smile again, “Are you thirsty? Hungry? Anything you need, you tell her.” She points to her assistant who is now right at your side. “Anything my darling asks for, you get it.” She gives the worker an intimidating glare before winking at you.

“Let me show you around!” Velvette puts an arm around your shoulders and pulls you along, pointing things out, explaining them. She is absolutely beaming with pride right now, glancing at you often to see your reaction. As you pass a mannequin clad in a really nice outfit, a gasp comes from Velvette. “Oh my! You know who would look absolutely stunning in this little number?” And now she’s flashing you this flirty grin and her bright red eyes are looking you up and down. Suddenly her smooth demeanor dropped as she grumbled under her breath a bit then sighed deeply.

“Oh, who am I kidding. With Vox and Val both here today, if I dress you in anything more appealing than what you’ve got on now, they will definitely try to steal you from me. You already look too cute…” This pulls a laugh from you but your laugh stops suddenly, stuck in your throat when you see how serious her expression is at the moment.

“Wait. What? What do you mean-“ And suddenly the doors swing open, slamming into the walls behind them as an extremely tall, blue-skinned individual with big red heart shaped glass quickly approaches Velvette, towering over both of you.

“WHERE THE HELL IS VOX?! I’ve been looking for that flat faced fuck all day.” He growls out and you take note of the fact that Velvette doesn’t flinch a bit. “Why the hell are you asking me? If he was here, you’d have found him already.” She snaps back and as the angry man before you was about to screech out another sentence, his expression softened rather quickly as his eyes fell on you.

“Why hello~ who do you have here? Wow! What a gorgeous creature you are. I’m Valentino. What’s your name, sweetheart?” One of his hands slips into yours and as he goes to lift your hand to his lips, Velvette pushes him so hard he nearly falls over.

“Their name is (Y/N), alright? And they are MINE. Now back off, Val.” She hisses in response, now tightly holding your hand, the hand that Val was holding just a second ago. “WHOO! Alright. My apologies, dear. Didn’t know this one was all yours. But I mean FUCK! They just have such nice lips! I mean, look at that mouth. You have the perfect pair of dick sucking li-“

Velvette shouts over him, “SHUT IT!!! You’re actually so vile. Get out of here, Valentino! You’re freaking out my babe.” She gives him another shove, making him frown angrily at her before he stomps off, probably punching a wall or kicking something over as he leaves. Oh, he definitely slams the door again too.

“Alrighty! Where were we?” Velvette seems to relax a bit more, going back to a more chipper and excited attitude as she again shows off all of her impressive work to you. She even got a few models to come do a little show just for you, all of them casually posing and showing off different outfits. Velvette kept asking your opinion, begging you to be ‘bloody honest’ with her.

“Oh, darling! You just have to come over one night and let me dress you up, just us two! Hmm~ I could dress you up and then maybe even…undress you again.” Just as your girlfriend started to flirt with you and as you started to feel more comfortable in this environment-

“Velvette! Happy Friday. Have you seen Val? I haven’t been able to reach him all day. I’m-“ The strong, electric voice that sounded from behind you two made you jump a bit and brought a frightening grimace to Velvette’s face.

“Oh~ Hello. (Y/N), right? Pleased to meet you! I was wondering when our precious like Velvette was gonna bring her play thing over. I’m Vox, creator of Voxtech. You know, on the late night talk show…and the morning talk show. I’m also the news anchor.” He doesn’t really offer you his hand, he more so just reached out and grasps your hand in his, giving it a rapid shaking.

His grip on your hand hurts a bit and the smug smirk on his face makes you somewhat intimidated by him. Vox just…gives you the creeps even more than Valentino did and he basically verbally assaulted you. Before you can even come up with a response to him-

“Yes, yes, yes. Everyone knoWS WHO YOU ARE, YOU PRICK. NOW WHAT DO YOU WANT?!” And now Velvette looks kind of scary, like so pissed off and annoyed that she looks like she could actually kill someone right now. The someone preferably being Vox. Her bright red eyes glow with rage and irritation, her pretty lips now turned into a deep scowl.

As she yells in his face, his expression drops to one of annoyance and exhaustion. “Where’s Val?” Velvette groans before responding. “You’ve got to be fuckin kidding me! He just left, looking for you. Look on your stupid little cameras and find him and go tell him to STOP SLAMMING MY DOORS OR IM GONNA-“

Not that Velvette scared you but…she looked pretty upset right now and her yelling is enough to put anyone into a slight panic. So you slip you hand around her bicep, gently pulling her tense arm back a bit so you could comfortably slide your hand down to hers, interlocking your fingers. Her words stopped in their tracks, your tender touch almost making her flinch. Her head whipped around and she looked at you for a good few seconds, a smile slowly growing on her lips. She turns back to the screen-faced man, her smile not faltering this time.

“Off you go.” Velvette quite literally shoos him away with a wave of her hand as her other hand snakes its way around your waist and back until her arm is fully wrapped around you and you’re pressed into her side. She turns her back on Vox, determined to keep her full attention on you for the rest of the day. You’re too distracted by her embrace to notice if Vox had even left or not.

You clear your throat. “Babe…?” “Yes, love?” “Don’t get mad.” You look at her with a serious expression, causing her to blink in confusion. “Mad at you? Never. What’s on your mind?” Velvette pulled away from you for just a second then she faced you and held both your hands in her own.

“I feel…extremely uncomfortable here. Specifically, with Valentino and Vox. I-I…I’m sorry I just…I don’t like them…very much…they scare me.” Velvette chuckles before you can finish your sentence and you’re not sure if you should be relieved or even more worried. Suddenly, she pulls you into a tight hug, her hands rubbing big circles all over your back.

“Ugh, I’m so terribly sorry, darling. Truly, I figured those two would be busy on a Saturday, too busy to be bothering us already.” She turns her head to kiss your cheek then pulls you in even closer. “Fuck! I’m actually so relieved you said that. Those two are so terrible…truly, irresponsible! I mean it when I say I’m the backbone of the Vs okay? Those two pussies would fall apart in a matter of hours without me! Ugh they can’t even keep it together for one day!” “Babe…” You try to calm her again, seeing how worked up she gets having to constantly deal with her work partners.

With her attention solely on you, she softly says, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. What do you want to do next, hm? We can go somewhere. Anywhere. Just say the words.” Her long fingers gently graze the skin of your cheek, causing you to become a bit flustered. It’s almost baffling how she can be so cold and cruel to everyone around her except you. You were her only weakness, and she doesn’t mind one bit. She loves you endlessly. She wouldn’t trade this feeling for anything in Hell.

[gojofavho3]

Hi there i have a little Gojo req in mind; Gojo x male reader but reader is like,, taller than him, bigger yk? maybe a bit buffer, arms big enough to throw Gojo over his shoulder hehe. Maybe Gojo is infatuated by the idea of climbing on top of Reader and absolutely WRECKING himself on him 😍 alright okay that got out of hand i hope thats okay but ofc if not i understand and you can just ignore this req, but if you DO do the fic then i am FOREVER IN YOUR DEBT 🙏🏼

Heyyyyy, thanks for the request!!! Sorry to keep you waiting, I had a math test, so I had to put all my focus on that, and that shit was so easy mann

A/n: It probably won't be long, trying to discover other types of writing tbh, because my writing in English is not as good as my Portuguese yk? And dyslexic also doesn't help a lot

There aren't many people who are taller than gojo, At least that he knows personally

gojo is 1.90 centimeters tall, any taller than that you will have to bend down at doors

When you two started dating, he was the happiest man alive, there's is not much people close to him that live so long so, he tries his hardest to protect you and make u become more and more happy every day of your relationship

He just loves you too much

He lets you do anything with him, first time you put him in your shoulders he was surprised. he didn't know what to say or what to do, he was blushing so bad that even a rose couldn't be that red, he was caught off guard not using infinity. Eventually, he got used to and sometimes he doesn't use infinity so you can grab him and put him in your shoulders

He also loves the warmth of your body, especially when it comes to cuddling, he won't leave you alone, not even for one second. You being bigger then him and probably with a bigger chest, he will put his cheek on your chest and rub his cheek against your chest, very close to your nipples, all his problems in the world almost fade away in that state

And thats one of the reasons you have the so called the "strongest" on your dick rn!

" Satoru gojo desperate for a dick so bad. who would imagine?

The so "strongest!"... strongest hoe that's for sure "

The white hair has his cheeks red, red and red, he was on top of you, some of his sweat going to your stomach and pre cum too

In this angle the white moon made him look glorious, the shadow makes his blue eyes glowing like the stars.

It was a dark night, and a cold one too! With autumn the winds start to get stronger and stronger

And what's more warm to made two body's sweat than sex?

"c-can't you he-help me a little ah-awh!"

" nopee! You tied my hands, your the one who wanted so bad to do it alone "

Your hand points to your hands, tied up to the bed by Satoru with one of his blindfolds

He pouts, but continues to go up and down on your fat cook

Every time he goes down he lets out a moan and whimpers, closing his eyes shut tight with his head looking up

Up Up Up Up Up

Down Down Down down down

He goes down and sucks your nipples until it becomes red and purple, he loves hearing you whimpering and creaming, he could feel you getting more close in the seconds

Sometimes he letted it leave his hole put he slip it back again, with the most care in the world

He stopped sucking it and goes to your face, giving you a honest smile, with his eyes close, and then giving you silly kisses that he knew you loved

Satoru could feel your cheeks being heated as he played with them, like a granny, making you made silly faces too.

"why are you making my face look silly in the middle of fucking?"

"b-because..."

"because..?"

"because I cann! W-Why~~? Wanted me to slap them?? Agwh!.."

"no sir!"

You says Ironically as he stops after a while and continues to bounce on your dick

His ass cheeks slapping with your lower part, making the clap sound over and over

You could feel he was cumming, you could feel how tight his hole was becoming and the sounds he was madding becoming more loud

" c-ca-can I I cum.. mhm! "

" n-no need to ask, jus come, I'm also close..."

You say already feeling your cum starting to leave your cook

Up Up Up Up Up Up upupuupupupup-

Downdowndowndowndowndowndown-

Splash!

White

Everywhere

You two were heavily breathing, with white splashed on your stomach and the covers

He falls in your chest, cum dripping down on his hole going to your cook and traveling to the covers

His hair is all messed up like yours

He kisses you, a kiss really heated out, until you two become with almost no air, painted out

" d-did... did you g-get warm...? "

Satoru nods as he can't talk yet

" good.. "

You say finally taking your hands of his blindfold, going immediately to his ass, slapping with all your strength, making his ass red as fuckkk, letting it jiggle, yes, he has some cake there

He whines and lets out a loud moan that even your neighbours could hear

He had a confused and hot look on his face as he puts his hand in his hair wires, messing it more

"w-why..??"

" to get you ready for round 2

It's good that you warm but! This shit ain't over love!! "

Hope u like it! And now your in debt with me 😈

Kidding

This was funny to write

I don't understand people who say the moon is yellow, like the only colour I see is white there

And for knowledge, I'm not colour blind, I think

And now, I'll farm for sampo, my big titties man 😋💖

See you, till next time!

@heart-lovees

[moon-alight]

hello! if ure comfortable, can u write a fic for harua when his afab!fem!s/o is feeling sick and how he would take care of her?

Of course I can. I love Harua. I hope you like it.

I'm the lucky one - &Team Harua

Synopsis: You, Harua's s/o, got a simple cold and got him freaking out.

Masterlist

Warnings: pure fluff, comfort

Word Count: 720

It was just a cold, but however often you tried to explain this to your boyfriend, he would make it much worse than it is.

It started when he called you and heard your hoarse voice on the other end of the phone. The boy immediatelly started to panic and told you to come over to the dorms. You explained it was a simple cold but he convinced you to let him take care of you.

When you arrived he was already waiting for you with blankets, pillows, soup and a bunch of movies to entertain yourself while he would leave to the studio. So, now you're here, sitting on the couch wrapped in seven different blankets all from Harua's room.

He told you to move as little as possible when he left 7 hours ago. He listed all the symptoms you have after you said that it isn't that bad which included: coughing, running nose, stomach cramps and not to mention, you look like a ghost.

The moment you walked in, you scared both Ma-Ki and Ta-ki who thought you were a creature from the underworld. So, you decided to listen but the hours pass slowly and you're all alone.

It's great that Harua got to live his dream, that he got to be who he always wanted to be but on days like these you really miss him. Besides, you're feeling a little better than this morning so why not look around?

You are convinced that after four months of dating, you know your boyfriend. You enter his room, turning on the lightswitch and looking around for something to affectionately bully him with later.

It wasn't a big surprise when you found everything is clean and neatly tucked away. This must be the cleanest room in the dorms right now. After an hour of wandering your cold returned but a bit worse than it was when you woke up this morning.

You hear the door of the dorm open and wander out to the hallway just to see your adorable boyfriend look around with a bag in his hands.

"Y/N?" He screams, confused. "Hello?" You try to reply but you almost have no voice left. "Cupcake?" It's a cute petname, you always liked it. Harua's gaze lands on you, his eyes widen as he sprints towards you. "Didn't I tell you not to move?"

"It was better." You reply but Harua's twitching eye makes it clear that he isn't pleased with you at all.

"Sit back down, I got you some medicine on my way home. The boys are eating together so they'll be gone for another hour before the noise will give you a headache." He's rambling at this point, you place your hand on his shoulder and smile to the best of your abilities.

"Thank you." He smiles back and pecks your lips. You stare at him in light shock. "What... you're gonna get sick too!"

"I am flustered by your concerns, cupcake, but my immune system is much better than yours." And he pecks your lips again. "I also got some ramen so you at least have something to eat." He adds as he guides you back to the couch and makes you sit down. "Now, would you like some cuddles while we watch a movie or do you rather want to sleep a little more?"

You don't answer, simply staring at him as he organizes everything on the small coffee table. Medicine on the right and ramen on the left. He looks up at you after he doesn't hear you reply.

"Cupcake?"

"How did I ever get so lucky?" You mumble out. Harua's cheeks and tips of his ears turn red, he giggles and shrugs.

"I'm not sure but most of the time I'm the lucky one so I just want to make you feel as loved as you make me feel." You already have fever but this makes you melt.

"Can I still have the cuddles?" Harua smiles and nods, sitting down next to you and pulling you close.

"Always, I love cuddling you." He kisses the top of your head while you relax against him.

It didn't take long for Harua to start coughing too and now you're both sick on the couch in the dorm. Better immune system my ass.

[pbnjparker]

MAGIC | P.PARKER

requested?: yes!! by @theweirdos-things​ tysm for requesting this fic! ive literally had a smilier concept to this the whole week but was too scared to write it out.. i hope u enjoy this fic as much as i enjoyed writing it!

pairing: tom!peter parker x witch!reader

an: i really hope u all enjoy this!!! + not edited hehehe + wanda is the readers mom lmfao + NWH SPOILERS AHEAD

request a fic here!

You rushed down the halls of Midtown High in search of the Lab that Peter, Ned and MJ were in. Ned had sent you an abrupt text that said Peter needed help and you quickly left your apartment. “Where’s this stupid lab?” You asked yourself.

“Y/N! Over here!” A voice echoed you turned around and saw Ned waving at you from the end of the hall. You ran down the hall exchanging a quick hello with Ned, “Peter! Peter, oh my god.” You said wrapping your arms around him. 

Peter wrapped his arms around you, “She’s dead.” Peter whimpered sobbing into your chest, “Who's dead?” You asked peering over to Ned and MJ, “May.” You squeezed Peter trying to comfort him as much as possible. “Oh Peter.” 

Peter was the first to let you go, “Uhm, We need help fixing up some antidotes to cure all these villains.” He said wiping the tears away, “Will you help us out?” He asked, “Just tell me what I could do.” You smiled at him. 

You looked around the lab and saw two older gentlemen sitting behind a desk one wearing a Spiderman suit and the other dressed casually. They both waved at you and had a smile on both their faces. You waved back and looked over at Peter who also had the same derpy smile, “They are also Peter Parker, from different universes.” He said, “Hi Peters.” You giggled, “So what do you guys want me to do.” You asked walking over to Peter, “Different Peter’s huh? Pretty insane that there's more of you out there.” You said, “It’s pretty cool having the brothers I never had.” He smiled. 

“Hey you’ve got some cuts. Do you want me to heal them for you?” You asked lifting Peter’s chin, “This ones pretty deep,” You said running a finger over Peter’s laceration, “Please? That one hurts more than the others.” He said, “Yeah, I got you.” 

You brought your hand up to Peter’s injury and started moving your fingers while your other hand held Peter’s, “Almost done.” The red orbs coming from your hand illuminated a big portion of the room, “Done.” You smiled at Peter giving him a quick kiss on his forehead.

“Your girlfriend can do magic..” One Peter said, “Out of her hands?” The other Peter said, “That’s freaking cool! Do you just do it?” They asked and you giggled at their reaction, “Yeah. Mom’s a witch and my Dad’s a robot.” You said, “Don’t ask me how it works cause I don't even know.” You laughed, “So how does it work? Do you just heal people?” The older Peter asked.

“Not necessarily, I can move things with my mind.” You said, both Peter’s gasped at your response, “We’re you just born with it?” The younger Peter asked, “I think so. My childhood years are kinda blurry. My twin brother also has super speed.” You said, “Wanna see?” They both replied with multiple yeahs. You fixated your focus on one of the of the test tubes that the older Peter was working on. You swirled your hands and picked the tube up. You brought it towards you, grabbing it once it was in your reach. “It’s pretty simple.” You smiled. 

“That’s awesome!” The both stared at you in awe, “You’re just like magic.” One of them said, “I guess I am.” You smiled at them.

“You’re so awesome. Thank you for helping us out.” Your Peter said, “Anything for you.” You said giving him a quick kiss on his cheek, “I love you.” You smiled.

“I love you more.”

[sashi-ya]

Hello sun!

I saw ur last post and i thought the "Beast Pirates Costumes" with female reader and Killer would match just Perfect *cheff kiss*

I'm in love with ur work. You're doing amazing job! (Kinda late but happy new year!)

Thank u!!! ❤️❤️❤️

Hi sweetie!! Here I am with your Killer fic! I hope you enjoy my take on him! I see him as a sweet guy who really needs some love and affection too! So please have fun with this little scenario! Thank u SO much for your sweet words! Thank u for your support! 💖🌸 ~

~ 🌸 Cherry Blossoms Over Wano Event 🌸 ~

Sfw~ Killer x F! Reader ~ Beast Pirates' Costume

tw: pretty fluffy. mentions of Killer's SMILE incident.

a/n: Had to look for the specific way he laughs, "FAFAFA" that's apparently one of Oda's take on someone laughing hahaha. I love this man.

wc: 1.8K

Like this event? masterlist 🌸~

There he is, walking through Kinemon’s magic arc. Leather straps now cross his body after a pink cloud dissipates. The entrance at Onigashima looks like a fashion show, and while your captain blushes at Luffy’s commentary, Killer, your crush simply laughs.

Everything seems fun for now, and you all allow yourselves to be a little happy before the real battle starts. Once you pass that door, you will have to fight Kaido, and that’s a suicide mission. But you are with him, fairly sure he will be able to cut anybody who dares to come closer to you, and for that you are grateful… you just wish he could notice you as more than a friend.

“Come on, (Name)” the blonde calls you from the other side, waiting for you to cross the arc. You, a little embarrassed watching the way Luffy’s female nakamas wear the costume, take a deep breath of air and cross with your eyes closed.

The pink smoke and some sparkle surrounds you and your kimono suddenly turns into a leathery mini skirt, horns and a top that barely covers your breasts. You look at yourself with widened eyes and your cheeks turn red like the blood on your veins.

“FAFAFA” Killer laughs, yet not because something was funny about you, but because of that damn SMILE. He instantly looks down to the ground, and you aren’t sure where his eyes are since he is wearing his helmet that both covers and muffles his laughter.

Kid has already started running inside, of course competing with Luffy, and your crew is ready to follow them. But you, honestly, still wonder how you are going to fight with such indecent and uncomfortable clothing.

“Are you ok?” Killer asks you, coming closer. “I… uhm… yes” you mumble, crossing your arms over your breasts, because you are not sure if that could give him a bad impression. “Here, have this” he says, carefully taking his feathery cape off. “Try not to damage it, you know it will disappear instantly if you do” he tells you and puts the black coat over your shoulders.

His huge hands tie the cape around your neck properly and it’s big enough to cover at least half of your body. Once again, Killer has protected you… and you, you are on cloud nine. “Thanks…” you stutter, not able to say anything else since Heat is already pushing you to walk further.

While you run you are amazed how quickly the cape has impregnated itself in his perfume and you begin to suspect Kin’s power is more than simply turning clothes in others, maybe his ability uses properties from the person wearing those clothes… maybe it manifests what you really would like to wear…

“Did I want to show myself like that before him?”

Inside, the party has already started and you blend perfectly in between the enemy. Kid has already asked where his objective is and the music and alcohol abounds inside. Such a repulsive show off of despotism.

Several hands reach for your body, drunk men, and women desperate for human interaction, some with animals attached to their bodies. Calamities, gifters and waiters, all so excited and you, absolutely disgusted.

The funny little horns in Killer’s head pull you out the situation for at least a little. “How cute” you giggle, looking at him running in front of you and sometimes turning back to check if you are ok. Each time he does, you nod with a dumb smile drawn in your face… you are so happy he is ok after all he has been through. Your eyes are actually still a little sore after crying for many days when you found out about the defective SMILE fruit. How sick and twisted you could be to force someone to eat that. And how noble he is for risking his own life to protect his best friend. Not once, but more than twice.

That’s Killer, an extraordinary friend, a protector, a fighter… the man you admire from afar, the man who treats you like a little sister.

The man who is about to get attacked by a bastard with a sword…

“KILLER!” you shout, unsheathing your katana to protect his back. But it’s too late, and instead of him you end up hurt because the attacker got scared by your sudden attitude and his drunk state didn’t allow him to properly attack.

Killer’s golden locks is the last time your eyes see as you pass out by the pain the cut on your chest produces.

You fall over his arms, but he is on fire and asks Wire to hold you for a second. His blades drink the blood they were asking for, as he cuts the damn drunk bastard in a sudden and precise cut. “Never, ever touch her… FAFAFA!” he shouts, as he crushes your attacker with the soles of his brown boots.

“I’ll take care of her” he informs his nakamas and takes you in his arms. Luckily, you haven’t been severely wounded, but still your chest bleeds. He runs outside and hides behind a little pagoda with many burning candles inside.

The blue mask is off, and the flames of the candles reflect on his turquoise eyes. You aren’t used to his face, for some reason he keeps it hidden even on a daily basis at the Victoria Punk. No more than two or perhaps three times you were able to peek at his beauty, but you don’t really care, you love him even without knowing his face… you love his heart.

Slowly you open your eyes, as a cold sensation invades a place on your body where until now there was only pain. Delicately, Killer spreads a grey ointment over your wound from a marine shell. “They said toad oil could cure any cut…” he hums, still unaware you are conscious. And you can’t help but smile, even being dizzy, cause Killer could be so innocent sometimes.

“It sure helps…” you mumble. The blonde gets scared by your sudden speaking and turns around to face you. He flashes his sweet but masculine facade, a face you aren’t used to seeing so close to yours. “Uh, (Name)! I… I didn’t- Are you ok?” he stutters, immediately looking to the other side. For some reason he keeps hiding his face from you.

“I am, Killer… Thank you. And sorry for delaying you, Kid will be mad at me” you sigh, worried. “Kid won’t say anything, he knows you are my-” he says, but stops himself and begins to laugh uncontrollably. Everybody says he hates his laughter, but you love it… even if now it comes from the defective artificial fruit side effects.

You graze his burnt arm, softly, up and down, loving the feeling of the bumpy skin, of the “imperfections.” You can see him fighting against the need to take his arm off from you, but he instead allows you to do so… “wonder if you ever needed this” you think.

A huge explosion could be heard from inside the dome, and you are 99% sure that it came from Kid. And as well as you, Killer does too. He stands up, quickly, looking at the entrance and panics. “THIS MOTHERFUCKER!!” he shouts and starts running.

You, who are still lying on the ground unable to move completely on your own, look at him go, not mad but a little sad… “Kid will ever be first.”

Killer takes three steps but he stops. “Oh” he says and comes back to you. “Listen, I should take you somewhere safe… come on” he says, and all of a sudden, he lifts you up in arms. When he needs to protect you or his brother, he forgets he is not even wearing the mask.

“Killer… your helmet!” you tell him as he has now started running towards your ship to put you safely. “SHIT!” he shouts and blushes in a chaotic sequence of happenings. “Don’t…” you stop him from covering his face, you are delighted by his beauty… so many times you wished to see his countenance from so close.

The blonde accepts and allows you to hold his helmet while he runs towards the ship with you in arms. Being so close, feeling his chest go up and down over yours, you even dare to play with one of his golden locks that fall over his shoulder. “Is this a dream? Am I dead already?” you wonder…

He jumps over the deck of the Victoria Punk, peeking at Onigashima skull many times to check if indeed his brother hasn’t already sunken the island himself.

Killer puts you down on one of the sofas you have under the big dinosaur head that crowns the ship’s bow. Well, at least he tries, because when he is about to stand up, he simply can’t. “What…” he mumbles, unable to break away from you.

“(Name)... don’t move. We… we are stuck, our beast pirates’ costumes have tangled” he informs you, with his lilac lips really close to yours. To your surprise he is right, the metallic ring and the crossing leather straps have managed to tangle with each other. In a normal case you would say pulling from them would be enough, but you just couldn’t… if it breaks, your disguise will disappear.

You begin to laugh, loudly. This day couldn’t be any more chaotic, you are literally stuck with your crush. Mouths centimetres from each other’s, killer’s cheeks red like tomatoes, both hearts beating so fast.

Of course, your laughter seems contagious because Killer bites his lips to avoid laughing too. This time not because of the devil fruit, but because he kind of finds this hilarious too.

Both end over the couch braying with your foreheads pressed. “What the fuck is happening?” you say in between the tears on the corner of your eyes and keep laughing. “I don’t know, but I can’t stop” he chuckles.

You and him, in a little bubble of happiness, ignoring outside the start of a war is taking place. Killer free from any masks, sincere laughing, his face uncovered. You smiling in glee.

“I would understand if you wanted to keep hiding your face from now on, but at least allow me to take a last look at it now” you tell him, caressing his cheek with the palm of your hand. “What if I only show it to you whenever you want?” he whispers, closing his eyes in total embarrassment.

You are in love with his innocence and softness, and the way it contrasts perfectly with his strong muscular frame. A few words were able to show you he is head over heels for you, just like you are for him. Your lips approach his and plant a sweet peck over them. “I’ll accept that offer, then… I mean, after all I’ll be the only one who will kiss you, right?” “FAFAFA! Yes, please!” he laughs, nervously but so happy, this time kissing you.

“Oh, actually… darling… Do you think you can take me to the dormitory? This sofa smells fancy… just like Kid, you know?”

.

.

.

Ps: Who knows how you and Killer got rid of the tangling situation of the beast pirates’ costumes...🤭😏

[chippedaxe]

can u do a part 2 if 'hate is a strong word' maybe with some nsfw

╭⋟──────────────────╮

Title: Hate Is A Strong Word P2

Warning(s): cursing, NSFW, arguing, fighting etc.., praising, degrading, maybe a bit of humiliation? Idk. , unprotected sex

Pronouns: They/them, afab

Synopsis: You and Karl end up arguing after you get jealous, resulting in sex between the two of you.

Pairing: c!Karl X Dom! Reader

Word count: 1.7k

Part 1: Hate is A Strong Word (sfw)

Note: unedited*

- If some words don't make sense or spelling is wrong than sorry, I'm too lazy to proof read and edit my fics.

- written in my notes app

╰──────────────────⋞╯

Karl put his hands up in defeat “I don’t understand why you’re so angry about this! I promise to you that nothing else happened!” Karl shouted “oh yeah? Then where’d you get that love bite from??” You pointed out a red mark on his neck “it’s a mosquito bite!” Karl argued back, you took a step towards him “oh? You’re calling Sapnap a mosquito now?”

“No! It really is just a mosquito bite! Please trust me on this!” Karl moved away from you “you know why I don’t like you seeing Sapnap!” You were on the verge of tears “holy shit- are you crying? Babe, I’m sorry I made you feel like this..” Karl approached you.

You got ready to fight and put your hands up “I’m not trying to hurt you, can I please just give you a hug? You’re not in the right headspace right now..” Karl reached his arms out to you. You lowered your defenses and looked away as you allowed Karl to embrace you.

“Why would you go out of your way to ignore my feelings? I told you to leave Sapnap alone for a reason!” You exclaimed “I know! I tried to avoid him but I couldn’t help running into him” Karl apologized “if I go to Las Nevada’s and talk with Slime boy- will he be able to truthfully tell me that nothing happened between you and Sapnap?” You started to cry.

“I wish you could just trust what I’m saying! Of course Sapnap and I did nothing!” Karl frowned “prove it! Kill him or something! Burn his house down!” You were hysterical “you know I can’t do that! Look- let me just make it up to you, do you want me to get you something to eat?” Karl caressed your cheek.

You slapped his hand away “if you want my forgiveness than you better listen good!” Karl’s ears perked up and he started listening right away “I’m gonna go to the kitchen and get a glass of water and when I come back I want you to be stripped naked on that fucking bed, alright?” You crossed your arms.

“W-what? Of course!” Karl’s cheeks heated up and he was quick to follow your instructions, struggling to pull off his clothes as you left the room. You walked down the stairs and slowly made your way to the kitchen, maybe you had just been overreacting but you wouldn’t let Karl know that he was right.

You grabbed a glass and poured yourself some water, sipping from it slowly while thinking about the whole situation. Sapnap was 100% trying to make you jealous so you knew you’d have to work harder to get him back!

You returned upstairs, opening the door and being met with Karl’s naked body spread on the bed. He opened his legs up shyly to you, revealing his hard erection he had gotten “oh baby.. look at you, you’re so gorgeous..” your lips pursed into a small smile.

“T-thank you Y/n..” Karl glanced away from you timidly, you walked over and crawled onto the bed. You began to slowly strip yourself of your clothes, pulling your blouse over your head and shimmying your pants to the floor.

Karl looked up at you, mesmerized by the way your body looked in the lighting “oh you’re so handsome..” Karl mouthed out to you quietly. Karl reached out to touch you but you slapped his hand away “no touching, this is supposed to be your punishment” you told him off for it.

You got between his legs and stared up at him intently, he looked down at you and puffed his cheeks out “well- are you gonna do anything?” He asked. “Not if my out keep being impatient, Karl!” You furrowed your eyebrows “okay okay- sorry darling..” he kept quiet and shut his mouth.

“Good boy, now stay still and keep your hips on the bed” you instructed him as you slowly leaned forward and licked a line up his shaft. He gasped and whines softly, covering his face up in embarrassment “you look so fucking pretty like this, why are you hiding from me?” You took his hands off his face.

His face was a pure red colour, sweat dripping down his forehead “I’m so embarrassed..” he mumbled. You brought your hand up and groped his balls for a moment, relishing in the way his body reacts to you “s-stop that feels weird!” Karl pleaded for a moment “do you really want me to stop?” You asked him again.

He kept quiet for a few seconds “n-no..” you smiled in delight and continued your actions. Karl bucked his hips up against your hand which resulted in you pinning his hips down “if you can’t stay still then I’m gonna have to tie you down- would you like that?” You threatened him “n-no please.. I can be good for you!” He gasped.

You nipped on the soft skin of his thighs, leaving a large bite on one of them. It started to bleed a bit so you just licked it up, Karl winced and closed his legs around your head “that feels weird!” He said out loud.

You rubbed and caressed his thighs gently “sorry baby..” you cooed, you got on top of him and straddled his lap. You grabbed the back of his head and brought him closer to you so you could have better access to his neck, kissing and sucking the light skin.

You tried not to give in to your thoughts but you couldn’t help but take a bite, ripping a loud moan from Karl’s mouth “ah!” He moaned. You pulled away and the both of you just stared at each other awkwardly for a moment “t-that felt good..” Karl admitted.

You went back to your work, marking up Karl and biting him whenever you felt like it. When you leaned back and admired him is when you saw how red his neck was now, you clenched your thighs together and gulped nervously as you realized you may have liked this more than you thought.

“P-please..” Karl begged “hm? Please what?” You asked “please ride me- or let me fuck you!” His hips rutted away against the air desperately “why should I give you anything you want? You were being so bad today!” You reminded him “please? I can be so good for you! I-if you let me touch you than I can prove it!” He pleaded.

You sighed and gave in to his demands, getting off him and laying down on the bed so he could touch you. Your skin was bare and the gust of cold air coming from the window every so often would make your nipples harden, you held onto a pillow gently as you felt Karl part your legs for you.

Karl licked his lips “this looks like the best meal I’ve ever seen in my entire life..” he commented as he stared at your wet folds, his fingers opening you up. Karl slid between your legs and stuck his tongue out, licking along your slit and moaning at the taste.

“Oh you taste so good.. how could I ever want to eat anything else?” Karl’s arms wrapped around your thighs to keep you glued against his face “a-ah! H-hey Karl, slow down!” You gasped, your hand grasping onto his hair which only encouraged him to go faster.

His tongue slid deep inside of you, exploring your fleshy wet cave. Your pussy clenched around him, your clit rubbing against his face as he worked hard to please you “I’m close..” you let Karl know. You released on Karl’s face and threw your head back, your legs shaking a bit as he continued to eat you out through your orgasm.

“Alright.. you earned it- come here big boy!” You invited him to fuck you, opening your legs wide enough so he could get buried deep in you. Karl quickly got to it, his cock sliding into your wet sheath and being surrounded by your warm walls.

Karl thrusted in and out with no pattern whatsoever, rutting into you harshly like an inexperienced teenage boy “y/n!” Karl moaned out your name as he started to go faster. Karl put his hand above your head to stabilize himself and keep him from falling over.

“P-please let me cum inside of you, please!” Karl begged “fuck- go ahead!” You arched your back and allowed Karl to cum inside of you. His load being shot deep inside of your vagina, coating your thick warm walls with his white semen.

Karl pulled out and flopped on the bed, panting heavily as he tried to rest “don’t go to sleep now! You still have a long day ahead of you, go get dressed you bum!” You sat up and encouraged him to get out of bed.

Karl groaned and got out of the bed, his legs shaking a bit as he stood up. He walked over to his dresser and began to get dressed, pulling his hoodie over his head and slipping on some pants. You felt lazy so you just threw a big shirt on and a pair of shorts, the two of you now dressed and ready to take on the world.

You finally got the idea to what your great genius plan to get Sapnap back was! You looked down at the ground and sighed, turning your head to face Karl and tell him what was on your mind.

“You know what, Karl baby? I want you to go see Sapnap right now and tell him how sorry I am for overreacting” you smirked. Karl had most likely thought you were turning a new leaf, being the bigger person when really you were just fulfilling your master plan.

Karl was littered with hickies and love bites all along his skin, you couldn’t miss them! Even his oversized hoodie couldn’t cover the marks up! Your plan was to expose his marks to Sapnap so he would finally see that Karl was yours and yours alone! Hopefully it’ll work.

[ahtsumu]

long shots ; miya osamu

pairing: miya osamu x f!reader

synopsis: miya osamu is the teacher’s assistant for food chemistry i. you can’t stop thinking about him.

tag(s): college!au, slow burn, TA!miya osamu, grad student!reader, fluff, reader is a go-getter!! ; warning(s): profanity, suggestive themes, talk of insecurities and imposter syndrome ; wc: 5.6k

a/n: happy birthday to @starrysamu​! i love u. pls excuse any errors. i’ll weed them out later! btw this fic is not a sugar daddy au LOL

HIS NAME IS Miya Osamu and he always looks like he has it all figured out. Comes in every class with his black hair perfectly tousled, the sleeves of his dark button-up rolled to his elbows, a cup of coffee in one hand and the strap of that black messenger bag in another.

“He drives a BMW, did ya know?” Isla says in your ear one morning. Your only friend in Food Chemistry I gives you a pointed look before sitting back in her chair in the lecture hall with a smirk on her face. “Saw it this morning. Bet he’s loaded.” The two of you watch the subject in question walk across the classroom and settle in his seat at the table in the corner.

“Shut up,” you whisper with wide eyes. A grin–– far from innocent–– makes its way onto your face. “Imagine being Miya Osamu’s sugar baby.”

“He’s not old enough to be a sugar daddy.” Isla looks at her nails disinterestedly. “And that’s too many AUs in one. He’s already the TA, for god’s sake. This isn’t some shitty Wattpad novel.”

A light giggle slips out of your lips. “I can see the title already. My Sugar Daddy is the TA?!”

Now, if anyone had been listening in on your conversation, they would’ve assumed many things about you. The first being that you’re both gold-diggers. This is untrue–– at least, in your case. Isla, you’re not so sure about, given how your friendship only goes back about one month. But she tags you in memes on Instagram so maybe it’s as real as real gets. Their second assumption would be that you have a big fat crush on your TA. That one’s complicated, mostly because it’s true, but only kinda. It all started in the second week of school when Isla caught you staring at Osamu and slipped you a post-it note with both your initials encircled in a heart. And, because you’re shameless with a good sense of humour, you made a show of kissing it while she was looking. And thus began your meaningless but incredibly entertaining, satirical, co-written fantasy about Miya Osamu.

It also didn’t help that on the first essay you got back, Isla’s paper had been marked up with “are you sure?”s and “this is a jump”s, while yours had “excellent reasoning” and “insightful analysis”. You’d even gotten a little comment at the bottom: y/n, fantastic work. you should speak up in class more often. –– OM

But Miya Osamu doesn’t play favourites because the next week you’d gotten another essay back, this time with another comment at the bottom: y/n, not your best work. you could’ve done better by connecting your first paragraph with the second using grant’s reading. conclusion lacked punch, too. all the best. –– OM

Every time you’d read the words scrawled in blue ink, you’d felt a pair of eyes on you. But you chalk it up to Osamu being a careful grader. A good TA. Someone who cares about his students.

Isla calls bullshit on that. You’re not really sure how to feel about her stance.

The classroom door opens and shuts again. You don’t have to look at your phone to know that it’s nine on the dot. Instead, you and Isla straighten your backs, pull out your notebooks, and focus. Your no-nonsense professor says “good morning” in her usual perky manner before jumping right into her keynote presentation.

“Did you all find the reading okay?” Professor Lee asks an hour into the lecture.

A chorus of “yes”s fill the air. You bite your lip, wondering if revealing that you didn’t understand shit will out you as the class idiot. Or maybe your silence is telling enough–– maybe the people in the seats beside you have noticed the grimace on your face and are having thoughts like ‘gee whiz, am I glad I’m not dumb like her’. Heat rushes to your cheeks. Sometimes you really wonder if you’re smart enough to be here. Occurrences like these do nothing to dispel your insecurities.

You vaguely hear her ask something like, “Any thoughts about the reading?” It’s not that you’re actually dumb. It’s just that this class is ridiculously hard for an introductory course, even for a graduate programme. From the start of the semester til now, fifteen people have dropped the class. There’s just twenty of you left. Guess a ridiculously hot TA can’t save a course’s drop-rate.

Before you can make your mind up on what to say, your professor moves on from her question.

As you look off to the side of the room for a break from your thoughts, you find a pair of blue-grey eyes pointed in your direction.

Everything about you, from the expression on your face to the way your muscles tense, makes you look like a deer caught in headlights–– even though he was the one caught staring in the first place. So maybe your shamelessness works on a scale.

Miya Osamu lifts one corner of his mouth.

And as if the exchange hadn’t happened at all, he looks back down at his laptop and continues typing.

The rest of the lecture goes through one ear and out the other.

“Everyone, I believe Osamu has something he wants to say,” Professor Lee says as everyone begins packing their bags.

The raven-haired TA slides out of his seat and sits on top of his desk. “Yeah.” Osamu clears his throat and crosses his arms over his chest. You notice how the muscles in his arms bulge from the movement.

“Whipped,” Isla mutters, grinning mischievously.

“Him for me,” you whisper back, though your eyes do travel back to his face where they should’ve been all along. Osamu catches your gaze and holds it. And then he looks away again.

“Now, I know you’re all Nobel prizewinners in the making,” he begins, garnering a round of snickers and giggles from your classmates. Most people say that cliques dissolve in college. That there’s no such thing as popularity amongst graduate students. That much, you agree with. But no one ever said anything about popular teacher’s assistants. Especially smart, attractive, witty teacher’s assistants like Miya Osamu. “But in case you didn’t understand the reading or would like to develop a deeper understanding of it, don’t hesitate to email me. I’ll try to host a review session all of us can attend.”

Professor Lee smiles appreciatively at Osamu, adding, “That’s a wonderful idea, Osamu. Guys, please take this opportunity if you struggled with the reading. I know eighty pages is a lot, but our next three classes are structured around the concepts in the reading and the mid-term next week will almost exclusively be about it, too.”

Well, shit.

To: m.osamu@hqu.edu

Hi Osamu,

I was wondering if I could get some help with the reading from last class. To be frank, I couldn’t make it past page 15 and I’m lost like a snot-faced five-year-old in a shopping mall on Black Friday. Sorry. Thanks in advance!

Regretfully,

Y/N

MS Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

From: m.osamu@hqu.edu

no problem. is 5 pm tomorrow at jack’s okay? we start on the concepts from the reading next class so i want to get you up to speed asap. let me know. thanks.

OM

PhD Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

It’s five minutes to five when you pull into the parking lot of Jack’s Diner. The shiny, retrofuturistic eatery is a university favourite but the empty parking lot tells you it’s completely deserted right now (and rightfully so–– who eats dinner before six?). The black BMW parked a few spots from your car, however, says that you’re not alone.

Osamu’s figure comes into view as you reach for the handle to the front door of Jack’s. The twenty-six-year-old sits by himself at one of the bright red tables in the back, typing away on his dark grey laptop.

His head lifts up at the sound of the opening door. Osamu calls out your name and waves you over.

“Hi,” you greet with a smile, sitting down across from him.

“Hey.”

You look around before leaning forward on the table. “Is anyone else coming?”

“No.” Osamu sits back in his seat. “I thought about hosting one big group, but then I realised that it’d probably be stressful for the staff here.” He nods his head in the direction of the kitchen. “And I had a hunch that everyone would have different questions. Forcing everyone to review concepts they already know is a waste of time.”

At first, you nod. That makes sense. But then you furrow your brows. “So how long have you been here?”

Osamu blinks. He hadn’t expected you to ask about him. “Hmm? Oh.” He taps his phone to check the time. “Just a while.”

Quirking a brow, you ask, “And how long is ‘a while’ to you?”

“Seven hours,” he admits, chuckling lightly when he sees your jaw drop. “A lot of people had questions. They just don’t act like they do. Anyway, time flies. Really, it does.” Quickly, he clears his throat and sits forward. “So, about your email.” He grins. “Not sure if you meant it to be funny, but it was.”

“I’m glad my distress was entertaining for you. Do you TA just to watch grad students suffer?”

“Perks of the job,” Osamu says. His grin widens when you giggle. He’s never heard you laugh before and he realises at that moment that it’s really nice. And then that same grin falters. Gracefully, of course, and imperceptibly to you. But not to him. Is it okay for him to be… thinking things like that? About a student? But you’re not really his student since he’s just the TA. Right? Osamu ignores the weird feeling that comes over him and clasps his hands together at the edge of his laptop. “Back to your email. Can ya tell me what you’re confused about?”

Three hours and two Impossible Burgers later, you suddenly understand everything about food molecules so well that you wonder why you’d even been confused in the first place. But besides that, you’ve also picked up things about Osamu. As a person and not an idea. Not that you’d been actively searching for fun facts about your TA. But they’d stuck to your brain like gum at the bottom of a desk. He likes to slip sarcastic quips into a conversation every now and then. Eats burgers upside down (“The right way,” as he’d said, smirking). Is friendlier than he looks.

“You’re really good at explaining things,” you comment as Osamu shuts his laptop closed.

“Well, I kinda have to be,” he says. And maybe it’s the mental fatigue catching up on him or the fact that he’s real fond of the reason why he can break big concepts down into morsels but suddenly, the rest of his thoughts spill out his mouth like wine. “I have a twin brother with potato salad for brains.”

“Oh?”

And before he can stop himself, he tells you about Miya Atsumu, the pro-athlete you’ve definitely heard of but never gave too much thought. And then you hold onto the fact that they were both on the volleyball team and you ask of which school, so then he tells you about Inarizaki, the high school he attended, and then his decision not to go pro to go to college, and then––

“Sorry,” he laughs, cheeks turning pink. “You probably didn’t need to hear all that.”

“No, it’s fine,” you say–– and you mean it. “Your life is interesting.”

Osamu leans back in his chair. “Well, I’m sure yours is, too.” He holds your gaze like it’s the key to your presence. It’s an invitation. The kind that comes from people who don’t really know if they want you around but also don’t want you gone.

You take it.

Osamu shouldn’t–– he really shouldn’t–– but he wonders about the things you didn’t tell him the entire drive home.

Isla laughs when you tell her about what happened at Jack’s. You lay in bed with your phone next to you on speaker, your face turned on your pillow so that you’re staring out the window at the city below.

“He wants you,” she sings.

“Or he was just being nice.”

“Methinks not!” Isla giggles. “He’s intrigued, girl! You’re like that cute little new mystery in his life and he just wants to get to know you.”

“I think he was just being polite.”

“Or he’s crushing on you!”

“In your dreams.”

“You mean yours? Boo, you’re no fun today. Usually, you go along with the jokes.” Isla’s tone is playful on the surface but full of implications.

A few silent seconds pass. Yeah, you think, agreeing. I do.

“Girl,” Isla drags out the word in a high pitch, saying it like a scientist says ‘eureka’. “You’re not playing along anymore because it’s real now. You're actually catching feelings!”

“Am not!” you laugh.

“The Y/N I knew would’ve said ‘nah, bitch, he’s catching feelings’ and I think that says all there is to say.”

“Okay, I think he’s cute but it’s not a crush,” you concede, grinning. “And he’s the TA, Isles. It’d never happen.”

“Not while he’s still a TA in a class you take.”

“Isla.”

“Ask him out once this semester ends! Unless you’re chicken.”

“I’m not asking him out.”

“Knew you were––”

“Have you seen me? He’s asking me out.”

Miya Osamu walks through the door at eight-fifty as usual that next morning, dressed in his usual button-up, holding his usual cup of coffee. But this time, as the rest of his tall frame passes through the doorway, Osamu’s eyes subtly scan the faces in the lecture hall, lingering for just a while over yours. The corners of your lips turn up. You hope he saw that.

“Bitch!” Isla whisper-screams. The students sitting around you turn around at the noise and grin at each other when they realise it’s just Isla being… well, Isla. She shoos them away jokingly.

“What?” you whisper back.

“Care to explain why our TA was literally eye-fucking you?”

“That was hardly eye-fucking,” you retort. “Maybe like an eye-handshake.”

“Yeah, a naked eye-handshake where his thang is handshaking your––”

He does it again the next class.

And the next.

And then he doesn’t. Miya Osamu walks through the door to Food Chemistry I at eight-fifty in the morning in a navy blue button-up with a cup of coffee in his hand and looks through the rows of seats in the lecture hall for your face, only to find it missing.

He debates pressing the matter.

To: m.osamu@hqu.edu

hey osamu,

i wasn’t in class today because i’ve been sick with the flu (no big deal, just feel like i’m dying). a classmate sent me pictures of the slides from today so i think i should be fine, but is it okay if i email you with any questions? thank you very much!

miserably,

Y/N

MS Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

From: m.osamu@hqu.edu

y/n,

of course. sorry to hear that you’re sick. let me know if i can do anything to help you. the midterm is next week. get well soon.

OM

PhD Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

“You writing that the midterm is next week did not offer me any peace of mind, by the way,” you say, spinning around in your chair as Miya Osamu enters your pod in the library.

He offers you a wry grin. “Hello to ya, too.”

“Was that an accent?” You thought you’d heard one at Jack’s, but you couldn’t be sure because it’d been so spotty.

Osamu slips into the seat beside yours and pulls out the laptop in his messenger bag. You catch a whiff of his cologne–– something spicy and woody, but clean. It suits him. “Nice catch. Yeah, I speak a regional dialect. Took me a while to smooth it over but it still resurfaces every now and then.”

“Why?”

“It just didn’t seem fitting for a PhD candidate, I guess,” Osamu explains, opening the slides from the class you missed. A day after your initial exchange, you’d emailed him again (with a much clearer mind) and asked if he could go over the slides with you in person.

i literally feel like i’ve been given the homework from russian lit, you’d written. except the russian has been translated to hieroglyphs and my task is to choreograph an interpretive dance based on the hieroglyphs.

Osamu had snickered when he saw your email. that doesn’t even make sense. must be the fever talking, he’d been tempted to write. But that strange feeling had come over him again, the one that’d screamed at him to keep it professional, goddamnit, so he’d played it safe instead and sent is eight pm at the main library okay? He hates that you’re getting a watered-down version of his personality. Osamu swears he’s a lot more interesting when he’s not, well, a TA.

“I think it’s fine,” you say, smiling. “I like it. It’s you.” And suddenly, you’re wondering if it’s okay to be complimenting your TA. If it’s okay to say that you like things about him, or if that crosses some grey, unclear line. Is it weird to treat your TAs like they’re your friends? It’s not like TAs are real teachers. Right?

A grin–– wide and genuine and almost excited–– grows on Osamu’s face. He rubs the back of his neck as his eyes flit over to the laptop screen. “Thanks. Really.”

You nod. But you feel like there’s more that he might want to say, so you wait.

“I got a lot of shit for it when I came here for my master’s, y’know. Not to my face, of course, but people would refer to me as ‘the guy with the accent’. A professor once said it made me seem crass. Said it’d hold me back in my career.”

“So you changed.”

“Adapted,” Osamu corrects. “It’s hard to admit but conforming is sometimes all you can do when you don’t have the power to change the system. Can’t really make everyone suddenly respect a dialect.”

“And after you’re finished with your PhD, you’ll go back to speaking in that dialect?”

Osamu looks out the window and smiles, probably imagining the plans he’s already made about the future. “Yeah.”

“What if you have to speak the standard language at your job? Like, your boss is all, ‘hey man, if you don’t speak––”’

“I’ll be the boss.”

“Oh?”

And with a little more prodding, Miya Osamu tells you about the restaurant chain he plans on opening after graduation, the slides about food additives left completely untouched.

The librarian knocks on your pod a few minutes before eleven to tell you they’re closing.

“Shit,” Osamu murmurs, running his hands through his hair. You’re still laughing about something he’d said before the librarian interrupted him–– one of his stories from high school–– and he thinks that you’ve completely forgotten that the reason you came to the library was to catch up on the material you were already behind on. And now you’re behind on that. But you look so carefree right now and, actually, you’re very pretty and you’ve got such a good heart and it’s a lot for him to process but he knows he just wants to see you happy a while longer. So Osamu just slumps back in his chair and laughs along with you.

He says your name as his chuckles grow softer. “It’s pretty late. How’re you getting home?”

“I’ve a bike,” you reply. It’s good for the environment and is a pretty solid form of exercise if you do say so yourself. Sometimes you just don’t feel like driving. 

Osamu presses his lips in a thin line. Would it be too much to offer you a ride? “I can drive you home. It’s really not safe for you to be alone outside, especially near midnight. You can get your bike tomorrow. Or I’ll get it for you.”

He drives fast. Not the unsafe fast that speed demons drive at, but the kind of fast where you know he’s got some edge to his character. You bring it up to him–– especially since it’s nighttime, for god’s sake, he could hit something–– and all he does is remind you how there are lamps as bright as the sun lining the entire road to your dorm. And the fact that you live in the least accessible dorm on campus.

“A twenty-minute drive?” he’d exclaimed when he saw the GPS monitor.

“A bunch of roads are closed for construction. It’s a ten-minute bike-ride because I can cut through campus.” And suddenly feeling a little burdensome, you’d added, “Sorry. I can still bike––”

“No.” He’d held his hand out in front of you, gesturing for you to stay in the passenger’s seat. “It’s not a bother at all.” Because it wasn’t. Osamu was… happy. Not that he’d admit that.

“So this BMW,” you start in a teasing tone.

Osamu smirks. “A gift.”

“Can I guess from who?”

“Sure.”

“Atsumu.”

His brows rise. “Colour me impressed.” He hadn’t expected you to remember anything he’d said about Atsumu. Or maybe he had but told himself otherwise to lower his hopes.

“I’m smart like that.”

He snorts. “Not if you keep distracting me and using your review time to…” hang out with me, get to know me, tell me things about you… “…goof off.”

You grimace. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

Osamu makes a turn down a familiar street. It dawns upon you that you're ten minutes away from your dorm and suddenly you wish he’d just make the wrong turn at the next intersection so that you could talk to him some more. It can even be about the health benefits of fish or the molecular makeup of kale–– you don’t mind. You just want to be around him longer.

“I think you’re really smart,” Osamu says quietly. “I think you’re not processing the readings because you’re distracted, or just not fully applying yourself. Obviously, last class’s slides are a different thing, since you were absent. But you really are smart. I’ve seen your papers.”

You bite your lip to hide your grin, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. “Thank you.” You look out the window, too jacked on dopamine to think straight. “I think I still need you, though.”

And that innocuous little sentence floats right out your mouth into the air, settling between you like a little wedge before either of you even realise it. Neither of you says anything. You marinate in the awkwardness before stuttering out a clarification. “To, um, to explain things. Y’know, since you’re, uh, so good at… explaining things.”

Osamu clears his throat and chuckles stiffly. There’s a slightly pink tinge to his cheeks. “Thanks,” he says, looking straight ahead. He can’t even look at you. Fuck. It’s so awkward. “I’ll try to keep… explaining things.” Fuck. What does that even mean?

A few uncomfortable minutes pass in silence. The night can’t end like this, you think. It can’t when everything else had gone so well. You still have to see him for a few more months. “Did you know,” you start, catching Osamu’s attention, “that Jack’s Diner has a location in Italy?”

“Oh?” he asks, making the final turn to the street where your dorm is. He actually hadn’t.

“Yeah. I asked the owner about the chain a while back. Have you ever been to Italy?”

Osamu shakes his head. “I’ve been to Paris, though. To see a friend. He’s a chocolatier.”

Now, if Osamu had been your friend, you would’ve said something like well, let’s go to Italy together, except he’s not. He’s your TA and you’ve been reminded that enough tonight. So instead, you say, “When you open that restaurant of yours in Italy, let me know.”

“That’s gonna take a while,” he laughs. He appreciates how you said ‘when’, though. And he tucks that little bit of confidence you have in him somewhere deep in his mind so that it doesn’t get lost.

“Isn’t that just seven hours?” you shrug, grinning. Osamu’s BMW pulls up outside your dorm and parks as he marvels at what you just said. You’re amazing. You unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to face your driver.

“Thank you for driving me,” you say, offering him a smile.

“Yeah,” he replies.

You stretch out your hand. With a puzzled look on his face, Osamu grabs it and shakes it. Firmly. You can’t help but notice how nice his hands are. Calloused for sure, but they feel nice.

“Goodnight, Osamu.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

He watches you jog into the building before driving away. And it’s like you’ve possessed his car or something because the smell of your shampoo and perfume is everywhere and it’s too much but it’s also not enough at the same time and he can feel your palm against his as he spins the steering wheel to make a turn and for the first time in his life he doesn’t turn on the radio to fill the silence in his car. Osamu replays everything you said in his head.

But he especially thinks about that part where you said you need him.

Weeks melt into months. You turn in essays after essays for Food Chemistry I, each coming back with detailed commentary in an all-too-familiar blue scrawl. All your other classes go well–– extremely well, actually. You might just end the semester with a 4.0 if Food Chem doesn’t fuck you over. Isla still tags you in memes on Instagram. You still tell her about everything that happens with Osamu.

Speaking of.

“That’s the wrong equation,” he says behind your ear as he settles in the seat beside you. The sound of his low voice so close to your ear sends a small shiver down your spine. “You gotta switch the hydrogens.” Osamu knocks on your skull lightly. “What’s goin’ on up in there? Ya got somethin’ on your mind?”

You laugh and elbow him in the side. “Shut up, ‘Samu.” He’d told you during one of his office hours that he’d gone by that nickname because he had a teammate with a foreign name in high school. It sounded so cool, he’d said, grinning.

I think Osamu sounds pretty cool already, you’d teased.

And he’d replied, Let’s trade. I like yours, you like mine, why not share?

You teeter on the line between friends and less-than-friends and, oddly enough, more-than-friends. Sometimes you still play it safe. Sometimes he pauses between texts and real-time conversations, no doubt to scrap an instinctive reply for something more “professional”. Sometimes you say things that make him look at you with the ghost of a smile at the corners of his lips. Sometimes he calls Atsumu to scream about you.

“S’not a no,” Osamu points out. He’s dressed in a black sweater and grey trousers today. You’re suddenly reminded of how the weather’s been getting colder when someone opens the door to the university café and lets in a gust of chilly autumn air.

“Okay,” you admit, setting down the pencil. “I just… don’t really feel prepared for this next test.”

Osamu frowns and looks down at your worksheet. “Your process is correct, though.”

“Right, but… I don’t know. I’ve just not been feeling great about myself lately,” you laugh, looking down at your feet. “Food Chem’s the toughest class I’ve ever taken. And remember how I completely embarrassed myself in that class discussion last week? It’s not really making me feel like I belong here.”

“Imposter syndrome,” Osamu remarks.

“Correct-o.”

He says your name softly and puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Maybe you’re not the smartest, but you’re definitely smart. And you belong here. I’ve seen your papers. They’re just as great as anyone else’s and I don’t hand out compliments for nothin’. You’re gonna do some great things but ya can’t improve if you ever give up.” Osamu searches your eyes for a sign of your understanding.

There’re a lot of things you want to say but you don’t know how to put them into words. “Can I hug you?” you finally ask.

Osamu doesn’t even think about it. “Of course.”

He feels you smile against his chest and wonders if you can feel his heart beat faster.

Isla camps out in your dorm as finals come around the corner.

“I don’t understand shit!” she wails, throwing her notebook into the air.

“Isles, it’s okay,” you laugh, slipping out of your chair and walking over to her nest in the corner. “You gotta chill, dude.”

“Not fair! I didn’t have a hunk holding my hand through this course all semester,” she retorts, humour glittering in her dark eyes. “I had the Organic Chemistry Tutor and his accent’s cute enough but, girl, you had Miya Fucking Osamu!”

“You’re literally the worst.” You giggle and sit down beside her. “Tell me what you’re confused about. I’ll try to explain it to you.” The way Osamu does.

You text him that you’d channelled his brains later that night.

His reply comes seconds later. all you, einstein.

From: osamu

good luck on the exam

you’re going to kill it

To: osamu

would u like to divulge any… information about it? 😏 😏 😏

From: osamu

bye

To: osamu

i was kidding :(

From: osamu

fine. tip #1: write your name

To: osamu

not very helpful. 0/10

From: osamu

keep running your mouth and 0/10 is what your score’s going to be

i’m kidding

you got this, y/n

“Holy fuck,” Isla groans as you cross the street to head to lunch at Jack’s. “If you don’t see me next semester it’s because I’ve gotten my grade back and decided to drop out.”

“What would you do?” you ask, amused.

“Maybe move to New Zealand. Raise some sheep. Marry a hot, blond shepherd and fuck off to a cliffside cottage.”

“Solid plan.”

“What about you?” she asks.

“What about me?”

“Remember that conversation we had at the start of the year? About your man?” The two of you reach another red light for pedestrians.

“We’re friends. He’s not my man,” you laugh. Though it pains you to. Something about being Miya Osamu’s friend doesn’t really sit right with you, but you don’t know how to not be his friend. You don’t know how to move out of the corner you’ve backed yourself into.

“But you wish he were! And now you can finally hit him with that ‘Hey, Osamu, I’ve been madly in love with you since the start of the semester, wanna fuck like rabbits and then open that store in Italy?’ and he’ll be all––”

A throat clears behind you. With wide eyes, the two of you turn around.

Holy fuck.

Miya Osamu stands behind you with his hands in his pockets and an enormous smirk on his face.

“He’ll be all what?” he asks, eyes fixed on you.

Isla murmurs an excuse and starts walking on her own to Jack’s.

“Um.” You swallow nervously and shrink in your coat. “You heard all of that, right?”

“Yep.” Osamu grins. He grins. He’s grinning. He’s smiling like he’s won the fucking lottery and you honestly don’t know what to do with that information.

“So, like,” you look down at the sidewalk and kick at a pebble, “what are your thoughts about that?” God, you could die. “‘Cause I know you’re a TA and it’d probably look pretty bad and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you because I like you and it’s cool if we just…”

Osamu interrupts you with a laugh. “My thoughts,” he says, “are that I want to kiss you.” His fingers lift your chin up. “What are your thoughts about that?”

Well, shit. “I think that’s pretty cool, yeah,” you breathe, eyelids fluttering shut as his face comes closer to yours.

He tastes like mint. And his lips move softly, slowly against yours like he’s savouring the moment. And then you feel his hands snake around your waist to pull you closer–– closer because you both are tired of forcing the distance between bodies that want to be near each other, closer because he’s thought about kissing you just like this for so long, closer because you remember the last time he’d touched you was three days ago and it was just a brush of his fingers against your arm and that feeling of wanting more haunted you for the entire night. But holy shit, Miya Osamu is kissing you. He’s kissing you.

And then he pulls away. His dark eyes flit over yours. “I,” he breathes, “I need your course load next semester.”

“What?” you ask, disbelief written all over your features, chest rising and falling as you try to steady your breathing. You just kissed, for God's sake, and he's––

“I need to know which courses not to apply to TA for,” he grins, cupping your face in his hands. “Can’t be teachin’ in a class with my girlfriend as a student.”

“So we’re official?” you ask, beaming.

“If you want,” Osamu replies with a smirk.

You grab the front of his coat and tug him down for another kiss. “Hell yeah, I want to be official.”

[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. 

[bitchylandtyphoon]

Sugar on Honey🍯

A/N: Hellooo I hope you guys are doing great I just wanted to try writing a Jim Hopper fic since I barely see any like come on he's so fine and ugh. Ahem anyways pls enjoy the story if u have any recommendations feel free to comment! If u have a request feel free to send a message to me! I'm still new to Tumblr so I'm not really sure how to work any of this sorry about that! ------------------------------------❈---------------------------------------- Hopper didn’t understand how you were so calm with Eleven. He tried, he really did. He took care of Eleven as if he was her own but he couldn't be as gentle and soft as you were. “This is an apple ok? It's red, sweet and a fruit. This is a cucumber, it's green and a vegetable!” Hopper watched as you taught Eleven basic English. “Ok, now you try” You hold up a bunch of grapes. “These are...grapes, sweet, blue and...fruit?” Eleven guessed while squinting hard at the grapes. “Heyyyy not bad! You're doing great, you just mixed up purple with blue but no biggie. Do you wanna do another one?” You said encouragingly. Eleven nods and proceeds to pick another product to investigate. “Oooh~ Hopper watches as you two laugh and learn, he couldn't stop himself from smiling, he appreciated what you were doing especially since Eleven was on house arrest. You were the only one he could trust. He absentmindedly takes a sip of his dark coffee hissing as it was too hot to drink. “You ok?” Hopper looks up to see you looking at him with a worried expression on your face. He loved that face, it was pretty cute. He chuckled “Ye, just too hot to drink” “Be careful before you burn your tongue off for good” You start cleaning the food off of the ground. “Yeah yeah, I won't mom” Hopper jokes as he goes into the kitchen. “Very funny Hopper haha” You give a playful glare “What is so funny? Ha...ha?” Eleven asks, seeing you two joking around not understanding the sarcasm. “Oh it's just sarcasm honey, try finding it in the dictionary, you'll find the meaning there.” You give a gentle smile while pointing to the thick book. “Well, there you go word of the day.” Hopper comes back into the hall sitting in the big chair stirring his spoon in the white coffee-stained mug. You wondered how much coffee he really drinks in a day. “S-A-R-C-A-S-M? the use of i- irony to m-mock or con-convey contempt?” Eleven read trying to read the words correctly. She looked at you for guidance and approval. “Good job kid, you’re doing so well, I need to go now, be a good girl for me ok?” you kissed her crown and gave a hug feeling her arms slowly wrapping around your bottom. “Bye-bye now~” “Bye (Y/N)” Eleven gave a small shy smile as she watched you look for your coat. “Here you go, make sure to zip up” Hopper gives you your coat helping you put it on. “Mm thanks, Hopper” “You want a ride?” Hopper suggests side-eyeing you while he refills his coffee. “I think ill manage, il call if anything happens” “Nope nope it's freezing, not letting you go out alone especially when it's night,” He says sternly as he puts on his coat and boots grabbing his keys on the way to the door “I'll be fine-” “Come on, let's go” You sigh “Ok fine” You trudge to his truck knowing he wouldn't let you win the argument. Giving a small wave to Eleven through the window. You pull his hand stopping him from going too close to the truck. “What, what's wrong, did you forget something?” Hopper asked “No you did” Hopper gives you a confused look “Eleven” “What about her?” “You didn't tell her bye” You take your hand backcrossing it against your chest as you look at the chief disappointed. Hopper sighs and goes back to the house, you watch as he tells Eleven bye” “Happy?” He says with his arms out as he walks towards you. “Depends,” You say as you open the truck door. You wait until he starts the car and starts moving out of the parking area. “What did you tell her?” “What?” “What did you tell her?” “I told her to keep the doors locked, not go out, keep windows and curtains closed-” “Hopperrr” You interrupt him,

sighing with your head down “What have I told you, give be gentle with her. She’s smart and strong, she can handle herself if anything happens. All you have to do is give her a simple bye and a hug” You put a hand on his leg “I know you're trying Jim, I really do know that. I've seen some progress and I'm really happy for both of you. Don’t be so harsh on her ok? She’s just a kid” Hopper sighs calming under your touch. “I know, I know I just. I feel like if I don't be hard on her, she’ll run away, get in some serious trouble and go meet her boyfriend.” Hopper rolls his eyes thinking of Eleven and MIke together. “Well if I was on house arrest and a teenager I would've run away to see my boyfriend too,” You say taking your hand off of his leg. “No you wouldn’t, you wouldn't even go out to the park, you were too much of a wuss,” He says as he looks for something in his coat. You dramatically gasp “Ok first of all, you're right, I would've never run away. Second, I have strict parents and you know that. Third I am not a wuss I just like staying home,” you sigh “who am I kidding I hated going out and being around people, especially with those dumb kids running around” You shake your head thinking of how introverted you were as a kid. Hopper laughs, throwing his head back watching you jokingly pout at him. He takes a cigarette out of his right pocket. “Well you were always the kid in the back of the room, quiet and shy, never understood how you could keep your mouth shut for so long” You grab the cigarette out of his mouth throwing it away somewhere in the car making him give you a glare “You know how my parents are, “be quiet,” “be good,'' “do good in school”, “no boys”” You say, quoting your parents' famous words. “Well at least they raised a good person,” He said, giving a genuine compliment your way. “Hah, that was all my doing” Frowning remembering how horrible your parents were at raising a child. You saw Hopper turning the radio on. You knew what he was doing but you weren't going to stop him at all. He turned it to the classic rock channel starting to sing and rock his head. Ah, how you loved him. Hey hey baby when you walk that way, Watch your honey drip, can't keep away Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh, ah, ahOh yeah, oh yeah, oh, ah, ah. “Here comes Jim Hopper, everyone missing members of Led Zeppelin'' You say as if there's a crowd. I gotta roll, can't stand still Got a flamin' heart, can't get my fill You laugh at how amusing he sounds, he's not half bad for the chief of police. Eyes that shine, burnin' red Dreams of you all through my head You throw your head back clutching your stomach, you just couldn't stop laughing. “Come on singggg, I know you know this one” Hopper says encouraging you to sing. “Noooo, are you crazy?!” You yell at him “Come onnnn” He pushes you You roll your eyes as he starts singing again. Hey, baby, oh baby, pretty baby Move me like you're doin' now- “Who knew the kitten could sing huh?” Hopper looks at you while you start singing with a big smile.

Didn't take too long 'fore I found out What people mean by down and out

Spent my money, took my car Started tellin' her friends she gonna be a star~ ------------------------------------❈---------------------------------------- “Thanks for the ride, really appreciate it Jim. Goodnight. Make sure to get some rest ok?” You say as you close the door “Yeah yeah mom, I get it” You give him a glare through the window door. Giving him a wave you turn around to your place. “Hold on!” You hear Hopper's voice shout behind you. Stopping in your tracks you turn around to see Hopper speed walking towards trying not to slip from the thick snow on the ground. The night was so beautiful, the snow was thick and flowing down like paper, it wasn't too cold but just cold enough to make the tip of your nose red. The street lights were on looking like yellow stars in the dark blue sky. It was perfect. “You forgot your bag,” He said, giving it to you. “Oh? OH thank you” you said, giving him a thankful smile while reaching for the bag. “It's fine, it's not like I'm gonna steal it now” Hopper chuckles putting his hands in his coat pockets. “Well, why would anyone steal a gift they gave to someone else?” You said giggling as you put the bag on. He grins “It looks good on you by the way, really suits you” “Oh, thanks” You blush at the comment while brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I was just thinking, you don't have to if you want, but I just wanted to ask you if u wanted to go on a date? I was thinking of a restaurant but only if u wanted to go there, we can go somewhere else, really up to you," he sighed "I'm gonna shut up now, have a goodnight” Hopper turned on his heel and started leaving but felt a tug on his coat. “I would love to go on a date with you Jim,” You said, giving him a gentle smile. You stood up on your tiptoes giving him a peck on the cheek. It felt different because of the stubble but you liked it. The butterflies in both of your stomachs were going crazy, fluttering around as if they were being chased by a bird. You wanted to stay in his warm embrace but fell back down due to the height difference.

“6 pm Friday at Johnnie's?” “I would love that, casual dress code?” “Why would we need a dress code?” He joked “Hoppperr” You hit his chest distancing yourself heading to your house. You stood on the porch seeing him waiting for you to go in your house safely. You lean against your doorway. “Goodnight Jim” God he loved it when you called him by Jim, it was like sugar on honey. “Goodnight kitten” You smiled at the nickname.

Heading inside you close the door, leaning against it. “EEEEEEEEEEE he actually asked me out, oh my god” You laugh at how excited you were acting. You couldn't wait. --------------------------------------❈-------------------------------------- Hopper headed to his truck getting in and turning the radio on. “Good job Hop, good job” He chuckled as he drove off. He couldn't wait.

[meltwonu]

| 🍒 CH-CH-CHERRY BOMB! 🍒 |     [CHAPTER 20] FINAL

pairing; dom!seungcheol x camgirl!reader

this chapter’s notes; camshow, sex toys, shibari, dom!seungcheol, dirty talk, overstimulation/forced orgasms, squirting, degradation, name calling, daddy!kink, gags! 😍💕 ✨HAPPY NEW YEAR!!✨ Here’s to more fun fics in 2021! I can’t believe this is our last chapter though omg 😭 It’s been suuuuch a journey and a privilege to write this little series out! I’ve honestly thought about a camgirl/boy series for like, over a year now, and I’m glad I finally did it! I completed one of my goals! 🥺💕 2020 was definitely a wild one, but I want to thank you all so fuckin’ much for supporting me and stickin’ it out with me all year! Here’s to more in the coming year!💕 Also I was proofreading this at the dining table last night thinking my roommate wouldn’t come out of their room but they did(while I was making dinner and my hands were dirty so I couldnt close my laptop ☠️) and they walked past my laptop and now I’m convinced they saw my fucking smut fic right in the open so yes my little mini-break next week is MUCH needed cause I am ✨embarrassed✨ 🤣 I’ll still do my inbox roundup tomorrow and probably answer a bunch of small thirst posts ‘n stuff throughout the week but there won’t be any drabbles! For now, enjoy chapter 20 🥺, have a safe weekend, and remember that I love you~ ❤️🍒💕

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20 COMPLETE

Seungcheol wakes up much earlier than you do the next morning; pressing a kiss to your forehead as you groan and snuggle deeper into your pillow.

“Baby, I need to go run some errands for a little bit, okay? Just keep sleeping, you don’t need to get up yet. But, I made breakfast and put it in the microwave for you when you decide to get up later.”

His voice is muffled and you can barely understand what he’s saying but you nod; a soft sigh on your lips when you drift back into dreamland. He takes his time getting ready, checking his phone notifications as he gets dressed and places a note on the nightstand knowing that you didn’t catch a single word he said.

‘Hey, did you get everything I asked for?’

Jimin🧍🏻: of course, who do you think I am? Jeongguk?

Jimin🧍🏻: and btw, i’m just giving you a crash course okay? We don’t really have a ton of time

Jimin🧍🏻: did you watch those tutorial videos I sent you?

‘Yeah, I did some practice on my breaks, but I guess you can tell me if I’m doing anything wrong.’

Jimin🧍🏻: okee, i’ll be waiting. Don’t get here too late!

‘I’ll be otw soon. Thanks again, Jimin.’

“Ow--damn, okay, you don’t need to tug on it so much!”

“Sorry, I’ll be careful! And why are we practicing on you anyway?! Couldn’t you just have shown me pictures or something?”

“How else will you learn if not on an actual body? It doesn’t work the same way, Seungcheol.” Jimin pauses, checking himself in the mirror. “Also, keep in mind she does have boobs so just… go slow, okay? It’s not gonna sit like this on her.”

Seungcheol blushes a crimson red; biting the inside of his cheek at how amateur he was at this.

“Okay…”

Seungcheol is gone for a lot longer than you anticipate and although he replies quickly to your texts, you can’t help but be curious about where he’d gone and what he was doing.

Especially knowing that the two of you had to film tonight and knowing that everything was up to Seungcheol.

A shiver rolls down your body at the thought and you quickly try to shake off the nerves that seem to slowly invade your body when your mind starts to wander.

“It’ll be fine, I’m sure…”

“I’m home!”

“Where have you--oh, that’s… a b-big box? Um, should I be concerned...”

Seungcheol grins, shrugging as he sets it onto the kitchen counter. “Just some supplies for tonight. I had to go pick them up from a friend but I had to make sure everything was right.” He notices the way you can’t seem to take your eyes off of the box; eyes twinkling when he makes his way towards you.

He tilts your head up to meet his in a searing kiss, lips easing into a smile when you wrap your arms around his neck and melt under his touch. You moan against his lips just before he pulls away; staring dreamily at him while his hands start to roam over your clothed body.

“We have a long night ahead of us, sweetheart. Let’s pamper you a little before then, hmm?”

j__min: ??? where’s the loverboy

j__min has donated $200

angelhan has donated $75

therealchan99 has donated $50

xcaliburDK has donated $75

xcaliburDK: is that the sybian? Haven’t seen that in a looong while

You bite your lip and nod, somewhat shy as you sit alone in front of the camera. “Seungcheol’s still… setting up but he told me to start! I’m a little nervous, to be honest…” Your eyes flit to Seungcheol who rummages through the box in the kitchen and from the angle you’re sat in, you can’t see a single thing he takes out.

Earlier, he’d cooked you your favorite meal and even took the time to give you a full body massage before the two of you cuddled on the sofa and watched a movie. To you, it seemed a little too suspiciously tame and you only found yourself more nervous when he made you drink two glasses of water and ever so quietly announced it was time to start getting ready for the camshow.

“He’s being so suspicious! He was even gone for a few hours earlier today…” You mumble; brows furrowed at the camera before checking the comments.

It still amazed you every time with how much money you and Seungcheol made from the camshows and videos and it made you feel even better knowing that everyone loved the chemistry the two of you had together. There were a lot of video requests and ideas mixed in with the comments at any given time and you were definitely ready to pitch some to Seungcheol now that you’d rebranded your channel to be a couple’s channel instead.

“Almost done, sweetheart!”

gc__koo: he told me to watch cuz he was being suspicious with me too 

gc__koo has donated $50

alphagyu97: what is he even plotting

alphagyu97: i am excited to see the sybian again tho ngl

artist8hao: pretty baby gonna squirt for us again?

universe_WZ: hell fuckin yea let us see how fuckin wrecked you get on that machine

You feel your pussy clench around emptiness at their comments; already feeling yourself getting wetter and wetter with the anticipation.

Movement out of the corner of your eye catches your attention and Seungcheol walks towards the bed with a wide smile and the same box in hand. “Ready?” You can only nod back slowly, watching as he dumps the contents of the box right next to your body.

gc__koo: oy

chwenon: oh shit

sleepy_wonu: oh baby, you’re in for it now

sleepy_wonu has donated $100

Your entire body fills with warmth as you look over the various objects; unsure of where to really look first. “I, um--”

A stack of red ropes sits next to a small bullet vibrator that sits next to a ball gag that sits next to a pair of EMT shears and your eyes immediately flit up to Seungcheol who only smirks back at your shocked expression. “I had some other toys I wanted to use but I figured I should go easy on you, y’know? Since you showed me some mercy last night.”

Nodding, you reach out towards the ropes, touching them shyly. “Why red?”

“Thought they’d be on theme for you, babygirl.”

Seungcheol takes his time; remembering Jimin’s words when he tugs the ropes around your wrists.

“Colour, babygirl?”

“G-green… daddy…”

He nods, sitting up on his knees behind you as you sit on the sybian and face the camera. You bite your lip, somewhat embarrassed that you were already soaking the toy underneath you as Seungcheol worked to bind your arms behind you.

“D--daddy, where did you l-learn this?” You whisper, somewhat curious if this had anything to do with why he was gone for so long earlier in the day.

“Mm, daddy’s friend Jimin was kind enough to help me get the tools and teach me a few tricks to make sure I kept my babygirl safe. Wasn’t that kind of him?” You nod gently, gulping when you shift atop the machine slightly in hopes of relieving some of the growing sexual tension in your body. “Why don’t you thank him properly, sweetheart?”

Your hazy eyes make eye contact with the camera, head tilted slightly. “T-thank you, J-Jimin… for--for helping daddy…”

j__min: omg a shoutout ive made it

kitty_junjun: we never thought we’d see the day

tangerine_kwan: and here we all thought you were gonna be the bad guy huh

hoshi_tiger_xx: like when u only see previews of the book online but the rest of it is different ykwim

Seungcheol makes sure your arms are bound snug enough but not too tight; leaning away slightly to admire his rope work. “Feeling okay so far, babygirl?”

Nodding, you whine back slightly. “Y-yes, daddy… But… my--my pussy wants s-something…” He laughs in return, readjusting so that he’s sitting on your side this time to give himself easier access to start the rest of the bindings.

“Is that so? You’re gonna have to be a little more patient this time ‘cause daddy’s not done yet.” He starts working on the rest of the harness; going slow and checking in with you often to make sure none of the ropes were digging into your skin or making you uncomfortable. “You’ll have to forgive me a little though, I’m admittedly a ‘lil inexperienced so our pretty babygirl is only going to be tied up in this pretty harness for tonight.”

gentleman_josh95: the fact u even took the time to learn just for her

gentleman_josh95 has donated $100

artist8hao: seriously, the dedication

kitty_junjun: we stan a man who knows safety and etiquette 

Comments of reassurance and donations flood in at Seungcheol’s small apology and although the two of you are in your own world; you can tell from just the amount of pings coming from your laptop that they all seemed to be encouraging him.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence as Seungcheol continues to move around you on the bed to finish the harness and a smile graces his lips when he starts to secure the last knots in the back. He can’t help but mentally pat himself on the back at how neatly he’d done it for his first time.

“There. All done, baby.”

Your eyes flit to the laptop’s screen to see yourself; cheeks hot when you see how fucked out you already look and he hadn’t even touched you properly or turned on the machine.

The star harness Seungcheol had tied looks pretty with red ropes and you can’t hide your smile at how good it looks on you too either. “Ah, daddy made it really p-pretty… Thank you.”

This time, Seungcheol nods, letting you admire yourself as he silently reaches for the small remote for the sybian, switching it on.

Your entire body lurches forward as soon as the vibrations attack your clit and you immediately find yourself moaning and grinding down onto the machine as he gives you some relief.  

“You’re welcome, babygirl. Now let’s really have some fun, huh?”

You need to cum.

Badly.

“Awww, is my pretty baby drooling? Does it feel that good on your sensitive ‘lil clit?” He teases, smoothing down your hair as you cry around the ball gag in your mouth; drool seeping out from the side of your lips when he raises the vibrations a setting higher.

You don’t know how many times he’d played with the settings and edged you by now, but all you do know is that the urge to cum only grows stronger as you grind against the machine, soaking it with your wetness as you chase the pleasure building up in your body again.  

Surely cumming was okay, right? He never said you couldn’t.

You whimper around the ball gag, eyes fluttering shut when the tension in your body snaps in the blink of an eye and your thighs clamp down onto the sides of the machine. Throwing your head back, you moan against the gag and ride out your high as Seungcheol watches you from the side.

“Mm, bet that felt good, huh? But I know you want something in that greedy ‘lil cunt of yours, don’t you? You want daddy’s cock slamming into your tight ‘lil hole ‘til it’s full of my cum, right, sweetheart?” He licks his lips, turning off the sybian as you slump forward.

universe_WZ: shit shes so sensitive

chwenon: especially with her arms bound like that i bet she’s on cloud nine rn

gentleman_josh95: her cute lil head is probably all fuzzy already from all the sensations

therealchan99 has donated $100

gc__koo has donated $75

j__min has donated $150

All you can do is whimper and nod; teary eyes blinking back at Seungcheol as he smirks and leans in towards you.

“Mmm, you’ll get what you want eventually. But for now, you’re gonna cum again.”

He turns the sybian back on, licking his lips when he sees your body tensing again. It was always easier to get you to cum a second time and his point is proven when you mewl around the ball gag a few minutes later; chest heaving in stuttered breaths as you try to shy away from the toy still vibrating against your overly sensitive clit when you’re quickly thrown into another orgasm.

“You always cum for daddy so easily, don’t you, babygirl?”

Your head feels fuzzy after already cumming twice in such a short span of time but you nod, head lolling to the side as Seungcheol finally turns the sybian off for good.

Seungcheol gives you a second to catch your breath before he’s scooting in and fiddling with the clasps at the back of your head to take the ball gag off.

A thread of saliva connects your lips to the gag and you whimper at how good it feels to be able to actually speak again. “D-daddy…” Drool drips from your mouth as your lead lolls forward and Seungcheol is quick to bring a hand up to keep your head up as he looks into your lust filled eyes.

“Colour, sweetheart?”

“Still g-green…” He nods back, checking to make sure none of the ropes had shifted. “Would you like some water before we continue, baby?”

“Yes, daddy…”

He fetches you a glass of water, tilting it against your lips as you down the entire glass and you find yourself a little surprised at how needed it was. “Thank you, d-daddy…”

“You’re welcome, babygirl. Ready to keep going?”

You nod, a little bit more energized. “I hope everyone, mmh, l-likes the show so f-far~” Your teary vision prevents you from reading the comments and before you can even make an effort to, Seungcheol is already helping you off of the machine and helping you sit on the bed across from him.

alphagyu97: ugh she looks so fucking good in that harness

angelhan: right? That shade of red looks so good against her skin too

angelhan: so fuckin pretty

tangerine_kwan: pics for the private room later? Plz i beg

Seungcheol takes this time to take off his boxer briefs, cock curving up against his abdomen when he’s fully naked across from you. He wraps a hand around his cock, moaning and spreading the precum down his shaft as you watch. “D’you want this, baby?”

Your lips fall open in a silent moan as you watch Seungcheol jerk himself off and you can’t help but squirm. “Y-yes…”

“Tell me exactly what you want then. Let them hear what a filthy little slut you are for me.” You can’t help but feel miserably empty watching him and despite having already cum twice, you want his cock fucking you open and making you cum again.

“I--I--”

“Yes, babygirl?”

“I, ngh, I want d-daddy’s cock… Please? Ah, I--I wanna feel you fucking my--my pussy into the, mmh, s-shape of your c-cock… And I w-want you to c-cum inside my--my slutty little h-hole…”

Seungcheol scoffs, hips shallowly thrusting up into his enclosed fist. “That’s right. You’re just my slutty ‘lil babygirl that lets me use all her tight holes how I please, right? You like it when I cum down your throat and in your pretty ‘lil ass. But we all know you like it best when I cum in your hot ‘lil cunt. Makes you feel all warm and full, doesn’t it? You like it when my cum is dripping out of your spent cunt and sliding down your shaky thighs.” This time you nod furiously as you whine back in response.

“P-please… Can’t wait any--anymore!”

This time, the impatience takes over as you slightly tug on the ropes; whining when they don’t give. “Daddy!”

And this time, he gives in quicker than he anticipates, growling as he reaches for the EMT shears to cut you from the harness. “Don’t let your arms down, no matter how much you want to. You’re going to strain your arms if you move too fast so let me handle it, okay, sweetheart?”

The sudden gentleness in his voice has a giddy warmth pouring over you as you nod and sit still while he cuts at various points of the harness to make the ropes fall loose around your arms and chest. You keep your arms in the same position like he requested and you soon feel his hands roaming your skin and massaging your arms to get the blood flowing again.

“You’re so good for me, baby.” He whispers against your hair, leaning down to kiss your shoulder before he slowly easing your arms down from being folded behind your back.

He continues to massage your arms for a few more minutes before it’s you that’s getting impatient. “Daddy… Can you fuck me now?” Whispering, you slightly turn your body to the side to meet his gentle stare.

Seungcheol laughs under his breath, nodding. “Lay on your back for me, legs spread.”

You follow his orders as you quickly scramble to get into position; legs spread wide for him to situate himself between.

“Mm, your pussy is still so fuckin’ wet. I wanna taste you on my tongue, baby.” Whines spill from your lips as you shake your head ‘no.’

“No! My p-pussy feels empty, I need y-your cock, daddy… ‘n I’m so wet, you can probably, ah, just s-slide your cock in…”

He wraps a hand around his cock just as you wrap your legs around his waist and he guides himself until the head of his cock is right at your entrance.

Neither of you say a word as he slowly starts to sink his cock in; guttural moans on his lips when he meets no resistance and bottoms out in a singular thrust. “Holy fuck, your cunt is so fuckin’ wet. Shit, and so t-tight!” You clench around him, already feeling good with his cock inside of you as you beg him to fuck you hard and fast.

“Ngh, p-please fuck me like--like I’m your, hah, c-cocksleeve… I want it f-fast, daddy!”

He grits his teeth at your words; drawing his hips back before snapping them into you just how you wanted. “Fast, hmm? All you think about in that pretty head of yours is my cock pounding you open, huh? Slamming into you so fuckin’ good, it makes your toes curl when you cum.”

Seungcheol starts a quick pace, already feeling the pleasure building up for himself when you’re reduced to garbled noises and broken cries of his name. The heels of your feet dig into the small of his back as you try to press him in closer and he’s quick to reach for the small bullet vibrator left on the bed next to your body.

“Your body is so fuckin’ sensitive, I can already feel how tight you’re getting around me. So fuckin’ greedy to cum too. Already came twice and you still want more. You’re not satisfied until your whole body is shaking underneath me, huh, sweetheart?” He turns the small toy on, pressing it to your clit as you yelp and let out choked sobs.

“Ah, ngh, d-daddy, my--my clit’s t-too sen--sensitive! I--I can’t--!” Squirming, you feel the pressure building up obscenely quick; bottom lip quivering when he takes one of your free hands and makes you hold the toy to your swollen clit.

“Just a little more, sweetheart. Don’t you wanna cum?”

He angles his thrusts to graze against your g-spot and loud cries of his name leave your lips in a hurried, jumbled mess when he only doubles his pace.

The sound of donations and comments pour in like water and get lost within the ringing in your ears; unable to even warn Seungcheol that you’re about to cum when you feel your entire body starting to lock up underneath him.

Your lips part in a silent scream and your back bows off of the bed, thighs shaking uncontrollably as you cum for the third time. Seungcheol growls, fucking you through it as you squirt all over his lower half.  He finds it harder and harder to thrust into you as you cum, but he feels himself quickly following suit with your warm walls fluttering around his cock.

“Fuck, baby, that’s right. Squirt for me, get me fuckin’ soaked while you cum.” He uses a free hand to make sure you keep the toy pressed to your clit, growling when he starts to unload his cum inside of you. “Mmh, gonna fill your cunt up with what you want, baby.”

A shaky moan leaves your lips as you feel him throbbing inside your pussy; walls clamped down onto him in a vice grip as you ride out the remnants of your orgasm.

“Ah, d-daddy’s cumming suh--so much inside of my p-pussy…”

Whining, you feel Seungcheol’s grip on your hand give way as he rides out his pleasure and you take the opportunity to turn off the small bullet vibrator while he doesn’t notice.

You watch his face contort in pleasure, hips still shallowly thrusting into you as his entire body shivers above you.

“D-daddy’s so h-handsome...” You mumble, cheeks hot when he cracks a smile through the pleasure wracking his body and chuckles under his breath. 

“Thank you, babygirl.” 

After you end the show, Seungcheol makes sure to cuddle with you on the bed for a little while longer.

“One more glass of water, baby.” You whine in response, pouting up at him before he gets up from the soaked sheets. 

“But I already had a glass! If you have a piss kink just say so, ‘Cheol!”

He lets out a boisterous laugh at your comment, trudging back to the bed from the kitchen with another glass of water for you. “You need to be hydrated, sweetheart. You came three times and we played a little more rough today. I just wanna make sure you’re okay.” 

“Fine, but you didn’t deny my comment.” You snarkily reply, taking the glass from him as you down the water. 

“Don’t make me have to punish you again! I’ll have you know I still need to get you all washed up and change the bed--”

A faint pinging has the two of you turning to the laptop; still on your camming homepage from where you’d checked the revenues from tonight’s show. 

A small [1] sits above your inbox and Seungcheol is quick to turn to you with an eyebrow raised. “I thought you turned off the messaging system on your profile?” 

You tilt your head in confusion, handing him the emptied glass. “I did. The only messages I should get are from, like, the actual system admins or other creator accounts which, I haven’t received any ‘til... now, I guess?”

Seungcheol sets the glass down onto the nightstand before he takes a seat next to you, dragging the laptop closer as you go to check the notification. 

“’Love&Letter Films’? Aren’t they one of the biggest adult film companies?” Mumbling, you click on the message, giving yourself and Seungcheol a second to process the message that stares back at you; a shocked smile on your lips.

‘Hello!

I hope this message finds Cherry and Seungcheol well. 

We, at ‘Love&Letter Films’, have really enjoyed the shows and videos from your channel throughout the years and we really have enjoyed watching the growth of your channel and the addition of Seungcheol to it. The dynamics between the two of you are rare in this industry and we’ve yet to see anyone like the two of you in this market. 

The shows from the last two nights have proven that the two of you have the right kind of chemistry to film together for bigger productions and we would love to hire you for a few film productions we have planned in the upcoming weeks as a feeler. Of course, all expenses paid by us if you would kindly take our offer. 

We love the various scenes and roles that the two of you take on with ease and we would love to help propel your careers forward, should you pursue a career in the adult entertainment industry. 

Please don’t hesitate to contact me as I’ve listed my contact information below. I’m excited to hear from the two of you and hope to work with you in the future on many projects.

Respectfully, 

Kwon Soonyoung, L&L FILMS CEO’

[ninyard]

i want to know ANYTHING and EVERYTHING about the andrew meets neil as stefan au

YES PLS OKAY

(holy shit this was supposed to be a HC ramble/snippets from the fic but uhhh….here’s a mini fic instead????? The actual fic I wrote isn’t even set back in California it’s set in PSU??? This was supposed to be short backstory!!!!!! Anyways lmk if u want the foxes stuff lol Enjoy <3)

Neil had natural looking ashy blonde with green eyes at the time, no older than 14 years old, going by the name Stefan Montgomery. Him and Mary ended up in a motel in Oakland for a couple weeks, regaining their footing after a close-call somewhere in Oregon.

Mary had hit Neil a gnarly heavy-handed blow after he forgot which name he was using in Eugene. Was it Sam? Or Dylan? Or had it been Joseph? A nice inch wide cut sat where his perfect court tattoo would sit, just on the turn of his cheekbone below the corner of his eye, bordered by a healing purple-brown bruise. Stefan was born on the border between California and oregon, stolen from a waiter at a pit stop diner, who didn’t let their coffee cups go empty as they mapped out where to go next.

He had met Andrew by chance; Stefan had been sitting on the bottom of the metal stairs that led up to the floor they were staying at. Mary was having a shower, dying her hair, becoming Georgia, perfect mother, a beautiful, average woman. He was people watching, looking at the cars pulling in and out of the car park, making up his own stories about who was who, what their names were and if they were worth stealing when they inevitably moved on. Andrew hung around the motel because just behind the building was an old, decrepit playground that’s should’ve been foreclosed years ago. Nobody ever used it, so it was a quiet place for him to be alone. He’d been walking through the parking lot after having just grabbed a chocolate bar or two from the vending machine when he stopped in front of Neil.

“What happened to your face?” It was quiet, barely a sentence, not big enough of a question to be intrusive or over-stepping.

“I’m a boxer.” That was the lie he’d been using for a few days. “I had a fight a couple days ago.”

You see, Stefan was a name Neil didn’t want to remember, like a bitter memory he forced himself to forget. It was just before Mary’s paranoia began to spiral even worse that it had already been. Stefan was keep your head down, we won’t be here long, give it a week, give it a week. Stefan was sleepless nights, watching his mother sat upright almost all night, eyes on the door, a knife under her pillow. Stefan was you don’t need friends, they’ll drag you down.

Mary didn’t know until the end that they’d been friends, Neil teaching Andrew the little boxing he knew, Andrew teaching Stefan how to keep yourself busy when you needed something to do. There was something about Andrew that made it impossible for him to stay away; he wasn’t a particularly happy kid, but the way he spoke, the way he cared about the fake life Neil had made up, the way he saw Stefan’s life as something he could never have.

“Have you ever thought about kissing a boy your age?” They’d been in Oakland for three weeks, and the two kids had made plans to meet every time Mary was occupied and Andrew was around. Neil didn’t really think to wonder why Andrew was always around. Didn’t he have a family who would miss him being gone all this time? Didn’t he have a home to go to?

“No,” Neil answered honestly. There wasn’t time for thoughts like that. Kisses weren’t signs of affection; kisses were lies, kisses were dangerous, kisses occupied a space in the mind that could be filled with run, run, run.

“Do you think it’s wrong?” Andrew had been swinging on the swing set, his feet dangling from the chipped plastic seat, the creaky chains holding him up. The question was loaded. Behind it was a conversation he’d had with his foster-mom, a slur from his foster-siblings, another hit from his foster-father.

“No,” that was an honest answer too. In his head his answer sounded like I’ve been told all kissing was wrong. But he couldn’t say that. Normal teenagers thought about kissing, and boyfriends, and girlfriends, and worried about how they looked in front of their crush. “Do you?”

“I don’t know.” His words were a sigh. Andrew trusted Stefan in this weird, out of character way. He’d never met anyone who’d been more interested to hear about his life than talk about their own. Of course, half of it was a half-truth, lies weaved into the story of Andrew.

Andrew was the first person who made Neil smile in a very long time. It was foreign hearing himself laugh, a sound reserved for fake interactions with strangers who couldn’t help but prying. Neil trusted him. His honest eyes often burning a hole in his face, on the days when Neil couldn’t bare eye contact. Andrew was a rock that Neil could feel himself becoming more and more attached to, more and more…attracted to? He didn’t know what that feeling felt like, but when he caught himself thinking about what a long hug from him would feel like, or a kiss on the forehead, the cheeks, the nose, the….

It was an impossible thought that Neil kept buried. Until Andrew had a bad day. Until Neil met him in the playground and he was sat underneath the slide, face buried in his knees that were pulled to his chest. Black hood pulled so far forward it almost covered the wet cheeks and puffy eyes he tried to hide. Stefan sat just across from him, the tips of their shoes not quite touching, but Neil rested his open palms on his shoes for Andrew to hold if he needed. He didn’t ask what was wrong.

“You’re my friend?” Andrew asked, half statement, half question. There was no hesitation in Neil’s “Of course.”

Andrew gently weeped, babbling on about wishing he could feel normal, or have a normal family. He wished he could understand himself. He wished he didn’t have to hurt so much. He’d looked up at Neil with his red eyes and wiped the tears from his face with the cuff of his sleeve. “Can I trust you?”

The statement hurt Neil far more than he thought it would. He hated that words spilled out of his mouth, his eyes stinging at the thought of saying what he really wanted to say. His mouth said “You can tell me anything,” when his brain said “I think Stefan dies in a week”.

Andrew told him about how he thought he was gay, and how embarrassed, alone, and ugly he felt to think that way. He didn’t know what normal feelings felt like. He didn’t know what it felt like to kiss someone he actually wanted to kiss. The statement hung in the air like a floating question. Did he…? Andrew had brushed away the thought almost as quickly as Neil did, but not without both their cheeks flushing pink at the unspoken idea. Neil watched as Andrew messed with the strings on his hoodie. Andrew cheered up after a little while, but when Neil realised how long he’d been gone for, he panicked. Instinctively, he pulled Andrew into a hug before running back to the motel room.

Stefan was bad memories, he’d always had to remind himself. Stefan was a mistake, a fuck-up, a vulnerability he would never, ever show again. Stefan was a slap across the face when he came back late. “Where the hell have you been?” Followed by a lie, then another, then another. Neil had only lied to his mother a handful of times in his life, but when it came to Andrew they seemed to slip out of his mouth at an alarming rate. The next time he seen Andrew, his swollen, burst lip barely hidden, Andrew had brushed his fingers across it and sarcastically asked if it was the product of another boxing match. Neil shushed him when he asked if his mother had done it. That was too personal. He was letting Andrew in too far and he was rotting Neil from the inside out. His hardened exterior fell away when he was around Andrew, and boy, was that dangerous. It shattered into a million pieces when they sat at at the top of the jungle-gym and Andrew asked so gently if he could kiss him.

No, no, no. The ghost of his mother’s hands in his hair told him to walk away. The phantom pain of a slap, and a hit, and a deafening lecture about his safety told him to stop letting Andrew in. He knew it was dangerous. He knew it, he knew it, he knew it. So why did his lips automatically curl around the word yes and his heart start pumping a hundred miles a minute? They looked each other in the eyes for a few seconds, minutes, hours, days, until they were both so close they couldn’t see each other anymore. It was only a peck, a playground kiss, but Neil’s stomach flipped. Andrew pulled away as quickly as he’d leaned in. He didn’t look at Neil for the rest of the hour they spent together, but Neil didn’t look at him. That wasn’t to say they each didn’t have to constantly fight a love-struck smile off their faces every few minutes.

Their meetings started to get less frequent after that. Andrew stopped showing up, but instead left little notes carved into the yellow plastic of the slide. ‘R u grossed out? -A’ was the first one he left after their moment’s kiss. All Neil wrote back was ‘Never’. The next time they seen each other in person they sat hidden again in the top of the jungle gym. Neil knew Mary was planning on them moving on in the following days. He couldn’t tell Andrew. Even the thought of it broke his heart. Regardless of the kiss, or kisses, they shared, Andrew had become the closest friend Neil had ever had. Neil had to remind himself more than once that everything Andrew thought he knew about Stefan was a fabrication. They spoke about sexuality again, hands brushing off each other, sometimes intertwined, sometimes resting on the others leg or arm. Andrew asked if Neil was gay, and his face fell when Neil said no, I don’t think so. It took him a moment to add on “I don’t know what I am”. They left kisses on each other’s lips that lingered for hours, for days. The more Neil let Andrew in, the harder it was for him to keep lying to his mother. She began to get suspicious of where he was going when she left him alone.

Even still, Neil didn’t hear when Mary came into the playground the last time he seen Andrew. Andrew had his head rested on his shoulder, their hands intertwined and hidden between their outstretched legs. They’d been talking about something and nothing at the same time. Neil’s stomached bottomed out when he saw her brunette hair and tiny figure step around the rusted green fence. He let go of Andrew’s hand as quickly and as subtly as he could, but he knew it was no use. He didn’t know how long she’d been standing there. Andrew looked into Stefan’s green eyes as Neil stood up, searching, scared. Neil sent him a weak smile. This was the last time he would ever look into those hazel eyes, his light eyebrows furrowed as he watched Neil begin to walk away. Neil had nodded his way, and whispered a frightened ‘See you around’ before he walked over to join Mary. She grabbed his arm and pulled him towards their motel room, already mentally packing their bags. Not before she beat him harder than she ever had before. Neil expected it. But every blow reminded him of Andrew until Andrew was no longer gentle touches and honesty and kisses. Andrew was a kick to the back of the knees as he walked through the motel room door. Andrew was a slap, and another, and another. He was a screaming, crying, angry mother, shoving whatever belongings they owned into their single duffel bag. Andrew was leaving their key at reception at midnight and starting their journey to another town. Andrew wasn’t worth it. Andrew was the swollen ankle he walked on for miles. Andrew was Mary pulling roughly at his blonde hair to dye it black in some random gas station that night. He wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth it. Neil left Stefan with Andrew in Oakland. He tried to leave the memories there too. Oh, how badly he tried.

The worst part was, Andrew didn’t know that was the last time he would ever see Stefan again. He waited every day for him to come back. Every day came and went and every day he never showed up. Neil didn’t know about that part, you see. Neil thought Andrew would forget about Stefan like a childhood crush, thrown away, moved on to the next cute boy who listened to him talk. They shared a thought, though, drilling the regret and shame into their minds. He wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth it.

(Part 2)

[soulwillower]

troublemaker II • richie tozier

(richie tozier x reader)

requested:  IMA NEED A PART TWO OF TROUBLEMAKER   +    also R U GONNA MAKE TROUBLEMAKER P2 I NEED A PART WHERE THEY FALL IN LURVVVVV    +   holy shit ainslee troublemaker was amazing can you please please do another please    +     will you ever do a part two to trouble maker? i fucking loved it    +     heyyyy so if ur requests do ever open again u should make one where it’s a part two of troublemaker but the reader is the dominant one this time 😳    +     IMFG IM GONNA NEED A PART TWO OF THAT FIC MISS    +     hey ainslee queen I hope you’re doing good I know I am since that fat Cheeto is finally gone lmaoo anyways but I just had this moment in my head since I read your new Richie fic (which I loved): enemies to lovers but it’s sub!richie instead 😉💜💜💜    +      yooooo your fics are sooooooo gooooood. and troublemaker kinda deserves a second part with richie teasing the reader at dinner      

this was highly requested so here!! part 2 of troublemaker!

part one here 

warnings: unprotected sex, pool sex, brief mentions of being caught, sub richie, a bit of switch richie for a hot sec, choking, a bit of praise, dirty talking, french richie!! also a slap (reader slaps richie), i think thats it but this is rly unedited.

translations: (**DISCLAIMER I AM NOT A NATIVE FRENCH SPEAKER I AM TRYING MY BEST**) 

“tu vas me tuer“ - you will kill me

“dit ‘merci’“ - say thank you

“merde” - shit

“oh, mais tu l'as toujours aimée, non?” - oh, but you’ve always liked her, no?

[characters are 18+.]

2.5k words

♡

the next day was just odd.

you're not sure what you expected - it's not like a momentary weakness on both your sides could have unraveled the years of disdain and hate that you've sewn for each other.

so, somewhere in your sex-muddled mind, while you’d been staring at the marks left on you in the mirror, imagining his pale skin against your own, the lasting sting to your hips and the soreness to your throat; you’d almost forgotten how miserable richie was to be around. 

but then you were all at lunch the next day. sitting at the large family table, next to your parents, across from richie and his own parents. and he started dragging his foot over your leg, teasing lightly and making you flush in heat, your eyes meeting and sending thrills through your body.

you don't think anything of it when richie accidentally drops his fork on the floor under him and then excuses himself to crawl under the table like a five year old looking for a crayon, in fact, you just roll your eyes at his stupidity and continue to talk to richie's mom, who sits a few feet away from you at the spacious table. 

a jolt runs through your body when a hand gently caresses your inner thigh, and your breath becomes hitched in your throat, momentarily losing your voice. you look down quickly, to find the mischievous eyes you've spent too much time thinking of the last twelve hours staring at you from under the table, head between your spread legs, mere inches from the apex of your thighs.

 you feel your cheeks heat up as you stutter to answer maggie's question about your hobbies, suddenly hyper-aware that when you'd come in from the ocean you'd left your legs and swimsuit bottom uncovered with only a shirt on your chest. 

a quick kiss is pressed to your clothed clit and you jump back a bit. “y/n, are you okay?” your mother asks, and you kick blindly under the table in shock. a thump sounds under the table and richie yelps, “aie!” 

you cough, “sorry, just-”  “-y/n kicked me!” richie calls, the scrape of the fork on the floor making you roll your eyes. fucking idiot. 

“play nice, y/n.” your mom chides. you shake your head, going back to telling maggie about your afterschool endeavors. 

"-oh, one of richie's friends does that, too." went adds, perking up. you smile, cheeks flushed as richie returns to his chair, fork in hand and a huge smirk on his lips.  you glare at him, flashing him the finger. he just raises his brow, puckering his lips slightly and dropping a wink. 

"oh, that's right! richie, what's her name? my, she is very sweet." maggie adds, taking another bite of salad. richie's eyes meet yours through the top of his bottle of corona lite, as he takes a swig then wipes his lips, smug smirk making you burn in irritation. wentworth laughs, "yeah, she was sweet until you both showed up with hickies everywhere. i swear, there wasn't a single inch of clear skin." 

maggie throws cauliflower at wentworth as she mutters, "went! knock it off."  richie just chuckles, shaking his head. "c'mon, pops. shit happens." he defends. his dad, egged on by his son, laughs, "yeah, no kidding. i think every single girl you've ever had over has left with at least ten hickies. you could at least buy them dinner." 

"hey, at least he has a job," your mom adds, and you squeeze your eyes shut, expecting something bad to follow. "- that way you don't have to be the ones buying him his twenty pack condoms every month." they all laugh. 

“say, y/n may be the only girl your age we know that hasn’t fallen in love with you.” his dad jests, making everyone laugh. “-yet,” your dad adds, and you glare at him.  you shrug, “it’s not really hard at all.” you say. richie scoffs, “you sure, toots?” he asks with a grin. 

“believe me, you’re not my type.” you spit. richie laughs, “right, you like a good gentleman, right? someone who will say ‘you’re welcome’ when you say thank you?” 

you freeze slightly at his words, heat pooling between your legs as you remember the night before. the way he made you say thank you. but his boldness to bring it up in front of your family has you rolling your eyes. “i think i like someone who will do what i say.” you respond. 

his mom laughs, “that’s not a big deal, richie’s all talk, but he’s a nice boy at heart. he needs someone who’ll boss him around.” she winks at you. you turn to richie, in turn raising your eyebrows cockily. he stares back at you. 

“oh, richie’s too busy with those other girls for me, anyways. i have my own troublemakers to worry about.” 

“okay.” richie starts, “i won’t waste my time on you, then. i got plenty of fish in the sea at home.” he says with a wink, and you turn red. why are you still so jealous? 

maggie hums, “oh, mais tu l'as toujours aimée, non?” her tone is teasing, and whatever it is she said makes went laugh, richie’s face going pink. “shush, maman, you just want y/n to marry me so i don’t go through five divorces.” 

everyone laughs. 

your eyes are wide, face full of heat as you stare at your food. the toziers and your family both have always been open about sexuality, and generally really close and so you're used to teasing like this from your parents and them, but you can't get over how jealous you feel. 

so richie has mind-blowing sex with everyone? you glare at your own cauliflower. 

"i'm going swimming." you say abruptly, pushing back and glaring at richie, tossing your finished plate in the dishwasher before exiting quickly, rushing to the pool on the side of the house. 

you're not in the pool for even two minutes before richie's footsteps echo down the side of the house. 

you hide your glare as you look at your body in the water before meeting his eyes, "what can i do for you, tozier?" 

he gives you a smirk, "someone's pissy today." he mutters as he slides into the pool, sitting on the bench under the water on the edge of the shallow end. you glare at him. "what was that shit you just pulled?" you snap. 

he looks at you innocently, "what? i did nothing. it was our parents. you're just fucking sensitive." you roll your eyes, heaving a sigh. when you look at him again, his eyes are trained on the skin of your chest exposed by your swim suit, and you glare.

“what? you like what you see, asshole?” you ask, snapping your fingers so he looks up at your eyes. he smirks, “yeah, i do. can't stop thinking about all the ways i could make you scream. if only you weren’t such a bitch.”

your jaw drops and you wade in the pool towards him. “says you. you couldn’t fucking handle me, tozier. you’re too much of a coward.” you spit. he just smiles. “right, again, i'd like to remind you how many times you begged me and thanked me last night." 

“i hate you so much.” you say, mustering the best glare you can. he raises his eyebrows. “oh, really? is that why you stormed out here?” he says. he tilts his head, "i thought it was because you were just aching so bad for me that you couldn't wait. 

you raise your brows, "fuck you. you were hard the minute i came in for lunch." you tease, toying with the strap of your bathing suit. richie's jaw clenches, but he shakes his head, "as if you weren't begging me to fuck you not twelve hours ago?" he counters, but his voice wavers slightly as you move toward him in the water, slowly sliding to straddle his lap, hands falling to his bare chest. 

"you're unbelievable." you counter, grinding your hips on his and relishing in the pleasure that courses through you. "i know how bad you need me." you whisper, kissing his earlobe before biting the skin of his neck below it. he hisses. 

he's kissing you seconds later, hands pawing at you under the water. he tastes like lime and a bit like the beer he'd had at the beach and again at lunch.

you drag your hand slowly under the waistband of his swim trunks and grasp the base of his cock, squeezing as you start to twist your wrist. he lets out a short moan, his head falling back against the edge of the pool. fuck, he’s so fucking hot like this. you pull him back in for a kiss before looking at him, stopping your motions with your hand. he moves his thumb to trace idle circles over your clit, and you bite back a moan as you watch him.

“what, are you waiting for instructions?" he asks with a cocky smirk. you glare at him hotly. 

then you're sinking onto him swiftly, making you gasp in pleasure and discomfort. he’s so fucking big, but you bite your lip so he doesn’t get the satisfaction of seeing you like this. but then he's the one a moaning and whimpering mess, because you're adjusting and still and he's restless. you feel him inside you, full completely with his cock, him at your mercy, and it makes you smirk. 

"beg for it, richie." you say. 

his eyes widen, cheeks pink. his mouth opens and closes several times, but you're patient. “tu vas me tuer,” he mutters to himself, and you roll your eyes. “i don’t speak french.” you snap, tugging his hair. 

 "please move. wanna feel you around me, please." he rushes out, groaning as he begs.  

you smile mockingly and rise, sinking down onto him again. "was that so hard?" you ask. you gasp, hands clutching the edge of the pool on either side of richie, the feeling of his cock stretching you making you whimper in bliss. he moans your name and it sounds melodic to your ears, his eyes shutting and head rolling back. 

you grab his jaw, though, and mutter, “look at me when i’m riding you, richie.” your voice is sweet and smooth and nothing like the words that fall from your mouth, and you feel him twitch inside you. it makes you grin. he moans, “merde.” 

you move on him, thrusting yourself up and down on him as the water moves around you, adrenaline coursing through you at the thought of getting caught. it makes you grin as you pepper kisses up and down the column of his throat. "god, y/n, please, feels so good." he whispers, hands gripping your hips. your stomach swirls, still responding to the praise though you're the one in control. 

you find a new angle and bite your lip to keep from screaming at the feeling and see richie biting his own bruised lips, his face flushed and chest heaving. his hands are digging into your hips harshly and if you weren’t in so much pleasure, you might laugh at how desperate he looks for you. he’s hitting deep inside you and you feel full, moaning as you bounce up and down.

“fuck, y/n/n… please, please.” he whimpers, his hands running over your hair and your shoulders, lips feathering over the column of your neck as you bounce yourself on him. you moan into his skin, kissing softly under his ear. 

"what do you say?" you whisper into his ear, tugging on his lobe. he lets out a low moan that has you clenching around him in arousal. he rolls his eyes and doesn't respond, so you tug his curls back and he hisses lightly, "i don’t know what you mean." he mutters, cheeks bright red. it makes you smirk, stomach curling with the need for sweet revenge. yes, he knows, but you play along. 

“dit ‘merci,’ pretty boy.” you whisper into his ear, using the only french phrase you can remember that you may or may not have looked up earlier today. but no matter, his reaction is priceless.  

goose bumps raise on his neck and arms and he groans lightly, muttering, “merci, ma belle.” 

you lean back, hips slowing, and you can tell it's torturous for him because his hands tighten on your hips, a small whine escaping his throat. "what was that, richie?" you ask, slowly grinding your hips and letting him hit that perfect spot inside you, making you close your eyes in ecstasy. "say it louder, i couldn't quite hear you. want everyone to know how easily i make you melt." 

"sh-shut up." he mutters instead, his hips starting to snap up into you. you're suddenly shocked by his switch in demeanor, you can tell he's trying to take control; you nearly laugh, and you would if it didn't feel so euphoric. he's smirking as he holds you, fucking up into you and making you clench your fists into his hair, struggling for dominance. "so easy for you to think you're in control," he mutters, "i could tell you were jealous. you only want this cock for yourself, isn't that right?" 

you flush warm at his words but you just glare, filled with anger so you surge forward, hand wrapping around his throat. his eyes go wide and a moan escapes his throat lowly, his hips stuttering. you hum in mock empathy, squeezing your hand lightly as you pepper kisses up his jaw. you start to bounce on his cock again, feeling so close to your orgasm that you have to contain your moans. 

"god, you're so hot when you stop talking." you whisper, hand wrapping around his throat, repeating the words he’d said to you yesterday. his adam's apple bobs as he swallows and stares up at you, a new kind of fire lighting in his eyes as he looks up at you, cheeks reddening as he lets out a light moan. "did you think of me again last night? when you were going to bed?" you ask gently, cupping his jaw as you move on him. 

he pants, nodding lightly with his bruised lip caught under his teeth. "did you think of fucking me, in the ocean? in the pool? in the kitchen? or did you imagine me swallowing your cock under the table during dinner?" you whisper to him, his adam's apple bobbing again, freckles popping out against his reddened cheeks. 

you tut, "richie, did you try to make me jealous today? that's a little embarrassing." 

"it worked, didn't it?" he mutters through a clenched jaw, eyes screwed shut in pleasure. you glare at him, hand raising and slapping his cheek lightly. his eyes shoot open as the left cheek fills with a light pink color, a smirk on his face that sends another wave of arousal over you.  it's almost a reflex it seems as richie's own hand shoots out of the water, wrapping around your own throat. 

you stare at each other as you continue to move on him, his hand on your throat and yours on his own, his cheek skin red from where you'd just slapped him. "that's a yes, doll." he mutters, still smirking. 

then you're moving your hips in a way that hits your g-spot, momentarily losing your grip on his neck as the pleasure makes your eyes roll back. his hand falls from your throat and rests on your hips, tugging you closer to him with need. 

richie’s torso falls back so he’s leaning against the pool wall, his eyes not leaving yours, desperation etched onto his face. you lean to press your hands against his chest, changing the angle again. “fuck.” he mutters and you moan, your legs burning but the pleasure flowing through your body.  

he all but growls, his head falls back with a groan of pleasure, his hands raising to your hips and fucking up into you, eyes scrunched.

"y/n, i'm close, please." he mutters. you moan lightly, "me too baby." you hiss back, his hand thumbing your clit and making you clench around his cock with arousal, legs shaking and toes curling as you fuck down onto him. 

his hips are stuttering and he’s whimpering, thumb rubbing against your clit. you moan at the feeling, whispering praise into richie’s ear, making him snap his hips quicker.

you hit your high quickly and it makes your body shake, your legs stuttering as you still yourself on him, moaning into his neck.

you start to move again, allowing richie to chase his high as he whimpers into your lips, gripping your thighs tight.  "please, please." he's groaning and then his hips are stuttering and he’s moaning your name, cumming as he kisses you.

you feel him fill you up and you sigh in pleasure, feeling shaky but more than satisfied. his hands fall from your hips to wipe at his hot, red face. you run your hands through his salty mess of curls, swallowing. "sorry i hit you." you say genuinely, even though you know he liked it. he chuckles, hands wrapping around your waist. 

"you should know that i liked it. i know you did too."

you can only chuckle lightly, face warm as you bury it in the crook of his neck, still too sensitive for either of you to move yet. he continues after a beat.

"i may hate you, y/n, but god damn if our sex isn't the best i've ever had." he says it in an exhausted voice, eyes closed as your skin sticks to his own, but you laugh a bit tiredly, pressing a kiss to his collarbone and comfortable in the feeling of him still deep inside you. it’s obvious that the feeling in your chest when he speaks those words is pride. 

"then we need to make the most of this vacation, i guess." you say, eyes fluttering. 

tag list:  @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @stenbrozier  @sft-core @clownsloveyou  @moon-shine-baby @daughter-of-the-stars11 @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @chl0bee  @kait16xo @upamongthestarss @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s @diorbubs @leighjaenikhowell @groovybimbo @deepestofwaters  @nate-hargreeves @sassy-uris @loverloserrr @hauntingkaspbrak @soph-ec @hockslutter @babytortie @decafcoffew  @etaerealboy

© all content belongs to soulwillower/tremendum 2021. do not modify, repost, or redistribute. 

[wonhoarctic]

flash | lee hoseok (wonho)

word count: 2.2K

resquest: hii! may i request a wonho angst fic, please? 🥺🥺 thank you in advance!! (i've translated to english)

a/n: hi love! ofc you can, here's your request, by the way, i hope you like it!! ah, and you don't need to be like this with me, we're friends!! (i was going to write it in portuguese but idk if there are people who use to read this, and i did something with ain't about you and with you, that are your favorite songs!! <3

pairing: idol!wonho x idol!fem reader

genre: angst, but with some fluff and smut undertones

contains: wonho can't help but remember about you, lee y/n, the love of his life, his wife and the mother of his beautiful daughter, in the middle of an online concert he's holding, specially when performing his new song flash, which was made just or you (the songs are not in order of albuns!! it's all mixed)

flashbacks are in italic!!!

tw// death, car accident, sasaengs!!

the concert started out with the 'smutty songs', so he wouldn't cry at the beginning, but he couldn't help but remember about when he wrote with you, thinking about you two, loving each other until the morning, or having some rough sex, it depended on the mood, but it was about you two, and he couldn't help but remember; your blissed out face, the sounds you made just for him, mewls, whimpers and moans, just for him, the love bites and scratches you leaved on his skin at hidden places so no one would figure out, your scent, your taste... everything came back to his mind in that moment

hoseok wished he could be at least turned on from the memories he had, but he was broken, he couldn't be nothing but sad remembering about his love, his sweet y/n, who's not here anymore to comfort him after a bad day, to take care of him when he's sick, to make love to him, to kiss and cuddle, to cook his favorite ramen flavors, and to help him to take care of your newborn baby, to help him to change diapers when he don't know what to do, to see you breastfeeding the sweet embodiment of your love... how he wished you were there at that moment, he couldn't believe that you'd left him, that you had left your family

he swore he lost his energy after singing open mind, thinking that he couldn't handle that anymore, he just wanted to lay on the ground and cry, hoping you could hear him and come to cuddle and comfort your husband, but wonho knew you wouldn't come

when lose started to play, he smiled a bit while singing, remembering how you got moody when you entered the set to support him and saw your man hugging the actress by behind, the same way he used to do with you while cooking or doing something important, or when he wanted to talk with the baby during your pregnancy

your pouty face was the death of him, he remembered exactly the texture of your lips on his when he was saying how sorry he was

"you're not going to say a word to me, baby?" you shook your head no "okay, so..." he leaned forward to kiss you, taking care of your growing stomach "do you forgive me now?"

"u-ugh, fine" you blushed, hearing his giggle "but please, do it with me the next time" you laughed

"i swear that in my next mv, you'll be the actress, and our little princess needs to be there too, right?" he smiled

when the sexy concept songs ment ended, a vcr came out, and he made sure to include you on the behind the scenes of the concert, the few last clips of you two together, you helping him with choreographies and figurines, a long video of you guys choosing the right outfits for open mind mv (yeah, he did some of them without the help of his staffs) playing while he changed and prepared himself to the other ment

when lost in paradise started to play, while he sang, hoseok couldn't help but remember that day in which he asked you to marry him, he asked you to be the woman of his life, and he also remembered about your wedding day, smiling widely while thinking about when the two of you started a life

'i got a feeling it's you' said the lyrics, and yes, he got that feeling, and he was completely right, it was you, the love of his life

the wedding ceremony has ended, you two were at a hill, even though he has acrophobia, he insisted to have a wedding at that place, he felt safe in your arms, and now, the two of you looked at the place, seeing the lake below you, and the beautiful view you had from the little forest, his hands still on your hips

"how does it feel to be finally my wife, love?" he smiled

"i feel like... i feel like this is all a dream" you said, caressing the hand on your hip with your other one "and i don't want to wake up. never."

he smiled widely, turning to face you, his hand still in your hip, while the other one caressed your face, carefully wiping the joyful tears that escaped from your eyes, trying his best not to ruin your makeup

"i wanted this dream to come true so bad... i feel like i'm in paradise now" he said "and i'm so happy that our dream finally came true, y/n, i love you so much, and i'll love you forever" he whispered, kissing you

yes, it was true, maybe he was really lost in paradise with you, but now, you weren't there anymore, just memories about you

even losing you seemed to have a different meaning now..... how he wished he could be there to save you, he wanted to protect you

now, it was the interview time, and he wasn't all smiley like before, and the interviewer wasn't helping that much

"so, wonho-ssi... some of your fans noticed that you're not smiling too much today... what happened?" she asked him

"i wasn't going to talk about it, but i can't hide it from wenees anymore..." he sighed "it's just that... every single thing i do here remember me from y/n, my lovely wife, who's not here anymore"

"and what happened to her?" the interviewer didn't seemed to be aware of the situation

"there might be some wenees who don't know what happened... okay, i'll explain" he felt himself getting braver to talk about what was making he lose his sleep "i've hid about my relationship with y/n for about 7 years, but when we got married, i knew lots of fans would talk about it, so our relationship became public... how could i hide this from my precious wenees? i wanted my fans to know about my family" he felt the tears starting to run on his cheeks "i was so happy when i announced that she was pregnant... i thought wenees would be happy, too, but unfortunately, some of them started to become aggressive towards y/n" he was sobbing, even the interviewer couldn't held her tears, starting to feel guilty by asking him that "some obsessive fans started to stalk her when eunbi turned 5 months old and she started to sing again... and near to our princess' 11 month anniversary, when y/n was coming back from mcountdown, some of those wen..." he corrected himself "those sasaengs collided with her car, they were at a high speed, so it was a huge accident, and she didn't resisted..." he was angry, sad, he couldn't help but cry "i couldn't thank her to be with me, to be the mom of my precious daughter... i couldn't say a last 'i love you'... the last thing we did together as artists was the ain't about you mv... and that morning, the last thing she did before going out was to feed our baby girl, and kiss me..." i miss her so much... please, y/n, come back to me... the police had arrested those girls already, but please... say that you love me one more time" all he could do was cry

the staffs thought about ending the concert without an encore, but he insisted to sing the song he wrote for you, flash, while calming himself when the cameras were off

hoseok saw eunbi, his now one year old daughter sleeping while a staff kept an eye on her, he smiled, his eyes were still red and swollen, his face was puffy, so the baby seemed to notice, even if she was still half asleep when her dad held her tightly in his arms, she managed to grab his nose while smiling with the pacifier still in her mouth, her other hand holding the bunny plushie her mom gave her in the 10 months old birthday

"my sweet eunbi" he cooed "daddy will sing a song for mommy today... will you sing with me?" the baby smiled, her pacifier almost dropping, but wonho put it back in her mouth as soon as he could

he kissed her forehead, and then, started to retouch his makeup and change the jacket, holding eunbi in his arms again, going back to the stage

he grabbed the mic, knowing that they were on air, the first public appearance of his daughter, a beautiful moment, even if it was melancholic

Tonight I am still standing In the middle of nowhere, not knowing how you’re feeling I’m trying to find you because I was the only one who didn’t know When and where it went wrong like a fool I want to turn back time and stop it An endless flash, my love for you

while singing, he meant each one of those words, his love for you would be infinite, he'd never stop loving you, or the huge present you left him — a precious daughter, and photos of the two of you were passing through the big screens behind him, photos of your family, wedding day, honeymoon, selcas... everything he had to remember from you

The day I hugged you for the first time The day that will never come again I repeat the words alone, I love you

all he wanted to do in that moment was for you to be there, to sing with him, both of you holding your daughter, smiling... being a happy family, suddenly, he remembered that day, wishing he could turn back time to the day of your first hug, he wanted to hold you in his arms forever

You shined on me like a lighthouse When I was on my own and lost my way, flash You were shining, flash Will I ever forget you? I miss you You held me like a hero When I was unknown, tired and collapsing, flash You were warm, flash Will I ever find you again? I miss you

you were his light, when someone broke him, when he got into those scandals, when he couldn't go back to his fans, you were the one there, you were his flash, helping him to find the way back home, to give him the love he deserves

You left me and I’m the only one here I call you but there’s no answer, what else can I do? I thought I cared for you more than anything But it was my mistake, how hard was it for you? Come back to me please, give me one more chance Shine on me beautifully like you’ve always did I know bae gone be the last time This is how I’m feeling If I can see you one last time, one love

he was calling you even now, his mind was wandering back to all the memories he had with you, his one and only love, but you weren't going to answer him, you couldn't just come back from the dead

The day I let you go from my arms The day that will never come again I repeat these words alone, I want to see you

suddenly, hoseok felt guilty again while singing this part, he shouldn't let you go from his arms that morning, he should've faked being sick, or anything he could just for you to be home and live a little more

You’ve given me so much I still have more to give you back We can’t stop like this If I have one more chance

he wanted to do all he could for you, but you wouldn't be there to see it, and he would never be able to give back all the love and support you gave him, so he was doing his best to be happy for you even tho he's broken, he needed to be strong for his daughter

You left me and I’m the only one here I call you but there’s no answer, what else can I do? The shining flash, yeah Now I can be your destiny Like I’m your everything? If you’re in my arms, I won’t let you go The flash will be shining on us I’m waiting for the day you smile again

he felt the tears teasing his eyes again, but he held them back this time, ending the song with a smile, playing with the baby in his arms, hearing eunbi's loud laugh, filling his heart with some joy, finally, and he truly smiled, laughing with her

"y/n, i love you! thank you for giving me everything!" was the last thing he shouted before ending the concert

even when you're not there anymore, he felt as if he was being the most loved man in the earth by you and your daughter

[jamespotterthefirst]

Can u write a small fic where a female intern is flirting shamelessly with ethan and he is completely unaware of it😂😂(well his mind is actually not on her but on lilac he just pretends to listen😂🤣) and lilac sees this sets intern in her place(they r married at that point) and it is only fair if lilac is also jealous😛

Autograph

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x f!MC  (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 800 Warning: language   

It isn't until the roaring of the blender comes to a complete stop that Ethan realizes someone has been talking to him this whole time. Although, in all honesty, his distraction had nothing to do with the crowded, bustling coffeehouse and everything to do with the picture coming into his phone's inbox. Lilac's beautiful face contorted into the most ridiculous expression, one Ethan always pretends to mock even when it leaves him glowing with contentment. 

“Dr. Ramsey?” a voice says next to him. 

It's a short, blonde intern he remembers from rounds that morning. At least, he thinks it's the same one he is remembering. They all blend together into a swirl of terrified faces at this point. 

The blonde smiles coyly, parting her lips deliberately, her posture straightening. 

Ethan is unmoved, teetering on the edge of impatience. 

“Dr. Ramsey,” she repeats, his name uttered with the cadence of a breathless murmur. It  almost drowns in the clattering background, forcing him to strain to hear her. 

Ethan is already annoyed. 

“Is there something I can do for you, Doctor. Or can it wait until after I'm done enjoying a scrap of peace during my free time?” 

The young intern pouts her lips and, to Ethan's dismay, she doesn't look offended or discouraged. Instead, she produces a hardcover book from her bag, holding it up to Ethan like an of offering to a vengeful god. 

When he peers down at it, he can see it's a brand new copy of his book, complete with plastic wrap and price tag. 

“I was wondering if you could sign my book?” She makes her voice deliberately melodious, no doubt thinking it irresistible. 

“No.”

This does give her pause. 

“What? But—” 

“I don't do autographs.”

The brash intern opens her mouth as though to argue. Ethan waits, almost stunned with disbelief, though his face betrays nothing. Maybe Lilac is right (as always) and he was going soft. No intern who valued their job or their dignity would have dared challenged him years ago. 

Well, except maybe one. 

“Don't take it personally,” a soft voice says from a few feet away, sending every nerve ending in his body into high alert. “The last time he autographed someone's book, the person just gave it away as if it were a Nicholas Sparks novel.”

Ethan readies a stern, disapproving glare but the sight of Lilac, looking fiercely irresistible in an elegant and rather form fitting pant suit, easily inspires a fond smile instead. Lilac, on the other hand, is far from smiling, sending a cool, assessing look at the puzzled intern. 

“It was an overall traumatic experience for him so he doesn't do them anymore.”

Ethan narrows his eyes at her when their gazes finally meet. This brightens her expression with amusement, the hard edge of her features softening considerably as she gives him a charming little smile. 

“I don't under—” the befuddled intern begins. 

The words halt abruptly, however, because at that very moment, Lilac settles into his side, her arm encircling his waist, her body fitting like a puzzle piece against his. Green eyes glance up to meet his from behind those cute spectacles she started wearing a few years back, her cheeks glowing the prettiest shade of pink from the mid October chill. Pulse affluter, he decides he cannot resist another second without kissing her in greeting. 

The intern, whom Ethan had forgotten about, lets out a surprised squeak. 

“Dr. Ramsey, I didn't know you were—” 

“Married?” He doesn't hide the irritation at being interrupted. “Happily so. A fact you could have discovered with a modicum of research before deciding to flirt with one of your attendings.”

The intern clutches the book to her chest, mortified. In the end, she escapes back to Edenbrook, dignity in shreds. 

“You are quite the celebrity, Dr. Ramsey, ” Lilac teases, exaggerating the intern's breathy tone. 

The tiny space around them tightens with customers and Ethan pulls her close in front of him. 

“Are you jealous, Dr. Allende?” 

“Yes,” she returns without hesitation. “I'm big enough to admit I don't enjoy it when my husband gets hit on with my own autograph move.”

Ethan laughs. 

Hands at the dip of her waist, he leans in to whisper, “So are you finally admitting you were hitting on me that day?” 

“In your dreams, Dr. Ramsey. ” 

She is taunting him again, her voice an alluring, breathy murmur. Hearing it from her in that sexy, dark whisper, has his skin humming like an exposed wire. 

“Say it again.”

“Your name?” 

“Yes. The same way you just did.”

She gives him a devilish little smirk, eyes glinting in the gold lighting of the coffee shop. Her voice is a lush whisper, barely audible over the blenders, but Ethan leans in to catch every word. 

“No. I only call you that at work,” she begins casually. Then her voice plunges dangerously. “Or in bed.”

Ethan groans. 

The barista calls out their order, completely breaking the spell. 

“Come on,” she says with a laugh, tugging at his hand. “We only have twenty minutes of lunch left. For now, I'll have to keep you awake and alert with good coffee.”

A/N: Again, a little piece of nothingness. Thank you anon for this. And also, other anons (old and new) I am working on a few of your requests! (Coming up are the Ethan with the kids request, the parent jealousy request, and Naveen with a neighbor request from months ago)

Thank you for reading! 

Perma Tags (All Works/Edits)

@openheart12, @takeharryandgo , @aestheticartsx, @rookie-ramsey , @utterlyinevitable, @doilooklikeiknow, @snesdudes, @paulfwesley, @nikki-2406, @mvalentine, @casey-v, @blossomanarchy, @rookieoh, @lucy-268, @maurine07, @bellcat2010 , @iemcpbchoices , @potionsprefect , @heauxplesslydevoted , @writinghereandthere , @schnitzelbutterfingers , @gryffindordaughterofathena , @lovingramsey , @dr-ramseys-rookie , @udishaman , @forallthatitsworth , @canigetanawwjunk, @thegreentwin , @blainehellyes , @parkerattano , @lady-calypso , @nazarihoe , @rookiemarsswiftie , @queencarb , @fayeswiftie , @trappedinfanfiction , @alina-yol-ramsey , @chasingrobbie , @ashiiknees , @professorkingslay , @whimsicallywayward15 , @mysticalgalaxysstuff , @red-rookie , @bluebellot , @ramseysrookiex , @i-bloody-love-drake-walker , @interobanginyourmom , @mercury84choices​ , @drariellevalentine​ , @caroldxnvxrs​, @gardeningoumet , @enmchoices, Except Bryce x MC: @openheartthot , @casey-v , @binny1985 , @tsrookie, @perriewinklenerdie , @drakewalkerfantasy​ , @choicesfanaf (except Bryce x MC/ Blaine x MC)

Open Heart- Ethan x f!MC Only

@octobereighth,   @helloblueeyedcat , @genevievemd ,  @stygianflood , @ohchoices, @aworldoffandoms, @mysticaurathings , @myusualnerdyself , @ruinedbypixels, @custaroonie, @caseyvalentineramsey, @jooous​, @aarisa-frost,  @choicesaddict5 , @sizzlingcashherohumanoid

Unsorted tags (Assumed Ethan x MC)

*Please message me if you want to be moved or removed <3

@kites-in-our-skies,  @kingliam2019,  @cinnamonspongecake,  @ethxnrxmsey, @missmiimiie, @jens-diamondchoices,  @apphia12, @kalogh, @binny1985, @queenbirbs, @honeyandsunfl0wers, @newcolonies, @lilyvalentine, @rigatonireid, , @lilypills,  @nooruleman,  @lonely-mxxnlight, @shadynaturehilariouscookie @togetherwearerapture,  @rookiemarsswiftie,   @hatescapsicum, @choices-lurker, @kiara-36, @junehiratas, @danijimenezv, @macy-ray85, @adrex04,  @sanchita012, @overwhelminglyaquarius , @scorpiochick8, @skylarklyon, @starrystarrytrouble,  @ethanrcmsey,  @a-crepusculo, @quacksonlover , @ramseyandrys, @whatchique, @varikasnuori, @dimitriwife,  @shanzay44, @fabi-en-ciel, @trebondialanna,  @ashiiknees,   @alookseeblog, @whimsicallywayward15

@emotionalswift2,  @lion-ess24,  @forcverandalways 

[clingymickey]

Back at ya with another franny and her favorite uncles fic. Inspired by this prompt by @ianandmickeygallavich. I honestly don't know where I was going with this but hope ya like it <33.

Soulmates...to me

"Uncle Ian, look at what I found."

They are babysitting Franny, again, not that it's a bad thing, in fact, Ian's not even complaining, he loves Franny, spending time with her, and he especially loves his niece and his husband bonding together. Franny definitely has a liking towards him, but not as much as she has for Ian though. Obviously.

"What'd you find, Fran?" he asks from the couch, where he's sitting with his husband – talking about their pick up's and renovating the ambulance.

"I found this magazine from mommy's old stuff," she says with a giant smile on her face. "And guess what it has a soulmate quiz." She shrieks excitedly, frantically waving the magazine – that looked like it had been through hell with torn pages, stains, and whatnot – in front of Ian's face.

"Mommy said your soulmate is the person you're meant to be with, you'll love them with all your heart, and they'll love you with all their heart too." She explained with her unfeigned innocence. "You and Uncle Mickey should take it – to see if your both soulmates"

Immediately, Mickey's head turns towards Ian, who he finds is already looking at him.

"What do you think?" the look says, "Wanna give it a go?"

"Why not" Mickey silently replies back with a shrug.

"Alright, lil red, we'll give it a go." Mickey now says loudly.

Franny hands the magazine to Ian, to read it out aloud since she can't read the big words yet.

"Okay" Ian drags out, "Let's do this shall we"

"First question, do you guys support each other's dreams?" Ian reads out, "I think so…yeah. What about you, mick."

"Oh yes for sure, remember that one dream you had about me being tied-"

"Mickey!" Ian loudly interrupts. "Not in front of Franny." Ian whispers through gritted teeth.

"Not what in front of me Uncle Ian? Did u have a dream about Uncle Mickey in a tie?" she says, as awkward as those questions are, the way she asks seems so endearing, Ian can't seem to lie to her. Somehow.

"Uhh…Y-yes I had a dream of Uncle Mickey in a tie." He stammers. Well, he's not wrong exactly.

"Anyways yes. I am definitely supportive of his dreams" Mickey continues, winking at Ian – who's currently giving him an unimpressed look.

"Okay read out the next question Uncle Ian" Franny says with excitement, jumping up and down on the armchair in front of them.

Ian gives Mickey a side-eye before he continues.

"What three things do you like about each other – actually why don't you go first, Mickey."

"Alright, well I can't say 2 out of 3 of the things I want to say because of you-know-who," Mickey says with a smirk on his face, his eyes wandering down from Ian's face towards his lap. Ian catches on immediately and rolls his eyes.

"So, I guess it's his looks, personality, and umm…our 'exercises' together." winking again at Ian.

Exercises? Ian thinks, whenever Ian calls him for a morning run or yoga, he always whines about how much he hates it. He thinks again on what he could possibly mean by exercises together – Ohhh. Those ones. The ones that they'll both (hopefully) never get tired of. While Ian was expecting and maybe wanted an answer of something sweeter, he guesses he can live with this, instead.

"Your turn Ian." Mickey says.

"Uh okay, I love our 'exercises' too mick, I love how you take care of me when I'm low and I love your looks as well", giving a beaming smile towards Mickey.

Okay now Mickey sort of thinks he should have given something better than what he said, but it's alright though, Ian already knows.

While Ian and Mickey are over there giving each other sly glances, Franny's sitting there with a confused look, wondering why her uncles' love would to exercise so much, were the fitness freaks? With them still staring at each other, Franny decides to break it apart before things get not child-friendly.

"Uncle Ian, read the other questions" she pleads with a cough, trying to divert their attention towards the long-forgotten magazine.

"Ah yes," Ian mumbles. "What's a secret you haven't told the other person yet?"

Immediately Mickey leans towards Ian and whispers something incoherent, for Franny to hear, to Ian's ear, resulting in Ian's eyes going wide and his cheeks and ears slowly turning the same shade as his hair.

Ian stands up quickly.

"Uhh…F-Franny, can we do this later, please? I just remembered Uncle Mickey and I need to go…exercise, like right now." Ian says abruptly, holding Mickey's hand in his, walking towards the stairs.

"No!" she yells out. "Please Uncle Ian, you guys told me you'd do it, you can exercise later if you want, please" she whines, tugging on both of their t-shirts.

Both Ian and Mickey look towards her bright eyes and the cute little pout that she's wearing.

"I guess our exercise can wait, right Ian?"

"Yeah, it can wait.", looking down at Franny, giving her a smile and ruffling her hair.

"Yay!"

They all go back to sit down at the couch, resuming the unfinished quiz. Quickly, Franny remembers something to tell her uncles.

"Oh yeah and one more thing Uncle Mickey, can you please do this seriously 'cause I really wanna see if you are really soulmates."

"Yeah, Mick, I'm with Franny on this one"

"Fine, sure thing kid" Mickey says, then looks towards Ian "Not even a little bit of teasing, though", with a pout on his face.

"Nope" Ian says with a pop, "not even a little"

They answer all the questions again, this time doing it properly. Finally, they reach the near end of the quiz.

"Did you say I love you to each other yet? If so, who said it first?" Ian says as he reads the last question.

"Oooh, I wanna know this one" Franny says cheerfully.

"Well yes, we already did say I love you to each other, and uh I'm actually not sure who said it first, to be honest." Ian says, then looking at Mickey – who's slowly turning red.

"What, you have something to say, Mick?" Ian prompts.

"I uhh… I actually said it first, don't know if you know but uh it was when you were…sick. I was calling you, trying to see where you were, but you didn't pick up, so it went to voicemail, and that's when I said I love, for the first time and you didn't hear it." Mickey said, looking at the interesting pattern on the pillow instead of Ian's face.

Franny was watching the whole thing, she saw Mickey's flush, that was spreading across his face to his ears, and Ian's eyes going wide, mouth opening then closing, trying to form a sentence.

"You" a pause. "You said you loved me then, how'd you know?"

With that Mickey finally turns his head to Ian, however his eyes not meeting Ian's.

"I don't know, I just knew I loved you, man" Mickey lets out with a sigh.

Ian instantly hugs him. "I love you, mickey" he whispers so faintly that only mickey hears it.

Franny might not understand the context behind it, but she understands the feeling, the warmth, the love, it's the same feeling she gets when her mom kisses her before going to bed, the same feeling she feels when sandy hugs her.

She also doesn't want to be left out, so she goes and hugs her uncles as well, earning a chuckle from both of them.

After all the sappiness – as mickey called it, they check the results of the sweet but awfully long quiz.

"That's bullshit" Mickey yells in frustration. "Not soulmates. Not soulmates, they better be fuckin' messing with us. Are you sure you did it right, Ian?" he says, pacing up and down the living room.

"Mickey, language" Ian retorts "And calm down it's a stupid, girly, pre-teen quiz, it doesn't even mean anything."

"Yeah, but how could they say that, what the f- hell do they know?"

Mickey then feels a tug at his t-shirt, then sees Franny looking at him with glassy eyes.

"I'm sorry Uncle Mickey, I didn't know it would end like this" Franny says with tears running down the side of her cheeks and words coming out rushed.'

"Hey, no, no, it wasn't your fault Franny, it was the stupid dumb magazine" Mickey says, trying to reassure her.

"Really? But I made you guys take the test."

"It doesn't matter what the test says, Fran, all that matters is that we love each other. And it definitely isn't your fault okay?" Ian says kneeling down, wrapping a hand around her back, comforting her.

"Okay" she says quietly.

"C'mon, let's go get some ice cream."

"Okay" her frown quickly turning into a bright smile.

As they head inside the house, with ice cream in their hands, Franny melts her uncles' heart by just saying one sentence.

"You're soulmates to me, Uncle Mickey" she says in between licking the sprinkles off her ice cream, then hugs them both and runs off to her room, leaving the two men shock.

"We're soulmates, Ian" Mickey croaks out, after minutes of just standing there, the ice cream dripping down on his hands.

"Huh, we are." He says with a laugh.