#i will say that coming up w/ an au w/out grace feels Weird
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idk if you've talked about this before or not, but how would you think it would go down if steve and danny met at an earlier time in their life, maybe early transitioning stages still for danny?
Ooohhh I have not spoken about this, but this is an interesting concept.
An au of an au, I guess. If Rachel never decided to hit him with her car. OR if she did, then one where they never got Serious, and fizzled out after she went to England.
When Danny's like 22 and still Very Cognizant of How To Pass. His voice has started to change, but not that much. He's starting to get body and facial hair, but not quite at the level he will when he's a little older. If he's clean shaven and not careful about how he speaks and behaves, he occasionally gets clocked and it's terrifying.
And then idk spring break? For Convenience's Sake. Let's say spring break at *spins the wheel* MYRTLE BEACH. Because google says that's a popular spot on the east coast. Danny goes w/ a bunch of Queers™ he's buddies with, and like half of them have blue hair and pronouns, it's Tucker Carlson's nightmare.
Who else also happens to be at Myrtle Beach? Why Steven McGarrett and a whole mess of baby sailors. Freddie is going to wear a neon green tank top the entire time and yell HOOYAH at strangers. Catherine's ready to fucking go HOG WILD. Pun intended.
Danny splurged for his own hotel room, because he knows how his friends operate, and he's not interested in navigating any socks on the door situation. He’s here to party and get laid, he’s not gonna deal with a roomie. No fuck you Brayden, get your own room or share with Amethyst. This is gonna be his first spring break post top surgery, so he’s – he’s probably not gonna go topless. He does still hate the beach. But being hot and humid without having to wear a binder? Fuck yes. This is also gonna be his last Spring Break before he graduates and goes to Law School and he has to idk be More Responsible or something.
Steve’s gotten his own hotel room for many similar reasons. He’s seen how Freddie gets about trying to Eat So Much Pussy, and he isn’t interesting in being an unfortunate witness to such escapades. Besides, Steve also has plans to Eat So Much Pussy, and maybe. You know. Maybe suck a dick or something. At least make out with a dude, he thinks. Maybe these gay thoughts can catch him. Maybe he’ll let them.
Anyways, what I’m saying is that Steve and Danny’s rooms JUST SO HAPPEN to be right next to each other. The kind with an adjoining door. And the hotel isn’t the classiest, but it was the nicest they could get that was still close to the bars and reasonably priced. And lo, Danny and his friends and Steve and his friends JUST SO HAPPEN to check in at the same time.
They do that thing where they make eye contact with each other in the elevator. And Danny’s on edge because yeah that guy’s good looking, but he’s also wearing a t shirt that says Annapolis on it in big letters. Steve meanwhile saw Danny come in with a bunch of obviously queer people and is like okay. There’s a hot guy who I think is definitely maybe probably also into dudes.
And they bump into each other again at the bar, and spend almost the entire night dancing around each other. It’s just a bunch of drunk college students interacting. (Brayden is trying very hard to fuck Freddie and Freddie is straight boy oblivious.) You know who’s not being straight boy oblivious? Steve.
Because Steve’s doing his smooth dog schtick, even if he maybe hasn’t gotten that moniker yet. He’s flirty and charming and it’s driving Danny up the fucking wall. Like Steve keeps brushing his hand across the side of Danny’s waist or his lower back under the guise of passing by him to get to the bar. And Danny is like ‘okay if this is gay chicken so be it’ so he starts flirting back kind of aggressively, but instead of getting all deer in headlights about it, Steve looks so genuinely pleased at Danny’s attention.
Danny: “… Shit I’m gonna fuck this sailor, aren’t I?”
Steve: “… Catch me now Gay Thoughts.”
If they didn’t have hotel rooms right next to each other, if Danny didn’t know for a fact that he’s basically neighbors with this guy for the rest of the break, he’d just suck Steve off and deal w/ the sexual frustration of not getting his. Because telling random (presumably closeted jfc, Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell is still in force) people about the trans thing is UHM terrifying.
But when Steve leans in close and whispers “Let me walk with you back to the hotel,” in Danny’s ear, and he’s so fucking tall and hot and clearly ripped, and he’s got nice hands, Danny’s just drunk enough to be like “…yeah.”
And because of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell they both go to their separate rooms. Steve immediately goes ‘knock knock knock’ on the adjoining door. Danny can’t believe he’s gonna do this, but at least if something goes Wrong he can probably run back to the other room and lock the door real quick.
So, he opens the door, and Steve starts kissing him basically from the get go. Kisses Danny deep and purposeful, and shit, shit Danny didn’t think this through.
“Wait, wait, wait-” Danny stops him while they’re both still standing in the open doorway.
“Sorry?” Steve’s panicking just a little, because he thought that this is what they were doing, but now Danny’s stopping him and oh no.
And Danny just blurts out “I’m trans?”
Fuck. That wasn’t supposed to be a question. He’s. Very drunk.
“I’m trans,” Danny repeats. There. Gotta say it with conviction.
Steve just kind of blinks at him, because he’s also Very Drunk and uhhhhhh what?
"What?"
“… I don’t have a dick.”
It’s not the best way to explain this, but it’s what Danny’s beer addled brain comes up with, when he’s got a beefy navy cadet all up in his space. Steve doesn’t seem put off by Danny’s explanation, which is good. He just kind of blinks at Danny some more and then says:
“You don’t have a dick.”
“I don’t have a dick.”
Fuck.
This is awkward.
Danny’s made a mistake.
But then Steve just goes “Oh good, I’ve never sucked a dick before, I was worried I’d be bad at it.”
Danny’s about to. He doesn’t know. Tell Steve ‘well of course you’ll be bad at it’ because unless you’re some kind of cock sucking savant, you’re not going to be good at it on the first try. But it gets kind of lost because Steve just kisses him again. And again. And again.
And Steve does, in fact, get to Eat So Much Pussy. Danny practically sucks Steve’s soul out through his dick.
The next morning, they wake up hungover and sore. They go to waffle house. Then they go back to those adjoined hotel rooms, and do it all over again sober.
Instead of spending Spring Break in a drunken stupor, they actually spend it (mostly) sober fucking like rabbits or tangled together in bed and drowsily talking. They go through an improbable number of condoms. Steve’s 21. He’s got the refractory period get wild with it.
And then they just kind of. Stay in touch. After.
Steve goes back to Annapolis, and Danny goes back to Princeton. And they text and call constantly. And it turns into this weird ‘fuck buddies but also best friends but also long distance’ kind of situation. Steve goes on and becomes a SEAL. Danny goes to law school and then doesn’t become a lawyer.
They don’t see each other in person often, but when they do it’s usually like no one ever left.
Steve doesn’t have much of a relationship with his father. He’s not currently on speaking terms with Mary. So, when he’s got leave? He’s in New Jersey. He doesn’t go home to Hawai'i. He goes home to Danny.
Steve has his casual thing with Catherine, and yes he and Danny are also casual, but it’s Different from his relationship with her. And sure Danny also dates, but if Steve calls Danny up and is like “I’ve got 48 hours of leave in Manhattan” Danny will basically drop everything to go meet him there.
(Freddie refers to Danny as Steve’s ““friend”” quotation marks included, even after Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell is repealed. Because they’re not dating, not really. But they’re, you know, Close.)
Steve goes off and does classified bullshit that he can’t talk about, and when he’s stateside Danny holds him in the long nights when he can’t sleep.
When Danny's PI cases get too gnarly, when Tilly doesn’t make it home, Steve bullies Danny into a gun range and teaches him the ins and outs of shooting.
And it turns into this Thing, where they both are Convinced that it is only ever going to be casual between the two of them. And they just circle each other. Because Steve is a moron, but he’s also Danny’s best fucking friend. Because Danny’s a loudmouth, but Steve still isn’t going anywhere else when he’s got leave. And they fuck, and they argue, and they kiss soft and slow, and Danny makes Steve pancakes, and Steve knows Danny’s preferred brand of coffee, but somehow? They never make it to the point of talking about actually defining their relationship.
It goes like that for years. For over a decade.
And then Hesse.
And then the funeral.
Danny flies out, for it. Steve doesn’t know why he wasn’t expecting that. Danny had never met John, only ever knew Steve’s father second hand from the (very) rare occasions Steve had spoken about him.
They’re both on a time crunch.
Danny’s heading back at the airport, when Governor Jameson drops the offer for a task force in Steve’s lap.
Danny’s making his way through security, when Steve’s breaking into an active crime scene and getting into an argument with Detective Hanamoa.
Danny’s sitting by the gate, when he gets a call from Steve, asking if he can stay in Honolulu a little longer.
And Danny doesn’t hesitate, when he says “sure thing, babe.”
EDIT: Part II
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holy SHIT that excerpt was so good!!!!!! the elliott ness / hitler bit was hilarious. omg everything i ever could have dreamed and more…. inherent characteristic of dean of all ages is that he is a little shit, and also that he will kill himself for sam.
i also love that baby sam describes grownup sam as barely holding it together. i feel like hearing that would break older dean’s heart but older sam would really just take it as, like, yeah. a little bit true.
do you ever think of them interacting w other characters in this au? cas dropping by, or crowley or rowena or someone calling, lol. if this is set in an elongated season 11, lucifer would be horrific. or… hmm. I feel like claire would be funny, little dean tries to hit on her and she’s just absolutely disgusted.
omg omg omg anon i am kissing you kissing you kissing you kissing you thank you so much!!!!!!!!!!
and haha, thank you! it's so fun to see dean freak out in the moment about meeting his idols (dr. sexy, elliot ness) that i can only imagine how ES!Dean would react to the info that he would actually get to meet them one day! ES!Dean would lose his SHIT if he found out s1e1 that picking up sam from college would allow him to hit on daphne from scooby doo. could you fucking imagine??
LS!Dean would stare angstily into the distance about the "barely holding it together" comment but LS!Sam would say something equivalent to: "ha! yeah. fair enough."
in my idea of how this universe works, i think they would text all their friends a very clear do not come over!! leave us alone until we say it's okay!! we are safe!! personal business!! and everyone thinks they're having a crazy sex weekend, so they definitely do not want to come over. i think once we start adding more characters, this thing gets messy bc how the fuck are we going to explain to ES!Sam&Dean who JUST found out that vampires are real that their best friend is an angel and he also possessed his vessel's daughter claire, that's why she's here and also a hunter and also a child, say hi claire! huh? oh yeah this isn't cas's body, this is a guy named jimmy. no we don't think he's still in there. anyway. he was god for a bit but not anymore and hm? how? oh he ate a bunch of souls. because the king of hell told him to. no not the devil, the king of hell. who's the devil? well. funny story--
but hypothetically i can get down! i love the way your brain works!!! i think it's super fun to imagine all the characters interacting with these squeaky-toy versions of sam and dean who are even more insular and weird as the seasons go on. ES!Sam&Dean are so earnest! and excited! hypothetically speaking, i think it would go like this:
i have been harboring a secret little headcanon that sam and dean's souls look similar, since they're soulmates. to humans, they all just look like balls of light, but for angels or demons...
it makes me think about if cas pops by, he almost...doesn't notice? at first? it depends on the season, but if he's a full-graced angel, he sees the soul first, not the "vessel."
so he pops into the bunker, like "hello, dean. your soul is bright today. can i meet you and sam in the library?" and pops back out. and ES!Sam and LS!Dean are stood there, blinking. and LS!Dean is like. "well. fuck."
and when they all assemble in the war room, castiel looks back and forth between the four of them. for a minute and half of pure silence. "did you have kids?"
"identical kids?" LS!Sam asks, incredulous. "like spores?"
and castiel says "one second." and squints even harder and says. "oh. i see. there are four of you. why did you do that?"
and of course, LS!Sam&Dean are all, "did we do it? we thought someone--on your...ah. team. did this."
and ES!Dean's says, "who's this asshole? oh shit. is he blind? my bad."
"this is our best friend. castiel." LS!Dean says, trying not to laugh. "he has a...religious family."
"is this the friend that tried to be god?" ES!Dean asks, skeptically, and LS!Dean hits LS!Sam on the back of the head, hard.
"it's not my fault! he has big eyes!" LS!Sam says by way of explanation, like that means anything to anyone besides ES!Sam.
"it's very true." castiel agrees solemnly, and both sams trade a look about which thing cas is responding to.
ES!Dean and cas would get along like a house on fire, which is to say...the winchesters don't have a great track record with those. but ES!Sam and cas?? oh boy. best friend alert. if it slips that cas is an angel, ES!Sam is big-eyed, heart-thumping, breathless excited, which none of the other 3/4 are too jazzed about. cas is quite pleased. he preens like a peacock.
"why yes. my true form would melt your eyeballs, samuel." and ES!Sam is almost bouncing up and down in glee. cas never calls sam samuel, but he thinks it adds a biblical affect that ES!Sam clearly appreciates.
they have tea together.
read: sam spills boiling water over his hand while trying to make them tea and cas takes a great deal of satisfaction in healing it. by holding his hand.
read: LS!Dean kicks open the imaginary door of the kitchen like OKAY. THAT'S ENOUGH. HE'S A CHILD. DROP THE BABY.
~~~
crowley texts LS!Dean an ASMR video of someone reading threatening reddit comments (what fucked-up psychological warfare tactic is this??) and when ES!Dean sees the notification, he asks,
"who is the contact with the little devil picture and the...is that an egglant?"
"how did he change his name in my fucking phone? pizza hut. no one. what phone?" LS!Dean throws it across the room because he knows that without a shadow of a fucking doubt that crowley would unhinge his jaw and swallow ES!Sam&Dean whole if he got the chance. or at least desperately try to convince them into a threesome.
there's no risk of that, but dean is NOT going to explain the 'king of hell' business, so he leaves it be.
~~~
maybe jody (that introduction actually goes smashingly) would bring claire around one day, and, yeah anon, you're right. ES!Dean is a limpet. he's pulling out all the stops. he leans seductively against the table in the war room. he winks a lot. he breaks eye contact coquettishly. claire is stuck between finding it amusing and being horrifically disgusted. she audibly gags when dean smolders.
claire starts to say, "you do know i'm--"
and ES!Dean cuts her off with a shit-eating grin, "if you're about to say your age, don't. i like plausible deniability."
and claire nods for a second before suddenly reaching out, grabbing him, and flipping him over her shoulder. she breaks a chair with his flying body. no one helps him up.
if anything, this makes her hotter, and ES!Dean sees LS!Sam get genuinely angry at him for the first time when he says so.
"back off, dean. i'm serious."
and ES!Dean gets so immediately, blindingly hard that he has to go sulk in his room for a minute or thirty or risk showing the exact shape of his dick to the room at large.
"yes sir. sammy. what the fuck? i'm gonna--" runs into the wall. "i've gotta. fuck. no-- i mean. hahahahahahahahah---" *fading into the distance as dean waddles awkwardly away*
~~~
(and hypothetically speaking, lucifer would be a fucking horror show. LS!Sam is literally covering ES!Sam with his body because didn't he get to ruin sam long enough? you don't get me any earlier. you can't touch him, i won't let you fucking touch him. ES!Dean can tell something is Not Good Bad Wrong Fucked and the sheer depth of terror, of trauma, scares the fucking shit out of him. he looks desperately to LS!Dean like a child looking at their father, can you fix this, how do we fix this? and no one has any answers. lucifer is obsessed. it's a nightmare.)
~~~
anyway, lol! i hope you liked! this one was super fun to think about! dean is always kind of a skeeze, but early seasons especially so lol. i think a lot of people would have a field day w that! and ES!Sam is so earnest and trusting!
thank you again for this ask anon! i always love hearing which part of fics/these posts are folks favourites! kissing you!
have a great day! :)
-lizzy
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hello :3c all questions with the number 3 ( :3c ) in them, my good friend mis! :3c
Admittedlty, I started this. I shall accept my punishment with grace (💖).
Disclaimer here that there will be references to nsfw under the cut because I peddle smut. There's also a brief mention of vomit in a snippet I share.
3. Describe the creative process of writing a chapter/fic
I write on my phone mainly, and I like to be curled up in a nest of some kind and comfy when I open up my Big Doc of Ideas and start typing. if it gets long enough (~1k words) I move it into its own doc. I reread constantly when I write, and often times I just sit and stare at a sentence until my brain clicks on. It also helps to bounce ideas off friends as I'm working, if I feel my steam running low. Otherwise I get into Da Zone and everything else disappear.
13. What’s a common writing tip that you almost always follow?
Ah. Hm. I don't actually know many "common" tips. I find a lot of them not very useful, like "write every day" just leads to burnout. I suppose there's this: sometimes, when you write yourself into a corner and don't know how to continue, go back a little bit further and try a new direction. Still Stuck? When I don't want to write a scene I simply don't and move on. Sometimes you never have to go back. It's fine. It wasn't that important anyway.
23. Best writing advice for other writers?
ARE THE TIPS NOT GOOD ENOUGH? Okay Fine. Write what you want. Write weird shit, write horny shit, write stuff that disgusts and uncomfortablises people. Write the stuff that interests you rather than what you think other people would like. I made a promise to myself when I stepped back into fandom, and that was that I wouldn't be ashamed of anything that I liked anymore, and it's been an absolute blast.
(Coming back up here after a few questions) WAIT- When you don't know what to do, ask yourself, what would be sexiest? and go with that. Never fails.
30. Do you share rough drafts or do you wait until it’s all polished?
I'm happy sharing rough drafts. I tend to edit as I go so the top of my docs always end up pretty polished as opposed to the endings... shhh. I don't tend to share much of rough drafts in public, though, some friends get basically the entire thing through screenshots, lol. I can't resist okay! I'm excited about what I'm writing! I can't keep it all inside!
31. Do you start with the characters or the plot when writing?
Characters, definitely. Most of my stories are character-driven, and plot tends to happen around them, even aus are usually 'well what if they were brought up in THIS environment?' and whatever happens to them grows around what the consequences of their actions. I'm not very good at longfic and a lot of my fics are oneshot character studies so :Va Not that I'm saying I'm bad at what I do, plot is just not my priority! I Find characters, their relationships, and their personalities more fun to explore! (<- was raised on the Tales Of games)
32. Name three of your favorite fanfic writers.
Fuck, okay. Well it probably doesn't surprise you that I make friends thru fanfic so I have a lot of writer friends and I don't LIKE to pick favs, simply because I don't think of them that way. That would be weird. Additionally, I only really read stuff my friends write nowadays ;w; I'll name the people who I've reached out to over completely losing my shit over their fics instead, in order of meeting them: Elcie/BurningLio, Bee/println0/slothencholy, Mango/MalevolentMango (and here, an honourary mention of Ailem for appearing alongside Mango though I hadn't read any of its fics until after we had become friends).
33. Five years from now, where do you see yourself as a writer?
Sure. I don't see myself stopping any time soon.
34. Do you want to be published some day? (yes I swapped 33 and 34 by accident so sue me)
Eeehhhh, as someone who writes mostly erotica I don't reaaaally see any of my stuff being published by any mainstream publishing houses. I certainly WANTED to when I was younger, and it would certainly be cool, but it's not something I am persuing or even have an interest in persuing.
35. What is one essential thing to remember when writing a villain?
They gotta be as hot as possible.
36. How do you write kissing scenes?
Okay so disclaimer, I've been writing fanfic for a VERY long time. I was on the internet before I should have been. My parents didn't speak english very well, and stuff like google translate didn't even exist (rather, it did, but it wasn't very good). I was ten, and I asked Google sensei how to write kisses, and the first result took me to a yahoo questions page where the answer was something like, describe how they feel instead of the kiss itself. I then deleted my history because I was not a stupid child. I remember that advice to this day.
37. How do you choose where to end a chapter?
I uh. Write oneshots. I end it where the story ends. Hope this helps :)
38. Would you ever write commissions?
Yes but nothing too long. I've been meaning to open up writing commissions for literal years but I KEEP getting too sick to be able to dedicate the time it deserves to run commissions.
39. Share a snippet from a WIP
Huff okay. This should be shiny and new for even you, Mango.
"Akechi-"
"I'm fine," Akechi grits, spitting more acid onto the ground before he finally straightens and wipes a sleeve over his face. Akira doesn't even try to hide his expression when Akechi deigns to face them again.
He states the fact plainly. "You're not fine."
"Don't try to tell me what I am or not," Akechi sneers in return. He's clutching at his stomach despite his nonchalance, and a grimace clings to the edges of his pissed off expression.
Akira rolls his eyes. There's no point arguing with Akechi on a good day, never mind when he's defensive and scared of being benched.
They don't exactly have a choice to keep Akechi in combat as there are only three of them, and Kasumi is completely new to this kind of palace exploration. He may not be Futaba, but he has the most experience in the Metaverse by far; he's observant, meticulous, and his ability to memorise the attributes of new shadows is impressive. Akechi really had been holding back on them in Sae's Casino, and Akira isn't stupid enough to let that kind of usefulness go to waste.
43. Do you take a sadistic joy in whumping your characters, or are you more the "If you hurt them I would kill everyone and then myself" kind of person?
lmao. do i even need to answer this?
53. How do you spend your time when it comes to fanfiction? Are you primarily a fic reader, writer, or a perfect 50/50 split of both?
I'm primarily a writer. I used to read a lot but I have a hard time reading anything nowadays. I need to be doing something or else I'll EXPLODE. KABOOM. No more mis. splat like watermelon.
63. Something you hate to see in smut.
I hate it when the author takes their time to write 'btw this is pure good non fetishistic sex' through the characters. It's ridiculous. I'm here for a good time not to get lectured on what safe sex is. If the reader needs to be told what consent is, I'd argue that they aren't old enough to be reading it.
73. What do you think makes your writing stand out from other works?
Brother I do not know. I kind of fly by the seat of my pants. Lich Rally Just Vibin.
#YAHOO DONE#malevolentmango#mis-types#also some#mis-takes#postmoogling#tumblr has a bug where the read more moves down a block of text upon clicking edit#cool
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17 going on 27
summary; one second, you’re sobbing at prom because the most popular guy in school dumps you due to your relationship being a little prank to break your heart. the next? you’re a creative editor at Ego, the hottest young adult fashion magazine. as you try to figure out what’s the deal with this sudden time skip into adulthood, you come across relationships and friendships that are made to be cherished and made to be broken.
pairing; photographer!jungkook x editor!reader (f)
genre/warnings; fluff, crack, future enemies to lovers, teenage and adulthood angst, time skips from high school!au to late twenties!au, 13 going on 30!au, all your romantic movie tropes come to life! a really big mess honestly, various movie and music references, mentions of sex, use of alcohol, everyone give jin and jimin a big ol hug, language, a surprise guest from the queen of england
w/c; 22.6k
a/n; it’s that time of the year baby! the time of the year where i binge watch the good ol’ early 2000s romcoms that make absolutely no sense! a huge thank u to @eerieedits for making this beautiful banner. vivi got the whole delia’s/claire’s vibe down to a t!
if you enjoy this fic pls consider giving it a like and a share✨✨✨
March 19th, 2011
Thirty, flirty, and thriving!
You finger the dog-eared magazine, last month’s issue of a shoddy fashion magazine that featured top actress Jennifer Garner on the front cover. Her caramel brown highlights practically glow on the page, blown out and beautiful. You suppress a sigh, you long to be the radiant young woman on the cover. The headline is glittery, sparkly and just begging for attention.
Swiping a hand through the pages, your eyes are crowded with over-stimulation. Colorful models dressed up in the latest designs, Chanel and Burberry suits you can only dream of, and happy women at the prime of their lives.
Twenty-seven and in Heaven! You smile wryly at the cheesy rhyme that headlines the following pages, but nevertheless the happy model on the spread does indeed look like they’re in heaven.
Sure, you’re no shrinking violet. Heck, you don’t even consider yourself painfully average. You may not be on the traditional spectrum of popularity in high school, but you get around and have a wonderful best friend and an even better boyfriend. However given the social classes that preside, you do get those moments where you second guess your life’s position. Good thing high school has an expiration date, and you’re close to the end.
“Baby Bun, what are you doing?” the magazine is snatched from your grasp, thrown on the table without a care in the world. Jennifer Garner’s hydro-whitened smile gleams tauntingly at you, “reading that junk is gonna mess with your head.”
Your boyfriend returns from his final suit fitting, his outfit for tonight all pressed and ready to go. He pouts at you, pulling you up by the hand to lead you out of the Men’s Warehouse. Jeon Jungkook. Captain of the lacrosse team, flying by high school with a sports scholarship already in the bag. Eats up attention like plants soak up the sun. Secretly loves taking photographs of his dog and watching Netflix animes at your house.
“Aren’t you excited for prom?”
“Excited to listen to LMFAO’s Party Rock Anthem on repeat?” you guaff, “as if.”
He pinches your arm lightly, “You also forget that we’re gonna tear up the floor to Nicki Minaj’s Superbass.”
You shrug listlessly, crunching the white plastic closer to your body.
Before you can suck all the air out of the garment bag, Jungkook carefully extracts it from your grasp, easily holding it between his one arm so he can thread his other hand through yours. “I am excited! It’s just that… Jimin’s not gonna be there and we’re sitting with the Yearbook committee.”
Looking down at the floor you extract your hand from his, slipping into his parent’s Honda Civic. The yearbook committee, meaning you’d be sitting at a table with head editor Jennie and her group of friends. Friends that are popular and pretty, just like Jungkook.
Jimin is currently on a flight back from Korea due to a family funeral, therefore leaving a seat empty at your prom table. It was only seat that you cared about, other than Jungkook’s. It’s no one’s fault and Jimin of course is doubly upset to miss prom, but without your best friend you’re not sure if you can survive the night.
One of the few secrets you keep from Jungkook is the fact that Jennie and you aren’t exactly friendly to each other. You don’t know why, maybe it’s the fact that you don’t run the in same friend group or you always win the debate in Civics class, but Jennie clearly expresses her dislike for you as easily as she expresses her love for Jungkook.
Which makes you incredibly insecure, but Jennie and Jungkook have been friends for longer than you and him have been together, who are you to intervene?
Jungkook slips in the driver’s seat, but not before pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek.
Right. You’re Jungkook’s girlfriend, and that should matter more than his friendship with Jennie.
But the smell of his freshly cleaned lacrosse jersey, his duffle bag overflowing with protein powder and unfinished assignments remind you that you have your world and he has his. A conversation about your insecurities could wait until tomorrow.
“When’s Jimin’s flight?” Jungkook asks, one hand on the steering wheel and the other tapping on your thigh as he pulls out.
“He’ll be back two hours into the dance,” you report, albeit glumly as you rest your head against the cool window.
“That sucks,” Jungkook replies, a bit of sadness in his tone, “he has to miss out on his prom night.”
You shrug, “Prom isn’t everything, it’s about the people you spend it with.”
“Well then,” he squeezes your thigh, “I’m glad I get to spend it with you.”
You only have a few hours to get ready until you meet Jungkook at his house for pictures, so when you get dropped off, you tell him that he doesn’t have to get out of the car to escort you into your home. But Jungkook is insistent, putting the car in park and getting out your dress for you with such delicacy that you’re positively sure there’s no wrinkles in the fabric. Taking the dress from his grasp you wish him goodbye and a promise to meet each other later.
“Wait,” Jungkook is biting his lip, unable to let go of your hand even though you’re already up the stairs. You’re looking down at him, a rarity considering his tall frame.
“What’s wrong, Kook?”
“Uh, I was just thinking,” he’s scratching the back of his head, and you soften. The little quirk he has is a sign of insecurity, being the star player Jungkook is forced to exude confidence to a fault. “Maybe, we could skip the prom thing? You said so yourself that prom is about the people you spend it with.”
Your eyes widen, clutching your dress tighter. “What? Jungkook, that’s ridiculous. Between the both of us we’ve spent a lot of money on the clothes and the tickets.”
“Right,” he forces a laugh, and you put a hand on your hip to think it out but you can’t quite place what’s going on. “Sorry Bun, I just know how the finale of our favorite anime airs tonight.”
“You’re so silly,” you chastise, reaching down to pinch his cheek. Normally he hates it, but you can’t help but melt when he leans into your touch a little more. “C’mon, I know suits are stuffy and stuff, but let’s just do this high school rite of passage thing. Afterwards we can go to McDonalds or something and watch the recording.”
“You’re right,” his face is red, “what was I thinking? Can’t miss out on a night to see my beautiful girlfriend all dressed up.”
He squeezes your hand one last time, a little too tight for comfort. With a half smile he waves, going into his car and driving off.
You don’t have time to dwell on his weirdness (and trust when you say that Jungkook is plenty weird and it astounds you how the rest of your class has no idea) so you fly up to your room to get your hair and makeup ready. Your parents greet you excitedly along the way, telling you there’s a package left for you on your vanity.
It’s a plain cardboard box, already cut and unwrapped by your parents for convenience. The address shows it came from Korea, proudly displaying the name of your best friend on the return address. Inside is a beautiful compact, made of brushed gold and pink metal. The makeup inside is a loose glitter from a brand that you don’t recognize, but since it’s a gift from Jimin, you trust his taste.
I have to be at prom somehow, Jimin’s note on the box reads, don’t overthink and have fun!
You snort, reading the sticky note over and over in Jimin’s voice. Looking over the shade, you can’t help but grimace at the cliché name. Wishing Dust. The color is a little too white and silvery for your taste, but you’ll wear it in honor of Jimin.
The dress, the hair, the makeup all come together little by little. You like the ritual of getting ready, building yourself up to the highest order and feeling closer and closer to the beautiful women in magazines. Surprisingly, your favorite part of getting ready is applying the glitter that Jimin gifted you. The puff enclosed is cloud soft, and surprisingly the color doesn’t look too ashen on your skin. The glitter sinks into your skin like a soft butter, accentuating your collarbones and cheeks as if you are glowing from within.
You smile at yourself in the mirror. A little part of you wishes you could look like this everyday. You wish you could always look and feel this confident, and act mature and graceful.
A buzzing on your desk stops your wishful thinking, and you frown at the message that lights up your phone.
Jungkook: sorry bun, but the civic finally broke down and its on its way to car heaven. Could we meet at the party hall instead? We can take pictures there, jennie mentioned yearbook hired a photographer
Disheartened, you send a quick text back saying it’s fine. Any more explanation on your feelings would reveal your disappointment. You don’t know how you’re going to tell your parents that they won’t be taking pictures with your boyfriend anytime soon. So you suck it in and take solo pictures for your parents and some group selfies. This is just one bump in the night, the rest of it should be smooth sailing.
But when your parents drop you off at the venue your eyes first land on a beat up Honda Civic. You’re pretty sure car heaven isn’t at the prom.
The rest of your entrance is a blur as you go through every corner of the venue, searching for your boyfriend. You’re clutching his matching flower in your hand, a beautiful red rose with baby’s breath circling around it, all clutched together in a black silk ribbon. You wonder what kind of flower he bought you.
But it’s nearly impossible to find him. Not at the photobooth, the appetizer buffet, or in the lobby. It’s not until you’re sweating at the brow and nearing the corner of the venue that you do find him.
Lips locked, kissing Jennie.
The plastic encasing Jungkook’s boutonniere drops, clanging to the ground.
Whispers of you circle the air, meeting your ears and confirming all your insecurities.
“Oh my god, I knew Jungkook was cheating on her!”
“Wow, how pathetic. She ran all the way to prom alone to see this?”
“I thought his girlfriend was a smart girl. How did she not know that their relationship was a bet all along?”
Jungkook and Jennie are on the balcony, looking picture perfect in matching formal attire and flowers. The sun is setting, not taking its time as it sinks deeper and deeper into the horizon. The sky darkens and the air is chilly, much like your heart.
Jungkook's eyes are wide and in shock as he watches you from the balcony, but Jennie’s are sharp and satisfied. Satisfied, as if the whole thing had been orchestrated.
While you can’t hear him because he’s so far away, you can see the ghost of your name on his lips. Your ears are ringing, numb to the laughter of the students watching and the pity that others are throwing at you. You feel dumb. You feel like throwing up. In a bout of anger your heel digs into the plastic of the boutonniere, crushing the innocent rose in its clear coffin.
You don’t make it far out the door when one of your favorite teachers snatches you in concern.
“Honey, any further and you’ll be running on the highway," Mrs. Song jokes, pulling you away from the entrance.
You feel like a newborn deer in your heels and incredibly heavy in your dress as Mrs. Song drags you over to a staff bathroom. It's far, far away from the actual party. Mrs. Song doesn't say anything, and just gives you a sad smile as she let's you go into the single stall alone.
Sitting on the toilet and not giving a care that your dress is probably getting soiled, you bury your face in your hands and finally let the tears flow. Fat, frustrated tears roll down your cheeks without a care in the world.
"Mrs. Song please, I need to get in there."
"Now Jungkook, I think you've done enough for today. Go back to the party and don't worry about it."
You can imagine Jungkook now, he hated it when people told him not to worry. It only made him more annoyed, fists probably clenched under his perfectly tailored suit and his cute teeth uncharacteristically gritted. He cared to a fault, at least you thought he did. He ruined your night, he made you feel so dumb and silly.
But the longer you stayed in the dim bathroom, you could care less. Thank goodness for Mrs. Song guarding the door. Why would he bother to follow you? It turns out all your insecurities are not in vain, and that you’ve been ignoring a gut feeling you’ve mistaken for your lack of trust. You shouldn’t have trusted Jungkook. You shouldn’t have been so tolerable of Jennie.
Goodness, you feel so stupid. You hope that there are other bathrooms for staff to use, because you want to coop yourself in here until the last dance. Mascara drips on your sleeves, your hands swiping at your cheeks to stop any tears from staining your dress even further.
The more you hear Jungkook and Mrs. Song argue, the more you want to disappear. You bury yourself on the floor, uncaring of how dirty the tiles are. Glitter smears across your cheeks and sticks to your hands, and you no longer feel like the thriving young adult you once felt when you walked out the door this evening.
All you can do is cry and pray you can get through the night. And the next day, and the rest of senior year. You don’t want to see Jungkook or Jennie until graduation, when they walk out of the door and permanently out of your life. You wish you could skip the rest of the semester, and fastforward to the life you’ve carved for yourself in your dreams since freshman year. You wish you could be like the woman on the magazine, who has her whole life put together. To be a woman who holds all the confidence in the world and doesn’t have to worry about stupid men.
Just like the cover. Thirty, flirty and thriving. Just like the models in the magazines. Twenty-seven and in heaven.
Just once, do you want to taste the feeling of having life on your side.
March 20st, 2021
Your first thought is that you feel disgusting.
Of course, falling asleep in a random bathroom stall will make you feel those things. Your dress clinging uncomfortably to your sweating form, lulled to the sounds of Mrs. Song’s temperamental voice and Jungkook’s arguing.
But for some reason it’s a different kind of disgusting. The feeling is rotting in your throat, as if there’s a tang stuck to the roof of your mouth. You also feel impossibly dehydrated, as if you’ve run a marathon. And for some reason you’re sore? Especially in the crotch, and you don’t remember experiencing any cramps yesterday.
Your hands come to your body, and instead of feeling tulle and taffeta your hands are greeted with a silky black negligee that hangs across your waist. Panic stings in your bones like a stroke of lightning.
Eyes snapping open, your breath catches in your throat when you take in the room. You’re on a large plush creme couch, large enough to be a bed. The organza curtains are a shade of bottle green and are opened slightly to let the morning sun in. From your view it seems like this is the top floor of the complex, overlooking the city horizon.
You feel the covers shift slightly, and you realize there’s a naked man sleeping next to you. You scream.
The man screams back with an even higher pitch, falling off the couch and clutching the sheets like a lifeline. “What?” he panics, eyes darting back and forth across the room like he’s on a reality television show. “What the fuck? Is there something on my face! Why are you screaming so early!”
The fact that he’s an adult man and you’re seventeen is even more terrifying, and you feel absolutely naked despite the fact that you’re nearly clothed. But what confuses you more is that this man looks awfully familiar.
Familiar in the sense that you’ve seen him in one too many television sitcoms to count. This man in front of you looks like Kim Seokjin, the protagonist of your favorite television show: Sky City. He has the same plump lips and pretty face, only aged up. But last time you checked on Soompi, Seokjin is supposed to be twenty years old and filming the next season in New Zealand. Arguably he could be his older brother, but he never acted and you don’t think he’d be the spitting image.
“Seokjin?” you taste the name on your tongue, “Kim Seokjin?”
Seokjin relaxes considerably, and he finds it appropriate to return to the couch, placing a tentative hand on your thigh. “Right, were you really that drunk? You got my name right, but it seems that you’ve forgotten that the only name you called me last night was sex god…”
His plush lips meet the ends of your earlobe, and you squeal at the strange sensation.
You’ve had sex with this man and you can’t even remember it? Furthermore how can a peasant like you be in contact with a celebrity? What on earth happened last night? Shouldn’t you be calling the police or panicking more? Where’s the pepper spray and sharp knives where you need them? You can’t even find it in you to find a sharp weapon at your once cherished-idol, who’s apparently unfazed and drinking in your body like he has a taste of it every night.
“What’s the date?” you push him away, looking around for any signs of where you are and how you ended up here.
“It’s the first day of spring,” Seokjin says easily, stretching out on the couch. “I wonder when the cherry blossoms will bloom. Should we have a picnic with Bogum?”
“Where’s my phone, I can’t find my phone!”
Seokjin doesn’t bat an eye as he digs through the couch, pulling something from under him. He waves it in front of your face. “That’s not my phone,” you deadpan.
“Okay I guess you were actually that drunk,” Seokjin rolls his eyes, forcing the large piece of plastic and metal on your palm. “When you went to the bathroom last night you dropped your old phone in the toilet. We picked up a new one on the way to the next bar. Good thing the new Samsung dropped last month!”
Since when are phones this large? You carry the strange weight in your hands, confused as to why Seokjin thinks this is your phone. You own a beat up 2G that barely gets any reception in the school basement. But when you turn it on, the screen recognizes your face immediately and unlocks. Wow, since when do cell phones do face recognition?
A selfie of you and Seokjin appears on the homescreen, looking totally happy.
Is that you?
No longer do you have acne lining your brows, or uneven skin texture. Your smile is high and prominent. Your visage is clean and done with minimal makeup, highlighting your beauty.
The date flickers on the top of the screen. March 20th, 2021: 7:42AM.
You scream again. Seokjin screams again for the heck of it.
“How did this happen!” you shriek, dropping your phone to step up to the window. You bask in your reflection, mildly impressed and even more so afraid of what’s in front of you. Your body has filled out like an adult, and considering it’s ten years into the future, other things have filled out as well. Experimentally, your hands go out to your chest, squeezing. Yep, those knockers were not there the last time you checked.
“Well, you came back from work completely drained from a shoot and I just finished filming my Everyday Skincare Routine video with Vogue,” Seokjin comes up to you, blanket tied around his waist like a long towel. “We met at our usual bar and do what we usually do when we’re both stressed: bang it out.”
You watch as Seokjin’s hands snake around your slick silk, hugging you from behind like it’s second nature. “Is this a dream?” you ask yourself, because it’s not unlikely that you’ve had a sex dream with Seokjin and this is the aftermath dream.
“Nope,” you yelp when Seokjin pinches your butt, hard. It stings. “This is real life, baby.”
“Are we dating?”
You feel Seokjin’s grip tense, and he shoves your innocent question away with a coarse laugh. “You know both you and me don’t do serious relationships. It’s why we work so well together, you know that.”
“Right,” you reply softly. That doesn’t sound like you at all, and it scares you considerably.
“So, I gotta go,” you panic when he lets go and starts searching around for his clothes. Your face heats up at Seokjin’s perky ass staring back at you, and your eyes dart to a random spot in the corner. “I got a green meeting with Ellen, and lord knows I don’t wanna face her wrath if I’m late.”
In seconds he’s fully clothed in a plain shirt and jeans, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Call me beep me, if you wanna reach me,” he sings, throwing a wave over his shoulder as he leaves you in the large apartment.
The door slams with a hard smack and that’s when you collapse on the couch that feels foreign and strange, breaking into tears.
The next time you wake up, it’s the next day. It’s a glaringly bright Sunday and for whatever reason you’re still in this aged-up body. Maybe time travel makes the body really tired. This isn’t a dream. You panic for the second time, walking back and forth around the loft that’s apparently yours. It seems like it’s yours, because the bills that linger on the coffee table have your name and the pictures in the one bedroom are of you and your family.
But the refrigerator in the nook is digital and has fancy ice settings, something you could never imagine owning. Your closet is filled with brand named suits, and with every designer label you pass you mentally rack up the total of just one section. It’s enough to pay for your college tuition if your first choice accepts you.
Wait. You’re apparently twenty-seven, college is long gone.
Lying in your bed feels better, surrounded by familiar pictures of your cousins and family. Your favorite snacks are tucked with care in your nightstand, and it makes you feel a tiny bit better knowing that your favorite chocolate and chips will never change.
What happened in the past ten years? Why don’t you remember anything and are you entirely sure this isn’t some strange fever dream?
Time ticks slowly as you spend the afternoon, glued to your phone. It’s a 25 Note+ and it’s filled with multiple doohickeys and settings that make you feel technologically inept. You never thought you were bad with technology, but clearly these phones have a learning curve attached to them.
You try to call your family, but according to the voicemail left they’re on a Disney cruise that you paid for. Your heart aches at the excited voice of your parents. Why are they on a vacation without you?
The next thing you aim for is finding Jimin’s contact. According to Google Maps, you’re not far from your hometown and you know that Jimin’s always wanted to move to the city so he must be nearby. To your chagrin, his name isn’t on your contact list. Strange, he’s always number two on speed dial.
Clicking on the internet browser, you go to the online Whitepages and search up Park Jimin. There may be a million ones, but maybe you could get a lead. When a picture and an address show up easily with one swipe, you scoff. The internet has no room for privacy ten years later, huh?
The most casual thing you own in your closet is a Free People dress, reaching mid-calf with flowing bell sleeves. Heck, you couldn’t even find a single pair of jeans. You don’t care however, as you swipe your keys from the counter (you gape, you own a Tesla?) and race down to the parking garage.
Jimin’s apartment is on the other side of the city. It’s strange, transitioning from high rises and shiny windows to quaint brick walls and lived-in patio spaces. You feel like it’s a race against time as you make it all the way to his room, knocking feverishly on the mahogany red door.
“What? Who is it?” it’s clear that his room is cheap, the walls thin as you hear his voice shuffle throughout the room. Why are you shaking? It’s just your best friend.
The door swings open and you and Jimin drink each other in. His baby fat has melted from his cheeks, revealing a handsome and charming jawline. His hair is no longer a natural black, but has been dyed to a sandy blond that suits his tan. His eyes, wide in surprise, are still a soft brown but not as bright as when he was seventeen.
“Jimin,” your third round of tears hits you like a truck at the sight of your best friend, and you immediately run into his arms.
But he doesn’t hug you back immediately. In fact, he doesn’t know what to do at all. Your name rolls off his lips like he’s seen a ghost.
You pull away, as if you are burned. You flinch at the way Jimin regards you. “Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know,” he looks at you, crossing his arms, “I don’t know what to feel when your old best friend suddenly shows up at your doorstep after ten years.”
What?
“Why would I do that?” you whisper, bracing your hand against the doorframe to steady yourself.
“Well, after graduation you chose a college at the last minute. Decided to go to a prestigious fashion university in Europe. Shacked it up with some British guys and well, forgot about your past but I guess I can’t blame you.”
“But I couldn’t have left you,” you know you’re not even talking to Jimin, but in fact scolding yourself for being so stupid these past ten years. “I was crying for you that night at prom. All I wanted was for you to be there and hold me!”
That strikes a cord. Jimin pops his head into the hallway, looking back and forth to see if anyone is watching. He sighs when your tears turn into sobs, shaking your form. “Come in,” he mutters, ushering you inside.
Jimin’s apartment feels more like home than your apartment does. Cosy and warm with the scent of jasmine brewing on the stove. The pour of tea soothes you slightly as you relax on the worn leather couch.
Jimin hands you a mug, sitting opposite you against the rickety living room table. “Are you okay?” he asks, showing genuine concern for the first time.
“I’m,” you roll the muddy liquid in your grasp, watching the tea leaves tumble. “I just came back from the hospital, actually. Hit my head drinking last night and I’m suffering from memory loss,” you clutch your head for good measure, feigning injury.
“Memory loss?” he gapes, unable to see through your lie.
“Yeah uh,” you wince, “almost ten years of memory loss.”
Jimin isn’t a man who thinks ahead, preferring to live in the moment. You figure he’s not going to question your excuse. Your former best friend nearly drops his tea in the process, hot drops burning his hand. He hisses, placing the plain mug on the table as he goes to his shelves, pulling out your class yearbook.
“Ten years,” he shakes his head, looking like he’s just stepped into a Korean drama. “Is that even possible?”
“Must be,” you sigh, not wanting to delve into the details of how you ended up in the future, “the first thing I did when I woke up was scream my head off. Then I woke up later and the first person I called were my parents who didn’t pick up, and then I wanted to call you but,” you squeeze the cup in your hands, “I couldn’t find your contact so I searched you up.”
“Should we call the hospital or something? Maybe you shouldn’t be walking around like this.”
“Don’t worry, they said the memory loss is only temporary,” you force a smile, knocking your head lightly with the heel of your palm, “I just gotta y’know, catch up a little bit. I thought you could help.”
Jimin is patient, albeit a little nervous, watching carefully as your eyes glaze emptily over the old yearbook. You’re unfazed at the familiar faces and events that are described to you in detail, unable to recall what happened during the events that followed graduation. There’s barely any pictures of you, so it doesn’t help when he tries to explain as much as he can.
You stop him at the sports section, pointing a finger at Jungkook being carried by his fellow teammates during the lacrosse championships. “What happened to Jungkook?”
Jimin shrugged, “Blew his sports scholarship,” your eyebrows float to the top of your forehead, appalled that your former love would do such a thing, “decided to pursue his passion and went to an art school for a degree in photography.”
So much has changed in the past ten years.
“Hey, can you please stop crying?”
“I’m sorry,” you warble, wiping at your sleeve as if the fabric didn’t cost hundreds of dollars, “I must be making you so uncomfortable by barging in. I’ll get out of your life—”
“No, not that. I just don’t like seeing you cry,” Jimin sighs, squeezing your knee, “of course I was upset when you suddenly upped and left town to study in another continent. But I was still happy for you. On the internet you seemed tons happier since highschool.”
“I can say that’s no longer the case,” you mutter sadly, taking a long drag of your tea. The burn flows down your throat, digging you to reality, “I guess I just woke up and wasn’t prepared to be the person I ended up being.”
“Well, what can your former best friend do to make it better?”
Your eyes widen at Jimin’s uneasy stare, as if he’s wondering whether he said the right thing or not.
“Um,” you bite your lip, “will you go shopping with me? I realized I don’t own any sweatpants or sneakers and I would really like to wear something comfortable right now,” you look despondently on your uncomfortable dress, swinging around the sleeves that seem to snag onto everything.
“Okay,” he nods easily, “will you also buy me new sweatpants and sneakers? And dinner? I really want a New York Strip.”
“What?” you furrow your brows, “can I afford that?”
He chuckles to himself, pulling you up and wiping the tears on your face with a tissue from his pocket. You don’t even care to ask whether the tissue is clean, only focusing on the tender gesture that you’ve missed so much.
“Honey, you’re one of the co-editors of Ego. I’m sure a couple pairs of sweatpants and steak will barely make a dent in your bank account.”
You’re flabbergasted. Ego? The fashion magazine that’s on billboards and commercials? That Ego?
After a couple checks through your bank account, and a triple check with a phone call and trip to the ATM, you’re sure the money is yours. It scares you, but also comforts you knowing that you’ve always been able to make it big.
You barely bat an eye as Jimin tugs you around the city with a familiarity that has you reeling. You struggle to remember the streets you pass and the signs that indicate what part of town you’re in, all whilst Jimin basks in the fruits of your labor. You don’t give a shit, obviously. It makes you happy seeing Jimin slowly melt and grow more comfortable throughout the day.
This is the kind of life you envisioned. One where comfort isn’t discarded for luxury, where the two cultures can marry. Jimin busts a gut when he sees you angrily shove your Free People dress deep in your shopping bags in favor of a black Adidas tracksuit that makes you feel like a soccer mom. Of course, he doesn’t know why you’re so aggressive with all your luxurious items, heck you even make him drive your Tesla, but nevertheless each passing hour brightens you up considerably.
When you two arrive at a fancy steakhouse with a dress code, the manager doesn’t hesitate to chide you and suggest the Applebee’s down the street.
You retort back that you’re an editor of Ego, and in seconds you’d have this restaurant swarmed with bad reviews. You know nothing about culinary review but you’re sure the manager doesn’t know that, and no arguments are placed after that.
The evening puts you in higher spirits, and you’re almost convinced that you’re a successful twenty-something catching up with your former best friend. You’ve always been mature for your age, high school can do that to a person, and it makes it vastly easier to keep up with the new decade.
“So,” you help Jimin get his bags up into his apartment. A little part of it feels like a bribe as you carry all the name brands on your arms, but you chalk it up to being compensation for the last ten years, “who are the people you hang out with now? Anyone I know?”
“Well, Taehyung sometimes drops by if he’s free. He’s traveling the world now, he actually works with you,” Jimin provides the information smoothly, “only he works in the international business column. But surprisingly, the person I hang out the most with is—”
“Jungkook.”
Standing face-to-face with your old high school sweetheart disarms you, and you’re sorely reminded that just you’re a seventeen-year-old in a twenty-seven-year-old’s body.
Jungkook looks tired, and he rubs his eyes a bit as if to make sure he isn’t dreaming. You in the flesh, looking purposeful and confident as you hold three bags on each arm, each piece probably costing more than his rent. He’s filled out, what once was lean muscle and minor definition has turned into full muscle mass hidden beneath a large t-shirt and sweatpants that are two sizes too big. His face is still sweet-looking and baby-like, but his hair is overgrown and waving in front of his eyes without a care in the world.
“Did I mention we’re neighbors?” you can practically hear the wince in Jimin’s voice, probably regretting that he hid that chunk of information from you.
Jungkook tastes his name on your lips, and it sounds foriegn and strange coming from the both of you. “Good to see you,” he says, voice low.
You barely formulate a response, replying with an equally nervous “right back at ya” and then you two resume staring at each other. While Jungkook hasn’t seen you in the last ten years, you saw him yesterday. Yesterday, where you started the day all peachy keen and it spiraled downhill shortly after. It’s jarring, knowing that your body doesn’t fit your conscience.
“Well I uh,” Jungkook lifts his indicator to leave, a large garbage bag, “bye.”
Jungkook shuffles out of the small hallway, and you get a whiff of his scent. It’s still the same, fabric softener mixed with his own musk.
“I,” you start off slow, “maybe I should go talk to him?”
“No,” he warns. “You and Jungkook are completely different people now, he’s just gonna think you’re pitying him if you go up and talk to him out of the blue.”
“But we’ve always been different people.”
“You really think that?” Jimin shakes his head, “I know what happened at prom was rough but, I really didn’t think much of your relationship with Jungkook before that. It seemed like you were pretty compatible—”
“Up until the point he was kissing Jennie in matching flowers on the balcony like some kind of romance film?” you scoff, crossing your arms, “right. Super compatible.”
Jimin sighs, as if he’s chastising a teenager. “Prom happened ten years ago, don’t act like it happened yesterday. People change.”
You frown, because in your mind it did happen yesterday.
Sleeping last night was hell. It’s one thing to be completely zonked out of your mind and unsure if you’re in a dream or weird coma, but knowing that you’re going to be stuck here for awhile is painful. Your loft is too big for your tiny body, your mattress cold and empty with just you in it. Without your parents to call and you feeling wholly insecure about your rekindling with Jimin, the only person you can really call is… Seokjin.
And you really don’t want a repeat of your first night.
So you suck it up, spend your waking hours in your office and quickly learning your tasks for work. You don’t even know what time you’re supposed to clock in, but from a sticky note attached to your MacBook it seems that you have a creative meeting at 10AM. You allow yourself two hours of sleep before you get moving.
The one exciting thing about your morning is that your outfit choices are virtually limitless. You feel like Cher in Clueless, all your outfits color-coordinated and organized by season. You pick out a springy Chanel number, a pale pink tweed skirt suit that has you feeling equally parts cute and an independent working woman. You even make time to buy yourself a coffee, because that’s what adults do right?
Your office is gorgeous. Also located in the upper part of the city, the glass desk and high windows fit right in. You have an ideas board filled with various designs, fabrics and models to choose from. There’s a little frilly notebook straight out of the 2000s, all filled with phone numbers and special contacts all at your disposal. You even have your own cold press coffee machine complete with a mini-fridge.
“You’re never this early, nervous for the meeting?”
You squeal, nearly dropping your coffee as you take a tour around your office. You fight the urge to gape and point accusingly at the woman standing at your door.
“Jennie?”
“In the flesh,” she gives you a cool smirk, holding her arms out for a hug. It really throws you for a loop, and you’re left stricken in your spot as Jennie closes the gap and squeezes the life out of you. Her grey pinstripe pantsuit crumples against your softer fabric. “You know you can’t get rid of me that easily.”
“Jennie and you are practically besties,” Jimin sounds a little jealous while saying that, forcing you to scroll through your Instagram page to see the countless selfies of you and your high school rival, “I mean, at least that’s what the internet says. Went to college in Europe together and everything.”
So it’s true. You awkwardly pat Jennie on the back, and she doesn’t seem to mind when she pulls away and tells you to meet upstairs. You mindlessly follow after her to the conference room, wishing a kind good morning to everyone that greets you.
Once you make it upstairs, you flinch at the loud screech of your voice. “My favorite editor!” someone in a plaid red suit runs up to you and throws an arm around your shoulders. The editor-in-chief Jung Hoseok smiles brightly at you, leading you to a seat at the head of the table right next to him. You’re cosy with the editor-in-chief? This is crazy!
“G-good morning Mr. Jung,” you stutter, trying to remain cool.
“Did something happen to you this weekend?” Hoseok jests, pinching your cheek like a long lost sister. “You always call me Hobi.”
“Oh,” you force a giggle, “you don’t even know how crazy this weekend was.”
Hoseok simply laughs and gets himself settled for the meeting.
“I’m so jealous,” Jennie sing-songs, a manicured finger trailing over the back of your chair, “only the best of the best can sit next to the big boss.”
The comment has you bristling. Are you really friends? Giving her a tight smile, she saunters to another corner of the meeting. On your section of the table is your itinerary and iPad, ready for note-taking.
“One thing that we do at Ego is consistency,” Hoseok pulls up a projection of this year’s editions, all carbon copies of the same cover. “And while that is admirable, I want to put my top editors to the test and come up with the theme for next month’s issue.”
Hoseok sends you yet another pearly white smile, and due to the sheer closeness you know that secret smile is only reserved for you. That makes you squirm in your seat, already feeling the pressure building in the pit of your stomach.
“Take two days off this week to plan. Work out the days you’ll be out of the office with HR, those days you’ll be working in the city, finding ideas and inspiration for the issue. Remember, think outside the box!” Hoseok does a little fist pump, cutting through the air like his life depends on it.
The whole lot of the group continues to stare at Hoseok, waiting for his next instructions. Then, the adults begin to panic, similar to a high school class that’s been told they have a pop quiz that’s worth half their grade. You sigh internally, you suppose high school never ends.
“C’mon,” Hoseok urges, flailing his arms around, “get out there! Make moves, make money!”
But the only moves you’ve made since 2PM are fleeting trips to the bathroom.
Obviously you don’t have any memory of your degree or experience, so instead of feeling like an editor you feel more like a teenager playing dress-up. You couldn’t even sneakily ask Jennie for help because she deadpanned: “I’m not sharing any secrets, doll.” It seems that being backhandedly mean is a theme in your relationship, so after that you rolled your eyes and locked your door. Thankfully you packed a pair of sweatpants so you can comfortably lie down on the floor while you spread out your workspace. Magazines littered the hardwood, all sultry and sexy looking models staring back at you with the same half-lidded stare and overdone makeup.
It makes you cringe, thinking back to the other day when you were jealous of these people. Now that you have this life, thriving and full of beauty, is that the only thing you want to show to your audience? How can they possibly relate to models who make triple their salary? What about the authenticity? The ingenuity?
And that’s when it hits you.
Scrambling to your computer, you search up a photographer that you know will be completely and utterly transparent.
My Time Studios: Capturing the raw moment.
You know exactly what you want for next month’s issue.
Jungkook does not expect to see you through the peephole of his apartment, fiddling with the threads of your clothes and eyes glued to the ground. He mutters a curse under his breath, jamming his fingers between the metal double lock to swing his head out. He doesn’t even bother to open up all the way, just enough to stick his face out.
“Jungkook, hi!” he still can’t believe you’re around. Jungkook winces at your tone, high and sounding like a teenager. He thought by now you’d be traveling the world, climbing to bigger and better things. Then again, the upper part of the city is certainly an upgrade. He just thought you’d want to be far, far away from him. “I b-brought you McDonalds.”
You hold up a greasy bag of fast food, and his nose immediately responds to the smell of fresh fries and a quarter pounder (with cheese, of course.) It annoys him that you still know his weakness, but he isn’t going to go that easily.
“Why are you here?” he asks a little too sharply, hands gripping the doorknob.
“I wanted to offer you a job,” you get straight to the point, as if you know your time at his doorstep is limited.
He scoffs, “You? Want to put my photos on Ego? You know my business extends to weddings and the occasional Bar Mitzvah. Why would you want me?”
You frown, crossing your arms. He looks down at your attire, a nicely fitted suit on top, but the skirt is replaced with grey sweatpants. Comical, really. “I’ve always loved your photos,” you admit to him, “you know that. And they’ve gotten so much better since then.”
The furrow between Jungkook’s brows softens a fraction, smoothed by the honesty in your voice. You’re right, you always made sure to tell Jungkook how much you loved his other talents. Namely, the photography, and sometimes his singing. He can still remember how easily you slept in his arms watching Sky City for hours, all at the melody of your favorite song. While his teachers and classmates loved to venerate his position on the team and his ability to garner attention, you encouraged him to work on the things that mattered to him the most, even in secret.
Nevertheless, that was ten years ago.
“I don’t need your charity,” he spits, “Jimin might be able to be bought by some designer clothes and an eighty dollar steak, but not me.”
The pain in your gaze is glaringly evident, and you don’t even try to hide that you’re upset as the paper bag falls against your lap. If there’s one thing Jungkook knows he’s good at, is hurting your feelings.
“You think this is charity?” you whisper, hurt delicately lacing your voice.
“Are you kidding? Last month you got Xu Minghao to photograph your spread for Ego. He’s photographed the damn Queen of England,” if you notice that he’s babbling about reading your magazine, you don’t show it in your face, “the point is, I don’t understand why you’re trying to come into my life again. I don’t want to get involved in your fancy dinner galas or anyone else from high school. So please, just go back to your picture perfect life.”
And without another qualm he slams the door in your face, effectively shutting you out. It doesn’t feel as good as he wants it to feel, clearly. He feels even shitter than before. His eyes glaze over to his rickety coffee table, cluttered with bills and credit card payments that should’ve been dealt with a long time ago.
He slugs himself over to his couch, throwing his body over the couch that’s way too short. His legs dangle in mid-air, but it doesn’t stop him from throwing an arm over his eyes to block out the sunset. The bills can wait a little longer. Seeing you was too draining.
The nap turns into a full-fledged night’s sleep, and by the time he wakes up the sky is dark and it’s the start of a new day. 12:08, the screen of his iPhone confirms. Feeling even crustier and worse than before, his stomach decides to harden the blow and go straight for the gut. He’s sorely reminded of the food you offered him hours ago.
Quickly pulling on a large denim jacket, he grabs his keys and heads for the 7-Eleven down the park. Nothing like a frozen pizza to fill the gut, fast and cheap. Despite the fact that it’s dark and late, there're still some stray people in the park. A few homeless, some high school stoners who are meeting in secret, and you are typing away on your MacBook.
Wait, what?
You’re sitting on a bench in the park, typing away without a care in the world. Shoving soggy fries that he earlier refused in your mouth, you let a couple stray potatoes hang from your lips as your eyes succumb to the screen. You look positively silly, still in a pink blazer and baggy sweatpants.
He must have been staring a little too long, because soon enough you turn your head, gasping at his figure. You quickly avert your eyes, but don’t make any move to leave the park. That interests him further.
Shamelessly, he calls your name. His legs get to you in an instant, towering over your tiny figure.
“What are you doing here?”
“Uh, I’m waiting for Jimin,” your eyes flicker to your open laptop, “and working.”
At least one of those reasons is a lie. Last time he checked, Jimin always sleeps over at Yoongi’s house on this day. He knows it’s a lie, and you know he knows it’s a lie, but neither of you make the effort to correct it.
“And what could you possibly be working on at 12AM?”
“Finding a photographer,” you hunch over your laptop, avoiding eye contact. “I don’t have much time and none of my usual contacts are good enough. This project is… personal.”
It makes him want to ask further, he can’t lie and say he isn’t intrigued in the kind of vision you’re going for in your next issue. “But why can’t you work at home?”
“Don’t wanna go,” you reply casually, “it makes me feel lonely.”
Lonely? You feel lonely? He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated at the display of nonchalance. Back in high school he always encouraged you to feel confident, but not like this. “Hey, it’s nice that you feel comfortable enough to chill in the park at 12AM, but it’s really dumb. You’re lucky you haven’t gotten mugged from all that money you’re carrying around!” he gestures to your fancy clothes and laptop, “and if you feel so lonely, call up one of your rich friends I’m sure they’ll—”
“Oh my god, Jungkook,” you slam your laptop shut, darkening the two of you. “I thought you wanted me to go back to my ‘picture perfect life’, so why do you care?” you get up in his face, standing on the bench so you’re nearly eye-to-eye, “why don’t you pester those kids over there? Tell them to drink their milk and go home,” you scoff, shoving your stuff in your bag. You don’t spare him another glance as you stalk off in the other direction.
He groans, unable to untangle himself from the mess, “Where are you going?”
“To a park where you’re not in!”
Despite the exchange for sweatpants, you’re still wearing shoes not fit for walking. They’re little white pumps, not too tall but not remarkably comfy either. However, that doesn’t deter you from getting the heck out of there, seemingly walking in any possible direction to get away from Jungkook.
“You’re being ridiculous,” he chastises once his hand clasps around your hand, pulling you around.
There’s a little resistance, as you try to hide your face to no avail. Jungkook fumbles a little, not thinking you’d be crying. But tiny, shy tears are pooling around your eyes, looking flustered at your display of emotion.
“God,” you mutter to yourself, “I feel like such a kid.”
That strikes a chord in the twenty-something man. The last time he saw you in the flesh was when you were both kids. Young, unbridled, and stupid. Well, only Jungkook was the stupid one.
“Do you want me to take you home?” Jungkook offers, feeling guilty about his roughness.
You shake your head. “No, I told you I don’t want to.”
“Can I at least call you a cab? Or a friend so you won’t get lonely?”
“Jungkook, if I had that option would you think I’d be here right now?” he’s trying, he really is. But you’re equally as miffed about this whole situation and at a loss. The two of you engage in a staring contest. It only takes a few seconds for you to crumble, and he frowns when you shiver in your thin blazer.
Instantly, he rips off his jacket, pulling it over your body. It’s huge on you, swallowing your body and hopefully containing some of his residual heat.
And finally, he relents. “If you want, I’ll come over and stay until you fall asleep.”
“Okay,” your eyes widen in instant agreement, pulling something out of your pocket. “Will you drive?”
His eyes widen at the shiny, minimalistic car key. Your sudden one-eighty has him second guessing his decision. “You drive a Tesla?” he gapes, taking your key like he’s holding the Hope Diamond.
You got your license in February. One month ago, and only because the instructor felt pity on you since it was your second time retaking it. The fancy car terrifies you, and you’re sure Jungkook has much more experience driving (over ten years worth.)
You shrug, “Not very good at driving. Haven’t had much practice.”
“Um, the car drives itself?”
“It does?” you tilt your head, dazed, “wow, technology is amazing.”
He shakes his head, putting a hand on your back so you can lead the way. You must be tired, because it seems like your head isn’t entirely there anymore. He takes charge, buckles you in and takes a couple minutes to fumble with the car settings. Nevertheless the drive home is smooth (and it takes all of Jungkook’s willpower to not squeal in excitement when the Tesla does in fact, drive itself.)
You lead him inside your loft like a tiny zombie, throwing your shoes to one corner and throwing your jacket on the kitchen table.
“Must be hungry,” you can’t even form complete sentences, “there’s food in the fridge, Kook. Sorry if it’s not to your taste.”
Shuffling away to your room, Jungkook is left to gawk at your apartment. The baseboards of your walls are crusted in pretty pearl designs, swirling around the whole expanse. There’s a television that stretches the wall of the little living room, with a sound and video game system he’s only seen in movies. Your tables are meters and meters of granite, and he wonders how the floor of your apartment can hold all this weight.
But he supposes it’s because there’s nothing much to hold. No pictures line the walls, only vague looking art to fill up blank space. There’s no touch of warmth despite the heating system under the floor that relaxes his toes. For such a big home, he can only imagine how small you must feel in it.
Your fridge is just as empty, decorated with a couple of sad-looking salads and some protein shakes. He sighs, grabbing two chicken salads and a banana shake and bringing it to your coffee table. It’s a little two quiet for his liking, so he turns on the television real low just to make the room feel a bit fuller.
Halfway through one salad he realizes he probably should’ve made you eat as well. Even though these salads aren’t remotely filling, they’re much healthier than some soggy fries. A piece of limp lettuce hangs from Jungkook’s mouth, suddenly feeling guilty for soaking up all of your amenities without inviting you. After all, it is your house. Wiping some sauce from his lips he dusts off his pants, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he makes his way to your room.
Calling your name, the only reply is the whir of the heater. He only cracks the door a tad, but he sees you slumped against the edge of the bed, bare feet hanging from the end. You barely made it, your clothes strewn across the floor, an oversized t-shirt ruched across your barely covered thighs. Without a thought he quickly scrambles to move you closer to your pillows, and then wraps your body in your plush duvet. You’re out like a light.
You’re sleeping, so Jungkook should go home. That’s what you two agreed to. He goes back to his late dinner (early breakfast?) mindlessly listening to an infomercial on rare dollar coins. He’ll leave after he eats.
He didn’t leave.
Jungkook awakes to a scream, your shrill voice echoing all the way down the hallway into your living room. It takes a second for him to register the empty white walls and the fact that he’s not in his apartment, but eventually it goes back to the point that you’re in distress. He jolts, scrambling off the couch to run to your bedroom.
“What is it?” he exhales into your doorframe, socks sliding.
Your hair is in a disarray, shirt rumpled and face scrunched in pain. You shove your phone in his face. “Since when did Iron Man die!” you cry, genuinely horrified at whatever entertainment article you’re reading.
He slumps against the wall, running a hand over his dry face. “Since Endgame, obviously. That was literally two years ago. Is that why you woke me up?”
“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t know!”
“Have you been living under a rock or something?”
“Or something,” you frown, throwing your phone across your bed, “I guess I should go get ready for work.”
Jungkook watches as you shamelessly hop off your bed, uncaring that your shirt has ridden up, revealing the full expanse of your thighs and then some. You pull out a pair of sweats from a shopping bag, nicking off the tag to put them on your legs.
“Do you have work?” you ask casually.
“Uh, no,” Jungkook coughs, crossing his arms. It’s been awhile since he’s had a solid gig. Two whole weeks have been spent doing more personal work which was fine, but at the same time his bank account could beg to differ. “I’m off today.”
“Oh, alright,” you shrug, “do you know where I can buy a good camera?”
“Why?”
“Gonna go take pictures,” you snatch your wallet and keys from your bedside, stuffing it in a fanny pack. He watches you curiously as you zip your bag shut, muttering something about how you can’t believe that fanny packs are back in style. Swinging the strap over your back, you brush past him. “You can stay if you want,” you add pointedly, before you slip into the bathroom.
Jungkook doesn’t understand as to why he’s slipping into sensory overload. The house is a shell of itself and the antithesis of a rainbow. Maybe it’s the fact that he woke up ten minutes ago or how you look completely peaceful and want to leave as soon as you wake up. Or how shocked you were that Iron Man has passed and you’ve completely missed Phase 3. Or that you’re not even thinking about breakfast or not wishing him a farewell, practically throwing him into your apartment like a second home.
He wobbles back to the couch, trying to look as nonchalant as possible as he drapes the fuzzy blankets over his body. He flips through the channels, before finally settling on an old episode of Sky City.
When you walk out into the living room, you scrunch your face in pain when you make eye contact with Kim Seokjin’s on screen appearance. Oh, how things change. Jungkook knew how much you loved watching Sky City, indulging in the protagonist's attractiveness.
“Y’know,” Jungkook says over his shoulder, “if you leave me here, I could steal whatever I want.”
“Go ahead,” you reply flippantly, already slipping on your sneakers. “There’s nothing of value here.”
What is wrong with you?
“Wait!” Jungkook throws all his pride at the window, unable to conceal his worry for you. Half your body is out the doorway, and you’re looking at him like he’s grown a second head. His voice takes up the entirety of the room, startling you. “I need to come with you,” he finally settles on, looking serious. “You’re going to buy the wrong camera.”
“Okay,” you concede immediately, throwing the keys on the couch, “you drive.”
Jungkook must know something’s wrong with you.
You don’t know how to act around him. Your heart is hurt and your body is a decade older than it was a week ago and everything in your life and mind is a complete wreck. It still aches to look at him, despite the fact that you want him around, all the time. You wish you could know a little more about your adult life, you feel like a proverbial Bambi sitting in a car worth more than your childhood home. It’s a wobbly, shaky road to adulthood, and you’re not having it.
Jungkook sleeping over is the last thing you thought would happen last night. You didn’t even think he’d relent to coming to your house, since he was pretty hellbent on not being your photographer.
But now he’s driving your Tesla again, after you instructed him to park the car where you parked it last time. That way, you can go back to the playground you were in the night before. You have a vision for the issue and it starts there. Fiddling around with the expensive camera Jungkook picked out, you feel his gaze burning into your shoulder.
“Am I doing something wrong?” you ask archly, “I read the manual and everything. Or are you just being a perfectionist again?”
“What’s wrong with being a perfectionist?” Jungkook shoots back, putting the car in park. As soon as the car stills in the parking lot, he grabs the camera from your grasp like a petulant child. “I’m just trying to make sure you don’t break it. Face it, you’re terrible at technology.”
“Excuse me! I have a Samsung 25+ and a Tesla!”
“Yeah? So why did I catch you struggling to use your pay feature on your phone when we grabbed coffee?”
“It’s new,” you mutter under your breath. Everything is new to you.
With a growl you snatch back the camera, and Jungkook for once doesn’t act like a baby with a sharing complex and relents. Of course, Jungkook manages to calibrate the camera and figure out the color balance before you could. This only annoys you further, wondering why Jungkook is still sticking around after all this time.
“Alright,” you step out of the car, slinging the camera around your neck. “Thanks for driving me around, your apartment’s just down the street, right?” You dart your hand out, and Jungkook reluctantly hands over your key beeper. Maybe it’s because he seems to love the car so much, that he has a hard time giving it back. “I’ll see you around.”
“Wait,” is that his word of the day? Wait wait wait.
“What is it now, Jungkook?”
He’s never seen you so full of negative emotions. You’ve been waiting for him to tire of you all day, from your clipped replies and unease ever since you two stepped out of your apartment.
“Um,” he looks embarrassed, scratching the back of his head, “are you really going to take pictures? You always took really blurry pictures in high school.”
The mention of high school has you icy, gripping the matte black digital camera to hold your feelings at bay. “Yes, I’m going to go take pictures because the photographer I wanted so rudely rejected me,” you revel in the way he shrinks, probably regretful already. “So if you’ll excuse me, I have a deadline.”
He continues to follow you, all the way to the park. You make your way to a little garden, and start to take some test photos next to the little daisies that decorate the patch of dirt. You practically feel Jungkook breathing down your neck, feeling antsy everytime you click the shutter. Ignoring him is difficult, especially when he makes little noises of discomfort when you presumably do something wrong.
“Jungkook, are you going to say something?” you seethe, not caring that the heavy camera strains your neck when it falls against your chest, “or are you just going to make me wait.”
Jungkook’s face is scrunched up, and finally he blurts, “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
“For saying your life is picture perfect,” he sputters quickly, looking very sweaty. Jungkook always got sweaty when he did things a little too hard. Playing sports, thinking, campaigning on video games. “I—I didn’t mean it. I don’t know. I guess I was just upset at myself and I took it out on you.”
“Well why are you upset at yourself?”
“I’m upset because I—I don’t know, it’s complicated,” he plops down on the nearest bench, and while you follow him, you don’t let yourself sit next to him. If you do, you know your subconscious will want to wrap your arms around him and comfort him. That would probably be the worst possible action to perform. “I don’t really do the whole photoshoot thing. Like I said, I’m just doing some weddings and parties here and there. I shouldn’t have said those things about Jimin and how you’re only talking to us out of charity. It’s my fault for not considering how complicated your life could be too,” he looks down at the ground, shameful, “so if you still want me, I would really like to photograph for Ego. And I would also really like that camera back.”
Unable to resist, you reach over to give him a pat on the shoulder. “I forgive you,” you reply numbly, thinking he was going to apologize for something else. You suppose he’s forgotten about that fateful prom night, just like everyone else. “It’s actually not for Ego, at least not yet. My boss is pitting us against each other, the best idea wins the cover theme.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll win,” his face eventually breaks into a grin when you remove the camera from your body. “Come to daddy, baby,” he cooes, holding the shiny new camera in his hands like a newborn.
“Gross,” you twitch, although you’re feeling all the more relieved knowing Jungkook will now be taking the visual reins. “You haven’t had a chance to look at the contract made up, but being paid five-hundred okay?”
“Five-hundred a week?”
“No, per day,” you correct, “why wouldn’t I pay you just like I pay the others?”
Jungkook’s dark brows fly to his forehead. He practically chokes on his spit at the way you put Jungkook in high regard. A blush overtakes his visage, proud and pink as he rushes to get away from you.
“You don’t even know my concept,” you called after him, chasing the midday sun.
Jungkook is already in position, fitting the lens between two buildings. The afternoon sun looks like an egg yolk, melting between the clouds. “Well then is it?” he asks, bending down on one knee to get the perfect angle.
“Well, yesterday when I thought of the idea I just wanted to be reminded of how easy being a kid was,” you don’t even know if Jungkook’s listening properly, given the rapid click click clicks of the shutter and Jungkook constantly moving around to get as many shots as possible. “I realized that not everyone can relate to the models or the clothes we advertise on Ego. Why would I want to see people I actually admire? Like, my friend’s older brother. Or Jimin, president of the drama club. Or even Jungkook, captain of the lacrosse team.”
“So, nostalgia. The 2000s are back in style, I like it,” he replies simply, tilting the camera towards you, “pose for me.”
“What? Jungkook,” you frown, holding a hand over your face. He doesn’t relent, continuing to snap you in different angles.
“Oh! That was a nice one,” he turns the camera to reveal the screen of your furrowed brows, hand over your face, “looks super grunge. Totally a throwback look.”
“Jungkook, I don’t model. I’m just the one who throws the ideas.”
“Yeah, but. Wouldn’t it be cool if the readers of Ego could see the genius behind the paper and ink?” he gestures vaguely to your outfit, “and you’re wearing Fila. So that’s like, kind of designer?”
“I don’t know,” you hug yourself, “I’ll think about it, okay? Let’s focus.”
“Fine,” Jungkook stops buzzing around you, putting the camera down and following you as you walk back to your car. You don’t think you really need anymore park photos, and Jungkook seems to telepathically agree as well.
“We need to plan some outfits and some backgrounds. I’ve already arranged a meet up tomorrow in front of our old high school with a couple of models. The school is on a grade-wide trip, so we’ll even have access to the track and field. I was also thinking disposable film? We could scan those.”
“Alright, who are your models?”
“Oh, you know. Just friends from school. I wanted it to be as authentic as possible. Taehyung flew back from Hamburg last night, so he said he’ll come. Jimin, obviously.”
“Well you only had like, two friends in highschool.”
“And you,” you clip on with a frown, “so don’t dress like a potato sack tomorrow, okay?”
“I’m not modeling.”
“Well, I’m still looking for a celebrity model to tack onto so. Don’t look like a chump.” you stick out your hand, while Jungkook pouts at your outstretched limb. If he feels sore that you called him a chump, he doesn’t comment on it when he clasps his larger hand in yours. “Partners?”
“Partners.”
“Why didn’t you tell me your celebrity model was him?”
“I specifically told you not to dress like a paper bag. Why did you continue to do so!”
“You didn’t specify that your model was Kim Seokjin!”
The current conversation is hushed, hissed between large reflective light panels and a parked car that held all your rented equipment. Currently, Taehyung, Seokjin and Jimin are huddled on the bleachers of your old stomping grounds, laughing at whatever funny video Seokjin has pulled up. They’re all dressed in variants of the same sweatsuit, a combination of Taehyung’s choosing since he’s one of the many color coordinators at Ego.
But you haven’t started yet, and you would like to get some morning shots in before it gets any warmer. Jungkook is still petulant, pretending to buy time by balancing his tripod. He’s wearing his Birkenstocks, so old they’re definitely the same pair from highschool, and yet another black sweatsuit.
“Seokjin’s like a big, fat cheeseball,” you assure Jungkook, who’s actually shaking from being in the presence of a celebrity. “No reason to be nervous.”
“That man has literally been part of our Sitcom Sundays for three years,” he gripes, “of course I’m nervous!”
“Just go to the car. If you want to change I’m sure Taehyung’s brought something that fits you.”
“Well if they see me change they’re gonna see I’m trying too hard,” Jungkook pouts, he actually pouts.
“I can’t,” you turn around, your Miss Frizzle-esque solar system dress whirling around your waist. The stars twinkle, glittering into Jungkook’s eyes. “Jungkook, do whatever you want. But we need to start in ten! No, five! I’m not paying you to try on Balenciaga and Off-Brand!”
If Jungkook is shocked by your sudden snippiness or need to get things wrapped up, he doesn’t say anything to it. For once, he’s quiet about his needs and you’re thankful for it. Once he’s gone, you have a chance to breathe. It’s all wholly overwhelming to dive right into the job. Your brain is still in 2011 unfortunately.
“Babe, everything alright?”
Seokjin appears behind you, having ditched Jimin and Taehyung after he saw you and Jungkook argue. He smooths his hands over your biceps. You’re still unsure over the exact nature of your adult-self’s relationship, but it seems that sans sex you two are relatively close with each other.
“M’fine,” you mumble tiredly, trying not to stiffen under his hold. You suppose Jimin isn’t going to be the friend you confide into this lifetime. “I’m just nervous. We’re doing all this work and it can potentially go down the drain after this week. What if my idea’s stupid and we’re wasting time? Jennie texted me that her concept is going to be killer and now I’m scared this concept is too aesthetically soft and people don’t care about nostalgia anymore and I feel like simultaneously throwing up and crying—”
“Whoa whoa, who’s replaced my confident editor and where did she go?” Seokjin decidedly goes with the notion that you’re definitely not fine. He swings his neck back and forth, peering behind the bleachers and over the football field. “My confident editor would never talk bad of herself like this! She commanded a whole crew of fifty within seconds when she did the Kim Taeyeon shoot in Milan! She never cowers under a challenge, the challenge cowers to her!” and in his gallancy you no longer try to shy away, in fact you even giggle at his silly way of comforting you. “And most importantly, she’d never compare herself to a wench like Jennie.”
Seokjin doesn’t hesitate to swipe the moisture right under your waterline, making sure any traces of your crying are undetectable. “W-wait,” you sputter, “you mean, me and Jennie aren’t actually friends?”
He chuckles, pulling you into a hug. “Even now, you’re such a good actress.”
You let Seokjin continue to hold you as the pieces in your empty mind come together. If Jennie is truly not your friend and you two have been faking it all this time, how serious is it? And if so, are you the competitive type? You know for sure Jennie is, and will she stop at nothing to make sure she gets the spread?
This fear is combined with an equal amount of sadness. You were a little excited to have a lasting friend from college, but your mother always told you to never believe anything on the internet. You suppose those selfies of you and Jennie on your Instagram are nothing but a facade.
But at the very least Seokjin’s care for you isn’t fake, and you’re thankful that you have at least one friend in this life. If you didn’t do this time skip, would Seokjin remain your only friend? You try not to think too hard about it, “Thanks, Seokjin. I really appreciate you.”
“Will you appreciate me tonight then?” Seokjin makes a move to kiss your neck, and the moment is promptly ruined.
Shoving him away you say firmly, “Touch me like that again and I’ll rip your dick off in front of this whole crew.”
“I love it when you get feisty,” Seokjin melts, but salutes you like a drill sergeant as he runs back to the men on the bleachers.
It’s then you feel a presence looming over your shoulder. Tall, dark, and emanating. He’s changed, in favor of some fitted jeans and a plain white shirt, paired with black boots. Jungkook is behind you, glaring over your shoulder at Seokjin. So much for showing off your professionalism. Crap, how much of that did he hear?
“Jungkook, I–”
“Let’s start,” he mutters gruffly, stepping past you to get to the equipment.
You slap a hand over your face. It’s going to be a long day.
However, the hours following are probably one of the brightest hours of your life since you’ve appeared in your future-self’s body. At first Jimin was anxious at your invitation, despite being in the high school plays and being okay at public speaking, he didn’t know he’d have the potential to be a model. A couple test shots and some coaching from Taehyung, Jimin is a natural, his photogenic energy strong enough to compete toe-to-toe with Seokjin.
You also have to hand it to Taehyung, who has been running back and forth between modeling and choosing outfits for the boys. Jimin and you didn’t run in the same group as Taehyung back in high school, but time changes things and if given the opportunity, you would’ve loved to be friends with him back then.
By the time you are done for the day and you feel like all the possible shots have all ready been taken, you circle around the school. You previously went inside empty classrooms, posed in the cafeteria, even pretended to reenact your school rendition of RENT in the auditorium.
Everything is mostly packed up and put into the car by the time the sun is setting, and you just wanted to perfect this one shot.
The gymnasium looks a lot smaller than it did as a child. As a teenager, you constantly feared getting hit in the face by a stray wiffleball, or throwing up during the pacer test after the 100th lap. But now, it just looks like an old gym.
“It smells like sweaty balls in there,” Taehyung curses, adjusting the patterned button down by smoothing down his chest. He jabs a finger in the boys locker room, where Jimin comes out with another new outfit.
“I think the sandwich I left in senior year is still there,” Jimin adds, pulling the collar around his burgundy knitted sweater.
The back of the gym is decorated in balloons. Overnight you managed to build a balloon ring off of Pinterest, one of your proudest moments as you made Jungkook haul the rainbow colored arc and shove it into the trunk. Seokjin is sitting directly under the arc, decorating a letter corkboard. It’s one of those cork boards all the teachers display in class, often decorated with some witty quote or a basic “Welcome to Mr/Mrs/Miss _____’s Class!”
Jungkook is setting up the camera on a tripod, wanting to do it the old fashioned way. Aside from the freakout he had in the beginning when he realized he was photographing Kim Seokjin, he’s been quiet and strictly professional throughout the whole ordeal. It’s amazing to see this side of him, as he seamlessly transitions from shoot to shoot knowing exactly what he has in mind for each photograph. His direction is soft but impactful, and the boys have no problems following directions.
“Okay boys, everyone under the arc!”
Working like this is a rush you can’t even imagine. In high school the path you were in the process of choosing wasn’t clear cut up until this point, but now you know exactly what you want to do for the rest of your life.
Seokjin holds the finished corkboard in the middle, a proud Class of Ego in white block letters.
Jungkook only gets a few shots in before Seokjin bemoans, letting the corkboard fall in his lap.
“Guys, this picture’s gonna stink.”
Jungkook’s appalled, “Excuse me—”
“Because you two aren’t in it!” Taehyung agrees easily, “c’mon, JK. Put your camera on timer mode and let’s have all of us in it!”
A blush melts on Jungkook’s neck, all the way to the tips of his ears. “What? No, that’s silly Tae. I really don’t—agh!”
The three men are in a controlled frenzy, aiming to get their mission done. Seokjin rounds the camera and makes quick work of enabling a timer and a burst shot. Jimin pulls you by the waist, tugging you ungracefully to the center of the arc. Taehyung is doing a pretty good job of hauling your muscle hunk of a photographer, pressing his shoulders across yours.
And finally, Seokjin hands you the corkboard. “You should be holding it. After all, you’re the brains behind it!”
At first it feels awkward, squished between new friends and old friends. First loves and last loves. Despite his warm bicep pressing against you, Jungkook is akin to a sheet of cardboard, arm-to-arm and stiff as a board.
“Alright people, let’s move it!” Seokjin yells unnecessarily loud, the noise echoing throughout the high walls. “Last couple shots here, and we’re not re-doing it because I’m tired as hell! So look alive and pretend to like each other!”
The first click of the camera stuns all of you, akin to many terrible school photos where the flash disarms you and your face twists. But that click suddenly gets Jungkook into gear, and you feel him slide a hand over your shoulder, squeezing you toward him so you’re pressed against the side of his chest. He still smells like floral fabric softener, and that makes you smile.
And suddenly you feel like you’re seventeen again, surrounded with the people you care for the most.
“So, the tabloids are true huh?” Jimin smirks, waving a flimsy fry in your face.
“T-tabloids?” you sputter, dabbing the ketchup off your cheek. The greasy burger slips off your grip and onto your plate. Your expression says it all, it’s painfully innocent and genuinely confused as you attempt to swallow the cheese and lettuce as fast as possible.
The crew sans Seokjin is eating a very late dinner with you at the restaurant of their choice. They put it to a vote, while you desperately wanted some McDonalds everyone else voted for a more high end restaurant. After all, you’re paying.
“Ah, don’t try playing coy with us,” Taehyung jests, “the office talks.”
“Well, whatever you’ve heard isn’t true,” you huff, crossing your arms. “At least, not anymore.”
“What?” Taehyung bugs out, “I thought you loved your no strings attached relationship with Jinnie.”
“I guess I did,” you frown, deflating against the plush booth, “I don’t know. I don’t know what I liked back then.”
You resume eating your burger, trying to ignore the worried look Jimin sends you. He reaches over the table to press his thumb to the little 11s in your forehead, a product of stress. “Does your head still hurt?” he asks.
Jungkook’s chewing slows considerably. He’s been strangely quiet this evening, opting to order a handful of appetizers and gorging on every single edible thing on the table like a glutton. But at Jimin’s question he turns his head to look at you, “Why would your head still hurt?”
“She hit her head when she went out drinking with Seokjin last week,” Jimin supplies, “messed with her memory.”
“Chim,” you frown, gently shoving him off you, “I’m fine now. Pretty much caught up. Just reevaluating my life choices, okay?”
“How could Seokjin let that happen?” Jungkook asks, putting his fork down.
“He wasn’t even there,” you shake your head, trying to clear Seokjin’s name as fast as possible. After all, this lie is completely fabricated, a blanket to cover the magical properties your true nature being here has. “I’m fine, Jungkook. Don’t worry about me.”
He huffs, resuming his meal. “Wasn’t worried,” he disarms, reaching over the table to snatch a mozzarella stick.
You cover up your disgusted expression by wiping your chin with a soft blue napkin. Jungkook is really out here inhaling the whole table and being a bit of a jerk.
“Well,” Taehyung claps his hands together, regarding all of you with a closed-lipped smile stretched so wide you’re worried he’ll break. “This is nice. I can’t imagine a time where I’d be reunited with you three. It’s weird. But a good weird.”
“Ditto,” Jimin echoes, lifting his glass to clink with Taehyung’s. Throwing an arm over your shoulder he remarks, “could’ve never imagined my ‘ol best friend would’ve wanted to pursue fashion.”
“What?” you glower, pinching his thigh, “I love fashion! I spent months planning my Clueless Halloween costume and our summers cosplaying!”
“Right, Cher,” teased Jimin, “that yellow plaid suit that made you look like a bottle of mustard?”
“You little–”
Taehyung begins to laugh when you start to tickle Jimin in the sweet spots, causing Jimin to curl his leg around your ankle and pull you onto his lap for a hair pull. It’s all in fun and nothing hurts, but you’re so caught up in it you’re sure people are worried about your well-being. Even Jungkook is laughing, egging Jimin on while Taehyung weakly attempts to pull you away.
If you could rewrite the last ten years of your life, this moment would define the remake.
“Why are we here?”
“For research purposes.”
“Are you sure the actual purpose is because you don’t feel like working in the office?”
“Jungkook,” you groan, tired of his infinite amount of negativity. “This was our senior trip! Of course I want to get a couple shots in before my big presentation.”
“You’re risking my baby’s life,” Jungkook cradles the digital camera closer to his chest, swaddling it between its felt case. Ever since you purchased the camera, Jungkook has been unable to let it go. This adoption is both equal parts cute and strange, and you’re a little too scared to ask for it back.
“I promise, no big rides,” you roll your eyes, “your baby will be fine.”
The local amusement park is a fan-favorite amongst the city-goers, a reprieve from the hustle and a chance for you to spend your copious amounts of money on overpriced sugar and popcorn. The last time you went here was two weeks ago—in your mind. In Jungkook’s mind it was over ten years ago and he probably doesn’t even remember the time spent roaming the artificial floor and the infinite amount of bubbles that seem to eject from the air to add to the whimsical charm.
Jungkook isn’t even paying attention, citing it as an artist block because he’s going through sensory overload with the amount of stimuli in the crowd. Screaming teenagers wailing under him from a nearby rollercoaster, the smell of sticky caramel apples pumping through the diffuser stands, and the amount of gaudy color that decorates every single logo of the park.
He plops himself down on a nearby bench while you wait in line to get some food. It’s early in the morning and a weekday, so you figure this is the best time to get some photographs in without any passerbys. You figure Jungkook will get the hang of it once he has some food in his stomach.
“A funnel cake?” Jungkook is bewildered when you return with the confection in hand, “it’s ten A.M.”
You raise a brow, knowing how much Jungkook loves sweet foods. The funnel cake especially, he ate at least three when you went to your senior trip, one for every meal. But you’re an adult, or at least posing as one, and you shrug loftily, plucking a hot piece of fried dough from your plate. “Alright then,” you reply, “I’ll just eat the whole thing.”
Once the cake touches your tongue, you can’t help but make an exaggerated moan in pleasure. You can feel Jungkook squirming like an earthworm next to you, either from the scrumptious smell of funnel cake or the way you’re so enthusiastically eating it.
“W-wait,” Jungkook’s stomach growls at the perfect moment, “I want some. But I don’t want to get the camera dirty, pass me a napkin.”
“I can just feed it to you!” you quip innocently, immediately ripping off a piece and shoving it between Jungkook’s pink lips. You feel a little slick in the finger, saliva briefly coating your digits before you pull away. You swallow, feeling a familiar tingle in your tummy and a sickening heat low in your belly.
You fight back a sigh, wondering if your libido also did a massive growth spurt in your twenty-seven years of age.
Jungkook is placated at the touch of food, and you take turns feeding yourself and feeding him while more customers trickle in the park. Confectioners sugar dusts Jungkook’s long-sleeved tee, the white color staining the dark fabric. You reach to pat his chest, ignoring the toneness that still remains from high school.
“Alright, let’s ride,” you declare, pulling Jungkook up once you’re done eating.
“Do we have to?”
“What happened to the adrenaline junkie I once knew?”
“He realized being an adrenaline junkie doesn’t make money and he should stay on the ground.”
“Alright, Negative Nancy,” your reply has no bite to it, and suddenly you wished you invited Jimin or Seokjin before Jungkook. Jungkook may have the talent, but he certainly doesn’t have the attitude. You don’t even get why he’s still defensive, after all you thought he apologized in the beginning. It’s not like you’re the problem.
“Gimmie your hand,” your thoughts cut out when Jungkook offers his large hand in front of yours, palm up.
“Why?”
“C’mon,” he whines, settling for snatching your hand instead. His palms feel larger, rougher as they enclose your smaller hand. “Now hurry up and walk in front of me. I’m gonna take a picture.”
You already have a feeling as to what this picture is going to look like, so you scrunch your nose. “That is so cheesy.”
“It’s for the nostalgia factor, now hurry up and pretend we’re on a date.”
You roll your eyes but relent, jogging a few steps ahead so you can get into character. This pose used to be a popular one, where the sweet boyfriend would be dragged around by the girlfriend’s hand, tugging him to wherever she wanted to go. It’s super cliche but if Jungkook figures it’ll fit your theme, you’ll do it. Eventually you forget that you’re holding his hand, and point ahead to some rides you want to try out.
“Oh, Jungkook! Remember that one?” you point to a teacup ride, with guests spinning vigorously through their own seat. “Jimin got so sick he fell asleep in the car for an hour!”
Jungkook doesn’t reply, so you turn around and face him. Click. Jungkook smirks at his little trick, which makes you rip your hand from his and walk further.
“Hey, hey,” he chuckles, the first smile of the day. Food really does make him peaceful. “The shot looks good, you look good.”
“Could’ve just asked me to turn around and pose,” you huff.
“Then it would ruin the fun,” he replies, “now c’mon, let’s ride the teacups. For old time’s sake.”
Ten minutes later and the both of you are soon regretting that decision. You’re once again slumped on the bench, this time unable to keep your head up so you rest it on Jungkook’s shoulder while he leans on your head.
“Haven’t rode that since I was a teenager,” Jungkook moans, holding his stomach. “Remind me not to eat so fast before getting on that kind of ride.”
You mirror his expression, feeling green. “Is this what late-adult life feels like?”
“Yep,” Jungkook replies, unbeknownst of how shocked you are at how weak your body has become. “You wake up with back pain, pre-arthritis from all the typing you’ve done over the last decade, and a lot of stress. Definitely not the fantasy you’d imagine from your 20s.”
“You think you’d be less stressed if you kept your lacrosse scholarship?”
“Nah, I think I saved myself,” Jungkook shakes his head, “before I could be any more awful than I already was.”
You refuse that notion, sending him a bitter smile. “Well, look at me. I became awful right after high school.”
“I didn’t mean you—”
“I know,” you hold up a hand to stop him. The two of you follow a red path up the hill, leading to a simple cable car ride. It’s a slow travel ride, made to get from one side of the park to the other with a beautiful view over the lake. “But you see those tabloid articles. They must be true.”
“I—I didn’t think they were all true,” Jungkook’s lying through his teeth to make you feel better, but you don’t care. “Why do you sound unsure?”
You shrug, “Probably wasn’t sober for most of my bad decisions,” considering your friendship with Seokjin and his boisterous drinking attitude, you wouldn’t be surprised, “If they weren’t true, I believe Jimin and I would’ve stayed friends. I can’t imagine why I left my home like that. But I guess it doesn’t matter too much because I came back. And I mean, we’re here together doing work,” you gesture between the small space between each other, “I think that counts for something.”
The two of you walk in silence for a bit, contemplating. The line to the cable car isn’t long but it’s slow, considering the cable only moves a couple meters a second. The take-off area is a risen slab of concrete, and the cars are continuously moving so you have to hop on one car as soon as another guest exits.
There’s a little bit of space between it, a centimeter gap that could be nerve wracking if there’s no staff around. You think nothing of it as you fiddle on your phone, waiting for the staff member to let you and Jungkook in on the next car.
Jungkook enters first, taking great care to cradle the camera in one hand so it doesn’t sway against the car. The car swings a little as well, and Jungkook holds out a hand for you to grab.
Instead you focus on how the once bright glassy pink is sun-ravished, faded and rusting on the metal door flaps. The color is almost pearlescent, vastly different than the vivid color you saw two weeks ago. You almost want to reach out and touch it, wondering where that quality went.
“Bun, be careful!”
The tip of your heel nicks on the stepping stone, slipping like butter as you topple forward. Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to scoop you up, hauling you into the car just as the metal door locks into place. The hard plastic of the camera digs into your chest uncomfortably as you plop on top of Jungkook, between his legs as half his thighs rest against the uncomfortable seat.
“Were you not watching where you were going?” Jungkook huffs, blowing his bangs over his forehead.
Instead of an artful answer you blurt, “You, you called me Bun.”
His eyes widen at your response, and his grip loosens around your body. His eyes dart anywhere but your face, his cheeks ruddied and stained coral as he moves to remove you from his body. “It was a slip of the tongue,” he coughs, turning on his camera and getting shots of the lake.
You huff in response, sticking to your side of the carriage. “I missed it,” you murmur to the wind, although you make yourself loud enough for him to hear.
You try to bury your sour expression in your sleeves, just to hide how absolutely childish you feel. You don’t even care that Jungkook is trying to take pictures of you looking out the view, only trying to eradicate the feelings that are still down deep in your blood. Even the twenty-seven year old Jungkook is charming, albeit in a completely different way.
The grown, mature Jungkook toots to his own horn. He isn’t concerned about a team or an image, and gave it all up to pursue an art he loves. The lacrosse jerseys exchanged for bulky long sleeves, the sport for a camera, and a mask for his true image.
“Let’s go,” Jungkook takes your hand again when the ride stops, not letting go until you’re on steady ground. You figure he must think you walk like a toddler barely on her first mile.
Would Jungkook like you even as an adult? With all this money, this power and this confidence you envisioned as a seventeen-year-old, it still doesn’t feel enough for him. In fact, you feel like a sore thumb sticking out, decorated in silly rumors and expensive clothes that separate you far from your roots.
“Hey,” Jungkook touches your arm, pointing to a basketball carnival game, “remember this one?”
“Yeah,” forcing a smile, you follow him to the small crowd that starts to form around the basketball game. The baskets are a short distance from the player, but so high up that it’s hard to tell the shape of the hoop. “I tried to tell you that it was completely rigged. From an angle you can see it’s still oval-shaped.”
“And I told you it didn’t matter if the hoop was an octagon, I’d get you that prize,” he jerks a thumb to the prize booth, where a blue Piplup plush sits proudly with all the other starter Pokemon. “And I did.”
“It’s still in my room,” you reply proudly, even though Jungkook is acting almost immaturely smug. “I, I mean it’s still in my room in my parent’s house. It’s probably lonely because my parents have been on a cruise for almost two weeks.”
He raises a brow, eyes drifting to the booth. “Should I win another one to keep your bed in the city warm?”
“That sounded oddly sexual.”
“You know what I mean,” and Jungkook’s rolling up his sleeves, handing you the camera.
“Jungkook,” you whine when he pulls out a roll of bills from his pocket, as if he prepared for this moment, “Jungkook c’mon—I don’t need any stuffed animals. Ugh.”
You swear that the majority of your day is spent watching Jungkook blow cash on a low-quality stuffed animal with packaging pellets for the inside. Turns out carnival technology has also enhanced over the years, and it takes both your whining and the clerk’s whining to stop Jungkook from blowing his entire wallet to get one basket in. Eventually the staff relents and lets Jungkook take a Piplup keychain instead, glumly handing it over to you.
“I like this better,” you chirp, clipping the ring onto your car keys, “now I can bring Piplup everywhere.”
A small, barely there smile appears on Jungkook’s face.
The rest of the day melts away like that, and before you know it the sun is slipping into the horizon and you’re being dropped off at your apartment. Jungkook even insists to walk you to your door, because your prizes are heavy. (Yes, he went back for the oversized Piplup.)
It’s all too familiar, the way the walk upstairs is achingly slow, as if the moment is stretching itself down the hallway. How Jungkook looks so prideful holding the fruits of his labor, following you with a tug of your hand because the prize is too big for Jungkook to see straight.
At the same time it’s different. The way you wobble around the hallway because you’re a little tipsy from wine flights is noticeable, even cute. How easy it is to not feel nervous when you clutch at his hand. How you two look like a seasoned couple, coming home from an all-day date.
It ends at the front door, and you crack it open so you can slip your prizes through the crack.
“Thanks, Jungkook,” you hold up the SD card that held all the precious memories of this week.
This is where you part ways. You’ll spend the rest of the night editing your presentation, while Jungkook promised to go to a bar with his friends. A little part of you hoped you’d be invited, but you knew that would be impractical considering you have work in the morning.
“Break a leg,” he says, leaning on the balls of his feet with his hands in his pockets, “you’ll do great. You’ve always been meant to do great things.”
The investment he lays on you is insurmountable, and you feel yourself flush with simultaneous excitement and anxiety. Unknowing how to calm your nerves, you give him a small “thank you” and put your hand on the knob to slip away.
“Wait—”
You blink, a deer in the headlights as Jungkook swoops down and kisses you.
You’ve received kisses—kisses reserved for a twenty-seven year old, before. Seokjin is an eager lover, and you felt it that fateful morning and even during your photoshoot when he tried to be sneaky and pull you away. Fleeting bites, kisses to the neck that are wet and hot.
Jungkook’s kiss does not feel like that. It feels like home. It feels like coming home after a long day of work, wrapping yourself in an old afghan and a hot cup of tea. The feeling of hot laundry, fresh front the dryer and smelling of floral softener. It tastes like ten years lost in a void, returning to your senses and lighting you up.
He holds you as if you’ll disappear right in front of him. Large hands cup your face, like a precious thing he never wants to let go. Your hands can do nothing but grapple after his, nails digging into his skin.
“Good night, Jungkook,” you send him a lovestruck smile, a puppy love face.
“Good bye, Bun,” he replies simply, jogging down the hallway.
Being twenty-seven starts to feel a little more like heaven.
Jennie used to annoy you in high school, but now she just down right scares you.
Her presentation is one straight out of a thriller, with red shadow lights and neon green splattered in the dark room. Her models are intense, her designs are beautiful but overwhelmingly chaotic, and the whole affair is rather grotesque. The headline Fashion Suicide glares at you in a morbid scarlet font.
Hoseok sends her a tight-lipped smile, and presses a button on his desk. “I need my antacids, Krystal,” Hoseok deadpans.
Nothing betrays Jennie’s wicked expression, in fact her smirk widens at Hoseok’s fear.
You on the other hand, are cool as a cucumber when you walk up to the front of the conference room. In fact, you barely have to say anything as the presentation presents itself. Jungkook took the liberty of making a video compilation for you, one that they could use in YouTube and Instagram promotions.
“This, is preserving our youth,” you declare proudly, letting the video play. The music that accompanies it is very coming-of-age, like a yearbook slideshow of all the pictures you took. Taehyung, Jimin and Seokjin hold their arms around each other in matching attire, looking like friends for life. There’s even some videos of you and Jungkook at the park, playfully arguing at each other. “I’m tired of seeing people who could care less about my life, who I can’t relate to.”
“This issue is for the unsung heroes—my best friend’s older sibling, the captain of the football team, and the black sheep with a dream.”
The video cuts to Jungkook, looking ultra cool at the camera while he’s dictating Seokjin’s moves. It was taken on your phone, and you’re zooming in on Jungkook’s serious face before it breaks into a laugh, eyes crinkling and bunny teeth showing at whatever stupid thing Seokjin said.
And finally, the video fades into a mock cover. The five of you are beaming at the camera, cheek-to-cheek as you hold up the placard: Ego: Class of Youth.
Needless to say, the issue is yours.
You ignore Jennie’s icy stare as you leave the room to negotiate with the creative teams on a set schedule. However, it seems that you can’t get a bit of rest when Jennie waits for you in your office.
“Jennie, get off of my desk,” you frown, watching a coffin-tipped nail flicking against a photograph of you holding hands with Jungkook in the amusement park. It hangs on a corkboard, standing up with all the other ideas that you and Jungkook have spent the last week meticulously planning.The black enamel scratches at your smiling face. You are not having this, not after all your hard work and all the meetings that have just been planned.
Her feet dangle in the air, kicking back and forth as she sings your name. “You’re still such a child,” she sighs dramatically. “In fact, I think your cute little-wittle idea would suit something more like Highlights or Disney Monthly.”
“You’re just upset I did better than you,” you cross your arms.
Jennie’s nail slices your visage in half.
“You’re right,” Jennie turns a 180 and gives you a bright, candy-coated smile. “Your idea is so good, it doesn’t suit Ego. In fact, I’m sure the editors at Mono will pay a pretty penny.”
“Excuse me?”
“Ugh, you are such a fake.” Jennie giggles, “now, did you send this idea to Namjoon yet? Their publishing date is two weeks before ours, so I’m sure they’re getting to work on this whole Throwback Thursday spread.”
You can’t believe the words coming from Jennie’s mouth. Before all of this, just how awful of a person were you? How could you sabotage your company on the regular, just to get paid a little extra dough for a rival company? It makes you think about what could’ve possibly changed. Had leaving your friends without a care in the world made you into this lost adult, grappling at the seams for attention? In college, did Jennie coerce you into being manipulative and backstabbing, and because without Jimin and needing confidence in a friend, you reluctantly agreed?
The coffee from this morning starts to back up in your throat, but you immediately tamp it down. No, you can’t be pushed around like this. You can’t keep pushing people around. You don’t want a life like this, and if you ever return to your old life, you’ll damn make sure you’ll create a future without Jennie in the picture.
“I’m not going to send anything to Mono, and I’ve already fessed up to Hoseok,” you lift your nose in the air, voice impeccably clear for someone who’s absolutely bluffing. But Jennie’s face hits the ground, immediately buying your lie. You suppose you did become a good actress after ten years. Maybe Seokjin taught you a few pointers. “So if I were you, I’d swallow your tongue before words get around. I worked it out but don’t be surprised if a pink slip comes your way.”
Turns out that no matter what, high school never ends. There will always be backstabbers and freaks and geeks. A mean girl that you subconsciously try so hard to appease, a grade that defines your life, and drama up to the neck.
“He doesn’t like you, y’know,” Jennie whispers, but the words are loud and clear and you know exactly who she’s talking about. “Never had, and never will.”
“You’re wrong,” you hold your hands, clasping them together to keep them from trembling, “he likes me.”
So you leave the office, determined to prove yourself. That kiss last night was nothing short of magical, and it took a lot of strength for you to not drive up to Jungkook’s apartment in the morning in the hopes for another one. You pick up a pizza near his place, filling it up with your favorite toppings on one half and his favorites on his. A bottle of peach champagne is nestled between your arms. In the bathroom while waiting for your pizza, you’ve wriggled out of your tight suit and into a blue hoodie and bicycle shorts. Tonight, you’re celebrating.
You’re vibrating as you’re knocking eagerly on his front door, excited to tell him the news. You hear a rustle from the couch, and some blankets shifting about. He must’ve passed out after going to the bar, how cute.
But when the door opens, the vision in front of you is far from cute.
A woman, with cat eyes and a slim figure, tilts her head at you. She’s dressed in a large white shirt, transparent enough to show her lacy black bra and panties. Bruises decorate her neck and thighs, like red and purple gems. Her long black hair swishes, slightly frizzy at the bottom.
“Can I help you?” her voice is sultry and velvety. “Are you looking for JK?”
It’s obvious as to what transpired. Jungkook dipped after kissing you and fucked another woman. A woman who’s the complete opposite of you. Someone flirty and sexy and willing to give Jungkook what he wants. You don’t know who you should be mad at.
“Who’s at the door?” Jungkook calls from the inside, and you nearly drop your bottle at the sound of the rasp. They must’ve had a fuckfest if they’re just waking up now.
Your cheeks are burning. Your heart is aching. And the vile that bubbled up from Jennie’s tirade is now resurfacing. From the way your eyes are watering, you must look like a crybaby.
“Say, JK,” the woman closes the frame tighter around her small head, preventing you from seeing inside and for Jungkook to peer, “do you have any pathetic ex-girlfriends?”
“No,” comes the muffled reply, “come back to bed, it’s getting cold without you,” the pizza starts to burn uncomfortably against your grip, “why the random question?”
“Dunno, seems like you’ve had at least one.”
At that moment, your savior appears in grey jeans and a beige hoodie. Jimin walks up to the floor, clutching a bag of groceries. It’s not hard to put two and two together as he spots you looking incredibly small in front of the strange woman, trying so hard not to break down.
Your tears finally fall when Jimin reaches you. “Wrong room,” you mutter under your breath, quickly following your old best friend when he shoves you in his apartment.
No words need to be explained when Jimin leaves the groceries on the coffee table and he’s pulling you onto his lap. You clutch him like a koala, rubbing mascara and blush all over his clothes as you sob. He pats your back and soothes your hiccups by offering you a glass of water. The stages of your meltdowns are pretty cut and dry, even after ten years. He still encourages you to finish the whole glass. He makes sure you have something to eat. He cuts your pizza into little bite sized pieces and feeds you. He doesn’t pressure you to talk until you’re ready, although he has a hunch as to what’s going on.
And when you talk, he doesn’t expect a firm, “Take me home,” from you.
“O-okay,” Jimin agrees immediately, pulling you into a sitting position. “Uptown, right? We can call an Uber or something and order from a restaurant.”
“No,” you reply firmly, “Home-home. I want to go back to my parent’s house.”
“That’s fine too,” he squeezes your shoulder, accepting the fob you hold out to him, “it’ll take about an hour, but I think the drive will be nice.”
So you two sneak off into the sunset, clutching twin slices of pizza as you roll away into your Tesla. Jimin is right, ten minutes into the drive and you’re soothed by his smooth driving and the scent of fried cheese and dough. Your friend has been calm all this time, so you figure this is the right time for him to pop off. Again, this is also part of your breakdown routine.
“Say, does this thing do calls?” Jimin asks, fiddling with the settings on your steering wheel, “Tesla, call Jeon Jungkook.”
“Jimin,” you say weakly, although the little malicious side of you wants to goad him on. You don’t bother to fight the best friend territorialism, you just watch as his hands clutch at the steering wheel as the speakers ring.
Jungkook picks up on the second ring, “Hey!” he says brightly, and it makes your chest pang to know how oblivious he is, “how did the presentation go?”
“Fuck you, Jungkook!” you cover your free hand on your ear at Jimin’s shrill yell, louder than the speakers that carry Jungkook’s voice. “Fuck you for breaking my best friend’s heart twice!”
The silence is deafening. It’s scary, like you could slash a butter knife right through the tension.
Jimin continues, “I can understand high school because you were a real doofus, but this! You fucking lead my best friend on, only to fuck another girl right under her nose! She came all the way to your apartment from a long-ass day at work to celebrate and you ruin that day! I thought you’ve grown for the better but turns out nothing has changed since prom night. You’re still the stupid, confused little boy that doesn’t want to admit how they really feel,” you gasp at the blow, watching Jimin’s gritted teeth as he zooms down the freeway on a mission. “Good fucking riddance, Jeon!”
Jimin punches the “hang up” button. A couple seconds of heavy breathing, and he turns to you with a gentle smile.
“So, you want to listen to Taylor Swift’s new album?”
Your room is lost in time. The Hunger Games novels are stacked on your shelf, looking old and worn. A Glee poster hangs over your four-poster bed, the yellow and red faded and the corners hanging by a thread from the old tape. The sheets are a pale pink, ruffly and definitely not in style anymore. When you sit on it, it creaks uncomfortably.
You hug yourself, tucking your knees in as Jimin marvels at the room with an equal amount of awe.
“If you could, would you go back to high school?” Jimin asks, sitting at the edge of your bed.
With a lazy shrug, you smile at your collection of polaroids that are hanging above your vanity. You’re still hurt, but the pain is no longer rolling in waves. “Maybe,” you reply, “probably would’ve taken you to Europe with me.”
He chuckles, “Is that the only thing you would change?”
“If I knew what I knew now?” you tilt your head, “I don’t know.”
Jimin gets off your bed, pressing a kiss into your forehead. “I’m gonna raid the kitchen and see if we can make something for dinner, yeah? Since your parents are on vacation and your fridge is probably empty, don’t judge me if there’s only Totino’s pizza rolls and nuggets in the freezer.”
When Jimin leaves your room, you quietly close the door and lock it. You lean against the cracked wooden door, falling onto the carpet and letting the tears fall. Is this what the rest of your life is going to be like? Evading pain and working too hard and trying everyday to stay afloat? Is adult life always going to be this difficult?
These past two weeks have been nothing short of a rollercoaster. Major highs and major lows, and after today you thought you reached the end of the ride. However, it’s looking like the ride has no destination in mind, rolling in waves and finding a new hill or loop to catch you off-guard.
“Are you kidding—how did you know we were here?” Another corkscrew.
“You’re a turtle on the road, Jimin. Now move out of the way.”
Jungkook’s voice startles you, and you tense when you see the gold door knob jiggle. Of course as strong as Jimin is, he’s no match for Jungkook. You hear Jimin grumble to curse Jungkook out, and the sound of him stomping down the stairs.
“Hey, open up. Please,” Jungkook’s voice is weak and strained, and you only hug yourself tighter as the knocks continue. “Or, don’t. It seems like you can listen to me perfectly from here. I can hear your breathing.”
You don’t say a peep, preferring to let everything fizzle out. Hopefully Jungkook will give up, say a pathetic sorry and be on his merry way. You don’t know why he’s followed you all the way over here, why would he bother coming when the damage is already done.
There’s a slide of fabric across wood, and you can feel the door shake against your back as Jungkook leans on his side out in the hallway.
“Back in high school, Jennie proposed that I date you to get back at you for stealing Jennie’s sewing sample and getting the higher grade,” you close your eyes, letting the story unravel. “She wanted to build you up before breaking you down, and back then I was vulnerable and thrived on attention, so I thought nothing of it.”
You hear a breathy exhale from his side, as if it pains him to continue, “But obviously, it wasn’t true and I only realized it until I was way too deep. I liked you, so much. Heck, I think I might’ve loved you. We were so wrapped up in this relationship I even convinced myself it was real, until Jennie said she’d crush you at prom night.
“I should’ve tried harder to convince us not to go. I should’ve told Jennie to fuck off. I should’ve come clean. I should’ve done something,” his fist bangs against your door, the vibrations of the impact thrumming in your back, “seeing you so beautiful in that dress all heartbroken because I didn’t act sooner. I’m so fucking sorry.”
Hearing him pour his heart out is like watching your memories in his shoes. The pieces find homes and paint a picture left unfinished.
“And then when you showed up at my doorstep, I was so angry. I knew you felt it. But I wasn’t upset at you, I was upset at myself. I felt so fucking guilty. I hated how easy it was for you to let me back into your life. I hated how easy it was to fall for you all over again. I knew how much I didn’t deserve your forgiveness, but you gave it to me and I was too selfish to refuse. I had so much fun, the most fun I’ve had in awhile.
“I’m sorry I kissed you. I didn’t intend for it to I just, I couldn’t help myself. And then I was so scared that I turned away and made the second biggest regret to date.
“But it proves that we’re not meant to be together. I don’t deserve you,” the last part is hushed, a nail in the coffin, “we can’t turn back the time, but if I could I would change it all. I would be by your side and make your world even better than it is right now. I’m sorry it’s too late.”
You clutch your mouth, suppressing the cries that muffle through the door. You hear Jungkook get up from your old carpet, turn the other way and head downstairs.
Your first love just closed the chapter for you. His words show how much he cared for you, but didn’t know how to express it. How immature he was, how he realized everything too late. And now, he wants to set you free. Even if it is a good thing, it still tears you to shreds.
Moving to your vanity, you pull out the chair and lean your head on the table, eyes poking through your hair. You look awful. The skin under your waterline is puffy and your eyes are red and bloodshot. Your forearms feel greasy, and you lift them up to reveal glitter painting the entirety of your skin. Your eyes dart to the open glitter, the package that Jimin gifted to you that fateful prom night. The compact is broken in half and left on the table, probably a product of your younger cousins fiddling through your old room.
Ignoring the sticky feeling, you let yourself continue to cry. You feel like you’re stuck in the bathroom of the prom venue, waiting for an opportunity to sneak out and go.
But you want nothing more than to go back to that moment. As amazing as your twenty-seven year old life is, you’re not ready for it. You don’t want a life without Jungkook, or a life having to constantly catch up and mend your relationship with Jimin. You don’t want to be the backstabbing bitch that tips off other magazines, or the two-faced woman who messes around with others for the sake of pleasure.
You long to go back. You long to live and grow. To be seventeen and have time to grow in-between.
When you lift your head from your vanity, you’re ten years younger.
You scream.
Your parents dash to your room with a kitchen knife and a confused face. With a wary smile and a teary gaze you say that it’s only a pimple. Your mother giggles and drops the knife, hugging you and helping you conceal the invisible mark. The hug is so warm and so missed that you nearly sigh in content. You’ve missed them.
It’s a little strange to think well beyond your years, your brain still reeling from the trip you’ve just had. Your hands smooth over your body, the previous curves and maturity hidden away in your skin. That’s okay, you don’t mind waiting anymore. There’s much more important things at hand.
If Jungkook isn’t going to realize his mistakes until it’s too late, you have to speed up the process.
Stealing your parent’s keys and hopping in your Accord, you drive off to Jungkook’s. Hair and makeup not done, and still in your plain shirt and jeans. An hour from now, Jungkook will text you saying his car is down and he’ll meet you at the venue.
It’s still rush hour, so he doesn’t notice when you park a few houses down. He’s sitting on his front porch, looking out the road. There’s really nothing in front of him, he’s just staring aimlessly, probably nervous about what’s about to go down tonight. You suppress a sigh, engraving the vision to memory. He looks great in his fitted black suit and tie, a little silver pocket square on the breast to match your dress.
He gets up quickly when he sees you, as if caught in the act. Staring at your plain clothes he asks, “Bun, why aren’t you dressed? Prom’s soon—”
“Jungkook, I want to break up.”
You see it in his eyes. Vulnerability. No longer do you feel insecure, the future told you that Jungkook genuinely did care for you back then. Or in this case, right now. His usual cheery expression crumples at your feet, and his hands fall at his sides. It feels a little unfair, knowing that you have experience under your belt, and Jungkook’s experiencing these feelings for the first time, unprepared.
“What?” he wilts, “why?”
“I know about Jennie’s plan,” you say instantly, unfazed. You give him a tight-lipped smile when realization hits his face. “So I know this whole relationship is orchestrated. The sewing sample fiasco is wrong, obviously. But I’m not going to get mad at you, I know she played you as much as she played me,” you clasp the straps of your purse, stopping you from fidgeting, “we graduate in a few months anyway. We don’t have to see or talk about this ever again. You should go enjoy your prom night with your other friends.”
The present-day Jungkook is still young and confused. He’s at a loss, looking like he’s on sensory overload as he absorbs all the information. You see his eyes flicker to where your Accord is parked, your prom dress hanging on one of the arm pulls. You never even pulled it out of the bag.
“Here,” you pull his corsage from your purse, placing the white rose atop the porch. If you try to put it on him, you fear you may never leave. With a determined huff, you turn around in the direction of your car.
“Where are you going?” he asks, clutching the railing of his porch, “what about prom?”
“I have other plans,” you shrug over your shoulder, “have a good night.”
You don’t look back, although you feel Jungkook’s stare burning in your head. You take great care in going into drive and punching in a new destination in your clunky GPS. This time you have to do things one at a time, once you get your Tesla ten years from now, you’re sure this process will be much easier.
Jimin’s family comes out of the airport, looking impeccable as always. Ten years younger, with puffy cherub cheeks and bright eyes. To your surprise (but also all things considered, it’s Jimin), your best friend comes out in a three-piece suit. It’s burgundy, and suits his dark hair well. He places his luggage into your car, hugs his family good-bye and waits for them to depart in their cab.
“You are all dressed up, and for what,” you chuckle, driving out of the airport.
“Well, when you sent that voicemail that you’d be waiting for me, I changed in the bathroom,” Jimin quips, already fiddling with your radio to play some poppy overplayed music, “but why aren’t you dressed? I thought we were going to be fashionably late to prom. Spill.”
“Hm, let’s talk about it in the morning. I wanna enjoy my prom night,” and you reach over to ruffle Jimin’s soft black strands, “y’know, you’d look really sexy as a blond.”
He pulls down your mirror, positioning it over his face. Pursing his plush lips, he tilts his head. “Yeah, maybe when I’m older,” he grins at his reflection, “so if we’re not going to prom, let’s go get pizza.”
So the two of you get pizza. But not before you take your prom pictures. Your parents meet you at the park with their old digital camera, ready for your impromptu photoshoot. Jimin uses an old tarp to cover the car up while you change in the car, shimmying in your sparkly silver tulle dress. Your hair is held up and away from your face, looking clean enough to be presentable as you pose for the camera. The two of you pick yellow dandelions from the grass, matching flowers as last minute dates. Your parents coo and are happy for you, knowing that even if you don’t attend the actual dance, the pictures will last forever and you’ll smile at them for years.
Eventually you tell Jimin about Jungkook and the whole fiasco (sans the ten year mental time jump.) The reaction is expected, Jimin says he wants to fuck Jungkook up. Surprisingly for him, he doesn’t have to do much to console you. In fact, you sip coolly from your smoothie and say Jungkook will probably let Jimin get a punch in even though Jungkook can bench press his tiny body in half. But you tell him you’re okay, and all you want to do is go home and binge watch.
Jimin carries the pie in his lap while you pull up your driveway. The smell of toasty cheese and fresh dough fill your car.
“I want to watch Sky City,” Jimin sing-songs, “Kim Seokjin is God’s gift!”
You crinkle your nose, “He’s alright.”
“What! You thought he was so hot like, last week.”
“Things change.”
Jimin makes it to your room first, saying he’ll take care of setting things up. He’ll probably steal all the available cushions and make a fort for himself while he puts a picnic blanket on the floor in front of your television. You can imagine him hogging all your stuffed animals, placing it on his side of the carpet while he rifles through your drawers so he can change out of his suit.
Your parents tell you to take out the trash before you have fun tonight. Careful not to get your dress dirty, you hold it away from your body as you waddle out the front door. You make it two steps into the driveway before the soggy trash bag is whisked from your hands.
“I got it,” Jungkook says quietly, and it takes little to no effort for him to haul the large bag into the waiting trash can. His shoulders are slumped under his white button-up, his suit jacket probably stuffed somewhere in the back of the car.
“Jungkook,” you reply, dumbfounded, “it’s only eight, prom isn’t even over yet.”
“I know… but then I realized you weren’t gonna get your money’s worth if you didn’t go. I asked the waitress if she could get me a doggie bag for my date and,” he holds up a stapled bag, presumably the dinner that was supposed to be served, “it’s your favorite.”
“Thank you,” you give him a small, grateful smile as you accept the bag. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
He bites his lip, stuffing his hands in his dress pockets. “A-and you told me before you left that I should go spend prom night with my friends,” he ruffles his hair, blown out of the pomade and falling into his eyes, “and then I realized that you were right. Jennie and all those people out there aren’t really my friends. They like my rep and they like my attention, but they don’t like me.”
You shake your head, “Jungkook, you’re very likable. Jennie and her group are just one bad bunch.”
“But I don’t wanna be liked by my rep. I wanna be liked for the things I love,” he steps a hesitant step towards you, and he relaxes when he sees that you don’t recoil, “I haven’t told anyone this. But I want to drop that sports scholarship. I applied to an art school, and I got in.”
Suppressing a grin with a bite of your lips, you cheer silently in your head. Things are changing. “I’m so happy for you, Jungkook. Congrats.”
“And I’m sorry for all the fucked up things I did. Jennie may have manipulated me but I definitely was a big part of it,” Jungkook pulls the words out of the sky, finally having enough time to formulate an apology, “but please don’t doubt for a second that my feelings are fake. I really like you, and I wish we got to know each other under better circumstances.”
“I wish we could’ve,” you echo sadly. “But our futures—”
“I don’t want to lose you.”
“I liked you, so much. Heck, I think I might’ve loved you.”
You shake your head, frowning at his kicked puppy expression. “I’m considering a fashion school in Europe,” you reach for Jungkook’s hand, squeezing it. Letting him know that everything’s going to be okay. “You and Jimin can visit me during the breaks, Europe has some great spots to photograph.”
Something in Jungkook’s gaze tells you that it’s not enough for him. He wants to be selfish and hold onto you tighter, but you know that’s not good for the both of you right now. “That’d be nice,” he says vaguely, giving you a pained smile.
Jungkook rubs his thumb over your hand, relishing in the softness of your skin. “You look really pretty,” he says, looking forlornly over the dress. He can only imagine how ethereal you’d look under the fairy lights that decorated the venue, “I wish we could’ve had one dance.”
You shrug, “The night’s still young,” you gesture to the space in the driveway, and the lights that overhead the garage.
The slow Taylor Swift music that plays from his pocket is muffled, but it doesn’t deter either of you as he places his hands on your waist and you wrap his around his neck. You’re wearing your bunny house slippers and Jungkook’s neck is moist from his nervous sweats, but you know that this memory will be engraved in your brain for years to come.
It feels good to know that from now on, you don’t have to be so concerned about the future now that you’ve had a taste of it. All you want now is to take it one day at a time. At this moment the, the only thing you want to do is focus on how you’re going to hold onto Jungkook for the last time. At least for now, who knows what will happen in the future.
“I really want to kiss you, Bun,” he leans in, foreheads touching, “but I don’t deserve it.”
“You’re right,” you tease, “you don’t.”
He frowns playfully, “Ouch. But fair.”
Yet you figure you’ve made enough headway these past few weeks, and you deserve to be a little selfish. One last kiss, you think to yourself. Your fingers flatten against the pressed material of his collar, meeting in the middle to clutch Jungkook’s slim black tie. Jungkook bites his lip, looking down at you for permission. With the tiniest of nods, you get on your tippy toe toes you lean forward and you can smell the apple cider lingering on his lips—
“Ohmygod—are you broken up or not!” both of you whip your heads up to see Jimin hanging over your open window, looking absolutely bored. His arms dangle over your sill, wearing a frayed high school jumper. “Either tell him to get lost or invite him over to watch television because I’m hungry!”
You pull away from him fully, squeezing his biceps. “Want pizza?”
He shakes his head, “I think it’s a trap. Jimin’s waiting for me to come up so he can rip my head off,” he gives a tentative wave to the second floor, but Jimin just scoffs and goes back inside, “but I’ll see you Monday.”
“Okay. Good night, Kook.”
“Good night, Bun.”
Your heart pinches a little as you watch him drive away. Before, you knew what the end game was between you two. It didn’t end pretty. Now, you’re not so sure. At the very least, it isn’t ending on a sour note.
Some time later.
“Your majesty,” you give her a practiced smile, taking careful measures not to brush the lady’s shoulders too hard in the fear she’ll whittle away, “emerald is an impeccable color on you.”
The Queen of England (the McDuckin' Queen of England!) just laughs at you and waves you off. You can’t believe you’re photographing a real queen. This is like the childhood equivalent of meeting Malibu Barbie. You thank every single choice and mistake you’ve made in your entire life that has brought you up to this impeccable moment. She’s a vision, you could cry. In fact, you’ll cry later in the comfort of your hotel room. “Do you think the photographer will take long?” she asks, frowning, “I have drinks with my friends in an hour.”
You smirk, pleased to know she’s still kicking it in her golden years. “Yeah, just so long as my husband doesn’t get distracted. Fifteen minutes, tops.”
“I’m not distracted,” Jungkook huffs, pulling away from his tripod. He gives up on trying to stabilize the camera, instead preferring to go freehand for this one. He gives you an incredulous look, hands on his hips, “I have two queens in my viewfinder and I only got room for one. Get out of the shot, Bun.”
With a playful roll of your eyes, you step away from the lady of the hour to let Jungkook do his thing. He’s right in his element, blurting choreographed poses and telling the lighting people to move at his beck and call to get the perfect angle. You stand a distance behind him, letting him take control.
“I’m so hungry,” your whisper is low enough to blend between the jazz music, but loud enough for Jungkook’s ears to listen in, “please tell me you’re almost done.”
“Oui, oui.”
“Wrong language, Kook. Please don’t offend anyone,” and discreetly, you take one step closer in your Tory Burch flats, “did you get any candids of me and the Queen?”
“Duh, Bun,” you can’t see his face but you know he’s grinning, “Jimin will faint.”
"Oh, yes! Thank you, I love you," you gush, reaching over to discreetly pinch his butt.
He shakes his head, looking over his shoulder to give you a brief smirk, "Show me how thankful you are tonight."
So silly, you think. It's amazing how well you work together as two separate entities of a photoshoot yet share a brain cell in the presence of each other. In another world, Jungkook said if given the chance, he'd be by your side and make your world a better place.
Ten years later, it's exactly that and more.
#jungkook x reader#btswritingcafe#btsghostie#kwritersworldnet#jungkook fic#bts fic#bts fluff#bts angst
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sloth and sheep
― yang jungwon x gn!reader
your best friend is acting weird, what seems to be the cause?
genre: fluff, school au, best friends to lovers
warnings: some teasing but it's jungwon what do you expect
wc: 1.3k
a/n: done with my last final! as a gift for being so patient, i wrote this while i was studying and to give myself motivation LOL i'll return with blood castle soon!! ^^
♞──────────────────────────♞
the scribbling of pencils hurriedly rushing to finish their last markings is all you can hear as your teacher counts down. everyone is quickly trying to jot down their final words for the essay.
"3... 2... 1... and stop!" your teacher shouts. some students groan at their inability to finish whereas some let out a sigh of relief. "pencils down, pass your papers to the front please. after that, you're free to go! have a nice summer, everyone!"
you pass your paper to your classmate kim sunoo in front of you. a smile graces his face as he takes it and continues passing the stack. you're packing up your supplies with a steady heartbeat before you hear footsteps approaching. you don't need to look up to know who it is.
"hurry up, y/n!" best friend!yang jungwon whines. you simply roll your eyes at him. the zipper of your pouch is followed by the shuffling of your satchel and the tapping of his feet.
"yah, yang jungwon, don't rush me," you scold.
"i wouldn't have to rush you if you weren't so slow," he continues whining, drawing out the vowels in "so" and "slow."
sighing, you get up and throw your bag over your shoulder.
"finally! i thought i was going to have to leave you!" the brown-haired teenager teases.
"you would never, wonie," you say as you stick your tongue out at him.
"watch me!" jungwon shouts before bolting towards the door and taking off. "last one to get there has to pay for the winner!"
"h-hey!! no fair, you got a head start!" you tell after him, scrambling your feet.
going at his own pace, sunoo shakes his head at the pair of best friends. "ugh, they're so in love it's almost cute."
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
you're not able to keep up with jungwon, who could literally run a marathon from his rigorous taekwondo training, so when you reach the shop, you're almost breathless and lucky that the shop is close by the school. the chime of the doorbell welcomes you as you push the door open, the staff greeting you with warm welcomes.
jungwon is already ordering his chocolate ice cream and another one while you hurriedly find your wallet. surprisingly though, he nonchalantly hands a cone over to you with your favorite ice cream flavor and pays for it himself.
"but i thought you said...?" you stiffly mumble out.
"your ice cream is melting, slowpoke," he simply states. your eyes widen as you quickly go to lick the sugary liquid before it can drip onto your hand. he's calmly watching you in amusement while enjoying his own dessert. "let's walk back, yeah?"
you're curious as to where his energy went, he's usually more playful with you, but you follow him out the store nonetheless. "sure, just tell me why you're acting so weird, wonie."
as the two of you start walking back on the road home, it's oddly silent. usually your way home (a/n: haha txt song) is filled with laughter and inside jokes, so the silence is extremely uncomfortable and feels much longer than the 3 minutes it actually is.
"alright, yang jungwon, you've been way too quiet. what are you planning, you sneaky bunny?" you give in, making a stop in your tracks. the streets are quiet as the sun begins to set and the once-in-a-while car whooshes past. he turns around with his wide doe eyes staring back at you rather earnestly.
"wh-why are you looking at me like that?" you unconsciously stammer out. jungwon suddenly takes a few steps closer, making you walk backwards into a wall. his hand come forward and encases you between the wall and his body. you can't help but take in the scent of detergent that surrounds you when he traps you, his brown hair that reminds you of a chocoball, and his eyes staring back at you. "w-what—"
you're cut off by a pair of fingers flicking your forehead before you're holding it in response to the pain. "ow! what was that for?!"
"you're keeping us from getting home! i want to watch movies, but you're being slow, y/n," he states before releasing you and walking briskly towards your shared street. "hurry up, or you're not sleeping over tonight."
"h-hey! you can't do that! it's our tradition to do ice cream and movies on the last day of finals!" you scold, rushing after him. when you catch up, you latch onto his back, jungwon's reflexes immediately kicking in and catching you and your legs as your limbs wrap around him. "if you're going to call me slow, i'll just hang on you like a sloth!"
the teenage boy laughs joyfully. "you already were one! sloth y/n, sloth y/n," he chants.
"i'll approve of this sloth y/n agenda only because you're carrying me like you're my moving branch."
"sure, sure. that's my new contact name for you, by the way."
"huh? what was it before?" you ask. you tilt your head forward to rest on his shoulder. the scent of coconut from his conditioner fills your nose as you do so.
"just dummy," he replies coolly. "what's yours for me?"
"first of all, i'm not a dummy," you pout. "second, remember that time you dressed up as a sheep for student council?"
"nooo!" he groans out as if he knows what's coming.
"yess! it's sheep garden to match your contact picture," you tease.
"then i'll dress you like a sloth to match your nickname."
"i thought you had most of our shared brain cells, wonie. sloths are too hairy to dress up as."
"not my problem, get hairy then." you slap his back as his reply. "yah! i'll file best friend abuse against you!"
"go ahead, no one else will deal with your whiny heinie."
"i'm dropping you because you said that."
you gasp. "you wouldn't."
a smirk appears on his face before he says, "try me." and he does it, making you yelp as he lets you fall to your butt on the grassy lawn of his house. "who's a whiny heinie now? pay the uber fees, sloth."
"yea, i'll pay alright," you mumble.
he doesn't catch it and looks at you curiously. "sorry, what d—whoa!!"
as he's talking, you pull his arm and cause him to come down to the ground with you, except the plan didn't end much like how you intended. you definitely didn't intend to be in a compromising position with jungwon hovering over you and trapping you like he had done earlier.
once again, your eyes are locked with his seas of dark brown, searching for some kind of sign, some kind of reason to act on the skyrocketing pulse of your heartbeat. you're too caught up in your thoughts that you don't hear him say, "you know what? screw it."
when his lips press against yours, you only have a few moments to realize and return the press before he's pulling away.
"wonie..." you breathe out. breathless is all that can describe you as your brain wraps around the fact that not only did you have your first kiss, but your first kiss was with yang jungwon, your best friend and crush. the two of you start to sit up, not really saying anything else with your legs intertwined.
it's him who breaks the silence. "i like you, y/n."
and it's you who reached forward to pull him into a hug. he's frozen as your arms take place around his neck and your lips go towards his ear to whisper, "i like you too, jungwonie."
his cheerful giggles that you've come to love and adore erupt out as he wraps his arms around you. knowing the two of you liked each other didn't change the way you acted together, but it made the time you two spent together even more special, now that you can hold hands and rub circles or cuddle while watching movies: doing the same traditions felt brand new.
#enhypen#enhypenwriters#yang jungwon x reader#enhypen fanfiction#enhypen jungwon#yang jungwon#yang jungwon imagines#enhypen imagines#yang jungwon fluff#enhypen fluff
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love me, love me not | bang chan
genre: angst, humor, fluff, college!au, female!reader
warnings: slight swearing, not edited ahhh
prompt: argument leading kissing
description: when chan rejected you, you never expected that it would become the catalyst for your love story, rather than the end of it. but, life and a few welcome matchmakers have a way of playing with fate.
word count: ~6.5k+
a/n: hi, anon! im so so sorry for the wait. i totally had a writer’s block while writing this, and im super sorry if this isn’t exactly what you wanted...i tweaked the prompt ever so slightly, but i hope you still like it! >.< it’s also wayyy longer than i’d predicted haha oops. as always, my ask box is open if anyone wants to be friends! love you all! <3
It took a total of three days and five hours for Chan to realize he might've fucked up.
When the thought first appeared in his head, he dismissed it out of indignation. How could it have been his fault?! He didn't know you were going to confess. He didn't know he was hurting you by jumping around from girl to girl.
"You... you're what?" Chan stuttered, his pace faltering to a stop as he tried to process your words.
"I'm in love with you," you repeated, stopping in your tracks as you turned to face him, your hands gripping the straps of your backpack tightly.
"I have been for years," you said plainly, looking into his eyes with a simple gaze.
Chan stammered, and for the first time, his mouth worked before his brain and he blurted out the stupidest response he could've conjured up, "I already have a date tonight."
You flinched as if he’d slapped you hard across the face, showing visible hurt at his careless words. You were always the collected one, always the person that could flash a smile even in the most uncomfortable circumstances. It felt weird, uncomfortable even to see you waver.
When you replied to him, you had already recovered, your face passive and your voice steady, "I know. I helped you set it up, dipshit," you said with a dry smile.
"Then, why would you say this now?" Chan felt churlishly ungrateful. How dare you tell him now? Right when he finally scored that girl he'd been secretly pining after for days. It had taken so much effort, and you'd know because it was only through your shared internship with her that this date even became possible.
Oh, he was being so callous, so insensitive. And yet, you showed nothing more than a flash of hurt in your eyes, a sign he had clearly missed while he was too busy worrying about himself.
“Because you asked me if I liked anyone, and I didn’t have any reason to lie to you,” you shrugged indifferently before checking your watch, “Oh, you’re going to be late. I’ll walk the rest of the way by myself.”
And without waiting for another response from him, you turned on your heels and walked down your street without the one companion you’ve had all your life. It was lonelier than you thought it would be.
Ever since that day, Chan’s relationship with you had irrevocably changed. He still saw you every day, still walked you to your classes and spent his lunch period with you at the nearby cafe, but a large chasm had opened in your relationship, a divide of unspeakable topics after you’d so bluntly confessed to him and unknowingly sent him into an existential crisis.
“How was the date?”
Speaking of the devil, Chan choked on his chocolate milkshake as you interrupted his thoughts, "I'm sorry, what did you say?" he wheezed, hitting his chest to catch his breath.
You gave him a strange look, clearly sensing his discomfort, but making no moves to resolve the situation as you looked back down at your notes.
“I asked how the date was,” you repeated, scribbling as you jotted down some of the main points from your textbook, “Didn’t you have one? Two days ago?”
“O-oh, right,” Chan nodded, clearing his throat deliberately, “Yeah, it was good, I guess.”
Truthfully, Chan did not remember the date very well. What was her name? Miyeon? Mina? Fuck, was he suffering from early memory loss already? She was quite pretty; he remembered how she looked very vaguely, dressed in a prim and proper manner and carrying herself with grace.
And yet, the one thing that Chan clearly did remember was that he felt nothing.
There was no spark. No instant realization that the girl before him was the one. No dramatic eye contact or k-drama OST to make up for awkward silences.
All in all, it seemed like it was another fail.
You sensed his dejected mood as always, and nudged his still hand on the table, “Hey, it’s alright. Not all dates are supposed to go well. You’re bound to have a few misses.”
“That’s the thing! It hasn’t been just a few misses! It’s been all misses!” Chan bemoaned as he let his head slump onto the table, and he couldn’t ignore the wry smile that crossed your face.
“You just haven’t found the right person yet, and that’s okay,” you chuckled, petting his soft hair. Chan let out an appreciative hum, his eyes automatically closing at the soothing sensation. Your hands felt nice, your pets were always comforting. It would be even better if you’d run your hands through his hair while he--
Wait, what?
Chan shook his head quickly, messing up his soft hair and causing you to pull away, much to his disappointment. What was that? His brain was traveling a mile a minute and the image that flashed in his head--his head on your lap, peaceful and domestic as you pressed kisses to his face while you carded your fingers through his hair--
“Oh, by the way. I’m going on a date tomorrow.”
It was like his dream shattered before his very eyes as you glanced at your nails, the scratching off another fleck of your black nail polish. Chan was genuinely caught off guard by the weird, sickly emotion in his gut as the words you uttered finally processed through his thick brain.
“W-what?” Chan failed to hide the surprise, but he somehow managed to hide the faint sense of disappointment. He shouldn't feel that, right? Friends should always support one another! Friends should always want them to be happy and find someone, right?
He didn't exactly feel those two things at the moment, and the guilt only added to the sickly feeling.
"Who?" Chan asked, trying not to sound bitter.
If you heard the unusual emotion in his voice--which you probably did--you didn't comment on it, "It's the school dance captain, Minho? He asked me out yesterday."
An image of the unfairly handsome, sharp-eyed, dashing dance captain, Lee Minho, appeared in Chan's head. He was the perfect man, of course. Literally Adonis of the modern age. Chan didn’t even know that you and him were friends, much less close enough to schedule dates.
“How do you know him? You’re not exactly the cream of the crop when it comes to dance, or anything physical for that matter--ow!”
You rolled your eyes as you pulled your hand back, watching as he rubbed his forehead dramatically, “We have computer science together, asshole. And he’s a good friend of Jisung.”
“Everyone’s a good friend of Jisung’s,” Chan muttered under his breath, still reeling from your harsh attack, “Why does it have to be Minho?”
He hadn’t planned on you catching his latter question, but seeing the raise of your eyebrow and the immediate change in expression to something slightly more guarded, you asked, “Oh? And what’s wrong with Minho?”
Chan stiffened at the defensive question, feeling his blood grow hot. Of course there wasn’t anything wrong with Minho. He was surprisingly warm-hearted, smart, funny, and a phenomenal dancer. There was nothing wrong with him, and yet, Chan felt a red hot jealousy and anger bubble out of his lips as he blurted out:
“I just don’t want you going with him.”
Oh, that came out wrong. That came out so very wrong.
“And who are you to tell me what to do, Christopher Bang?” your voice was cold and closed off, using his full name as you only did when you were furious.
Chan flinched at your tone, feeling more hurt than he thought he would. But, at the same time, he bristled in frustration. You didn’t understand what he was feeling. (He didn’t understand it either.)
“He’s not good for you, Y/N,” he lied, avoiding your piercing gaze as you scoffed.
“Oh?” you sounded rightfully furious, absolutely fed up with the constant back and forth and utter indecisiveness that was Bang Christopher Chan, “And who exactly do you think is good for me? You?”
It was scathing, meant to hurt, and hurt it did. Chan recoiled at your burning words, “That’s not what I meant!” He snapped defensively, his temper rising unusually as your argument began to draw the attention of other customers in the cafe.
Your hands shook as you clenched them into little fists, “Then what did you mean, huh?” You asked softly, eyes lowered to the table.
Chan opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out as he struggled to dictate exactly what he was feeling. What even was this? This burning pain in his heart at the thought of you with another, this fear in his mind that he will no longer be your first priority?
You took his silence as acceptance, and you scoffed, trying to ignore the prickly feeling behind your eyes, “I see,” you spoke with an air of finality, and before Chan could speak, you pushed out of your seat, beginning to walk away.
“W-wait!” Chan’s motion was frantic and unthought of as he grabbed the edge of your soft cardigan.
“Channie, it’s fine,” you said simply as you refused to face him, and he was unable to see your expression. Your voice gave nothing away, perfectly neutral and closed off.
“This isn’t goodbye or anything, dipshit,” you continued, standing still as you spoke, “I just have something I have to do. Text me when you need me.”
With that, you yanked your arm away, and the fabric of your sweater slipped through his fingers. Chan was frozen in his position, half ready to stand up and half still sitting. It wasn’t a goodbye, he told himself. You said it yourself. It wasn’t a goodbye.
But why did it feel so much like one?
.
“You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?”
Chan looked away from the window, his eyes wide and startled as the woman in front of him gave him a merciful smile as she rested her head on her hand, watching him inquisitively.
“So you are,” she confirmed, absently twirling the pasta around her fork as she continued to study him.
Chan felt his face flush with shame and guilt. It had been almost a whole day since your fight with him, and--unable to study because of it--he decided to drown his sorrow the only way he knew how: by setting up another date. He called the girl he went out with two days ago, Mina, and to his utmost surprise, she agreed to a second date.
But now, Chan was sure that the chance of a third was completely out the window, especially since he was spending much of this date daydreaming.
“I-I’m so sorry,” he stuttered out an apology, and truthfully, he was ashamed that his mind wouldn’t stay in one place no matter how much he willed it to, “I’ve just been really busy with work, a-and it’s been weighing down on me.”
Mina smiled at that, a gentle, knowing smile that send to pierce through all of Chan’s clumsy excuses, “I see. So it wasn’t about anyone in particular?”
Chan felt his heart jump in panic. This was probably one of the most mortifying moments in his life, “I don’t believe so?” He said in a questioning tone as he stabbed at his ravioli, playing with it more than he was actually eating.
Even as he lied, his thoughts travelled to another date that was supposed to be happening right as this time. He’d heard through the grapevines that you were going to a cute dinner date with Minho on the other side of town. The two of you haven’t spoken at all since the fallout, which was very uncommon. Not a single text, call, or meeting was exchanged.
Chan wanted to tear his hair out from the frustration. How was it? Were you having fun on your date? Was Minho treating you well? Of course, he would; that was a stupid question. Minho was always known to treat his dates well, even if they didn’t turn into anything long term. He was just kind like that, and--at this moment--he was definitely doing a much better job making you happy than Chan was.
“Hm,” the girl mused carefully, twirling her fork a couple more times before asking innocently, “Are you sure you’re not thinking about your friend, Y/N?”
Jackpot. Chan’s eyes grew comically wide as he choked in his fancy ravioli dish, his face turning red as he quickly tried to drown his throat with water so he didn’t die from asphyxiation, “Y/N?” he stammered, and the image of you from the last time you spoke with him--your face of hurt and betrayal as he snapped at you for no reason at all--flashed in his brain, making him feel yet another coil of burning hot guilt.
Mina nodded serenely, eating as she watched you carefully, “So, I was right?” She asked knowingly, and Chan wondered how long it’s been she’d figured it out.
Nevertheless, he winced and dipped his head respectfully, “I am very sorry,” he said solemnly, and he truly was sorry, “I just...we had a falling out yesterday, and I’m just worried that I might’ve accidentally lost a friend.”
“Oh? Was it that bad of a falling out?” Mina asked, and Chan was almost dumbfounded by how casual his date was at the notion of him thinking about another person during their dinner.
But at the same time, he’d been aching for someone to confide in, aching to sort out the jumbled mess inside his heart, “It was bad,” he admitted, “She was trying to tell me that she got a date, and instead of being happy for her, I sort of blew up in her face.”
“Oh. So it’s bad.”
The blatant honesty was enough to make Chan put his head in his hands, “Yeah, it was bad. Looking back, I’m surprised she didn’t get even more angry at me.”
Mina let out a soft chuckle at his self deprecating words, which made Chan felt just slightly better, “Why did you get so angry?”
Chan blinked, looking up at the question, “H-huh?” If anything, he’d expected Mina to get angry, not for her to start questioning him like a lawyer.
“I mean,” Mina continued, shrugging as she sipped at her champagne, “is Minho a bad person?”
“Not at all. He’s a great guy,” Chan said, almost immediately getting defensive. Minho was a great guy, and he deserved someone wonderful by his side. Someone like you.
“Do you think he and Y/N won’t get along?”
“No!” Chan huffed, growing frustrated by the interrogation but also understanding that he was the one at fault here for ruining a perfectly nice date.
“Then why did you get angry?”
Chan opened his mouth to speak, but as obvious as the reason seemed to be just then, he couldn’t actually pinpoint a direct reason. Why was he so angry? Why was he angry at the prospect of you being happy? Was it because he was just a bad person?
Or, was it because you were going to be happy with someone other than him?
Mina smiled slyly as she watched the poor, unknowingly besotted boy come to one of the most important revelations of his college life, “Well?” She asked, tilting her head expectantly.
Chan swallowed, and his palms felt unnaturally sweaty, as if he were about to perform with his friends on stage. The very thought of it scared him a little, not because it was so undesirable of an outcome, but because of the growing guilt that he didn’t realize it before, and the prospect of fulling understanding how much pain his obliviousness might have caused you.
“I was angry because I wanted it to be me,” he whispered, softly enough that he hoped Mina wouldn’t hear it, but from her smile, she definitely did.
“You wanted to be Minho?” she clarified, almost relishing in the way she was forcing Chan to cough up the buried feelings hidden so deep inside his heart that even he himself wasn’t aware of them.
Chan nodded, feeling as if the ground had been pulled out from under him again, but this time, it was a light, airy feeling rather than a terrifying plummet.
There was a moment of silence before Mina suddenly began to giggle, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. Chan looked up, flustered by her actions as he felt his face burn. He was still a little nervous that he’d insulted her by basically confessing to be in love with another person on their date.
“Oh, you’re actually adorable,” Mina smiled, wiping at the corners of her eyes before she took a deep breath, “Do you know, the first time we went on a date, a couple days ago, I actually thought you were cheating on Y/N.”
“W-what?” Chan sputtered, his cheeks growing bright red at the very thought, “Why?”
“Well, I’ve seen the two of you around, and your relationship is almost a known secret around campus,” Mina explained, “Especially once when I saw the two of you at a cafe studying together, and the way you were looking at her...it made even my heart flutter just watching you stare at her. I doubt you were even listening to what she was saying.”
Chan thought back to your study sessions, thought back to every time he’d have you explain a difficult equation or problem. Bizarrely, he didn’t remember a single concept at all, but he did remember everything about you as you were speaking. The way a single strand of hair traced your face and you always had to brush it behind your ear. The way you’d pout if the question stumped you, too. The way you’d sometimes get lost in your own explanation and start talking about a topic so high level that Chan had been lost for minutes already, but he couldn’t bear to stop you because you looked so adorable.
Oh, shit.
“Then,” Chan swallowed nervously, “you agreed to go on that date with me because you thought I was cheating on her?”
“Well, first off, she helped put us together, which diminished the possibility of that being true,” Mina shrugged, continuing to eat, “Also, if it was true, then I’d be able to catch you right in the act and tell her directly.”
Chan felt a little ashamed and unfairly blamed. Of course he wouldn’t cheat on you! He’d never cheat on anyone, much less you of all people. The very notion of hurting you in such a way was practically unbearable.
“But, as we talked that night,” the girl continued nonchalantly, “it became clear to me that the two of you weren’t together, but you also were totally oblivious to how in love with her you are.”
The back of Chan’s throat was completely dry at this point, despite the copious amount of water he’d been chugging throughout this date, “I-I’m not in love with her,” he stammered defensively, “We’ve been best friends for years!”
Mina leveled him an unamused glare, “Oh? You’re not in love with her, but you feel pain at the notion of her being with someone else. You’re not in love with her, but you can only remember every good thing about her. You’re not in love with her, but you look at her as if she’s your whole sun, moon and earth combined.”
Chan felt cornered, his eyes wide at the revelation as he choked out, “B-but if I love her, t-then all this time--haven’t I been hurting her over and over?”
“How so?”
“S-she confessed earlier this week--b-but I didn’t know!” Chan said helplessly, beginning to panic. If this was all true--and slowly, his mind was beginning to process that it very well could be--then he’s caused you unimaginable pain for no good reason. Then he’d rejected you in the most brutal, uncaring way possible.
Mina sighed, rubbing her eyes, “Oh, dear god. You’re actually an idiot. What are you doing here? Go apologize! Don’t turn up empty handed. And don’t expect anything from her. Just ask her sincerely for her forgiveness.”
Chan nodded, already scrambling out of his seat and fumbling as he placed a few big bills on the table, “I’m so so sorry about this,” the apologies spilled out as he bowed respectfully towards Mina, “If there’s anything I can do to make it up to you…”
“Just don’t be an idiot and try to date the entire student population when the one for you is right beside you,” she retorted dryly, smiling at him, “And good luck.”
Chan ran faster than he ever had before. He ran faster than when his high school class had made him the final runner in the school relay. He ran faster than when he was late to his first job offer in his second year of college. None of those things felt nearly as important as this: the notion of losing you for good.
He rushed to the flower shop that you always spared forlorn glances at, but never spent money on. Apologizing profusely for barging in right before closing time, he bought a small bouquet of your favorite flowers, a collection of roses, lilies, and orchids.
Oh gosh, what if you weren’t home? What if you didn’t come home for the night, but rather stayed with Minho? The very thought caused his stomach to turn.
By the time he made it to your house, his lungs were burning and gasping for air as he rushed to your door. His heart plummeted as he glanced through the window and saw that none of the lights were on, but nevertheless, he pressed your doorbell urgently.
Of course, there was the possibility of saying sorry tomorrow, or saying sorry the day after, but for Chan, they didn't seem like options at all. He had to tell you now, beg for your forgiveness now. If not, he had a feeling that everything between the two of you would be unsalvageable.
No, no, no! You weren't home. Chan peeked into the window again, but the inside was pitch black. You should've been done with your date by now. You should be home, but you weren't. Chan’s heart was racing with fear as he fumbled for his phone. What if calling you made it worse? Oh god, what should he even do?
He just couldn't lose you. Not as a friend, not as a soulmate. He didn't care if he lost his chance with you, he needed you by his side. He needed to see you, he had to fix things—
“Channie?”
Whirling around, his heart seemed to falter as he saw you standing on the street, looking at him with a confused expression. With the dim street light behind you, Chan swore at that moment, you looked like an angel. You were so pretty, dressed up for your date with your hair half up. He swallowed his pride, his guilt, his fear, and he walked towards you clutching the bouquet in his hands.
.
“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”
Your eyes widened a fraction as you glanced to the side, where Minho was currently walking with you around the pier. His jacket was draped over your frame, even though the night was only slightly breezy, and you relished its weight on your shoulders.
Still, your expression dropped at his question, “I don’t want to talk about him today, Minho.”
“Why not?” He asked, looking around at the sun slowly setting behind the vast ocean as the sky was colored with vibrant reds, purples, and blues.
“Because we’re not exactly on good terms right now,” you muttered, looking down, “Also, isn’t this supposed to be our date? How are you so comfortable with the idea that I’m thinking about someone else?”
Minho laughed, turning to gaze at you fondly, “Well, I can’t exactly change the way you think, can I?” he smiled, ruffling your hair and making you complain with a loud whine, “So the best I can do is to help you get through it.”
You fought the smile tugging at the corner of your lips, and you gently squeezed Minho’s hand, feeling touched, “Thanks.”
“Whatever, dork,” Minho rolled his eyes, “So what happened? Did that idiot say something stupid again?”
“Sort of.”
“Y/N, you are being really unhelpful,” he frowned at your vague answers.
“It was just confusing,” you finally confessed. You’d barely gotten a wink of sleep that night, Chan’s words, his outburst of anger, replaying in your head like a broken record. Why was he so angry? Hadn’t he told you flat out that he had absolutely no feelings for you, crushing your dim light of hope so completely that you’d secretly sobbed your eyes out after walking home?
“Well, if it was confusing for you, I’m sure Chan was just as confused with himself,” Minho chuckled dryly, “What did he say?”
“He...was visibly upset. About this,” you gestured to you and Minho in a helpless manner, almost begging for some sort of clarification.
“Ah, this. You mean us two?” Minho asked, stopping at an empty bench along the pier and deciding to sit down. After all, the two of you had been walking for the latter half of the hour, trying to digest the delicious lunch he’d treated you to.
“Yeah, said something about not liking me being with you, or whatever bullshit he was spitting that day,” you muttered, feeling your blood grow hot just thinking about it.
“Wait, he said that? Chan?” Minho fought the urge to laugh as he tried to make sure he was picturing the scenario correctly. His plan was going better than he’d expected, and Chan had fallen into it without even being slightly aware of it.
You nodded, kicking your feet back and forth as you rolled your eyes, “It was ridiculously uncalled for. You didn’t do anything that warranted that sort of reaction.”
“I can be a bit of a sleeze when I try to be,” Minho pointed out, chuckling when you lightly punched his arm, “So, he said I wasn’t good for you. What’s the big deal? He’s probably just being protective, right?”
“He’s always protective, this was different,” you shook your head. Chan was always the self-sacrificing, putting other people before himself type. He was inherently protective of you just by the virtue of being your friend, whether that meant walking you home every night or trying to make sure that you didn’t forget to eat meals. But that, the anger and almost fear that you felt from him, it felt too raw to just be his protective instinct.
“How so?”
You hesitated before elaborating, “Well, it felt almost like...he was jealous, but that’s ridiculous.”
Minho had to contain the almost giddy laughter that threatened to bubble out from his chest. You two were so oblivious, he felt like a conniving witch trying to put the two of you together. And boy, was he enjoying it.
“Why would it be ridiculous?” he asked innocently.
You leveled a glance at him, immediately sensing something strange about his tone, but not quite being able to identify it, “Of course it’s ridiculous. He rejected me earlier this week.”
“Wait. What the fuck?” Minho snapped, sitting upright immediately, almost like a cat that heard something dangerous nearby, “He rejected you? Outright?”
“Is there something called a lowkey rejection?” You laughed bitterly, “Yes, he full on rejected me. I told him I loved him and he just said he had a date that night.”
Suddenly, this game was significantly less fun. Minho wanted to jab his own eyes out in frustration before going to jab Chan’s eyes out for being so fucking stupid. You confessed, you literally told him outright that you loved him, and he was still stupid enough not to realize his own feelings?! What was it going to take? A good ol’ bonk to the head?
“Okay, Y/N. I’m going to drive you home right now,” he said seriously, and you turned to him, almost alarmed by how urgent his tone sounded.
“Um, why? Did something happen?” You asked, glancing at him in concern.
Minho shook his head, “Nothing, it’s just Chan being a fucking idiot and screwing everything up again.”
Your eyes narrowed, “What are you talking about?”
“Chan loves you,” Minho said, plain and simple, sending your head spinning as you tried to process the three simple words.
In the end, all you could do was laugh, a harsh, bitter sound as you rolled your eyes, “Very funny, Minho. Unfortunately, it’s not a very well thought out prank. He already told me otherwise.”
“He doesn’t even know it, goddamnit!” Minho spit out and you jumped at his aggressiveness, “Look, Y/N. I know this sounds crazy, and I know why you’d probably think I’m just being mean. But it’s true. I know it is. Chan loves you.”
Feeling unfairly placed on the spot, you lashed out at him, a sneer across your face as you retorted, “Oh? How are you so sure, huh? If he loves me oh so much, why is he going on a date with another girl for the twentieth time?”
“Because he’s a fucking idiot, okay?!” Minho groaned, running a hand through his hair, “Y/N, he’s probably beside himself with guilt right now, and I bet you he’s finally come to the realization himself.”
You scoffed bitterly, “That’s a bit late, don’t you think?”
“It is,” Minho agreed, wanting nothing more than to smack Chan’s forehead for being such an idiot. He glanced at you, his expression growing softer as he asked, “But you still love him, don’t you?”
“I shouldn’t, right?” Your voice was shaky as you laughed, feeling the green monster of envy and jealousy coil in your gut as you thought about all the times Chan had unknowingly broken your heart, and all you could do was cheer him on.
“It’s stupid, idiotic, unreasonable,” you continued, kicking your heels against the pavement as you glared at the ground so hard that you were probably burning holes into the cement, “and a waste of my fucking time.”
“You can’t force yourself to feel differently,” Minho pointed out, lowering his temper along with you as he spoke softly, “None of us can. If we could, why would unrequited love or affairs happen?”
“When did you get so wise, Aristotle?” You scoffed, fighting a smile as you ruffled his hair.
Minho swatted away your hands, “I’m trying to be serious here. Look, I bet you Chan is at your front door right now with a bouquet of flowers, anxiously wanting to apologize to you. I would bet ten dollars on it.”
“Oh, yeah?” Your smile was almost predatorial, never shying away from a chance to make some fast cash, “Seriously?”
Minho’s smile faltered ever so slightly, and he hoped to whatever god who was listening that Chan was actually getting his fucking act together, “Hell yeah.”
You grinned, shaking his hand as you laughed, “You’re an idiot.”
“Whatever. Now let’s head back to the car so I can collect my ten dollars.”
Your dumb smile faded as you stepped out of the car in front of your driveway, eyes widening as you caught sight of a familiar figure standing on your porch. It couldn’t be. But yet, if your eyes weren’t playing yet another cruel joke on you, it was indeed your best friend, frantically knocking on the door with a bouquet of flowers in the other.
How could this be? How could he have done everything that Minho had predicted? Wasn’t he supposed to be on a date?
All the doubts, the questions, and the fears bubbled over as his name got caught in your throat, “Channie?”
.
For a moment, Chan genuinely thought that you were merely a figment of his imagination. Why would you be here? Especially with Minho standing beside his car a little ways away and with his jacket draped over your shoulders. Why had you returned?
His eyes widened as you walked closer, and the glow of the lamp light shifted in accordance to your movements. You were real. You were looking at him, albeit with a hint of caution laced with concern, but you were here.
“Channie, what are you doing out here?” You asked, and his heart began to pound with fear and guilt. You were worried about him. Even after everything he put you through, you still cared about his wellbeing.
Your eyebrows furrowed at his lack of response, and you walked cautiously closer, “Chan? Chris? Are you okay--eek!”
Chan’s feet grew a mind of their own, and he rushed towards you in a fit of desperation, crashing into you as he wrapped his arms tightly around your shoulders. It was a bit of an awkward position, since Chan was much bigger than you, but he managed to bury his face in the crook of your neck, hugging you as if it was his last chance.
If you weren’t concerned before, you certainly were now. Chan was never the clingy one. Yes, he liked cuddles and he never shied away from a good hug, but he was never like this, holding onto you for dear life.
“Chan, what’s happened? Gosh, you’re freezing. Why are you out here in the cold--” you froze as your ears perked up to what Chan was mumbling, repeating like a mantra.
He was apologizing.
“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry--” He whimpered, his fingers tightening around your coat as he hugged you tightly, “Please, forgive me. I was so stupid. I didn’t know.”
You sighed, and you felt the residual bitterness bleed out of your body. Of course you knew Chan wasn’t purposely being malicious, and if it ate him up with guilt so much that he waited by your door to apologize, then that was enough punishment for you to be more than satisfied.
“Channie, I need you to look at me, okay?” You instructed with a hint of sternness, trying to pull away in order to face him. Chan shook his head, but complied all the same, pulling away from the safety of your arms in order to look at you.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Minho rolling his eyes as he got back in his car, mouthing the words “don’t fuck it up again.” Chan grimaced in affirmation. He didn’t plan on it; not in a million years would he ever want to hurt you again.
You gave him a small smile as he finally met your gaze, “Good boy,” you praised, and Chan was unfamiliar with the tremor in his body that your words caused. When was the last time he’d gotten that from anyone? Oh right, it always came from you. Words of affirmation always came from you, and you always knew when he needed it.
The apologies clawed their way up his throat until he could no longer stay silent.
“I’m so sorry--a-about yesterday,” he sniffled, his shoulders trembling as he hiccuped, “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t mean to be overbearing. I-I just--I realized how stupidly jealous I was about the whole situation, a-and I didn’t want you to leave me…”
You sighed, reaching up to pet his hair gently, “It's okay, I forgive you,” you said simply, and you did forgive him. There wasn't any point in holding it over his head like you were better than him, “Everyone says stupid things they don't mean, and you had a bad date the night before.”
Chan stared at you, his eyes glossy with unshed tears as he unabashedly admired your beautiful face, your kind eyes, your perfectly kissable lips. He shouldn’t be thinking about this. You were clearly giving him a way out. “Stupid things they don’t mean,” was what you called it.
But he meant them. He was truly jealous. And it wasn’t the right emotion to feel, but they were real. He wanted you. He wanted you beside him.
He shouldn’t be greedy. He shouldn’t bite off more than he deserved to have. It was a miracle in itself that you were willing to forgive him. But at the same time, Chan knew you were as lonely as he was. He wanted to try and fill that hole for you, damned the consequences.
And just like that, Chan made up his mind.
“W-what if I meant it?” He blurted out, studying your face for any micro expression you could give off that indicated you were uncomfortable.
Instead, you looked only puzzled, “Meant what?”
“I was jealous,” he confessed plainly, stepping just a hair closer, and to his astonishment, you didn’t back away. You allowed him into your personal space, slowly and cautiously.
“Why in the world would you be jealous?” You asked softly, ever so perceptive, “It’s not like you love me or anything.”
Chan winced at the reminder of his hurtful words, but he couldn’t avoid them. He could only make up for them by proving that he was an idiot, that he actually loves you so, so much, “I spent all my time trying to find my perfect other half,” he whispered, his words only meant for your ears.
“I was always looking, always feeling incomplete. But, maybe I was looking in the wrong place,” he said, slowly reaching his hand up to cup your cheek. He could practically count your eyelashes he was so close.
“Maybe, the reason I could never find them was because they were beside me the entire time,” he finished cautiously, his thumb brushing against your soft cheek. You let out a soft, shaky breath, and for a moment, Chan feared that he’d ruined everything all over again.
“You’re an idiot, you know that?” You said finally, but Chan felt like almost sobbing with relief as you leaned into his touch. Acceptance. Tentative, but true.
Chan smiled, “That’s because you have all the braincells in this relationship, my dear,” he said solemnly, and his heart fluttered as you giggled. Ah fuck, he really was in love with you.
“I’m sorry for all the pain I’ve caused you,” he said again, holding you close as his forehead rested against yours, “I’m not at all experienced with this...dating thing, but I’ll make it up to you. I’ll make everything up to you. I’ll make you happy. I promise.”
You chuckled softly, and let your eyes flutter shut, “We can both learn along the way,” you said before your lips were pressed gently against his, and Chan’s brain quite literally short circuited. the kiss was chaste, innocent, gentle, and it swept him away like the warmest ocean breeze. He wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you ever closer.
That’s right, both of you had all the time in the world to learn. And everything would be alright, as long as you did it together.
#inkidz#districtninewriters#stayhavennet#stray kids scenarios#stray kids reactions#stray kids imagines#stray kids x reader#bang chan imagines#bang chan scenarios#bang chan blurbs#skz scenarios#skz oneshots#skz x reader#skz x y/n#my fics
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trans woman tommy hagan kegboys au w tommy coming to terms w her gender mid relationship… thoughts?
thank you so much for this ask, sweets! i really tried to think of a good dynamic for it. that’s why it’s taken so long :,)
also, just letting you all know i’ll be closing my ask box soon. so any prompts you feel like sharing, let me have ‘em. the only reason it takes so long is because i’m busy and i put a lot of thought into how i want it to go. toodles!
-
Tommy was a masculine person. But he also liked the frame of panties, and the snugness of a sports bra, and stared at dresses on mannequins wondering what they’d look like on himself. At first, he just thought it was some weird fantasy.
And then he’d caught Robin’s attention.
They knew that she was who to thank for Steve every figuring out his own priorities. It only took three months of Tommy and Billy precariously planning and hitting on him in every direction for him to realize. They had been going steady for six months around the time of Tommy’s “crisis.” So, Robin had a gift when it came to the oddities of Hawkins.
He just never knew he’s be another one of them.
She said it was called transsexual. “Like in Rocky Picture Horror Show?” She was filling out a trivia game sheet the video store was hosting. “‘Means, in your case, you’re not one hundred percent a guy.”
Tommy took a box of Red Hots off of the rack, “Is there something wrong with me?”
Robin shook her head, “I don’t think so, you’d make a pretty girl.” She scrutinized him with some kind of grace that only she could manage. And Tommy must have shown just how nerve wracked that comment made him feel because she paused her scribbling and set the whole thing down. “If that’s what you decide on.” She don’t mention it when he threw back a handful of the candies. “I advise that you talk it over with the boys. I’ll tie them up like they did in the olden days if they are anything but supportive, but keeping something like this from them is a negative on your side.”
He set the box down, “Tell me something girly,” he requested.
“Wha—”
“Just do it, I’m testing this out before I go and risk my long term relationship.” He flapped his hands and she shook her head in dulled bemusement.
Robin maidenly tossed her hair around and leaned against the counter, “The bronze eyeshadow would look better on you. And that green dress. The knee length one? Green always goes well with freckles. And I heard that Brandy in fifth period last year bleached her hair blond, it’s gotta be so unflattering.” Tommy was laughing, delicate and relieved as she rolled her eyes. “Better?”
“Positively,” Tommy nodded, “Can you…?” It was scary to say allowed.
She nodded, “You tell me later if you chose a different name and I’ll jump on the bandwagon.”
Tommy grinned and abandoned the box of candy as she jogged towards the door, “Thanks, Robs!”
“Anytime, Girl!”
-
Steve smiled and pulled her into a hug while Billy stood, dumbfounded.
“That’s great, Honey,” he rubbed Tommy’s shoulders and kissed her forehead, “I’m happy for you.” Billy followed after Steve and jabbed Tommy’s skin at best, still staring off a little. “Billy?” Steve scratched at his scalp, a move that never failed.
Billy’s eyes finally focused in on Tommy’s eager expression, “So, uhm, really?”
Tommy pressed the tips of her toes together, “Robin and I talked and it feels too right not to tell you.” Steve pressed a kiss to her hair again and furrowed his brow when he just then seemed to realize that Billy was still in a bout of shock.
“Billy?” Steve rubbed his thumb along Billy’s jawline. “You need a moment?”
Billy stared from Steve to Tommy until it landed on Tommy with a watery wave through the brow. “No, this is amazing. I love you, no matter what. Of course we both support you.”
Steve open who’s mouth, but loses it once he too realized what Billy was working through. Excitement and a tidal wave of mostly unexpected change.
“So you’re a girl now? Are there groups to sign up for?” Tommy giggled at both her boyfriends. Leaned her head on Billy’s shoulder and let Steve lay his on hers. “Do we call you something else? Are you keeping the ‘T’ in Tommy? Are you staying as Tommy?”
Steve finally did butt in, “I think keeping the name Tommy would be cool. But Tracy sounds nice too.” Tommy purses her lips and thought it over under all the mumbling that continued from Billy.
“What about clothes? Are we going shopping? We have to go shopping—”
Tommy shared a look with Steve and they both planted loving pecks to his cheeks, “We love ya, Bill.”
#keg boys#kegboys#trans ftm#ftm tommy hagan#tommy hagan#billy hargrove#steve harrington#robin buckley#stranger things#if you’d like. go ahead and offer a name for sweet ftm tommy#my they/them ass thinks tommy is feminine enough so who knows
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would you like to share some songs you associate with your favourite characters and why?
part one (you are here!) | part two
okay, anon, anon, my dear my lovely anon, you've gotta know that giving my most loved their own little soundtrack is one of my favourite things to do - so, buckle up!
that said, since at the moment i have a huge transformers themed brainrot, this will be mostly in reference to my crack au in perpetual progress, but hold up for some unrelated special mentions! (i wanted to do them, but then it got too long, sorry ;w;)
let's start with an odd one: i first started plotting the au up with viva la vida on loop - not my usual kind of music and it doesn't have much to do anymore with the au per se, but it's a fun throwback
TARN, he's a fun one to pick music for, because in my mind he has a specific vibe that is a mix of an actually tragic character and the most stupidly comedic villain so his picks are all scattered over the place. anyway, he gets: 1. votre toast je peux vous le rendre (sang by a proper baritone this time!); obvious stand in for the empyrean suite is obvious, i love to imagine he'd listen to it and think he's cool like escamillo (bestie, you are josè at best <3), it plays right in into all of his delusions imho, 2. stars; people who pick the phantom of the opera as thee tarn theatre musical song i will personally fistfight you. THE lawful evil song - also tarn does parallel nice to javert, if you ask me, 3. tu grillo parlante; you're such a learned man / but that kind of violence / you so often speak of / we're feeling it deep inside / its sold in all the shops in the city / you should buy some, too / you'll see that you'll need it - local man preaches shit he's got all wrong, what will he do next? 4. video killed the radio star; man is so anchored to a vision of the world is blind to see how shit's changed, refuses to admits his own faults, 5. grace kelly/bathtube mermaid (i love both, i can't honestly choose); he’s worn himself so thin, a persona after the other, they’re all bleeding into each other - who are you, tarn, beside your desire to please?
bonus track: Tarn & Kaon as il gatto e la volpe; second obligatory pinocchio reference but cmon: you won't regret it / we discover new talents and we're never wrong / we'll be able to make the most of your talents [...] you were so lucky to meet us / he's the cat and i'm the fox, we're a company (?) / you can trust us!, if nothing because imagining tarn and kaon as a couple of talent scouts of serial killers amuses me to no end.
also it's nickel's nickname for them! except she's forgot it's the cat who's blind and the fox who’s got the limp, so she's got them switched out.
(i delight in thinking that, minus carmen's aria, tarn would absolutely loathe every song i picked for him btw)
meanwhile, DEATHSAURUS, he's a bit harder to choose for, he has less "screen"time in the comics, less fics and meta written about him, so i'm quite going more with my gut feelings and uh, mostly shit i’ve made up myself for his au version, that's it, i’m sorry. one thing i'll say, though, i think i read this fic (by warlordenfilade i think? i don't want to tag in case i'm wrong ;w;) where the author stated that deathsaurus' taste in music would probably be something like space nickleback and YES perfect headcanon, though i've cranked it up to space soad (who are actual soad, tbh, since. human au). this said, deathsaurus would probably like the picks i've got for him much more than tarn does since, musically speaking, i guess we're floating more or less on the same boat (by which i mean, it's absolutely nonsensical): 1. question!; this is more of an early life lingering feeling vibe that he's carrying on from being fresh off the MTO operating lab, seeing the war from the first time face on, raising the ladder to warwold commander and some of the insensitiveness (mental and physical both) he's developed through it. just. deathsaurus weird feelings time, 2. coming undone/right between the eyes; if i ever get to write the human au version of deathsaurus defecting this is going to be the soundtrack, full stop: the fed-upness, the rage, the blowup, it just fits in like a puzzle coming together (heh!), 3. falling away from me/lost in hollywood; if the songs from point two are the defection soundtrack these are the buildup: you’re trapped in a cicle of violence and the people who depend on you are all dying useless deaths, you have to break it but it is also the reality that you’ve known for all your life and shaped you as the person you are now, 4. i would for you; deathsaurus’ terminal “i can fix them” disease <3
bonus track(s): Deathsaurus/Esmeral as enter sandman; they became something horrible together, deathsaurus even has a couple of lines of the song tattoed on his ribcage - it used to be a favourite, you could even call it their own song. what has become of their relationship: should i stay or should i go? (and the obvious no children)
Esmeral’s early pov on deathsaurus and tarn’s relationship would instead be something like somebody told me - because the army likes to gossip and i like some silliness in my drama.
meanwhile, Deathsaurus’ early pov on tarn as a whole would probably be something like blame it on the girls and he would be right <3
...and adding to the series of Nickel’s Nicknames, she calls deathsaurus capitan harlock mostly in reference to the italian version of the og opening, but the english one works as well, i suppose.
some misc: if you want to know what both NICKEL and KAON like to listen, put on some Raffaella Carrà; though nickel’s song is donatella or even lamette, tbh they’re both good for her.
babylon gives me deathsaurus’ warworld vibes. i can’t point exactly out why; it’s not really in the lyrics.
ride the lightning is how deathsaurus’ Thunder Arrow got its name.
beside the note i made in the beginning, what actually kickstarted me to think of the whole djd as humans was this reinterpretation of un’emozione da poco (shrugs) and that’s why my version of human tarn looks a bit like Luca Marinelli ig.
#devastated that this took me so long to do this#if you listened to all the songs i linked and you're asking yourself what actual fuck do i listen to know that im asking myself the same#bonus song for whoever reads the tags: recitar/vesti la giubba is tarn's show must go on song#(if nothing because i get to call him a clown)#i would've included a bit more opera but i didn't want to get too boring#if youre really interested anon hmu ill do another post#maybe once most of the au will be written ill also put on a proper playlist all the shit ive listened while writing#wouldnt that be a ride haha#transformers#transformers idw#mtmte#djd#decepticon cringe division#tarn#kaon#nickel#deathsaurus#esmeral#deathsaurus/esmeral#tarnsaurus#maccadam#wip: tarn's h*t girl midlife crisis human au#answered
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read ur pacific rim fh au and am LOSING it!! like the implications!! if you’re still doing the headcanon thing and okay w this, can i ask for more headcanons about that au? specifically are fig and kristen piloting together or doing other non combat roles? also jawbone piloting HELLO!! and god just. everything you said about the sisters.
OH I AM MORE THAN HAPPY TO OBLIGE
so jawbone was actually one of the original pilots, and the only one still in commission. he's definitely getting too old for it but he trusts in his abilities and overall wants to keep his niece, tracker, as safe as he can. also he doesn't want to leave the base because he thinks of all of the young pilots as his kids and they frequently come to him when they're having problems. the moonlit werewolf is the only mark-3 still fighting
among the other original pilots was sandra lynn. she and gorthalax piloted the demon ranger. fig was much closer to her (as she found out later) step father gilear (who acted as a government liaison for the jaeger program) than she was to sandra lynn growing up, due to her always being based elsewhere or out on missions. fig's world got shaken in her high school years when it came out that sandra lynn was having a long-time affair with her co-pilot, and she and gilear divorced. sandra lynn and gorthalax were benched. sandra lynn was kept on base as a consultant, but gorthalax ended up traveling to where fig was to try and explain himself and repair their relationship. while on a music tour several years later, mostly running away from her problems more than anything else, fig witnessed first hand a kaiju attack. she realized how important the job of pilot was, and applied to the program. aguefort accepted her right away
pok was one of the original minds behind the jaeger program. together with aguefort, he created the pons system that linked pilot's minds. people speculated that pok 'disappearing' was because of this. that either his research killed him, or someone else did because of it. riz only ever wanted to figure out his father's disappearance. becoming a pilot was just the easiest way to do it (at least in his eyes). he really didn't mean to start caring about all these people along the way
aguefort was the first jaeger pilot. it was said he had a partner, but no one knows who it could've been. there are rumors he piloted the chronophoenix all by himself. but those are just rumors. his daughter, ayda, won't speak on any of them. she doesn't really like talking about her father in general. though she certainly grew up with a knowledge of combat, knowledge of tactics, knowledge of jaegers and how to pilot them, she only ever meant to be a scholar. she studied kaiju and how they worked. she studied the oceans they came from. she studied the earth and how it changed. she was a scientist. she didn't count on meeting fig
fig's relationship with sandra lynn was incredibly strained when fig first got accepted as a pilot. sandra lynn never meant for fig to follow in her footsteps. the years of combat had gotten her fucked in the head enough, she didn't need to worry about her daughter too. when fig came back injured from her very first mission, her partner, penelope everpetal, dead before their medics could reach her, two things changed:
one: sandra lynn realized her daughter wouldn't be dissuaded, and that if she couldn't be a mom, she could be a teacher
two: ayda realized there were some things worth fighting for (fig was one of them. the biggest one she could think of)
fabian piloted like he had something to prove, because he did. his papa had made a name for himself. fabian would too. and if that meant killing kaiju for his father to harvest and sell on the black market, that's what he would do. he thought he'd be paired up with a guy like gorgug, maybe ragh, not some scrawny little nerd who knew more about the mechanics of the brain than how to throw a proper punch. the first time they drifted, he got it. he got why riz was there. and riz understood him, too. that was the thing about the drift. no secrets. they vowed to keep each others. when ragh threw riz into a trashcan their first day of practice, fabian broke his nose. the two of them were pretty close after that. and they eventually got chummy with ragh, too, after dayne was expelled from the program. ragh was moved to combat trainer. fabian and riz eventually came to pilot the gilded spyglass. it took time to master the balance between grace and force, strength and dexterity, damage and speed. but they found it. and they were unstoppable. almost.
gorgug never wanted to be a pilot. his parents were mechanics. that was the whole thing, really. you grow up around jaegers, you understand them, and you're good at it. even if you don't want to be. even if you wished you could have the brains and not the brawn. or be a medic, like kristen. kristen actually helped people. gorgug was big enough to throw a mean punch. some things changed when zelda came. she needed a co-pilot. the world needed heroes. gorgug never thought of himself as one, but he knew how to fight. and he knew he wanted to protect zelda. not that she needed it. but he wanted to. he wanted to if she would let him. the enormity of his decision didn't really hit him until they were facing their first kaiju. he understood jaegers. he didn't really want to understand monsters, too
kristen wasn't a pilot, and that was fine. she patched people up. when fabian and riz came back with electrical burns, she patched them up. when metal frenzy got a building to the face and gorgug and zelda both had concussions, she patched them up. when tracker came to the clinic with yet another random, minor, 'accidental' injury, kristen patched her up
when the storm oracle was pulled to the bottom of the ocean, and both adaine and aelwyn nearly drowned, kristen sat by their bedsides and did not leave for three days
it was what she did
and that was fine, for a while. but the kaiju kept coming. and people kept getting hurt. and kristen thought, for the first time, that maybe she was very tired of cleaning up messes. maybe she wanted to go out and make some of her own
the thing was that kristen was charismatic, in that awkward, foot-in-the-mouth, guard-down-around-them kind of a way. she talked to people. and she knew things. she got along with almost everyone, except for the people that she didn't. it was just ... no one expected her to be drift compatible
no one expected her to be drift compatible with ... literally everyone
she chose tracker, though. of course she chose tracker. who else? and jawbone deserved some rest, after all this time, even if he did refuse to leave the base. leave all his kids. they gave him a trauma counselor position, and he got ... close with sandra lynn. it was a little weird at first. it made sense, though. everyone admitted it made sense. and the de facto parents of the base didn't ruin everyone's fun too much. when there was fun to have, at least
and there wasn't always. there wasn't at the end. not with how many kaiju were coming through the breach
moonlit werewolf could close it. it was mark-3, after all. nuclear. no one thought kristen should be the one to do it. she was so new. she was a medic, for whoever the fuck's sake people were praying to now. but, it was kristen. she'd make the sacrifice play, if she had to. every time
gilded spyglass, metal frenzy, storm oracle, wizard's paramour, and moonlit werewolf touched down at the breach
and kristen, with a hole in her chest, was the last one to surface
they save her, though. of course they do. this is a happy story. and because it's a happy story, eventually there are no jaeger pilots. there are no jaegers. there are scientists and medics and teachers and musicians, and there are the bad kids, which they all say ironically, because they don't really feel like they ever got to be kids at all
there's time, after. there's a lot to rebuild. to fix. to figure out, in the aftermath. but they have time
for the first time in a long, good while, for most of their short and fragile lives, they feel like they have time
#fantasy high#dimension 20#the bad kids#pacific rim au#YOU CANT DO THIS TO ME NONNY#YOU CANT JUST BE LIKE#HEY DO YOU WANT TO EXPAND ON THAT AU OF YOUR FAVORITE MOVIE#BECAUSE YES#YES I DO#fuck i listened to the pacific rim ost twice over while writing this#i need to go the fuck to bed#ENJOY GOODNIGHT!!!!!!!!
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Doppio - Frog Princess
Fairy tale AU and lots of love for my small man.
Doppio dragged his feet across the garden, restless and desperate. He sighed and whined to himself, taking the opportunity of being all alone to voice his pain and concerns, something he was never allowed to do.
"Aww jeez... This prince life isn't made for me..."
He huffed again and tugged at his very uncomfortable, gold adorned collar that was almost suffocating him.
Doppio looked around him, sure enough, the tall trees surrounding him did a great job at hiding him from the potential workers on the castle grounds that could possibly be looking for him.
He could finally have a little moment for himself and sneak out, maybe to cry to himself a little bit.
"O-ow... That still hurts..." The boy whined and rubbed on his bruised fingers, the results of angry professors punishing him for each mistakes he made. "I'm no good, I can't do anything right..."
That's right. Prince Doppio was a clumsy and anxious boy who lacked capacity in every domain. He always tried his best and obeyed every and each order, he wasn't undisciplined, oh no, young Doppio was a good boy.
He was just bad. He hardly managed to keep the required straight stance for more than ten seconds, was better at petting the horses than at riding them, couldn't follow etiquette at all, or protocol, was extremely forgetful and sadly, mother nature did not grace him with the strongest physical traits a young man his age was expected to have.
"Tch... Trish was so popular everyone courted her and she was so easy to marry, but me... No one would want to marry a good-for-nothing like me..."
He angrily kicked some rock and held his back that cracked at the movement, in pain, squeezing his eyes shut and sobbing at the sore feeling. That last lesson of fencing went so terribly wrong, how did the others do it?
"I'm so tired... Why meee...?"
"Ribbit!"
"Huh?" Doppio was startled at the very sudden but intriguing croaky sound and approached its direction near the pond.
He couldn't see anything at first, but then a tiny little creature jumped out of its hiding place. Doppio's honey eyes widened and he quickly wiped his warm tears, crouching down towards the animal.
"A frog!" He exclaimed happily, almost like a small child, new to the world. "Hi! You're so tiny, what's your name?"
"Ribbit!"
He knew very well the animal couldn't respond to him with actual words, but just the feeling of having even a one-sided conversation soothed a bit of his loneliness down. He cupped his hands together to invite the frog in, and the animal obliged by jumping on them.
He looked down and observed the chubby little creature. It had the cutest, roundest eyes, almost sparkly in the dim forest light, its green color was so bright and homogenous, there weren't any marks or patterns that frogs usually had on their skin. Even its limbs were tiny and soft, Doppio couldn't help but pet it with one careful and shaky finger.
"O-ooh! Oh my god!" He squealed uncontrollably. "You're so squishy!"
"Ribbit ribbit!"
The quiet and high-pitched croak felt so pleasant to his ears, it meddled with the sound of the water next to him and made him feel so much at peace. He loved to hear that cute sound and how the frog's belly puffed up like a balloon with each croak.
"What are you? A boy or a girl? I'd say you're a girl because you're super pretty and have a tiny voice."
"Ribbit Ribbit! Ribbit Ribbit!"
Doppio gasped loudly. "D-did I get it right?! Oohh yes!! That's so cool! Well... Not like I would have minded if you were a boy... Or both... Wait, do frogs have genders? Oh it doesn't matter."
The young prince felt like this frog was currently the only thing keeping him sane. He had no one else to talk to, there was no one who actually cared for his own well-being and he had no friends.
The only real person to actually show him some kind of recognition and love was none other than the King Diavolo himself. But even his sweet words and affection seemed somewhat back-handed and laced with pressure and severity.
"You know, you're lucky, little thing..." Doppio started with melancholy. "You don't have to worry so much about your life... I'm bad at everything and I'm all alone... I don't know what to do..."
"Ri-rib, ribbit!"
"Even if a nice princess wanted to marry me, I would turn her down because she would deserve better... Sometimes I wish I could disappear..."
"Ribb-ribbit!"
Doppio's eyes softened on the small frog. That's how sad and pathetic he was. Talking his problems out with a frog.
"Why do I feel like you actually understand me...? Thank you for listening to me and being my only friend."
Without even thinking, he lifted the small frog and brought it towards his face, giving it the tiniest of pecks. He smiled at how weird the feeling was, the animal was cold and slightly humid, a bit sticky too which he did not mind surprisingly.
He sighed and looked up mindlessly before his eyes were suddenly striked by a blinding flash of light.
"Wh-what the hell?!"
The light flashed brighter and brighter, coming from the frog in his hands. What was going on?
Doppio could only drop the creature and shield his eyes with his arms desperately as the frog sparkled like a thousand fireflies and grew in size.
The boy squinted his eyes shut and fell back right onto his butt before he felt a strong weight pressing on him, the mass eventually pinning him down onto the ground.
"U-uughh..." He groaned and rubbed his head, a sharp headache from the harsh light hitting his sensitive eyes still slowly fading.
He looked down only for his eyes to widen like saucers. He couldn't believe what he was currently witnessing and thought that maybe he went blind from the flash and was hallucinating right now.
The weight on top of him revealed to be the figure of a girl laying unconscious. He couldn't see her face buried in his chest, but he could make out her beautiful hair, smooth skin tone and the very frilly green dress she was wearing.
And that wasn't just any dress either, the golden ornaments, the tulle, the silk, the lace, the satin... That was an expensive dress, was she...could she be... A nobleswoman? A baroness? A...
...A princess?
"A-aah..." The girl moaned quietly before pushing herself up, not without struggle and Doppio gasped.
"A-are you okay signori-..." The boy could barely finish his sentence and only mumbled open-mouthed nonsense.
He was beyond mesmerized at the beauty who had just ever-so-slowly lifted her face up to look at him. Her shining wide eyes, her innocent glossy lips, her rose dusted cheeks and her hair framing her perfect face made him believe he just stumbled into some sort of forest Goddess.
"Ah-I... U-uuhm.. Y-you...uh.. W-ah-...eh... I-I'm..." He stammered awkwardly, his brain melting like ice in summer as his face and ears burned a crimson red, his breath catching in his now dry throat.
"Ah! My stars!" The girl gasped as she hovered over the immensely flustered prince. "I am so sorry! I must be crushing you!"
The young girl fretted anxiously before trying to scramble over on her knees and straighten herself up to give the poor man some much needed space, but as soon as she did, she was hit with a wave of dizziness and lost balance again. Doppio was quick to sit up and catch her against his chest, wrapping careful arms around her.
"A-are you okay, miss? What happened to you? What's going on?" The boy asked worriedly, regaining his composure slowly.
"Ah y-yes... It's just... It's been so long since I've been glamoured..."
"You've been... Glamoured?" Doppio couldn't be more confused than this, but the girl explained further as she leaned back slightly.
Her name was Y/N L/N, daughter of the King L/N. Many years ago, she had been the victim of a curse cast by the one and only sorcerer Dio, who was overcome by fury and rage against anyone affiliated with the Joestar Empire, or those who refused to become one of his pets, casting spells after spells, and curses after curses.
"He turned me into a frog and swore to me that nobody would ever come to save me from my demise... But you..." Y/N looked up at Doppio's honey eyes and couldn't help the tears pooling at her eyes.
She was free, at last.
"I was all alone... And you came here... My savior..."
Her soft voice cracked with thick emotions and she stared into Doppio's golden eyes with soft ones, her vision blurred by warm tears. Doppio gasped lightly, moved by her story and she shyly wiped her tears.
"A-ah, forgive me! How shameful of me, to weep in front of a prince like this... I'm just.. So..."
"No, princess, don't apologize." He gently held her wrists to pull them away from her timid face. "You have the right to be overwhelmed... Nobody's here, besides... I cried too, earlier, in front of you. Nothing wrong with showing your emotions."
She sighed dreamily at his gentle words and soft touches, the now more confident boy stirring her heart. "What is your name, my prince?"
"Doppio." He gulped, stiff as a rock at her saccharine gaze and tone. "Doppio Vinegar."
"You're a good person, Doppio..." She breathed out, her words dripping with warm sincerity. Doppio's heart could only skip beats at each and every one of her actions.
The boy may be clumsy and bashful, he surely wasn't dense. He well knew he was deeply falling in love with this frog princess, but something in him told him she may not be completely disinterested in him either, despite his overall appearance and personality.
But maybe, just maybe, it was because she didn't know him enough. She didn't know this extent of his foolishness, how worthless of a man he truly was. This was the perfect opportunity for her to just push him away and run back home, only to never see him again.
But against all he could have ever expected, he was completely shaken out of his low self-esteem filled transe when he felt her leaning her delicate hands and head against his chest, closing her eyes and relishing in his warm hold still on her.
"Prince Doppio... I feel so safe when I'm in your arms... I'll forever be grateful for granting me my deepest wish..." She lifted her head just enough to look at his blushing freckled face, his mouth agape. "How could I ever reward you?"
Was she... Really serious? Nobody has ever told him they felt good around him. Nobody has ever felt safe around the small and skinny man that was Doppio. Could he be strong enough for her?
Well one thing was positive, he didn't want to let her go, and if he had to eat razor blades to protect her, he would do it without batting an eye.
She actually wanted to, or at least seemed to, stay with him. She felt grateful, for him, of all people!
He hoped she wouldn't hear his heart go feral in his chest. She would do... Anything for him? Could he be selfish? Could he ask the inimaginable? Would she say yes? He wouldn't force her but... He would love to think about himself only, just this once in his life.
He had nothing to lose.
He gently grabbed both her hands in his surprisingly big ones, squeezing gently and rubbing his thumbs over her soft skin, as if to want to imprint his love onto her.
"Ma-... Marry me, Princess Y/N!" He confessed with loud yet clear determination. "Please, be mine! I will cherish you like my most prized treasure, you will never be alone and feel unsafe again! I promise my entire life to you, please promise me yours!"
She widened her eyes at his sudden assertiveness and his strong, meaningful words. The pink boy in front of her shook her heart in so many ways, and she had already lost everything to Dio in the past. She had absolutely no reason to deny, now did she?
The girl smiled bright and slowly pulled her hands out of his grasp, only to immediately wrap her arms around her hero's neck, nuzzling her face against him lovingly.
"Yes! I accept... my sweet Doppio."
#jojo's bizarre adventure#jojo#jjba#writing#jojo no kimyou na bouken#golden wind#vento aureo#doppio vinegar x reader#doppio x reader#doppio vinegar#doppio#x reader#reader insert#jojo part 5#part 5
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acquainted | you choose to stay
> series masterlist | series playlist <
summary: the biggest goal of a grad student is to get through school in one piece - no petty drama involved, no sweating over the little things. however, that plan almost always never follows through. sometimes, you can’t help but fall into the most unthinkable, unexpected traps and learn the hard way. like, exhibit a: being unable to resist your engaged, substitute teacher, kim seokjin.
pairing: reader x engaged!teacher!seokjin
genre: grad school au, student life au | fluff, angst, smut
words: 2.5k
warnings: cussing/mature language, soft smut, some breast and clit play, slight begging, multiple orgasms, honestly more so into the soft love-making over anything rough
notes: we’ve made it to the end 🥺 yes - there is an option for you to choose to leave as well, please check the masterlist if you don’t catch the post alone! ily all, thank you for sticking through the series! stay tuned for bands, it’ll be just as much of a crazy ride! 💘
tags: @laurynne5 @yiyi4657 @miinoongi @teamtardis-notdead@bluesharksandfish@photographic-girl @yonkoghan @moonchild1 @thebeebi @brightcolorsoffendme
"Jin?" You ask as he slowly turns around, his expression warm and inviting. He carried a huge bouquet of flowers in front of him, so huge it almost covered that small smile he gave off.
"Y/N."
"W-what're you doing here? How'd you know when I'd be home?" Ryujin.
He scratched his head nervously and chuckled. "Ryujin."
"Figures." You chuckle.
"These are for you, I got them at the farmer's market earlier. I saw them and thought of you." You smile as you take the bouquet and bring it close to your nose. They smelled sweet, and fresh. Just like Jin. "I, uh, was hoping we could talk."
"Sure." You nod as he takes your duffle bag from you while waiting for you to open your door. You set the flowers aside in the vase, Jin dropping your things in the living room before making his way over to the couch.
"How was spending time back home?"
"Good, much needed." You looked up from the vase. "What did you do this weekend?"
"Not much. Spend some time with Jungkook." You nod, feeling relieved that they had been able to spend time together and slowly fix their relationship.
"That sounds nice. I'm glad you two are fixing things."
"Slowly but surely." You make your way over to the couch and sit next to him, your thigh touching his. "How's school been?"
"Fine, not the same since you left though." He chuckled.
"Sorry I, uh--" He looks at you. "I had my reasons." You nod, knowing full well what those reasons were.
"It's okay, you don't have to explain." You give him a toothless smile. "So, what's up?" You ask, as if you didn't have things to say to him yourself. He slowly tilts his head to look at you, lips slightly parted before speaking. His eyes tell you everything you need to know. He missed you. And you missed him too.
"I'm just going to come out and say it." He says softly. "I miss you, Y/N. I-I can't keep going on like this, you know? Without you. You're not gonna be the one that gets away. I refuse to tell that story in the long run because you matter too much to me." He sighs. "I love you, and I'm here for you. I want to do this with you, and I know we didn't exactly have that fairytale meeting or whatever that even fucking means Jin, get it together." He shakes his head at his own words, causing you to softly chuckle to yourself. "But I'm always going to be by your side, and I'll never give up on you, or us. My past actions haven't exactly said that but I'm sure about you, about this. More than I've ever been before." He grabs your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. "Please let me love you." You don't even know what to say, or, I guess it's just that Jin has said all the right things. Everything that needed to be said. You didn't need to say anything else.
So, you silently cup his cheek and bring his face to yours, planting a soft kiss on his plump lips before pulling back to look at him. He smiles, his hand is now holding onto yours, his thumb rubbing the top of your hand. He leans in for another kiss, his lips slowly parting from yours when he pulls away.
"Sooooo is that a yes?" He breaks the silence, causing you to giggle and fall back onto the couch.
"Yeah, it is."
"Okay." He smiles, the dimples from underneath his eyes poking out. "In that case, will you also allow me to cater to you today?"
"Hm, what does that involve, Seokjin?"
"Come with me, you'll see."
"Okay." You respond softly with a smile. Jin sits silently, watching the TV while you clean up a bit and grab a few things before heading out. The car ride is silent, and you realize Jin is taking you back to his place.
It definitely feels a little weird and different being here, now that you don't see Grace's car in the driveway, nor do you see any pictures of the two or anything that signals Grace in general. You follow Jin into his room, setting your things off to the side as he takes off his jacket. He comes to you, cupping your face in his hands before placing a kiss on your lips.
"Come, I wanna cook something for you." He nods you to follow him to the kitchen. You sit at the island, watching him prep his ingredients together and begin to prepare whatever dish he had in mind. He had began to update you on the past couple of weeks, which wasn't much, but he still figured he'd tell you how work was going, or how his friends were doing. Namjoon being completely caught up with Ryujin.
You continued to watch how delicate he was, cooking a meal for the both of you. He pulled out two tupperwares and a few smaller ones, slipping the freshly cooked meal into the bigger containers before getting a few snacks into the small containers. You furrowed your brows, wondering what in the hell he was doing, and why you couldn't just eat here.
"What are you doing?" You chuckled.
"We're not eating here." He looked at you before fixing the food into the containers.
"Where are we eating then?"
"Don't worry about it."
"Jin."
"Y/N?" He says, his brow slightly raised. "Just relax. I think you'll enjoy it." You nod silently as he packs them into a canvas reusable bag that he pulls off of the hook on his wall. He removes his apron and hangs it onto a free hook before putting his jacket on again. "You want another jacket?"
"Will I freeze to death in this outfit?" You stand and he looks at you up and down. Granted, the sun was out and it was a nice day out. You just threw on some grey-ish Gymshark leggings and its matching sports bra under a cream-colored puffer jacket.
"Ummmm." He says continuing to eye you up and down. God, he wanted you.
"Earth to Jin?" You cross your arms and tilt your head, making him snap out of it with a chuckle.
"No, you should be fine. I'll make sure it's warm enough for you."
"You're too much."
"Sorry, you just look really good in those leggings."
"Uh huh." You playfully roll your eyes and grab the canvas bag from his hand. He leads the way to his Audi SUV, opening your door before situating himself into the driver's seat. The sun was slowly setting, and Jin took you over the bridge and into San Francisco. Except not, because his car continued to drive off towards the Peninsula. He took the exit towards Pacifica and it suddenly clicked in your head - he was taking you to the beach to eat. In this weather though? You hoped not. He said you'd be fine in your outfit, but you were starting to think he planned it all along just because he liked how good you looked. But, you sat silently, letting him take you to the final destination. The sky was now filled with dark orange hues, one side of the sky quickly darkening before the other. He turns onto a road, about three houses lining the road way before there's a patch of dirt and a car or two parked facing towards the water in front of you. The cars were pretty spaced out, Jin finding his own spot to park into - the only thing blocking the car from the heavy waves in front of you was a flimsy, rusty railing and a small stone wall. He gets out and immediately pops the trunk open, laying his back seats down and spreading out a few blankets he had hidden in the trunk before calling you over.
"Come join me." You hop out and sit next to him, tucking yourselves away in the opened trunk, watching the waters roll in and crash against the wall.
"Oh shit, this is beautiful." You say. You never knew of this spot, and it was isolated from the main beach itself. It was nice to have some privacy, but also get this front row view of the water.
"Isn't it?" He wraps another blanket around your shoulders for you to snuggle into before laying out the food in front of you both. The sun is about to sink into the horizon as you quietly start to dig into the food, thanking Jin in between chewing for the amazing dinner he had prepared for you two. He uncapped a bottle of wine, mainly for your enjoyment, pouring it into a fancy plastic cup. He pressed his back against the side of the trunk, allowing you to crawl in between his legs and get comfortable while you sipped on the wine and picked at the grapes he brought. He leaned his head back, his arms wrapped around your neck, holding you tightly as you both watched and listened to the waves.
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For all of this."
"It's no biggie." He says softly, your temple resting against his jaw. "I don't think you'll ever understand how much you mean to me. You make me feel complete." He turns to place a kiss against it, causing you to sink deeper into his body. For a moment, you both are just still. In peace. Listening to the waters ahead. Your hands rest on his arms, caressing it gently with your thumb before turning to look at him. "Hm?"
"Nothing." You smirk.
"That's not nothing."
"I just wanna show you how much I appreciate you and all of this."
"Oh, yeah?" He chuckles as he watches you stir in your position to fully face him. You're on your knees, keeping yourself steady as you lean in to kiss him. He deepens the kiss, his hand tugging your jacket to keep you close. You straddle him in his position, gripping his chin with your hand. "Fuck, I missed you." He says breathily before your tongue licks his entire bottom lip, causing him to tilt his head back and hiss.
"Wanna close this up?" You nod towards the trunk, causing you to giggle when he quickly shuts the door with his car remote and wraps his arms around you to lay you down gently. He takes off your jacket, tossing it aside in the front seat before softly kissing your neck and nipping on the surface of your skin. You feel his tongue swipe up your neck before he plants a kiss on your jaw, then back up to your lips. He aggressively lifts up your bra, exposing your breasts for him to play and suck on. He grips them as he sinks his mouth lower onto your nipple, sucking and letting his tongue explore on your bud. "Ohhhhhh." You mewl as he lets go with a pop, moving onto your other nipple, his hands now starting to pull your leggings down.
He begins to make his way down, leaving kisses on your stomach, abdomen, inner thighs, then your clothed clit. You slightly hiss at the feeling, causing you to wiggle a bit underneath him, signaling that you want more. He doesn't argue, or tease, and instead immediately pulls your soaked panties off, allowing his tongue to freely explore down your folds and push in and out of your entrance. "Jin." You moan as he's now sucking gently on your clit, two digits pumping in and out of you. "Fuuuuck, Jin. Stopppp." You whine. "I'm gonna cum."
"Why would I stop?" He says in between sucking your clit. The more he's pumping his fingers in and out of you, the more you feel yourself unraveling. It's not long before you're trembling under his arm, almost squeezing Jin's head in between your thighs as he continues to suck on your clit slowly while you ride out your high. Once you've been able to regulate your breathing, you watch as he undoes his belt and slightly pulls his pants down just enough to let his hardened member spring free. He spits onto his hand and pumps himself a few times while you've taken the initiative to suck on the two fingers he used to help make you cum the first time. He groans at the sight, wasting no time to line his tip with your entrance.
His body is lowered onto yours, your heels planted steadily as your hands explore up his back and inside of his shirt. He leans down to kiss you as he's inserting himself slowly, your moans being captured by the kiss. When he bottoms out, he begins to roll his hips into you, your kisses becoming messy and wet. Your hands are getting tangled in his hair, gently gripping the strands as he works his way with you, careful not to shake the car too much.
Either way, he feels fucking good. You feel fucking food. He fills you up so well and you're sure he'd make you cum any second with the way he's rolling into you. The moment is sensual, and full of passion. He's holding you closely as you with him, the crashes of the waves still echoing in the car even though the trunk is fully closed.
"Jin, please." You whimper, causing him to let out a small moan.
"God, I'm not gonna last if you keep doing that." He says, your hips now working against his.
"Fuuuuuuck!" You cry, your nails digging into his back, causing him to slightly groan and pick up his pace just a bit - he still manages to fuck you slowly and deeply, his tip hitting your core every second. "I'm gonna cum. Cum with me."
"Cum, baby." He nods, his hips slightly moving at a faster pace. Just as the waves crash against the wall, you feel yourself hurdling over the edge for the second time. It hits you so hard that you aren't able to make any noise, except let your body tremble and your face make the expression for you as your eyes roll back and your hands grip onto his hair and shoulder. The look sends him over, especially with your walls constricting tightly around him. He groans into your neck, thrusting hard but slowly just to let you both ride out the last of the high. He stays there for a minute before he's slowly raising his head and brushing the hair out of your face. The windows are all fogged up and it suddenly feels like that one scene from Titanic. "I love you, Y/N."
"I love you, too."
And in this moment, this is when you felt completely still. At peace. Like you could finally breathe. You rested your head against Jin's chest, listening to his heartbeat in one ear and the waves through the other, closing your eyes to take in this entire moment.
Let yourself live, and be happy.
#bts#bts fanfiction#kim seokjin#seokjin#jin#bts jin#bts jin smut#seokjin smut#bts imagines#kim seokjin fanfic#kim seokjin x reader#seokjin x reader#jin x reader#bts au#bts au fic#bts fluff#bts angst#bts smut#seokjin fluff#seokjin angst#jin fluff#jin angst#jin smut#kim seokjin series#acquainted series#writing
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Champagne Problems
-Pairing: bassist!Yoongi x OC
-Premise: Yoongi keeps to himself, but everything changes when he opens up to his best friend about his past.
-Genre: rock band!AU, angst with some fluff
-Word count: 2.8k
-Author's Note: This is a continuation of the Gold Rush universe! Each band member will get his own story based off a song on Taylor Swift's evermore album. This story revealed just how much of a soft spot I have for Yoongi...
“Are you sure you can’t come with?” Jungkook shoots Yoongi a sad look with his doe eyes.
“Yes, now shut up and go. Stop trying to guilt trip me with puppy dog eyes, suck it up and go be awkward with that girl you met. I can tell you think she’s cute, so go be gross and flirty somewhere else far from me, please,” Yoongi huffs as he loads equipment into the band’s van.
“Yeah, JK, leave him alone...he’s going to hang out with Olivia.” Jin emphasizes the last word with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Olivia’s more important than us anyway...even though we’ve known him longer. It’s fine, we’ll be fine.” He throws his hand against his forehead as if he’ll faint for emphasis.
Yoongi cuts a harsh side eye at Jin. “Yes, I am going to hang out with Olivia. I’ve had plans with her for a week now. You knew this. It’s not my fault if you forgot.”
Jin falters at this, his face softening into care for his oldest friend. “Yeah, I know. We’ll see you when you get home, okay?” Yoongi nods in affirmation.
“I’m taking the train there, make sure the equipment gets unloaded tonight. I don’t care what goo-goo eyes those two girls make at you, it needs to go in the spare room in our apartment.” Yoongi tosses the van keys at Jungkook, who catches them with ease.
“Aye, aye, captain!” Jungkook exclaims with a grin, opening the driver’s side door as Jin climbs into the passenger side.
Yoongi gives a small wave at his two friends as he turns to walk to the subway station nearest The Dynasty, the bar they had just played at. He didn’t mind that he was by himself, it would give him the time he needed to decompress after the show. He appreciated the attention that the band and their music got (after all, he had a hand in writing most of the songs), but he absolutely hated the attention of the crowd on himself. Jin and Jungkook ate it up-they were literally about to go meet two strangers from the show to eat and hang out. That could never be him. Yoongi stuck with the familiar. The familiar was safe. And Olivia was familiar.
He smiled softly to himself at the thought of Olivia...he had known her since college, where they had met when they were both dragged to a party they didn’t want to be at. They had bonded over their shared distaste for large gatherings of loud, drunk people, but their love for their friends that reveled in it.
Reminiscing had taken Yoongi all the way down to the subway platform, where he met the red line just as it was pulling in...a bit of good luck for once, he thought. He climbed on and found a seat off to the side where no one else was, and collapsed into it. He must be more tired than he thought.
As the train pulled out of the station, he found himself looking out the window. The red line was a train that went above ground, so he was able to stare at more than just gray tunnels. As skyscrapers and streetlights came into view, his mind started to wander. Last March. A night similar to this one, exactly a year ago. He had just finished playing Gold Rush’s first show, when his whole life fell apart. Promises of a future, shattered alongside his heart. He can feel his eyes starting to prick with tears, which he hates. Yoongi looks around, simultaneously grateful that no one else is around to see that he’s upset, but at the same time, if there were more people around, maybe he never would have gotten lost in his memories in the first place.
Before he can start internally chastising himself too much, the train pulls into his stop. He uses his black t-shirt to wipe at his eyes in what he hopes is a nonchalant way, then leaves the train car and heads up a set of stairs back into the city.
He doesn’t have to walk far before he’s at Olivia’s apartment, knocking on her door. She flings the door open wide, a smile on her face and a bottle of champagne in her hand. “Yoongi!! You came! Come on in.”
Yoongi follows her into her apartment and plops himself down on her couch and closes his eyes momentarily, feeling some of his stress dissipate. “Happy Anniversary!!” Olivia exclaims. At this, he jolts up, eyes flying open. He can feel how wild he must look with the way Olivia stares at him. But how does she know about the anniversary? She doesn’t know anything about that, right?
“...w-what do you mean?” he manages to stammer out, trying to gain some of his composure.
“The anniversary of Gold Rush’s first show?...you’ve been officially playing together for a year now! I remember the first show like it was yesterday, you were so nervous you thought you were going to throw up. And then Jungkook actually threw up after the show because he drank too much...anyway, I’m so sorry I couldn’t come out tonight, I had a work thing I couldn’t miss.” Olivia looks truly disappointed, like she would have rather been sweating in a gross bar at the show.
Yoongi breathes a sigh of relief. Of course, the anniversary of their first show. Why would it be anything else? “It’s okay, really,” he replies. “It worked out anyway, Jin and Jungkook met these two girls who came to the show, and they’re hanging out with them. Makes me feel less guilty when I’d rather be hanging out with you anyway.” He lets a small smile grace his features as he glances across the room at Olivia, but it disappears as his eyes fall on the champagne bottle that she’s placed on the living room table.
First world problems. Champagne problems, she’d called them. Not Olivia. Her. Yoongi can feel his eyes starting to swim with tears again, so quickly he doesn’t have time to hide the few that spill down his cheeks.
“...Yoongs? What’s wrong?” Olivia moves to sit beside him on the couch.
He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to compose himself again. “Nothing, it’s nothing. I’m fine.”
“Yoongs, the last time I saw you cry, it was in college when you found out that your aunt had passed away. So I’m gonna ask again...what’s wrong?” she reaches out and gently wipes his tears away with her thumb.
“Livvy…” he starts, unsure of exactly what to say.
“Just start at the beginning,” Olivia reassures him.
He sighs shakily. “Okay. Do you remember when I started dating Isabelle senior year?”
Olivia nods.
“Well, that’s the beginning.”
----------------------------------------------
“...and everything was fine for a long time. Those first two years were everything. She was everything. Jin and Jungkook used to get so mad at me because I would bail out of band practice early all the time to go see her.” Yoongi hiccups as he continues talking. He’s stopped crying for the time being, but as he’d been telling the story, Olivia had opened the bottle of champagne and they had both been drinking straight from the bottle. Yoongi was a little tipsy, if he was being honest with himself...otherwise, he didn’t think he’d be able to get the entire story out of his mouth.
“Okay...so, everything was good. What happened?” Olivia looks over sideways at her best friend. They’d both thrown their heads back to look at the ceiling rather than look at each other to talk-Olivia knew Yoongi would never be able to fully share with them making eye contact. He looks over briefly, then back to the ceiling, brows furrowed.
“Well. I’m not sure exactly when things started to fall apart...I guess Isabelle started acting weird once she met my family. Jin and Jungkook didn’t care for her that much either, I never understood why. I know now they were just looking out for me. But in the moment, all I saw was her. She loved me, and I loved her. I wanted to marry her,” he breathes out softly, closing his eyes.
Olivia’s eyes widen. She and Yoongi had been friends when he dated Isabelle, but they hadn’t kept in close contact during that time. They were each trying to find their footing in the real world, moving into apartments, starting first jobs. Him entertaining the idea of marriage to anyone was news to her. She knew he was serious about his relationship to Isabelle, but not that serious.
Yoongi is still sitting with his eyes closed, face towards the ceiling. Try as he might, he can’t stop tears from falling for the third time that night. He hates how vulnerable he’s being, but maybe he can blame it on the champagne. Instead of wiping them away, Olivia watches the tears fall onto his t-shirt. Her heart feels like it’s being wrenched apart. Why did Yoongi never share any of this with her before? She should have been there for him. Did Jin and Jungkook know about all of this? Surely he’s told someone else. Slowly, she reaches out her hand and places it on top of Yoongi’s, squeezing gently.
At the sensation, he opens his eyes and looks over at Olivia. She always knows what to do or say. Or not say. He twists his palm upward to meet hers and intertwines their fingers together. It feels nice. He’s forgotten how pleasant human touch can be since he’s shut himself off from other people.
Olivia’s cheeks are dusted with pink, but she doesn’t pull her hand back. “Okay, so, you wanted to marry her. What stopped you?” She traces small circles with her thumb onto the back of Yoongi’s hand.
He leans forward and grabs the champagne bottle with his free hand, chugging quite a bit before he answers. “...she did.” he whispers, hardly loud enough to hear. “Last March, at our first show. You remember she came?” Olivia nods. She remembers, it had been one of the few times the two women had been in the same room.
“We went back to her apartment after the afterparty, once we all made sure Kook was fine after he got sick. I was planning on proposing in a much more planned out way, but I just remember looking at her once we got back to her place, and she was so beautiful. Even though she was sweaty from the show, even though we were both exhausted. I couldn’t help myself...I didn’t even have the ring with me, it was sitting at my apartment in my sock drawer. I just loved her so much.”
There’s a long pause. Olivia squeezes Yoongi’s hand again for reassurance. He continues to blankly stare at the ceiling at a loss for what to say next.
“Yoongs...c’mere.” He looks over at Olivia questioningly. She lets go of his hand and before he can protest the loss of contact, she gently places her hands on his shoulders, turning him and slowly lowering his head into her lap. He’s still staring at the ceiling, but also able to see Olivia. She begins to softly run her hands through his hair, tracing patterns onto his scalp every so often. Yoongi sighs contentedly and closes his eyes again.
“...I got down on one knee in her living room, and she stopped me. Before I could say one word. She just said, ‘Yoongi, I can’t.’ And that was it. She didn’t cry. She said she couldn’t do this, whatever this was. She said I deserved better than her. And then she asked me to leave. We never talked again.”
Suddenly he opens his eyes again. “I became a zombie after that...the only time I socialized with anyone was to go play shows, if that even counts. I was so rude for no reason to Kook and Jin, when they were just trying to help. I never even told them what happened. They didn’t know I proposed, they just thought we broke up.” Yoongi’s speech starts to speed up as the trainwreck he’s lived through for the past year plays in his head.
“I used to care so much...I closed myself off. I don’t think I feel emotions properly anymore. I can’t love anyone anymore. I haven’t told anyone about any of this until now, and it took a bottle of champagne to even do that, and you’re one of my best friends.” Yoongi sits up suddenly, motioning frantically at Olivia with his hands. He looks at her, holding eye contact for more than 10 seconds for the first time that night.
“...I think Isabelle broke me,” he breathes. Seeing the care emanating from Olivia’s gaze is what truly breaks him. He’s suddenly sobbing uncontrollably, shoulders heaving with the emotion that he’s held in for so long. Olivia pulls him into her embrace, where she simply holds him while he cries.
What he doesn’t see are the tears streaming down her face as well. She can’t believe that he’s held all of this in for this long, without telling anyone. That he felt like he couldn’t share this part of himself. She just wishes that he could understand how much she cares. How much she loves him. He deserves the world, not to feel this way.
After a few minutes, Yoongi leans back, wiping his eyes and trying to collect himself. It’s then that he notices the wet streaks running down Olivia’s cheeks.
“Livvy, what’s wrong?” he reaches up to gently wipe her cheeks with his thumbs. She inadvertently leans into the touch, sniffling softly. “Livvy...look at me.”
As she lifts her gaze to meet his, Yoongi is struck by how Olivia’s eyes seem to be glittering because of tears. How does she look so pretty even after crying? He’s sure he looks disgusting.
“What’s wrong?” he repeats.
“You deserve the world, Yoongi. I’m so sorry that Isabelle broke your heart, but she was right...you deserve so much better. More than anyone can give you, probably.” She says this while looking intently at her lap, fidgeting with the rings on her fingers.
At this statement, Yoongi stops. Memories of the past year run through his mind, each rapidly following the other. Who did he go to when Gold Rush lost their slot in Battle of the Bands? Olivia. Who did he vent to about Jin and Jungkook when they were fraying his last nerve? Olivia. Where did he go when he needed to destress? Olivia’s. Who made him feel safe? Olivia.
“...hey,” he whispers gently, taking Olivia’s hands in his. She looks up, tears still swimming in her eyes.
“Isabelle may have broken me...but I think someone’s been slowly putting me back together again without me even realizing it.” He smiles, intertwining their fingers and leaning his forehead against hers.
“...w-what?” Olivia stammers, barely loud enough to hear.
Yoongi laughs softly. “Livvy, I think...I think I’m in love with you, and I didn’t even know until right this minute.”
“Yoongs...I...I don’t…” she whispers. Yoongi gasps sharply, pulling away as fast as he can.
“Olivia...I’m so sorry. I misread everything, everything...forget this happened. I’ll leave, forget I said anything!” he scrambles to get off the couch as rapidly as humanly possible, cheeks flaming in embarrassment.
Before he can get far, he’s being pulled back down onto the couch. Making eye contact with Olivia for longer than 10 seconds for the second time tonight, he tries to form an intelligible sentence with his brain. Before anything can come out of his mouth, Olivia’s lips come crashing down onto his.
Yoongi’s eyes widen impossibly, eyebrows raising to meet his bangs. As Olivia’s lips move against his, he stops thinking and sighs into the kiss almost imperceptibly. His hands move to her hips, pulling her as close as he can to himself...he never wants to let go if he can help it.
When the two break eventually break apart for air, Olivia chuckles. “What’s so funny?” Yoongi asks, raising an eyebrow at her.
“I was just trying to tell you that I didn’t know what to say, not that I didn’t like you...way to jump to conclusions,” she giggles.
Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. We solved that miscommunication luckily,” he smirks.
“We’re both idiots, aren’t we?” Olivia leans her head against Yoongi’s shoulder.
Yoongi peers down at her, smiling as he wraps an arm around her.
“Yeah, I think we’ve been hanging out with Jin for too long.”
#yoongi x oc#suga x oc#min yoongi x oc#min yoongi#suga#bts one shot#bts rock band au#bts angst#bts fluff
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S E O N G H W A ⥈ mafia au series
RECAP: southside’s little devil brings you home to his boss and you both spend the night together for the first time. the next day is filled with eventful surprises. serves purpose, it’s about time you meet your future husband.
word count: 2600+ , tags: angst fluff
characters: ateez (ensemble), reader
⤩ CHAPTER 1 ⤩
prologue . character list
It started with childish attraction and before he knew it, obsession. Seonghwa wanted to know where you were, what you were doing, who you were with— he wanted you on his mind 24/7. If not his mind, in his peripheral. And like San says, he’s a petulant man. If he was offered the oppurtunity to not move a finger, he’ll take it. And though getting you was easy, learning to have you was proving itself difficult already.
Hongjoong had his own desires and call it jealousy but Seonghwa didn’t like the fact Hongjoong had the most beautiful woman wrapped around his finger. Knowing you were already somehow bound to city side, Seonghwa wanted to take you out of it as soon as possible. To him, you were a prize that he wanted. A prize that he couldn’t lose to Hongjoong. He’s already lost enough to the city scum.
You woke up remembering the bed dipped a little late at night. San was very hospitable in your arrival and you weren’t exactly mourning your father’s death— moreso exhausted that it took so long.
The moment you arrived, you were content on taking a nice cold shower and heading to bed. After settling down a little, inhaling this new scent you were forced to familiar with, you laxed in solemn lonesome and buried yourself in a bed that wasn’t yours. At first, it were strange to you the string of events that happened in no less than 24 hours now. You came to accept it as easily as you did to your fathers gruesome history. While you slept however, the scent you lulled to strengthened and a presence you’ve never felt was suddenly there.
Seonghwa was quiet; relaxed and seeming stressed enough not to care that you were already sleeping on the other half of his bed. He fell asleep beside you that night and you only glanced at his back for a brief minute before closing your eyes again. You woke up to the same silence Seonghwa arrived in and his scent lingered away.
On Seonghwa’s mind, he can feel you staring. He can feel your curiosity and it feeds his desires more. He can’t explain how hard it is not to turn around and face you. Tell you what he’s feeling, how he feels, how he sees you. A beautiful woman rightfully his. And in no means was Seonghwa an insolent man, albeit a little sinister when he needs to be, but he respects you. He see’s you fit to share his position and he’d have it no other way with you sleeping at his bedside.
He fucking deserves it.
He wakes up and brushes his finger softly against the bone of your cheek before getting up to leave not even 4 hours later. He’s got enough sleep and no doubt it’s because of you. He has a lot of things to do before he gets to marry you the day after today.
“Good morning, hot stuff.” San flirtatiously licks at his lips, finger pushing his glass frames when he catches Seonghwa strut through the door. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
“I’m an engaged man, San.” The elder pairs with an eye roll.
“Boohoo, cry me a fucking river.” Still annoyed at most, San slips him a plate of food at 4 o’clock in the morning. “And what’s our lucky future bride-to-be doing?”
The always furrowed Seonghwa smiles at the mention of you. “Sleeping. What else is there to do?”
“Mhm. Yet here you are bright and early ready to do what again? Hyung, you just got back from overseas. I’m sure Yunho and I can handle y/n’s endeavors for the day. After all, it’s just a dress fitting. How hard can it be?”
Seonghwa whips a glare at satan’s little assistant, teeth gritting at the thought of leaving you with a bunch of imbeciles.
“Being with y/n may be very tedious. Which is why I’ve called Jongho from his activities in Gangnam to join you. And I didn’t get up this early to save grace, Sannie. I got up to meet with the big city’s big man to win y/n’s hand a little more.” Seonghwa pokes his fork at San’s direction. “Don’t sulk at me. I don’t want my fiancé running for the hills before I can even marry her.”
The hitman bellows before sulking anyway. “Remind me again why you’re marrying a woman this soon? For fucksake, Hwa, you’re 22. We haven’t even tried covering Gangwon’s territory and you’re already celebrating our loss.”
Seonghwa rubs at his temples remembering what his bigger tasks at hand were. Why he was often traveling than resting as he should. He thinks a woman can fix his mental issues, his stresses. He may be wrong but for what it’s worth, trying to beat out another gang of territory can be exhausting. Remembering that you slept in his bed, under his roof, with his name? Is rest assured enough. He doesn’t need much more than that.
“Hongjoong has a lot to offer.” Seonghwa reminds San of why he may lose in the first place. “Getting Gangwon under my power is not an easy thing for me to do, San. I have to go through many lengths to get it. And Hongjoong gets too many privelages as the city’s big man.”
“And by privelages you mean the president’s fucking cock of a son. That spoiled little—“
“Yeosang may be spoiled but he’s still wrapped around Jongho’s finger; Jongho still working for me.” He recalls having the upper hand and even if San must remind him of reality, he must remind San who’s stronger. “My main concern as of right now still stands by the woman wearing my engagement ring. And if Hongjoong got to her first I might as well have lost Gangwon all together.”
San feels defeated at the statement. Both indefinitely and so. He just wants Seonghwa to be happy. Most of the time, the things he does.. he works for Seonghwa for that reason. When San was looking for a way out, southside’s own prodigy gave him the little hope he needed. Hongjoong was a pawn in this game he was willing to toss out. San didn’t like enemies. He didn’t like losing. And he sure as hell didn’t like new roles, new things.
Not that he didn’t like you. He just didn’t like the reason why you were here.
“So you marry her. Yeah sure.” The younger of the duo shakes in pure distaste. “You marry the poor girl and that makes it easier for you or easier for the situation you have?”
Seonghwa knows of San’s concerns and he hears them loud and clear. “Y/n serves an important purpose in my success. I’m as greedy and heartless as they come but sometimes I still am a human being, San. Though I prosper at evils, I deserve some type of compensation. I deserve her.”
“Talk to Yunho about that and we’ll see if you still feel the same.”
Seonghwa leaves San that morning to ease the tension between them. He knows sharing a house with a man who cares for him too much and a woman who doesn’t is going to start domestic problems. He was still adjusting to the new set up and so was San. The black haired devil may be a little conniving but San will come around to you eventually. He just needs time.
The way you do with Seonghwa.
Speaking of time, it moves and you’ve dress fit and meet the new people of your life with not much response. In fact, you assumed that the fitting would draw you closer to amends with your circumstances. Unfortunately you fell short of that. You felt a little left out and you also felt uncertain with your place as Seonghwa’s new wife.
You were dying to meet your future husband personally. And you can tell, though you fond San’s company, he may not exactly be fond of you. In terms of: living with him and marrying his best friend at least. You give him some credit though since you’re normally a patient woman. Yunho on the other hand seemed quiet and never outspoken. Jongho too. You wonder if time will give them some respects towards you and you hope they don’t make your life a living hell. It’s already pretty bad and you don’t want it to be worse.
You wait in Seonghwa’s bedroom, the hands of the clock being the only side to drown your thoughts. Your wedding dress hangs mockingly over the closet door and you blink with every second that passes. You even count to make time go faster. San’s doing something with Yunho downstairs in the basement and Jongho’s somewhere making noise in the kitchen. It was hard to hear if Seonghwa was home. But the eerie silence that grew in the house, that weird tension that was there when you woke up this morning. It’s there again.
You don’t know why your heart bounces at the sound of footsteps.
You want to meet him.
This was going to be your husband for fucksake.
“Oh.” You only see his silhouette over the bright lights in the hall when he breaks the silence. “You’re still awake.”
You don’t say a word as he shuts the door and strips out of his suit jacket. He runs a tongue over his lips and the light in the bedroom hovers his features now. He’s just as gorgeous as San describes. Actually you think you’ve seen him before. He’s got protruding cheekbones, prominent lips, dark eyebrows and dark eyes that scream heaven in hell. You know that face. That’s Park Seonghwa of course. But you know that face because you’ve seen it many times before.
Your father used to owe him too much. Obviously, he’s the man your father sold you out to.
“You aren’t tired?” He questions breaking your condescending thoughts.
“Hardly.” Your voice is hoarse when you finally speak after countless hours of not saying anything at all. “I wouldn’t consider dress hunting to be much of a tiresome activity.”
“The boys would argue otherwise. They tell me you’re a picky woman.” His chuckle vibrates even in your chest.
You start to realize you want to like him but you can’t. He’s just so nice. He talks like he’s known you for years. He smiles like this settlement doesn’t hurt you. Like being sold and arranged to marry him isn’t heart clenching. You hate him and it’s going to be hard to change that.
The adjustment period might take longer than you initially thought.
“I-I’m y/n.”
“I know, sweetheart.” He turns to you with a soft glare and smiles. He reminds you of somebody. He reminds you of someone you used to love. “I’ve known you longer than you’ve known me.”
You highly doubt that.
“I met with Hongjoong today.” He tangents with pure consideration. “He asks if you’re still mourning.”
Not really paying attention at first, you ask for him to reiterate. “What?”
“Your father.”
You’re not sure how Seonghwa sees you out of this set up. You’d think a person might be a little peeved by your immoral senses considering you put a hit out on your own father. Although, this person was someone who killed meaningless lives on a daily. Provokes the evils in people, maybe. And you indirectly ask your future husband you’ve never met before to kill a man who worked for the enemy: your dad. You don’t want to assume he’s egging you on but you somehow think he’s just being courteous.
“Why would I be mourning my father when I asked someone to kill him for me?”
Seonghwa’s smile is as dark as hell’s deepest point. “So you’re happy.”
“I’m ecstatic.” Your tongue seethes against your tightened teeth and Seonghwa’s flustered in the attraction he has for you.
He overanalyzes the way your eyes gleam and how your lips drool through someone else’s blood shed. You were a cold hearted bitch. And damn does he live for it. He loves to see it. And he wants all of it.
Yeah, he definitely wants you.
“Well I’m glad I had the pleasure of making your wishes come true.”
He stands up again while looking at the white dress hanging from his wall. He seems a little struck, pauses to look at it a little longer. Like at you, when he walked through his bedroom door a couple minutes ago.
You want to like him, you do. But it’s already proving itself difficult and you haven’t even married him yet. His answers were to simple. His questions felt half assed and far from curious. He’s a hard devil to trust and from your pasts, you don’t like dishonesty.
“You met with Hongjoong. Which means you went into the city today.” You urge a response from the frozen man who blatantly gazes at the dress you chose to marry him with. “Are you two still fighting for the territory up north? Where my father was initially going to be transferred to.”
Seonghwa’s back tenses at what you ask and you can see it even through his thick materialed shirt. “Questions get you in trouble, y/n. Keep that in mind the next time you want to get brave enough to pry.”
“As your fiancée, I think I get the right to pry. So deal with it.”
“We leave for the venue tomorrow at 10.” He unwraps the leather of his watch and turns off the red blinking light in the corner of the room. “I know he’s your old friend so Hongjoong has been cordially invited and with the rest of his fools. So I suggest you don’t make me look bad and our partnership will start on light feet.”
“Partnership?” You scoff wanting to stand. Though you shouldn’t, you definitely want to. “Is that what you’re calling this? What you forced me into?”
“An arrangement of sorts. A partnership that leads to both our success.” He turns to you and shows you his other side. A side you have to adjust to already. “This is no longer your choice and you either are gonna stay with me or stay without me. I’m gonna give you the option to leave right now if you want.”
He’s halfassing you and you don’t need binoculuars to see past his bullshit. The devil in him is just begging to be let out.
“I wasn’t blessed with the right to choose nor was I blessed with the right to care. If it’s me you want, it’s me you’ll have. I was never happy and I’m sure that’s not gonna change even if I stay or go.”
His smirk deepens at your tenacity. He likes it. He likes it a lot.
“Good.” His tongue rubs across his already wet lips. “I’m glad we’ve come to an agreement.”
“Fucking bite me.”
You don’t plan to ever say that again. Cause you sleep in the same goddamn bed with him. And let’s just say they were right when they said Seonghwa doesn’t like when people answer back.
“Well isn’t he nice.” You hoarsely mumble to yourself while rubbing at your swollen eyes.
Your fingers play with a note left on his side’s pillow and you open it to read that you were set to prepare for the wedding. You bathe and change as if the house was already yours and meet with San who was prepping breakfast in the kitchen. You remind yourself in the halls to explore a little more when the time’s given.
“Good morning.” You greet sitting by the counter, eyes chasing his rushing figure.
“Yup. Sure.” He hums while sliding you a plate, all in the while fixing his suit and tie. “—This damn shirt. I told that asshole I wasn’t going to wear this shit.”
“What?” You chuckle before reaching over to fix his collar. “A suit?”
He absentmindedly groans while glaring at you help him. “I’m a turtle neck enthusiast. Buttons are my worst enemy and we’re clearly past formal appointments with our line of work. Since I can’t, please do me the solid favor of choking your husband in his sleep.”
“Duly noted.” You pat his shirt when you’re done and fix your his disheveled hair. “Speaking of the groom, he left this morning and didn’t say a word. He left a note though saying I was to prepare for the wedding. Care to elaborate?”
San threads his fingers back through his hair, glaring his eyes at you an a casual manner. As if his eyes were meant to stare that way.
“You’re getting married in the next 3 hours. What else is there to elaborate?”
@atinybitofau
a/n: rough edit
#guess who’s back#r:mature#tags: angst fluff#ateez x reader#seonghwa x reader#side!hongjoong#honey mafia au#honey chapter one#ateez park seonghwa#park seonghwa#seonghwa#ateez mafia au#ateez seonghwa#seonghwa fic#seonghwa imagine#seonghwa scenario#ateez fanfic#ateez imagine#ateez scenarios#seonghwa mafia au series#seonghwa mafia#ateez#HONEY
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lover’s guide | s.mg
genre: fluff, slight ansgt, college au
wc: 4.2k words
synopsis: 5 steps to love by song mingi
step one: being noticed
“mingi, are you even listening?” the male jolted up at the sudden call of his name from his professors, earning a few stares from his classmates.
“um y-yes.” he mentally slapped himself for stuttering. mingi sighed and closed his eyes, desperately trying to kill off the feeling that welcomed itself into his mind.
just a few days earlier, during lectures when he laid his eyes on you. he thought it was maybe admiration at first. you were one of the top students of the class and the way you carried yourself with such grace was so attractive to him. your range of style was captivating, each day came with a new outfit. he liked the way you were confident and also was experimenting with different styles. not to mention you killed every look.
the sudden attraction seems like one of those middle school crushes that he could get over within three days, maximum. but even after three days, he didn’t. he couldn’t stop himself from staring at you from across the room and he often caught himself thinking about you.
he would use every chance he got to interact with you, although he couldn’t say he was the best at it. he knew that small smiles whenever you two pass in the halls or that silently complementing your choice of accessories was not enough for you to get the hint of his crush on you. but he did it anyway.
today was nothing new. mingi found himself stealing glances at you once in a while, especially since lectures were long and he rather had his focus somewhere else than some boring discussion about costume history from the professor’s monotone voice.
“mingi can you be any more obvious? if i was them, i could feel you basically staring into my soul from across the room.” his friend whispered leaning closer to mingi to avoid making a scene. mingi scoffs and wooyoung earned an elbow to his side. “don’t word it like that…” mingi fixes his eyes on the professor to avoid getting called on again, “is it that bad?” he quietly asked and wooyoung nodded.
the boring lectures came to an end and granted him a long desired freedom. since it was his final class for the day, he was free to go home and take that nap he craved for. wooyoung was long gone with yeosang as they walked out of the room together, while mingi was a rather bit slower when packing his supplies.
it wasn’t until you came up to him that he felt his whole body freeze. his insides were jumping and he didn’t know if it was from excitement or nervousness, probably both. you held onto your tote bag with one hand while the other was playing with the hem of your shirt as you approached the tall male.
“hey mingi!” you happily greeted him and mingi mirrored your smile and waved back at you. your smile was continuous, how could he not smile back even if he looked like a huge idiot.
“i really like your style. you always stand out,” you paused for a moment realizing how that sounded. “you dress really well, um your style is different from others, i like it.” you added for clarifications, not wanting to sound impolite or anything in that manner.
within less than a minute, you manage to make mingi do cartwheels in his head and the happiest man alive. “o-oh thank you! i actually made this shirt myself. it didn’t turn out well so i just wear it casually—sometimes even to bed…” he trailed off. “thank you, uh i really like your earrings, by the way, they’re pretty.” he tells you. mingi wanted to evaporate right now after so much he just stuttered and rambled right in front of you. he shyly scratched his nape, hoping his nervousness didn’t make the air awkward.
your soft giggles filled the lecture room as you thanked him. then you waved cheerfully and made your way towards the exit, leaving mingi there stunned. you noticed him and that was all mingi needed to know he was in love.
step two: being friends
mingi has been falling asleep with a soft smile and waking up with full energy the past week. because ever since you interacted with him, you two have grown closer. he felt more comfortable and less shy around you. the short greetings have turned into telling each other how his days went and him listening to you praise the new album your favourite group released. the two of you would walk to the bus station together after the bell rings, spending lunch breaks together, and facetime once in a while.
he learned a lot about you during the period he started to hang out with you more. mingi took note that you often wore dangly earrings over studs and that you like to eat strawberries to fuel your body during study sessions. he also learned that you went into fashion major simply for the interest and passion of it, he admired you for that. mingi likes to think that your jewelry choices match you fairly well; bright and attractive.
the two of you have been spending lunch breaks together. during those times, you noticed that mingi is a slow eater and he told you he also makes music with one of his friends, hongjoong, who was a year older than him. you noticed his little habits of laughing with his whole body. throwing his head back and sometimes clapping his hand in amusement. although he might come off intimidating or cold to some people, mingi is definitely the most wholesome person you’ve come across and you still can’t wrap your head around his duality.
you two would sit at the bus station waiting for your ride home. mingi’s place was within walking distance but he insisted on waiting with you. after all, it was a perfect opportunity to spend more time with you. and if there’s anything mingi likes more than you, is spending time with you.
the both of you were browsing your phones while waiting for your bus to arrive. getting bored with the lack of notifications on his phone, mingi leaned in to glance at your phone screen.
“you like cats?” mingi asked you as the both of you watch some fluffy cat video on your instagram feed. you shifted your phone for the better view for him and nodded.
“they’re just so cute, right?” mingi hummed in response. he held back on telling you that he thought you were way cuter than the cats, but decided to save it for another time. you proceed to tell him that your mother is allergic plus that you probably wouldn’t have much time to take care of a pet being in college and all that. he watched your eyes filled with glitter as you continue to watch more cat videos on your screen.
the bus finally arrived and you quickly stood up. it saddens him a little that he couldn’t watch you become all smiley over cats.
“thanks for waiting with me again, mingi. i’ll see you tomorrow.” you gave him a quick hug from the side and softly smiled at him. silently hoping your swift action wasn’t weird or sudden to him, because you really were appreciating the little things mingi does for you. including companying you while your bus arrives.
mingi softly smiled at you. “anytime.” he kept his response short because knowing himself, he wouldn’t know how to speak normally with stutters and rambling if he continued.
he tried to cover up the fact that he’s blushing like a fool right now and his heart is beating extremely fast over a simple and quick hug. didn’t go very well as mingi stood there with his cheeks painted a crimson colour and heat rushes throughout his body. a damn hug. you simply warped your arms around his figure and made your way towards the bus like nothing had happened. like you hadn’t made mingi the happiest person alive.
overtime, mingi was proud to call you his close friend. even though that wasn’t what he exactly hoped for, he hoped for a little more actually. but at the end of the day, he was happy nonetheless to have you with him.
step three: first date
today’s a special day, making you want to doll yourself up more than usual. “is this too much?” you’ll never admit it out loud but being around mingi made you feel a bit timid and shy. the total opposite of how people view you, bold and charming.
you weren’t the type to care about what others thought about you. after all, fashion was how you expressed yourself and you didn’t limit yourself to one style. if you felt like adding one more hair clip to your hair, then who’s gonna stop you? on days when you’ve lost your confidence, mingi would be the first person to compliment you. and that was all it took for you to truly appreciate yourself.
“w-what? no! you look amazing, you always do.” mingi pointed out how your nail polish matches your hair clips and you felt at ease, your body loses its stiffness and you softly smile at his compliment.
mingi on the other hand, felt like he was always overdressing. maybe choose something a little more simple? tone down with the colours? those types of thoughts kept mingi from truly playing around with his wardrobe. he admitted, he was insecure. that all changed when he started to hang out with you. your confidence brushing on him made him careless about what others might think of him. he started layering jewellery and wearing that flashy jacket because he can. you had noticed your little influence on him and you loved that for him.
“you don’t look too bad yourself.” you helped mingi break from his shell and gain confidence, mingi made you feel comfortable in your own skin.
the bell chimed at your entrance. your eyes light up at the environment. the welcome scent of coffee wafts through the air and the soft melody playing in the background automatically brings joy to your face. you’ve never been to a cat cafe before, seeing this amount of cute cats casually walking around has added ten years to your life. mingi and you settled to a small table by the window with a few cats already sitting there on the shelf. the sun shined through the glass, warming up the seat and table. while you busy yourself with your new furry buddy, mingi left to order a few drinks and dessert for the both of you.
as he waited in line, he thought about how lucky he was to even be here with you right now.
“so…” mingi takes a break from drawing figures on his sketchbook and meets your face. you hummed and pulled your laptop screen lower so you can see his face. the two of you were studying together in the library, helping each other in various topics covered in today’s lessons. mingi was always grateful that your schedules line up with his. meaning all of his breaks, he can spend time with you since you were off as well. and since you were both fashion majors, it only made sense if you both helped each other out.
“i have a friend, he works at this cat cafe and i was wondering…” pause. his eyes lowered at his hands fidgeting with his pen. “if you wanted to go with me tomorrow?” he continued but couldn’t help to lower his voice almost to a whisper as he shyly asked you out. he knew how much you loved cats and thought it was a perfect idea to take you to visit the cafe one day.
your face immediately lights up at the idea of a cat cafe. “mingi are you serious? i would love to!” you send him a big toothy grin as you were so excited to be able to go with him. “it’s a date then!”
mingi swore his heart stopped beating and his nose forgot how to breathe for a second at your words.
“you’re deep in love aren’t you prince charming?” his friend from behind the counter teased. san grinned at mingi while typing in his order into the machine. it seem like wooyoung had already told san about mingi’s little secret.
he rolled his eyes, as if he doesn’t get ridiculed enough from wooyoung and yeosang in class already. “and what about it?” mingi scoffs, pulling out a couple bills and handed them to san.
luckily for him, you weren’t around to hear it. although parts of him wished you could hear what just san said because he doesn't know how long he can control his feelings anymore. but mingi wanted his confession to be a bit more romantic rather than his friend blurting it out, so he kept quiet and waited. you were currently occupied with your phone, filling up your photo gallery with pictures of them while waiting for mingi to order.
“it means you should probably do something about it.” san winked, handing mingi his receipt before heading back to prepare his drinks. mingi knew exactly what he meant about that. he knew exactly what he should do about these uncontrollable feelings. but he just couldn’t find the courage to do it anytime soon.
he sighed and glanced towards the table where you sat. he was really glad he brought up the idea of bringing you here because mingi realized how endearing your love for cats was. even from afar, the way you gently pet the cat by the window makes his heart melt. no complaints from him though. if they can make you smile non-stop, then that’s all it matters.
“order up for lover boy.” san announced playfully, snapping mingi out of his thoughts of you and bringing him back from reality. mingi rolled his eyes and blatantly ignored his friend’s word, taking the tray of food in his hand. hearing san giggle from behind him only made him more annoyed but he quickly calmed down at the sight of you playing with a cat’s paw.
“hey. i got your favourites.” he placed the tray in the middle. you thanked him as you took a bite into your strawberry shortcake and a sip from the iced americano. you felt butterflies in your stomach, you couldn’t help but to feel this way towards mingi because he never fails to remember all the little things you’ve told him.
the two of you enjoyed your drinks and desserts and talked about anything that came to your mind. mingi was an easy person to talk to. no matter what you talked about or how long you would ramble on a topic, he was listening to every single word that came out of your mouth. sometimes you would carry the whole conversation and he didn’t mind. and neither did you because something about not worrying or stressing over if you were being boring or annoying was what made you love talking to mingi. your voice was like music to him, he could listen to it all day long. he propped his chin on his hand as you continued to talk.
you jump up slightly at the furry feeling the side of your leg. you melt at the sight of a persian cat making figure eights around your legs. another kitten nearby was on its back, all sprawled out. you both were in awe at the sight of all these cute cats around the place. while you fixed your gaze on the cats, mingi had his eyes focused on you the entire time.
step four: confession
everything was going fine. until it wasn’t.
self-doubts and anxiety starts creeping in and you feel weak. you were unsure, because nothing good has ever lasted this long. you had no idea this would happen when approached mingi. but after that day, you found yourself looking forward to talking with him more. and over time, of course, you fell for him. who wouldn’t?
it felt odd. suspicious. everything was going so smoothly with you and mingi. he makes you feel excited to wake up every day and spend your breaks with him. he makes classes and college a little more bearable. you love the way he unconsciously caress your hand under the table like it’s a habit. you love the little things he does for you like sharing earbuds while waiting for your bus. mingi was an angel towards you.
it was too good to be true.
you were hidden underneath your blanket in a fetal position, curled up with your knee to your chest as you quietly sobbed in your room. you felt terrible. how you’ve been avoiding mingi recently ever since this unsettling feeling started to creep in. you tried to bury your whimpers and sniffs as you heard your door creak open and felt the bed dip.
“hey.” no response. he couldn’t see your face. the only thing he could hear was the shaky breath that you tried so hard to hide from underneath the covers. he could tell you’ve been crying for the past hour or even days considering your current state.
“leave me alone,” you snapped at him. mingi pursed his lips at your jarring words, deciding to push it away because he knew you didn’t mean any harm.
he’s noticed, he always does. today is sunday, he hasn't seen or heard from you ever since friday afternoon. even so, you disappeared right after classes ended and he couldn’t get a hold of you. you weren’t at the bus stop as you normally would, it had mingi worried to death. he started to think about his past actions or words to see if any of that had made you upset, but none came to his mind. opting to just stay by your side for now.
“i haven’t seen you in so long, is everything okay?” he asked but got no response. the lump in your throat prevents you from telling the truth, so you kept quiet. you could only shake your head from underneath the covers.
“i’m here for you, i don’t want you to go through this alone.” mingi took a deep breath. he didn’t like seeing you like this. he settled on the bed right next to your figure, you flinched at his touch when he patted your shoulders gently. he didn’t say a word, he allowed you to continue crying, letting out any pain that has been trapped in there.
and with that, you slowly pulled the covers down. revealing your glossy eyes and puffy lips from the endless hours of crying in your room.
mingi quickly took you into his embrace because he just couldn’t stand the sight of you crying. he’s been dying to hold you. he tells you that everything is okay to be okay and that it’s okay to cry. maybe silence was the best medicine for now, but he felt the urge to tell you that things were going to be okay. he lets you cry in his arms, allowing you to break down as he rubs your back. you buried your face into the warmth of his chest as he held the back of your head and rubbed your back. soft whispers from mingi calmed you down, you focused your mind on his smooth voice to escape the unsettling thoughts that welcomed itself into you.
you pushed yourself off him and took a shaky deep breath, it sounds like you were going to break and tears would storm down your cheeks again but you quickly collected yourself.
“i’m sorry.” you whispered, wiping your face with the back of your hand. you didn’t know what to do now. tell him? or make up an excuse on why you’ve been down lately? tell him that you were afraid that he would leave you? or push off the topic and hope that he’ll buy it?
you played with your hands as you sat there helpless in front of him, until mingi’s voice broke your racing thoughts. “it’s okay. take your time.” he took both your hands in his, caressing your hand with his thumb gently, like he always does. holding them like you were going to disappear any moment now, leaving him alone.
a comfortable silence falls between you and mingi as you both sit on your bed holding each other's hands. until you blurted out the words you’ve been holding back, words you’ve been thinking over and over.
“i love you.”
mingi froze at your sudden confession. releasing his grip on your hands and his eyes widened. he felt like his heart was about to explode. the fluttering in his stomach, feeling hesitant of what to say back because he was definitely not expecting this so suddenly.
“i…” he began, unsure of how to properly explain the complexity of his feelings, “i love you too, ever since i laid my eyes on you.” chuckling at himself at how cheesy he sounded. unashamed of how stupidity in love he sounds right now, because letting you know how important you are to him was his goal.
giggling at how adorable he looks when he proposed his feelings, loving how he can make you smile despite you being a mess just a couple of minutes ago. loving how being here with you, makes you forget all about those negative thoughts. you took his hands into yours once again. a wave of relief washes you over because now. you didn’t have to worry about anything anymore, not when he’s by your side.
“it’s just…” you drop your head down at his hands as you play with his fingers, “nothing this good as happened to me and i just…” you trail off, feeling the tears in the corner of your eyes coming back. just afraid of you leaving me, was what you wanted to say but couldn’t. mingi notices and instantly intertwines his hands with yours.
“hey, it’s okay. i’m going anywhere, okay?” he reassures you, like he was reading your thoughts. lifting up his hand intertwined with yours to your eye level as his little proof. his action didn’t fail to make you smile.
“thank you, mingi. for being with me.”
“like i said, i’m always here for you. now c’mere.” opening his arms wide with a huge grin plastered on his face as an invitation for you to melt in his arm. you hurled in his arms.. finding solace in the crook of his neck, feeling his warmth and taking in his scent.
the room was filled with little sniffles from you, sounding like a toddler who’s favourite toy went missing. “sorry for getting my snot on your shirt.” you shyly chuckled for ruining the slightly romantic atmosphere.
“it’s okay, only because i love you.” if hugs healed, mingi would hold you forever.
step five: being a couple
“close your eyes for me?”
“don’t tell me what to do.”
“you—” mingi sighed. “just do it, please.”
“okay, only because you said the magic word.” you quipped with a smirk.
mingi scoffed. when you shut your eyes, he leads you in front of the mirror. he pulled out the handmade necklace he’s been working on the past couple of days. his hands, unlike the rest of his body, were cold. he carefully brushed your hair out of the way then carefully clipped the two ends of the necklace together. turning them to the front and letting them sit on your collarbones.
it was a simple gold chain with a charm, representing you. he was aiming for a piece you would be able to wear casually, fitting with everyday outfits as well as complementing your other jewelry pieces since he knew you liked to layer them.
with anticipation, you asked if you can open your eyes, mingi hum a tune in response. “i got you a little something, i hope you like it.” slowly opening your eyes to reveal mingi’s gift. heat crawling up your face when your eyes laid on the beautiful piece of gold jewelry resting around your neck. there laid a charm, a key.
“baby…” you gazed at your new favourite jewellery while trying to hold back tears. getting on your tippy-toes, reaching for his cheeks to give him a quick “thank you” kiss.
mingi flashed you a huge satisfied grin, “ta-da! we’re matching!” he pulled his own necklace that was hidden under his shirt with the brightest smile on his face, the type of smile that turned his eyes into crescents. instead of a key, his was a lock. you were in awe at the connection and how thoughtful it was.
“thank you mingi, i love it so much.” you wasted no time wrapping your arms around his neck and a quick peck on his cheeks that made his heart burst into a million pieces.
in a short amount of time, you two managed to brighten each other’s day effortlessly. mingi has never been so wrong about his little crush on you lasting three days. even though it was silly, he thanked himself every day for choosing to wear that shirt. who knew something he put so little thought into could turn to be the best thing that’s happened to him? he was so proud to be in love with such an incredible person. a love he would cherish for life.
“thank you for loving me.”
-
happy birthday to the best boy, song mingi <3
#ateez#ateez scenarios#ateez imagines#song mingi#song mingi imagines#song mingi scenarios#ateez x reader#much longer than i thought but o well...this is my longest work to date lmao#song mingi x reader#ateez fanfic#song mingi fanfic#ateez fluff#ateez drabbles
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Us telling each other to go to sleep while simultaneously not sleeping
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1) You can just stop writing the au if you hate it so much, or just take a hiatus. I know people like it but you shouldn't burn yourself out!
2) Have you ever heard of the Lykoi cat? Please search them up if you haven't
3) Diphylleia Grayi, is a type of flower that looks turns "invisible" when it touches water
4) Do you have a favorite spider?
5) Help I keep drawing porcelain Jekylls that I'll never post </3 /lh
6) hsjsvdjsgh I cant think of anything. Uhhh. The Wulver is a scottish creature that's a furry person with the head of a wolf and shares fish with locals. Honestly most drawings look like furries I've just noticed, why is no one drawing em with proper clothes
7) Similar questions to my last(?) ask. Do you have any thoughts on what supernatural/mythical creatures tgs characters would be if they were one? And what would your latest oc that I keep forgetting how to spell the name of be?
...The fact that that is accurate scares me-- I'm also going to save that meme for future references everytime either of us catch the other up late sdfds
1) THEORETICALLY YES... But I know that if I take a hiatus I will never finish it, and I know how guilty I would feel for not continuing it... Plus, most of my complaining is just dramatic but I'm not used to make chaptered fics and never will ever again. I guess it's just a mix between constantly having to worry about how the fic is perceived (especially since we are entering the more controversial/angsty chapters rn) combined with the deadline that makes... Me sad :'3
2) *frantic googling* OH MY GOD THEY LOOk LIKE THE DEFINITON OF A TRASH GOBLIN I WANT FIVE OF THEM IMMEDIATELY SFSDFSDF
3) oo h h m y god... It looks like ice... Are they edible? My brain is telling me to go absolutely bonkers on them. O o h h m y god
4) I had a very weird phase as a kid, who was also very afraid of spiders, where I tried to convince my parents to give me a tarantula because I saw that they were fluffy. I'm still massively afraid of spiders but otherwise I'd say redkneed birdspider (is that the english name???)
5) Bestie I know how it feels my entire sketch book is just drawings of my ocs that will never grace tumblr </3
6) Oh man. I love Wulvers. I know jack shit about them but I had planned to have Henry meet a wulver in the Irrbloos Au at some point, since they were benevolent and helpful I had planned to have a wulver lead him back and get him back to the real world at some point but I never got so far into that plotline. But honestly... All pictures of werewolves of all kinds look like furries. Did you know that they have werehyenas in africa, which is basically just reverse werewolves (i.e a hyena that turns into a human instead of the other way around)?
7) I'm going to start off by saying that Cederic definitely would be some kind of nymph-like creature like an incubus of some kind or just a straight up male nymph/siren, something very pretty and very seductive because, I don't know if anyone read his part of the updated OC masterlist post, he was originally a prostitute and very much uses that to his advantage to get what he wants. Something cat-like would also make sense, as his mother (in the actual DND campaign) is the egyptian cat goddess Bastet, but regardless, he still has his cat so it would fit no matter.
*cracks knuckles* alright here we go. Not going to go into a lot of context i'm just going to spew shit out.
Jekyll - Werewolf, really, that's no surprise but a werewolf fits so good. Having a monstrous side he tries to hide that only comes out at night? *chef's kiss*
Hyde - Imp or poltergeist.
Robert - Vampire.
Rachel - Selkie
Jasper - since he already is a werewolf, he would just be Some Dude
Frankenstein - Dwarf, or Baba Yaga.
Griffin - Ghost that does not want to be a ghost
Emma - A Huldra, maybe? A benevolent nymph? A banshee? I just love her and I wanted to add her to the list somehow.
Maijabi - a ghost who is totally chill with being dead. Maybe one of those spirits who like to fuck with humans (metaphorically speaking) by hailing cabs and then ditching them in the middle of the ride.
Lavender/Ito - those centaurs that are deer instead of horses I forgot the name sdsdfs
thats all i can come up w at the moment sdfsdf
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It’s The Avengers (03x09)
Loki x Reader Avengers The Office AU (Slowwwwww Burn)
Season 3 Episode 09: I’m Allergic to Bad Memories
Series Summary: Living in the Avengers facility post-apocalypse in a better timeline Tony Stark has decided to capture every moment by pulling The Office on the Avengers. All of housemates are pretty used to the idea except for you, who had just come here to finish her degree, and the newest member- Loki.
Warnings: *shrugs*
Word Count: I am sick. But I am out of stuff to keep my loud mind busy. So here we are. Be grateful to the Gods of k-dramas
MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)
The chirps of concern were a train of ramblings coming in between the nudges little orange furry paws were giving you; smushing your lips, your cheeks, booping your nose. The only time they stopped was when that echo that resulted in your unconsciousness announced a little plan.
“How about I be of some help, little one?”
Lulu stood up on his hind legs while he and his camera saw a pair of pale hands stroke your head ever so gently, whispering something foreign under a sweet breath. The next second, you stirred, perking up the little furball- who smushed your face and head with an endless amount of rubs with his own.
You groaned before a yelp found its way out of your throat as you felt the bump at the back of your head thump with piercing pain. “Ow! Ow ow ow ow.”
“Ah,” the soothing voice called out from outside the frame, “you hit your head pretty hard, dear.”
The realisation of the stranger came a little late- maybe because of the concussion, maybe because of the angelic voice that seemed to make you feel at ease- and once it did, your eyes widened while your legs moved your body away from…
“God?” you gasped in question while Lulu’s camera looked at the aged women smiling down at you with a glow unlike any.
“More or less, yes,” the glowing woman in a gold dress chuckled before bringing her hand forward. “Come, let me help you, dear.”
You tried catching your breath there. “Wh...who…”
The smile on that bewitchingly calm face brought this uncalled ease inside your chest. “I’m Frigga.”
.
A shrivelled high-pitched scream eroded the den as Javier stood frozen at the expressions similar to that of a spooked out little child on the face of the head of the universe’s deadliest mafia.
“No, please do not hurt my face!! That is my one good asset!!! You always hit me where it hurts the most!!!” Taneleer cried.
The camera focused from the ball of luxurious fur whispering on the floor to Loki- who stood there with his arms across his chest. “I didn’t even hit you yet. Quit being such a pain in the a-”
“Ssso what! You were thinking of hitting me,” Taneleer huffed while he looked up at Loki, “I could see it in those snake eyes of yours. Like you will bite my-my h-head off!”
Loki sighed and rolled his eyes.
Loki: *bags under his eyes* I am…*blinks tiredly* surrounded...by the most idiotic scum of this universe
*camera pans across his shoulder to show Taneleer calling his henchman*
“As long as they are here, make sure that little Terran is safe. Otherwise, I will cut off your limbs and feed it to the street rodents,” he hisses.
“I cannot believe you just thought of hurting me for that Terran,” Taneleer tsked and jumped in annoyance, “she is getting between our friendship.”
“You were never my friend,” Loki delivered the blow with a straight face while the boss felt his heart shatter into a million pieces.
“And to think I made little marble figures of us both hanging out in Knowhere,” he whispered with the hurt reflecting in his voice. “Who is she to you anyway?” He pouted. “Who is this creature to have you travelling by her side as if you are...she is...you both...what is she to you?!!”
“Just get me my fucking grace,” Loki raised his voice while rolling his eyes, “or I swear to all the power in this universe I will personally make you suffer for frying my brain cells with your utter nonsense. What are you trying to do? Buy time till your rotten brain can figure out how to make up an excuse for your incompetence?”
Taneleer’s slouching and sad figure straightened up and raised a finger. “More like, trying to buy time before I really tell you who I sold your grace to.”
.
“Frigga?”
The camera took in the glowing pale face smiling in your direction as it nodded in your direction.
Your face, on the other hand, was a mess of confusion, surprise and the worst possible daze just sitting on top of your forehead. “Like...Loki’s mom Frigga?”
A sparkle went off in Frigga’s eyes as the already glowing face seemed to shine four times brighter. Her eyes widened and her smile seemingly found a reason to grow wider. That was till some uncertain thought crossed her forehead and her smile twitched and transformed into an unsettling concern.
“This is…” Frigga trailed off.
“Weird?” you tried helping her.
“It’s usually Thor that people know me through.”
“Huh...makes sense.”
“How...do you know Loki?”
“Oh, I’m his friend. Y/N Y/L/N. Nice to meet you.”
“Ah,” Frigga nodded and mirrored your smile before confusion punched that softness away. “I’m sorry, you are what?!”
The Lounge
Scott sat on the sofa reading the latest copy of One Piece while the big screen opposite him showed Loki threatening Tivan by his collar. The screen did not seem to take his attention but the figure looking in front of it, going to and fro more times than Scott could count. Actually, Scott stopped counting after six about an hour ago.
"Instead of working your legs, it would be better to work that mouth for your friend, don't you think?"
Natasha called out from behind the counter, sipping on her kale smoothie.
The words stopped Steve short, his whole face a mixture of blushing horror. "W-what."
"That's not what she means, you thirsty grandpa!" Scott called his thoughts out without raising his eyes from the latest in Wano arc, "go talk to him."
Steve blinked and regained a part of his lost senses, slowly moving towards the dorms.
"And kiss him senseless while you're at it," Scott added, stopping the captain midway to give him an irritated glare- one that Natasha was loving.
Natasha: *smirks* I have to say it feels good to have someone else make thirst jokes on Steve too
*Camera pans out to show Scott smiling for the lens*
Scott: It's me *points to self* she means me.
Natasha: I guess there are more coming?
Scott: *gushing* you have no idea
The Den
“So, if I were to summarise what you just told me, midgardians have no quarrels with Loki, Thanos has been defeated and my son is living with the Avengers now.”
Lulu’s camera caught seriousness in Frigga’s brows while you nodded.
“And I’m his friend,” you added with a smile before looking at Lulu’s camera.
You: I stressed that for reasons *shrugs nonchalantly*
“Right,” Frigga acknowledged. “So, how is my son? Is he here? My essence is only supposed to be released in his presence or someone he…”
Frigga paused and looked back at you, this time with the keen observation that seemed to make you a little uncomfortable.
“He is somewhere in the back with the anime-hair guy. They are trying to find a way to get him out of these cuffs my dad made so he couldn’t use magic. Long story. But we got teleported into some galaxy far away and now we are here to help Loki get his powers back so we can go home.” You thought best to blabber than stand there in awkward silence while Loki’s mother was giving you a deep mental once over. “And by we I mean me, Lulu and Javi. We are all friends. Lulu is the little baby we adopted on the way,” you cooed and smiled at the little pile of soft fur purring on receiving scritches from your under his not-so-visible jaw.
You looked back up to watch Frigga’s fingers rest on her lips to mask some sort of emotion you were too late to read.
Frigga: This cute little midgardian keeps calling herself Loki’s friend *tilts head* and then tells me they adopted an old beastling’s offspring as their child. *contemplates* So...do marriages not happen on earth lately? Or is this something my son came up with? *raises her brows* no matter the story, *waves her hand* I am not letting him lose this precious one.
“Let’s go meet Loki,” you jumped in controlled excitement taking the first step to lead the way before freezing right there.
“Wait,” you interrupted your own buzz with a grim expression, “how do I know you are one of the good ones?”
“I beg your pardon, little one?”
You sighed, feeling a little heaviness settle in your chest. “How do I know you are not going to hurt him?”
You: Yup *purses lips* reasons *stretches the corners of her mouth in regret*
“Did you just ask me if I was dangerous for my own son?”
You could already feel the mother hen judgment even when you didn’t stare into her eyes. “I know,” you sighed, “it’s the space. My nerves are overworked and the only thing I can think of is Loki.”
“...”
“-’s well being.” Clearing your throat, you nodded at your own words, stealing a glimpse at the camera. “That usually does not happen. I can assure you that.”
The surprise at your sheer audacity melted within ten seconds to give place to something soft and glowing; along with something else.
You did not expect Frigga to bring forward her hand and cup your cheek with her palm to gaze into your soul while you stood there with disbelief dripping from your skin.
“Your hand is so warm,” you commented after flinching a little at her touch, waiting for her to say something.
But Frigga took her time, her thumb stroking your cheek while you witnessed the corner of her eyes glistening. “By the Norns, you have been one gentle soul through such wild storms haven’t you, dear,” she whispered, forcing you to grow more confused for a second, “why would someone hurt such a precious soul.”
Lulu’s camera moved with Lulu’s body suddenly on alert. He could feel the change in the atmosphere right when the camera caught your crinkled brows release themselves to some invisible realisations that were either too quick- or too heavy- to bring tears to your eyes.
All that your face carried was bearings of something that stopped time for you while your tears ran as much as they could; and with them ran your breaths getting shallow by the second till Frigga engulfed you in her warm embrace, her hands soothing your back.
“Forgive me, my child,” she whispered, never leaving your cold figure, “forgive me for bringing it all back.”
Lulu’s whines and unknown movements from the corridor made Frigga bring herself to face a dazed you. “You are one brave human, my dearest. Trust in yourself. And you are not alone. Take good care of my son till I can see him one last time.”
With those words hanging somewhere in the midst of your ears and your brain, she left with a peck on your forehead, dissolving into the same light she was radiating all along.
The Dorms and Their Outer Surroundings
The camera zoomed in to focus away from the leaves and into the french window of Bucky’s room where he and Steve sat in their respective love seats five feet apart, trying their best to keep their composure while trying to come up with words.
Steve cleared his throat.
Bucky moved the bottle of water on the coffee table towards him.
“So…” Steve’s throat barely made any noise the first time while Bucky’s red face tried to hide under the shadow of his long unruly hair, “I heard that...ahem...that you…”
“I’m gay!” The confession came like a shot of rifle mid-air, taking both Bucky and Steve by surprise.
“And that’s o-okay,” Steve stressed, sitting up straight, “it’s okay to love anyone you want.”
“So-” Bucky’s fingers wrung each other under the internal pressure to get the words out- “is it...is it okay to love you?”
Unknown to them, another camera standing outside in the lawn witnessed an excited Scott perched upon the top of the tree with the headphones on to hear every word they said. And just as the confession came, the poor man caught hold of his chest, muttered, “my heart,” and fell from the branch while his red-headed accomplice waited for more.
“Is it okay to love you now?”
Steve was on pause, his attention solely taken by Bucky’s words and eyes. “Bucky,” was he was able to get out before standing up, forcing Bucky to mirror him.
“I know this may seem out of the blue, Stevie, but I have always...always only had eyes for you. And I know times were different back then, but now I finally have the guts to tell you how I feel and I would completely understand if you don’t-”
The words were stopped short right on the lips when Steve took Bucky by the collar and kissed him.
“FINALLY!” a victorious cry came from the Black Widow right beside the camera, making the poor thing wobble and fall down lens first onto the ground.
The Weird Den
Javier’s camera already caught the shimmer of an orb disappearing from right in front of you as he entered the room but his company was too late to notice any of that golden light that had just illuminated the room.
The moment Loki entered the room the camera recorded his senses going off. His eyes ran over every corner of the room, over Lulu rubbing himself on your legs while trying to draw your attention, and then back to your figure standing in the middle with your back to him.
“Y/N?” he called out, taking one cautious step at a time.
You flinched. That stopped him right in his tracks.
“What’s wrong?”
Lulu’s camera caught your hands wiping away the tears before turning to face him. That effort was not of much use as both Loki and Taneleer could make out some real tears had been shed.
“Nothing. Did you find something for your cuffs?” your nasal voice did not help your case either.
Taneleer raised his hands a little as he stepped close to you, bringing forward a dense black fabric. You took without much thought and blew your nose into it, making the boss gag behind you.
Loki clearly wanted to ask you about the reason behind those tears but those lines of latent rage in between your brows made him go the other way. “We will have to travel a little further for that, I’m afraid.”
You sniffed, finally feeling the air in your nostrils. “Cool. Let’s go,” you muttered nonchalantly and walked out.
Taneleer’s eyes widened and he aggressively gestured his guards to follow you.
Loki’s brows raised themselves in question. “What just happened?”
.
“Are you sure nothing’s wrong?”
Javier’s camera caught the grit of your teeth as you sat down in the transportation vehicle that looked like an exoskeleton of a schoolkids’ van.
“I said I’m fine,” you pressed with zero emotions in your eyes.
“Then why are you crying,” Loki pressed back while casually leaning on the doorframe and watching you with his intense gaze.
You scoffed. “Because I’m allergic to you,” you spewed into the air and shifted to face away from him.
Taking full offence of that statement, Loki opened his mouth to say something before shutting it back. Tight.
“You know I’m still single right?” Tivan whispered from behind the God with a smirk.
The latter did not pay much attention to his words. “I’ve taken some of your inventory. Don’t bother getting it back in one piece.”
Loki was about to step into the van when Taneleer decided to open his mouth. “She knows you are here.”
Loki paused, his hand resting on the frame and his biceps feeling a tug under his dark shirt.
“She knows you are out of hiding, Loki. She will come for you. I know you already know that. And she will come for anything-” his gaze shifted from Loki’s beautiful back to yours- “-that stands between her and you.”
No words came from the other side except for the tap of a finger on the frame before Loki got inside the van and came to sit next to you.
Tivan’s guards were already putting the vehicle in full throttle to fly towards your ship while Loki waited for you to say something.
But you were stubborn in your own way, not letting out a peep but turning to watch where exactly Loki is sitting.
“Lulu,” he stressed with a note of caution when he did not let Javier secure him in his seat, leading to the fur-boy slump in his seat and sulk till Javier presented him with candy.
At the same time, you scooched closer to Loki- still not facing him- and let your fingers feel his overcoat in them. Your eyes still carried the remnants of the tears along with a hidden hurt that you did not want to show anyone. But the high definition cameras everywhere were quick to catch it all; even the slight break of your heartstrings when you felt the fabric of comfort in your fingers move away.
It also captured the shock that followed when you felt his arm come and rest behind your neck to prevent the discomfort of the metal rails on the back of your head on this bumpy ride, giving you full access to take the support of his shoulder and arms in that moment.
You didn’t even realise when the waterworks came again.
“What,” Loki looked at you expressionless, “I’m just resting my arm.”
You blinked and took in the snot rising up in your nose. “I’m still allergic to you,” you muttered while resting your head on his shoulder.
A smile born for two seconds was seen by no one except the camera.
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