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#normal everyday people do it and it's not always about vanity

cassiopeialunax · 1 month

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Faster n Harder- Matt Sturniolo

I can't fucking stand him. the constant eye fucking me through the window is driving me insane, how does he get to do this to me? he doesn't even know me! it's infuriating!

*FLASHBACK*

"Y/N! WE HAVE NEW NEIGHBOURS!" my roommate, Sabrina, yells to me. "and that's my business, how?" i retort, in all honesty I couldn't give two shits about the new neighbours, for all i care, they can suck my dick, "girl, they're triplets! and ones gay, he can join girls night!" Sabrina squeals, why's she so happy about this? "no thanks, I'm antisocial" i state before throwing myself onto my bed "now disappear, I'm tryna watch my beautiful self in Cobra Kai" i say as I wave her off "Y/N, girl, you might wanna close those curtains of yours, Matt, the middle triplet, he's gonna be in the room opposite your window, and we ALL know how you walk around your room in literally just a bra and mini shorts" she giggles at me before skipping out of my room. "BECAUSE IT'S HOT OUT!" i yell before reluctantly getting off of my bed, accidentally making eye contact with the boy next door, he types on his phone before holding it up to the window 'Cute bra, the bow really adds detail' I read from the screen "WEIRDO!" i yell before closing the curtains

*PRESENT DAY*

"Y/N, IM INVITING PEOPLE OVER!" Sabrina yells, it's muffled for me, I'm listening to straight bangers, 6arelyhuman please wife me up.

"So I party like a rockstar, look like a pornstar!" i sing along to the song , my hands running up and down my body as i dance around my bedroom, 80s rock bands (such as, Mötley Crüe, Guns n Roses, Metallica etc etc) tapestrys and posters littered across the walls, before settling down at my vanity and reapplying a couple layers of black lipstick, "Cause I go faster and harder, faster and harder" the lyrics echo through my room, I toss the lipstick back into my makeup bag before walking over to my closet "black, black, black, white, black, black, pink? when did that get there?" i mumble to myself as I flick through articles of clothing "aha! finally" i squeal as I grab a 'Sex Pistols: The Filth and The Fury' tank top, pairing it with some denim mini shorts and neutral grey Air Jordan 1's

"p-p-p-p-party like a rockstar, look like a pornstar, everyday i go hard riding in my sports car" i sing along to the song as I pull the outfit on.

{MATTS POV}

the neighbour, Sabrina I think her name is, just invited me and my brother's over, i already know her roommates here because I can hear her fucking music, she has this thing where it's never loud enough, normally I wouldn't care, but it's always sexual songs, yesterday it was 'Yummy- Ayesha Erotica' and 'Or Nah- The Weeknd' and now? 'Faster n Harder' I don't even know who it's by, but it's driving me insane, she's always dancing along to it too, how do I know? because her curtains are always open, no matter what, it's like she wants me to stare...

"Matt, kid, you good?" my brother, nick, asks me, snapping me out of my thoughts, "yeah, uh, where's the bathroom at? I've gotta fuckin piss" i ask Sabrina, she points upstairs and tells me it's the first door on the right, as I walk up the stairs the music gets louder, should I go in? no that's fucking weird Matt don't be a freak.....

"party like a rockstar, look like a pornstar!" her voice echoes

...fuck it

{Y/N POV}

the vibe is fucking ruined the second my door opens, Matt? what the fucks he doing here "ew perv! get out of my room, what are you doing here! actually don't answer that I don't give a fuck! get out!" i say as I shove him out, only resulting in him pinning me against the wall, my hands above my head as he holds them there, 'whys this hot at fuck?' ew gross, don't think that

"ever since I moved next door you have been constantly teasing me, and now? now I'm gonna do something about it" he says as he stares into my eyes, his pupils blown, the look of lust covering his face "oh yeah? what're you gonna do? huh?" i taunt "well first, I'm gonna rip those pretty little shorts off of you, then I'm gonna tear that shirt off, and then I'm gonna bend you over and fuck that perfect little pussy of yours" he says, and holy fuck I am drenched.

his hands reach the button of my shorts, frantically undoing the zipper and unbuttoning them before shoving them down my legs "arms up" Matt commands, his voice rough and eager, I do as he says, i want this, scratch that, need this, he pulls my shirt off and tosses it across my room before shoving me onto the bed "you were right.. you do look like a pornstar" he says as his eyes scan my body "turn around, face down ass up" I comply, rolling onto my stomach and arching my back, *slap* his hand connects with my ass, the pain mixing with pleaser causing me to whimper "shhh pretty girl, don't want anyone hearing us do we?" he says, lowly "please" i beg "please what? Y/N, what do you want? you want me to fuck you?" he coos in a condescending manner "shut up, I'm not fucking saying it" i say as i roll my eyes "only time your eyes are gonna be rolling is when im fucking you, is that clear?" matt growls as he unbuckles his belt and kicks the door shut "whatever" i scoff before his belt connects with my ass "careful, or I'm gonna fuck that attitude out of you" he warns. "do it pussy, you won't" i challenge, gasping as I feel his tip rub against my soaked panties "I'm gonna fucking ruin you" he whispers into my ear before tearing my panties off of me and slamming into me, giving me no time to adjust "aye dios mio!" i cry out "shut the fuck up, we don't need everyone knowing how much of a whore you are for me" Matt mutters as he covers my mouth, his hips slapping against my ass as he plunges in and out of me. "f-fuck Matt, fucking me so good" i moan, my voice muffled by his hand "yeah? you like me fucking you like the slut you are?" he asks as he snakes his hand around my waist and down to my clit, rubbing at it with a slow pace, before increasing it by an insane amount, my cunt clenching around his cock as a warm sensation bubbles up in my lower stomach "oh my god" i whimper "not god, me" matt says as he pounds into me, hitting my G-spot perfectly "fuck! Matt I'm so close" i moan, he slaps my ass again "hold it." he demands as he takes his hand off of my mouth and wraps it around my neck "open your eyes sweetheart, want you to watch yourself in the mirror while I fuck you" he groans as he presses wet kisses to my neck, i look into the mirror, immediately making eye contact with him as he grabs my hair and yanks me up, my back pressing against his chest as he repeatedly fucks into me faster and harder "Matt im begging you, please let me cum, i need to cum, i cant hold it anymore" i plead, tears of pleasure rolling down my face "let go for me pretty girl, give me all you got" Matt groans as he somehow thrusts into me faster.

I let out an almost pornographic moan as I cum over his cock, my legs shaking and my eyes rolling back, i feel him twitch inside of me, "where do you want it?" he asks, his voice low and breathy, "inside, please, need it inside of me" I blabber, that's all Matt needs to hear as his warm seed shoots into me, ropes and ropes of hot sticky cum coating my walls as he moans into the nape of my neck, thrusting into me a couple more times before pulling out "fuck, i should've done that sooner" he chuckles lowly as he presses a soft kiss to my head "lay down, beautiful, I'll clean you up" Matt whispers as he walks into the bathroom grabbing a cloth and turning the warm water on, coating the cloth with it before making his way back to me "feelin' okay?" Matt asks as he presses soft kisses to my inner thighs before gently wiping the towel over my sensitive pussy "yeah" i whisper "c'mon, we can cuddle and watch some shitty movie" Matt says as he lays beside me, pulling my black silk sheets over us and wrapping his arm around my waist...

thank god sabrina invited them over today

the outfit I described because the link is being a cunt:

TAGLIST !!

@nedsmarie44 @hoesformatt @muwapsturniolo @guccifrog @thenickgirl @mattslolita @ssqra @mattsivy @luverboychris

#matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #smut #Spotify

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windwheeler-aster · 1 year

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Hello, can I request Diluc and Thoma with a vial of poison + forbidden love + suggestive if that's ok please! Thank you^^

loyal to the very end

summary: your servant, and secret lover, discovers that there was an attempt to poisen you. now, he wants to comfort you in the best way he knows

masterlist | event

pairings (separate): thoma and diluc x reader

reader info: uses gender neutral pronouns (they/them), reader is a person of royalty (can be a ruler or heir, whatever floats ye boat), and reader is not traveler

word count: 1256 words (4 and a half mins~)

genre: romance, forbidden love, suggestive, royal AU

format: one shot

warnings: attempt to poison reader mentioned, swearing, power dynamic/forbidden love between employer (royal!reader) and employee (servant!diluc/thoma), reader being called paranoid, and suggestive endings

a/n: hghghghghg writing sugesstive stuff is always WEE WOO WEE WOO, yknow??? (im normal, trust me)

Thoma gazed at you in the mirror, following your gaze as you looked at yourself. Even though he sees you everyday, Thoma swears that there’s always something new to your appearance, something he never noticed. But your well-mannered servant doesn’t mind. Thoma could never tire from seeing you everyday and discovering something new about you. In fact, it has become the highlight of his daily routine now.

“Thoma?” you called.

He perked up. “Yes, my liege?

“How do I look?”

Ravishing. “Er, very lovely, my liege.”

Thoma saw your perked up brow in the mirror’s reflection. “Oh? Just ‘lovely’?”

A light blush dusted his cheeks as Thoma looked away. “You look stunning, my liege. The members of the court are very… lucky to bask in your presence, today.” Then, he added in a hushed tone, “They’re lucky everyday, my liege.”

You smirked and Thoma felt the tips of his ears burn. “How kind of you to say, Thoma.”

“I’m only speaking the truth, my liege.”

You sighed, “If only all members of my court were as honest as you.”

“What do you mean, my liege?” Thoma tilted his head, ever so slightly. “Has there been a disturbance in your court?”

You nodded. Thoma watched as you opened one of your vanity’s drawers and pulled out a small beaker of liquid. He watched as you shook it gently, the liquid within it swishing gently and slowly. Thoma rose a brow, as he only knew one liquid that could move that slowly: wine.

“Is that from a secret admirer, my liege?” he asked, curtly, trying to hide the jealousy in his tone. Getting gifts from admirers was normal for people of nobility, he tried to reason.

You frowned. “No. The other day, our head chef caught one of the servants trying to sneak by with this. We thought they were going to slip some into my evening meal. Regardless of their motive, the servant has been fired and is now rotting in jail while I decide on a justifiable punishment.” You make eye contact with Thoma in the mirror. “Attempted murder is treason, after all.”

Thoma’s lips parted, but no sound came out. Had he known that poison was in the liquid you held, not an ounce of jealousy or envy would have overcome Thoma. He felt ashamed, even guilty, that you had to go through that. Your servant even worried about you as you stared at the vial, contemplatively, before shoving it back into the drawer.

“To be honest, I want to forget about it all,” you murmur as you rub your temple. “Obviously, the servant won’t go without punishment. However, I find I can’t trust anyone within my court.”

“You can trust me, my liege,” he blurted out, foolishly.

You stared at him for a moment, then smiled. “Of course I can.” You noticed his longing stare and smiled, deciding to be cruel to Thoma’s heart. “Though, I don’t think I should trust you when you have such a lustful gaze, Thoma.”

Thoma stammered, blushing a bright cherry red. He coughed into his fist, a vain effort to clear his flustered expression. “My liege,” the pleading in his voice was adorable, and yet so out of character for the normally stoic man, “I did not mean to offend—”

You chuckled, effectively shutting Thoma up as you slowly walked over to him. “Oh, my dearest Thoma.” You caressed his cheek, slowly turning him to face your wicked smirk. “I take it as a compliment.”

“My liege, we shouldn’t—”

You stopped caressing him. “Do you want to stop?”

You rolled your eyes. “Fuck the court.”

“No,” Thoma whispered in earnest, “I’m afraid of what the court will think.”

Thoma turned a deeper shade of red.

“Not literally, obviously,” you chuckled. “I’d rather keep you to myself, if that’s alright with you.” You looked at him and placed your hand back on his cheek and smiled. “Now, where were we?”

Diluc carried your morning meal on a silver tray to your room.

The tray was filled with your favorite foods, all specially made by him. Although it had been hard, due to the other servants bustling around in the kitchen, Diluc managed to find a small section of the servants’ kitchen for himself. Even in the midst of all the chaos that was the servant’s kitchens, Diluc found himself smiling as he prepared your favorite meal.

Now, he was carefully prying your door open. He ducked his head, eyes to the ground, as he stepped foot into your chambers. He tapped the door shut with the toe of his shoe. Then, Diluc’s gaze swept up from the floor as he began to smile.

However, upon seeing your sleep-deprived form huddled in all of your blankets glare daggers at him, Diluc nearly dropped the tray.

“My sweet?” he called out, quickly finding his balance with the tray. “Is everything alright? You look a little bit… tired, with all due respect.”

You blinked, slowly. Then you looked down at yourself, shame washing over your features. “Sorry. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Diluc frowned. “Oh?” He found his place by your side, gently placing the tray of food on your night side table. “Why’s that?”

“It’s nothing really,” you murmured. Then, you shook your head. “Well, it is something, but I’m just… overthinking it all, I guess.”

“Should I send for the court physician?”

“No, no,” you clutched onto his frame, desperate. “Please, don’t. She’s already seen me.”

“Did she prescribe you something?” he mumbled, slowly patting your back so you’d relax on him.

“A sleeping drought and being diagnosed with irrational paranoia.”

He furrowed his brow. “‘Irrational paranoia’?”

“She says that I shouldn’t worry about it,” you explained. “Afterall, the guards have already locked away the servant who tried to poison me, but still—”

“Excuse me?” Diluc nearly shouted, turning you to face him. “Someone… someone tried to poison you?”

You nodded.

“And you’re diagnosed with ‘irrational paranoia’,” Diluc mutters in disbelief. “Right, I’m going to have a word with that physician.”

“No, please don’t go,” you quietly pleaded, ducking your head into his chest as you tried to make him stay on the bed. “You’re the only person I can trust now, Diluc. Don’t leave me. Please.”

Diluc saw the tears that welled up in your eyes and his heart nearly broke in two. He let out an instinctive coo as you began to sob quietly into him. Diluc tried his best to comfort you, murmuring soft words and sweet praises into your ear to comfort you. He pressed his lips onto your cheeks and temple, the kisses soon growing more rushed and frequent as time passed.

Your lover was glad to earn a few giggles from you, as it only spurred him on further to kiss you, over and over again. Somehow, his lips managed to connect with yours. From then, his kisses grew longer in time, as well as becoming more passionate.

Soon, you both were gasping for air as you two finally parted. A subtle blush had found its way onto Diluc’s pale skin, his eyes nearly black with desire. He smirked at your equally lustful expression.

“You said earlier that you were overthinking,” Diluc murmured. His hand went up to caress your cheek as he leaned in to whisper into your ear. “Would you like it if I made you… think of something else, for a bit? Or not think at all, if you’d prefer that,” Diluc smirked devilishly. “Your choice, my dear.”

taglist:

@x-zho @cxlrosii @i23kazu @tiredsleep @ireallylikehamsters

(send an ask to be added or removed)

thank you for reading 💖 all forms of interaction to my posts are appreciated 💖

#wheeler's works #from the lovely anon #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #thoma x reader #thoma suggestive #thoma romance #thoma royal AU #thoma forbidden love #diluc x reader #diluc suggestive #diluc romance #diluc royal AU #diluc forbidden love #romance #forbidden love #suggestive #royal AU #wheeler's 500

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metamorphosisff · 11 months

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|Chapter 13| Goodnight Gotham

(Authors Note: For an amplified reading experience, listen to the songs mentioned here. Enjoy 🧡)

“Oh we about to turn it.”

Standing in front of me is Jazz alongside another one of her other honorary daughters who went by Chanel. Together these two had made Mari and I seem like we had always been a part of the House of Illusion. There were seven of us in total dressed impeccably waiting for our turn to enter the raucous ballroom down the hallway, live with colorful commentary, and beat pumping music. Tonight the theme the houses were competing over was intergalactic odyssey. We had been made up to look like sirens from outer space, with our glittery makeup, and tight aquamarine spandex outfits that left very little to the imagination.The reflective sequins sewed on gave off the effects of us having gills. On our skin were tribal markings similar to those from the movie Avatar. Chanel was a trained makeup artist who worked on movie sets all over the city. It took her less than an hour to get us ready. The look while far fetched and last minute were stunning on us both. Though I promised Mari a spectators view, I can tell she was excited to be pulled into the chaos of Jazz’s world, and so was I even though I was scared shitless.

This was not what Jazz had initially told me to expect. I should have known something was up when Jazz told me to leave my hair in braids because she had an idea. Currently my braids were intertwined with a mix of blue and green tinsel, styled in a crown that glimmered underneath the lights from every angle, adorned with gold cuffs and pearls. Mari’s curly mane had been wrangled into a fishtail braid using the same materials. The style showcased her cat like eyes and siren lips in a way normally hidden by her hair.

“Wow,” I breathed out, not believing the reflection I was looking at was my own. “You made me look so beautiful, thank you Chanel.”

“No honey, that was God. All I did was embellish here and there,” Chanel said with a wink.

“I’d pay you to embellish me everyday if I could. I look good enough to eat,” Mari cracked, phone already in hand, snapping a million pictures.

Neither of us got to have much fun, Mari even less than me, and watching her get excited helped my nerves some.

“I know that’s right. Keep that attitude when we hit that floor. Ma’ I’ma go check on the boys,” Chanel said, grabbing her kit to go to the room next door.

“Thank you boo, We’re meeting in that hall in five minutes. Don’t want to hear nothing from Lionell about us being late,” Jazz said, as she brushed at imaginary flyaways with her hands.

Jazz looked otherworldly in the silver sequined bodysuit that had flounce sleeves that were cut in the style the seventies were known for. A forty inch platinum blonde wig waved down her back, the tips dyed in the same sea green color as the tinsel weaved in our hair. Her makeup was flawless, eyes bejeweled by hundreds of rhinestones while her cheeks were carved out of metallic silver. Pointy stiletto nails dipped in the same metallic shade could poke an eye out but she wielded them carefully and strategically as she delegated tasks to get us floor ready.There were also the pair of jewel encrusted six inch heel less platform boots that went mid thigh she had to put on. She was a vision, an all knowing force, and carried herself as such.

“How do you do this all of the time?” I asked in awe.

“When I was younger, the answer to that question would have been drugs,” Jazz cracked, as she turned away from the vanity mirror to look at me. “But now, it’s love. I love ballroom, the culture, the people, and my family. These kids come from all walks of life abandoned and found fellowship under my roof. It keeps me going.”

That’s exactly who we were. Abandoned kids forced into adulthood before we were ready. Being around Jazz’s house felt like what a home should be: warm and inviting.

Leaning forward, I grab her hand, and give it a squeeze. “Thank you for being you to me even when I didn’t deserve it. You mean the world to me and I’m honored to be considered one of your daughters. I’ve missed having a mom.”

Jazz lips tremble as she tries to offer a watery smile. “Chile, don’t get me to crying this close to showtime. Damn you Birdie.”

I chuckle softly before saying, “I love you too Jazz.”

“Aww, now I’m crying. Que linda,” Mari sniffles, snapping pictures of Jazz and I.

Jazz gives my hand one last squeeze before slipping her hand away in order to clap two times. “There will be none of that. Chanel will kick all of our asses if these beats get undone by water works and if you think I’m scary, you have seen nothing yet.”

“Yes ma’am,” Mari says, quickly reaching for a napkin to pat against her face.

“Now, we only have a few minutes. Let’s practice your walks.”

And like that, we are back into the whirlwind of the ball. In literally three minutes, Jazz choreographs a walk for each of us respectively. Whispering in both of our ears what our motivations should be and loudly declaring to keep it to ourselves until after we handle business lest we get confused.

Worthy. You are worthy, Birdie. To be in this building, to be in that room, to be in this world. Show them bitches the respect you demand with that crown.

I let Jazz’s voice play in my head on a loop as we lined up in the hallway. As we pumped our way through the crowd that parted like the red sea at the sight of Jazz leading us. A mix of Beyoncé’s Alien Superstar played at deafening levels as we reached the center of the room. As soon as the first verse dropped we each hit our individual marks. The boys: Danté and Kevion began tumbling, landing into dips before launching into new school voguing choreography in tandem with Chanel and Ruby. Jazz was serving face in the center of the floor, commanding attention while Mari and I weaved through what Jazz had called an alien invasion. The lyrics pulsed through me as I swayed my hips, letting my hands rove over my body making sure to highlight my waist like Jazz said I should. We met on either side of Jazz right on time for the last dips of the piece. While the dancers hit the ground, Mari and I dropped low, holding onto Jazz’s legs dramatically, an act of deference to the house mother.

When I came back to myself it was to see that we have garnered three 10’s and one 9 as scores from the judges. I am so amazed that Mari has to tug me back into action as we walk off of the floor so the remaining houses could walk. I remain in this daze when we go up for second prize, collecting a trophy that would be added to the House of Illusions trove for the night. Chanel wins first place in Femme Queen, Jazz wins first in Femme Queen Face ,Ruby wins first in Female Figure, Kevion wins second in Old Way versus New Way, and Danté wins second in Male Sex Siren. There is cause to celebrate which we do as the ball turns into a full fledged party once the categories wrap up.

I’ve never felt as free as I do amongst my friends, old and new. I am happy I get to call them family and hope that with time I earn the right to do so without Jazz’s influence. In the interim, I imbibe drinks, and dance with them like it’s something we have all done hundreds of times before. The magic of ballroom is the community because it builds you up in a way where you can stand alone but you don’t have to. The House of Illusion has instilled in me the confidence to go after everything I want. To reach out and grab anything I claim as mine because the world is for the taking. A power that might slip away with the first highlights of dawn. I have to capitalize on it while it lingers in my bones. Pulling out my phone I sent a quick text: I want to see you.

It vibrates with a response instantaneously.

I want to see you more. Your place or mine?

From the moment I walked through the door, Xavier encircled his arms around me, bringing me close. He smells like a hint of smoke, alcohol, and cologne as he’s just come in not too long before me after hanging with his friends. I want to nuzzle my face into his neck but refrain due to my makeup and all of the glitter I am doused in. Instead, I place my hands on top of his and sink further into his embrace.

“Think I need you to save this lil outfit for when I take you and Papi to Comic Con,” he said, pressing a kiss onto my neck.

I giggled as I turned in his arms to face him. “I’m not even a real character. This is Jazz’s creation.”

“Don’t matter,” he said, pressing another kiss to my lips. “Remind me to thank her, you look good as hell.”

“Thank you. Help me get out of it?” I ask, smiling up at him.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he said, before hoisting me into his arms. I squeal as he playfully tosses me over his shoulder and leads the way to the bathroom. He hits the lights and turns on the shower before setting me on the counter. “You are shining.”

“I know,” I groan. “They covered me from head to toe with something called Diamond Bomb by Rihanna.”

“Nah, I’m not talking about that. Your eyes, your smile, hell your energy is transcendent,” he says, causing my cheeks to heat up.

“You're always saying things to me that I have no idea how to respond to,” I say softly, meeting his gaze.

Always affirming.

Always recognizing.

Always present.

Stepping closer, he invades the space between my legs as leans down so that his nose can tease mine. “Is that a bad thing?” he asks.

“No,” I answer quickly, leaning forward when he places his hands on my hips. The warmth from his palms radiating outward.

“Sometimes it’s okay to just say thank you babe,” he says, lips hovering over mine. “Or smile at me the way you do that makes your eyes disappear.”

I laugh and he absorbs the sound with a kiss. My hands fly to his torso as our kiss goes from innocent to urgent. In a flash my fingers are under his shirt and helping to lift it from his shoulders. Next to go is the bralette I’m wearing. We undress each other with a franticness that can only belong to new lovers. His touch is gentle and appreciative when I’m fully bare before him.

“Look at me,” he says, pulling back from our kiss.

My eyes flutter open at the command and meet his heady stare. Gone is the Xavier who bides his time. This version of him knows the best use of the seconds that drag by. In his eyes I see his desire for me unravel and marvel in it. All the while he trails his thumb over my bottom lip, swiping side to side, until he slips it into my mouth. Instinctively I suckled it causing him to groan before pulling me into another searing kiss.

I widen my legs further as I scoot to the edge of the counter. “I need you,” I breathe against his lips. My hands are roving against the sides of his torso, ghosting over hard, well defined planes of muscles.

“Okay,” he says, pulling my bottom lip into his mouth to nibble on. “Okay.”

Reaching down, I watch as he fishes his wallet out of his pocket and grabs a condom. He smirks as he catches my eye. I motion for him to come fill the space between my thighs once more which he doesn’t hesitate to do. He licks into a kiss the same time his fingers push inside of me. My lips tear away but that doesn’t stop him from covering me in equally as hungry kisses starting down the column of my throat as my head tilts back. He kisses me on the hum of my pulse, biting down gently as his thumb finds my clit.

My nails are digging into his biceps but he doesn’t let that deter him from working me into a fast orgasm. One that preps me for him pushing himself in so deeply that my breath is caught in my chest. Instinctively, my hips roll forward meeting his thrust.

“Shit,” I curse, releasing his biceps so that I can slam my hands against the counter.

“Talk to me, this shit feeling good to you? Huh?” he questions, yanking on braids so that my eyes pop open.

“So good Xay, please, just like this,” I moan, as he steadily strokes me to what I’m sure will be the best orgasm of my life.

He dips his head so that he can capture a nipple in his mouth. His teeth graze the sensitive flesh and I arch into it and the oncoming stroke in a way that makes us both groan out. A hand holds the back of his head close, lovingly, as he laps at my other nipple. All while feeding me steady strokes that don’t ease up in pressure or frequency. Thanks to the gym Xavier’s stamina is out of this world. Our bodies move in a tandem dance, working with each other to bring us both pleasure. Regardless of the steam filling the air, I’m warm all over because of him.

It’s the way he folds against me, whispering things that would make a nun blush in my ear while holding my legs straight up. The position leaves me unable to do anything but moan and succumb to the promise of his desire. With both of my ankles in one hand, he uses the fingers on the other to rub figure eights onto my clit.

“Xayyy please,” I said, hands reaching to grab onto something because the counter no longer feels like enough. I settle onto the forearm of his left hand, the one that’s supplying sweet torture.

My gaze lifts to meet his, which is unsurprisingly locked onto my face. His bottom lip is wedged under his top row of teeth, arms bulging from how tightly he holds onto me, and the view makes squeeze onto him.

“Fuck,” he curses, hips slowing momentarily. “Do it again.”

And because I’m such a great listener I do.

I do it again and again as he places sloppy kisses behind my knees that are my undoing. If I were to pass away in this very moment then it would be worth it having been experienced by this man. The reverent cry that escapes my lips is proof of that sentiment. There is banging on the opposite side of the wall but we don’t care. Nothing matters in this moment but he and I, the shared breaths we take, the trembles we place in one another’s spines. We don’t stop until we’re both utterly spent.

Somehow we end up in the living room, sprawled out on top of one another while Sade’s Stronger Than Pride vinyl spins on the record player. It took another round in the shower and then a thirty minute joint effort of trying to rid my skin of makeup before we left the bathroom. I’m dressed in a Thor t-shirt that barely grazes my thighs as they drape over his legs. My phone is in his hands as he goes through all of the pictures I managed to take tonight as well as the ones that have been sent to me sporadically from my new friends. I watch as he stops on one of Mari and me, mid laughter, drinks in hand. For once we actually look our age.

“Y’all look so much alike that you could be sisters. How did y’all meet? I want to know the origin story,” he says.

“We have lived next door to each other our whole lives. I don’t know a day where she’s not in it in some kind of way,” I said, strumming my fingers on top of his chest to the beat of the current song.

“Our brothers were super close too before Lonso moved away. After he left, Mari’s brothers got pulled toward the streets. The summer of our junior year they robbed this drug dealer in our neighborhood. That man was known for being vicious and as soon as word got back that it was them it was all downhill. Her second oldest brother Ramon was killed outside of his highschool and a few weeks later Martin, the eldest got locked up for killing that same drug dealer in retaliation. He’s serving life upstate and her parents went back to DR right after we graduated. During this time I was almost evicted three times and was struggling to survive.”

Xavier’s hold on my waist tightens as I go through memories in my mind. They play vividly as I try to sum up the hardest time in my life. “And through it all, we looked out for one another. I did her homework on the days she spent at court translating for her parents and she always made sure I had something warm to eat. We have gone through so much in that building. More than we should have had to honestly but we remained constant. We’re sisters in all of the ways it counts.”

“I’m glad that you two have each other. That y’all were never alone even when it felt like you were,” he said.

“So am I,” I said, watching as he locks my phone and sets it aside. “How did you and your friends meet?”

At that he smiles as he shakes his head. “Aiden and I met in first grade. He asked me to be his lookout on a cookie caper. Rah we met in middle school during 7th grade gym class and once the three of us got together, we’ve been at the hip ever since.”

“Cookie caper is hilarious. I like Aiden, he seems like a good time and Rah seems like the opposite of both of you,” I said.

I had gotten the chance to speak to both of them via Facetime not too long ago. Aiden ended up stealing the phone from Xavier and locking himself in the bathroom. For twenty minutes we talked about why rap girls are dominating and the best place for wings in the city. It was Rah who jimmied the bathroom door open with a belt buckle and proceeded to put Aiden in a headlock all while apologizing for his friends foolishness as Xavier retook possession of the phone. I laughed so hard that my stomach ached afterwards.

“That’s a pretty accurate observation except Rah is like the balance of us both. He just talks way less,” he replied, playing with the fingers I had laid on my chest.

“When I was…doing the most our senior year they never gave up on me. They would call me out for being on bullshit and even tried to help me find other ways to get out from underneath my father’s thumb. I had been so adamant about having to be loud with my actions so I wasn’t listening for real. I was desperately trying to be heard.”

I watched as his face lost some of the playfulness that had been there only moments before. His expression grew more grave as thoughts from the past came flooding forward.

“Is that how…,” I trailed off, knowing he would fill in the blank.

“Yeah. I was hanging out with the wrong crowd. Guys I knew would help me on the mission to piss my father off. One night, they decided that we should steal cars and we did. I got caught because I crashed into a pole. It was a stick shift and I never drove one of those before. Due to my father’s connections those three months were the only ones I served but I was on probation for five years. When I got out, they helped me enroll in school and find a job because at that point my parents were done with me. I was living with my grandparents which is why I feel like I owe them so much. They took a chance on me when no one else would,” he said.

It angers me that Xavier has often felt like there wasn’t anyone in his corner. Coming from a family of his size I assumed the opposite would be the case. I’m grateful he had his grandparents and friends to lean back on when his parents gave up. For some reason I wish that he didn’t have the uglier experiences of life. He is too much like light to hold onto such darkness.

“I love them for that. Your friends too. Parents…they forget what it’s like to be young. To be scared. To be discounted. Or hell, sometimes they remember and they hold on too tight instead of pushing away,” I say.

“In either scenario they only see themselves and that is the problem but it’s their problem. Not mine, not yours,” he said, using the arm wrapped around my waist to hoist me on top of him fully. I caress his face in my hand, tracing over the slopes of his high cheekbones with the pads of my fingers, willing the tension to ease from them.

We both carry the weight of burdens that don’t belong to us. They merely have been passed on from generation to generation with the expectancy that there will always be someone to shoulder the load. We are tired from problems that aren’t our own. In our respective ways, we have been trying to unload the weight, and find ourselves in the freedom that is being able to move freely.

“I agree,” I said, settling my legs around his waist. He reaches up to play with the ends of my braids. The cloudiness is clearing from his expression and I use the opportunity to pivot. “It’s crazy that it’s almost four in the morning but I could stay up and talk to you for hours.”

A smitten grin spreads across his lips as he says, “I know what you mean. I talk to scores of people every day but no conversation holds a candle to yours.”

“Xay,” I say softly.

“I’m for real. You’re the best part of my day. Even when we don’t have time to talk for real just knowing you’ll answer the phone whenever I call is enough to temper the worst of days and highlight the best of them,” he said, adoration in the forefront of his gaze.

I don’t have to second guess any of his words. It’s more than evident that he means each one with the way my heart wants to escape my chest. His vulnerability inspires my own.

“You brought the sun back into my world Xay. The least I can do is answer the phone,” I said, fingers settling on the sides of his neck. His hands move to cover mine, fingers threading between. He brings our joined hands up to his lips and kisses the back of my hand repeatedly.

“You are my world Mila.”

I almost tuck my chin as the blush takes over my face but I’m reminded of words from earlier when he squeezes my fingers. Worthy. This is another sign from the universe that anything I want is at my fingertips and I want Xavier more than I thought I had the capability to. Between him and Jazz, I am an unstoppable force. This in mind, I meet his eyes as a smile takes over my face which he returns with his own. We stare at each other until the space between us closes. Until his lips are on mine. Until I’m sinking on him. Until the sun rises over our shoulders.

#metamorphasisff #slow burn romance #black romance #Black Fiction

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cringecannon · 29 days

Note

I’m obsessed with the idea of there being some Normal Person ™️ who was kind to Astarion when he was a vampire spawn that maybe he’s a little unhealthily obsessed with. Maybe they’re a bartender at one of the establishments where he picked up victims for Cazador, maybe a seamstress who gave him thread for his embroidery or to patch up his clothing, maybe just someone who had kind words for him and didn’t try to hit on him, who knows? But it would be verrrrrry interesting to see an Ascendant Astarion encountering that Normal Person again, maybe deciding to “reward” them for being kind to him when he was nothing. Though I’m not sure if his idea of a reward would be what they would consider a reward….

(Also as an aside, I love your writing! I check your blog daily and my friends and I are constantly sending each other your Gortash and Astarion posts like “wake up, babe, new cringecannon dropped”)

He wasn't entirely sure why he was so enamored with you. To put it bluntly, you were just so... plain. Unassuming. Normal. Sure, you were nice. Plenty of people were nice to him though, and he didn't spare them a second thought. He watches you over the chalice of wine in his hand, seated in a dark corner of the bar.

Dark eyes follow the movement of your fingers as you carefully flip the page of whatever book you're reading. He glances up to your mouth, memorizing the twitch of your lip as you half-smile at some thought. Vanity rears it's head. You must be thinking of him. You had spoken to him for maybe a minute, one transaction out of hundreds, but how often did you get to see a face as pretty as his?

Not often, he hopes. A bolt of insecurity cuts through him. He feels pathetic, desperate. It sickens him. He could take anyone in this tavern home with him, and he's not going to sit around and let you make him feel inferior. His eyes settle on some pretty thing sitting alone at the bar and takes his wine with him, swaying over to his mark. Out of the corner of his eye, he tries to see if you're watching. You're not, staring down at your book like it's the most important thing in the room. He refuses to let you deflate his ego. His master wouldn't want you anyway. He'll waste no more time obsessing over some boring nobody.

He does, though. Watching you becomes a treat for him. Speaking with you when he he shops becomes a whole event. The last time he saw you, you'd finally started to recognize him. A warm smile lit up your face as you reached for the exact kind of thread he always comes in for. It was fate, of course, that he'd be abducted the next day.

That first night in camp he wonders if you'll miss him. If you'd think about him as fondly as he thinks of you. Reality crashes in, and the fact that you probably won't is bittersweet. He had been playing a dangerous game with you. Any closer, and Cazador probably would have found out. You'd have been just another thing to take away from him. It was safer this way.

He doesn't think about you much after that. Facing death everyday tends to do that.

It's not until Cazador's blood has long since dried on his hands that he thinks of you. He washes his skin absentmindedly, trying to remember all that he could about you. It wasn't much, honestly. He didn't know your name, but he knew the kind of books you liked to read and the way your eyes shined when your hand touched his when he paid for his thread. It was a start. No one else in camp had kept his attention long. He needs someone to sit by his side and look good for all eternity, and you'd do just fine.

That settles it, in his mind. When the elder brain business is over, he'll start courting you. He thinks he should start by buying the shop you work in. Get rid of the owner somehow, and then he'll give it to you. Once you fall for him (and you will, because you're just too perfect to be so ungrateful after receiving such a thoughtful gift), he'll invite you to live in his new manor. If you're a bit more stubborn, it won't matter. He's not yet sure what hovel you live in, but he's sure you'll appreciate the upgrade.

He sits up a little taller, a small smile on his face as he dries his hands. Should he make you his spawn before he marries you, or after? On one hand, it'd be the perfect way to start the honeymoon. On the other, if he turns you early your cooperation would be guaranteed. He hums to himself. Decisions, decisions. Honestly, it's too soon to worry about it. He has the rest of his everlasting life to woo you. No point stressing over it now.

#this ask is old but it's crazy how many friend groups used to share my content with each other #.astarion #.bg3

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undertale-writing-times · 1 year

Note

Can I have a SFW Alphabet of Fellswap Gold Sans?

Of course! Thank you for asking.

A is for Affection

how affectionate are they?

Very :)

how do they show affection?

Mostly checking up on you whenever he gets the chance to. He worries about you and wants to make sure that you're alright.

B is for Best friend

what would they be like as a best friend?

Having him as a best friend, you often see him only in his best. He doesn’t talk about any problems or issues.

how would the friendship start?

No idea, dude.

D is for Domestic

do they want to settle down?

He does! He thinks that it would be a lot of fun to get married and settle into a nice house.

how are they at cooking and cleaning?

He’s alright at cooking, hard to do sometimes with the whole blind thing.

E is for Ending

if they had to break up with their s/o, how would they do it?

Face to face. He dislikes people who do it over the phone.

why would they do it?'

There are a lot of reasons on why he would break up with his partner. Most likely just it wasn't working and he knew that it wasn't fun for either of them.

F is for Fiancé(e)

how do they feel about commitment?

As said before, I think he would love to get married.

how quick would they want to get married?

It would take him a while to feel the want, but not as long as you might be thinking.

G is for Gentle

how gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?

He is very gentle when he wants to be. He's sweet, kind, and dislikes fighting but he will if forced.

J is for Jealousy

how jealous do they get?

He doesn't ever seem to get jealous

L is for Little ones

how are they around children?

He's good with children but has a hard time keeping track of too many of them at once.

M is for Morning

how are mornings spent with them?

Trying to wake him up haha he's a very heavy sleeper.

N is for Night

how are nights spent with them?

The two of you getting ready for bed, and talking. Wolf most likely bugging you both cause he doesn't want to go to bed yet.

O is for Open

when would they start revealing things about themselves?

It would... take a while.

do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?

He would take a bit to reveal everything, and it would be little by little.

P is for Patience

how easily angered are they?

He tries to not be angry, anger doesn't help anything.

Q is for Quizzes

how much would they remember about you?

He remembers a creepily lot of stuff. It's like he never forgets anything that you tell him...

R is for Remember

what is their favorite moment in your relationship?

One time someone was trying to make fun of him for not being able to see, and you helped by telling the guy to leave him alone. He thought it was sweet, even though he could handle it himself.

S is for Security

how (over)protective are they?

He's fairly sure that you could handle yourself, and if you can't, then he'll protect you but he only does it if you really need help.

how would they like to be protected?

He normally dislikes being protected but... he does like you standing up for him at times. He thinks that it's cute.

T is for Try

how much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?

Quite a bit! He wants you to be happy

U is for Ugly

what would be some bad habits of theirs?

He hates to ask for help.

V is for Vanity

how concerned are they with their looks?

Not... not very at all -w-'

W is for Whole

would they feel incomplete without you?

Hmm no, I don't think he would. He loves you, but he knows that he's himself.

X is for Xtra

(a) random headcanon(s) for them

He doesn't trust any lizards and or lizard monsters.

Y is for Yuck

what are some things they wouldn't like, either in general or in a partner?

I don't think he would like someone that wants to always be the hero or blah blah blah

Z is for Zzz

what are some sleep habits of theirs?

Hard to tell when he's asleep since his eyes are always closed.

#Fellswap Gold #Fellswap Gold Sans #Chief

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theorist-influencer-untitled · 27 days

Text

3.2.24 Tuesday

10:08 am

I still have windblow... Got the 2 mineral water containers, my favour on Kuya Erning...

Cleaning my nails coz I don't have budget now to go to nails salon and watching "Santa Clarita Diet"... Will my future husband allow me to be a zombie or vampire??? Weird!

11:34 am

I still have windblow... I still wanna leave the hometown and get some progress... I feel so frustrated... I feel fat,ugly and old for nothing.. Nothing on my pages...These are not my actual story,angels....

12:42 am

Hmmm...Still have windblow and listening to that fucking radio station of INC or Church Of Christ... I can multi-task watch and listen to radio station...

Hmmm...The topic is if you are ready to have sex with someone and get married right away?

Or you wanna find a bf or gf for SEX?

For me it depends...Life is a case by case...On the case of Pilot Garret, I feel that it is "love at first sight" at the same time I can imagine myself with him on good position coz I'm aging and I like his face... But it is so sad he got a gf and I can't interfere on that...

But he mentioned on one of his youtubes that he wanted a "go dutch" hmm...It means I can never be his type? I don't know... Coz his gf is having a career... He is telling something about the "mug shot" coz a person can deliver an indirectly message by using a particular terminologies...

For other people who wanted a bf or gf just for SEX well it is their own personal choice... It is their "freewill"... You don't wanna acquire bacterias or any kind of viruses, so everytime if you want to have SEX, you have a bf or gf that you can call... Coz if you have a bf or gf you can just say hey! I think I need it now... I wanna have SEX and that vagina or penis is exclusively for you... I'm not judgemental on liberated coz I'm also scared of getting diseases down there.

1:01 pm

I'm thinking of money and job and I don't know... I feel frustrated...I'm trying to get a job for 17 years and someone is smashing me always for 17 years...

1:24 pm

I feel super self-pity... Still, waiting for a job and now I can't exist. I see no one which is weird for me... I have windblow...

I need money... I need a job.... Getting a bf is difficult for me, it is just my intuition is guiding me....

We are on a tight budegting... What else? I'm so frustrated in life for not being able to buy even a Starbucks everyday... Plus,my vanity... I feel so ugly now... I'm a college graduate but nothing here...

2:06 pm

I'm planning to walk John later coz his behaviour is somehow a rebel since yesterday or he is worrying or jealous of Neko...

2:43 pm

My 2 Uncle's are somehow fake they can't assist me on money,angels....I need money and job and I wanted to leave Cavite...

I wanna get a nose perfection and remove my deep smile lines....Aging for nothing here, so sad...

7:23 pm

We went out awhile ago me and John to revive his rebel character... But I hate our village it is not that pretty here... Hoping I can leave Cavite and be somewhere...

Where is Mark? Is he nearby?? I want a mature bf like Pilot Garret or big, tall but not too much bulky... I want pretty face but I want my bf to be supportive of my vanity like a nose perfection... I will feel bad if Mark is just observing nearby...

I want my bf who loves dogs and able to love my son-dog... Who will respect my craziness on my baby-John...

8:31 pm

I need to wash John's floor mat... Longing to have yaya or to have a personal assistant...

I have this self-pity for so long... I still have windblow...

Good thing,John return to his normal behaviour and him doing the "zoomies"...

0 notes

hansolmates · 3 years

Text

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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urmomsmainbitch · 3 years

Text

wonder woman

requested: yes / no

pairing: max mayfield x fem!reader

warnings: pining, angst, swearing, mentions of death, mentions of school, omg the writing is shit i’m so sorry

a/n: i love lucas so much (based off of i wish you liked girls by abbey glover)

i grew pretty attached to you, like a dog on a lead / thought you were everything i could have ever dreamed of, and more than i could ever need

The phone was cool against her ear, ringing for the third time as she twisted your fingers into the cord, tapping her foot impatiently. This was the second time that she had tried Max that evening; once before dinner, and now once after. She’s probably still eating, one part of her said. No, she’s probably off making out with Lucas, the other said. Nibbling on her lip, Y/N leaned into the doorframe, letting her entire body slump against the wall as she slid down, before landing on the cold hardwood floor. Max had only started taking this long to answer recently – once she and Lucas had become official, and more serious. Ever since high school started, you never saw Lucas without Max, and Max without Lucas.

“C’mon, Maxie,” Y/N murmured, tapping her finger and trying the girl again, looking at the watch on her wrist. She’d even waited half an hour after Max normally ate dinner, hoping to catch her so they could talk to each other. They hadn’t been doing that as often, the redhead never wanting to spend a waking moment away from her boyfriend. Y/N saw it, she supposed, Lucas wasn’t a bad looking guy, and he was nice. But he was nice. That was it. He wasn’t smart, or funny, or entertaining. He was just there. Just a phase, she kept telling herself, Lucas is just a phase. But what after Lucas? What happened when Max finally took notice of Matt Donahue in her math class, who’s always making googly eyes at her? Or, what if she just happened to meet Sam Davis’ eyes in English? What then? Lucas would be forgotten, sure, but he’d be replaced in nearly no time.

On her third attempt, she hung up the phone, slamming it into the receiver. That was the second time this week.

always thought you looked at me differently than any other you’d see / thought you were aching to see me at any, any possibility

“So, what should we do?” Max asked her, bright eyes looking between her and El, who was sitting on the other end of the bed, laying on her stomach as she flipped through a comic book. El didn’t used to come to their sleepovers. Come to think of it, Y/N couldn’t think of the most recent time that she had a sleepover with Max alone. They used to have them all of the time: giggling under the covers into the early hours of the morning, leaning on one another as they flipped through those comic books. Max’s loved copy of Wonder Woman, which used to rotate between her and Y/N’s houses, was now sitting on Lucas’ shelf. “We haven’t seen each other in forever. Especially not you, El!”

Y/N frowned. She saw El last week. She hadn’t spoken to her in two weeks. What happened to the whole, ‘I’m your best friend and you’re mine, Y/N/N!’ and the ‘I love you so much, and we’re best friends! I’d do anything for you, Y/N!’

“I’ve just been so busy, it’s crazy! I haven’t had any time with field hockey and band and everything like that.” Max laughed. Her face got all crinkled up, her freckles blending into one another as her blue eyes teared up with joy. It would have been gorgeous, had it not been a lie. Max used to frequently skip hockey practices to hang out, and since she hadn’t gotten team captain, her practices had decreased. Max used to see her whenever she could, but of course, now she’d spend her time with Lucas, or with El, or with anybody other than her. Max used to put her on a pedestal, but now, it looks like anybody who shows her any attention at all gets all of hers.

i could be your bitch and tell you a million reasons why being with me would be much better than with any other guy / i could tell you I’ll treat you right and never wrong / tell you in my arms is where you belong / but I know that you can’t change someone / so I’ll just leave you alone

The next Friday, Max was back in Y/N’s bed, flipping through a magazine while music played through the radio. Her beautiful red hair was falling into strands in front of her face, framing her gorgeous freckled pale skin, blue eyes piercing through the dimmed overhead lights. She looked like a goddess, her entire lanky body stretched out over the covers in a way that she could stare at for hours – watching the way that her face crinkled up when she read a funny entry, or seeing the way she nibbled on her bottom lip when she was interested.

“I don’t know what I should do for Lucas for our second anniversary.”

Y/N’s heart stopped. Of course she’d talk about Lucas. “Well, what does he like?”

“You know,” she smiled, folding her magazine and sitting up to look at the other girl. Y/N was walking out of the bathroom, tucking her hair behind her ear as she put Max’s next day outfit on the chair, folded neatly. “You know as much as I do about him. We both see him everyday.”

“Yeah, but you see him more than I do,” Y/N grimaced. “I don’t see him that much anymore, and I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“I feel like a shitty girlfriend.” Max avoided her statement. I haven’t seen you in forever – she’d even said it outright and then got ignored! You never talk to me anymore, and it’s always ‘Lucas this and Lucas that! I’m here, too!’

“You’re never a shitty girlfriend.”

“I turned him down to hang out tonight. The weekend of our anniversary, Y/N. You can’t even lie and tell me that’s a good look,” Max said, looking unbelieving. Her brows furrowed together. “I turn him down all of the time when I hang out with you and El. It makes me feel so terrible, especially because I see you so much.”

Y/N knew that she should shut up. She knew that she shouldn’t have said what she did, and she knew that there was absolutely no reason to do what she did. The words came out faster than she ever thought that they ever could, and she wanted nothing more than to crawl into a pit and die once the words left her lips. But,a part of her wanted to scream it from the rooftops, a part of her wanting to shout it again and again. It’d been bottled up for months and months, and it was twenty three months, three weeks, and five days after it had happened in the first place that she realized that it needed to be said sooner or later. “That’s a fucking lie, and we both know it. Don’t bullshit me, Max.”

“I’m not bullshitting you?” It was phrased like a question, and Max looked like she had just been accused of something much worse. “I see you all the time–”

“Yeah, see, that’s what the lie is,” Y/N chuckled, sitting down, putting the pile on her lap. The feeling of rejection that had been sitting in the pit of ehr stomach for nearly two years now was bubbling up and up, and the words were spilling out of her mouth before she could stop them. “He’s just a stupid boy! He’s not funny, he’s not smart, he’s not entertaining, and he’s not worth it! You’ve been blowing me off for months, Max, and I’m so sick and tired of pretending like I don’t notice everything!”

Y/N kept going.

“You ignore me again and again, and we both know that anybody would be so much better than Lucas of all people!”

“Like who?! Lucas is so much better–”

“Like me!” Max finally fell silent, the color draining from her face as she dropped her magazine on the bedspread. Her hands trembled, and her eyes glassed in only a few moments. The ugly monster that had been hiding under the bed, in the closet, and behind her in her own shadow had finally come out; shrouding the entire room in a thick and uncomfortable silence. Every word broke a deeper part of Y/N, and cracked a part of Max. She almost stopped, but at this rate, who knew when she would finally be left alone with her long enough to dare say them again? “Me, Max! You act so insightful, wise one, and then you fucking shit all over anything I say and do, and it hurts me every fucking day that I fall morw and more in love with you when all you do is ignore my fucking existence for some guy who doesn’t even know who Jane Austen is!” Her voice trembled with every word, and as the house fell quieter and quieter, the sheer stupidity of the whole idea grew and grew.

The room remained silent as Max gathered her things. She didn’t bother to take her new change of clothes, now on the floor. They would go in a shoebox in the closet, along with the pictures and notebooks and comics. She ignored the new friendship journal that was sitting on the vanity, untouched and unused by them. It never would be – it would be sold at a yardsale. Y/N met her eyes as Max picked up the Wonder Woman copy that was sitting on the bed, pleading her not to take it. Don’t take this, she begged, please don’t take this. Leave me this, please. Max picked it up, and put it in her bag.

That would be the Mayfield-Sinclair children’s first comic book – the one that would sit in their library until their perfect little house on the cul-de-sac sold.

and i know you don’t swing that way, but that won’t take my feelings away / oh i wish you liked girls; oh i wish you liked girls / girls like me

#max mayfield fanfiction #max mayfield x reader #max mayfield angst #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x you #max mayfield #maxine mayfield #stranger things season 2 #lucas sinclair #mike wheeler #dustin henderson #via.writing

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mothra-mcyt · 3 years

Text

☾ Dream SFW Alphabet ☽

!No Warnings!

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

He's not that good with words so usually he shows affection through gifts. Most of the time he loves to give you expensive gifts but when you tell him that he doesn't always need to buy you expensive gifts he starts giving you smaller gifts.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Having him as a best friend would honestly be so fun. Long late night gaming sessions or speedruns would be a normal occurrence if you're up for it.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

His love language may not be physical touch but that doesn't mean he doesn't like cuddling. When you cuddle with him and your head is laying on his chest he likes to play with your hair. When you're spooning will have one arm under your head as a pillow and the other one on your stomach

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

I feel like he's alright with cooking and really likes to try out new things when it comes to food. Isn't that good at cleaning though but will gladly help if you explain him how.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Would think about doing it for a long time it's definitely not a sudden decision from him. Would do it in person and tries his best to make it sound like it wasn't your fault. If you're really sad it will break his heart and he will try his best to comfort you.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

I think he would need some time to think about it because marriage kind of a big deal. Also first asks you if you even would want to get married someday or if you don't really like marriage or its concept.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He isn't afraid to voice his opinion but makes sure that he's nice and gentle with his words so that he doesn't hurt you in any way emotionally. He's also very gentle with physical touch at first slowly wrapping his arms around you whenever he hugs you but after some time when he sees that you feel bad he'll pick you up and give you a tight hug.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

He likes hugs because it means he can make you feel safe. Likes to hug you from behind, lay his head on yours and wrap his arms around your front. If the situation is really intimate he will put on hand on your back, the other one on your head patting your hair and giving you a forehead kiss.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

I feel like he'd only say it if you say it to him first. For him saying those words don't really have a high value because he likes to show his loves in other ways.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

I feel like it would take him a lot to get jealous but if he is he's really protective and kinda possessive. Will wrap and arm around your waist, give you a long kiss and glare at whatever person that made him jealous

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Most of the time his kisses are really pationate and make you loose your breath. But if the situation is more intimate his kisses are softer gentle. Also really likes giving you forehead kisses if you're shorter than him.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

I feel like he'd either be really lost or just have fun with them. Whatever they're playing with he wants to play with it too. You leave him alone for 1 hour with kids and suddenly he becomes one of the children.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

I feel like he's not a morning person so when you two wake up he'll just hold you close to him. This is either spent in comfortable silence or with talking about whatever you guys wanna talk about. Or he will just tease the shit out of you.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Usually the nights are spent with playing video games together usually speedrunning. If you're too tired to play with him but still want to be near him he'll let you cuddle him while laying in his lap. A smile appears on his lips whenever he looks down at you and sees you looking cute while sleeping.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

I feel like he doesn't trust people very easily and doesn't really like appearing vulnerable so it'll take him a while to start opening up to you. But when he opens up to you he says everything at once.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

I feel like he gets annoyed pretty easily but not angry. It's also never about you. Usually it's about a video game or not being able to do something at firsy try.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

I feel like he wouldn't be able to remember your birthday or your favorite colour but remembers very specific things about you. For example he remembers when the age when you learned to swim or your childhood trauma but doesn't remember what you said 5 minutes ago.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

It was probably when he first introduced you to his chat and the people on the dream smp. As soon as he introduced you Tommy called Dream and screamed at him on why he has a partner. He said that you're better of without Dream and better with him as a joke

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

I feel like he's very protective over you but not possesive. If he sees you getting made uncomfortable by someone he'll wrap an arm around your shoulder or waist.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He puts a lot of effort into gifts and every day tasks because he likes to help you. Depending on your preferences he puts more or less effort into dates and anniversaries.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He tends to overwork himself and forget everything around him and if you try to get him to stop he will sometimes react a litte annoyed but as soon as he realises how exhausted and tired he really is he will apologise and take a small break from work to hang out with you.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He's somewhat concerned about his looks but also not that much. When he's concerned about his looks it's not really becayse he's worried about other people's opinions but more because he wants to look good for himself.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

I feel like he can get very needy and is very clingy so if you're gone for some time for whatever reason he would feel very incomplete.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

He asked one of your friends for your favorite type of flower so he can always have those flowers standing around at your house in a vase

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

A partner that can get very jealous when he's only hanging out with his friends. Because those are his friends and he just wants to hang out with them but if you already get jealous because you don't get to be with him 24/7 then you're just not good for him :/

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He tends to speak or murmur in his sleep which has lead to a lot of funny conversations between you and sleeping him. And he's also a very deep sleeper so if you're cuddling with him then you can prepare for not being able to get up for a long time.

Masterlist

#dream x reader #mcyt headcanons #mcyt headcannon #mcyt dream #dream sfw alphabet #mcyt sfw alphabet #mcyt fanfiction #dream smp headcanons #dreamwastaken #dreamwastaken x reader #dreamwastaken x you #dream x y/n #sfw alphabet #own idea

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okarawrites · 3 years

Note

Can I get both a SFW and NSFW alphabet for Future Trunks???

Thank you for aiding my obsession.

Of course! Here is the SFW and i'll get working on the nsfw one asap!

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

He isn't the most touchy person in public, but he also isn't afraid to wrap his arms around you when you two are alone. He tends to just go with what you're comfortable with.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

He's loyal AF! He will defend you to the end. The friendship would probably start after you help him out in a fight or help him to gather supplies.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

He loves to hold your head under his chin. The man has spent his whole life in fear of losing those he loves to you bet he's going to hold you like you're the most precious thing on earth.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

This man doesn't have enough time for cooking and cleaning. It's a daily fight for survival so settling down isn't something he plans, but he hopes that it could happen one day.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

He'd be as kind as possible. He'd feel awful about it, but he would let you down gently.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Again, his worlds in a bit of a rut. But he dreams of a rebuild society were he could make an honest guy/gal/non-binary pal out of you.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He's gentle at heart, but he's had to harden over the years. But in the right setting he will show his gentle nature.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

He loves a hug, but as said before isn't much into pda's. Though he will always offer a hug to those who need it.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

It takes him a while. He's scared of getting attached to people as he's already lost so much. So he'll try and convince himself that he isn't in love for a long time.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He hates to admit it, but he often feels a pang of jealousy. I think he definitely felt it a bit when he travelled to the past. To see a version of himself who had both his mother and father definitely stirred some unwanted emotions.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

They're passionate. Every kiss is like the last. He takes nothing for granted so he'll be intense and take your breath away.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He's great with kids! They love him and his friendly and protective way. He always seems to soothe them.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

He's an early riser so he's normally up before you, but he'll always give you a kiss before he head out.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

He's usually very tired at the end of the day, so expect a lot of laying together talking about your hopes and dreams.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He'll reveal things slowly. Not necessarily because he's secretive, but he want to know about you more than anything.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

He's quite patient and understanding. Only really angry if someone hurts someone he loves.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He remembers every detail about you and will often surprise you by referencing little details you once said.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Any time when he can make you smile.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Extremely protective! He will lay down his life for you.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He doesn't have access to a lot, but he will always be thoughtful and try his best.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He gets in his own head a lot. End up blaming himself for things that he couldn't have prevented.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He's not overly concerned, but definitely knows what works on him. The man was raised by Bulma after all!

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Yes, you're one of the few people he still has. He couldn't risk losing you.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

He has a major sweet tooth and gets super excited when he finds any canned fruit, though he will always make sure you have some too.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He absolutely hates recklessness. It stresses him tf out!

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He's a very light sleeper so wakes in the night often

#Future Trunks x Reader #future trunks #dbz #Okara Writes Future Trunks

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adamfoolcry · 3 years

Text

i hate you, i love you (k.dy)

it's valentine's day and you try your hardest not to fall back in the arms of one kim doyoung - your former boss, recluse and closed off, your fuck buddy - whom you are completely in love with.

pairings: CEO!Doyoung x Fem!Reader, Johnny x Fem!Reader rating: 18+ genre: angst and smut warnings: swearing, explicit sexual situations - hate sex, dirty talk wc: 3k+ prompt: 'i hate you'

a/n: This is a part of Candy Hearts Collab hosted by @127-mile . Text in blockquote are text messages.Thank you for beta reading simmi(@sly-merlin ) and indi(@ncteaxhoe). Not proofread excuse the mistakes please contact me if you would like to do so. Enjoy! - xo aria

Doyoung:

I don't know if you'll even read this but if you do, I want you to know that what we have for two years was not a game for me. Maybe we can't start being honest with each other. When you make up your mind you know where to reach me.

Mina really knows how to dress you up to the nines, you'll give her that.

"It's not bad," you nod at your reflection approvingly as you examine the dress you wrestled yourself in, clinging to your body in the right places effectively enhancing your silhouette. The soft silky texture of satin feels exquisite against your skin however you can’t exude the confidence the dress might have channeled you with. You don’t feel grand in fact you feel the opposite;

You want to cancel the date.

"Oh for christ's sake, ______. Maybe try to put some enthusiasm into this," Mina spun you around to face her, your back to the whole body mirror where a while ago you two were examining the outfit she picked up from the back of your closet - where dressier clothing of yours reside not seeing the light of the day unless for special occasions.

Placing both her hands on your shoulders, "You were so excited when you called me to pick something to wear. What happened?" She further inquired.

You heave a sigh, "I don't know I am just not in a mood to go out on a date with a stranger," you admitted.

Mina pulls your eyes back to hers, gleaming with determination. "You are ______, an economics major who graduated on top of her class, who landed a new job as a senior financial analyst despite being in the industry for only three years. Now repeat it," Mina orders you.

"What does it have to do with -" you rolled your eyes, and whined dramatically.

She clicks her tongue on the roof of her mouth in displeasure, "Go on say it"

"I am ______, graduated on the top of my class and landed a new position as a senior financial analyst despite my tenurity," you mumble in a low voice.

"Good," Mina coddled you as if you are an infant who uttered her first word, "now add I am young, smart, and men want me."

You open your mouth to protest but Mina only pinned you with a hard look and you know you will not be getting out of this until you do as she says.

"I am young, smart, and men want me." You did as she told you.

Begrudgingly you did feel a lot better.

This is the third step of banishing Kim Doyoung in your life entirely.

First is to send a resignation letter - done.

Second, secure a new employment - done.

Third is to pursue a romantic relationship.

"Now let's get you ready for your date." Mina pulled you to the present, squeezing your bare shoulders to comfort you.

"I know that what you did is really hard. The sudden big change and all but today's Valentine's day you need to have a little fun today."

"I know Mina, now do my makeup." You pulled her to where your vanity table is located as you paste a smile on your face in order to placate her worries.

--------

If people were to know why you are doing this they might have called you silly.

After graduating from university you were offered the position of financial analyst in his company - a small but budding start up in Tech. Never would you have expected to land a job in your chosen field straight out of college. You are doing what you have envisioned yourself doing: analysing the trends and forecasting sales of the company's cloud solutions. You are comfortable with your current living situation, not what you have imagined after your parents cut you off no longer sending you an allowance. You thought you'd be working your ass off to make ends meet. Thankfully, the pay was high enough for you to live in an apartment in the city, pay your bills in time, and afford luxuries you knew that most people your age wouldn't have the money for.

Everything seems perfect right? A job that you genuinely love, good pay, living in the heart of the city but of course you just have to develop feelings for your boss: Kim Doyoung. And that complicates everything; enough for you to decide to completely start over again.

Kim Doyoung has managed to worm into every nook and cranny of your life.

Kim Doyoung is a magnetic man, of few words, stern straight brows, and wide shoulders swaddled in elegant suits. He runs the company based on data-driven decisions unafraid of taking risks that produces the highest profitable outcome. Working at his company where all ten workers directly reports and closely works with him, you and your colleagues have developed quite a personal relationship with him. It was not conventional per se but you guess this is how all start-ups operate with a slightly different work culture. Unlike big corporations there is no bureaucracy, filling for leaves can just be a phone call or a visit to his office.

As his only financial analyst almost never leaving his side. You'd like to think that Doyoung might have developed a soft spot for you, maybe not in a romantic sense but in a platonic friendly way. He values your opinion enough that he asks for your input in any pivotal decisions either in work or his personal life. Whether to facilitate the migration to cloud as external contractors of big corporations or to oversee the renovation of his penthouse. And in small things too honestly, after all he asked for your help to decide whether the decor should be a Bohemian vibe or modern minimalistic black and grey.

That was until you fucked after the in-office celebration of closing a big contract. One moment he is talking about the vase that serves as a centerpiece of his dining table that you helped him pick, the next he was pulling your arm leading you to a dimly lit room.

Yes, you did drink but you were sober enough to protest if you didn't want it; who are you kidding? Of course you wanted it to happen. Not one word of objection was uttered as he pinned you to the wall with your legs circling his waist. Instead of protests what left your lips was series of moans and his name in breathless pleas that he had to stuff your mouth with his fingers or else your colleagues will hear the two of you having sex two rooms away from them.

Doyoung slipped out of you stepping back to let you down.Your stilettos made a clicking noise as it came in contact with the tiled floor that echoed in your eardrums; deafening. Coming back down to earth and from your high is also the moment when you realized the mess you put yourself into by fucking Doyoung - your boss - in a storage room.

You righted both your disheveled appearances - to look as normal as possible - in order to go back to the pantry where the celebration was still in full swing. The tense silence that wrapped the atmosphere makes you want to shrivel in shame, both of you were aware of the line that you have crossed.

The unspoken words were hanging in the air -

It was a mistake. Let's forget this ever happened. - and you refused to acknowledge the elephant in the room, the stillness making you uncomfortable by the second.

"_______ -," Doyoung started.

"We don't have to talk about it Doyoung."

You moved for the door, not looking back to peek at Doyoung's expression. You just wanted to get out of the dusty storage room, the stuffy air and Doyoung's proximity, suffocating you.

You thought you were smart enough not to make the same mistake again but you seem to have a penchant for getting hurt because you did it again and again every chance you got. When the effects of orgasm are wearing off and you are left naked and vulnerable you always find yourself swearing that it will be the last time but you already knew you were lying.

You just can't get enough of Doyoung even though it hurts to pretend that each encounter was meaningless.

Sleeping with someone where you never knew where you stand at is excruciatingly painful.

You can't be jealous when you hear about the new girl he's with because you have no right.

It is painful when Doyoung gives you some false hope. Visiting you almost everyday in your small office bearing lunch for the two of you. He often spends half of his day loitering in your space, perching himself on the corner of your desk pushing around the knick knacks around your desk while you are busy with work.

Only to dash it when he tells you about the latest girl he's seeing which would mean your ears would bear the brunt of his relationship woes until it falls apart only for the vicious cycle to repeat again when he found himself in another one of his flings.

Everyday as he asks for relationship advice you feel yourself getting worn out and the green eyed monster roaring it's head, you try your hardest to tamp it down with your rational thinking.

What hurts the most is he started his series of flings a week after you hooked up, rubbing on your face that it means nothing to him at all.

So after countless hours, days, and months of anguish you started planning your escape.

--------

There are so many thoughts running through your head it starts with: Did I overdress? Is Johnny having a good time?

Then drifts into completely unrelated manners.

Did I manage to say goodbye to all of my co-workers? Clear out my desk in my office? Surrender my elevator pass to the friendly security guard? Retrieve my favorite mug in the pantry?

Will everything be ok? Will I excel at my new company? Will I fit in a big corporation?

Will I miss Doyoung?

Am I doing the right thing?

Johnny cleared his throat which broke your reverie, your eyes settling in his face but Johnny seems to find the table napkin worthy of his attention rather than maintaining eye-contact with you.

"I had fun today but I think -," You see Johnny hesitating to continue his sentence, linking and unlinking his fingers instead.

You get it and you can't blame Johnny for his lack of interest. You were barely with him today after the small talk had died down and the two of you had finished your meals. You didn't make an effort to get to know him, the conversation was one sided as you barely threw the questions back at him; replying in terse short sentences as if you would rather be anywhere but having dinner with him.

"Yeah me too but it's really nice to spend Valentine's with you though and getting all dolled up. Makes me forget I am single," You joked and flashed him a smile; relieved, Johnny finally met your eyes as his actions mirror yours curving his lips into a smile.

-------

You hailed a cab for a ride back to your apartment, settling in the backseat you instructed and gave the address to the driver as his radio blasted cheesy romantic songs in your ear, making you feel more disappointed with how bad your date with Johnny went.

As the cab speeds through the city, the citylights intermingle with each other creating a spectrum of colors that bounce back at the cab’s windows, the scenery of skyscrapers blurring past your eyes and your mind returns back to musing which you know is a dangerous territory because somehow your mind always returns back to him.

Doyoung

What exactly did you want to be with Doyoung?

You want him to like you? No, You want to mean something to him, to be the special person he runs to whenever he's devastated, to be the first person he calls when he's completely utterly bursting with joy. You want him to be completely aware of your presence that even just a mere mention of your name will evoke something in him, make his heart beat a little faster and cause some flush to bleed through his cheeks.

You want him to be endeared with your habitual tics - how you drum your fingers in every surface when you are in deep thought, a line maring your forehead between your brows and make his lips itch to kiss it. You want him to be captivated with your idiosyncrasies and find it charming, you want him to adore everything about you that made you, distinctly you.

You want him to want you.

Your phone vibrated and interrupted your stupor and upon seeing Doyoung’s name attached to the notification. Your fingers quickly unlocked your phone, fingers ringing from an adrenaline rush just from the sight of his name.

Doyoung:

Come over?

And just like that you inform your cab driver to make a detour and drive to Doyoung’s instead.

Doyoung opened the gigantic door of his penthouse where he found you on the other side of the door, shifting your weight from foot to foot, nervous to be in the same perimeter as him. When the gap was big enough to see you his eyes roved over to your body and noted that you were dressed up nicely for a date. His eyes then turned into slits as he glared at you.

“Have fun with your date?” He questioned and you can see his jaw set - the muscles clenching tight.

You didn’t answer, you don’t want him to know the pathetic evening you spent with Johnny as your mind drifts to thoughts of him; instead of actively participating with Johnny’s effort of back and forth.

As if knowing that you wouldn’t answer, his arms went to grab your forearms pulling you inside and leading you to the stairs up his loft where his bed is, you followed meekly behind him. Reaching his loft you look around and try to commit to memory the layout of the room; promising yourself that this will be the last time you will set foot in this room.

Doyoung attached his lips to your neck which drew a soft moan from you, spurred by your sounds he continued to ravish your neck oscillating between harshly sucking and peppering soft kisses on the expanse of the skin of your neck. His hands running at your sides smoothly and gradually getting closer to the underside of your breasts with each pass, when he finally cupped your mounds you arch in his palms further pushing yourself closer to him, greedy for his attention from all the teasing that he has done.

When he spoke again it fanned over the nape of your neck making your skin tingle from the warmth, “Why can’t you understand that I am the only one who can make you feel this way.”

You can smell the residue of whisky on his breath and you wanted to taste it on your tongue even though from all the times you have slept with him you two have never kissed. You have drawn the line there for kissing is much more intimate than slapping bodies againsts each other for satisfaction. Kissing can be done without sexual notions but a simple act between couples and it is a glaring truth that you two were not.

You found yourself naked and sprawled on his queen size bed where you have lain your back many times but never spent a night in. Even the off white color of his ceiling is familiar to you as if mocking you for all the times you said you wouldn’t see it again. As he slips your dress down your body, your eyes water and it pooled in your eyes ready to spill over. ‘This is the last time,’ you tell yourself again, 'this is the last time that I will be Doyoung’s beck and call.' When he was finished trailing his lips down and also discarding his clothes at the other side of the bed you managed to swipe the tears that gathered in your eyes and look at him.

Towering over you he was a sight to behold and you trace the line of his body with your eyes, caressing the dips on his collarbones and the line that leads down to his cock as his face coil into a smirk smug with the knowledge that he can turn you into a whimpering mess.

“What do you want?” He asked while splaying his hands on your stomach, his thumb drawing circles on your clit which made your moans even louder and your pussy clench on nothing. You hate that he was the only one who can make you feel this way, reducing you into a pleading mess as you move your hips to the rhythm that he has set.

You don’t have to tell him your guttural whines already told him what you wanted and he obliged inserting his length into you slowly, while you gripped his sheets until your knuckles turned white. You loved the way he filled you and the burn that accompanies when he stretched your clamping muscles on him.

So you let all your reasoning go because Doyoung’s cock pumping inside you felt good, too good.

He knows your body like an instrument, putting the right pressure and hitting the spots that makes you throw your head back repeatedly. You can feel the falter in his quick thrusts and knows that he is near his end. Doyoung makes this one sound at the back of his throat when he orgasms … and you follow suit too as he falls apart.

It took a few seconds for him to untangle his legs and arms from your figure and it took you a couple of minutes of staring at the walls, waiting until you felt your legs can support you before you stood up and searched for your dress and undergarments. You can hear the rustle of the sheets as Doyoung sits on his bed watching your back as you slip on your panties and pull your dress back in its place.

“So tell me why did you leave the company?” Doyoung asked, his voice ringing loudly in your ears.

“I told you already I want to work in a big company,” You try to answer nonchalantly.

“Really? Or does it have something to do with me?

“Oh for fuck’s sake Doyoung. The world doesn’t revolve around you!” You shouted at him as you turned around to face him. Your ire rising as you see the cold stoic look on his face - unaffected by your outburst.

“Then why does it feel like you are running away from me?” He stood up from the bed and warily approached you as if you will lash at him any moment.

“I hate you,” (I love you) you whispered under your breath the words not meant from his ears but he heard it anyway. Disbelief painted his features he cannot grasp the reason why you are suddenly acting like this.

He reached out to touch your arm but you swerved his hand like a hurt animal nursing a wound and Doyoung then noticed your bloodshot eyes and defensive stance.

“Don’t touch me. Whatever destructive thing this is Doyoung, I am done. We’re done,” You stated bluntly your voice devoid of emotions a complete contrast with how you hugged yourself tightly with your arms.

“You don’t mean that,” Doyoung said adamantly as color drained from his face, making his pale complexion - paper white.

“You can’t just walk away,” He added more to convince himself than you because he can see that hard look in your eyes - already set in the decision of walking away from him.

“Watch me Doyoung,” your lips curved into a cruel bitter smile.

You leave him with those words as he watches your retreating figure until it completely disappears from his line of vision.

--------

That night when you received a text from Doyoung, you never bothered to open it, opting to delete it and completely block all communications with him. You need to move on and in order to do it you need to sever all ties that might delude you to come back in his arms again.

You need to escape from Kim Doyoung for it's been due too long.

a/n: Read more of my works for NCT here:masterlist

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idontblushsrry · 3 years

Text

SFW Alphabet|| Megumi Fushiguro

A/N: Uhhhh I’m back on my bullshit >:) it’s missing Fushiguro hours folks.

Word Count: 2050

A: Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

(If you want some more in depth affection headcanons click here)

Fushiguro is someone who isn’t big on pda but makes up for it in private. In public, he’ll hold your hand but in private he’s laying i your lap while you massage his scalp. Basically, he’s a big softie that just represses his urge to cuddle until he’s alone with you.

B: Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Best friend Megumi is literally the president of the Y/N defense squad. If anyone has a problem with you, they have a problem with him. Of course, you have to rein him in sometimes and remind him you can fight your own battles, but just know he’s lookin out for you.

C: Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Fushiguro loves to cuddle, but he will repress the urge to do so for as long as possible. Because of that, he doesn’t let you go, preferring to cling to you throughout the night. His cuddles are always deceptively loose too. His arms give you just enough wiggle room but the second you try to get up, it’s like fighting two pythons.

D: Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

I don’t think he ever really planned on settling down, Megumi figured that he’d die long before he ever got the chance to settle down. Everyday is pretty much a new experience in terms of domesticity for him, he doesn’t have plans for the future, but as long as you’re with him, he’ll be happy.

E: Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

If he ever had to break up with someone, he’d probably ask for help on how to do so. The first person he’d ask (regrettably) would be Gojo who’d tell Megumi to just ghost the person. After asking around some more, he figured Kugisaki’s approach of getting it over with as bluntly as possible (although less mean) was the best option.

F: Fiance(e) (How would they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Megumi isn’t really the type for wedding ceremonies. He’s all about commitment (even though working up to marriage for him is longer than most) but he’s not a fan of being the center of attention, so a wedding ceremony/reception wouldn’t be his thing. If you wanted a ceremony, he’d be willing to compromise somewhat but otherwise, he’s perfectly fine with just going to the courthouse.

G: Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He’s kind of rough around the edges. In private, he can be the sweetest, most tender soul, but in public he’ll put 7 yards of distance between you both if you try to hug him. Basically, he’s very shy, so anything that’ll draw too much attention is a no go (he isn’t opposed to linking pinkies though).

H: Hugs( Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?

At first Megumi really only hugged you when he was missing you, sad, or tired. Over time though, he got better at becoming more open with his affection and he’ll hug you whenever he feels the urge to. Despite that though, his hugs still have an undercurrent of desperation in them. He holds on just as tight each time like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

I: I love you (How fast do they say the L-word)

He’s operating on a very strict ‘If you don’t say it, I won’t’ policy and as such this man will not say a single thing to you unless prompted. He knows deep down that he loves you and that you set off butterflies in his stomach every time you smile, but he never really thought to verbalize that until you say ‘I love you’ first.

J: Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous)

Megumi doesn’t get jealous, he’s fought side by side with you and he knows you’re more than capable of fending off any unwanted suitors. Megumi put a lot of trust into you by already being in a relationship so to him, it makes no sense to be jealous over you. That all being said, he’s not above the occasional side eye if someone’s getting a little too buddy buddy.

K: Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

On a normal day, his kisses are so natural, he’s so slow and the pressure is just enough to have you thinking you’ve got all the time in the world. In near death/ post-near death circumstances, he’s a little more feral. When he kisses you like that, it feels like it’s the end of the world and he’s trying to make the most of it.

L: Little ones (How are they around children)

Fushiguro isn’t good with kids that aren’t old enough to communicate. Older kids are fine with him, but guessing what a baby needs based on how loud it’s crying? Hard pass for him and he doesn’t even feel bad about it. The last time he had to watch a baby, he tried to leave one of his shikigami to watch it; long story short, he had to explain to a cackling Gojo why his demon dogs wouldn’t let him leave to go to the bathroom.

M: Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Mornings with Fushiguro are pretty rare. Most of the time you guys don’t really get to sleep in or even spend mornings together since most of the time there’s missions or trainings you’ll have to go to. When you do get the rare morning off, Fushiguro makes the most of it. He sleeps in and doesn’t wake up before 10 no matter what you try. When he does finally wake up, he loves cooking breakfast with you, he’s not the best cook, but he treasures the experience over anything.

N: Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Nights with Megumi are also rare as most curses come out at night and that’s kinda your guys’ job. If all goes well though, you’ll both come back a little earlier and just go straight to sleep. If it’s a late night where the curse took more out of either of you than expected, yall usually stay up and talk and snack until one of you falls asleep or the sun comes up.

O: Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

It takes him an extremely long time to open up to you about his past. Not because he doesn’t trust you, but because he’s embarrassed and doesn’t want you to think less of him for it (especially during his problem child era). To be honest, you probably find out about certain things from other people. Once he’s cornered confronted, he’ll be completely (albeit a bit grudgingly) honest about it.

P: Patience (How easily angered are they?)

His anger is kind of weird, whereas before, he was a lot quicker to explode, bluntly telling off or even fighting whoever pissed him off, he’s changed. He tries his best to repress his emotions and as such, he comes off as patient, never expressing his true feelings/desires until pushed to the brink.

Q: Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He’s the king of remembering details you mention in passing. His love language is partially acts of service so for him, remembering details about you helps him later. Oh remember that one time you needed a pen/pencil but didn’t have one? Never again, this man has a section of his shadows dedicated solely to pencils because of you. Oh what’s that, you like this random song? Guess what just got added to the playlist he made for you. Basically, while he may not look like it, he’s actually a simp and so if he can make your life easier/ make you happy, it’s worth it.

R: Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

So Megumi is someone who doesn’t play video games but is really good at them for no reason. One day, you’re playing a game of smash bros. and he’s just kicking your ass, like it was sad. Needless to say, after his 4th win, he “accidently” pressed the wrong button and let you win. He thinks you don’t know he did this but when you won, you kissed him and completely flustered him, to the point that he couldn’t play for a solid 5 minutes.

S: Security (How protective are they? How would they like to be protected?)

Despite knowing and trusting that you can defend yourself, he’s still super protective of you. You’re one of the few people that he cares about in the world and he’d give everything to see you safe and protected. As for how he’d like to be protected, knock some sense into him every once in a while. He has a habit of self sacrificing so if you want to protect him, remind him that you want to keep him alive as much as he wants to keep you alive.

T: Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

On the outside, his dates are very simple. They usually consist of you and him either staying in or just hanging out at stores and the like. Every once in a while, he’ll try to take you somewhere special, like a cove he found or a festival. For most people, these may be simple dates, but Fushiguro puts so much effort into so may aspects of your dates that honestly, anything bigger would lose the personal touch your dates have.

U: Ugly (What are some bad habits of theirs? (I’m gonna add arguments here because they aren’t on the prompt list I found))

One of his worst habits is his self-sacrificing tendencies. Even during a baseball game, he can’t help but sacrifice himself (especially if it means his friends/ you get to get the glory). With time though, he grows out of this and realizes it’s not selfish to want the best for yourself.

V: Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He’s giving “I woke up like this” and it’s... it’s something. One might think the style is intentional since obviously, the look could only be achieved with gel, and to an extent, it is intentional. He might use gel to spike it a little more but the man legit rolls out of bed and chooses to leave his hair up like that.

W: Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

No, as much as he loves you, Fushiguro is an introvert. He needs time to just be by himself and unwind every once in a while, so he’s got no complaints if you leave him to his own devices or have to be gone for a long time.

X: (E)xes (Any previous relationship experience. How does that factor into your current relationship?)

Megumi has negative zero relationship experience. He’s never found someone that was worth the risk/ worth opening up to, hell, he just barely got friends when he entered high school. Because of this, every part of your relationship is like navigating uncharted waters.

Y: Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner)

He’s less someone to dislike a specific thing/ personality trait, and more someone who doesn’t like different people for different reasons, ex. Todo and Mai. If he had to pick a single trait, it’d probably have to be hypocriticism.

Z: Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

He is someone who will fall asleep spread eagle one night and the next be huddled into a tiny little section of the bed. Mercy on you if you try to cuddle because now you’re wrapped up into his unconscious acrobatic routine.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen imagines #megumi fushiguro x reader #fushiguro x reader #fushiguro jjk #jjk x black reader #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jjk headcanons #black reader #black!reader #idontblushsrry #x black reader

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sscoutregimentss · 3 years

Note

could you please do L, U, V, Y and Z for Armin Arlert Please Queen, i just passed by and i already love ur your account💕💕

i teared up a bit at how nice this ask is (´•ω•̥`) i wrote this in modern au again oopsy daisy

edit: added a read more bc this post is kinda long

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Armin is not terrible with kids, but no where near great. Growing up with no parents and having his grandfather die at such a young age led him to grow up fast, so he can't really relate to kids and what they... do.

Like he will see a baby and just talk normally to it. After doing some reading on why baby talk is important, he makes an effort to babble more to them but he really struggles. Or when he's with Gabi and Falco he asks them about quantum physics and Gabi is just like "uhhh I like fortnite."

He really tries. And it's not like he dislikes being around them, he just struggles, and kids don't really like him much either.

Also he cannot stand IPad kids. He blames it more on the parents then on the kids, because they're just kids, but one of his biggest peeves is crying, whiny children with snot on their bright blue silicone cases, eyes glued to a screen instead of dealing with the world. Since he is Armin, he's still polite and gentle with them, but the minute you're out of earshot he's complaining about it for a good 30 minutes.

In terms of his own children, he's actually a really good parent. He did a lot of research on how to raise kids well and he does his best to make sure his kids get what he couldn't in terms of upbringing. He's some what distant? Like his kids aren't ranting and raving about their new crush to their dad, but there's a really good bond between them and they go to him whenever he needs anything.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Armin is prone to telling a little white lie to get what he wants.

In general, he's subtly manipulative. Not in like an abusive or generally scummy way, but in a... human way. We all use manipulation to get what we want, in the end. Like puppy dog eyes or pouting.

He's always transparent about what he's doing, and it's not like he's causing any harm to you. In fact, most of the time its for your own good. Like if you're feeling a bit self conscious, he'll pretend not to notice until you manage to work up the nerve to think better of yourself, stuff like that. Or if something is bothering you, he'll figure out a way for you to bring it up instead of him so you get better at communication. He'll come clean after his little rouses work, but sometimes you wish he'd just tell you what he was doing as he was doing it.

He also takes a while to even consider you a priority. Even though his whole thing is taking your relationship slowly, you're quick to find out that he may call you his partner, but you're under school work, work, family and friends in the "Armin's Important Stuff" scale. He's not an easy shell to crack, so it's kind of expected, but unless you confront him, he will not even realize that he's doing wrong.

Chronic nail biter. Even when he's not nervous.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

On a scale of "beauty guru" to "horrendously stinky" he's a "I care for aesthetics."

He's got a very distinct dark/light academia (depends on his mood) aesthetic that he must keep up. His clothes are always ironed, never tattered, and though most of it is second hand he looks very put together and sometimes even expensive.

But in terms of beauty, it's not his priority at all. He likes the way he dresses because it makes him feel like he's ready to take on the day, and he showers everyday for obvious reasons, but he doesn't wear makeup, and his skincare routine is just washing his face and sunscreen.

Speaking of skincare, he has effortlessly flawless skin and hair. So smooth, so silky, and he barely puts in effort other than the basics. You're convinced it's because he's blessed by the gods, but he says its because he gets enough sleep every night.

His hair grows back super fast, so he has Mikasa cut it since he can't afford to go to the hair dresser so often. He liked the long hair as a kid, but now he finds it annoying, so he keeps it neatly cropped. She's a good hairstylist.

He's also... surprisingly ripped. He looks super skinny but he's got abs for days. Unlike most of his friends, only works out for mental clarity, and not muscles or gaining strength, so he's not like huge and bulky but he's pretty fit.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He doesn't like overly judgmental people. It's only natural for people to assume things, but people who dedicate their free time to just assuming things about people annoys him to no end. Like people who assume the worst out of him because he hangs out with Eren, or people who think that he's some single virgin loser because he gets good grades.

Also, playing into Armin our semi-pretentious angel trope, he prefers a well read partner. Someone who he can make references too or will take his recommendations of classic literature, or maybe even watch ocean documentaries with him. They don't have to like every last thing he likes, and if they just haven't been exposed to things he won't mind at all, they just have to be open minded and not write off things he enjoys as "nerdy shit."

Piggy backing off that, he wants someone who somewhat cares about their academics. They don't have to be the next Einstein, or a straight A wonderchild like him, but rich brats who's parents are paying for their schooling just for them to party annoys him. It's not fair that he has to work so hard to keep his scholarships and other students are working hard to pay their tuition just for people to come because their Mommy and Daddy said so.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Armin falls asleep at 11 pm and wakes up at 7 am, without fail. It's amazing. You question if he's even a college student.

He uses an old fashioned alarm clock that's at the opposite side of his bed, but sometimes he wakes up on his own and forgets to turn it off, making him run out of the shower to stop the ringing before his roommates wake up.

Before you two started dating, he just slept on his side. But once you two got close, he can't sleep without hugging something if you're not spending the night.

When you do spend the night, he likes being little spoon, or facing you and having you nuzzled in his chest (or vice versa, he's not picky).

He's quite a neat cuddler. No limbs haphazardly thrown over you or anything. His legs are very gently intertwined with yours, he has his arms in a very specific spot to make sure you're comfortable, and he doesn't snore or anything.

Sometimes he sleep talks. Very rarely, though, but when you catch it, it is the funniest thing ever. He has really wild dreams for such a down-to-earth person— you caught him babbling about turning into a 150 meter skinless giant once. Weird.

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wizardcommune · 3 years

Text

tanjirou kamado sfw alphabet

pairing - tanjirou kamado x demon slayer!reader

warnings - there’s a mention of him proposing in r, so if that makes you uncomfortable make sure to skip it!

word count - 1.6k

a/n - i really like writing for tanjirou since he’s a kin of mine; it makes it a lot easier HAHA

also i apologize it got shorter at the end!!

(requests are appreciated! rules + media i write for are in my pinned post)

a = affection (how affectionate are they? how do they show affection?)

tanjirou is actually affectionate in every way!! he loves physical affection because it’s the most soothing to him, but he’s always complimenting you or giving you gifts, too. he likes receiving affection the same way, but isn’t disappointed if you don’t. (he understands people show their love in different ways, so it doesn’t hurt him at all! as long as you know how much he appreciates you, he’s fine.)

b = best friend (what would they be like as a best friend? how would the friendship start?)

it’s likely he met you at the final selection or during one of his missions, and he took a liking to you immediately. you met nezuko by accident, passively pointing out that “there was a demon in his box.” he immediately shielded it, but seeing how you didn’t make any advances calmed him.

as a best friend, he respects you so much!!! seeing you with the others makes him happy too. he’s always doing acts of service to help you, and giving you advice that urokadaki or the hashira gave him!!

c = cuddles (do they like to cuddle? how would they cuddle?)

tanjirou really loves cuddles! (he likes physical affection in general, really.) it makes him feel like you’re both safe.

he’s okay with any position, but he prefers to be able to see your face. he also really likes talking to you while cuddling!

d = domestic (do they want to settle down? how are they at cooking and cleaning?)

he’s great at cooking + cleaning since he helped take care of his siblings! i hc that he’s really good at baking, so he’ll often make random food for you and the others. :)

very very minor spoilers for the end of the manga (it’s the same spoiler as the one in the zenitsu sfw alphabet):

in terms of settling down, his dream was literally just to move in with you and the others, and to actually be able to do that meant so much!

some day he’d like to have kids, but if you didn’t want any, he’d just hope the others have kids LMAOO

e = ending (if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

ONCE AGAIN IM SKIPPING THIS BC IT MAKES ME SAD

f = fiance(e) (how do they feel about commitment? how quick would they want to get married?)

commitment doesn’t scare him, luckily! he honestly really enjoys the idea of getting to be with his partner forever :))))

i think he’d want to get married a few years into the relationship, but he’d hold off until he was absolutely sure they were safe.

g = gentle (how gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

he’s so gentle ohh my god

even though he knows you’re strong, he’s still very careful with you!

emotionally, he’s the same! he never wants to say anything that could potentially hurt someone. especially since he’s tanjirou; he’s so kind

h = hugs (do they like hugs? how often do they do it? what are their hugs like?)

hugs are his favorite; he hugs you as often as possible!! they’re really comforting as he’ll always rest his head on yours or on your shoulder. he likes rubbing your back, too!

i = i love you (how fast do they say the L-word?)

really fast, actually! it’s not like he’s rushing it, though. he always says ‘i love you’ to his friends and nezuko because he wants them to know he cares about them. so when he started dating you, he still said it!

j = jealousy (how jealous do they get? what do they do when they’re jealous?)

honestly? tanjirou doesn’t get jealous. he respects you enough to know you wouldn’t cheat on him, so if he ever sees someone flirting with you he trusts you to tell them you’re taken.

if the person flirting doesn’t let up, however, he’ll get more protective and will them to leave.

k = kisses (what are their kisses like? where do they like to kiss you? where do they like to be kissed?)

his kisses are very gentle!! he doesn’t want to overwhelm you in case you want to stop.

his favorite places to kiss you are your forehead and shoulder!! for the former, it’s always comforting to him when he’s able to cup your face.

his favorite places to be kissed are his neck and nose. it always flusters him HAHA

l = little ones (how are they around children?)

king had five siblings, he’s great with kids. he likes them too! he’s sweet anyways, but he always tries to be like. 10x kinder when he’s with some

he really likes giving kids gifts, too! if he finds a cool gem or something on his travels, he’ll gift that to them :)))

m = morning (how are mornings spent with them?)

since tanjirou always woke up so early when he lived with his family, it’s a habit that stuck with him! staying in bed after he wakes up makes him feel restless, so he’ll normally just kiss your forehead and get up

n = night (how are nights spent with them?)

before bed, he always makes tea! it helps him sleep better and he hopes it helps you too. right before you go to sleep, he likes asking about your day or dumb stuff that inosuke did

o = open (when would they start revealing things about themselves? do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

it won’t take to long for him to tell you about his family. he just wants to make sure he can trust you!! he won’t want to talk about it often though, considering how recent they died

it’s a huge compliment when he does, actually! it means he holds you in really high respect

p = patience (how easily angered are they?)

this is tanjirou we’re talking about, literally nothing you can do will piss him off. unless you beat up nezuko or something ig??? please don’t do that

q = quizzes (how much would they remember about you? do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

he works really hard to remember everything! he listens very carefully to you, so it’s not too hard to pick up on things you might like when you mention them in passing

(he’ll normally incorporate those into acts of service, too! if you offhandedly mention not wanting to go get your medicine the next day, you can bet it’ll be left on the table when you wake up)

r = remember (what is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

the day he proposed! he worked really hard for it to be perfect, and to see it went well makes him go ^^^^^

s = security (how protective are they? how would they protect you? how would they like to be protected?)

he’s pretty protective, but not to the point of being overbearing! he’s scared of losing more people he cares about fuck you chapter 179

when fighting demons, he would give you space to fight but also keeps an eye on you to make sure nothing happens.

t = try (how much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

he puts in so much effort. he really wants to make sure you know how much he loves you, so he always puts effort into little things like everyday tasks! like i said in q, he listens to you very carefully which can help him make really nice gifts!

he also makes sure he never forgets something like your birthday or an anniversary, as he knows that it would hurt.

u = ugly (what would be some bad habits of theirs?)

NONE HE IS ABSOLUTELY PERFECT AND I WANT HIM TO HAVE A GOOD LIFE

v = vanity (how concerned are they with their looks?)

pretty much not at all! besides making sure he looks clean, he’s proud of not having self esteem issues in that regard.

w = whole (would they feel incomplete without you?)

in a way? he really doesn’t like the idea of depending so much on someone, especially since if something happened he wouldn’t know what to do. he has nezuko and the others, so if something were to happen to you he would be able to heal. (it doesn’t mean it would hurt any less, however.)

x = xtra (a random headcanon for them.)

he loves singing! i know that it’s canon he’s a shitty singer, but shhh he’s good at it

he definitely used to sing his siblings to sleep, so if you ask him to he won’t hesitate :((( crying

y = yuck (what are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

he would really want a respectful s/o. it means a lot and it helps take some stress of his shoulders when he knows he doesn’t have to constantly correct you like inosuke LMAO

z = zzz (what are some sleep habits of theirs?)

if he’s not cuddling you, he really likes holding your hand when you sleep!!! it’s makes him feel really comfortable.

when he’s on missions, he’s a vv light sleeper, but whenever he’s with you somewhere safe he sleeps a lot better!!

#i love tanjirou so much goodnight #this one took a lot less longer than the zen one for some reason??#my work #tanjiro kamado x reader #tanjirou kamado x reader #kny x reader #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer sfw alphabet #kny #tanjiro x reader #tanjirou x reader #demon slayer alphabet #kny alphabet #kny sfw alphabet #tanjirou kamado

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yourmidnightlover · 3 years

Text

drivers license

Summary: based on this request. i kind of changed it a bit and made it the ‘story behind drivers license’ if that makes sense. the events that lead up to her writing this song in the future.

TW: fluff/angst, a bit of kissing, sad ending, i think that’s it?

WC: 4,349

masterlist

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there was always a certain kind of tenderness when you would return home to visit your dad. you rarely got to do so, especially being on your first national tour. so when any opportunity arose to see him, you took it as a blessing.

your dad had told you about a guy your age he had taken under his wing and began to mentor, you had just never met him. sebastian? samuel? his name escaped you. your dad had just mentioned how he was a little older than you, and a bit different than most people you would meet at the fbi academy.

because of knowing how much your dad liked this boy, it was no surprise that when you were dropped off by the taxi cab you took you saw a guy matching the description your father had given you a while ago.

there he stood, a book in hand as he leaned against the post of your dad’s porch, completely unaware of the world around him. he was engrossed in the book, lost in another place you wondered if he would ever want to show you.

“y/n!” your dad began making his way down the steps of his cabin to greet you. “spencer, why don’t you help her out a bit?”

“oh-uh, ri-right. yes, of course,” he stuttered out before making his way to help you get the remaining bag out of the trunk.

“hi, spencer i assume?” you squinted, extending your had to shake his before remembering what your dad had told you. “oh wait, i’m sorry. you don’t like hand shakes,” you laughed off, retreating your hand and opting to just wipe your palm on your pants.

you finally got a good look at him. his hair was slicked back neatly, almost too neatly for someone in the fbi. his eyes were a bit sunken in, but not in a worrisome way, more in a way that made you wonder what those eyes had seen to make them that way. his nose, an adorable button nose that was a bit upturned at anything beneath him. lips, the doors of breath, the plump pinkness of them as he softly bit the inside of it from... nerves? habit. what words would fall out of them that would engross your being entirely.

he was attractive. maybe in a bit of an unconventional way, but in a way nonetheless.

“th-that’s alright,” he smiled softly as he took both bags from you and began taking them inside of the cabin to the room he knew to be yours.

“dad,” you smiled as you wrapped your arms around him, him returning the favor. “i’ve missed you,” you hummed against his shoulder.

“me too, sweetie. i’m glad your back,” he pulled back, grasping your shoulders firmly. “how long are you staying this time?”

“1 1/2 months,” you smiled. “that’s why there’s so much stuff,” you huffed out a laugh as you motioned to the rest of the taxi, grabbing the remaining two bags only for him to grab them from your hands. “i can carry my own things, y’know.”

“and i want to do something sweet for my daughter. let me live, why don’t ya?” he teased as you both went into your room, spencer following behind after you made it past the living room.

it was similar to how you left it before college. there were pictures of your high school friends you weren’t in touch with anymore, some of you in the marching band and others of you at the lake with a group of people. there were banners of the college you had once wanted to go, now overshadowed by your dreams coming true. your old paintings were displayed on the wall along with some family photos you had taken with stephen. there was your guitar in the corner, along with a keyboard and ukulele you had learned to play when you were little.

“i’m so sorry i’ve deprived you of being sweet to your daughter,” you raised your hands in feigned defeat. “how’ve you been?” you asked, plopping down on the familiar bed.

“i’ve been good. spencer being around has been helping with you not being here,” he replied as he took the seat beside you.

“wow, already replacing me, huh?” you chuckled as you nudged jason with your shoulder gently.

“i’ll let you two get acquainted,” he pat your leg gently before he stood up and left you and spencer in your childhood room.

“i-i would never want to do that. if i’m overstepping i can tota-” spencer got cut off.

“don’t worry, spencer. i was just... playing around, y’know?” you smiled. “i’m glad you’re here to help out with this old man,” you laughed. “i’ve heard a lot about you. you’re pretty impressive, i hope you know that.”

“oh uhm, th-thank you. i think?” he smiled again, taking a seat in the chair at your vanity after turning it towards you.

“you’re welcome, it’s not everyday i meet a doctor that’s under 20,” you chuckled once again. “sorry, i make terrible jokes when i’m nervous,” you looked back down at your hands.

“i think i’ve caught on to that, yes,” he agreed. “why, if i may ask, are you nervous?”

“um, i guess because i’m intimidated by you?” you phrased as a question.

“you’re intimidated by me? ho-wha-why would you be intimidated by me?” he questioned, leaning in closer to your bed in interest.

“well for one, three phds. two, eidetic memory. three, have you looked in the mirror?” you returned the questioning, leaning in to mirror his body language.

“what’s wrong? why would i need to look in the mirror?” he leaned back a bit, looking in the mirror at your vanity and furrowing his brows before you stood up and placed a hand on his shoulder to get his attention.

“nothing wrong, spencer. you’re just... attractive, okay?” you chuckled as he settled into your touch. “oh shoot, i’m sorry,” you grimaced as you retracted your hand, surprised when he grasped it firmly.

there was a brief moment, one that made it seem as though maybe he had that same attraction to you. that brief moment held an impact on you. he wasn’t just looking at you. he was looking at you. it seemed like he was committing this moment to his everlasting eidetic memory.

and just like that, it was over. in the blink of an eye that moment was gone.

“s-sorry,” he let go of your hand quickly, you pulled it back to your side, not forgetting the touch of his soft hand, his fingers encasing around gently.

“don’t be, spencer,” you smiled before your dad came back into the room.

you had talked with him throughout the entire night, both your dad and spencer. there were times when you were almost positive he had felt that spark. you thought maybe even your dad noticed it, but nothing was said or done.

after your dad had gone to bed around 2:30 a.m., you had all decided it was too late for spencer to drive back to the academy. so, he would stay the night.

you had wanted to continue your discussion with him about popular study methods, being yet again entranced by his ramblings and the way his hands would motion about nearly anything he could. you were both on the couch, sharing a blanket as you began to doze off to the soothing sound of spencer’s voice.

“sorry, i should stop talking,” he chuckled, his hand moving to the back of his neck to rub it awkwardly before you grasped his hand with yours.

“no, no it’s not that. please, keep talking,” you smiled before releasing his hand. “your voice is really nice, is all,” you shrugged.

“re-really?” his voice raised three octaves.

“yea, really,” you chuckled. “can you just... keep talking?”

“uhm, y-yea. sure. i can do that,” he smiled as you curled in closer to him. your head rested on his chest as your hand wrapped around his side before your head shot up.

“i’m sorry, i-is this okay? you don’t even like shaking hands and here i am curling into you like i’m a koala. koala’s do that, right? yea sure they do that,” you rambled on.

“it’s alright. there’s more warmth, i think it’s nice,” he said as he wrapped his arm around you, pulling your body closer to his.

“alright, i just wanted to make sure,” you complied, your head resting fully on his chest with no reservations.

“so there were many studies done in the 80s about how writing things multiple times helps the brain with muscle...” spencer trailed on talking, noticing the way your breathing steadied out with the welcoming of sleep.

you didn’t feel the kiss he pressed to your hairline once he was sure you were asleep. you didn’t know that’s the best he’d slept in weeks. you would never know.

the week went on very similar. you would spend most of your time with your dad, and when able to spencer would tag along after he got out of the academy. you found yourself yearning for the times he would come over, and realized that he was the closest friend you’ve had since high school. and it only took two weeks.

two weeks for the bit of attraction to develop into a crush. two weeks for you to realize how sweet and caring and boyfriendy he would be if he was officially yours. but you couldn’t say anything about it yet.

unbeknownst to you, sometime before you had arrived your dad had told spencer about your driving issue, or more like the lack thereof.

“so...” he smiled mischievously. “i heard that you don’t know how to drive yet,” he revealed as you chuckled humorlessly.

“nope. not gonna happen, sir,” you laughed as you rose from the bed, placing your notebook away on your shelf.

“what? why not?!” he argued, remaining on the bed.

“because, spence,” you huffed, turning back around to face him, pressing your back against your shelf. “it’s just... it makes me really anxious.”

“you? scared of something?” he incredulously replied. “no way,” he chuckled.

“hahaha, very funny,” you mocked him as you threw yourself down on the bed beside him. “i’m scared of a lot of things, y’know. i just don’t let people know about it,” you shrugged as you began playing with your fingers.

“why not? it’s normal to be afraid of things,” he replied, laying all the way down beside you.

“really? what’re you scared of then, doctor?” you replied sassily.

“the dark,” he revealed quickly.

“the dark?” you turned your head to face him in confusion.

“mhmm, the dark,” he nodded as he looked down at you, staring into your eyes. “before you ask, it’s because of the inherent absence of light,” he smiled as you rolled your eyes. “but i still go into the dark all the time. metaphorically and physically.”

“it’s easier said than done,” you huffed out as you broke eye contact.

“i’ll be there to help you through it all, y/n,” he reached for your hand and held it in his own. “i promise.”

there’s that feeling again.

“fine!” you groaned. “you win.”

“as i always do,” he grinned smugly before you pressed your palm against his face, shoving it away with a chuckle from the both of you.

the next day, you were both in your dad’s car in the driveway. you were in the driver’s seat, spencer in the passenger side. you pressed on the brake as you switched gears to drive.

“alright, slowly ease off the brake gently,” he guided softly.

“the brakes are really sensitive on most cars, so you don’t need to be too aggressive with it.”

“slow down, jeez!”

“okay, that was a really good stop.”

“not so sharp-” you hit the curb. “...on the turns”

“okay, now pull in... just like that.”

“reverse, brake,”

“put it in park, perfect!”

“how’d i do, coach?” you smiled widely as you removed your hands from the wheel.

“not the worst, but you still need a lot of improvement,” he laughed.

“whatever you say,” you rolled your eyes as you removed the keys from the ignition.

the next few days, you had driven around 20 times. you made simple trips to the grocery store, around the block, and to get food. you and spencer now had a road trip playlist, courtesy of you.

you also had a song you wanted to show him, one that wasn’t out on the radio yet.

so the plan waited. and waited. and waited.

“why don’t you sing us something?” your dad suggested while playing poker yet again, spencer clearly winning so far.

“well that’s a bit random, dad,” you chuckled as you put down your card to fold.

“you should!” spencer agreed eagerly. “please?” he gave you puppy dog eyes.

“fine!” you sighed, getting up to grab your guitar from your room. “just, don’t laugh. it’s a piece i’ve been working on since i got here. i haven’t found the right lyrics yet so bare with me,” you chuckled before beginning to strum.

you didn’t bother playing the lyrics, you knew they would reveal way too much far too fast. for now, the melody would have to do.

“wow, that sounds pretty good, y/n,” your dad applauded along with spencer.

“thank you, thank you all,” you chuckled, taking a bow before returning your guitar to its respective place.

the next day you were driving, you decided to turn the radio on as a change of pace. you sighed as you rested your head on the back of the headrest, just listening to the music play until you heard a familiar sound.

your head shot up, you looked at spencer with wide eyes before turning the radio up just to be sure. sure enough, it was your voice coming from the car radio speakers. your mouth dropped in awe as you froze in your seat, looking at spencer in the eyes.

“wait, this sounds like...” it took him a minute to realize. “this is your voice?!” he asked, his head shooting up with a look similar to yours as you nodded your head eagerly.

he reached over the center console, wrapping his arms around you snugly. you embraced his arms, returning the favor gladly as you swayed to the song.

“that’s the first time i’ve heard it on the radio, spence,” you cheered into his shoulder.

“oh my god, that’s so amazing, y/n,” he pulled back. “i’m so proud of you.”

“thank you,” you smiled.

you were still wrapped in each other’s arms, neither of you wanting to let go of the other, just gazing into your eyes. suddenly, he was leaning in. his hand moved from behind your back to the side of your face, cupping it gently. you leaned in a bit in return.

suddenly, the door to your dad’s cabin shot open as he was shouting:

“you’re on the radio! you’re on the radio!”

you both shot back to your respective places, you gave spencer a small smile before getting out of the car to go celebrate with your dad.

“y/n, i’m so proud of you!” your dad wrapped you in his arms. “congratulations.”

“thank you,” you huffed into his shoulder, breathing in the calming scent of home.

you couldn’t help but wonder what might’ve happened if your dad hadn’t come outside. would he have actually kissed you? you would never know.

the week before you had to leave, you decided to finish writing the song. it wasn’t very hard, you’d written love songs before. but this one had actual meaning behind it. this one was for someone. it was for spencer.

a week before you had to leave your dad had gotten called out on a case, spencer had volunteered to keep you company for the next couple of days. spencer had called you ahead of time to tell you he was on his way.

when he arrived, he seemed a bit off. he wasn’t as... spencer as he normally was. his eyes didn’t light up, his smile was fake and only took up a small portion of his face.

“are you alright?” you asked, closing the door behind him as he entered the house.

“what? oh-yea, yea. i’m fine,” he pulled another fake smile.

“spencer, growing up with a father as a profile taught me a few things. what’s actually wrong?” you pressed as you sat down on the couch, spencer following suit.

“it’s really stupid,” he shrugged.

“i don’t think it’s that stupid if it’s upsetting you,” you replied, scooting closer to him on the couch.

“fine,” he took a deep breath. “so... i’m clearly not as fit or muscular as most of the people in the academy. and i know i’ll be exempt from most of those physical attributes on account of my mind. but-well,” he sighed once more. “the guys there are just so rude about it. th-they laugh at me when we do our workouts. they don’t ever let me finish a thought. they call me chicken legs. it’s just... i’m tired of it. i thought that once i left high school i wouldn’t have to deal with people like them but i’m starting to think there will always be someone with something backhanded or rude to say about me,” he finished.

you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, allowing him to rest his head in the crevice by your shoulder and neck. his arms flew around your waist as you began rubbing light circles on his upper back.

“you’re right,” you broke the silence, not letting him out of your grasp. “there will always be someone with something to say, whether it’s good or bad. but what matters is how you hold yourself after they say something. you could hide away, which may seem like a good idea at the time, or you could ignore them, which seems really hard to do. and it is. but it’s easier as you learn to accept things they say.”

“what does that mean?” he questioned.

“it means, as cliché as it sounds, embrace your differences. if a guy calls you chicken legs say ‘yea, i have chicken legs. but at least my brain isn’t the size of a chicken’s.’” you countered, feeling a laugh against your shoulder. “and you know how much i love it when you talk. your mind amazes me every time i see you, spence. so don’t, please don’t, let them ruin you. you are perfect, just how you are.”

“thank you, y/n,” he pulled back to look you in the eyes. “i-i really needed to hear that.”

“anytime, doctor,” you smiled. “want me to play with your hair?” he nodded enthusiastically, plopping his head down in your lap as you began twirling and twisting his strands in your fingers.

you had managed to finish the song two nights before you had to leave. your dad still hadn’t gotten back from the case, so spencer was still going to hang out with you alone that night. you were going to play it for him.

so when he got back from the academy, you grabbed his hands and led him into the living room.

“alright, i wrote this song, and i wanted to play it for you,” you smiled, playing with your fingers as you sat him down on the couch once more.

“a-alright...” he said with a smile, his brows furrowing in confusion.

“alright,” you ran to your bedroom to get your guitar, racing back to begin playing.

*i actually wrote this song so please be nice lol*

“i wasn’t looking for much

i just came back,

and then i felt your touch

and the way you smiled,

made me think that maybe

this would be worth my while.

because i’m driving off the deep end

swear to god this isn’t right

you should be mine,

i should be yours.

i heard your voice on that night,

the way that you held me tight

in your arms

and i never wanna leave

if it means i have to let you go

i don’t wanna let go.

the next day we were in the car

you made me feel safe inside

then i showed you my guitar

i let you inside my mind

but i’m scared you’ll be the one to say no

the one to go

because i’m driving off the deep end

swear to god this isn’t right

you should be mine,

i should be yours.

i heard your voice on that night,

the way that you held me tight

in your arms

and i never wanna leave

if it means i have to let you go

i don’t wanna let go.

i don’t wanna see you go

don’t wanna be the one

to tell you so

because i can’t take the stress

of whether or not you’ll say yes

because...

i’ve driven off the deep end

swear to god this isn’t right

you should be mine,

i should be yours.

i heard your voice on that night,

the way that you held me tight

in your arms

and i never wanna leave

if it means i have to let you go

i don’t wanna let go.”

you bit your lip as you set the guitar down, taking a seat beside him on the couch slowly.

“that sounded great, y/n! you said you just wrote this? it’s really good!” he replied, a bright smile on his face, clearly unaware of the gravity of the song.

he didn’t understand the song was for him. about him.

“spencer... do you not get it?” you asked, closing your eyes in fear.

“get what? the song was really good, what’s there to get?” he replied.

“it was... the song... nevermind,” you smiled, finally opening your eyes to face him “thank you.”

if he didn’t understand it, you could always tell him later, perhaps.

the last night of your visit, your dad had gotten back from the case and joined you and spencer for dinner.

“so, have you finished that song you were working on, y/n?” your dad asked curiously.

“uhm...” you trailed off, the subject still a bit rocky for you.

“she has! it’s really good, she played it for me the other night,” spencer divulged.

“oh. that’s nice. care to play it once more?” he requested.

“right,” you took a deep breath. “sure, of course i can.”

so, you played it once more. you stayed focused on your strum patterns and the notes as you played.

“wow that was really good! are you thinking of releasing it?” your dad asked.

“well i’d have to talk to my manager about it, but i might,” you shrugged as you took your seat back at the table.

“what’s it about, if you don’t mind me asking,” you dad asked once more. “or... who’s it about?”

“why does it have to be about someone? maybe it’s just abut a feeling,” you sassed.

“well normally you don’t tell a feeling you should be theirs’,” spencer added.

“yea, yea, yea,” you rolled your eyes.

that night, you and spencer fell asleep yet again watching another movie in your bedroom. part of you was surprised your dad allowed spencer and you to get this close... but maybe he knew that he didn’t feel the same for you and your dad knew.

the next morning you finished packing so you could leave. it was a bittersweet moment, truly. you wanted to stay with your dad and spencer but you also wanted to follow your dreams.

you had already bid your goodbyes to your dad before he had to go into work. packing up the last of your bags in your car, because now you felt comfortable driving, you closed the trunk once more.

“y/n?” spencer called you back inside the house.

“yea, spence?”

“i’m going to miss you,” he smiled fondly. “i uhm, i wrote you this letter. and i just... can you read it once you’re on the plane?” he asked as he hadned you the letter, tears filling his eyes at the thought of you leaving.

“of course i can,” you smiled back. “don’t cry, doc. then i’ll cry,” you huffed out a laugh.

“i just, i don’t want you to go,” he replied, not realizing the irony of him saying that.

“i don’t want to go, but i need to do this,” you bit your lip. “i need to follow my dreams. but... i did say goodbye. that song? it was about you, spencer,” you felt the tear leave your eye, drip down your cheek. “i like you a lot, and i just didn’t really know how else to tell you other than writing a song.”

“y/n, i... the song... you want to be with me?” he asked in confusion.

“yea, i do. i really do,” you nodded sorrowfully. “but now i’m leaving and-”

his lips were on yours in an instant. his hands cradled your face like they once were as you sat in the car with him. you hesitated for a second before your arms flew around his neck, welcoming his lips once more. your tongue traced his bottom lip, seeking entrance which he eagerly allowed. it was harmonious, much like the song that brought you two to this moment.

until it was over. you pulled back slowly.

“wow,” you swallowed.

“yea... wow,” he replied not moving his eyes off of yours. “i just... i couldn’t let you leave without doing that at least once.”

“i’m glad you didn’t wait,” you smiled before removing your arms.

“but you’re still leaving...” he remembered, quietly announcing it as though you had forgotten.

“mmhmm,” you nodded your head. “i am...”

“and we can’t be together. because i’m about to graduate from the academy. and be a member of the bau. and i won’t have time for...” he realized with a look of sadness.

“you’re right. i’ll be touring and i barely have time for my dad,” you shrugged.

“so we agree?” spencer added. “this would never work?”

“we agree,” you turned around and started walking towards your car. “this would never work.”

you boarded the plane, fresh tears piercing your eyes as you sat in your seat.

he didn’t want you. he didn’t think you were worth fighting for. he didn’t think you were enough for him. he would rather face death than be with you, want you. he kissed you only to want to leave.

you felt terrible about yourself. part of you hated him. but every part of you couldn’t help but... love him.

but now it’s too late.

taglist:

@greenprisca

#spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid imagine #angst #song writer

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