#sticky my love the best little dog in the whole world how i missed her

[dogboots]

sticky moodboard (ft. cardamon)

#bee and puppycat #sticky #cardamon #sticky my love the best little dog in the whole world how i missed her

[hansolmates]

17 going on 27

summary; one second, you’re sobbing at prom because the most popular guy in school dumps you due to your relationship being a little prank to break your heart. the next? you’re a creative editor at Ego, the hottest young adult fashion magazine. as you try to figure out what’s the deal with this sudden time skip into adulthood, you come across relationships and friendships that are made to be cherished and made to be broken. pairing; photographer!jungkook x editor!reader (f) genre/warnings; fluff, crack, future enemies to lovers, teenage and adulthood angst, time skips from high school!au to late twenties!au, 13 going on 30!au, all your romantic movie tropes come to life! a really big mess honestly, various movie and music references, mentions of sex, use of alcohol, everyone give jin and jimin a big ol hug, language, a surprise guest from the queen of england w/c; 22.6k a/n; it’s that time of the year baby! the time of the year where i binge watch the good ol’ early 2000s romcoms that make absolutely no sense! a huge thank u to @eerieedits​ for making this beautiful banner. vivi got the whole delia’s/claire’s vibe down to a t! 

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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

[orionwhispers]

Bravado // Tommy Shelby Imagine

(A/N - its been a long ass time and i wanted to ease myself back into writing but this ended up being long and also super super angsty. sorry that this illness imagine came during covid idk whats going on with my imagination lol. love you guys SO much thank you for always being there. reblogs, comments and likes mean everything to me.)

trigger warnings - LOTS of angst. fluff. implied smut. my hc that tommy has a fear of illness, bad descriptions of hospitals. 

He knew something wasn’t right the minute his car pulled into the driveway and you weren’t waiting for him under the great concrete arch, with that smile on your face that made his knees buckle and heart race like he was a love struck teenager.

You were always there as soon as he came home. Barefoot in a broderie dress in the summer with tousled hair and baby pink toenails. Wrapped in a hand knit blanket with fire flushed cheeks and woollen socks in the winter - even running across the gravel and into his arms in the middle of a storm, the ice cold rain whipping across both of your faces as you kissed under the light of the moon.

No matter how shit his day or week or month was, no matter what stained his hands or darkened his heart, no matter what lay heavy and hard deep in his gut, seeing you made everything vanish in the night air like wisps of smoke. You made everything worth it.

He refused to give into fear, he wasn’t that kind of man, so he swallowed all of the nagging thoughts and apprehensions as he came up to the dark foggy windows and the iron cast door. It felt strange turning his key in the lock without the weight of you in his arms or the sticky peach kisses you left down his jaw and neck, the smell of the vanilla in your hair and lavender on your skin.

The second thing that sent a jolt of white hot electricity down his spine was Mary, watching him anxiously and wringing her hands in the hallway. Usually, she was calm and collected, taking his jacket and leather travel bag with her signature placid smile and gentle fingers. Usually she would return to the kitchen and finish up whatever she was making - a hearty roast lamb with rosemary and garlic and glazed potatoes or a pheasant pie with honeyed carrots, always followed by a three layer chocolate ganache cake that was so thick and rich you practically had to saw through the sponge. She would always have dinner piping hot and dripping with gravy by the time the two of you returned downstairs, no matter how many hours it took for you to get... reacquainted.

Now she looked sheepish and pale, her skin almost translucent under the syrupy yellow lights. There was something about the way she stood, as still as a wraith, that made his blood run cold.

“Mary. Where is she?”

“Mr Shelby, I - ” Her voice was strained and hesitant, like a slowly fraying rope.

“Where is my wife?”

She moved forward, creases forming around her eyes. “We tried ringing you in Liverpool but the hotel said that you had already left, so we...”

“You rang me? Why? What’s happened?” He couldn’t hold back the desperation in his voice, and it lingered and festered around them both like a poisonous gas.

“Mrs Shelby came down with something a few days ago, we thought that it was just a common cold but unfortunately she seems to be getting worse.”

He tore upstairs before he could even think, his shoes leaving perfect muddy footprints on the cream carpet. He almost slipped at the top, and he lurched forward, his hands reaching out and holding onto the portrait hanging above the stairs for stability.

It was the oil of the two of you. A soft, personal picture that revealed more than he ever possibly could. The love in your gazes, the hint of a soft, drunk smile on the dangerous gangsters face as you leaned into him, melting into him like butter, him holding onto you as though he couldn’t bear to let you go. It was his favourite photo, one that always washed a sense of calmness over him, a reminder of the woman that he loved and the way he felt around you. But now he felt as if was riding out a terrible storm.

He lived his life with no fear, he was capable and practical and used to the sound of bullets and the copper sweet smell of blood. There was really only one thing, one terrible thing that he couldn’t control, and that was what drove him crazy.

Sickness.

It gnawed at his insides like a rabid dog, clawed under his skin and settled behind his ribs. Losing someone he loved was like ripping out a piece of his heart straight from his chest, and he knew better than anyone what it was like to lose somebody to a violent, quick death - the pull of a trigger or the smack of a fist. At least in those moments he could lock them away in his mind, he could leap in front of a bullet or crack the neck of any man who dared to get too close to you, but there was almost nothing he could do to stop sickness, and the devastation it caused.

When you first met him it had been a surprise, almost amusing, that this powerful God of a man had these small little quirks. His house was always sparkling clean and smelling of Lysol, his fruit bowls were filled with citrus fruits and round, plump blueberries. He always made sure you were wrapped up warm in the winter, always placing his coat around your shoulders and bringing an extra pair of gloves in case you forgot yours. It was adorable, the way he took care of you,

It wasn’t till a little bit later when you learnt of those he had lost. His mother and his childhood sweetheart taken away from him much too soon. It broke your heart when he told you late one night of the sallow tint of their skin and the way he could almost see them vanishing from earth, the way that illness had moulded and changed those he loved the most.

You understood.

Your best friends older sister had died of tuberculosis when you were young. The elderly woman across the street from your first flat had passed away from a bout of horrendous smallpox. Your brother lost his first child to pneumonia. Times were changing but the fear of disease was ever present. Medicine was improving and so was knowledge, but still there remained a huge, dark cloud of what could happen, one that always hung around your husbands head.

——————————————-

All Tommy could think was the worst as he ran through the landing. His heart was in his ears and his bones felt loose, like the sweet liquorice the two of you would share at the pictures. He came to a stop by the bedroom door, tentatively pressing his palm onto the wood and ever so slightly pushing it open, listening to the gentle creak it made.

The room was warm. The lace curtains were pulled shut, and your favourite lavender candles were flickering on your vanity, casting syrupy shadows against the wall. He exhaled loudly as he saw you, bundled up under a mountain of satin sheets and hand crocheted blankets, your hair splayed across the pillows.

He moved to your bedside, pretending not to notice the large, untouched jug of water and the tissue box next to you, hoping and silently praying that you weren’t sick - just asleep and waiting for him, ready to wrap your arms around his neck.

You were silent, your lips parting every so often as you breathed, your chest rising and falling. He reached out gently, as though he was picking up shards of glass, and brushed his fingers against your cheek. Your forehead was beading with sweat, your cheeks flushed, and yet your skin was ice cold to the touch. He recoiled quickly, his heart dropping like a weight into his gut, and he inhaled a shaky, deep breath.

He saw something curled up beside your hands, a fluffy white cloud with sparkling emerald green eyes trained on him. Despite everything, he smiled. He thought of your birthday - of strawberry cheesecake and champagne, and surprising you with a ribbon wrapped little kitten as you woke up. He thought of that day often. How you smiled and leapt onto him with tears in your eyes, his whole world blissfully quiet as he spent the day in bed with you and your new best friend.

He would have preferred a big dog, one with sharp teeth and a menacing gaze to ward of visitors whilst he was away. But you were drawn to the tiny, malnourished runt of the litter who was scared of his own shadow. A kitten no bigger than the size of his clenched fist. A little white hairball who only ate and drank from fine pink saucers. A cat that had a very frustrating habit of crawling in the bedroom right as Tommy’s hand was up your skirt and his lips on the sweet spot of your neck, the tiny thing mewling and crying until you picked him up and nuzzled him into your chest.

He was a horse lover through and through, and never saw himself having time for any other pets. But in the summer when you saw the litter from one of John’s barn cats and fell in love with the sweet baby who mewled and cried and crawled right into your lap - he knew that he would give you anything and everything you wanted.

Including a cat who refused to accept that Tommy was the man of the house.

“Hello, boy.” He said, leaning over to scratch Comet under the chin, using a voice he only reserved for the two of you. “Have you been looking after my girl whilst I’ve been gone?”The cat meowed loudly in reply, pressing his head into Tommy’s palm but not moving from his spot beside you.

Tommy suddenly felt you shift under him and his heart lurched into his throat. He turned to face you, cupping the side of your clammy face as your eyelids fluttered open, blinking under the candlelight. A rush of red hot heat built up in his belly as you registered him, that angelic smile growing on your face, your tired eyes glimmering with recognition of the man you loved.

“Tommy?”

“Hi, Princess.”

You smiled sadly. “You’ve been gone for weeks - I missed you.”

He felt his brows crease as he rubbed along your jawline softly, trying to stop you from falling back asleep. He felt panic in his throat as sour as vomit, and he tried to bite back the nagging feeling that something was very wrong.

“No, sweetheart, I’m early. It’s only Thursday. I left on Monday.”

“Oh.” You said softly, your voice as gentle as the breeze rustling through the trees outside. “Well let me welcome you back properly - let me make you a lemon drizzle or a...” You lifted your head from the pillow and shuffled under your blanket, but he pressed his hands against your shoulder and held you down.

“No. You’re staying right here.”

“But - ”

“No.”

“Hmm. Don’t leave me, Tommy.”

“Never.” He said, his tone firm and cast like stone. He stroked your hair softly as your breathing slowed, but it didn’t nothing to quell the hard thump of his heart in his chest.

——————————-

Tommy left the room as quietly as he could after you had fallen asleep in his arms. He hadn’t wanted to move, not when you were pressed against his chest, looking ethereal but vacant, sweat beading under your brow and your face lacking colour. He wanted to stay with you, curled up by his side, his fingers laced through yours, the sound of your heart thumping in his ears.

But he was a man of action, and seeing you there - your lips cracked and dry, shudders passing through your body and goosebumps raised over your skin - he couldn’t fight the fiery urge to do everything in his power to make you feel alright again.

He found Mary waiting outside the door, chewing on the skin of her lips and swaying on the balls of her feet in anticipation. He grabbed her by the arm, harder than he meant to and something he would apologise for later, and pulled her downstairs, determined to let you rest whilst he got some answers. As soon as they reached the drawing room he spun her around, clenching his jaw and pointing a finger at the anxious maid.

“Where the fuck is the doctor? Why isn’t he here?”

“Mr Shelby.” She said, stepping forward calmly. “We phoned Doctor Moore and he came on Tuesday to see her.”

“Tuesday?” He seethed. “My wife has been ill since Tuesday and no one called me?”

Mary raised her hands in defeat, making it clear that the decision wasn’t hers to make. “He said it was nothing of concern . He gave her some antibiotics and told her to rest. She asked us herself not to call you, she knows how you.. worry.”

He ignored her sugar coated attempt to quell his anger, but if anything it made his vision darken. “When it’s my wife, It is always my concern.”

“Mr Shelby, we were just doing what we were told. As soon as we noticed she wasn’t getting better we phoned the surgery again, but Doctor Thomas was out for the day and said he didn’t think it was necessary to come round again, so we -”

“I don’t give a fuck. My wife is the number one priority. Ring every doctor in England if you have to, get somebody out here now to see my wife.”

He stormed away, anger pulsating through his veins, but he stopped suddenly, and threw out over his shoulder:

“And call Doctor Moore’s ’office. Tell him to expect a visit from the blinders soon.”

———————————————————

Once, when you were first dating, you found Tommy at the door to your flat at midnight, with scraped knuckles and blood dripping from his nose. You let him in, cleaned him up and sat with him in the bath until his skin was clear and his breathing was even. He knew that night, as you were pressed against his chest and his lips were pressed to your scalp that he was truly, madly and completely in love with you.

He remembered waking up the next morning, love drunk and blissful, and finding the bed beside him empty. He found you in the kitchen, wincing slightly and pressing a hot water bottle to your belly as you buttered a few pieces of toast. He rushed to your side with eyes as wide as saucers, concern lacing the features that were usually ice cold and hard as stone. You were completely baffled as he held you at arms length, his bright cerulean eyes trailing up and down your body for any signs of injury he might have missed. You were bewildered at the sight of the powerful man practically on his knees as he made sure you were alright, and you bit back a giggle as his warm palms spread over your abdomen.

“What is it? Whats wrong?”

“Tommy. Sweetheart.” You said softly, bringing his gaze level to yours. “It’s just - you know - that time of the month.”

He brushed off your embarrassment and ran his fingers through your hair, pressing a uncharacteristically gentle kiss to your forehead, sending a swarm of butterflies around the pain in your stomach.

“Do you need anything?” He asked, half ready to run down to the corner shop and buy any amount of painkillers or chocolate bars or your favourite lavender tea that you might need; not caring who saw the seemingly terrifying gang leader in the street with an armful of strawberry laces and salt water fudges.

You smiled like the summer sun and he melted, pulling you close as you whispered in the shell of his ear that you only needed him, and that was all you ever needed.

That was the first time you fully saw the extent of Tommy’s fear, but it definitely wasn’t the last. He knew he wanted you forever and always, and it took only six months of neck kisses and pillow talk, red hot jealousy and possessive hands across your skin and dancing in the rain and falling asleep under the pale yellow moon for him to put a ring on your finger. You were both consumed by your love, as though it was the only thing that mattered, it was insatiable and powerful - the wonderful mix of the devil and his sweet little angel.

And with that, came the good and the bad.

Like when you got food poisoning after Arthur cooked you a Sunday lunch to cheer you up whilst Tommy was gone. He came home to you retching over the toilet bowl with Mary holding back your hair, and swore that he would kill his brother with his own hands. Or when you slipped on ice and broke your arm while out with friends in London, and Tommy went ballistic and tried to ban you from ever leaving the house. It was just in his nature, how he always made sure you walked on the side furthest from the road, kept an arm slung around you whenever you were together, kept his eyes alert and vigilant no matter where you were - always looking out for his girl.

But he had never been like this.

———————————————————-

You were falling in and out of sleep. Waking up drowsy and heavy headed, squinting under bright lights, an ache in your skull and a burning in your throat. Every so often you felt a pinch in your upper arm, a squeeze on your palm, a kiss on your forehead - but you always drifted back into unconsciousness.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when you woke up. The room was dark and you could hear the wind howling and whipping rain across the windows. You felt all too hot and all too cold at the same time, and the bed was damp with sweat. You struggled and tried to sit up, your head swaying and feeling as heavy as one of Tommy’s marble statues; as if you had been carved up and moulded. You could hear voices out in the hall, and unsteadily got to your feet, moving towards the noises.

“Pneumonia?” You heard through the thick wooden door, instantly recognising your husbands voice. “That’s impossible.”

“Sir...”

“Fucking. Impossible.” You knew his teeth were clenched.

The other man cleared his throat.“I know that it’s hard to hear, Mr Shelby, but your wife is very sick.”

“Just...” You felt your heart flutter and clench in your chest as the sound of his broken words, could practically feel his desperation and you wanted nothing more than to hold him. “Just tell me how to make her better.”

The second man spoke again, his voice softening and lowering, something you knew Tommy would hate. “Mr Shelby, the first round of antibiotics didn’t work and that means that it’s time for something stronger. Usually I would suggest the Birmingham hospital but I don’t think it’s equipped for...” He paused, trying to think over his words carefully. He wanted to convey the severity of the situation but also didn’t want to risk getting a bullet in his head from your very protective husband. “...This kind of reaction. I recommend we send her down to London for extra testing.”

“London? That’ll take two fucking hours. How the fuck can you recommend letting my wife travel that far? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“I’m my opinion this is the wisest choice to make, but unfortunately that could mean your wife might get worse before she gets better.”

“Worse than she already is? That’s not an option.”

The man you assumed was the doctor was insistent, trying his best to portray the severity of the situation but failing as your hardheaded husband had already come to a decision.

“I’ll look after her here. She’s safest with me.”

Once Tommy had spoken that was the final result, and the doctor slinked away into the darkness and shook his head. You remained peering from behind the door, your tongue between your teeth and your heart hammering.

Tommy took one look at you and frowned, scooping you in his arms like a baby despite your protests. He ignored you, acting playfully and cheerful but you could feel his heated skin and the see flare of his nostrils. You wanted to help him but didn’t know how, and let him tuck you under the covers once again. He kissed your crown and stroked your hair and you wanted to speak but no words would leave your mouth.

“You stay there this time. You know I have no problem with tying you to the bed.”

You rolled your eyes as he left, and his clenched fists and tightened shoulders told you all you needed to know.

————————————————-

Comet watched from his spot beside you as Tommy wrestled with the fire. He had noticed you shivering despite your high temperature, and bundled you up in blankets whilst sparking matches beside the fireplace. There were raindrops across his shoulders, evidence that he had been outside and to the log store right at the end of the property - a job that had always been for the Groundskeeper. Your precious cat nudged the tips of your fingers as you sighed and watched your husband throw kindling onto the coal, a deep unease settling over your gut.

“Tommy, my love, I’m fine.” It wasn’t exactly true but you felt he needed to hear it. But you could practically see your words wash over him and evaporate like ocean spray.

He was shaking a metal tin in his palm as he worked, and you groaned and let your head hit the pillow as he pulled out two round chalky tablets. You winced as he placed them beside your glass, your mouth already tasting like the sour talc medicine you had come to loathe. He raised his eyebrows and shot you a look that told you he wasn’t far off plugging your nose with his fingers to force you to swallow, and you childishly stuck up two fingers as you took them.

Your stomach rumbled with nausea and you bit back the bile in your throat as you settled into the pillows. You watched your husband as he pulled off his crisp white shirt, revealing his taut tan stomach and the deep ink tattoos that you loved to trace with your fingertips and your lips. There was something about him standing there, with those damn cerulean eyes and hidden muscles, that boyish hair and slender fingers that you wanted desperately around your throat, that made a million tiny fireworks spark inside of you.

But instead you pushed him away from you despite your body wanting nothing but him wrapped all around you. “Don’t get too close. I might have something contagious. I can’t have you getting sick.”

He ignored you, smiling inwardly at the way you always put others before yourself. It was one of the million reasons he had fallen for you. You were sweating out a high fever and shivering in pain, and yet you always thought of him first. He pressed his lips to your temple and pulled you closer, knowing that skin to skin was a way to bring down a fever - even if it meant he had to restrain himself from tugging off your pretty little white nightgown and whatever frilly things you had on underneath.

“I’m not going anywhere. Fuck it if I catch anything.”

“That’s easy for you to say. I’m the one who will have to dote on you hand and foot, you big baby.” You teased, pressing yourself into him playfully, finally giving in.

He held you like a child, trying to hard to soften despite the way you felt underneath him. Everything on him was running a mile a minute, and he couldn’t help but want to try everything and everything to make you feel better. His hand was pressed against your temple to always try and measure your fever, his other palm across your chest to try and count your heart rate.

He could hear Mary treading across the landing carpet but he ignored his anxious maid, instead letting himself be completely consumed by the only thing that mattered - you.

This was something he had to do by himself. He was the only one who could care for you he reminded himself. And he let the words tumble over and over in his skull until they were all he could hear.

—————————————————————-

You had been asleep for a long time.

Every hour, after pacing the length of the hall and sanitising his hands and wiping the beads of sweat above your brow and above your breasts he woke you up and held a cool glass to your lips. You mumbled and moaned and pushed him away but he kept his fingers across your wrist - harsher than he ever had before - and kept you as close to him as possible.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had cooked. Perhaps it was last valentines when the two of you had camped out under the stars, drinking icy white wine and sharing stolen, day drunk kisses. That night he had roasted a chicken over the fire and it had burnt to a crisp as the two of you rolled around the grass, his head buried in your neck as you giggled at the poultry going up in flames.

He was trying now though, easy, plain substantial meals that wouldn’t upset your stomach. Boiled egg and dippy soldiers. Crackers with smooth cheese. Bubbly water and ginger biscuits. Each time he went upstairs you pushed him away, your whole body shuddering and almost retching, and he felt like smashing the plates against the wall at his defeat.

It had been almost thirty six hours since he had come home and it had been almost as long since you had eaten something, and his heart thundered and shattered in his chest when he found you gasping and wheezing over the toilet bowl when you had taken a bite of toast to calm him. He rarely left you alone, only for a few minutes to put the still full dishes in the sink, to ring Lizzie and tell her that he wouldn’t be coming for reasons that he refused to disclose, to smoke a cigarette under the grey stone archway, his shaking hands and bitten fingernails barely visible through the sleepy rolling fog.

He had grabbed handfuls of papers and the brass ink pen you had got him for your anniversary and broke his own rule - bringing work into your bedroom. It had always been a sacred space. For candlelight and soft laughter, aching hands and heart shaped bruises, a sanctuary for him to breathe and to love and to be loved fully in return. But he was afraid if he didn’t have a distraction, he might just completely lose it, and he had to be there for you.

So he sat squinting in his glasses, the room almost completely dark save for a few candles because of the migraines that had started to spread throughout your skull, and let himself be drawn into the mess of squiggly lines and numbers that suddenly didn’t add up, with you still centre stage in his peripheral.

After about forty minutes of rereading the same sentence a dozen times to try and make some sense of it, he heard your voice, like a small crack spreading across a sheet of ice, coming from the bed.

“Tom?” You sounded so weak, he practically flipped your cream vanity as he got to his feet and darted towards you. “I don’t feel well.”

He lifted you as you reached your arms up at him like a child. He almost gasped at the sweat pouring from your body but didn’t want to scare you, and instead held your shaking, shivering body against his own. How could you be so hot, yet so cold at the same time? Your skin was prickled with goosebumps yet you were burning with a fever, and for the first time in a long time, he had no fucking idea what to do.

He left you propped up against the headboard and he entered the bathroom. He ran over to the claw foot tub you loved, twisting the faucet and trying to find the perfect medium between boiling hot and freezing cold. He didn’t want to overwhelm you, just try and soothe your raging fever, and he ignored the shelves of expensive bath oils and scented soaps that you coveted, instead opting for a handful of something meant to ease tension - praying to whoever was listening that it would help you somehow.

There was a brutal, awful moment as he lifted you from the bed, limp as a rag doll, where he imagined what would happen if your heart were to stop. He couldn’t comprehend what it would be like to miss the weight of you in his arms, the smell of your skin, the feeling of your lips against him, the shovels stopping and fading into nothing. It hit him square in the chest, as merciless as a bullet, and he had to lean against the doorframe to stop the two of you from plummeting to the ground.

He undressed himself first. Tugging his white shirt off, sliding off his slacks and his underwear, keeping you as close to his chest as he could. Then he pulled your nightgown up and over your head. He gathered your hair and secured it up with a claw clip so that it was away from your face, the heat radiating off your neck as fierce as the fire now burnt down to ash in the bedroom.

He lowered the two of you into the bath, sinking down beneath the eucalyptus smelling lukewarm water, letting it wash over you both. Your teeth were chattering and you were barely awake. He gathered handfuls of water, letting it drip over your shoulders and pulse points, grabbing a washcloth and running it over your raised skin, hating how you barely registered his touch. As he scrubbed over your collarbones and up to your face he saw your lips had turned to an awful, silvery blue, as vibrant as a fresh bruise. He hissed and tugged on the plug, now determined to get you wrapped up in a fresh towel and tucked back into bed.

You were soft and placid and he helped you out, lacking the usual fire that he adored. Your eyes were glassy and missing their vibrance, like the vanishing spark of a lighter - and he felt miles and miles of invisible distance between the two of you. You were unsteady on your feet and he used his body to prop you up as he warmed your arms with a fluffy white towel. You suddenly stopped, lifting your hand to your mouth as you started to cough - a horrible, dry, gasping cough.

He noticed it almost immediately. His eyes darting to the splatter of red against the white, a smudge of crimson that was as loud and commanding as a siren, a warning signal that something was definitely not right. A bead of scarlet that would linger long behind his closed eyelids.

He managed to get you back into bed, remaining calm as he stroked your hair and kissed your temple. He tucked you under the duvet and waited for your breathing to even before he ran downstairs, his heart thumping in his ears as he practically ripped the phone off of the wall.

“Pol? Fuck. I think - I think I need help.”

—————————————————————-

The room smelt like bleach and metal. Unfamiliar and clinical. There was something hard on your chest and covering your mouth, it tasted like wet pennies and was as heavy as a hand over your throat, but for the first time in days you could finally breathe. You tried to sit up, but there was a needle in your chest, a gown you didn’t recognise cut straight down the middle to accommodate it. You struggled and lifted the thin bedsheet above your shivering torso, trying to look around the cold room.

“Careful!”

It was Polly, dressed immaculately despite her surroundings. She reached out and placed a manicured hand across yours, and you smiled at the woman who had always been a calming influence when you had joined the circus of a family. There was concern in her eyes, rimmed with black eyeliner and lifted lashes but still swimming deep around her pupils. That made you frown, and you moved as much as you could to face her.

“What happened?”

She ran her tongue over her teeth, choosing her words. “You gave us quite a fright, love.”

“I did?” Your memories of the past few days were much like a fever dream, blurry and distorted snapshots were all you could really remember.

“Your pneumonia got worse. A lot worse.” She paused, looking over to the door and you followed her gaze. “They found fluid in your lungs.”

“So...” You started, gesturing to the needle in your abdomen and the breathing apparatus around your head.

She nodded. “Yes. You were in surgery. It was touch and go for a little bit.”

“Really?” You were bewildered. You couldn’t remember anything, let alone having major surgery. You looked her straight in the eye, asking her the questions that had been on the tip of your tongue since you had woken up. “Where is he? Where’s Tommy?”

“He’s outside.” She clicked her tongue, reaching deep into her purse and pulling out some hand cream, gently rubbing your dry hands like she was your mother. You leant into her touch despite all of your questions.

“What? Why?”

“I think he blames himself. God knows what goes on in that mans head. All I really know is he was bloody terrified.” She paused, looking over in the distance. “I’ve never seen him so scared, not even on his wedding day.” She smiled sadly, trying to lighten the mood, but it soon faded. “He didn’t leave your side the whole time you were asleep.”

Your heart thumped in your chest, a soft aching that you knew all too well. “I want to see him.”

“I know you do. But right now...” She stopped right as a handful of nurses entered, clad in long blue dresses with white aprons, hair tied back and smelling of strong soap and disinfectant. You lost Polly in the bustle as one spoke softly to you before tugging on the needle right beside your ribs, your eyes just catching hers as she left, a promise to see you soon on her lips.

It wasn’t her you saw next, but Tommy.

The nurses had cleaned you up with wet flannels and bowls of warm soapy water. Your hair had been braided and your face washed, and walked you arm in arm over to the bathroom so you could relieve yourself. A skittish doctor followed after, his eyes darting across you and his touch gentle as he changed your dressings and took your blood - obviously under strict instructions from your husband, and despite everything, you smiled.

You were sat listening to the clock tick. A romance novel you had been given was dangling dangerously close to the end of the bed, but you were too tired to focus on it. You heard the door squeal softly, and the sound of familiar footsteps across the tiling, each small thud sending shockwaves across your spine.

“Tommy.”

He looked tired. Exhausted rather, as though he had been awake all the hours that you had been asleep. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin was sallow and bruised. His clean shaven face was dark with stubble and his hair was ruffled and unwashed. You longed to reach out to him and cradle him against you, but he stood in the doorway, lingering like a ghost.

“Tommy?” You repeated, your voice almost a whisper, breaking his already shattered heart once again.

“How are you feeling, my love?”

You smiled softly, like spun sugar and sweet honey. No hospital bed or itchy gown could dull your infectious light. “Better now.”

He approached you almost cautiously. He settled down on the hard chair beside your bed and stroked a line down from your temple to your lips, his touch setting you alight like an electrical storm. There was a sadness in his eyes that reminded you of how he got when things were bad, and you willed him to come back to you. His touch was tentative and he inhaled shakily as you cupped his hand with yours, pressing a tender kiss to the inside of his palm.

“Don’t scare me like that. Ever.” He was stern, as though hoping his words would make it true. “I mean it.” He kept his gaze on your pretty face, trying his best not to stare at the harsh bruising on your delicate flesh or the sickly tone of your skin.

“Tommy I’m going to get sick, even you can’t stop that.” You teased gently.

“I can bloody well try.” His hands cradled your face, pulling you into him and kissing you fiercely, still mindful of the wires and tubes taped to your body. There was something about the tenderness and deep longing in the kiss that when mixed with your total exhaustion and love for your husband prompted tears to start falling from your eyes. You sniffled as he pulled away, concern dripping from his beautiful features, his powerful mind wanting to do everything and anything to stop your hurting.

“Hey, hey.” He said, running his calloused fingertips under your eyes and wiping your tears away. You leant into his touch and he kissed your temple, squeezing you even tighter into him. “You know I hate it when you cry.” He toyed with your hair and winked playfully. “Besides, all you need to focus on is getting better. You’re going to have to take care of me when we get home, this week has given me a fucking stroke.”

You rolled your eyes, kissing the inside of his wrist. “You’re a idiot, Thomas Shelby.” You blinked at the clock looming above you both, wanting to stay in your blissful bubble but also knowing that Aunt Pol would probably be in the vicinity harassing a poor nurse over your results. “You should go and find Polly, let her know that everything’s alright.”

He shook his head and nuzzled his nose across yours, an act so innocent that your heart dipped and swooped in your chest. “Later.” He said, breathless and consumed by you. Everything had been too much. Almost losing you had been harrowing, it had punctured him completely and he just needed to feel his girl safe and warm around him. He needed to know that you weren’t found anywhere.

“I just want to stay here for a while. Just me and you.”

You grinned. “Always.”

#tommy shelby oneshot #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders oneshot #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby oneshot

[carnelianns]

(Ikesen and Ikevamp) Sorry if this has been asked before. But how about an MC who went back to her own time only to find out she was pregnant. How would the boys reaxt if she comes back somehow a few years later but with a young child she says is theirs.

im sorry for keeping u waiting this long anon huhu,, i only did the vamps but, if my askbox allows, i’ll come back to do the sen boys too ! i didn’t have a specific gender for their children so jus imagine the lil rascal any way u want

Napoleon Bonaparte

When you come back through that door with a fascinated child holding your hand, it’s him you meet first again, and the tears are already glossing his eyes over before you can say anything.

He literally has no words when you smile gently, saying it’s his. Napoleon swallows the bump in his throat before making his way to the both of you, holding the two of you in his arms for only god knows how long.

“I.. can’t wait to live my life with you both, nununche,” he mumbles into your hair, ears slightly tinged, only causing you to laugh at his adorable antics.

As a father, he isn’t very strict, and he isn’t all that good in child-rearing, either. But he tries — you have to keep reminding yourself of this when you catch them in a compromising position, usually when you see your child holding a foil with a goofy smile.

“Nunuche.. I can explain,” Napoleon says calmly when you first find the two of them — well, three; it seems Jean was in on this little practice, though he quickly bolted when he saw you — parading around the training room with the foils.

“Mamma, papa said he was the King! He teached me how to be King!” Your child exclaims, flailing the weapon around excitedly as your gaze only darkens.

“Well, you see, I meant emperor, but—” his words die down when he sees your unimpressed face practically dripping with the murderous intent he’s so used to fighting against on the battle field

Slowly kneeling down to meet your child’s eyes, you see him whispering something incoherent before the little one nods seriously, slowly putting down the foil.

Then, as if counting down ‘3, 2, 1′, Napoleon immediately hoists your child up in his arms, running out of the room as both his laughter and your child’s squeals echo throughout the halls.

“Napoleone di Buonaparte, get your ass back here right now!” You scream, running after them.

“3, 2, 1 — Vive L’Empereur!” The two of them scream back, before bursting into laughter. They’re always in sync. It’s exasperating.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

“That child is.. mine?” He asks, slightly jaw-slacked, pointing at the child that undeniably looks like him, if the identical beauty mark or violet eyes are anything to go by.

“Do you.. not want—”

“I never said that,” he instantly cuts you off, going over to kneel at the confused child. With a slight smile, in an attempt to hold his tears back, he manages, “So.. how was spending time with that clumsy mother of yours?”

Mozart doesn’t really know how to spend time with his child, though he’s clearly not opposed to carrying the little rascal around on his shoulders, or dragging the child clinging onto his leg around when stubbornness bites.

You often don’t know what he’s thinking whenever he spends time with your child, or the whole situation, but rest assured, he wouldn’t change it for the world, despite how he may look.

A clear example of this is when you once walked into the piano room only to see your little darling on top of the grand white piano itself, snoozing on top of a small comforter whilst your lover plays the soft tunes you’ve grown to love.

Shock holds you captive as you stare at the lovely sight, before finally trailing off, “Mozart..”

Without so much as glancing at you, he replies, voice hushed in a soft tone you don’t hear so often. The blissful smile on his face speaks thousands of words.

“I thought you were the only one foolish enough to let your guard down in front of me… It seems I was wrong.”

Leonardo da Vinci

He had an inkling the moment he saw the child sporting caramel eyes so similar to his own, tawny gaze regarding the large mansion with wonder.

And when you did reveal that the child is actually his, he only pulled you close to his chest, hoisting the little one up with his other arm.

“Papa has a lot of time to make up to you, doesn’t he?”

Leonardo is good with children, if it isn’t obvious. Not in your conventional dad way wherein he brings the child to school — in fact, he probably fell asleep in the hallway just when the two were about to leave — but he's awfully good at keeping his child entertained.

Running around the mansions, creating new inventions, learning a new language — sometimes, you have to remind yourself that this child’s father is literally Leonardo da Vinci.

A position you often see them in, however, is snoozing on the floor, probably near the library, your child a small ball curled into Leonardo’s arms and head in the crook of his neck.

“Again? Really?” You can only huff, though that doesn’t stop the small smile from spreading on your face as you brush the locks of hair out of your lover’s face.

“Cara mia,” he rasps out, cracking a bleary eye open and gripping your wrist softly. Then, he smiles, all sorts of soft and lovely and.. unguarded.

“You two.. are the best things that have happened to me.”

Arthur Conan Doyle

Arthur tries swallowing back the lump in his throat when he sees you standing in front of that damned door, though to no avail as a tear slips.

He starts full-on crying when you say that you’re back for good and that the child is his, and he’ll have to be comforted by yours and your child’s tiny arms before he even plans to stop.

“Ah, crying like that on our first meeting… Don’t you think your fath — I’m a bit embarrassing?” He asks, sniffling as he musters a smile.

Your child giggles, blue eyes crinkling. “No! Mommy told me a whooooole lot about you, daddy!”

He has to stop himself from sobbing again.

Arthur wastes no time in making up for what he’s missed, and every single day is one you’d find the two of them either in town or messing about at home.

If not, then they’re probably just chilling in the comforts of his room, doing god knows what. The day you peek in to see what exactly they were up to was a blessed day.

Maneuvering yourself in a way that lets you see through the tiny crack of the open door, your jaw drops at the adorable sight of your child in a tiny deerstalker and trench coat far too big for his form, Arthur nodding with a serious look on his face.

“So, Watson, do you think crepes make mummy happier?” Your child asks, holding his magnifying glass up — one you’re sure is from Leonardo — like a mic in front of Arthur’s face.

He strokes his chin for a moment, before answering, “Seeing her reaction when we gave her the ones we bought yesterday, I deduce they do, Sherlock.”

“Good dedoo – deduck – deduction, Watson! I thought so too.”

Your heart literally melts. The two are far too cute for you, you having to calm yourself before walking in with the widest smile on your face. Dorks. 

Vincent van Gogh

When you meet those familiar, cerulean eyes from your place in front of the door, they’re already glossy in seconds, a flurry of emotions clear on Vincent’s face, though his smile says it all.

“Is it too much to say I’ve been waiting for you this whole time?”

Vincent would be practically wallowing in regret that he wasn’t able to be a part of his child’s life for the first few years, leading him to do any and everything that will cause his child to smile. In simpler terms, he’s basically wrapped around the little one’s finger.

He’s so adorable and happy that he’s blessed with your lovely child, and there’s an immediate smile on his face when he so much as thinks about the little blondie.

He literally makes the other residents question whether or not they want a child too.

Their bonding time is painting and, more often than not, it ends up with all three of you cramped in the shower, scrubbing furiously at the sticky paint on their skin.

“I’m sorry for having you do this all the time,” Vincent’s soft voice only makes you sigh in relaxation as he massages your shoulders from behind you, causing your fingers to halt in their journey of rubbing some blue paint off your child.

“It’ll take more than that if you wanna make it up to me,” you hum, leaning back into his chest and looking up into his bright eyes.

Your lips were just about to meet, when —

“Mam, I’m not clean yet!”

You groan, Vincent only laughing as you meet the crossed arms of your child pouting child.

“Don’t give your mammie too much of a hard time, okay?” He never forgets to take care of you above all, of course.

Theodorus van Gogh

When he first sees you after years with a child, his child, grasping your hand, Theo has to literally disappear to cool his head off because he’s angry.

Not at you, no, never, but at himself. That he wasn’t there for his child, for you, and god, even if he were, would he have been a good father?

“Hon — Schatje,” he starts, running his fingers through his already messy hair and staring at you with eyes that practically bleed insecurity, his voice breaking. “How am I supposed to take care of a child when I couldn’t even take care of you?”

After many reassuring words and gentle touches, Theo’s finally okay, holding up and scrutinising your child much like how he does a painting. He’s, well, awkward.

Theo is surprisingly very gentle with your child because he honestly doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing.

He’s also very grounded and doesn’t fall for cute little tricks that much either, so out of the residents, he’d be one of the better fathers.

“Nee.” “Papje, pleaaase?” “No. Non. Nee.”

Your lover’s fixed refusal causes you to peek your head into a lovely picture. Theo was holding a chocolate bar high above his head, steely gaze fixed on your young child with his puppy dog eyes in full view.

“Je mama said no chocolate, right?” Your heart warms when you realise he remembered your scoldings, though you can’t help but to feel bad for your whining baby.

“Theo,” you say, both their heads turning towards you. “How about you give the little baby some chocolate and we all enjoy some pancakes, yeah?”

The way both their eyes shine almost identically is adorable.

Dazai Osamu

When you showed up again with the child in hand, one he knows is his, his first thought, first wish, is that for that tiny thing to not be his. Because no one knows how harsh this world is more than the man who wished to end it all, so much more than once.

But Dazai makes up his mind when he sees you and your — his child staring up at him with those eyes that look so much like your own. He makes up his mind, despite his own continuous suffering, that he’ll never let this child go through what he had to.

“Was I staring too much?” He smiles, slightly sad and, well, empty. “I suppose it’s because the little one looks far too much like you.” Bright. Too bright for me.

As a father, he’s surprisingly really good with children? He quite enjoys seeing your child smile more than anything, and one way he knows how to do so is by perching the little one on his shoulders, running around the mansion as his hands intertwine with small, tiny fingers.

You don’t know whether to yell at him and his close-eyed grin, or simply laugh at the resonating giggles of your child. Probably both as you chase the two down the halls.

Dazai often zones out whenever he’s playing with your child, a look you can only describe as pure bliss on those handsome features of his. As you stare up at him, confusion clear on your features, you ask, “Hey, Dazai, why do you.. Zone out so much? Whenever you’re with, you know,” you motion to the snoozing one in between the both of you.

“Why do I zone out, you ask?” He gives you a smile, a real one this time, and gently pokes at the little ones cheeks. “I think.. I’ve found a wonderful reason to live, is all.”

Isaac Newton

“That’s… mine??” “That?” “... It?” “It?” “The.. child?”

Isaac is very flustered, for lack of better terms. He can barely manage the children he and Napoleon go see intermittently, but his own child? Lord, help him.

He gets awfully flushed whenever he’s carrying his child around the mansion because even then, he isn’t spared by Arthur and Dazai’s teasing remarks — in fact, it only seems to have gotten worse.

Isaac is surprisingly good at getting your rascal child to sleep with his bedtime stories, which are usually all his unsaid rambles.

“And did daddy get that bruise on his forehead because he slipped while chasing Uncle Dazai and Uncle Arthur?”

Your child nods, bright eyes sparkling and toothy grin showing. “Daddy also said, ‘Get back here, you devilish imbeciles!’”

Your accusatory gaze turns towards Isaac, who averts his eyes, holding an ice pack to his bruising forehead.

“I-In my defense, they were—”

“One more time, Isaac, and I’m changing this baby’s legal godfathers to the two imbeciles you love so much.”

Gaping, his eyes widen to the size of saucers, “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

He is now a grumbling mess when the two are around his child, but the lack of chasing them around with a stick in hand can be counted as an upgrade.

Jean d’Arc

When you walk through that door once more, nervously telling your lover that this child is his, you’re afraid of his reaction — after all, Jean is, despite his vampiric aging, barely an adult himself.

His jaw drops and he can’t stop staring at you nor the child with his inky locks, and you have to help him sit and calm down.

“Papa?” Your child asks, staring up at the still slightly panicked Jean as you hold your breath.

He stares for a moment, mouth wide, before finally, finally smiling, albeit a little awkward and rough around the edges. “Yes, little one?”

He’s extremely unaccustomed to this whole parent thing and can barely do anything without asking you first, so he feels bad quite often for having to lean on you so much.

Although he barely knows how to handle a sobbing child, nor can he entertain the child very well, you find that the both of them are quite content in each other’s presence as is.

Jean, well, looks ethereal as the sun shines through the windows in his room, a gentle smile gracing his face as he stares at his sleeping child.

He utters your name, causing you to look up, only to find him tracing circles around your child’s soft skin.

“Is this.. how it’s like to be happy?”

William Shakespeare

When Shakespeare wakes up to the news that you are, in fact, back at the mansion with a little surprise, he’s already there in no time.

He didn’t expect the little surprise to be a little child that’s practically an identical copy of him. But he’s always been more of a shoot first, ask questions later type of guy, so he immediately whisks you off to his manor, much to the exasperation of the residents who were surprisingly enjoying their time with the little Shakespeare lookalike.

Except he doesn’t really need to ask questions, because he’s already figured everything out through your soft, slightly nervous gaze, and your lovely little mannerisms.

“Alas, it seems the Heavens were kind enough to grant my wish,” he says as he stares at your child, only smiling to meet your confused gaze. “For I only wished you weren’t too lonely without my presence.”

William is always with his child, whatever the circumstances. Though he quite enjoys showing off his child, he’s also keen on spending his every waking second with the little tyke because he knows how it feels like to grow up lonely, and he wouldn't bestow that upon his own little one.

“Darling, it appears I has’t gotten myself into a slight predicament.”

If you could, you would have snapped a picture of your smiling lover practically itching to get up, yet unable to do so due to the sleeping child in his lap.

“And how did you get yourself into this predicament, my love?” You tease, your own smile on your face. He has a habit of reading his writings aloud, and it seems the little one fell asleep to William’s gentle voice.

“My works seem to be but a mere bedtime story to this little one,” he motions to the child, his smile softening. “I wonder why it does not dishearten me.”

Comte de Saint-Germain

“I was hoping you’d be back, ma chérie.” His perfunctory smile betrays the inner flurry of emotions inside him as he glances towards the child. “With a lovely little thing in hand.”

“Your lovely little thing,” you say gently, and the surprise outlining his normally composed face is something you’d forever save in your mind.

Comte is wrapped around the little one’s finger, his rotten spoiling being the effect of not being in your child’s life for a good while, and, of course, his indispensable regret for having you come back to him.

Many times have you asked Sebastian the whereabouts of your lover and your child, only for him to give you the look, responding that they were out yet again, and are probably not coming back without a few shopping bags in hand.

Then, to finally put a stop to it all, you decided to conduct a harmless experiment.

Placing a few coins on one side of his desk, a toy in the middle, and a beloved fruit on the side. After explaining to him that it’s to see what your child’s fate would be — picking between fortune, fun, and, well, snacks, you think — he simply leans back, interest shining in those eyes of his.

Unsurprisingly for you, your child pushes all these away in a second, opting to hug the wide-eyed man on the soft armchair behind the desk.

“And what.. does this mean, ma chérie?” He asks, honest-to-god confused as his hands slowly wrap around your child’s form.

You smile softly, “Isn’t it obvious, silly? The little rascal loves you more than anything.”

His eyes are suspiciously glossy before he laughs it off, preparing for yet another shopping spree — you regret everything.

Sebastian

He only gives you a knowing smile when you pass through the door with a young child gripping your hand.

“So.. this is the little one, is it?” He asks, tone soft as he walks towards you, wrapping a sturdy arm around your waist and meeting eyes with his child. “I’m a strict father, mind you.”

“Sebastian!” “I was joking. Slightly.”

Despite being a father, Sebastian is as strict and precise as ever around the mansion, rarely having to leave either his work or his family unattended due to his impeccable time management skills.

And if he struggles with both, well, he just has to merge them into one task, doesn’t he? Many are the times wherein the residents catch Sebastian working, his little runt on his tail or on his hip.

“They’re at it again, you know,” Mozart says in passing, only causing you to groan.

“Sebastian! How many times have I told you not in the kitchen?” You exclaim, walking into the kitchen to find your lover and your child tackling yet another chore together.

It seemed to be baking this time, if the flour on both of their faces says anything.

“Mama!” Your child exclaims with powdered hands as Sebastian says blankly, “We’re doing chores.”

You merely roll your eyes, sighing as you walk out the room. Your apology comes later when a sloppy cupcake makes its way into your view.

Your eyes move up to your proud looking child, hair obviously patted down in an attempt to look presentable while your lover sports a tiny grin on his own face.

“We made this for you, mom! Papa said he wanted to make you reaaaally happy.”

Sebastian’s head instantly snaps down, eyes narrowing, “Hey.”

You can only laugh at your two babies, taking a bite of the surprisingly good and sweeter than an average cupcake.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #napoleon bonaparte #wolfgang amadeus mozart #mozart #leonardo da vinci #arthur conan doyle #vincent van gogh #theodorus van gogh #theo #dazai osamu #isaac newton #jean d'arc #william shakespeare #shakespeare #comte de saint germain #comte #sebastian #headcanons

[moonbeambucky]

Hey Neighbor (Part 23)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Peter Quill x Reader Word Count: 3787 Warnings: fluff, light angst

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: Sorry for the delay but it’s here now, I hope you enjoy! Feedback is always appreciated!

HEY NEIGHBOR PART 22 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

It was hard to come to the realization that Bucky did want a relationship but you didn’t cut it. The weekend at the wedding was a test and you failed. You may have gotten high scores but obviously there was something about Claire that made her better than you. You’ve known Bucky for almost a year but in one date she was able to capture his heart in a way you never could.

The truth sits in your stomach like a rock, feeling the pain each time you move. It’s a boulder tied to your leg and you’re drowning but Peter cuts the rope, with soft gazes and a tender touch, sweet words and sweet sounds he pulls from you as you’re tangled together in bed.

You let go, let yourself be pulled into a bright world where Peter is waiting, because he actually wants you. There is no test. No competition with the exception of Groot. Even Rocket warmed up to you, the temperamental animal preferring to cuddle up in your lap over Peter’s. There was light now that the sea was no longer about to swallow you whole.

The group chat would still go off with messages about plans but you chose not to attend, taking the time to be alone with Peter or hang out with his friends. Drax was a fellow firefighter, a burly man, bald as an egg and covered in tattoos. Thor was a firefighter too, tall with cropped blond hair and biceps bigger than your head and then there was Gamora, the first friend Peter made when he moved to the city. And by friend you think he meant girlfriend though they have more of a platonic relationship now. She was effortlessly beautiful with rich brown eyes and hair, with the ends dyed a bright magenta that complimented the warmth of her skin.

It was nice to hang out with different people and it opened you up to seeing a new side of Peter when he was with his friends. Sometimes he was the Peter you knew, lighthearted and playful, teasing Drax for being too serious to understand a joke, other times Drax would make fun of him; a booming cackle coming from deep in his belly as he laughed at Peter’s expense. Most of the time Gamora would roll her eyes, calling them both idiots.

Thor did his fair share of teasing too although much less now that he was transferred to a new station. It’s probably for the best considering how often he and Peter seem to be in competition with each other though it’s all friendly underneath and you could tell how close everybody was.

They acted like a family and quickly accepted you as a part of theirs but your heart ached behind your smile, missing your own family. Steve who was like a brother to you, Wanda your sister, Peggy the mom of the group who was always there to care and comfort you if you were hurt, and Natasha the other mom that struck fear into the hearts of anyone who would dare hurt her family. Sam and Clint were the troublemakers and then there was Bucky.

You couldn’t think of how to describe him when you didn’t know what was real anymore. The Bucky that exists today is not the person you first knew; the man that was passionate about his music but apologized the moment he realized he was inconveniencing you. He didn’t have to do that. He could have been your asshole neighbor but instead he became a friend.

Peter takes your hand, jolting you from your thoughts as he pulls you off the couch to dance to “Come and Get Your Love.” It’s a fun distraction and you allow yourself to enjoy being swept up by it and surrounded by Peter’s affection.

Groot became accustomed to seeing you in Peter’s apartment, giving you a big greeting as you came over for dinner after a long day of work. Peter was able to steal a kiss before the big dog demanded more of your attention.

“Babe, can I use your laptop?” you asked, kneeling down to rub Groot’s stomach, hitting the spot that made his leg twitch.

Peter stepped away from the stove, wiping his hands quickly on a towel before getting his laptop from the bedroom. With Groot satisfied by his tummy rubs you were free to say hi to Rocket though he was sleeping.

“Here you go,” Peter said, handing you the laptop and leaning in for a better greeting. His tongue slipped past your lips as he deepened the kiss, pulling away when the hiss of boiling water splashed against the flames.

You set the laptop down on his table, bouncing your leg as you opened the cover and waited for it to load. Commencement was next month and you hadn’t applied for graduation yet. An email reminder you got earlier today sent you into a panic as the deadline was coming up.

It was not like you to forget something as important as this. Sure, there’s been a lot going on in the last month but there is no excuse to have let this slip your mind. You’re eager to take care of it right away, ready to log on to your school’s website but the last page Peter browsed was still up and it made your jaw drop.

“Oh my god Peter!” You flipped the laptop around to face him as he craned his head back. “What is this?” you asked, bursting with laughter.

Peter bloomed red like a rose, eyes going wide as he laughed, “Oh shit, sorry!”

The Sex Files, a threesome with an Agent Mulder-esque man having sex with two alien women, a busty brunette painted dragon fruit pink and the other a slim redhead with Wicked Witch green skin.

“Aliens, really?” You raised a brow questioning him with a smirk.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, slightly embarrassed. “It was on the main page. I gave it a chance,” he shrugged, chuckling.

You shook your head laughing, opening up a new tab so you could finally submit your graduation application. As Peter finished preparing dinner you ordered your cap and gown, smiling a little wider when you saw the citron hood, a symbol of all the hard work you’ve put in towards your Master’s degree.

Over dinner you teased Peter a little more about his video. “It’s fine if you’re into that but you won’t catch me painting my skin. Do you know how messy that would be?”

“You might as well. If I had a black light, I bet this place would already look like a Jackson Pollock painting.”

Groot lifted his head at your loud burst of laughter, playfully shoving Peter’s arm. You wouldn’t be lying if you said his joke was still on your mind later that night, lying together in his bed after having just added to the invisible art.

Hot sticky skin against each other’s, the sheets lightly draped over you as the mugginess of the air settled in the room. Your eyes closed languidly, watching the rise and fall of Peter’s chest as you drifted to sleep.

The sun blazes on the street of a sweltering Sunday morning as you walk towards your destination, wiping the sweat from your brow as you huff down into the seat beside Natasha and Wanda whose hair were nearly identical now though Wanda’s had a more fiery copper tone. A tiny smile pulls at your lips when you see mimosa flutes already on the table; now it was officially time for brunch.

You apologize for not seeing them as much lately and thankfully they understood. Wanda was practically inseparable from Sam when they first started dating so she definitely didn’t blame you, although she still thought you were making a mistake.

Bucky was in the back of your mind though you did your best to ignore the fact that you were at the same place you met Wanda almost a full year ago to complain about your new neighbor. So many things have changed but obviously it’s for the better.

“So…” Natasha said with an enticing tone in her voice. She wiped crumbs off of her lips, a faded cherry red from the lipstick that still clung to them. “I have big news.”

“You’ve set a date!” “You’re pregnant!” You and Wanda spoke at the same time, waiting with anticipation to see who was right.

“No,” Natasha laughed. “I made partner!”

“Congratulations, that’s amazing!” you said, leaning over to hug her.

Wanda followed suit and as you sat back down you kept your lips pressed tightly together, eyes widening as Natasha raised a brow to question Wanda about her guess. She sunk back into her seat, clenching her teeth with embarrassment but Natasha was only kidding (or maybe she wasn’t, sometimes you couldn’t tell.)

“Clint and I are going to throw a party once it’s official, nothing big. Y/N is it okay if I invite Bucky?”

Natasha’s turned towards you, holding your gaze with compassion overflowing in the depths of her eyes. She knew what happened between you and Bucky. Whether someone told her or she put it together herself, the latter most likely, it didn’t matter. She knew. She knew and she wasn’t looking to force a resolution but to make sure that you as her friend would be comfortable being around Bucky. You assumed she realized you weren’t only spending time with Peter because of your new relationship but still Natasha didn’t question your actions. She waited patiently, a soft smile on her pillowy lips until you gave an answer.

“Of course Tash, you can invite Bucky.” Wanda started to look as green as her avocado toast as she gave you a worried stare. “I promise, I don’t have a problem with him.”

No one questioned your answer despite the opinions they held back silently and the rest of brunch was spent playing catch up since Steve’s birthday. You hadn’t really missed much, Clint was sleeping until noon most days, Steve was still growing in his beard, Bucky was… still with Claire. Yeah. You figured. You may have checked her Instagram again, seeing a picture of two coffee orders tagged at The Grind House.

After leaving the girls you went home with a seed of anxiety planted in your stomach, knowing it will grow larger every day until Natasha’s party where you would have to see Bucky and Claire again. You wanted to get this over with, rip the band aid off and see them but sometimes life liked to mess with you. Natasha’s party wouldn’t be until the following weekend because this weekend she and Clint were going to Vermont so he could participate in an amateur archery tournament.

You try your best not to focus on the countdown until the party despite the sequoia sized tree of anxiety, each limb a different scenario playing out in your mind of all the terrible things that could happen. It didn’t help that this was your last week at Metro-General as the semester was over. While you were thrilled to have finally finished your hours leaving Elena made you emotional.

This was the end of a long journey, a ride you never expected to be on for so long but now it was over; this is the end of the line and part of you doesn’t want to get off the train. Your legs are atrophied from being in the same spot, Stark Industries, Metro-General, soon it would be time to walk away from both but you’re not sure you remember how. The real world is scary and your doubts and fears are starting to take over.

On the Monday before the party there’s a knock on your door and all you can do is smile. You’ve expressed to Peter just how anxious you are about actually achieving your dream. He comforted you, reminding you there was nothing to worry about and to cheer up. Peter always knew how to bring out your smile and you suspect he’s orchestrated another flower delivery for you. A pre-graduation congratulations of sorts, something to lift your spirits and get your mind back on track to where it needs to be.

You open the door without looking, expecting to see a grand bouquet, or even courier holding balloons but instead there was Bucky. You felt the tree twist within your body, growing to an enormous scale. Your eyes catch sight of an item in his hand, a hanger wrapped in plastic and beneath it the dress you wore to the wedding.

“Hey nei– ” He cleared his throat, speaking your name instead after watching the way your whole body dropped at the sight of him, from the smile that faded to the slouch of your shoulders. “I needed to get my suit dry cleaned and I forgot about this. I got it dry cleaned too so, uh… don’t worry about it.”

He rambled a bit, nervous, handing the dress to you.

“Thanks.” You said, biting back the nauseous feeling that crept its way up your throat.

“Going to Nat’s party?” he asked, hoping small talk would open the door to a real conversation.

Yes, I was friends with them first. “Yeah.” The curtness stayed in your mind only though your short answer wasn’t any friendlier.

Bucky nodded his head, “Kay… cool,” he said, with an uneasy tone that tried to pass itself off as calm. “See ya there.”

You smiled with tension, shutting your door. Tears were burning in your eyes, falling down your cheek as you jolted at the sound of his door slamming beside yours. Your dress was tossed to the side as you ran into the bathroom, running the water in the shower to mask the sound of your body heaving over the toilet. Bile burned up your throat, hot tears streaked down your cheeks and your heart felt like it was being torn apart by wolves.  

Avoiding Bucky didn’t help you get over him, and seeing him now, clutching your dress… a painful reminder of the weekend you spent together made it all worse. You wanted to call Wanda, to cry in her arms again, or Steve or even Val, to get drunk with and forget this ever happened. But you couldn’t call anyone. You couldn’t do anything but sink onto the cool tile floor of the bathroom, wishing you never met Bucky, sorry that he ever moved next door in the first place. You cried until there was nothing left to give.  

Now that you were done with your internship you were back at Stark Industries full time, devoting your days to The September Foundation, and helping coordinate a guest list for the opening gala. It was a lot of work that kept your mind very occupied so when it was time for Natasha’s party you were feeling better.

Better but not great.

Every time you glanced over at Claire’s arm looping through Bucky’s you felt weak and gripped Peter with a tighter hold. Each time he would lean down to kiss your temple, to hug you, hold you, show affection in any way while being ignorant of the real meaning behind your touch.

Claire waved her hand in front of Bucky’s eyes, having apparently been calling out to him though he didn’t hear it. He was caught up in his thoughts, lost in a tunnel that plunged him further into darkness every time Peter caressed your sweet skin.

He apologized, snapping himself back, taking note of the concern held in Claire’s eyes. He forced his muscles to fake a smile but it was useless, just as he tried to force the emotion that was absent in their kiss. Does Claire feel it too? It’s been that way for a while, empty actions, going through the motions so Bucky can continue to convince himself that something is there but he can’t do it anymore.

The next day he breaks up with Claire and it isn’t a surprise. They part on amicable terms and while Bucky should feel better he doesn’t. You’re still with Peter, and it was his stupidity that sent you straight into his arms.

Claire was supposed to be something special, that relationship he had been longing for but instead she was just a distraction, a voice to occupy his mind, a warm body to keep him company, but none of it worked. Her voice was nails on a chalkboard compared to yours, her body a pair of dice thrown across a half empty puzzle; it wasn’t a match, she wasn’t you.

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to avoid you, staying quiet in his apartment, taking the stairs so he didn’t have to chance meeting you in the elevator. He can’t handle it. He walks quickly past your door, his heart wrenching every time he’s forced to think of you, remembering what he lost.

Emptiness creeps in like a fog, loneliness settles in the empty cavern of his heart, without you life has lost its rhythm.

It’s late in the day when you receive an email from your school that sends you reeling. You couldn’t graduate. You thought it was a mistake, it had to be! There was no way this was correct.

Shaking fingers dialed the school as shaky hands stumbled across the keyboard, logging into your records and double checking that every class you’ve taken over the years is complete with a grade, and then you saw it. Your internship. INCOMPLETE.

Upon the school’s review you didn’t have enough hours, which is impossible because you have been busting your ass since the Fall semester to do this. You planned it, calculated every day, every hour and yet somehow you were wrong.

Your voice cracked as you begged for a resolution, bawling to the person over the phone that you’re thankful can’t see the way tears and snot are streaming down your face, sorry for the fact that they have to hear the way you loudly blow your nose into the phone.

By the end of the conversation you have a plan but it isn’t one that you like. You can walk for commencement next week but you would have to make up the hours and won’t receive your diploma until December.

You cleaned your face, barely, hoping to avoid everyone as you made your way down to Steve’s desk. You broke the moment you saw him, trying to keep your composure as best as you could until he was ready to leave.

Steve was devastated for you as was Wanda when you spoke to her that night. Natasha was already looking into your school’s policies to see if there was any legal recourse. “We can prove negligence on their behalf by failing to communicate in a timely manner to you the student that you did not meet the necessary requirements for graduation, therefore breaching their contractual obligation to provide adequate course guidance in accordance with…”

She went on with more legal jargon before you stopped her. “No, Nat this is my fault. It was my responsibility to calculate my hours. Would it have been nice to have an accurate figure to go off of? Sure, but I was the one who should have double checked. If I went in for an audit I would have known exactly how many hours I needed to get complete before the deadline.”

Natasha let out a sigh of frustration, wishing there was something more she could have done. Instead she let you lean against her, curled up on her couch as Clint prepared a giant bowl of ice cream topped with whipped cream, M&Ms and chocolate syrup.

“Thanks guys, I really appreciate this,” you sniffled, wiping a stray tear away.

It was nice to have your friends around for the night considering Peter was working. You could have texted him about this but chose not to. His shifts are long and stressful as it is and you didn’t want to add to whatever might already be on his mind.

But the next day you went to his apartment after work, somberly dragging yourself in through the door. Groot was able to put a smile on your face, and Rocket too, sticking his little hand out to try and unlock his cage upon hearing your voice but it wasn’t enough to stop the tears.

You took Peter by surprise as you wrapped your arms around him, soaking through his shirt as you cried. He held you close, stroking your hair gently as he whispered, “It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.”

Peter walked you to the couch, his thumb softly wiping away tears, squeezing your hand in his as he waited for you to let him know what was going on. And when you did he let out a sigh of relief. “You scared me so much. I thought something bad happened.”

You were taken aback by his reaction, confused for a moment because maybe in your tear riddled conversation the truth about what happened got lost.

“Peter, I can’t graduate. I have to wait until December.”

“Right but you’re going to graduate. You can still go to commencement and all you have to do is make up the hours right? Did you talk to Elena?”

Of course you spoke to Elena, she was sorry to hear about what happened and is going to work something out with you but that wasn’t the point.

“Peter, I don’t think you understand what this means to me. One of my best friends died from a situation that could have been prevented if a social worker was involved. Ever since then my only goal in life was to become a social worker, to never let something like that happen again. And now I have to wait four months to graduate, four months before I can apply for jobs and go on interviews.”

“It’s just four months.”

Whatever Peter said after you didn’t hear. Everything was white noise as four simple words destroyed your soul. How could he not understand? It doesn’t matter that you will be able to make up your hours (which you will), it doesn’t matter that you are allowed to walk for commencement next week (which you won’t because it isn’t real). What mattered was that after all this time, all of your hard work, the sacrifices you’ve made, working full time while you were in school, exhausting yourself to the bone with your internship, that none of it was enough and you still have to wait. It isn’t just four months, it's a painful setback for your dreams.

Peter doesn’t get it.

Bucky got it...

PART 24

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #peter quill x reader

[ssadumba55]

Santa’s Not Real (Bernard X Miller!Reader)

A/n: This one was not requested by anyone in particular, but is my own personal contribution to the Bernard catalogue. This was really just an excuse to write the Millers, because Neil is my second favourite character in the series. I’ve been writing for Bernard for three years and just when I thought I’d explored every possibility with him, we all come up with more ideas to keep the love for him alive. I want to thank you all for allowing me to write for such special and sacred movies to us all. I hope I do Bernard even a sliver of justice. Merry Christmas, you guys! Hope we see more Bernard content next year!  Enjoy, you deserve this!

Being the child of Neil Miller wasn’t exactly what you’d call “fun” or “exciting”. He was always trying to get into your mind and figure out how you were feeling. Of course, sometimes it was nice to have your father be so understanding of your emotional needs, other times you wished he’d leave you alone.

At first, when he married Laura, you were worried about the usual kid stuff. Would your dad stop being as attentive to you? Would you and Laura get along? Would you and Charlie get along?

Laura had a son named Charlie. At first, you two were always butting heads. He was a firm believer in Santa Claus, which had never made much sense to you, what teenager still believed in Santa Claus? It was cute and charming when you were both kids, but now it was starting to get a little creepy.

You wondered if your dad was as worried as you. This had to stunt his mental growth or whatever.

“(Y/n). Pass me the glue stick,” Your little sister, Lucy, reached across the table to grab at the sticky tube. You swiped it up and handed it to her.

The two of you were sat at the table, Lucy was doing arts and crafts. You were supposed to be supervising. Laura, Charlie and your father were in the next room having a discussion. You didn’t even need to ask what it was about. Charlie’s father.

You had never met Scott Calvin yourself; you had always refused to participate in family outings involving him, feigning sick or making up other excuses for why you couldn’t go. It wasn’t that you hated the guy, you really had no opinion on him. You just found it weird to hang around with Charlie’s dad, after all Scott and Laura had divorced for a reason, right?

“Uncle Scott is Santa Claus, you know,” Lucy said matter of factly as she glued two pieces of paper together. She said this to you a lot and every time, it annoyed you just a tad bit more. There was no way Charlie’s dad was “Santa Claus”.

“Just because he’s fat and has a beard, does not make him Santa Claus, Luce. Grow up. Santa Claus isn’t even real, it’s just some lie dad and mom made up to get you to go to sleep on time on Christmas Eve, so you won’t see them putting the presents down,” you looked down at the book you were reading. Lucy glared at you from across the table, slamming her glue stick down.

“I’m serious!” She cried out.

“Lucy, (Y/n), Scott will be here soon. Come on out here.”

You rolled your eyes as your little sister hurried out of the kitchen, excitedly yelling about “Uncle Scott”. This was the first time, no matter how many excuses you came up with, your father refused to let you skimp on meeting Scott. His words echoed in your head.

“You’re as much a part of this family as Charlie and Lucy. Scott is an important part of this family, it’s time we finally share that with you.”

Whatever that means.

You followed your sister into the living room, where you could already hear a loud boisterous voice chatting with your family members. You hesitated in the hallway, trying to hear what they were talking about.

“(Y/n)?” Your dad called once more.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” you hurried the rest of the way into the living room, pausing as you reached the doorway.

Lucy was already all over her “Uncle Scott”, sitting in his lap and telling him an exciting story. Charlie was leaning forward in his seat, clearly very happy to see his father after not seeing him for so long. Laura and your dad had their arms around each other, sitting on the couch, watching the whole scene with affection.

Then there was somebody else standing beside Scott in his chair. You quietly walked across the room to sit next to Charlie without disturbing the guests. Before you could even get halfway into the room however;

“Who’s this?”

You froze, turning to look at Scott. Of course he would be curious why he’d never seen you around before.

“This is (Y/n), my eldest. They’re Charlie’s age.” Neil explained for you. You wished for a brief moment he wouldn’t do that stuff, you were almost an adult, you could answer simple questions for yourself.

“(Y/n) Miller,” you held your hand out to shake. He shook it and as he did so, you couldn’t help but think about what Lucy had said earlier. Maybe he wasn’t Santa, but he sure did look the part. You looked up to the guy standing beside him.

“Scott Calvin. My right-hand man, Bernard,” he introduced himself and the guy in one fell swoop. He looked a little young to be someone’s right-hand man. He almost looked like he was your age.

“Lucy says you’re Santa Claus. But I don’t believe that. Santa Claus is just a made-up character, there’s no such thing,” you blurted before you could stop yourself. The easy calm that was in the air previously dissipated somewhat as you said that. Scott was the only one who seemed completely unphased by what you said.

“You know what, I don’t blame you, (Y/n), one man delivering presents to all the children in the world,” he shook his head. “Sounds impossible.”

You nodded along with him, clearly, he was a very logical man. You wondered where Charlie got his obsession with Santa from. Clearly not Laura, she was very practical as well.

“But I seem to recall you wanted a dog for your 5th Christmas. And the year after your parents divorced, you wrote to me asking for your mother to come back. Unfortunately there are some things that even Santa can’t fix, though I would’ve loved it if I could,” he explained sympathetically. There was silence in the room.

You had never told anyone what you wrote to Santa that year. Not even your father. How could you tell him to his face that all you wanted was your mother back, after she’d abandoned the both of you? How, then, did Scott Calvin know your biggest childhood wish?

“I…”

“(Y/n)?” Your dad’s voice called from a distance, but you were already climbing the stairs, two at a time. You had to get away from him. He just reminded you of all the pain you’d been through after that divorce. That was the last year you wrote to Santa. That was the year you stopped believing in Santa. Not even Charlie Calvin could convince you after that.

There was a knock on your bedroom door.

You hesitated, opening the door slowly. You were expecting it to be your dad. But it was Bernard, you were pretty sure that’s what Scott had said his name was.

“I offered to come check on you, it’s a lot at first to find out Santa is real. I’m the best at answering questions on this topic,” he offered.

You scoffed loudly. “And what are you, then? An elf?”

“I’m really sorry about your parents, (Y/n), but you seem really happy here. With Neil and Laura. And Charlie and Lucy,” he walked over to your bed, sitting cross legged on top, as if you’d invited him in for a quick friendly chat.

You felt yourself deflate slightly. There was no denying you did miss your mom, even though you saw her occasionally. It wasn’t enough. But at the same time, your father had tried really hard to rebuild a family for you. What more could you ask for?

“Bernard, if you and Scott are really who you say you are, then how does that work?” You asked, uncertainly.

He laughed slightly, standing and patting you on the back. “It’s nice to know we didn’t completely lose you.”

“I’m not saying I believe in Santa-!”

“Too late you already did!”

This guy was going to get on your last nerve, you could already tell but you found yourself laughing as he walked out ahead of you.

Scott really was Santa, Lucy was right. You’d never doubt her again.

#Bernard the Elf #bernard imagine #bernard the elf x reader #The Santa Clause #the santa clause imagine #scott calvin #neil miller #laura miller #lucy miller #charlie calvin

[zillennial97]

My All-Time Favorites | Larry Fanfic Recs

*these works are the closest to my heart and my best recommendations*

Hiding Place by alivingfire | 365k | Explicit

Louis never wanted a soulmate, didn’t really care for the whole Bonding thing at all, really. Enter Harry Styles, who’s wanted to be Bonded for as long as he could remember. With one fateful meeting in an X Factor bathroom, Louis gets a dagger on his arm and the realization that just because Harry is his soulmate doesn’t mean it’s mutual.

From the X Factor house to Madison Square Garden, from the Fountain Studios stage to stadiums across the world, Louis has to learn to love without losing himself completely, because someday his best friend will Bond to someone and replace Louis as the center of his universe. Meanwhile, Harry begins to think that maybe fate doesn’t actually know what it’s doing after all, because his other half has clearly been right in front of him the whole time. All he has to do now is convince Louis to give them a chance.

Or, the canon compliant Harry and Louis love story from the very beginning, where the only difference is that the love between them is literally written on their skin, and there’s only so much they can hide.

And Then a Bit by infinitelymint | 158k | Explicit

“We’d like to give the fans what they want.” Magee states, placing his hand on the table in front of him and leaning forward. “We want to give them Larry Stylinson.”

Or, take a parallel universe where Louis and Harry were never together, mix in a two year hiatus and an impending comeback, pour in a dash of lost fans, two tablespoons of strong friendship and a Modest! employee with a good idea. Add a squeeze of pretending to be a couple, lots of kisses and a tattoo or two. Stir. Serve: the mother of all publicity stunts.

(aka Harry and Louis fake a relationship for publicity. Eventually it becomes a lot less fake and a lot more real.)

Walk That Mile by purpledaisy | 149k | Explicit

Harry stares at him, the line of his jaw standing out scarily. “I wanted to get the most out of this trip so I planned it carefully.” His voice is low and steady and somehow that’s worse than when he was yelling. “So far, you’ve put your sticky fingers on everything I’ve tried to do.”

“Sticky fingers?” Louis repeats, offended. “Are you saying it’s my fault you got stung by a bee? Had you been alone you would have gotten halfway to the Dotty Diner and ran the car off the road because of an allergic reaction, so don’t go blaming me.”

“Polk-A-Dot Drive In,” Harry spits before getting out of the car. He slams the door shut with a deafening reverb and Louis rolls his eyes.- A Route 66 AU where falling in love was never part of the plan.

Unbelievers by isthatyoularry | 136k | Explicit

It’s Louis’ senior year, and he’s dead set on doing it right. However, along with his pair of cleats, a healthy dose of sarcasm and his ridiculous best friend, he’s also got a complicated family, a terrifyingly uncertain future, and a mortal enemy making his life just that much worse. Mortal enemies “with benefits” was not exactly the plan.

Or: The one where Louis and Harry definitely aren’t friends, and football is everything.

California Sold by isthatyoularry | 123k | Mature

Notoriously closeted boyband member Harry Styles is famous on a global scale, meanwhile Louis, as his best friend, is back home in Manchester, living the typical life of a 24 year old. When Harry needs Louis with him in LA, a publicity stunt gone wrong changes their friendship forever.

A fake-relationship AU between two lifelong best friends.

Fucking Animals by pointerbrother | 116k | Explicit

“Just, off the record,” she says, voice lower, eyes sharper, crook of her mouth quirking up a little, “don’t you ever miss it? A good knot? You must.”

Louis blinks and then swallows, thickly. “No,” he exclaims, offended that she’d even ask, “I love my husband. And anyway, how could I miss something I’ve never had?”

---

Louis is the frontman of an equal rights-movement, author of a book about beta-omega marriage and the struggles of being born and boxed into a personality you don't necessarily feel you fit. The notion that an omega must want to be with an alpha or else he or she's just settling for less, is bullshit.

But, fucking hell.

we're not friends, we could be anything by nooelgallagher, yoursongonmyheart | 115k | Explicit

Louis narrows his eyes at Harry. “What that supposed to be a fucking joke?”

Harry narrows his eyes right back. “It was a good joke.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Jokes require laughter, Curls.” Louis glances down at Harry’s thighs again, Christ. “Your pants must be so tight they’re restricting airflow to your brain.”

Harry wipes a bead of sweat off his forehead. “Pretty sure yoga is supposed to increase airflow, blood flow, and all that,” he responds dryly, finally jumpstarting himself and walking away from Louis towards his own bedroom.

Louis can’t help but stare at his broad back, still sheen with drying sweat, and his perky bum in the tight yoga pants.

Louis swallows. Christ.

...Or, the one where Harry and Louis are unlikely uni flatmates who definitely don't like each other and definitely won't fall in love (even if Liam and Niall think otherwise).

Tired Tired Sea by MediaWhore | 113k | Mature

As a B&B owner on the most remote of all the British Isles, Louis Tomlinson is used to spending the coldest half of the year in complete isolation, with his dog and the sea as sole companions. Until, one day, a mysterious stranger on a quest to rebuild himself rents a room for the winter.

Our Lives, Non-Fiction by indiaalphawhiskey | 113k | Explicit

Heralded as the next Neil Gaiman, Louis Tomlinson does not appreciate being told that his very serious novel is in dire need of a PR boost. Even worse, that it comes in the form of a joint book tour with the UK’s #1 online romance-writing sensation Marcel Styles. Already turbulent at best, their partnership takes a drastic turn when, overly stressed about his looming deadline, Marcel accidentally blurts out a secret: though he’s famed for his scorching hot literary love scenes, he is, actually, a virgin.

Convinced that the only way to rid himself of writer’s block is to gain some experience, Marcel asks Louis, author-to-author, to sleep with him – for Science. And of course Louis agrees because, well, what on Earth could possibly go wrong?

Or, a lesson in romance that proves that sometimes the best love stories aren’t always by the book.

You’ve Got My Devotion (Hate You Sometimes) by lucythegoosey | 95k | Explicit

Harry was in the biggest boy band in the world. He was also one half of the best (or worst, depends on who you ask) kept secret relationship in the music industry.

Now, almost five years on, after One Direction has broken up, and Harry and Louis' relationship has as well, a video threatens to put everything at risk.

One determined Irishman, a massive publicity stunt and two begrudging exes are all it takes to bring One Direction back to life and maybe, just maybe, Harry and Louis' mangled love life too.

Or: Harry and Louis are forced to fake-date after an old video from when they were dating emerges.

This Wicked Game by cherrystreet | 70k | Explicit

An AU in which The Bachelor is gay, Louis is a contestant, Harry is the bachelor, everyone drinks a lot of champagne, the entire world gets to watch them fall in love, and no one plays by the rules.

Christmas-ing With You by dolce_piccante | 65k | Mature

Two writers from Loving Heart Television, the premiere network for holiday romance films, find that, sometimes, love is not only in their works of fiction.

Barefoot in Blue Jeans by indiaalphawhiskey | 24k | Explicit

AU. Louis Tomlinson is trying desperately hard not to fall for his son’s au pair, but he can’t, for the life of him, remember why.

475. The hope that this fear is unfounded.

#larry fanfiction recommendations #larry fanfic rec #larry fic #larry fanfiction #larry stylinson #louis tomlinson #harry styles #one direction fanfiction #one direction fanfic recs #larry fanfiction masterpost

[kiirokero]

Redamancy (OT7)

Redamancy: The act of loving the one who loves you; a love returned in full.

Part of the Protect the Village! Oneshot Series.

Masterlist

Pairing: BTS x Reader (Yes, all seven,)

Genre/Warnings: fluff, a bit of angst, strangers to friends to lovers, a lot of mediocre humour, 

Note: The multiverse in this world just got more complicated. But I did it!

Summary: Seven men, all from different walks of life. Then there’s you, their best friend. Nothing good ever comes from loving those close to you a little too much, that’s what you think. Apparently they have another idea.

Word Count: ~12k

UNEDITED please forgive my illiterate ass. Might edit it at a later date. 

It started with Jimin. 

     Having just moved to the village, you were just barely on your own two feet. You thought moving to the small town full of, what? 200 people? Would be enough to give you that cottage lifestyle you always wanted. Away from others, on your own, nothing but you and the forest. Of course, living in seclusion wouldn’t be as amazing as the stories make it out to be. You knew this, so you settled on moving to a small village. 

      You grew up in the city all your life. And you hated it. You hated the sickly smell of trash and cigarettes. You hated the constant buzz of people no matter the hour of the day. You absolutely despised the people who lived there too. You never thought people could get so narcissistic. Yeah, there were friendly people there, but the selfish and rude ones drowned them out. 

     So because of your less-than stellar experience with people, you didn’t plan on making many friends. Maybe becoming acquaintances with the lady who walked her dog every day or being on a first name basis with the barista at the local coffee shop. You planned to keep to yourself. Stay confined to your house and small garden, work from home. But the universe, or a stubborn blonde-haired delivery boy, had other plans. 

Because it started with Jimin. 

     Today was like any other day in the oddly cheery village. The sun was out, there wasn’t a cloud in sight, and it was way too hot for you. “Ugh,” You groaned, flopping face first on your dusty couch that was fresh out of storage. You felt like you were sweating off pounds of your body fat. You were sticky and uncomfortable. But that wasn’t even the worst part of the day.

      It was only the third day of moving into your new cottage, and you were already done with it. You’ve sneezed more times than you could count, your muscles were begging for mercy, and the movers broke your bookshelf. You swear you could kill a man. Now you had a box full of books and no bookshelf to organize them on. 

      Sure, maybe it wasn’t as serious as you were making it out to be, but adding on all the additional stresses from the past week, it felt like someone just kicked your cat. Not that you have a cat... But the point was made. You were on the verge of a breaking point. 

     Reluctantly, you went to your bedroom and opened your laptop, searching the internet for a new bookshelf. You tried to lift your spirits by telling yourself that you could get one that matches your mahogany coffee table, but one look at the price tag quickly brought you back down. “This better be an heirloom for my great-grandchildren,” You grumbled, going to checkout and typing in your credit card information. 

      The new bookshelf showed up in 2 days. You would think that would be enough time to get your shit together, but it wasn’t. The past 2 days made you even more stressed as you found important things were either missing or hidden deep in odd boxes they had no business being in. Now you're not a sentimental person, not a lot of items you own hold much sentiment to you. But if there’s one item you treasure dearly, it’d be your mother's necklace. 

      It was an old silver necklace that wound around a small teal stone. The chain was chunky and a bit rusty. Though it wasn’t falling apart, just old. It was a centuries old heirloom. Your mother said it used to be painted gold, but that was when your great-great grandmother had it. How she knew that? You didn’t know, you never asked either. Your mom was always just an oddball. 

      But that wasn’t what caught people’s attention the most. It was the teal stone itself. It was an unnatural shape. It looked like it was split in 2 pieces down the middle, almost looking like a pair of doors. They were trapezoids laid on their sides, wider edges together. You asked your mom why they were carved into such a shape, but she always said the same thing. “Honey, the stone isn’t carved, it’s natural. You’ll understand one day.”

To this day, you still don’t understand. 

      And now you never would, because the priceless family treasure was missing. You could practically hear your mother tsking from her grave as she watches you upturn everything in your apartment looking for it. You were currently bending yourself in half, peering under the couch, when the doorbell suddenly rang. You jumped, bumping your head on the coffee table. “Ow...” You groaned, standing up to answer the door. 

      Opening the door, you saw a blonde man standing on your porch with a large box standing upright next to him. “Hello! I have a package for, um... Y/n?” He said with a smile. “That’s me,” You chuckled, trying your best to at least look like you had your life together. “Is that... Heavy?” You asked cautiously, intimidated by the box that was almost as tall as the man in front of you. 

      “Yeah... A little bit... Would you like me to take it in for you?” He offered, to which you graciously accepted. “You can just put it by the tv stand,” You said. He gave you a determined nod, carrying the box over to the living room while you snuck away to the kitchen to get him a bottle of water. It was a hot day; it was the least you could do. 

      “Hey, um, is this yours?” He asked you as you walked back to the living room. In his hand was the silver necklace you were painstakingly searching for. “Oh! Yes! Thank you, where’d you find it?” You asked, quirking your brow. “It was peeking out from under the tv stand, and I don’t think you meant to put it there,” He chuckled, his eyes upturning into crescents. You couldn’t help but thinking that it was cute. 

      You held the necklace to your chest, basking in the sense of relief it gave you. “Yeah, I was looking everywhere for it. Odd that it was in such a visible place,” Your browns knitted together as you asked yourself how you missed it. You almost upturned the entire house looking for it. “Mystery solved!” The blonde man chuckled, “I’m Jimin by the way. I couldn’t help but notice all the boxes... Did you just move here?” Jimin asked, expression showing nothing but friendly curiosity. 

     You sighed, looking around at the mess that was your house currently. “Is it that obvious?” You joked, causing Jimin to chuckle. “Well, welcome to Bangtan! Not many people move out here.” He pointed out. You shrugged, “It seems nice out here. Peaceful,” Jimin gave you a soft, kind smile, one which you reciprocated. “I hope you like it here,”

     As soon as he left, you’d quickly unclasped the necklace and put it on, vowing to never take it off again. It was the only thing you had left of your mother. You didn’t care if you weren’t a jewelry person; you were now.

It started with Jimin. 

     After that day, you would see him often. Whether he was zipping around main street, delivering inventory to the various shops, or he was bringing you a package. You once asked him if he’s the only delivery personnel in the whole village, worrying that whoever was employing him was running him ragged. “No, but we have our designated areas in the village. I deliver for main street and the forest houses. Aka the houses that boarder the forest... Aka you!” Was his explanation. 

      Besides the occasional run-ins, you and Jimin never really hung out. Until he came bouncing up to your doorstep, asking if you wanted to go to the arcade with him on his day off. You almost said no. Well, you said no... But Jimin practically begged you to come, so you gave in... Eventually. So, one Sunday afternoon, you got dressed and went to the arcade that Jimin was so excited about. 

He showed up, but he wasn’t alone. 

Because next it was Taehyung. 

      It was a nice day. Perfect temperature, lovely breeze, clear skies. You would’ve loved to sit in your garden, enjoying a nice glass of lemonade, but no. Here you were outside of an admittedly pretty, arcade. Waiting for Jimin to show up so you could kick his ass at some air hockey. 

      You picked at the invisible lint on your jeans. Tapping your shoes against the concrete. You don’t know why you dressed nicer than you usually do. Maybe it was because Jimin always saw you in sweatshirts and sweatpants and you wanted to prove that you weren’t the humanized version of a dust bunny. Maybe it was because he always looks like he walked off a runway, even in his work uniform. But now you're regretting it. Your jeans are a bit too tight because you haven’t gone clothes shopping in a while and your black shirt was attracting the heat of the sun. 

      “Y/n!!!” A voice yelled, and you instantly knew it was Jimin. Looking at the end of the street, your suspicions were confirmed when you saw his blonde hair flowing in the wind as he ran to you. It was odd to see him dressed in day clothes, but it was a welcome change. He had on light washed jeans and a plain white shirt hidden underneath a denim jacket. It was a simple look, but he rocked it. 

      He stopped in front of you, hands on his knees, gasping for air. “I wasn’t going anywhere.” You chuckled, patting his head patronizingly. “I huff was just puff excited to see you.” He choked out, taking a few more deep breaths before sitting upright again. You felt your cheeks heat up at his enthusiasm to see you, but you shrugged it off. “Well, you coming?” You asked, pointing your thumb towards the building behind you. “Taehyung’s not here yet.” Jimin said, nonchalantly. 

      You tilted your head, Taehyung? “Who’s Taehyung?” You asked, poking Jimin’s side. “He’s one of my friends! Best baker in town! Well... Only baker in town, but still. He has the day off too, I thought it would be nice for you to meet him,” He shrugged, “Is that okay?” His tone was a worried one, as if he was just now realizing that you could be uncomfortable with meeting others, but you just sighed. “It’s fine, Jimin. If he’s friends with you, I’m sure he’s pretty cool,” You said, and Jimin’s eyes lit up. 

      The two of you continued to talk about random things. What you did yesterday, your plans for the coming week... Jimin was currently telling you the story about one of his other friends being attacked by a giant squirrel when a deep voice called his name. “Jiminie!” The two of you turned to see a man waving at Jimin from the end of the street, jogging over to meet up with you. 

      You could tell that this man was a bit taller than Jimin, but not by much. He had short, light brown hair, like a honey blonde color, that almost reached his eyes. He had slightly tanned skin that seemed to glow in the sun and a boxy smile that showcased his perfect teeth. You wondered if all of Jimin’s friends were model level attractive. 

      The man, who you assumed was Taehyung, and Jimin hugged each other once they got close enough. It was a short but sweet one, and you could tell that they’ve known each other for a long time. “Tae, this is Y/n! Y/n, this is Taehyung!” Jimin introduced the two of you, and you gave him a friendly bow. “Nice to meet you! Jimin’s been blabbering on all the time about you,” Taehyung snickered, earning an elbow to the arm from Jimin. 

     “Oh, really? Only good things, I hope,” You raised an eyebrow towards Jimin, and he raised his hands in defense. “Only good things! Only good,” He chuckled, and you nodded your head in satisfaction. “It’s nice to meet you too. Taehyung,” You smiled, turning your attention back to the man next to Jimin. “Alright! Game time!” Jimin clapped, racing inside the arcade with Taehyung hot on his tail. You snorted at their actions, following after them. 

      When the 3 of you paid for your tokens, you instantly agreed on going right to the air hockey table. “Okay so... Tae and I will face off with each other, then the winner plays you, is that alright?” Jimin asked, looking between you and Taehyung. Taehyung nodded while you gave him a thumbs up. 

      The two of them went to opposite sides of the table, putting in their tokens and grabbing the strikers. “You're going down,” Jimin threatened, glaring at the man in front of him. “Jimin, you’re about as frightening as a newborn puppy,” Taehyung snickered, earning an exaggerated gasp from the blonde. “Asshole,” He murmured to himself, picking up the puck and starting the game. 

      To say watching Jimin and Taehyung play was funny, is an understatement. Every time Taehyung scored a point, Jimin would whine louder and every time Jimin would score, Taehyung would start the game as quickly as possible, cutting off Jimin’s little victory dance. “Come on, Jimin!” You encouraged, looking at the 3-point difference on the overhead scoreboard. “It’s only three points!”

      Jimin tried, maybe a little too hard, but ended up losing in the end. Jimin pouted, his lower lip protruding exaggeratedly. He came over and laid his forehead on your shoulder, whining to you about Taehyung being a try-hard jerk. You just chuckled, giving his back a light pat as you gently pushed him off and went up to the table. 

      “You ready?” Taehyung asked after you put your tokens in. You nodded, waiting for him to start the game. Immediately, Taehyung hit the puck hard and fast, the plastic disc ricocheting off the sides in a zig-zag pattern. It was too fast for you to properly stop it from going right into your goal. Taehyung laughed from the other side of the table, holding his stomach as he bent over, wheezing. 

      You looked at him, unimpressed, snatching the puck from the space under the table. “You looked so helpless,” He wheezed, and you quickly put down the puck and hit it right into Taehyung’s goal, making the score even. “Oh no, you looked so helpless,” You snickered, mockingly. Setting off a competitive fire between you and Taehyung. 

After Jimin it was Taehyung. 

      That day was full of laughs and friendly insults thrown back and forth in the heat of a competitive moment. After you won that air hockey game, Taehyung challenged you to everything after that. “I bet I can score higher on this!” or “I bet you can’t beat that,” To which you proved him wrong about 50% of the time, Jimin being your cheerleader for every game. Besides DDR. Nobody dares to go against Jimin on DDR. Unless it’s Hoseok. 

      But your interactions with Taehyung and Jimin didn’t stop there. Now Jimin felt more comfortable inviting you out, usually to Taehyung’s bakery, so you could get to know each other better. Sometimes you’d even go to Taehyung’s bakery (Aptly named “Kim’s Confections”) on your own, just to talk to him as he made his stock for the next day. 

     Jimin and Taehyung said they had other friends that would love to meet you, but they were just busy, so it would take time. They also told you that 2 were on a business trip and wouldn’t be back for another week while another was swamped with work and the others were just shy. You didn’t mind much; you’d meet them when you met them. 

Which apparently was soon.

Because then it was Namjoon. 

      It was a nice day out today. It was slightly overcast and there was a cool breeze blowing through. Perfect for you. Not so perfect to the sunshine people of Bangtan. Nobody was out and about today like usual. People were treating a slightly dim day like it was snowing. It was amusing to you. When you first got here, you’ve never seen so many sunny days before. It was disorienting. The chilly day was a blissful blessing. 

      But going out on a lovely day was only fun when other people were out on that lovely day. Despite your previous woes, you actually wanted to get to know the community that lived in Bangtan. Jimin said that they didn’t get many outsiders, but everyone here was delightful to you. There was even this old lady how gave you a Snickers! A whole Snickers!

      Instead of letting the lack of people get you down though, you opted to go on one of the nature paths that went through the forest that surrounds the village. Putting on a pair of jeans and a jacket, you grabbed your small backpack off the counter and headed straight for the forest that was behind your house. 

     When Jimin said you lived in a “forest house,” He really wasn’t wrong, the tree line was only a 2-minute walk from your backdoor. You love the fact that you can look out your window and see the wildlife running around, even if some of them look oddly larger than normal. But that was probably just your imagination. 

      Stepping onto a well-worn path, you began your walk. Listening to the songs of the birds and breathing in the earthy smell that surrounded you, it was like heaven. Maybe it was because you lived in the city for most of your life, but you really felt drawn to this place. The vibrant green trees, the lively wildlife, the calm atmosphere. It was all so... Nice.

     The way the wind blew through the trees, rustling the leaves in a peaceful harmony, made pleasant shivers run down your spine. You would playfully wave at the squirrels and birds that you encountered on your path, and they would oddly look back at you, making you chuckle. “Cuties,” You whispered to yourself, your shoes crunching against the dried fallen leaves that covered the path. 

      About 20 minutes into your walk, however, you felt goosebumps rise on your skin. Like a second sense you weren’t aware about. Curiously, you stopped, looking around the empty forest. Nothing but trees, fauna, and flora as far as the eye could see. But it was also deathly quiet. You didn’t notice before, too trapped in your own thoughts, but the birds stopped chirping, like the entire forest had gone still. 

      Shivers ran their way up your spine, and you didn’t dare move a muscle. Suddenly the once refreshing forest air turned dry and suffocating, and it felt colder than before. The rustling of leaves caught your attention, and you whipped around in search of the source. Nothing moved as it went silent again. Scared, you started walking down the path again, eager to get away. 

      You could hear your heart pounding in your ears as your palms became sweaty from tightly clutching onto your bag. But then the rustling came again, this time it was closer. You whimpered, picking up your speed into a brisk walk to a jog, the rustling still following you. You took the risk of looking behind you, and what you saw made you gasp. There behind you was a grey wolf, briskly following you like it had all the time in the world. It wasn’t necessarily threatening you in any way, but it was a wolf, and all you were thinking about was getting away. 

     You broke out into a run, trying to get as far away from the animal as you could. You logically knew that it could easily run faster than you, but you were running on pure adrenalin at this point. Well, you were. Until you slammed face first into what felt like a brick wall. You fell backwards with a thump, groaning at the shock of pain that ran up your ankle. 

    “Oh! I’m sorry!” A deep voice apologized, kneeling next to you. All thoughts of the animal chasing you vanished from your mind when you looked up to see a tan, muscular man. He had sandy blonde hair that was swept to the side and chestnut brown eyes that were filled with worry. His grey shirt was tight, leaving little to the imagination. He was very well built. “Hello? Oh no, did you hit your head?” His voice spoke up again, waving his hand in front of your face. 

    You blinked a couple of times before lightly shaking your head. “No- I’m okay,” You answered, and the man let out a sigh of relief. “That’s good, can you stand up?” He asked, you tried to stand up, but a piercing, sweltering heat shot its way up your ankle and you groaned in pain. “I think I twisted my ankle...” You whimpered, bringing one of your hands down to support it. 

      “Oh no, um... Think Namjoon think...” The man, who you presumed to be the Namjoon he was referring to, paced back and forth in front of you. You brought your backpack around in front of you, looking through it until you pulled out the mini first aid kit you carried. You opened up the small plastic box and got out the bandage wrap that came with it. “Um, can you help me wrap my ankle?” You spoke up, getting the worried man’s attention. “Y-Yeah!” He nodded, kneeling in front of you. 

     “I’m so sorry... Um, I can, uh... Carry you back to my home? I think I have an ice pack in the freezer,” He offered while he wrapped the bandage snuggly against your ankle... You raised your eyebrow suspiciously, not quite trusting the random woodsman you just met. 

      He caught on to what you were thinking, quickly holding his hands up and smiling awkwardly. “I promise I won’t do anything! And if I make you uncomfortable, you can like... Punch me or something,” He said, and you relented, knowing that he was likely your only way out of this forest since you seemed to have strayed off the beaten path. 

“I’m Namjoon, by the way,” He smiled, revealing a pair of deep-set dimples.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Y/n,” 

     After Namjoon wrapped up your ankle, he picked you up bridal style (After getting your permission) and carried you back to civilization. You made small talk along the way. Namjoon told you that he was the town’s mechanic and he lived in an apartment that was above his shop. You told him that you were new in town and you worked as a translator. 

      Soon, you arrived at a small store that looked very much like a smaller version of AutoZone. Namjoon carefully carried you up the stairs and set you down on his living room couch. “I’ll go get that ice pack,” He said, giving you a soft smile as he disappeared into what you assumed to be the kitchen. 

    You ignored the blush that made its way onto the tips of your ears, searching through your bag until you found your phone. Opening your messages with Jimin. 

Hey. I know I said I’d meet up with you later but I kinda messed up my ankle...

Chim: What?! How?

I went on a nature hike and ran face first into this dude Namjoon

Chim: Namjoon? The mechanic?

Yeah, he brought me back to his house and is treating it. Seems super worried. Chill guy though!

Chim: Sounds like Joon. Stay there, okay? I’ll meet you there. I’ll bring Tae too.

You know him?

Chim: He’s the guy I told you about, the one that knocked over the can display.

Oh yeah! lol

After Taehyung it was Namjoon.

      After you texted Jimin about your predicament, him and Taehyung showed up to gage how bad it really was. In reality, it wasn’t that awful. You only had to wear a brace for 3 days and stay far away from Namjoon’s clumsy tendencies for another 2. 

      Namjoon was surprised at first to find out that you knew the two men, and then they enthusiastically informed him that you were the Y/n that they’ve been telling everyone about. You don’t know if it was more embarrassing for you to find out you're a regular conversation topic, or for Namjoon who didn’t connect the dots earlier. Maybe it was both. 

     But besides your rocky first impressions. You and Namjoon bonded quickly. But instead of bonding over competition like Taehyung or frequent meetings like Jimin... The two of you bonded when you found out his love for books, especially old classics. It was only 2 days after your initial meeting. Jimin and Taehyung were busy, and you didn’t feel like being alone, so you visited Namjoon. (Much to his surprise)

      You were keeping him company in the garage while he worked on a car when you referenced a scene from “The Odyssey,” Namjoon had shot his head up and looked at you wide eyed, asking if you were a fan of literature. When you said yes, he couldn’t help but talk animatedly about his favorites as you playfully indulged him. Not minding one bit. 

      The two of you frequently met up to talk about books. Whether it be a debate about whether “To Kill a Mockingbird” Should be as hyped up as it is or deep philosophical conversations about the meaning of “Where’d You Go, Bernadette?” But there was one day when you visited him that he asked if you wanted to go shopping with him. 

Which is how you ended up in a grocery store with cans rolling around on the floor. 

Then you met Hoseok.

      “Shopping?” You asked incredulously as you watched Namjoon emerge from his room with a fresh set of clothes on. “Yeah! It could be fun! Also, Jimin begged me to go with him and I don’t want to go through that alone,” He blurted out, and you laughed, hiding your face in the arm of his couch. 

      Namjoon huffed at your amusement, whining out a “Please?” That you just couldn’t exist. You sighed, getting up from the couch and slipping on your shoes. “Let’s go then, you know how Jimin gets,” Namjoon quickly followed suit, not wanting to deal with a nagging Jimin alone. “You’re right, let’s go!” He rushed, and you giggled, following him out the door. 

      It was another sunny day in Bangtan, meaning more people were out and about. You smiled as people on the street waved at you, becoming more used to your presence in the town. “How different is the city life to this?” Namjoon asked from beside you, hands stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket. “Much different. People would usually bump into you, then sneer at you like it was your fault,” You snorted, earning a wide-eyed look from the man beside you.

    “People were that rude?” He asked, exasperated. “Yep,” You nodded, finding his distaste for people he’s never met somewhat amusing. Namjoon scoffed, mumbling a “Dumb people,” Under his breath, causing you to chuckle. “Namjoon, there's no need to get so worked up about it,” You poked his shoulder. Namjoon looked at you with pursed lips, “Nobody should be mean to a person like you,” He declared, looking at you with deep intensity. 

    “Guys!” A voice called, breaking through the moment you and Namjoon were having. You cleared your throat, wiping your sweaty palms on your jeans before looking up at Jimin. He was standing in front of the grocery store you often frequented. “Hey,” You greeted once the two of you got close enough. Jimin engulfed you in a hug, squeezing you tight, and you couldn’t help the giggled that bubbled their way up and out of your throat. But you missed the look of jealousy that crossed Namjoon’s face. 

      Once Jimin let go, he gave both of you and a cheeky smile. “So... I know Hoseok technically banned Namjoon from here after last time... But! Today is the day they restock the junk food” Jimin exclaimed, enthusiasm painted on his face. You forgot that living in such a secluded town meant that things like brand-named food went out of stock and stayed like that for longer than you were used to. It was one of the downsides to living here, but like, one out of five.

      “Hoseok? You mean the manager that seems to avoid me like the plague?” You asked, earning a sympathetic look from both of the men. You’re heard about Hoseok plenty of times from Jimin, Taehyung, AND Namjoon. You’ve even seen the dude when you shopped here sometimes, but he always hid away in the backroom when he noticed your presence. Not coming out until you were gone.

    You were convinced that Hoseok didn’t like you for whatever reason, but everyone told you it was just him. He was shy at first, then the loudest person you’d ever meet. “Y/n...” Jimin whined, and you playfully rolled your eyes. “Yeah. yeah. He doesn't have some sort of weird vendetta against me, I get it,” You groaned, walking past both of them. “Let’s just go, yeah?” You pressed, looking over your shoulder at the both of them. 

    The two of them looked at each other, then back at you before they followed you into the store. Jimin quickly took the lead as he guided you and Namjoon towards the candy and chips section of the small mart. “Ah, it’s beautiful,” Jimin sighed, grabbing a pack of spicy potato chips. “It’s unhealthy,” Namjoon mocking him, mimicking Jimin’s dreamy sigh.

    Jimin whipped around to glare at the taller man, not caring that Namjoon had to look down to maintain eye contact with him. “Look, not everyone eats leaves like you Joon,” Jimin hmphed, turning back to the shelf. You snickered, earning an exaggerated gasp from Namjoon. “I’m offended, Y/n,” He said, and you chuckled harder. 

    “That’s it, come here,” Namjoon threatened, reaching out for you to which you immediately turned and ran away. You say run, but it was more like a jog. You and Namjoon were laughing with each other while he tried to catch you. “Weak sauce, Namjoon,” You teased from the opposite end of the aisle from him. “You wound me,” He chuckled, lunging at you yet again. 

    But this time, you narrowly dodged his grasp. You jumped out of the way quickly enough for him to miss you, but he wasn’t quick enough to stop himself from running headfirst into a display of cans. How ironic. The cans sounded a huge crash as they fell to the floor in conjunction, Namjoon falling with them. He let out a groan of pain as he landed on a can, one of them hitting him on the head. 

    You let out a pained hiss, almost feeling the headache incoming. “Are you okay?” You asked, kneeling beside him. This situation feeling familiar before. “Yeah... I’m good,” Namjoon whimpered out, wincing at the pain in his back. Suddenly, the two of you heard rapid footsteps approaching you. “You idiots,” Jimin sighed, kneeling on the opposite side of Namjoon. “This is why Hobi banned you,” Jimin flicked Namjoon’s nose, the elder letting out a choked “Ack” sound. 

     Soon, you and Jimin helped Namjoon back up to his feet, the taller man resting a hand on his back for support. “Of course it was you, Joon,” A new voice spoke up, sounding amused. The three of you focused your attention on the approaching man coming down on of the isles, his eyes trained on Namjoon. 

     He was taller than Jimin but shorter than Namjoon, somewhere in between. He had brunette hair in a mocha-like shade that was a similar hairstyle to Taehyung. He had deep brown eyes and heart-shaped lips that were upturned into a slight smile. You recognized him as Hoseok, the store manager who avoided you like you had a flu and he was immunocompromised. 

    “Well... This situation seems familiar,” Namjoon chuckled, wincing when he realized that made his back hurt worse. “Yes, it is,” Hoseok sighed, looking at the dented and disorganized cans that were scattered on the floor. “Sorry about the mess,” You spoke up, Hoseok’s eyes finally registering on you. He seemed to freeze up, a nervous smile plastered on his face. 

    “It’s fine!” He said a bit too enthusiastically. Jimin snickered from the other side of Namjoon, giving Hoseok a teasing smirk. “Hobi! This is Y/n! The girl I’ve told you so much about!” Jimin smiled, and Hoseok’s cheeks reddened as he avoided eye contact with you. “Nice to meet you,” He coughed out. “You’ve seen me before... I’m not exactly shopping for food anywhere else,” You pointed out. 

     Hoseok looked up to you for a brief second before looking back down at his shoes. “Yeah! Yeah... Sorry you’re just, new,” He nervously chuckled. “I get it, I’ve heard not many people come to Bangtan. You just don’t hate me, right?” You asked cautiously, not knowing what you would do if the answer was yes. “No! I don’t hate you; I swear.” Hoseok cleared his throat, fiddling with his fingers. 

     “What Hoseok is trying to say is he doesn’t know how to approach new people. Like I’ve been telling you,” Jimin interrupted, giving you a “I told you so,” Look. “Whatever Jimin. But um, Hoseok? Could you do me a favor?” You asked, turning your attention back on the brunette. “Hmm?” Hoseok hummed, urging you to continue. “Could you take my place supporting Namjoon? He’s heavy...” You chuckled. Getting a laugh from Jimin, a complaint from Namjoon, and a soft smile of agreement from Hoseok. 

After Namjoon it was Hoseok. 

     When all of you arrived back at Namjoon’s apartment and threw him on the floor, you and Hoseok made quick work of getting him an ice pack and medicine. You got Namjoon comfy on the couch with some blankets and pillows, an ice pack on his back, while Hoseok got him some water to swallow the pills he gave him. 

     Namjoon fell asleep shortly after he took the medicine. Whether he was already tired or the pills knocked him out, it didn’t matter; he was out like a light. All three of you chuckled at the snoring man, even if he sounded like a train in the distance, you thought he was cute. Jimin eventually had to clock into work, giving you a wink as he waved goodbye and rushed out the door. Leaving just you, Hoseok, and a sleeping Namjoon. 

    At first, the air between you and Hoseok was quite stale. The two of you exchanging basic words of pleasantries to keep an awkward silence at bay. But “How old are you?” and “Where are you from?” can only get you so far. So when the conversation died down, Hoseok suggested that you should put on a movie. 

    You didn’t pin Hoseok to be a superhero nerd, but he totally was. If his simping over Spiderman was anything to go off of. You weren’t necessarily a Marvel or DC guru, but you let Hoseok talk your ear off once he got comfortable. 

    Jimin wasn’t wrong when he said Hoseok was shy at first, then the loudest person you would ever meet. Because after a few minutes into the movie, he couldn’t hold in his excited soliloquy anymore. Once he got more comfortable in your presence, he would make comments here and there on what was happening and eventually you joined in, asking questions about anything you were lost on. 

    Hoseok was very sweet about your lack of knowledge about the universe and even offered to switch to an earlier movie in that confusing connected universe. That kicked off an entire movie marathon of Hoseok explaining everything to you and you intently listening, genuinely interested in the weird, bizarre world of super heros. You even picked your favorite out of the enormous bunch. Ironically, it was Spiderman... He’s just so lovable. You couldn’t help it, he was too charming. 

    Eventually, after 3 hours of a lesson on superheros and some villains, Namjoon woke up, still sore, but better. He even joined you on your marathon, mostly because he didn’t want to get up from the couch, but he did pay attention! You, Namjoon, and Hoseok laughed, talked, and bickered over the lore and more trivial things for hours, but it was all in good fun. “You’re cool, Hoseok,” You remember telling the brunette. Hoseok sought out to be a friend you could have endless amounts of fun with after that. 

But the eventful day didn’t end there!

Because then Seokjin burst through the door.

      “Okay so... You’re telling me that there’s this ex-surgeon turned mystical time lord, and that’s canon?” You asked Hoseok incredulously, the brunette trying not to laugh at your disbelieving attitude. Because in this world radioactive spiders, literal gods of thunder, and a whole, invisible kingdom named Wakanda exists... But no! Time lords are too much! “Yes, Y/n. Doctor Strange is canon,” Hoseok chuckled. 

     You furrowed your brow, leaning back into the couch more and (unintentionally) leaning into Namjoon more. He doesn’t mind though, you’re warm. “What are like... The rules of this world? Things like time manipulation opens up a whole new can of worms,” You pointed out. Hoseok shrugged, popping a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “I try not to like about the logistics. I mean, it’s superheros Y/n! Not exactly a philosophical conversation starter about the possibility of multiple timelines and aliens.” 

     Namjoon chuckled as you nodded, seeing his point. “It’s like those fantasy books you like to read, Y/n,” Namjoon said. “I guess I can see your point. Guess I’ll have to discuss the possibility of a multiverse with someone else,” You playfully sighed. Hoseok snorted, opening his mouth to say something before Namjoon’s front door burst open violently. 

     “Joon! You are so dead!” A masculine voice shouted. You shrunk into the couch while Hoseok and Namjoon looked towards the source of the ruckus. “Jin? What are you-” Namjoon speaks up, only to be cut off by this “Jin” person. “Oh you know why I’m here! You were supposed to help me organize files tonight!” The unfamiliar voice complained, and you slowly looked over the back of the couch. 

     Standing in the doorway was a man about as tall as Hoseok, dressed in a pristine grey suit with a green tie. He had dark brown hair that looked almost black in the low light of Namjoon’s apartment in a similar hairstyle to Taehyung. He had thin-rimmed circular glasses that enhanced his pretty brown eyes, that were currently wrinkled in annoyance. He was strikingly handsome with his plump lips and smooth-looking skin. You were seriously wondering what was in the water at Bangtan that made all these men seriously attractive. 

    Namjoon gasped, sitting up to get a better look at Jin, swallowing the wince as the pain from earlier in the day hasn’t quite dissipated yet. “I’m so sorry! It slipped my mind... I kinda... Got occupied,” Namjoon scratched the back of his neck nervously. Jin quirked a brown, still not acknowledging your presence even if you were right next to Namjoon. “What?” Jin asked, crossing his arms. “I... Ran into a can display,” Namjoon muttered out, looking down at his hands. 

     “Before you say anything. Yes, he did it again,” Hoseok spoke up, giving Namjoon a cheeky smirk. “But he got hurt this time,” Jin looked Namjoon up and down, taking in the bump on his forehead and disheveled appearance, finally letting out a sigh. “Alright just, text me next time, okay?” Jin said. Namjoon nodded giving him a thumbs up before he turned to you. 

    “Oh! Jin, this is Y/n.” Namjoon smiled. Jin’s head now turned to look at you, his eyes widening. “Y/n? Oh yeah! The girl you texted me about!” Jin walked closer to you, holding out one of his hands. You awkwardly took it, giving it a shake before Jin smiled. “I’m Seokjin. But please call me Jin because Seokjin makes me feel old and like I’m back at work.” He declared, and you chuckled at his practiced introduction. “Nice to meet you, Jin,” You replied, giving him a smile. 

    Jin’s attention then focused on the mess of junk food that sat on the coffee table, his upper lip furling in disdain. “Have you guys eaten any real food yet?” He asked, looking at all three of you briefly before he started cleaning up the mess. “No... And stop cleaning. It’s my apartment, I’ll get it,” Namjoon whined, only to get brushed off with a “You say that every time. What would you do without me?”

    Jin continued to clean while you watched him and Namjoon bicker back and forth, turning to Hoseok for some sort of escape from how awkward you felt. Hoseok noticed your uncomfortable aura and chuckled. “it’s fine, they bicker like that all the time.” That made you feel a bit better. Knowing that you weren’t witnessing a rivalry go down right in front of you. 

     “You guys stay there and I’ll cook something that will actually give you nutrients, okay?” Jin called from the kitchen, but you quickly spoke up. “Oh no, you don’t have to count me in! I’ll just head home,” You said, standing up. jin quickly tutted you like a scolding mother with a “Nonsense! It’s nothing, really. Besides, I want to get to know you. What better way of doing that then over dinner?” You looked towards Namjoon and Hoseok, both of them shaking their heads, silently saying “There’s no use in arguing”

    You surrendered, sitting back down on the couch. You missed the smile that crossed Jin’s face when he saw you give in, declaring to himself that he’d make an extra tasty meal. You, Hoseok, and Namjoon continued to watch Doctor Strange while Jin clanged around in the kitchen. The scent of what seemed to be bulgogi wafting through the air. 

    Soon, Jin called all of you over for dinner, Hoseok helping Namjoon to the dining room while you helped Jin set the table. Once you all sat down, everyone grabbed their bits of food, the three of them putting more food on your plate when they thought your plate was too empty. Using the excuse of “Leftovers are a hassle,” to subtly shrug off their doting over you. 

    After the first initial bites of food were on everyone’s stomachs, Jin piped up to ask you questions about yourself, offering information and embarrassing stories about him and his friend in return. It was easy to talk to Jin, his dad jokes and open personality meant that you felt it was easy to open up to him. Never once did he make a face of judgement or disgust at anything you said and it made you feel welcomed. (Not that the other didn’t make you feel welcomed, it was just that Jin was easy to talk to,)

    “I love your necklace, by the way. Where’d you get it?” Jin asked, pointing to the old family heirloom that still hung around your neck. “It’s an heirloom, I have no idea where it came from,” You chuckled, fidgeting with the cool, teal stone. “Well, it’s beautiful. Seems oddly familiar too,” He commented, getting nods of agreement from Hoseok and Namjoon. You shrugged, stuffing the last bit of meat into your mouth. “Thank you for dinner. Jin,” You smiled. 

After Hoseok it was Seokjin.

    That night you went home with a full stomach and new contacts in your phone. All the boys you met so far sending you a goodnight text. Some filled with emojis, others declaring that you should hang out with them more. It made you feel all warm and gushy inside. The prospect of having friends that cared about you enough to send you goodnight texts was a dream a few months ago. Now you could send goodnight texts back. 

    The chirping of crickets and rustling of leaves narrated the walk back to your tiny cottage. Now that you were alone, you thought back to when you met Namjoon. That grey wolf you were chasing seemed to suddenly disappear once you bumped into him. Namjoon is tall. Maybe that scared it off? You didn’t know, who knows about the behaviors of wolves? Nature nerds. So probably Namjoon.

     Then again, it didn’t seem aggressive, just curious. What if it saw you and got curious? Just wanting to see what you were all about. That made you feel somewhat guilty. You probably scared the poor thing by breaking out into a sprint. That didn’t mean you’d walk up to one the next time you see one, but it just meant you’d probably be a bit less anxious. 

    And you were right, the next time you saw one you were very calm. Whether that was because the wolf was surprisingly domestic or it was the man you found petting it that made all sense of danger blank from your mind. But the calm wind that blew through his hair as he looked you up and down was something you’d remember forever. Because now, in the strangest way...

Yoongi entered your life.

      You decided to try a nature day again. A run in with a wolf and one sprained ankle isn’t going to stop you from admiring the beauty that is the forest of Bangtan. You were either brave or stupid. Probably a bit of both. Nonetheless, you grabbed your bag, slipped on your sneakers, and set off into the woods with a new sense of determination. 

    You don’t know what your end goal is; you didn’t plan that far ahead. All you cared about was appreciating nature, alone, with no interruptions. Today was a hotter day than before. The skies with nothing but blue as the sun beat down on the world below it. Luckily, the forest had a good canopy of trees to block you from being directly hit by the sun's rays. 

    It was another calming day of birds chirping and small animals scurrying about, no ominous rustling this time, just you and the odd animals of Bangtan forest. You kept up the joke of waving to the animals that would stop and stare at you, some of them taking a few steps closer, some of them tilting their heads, but none of them running away. It made you feel like a forest fairy that could talk to them, even if that was a ridiculous idea. 

    This time you were able to venture deeper into the forest, the trees getting thicker, and the animals seemed to get bigger. Not paranormally so, but enough to notice. “They probably just eat better deeper in the forest,” You observed aloud, continuing your walk as you stopped occasionally to smell the wildflowers that lined the path. 

     While you were busy admiring and smelling what looked to be chicory, a bump against your leg caused you to look down. Down at your feet was a large squirrel. The critter looked up at you with big beady eyes, its small hands holding an acorn. “Aww, hello!” You cooed, not moving in fear of startling the fuzzy creature. It ran laps around your feet a couple of times before stopping, looking back up at you once again. 

    You quirked your head to the side, chuckling at the squirrel's odd behavior. It did that routine a couple more times before you moved, taking a step back onto the path. The squirrel turned and ran a few feet down the path, turning around to look at you once again. The two of you stared at each other before it came back, circling your feet then heading down the path at the spot it was previously in. 

    Curious, you walked towards the squirrel. The fluff ball kept goes a few feet down the path every time you caught up to it, waiting for you before it continued that routine. You questioned yourself whether you were really blindly following a squirrel in hopes of it leading you somewhere important, but you just felt like you had to. 

     Soon the squirrel detoured off the beaten path, turning to look at you from the thick brush. “I’m not moving off the path, little guy,” You said, drawing this goose chase to a close when you felt like it could possibly endanger you. The squirrel didn’t let up though, it just went back to circling and bumping your legs, it’s eyes silently pleading with you. 

    Sighing, you decided that if it stayed straight, then you would follow it, thinking that it would be easy to turn around if this was really useless. The squirrel continued to lead you through the forest, staying on its own straight path before the forest opened up into a clearing. 

     The grass was a vibrant green and there was a thick oak tree standing on a hill, just slightly off center. But it wasn’t the odd natural phenomenon that caught your attention. It was the man and the wolf that were sitting under the tree. The squirrels bumped against your leg again, trying to get you to walk toward them, but you refused, slightly nervous. 

    But the wolf didn’t seem to give you a choice as it spotted you and bolted right towards you. You felt your heart jump to your throat as you tripped on your own feet, falling backwards on the ground. You prepared for pain. A bite. A scratch. Anything. But you only got the cold wet touch of its nose while it sniffed you and the soft tickle of its fur when it rubbed its head against your head. 

     Slowly, you lifted your hand up and the wolf took the liberty of putting its head under it. You pet the large animal with wide eyes, not noticing that the man from before had gotten up and walked towards you. The wolf curled up next to you, whining whenever you stopped petting it. “He’s a baby,” A sleepy voice spoke up beside you. 

     You whipped your head up to see a man with brass blonde hair and brown eyes. He seemed about as tall as Jimin, and he had a flower sticking out of his pocket. His face was stoic, looking at you with subtle curiosity. “W-What?” You asked, still a bit blown away by the sequence of events that just played out. “Holly, the wolf you’re petting,” He said, pointing down to the wolf that was now asleep. 

    “O-Oh... Yeah,” You said, perplexed, looking down at the sleeping canine. The man sat down next to you, petting Holly alongside with you. “You’re not from around here, are you?” He asked, looking you right in the eye. “Not really... I just moved here... I’m Y/n,” You answered. “I know. The others like to talk about you,” He shrugged, catching you off guard. “I’m Yoongi,”

    Ah, you’ve heard about Yoongi. The others described him as a quiet, old man, and you could see what they mean. Yoongi looked like the kind of person that knew all of life’s secrets but wouldn’t tell you because you “Didn’t ask,” He had an aura of mystery around him, but everyone else insisted he was a kind soul who you could tell all your problems to and he’d instantly make it better. 

“They really talk about me that much?” You chuckled, shaking your head. 

“Yeah, I’ve been excited to meet you,” He said, sounding very unexcited, but you believed him anyway.

“Have you been too busy to?” 

“No, I had to wait for the right time,”

     You tilted your head, furrowing your eyebrows. “The right time?” You asked. “I knew we’d meet, eventually. You’ll meet everyone eventually,” He responded cryptically, and you decided to drop the subject. The two of you sat together in silence, but it was a comfortable one. Neither of you felt to need to talk over the chirping birds or snoring Holly. 

You didn’t quite notice how Yoongi kept stealing glances at your necklace or the hopeful gummy smile that crossed his face. 

After Seokjin it was Yoongi. 

    After that day, Yoongi would invite you over to his flower shop more, insisting that you take a flower home every time you left. The two of you didn’t hang out as often alone as you did with Jimin or Namjoon, but you still became friends. Whenever you were upset, Yoongi would walk with you to that clearing, sitting with you under the tree while Holly rested his head on your lap. 

    The docile wolf used to weird you out, even if Yoongi explained that all the animals in the forest were friendly. You just couldn’t understand that an apex predator could shrug you off and even demand cuddles from you, but Holly was a sweetie, so you didn’t complain. Yoongi would often say weird and bizarre things, most of them very cryptic, but you learned it was normal and everyone just went along with it. 

    Yoongi would often ask about your necklace and your family. Asking where you got it, where your family was from, if they’ve even been to Bangtan. It was a bit odd, but you just chalked it up to Yoongi wanting to know more about you and your weird looking necklace. Besides, it’s not like the two of you didn’t have fun together.

    Sometimes he would sit and talk to Namjoon with you, he’d bake together with you and Jin, get dragged along to the arcade with Jimin and Taehyung, or put up with you weekly movie nights with Hoseok. Yoongi became a friend too, never failing to be a rock for you to lean on or a shoulder to cry on, and he didn’t seem to mind. Not one bit. He even soothed your worries about the youngest of the bunch not liking you. 

Cause then you finally met Jeongguk.

    “Are you saying you don’t like my cream puffs?” Jin gasped, pointing his spatula at the 5 of you currently lounging in Namjoon’s living room. Yoongi shrugged and Jimin stuck his tongue out in disgust, earning another gasp from Jin. “Don’t worry Jin! I like them,” You spoke up, giving the elder a smile. “Thank you, Y/n. You’re the only one I can rely on,” He playfully sighed, getting an eye roll from both Namjoon and Hoseok. 

    You watched Jin move around the kitchen for a few more minutes, “Why are you baking so much?” You asked. Jin lifted his head to look at you, giving you a small smile. “Gukkie’s coming home from the academy!” He exclaimed excitedly. After hanging out with all of them for more that a month, you came to realize that “Jeongguk” “Guk” and “Gukkie” was the same person. “The academy?” You questioned. 

     “Yeah! He had to go for his yearly training, but some seniors asked him to help train the rookies, so he stayed. He’s coming home today!” Jin continued his ministrations as you let out an “ohh” understanding why you’ve heard so much about Jeongguk but he never seemed to be around, even if Yoongi said him, Jimin, and Taehyung used to go to the arcade often. 

     You let out a sigh, laying your head down on top of Taehyung’s lap, closing your eyes. You failed to see the red that painted Taehyung’s face or the way he looked up to everyone else to see if they were seeing what he was seeing. They were. And you all wished they were Taehyung right now. Hoseok pouted, Jimin gave Taehyung a sly smirk. The eldest looking at your tired form with soft worry. They knew you had a long night; it was written all over your face. 

    You don’t know when you drifted off to sleep, but you were awoken with a start. The sound of happy cheers pulled you out of the sleep realm, Taehyung running his hand through your hair to ground you. You looked up with dreary eyes, burying your face into Taehyung’s stomach in an attempt to hang onto the threads of sleep that were slowly slipping through your fingers. 

     “Sorry,” Taehyung whispered to you, feeling his heart pound against his ribcage at how cute you looked. But his efforts of lulling you back to dream land were thwarted and Jimin dragged you off the couch, rambling something about Guk and backs. You didn’t know, you could barely stand at this point. 

     “Guk! Meet Y/n!” Jimin chipped while you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. You opened your eyes to see a tall man with brown hair like Jins. He had brown eyes like the others, but his skin was tan like Namjoon’s, a little lighter, probably because of working out in the sun. 

    He gave you a shy smile that showed off his bunny like teeth. “H-Hello,” He stuttered out, the tips of his ears reddening. “Hi, nice to finally meet you,” You smiled sleepily, leaning your head on Jimin’s shoulder for support. “You too... You’re very pretty,” He chuckled out nervously, his bluntness caught you off guard. “Thank you,” You giggled, cheeks heating up before he got whisked away by his hyungs so they could catch up. 

    Jin stuffed Jeongguk full of the food he made while Jimin and Taehyung pulled him into annoying Yoongi. It was amusing to watch how well he reintegrated into their group, like he wasn’t gone for 3 months. The boys fit together so easily and naturally, like a perfect ecosystem in play. You wondered if you could get to that point with them. 

    Jeongguk was obviously influenced by his hyungs a lot. He had the love for superheros like Hoseok, the mischief of Jimin and Taehyung. He was physically built like Namjoon put had a soft nature like Yoongi, The only influence that wasn’t overtly obvious was Jin, but you could see the subtle caregiver tendencies like putting extra food on Yoongi’s plate. 

    All 8 of you talked over dinner, everyone else trying to push Jeongguk to talk to you. Which you did. Jeongguk told you about his time as a police officer and some of the odd stories that came along with it. The others occasionally butting in to embarrass him. 

    By the end of the night, Jeongguk and you had gotten to know each other well, with the help of the other, as all 8 of you feel asleep in Namjoon’s living room. Infinity War playing on the tv. You laid on Jeongguk’s shoulder and he laid his head on top of yours; the others cooing at the two of you. 

That was 2 years ago.

     It was a normal day in Bangtan. Sunny, clear skies, and a whole lot of ruckus. The boys decided to visit you for the day, saying that they needed a day to hangout with everyone together. You didn’t mind though; you were more than used to the impromptu visits that any (or all) of them would make to your house. 

    Jimin, Tae, and Guk were sat in your living room playing a game of Mario Kart while Yoongi and Jin helped you make dinner. Hobi and Joon talking to the three of you while they sat around your kitchen island. “Alright, Hobi. Time lords were right on the line. Purple alien dilf? Crossing it,” You laughed, cutting up some radish for the kimchi Jin planned to make with you tomorrow. 

    Hoseok gasped, while Namjoon wheezed with his forehead on the counter. “Okay I’ve heard a lot of things about Thanos. Purple alien dilf is a new one,” He cackled, his lips stretching into the heart-shaped smile that make your face hot. “She’s not wrong,” Yoongi shrugged, throwing some beef into an already prepped pan. “Just because she’s right doesn’t mean she should say it!” Guk called from the living room, obviously hearing every word that was spoken despite him being in another room. 

    You giggled, offering a piece of carrot to Hoseok and one to Namjoon when he whined about you picking favorites. In these past 2 years you’ve grown to really care about the boys who slipped into your life so abruptly, some more oddly than others. (Cough. Yoongi.) But they all just stayed. Every day you would learn more about all of them and they would learn more about you. I mean, you wouldn’t have guessed that Jin loved stuffed animals. But he does. 

    The only problem that came with leaning more about them was slowly turning that care into admiration. What you're trying to avoid saying is the word “love” because you refuse to let yourself feel something that could be detrimental to the carefully crafted friend dynamic all of you have built. But deep down you knew that what you felt for them was anything but platonic. 

   Friends don’t want to cuddle with each other under the stars. Friends don’t look at each other's lips and think about how soft they’d be against your own. Friends don’t think about living in a house together and eventually growing old while you watch your kids carry on your legacy. Friends don’t do or think about that. 

    However, it’s not that you have a crush on one of them. It’s all of them. That’s what confuses you and makes you push your feelings away. How was that possible? Loving all of them? How was is possible to think about getting morning kisses from both Jin and Joon? Was is weird to think about holding hands with both Jimin and Jeongguk while you went to go meet up with Taehyung for a quadruple date? What would they say if they found out you thought about having a picnic out at that clearing with Yoongi, Hoseok, and Holly by your side under the tree while the others play around? The possibility of them being grossed out by you was scary. So you suppressed your emotions.

     You ignored the way you would shiver when their skin brushed yours. You suppress the dreamy sighs every time you got stuck in a daydream. You forced a smile whenever jealously would bubble up in your stomach at the sight of other happy couples, wishing you could have what they have, but with all of your best friends. 

    “Our 2 year anniversary is tomorrow,” Yoongi spoke up randomly, very in character for him. “Random,” Hoseok snorted. “2 year anniversary?” Yoongi nodded, not taking his attention off of the cooking meat. “2 years since Y/n became our friend. We should celebrate,” Yoongi suggested, getting hums of agreement from the rest of the boys. “Wait a minute, I met you all on different days. Except Hobi and Jin. So technically there’s no date to pinpoint,” You pointed out. 

    But Yoongi merely chuckled, turning to you with a gummy smile. “I’m saying that the day you met Guk is the day that we all became friends,” Yoongi declared. “I don’t see why not,” Taehyung spoke up from behind you suddenly, wrapping his arms around your waist. You had to swallow the squeal that threatened to spill out of your mouth. “Maybe we can go to that clearing you and Yoongi are always seeking off to,” Guk said. 

    There was no room for arguments apparently since all of them eagerly agreed and they even gave you puppy eyes so you physically couldn’t say no. Soon enough, Yoongi and Jin switched to prepping food for tomorrow while Hoseok and Guk went to Hoseok’s mart to get some snacks. Namjoon pulled you away from the kitchen with the excuse, “We need to pick books to read tomorrow,” which made you playfully roll your eyes since Namjoon has raided your book collection 2 times already. 

    But you indulged them, letting them do their own things for tomorrow until eventually nightfall came and they had to go home. “We’ll pick you up and 8!” Hoseok called to you as they walked down your driveway. You watched them go from the doorway, heart in your throat as you thought about how amazing they were. 

    The youngest were always willing to cheer you up whenever you needed it. Yoongi was a shoulder to cry on. Namjoon and Jin were overprotective caregiver types that made your heart swoon. Hoseok could always whisk you away from stress and worries by distracting your overactive brain with silly movies and late night rendezvous star gazing. You wanted to cross that line between lovers and friends so bad. But you couldn’t. Because it was all or nothing and you’d never choose. 

    “Holly!” You cheered as the 8 of you broke through the tree line into the familiar clearing where the cheerful wolf was waiting for you. He always seemed to be waiting for you. Holly tackled you onto the ground, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck before he got up and playfully jumped around you. 

“I still can’t believe you domesticated a wolf, Yoongi,” Jin commented.

“I didn’t,” 

    At this point everyone learned to shrug off Yoongi’s weird speech blips, filing them down as “Random Yoongi Things,” in your brains. Soon, a blanket was set up underneath the sturdy oak tree, you and Yoongi laying down on it, basking in the sun rays that peaked through the leaves. Jeongguk and Taehyung were playing with Holly while Namjoon read and the other three ate, the atmosphere one of comfort and content. 

     “You’ve been thinking about something recently,” Yoongi spoke up from beside you, turning his head to look at you. “You know everything, don’t you, Yoongs?” You snickered. continuing to watch the clouds blow by. “I’m serious Y/n. You seem... resistant. Are we making you uncomfortable or something?” He asked, looking at you with slight worry. “No... It’s not you,” You sighed, turning to look back at Yoongi. 

“Is it work? You know Jin told you about overworking yourself,”

“Nono, please don’t get eomma Jin over here,” You laughed, getting a chuckle from Yoongi.

“Then what’s up? You know you can talk to me about anything.”

    Anything? You thought. How am I supposed to admit to you that I’m in love with seven men when I can barely admit that to myself? You wanted to keep your mouth shut. You wanted to turn away and change the subject to the cloud shaped like a pizza roll, but you were trapped in the sparkling brown of Yoongi’s mocha eyes.

    Just as you opened your mouth, a giggly Jimin tackled you. He hugged you close, hiding you away from everyone else. “Chim!” You giggled, trying your best to wiggle out of his grasp. Soon, Jeongguk and Taehyung joined in on the dog pile, making sure not to crush you but also not afraid to wrestle you a little bit. “Hey! Cut it out! You’ll hurt her!” Jin spoke up in his eomma voice, successfully getting them to stop. 

    Your earlier conversation with Yoongi is forgotten as all 7 of them pass you around for a day full of them. You play with Holly and the youngest, then Namjoon sits and reads with you, Jin makes sure you eat, why you take a quick power nap on Hoseok’s lap, missing the very serious conversation they had with each other. 

“But what if your wrong Yoongi? What is she doesn’t want to be with all of us,” Jeongguk whined.

“She does, I can feel it,”

     “Yoongi, we’re your best friends and you do have freakishly good intuition. But Jeongguk’s right, What if you’re wrong and she leaves?” Hoseok sighed, petting your hair unconsciously. “Trust me, it has to turn out like this,” Yoongi declared. “Or what? The world will end? Yoongi, sometimes I wish you’d speak less like a story narrator,” Taehyung snorted, earning an eye roll. 

“Okay so, we all decided to man up and ask, problem is, how do we do that?” Namjoon questioned, an awkward silence following after.

“We just... Ask...” Jin suggested.

“Brilliant plan Jin. 10/10.” Jimin said sarcastically. 

“I’m serious! What if we sit her down and just talk out our feelings?”

“That could work, alright that’s the plan,” Namjoon settled, the rest of them nodding and planning what they wanted to say in their minds. 

    You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, looking at the men who were lined up, sitting next to each other in front of you. “Okay, so. What’s going on?” You sleepily drawled, letting out a yawn. “We have something to tell you,” Namjoon choked out, fiddling with his hands. “Alright, go on,” You pressed, giving them your undivided attention. 

    Nobody spoke up, all of them either avoiding eye contact or finding the blanket really interesting. Suddenly they all blurted something out at the same time, looking at each other before trying again and doing the same things a second time. “Oh for goodness sake,” Yoongi groaned, lurching forward to connect his lips with yours.

    You gasped, eyes wide as the feeling of Yoongi’s soft lips clashed with yours. Your eyes eventually fell closed as you savored the feeling of Yoongi’s tongue dancing with your own, him sucking in your bottom lip, giving it a bite as you let out a small whimper. Your body felt feverish as your mind turned into slush. Nothing but the smack of your tongues and the warmth of his plush lips filled your thoughts as everything was solely just Yoongi. 

    “Yoongi! We were supposed to talk, not show!” Jimin complained, tugging at Yoongi’s sweatshirt. Yoongi reluctantly pulled away, giving you a chance to gasp for air, eyes lidded as both Yoongi and Jimin looked down at you with admiration in their eyes. “W-Wha..?” You gasped out, mind still struggling to pull itself back from the depths of passion. 

    Namjoon pushed them both to the side and he cupped your face in his hands. You leaned into his touch, looking up at him with flushed cheeks and swollen lips. “What we wanted to say was... We... We really like you. All of us. All seven. And I know it’s not the most traditional thing ever but we really want to be with you, all of us.” Namjoon spluttered out, trying his best to get his point across.

“How do you feel about seven boyfriends?” Jin asked over his shoulder.

     “Sounds like heaven,” You sighed, feeling like a weight had been lifted off of your shoulders. All of them broke out in smiles, pulling you into a big group hug full of kisses and sweet words that promised to take care of you and be the best boyfriends they could be. Soon, the enthusiastic hug settled more into a cuddle, all of you eventually laying down on the blanket, looking at the setting sun. 

      You slowly felt sleep clawing at your body, the eventful day mixed with the secure warmth of the cacoon the boys wrapped you in. “Does this mean we can hold hands, kiss, and cuddle now?” You spoke up hopefully. “Absolutely” Hoseok sighed, pulling you closer to him. “Um... Y/n?” Jin spoke up. “Hmm?” You hummed with your eyes closed. “Is... Is that normal?” He asked and you opened your eyes to see him pointing down at your necklace. Which was now glowing. 

From that day your life got a lot weirder.

And Yoongi made a lot more sense.

#bts #bts fic #bts oneshot #bts x reader #jeon jungkook #kim taehyung #park jimin #kim namjoon #jung hoseok #min yoongi #kim seokjin

[emletish-fish]

7. what is you favorite sentence/paragraph? read it to us! (asker can choose what fic) (x)

I chose three! One from each of my 'big fics'. No Zombies, Worst Prisoners and Good Boys under the cut:

NO ZOMBIES:

No Zombies was a delight to write. I had pretty much the whole idea from the get-go, (of a returned style AU with Hector coming to spend time with the family in the modern world). I finished it quick - and it's not too long (side-eyeing Good Boy and Worst Prisoner). It was the first fic where I felt like I really "stuck" the landing. I was quite flexible with my original outline, but I still knew where the journey ended. It ended exactly how I wanted it too - happily but with a bitter-sweet note.

The emotional core of this story is how Elena, family matriach, who is so gruff and no-nonsense, who despises Hector in the films, and who has such a warm heart under such a grumpy exterior would slowly soften and come to love Hector, (and how she grows as a person because of this and becomes more comfortable showing love/emotions to her family). It was like a platonic slow-burn as she learns to understand Hector better - which is why this bit is my favourite because it's where she starts to really feel fond of him for the first time:

“Well, I'm just glad I'm a better teacher for him than watching old Ernesto De La Cruz movies.” Héctor had replied with a wry smile. “It's probably because I'm so much more handsome than that butt-chinned, over-the-top ham.”

“Because you're a pointy-chinned, over-the-top ham?” Elena replied, feeling surprising witty. She never made teasing jokes like this normally, but it was so easy with Héctor.

He looked mock-offended. “I'll have you know, my chin is wonderful and I've given it to several of your grandchildren, so there.”

If Elena was a different person, she probably would have pulled Héctor into a warm, laughing hug then. She might have told him seriously that Miguel had always been difficult for her. He felt things so strongly and got so upset and emotional – she'd always struggled with how to help him, how to calm him. Miguel was so happy now. She knew that was because of Héctor.

She might have told Héctor that he was at least six thousand times the musician, eight thousand times the teacher, and ten thousand times the man that Ernesto De La Cruz was.

But Elena was who she was.

Instead she said “Idiot,” and ruffled his stupidly messy hair rather fondly.

She told herself she wasn't warming to the fool musician, but she knew it was a lie.

GOOD BOY:

My current work. It's another platonic slow-burn, but this time set in the Cobra Kai universe with son and father pair - Robby Keene and Johnny Lawrence. In the show, these two characters have such a dysfunctional relationship that is so full of miscommunications and missed chances, and they genuinely want a better relationship (and it would be so healing for both of them! Do not get me started!) I lean much more into the magical realism in this story, as I turned Robby into a dog (Animal transformation - PIXAR's Brave style), so that he could immediately get the cuddles and easy affection he so clearly needs.... because I have never seen a more touch/affection-starved character aside from Zuko in ATLA.

This also gave Robby a chance to really understand, not only his father, but the other people in his cicrcle. He discovered he had a support network. He got to know he was loved by many. he got to witness the actions people would take as they searched for human-him (not knowing that he'd been turned into a dog). And it gave Johnny a chance to learn how to take care of something, feel needed, and express his love for his son without the weight of their complicated history/his own trauma hanging over him. It was hard to pick a favourite, but I will say the Johnny-stream-of-conciousness chapters are definitely the easiest/most fun to write. One of my favourite bits is in the first one, The queen of ice-cream runaway when Johnny tells Robby about when Laura (his grandmother) found out Shannon was pregnant and she was going to be a grandmother.

It's the first inkling Robby gets that while his father wasn't there for him and he was neglected a lot, Johnny did his best to keep the bad shit from his own childhood away from Robby as his own way of showing care. It hints at the deep and damaging abuse Johnny endured. When he finally had a say with his own kid, he would have done anything to protect Robby from feeling the same. I'd say here is where Robby really begins to warm to his Dad;

Then I told her our chosen name and she said I was a dumbass and Swayze was a terrible middle name, and we had to change it to some shit like Alastair or something. She thought he should have a rich sounding middle name. And I say Mom, Alastair sounds like some lame-ass insurance broker who upskirts his secretary and then cries as he jerks off to the pictures, what else you got? She thought Sebastian, and that was worse! What a pussy name.  Sebastian is going to be sitting in the little french patisserie cafe drinking the tiny-ass coffee for dolls and eating the éclair with his prissy finger tips. I already want to kick Sebastian's ass. Who wouldn’t? I’m not going to give my kid a name that is going to get his ass kicked.

And she couldn't talk, cause she named me after Johnny Cash, just cause she liked his music. And she couldn't think of a middle name at the time, so I didn't get one. Thank goodness. I could have ended up Johnny Alastair and had to kick my own ass.

So Swayze stayed.

Then she mentions how she and Sid can help out, so I didn't need to do the two jobs, stupidly long hours thing. And we need the money. I know we need the money. But my whole body froze and I just went No. None of that for little Robby Swayze. ...

... She’s going on about spending Sid’s money on Robby and I just...I can’t. I can't allow it. Cause I knew how he would be, and the way he would treat that kid. So I tell her, no thank you. Not a fucking cent mom.  Sid’s not getting to feel like he owns a hair on Robby’s head. That motherfucker can go jump. You thought we needed Sid’s money when I was a kid. You decided it was better for me, and that was your choice. I did not get a vote in that. But this is my kid, and this time it is my call, and I am choosing no. I’m not going to have Sid make my kid feel like he has to apologise for existing every day. I'm not going to have Sid treat my kid the way he treated me. I will never need money that badly. I will never put my kid through that. I'll work myself to the bone doing 20 hour days before that. I'll work on the 40th floor without a harness before that.  I will sell my fucking organs before it comes to that. Not a cent mom.

WORST PRISONER:

My 'what if Zuko made friends with the Gaang early on?" AU that then turned into a three-book long saga (and I will return to it, Worst Prisoner readers - Thank you for you patience). It does have evenutal Zutara, but the focus is really on the Gaang + Zuko as a whole, and all the interpersonal relationships. I'd say there is more gen-shipping around Zuko as a central character, as Iroh & Zuko, and Sokka & Zuko are both given equal prominence. in fact, all the friendships and familial relationships were equally important to me. (the book 3 Zuko & Azula stuff is so interesting, but it is ...less funny I guess.)

This fic is such a joy to write, and I really try and balance the humour with the bittersweet/sad parts, and one of the main sources of humor was the Sokka-Aang-Zuko -Katara qudrangle of dumbassery. I love the four of them together in book 1, and so many of their interactions were a hoot to write. But if I'd have to pick a favourite moment, it would be the moment in the deserter chapter in book 1, where they all decide to 'officially' be friends:

“Well, you can figure that out and find someone while I'm up in the Northern Water Tribe. Then when we finish up there, we'll come find you,” Aang offered.

“Really?” Zuko’s eyes were shining optimistically. It was a strange expression for him. Aang was so used to seeing him with a grumpy face.

“Really, I promise,” Aang said, feeling so glad that he could help Zuko go home.

“Yeah, I second that. If this means we won’t have to put up with you chasing us, I am in!” Sokka said. “Sheesh, you could have just asked ages ago!”

“You know, this means I was right,” Aang started to say, feeling very vindicated. The others looked at him curiously. “If we had just talked about friendship in the forest, we could have sorted this out weeks ago!”

“Boo, forest friendship!” Sokka said.

“Don't boo him,” Katara admonished, elbowing her brother.

“I agree with Sokka. There's no way I would have appreciated that speech weeks ago, Aang,” Zuko said.

Sokka smiled at Zuko for saying he agreed with him. It actually wasn't that rare of an occurrence, but it still seemed to surprise Sokka every time.

“See, Aang, forest friendship is bullshit,” Sokka said.

“I didn't say that!” Zuko cut in. “I just meant, maybe … I had to be dragged all over the Earth Kingdom by you guys ... and shot ... and taken to nonsense fortune tellers ... and I had to be forced to eat Sokka's truly terrible and disgusting cooking—”

“Oi!”

“—and I had listen to Aang lecture me about friendship and vegetarianism in the forest just so I could come here.” He looked around at the deserters’ camp site. “I dunno, maybe it was meant to be this way.”

“What are you saying? You want to be forest friends with Aang now?” Sokka asked accusingly.

“I mean, sure. If Aang will have me, we can be friends,” Zuko said, and looked uncertain.

“Yay! I knew you'd want to be my friend,” Aang said, feeling delighted.

He was so happy he had a Fire Nation friend again. Kuzon had been an amazing friend, even though he'd gotten Aang into so many sticky situations. He had already thought Zuko was his friend, but it was nice to make it official. Aang always knew the Fire Nation had good people in it too, and now he had been proven right. He jumped up and gave Zuko a huge hug.

#Emletish answers #Emletish writes #Fic: No Zombies #Fic: Good Boy #Fic: Worst Prisoner

[httpteddybear]

Cherry | Harry Styles

SUMMARY; After Harry gets his heart broken once again, he swears off love, until Y/n and her dog bring him a delicious gift and their friendship along with it.

WARNING(S); Cursing, disgustingly adorable fluff, a v cute cameo from my real dog Peachy!! (send her some kisses), slow burn, angst if you squint

WORD COUNT; 7.8k

AUTHORS NOTE; Hey, this is for @tiostyles Fine Line challenge, give her a follow! Also, this is my first time publishing my writing so I’m so so sorry if it’s terrible. Forgive me if it's written badly. I wrote this on Tumblr so sorry if it looks funny or anything. Also pls give all the love to my dog peachy she loves attention. (thanks to @lostincalum​ @h0tsos​ for reading a bit of this) Happy Reading!!

“I don’t know what to say to you except I’m sorry.”

Harry was everything but okay. He’d just found out that the girl he had pined over for months obviously didn’t feel the same. Now Harry was a smart man. He knew the ins and outs of his career and who he should and shouldn’t let into his life, which is why he was so baffled that he’d chosen the wrong person to let into his heart. She’d met Gemma and Anne, even a few of his cousins, and they’d all loved her. It was quite heart wrenching because even though she’d just told him the number one thing that would end a relationship, he still loved her.

“J-Just don’t call him baby, okay?”

—

It’d been almost two months since he’d seen Camille and his life wasn’t really alright. He wasn’t fully over her, she was incorporated into his daily life. His clothes, his thoughts, his eating habits, his favourite tv shows, everything. Somehow everyone found out within a matter of days what had happened, so he got an earful from Jeff. Then he got the sympathy from his family.

The only thing worse than both of those was the pity. When he went to get coffee the barista said she “hoped he was okay.” While giving him his coffee, and then Harry had seen a group of fans and the first thing that was said to him was “you poor baby.” That had set him off. Because even though it was tough, he was not a baby. He could do his own laundry and make his own food. He was not dependent on Camille for any of that, it was just nice to have someone by his side in a non-platonic way. Don’t get him wrong, he still put on a smile as they belittled him a bit. It was what he did.

So currently Harry was sitting on his couch, watching Disney movies. He felt more comfortable in his London home than the one in L.A. so he gathered his essentials and hopped on a plane. He was in a big knit sweater and some sweats. He felt content as ever. He had sort of swore off love when the Camille situation happened, so this feeling of contentment was nice. Inside his home he didn’t really have to worry about prying eyes or people judging him, so wrapped in large clothes looking very small was okay. It was okay outside of home too, but he always had a knack for looking somewhat presentable. He liked to be pretty. As did everyone but it made Harry feel like he was on top of the world. If he had the courage to wear a dress he damn sure would.

As Harry was finishing up he’d decided it was time for a cat nap. So that’s what he did. He didn’t bother to take off his clothes, just lazily pulling himself up the stairs and into his room before crashing down on his bed, pulling the duvet over his feet and up to his neck before rolling to his right side. He’d always been a side sleeper. From what his mom said, at least.

—

“Peachy! Who’s my good girl? Who’s my best girl?”

Somehow peach had found the other shoe Y/n was looking for, and that warranted some love. Y/n smiled as the Samoyed licked her happily. They were about to go on a walk to explore the new neighborhood. Y/n had judged moved into an adorable two-bedroom, one-bath, yellow house. Y/n was the epitome of someone you’d find living in that type of house. With her vanilla perfume, big fluffy Samoyed dog, and overall happy personality, the homeowner thought she was the perfect candidate to rent to.

Going on her way, Y/n decided she’d take a walk somewhere she hasn’t driven through, her best option was essentially a rich community, but she didn’t care. Her dirty shoes hit the pavement alongside Peach, watching as her dog sniffed everything in sight. Turning the corner, she found the cutest little bakery, and her excitement showed. Walking up to the brick building, she’d immediately seen the sign in bold. “NO DOGS.” Frowning, Y/n looked around. She started to walk to the pole she was going to tie peach too, but then she heard squeals.

“Mommy! Doggie!”

It didn’t bother her, so she rerouted.

“Hi miss, is it okay if my dog loves on your little munchkin? She’s very sweet and I’ve heard your child’s excitement.”

The mother smiled at how kind the girl was before nodding. Y/n brought peach over, and she was overjoyed to see the tiny child immediately clutching on.

After a few moments of her chatting with the mother, her stomach decided to make itself know. So she politely excused herself cursing at her stomach for ruining an adorable moment. Tying peach to the grey pole, she trotted inside the bakery. It was mostly empty minus the couple sharing a moment by the window and the assumed college student typing away.

“Hi, welcome to Wall Street Bakery! What can I get you?”

Y/n had to scan over the menu, they had everything from cackle to scones, so it was a difficult choice. But she’d finally agreed on a cup of whipped cream, for peach, and a half a dozen cupcakes. She didn’t know what she’d do with the extra, but she’d figure it out. Pulling nineteen pounds from her purse, she told the girl to keep the change, and she was on her way.

Peach had, as expected, ate all the whipped cream from the medium size cup. Y/n had a single cupcake before she was stuffed, in her defense, she had four slices of pizza, so this was just a tiny snack for her. She didn’t know why she ordered six, but she knew she’d find something to do with the remaining. She and peach started to walk again, taking all kinds of turns and twists, but not enough to lose their tracking. Suddenly Y/n came to a beautiful White House. It looked elegant, so she stopped to admire.

In her mind it wasn’t really creepy, she was just admiring the luxury. The more she looked the clearer everything became. Including the figure in the window of the second story. He sat idle, maybe reading or listening to music, she couldn’t quite tell. He looked dainty, fragile even. So Y/n knew where the five cupcakes would go. She swiftly pulled out a sticky note and a pen and got to work.

‘Hopefully, this sweetens up your day!’

-Y/n :)

—

Harry was listening to music. Mainly Stevie Nicks if we’re honest. He’d decided that today was going to be a relaxing day, which means that going to the studio was out of the agenda. Jeff was okay with it, stating that he had to have a meeting with someone else anyway. So Harry had a fully free relax day. So social media, television, and laziness were his full schedule. Harry had almost gotten caught up with his timeline then his stomach rumbled. He got up, going downstairs. He walked through the living room, still hearing Disney Channel from the tv. Finally getting to the kitchen, he started looking.

Now, after countless walk between the cabinets and the fridge, Harry just gave up. He decided to be a tiny bit productive by getting the mail. Harry slipped his feet in the weirdly angled slippers by the door and walked outside. Harry looked like a proper dad right now, clad in pajama sweat pants, a robe with no shirt under, and fuzzy slippers. As soon as he got outside he saw a pastel pink box with a yellow sticky note on it. Harry wasn’t crazy, but maybe this was something from Camille. Maybe a box of his favourite red velvet cupcakes that her mom made, or maybe a truce. He tried not to get his hopes up. He also wasn’t stupid. So there was no way he was opening that box inside. Just in case.

So, carefully, he grabbed the sticky note from on top of the box. His eyes scanned the letters as a small smile came to his face. Whoever this was, seemed nice and trustworthy, from what he could gather from the tiny paper. So he opened the box, just having to take the small piece of tape that was on the box. Inside we’re a mix of vanilla and chocolate cupcakes, and while it wasn’t red velvet, they looked pretty promising. Again, Harry didn’t know this stranger, and he was a bit of a skeptic when it came to random gifts on his doorstep. But for an unknown reason, he felt inclined to just trust his gut. He was getting far too hangry to worry about death.

He picked up a chocolate cupcake and bit off about half in one bite. Trust and believe that he moaned at the taste. When you deprive yourself of sweets for a healthy diet, a bite into any kind of sweet felt like you were on acid in cake land. So Harry forgot all about the mail and swiftly took the box inside, kicking the door closed with his foot. Now he was almost one hundred percent sure that his whole day would be filled with the sweet-savory taste of these cupcakes.

Harry was very grateful for y/n the cupcake giver, whoever they may be.

-

Y/n felt like she was doing well in life, not astronomically good, but well. She didn’t have any major issues, she was generally acceptable by society. Well, her generation society, cause, of course, some piercing, tattoos, weight, and anything seemly not normal to grandmas around the world was a sin. She got okay grades in school and had a nice job. She had enough money for a tiny yellow house, a dog, and of course herself, so in her mind, she was doing more than good. but for some reason, not having a significant other was the biggest problem for anyone who found out. Y/n had boyfriends, girlfriends, flings, she dabbled in just about anything she felt, but for the past three years, getting her and her pet a life was the most important thing at the time. Now, y/n wasn’t opposed to having someone around. Maybe the cute girl at the coffee shop, her curly hair, dark skin contrasting against striking blue eyes, and pearly white smile was enough to give y/n butterflies as she finished her scone that day. Or the cute boy in the window, there was just something about him. Y/n liked him enough to give him five beautiful delicious cupcakes, so that should say something.

Pop culture was something that y/n was very interested in. Every now and then she’d find herself drooling over Calum Hood on her feed or staring at a paused shot of Zendaya in Euphoria for twenty-three minutes. She loved seeing people grow and she could even say that she was a fan. In fact, if you showed her the music video for Best Song Ever, she’d probably burst in your face with “Niall, do the shimmy, do the shimmy, do the shimmy, and Zayn pirouette and Louis do the splits, and Liam you stay exactly where you are because you are PERFECT,”

Y/n loved things like that, it was amazing to see people get credit when they deserve it. Sure she was heartbroken when My Chemical Romance broke up, maybe she cried for two hours when One Direction broke up, but she got over it. She could proudly listen to Welcome to the Black Parade without crying and she even kept up with Niall and Harry, not like she used to, but she tried to like a picture every now and then. Y/n was a go with the flow kind of girl, she moved on from things quickly and saw the good in things. which is why she was very confused seeing #camillerowecancelled all over her timeline. it was hard to not click on it, but y/n was having a good day and she did not need to indulge in things like that, she left that behind when she deleted Wattpad in 2014.

“Ma’am?”

Y/n nearly forgot that she was at a pet store, social media does that.

“Oh! Yes, hi. I was just looking to see if you guys had any Huskies or Pitbulls?”

Y/n was on a mission to get Peach a friend. She felt bad that the 6-month-old puppy had to be all alone while she was at work, so the only option was getting another dog to keep her company. Peach got on well with just about every dog, so it wasn’t a life-changing decision, she just had to find a dog that Peachy would get on well with. 

The worker showed her and Peach to the dog area and just left, for that she was thankful. She had always talked to Peach and she intended to ask her about the dogs she got excited about but she was sure the worker would’ve thought she was crazy. So she walked around a bit, looking at dogs and talking to Peach. Then, she nearly dropped her phone. She ran to the glass swiftly, looking at the tiny pup. It was a Husky-Chow Chow mix, and she knew she already loved her, she had no name yet either. Peach saw y/n get excited and started wagging her tail. soon enough, a puppy was on in front of her and peach couldn’t be happier to see the mini bear-like dog.

“She’s only about eight weeks old, and a lot of work, are you sure?”

Y/n couldn’t believe the audacity of the question. Of course, she wanted a tiny bear scampering around, going on adventures with her and peach. So she signed about thirty papers as quick as she could. She came to the name paper and the question hung in the air. What did she want to name the tiny bear? With Peach, she got a few days to be creative, and the samoyed was just peachy, so she named her Peach. Y/n searched her brain for names until she couldn’t think anymore. Then she squealed. She does that a lot.

Now, Y/n was on her way home, little Pipkin in her lap,  peach sat in the passenger seat as she jammed out to Lana Del Rey. Pip seemed to be having the time of her life, happy to be out of the confined cage. Y/n was, as you’d say, living her best life. She really didn’t have a care in the world. No one could really blame her. Y/n was pretty sure she just scored the cutest dog in all of London.

“Summertime and the living’s easy!”:

Y/n made it home in record time, she's pretty sure she was speeding, but Peach seemed very excited so she wanted them to be able to interact. She put Pip’s tiny leash and harness on, which was proved to be useless. Pip just kept tangling herself in Y/n’s legs and nearly got trampled by Peach. So, Pip got off scot-free just being carried. Peach was sniffing the tiny animal as soon as Y/n stepped in the door.

“Peachy, hold on I promise I’ll put her down in a sec.”

After getting settled, Y/n carefully set Pipkin on the ground, going to the couch to watch the two dogs interact. Peach sniffed Pipkin and vice versa, both faces have been in the butt of the other in addition to their own. They ran around the house for a bit, then the yard. They ate together for the first time, Peach even tried to share her food. They got on well, just like Y/n had predicted, so she decided it was time for a group walk. Y/n put a pastel hoodie over her tiny black camisole crop-top and exchanged her slides for converse, then they were out the door.

Pip seemed to walk better with Peach as Y/n helped guide. She went the same way as yesterday, finding she liked the scenic route even if it was longer. She walked passed the coffee shop, even smiling at the cute curly-haired girl. She passed the bakery this time, she wasn’t feeling sweets today. She walked quite a bit, even taking a few selfies of all three of them. Y/n was excited. She and Peach had a new companion. It might also be the rush of the fact that she's pretty sure the cute window boy is out in his lawn. She tried to keep cool, even almost went to the other side of the street but peach wasn’t gonna let that happen. It seems already Pip has become a rebel because she stayed with Peach. Y/n trained them, but they weren’t like Army dogs, so she let them practically pull her until two houses before his. She fixed herself up a bit, checking that her posture didn’t resemble the hunchback of Notre Dame. 

She got closer and she could already feel the butterflies swirling in her tummy. Peach and Pip must’ve felt it too, because closer they got, the closer to Y/n the dogs got. Especially Pip, but I’m sure its just cause she’s very tiny compared to the man, his hand could probably fit Pip in its palm. Y/n contemplated talking to him, which she did until she was nearly up in his face. When she saw him clearly, oh boy. Butterflies were an understatement. it was like a swarm of fuzzy bumblebees was tickling every part of her tummy. Y/n can definitely confirm that curly hair and bright eyes were essentially her type as of now.

“The boy from the window!”

If Y/n wanted to die before it was nothing compared to now. she literally wanted London to swallow her and her dogs until they were in the middle of nowhere with no proof of their existence. Pip and Peach weren’t bothered, sitting idle in the sun. The gate blocked out a bit of Y/n’s beet-red face, not as much as she would have wished.

-

Harry had decided to go outside. It was a pretty nice day for London, the sun was even out. So after copious amounts of sunscreen, some more presentable clothing, just in case of a fan, and some slides, he was on his way to his larger than the normal front yard. He planned on being out for a bit, so he brought snacks and drinks too. His mother taught him the habit. She always had some sort of snack in her purse and she almost always had those mini water bottles.

He lived in a pretty secluded part of London, but he still wanted to be prepared if a fan came up to him. Harry didn’t want to sound like an ass but more often than not, he didn’t want to take pictures. He was all for living in the moment. After always having a camera on you for about six years, you’d get sick of it too. It's not that he didn’t like meeting fans, he loved it. They made him who he was, but almost every one of them wanted a picture to document that they met him. It's albeit sad, the fact that if you just said that you met him, everyone would ask for proof. Trust does get a bit tainted from fame. 

Harry was almost ready to go inside, he was near sunburnt, and if he didn't get inside his mom would scold him. Now some people might think that he's an adult and that he doesn't need to listen to her. Harry thinks different. His mom is such a kind soul but if you make her mad enough to scold you, oh she’ll scold you. Harry didn't like the feel of the cold aloe vera either. He’d kept it in the fridge, it was mean to cool you down and soothe you, but that's maybe a five minute cool. His had been in the fridge for about two months. Then, he saw a fluffy cloud walking alongside a very tiny bear, so he stayed. Even to just get a closer glance at the dogs.

Now imagine this, you’re on your lawn, waiting for two dogs to pass by, but they stop at your gate. You’re curious and, in this case, you think it might be a fan. what would be the face you made if the first thing that person said was,

“The boy from the window!”

It took him a minute to even process the words the girl just spoke, he was on autopilot walking to his gate and unlocking it. He went up to the girl, she looked sweet, she was very pretty and looked like she could model but also like she had just run three miles, her face was very red. Harry didn’t mention it. Instead, he said,

“Pardon?”

He couldn’t tell who was redder. that was an idiot thing to say, he could see it now if this angel really was famous, the headlines would probably be at his neck, making jokes about how he had shit pickup lines, but he did. That probably warranted cheating in his mind.

-

Y/n couldn’t believe she was about to explain that she was being a creep but she didn’t know what else to say, she couldn’t just let the silence sit but holy shit, she was talking to Harry Styles. Her stomach said barf on his feet but her mind said to play it cool, she chooses the latter.

“I, uh, yesterday, I saw you sat in the window, and you looked a bit sad, at least from where I was standing, so I left five cupcakes at your doorstep. I’m Y/n.”

Y/n saw his face shift, but his eyes showed immediate confusion. 

“How’d you get through the gate?”

Way to go y/n, you trespassed. You finally meet a boy, well, see a boy, and you fuck it up by trespassing? yay.

“I- It was actually open a bit and you looked sad. Listen, I'm sorry but please don't send me to jail. Pip and Peachy need me to feed them and I need my tiny house I beg you just like punch me instead I sw-”

Y/n couldn’t help herself. From her perspective she made a damn good case, cause no one could take the person who has two dogs to jail, Well, they could, but morally? yeah right bitch.

“Hey, don’t worry, yeah? just let me pet your dogs and we’ll call a truce.”

Y/n didn’t think this could get any better. She met Harry Styles, and he likes her dogs. Not gonna lie, Y/n thought he was a cat person, sure he could be a ray of sunshine, but he had major resting ‘step a centimeter too close to me and I’ll kill you’ face. Her need to scream right now was a ten on a scale of one to nine. Sure she kept her composure and would until she got comfortable, but if she was alone, she’d break a glass. One Direction among, various other artists, shaped her taste in music all through high school. She listened to No Control pretty much every day of freshman year, it was on her morning playlist.

Y/n zoned out, caught up in her thoughts, but when she did come back from the wave of nostalgia, she saw possibly a once in a lifetime moment. Her dogs, snuggled up into harry, as he sat there in all his handsome glory.

“I completely forgot to introduce m’self. I’m Harry.”

he held a kind smile, it didn’t fully reach his eyes, but it was genuine.

“I know who you are, congratulations on the new song, by the way.”

He didn’t miss a beat before asking,

“Would you like a picture?”

Y/n honestly didn’t know what to do. Would saying no be too rude? ‘Cause she did not have the energy to pull out her phone. 

“Oh, no thanks, actually.”

He seemed, almost relived? It was confusing. Y/n didn’t meet celebrities on the regular, but she was almost one hundred percent sure that he would have thought she was rude. 

After talking and letting Harry pet her dogs a bit more, she, unfortunately, had to go. She let him know, they exchanged hugs, and she said a sorrowful goodbye to Harry. It was weird, sometimes she forgot that people she looked up too were just like her at some point. maybe playing with a Tamagotchi or beating one of their friends at BopIt. It truly was a ‘rags to riches’ story for so many famous people.

Y/n finally got home, after taking a few pit stops, letting Peach and Pip do what they needed to do. She was relieved to see her tiny yellow house, it held a lot of character for one, Y/n even went as far as naming it Lanana. It was a dumb combination of lemon and banana, re; her house colour. Second, her feet were pretty much throbbing. Pip was acting like she was dying from walking and Peach immediately lied on the floor. Y/n also found the rug to be pretty comfortable as she lied on it, staring at her surroundings.

Her cacti seemed to be doing well, probably cause it was fake. It seemed fairly clean, so she didn’t have to worry about that tomorrow. her tapestry of corgis seemed to have come down on one side, but other than that her walls looked genuinely okay, she has yet to put a hole in them. and her books on the coffee table were still unmoved. Y/n didn’t really read them, but who has books on their coffee table that they actually read? The ceiling was pretty bland though, maybe she’d buy something to put on it. 

Y/n rolled over and pulled out her phone. her eyes were probably going to hurt later. Whenever she started scrolling, it didn’t matter which app, she had trouble stopping. But she’d get up eventually, if not, Peach would probably maul her if she didn’t get her peanut butter covered meds. Y/n debated going on twitter, but she didn't really want to see anything on there, opting for Instagram, she got into a comfortable position and started scrolling.

-

Harry was very, very frustrated. He had gotten a sunburn and that scold from his mom. Anne went on for about fifteen minutes about how he’d get skin cancer and how he’ll feel like leather by the time he’s fifty. She had good intentions, but Harry had thin patients. He did keep it under wraps, he had too. It’d be a whole other scolding if he got snappy with his mum. He actually talked to her for ten minutes, more or less, about what was going on in his life and etcetera before his mum called it a night.

He kept thinking about you, well you and your dogs. Sure human interaction was appealing, puppy interaction was essential. Had you been anyone else, excluding his mum and a few friends, Harry would have called security. He just chose to trust his gut and the dogs that you were with.

It was a rare feeling that harry got around dogs. Not like the love you give your significant other, it was less intimate. More like the love you give a child or someone you love very much. Harry almost considered getting a dog. Big or small the creatures were loyal, always waiting for you to get home and following you through the house. They were very reliable and dependant on their owners. Harry thought that was something he needed. Someone to depend on him, keep him grounded and let him know he was wanted. He had wanted a dog up until he realized that he was too busy. He was always busy now. Getting ready to release a new album, having to give his all for it to be what he imagined. He barely had time to himself, a pet would be too much to handle.

Had Harry realized a singing career would jeopardize his opportunity to get a dog, he would have never auditioned in the first place. Harry always had a love for animals. Now, when you hear that you take into account people's fears, with Harry, you didn’t have to. By the age of three, he was trotting up to garden snakes, helping to untangle them from whatever twig they were stuck in. He helped spiders outside and whatever you can think of that someone would fear, he’d do it. Not because he was brave, because if you told him to try and run over a tiny stream in-between the grass, he wouldn’t hesitate to tell you no and throw a fit. Harry was just gentle, in a lot of aspects. 

He was gentle when he broke up with people, he was gentle when his bunny was getting ready to pass away, he was gentle when his sister was stressed looking for colleges, he was just gentle. which came with a lot of selflessness. Everything was Harry’s fault, in the sense that he blamed himself for a lot of things. He still blamed himself for Camille. Her falling out of love wasn’t his fault, she made that clear, but he couldn’t help but nitpick his flaws. The was he sometimes zoned out while she talked, or when he had a meeting but she had an off day, he felt terrible leaving Camille alone.  Harry was off.

He wasn’t broken, he felt okay, there was no metaphorical hole in his heart. Harry was fine. Except for when he wasn’t. The nights of alcohol and screaming led to nothingness. No more screaming, no more soft cuddles in the early hours. Harry was indifferent about it.  On the one hand, he was glad. He had calm peaceful nights and his liquor cabinet was almost always full again. On the other hand, his bed felt awfully empty. He still slept on his side, it felt like she was still lingering. Even with the million times, he washed the sheets, she still felt like she was right there.

Harry hoped he’d get over her.

-

Y/n was running detrimentally late. She’d gotten the best job interview and guess what? She got up an hour too late. By the eighth time she snoozed, she realized she had to be up. So she did some shitty ‘natural’ makeup, threw on a blazer, a cami under it, and the matching pants. She still looked bomb, Y/n would never doubt that. Especially when her confidence needed to be high. So now that Y/n was pulling up to get coffee, she’d regretted getting up so late.

The drive-thru was packed, everyone getting their own coffee. Y/n opted to go inside, coffee was like her push to get through the day and a Trenta should be enough to keep her somewhat lively. She still had to wait in a line inside, but this one was shorter. She tapped her thigh and scrolled through Instagram until she was at the counter. The barista was cute, having cool dyed hair was something Y/n gravitated towards, she could never get her hair a crazy colour, having to work serious jobs all the time. She always had to stick to somewhat natural. She’d rebelled at some point in middle school with bright, neon red hair. Then she’d stuck to natural colours, neon didn't look that good on her.

–

She picked up her coffee, taking a sip before starting her journey to her car. Well, she was, then the universe decided she needed a cute cliche.

“Oh! shit, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t even looking an-”

–

“and I just bumped into you, I’m sorry oh god.”

Harry recognized Y/n, and he wanted to say hi. Apparently, his version of hi was coffee spilled all over her shirt. He didn’t mean to, but the profuse apologizing was kind of cute.

“It’s fine love, saw you ‘nd thought I’d say hello.”

Harry caught Y/n blush at that. Albeit she got flustered over the tiniest things. She was quite cute now that Harry wasn’t distracted by dogs. She had a very nice style, besides the fact that there was now a stain on her camisole. She nearly matched the cafe chairs with her pants and blazer. It was cute.

She was cute.

–

To say Y/n was shocked was an understatement. For once a cute guy wanted to talk to her and she didn’t have to pine over him for months first. It was nearly a miracle. Y/n was a nice girl but confidence wasn’t always her strong suit. She couldn’t just talk to people, no no, she usually had to make an idiot of herself first. With the looming failure over her head and her heart racing, it made it very hard for Y/n to make new friends.

“Oh, for sure, uh I’m in a bit of a sticky situation.”

He held a finger up, signaling her to wait. He was discouraged she’d think he was weird and leave. But after coming back outside, a hand full of towelettes, he saw she was still there. Y/n took the damp fabric, wiping her blazer a bit, the only place the stain was visible was her blazer. Thank god for her camisole being black otherwise Harry would be able to tell she wasn’t wearing a bra. Sure she likes attention but not wearing a bra was solely hatred. Primarily Y/n had underwire bras, they were like hell around your boobs. So she opted out, it wasn’t like she expected to see Harry. He’d probably already noticed, it’d gotten considerably cold. He hadn’t said anything though, so there wasn’t much to dwell on.

Y/n patted herself down, thankfully getting most of the coffee stench out of her clothing. She’d forgotten all about why she was wearing a blazer or her interview. Y/n had her priorities all off, of course, Harry was more important than her interview, logically no, but Y/n wasn’t thinking with her head. Who would?

Harry was trying to decide whether or not he should ask for her number, was it too soon? What if he looked too desperate? The press would eat that up, he could already hear a tacky headline being typed. Y/n didn’t look like the type of girl that would care about that type of stuff. Desperate was surely socially constructed. Harry was obviously in too deep, who cared about any of that? he was gonna go for it.

Y/n was starting to see a difference in her blazer as the stain dried. Harry seemed spaced out, literally. He looked like he was on Mars. Harry looked like he was gonna say something, as he looked Y/n in the eyes for the first time.

She was gorgeous. Sure he’d dated models and beautiful women, but this was like home-brewed, authentic beauty. Her hair looked so soft, it was the type of hair that matched a lions mane, one he could imagine all over the pillow next to him. He liked Y/n, she was cute. After seeing her a few times Harry was almost drawn to her. She had an expensive personality. Not the kind of snobby, rich expensive, but rich with delicacies. She was kind to strangers she spoke to, and her dogs fit right with her, almost giving her a throne of cute, fluffy, kindness. The music in the coffee shop was heard outside, Harry swayed his body a bit to the beat.

“So, since we’ve run into each other a few times, I guess the universe thinks we’re soulmates.”

Harry didn’t need to rip off the bandaid, Y/n had just done it for him. Her smooth words flowed to him like silk, sure maybe Harry was getting a bit stalkerish, but it was all with good intention. If Y/n could be confident enough to say that and smile on, surely getting her number shouldn’t be that hard.

“So, ehm, I was wondering if I could ‘ve your number?”

Y/n was properly freaking out. Who wouldn’t? Harry looked at her with the most adorable gleaming eyes and just how could Y/n ever say no to that? He was her type but elevated. He had the bad boy vibe, but a heart of gold. Y/n liked to think of him as a milk dud oddly. But he and the mild dud alike had a hard, chocolate exterior, but sweet, chewy, caramel insides. He was ethereal. 

“Yes, yeah absolutely.”

-

It was now about a month after that. Harry and Y/n were going strong in the friend zone. Every time Harry asked Y/n out she was busy and vice-versa. Somehow the universe had gotten them together, but now it was like it vanished. All the work was now in their hands. It wasn’t as if having a date with one another was work, it wasn’t. Frankly, they really did enjoy each other's company, even through texts. But it was their literal work. 

Y/n couldn’t get a day off to save her life. Her boss was a bit of a dick. On top of it, most days off were spent graciously on the couch, feet propped up, and two dogs cuddling into her, all three intrigued by SpongeBob and Squidward arguing. Harry was in the middle of finishing up his album, so most of his time was spent at the studio. His days off were spent in L.A. It was rare that he was in London, sometimes he had to beg for a break. Thankfully he had jeff who sort of understood. So sure breaks were rare, but Harry spent so much time trying to work his hardest that he was keeping himself from it at this point. 

Harry had done enough waiting. Y/n seemed right up his alley. Her personality wasn’t too overbearing or too happy, she was a perfect state of nirvana. A calming aura came where ever she went and Harry could almost feel it through his screen. He and Y/n texted about anything. It could be a meme she sent him at three am, in turn, he’d laugh but tell her to get to bed. Or he’d send her minuscule things, like the stuff he sees in his everyday life that reminds him of her. Was Harry fully over his ex? No, but he’d get there. For you, Harry would at least try. Everyone had understood he was hurt but Anne pushed him to be happy for him, so that's what he was doing.

He’d texted Y/n about setting up a little get together, he didn’t want to call it a date, thinking maybe he’d scare her off. Y/n was persistent though, responding with ‘So it’s a date.’ It wasn't even a question, she’d just said it out in the open in hopes that Harry would be okay with it. He was. If Y/n could’ve seen his face when he read it she’d probably get a good laugh because as soon as he processed the text his lips curled up, bringing his mouth into a toothy smile. It felt nice to have someone paying attention to him again. He’d seen a few fans on his drive, waving as one cried, she immediately apologizing for being an ugly crier. There was something about finally getting a date and talking to the fans that put him in a fantastic mood. 

He was currently sitting in traffic, just coming back from seeing his mum. The surroundings were a bit bleak, all the houses were either White, Gray, or Black. Harry loved colour. He loved being able to express himself with pleasing ones that coordinate. Sure when he was little he’d throw on a raincoat but put shorts on, but having a stylist most of his life helped. His style was like a grandpa in a twenty-year-old’s body. Not that he cared, but it was a bit of an improvement from young British bloke who thinks he’s cool. Traffic started moving and Harry took his foot off the break, shifting gears to get moving. What was he doing? Well he, was on his way to get a particular bubbly nirvana girl. He and Y/n had planned the date about a week ago and agreed that they’d do something as soon as he got home. She insisted that he went home and relaxed, but Harry was stubborn, assuring her that he’d be fine. 

They had yet to plan where they were going, Y/n had talked about just going out and figuring it out when they ‘cross that lightbulb’ and he agreed. He neared the street that Y/n had given him and his mind was getting the best of him. Not every girl was the same but what if? There was always a possibility that it could happen again. Was his heart ready to risk it? Not fully, but one date couldn’t damage him that much. Harry always had a strong heart. When someone pushed him off the slide in primary school he’d said he fell. In Secondary school when his crush Rachel traded him for someone older, he’d let it go. He was strong and he could handle this. Y/n didn’t seem like she was like that.

He pulled up outside of her house, smiling at the bright colour. It was very her. Her windows were bright and open, he could see a small succulent on the ledge inside. She had a well-kept yard and the grass was as vibrant as ever. Considering it was London it could be hard to maintain a yard or even a garden, the weather was always temperamental. He heard the door open, watching as she stepped out from behind the white door. She looked beautiful, clad in some spandex shorts that fit her bottom nicely and a big sweater. It looked like a merch sweater of some sort. 

Y/n had a cute little bounce in her step, her hair bouncing a bit too. She and Harry had been on the best terms. They texted almost every day following him getting her number. She got to know him a bit better. She paid attention to a lot, she was an observer. The way he typed and formed sentences was very pleasing to the eye, at least he didn’t have terrible grammar. She reached the car, giving him a smile as she got in the car.

“How are y’love? Hair looks nice.”

Y/n smiled, attention to detail was always nice. They had also joked multiple times about her secretly being a lion cause she’d sent him a selfie after a particularly long day at work the day before. You could see the tangles and how frizzed it was. Harry thought it was adorable.

“Thanks, I’m good, at least it's brushed this time, right?”

He laughed. It was a nice sound.

“Any thought to where you’d like to go?”

Y/n hummed, thinking a bit.

“I was thinking ice cream, it’s rare that London has had this many sunny days, I’m wondering if we should be scared.”

They both laughed, agreeing on ice cream.

“Y’want the aux?” Harry offered.

“Yeah, thanks.”

Y/n hooked up her phone, going to Spotify and smiling as Hey Jude played through the speakers. She and Harry sang along ridiculously off-key and talked the entire drive to the tiny ice cream shop. Harry stopped the car and got out. So far, Y/n wasn’t bad. In fact, she was great. Her happiness radiated through the car, he bets it's hard to be in a bad mood around her. She’d opted for no makeup and Harry liked that. He loved girls with and without makeup but it was a gesture he appreciated, even if it wasn’t for him. 

Y/n looked up at the options, she didn’t particularly care for a lot of it, she didn’t want to eat something that had too much sweetness, she’d get a tummy ache. Harry had ordered Moose Track ice cream while Y/n ordered Ben and Jerry’s Strawberry Cheesecake. This was typically her go to unless she was sad, then she buried her sorrows in Cherry Garcia.

They didn't even sit down before they were chatting. Conversation flowed easily between them. They could go from talking about their day to talking about childhood. It was nice, there was no pressure to come up with a topic. If there was silence as they at it was comfortable, the ice cream shop wasn’t very full, it is on the outskirts of London, so they didn't have to worry about paparazzi. They talked about their favourite bands, people they looked up to, fashion choices, just about everything that came to mind. It was nice, Harry and Y/n singing to their heart's content to the Queen flowing through the shop, Y/n even getting up and using her spoon as a mic. Harry hadn’t felt this nice in a while.

“Then he turned and there was a garden snake and I’ve never heard a fifty-year-old man scream at a higher pitch than him.”

Y/n finished off her story, she and Harry had been laughing their asses off for about an hour, they’d been there for about two. 

“This is nice, love hanging out with you.”

Harry’s words held sentiment that made Y/n’s heart burst. 

“Same.”

Y/n replied, laughing as he made faces at her. This was easy. No pressure, nothing was forced, it was genuine first date bliss.

“Oops.”

Harry smirked as he took his spoon, putting a bit of chocolate on her nose,

“Harry.”

Y/n whined dragging out his name. He laughed, leaning forward. He kissed the ice cream off her nose watching as her cheeks tinted pink, it was adorable.

“You asked for it.”

next thing Harry knew there was ice cream on his nose now too, except she didn’t kiss it away, opting to take her finger and wipe it. bringing the finger to her mouth she laughed, making a face resembling the grinch as she licked her thumb. They didn’t want to leave, Harry would pay to have time freeze and keep this moment present forever. Sadly he couldn’t. They got up, going to the register.

“I’m paying.”

Y/n stated, dismissing Harry’s protests. 

Harry had dropped Y/n off, and there was no doubt he wanted to keep her around. He had his doubts but the small time that they had in the ice cream shop was phenomenal. Was Harry fully over his ex? No. But that was okay. He didn’t have to rush, he’d be just fine getting over her with Y/n’s help. He didn’t need a therapist or a new girlfriend, he needed someone to show him that he could have better. Y/n was better. As long as you two kept talking Harry was sure he’d be over it in no time.

y/n; so plans for our next date? ;)

#harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #Harry Styles #harry styles imagine #x reader #finelineficchallenge #fine line #fic challenge #cherry by harry styles #angst #fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #wowow this took a bit to write #and im doing tags while in the middle so its not even done #also to anyone who doesnt look at the tags #hi what r u doing here #i wrote paragraphs at a time havshsb yimez #YIMEZ #omg yes #masterlist #AND SHES DONE! #yahtzee

[reversecreek]

✵ zloane , bravier , nyla and sean

ZIGGY & SLOANE

their first impression of your muse:

sexy. tugged on her hair literally the first time he saw her hadn’t even had a conversation bt was just like target? located. going? ✈️ annoy her. probably initially just thought she was only at the skate park bc sean was n was like 🙄 then she cld actually skate n he was like 😏 liked that she gave him shit. found it funny pushing her buttons. liked her eyes. probably was like wtf is in the fuckin water in this town yo why all my friends got hot sisters that shit aint right tryna make me a dog....... not that he was even. phased by betraying those boundaries bt. still. i won’t lie his main first impression was probably jst damn bit hot when she glares at me like that. KJHFSGKSJHGKGHSFKGH

current impression:  

knows her a little more than he likes to know people. favourite person to argue w. can possibly skate better than him bt if she said so he’d be like “ur off ur fuckin tits man” n then practice secretly on his own for hours that night n get 9457295 scrapes. doesn’t like talking abt her dad like him so one time he put a firework in his mailbox n never admitted it was him. has reactions to youtube videos tht make him snort. quite funny in general rly. drinks a lot not that he can judge it’s just sometimes he notices n once he even snatched her cup n drank the rest so she couldn’t. played it off as their typical fuckery bt he isn’t sure what that feeling was. hasn’t been concerned often enough to know it by name. finds her hot at inappropriate moments like when a movie chara’s dying n he’s meant to be sad. finds her hot when she pisses him off too. thinks mayb she likes the excuse to hold onto him when she rides on his vespa but he kind of likes it too so he’s not about to call it out bc “he isn’t about that deep shit”. 

are they attracted to your muse?:  

KFJHGKJGHFGKFHSGKSHGKSFGH. imagine i was jst like no <3... yes. he likes to act like he’s less so than he is bt it’s obvious.

something they find frightening about your muse:

i wouldn’t say it frightens him bt sometimes he catches her looking at him a certain way n it unsettles him but he doesn’t know why. usually just pretends he didn’t catch it.

something they find adorable about your muse:  

he likes her short hair he’s always ruffling it n tugging on it. whenever she hs bumps n scrapes n bruises from falling off her board n getting back on over n over again jst never giving up or giving a fk. when she acts like she isn’t jealous.

would my muse sacrifice themselves for yours?:  

umm. no. he’s an asshole. KGJSHFKGHSKFHGSKFGHKGH. sighs.

would my muse go on a date with yours?  platonic/romantic:  

no..... sees that as dangerous territory wouldn’t wna blur the lines. looks away.

one word my muse would use to describe yours:  

baddie. FKGJHSKGHFGSFHGSKGHSFKHG. demonic (when they’ve had a fight). 

would my muse slap yours if they could?:

no. he loves to argue w her but it never feels that Real u know... more like flirting. even when they’re rly pissed off. wld never enter that territory he hates shit like tht w a passion. cue round of applause from the audience for this absolutely low bar.

would my muse hug/kiss yours?:

i feel like they’re not rly huggy people...... ziggy probably puts his arm around her a lot tho he loves doing that. hs kissed her more times than he can count too n doesn’t plan on stopping

BRADLEY & XAVIER

their first impression of your muse:

funny. mean in a more digestible way than she was used to. he had barbs n she liked the way people winced when they tried to swallow his company. when she got paired w him for a class project she met his eyes across the room n he didn’t quickly look away like most ppl. something abt that intrigued her. a sharp fingernail inside her head kept having to itch at something n she realised it was the urge for him to call her a bad name. this weird craving to hear an angry word inside his mouth just for her. she used to think that’s what someone wanting her was like. still does sometimes. this both pissed her off n caught her attention which is a bit of an accomplishment fr someone who gets bored by everyone n everything.

current impression:  

his heart’s more good than she expected. it felt a bit like having a cat drop a dead mouse at ur doorstep that u don’t know what to do with when she realised that. she felt uncomfortably like her mother when she couldn’t get out of his bed bc she was too depressed n that rly made her feel like. ill honestly. he did all the right things but suddenly she just felt sick abt the whole situation which is Not the normal reaction to ur bf caring about u but bradley doesn’t understand ppl caring abt her. felt more like pity. she thinks he’s better off. she misses him sometimes bt then she reminds herself she doesn’t miss people. does a good job of believing it. one of the best ppl she’s dated not that she’d say it.

are they attracted to your muse?:  

yes..... ws probably. unhinged n rabid when they were dating. very good at hiding it now however. cold at the drop of a hat.

something they find frightening about your muse:

that he witnessed her being vulnerable............ literally grosses her out so much like she’d rather die than. anyone see her like that. when they were dating she’d get paranoid her dad wld somehow find out too n smthn wld happen to him for it. it ws definitely weird for her like the fact she even cared enough to consider tht.

something they find adorable about your muse:  

adorable is rly not a word that fits into bradley’s vocabulary GHSFGHSFKGHSFKG bt hm. maybe if he ever tried to tell her what to do one time even casually. she’d b like awww..... u think i do what anyone tells me? that’s so fucking sweet. 

would my muse sacrifice themselves for yours?:  

in most cases no :/..... however if it was smthn to do w the guys that work for her dad then ya she’d put herself in danger to avoid him being in it.

would my muse go on a date with yours?  platonic/romantic:  

i mean she has in the past bt bradley’s idea of dates is like. starting a bar fight together. getting thrown out of a club n both falling over into trash cans in a dingy back alley. stealing a car. breaking into a random house n fking in a stranger’s bed. fking in the bk of a movie theatre w a horror movie screening. definitely not dinner or anything like tht. she wldn’t now........ they’re not exactly in a place fr that..... 

one word my muse would use to describe yours:  

ex. whatever. i know it’s not one word but “some guy”. FGHSKGHFGKSHG >_>

would my muse slap yours if they could?:

no. she’s a violent person bt not xavier.

would my muse hug/kiss yours?:

NO hugging...................... she fronts like she wldn’t kiss him bt like. if a discussion got heated n they were in each other’s faces who’s to say. 

NYLA & SEAN

their first impression of your muse:

strange little fella which is a very high compliment. kind of reminded them of an animated turtle come to life in the human realm altho they honestly don’t have an explanation for that it’s just the way their brain works. they love the turtles in finding nemo tho so maybe there’s some sort of correlation. very nice face. they kind of wanted to hold his head like a bowling ball just so they could examine it properly. i feel like when they first met him they probably reached out n smoothed a sticky label onto his forehead that said ‘catfish in chernobyl’ n they had one on their forehead that was blank n then they just wafted a pen mid air n were like ‘wanna play guesses?’ even tho that isn’t the name of the game. as if that was just. a completely normal introduction to someone. FGKHSKHGSFKGHSFKG. feel like sean wld have rolled w that tho so nyla was like :P i like.... if they played another round they’d give sean another sticky label that said ‘the loneliest whale in the world’ n then it’d start a whole conversation abt how nyla thinks they can speak whaleish. (whale spin on elvish). 

current impression:  

sean makes them think of that artificial blue raspberry flavour some popsicles have n how it’s always rly fun when they stain ur tongue. sweet n exuberant n leaves a bright impression. he lets them ride on his skateboard sometimes rolling along being lead by them holding his hand n nyla likes to shut their eyes like they’re a bird sailing above the clouds. one of their favourite things to do especially when the sun’s out. bc of this nyla thinks sean was a bird in his past life but not a greedy one like a seagull or a plain one like a pigeon. maybe a bluebird bc of his eyes. he makes them laugh a lot. they entrusted him to babysit their children (as pictured) in his hair for a whole day and night once n they had lots of fun with him so nyla thinks he’s very trustworthy and kind. he also is rly easy to talk to like they cld randomly be like “i’ve been thinking lately that maybe homer simpson could’ve been a good figure skater” n sean wldn’t look at them like they’ve lost their marbles he’d just go w it. they like his company a lot.

are they attracted to your muse?:  

😏

something they find frightening about your muse:

ummm nothing in particular altho one time when they were rly tripping out bc his eyes are blue n it got them thinking abt the ocean n they always think they can talk to ghosts underwater so they were kind of like. thinking abt ghosts whenever they looked him in the eyes. maybe covered their own w their hands n if sean asked why they told him abt it. suddenly he shut his eyes to make them feel better n it turned into a whole thing where nyla had to lead him around the party like a guide dog.

something they find adorable about your muse:  

his nose. watching him talk to his siblings. his hands.

would my muse sacrifice themselves for yours?:  

😌 yea

would my muse go on a date with yours?  platonic/romantic:  

yes............ feel like they’d have fun if they went anywhere tbh........ cn imagine them at a fair eating from the same cotton candy n chattering as they point out things. nyla trying to do that hammer game where u make the meter reach the top n lifting the hammer in the air n falling backwards bc it was heavier than they anticipated.... sean yelling like man down man down..... mayb they take a tab n suddenly the fair is so scary they’re like 😳 we’re in danger...

one word my muse would use to describe yours:  

silly (affectionate). sailor (also term of endearment). gnome (same thing again). cool.

would my muse slap yours if they could?:

no ur sick....

would my muse hug/kiss yours?:

ya to both. jst suddenly had a vision too of nyla being cold one time n clinging to sean from the front like a bushbaby in a hug as he carries her around. suddenly this mode of transportation hs happened more thn once (godmod) (contact my lawyers if u dare bebe) (bitch) (i take it back) (it wasn’t right alli it jst wasn’t right) (pelase forigev m eim shakign)

#juvinile #ziggy | sloane #bradley | xavier #nyla | sean #drugs tw #abuse tw #mayb implied fr some briefly mentioned aspects of bradley's mindset #this was such a bertha bt i did it as special treat for allison my beloved.....

[nerdzzone]

Light After Dark: Chapter Six

Summary: Brooke Harris was trying her best to be grateful. As the world tackled the COVID-19 pandemic, she was healthy and safe and so was the rest of her family, but her dreams had very quickly been crushed by the economic fallout. Trapped on the quaint island of Jersey with nothing, but free time to wallow in her mistakes, Brooke’s mental health was taking a hit, but when she collides with a handsome stranger she starts to realize that the future might not be so bleak and there might still be a light at the end of the tunnel.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x OFC

Content warning: Mention of overdose and past death of a close friend. It’s not too detailed, but I wanted to give people a heads up just in case.

________

May. 12. 2020 

Henry: I have a proposition for you

Me: That makes me slightly nervous

Me: What is it?

Henry: Would you like to go on a hike?

Henry: We can keep our distance and I've heard it's harder to spread/catch if you're outside

Henry: I completely understand if you're not comfortable though

I thought about it for a moment. As long as there wasn't too many people out on the trails then it should be pretty low risk as long as we kept our distance and I hadn't been out of the house at all since taking the cake over to Henry's house for his birthday. So, after my brief deliberation, I accepted his invitation.

Henry: Great, meet me at my house in twenty?

Me: Sounds good!

I quickly dragged myself off the couch, threw all the necessities into a bum bag, grabbed a sweater from my closet and shouted goodbye to my family with a brief explanation of where I was headed. They shouted a few questions back, but I rushed out the door without giving them a chance to get too nosy.

Me: On my way!

I sent to Henry when I was about halfway there before adding another message

Me: All masked up and ready to go

Me:

 As I turned onto Henry's street, he was standing outside his house, looking down at his phone as Kal sniffed the sidewalk around him.

"I like your sweater," Henry smirked as I got within a reasonable distance.

"Thanks," I smiled. "I thought it might scare any bears we might run into. You know, they might get confused and think I'm one of them."

Henry laughed and shook his head.

"There's no bears in Jersey that aren't locked up in a zoo," He informed me. "There's absolutely no dangerous wildlife around here."

"That's reassuring," I smirked. "But it's better to be safe than sorry."

"Fair enough," Henry chuckled before pausing. "Would you feel more comfortable if I wore a mask as well?"

I appreciated his offer, but shrugged.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," I assured him. "I know you've been staying pretty isolated and I'll probably take it off once we're off the main roads, but it just gives me peace of mind if we run into anyone along the way."

"Alright," He smiled. "Shall we head off then?"

I nodded and we started off down the street, Henry whistling for Kal to follow. He did so obediently, nudging his nose against my hand before walking a few paces ahead of us.

"I'm glad Kal gets to come," I commented. "But aren't you worried he might dart off after any little critter he sees?"

"Not really," Henry shrugged, respectfully staying on the edge of the road, just off the sidewalk as I walked along the opposite side. "I've got him quite well-trained. He might get distracted, but as soon as I call him he'll come back."

"What a good boy!"

Kal's tail wagged at that, but he was too busy sniffing around some bushes to pay much attention to us.

"He is," Henry nodded. "He's been an amazing asset. He comes with me every where I go and I can't imagine getting through this whole acting experience without him."

"That's really sweet," I smiled. "I always wanted a dog, but it's such a big commitment. I wouldn't want to get one and then be too busy to give it the kind of life it deserves."

"It is a massive commitment," He agreed. "I'm very lucky that I'm able to bring Kal on almost all of my travels and that when I'm on set there's always someone happy to keep him company."

"Well who wouldn't want to keep him company? He's gorgeous."

I held back a remark about dogs looking like their owners as Henry grinned proudly and we fell into a comfortable silence.

****

It was only about a ten minute walk before we turned off the main road and onto a more secluded path. The sun was starting to get stronger as it was almost mid-afternoon so I slipped my mask down to my neck so that I wouldn't get too hot, but could cover up quickly if we passed anyone on the trails. Somewhere along the way we'd fallen into asking each other random questions and, while most of it was silly, some of it was proving to be rather informative.

"That's so boring," I wrinkled my nose when he told me that his favourite fruit was an apple. "Considering how much of a world traveller you are I would have expected something much more exotic."

Henry chuckled at that as he did every time I criticized one of his answers.

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Maybe a papaya or a dragon fruit," I theorized. "Anything more exciting than a boring old apple."

"I don't think I've even tried either of those," He admitted. "Now, speaking of travelling, what's one place that you've not been to, but would love visit one day?"

I thought about it for a moment before answering.

"There's quite a few really, I haven't travelled nearly as much as I would have liked," I confessed. "But if I had to choose somewhere to go first, I think I'd choose Canada. Australia is a close second, but I'm terrified of spiders and I hear there's a lot there. So Canada, the part where the mountains and lakes are."

"My brother lives there," Henry's face lit up. "My younger brother, Charlie. He lives in Calgary which, from my understanding, is quite close to the mountains and lakes."

"That's so cool," I smiled, my words dripping with envy. "Have you been to visit him?"

"No," He sighed. "Usually he's the one to come here. He was back briefly before the lockdown actually, but he left to be with his family just before I came back to Jersey so we didn't see each other."

He looked sad as he spoke and I felt a pang of sympathy in my chest.

"That must be hard," I said softly. "Especially not knowing when international travel will be back up and running."

"It's tough," He nodded. "I'm used to only seeing him once or twice a year, but it's definitely worse not knowing how long it will be until we can all be together again. He's safe though and so is his family and that's what matters the most these days, isn't it?"

I nodded in agreement before a smile slid onto my face.

"And now, you can tell your brother that you'll be visiting as soon as you're allowed to because I fully intend to take advantage of this connection and make you take me there."

"Make me?" Henry laughed. "And how do you intend to do that?"

"I can be very persuasive," I smirked with a suggestive lift of an eyebrow before turning my attention back to the path before he could react. "So, if you weren't an actor, what would be doing?"

"I'd probably be in the military," He answered without having to think about it too much. "A couple of my brothers are and I'm quite disciplined so it seems like a good fit."

"More dangerous though..."

"Well, I do my own stunts so sometimes acting gets dangerous," Henry pointed out. "I did spend a lot of time hanging out of a helicopter for Mission Impossible."

"Yeah, but there's a whole team of people responsible for making sure that you don't die, right?"

"Of course and the stunt teams are amazing," He smirked. "But that doesn't mean there isn't any risk, accidents do happen."

I grimaced slightly, knowing that he was probably right.

"You should switch to baking," I suggested. "Definitely a lot safer."

Henry laughed, shaking his head.

"Alright, well, my next question is: have you ever had any bad baking mishaps?" He asked. "It might not compare to action stunts, but I'd imagine there's the potential for some nasty injuries."

"There is, but luckily I've always been pretty careful. A few minor burns and the odd slice of a knife, but nothing too serious. I have seen some pretty nasty stuff over the years though. Like once..." I paused for a second. "Wait, do you want to hear this? It's pretty bad."

"Yeah, go on," Henry nodded. "I think I can handle it."

"Okay, so, one of the bakeries I worked in for a while made a lot of things like doughnuts and churros so we had a deep fryer." My skin started to crawl just thinking of the memory and from the look on Henry's face he seemed to regret agreeing to hear about it, but I continued. "One day, my co-worker was cleaning the counter next to it, scrubbing really hard on a super sticky spot and her hand slipped and shot right into the boiling hot oil.”

"Oh my god," Henry squeezed his eyes shut, his fist clenching as if he was experiencing the pain himself. "That's horrible. Were you there? Was she okay?"

"I was," I nodded. "It was like it happened in slow motion and she didn't even scream, I guess from the shock, but I was hysterical. I kept expecting her skin to just slide off any minute like you see in the movies, but thank goodness it wasn't quite that bad."

"I think I'm going to have nightmares just hearing that story," Henry cringed. "Has it scared you off ever going near a deep fryer again?"

"I haven't had to use them much since that job actually, but it definitely made me very cautious," I admitted with a wrinkle of my nose. "What about you? Any nasty injuries on set?"

"No, I've been lucky as well. The stunt teams are all very good at their jobs so other than a few near misses with a sword here and there, I've never been in any real danger."

"Do you actually use real swords?"

"For the most part," Henry nodded. "For the Blaviken fight scene in the Witcher we used swords that were cut in half and then CGI edited in afterwards because we did it all in one take and there were a lot of moving parts that made it more dangerous."

"You filmed it all in one take?"

We were on a fairly steep incline and I was feeling the effect. My words struggled to come out as I fought to catch my breath and I was happy to give Henry some more time to talk before I had to answer any more questions.

"We did," He smiled proudly. "For the flow of the scene, it just made the most sense, but it was difficult. The cameramen couldn't see where they were going at all, they just had to use their memory with someone guiding them from behind so everyone had to hit all the marks just right to make sure there were no collisions. And with it all being one take, if anyone made a mistake or the timing was off at all then we had to stop the whole thing and start from the beginning."

"Wow, that's...impressive."

Henry caught my slight gasp for breath and looking at me with a raised eyebrow.

"Do you need to rest for a moment?"

I nodded and we both stopped walking as I pulled my inhaler out of my bum bag. I took a quick puff followed by a few slow breaths until I had managed to steady my breathing.

"Sorry about that. My asthma has been playing up the last few days and that hill just took it out of me..."

I felt silly getting winded while he was so unfazed, but he waved me off.

"Don't apologize," He insisted. "We can take a break whenever you need. There's been a lot of hills and I didn't even think about your asthma so I'm sorry for that."

"No need to be sorry. I haven't left the house at all since I brought your cake over last week so it's good for me to exercise," I assured him as I started walking again, much to Kal's delight as he charged off ahead of us again. "Anyway, back to your sword fight. That must have taken so much practice!"

"It definitely did," Henry nodded. "Hours and hours of it. It's like training for a big dance number really, everyone has to hit their marks exactly right, but we pulled it off first try."

I couldn't help, but smile at the pride in his voice.

"That's amazing. It must have felt incredible when you finished and knew you'd nailed it."

"Absolutely," He grinned. "So, if your asthma gets in the way of certain exercises, how do you stay so in shape?"

I felt my cheeks heat up at the subtle compliment, but he was looking ahead and keeping an eye on Kal so luckily he didn't notice.

"I do yoga," I told him. "Not the most exciting, but it is a lot harder than it looks. I thought it would be easy, but the day after my first class I could barely move at all."

"I've heard that a lot about yoga," He chuckled. "Even from big body builder guys at the gym, they try yoga thinking they'll smash the class, but they end up coming out just as sweaty as when they lift weights."

I'd had to defend my love of yoga to many people over the years. As Henry pointed out, my options for keeping fit were quite hampered by my weak lungs so I didn't have loads of choices, but I did end up really enjoying yoga and seeing plenty of physical benefits from the classes. It was annoying to have to constantly insist that it was in fact a workout worth doing so it was refreshing that someone with Henry's gym experience understood right away.

"It's pretty tough," I smiled. "Even though I'm sure you'd find it easy. I imagine with those muscles you could probably lift a car over your head without any struggle."

Henry laughed at that, shaking his head.

"Not quite a car," Henry smirked. "But speaking of strength, are you a good climber?"

I raised an eyebrow at that question as I noticed him looking off to the side of the trail at a small rock wall that was about Henry's height.

"Why? What have you got planned?"

"There's an excellent view if we take a brief detour," He explained. "But you'd have to climb that little cliff."

I looked at it a bit more intently than I had before and it seemed easy enough. It wasn't all that high and the edge was rough enough that it wouldn't be too hard to get a grip on.

"I think I can do it," I shrugged. "But what about Kal?"

"I'll lift him up. He's much lighter than a car."

He shot me a wink and I actually, literally giggled like some kind of flirtatious fangirl. It slipped out before I could stop it and, despite Henry either not noticing my embarrassing behaviour or just politely ignoring it, my cheeks went bright red again.

He led the way over to the wall and whistled for Kal who bounded over happily. The big dog didn't even flinch when Henry scooped him up and plopped him down on the top of the little cliff and he sat down obediently when he was commanded to 'stay'.

"You go up first and I'll spot you," Henry instructed.

I nodded and went up to the wall. It was pretty easy to find a good spot to hold so I grabbed on and hoisted myself up. It wasn't that far to go so I only needed to get my feet a little bit higher before I could push up and get my hands on the ground at the top. I could feel the warmth of Henry's body hovering behind me and perhaps it was the distraction of realizing how close he was or just that my running shoes didn't have the right grip for this kind of activity, but as I got my hands on the top of the cliff, my foot slipped off the wall before I could push myself up properly. I didn't fall very far though as Henry's hand was right there, ready to catch me as it collided with my bum.

Both of us froze for a moment. The warmth of his hand felt like it was burning a hole through the yoga pants I was wearing and my brain instantly felt the need to focus on the fact that his massive hand covered almost the entirety of the cheek it was currently cupping. As the shock of the contact wore off, I quickly found my footing again and dragged myself up so I was sitting on the edge at the top.

"Two metres apart, Mr. Cavill!"

He was standing there with his hand still out where it had been, looking just as surprised as I was, but as I scolded him his shock quickly morphed into a smirk.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to," He assured me as he grabbed onto the wall and pulled himself up with an ease that made my attempt look quite sad. "But I must say, that yoga is definitely working for you."

My jaw dropped at his comment, but after a moment I couldn't help but grin. Even if I didn't have muscles like Henry, I did put a lot of effort into my body and my bum had come a long way from the flat board that it used to be and I was proud of it.

"Thank you," I said as I pulled myself up to my feet. "But please, keep your hands off of my bum...At least while we're out in public."

Now it was Henry's turn to be shocked by my comment and my turn to smirk as I turned and headed off towards the little path we were next to with Henry and Kal hot on my heels.

****

The path we ended up on was another steep hill which Henry profusely apologized for once he realized, but I assured him I was fine. It was a beautiful trail and it wasn't long until we ended up in the clearing that he was steering us towards. As promised, the view was amazing and absolutely worth the trek.

"Wow," I gasped quietly, looking out over the ocean. "This is incredible."

"It's one of my favourite places on this whole island," Henry admitted. "I don't think many people know about it as it's not a main viewpoint, but Charlie and I used to run wild all over this place and we stumbled across it when I was only about twelve."

"What a great find," I complimented him, still in awe. "It's beautiful. Thank you for sharing it with me."

"Of course," He smiled. "You're practically a local now so you need to know all the best spots."

I laughed weakly at his description of me as a local even though it was probably true. I’d been here for months and wouldn't be leaving any time soon.

"Well, I can't think of anywhere that would beat this. Can we stay for a while?"

"Sure," He shrugged. "I don't have anywhere to be."

I smiled and went to the edge before sitting down and letting my legs dangle over. It wasn't a straight drop down, there was a big ledge sticking out only a few feet down so it was safe, but gave me a sense of freedom as I looked out at the wide open space in front of me. Henry whistled for Kal and gave him some water from his bottle before joining me, but keeping a respectful distance.

"So," Henry broke our comfortable silence a few minutes into our pit stop. "After all those questions, I realized I've never asked you what your bakery was called."

I felt my stomach drop at that question. He probably thought it was a pretty easy one, but my hands went all tingly and clammy and I was almost positive all the colour had drained from my face. I stayed silent for a moment as I thought it over. I could have lied and told him anything, really. He'd never know. But deep down I knew it wasn't a subject that I could avoid forever so I took a deep breath and answered.

"Lola's."

As I predicted, he gave me a confused look and pressed for answers.

"Lola's? Is that your middle name or something?"

Again, I was tempted to lie and pretended he'd guessed right, but if I wanted to continue our friendship, I had to be honest.

"No, it was the name of my best friend." My voice was quiet, but it didn't crack or waiver so that was an improvement. "She died last year."

I saw Henry turn to look at me out of the corner of my eye, clearly at a loss for words, but I kept my gaze off on the horizon.

"I'm very sorry to hear that," He said after a moment of quiet. "How did she die? If you don't mind me asking."

I didn't mind, but it was hard to talk about. I'd gone the route of burying my emotions rather than dealing with them when she passed so it was usually a topic I just steered clear of completely.

"She overdosed," I told him, still not looking over at him in an attempt to hide the tears that were brimming in my eyes. "She was always into partying, much more than I was, but she never really did drugs until she started dating this new guy. Suddenly she was talking about all the things she was trying and a few weeks later she was dead. Apparently he was a dealer and he'd tried cutting his supply with something dodgy so he could make more profit."

"That's horrible..." Henry's voice was soft and cautious and it made my eyes fill even more. "I'm so sorry, Brooke."

"Thanks," I choked out. "Sorry, this is super heavy. I don't mean to dump it all on you."

I wiped my eyes and tried to sort myself out a bit, but he shook his head.

"I'm happy to listen," He insisted. "How long were you friends?"

"Since we were three," I smiled. "We met in nursery school and were instant friends. Her name was Laura, but I called her Lola from the day that we met, I thought it suited her better."

"Wow, that's a long time."

"It was," I nodded. "She was like a sister to me. Cassie and I are really close, but Lola and I just clicked instantly. No one understood me like she did and she absolutely always had my back. She was the one who gave me the idea to open my own bakery. She'd been saying it for years so when she died, I knew I had to give it shot. You know, to honour her. It made closing down so much harder because I feel like I've let her down."

"I would be willing to bet a lot of money that that isn't the case at all," Henry smiled reassuringly. "I bet she's watching over you, proud that you gave it a good shot and completely relieved that you did what was best for your health."

I teared up again as he spoke, knowing deep down that he was right. Lola wouldn't be disappointed that I failed for reasons that were out of my control and if she was alive she would have dragged me to Jersey herself if it was the safest place for me to be. I hadn't voiced my guilt to anyone else though so no one had the chance to tell me I was being silly and hearing it made at least a tiny bit of my regret melt away.

"You're probably right," I agreed, wiping my eyes again as a few tears slipped down my cheeks. "Sorry, it's just hard to talk about and it's her birthday in a couple of weeks so it's even more of a sensitive subject."

"No need to be sorry," He assured me again. "It sounds like it's still quite fresh, but whenever you want to talk about it I'm more than happy to listen."

I pulled my bottom lip into my mouth, biting hard to try to fight back the floods of tears I could feel rising. It was very touching how kind he was being when plenty of people would have run for the hills as soon as they realized what a nerve they'd struck with such a simple question. I glanced over at him, trying to find the strength to thank him without a sob bursting free, when he tentatively held out his hand, placing it palm up in the dirt between us. A few more tears escaped at the gesture, but a smile slid onto my face as well as I reached out and placed my hand in his.

We stayed like that for a long time. Hand in hand, but almost two metres apart as we looked out over the ocean with Kal settled in the dirt between us. It was refreshing and calming as was almost every moment that Henry and I had shared. Eventually, we realized that it was getting quite late and we should head back before we ended up walking back in the dark, but the comfort I'd felt in that time with him lingered even as we headed home.

The somewhat somber mood that had fallen on us was soon forgotten and the laughter and fun returned as we continued asking questions and talked about everything from what we do if we could be invisible for a day to how much we both wanted a family and children of our own.

We ended up down by the beach just as the sun was setting and paused by the pier to watch it. It was a pretty breath taking sight and by the time I got home I was feeling giddy from the magical day that I'd had. Henry was shaping up to be pretty much everything I hadn't realized that I'd wanted. I'd been so busy in the last year, grieving the loss of my friend and then trying to start and run a business that dating hadn't even been on my mind, but now, after sharing so many heartwarming moments with someone who made me feel as warm inside as he did, it was something I couldn't help, but think about a lot.

I was in the middle of filling Cassie in on my day's adventures as I rather inelegantly shovelled some food into my mouth when my phone beeped on the table. I saw Henry's name pop up on the screen and my heart melted at what I saw when I opened the message.

Henry: 

Henry: I took this picture earlier and I can't get over how beautiful it is...

Henry: And by 'it' I mean you, the sunset pales in comparison

#cw: death of a fried #cw: overdose #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fic #henry cavill x ofc #light after dark

[pinkykitten]

Hairspray pt. 1

Stranger Things

Billy Hargrove x plus size! female reader

Warning: curse words, body-shaming, things get a lil steamy at the end

Specifics: comedy, angst, fluff, romance, chapter fic, race neutral reader, plus size reader, chubby reader, pictures

People: billy hargrove, nancy wheeler, jonathan byers, heather, your dad, your mother, amber (bully, oc) 

Words: 4,089

Summary: Based on Bell’s 2.5k Challenge, @acciosnapes. Being rich was tough. Your parents expected so much out of you; they expected you to be perfect. Owning practically all of Hawkins, Indiana; they perceived themselves to be above everyone else. Having that thinking made you alone, as you were not allowed to hang out with people beneath you. 4th of July of 1985 holds the fair for Independence day. You had feelings for a certain bad boy and if luck comes your way you may tell him the truth and who knows maybe he’ll even ask you to the fair. During those moments though, you will have to endure top secret evil science labs and experiments. You will uncover Hawkins secrets, make friends and who knows maybe break a couple of rules.

Authors Note: y/f/n = your father’s name

y/m/n = your mother’s name

this is the first part of the chapter fics hairpsray. this is for a challenge and i love this so much. i love writing confident plus size characters and readers. the aesthetic was made by me and the beginning to the end of this fic i got inspired by hairpsray 2007 by the start of the movie all the way to miss baltimore crabs number. i put an amber in here like the movie and some quotes and dialogue is taken from the movie hairspray, lets see if u guys can figure it out. anywho i love this hope u love it and im so happy i did this challenge there will be more so check out for this series and im excited to show u guys. yay! 

The summer of 1985. It was hot and sticky outside. The cicadas singing as they made their way near you home. You were excited. You were going to, no matter who tried to stop you, get a job.

It very well likely might not have made sense to anyone. You were rich. Grew up with a golden spoon in your mouth. You never knew life to be hard. Every little thing was given to you, whether it be toys, dresses, makeup, you had it all. At least thats what your parents thought. Your father was basically equal with the Mayor. The two helped each other out with smart work and of course the dirty work. Y/f/n thought you didn’t know but you sniffed out the clues and put them together. You knew your father was no innocent man. He played his cards right to get this money, not earn it. And y/m/n, just followed your father around like a lost puppy. You could see the kindness in her sometimes but she always listened to your father. 

What your parents didn’t know was you were searching for something more important. Something that meant a whole lot to you. Money didn’t matter. You didn’t want that life. You wanted to be independent and be able to make mistakes and live life. Your parents always disciplined you on peers. You were not allowed to be with low lives; people who weren't as successful as your family. But all the friends your parents wanted you to love were snobs and thought so highly of themselves. You wanted to get away from that life. Your whole life was planned out for you. You are forever and always this pretty, perfect sweet girl who follows rules even though sometimes you didn’t feel those things. 

You woke up to the sun beating down on your face. You rolled around on your pastel pink king sized bed. Groaning, as you subconsciously hit your alarm clock but noticing you were awoken before its ring. 

“Hmm, thats never happened before.”

You stretch as you jump out of bed to start your first day of work. You would never tell your parents. They would never understand and probably make excuses to stop you. You were going to try to get hired at Hawkins Community Pool. It was a risky decision based on your size. You were plus sized and adored it! You felt on top of the world most times and never cared what anyone thought. But there were times where you did get down from comments but you still pushed ahead and loved yourself. You were willing to give the lifeguard gig a chance and there was a plus side. Your crush Billy Hargrove was there. You just hoped you could entice him enough to give you a go. 

You scrambled to your feet as you raced to your phone. You dialed your best friend Nancy’s number. You had to keep the relationship a secret. If your parents knew about your friendship they probably would flip. You knew about all the secrets of the kids and Hawkins lab. Nancy felt guilty not telling you so she spilled the beans about everything to you. About Eleven, the monsters, scientists. It sounded unreal but you knew Nancy would never lie to you. 

“Hey Nance, are we still on for the mall today?” You asked, twirling the cable with your fingers. 

On the other side you could hear Nancy struggling, “yep we’re still on. Sorry I’m running late to my first day of work.”

“Oh yeah its today. What are you gonna be doing again?”

Nancy made a yelp as the phone was muffled, “sorry I just slipped putting on my dress.” Just as Nancy said that you could hear Jonathan’s voice in the background. 

“No way!” You squealed. “Did you sleep with Jonathan?”

Nancy giggled, “...sorta...kinda...yeah.”

“You naughty girl!”

“Whatever!”

“Tell him I said hi,” you said.

“Oh my god y/n, you’re unbelievable but I gotta go now.”

“Wait? Are you still coming with me to get my bathing suit?”

“Like I would miss this. Y/n’s first job and pretty much your first time being a independent young lady. Y/n, we’re definitely going to celebrate!” She hanged up the phone and you got dressed for the day. 

You went to the living room and turned on the tv. “Good morning Hawkins, Indiana.” The news man and lady said as they raised their morning cup of coffee to the viewers. 

You skipped around the kitchen finding something to eat. Humming a tune you couldn’t get out of your head as it was a song you made up. 

“I love you Hawkins, and someday when I take to the world, the worlds gonna wake up see. Hawkins and me,” you sang as you were stopped by your father. 

“Why are you so jumpy this morning?” He wore a scowl on his face. 

You shrugged, “nothing in particular dad.” You kissed him on the cheek. Your mother walked in swatting your hand as you were about to make breakfast for yourself. 

“The maids can get it honey,” she said as the maid ran in and got started in cooking you your favorite. 

You rolled your eyes as you got your bag, “you know I think I’ll just eat on the road. I’ll pick up something on the side.”

“Honey, make sure its nothing greasy,” your mother said. “You have to try to back away from foods, remember.”

“You remind me everyday mother.” Your parents always pointed out the fact that you were bigger than most girls your age. They always tried to put you on diets and workouts but nothing worked. It didn’t work because you didn’t want it to work. You were totally fine with your body and wish they could see what you saw. 

Finishing the rest of your corn dog from the food court you awaited on Nancy by the store. Checking your time you knew Nancy was supposed to be here.  

“C’mon Nance, where are you?”

Finally she showed up from around the corner. Her hair all disheveled. It looks as if she was rushed. 

“Hey there best friend...you okay?” You asked, hugging her as she came up. 

She waved your question off. “It can wait. So what are you thinking of getting? Whats your vision?”

“Well,” you said as you entered into the tiny shop. Women of all sizes were there but you can see the look of disappointment on many of the bigger girls faces. There was barely anything there for them. You looked through the clearance for “Big Girls” it read on the sign. “since I have to make a good impression, I’m going to wear something sexy but also professional. I don’t want to look like no stripper.”

Nancy chuckled, “right. Also isn’t this swimsuit for only this time cause you have to wear their red one while you work there.”

“Correct. Like I said though I want them to see I am trying and I am not going to half-as* it.”

“How bout this one?” Nancy said as she brought out a blue one. It had sequins on it; very beautiful. But it was too sexual. The breast area was very much wide and open. The back showed too much butt. “What do you think about this?”

“Don’t get me wrong its super pretty but like I said; I need to look professional. Plus there’s gonna be kids there.”

“I gotcha. Sorry I maybe just want everyone to pass out when they see my friend.”

“Oh I bet everyone will, even if I don’t wear anything sexual. They’re probably gonna be like agghhh an earthquake when they see me walking in and I’ll respond like, you bet b*tch.”

Nancy laughed. 

“How bout this one?” You pulled out a Hawaiian one. It was pretty but more for old ladies and it was boring. 

“Okay yeah sure...for my nana!”

“Well how do you know me and your nana don’t have the same taste?”

“Look you need something more than that. Like you said, making a statement.”

You bit your lip, “man this harder than I thought. I’m kind scared to be honest about doing this. Like I think the last time I ever got this scared was when they announced the new coke.”

Nancy tried her hardest to hold back a giggle, “why are you scared?”

“Picture this, what if a stranger hands me a blunt and you know I’m curious by nature and I accept it? What in the world will Billy think? He’ll probably think I’m like a druggie 24/7!”

“First off, that is the oddest situation I’ve ever heard of. Second, is this your weird way of saying what if Billy doesn’t like you?”

“No I know he’ll like me sexually but I mean platonically. What if he doesn’t want to be like a normal couple and hang out? What if he’s ashamed to be with me? These are good questions.”

Nancy held your hand, “than he’s the jerk I always thought him to be and you’re too good for him.”

You nodded, “I mean I’m too good for him now but in that moment, if he’s a d*ck then I will be 10 times better than him. So any ways...how was work?”

Nancy rolled her eyes and looks down, “I kinda don’t want to talk about it.”

“What? What happened? Am I gonna have to slap a b*tch?” You became territorial and overprotective of your friend.

“No, no, no its just, the men at work sorta treat me like I’m dumb and that I’m not really of use to this type of work. I guess cause they see me as a woman they think they can take advantage of me. They make fun of myey/n. In front of everyone. Its bull sh*t.” Nancy almost looked as if she wanted to cry.

“Hey its okay. This is your first day. People are going to be jack as*es but you listen to me. Whenever any one has talked about me differently or made fun of me because of my weight or whatever I either laugh with them, ignore them, or say something smart back to them. There are ways that we women can stand up for ourselves without having to insult or hurt someone physically.”

“Its just easier said than done. But I’ve got a lead. A lady called me today about diseased rats. I think that maybe this is my chance to be a journalist like I’ve always wanted to be.”

You clapped her on the back, “atta girl. You take that chance. You take it right in your hand and never let it go. No matter what they tell, or do to you; you have the right, the power. Use it Nancy. Use your voice.”

Nancy smiled and picked out an orange swimsuit. You didn’t care if people called you an actual orange; all you saw was perfection. 

“How bout this one y/n?”

“Thats the one Nancy. Its perfect!”

“Hey pancake y/n and Nancy drew,” Amber, your arch nemesis. The bully, the b*tch of the town walked up to you two. Her high heels clicked as they met with the floor. Her skirt was so short you could almost see her goodies from up high. Her makeup was too overdone and her blonde hair was as perfect as Tom Cruise’s abs. She snickered as she saw you hold up your swimsuit to pay. “And you’re gonna wear that? Where are you going? To the Hawkins pool?”

“Yes as a matter of fact I am. Thanks for you looking out for me...Amber.” You said as you walked right by her; nudging her lightly. “Now I don’t wanna get there late so if you excuse me-”

“Oh sorry, too skinny of a space?”

“Amber-” Nancy started but you waved a hand out to her. 

“No its okay Nance. She’s right, it was too skinny for my delicious body.” You shrugged. 

Amber motioned closer to you. Her foot stepping on yours. “Are you going to the pool to see Billy?”

You almost forgot. Rumor had it that Amber was going to try all Summer to get with Billy but so far you heard he was single and you sure as he*l were not going to miss the opportunity. 

“Well I mean I will see him whether I want to or not. He kind works there.”

“I’m not talking about that fat-a*s. I’m saying are you doing all this. Wanting to work there just because he’s there?”

“Wow Amber! I didn’t realize you were my mother. Congratulations! Now shall I tell you about all my business?”

Amber snarled, “I swear to God if you try anything with Billy I will hunt you down. If you think for a moment that he would ever like someone like you? You are completely and utterly stupid. Know your place and be careful... you might stop traffic in that.” Amber chuckled as she walked away. Her butt swaying as she tried to show you she was better than you.

“Yeah well I have a better a*s than you!”

Nancy shook her head as she led you to the register, “C’mon y/n, lets just go.” 

Did that little interaction ever stop you? 

Never! You still went with your plan. Get this job in order to get your Billy. It was plain and simple. And also to prove to yourself and your parents that you can do things on your own and you didn’t need anyone. 

Nancy dropped you off. You got changed in the bathroom and knew it just turned into Billy’s shift. You met with the other kids at the front desk. As they saw you they laughed. “Well, well, well if it isn’t y/n l/n, the rich girl. What can we do you for?”

As you were about to speak one of the boys put his hand up, “I’m sorry but we don’t have any gold bars here at the moment. Maybe you’ll have to ask the President of the United States.”

You glared at the boy and were silent. The boy thought he broke you and you acted very suspicious. Suddenly you laughed, “yeah well maybe I’ll go ask your dad since he seems to pay me every time I’m with him.” You of course knew it wasn’t true. You had never even slept with anyone before heck with his dad. It was all for games. 

The others hollered out loudly at your come back and the boy stood back flushed. 

“Now I want to work here and I think I deserve a resume. I see your sign that you are hiring so what do I have to do here folks?” You clapped your hands. 

A girl named Heather walked by and heard your conversation. “Y/n, right?”

“Thats me.” You shook her hand. 

“Awesome, yeah I remember your call. You wanted a job here?”

“Correct again.”

“Well around here we do things differently. In order to get the job we need to see your walk.”

“My what?”

“Your walk.” The other teens tried to stifle their laughter. “Thats the most important step. We need to see how you walk in order to get to your post.”

“Oh okay for a minute I thought you wanted me to walk on water or something.”

Heather rolled her eyes. “No. I need to see how you do and then we can talk and I can give you a resume.”

“Wait. You’re the one who conducts the interviews around here and stuff like that?”

Heather nodded. Lying.

“Cool so when do I start the walk?”

“Now!” Heather pushed you into the open. 

“Oh okay,” you were shy at first but then conducted yourself. The sun shone on your skin deliciously making your skin glow. You looked at your surroundings. A lot of kids. A chubby kid running, which you knew was a no-no. The other side, near Billy was, “Mrs. Wheeler? What in the world is she doing looking at Billy like that?” You felt anger erupt within you. Yes, you were a little jealous. Even though their relationship was extremely wrong you still felt jealous. You proceeded to walk. Not caring if anything budged out, jiggled, nothing. You felt sexy, beautiful and that’s all that mattered. 

You shook your hips as you walked up to the chair. You had talked to Billy before but never a full out conversation. It was little ones. Billy stood right by the chair, talking to Mrs. Wheeler. As you showed up Billy looked at you straight in the eye. You bit your lip winking at him. Billy then looked all over you, raising his brow. He licked his lips. 

“Hi y/n,” he said all suave; putting his hand out to stop Mrs. Wheeler’s conversation, interrupting her. 

“Hi Billy, hello Mrs. Wheeler.”

Mrs. Wheeler seemed angry so she sat back down in the sun. 

“Well, well, well, what are you doing here?” Billy asked as he leaned against the lifeguard chair. 

“Well I heard y’all were hiring. I saw in the newspaper that they’re making another lifeguard here, coinciding with the first one of course. Heard it gets hectic around here.”

Billy chewed on a toothpick as he came closer to you, smirking. His eyes seeming almost a sea green when it hit the sun. “Yeah it sure does get hectic around here, but I think with you around; things will get more hectic. Trust me.”

“Will it be by your doing?” You got closer as well. Playing his games.

“I don’t know, might be.”

“Got any more bigger girls like me around here?”

“No just the one and only you.”

“Oh so you were looking?” You didn’t mind that he called you bigger or when someone called you fat. It was the truth and you learned to love those words. 

“Is that a bad thing?” Billy asked as his eyes scanned all over you once more. His eyes became lustful. 

“No, I mean you might as well learn what a real woman looks like. I guess I’ll be making history around here. Y/n l/n, the first lifeguard that is really and surely a-”

“Whole lotta woman,” Billy said as his voice came out raspy and more of a moan. 

Your knees were becoming weak. “Thats right.”

“Alright miss making history. Why do you want this job? Aren’t your parents rich? Doesn’t your dad work with the mayor?”

“Yep but I feel as a young lady, I need to learn and live.”

“Don’t worry you’ll learn all those things here; I’ll make sure I’ll teach you.” Billy said as he touched your arm, sending electricity coursing through your veins. 

“So Billy Hargrove will be my lifeguard teacher, huh? Not bad. But...will you ever need to punish me?”

Billy looked shocked as you said that and laughed. He inched closer to you until his plump lips landed on your ear, “only when you’re being a bad girl.”

It took everything out of you not to moan right there. You coughed as you tried to act natural again. Billy got you good. 

“Bashful much?”

“More like turned on,” you muttered not knowing Billy heard as he smiled wide. You turned around and walked straight back to Heather. Your a*s shaking a lot as you walked back making Billy almost have a heart attack. There was no way he was going to go through summer without you. 

“So how’d I do?” You questioned Heather. Excited to hear the news. 

“Well...it was okay.”

“Okay?”

“You weren’t supposed to talk to anyone yet.”

“Um, its a community pool. Everyone's talking.” You said. 

“No we mean when you were talking to Billy. You see a lot of the girls here like him. And we can’t have you jeopardizing their chances and scaring Billy if you know what I mean.” Heather said as she winced. 

Billy had wanted to hear the news about you working here and stood nearby; hearing the whole conversation. 

Your eyes widened, “no I’m sorry I don’t know what you mean?”

“Its just with your rich parents and well your weight for another thing we feel as its just too much...stuff for this job requirement.”

“So you’re basically saying I’m too fat and rich for a small summer job?”

Heather tried not to laugh as the other kids in the office did. You rolled your eyes. “And all this walk and stuff, that was fake too I suppose.”

Heather couldn’t control herself. She bursted out laughing. “You’re totally right! And you fell for it!”

You tried your hardest not to let them get to you. Not to cry. But it was difficult. They embarrassed you, hurt your feelings, rejected you because of your weight and life. You felt like you could get nowhere with them. 

You smiled, “thank you for your time guys.”

“Whatever!” Heather waved you off. 

Billy on the other hand was furious. He knew what it mean to be treated differently and to be hurt. He wanted to stand up for you but he was scared he would lose his job. 

You walked away and Billy walked up to Heather. “Hey, why do you have to be so cruel?”

“Says the guy who literally bullys everyone. What makes y/n any different?”

“Maybe its because she’s not a b*tch. Like some people are.” Billy walked away to get back to work but he could not for the life of him stop thinking about you. You clouded his brain all day. 

You walked home. Thinking about all that was said to you today. You had high hopes of getting the job but now you didn’t know where to go. Crashing onto your bed you cried onto your pillow. Your mother was out shopping with a group of her rich friends and your father was helping the Mayor out with the 4th of July fair. They didn’t care how you felt that day. When someone hurt you. They only cared about themselves. 

Your phone rang and it was Nancy. You sniffled your tears, wiping your face, “hello Nance. Whats up?”

“Hey y/n oh my god you’re not going to believe it! I got a lead on the rats! Me and Jonathan went to go check it out at Mrs. Driscoll. She showed us her basement and all the fertilizer bags had holes in them from the rats. She said that maybe they had rabies and wanted us to notify the public but y/n when I got a good look at these rats it was not like the norm.”

“What do you mean?” You sat up.

“What I mean is that these rats were like having a convulsion. They were acting really strange. Like crazy, I’m gonna investigate more tomorrow and then maybe just maybe the guys at my work will actually take me seriously.”

“You show them! But be careful okay, I don’t want you or Jonathan to loose your jobs. Pursue this story your way.”

“Thanks. Hey what about you? How did things go for your lifeguard summer adventure? And what about Billy? Oh my god did he see you that? He probably had such a big boner-”

“Nancy!” You started to cry again. “I didn’t get the job.”

“What the h*ll do you mean? Do I have to smack a b*tch?”

You chuckled lightly, “no its nothing like that or what I mean is theres nothing you can do. I went in and they pranked me and called me names and pretty much made fun of me saying that I couldn’t work there because I was rich and fat.”

“So? Who the h*ll cares? Jesus, I hate people.”

“Me too, but never you.” You sighed. 

“You know what you do?”

“What Nancy? I tried everything-”

“You try again! Go tomorrow and wear their attire their red swimsuits and show them that you are not playing around. Make them see that you are the woman for the job. You are an amazing person y/n, show them and show Billy.”

You wiped your tears away and got the boost you needed. “You’re right Nance, thanks. I’m gonna keep trying until I have done all that I can.”

“Yeah and if not there is a new mall that you could work at and really anywhere. People would be lucky to have you.”

“Thanks Nancy. You always know how to make me feel better.” You hanged up the phone and got a good nights rest for the next day where you would try your hardest to achieve something you so badly wanted. 

Tag list: @harrington-lover, @angelgl16, @perfectlybeautifulsuit, @hyehoney, @haven-prelude (wont let me tag), @leasly, @totally-alexa21, @creamy-pasta-boi, @multireese, @fanfictionrecommendations-com, @prentisskelley, @malereaderforkpop (wont let me tag), @guardian-of-cookies, @justafangirl-97, @teenageshitposts (wont let me tag), @dippergravity (wont let me tag), @some-booty, @fromfoolishpeopletodeadpeople, @collectiveyou, @wtfisalltherandoms, @dirbel, @eastcoasthaven, @fangirl-4-life415 (wont let me tag), @idontknowwhattocallthisworld (wont let me tag)

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[charmingturkeysandwich]

“Christmas Surprise”: A CS Secret Santa Gift

Hey there, @colinoeyebrows, it’s me, your secret Santa! I’m sorry we didn’t get more time to get to know each other before I wrote your story, but I think I managed to create something that fits what you’ll enjoy. I kept it short - but not too short! And I suppose it would be filed under enemies/friends to lovers, if it required a label. I truly hope you enjoy it and that you have a Merry Christmas! I think in your time zone it’s officially Christmas Eve, so I’m not too terribly early, but here in the states it’s still Christmas Eve Eve... and I’m terribly sick and requiring a few days of not moving a finger, so here you are! I hope you enjoy. I tried to pack it full of as much Christmas joy as possible :)

Killian and Emma are neighbors in an apartment building full of Emma’s makeshift family. He’s been insufferable most times, but also oddly kind, so Emma tolerates him. But his weird over-the-top dedication to their Christmas decorating this year is really starting to grate on her. Until she understands.

@cssecretsanta2k19

---

“Killian! Stop stealing my damn ladder!”

“Of course, princess,” the jerk snarked back at her. What had she ever done to deserve him as a next door neighbor? So full of himself, intensely competitive over things that did not require competition, and always, always making sure he had the last word. He’d probably raise up from his damn casket just to say one last thing when the eulogies were finished.

Not that Emma would be there. Ugh. She’d love to be rid of him.

Except that on some days he was literally the only thing she actually looked forward to. When work was stressful and she hadn’t caught a skip in weeks and she’d fallen and sprained an ankle and a wrist, he was there, mocking her crutches and laughing at her drug-addled ramblings, but still always, always helping her up the stairs, fetching her mail, tipping her pizza delivery man extra for delivering hers first despite being the farthest away from the parlor.

How could one person be so infuriating and yet so caring at the same time?

Halloween this year had been canceled as the town was practically falling down (thundersnow or ice-nado or something of the like), so this year, Storybrooke had decided to simply transfer the door-to-door candy begging from Halloween to Christmas. Because of this, landlords all over town were asking that tenants decorate and prepare to delight the children who had been robbed of their November sugar hangover by Mother Nature, instead giving them a lovely sugar hangover for Christmas morning.

(Sounded like a conspiracy by parents to get kids to sleep in, but whatever.)

Emma made fudge every year and always had tons left over, so this year she’d decided she’d throw herself into this Halloween-Christmas mashup with everything she had. Her other neighbors were always very festive, specifically the ice skater Elsa who every year had more Christmas lights in her one-bedroom apartment than all of the foster homes Emma ever lived in. Combined. Ruby loved to dress her dog up as a reindeer, and even David and Mary Margaret went all out, despite being the owners of the building and not just lowly tenants.

Killian usually kept his decorations minimal. Mistletoe over his doorway just to taunt his neighbors (female and male alike, to Graham’s amusement and horror), and maybe one string of lights or tinsel around the doorway.

But no. This year he’s decided there’s a door-decorating contest that he’s absolutely going to win.

Emma, on the other hand, is absolutely going to kill him.

He stole her ladder. He stole her tacks. He stole her snowflakes with sticky backs.

This man was driving her so insane that she was starting to rhyme like a cartoon train.

Ugh.

Elsa (infuriatingly) found it endearing. And Ruby, ever the flirt, was mostly trying to distract their neighbors into standing under Killian’s mistletoe with her. No one seemed to be as furious as Emma that the bartender across the hall who usually didn’t give a crap about Christmas was suddenly “dedicated to his craft” so much that he just had to take her scalloped scissors at exactly the time that she needed them.

She was going to scallop his other hand off if he didn’t watch it.

Thoroughly frustrated with decoration, she took a nice, long break late that morning to go check on her fudge and start bagging it for the kids that would be coming around No-Trick-Just-Treating tonight.

Living in this apartment had been surprisingly life-altering for Emma. The lifelong lost girl had finally found some people she called family, even though none of them were related. The family you choose is the real one, Ruby had told her one drunken evening when Emma finally spilled her secrets, her sadness at being abandoned as a child, her fear that it would all be taken from her again. So it was only recently that she’d even decided Christmas was worth celebrating. Christmas Eves of her childhood had mostly been like every other day – if they weren’t even more miserable because of all the joy she was missing out on by being unwanted. It had taken her years of reflection, therapy, and bad decision making for her to realize that she wasn’t the problem. That hope was always there. That she had things worth celebrating now, even though she suffered in the past.

And god forbid if any single child who walked through her hallway tonight was in need of a glimmer of hope, she’d be the one to provide it. Even if only through a bag of fudge and a warm smile.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Emma’s door sounded like it might break off the hinges, so she went running, assuming that something deeply horrifying was happening outside it.

But no, it was just Killian. On her ladder. Affixing mistletoe to her doorway.

“You know this thing is supposed to be about kids right? Not you trying to suck face with all thirty of your neighbors.”

“Well you’re the last one I’ve managed to not kiss. Ball’s in your court, love.”

“Can you go bother someone else? Emma’s a common name. Find a different one.”

“But my darling, all I want for Christmas is you,” he began singing, putting on quite the distracting performance in their shared hallway.

She couldn’t help but smile. She’d never met someone so… carefree? It was like the only thing Killian was capable of doing was making people smile (even when it was accompanied by another person’s heavy eye roll). But she was envious of him, because she’d give anything to not be burdened by the ghosts of Christmas past.

“Can you please go bother someone else, Jones?”

“Oh, fine. But I’ll be back for fudge.”

He turned on his heel and started back toward Ruby’s and Graham’s side of the building, ignoring Emma as she shouted back to him, “the candy is for the children, not for grown adult asses!”

Later that night, Christmas Eve in full-swing, Emma received another knock on her door. She grabbed her tub of fudge and skipped to the doorway, only to be met with those infuriatingly beautiful blue eyes that could only belong to one Killian Jones… alongside a small human who looked strikingly like him.

“Holiday Treats!” the two of them yelled together, nearly giggling, and Emma would have laughed too if she weren’t so damn confused.

“Jones, are you plucking children off the street to guilt me into giving you peanut butter fudge?”

“Killian said your fudge is the best ever in the whole world! And my brother doesn’t lie.”

“I’m sorry… brother?” Emma gaped, suddenly feeling as if there’s quite a lot she didn’t know about Killian Jones.

“Liam, please don’t scare the nice fudge lady or she won’t give us any,” Killian teasingly chastised to his shorter counterpart before turning back to Emma to explain. “So, long story short, my father is a garbage human being and after leaving me and my older brother in an orphanage, he started a new family and abandoned them, too. Just found out about little Liam here about a week ago, but I’m now an approved foster parent, and, well, he’s soon to be your neighbor, too!”

“Aye, aye!” Liam yelled, absolutely delighted by at least some part of that odd tale.

“Oh my god, that’s why you wanted to decorate so badly.”

“Yep, just trying to make things festive for junior here. Now…. Fudge, please?” he asked, pouting his lip and extending his open hand. Liam, of course, followed suit, and Emma nearly burst into a fit of laughter at the sight.

“Of course, Joneses,” she chuckled, handing them twice as much fudge as she’d given out to any of the other children.

“Now why don’t you stop on by later on so I can get to know my new neighbor a little bit better?”

“Of course, love!” Killian replied, about to bolt for the next candy-giving door when Emma stopped him abruptly, her hand gripping his elbow tightly, keeping him in place.

Before he had time to question her, she leaned in and gave him a sweet peck on the corner of the mouth, muttering “mistletoe” into his ear before she leaned back against the doorframe.

A little dazed, Killian did nothing but smile somewhat confusedly, until Liam tugged on his leather jacket. “Kiss your girlfriend later – it’s candy time!”

When the Joneses came back later that night, Emma made them her signature hot chocolate and they watched a marathon of Love, Actually, Elf, and Rudolph, each of them passing out on their respective couches long before Emma had a chance to turn off her Christmas lights. When they awoke the next morning, she made them breakfast and they invited her over to open presents with them (not that Killian could afford many, but he was trying, he’d whispered to her as Liam begged her to join).

They never spent a Christmas apart again.

#cs ff #cs secret santa #keisha writes #this is a gift

[maxineswritingcenter]

Comfort

@evanfan96 requested a Lucifer X Reader. I hope you don't mind, I'm going to take a few artistic liberties and it seemed like the direction it was going.

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To say things had been tense was an understatement. As a hunter, dating supernatural creatures was taboo. But being in a relationship with the devil was a sin to the majority. Including her partners, the Winchester Brothers. Dean and Sam weren't happy with (Y/N) to say the least. They thought that Lucifer was using her to get to Sam. But it was so much different than that. Lucifer had out everything on hold. She thought that through love that she could change him. Make him see that humans, yes flawed, but we tried.

The hunt was a difficult one. The monster wasn't anything they had faced before. It was keeping everyone up, stressing everyone out. The last few nights she had gotten Lucifer to bring her back to his hide out. Just to relax and see him.

This encounter was different though. When she arrived he wasn't waiting for her arrival in the living room.

"Lucifer?" She called, no answer. She moved around the small house and finally found him in their bedroom. He was hunched over the side of the bed. He seemed off. His sandy blonde hair was disheveled and the small sores on his face were healing but not fast enough. This wasn't his true vessel and it was starting to effect him when he used his grace too much.

"Luce, is everything alright?" She put her hand on his back, "Luce?"

"By my father, woman, would you leave me be?" He stood up quickly and smacked her hand away. She took a step back, as he began to pace the room.

"What's wrong?" She asked again, softer this time. He finally looked at her and tutted. He shook his head.

"Always the same old thing, isn't, (Y/N). You need an escape for your life so you just come crawling to me." He said. His words stung at her heart.

"This case is difficult. I just wanted to relax and be with you." She said softly.

Lucifer scoffed, "I know. I know I know!" He shouted, "That's all you ever want to do. You breathe over my shoulder whenever you're here." He pointed a finger at her. He chuckled when he saw the tears fall down her cheeks.

"Oh don't cry now. That won't gain any sympathy. You somehow convince me to stop the apocalypse. And for what? What was my reward? A shitty townhouse in the middle of Detroit and a pathetic human clinging to me like a child."

Her silence only made him continue, "You are pathetic." She shook her head and grabbed her keys from the beside table. She walked out of the room, her head high, but trembled as she left the house and went to her car, driving back to the motel that the hunters had chosen as their hideaway.

(Y/N) slammed the door of the hotel room shut, which startled the brothers. From her look, they knew exactly what had gone down. (Y/N) didn't cry often, but but when she did it wasn't to be taken lightly.

Dean wanted nothing more than to say I told you so. But that wouldn't go over well, at least not right now. Sam gave her a small smile, he opened his mouth to say something. (Y/N) held her hand up.

"Not a word. From either of you." She said, her voice was still a little Shakey. She sat down on one of the beds and and sighed. Dean gave her an eyebrow raise before going back to whatever he was looking at on his phone. Sam got up from his place at the small table, leaving his laptop and whatever research he was doing. He sat down besides her and hesitantly put his hand on her shoulder.

"Don't, Sam." She grumbled. She knew he would say something about how he was right and she was being used.

"I'm not going to say anything." He said, even though he really wanted to, "I'm just here for my friend. Because I care about you." She shook her head and leaned against her friend. She rested her head on his shoulder and they sat there for a while.

-

The next few days just became more and more stressful. The whole Lucifer situation was still looming over her head. And they were no closer to cracking the case. (Y/N) grabbed her keys and was about to head out the door.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked, looking up from his laptop.

"I'm gonna grab my stuff and then I'm coming back. I'll let you know when I'm on my way back." She sighed and opened the door.

"Be careful!" He called as she shut the door behind her. The drive should have been relaxing. Listening to music and being away should have been the best thing on this hour long drive. But she just kept stressing more and more about seeing Lucifer and taking a step in the direction that could quite literally destroy the world. But after talking about it was Sam, it was for the best. Dean had agreed. He said they would both do everything in their power to keep her safe.

Before she knew it, she had made it. The lights were off and it seemed silent besides the sound of barking dogs and sirens in the distance. She got out of the car and went inside. She made quick work of packing whatever she could in her dufflebag. Mostly clothes and her knick knacks. She left behind photos and other memorabilia. She was almost done but her head was killing her. She looked at the couch in the living room and contemplated a nap. It would be for the best. It was already 2am, if he wasn't here he wouldn't be back tonight. She fell back against the comfy cushions and tried to relax. Her head pounded and her face felt tight and sore. She closed her eyes and let the darkness try to relieve her pain.

-

Lucifer entered the tiny house in the early hours of the morning. Instead of quiet, it was full of noise. Some song was playing and it gave him a bigger headache than he already had. Minions could be so frustrating and disappointing. All he asks is that Michael's wareabouts be known. And they can't even do that right. He looked over at the couch and saw (Y/N), back again. He rolled his eyes as he saw her phone was the thing making the noise. It stopped as soon as he picked it up. 30 missed called from Samuel. He looked at her, then back at the phone. He stopped and looked back her again. She looked like a wreck. Her eyes were dark and sunken in, and there was a line of blood coming from her nose. It had been bleeding so much that it was dripping onto the couch. He crouched down quickly and felt for her pulse, thinking that she had been smitted. But her heart was still beating.

Lucifer grabbed her shoulders and shook her, "Hey! Wake up!"

(Y/N) gasped as she woke up and her eyes widened when she saw him. He almost looked... Afraid.

"What do you want?" She sat up, then felt at her upper lip. It was sticky with fresh and old blood.

"Are you melting from the inside? Why are you bleeding?" He asked. She shook her head and went into the kitchen, holding on to the wall with her clean hand. He followed close behind her and watched as grabbed paper towels and held them to her face.

"Why do you care?" Her voice was slightly muddled from the paper towel on and in her nose.

Lucifer sighed and put a hand on her shoulder, "Would you feel better if I apologized?"

"Give it a shot." She glared up at him.

"I am... Sorry. For calling you clingy." He forced out his best apology.

She rolled her eyes. He sighed, his shoulders slumping.

"Look, I'm doing my best." He reached out and touched her forehead. Her headache and sore nose ceased to plague her.

"Better?" He asked.

(Y/N) pursed her lips and nodded, "Yeah." He handed her her phone.

"I'm going to get some sleep now. See ya there." He smiled and left the room.

Her shoulders slumped and she sighed. She could stay. She could live with the person who had been so awful to her just a few days before and give her a half assed apology. Or she could go back to the motel and be with the guys, the ones who seemed to truly care. Walking out that door could cause cataclysmic damage. But she couyldnt subject herself to this. She had to love herself. She had to respect herself. She grabbed her dufflebag and what she had of this life and walked out the door.

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So I know this isn't all the way the request. But toxicity has no place here.

Taglist:

@happy-little-marvel

@hobby27

@somebodyto-love

@beanie-beebo

@vicmc624

@ria132love

@lilulo-12

@teenwaywardasgardian

#supernatural fic #supernatural creatures #supernatural reader insert #supernatural imagine #supernatural #lucifer #lucifer x reader