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1kook · 4 years

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some way, some how

jeon jungkook x (f) reader

Summary: Maybe you don’t know Jungkook as well as you thought you did. Maybe he doesn’t know you. Warnings: emotional constipation, toxic ex, internalized misogyny, jk has bad experiences w/his ex’s dad, one scene where jk throws up, brief episode of panic, mentions of terminal cancer (minor); smut; fingering, praise kink, face fucking, spitting kink, cunnilingus, unprotected sex on top of a car im sorry Misc: autoshop owner!jk, businesswoman!oc, slice of life, childhood crushes, friends to lovers, ex gfs, pining, country bumpkin pjm w/crush on oblivious oc, ex-bf kth but it’s not real lol Wc: 19.4k (wow!!!)

the spirit of auto shop jk possessed me n next thing i knew i was 11k into a drabble. if ur curious: the 1975 corvette, car at the end, the tweed suitskirt (not actually chanel ☹️sowwyyy) also: this is the longest fic I've written!!!!! clap for me!!!!! i proofread the first few paragraphs n was like thats enough professionalism for the day

inspired by ain’t no mountain high enough one of my fave songs ever🥺 the title is a lyric from the song bc i love it so much enjoy !!

The garage is mostly dark when you enter, the faint hum of a radio quietly filtering through the stagnant room, its source coming from the back wall, where the only light is. It’s a rolling lamp, shining down an ugly yellow glow onto the figure of one man.

Jungkook’s sitting in that same rolling stool he always is, the metal one that’s rusted beyond repair, the cushion so uncomfortably flat. He’s caught up in whatever paint job he’s been tasked with this time around, a classic muscle car from what looks like the 80’s. He’s humming along to the radio, so caught up in stenciling out his design that he doesn’t notice you creep behind him until you’re very purposefully rattling the tool cart beside him, a teasing “boo!” making him jump.

“Fuck, you scared me,” he gasps, rubs over his chest as if to check if his heart is in fact still there. You grin, brandish your bag of takeout out for him before he can lecture you on the dangers of startling people who work around very complex machinery. Instead, all he says is, “you’re an angel.”

Once you’ve got the food carefully scattered across his work bench, your cherry cola tucked next to a canister of gasoline like that’s the safest practice, Jungkook wastes no time diving into all the details of his project, the 1975 Chevy Corvette behind him. The longer you look at it, the more you feel you’ve seen it somewhere. Probably a car show, you presume.

“Purrs like a kitten,” he sighs dreamily, completely ignoring the way half his toppings slide out from the opposite end of his cheeseburger. You don’t, and you swipe a fallen pickle from his tray before he can catch you.

“A kitten?” You ask, glance over at the car. It’s desperately in need of a paint job, and you only realize this now as you stare at it more in depthly. The niggling feeling that you know this car is still there, but you ignore it in favor of indulging your best friend. “Don’t people usually compare cars to bigger, better cats?”

There’s a taped stencil running alongside the car, a thick stripe followed by a thinner one, and you suppose Jungkook’s trying to spice her up, give her back the same youthfulness she probably had in her prime. What better way to do so than by adding some classic stripes alongside it.

Jungkook hums, gulps down his soda noisily. “Not this one. Never heard an engine as soft as hers.”

You roll your eyes. For a minute, the two of you quietly chew through your burgers, the radio filling in the gaps while you analyze the car. You know this car, but you can’t remember where. Jungkook coughs into his palm, probably from trying to inhale his fries too fast like he does every time you go to the diner you’re eating from today.

The diner.

A mouthful of braces. A pretty waitress. A strict dad.

“Holy shit, this is Sojin’s dad’s car,” you inhale, the memories from high school suddenly hitting you full force. Jungkook chokes, out of surprise this time, and furiously goes to deny your claims. “This is totally his car. The one he tried to run you over with when he caught you trying to put her on the back of your bike.”

“He didn’t try to run me over,” Jungkook whines, and the tips of his ears are red from your revelation.

You glare. “Why are you fixing that asshole’s car for him?” You interrogate, the last quarter of your burger forgotten in favor of squeezing the truth out of him. You’d had enough of that treacherous woman and her equally deranged father causing Jungkook trouble, and to catch him still helping her now, almost ten years later, was enough to make a brain vessel pop.

He shrugs, avoids your eyes as he picks through his fries. The radio is still on, some tune you recognize from those old days at the diner when Jungkook had become so unbelievably smitten with the part timer that served you milkshakes every Wednesday afternoon.

He had been in love with her the moment he saw her, and the look in his eyes was only magnified by those dorky glasses he wore pre-lasik. You'd been his friend long enough, recognized the jump of his scrawny thigh beneath the table. Like a bunny, thumping in excitement at the sight of her.

Sojin was... full of surprises.

She was nothing less than a supermodel, long legs carrying her around the diner as if it was her runway. She was nice too, so you hadn’t originally had an excuse to dislike her. She was nice, and so endeared with your best friend that it was inevitable when they began dating. Her presence consumed the end of your high school careers, overtook the time that should have been yours and Jungkook’s last year before being thrown into adulthood. He decided on studying at a technical school nearby—per your encouragement to save money—while you travelled five hours out for your degree in business. That last year, when you had finally come to terms with your feelings, had been so painfully ripped away by Sojin and her never-ending list of teenage drama, and by Sojin’s dad and his overbearing need to police her and Jungkook every chance he got.

Jungkook still hung out—“Sojin was busy, do you wanna do something?”—but more often than not those hang outs consisted of Jungkook telling you about her and her dad, about how hard he tried to get into his good graces.

The bike incident had only been one of many. Times where Jungkook would put his heart—and life—on the line for that girl only for it to be in vain every time she broke up with him over the simplest things. You’d heard stories from Jungkook, all told with a tight smile, of a handshake that would bruise, a man chasing him with a bat, of a car following him to school. All things he put up with for a girl who didn’t care for him. One day, after Jungkook had grudgingly sat through an hour long dinner with her family, the stare of her father piercing through him, she broke up with him because she didn’t like how long his hair had gotten.

(If anyone were to ask you, he was handsome with long hair. Dreamy even.)

He cut it that same day.

As her childishness grew, you quickly came to dislike her. She strung Jungkook around, you thought, and just when you thought she was finally done toying with him and making his life difficult in the sneakiest ways, the damn kid started hitting the gym. His growing frame, toned arms and now straightened teeth had turned him into a heartthrob, and Sojin was just as aware of this as you were. “Don’t we look perfect together?” She’d ask, twirl around him like they were on the cover of a magazine and not standing on his chipped front porch.

Needless to say, by the time graduation had rolled around you despised the woman. You absolutely disliked how she treated Jungkook, how she let her father treat Jungkook without ever stepping up and defending him. Granted, you didn’t know exactly what went on in her household behind closed doors, you’d seen enough of her uncaring attitude to want to ram her and her dad’s head against the hood of the car.

Which is why seeing the old car, in Jungkook’s shop nonetheless, was rekindling a boiling hatred in your chest. “That man should rot in hell for all he put you through,” you huff, glare at the car like it holds some magical connection to him and he can feel the intensity of your stare.

“___,” Jungkook scolds, swirls his cup around to distract himself. “He was just trying to protect his only daughter,” he defends, quietly, like it’s what he tells himself to justify all those years of mistreatment. Even when he and Sojin had continued through college, it had never stopped. You, being five hours away, couldn’t do a damn thing. “Besides, the guy’s old as hell now.”

You snort, finally breaking your staring match with the car. Glancing at Jungkook, he’s got that same forlorn expression on his face, the one he started wearing when he first came to terms with the fact that her dad would never like him. There was a time it was stuck permanently on his face, the pressure and the discomfort that came from the father of the girl you’ve dated for five years looking at you like you were nothing more than a speck of dirt on the bottom of his shoe.

When you came back from school, educated and confident, you almost didn’t recognize your best friend. Tall and broad, tattoos splattered over his arm. Hair long like you loved it, but eyes still as round and wondrous as they’d been when you were kids. He had his own place now, he told you, and you vaguely remembered all the times he mentioned him and Sojin moving in together, mentally preparing yourself to see that wench for the first time in a while.

Much to your surprise, there was no Sojin in sight. No lingering artifacts of her presence. Nothing that showed she existed in this space besides an ugly orange mug she’d given him for his birthday one year, tucked into the very back of his cabinets. They’d broken up, he explained. Almost immediately after graduation.

After stringing him along for the better part of five years, she had decided this wasn’t what she wanted. No, what she wanted was a man ten years her senior with an abundance of cash to flow. Jungkook hadn’t cried. Hadn’t even looked the tiniest bit upset when you ordered pizza and drank some beer, watched your favorite episodes of The Simpsons like you were seventeen and avoiding your homework again.

You stayed the night, a little too tipsy to drive home. Besides, Jungkook had a spare bedroom. It was a room beside his, just a full bed with a chest of drawers. You liked it, liked the scent of him surrounding you after only seeing each other for a couple weeks in between months of distance. You liked it, because when he shifted in bed you realized the beds were pressed against the same wall, and you liked it until the shared wall spared you no secrets, and you listened to him quietly sob into his pillow.

“Old or not, he’s still the devil,” you murmur, snapping back to the present where Jungkook is wheeling himself closer to the car again. “Where did you find that thing anyway?”

He stays silent, quietly pretending like he still has something to do on the car besides paint it. Then, “I bumped into Sojin at the store.”

You sigh, drop your head between your shoulders. You can only imagine what whirlwind of a sob story she had to throw on him to win this favor.

“Kook,” you start, gauging his reaction only from his backside. His muscles ripple beneath his dark t-shirt, his usual red jumpsuit knitted around his waist. “What happened?”

Again, silence.

You say nothing, let him sort through the hurt on his own while you creep up behind him, sliding your hands over his shoulders and pressing down on the cricks behind his neck. He melts into your touch, head lolling forwards as a quiet sigh escapes him.

“She told me she was low on cash, and she needed the car to get to work,” he confesses, and from his ducked position, his voice trembles. You roll your eyes.

“And the paint job?”

A particularly rough press of your fingers has a whimper escaping him. God, this boy needed to see a chiropractor and a masseuse soon. All that hunching over and under these cars was doing a number on his back.

“I… I figured I might as well fix up the exterior too.” Of course he would, you think, Jungkook’s heart was stupidly big and easy to manipulate. He would get so swept up in it sometimes, trying to do the best he can for everyone’s benefit that he’d ignore himself.

You sit in his confession, fingers digging into his skin for a few minutes as you consider what to say.

The mature adult in you, the logical half of you, wants to hit him upside the head, scold him for letting that wench into his life again so easily. You were going on twenty-six now, all three of you, and you didn’t have time to be fixing him every time that childish woman decided to toy with him. Granted, it’s been four years since you last saw her, since you heard him muffle his cries on the other side of the wall, and you liked to think Jungkook was a respectful adult of society now. He didn’t have time to get dragged around by self-absorbed women with insane fathers.

The other part, the best friend since childhood, wants to run away. Wants to pack Jungkook into a suitcase and take him far away from here and from her. Unlike you, who now lived in the city, Jungkook had stayed in your small hometown, a quiet place just outside the bustling city. It was difficult to ensure his happiness when you were always forty-five minutes out of reach. It would be so much easier to just take him and fly to another province, maybe on the beach, Jungkook loved the beach.

“Listen,” he says, successfully pulling you out from your spiral. “I know what you’re gonna say and I just wanna tell you it’s not like that.”

You blink, hands stilling on his shoulders. Your lack of movement allows him to spin around on his chair, gaze up at you with the same shiny gaze he’s given you ever since you were kids. “I’m just doing her this tiny favor. She looked...” he trails off, face scrunching to find the words.

“Like shit?” You propose, and he smiles. “Like flaming dumpster shit behind a club?”

Jungkook laughs, loud and beautiful. You want to kiss the mole beneath his lip.

“She looked bad, okay?” He settles, reaches forward to take your palm in his. You’re standing between his thighs, and you wonder how he would have acted if you were Sojin. “Don’t think things worked out with that CEO she was dating. I’m just giving her a push.”

You sigh, try to push those crestfallen sobs to the back of your head. “Okay,” you agree, briefly glancing back at the damn car. “You fix her car, and that’s it,” you state. Jungkook nods, makes a little X over his heart. He knows how much you hate that woman. “No funny business.”

“No funny business,” he agrees, then reaches down for a white spray can. “You wanna spray some dicks on it before I paint it?”

“Please,” you laugh, taking the face mask he offers you with a grin.

—

One day your car starts making a weird noise as you pull out of the underground parking garage of your building. It’s somewhere between a pig squealing and metal scraping. You’ve been around Jungkook long enough to know this is probably something to do with your breaks, something about them being loose or old, one of the two. You have a short day at work today. There’s repairs being done to the office you work at, so everyone’s been spending more time working from home.

You leave work a little after two pm, head pounding from the hour long meeting you sat through, the mediocre business proposals your boss had asked you to look through and file. There’s a hefty load of emails waiting in your inbox, mostly the interns requesting you write them a recommendation letter. You’ll have to look through those later, pick out the good ones and write them each a unique piece kissing the ground they walk on.

The scent of freshly fried donuts hits your nose as you pull into your old town; the bakery down the road from Jungkook’s has their windows open. You can already taste the sweetness on the tip of your tongue, the iced coffee cooling your insides as you sit and watch Jungkook work on your car.

Jungkook’s shop is on the corner of the street, takes up a huge chunk with it’s massive garage and driveway; the office area is tiny compared to the sheer size of the actual work floor. There’s music blaring through the overhead speakers, and when you pull in you recognize it as Jimin’s playlist.

“Morning, Miss,” the country bumpkin says, leaning against your car door as you rifle through your purse. “What’re you in for?”

“Hi, Jimin,” you reply sweetly, take his hand as he helps you out the door. You very vaguely explain the noise your car had made that morning, glancing around the shop as Jimin gets to work inspecting it. “Where’s Jungkook?”

Jimin’s waving over some other employees, all greeting you in their matching red jumpsuits. “Kook’s in the office,” he tells you, and it’s almost sensual the way his hand glides over your palm for your keys. God, you needed to get laid. “Has some lady friend in there with him.”

You pause, the bustling of the crew behind you fading into the background. Something inside you snaps, and you whirl around the garage, before catching sight of a 1975 Chevy Corvette, almost unrecognizable from how you’d last seen it. It’s bright red now, a color you only briefly saw before you’d left the other night, with two, lightning bolt racing stripes decorating each side. It looks new, almost in mint condition, and the fact it’s still here has you storming through the garage.

Your heels clack loudly, the crew moving to the side as you torpedo straight into the offices. You barely remember to greet the receptionist before you’re stomping straight into the main office.

There’s no knock, no warning given, before you’re flinging the door open, seeing exactly what you’d expected.

“___,” Jungkook stutters, jumping onto his feet from his position on the couch. He looks frantic, wide eyes flickering between you and the woman sitting in front of him, her back turned to you. But you’d recognize that silhouette anywhere.

“Did you say ___?” She says, and she’s still as tall and as beautiful as you remember her. Had it not been for the heels you wore, you don’t doubt she’d tower over you. She flashes you a killer smile, lips carefully painted red. It almost looks murderous. “My! ___, you haven’t changed a bit,” Sojin exclaims, rushing around the couch to pull you into a tight hug. You don’t return it.

You let her cling to you for a second, before pushing her away as gently as you can by the shoulders. As much as you’d like to rip her in half, tear her apart for all she did to Jungkook, you won’t. You’re older now, elegant in all the ways you weren’t before. It would be a huge disservice to your maturity if you shoved your heel up her ass right now.

“It’s lovely seeing you, Sojin,” you smile, taking her hand in yours.

Besides, being a woman in business meant you knew better, more creative ways to strike.

“And your boyfriend?” You ask, tilting your head in staged confusion. You even glance around the office, like you’ll find the geezer hiding behind the potted plant or Jungkook’s frozen figure. “The rich one with the huge company? Did he come with you today?”

Her smile tightens, red lips pursed as she gauges you with those cat eyes that haunt your nightmares every now and then. “My ex-boyfriend,” she corrects after a minute, pastes a forlorn expression onto her features. “We’ve separated, and you know how it is for women like us,” she jests. “We need a man to push us along—“

“Do we?” You ask, think back on all those years of school, of studying and working and pushing yourself, all the time you spent investing in yourself for yourself. “I don’t think so,” you contemplate. “It’s really embarrassing if you can’t care for yourself without the help of a man. Almost like you don’t trust in your own abilities, and ride other’s coattails instead.”

A beat of silence. Two completely different worlds, and Jungkook hovering awkwardly beside you.

Two palms grasp your shoulders from behind, and when you turn Jungkook is smiling at you, forced and stressed like he can’t stand to be in this uncomfortable situation any longer. “Well,” he announces, pushing you behind him as he guides Sojin towards the door. “There was an issue with her car, so I’ll just check on it real quick, okay?”

You nod, feel empty as he takes her by the wrist, and not you. He hands her her purse, palm on the small of her back as they exit the office. When the door clicks shut behind them, you throw your own handbag at the ground, barely stop yourself from stomping like a child.

Instead, you breathe in, hold it, and exhale, just like your Tuesday yoga instructor taught you. By the time you’ve collected yourself a few minutes have passed, so you kneel down to gather your fallen lipstick tubes and cellphone from the floor, scooping them back into your purse.

Tugging the door shut behind you, you mindlessly wander down the hall, until you reach the small receptionist area and nearly get jumped by Kim Taehyung. “Holy shit, you won’t believe this,” he gasps, takes you by the shoulders and nearly shakes you until your brain falls out through your ears. You would have slapped him, had this been any other man, but he’s quite possibly the only man besides Jungkook you’d let jostle you like this. “You’ll never guess who just left the office with J—wait,” he pales, suddenly connecting two and two, your exit from said offices definitely a key factor in whatever conclusion he’s drawn. “You were in the office with Hwang Sojin and you didn’t kill her?!”

You huff, let him shake you again until you’re nearly tripping in your heels. “Yes, I know,” you groan, finally slap his hands away when you begin to feel this morning’s breakfast bubbling from all the motion. “I’m surprised too.”

“Wow,” Taehyung marvels, leans back against the receptionist desk even though the poor girl has told him time and time again not to. He ignores her, something he can do as second best friend to the boss. “Remember when she showed up crying outside his mom’s house and you threw a potted plant at her? Oh how the great have fallen.”

Rolling your eyes, you drift over to the plexiglass window in the office that looks out across the entirety of the garage floor. In the corner, Jungkook’s got the hood of the Corvette open as he works away on something, Sojin tapping at her phone beside him. “Why are you here, Tae?”

He steps beside you, tuned into the same scene. “Can’t visit my ex-girlfriend every now and then?” He teases, you groan.

“We dated for three days, dude, let it go,” you whine, and watch with rapt attention as Jungkook motions for her to start the engine. She does, and it purrs to life, soft and silky just like Jungkook said it does. She squeals and claps, launches herself into his arms in thanks. You look away.

“Yuck,” Taehyung gags and you couldn’t agree more. “Can’t believe you ended the best 72 hours of my life for that pinhead and the hussy attached to his hip.”

He shrieks when you pinch his side, and you take great satisfaction in the judgemental stare half the crew sends him through the glass. After all, they weren’t soundproof. “You embarrassed me and my brand,” he huffs, crossing his arms as the two of you return to watching Jungkook and the hussy.

“He’s not a pinhead,” you softly retort, watch him wipe a bead of sweat off his forehead as he waves her off. Sojin sends him a brigade of air kisses, none of which he catches. A sick sense of glee consumes you at the sight, but then he’s turning to stare directly at you and Taehyung through the glass, and the both of you quickly whirl away.

“His ability to find you in less than a second is so weird,” Taehyung shivers, and you ignore it, taking the candy from the bowl on the receptionist desk. She doesn’t care, having heard these conversations more than enough times to get the general gist of what you and Taehyung gossip about. You’re surprised she’s never mentioned it to Jungkook before.

Regardless, you listen to Taehyung complain about his life for a few more minutes, before Jimin’s sweet voice pops into the room. His ash blonde hair is all ruffled, and there’s something dark smeared over his otherwise perfect skin as he tells you your car is fixed. Taehyung bids you goodbye, and Jimin walks you back to your car out on the garage floor.

“All set, miss,” Jimin grins, puts a hand against the car so you don’t hit your head as you go in. You thank him, and don’t miss the way he lingers by your window.

“Is something wrong?” You ask, tilt your head quizzically. Jimin’s cheeks flush, and he looks shyly at the ground.

“Actually, I was wondering if—“

“___,” Jungkook calls, jogging over beside Jimin, who looks almost ashamed to be caught doing...whatever it was he was gonna do. Jungkook glances at him, catches him in some weird staring contest before crouching down to your window. “You needed your car fixed? Why didn’t you tell me?”

You blink, don’t know how to politely tell him he was too busy kissing the ass of his toxic ex-girlfriend to help you out. “Jimin helped me,” you smile, the same practiced expression you’ve mastered since college. You usually get by, usually trick people with that look, but not with him. Jungkook knows you too well, knows that look, and knows you’re holding yourself back. “You were busy.”

His lips part in surprise, tugged downwards with the hint of a frown. “I,” he stutters, looks at Jimin, who doesn’t seem that impressed with him either. “I… I would’ve came if you called.”

You tug your sunglasses out from their little case, slide them over the bridge of your nose as you strap your seatbelt over yourself. “Would you though?” You ask, flash him another polite smile before shifting your car’s gears. Jimin walks off, clears the path for you to exit, and with just Jungkook standing there, you speak freely. “I would hate to distract you from something important.”

—

Some of the proposals end up being better than expected, and after carefully sifting through them, your boss asks you to sit through presentations for the next few days. Your time gets consumed in graphs and budgets. There’s a multitude of businesses you have to look into, some big and well-known, and others small and local. You drive around the city one day, visiting business after business, until your ankles hurt in your heels and your cheeks hurt from all the smiling. Your only comfort is the nice Chanel skirt suit you’re wearing that makes you feel like the most important person in the room wherever you go.

By the time the week’s over, there’s a thin cut forming on the back of your ankles from all the walking you’ve done in your heels. You slump against your front door, tossing your heels in the vague direction of the closet before padding through your house.

You nearly scream yourself sore at the figure in your kitchen, hunched over what looks to be a hastily made cake with a number three candle. “Oh my god,” you seethe, turning the overhead light on to illuminate Jungkook’s grinning figure, dirty and sweaty from work. You glance at the clock on the stove; it’s only been about an hour since his garage closed.

“Surprise!” He exclaims, and you’re not the slightest bit amused when he begins humming the happy birthday song on a day that is definitely not your birthday.

When he’s done, you don’t clap and his beaming smile doesn’t waver. “It is not my birthday,” you calmly state, placing your leather padfolio on the counter.

Jungkook blows the candle out for you. “It’s the birthday of when we first met,” he explains, and gets to cutting the cake. How he remembers such a day, you don’t know. You do know that this is his mom’s birthday cake recipe, and you love that. “Can you believe it? Friends for almost three decades.”

“Almost,” you repeat, dutifully sitting across from him and taking the plate he offers. He nods at you like a bobblehead.

His eyes are sparkly and big, like he’s drunk, and it’s only then you notice the red wine on the table, bottle open and halfway done. You set your fork down, grasp the neck of the bottle in your hand. “Have you been drinking?” You ask, even though the answer stares you right in the face. You frown. “You hate drinking.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, shovels more cake into his mouth to delay his response. “Needed it,” he offhandedly explains, nearly eats the candle but you jump forward to snatch it off his fork before he can.

“What do you mean?” You inquire. You’re not hungry anymore, too interested in whatever’s going on in his head to make him think he needs to be drunk around you.

Jungkook gulps, reaches forward for more wine but you cradle the bottle to your chest. You nearly gasp when he levels you with a real, stony glare, the expression out of place on his face. “Cuz you’re mad,” he huffs. “At me.”

There was a time you would coddle Jungkook’s every mistake, never let him think he was at fault for anything. You’d grown out of it shortly before high school, recognizing boys were stupid no matter how much you tried to prove otherwise. Since then, you’ve watched him get into trouble time and time again—Sojin being the prime example—and only intervened when absolutely necessary. Some part of you, the half that hates seeing him upset, wants to tell him you’re not. The mature part in you, however, doesn’t let that happen.

“I am,” you agree, watch his eyes widen almost comically at your admission. You set the wine bottle back on the table, leaning your chin on your palm as you level him with the most unimpressed gaze you can. “I’m furious, actually.”

He whimpers, actually whimpers like a kicked puppy, and you can almost see the metaphorical ears pressed against his head and the tail tucked between his legs. His lips are big and pouty, stained from the wine. You’d love to know what they feel like.

Jungkook’s vulnerability lasts all of three seconds, before he’s shaking himself out of whatever emotional pit his foggy brain has him in. “Well, it’s dumb,” he spits, and it’s your turn to sit in shock. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Excuse me?” You ask, incredulously, because this has never happened before. Are you overprotective and sometimes overbearing? Sure. Has Jungkook ever voiced discomfort with that before? Never. “I’m not telling you what to do,” you sneer, crossing your arms over your chest.

He rolls his eyes, pushes away from the table like a moody teen. You know it’s because he’s drunk, because he’s not himself, but you have to remind yourself that he obviously felt this way somewhere in his heart to voice it to you now. “You’re not my mom.”

You choke. “I’m not!” You angrily agree, pushing away from the table as well.

Jungkook snarls, “well you sure do love acting like her.” He picks up his plate, glances over at you with a look in his eyes that can only be likened to that of a sneaky cat, and then purposefully shoves the bread and frosting down the garbage disposal in the sink. You shriek, fly around the table and shove him away.

“What is wrong with you?” You seethe, push him away rudely with a hand on his face. Jungkook stumbles back, slips on the floor and nearly cracks his head on the corner of the counter. “Oh my god,” you exclaim, abandoning the sink in favor of watching the way his face twists up at the sudden motion, stomach contracting beneath his black t-shirt, cheeks puffing. “Oh god, oh god,” you stammer, tugging him to his feet with the strength only a panicked individual about to see an entire cake regurgitated onto their kitchen tile can have.

You’ve barely kicked the door to the bathroom open when Jungkook begins throwing up, gooey vomit spewing from his mouth and onto the floor. It touches your arm, and you shriek before shoving him in the general direction of the toilet.

“Ew, ew,” you freak, shoving your hand under the sink faucet to get that gross feeling away. You wanna vomit yourself, but you tell yourself there can only be one sick person at a time, and right now it’s Jungkook.

He’s got his head in the toilet, disgusting sounds echoing off the ceramic of it. By the time you’ve calmed down and washed your arm thrice, you move over to pull his bangs away from his face, letting him hurl in peace.

“I’m sorry,” he mopes, spews another round of birthday cake into the toilet.

You look away, blindly reach out to turn the bathroom fan on. “Mhm,” you nod, rubbing a hand over his back. Jungkook nods sadly against the toilet seat.

“‘M sorry,” he repeats, gags around nothing but the gross feeling left in his throat. “I-I know you just want…” a pause as he considers throwing up some more, “...want what’s best for me.”

“I do,” you agree, wipe a hand down the side of his face that he leans into. “Not trying to be your mom,” you assure him, and he snorts.

“Be a good mom,” he murmurs, so soft you don’t hear him. You hum, leaning closer and he repeats it. “You’d be… a good mom.”

Not knowing what to do with that information, you just pat his back until he falls asleep, cheek against the toilet seat.

—

“Woah, the sexual tension in this garage is off the charts,” Taehyung blurts from behind you, and you smack your clipboard against his chest. “Oof,” he grunts, rubbing his chest like it actually hurt. “You doing finances for him again?” He asks and you nod.

In an ideal world, Taehyung would leave upon finding out you’re busy. In this world, he simply leans into your personal space, nearly knocking you into an empty tool cart. “Oooh, an extensive list of all the money Jungkook’s stupidly blown this month. How much did he spend on neon signs this time?”

You relent, showing him the shop’s finances. Anywhere else, revealing a business’s finances without the consent of the owner would be a federal crime. Here, it’s the equivalent of showing Taehyung Jungkook’s browser history. “He spent how much on window tint?!”

“A lot,” you say.

There’s a whistle from across the garage, the shop’s resident country bumpkin Park Jimin standing at the huge garage doors with his hand on his hip. “No fraternizing, please.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “Boooo,” he shouts, peels himself away from you to flick an impolite finger Jimin’s way. “He’s just jealous,” he tells you, and you frown.

“Of what?” You ask, and Taehyung nearly loses his shit.

“My precious ___,” he sighs, leans his forehead on your shoulder. “So beautiful and smart, yet so slow.” You flick the side of his forehead just as Jungkook strolls by and, seeing your attack, slaps the back of Taehyung’s neck. “Why do you guys hate me!” Taehyung exclaims, jumping at least five feet away from you and Jungkook’s giggling forms.

“How’s it going?” Jungkook asks you, completely ignoring Taehyung’s soulful cries as he glances over your shoulder at the clipboard. You tilt it his way, but he stands close anyway, until you can feel his breath huffing against the back of your neck.

“Okay, but you’re spending a lot of money stockpiling on things that haven’t shown signs of running out yet,” you explain, pointing at the window tint that had astonished Taehyung only a moment ago.

Jungkook grimaces, pink tongue swiping across his lip as he looks at the total amount he’s spent the last three months. “Well, it’s a good thing I have my accountant,” he grins, throwing an arm over your shoulder.

“Not your accountant,” you correct, “just a friend who doesn’t wanna see you run your business to the ground from overspending.”

Jungkook waves you off, and Taehyung tries to sneak into the receptionist office behind you, but Jungkook catches him with his free hand. “This is the life,” he sighs, wistfully gazing over the garage floor. It reeks of motor oil and car paint.

“Count me out,” Taehyung snorts, voicing your disinterest toward such greasy and smelly work. He tries to wiggle out of Jungkook’s hold, but the muscle bunny only straps an arm around his neck, until Taehyung’s squirming and clawing for air against the red sleeve of his jumpsuit.

“My own successful business, a shitload of sexy cars, and of course,” he pauses, squeezes the two of you tighter until you’re both groaning. “My two best friends.” The sap has the gall to peck the top of your heads, and that seems to be the final straw for Taehyung who rips himself away.

“Have this lovefest somewhere else, man,” Taehyung says, flattening his rumpled clothing down. “You’re really putting a nail in my reputation around here.”

Jungkook cackles, mindlessly goes to wrap himself around you from behind. “Your reputation has been trash since that scream you let out the other day,” he informs him, swaying the two of you back and forth. Your heart thunders in your chest, and you just barely manage to avoid Taehyung’s pointed stare.

“Whatever, I’m outta here.” With Taehyung peaced out, you’re left in Jungkook’s arms, gazing over his business like two old lovers. It makes your chest tight, so you quickly go to shake him off.

“We’re okay?” Jungkook murmurs, so soft you almost don’t hear. He’s got his hand wrapped around your wrist, thumb massaging over the bone there like he’s afraid you’ll bolt the second he lets you go.

You nod, tuck the clipboard to your side. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

Those sad puppy eyes, pouty lips turned southward. You want to wipe that look off his face. He sighs, glances at where your skin meets and gives it a squeeze. “I’ve been an ass lately,” he settles on saying. “Said some mean things and ruined your bathroom rug—I’m sorry.”

You don’t know what to say.

Jungkook takes your silence as understanding, reaching down to hold both your hands in his slightly dirty ones. “It won’t happen again. I’d rather lose a million friends than lose you,” he confesses, and something about it feels too real, too raw. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You nod, the constricting feeling in your throat only tightening when he smiles at you, those gentle eyes and plush lips for only you to see. You want to kiss him, swallow him whole. Right here on the garage floor so everyone knows he’s yours.

But you can’t because he’s not.

You settle on swinging your arms between you. “Just don’t do anything stupid,” you warn him, narrowing your eyes playfully. There’s a heavy feeling in your heart, something akin to anguish, but you could never voice it out loud.

“I won’t,” Jungkook promises.

—

Jungkook visits again on a weekday, and you nearly send him straight home when he brandishes another bottle of wine in your face. “It’s nonalcoholic!” He exclaims before you can shut the door on him, foot lodged against the frame. You give in.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask, curling up on the couch in just your shorts and huge t-shirt. Jungkook pops the bottle open, pouring the wine into two limited edition Shrek 2 cups you pulled out from the depths of your cabinet.

“Can’t hang with my bestie?” He throws back at you, snatching the remote from your hands before you can click on another episode of that dumb housewives show. You end up watching National Geographic, some documentary about the role of bioluminescent shrimp in the sea.

“Aw look, they’re kissing,” he cooes at a pair of seahorses that wander across the screen halfway through a shot of some school of shrimp. “How romantic.”

“Wonder what that’s like,” you comment, not thinking too much on the meaning behind your words until you can feel Jungkook’s stare pierce your cranium. “What?”

“You’ve never been kissed?” He blurts, and you choke on your wine.

“You were my first kiss,” you remind him, flush at the memory of the two of you sitting criss-cross applesauce on his bed, knees knocking in what was probably the worst first kiss in the history of first kisses.

Jungkook blinks. “Oh yeah,” he laughs. “With the Tony Hawk poster behind my bed, right?”

“The one and only.”

Jungkook hums, and the two of you melt back into the silence. Nice aquatic sounds fill the room, the camera panning over more colorful fish that Jungkook oohs at appreciatively. You don’t really pay attention, more interested in the way the wine swirls in your cup and the way you can feel Jungkook’s thigh pressed against your knee, like when you were thirteen and trying something new.

You know it doesn’t mean a lot to him. Just another silly childhood memory of you. Not like you have hundreds, thousands of them with each other. By the way he’d blurted the question, you doubt he even remembered it most days. But you did.

It plagued your mind all the time, the soft feel of his mouth and the trembling hand that had held yours. You wonder if he kisses the same still, lips gently puckered. He’s had years to learn, half a decade to get creative with Sojin, and the past four years of being a bachelor to explore more.

You’ve kissed too, plenty of guys who had no meaning and ones you thought would replace him. But it’d been a long time since you’ve let anyone into your bed, more content to please yourself without the overbearing weight of feelings and emotions to wrap around your throat.

Jungkook coughs, and you shake yourself from your thoughts.

He’s looking at you inquisitively, like he can’t get his usual read on you and would rather just ask what’s wrong. “You don’t,” a pause, “hang out with guys?”

It’s devastatingly cute, the way he asks if you’re fucking, and you want to pinch his cheeks. Instead you shake your head, try to hide the grin on your face from his inquisitive expression. “Just you and Taehyung,” you admit.

Jungkook nods. “Do you and Tae…?”

You shake your head furiously. “No! God no, we don’t do anything like that,” you clarify, the thought of Taehyung in your bed enough to make you want to gag.

Jungkook says nothing, just turns back to the documentary to watch more Nemos and Dorys flit across the screen. You polish off your cup of wine, leaning forward to settle it back on the coffee table. As you settle back into the couch cushions, Jungkook speaks again. “So you take care of yourself?”

You freeze.

“Yeah,” you admit after one complete meltdown in your head. Where was this coming from? Why did he want to know? You and Jungkook were close, but you never did this. You never divulged the details of your sex life, never bragged about who you slept with or how many there were. What was going on?

Jungkook doesn’t say anything after that, just turns his attention back to the tv screen, where you’re almost certain the sea horses from before are fucking. Not that you know what it looks like, but you hope at least someone in this room was enjoying themselves and not drowning in the mortification of having their life long crush ask them if they masturbate.

“So, do you use your hands or a toy?”

You choke, slap your chest to ease the pounding of your heart at Jungkook asking such a question. “E-Excuse me?” You ask, scandalized that Jungkook, your sweet and caring childhood friend turned Fabio, could ask you such a bold question about your personal affairs.

“What?” Jungkook says, like he truly doesn’t see the inappropriateness of the situation. He even raises his eyebrows at you, as if urging you to answer the question.

You sigh, fight the flush of your cheeks and stare idly at the cups on the table. “A toy. Hands don’t feel good,” you curtly reply, crossing your arms over your chest and straightening your legs off the couch, hoping that’s the end of his curiosity. This was enough to fuel your 3am anxiety meltdowns for the next five years.

Jungkook nods, and you can feel his penetrating gaze on the side of your face again. A great white shark swims across the screen. Jungkook strikes. “My hands feel good.”

“Jungkook!” You exclaim in horror (and excitement, but you’ll pretend it wasn’t there). “What has gotten into you?”

“What!” Jungkook defends, Bambi eyes looking at you like you’re the unreasonable one here. “We’re having a civil conversation in which I’m trying to open up your worldview.”

You’re flabbergasted. “This is not a civil conversation, what are you even talking about?” You scold, tug your arms around yourself like it’ll actually protect you from the words that don’t seem to be filtering out of his mouth properly. “Why are you so concerned about that?” You interrogate, hope your forceful tone will scare him away.

It doesn’t. Jungkook shrugs, some noncommittal i dont know sound. “I can’t be interested in what you get up to? What my best friend gets up to?” It’s the obvious emphasis on best friend that makes you step down.

“No,” you sigh, rub a hand down your face. “You can be interested,” you tell him gingerly. “We just never really… talked about... those kinds of things,” you rush out, turn away from him as the narrator on screen dives into the intricacies of bioluminescent shrimp in the animal food chain.

As if sensing your discomfort, Jungkook softens, scooting closer to you. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, too close and too warm. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he says, places a palm on your knee.

“I’m not!” You rush to assure him, facing him head on again. His eyes are big and implorative still, and you wonder why he became stuck on that of all things today. “It just surprised me.”

His lips quirk to the side, an unsure grin that has you leaning into his shoulder. You sit in silence, the rise and fall of his body with every breath lulling you into a sense of comfort.

A false one that Jungkook zeroes in on.

The documentary’s wrapping up, soothing ocean sounds and wind instruments playing as the credits roll across the screen, when the hand that had been laying so comfortably on your thigh inches up. At first, you don’t notice it, writing it off as Jungkook just shifting around. You tell yourself it’s just that, until his pinky makes contact with the end of your shorts.

Slowly, you turn towards him, catch his mocha irises lustfully lidded as he toys with the hem. “Kook?” You murmur, so soft, barely there.

“Hm?” He replies, continuing to play with the edge of your shorts, until he gets brave and his fingers slip beneath, index finger just barely grazing the panties underneath. You gasp. “This okay?”

Stuck between your arousal and your common sense, you flounder for a response. He’s so close, and smells so good, curls brushing against your temple the closer he gets. You want him so bad, want him to find his place between your thighs and put those pouty lips to use. But you know it’ll make things different, change whatever it is you’ve had for the past almost thirty years, and you’ll never bounce back. Another brush against your panties, pointer finger wiggling it’s way beneath the fabric, and you’re choking out a “yes.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and something in your core tingles at the name, thighs clenching together. “Uh uh,” he chides, nudges them open. “Stay still for me,” he commands, and you do, for all of ten seconds, but then he’s pressing his finger on your clit, panties and shorts muting the sensation. Still, it makes you squirm, fingers clutching the couch cushion beneath you as you struggle to keep them open. “Too much?” He asks, and you shake your head no.

“I-It’s fine,” you whisper, and Jungkook smiles.

He pets you, almost wondrously, for a few beats, watches the way the muscles in your thighs twitch with every press against your mound. Eventually, he decides it’s enough. “Hands don’t feel good for you?” He inquires, your words from earlier obviously having left their mark on him. Slowly, you shake your head. He glances down at the fist you have on the couch, composed features sliding up your face. “Well, yours are so small, princess. Of course they don’t feel good.”

He manhandles you around, tugs you onto the couch until you’re laying down, legs sprawled on either side of him. Pleased with the arrangement, Jungkook glances back down to your bottoms. “These have to go,” he tells you, hooks his fingers in the waistband and abruptly yanks down, leaving you just in your t-shirt.

You go to shy away, but Jungkook stops you, palms resting on the insides of your thighs, thumbs pressing into the skin soothingly. “My fingers are long, see?” He says, raising a hand to wiggle his fingers at you. You nod, heartbeat thundering in your ears. “They’ll feel nice inside.”

You know they will.

You can tell he knows his way around a woman’s body just from the way his hands glide over yours, carefully like he’s mapping you out. Ever so slowly, one hand grows closer, until his thumb is gently circling your clit, and you inhale sharply.

“So wet,” Jungkook hums, his other hand traveling further down, until he’s spreading your pussy lips with two fingers, trailing them through the arousal that gathers there.

You’ve never been so attentively cared for, never had a man zero in on your cunt like it was his first meal in ages. Jungkook’s eyes are clouded with lust, tongue peeking out from between his lips as he watches your pussy lips flutter at his touch.

He swirls his hand over your clit, pressing down. The first sound escapes you, a soft whimper that has you clamping your hand over your mouth in embarrassment. Jungkook grins down at you, shifts closer to press a kiss to the knuckles over your mouth.“Don’t hide from me,” he purrs, pulling away and pressing a kiss to your neck.

You cry out when he gets back to it, massaging your pussy with gentle hands and a thumb against your clit to placate you. “Jungkook,” you choke out, and he beams at his name, takes it as a sign to finally slip two fingers inside. “A-ah,” you whine, arching beneath him.

He basks in your noises, leans close again to press a kiss beneath your ear, against your jaw. “This okay?” He murmurs, curling the fingers inside of you. You mewl, throwing your arms around him as he begins working you open. “How does it feel, baby?”

“G-good,” you pant, turn your head until you can bury your nose in his hair, drown even more in his all-consuming aura.

Another kiss to your neck, before he’s suctioning his lips right below your ear, nipping and sucking at the skin to brand you his. “You like my hands?” He husks, and the patch of saliva he leaves on your neck feels cold without his mouth there. You nod, and Jungkook rewards you with a soft smooch over the hickey he’s left.

His fingers inside you curl and scissor, brush against every inch of your walls until you’re quivering beneath him, gasping his name out. You could melt if his fingers weren’t holding you together. “So tight,” he groans, curling his fingers. The movement touches upon something sensitive within you, and you moan his name loudly.

“O-Oh,” you pant, wiggling beneath him as you try to feel that again. Jungkook lets you, watches you desperately rut into his hands. He drifts away, lets his tongue mouth over your breasts, licking until there’s a damp spot on your t-shirt, the flimsy house bra you’d worn and the t-shirt combined not enough to hide your pebbled nipples.

The drag of his hands against your pussy isn’t enough, the motions not quick enough. Jungkook glances at your twisted features, your quivering pussy, and then, ever so gently, ducks over you, puckered lips letting one, long glob of saliva touch down on your pussy, trickling around his knuckles.

“Fuck,” you choke, watch his tongue swipe over his lip to break the thin bridge that connects you too. Suddenly, everything is smoother, the combined lubrication of your arousal and his spit making the glide of his fingers sinfully slick.

Frantic for release, you lose yourself in him, ready to free fall into your pleasure so long as Jungkook is there to catch you. “That’s it,” he encourages, picks up the pace of his fingers inside you. “Come on, beautiful, let me see that gorgeous face of yours when you come.”

“K-Kook,” you sob, and he smiles against your neck. His fingers work fast, until your muscles are all pulled tight, waiting for that final push to unravel. You make the mistake of glancing down, only to be caught by that pearly smile and adoring gaze. You’re in heaven, you know you are.

There’s no other explanation for this—the way Jungkook holds you like you’re his, hands so gently caressing your most intimate parts. You’re almost convinced you’re having a fever dream, a sick, too realistic dream, but then Jungkook’s biting down on your shoulder through your t-shirt, subtly rutting against your thigh.

“Cum for me,” he purrs against your neck, and you do, sobbing as your orgasm rolls over you, the heavy weight of his cock against your thigh. “Jungkook,” you cry, so pitifully, it has him lunging forward, a kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth.

You feel sweaty and gross, unbelievably tired from the gentle way he opened you up. Blindly, you reach down, feel the hardness of his cock beneath his sweatpants, but Jungkook nudges you away. You huff. “Let me,” you whimper, reach for him again even though you can see the slowness in your movement. “Need your cock in my mouth,” you drawl, almost sleepily.

“Shh,” he soothes, lips pressed against your neck, where he’s still licking and sucking over every inch of you. You whine. “You don’t have to do a thing, gorgeous,” he assures you, “just wanted to make you feel good.”

—

Work gets stressful shortly after. There’s a new batch of interns coming in this season, new faces who will mess up your coffee orders and jam the printers for a good few weeks. There’s normally a team of employees who train them, a mix of relatively older people from different departments who show them around; a girl in the finance department, the one who usually trains them, is on maternity leave. With no one else to fall back on, the head of the department pushes the duties off on you, claiming your flexibility and work ethic make you the perfect candidate for such a role.

Normally you’d thrive at the praise, eat up every single word like it sustained you. In a way, it did. It was nice to be appreciated and recognized for your hard work, to be thought of so highly, especially in a male-dominated company. However, this time, you know it’s out of convenience that the head kisses up to you, and you end up begrudgingly taking the role.

The gaps in your schedule you’d normally spend relaxing or catching up on other projects are filled with bumbling interns, calling for help every chance they get. It’s like they’ve never done anything on their own, this group, always asking you the correct way to do this, the right way to do that. You haven’t mentored interns in a while, so you spend the first day breezing over old powerpoints and print outs you made years ago. You remember why you’re not fit for mentoring when one of them asks you how to navigate Excel. You nearly rip their head off.

There’s so much going on, you barely get time to see Jungkook, let alone text him. You saw him once the morning after, stack of pancakes on your kitchen table as he rushed you off to work. The shop didn’t open for another hour. He was sweet, kissed your forehead as you left, but he’s always done that. You didn’t have time to talk about whatever the night before was, or what that made the two of you now.

On Friday night, one week into your nightmarish role, you pull into the shop. You'd like to convince yourself it was routine, visiting the shop, but that’s a lie. You desperately miss Jungkook.

Most of the garage doors that are usually pulled open during the day are shut, save for one. The last of Jungkook’s employees are leaving, bidding you adieu as you step out of your car. Park Jimin is there, repairing some rickety car in the back corner.

“Boo,” you call playfully, and Jimin doesn’t flinch, merely pulls his head from out of the hood to flash you an easygoing smile.

He whistles at the sight of you. “You look like you’ve been through one of helluva week,” he says, and you, despite your strong personality, feel yourself blush at his comment. Jeez, did you look that bad? Jimin doesn’t elaborate, just pulls out a stool for you to sit on beside where he’s working. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You glance at the plexiglass, the offices hiding down the hall. Jungkook could wait, you presume, settling down beside him. Your skirt tugs up as you settle onto the pleather seat, so you cover your legs meekly with your purse. “Work’s been crazy,” you explain, and Jimin laughs at the obvious.

“You’re telling me,” He hums, and you roll your eyes playfully. “What’s going on at work?”

What hasn’t been going on, you think to yourself, before launching into a full retelling of your new horrendous position, of all the interns with their clueless eyes and useless notebooks. Jimin chuckles, indulges you in a few comments here and there that only fuel you on. He’s just about done with whatever he’s doing to the car at the same time your story wraps up, explaining how you found yourself here, desperate for Jungkook to whisk you off to that arcade you loved as kids. “Jungkook?” He asks, and you nod. “He left a while ago.”

You freeze. “Huh?” You say, dumbly. You almost want to laugh at your own impulsiveness, for showing up without sending him a text or a warning to let him know you were coming. You almost do laugh, but then you remember you and Jungkook never did that anyway. Hell, he showed up at your house a few weeks ago unannounced and drunk. The two of you were hardly the type to plan ahead, so it was weird for him to not be here. He’s been at the shop almost every night since it’s opened, the days he’s not usually a holiday.

“Jimin…” you begin, glancing at the receptionist window once more. “Where’s Jungkook?”

Jimin shuts his tool box, kicking a cart off to the side. “He left with that lady,” he tells you, doesn’t hear the way your heart rips straight out of your chest. No way. “Tall, pretty. Had that nice Corvette he fixed up a while ago.”

“Sojin,” you mumble, and Jimin nods.

“Think that was her name.” As if sensing your tumultuous thoughts, he steps closer, one hand reaching out to steady you. “You alright?”

“God,” you exhale, pushing yourself away from Jimin and the garage and the window. The stool rolls away, almost hits the side of another car but Jimin catches it. He rushes over towards you, watching you wobble in your heels.

“Honey,” Jimin says, steady and warm beside you. “Sit down for me, yeah?” He guides you to a row of seats against the wall, nailed into the floor so you can’t push them away and make even more of a mess. Not that that’s your concern, your mind and heart too preoccupied with thoughts of Jungkook lying to you, going out with that woman again, despite your obvious hatred for her and his promise to you.

Jimin disappears, rushes over to the other side of the garage before returning with a water bottle for you. He cracks it open, presses it into your hands, and then against your lips when you don’t move. “Drink,” he encourages, watching you with worried eyes that only grow more and more concerned the deeper you fall into your thoughts.

You want to cry and beat Jungkook up at the same time. You want to scream at him for lying to you after treating you so nicely, holding you so warmly. Instead, you gasp for breath, clutching your face in your hands like it’s the only thing that grounds you.

There’s a beep outside, chirpy and cute in the way only older models are, and you whip your head up, the headlights of the Corvette painting you in shades of yellow as it rolls to a stop, the tears you hadn’t felt glistening under the light.

Jungkook flings himself out of the driver’s seat, and a sob catches in your throat when Sojin steps out of the passenger seat. Jungkook shoves everything in his path to the side, carts flying into the few automobiles on the floor, tools clanging loudly onto the cement, and just as those arms you love so much are reaching out for you, there’s a hand on his chest stopping him.

“What did you do to her?” Jungkook snarls, pushing Jimin roughly to the side. Jimin, smaller but not weaker, holds his ground, clutching Jungkook by the material of his jumpsuit a second time. “Let— go!” Jungkook shouts, finally worming away from his employee.

He nearly trips before you, stumbling to his knees as he takes your quivering hands in his. “What’s wrong,” he asks, throwing a nasty glare back at Jimin who watches silently from the side. Sojin is still by her car, leaning across the driver’s side now. “What did he do, what did he say?”

You shake your head, dropping your head to tuck your chin against your chest. You hate this. Hate letting him or Jimin or Sojin see you cry. It’s not the person you are, not the self-made woman you claim to be as you cry over the same man who is unknowingly defending you from himself.

“Let go,” you whisper, hoarse and choked. You shake your arms, but he doesn’t let up.

“Tell me what's wrong,” Jungkook pleads, inching closer to you. His breath is warm and he smells like oil, just like he always does. He also smells sweet and floral in a way only a woman could. He smells like Sojin.

You sob, rip your hands away from and scurry blindly towards Jimin, who catches you in his arms despite the shock that paints his face.

Jungkook watches with an expression of hurt, watches you snuggle into the arms of another man over an issue you won’t tell him about. Jimin says nothing, just rubs his palm over your back. He gestures towards the red corvette, the woman standing by it and Jungkook takes the hint.

You hear the kitten-like purr as it pulls off, the silence that follows afterwards. You don’t know where Jungkook is, if he’s here or if he left with her, and you don’t want to. “Tell me he’s gone,” you beg Jimin, quiet gasps against his neck.

He nods, slowly lets you untangle yourself from his arms as the two of you stare over the empty garage. The Corvette is gone, and so is Jungkook. Before Jimin can tell you where he is, you’re wiping a hand over your face, embarrassed at the moisture it comes back with.

“I take it he’s not supposed to be with her?” Jimin tries to joke.

Neither of you laugh.

You sniffle, process what just happened, how you acted. You’ve never felt that way before, never experienced such brutal heartbreak.

You don’t know what you expected from Jungkook. In your heart, you convinced yourself what happened in your apartment was the start of something new between the two of you, a natural result of your long friendship. Realistically, you know you should’ve waited until the two of you spoke, discussed whatever happens next. But you’d spent the past week comforted by the fact you’d finally gotten to experience something like that with him, daydreaming about him every chance you got.

Somewhere in your mind, you had convinced yourself your involvement with him would finally be what broke his connection with Sojin, the final nail that would make him forget about her. It’s painfully funny how such wasn’t the case.

Jimin breaks you out of your thoughts. “You okay to drive home?” He gently inquires, and you turn your gaze over toward your car.

Did you trust yourself to make it home without shedding a single tear? Absolutely not. But between Sojin and Jimin, you had let enough strangers see you fall apart over a man tonight.

“Perfectly okay,” you tell him.

—

The interns pick up on your sour attitude the week that follows. They don’t ask dumb questions, and don’t mess up your order. You talk them through a presentation, show them how to properly organize finance charts. There’s a slide that has clip art, a goofy dollar sign with a smile and shoes. Jungkook put it there when you first made the PowerPoint. After the little lesson, you go to the bathroom and try not to cry.

A week later, and the interns don’t need you anymore. They do well, and your boss praises you for being such a good mentor. You thank him and he lets you go home early.

Home is empty. Jungkook doesn’t show up unannounced, mostly because you’ve changed the number lock on the door. You want to eat salad today, for some reason, but don’t have any of the ingredients for it, so you walk to the supermarket a few blocks away.

The supermarket feels the same as it always does at night. That ghostly feeling of being watched in an empty aisle, the scratchy tune of whatever Top 50 radio station they settled on today. You get there and decide you don’t want salad anymore, so you buy ingredients for a stew instead, all of which you probably had at home.

When you step outside, the air around your bare thighs is cold. Summer was ending, which meant Jungkook’s birthday was coming up. You ball the receipt in your hand and fling it at the trash. You miss, so you hobble over to pick it up.

The trash is beside a red Corvette with two racing stripes.

“Hey,” Sojin says, arms crossed over her chest as she walks up behind you, sizing up your crouched form beside her car. “What’re you doing to my car?”

You breathe in, shake the crumpled up receipt at her, before stuffing it in the garbage. She says nothing as you stalk by her, and you’re back on the main road when she pulls up next to you, window rolled down to speak to you. “Get in,” she gestures, “it’s gonna rain.”

“No,” you say, and a fat raindrop falls right on your nose.

The door unlocks and you climb in, plastic bags crowded by your feet.

The drive is silent. You only live a few minutes from the store, and you point out an empty spot by the sidewalk for her to pull up to. A dry thanks is on the tip of your tongue, but you never get to say it.

“My dad has cancer,” Sojin says.

“That sucks,” you respond, feel bad right away and say, “I’m sorry.”

Sojin doesn’t seem bothered by it, shifting the Corvette out of drive and cutting the engine. “He’s probably not gonna see Christmas,” she adds, and you don’t know what to say. You don’t care about her or her crazy father. “I wanted to do something nice for him before he, y’know.”

“Died,” you fill, and at that she glares.

“Yeah,” she huffs. “Before he died. So I fixed up his car. But the place I took it to didn’t know how to fix an engine so old, and ended up fucking it up even more.” You nod, she continues. “Then I bumped into Jungkook and—“

“Took advantage of his kindness,” you finish, remembering the twinkle in his eyes when he’d told you about their encounter, that day in the empty garage that seemed lightyears away. “Well congrats. Hope your dad liked it,” you sigh, push open the door and get soaked to the bone immediately.

“Wait!” Sojin calls, hopping out after you. She’s still as beautiful as she was when you were seventeen, even with rain soaking her entire being. “I didn’t ask him to repaint it, but that’s what my dad loved the most.”

You want to go inside, make your stew, and cry in it.

Sojin doesn’t seem bothered by the bangs that stick to her forehead or the water that washes down her spine. “When I told him Jungkook did it… he wanted to see him. Apologize and stuff.”

You snort. “Apologize,” you repeat, tightening your grip on your shoppings bags. “For what, Sojin? For almost killing him with this car or for treating him like shit for five years?” She says nothing, stares at the hood of the car like she doesn’t know what you’re talking about. “He was crazy for you, you know that? He would have done anything for you and not once did you stand up to your dad for him. You let that man call him worthless, stupid, a waste of space. And for what? For you to break up with him for some rich asshole who would never treat you half as good as Jungkook did?” You sneer.

The rain feels cold and your groceries feel heavier, so you whirl on your heel and make for your building entrance.

“He never liked me,” Sojin calls out, and you wonder if she even heard the second half of your emotional outburst. You turn to face her with fire in your eyes, and are only a little surprised at the sadness that paints hers. “He never liked me the way he said he did.” You could knock her teeth out.

“You’re stupid,” you spit, and she rounds the car at an insane speed until she’s glaring down at you over her perfectly sculpted nose.

“He never liked me,” Sojin repeats angrily. “He was always busy looking at you—for approval, for attention, I don’t fucking know. He would hold me and touch me but it never felt real. It always felt like practice for him…” she sniffles and your breath hitches in your throat. “We dated all through college,” she says like you don’t know, like you didn’t stress about it for years. “Everyday closer to graduation felt like a ticking bomb. Like he was just waiting for you to come back. To come home.”

You remember it.

The excited texts he’d send you everyday, the plans he made for you. Jungkook was more excited than your parents about you coming home. The five hours had done a number on him, and after four years all he wanted was to have you close again. You remember the hug in his driveway, the way his mom had told you he’d waited all day for you. It’s weird hearing it from Sojin.

Too overwhelmed, you decide to deflect. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you murmur, and you’re surprised she hears it over the pouring rain.

A loud scoff. “You’re stupid,” she repeats back, jabbing a finger at your chest. You glare, and so does she. Like two animals in a cage you size each other up. “You’re stupid and ugly and I hate you,” she spits, and you drop your shopping bags to lunge at her.

You don’t swing, just grab her by the shirt and move to slam her against the wall, but she’s tall and a little strong, bony fingers wrapping around your wrists like spiders. “Why can’t you see how much he likes you?” She screams, like it hurts to admit it. “He’s been in love with you since forever, and all you’ve ever done is run away!”

“I never—“ you gasp, pushing her away from you. Sojin stumbles, but she doesn’t fall. “I’ve never run away,” you defend, heart beating in your chest too fast to be normal. “Some of us have careers and lives we want to live—I don’t want to depend on a man for the rest of my life!”

She growls, tugs at her wet hair like you’re giving her a headache. Stomping up to you once more, she pushes you hard with both hands, and you barely catch yourself in time. “He would have followed you to that fucking fancy school, but you told him it was better to save money here! Told him to not waste his time and just settle there! You did this to us—to all of us!”

You choke. Lightning flashes behind her, and for a moment all you can see is your gentle prodding, sitting behind him as he filled out applications, big wannabe business brain telling him the easiest way to save money for his auto shop was by going straight into technical school. The small frown on his face that day you’d packed for college, and the way he’d stood in your parent’s driveway until you couldn’t see him anymore, a little spec in your rearview mirror.

Sojin, sensing she’s made her point, says nothing. She scoops up your fallen grocery bags and shoves them into your trembling hands, stomping back to her car and pulling off with a roar, loud and ferocious, and nothing like a kitten.

The groceries in your bag end up in the trash.

—

Taehyung invites you to lunch one day, and you go. You’re starving and desperate to get away from work, where you’re paranoid everyone knows there’s something wrong with you. You meet up at a cute little bistro, and he smiles and hugs you when you arrive. You sit in comfort for all of two seconds before he jumps into his interrogation.

“What’s going on with you and Kook?” He asks, casually flipping through the menu. Your hand stills around your glass of water, and you eventually set it down without ever taking a drink. Your mind instinctively maps out a lie, but Taehyung has known you a while now, knows the quirk of your lips when you’re about to lie your ass off. “Don’t lie to me. I haven’t seen you at the shop in almost a month. And he doesn’t go out,” he mentions. “I think he spent four nights at the shop before I made him go home.”

You deflate.

Too embarrassed to explain, you flip through your own menu, and when the waitress comes you order the first words your eyes focus on. Taehyung doesn’t push you, just patiently gazes out over the bustling street.

Finally, you break. “We… did a thing.”

“Uh huh,” he nods, reading some ad on the side of a bus that passes by. “Need you to elaborate, babe.”

You squirm. “We… fooled around,” you say for lack of more appropriate wording. There’s a family sitting beside you, and you’d rather die than let some nooby pre-teen listen to the details of yours and Jungkook’s night.

“You fucked?” You choke, make a loud sputtering noise like it’ll drown out Taehyung’s voice to the other patrons. “What’s wrong with that? We all knew it’d happen sooner or later,” he shrugs.

“No,” you seethe. “We didn—I didn’t.” Taehyung rolls his eyes, the same way Sojin did that day on the sidewalk. You almost throw your glass of water at him. “We…” you sigh. “We did a thing, and then the week after he went out with Sojin.”

Taehyung scowls at the mere mention of her, so the glass of water is returned to its coaster. “Really? He went out with her right away? He’s cancelled.”

You nod, rubbing your hands over your face. “He… her dad has cancer and is literally on his deathbed so she wanted to fix up his car for memories sake, which he loved, so he wanted to apologize to Kook and thank him for fixing up his car,” you rush out, and now Taehyung chokes, water spewing out of his nose. You shriek, drawing everyone’s attention as you pat down your soaked blouse. “Tae!”

“I’m sorry,” he cries, wiping at the sting in his nose. “He-she, what?!” You ignore him, focus on battling the damp spot on your blazer. “God, that’s crazy,” Taehyung snorts, winces at the feeling in his nose.

After the two of you have settled, the manager kicks you out for your inappropriate conversations and childish behavior. You leave with your tails tucked between your legs. Taehyung holds your hand as he walks you back to your workplace, you quietly fill him in on all the other details surrounding yours and Jungkook’s fallout, from your breakdown in the garage to your weirdly dramatic confrontation with Sojin. “Well,” he claps, slamming a hand down on the traffic light button, even though both of you know it doesn’t work. “That explains a lot of things.”

“Yeah,” you agree, pushing down the crosswalk when the light finally changes of its own accord. “Do you,” you pause, feet glued to the sidewalk. “Do you think she was right?”

Taehyung glances back at you, so small and unsure in the midst of a bustling crowd. He smiles, sweet and soft. Rare coming from him. His free hand ruffles the top of your head, and he brings you into his chest. “Babe, the hottest guy in your grade was intimidated by scrawny, pre-muscle bunny Jungkook. I’m pretty sure he feels some type of way towards you.”

Your lip wobbles dangerously, and you bite down on it to stop. Taehyung pats your head, barks at some old guy when he yells at the two of you for standing in the middle of the sidewalk.

When you’re outside your office, you speak again. “You were not the hottest guy in our grade, by the way.”

Taehyung snorts. “I totally was.”

—

You hideout for the rest of the week.

On Friday night, you finally have the balls to show yourself again, and you hop on the highway leading out of the city before you can overthink it. The buildings slowly melt away, replaced with cozier homes, tinier shops, and by the time you’re pulling up the street, you’re deep in doubt again.

It’s not that late yet, only a little past sunset, but the garage doors, usually open to the street, are all shut. You frown, pull around the block, reverse into a spot across the street. Locking your car, a gust of wind nearly trips you as you cross the street. The front office is dark, metal shutters pulled over the entrance.

Eventually, you stumble around until you find the tiny backdoor squeezed beside some dumpsters, grateful for the key Jungkook had given you so long ago.

Just as Taehyung predicted, a pair of red jumpsuit clad feet stick out from beneath a car. A nice car, an even older Corvette than Sojin’s dad’s, still shiny despite the model it is. It looks like a show car with the way it glints at you, black paint almost glossy. The only light in the entire garage is a lamp, positioned over the area where the legs are working, and a flashlight that occasionally beams at you when the holder loses his grip. No music today, just the hum of a rotating fan. You creep over.

Jungkook’s humming a song when you get to him, foot tapping idly on the ground. You suck in a deep breath and nudge his foot with the tip of your heel. You have exactly two seconds to jump away when he abruptly rolls out from beneath the car, concentrated features scanning quickly around until they land on you.

The garage is still, until Jungkook jumps into action. “___,” he stammers, stumbling to his feet. The rolling board drifts away, bumping into the corner of the metal table beside you. “Hi, um,” he flounders, brushing his fingers through his hair, palms wiping over the front of his pants. Finally, “hi.”

The bad bitch Chanel skirt-suit you’d worn today fails you for the first time in a long time. Your hands feel sweaty, so you clutch them behind your back. “Hi, Jungkook,” you exhale, and all the emotions you’d swallowed for so long, the feelings that tightened around your chest and throat like boa constrictors, come oozing out, until all you can see is his puckered mouth and twinkling gaze.

He coughs, tries to casually lean against the car, but greatly miscalculates the distance. “What, um, what brings you here?” He asks, foot tapping nervously against the ground.

There’s a box of takeout on the floor he tries to subtly kick beneath the car, and a plastic bottle of soda that makes a loud noise when he tries that too. You twist your lips, watching the anxious shuffling of his feet. You breeze over his question, plaster a tight smile into your face, and ask your own question; “how long have you been here?” Tentatively, you lower yourself onto a rolling stool. “It’s late,” you state the obvious.

Jungkook’s leg bounces, and he pats his hand over it nervously. “Um, an hour? Just working on something,” he answers, cheeks warm as his eyes flicker everywhere but you. “What brings you here?” He repeats, and you know you can’t deflect it this time.

Shrugging half heartedly, you wait for him to finally look at you. When he does, he almost looks away but the glint in your eye stops him from doing so. “We need to talk,” you finally say. Jungkook visibly deflates, lips pulling into a thin line. You contemplate letting him relieve his thoughts first, but you came here with a point to make, for questions that needed answering, and you’re scared one word from him will wash them all away.

“Listen,” you start, smoothing your hand over the edge of your skirt. “I know something weird happened between us, and then I kinda freaked out on you, but… I need you to tell me the truth.”

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate. “Always.”

You swallow, try to push back the frustration that builds in his throat. “Did you ever even like Sojin?”

Jungkook blinks. “Huh?” A snort. “You’re joking,” he snickers, wipes at faux tears in the corner of his eyes, before your unsmiling face registers and he’s schooling his features. “___, I did like her. I dated her for five years. How could I not like her?”He says seriously, like he can’t believe you would ever question such a thing.

You exhale, pick at your fingernails. “I met her,” you admit, and Jungkook’s face twists in confusion. “At the supermarket last week. She said you never liked her.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Of course she’ll think that—we’re exes. I doubt she remembers all our best memories,” he sighs, turning back to organize his tool cart like he’s done with this conversation.

Raising to your feet you call his name again, and he hums absentmindedly. “Sojin said you never liked her because you were always chasing after me,” you accuse, laying all your cards out on the table. Your claim startles him, and you watch as he jostles half the tool cart with his surprise.

“She, what?” He huffs, cheeks as red as his jumpsuit. He forces out a laugh, airy and tight like you’re starring in your elementary school play again and the nerves are eating him up. “I-I don’t know why she’d say that.”

He’s flustered, obviously so, as he scoops the metal tools back onto the cart, bumping into three other things before settling back down on the floor to roll under the car. He pushes himself under, and you sternly call out, “Jungkook.” He freezes.

You strut over, brush your hands behind your skirt as you crouch beside him. “Always,” you quietly remind him. Jungkook says nothing. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve grossly misread the situation, if this was just another one of her schemes to drive the two of you apart.

Slowly, Jungkook appears from under the car. There’s a new stain on his cheekbone, brown and slick. He sits up, wide eyes tracing over your features likes he’s trying to seal them in his memory. “Yeah,” he admits, lips twisting as he watches the surprise take your features, before he’s lolling his head back to stare at the ceiling, leaving you to stare at the column of his neck.

“I do,” Jungkook admits, pushing through his emotions. It’s hard for him to confess, you realize, watching the way his Adam’s apples contracts and his jaw twitches from having to say so. “I like you so much it hurts.”

His confession leaves you feeling weird. On one hand, you want nothing more than to spring yourself on him and kiss his face until the stray oil marks are gone and replaced with the outline of your lipstick prints. You want to smother him and hold him, let him know he’s yours, always has been.

On the other hand… it’s sad. Going on thirty years and never did the two of you guess your feelings for each other. You doubt either of you are good at hiding them, with the way everyone seems to have known except you two. Maybe you don’t know Jungkook as well as you thought you did. Maybe he doesn’t know you.

A hand touches your knee, and you return your attention to his downtrodden appearance, chin tucked against his chest. “Please,” he murmurs. “Say something.”

You say nothing.

Tentatively, you reach a hand out, run it along the side of his head, through his mane, chocolate waves touching his cheekbones. He almost looks like when you guys were kids, round eyes watching your every move. Your hand continues down the back of his head, cupping the nape of his neck comfortingly. Jungkook leans into the touch, even though his shoulders are tense. You soothe your fingers over the tight muscles in his neck.

“Since when?” You inquire.

Jungkook blinks, lets your palm trace along his jawline and cup his cheek. “Since you dated Taehyung when we were sixteen.”

Mentally, you curse every deity in existence for putting Kim Taehyung in your life. “God,” you groan, burrowing your hands in your palms. Jungkook, surprised by your reaction, rolls closer, moves around until you’re crouched between his long legs. “Since me and that pinhead dated for twenty minutes?” You repeat.

Jungkook shifts closer, rubs your back. “It was 65 hours, actually,” he corrects, and the exact duration of your relationship makes you cringe. “I… counted.”

Small and shy, almost embarrassed. You glance back up at him. “Why?” You prod, and Jungkook’s cheek flush, palm stilling.

“Uh,” he starts. “I was nervous? That you two were in it for the long run. And I, I don’t know. It was easier to just count,” he lamely finishes, and his dangly earring whips around with him when he avidly avoids your gaze.

You sigh, catch his hand in yours. “Tae and I would have never lasted,” you tell him, remembering all the times the guy made you pick him up from one night stands in the last few years. “He wasn’t who I wanted.”

His foot jumps, toe tapping against the wheel of the car next to you. He wants to ask, you know he does, but Jungkook was quite possibly the only other person on this planet who could overthink something more than you.

Deciding to ease his worries, you give his hand a squeeze. “It was you,” you confess, feel like an elephant lands straight on your chest. “It is you,” you correct.

His forehead knocks against yours, hard, and you hiss at the bump that probably forms. “What the fu—“

“Tell me it’s not temporary,” Jungkook pleads, eyes crinkled in worry. You’re going cross eyed from trying to look at him like this, so you flit your eyes off somewhere to the side. His hand is heavy in yours. “Tell me you’re not just doing this for closure, or because you want to see what it would have been like, please,” he begs, “that would be so fucked up, because I’m so in love with you I actually think I might die.”

The dramatic confession makes you painfully warm. You nod, your lower lip trembling at the way he looks at you, like you single-handedly controlled this entire world with a flick of your wrist. “I-I love you too,” you parrot back, the first time you’ve ever said it, the millionth time you’ve ever thought it.

Jungkook visibly relaxes, pulls away from you to drop his head on your shoulder instead. Your legs are starting to cramp from the tight crouching position, ankles wobbly in your heels. His hair smells good still, despite the hours he’s probably spent beneath a car, and you gingerly pat the back of his head.

“I love you,” he murmurs, and you repeat it. “I love you,” he says again, and you repeat it. “I lov—“

“Me, yes, I’ve heard,” you cut him off, smile at the snort he releases, and when he turns his head, his lips brush against your neck. You’re instantly thrown back a few weeks, to that night on the couch with the limited edition Shrek 2 cups and the wine; the gentle touches that left you trembling for weeks. You inhale quickly, grabbing him by the shoulders and pushing him away.

His eyes are too soft, face too relaxed as he stares at you. “My legs hurt,” you tell him, quickly getting up. You whirl around, facing the car and digging through your purse like you suddenly have something to do.

“Oh,” you gasp, watch two arms wind around your waist, the dirty red jumpsuit contrasting against the tweed material of your high-end Chanel jacket. Jungkook sighs lovingly by your ear, snuggles his face into your neck. “W-we should go out,” you blurt, nerves jumping when he squeezes tighter, burrows closer. “To celebrate!”

Jungkook hums. “Yeah?” His voice is too low. You’re in trouble. “Celebrate what?”

You squirm, breath catching in your throat when he presses you closer against the hood of the car. “Um,” you shakily exhale, hands splaying out over the sleek surface of the black hood to steady yourself. It’s so shiny you can almost see your reflection. “U-Us!” You finally manage to exclaim.

A kiss against the side of your neck, and your spirit just about exits your body. Your knees feel weak, and you're just about ready to throw another mediocre excuse his way, when something warm and wet traces up the column of your neck. “Kook!” You gasp.

“Shh,” he murmurs, deep voice instantly soothing over your nerves. His hips nudge against your behind, and you jump at the bulge that presses against your lower back. One hand unwraps from around you, gliding down your arm sensually until he’s trapping your fingers on the hood of the car with his own. A swift kiss against your ear. “You owe me, remember?”

You flush, remember the filthy promises your list-addled brain has spewed that night at your house, the almost erratic development of your thoughts as you became consumed in the thought of him. Reminisce on the prod of his fingers against your cunt, his hot breath against your ear.

Suddenly, Jungkook whirls you around, traps you with his gaze as two hands flutter to rest on the small of your back. He’s looking down at you with those lovesick eyes, hooded with lust as they trace over the dip of your Cupid’s bow. “You’ll do that for me, won’t you?” A soft brush of his mouth against yours, pouty lips guiding you through a kiss, until you’re sighing against him, and he’s pulling away.

Numbly, you nod, almost hypnotized by the soft smirk that overtakes his features as he pushes you down, watches you sink to your knees before him. The concrete feels cold and hard beneath your knees. His jumpsuit is knotted around his waist, and you shakily unravel it, the elastic waistband staring you in the face afterwards.

“Take your time,” Jungkook croons, hand coming to rest on the side of your face, knuckles brushing over your skin delicately.

You tug it down, and one flash of that underwear band has your nerves flying out the window. You shove his t-shirt out of the way, let your hands trail over the ridges of his abdomen in your haste. He helps you by tugging it over his head. With that gone, his black boxers stare you in the face, and you yank those down with no hesitation.

“Jesus, baby,” Jungkook chuckles, though it’s choked off when you grasp his engorged cock in his hand. You should be surprised, marveling at the sight, considering it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him like this. But you brain is working overtime, too immersed in the vein that runs alongside it and the tip that throbs back at you. Later you can worship it, you think. Right now, you needed it down your throat.

The tip is flaming and swollen, his cock still growing plump in your hold, your hands slowly dragging up and down the length. You lean forward, press a gentle kiss below the mushroom head, trail kisses down the length until you're meeting your knuckles, and trail them back again. Jungkook sucks in a tight breath, leans to rest his palms on the car behind you, as he watches you on him.

A head of precum escapes, and you lunge for it, swirl your tongue in and around the slit on his cock, until his entire body tenses up. “Fuck,” he grunts, watches you ease his cock into your mouth. You groan at the stretch, the drag against the corners of your lips making your eyes roll backwards. “___, baby, a little more?” He asks, voice hoarse as he watches you sink down further on his cock.

You comply, close your eyes and focus on relaxing your throat. There’s a hand on the back of your head, impatiently pushing you down his length. “Shit,” he cries, unconsciously ruts against you. You gag, and he shushes you with a caress against your cheek. “Sorry,” he huffs, “just a little more for me, okay?”

Eyes squeezed shut tightly, you let him push you down until his cock hits the back of your throat and you can’t take anymore. The prod against your throat has tears springing to your eyes. “Gonna move now,” Jungkook announces, thumb brushing away the tears that collect in the corners. “Be good.”

He drags himself out, your saliva coating every inch of him, and when just the tip is resting on your tongue, he shoves back in. You whimper, palms digging into his thighs. Jungkook brushes a hand down your hair, soothes you for all of two seconds before he’s pulling out and doing it all over again. He picks up the pace, loses himself in the feeling of your hot mouth around him, tongue dragging over his cock.

The feeling in your throat burns, each thrust of his hips against your mouth making your jaw more and more sore. But god, it feels good to have him so close, his scent swarming your sense, groans like music to your ears. You want to please him, want him to feel as good as you did at your place. You want it even more now that you know how he feels, know he’s probably thought about this before.

A brutal thrust has you gagging, throat contracting around his length. “Shh,” Jungkook sighs, the fingers buried in your hair flattening out to run over your head. “Doing so good for me, beautiful.”

You bask in the praise, let a hand flutter down to the apex of your thighs, pressing down to relieve some of the pressure. Jungkook groans, rolls his hips against you and keeps you there for a second. Your throat spasms, his dick pressed hotly against it, and you feel your panties grow embarrassingly sticky. Eventually, he draws back out.

“You like this?” He hums, rutting against you faster now, nose brushing against the sparse hairs on his pelvis with every slam of his hips. You nod around a gag, eyes clouding with tears, lips slippery with saliva and precum. One particular thrust is so hard, it nearly sends you knocking back into the car, Jungkook’s hand on the back of your head barely saving you. “Fucking hell,” he spits, “look so pretty with my cock shoved down your throat, princess.”

You moan around him, feel a subtle twitch against your tongue before he’s pulling himself out. “Shit,” he cursed, pushing you away as he goes to grab his own dick in his hand, tugging at it like a madman. “Wh-Where?” He asks, and you stare dumbly at the sight of him playing with himself, almost don’t realize he’s asking you a question.

You take too long, scramble for words too long, and even if you did have one your throat is far too sensitive yo answer. Jungkook grows impatient. Pulling you closer by the collar of your Chanel suit jacket, tugging it open until the flimsy buttons snap, and the tank top you wore beneath comes into view. He aims the tip of his cock towards your sternum, and a few jacks later, he’s coming, cum spurting against your chest. You watch the cum trail down between the valley of your breasts, until the feeling comes to rest against the inside wire of your bra, sticky and gross, sliding along the underside of your boobs. “Shit,” Jungkook repeats, eyes furrowed over you.

Your knees ache, and you nearly trip when you stand up, steadying yourself against the side of the car. Jungkook seems to regain his sense by then, hand trailing around your waist. You meet his eye, and almost immediately turn away, the blood in your face rapidly rising.

Jungkook laughs. “Don’t get shy on me now,” he teases, gets too close and your noses bump. “Sorry,” he smiles, too shiny and bright for the sinful acts you just committed in an auto shop.

“Put your dick away,” you huff, let him nuzzle closer to you, and when he doesn’t move to tuck himself into his pants, you go do it for him.

Jungkook frowns, swats your hand away. “This dick has places to be,” he informs you, and you scoff.

“Refractory period,” you remind him, and he rolls his eyes.

“Well I’m not exactly gonna stick it in you this instant,” he drawls. “Gotta stretch you out first.”

You go to complain, tell him he doesn’t have to over exert himself. Truthfully, with Jungkook you feel like one good session was enough to sustain you for weeks. After last time, your skin had flowed for an entire week. But then his hand is slithering up your backside, sneaking under your skirt to grab a handful of your ass.

There’s quickly drying drool collecting at the corners of your mouth, saliva from when he’d fucked your throat just a few moments prior, that he kisses away. His mouth slots over yours, and your heart and pussy both flutter at the kiss.

It’s gentle and sweet for all of ten seconds, his mouth moving against yours until you feel the wet press of his tongue against your bottom lip, tracing along until you open your mouth. He wastes no time shoving his tongue past your lips, letting it dance with yours as he pulls you closer, hands gripping the globes of your ass. You let him lick his way into your mouth, more and more saliva catching in the corners of your mouth until he’s pulling away with a wet pop.

He pulls away, doesn’t stray too far, proud smirk crossing his features at the sight of your slicked lips. “You liked that, didn’t you?”

“Huh?” You ask dumbly, tongue mindlessly swiping over your lips.

Jungkook’s eyes track the movement. “The saliva,” he clarifies. “The spit. You liked it at your place too,” he reminisces, moving in on you again. “Liked watching me slobber and spit all over your body. Isn’t that right, baby?”

You blush, discreetly rub your thighs together. “I-I do,” you admit, willing the warmth of your face away because at this distance he must certainly feel it.

Jungkook nods, doesn’t say anything else as he captures your lips a second time. He doesn’t bother with the gentle prodding anymore, jumping straight into tongue right away. He’s messier, letting his saliva coat your lips and drip down your mouth, and as messy as it is, you love it. You whimper when he pulls away, but gasp when his hand tugs at the hair by the nape of your neck, pulling you back until you’re looking up at him.

“Open,” he murmurs, and you do, tongue pressing against your bottom lip.

It should be disgusting, the rev of his throat, the sound of his saliva collecting, and the way his jaw shifts when he’s got enough. It should be filthy, the way he shoots it down your open lips, the way it splatters against the back of your throat. It should be gross, but god do you love it. “Swallow,” Jungkook commands, and you do, feel his spit drip down your throat like it’s your own, whimpering at the feeling. A quirk of his lips. “Good girl.”

You have to bite down the pride that grows in your chest.

Jungkook’s hands continue their mapping out of your behind, eventually ending with a hard squeeze that has you squealing. Automatically, your back arches in surprise, breasts pressing against Jungkook’s chest. He smirks down at you.

“Bet you taste good,” he says, pressing a kiss against your cheek. “Let me taste?”

“Please,” you beg, nearly losing your shit when he lifts you up onto the car, the cool metal making you jump, heel on your foot nearly kicking the side view mirror clean off. “Wait, Jungkook,” you sputter, glancing down at the sleek metal. “This is someone’s car.”

Jungkook ignores you, pushes your legs apart to slot himself between them. His palms run up your legs, over your thighs, until they’re toying with the hem of your skirt. Mocha eyes glance up at you, as if daring you to question him again, so you promptly zip your lips shut. The skirt goes, ever so slowly, over your thighs, bunches up at your waist until he’s staring at your lace panties.

He presses a kiss against the inside of your thigh, nose faintly brushing against your skin. The kisses trail over your skin, until he’s hovering over your panties, and he’s staring like a man starved. He gives no warning, suddenly leaning down to press his mouth over your party-clad folds, nose flush against your clit. “Kook!” You squeak, hands flying to clutch at his hair.

Jungkook mouths at you, drags his tongue against your panties until they’re soaked in both your essence and his saliva, just how you like. A hand slithers around your leg, wrapping around until he’s got a firm grip on it that he uses to hold it open.

“J-Just take them off,” you gasp, squirm when his mouth moves towards your clit, lapping against you. “Please,” you cry.

He doesn’t.

Jungkook tortures you with those kitten licks, muted through your panties, until you’re begging him to stop, to take them off and do it right. He loves it, you can tell, dazzling smile peeking up at you every time you tug against his hair, until finally, he’s had enough.

The underwear comes off, dangling uselessly by your ankle, and then the show really begins.

“Wait,” you choke, head falling back against the hood of the car when he finally gets his mouth on you, suctioning his lips around your swollen clit. The niggling reminder that this is some stranger’s car he’s eating you out on rings in your brain, and perhaps that’s what makes it more exciting.

His mouth is warm, tongue flicking over your sensitive bud like it’s candy and he needs the sugar. The sounds are so loud and wet, the squelching of your pussy every time he pulls off a pop that resounds throughout the garage. He pampers your clit for what seems like hours, switching the movements of his tongue every time he gets the chance until you’re quivering.

When you think he’s done, he’s not.

Fingers slide up your thigh, featherlight, as they reach your drenched cunt. They drag over your lips, and you mewl, feeling the muscles jump and tighten at his touches. “Jungkook, please,” you moan, rolling your hips against him, but it’s hard and everytime you move, you feel the sweat on your skin weigh you down, glued to the metal beneath you.

The first finger breaches you, just the tip of his index slowly wiggling inside. You muffle a moan in your palm, and Jungkook pulls away with a huff. “No hiding,” he warns, slowly lowering back to your cunt with a stern glare. You nod, but can’t help it when his second finger pushes its way in and you bite down on your knuckles.

“Oh,” You sob, body quivering as he begins scissoring his two fingers inside you. With your attention focused on the digits sheathed inside you, he pulls away from your clit, bestowing one final kiss against it that has your foot kicking out wildly. “Th-there.” His other hand catches your palm in his, presses it against the metal by your head.

Jungkook smiles, curls his fingers around until he finds the soft spot inside you that turns you to jelly. “There we go, beautiful,” he purrs, pushing himself to his full height, leaning over your trembling form. “So sweet for me,” he sighs, licks his lips like he’s remembering your taste.

“I'm gonna,” you choke, become hypnotized by the dark cloud in his gaze, the arrogant smirk on his lips. He curls his fingers, palm brushing against your abandoned clit. The touch makes you jump, nerves tingling.

“Cum for me,” he encourages, silky tone swarming your head as your pleasure slowly washes over you. It’s probably the most relaxed orgasm you’ve had in your entire life, his low voice and delighted eyes guiding you through it, until your entire body clenches, dissolving in a puddle of contentment. Your arousal surges around his fingers, trickling down onto the metal.

“Oh, Jungkook,” you pant, overwhelmed from the touches and the kisses. Jungkook’s smile gets swallowed by your greedy mouth, desperate for more kisses now that he’s made you feel like this.

The kisses only placate him for so long, and when he presses his body against yours, there’s an awfully hard cock that slides against your dripping cunt. “Think you can go again, gorgeous?” He murmurs against your jaw, nipping at the skin on the way down. You nod, eyes falling shut at the warmth you feel in your bones.

Jungkook kisses your neck one last time, before leaning back once more to line himself up.

This was a scene straight from your teenage fantasies, a dripping, shirtless Jungkook at full mast between your thighs, looking at you so lovingly. It makes your heart thunder, imagining how long you could have been doing this if you weren’t both so stupid. As if reading your thoughts, Jungkook rubs a palm over your thigh, eyebrow quirked. You nod his concern away, squirm closer until the tip of his cock nudges against your hole.

“Fuck,” Jungkook sighs, moving his hands to your hips as he slowly pushes in. His fingers, bless their intentions, could have never prepared you for the size of Jungkook’s cock, thick and veiny as it pushes inside. You whimper, clawing at the hands on your waist that stop you from impaling yourself on it fully. “Waited so long for this.”

“Then fucking do it,” you beg, nearly pass out when he shoves in harshly at your tone. “J-Jung—“

“I got you, baby,” he assures you, jostles you until you’re flush against his cock, clit brushing against his pelvis. Your back arches, and Jungkook slips his arm around you, the other lingering on your waist.

Every subtle shift has him brushing along your swollen clit, and you sob at the sensation, begging him to move. He complies, changes his stance to make it easier, and finally begins thrusting into your throbbing pussy.

“So good,” he huffs, eyes zeroed in on where the two of you meet. You would have looked too, if your body hadn’t felt so completely boneless beneath him, the grinding of his cock sending shocks of pleasure up your spine. “So pretty and mine.”

“Yours,” you choke, heart swelling in your chest at his words. It’s almost animalistic, the way he ducks down to bite at your neck, like some animal staking its claim, and you like it. You like it because it’s all you ever dreamed of for so long. “Faster, Kook,” you urge, wrapping your arms around him.

He does as you say, slow and careful thrusts transitioning into a fast piston that would have had you bouncing out of his reach if he wasn’t holding you so tightly. “Fuck,” he chokes, lost in the way you clench around him, lips dragging against his cock with each thrust. “Baby,” he grunts, sweat trailing down his temple, eyes furrowed shut. Eventually, his head falls into the crook of your neck, his weight pressing down on you uncomfortably, subtle ridges on the hood making you ache. At this point, you’re too far gone to care. “All I ever wanted,” he gasps.

You could cry, right now and he’d pull out right away, big heart fretting over your emotional well-being. Which is exactly why you hold your emotions in, let yourself get fully immersed in the feeling of Jungkook pounding you against some stranger’s car and not the inevitable emotional crash you’ll have later.

He fucks like he’s waited all his life for this, and you guess he sort of has if what he’s saying is true. You have no doubt it is, and when his lips suck a mark against your neck, you feel like you’re in heaven. “Almost,” you pant, legs wrapping around his waist tightly. Jungkook nods, his hair tickling your jaw and neck, as he picks up the pace. Your cunt swallows him up every single time, suctions him in until he’s shaking, and so are you.

It can only last for so long, your heart and body eventually reaching their peak, and you unravel. His arms are there to catch you, to pick up the pieces and hold you together. You want to cry, you really do, and when the coil in your stomach snaps, you finally do. “I love you,” you sob, and Jungkook shudders, glances at your tear-struck face to push himself off.

“Love you too,” he mumbles, grinds his cock against your spasming folds one last time, and comes mid-thrust, cum spurting inside you. He holds you, just like you knew he would, as you come down from your highs, hot breath fanning across your skin.

You feel warm, loved, and in love, body trembling in sensitivity afterwards. He’s pulled out since, soothingly rubbing a hand against your side. You’d like to say you wouldn’t be anywhere else, but one shift reminds you of where you are.

“Shit,” you groan, taking in your surroundings before letting your head fall back against the hood. Jungkook hums, round eyes looking your way. “We really just confessed and had sex on some stranger’s car.”

Jungkook snorts, leans away just the slightest to look you in the eye. He’s lost in thought, chocolate irises swirling as they drink you in. “Say thanks to Taehyung,” he finally says.

You roll your eyes, and when you shift beneath him, your sweaty skin sticks uncomfortably against the metal hood. “Yeah, let me thank Taehyung for dating me for three days and awakening your crush,” you huff sarcastically, resigning yourself to your new life stuck against the hood of some classic automobile from the 50s. Jungkook laughs, tucks himself back into his underwear. “Thanks Taehyung, for your noble sacrifice ten years ago that allowed me to fuck Jungkook on some stranger’s car—“

Jungkook hums, snuggles closer to you. “Tae’s car.”

“—after confessing our—Taehyung’s car?” You shriek, sitting up with the strength of three football players, Jungkook toppling off you. “Oh my god. No.” Jungkook rubs his elbow where he knocked it against the hood, looks at you with solemn eyes. Slowly, a smirk crawls over his features. “No,” you gasp, mortification crawling up your spine. “We didn’t.”

He tugs you off the car, tugs your skirt down when you wobble on unsteady heels. “Yup,” he says, pops the end of the word like a child. “Say hello to Taehyung’s new car!” He exclaims, patting the hood you just defiled. “Straight from the car auction he went to this morning,” he beams.

“Oh my god,” you groan, covering your face with your hands when you finally spot the puddles of... something on the black hood. “This is terrible.”

Jungkook ignores you, wipes up the mess with some napkins from his takeout bag, but there’s already some that's dried, only fueling your mortification. “Not like he’ll find out,” he shrugs, then narrows his eyes at you. “Or will he?”

“No!” You stutter, carefully rounding the car as if inspecting it for any more signs of the treacherous things you and Jungkook did on or around it. “I-I won’t tell him.”

“Uh huh,” Jungkook teases, settles on that rolling stool and pushes himself towards you. There’s a hand easing itself around your waist, tugging you between open legs. Still in shock, your hands flutter around his neck, muscle memory causing you to immediately begin massaging the skin there.

Jungkook sighs into the touch, eyes falling shut. “Too bad Jimin’s not here,” he sighs, and you visibly see his nose grow in arrogance.

“What? Why should Jimin be here?” You ask, pushing your fingers against the knots in his neck.

Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed, one-eyed glare. He scoffs, “maybe you are as dumb ad Taehyung says.” And then, “hey!” when you tug his ear. He isn’t upset, just tugs you closer until his face is buried against your stomach. “You know country folk like him marry on the spot right?”

“What are you even saying,” you huff, burying your hands in the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging his head back to properly look at him. “Why do you care who Jimin marries?” He doesn’t bother answering.

Instead, Jungkook sighs into the touch, an easygoing smile thrown your way, and for a moment you forget about the trauma Taehyung will have when he inevitably learns about this. “This is the life.”

#goldenclosetnet #ksmutclub #networkbangtan #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #jungkook fic #mine

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newsies-of-corona · 4 years

Text

Varian & Affirmation

Analysis:

And we’ve got another one, folks! This one hit hard for me for sure. Just the way that the show set it up...it’s incredible. So without any further adieu...

“Well, shall we get started?”

Motives

So I’m just going to come right out and say it: Varian is selfish in Season 1. The whole way through. (Now don’t leave yet! If you know me you know how much of a fan I am of this complex alchemist and this is not a hate post by all means!)

But yes. Throughout the whole of Season 1, Varian has a very self-centered mindset that’s hard to pick up on at first, but it’s there. Here’s some dialogue examples:

“I am sure that I, Varian, can unlock the mystery of your hair with the power of science!”

“Hey Flynn Rider? Wanna come with?”

“It doesn’t matter. The truth is all I really wanted to do was impress you, I thought that if I showed you what I was capable of you might see something in me.”

“Actually he’d probably be impressed. At least I hope he’d be impressed.”

Most of these quotes sound perfectly innocent, and they are! But it’s the motives behind them that make them more self-centered. Varian’s main goal, his life blood practically, is affirmation. He yearns to be adored and recognized for his achievements. It’s a perfectly normal and human want. I myself struggle with this all the time. But when it’s the only thing that you strive for? The only thing that makes you happy? It effects everything that you say and do. If you dig deep into these quotes, you can see what he’s really craving.

By discovering the mystery of Rapunzel’s hair, Varian gets credit and especially admiration. By showing his idol his inventions, he’s expecting Eugene to tell him what a genius he is or how amazed he is that this fourteen year old kid could build all this. The third one is just wanting Cassandra to recognize him since he looks up to her, and went to great lengths to impress her. Even when he helped her, it was still because he wanted to impress her and get her to help him in return. Throughout that episode he’s trying so hard to get her to compliment his work. In three of these examples, he gets the adoration he asked for. But that’s the problem: he asked for it. Eugene and Cass essentially tell him the same thing, “you’re a great, smart kid with good intentions.” And both times he responds more...despondently. For Cass it’s “thanks for saying that.” For Eugene it’s just looking at him sadly because this wasn’t what he wanted to hear. In essence: it isn’t enough.

And the last quote obviously represents the affirmation he craves the most, his father’s, and the one that he doesn’t get.

Even slight comments like “I build it myself,” “of my own design,” and “wanna see my new invention?” all have the underlying motive of craving affirmation from his peers. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, but since Varian often has tunnel-vision and can’t see the consequences of his actions, it quickly becomes an issue. Especially in the case of, of course, the black rocks.

Taking it Too Far

We find out that Varian discovered the rocks in Great Expotations. Rapunzel inadvertently tasked him with figuring out how to get rid of them, and in his mind he needed to. To impress her and possibly all of Corona. So he ran tests and got reprimanded by his dad probably more than once. But this is the biggest thing he could ever do: rescue his village and the kingdom and make his dad proud in the process. That’s why he wanted to come with him and hopefully talk to the king. Yes, in this case he actually wants to help his village, he’s not heartless and he cares a lot, but he’s predominantly focusing on the rewards that will come after he figured it out.

Of course we know his plans go awry again, but he never stops focusing on his goal of making his dad proud of him. Seriously...NEVER.

Taking it WAY Too Far

Enter: Villain Arc. Suddenly his need to be adored and affirmed flips upside down. He doesn’t want compliments anymore, he wants people to fear him, respect him, and listen to him.

Examples:

“I have asked for help and have been ignored, I will not be ignored any longer!”

“I tried asking for help in a civil manner but was denied by everyone in Corona. So, unfortunately, this is my only remaining recourse.”

“I’ll make them hear me...”

I touched on this in my Confidence analysis, but Varian never loses his drive. And his want to be revered, consumes him. Even when he goes to prison, he joins Andrew and takes over Corona to be feared. But he soon realizes, it’s still not enough. His want for revenge doesn’t satisfy him or make him happy, it just makes him feel worse as the weight of what he’s done gradually crashes down on him.

By the time Rapunzel comes back, it’s all an act. He’s not craving adoration anymore. He just wants a way out of this cycle of disappointment that isn’t getting him anywhere. You can tell from the lines, too.

“Me? No, not really.”

“So that no one will forget they turned their back on my father!”

“I took their queen prisoner! I threatened their princess! I helped these guys take over their kingdom!”

Now the first one is small, but it actually shows a lot of development (even if he says it in a rather dorky way) because he’s not taking credit for something or taking the “fear” that he wanted so badly. The second one just sounds like a threat but it’s not “they turned their backs on me,” like it was in season 1. It’s back to his father, and it’s, in a way, humbling Varian by taking himself out of the picture. And of course the last one is the most evident: he’s listing his faults and realizing he doesn’t deserve the adoration he used to crave so much.

Making it Right

During Varian’s redemption...we see these thoughts really come to light.

“All I ever wanted was for my father to be proud. But if he were free from the amber now, and saw everything I’ve done, well he’d be ashamed.”

This is his turning point. This is where he owns up to how warped and twisted his mindset was and makes an effort to fix it with Rapunzel. Not for himself; not for the glory, but because it’s the right thing to do. He knows he messed up with the Quirineon, and he’s literally willing to die to make up for his mistakes. This is a direct contrast to his previous statement: “I will make you proud of me, dad. If it’s the last thing I ever do.”

Because if he dies fixing his mistakes, he doesn’t expect any kind of praise. He’d leave a legacy of horrible deeds that would never make his dad proud; but he’d be saving Corona and that’s all that matters. Of course he doesn’t actually die, thank goodness, and Rapunzel saves Corona instead, but he’s learned something from this whole experience. And one thing he especially didn’t expect was for Rapunzel to keep her promise after everything. And even when his dad finally says those words...they were supposed to mean everything, but they don’t. It still isn’t enough. Especially not after everything that’s happened. I touched on this in another analysis as well, but he feels like he doesn’t deserve those words.

From this point, Varian has a whole new outlook on life, not dependent on gaining recognition. He’s still the cocky, confident alchemist we know and love, but he shows off his inventions because he’s proud of them, and that’s enough. He saves Corona from the red rocks because he genuinely wants to help his kingdom, he doesn’t have any underlying motives whatsoever. He helps with the Demanitus Scroll because he wants to help Rapunzel figure everything out. And at the end he helps defeat Zhan Tiri because he knows he can help, and he genuinely wants to. (And here’s where I get emotional.)

Varian doesn’t once ask for compliments or a “thank you” throughout season 3, yet that’s exactly what he gets. After all of those years of seeking and yearning for adoration, he finally gets it when he doesn’t need it anymore.

In every selfless thing he does for Corona, he gets a reward in some way. When he rescues the kingdom from black rocks, he didn’t ask for anything in return, yet his reputation was restored. When he agreed to help with the scroll, he actually got to work in Demanitus’ Lab, someone he’s admired forever. And when he helps with the portal, he gets to go see Demanitus’ tomb and I mean...

that’s the happiest we’ve ever seen him. And it isn’t just the big things either, it’s the little ones. The way that Rapunzel calls him “a genius,” when he doesn’t ask for it or allude to it in any way. The “good job, buddy,” that Eugene tells him after he fixes up the balloon. And every time he’s complimented, he stays humble. He even responds one time with “just doing my part.”

And at the very end of his arc, after all of that selfless work he did for Corona out of the goodness of his own heart, he’s given his very own title of “Royal Engineer.” An official position in the kingdom that people truly look up to and respect.

Conclusion

This is honestly one the most well-done character arcs I’ve ever seen, because it’s absolute poetic justice. At the beginning, Varian is so focused on his own need of affirmation that he forgets everything else, and jeopardizes himself on multiple occasions. Especially when his motives become warped. But when he finally sets his pride and his own ambitions aside and realizes he’s already enough, that’s when he gets the respect and adoration that he had always wanted. And that my friends...is CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT.

#just when i think i knew everything about this kid- SOMETHING ELSE SHOWS UP-#varian tts #varian #lissa analyzes varian....again #varian analysis #villain varian #tangled the series

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inkedtae · 4 years

Note

#6 Jungkook Fluff ... smut if you want, but fluffy fluff

➻ prompt from dabble drabble

⤑ #6 “Baby, could you be happy here with me?”

⤑ word count; 1.9k

⤑ rating; pg

⤑ warnings; swearing

➻ le playlist

a quick drabble before i call it a night. enjoy!

Time stood still amongst the dust and cobwebs. The attic preserved generations of forgotten family ties as rays of the setting sun seeped through the dirty windows. Jungkook sang a quiet tune, his angelic voice bouncing off the old wooden walls. He had his back to you, sifting through old letters and age-stained documents. He tsked to himself, slightly quirking his head to the side, and set whatever he was looking at aside.

You pushed yourself up on the landing from the ladder, the old floors creaking beneath your feet. That sweet melody of his ceased and he turned to the noise. His eyes crinkled as he smiled at you over his shoulder before turning back to the birth certificate in his hand.

“Did you find it?” you asked, tip-toeing your way between ruined furniture and abandoned knick knacks. A little toy car hid from your line of sight and you stepped on it, squealing in surprise at the little squeak that left it. You froze in your place, trying to lean over the stack of books that blocked you for seeing what the hell that was. For all you knew it could’ve been a mouse or something of that nature.

Jungkook, about to answer, turned back to you, concern washed over his face. He chuckled to himself when he saw your terrified expression. “Babe, it’s just a toy,” he smiled, taking two big steps around the mess that kept you too apart. He held his hand out for you and you took it, letting him guide you to where he was previously standing. There was very little space by that particular box he was looking through, your bodies pressed together when you finally reached him.

You looked up at him, eyes wide as you took in his features up close. “Hi,” you giggled. Puckering your lips, you only just reach up to peck the little dot beneath his lip.

Jungkook breathed a chuckle, warm air fanning over your face. He kissed your temple, smiling down at you. “Hey,” he replied, “how are things downstairs?”

You shrugged, before turning your body to box, picking up the letters he set down to go help you. Your new position forced him out of the way. He chuckled to himself and quickly adapted, positioning himself behind you. His arms wrapped around your waist, the side of his face pressed to yours as he read the letter over your shoulder.

“Are they still arguing over how to properly tape a box?” he asked. You could hear the smirk in his voice and, without even having to look over your shoulder, you knew that his eyes were sparkling with amusement.

You shook your head. “No, your dad’s cleaning up the mess in the living room now,” you replied. “And your mom gave me and your brother an earful about how to properly pick out pretty plate settings for special dinners.”

Jungkook sighed, kissing your cheek tenderly. “I’m sorry,” he chuckled. You could tell he was feeling bad for forcing you to stop by his grandmother’s house with his family before your planned trip to Tokyo. “I promise the moment we find that stupid music box, we’re gone. We don’t even have to stay for dinner.”

You froze, turning your head to look up at him. “You put me through six lessons of plate picking and now you wanna deprive me of a meal?” you jokingly asked. He chuckled, looking down guiltily at the letter. You knew he was wanting to change the subject, to slip away from the question quietly, and that only made you laugh harder.

You kissed his cheek when you settled down a bit, catching him by surprise, then giggled. “I’m just teasing you, kookie. You know I really like your family. Your dad always grumbles things under his breath about your mom. And when he thinks she’s not around, he’d teach us the real way of picking plate settings.”

Jungkook laughed, shaking his head. “Yup, that sounds like him. Has she caught him yet?”

“Nope,” you smiled, “but your brother and I came up with a signal so if she does neither of us will miss it.”

His face didn’t reflect the same excitement as yours, eyes slowly turning vacant as if he was lost in a trace. Your smile wavered a bit as you gazed up at him. You bit your lip, wondering if you had maybe said something offensive, or taken this whole teasing his parents thing too far.

“Do you like the house?” he suddenly whispered, tightening his arms around you. Your back was flush against his chest now and he rested his forehead on yours.

You nodded, voice caught in your throat. His eyes looked so lost, searching for something within your gaze. “It’s been in your family for generations, right?” you whispered.

“Hm,” he hummed in agreement. “The entire Jeon line lived in this house at one point. My mom used to make us stay over the summer.”

“So you’ve been up here a lot,” you murmured only to have him shake his head.

He licked his lips, flickering his gaze down to your mouth before continuing, “only once before when I was ten, I think. My grandma wanted me to place a box of her things up here. I put it right here,” he said, glancing at the box before you. “It was early in the morning. I saw the light hit something shiny in there so I opened the box and found the most beautiful music box. It was placed over a pile of letters and photos. I wanted to open it, but she called on me at the bottom of the ladder.”

You listened carefully, letting his sweet voice lull you into this dream-like memory of his. “Why’s this music box so special to you?” you quietly questioned. You had been wanting to ask him that question since he brought it up two nights ago when he announced your detour.

He kissed each of your cheeks then the tip of your nose, making you blush. “This place has a certain charm, don’t you think?” he asked instead.

You were too flustered by his tender kisses to fight him on the topic change. “Charm seems to be a Jeon family trait,” you teased, biting your lip.

He chuckled, nudging his nose against yours. You laughed along with him, that vacant look resurfacing.

“Baby, could you be happy here with me?” His voice was barely above a whisper, only just reaching your ears. The husk in his voice sparked wild nerves up and down your spine, making you all but shiver against his strong embrace.

“Yes,” you breathed, gaze flickering down to his lips.

He smiled then pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was the most gentle you've ever shared, his precious lips softly pushing upon yours. You were still gasping for air when he pulled away, remaining in the trance of his kiss with your eyes still shut.

“I asked my grandma about the music box when I came down,” he continued the tale, picking up where he left off. “She told me that it was an heirloom, passed down from father to son when the son met the woman he loved. My parents had returned it to my grandmother when they were moving to a smaller place, wanting to keep it safe here.”

He tucked his face in your neck, peppering your skin with little kisses. “ I asked my dad about it a few days ago,” he muttered against the crook of your neck. “He told me it was still somewhere up here and that they were coming here over the weekend so I could come look for it then if I wanted to.”

You inhaled sharply as he sucked on that particular spot, licking the little mark when he was done, and kissed it. “What exactly are you trying to tell me, Jeon?” you basically gasped, eyes fluttering open.

“That I love you, baby,” Jungkook replied with very little hesitance. He met your gaze again and you finally realized what that look was, that vacant, dazed look he’d been holding this entire time. It was admiration; the look of a goofy, dorky man in love.

You smiled, a little giggle escaping you. You were about to tell him that you loved him too, when a strangled bird’s call sounded.

Jungkook’s face contorted with disgust as he looked around the attic for the source. “What the fuck was that?”

“The signal!” you shouted, quickly turning around to make your way back to the ladder.

In the midst of the excitement, you seemed to forget how little space there was for the two of you to move at the same time and you ended up tripping over your own feet, reaching for the box in front of you while Jungkook reached for your frame, trying to catch you before you fell.

The piles and bounds of letters and loose documents spilled out, a small little white box, tumbling out with them.

“Fuck, are you okay?” Jungkook asked, pulling you up. He had his hands on your hips, looking up and down your frame to make sure there weren’t any cuts or little bruises you collected from your fall.

You pushed his left hand away so you could bend down and pick the dusty little box. Jungkook fell silent beside you. Even covered with a thick layer of dust and dirt, it was still beautiful. You wiped the grim off with your finger as you stood back up, examining the tiger lily painted on the top. You looked up at him, silently asking to open it.

Jungkook smiled and nodded, eager to see what was inside too. You unclasped the gold hook and gently pushed it open. The soft, dream-like tune echoed in the room and you snapped your head up at Jungkook, immediately recognizing it. “How did you-”

“I didn’t,” he quickly replied, looking just as shocked as you did. “My grandma used to sing that to me all the time when I’d visit,” he explained.

The choked caw of a bird returned, louder this time, cutting over the sweet tune.

“Of all the signals to come up with,” Jungkook smirked. “You picked the sound of a dead bird?”

“It’s a dove,” you corrected.

He rolled his eyes, muttering a little “whatever” under his breath. You ignored him, about to walk back to the ladder when he suddenly picked you up.

“You have no idea how to get through here, babe, let’s not kid ourselves,” he chuckled as he carried you to the exit.

You descended down first, looking up at him. He was looking down at you, waiting for you to fully land on your feet before following. His eyes redirected to the right for a moment as a smile played on his lips. “What?” he nervously chuckled. “You’re missing the scolding.”

You reached up and pressed your lips to his softly, just as he had done to you earlier. “Thanks for the music box,” you smiled.

He looked up at the ceiling, trying to fight off a smile. “When did I say it was for you?” he teased as you descended down the ladder.

“Because I’ve been holding it since we found it and you hadn't asked for it back at all.”

He jumped down the last few steps, turning to look at you. He bit his lip to hold back his grin but it only made him want to smile even more. “I would like it back no-”

“Too late; it’s mine,” you declared, running away from him.

“(Y/N)!”

“Jungkook!”

#jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook fluff #bts jeon jungkook #bangtanfairygarden #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts jungkook #jungkook fluff #requested

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foolscapper · 4 years

Note

Spn prompt! I have a HUGE love of incoherent/delirious Sam and panicking/worried Dean, whether it's head injury, curse, blood loss, or dangerously high fever 👉👈

Your wish is my command! It ended up... longer than anticipated... but here you are! Unbeta’d, we die like men. This is weechesters and involves a kid being hurt, so if that’s something that’d bother anyone, feel free to skip over this!

(Posted to Archiveofourown as well.)

Sylvester Sharpe turned from the beat up Ford truck he'd parked on the corner of A Street and Cotton Circle after a voice coolly demanded his attention. The boy that met his critical stare was about half his age — youthful, maybe somewhere between sixteen or eighteen: dirty-blonde hair; strange old necklace; a charcoal black Led Zeppelin T-shirt, darker with sweat around a neckline littered with holes that implied he really loved that goddam shirt. Sylvester furrowed his brow, put out his cigarette on the lip of a truck bed full of trash and beer bottles and stolen shit he'd been selling to good buddies who know a thing or two about loose lips getting busted, and squinted at the boy like he were pea-sized.

"What?" Sylvester said, the clipped sound one of impatience.

"I said," the freckled boy replied back, terse, "Do they call you 'Sly' around here?"

Sylvester snorted, loose-limbed and careless and ready to move on to the nearest liquor store to get a new pack of Marlboros. He turned toward his open truck door to move along. He said, "Yeah, I'm Sly."

The kid lunged, and they were on ground in a few seconds flat.

An old man in an ivy cap walking his dog watched as the teenager started to beat the ever-loving shit out of him.

**************** **************** **************** ****************

You don't mess around when it comes to concussions. Concussions are traumatic brain injuries — sometimes it doesn't feel like that, because you think "oh, well, they just shook some screws loose; they just have some stars circling around their head, and they'll be fine in a few hours". But real life ain't cartoons.

If there's one thing you could give their old man credit for, it was that he never undervalued a trip to the ER when it came to the safekeeping of his son's brains. Dean had a concussion before, himself. Just before he turned fifteen; got thrown into a wall by a ghost before returning back to their hotel room and vomiting his guts out in a toilet not even worth pissing in. Sam had been about eleven, casting the kindest and most worried shadow over the hunch of Dean's back, rubbing his shoulders and nervously parroting Dad about how he absolutely shouldn't go to sleep, no matter how much he slurred he wanted to.

Dad looked up the nearest ER and drove him down.

The nurses had to stand there with their mouths in a thin, concerned line while Dean rambled on and on about how he'd caught a Chupacabra in a giant net once in Texas and ganked a vampire last week in Pasadena. And, of course, Dean also asked where Sam was — over and over and over and over — until Sam had to lean forward in his waiting room chair and wave at him, a constant reminder that he hasn't been left behind anywhere. Sam had tired lines around his mouth, then, and worry in his eyes that had been overcast with exhaustion. That's one of the few things Dean could remember about that night. Just thinking, 'Man, Sammy, why you look so tired?'

If he hadn't been so fucking concussed, the answer'd be obvious.

**************** **************** **************** ****************

Stuck in some half-dead town in Nevada in the summer of '95, Dean was more than a little restless; Dad had left them to go wipe a vampire nest a few small towns south, and apparently Dean hadn't been "big britches" enough to handle a hunt of that scope yet. Which was total horseshit, because he was sixteen; he could outdrink any old chump at the bar and he'd gotten a kill list so long that it rivaled a suburban mom's grocery list.

They settled into an apartment with no furniture save for a two-seated couch and some mattresses — and exactly two months worth of rent covered with no plans to renew — but at least it also had a television with a few channels, too. Sweating from the heat, he traded the urge to hunt with the privilege of kicking up his feet and watching The People's Court. School had ended an hour or so before, but Sammy'd stayed behind for some extracurricular club he'd been practically vibrating to join, and Dean had no plans to shoot it down while Dad wasn't around to comment on it.

There was a small struggle at the front door to unlock it, and Dean listened with a quirked eyebrow.

"You forget how human hands work, Stuart Little?"

The door creaked open a fraction in response, and then stayed that way for a moment. Through the sliver of open air, Dean heard a small sob that made his stomach fall through the couch, and as he swung himself up onto his feet Sam walked through the door and nearly right into him — it was easy to see why, because his right eye was completely swollen shut, purpled and shiny. Dry blood clung under his nose and matted one side of his head, and he swayed on his feet when Dean's hands jolted out to grab his shoulders. The kid's backpack was nowhere to be seen. Probably dropped and abandoned.

"Sam. Sammy." His hand reached to touch, and he found the bloody, clumped hair hid a lump the size of a golf ball, split and oozing. The kid shuddered with pain, and tears continued to leak down one side of his face. The fear mutates and splits off, leaving a new, fresh wave of emotion: fury. This isn't a monster. These aren't claw marks or some bruise caused by a furious ghost. Some punk-ass kids must have jumped him at the school and left him like this. And his brother walked all the way back here like that. He would even bet they aren't Sam's age. Sam wouldn't have let them do this without a hell of a fight.

He could barely stop the snarl of his lips, the cold calmness. "... Sam, who did this?"

"I don't..." Sam licked his lips, looking around like he wasn't sure where he was. Garbled words took time to form with a tied tongue. Dean could bet if he peeled the other eye open, the pupils would be mismatched in size. "I don't remember. I'm... I don't know. Dean."

The fury had to wait. He moved to walk Sam to the couch, planted him there and squeezed his brother's shoulder; another cold wave of outrage washed over him when Sam winced in pain, like something was hurt there, too. "It's okay. It's okay, little brother, just don't move. I'm going to clean you up, and we're gonna — get you to the urgent care. You hear me? It'll only take a minute."

He got the first aid from the bare kitchen cabinet, dug around for all the things he'd been familiar grabbing any time Dad had gotten his bell rang. He fumbled with the supplies with all the grace Sam had opening the front door. Uttered a sorry before he carefully pressed the gel icepack to Sam's eye. The other eye locked onto him, red and wet, glazed with delirium.

"Dean," Sam wept, and Dean had to focus hard to make out what he was saying: "Dean, I think I'm dead... I tried to find help, but nobody — nobody stopped... I think they can't see me. I think I'm a ghost."

Jesus. Yeah, the kid was concussed. Bad.

"No way. Not my little brother. Never gonna let that happen." His smile was strained as he grabbed Sam's wrist and raised the hand to the boy's own face. "Ghosts aren't big on crying, right? The salt would burn like a bitch."

"Dean..."

"Yeah?"

"My ears're weird... Sounds weird," he admitted weakly, like he'd done something wrong.

"It's okay, dude. You're concussed."

"... Oh." Sam sat for a moment. Looked around the small, unlived space. The People's Court was moving into a commercial. "Dean... Don' tell Dad. Don't tellem I messed up."

Dean pressed a palm to Sam's chest, his thumb gently rubbing the hill of his collarbone to soothe him. Usually about now they'd be wrestling over some stupid fight, or he'd be getting him into a headlock to test his reflexes, or Sam'd be throwing pencils at him for interrupting his train of thought at the kitchen table.

"You didn't mess anything up. I promise." It was a Herculean effort to keep his hands soft and caring, because all they wanted to do now was rip someone to pieces. He was gonna. As soon as Sam was good, he was gonna split his knuckles knocking someone's teeth out. He was gonna paint the dirt with it. Gonna blacken both eyes and bleed both nostrils and break a few things in someone's body.

... But only after making sure Sammy'd be alright.

Sam was missing a backpack and about forty bucks in money he'd earned from mowing lawns for the balding, dorky librarian living across the street. That same librarian ushered the boys into the back seat of her Sedan and made a beeline for the nearest ER. With Sam leaning against him, his knobby elbow jutting into his ribs, Dean answered a question nervously asked from the driver's seat.

"I don't know who did it. But I'm real good at hunting down whatever I got to."

**************** **************** **************** ****************

There was a gratifying sound of Sylvester's skull hitting the side of his own truck after Dean threw him into it headlong. Storming forward, he doesn't hesitate to pick Sly back up by his flannel jacket to do it all over again. "Taking from the grown-ups not good enough for you?! You think you can fucking steal from kids, huh?! Think you can beat up some kid a third your size, huh?! You fuck—"

Wheezing, Sylvester tried to drag himself up into the driver's seat of his truck, a feeble effort to escape his punishments. A small crowd from a barbershop across the street formed, but kept their distance — older ladies mostly who knew better than to put their hands between a dog fight. Dean ignored them to grab Sylvester by the front of his collar and hoist him a foot up from the seat he'd slumped on. Their faces were inches apart, so that he could look into hazel eyes seeing red. "If I ever see you again, I'mma kill you. Do you understand? Do I make myself clear? I'll sleep like a baby after."

Sylvester didn't reply, but he did moan in pain, and Dean considered that an answer. He dropped him and stepped over his heaving chest with dust-stained boots to retrieve a backpack out of the truck bed. Then he reached into the man's jean pocket with swelling knuckles, digging more than forty dollars out of the billfold he finds there and shoving the wad into his own pocket. Then he chucked the rest of the wallet across the unleased dirt field.

"Go fuck yourself," Dean said finally, and left just as he'd come.

**************** **************** **************** ****************

Dean and Sam could barely fit on the apartment's couch together, legs crammed together under a quilted blanket while the television had cast an ever-changing glow over them. Sam's face was still a mess of Dean's least favorite colors, but now he could see both of his eyes, and that helped loosen the knot in his stomach. John had been called from the ER, told the story from front to back, and he filled the teenager with grim vindication when he complimented Dean's recent successful hunt.

The verdict: a 24-hour observation in the hospital, during which John Winchester strode in to keep vigilant watch over Dean as he kept vigilant watch over Sam; he hadn't stopped watching him since they'd gotten home after, either. Dean could hear his father's snores through the door into the one bedroom. Who knows when the last time Dad slept had been; he'd come straight back from the end of the destroyed vamp nest, no pitstops.

"... Dean?" Sam asked after him, wearily. If he had a nickel for every time the boy said it today, he'd be a millionaire. But there was an awareness in Sam's eyes this time that had been frighteningly missing earlier, as he stared at him from across the short couch. In the ER, it had taken a lot of coaxing and promising that Sam wasn't as dead as he'd thought he was, and now Dean was very confident he finally believed it a day late and a dollar short.

"Yeah?"

"Your hands."

He glanced down at the bruised, scraped up knuckles, and just shook his head at the sight of Sam's apprehension; he hadn't told Sam exactly what happened, but his brother was smart. Smarter than most people who came and went in their lives. Smarter than Dean had ever felt he could be. He sighed as he flexed his hands. "Don't worry. I'm not going to jail for murder or anything. Just... rest, okay?"

Sam's chin sunk into the blanket. Not appeased, but relenting.

The battered kid mumbled, "You're the one who looks tired," then he smiled in that way that made Dean regret his bleeding heart. Dean's mouth opened for a moment, then closed. He played it off as best he could, but the rough emotion in the way he glanced aside and rubbed a hand down his mouth was hardly subliminal. "Yeah, well. Sometimes worrying too much is exhausting, dude."

Sam bit his lip. "I'll try not to worry you as much, then."

Dean reached out, patted the bony knee near his.

"... I might have to hold you to that."

But really? He would never.

#spn #supernatural #sam winchester #dean winchester #weechesters #preseries #spn prompts #spn fanfic #hurt!sam #hurt/comfort #warning for injured child!!!

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one-spidey-boii · 4 years

Text

BUMMER SUMMER || peter parker; ch eleven

read ch ten here

masterlist

an; hey friends. the world is very tense right now and my heart is broken. please be safe in whatever you do. please stand up for what’s right and support those who’s voices aren’t being heard. i hope this chapter can be a short little escape for you today. lots of love.

warnings; mentions of battle wounds (i.e. blood/scars/etc), smut, mature language, fluff, angst, both peter and oc are 18+!!

word count; 5k+

edie's pov

i'm gonna be completely honest here—i really like peter.

i'm kicking myself in the shin because it took me so long to realize it. the dorky boy who would follow me around like a puppy is now someone i find so incredibly attractive and strong and sexy and yikes i need to slow down. but, like it always does, a small pebble of doubt finds its way into my shoe and i can't ignore it.

we're nearing the end of june, meaning it's almost one third of the way through summer. i hate to think that maybe things will change when we go back home. maybe he won't want people to think we're a thing. wait- are we a thing? gosh, we haven't even had that conversation yet. i mean, i definitely wouldn't mind being with peter. ah, peter parker! who would of thought?

i'm laying smack dab in the middle of my bed with my arms and legs splayed out like a starfish. i'm sure i look like an idiot, just staring at the ceiling with a dopey smile on my face.

after i finished my phone call with mr. stark, it was practically dinner time. when i got back, peter was gone. but this time it didn't bother me, now that i know what’s truly up with him, and i’m sure he had a situation to take care of. i made dinner for myself and flopped on my bed, which is where i've been for the past hour.

footsteps sound off down the hall and i smile impossibly wider. i glance at the clock and notice it's only ten pm, but my excitement to see peter overshadows my concern. the footsteps stop outside my door and a soft knock raps on the wooden surface before it swings open slowly.

i raise my head to see peter standing straight up with both arms behind his back. he cocks his head and speaks, "hey you, did i wake you up?"

i shake my head and smile at him. i'm already growing impatient with his distance and i extend my arms out to him, making grabby hands with my fingers. he just chuckles at me and takes a few steps into the room.

peter is no longer in his suit and has changed into black joggers and a grey t-shirt. i let my eyes wander over his chest and shoulders. i blush when he clears his throat.

"i uh- well i guess you're curious why i'm back so early. um, so, this- is why." peter stumbles through his words before bringing his arms from behind his back and cradling the smallest kitten i've ever seen against his chest. the small fluff ball stares curiously at the room and lets out a small meow in my direction. i sit up completely.

"holy shit. that’s s a cat." i say, quite dumbfounded at the current situation. peter nods his head and lets out a breathy 'yeah' as he shifts his weight back and forth on his feet. "well bring it here!" i continue with a incredulous chuckle and a small grin. peter pads over to my bed with haste and plops the kitten on the comforter gently.

it wobbles on its feet for a few seconds before arching its back in a thorough stretch and settling into the mattress. i raise my hand and softly rub the kitten between the ears. peter is still standing next to my bed, his hands now in his pockets. i look between him and the cat and tilt my head slightly.

"where...did you get her? erm, him?" i question. he pulls his hands from his pockets and lifts one knee to lean against the bed.

"some people were messing with 'em and i don't know...i didn't know what else to do." he says with a shrug and lowers himself to rest on the bed with me. i look back to the cat and move to hold one of its paws, i smile when it doesn't pull away. with hesitant movements, i softly grip the animal under each arm and lift it up to get a look at its underside.

"um, i think it's a female? maybe?" i mumble as my cheeks flush and i place her back down on the bed. she pads over the peter's leg and nuzzles against his knee. i smile at the interaction between the two. peter runs his fingers down her spine and coos at her with the sweetest voice. he looks back up at me and shrugs.

"can i name her?" he pleads.

i look at him with fake hurt on my face, "and give me no say? i hardly think that's fair!" i gasp. peter rolls his eyes.

"i'm the one who found her. that kinda makes me her dad. so i think it's perfectly fair." he replies with a knowing smirk. i shake my head at the boy and gesture for him to continue.

"okay, okay, what's her name?" i push. he looks down at her and bites his bottom lip in thought. i think about how i want to run my thumb over it.

"how about 'cinder'? cause like she's grey and cinder is kinda grey i guess and i don't know. if you don't like it you can pick some-" i cut him off.

"that's cute, peter. cinder it is." i say with a wink as i move to pick her up again. she stares into my eyes with her own golden ones. i rub the back of her neck and she leans into my hand, making me chuckle at the little creature. perhaps she's just what we need around here. someone to take care of, someone i can take care of when peter is out.

"wait, do we even have any supplies for her? don't we need like, a litter pan? and food?" i ask, nervous that we don't have the proper things to take good care of the little thing. peter just shakes his head, "i already got it all. i had to sneak her around the store, but we got it all." he smiles at me. i return the gesture.

"now gimme, i wanna see her! gimme!" peter whines and reaches out to take her from my arms. cinder immediately lets out a low meow and wriggles around in peters arms. he struggles to keep a grip on her as she pushes against his chest and squirms like a worm in his hold. with one soft hiss, she bats a paw at peters chest and he lets her go with a high pitched yelp. she lands on the bed next to me and her tail twitches before she finds a comfortable spot on the mattress once again.

i turn to peter with a shocked face, "pfft, damn! doesn't look like she likes her dad very much." i tease before i take in his condition. a small line of red seeps through his white shirt a few inches below the collar. it's a thin line, but enough to make me want to take back my words, "oh shit, she got you good, pete." i point to his chest and pull his shirt down to take a closer look.

he furrows his eyebrows and tilts his chin down to look at the scratch, "ah, she's gonna be a momma's girl i guess." he mumbles, defeated. i perk an eyebrow up at him and withdraw my hands from his shirt.

"are you insinuating that this is our child?" i point to cinder who is curled in a tight ball, "i'm not ready to have children right now, if ever, mr. parker." i challenge jokingly, but the last part isn't too far from the truth. growing up without seeing my dad for long stretches of time made me realize a few things— i never want to not be there for my children and i never want to leave my partner behind to take care of them alone. and taking care of the city and working with mr. stark is something i love, i don't see myself giving that up any time soon.

"well- n-no! i mean, yes? but it's just a joke, obviously we haven't had sex or anything yet. ah! not that i expect us to, well i guess id l-like that but pfft what am i talking about, yanno? what do i know?" peter rambles and shuts his mouth tight when he's finished. i lower my head, sharing the awkward moment with him and look up at him through my lashes. he gulps. i take a deep breath in.

"let's clean you up, yeah?" i say, desperate for a new topic. he nods his head vigorously and leans his body in towards mine. my chest squeezes at his closeness. my thoughts linger to the future and what it might be like if peter and i were together. would we get married? would we fight crime together? does he want kids?

i force my body to move and i stumble over my feet to my bathroom, leaving peter on the bed. my hands shake as i grab a hand towel and run it under warm water. i also grab an alcohol wipe and a bandage before stepping back into the bedroom. peter stares at me patiently.

i offer him a tight lipped smile as i make my way back over to him. he naturally angles his chest towards me as i nestle myself between his legs and pull down on the collar of his shirt.

"i-i can take it off. i-if it's easier." he suggests. i blush, but nod for him to do so. peter snakes his arms around his frame and grips the hem of his shirt on either side before pulling it over his head. i try to suppress the gasp that leaps up my throat and it gets caught there.

what i had done to peter earlier in the day was simply to mess with him. i was too focused on making him squirm than actually paying attention to what i was doing. it now dawns on me that i was so close to him, so close to parts of him that made me shiver. i want peter, and i'm sure he knows that, but i don't want to give myself away too easily. i internally frown at myself for possibly giving away the wrong impression.

i toss the thoughts away, "okay," i whisper weakly. my hands move to dab the warm, wet cloth over his scratch. i see him flinch at the contact, "is it cold? i tried for warm water." i explain, mocking his reaction up to nothing but the temperature.

"n-no. it's good." he says breathily. i smile, but keep my eyes on his chest and the subsiding blood. i set the hand towel down and pick up the disinfectant wipe, tearing it open with numb finger tips.

my eyes flutter back up to his briefly, "it might sting a little." i warn softly. he nods his head. with featherlike touches, i clean the scratch and i can feel myself relax a little into his legs.

"what are you so nervous around me?"

i freeze at peter's question and lower my hands down, "i'm not?" i say, which comes out as more of a question.

"you are." he insists.

my stomach flutters at the softness of his tone, letting me know he's not speaking in an accusatory way, but that he's simply curious. i don't know if i have an answer though.

i end up shrugging, "i've always gotten nervous around people i like." i conclude, choosing to be honest with the boy before me. his eyes never leave mine as he smiles and pushes a piece of hair away from my eyes.

"you don't have to be nervous, hun. i'm the one who has a right to be nervous," he jokes. then he reaches for my empty hand and raises it to his chest, placing it right above his heart, his hand is warm over mine, "don't you feel it?" he asks, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. but i do. i feel his heartbeat beneath my fingers as it beats a mile a minute. his warm chest rises and falls slowly as i trace my pointer finger in circles on his hot skin. i reluctantly pull my hand away from him.

"thank you." i whisper, curling in on myself and taking a small step back. peter tilts his head, "for what?" he asks, eyes wide and confused.

"for being the sweetest man in the whole world." i say with a toothy smile, which he returns. it goes silent again as i open the bandaid and place it over the already better looking scratch. then without a second thought, i bring my hands to his cheeks and hold them gently. his skin is cool to the touch, but slowly warms under my hold. i lean down to his level and place a delicate kiss on the tip of his nose.

before i can pull away, peter places his hands over mine to keep me there. our eyes flicker over each other's faces as we appreciate the soft moment together. i lean in again and ghost my lips over his, but i don't connect them completely. he whines when i slip my hands out from under his and move to clean up the scraps of the bandaid and toss it in my bedside waste bin.

"let me see you." he mumbles and grabs me by the hem of my cotton shirt. i resist against his tug and plant my feet.

"see what, peter?" i ask, my senses catching aflame at what he may be asking. he cocks his head and stares at me with his warm, dark eyes. they show no intent of harm or malice and i kick myself for ever thinking they might. his hands slip under the hem of my shirt and rest gently on my hips. before i can protest, he's pulling my top up under my breasts to expose my entire side, but i don't cover myself.

"it looks good, like it's really healing." he chirps, bringing a smile to both of our faces.

"well i'd hope so."

our heads snap to the open doorway of my bedroom. peter's hands drop from my body, i go cold.

"hey, kids." mr. stark greets, leaning against the frame of the door with an all knowing grin on his face.

when i said getting stabbed was the closest i've ever felt to death- i lied. it's right now.

right now in this frozen moment, the three of us flicker our eyes between each other, afraid to make the first move.

tony stands in the doorway, arms crossed and a hip popped out to the side. his face is stoic and tense, aside from his left eyebrow that is arched in question as the scene that was about to unfold in front of him. i don’t even know what that would have been. that’s a lie, yes i do. maybe.

peter still sits on the bed, his hands cup over his naked chest as if he doesn't want anyone to see him. he's breathing deeply and is as still as a statue. his eyes never drift to mine, even as my own beg for him to look in my direction.

then there's me- arms pulled in front of my torso, fingers tangled together as i pull the edge of my shirt down past my belly button. my head reels as i take in the situation before me. the room flashes red as my brain deems it a code red, all with the awful sirens blaring to match my beating heart.

"well i can't say i'm surprised." mr. stark tuts with his tongue and continues to look at peter and i like he caught us drawing on the wall with crayons, "and peter- stop doing that it's weird."

peter snaps his hands away from his chest and sets them in his lap, lowering his eyes to watch his thumbs fumble over one another. i look at him expectantly, hoping he will come to my rescue and make this all go away.

when he doesn't, and continues to sit there and shut down, i internally sigh and take charge.

"peter was just checking up on my scar, mr. stark. like you asked." i say plainly, pushing the sirens and frantic heart beats to the side. peter raises his head at my voice and nods numbly in reply. tony brings his hand to his chin and rubs it while tapping his foot. he's fully entering parent mode now and i want to roll my eyes.

"right, yes, of course! how silly of me! walking in here to see two of my best pupils nearly shirtless and touching each other! harmless check up between two pals, for sure." he rambles and flails his arms about the stuffy room.

"it wasn't anything more than that, sir." peter mumbles, his voice soft. my heart feels heavy in my chest and my eyes linger on peter before turning back to mr. stark with empty eyes and an empty feeling in my stomach.

"if you say so, kid. i just...i don't want you guys to get caught up in some- what is that?!" tony changes lanes quickly as he points to cinder, who is still laying in a tight little ball in the middle of my bed. i move towards her and scoop her up in my arms before taking her over to him.

"this is cinder. uh, peter found her while on patrol." i explain and hold her out to him. mr. stark reluctantly takes her into his arms and tucks her against his chest. he lowers his chin to look down on her fluffy body and rubs her cheek, she leans into him. i can see him soften at her and i hold back a smile.

"oh, okay. she can stay. yeah, you can stay." he practically coos in her direction. he turns on his foot and looks over his shoulder, "go to bed you two. in your respective rooms." he eyes us before walking away. he cradles cinder in his arms and continues to coo down the hall, "and you're coming with me, little lady..."

i angle myself towards peter and offer him a smile. he doesn't meet my eyes as he swiftly leaves my room and makes his way towards his bedroom.

it's the next morning when a knock on my door wakes me up. i stiffly sit up in bed and mumble a 'come in'.

mr. stark enters the room and shuts the door behind him. i rub my eyes with my palms and wait til my vision adjusts to say anything.

"uh, morning?" i say with a groggy voice.

he turns to face me and i can't stifle the laugh that leaves my mouth. tony stands there in a dark t-shirt and jeans. his shirt is covered in cat hair and his eyes are tired as he stares at me. cinder is perched on his shoulders, her head on one and her back legs hanging off the other.

he sighs, "get this thing off of me. she won't leave me alone. i don't know what else to do." he takes large strides over to my bedside and reaches his hands around to pull the kitten away from him. she digs her claws into his back and clings to him while he lets out a string of cuss words.

i roll my eyes and swat his hands away before picking cinder up. it proves to be a true struggle as she continues to claw at tony's back. he yelps when i finally get her off and she plops her tiny body onto the bed. my abrupt wake up is making me irritable, and tony notices.

"sorry to bother you, your highness, but we have some things to discuss." i roll my eyes again and open my mouth to speak.

"mr. stark, peter and i weren't doing anything i swear-" the man cuts me off. my eyes flare at him.

"oh really?"

"yes, really. he was just looking at the scar and-"

"cause peter says otherwise."

i shut my damn mouth, "what?"

tony sits on the edge of my bed and props his chin up on his hand as his elbow rests on his knee. he begins to flutter his eye lashes obnoxiously and tilts his head to the side, "peter said he loooves you." he draws out the words and they seep into my brain.

"w-what?"

"i'm just kidding, kid, lighten up." my face falls and i can't help it. if i could have one wish, it would be to have the ability to hide things from tony. my only goddamn wish.

his face softens, "ah shit, wolfie. what's going on?" he sits up straight and leans in an inch to show he's here and listening. i gulp and look away from his worried stare. the way peter left me last night sends a chill down my spine. one that doesn't make me smile or sigh in relief, but one that makes me scared for the future.

"i- um, i guess peter and i have gotten closer?" i say it as a question. i never thought of how to put everything that's happened into words for someone who had no idea about peter and i. i take a deep breath, "and i guess we're a thing?" tony's eyebrows fly up to his hairline, i try and back pedal, "well, wait i don't know actually- i mean he may not want to be, but i thought that maybe that's where it was going. b-but now that someone knows about it, he doesn't seem too happy." i trail off and rest my throbbing head in my hands.

after peter left last night, i spent hours in bed, staring at the ceiling. my body felt cold and brittle, like my bones would snap if breathed too hard. peter's speedy retreat hurt, and it gave room in my heart for the seed of doubt to grow and blossom.

tony's voice brings me back, "i did talk to peter. last night. and kid, i'll tell you what- that boy has some weirdly intense feelings for you." he chuckles, but i don't join in.

"but you said at the beginning that you didn't want anything to happen between us. and i'm so sorry that i let it-" he cuts me off and i groan.

"edie, i don't care if you and peter get funky while i'm not around. you're adults for christ sake! and do you really think i didn't see it coming? i pretty much know everything." he says with a smug face by the end of his lecture. i shake my head and hold back the few tears that threaten to spill.

"yeah, yeah i know you do." i laugh through all the emotions that pass over me and allow one tear to fall. tony gestures to nothing, "see? you know i know. all is well now."

i nod my head slowly at him, but i don't meet his eyes. part of me is embarrassed for making a big deal out of nothing, but to me it wasn't nothing. we're talking about peter here, a boy that i adore and it would've broken my heart if tony didn't approve.

"thank you, mr. stark." i say, forcing myself to finally meet his eyes. he gives me a soft smile and a curt nod before he begins to stand. i stop him, "when can i go out again?" i ask. tony halts his movement and sinks back down into the mattress.

"that depends on how you're feeling." he says simply.

"i feel fine. the pain is gone. it's just numb now." i explain with wide eyes, hoping to convey my honesty. he sits there, thinking for a few long seconds. my mind goes in a million different directions as i wait for him to say something.

he does with a tight lipped smile, "give it a few more days, kid. we'll get you back out there soon enough. i promise." he stands up again and ruffles my hair teasingly before walking away.

"mr. stark!" i call out to grab his attention and he turns back around, "how long are you staying?" i ask.

he shrugs, "just for tonight."

peter's pov

the wind pushes against my body as i swing past building after building, all of them muddling together. the sky is pink and orange, the sun slipping down below the horizon once again. i slow down and pick a rooftop to land on. i lower myself down into a sitting position and watch the sky change colors as stars begin to poke out in the dark.

the night is quiet. no disturbances needing my attention, which gives me ample opportunity to continue looking for the pair that hurt edie. i close my eyes beneath my mask and focus on my surroundings. the air is chilly and nips at my arms and legs. the only noise prominent enough is the droll of street traffic below me. my fingers lay flat on my thighs and i drum them over my suit. i take a deep breath and engage my enhanced hearing.

i hear the thud of boots and the clacking of heels on the sidewalk. i hear mumbles and tired voices scattered throughout the streets. i can pick up the faint music that plays from someone's headphones. and i can hear someone's heartbeat. it pounds from the alleyway below and i notice the slight palpitations that skip through the rhythm every so often.

i hone in on the sound, it's loud and sporadic. i open my eyes and stand up quickly, surveying the alleyway, my eye catches movement to my left and i peer down onto the scene before me.

a young girl is whispering harshly at a man, spit flying from her mouth. i narrow my eyes and try to focus on her words and movements. suddenly her body stills and she gives the man a pointed look before changing her personality completely and taking on an insecure outwards appearance. her shoulders slump and her arms wrap around themselves simultaneously with the man who straightens his body to cower over her. he begins to whisper crude things to the girl, words that make me uncomfortable.

a rustle from the end of the alleyway grabs my attention. a dog fumbles through, happy and running. behind him is a man. he's flustered and sweaty and his heart beat is pounding in my ears. the oblivious dog runs out of the dark side street and around the corner. the tired man slows to a stop a few meters from the couple, cautious of the situation. the tall man ignores the presence of the sweaty man and raises his arm to hit the girl.

i watch the next moments in horror.

the intimidating man slaps the girl across the face and her head snaps in the direction of the hit. the tired man runs to jump on the guy and struggles to tackle him to the ground. he does, and the girl scurries away and out of sight. the two men struggle with each other, the tired man maintaining his hold on the other. out of the corner of my eye the woman returns and i see an object shine in her hand. before i can do anything, she brings the object down on the stranger and stabs him in the back. he sputters and gasps and rolls onto his side. the woman speaks.

"don't you just hate being stabbed in the back?" she takes long, heavy steps around the bleeding man, "well, that's what you get for taking the risk. helping a stranger isn't as luxurious as it seems."

it's then that everything i've just witnessed makes sense, as horrible as that sounds, i've found edie's attackers.

with an outraged cry i jump down from my position on the building and land in front of the two attackers. they flinch in surprise before the woman straightens up and a devilish smile breaks out onto her face, "ah! my little spider boy, you've finally found us."

i ignore her words and shoot a web at her hands, hoping to cuff them together. she moves at the last second and my attack hits the man in the crotch and he doubles over in pain. i shoot another web at her and it pins her foot to the ground. in one smooth swoop, she bends down to cut the web away and straightens back up to throw the knife at my head. i dodge the weapon and stumble over the bleeding man. the knife just nicks my forearm, but damn it stings.

my attention snaps to the man on the ground and my body is leaning down to help him. my brain is telling me to keep fighting, but every other part of my being needs to help this man. i flip him onto his stomach and rip away the shirt on his back.

"sir, i need you to stay with me okay? sir? just keep breathing, don't move. oh god." i can't stop myself from focusing on the blood. there’s so much blood. i use a web to close up the wound and apply pressure. the clunk of footsteps fleeing the scene makes my blood boil as i make a move to go after them. but i'm stopped by the man, laying before me, his hand grabs my wrist and he chokes on his words.

"please. please don't go. i don't want to die alone. you can't leave." my breathing slows and my head fills with conflicting emotions. i want nothing more than to run from this man, going against everything i've ever been taught, and chase down the bastards that attacked the only person that truly matters to me. i know i should stay, call for help and comfort the injured man, but my feet are already moving and i'm shooting a web to the top of the nearest building and swinging away.

i turn on my comm, "mr. stark? it's peter, i need you to come out here to an alleyway between 34th and 11th. there's a man, he's been hurt. i gotta go after edie's attackers. i found them. i found them, mr. stark."

|| taglist; @my-patronus-is-mabel-pines @whycantileaveyou @lovewolfspirit @kitykatnumber @franksholland @goddamnit5sos @thehugslut @fandom-phaser

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hazbincalifornia · 4 years

Text

Kind of rambly Angel-figuring-out-Stella’s-Deal thing. Still trying to nail down Angel’s character.

Angel Dust’s line of work relied on knowing people. Knowing when the mood dipped just a bit, knowing what would most comfort or arouse someone within just a few seconds of seeing them, knowing how to react when they drop something on your lap that you didn’t expect like ‘my brother died on this day 20 years ago’ or ‘no one knows I’m gay’ or ‘you sound just like my cousin, call me ‘sport’?’

His job (and sometimes, his life) depended on keeping clients happy, or at least satisfied enough that he had a head start when they started reaching for their weapons if things went sour, and that required reading the room and storing away secrets dumped on the one-and-done hooker whenever he got pushed out on the street. Most of them were forgotten as soon as he stepped out the door, but a few, the most interesting or sad, he kept tucked away. It was kind of nice, to feel needed.

When it came to little Stella, he knew she was hiding something almost immediately. He knew plenty of imps, Val hired them both to work at the clubs and because they could move between the rings, but he’d never seen one that looked like her. Something had gotten fucked up in her gene pool, but it didn’t look like a mutation- it looked like her dad had banged either a sinner or somebody in the upper echelons, and sinners were as stone-cold sterile as a radioactive granny, so royalty it was.

Usually, he didn’t care that much about politics. He’d play parties, sure, but as long as nobody tried to take his eyes out or plug him full of holes- just plug his holes, heh- it didn’t matter really who he was dealing with, so paying attention to who was who didn’t matter. Val provided protection that covered anything his guns didn’t anyway. They were really all the same to him, and it all blurred together after decades and decades. He was good at picking up the air of places as soon as he got there, and the human brain could only hold so much, so why waste the space on people he’d only see a few times?

There were a few he did remember, though- generally, they were the ones that were genuinely nice. Most of those hoity-toity jagoffs were just as bad as the sinners, high on privilege and wealth, so the ones that weren’t tended to stick out.

Which was what brought him here. Stella had invited him to follow her Voxtagram account. Most of it was pretty typical kid-stuff, or at least what he thought was typical kid-stuff. He didn’t really hang out with kids much. There were a few of her hidden in vents or behind corners, with little blurry knees or elbows of people she was stalking. True to her word, she hadn’t posted any pictures of him yet, although she’d put up one of her making a silly face in front of the Hotel’s front door.

What interested Angel, though, was one where she was drinking a shake next to the imp that must have been her dad (he’d been in a bunch of the pictures, actually, and they were in matching clothes a few times) with... Stolas.

Nice guy. Had actually come to Angel with a question about fashion a time or two, and said he was a fan. Angel vaguely remembered him giving really good tips on a cam stream once, and he seemed pleasant enough, even when ordering a custom video afterwards away from the public eye. Really seemed to love his daughter, in a kind of dorky dad way. Angel had once or twice absently wished he could have had a dad like that.

Now, though, he wasn’t so sure. Stella had a half-smile around the shake as her dad and Stolas were playing... it looked like checkers, maybe? He thought he remembered seeing something like that at a park near the left side of the Pentagram. It looked like the imp was losing pretty badly.

Angel scrolled down a little further, trying to see if there’d been anything else with the owl prince. You’d have to be an idiot to not see the similarities, and he was no idiot, but... there was another one of Stella with her dad and two other imps, as well as a hellhound and Stolas again. The caption was just something about a business party. When they were directly next to each other, it was even clearer.

Stella hugged herself. “I... I know he cares, and he says it so often, but... I just wish I could call the other one dad in public. Just once, so I don’t feel like I’m crazy, and have him say it back so it feels real.”

Angel rubbed her shoulder. “Family sucks sometimes. Your normal dad cares though, right?”

“Yeah, he does...”

“Hold on to that, then. Not everybody’s got that. But I get why you’re upset. Having to see somebody be one way in public and then another in private really, really sucks.”

She sniffled, leaning against his side, and he popped out another pair of arms to hug her closer.

They looked happy, in the business party picture, but when he clicked over to Stolas’s page, there was only one picture of maybe-Stella, and it was sort of blurry, talking about how he brought over a gift package for a ‘friend’s’ daughter who was sick.

Angel chewed on his lower lip for a moment before sighing and falling back on the bed.

From what he could get out of Stella, her ‘other dad’ didn’t want to claim her officially because he was afraid of her being hurt, but was mostly pretty loving when they were out of the public eye. Not the worst circumstance. She was probably better off learning how to fend for herself on the ground instead of being groomed up as a prissy little princess, especially as a half-imp. Still.... still, she still clearly had some issues because of it, and it sounded like nobody at home really knew how to handle it because they couldn’t actually fix anything that was causing it so it just got pushed down and ignored.

It was always so much easier to just push it down, but seeing the cracks from the outside tugged at his heartstrings. Getting it out seemed to help, though, at least a little. Nuggets climbed up on his stomach, and Angel smiled at the pig.

“Well, guess I’ll just have to be like.... well, not a dad. Older brother, maybe? Uncle? I’unno, something like that.”

He could keep a secret, and if he could help keep a kid happy, maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

#hotel stella #stella #daddy blitzo #angel #shadow writes stuff

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purplecatghostposts · 4 years

Note

Gordon 👀

GOOOORDON FREEMAN,,, IN THE FLESH,,, OR RATHER,,, THE HEV SUIT,,

Favorite Thing About Them

There’s a LOT of things I love about Gordon but Dad Gordon is one of my FAVORITES. I feel like it explains a lot about his character? Like he just goes with what most people say, i.e. “I had a wife but they took her in the divorce!” and “Drink soda, it’ll help you SEE faster!” and “Its okay, I’m not human” and that entire thing about Bubby being able to turn into a car. It could be that he’s too tired to deal with it but y’know I like the idea that Gordon is just used to hearing a LOT of just utter nonsense from Joshua because kids and their imaginations are WILD so he just hears half of this stuff and goes, “Yeah okay, that’s great” because it’s his dad-instincts to just go with it.

Least Favorite Thing About Them

I feel so bad because pretty much everyone bullies him (myself included-) and holy shit that poor guy needs a break- p l e a s e someone give him a break- he’s so stressed all the time he needs more Gordon Happy Moments-

Favorite Line

I know a lot of people love this but “One, two, three, GORDON!” Just makes me laughhh. Gordon’s just a dorky dad at heart.

brOTP

Gordon and Coomer! They have a LOT of great canon interactions and I love em! Anytime I see Gordon and Coomer hugging, I gain +1 life. They’re just really sweet, y’know?

OTP

Surprise to no one, Frenrey. Let’s talk about Gordon Pining because it is the GOOD stuff. I like the idea that Gordon has pre-existing feelings for Benrey but has zero idea they exist until either A: Someone points it out or B: They become too strong to ignore. And then Gordon immediately has an, “OH SHIT I LIKE BENREY??” Moment that sends him into a crisis and he starts hardcore pining after that. Benrey knows he’s acting weird but is clueless as to why. Mutual pining because they’re both idiots? That’s the stuff.

nOTP

Uhhh I can’t think of anything to be honest?

Random Headcanon

I love the idea of Gordon being a jock-nerd and that he’s got a dad bod and he’s STRONG. He’s not as strong as Coomer but he can and WILL pick you up if you tempt him. Benrey finds this out one morning when he refuses to get out of bed and taunts Gordon like, “You’re gonna have to make me” and is NOT ready for Gordon throwing him over the shoulder like a sack of potatoes without hesitation. Everyone forgets that Gordon, as a Dad, will not back down. If he can manage to get Joshua to bed when he’s refusing to lay down because he wants to stay up all night rewatching cartoons, then he can put his foot down on pretty much everything else. You cannot break him. Gordon’s both survived Black Mesa and fatherhood (which is ongoing). He can survive anything.

Unpopular Opinion

I never know what to say for these things, I don’t think I got any?

Song I Associate With Them

Gold By Imagine Dragons because I especially feel like it could apply to Player Gordon watching all the AIs around him turn sentient, you get me?

Favorite Picture Of Them

Gordon “Fetal Position” Freeman

#SB Speaks #Character Ask Game #hlvrai gordon freeman #Ask #I love Gordon so much-#Thank you for the ask!!#as per ususal you’re allowed to send another

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mydarlingvioletine · 5 years

Text

‘Just a Puppy Crush’

Ship(s): Violet/Clementine

Media: The Walking Dead Game (Season 4)

Summary: a zombie-less modern AU in which two dorks finally get together with the help of their friends.

Chapter 1

It started out with an invitation Violet found on her desk. A light purple envelope, her name written on it in beautiful calligraphy.

Well, it started a little bit before that.

Violet missed her alarm. And six of the backup ones she had set in advance. Her mother had left early for her shift at the diner and her father didn’t come home last night, so she slept peacefully and uninterrupted.

Until she lazily stretched out with a yawn, eyes opening and landing on the alarm clock across her.

7:20

She hardly had time to register what it said before the alarm started angrily beeping again.

“Holy shit… Fuck… Shit!” Violet scrambled to get up, smacking the top of the alarm clock to silence the robotic screaming. She threw her sheets to the side, grabbing her jacket off the door hook on the way out.

While vigorously brushing her teeth, she looked down at her phone.

15 missed messages from Pain in My Ass.

[ur uber is Here… am outside]

[got your drink & bagel, where are u?]

[viiiioooooleeet]

[ v i o l e t ]

[did you put the key in a different spot?]

[coward.]

Violet scrolled through the herd impatiently, getting to the latest messages, about 15 minutes ago.

[violet please fucking get up i didnt do my english homework i need to copy off of you marlon won’t let me copy his anymore]

[fuck i have to go i cant be late to pre-session but I’ll have brody come check on you to see if you can make the late entrance with her! ill keep your breakfast with me im sure mr. everett wouldn’t give a shit if you ate in class. i do it all the time]

As if on cue, there was a faint, nervous knock on the door. God bless Brody.

“Be right there!” Violet shouted, quickly throwing her work messily into her backpack. She grabbed a couple dollars off the kitchen table for lunch, threw on her boots, and booked it towards the door.

"Hey,“ Brody grinned at the shaggy-haired, droopy-eyed messy Violet in front of her. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

Violet grimaced, mumbling to herself as she ducked into the passenger seat of Brody’s truck. She caught a glimpse of herself in the rearview mirror, and pulled up the hoodie of her jacket to cover her shame.

The drive felt like forever, with Brody’s insufferable choice of music. Who still listens to Coldplay? In 2019? Violet was too grateful to complain, and clenched her jaw to hold her tongue.

Brody tried to hold a conversation, but Violet was too out of it to contribute anything other than nods and the occasional “mhm.”

“Then Marlon was mad at me! I can’t believe that guy. I swear, if he wasn’t my best friend I’d…” Brody’s voice petered out as she pulled into the school parking lot, backing into her spot next to Louis’ car.

Violet immediately jumped out, gave a quick “thankyousomuchioweyouone,” and booked it towards the front doors of the school. The front desk ladies were distracted, so Violet was able to sneak past them and make her way down to the math wing.

106… 108… 110!

Relieved, Violet peeked through the window, seeing Marlon’s pathetic excuse for a haircut as confirmation that she was at the right place.

She tried her best to quietly open the door as to not interrupt the class and draw attention to herself, but wasn’t surprised when the door noisily creaked open, everyone’s heads turning towards her.

Really, Ericson? Ever heard of WD 40?

Violet shyly ducked her head, placing herself between Louis and Aasim. Before she could say anything, Louis placed her coffee and bagel on her desk, a patient smile on his face.

Violet was able to manage a “thank you” while she was scarfing down the bagel. Cheeks full and a dab of cream cheese hanging on her top lip, it’s safe to say that she did not expect Clem to approach her desk at that moment with the worksheet she’d missed.

“Hey, Vi,” Violet’s head jerked up, meeting eyes with Clementine. Embarrassed, she took a tissue and wiped her face, swallowing before she took the worksheet from Clem’s hands. “Grabbed this for you.”

“Thanks,” Violet managed to stammer, giving a sheepish smile while pulling her pencil case out of her pocket. Clementine hadn’t moved.

Violet tensed up, waiting for Clem to make a comment on her appearance or tease her. Instead, she placed an envelope on top of the worksheet, uncertainty embedded in her actions.

"Uh, that’s for you. I’m having a birthday party tomorrow night at my house.“ Clem pushed the envelope towards her with emphasis, and cleared her throat nervously. "You don’t have to come if you don’t want. It’s on a Friday night and I know you probably have pla-”

“No,” Violet interrupted her, her voice louder than she anticipated. She received an exhausted look from Mr. Everett. “I’ll totally be there.”

Clementine immediately perked up, a dorky smile on her face. “Awesome. Oh, and it’s gonna be a sleepover. You don’t have to stay for that.”

Violet frowned, cocking her head and looking at Clem under a suspicious lens. “You don’t have to invite me, y'know.” She sighed, placing the envelope back into Clementine’s hands. “I get it.”

Clem froze up, visibly upset. “No, fuck. I really want you to come. I just didn’t know if that was your kind of thing.”

Violet, unconvinced, lowered her eyes and took a sip of her coffee. Cold. The heat of Clem’s hand covering her own was a nice contrast to that.

Wait.

“I want you there,” Clementine insisted, squeezing her hand between her own. The heat from the touch quickly flushed to Violet’s face, her pale skin unable to mask the blush that covered it. “Please come.”

Louis and Aasim exchanged an annoyed glance at the useless sapphics. Mr. Everett had stood up and taken an interest to their conversation at this point.

“Clem, go back to your seat please,” Mr. Everett cleared his throat, to which Clem recoiled, dropping Violet’s hand. “Violet is more than capable and doesn’t need hands-on help.”

Clem, face red and flustered, ducked her head and moved back to her seat in the front of the classroom. “Sorry, da- I mean Mr. Everett.” She squeaked, glancing over her shoulder one more time at Violet, uncertainty and sadness on her face.

Mr. Everett continued the lecture, but Violet was too busy staring out the window. She was completely zoned out. She figured she’d just get the notes from Aasim later. She saw Louis give her the occasional worried glance out of the corner of her eye, and kept her focus on the kids playing in the courtyard.

The class couldn’t have gone any slower, but eventually the bell rang, and all the tension that had built up in Violet’s muscles was relieved.

She didn’t know why this class stressed her out so much. She was pretty good at math, only the second highest grade in the class behind Aasim. Mr. Everett made her feel uneasy.

He wasn’t a bad guy. Quite the opposite, really. He was a fun teacher who had gone to great lengths to help Violet out with her work. A little by-the-book, but a big sweetheart.

Plus, he picked on Louis a lot. So he was pretty likeable in her eyes.

Clementine had gone up to Mr. Everett and they were now talking, Clem dropping the classroom decorum to tug on his arm and take a $5 dollar bill out of his wallet for lunch.

Violet didn’t realize she was staring until both of their gazes landed on her. Startled, she pulled her hoodie back over her head and started gathering her books as quick as she could. She could hear distant murmuring, but couldn’t make anything out.

Her panic was interrupted by Louis swinging an arm around Violet’s shoulders, holding an almost identical envelope up in front of her face, but it was green.

"If it’s about transportation, I can pick you up. C'mon, the Vi I know and love would never miss out on a chance to get her ass handed to her in Super Smash Bros.“ Louis teased, earning a playful punch on the shoulder from Violet.

"Yeah, right,” Violet rolled her eyes, looking over at Aasim to see he also had one, but orange. “You going?”

"Nah, my moms are taking me camping this weekend.“ Aasim chirped, a glint of mischievousness in his voice. Noticing the curious glances from his two friends, he cracked an evil grin and spoke one word. "Campfire.”

“Smokey the Bear, Aasim,” Violet giggled, shaggy hair falling in front of her eyes. “What can you do to prevent forest fires?”

Louis laughed while Aasim rolled his eyes, picking up his backpack and swinging it over his shoulder. “I’ll see you guys at lunch.”

Aasim was gone for what seemed like half a second when Clementine appeared at her desk again, followed by Mr. Everett. Violet froze, her grip on her books tight.

“My dad wants to introduce himself. Not as Mr. Everett, but as ‘Cool Dad Lee.’” Clem raised her hands to make air quotes, while Le- Mr. Everett held out his hand to shake Violets’.

Bewildered, she shook his hand.

“Hello, Violet,” Mr. Everett looked happy, glancing between Clem and she. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

That line earned an elbow in the stomach from Clementine. Violet, still frozen, gave a robotic laugh.

“Oh, I wanted to tell you to ignore that part of the envelope where it says 'presents mandatory.’ My mom is a bit of a smart-ass.” Clem snorted, before cocking an eyebrow over at Louis. “Not you though, rich boy.”

Louis gave her some finger guns, a big, goofy smile on his face. “Respect for that.”

The second bell rang, interrupting the conversation. Violet threw her backpack over her shoulder, and shot a glance towards Louis. “Fuck, Ms. Martin is gonna be so pissed.”

"I’ll write you a pass. Don’t worry about it.“ Mr. Everett pulled a notepad out of his pocket and took the pen that was perched on Clementine’s ear. "Just.. try to make sure he actually gets there.” Mr. Everett gestured to Louis, who gave a mock gasp at the implication.

“Will do,” Violet promised, grabbing Louis by the neck of his coat. “I’ll uh.. see you two tomorrow night.”

“You’re coming?” Clem squealed, her eyes giving away how happy she was. Violet nodded sheepishly, looking back at Mr. Everett before dragging Louis out of the classroom.

“I like that girl,” Lee stated, capitalizing on the blush that had taken over Clem’s cheeks. “Reminds me of someone.”

Clementine rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, tapping her foot impatiently as he made up a pass for her. “That’s good…”

Lee tore off the front page of the notepad, and held it high before giving it to Clem. “You have my blessing.”

Clementine’s flustered state turned into a fit of anger, as she jumped up to try and grab the pass out of his hand. “Shut. Up.” Clem grabbed onto the slip, wrenching it out of his arm. “I introduce you as my Cool Dad and this is how you repay me?”

Lee chuckled, putting the pen back behind her ear. “If you think I’m bad, just wait ‘til Carley sees her.. Oh, boy.. Her cheeks are gonna be red from all that pinching.”

Clementine huffed and stomped out of the classroom, putting all of her weight onto her prosthetic foot, so it noisily clattered. She kept up the noise until she knew she was out of ear shot, and smiled to herself, bunching the bottom of her sweatshirt up in her hands.

Her seventeenth birthday was going to be perfect.

#twdg #the walking dead game #twdg violet #twdg clementine #twdg louis #twdg aasim #twdg ruby #twdg brody #twdg spoilers #twdg s4 #clementine x violet #violet x clementine #violetine #violentine

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stardusttrashed · 6 years

Text

Football Coach Part 15

Part 14

Word Count: 1887

The day for your date with Calum had come in what felt like the blink of an eye and you still had no idea about what Calum had planned. Despite all your attempts to force Calum to at least give you a hint, you managed to get nothing other than a childish laugh and a kiss from him. You sat in your room with D’artagnan, who had dubbed himself your own little personal stylist.

You watched him with a smile resting on your face as he hummed quietly, raking through your clothes. “What about this one mummy,” D’artagnan asked, pulling out a jumpsuit. He held up the hanger and twisted it around in his fingers, making the pants of the jumpsuit swish around. He giggled quietly, distracted by the way the pants flurried about. “Its pretty and if Calum tries to play soccer against you, you can still beat his butt.”

“I like the way you think,” you giggled as you took the outfit from him before kissing the crown of his head. You guided him out of your closet and closed the door behind him, changing into the jumpsuit. When you walked back into your room you could see D’artagnan had made himself comfy on your bed.

“How are you gonna do your hair? I think you should leave it how it is naturally, its super pretty that way.” He sat up and looked in your direction, giving you the same cheeky smile Calum tends to give you, “and I think Cal likes it like that.”

“Is that so?” You laughed at his sudden maturity. It was like as soon as he learned about your date with Calum, he had aged mentally. “What’s all this about Bub?” You looked at him in the mirror.

He shrugged and smiled, “I just like seeing you happy.” Your heart melted at his words. He was always looking out for you, always being your little rock through thick and thin.

“Aw Bub,” you cooed as you made your way over to him. You pulled him into a hug, cradling the back of his head like you did when he was a baby, and kissed the crown of his head. “I’ll always be happy as long as I have you and I know you’re okay.” You pulled away, cupping his chubby cheeks in your hands, “I love you more than anything in the universe.”

“I love you too Mummy,” he gushed, reverting back to his usual self. “Calum texted you, he asked if you can meet him at his house,” D’artagnan reported since you were busy styling your hair.

“Can you tell him I’ll be there in a couple of minutes?”

D’artagnan nodded as his thumbs typed away. “Do you like Calum?” You smiled shyly and nodded.

“Yeah, I um, I like him a lot. Don’t tell him, but I might even more than like him. Why’d you ask?” He shrugged and stared at his swinging feet. “Tell me D” you coaxed him, climbing onto the counter to sit next to him.

“Do you like my Dad?” He mumbled his words while looking at his feet. You sighed and processed how to answer his question.

“I did.”

“Did you love him?” He asked, finally looking up at you.

”I loved him a lot before we had you,” you replied without really thinking. You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth slightly as you cursed yourself for the way you worded your response.

“Do you think you would still be with him if you didn’t have me?” D’artagnan’s voice cracked as he asked the question, each word that left his mouth becoming less audible. His gaze fell back down to his swinging legs as he faked a cough.

“Hey,” you cooed, immediately dropping everything in your hands. “I don’t want you to think your Dad and I broke up because of you, okay?” You lifted his chin so you could look in his eyes. “We loved each other a lot, but we just realized we were too different. We were young and still thinking about what we wanted. I wouldn’t change anything, baby. I might’ve broken up with him, but he also helped me find a love so much greater.”

“But what if you and Calum break up?”

Your heart shattered at the thought. “Then I’ll still have my everything right here,” you croaked, kissing his forehead. You took in a deep breath and decided to change the topic, “what’s up with these questions?”

“I dunno. I just thought maybe I was the reason you didn’t already have some like Calum in your life. I saw pictures of you and dad before me and you looked so happy and then...” his voice trailed off.

You sighed and wrapped your arms around him, “it’s not your fault we broke up and it never will be. The thing is, you’re gonna go through life and love a bunch of people in a bunch of different ways. I don’t ever want you to blame yourself for it not working out. Sometimes their love is there just to help you grow.” D’artagnan nodded, wiping his tears before they fell. “Come on, why don’t we go watch some tv and cuddle? Calum can wait,” you smiled softly before picking him up and walked to the living room. D’artagnan cuddled against you, watching The Grim Adventures Of Billy and Mandy. You kept your attention on him, rubbing his back, watching him chuckle every now and then. After about two episodes you heard his breathing turn into soft snores. You carefully escaped his grip- tidying the house up before picking him up and leaving.

“Sorry, I’m just now leaving the house,” you told Calum once you dropped D’artagnan off at Jamie’s house.

“No worries my love. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, um, everything is alright. Do you still want me to meet you at your house?”

“Yeah, I’m still here, I thought we could skip past the pg part of our date,” he chuckled through the line. You could already see the shit-eating grin plastered on his face, knowing he tickled himself with his own joke. Without another word you rolled your eyes and hung up with a lazy smile.

“Such a romantic date,” you teased Calum, looking around at the scattered boxes in his home as he let you inside. “I can really see how this isn’t pg, definitely pg-13 at least,” you continued, observing the room more.

“What? Were you expecting a super nice dinner, maybe some rose petals on a bed?” He asked sarcastically, shaking his head. “Rookie Mistake, Y/l/n,” Calum chuckled. He made a quiet tisking noise as you walked over to him.

“You’re right, Hood, I should’ve known better,” you played along. You bit your lower lip, unable to contain your smile forcing its way out. Calum closed the distance even more as more chuckles fell from his lips. SLowly his hands wrapped around your hips, holding them securely as he kissed you gently. “You could’ve just asked if I would help you pack,” you whispered against his lips.

“I could’ve, but I would get the same answer either way.”

“Someone is awfully cocky today,” you pushed him away playfully, seeing his eyebrow raise mischievously and his mouth open to reply. “You better have an amazing date to make up for it” you giggled, cutting him off. Pulling your hair out of your face, you knelt down and began packing things up in his living room.

“Trust me, it’s pretty great if I do say so myself,” he beamed proudly, helping you pack up the things in his living room.

“Greater than packing up your house?” You glanced over your shoulder to watch his reaction, holding back from giggling at your little quip.

Calum laughed and looked over at you, “almost as great as knowing I’m moving in with you and D’artagnan.”

A blush crept onto your cheeks at his words. You turned back around, hoping he hadn’t noticed. “I’ll hold you to that babe.”

“Trust me, it’ll knock your socks off, maybe even more than just your socks,” he continued to try to convince you.

“Knock my sock off? What are you my dad now?” You asked, purposefully ignoring the last addition to his comment.

“Daddy, maybe, but ‘dad’- no way,” he replied coolly. You gasped and whipped around to look at him, your cheeks practically as red as a clown’s nose. You grabbed the pillow beside you and chunked it at him, trying to knock off the dorky yet proud grin resting on lips. “I was kidding baby,” he laughed as he caught the pillow with ease. “But if you throw something else at me I’m gonna make you regret it.”

You smiled mischievously, grabbing hold of the pillow you had just placed in a box, “you mean like this?” Without hesitation, you tossed it at him, giggling like a kid as he blocked it.

“Why you,”: he growled out with a small smile before running over to you. You squealed and made an attempt to get up and run, only to be stopped by the pile of his things you’d made around yourself. You laughed helplessly as he pinned you to the floor, one of his hands holding your’s above your head while his other tickled you mercilessly. “Say sorry.” You shook your head and squirmed beneath him. “Say it,” he insisted.

“Bite me,” you choked out in between your laughs.

“If you insist,” he smirked as he stopped tickling you. He brought his lips down to your neck and planted a soft kiss before gently nibbling on it. The hand he was tickling you with now rest on your side as he sucked and gently bit your neck.

“I was kidding,” you hummed, tilting your head up to give him more access. “Cally,” you breathed as he continued to kiss along your neck, his plump lips moving gracefully across your skin. His lips moved lower, following the crook of your neck and sliding out to your shoulder. Your jaw went slack as you focused on the butterflies each kiss caused. The feeling of his lips, his body pressed against yours, his firm grasp on you, everything about the moment drove you wild. A soft moan fell from your lips causing Calum to stop and look at you.

“That was the first time I’ve heard you moan,” he smiled with a dazed look in his eyes. “Damn that was fucking beautiful, it was like a melody,” he gushed, beaming like a kid on Christmas. You giggled shyly and wiggled your hands underneath his grip, silently begging for him to let them go. “I hope it won’t be the last time I hear it.”

“I promise it won’t,” you cooed as he finally let go of your hands. “But if you keep this up we won’t be going on our date.” As if it were second nature your hands found themselves resting against his warmth, one hand on his chest while the other held him close by the bicep. He giggled and nodded, kissing you once more before climbing off of you.

“Tempting, but I have special things planned for tonight,” he smiled before kissing you once more. “We’re definitely gonna finish this later though, with your permission of course.”

“Definitely.”

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macbookpro-hard-drive · 6 years

Text

unlonely [michael m. x reader] pt.2

like what i do? consider buying me a coffee!

accidentally spends the last three hours writing this. whoops.

the good part of having fics planned out is that u dont have to sit around for nearly as long like “uGHHHH WHAT DO I WRITE” story-wise. writing wise? still hell.

also dont expect this please sdfhkjdsfh i only managed this because its a saturday and i dont have anything else to do rn because homework??? ill do that later

warnings: sad michael. more than once. a hospital is here. cool. reader is a bitter fuck. if i need to warn for anything else pls tell me.

Michael had the habit of talking himself through things. With you there, he excused it off as him explaining it to you. The first time you caught this little habit was during the first dissection the two of you did together, listening to him give himself a pep talk through the first few minutes before shutting up at the slightly worried glance you shot his way. During video games, you caught him muttering his plan to himself. And now? Now you had Michael Mell in your backseat, talking over the directions your phone gave you, filling you in on the same plan you’d heard for the past week. Every now and then, you’d shush him long enough to hear where you were supposed to turn, and then he’d start back up, saying how he was going to find Jeremy, go through his speech - something he spared you from, on the account of the fact it was pretty personal, which... you couldn’t lie, you weren’t complaining about that - and then maybe the three of you would go out somewhere if Jeremy saw the light and immediately shed that dickish persona he’d taken on (Michael’s dream situation) or if Jeremy realized he was a dick and figured maybe he should apologize to Michael not in the middle of a party (your dream situation). A weight stayed in your stomach the entire time you were driving to Jake’s house - and then it lightened upon seeing shifting behind you.

Slowing to a stop at a red light, you finally took the chance to steal a glance at Michael in the backseat. And you couldn’t help but fucking stare at him, before the light flickered green and you tore your gaze away. He kept babbling, not noticing the look you’d given him. Maybe the two of you would watch horror movies when you got back to your place - that’d be dope, wouldn’t it?

“Michael?” You finally said, breaking him out of his endless rambling.

“Yes?”

“What the actual fuck are you wearing?”

“What?” He asked, “look, I needed a disguise! I don’t get invited to parties,” he said, “no one will ever know it’s me!”

“Michael, you could have literally put a hood up or put on a mask and done the same thing-”

“That’s too simple!” And then, he paused. “Eyes on the road, [y/n],” he said, and you could hear his fucking smirk.

“They are, Mell.”

“Yeah, right.”

For a split second, you debated slamming on brakes. The thought tempted you for another moment, and then you finally decided against it - you couldn’t risk breaking his nose or something. Besides - fate had other plans, as you finally turned into Jake’s neighborhood. If your phone hadn’t informed you that your destination was on the right, the cars lining the street definitely would have. A few houses ahead, you could see plenty of cars pulled onto the front lawn of a pretty damn nice looking house - and you sort of stare, wondering how this many people would show up to one high school party. You glanced back to Michael, the car moving at a snail’s pace down the street.

“I’m gonna circle back around,” you announced. He gave you a quick nod.

Ten minutes later, you’re sitting alone in your parked car and Michael’s left you with the promise that he’ll be back in maybe and hour or two. You reclined your seat, turned up the radio, and just sort of waited - not wanting to burn your phone battery anymore, because your dad had stolen your charger out of your car earlier that night - for the next few hours. You watched people filter in and out, like Brooke Lohst finally showing up in this handmade dog outfit that looked like an attempt for a sexy dog (and, honestly, you couldn’t say that it wasn’t - but that was more Brooke than the costume); or this little group of people running back out to their car and leaving, laughing the entire way, and you started hoping that they weren’t drunk; and then you saw Jeremy fucking Heere, pulling up in a slightly beat up car (and for a moment, you’re confused - you’d never seen him drive before, had you? You didn’t know if he could) but that washed away the moment he stepped out, dressed in this fucking dorky cyborg-looking costume that made you stifle back a laugh because of how damn cheesy it was, like he was some kid in a middle school play.

An hour later, you saw Michael crossing the front lawn to your car. That god-awful costume is discarded somewhere, leaving him just in the shirt and shorts he’d been wearing when you picked him up, and you could see him shaking as he made his way over. He pulled the car door open, sliding into the passenger seat and shutting it all in one fluid motion. He didn’t speak to you. He just sat there, plucking at his shirt or clicking his phone on and off to glance at the time - half past ten, you noted - or running a hand through his hair, already a mess from the thousands of times he’d done it before.

You didn’t ask what happened. All you did was pull the car into reverse, and slowly eased your way out of your spot, making a quick U-turn to leave Jake’s house in your rear-view mirror.

But after a few minutes of silent driving, you finally speak up. “My family should still be out. We can go to my room and watch movies, or listen to music or something.” You paused for a moment. “Oh, fuck, Michael - you haven’t even tried my kick-ass hot cocoa. I put mini marshmallows and whipped cream and whatever you like, I guess.” You paused once more, drumming your fingers against the steering wheel. “If you want peppermint, I think I have some candy canes stashed away somewhere that I can crush up. Or we have cinnamon stll - oh shit, Michael, we have the stuff to make cinnamon rolls. That’d be fucking dope.” You stopped, keeping your eyes pinned to the road as you pull your right hand away, extending it to Michael. “We’re gonna be okay, Michael.”

And after a moment, Michael’s hand was in yours, squeezing it tightly without a word. And when you steal another glance, that look in his eyes is back: like he’s a thousand worlds away from you. He was so distant, like maybe he fell through this reality into another - and maybe, in a way, he did. Maybe Jeremy and that supercomputer-thing and everything was a world away from you, something foreign to you - but that wasn’t going to stop you. Michael might have been up in the clouds, but you were going to try your fucking hardest to ground him again. You weren’t going to tell Michael that you hated Jeremy Heere. He didn’t need to hear that - Michael needed some sort of security, and you were going to try and give him that as best as you could then.

Michael had never been to your house before. The lights in the front yard reflected in of his glasses as he followed you up to the house, the chirp of your car locking behind the two of you as you fumbled with your house key. You kicked off your shoes as you stepped inside, giving Michael the most general tour you could - the living room off to the right, the small dining room to the left, and the kitchen behind that - before guiding him into the kitchen. He leaned against the kitchen island, watching you gather your ingredients, throwing quick glances back to him every once in a while. You reached over the stovetop, turning the oven on before pulling out one of those Pillsbury cinnamon roll tubes, shooting him a quick smile.

“Dad likes to make them from scratch. Mom and I don’t have the patience for that sometimes,” you said, before returning to the hot chocolate.

Milk, brown sugar, cinnamon, a block of chocolate - which Michael watched you chop the entire time, wondering how you had the patience to deal with that shit, because he probably would have given up halfway through - and he watched you fish through cabinets, pulling out three different bottled: vanilla, ground cinnamon, and... ground cayenne pepper? He walked over to your side, leaning against the counter wordlessly as he watched you work, taking a bowl to mix all your dry ingredients together.

“You wanna help?” You asked, looking up at him.

“What’s the cayenne pepper for?”

You only shot him a quick smile. “Baking spray should be in that cabinet,” you motioned with your elbow, “and the pans are in that big bottom drawer.” You extended the cinnamon rolls to him, “you can break these open, if you want.”

You ignored the rough hit he took to his palm once the tear-away shit didn’t work, the pop! of the tube greeting him a second later.

“Do you do this often?” Michael asked, the hiss of him greasing the pan greeting you a minute later.

“... Hot cocoa?” You asked, before shrugging. “When it’s cold enough, yeah.”

“No. I mean... this.” He said, “the whole, uh... cheering up thing.”

You paused, turning your attention to the milk on the stove. “I...” You started, before pressing your lips together. “No.” You poured in cups of milk, mixing brown sugar in before you put it over the heat, keeping a close eye on it so that it doesn’t burn. “I don’t.” You pressed your lips together.

“You’re really good at it,” he said softly. Stealing a glance, you found his attention on placing each cinnamon roll, and you were glad for that. He didn’t need to look at you - not when you were starting to drop the facade you’d kept up of happy, nerdy you who just wanted to talk to him about music and video games and maybe see him smile again.

He didn’t need to see just how lonely you were.

Thirty minutes later, the two of you are in your living room, watching old movies on Netflix and sharing a blanket. Michael liked to make snarky comments during movies, pointing out stupid effects or making fun of the stupider lines (which, you couldn’t lie, you’d mimic them too). Cinnamon rolls cooled on the coffee table, stacked high and iced graciously, and the hot cocoa had been drained the moment the two of you took sips - which made a warm, cozy feeling of satisfaction bubble through you when Michael practically glowed at the taste before admitting you’d been right to gloat earlier. Which one of you fell asleep first, you weren’t sure. What you were sure of was waking up the next morning, curled up next to Michael with your head on his shoulder, his arm curled around you securely. The TV screen had been shut off, the cinnamon rolls on the table a few less (and you imagined that it had been your parents coming in, not wanting to disturb you and Michael since you’d been sleeping), and Michael’s soft breathing ended up soothing you back to sleep. He’d taken his glasses off at some point. You fought back a small smile at that - he still looked nice without his glasses, which was unfair because not everyone could look nice with and without glasses. You nestled back into his shoulder, growing slightly closer to him as you shut your eyes. His arm pulled you slightly closer, and you could feel his face against the side of your head.

It was nice. Michael was always warm, and it was comfortable since you knew that, without Michael and the blanket, you’d be freezing your ass off on the couch. Even with the way your neck and back were positioned, you were comfortable with Michael - and even though you knew that your body would be aching tomorrow, hating you for not moving, you were okay with that. That moment had been worth it.

“Jeremy.” He looked up, the little voice in the back of his head, bringing him back down to earth once more. Jeremy couldn’t really lie - he was glad to finally have a distraction. It was cold outside, and there he was, leaning against Brooke’s car with his fingers intertwined with hers while she was deep in conversation with this guy from the swim team and his girlfriend - some art student, Jeremy noticed, as she had graphite and paint smudges on her hands - about... something. He ended up tuning them out, having lost interest in the conversation - and besides, he didn’t need to pay attention. He had the SQUIP there to fill in the gaps when he needed to speak.

The SQUIP spoke once more. “Look at the building.” He obeyed, and in a flicker, a familiar shade of red met his eyes. Michael. One hand at his backpack strap, the other holding his phone as he stood outside. A minute later, another person walked out, greeting him before Jeremy watched Michael push his headphones down and around his neck, immediately starting up conversation with this stranger. And then he watched the two of you laugh together, chatting happily as watched both of you made your way to Michael’s car.

Then Jeremy recognized you. He’d seen you in his math class, quiet and always keeping to yourself - and now you were with Michael, laughing about some story Michael must had been dying to tell you, judging by how animated he grew. The two of you fit well together, laughing at the same stupid things, you playfully shoving Michael at one point before the two of you approached his car, parked close enough that Jeremy wouldn’t have had to turn around to watch the two of you get into Michael’s car and leave. The fact that the two of you got along was a sweet sight, but... he couldn’t fight the pit in the bottom of his stomach of anger, of sadness- because that was Michael. His former best friend.

“It looks like Michael’s moved on fast,” His SQUIP said, as Jeremy watched Michael’s car disappear out of the parking lot.

“Jeremy!” Brooke’s voice snapped him back to reality, “are you okay?” She said, worming her hand out of his, stretching and popping her fingers. “You were hurting my hand.”

He didn’t realize how tightly he’d been squeezing her hand. But he nodded, making up some bullshit excuse that he’d just been thinking before shrugging it off as unimportant. Just as he always did nowadays.

Fridays were always your least favorite school days - purely because it was an countdown to the freedom of the weekend for you. Mondays also sucked - but Fridays? You’d fucking kill for a school day to be over already. But you were glad to confirm your plans with Michael tomorrow to just sit around and binge Queer Eye on Netflix at your house - because at least that gave you something to look forward to on Saturday - and make your way home, so that you can lie down and die a bit internally in peace. The heavy thump of your backpack made you frown, as you threw yourself onto your bed, falling face-first into your comforter and letting out a soft groan of oh thank god when you heard your bedroom door open, and the familiar chuckle of your father sound out.

“Tough day?” He asked, and you let out a grunt of confirmation, not bothering to move. He chuckled again. “I made some cinnamon rolls earlier.” You snapped up, looking to him. "Save some for Michael, [y/n].”

You beamed, rolling over and sitting up. That’s when you noticed he’d dressed up nicely, redoing his tie for what what probably the tenth time. “Where are you going?”

“The Murphys invited us out for dinner tonight,” he said, “thought I’d take them up on the offer. I’ll let them know you wanted to be there,” he shot you a quick smile. “Thought you could use the rest, kiddo.” He paused, lowering his voice. “But if they offer, I’ll bring you back something.”

Sometimes you were glad that your family had rich friends. That was definitely one of those moments. He made some other comment, talking about how they’ll probably get back late so don’t worry or wait up for them or anything. The door shut behind him as he left, and you fell back onto your bed, debating whether you should go get a cinnamon roll or to take a fucking baller nap that you deserved because high school sucks.

And then you woke up a few hours later, the sound of a car horn blaring outside. You grabbed your phone, expecting maybe your dad had texted and called you and upon not getting any response, figured that maybe that would have woken you up - but you were greeted with nothing. So you made your way to the front door, pulling the door open with the expectation of yelling at some asshole that other people live in this neighborhood, only to be greeted with the sight of a familiar P.T. Cruiser in your driveway. No wonder it sounded so loud.

“Michael, what the FUCK-” You yelled out, only for him to sort of lean out his window.

“I’ll explain on the way!” He called out. You scowled slightly and hoped that this was something important enough to literally disturb the entire fucking neighborhood, and snagged your keys, sliding into your shoes before leaving your house and hopping into the passenger side, narrowly avoiding smashing into Michael’s bag in the floorboard.

He barely had pulled out of your driveway before he started talking. Jeremy’s dad had ended up at his house, talking to him about how Jeremy had basically disrespected him and he realized just how absent he’d been as a father - causing him to seek Michael’s help, because Jeremy would listen to Michael if he tried harder to talk to him. So he launched into this whole talk, about how if maybe he tried to be a better friend to Jeremy, he could get through to him - and the whole thing stung. Jeremy abandoned him, not the other way around, and there Michael was, talking about how he needed to try harder and reach out to him again. Mountain Dew Red was supposed to deactivate the SQUIP, according to some dude that Michael played Overwatch with, and he had managed to get his hands on a case of the stuff a few weeks back, and he luckily had a bottle left in his bag - so maybe if he talked to Jeremy before the play, he could help him-

You finally spoke up, having watched Michael run out of breath while speaking a thousand miles an hour. “Woah, shit, Mikey, slow down.” He barely had a chance to glance over to you, before you spoke again: “eyes on the road, Michael.” He looked away, giving a single nod. “So. Why am I here?”

He didn’t answer immediately, flicking his turn signal on long enough to change lanes. “I didn’t want to go alone.”

“I don’t have any money on me, dude-”

“I’ll pay for you!” He said, cutting you off, "or you can stay in the car if you want, I just - I need you there.” He breathed, before finally tacking on a soft, “just in case.”

Upon reaching the school, the two of you were lucky enough to snag the two seats closest to the backstage door. Michael talked to you idly, his leg bouncing restlessly as he kept debating going then or waiting until the lights went down for the show. Eventually, you watched him reach down to the floor beneath his seat, grabbing his bag and sliding forward enough to throw it over one of his shoulders. When you reached for his hand to stop him, he reassured you it was just so that he could get back there faster when he needed to. Maybe it’d be better if he waited until after the show to see Jeremy - give him a chance to maybe not fuck up the show and have Christine Canigula angry at him.

So he relaxed, the lights going down as the two of you watched Christine come to the edge of the stage, giving some announcements about how it’d been a hard few weeks for Middleborough and how important theatre is to bring everyone together for basically what’s supposed to be a good time. As if on cue, you and Michael glanced at each other the moment she made a comment about what Rich would say - cracking a small smile at each other before listening to her final comment about the costumes from Hobby Lobby. The show started, the lights on stage letting up as you watched a couple students fumble through their lines a bit, before... changing. Newfound passion flooded into them, the show rivaling Broadway plays - and you leaned back, looking to Michael, who’s grip turned vice-like on his bag’s strap.

“This... is way too good for a school play,” he whispered to you, before realization hit. “Oh god. Oh fuck,” he started, “I need to get in there.”

“Wait, Michael-” You placed your hand over his, “hold on - I don’t know if that’s a good idea since-”

“I’ll be fine, [y/n].” He shot you a quick smile, “I’ll be back. Just... stay here.”

“Michael, they just started the show,” you whispered, ignoring a shush from behind you. “If you go now-”

“I’ll be fine!” He said, voice raising slightly. He stared at you, and then - all in a quick moment - he leaned forward, pressing his lips against yours for a split second before dashing away, leaving you dumbfounded by the sudden move.

“... What the fuck?” You mumbled, sinking back into your seat before turning your attention back to the play as best as you could, ignoring the burning in your cheeks. Eventually, the scene ended, the lights doing down long enough for actors to slip off stage. You watched the lights come back up, Brooke coming on stage and completely blowing everyone else away with nothing but raw energy. And then you watched as the stage slowly fell empty.

That was when you moved, slipping to the backstage door, barely getting a hand on it before a screech rung out. You threw the door open, letting it slam behind you as you head up the steps to hear several thumps hit the floor, and then you saw Michael, letting out a scream as he stepped back, staring at all the bodies unconscious before him. Something inside of you jumped to action, as you found your phone and immediately called 911. Holding the phone between your face and shoulder, you found Michael standing there in shocked silence, and guided him over to somewhere to sit - him practically falling into the chair you found.

Later, you stood beside Michael, a orange shock blanket draped over his shoulders as the two of you watched a teacher and your classmates get wheeled out on stretchers, a paramedic standing with the two of you. Her questions felt lost on Michael, because while you tried to help him answer, you didn’t exactly know what was going on. She knelt down beside him, trying to comfort him, slowly dropping her questions before finally the police arrived. You were permitted to leave before Michael was, because while you didn’t know much, you still sort of counted as a witness. Leaving Michael alone in there was tough, because you could see how shaken he’d been, but you found yourself sitting on the curb next to his car. Your mind fluttered back to that kiss, as quick and impulsive as it was, and you started to wonder whether you should bring it up to Michael - in the end deciding that yes, you should, but not that day. Too much had happened to just casually approach Michael and ask about what the fuck that kiss was about.

Eventually, footsteps approached you, and you were greeted with the sight of a slightly more calm Michael. His hands still shook slightly, and he fumbled with his jacket and his bag and everything he could get his hands on, but he wasn’t as he had been inside, no longer on the verge of tears or a panic attack. You stood to greet him, about to speak when he stopped in front of you.

“I’m gonna go to the hospital,” he said, voice quiet. “Y’know, uh... wait with Mr.Heere, I guess. I’ll drop you off-”

You didn’t hesitate. “If you think I’m not staying with you, you’re an idiot, Mell.”

He cracked a small smile at that, insisting he was okay to drive as you reluctantly climbed into the passenger seat. Taking the chance to call your mom, you explained everything you could: that you were going to stay with Michael at the hospital after something happened at the play and he was worried about his friends, saying that he needed someone else there for support and you wanted to be that someone. For a moment, you thought she was going to say you had to come home - but then she agreed, understanding as always, and asked if you needed anything. You rattled off a list of general stuff - water, maybe a phone charger or two if they could bring them - before thanking her. She told you she wouldn’t be able to bring it immediately, since they’re at dinner - although saying she was willing to leave early if it was needed, and you coaxed that away. You didn’t need any of this stuff immediately. You only thanked her again.

You’d never seen Jeremy’s dad before - and, well, you never had a reason to. But... he wasn’t like what you expected. He looked like he was slightly taller than Jeremy, but heavier and more tired. He had this thick, ginger beard, and a balding head, and you noticed how he had soft, gentle eyes. He greeted you and Michael with a small wave, a cup of shitty hospital coffee on the table next to him. Michael introduced the two of you, and part of you felt guilty for hating Jeremy all of a sudden. His dad treated you so kindly, as if you were also one of Jeremy’s friends. As if you were here because you were worried about fucking Jeremy Heere, and not because you wanted to make sure Michael was okay and had some extra support.

An hour later, you received a text from your mother saying that she was waiting outside. So you told Michael where you were going, and you wandered your way out of the hospital, taking note of everywhere you went so that you could get back to where you were without wandering like a lost puppy without Michael. Your mom handed you your bag, giving you a hug and a kiss on the forehead, saying that she was always a phone call away if you wanted to go home or talk or needed anything else. Your heart swelled in your chest, and you fought back tears as you hugged her and told her you loved her, before you left her and your dad to return to Michael.

Exhaustion hit you on the way back, and you plugged in two chargers for you and Michael’s phones. Eventually Michael fell asleep, head on your shoulder, and it’s just you and Mr.Heere and a few other people in the waiting room, questions filling your heads. You watched Jeremy’s dad stand, offering to get you coffee if you wanted, and you politely refused. Your head fell against Michael’s, as uncomfortable as it was for your neck, and eventually, against all the discomfort of that day, you fell asleep.

#percy's writing corner #be more chill #bmc #bmc reader insert #be more chill reader insert #bmc x reader #be more chill x reader #be more chill imagine #bmc imagine #michael mell #michael mell x reader #michael mell imagine

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