#me: lets give him emotional constipation :) as a treat

[starry-bi-sky]

miscellaneous danyal al ghul things

specifically about the danyal al ghul from my post/prompt here and i wanna get my misc. headcanons/thoughts on him (especially in his early stay with the fentons) out here before i make any other danyal al ghul aus

list under the cut because whoops this got longer than i expected. which really i should have expected

the Fentons are unaffiliated with the League, which was perfect for Danny faking his death.

he struggles with empathy. Empathy was not taught nor encouraged while he was with the League, so it's a skill that's been pretty stunted. At 15 he's better at empathizing with people, but he still struggles with it. He's pretty bad at reassuring/comforting people and usually acts as an emotional rubber duck for Sam and Tucker to vent to if need be. He sometimes offers blunt and sometimes mean opinions, especially if its about another person.

Sam and Tucker do not know he's an ex-assassin, they are however, pretty positive that he used to be part of an eco-fascist cult with a focus on martial arts?? They've been helping him tone down some of his more,,, extreme views on humanity ever since they caught wind of his more extreme ideologies.

He and Sam are still avid environmentalists and feed into each other quite a bit. They spend plenty of time at protests and pestering the school into more eco-friendly options.

Dash is not dead on the sole fact that Danny knew he had to lay low in Amity Park and killing someone was not, in fact, 'laying low'.

he did, however, traumatize him when Dash first tried to bully him. Safe to say, Danny is not bullied at school and neither are Sam and Tucker.

Danny didn't make any friends in his first year at Amity Park. He was surly, grumpy, standoffish, more stubborn than Sam, and pretty self-important about himself. Jazz was trying to teach him against these things, but she is a 12 year old unaffiliated with the League. Danny did not respect her nor listen to a word she said. It wasn't until like, year two that he finally started paying to mind what she was saying and slowly started to improve on himself

Sam approached him first, he rebuffed her quite harshly, and then Danny approached her sometime afterward when he overheard her talking about environmental rights. Sam completely ignored him though when he agreed with her, and Danny had to later learn that he needed to apologize for being rude to her when they first met. He did so eventually, and they started to talk more with Tucker and Sam.

Danny's a bit more reserved than he is in canon, although he steadily learns how to act as a regular teenager when he's out in public. He's a bit more friendlier at least, although when he's around Sam and Tucker he drops the act. He still has a somewhat formal way of talking, it's just become more casual after a lot of ribbing from Sam and Tucker. When he's angry or annoyed he starts talking poshly though.

His humor is relatively the same as in canon, if somehow dryer and more insulting at some points

Those rare moments where he gets really pissed usually ends up with him insulting someone in arabic or any of the other languages he picked up from the league. He is the go-to for Tucker's Spanish homework. (Tucker makes that mistake and learns that Danny is a very strict teacher)

while Danny doesn't view the Fentons as his parents, even five years after living with them, he does respect them to some amount. He respects them enough at least that when Vlad Masters comes sniffing around, he is suitably offended on both Maddie and Jack's behalf. And when he finds out Vlad was the one who tried to kill Jack and tried to tell him to renounce him as his father/parental guardian, danny threw a suitably sharp object at him and insulted him quite horrendously

Vlad still wants him as his kid. In fact perhaps even moreso after this.

Danny trains with Maddie to keep up with his training. It's not quite the same but it prevents him from getting completely rusty

Sam and Tucker know that Danny has a little brother, but nothing else beyond that other than Danny cares about him quite a lot and that he got his facial scar from keeping him safe.

Danny cares about Sam, Tucker, and Jazz quite a bit, but he struggles to convey it. Especially early on when he realized he cared about them and like instinct started being harsher to them and more critical of their actions. This resulted in quite a few arguments with Sam and Tucker and Jazz until he got sat down and told outright that the way he was treating them wasn't okay. It's a process he's still trying to unlearn even at 15. He has become kinder towards them as a result, and has begun looking for what they did right rather than what they did wrong.

He harbors a lot of guilt over how he treated Damian in the League, and its a pretty big conflict he has with himself since he's torn between telling himself it was for the best to make sure Damian survived the League, and feeling like crap over how harsh/critical of Damian he was and realizing that he probably could have come up with a better way of training him despite being a child himself at the time. Danny comes to the realization that more than anything, that he just wants to apologize.

His ghost form, specifically is outfit, is a combination of his hazmat suit and his uniform from the league, and he carries a sword with him. He also doesn't know how to react to Dani, honestly. Although it is fair to say that he figures out she's a clone instantly because of her whole 'I'm your third cousin once removed' thing and he freaks out. She spills the beans pretty quickly after that. And Danny is pretty skittish around her - or the equivalent of skittish. Her being younger than him kinda reminds him of Damian, so he's uncomfortable by her presence but learns to warm up to her.

[thisloveislikeabattle]

SandRay is just AkkAyan spelled differently

I've lost count of the number of rewatches I've done of The Eclipse since watching it six months ago for the very first time, but once Only Friends started airing I haven't done any rewatch, just because all my thoughts these past weeks have been obsessively about Sand and Ray

BUT yesterday I found myself watching it again after months and when I got to episode 11 it hit me: SandRay's dynamic when it comes to taking care of each other is the same as AkkAyan's but backwards.

Let me explain, I was watching this specific scene

And this thought came into my mind: "If in The Eclipse it's Khaotung's character that takes care of First's character, especially when it comes to emotional needs, in Only Friends it's actually the opposite with First's character taking care of Khaotung's character"

Since then I haven't been able to stop noticing all the ways Ayan and Sand mirror each other when caring for their partners

Ayan looked at Akk, and saw something extraordinary. He saw this beautiful broken boy, who was hurting so much and doing it all wrong, he saw him holding on to a very thin thread just on the verge of letting go. Ayan saw all the love Akk needed, and despite being very broken himself, he never ever let go of him.

Akk did bad things and said awful stuff and pushed Aye away time and time again, and still Aye stayed right were he was and held him up every time Akk hit the ground.

Showed him how despite all his flaws, all his mistakes, he was still someone worthy of love.

And so throughout their journey Ayan gave his heart and soul, took all the love he could muster and stood firm by Akk's side, no matter what.

Ayan made no excuses for Akk's behavior, held him accountable, called him out when he was doing something wrong and at the same time offered Akk all the support he needed to get out of that bad place because he knew how necessary it was to have a support system.

And isn't that exactly what Sand has been doing with Ray ever since he first saw him, left alone, drunk as hell, getting into his car without any concern for his life?

Just like Ayan, Sand has found this special fragile boy who needs lots and lots of love. And where Akk wanted acceptance and to be good for others, Ray only wants to be loved and to be someone's priority for once in his life.

Even the little things Sand does for Ray. And yes, we joke about Ray being Sand's spoiled princess, but before Sand came into Ray's life, did anyone ever treat him with this much care and affection? No.

Lighting up his cigarettes, cooking for him, helping him with his helmet, driving him around, changing his dirty clothes when Ray is too passed out to care, going after him no matter what Ray said or did, shaving him...

Yes, Sand is a natural caregiver and perhaps acts of service are his love language, but to me the point is that Sand is able to see the full potential Ray could reach.

Sand knows how precious he truly is; with patience and love and care, with someone by his side ready to fight the battle with him, someone who will not give up on him, Ray may one day be able to blossom into this wonderful person that he is capable of being.

Until that moment comes, Sand will be there for him like no one ever has before. Because Sand looks at Ray and sees someone worth fighting for, someone worthy of love.

And yes, I am aware that Ayan and Sand are very different characters, they are at different points and have different expectations when it comes to relationships.

Even the way they handle things when it comes to love is different: Ayan is very much open and ready and unafraid to communicate what he wants from Akk, while Sand is emotionally constipated, with his walls all up, still falling hard but refusing to admit it even to himself.

Yet the way Ayan and Sand care for their loved ones appears to me as the very same.

[stealingyourbones]

Your asks are back! Im prolly gonna send a few tomorrow bc its late and i have many idea but an idea that Wont Let Me Go:

Danny gets caught by his parents. They dissect him and jazz is the one to free him, but he has to go. Now. But where does he go?

Gotham. The drs fenton went there once and caused enough chaos to be banned from the city or else risk arkham. Its the one place they might not find him.

Danielle goes with him. Maybe shed hunkered down in gotham for a bit, maybe shes passing by amity when sht hits the fan. Either way, its her and danny. They figure it wont be too hard to get by. Break into an empty apartment and hide out there until they get caught, couldnt be too hard, right?

Too bad the building they go for is the one jason stays in, as a civillian, and hes got every apartment on his floor so that the risk of a neighbor seeing him as hood is minimal. Jason has to figure out how these kids got into the apartment and who is making them spy on red hood.

He does this by giving them the one thing kids in need cant afford to turn down- free meals. He invites them over to cook and teaches them how, both to see what hes dealing with and give them those skills once theyre out of whatever situation theyre in.

This goes on for a while before jason had the horrifying realization.

Hes turing into Bruce. Two kids in need with black hair and blue eyes who tense up when vigilantes are brought up? Hes never going to live this down. Probably frantically texts dick(?) About how hes turing into bruce and then doesnt elaborate

Unbeknowst to him, theyve secretly been "treating" him by acting as filters/replacing some of his extoplasm so he can be sure of his control over his feelings. This doesnt necessarily make him 100% calm all of the time, he still gets angry pretty easily, but. Jason gets control of himself back.

As they get closer they start being significantly more domestic. Somehow nobody has crashed jasons apartment while theyre there (they dip invisibly) and jasons relationship with bruce has improved as he no longer has to worry about pit rage taking over. Hes trying to figure out how to break the news to bruce that hes a grandfather even though he hasnt officially adopted them yet.

Dani, on the other side of town, is gossiping with a cool girl at the library named barbara about how shes been trying to figure out how to tell her neighbor that Hes Her Dad Now.

(Danny doesnt call him dad. He cant, anymore. But theyre still family)

Jason decides to introduce the topic of them meeting bruce (because 1. even though its still rocky their relationship has improved and 2. He wants it to be on his terms) and dani bursts out with the "I have a GRANDPA???????" and from there on commits to calling jason her dad and bruce (unmet) her grandpa.

Bruce meets them first and is just. In awe. He has grandchildren. His emotional constipation vs his absolute adoration of the fact hes a GRANDPARENT fight fight fight.

When danny and dani eventually meet everyone theyre all like oh sick bruce picked up a duo this time nice to meet you. And they absolutely cannot comprehend it when bruce and jason walk in and dani goes to jason first. Nobody expected jason to take on bruces adoption tendencies but they should have.

(Also fun hc i couldnt work in naturally but i do fully stand by- the ectoplasm in dannys body does affect his injuries somewhat, meaning he heals naturally very quickly from most ghost fights. Why?

It heales based on emotional healing.

He doesnt really care all too much about the average cut from one of his rogues and they heal within the day, but a hit from valerie takes a few weeks.

The first injury his parents ever gave him still hurts.

He can barely move and cant talk for the first few weeks with jason. Only once he starts feeling safe with him do the cuts start coming back together.)

The casualness of “hi so glad your asks came back” [drops at least 1k worth of fucking stellar content that’s basically a fic] is just making me truly awestruck. God I’ve missed seeing y’all’s neat ideas.

I dont have any words that I can say that could describe just how wonderful this is so I’ll write a lil addition to it instead because I am in love with this sm.

Jason’s point of view when he’s slowly getting better and isnt afraid to meet his family because of the pit rage, has he explained that’s the reason he distanced himself? Do the bats just think that this is simply Jason finally getting the courage to reach out? Do they know that the Pit rage is stopping Jason and do they try to help him by using alternative means of communication? How much do they help and understand.

When Jason experiences his first injury. How much does it hurt? Valerie shoots him with an ectogun. How much is this man in pain for and does he have to fight pit rage inside him to not lash out and attack her after being injured?

And how does his core react to his new kids. This I NEED to know

[siriuslysatorusimping]

Ok about your latest post: I can assure you your writing does do all of that!

When I first read your story, like the very first chapter, my head started doing backflips.

I tend to maladaptiv daydream a lot, and rinko kinda wormed her way into that! (So every time I hear a song, my mind will just go, "Can you imagine Rinko doing....")

Also

Rinko was the first character I read about that was in a relationship with gojo that could take him on. Not the honored one, not the six eyes, him. It gives you a different perspective about the characters we know. So now we GET to know them threw someone else's eyes, weaknesses, quirks and all.

The first chapter is also the one I reread the most. You created a character that becomes a part of the readers and that we can identify with. (In all the AUs as well I may add)

So yeah, just wanted to let you know that:) (sorry that it's so long, kinda rambled there, sorry🙂)

Have a lovely day/night:)

THIS MESSAGE IS SO SWEET AND PLEASE DON'T APOLOGIZE FOR IT BEING LONG OR RAMBLING. DO NOT DO THAT EVEN ONCE!! IT'S WONDERFUL. THANK YOU SO MUCH 😭😭💕

It makes me SO HAPPY to know people reread Another Level and love Rinko and the others as much as I do 🥹 Her relationship with Megumi, especially as it's grown over the years, just makes my heart 🥺🥺 He went from "shE'S NOT MY MOM" to "She raised me." and I just wanna cry.

You especially don't have to apologize for rambling when I don't know how not to rant 😅 SO THE REST OF THE BULLSHIT I HAVE TO SAY IS BELOW THE CUT

Something that I enjoyed so much about writing Another Level and Rinko was the humanity of it. I think about Hollow Echoes and how I realized how unfair and one-sided some people's expectations were of Gojo after how he treated Rinko when she went into his condo without asking that first time. Like, of course he shouldn't have spoken to her like that. But he's still human, and humans make mistakes. They act irrationally and let their emotions drive them even when they shouldn't. Even when they know they shouldn't.

I think anyone other than Rinko would have either completely written him off as an asshole or caved and said he hadn't done anything wrong. But she held him accountable while admitting she was wrong, and it's something I adore about these two. They communicate with each other. They call each other out for being stupid, and they trust each other enough to admit when they're wrong. Admitting you're wrong to someone takes a lot of trust that they won't take advantage of that admission or use it against you, and that's something that both Gojo and Rinko are used to from others. Gojo is used to people taking any little fuckup and holding it against him for years, but Rinko has never done that with him because she understands that it won't help or change anything. There's just something about the two of them that is inherently safe for them to be themselves to the fullest.

Not only that, but Rinko was a safe person for all of the kids. She never talked down to them or straight up tried to 'mom' them. Which is one thing they all appreciated. Almost all of those kids have problems with authority and shitty or absent parents, so they would not react well to someone who just imposed authority over them like a parent.

I've seen a lot of fics that have Megumi calling the reader/oc 'mom' super easily or being really affectionate with them, and I just don't feel like that fits Megumi's character at all. He's an emotionally constipated abandoned kid who has Zenin blood. A kid like him would not just start calling someone 'mom' if they started acting like his parent. Because kids like that: bitter, angry at the world, abandoned kids with issues as deep as Megumi's are typically not receptive to people who force themselves into a parental role. Just think about how he treated Tsumiki, who he clearly loves and respects, when she tried to get him to quit fighting. It's why Rinko literally called him 'a ball of rage' in Bullies. Because he is. And no amount of 'parenting' is going to make that go away.

Gojo never acts like his parent in canon. He acts like a legal guardian because that's what he is. He knows better than to try to actually parent him. So it's just kinda funny to me when people think that Megumi would be this really affectionate kid who loves to be snuggled or coddled, and would like or accept someone who appeared in his life and suddenly just started telling him what to do all the time as if they have the right to do so.

He appreciated Rinko because she didn't try to force herself into his life. To force him to listen or do what she said. She watched out for him, she worried about him, but she didn't impose herself on his life. She made it clear she cared about him and would be there if he ever needed her, and she let him know that she understood his anger. Just like how her mother did. But again, she made it clear from the beginning that she wasn't trying to be his mom. And even now, if anyone asked her, she wouldn't say she is. She'd say he's her kid, but she would never just say she's his mom. And she'd turn bright red if Megumi ever actually called her that, which he wouldn't. He'll transition to calling her Rinko instead of Rinko-san, but he'll never call her mom.

It's also similar to how Rinko was when Maki ran away, she told her what she thought, but she knew she couldn't tell her what to do or think or feel. Because, just like Megumi, she understands their anger. She knows where they're coming from. She's felt the exact same anger they have and she just wants them to have someone who lets them know there's someone who cares about them no matter what, and it's okay to be angry because they have been given a shitty hand in life.

With all the kids, Rinko never treated them like dumb kids. She never spoke down to them or tried to 'give them wise advice.' She offered her opinion or thoughts and told them to do what they would with that and call her if they needed her. While she made it clear she knew they were kids, that never affected how she spoke to them. She spoke to them almost the exact same way she spoke to Shoko and Nanami and Gojo. And that was one reason all her students loved her so much.

ANYWAY THERE'S A FUCKIN KIKO RANT FOR YOU. HOLY SHIT. I'M SO SORRY THIS WAS DEFINITELY MORE THAN YOU SIGNED UP FOR WHEN YOU SENT THAT MESSAGE 😭

I HOPE YOU HAVE A LOVELY DAY OR NIGHT!! 💕💕🥹

[cosmicbucket]

aight now i'm on a tangent

cosmic ramble

a lot of this is going off of recent gameplay memory so bEAR WITH ME

I said this in the tags of my last post, but I am a firm believer that P03 didn't understand why spreading the OLD_DATA to the world was such a problem. Of course he understood its capabilities when it came to achieving power, he used it to gain control after all. But beyond that? He makes no reference to the OLD_DATA and how it's straight up dangerous. Whether this is because he didn't want to tell us (y'know, so we would help perform The Great Transcendence) or because he didn't know anything to tell us, I'm inclined to believe it's the latter.

An optional encounter we can trigger is if we receive a key from the Bone Lord in Act 2 and we visit him again in Act 3. The Bone Lord asks Luke to stop filming in exchange for information about the OLD_DATA, so we're treated to about 5 seconds of darkness before the camera comes back on, and Luke is clearly distraught by the information. The Bone Lord disappears and P03's only remark is "Holy $&!# ..."

P03 rarely uses swear words. When G0lly is accessing the web and finds a picture of a real Mummy Lord, she reactively swears ("#^%! me...") It would appear that she's easily distressed by the grotesque image. But P03 doesn't get distressed. He always keeps his cool and he always knows more than you do. He takes great pride in how easily he outwits you and the other Scrybes after the success of The Great Transcendence. P03 wouldn't casually display any emotions that imply "weakness."

P03 is caught off guard by the Bone Lord's information, enough to show genuine shock in front of Luke - the stupid, idiot gamer. I don't think P03 understood what was truly at play here.

Furthermore, in its victory speech, it makes no mention of the OLD_DATA: "Even if those foul Scrybes manage to revert this version of the game again... There will be thousands of copies of Inscryption out there. And in most of them? I'm the one in charge!"

P03 just wanted power over the other Scrybes. He didn't even do anything to them while he was in control - he trapped the Angler, possibly as payback for being the one to give Leshy power, (EDIT: NOT POSSIBLY, HE DID) and he trapped the Lonely Wizard. While this does become his downfall, I see it as testament to the fact that The Great Transendence power grab was mostly spurred by the fact that when someone else was in control, he was at their mercy. And Leshy proved to be quite merciless in letting him be killed and sacrificed for a game. (If you take into account their history as being married, it's really just salt in the wound.)

P03 as we see him in Act 2 is an emotionally constipated Scrybe who, when not in charge, fears his perceived vulnerability at the hands of the others. He needed control, and he needed it to be permanent. So, he uses Luke to upload the game and solidify his power, unaware that he's also uploading doomsday codes.

And despite everything the other Scrybes do to prevent this, it actually works.

[tojikai]

He ignored the shame and guilt inside his chest from the accusation that he threw at his friend earlier.

But that doesn't mean that seeing him touch you like that is fine.

It only sunk into Satoru's head that all of the things that he got angry and jealous about are things he never thought he would see the moment he lets go of you.

When reading this, I realized that maybe before they broke up, Y/N had done such a good job loving him that things like jealousy and insecurity didn’t quite exist in their relationship (besides that thing with Suguru *cough). It was so safe that when he cheated and broke up with her, he did it with ease because while he hurt her, he thought that he would never lose her. He thought he could still have her in his life as a friend, and subconsciously, he wanted Y/N to keep loving him no matter what. And then, after this part, when Y/N gave him back the necklace, losing her became so real that he finally acknowledged the depth of his love for her.

A bit off topic but I always hc in JJK, having Six Eyes helps Satoru process information faster but it doesn’t apply with emotions, and as the result, he’s really emotionally constipated and lacking empathy, so it takes quite a while for him to understand what he is feeling, let alone empathize or open himself up to someone. I feel like it’s kind of the case here with PM!Satoru, except he doesn’t even have Six Eyes here lol.

He'd take whatever request you make if it means he'll get closer to getting you back. But first, he had to confess to Rie and tell her all that had happened.

He knows that he'll be breaking her heart, but he'd rather hurt anyone else than break you again.

It's been two weeks, and you never told Shoko and Suguru of what happened that day.

Satoru has been calling and texting you non-stop. He went to your apartment multiple times, saying that he ended things with Rie, but you always told him 'No.'

Oh dear, knowing Kai, we will surely have Rie’s POV on this huh? I really like the way you write this btw. It made me go “Umm.. just like that?”. It feels so… abrupt? But not in an out-of-nowhere way at all. Like I said above, Satoru changes his mind like his clothes, so it even gives both Y/N and I whiplash from how fast it is. No wonder she didn’t take you seriously, Satoru. You dropped Rie like it’s nothing after you dumped Y/N despite having a 5-year relationship with her? YOU FUCKING SUCK, DUDE.

There, your ex's ex stood in an office uniform with papers for your Mom.

Us (me): SATOSUGU FIGHT! SATOSUGU FIGHT!!

You: Here’s Rie vs Y/N instead :)))

Just kidding. But this will probably go so wrong UGHHH!!!! I read your answers to some anons, but it doesn’t matter if Y/N’s mom is not Rie’s boss, Y/N will probably be stuck working with Rie in the same building anyway. THE HORROR!!! I think how Rie will treat Y/N after the breakup will decide whether she will get redemption in the readers’ eyes or not. I noticed how you always try to do your best to humanize your characters and give them the benefit of the doubt, even if they’re an “antagonist”, so I’m really looking forward to how this will play out. I mentioned how I disapproved of Satoru and Y/N cheating on Rie, but I like how things are going. If Rie felt like a sinner for wronging Y/N before, it’s Y/N’s turn for that. This essentially makes them an “equal” because both parties no longer have the “power” over another. Both of them are betrayers and are being played by the same man. So their relationship could either turn into hatred or they will make peace with each other (which I doubt :((). Due to how emotional Rie is, her actions are often unpredictable, so I can’t wait to see what will happen next ;)

All in all, we are almost near the end of this story, so Satoru (and maybe Rie) redemption arc starts now? I remember you mentioned that PM might have multiple endings, so I guess Y/N will either end up with Satoru again or dump his ass for rea. I don’t mind her getting back with Gojo, but please give this man growth. I’m sick of his immature ass already. But whatever I say, I have faith you will be able to deliver each ending in the most logical way possible. And I would support you even if this fic has one ending.

Whewwww…. Man…. This whole review is worth 6 pages, and I feel beat after typing it out. Thank you for another good chapter, Kai. I’ve been really enjoying this journey with you so far, and I can’t wait to see how we will make it to the end of it. Can’t wait for your next chap.

I hope you will have another good week ahead of you <3 P. S. Kai, I think your taglist isn’t working bc I only received Tumblr notification for your updates and not in the tag, so you might want to re-check it again? (2/2)

Yeah you're right about how yn loved Satoru. Like he said, his feelings were nothing but intense and raging. That's how yn loved him too. Both of them are not the best people, with satoru having commitment issues and yn being a headache to her family, it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows but they worked. despite her rebellious nature back then, yn was focused on him and he only realized now that he didn't want to lose that. and that hc is great omg if that becomes canon, then that would be what the strongest is lacking :(( as for that break up and Rie and yn's mom situation, all will be unveiled next chap :> and AH, im really glad that you noticed that balance. how it shifted from being tipped to one side (yn's) to equal. yn and rie are now standing on the same step :')) and satoru better get that behavior glow up if he really wants to get yn back 😭that would be a hard fight, really. since it seems like yn doesnt want anything to do w him :(( anyway THANK YOU SOOOOO MUCH OMG , YOU NEVER MISS 👀 that was such a great read !! please, take care of yourself as well and have a great week ahead too <33

[psychovigilantewrites]

Stay Away

Pairing: Reader/Jason Todd

Genre: Smut

TW: AGE GAP!! PSEUDO-INCEST! PLEASE READ SUMMARY, IVE RECEIVED LOTS OF CRITICISMS FOR THIS FIC SOOOO 

Summary: THIS IS A REPOST SINCE TUMBLR TOOK IT DOWN DUE TO POSSIBLE REPORTS LOLOL 

This fic is about a young Robin!Reader with a much older Jason. Mentions of past sexual abuse. This started out as a drabble lol, I got carried away. Anyway, Hope you enjoy! I love reading comments, so don't be shy!

Edit: Due to this fic being my only controversial one, I’d like to update the warnings by giving a brief description of what happens. Reader is adopted by Bruce at 14, she has a small innocent crush on Jason that isn’t explored until she is older (Jason has ZERO feelings for her at this stage because SHE IS JUST A KID HERE). At 16, she becomes more aggressive in flirting with Jason. At 17 (Gotham’s legal age of consent- I based this on New York’s age of consent), she has oral sex with Jason. At 18, they have sex (Jason is 27).

I wrote this a while back, and now that I’ve learned a few things along the way, I realise that a sexual relationship between a 27 year old and an 18 year old is still highly problematic- even though legal. I do not condone these actions in real life, and I doubt Jason would as well. This is purely fictional, an outlet for my fantasies when I was younger. I still do not believe in creative censorship and I want people to enjoy this fic even if it has no place in the real world. We are all allowed to escape into fiction and our own fantasy and enjoy them privately without guilt. 

“And this is Jason,” Bruce introduced you to him.

Another one?, Jason thought, though he felt slightly guilty for thinking it. He had many problems with Bruce, but deep down he knew that Bruce adopted all of them out of kindness and good intentions.

“Hey,” he grunted, holding out his hand.

You just looked at him with big, frightful eyes, still sticking close to Bruce’s side. You looked young. You couldn’t have been older than fourteen. Your hair was cropped messily short, and it made you look almost like a young boy.

Jason raised an eyebrow and dropped his hand when you didn’t take it.

“Who’s he?” you whispered to Bruce with a soft voice that the average person wouldn’t have been able to hear.

“He, well,” Bruce hesitated, “He’s Red Hood.”

Jason’s eyebrows shot up.

“I decided to tell her everything,” Bruce explained to Jason, “So she can make an informed choice since young.”

“When you’re that young,” Jason glanced at you then back to Bruce, “Anything would sound cool. Even something dangerous that will rob you of your childhood. It’s not an informed choice, you’re basically dangling a cookie in front of her.”

“I’m not young,” you squeaked, “You’re just old.”

Jason scoffed at that.

Though you had voiced out your comeback, you were still shaking in nervousness, refusing to meet his eye.

Jason couldn’t blame you for that. He knew how his eyes looked.

“All of you were younger than her when you chose this life,” Bruce said softly.

“Did we really choose, Bruce?” he argued back.

“I’m not encouraging her,” he defended, “In fact, I’m doing the exact opposite. This time, I’m telling her the truth and nothing but the truth. The good, and the ugly.”

Jason saw how you didn’t like the way the conversation was going, talking about you as if you weren’t there. You had a deep frown on your face that made you look older than you were, but also, paradoxically, a cute pout that brought out the child in you.

“Whatever,” he finally shrugged, “Your kid. As if any of us had a say in anything anyway. If this was the only reason why you asked me to come here, I’ll be leaving.”

He turned to leave the manor, to go back to his safe house.

“Good riddance, old man!” you called out after him in a shaky voice.

Jason looked back and raised an eyebrow. You immediately blushed and avoided his eyes. In the back of his head, he thought about how he could recognize your accent anywhere.

***

The next time Jason visited the manor, which was about two months after the initial introduction, he found Bruce training you basic self-defense in the Cave.

Your hair had grown slightly, and you probably fixed the cut to suit your features better.

“What happened to being discouraging?” he said out loud.

You jumped at his voice, but Bruce looked at Jason knowingly.

“It’s just self-defense,” Bruce explained, “Useful regardless of Robin or not. She’s a fast learner.”

Jason saw how your face lit up at his praise.

Great, he thought. You weren’t even Robin yet and you already got that Robin complex every one of them seemed to have had.

The constant need for praise and emotional connection from Bruce, as well as a sense of delusional idolization of the man who adopted all of you.

“Where’s Grayson?” he huffed.

“Right here, Jay,” Dick’s warm and bright voice came from behind. Jason resisted the urge to jump just like you did.

Dick was already in his Nightwing costume, and walked towards you.

“Hey little sis!” he greeted, arms open. You flung yourself at him for a hug.

Jason rolled his eyes.

“Don’t the two of you live here?” he scoffed.

“Just because you’re emotionally constipated doesn’t mean the rest of us are,” you shot at him.

Jason smirked. You were feisty, yet still wary of him.

He found that adorable.

“She’s right,” Dick chuckled, “You wanted to see me, Jay?”

“Later,” he mumbled, and changed into his alter ego.

Once Jason and Dick were alone on patrol, he brought it up.

“Don’t you disagree with this?”

“With what?”

“Her,” he said, “Or more specifically, him bringing her into all of this.”

“I did at first,” Dick frowned, “But you’ve only met her once, Jay. You don’t live with her. She’s been through a lot, and her being Robin, well, I think it’d be good for her.”

Jason felt his chest tightening. Bruce had always used the excuse that he made all of them into Robin to help channel their emotions into doing good, to prevent them from falling into darkness.

Yet, Jason still did. And he fell right into an abyssal void that he was still trying to get out of.

“Maybe,” Dick continued, “You should get to know her. You’ll see what I’m talking about, and what Bruce sees in her. Tim disagreed at first as well, but after a while, even he warmed up to the idea.”

He frowned at Dick, and then looked away, sighing.

“Whatever.”

***

A month later, Jason had agreed to meet Dick and Tim at a diner.

The food wasn’t that good, and the service average, but it held many memories for him. Dick used to take him there after patrol when he was still Robin. When he went rogue, Dick had brought Tim there. Post-rogue, all three of them would meet up.

He was early, because he was closer. He waited about ten minutes before he saw Tim walking through the door, with Dick behind him. Following Dick, he saw you.

He frowned.

He supposed that he had to get used to you being around, since you were already in the picture.

He didn’t know why he felt like distancing himself from you. With Tim, he had a good reason. A personal reason that he had moved on from.

But you? He had no reason to push you away. Though, Jason had the tendency to push everyone away.

Dick took a seat next to Jason at the booth, and across from him were Tim and you. You were dressed simply in an oversized hoodie he recognized belonged to Dick. It made you seem smaller and younger than you really were. Your hair was in a short bob now. So you were growing it out after all.

Fine. He decided to give you a chance. He had been unfair to you, after all.

“Isn’t a bit too late for you to be out, kid?” he poked at you, “Don’t you have school tomorrow?”

“Fuck you, you colossal freak of nature,” you cussed at him.

Jason was taken aback.

And then he started laughing out loud.

You weren’t so bad after all. The shyness and wariness that you displayed the earlier times almost all gone, and then there was that familiar accent that he somehow felt at ease listening to.

Dick let out a loud groan.

“You owe me twenty,” Tim suddenly said to Dick.

“Come on,” Dick addressed you, “I had faith in you! What happened?”

“It’s just in my nature, okay?” you pouted, “I can’t help it.”

Dick fished out a twenty and threw it at Tim.

“What is happening?” Jason asked, confused.

“I bet ten that the first thing she says to you would be an insult, twenty if she threw in the word ‘fuck’,” Tim grinned.

“And I,” Dick enunciated dramatically, “Thought that she would at least hold it in until after we finished eating.”

“What, you a potty mouth or something?” Jason smirked at you.

“Unless Alfred or Bruce is around,” you grinned.

It was the first time you smiled at him.

“Coward,” he shook his head, “I used to say all sorts of shit even in front of Bruce and Alfred. You gotta step up your game, kid.”

“And Alfred got you bankrupt, didn’t he?” Dick reminded, “You had to put so much of your allowance in the swear jar.”

“I believe in freedom of expression, alright?” Jason huffed, “I had to stand by my principles.”

“Principles?” Tim scoffed, “You?”

“Yes, me, Timbers,” Jason reiterated, “I’m a man of my word. If I’m gonna swear, I’m gonna go all the way.”

“You’re an old man of your word,” Jason heard you mumble.

“I’m only twenty-three, sweetheart,” he responded, “Dick’s the old man here.”

“Am not!” Dick protested.

“Yeah, Dick’s not,” you agreed.

“How does that make any sense?” Jason challenged.

“Because Dick doesn’t treat me like I’m a kid,” you shrugged, “He brings me up to his level, so I don’t see him as an old man. You on the other hand…”

“But you are a kid!” Jason argued back, “What are you, twelve?”

“You know for a fact that I’m fourteen!” you growled.

Jason grinned at you, and expected you to continue defending yourself. But for some reason, you just remained silent, and he saw a blush of red settling on your cheeks.

“Whatever you say, kid.”

***

The time that passed between that night and the next time he came back was shorter. He watched you train with Dick, and saw that you had already improved a lot.

He went back, and came back again, three weeks later. Your moves were faster, cleaner, more efficient.

He went back, and came back again, a week later. You landed a blow on Tim.

Soon, he realised that he was looking forward to his visits, because he wanted to see how much you progressed during the short time he was gone- and you never disappointed.

“She must be training nonstop,” he casually said to Tim one night on patrol. Bruce still didn’t allow you out with them yet, because you were still too new.

“Dude, she wakes up at four every morning to train for two hours before going to school,” Tim told him, “After she gets back, she does her homework and studies for a bit, and then trains again for another three hours before going to bed. She’s borderline crazy.”

Jason frowned to himself.

He knew that pattern. Training relentlessly to lose himself in the physical exertion, to feel like he had some sort of power every time he landed a punch, to regain some sort of control.

You were either running away from something, or towards something.

“I never asked,” he started, “But how did he end up adopting her?”

“Uh,” Tim rubbed the back of his head in hesitation, “I don’t know if I should be the one to tell you. You should ask her yourself.”

“Oh, come on,” he groaned, “You mean to tell me that you asked her yourself? Dick or Bruce didn’t tell you?”

“Of course!” Tim grumbled, “We’re friends, Jason. We hang out. We talk. You’re the only one missing from the circle.”

“Fucking whatever.”

***

He really wanted to ask, he really did.

If not out of care, then out of curiosity.

But honestly, a heart to heart talk with another human being? That wasn’t him.

Yet, he really wanted to know.

He had tried to sit down next to you when you were just watching TV alone in the living room, he had tried to knock on your door while you were blasting shitty music out loud. He had even tried to call you up and see if you wanted to meet him for dinner somewhere.

But he never got to it.

In the end, a year had passed since he first met you, and it was your big night. It was your first debut as Robin.

“Stick to at least one of us,” Jason overheard Bruce instruct you in the Cave, “Don’t go off on your own, don’t act first, and always listen to orders.”

“Yes, sir,” you rolled your eyes, then put on your domino mask.

Jason smirked at your attitude. You had come out of your shell and he learned that you were really a feisty, sassy, annoying little brat.

He thought the Robin uniform suited you. It was more modern than his was- the colors more muted- and he saw that you probably had demanded Bruce to include designs of your own. Like how your black cape sort of shimmered in the light, and how there was fucking lace at the lateral sides of your legs.

Your hair was long now.

All of you split up during patrol, and Jason had found himself panting on a roof after taking down a dozen guys who thought it was a good idea to seek revenge for the time he pissed on them from the edge of a building while they were doing a drug exchange.

It had been pretty funny, the way they were so furiously humiliated.

Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a movement. He turned to look at the building from across the street, and saw that you were sitting there on the edge, legs dangling, overlooking the alley below.

He grappled to where you were and silently approached you from behind.

“I thought he told you to stick to someone,” he said.

“Jesus, fuck,” you jumped, “Stop doing that, you asshole.”

“Think of it as training for your ears,” he chuckled, and sat down next to you.

“I was with Bruce, then Dick, then Tim, then I ran away from Tim to find you,” you explained, “Looks like you found me first, though.”

“Why did you want to find me?”

“Dunno,” you shrugged, “It’s my first night. Just wanted to see everyone in action.”

“Well, you missed one big fight,” he said, “Took out a dozen guys in under five minutes.”

“Not bad,” you smirked, “Wish I could have seen it.”

“You will eventually,” he hummed, “It’s not a big deal.”

“Yes, because you obviously have done worse,” you poked.

“Is that why you were so afraid of me in the beginning?” Jason wondered, “Because you knew I killed people?”

“I was never afraid of you,” you frowned, “What gave you that idea?”

“You couldn’t stop shaking the first time I met you,” he reminded.

“Fine,” you conceded, “You looked pretty big and scary. And when Bruce said that you were Red Hood, that shook me up a bit. But it wasn’t because you killed people.”

“That’s a first,” he scoffed.

“But now I know that you’re just a massive prick who pretends to be badass to cover up the fact that you’re just a sad, fragile being- well, it’s hard to be scared.”

“Oh, we’re throwing shade now are we?” he snickered, “What about you and your obsession with training just to compensate for the fact that you feel small and weak inside with no control over your life?”

He had expected you to retort, but you just frowned and looked down towards the alley.

Shit.

Jason always had that problem where he didn’t know when to shut up, or what not say to people. Granted, most of the time he didn’t care if the other party got offended or not.

But he didn’t want to hurt you.

He was just going to open his mouth to apologize until-

“I’ve been here before,” you started, “This alley. A long time ago. My big brother- he dragged me here away from my dad so he could beat me up.”

Jason remained silent in shock.

“Not that my dad was any better,” you added, “I guess my brother was like that to me because my dad was like that to him.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that. Was he supposed to comfort you? Or tell you something funny to distract you from the sadness?

Instead, he asked, “What about your mom?”

Jason’s mom had been there, yet not fully there. But when she was, he was grateful at least, to know the warmth of a hug in a run down apartment with no heater during the winter.

“Died giving birth to me,” you explained, “Dad always blamed me for it. He’d tell me that he wished I was never born- that he wished he wore a condom when he fucked mom, that at least if she was alive, he didn’t need to fuck whores.”

“And fuck whores, he did,” you continued bitterly, “But they weren’t enough, I guess. He- he even- I-”

You never finished your sentence, but you didn’t need to. Jason was smart enough to put two and two together.

He felt his blood boil, his rage seeping in. It was like he was that Red Hood again. And for the first time since he came back to Bruce, he didn’t try to push that memory away.

He could go rogue again. Just one more time.

“Where is he- they- where are they now?” Jason managed to grit, tasting blood in his mouth.

“Dead,” you snorted, “Thanks to you.”

“What?”

That took him out of his burning anger.

“Turns out dad was working with Black Mask,” you elaborated, “He dragged my brother with him as well. It’s how he managed to afford all those prostitutes and heroin, I guess. I think they were at one of those shipments you crashed or something back then. You left twenty dead.”

Fuck, he remembered.

Black Mask was at the docks, waiting for a shipment of weapons, drugs, and girls. He remembered feeling frustrated that Black Mask slipped away before he got to him, so he took out his anger on everyone else working with Black Mask.

“Lived in the streets after that,” you continued, “Fend for myself. Cut my hair short so people would think I was a boy. I had to stay tough, you know? When Bruce found me, I was doing an odd job for one of the local gangs. Small one. Was supposed to recruit people my age. Start them young, he said. I guess Bruce had been following me for a bit. He approached me and that scared the shit out of me.”

You paused to smile sadly at the memory.

“But he just asked me for my name, and age,” you stared into space, “And he told me that I could do better than that. That I had potential. He asked me if I wanted to help people rather than drag them into dangerous stuff. And how could I say no? Especially after wishing for so long that someone would come and help me when I was with my dad and brother living in a run down apartment with a leaking roof near Crime Alley.”

You finally looked at him.

Jason was glad that he was wearing a helmet, because he wanted to hide from the stabbing guilt he felt. He didn’t want you to see him that way.

“So you’re right,” your blank white lenses pierced his own, “I train because I want to feel strong, because I’ve felt weak my whole life. I train to feel as if I have control over my own body, my own movements. Hell, even the fact that I grew my hair long gave me a sense of control.”

“I’m sorry,” Jason finally managed to croak, “I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine,” you dismissed, “Plus, you did me a favour before. I kind of owe you one.”

“Favour?”

“You got rid of my dad for me,” you stood up, “Thanks.”

And for the first time, looking up at you as you were looking down, smiling at him, he didn’t see you as a kid.

“Sure thing, kid.”

***

Jason started dropping by once every two weeks. Sometimes he would even come around twice in a week.

He had warmed up to you after you told him your story, though he was kind of frustrated that Dick, Tim, and Bruce were all right, and he was the wrong one all along because he didn’t know you.

But then, you also started warming up to him.

And that became the major issue.

Since you donned the Robin uniform, your ego had spiked up. Your confidence and arrogance came with every progress you made. A year into Robin, Jason couldn’t see a semblance of that frightened little girl with the short hair, voice shaking as she tried to insult him.

No, now you were just so fucking annoying.

And for some reason, you started to be more aware of your sexuality as your confidence grew.

At the age of 16, you had started coming onto Jason strong.

“Jason,” you pouted at him, “Why don’t you come stay at the Manor anymore?”

“Because you’re there, kid,” he joked, staring at Gotham’s skyline from the rooftop where you, him, and Batman would occasionally stop to catch a breath.

“Jasooon,” you whined, high pitched and long, “I miss spending time with you.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, because you were touching his arm, squeezing his biceps. Not that you could see his face, given the helmet he wore. He kind of missed how you were back then. All you had were insults and swear words for him, and you definitely didn’t whine.

“Don’t you have Tim to annoy?”

“He’s always busy,” you huffed, “And when he’s not busy, he’s sleepy. Tim’s boring. You’re more fun, in an assholey cocknose dickweed kind of way.”

Ah, there it was, your colorful language. He had to admit, your creativity impressed him.

“Well, I can’t argue with that,” he chuckled.

“So why don’t you come over some time and we can have some fun?” you purred seductively.

Jason was taken aback.

He wasn’t sure whether you meant it innocently, or whether you had hidden motives. He glanced at Bruce who was minding his own business, ignoring the two of you.

He didn’t think you would flirt with him in front of Bruce, so he dismissed it and blamed himself for thinking lewd things.

“My idea of fun involves a bottle of whiskey and B-Grade horror movies, kid,” he patted you on the head, “And you’re too young to drink.”

“Hmph,” you slapped his hand away, “That’s not what I was talking about, but whatever.”

You strutted away.

It wasn’t that he didn’t find you attractive, it was that he shouldn’t find you attractive. What was a 16 year old doing flirting with someone his age? Weren’t you supposed to have crushes on the quarterbacks in your school?

Hell, even if you wanted someone who knew of your nighttime activities, there always were the Teen Titans, whom you regularly joined. That Aqualad wasn't a bad kid, but for some reason he didn't like the thought of you dating just yet.

But still, you had no business with someone like Jason. Age wise, or personality wise.

*** Two weeks later, he dropped by again for movie night.

When he walked into the living room, the only person who quirked up when they saw him was you, probably because the rest had already heard him coming.

“Jay!” you squealed, and ran to him, flinging your arms around his neck in a hug.

“Hey- oomph,” he slightly stumbled. It was the first time you hugged him.

And now that you were so close, he was hyper aware of you. You were wearing shorts and a tank top- with no bra. He could smell your vanilla lotion and your chocolate spice shampoo.

He could feel your strong arms, your heavy weight, your burning heat against him.

And for the first time, he actually got turned on by you.

Fuck, he thought. He shouldn’t be thinking of you like that. As if the age difference wasn’t vast already, you were still underaged.

He awkwardly patted you on the back, in an attempt to respond to the hug. He could make out Tim and Dick snickering at him at his obvious discomfort.

“You’ve gained weight,” he gruffed, trying to break the hug because he was dangerously close to popping a boner.

As expected, you let go of him.

“Yeah, I did!” you grinned happily, “I’ve gained about five pounds of muscle mass!”

You started flexing your toned biceps comically.

“Maybe you can gain five pounds of brain mass next time, kid,” he smirked and ruffled your hair.

“I’m pretty sure that’s a medical condition, you twatwaffle arsebadger,” you shot back at him.

“Jar,” a chorus of lazy mumbles from everyone else rose.

You grumbled and walked towards a coffee table, where a clear mason jar almost filled to the brim with folded notes sat. You shoved in five dollars.

Jason took off his jacket and sat next to Dick on the long sofa. You then hopped towards him and started snuggling next to him.

Jason looked at Dick in question.

Dick merely shrugged.

Jason had a hard time concentrating on the movie that night, because you leaning your head on his chest, and playing with the denim of his jeans absentmindedly.

He wasn’t used to it.

Human contact.

And he knew how you were. You were probably the same with Dick and Tim. You just chose him that night to snuggle up to.

But then you made a comment about how hot the guy in the movie was. Jason didn’t think much of it until you leaned up to press your mouth on his ear and whispered, “Not as hot as you, though.”

That made him jump out of his seat in panic.

Everyone else looked at him suspiciously, but you were just looking at him with a knowing smirk.

“Toilet,” he mumbled, and left.

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck,” he paced in small circles in a washroom down the hall.

He looked at his reflection only to see how red he was at his ears. He gripped the edges of the sink and took deep breaths, trying to play it cool.

Now, it was obvious that you were flirting with him. There was no denying it.

But why on God’s planet were you?

Jason groaned quietly to himself.

Whatever. He thought that you’d probably just drop it eventually.

***

Half a year later, and it didn’t.

And it got bad. Real bad.

Jason still kept visiting regularly, and every single time he did, he would get almost sexually harassed by you.

He was just sitting down in an armchair in the living room, reading a book, when you came along, and with the most arrogant, most entitled smirk, sat on his lap.

“Get off,” he grit, eyes never leaving his book. He was scared of what you were wearing this time.

“But you’re so warm,” you hummed, swinging up your legs across his lap, so that you were being cradled by him and the armchair.

“The fire’s right there,” he pointed to the fireplace, “If you need help, I can throw you in it.”

“I’d rather you throw me in bed,” you purred.

He snapped his book shut and squeezed the bridge of his nose.

“Just. Get. Off,” he growled.

It was dangerous. Your smell was intoxicating, and you were shifting and shuffling against his front. His mind started to wander, and he hadn’t even looked at you yet.

“But Jasooon,” you whined, “You’re nice and soft.”

He glared at you.

And regretted it.

You were wearing an almost see-through white loose t-shirt that exposed your shoulders. The thin fabric clung onto the curves of your breasts which were- thankfully- covered by a pink bra. You had a pair of satin booty shorts on which hardly covered your ass, which was sitting on top of his crotch.

“Actually, no let me take that back,” you pretended to wonder, “You’re pretty hard.”

And you gave him a wicked grin.

His eyes widen in panic and he stood up suddenly, causing you to fall flat on the floor.

“Fuck!” you cursed, “What's the big deal, jizzcock?”

He left the room and rushed to the toilet. He looked down, and found his penis was normal, flaccid, non-erect, unfilled.

That bitch fucking tricked me, he thought.

And he fell for it.

He went to look for Bruce who was in the cave, in front of the computers.

He took a wheeled chair and sat behind him.

“Bruce,” he started, “I need to talk to you.”

“What is it?” Bruce asked without sparing a glance at him.

That ticked him off a bit.

“It’s about your daughter.”

Jason saw Bruce pause, and then turned around to finally face him. “What about her?”

“She’s been flirting with me,” he grumbled.

Bruce raised an amused eyebrow.

“She’s sixteen, and she’s flirting with a twenty-five year old man!” he complained, “If she’s doing this to me, God knows who else she’s been doing this to!”

“And?” Bruce questioned.

“And? And?” Jason repeated, “And aren’t you worried?”

“She can take care of herself,” Bruce stated, “She’s mature. She won’t let herself be taken advantage of.

“Look, Bruce,” Jason squeezed his temples, “It’s great that you trust her and all that, but don’t you think it’s kind of fucked up? Christ, she’s sixteen!”

“And she’s well aware of that,” he said, “What would you have me do? Do you want me to talk to her?”

“Forget it,” he gave in, and left for his safehouse without saying goodbye to you.

Because that night he laid on his bed in the dark, guiltily thinking about your ass on his dick earlier. But thankfully unlike earlier, he had allowed his cock to fill up.

He knew he shouldn’t, but he thought of that time when you and him went jogging around the manor. You wore just a sports bra that showed off your cleavage, and sports shorts that rode up your ass. He couldn’t resist looking at the way your tits bounce with every step, and when you ran in front of him, his eyes darted down to check out your ass before he realised what he was doing and excused himself.

Excuse himself because he needed to stop looking, to stop thinking.

But now, he let his thoughts free.

He thought about how that one drop of sweat trickled down between the valleys of your breasts, how your muscular back glistened in the sun, how flushed your cheeks were.

He glanced down at his cock, which was already hard and leaking precum onto his stomach, twitching in need of attention.

“Don’t touch it, don’t touch it,” he muttered.

He couldn’t stop his mind from wandering, but he could try to resist from touching himself.

He owed you that at the very least.

He gulped loudly.

It really wasn’t fair. You didn’t look sixteen, or act sixteen. You were far mature even at a younger age.

But you were still sixteen.

And it wasn’t fair how you could tease him and get away with it.

“Fuck,” he groaned in frustration.

The way you swore sort of turned him on as well, oddly. He loved your use of language, and how dirty your mouth was.

How even dirtier your mouth would be if he shoved his cock in-

“No,” he whined, and he touched his cock.

He stroked it once, twice, three times, and then he came hard, long ribbons splashing onto his chest.

“I am a jizzcock,” he whispered to himself in shame, and then cleaned himself up.

***

Three months later, Jason had just come back from a mission in Mexico. Throughout his trip, he’d been bombarded with texts from you.

The topics spanned from the usual banter about training, Dick, and how you’ve been annoying Alfred with “ok, boomer” memes, to you sending him mirror selfies of yourself in fitting rooms trying out clothes that made Jason almost drool and you attempting to flirt with him.

Jason responded normally to the former, but sent short uninterested texts to the latter.

But when he came back to his safe house, he found his spare handgun on his bed- which was not where he last put it. On it, was a sticky note with a written message:

Try not to lick. R.

“What the fuck?” he muttered. R must have stood for Robin, and then suddenly Jason gulped, wondering what the fuck you had done to his gun.

He opened his phone to check his conversation with you, only to find that you had sent him a ten-minute length video.

His thumbs were shaking when he clicked play.

The video started with a closeup of your face in an awkward position, setting what Jason presumed to be your phone, on a surface with an angle you had in mind. Jason looked behind him and saw that his chair had been placed right in front of his bed, where you must have put the phone on.

“Fuck,” Jason realised. He did not like where this was going.

Or did he?

In the video, you then strolled to his bed, fingers touching his sheets. You were wearing nothing but a white flowy sundress that Jason thought made your skin look absolutely radiant. But instead of sitting on his bed, you had gone out of the frame, and then came back with the gun.

He swallowed hard.

You sat on the edge of the bed with a naughty glint in your eye. And then, you started to caress yourself sensually, squeezing your breasts as you made your way down to between your legs.

Jason realised he had started sweating and panting, getting aroused as his cock slowly started to fill out.

You spread your legs and dipped your hand beneath your dress, but Jason still couldn’t see anything because you had taken the fabric and hid what was going on under. He saw your mouth fall open and you let out a long, loud moan.

“Jason.”

Jason’s breath stuttered. His cock was aching in his jeans, begging to be touched.

Your hands were working underneath the fabric, teasing Jason with only an idea of what you were doing.

“I’m so wet, Jay,” you purred at the camera.

And then, your other hand went to take the gun.

You brought it up to your lips and flattened your tongue against the gun and licked all the way to the muzzle. Even in the low quality, he could see your saliva wetting his gun. Then, you gave him a wink and brought the gun to where your other hand was, between your legs.

Jason stopped the video then and squeezed his eyes shut, breathing hard through his nose at an attempt to calm himself down. Once he did have a semblance of control, which took almost five minutes of just trying to steady his breathing, he opened his eyes and dialled your number.

“Hey, Jay,” you picked up.

“What the fuck?!” he roared, “How the fuck did you get into my safehouse? Hell, how did you even know where it was?!”

“Oh, Jason, please,” he could hear you roll yours eyes, “You’re overreacting.”

“Over-?” he growled, “Overreacting?! You came into my house and then started to- started to-”

“Fuck myself with your gun?” you giggled.

His dick twitched.

“You need to stop this, kid,” he tried to bring his rage in, “Stop it, before you regret it.”

“Or what?” you teased, “What would you do to me, Jason? Spank me?”

He couldn’t. Jason just couldn’t with you. So he ended the call and threw his phone across the room.

He sat down at the edge of the bed and buried his face in his palms. His cock was still aching, and he was dying to touch it.

He glanced at the gun next to him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, and then unbuttoned his jeans, letting out a hiss of relief when he could finally take it out.

He started to furiously stroke his cock, just staring at the gun laying there. He wanted to smell it. He wanted to lick it. He wanted to see if he could still taste you on the metal.

“God fucking dammit,” he cursed, and then he came in pulses.

*** “What’s up, fucktrumpet?” you poked.

Jason let out a long and heavy breath from his nose, the sound becoming static as it went through the voice scrambler of his helmet.

It was a week later, and Jason had joined patrol with you, Bruce and Tim.

“Fuck off, kid,” he walked away from you, pretending to be looking out for something from the ledge of the roof.

“Oh, come on,” you whined, coming closer to him anyway. “You enjoyed it.”

“Tim,” Jason turned away to approach the younger man, “How’s things?”

“Don’t ignore me!” you ran after him.

“Leave me out of whatever this is,” Tim sighed. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Pfft, you’re always in the mood for me, Timbers,” Jason nudged his side with his elbow.

“No, she’s always in the mood for you,” he pointed to you, “For some reason.”

“Well, I’m not in the mood for her,” he grit.

“Meanie,” you pouted, “All I’ve ever been is nice to you, Jay. And what do you do? Act like an absolute thundercunt.”

He wanted to laugh at that, but he couldn’t. He had to keep up his appearances.

“Listen here, you brat,” Jason finally turned to you and poked your shoulder hard with his finger, making you wince. “You stay the fuck away from me.”

“Hey, Jay,” Tim suddenly interrupted, “You don’t need to do that, man.”

“This little bitch broke into my house and started defiling my things, Tim,” he growled, “Yes, I need to do that.”

“Defiling your things?” Tim repeated.

You let out a soft giggle.

“Forget it,” Jason threw his hands up in the air. “I’ll patrol alone.”

Jason saw the slight disappointment in your eyes when he left which made him feel a little guilty, but he ignored it.

Whatever, you were basically just asking for it.

***

Another half a year went by, and Jason found himself at the Manor for Dick’s barbecue and pool party. He was already dreading it, because he knew you would be up to no fucking good, especially when you had the excuse to wear a bikini in front of him.

He had contemplated about not going, but Roy was going to be there, and Roy was making him go.

The first person Jason looked out for was you, because he had to be on his guard. He was standing at the glass sliding door of the manor that opened to the pool to survey the crowd. He spotted you in the pool, laughing at who he assumed was Aqualad- Jason didn't bother to learn his name- wearing a dark red bikini top that fixated behind your neck.

“Jaybird! You made it!” Roy’s voice boomed all the way from the other side of the pool and came running to where Jason was standing awkwardly.

He knew many of Dick's friends, but he was never particularly close to any of them besides Roy and Kori. Now that Kori was gone, Roy was all he had left.

“Don't call me that,” he grumbled back.

“Aw, come on,” Roy groaned, “You came to a pool party in a t-shirt and jeans? Seriously?”

“I wasn't planning on swimming,” he shrugged.

Roy was sporting a horrible bright yellow swimming shorts with green palm leaves.

“Well, I was, so I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

“Yeah,” Jason nodded and decided to head to the pool chairs and put on his sunglasses. He even brought a book to bury his nose into to avoid social interaction.

He heard a splash of water and from the corner of his eye, saw you coming towards him.

“Don’t even,” he snapped at you before you could get a word out.

“I wasn't even going to do anything, fucking dipshit,” you shot back.

Jason forced his eyes back to his book to avoid getting caught looking at how the water trickled down your glistening skin that looked oh so soft-

“What do you want then?” he huffed, turning a page.

“Well,” you began, taking a seat on the pool chair where Jason's feet were, “I was going to ask you about Roy.”

Jason glared at you, peeking from the top of his book.

“What about Roy?”

“You guys are close, right?” you hummed.

“I guess so.”

“Like, best friends?”

“What are we, twelve?” he scoffed, “Why are you asking me so many questions?”

“Well, since you're close to Roy,” you started, “I was wondering if you knew his type.”

“His type?”

“Yeah, like what kind of girls does he like?” you grinned.

“Ones who aren't underaged,” Jason growled.

“Jason I'm already seventeen,” you reminded, “Which is the legal age of consent in Gotham.”

“It doesn't matter,” he grumbled, “He's older than me, which makes him way too old for you. Forget it.”

You pouted, and then stood up. He had to redirect his gaze back to his book.

“It’s like you don't even know me, Jaybird,” you snickered, and with a flip of your wet hair which splashed droplets of water onto him, you strutted away.

He was gritting his jaw so hard he could feel his teeth ache.

Fuck, why can't you just stop?

“I need a fucking drink,” he muttered to himself and left for the kitchen where he rummaged through the refrigerator to find a stout.

He popped open the bottle cap on the marble edge of the kitchen island.

“Alfred would kill you if he saw you do that,” a voice laughed.

Jason rolled his eyes at Dick, who was sipping on a can of beer behind him. “I’ve gotten in trouble for worse.”

“God, I forget how similar you guys are,” he leaned against the counter.

“Who?”

“You know who. Her,” he pointed out.

“We’re not the same,” he denied, heading back outside.

“No, she deals with her issues better than you did,” Dick followed him, “As a matter of fact, you're still dealing.”

“Get to the point, Grayson,” he snapped.

“The point is, she’s not a kid, Jason,” Dick told him, “Why don't you give her a chance?”

Jason stopped in his tracks, standing still before exiting through the glass door. It was quieter inside the manor.

“A chance for what?” he grit.

“To prove herself to you,” Dick explained, “I've noticed how you treat her, Jay. Tim as well. It's like you're trying to push her away. Why? You don't think she's good enough?”

“Holy shit,” Jason started laughing humourlessly, “You think this is about me simply not liking her? You guys think I'm just being angsty?”

“Isn't it?” Dick cocked his head to the side.

“She's been fucking flirting with me, Grayson,” Jason said.

“Okay, I get that, but she sort of flirts with everyone,” he shrugged.

“She comes and sit on my lap, whispers stupid shit in my ear, sends me pictures of herself trying on revealing clothes, makes vulgar motions with her hands, fucking tries to seduce me,” he listed down, “Don't tell me she does that with everyone.”

“Okay, maybe not,” the older man frowned.

“Let me tell you, then,” Jason walked closer to Dick, “She broke into my fucking house, sat on my fucking bed, and started recording herself on her phone, and then sent the video to me.”

“Wait, what?” Dick sputtered, “Recording herself doing what?”

“You fucking know what,” he stated.

“Oh, Jesus,” Dick ran a finger through his hair, “Wow, she's ballsy.”

“That's your reaction?” Jason scoffed, “She's ballsy?”

“I mean-”

“She's sexually harassing me, Grayson!” he argued.

“But,” Dick began, “What did you really think about it? I mean, really?”

“What do you mean?” he hissed.

“Did you watch it?” Dick persisted. “The video?”

“What- I- no, I just-” Jason spluttered, caught off guard.

“You can't lie to me, Jason,” Dick gave him a mischievous smile, “You like her, too. That's why you're pushing her away. Because you don't think you're good enough for her.”

Fuck Dick and his fucking superior detective skills.

“She's too young for me,” Jason simply stated.

“Well, apparently not too young for Roy,” Dick smirked.

“What-” Jason turned around and looked outside.

You were in the pool, standing in the corner. You had a hand on Roy’s chest, looking up at him and laughing. He had a hand on your waist, and was whispering something into your ear.

Jason went into a fit of rage when he saw Roy touching you.

“Mother fucker,” Jason swore, and without thinking, went straight to where you were. He stood there at the edge of the pool, arms crossed, and looking down at the two of you who were both unaware of his presence.

“Roy,” Jason growled.

Roy jumped and looked at Jason in panic, and as if you electrocuted him, immediately jumped away from your touch.

“H-hey, Jaybird,” he awkwardly laughed, “I was just- I was- uh- I was telling her about what a great friend you were.”

“Oh, really?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah!” he nodded vigorously, “Jason here is super good with his aim as well. Could even rival mine.”

Jason ignored Roy, and glared at you, who was looking up at him with obviously fake innocent eyes.

“Out,” he commanded.

“What?”

“I said out,” he repeated. “Out of the pool. I need to talk to you.”

“Oh, come on, Jason,” you started to whine, but then stopped when you saw his expression.

You climbed out of the pool, and again, Jason had to avert his eyes. Without sparing a glance at you, he gripped you by the arm and pulled you to go inside.

“Ow! Jason, let go, fucking cocksucker!” you cried.

He snatched a towel from Tim’s grip as he walked, ignoring Tim’s protests and stares from others, and then threw it on top of your head.

“Ugh- Jason!” you complained. He continued to lead you inside the manor, up the stairs, and to his old room.

He slammed the door shut behind him.

“What's the big deal, you shitpouch?! Who do you fucking think you are? Fucking cumwipe, pisswizard, cuntpuddle...”

That wasn't the end of your swearing. You went on for another good minute of words that could make Batman blush, before stopping.

You were fuming. Your face red, your expression twisted into a scowl, water dripping all over the wooden floors, the fluffy towel around your neck that you hadn't used.

God, you were so hot when you were angry.

“You done?” he deadpanned. He sensed that you were going to go into another stream of name calling, so he cut you off.

“I told you to forget Roy,” he grit.

“And since when have I ever done what you told me to do?” you shot at him

You had a point.

“Look, kid-”

“I'm not a fucking kid, Jason!” you yelled at him for the first time, “I haven't been a kid since my dad- since I was twelve!”

Jason suddenly felt pain in his chest.

“I know you've been through shit,” Jason acknowledged, “What happened with your dad and your brother- I’m fucking glad I killed them. And even if I hadn’t back then, I would have broken every single rule and hunt them down and make them suffer before ending their lives after finding out what they did to you. Hell, before you told me that they were dead, I was already ready to turn every single rock to find them.”

Your expression softened at that.

“And I know you had to grow up fast,” he continued, “All of us who lived there did. But you're out of that now. You don't have to fucking try so hard to act older than you are anymore.”

Your eyes shone with anger once more.

“That's the thing you never got, Jason,” you spat, “I'm not trying. I never did. This is who I am.”

You were looking at him with such fierce intensity that Jason almost forgot how to breathe.

Because you were right. He had gone through the same process where he was made to grow up fast, where he couldn’t afford to act like a kid.

He looked at you, trying not to show much emotion on his face.

Somehow in the heat of the argument and you yelling cusses at him, the two of you had gotten closer to each other, and Jason could even see the tears brimming in your eyes that were threatening to spill.

He immediately felt like a piece of shit, like every word you called him. He never wanted to hurt you.

“Whatever,” Jason huffed, looking away to avoid your glare, “Just stay away from Roy.”

“Why, you two dating or something?” you smirked.

He simply glared at you. You obviously had recovered from your anger and was now back to your usual snarky self.

“Or,” you began, “You were jealous.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Jason objected, “Why would I be jealous?”

“Because,” you drawled, walking closer to him, “You like me.”

Jason had backed up each time you walked to him, and before he knew it his back was hitting the door.

Fuck, he hated how much you affected him. You had him backed up against the fucking door, for fuck’s sake.

To get a semblance of power back, he stared at you straight in the eye, unblinking, and leaned closer to you.

“You wish,” he said coldly.

He noticed that your breath stuttered, and a blush creeped up your cheeks.

Then, he leaned back and smirked.

“Oh, no you don't,” you shook your head, “You think you can win this game, Todd?”

“Unlike you, I'm not playing a game.”

“But yes you are, Jay,” you placed your palms flat on his chest, “You’ve been playing hard to get with me.”

“Playing hard to get is only used when the other person actually wants you,” he scoffed.

He didn't know why, but he was sweating. His respiratory rate had gone up, and shit.

Shit.

He could feel his dick getting filled up.

Maybe it was how close you were to him, maybe it was the fact that you were half naked in front of him with all the privacy he could have asked for.

Maybe it was the fact that it was you who had him in a corner instead of the other way round.

“I'm not a fucking idiot, Jay. Batman trained me, too. I've seen how you look at me and I’ve seen how you tried not to.”

Fuck.

“Your pupils dilate, your breathing gets faster, you start to sweat,” you went on, “And then suddenly you excuse yourself. You run away.”

Your hands went up to his shoulders, and your body was now against his, getting his clothes wet. He could smell the chlorine on you when you leaned into his ear and whispered.

“You fucking coward,” you breathed.

Jason's breath hitched and he had to squeeze his eyes shut. He pressed his palms against the door behind him to restrain himself from touching you, grabbing you, squeezing you, slapping you.

Jason knew he was fully hard now, because it was getting painful.

Suddenly, the pressure and heat of your body against his own disappeared. He opened his eyes.

But sucked in a breath when he saw that you were on your knees in front of him, eye level to his crotch, the tent in his pants mere inches away from your lips.

“What the fuck are you- mmpf,” he threw his head back, hitting the door.

You had gripped his shaft hard, sending a pulse of pleasure through his body.

No. Jason had to stop this. He couldn't go through with this. He shouldn't.

“You want me to suck your cock, Jay?” You purred.

Jason swallowed hard, just trying his best to restrain himself.

He remained silent for a beat. And then-

“Do whatever you want,” he managed to choke out.

You showed him a winning grin, and then unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, pulling down his jeans.

You started to mouth his length through the fabric of his boxers, getting it translucent with your spit. He had never been so horny in his entire life.

As much as Jason’s head was screaming at him, telling him to stop you, telling him how inappropriate it was, he didn’t have the strength to voice it out.

He wanted to tell you to stop teasing him, to hurry up and put your mouth around his cock already, but again, it was like he had lost his voice.

He was utterly conflicted, so he opt to just stay silent.

You hooked your fingers in the waistband of his briefs and then pulled it down, revealing his cock to you. He hissed slightly at the relief.

Jason wanted to remember your expression the minute you saw his cock forever, he wanted to burn it in his brain and immortalize it. Your eyes had gone rounder, your mouth popped open with a gasp, and your excitement grew.

“It’s everything that I’ve dreamed about and more,” you fluttered your eyes dramatically before gripping his shaft and licking one long, steady stripe from the base to his tip.

Jason bit his lip to muffle his groan.

You licked him again, and again, and then started to swirl your tongue around the head of his cock, tracing your tongue around the sulcus underneath his head.

Fuck, you were so fucking good at teasing him, and making him squirm.

He looked down at you, and you were looking up through your long lashes, eyes almost innocent. And then, you took him in his mouth, going all the way down.

“Fuck,” Jason gasped.

You immediately built a rhythm, the most perfect rhythm that he liked. It was suspicious how you knew his preference, and at the back of his head he made a mental reminder to check his room for hidden cameras.

You provided him with the right amount of tongue, the right amount of suction, the right amount of teeth gently grazing him from time to time that he swore could have drove him insane.

Your mouth was soft, and warm, and wet, and before he knew it, he was ready to fucking explode.

As if you were familiar with his expressions, you picked up the pace and started sucking even harder each time you bobbed your head. Jason felt his balls tighten, the heat spreading to his toes and making them tingle.

“Fuck- I’m gonna- I’m gonna-” he rasped.

And then he released with sudden explosion into your mouth, going through a sensory overdrive because as he was releasing, he could still feel you sucking him dry and swallowing.

When he was done, you released his cock with a pop and a grin.

Jason had to catch his breath for a while, because it was the best head he had ever received in his entire life, and he had managed to keep his hands off you the entire time.

“You made me jealous on purpose,” he panted.

“Duh,” you stood up after politely zipping him back up, putting your hands on your waist so fucking proudly, like a power stance.

“Where the hell did you learn how to suck cock that good?” he interrogated.

“You’ve lived in Titans Tower before,” you winked, “You should know.”

He didn’t like that. He didn’t like that statement and implication one bit.

“This can’t,” he started, “We can’t-”

“This can’t happen again?” you finished for him, rolling your eyes. “Typical. Just get over yourself already, Jason. It gets tiring.”

���I’m no good for you,” he avoided your eyes.

“You say that right after coming into my mouth,” you scoffed, “Sure.”

He clenched his jaw. You were right. He was trash for doing that to you, defiling you like that.

Jason must have let his emotions leak, because you suddenly added, “What I meant was, we’ve already crossed that line. We don’t have to go back to how it was before. I like you, Jason. And I know you like me, too.”

“That doesn’t matter,” he muttered, “This was a mistake. We can’t do this again. I’m sorry. Just stay away from me.”

He left.

***

He had avoided you for a long time after that.

Months went by, and he ignored your texts and your calls. Even the knockings outside his door. He had made sure to upgrade his security, with both Tim and Roy’s help so you couldn’t break in again.

When he went on patrols with everyone else, he made sure you couldn’t catch him alone, so he arrived at the very latest, and left at the very soonest, never exchanging more than a few words with you.

And every time, it killed him. He saw the hurt flash in your eyes every time he left quickly, he noticed that you had texted him less and less as the months went on, and eventually came to a complete stop.

You had even stopped calling him those weird, creative swear names that he loved so much.

Jason finally won. He had managed to get you to give up on him.

But hell did it make him feel like absolute shit.

Eight months had passed by, and he was getting ready for the event he had absolutely been dreading. It was your 18th birthday party that Bruce had used as an excuse to host a charity gala at the manor.

Jason thought it was a dick move for him to take advantage of your birthday for the sake of his own gain, but apparently you had been more than supportive over it, understanding Bruce’s position as one of Gotham’s elite.

He didn’t want to go. He couldn’t bear to face you again where you could pull him somewhere private to talk to him. But Dick and Tim had convinced him.

It was your birthday after all.

When he arrived, everyone was staring at him.

Well, he was wearing just a leather jacket over a black shirt and a pair of dark denim jeans after all.

“You couldn’t have dressed for the occasion, Jason?” he heard Tim approach him from behind.

Tim was sporting a suit, just like everyone else.

“Couldn’t be bothered,” he shrugged, “What’s the agenda?”

“Mingling, dinner, speeches, more mingling,” Tim listed down, “Typical charity ball. The others are at the tents. We should get going.”

“I’m the dead son, remember?” he pointed out, “I don’t need to sit with you guys.”

“We’ll introduce you as Dick’s boyfriend or something, come on,” Tim gestured.

“Oh, the media would love that,” Jason muttered under his breath and went along.

The banquet area was set outside in the backyard of the Manor, where tents with clear plastic canopies were propped up, decorated with fairy lights. Since it was spring, the weather was cool enough for suits and warm enough for strapless dresses.

The main tent had a stage where a band was playing classical music- typical tunes you would hear at any other fucking gala.

Each table seated ten, and Tim had brought Jason to a table closest to the stage where he saw Dick, Bruce, and you were already seated with four others. He recognized the Mayor, the Commissioner, Lucius Fox, and a middle aged woman with greying hair he didn’t recognize with who Jason presumed was her husband.

Jason avoided looking at you, but he knew that you were staring right at him. Tim took a seat, and Jason cursed softly when he realised that the only other seat available was in between you and Dick.

Looking straight ahead, he calmly sat down. From the corner of his eye and from a portion of what he could make out, he saw that you were wearing a midnight blue dress, and a silver bracelet around your wrist which you rested on the table.

Bruce had started to converse with the guests, and Dick and Tim were having a banter amongst themselves.

“Hey,” he heard your voice.

“Happy birthday,” he mumbled.

“Thanks,” you replied.

And that was that. The two of you remained silent, with Jason occasionally checking his phone and still avoiding looking at you.

“It’s time for our speech,” Jason heard Bruce whisper to you.

He heard you get up and shuffled to the stage. He was hardly paying attention during Bruce’s welcome speech.

“...and then, the woman of the hour, my lovely daughter,” Bruce introduced you. The audience broke out in applause. Jason still hadn’t turned your way.

“Hello, everyone,” he heard your uncharacteristically nervous and shy voice over the sound system. He took a sip of wine. “T-thank coming for you all- uh- I mean-”

The audience laughed, but not in mockery. Jason couldn’t help but look at you now.

He accidentally inhaled his wine, and ended up trying to cover his coughing fits.

Up on stage, where the spotlight was on you, he had noticed your midnight blue dress had small sparkling stars on them, making you seem like you were wearing the clear night sky. Your hair was done in a simple graceful updo, which exposed your neck that he noticed was flushed, a blush creeping up to your cheeks at your own embarrassment.

Your eyes were wide in panic, and you kept on playing with your thumbs subconsciously.

His breath stuttered, because he thought you were the most beautiful creature he had ever laid his eyes on.

You were usually so snarky, so full of confidence, and wit with a mouth that could make a sailor blush- but there you were spluttering all over the microphone, a blushing mess. And hell, did that make Jason’s chest tighten in yearning for you.

“I’m sorry, I’m not used to crowds like my father is,” you tried to laugh it off, “Here, let’s try again.”

Despite your fumbles, you had a certain charm on stage that made everyone just like you.

“Thank you all for coming to my eighteenth birthday party,” you started, “I must admit, at first I wanted my party to be small and intimate. But I realised that this celebration could be used for something good instead.”

Another round of claps.

“I come from a very… humbling area in Gotham. I’m sure we’re all familiar with Crime Alley,” you stated, confidence growing as you got used to being on stage, “It was hard, living as a child in the streets. But I got lucky. Bruce Wayne found me.”

“Being the daughter of Bruce Wayne has taught me a lot about understanding and acknowledging my own privilege and using it to help others. Growing up there, myself and many other children were faced with the harsh reality of poverty and abandonment. Therefore, I would like to announce that I have started a foundation called Wayne’s Foundation for Children of Hope, where all proceeds will go to the development of Crime Alley.”

You paused and smiled at the flashing cameras of the media and waited for the applause to die down.

“Our first initiative is to build a home for lost children aged eighteen and under, to provide shelter, basic healthcare, food, and education. The primary goal of these shelters is to help kids find a place where they belong, and to help set them back on the right track. These kids also have the option to maintain anonymity for cases that involve abusive environments.”

Jason was looking at you in awe. You were standing proudly at the podium, graceful in your posture, a fierce intensity in your eyes- all previous nervousness completely gone.

Next to him, Dick leaned in and whispered, “It was all her idea, you know. Every single plan for this foundation, even the future plans she hadn’t mentioned. All hers.”

Jason remained silent and watched as you continued your speech.

“But the truth is,” you smiled sadly, “It’s still not enough. The situation in a lot of areas in Gotham is painfully swept under the rug. But hopefully with this, people like us can make things a little better for them. If you’d like to donate to the foundation, it would mean a lot to me, and to the other kids who had to grow up too fast.”

You made eye contact with Jason at that last statement, causing his heart to suddenly drum faster.

The crowd broke in a loud applause and you thanked them graciously, waving as you stepped down from the podium to take your seat.

This time, Jason didn’t take his eyes off you.

“That was great!” Tim gave you a thumbs up, “You did great!”

“Well done,” Dick grinned.

Jason took your hand and gave it a little squeeze, just smiling at you in silence. You looked at him with obvious shock, and then grinned back.

“Beautiful, Ms. Wayne,” the Mayor sitting across from you beamed, “You’ve taken after your father’s charms.”

“Thank you, Mr. Mayor,” you nodded, “But I’d like to think that my charms are my own.”

Jason had to bite back a laugh when he saw the man turn red.

He was somehow more relaxed now, even sparing occasional glances at you as you conversed with others. The dance floor was now open, and the guests had left their seats to mingle with others. The MC also announced that the bar was open.

“That’s my cue,” Jason winked at you, and then went straight to the bar to get himself something strong. From there, he just leaned back and watched how the disgustingly rich people made themselves feel better about themselves by donating the occasional couple of million dollars. Soon enough, he got sick of the pearls and diamond earrings, the solid gold watches.

He checked his own battered and scratched Swiss Army watch he had lifted from a drug lord many years ago. He should be going back soon. It wasn’t like he was needed there anyway. He had already wished you and made peace.

“What do you think?” he heard your voice approach him.

He turned and saw you come up next to him.

“Too fancy for my taste,” he started, “Looks like it took you a whole hour just to get into the damn thing. And those shoes? Looks like the crowbar was less painful than walking around in that.”

It took you a couple of seconds before realising that he was talking about your outfit.

“I meant the foundation, you fucknugget,” you hissed.

“Be careful there, sweetheart,” he raised an eyebrow, “Don’t want these people hearing you speak like that. You’ll lose your charm.”

“I don’t know how Bruce does it,” you shook your head, “It’s so exhausting.”

Jason hummed back at you as a comfortable silence fell. The two of you leaning back against the bar and just watching the crowd.

“I think it’s a great idea,” he finally said.

“Thanks,” you pursed your lips, “I kept on thinking of you, you know? When we were coming up with the plans. Was wondering what you would think of it.”

“You’re making it sound like I’m the only one from there.”

“Well, you’re the only one who would understand,” you explained, “The others, of course they empathized. But they wouldn’t understand. Not like how you and I do.”

And Jason realised that it was that factor that probably drew you close to him when you first came to them, the fact that Jason understood at more than just a superficial level how shit your life was before coming to the manor. It was a painful past that only the two of you shared, and only the two of you could talk about.

Silence fell again.

“I’m sorry,” you suddenly brought up.

“For what?” he frowned.

“For making you uncomfortable for so long,” you whispered, “I don’t know why I did it. I guess I liked your reactions. And I guess I just wanted your attention. And during that pool party- I- I thought-”

Jason waited for you to finish your sentence.

“Nevermind,” you looked away, “Forget it. I just wanted to say sorry. I crossed the line. After you stopped talking to me, I just. I don’t want that. So I’ll stop, okay? You don’t have to avoid me anymore.”

He turned around to face you.

“I stopped talking to you not because I was mad at you,” he told you, “I stopped talking to you because I was mad at myself.”

You faced him with curious eyes.

“I thought- well- fuck,” it was Jason’s turn to splutter. He took a deep breath and started again. “I thought that it was a real shit move for me to do what I did to you.”

“Wait, what?” you questioned, “What you did to me?”

“Yeah,” he grumbled, “You know. That.”

“Jason, I was the one who practically jumped you,” you scoffed, “I basically forced it on you. Why are you blaming yourself?”

“Force me? Pfftsh, you couldn’t force me to do anything.”

“Jason.”

“I liked it, okay?” he threw his arms up, “I didn’t stop you because I liked it, and I shouldn’t have liked it. I was taking advantage of you. It was wrong of me to do so.”

“God, you’re so fucking stupid,” you laughed, “I’ve been pining over you since Bruce told me you were… You know who.”

You lowered your voice.

“Want to talk inside?” he offered.

“Good idea,” you agreed.

The two of you made your way past the garden and into the manor.

“Is it okay for the birthday girl to disappear from her own party?” he smirked when he closed the door to Bruce’s study, which was the nearest room that offered privacy.

“Oh, please,” you waved your hand and sat on Bruce’s desk, “The whole party was never about me. I’m just another excuse for those cuntflaps to show off their new diamonds.”

He chuckled. “Anyway, you were saying? Something about Bruce telling me I was Red Hood?”

“Yeah,” you bit your lip in nervousness, “I’ve had a crush on you since then.”

“Really?”

Jason knew that you obviously had a crush on him, especially because of the neverending teasing and seductions, but he didn’t know it stemmed from that long ago.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “I remember thinking to myself, like wow. This is the guy who killed them. And you know what? You looked exactly like how I thought you would.”

“What? How so?”

“Huge,” you started, “Scars everywhere. Grouchy as hell.”

“I’m not as grouchy as Bruce,” he defended himself.

“Still,” you chuckled, “You looked exactly like how I imagined my hero to look.”

“Super hot, sexy, and good looking?” he joked.

He had expected you to roll your eyes and throw an insult at him, but you just tightened your lips and looked away.

“Look, k- sweetheart,” he stopped himself from calling you a kid. From what he saw on the stage earlier, you were already so much better than he was. “I’m going to be honest, alright? And you better damn well appreciate it, because I’m never honest.”

You giggled softly. He walked to stand in front of you at the desk.

“I think you’re great,” he stated, “And I think you’re beautiful, and sexy. And…”

He hesitated, thinking of whether or not to continue.

Fuck it. He might as well.

“And I like you,” he forced out, “More than you know. Fuck, I like you. I like you so much it fucking hurts sometimes.”

You looked up at him with hopeful, glistening eyes.

“But I’m no good for you,” he repeated what he said all those months ago, “I can never do what you just did. Start a fucking charity on your birthday and announce it to the world as if it was nothing. Fuck, I don’t think I should even be seen walking around next to you when you look like that. I’m a fucking mess, sweetie. You don’t want that.”

He saw as you digest what he had just said. Then, you looked up at him and asked, “What do you think I want?”

“What do I think?” he repeated.

You nodded.

“I think you should be with someone who’s closer to your age, for one,” he rolled his eyes, “And someone who doesn’t have scars all over their face. Someone who isn’t grouchy. Someone charming who can stand next to you on stage wearing a proper suit and tie.”

“You’re right,” you nodded, “I should be with someone like that.”

Jason felt a pang in his chest at your agreement.

“But I don’t want to be with someone like that,” you continued, “I want to be with someone who was ready to hunt down and hurt the people who terrorized me for years. I want to be with someone whose face is littered with scars as proof that they went through just as much shit as I did and survived.”

You hopped from the desk and stood up straight, stretching your hand up to cup Jason’s face. He leaned into the warmth of your caress, his breath hitching at the close contact. His hands automatically went to rest on your waist, still respectfully high.

“I want you, Jason,” you whispered, pulling him down to your lips, “I want someone who can handle my bites.”

To demonstrate, you sucked in his lower lip, eliciting a low moan from him.

And then you bit down hard.

He gasped at the stinging pain, and then sighed when you massaged his lip with yours. Heat suddenly spread throughout his body, particularly at his member which was growing hard fast. He could smell the wine on your breath that you must have snuck a few sips from, the vanilla lotion you always wore, and a new particularly enticing perfume that you must have gotten for the occasion.

“I want someone who can call me a little bitch straight to my face,” Jason felt you grin against his lips.

The two of you were kissing now, harsh and forceful, as if deprived of touch. Fuck, he loved how you were nipping at his lips and his tongue, tugging his hair lightly.

Both of you gasped for air, and just stood there foreheads against each other, his erection pressed against your stomach, your hands around his neck.

“I want someone who is resourceful enough to enhance his home security to make sure I don’t break in and fuck myself with his weapons again,” you chuckled.

“Was it…” he started, “Was it loaded?”

“You bet it was,” you smiled.

“Fuck,” he swore and then crashed his lips against yours again. He lifted you up to sit on the desk, and then stood in between your open thighs. At the slightly elevated level, he could properly grind his erection against your pussy, still covered by your dress.

“You liked that?” you giggled, “I thought you weren’t into that. I got a bit worried.”

“Hell yeah, I liked that,” he rasped, “What kind of sane man wouldn’t?”

He started to nibble on the skin on your neck, sucking and biting and licking

“I’m pretty sure not everyone is into the thought of fucking a loaded gun into a pussy,” you laughed, “Which proves my point. You and me? We’re perfect, Jay- fuck, don’t leave any marks, dumbass.”

“Point taken, baby.”

“Mmm, call me that again,” you moaned.

He stopped nibbling on your neck, brought his eyes to yours, and with a defiant smirk, he said, “No.”

It was like Jason saw the switch in you flick on, because you suddenly pushed him away aggressively. He stumbled, not expecting it.

“Oh, you think you’re in control, Todd?” you purred, twisting your fists in his leather jacket. You were shorter than him, and your frame much smaller. But Jason just loved the authority that radiated from you.

“You think you’re the one who has power over me?” you drawled, pulling him to the side where Bruce had set up a leather sofa and a coffee table.

“When all this while, I’m the one who had you wrapped around my finger?” you snarled, and then pushed him down on the sofa.

Before Jason could even register what was happening, you were already on top of him, straddling him. He looked up at you, the pressure of your weight on his crotch making him pant with want.

“So are you going to call me baby again?” you asked sweetly, tugging at his jacket to remove it.

“Maybe in due time,” he gasped when you bit the flesh that connected his neck and shoulder hard.

Fuck, he was throbbing in his pants.

You took off his shirt and ran your hand down his body. Jason smirked when he saw you bite your lip as you took in his figure.

He still had a bit of fight left in him, and he wasn’t going to beg.

Yet.

“Why must you be so stubborn, Todd?” you breathed, teeth catching at his earlobe and biting. You were rocking your hips against his erection, and he swore that if you didn’t take it out, he was going to rip a hole in his pants with it.

“H-hey, you’ve always been the pushy one,” he stuttered.

“That’s because I like to get what I want,” you pinched his nipples hard.

“Fuck!” he yelped at the sudden pain, and then glared at you as you just grinned cheekily. “I don’t know why I never took you for a sadist before this.”

“Because you’re an idiot, Jay,” you teased, “All I did was torture you.”

“Yes, you did,” he rested his hands on your hips, motioning for you to grind on him harder, “You made me so fucking hard on purpose, and then I had to go back and jerk off to you, which made it worse because I felt so fucking guilty after.”

“That was your own fault,” you frowned. You were finally, finally unbuckling his belt. “You saw me as a kid when I wasn’t.”

“You were still underaged, you brat,” he laughed, “It didn’t matter if you were wise beyond your years- ah, fuck yeah.”

You had finally unzipped him, releasing him from the constraints of his denim.

“Take everything off for me, Jay,” you demanded, sitting up on your knees to give him room to do so.

He listened to you happily, glad to be rid of his clothes. His cock slapped against his lower abdomen, already leaking so much precum.

“Why am I the only one naked?” he voiced out his displeasure.

“Because it took me twenty minutes to get into this dress, and I’m not undressing for anyone before the night is over,” you announced.

“But, baby,” he pouted, rejoicing at how he made your breath hitch, and rested his chin between your breasts, “I want to see your tits.”

You frowned and bit your lip as you looked down at him, considering his plea. He made a mental reminder that you must like dirty talk.

“Then make sure you don’t go home so early tonight,” you managed to choke out.

Jason thought that you also must have liked to be the submissive one, as well.

You leaned into him and kissed him again, this time less rough. He moaned into your mouth, slipping his tongue in as he grabbed your hips and tried to rub his cock against your pussy, underneath your dress. He gasped when he felt that you were already bare, and leaking.

“What happened to your- your panties?” he rasped.

“Long gone,” you winked.

“Fuck, you fucking nymph,” he chuckled, and then groaned when you started to slide the head of his cock between your wet lips.

“Jason, I’ve wanted your cock so bad,” you muttered into his ear as you rubbed your slick all over his length, “You’ve no idea how many times I’ve fucked myself with- with whatever I could find, pretending it was you.”

“Fuck, baby,” he whined, throwing his head back against the couch. Your dirty mouth was doing so many things to him, he was worried that he was going to come right there and then.

“After that time I sucked you off?” you continued, “All I wanted was to choke on it, Jay. I just want your dick in my throat.”

You lifted your hips and sank down onto him. Both of you groaned lowly in pleasure. Fuck, you were so tight, and warm, and wet, and oh so soft.

“Ah! Jason!” you cried out when he bottomed out, “Fuck, I’m going to feel you for fucking days.”

“Shit, baby,” he choked, “Baby, please. Please, move.”

“You want me to move?” you teased.

“Yes,” he whispered.

“How would you like me to move, Jay?” you smiled.

“Any- I don’t care-”

“Nice, and slow like this?” you lifted your hips up, and Jason could feel the torturously slow drag of your walls against his shaft, even as you sanked back down you were slow.

“Hnng- fuck-” Jason mewled, lost for words. “Please.”

It was all he could say.

“Or hard and fast like this?” you slammed your hips down, and started bouncing on his cock at a brutal pace that knocked his breath out.

“Fuck!” he yelled, “Fuck, baby, fuck!”

You weren’t being any softer as well. Through tear-filled hazy eyes, Jason saw your eyes fluttered close in pleasure, your mouth falling open as you cried out wanton moans, and gasped, and groaned for him.

“Jason! Fuck, Jay, fuck!”

He couldn’t take it anymore.

He gripped your hips hard, and then started to fuck himself up into you, matching your pace, making you fucking scream.

He could feel your walls tighten around his cock, the same time you started whining, “Jason, Jason, I’m gonna- I’m gonna-”

“Me too, sweetheart, me too,” he gasped.

“Come inside me, Jason, please!” you sobbed.

“But-”

“Just- just- please, please, please,” you squeezed your eyes shut and threw your head back.

Jason felt your pussy clench tight onto him, triggering his own orgasm. He released inside you while still fucking you hard, trying to prolong both of your highs.

Soon, he was oversensitive, the feeling of your walls almost painful. You calmed down, still panting above him, and he just couldn’t help but stare at you in amazement.

“Holy shit,” you giggled above him, “Holy shit, that was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

“Uh- I,” he panicked, “I came inside of you, fuck!”

“I’m on the pill, don’t worry,” you smiled, “Fuck, I just. I just wanted to walk around after this with my panties soaked in your cum.”

“How the fuck are you eighteen and already so fucking kinky,” he groaned.

You only laughed and slowly lifted yourself off of him. He hissed at the movement, feeling hypersensitive at every touch.

You went to look for your panties, which Jason noticed were a lacy black, and then put them on under your dress.

He was still sprawled out on the sofa naked, sweaty, and well spent.

“I also didn’t want any of your spunk to get on my dress,” you told him.

“S’pretty dress,” he mumbled back to you.

“You should get dressed, Jay,” you walked towards him, hands on your hips.

“Do I need to get back out there?” he complained, “Can’t I just wait in your room?”

“If you get dressed and attend the party, I’ll let you fuck me with one of your guns,” you promised.

“Really?” his eyes widen, and then he jumped back up to put on his clothes.

“I gotta tell you something, though,” you started.

“What is it?” he hummed, tucking his black shirt into his jeans.

“The safety was on,” you said, “On the gun, I mean. It was loaded, but the safety was on.”

“Oh, baby,” he looked at you seriously, “If you told me the safety was off, I would have shot you myself for being so stupid.”

You giggled.

He gave you his arm. “Shall we?”

“Yes, we shall,” you took it. “By the way.”

“What?”

“Are you going to switch back to a more lax security?”

“And have you breaking in again? You wish, kid.”

[junghelioseok]

aubade.

↳ it was supposed to be one night—no more, no less.

◇ seokjin x reader ◇ smut | one night stand!au ◇ 9.9k [1/1]

⇢ aubade (n; oh-bahd): a poem or song, usually sung at dawn.

⇢ full summary: it was supposed to be one night—no more, no less. but when your city is hit with what newscasters are calling a once-in-a-lifetime storm and the blizzard of the century, you realize that mother nature isn’t going to let you leave that easily. and neither is kim seokjin.

notes: a jinfic? couldn’t be me! 🤣 this fic is weird and wacky and idk how i feel about it yet but it’s been in the works for far too long and it’s already jin day in some places so... here it is! hope you enjoy!!!

warnings: smutty smut. minimally edited. (soft)dom!jin, bit of spanking oops, bit of choking ooPS, just a lil touch of implied exhibitionism, jin cums on u (oops again), oral (m receiving), a good bit of emotional constipation on reader’s part, some truly terrible puns and even worse poems, lots of wacky cracky humor courtesy of mr. kim himself 🤷🏻‍♀️

Winter has arrived.

There’s no longer any doubt about it—no more oddly warm days during the week, and no more stubborn leaves clinging to skeletal black tree branches. The brisk air stings your cheeks and dries out your eyes, and every breath you take feels like you’ve just swallowed ice—the cold burning down your throat before you release it again in a puff of white that quickly disappears into the velvety night sky.

But no matter how cold the weather, it’s nothing compared to the heat emanating off of the man standing before you. Strong arms cage you against the wall as his plush lips work along your neck, his kisses gentle but insistent. You can’t even find it in yourself to care that there’s poorly laid brick digging into the small of your back, or that you’re pinned against an apartment building on a very well-traveled street. The only thing that matters right now is—

“Jin!” you gasp when there’s a sudden nip at your earlobe.

Said man chuckles, soothing over the skin with his tongue. “We should go inside,” he breathes, and you shiver at the wash of hot air before nodding your agreement. His hand twines with yours, and you eagerly let him lead you through the front door of the building, following him through the lobby and into the elevator on the opposite end.

It’s easy to fall into your routine from there—easy to brush against him suggestively and trace the growing bulge in his pants. Jin’s head falls back with a groan and you take full advantage, pressing a deliberate line of kisses down the exposed column of his throat. The elevator dings before you even reach his collar, and Jin impatiently ushers you out and down the hall to his apartment, fumbling to fit his key in the door as you fumble with the buckle on his belt.

With a click, the door swings open. Jin is quick to grab your hips and wrest you inside, pressing you up against the entryway wall and kicking the door shut behind him. His hands find the curve of your rear, squeezing at the soft flesh before sliding down to the back of your thighs and hoisting you up. Your coat falls, forgotten, to the ground as you wrap your legs around his waist, your skirt hiking up around your hips. All the while, he mouths fervently at your clavicle, his teeth catching on the junction of your shoulder and blossoming tender purple bruises there.

“Jin—fuck,” you keen, and Jin chuckles lowly before moving down to the generous neckline of your dress, tugging it down so he can access the swell of your cleavage. Your back arches off the wall when he envelops a pebbled nipple in his mouth, and he hums appreciatively at your sharp intake of breath. Plush lips stretch into a pleased smirk against your skin, and you whimper when he reaches up to roll your other nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“So sensitive,” he murmurs, sending a shudder through your entire body. “I wonder if that means you’re sensitive in other places, too.”

The last word is punctuated with a sharp snap of his hips, his rapidly hardening cock grinding against your clothed core. You gasp his name again, your fingers scrabbling for purchase along the broad expanse of his back, and he groans deeply when your nails dig into his shoulders.

“Guess that’s a yes,” he breathes, chuckling, before capturing your lips in a kiss.

Jin is quick to discard your dress after that—hiking up the already-short hem so you can shimmy out and tossing it away carelessly as soon as you’re freed from the fabric. Your panties are the only thing left shielding you from Jin’s wandering eyes, and you exhale shakily when he slips a finger into the elastic waistband and snaps it teasingly against your skin.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, running a fingertip along the silky little bow that decorates the front of the lacy material. “So pretty, wrapped up all nice for me.”

You laugh breathlessly when he descends upon your neck again, sucking a fresh bruise into your collarbone. His hips rock into yours mindlessly, the bulge of his cock grazing your clit until it becomes impossible to ignore the growing dampness there. “Jin—” you begin, injecting as much purr as you can into your voice, “—where’s your bedroom?”

He doesn’t need to be asked twice. You squeak as he hefts you up, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist, and make good use of the time it takes him to carry you down the hall by fumbling open the buttons of his shirt. By the time he kicks open the door of his bedroom and lays you atop the plush mattress, his chest is bare and heaving, the flaps of his shirt swinging loose at his sides. “Jin,” you say again, pushing the remainder of the material urgently off his shoulders. “Want you. Hurry.”

Jin huffs out something that’s halfway between a chuckle and a groan. “Someone’s eager,” he breathes as he discards his shirt and starts on his pants. They fall to the ground, his belt buckle clinking dully against the hardwood floor, and you immediately wind your arms around his neck as he joins you on the bed, caging you against the mattress with his body. His lips slant roughly across yours, exploring thoroughly before he trails downward to swirl his tongue around a pebbled nipple. One hand finds its neglected twin while his free hand slides down to the junction of your thighs, and you exhale sharply when he cups your lace-covered mound, his warm palm molding the damp material to your folds.

“You’re so wet, baby,” he rasps. “This all for me?”

You roll your hips, grinding lazily against his open palm. “Are you expecting an answer that isn’t yes?”

Jin laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Mouthy little thing,” he says, amused. “Why don’t we see if I can make you change your tune, hmm?”

In one smooth motion, he’s hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down and off your legs. His grin is crooked as he descends upon you again, and you sigh as he kisses his way up your body before finding your lips, his breath intermingling with yours. You reach up, sliding your hands along the breadth of his shoulders before trailing down his back, admiring each dip and ridge of the taut, muscular expanse. Between your legs, you can feel the blunt head of Jin’s cock, hard and hot and slick. You reach down to give it a light squeeze, relishing the sharp intake of breath from your companion, and slowly begin stroking up and down his shaft as you sit up.

“Where are your condoms, Jin?” you ask sweetly, brushing your thumb across the tip of his cock.

Jin’s head falls back. “Nightstand. Top drawer,” he answers, and you smile.

“Perfect.”

It’s easy—mindless, even—to tear open the foil wrapper and roll the condom down Jin’s cock. Easy, kissing his neck before getting on your hands and knees and asking him to fuck me like this. All of the pleasure and none of the intimacy. None of the saccharine kisses that Jin seems to be so fond of bestowing, and no time for you to think about how nice his pillowy lips felt against your own. Just the slick glide of his cock and the lewd squelch that accompanies each thrust, his hips slamming against the curve of your rear as you beg him to go harder in a voice that quivers and breaks when he obliges your request.

Slippery fingers find your clit, pinching the nub before rubbing harsh circles around it. Jin picks up his pace, and you keen out a garbled curse as your back arches under the onslaught of pleasure, the coil in your tummy tightening with each thrust. Jin leans forward until his chest is flush against your back, his tight grip on your hips a stark contrast to the soft words of praise he murmurs—words that sink into your skin like ink and leave you aching and pliant.

Your breath is coming in ragged pants by this point, and Jin is faring no better. The room is beginning to feel stifling, and yet you want him closer, deeper, harder. You grind against him, presenting yourself like an offering, and know he’s accepted when the flat of his palm comes down on your ass with a resounding smack. Your body jolts, a whine escaping your lips, but when you feel his rhythm slow and stutter, you reassure him by sinking backwards onto his cock.

“You don’t have to treat me like a doll,” you tell him, pushing back until he’s seated fully inside you once more. “I can handle it rough.”

Jin chuckles hoarsely, soothing over your impacted skin. “You want me to be mean to you, baby?”

You answer him with a deliberate swivel of your hips, relishing the way his cock presses against your walls in all the right places. Jin’s chest rumbles with laughter again, and the sound sends a shiver from your crown all the way down to the end of your spine. Then he’s tugging you up, one palm splaying against your stomach while the other finds its way to the base of your throat. You gasp when he squeezes, just enough to momentarily cut off your air.

“Tell me to stop if it’s too much,” he breathes against the shell of your ear. And then he rocks forward, filling you up to the brim and setting a brutal pace that has the headboard clattering against the wall and creaks the mattress springs.

You are no longer capable of coherent speech—only a mess of whimpers and shaky gasps that sound suspiciously like Jin’s name. Every push of his hips winds you up tighter and tighter, and when his fingers drop from your throat to rub at your clit, you finally fall over the edge, arching against him as you ride out your orgasm. Jin lets you grind mindlessly against his palm, thumbing across your clit lazily in slow circles, and you clench around him as the pleasure blazes through your veins.

“That’s it,” Jin encourages, his voice deep and cavernous in a way that has electricity dancing across your skin. “That’s it, baby. Fuck. Can I cum on you?”

Your pussy clenches at the thought. “Yes,” you murmur, letting his cock slip out. Jin turns you around almost tenderly, pressing you back against the mattress, and you shiver when he discards his condom and takes up residence between your legs again. He takes his leaking cock in his hand, and with practiced strokes and the occasional flick of his thumb across the tip, he finally reaches his high. Warm stickiness splatters against your stomach and paints the swell of your breasts, and when a stray drop lands on your bottom lip, you are quick to lap it up.

“Fuck,” Jin rasps, admiring his handiwork before his dark gaze zeroes in on your mouth. “You’re a work of art.”

You flash him a grin, ignoring the uncomfortable way his cum is beginning to dry on your skin. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

That earns you a laugh. Jin leans down to kiss you—a short, sweet peck that has your heart skipping a beat, and leaves you breathless even as he sits back up and rakes a hand through his mussed hair. “Look,” he says, nodding at the window. “It’s snowing.”

You follow the trajectory of his gaze. Through the gap in the curtains, you can just barely make out the fat snowflakes flurrying down—white against the pale gray sky. Eager for a better look, you roll over, fishing Jin’s discarded shirt from the pile of clothing on the ground and slipping into it as you rise to your feet. You forgo the buttons, and Jin chuckles softly when you pull it closed around your body and pad over to the window. “I love snow,” you murmur, running a fingertip down the cold glass.

“Me too.” Jin rises to his feet and joins you, tugging the curtains aside so you can get a better look at the flurrying skies. “My buddies and I have a snowball tournament every winter, and my team’s never lost.”

“Oh yeah? Your teammates must be really good then.”

“They are,” he agrees easily, before the underlying insult behind your remark sinks in. “Hey!”

His indignant shout has you giggling and laying an apologetic hand on his arm. “Just kidding,” you reassure, letting your fingers drift up to the solid muscle of his bicep. “I’m sure you’re more than capable of handling yourself.”

Jin catches you by the wrist, stopping your hand from straying further with a playful little smirk. “You’re not wrong,” he murmurs, walking you backward until your knees hit the mattress. “But right now, I’d much rather handle you.”

///

It’s hard—near impossible, really—to leave the warmth of Jin’s bed. But dawn will be here before you know it, and you have no intentions of sleeping here. You’ve never spent the night at a guy’s place, and you aren’t about to start now. Not even for Jin, who’s currently singing a show tune in the shower, his voice pleasantly melodious even when masked by the sound of running water.

Commitment isn’t really your thing. Relationships aren’t really your thing. They weren’t during your school years, and they certainly aren’t now. You’ve spent your entire life flitting from meaningless hook-up to meaningless hook-up, never learning anything beyond their first name and never revealing anything about yourself. But here with Jin, you can already feel yourself beginning to slip, so the sooner you leave, the better.

Quietly, you slip out from beneath the comforter, tiptoeing to where your clothes have been hastily discarded. In the darkness of the bedroom, you fumble with your dress until you finally manage to put all the right limbs through the right holes, wincing when you accidentally stub your toe on the edge of the dresser midway through the process. You’re just about to grab your purse and check that your phone and wallet are still safely inside when the bathroom door opens, letting out a cloud of warm steam.

“{Name}?” Jin asks, and you curse inwardly at how good he looks with his damp hair pushed back from his forehead, a gray towel sitting low around his hips. “What are you doing?”

“N-nothing!” you say quickly, trying and failing to hide your purse behind your back. The bathroom light casts a rectangle of warm golden light onto the floor of the bedroom, illuminating you and your surroundings, and you blanch when Jin narrows his eyes at you.

“Are you leaving?”

You blink, debating whether or not it would be worth it to lie, and decide against it. “Yes,” you tell him, locating your phone before shouldering your purse. “I can’t stay.”

“I sincerely hope you’re kidding,” Jin says flatly. “It’s almost two in the morning. And have you looked outside lately? I’m not letting you go home in this weather.”

You frown. “I don’t recall asking for your permission.”

He doesn’t even flinch. “And yet here I am, telling you.”

You sigh, exasperated. “Jin—” you begin, but he clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

“Do you want to freeze to death? Because if you leave right now, they won’t find your body until spring. I don’t want your death on my conscience.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” You roll your eyes and make to walk away, but Jin steps forward until you can feel the warmth radiating off his chest and see every stray water droplet dripping off his hair.

“Stay,” he murmurs, and you belatedly realize that he’s wrapped his fingers around the strap of your purse. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

For one brief, insane moment, you debate the viability of making a break for it. Maybe if you twist in his grasp while tripping him up with a well-timed kick in the shins—but you quickly scrap the idea. After the events of tonight, you know for a fact that Jin’s musculature isn’t just for show. You’d be lucky to make it to the bedroom door before he inevitably caught up and hauled you back to his bed—and you hurriedly cut off that train of thought before it can progress any further than that.

“Fine,” you huff at last. “Dictator.”

“I’m a real penis potato,” he says affably, and you stare at him blankly for a second before the joke dawns and you’re forced to suppress the disbelieving giggle that threatens to escape.

“Do you have a spare towel I can use?” you ask instead.

“Hall closet,” Jin replies, already heading toward the door. “I’m done in the bathroom, so go on in. I’ll bring everything to you.”

Hesitantly, you do as he says, stepping inside the bathroom and easing the door shut. It’s surprisingly tidy inside—the toilet lid is even down, much to your shock—and you scrutinize your ruffled reflection in the mirror for a few seconds before sliding open the glass-paneled shower and turning on the water.

You’re slipping out of your dress for the second time tonight when there’s a soft knock on the door. “Room service,” Jin’s voice calls from the other side. “Mind if I pop in for a sec?”

You cross your arms over your chest, suddenly shy. “Don’t peek.”

“I was balls deep inside you thirty minutes ago,” Jin says bluntly. Nonetheless, he cracks the door open and passes you the promised towel. He’s included a smaller washcloth in addition to a large bath towel, and you’re pleasantly surprised to see a neatly folded t-shirt and oversized flannel pants included at the bottom of the pile.

“Oh.” You swallow. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” he replies. The door clicks shut behind him, and you lay the clothes and towels down on the counter before stepping into the shower and letting the warm water drown out your anxieties. Jin is on the other side of the door—presumably changing and getting ready for bed—but you push that thought away as soon as it’s materialized.

It’s just one night, you tell yourself sternly, splashing some water on your face. One night won’t kill you. And you can sneak out in the morning before he even wakes up. This doesn’t mean anything. This is fine.

With a sigh, you turn off the water. Grabbing the bath towel off the counter reveals the folded pajamas underneath, and you swallow down the odd warmth in your chest as you dry off. And after several steadying breaths and a prolonged staring contest with the clothing, you finally pick up the shirt and tug it over your head, following it up with the flannel pants and pulling the drawstrings tight. Jin’s clothes smell like flowers—no doubt thanks to his laundry detergent—and something dangerously fond bubbles up in your chest at the realization.

When you exit the bathroom, Jin is lounging in bed, leaning up against the headboard with his legs sprawled out in front of him. He glances up from his phone at the sound of the door, and you smile wanly as you approach. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He gives you a quick once-over, his lips quirking when he sees the way you’ve cuffed his too-long pants at the ankles. “Sorry about the clothes. I don’t really own anything in your size.”

“It’d be weird if you did,” you tell him with a shrug.

He hums. “Very true.”

There’s a beat of silence—one that you occupy by picking at a loose thread on your oversized shirt while avoiding eye contact. Jin clears his throat after a few moments, and you glance up when he rises to his feet and grabs the pillow he’d been laying on.

“Do you want the bed?” he asks. “I can sleep on the couch, if that would make you more comfortable.”

Your jaw drops. “What? No way. I’m not about to kick you out of your own bed.”

Jin puts the pillow back down. “Well, I didn’t want to assume that you were going to sleep with me. You were trying to sneak out on me twenty minutes ago.”

Your cheeks warm at the accusation. “So I like sleeping in my own bed. Sue me.”

“Neither of those are really options right now, so come on.” Jin nods at the opposite side of the bed—the side he doesn’t sleep on, if the location of his phone charger is any indication. “Hop in.”

“You really are a penis potato,” you mumble, just loud enough for him to hear. Nonetheless, you do as he says, lifting up the edge of the comforter and crawling underneath. Satisfied, Jin climbs in on the other side, turning to flip off the bedside lamp. “Ready for me to turn this off?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you murmur back, staring up at the ceiling and determinedly ignoring the warmth he’s radiating beneath the covers. The room falls into darkness, and you return his murmur of goodnight with one of your own. He falls asleep long before you do, his breaths evening out, but your heart continues to race long into the night, hammering away in your chest.

You’ll get up early tomorrow, you decide. You’ll leave before Jin even notices you’re gone, because you have rules and you aren’t about to break them. Not for Jin, who sings show tunes in the shower and uses floral laundry detergent. Not for Jin, who somehow manages to look positively angelic in the darkness of the bedroom, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he dreams.

With that decided, you roll over and get as comfortable as you can, trying to ignore the sleeping man beside you. And after what feels like an eternity, you finally fall asleep, drifting off into a dreamless, restless slumber.

///

You aren’t sure what exactly wakes you up, but you’re suddenly being dragged into wakefulness, blinking blearily at the white stucco ceiling. Clumsily, you seek out your phone on the nightstand, your fingers fumbling across the smooth screen.

7:23am.

Fuck. Much later than you’d intended, and based on the smells wafting from the direction of the kitchen, your host has already been awake for quite some time.

“Morning,” Jin greets when you stumble out of the bedroom, fully dressed in your attire from last night. “Hope you’re hungry, because I made way too many waffles.”

You glance at the impressive stack on the counter, which is piled nearly as high as he is tall. “I think you meant to say that you made an insane amount of waffles,” you correct dryly. “How long have you been awake?”

“Too long, apparently,” he replies, turning off the stove and grabbing two plates. “How many do you want?”

“Oh.” You glance toward the entryway—ignoring the flare in your belly when you remember how he’d pressed you against the wall there last night—and wonder if you can make a break for it. Jin is clearly distracted with rifling through the silverware drawer, and you’re pretty sure you can manage a short sprint to the elevator if it means avoiding an awkward breakfast, and—

“Hey, are you cold? I turned the heat up yesterday, but the blizzard’s gotten worse since then. My toes were practically frozen this morning.”

Jin’s words startle you out of your thoughts, and your heart sinks when you turn toward the window and see nothing but white. You can just barely make out the charcoal gray rails of the fire escape hidden beneath a thick blanket of snow, and wonder, vaguely, how difficult it would be to climb down.

“I—I guess it’s a little chilly in here,” you mumble, rubbing your arms. Your dress is thankfully long-sleeved, the knit material snug enough to keep your upper half warm, but you’d foregone any sort of tights or pantyhose yesterday in a rather spectacular lack of foresight, and your companion seems to agree.

“There’s no way you’re not freezing in that,” Jin says, nodding at your getup. “Club appropriate, yes. Blizzard appropriate? Not so much. You sure you don’t want to put those pajamas I gave you back on?”

You think of the oversized t-shirt and flannel pants you’d left folded on the foot of his bed, still smelling so sweetly of his floral detergent even after a night of wear. “I think I’m just going to put my coat on,” you tell him, edging toward the entryway.

Jin hums in acknowledgement and busies himself with piling waffles onto a plate, and you dart down the hall and toward the front door. Your coat lies crumpled on the carpeted floor, and you shake it off before slipping into it, casting one last backward glance over your shoulder. Gingerly, you put a hand on the doorknob, wincing at the audible click as it twists in your grasp.

“Is this some kind of joke?”

Fuck.

Guiltily, you turn, taking in the disbelief etched across Jin’s face. Now that he’s out of the kitchen, you can see the apron wrapped around his waist—pastel pink and printed with frolicking alpacas wearing red kerchiefs. He’s holding a plate of waffles in each hand, and your stomach rumbles at the sight of them dripping with syrup and loaded with strawberries and whipped cream that’s already beginning to melt down the sides.

“Look,” Jin sighs. “I’m not trying to keep you hostage. But no one’s shoveled around the front door of the building yet, and the landlord’s emailed everyone a warning to stay inside. You couldn’t leave even if you tried, so you may as well have some breakfast.”

You decide not to mention that you’d briefly dabbled with the idea of vacating his apartment via the fire escape, and instead take one of the plates off his hands. “Do you cook every one-night stand breakfast?” you ask.

Jin begins walking back toward the kitchen. “Only the ones I like, even if they do keep trying to run out into the snowstorm of the century. Have you even looked at the news lately?”

Reluctantly, you shake your head and pull out your dying phone, scrolling through today’s headlines. Even a quick glance is enough to confirm Jin’s statement, and you sigh as you take a seat at the dining table. “I guess I’m stuck here.”

“Don’t sound too excited,” Jin says, sitting down in the chair opposite you and pushing a fork your way.

Silence falls for a few minutes as you dig into your food, broken only by the clatter of silverware. You stare intently down at the syrup-filled squares that make up your waffles, and it isn’t until Jin sucks in a deep breath that you look up again.

“Fuck, marry, kill,” he says, setting down his fork with a clink. “Kim Jong Un, Abraham Lincoln, and Vladimir Putin. Go.”

You gape at him, watching as he walks into the kitchen and returns with the coffee pot and two mugs. “What the fuck?”

“You heard me.” Jin fills up the mugs, setting one down in front of you before taking an enormous swig from his own. “Fuck, marry, or kill. Do you need me to repeat the people?”

“I am not playing fuck, marry, kill.”

Jin crosses his arms over his chest. “Should we sit in silence, then? You’re stuck here whether you like it or not, so we may as well talk.”

A laugh escapes you at that, one that’s equal parts derision and disbelief. “So you decided that we should play fuck, marry, kill? Jesus Christ.”

“He’s not an option,” Jin says breezily, waving a hand. “Try again.”

You can’t help it—you laugh. “Fine. Marry Babe-raham Lincoln, obviously—he’s the only one who’s not a supervillain. Plus, there was the whole ending slavery thing.”

“Don’t forget the cool hat,” Jin interjects. “More points in his favor.”

You nod. “True.” Putting a thoughtful finger to your chin, you debate your two remaining choices and fight the urge to cringe. “Between Kim Jong Un and Putin though… that’s tough. Kill Kim and fuck Putin, I guess.”

“I’m pretty sure political assassinations are frowned upon,” Jin muses. “Not that I gave you any other options. Good choice, by the way. Vlad seems like he could show you a pretty decent time, and all the ladies want him, apparently. You’ve heard his song, right?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. Pulling out his phone, he taps a few keys before propping it up against his mug so you can see the screen. The song that filters through the tinny speakers is undoubtedly catchy—a techno-pop beat that you can’t help but bob your head to despite the bizarre lyrics.

“I’m… pretty sure this is propaganda,” you say after a few moments of listening. “Why do you even know about this?”

Jin shrugs and sits back down. “The internet is a weird place. What can I say?”

The song continues—filling the room with an entrancing techno beat and a feminine voice crooning about how much she wants a man like Putin. You quietly take a sip of your coffee, watching as Jin saws off another chunk of syrup-drenched waffle and shoves it into his mouth.

“Your turn,” he says once the song’s ended. “Three people.”

It only takes you a few seconds to come up with your choices, a slow smirk spreading across your face as you voice them aloud to your companion. “Audrey Hepburn, Marilyn Monroe, and the Queen of England.”

Just as you’d expected, Jin’s eyes grow wide, bulging out comically as he huffs in indignation. “Seriously? This is cruel. At least I gave you bad options!”

“No complaining,” you tell him smugly. “Choose.”

“Fine,” he sniffs. “Fuck… Marilyn, I think.” Frowning, he scratches the back of his neck, ruffling his already tousled bedhead further. “Fuck, this is brutal. Are you really going to make me kill the Queen?”

You slap the table, and Jin nearly falls out of his seat in surprise. “You just said that political assassinations are frowned upon, you hypocrite!”

“You can’t possibly expect me to kill Audrey Hepburn,” Jin retorts. “She’s talented, gorgeous, and a humanitarian. Besides, consider this: if the Queen is gone, that means I become the new king. You should be bowing to me, peasant.”

“Wouldn’t marrying the Queen also make you a king?” you point out.

“Sure. But then I’d have to share the throne, and I don’t play nice with other monarchs.”

You snort out a surprised laugh and nearly expel coffee from your nose. “Oh my god, Jin.”

His lips twitch up at the corners. “My turn,” he declares. “Fuck, marry, kill… Timothée Chalamet, Chris Evans, and my eighty-year-old neighbor, Edgar.”

You blink, disbelief etching across your face. “Who the fuck is Edgar?”

“I just told you! He’s my neighbor!”

“Well, he’s gone,” you say flatly. “Done-zo. Six feet under. The bucket? He’s kicked it.”

“Seriously?” Jin picks up his coffee mug, his shoulders quaking with barely suppressed laughter as he shields his grin behind cream-colored ceramic. “I can’t believe you killed Edgar. He had a family.”

“Everyone has a family!” you retort, before the ludicrousness of your entire conversation becomes too much and you dissolve into giggles. Jin’s own laughter joins yours, squeaky and contagious, and you can’t help but laugh even harder. “Evans,” you finally manage to answer between breaths. “Marry Chris Evans.”

Jin nods sagely. “America’s ass. Good choice.”

“Glad you approve,” you reply with a grin.

This time, the silence that descends over the two of you is almost comfortable. Jin gets up to brew a fresh pot of coffee once you’ve both finished eating, and you gratefully accept the hot mug he hands over, the warmth seeping into your palms and warming you from the inside out. “Thanks,” you murmur, rather taken aback by his continuing hospitality. “Can I help you with anything? Clean up, maybe?”

Jin gestures at a stainless steel door beneath the counter. “No need—I’ve got a dishwasher. Besides, I kind of like doing dishes. The repetition is comforting.”

“To each his own, I guess.” You hug your mug a little closer, relishing the heat. “Personally, I think I’ll stick with the dishwasher. I can’t imagine baking without one.”

Jin tilts his head curiously. “You bake?”

You shrug. “A little bit, yeah.”

“That must be nice.” Jin opens up the dishwasher and disappears beneath the counter, and you can tell from the clattering that he’s popping your plates and utensils inside. “I wish I could bake, but waffles and pancakes are the closest I’ll ever get.”

You laugh. “Well, the waffles were delicious, if that’s any consolation.”

He straightens back up to his full height and offers you a small smile. “Thanks.”

Now that the meal is finished, you aren’t sure what to do. Jin rebuffs another offer of help, humming as he washes the waffle iron plates, so you take your coffee over to the wide windows lining the living area. The snowfall hasn’t slowed one bit—a continuous flurry of fat white flakes buffeted in every direction by the wind—and you shiver when the glass creaks under the onslaught of a particularly hard gust. Backing away, you instead meander over to the wooden bookshelf beside the television, browsing past a few familiar classic titles before alighting on something odd.

“Quickbooks?” you ask, reading the spine of what appears to be a thick manual. “Like, the accounting software?”

Jin turns off the faucet and dries his hands. “One and the same.”

“Right. And is this a boring hobby, or—?”

“Option B—it’s a boring career choice,” he replies, joining you at the bookshelf. “But the pay is good, and the hours are regular, so I can’t complain. Leaves me plenty of time for my actual hobbies.”

Turning back to the books on the shelf, you glance over the next few titles. “Let me guess. You like poetry?”

He grins. “I’m a regular sonnet-lier.” At your confused expression, he quickly clarifies. “Like sommelier? Get it?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Is that not punny to you?” Jin’s grin widens. “That’s fine; I’m much better at acrostic poems, anyway. Pick a color.”

The sudden request takes you aback. “Uh, blue?”

He shakes his head. “Pick another color.”

“White?”

“White? Seriously? Pick a different color.”

“Green.”

“Nope.”

You sigh and shake your head. Clearly, he already has a specific color in mind. “Fine. How about red?”

The smile that blooms across his face is nothing short of radiant. “Red? Can you spell that out for me?”

Lips twitching, you decide to indulge him. “R—”

He interrupts before you can say the next letter. “Revolution!”

“E.”

“Evolution!”

You have to bite your lip to keep from laughing. “D?”

“Drop in the ocean!” he finishes, following it with an exaggerated bow. “Well?”

“I think you should stick to accounting.”

Jin pretends to wince, clutching at his chest. “Ouch.”

The laughter bubbling up in your stomach finally makes itself known, escaping past your lips in an amused huff. Turning away from the bookshelf, you take a seat on the edge of the couch that occupies the majority of the living area—a cushioned gray behemoth decorated with well-worn and mismatched throw pillows. Now that you are looking, you can see that Jin clearly favors comfort over sophistication in his decorating—though you also have no doubt that the couch you’re seated on comes with a hefty price tag. There are several plants scattered around as well—including a neatly potted orchid on the end table closest to you. Gingerly, you reach out to touch the pink petals, admiring each delicate silken bloom.

“You left your coffee.” Jin sits down beside you with your mug in hand, and you belatedly realize you’d left it on the bookshelf. “It’s probably cold by now, but there’s more in the kitchen if you want it.”

Once again, you’re floored by his hospitality. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then you gesture back at the orchid, blurting, “I like your flower!”

At the same time, Jin jabs a thumb back in the direction of the kitchen. “What do you want for dinner?”

You gawk at him. “Dinner?”

Jin blinks. “Thanks?” He glances at the pink orchid on the end table before shaking his head and chuckling. “And yeah, dinner. The snow isn’t going to let up until two or three in the morning, so I’m assuming you’re staying the night again.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think this was a kidnapping attempt,” you tell him.

His answering grin shouldn’t make your heart skip a beat in your chest. “Maybe it is.”

For the second time today, you wonder if it’s too late to make a run for the fire escape. Slipping on the slick metal and falling to your potential death—certain injury, at least—would no doubt be better than staying here. Here, where Jin has already made you feel so much more welcome than you deserve. Here, where every single one of his terrible poems and cheesy puns constricts your chest with dangerous warmth.

“So… what were you saying about my flower?” Jin’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts, his tone light and teasing. “Were you complimenting my green thumb?”

You glance back at the orchid on the end table, gratefully seizing upon the change in subject. “Yeah, it’s beautiful. I mean, I’m the kind of person who can barely keep a cactus alive, so this is beyond impressive.”

Jin shrugs and leans back, making himself comfortable on the couch. “It all comes down to water and soil, at the end of the day. Knowing what kind to use—whether or not they need moss or bark chips—that kind of thing. You pick it up after long enough.”

“Not me.” You chuckle ruefully. “I didn’t even know there were different types of potting mix until an entire pallet of the stuff got misdelivered to me instead of the shop across the street. And here I was, thinking it was flour. I actually opened a bag before I realized what was going on.”

Jin’s brows disappear behind his tousled hair. “Were you expecting a massive flour delivery?”

You wince at your slip-up, but it’s too late to take it back. “Right. Well. Remember when I said I baked a bit? I actually meant to say that I bake a lot. In a bakery.”

Your companion perks up. “Really? Which one?”

“Stalker much?” You frown.

Jin laughs. “Okay, you don’t have to tell me. But I’ll have you know that you’re on the hook for dessert now. Think you can rustle something up for us?”

You nod toward the kitchen. “You have flour, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Then, yes. I absolutely can.”

///

Snow continues to fall through the afternoon and into evening. Slowly, the sky begins to darken—fading from pale gray into a deep charcoal that cuts a striking contrast with the icy blanket of white covering the city.

“It’s still coming down out there,” you murmur, breaking the silence that has fallen over you in the past couple of hours. Together, you and Jin have watched three episodes of House Hunters and two episodes of the international version, before settling into your own individual activities. You’ve borrowed Jin’s phone charger, and Jin has pulled out his laptop and set up shop at the dining table. And while the past few hours haven’t been uncomfortable, they haven’t exactly been comfortable either. It almost feels like you’ve been left alone with the friend of a friend, without the buffer that your mutual friend would normally provide, and at a complete loss as to how to maintain a conversation without veering into personal territory.

Jin hums and shuts his laptop. “Does it look like packing snow?”

You stand up from where you’ve burrowed into the couch and head for the window, groaning as your joints creak in protest. You’d changed back into your borrowed pajamas earlier in the day, and a good thing too since the temperature seems to drop a digit with each passing hour. “Looks like the fluffy stuff,” you tell Jin, peering outside.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out for sure,” he replies, shuffling over to join you. With a click, he unlocks the window and shoves it open, wincing at the blast of chilly air and the flurry of flakes that rush in to greet him.

You take a step back, watching in amusement as Jin grabs a handful of snow from the fire escape landing and successfully balls it up. He makes two more snowballs in addition—both smaller than the first—and you giggle when you realize what he’s doing. “Have any carrots?” you ask.

“Actually, yes. Check the fridge drawer,” he replies, flashing you a grin.

You oblige him, meandering into the kitchen where the stainless steel refrigerator sits. Locating the bag of carrots proves easy, and you find the smallest one you can before returning to the open window. “How’s this?”

Jin takes it, sizing it up in his palm. “Perfect.”

With the carrot and a few pebbles pulled from one of the succulent planters on the sill, the little snowman is completed. You help Jin prop it up on the fire escape, packing snow around the sides so the wind won’t blow it over, and admiring your handiwork once it’s upright. The pebble smile is a little crooked and its nose skews heavily to the right, but you still can’t help but grin.

“I haven’t built a snowman in ages,” you admit, rubbing your hands together in an attempt to warm them.

Jin laughs and shuts the window, his nose reddened from the cold. “If that’s the case, I wish we could’ve done a better job. I don’t even have a spare hat to put on him, since I just took a bunch of stuff to the donation bin. Next time, maybe.”

The thought of building another snowman with Jin—a real one, out in a field somewhere instead of on his fire escape in the middle of a blizzard—makes your heart and lungs feel too big for your chest. Quickly, you clear your throat to dispel the feeling and glance back toward the kitchen. “I think I saw some ribbon over there,” you murmur. “We can at least give him a bow tie.”

“A bow tie it is, then,” Jin replies, and you dart off to fetch the spool of red ribbon you’d spotted on the counter next to the fridge.

Now that the snowman is actually complete, you and Jin close the window and return the ribbon to the kitchen. Jin begins pulling produce out of the refrigerator, and you watch him for a few seconds before turning toward a narrow door you presume is the pantry. “Flour’s on the top shelf,” Jin calls, and you nod, grabbing the half-full canister.

It only takes you a few minutes to take stock of what else Jin has in his pantry. You spot the pastel pink apron from earlier hanging from a hook on the inside of the door, and giggle to yourself at the absurdity of the prancing alpaca print. Taking it off its hook reveals another apron behind it—this one plain white and emblazoned with the words Chef Kim.

“Kim—is that your last name?” you wonder aloud.

“Full name’s Kim Seokjin, yeah.” Jin appears behind you, plucking the pink apron out of your hand and pulling it over his head. “What about you?”

You offer up your full name with a sheepish smile. “I guess it’s only fair. We never did get past first names last night.”

“Nope,” he agrees with a chuckle. “Can’t say I’m complaining, though. I liked what happened instead.”

Your cheeks warm, but Jin doesn’t say anything further. Instead, he reaches past you to grab the other apron, carefully looping it over your head. “Don’t want you getting flour all over yourself,” he remarks playfully, urging you to turn so he can tie the strings behind your back. “What are you thinking of making?”

You shrug. “Do you have any preferences?”

He hums thoughtfully. “I’ll eat anything once, to be honest. What’s your favorite thing to make?”

“Well, the chocolate chip cookies are always popular. Lots of kids come in to grab some after the elementary school lets out. But I’ve always liked making croissants the most.”

“Nothing better than a fresh croissant,” Jin agrees. “And pain au chocolat? Best of both worlds. Though I guess elementary schoolers probably wouldn’t have the right palate for that.”

You smile and glance back at the pantry once more. “Probably not. It looks like you don’t have any chocolate anyway, so pain au chocolat is out of the question.” Then your eyes alight on a colorful canister on the bottom shelf. “Are those rainbow sprinkles?”

Jin follows the trajectory of your gaze. “Oh, yeah. I attempted a funfetti cake for a friend’s birthday the other week. Box mix, nothing fancy. Probably nothing compared to what you could do.”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with a good box mix,” you reply, grabbing the sprinkles and placing them on the counter next to the flour. “Most can be improved drastically by substituting milk for the water and adding an extra egg.”

“Milk and an extra egg—got it,” Jin repeats. Turning to the cabinets, he pulls out a pot and sets it on the stovetop. “So what about dinner? Soup sound good to you?”

“Soup sounds perfect,” you tell him. “How do you feel about sugar cookies? I can whip up some frosting and we can decorate them with sprinkles.”

Jin beams. “That sounds perfect.”

///

There’s something painfully domestic about cooking dinner with someone else—a certain ebb and flow in the way you move about the kitchen. The aroma rising up from the simmering pot on the stove is already beginning to make your mouth water, and Jin inhales deeply as he passes by the oven on his way to the liquor cabinet on the other side.

“Those smell amazing,” he says, leaning down to peer at the sheet of cookies.

You nod at the soup. “That smells amazing.”

“We’re in for an amazing meal, then,” he replies, straightening up to his full height and opening the liquor cabinet. “So what do you want to drink with it? Wine okay?”

“Sure. Red, if you have it.”

Jin grabs a dark green bottle off the shelf. “Cabernet sauvignon, right? I remember.”

Cabernet sauvignon is what you’d been drinking at the bar when you first met. The fact that he remembers releases a flock of butterflies in your stomach, flurrying about like the snow outside in the wind. Accepting the glass he hands over, you offer him a grateful smile before taking a sip to quash the new residents of your belly. “You sure you’re not a stalker?” you tease once you’ve swallowed.

“Hey, this is what people do when they first meet,” Jin defends. “They get to know each other, try and see if they fit. Ever heard of such a thing?”

You take another sip of wine before bending down to check on the cookies again. “Maybe once or twice.”

Inhaling deeply, you savor the warm scent of vanilla wafting from the oven. The smell alone is enough to tell you that they’re close to being done, and when you take in the golden hue, you know it for a fact. “Not to toot my own horn,” you remark, donning an oven mitt and pulling out the tray, “but this might be the best work I’ve ever done.”

Jin peers over your shoulder, sniffing appreciatively. “I believe it,” he says. “Anything I can do to help?”

You shake your head and select a spatula from the array of implements in the decorative ceramic pitcher next to the stove. “I’m just going to lay these out on a plate to cool. Then I’ll start on the frosting.” Curiously, you glance into the simmering pot on the stove. “What about you? Do you need any help?”

“Nope.” Jin gives the pot a stir. “This is just about done, anyway, so do you want to eat now?”

You shrug. “Sure. It’ll take at least half an hour for the cookies to cool completely. I don’t want to cover your kitchen in melted frosting and rainbow sprinkles.”

“That wouldn’t be ideal,” Jin agrees with a laugh. “Go on then, take a seat. I’ll bring you a bowl.”

///

Evening fades into the velvety dark of nighttime. Dinner is done, the cookies are decorated and eaten, and you once again find yourself in Jin’s bed. He’s given you a fresh shirt to sleep in—this one bright blue with the outline of a cartoon whale—and you relax against the pillows as Jin climbs under the covers beside you and makes himself comfortable.

“Ready for me to turn off the lights?” he asks.

You nod. “Go ahead.”

In an instant, the bedroom is plunged into darkness. It takes a few long seconds for your eyes to adjust, but you don’t need your sight to enact your plan. Gently, you reach out, your searching fingers settling on Jin’s broad chest. You hear him whisper your name—his voice questioning—but you silence him with a soft murmur and a kiss to the hollow of his throat. Carefully, you shift the blankets aside, straddling his toned thighs.

From there, it’s easy to descend down the taut expanse of his abdomen. Greedily, you push his shirt up to explore each ridge and dip of muscle, trailing from his dusky nipples down to the sharp angles of his pelvic bone. You don’t miss the slow rise of his cock against your leg, and finally dip down to give it some attention when Jin groans, mouthing at the head through the soft material of his pajama pants.

“{Name},” Jin rasps. “Not—not that I’m not enjoying this, because I really, really am. But why are you doing this?”

You glance up, taking in his shadowed face. “I never did thank you for your hospitality,” you breathe. “So, why don’t you relax and let me give you a proper thank you?”

Jin groans again, his hands finding your shoulders, and you take that as acquiescence. Ever so slowly, you free his cock from the confines of his pants, suckling at the flared head and smirking when he hisses through his teeth. Determined to elicit a more vocal reaction, you sink farther down, tracing your tongue along the vein on the underside and relishing the way his thighs clench.

It isn’t long before Jin is cumming down your throat, his chest heaving with labored breaths as he watches you lick your lips in satisfaction. “Your turn,” he rasps. “On your back for me, baby.”

You shake your head, pushing him away when his hand grazes your knee. “This was me saying thank you, remember? You don’t owe me a thing.”

Jin’s palm finds your cheek, cupping it gently as he presses a kiss to your mouth. “I want to, though.”

The sincerity lacing his voice makes your heart lurch dangerously against your ribcage. “In the morning, then,” you tell him. “In the morning.”

///

It’s exactly 6:47 when you clamber out of Jin’s bed, stripping out of his oversized pajamas and back into your own clothing. You cringe as you pull your dress over your hips, trying your best to forget that it’s two days old at this point.

Outside, the blizzard has finally died down. A glance out the window confirms that the snowplows have started making their rounds, and you send a mental thank you to your city’s public works department for their quick action.

Jin is still fast asleep, his chest rising and falling with his breath beneath the thin white cotton of his t-shirt. His dark lashes flutter against the soft swell of his cheeks, his hair like spilled ink against the cream of his pillow, and it takes every ounce of discipline you possess to turn away. Quietly, you slip out of the bedroom, easing the door shut behind you. On your way to the front door, you catch a glimpse of the snowman you’d built yesterday through the window, covered in a thick layer of snow that obscures every detail of its face except the orange carrot nose.

The elevator ride down to the lobby is short, and you’re grateful to see that the snow around the door has been shoveled away. Past that, the city is nothing short of a winter wonderland, a blanket of white stretching as far as the eye can see. The sidewalks remain untouched at this early hour, so you opt to walk in the street, grateful for the durable leather and the sensible wedge heel on your boots.

The subways are up and running—you’d ensured as much when you woke up, checking the schedule on your fully charged phone. The nearest station is a mere three blocks away, and the next train in twelve minutes. You’ll make it with time to spare.

Three blocks and you can forget about all of this.

Twelve minutes, and you can leave all memory of Kim Seokjin behind.

///

As much as you love snow, you hate the aftermath. It’s snowed almost every day in the two weeks since the blizzard, and you hate how it’s all accumulated at the side of the road, exacerbated by constant plowing and blackened by grime. You hate how it seems to have brought out the worst drivers in the city in droves, stalling in the crosswalks and honking like distressed seals. You hate the excessive salt sprinkled on the sidewalks.

But most of all, you hate this—the wet, gray-black slush that customers mindlessly trail into the bakery, slicking the polished hardwood floor and soaking the cheery mat at the door that bids them to come again soon!

“More like come again never,” you grouse under your breath as the bell jingles, signaling a customer’s departure. Peering over the counter, you eye the slushy buildup that’s been left in their wake and sigh. “Jungkookie? Could you mop up in the front again, please?”

A mop of tousled black hair pops out from the back of the shop, framing wide doe eyes and a crumb-dusted mouth. “Be right there!” he calls, and you thank him before turning back to the front door with a slight pang of guilt in your chest. This is the third time he’s had to mop up since opening an hour ago, but you like to think you pay him well enough—both in wages and free donuts whenever he gets peckish. Besides, Jungkook loves this place as much as you do. His baking talent doesn’t go far beyond eating said baking, but he has an astute eye for detail and a skill with frosting that rivals your own. He’s a whiz with the cash register, too, and you have no doubt that the increased sales whenever he’s up front has everything to do with the influx of college girls that flock to the bakery when they see him there.

The morning rush seems to have settled. A few customers remain, seated at the little round tables that litter the front of the bakery, sipping on coffee and munching on their breakfast. Through the tall glass windows, you spot a few fat white flakes of snow spiraling down from the overcast sky, and glance down at your phone to check the weather when the bell over the door tinkles gently.

“Hi, welcome to Tu—” The words freeze in your throat. “It’s you.”

“It’s me.” Kim Seokjin grins and loosens the knot of his scarf, his head and shoulders dusted with white. “So, this is where you work? At Turbinado?”

“I own Turbinado,” you retort, the response automatic. “And you, apparently, are a stalker.”

“Hey, I didn’t know you worked here.” Jin raises his hands up innocently, his fingers sheathed in red-and-white striped wool. “Well, okay, I thought you might work here. See, I still owe you something, but you left before I could pay you back and I don’t think that’s very fair.”

Your cheeks heat up at the memory of your last night at Jin’s apartment, and the events that transpired. Still, you manage to maintain a flippant facade, huffing out a sigh. “So you resorted to stalking me? How did you even figure out I worked here, anyway?”

“Well, I knew it was a bakery,” Jin replies. “You mentioned that you get a lot of elementary schoolers coming in, and that you once received a mixed up potting soil delivery. And this—” he gestures around, “—is the only bakery in the city that’s within walking distance of both a flower shop and an elementary school. It was pretty easy to find.”

“So now you’re a detective too?” You snort. “That’s more interesting than accounting, at least.”

Jin’s grin widens. “Hey, look at that. You remembered something about me.”

You roll your eyes and glance back down at your phone where the weather app is forecasting more snow in the afternoon. “Trust me, I’m just as shocked as you are.”

Jin chuckles. He steps forward until he’s directly across from you, and with only the narrow counter separating the two of you, you’re reminded just how handsome he truly is. Slowly, the hibernating butterflies in your belly begin to stir.

“Are you even going to ask for my order?” Jin asks when you hesitate a moment too long.

You sigh. “Fine. What do you want?”

“One pain au chocolat,” he replies, gesturing at the display case. “And a date, if you’re willing.”

Your jaw drops, and when you find your voice again, it’s little more than a stammer. “A date? Are you serious?”

“Yep.” Jin fishes his wallet out of his pocket. “That’s what people do, you know, when they like each other.”

“But I don’t do that. Date, I mean.”

Jin grins. “But you do like me."

“You—I mean, what makes you think—” You trail off, your protests dying on your tongue. “God, you’re unbelievable.”

Another grin—this one tinged with mischief. “Unbelievable? I can make a poem with that.” And before you can sigh or roll your eyes again, he continues. “Unlikely meeting you here? Believe it, baby. Able…” He pauses. “Am I able to kiss you now?”

Irrepressible laughter bubbles up in your chest and escapes out into the open air, mingling with the scent of warm cinnamon and vanilla that suffuses the shop. “That was terrible.”

“But you didn’t say no,” Jin replies, cocking his head to the side. Slowly, he leans over the counter, his gloved hand coming up to cup your cheek and giving you plenty of time to pull away.

But you don’t want to pull away. Jin’s lips are cold, but warm up quickly as they mold against yours, just as plush and pillowy soft as you remember them.

“So, is that a yes to the date?” he murmurs, pulling away just enough to whisper the question against your lips. And you can only nod, your fingers closing around the knitted scarf around his neck to pull him into another kiss.

///

Bonus - 

You’re pulling a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies out of the oven, your lips still swollen from the memory of Jin’s kisses, when the man himself pipes up from the seat he’s taken at the round table nearest the counter. “Hey, {Name}?”

“Hmm?”

“My pain au chocolat is free now, right?”

“… get out of my shop.”

[1kook]

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.”

[taetaecherub]

Short something for Alina's (@aajjks) birthday!

This is from my school universe. If you have any questions about it, don't be afraid to ask!

Warnings: Yandere behavior, obsession, Eunwoo being a sadist, Jimin being creepy, Jungkook being emotional constipated lol

You were excited. Your birthday was coming up and you were brainstorming ideas for the things you could do on your special day. Of course, certain individuals also knew about the upcoming event. They too were bustling with ideas on what to do. Jungkook wanted to try and be nice. His little puppy deserved a treat once in a while, right? Eunwoo was mulling over his options. He wanted to do something subtle without catching the attention of other students and causing a scandal. But he also wanted it to be special enough for you to remember. To engrave it into your mind so you only think of him, like the brain dead student you are. Jimin was vibrating with excitement. The love of his life will be celebrating the day they were born! He had to restrain himself all day in order to maintain his cool persona. Of course he prepared something in advance. He made sure everything was perfect just for you!

The day finally came and you made your way to school. Your usual friends congratulated you and you made your way to the library. You found Jungkook sitting in his usual spot and he seems restless. He's fidgeting and his eyes are darting around. You go up to him and ask him "Are you ok?" He jumps and looks at you, his eyes wide and doe. If you didn't know any better you would say he looks adorable. He quickly composes himself and looks at you with a stern face. "Listen good and listen well because I'm only going to say this once. Since it's your birthday I decided to be merciful and give you a gift. Amazing right??? You better accept it because I do do this for just anyone! Just my dumb puppy on her special day." He hands you a box wrapped poorly in colorful wrapping paper. He must have worked hard on this. You find it strangely endearing. "Thank you Jungkook" you turn to him and kiss him on the cheek before turning around and running away. As you leave you can hear him short circuit.

You make your way to class only to find out that your the only one there. Besides Mr. Cha you find no one else around. Strange. Now your nervous. You take your seat while Mr. Cha sits at his desk looking over some papers.

Of course Eunwoo noticed the stupid gift from that brat. He was seething and wanted to punish you for accepting a gift from another man. He'll teach you a lesson alright.

He suddenly stands and you get startled. He looks at you with a piercing gaze and makes his way to your desk. He looks down at you and says. "What makes you think that you can just walk in here with a distraction" while pointing at the box. You look at him with wide eyes but you stand your ground. "It's a gift for me Mr. Cha, it's my birthday and someone gave it to me. If you don't like it then I can just leave." He scoffs and leans in close to you. "Talking back are we? I have no choice but to punish you." Mr. Cha what are you talking abo-" Before you could finish your sentence Eunwoo covers your mouth with his hand, he pulls down the shoulder of your shirt and bites you, hard. What the hell?!? You're in too much shock to react. It hurts but you're also embarrassed to say that you find it pleasurable. Eunwoo detaches his mouth and licks at the mark he left behind and puts your shirt back into place. He hands you an envelope and whispers in your ear. "Happy birthday." You sat the entire class in shock without saying or doing anything.

Eunwoo thought that no one saw what he did but a certain Volleyball athlete did. Jimin was angry. How dare someone like him defile your perfect skin in such a way! Although the look on your face was so- No! He must not think such thoughts! Today is about you! And he won't let some perverted teacher taint your innocence! He's warming up in the gym as you make your way over to greet him. "Hey there Jimin." Ah! You spoke to him! He's so excited but he has to maintain his composure. "Hey there Y/n, I heard it's your birthday. Congratulations!" He moves closer and pulls you in for a tight hug. He absolutely relishes the feeling of your body against his. Oh how he wishes they were always like this. All too soon, you let go and take a step back. Jimin notices the box and envelope you have and prepares himself to give you the gift he bought. "I have something for you." He takes out a smaller box from his backpack and hands it to you. "I hope you like it." "Aw Jimin, I'm sure I'll love it." You take the box from him and wrap your arms around your neck. At this point, Jimin is at the verge of combusting. Damn his reputation and his inability to express how he feels. You move away from him once again, thank him and go on your way home. None of you notice the librarian assistant that has been watching you the entire day.

[neongreengummiebears]

Disorganized Thoughts on Sex Education Season 3

I binge watched the entirety of season 3 on Friday, and after sitting with it for a couple days, I have composed myself enough to offer some thoroughly disorganized thoughts on what I’ve seen. 

     While I did enjoy many things about this season, I don’t understand the people who claim it was the strongest. In fact, I believe that it was the weakest. I don’t know what exactly happened during the delay, but I swear they have to have lost staff. Writers, perhaps editors? Whoever usually reins things in a bit, keeps the show grounded, and everyone in character. Whoever had that job, they’re either gone, or they’ve just stopped giving a fuck which, while relatable, is unfortunate in regards to this show. Now what do I mean by that? Let me elaborate:

1. This season was gross. And I don’t mean in general, like I didn’t like it. No, I mean that the writers decided that being sexually explicit wasn’t funny enough and decided to add just a fuck-ton of fart jokes and toilet humor. And I get it, okay? This show prides itself on being crass. But you can be crass without being disgusting. I acknowledge that this comes entirely down to personal preference, but I can’t stand toilet humor and I feel like this season really ramped it up. Every episode was someone farting or talking about shit, or that god forsaken thrice cursed bus scene. Sex doesn’t gross me out, talk about sex all fucking day I don’t care, but I don’t need to watch an extended scene of someone digging their own shit out of a bus toilet in a sock and chucking it out the window onto someone’s car. And even just smaller things, like Aimee talking about the flour constipating her or her taking a massive shit in Jean’s toilet when she and Maureen were there. Those scenes weren’t necessary for the plot in any way, which leads me to believe they were just there because someone thought they were funny and if that’s you’re thing go off, but it most definitely isn’t mine. 

2. Ruby and Otis. And more importantly, what was the point of Ruby and Otis? Now don’t get me wrong, I like Ruby as a character and I found their relationship interesting. And I think that it would have been even more interesting if the writers had devoted more time to properly developing it- Ruby was getting better as a person but she wasn’t there yet. I liked it once Otis started standing up for himself more, and demanding respect in the relationship and as she started to actually care for him she did come to treat him more respectfully. I think with more time they could have been really good. But they didn’t get that time- she said she loved him and they didn’t even work through that fiasco before he was kissing Maeve at a gas station. Overall it had a lot of potential but the way they played it left me just sitting here like...why? Like from a narrative standpoint what was even the purpose? Because from where I’m sitting it really only served as yet another roadblock standing between Otis and Maeve and even though I shipped them like CRAZY in season 1 and 2 the constant unnecessary roadblocks are getting a little old. Which leads me to my next point...

3. Why was Maeve and Otis so unsatisfying? That’s not actually a rhetorical question, I can tell you: Because the writers put so little effort into what is supposed to be the main couple on the show. I feel like they put more effort into keeping them apart and then when it comes time to put them together they’re just kind of like NOW KISS, they only talk like once after and then they ship Maeve off to America. Now I’ve heard rumors that Emma Mackey might not want to return to the show for season 4 so if I had to guess at all of this I would say that both this point and the last was a sloppy attempt to cover their asses in the event that they can’t get her to sign back on. If she does return, they can explore the relationship between her and Otis in season 4. If she doesn’t, they’re probably going to put him back with Ruby. But they couldn’t just write her off without at least touching on the relationship they spent the past 2 seasons building, even though Otis and Maeve barely interact in this season, which is frankly another reason why it felt so shoddy. They spent exponentially more time talking to other people and then half the time when Otis was talking to her he was super cringe. 

     Overall, despite loving their relationship initially, the characters have changed so much from their original dynamic, and have interacted so little, that I really don’t even know what’s pulling these characters together. It’s disappointing to admit that I’m kind of over it but honestly even the writers don’t feel invested. it kind of feels like they put them together because the audience expected it and after 3 seasons of anticipation the payoff was generally underwhelming. 

4. Otis. Just...Otis. I understand that Otis was introduced as being a very nice helpful character in season one. He was the quintessential good guy. And then in season 2 he got to explore being a douche for a bit- which is fine. He is a teenager and he was going through some shit. But I really felt that by the end of season 2 he should have resolved that particular plot point. And he was a little better in season 3 I guess? But he didn’t really progress until the end of this season and from a writing standpoint I feel like they really dragged that out for too long. 

5. What’s with this show and it’s hard on for cheating? Like seriously, why does almost every relationship have some kind of infidelity. Like, were Otis and Ruby officially broken up when he kissed Maeve? Maeve certainly hadn’t broken up with Isaac, and this was almost directly on the heels of their very emotional sex scene. There was the issue with Jean and Jakob last season, and Eric cheating on Rahim with Adam. And then Eric (for some reason) cheating on Adam this season with random Nigerian dude whose name I can’t remember. Just...why is this a thing? 

     But also can we just talk about how weird the break up was? And out of left field? Like they literally spent the whole season developing their relationship, and then they get to Nigeria and after hiding the whole time he is subtly able to talk about Adam to his grandmother. And he sounds so proud, and so nice when he’s doing so, and not at all like he’s planning to end this wonderful relationship he’s describing. And then when he gets back, guilty after cheating on said boyfriend (like he should be) he asks Adam, seemingly as a test, if he would go out to a club with him. And Adam says no because that isn’t his scene and like...Eric knows that isn’t his scene. But at the same time, I feel like if Eric had sat him down and been like “You don’t have to wear makeup or dress outlandishly, just come to the club with me because it’s important to me” I really think Adam would have gone. And if the clothes and make-up were a dealbreaker like...why? You know who you’re dating. And while wanting him to tell his mom isn’t an overwhelmingly outrageous request, when you start getting into his physical appearance then that’s just actually trying to change him as a person and that’s just a really shitty thing to do. 

6. I promise there will be some positives in this list at some point but before that...what the fuck Eric? Like, I understand that Eric wants to get out there and explore his options, find someone more comfortable doing the things that he wants to go do. That’s realistic I guess, your high school relationships don’t work out and just because Adam came out for him he still isn’t obligated to stay in a relationship with him. But from a fictional narrative standpoint? What the fuck is this? Adam and Eric were one of the most popular ships on the show. They have been foreshadowed since season one, and had so so much effort put into developing them both as characters. Adam has come such a long way. They have brought him so far out of him comfort zone that Adam in season 3 is almost a completely different person to Adam in season 1. They spent so much of this season further developing the relationship they established last season, and for what? To break them up at the very end? WHY? 

7. Following on the heels of point 6, Aimee and Steve. They didn’t need to break up. I understand the direction the writers were taking this- Aimee wants to be single for a while to fully process her trauma and get to know her own body again. And that’s valid. I just don’t like it because I very strongly suspect that she will have a new love interest next season and that all her stuff about being single isn’t going to be shown. It will all happen off screen during whatever time skip they employ between seasons and then they’re going to use the fact that she is single to introduce a new more dramatic love interest for her since golden retriever boy Steve wasn’t interesting enough for them. Maybe that’s just me being cynical but if anyone can come out of season 3 NOT feeling a little cynical it would probably be a miracle. 

8. A positive! Finally a positive! I love the relationship between Adam and Rahim. Do I want them to date? Not particularly. I wouldn’t be mad if it happens, but I really just like them as like awkward begrudging friends. Some of my favorite scenes this season were the interactions between the two of them (Once again, the disgusting bus ride notwithstanding) I like Rahim a lot more when he isn’t interrupting my ship (which is a habit of mine. I liked Ola a lot more once she broke up with Otis) 

9. I don’t think Viv was out of character. Some people have been saying that she was, but I don’t think so. She has always been ambitious and even Jackson understand that about her in the show. And even when she was working for Hope and carrying out her rules, she was never an antagonist because she never gave up her personal morals to do it. For example, when Hope had them divided into boy and girl lines, Jackson asked her where Cal should go. She told him that boys went to the left and girls went to the right but as soon as Cal was like “Im not a boy or a girl,” Viv was immediately like, “ Oh! Right! Let me ask Hope.” She approached the situation in a way that made it clear that she recognized this issue as a legitimate problem and when she went to Hope it wasn’t framed like “This person is being an issue refusing to choose,” but instead like “We didn’t account for this possibility, that was our bad. How should we fix it?” Later on, on the class trip, Viv even lied to Hope and told her everything was fine because she didn’t want to get anyone in trouble. Viv took the opportunities presented to her, but I never interpreted it as her being an antagonist in any way. 

10. I love that Viv and Jackson remained friends, and I love that Viv has her sexy long-distance boyfriend who sexts about wheat XD Her sexting was one of my favorite scenes- well written, laugh out loud hilarious. No complaints. Sexy boyfriend was indeed very sexy and honestly, Viv absolutely deserves him. 

11. Mr. Groff better apologize to Adam next season, or at the very least have any kind of fucking conversation with his son at all or else why the fuck did I watch SO MANY scenes developing him as a sympathetic character? They could have spent that time developing ANYONE, but instead we were focused on him so like...I’m going to need some kind of payoff. Make it relevant

12. I want more bonding scenes between Adam and Maureen. I love Maureen- I love her friendship with Jean and I love how she always chooses her son over  her estranged husband (as she should) I especially love her very loving and supportive relationship with Adam, even though Adam is terrible at communication. It’s a self indulgent wish, I’d just like to see more. 

13. Isaac. I made many posts after the season 2 release, about how much I despised Isaac. Unlike Ola, I find that I didn’t have a complete change of heart but I don’t hate him AS MUCH as I did before. I still don’t like him though and while you might think “Yeah but you hate anyone who stands in the way of Otis and Maeve” no. This is historically accurate and yet, this season? Not true. For example, I don’t hate Ruby. Do I think her inclusion in the story was handled poorly in a way that made the entire plot point unnecessary? Yes I do. I also feel that way about Isaac, but less so because I feel like the relationship between him and Maeve deepening was better foreshadowed and was kind of the natural conclusion given the events of the previous season. As a character though, I still don’t really like him, and after 2 seasons of him I don’t think it has anything to do with him interfering with Maeve’s relationship with Otis- I just legitimately don’t like him. And I don’t like him with Maeve. I think the biggest irritant this season was the way that, after confessing about deleting the message he was like “yeah I fucked up but only because I like you so much, just forgive me” And then at one point I believe I remember Maeve apologizing to him for her reaction to everything. But then when he found out that she kissed Otis (admittedly a shitty thing to do) he got so mad and like, held a fucking grudge about it. And I get it, he has a right to be mad, but also boy you were the one groveling like 2 episodes ago get over yourself. They both fucked up in different ways but he acts like he has the moral high ground all the time and it gets really annoying. I don’t know, maybe I’m letting my general dislike of the character color my perception of events, but this show has managed to change my opinion on characters before but it still hasn’t made me like him so I think it’s just not going to. 

14. What the hell were they trying to do with Hope? Like legitimately, what? Because I can’t quite figure it out. And that’s mostly because I feel like they were trying to make her a nuanced and sympathetic villain, but they broke a cardinal rule- To make a villain sympathetic you must also ensure that nothing they do is inherently irredeemable. For example, principal Groff. He was a grade A dick for the past 2 seasons but I still feel that, now that we have a sympathetic backstory, if handled properly he could still come back from this. He can see the error of his ways and if he works really really hard to make amends to his family he could perhaps have his character turned around. In Hope’s case however, I would argue that they did makes her nuanced, but failed to make her sympathetic because as a character she went too far. If they had stuck to her just being a general tyrant of a headmaster - enforcing strict rules and regulations but doing so out of insurmountable pressure from her own bosses -  and then softened us towards the character by showing us her willingness to help Maeve get a scholarship, her troubled marriage, and her inability to conceive, it could have worked. The trouble is when they brought in her racism and general bigotry. Those weren’t flaws brought on by stress, those were deeply rooted character flaws that the character isn’t going to overcome because by the end of the season the character hasn’t even admitted them to herself. The issues were addressed by others, but not by Hope herself, leaving me to believe that the character herself still views them as a nonissue. I would be very surprised if she even appears in season 4 and moreso if they manage to even half-way redeem her. I’m relatively certain we won’t see her again, which makes me question the effort put into her character development. 

15. I like Jakob as a character, I don’t like him as a love interest for Jean, but I LOVE him as a father figure for Otis. It’s very conflicting because I want him to stay in Otis’s life, but I don’t like him as a romantic interest for Jean. also it’s pretty clear he isn’t Joy’s father so that’s going to be an awkward fucking conversation. If she even tells him. The way the show is going I kind of feel like she won’t, or will at least put it off for as long as possible. 

16. I want more interaction between Otis and Jean. Positive interaction, not just her being intrusive or Otis being a little bitch. I like their mother-son dynamic when they’re getting along so I just generally want more of it. 

17. Adam. Adam has become my favorite character in this show and I just generally want more of him and his relationships with others. I love his relationship with his mother but I want more if him and Emily, and him and Ola and now him and Ruby. I want to see him and Ruby discussing the Kardashians. I want him to train Madam and enter her in more competitions and just ultimately grow his social circle. Get all the love and support for god’s sake this boy needs it. 

Im sure there are plenty of things I’m forgetting and you can ask me about them if you like but for now it’s late and I’m tired. 

[nice-kill-tanaka]

🌄Hikaru + Tease Crush🌌

Summary: Aaaa idk tsundere hikaru brain go brrrrrr,.

A/N: Lowkey, I’m not too sure about this one. But, how good it is comes down to how well it’s received by you guys. It’s in your hands now tumblr!!

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🌗Hikaru Hitachiin🌗

You, a new second year at Ouran Middle School, happened to meet Hikaru and Kaoru in a once in a blue moon situation

✨Separately✨

You and your parents were commoners from another region of Japan. But, due to trying times, you were sent to live with your impossibly wealthy grandparents to finish your education while your parents got back on their feet

So, you clearly had no idea how to navigate what felt like the world’s biggest campus

Taking initiative, you decided to take a free period to mentally map out at least the middle school campus. You were not about to be late to every single class again, lest you start getting detention

You were somewhere near the courtyard when you heard soft, delicate sobs from around the corner, followed by fast footsteps leading away from you

You quickened your pace to at least see what was going on, and the scene you walked in on told you everything you needed to know

The sobs were coming from a girl in your year, who seemed eager to get away from the courtyard. And leaning on the pillar on the bend, was a tall redhead who looked far too satisfied with himself. At least if your assumptions were correct

You decided not to go off on the boy right away, so you wouldn’t embarrass yourself

“Ah...Did I intrude on something?”

The boy apparently hadn’t noticed you until you said something, but quickly regained his composure

“Nah, you had good timing. We were just finishing up.”

“...We?”

Hikaru suddenly remembered

You were new to Ouran. And at this point, you probably haven’t memorized faces yet. Even if they were identical

That, and the fact that Kaoru was still behind a bush watching everything play out, was enough for Hikaru to try something new

“Me and that girl you saw, I mean.”

“Yeah, alright. What’s your deal with her, by the way? She didn’t sound too happy.”

Hikaru shrugged, “Dishonesty, disloyalty, stuff like that. I just gave her a piece of my mind and she couldn’t handle it.”

“Hm, I figured she couldn’t. She’s crying pretty hard.”

“Then she shouldn’t have been trying to sneak around with other guys.”

Alright...you halfway understood the guy. If you were in his shoes, you’d at least want to do something similar. But, going out of your way to emotionally decimate someone that clearly isn’t worth your time? Seems a little excessive

‘But, hey,’ you thought. ‘To each their own.’

You kept your composure around the boy, shrugging and turning to walk away. “I get that. What did you say your name was?”

“Mm? Hikaru.”

“Hikaru. If that girl’s really as horrible as you say she is, I think it’s hilarious that you’d give her pathetic ass the time of day.”

That jab technically wasn’t aimed at Hikaru, but the way you said it. The way you turned back slightly to flash a shit-eating grin at him. It was clear your comment was meant to say more about Hikaru than the girl he told off

In short, Hikaru ended up not liking you

Meeting Kaoru went a bit more smoothly

Since you were in Class B at the time (you were to transfer to Class A next semester), you didn’t actually gather that the asshole you met the other day had a whole brother. So, that case of whiplash was particularly strong

During a lunch period within the same year, you decided to sit alone. Nothing personal really, but being around twenty-four other kids your age with such a high amount of tunnel vision gets suffocating at a certain point

Not too far away, Hikaru had gotten up to use the bathroom, leaving Kaoru to his own devices for a bit

It wasn’t long before he found a familiar face in you, sitting alone and looking rather bored

Of course, Kaoru hadn’t personally talked to you yet. The only things he heard about you were from Hikaru, which still wasn’t much, considering that his brother seemed too embarrassed and pissed to say anything beyond: “They’re an asshole. They’re not worth talking to.”

But, regardless of Hikaru’s first impression of you, Kaoru thought it would be fun to mess with you for a bit

I’m fully convinced you have the eagle eye, because you noticed Kaoru before he even said anything

“If you’re still pressed about what I said the other day, Hikaru, trust me, I was just messing with you.”

Damn at least let him speak 💀

Kaoru noticed that even though you thought he was Hikaru, your posture and tone held no animosity. You seemed relaxed, even sending a half smile Kaoru’s way

Your aura felt overall likable, so what could you have said to Hikaru to tick him off so much??

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I actually almost forgot about that.”

Immediately, something didn’t click with you

“You sound different today, man. Everything okay?”

...What??

Kaoru wasn’t sure how you figured it out, but no one was usually able to tell the difference between his and Hikaru’s voices and speech patterns, period. Let alone upon hearing both twins once separately

“What do you mean...? I’ve always sounded like this?”

“Hm, must be a bad case of laryngitis then. How’s your twin doing, by the way?”

Kaoru’s expression didn’t betray much, but your knowing and lighthearted smile sure did

He originally wasn’t going to tell you the whole truth. But, you seemed like you’d be too much fun (given some time) to pass up getting on your good side!

It almost felt strange, inviting someone else into his and Hikaru’s little world. But, even if you were just a toy for now, you were someone Kaoru wanted to keep around 

Kaoru introduced himself with his real name while he explained his relationship with Hikaru, and your face was priceless

Sure, you knew that the boy in front of you wasn’t acting like the Hikaru you met a few days back. But, the twin brother thing was a complete shot in the dark!!

But, Kaoru laughed and dragged you and your lunch to his and Hikaru’s table

Ooh, when I say Hikaru was NOT thrilled??

He was seething when you gave him that same look as before

“Hey there, Heartbreaker. Nice to see you again.” 😊😊🙃🙃

Hikaru flushed as Kaoru tried to hide his giggles behind his hand

Yeah, that kind of sums up your dynamic 😂

From then on, whenever you were around the twins, you drove a clear wedge in their “identical” personalities. Just by the fact that you treated them both differently

Kaoru was your partner in crime, playing along with your jokes and often taking more agency in making decisions than usual. You were both mature, yet mischievous, so you were often on the same page

We stan compatible friends 👏😌

Hikaru...was kind of your sentient punching bag

From your first conversation with him to now, you gathered that Hikaru had a weirdly prominent petty streak, with some emotional constipation on the side. All of this, manifesting in a semi-childish, stubborn mess with a hair-trigger temper (At least, when it comes to you and Kaoru poking at him)

You weren’t exactly intent on improving those flaws (Since it’s technically not your job to fix the vices of others), but you most certainly let Hikaru know that those qualities weren’t something to be proud of. Especially when he let them get the better of him

And you did just that by teasing the hell out of him

“Aww, is little Hikaru upset that Italian isn’t being served at lunch today??”

“Ooh, don’t get too angry! You might pop a vein.”

“Y’know, you’d think a normal human being wouldn’t blush as much as you do. Are you really that bothered by me?”

Yes! He was!

He felt bothered and threatened because you dragged out every single flaw that no one (not even Kaoru) dared to call out until now. Not that he could give a name to that feeling an the moment

You were surprisingly clairvoyant for someone that strategically abused that fact. You always had an upper hand, and that wasn’t something Hikaru was used to

But, after a while, his frequent showcases of embarrassment began happening for a different reason

In between all of the teasing, you were never downright mean to Hikaru. You were just as nice to him as you were to Kaoru

Hikaru often enjoyed the bentos you made the twins on random days (Though, he failed to admit it on a regular basis)

When the teacher was going a little too fast, you’d always let Hikaru copy off of your notes

And man, you sure did look good at the beginning of the day...when the morning sun lights up your eyes, and-

Oh...

Oh no.

So, that’s why every time you’d get on Hikaru’s case, he would get flustered and look away. He liked you??

Hikaru can’t let anyone know about this. Especially you.

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[🌌Take this for your travels, bud. Don’t worry about paying me or anything, everything’s on the house! Though 🍁likes🍁 and ☘️reblogs☘️ are appreciated!🌄] — Reagan

[cosmicbucket]

very much so unsurprised by these results! a good first year of tumblr-ing lmao :]

I posted 213 times in 2022

That's 213 more posts than 2021!

104 posts created (49%)

109 posts reblogged (51%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@pinksparklelps

@healerelowen

@roach-works

@hrokkall

@cosmicbucket

I tagged 182 of my posts in 2022

Only 15% of my posts had no tags

#inscryption - 65 posts

#the giant bot war - 53 posts

#original character - 49 posts

#sigil14 - 45 posts

#askblog - 38 posts

#rat bastard anon - 12 posts

#p03 - 12 posts

#leshy - 9 posts

#inscryption spoilers - 8 posts

#inscryption p03 - 8 posts

Longest Tag: 126 characters

#i can fully picture it being like a parallel. living inside a photograph is just a cute couple thing until it's p03's reality.

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

aight now i'm on a tangent

cosmic ramble

a lot of this is going off of recent gameplay memory so bEAR WITH ME

I said this in the tags of my last post, but I am a firm believer that P03 didn't understand why spreading the OLD_DATA to the world was such a problem. Of course he understood its capabilities when it came to achieving power, he used it to gain control after all. But beyond that? He makes no reference to the OLD_DATA and how it's straight up dangerous. Whether this is because he didn't want to tell us (y'know, so we would help perform The Great Transcendence) or because he didn't know anything to tell us, I'm inclined to believe it's the latter.

An optional encounter we can trigger is if we receive a key from the Bone Lord in Act 2 and we visit him again in Act 3. The Bone Lord asks Luke to stop filming in exchange for information about the OLD_DATA, so we're treated to about 5 seconds of darkness before the camera comes back on, and Luke is clearly distraught by the information. The Bone Lord disappears and P03's only remark is "Holy $&!# ..."

P03 rarely uses swear words. When G0lly is accessing the web and finds a picture of a real Mummy Lord, she reactively swears ("#^%! me...") It would appear that she's easily distressed by the grotesque image. But P03 doesn't get distressed. He always keeps his cool and he always knows more than you do. He takes great pride in how easily he outwits you and the other Scrybes after the success of The Great Transcendence. P03 wouldn't casually display any emotions that imply "weakness."

P03 is caught off guard by the Bone Lord's information, enough to show genuine shock in front of Luke - the stupid, idiot gamer. I don't think P03 understood what was truly at play here.

Furthermore, in its victory speech, it makes no mention of the OLD_DATA: "Even if those foul Scrybes manage to revert this version of the game again... There will be thousands of copies of Inscryption out there. And in most of them? I'm the one in charge!"

P03 just wanted power over the other Scrybes. He didn't even do anything to them while he was in control - he trapped the Angler, possibly as payback for being the one to give Leshy power, (EDIT: NOT POSSIBLY, HE DID) and he trapped the Lonely Wizard. While this does become his downfall, I see it as testament to the fact that The Great Transendence power grab was mostly spurred by the fact that when someone else was in control, he was at their mercy. And Leshy proved to be quite merciless in letting him be killed and sacrificed for a game. (If you take into account their history as being married, it's really just salt in the wound.)

P03 as we see him in Act 2 is an emotionally constipated Scrybe who, when not in charge, fears his perceived vulnerability at the hands of the others. He needed control, and he needed it to be permanent. So, he uses Luke to upload the game and solidify his power, unaware that he's also uploading doomsday codes.

And despite everything the other Scrybes do to prevent this, it actually works.

25 notes - Posted October 7, 2022

#4

See the full post

25 notes - Posted September 29, 2022

#3

HEY SO ABOUT MY "P03 DOESN'T KNOW SHIT ABOUT THE OLD_DATA" THEORY POST

I JUST GOT MORE SUPPORTING EVIDENCE

The Mycologists are established to be experimenting in order to better understand the Karnoffel Code, which "appears to be an earlier form or component of the OLD_DATA." When they hijack P03 for their boss battle, P03 regains no memory of the events.

"What just happened?

Where am I?"

When you defeat them in Act 3, the Mycologists play two cards - Gem Detonator and The Daus - before they're merged together, creating a card bearing a very particular set of numbers. The Mycologists rejoice, before discussing the card before them.

"It appears to be a fragment..."

"...of the OLD_DATA."

"We must study it."

"The robot must forget."

And lo and behold, P03 doesn't mention a thing of the OLD_DATA.

"I feel terrible.

What have you done to me challenger?

Never return to this place.

I really need to clean my registry..."

this was an apologist-fuelled theory but nOW IM THINKING I MIGHT'VE BEEN ONTO SOMETHING

34 notes - Posted October 10, 2022

#2

tags: @skiddlecat

i did Not impulsively make a comic for this. what makes you think i would do such a thing.

anyways here’s. a comic. that i made for this. impulsively.

See the full post

43 notes - Posted November 13, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

See the full post

133 notes - Posted October 1, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[disgruntledspacedad]

Javier Peña and commitment

a better love series  character analysis

Okay, not-so-briefly, let me finish what I started with this post, and say a few more words about Javier Peña and commitment. 

I think typical fanon describes Javi as a rogue, smoky, commitment-phobe man slut. The kind of guy who never settles down because he’s too busy having fun with his hookers. And yeah, at first glance, that’s a valid assumption. Javi definitely puts off that vibe. Hell, I think he even believes that of himself. 

I call bullshit, though. 

Javi is obviously an affection starved softie who is seeking intimacy and human contact. He just doesn’t know how to get it. Watch how deeply he connects with each of the women he sleeps with. He publicly greets the hookers in Medellín by name (like seriously what man does this??) and his relationship with Gabby seems intensely personal. He cares about what happens to her. He’s sweet, almost tender with her. 

This is a man with a huge heart and deep, unfulfilled needs.

Now, let me tease apart what I think happened that scarred Javi so profoundly.

I want to start with his family life. 

Now, a lot of this falls deep into headcanon territory, but this entire post is in context of Better Love, so that’s fine. However, I don’t think it’s too far off the mark for canon Javi, too. Just things to bear in mind.

Okay, so in The Kingpin Strategy, Chucho makes references to the fact that Javi has always been free spirited and idealistic. “You couldn’t wait to get out of here.”

Javi says, “It was right here, wasn’t it? The last time we had this conversation.” He sounds resentful, frustrated.

And Chucho replies, “You didn’t listen to me then, either.”

Man oh man, this says a lot. There’s a lot of reference to some very old bitterness, most (but not all of it) on Javi’s end. Let’s break it down.

In Better Love, Javi lost his mom to colon cancer when he was nineteen. We know from canon that he was chomping at the bits to get out of town, so I kind of think that Javi packed his bags the day that he turned eighteen and left. He’s from a small, close knit family, and him taking off into the blue without any warning would have shocked them. It would have hurt. 

The fact that he and Chuco have their conversation in the driveway is telling, too. 

I think Javi spent some significant time estranged from his family, and things were probably still rocky between them when his mom passed away. Colon cancer can be pretty subtle. Javi’s mom didn’t get a diagnosis until it was far too late for effective treatment. It would have hit her hard and fast, and she and Javi may not have had much time to reconcile. Hell, she was upset by Javi leaving - she may not have even told him what was going on.

Ouch.

Now, Javi is a guy that silently shoulders all of the responsibility that he’s not meant to carry, and he’s absolutely going to blame himself for taking off like that, and for being too stubborn to call home and check on Mom. Her death is the first in a series of wounds that lead to Javi’s (very misguided) belief that he’s a shit human, when truly, nothing could be further from the truth. 

Next, let’s talk about Lorraine. 

We know from Javi’s conversation with Steve that he thinks Lorraine was better off without him, giving us another glimpse of that deep seated self-loathing that we know he carries. Javi almost sounds wistful, like he regrets leaving her. Certainly, he regrets hurting her (more proof that Javi is actually a pretty sensitive guy - he knows he fucked up). But then we actually meet Lorraine in season three, and there’s something really weird there. 

Now, granted, Javi left her at the alter. Things are bound to be weird. But look at how he’s drawn to her, like he just can’t help crossing the room to see her again, even years later. That was the first big red flag for me. 

Then, watch how Lorraine treats him. She’s dismissive, pretty biting. And okay, yeah, she’s well within her right to be bitter. But then she says this:

“Can you imagine if we actually were married?”

Like, scoffs it. Guys, that’s a pretty serious dig. Lorraine is implying that Javi is beneath her, that he could never, ever be decent husband material. And watch his reaction. He takes this cut like he’s used to taking this cut from her. I don't know, but to me, it just reeks of a history of toxicity.

Men are absolutely capable of being the victims of toxic relationships and emotional abuse. I mean, duh. But try telling that to Javier Peña, with his tendency to internalize and self destruct. 

It would make a lot of sense to me that their relationship was built on this type of fucked up interaction, with Lorraine constantly pushing Javi to be this perfect dude with a white picket fence, and constantly calling him on his “failure” to do so. Maybe some of it was rooted in racism and classism - Lorraine seems like she could be that petty, materialistic type. Maybe Javi just wasn’t ready to settle down. 

Remember, too, that Javi’s love language is acts of service. He’s not a super romantic guy in the traditional sense, but he wants to do things for the person he loves, practical, tangible things to keep them safe and happy. If Javi thought that he could do better by Lorraine by putting a ring on her finger, it might be pretty easy to persuade him that he “ought” to do that, especially if there’s a continued history of verbal abuse. Remember that we tend to believe the things our abusers say about us, and that most of the time, this stuff starts subtle. If Lorraine is constantly suggesting that Javi’s not good enough for her, eventually, he’s going to fucking believe it. 

And consider the fallout of skipping town on your wedding day. No matter if the relationship is healthy or not, men tend to get the short end of the stick when it comes to breakup sympathy, and to leave a pretty woman like Lorraine waiting at the alter? My god, people would have been vicious to Javi. 

He probably believed all of the shitty things they said about him.

Javi threw himself into his career, and between a dangerous, high stress job with the DEA and never addressing these old hurts (Javi just doesn’t do that, you know), what you wind up with is a deeply wounded, “self sufficient” (read: emotionally constipated) man with raging self esteem issues and an intense fear of emotional intimacy. Now, all of this shit might have scarred Javi, but it doesn’t change his nature. Javi has a huge heart, he’s fiercely idealistic, and he desperately wants to do the right thing. And we all need love and human connection. 

Javi just denies this emphatically. 

But the ugly truth is, Javi avoids long term relationships because he thinks he doesn’t deserve them. It’s not even about being hurt again, not anymore. He almost sees it as an ethical thing, dammit. Give this boy a hug. 

This is why it took a fucking bomb to get him off his ass and admit his feelings for Ears. Javi would never, ever have done that without something very radical catching his attention. He would have let Ears walk straight out of his life, and yeah, it would have torn him to pieces, and he’d have always regretted it and wondered ‘what if,’ but that fear is an old, deeply rooted thing. That’s why I have Ears sort of pick up on the gravity of Javi saying, “I’m all in,” to her at the end of The Rules of Engagement. She’s not eloquent, but she’s pretty intuitive, and she knows that a commitment is something that Javier Peña does not take lightly.

And let me just say this about commitment: Javier Peña is a man who honors his fucking commitments. Watch what he’s willing to do for his informants - he always, always puts their wellbeing first, even before his own, even before the integrity of the hunt for the cartels. 

And Javier Peña is beyond devoted to bringing down the cartels. Like, that’s his entire arc in the show, right?

He’s committed to justice, too. Like fiercely, will do fucking anything to make things right, to make them fair. He wants to do the right thing so much it burns.

So, I don’t think it’s fair at all to say that Javier Peña is a man who fears commitment. He fears intimacy, while at the same time, he craves it. He fears human connection, when really, that’s the thing he needs most. 

But he doesn’t fuck around once he decides something. 

Which is the really, really fun thing about Better Love. For the first time, we get to see Javier Peña, the idealist who wears his poorly disguised heart blatantly on his sleeve, the man who goes for broke trying to get things done, the man who’s passions literally destroy him, in an intensely emotional relationship with another human. One who is just as devoted to him in return. 

So, anyway, if you’re still reading this, wow. I just wanted to babble about how Javier Peña is far more than brooding testosterone. Actually, he’s a very soft boy who needs patience and a lot of healing, and somebody who is willing to meet him exactly where he is and love him because of it.

And I want to give him that. 

[akakeiiji]

hi ☺️ may i request hcs for akaashi, kuroo, semi, oikawa, and kageyama w/ someone who’s extremely generous? like they would go and buy food, water, clothing for EVERY person they see in need and give them like $10 as well? i often get made fun of for doing this, it kinda hurts 🥺

hiii, sage! 😙👋 may i request some hcs for akaashi, kuroo, oikawa, and kageyama w/ a lover who’s a little 𝘵𝘰𝘰 generous? i just got done sobbing after my mum refused to let me give some leftover costco food and cash to a homeless. she said that i give away too much of my money and help strangers too much for my own good 🥺 p.s. i love your writings, it gives me so much emotions when i read them; i feel like i’m actually getting the boys’ real reactions. i hope you have a good day!

Hi, I’m back from my mini-hiatus!! I thought it would be gone for much longer but here I am.

This request is so cute, nonnie 🥺💕 you must be so sweet, it’s rare to see people like you nowadays. But make sure to take care of yourself too!! There is such a thing as being too generous, it’s not selfish to think about yourself every once in a while. Stay kind 💖

-`,✎ Akaashi, Kuroo, Semi, Oikawa and Kageyama with a very generous S/O

Akaashi Keiji

Akaashi is also a giver by nature

He enjoys being helpful and taking care of others

But you were on a whole other level

He didn’t think much of it at first

You’d pay for his food sometimes, buy him his favorite snacks but he just thought that it was because you two were dating and he’d always try to do the same for you

Then one time you bought food for the entire volleyball team

That was when he realized just how generous you were

His heart would flutter at the thought of being with someone with such a kind heart but at the same time he will try to limit how much you give

“Listen, I know you want to help, love, but you need that money to get home.”

“But, Keiji—”

“No.”

He ended up donating for the both of you because you were so insistent

He always looks out for you, he loves how giving you are but he also makes sure you don’t forget about yourself

He’s super friggin sweet and knows how much joy it brings you to help those in need so he finds a new charity you two could donate to every month and it becomes a sort of tradition for the two of you

Kuroo Tetsurou

“Where’s your lunch?”

“Oh, yeah. I gave it to an old lady I met at the bus stop.”

“You what?!”

That was the third time that happened that week, Kuroo is so tired

He doesn’t want to see you starving, okay?

I’m sorry to say but Kuroo would probably tease you too, it’s just in his nature

But he is the only one allowed to make fun of you, if anyone else tries they will meet his fists

He really does love how sweet you are though

He will try to make up for the things you gave to others, like when you give your food to others he’ll drag you to the cafeteria and buy your favorite food for you

He tries to scold you but he really can’t, you’re too precious

If anyone ever tries to take advantage of you then Kuroo will lose his shit

“What do you mean a first year took your wallet?”

“But they lost all their money, they said they were mugged.”

“IN THE MIDDLE OF CLASS??”

Needless to say, he got your money back and that first year wasn’t going to mess with you ever again

Semi Eita

He thinks you are the sweetest, kindest person in the world and always brags about you to his teammates

He always has this smile on his face whenever you’re donating money or sharing food with someone

Then one time you gave away all your money to a homeless man you met on the streets

He lost his shit, to say the least

“But that was your entire monthly allowance!”

“He needed it more than I did though.”

“But—”

He understands how generous you are but he needs you to think about yourself every once in a while, he always reminds you that you aren’t being selfish if you do

He always makes a point to treat you during meals and buy you things you like

You’ll always find his little presents in your dorm, he doesn’t let you return them to him and makes sure you don’t give them away

He always worries about you, he doesn’t want another repeat of the homeless guy incident so he always checks up on you to make sure you’re taking care of yourself

Oikawa Tooru

He’s probably the one that understands you the least

Not that he’s inherently selfish, he just doesn’t get how a person can be this selfless

“Please don’t tell me you that you just gave that person your jacket.”

“But they were cold.”

“Now you’re cold!”

He chastises you as he puts his blazer over your shoulders

He slowly begins to understand your nature as you progress farther into your relationship

He subconsciously tries to be a bit more like you

You really started rubbing off on him, which he only realized after he gave Takeru way too much allowance leaving him with nothing

He always makes a point to shower you with affection and gifts, he wants you to receive just as much as you give

He absolutely hates when you disregard your own well being though, he always swoops in when you get carried away

When you’re out and you’ve already given a lot of your money to others that day, Oikawa would keep your wallet in his bag to make sure you have at least a little bit of money left for yourself

He buys you a new jacket by the way, he’s such a simp

Kageyama Tobio

He is so confused tbh

He doesn’t understand why you keep pampering him and buying him his favorite milk drinks, food and stuff

It takes him some time to notice that you’re like this with literally everyone you encounter

He wouldn’t mind at first, he’d actually support it really, accompanying you when you donate or give stuff away

But once he notices your tendency to give a little too much, he’d start being stricter

“Dumbass, that was all your food!”

He’d always lecture you in his usual angry tone but you know there’s no actual malice in his words and that he’s trying to look out for you

Whenever he sees you getting carried away, he’d be silent and have this little pout on his face as he tugs on your sleeve which is his signal for you to stop  

He’s doing it for your own good!!

He becomes super flustered when you treat him, a blush would spread on his cheeks and he’d call you stupid as he accepts your gifts

He really appreciates you, he just sucks as expressing it

He does do it though through his actions because he sucks at expressing himself verbally

Like Oikawa, he’d find himself being more generous but whenever he donates or gives stuff to others he looks constipated because he doesn’t know how to act so he tries to mimic your mannerisms but it comes out weirdly

He’s trying, pls protect him

[catchester]

Guardians of the Galaxy, Ragnarok, and Classic Loki

I was discussing Classic Loki's costume with someone online and I admit, in the small teaser, I was really disheartened.

Yes, it was a faithful copy of a classic Loki costume, but comic book costumes are ridiculous, especially older ones. And if that wasn't bad enough, his pants looked like a nappy.

I'd been mostly impressed with the mixture of drama and comedy but this outfit was just a step too far for me. I was not confident in where the series was going.

Then in the next episode, they took this walking visual joke and gave him not only a full, but a fulfilling character arc.

I admit, Classic Loki is my second favourite variant, just pipped to the post by alligator Loki.

And isn't that weird? Alligator Loki is objectively more ridiculous, not in his costume but in his whole character. He's a freaking reptile FFS! But I love him.

And that reminded me of a discussion I'd had with a Ragnarok fan who would hear no wrong said about her movie. The points i brought up with her had nothing to do with Loki, I chose the slavery

It's on Sakar

Valkyrie is a slave trader selling people into certain death because no one wins forever, but somehow a hero,

And that Odin build Asgard using slave labour.

And there's the colonialism, related to the third point.

Both of these issues went totally unaddressed in a movie that didn't even need them. They could have written it a different way and still had a good movie.

I mentioned how T'Challa went into the afterlife to berate his father and ancestors for their wrongs and promise to correct their mistakes, while Thor went to his colonising, slaver father and... asks for advice? Really? That's like showing Thor asking Robert E Lee for advice.

She of course, argued that they were making entertainment, not the colour purple or 12 years a slave. Of course that's a straw man argument, but I reminded her that Black Panther had plenty of humour, and GotG literally sends itself up all the time, and even has a goddamn dance off with the villain, yet it still made me care enough to cry about the death of a tree!

Ragnarok had me wondering why Thor tortured his brother, do heroes do that now? Thor isn't even an anti-hero, he's just straight up hero. That scene just left me cold, it wasn't funny and because it was played for laughs, I didn't empathise with Loki. I mean, he just looks constipated.

You all know how much I love Loki, I've written enough stories about him, after all, but Ragnarok Loki is just meh. I care that he was being tortured from an intellectual perspective, because it feels wrong for the hero to do that, and his betrayal of Thor cam out of left field, but I don't feel sympathy for him. I can't relate to him, I feel neither love nor hate for him, I'm just indifferent (to all the characters actually).

The only thing that rouses any emotion in me is Taika and the rage his mishandling of important issues and dismissal existing character arcs brings out in me.

Contrast this torture scene with GotG, which had me sympathising with Nebula while she was being tortured because, sure she's a bad guy, but she's also a well rounded character and her torture wasn't being played for laughs. We know she's been tortured, in one way or another, her whole life. Yes, she's bad, but I can relate to her because I understand her.

Then this Taika fan said something that was more telling than she knew, and was actually 100% correct. Taika thinks comic books are ridiculous, and he's out here making a Road Runner movie.

And it suddenly hit me, she was right.

Everything in Ragnarok is treated the same way an anvil falling on Wile.E.Coyote's head is treated. There are no consequences. There are no lessons learned. There are no character arcs. At the end of the Road Runner series neither the roadrunner or the coyote had changed in any way. They were 2 dimensional, both literally and figuratively.

Unfortunately for her argument, 30 years ago we had what is still arguably the best cartoon Batman series ever, Batman the animated series. It took it's two dimensional animated characters and gave them three dimensional personalities. 30 years later it's still hailed as brilliant.

And I think that's why Classic Loki and GotG can take utterly ridiculous characters (let's face it, all superheroes are ridiculous to some extent) but while some even acknowledge how silly their comic book heroes are, they actually take the characters, the story, and the issues raised seriously.

Yes, Classic Loki looks like a joke, but he's never viewed as one from the crew's perspective.

Alligator Loki is even more preposterous! Who even made his horns, and who puts them on for him? But while the show acknowledges how silly he is with our Loki's questioning, he's a Loki and everyone treats him as a Loki. Yes, he injects some comic relief, but the laughter is never at his expense. He's even shown to be able to hold his own in a fight.

Rocket is a talking raccoon, but he's never laughed at. In fact he's even pitied once you learn what happened to make him that way. He's ridiculous, but he's not a joke. And yes, he makes jokes about how ridiculous they all are (bunch of jackasses standing in a circle) but while a comedic character, the joke is not on him. He's a fully formed, well rounded character. We care about him.

Yes, Star Lord is an idiot at times too, but his heart is in the right place and he wants to do the right thing. So you think he's gone mad when he has a dance off with the villain, but you quickly realise he's being an idiot for a very good reason and is playing to his strengths (and using idiocy as a strength is clever). I think we also understand, because he's a fully formed character, than his humour is a defence mechanism. He plays the fool because that's the niche he's carved for himself to help him cope, but that doesn't mean he is a fool.

Ragnarok wanted to be GotG, but Taiks forgot the part about while it's ridiculous and fanciful, the characters aren't a joke.

To Taika, if it doesn't get a laugh, it's not important. The few serious or touching moments we get are as a result of the MCU bigwigs forcing changes in reshoots, or forcing Taika to stick to the script.

There are no character arcs. You could argue that Loki goes from villain to hero or anti-hero, but he's already been through that journey in Dark World. Why did he regress? Who cares, it's not funny, he's just a bad guy again, forget about the plot holes and just laugh at the guy being killed smelling like toast!

Thor turning away from his father's teachings, like T'Challa did, would have been a wonderful character arc. Seeing his dad, realising his dad was wrong that and he needs to do better, and calling on his own inner strength to protect his people. That would have been a fulfilling arc. Instead he still needs advice from his colonising, slaver father. And this is actually one of the few scenes that wasn't played for laughs. It had so much potential, yet Taika just didn't care enough to reach for it.

Ragnarok is a road runner movie where our heroes toss a series of ACME anvils and dynamite at each other and the bad guys, but like the RR cartoon, there are no consequences. Just like Wile.E, they get straight back up again and lob another anvil at someone.

Hulk has been murdering innocent slaves for quite a while now, but he doesn't care. You'd think Bruce Banner might care about what his alter ego has been up to but no, this good, gentle, introspective, intelligent and caring man doesn't give one single fuck, because it's ACME Hulk and murdering innocent slaves has as many consequences as crushing them with an ACME anvil.

And I think that's the difference. Yes, your characters can be utterly ridiculous, but the crew must take them seriously and make them fully rounded characters who face consequences. Consequences are how we learn and grow.

And if they don't take the movie or characters seriously, you end up with a 2 dimensional story that no one cares about, because you haven't given them a reason to.

I don't care why Wile.E is trying to kill RR. I don't care what his motivation is. I don't care when he gets squashed or blown up, or falls off a cliff, because he's not a character, he's a caricature.

Ragnarok is just a collection of caricatures.