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1kook · 4 years

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some way, some how

jeon jungkook x (f) reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The diner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sojin was... full of surprises.

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

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

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

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

He cut it that same day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Again, silence.

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

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

“And the paint job?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Actually, I was wondering if—“

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

“A lot,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t know what to say.

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

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

But you can’t because he’s not.

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

“I won’t,” Jungkook promises.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The one and only.”

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

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

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

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

Jungkook coughs, and you shake yourself from your thoughts.

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

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

Jungkook nods. “Do you and Tae…?”

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

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

You freeze.

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

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

“So, do you use your hands or a toy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A false one that Jungkook zeroes in on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You know they will.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sojin,” you mumble, and Jimin nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neither of you laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

“Perfectly okay,” you tell him.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My dad has cancer,” Sojin says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You remember it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The groceries in your bag end up in the trash.

—

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

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

You deflate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taehyung snorts. “I totally was.”

—

You hideout for the rest of the week.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate. “Always.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You say nothing.

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

“Since when?” You inquire.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t.

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

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

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

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

When you think he’s done, he’s not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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dameronology · 3 years

Text

to make a house a home {agent whiskey}

summary: just a soft weekend away in kentucky w/ our fave cowboy {for @zazzysseoul - thank u so much for ur support and i hope you enjoy!}

warnings: i think one or two swear words? but nothing else!

enjoy,

- jazz

Jack Daniels was good at reading people.

It was part of his job. He had to be observant, had to have a working understanding of body language and non-verbal signals. He was especially diligent about it when it came to you; it wasn’t a purposeful thing, but rather an instinct to keep an eye on the person he loved most in the world. He could read you like a book and some days, it felt like he knew you better than you knew yourself, and maybe he did. There was really no telling with Jack. Every time you finally thought you had experienced every little quirk and trait he had to offer, he managed to pull something out the bag. Whether it was his ability to predict a bad mood before it happened or the way he remembered every tiny little detail of a conversation, he was constantly proving himself to be one hell of a partner.

It was no surprise; Jack thought you deserved the best and so, that’s what he tried to give you. He didn’t often let people into his life, especially not after so much loss, but from the moment you’d met, he knew he could trust you. He’d always been a brilliant judge of character and he’d been completely right about you. You’d turned his entire world upside down; taught him how to love again and reminded him that the things he’d lost could be found again, just with a little care and patience. The empty house he used to come to was filled with love and laughter and little marks of you and him; photos from your various trips, magnets on the fridge, that he brought home from all the countries his job took him to, the little notes you left on his nightstand when you had to slip out for work before he rose. The first time Jack had come through the front door and almost tripped over your shoes, he’d cried - not out of anger or shock, but at the realisation that he was no longer alone.

Jack had the innate desire to look after you. He knew you could handle yourself but that didn’t mean that you had to. You’d been there for him in every sense of the world, and he wanted to do the same, to make sure that you felt appreciated every second of every day. In his mind, if you ever questioned his love or loyalty, then he wasn’t doing his job right. That desire translated into little things, rather than grand displays of affection; he’d do your laundry when you worked late, sent you sweet texts through out the day and brought you flowers just because. It wasn’t uncommon to find that Jack had filled up your car with gas without asking, or to come home to your favourite take out.

His biggest way, however, was in how well he knew you. Every slight change in demeanour and every variation in the tone of your voice was caught by him; he knew when you were okay, and he knew when you weren’t. He could tell when you were half-way between, and he’d do his best to bring you back to the lighter side. You take comfort in the fact he always had your back, no ifs or buts.

When Jack woke up early one morning to find your side of the bed empty, he immediately knew that was something was up; the second his palm reached out for you, only to be met with a fistful of cold sheets, he knew. You never got out of bed early. There could have been an atomic war happening outside and you still would have refused to move, insisting on five more minutes before nuclear winter hit. The bathroom light was off and there wasn’t anything you could have found in the kitchen. After all, you’d only arrived at the ranch a few hours earlier. You were both tired from a few long weeks at work and escaping the suffocating fog of the city for the rolling hills and fresh air of Kentucky felt like heaven.

Jack sat up, pausing for a moment. There was a gentle creek coming from somewhere; it was steady and rhythmic, ringing from the porch. His shoulder slumped wit relief - you were outside on the porch swing. At 6AM on a cold, winter’s morning. The relief was shorting lived.

Pulling on his robe, Jack rubbed his eyes and headed out towards the porch. Sure enough, you were the first thing he saw, shoulders covered by the plaid shirt he’d worn the previous day and fluffy socks gently brushing against the floor with the movement of the swing. The light above you illuminated you in a soft smoulder, a golden glow cast over you, illuminating your tired eyes and disheveled hair. He would have lectured you about the cold, had you not had a knitted blanket around you.

‘Bit early for you, ain’t it?’ Jack leant against the door frame, gently smiling when your eyes met.

‘What’s early when you haven’t slept yet?’ You aimlessly joked.

Lifting up the blanket, you silently gestured for him to come and sit next to you. Jack obliged, dropping down beside you and winding a large arm around your shoulder. He pulled you into his chest, placing a kiss on your temple. His warm body was a welcome feeling against the cold of the January air.

‘What’s keeping you up?’ He softly coaxed.

‘I don’t know, to be honest.’ You replied. ‘It’s just been a long week.’

‘I get that.’ His voice was slightly murmured. He pulled you even closer, chin resting on your head. ‘But we’re here now, sugar. I think we both need the down time.’

‘Definitely.’ You said. ‘Plus, the view isn’t so bad.’

The ranch overlooked a large field filled with cows and horses; it stretched out for miles, fading away into the distance into a seemingly endless close. The edges of the green pasture were tinged with the pink of a tonic sun rise, pushing away the dark of the night sky. It wasn’t often that you got to watch the sun come up, and it felt a little refreshing to see a new day come. It was fresh; a clean slate, young and naive, but full of possibility. An ironic thought, given that you and Jack were probably going to lay on the sofa the whole day and order take out.

‘You’re right.’ He murmured from beside you.

‘Are you doing that thing where you look at me when I’m talking about a nice view?’ You peered up at him, thinning your eyes.

‘You said it was romantic!’

‘The first five times, Jack!’ You chuckled, leaning up to press a kiss to his jaw.

‘Nothing is sacred anymore.’

You settled back against his chest with a smile. ‘I like it here.’

‘Me too.’ He agreed. ‘It’s nice to get away from the Apple. Everything over there if faster than a knife fight in a damn phone booth.’

‘And it doesn’t smell of pizza and...pee.’

You loved New York dearly; it had been your home for many years, and it was also where you’d met Jack. But, whether it was your permanent home, you didn’t know. There were some days when it all got so much. The city never quietened down and you could never quite escape it, even in the comfort of your own apartment. Out here, you were worlds away from that. Crickets were gently purring in the distance, and the only other sound came from the rustling of the animals in the field across the road. It was peaceful. Serene.

‘What if we moved out here when I’m done at the Statesman?’ Jack posed, almost as though he were shy about broaching the subject. ‘We could get a couple horses. Maybe a dog. Heck, if you want a zoo, I’ll get you a zoo.’

‘I’d like that.’ You smiled. ‘I mean living here, not the zoo thing - but a dog and horses sounds nice.’

‘Then a dog and horses we shall get.’ He grinned. ‘Oh! I can teach you to ride.’

‘Or I could just watch you do it.’

‘There’s not a single person in this here town who can’t ride a horse.’ Jack said. ‘Unless a pony would be better.’

‘Why not both? We have enough room.’ You reminded him. ‘Maybe we can re-tile the kitchen too. It’s not that I don’t like the green, it’s just it’s...’

‘...dreadful?’

‘That’s a nice way of putting it.’

Because you didn’t live on the ranch full time, neither of you had put too much effort into making it homely. It was liveable, by all means, but the television in the living room dated back to the first Bush administration and the kitchen was a little too lime for your liking. The place had come furnished by the old owners, which had been a big selling point for Jack. He just wanted somewhere he could live whilst he was in Kentucky and this place had been practical. It wasn’t until you and your eye for interior design came along that he realised how retro it was.

‘There’s a hardware store down the road.’ Jack said. ‘We can get a couple hours sleep and head down there later to see what they got.’

‘Maybe we can find something less green.’

‘I sure fucking hope so.’

---

The next morning, you and Jack bundled up into some warmer clothes and piled into the Bronco, heading for the store downtown. The actual city was miles out, but there lots of little local and independent places. There were little cafes and restaurants, as well as farmers’ markets and fresh produce. You had thought about living here permanently before, but you hadn’t verbalised it until Jack had suggested it first. Given everything that had happened in the past, you’d wanted to do things at his pace, but so far, you’d been perfectly in tune with one another. That was a testament to your relationship as a whole.

‘I just smiled at that woman and she smiled back.’ You muttered to Jack, peering up at the store as you headed through the parking lot.

‘And?’

‘I once smiled at a stranger on the Subway and they told me to piss off.’

Jack chuckled, reaching out to wind his arm around yours. He tangled your fingers together, pulling you flush against his side. It was easier to show physical displays of affection here too. He was always a little paranoid in the city, given how busy it was and how easy it would have been to for an enemy to hide. That was another thing Jack did without thinking; taking tiny little precautions to protect you. He couldn’t even begin to think about losing you. And the thought never popped up here. Never. Only in the city, where everything was loud and overwhelming.

The store itself was pretty big - it was good for you, but confusing for Jack. You had Pinterest boards with inspiration for all your hypothetical future houses, whilst Jack couldn’t the difference between ivory and sand. So, true to character, he let you tighten your grip on his arm and drag him towards the kitchen section, eyes wide like a kid in a candy store. You had a green blank canvas to go wild on, because probably would have agreed to anything. It wasn’t that he was a walk-over, or because he was lazy, he was just genuinely terrible at interior design. Introducing him to build mode on the Sims 4 had been traumatic enough.

You didn’t have to decide anything immediately - after all, he’d said he wanted to move out here after he was done at Statesman. That was just as likely weeks as it was years. He did complain about his job giving him a bad back but you also knew that he enjoyed it. It was all he’d known for such a long time, and he’d worked hard to get to the top. Unbeknownst to you, he’d drop it all in a second if you wanted to relocate now. Even if he had the best job in the world and all the money he could ever want, the only thing Jack really needed was you.

‘Where do we even start?’ He asked, brown eyes staring confusedly at some paint samples.

‘We start with the most important rooms - living room, kitchen, bedroom.’ You replied. ‘I’m thinking something midcentury for downstairs. What d’you think?’

‘Midwhatnow?’ His brows furrowed.

You laughed. ‘Midcentury. So think...Bauhaus. Mid 60s sort of thing.’

‘Right.’ Jack nodded, getting a clearer idea. ‘How about you just to point to things and I’ll either shake my head or nod?’

Yeah, that sounded like a better idea.

And so, you began your trek around the store. Your Pinterest boards came in handy, especially for the kitchen - even Jack was grateful for them, because it meant you moved a little quicker. He did die inside a little when you grabbed a huge trolley and began piling it up with kitchen tiles, counters and cabinet doors, and even more so when you casually asked ‘you’re good at DIY, right?’

He didn’t complain though, not once. The sight of you rushing around the store, face lighting up at lamp shades and paint samples, was one of the best things he’d ever seen. Not only because it was hilarious, but also because it was the first time you really planned for your future. There was sort of an unspoken agreement that this was it, and that you were both in it for the long run, but neither of you had made any verbal plans together. You’d moved in together back in the city, but that had happened naturally. You’d started staying over and over more and more to sleep in his fancy Statesman bed and use his heavenly marble bathtub, and you came over one weekend and just never left.

After a few hours, Jack finally had to put a stop to your antics.

‘Okay, darlin’, I think we’ve reached the threshold now.’ He called. ‘We don’t need a new lighting fixture for the downstairs bathroom.’

You huffed. ‘Placing it back on the shelf.’

‘Fine.’

‘We’re gonna have a hard time getting in this car as it is.’ He held his arm out to you, signalling for you to come back to him.

‘I’ll have to come back for the upstairs then.’ You muttered.

‘We’ve gone from painting the kitchen to gutting the whole damn ranch, baby.’ Jack replied. ‘We’re only here for two more days anyways.’

‘Damn. I forgot about that.’ Your eyes widened. ‘I guess we better start today, then.’

This was supposed to be a relaxing weekend.

Relaxing!

And yet somehow, Jack Daniels was stood in the middle of his now half-demolished kitchen, a sledge hammer in one hand and a glass of his namesake whiskey in the other. He couldn’t deny that it had been fun to rip out the cabinets and tear off the tiles. He’d despised the colour of the kitchen for so long that it felt good to finally get rid of them, even if it meant that the tedious process of putting on the new ones came immediately after. You’d gone for simple black and white ones, with some mosaic ones for a...what had you called it? A feature wall or something. Apparently it added character (something he took your word for).

‘So what’s the paint for?’ Jack frowned, taking a brush as you handed it to him.

‘For the living room.’ You grabbed him by the shirt, dragging him out the kitchen.

‘But the kitchen isn’t done-’

‘- I’m bored of the kitchen.’ You said. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

‘Course not, angel.’ He pressed a kiss to your forehead.

After grappling with covering the furniture up, you and Jack began to paint. It wasn’t too hard of a process; he just sort of whacked it on, whilst you had a much more meticulous process. So what if he got a splash of grey on the light switch? Actually, on second second thought, he should probably wipe that off.

Besides, it only took him five minutes to get sidetracked. The sight of you stood across the room, his red and black plaid shirt hanging from your shoulders, face screwed up with concentration and paint on your nose, was a distraction in itself. It was the sort of moment he wanted to get on a Polaroid, but equally, one that he wanted to savour. He always entranced by you, but sometimes that amplified. You weren’t even doing anything special - just...existing. But that was enough to capture his attention in its entirety.

He didn’t tear his eyes away from you - not until something cold hit him in the face, and a splatter of grey paint nearly hit his eye. The noise of your laughter pulled him back to reality, practically losing it as you doubled over, holding onto the fire place for support. You were lucky that it was his favourite sound but heck, you coulda dumped the whole bucket of paint on him and he wouldn’t have flinched.

‘That was rude.’ Jack folded his arms across his chest. ‘I’m gonna get you for that.’

‘No, you won’t.’

You dropped your paintbrush, suddenly leaping over the couch and sprinting out into the hallway. Trying to outrun a highly-trained government agent (a fact you sometimes forgot) might have not been your brightest idea, but you still managed to breeze past him and skid into the kitchen, almost tripping over a strewn tile as you did.

Jack was hot on your heels, arms reaching out to grab as you circled back into the living room. He managed to snatch you by the waist, pulling you down onto the sheet-covered couch - he was nice enough to use his own body to break the landing at least. You landed on his chest with a thud, still in a fit of giggles as he grabbed your face and planted kisses all over it. His lips were soft and warm, tasting of whiskey when they finally met yours. You tangled your hand through his hair in an attempt to bring him close, as though it were even possible.

You broke the kiss, rolling off of Jack and onto the sofa next to him, nuzzling into his side. The paint you’d managed to get on him was on you now as well, smeared down the side of your face and a little onto his shirt that you were wearing. Not that it bothered him all that much, because the sight of you in any of his clothes was worth a little bit of paint. You had a sort of rotation, where you would steal various garments and wear them until they lost his smell, before dumping them in the laundry and swiping some more. They were always baggy, scented with his aftershave and the faint smell of the leather from his car. When he was away on missions, it was the nearest thing you could get to one of his warm hugs.

‘Darling, d’you think, just maybe, that we should just pay someone to do all this?’ Jack gently suggested. ‘I can have a guy from the agency come in and be done in like three days.’

‘Three days? For the whole house?’ You peered up at him with a frown.

‘Their speciality is rebuilding places after we accidentally blow them up so this will be like a walk in the park.’ He explained. ‘Although, the kitchen isn’t far off. the place is lookin’ as messy as the farmers’ market after sundown.’

‘And Champ won’t mind you abusing Statesman resources like that?’ You teased.

‘The man is so rich that he buys a new boat when the other gets wet.’ Jack reminded you. ‘He ain’t gonna notice.’

‘You have a point.’ You nodded.

‘Besides, they’re better at decorating-’

‘- interior design.’ You cut him off. ‘It’s a house, not a Christmas cookie.’

Jack dropped his head against yours, letting out a groan. ‘You know what I mean.’

‘I know.’ You leant up to press another soft kiss to his lips. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too, angel.’

Even though it was still a little far off, the glimpse that this weekend had given you into your future meant everything to him. He’d brought the ranch as a place to crash on business stays, and now you were helping to turn it into a home. At one point, he hadn’t imagine having a life to look ahead to or a house to decorate or somebody to love. Even though they were small, everyday things, you’d brought so much into his life, and he was never going to let you forget it.

#i want jack daniels to call me angel please #pLEASE #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels fluff #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x y/n #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey fluff #agent whiskey x you #jack daniels imagine #agent whiskey imagine

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pretendingboyfriends · 4 years

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A/N: holy SHIT u guys the way i absolutely LOVE how this turned out,,,,, i REALLY hope u guys love it as much as i do and pls pls pls don’t be afraid to tell me ur favorite parts or give me suggestions for the next part!! and thank u miss tanya @sunflowers-styles for beta reading this part!!! ily mwah<3

Warnings: some explicit language & slight sexual innuendos

Word count: 5.9k+

fic masterlist

You gaze out into the crystal blue ocean as you drive along the beachfront, car window ajar allowing the salty, warm breeze to kiss your skin gently. The sun glimmers brightly in the sky, not a single cloud in sight and you feel as though nothing could possibly go wrong.

Deidre invited you on this beach trip as a last minute getaway. She knew you’d been having a bit of a hard time with your mental health recently, so she decided to rent a beach house for the two of you to try and help you get out of your “funk” as she called it. Two weeks of relaxation with nothing to worry about. Just lounging around in the warm sun with your best friend for 14 days. You simply couldn’t say no.

Seeing as Deidre has been your best friend for the majority of your lifetime, trips like these aren’t uncommon in the slightest. In fact, you’ve been on so many vacations with her and her family that you can’t even fathom going somewhere like this without her.

“Do you wanna stop and grab something to eat before we get to the house?” The sound of her voice draws you from your almost dazed state and you turn to look at her as she drives. Immediately at the mention of food, your stomach gurgles violently, loud enough for both of you to hear which causes you both to burst into a fit of laughter.

“I guess that answers your question better than anything.” You choke through laughter.

“Well then,” She giggles, “McDonald’s, here we come!”

The two of you purchase almost the entire McDonald’s menu and eat approximately 3/4ths of it in the car before you’re finally headed to the beach house with bloated tummies and quenched appetites.

Eventually, you’re pulling into the driveway of a small, teal beach house facing the ocean. The house is lifted on stilts due to its position near the ocean and the paint is slightly worn, chipping away on the wooden slats most likely due to past tropical storms. There are two sets of steps, both leading to a wrap around porch, one coming from the back of the house (where the pool is) and one leading directly to the front door. It’s quaint and homey and you love it.

When you’d initially pulled in, you hadn’t noticed the other car parked in the driveway, but now that you’re stepping out of Deidre’s car, your gaze falls directly onto the bright yellow Ferrari parked only a few feet away from you. There is only one person you know that owns that exact car.

“Oh! I forgot to mention, Harry is staying here too.”

You whip your head in Deidre’s direction, your jaw nearly dropping from its hinges. “Why didn’t you tell me that earlier??”

She shrugs casually as she swings the drivers door shut and walks around to the back. “I guess I forgot.” She presses a button on her keys and the back door slowly opens in front of her. “Plus, I didn’t think you’d mind, the two of you have always gotten along.”

“Deidre, that’s not why I’m upset-”

“Great, then what’s the problem?” She interrupts, eyebrows raised in question as she stares at you. You definitely aren’t one for violence, but the image of smacking her directly across the face flashes across your mind for a moment and you seriously consider doing it. “He’s just here to relax like us. And he’s paying for the place, so I couldn’t really say no.”

You let out an exasperated groan in response, slamming the passenger door shut and stomping around to the back of the car so that you can retrieve your own bags.

The truth is, you and Harry had gotten along in the past, which would give you no reason to be panicking right now, but something you hadn’t told Deidre was that for the entirety of your childhood, you were madly in love with him. Yes, he’s older than you by a few years, but that never stopped you from pining over him from the ripe age of six. You had watched the way he treated his two sisters and mother for so long and fell in love with his kindness and care for others. You used to daydream about the day he would realize his love for you, but of course Harry got famous and that day never came.

It’s been years since you’ve seen him in person. The last time you were in direct contact was nearly 4 years ago, a couple years after he went on The X Factor and was immediately consumed by fame. He was 18 at the time, visiting home during a little break, and you were having a sleepover with Deidre, but the length of your collision wasn’t very long. A few harmless words were exchanged during dinner and then you and Deidre had excused yourselves to continue your evening and that was it. Then, he was undeniably the most attractive boy you had ever seen and now, if it was even possible, he’d blossomed into a beautiful man, even more attractive than he was before.

As you begin to haul your bags out of the trunk, Harry appears at the top of the steps, screen door leading into the house flapping loudly behind him.

“Need some help with bags?” He calls, swiftly galloping down the wooden steps.

Deidre sighs in relief, “That’d be great, thanks Harry!”

His long, curly hair is pulled into a tight bun at the top of his head, a few stray curls framing his beautiful face. He smiles at you, dimples sinking deeply into his cheeks as he strides towards you, “Long time, no see,”

You feel the heat rising in your cheeks and you smile sheepishly, “Hi, Harry, how are you?”

“I’m pretty good! And yourself?” He asks, effortlessly tugging your large bag from the trunk of the car and slinging it over his shoulder.

You swallow thickly, struggling to keep your eyes off of his straining muscles through his thin t-shirt. “I’m uh- I’m good as well.”

“Glad to hear it, babe.” He winks and you watch as he takes a few smaller bags from the trunk, heading back up the stairs and through the front door, breathing out a shaky sigh before grabbing your remaining bag.

Deidre is already halfway up the stairs behind him when she calls back to you, “Can you close the trunk before coming up?”

You shoot her a quick thumbs up and drop the bags onto the cement driveway, lifting your arms above your head and slamming the large door shut before picking up the bags again and heading towards the stairs. You’re still quite stunned at what just happened and, frankly, you’re a little bit vexed with Deidre’s nonchalant way of sharing that Harry was going to be joining you on what was supposed to be a relaxing trip. Nevertheless, you’re forced to set your feelings aside and keep your mouth shut for fear of Deidre prying the truth out of you.

As you step into the house, screen door slamming behind you, you take a gander around the living area. It’s small and you can tell it hasn't been redecorated since at least 1985. Every piece of decor has some sort of relation to a beach (quite fitting considering where you are). Even the wallpaper is covered with small seashells and fish and it makes you chuckle. There’s an opening connected to the living area that leads directly to the kitchen, a second doorway that you assume leads to the bedrooms, and a large sliding glass door that leads to the back porch.

Deidre saunters out of the second doorway, “C’mon, let me show you our room!”

You frown, “Our room?”

“Yeah, there are only two bedrooms.”

“Oh,” You take a moment to breathe in, feeling your frustration building with every passing moment as you follow her into the small hallway. You pass the first door on your right, glancing inside to find the bathroom before moving on. The next door you pass is a bedroom decorated identically to the living room, a queen sized bed crammed into the corner with a quilt covered in clownfish and seaweed and the last door is another bedroom. This bedroom is painted a bright coral pink and the theme seems to be seashells due to the seashell print on the bed’s quilt and the framed seashells above the bed. This room, although similar to the first one, is a little bit larger and the bed rests directly in the middle of the room instead of it being crammed into the corner like the first one.

You step into the room after Deidre and toss your bags onto the floor next to the wall before throwing yourself onto the bed as you kick your shoes off. “I’m so ready to relax,”

She hums as she unzips her large bag and begins shoveling her clothes into the top drawer of the dresser across from the bed. “Me too,”

“I think I might go for a swim,” You turn over onto your back, lifting yourself up to sit on the edge of the bed as you look at her. “Wanna join me?”

“As soon as i finish unpacking, I will.”

You shoot her a quick thumbs up and shove yourself off of the bed and towards your bags. Harry had set your large bag of clothes right beside the door, so you fall to your knees and pull it towards you to search for your bathing suit.

“Go ask if Harry wants to come, too.” She adds, tossing her own bathing suit onto the bed.

You hate her. You want to strangle her. It’s like she knows. But of course, she doesn’t. You’d never told anyone about your little crush and you planned to keep it that way. Tucking the valuable information into the very back of your mind for the rest of eternity.

Without a word, you push yourself onto your feet and pad through the doorway, the thick carpet squishing softly beneath your bare feet. You’re hesitant to call for him at first, quietly wandering through the hallway, peering into the open doorways. Both rooms are empty, but there’s evidence of him sprawled across the bedroom. A large suitcase thrown haphazardly on the bed with clothes and shoes strewn all around it.

“Harry?” You continue walking, stepping out into the living room to find him lounging on the couch with the TV on in nothing but a pair of tight, black jeans, tattoos on full display. “Oh, there you are,” He looks up at you, a hint of mischief behind his virescent eyes. “Dee was wondering if you wanted to go for a swim with us.” it’s a statement, of course, but the wavering of your voice makes it sound like a question.

“I would,” He starts, sitting up a little and reaching for the TV remote to turn down the volume. “But it looks like it’s about to rain.”

You frown, turning to the sliding glass window to find that in the short amount of time it took for you to take your bags from the car and into the house, the sky had filled with dark, fluffy clouds.

“Shit.”

Thunder rumbles in the distance, droplets of rain mizzling against the windows and roof quietly as the three of you keep yourselves dry inside the beach house.

“Alright, we have Monopoly, Life, Scrabble, Cards Against Humanity, a deck of regular playing cards, Jenga, and a few puzzles.” Deidre lists as she shovels through the large chest beside the couch, labeled ‘Games’. “Which one sounds the most fun right now?”

You curl your feet underneath you on the couch and shrug, “A puzzle sounds nice.”

She nods, turning to Harry who’s making himself a sandwich in the kitchen. “Harry?”

“I agree with her on the puzzle.”

“Puzzle it is, then.” She concludes, grabbing the first puzzle her eyes land on and setting it on the wooden coffee table. Another fit of thunder causes the house to shiver and you sigh, silently cursing the rain for trapping you inside on the first day of vacation.

After Harry comes back into the living room and settles onto the couch beside you, Deidre sits on the other side of the coffee table and dumps the puzzle pieces out onto it. A show you’ve never heard of plays on the TV behind her and you glance up from the puzzle every now and then to watch it as the three of you sit in silence.

The entire evening Harry sits beside you, his arm gently nudging yours every time he reaches forward to move a puzzle piece. At first, you brush it off as an accident, barely acknowledging his presence, but when he takes it a step further and knocks a puzzle piece out of your hand, you glance in his direction to find him smiling smugly to himself. You shake your head, holding back a small smile as you return to the puzzle, finding a different piece and placing it where it belongs. Two can play at that game.

As Harry reaches for another piece, you quickly reach over his arm and snatch the piece he was aiming for, mumbling: “Ah, here it is! I was looking for this one.”

You can feel his gaze burning a hole into the side of your face as you hold back a laugh, a grin tugging at your lips.

“Was that necessary?” He hums thickly, keeping his gaze in your direction.

You shrug, placing the piece into its home. “I mean, that’s the point of building a puzzle, right? Finding each piece and where it goes...”

He smirks and shakes his head at you but doesn’t respond.

A few hours pass as the three of you work and soon, it’s dark outside and the rain has calmed to a light drizzle. Deidre yawns and stretches her arms above her head before glance at the time on her phone.

“I think I’m gonna head to bed, it’s pretty late and long drives always make me tired.” She says through another yawn and you nod.

“Me too,”

“Alright then, wimps,” Harry replies, “I guess I’ll just have to party by myself.”

Deidre looks at you and rolls her eyes dramatically as Harry chuckles to himself. You push yourself up from the couch, stretching your arms out above your head just like Deidre had done moments ago.

“Goodnight, Harry.” She hums, stepping around the coffee table to smack a quick kiss to his forehead before sauntering off to the bedroom. You glance behind you as you follow her, giving Harry a small wave.

“G’night,” He mumbles softly in response and you can feel his gaze on you as you step into the hallway. Part of you thinks that maybe, just maybe, he’s checking you out.

Warm droplets of water cascade down your bare skin as you step out of the shower, wrapping a soft towel around your body. You hum quietly to yourself, patting the towel against your skin to dry off as much as possible.

Just as you’ve finished drying yourself off, you realize you completely forgot to bring a clean change of clothes into the bathroom, so you’re just left with the dirty clothes you’d spent the entire day in. Cringing at the thought of putting the clothes back on, you decide to take your chances and slip out of the bathroom with just a towel wrapped around your form.

You gather the pile of clothes into your arms after taking a moment to moisturize and brush your teeth, stepping out into the dark hallway. Suddenly, just as you’re taking another step, Harry appears at the end of the hallway, crunching loudly with a bowl of cereal in hand. He’s clothed in a thin, grey t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, fluffy socks pulled onto his feet.

“Shit,” You gasp, eyes widening as you press the bundle of clothes to your chest harshly.

“Oh, hey,” Harry says mid chew.

You pause, “I didn’t think you’d be awake...”

He smiles sheepishly, “Yeah, uh, I got a little hungry.”

“I can see that,”

“I can make you a bowl if you’d like,” He offers, jutting a thumb behind his shoulder towards the kitchen.

“Harry-” You scoff, “I am quite literally standing naked in front of you right now.”

He shrugs, chuckling to himself as his eyes flit to the ground and then back up to you. “Was just trying to be polite.”

“Um- well, thanks, but I think I’m alright for now.”

“Alright,” He sighs, taking another bite from his spoon, “Goodnight, then.”

“‘Night.” You murmur, watching him strut past you towards his room. You wait until the door is closed before you scurry into your own room, finding Deidre fast asleep on her side of the bed.

Morning comes sooner than anticipated and soon, you’re dragging yourself out of bed as Deidre snores. You’re not expecting her to get out of bed anytime soon.

You trudge out into the kitchen with a yawn, finding Harry leaning against the countertop with his nose buried in a book. He’s in the same clothes from the night before, but instead of his hair being pulled back into a bun

“Good morning,” You smile, wrapping your arms around yourself as you step onto the cold tile.

He glances up from his book and smiles back, tucking a bookmark between the pages before setting it down on the countertop. “Mornin’. Coffee’s almost ready if you want some. I made enough for all of us.”

“Oh, great, thank you!”

“I went out to the shops earlier as well and got some of that coffee creamer you and Dee like,” He starts, pushing his large hand through his long, curly hair. “I know it’s been a bit since we last saw each other, but I know that she still likes it, so I assumed you do, too.”

A smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you take a clean mug from the dish rack lying beside the sink, “I actually do still like it, thank you.”

He shakes his head, “S’no problem, really.”

The coffee maker beeps twice to indicate that the coffee is finished brewing and Harry turns, reaching out for your mug. “May I?”

“Oh- yes, please,” You smile, allowing him to take the ceramic mug from your hand and pour the scalding liquid into the mug before gently placing it back into your hand. “Thanks.”

You walk to the fridge, swinging the door open to scavenge for the creamer he’d mentioned earlier. The carton catches your eye and you snatch it from the shelf, kicking the fridge door shut before setting the mug on the counter.

“Did I get the right kind?” Harry asks as you unscrew the cap.

“Yep!” You smile, pouring the cream into the dark coffee, causing the two to swirl together into a thick, hazel colored liquid. You find a small spoon in one of the many drawers lining the countertop and you drop it into the liquid, stirring it momentarily before tapping off the excess liquid and placing the spoon into the sink. Glancing back up at him, you take a careful sip from your mug to test the temperature.

“Good?” He asks, sipping from his own mug slowly.

“Great.” You confirm, taking a larger sip as you lean your hip against the counter.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a few long moments, sipping your coffee leisurely before Harry speaks.

“Do you-” He clears his throat, “Do you want to go sit out on the back deck with our coffee? The weather’s great and the view is phenomenal.”

He seems slightly more nervous than he had been the day before, most likely due to your brief run in that evening, but you don’t mind. “Yeah, that sounds nice!”

He nods towards the doorway with a smile, waiting for you to take the first step before following behind you through the sliding glass door. There are a few chairs settled around a small, round table, overlooking a breathtaking view of the beach where a few people are getting their morning jog in or just strolling leisurely along the shore. You slide yourself into the furthest chair, careful not to spill the hot coffee in your hand as you do so, watching Harry as he does the same.

You wonder why, if he was paying for the entire trip, he would choose such a cheap beach house in such a rural part of this particular beach. Seeing as he was a multi millionaire, you’d assume he would choose the most expensive place to stay in the most popular area, but that obviously isn’t the case. Not that you aren’t grateful for staying there for free, because you are, you’re just curious.

“So,” You begin, sipping your coffee for a moment before continuing. “How’s celebrity life treating you?”

He chuckles, pushing a hand through his luscious mane, “S’not bad. Been treatin’ me pretty well, I can’t complain.”

You nod, “That’s good, I’m glad to hear it.” Pausing for a moment, you curl your feet beneath you on the chair before speaking again. “Can I ask you something?”

He glances up from his coffee, raising his eyebrows with a nod, “Sure.”

You take a breath, aware of the intrusiveness of your question but speaking anyways. “Dee told me you’re paying for all this,” You motion to the house with your hands, “And I’m just wondering why you chose to come here and rent this house when you have the money for something much nicer in a much nicer area.”

He thinks about it for a moment, brows furrowed in thought before he lets out a breathy laugh. “Honestly, there are a few reasons,” He clears his throat and crosses one leg over the other. “The first one is that I’m able to avoid paparazzi, for the most part, because they don’t suspect that I’d ever stay in a place like this,” He explains, using his hands to animate. “And the second one is that I like to make things as normal as possible, especially when I’m spending time with Dee. I know she would absolutely love staying in some bougie mansion with its own private beach, but I just don’t want things to be different from when we were kids, you know? I’d rather her not have the image of me being a rich asshole in her head all the time. I just want her to see me as she always has; her big brother.”

Your heart flutters in your chest at his sentiment, the reminder of just how much he cares about his family causing certain feelings to come rushing back to you. “I- sorry, I know that was a weird question to ask... but yeah that makes sense. I didn’t really think of it that way.”

Just as you finish speaking, Deidre comes bursting wildly through the sliding glass door in her bathing suit and a large towel draped over her arm.

“IT’S BEACH TIME, FUCKERS!!” She screams, leaping down the stairs and bolting across the dock leading to the beach. Her bare feet kick up clouds of sand as she runs across the beach, dropping her towel carelessly as she gallops into the water.

You and Harry look at each other with wide eyes, both of you bursting into a fit of laughter at the same time. You open your mouth to speak, but Deidre beats you to it.

“COME ON GUYS!! IT FEELS GREAT!”

You look back at Harry again, snickering. “I think we should get out there.”

He hums, “I agree.”

You both lift yourselves out of the porch chairs, heading into the house to change into your own bathing suits. Harry, of course, offers to take your mug and clean it.

Around ten minutes pass before you’re finally in your bathing suit stepping out onto the sand with Harry following close behind. Deidre is laying out on the sand with an arm draped over her eyes as she waits for the two of you to arrive. Since it’s still morning, there’s a bit of a nippy breeze to the air, causing goosebumps to litter your skin and shiver to travel down your spine.

“Finally,” She breathes, pushing herself up from the towel. Harry comes up behind you and drops both of your towels onto the sand beside her along with his book from this morning.

“S’quite nice out, innit?” He hums, resting his hands against his hips. His hair is pulled back into a bun and he’s wearing the shortest bright yellow swim trunks you’ve ever seen and you can’t help but to giggle a little.

Deidre rolls her eyes, reaching forward and grasping your arm before dragging you with her towards the water. It’s around 10:00 am and there are a few more people on the beach than there were when you and Harry had first sat on the deck, so when you enter the water, you and Deidre aren’t the only ones there.

Though there are people on the beach, none of them seem to notice that Harry’s there. They’re all caught up in their own vacations, oblivious to the fact that a multi-millionaire celebrity is galloping into the ocean towards you like a child.

You and Deidre screech as he comes toppling into the water head first, cool water splashing around him and onto both of you. The small waves crash into your legs whilst you clamor through the water, Harry surfacing dramatically, completely soaked and absolutely gorgeous.

“It’s fucking freezing,” You mutter under your breath, wrapping your bare arms around yourself as you trudge deeper into the water.

“If you get wet, it won’t be as cold.” Harry retorts, adjusting the sunglasses on the bridge of his nose.

You shake your head at him, “You’re insane,”

Just as you speak those words, Deidre dunks herself completely under water, splashing you once again as she comes back to the surface.

Harry chuckles, “C’mon, you’re gonna get wet eventually.”

You ignore the subtle innuendo. “I have no intention of getting in further than here so if you really want me to go under, it’s gonna have to be done by force.”

He cocks an eyebrow from beneath his sunglasses. “Is that a challenge?”

“Don’t even think about it,” You breathe, glaring at him.

“You really shouldn’t have said that,” Deidre snickers as Harry begins to creep towards you slowly. His eyes are hidden beneath his sunglasses but you can tell his pupils are narrowed in directly on you.

You step back with every step he takes forward, small waves crashing into the backs of your thighs at the movement of the water. He lifts his arms slightly as he stalks toward you and you squeal, nearly stumbling backwards and toppling back into the cold water.

“Harry, I swear to god-” You start but you’re quickly interrupted by your own shriek as he tackles you into the water. It feels as though you’ve inhaled gallons of water from the impact once you resurface, sputtering and gasping dramatically. He doubles over with laughter and Deidre cackles a few feet away. You feel like a sad, wet dog standing in the ocean as they laugh at you and you cross your arms over your chest with a huff. “I hate both of you so much.”

Harry rolls his eyes, “Oh, come onnnn, it’s not that bad.”

“My nipples could do some serious damage right now,” You growl between chattering teeth and both of them giggle.

“Well, you’re wet now so there’s no point in not swimming with us.” Deidre shrugs, dipping back under as a wave rolls by.

You stand in silent rage for a few moments, glaring at Harry as he tries in vain not to let his eyes flicker down to your breasts. You don’t notice his eyeline wavering, though, too distracted by the brumal temperature of your body. A particularly nippy breeze attacks your damp skin and you whimper slapping your arms around your chest.

“I’m going back to the shore. It’s way too cold for this.” You huff, the water sloshing loudly as you begin to traipse back to the shore.

Harry watches you stumble back onto the soppy sand with a slight smirk on his pink lips and you can hear the low chuckle escape from his chest breathily. You counter his haughty chortle with a middle finger thrown up behind you, eyes trained in front of you to shield your view of him.

Once you reach the towels you’d set out earlier, you unfold your towel and wrap it around your shoulders before plopping your ass into the sand. The chattering of your teeth subsides after a few moments and you glance to your side to find the book Harry had been reading. Curiosity fills you and you reach over, lifting it from its spot on Harry’s towel and bringing it in front of you to examine it.

It’s a paperback, the cover an off-white cardstock with a simple design of a bleeding heart, impaled by an arrow on the front. The title reads “The Course of Love, a novel by Alain De Botton” and a smile tugs at the corner of your lips. You never would have assumed that he would be such a romantic.

You turn to the first chapter titled “Infatuations”, scanning it briefly and landing on the small, italicized paragraph in the middle that reads, “A marriage doesn’t begin with a proposal, or even an initial meeting. It begins far earlier, when the idea of love is born, and more specifically the dream of a soul mate.”

“Insightful.” You mutter to yourself, eyebrows raised in understanding before fanning the pages to scour the book further.

As you scan the blur of pages, you find that there are words scrawled all over the margins of the paper, words frantically underlined like they’d been scribbled whilst he was in a hurry. Your thumb lands approximately a fourth of the way into the book, a small photograph slipping from the spine and into your lap as you open it. It’s a photo of him, Deidre, Gemma (their older sister) and Anne (their mother) all cuddled up together on Anne’s couch with warm smiles on their faces. Their smiles are almost identical to each other as well as their features and, in a way, it comforts you.

You glance back up from the photo to the page of the book, your eyes immediately landing on an underlined sentence from the italicized section. It reads, “When two people belong together, there is simply--at long last--a wondrous reciprocal feeling that both parties see the world in precisely the same way.” You suck in a breath at the words for a moment but a sudden droplet of water landing on the page pulls you from your stupor.

“I see you’ve found my book,” Harry’s voice belows above you and you snap your head in his direction as he shakes his dripping wet hair.

You nestling the photo back into the spine of the book before shutting it and smiling up at him sheepishly. “Sorry, I- it was just sitting there and I got curious.”

“S’alright, I don’t mind,” He shrugs, reaching for his towel and wrapping it around himself. “What’d you think?”

“Oh- I only read a couple sentences,” You mutter, tightening the towel around yourself. “But from what I did read, it seemed quite insightful.”

“Oh, yeah?” He quirks an amused eyebrow at you.

“Yeah,” You chuckle, “Very elegant and sophisticated.”

“Mmm.” He hums, nodding his head in agreement.

Your bottom lip slips between your teeth to hold back a grin as you glance away from him towards the water. Your eyes land on a group of people standing around Deidre in the shallow water directly across from you. You frown, “What’s Dee gotten herself into?”

He takes a swig from the metal bottle of water he’d brought with him before speaking, “Made herself some new friends, I guess.”

You study them for a moment, watching her laugh heartily at one of the guys’ jokes and pursing your lips together. Wherever the two of you went, she was always capable of making friends. Her natural charm could sweep anyone off their feet and it endlessly left you feeling like an extra wheel. You know she doesn’t mean to leave you out of things, she never has any sort of malicious intent, but you’re both so different from each other that it constantly feels like you’re left in the dust.

You glance away from the group, looking back in Harry’s direction to distract yourself from the intrusive thoughts filling your mind.

“So, um, what’re your opinions on it?” You start again, clearing your throat quietly. “The book, I mean.”

He smiles as he skillfully tosses his sopping hair into a messy bun, “I like it. S’actually the second time I’ve read it.”

Your eyebrows quirk at that, “Really?”

He nods, tilting his body closer to you and bending one of his legs up against his chest. “Yeah.”

You laugh, “What do you expect from that?”

“What, like, do I expect it to change?” You nod silently in response and he shrugs. “I mean- no, it’s just… comforting, in a way.”

“Comforting,” You repeat to yourself. “I guess that makes sense.”

“It also kind of helps me retain the information better, you know?” He continues, mindlessly digging his fingers into the damp sand.

“Yeah, I understand,” You reply softly, “Do you do that with all the books you read?”

He nods, “More or less.”

There’s an abrupt screech, followed by a few animated giggles and both of you look up at the sound. Deidre is running towards the two of you happily, a wide smile spread across her face as she skids to a stop in front of you.

“I’m gonna go get lunch with these guys,” She chokes, out of breath from the short jog over. “Do either of you wanna come?”

You glance behind her at the group as they watch her for a moment and then you turn your head back to her. “You go ahead, I think I’ll just stay back here.”

Her expression falls a little and she sighs, turning to Harry with a hopeful look. He looks at you for a moment and then peers back up at her.

“Think m’gonna do the same. Have fun, though.” He smiles and you nod along with him.

She sighs again, reaching down and yanking her towel from the sand. “Alright, well, I’m gonna go change and then I’ll be heading out with them for a couple hours.”

You watch as she calls back to them that she’ll “be right back” before galloping back up to the house with her towel dragging behind her.

“You could’ve gone with them if you wanted to, you know,” You say quietly. “I’m alright by myself.”

He shakes his head, “No, no, s’not really my scene anyways.”

You stay silent after that, watching the repetitive roll of the waves in a mindless state. Deidre returns in a matter of minutes, a loose dress tossed over her bathing suit, her long, dark hair tied into a high ponytail fluttering behind her as she prances.

“See ya!” She calls after you.

“Be careful!” You call in response and then she’s gone, engulfed into the group just like she had been before.

AHHHHHF;LSFSDLFJAS;DLKFJSDFK PLS PLS PLS LET ME KNOW WHAT U THINKKKK <33333

taglist: @first-one-that-i-see @harryandthatgayvodka @summertimestyles @bopbopstyles @harrysclementines @emsthoughts @theresthingsthatwellneverknow @clorenafila @harries-gayvodka @dmcupcakexo @glitterwhore @harryspinkshoelace @lovemenowseemenever @happydays @sisters-of-the-mo0n @shut-up-and-smile @fallingslowlyforu @slytherinambitious @moonlightmaliksblog @cocoamoonmalfoy @harryspirate @sunflowers-styles @sunflower6why @harrys-bitch

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imaginethathaikyuu · 4 years

Text

kinktober - day twelve

futakuchi kenji - reunited

kinktober faq kinktober prompt list NSFW warning including: kind of possessive i miss you sex, thats it baby Just Sex other tags: angst! super angst!, a little fight, reunited at last, should-be high school sweethearts, getting back together after a break up, tfw university causes u to break up with ur bf</3, Selfish Kenji, reader who doesnt need a man but Wants One fem reader

(sorry this is late! i’ll get back on track sometime this week!)

word count: 2913 -

“You’re pretty.”

A deep breath.

“Really?”

Spoken through a dry throat, “Yeah,” with an nervous nod. Kenji had no idea what he was doing there.

Your perfume smelled the same. Your cheek was still soft underneath his thumb. He could still tilt your head to look up at him with ease.

“I’ve always thought so.”

What was he doing here reveling in the familiarity of you and calling you pretty and wondering if your lips were as soft as he remembered? Why was he putting himself through this again?

“You’re only saying that.”

“You know I’m not,” he said.

He needs to learn to shut up sometimes - to say no to going down paths that never lead anywhere good. But when it comes to you, nothing would stop him. Not even rough roads or unsavory destinations.

“You know I don’t just say things.”

“You do to me.”

“Not anymore.” His nose brushed against yours and it killed him to be so close to you again, so close but still not having you. He thought about how badly it hurt the first time to feel you slip between his fingers like sand; you could do it again, and he couldn’t stop you. He wouldn’t. But still, he told himself it’d be different now. “This isn’t high school anymore.”

“I know, Ken.”

And his heart started throbbing again; he felt that old pain all over. “Don’t…”

“Kenji…” You were speaking under your breath, whispering on purpose so he had to listen. So he had to hear you. “I missed you.”

“I miss you,” and he could cry, because he’s shouted these words before while wishing you could hear them. “I missed you more, baby.”

His hand was still on your face, your lips were still too close for comfort. He wanted them. All he’d have to do is pull you a bit closer and they’d be his.

He’s played through this scenario in his head dozens of times over the years; he knew a reunion between the two of you was inevitable, and he also knew it probably wouldn’t end how he wanted it to, just like his first go around with you.

But you two were high school sweethearts. Your old classmates said it themselves hours ago at the Date Tech Class Reunion - nobody could believe you two weren’t together anymore. You were meant to be. They said it so much that Kenji started believing it himself.

He wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. He wasn’t going to hold back and just let you slip away from him again; he wanted to kiss you - he felt like he needed to, so he was going to kiss you. What was there to lose?

But really, you were the one who kissed him; he was too lost in the shock of feeling your lips again to be able to kiss back.

He couldn’t believe it. If you told him he’d time traveled and he was in back high school, he’d believe you, because there’s no way in hell he’s gone five years without this.

He did feel 18 again; he felt the same rush he felt when giving you his first kiss all those years ago. This time was a lot similar to then: he had you pushed up against a wall - though this time it was your front door rather than the backdoor of the gym - and he was too nervous to even move his lips. Your hand was gripping his shirt, right over his pounding heart, and his hands had fallen to your hips.

But it hurt. He didn’t know a kiss could be so painful; he pulled away the moment he felt it sting.

“Y/N.”

“Come in with me,” you whispered to him as you tugged on his shirt. “I want you. I miss you.”

“I can’t,” he stuttered out; he felt like he was running out of gas and there was nothing to get him over this hill you’d just placed him at the bottom of. “This is… it’s too much.”

“Are you just going to let me go?”

“Are you just going to leave me again?”

He watched you wilt in that way you do when he says things you don’t want to hear, and like always it reminded him of the rose bushes in his garden that his mother could never seem to keep alive. And he waited for you to show him those thorns of yours, to spit them out until he was covered in them and bleeding, to defend your dying flowers until your last breath.

But you didn’t. And he was bracing for the wrong thing - he was ready for vitriolic words to pierce his heart. He wasn’t ready for you to grow right in front of him.

“I didn’t want to leave you.” You said it as softly as the hand caressing his wrist, too nervous to take his hand. “I know you never believed me. I know you still don’t. But I didn’t want to leave you.”

A step back. “Then why did you?”

He already knew your answer, and you knew that.

“I asked you to come with me. You didn’t.”

Another step, then another; your hand dropped from his arm but your gaze raised to him.

Kenji didn’t know what he wanted to say, he didn’t know what he wanted to do. He wanted this to be easier. He wanted to feel comfortable in your arms and under your piercing stare; he wanted to go back to an hour ago when he was boldly flirting with you and being teased by all of his old friends for it. He wanted to give you all the parts of him that you left behind five years ago in Miyagi.

But he couldn’t. Not until he knew that you wanted to have him again.

“I’m sorry, Kenji.”

“I know.”

It was awkward while he twiddled his thumbs and paced around and tapped his feet; while you stood with your back against the door, arms crossed, looking down at the ground as if you couldn’t look at him anymore.

It was only when his back was to you that he felt more like himself. “You’ve really changed, you know.”

“So have you,” you replied with a dry laugh. “I like your hair better like this.”

That made him turn back to face you. “Do you?”

“Yeah. It’s shorter, it’s cuter.”

Kenji found himself wanting to sit down and wishing he had a beer in his hand. “I didn’t mean physically. You’re still pretty.”

“Then what did you mean?”

He shrugged. Honestly, he’s not sure what he meant.

“You just feel different.” If he was paying attention, he would have heard your breath catch. “Must’ve been those years in another city.”

Both of you laughed at that, even though it wasn’t funny - even though there was a hint of bitterness in his words.

“But I’m not there anymore.” It was your turn to step closer to him, and he was stuck in his place as you did. “I’m right here, Kenji. And I don’t have anywhere to run to. I’m right here, and I want you, and I still- ”

You froze, biting your tongue and looking like you were about to say something you shouldn’t.

“You still what?”

You tried to back away but he grabbed your hand and pulled you closer to him, and he stood with bated breath as he watched you try to keep yourself together.

But you couldn’t, and he understood why even without you finishing your sentence.

“I still love you, Kenji,” and your crying came out of nowhere, “I’m sorry if I shouldn’t but I do. It feels like I never stopped.”

Kenji felt it again: the need to kiss you. Apprehension was quick to follow. But he asked himself one more time what there was to lose, and he realized that the answer was a lot, but he didn’t care. He kissed you anyway. Because he needed to. Because this was possibly the last chance he’d ever get. Because you told him you love him - whether you meant it or not didn’t matter.

He pulled you closer than you had been in years and forced himself to stop thinking about anything but what was happening now. Now, you were back in Miyagi. Now, you were both finished with university. Now, he had you right between his palms, and he was going to hold on as tight as he could to keep you there.

“Inside,” he mumbled against your lips as he pushed you back to the door. If you didn’t listen, he’d take all of you right there on your porch step. He didn’t care. He was going to take this chance while he had it.

You got the door open, somehow, and when you were inside he turned around and pushed you right back against it, closing it hard.

He needed you. Five years without you, without this, felt like hell compared to the heaven he felt when you were kissing him.

“Kenji,” you said, a beautiful whine for his ears only.

“What, baby?”

“I want to be yours again.”

That took his breath, and so did pulling your hips against his.

“I’ll make you mine,” Kenji told you, securing that promise with a kiss. “You’ll be mine again.”

You led him to your bed in a frenzy; your jackets and shoes and Kenji’s pants came off along the way.

“You have no idea,” he started, swallowing the lump in his throat as he looked down at you lying beneath him, “no idea how bad I want you.”

You bucked your hips up, feeling how hard he was for you. “I think I have a clue,” you said with a light laugh. “Take my dress off.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice; he peeled the fabric off of your body slowly, carefully, as if he was trying to stretch out the time. He didn’t want this to end too fast, because he was sure you would only be his until this night was over, and if he took his time maybe he could convince himself that you were permanent.

“My god.”

He missed you. And it was hard to admit, but the sight before him left him with nothing but that thought repeating in his mind. Over and over, he thought it again and again.

And it made him sad - angry, even - that you had the nerve to leave him and fall in love with a different city while he was stuck sinking in missing you.

It was selfish, he knew that. To wish you had done what he wanted you to do, to sink with him, was one of the ugliest things about himself. But it was the truth.

Kenji wasn’t selfless, no matter how badly he wanted to be.

He had this frozen look on his face, one you couldn’t quite place. But you had seen it before, only once, when you told him you were leaving him so you could live a dream in another city.

He was still analyzing your body, hating how familiar you looked, when he forced himself to speak again.

“I have you now, right?”

You nodded, “You have me,” and it was the response he needed.

“I’ve missed you too much,” he said, laughing at his sad honesty. “You’re still too hot for me, you know that?”

“I think we’re a perfect match,” you said, and those words caused his mind to drift to places it hadn’t in years.

“We are,” he hummed, and finally, he let himself kiss your skin. Your neck, your chest, the curve of your breasts, the top of your abdomen. “Remember how well you take me? It’s like a perfect fucking match.”

“I remember,” you said through broken moans - your back was arching into his lips, your legs were shaking on the bed. “Come on, Ken, just fuck me - just want you to fuck me, want you inside me again. Please, Kenji.”

You sounded so desperate that he almost felt bad, but he felt good knowing that you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

Kenji knew he’d regret doing it this way. He had spent countless nights wishing he had done things with you differently. He took you for granted, he knew that. He didn’t hold you close enough or ever dare to do things slowly - all he ever did was take from you, and here he was making that mistake again.

He told himself if he ever had this chance with you again, he’d do it right. He’d take care of you piece by piece, he’d be the one giving, he’d make it last forever.

But that wasn’t good enough, not for a man as selfish as him. How could he wait when he could have you now? How could he stretch out time he had so little of?

You were kissing him, undressing him, touching him; you positioned his cock at your entrance and he sunk in as if he didn’t have control of himself. He didn’t, really, not when it came to you.

“That’s it, fuck,” he breathed, “god, you feel fucking perfect. Like you were made for me, holy shit.”

“I’ve missed this,” you said, and his only response was a desperate thrust into you. You’d get the hint.

It would be so easy to savor you, and yet, he couldn’t. His hips wouldn’t slow down even if he knew he had all the time in the world; he was going to fuck you like he had no time at all.

And Kenji knew that if this was your last time, he would wish he had done better. At least turn the lights on to get an image of you in his head that would last in his mind, or tell you how he feels instead of trying to show you.

But he’d stop thinking about inevitable regret, because it was easier to only think about you.

“This is where you belong,” he told you. “Right here. Taking all of me. You belong here - you belong to me.”

That’s what he said, but he meant the opposite. You didn’t belong to anyone - he knew that when you so bravely followed your dream. But he belonged to you. He was only yours, he always had been. From the moment he kissed you outside of the gym in high school, you had him hooked.

Maybe it was his desire for you fueling these thoughts - it was his sex driven brain thinking this way. It wasn’t rational or even normal - he didn’t care.

But, suddenly, you kissed him, the same way you had on your front porch; one hand over his heart, the other holding his cheek, kissing him even though he wasn’t kissing back, and everything slowed down.

Kenji’s movements faltered, he lowered his entire body so every part of his bare skin could be touching yours. Your hips thrusted up into his, fucking him, and that was it. You had him.

“Keep going,” you said against his lips; he nodded, took your hand into his, and kept moving - slower this time.

He watched you and your every reaction to his touch. You were desperate like him, but not frantic. It was like you knew something he didn’t - like you were living in a forever he didn’t realize he was a part of.

And he said, “God, you’re so pretty,” followed by a deep breath. You squeezed his hand and looked up at him with a smile, this time knowing he meant it.

He thought going slower would make it last, but he was wrong; you were so intoxicating, the feeling of you was so new but somehow familiar, and Kenji was never going to last as long as he wanted to.

But you were one step ahead of him, pulsing around his cock and throwing your head back, moaning his name while making a mess on the sheets. Kenji only added to the noise and the mess, giving you an extravagant display of how much his need for you had grown over the years.

Before he was even finished cumming you were pulling him closer, your grip around his waist tight, your love for him spilling from your lips. He was too out of breath to reply, and too nervous to move.

But, soon, loud breathing drew quiet. Highs wore off. Things felt different, but still the same.

A question lingered in Kenji’s mind, one he’d been wanting to ask you all night, from the moment he saw you again. He awkwardly scooted away so he could ask.

“Do you regret it?”

You knew what he was referring to.

“No,” you said, honest with your short reply.

His eyes locked onto yours and he said, genuinely, “I’m glad,” even though your answer stung the most selfish parts of himself.

“Do you want to know why I don’t?”

“I guess.”

“Because I knew this would happen.”

He had some idea of what you meant.

“I was never scared of losing you,” you continued. “I was only afraid of not finding you again. But I did. I knew I would.”

Kenji had nothing to add to that, because you’d answered any questions he had for you. You knew how he felt, and now he knew you thought the same way.

Despite spending years longing for you again, he knew he’d have more time with you. He knew it was never over.

“You’re right,” was all he could say. “You found me.”

tune in tomorrow for kinktober day 13: angry

#kinktober 2020 #not family friendly #Futakuchi Kenji #Futakuchi Kenji x reader #futakuchi x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #i kinda hate the ending LMAO

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sukifans · 3 years

Note

zuko + 7. ( a kiss on the eye lid ) pls? thank you <33

campcampie said: hey! i’d like to request a kinda modern day zuko x reader where they’re going on their first date and they’ve been friends for like ever using prompt 24 from the 50 types of kisses? if you don’t have time that’s completely fine

LAST FIRST DATE // zuko

WC: 2.4k

PROMPT: “a kiss on the eyelid” & “deep kisses where they have their hands tangled in each other’s hair to pull them closer”

WARNINGS: say goodbye to ur teeth

A/N: hi loves! i hope you don’t mind, but i combined these two requests bc i thought they’d just be super cute together :^) i made it extra long since it’s two requests in one. thank you for sending them in!! we love tooth-rotting fluff here

⇦ 𝘔𝘈𝘚𝘛𝘌𝘙𝘓𝘐𝘚𝘛

It was the only time you had ever felt like this before a first date. You didn’t look him up to check if he had an arrest record, or turn on location sharing with your friends, or repeat conversation starters like a mantra in your head. You didn’t schedule an “emergency phone call” as a graceful way to bow out. You didn’t do any of these things, because you knew you didn’t need to. Your pulse didn’t race in your neck out of nerves, but excitement.

You tried on all your clothes in every possible combination, all of which he’d seen you in before. You fixed your hair one way, then changed your mind, then put it back again. It all either felt like too little for such a blind leap or too much for such a natural step. How was it possible that everything and yet nothing might change today?

Okay, so maybe you were a little nervous. You tried not to focus on how wobbly you felt when you went to answer the knock on your door, but it all melted away at the sight of your best friend standing on your porch with a half-wilted bouquet of your favorite flowers. When he caught sight of you his lips turned up into a sheepish grin, his cheeks already going pink.

“Hi,” you said, much quieter than you’d intended.

“Hey,” he exhaled. “You look... beautiful.”

Now your face was starting to feel hot. “Zuko, you’ve seen me wear this before.”

“So?” He crossed the threshold into your home when you stepped aside to let him in. “You always looking amazing. You could make a burlap sack look designer.”

“Oh, hush.” You accepted the fleeting peck he placed on your lips. It was something you’d done a million times before in greeting or goodbye—yeah, you’d been more than friends without being “more than friends” for some time now—but there was a new electric anticipation to the familiar gesture and it made your heart palpitate. Trying to calm yourself, you fixed your eyes on the flowers he held in an almost white-knuckle grip. “Are those for me?”

He looked down at his hand as if surprised he was carrying a bouquet. “Oh, yeah.” You took it when he thrusted it out at you. “I, uh, saw them at the store and they reminded me of you. They’re your favorite, you know.”

“I know,” you giggled, moving to rustle through your cabinets to find something to put them in. Redness crept up his neck from under the collar of his shirt and he grimaced.

“Right, of course you do.” He looked at you apologetically. “I’m sorry they’re not as pretty anymore. I... got a little excited when I saw them and bought them on the spot a few days ago. I probably should’ve waited.”

“I think they’re beautiful,” you said, filling a jar with water and setting them in place. “Thank you; you didn’t have to.”

“I know. And I knew you’d say that,” he chuckled. He took your hand when you stood in front of him once again. “I just want to make sure I do this right. You deserve to be... wooed, or whatever.”

“Well, consider me wooed.” You squeezed his hand. “I’m happy no matter what, as long as I’m with you.”

The soft, sweet look he fixed you with made you want to melt into a puddle. God, you were head over heels for this man. It was unbelievable how long it took for you to realize and actually do something about it. Everything felt so obvious now—the years of feelings you’d swallowed back like bitter medicine despite how he’d clearly been doing the exact same thing; the ache of yearning in your chest and the burning jealousy that rose like bile in your throat every time you saw him with someone else.

But none of that mattered anymore, because you were here now, with him, sitting in his passenger seat with the windows down and trying to goad him into singing along to the stereo with you. You held his free hand that wasn’t on the wheel in yours, forcing his arm to dance along with you. He watched your antics out of the corner of his eye with a smitten half-smile. You were satisfied when he tapped his fingers against the wheel along with the rhythm pumping from the speakers and bobbed his head. You swore you could even hear him humming when you leaned in close enough while swaying in your seat.

The date had been your idea, because of course it was—you knew him better than just about anybody else, especially himself and maybe even his Uncle Iroh. Your sharp perceptiveness and ability to read him like a book had unnerved him at first, early in your friendship as awkward, angsty teens. He didn’t like the concept of being known and analyzed; uncomfortable with the idea of existing in other people’s minds in a form beyond his control. That always led to expectations, and expectations led to disappointment.

Learning how to be okay with his own vulnerability and personhood was one of many things you had helped him with over the years of your relationship. Because of you—for you—he was a better person, a better friend, a better man. It was something he wished he knew how to thank you for. Even if he could find the words (and the nerve), it would never be enough. He had settled long ago on just trying to show you, every day and in every way he could.

As the two of you traipsed across the park grass and you searched for the perfect spot, he couldn’t help but marvel at the fact his hands seemed to be designed to hold yours. The way your fingers fitted perfectly between his, the warmth of every contact point between your palms; it felt as natural as the tides or the winds or anything else that had always been and always would be. He’d experienced the feeling of your hand in his hundreds if not thousands of times before, but it all felt so much more... poignant, somehow, in this time and place.

“You’ve been really quiet,” you observed as you laid out the blanket once you’d deemed the area suitable. He sat on it next to you, dropping down the backpack of snacks he’d been carrying. “Are you okay? Is something wrong?”

“No, definitely not,” he quickly reassured you, wanting the worried crease between your eyebrows to smooth away. “I’m fine. I’ve just been thinking.”

You nodded, not pressing him. That was just one more of a million things he adored about you: you never forced him to tell you things he didn’t want to say. This, however, was something he wanted to share with you.

“I’ve been thinking about how important you are to me, and how lucky I am to have you in my life. And how... easy this feels.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “Easy?”

“Yeah. In a really, really good way. I feel like this is exactly where I’m supposed to be. Even if this doesn’t really work out the way we want it to, you still mean everything to me. I can’t even imagine who or where I would be if I hadn’t met you.” He spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. Taking in a deep breath, he continued. “I think about it a lot, actually, but I guess I’m just... thinking about it more, now.”

Your lips curved up into that gentle smile that made his heart skip a few beats and you squeezed his hand. “I know exactly what you mean, Zuko. I feel the same way and I couldn’t’ve said it better myself.” The tips of his ears burned when you leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek. He mumbled something incoherent under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck, and you giggled at his sudden shyness. He cleared his throat and looked over at the raised stage a little ways away.

“Um, I think the show is starting.” You followed his gaze up to where stagehands were setting up props for the play. The crowd of people hushed as the lights illuminated the stage and orchestral music flowed from the speakers. His stomach flipped when you shifted closer to him and turned your head so your lips brushed his earlobe.

“I’ve heard this troupe is better than the Ember Island Players, but if they’re not I packed some tomatoes to throw,” you whispered before burying your face in his shoulder to stifle your laugh at his scoff in response.

“If they’re worse than the Ember Island Players then consider this our first and last date. I don’t think any relationship could recover from that,” he mumbled and you rolled your eyes with a grin.

“Harsh, but understandable,” you sighed. You rooted around in the bag and pulled out the bottle of cheap wine you’d slipped in. You passed it to him after taking a swig, a devilish smirk on your face that made goosebumps rise on his skin. He took a sip just as the first actors entered the stage.

They were much better than the Ember Island Players, though that was a pretty low bar to set. As much of a theater snob he could be, he had to admit they did Love Amongst the Dragons justice (and even brought some tears to his eyes that he hastily blinked away in hopes you wouldn’t notice). The sun had set long before you both rose with the rest of the crowd to give the troupe a standing ovation. He could feel his heart swell with adoration as you clapped and whistled enthusiastically, the lights on the crowd making the tear tracks on your face glisten.

“That was amazing!” You turned to him breathlessly, eyes sparkling. The wine you’d shared was making him feel bold (and a little wobbly) and the way you looked at him was making the blood rush in his ears. Without thinking he slid his palms under your jaw and leaned in to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. After your initial moment of surprise you closed your eyes and twisted your hands into the front of his shirt, pulling him against your body as you kissed him back insistently. A jolt shot up your spine when his tongue prodded at your mouth and you parted your lips, humming as you tilted your head to deepen the kiss.

“Zuko,” you breathed against his lips, pulling away just far enough to gasp for air.

“(Y/N).” Your name rolled off his tongue like a reverent prayer. His hands slipped down to your waist where he dug his fingertips into your skin, as if afraid you’d dematerialize if he didn’t hold you in place.

“Are we spinning? It feels like we’re spinning.”

“No,” he chuckled. “I think we had too much wine.”

“It’s not the wine.” You opened your eyes to see his were still squeezed shut. He was afraid that he’d open them and wake up and it would all have been a dream.

“I’m pretty sure it is.”

“No—“ you cupped his face and tilted it so you could press a kiss to his forehead, and another to each cheek, and then one brushed over the rough skin on his scarred eyelid that made his breathe catch in his throat “—you always make me feel like that.”

He opened his eyes now, cheeks flushed a blazing red. He drank in the sight of your wide eyes and kiss-swollen lips and felt his heart leap into his throat. You felt captivated by his hungry gaze; he was staring at you like a man starved. “Sorry,” he mumbled breathlessly.

You weren’t expecting that. “Sorry? For what?”

“Making you feel... spinny.”

You giggled and pulled him in for another kiss, threading your fingers of one hand through his shaggy black locks while the thumb of your other skimmed across his scar. He raised his own to tangle in your hair, tugging you impossibly closer. Your foot caught on the blanket and you stumbled, bringing you both crashing to the ground as your faces smacked together. Surely you two were a sight to see for the people filtering out of the park now that the play was over.

“Fuck,” you groaned, rubbing the bridge of your nose where his chin had slammed against it. He grunted and propped himself up so he wasn’t laying on top of you anymore.

“That was definitely the wine,” he said and you nodded in agreement. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” You dropped your head back into the grass and scrunched up your face. “Your chin hurt my nose.”

He leaned over you with a grin. “Well, your nose hurt my chin.”

“Oh, my apologies. Didn’t even consider how your bony chin could be injured after smashing into my soft cartilage.” You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore how his huff of laughter made your stomach feel fluttery.

“Just try to keep it in mind next time. This time, though—“ he gently kissed between your eyes, then the bridge of your nose, then the tip “—I’ll kiss it better for you.” He reveled in how you visibly flustered, opening your mouth and then closing it again quickly.

“Dork,” you muttered and he laughed again. “The hell do you mean, ‘next time?’”

“Well, y’know, if we keep falling for each other, then—“ You cut him off with an exasperated groan.

“If I didn’t know better I’d think Sokka gave you the idea to purposefully fall, just to drop that stupid line.”

“I mean, he did offer to help since I always seem to trip over my words around you.” You made a disgusted face in response to his cheeky smile and shoved him off you. He rolled onto his back next to you as you sat up.

“I should’ve seen that coming,” you grumbled.

“Yeah,” he sighed, obviously pleased with himself. You looked down at him when he tugged on your sleeve. “Hey, Sokka’s tips didn’t ruin my chance at a second date, right?”

You took his hand in yours and laced your fingers together. “As if I’d let Sokka’s stupid ass fuck up the years of pining I’ve put in. You’ll have to try harder than that to get rid of me, Zuko.”

You could feel his smile against your skin when he brought your knuckles to his lips. “That’s what I like to hear.”

ATLA TAGS: @hotgirlazula @octophopi @simpinforsukka @protect-remus @akiris @sunflowerazula @wooscottoncandyhair @chewymoustachio

ZUKO TAGS: @fiantomartell @avatarayeaye @hypercakeiii @sher-lockedmarvel @sunflowerr-mami @emeraldpotato @september-ctd @duh-dobrik

#zuko x reader #zuko x you #zuko x y/n #zuko fic #zuko fluff #zuko #mine #requests #avatar the last airbender #atla x reader #atla

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mediocre--writing · 3 years

Note

a prompt if you’d like! :D I love ur writing :’)

Billy is in the wrong place, wrong time and gets taken in by the police and his one phone call is to Steve - he tells him he didn’t do it but he’s worried that Steve’ll think he’s a bad person:(

steve was agitated as hell. it was 3am and his phone would not stop ringing.

he’d just decided to go back to bed when the phone started ringing again.

steve grumpily rolled out of bed and down to the wall between the kitchen and living room where the phone was.

he picked up right before the last ring and heard a bit of conversation on the other side.

“hello?” he asked after a moment when nobody spoke.

“steve i need you to come pick me up,” there was a raw, scratchy voice on the phone and a sniffle right after they stopped speaking.

“wh—billy?!” steve’s sleepy brain was finally putting two and two together.

“yeah,” another few sniffles, along with heavy breathing.

“where are you? why do i need to come get you? where’s your car? who are you with? wha—“

“steve,” billy asked through the phone.

“yeah, bill?”

“i’m gonna need you not to be mad for the next few minutes, ok?” billy’s voice wavered as he tried to sound strong.

steve had a million thoughts going through his head, a thousand questions to ask, but said, “i won’t be,”

“i’m at the police station. i need you to come get me and—and i promise, i promise i will explain everything,”

steve’s breath hitched at the first sentence. he heard the telltale signs of billy starting to cry again, and made to grab his keys in the bowl under the phone.

“on my way,” and he hung up.

what’s he supposed to think? is this a ‘billy did something bad’ situation or ‘something bad happened to billy’ situation?

why did he sound so tired and sad? it was 3am, of course he was tired.

steve needed to know what happened right now!

he got to the station in record time, pulling into the parking lot crookedly as he realized he was still wearing his pj pants, old gym shirt, and his moms sandals that were by the door.

he walked in and hoped to any god out there that hopper was here, but it was just some other random guys steve didn’t care to know the names of.

billy was sitting in a chair next to one of the officers desk and was handcuffed with his left hand chained to a loop on the desk. he was trying not to cry. not that it was obvious, but steve knew his facial expressions better than anyone.

“what’d he even do?” steve blurted out after just staring at billy, who was making a point to not look in steve’s direction.

“here for pick up?” steve nodded, “property destruction,” the man at the desk told him as he grabbed a key off his belt and walked to unlock billys cuff.

steve was confused though, because, last he checked, billy said he didn’t feel very good at school and wasn’t planning on leaving his room for the next day or so.

billy was able to stand up and steve realized what he was wearing, pj pants and a ratty t-shirt, along with an obscure pair of flip flops (very similar to how steve was dressed).

they walked out to steve’s car and sat in silence for a few minutes, steve not turning the car or, not even fishing the keys out of the pj bottoms’ pockets.

that empty silence allowed steve’s mind to kick into overdrive/overthinking mode.

“bill—i don’t, what happened?” steve sounded desperate. “i just—you said you felt sick and that you didn’t want to do anything tonight, so why the hell am i picking you up from the police station!?”

steve finally looked to billy, who was staring out of the window, at the very interesting, empty parking lot.

steve got his second wind at billy ignoring him. “and what the fuck did you do? because ‘property damage’ is a very vague term and i need to know if you spray painted on a building or destroyed a few windows and broke shit, because they’re different! very, very different!

“how irresponsible are you being with your life right now? and are you lying to me now because when i’m sick i don’t usually go and commit crimes like some kind of felon!” billy was still staring away from steve.

“billy, look at me!”

billy turned to look at steve, and, even in the dim light, steve could see the red blotchyness of his face. his cheeks were actually soaked with tears from how much he was crying.

“just take me to my house, steve,”

steve’s glare faltered as he heard his croaky voice and saw the way he pursed his lips together to stop another sob from breaking out.

“bill—“

“my house, steve,”

and that plucked steve’s heartstrings, how billy pointedly said ‘my house’ to signify that he wanted to go into the temperamental territory of where neil hargrove lived rather than when billy would say ‘home’ and they’d go to steve’s house.

“no, i wanna know what you did. i wanna know why you’re dressed like that sitting here and sobbing. and i wanna know why you won’t just tell me the truth,”

“you already made your decision on who you think i am, steve, so just drive because nothing i say is gonna matter—“

“first of all, there is no opinion! i don’t know what to think! secondly, i’m not your dad! i don’t assume i know everything about you, so tell me what happened, billy,” steve was snapping.

he wasn’t sure if he was meaning to take it out on billy or if he was tired or if it was out of concern, but, god, steve felt like screaming.

“i was asleep. i had no intentions of being awake at once in the morning, i was in a nyquil induced sleep, but i could hear a bunch of noise outside my house and i went to go see what it was because it’s just max and i for the weekend.

“imagine my surprise when i go on the front porch and see a bunch of assholes from school wrecking mrs. lauderson’s house, she’s out of town for the next few days. eggs, toilet paper, some kid was throwing rocks through her windows and i was, honestly, just going to go inside cause it’s none of my business,

“but you and your sick, twisted need to help people has completely contaminated me, harrington, and i started yelling at ‘em to stop and then there’s these cop lights from down the street, i assume another neighbor called them, and the boys take off and i’m trying to get back to my front door and they see me standing in front of a completely demolished window.”

billy stopped crying and looks on the verge of an angry lash out, but his body is far too tired and sick to accommodate those actions.

“and why the hell would they believe me when i say it wasn’t my fault. they ask for names but i don’t even know these fuckin’ kids, so it’s not like i can even say anything about it,

“and you’re just like them sometimes, steve, and i really don’t know whether you think i did it or not, but i didn’t. there is no way that i would start lying to you and there’s no way i would plan on getting arrested for something that stupid,

“and i know a lot of people don’t care for me much, trust me, i know, but you’re the only person i can actually stand around here and i cannot have you mad at me right now. that’s just not ok. you can’t—you can’t not believe me, steve,”

and billy was crying again.

and steve felt awful.

he never assumed billy would do something stupid without him, and he knew that billy was so much better now, not as reckless and not as childish, but that agitation and fear that he was taking steps backwards was eating steve alive.

“i know you didn’t, billy,” steve admitted and billys eyes lit up with hope, “i—i got woken up at 3am to come to the police station and i was scared for you and i think somewhere it got mistranslated into anger. i’m sorry,”

“i’m sorry you missed out on your beauty sleep,” billy joked, even through the tears.

“do you want to run by your house and pick up max and stay at mine for the weekend?”

“that sounds good,”

steve leaned over the console and put a hand on billy’s cheek, kissing his hairline tenderly. billy’s eyes shut with relief and exhaustion.

now, billys not so much the bad guy he used to be. now, he’s all in love and shit.

#stranger things #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #steve x billy #mw harringrove #mediocre—writing

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raleighcarrera · 4 years

Note

oh girl it’s loving Jake hours here 24/7 so uhhhhh if you still want prompts how about Best Experience/Worst Experience for him & ur MC 👀

best vs. worst prompts / 28. best experience vs. worst experience

the worst experience

thinking that taylor is dead is pretty fucking bad.

in fact, it’s just about the worst thing that’s ever happened to him, and he hasn’t exactly had a good run of things.

the whole experience is miserable -- from the moment they share their last kiss to the way her hand slips out of his no matter how tightly he holds on, to how he has to force himself to do the right thing and help her along on her mission.

he doesn’t want to, is the thing. he wants to stop her from doing this -- this stupid, brave, heroic sacrifice. he wants to beg her to reconsider, to find another way. they can take the deal and bring everyone back and maybe things won’t be perfect but they’ll be together, won’t they, and then --

jesus christ, they’ll figure it out like they have with everything else.

but she doesn’t give him that option. it all happens so quickly, and then she’s gone, and they’re back to their regular lives and everything is perfect except that there’s a giant fucking hole in his heart that he isn’t sure how he’s supposed to live with.

it’s impossible not to dwell. he listens to her voicemail more times than he can count, sitting and stewing over everything that happened and everything that could’ve been. through it all -- the trial, being pardoned, moving back home and seeing his mom and sister again -- he goes over the what ifs until they threaten to drive him crazy.

most of the time it just feels like life is happening around him.

he’s drifting aimlessly, watching things happen to other people while feeling so lost himself part of him wonders every day if he made the right decision, not doing more to stop her.

and it’s strange to finally have all the things he thought would make him happy -- the truth, out there for everyone, a permanent place to settle, being with his his family -- and still be so utterly miserable every day.

that is until...

the best experience

...there’s a knock at his door one random tuesday in june.

no one is home but him. rebecca and his mother have been doing their best to give him his space, though he knows their patience has to be wearing thin, too. “it’s been almost a year, jake,” becca had whispered to him on one particularly bad evening, as though he had any understanding of time anymore or cared.

through the worst time of his life, he hadn’t even dared to hope that things would be different. for all their promises to find each other in any dimension, any time loop, any lifetime -- her goodbye had felt pretty final. and he wasn’t an idiot.

so that’s why it feels like seeing a ghost when he opens the front door and sees taylor standing there, in the same little cutoffs and tank top she was wearing when they kissed for the last time on la huerta.

“hi,” she squeaks out, already choked up. those big, blue eyes of hers are wet with tears. her hands twist anxiously in front of her.

his jaw drops to the floor. the same time that had been so cruel to him and dragged on so slowly for the last nine months now stands completely still, the pounding of his own heart like kick drums in his ears. “taylor?”

she nods. her bottom lip trembles. “uh huh. it’s me. jake, i --”

“it can’t be.” he shakes his head, lifting a hand to rub at his eyes. this is a trick, it has to be. he watched her disappear into the sky, he saw her leave. “you can’t be taylor, she...”

...is still there, crying on his porch. jesus, okay.

“jake,” she breathes again, and that crumples the last of his resolve. he’s only human, and she’s here -- however she is and whatever she is.

he stumbles forward to pull her into his arms and wraps her up in the biggest hug he’s capable of, squeezing her body to his. taylor is warm and solid in his arms, smelling like sunshine and snow in equal measures. a vivid sensory memory smacks him in the face near-immediately, hurtling him right back to that last goodbye.

“fuck.” now he’s emotional, too. “i don’t understand, how did you --”

“me either,” she rushes to answer shakily, pulling back enough to see his face, cupping his jaw reverently in her hands. “i wasn’t supposed to, i should’ve stayed... but... yesterday i woke up at home like nothing happened and i -- i had to see you, but i never thought... god, jake, it feels like i’ve been gone for a hundred years, i didn’t know if you’d be here or if you’d be --”

he cuts her off with a kiss, the kiss he’s been dreaming about since the last one ended and he watched her disappear. taylor makes a sound against his mouth like she’s drowning and he greedily pulls her in closer, dragging her through the doorway and kicking it closed behind her back so there’s a flat surface for him to take advantage of, letting her get her legs up around his waist.

“jake,” she sighs between kisses, her hands yanking at his hair and keeping him anchored to this moment when it feels like his mind is racing a mile a minute, trying to process the emotional whiplash that has his heart feeling like it’s about to explode. “oh my god, i missed you so much.”

“i missed you every -- fucking -- day, taylor, fuck,” he gasps, squeezing her so tightly there’s no way she’s going anywhere, this time.

except for when they lose track of time again, somehow, and the door behind her back gives way what might be ten minutes or an hour later, sending them both tumbling forward onto the floor.

his sister blinks down at the both of them in surprise, but taylor’s hand never leaves his, keeping their fingers intertwined even as she climbs off of him apologetically. he’s sure they look the very picture of debauchery, if his hair is as mussed and his eyes are as wild as taylor’s are, her lips kiss-bitten and swollen.

“okay, wow,” rebecca says slowly, looking just as confused as he feels. that taylor hasn’t disappeared in a puff of smoke yet feels far too good to be true.

he already knows he won’t be able to sleep a wink tonight -- that he’ll spend the entire evening staring at her, just in case.

“i feel like you must be -- taylor?” she asks, and he watches as taylor’s teeth sink into her bottom lip and she nods, slowly and carefully. “well -- okay. i mean, i have a lot of questions, but...”

her eyes slide to jake, her eyebrows lifting curiously. “i’ll let you guys finish catching up first. jesus, mom is going to flip. you’d better be ready for dinner in two hours.”

#endless summer #jake mckenzie #jake mckenzie x mc #myfic #long post #grigori-girl #omg i hope you like this thanks for sending it !!#these two 😭 their time together was so short #sigh

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azuchifairy · 4 years

Text

The Corpse Bride

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13672392/1/The-Corpse-Bride

Long ago in a small provincial town in the forest, a girl with the dream to be married to her soulmate met a terrible fate. When only her true love could set her free from the awful curse, it turns into a twisted story of life and death.

Chapter One: According to Plan

Gray finished his sketch just as a butterfly perched on the window sill. He noticed its impeccable colors, a stunning sapphire and deep violet hues to compliment it. Nature rarely made things blue, but that exceptional little butterfly seemed to be rather lucky. It fluttered up through his room and out the window again as his eyes followed it up into the cloudy skies.

He sighed in memory of the day before him. His father, Silver Fullbuster, was in an insufferable state of disarray that his heir had not yet taken a wife. He had been rather unpleasant over it being that his father was growing old and he wished to see the new generation of his family. Gray was his only full blooded son and would inherit their grand estate and family business.

His mother, Mika Fullbuster, had passed on when he was still a child. Yet Gray always remembered her fondly. She adored the beauty of the world around them and explored nature and its majesty. Although he missed her terribly from time to time, Gray tried to be positive about his mother watching over him in the afterlife. His father however never truly healed, but felt that in his remarriage to a wonderful woman named Ur filled the hole in his chest even if only by half.

Ur, like his mother, was a magic user who specialized in healing. She taught Gray, his stepbrother Lyon, and stepsister Ultear how to use their magic. Gray always thought of her as his second mother because of her courageous heart in teaching, yet brutal temper when any of the children misbehaved. Silver frowned upon the children’s use of magic saying that it wouldn't help them in the progressing world, for magic at that time was seen by some as dark and a bad omen. Many who were known to use magic kept it hidden out of fear that those who opposed them would strike back.

Gray never thought of it that way, he was always fascinated by it like both of his mothers had been. Throughout his childhood and into his adult life Gray had become so wrapped into the family business that he rarely had time to do as he pleased. He spent his days living in his father’s shadow, something Silver believed made his son happy.

As Gray became of marital age his father was set on having him be wed, and the sooner the better. Unfortunately his son almost loathed the idea of an arranged marriage. He knew he would wed eventually but he didn’t want to be pushed into it. But marrying him to a suitable maiden to carry on the Fullbuster name was all his father desired. He had tried introducing Gray to countless women, after all his wealth needed to be passed on to someone of equal status. His father wanted him to be happy, but he was willing to only believe that he was. Silver meant well but remained blinded by his own personal wants instead of Gray’s needs.

It took many trials to find Gray a match but when Silver came across the Heartfilia family, another wealthy family like theirs, he found out that their daughter, Lucy, was of age. She was known to be intelligent, beautiful, and blonde. Many other men had sought after her, but she still had yet to be married. Silver had met her on a trip to the Heartfilia estate to have a business meeting with her father, Jude. Silver was struck by her beauty and kindness that he forgot about the business proposal and instead offered his son to Jude and his wife Layla. They agreed to have their children meet and further discuss marriage plans, although it really meant that they wanted it sealed in stone.

Gray had heard of Lucy before around the town and there was nothing wrong with her, she just wasn’t his type. He was entirely unenthusiastic to go to their estate that day. The only reason he didn’t put up an attitude is because his father was at his wits end after Gray had come back from many meetings without a bride. Gray was confident that Lucy wouldn’t like him either, the rumor was a man had already won her heart.

“Gray! You better be ready up there, my boy!” His father called from the hallway.

Gray let out a sigh as he got up from his comfortable spot. He set his book down on his desk and stood in front of the mirror to see the ridiculous suit his servant had helped him put on. It was a deep navy colored suit with a black dress shirt and an overly sized scarf-like tie in silver. It was too tight and extremely uncomfortable that in the instant the servant left the room he tugged at the sleeves and collar to let him breathe again. He wanted to pull the tie off entirely eventually giving up on the undoable knot. They had also slicked his unruly spiked hair back to make him appear ‘proper’. He didn’t quite care if he looked greasy, perhaps it would make him less attractive.

His father opened the door with a smile that turned into a frown as he took a look at his son.

“What did you do this time?” he asked , although knowing his son despised formal wear.

“Dad, I look like a circus monkey, and I couldn’t even breathe. What did you expect?” Gray responded in annoyance as his father crossed the room to him. He fixed his collar and rolled his sleeve cuffs up again making him look presentable again. He tightened the tie and tucked it in so he looked tidy all around.

“Everything must be perfect, you have to make a good impression. As long as everything goes according to plan I’ll be satisfied.” Silver said. It seemed his son wasn’t paying attention with his sour expression so in turn Silver clapped his hands on his son’s shoulders making him jump, “C’mon, lose the attitude.”

Gray winced, “Fine. But it’s not my fault if this doesn’t work out.”

Silver narrowed his eyes, “That’s because you’re going to be kind to her and put your best foot forward so it does work out.”

Gray rolled his eyes, “Sure, whatever you say.” His tone was unconvincing but his father ignored it wrapping his arm around his son’s shoulder.

“Are you two done yet?! This carriage isn’t going to wait forever! We can’t be even a moment late!” Ur shouted from downstairs causing both men to wear looks of fear.

“Of course, honey!” Silver called before turning back to his son with a sheepish smile, “Let’s go now son, before she eats us alive. We’re coming!”

***

In the carriage Gray sulked, staring out the window while they passed by the shopping district. It clunked across the cobblestone as it ventured and soon they were off onto the back road towards their destination. The Heartfilias lived just outside of the town in the countryside so they could farm off the lands. Gray’s suit pulled as he slouched with his arms crossed over his chest, making him twice as uncomfortable.

“Gray, sit up.” Ur snipped, “You’ll wrinkle your clothes.”

“You're right, let me sit up because I care so much about how I look right now..” He snorted sarcastically. It was very rare for him to behave that way towards his stepmother, but given the circumstances of the day in his mind he had every reason to be a bit rebellious.

“Now don’t be that way, this could be the best day of your life!” Silver piped before Ur could scold Gray. He was smiling as optimistically as ever, a classic trait of his father.

Gray rolled his eyes feeling his stomach churn, “Tch, try the worst.”

Ur snapped her fan shut, “Now Gray, your father is right. It's a beautiful day outside-” she glanced up at the ominously dark skies, “well, it's a rather nice day. Anything can happen, you might find yourself smitten with the Heartfilia girl.”

Gray’s eyes went wide, “You can’t be serious. If I didn’t like the others what would make her any different?”

“She’s a Heartfilia! She’s been educated since she was a child on proper etiquette and she’s of remarkable status! Smart, elegant, beautiful,” his father held up three fingers, “those are the three you look for in a wife.”

Ur, who had been calmly fanning herself, gasped and whacked Silver across the head with her fan, “There’s much more to a woman than that!”

Silver chuckled, “O-Of course my dear, I’m just trying to make it easy for him!” He rubbed the growing lump on his head biting his lip in pain.

Gray wiped his face with exhaustion and he shook his head, “You should hear yourselves.”

As Ur was about to hit Silver again, she instead looked to Gray with a touch of sympathy in her eyes, “All we’re asking is that you meet her. If it had been up to your father he would’ve sold you off. Just, please, do your best and try not to embarrass us with something unexpected. That attitude of yours only gets you into trouble. Everything must go according to plan.”

Gray glanced at her a little less coldly before looking out the window again, “I know, okay. You keep reminding me.”

A peculiar estate struck his interest as they approached. There were high black gates that vines had started to twist up with a long gravel pathway to the front. It was an old looking mansion in a deep blue color, including pillars on the porch of the front door. It looked as if it had been abandoned yet it was still very unique in design that had a tower in the middle that connected both sides of the estate. He couldn’t describe the way he felt looking at it but it was almost as if he had never noticed it before. They had taken the same road many times to go on business trips to the neighboring towns or to visit other families, such as the Dragneels.

“Dad, whose estate is that?” Gray asked before they completely passed the area. Silver peered out the window with Ur and they were both silent.

“I’m not quite sure, has it always been there?” Ur asked, looking at Silver. He appeared to be in deep thought as he gazed at it.

“I’m afraid I don’t know either. That’s very strange.” Silver noted as he knew all the wealthy families within the town’s range. They carried on down the road and both of his parents seemed to shrug it off easily.

Gray’s overwhelming curiosity of the mansion didn’t fade and for a moment he could have sworn that he saw a shadow by the gates. However, he did get distracted by their carriage making a sharp turn. He realized that they had arrived at their destination.

***

The Heartfilia estate was magnificent on the outside and the inside. The landscaping was to perfection as was the decor on the outside of the mansion. It was bigger than the Fullbuster’s and it seemed much flashier. It was fitted with tall windows and grand staircases, warm colors of gold and red, and on the outside four high columns in front of the door. The estate extended into two wings on either side that had doorways to the garden in the back. The Heartfilia’s were renowned for their magnificent gardens that had been in the family since the first line. Jude, the master of the home, was a very ridgid man who had lived in noble status for his whole life. He knew nothing of commonplace life, nor did he want to. He was very difficult to befriend and even harder to impress. His wife Layla, the matriarch of the Heartfilia’s, was known to be the most gentle and elegant woman of the family. She cared for her daughter Lucy more than the sun and stars, and she was also a very skilled magic user. In turn she taught her daughter everything she knew and many said Lucy was much like a reflection of her. In that area of the country, the Heartfilia’s were the closest to royalty.

Lucy was in her room preparing to meet the Fullbuster family. Her closest friend, Levy Mcgarden, was assisting her with her hair as Lucy let out the biggest sigh.

“Lu-chan, I’m sorry.” Her blue haired friend said sadly as she brushed through her blonde locks.

“It’s okay, Levy-san. I wish he would just give up already! I knew when I made that arrangement with my father it was an awful idea. But I suppose I just wanted something to believe in..” Lucy grew quiet as she placed down her powder puff.

“I could’ve told you that he wouldn’t let it go either. Especially since he promised that you could be with Natsu if you couldn’t find a suitor. That’s why he’s bringing every eligible man possible.” Levy responded.

Lucy slammed her fist down on the vanity making Levy jump,“But why! I don’t understand why he has to hold onto this silly feud between the Dragneel’s and us. Natsu’s father doesn’t even care about it! If something happened centuries ago, why dwell on it?! Natsu told me that his father wants him to be happy and choose his own path, why is that so hard for me?”

Levy’s heart ached at the passion in Lucy’s voice. For as long as she had known her, Lucy was a force of nature. Perhaps that’s why no man could handle her, except for Natsu. Lucy came off as the perfect lady in front of her parents, but she revealed her true identity to every suitor and it drove them away one after the other. She could be rather headstrong and opinionated, she spoke up for what she believed in and most men wanted a quiet and complacent wife. That was truly the opposite of Lucy, which is why Natsu fell for her. When they met it was the first time Lucy felt shy around a man, because he liked her passion and her stubbornness, he fell in love with her.

The Dragneel family was very successful in coal mining and shipping, something that usually did not generate much income. Yet the coming times were growing dependent on it for their new means of transportation, trains. Natsu’s father’s business had shot from the ground up and although they were still small compared to the Heartfilia’s, they were growing rapidly. Her father said that new money was nothing compared to old money and continued to look down on the Dragneel’s every chance they got. In Lucy’s eyes he probably felt threatened by how likeable they were becoming with the other families.

“I swear Levy, I won’t go through with this. This Gray Fullbuster will be just like all the others, and I’ll get him to leave twice as fast. If my father wants to keep messing with me I’ll throw it right back at him.” Lucy said with her fist still clenched. Levy secured her hair into its braid and placed delicate golden flower pins in the top section.

“I believe in you, Lu-chan. That’s why as soon as you're done getting dressed, I arranged a bit of a surprise.” Levy grinned watching Lucy’s face light up.

“What is it?!!” The blonde giggled with excitement as Levy put her shoes on her delicate feet.

“Do you listen?” Levy laughed and went around behind Lucy to finish lacing up her dress. She pulled the pink threads tightly and wrapped it in a bow at the bottom of her back.

Lucy stepped over to the full length mirror and gasped twirling the dress around, “Wow, it’s so gorgeous! You did a fantastic job with this one, Levy-chan!”

“Well you know it’s easy to get it done so fast with magic.” Levy smiled admiring the beautiful light pink dress she had made and how beautiful it looked on Lucy. She always handmade all of Lucy’s gowns, an artisan skill she had learned over years of practice and perfected with the assistance of magic.

“Alright, as promised I’ll get your surprise. But you have to close your eyes, and keep them closed until I say. No peeks!” Levy teased.

The giddy blonde covered her eyes with her gloved hands and waited impatiently for Levy to reveal her surprise. The blue haired maid looked back to Lucy as she neared the balcony doors and opened them quietly. Natsu was perched in the large oak tree that connected to Lucy’s room and swiftly jumped down upon seeing Levy wave him in.

“She’s in there, just be quick. They’ll be coming to get her soon since she’s ready.” Levy whispered.

Natsu could see her blonde hair from the corner of his eye, “Thank you, Levy. I really owe you one for helping me do this during the day.”

Levy shook her head, “Don’t mention it, if it’s for Lucy I’d do anything.”

They entered the room and Levy went to the door of the upstairs hallway, “Alright Lu-chan, you can open your eyes!” She slipped out the door to give them privacy and as she felt the door click shut she heard the overjoyed squeals of her friend from inside the room.

“Natsu!!” Lucy cried, throwing her arms around him. He was the last thing she expected to see since most of their meetings happened at night when the rest of the estate was asleep. They would lay in her bed for hours talking, or sit on the balcony and watch the stars. Natsu was just as elated to see her admiring the dress she had on. He lifted her up and gave her a spin, “You look great Lucy, look at you!”

She giggled in overwhelming happiness when he put her down and felt her nose touch his before he pulled her closer for a kiss. Her face grew hot when she pulled away and Natsu was staring down at her with his eyes full of adoration.

“Maybe you look too good.” Natsu said while scrunching his eyebrows. He knew what was going on that day, it happened many times before. Natsu was not a very jealous man however, and he knew Lucy’s heart belonged to him. He did like to tease her often.

“I’m so happy to see you, even if this is a terrible day you’ve made it much better.” She said bashfully, having a struggle to maintain eye contact.

“It’s okay Luce, you know I promised you no matter what that we’re going to be together. I don't care what anyone says, if I get to spend forever with you it would all be worth it.” He was smiling the whole time, as he always was, as he had been during everything.

“Natsu..I-”

“Better yet, I could just steal you away.” He smirked with an evil glint in his eye, “I’m sure they wouldn’t miss you that much!’

Lucy gasped into a laugh, “Natsu! That’s awful!”

“What? We’ll send them letters,” he paused debating his words, “occasionally.” He joked laughing with her like they always did.

“I wish it was that easy..” she whispered with her hand on his chest. Her eyes grew sad with the underlying frustration apparent.

He shrugged, “I mean, it could be.”

Lucy’s eyes widened, “You mean..?”

“If he doesn’t want to give you up the easy way, he can give you up the hard way.” Natsu said nonchalantly. The words resonated with her and helped her to realize that with Natsu she had the chance to control her own fate, and she would take it.

Lucy grinned, taking him into a hug again, “You’re right. He doesn’t own me. This is the last time I’m going to be introduced, after today I’ll leave with you if he won’t give up.”

Natsu stroked her back and pulled her braid over her shoulder, “Go get em, don’t let whoever this bastard is fall in love with you or I’ll have to kill him.”

“I hate to see you go..” Lucy frowned as they walked towards the balcony together, “yet it seems soon enough I won’t have to see that.”

Natsu kissed her again briefly and jumped up onto the tree branch that led him there. “Keep holding onto that. I’ll be back before you know it. Maybe I’ll bring Happy next time, he’s been dying to see you!”

Lucy leaned against the doorframe keeping her smile as she thought of the cat, “I miss him too, I’ll be with you both.”

“I’ll see you, Lucy.” Natsu said with his cheeky smile and classic wave. Lucy’s heart swelled as she watched him disappear into the forest. But just as it was brought up, it sank down when he was no longer in sight. She placed her hands over her chest and looked up to the endless blue sky. If she had more courage she would’ve skipped this whole day and escaped with Natsu. She realized within that moment that it wasn’t about her amount of courage, it was about timing. Lucy knew that if the timing was right her heart would not fail to guide her onto her own path. She turned around reluctantly and closed the doors behind her crossing the room with her dress flowing. Her chest began to feel even heavier as the door to her room opened.

“Lady Lucy, the guests have arrived. Your parents request your presence at once.” Her head maid said standing sideways to keep the door propped open.

Lucy took a deep breath and tried to bite back her sadness with Natsu in her mind, “Let’s go then.”

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

#gruvia #gray fullbuster #juvia lockser #gray x juvia #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #natsu x lucy #corpse bride #fairy tail #fanfiction #azuchifairy #anime otp #otp

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rotblut · 3 years

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girl PLEASE give us all ur yom headcanons i'm BEGGING

(ignore the grammatical mistakes please and thank you you know my engish sucks)

happy ones where they are alive and happy ok

so MS didn’t run away and stayed there and they went to her mom’s house and did all the preparations for her dad’s funeral and they stayed with them for some time

at night MH gets nightmares from all the things they had to endure but HT is there for her (he doesn’t get that sever nightmares anymore the way he got them in the past)

they want to move as far away as possible from gwangju so they move to a little town in the countryside where distant relatives of her live there

those relatives give them a lil place to stay and it’s a lil house but it’s their house

lots of handholding while they walk or even sit they love to hold hands (and rub with their thumbs either the back or the palm of their hands) and he loves to play with her fingers too

he loves to surprise her with random gifts but not the materialistic kind. all sorts of stuff: composing new songs for her and (spoiler) their 3 kids and he loves to pick up wild flowers and do stuff for her and of course also buy her little things because he knows she’s not the materialistic type but he loves to just give her stuff since he always wants to impress her like it’s their first time meeting

she’s an okay cook but he cooks better so he mostly does the cooking and they share the household duties but he really wants to do so much for her and she won’t let him do it all alone so they tease each other about it

he doesn’t enter the song festival but he does mini concerts just for her in their living room or outside in front of their house at the porch and later on he even sings in front of others when there are little festivals that the town there celebrates

don’t know how medical studies work but i guess he finally starts to finish his medical learning there at a really little clinic and after years of working there the guy who’s in charge retires so HT becomes the head of that little clinic and she works there as the head nurse (but really it’s not much work like most of the stuff is easy but since it’s the only clinic in that part of the countryside people do go there to get treated)

every month they send a lil money to her mom/grandma and to JT and MS

june 23rd is his birthday. he tells her i love you and she tells him that back. i mean they already said it millionth of times with their gestures and their promises and how they treat each other but this is the first time they say it out loud. they celebrate his bday together at home and she cooks for him and it’s quiet but lovely and full of embarrassing moments and happy and crying moments too. she gifts him a shirt and it became their tradition that on his bday she gifts him a shirt with a prayer sewn in there (by her)

after 3 months of living together (august) they go to seoul and sign the papers to legally be married but this time they go with her mom, grandma, MS. (JT is still recovering but HT has now a better relationship with him and talks to him once a week on the phone)

they have 3 kids: the first is a girl, 2nd is also a girl and the last is a boy. sdkfhlkajsdlfkadsf

she notices that she’s pregnant in september and she’s happy but also scared because what if she will make their baby suffer and that their baby will resent her like she resented her father for a long time. and she doesn’t want that for her baby. HT finds her on the floor crying after he comes home and (they promised to tell each other everything) she reluctantly but truthfully tells him that she’s pregnant. and that she’s scared and happy of course since it’s their baby, but really scared. he reassures her that even tho they will not be perfect parents and make mistakes they will raise their baby with lots of love and care and he wants to raise their baby together. after that they both cry and he feels so many new emotions that he composes a new melody that he will play for them in the next months and years.

he talks to the baby in her belly and she names all their kids because she’s the only carrying the baby in her belly

nov the 1st is her birthday and their special date day. he already does everything she tells him to do but on that day he’s even more committed. he buys her a maternity dress and also gets her her fave butter bread and flowers and other stuff. he wrote parts of the lyrics for her song so he sings it this time for her with the lyrics. she cries. like a lot.

they are still visiting orphanages and doing their duty to help the kids there

(it’s getting long so for now lemme stop there and maybe there will be part 2 of only happy headcanons another time)

sad ones (between ep 3-12):

this was in ep 10 after he gave her her bro’s shoes and they talked a bit and they are still bloody and dirty from everything so HT takes a washcloth and basin from the bathroom next to their room in the hospital and goes back to her. he asks her to stay still and he washes her face clean from the blood, tears and dirt and he does it so tenderly and really carefully and she starts crying again because of everything and she just lets him clean her face and he also takes her hands and arms so he can clean them too and after she’s clean she takes the basin and washcloth and takes it to the bathroom and gets a new one and does the same for him too. they don’t say nothing at all and just look at each other and after that shower and this time they sleep in the same bed side by side and he holds her in his arms till they both fall asleep

in ep 11 when he returns all bloody and dirty and a mess she's the one to take the washcloth and basin and cleans him and by doing that thinks *I love you I’m sorry I’m glad you came back and are here with me* and this time he’s the one to cry and she cries too and he takes her hand and puts her inner palm to his lips and gives it a long peck and just looks at her

sad ones (after her .............. you know)

so after what happened to MH, HT stopped playing the guitar. *whenever I think of you, I can’t help but sing* well he won’t play or sing at all anymore. his guitar was still in that room in the church with the rest of their belongings and the priest kept it there till HT came back to get them and HT broke down in front of the priest. after that he took their things and for a few years he left the guitar at MH’s mom’s house. after her mom died he took it with him and put it hidden away in a closet where he lived in seoul. only after he finally found out what happend to MH and she came back to him he took it out, finished the lyrics of her song and played the guitar at her grave.

he regularly visited her mom, granny + myungsoo and also had a good relationship with his bro and even the stepmom

i think he was questioned for a long time and in custody of the soldiers and once he came back he meticulously searched every tiny spot in the woods for signs of her but he found nothing

it was confirmed that (when he enternd the restaurant in the time skip) it was already november. and november the 1st was her birthday....... and his birthday was on june 23rd (a month after their wedding day and her death) ....... he spend it in agony

he has her passport picture in his wallet and there is a picture of her in his room too

he rented a lil room in gwangju and got her stuff moved there from the share house she was living in and he regularly helped her mom by sending her money the way MH did when she was........ you know. and he send money to MS too.

after 2 years he decided to finish his studies because he remembered that she told him he would be a good doctor so he did it more for her than himself and moved to seoul.

he does the medical visits to the orphanages each year

deep inside he had known she died

he only talked about her with MS and JT and once seok chul regained consciousness he talked to her about MH

don’t even wanna talk about the triggering stuff that he did to himself/the trauma/ptsd that he has because of her death/the situation they had to endure

anyway share your headcanons too pls thanksssssss

#frage #the sun rises in your smile

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steves-on-a-plane · 5 years

Text

Don’t Get Attached (Pt 21)

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven/ Part Eight / Part Nine / Part Ten / Part Eleven / Part Twelve / Part Thirteen / Part Fourteen / Part Fifteen / Part Sixteen / Part Seventeen / Part Eighteen / Part Nineteen / Part Twenty /

Words: 1346 Connor x Daughter!Reader W/ Dad!Hank Anderson Summary: Reader gets Kara, Luthor and Alice settled at Hank’s place. Shortly after they arrive so does Hank and Reader must explain the situation to him.

“This is the place.” You told Kara, Luther and Alice as you pulled into your father’s usual parking spot. “My dad’s not home yet, but maybe her met up with Connor. Let’s get you guys inside.” You ushered the family inside and weren’t surprised that there was no police presence in your father’s neighborhood.

“Make yourselves at home.” You invited as you all entered the house. “I’m just going to call Connor quickly then I’ll see about finding you guys some dry clothes.” You dialed Connor’s number and walked to your room. Connor didn’t answer his phone and you were directed to his voicemail.

“Hey Connor, it’s me. Just wanted to let you know we got to Dad’s alright. We only got stopped once and it was by Reed of all people. Anyway stay safe, I promise not to leave the house. Oh and Connor? I love you too.” You added before ending the phone call.

With your end of the bargain held up all you could do was hope that Connor completed his mission at Cyberlife successfully. Your next mission was to find new clothes for your guest. Kara would be easy enough since she was roughly your size. You just riffled through your drawers and tried to find some items that you didn’t wear much anymore. A pair of yoga pants, a t-shirt and sweater would do just fine. For Alice, you were glad that your Dad was an aggressive hoarder who never got rid of anything. Including boxes of Cole’s old clothes. They might not be a perfect fit, but it would be better than the soaking wet clothes she was already wearing. From one of the old boxes You found a pair of jeans and a long sleeve dinosaur T-shirt.

The real challenge would be finding something for Luthor. He was at least three inches taller than your dad which meant that nothing he had would really fit. You decided to grab an old pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, hoping they wouldn’t be too short. With your arms loaded with on clean dry clothes, you headed back into the living room. The family was there with Alice and Kara sitting on the couch and Luther peering suspiciously out the window. They all looked to you when you entered the room.

“They’re probably not going to be a perfect fit.” You apologized.

“I’m sure they’re fine.” Kara smiled. “C’mon Alice, let’s get you changed.” You handed off a change of clothes for each of them and directed Kara to the bathroom.

“There’s some things for you too.” You told Luthor. “You can change in one of the bedrooms.”

“Thank you, for everything.” Luthor said, accepting the outfit from you. It wasn’t long before the three of them rejoined you in the hallway. Alice and Kara’s outfits fit them relatively well and only Luther’s sweatshirt sleeves were too short.

“Okay.” You nodded. “This is going better than expected. So, we have clean clothes, we have a safe place for you too be. How else can I help?”

“I think what we need now is just rest.” Kara said. “Is there somewhere Alice can sleep?”

“Sure. You’re welcome to use my room.” You invited, pointing to your bedroom door. Kara escorted Alice off and that left you alone with Luthor again.

“Can I ask a question?” You whispered as quietly as possible, hoping that Alice and Kara couldn’t her. Luthor sized you up. His LED swirled yellow for a minute as he thought. Finally, he nodded in response.

“You’re an android and so is Kara, but Alice…” You paused not sure how to ask what you wanted to know. “Connor mentioned something to me about a YK500 model. Do they know?”

“Kara does. She found out on Jericho. I don’t know about Alice.” Luthor explained.

“Alright.” You nodded. “Doesn’t make a difference to me either way.” You assured him. You wanted to continue getting to know Luthor and his family, but a new set of headlights had just pulled into the driveway. “That’s my dad’s car. I’m gonna give him a heads up. Be right back.”

You slipped out the front door before securing it closed behind you. The headlights slowly faded off as your dad killed his car’s engine. He stepped out of the vehicle looking less disgruntled than usual.

“What a fucking night.” He growled stumbling towards the door. As he got closer you noticed his shoulder had a splatter of blue blood on it.

“What happened to you?” You gasped.

“What the hell happened to you?” He snapped back. You looked down at your torn pants and your filthy clothes, realizing what you must have looked like to him.

“You first.” You ordered.

“Connor.” He huffed. “Well not our Connor anyway.” Your dad then explained that a different RK800 model, probably a spare from the warehouse, had lured him to Cyberlife and tried to kill him. Luckily the real Connor was there and managed to save him. “Then he said I should go home. Said you needed me here.”

“I think he just wanted you here where it’s safe.” You went on to tell Hank everything that had happened since you hung up the phone with him. You told him about picking up Connor from the station, following him to Jericho and your very hallowing escape afterwards.

“And that’s how you tore your pants.” He assumed, squinting in the dim glow of the front porch light. “Let’s get you inside so I can take a look at it.”

“Not just yet.” You shook your head. “There’s one other thing I have to tell you about.” So with a deep breath you explained meeting up with Marcus at the church and how he asked you to help Kara and the others get out of town.

“So you thought you’d bring them here?” He folded his arms over his chest. He wasn’t yelling, but you could tell he wasn’t too happy about it

“It was a good plan.” You insisted. “No one’s going to look for them here. Plus, the police and the FBI are focusing their efforts in the center of the city and androids trying to leave. They would have been killed if they tried to leave and they couldn’t stay and fight with Marcus. Alice is just a kid or at least she’s programed to think like a kid.”

“You’re just a kid!” Hank argued. “Connor shouldn’t have let you put yourself in danger like this.”

“He didn’t let me, Dad.” You disagreed. “I don’t need Connor’s permission to do anything. I don’t really need yours either. I’m an adult. I made this decision on my own. But it is your house, you can turn us away if you want to. I just need you to tell me because if not I’ll have to take them somewhere else. I can’t turn my back on them.”

Your father didn’t say anything for a long time. He stared at you with his arms folded across his chest. You waited impatiently for his response. All the while trying to think of where the hell else you could go if he turned you away. There weren’t really any safe places left in the city. At least none that you could thing of.

“Of course, they can stay.” He huffed, uncrossing his arms at last. “What kind of person would I be to turn away a family in need?” There was even a hint of a smirk on his face before you threw yourself at him. You wrapped your arms tightly around his waist and buried your face in his shoulder. He loosely snaked his arms around you, hugging you back.

“Alright, alright.” He pushed you off of him when he’d had enough. “Let’s get you inside so I can have a look at that leg.”

“I don’t know if there’s much to look at.” You said, holding the door open for him. “Connor sewed it up for me back at the train station.”

“You conveniently left that part of the story out.” He groaned.

Tags: @racrneko @that-random-chick-named-tori@noodledraw@mariahlambslbs @sdavid09 @baebecca @black-and-white-eyes@twdpansy @revenge-parti @grievance-s@mikithekiki @kazuha159 @dragonempress123 @the-razy-pie-rope@layinglonely @talle-2002 @trash-is-my-name@geolusun@professionalfangirl1738 @ask-angel-of-death@havanbcby @beautifulsilvermarch@myemoescape@sweetlittleviper@fineactually@manymanyenvelopes @demonpandu @mikkasao@21putnamp@comeheretiger @pringtella @deathbyhollywood@itstrashleydude@clowntapus @dragonempress123@tenderlytremendouskittens@lovelittledoyouknow @etherealpeachh @omelys-space@xesthete-cxssi@itstrashleydude @loopy-lolly-loo @abigfanofyours @onceuponagleepottermindlock @missjayi @treanna-hatake@bunnie-kookie @bvngtanboiz @kumamno@jinwonholeo@erinitoburrito @kinggst @line-viper @treanna-hatake@pxnisparker @goalsweight @ayajackson @taylor-swifter-sweeper@ohskit @ninatheotter @regular-mexican-girl@katiekitty261@iknowrocknroll567 @Ispheygurl @hidenbarrista@doctorpaintedwhore @cliche-female-protagonist@fairytailwzard@hollowmasque @syrinxgm @misbhv-ur@sugaraddict@thelavachick @nikkidawnlight@hollowmasque@fairytailwzard@patchworkdabi @fearlesspatroclus@dbhtrashftw@writingpromptsstuff @fearlesspatroclus @xalinx@dbhtrashftw@awkard-fangirl88 @cindersonick @spookydun-iplier@spacekidarayo@anglemae@redlovett@xalinx@letthembehappymcu@itsfangirlmendes@aurvem @hayleighr4 @dechartduo@rainbowzephyr@sherlockspie@mybrilliantusername@wishuponawriter@fandomloverlord221 @awkward-shy-random @nerdylittoyvoid

*If you would like to be tagged in the Don’t Get Attached series, simply reply to this post or submit an ask.*

#Connor DBH FF #Connor DBH Fan Fic #Connor DBH Fan Fiction #DBH FF #DBH Fan Fic #DBH Fan Fiction #DBH Connor x Reader #DBH Connor Reader Insert #Connor DBH x Reader #Connor RK800 #Connor rk800 Fan Fiction #Connor rk800 ff #Don't Get Attached #dont get attach

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headcans-oneshots-and-stuff · 5 years

Text

Even in the darkest hours (Sweet pea x Reader x fangs) (OS)

Warning: Angst, Sexual Assault, Attempted rape, Trigger warning, poly-relationship (Not a real warning, only wanted to let you know), crappy grammar Word count: ~1521 Summary: While waiting for your boyfriends at a Party, someone decides to overstep his lines and try to get his way with you...Will your boyfriends manage to save you before it’s too late?

Ever since you, Sweat Pea and Fangs became a thing, you were used to having one of them accompanying you at all time, which was one of the reasons why you felt so weird, being completely alone at this party. A friend of you had invited you and your two boyfriends, but both of them had to help Jughead and your other friends doing something, most likely low-key illegal or dangerous, which was the reason they didn't want you to come with them. So, rather than sitting at home and worrying about them, you decided to accept your friend's invitation and went to the party alone. Now, standing alone in one of the corners, the music way too loud for your liking and all the people rubbing onto each other, you regretted every decision you've made that day and wished you were sitting at home in your sweats instead of this way too tight dress, watching some quality movies. You felt your phone vibrate in your boot (where you stored it when you went to party's) and fished it out to read a message in the group chat between you and your boys. Sweat Pea: We're finished. Ur still at the party? You smiled a little bit and sent them the address since you knew that they'd come over anyway. Not wanting to spend another moment inside alone, you squeezed yourself out of the house onto the front porch where you sat down on a hanging bench. There were some beer bottles on the lawn and you were sure you heard some giggling coming from the car in the driveway, but you just started to swing a little bit, watching into the direction from which you thought Sweat Pea and Fangs would arrive. There was a creak and you heard the front door open, not bothering to turn around until a voice started you. "Not in a party-mood?" the Boy asked, sitting down beside you, causing you to shift a Little bit away, Feeling slightly uncomfortable. "Yes...uhm, no...I mean, I'm waiting for someone," you mumbled keeping your gaze away from him. He only hummed in Agreement and you could've sworn that he moved closer to you. A shiver made it's way down your spine and you wanted nothing more than to disappear right then and there. "I'm Theo by the way," he broke the silence and laid his arm around your shoulder, giving you a reason to jump up from the swing and take a few steps back. He stood up too, taking a step closer. "What's the matter Kitten? I won't bite, if you don't want me to," he said, taking another step. "I-I'm already...already in a committed relationship," you stuttered backing away even more until your back collided with the porch-fence. Theo chuckled dryly and came so Close to you, that you'd be able to Count his eyelashes. "Oh I know everything about you and your little Boy-toys," he said, bringing his Hand to your face, tracing the lines of your face, causing you to turn it away in disgust. "It's a shame that an angel like you spends her time and...her love...with such disgusting snails when she could be with me. I could Show you a really good time..." he mumbled the last part, bringing his lips to your neck, making you try to escape him, only for him to take a stronghold of your arms. "Nah, Nah, Nah (Y/N). We haven't even started yet." "Please," you whimpered weakly, "I just want to go home. I won't tell anyone, just let me go." His Hands left your arms and you thought he'd let you go, but for your dismay he brought them to your hips, pulling your Body against his. "I said let go," you squealed, starting to Punch your flat Hands against his chest in an attempt to push him away. Big Mistake. Your Weak try to escape caused him to become angry and it seemed like he had the patients of a forty-year-only mother of five, because he took one of his Hands away from your hips and brought it up to your face, grabbing your chin harshly, forcing you to look at him. "I'll let you go when I want to, but that won't happen until we had a Little fun..." his had moved downwards to your neck, chocking you enough to make you gasp for breath,"...so it would be better for both of us when you just let me Play with you." Becoming Aware of the hopelessness of the Situation and the fact that there was no way for you to escape him, you started to sob and tears streamed down your face, but you stopped to defend your self, letting your head hang low. "Please..." you mumbled weakly, not really expecting it to work at this Point. Theo started to kiss your neck again, his Hands moving under your Shirt, up your waist, but before he was able to get his Hand near your chest the roaring of an engine made him raise his head away from your neck. One of his hands was still on your waist under your Shirt, but the other found it's way back up to your neck, chocking you again. Too tired and traumatized to defend yourself anymore, you just closed your eyes, hoping it would be over soon. "If that's not dumb and dumber," he exclaimed to someone behind you, but you were too exhausted to think about what or who he could mean. "One step closer and your Little puppet will find out just how hard it can be to breath when they meet me." Black dots started to Dance in front of your eyes because of the lack of Oxygen and you weren't able to understand what was Happening, only Hearing the familiar Sound of two voices you loved. "Sweets...Fangs," you mumbled, so quiet that you were sure no one would be able to hear you and you tried to turn your head so you could see them at least one more time, but Theo's grip on your neck tightened. It seemed like Sweet pea and fangs weren't alone, because you heard more voices, but weren't able to recognize them anymore. Something seemed to Anger Theo even further, because he screamed something and then shoved you to the side, making you fall to the Floor barely conscious. You felt someone raise your head onto something soft and heard someone shout your Name out loud, but before you could answer or even Show that you heard them, everything went black.

You were awakened by Voices talking beside you but weren't able to open your eyes. They were just way to heavy and your throat felt unbelievable dry. It seemed like your brain finally booted up because you finally managed to understand what the People around you were saying. "When did the doctors say she would wake up?" a female voice that you slightly recognized asked. "They aren't sure. Her brain was without Oxygen pretty Long so they can't tell if her brain took any damage..." a male voice, that made you want to open your eyes so badly, sighed. Dedication spread inside you and you tried your hardest to open your eyes, but couldn't even open them a Little bit, causing you to clench your fist in Frustration, only to realize that there was another Hand inside yours. Someone gasped beside you and another extremely familiar voice exclaimed: "She moved. I think she's awake!" Your other Hand was grabbed by someone else and you clenched it too, to make them realize you could hear them. "(Y/N)?" you heard the female voice from before ask and you tried to answer but only managed a pained groan. "It's okay, Baby, we're here," one of the male voices said and you finally realized that it was Sweet's, meaning that Fangs was the other one, making the female voice most likely Toni's. You heard how a door was opened and other voices joined the conversation. With all your will-power you fought against the tiredness and finally managed to open your Eyes enough to see Sweet's and Fangs on either side of your bed, Toni behind Sweet's and Jughead, Betty, Veronica, Archie and Cheryl behind Fangs. "What happened?" you tried to say, but it came out as a painful, barely hearable rasp. "You don't remember?" Fangs asked almost relieved. "No...I was at the Party, waiting for you and then..." that was when the Memories flooded your mind, tears welled up in your Eyes and you raised your Hands to your neck in shock. "Shhhh. You're fine, Everything's okay. He's not gonna hurt you anymore," Sweet's whispered and embraced you with his strong arms. "He...he tried to...he almost-" you chocked out, but Fangs interrupted you and joined the hug. "But he didn't and he'll Never get the Chance to do so to anyone again. He's in custody." A sigh of you relief left your tired throat and you closet your Eyes again, falling asleep in the arms of your two Knights in shining armour that would always be there to protect you. Even in the darkest hours.

A/N: I’m sorry I didn’t publish anything in the last week. I was on a School trip. As a ‘Sorry’ I decided to finish something I started writing a few months ago and publish that since I could publish that sooner than to write something completely new. Also sorry for the Grammer, I wrote it on my Laptop with the wrong language in Auto-corrector and no idea how to Change it.

#Riverdale #x reader #oneshot #Oneshots #Sweet pea x reader #Fangs x reader #sweet pea x Reader x fangs #poly #polymore #x you #x y/n #riverdale oneshot #angst #bad grammar #lgbtq+#Enjoy

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thethespacecoyote · 5 years

Text

Did someone order more sad modern AU BenArmie? No? Too bad.

Done for more Bad Things Happen Bingo! For “Hidden Scar” because that’s a whole load of angst fodder. Warning because this references some past and current abuse Armitage’s suffered thanks to his dad.

Ben walks out of the bathroom, fresh from the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist, just in time to hear his phone vibrate against his desk. Puzzled, he steps over the backpack strewn across the floor and snatches it up, checking the illuminated screen to find a text from Armie.

>>> 10:47pm

are you awake?

It’s not too weird to hear from him this late at night, especially on a weekend. He and Armie text all the time, chatting about school or movies or nonsense, really. But it’s better than nothing, and Ben has few other friends he can talk with outside of classes and extracurriculars.

>>>10:48pm

sure am whats up

Ben cradles his phone in his palm as he sits on the bed, towel still draped over his thighs. The rain that’s been lashing his neighborhood all evening seems to have lessened to a trickle in the past hour, though the night outside still looks pretty cold and miserable.

His phone buzzes once more.

>>>10:48pm

would it be alright if i came over?

It’s not necessarily unusual for Armie to come over, even so late in the evening. Considering it’s the weekend, it’s even less strange, though usually they plan it out beforehand. Ben has nothing better to do, however, and having Armie over would certainly brighten a fairly dully and rainy night.

>>> 10:49pm

yeah sure lemme know when ur here

Ben tosses the phone back on the bed and rises, figuring he has a moment to get ready. He rummages through his chest of drawers for a pair of sweatpants, tying them low about his hips. His phone lights up with another notification, and he picks it back up.

>>>10:52pm

im outside. can i come up?

Outside? Already? Their houses were at least twenty minutes apart, and Armie didn’t even own a car. He had a bike but that wouldn’t shave off that much time. So how was he here?

Ben glances to his window, where droplets of water still cling and glimmer in the moonlight. At least it’d stopped raining. He hopes Armie hasn’t been waiting that long.

>>>10:53pm

one sec

Ben looks around his room, suddenly conscious of the mess. If he leaves things like this he won’t hear the end of it, so he scurries about, trying to do some last minute clean-up. He scrapes loose shirts and jeans and socks off the floor and stuffs them into the closet, before tossing couple old receipts and empty snack wrappers that’ve accumulated onto his desk into the garbage. He rolls his free weights towards the walls, getting them out of the way so Armie won’t trip on them.

Finally he pulls on a tank and hoodie, tousling his still wet hair as he heads out of his room and downstairs. He pads quietly through the house, knowing which floorboards to avoid, which doors to treat especially gently lest they creak. Both his parents should be sound asleep but it’s best not to take chances. He doesn’t want them sending Armie home if he’s already made the trip here.

He prowls to the front door and unlocks it as quietly as he can, peeking out onto the porch. The dim orange light just barely illuminates where Armie paces dully on the bottom steps with his arms wrapped tightly around his chest. He stops in his tracks and looks up when the door opens, hopping up onto the porch like a lost animal waiting for food.

Ben thinks it’s weird he isn’t wearing a jacket, or really anything to protect him from the cold apart from a dark grey turtleneck. He can see Armie shivering, hair lightly dusted with dew, and wishes he’d brought one of his hoodies down to wrap around him. Good thing it’s warm inside the house.

“Hey.” Ben waves awkwardly, not sure what else to do with his hand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to take so long.”

“S’okay,” Armie mumbles, arms squeezing tighter around himself. Ben stands aside to let him in, quickly closing the door behind them. His eyes fall to Armie’s back and thinks it might be good to put his hand there so he can guide his friend through the dark inside the house, but he stops himself and instead rubs the back of his neck.

“You alright?”

“Yeah. Just wanted to see you,” Armie admits, hunching his shoulders inwards as he adapts to the sudden warmth. “That’s fine, right?”

“Oh yeah. Just gonna have to explain to mom and dad in the morning.” Ben leads the way back to the staircase, stopping only briefly to nod towards the kitchen.

“You hungry or anything? We probably can’t turn on the stove or microwave without waking the parents but there’s probably some snacks or something. If you want.”

Armie shakes his head.

“No…can we just go up to your room?”

“Sure.” Ben’s still full from dinner anyway, he just wants to make sure Armie actually eats. He knows he has a tendency to skip meals for studying, or just because he forgets.

He hopes Armie won’t notice how messy his room is, as despite the earlier manic cleanup Ben knows it’s really not up to his friend’s standards. Armie’s space back at his house looks crisp and tidy, almost barely lived-in—a real contrast to Ben’s chaotic den, walled in by music posters and lit by only one lamp.

“You want me to turn something on? It’ll be fine as long as I keep the volume low.” Ben gropes for the remote on the desk when Armie hums in vague agreement, sinking down besides the other boy as he flicks on the television. Ben flips around until finding some older-looking movie he feels Armie might like. From the amount of gray men in suits that walk into frame it’s probably one of those political thriller films from the forties he’s always trying to get Ben to watch.

Well. No time like the present. Armie seems a little off, so hopefully this will cheer him up.

But when Ben looks over to him, he finds Armie’s not looking at the screen, eyes instead downcast upon where his hands fold in his lap. He hasn’t really reacted at all since sitting down, not to the television or Ben’s presence.

Concern worries in his stomach but Ben knows better not to pry when Armie’s shut off like this. They’ve been friends for years but he’s still pretty private, and tends to react fairly negatively when Ben tries to get past his walls. The only real fights they’ve ever had stemmed from that, so Ben’s learned to back off whenever Armie’s sending out serious “don’t talk to me” vibes.

Still, he can’t help but wonder where this all comes from. They’ve been friends for years but Ben doesn’t know all that much about his home life or what happened before he moved to town. Hell, Ben’s been to his house a handful of times and he’s still never met Armie’s stepmom nor any other member of his family apart from his dad

Ben’s not a fan of Brendol Hux, so he’s not quite complaining that he hardly gets a chance to visit Armie at home.

He leans back, propping himself up as he half-watches the roundtable of suits arguing on the television, wondering if he should say something but not sure what. Armie remains still, sitting on the edge of the bed with his fingers rubbing the hem of his sweater. But just as Ben opens his lips to break the silence Armie suddenly leans back and turns to rest his head against his shoulder.

Ben’s heart jumps in surprise at the sudden contact, expecting Armie to excuse this kind of intimacy like he usually does, but he stays quiet and only turns his nose against Ben’s shoulder, inhales like minute kisses against the fabric of his hoodie.

Ben watches, a little stunned. He’s never seen Armie this openly affectionate before. He’s pretty aloof about physical contact, though Ben’s got him to open up a little more in recent years. But definitely not enough for this degree of friendly cuddling. Or so he thought.

Ben wonders if something’s caused this change of heart—as well as the unexpected late night visit.

But he’s not exactly in the mood to rebuke it. Really Ben’s long pined for this kind of closeness with Armie, to fill in the last space missing in their friendship He tilts his chin down, watching the reflection of the television play across Armie’s pale skin. He can tell he’s still not watching the movie all that closely, but that hardly matters when they’re cuddled up like this.

Ben inhales slowly, careful not to disturb his resting friend too much, though the pounding of his heart might’ve already done so.

Wow. Armie’s hair smells nice. Ben hopes that’s not too weird to think that, as it’s just hard not to notice when he’s leaning against him. He turns his head slightly, inhaling the sweet scent and trying to figure out what exactly it is. Lemon, and maybe a hint of something more herbaceous.

He doesn’t ask, honestly a little afraid to hear what Armie might say if he did. Instead, he just starts combing through his hair—at first just barely, his fingertips dipping through the feathery ginger locks like he’s afraid he might spook him. But Armie doesn’t pull away, or even comment on how Ben’s touching him. He doesn’t stiffen or twitch, only relaxing against him as Ben lightly skates his fingers against his scalp.

Soon he’s stroking through Armie’s hair properly, loving how soft it feels against his palm, how his friend almost melts against him. Just like a cat, Ben thinks with a smile, remembering the time they’d encountered a stray while walking home from school. It’d happened way back in middle school. Armie had convinced him to use his jacket to wrap up the poor thing once they’d coaxed her out from beneath a rain-soaked bush, insisting he couldn’t use his own blazer to keep the cat warm. Ben hadn’t complained, more amused by the stray’s orange coat and how closely it matched Armie’s fiery hair than upset about his sodden jacket.

He remembers they gave the cat away once she was nursed back to health. Armie had grown quite fond of her, but argued his father would never approve of a pet. Ben would’ve taken her if not for the fact that his dad already owned a dog that didn’t exactly get along well with other animals.

He knows Armie still wants a cat. Maybe someday when he moves out of his dad’s house he can have one.

Ben almost loses himself in the soothing brush of Armie’s hair. His fingers now thread at the locks close to the top of his head, properly petting him. Armie feels so loose and weightless against him, completely relaxed and trusting Ben as he touches him.

Elation fills his chest, and Ben can’t stop himself from smiling. It feels right to keep close to Armie like this, to comfort him through whatever’s going on, because something always seems to be going on with him. He wishes Armie would open up a little more sometimes and let Ben know what he’s feeling but this—this is good. This is a start.

Then his finger brushes against something strange on his friend’s scalp.

Ben pauses for a moment, fingertips feeling out the edge of something firm and raised out of Armie’s skin. But as he tries to touch more of it, lips parting in confusion, Armie tenses and jerks away from his shoulder. Ben catches a glimpse of his friend’s wide eyes and trembling lip before Armie pushes himself up off the bed. He clenches both his fists, voice hurried and wavering as he speaks.

“I—I have to go, this was a mistake—“

Ben’s up in a flash, longer stride quickly putting him right up behind Armie, who’s trying to grasp the doorknob with shaky hands. He doesn’t quite get it turned before he’s pulling on it, jolting the door against the jamb andsending a shudder through the house that might wake up Ben’s parents. Fear jolts through the teen’s chest, and he reaches out.

“No, Armie, wait—“

Ben grabs his wrist and pulls without thinking. To his horror Armie reacts instantly, a muted cry ringing from his throat, like it’s hurt him. Ben instantly lets him go but instead of running away Armie shrinks down, arms wrapping back around his chest.

There’s some kind of shootout scene ringing on the television, the beginnings of climactic showdown between the enemy spy and the hero flashing across the carpet as Ben quickly kneels at Armie’s side, hands floating above his shoulders. He doesn’t know what to do, or whether the labored breathing wracking his friend’s body is all his fault.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Ben stammers out the apology, struggling to find the right words. “Did I hurt you? I didn’t mean to hurt you, I’m so s—“

“N-No, no. You didn’t. You don’t have to be…” Armie clears his throat, voice returning with just a shred more composure. “I’m sorry. That…that was uncalled for.”

He tries to sit up straight, expression sudden fallen with shame at the outburst. Ben can see the wear on his face with alarming clarity now. The sallow cheeks, the bruises under his eyes and—most alarming of all—a puffy little cut on the slope below his chin.

“I really should leave. You’re not—you don’t have to deal with me.” Armie babbles as he turns away from Ben’s gaze. His fingers anxiously stroke through his hair, trying to push the mussed locks back into their usual place.

“Don’t, please.” Ben still hesitates placing his hand on Armie’s shoulder, or anywhere else, no matter how much he wants to.

“I shouldn’t have touched you there. I’m really sorry. I didn’t know…whatever it was…I didn’t know it would freak you out so much.” He doesn’t know if any of his apologies will help get Armie to believe him, but he doesn’t know what else to do.

Gradually, Armie sits back off his knees, though his arms stay guarded around his body. He rubs his hands along the bend of his elbows, like he’s still cold despite sitting in the musty warmth of the bedroom. Ben’s heart pangs as the fabric of Armie’s sweater pulls along the thinness of his limbs.

“It’s okay…I didn’t even think about it…It felt so nice for you to…” Armie trails off into silence, letting his eyes flutter shut. Outside the rain has started, beating a soft tattoo against the house. The movie too has reached a lulling denouement, the sounds of polished professional voices fading as Ben focuses his full attention on Armie.

He doesn’t know what’ll happen now, what he should say or do. He realizes Armie probably wants to let it go, bury it away like he always does and never speak of it again. But Ben can’t stop thinking about that thing—that scar on his head, hidden under the beguiling locks of hair.

How long has it been there?

“I just—,“ he swallows past the tightness in his throat that’s grown in the silence, “—want to help you if I can. If you need to—I mean—”

“Ben.” Armie shakes his head with a dead chuckle. “You don’t want to know about what happens.”

“But I do. If you want to tell me I—I’ll listen.” Ben finally pushes past his own hangups and reaches out, resting his hand on his friend’s knee. “I promise.”

Armie leans back against the bedroom door, shoulders rising with a weighty breath. His lips tighten together, a last ditch effort to hold back what threatens to spill out of him. Ben scoots a little closer, palm rubbing down Armie’s thigh, hoping his presence is helpful.

“My—my father has this damned ring. From his military days. Big old gaudy thing.” Armie emphasizes the shape with his hand. “Engraved and solid. He likes to wear it on his forefinger, fidget it over the knuckle.”

Ben vaguely remembers something like that from the few times he’s encountered Brendol, though he never took much notice of the specifics. The man’s a arrogant windbag, dressed with like he thinks he’s some the last beacon of aristocracy in the modern day. Always looking down his nose at those around him, even his own son—like gaudy jewelry and a pompous attitude makes him the better man.

“Things weren’t great when I was younger,” Armie continues, voice just above a drone. “I mean, they’re not great n—well, they were worse back then, right after he married my stepmother. They fought a lot. Sometimes I got in the way.”

Ben’s stomach sinks, but he dare not stop Armie, even though he dreads where this is leading. He watches as his friend swallows harshly, expression trembling.

“I don’t remember much of it, but I know that he hit me when I tried to get them to stop once. He got so angry he…punched me in the head.” Armie mimes the action with a numb fist. “Just…like he didn’t care what might happen to me after.”

Anger flares up inside Ben at the confirmation of his worst fears, calling all sorts of terrible images to the forefront of his mind. His Armie, just a kid, indifferently assaulted by his own father. He’s always found Brendol Hux unpleasant, the tension Ben senses between him and his son all but confirmed whenever Armie complains about him. But he would’ve never guessed that the animosity ran that horribly deep.

Armie lifts his hand to the side of his head, where Ben had found the scar, fingers twitching as if afraid to touch it, as if it still hurts him.

“I needed stitches. I was only five, and I needed thirteen stitches for what he did to me,” Armie spits.

Ben feels sick with rage. He’d only felt the edge of the ragged skin, the healed-over evidence of Armie’s pain. It must extend even further along his scalp, an inescapable reminder of what his father did to him.

“And that wasn’t the first time he did it. Or—“ Armie’s chest hitches, fists clenching in his lap. “—or the last.”

He leans his head back against the bedroom door, finally looking Ben’s in the eyes. Despite his efforts to come his hair back earlier it’s fallen across his forehead once more, looking thin and lifeless.

“Ben, it’s—it’s never going to stop, is it?” Armies voice cracks out of the dull monotone, pain and frustration finally bleeding out as tears start to collect in his already reddened eyes. “If it hasn’t stopped by now, it’s not ever going to. Not until one us of dies.”

He palms his forehead, teeth gritting around his weak sobbing.

“I wish he was dead, why can’t he just die and leave me alone?” Armie gasps, his entire body shaking as tears crawl down his cheeks.

Ben’s never seen him cry, and it hurts. It’s not like that kind of healing crying, nor tears brought about by moments of great joy. It’s frustrated and crumbling Armie down right in front of him. It’s a cry for help.

In that moment Ben’s hands itch for a fight, for anything to help him deal with the sudden furious energy rolling through his body. He feels like he could scream and throw things, maybe even march to the Hux household through the rain and beat Brendol’s face in until the storm gutters ran with blood—

—but Armie needs him. He needs Ben’s comforting presence. Not his boundless anger, or his need for vengeance.

Those will come later, when they’re rested and clear-thinking and ready to make a plan.

“Hey, shh. C’mon, don’t cry.” Ben tries to keep his voice even, to push away the rage that bubbles up for his friend’s sake. “You’re going to be alright.”

Armie snorts through his tears, disbelieving, but Ben leans in and wraps his arms around him before he can protest. He holds him close, one hand around Armie’s waist with the other pressed against the back of his head, pulling him away from the door and letting him rest against his shoulder. Ben feels him sniffle, body shivering as it slowly relaxes in his grasp.

Armie’s so much slighter than him, less bulked out with brawn—but Ben suddenly feels he’s the strongest person he’s ever met.

“I…” Ben starts, his own voice feeling roughed and hard to command as it brushes against the side of Armie’s head. “…I’m really glad you. Y’know. Came here tonight.”

It feels like a lame, inadequate thing to say after Armie’s spilled his guts out to him, but Ben can’t think of anything else. He really is grateful that his friend is here, somewhere safe and away from the monster who calls himself his father. If Ben could, he’d keep Armie here for as long as he wanted to stay. He’d never have to go back to that house where Brendol could keep hurting him.

Armie sniffs, rubbing his face against Ben’s hoodie, before carefully pulling away. Despite the tears, he looks a little better now, even managing a weak smile that goes right to Ben’s heart. He wipes at his nose with his sleeve, letting out a soft sigh.

“I probably look a mess…sorry.”

“You really, really don’t have to apologize,” Ben stresses. “It’s late. And you look real good anyway.” Armie gives him a strange glance at the admission, but Ben quickly changes the subject.

“You wanna sleep in that,” he whispers as he rubs the shoulder of Armie’s sweater, “or do you need something else to change into?”

“Uh…I’m not sure any of your clothes would fit me…” Armie sniffs, even mustering a small laugh as he presumably envisions what Ben’s closet full of hoodies and baggy jeans might look like on him.

“Well you’ll just be sleeping in them, not going to meet the Queen for tea.” Ben affects a weak impression of Armie’s accent, hoping it’ll earn him more of that smile. It does get Ben a slight, amused eye-roll which is—all things considered—close enough.

“C’mon.” He helps Armie up off the floor, guiding him back to the bed to sit. “I’ll grab you something.”

Ben scrounges in his closet, finding a pair of pajama pants he’d gotten for one Christmas and never tried on, as well as the least worn of his collection of black graphic shirts. He gives it a quick sniff, before deciding it’s clean enough for Armie to wear and holds it out to him.

“Here.”

Armie takes the clothes with only a little bit of skepticism. Ben shrugs sheepishly, smoothing his hair back.

“They’re not that bad, right?”

“Someone needs to teach you how to do laundry one of these days,” Armie tsks, even as his fingers brush affectionately over the clothing. “It’s better than nothing,” he adds after a moment.

“That’s practically a compliment from you. Now go get changed before you fall asleep in your slacks.” Ben sends him off to the adjoining bathroom, before deciding to clean up the bed a little bit more. He pulls out a pillow wedged between the mattress and the wall, fluffing it up along with the rest before brushing the covers flat and grabbing an extra blanket folded up under the bed.

By the time he’s finished things up the bathroom light clicks off behind him. Ben turns around to see Armie crouching in the doorway, gingerly setting his old clothes and damp loafers upon the floor before shuffling towards him.

Both the shirt and pajama pants hang off his skinny frame, making Armie look a lot smaller than he actually is and—honestly?—pretty adorable. Ben’s almost thankful for the dim light in his room, because otherwise Armie might see him blushing.

“Not half bad.” Ben nods his approval, patting the covers beside him. “This could be a new look for you. We could match.”

Armie rolls his eyes and comes to sit on the bed, the cuffs of the pants pooling over his bare feet.

“I wouldn’t dare. The world doesn’t need two Ben Solos on its hands.” He smirks, before reclining back against the bed. Armie stays that way for a couple moments, chest rising and falling gently with his breath, before pulling his legs up onto the bed and curling onto his side. His hair splays out slightly over Ben’s dark bedcovers, contrast making it more vibrant. He looks so soft, so vulnerable lying in Ben’s bed, and when Armie’s eyes lift up and lock with his he’s sure his blush could glow through even the deepest darkness.

Ben shuts off the television, now playing the end of the movie’s credits, before lying down besides the other boy. Ben faces him, only a moment of doubt flickering between them before he reaches out and pulls Armie in close. Ben would’ve never dared to hold him like this before tonight, too afraid of how his friend might respond—but it feels like their relationship has shifted a little bit, at least to warrant a deeper sort of intimacy. A crack in Armie’s hardened armor has opened, and Ben fits into it perfectly.

The rain continues outside, drawing glistening patterns against the window. It looks and sounds cold, and Ben wonders if it’ll continue into the next day or break once morning dawns, showing the sun through the clouds.

He nudges his nose into Armie’s hair, hand brushing over his back and feeling the slope of his body beneath his palm. He still smells of citrus and herbs, a bright aromatic spot in the dark musk of the bedroom. Even half-sleep and clad in Ben’s spare clothing, he brightens up the space between them.

Ben curls around his best friend, the person he cares most for in his life, slipping their legs together beneath the blankets. He feels he might be pushing his luck but he wants to be as close to Armie as possible, keeping him shielded and safe from everything out there that wants to hurt him.

It’s all Ben can do for now.

#spacetext #long post #fanfic #kylux #benarmie #sw #bad things happen bingo #hurt/comfort #parental abuse

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