#get a tattoo of your childhood toy so that you carry it with you
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once you realize that life really isn’t that serious, it gets so much better. like im serious. im well aware there are a million posts and sayings just like this, but it’s true. I used to be so crippled by the worry of what other people thought of me (granted i still struggle at times) but once you realize that nothing matters. it’s so freeing. like yeah. maybe that person thinks you dress weird. or that you have a funny hairstyle. or a million other things. who cares??? you’re never gonna see them again! you get one life! live it! be weird! be yourself! be authentic! who cares?? once i started looking at life as this one experience, i wanted it to be a great one. no more caring what other people think. doing things because i want to and because i like them. someone thinks my plushies are childish? who cares? they make me happy. they’re mine. i love them. why should someone else dictate what i do with my life. it’s mine for a reason. i don’t tell you what to do with yours, don’t tell me what to do with mine. once you start living like you’re stuck in a studio ghibli movie, life gets 100% more bearable, enjoyable even. i used to be stuck in such a self-deprecating, depressing, anxious cycle. now? yeah i still have those moments, but they’re smaller and more manageable. because i know. life is full of so many beautiful things. and if i need to indulge in my inner child to get through the day, then i will. i implore you. do the same.
#listen to the same song on repeat#notice how green the leaves look today#pretend you’re a traveler on your way to a new place#even if you’re just driving to get food#buy that plushie#get a tattoo of your childhood toy so that you carry it with you#reread your favorite kids books#make bad art#bake a horrible cake#try#fail#watch the same show for the millionth time#just do what you enjoy#if you need to make your life easier do it#it’s your life#don’t waste it
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Pit Babe Colors Ep. 3
Because I have asks in my inbox about the color coding in Pit Babe even though I don't want to watch it, I'm challenging myself with this show and seeing how good my color skills really are. I'm doing my normal thing of watching it double-speed on mute, but now, I'm going to take off the captions.
Jeffery was outside listening (still sus) and these two finally have blue on their bodies but are also still sus. I'm not even going to learn their names because they will betray all of us.
I don't need captions for this. As a chismosa, I know when people are having the "you's a bitch and so is your man" argument.
Where is the red, Jeffery? I stopped for the tattoo, but Jeffery is swerving Alan's advances left and right. I know they will be an item from the trailer, but even though the whole purpose of this adventure is for me to read the visuals, like . . . read the visuals, Alan, and stop touching him.
I hate this club! Its lighting makes me trust no one! I trust Way. I do. I DO! (I don't trust him)
Is the interior of Babe's car blue?!
That one green-ish car among red and blue cars is upsetting me on a personal level, so I renaming it light blue. Also, Babe, why do you play with toy cars when upset?
What in the American Horror Story: Cult is happening here?
Wait, this is X-Men?! Did he kill their parents so he could get a tiny army of kids with special abilities?! HOMIE, NO! This is why Babe plays with cars. YOU STOLE HIS CHILDHOOD! You know what I always say? "KILL YOUR SHITTY FATHER KIDNAPPER!"
There was another guy talking to Alan, but I don't know him, and he was safe in blue. I know this is Pete and he will be with Way (the trailer and opening credits told me). He has no color, but I appreciate the visual.
I hate this show. Is that blue on that red driver? Is that black? Are you actually good, Kim (I hope that's your name)? *trust the visuals* You're good, Kim. *five minutes later* Why are you talking to Big Red?!
The product placement is not slutty and that is unacceptable, but Way always being buddy buddy with these two is even more unacceptable. Way, put some blue on you body, RIGHT NOW!
Do you see that teeny tiny slip of red? I don't trust you, Charles!
Babe even plays a blue car in his video game when he is upset!
I didn't fully understand that video Way showed Babe, but I do see the blue shirt underneath, Charles, yet this is behavior is SUS AS FUCK! Why do none of these guy get the hint when people don't want to be touched?!
Standing in front of a red car, Charles? . . . THE CALL IS COMING FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE, BARBARA!
Charles had been the light to Babe's dark the first two episodes, and suddenly he leaves bed and becomes dark while Babe is blue. I really hate Charles off of nothing but vibes and colors, and I would put a tracker on his ass yesterday.
Thank, God! Barbara got smart and followed his ass just to see him hug Jeffery who magically isn't opposed to touch now. YOU FAKE BLUE BOY!
Enemy #1. You are in my burn book. I told my mom about you, so that means the hate is permanent.
Did I misjudge them? No! Eff all these fakers.
Barbara is losing his shit over a man!
Yet still has him up in house next week. PENDEJO! He was standing next to a red car, Barbara. Do not fall for this liar's bullshit.
I really hope Babe pulls a Carrie and burns this whole place down because at this current moment, I only trust Alan and Pete (because he is pretty). Eff the Red Team versus the Blue Team plot. I'm Team Trust No One.
Order of how much I don't trust these hoes:
Charlie
Charles, but this time by his government name
Those two vloggers or whatever they do
Jeffrey
Way (my man, what happened?!)
#I hate Charles#pit babe#pit babe the series#the colors mean things#and they will guide me the whole way through#color coded boys in love#except one is faking it#and his name is CHARLES!
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always going to encourage malia headcanons!! she’s literal babyyyy
Hiii!! This was all the motivation I needed to write these 😂
I really hope these make sense and somewhat fit Malia's character as I wasn't actually introduced to her character before Netflix took Teen Wolf off of Netflix :(
(I might have gotten a little carried away here but I had loads of thoughts sooo 🤷)
Regressor Malia Tate/Hale Headcannons
She doesn't have a set age range that she regresses to. She missed 8 years of her childhood so I really just see her regression being different day to day.
Her regression started off fully involuntary!!! Her friends became her family and so as she felt safe she ended up regressing for the first time! (I want to write this idea)
I think the first time she regressed she was with most of the pack at a movie night or something chill like that. She had no idea what was going on but the others put the pieces together!!!
Omg she loves to bite and chew things!!! Someone has to buy her (and keep on them) chewalry for her because she will forget to bring hers! And trust me she needs it!
^ Jumpers, teddies, her fingers, random items she finds (rocks ect)
^ she has to be monitored if she's ever playing with smaller toys because she will put it in her mouth. 😂
She benefits from having a list of rules. I think it would help her figure out whats acceptable and what maybe isn't? (Such as trying to eat dirt and bugs..)
Peter, Derek and Lydia are normally the ones who look after her. (Noah has watched over her tho on more than one occasion! Especially if Stiles is regressed with her!)
Lydia takes her shopping to get 'kid' clothes, toys anything she could possibly want!!!
^ Peter always tries to come on these shopping trips to bond with Malia!!!
Once Lydia ended up regressed whilst shopping with Malia and that's when the two girls decided that maybe Peter coming with wasn't such a bad idea (he ended up supervising them 😂)
Peter learns to braid her hair!!! (Mainly to stop her from eating it but still he learns)
^ He's extremely good at this 😂😂😂
She loves cartoons!! Anything bright and colourful works!! Peppa pig, bluey, blues clues? Literally anything!!! 😂
Wooden toys >>>
Her, Lydia and Stiles watch Disney films together (+Isaac sometimes joins!!!)
Her and Scott love racing each other!!! (If Malia's too young to walk let alone run then someone will automatically have to have her in on their back and they shall have to run with her on their back instead)
Scott always goes easy on Malia when playing games (Even when he himself is regressed.)
Drawing!!! Give her crayons and watch her!! (She loves them and she has so much fun! If you take your eyes of her she will most definitely draw on the walls :/)
I feel like because she likes chewing and biting pacis are hard to keep in decent condition.
She loves the plastic sippy cups (so she doesn't chew the rubber?)
PLEASE SOMEONE PAINT HER FACE!! She would love face painting and glitter tattoos!!! <33
#agere blog#sfw agere#sfw littlespace#sfw little post#little space#agere little#aewlittlerambles#sfw little community#aewlittleheadcannons#teen wolf age regression#teen wolf agere#regressor!malia hale#regressor!malia tate#little!malia hale#little!malia tate
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TF OCS. GAY GIRLS
Softlove and Hotrace
Softlove
Alt-mode is armoured tank-like car that can carry 2-3 Cybertronian passengers. Profession is taking care of older bots, sparklings, and weak/sick bots. She is from a highly religious family and had wrong looks at some things because of her parents. Softlove moved from a clean rich city to a poorer, criminal place because she felt that she is needed here more.
Hotrace
Alt-mode is a racing car. From a poor family, and is a known racer—races are her almost only source of income and life, she has no education. Has a lot of "magnet stickers"(things that only exist in my au—earned after races, stickers bots can put on their frame and remove at any time, like pins, usually more magnet stickers=more respect)
They are. girlfriend.
Story
This is how they met:
Usually a lot of young sparklings visit illegal races and dream to participate when older. Softlove was taking care of two young sparklings, and they loved to visit races too. Despite her disagreeing, they made her participate, and she failed because of alt mode being not suitable for racing. She got a "shame mark"—a cross on her front window. (only exist in my au)
Those little s**ts made her participate again next day.
Hotrace saw her the first race, and she didn't know her, but she felt that she didn't want her to get her second shame mark. So, despite being the best racer in the illegal races, she decided to come last instead of Softlove on the next race, and got a shame mark too. (couple tattoos 👍👍)
She helped her, and in some time, they became friends and then. oh my god. girlfriends. gay robots are real !!!!!
Softlove is unsure of herself, anxious, and kind, and Hotrace always supports and defends her!!!
Next part of story:
Tw: depression, self-hate, trauma, but good in the end
Softlove is a medic who takes care of sick/old/young bots
During the very start of war she was taking care of an old old tank alt mode bot Bravo/Braveshot (he was her friend, somewhat grandpa figure) and their city was suddenly attacked. Bravo was old but he wanted to join the battle. Softlove tried to stop him but she couldn't, he came outside and was killed by a Decepticon, Softlove watched it from the balcony and she blamed herself heavily after it. She viewed taking care of patients as her only purpose and she felt that she failed it because of her weak will.
Softlove wanted to join the war, but Hotrace knew that she couldn't work as a field medic, and Soft wanted to fight. She has weapons and frame type not suitable for war and it would have been s*icidal. Despite Soft's protest, Hotrace stole a ship and ran away from Cybertron to Locrive (a fictional planet i made!! It has humans, furries and mixed guys) with her, so that they are both safe.
Softlove's self esteem and feeling of being deserving to live was impacted heavily by her trauma of Bravo's death mixed with religion her parents raised her with ("you need to always fulfill your purpose and be productive and always contribute or else you are undeserving to live"), it worsened her mental health a lot, but Hotrace was with her always and always supported her with love, reassuring her that she is absolutely deserving of her love.
Some other art:
A small comic! Translation:
S:Hotrace, i want you to tell me the truth...
H:?
S: Are you really not ashamed or angry about the mark? It must have been my shame, not yours.
H: "Angry? Ashamed? No way! It reminds me of how we met, my love!
Races, victories, rewards, other bots' thoughts... You will always be more important for me."
S: 😭😭
Locrive holoforms! (Shame marks turned into cheek scars)
AND THE MOST IMPORTANT PART.......
Toy cars from my childhood that inspired me to make them and become interested in transformers in general. When i saw them i immediately went 'oh my god they are girlfriends!!' and my friend said 'transformer girlfriends!!!' and i started to watch transformers and i wrote their story and made their designs. I never coloured the girls yet but they are the same colour as the cars
Gay robots are real 🫶🫶
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Excerpt from Chapter 5 of crushcrushcrush now posted on ao3 for your viewing pleasure.
Rated M, Steve/Eddie. Modern AU. Childhood friends-to-Strangers.
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Steve was rubbing his hands together to stave off the cold. Eddie reached across and flicked hard at Steve’s knuckle, causing him to let out a little yelp.
“See you still have that scar,” said Eddie as he lit a new cigarette.
“You should be glad I have it at all,” said Steve, spreading his fingers out in front of him. “I got this defending your honour, remember?”
“How could I forget?” said Eddie, the cigarette between his fingers as he scratched at his chin. “No one called me trailer trash again for like a year after that. You should be the one who’s glad it’s there, it makes your hands look rugged, they’d be all soft without your fucked up knuckle. So you know, you’re welcome,”
Steve chuckled and flexed his hand as Eddie bowed his head in a dramatic gesture.
“Sorry we can’t all have hands covered in tattoos to prove how badass we are,” said Steve in a mock-goading voice. “Some of us work with children you know,”
“These hands,” said Eddie, spreading his own two hands out in front of them, cigarette bouncing between his lips as he spoke. “Could teach those kids a thing or two about hard work,”
“Rolling a joint doesn’t count as hard work,” teased Steve, earning himself and elbow in the ribs and an amused laugh. “Show me though, your hands, what’s this one mean?”
Steve pointed to a tattoo on the edge of Eddie’s right thumb that looked vaguely like a shape he remembered from his college calculus classes. Eddie shifted his arm over so Steve could see it better in the low light.
“That’s a Dungeons and Dragons dice, you remember that game I used to play?” explained Eddie. Steve nodded and held Eddie’s wrist, tilting his hand around to see a few more of the designs. Eddie let himself be moved easily, pliant in Steve’s grasp. He saw an outline of a teddy bear on Eddie’s wrist, drawn in a heavy black line.
“Is that your Bear?” asked Steve, thinking back to the toy Eddie had to leave behind when Wayne took him home.
“That’s my Bear,” confirmed Eddie with a grin. “It’s how I think I remember him looking anyway. He gets to come everywhere with me now,”
Steve swiped a thumb over the teddy bear and was silently grateful that Eddie had found a way to carry at least one of his old comforts with him. There was a small symbol tattoo across the back of his hand, close to his knuckles. It was a star and a square side by side.
“What’s this one?” asked Steve, moving Eddie’s hand closer to his face so he could see the thin lines properly in the dark.
Eddie didn’t answer for a moment and Steve looked over at him. He was looking at the symbols with a soft smile that made Steve’s skin tingle. The edges of his eyes were crinkled and his face looked so serene.
“That’s us, man,” said Eddie in a low voice. “Spongebob and Patrick, together forever,”
Steve felt like his breath had been punched out of him. Eddie took Steve’s right hand and held it beside his own. Steve’s hands were a little smaller and yeah, they definitely looked a lot softer than Eddie’s.
“Figured if you were scarred defending me,” said Eddie, tapping a finger on Steve’s misshapen knuckle. Steve noticed that the tattoo was as close to the same knuckle on Eddie’s hand as it could be. “This would be a fair trade. What do you think?”
A cheer went up from the neighbour’s house and fireworks littered the sky.
“I think it’s midnight,” whispered Steve.
Read Now on ao3
#steddie#steddie fic#my fic#ao3 fanfic#stranger things#stranger things fic#steve harrington#eddie munson#steve and eddie#steve x eddie#eddie x steve#steve stranger things#eddie stranger things#seth writes
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🌺🌀💧😊 (i love yr eyrie blogging even if I skim a bunch of it because I'm only like 2/3rds thru ARR fkdsj;lfa)
(you should definitely continue playing! i know ARR can be a slog but it's really worth it for the ending)
also thank you for the good fucking food on these questions ;--;
🌺 does your OC have any tattoos or other body art? does their body art have any specific meaning behind it? do they have any scars? how did they get those scars? any birthmarks?
eyrie doesn't have much body art--maybe some ill conceived little tattoos all over. They might have a hand tattoo or two, I haven't decided. they do have several prominent scars. more than just the nicks, scraps and cuts from over the years. they have a scar on their forearm from when they were young--their bow string snapped and it got them real bad on the arm; left a nasty little deep scar. the biggest one they had came near the beginning of the earnest conflict with the Garleans again; it's a rather nasty burn scar across their left shoulder and back. they have other scars from that same situation, but they're mostly discolored patches of new skin from burns that have yet to heal. there's a small patch on the left side of their jaw that they're pretty sure they won't have to shave ever again rip. but the main scar was nasty enough that healing it was difficult, so most of it had to be treated naturally. they went through most of the end of that conflict nursing that burn. (they got put on rest for a while after that and spent a lot of those two weeks with Thancred at the Rising Stones.)
for birthmarks: they have three moles on their right butt cheek.
🌀 where is your oc from? where were they born? do they still live there, if not why did they move? if they still live in the area how has it changed since their childhood? how many places has your oc lived in and where has been their favourite?
Eyrie is a Veena Viera, so they're from the Skatay Range in Othard originally; they were born and raised there, and were taken in to be a Wood Warder by their father. they lived as a wood warder for many years--much of their hundred and fifty years, save for around the last 40-45 years when they traveled. they took care of and raised many other Wood Warders over the long years. they also saw a lot of death of young viera they took into their care to teach and guide; it wasn't ever out of a sense of maliciousness of course, but it was a rough life. They tried their best, but there’s only so much they could do.
it wore on them greatly over the years, having to help younglings into the world and subsequently having to watch many of them die while the others went onto eventually have to experience the same. their participation in the atrocities Garlemald committed didn't help them much either; a duty they carried out of a sense of wanting to protect their home. all of that grew to be too much to cope with and eyrie just...up and left one day. Packed up their everything and never looked back.
they've traveled a lot, rarely settling down and keeping to themselves; they haven't ever had a favorite. Ack, Eorzea has probably been their favorite if nothing else than they've been there the longest.
💧 what is the earliest memory your oc can recall? do they know what their first words were or remember where they took their first steps? do they have any mementos of their childhood they’ve kept such as a stuffed toy or tiny baby clothes?
eyrie's earliest memories are playing with their siblings when they were very young--around 5-6. they don't remember much from before that, and even those scant memories of childhood are kept alive out of wondering what happened to their sisters. they don't have any momentos of childhood, sadly enough ;--;
😊 what can make your oc smile even when they’re feeling down? what cheers them up and makes everything feel better for them? Is your oc generally a happy person and do they enjoy making others smile? what about your oc makes others happy?
alone time is what makes Eyrie happy most of the time. a mostly solitary life has lead to a lot of having to comfort oneself--being ones on best friend and comforting light. they aren't above want for company, but good company is hard to find, yeah? but sitting quietly with the other scions makes them happy too--especially when they're feeling down. it's hard unraveling a century of having to rely only on yourself ;--;
but generally speaking eyrie is a happy person, and take great comfort and joy in helping others. they best like helping children and having the Doman's and their children around was a bright spot as they recovered from their injuries from the Garleans. But what about them makes others happy....eyrie has a comforting sort of air to them and an air of carrying themselves with a degree of warmth and quiet wisdom. it's the sort of energy that attracts people.
#oc: eyrie kisne#just to like. being clarifying about eyrie and gender: it's not like a situation of gender ambiguity to imply a physical sex ambiguity#they're nonbinary bc i said theyre nonbinary and as a nonbinary person my house my rules my oc#i am rubbing my grubby trans hands all over viera lore#but thank you sm! ^^#there is more w eyrie but it's a lot of mishmashed stuff of undecided crap#edit: eyrie also has several children they left behind at home okay byeeeeeee
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CHILDHOOD FRIENDS IDEAS
Imagine your characters grew up together as childhood friends. (Maybe they're still friends or maybe they're lovers now, you can decide!)
Person A asks Person B if they still have the stuffed toy that they carried around with them everywhere as a kid. Person B (lying) says that it got lost at some point over the years. A few years later, Person A is going through a rough time so Person B gives them their old stuffed toy, saying that it brought them a lot of joy and comfort as a child and that they hope it can do the same for Person A.
Person A is about to move out of the house they grew up in. Before they leave, they call and invite Person B over so they can dig up the time capsule that they had buried in the backyard together when they were kids.
When Person A and Person B were kids, Person A broke their arm and had to wear a cast for a while. To make them feel better, Person B decorated it by drawing a bunch of doodles and quotes all over it. When Person A finally got the cast off, they asked the doctor if they could keep it. Years later, Person A takes the cast to a tattoo artist and gets all of Person B's doodles and quotes tattooed onto their arm so they can wear them forever.
Person A was terrified of heights as a child and Person B helped them work up the courage to jump off the diving board at the pool. As adults, they go on vacation to the beach together. Person A is excited to see that their resort has a place where you can cliff jump into the ocean but now it is Person B who is scared. Person A remembers the time Person B helped them face their fear as a kid, so in return they help Person B overcome their fear.
When they were little, Person A promised Person B that they would go to prom together when they finally made it to high school. They both grew apart as they got older and found new friend groups. They hadn't even talked to each other in years until one day when they're in high school and prom season is just around the corner and Person A shows up at Person B's front door with 2 tickets to prom.
#childhood friends#writing#writing prompt#writing prompts#prompt#prompts#prompts list#prompt list#creative writing#imagines#imagine#fluff#au#friends#friends to lovers#lovers#fanfic#story#platonic#romantic
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Eli “Hawk” Moskowitz NSFW Alphabet
Not my gif
A: Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)
Hawk is pretty quiet after sex. He likes to lay there with you draped over his chest and a smirk on his face while you both catch your breath. If it was a particularly rough night he will get a wet cloth and clean you off before getting snacks and turning on some rock music or an action movie. He’s almost always the big spoon when cuddling.
B: Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also yours)
His favorite body part of yours is your face. He thinks you look so innocent and pure like a literal ray of sunshine. A complimentary opposite to his look. He especially likes how sweet you look while doing certain *ahem* activities. His favorite body part of his are his abs. He worked hard for them and they give him confidence. He loves when you run your hands down them while y’all are making out.
C: Cum (anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)
Hawk likes to cum on your face or inside you. You guys are young and not at all ready for kids so you always wrap it up, which is why he usually cums on your face. He could honestly finish just thinking about how you look covered in him like that. When it’s a super passionate or romantic night he prefers to finish inside you with or without the condom. He just likes to look deep in your eyes.
D: Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory)
He’s always wanted to try anal. His tattoo buddy Rico told him it was awesome, and he’s wanted to do it ever since. He’s nervous to ask you though because he would never want you to be in pain. When you eventually tell him you want to give it a go, he’s beyond excited but also super gentle.
E: Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)
Hawk is somewhat experienced, but his confidence makes up for anything he might not be sure about. He was with Moon for a few months and learned all the basics, but it’s with you that he really starts to experiment. He’s also a super quick learner.
F: Favorite Position (This goes without saying)
The boy loves to try new things. You guys are making your way through the Kama-sutra. He still thinks you can never go wrong with the classics though- missionary and cowgirl. As long as he can touch you he’s a happy guy.
G: Goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they more humorous, etc.)
He almost always is wearing a smirk when y’all are going at it. He’s more serious than goofy at first just because he feels like he has something to prove but once you guys get comfortable and he knows he can be himself around you, he lets loose a little and will crack a joke or two during.
H: Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes)
God I wish I could say the carpet matched the drapes lmaooo imagine a little mini mohawk. But fr he’s probably trimmed. Nothing too fancy but he keeps it clean.
I: Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect)
He’s a romantic at heart, but only for you. He’d never tell anyone but on Valentine’s day he goes all out. Rose petals, candles, a massage. And he loves to buy you lingerie to wear for him.
J: Jack off )Masturbation hc)
He does it a lot when he’s by himself because he can’t believe he got such a sexy mf as his girl. He always thinks of you. If he’s ever too frustrated from training or a tournament he’ll rub one out by himself so he doesn’t take out his anger on you. He’d never want to hurt you. But if you’re there, he obviously prefers you over his hand.
K: Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Anal, Hair pulling, choking, he loves when you bite his shoulder when it feels good, or scratch his back so when he takes off his shirt at practice everyone knows he did a good job. He also loves to leave hickeys all over your neck and thighs. He’s a confident boi but he has an insecure past so he wants everyone to know you’re taken and taken well ;)
L: Location (Favorite places to do the do)
He’ll take you anywhere and everywhere. Bed, the dojo, the canyon, on his motorcycle in an alley somewhere, he literally does. Not. care. You guys even did it in his mom’s Sentra while it was in the middle of the car wash
M: Motivation (What turns them on, what gets them going)
Any time you bend over, or ask him to help you with something like opening a jar, he likes to feel needed and wanted. You could honestly look at this boy funny and he’d pop a hard one.
N: NO (Something they wouldn’t do)
Anything that causes you pain. He would never slap you or make you gag on him or anything like that. Also threesomes are out, whether that’s with another guy or another girl, he wants it to be just you and him always.
O: Oral (preference in giving or receiving)
The first time you went down on him he thought he was gonna explode. He couldn’t believe it was happening. But the first time he went down on you? He’d never heard such beautiful noises and he knew from then that he wanted to hear those little moans every day for the rest of his life. He’s got the basics down when you first get together, but after you show him what you really like and y’all start experimenting? God tier head.
P: Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)
Honestly depends on the day. When you guys first meet he just wants to impress you so he’s super fast and rough, but once you tell him that slow and steady wins the race, he starts to take his time. You still enjoy a good pounding every once in a while though
Q: Quickie (Their opinions on quickies)
He’s the king of quickies (not too quick tho if ya know what I mean). He’s a young guy, he’s horny all the time and doesn’t care if anyone sees. He’s doing what he wants when he wants as long as you’re ok with it.
R: Risk (Are they game to experiment)
YES. It’s his favorite thing. You both love to get freaky and try new things. He’d do anything you ask him to do, and do it well.
S: Stamina (How many rounds can they go for)
Ngl, when y’all first got together, this kid would bust in under 10 minutes. He’s a young guy, you were his second girlfriend ever, and he spent most of his childhood thinking he would never even talk to a girl like you. He bounced back fast though and could go for multiple rounds. And he’s built up stamina over time so no issues here.
T: Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them?)
He loves to use toys on you. In the beginning, you were having trouble reaching the summit *wink wink* no matter what he did. He was amazing, but for whatever reason you couldn’t quite finish. You told him it was fine but he said he couldn’t enjoy it if he knew you weren’t enjoying it. So one day he bought a tiny pink vibrator and held it between your legs while he fucked you and you LOST IT. Now he has several different toys that he uses on you all the time.
U: Unfair (How much they like to tease)
He’s not much of a tease. He likes to let you both have what you want. But he loves when you tease him. The anticipation of you hovering over him, not knowing when or if you would finally sink down, gets him that much more excited.
V: Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)
Kind of quiet, but lots of swearing and groaning. Literally the “ugh fuck” right in your ear as he sinks into you. He doesn’t like to be too loud (his old shy self is still there) and would rather hear you scream for him.
W: Wild Card (Random hc)
He is very much into foreplay. He likes to make sure you’re on the brink of orgasm before he even gets in you. Your only sexual experiences before you met him were guys just shoving themselves into you completely dry and when you told him that, he promised you he would never do that to you. He’s been a foreplay prodigy ever since. It’s his thing.
X: X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants)
Probably about 5 or 6 inches, average girth. Honestly size really is overrated. The G spot is only 3 inches in I’m tired of everyone acting like bigger is better. You Don’t Need Much if they’re using it right and he definitely does.
Y: Yearning (How high is their sex drive)
On a scale of 1 to 10, Hawk is an 11. He could fuck you all day every day for the rest of his life. Morning, noon, and night. Rich or poor, in sickness and in health (I got carried away lmao)
Z: ZZZ (How quickly they fall asleep after)
Hawk likes to cuddle, eat snacks, and watch a movie after. Maybe it’s because he always felt insecure sleeping around other people as Eli but he always lets you fall asleep first. He loves to feel like he’s watching over and protecting you while you sleep on his chest. Literally when you’re in such a vulnerable state around him he feels so honored and would die before he let anyone lay a finger on you.
#cobra kai#hawk x reader#eli moskowitz x reader#miguel x reader#robby keene#ck#karate kid#smut#hawk smut
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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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of salt water and curious gazes
Summary: Following your grandmother’s death, her seaside home fell into your care, deemed the only one she could picture inhabiting it. Things were simple enough, tending to the garden and making frequent trips to the beach as you adjusted to life in the small town. It all changed, however, when you spent a night under the full moon with a rather peculiar blue eyed companion. (Merperson AU)
Author’s Note: Hey everyone! This is definitely different from what I usually post, but I hope you guys are just as interested as I am! Let me know what you think! Also, buckle up! This is a long one and might end up being a part one 🤪
sequel: “of salt water and loving gazes”
Your grandmother’s home had always been your safe space, a place in which you were free to run around and spend your time as you saw fit. After her death though, it seemed as if all of the joy had been sucked out of the small, seaside cottage. Your heart broke just a little bit more as you turned down the all-too-familiar street and pulled into her, now your, driveway.
She’d left the house to you, explaining that she could see no one else living there but you. You had been itching for change, growing tired of the hustle and bustle of your daily life, so perhaps with fate’s guiding hand you would find solace along the shoreline, in your happy place. I know you’ll treat it well, the letter she had left assured you. P.S. The ocean works wonders for the soul. Don’t forget that.
You gripped the steering wheel as you stared at the front of the house through the windshield. It was just as you remembered, bright blue hydrangeas dotted the garden, flowers fat and stems long, the doormat was perfectly centered, the mailbox the same faded green as it had always been.
With one final sigh, you willed yourself out of the car, keys jingling in your hands as you went. The house was much quieter now, lacking the bubbles of laughter and soft music that were staples of your childhood visits. The sweet smell of baked goods no longer wafted through the kitchen, her shoes no longer resting by the door. Most of her belongings had already been cleared out, handed off to friends and family, but what was left was yours. The house was yours. The thought that what once belonged to her was now left entirely in your care made your heart swell with both sadness and pride. You would make the best of this, if not for yourself, then for your dear grandmother.
Unloading your car was simple enough, taking only an afternoon to get everything completely organized. That night, you watched the sunset from the back porch, warm mug in hand as you looked out at the seemingly endless sea. Your eyes drooped as the vibrant colors of the sun were replaced by the pale yellow light of the moon.
Adjusting to life in the quaint little town was difficult. The townspeople who had known your grandma could only seem to muster pitying glances when they saw you out and about, treading lightly as they asked about you and your move. You stuck to the house most days to avoid them, cleaning things up and shifting things around.
Something about the beach had an uneasy feeling settling in your stomach though. As you traveled down the path, a bag slung over your shoulder and a towel in hand, you couldn’t help but feel eyes on you, carefully tracking your every move.
Your grandmother’s neighbors were kind and friendly, no doubt willing to approach you if they were to see you sitting out. The beach itself was private, reserved for residents like yourself, so it’s not like wandering strangers lingered about. This feeling was different. It was as if the waves themselves were peering back at you, just as mesmerized by you as you were with them.
One day as you munched on a sandwich, legs pulled close to your chest as you stared out at the ocean, you could’ve sworn you saw curious blue eyes staring back. You stopped going to the beach for a few days after that.
The morning you finally returned to the beach left much to be desired. The beautiful blue sky and relaxing ebb and flow of the waves were replaced by thick fog and dark gray skies, waves rocking against the shore with more force. You had no idea what had compelled you to make the trek down to the beach that morning, but you had felt as though you were being pulled there, tugged along by a thin red thread, like you were supposed to be there.
The wind bit at your face as it rustled the fabric of your coat. You were thankful that it had yet to kick sand up into your eyes. As the water sloshed against your bare ankles, you could barely see three feet in front of you, fog completely obscuring the horizon. Your grandmother’s voice sounded in the back of your head, “I know you don’t like the beach when it’s foggy, but I’ll have you know, I’ve seen some of the cutest seals on days just like this one.”
Deciding that the waves weren’t as bad as you had expected and wanting to know if her words would ring true, you ventured down the jetty, carefully calculating each step so as not to stumble.
On your way down the jetty, you caught sight of a familiar pair of blue eyes, just barely visible over the surface of the water. Why would someone be out swimming in conditions like these? Eyes scanning what little area you could see, you halted all movements, eagerly waiting for the person to resurface. Were you imagining things? Soon enough, a head popped out of the water, showing off broad shoulders, black hair, and… Was that a star tattoo?
Raising your voice to be heard over the wind, you called out, “Hey, dude! It’s not safe to be out swimming with all this fog! I’ve heard there have been sharks in the area recently!”
The person wheeled around at the sound of your voice, eyes widening in surprise. You watched as his mouth opened and closed, but no response came. Before you could get another warning in, he was dipping back below the surface, disappearing into the murky water. Without thinking, your feet carried you to the very tip of the jetty, searching for any sign of the solitary swimmer.
“Hello!? Hello!? Is anyone out there?”
You felt crazy as your head swiveled back and forth, ears tuning in to the gentle way the waves struck the rocks. It was quiet, deathly so. Was that just another trick of the eye? A manifestation of the loneliness you’d felt in your little seaside dwelling? The result of feeling like you were being watched for the past few weeks? You couldn’t tell.
You’d seen those eyes before, you’d assured yourself as you walked back to the sand, right? Surely they were the same ones you’d encountered during early morning sunrises or all the lunchtime meals you’d eaten on the beach. They were too familiar to be nothing more than a host of different, swimming strangers.
After the whole incident, you kept a close watch on those around you when you went into the grocery store and the other local shops. Did anyone’s eyes match that deep, unrelenting turquoise? Did anyone have that star tattoo on the back of their shoulder? You searched high and low, but reached no feasible conclusions, no answers that allowed you to sleep better at night.
In one of your more desperate late-night deep dives, no pun intended, you toyed with the idea that perhaps you’d seen some sort of siren, a merperson exploring the waters near your home. The melodrama of Twilight’s Bella Swan frantically searching the internet for answers to her vampiric questions flashed through your mind. You laughed out loud at the thought. That would not be you.
Weeks went by and things returned to relative normalcy. You still occasionally felt curious eyes on you, but you hadn’t seen any flashes of blue since that foggy morning. You ate your lunch, you cleared your head, all without any distractions from the mysterious man.
Your mind raced as you watched the sunset from your kitchen window, suds covering your hands while you worked a sponge over the dirty dishes in your sink. Earlier in the day, you’d received a phone call from a friend, essentially admonishing you for your move to your grandmother’s old house. They had completely ignored your feelings, only working from their own experiences as they ranted and raved. The call left you feeling drained and desperate to get down to the beach. Maybe dipping your toes into the salty water while you watched the full moon rise would ease the ache in your heart.
Pulling an oversized hoodie over your head, you made the walk down to the beach, taking your time to look for shells and sea glass as you went. Having no luck, you moved down the jetty, a pep in your step as you hopped from one rock to the other. At the end, you carefully shuffled out of your shoes before sitting down to let your feet and calves slip into the cool, dark water.
The moonlight left the ocean in front of you sparkling, like the stars themselves had fallen into the sea, shining brightly as they bobbed with the waves. You were thankful you had the beach to yourself.
To release some of your energy, you began swishing your feet back and forth beneath the surface, relishing in the soft movement of the water against your skin. Losing yourself in your thoughts, you’d hardly realized you were being watched until you heard the gentle sloshing of water off to your right, ripples traveling up against your legs.
You snapped your head away from the moon, scanning the glassy surface all around you. Your eyes widened, breath hitching in your throat when you finally saw them.
Blue eyes.
“You.”
The stranger’s eyes mirrored yours as you stared at one another. The droplets of water caught the light of the moon, bathing the man in the rolling starlight of the sea. Your heart fluttered.
“What the hell are you doing? Have you not heard about all of the shark sightings or do you just not care? Night swimming like that is so stupid.”
He waded closer, still beyond arm’s reach, but inching closer with the movement of the waves.
“I don’t need to worry about sharks.”
“What are you? Some kind of whisperer?”
He examined you carefully, mouth dipping below the surface only to reappear as he replied, “You could say that.”
The man’s body was entirely submerged save for his head and shoulders. You eyed each other as silence fell, punctuated by the crashing of waves in the distance. With his eyes on you like this, you felt as if you were being stalked, kept under a watchful glare for any signs of weakness.
“You know,” you spoke, attempting to diffuse the tension, “you can come sit up here with me, if you want.”
“No, thank you.” His reply was immediate, but your words had him closing some more distance. The closer he came to the jetty, the more you realized just how large he was, all broad shoulders and defined muscle. Imposing.
His eyes flickered down to watch your feet where they moved in the water, head tilting curiously as he followed the exposed skin up to the curves of your knees, eyeing them too. It’s like he’s never seen them before, you thought.
You floundered thinking about any way to continue the conversation with the handsome stranger, to attempt to distract him from the gentle sway of your legs. With a wide sweep of your leg, you unconsciously sent your foot towards the stranger, but instead of skin meeting skin, your toes brushed against the rigid surface of scales.
Scales!?
Your eyes shot open as you yelped, scrambling to pull your feet from the water and up onto the jetty, “What the fuck was that?”
Your knee jerk reaction sent the man in front of you reeling back as well, splashing back below the surface of the waves.
Your mind spiraled, forcing you to through your own Twilight movie moment. It was as if all the pieces were steadily falling into place: always swimming at odd hours and in adverse conditions, never seeing him in town, being unfazed by the presence of sharks.
Your heart pounded against your ribcage. He couldn’t be… Could he?
Throwing caution to the wind out of sheer desperation for answers, you gently placed your feet back into the water, calling out for your potential new companion. You waited for any sort of response, resolving to sit for hours if you had to. Unexpectedly, you saw his eyes breach the surface once again, keeping his distance.
“Hey,” you spoke, keeping your voice as soft as possible, beckoning him closer with a wave of your hand, “Come here.”
He swam up to you, positioning himself in front of you. The man looked almost… cute like this, eyes wide and cautious as he stared up at you from the water.
“So, are you, like, a merperson or something? A merman?”
He nodded in lieu of response.
“Can I see?”
It took a long moment for him to move, eyes locked on yours as he thought over your tone of voice. Finally nodding, he leaned back, treading water with his arms as he exposed his tail to you.
It was breathtaking, the full expanse of it decorated with deep purple, almost black scales, like he had entire galaxies trapped within each and every one. The fluke glittered, iridescent under the beams of the moon. You gasped at the sight.
“It’s beautiful.”
Without thinking, you brushed your fingertips along the fluke, taking in the smooth, silky texture. In an instant, his hand shot out and took your wrist in its grip, removing it from his tail. Your eyes widened at the action, fear taking hold of your lungs at the feeling of his pointed nails against your skin.
“That tickles,” he quietly told you, loosening his hold on your wrist. You could’ve sworn you saw his face flush at the admission.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” came his grumbled response.
You fell silent for a moment, mind still racing with the thoughts that you were actually in the presence of a merman, that your stupid midnight thoughts had actually been correct.
“Can you tell me your name?” You finally settled on asking, deciding that if this whole thing was going to continue beyond tonight, you should at least learn his name.
“It’s Jotaro.”
You parroted the name, testing it on your own lips, memorizing the sound. Jotaro placed your hand back in your lap, moving to place his elbows up on the rock beside you instead. “What’s yours?”
You shared your own name, smiling at his proximity. He followed your lead, repeating your name as he looked up at you.
You sat with Jotaro until your toes pruned, goosebumps rising on your skin as the night brought lower temperatures along with it. You smiled to yourself as you watched his eyes roam over the flesh, fascinated by your body’s reaction to the cold.
After shivering for what felt like the hundredth time, you bid Jotaro a goodnight, promising to meet him again the following night at around the same time. He nodded in response, sending one last, long look in your direction before disappearing back below the waves.
Curling your hands into the sleeves of your sweatshirt, you began the walk back to your home. The phone call with your friend had completely slipped your mind, instead replaced by the warm feeling Jotaro’s presence settled in your heart. With the scent of sea spray still lingering on your clothes, you washed the sand from your feet and turned in for the night. As you laid your head back against your pillows, you wondered if your grandmother had been right all along. Maybe the ocean truly did work wonders for the soul.
#jotaro kujo x reader#jotaro kujo imagine#jotaro imagine#jotaro x reader#jjba x reader#jjba imagine#mer au
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Lost Time // Luke Patterson
Summary: Things changed since Sunset Curve fell apart literally as three out of four members died before a gig. Leaving a sad girl behind Luke by chance runs into the reader with someone else. Death tore the couple apart, and time can’t fix this.
Warning: Talk of death, depression, angst and fluff
Words: 2.2k
Might as well join the Julie and the Phantoms fan club!
*For the sake of the story the time frame has been altered, it takes place in the mid-2000s. Also! I tried to make the reader as generalized as I could to make sure that everyone can relate. The reader is Alex’s sister, for inclusion that can be biological, adopted, half or stepsiblings. I want to make sure all people can be the reader.
Masterlist
THIS IS FROM MY SECONDARY BLOG! REPOST!!
The 1990s was definitely some of the best years of your life watching your brother grow more comfortable in his identity. Alex had kept his sexuality secret, taking the frustration of the secret by learning how to play the drums. You would often be found curled on the chair listening to his growing talent; Alex was a great brother.
Alex found friends in three local boys Reggie, Bobby and Luke, even a little more than friends with Luke briefly. By 1991 the boys had formed a band Sunset Curve with each other and a loyal fan in you. By mid-1994 the band had a fanbase and some gigs, but playing The Orpheum was the goal.
Luke had admitted to Alex, he had feelings for you, and with a lot of encouragement from Alex, he approached you. Luke had been focused on music since his parents gave him his first guitar, so relationships weren’t even on the backburner.
“Hey.” Luke spoke, pressing a kiss to your cheek backstage, “Missed you.”
His hair tickled your skin, bringing a bright smile from the teenage boy and a deep blush from you, private time wasn’t as often as it once had been. After Luke’s fallout with his parents a few months back, he had couch surfed between Reggie and Alex’s rooms; he wasn’t allowed in yours.
“You saw me last night.”
“A monumental time.” Luke bent his bend to place a lingering kiss on your bare shoulder, his jacket having fallen down, “Three years together and a bright future ahead.”
Last night had been the third anniversary of your relationship and hopefully the previous night worrying on parents walking in, cheap dates Luke often felt guilty about. Luke knew in his bones playing The Orpheum tonight would open the door to a legendary future. A future where money wasn’t tight and he could you on dates he deemed acceptable for the love of his life.
Bobby voiced brought Sunset Curve’s lead singer back to that moment, you dropped from the stage to settle in the empty audience to watch the soundcheck. With a wink from Alex, he started making the beat to Now or Never, you beamed as they poured their souls into the song. The four were talented and made to be in a band together even if you didn’t really like Bobby.
Cringing at the awkward wink Bobby sent you turned on your converse to head to the bar for a glass of water. Thanking the bartender, you tuned out the conversation with the waitress and the band only jumping when arms wrapped around your waist.
“We’re getting street dogs.” Luke spoke, bringing your body to rest on his chest, “Do you want one?”
The thought of those street dogs honestly horrifying given they were cooked in some random guys car. The one time you tried, it had permanently tattooed the taste in your memories forever, and just remembering was vomit-inducing.
“I’ll pass.” You wrinkled your nose, turning to wrap your arms around his neck, “I don’t know how you guys like those.”
“Tradition.” Luke shrugged caressing your cheekbone with the pad of this thumb. Gazing at features he wanted to wake up to for the rest of his life, “Still down with the plan?”
“The minute I’m eighteen, we go to the nearest chapel.” You grinned playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, “I’ll be waiting Rockstar.”
Luke pressed a long passionate kiss on your lips, pulling away to jog over to Alex and Reggie waiting at the door. Bobby having declined the street dog invitation to flirt with the waitress Rose. Alex waved before the door closed. Little did you know that would be the last time you saw them alive.
1995 was the worst year of your life. 1996 was the hardest, especially with the forever reminder of your love. You wouldn’t trade 1996 for the world however, only wishing for one change.
Los Angeles, 2004
Alex, Reggie and Luke had learnt a mere few days away from that life had drastically changed forever. Firstly, the three boys had died from eating the street dogs mere hours before performing on the stage of The Orpheum. Secondly, it was no longer 1995 but instead nearly ten years had past bringing the three ghosts into 2004.
The most jarring wasn’t being able to be heard playing music with a random girl named Julie but that the most constant part of the band no longer was there. You hadn’t died that night, and Alex was pretty sure you were still alive. Luke felt lost waking up without you beside him and the deep regret of not reconciling with his parents.
It would be a week before Luke would swallow his pride enough to orb himself into his unchanged childhood home. Emily, Luke’s mom, was in the well-worn chair knitting a scarf Luke recognized as his favourite colours. Mitch was in the kitchen, putting the groceries away. It was heartbreaking being invisible to his aged parents.
“Hey, Mom.” Luke sniffled sitting on the couch nearby staring at his silent mother, “Sorry for not visiting sooner.”
Tears welled up in the boy’s eyes feeling hopeless, not being able to ease his parents’ pain, the regret and guilt bubbling to the surface.
“How is Y/N? I bet she’s living in New York of London now. We promised to travel the world together. Part of me is guilty of wishing she had eaten a street dog that night so we could be together.” Luke sobbed, wrapping his arms around his midsection reminiscing on the beautiful girl he had unwillingly left.
“Hey.” Mitch spoke, kissing his wife’s forehead. Her eyes closing in contentment.
“I wonder if you know where Reg and Alex’s parents are. Reggie’s neighbourhood was torn down who knows when. It makes me scared to see if Alex and Y/N’s parents still have their place. I don’t think so. They lost their son.”
“Hey Luke.”
Luke glanced over his shoulder to see Alex at the door, reluctant to impose of Luke’s privacy.
“Yeah.”
“We’re rehearsing.” Alex spoke, smiling as the other teenager took one more wistful look at his parents before orbing out of his house to the Molina family’s garage. Minutes later, the front door opening and feet thudding brought the noise to the Patterson home.
“Grandma!”
A four-foot blue of green and black blur covered the room in seconds nearly sprawling Mitch to the floor. Why was that 1996 year difficult? Well, ’95 was when Sunset Curve tragically died, and a stick changed your life. ’96 was spent going through the last five months of pregnancy without Luke.
October 1995
You kept your lips pressed tightly together, unable to look at the smooth, shiny mahogany rectangle surrounded by flowers. Looking up meant the reality kicking in. Funerals sucked. Especially the third funeral in the last handful of days. It was surreal thinking that one week ago you had kissed your boyfriend and hugged your brother and now they were dead. Gone. Not even a goodbye.
“Are you okay?” The broke voice asked, gaining your attention. Swollen red eyes matching yours held unimaginable pain. While the last few months had been icy with your parents, it didn’t mean losing one of their kids didn’t sting.
“I will be.” You whispered clasping your hands over the scratchy black velvet dress, one you had worn three times too many.
The sobs broke out seeing the best picture Alex had taken in his life, it encapsulated his best features; his beaming smile and kind, caring eyes. Alex was gone. Your brother was gone because he ate a bad hot dog with his friends. You would never see your boys again. Never feel Luke’s skin or share a laugh with Alex or complain about things with Reggie. You wouldn’t get to meet in the chapel with Luke wearing second hand ‘fancy’ clothing. In one night, your life changed.
It changed further seeing the two lines on the test later that night. The heartache growing. The baby you carried would never meet his uncles and his Dad. Would never hear them play or learn to play. ’95 and ’96 sucked ass.
You sighed, closing the door to follow the rambunctious ball of energy into the living room where he entertained Mitch and Emily. Some days it was difficult to stare into the green eyes he inherited from his father.
“Benjamin Lucas.” You spoke crossing your arms, meeting the gaze of the eight-year-old boy, “What did I say?”
“To not runoff.” Ben quietly replied, playing with his hands. His messy brown hair, in need of a trim, falling into his eyes, “Sorry Mom.”
“Please don’t do it again.” You gently told the little boy elated as he quickly found the toy box in the corner of the room.
Ben was loved deeply by Mitch and Emily, who had stepped up when your parents made the decision to sell your childhood home. Wanting Ben to know his paternal grandparents, you had struggled to find an apartment and job to say in the neighbourhood. Since the baby was the last part of their son, the Patterson parents’ had welcomed you into the home where you stayed until Ben was two.
“Do you want us to come around for Luke’s birthday?” You questioned sitting on the love seat, the same love seat you had made out on with Luke many times during movies.
The room turned sad at the question and reminded that for the ninth year, you would celebrate Luke’s birthday without him. A day where Ben wouldn’t fully understand. Emily simply nodded her head.
“Have you met anyone?” Mitch asked, leaning over to clasp his hands together. For the last few years, they had been pushing you to date. They wanted your happiness and for Ben to have a father even if Luke couldn’t be it.
“Mama can we stay here tonight?” Ben’s innocent voice cut the tension, saving you from answering the question again. Mitch and Emily each nodded their heads at the question, unable to tell the young boy no.
“Have you ate?” Emily asked, turning to look at you in concern. The chuckle left your mouth at the question she frequently requested, she missed cooking for more than two.
“We had pasta before we came.” You replied, turning to gaze out the window to the dark sky, “I should put Ben to bed.”
The soft whine from your son and denial was a nightly routine and very much a mirror image to Luke’s character as well. With a smile, Emily held out her hand to her grandchild, she was notoriously the only one able to get Ben to sleep fast.
“Come on Bug.”
It seemed the universe was keeping Luke from seeing you and discovering Ben, but when that night came, he was shocked. Emily was curled up on the patio couch, watching Ben in the newly bought sandbox. The patio doors opened. Inside, Mitch had invited a stranger who knew his son into the house.
“I think I heard the doorbell. I’ll be right back.” Emily called out to you. You had found shade under the tree reading a new book.
The soft cry had you up and running to Ben before you even realized, on his knee was a bleeding wound. You had already scooped the boy into your arms to quickly get into the kitchen. The moment your foot stepped into the home, the sound of a familiar voice and song filled the house.
Gently placing Ben on his feet, you followed the sound to the living room. Across the room behind a young girl stood a boy.
“Luke.” You breathed floored at the sight of the teenager who looked exactly like he did back in ’95. The ghost singing widened his eyes at yours, taking in the mature features and change of fashion.
He continued to sing the song Unsaid Emily he had written as an apology to his mom following the last big fight. The song he never got to show her. His voice faded as the ending of the song came around.
“Mama!” Your attention broke from Luke’s when a tiny hand reached for yours. The pain in his voice bringing you back to the most important part of your life, “It hurts Mama.”
Despite being sad, Mitch was the one to cross the room to lift the little boy into his arms. Placing the little boy on the counter, the man gently wet a paper towel to wash the area.
“I think he needs stitches.” Mitch sighed, furrowing his brows.
“Who is that?” Luke asked the Molina girl. The girl shrugged taking in the features she could recognize. Julie asked Emily.
“That’s Ben.” Emily beamed, looking over her shoulder at the little boy that filled the void of Luke’s death. It didn’t fix the wound or erase the pain, but Ben’s existence helped with the loss as he was a precious gift, “When Luke passed away his girlfriend Y/N found out she was pregnant with Luke’s baby.”
The choked sob fell from Luke’s mouth echoed by the thud of his knees, hitting the floor in the pure shock. The heartbreak painted so clear Julie was sure she could feel Luke’s agony.
God, why did Luke have to eat that fucking street dog. Fuck his band dreams. Nothing hurt as bad as finding out about Ben and Y/N having to be a single parent.
“I have a son?” Luke cried, orbing himself as far as he could from the Patterson home and his most tremendous loss.
Part Two
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innocence - 28
PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader
WARNINGS: angst
A/N: its angst season again!!
NEXT CHAPTER
Bucky looked around like a crazed maniac, looking for anyone, just anyone who could be responsible for the letter he was holding in his hands. His blood seemed to freeze in his veins just like they used to when they held him hostage in the Russian base. Those words were tattooed in his retina, as it dawned on him he had once again to keep her safe. His ears started ringing like they always did when they used to trigger him, the ring itself replacing any other environment sound, becoming so loud it fully overcame over his senses, rendering him particularly useless. Not that he was of use lately.
- Bucky? - Y/N’s sister, Claire, called out to him. Almost mechanically, he stuffed the letter in his back pocket. - Are you okay? You look a bit shocked. Any naughty Christmas post cards?
- Just a bit ... cold.
- Yeah, Y/N said you were not very comfortable with it. Sorry about that, I was just trying to keep you away from Aunt Petunia. She’s too much.
- Thanks, Claire. Hm ... do you have any landline? I need to make a call to the US and my plan is running out.
- Yeah, no worries. There’s one in the hall by Y/N’s bedroom. - she gave him a warm smile which was reminiscent of Y/N yet did little to nothing to calm him down. He handed her the rest of the mail before climbing up the stairs to the same hall which had doors on each side. Yet, despite it looking like a maze all he cared about was that small telephone on the table.
Her picked the phone, leaning it against his ear as the rolled the dial to Steve’s number, the letter firmly mashed in his fist as he wanted nothing more than to burn it in the big fire place but he couldn’t. All he could think of was whoever had broken into Y/N’s flat back had followed them to London and once again he had been incapable of protecting her. He had let whoever was sending her those nasty messages, get to her in one of her most safe places. The other line rang like the passage of long times, until he heard the voice which had become synonymous with freedom and America together.
- Steve Rogers.
- Steve, they did it it again. - he snapped before he could even tell who it was on the phone. Yet, if his oldest friend couldn’t figure out his voice after so many years then maybe he needed new friends.
- Buck?
- Someone left a letter on her mail box calling her a whore again. You and Natasha were on it trying to figure out who did it in New York. - he continued on like an out of control mess.
- Buck, calm down. Was the handwriting similar? Maybe it’s a prank.
- There’s no handwriting just magazine cut outs and it’s not a prank.
Y/N stepped out of the car, walking over to the luggage holder to help her father take the shopping bags out while her mother walked up to the door to unlock it before they could climb up the stairs. Her father opened the truck of the small red car which they had had since she was a baby. She still remembered her father picking her up from ballet practice, the red colour bright through the cloudy skies. It always felt so safe to enter through those doors, almost if there was no harm whenever she was inside the old metal vehicle. Things were so simple back then and evil was so hardly defined and bordered away from her. She had had a good childhood, good parents, good family so why was she so scared whenever she was in New York? Why was she so intrinsically insecure and meek?
- So, beanie, you and James. Does he treat you well? - he asked as he handed her some bags and christmas boxes.
- He’s just perfect, dad.
- Then what is it?
- What do you mean? - she looked over her shoulder.
- Well, you’re my daughter, you’ve been my daughter for over 5 years now and I like to think I know you better than you think. What’s wrong, Y/N?
- I’m just homesick, dad. - she faked a smile, pushing her hat further down her head, trying to fiddle with something else. - New York is different from here and well, stardom is different from here. It has nothing to do with Bucky.
- He makes you happy?
- He does.
- Then I’m happy for you, beanie. - her father kissed the top of her head, carrying half the shopping bags and gifts onto the home while Y/N stood back looking at the neighbourhood she’d grown up in. It wasn’t perfect, no place in the world is perfect but it had a much more emotional connection to her than her place in SoHo. Of course, maybe it was just her own rose coloured glasses of being away from such a structured, planned 3 year ahead career.
She smiled softly at the houses in exposed brick shades and the coloured blue and red doors with big gold number. Rows and rows of houses which seemed never ending when she was younger yet now seemed so quickly fading from view. Nothing is everlasting and she remembered so well thinking everything was but maybe it was for the best. Good things end to give way to better ones and bad things end become they no longer suit you.
Y/N looked over her shoulder one last time before entering the house. She put the bags near the other ones neatly stacked by the staircase before pulling her coat and jacket off. The house was always filled with noise, it was never quiet. Always abundant with laughter or discussions about the silly topics. This time, they were discussing some weird plot on the television. However, Bucky was nowhere to be seen.
- Did you not invite Bucky? - she crossed her arms, giving her siblings the dirtiest look she could muster. - Guys, I asked you to include him.
- We did but your boyfriend has been on an international call for the last hour. It’s gonna add up. - Colin retorted.
- I’m gonna go check on him. - she reminded herself to tell Colin off for that backhanded comment but she was much more preoccupied with Bucky. Sure, he did enjoy his loneliness but Y/N didn’t want him to feel alienated. She did not want him to feel lonely or like a stranger in her home. Climbing up the stairwell, she noticed him at the end of the hall, old telephone she used to toy around with when she was a kid pretending to call her family yet, unlike her past childhood self, Bucky had the phone firmly pressed against his ears, lips tight, one hand holding himself against the table.
She noticed his indisposition, his muscles so tight she wondered how come he hadn’t had a cramp and like any empath she approached him with her characteristic sunny attitude, wrapping her arms around his waist, putting herself on her tip toes to kiss him. Bucky, however, moved his head to the side, mumbling something over on the phone in Russian, switching languages as if he did not want her to hear his conversation. Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach, her overthinking nature picking at her brain as she leaned her head against his shoulder. Bucky turned around slightly to kiss her on top of her head like one does to a child or a friend.
- I’m on a call now, princess. - he held her arm up to wrap it from his waist.
- Okay. I’ll just go ... go have a shower.
She delayed her exit, almost waiting for him to kiss her like he always did whenever she left. However, Bucky quickly returned to his call, in Russian, and she got the message loud and clear. She tried not to think much about it, after all Bucky was still related to the Avengers and despite being his girlfriend, she was not expect to be into that sort of information. She tried to convince herself of that fact as she stepped onto the cold porcelain of her shower floor. The water fell from her head onto her shoulder as she scrubbed the dirt off her body, constantly telling her inner anxiety, Bucky was merely busy. If she were busy she wouldn’t have liked her partner being clingy. He was busy.
She turned off the shower, wrapping herself in the fluffy bathrobe she probably had had since she was 18, hair still damp as she slide her feet into fluffy slippers and walked into her bedroom. Bucky was sat in her bed, laptop on his lap as he typed the keyboard so harshly one would think he’d break the keys. She smiled to herself as she took the side near him, head laying on top his cozy black jumper, probably dampening the fabric but Bucky didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he didn’t even seen to mind her presence, merely ignoring it. She looked up at him, moving to kiss his jaw with an innocence type of request which was anything but innocent.
- Buck. - she said in a sing song type of voice, almost like a mermaid calling out for a sailor. - Why don’t we finish what we started in the airplane?
- Not today, princess. - he kissed the top of her head once again. - I’m not in the mood for it.
- Oh ... hum ... okay. - she almost retracted back into her shell at those words. Had she done something this morning? Something to upset him? Maybe he didn’t enjoy her leaving him alone with her family. - Do you wanna go out for dinner?
- I don’t think it’s wise, princess. They might ... pap us or someth’ng.
Did he not want to be papped with her? Maybe he was still upset over the pap photos she had willingly given away. She didn’t know and she didn’t want to know. Instead, she decided to turn around in the bed, still naked under her bathroom and stare at the wall until she felt sleep weigh on her eyelids. Bucky, on the other side, had his wild eyes glued to the screen, watching the security tape of her apartment over and over again. It had been cut, he knew it had from the time changing sharply, however, he couldn’t see anything which would be of any aid. All he knew was that not only had he failed his job as an Avenger, he failed his job as her bodyguard and failed to protect her like any boyfriend would do. Would it be in a club he could’ve just punched the daylights out of whoever dared to call her that but right now he couldn’t. He didn’t know how to make it stop.
Bucky closed the laptop, putting it on the floor as he looked through his mind about who could want to hurt her, who cold do anything to want her to suffer. He could no figure it out and all he wanted was to figure it out. He leaned against the bars of her bedpost, looking over to his side to see her sleeping on her side, hand under her face and hair drying in front of his face. He carefully pushed the hair away from her face, tucking her into her large duvet before kissing her cheekbone. He couldn’t bring it upon himself to say anything, to tell her the letter came in. Bucky still remembered how she had reacted last time and he did not want it to happen again, he did not want her to feel unsafe in her own home. Instead, he let himself fast asleep next to her.
The morning woke Y/N up, the strange brightness of a sunny winter day hurting her eyes. She groaned, raising her torso from the bed, eyes blurry as she opened them. Rubbing the sleep off her eyes she extended her arm to notice Bucky’s spot was empty. She furrowed her brows, jumping off bed and walking outside and down the stairs onto the living room where most of her siblings and their partners were.
- Wow, Y/N. Clothes under the bathrobe, much? - Eloise teased.
- Where’s Bucky? - she ignored her sister.
- He went out. - Claire added, handing her a cup of tea. - Said he had to grab some stuff.
- Oh ... okay. He didn’t say anything.
- He probably didn’t want to wake you up. - Claire patted her shoulder, kind smile on her lips.
- Or maybe he’s cheating on you. - Colin added, only to be slapped over the head by Eloise. - Hey, what was that for? I was joking.
- He’s not cheating on you. - Claire reassured her. - Colin is just being an ass.
- What? I was joking!
- Not with Y/N, you idiot. - Eloise muttered under her breathe. - Maybe you should go put your clothes on, Y/N. Bucky is probably just Christmas gift shopping.
- Or maybe he got lost? He is like 200 years old. Did you give him a pager? He might be lost in Piccadilly Circus or maybe he can’t get out the underground.
- Fuck off, Colin. - Y/N snapped at him before returning up to her bedroom.
He knew her brother was just trying to get under her skin. Bucky was not cheating on her, when did he even have time to find someone in London to cheat her with? Maybe he had some contacts in London from when he used to come to missions with the Avengers. Maybe he had someone in London for him. No. No, Bucky did not. Bucky wouldn’t cheat on her, Bucky liked her but he was acting out of style to him. She sat on her bed, hand in the middle of her legs as she tried to stop herself from overthinking things that were absolutely ridiculous. Since she was no good at doing such thing, she called the only person who normally could push her back to reality.
- Chuck? I have a problem.
- Jesus, Y/N. Have you forgotten time zones? - Chuck groaned on the other side of the line. - You better be dying.
- Bucky is acting weird.
- Bucky always acts weird. What’s your point?
- I don’t know, Chuck. It feels weird. I even tried ... initiating IT and he said no. Do you think he’s not attracted to me anymore? He didn’t even want to kiss me
- Maybe he was not in the mood, Y/N. Also, why are you so freaked out about saying sex? Are you sexually repressed? Did you try to initiate some kinky sex with Bucky and maybe his old man penis wasn’t okay with it?
- Can we not discuss my boyfriend’s penis, please?
- What? He’s old, maybe it hasn’t been getting up. Did you ask him? Maybe he forgot to pack Viagra and he’s ashamed.
- Chuck. It is not that.
- I don’t know, Y/N. Maybe spice it up. Dress up like Princess Leia in Empire Strikes Back. Every man is into it.
- Bucky hasn’t seen Star Wars.
- I don’t know what was sexually appealing in the 40s, Y/N. Don’t you have that lingerie set they made you wear for Rocky Horror? Use that. Maybe he really just wasn’t in the mood.
- Okay ... yeah. Uhm, maybe it will work.
- Great. Now, I need to sleep because it is too late and there’s a girl in my bed and I don’t want her to think I have you on the side.
- Oh, is she a nice girl?
- Y/N ever since you lost your virginity you get very boring when you don’t get a dick appointment. Go on and do it with Bucky and we’ll talk later.
- Okay, thank you.
- Bye, bye.
Y/N stared at herself in the mirror. She never really saw herself a sexual being or a sexual girl at all. After all, she was the one who got told by three guys at her university freshers party she had the sexual charisma of a toaster. Now the metaphor did not make any sense but all she knew was that it probably did not make any sense. It wasn’t that she wasn’t comfortable with her own sexuality, she just didn’t think about it outside of work. Maybe Bucky was used to girls who put a bit more effort and wasn’t very attracted to her very old bathrobe and her Marks and Spencers cotton underwear. She shrugged it off, opening her wardrobe to skim through some of the costumes she had worn until she found the white lacy set. It was better than her regular cotton underwear. She put her robe back on looking at herself in the mirror as she gave herself a pep talk. He’s not cheating on her. She knows he would never do that.
She sat down in her bed, going over some scripts sent over by the agency until midday when Bucky came into the bedroom, on the phone with someone else, still speaking Russian. She waited for him to finish his call before she walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist.
- Sorry for not telling you, Y/N. I had to make some calls with the team.
- It’s okay. - she smiled at him. - I was just thinking maybe ... maybe we could have some us time. My parents went to do the groceries and my siblings won’t bother us, besides I have something I want to show you.
- Sorry, not in the mood. I need to call Steve. - he took his jacket off, putting it on the edge of her bed. - It’s urgent, princess.
- Oh, okay.
- Can I use the landline? Pretty sure I still haven’t figured out how to make international calls.
- Yeah. - he kissed the top of her head once more.
She sat on her bed defeated. Her mind going through everything she could’ve possibly done wrong the morning she left with her parents. Maybe he really wasn’t in the mood, however he did seem pretty eager that morning. She sighed. Damned Colin and his stupid backside comment. She sighed, rolling in her bed, the movement making his jacket fall to the ground. Great Y/N, now you’re wrinkling his clothes. She got up from her bed to grab the jacket for a letter to fall on the ground. She looked to the side, leaning down to pick the letter only to drop it once she saw the writing. You cannot hide, whore. She grabbed it from the ground before storming out to the hall, pulling the cable out the wall, effectively stopping Bucky’s call.
- When were you gonna tell me?
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Is Elizabeth on your island, and if so how has she adjusted after decades abandoned?
She is! And here's my headcanon for her:
Topham Hatt I, (The Fat Director,) had by 1926 accumulated a small fortune as General Manager of the North Western Railway. Reputed as a workaholic, (or boss-aholic,) Topham had sunk considerable amounts of money into his sprawling Wellsworth estate, Topham Hall. Topham was inspired by the undertaking of his sometime friend Sir Robert Walker, the Baronet of Sand Hutton. Walker's estate utilized war surplus one foot and three inch gauge locomotives to carry distinguished guests, agricultural produce, and coal to and bricks deriving from the nearby brickworks of Claxton.
The resulting pet project, the Topham Hall Railway, is where Elizabeth's story begins.
The T.H.R. was laid to what had essentially become the Sudrian "standard narrow gauge," of two feet and three inches. The line started from its Exchange Siding with Wellsworth Station, and made several crossings through the streets of that town's suburbs, before reaching the estate grounds. Hall Station brought passengers within a stone's throw of the mansion itself. Moving on, the line dove into the woods through a magical tree tunnel, with a spur at its opening for the engine and carriage shed. Crossing a brook over a three-span wooden trestle bridge, another station and a few sidings known as "Orchard Station" served the fruit and vegetable orchard. Another mile or so, and the railway stopped again for "Bowler's Station," where the Hatts and any guests could detrain for the estate's cricket pavilion.
Another half a mile, and the railway terminated at the Wellsworth Brickworks. This had been a puny operation before the THR linked up with it, employing only three men or so. After the railway's arrival, it expanded to employ a few dozen, and three more kilns were added. Throughout the Great Depression, Topham kept the Brickworks open and its employees onboard out of his own pocket, even as the bricks accumulated unsold. This was far more humanitarian than his treatment of NWR employees and three of his engines!
The railway had one locomotive, a royal purple Kerr Stuart 'Tattoo' class, named "Little Barford," technically a brother of the Mid Sodor Railway's No. 4, "Stuart." Little Barford arrived also with several v-tipper wagons, a dozen ex-War Department bogie wagons, four-wheel trucks and two ambulance vans. The ambulance vans were thoroughly rebuilt by the estate's woodshop to become an elaborate passenger coach, and a "Dining Car," which was quite identical save for the fewer seats and teeny gas cooker. The passenger coach saw constant use, but the Dining Car mostly sat in the siding at Bowler's Station as it cooked. The line was so short, it never could've done more than boil an egg while moving to timetable!
Capping off this complement of rolling stock was one Sentinel DG4 "Overtype" Steam Lorry, quickly named Elizabeth, after the Duchess of York's newborn daughter. Elizabeth was absolutely coveted by Topham, though he wasn’t exactly a steady hand at the wheel. Elizabeth was kept polished to perfection, even when her work involved carting such grubby loads as soil, clay, and coal. She was in every respect a "father's princess," but she worked dutifully and loved Little Barford like a twin brother. She also learned from her Victorian old master her favorite catchphrase, "We are/are not amused!" depending on the context.
The Second World War began in September 1939, and this national shift in priorities turned Elizabeth’s devil-may-care youth on its head. The Wellsworth Brickworks shuttered as many of its men volunteered or were called up, and housing construction all but ended. Little Barford was kept on at the Hall as the Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries set to increase production on Topham Hall’s farms. Elizabeth on the other hand was, for the first time, moved away from her only home. As the civilian petrol rationing situation tightened, and private motoring was eventually banned, Elizabeth was suddenly very valuable as a coal-fired road vehicle.
She was commandeered and relocated to Tidmouth Harbour, working night and day as a dockside lorry. This was a very stressful period for her, for she was utterly friendless and out of her element. Although Sodor was never bombed, the routine blackout drills and stories of other ports destroyed, such as Liverpool, took their toll on her mentally. At some point however, she "bucked up." Elizabeth realized she was no longer an aristocrat's toy. For all she knew, Topham had probably forgotten her. As the military lorries she came face to face with daily were almost all of the internal-combustion type, who was to say that when, if ever the war was over, that he'd want her back if he remembered her?
In these circumstances, Elizabeth adopted her more familiar, stiff-upper lip personality. There was no time for polish or quaint little rides to the cricket pavilion, there was a war on! She became grubby, and liked to be grubby. She worked like the devil, and loved that even more. Her posh accent never left her, but she was now in every respect out to be a working girl. Elizabeth would never admit it to herself, but this huge change of self owed much to her upset at being removed from her only home. Did she legitimately like being a working lorry, rather than an estate owner's princess? Certainly she did. Was it an easy and completely voluntary change of character? Of course not. But it was done, and Elizabeth spent many nights assuring herself that it was the right path, the only path to have taken.
1945, the end of the war. Everyone was so jubilant. Elizabeth was cleaned and polished like a crown jewel, decked out with flags and bunting, and allowed to participate in the Tidmouth Victory Parade. In several colour newswreels of the event, you can spot her amid the cascade of tickertape and throngs of soldiers, nurses, longshoremen, civilians, tanks and lorries. It was no doubt a fun day for her, but now she thought a great deal about the future.
The war, which had been everything to her for six years, was over. Soldiers were being demobilized and coming home. Industries were retooling for the postwar world, to make consumer goods rather than several airplanes an hour. The Attlee Government, in conjunction with the devolved Sudrian Parliament established in 1946, had a grand vision for The Mainland and Sodor, where the welfare state for the long-suffering people and machines was vastly expanded, their jobs would be increasingly unionized and their bosses answerable to them, rather than the other way around.
Despite the historically harsh winter into the New Year of 1947, Sudrian workers, bouncing back much quicker than their Mainland counterparts, were delighted with PM Attlee's "New Jerusalem." Tidmouth Harbour was still very busy, as Sodor's biggest gate in and out for the world, and Elizabeth kept calm and carried on as time marched on. She was much busier than she had first feared, and that winter was her time to shine as so many petrol lorries were out of commission with "head colds." Elizabeth convinced herself, somehow, that these thousands and thousands of war surplus petrol lorries wouldn't take over. If so many had taken ill in these conditions, maybe Sodor, or even the whole world, would consider turning back the clock and restoring steam to the roads completely.
She feared and resented petrol lorries something terrible. When the petrol ration which had enabled her life all this time, was finally ended, she was heartbroken. Every worry she had seemed to come to pass all at once. First, the Tidmouth Harbour Authority decided it would be much cheaper to stack its fleet with war surplus lorries, and she was out of a job. Her next owner, a furniture mover, didn't keep her long, and neither did the next, a man who planned to fit her out as a bus and ran out of money.
By 1956, when the now-knighted Sir Topham Hatt I had died, Elizabeth had already been accumulating dust in a shed for two years. She never saw her last owner, who by now had failed to pay rent on her storage. Anopha Quarry, who owned the tumbledown little shack, seized her to make up the difference, but never once came to inspect the lorry who was now their property. Eventually, the Quarry forgot about her too.
It wasn't until 1961, when a little blue puffer deputizing for Toby on the Quarry Tramway carelessly had a coupling rod failure, that she reemerged. She made a heartstopping journey down the line for the necessary spare rod, pins, oilpot and tools in Ffarquhar Sheds, where she stirred up quite a scene, before an even more uncomfortable journey back. Elizabeth's Sentinel heritage thankfully preserved her for the whole ordeal, when Thomas' Driver, then at her wheel, worried that she'd explode and take him with her.
Back into the shed she went after this good deed, for how long, if ever to come out again, she didn't know. Until of course, that same night, a man very like her old Master, named Bertram just like his son whom she had given so many rides through the orchards and to cricket games, came to make a visit...
You can guess the rest :3
Sir Bertram Topham Hatt I was reunited with his childhood friend, and his father's favorite lorry. He immediately sent for her with his own money to be restored, and at once moved her back to Topham Hall, where she was herself reunited with the closest thing to a brother she'd ever had, Little Barford, who this whole time had been working as well as ever, and wondered why no one had ever gone to look for Elizabeth despite all his questions. It had been assumed, wrongly, that Elizabeth had perished on war service. That's how the Tidmouth Harbour Authority wrote it, after they pocketed her sale money! (Sir Bertram was LIVID not to get his hands on the now deceased Harbourmaster responsible.)
Elizabeth is now back to her childhood home hauling farm produce and any visitor willing to get dirty, for she still insists on carrying a bit of grime as a testament to her labours. The Wellsworth Brickworks has reopened, on a much smaller scale, as a "living museum," and Elizabeth takes great joy in carrying clay and coal again. Her, Little Barford, and Sir Bertram are now tighter than they've ever been, and Sir Bertram is the only man allowed to polish her. He's a much more sedated force at the wheel than his father, she notes, and quite often!
We ARE amused to see her <3
#ttte#ttte elizabeth#ttte the fat director#topham hall railway#ttte little barford#ttte worldbuilding#ttte thomas#ttte oc: sir bertram hatt i#tw death
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Priorities *part 2*
I am so sorry for the delay but I was on vacation and just had a very few busy days! Here is part 2 of Priorities, I am planning a part 3 for sure possibly a part 4! Please please let me know what you think!
part 1
“We came backstage and you were just gone. One text saying you needed a break? That’s all we were worth to you? Is that all I was worth to you Y/N? I thought we could be something, but you never gave me a chance. You just bailed. And now we show up after all this time and you have a kid? I can’t believe it. I just-I just need to know. Am I the dad?”
“Wait what?” I stared at him in disbelief, trying to stifle a laugh because of how serious he was.
“Don’t laugh at me Y/N I’m serious. Unless you were fucking other guys it’s obvious why you left. You got pregnant, and you got scared so you ran. I just don’t know why you wouldn’t tell me. It's not just your life that was affected.”
I took a step towards him and he didn’t pull back. I reached out and pulled his hands into mine.
“Luke, I’m not laughing at you. I can see how serious you are, but the baby isn’t mine.”
“It’s not?” I turned to see Calum, Mikey and Ashton standing between the kitchen and the front room.
“We didn’t mean to listen, but you guys were right there and there is no door…” Ash trailed off.
I sighed knowing it was finally time to tell them the truth. I gestured for them all to sit around the dining table as I grabbed the glasses Luke left by the sink. I left the boys, chose what they wanted to drink and grabbed a few snacks out of the pantry in case anyone was hungry. Just as I was about to sit down the baby started crying. I sighed looking at the boys.
“Give me a few minutes to get him up and then I’ll explain everything. I promise.”
Luke
I couldn’t believe that after all this time I was here sitting in her house. It was a nice house, but it was still weird to think of Y/N spending all her time here raising a baby. There were baby toys all over the place, a pile of clothes overflowing from the laundry room around the corner and baby bottles stacked next to the sink. As I looked around though, there were still little pieces that showed she lived here too. Her worn out vans lay just inside the door, half empty water bottles gathered on the island, blankets covering every inch of the couch. They were all things that unmistakingly said Y/N.
I never believed her excuse of needing a break from touring, she loved everything about being on the road. And selfishly I thought she enjoyed spending time with me. I don’t know when things changed between us, but one night we were drinking with the rest of the boys and I was walking her back to her room and the next morning I woke up next to her. We promised to keep it casual but after a few weeks of hooking up she started spending the nights in my room; we talked about everything during those early morning hours and it was then that I realized she was someone special. I knew that I wanted us to be more and I was planning on taking her out on the town after our New York show, but we stepped off the stage and she was gone.
I was devastated, and the boys did what they could to cheer me up but they had all sensed a change in me the months prior. So when Calum suggested we pay Y/N a visit with our week off I jumped at the chance to figure out why she really left. We were all curious as to her reason for leaving, she used to talk about nothing but being on the road and all the things she planned to do when the tour ended. And not once did she mention settling down. It was bizarre when we found out she had bought a house in a small neighborhood outside the city. During our late night talks she always said that she couldn't fall asleep without the sounds of the city right outside her window.
“So if it’s not her kid, what is going on here?” Michael broke the silence, looking around the table before settling his eyes on me. I looked up and realized all three of them were staring at me.
“What?” I mumbled, slightly uncomfortable under their gaze.
“You knew her best Luke, did she ever mention anything?” Cal asked.
“You think I wouldn’t have told you guys? I’m as shocked as all of you.”
It was silent again as we all sat with our thoughts waiting for Y/N to come back out. When she opened that door yelling about waking up a baby my heart stopped. Out of all the scenarios that ran through my head the last six months I never thought Y/N had a baby. My heart dropped to my stomach and I couldn’t believe that she would leave and not tell me about something as big as a baby. But now she’s saying it’s not hers? I’ve never been more confused and craving answers. My anxiety was through the roof, I couldn't stop bouncing my knee and chewing at my already chipped red nail polish.
“Luke you can relax,” Ashton broke the silence. “She said the baby’s not her, which means it's not yours.”
“I know,” I sighed, “It all just made sense when I thought she left because she had a baby. I just need to know the truth.”
Reader POV
“Okay it’s gonna be okay buddy.” I sighed as I was changing him. “There are some friends downstairs waiting to meet you. And I know you don’t understand what I’m saying but I feel like I am going to lose my mind if I don’t get this off my chest. I’ve run over this scenario so many times little buddy but I did not expect this when we woke up this morning. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy you get to finally meet your super cool uncles.” He laughed up at me as I tickled his stomach before I pulled his clean shirt over his head. “And ya know Luke is still just as handsome as I remember.”
I quietly made my way down the hallway to see if I could overhear the boys talking. I was curious as to what they thought the explanation was going to be. I could hear mumbling but nothing concrete. I took a deep breath as I made my way down the stairs and into the kitchen. I pulled the high chair up to the table and put the baby in it with some cut up bananas to eat. I sat down next to him and turned to the boys.
There was an awkward silence as they all stared at me waiting for an explanation. I took a second to take this all in, not believing that they were all sitting in my kitchen.
“Well boys...this is my nephew Wesley.” I ruffled my hand through his hair. “My sister gave birth to him about a year ago and then she just up and left six months ago. He had no one else to raise him so I had to come back for him. I’m the only family he has.”
All four of the boys looked from Wes back to me. I could see the surprise on their faces, Ashtons’ jaw was even hanging open. Luke was the one who spoke first.
“You never told us about your sister.”
A small frown formed on my face, “We were never close. Heather is a few years older than me and was never around when I was younger. She always fought with my mom and when she turned 16 she left home. She didn’t even come back for my mom's funeral. I never really forgave her for that, but when she reached out to me about a year ago telling me she had just given birth I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. Mostly because I missed having a family and I had always wanted to be an auntie.”
“Weren’t we family enough?” Luke interrupted me.
I glanced from him to the rest of the boys and saw the hurt etched across their faces, making my regret my choice of words.
“I didn’t mean it like that, you guys were the family I always wished for when I was younger. And even though she abandoned me just like our dad abandoned us, she was still my sister. I was so excited when I found out I was an aunt as well, Heather and I were talking again and how could I not want to be in this guy's life? I mean just look at him.” I smiled as I looked over at Wes who was still enjoying his bananas.
“Where is your sister now?” Cal asked.
I sighed, “I don’t know. Six months after she gave birth she left, just like our dad did to us and I just, I just couldn’t let him fall into the system. I’m all he has. I never wanted to leave you,” my eyes met Luke’s, “...guys or the tour, let alone without telling anyone but I knew if you guys knew about Wes you would try and convince me to bring him on the road, and I would’ve stayed because that’s all I wanted to do. But it’s not about me anymore, I have to do what is best for Wesley and he deserves to have a normal childhood. Well as normal as I can give him seeing as I’m not his mother. I’m sorry for how I left, but I’m not sorry that I left.”
It was silent when I stopped talking, I looked around the table to see all the boys processing what I had told them. I knew it was a shock finding me here raising a baby that wasn’t mine but I was glad that I finally told them the reason behind me leaving.
Wes started fussing now that he finished his snack, I turned to pick him up but Michael was already jumping out of his seat.
“Let his cool Uncles play with him Y/N,” he picked Wes up out of his highchair, tickling his stomach and making him giggle. Michael laughed too as he carried him into the living room. Calum and Ashton stood up to follow him.
“I’m gonna be his favorite ya know,” Cal winked at me as they left.
“We’re just glad you’re okay Y/N, anything we can do to help we will. For now the three of us will keep him busy while you two take some necessary time to talk.” Ashton gave a small smile to me and Luke who were left sitting at the table.
I turned to Luke who was sitting with his head in his hands. I placed my hand on his forearm causing him to look up at me. “Let’s go outside okay?”
He nodded his head, a slight smile on his lips as he took my outstretched hand and followed me as I led him out to the small patio off the kitchen. He made sure to close the door tight knowing the boys would eavesdrop if possible. I pulled him down on the small couch next to me. I had so many things I wanted to say to him but I owed him enough to start the conversation. His hand remained in mine as we sat in silence, I lightly traced the tattoos on his wrists. He hummed slightly causing me to look up and see him smiling at me.
“I miss that feeling, your fingers tracing patterns all over me. It’s like you leave a trail of fire every time you touch me.” I felt my face flush, I looked back down and began drawing circles on the back of his hands. “I’ve missed you so fucking much Y/N, I thought you left because of something I did. I know we always said we would keep it casual but fuck I haven’t been the same since you left.”
“Fuck Luke I didn’t know you felt that way. You did nothing wrong. I just couldn’t bear to say goodbye to you in person. I felt the same way about you when I left, I didn’t want to keep being casual I wanted to be yours-”
Luke pressed his lips to mine, cutting me off mid sentence. I melted into him like no time had passed. I forgot how it felt to kiss him, it was a drug I couldn’t get enough of. I moved my hands to the back of his neck and pulled him closer to me. His hands went to my waist and the next thing I knew I was sitting on his lap. I pulled back and rested my forehead against his.
“I missed you Y/N, so fucking much.”
“I missed you too Luke, a lot. But you need to know we can’t just go back to how things were. I need to put Wes first and you have the band.”
“But you just said you wanted to be mine,” he looked at me with a mixture of hope and sadness in his eyes. This was exactly why I couldn’t say goodbye in person.
“Key word being wanted. My whole life is different now Luke, I’m not the same person that I was six months ago.”
“So what are we supposed to do?”
I climbed off Luke and reached out my hand, “We go hang out with Wes so he can get to know his Uncle Luke. And then you go back on tour, I stay here and raise Wes and you visit every once in a while with the boys. It's not ideal but at least we’ll still see each other every so often. I’m sorry Luke, but it’s just how it has to be.”
#luke imagine#luke hemmings#luke hemming imagines#ashton imagine#ashton irwin#michael imagine#michael clifford#5sos#5sos imagine#5sos preference#calum imagine#calum hood#cal#lucas#five seconds of summer#5 second of summer imagines#5 seconds of summer#luke au#imagine luke#imagines#luke x reader#luke x y/n#luke hemmings x you
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Lost Time // Luke Patterson
Summary: Things changed since Sunset Curve fell apart literally as three out of four members died before a gig. Leaving a sad girl behind Luke by chance runs into the reader with someone else. Death tore the couple apart, and time can’t fix this.
Warning: Talk of death, depression, angst and fluff
Words: 2.2k
Might as well join the Julie and the Phantoms fan club!
*For the sake of the story the time frame has been altered, it takes place in the mid-2000s. Also! I tried to make the reader as generalized as I could to make sure that everyone can relate. The reader is Alex’s sister, for inclusion that can be biological, adopted, half or stepsiblings. I want to make sure all people can be the reader.
Masterlist
The 1990s was definitely some of the best years of your life watching your brother grow more comfortable in his identity. Alex had kept his sexuality secret, taking the frustration of the secret by learning how to play the drums. You would often be found curled on the chair listening to his growing talent; Alex was a great brother.
Alex found friends in three local boys Reggie, Bobby and Luke, even a little more than friends with Luke briefly. By 1991 the boys had formed a band Sunset Curve with each other and a loyal fan in you. By mid-1994 the band had a fanbase and some gigs, but playing The Orpheum was the goal.
Luke had admitted to Alex, he had feelings for you, and with a lot of encouragement from Alex, he approached you. Luke had been focused on music since his parents gave him his first guitar, so relationships weren’t even on the backburner.
“Hey.” Luke spoke, pressing a kiss to your cheek backstage, “Missed you.”
His hair tickled your skin, bringing a bright smile from the teenage boy and a deep blush from you, private time wasn’t as often as it once had been. After Luke’s fallout with his parents a few months back, he had couch surfed between Reggie and Alex’s rooms; he wasn’t allowed in yours.
“You saw me last night.”
“A monumental time.” Luke bent his bend to place a lingering kiss on your bare shoulder, his jacket having fallen down, “Three years together and a bright future ahead.”
Last night had been the third anniversary of your relationship and hopefully the previous night worrying on parents walking in, cheap dates Luke often felt guilty about. Luke knew in his bones playing The Orpheum tonight would open the door to a legendary future. A future where money wasn’t tight and he could you on dates he deemed acceptable for the love of his life.
Bobby voiced brought Sunset Curve’s lead singer back to that moment, you dropped from the stage to settle in the empty audience to watch the soundcheck. With a wink from Alex, he started making the beat to Now or Never, you beamed as they poured their souls into the song. The four were talented and made to be in a band together even if you didn’t really like Bobby.
Cringing at the awkward wink Bobby sent you turned on your converse to head to the bar for a glass of water. Thanking the bartender, you tuned out the conversation with the waitress and the band only jumping when arms wrapped around your waist.
“We’re getting street dogs.” Luke spoke, bringing your body to rest on his chest, “Do you want one?”
The thought of those street dogs honestly horrifying given they were cooked in some random guys car. The one time you tried, it had permanently tattooed the taste in your memories forever, and just remembering was vomit-inducing.
“I’ll pass.” You wrinkled your nose, turning to wrap your arms around his neck, “I don’t know how you guys like those.”
“Tradition.” Luke shrugged caressing your cheekbone with the pad of this thumb. Gazing at features he wanted to wake up to for the rest of his life, “Still down with the plan?”
“The minute I’m eighteen, we go to the nearest chapel.” You grinned playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, “I’ll be waiting Rockstar.”
Luke pressed a long passionate kiss on your lips, pulling away to jog over to Alex and Reggie waiting at the door. Bobby having declined the street dog invitation to flirt with the waitress Rose. Alex waved before the door closed. Little did you know that would be the last time you saw them alive.
1995 was the worst year of your life. 1996 was the hardest, especially with the forever reminder of your love. You wouldn’t trade 1996 for the world however, only wishing for one change.
Los Angeles, 2004
Alex, Reggie and Luke had learnt a mere few days away from that life had drastically changed forever. Firstly, the three boys had died from eating the street dogs mere hours before performing on the stage of The Orpheum. Secondly, it was no longer 1995 but instead nearly ten years had past bringing the three ghosts into 2004.
The most jarring wasn’t being able to be heard playing music with a random girl named Julie but that the most constant part of the band no longer was there. You hadn’t died that night, and Alex was pretty sure you were still alive. Luke felt lost waking up without you beside him and the deep regret of not reconciling with his parents.
It would be a week before Luke would swallow his pride enough to orb himself into his unchanged childhood home. Emily, Luke’s mom, was in the well-worn chair knitting a scarf Luke recognized as his favourite colours. Mitch was in the kitchen, putting the groceries away. It was heartbreaking being invisible to his aged parents.
“Hey, Mom.” Luke sniffled sitting on the couch nearby staring at his silent mother, “Sorry for not visiting sooner.”
Tears welled up in the boy’s eyes feeling hopeless, not being able to ease his parents’ pain, the regret and guilt bubbling to the surface.
“How is Y/N? I bet she’s living in New York of London now. We promised to travel the world together. Part of me is guilty of wishing she had eaten a street dog that night so we could be together.” Luke sobbed, wrapping his arms around his midsection reminiscing on the beautiful girl he had unwillingly left.
“Hey.” Mitch spoke, kissing his wife’s forehead. Her eyes closing in contentment.
“I wonder if you know where Reg and Alex’s parents are. Reggie’s neighbourhood was torn down who knows when. It makes me scared to see if Alex and Y/N’s parents still have their place. I don’t think so. They lost their son.”
“Hey Luke.”
Luke glanced over his shoulder to see Alex at the door, reluctant to impose of Luke’s privacy.
“Yeah.”
“We’re rehearsing.” Alex spoke, smiling as the other teenager took one more wistful look at his parents before orbing out of his house to the Molina family’s garage. Minutes later, the front door opening and feet thudding brought the noise to the Patterson home.
“Grandma!”
A four-foot blue of green and black blur covered the room in seconds nearly sprawling Mitch to the floor. Why was that 1996 year difficult? Well, ’95 was when Sunset Curve tragically died, and a stick changed your life. ’96 was spent going through the last five months of pregnancy without Luke.
October 1995
You kept your lips pressed tightly together, unable to look at the smooth, shiny mahogany rectangle surrounded by flowers. Looking up meant the reality kicking in. Funerals sucked. Especially the third funeral in the last handful of days. It was surreal thinking that one week ago you had kissed your boyfriend and hugged your brother and now they were dead. Gone. Not even a goodbye.
“Are you okay?” The broke voice asked, gaining your attention. Swollen red eyes matching yours held unimaginable pain. While the last few months had been icy with your parents, it didn’t mean losing one of their kids didn’t sting.
“I will be.” You whispered clasping your hands over the scratchy black velvet dress, one you had worn three times too many.
The sobs broke out seeing the best picture Alex had taken in his life, it encapsulated his best features; his beaming smile and kind, caring eyes. Alex was gone. Your brother was gone because he ate a bad hot dog with his friends. You would never see your boys again. Never feel Luke’s skin or share a laugh with Alex or complain about things with Reggie. You wouldn’t get to meet in the chapel with Luke wearing second hand ‘fancy’ clothing. In one night, your life changed.
It changed further seeing the two lines on the test later that night. The heartache growing. The baby you carried would never meet his uncles and his Dad. Would never hear them play or learn to play. ’95 and ’96 sucked ass.
You sighed, closing the door to follow the rambunctious ball of energy into the living room where he entertained Mitch and Emily. Some days it was difficult to stare into the green eyes he inherited from his father.
“Benjamin Lucas.” You spoke crossing your arms, meeting the gaze of the eight-year-old boy, “What did I say?”
“To not runoff.” Ben quietly replied, playing with his hands. His messy brown hair, in need of a trim, falling into his eyes, “Sorry Mom.”
“Please don’t do it again.” You gently told the little boy elated as he quickly found the toy box in the corner of the room.
Ben was loved deeply by Mitch and Emily, who had stepped up when your parents made the decision to sell your childhood home. Wanting Ben to know his paternal grandparents, you had struggled to find an apartment and job to say in the neighbourhood. Since the baby was the last part of their son, the Patterson parents’ had welcomed you into the home where you stayed until Ben was two.
“Do you want us to come around for Luke’s birthday?” You questioned sitting on the love seat, the same love seat you had made out on with Luke many times during movies.
The room turned sad at the question and reminded that for the ninth year, you would celebrate Luke’s birthday without him. A day where Ben wouldn’t fully understand. Emily simply nodded her head.
“Have you met anyone?” Mitch asked, leaning over to clasp his hands together. For the last few years, they had been pushing you to date. They wanted your happiness and for Ben to have a father even if Luke couldn’t be it.
“Mama can we stay here tonight?” Ben’s innocent voice cut the tension, saving you from answering the question again. Mitch and Emily each nodded their heads at the question, unable to tell the young boy no.
“Have you ate?” Emily asked, turning to look at you in concern. The chuckle left your mouth at the question she frequently requested, she missed cooking for more than two.
“We had pasta before we came.” You replied, turning to gaze out the window to the dark sky, “I should put Ben to bed.”
The soft whine from your son and denial was a nightly routine and very much a mirror image to Luke’s character as well. With a smile, Emily held out her hand to her grandchild, she was notoriously the only one able to get Ben to sleep fast.
“Come on Bug.”
It seemed the universe was keeping Luke from seeing you and discovering Ben, but when that night came, he was shocked. Emily was curled up on the patio couch, watching Ben in the newly bought sandbox. The patio doors opened. Inside, Mitch had invited a stranger who knew his son into the house.
“I think I heard the doorbell. I’ll be right back.” Emily called out to you. You had found shade under the tree reading a new book.
The soft cry had you up and running to Ben before you even realized, on his knee was a bleeding wound. You had already scooped the boy into your arms to quickly get into the kitchen. The moment your foot stepped into the home, the sound of a familiar voice and song filled the house.
Gently placing Ben on his feet, you followed the sound to the living room. Across the room behind a young girl stood a boy.
“Luke.” You breathed floored at the sight of the teenager who looked exactly like he did back in ’95. The ghost singing widened his eyes at yours, taking in the mature features and change of fashion.
He continued to sing the song Unsaid Emily he had written as an apology to his mom following the last big fight. The song he never got to show her. His voice faded as the ending of the song came around.
“Mama!” Your attention broke from Luke’s when a tiny hand reached for yours. The pain in his voice bringing you back to the most important part of your life, “It hurts Mama.”
Despite being sad, Mitch was the one to cross the room to lift the little boy into his arms. Placing the little boy on the counter, the man gently wet a paper towel to wash the area.
“I think he needs stitches.” Mitch sighed, furrowing his brows.
“Who is that?” Luke asked the Molina girl. The girl shrugged taking in the features she could recognize. Julie asked Emily.
“That’s Ben.” Emily beamed, looking over her shoulder at the little boy that filled the void of Luke’s death. It didn’t fix the wound or erase the pain, but Ben’s existence helped with the loss as he was a precious gift, “When Luke passed away his girlfriend Y/N found out she was pregnant with Luke’s baby.”
The choked sob fell from Luke’s mouth echoed by the thud of his knees, hitting the floor in the pure shock. The heartbreak painted so clear Julie was sure she could feel Luke’s agony.
God, why did Luke have to eat that fucking street dog. Fuck his band dreams. Nothing hurt as bad as finding out about Ben and Y/N having to be a single parent.
“I have a son?” Luke cried, orbing himself as far as he could from the Patterson home and his most tremendous loss.
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Drabble ; Mikeala’s Deal with Calypso.
It had taken time to get here, deep into the murky waters of the swamp and alone with the corpse of her former Captain. It felt eerily disturbing how no one questioned her, if anything, the gatekeeper (an old man with eyes that have clearly seen too much in his time) merely motioned her with his cane. “She be expecting you.”
She’d heard stories in her childhood, what she had engrained into her memory and refused to forget. Her mother had spoken to her before about Calypso, of the myth that they were akin to Calypso’s granddaughters, of sorts. How the goddess had felt taken with one of the men as he sailed and had spent a time favoring him until she bore him a child—a daughter. Now they’re family consisted more of women then men—and most of the women born in the Faheem lineage carried a gift of the sea. Some stronger or weaker then others.
Mikeala’s mother had a gift for sensing bad storms and at times even knowing when danger lied ahead. It was how she had ensured Mikeala’s escape and safety when they lost their home—and yet, for her gifts, she was still murdered. Mikeala shook her head gently, her loose hair spilling over her shoulders as she pushed away the haunted memories of her past.
She was here for a different reason. She glanced at the burden she shared the boat with, steering it with care as he remained unmoving. She kept him covered, wrapped as well as she could manage with pale sheets and—to remember him better with the dignity he carried alive instead of dead.
It was a hard word to wrap her head around after all she’d been through as his first mate. The shock on his face that mirrored her own when the bullet passed into his chest, and at last he felt.. and bled. She hadn’t wept, too shocked to really cry and too pained to let the tears fall. He’d looked so pale…
The sound of wood creaking drew her attention back to the approaching dock, where a woman in a dark dress and shawl stood expectantly with two tribal men—locals she suspected. Mikeala felt herself still when she met the woman’s dark gaze, her heart suddenly jolting in her chest and hammering loudly in her ears. She felt a strange pull to the woman, and swore when the woman’s mouth curved into a smile that she knew who Mikeala was at once. Maybe she did.
She climbed and secured the boat out of habit, and watched wordlessly as the two men worked and lifted her corpse—bringing it inside the shabby hut then leaving. Tia Dalma waited by the entrance, waving a hand expectantly towards her. “After you child.” Swallowing down her nervousness, Mikeala guided her boots up the step, straightening her back slightly as she stepped inside.
“I had heard of Barbossa’s death, but I cannae say I was ready for his corpse to be delivered tae my door.” Her grin was all too knowing, her steps eerily light as she moved around Mikeala. Those dark eyes watching her every step. “To think one of my kin, would come out of hiding tae see me.” She giggled, resting her hip against her wooden table. “A child with tae blood of my blood.”
“You..” Mikeala had to wet her dry lips, feeling herself rooted in place. “You know me?” Tia’s dark mouth curved upward, her lashes low and veiling her dark eyes briefly. “I sense it—-She feels it too, don’t she?”
Yes, she did. There was something about the enigma of a woman behind her, goddess, witch—whatever names she went by—she pulled at something that hummed in Mikeala’s veins. It felt as if she’d found something lost and precious, and yet her instincts were still screaming at her to be cautious. Instincts that have kept her alive still.
Tia’s black gaze looked over Mikeala’s form thoughtfully, taking in her battered clothing and features. “Why bring me Barbossa?” As if she didn’t know—no, this was how she was, Mikeala realized. She wanted to hear it straight out of her own mouth. She swallowed and felt her fist clench then unclench. “To bring him back..”
”Why?”
Mikeala hesitated again, feeling her stomach roil nervously. She lowered her gaze. “Because he was my captain—and should have had a better death then the one he was cheated.” Just as the curse was broken—-he died. She knew, at least now as she thought back on it—Jack had not taken any grim satisfaction in killing his former first mate… However, they’re rivalry was something built upon years of betrayals and battles and simply.. being pirates. If Barbossa and Jack chose to kill each other again afterwards, by all means they could—so long as the fight was honorable between the two men.
“Donnae lie to me child.”
The words were ominous, and Mikaela held her ground as her head jerked up, Tia Dalma—no, Calypso, circled her like a predatory shadow. “I can sense the call of the sea in yer blood.” She grins, bearing her teeth. “It be a song that hum’s in her blood, hm?” Her hands settle on Mikaela’s shoulders, warm and light—yet she feels herself suppressing a disturbing chill that raced down her spine. The hairs on her neck and arms rose when Calypso breathed by her ear, the scent of sea salt and brime dizzying. “Aye, I can sense you be another daughter of tae sea—Kin of my kin an’ blood from long ago.” She moves slowly, until she’s face to face with Mikaela, Calypso’s hands cupping her face.
“But like me, her heart was taken by one who loves the sea an’ woman hm?” There’s a knowing look, a shadow of sorrow that comes and goes as quickly as it came. An understanding that flickered within the depths of her dark eyes. It startled Mikeala, causing her eyes to widen slightly. She felt Calypso’s finger sweep back her hair, toying with one of her thinly woven braids. “You knoa there be a price for this.”
She nodded, swallowing thickly. Mikeala had heard the stories—and as she brought his corpse with her (it hadn’t felt right, seeing him unmoving and without life—she kept him covered with a blanket out of respect). Her heart had felt heavy since his death, no—Murder by the hands of Jack. She couldn’t re-join the pearl’s crew, didn’t want to even think of it. She’d told him before, I’m your first mate. and had meant it. Never let it be said she wasn’t a woman of her word.
“What be your price, jidda?” She asked, lowering her head. She wasn’t sure what she could give but didn’t care. Calypso raised her chin lightly, holding her gaze just as her hand drifted down, hovering over her chest— “Her heart.” She said, the tip of her fingers skimming over the skin beneath her collarbone.
“All tae love you burned and carried—no more.” Mikeala’s eyes widened. “I.. It’s not like that—I respect him and served as his first—“ Calypso’s hand rose up, stopping her rambling and for a moment Mikaela thought she imagined a look of brief pity on her face. “You cannae deny how yer heart burns and aches no? Like a snake be squeezin’ at your chest when you remember his dying hm?”
Mikeala recoiled, taking a step back. Calypso clicked her tongue, shaking her mess of dark hair. “You heart burns for dis man—what I ask in price is a gift tae my kin. Donnae let her heart be taken by he—Men of the sea betray us all in the end.” In a lower voice, she added, “No matter how she loves deeply. It be their nature.”
“…Can you really do it?” Calypso tilted her head, dark eyes narrowing. “I am a ‘oman of my word. I be need’n his revival, but price must be paid.” Mikeala hesitated, raising her hand for a moment. “…After your done with him though, you let him go free.. Promise?” Her great aunt sighed, nose crinkling before she closed her hand over Mikeala’s. “Word promised child.”
A strange sensation washed over her, something that made her heart both ache and seize as she gasped and fell to her knees. Calypso did not release her hand yet, watching her thoughtfully. “The price is accepted.” She released her and turned, Mikeala grasped her chest. She looked at her chest, seeing a dark tattoo manifest over her heart; a tribal clock. “When the clock finishes its lap, it shall no longer burn for the Captain of the Pearl.”
Mikeala watched in growing horror as Calypso disappeared to the back of the hut, no doubt preparing to revive barbossa. She closed her eyes, keeping her head bowed as she felt her eyes stinging. All the times she’d felt too stubborn to give this feeling a name, this pain and ache that lingered in her chest.
”…I’m… such an idiot.” She lamented, pressing the heel of her palm against her eyes, feeling a tear roll down her cheek. “Sorry.. Hector..” This would be her burden… Her curse in exchange for his freedom.
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