#and also his own first design where he was actually half bat and had striped hair (i made him as a teen but also striped hair fucks idc)

[cacklingphantom]

Renatus, The First Reborn, His Favored Puppet.

Constant cycles of death and rebirth have left him cold, and uncaring. With nothing to lose, and nothing more to gain, Ren sees the world as a dull, troublesome plaything. Threats to his well-being are trivial, making him a perfect puppet to Icarus. There is no worry of losing him as an asset, as he will always rebuild and come back as he has done countless times before.

Being part of a secret experiment, he is unable to interact with many others. Being a favorite of Icarus, however, means he at least has the freedom to roam the lower levels of the castle.

Sleep is a luxury to him, one he indulges in every chance he gets. He can oftentimes be found asleep in random corners and crevices throughout the lower levels of the estate. To the dismay of Donatello, Ren has even been known to fall asleep while bathing on occasion.

[1kook]

some way, some how

jeon jungkook x (f) reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The diner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sojin was... full of surprises.

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

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

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

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

He cut it that same day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Again, silence.

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

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

“And the paint job?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Actually, I was wondering if—“

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

“A lot,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t know what to say.

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

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

But you can’t because he’s not.

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

“I won’t,” Jungkook promises.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The one and only.”

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

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

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

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

Jungkook coughs, and you shake yourself from your thoughts.

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

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

Jungkook nods. “Do you and Tae…?”

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

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

You freeze.

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

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

“So, do you use your hands or a toy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A false one that Jungkook zeroes in on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You know they will.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sojin,” you mumble, and Jimin nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neither of you laugh. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Perfectly okay,” you tell him. 

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My dad has cancer,” Sojin says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You remember it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The groceries in your bag end up in the trash.

—

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

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

You deflate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taehyung snorts. “I totally was.”

—

You hideout for the rest of the week.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate. “Always.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You say nothing.

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

“Since when?” You inquire.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t.

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

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

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

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

When you think he’s done, he’s not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[triplethreatsonic]

Triple Threat Drabble: The Stranger

Here it is, the drabble I said I’d share with you guys! I’ve done a sort of hybrid thing with this where there are one or two images integrated into the text that are basically like comic panels. (think Diary of a Wimpy Kid but hopefully more classy.) So make sure you pay attention to them as you read! 

Also, this is a work in progress. So please don’t judge it too harshly :) 

Hope you guys enjoy this! 

___

Sonic was not a slow eater. He hadn't been one as a child, and at age seventeen he certainly wasn't one now. The hedgehog rarely spent more than a few minutes to inhale his food during lunch period. Today was no different— after making quick work of the cafeteria's lasagna, Sonic had pushed his plate aside and was now settled with his left leg comfortably draped on top of his right, one hand fiddling with his shoelace. 

Across the table from him sat his friend, Knuckles the Echidna. Knuckles, who was one of the slowest eaters Sonic had ever seen, still had half his meal on his tray and was gradually picking away at a small bunch of grapes. "Probably." His eyes stayed on his hands as he smiled. "I don't think it'll be too bad, though; I'm looking forward to the history paper."

Sonic smirked. "I bet you are. I wonder what you'll write about this time. Maybe"—he cocked an eyebrow—"the ancient echidnas?"

"How'd you guess?" Knuckles smile widened as he dropped the now-empty grape stem onto his tray. Then he sighed, stretching his shoulders back. "I doubt the library has any new books on the topic, though. Seriously, they need an upgrade."

“Man, you're telling me. The other day, I—!" Sonic's thought was suddenly cut short.  If you had asked him what he'd just been talking about, he probably couldn't have told you. 

"No way..."

Something, or rather someone, had caught his attention— someone on the opposite side of the cafeteria, who had just sat down at a faraway table perpendicular to Sonic's position. 

It was a male hedgehog— that much was obvious. Looking at him, Sonic could make out his dark jeans, white t-shirt, and thin red-and-black striped flannel with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. The stranger sat, seemingly in silence, listening to a white female bat sitting across from him. 

None of this was what made Sonic stare, however; it was his quills.

Their coloring wasn't necessarily unnatural for a hedgehog, but it was certainly unusual. They were black, the top of each quill traced by a long red stripe. Sonic had never seen anything like them. 

Except that he had-- several times. He'd seen them in his dream. 

"Hey, Sonic! You ok?"

Knuckles words yanked Sonic out of his trance and back into the buzzing world of the lunch room. "Wha—? Oh, sorry man. Heh, guess I kinda zoned out for a second."

"What were you staring at?" Knuckles turned in his seat to scan the room behind him. 

"Nothing!" The word flew out of Sonic's mouth much quicker than he would have liked. He quickly brushed it off with a shrug. "I just remembered something I gotta do before lunch is over. I'd better run—see you later, alright?"

Knuckles looked like he didn't quite believe him. "What do you gotta do?"

Sonic’s face smiled as his brain racked for an answer. "Uh, homework. Never ends, am I right?"

Now it was Knuckles turn to smirk. "Heh, right." He picked up his mini milk carton and took a swig. "Well, good luck. I'll see you in fifth."

"Later, Knux!" Sonic grinned and picked up his tray from the table, keeping his movements casual as he made his way to the garbage cans. Behind his calm exterior, however, Sonic's mind was racing. It was a coincidence. It was a weird coincidence. But that's all it could be, right? Just a really weird, off-putting coincidence that meant nothing. Absolutely nothing at all. 

So why was he so antsy all of a sudden? 

Frankly, Sonic didn't even know why he had left Knuckles in such a hurry with that dumb fib about homework. What was he hoping to do? Was he planning to talk to the Weird-Coincidence Guy? 

Well… it wasn't the worst idea. 

Sonic's eyes flicked upwards from his tray; the black-and-red hedgehog was easy to pick out now that he knew he was there. Sonic's hands moved automatically, scraping his plates as he kept his eyes fixed on the stranger. The white bat across from him finished her sentence, waved, and then left, walking out through the cafeteria's main double doors. The black hedgehog watched her leave, a soda can held tightly in his hands. He barely moved at all.  

Sonic dropped his plate unceremoniously into the designated bin. Now that the idea had entered his mind, he couldn’t shake it: he had to talk to him. As nonchalantly as he could, Sonic began weaving around chairs, backpacks and tables, gradually making his way to the strange hedgehog. 

He was practically on top of him now. Sonic stopped walking, the black hedgehog a mere four feet ahead of him. He was facing away, hands still holding that soda can. Without so much as a second thought, Sonic smiled and said the first, most natural thing that came to his mind: “Hey!” 

What happened next was the last thing Sonic had expected. The black hedgehog turned at his voice, saw him, and froze. His face paled and his eyes went wide. Something like an electric shock seemed to go through him, and the can in his hands crunched.  

Brrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiing! The five-minute bell shouted rudely across the cafeteria, startling them both, and they were drowned in a wave of standing students. The black hedgehog was instantly blocked from view as three hundred teenagers, Human and Animal, began gathering their things and preparing to leave for classes. 

“H-hey, wait a sec!” Sonic tried to see past the masses of knees and elbows, but quickly found that to be useless. He wasn’t one to give up easily, however; in seconds, Sonic had jumped onto the nearest table and was craning his neck to see over the sea of heads. Where could that guy have gone so quickly? Suddenly—there! Sonic barely caught sight of striped flannel as its wearer ducked around the corner of an adjacent hallway.

"Hey, dude, wait up!" Sonic was down in a flash. After shoving his way through the crowd he sprinted into the hall just as his target ran left down another. He called after him. "Yo, black hedgehog!" It became a game of cat and mouse as they chased each other down seemingly countless hallways and past endless classrooms. Sonic was fast on the track—the fastest in the state, in fact— but somehow this guy kept eluding him with all his constant turns. 

Sonic finally whipped right around the ten-billionth corner only to come to an abrupt halt— the hallway ended just twenty feet in front of him. Sonic looked over his shoulder, then back at the dead end. He was positive this was the direction the hedgehog had dodged... so where did he go? 

"Hello? Uh, you down here, man?" Sonic slowly walked forward as his question echoed in the empty hall. "I just wanna talk for a second."

Silence. 

Then out of nowhere a blur of movement slammed into Sonic's chest, smashing him against a line of lockers. Sonic's breath was knocked out of him, and it took him a second to realize what had happened: standing there, with his forearm crushing Sonic’s ribs, was the black hedgehog. His eyes were mere inches away from his own. They were a bight crimson— to Sonic's astonishment, the color he expected them to be— with a ferocious, wild expression in them. There was also the depth of something that Sonic couldn’t quite name. 

"Why are you following me?” he demanded. 

Sonic’s hands flew up like a man held at gunpoint. "Woah, dude! Chill! I'm … I'm sorry!” It was still difficult to breathe. "I'm just… I just wanna… wanna talk!"

They stood there locked in place for a moment, both hedgehogs panting. A minute passed, and gradually something seemed to shift in the black hedgehog's eyes. He glanced downward at the arm that pinned Sonic, then back up at the hedgehog's face. Then he backed a few paces, his hands lowering to his sides. 

Sonic pushed himself off the lockers and rubbed his chest. "Wow, you hit hard! You play football or something?" He gave the guy a smile. "Sorry. I probably really weirded you out back there—I said hi, but then the bell rang and you ran off and—"

"And you chased me." The hedgehog's voice was deeper than Sonic's when he spoke, with a sharp edge to it. The guy looked close to graduating— frankly, with his stern face, he barely looked like he belonged in high school at all. His arms moved to cross in front of his chest. "What do you want?" 

"Uh..." Sonics brain suddenly froze. In that moment he realized that beyond his first hello, he hadn't actually thought of what he wanted to say to this guy. "I… I'm not sure. I just wanted to say hi, I guess." 

"Why?"

"Well, um... aw, shoot, this sounds really stupid now." Sonic's smile turned sheepish. "I wanted to talk 'cause… you look kinda familiar?" 

Other than a slight eyebrow raise, the black hedgehog didn’t move. His voice dripped with contempt. "Where on earth would I have met you before?" 

"Heh, funny you should ask." Sonic shoved his thumbs in his pockets. "Uh, how long've you been at the school?"

"Three weeks." 

Sonic did a double take. “Wait— really? Like, it's your first semester? But… you look like a senior." 

"And?" 

"Oh, I dunno... I guess thats just kinda rare, you know? New seniors? I'm a junior, myself." Sonic smiled, but the black hedgehog didn't flinch. He cleared his throat. "Well, anyway… You really do look super familiar to me. It's kinda freaky, actually."

The dark hedgehog's eyes narrowed. "And why would you say that?"

Sonic wasn't sure what reaction he'd been waiting for— maybe a good laugh, if anything— but it certainly wasn't what the black hedgehog was doing now. His shoulders hitched, fingers digging into his forearms. Even more surprising was his face; it had that same haunted look Sonic had glimpsed before— back in the cafeteria, right when the stranger had first seen him. 

And then all at once it was gone, replaced by the earlier scowl. "That's ridiculous.” 

Sonic’s hand dropped down from where it had been resting behind his head. “Um… yeah. Yeah, it is.”

They stood there in a heavy silence. The black hedgehog drummed his fingers against his arm. “Is that all?”  

Sonic stared back at him. “… Yes.” 

The other hedgehog looked at Sonic a moment longer, annoyed expression unchanging. Then with a ‘hmph’, he turned away abruptly, walking back towards the hallway through which they had come. 

Sonic watched him leave. He felt the urge to say something, but nothing came to mind. Well, that was weird. What had he been expecting though, really? The whole reason for him talking to the guy was weird to begin with. It was funny; though Sonic was usually very confident around strangers, this whole conversation— which he himself had initiated— had made even him uncomfortable. 

Sonic began to turn the in the opposite direction to head to his own class— only find himself staring at the dead-end hallway again. Whoops. There was only one other way to go. 

The black hedgehog’s ear perked as footsteps echoed behind him, and he turned his head sharply. Sonic’s hands shot back up in the air again upon being caught. “Sorry, ignore me—my class is this way too.” 

The stranger glared at Sonic a moment, then turned back and kept walking. Sonic waited a second, allowing for some space, then continued on behind. 

There was almost no other sound as the two of them made their way down the hall. Sonic slipped his thumbs back into his pockets, trying not to look at the stranger. Eventually, he let his eyes drift to the back of the hedgehog’s head. What was up with the guy, anyway? He sure was a tough nut to crack— tougher than even Knuckles had been when they’d first met, and that was saying something. This guy refused to be warmed up in any way, shape, or form. Sonic had nothing to work with here, and it left him at a loss. 

Eventually Sonic couldn’t stand the silence anymore. “Hey,” he ventured, “sorry I got on your nerves back there."

If the other hedgehog heard him, he gave no sign of it.

A few more seconds passed. Sonic took a breath. "I probably shouldn’t have bothered you. It was kinda silly to say anything at all, to be honest. I probably wouldn’t’ve, either, if I’d only had the dream once. It's just weird, you know? ‘Cause I don’t even know you, but this guy that looks exactly like you is in the dream every single time, along with that other hedgehog—”  

“I don’t care!” 

Instantly, the black hedgehog was in Sonic’s face. Teeth bared, fangs showing, a threatening finger nearly stabbed Sonic in the eye. “I’m going to say this once, Blue Hedgehog. I don’t care about your dreams. I don’t care if I was in it, or that white hedgehog, or you, or anybody! And I’m tired of hearing about it.” 

They stood there a moment, with Sonic for once in his life standing perfectly still. The black hedgehog’s finger lowered as he growled. “Are we clear?” 

With the finger out of his face, Sonic slowly straightened. Ok, talking more was definitely not going to take any tension out of the air. He opened his mouth to give a simple reply. 

Then something clicked. “Wait... How did you know the hedgehog was white?”

The scowl on the stranger’s face faded slightly, the air seeming to still. “What?” he breathed. 

“The other hedgehog,” said Sonic, "I never mentioned what color his fur was.” Now he leaned forward, studying the stranger. He met his eyes. "How did you know it was white?”

The stranger gave no response. The blood had slowly drained from his face, leaving it ghostly pale as his mouth hung open wordlessly. 

Then suddenly his face clenched, and a hand jerked out to slap Sonic away. “Enough!” 

He dashed off. It took Sonic a second to recover from the unexpected shove. “Wha- Hey, dude, wait!" He sprinted around the corner ahead. "Where are you going—?!"

The black hedgehog was gone. 

Sonic stood staring blankly down the empty hallway.  What the heck? Thoughts swirled around his brain—half of them were questions, and the other half were answers that didn’t make sense. He leaned his left arm against the rough brick wall next to him. 

Had “white” simply been a guess? A stab in the dark? Was that the color everybody thought of when they pictured the average hedgehog? 

Or did he know, too?

Another blaring brrrring! from the bell startled Sonic out of his thoughts. “Aw, shoot.” He was late for chemistry. He took off at a sprint. 

A few minutes later, Sonic would come rushing through his classroom door. He wouldn’t remember that he needed to grab his textbook from his locker until he was already inside. No excuse would be given when when his teacher scolded him, declaring solemnly that being the school’s track star did not justify him arriving late to class. Later, when everyone was paired up for experiments, Tails would ask him where he’d been; cutting it close was normal for Sonic, but arriving seven minutes after the bell was not. Sonic would hesitate a moment. Then he’d give his best friend a smile, ruffling the fur on his head. “It’s not really important,” he’d say, “no worries. Let’s just get these reactions done.” 

Hours later, in dark of his bedroom, Sonic would still be thinking about that black hedgehog. 

[laila-rk]

Taika Waititi’s Jojo Rabbit

I will admit I went into Jojo Rabbit with reluctance and in an already bad mood. I was planning on watching Little Women which I was very excited for but didn't make it in time, so it kind of felt like 'settling' for another film already. When the film began I was annoyed when the blatant rip-off Moonrise Kingdom aesthetic that I had expected from the trailer came to fruition. I don't personally see why a director would desire to rip off another's aesthetic and how they could be so conspicuous about it, but hey ho. So the entire first forty minutes or so I will admit I spent sitting in my seat silently pissed off and trying to talk myself out of my terrible mood. The film did nothing to assist me in this task. I ended up actually having to tell myself to try to see the film from a child's perspective, because frankly I don't see how anyone beyond the age of about ten could really take much from this film. Other cinema goers didn't seem to have the same issue — seemingly every person in the theatre was in hysterics at all the really badly written, juvenile script/ jokes. I despair.

Where to begin really? Rebel Wilson manages to be unfunny throughout, with every line seeming to be delivered with too much surrounding silence as if in anticipation of audience laughter. It felt like Pitch Perfect and all the jokes fell flat. The lead boy (Roman Griffin Davis) is strangely angered throughout, without any real impetus. I don't assign any blame to the twelve year old actor for this, rather the script and character writing was really badly done. Sam Rockwell, though one of the better performers, seems to be a tacked on character with no real point beyond serving as a vague father-figure to fatherless Jojo and as a precautionary "not all Nazis were bad people" add on. Scarlett Johansson I frankly felt sorry for throughout.

Jojo is a young member of the Hitler Youth. He is sufficiently indoctrinated but is small and cowardly. Some older Nazi boys tell him to kill a rabbit and when he can't do it, they call him rabbit as a joke. But Jojo confides in his imaginary friend, Hitler, who tells him it's okay because he would have his people be comprised of all 'animals' so to speak — the courage of a panther, the cunning of a fox, something something... you know, because Hitler was well into diversity. None of this matters though, because where the film is set up initially at the Hitler Youth training camp, and we feel as though we are in for a long slog of trying not to detect Wes Anderson's Fort Lebanon in this camp, the film bizarrely turns into another film when it randomly changes its mind and decides to set itself largely in the boy's home. It feels very much like the opening is from another movie and just stitched on the beginning.

Actually, despite the Wes-rip off, I would've preferred it to remain at Not-Camp-Ivanhoe, because what it turns into is Boy in the Striped Pyjamas meets Tracy Beaker. It has all the cheap tactlessness of a BBC film, including cheap looking costumes and predictable cinematography. There's a bit where Johansson tells Jojo (her son) that love feels like butterflies and soon after we get a camera pan down to Jojo's stomach where, yes, cgi butterflies reside. It felt like that bit where you go inside Tracy Beaker's head and see her 'famous' mum stepping out of a limo. It was embarrassing to watch.

Jojo falls in love with a Jewish girl, which feels like an unnecessary thread of the story, partly because it seems to be assuming the audience is also in the Hitler Youth and needs teaching that Jewish people do not in fact have horns and hang upside down like bats — actual line from the film— and partly because the girl is established as a stand-in for Jojo's dead sister. So that's weird.

Scarlett Johansson has to try to carry a scene off in which she impersonates Jojo's father who is said to be fighting in the war and has been absent for two years, therefore suspected as a deserter. Johansson awkwardly smears her face with ash from the fireplace and with this 'beard', begins to mimic Jojo's dad in such a way as to paint him as some kind of angry drunk, or rather just a stereotype of a 40s German father? We aren't sure. There's a lot of horrible awkward dancing in this scene and throughout, because Jojo's mum equates dancing to freedom and... well, that's about as profound as the film manages to get. The scene is really hard to watch and it just feels like the camera remains too long on an actress who isn't totally convinced of her role, and who could blame her really when the script is so embarrassingly flimsy?

The Hitler character, played by director Taika Waititi, has his moments. The performance is flamboyant and self-deprecating which does make for the occasional funny moment, in particular a part where he feigns confusion at public perception of himself as a 'psycho' as if he has no idea why this would be. The problem is that this should have been woven throughout and actually the film strays from this character too much in favour of following the Jewish girl who Jojo's mother has been hiding. This doesn't work because for some unknown reason, the girl is made to be frankly a smug brat. I'm not sure if this was in some kind of attempt to imbue the character with some form of liberation (she immediately grabs the Nazi boy and physically shoves him around a lot). It doesn't really come across as liberated though, if anything it makes it hard to empathise with the character as she behaves like a robot. She just comes across as an unbearable character who seems to have literally zero gratitude for the person who has been hiding and feeding her. That's not to say the Jewish character doesn't have EVERYTHING to be angry about, but human nature does dictate that one might be a little more emotionally nuanced and experience small moments of joy when everything else is bad. Instead, Elsa is perpetually angry to the point of essentially bullying the German child who is far younger and smaller than herself. This might make sense if she was even awarded some kind of emotional liberation at the end beyond her predictable escape when the war ends, but all she is permitted to do is another stupid dance on the doorstep (signifying Jojo's mother's idea of freedom, not even her own).

The film's redeeming quality is actually the performance by Archi Yates as Yorki, unfortunately perpetually referred to as 'the fat kid', as if that's a funny enough line to repeat throughout. His performance is naive (the actor is eleven years old), but it works because his timing is great and he delivers the lines as if he is familiar with the intended style of comedy; he actually delivers his lines with wit, where all the adult actors around him fail. He also seems to speak with a British accent where everyone else flits between a half baked German accent and their own real accent, which in between seems to fall into some kind of Welsh accent. Just do the German accent properly or don't bother with it! A scene in which Stephen Merchant arrives as Gestapo begins with a lot of 'Heil Hitlers' and ends with Merchant seeming to forget what he's doing and falling into his usual west country voice.

I don't have much else to write about this film because it's not enjoyable to bang on about the bad qualities of a movie and I do think there is something to be said for the director/writer's bravery in making a film about Hitler as a boy's imaginary friend.

I think the film would've been better off with less of a comedy vibe and by following in real earnest the experience of a member of the Hitler Youth; what his psyche would've been. Unfortunately the film is too babyish for any adult (Dukes at Komedia crowd notwithstanding), which means it is really only funny to kids, and I'm not sure what it does for a child without real prior knowledge of Hitler's Germany. The termination of the boy's friendship with Adolf manifests in his literally kicking Adolf out the window and telling him to 'fuck off', but actually this doesn't do much to negate the established charm/ charisma of the Hitler character. You don't ever really get that sense of revenge or satisfaction at Hitler's expense, if anything you feel a bit sorry for the neurotic clown incarnation of Adolf, who after all is a figment of the boy's imagination. I don't demand any kind of moral lesson from art, but it would seem that this film would be obligated to contain one, and yet it remains dubious as to what it even is... are we allowed to like this Hitler character? Are we even happy when he's gone? Wasn't he the only funny thing about the film?

The movie ends with the Rainer Maria Rilke quote “Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror. / Just keep going. No feeling is final.” Which left me with the final reflection that indeed I did have to let this film happen to me and was rewarded with the beauty of the final credits rolling and the liberating sensation of being able to leave the cinema to go get pizza.

Sadly this film immediately goes to the bottom of my Oscars nomination list (nominated for Best Picture. Ouch!). Interesting to note that Ra Vincent of LOTR/ The Hobbit fame (anyone else watch all those making ofs?) did the production design for this film. At least his name in the credits left me with some feeling of warmth towards it.

[bioticgoddess]

Songbirds and Baby Bats (XI)

Series Summary: Jason Todd returns from the dead and, after the events of Under the Red Hood, he goes from Gotham to Bludhaven in search of himself...and an old friend. But getting your life back is never easy and Black Mask has enlisted the aid of Gotham’s other Crime Families as well as a few ghosts of Batman’s past. He’s coming for the Red Hood and everyone of his allies.

Always fun to play with photo editing when you need a pic off instagram. I don’t own any of the images of Ian Lang/CD828 as Red Hood. None of them. As per usual, save for my OFCs, I own nothing. That said...Welcome to the show and donate to their Season 2 Kickstarter - there are only 7 days left! 

--

PART XI

Jason sat at the workbench with his helmet in hand. It had been designed to take significantly more punishment that the last fight alone had done to it. He had, however, also been derelict in maintaining his gear since sliding back into the void he’d left in the lives of Dick and Amy. Sighing, he plugged the helmet into his laptop. Watching the two pieces of hardware talk to one another, he tapped absentmindedly at the keyboard. At least the problem didn’t seem to lie with the software. That was a small favor,  he had no desire to sit and fix code.

God that could be boring. He’d much rather reinstall a microchip with a set of tweezers and a soldering gun. 

“Hardware. That’s not...so bad,” his voice trailed off as the door to the bed room swung open. Looking up treated him to a view of Amy in an over-sized shirt and running shorts. The former stolen from his duffel bag. “Hey,” he smiled, nodding for her to come over.   

Holding up a hand, she turned the corner into the open kitchen. “Coffee first,” she yawned, nearly tripping over their boots. It had been over a week since the incident at the construction site and they still hadn’t moved those from their place in front of the freezer door. “Shite...balls…feck.” 

Chair scraping across and nearly crashing to the floor, Jason shot up. “You okay,” he called, taking a step towards her. One of her hands was on the counter, the other held up to stop him, she tiptoed around one of his boots - laying on its side like a fallen domino. At least he’d made a fresh pot of coffee when he got up...before dawn. The cabinet clanged open and she nearly dropped one of the mugs as she drew it down from the shelves, cursing again. It was a process and the woman had visible not slept well. When she finally finished the voodoo that was pouring herself a cup of coffee and padded from kitchen to workbench, Jason asked, “How late did you end up working on this stuff?”

Their gear, armor and base layers aside, was spread out on the workbench. That included his firearms, neatly stored in cases of different materials that spilled onto the floor and formed a row against the wall.  “Too bloody late,” she yawned over the rim of her mug. It was his way of saying he didn’t remember if or when she’d crawled into bed and expressing concern for her that tugged at the back of his mind.

“The discharge mechanism diagnostic is done by the way,” he thumbed at her dismantled gauntlets and heard her mutter something that sounded like an okay before dragging the rolling chair along behind her. He watched her spin the chair around and straddle it. Her arms were propped against the back, coffee in hand. Dropping back in his own chair, Jason sat facing her. “I looked over our intel. All that data we followed to Black Mask and then...Dustan.”

“Aye?”

“It was bait. Meant to get us away from doing what we do best: Cracking heads and...re-purposing the mobs’ shit.”

“Back to basics then?”

“You know it.”

“Destroy the drugs, turn in the guns, and so on.”

“The drugs I can get behind. Was wanting to keep the weapons though.”

“You’re mad love.”

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair and throwing his arms behind his head, nearly knocking his laptop off the table in the process. “AH!...You know you want to rob ‘em blind to!” A broad, sparkling smile beamed back at her. It had a disarming quality that worked on everyone except his adoptive family, and Barbara Gordon.

“Dia ár sábháil**,” she muttered, taking a swing from the black and gray striped mug in her hands. The eye roll she gave him included the fully involved head bob for effect. Jason laughed almost despite himself. A half second later, coffee warming the length of her throat, Amy continued, “Someone has to make sure you, ya know, stay alive.”

His face clouded over for a split second. He knew she was teasing, knew it was meant to be in jest, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t kicking himself for getting killed all those years ago in for the first place. Then it was gone. The Broadway smile that had faltered snapped back into place, his blue eyes looked like clear sapphires, and all that remained was a puzzled look on Amy’s face. “Jaybird,” she coaxed, a hand on his knee, “Love, where did you go?”

“Hm?”

“It was quick but you...you weren’t here were ye?”

“I’ll tell you about it later, okay?”

“Okay…” She’d resolved not to press when that kind of dark shadow fell over him. There’d been a professor in her gen-ed psychology class who’d made a point of impressing upon the students that pressuring someone with obvious PTSD or similar potential issues would likely end with them being not only shut down but also out. That was the last thing she wanted. Jason was back, provided he stuck around (in every way that implied) then it meant he’d inevitably open up. She patted his knee as he turned his attention back to the readouts from his helmet.  “Why not tell me what’s going on with that?”

 He’d started clicking through the screens, visibly furrowing his brow on the third one. “Um...well, some of the circuits on my HUD aren’t working right.” Flipping the red egg over in his lap, Jason’s fingers glided along its seams until he found the internal release. A pop echoed in the room and it separated into three loosely conjoined parts: a front and back of the helmet itself and the inner lining used to both cushion it and protect the internal electronics. “Looks like,” he followed a trio of wires that traveled along the jawline to the lenses and hung his head. “I found it.”

 Withdrawing his hand from the cluster of red and black, a section of frayed wire and snapped plastics filled his palm. “That, is part of the the circuit and wiring harness that actually lets me see.” Hanging his head he tapped the computer keyboard with his other hand, the ocular lenses lighting up. “It gives me biometric feedback like what the old man has in his cowl, not as complex as his gear but more so than your mask or Dick’s. Unlike you guys, if this is broken, I’m pretty much walking around in the dark with sunglasses on. This,” he set the circuit and wires down, tapping the brow of his helmet, “Thing has no peripheral vision, what so ever.”

 “Where did you get it,” she’d scooted forward and was leaning in to look at the small circuit boards and frayed wired as best she could against the chair back. “These are…”

Chuckling to himself, Jason answered proudly, “I broke into the R&D facility for Wayne Tech’s Korean offices. Knocked out the security, whole deal. It was fun.”

“Dunno about you,” her eyes were locked on the one-inch squared chunk of circuit board in her hand. Turning it over, the crack and separated or corroded components painfully visible. “But this is beyond my ability to fix.” That knowledge sat like a knot in both their stomachs. “And breaking into the main offices of Wayne Enterprises is-”

“Next to impossible. I know.”

“It’s the only place that’s actually meant to keep us out.”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun.” He had no point of reference to promote this kind of confidence. “Hack a few consoles, override the computers -”

She laughed, sparing a glance from the circuit assembly, “I repeat: You’re mad.”

--

“How did I let you talk me into this,” Jason could hear Wren paced back and forth on her  perch. She’d taken up position  the roof of the office high rise across from Wayne Tower. Her voice was edged with concern and knew that, despite her walking a rut into the roof, her eyes were him. He’d given her his sniper scope for just that purpose. When he didn’t answer, preoccupied with the roof access console, the Irish woman's’ voice chirped in his ear again, “You sure that patch job will hold for this?”

Chuckling across their comms he offered, “ Yes it will; also this is fun and you’re an excellent partner.”

“Well, provided we don’t get caught. How are you planning to thank your partner?” 

“Dinner,” he promised, overriding the pass codes finally. The lock popped open with a soft click. “Steak, I’ll buy and cook.” Pulling the door open, he drew a pre-cut strip of duct tape across the bolt to prevent it re-engaging. He also put a thin piece of rubber in both to top and bottom corners so it would appear closed on cameras, all while remaining ajar a few millimeters.

“I’m sorry, you cook now? When did this happen!?” There was level of incredulity mixed with the disbelief in her words, he was amused. It wasn’t unwarranted. Pre-Lazarus pit bath, he’d been unable to make more than general breakfast items, spaghetti, and a few simple meals. Chili was the most complicated thing he’d dabbled in at the time. Post-Lazarus pit, he’d had to figure out how to prep a wider array of meals in order to survive.

Trailing back over the awful black and red calendar that served as the last several years Jason pinpointed at least the location where it started. “Somewhere on the Mediterranean coast. Not sure what country though,” he whispered, splicing and cutting the wires on one of the door leading from the roof access stairs to the executive suite level. “Memory serves,” he grumbled, changing the subject,“There are some spares in the Old Man’s office”

He could hear Wren sputtering on the other ends of their communication channel. Clearly the news he’d learned to cook had her spinning. “And it’s edible?”

“Yup,” he chuckled, the locking mechanism chiming as it disengaged. A gentle twist of the knob, another strip of duct tape across the lock to prevent it from catching. Once more he left it partially ajar, unlocked and closed softly enough the weight didn’t force it closed. Ahead of him stretched the corridor that included two the offices of the CEO, CFO, and COO as well as Bruce Wayne’s own. The spotty telemetry helping him skip past and around the security cameras and sensors.

Getting into the offices was the easy part, especially Bruce’s own. Never failed to surprise him that the old man didn’t take greater precautions. And, as the grand wooden doors swung open, he realized why. “Fuck.”

“Jay?”

“There’s enough security in this room that it makes Luthor’s look like an open bar,” he grumbled, getting the fractured scan of the room. It was big and equipped with everything from retinal to pressure scans. “Also I can make baklava now too.”

She giggled and he grinned, tip toeing past a number or laser sensors. “A nice dinner date will be perfect then.”

“Glad someone’s going to appreciate my cooking,” he had three safes to choose from. One, he remembered, held spare electronics for the Bat family gear. Another held a handful of emergency weapons and grappling guns. The third, behind the portrait of Thomas and Martha Wayne held company relevant documents and information.  “You got any ideas Irish? The telemetry scanners are just functional enough that I -”

“The one behind the portrait of Bruce with Dick and Alfred,” she cut him off, still watching from across the the alleyway. “You’re cute when you puzzle over something.”

He chuckled, “Of course you know. Alright, let’s hope the part I need is there.” Carefully he crossed to the large portrait, the urge to take out his combat knife was strong but he knew slashing the damn thing was going to get them caught. Gingerly he slid it aside, turning so his back held the stupidly heavy portrait and it’s ostentatious gold painted frame back. It gave him access to the digital lock staring at him from the wall. “Oh shit.”

“Everything alright?”

Nervously he answered her, uncomfortably admitting this lock was beyond him, “He...uh...yea...no. I can’t open this.”

“Beg pardon?”

“I have seen this lock once and it nearly got me caught and killed.” He laughed nervously frustrated, “The short version: I tried to get into the Batcave when I first got back through the vehicle access. That was, um...a mistake.”

“Story for later. You want me to come over?”

“Hahah,” he reached into his jacket, pulling out a small explosive device, “No, I have another plan. Just, um, just be ready to run like hell Little Bird.” He affixed it to the locking mechanism keypad, tapping a four digit code into its interface and shifting to grip the portrait he added, “On my mark.” He hefted the painting off the wall, it was longer than he was tall and nearly sent all six-feet of him falling backwards with its unwieldy size. Leave it to Bruce to have something overwhelming in such a prominent place. He set it on the opposite wall, near a painting of Wayne Tower. Go figure.

Wren didn’t have a real opportunity to respond before Jason dropped on the far side of Bruce’s giant desk. No sense playing fast and loose with this little gadget. His need for the circuit board out weight even the shrapnel of a desire to reconcile with Bruce. The old man would get over it. Not like what was about to happen could really be considered unexpected. After all, this was how he did things. “Mark,” he hissed over comms, squeezing the small detonation switch tucked in his left hand.

The following explosion was enough that Wren saw it from her point across the way, peering in the window with the sniper scope. The average person on the street wouldn’t see or hear it. That didn’t mean, however, that the security personnel half a dozen floors down were unaware or that Batman hadn’t been alerted to the intrusion. “Shite Jay,” she cursed.

“Get going.”

“Not til you leave that building.”

Shaking his head, Jason stalked back to the now open safe. Putting his legs into it, he yanked the heavy steel open. There were two shelves: One holding waterproof strong boxes with microchips in it, the second held a full utility belt for a Robin. Oh yea, that was coming too. He slung it over his head and let the belt drape awkwardly around his chest before tucking the two small boxes into the pockets of his jacket.

It took him a minute to get situated. “Okay, and out the window,” he answered the silent panic coming from Amy across the way. “Please tell me you’re moving,” getting the windows of the executive suite open was the easiest part of their night.

Grappling hook engaged, it dragged him across the street and onto the next roof a heart beat before the security personnel opened the door. At least there’d be nothing in the safe to out their dysfunctional little family. They couldn’t have that happen. “We’ve got incoming,” she warned.

“Well that was quick.”

--

They’d narrowly gotten away from Downtown Gotham and Batman without issue. There was no guarantee Jason hadn’t, towards the end, been caught on camera but it was something he’d deal with later. At the moment, getting them the rest of the way back to Bludhaven was his top priority.  He could fix his helmet later, now that he had the parts. Right now, he had a promise to keep. Sitting in the passenger seat, whole body leaning against the door and head lolling forward as she slept, was the one person in the family he knew he had to make amends with.

Alfred would forgive him. The man probably already had. Dick had basically done the same, surprisingly. But Grayson had always had the over-protective brother complex. As for Bruce? That was still no loss.

He changed lanes, left hand on the wheel while his right came to rest on Amy’s thigh. Their haul and their masks were in a backpack in the seat behind them. Not for the first or last time he smiled and whispered, “It’s good to be back.”

 ----

Dia ár sábháil. = Lit “God Save us” But it could work of “Good Lord” and “Oh my God!” Source:  https://inirish.bitesize.irish/3649

[uldren-sov]

ignite

PART 1 / 2

Hey this was super fun to start thinking about and getting into. It’s a real formative time for Eva. Thanks so much for the collab @damarlegacy and for allowing me to borrow Rax for these!

The first time he heard of Coruscant was when his brother Talcyn came home from bombing it in the war. A chaotic skyscape of sun, smog, and skyscrapers, is what he had said with a confident sneer that Evacios could still see in his mind’s eye. Now standing in the spaceport looking over the same sky that his brother had flown under the day of the Sacking, he could finally say with full confidence he agreed. Squinting in the sunlight, the sky was a rich gradient of golds and burned coppers, due no doubt to the pollution in the atmosphere. It was probably majestic to others, but being able to see over the gaudy Senate plaza full of a skyline of construction cranes and glass, and Evacios couldn’t help but bristle with disdain.

“First time in the capital, ey?” a man said, sidling up beside him like it was his every right to do so. People of the Republic generally had a base familiarity in their social interactions - which is no doubt why he thought he could just come up and talk to him without any preamble. He swallowed his pride and put on a smile.

“Yeah! Yeah, it’s quite a view,” he heard himself say. No trace of any accent beyond the smallest lilt of a Mantellian one borne of Intelligence speech classes and at least a hundred hours of internet holovids. Best to get in practice where he could, he had to do everything in this accent for the foreseeable future, and a quick glance to his compatriot saw not even a batted eyelash from the older man. “Can’t believe I made it.”

“Enjoy it, kid,” he said. The stranger was about to pull away before a second thought nearly visibly flashed over his weathered face. “And hey, welcome! To the beating heart of the Republic.” A friendly smile, a clap on his back, and he waited until Evacios nodded in acknowledgement.

“Thanks a lot. I intend to.”

A tagged taxi drive to an affordable hotel where he was going to have to stay for a few days while he searched for an apartment to live. After taking the time to thoroughly look over the room for any sign of surveillance he set his singular bag onto the side. The hotel had the basic amenities to it, as did the room, but he was a long way away from the luxury of home that was to be sure. Not that it really mattered, the job came worse and any suburban landscape - even Coruscant - was better than the places he’s bunkered down in. It was almost a bit liberating, to not have to worry about the need of esteem and fashion. He passed the hotel’s bar and restaurant and started walking to the office. He’d see how he felt about being free of the burden of society in a week.

He had a name, a street address, and an office number on a singular email a couple of weeks back. The building itself was fairly nondescript, the bottom was a normal office building, receptionist and all. The young man pointed the way towards the stairs - sorry the elevator was out of service - and Evacios started making the climb all the way up to the seventh floor. He caught the surveillance cameras out of the corner of his eye, careful to keep his head down and watch his steps up instead of back at the camera as he finally got to the seventh floor and pushed open the door.

The floor itself only had a singular hallway, five doors on each side with a mailbox for each, enough space for just some modest small business office spaces. Nothing special and that was on purpose. He decided against looking winded from the trek up, the SIS had his “file” and knew his history.

Kestas Canis, born in a small town on Ruan, stationed on Ord Mantell, career soldier, and made Sergeant. Was a candidate for Special Forces but instead of going into military, was transferred into SIS instead. Good marksmanship scores, smart soldier, with a little something-something that made him a good candidate for the SIS. It was enough to give him this chance - give Intelligence this chance. Now he just had not not fuck it up especially with the constant reminder of his deception right front and center. At least to him.

For show he checked the ink on his hand where he wrote down the office number and then wiped his hands together to get rid of the ink. Using the door panel next to it, the gray metal door slid open and he stepped through. Inside was a small waiting room, a small seating area, a desk with a young man behind it. He was clean, fresh faced, nice looking enough to catch someone’s interest but fairly forgettable. Three doors, a side office to the right, another to the left, and one directly behind the desk of the secretary. There was also a very, surprisingly nice, aquarium with some tropical fish along one wall, coupled with a table with holopads along it. It was deceptively normal, beyond the fact that he was given this address in the first place, his gut told him this place was inherently off. The young man looked up from his holodisplay expectedly at him with a piercing brown gaze. This was definitely the right place.

“Sorry, am I in the right place?” he asked. The secretary looked a little nonplussed as he looked to his computer once, then back up.

“Sergeant Canis?” he said and Evacios nodded, making a note to straighten out his navy sports jacket as an “afterthought” before straightening to present himself. “Through this door,” he said without any preamble, gesturing to the door behind him.

“Thank you, thank you so much,” he offered. The receptionist widened his eyes and tightened his lips in recognition of it but clearly had no time to regard him any further. There was just the smallest of second glances. Maybe he was also trained in some sort of personnel training, or maybe he really was just an annoyed receptionist. Either way, he moved past the young man and opened one door into a small entryway with another door just a couple of feet past. A red light was by this second door until the first door closed. It flashed green and he pressed the corresponding touchpad button.

Then things made sense.

Inside was a much larger room than he expected, a corner desk on one side with a full on archive behind it and an impressive holodisplay for the desk’s built in interface. On the other side of the far wall was a full floor-to-ceiling grid of displays, all of them showing a different scene, all of them showing active feeds. He could quickly identify more than a few in Nar Shadda, some probably around either Coruscant and Corellia - but it was impossible to ignore the person in the room any longer than that. Sitting on the edge of his own desk, a man who maybe had half a foot and forty pounds on him sat straight backed, arms and ankles crossed. Dressed in military khakis wearing Major stripes on him with a flash of defiant blue in his tawny brown hair.

He read the write up on Major Cyrus Rax on the way over, all that Intelligence had on the official stuff he had done, things he committed, things he admitted to, and rumored skirmishes with the Empire as well as official ones. But he hit into the wall of his hard blue gaze and small scowl and stopped dead. He couldn’t help but smile, unbidden. Showtime.

“You better be Kestas,” he said gruffly.

“Yes, sir,” he said, and straightened like he was going to stand to attention. He saw the pained look and rub of his chin from Rax.

“Y’know, calling me ‘sir’ anywhere except this room would get us both fuckin’ shot. So don’t. I’m your handler, not a CO,” he got to his feet. Maybe he was unconscious of the fact that he was an imposing figure or maybe he did keep that in his back pocket, Evacios wasn’t sure what to make of him quite yet. “We good?”

“Yes, s-” he purposefully caught himself and tucked his hands into his pocket, taking the chance to take another scan of the room. “-So what do I call you, then?”

“Rax. Major. Papi. Whichever.”

“Well if ‘sir’ is suspicious, wouln’t ‘major’ be too? Some random sergeant getting orders from a random major?” he laughed a little nervously but then quickly shut up and showed his hands sheepishly. “I’ll, um, I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Shut up, some people have nicknames. But, let me tell you something. Real heart-to-heart,” he actually turned from him at this point, walking around his desk, Evacios noted his favored side. There was a rumor with a fight that came to mind but he’d have to look into it later. In the meantime the burnmarks on the side of his neck were oddly purposeful - letters? High Sith was always hard to recognize out of context. “Try-outs are slow, boring, and belong on the Huttball field. When you come into my fucking office, I need to not be commanding you, I need someone to take initiative. Can you take initiative Kes or are we both standing around with our dicks in our hands wasting each other's time?”

“What’s the mission, Rax?” he said simply, lips lifted just a touch into a smile. The bluster either how he just was or designed to put the fear of command in him. Either way, Rax leaned over his desk and gave a contemplative nod.

“Don’t be smug about it,” he handed over a datapad from a drawer. “Addition to that?” He sank a digit against the screen and pushed it a bit, Evacios took the hint and he gathered it up before it got to the edge.  “I’m gonna need you to slice the surveillance of the neighborhood, make sure I know about it first if you make a mess. You understand.”

“Absolutely, anything else?” Evacios asked.

“Yeah, if you don’t do it? We can find you a nice analytical post on Quesh. Now get out, thanks, my soap opera’s about to start,” he stood back and fell back into his seat. Resting his hands laced on his stomach, he propped his feet up on his desk as, from behind, a title of some novella came up on the desk’s display. He tipped the datapad toward Rax and tucked a hand into his denim pants as he turned and started to read it. “And give it to Jones in the front when you’re done.”

He gave a two finger salute over his shoulder, edged around a Nautolan woman with an armful of similar datapads that he quickly looked over. Aqua skin, white markings, lithe, and maybe looking a little pissed. He offered a smile and nothing more as he waited for the lights to change from red to green on this quick series of doors. By the time he was out the second door he could confidently hand it back to “Jones”, the receptionist, and simply continue walking.

Harmless, maybe a bit of a shit, perhaps stepping into shoes too big for his feet just yet, he hoped he conveyed that image well enough so far. He could stand to develop the character more later as time moved on and he got “used” to spy work. Until then, harmless he hoped he remained.

Well, seems even here the Intelligence agencies policed their own. He just didn’t know he’d get into messing with Coruscant Security so soon.