#no need to explain the rotting thing also we all know every so often i start rotting

[the-acid-pear]

I really expressed this before but it's kinda sad I didn't find DSaF back when my sibling issues were at their peak bc I'd have been like straight up Branded if I met this guy who is a middle child and is rotting and has a strained relationship with his older brother and used to have to take care of his little sister who on top of everything is a redhead and 6 years old and is extremely guilty but also can have an awful relationship with her like my ass wouldn't have survived brother. My ass would have never came back.

[writing-for-life]

Nuance in (The Sandman) Fandom

Send me asks about everything Sandman-related!

I thought a lot over the past few days, partly prompted by discourse on here, partly due to a couple of “interesting” asks and messages I received (the type you don’t answer). I *think* they might have been prompted by engaging in discourse on topics like anti-blackness/racism, misogyny/sexism, TERF characters etc in The Sandman.

Fandoms are always getting super sensitive if someone shines a critical lens on their favourite works, authors and characters. So to make this clear (in case it isn’t already obvious from my brain-rot blog):

I love The Sandman. I love Neil Gaiman. I have an extremely soft spot for Dream (and Desire btw, who deserves a lot more character analysis than just being summed up as “villainous, sexy bitch”. One day, perhaps ;)).

I can read The Sandman and just get lost in the story, even after decades and many rereads. 

But I can also view it through a critical lens—these things aren’t mutually exclusive.

Not critical enough or too critical?

As fans, we can get trapped in certain thinking patterns, like:

“My blorbo can do no wrong”-syndrome 

“Characters with flaws are inherently problematic and imply authorial endorsement of those actions” 

“Characterisation and problematic subtext are one and the same” (aka overanalysing and looking for problems where there are none is the death of every story, but failing to see problematic patterns where they are clearly visible is a problem, too).

Don't say anything bad about my favourite character

I think this doesn’t need much further exploration. It’s not my personal way of looking at stories through permanently rose-tinted glasses (I always feel it stalls my experience, but my experience is not everyone else's). Some people prefer that type of escapism, and I’m good with that (although the downside is of course that by not willing to engage with issues, we can unwillingly perpetuate them). Live and let live, ship and let sail. But please, for the love of god: Don’t insult people via their inboxes or messages just because their opinions and preferences don’t align with yours. I’m not going to sugarcoat it or phrase it “nicely”: It’s infantile (and a form of bullying btw), end of.

How can you even like a character who's so horrible? And that author must be equally horrible, too

We have to separate flawed characters, even those who are written to be really problematic, from real-life endorsement of these actions. 

Author, narrator and character are three fundamentally different things, and don’t overlap as much as some people seem to think. 

We can write vile, despicable characters to make a point (for me, Thessaly was always a prime example for this, and I explained why here). We probably hate them as we write them. I don’t know what else to say, but this facet of writing seems to get more and more lost on people, and it’s a worry. Crying for sanitised characterisation is one step away from censorship. We explore what is problematic about people and humanity through story. That’s how we process and learn. It’s nothing new, but it becomes impossible if we can’t write flawed and even disgusting characters. 

Face value…

Since I’m mostly in The Sandman fandom, I often read that its ending is hopeless, and that’s supposedly the entire message. 

It is agonisingly sad, yes. But is it truly hopeless? I personally see it as quite the opposite, but of course that’s my opinion, coloured by my life experiences.

I also get that show-only fans often haven’t read the comics, or at least not the whole arc. And as such, their outlook from what they’ve seen so far (and choose to focus on) has to be different by default. I also understand that many people are quite new to the comics, even if they have read them in their entirety. I’ve sat with them for 30 years, and I still find new things on every reread (and I read it more times than anyone should 🙈), and I still don’t feel like I’ve understood it all. Perhaps because I still haven’t fully understood myself (and it’s unlikely I ever will). If there’s one thing The Sandman isn’t, it’s one-dimensional and easy to grasp in its whole depth.

I just wrote a ginormous meta on it, if you’re interested, it’s here:

Subtext, (not so) glorious subtext

This is where it gets complicated:

We shouldn’t mix up characterisation and story subtext. Overanalysing every line to death will always make us find something that’s “problematic”, when it really isn’t in the wider context of the story.

Zooming in is NOT always a good thing. Sometimes, we actually need to zoom out. 

But subtext *can be* (accidentally) problematic. Even in stories we love. And none of this negates what I previously wrote.

Stories have real-life implications of sorts, and we need to be able to talk about it. That’s where those slightly flabbergasting, hostile inbox messages come in, and I want to expand on that "topic of contention" a bit:

Neil himself confirmed that the Endless basically warp reality, and that this is why, after Dream’s failed relationship with Nada, many black women in his vicinity suffer terrible fates (Ruby and Carla in particular). And that this spell is only broken when he dies, and that it is the reason why Gwen doesn’t suffer the same fate. And said Gwen then gets used as a plot device to basically absolve Hob (who canonically really is a problematic character, whether show-only fans like it or not) from his slaver past. Once again, very clearly: No one is making this up. Neil confirmed it (for the comics, and that was over 20 years ago. It remains to be seen if his stance has changed as we move into that arc in the TV show).

I don't think it is correct to imply that Dream as a character is racist (I've read that, too) because he logically can’t be. He holds *all* the collective unconscious. He is also, strictly speaking, not white. He is everything and nothing, and he shows up in many different ethnicities throughout the whole arc, depending on who looks at him. But Neil played with a subtext here (reality warping due to a bad relationship which then affects everyone with similar physical traits) that will read very differently to a black person than it reads to a white person, and we have to understand why that is an *extremely* slippery slope.

Plus, we are supposed to see Hob, who *was* a racist at some point (you can’t not be if you’re a slave-trader—it’s impossible by default) as redeemed. And yes, he *does* regret deeply, good for him (and if I were saying this aloud, you would hear the sarcasm in my voice, because it is indeed all about him. We are to sympathise/empathise with him and his character growth while there isn’t much mention of the people he maltreated). But also: it was a black woman who basically forgave him (with dialogue that personally makes me cringe). And that black woman who offers forgiveness is not truly a black woman—she is a character written by a white man. And as much as author and character are not the same (see above), there is an inherent sensitivity in that power imbalance that we can't brush under the carpet.

I don’t think Neil is racist. Probably quite the opposite, and I can even see that his intentions were good from a storytelling point of view. BUT intention and impact are two fundamentally different things, and telling the story this way (comic version) betrays blindspots only white people have. Just like women have blindspots when they tell stories about men, and men have blindspots when they tell stories about women (and there are a few of those in The Sandman, too). And and and…

As storytellers, we can’t always speak from lived experience. It’s impossible. And that also means we occasionally make mistakes that look bad in hindsight, even if our intentions were good.

I guess the proof is in the pudding: What do we do when people who *have* that lived experience tell us it looks bad? If they inform us why it is hurtful, plays into old stereotypes etc?

Are we willing to listen and yield (both are the foundations of allyship btw), or are we insisting that our viewpoint as someone *without* lived experience is right? That lived experience extends to all lived experiences (sex/gender, sexual orientation, age...), and from all we’ve heard from Neil so far, it seems important to him to rewrite what he sees differently today. Whether they’ll always get it right for the show—we’ll see. At the moment, it looks a lot better than in the comics, and certain issues are already being handled with a lot more sensitivity, but a few problems remain.

Pushing back on criticism that comes from people with lived experience is problematic—I’d encourage us to think about what it looks like if a white majority in the fandom is basically saying that the opinions of POC are essentially “overreactions” (and yes, that happened).

It’s complicated. The Sandman was written in a different time, and I think we have to distinguish between things that weren’t really problematic at the time but have aged poorly (again, Thessaly springs to mind, and I have lived experience as a queer person during that time, so I can see it in context while at the same time acknowledging that I would make changes to bring it to the present day), and things that were always a problem due to blindspots. They were a problem in 1990, and if they don’t get changed, they are still a problem today.

This fandom is generally so much more open and nicer than others I know. But that doesn’t mean it’s infallible, because it’s full of humans. 

Nuance is sorely needed, in both story interpretation and interaction between said humans.

[fismoll7secinv]

15 questions, 15 people:

I was tagged by dear @a-very-fond-farewell 💚I hope you get your lobster sanctuary! 💚

-

1. are you named after anyone?

nope

2. when was the last time you cried?

I don't know, I don't really cry

3. do you have kids?

never

4. do you use sarcasm a lot?

yeah, quite casually in everyday life, but I try to tone it down

5. what’s the first thing you notice about people?

I'm bad with faces, I might not recognise someone who's new to me after interacting with them every day for 2 weeks (based on a true story) xdd so what I notice at first is the overall vibe they present, which is a combination of their posture and body language, clothes and accessories, facial expressions etc. This doesn't tell absolutely accurately who they are, but it shows how they want to be perceived mixed with some unconscious elements they might not notice themselves, which is interesting to me

6. what’s your eye color?

eh idk, people say they're blue when I'm in a blue pool, green when I'm among greenery, grey when it's a bit dark. I guess they're a subtle mixture that looks like nothing until there's something external that brings out one of the colors. it's a bit annoying tbh, so I usually just say grey

7. scary movies or happy endings?

i love horror, very high on my list of fav genres, but I also love happy endings, just not necessarily in horrors. In media other than horror I need HE or I feel down. So i'd say: both

8. any special talents?

I've had a music talent since I was little, couldn't understand how other kids didn't know how to play the flute or keep the rhythm. I've also heard various ppl say that I somehow know how to arrange things to be aesthetically pleasing, but I could never explain how to do it, it just looks better a certain way. A bit for drawing, considering how fast I improved compared to some other people, but I haven't pursued it farther than sketching. Sport comes pretty smoothly to me and my body, I've always been "the athletic girl"

I may sound like i'm bragging but i try to be objective for my own self. After all "talent" means nothing and is just bitterly wasted if you're not practising, so for me it can be more of a shameful thing that I let rot rather than something to be proud of. It's also so useless when teaching others, because you don't know how to explain shit when you do it intuitively, which tripped me a lot of times while trying to teach someone. Very annoying and sometimes isolating in a sense that you just vibe with yourself instead of sharing the experience with others

9. where are you born?

in a hospital

10. what are your hobbies?

reading, writing, taking care of plants, pen & paper rpgs, collecting weird trinkets and paintings, drawing, horror movies, detective stories, listening to podcasts

11. do you have any pets?

we have a dog but I moved out of my family home recently and the doggo stayed there, I still visit often and walk him, but it doesn't feel like he's really mine anymore :(

12. what sports do you/have you played?

I did gymnastics and horse-riding for a few years as a kid, used to jog in middle/high school, I also go on a trip to the mountains at least once a year to hike bc I'm obsessed with it. Recently I like to do yoga and fitness to bring my body to its limit and stretch all the pains that keep accumulating. I almost didn't move from my desk for over a year some time ago because i was too busy with uni, work and a few other big things, and it ended up in a neck injury that escalated to a few months of rehab. Now I move a lot so those nightmarish pain and several contusions don't repeat

13. how tall are you?

taller than most women and many guys

14. favourite subject in school?

all languages, math, biology

15. dream job?

neuroscientist, astronaut or pilot of small planes

-

I have no idea who did this already, feel free to ignore as always. Tagging @prommethium @miyakuli @still-gathering-roses @carmine-sunlight @wikipedie

[blackberriebrambles]

The thing that's fun about the Vees is that they're all just horrible people. Like, genuine scum-of-the-earth evil. They feed off of each other's terribleness (and idiocy) and it's just such a recipe for disaster.

Like, everyone knows that Valentino deserves fire and brimstone and everything in-between. He's a predator, he's abusive, he's violent - that is all very evident onscreen.

But Vox and Velvette are bad too! They're all toxic as fuck! It's why they all get along so well!

Vox, especially - so often he's made out to be this guy who got caught up in the wrong crowd (and to each their own! You don't have to agree with my interpretation - that's part of the fun of it!). But, as far as I see it - the man is obsessive, manipulative, unstable, and he does not care who gets hurt so long as he gets his way. He volunteers the "lowest earners" as cannon fodder for Valentino's temper tantrum, for fuck's sake. His whole thing with Alastor, as funny as it is - HUGE red flags, there. This is not a good person.

Velvette - we don't know much about her history, but we do see her onscreen as impulsive, brazen, unapologetic, and bloodthirsty. She has a very "I do what I want, fuck you" attitude, which in and of itself is not necessarily evil, but combined with her involvement with Vox and Valentino - it spells trouble. I'm excited to see more of her next season.

And I mean, the show is set in hell, and these are Overlords. It's kind of a given that they're not gonna be saints. But every so often I see a take that seems to try to soften the sharp edges so to speak, and I just. Yeah, sure. They're people - that means they're complicated and complex. They can hurt, and they can also be hurt, and sometimes it's fun to explore that. But also, I think it's really fun to let them be evil and explore that, too.

A lot of people seem to be afraid to talk about or explore toxic/abusive/morally abhorrent characters. They seem to feel the need to either justify/explain away the bad things, remove them, or very explicitly state that "Character does bad things and so I hate everything about them and also anyone who likes anything about them deserves to rot in hell" (hyperbole here, kids). It's okay to write about characters doing bad things. It doesn't hurt anyone, and it doesn't mean that you approve of what they're doing. Also, it's okay to explore characters that are morally despicable and their complexity. Evil characters aren't always evil all the time. Bad people have feelings, emotions, likes, dislikes, passions, and hobbies. Bad people can be hurt and suffer and be likable. Exploring this in fiction is not bad.

I guess the point I'm trying to make here, in a roundabout way, is write whatever the fuck you want. It doesn't hurt anyone, and if they don't like it, they don't have to read it. They're fictional characters. Go crazy.

[lovetogether]

In defense of, or “who’s afraid of aeomorphs pooltoys and T F”: notes (you could say) on the fetish community.

Ever since we were young, about tween age, we’ve been deeply fascinated by the online fetish community. Not bdsm or any of that though, we were much more drawn to the unnatural, the unobtainable, whatever you may call it (insane?). We had first encountered all this through classic vore, we’ve since grown a muted feeling towards vore, almost as if we had been oversaturated with the stuff, it’s nothing to us. Nonetheless the stuff fascinated us a kid, we’d google search and tab to images constantly, memorizing every photo that came up first, noting specific artists, learning about sub cultures, what have you. From there we just kept on discovering new things. inflation was big of course, TF especially caught our eye. TF meaning Transformation Fetish, this art left us completely entranced. We wanted to know all the intricacies, all the reasons to make what we now saw on our screen, the reason one may - as you know - get off to this? Sexual desire was foreign to us, it’s always been. It feels detached from meaning to us almost, a scrambled up mess of a concept we’d rather examine from a true analysis way than in a mocking or disgusted way. We’re not disgusted by it, we had used to be ace sex repulsed but we think this was a side effect of viewing so much sexual content, to have to overlap into our actual real life upset us to no end, it was meant to be secret. We also didn’t like being desired, actual sexual acts confused us and didn’t interest us, somebody coming on to us felt like a breach of trust, we of course quickly learned we were ace. Our sexuality was ours and ours alone, only we understood ourself if even a little. Our journey through online spaces molded us, we grew completely dissociated from any other form of sexual activity. We were only interested in the unreal, because with it came so deep fascination, something tangible we could explain to ourself. TF was wish fulfillment, an idealized self if only to, feel good, and that made sense. It goes without saying as an even younger child we read animorphs and ended up deeply affected by the detailed transformation scenes written out, but that’s neither here nor there. With the phrase furry comes an assumption that one enjoys this ridiculous fetish content, we understand why, we’re in the community and in no way agree with labeling a whole group, but fetish is undeniably an important facet of this group. TF, vore, inflation, macro, micro, objectum, it was all part of this. Aeromorphs are a type of furry, anthropomorphic planes, most of the worlds introduction to these furries was through fetish art, people often gawk and instantly assume it’s fetish when they see it, I don’t blame them. Cause well, it often is. With sexuality and fetishes comes this underlining idea of impurity or “breaking the rules”, like it’s unjust, taboo in an almost evil manner, we hate this too! Fetish is not to be assumed of as inherently evil, people freak out when they discover a creator has a fetish, or have this gag reflex to any idea of the sort, this is bad. People say don’t equate everything to sex but the truth is the act of rejecting libido is in of itself a rejection of humanity. It’s sad to us an expression of passion is seen as something which needs to be behind lock and key. Of course there’s actual concerns, like grooming, but one does not equate to the other, and there’s grooming in almost every community, it’s a wide spread rot which does not come from somewhere specific (and we think this scares people, but it’s the only way to combat it). Lately we’ve enjoyed pooltoys, the easy going look and an ability to just “let go”, it’s nice. We think the added fact to all this that we’re ace and do not apply a complete sexual lens to our interests may put some at ease but don’t get us twisted, we’d want only respect even if that wasn’t the case, for us and all in these communities. Fetish is deeply rooted, it’s been around longer than some would even think, traces everywhere, this voyeuristic desire. We think we have what’s best described as a post modern look on fetish art,

[protags-fic-blog]

hi!! omg I love how you write for the amnesia boys, fan content is so scarce. I was wondering if you had any hcs on what each of their “ideal type” or “ideal s/o” would be? aside from mc

this is such a brain rot topic for me, and I’m so happy I’ve got a request!! i've got a bit of second/third person switching but we are rolling with it bc I’m too sick to think hard about it

———

Amnesia Memories - Ideal S/O

Shin

such a sucker for childhood friends. chance raises by a lot if you're friends already

definitely likes people who don't judge, especially because of what happened with his dad and such

could go for either sensitive or rebellious people

enjoys being able to protect you every so often, but also wants someone who can hold their ground

probably in to ride or die type people, but he doesn't want them to change their entire philosophy based on what he wants

Toma

level headed people are people he naturally gravitates to because of his irrational side

loves being a protector, even for the smallest things. it's not that he would want someone weak, just that he wants someone who understands that he wants to keep you safe

likes people who take academics decently serious, or someone who likes to learn

the person he loves is his best friend. you guys do everything together, even if it's not an official date.

Kent

he's a little dogmatic, so he would probably like pragmatic people like ikki who see the world in a lens different than him.

he thinks book smarts are very cool but street smarts ultimately win him over (think taking the shortest route on a map vs taking all the hidden side roads to avoid traffic)

likes independent people. he can take care of himself, but when someone he likes can take care of themselves *well*, that makes a big difference

for him, opposites attract is actually true!! probably had a big mental crisis because it is shown that similarities are part of the basis of attraction, and you respond that the world works in mysterious ways

Ikki

'my hot witch wife' 'me doing whatever she wants'

loves people who set him straight. he wants someone who isn't a doormat

all of the guys love people who don't change to get them to like them, but ikki in particular loves it. he's not against change, but after seeing so many women change entire personalities to date him, he thinks that being stalwart and having a concrete identity is so hot of you

probably likes introverts too. to me, ikki seems like an introvert, so someone who enjoys a night in would be really nice. (i can explain more if y'all don't see ikki as an introvert)

Ukyo

loves quiet people. not people who don't speak, or can't speak their mind, but people who can enjoy silence

probably is drawn to other artists (writers, sketchers, painters, sculptors, etc) or people who can appreciate beauty

already a very worldly person, so he wants someone with similar life experience. doesn't mean they need to be world travelers, but people who have experienced and enjoyed other cultures, or someone who won't shy away from trying new things

if you're a fan of his and aren't shy about talking about his photography, he's head over heels. especially if you know what you're talking about

[maranull]

MARAAAA!

cookie for you: 🍪🍪

For reasons which totally aren't fic related (don't trust me I'm a liar), could we have some hcs on what Malenia, Miq, and Loretta are like with children?

(Ik loretta has no ingame character so if its hard then you can leave her 👍👍)

���👋

BOOMBOOMBIM!!

Thank you for the cookie!

YUM!

We don't like liars in this house, I'm getting the bonk hammer 🔨🔨

~

Malenia:

Malenia adores kids. They remind her of Miq when he was younger and she was free to dot on him.

She'd love to play with them, like doing spins, throwing them in the air, tickling and playing peek-a-boo if they are babies.

BUT!

She doesn't go close to any kids she doesn't know if their parents trust her.

Mostly she's scared of the Rot somehow effecting the kiddos, so she only approaches if the parent/s invite her close.

If she is, she likes ruffling their hair.

Talking with kids, she always sits down to be as close to their eye level, and always treats them with as much respect as she does Miq and takes any word they say seriously.

If any kiddo challenges her to a sword fight with sticks (which many Haligtree-born kids do) she'll lose 100% of the time. (she's only undefeated when battling people using actual weapons)

Miquella:

When he was still living in Leyndell, Miq didn't actually like kids. They reminded him a lot of how most people saw him, and it was one of the few things that angered him.

He grew a bit fond of them as he build the city in the Haligtree.

He still kinda avoids them, mainly because most of them think he is their age and try to befriend him. Sometimes he just doesn't have the energy to explain that he's actually centuries old and he just looks like them.

What he often does though, is read to many. Sometimes, he'll notice a parent needing a break, at which point he'll arrange a reading session for the kid that drives said parent mad.

He loves how their eyes shine in wonder at things that are now mundane to him, like dragons and giants.

In the end, even if he doesn't always enjoy his time with kids, a good amount of his efforts in creating the Haligtree are for them to have a future outside of the Golden Order's constraints.

Loretta:

She acts like kids are the biggest pain in the world.

Then does her absolute best to help in whatever they need, while mumbling "kids these days" to keep up appearances

She fails btw, everyone and their mother knows Loretta is very fond of kids.

She's more of the "let them get hurt, that's how they'll learn" type of adult.

Having said that, she will do all she can for that "hurt" to be as painless and fleeting as possible. Like, a kid might want to ride a horse much bigger than it can. She'll let it and let it slide off as well, but she'll place her hands right where the kiddo falls, softening the fall and preventing any actual damage.

Also every kid in the Haligtree learned how to curse from her.

~

We know Loretta is protective and loyal, so I used that as a base for her. And also a bit of the characterization I'm stealing (hehe, get it?) from Stolen 👍

Hope you like them and they are useful for those non fic related purposes <3

(￣︶￣)/

[decompose1]

Hey so, I have a question about Amanita if you're okay with answering! I wantex to ask, how do other objects (besides Crt and Amanita's family I'm assuming) react to aer strange diet consiting of rotting organisms? Does the average stranger/passerby/acquaintance usually react with disgust? discomfort? Do people usually try to atleast be polite about their negative perceptions? More subtle? How many-

(cont) Times have people been more openly rude about it? Did Amanita get shamed or harassed over it very often? I'm just curious to know more about that! <:)

OKAY SO!! this is a sorta fun topic, because it has a lot to do with my ideas about object specbio/culture/etc, particularly with fungi, which i've thought about SO much.

so!! consumption of rot is pretty normal for fungi- essential, even! here's a like. short diagram

Fungi are specialized for consuming decaying material, and not doing so would be sort of difficult for them!

So it would be expected.... if you . really knew anything ABOUT fungi. Which is not necessarily that widespread- for a reason!

Fungi tend to be rarer in regular cities- they often live in clusters, in their own sort of dedicated towns. There are two primary reasons for this, mostly boiling down to their mycelium networks + their tendency to totally wreck buildings with fungus/mold/humidity/etc.

So they're kind of!! Not an object you see every day in a regular city, although they definitely CAN and do live there sometimes, most just. prefer not to for the listed reasons (and i'll explain further in another post but i'm already rambling a bit more than i need to here, hehehe).

... Anyways! Ama moved out to a big city, which is where ae met CRT + others. And- yeah, most people thought it was kinda weird and gross. Ae IS eating straight-up mold and rot, and a lot of other objects just aren't used to/aware of the dietary preferences/the science of fungi, so. It's. A little shocking sometimes!! I implied this a little in the comic where CRT meets Flowerbox (here).

CRT was already aware of Ama's needs/prefs because they studied mycology! So this wasn't surprising to them, just fascinating, since it had to do with their own passion for biology/mycology/etc.

Honey Fungus + Amanita's family are also fungi, and came from the same town, so they all have the same diet :o)

I thiiiink. Uranium Glass would've quietly found it really strange, and might've mentioned, like, "that's spoiled, you know", but would probably just stop questioning it if ae confirmed that was the intention. Whatever, Ama can eat whatever weird stuff ae wants, it doesn't affect him so he doesn't care that much. Flowerbox, as you see, thinks it's kinda weird and gross, but changed his mind a little when CRT talked about it. Still weird, but CRT's gesture was sweet. Skirt might've been the most understanding? Her general attitude is "oh, well, we all have our things, i'm not about to go judging! That's what makes you special!". Skirt is very nice.

Milk was probably the hardest sell on this because she's just generally kind of stubborn and opinionated. She's the most likely to have complained any, but she, as Ama's closest friend in the city (Honey being the closest from aer hometown), would've warmed up and eventually kind of. Quietly given aer dishes she "didn't eat in time". Admittedly, she probably made it for aer and didn't wanna say so. Ama knew this. Milk is just tough.

Anyways! Other than the Defined Characters, i think most public reactions were either quiet disgust or people just politely attempting to ignore the weird thing happening in public. Probably some occasional mocking/questions/etc, but honestly, Amanita likely never quite understood why this was so weird to anyone. It's just what fungi do, naturally!

sorry this is Entirely Too Long! i've got to make a more organized post about my fungus object thoughts

[alyosiuscreightonward]

Dear Diary. Just the other day I had learned that someone I know is in a state of mental distress. I’m not sure what there support system looks like but I also know that there are several people who just want the drama and they then go at it.

It sucks that you are going through this but it really does irritate me to know that trying to parse something down to the molecular level isn’t going to help the situation and also doesn’t offer up solutions nor provides tools to help. MF dealing with shit is definitely harder than putting together something from fucking IKEA. 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️

Yeah I can go back to a place that hurts me and explain the trauma.

Yeah I can go to YouTube and find a video for whatever you are feeling but that’s not gonna solve anything.

Yeah I can then go to the interwebs and find a quote for you and it still won’t solve the anything.

Yeah I also know that I sometimes don’t take the advice that I dish out.

In my world, I allow myself to have these feelings and I allow myself to vomit my feelings. In my world, I believe that shit happens and yes, I’ll hold onto them until I realize that these great big pieces of emotional luggage needs to be checked through never to be seen again.

At the job, I’m usually in a foul mood because of the people I have to interact with because I don’t have time for them nor am I able to deal with their manufactured drama. I don’t want to give them my time or effort. Even the ones who should know better are still attempting to stir the pot meanwhile they’re trying to make it look like they don’t have a ladle or a paint brush and a 55 gallon drum of black paint.

I come here to say shit all the while knowing that lots of people who are on this app don’t read nor comment on my verbal diarrhea. Bitch please. I do read their posts and I don’t comment either. It’s very much like TikTok or Instagram, scroll on by.

Regardless of whether or not I deal with shit or not is my prerogative. The only thing I can do is fight. I fight with all my demons and my feelings and eventually I do come through.

People blather on about how they can communicate and all that rot but I also know that they have their problems and yeah pretty much.

I’m able to say that I have been homeless junkie prostitute and thief and a Shitkicker and I wanted someone to pay attention to me as playwright Arthur Miller scribed the following sentence in “Death of a Salesman,” ‘Attention must be paid.’”

Exactly. The character Willie Loman had been overlooked for most of his life and in his career but now that he’s passed…we’ve got to stop and see that he is and was a human being who existed.

I’ve got my own feelings about this but I also know that some folks don’t care if I have feelings about this that or third. Then I do know that there are some folks who actually care about me because I’ve touched their lives.

I’m going to tell you one story about me and the guilt I often feel.

I honestly forgot exactly how old I was at the time of this incident but I know that I had not moved to NYC yet. My family had a dog and her name was Tabitha. She was a former show dog and was just so beautiful and so sweet. Also she was skittish about herky jerky movements. That night I was given the task to take Tabs on a walk and she’d do her business. I walked down the street, I took a right turn and we walked to the parking lot behind my house. Since it had snowed the night before we were left with a huge pile of snow at the opposite end of the parking lot. We ran like fools. We both had run up the snowbank. I lost my footing and I slipped and fell. I screamed out and Tabs got freaked and bolted away from me. I immediately chased after her. Tabs was a Saluki and she ran like the wind. She would easily outrun Usain Bolt. The next thing I knew, a car appeared out of nowhere and she got hit. I freaked the fuck out and bellowed every single swear word I could ever muster at the occupants of the car. Tabs ran back to the house and I found her on the front porch. I began to wail as to bring my family onto the porch. I screamed and cried and the whole house shook. Eventually my mom and, I think, my brother and sister came out. I told them what happened and as I was explaining it all to them, the occupants of the car were standing on the porch watching me lose my shit. Tabs had a broken leg. She came through it all with flying colors. She wasn’t afraid of me. I thought she’d just avoid me because of the trauma she went through. I’m not sure what happened after that but I did come to learn that my mom had made the decision to to rehome Tabs. From what I remember, Tabitha lived out her life on a 25 acre farm in Vermont.

That was one of many things slash trauma I went through with the dogs and cats in my life.

There are many other things that I’ve experienced in my life that have made me feel numb. When I was with my brother over the weekend, I nonchalantly said that I no longer cry. He said something about how I should cry etc but I ignored him. He has no clue what I’ve been through and why I rarely cry.

Recently my husband’s dog, CoCo passed away. It hurt me deeply but I still love that little fucker to no end. It’s now just myself and my Harry.

I have my moments but I absolutely refuse to let the world know that I’m in pain. I put on the blinders and march forward. Though in my private life, I let the emotions run amok. Then the next morning, I’m able to deal with this shit and I don’t allow it to absolutely consume me anymore.

The one thing I do want you to know is that, you should find an outlet to vomit your feelings and not give permission to control you. Like I said before, I don’t always listen to me and do the right thing or the correct thing. There’s no wrong or right way but if there’s one thing that you can take away from this, it’s a learning experience that will help you build a stairway to paradise. I may never get there but I will fight for me and that’s all that matters.

Lastly, I will leave you with some lyrics to a song that hits my heart and was playing on my iPod when I drove up to vets office with CoCo in my lap and before I said goodbye.

“Well, I wasted years,/All the useless, bitter tears./If I'd known I'd have stopped it at the start./I knew life was long,/And I knew life could go wrong,/But I never knew my life would break my heart./'Cause I made, and I'm gonna lie in my bed of roses./Bed of roses I believed my life would be./Bed of roses I believed my life would be.” written by Bonnie Hayes & sung by Bette Midler.

Rage. Feel some kind of way. Scream. Break things. You do you. Fuck them all.

Then there’s this piece of sage advice that I adhere to on the daily, “Pour yourself a drink (or beverage of choice), put on some lipstick and pull yourself together,” so said Elizabeth Taylor.

😶

[sailing-through-hawkins]

tagged by @xenon-demon @rogueddie and @a-little-unsteddie (≧∇≦)ﾉ

this took me SO LONG to compile because not only did i change my username to be like three times longer but i also added a challenge for myself to use songs i associate with steve (and tumblr deleted my drafts. three times.)

i've also added why i associate them with steve because some of these options may seem odd and also because i love going off about my steve thoughts (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

edit: FORGOT TO ADD THE RULES -

put a song for each letter in your url! either in a reblog or new post!

S: Solar Powered by Fulton Lee, Jacob Sigman

(i imagine a very light-hearted rollerskating session with Steve and Max during summer time, both pulling fancy moves while the rest of the UD gang cheer them on)

A: A Little Bit Happy by TALK

(this gives me Steve talking about how Robin sees him, major self-esteem issues, etc etc)

I: I Was Made For Lovin' You by KISS

(this is the one KISS song i put on loop, and like to me, steve feeling like he was made to love just hits different)

L: Lovely (cover) by Lauren Babic

(i ADORE this artist and this particular cover makes me think about separated stobin in the russian bunker, major angst, 5k with a happy ending -)

I: I'm on Fire by Bruce Springsteen

(i started listening to springsteen after reading this fic that i highly recommend, and this song just got me, it felt so appropriate for steve)

N: Not Alright by Pink Sweat$

(very big steve coping all alone after he deals with the latest UD incident vibe)

G: Golden Hour by JVKE

(i will always promote sun-and-gold-coded steve, always)

T: The One That Got Away by Katy Perry

(okay this one's a little tricky, but after i started this blog i listened to this song and was struck by a steve-centric animatic concept that would take way too long to explain but the Story is There)

H: Her Song by Kaylee Federmann

(same situation as above but this animatic would be a college au ft. Steve's serial dating)

R: Rot by DBMK

(SUCH A STEVE SONG IF YOU LIKE STEVE BEING GUILTY/INSECURE OVER HIS OLD REPUTATION THIS IS THE THEME YOU NEED)

O: On and On by Djo

(i'll be honest this one is purely because it's by Djo but it's a good vibe!!)

U: Untouched by The Veronicas

(OKAY THIS ONE this one gets me it gives me pining and touch-starved friends-with-benefits steddie, the chorus goes so hard for me)

G: Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy by Queen

(it's by queen, it's called lover boy, need i say much more?)

H: Holding Out for a Hero by Adam Lambert

(i was struggling and went through charlie's wonderful playlist and was like oh OF COURSE how did i miss that?? but i went for this version because it really does remind me of steve back in the junkyard)

H: Here's to Being Single by Lost Stars

(ooooh this one!!! it makes me think of stobin lamenting over not being able to get their romantic relationships just right together)

A: Ashes (cover) by Lauren Babic

(again UGH this artist sings so beautifully and this cover really makes me think of the desolation spreading after season 4 and the whole UD gang doing their best to push it back)

W: When the Going Gets Tough, The Tough Get Going by Billy Ocean

(i imagine steve thinking about leaving hawkins often and listening to this song while he drops Dustin off just so he can daydream about it)

K: Kids In America by Kim Wilde

(more of a general UD gang vibe, like the camera cuts to each of them prepping for battle and then fighting against every UD creature that comes their way together)

I: (I Just) Died in Your Arms by Cutting Crew

(once again provided by charlie's playlist after i was struggling to find a good match, like hello self-sacrificial steve anyone)

N: Night Vision by Drives the Common Man

(i loooove the chorus in this, and it also makes me think of monster!steve which we know is what i'm all about)

S: Stranger Things by Survival Kit, IAMCOUCHSURF

(yeah this one was purely for the title, also more monster vibes ( •̀ ω •́ )✧)

i'm too tired to tag anyone so if you see this and wanna try it out yourself, consider this me tagging you!!

[moon-lv3r]

for our love to bloom °.*ೃ✧˚.

🦋 category: fluff, flower shop au, no jujutsu au, aged up characters

🦋 characters: miwa, mechamaru (referred as muta), mai, momo, todo, kamo

🦋 summary: in which a high school reunion brought two people back for a second shot at sparking a relationship

🦋 warnings: tooth rotting romance, why do i keep writing those??

🦋 notes: they deserved better so i wrote this. i love flowers

Miwa Kasumi was a humble woman, her small flower shop was all she needed. All she led was a peaceful life. Her flower shop was a way for her to help her family ease their monetary issues ever since she gave up on her chance of going to a University.

She was going to do all she could to help out.

The doorbell rang as the door opened to reveal another customer of the day. It was Zen’in Mai, one of her friends from the highschool she went to. Mai and her older twin sister, Maki, were famous throughout their school back then.

“Mai!” Miwa cheerfully greeted her dear friend.

The way Mai was dressed, it was obvious that she was out on a date. The black, tight, sleeveless dress was perfect on her.

“Just thought I’d stop by,” smiled Mai as she placed her crossed arms on the counter, bending down as she talked to Miwa. “How’s business?”

“You know, nothing much really,” Miwa replied.

“Maki and I can always help you promote,” Mai suggested. “Or we could ask Nishimiya to help. Just not Kamo, and especially Todo. I am so glad I don’t see them anymore.”

Miwa let out a soft laughter as she heard Mai’s complaints, “I still remember when you used to complain about every single boy in our class.”

Mai could only sigh in return as memories of their former class came flooding back into her mind. “They are all weird,” Mai replied. “Muta, Todo, Kamo, all weird. I still don’t know why I went with Todo to that Takada meeting…”

“But you did say the meeting wasn’t so bad,” Miwa added. Mai responded with a small nod as Miwa technically wasn’t lying. Mai did find the meeting to be better than what she had initially thought.

“But it is also Todo we’re talking about,” Mai explained.

Miwa laughed as Mai continued to rant about things that happened throughout their school years. Those days seemed so… distant yet also so close. It felt like it had never ever been over. Sometimes it just felt as though they were once again teenagers chatting their lives away while eating, not having to worry about putting a roof over their heads. Sometimes it just seemed so unbelievable that this was what adulthood had introduced them to. Worries after worries.

But Miwa braced those struggles. She was a hard worker. It was important to get through tough times, was it not? She was still helping her own family out, and running her business gave her such a peace of mind. She loved being around her flowers. The beauty of it all seemed to intrigue her to no end. She loved the different meanings each flower had. She loved how different colours represented different things as well. There was just so much to learn.

“Also,” Mai continued. “We’re having a class reunion soon. Nishimiya and I are planning on shopping for dresses, wanna join?”

Miwa smiled and gave her dear friend a small nod. Of course Miwa couldn’t say no. How could she? She enjoyed being with the girls of her former class. They all had a close bond with each other. Miwa often heard Momo and Mai talk smack about the boys in their school, it was almost a daily thing. Suddenly she missed those days where they were teenagers with no worries.

Miwa had missed those old days when they were all so carefree.

Now she had a new worry. Finding the right outfit for their reunion dinner.

She managed to get a dress that she really liked. A knee length blue dress with a thin strap. It was layered really well and seemed to have some volume to it. Both Momo and Mai encouraged Miwa to get her hands on it, so she did.

Now she just had to wait until the day of the reunion to see what everyone was wearing. She was curious about how much they changed. She hadn’t seen most of them ever since graduation. She wondered how Muta Kokichi was doing. They never talked much but she always had her eyes on him. There was something about him that drew her towards him.

It was another normal day at her flower shop. Another day of guiding customers to which flowers they should purchase, talking about the story and meaning behind each and every floral. Every petal was important.

She enjoyed her job. It was simple, just the perfect job for her. She wouldn’t trade it for the world. Being around her flowers and seeing people walking out with joy was enough for the young woman. She was still making enough to support herself and her family, that was all she needed.

Miwa Kasumi was a simple girl. That was all that she was.

A simple girl craves simple things, never will she expect much. Low expectations that get fulfilled easily, sounds like such a dream, doesn’t it?

The night of the reunion approached, Miwa felt nervousness building up in her body as she put on the dress. People she hasn’t seen in ages… she was afraid. How different would everyone be? Who would remain the same?

Those thoughts seemed to scare her. Maybe it was the answers that freaked her out. Who would change for the better and who would change for the worse?

Todo seemed to remain the same. He was still as buff as ever, his scar remained equally noticeable as it was in the past.

Kamo had a different hairstyle. It was chopped a lot shorter, the complete opposite of what he used to have.

Muta Kokichi however, looked different. His hair was let down now, no longer in the high ponytail it used to be in. He had glasses as well. He was unrecognisable from his school days.

“Of course Todo never changed,” Mai scoffed. “Pineapple head. Bet he is still into that idol.”

Miwa seemed to only have her attention on Muta. He seemed so different. What caused his change?

The classmates gathered for a talk. Their respective careers, romantic life, anything that they could talk about. Muta seemed interested in Miwa’s new life as a florist.

Mai and Todo seemed to somewhat clash, as usual. Kamo was more talkative than usual, mentioning how he and his mother were moving to a more luxurious home. Kamo worked hard to provide for his mother and to thank her for all that she helped with in his life.

Momo talked about potentially moving overseas, to America. That was where her father was from and she might be moving back due to family reasons. Mai was talking about how she met a new girl recently, which started up a fight with Todo because he did not believe Mai’s claims of a girl prettier than his idol existing.

It seems as though some things just remained the same. As the reunion ended, everyone parted ways. Promises to meet up and chat again were made, though none knew when it would be.

“Can I drive you home?” Muta asked, standing shyly beside Miwa.

She gladly nodded and accepted his offer, handing her address over. The ride back home was somewhat quiet. Muta wanted a conversation, but he did not know how to start one.

He ended up asking about her flower business and where it was. Miwa gladly gave the location to him. He said that he would visit, only to realise that he did not have much to do at a flower shop. He did not need flowers.

At least he found out that Miwa was single. That was good enough for him.

He had liked her ever since their school days, but never had the courage to ask her out. Now that the opportunity seemed to have risen, he was thinking about taking it. He had feared rejection. He still does.

He ended up dropping Miwa off without asking her on a date. Stupid.

Utterly stupid.

The chance was right in front of him and he just blew it like that. He didn’t even manage to get her damn number.

What was the point in starting a business and selling various different types of puppets when he can’t even man up and have a normal conversation with the girl he liked?

At least he knew where she worked…

A flower shop.

Don't girls like flowers? Since Miwa worked at one, surely she knew what different flowers symbolise right? With that thought in mind, he drove home and turned on his laptop after showering.

He decided to settle on pink lilies. It allegedly symbolises femininity and admiration. He did admire Miwa, so he felt as though it was the perfect flower for him to use.

It was simple. But from his knowledge, Miwa was a simple person. He can give her the more grand things next time, he just wanted to be let in her heart.

Now he just needed to mentally prepare himself to ask out the woman. The one thing that never changed about him was how he’d never ask her out.

The chances of hearing a no haunted him.

It took him at least two weeks to drive in front of her shop, and another week to muster the courage to enter. He was pathetic wasn’t he?

“Muta?” Miwa greeted, a little surprised by his sudden appearance. “What brings you here?”

Muta rubbed the back of his neck, looking around nervously. “Uh I need a flower… bouquet…”

Miwa giggled, “Who’s the lucky one?” She asked. “What flowers do you need?”

Muta went silent. Awkwardness filled the room as nervousness took over him. Why was he like this? All he had to do was just ask her out. A simple task. One which he had procrastinated for years. He was over complicating things.

Stupid.

Stupid.

Stupid.

“Pink lilies,” Muta managed to mutter.

Miwa gladly got to work as she started making the bouquet. It was either now or never. He had to ask her now.

Yet he had the guts of a paper bag. He just simply could not. He had not realised how lucky he was to be granted an opportunity like this. He would be a genuine moron if he just let it go out the window.

When Miwa handed the bouquet over to Muta, he decided that it was now or never. He was as awkward as hell.

“It’s uh… for you… Miwa,” he uttered, barely maintaining his eye contact.

She was confused at first, before eventually getting the hint. “Are you asking me out?” She asked, a hint of excitement that was almost undetectable in her voice.

Muta could only give her a small nod.

And it was set.

A cafe date. On a weekend. Muta would be picking her up. It was going to be on a Saturday afternoon. He was nervous. He hadn’t expected it to go this well.

When the actual date arrived, Muta did his best to style himself in a normal way. His hair was tied up. A large shirt and long pants, with a nice belt. That should be good enough.

When he drove up to Miwa’s apartment to fetch her. He was greeted by a simple, yet breathtaking sight.

Miwa’s blue hair flowed alongside the wind. Her white dress swayed gracefully among the gentle wind. Her light makeup look paired perfectly with her outfit. She carried with her a small shoulder bag.

It was so simple, he loved it with all his heart.

He did everything that a gentleman should do. Held the door, let her sit, paid for the meal despite her saying not to. He did it all.

They decided to go for a walk. It was a simple stroll recall. The only hard part was trying to hold Miwa’s hand. Their fingers constantly brushed past each other as they walked and made small talk.

Muta could not bring himself to even glance at her. He was too shy. The soft breeze brushed their faces gently. The sunshine resting upon their faces gracefully. It was a peaceful day. Muta’s mind was not peaceful.

“Look at the birds!” Miwa chanted happily as she pointed at some away in a distance.

“Hah… yeah,” Muta responded, looking at what she was pointing at.

Muta decided to take a deep breath. “Miwa…” He began. The smiling girl turned to look at him, making him speechless, once again.

“Look I… I am serious about wanting us to be together… If you know what I mean…” Muta stammered, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as his cheeks heated up.

Miwa nodded, getting the drift. “I’d like the same thing. Let’s take it slow, shall we?”

Muta immediately looked up, his eyes glistening with hope. He had never nodded so quickly in his life before. He was glad that she agreed.

Holding her hand as the date went on. Small steps, one by one. Taking it a day at a time. What could be better than this?

[flamingo-writes]

Fade to Black (part 2) — e.m.

Eddie Munson x Wheeler!Reader (she/her pronouns)

(Prequel)(Part 1)

A/N: I know Henderson!Reader’s fics are very common and popular, but something about Eddie dating the oldest Wheeler is so appealing. I love writing Wheeler!Reader fics samskdkdc I also love this man. This is fluffy I swear. Im gonna keep writing fix it scenarios, to keep coping with that ending 💀 Also, I gave Eddie a tattoo on his ribs.

Title based on the Metallica song by the same name.

Summary: Coming home from college for the spring break, you find yourself tangled in whatever messy situation Mike’s friends are involved now. However, you’re not expecting to find your ex, Eddie Munson, involved in it as well. Things take a bad turn, and in a stupid heroic moment, Eddie ends up terribly wounded, and you’ve got to do something soon, and taking him to the hospital is not a viable option, as he is wanted for murder.

Warnings: vol 2 spoilers, mentions and descriptions of wounds and blood, cursing, mentions of reader having an active sex life,

Genre: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff

Word count: 2.8K

Tag list: @daydreamin1220 @fangirling-4-ever @theeblackbarbiesworld

I love this man, I don’t ever want my Eddie brain rot to end. Pls.

"We need to get him to a hospital" The doctor said.

"No hospitals!" You snapped. "He is gonna get arrested! He was framed and is wanted for murder, but he is innocent!" You yelled.

"We have to take him–"

"No! Proving his innocence will be very fucking hard, and the entire town hates him!" You cried.

"What the hell do you intend to do, then?"

"I don't know! But I'll figure it out. I can improvise here, keep him here for a day or two and then move him and hide him elsewhere" You said.

"Hopper's place! That place is abandoned!" Dustin said.

"We've got a pulse!" One if the paramedics said, turning to look at the doctor.

"I'm trusting you on this, I'm going to let you keep him here, as long as he's stable. If something happens, you take him to a hospital, you hear me?"

You stared into the doctor's eyes, clenching your jaw as tears kept slipping down your cheeks. You nodded hesitantly.

A loud rumbling, followed by a strong earthquake shook the trailer. Dustin freaking out, as the entire paramedics team cursed, but remained glued to Eddie, exchanging terrified looks, but without actually letting go of him. The trailer shook for several seconds, as you cried out Eddie’s name, his safety first thing on your mind rather than your own. Your heart beating nervously in your head as you

And when finally the earthquake stopped, the two paramedics exchanged looks and confused questions before they both snapped back and continued attending Eddie.

The doctor gave instructions as you guided them to Eddie's room, managing to improvise a decent set up. His mattress on the floor, next to the closet doors, hanging from the handle the IV therapy, you watched anxiously from a corner as Eddie lied unconscious, IV going into the back of his hand, and one of the paramedics was giving him meds through the plastic IV tube.

Dustin explained everything that had happened to the paramedics, as they every so often looked at Dustin incredulous and asked questions. Only believing him because of the gate they all saw upon entering the trailer.

Dustin’s explanation was cut short when Steve's voice echoed.

"Henderson!"

"Shit! Sorry doc!" Dustin said rushing to the living room.

"Henderson! What the hell happened to our way out?" Steve asked furious, as Dustin stuttered and started telling them what happened, as some of the paramedics followed Dusting, their puzzled looks only growing wider in horror as they saw people abnormally standing on what would be the roof.

"Eddie cut it"

"What?!" He barked.

"He bought more time for us and cut it once we jumped back, and left to fight the bats!"

"What?! Where is he?"

"What the hell is going on here?" The doctor said, interrupting Dustin and looking up at the ceiling.

—

You remained in Eddie’s room. Now, everyone looking a lot calmer, as you kept your eyes glued to Eddie. He was looking slightly less pale, as he slept, perhaps high on morphine and other pain killers.

"Hey," One of the paramedics, a guy named Rick, called your name softly. "He's stable now, the morphine will keep him knocked out for a long while, got somewhere to write down? I'll tell you the instructions of his treatment…and I'll leave you some morphine and penicillin…okay?"

"Thank you, Rick…" you said as you stood up weakly and grabbed one of Eddie's notebooks lying around and the first pen you saw.

"So, the infamous Eddie is the Eddie you always told us about when you were on call with us?"

"Yeah, that same one…"

"Is he seriously innocent?" You glared at Rick.

"He is innocent, that I'd take the blame for the murders for him, as long as it clears his name, even if I end up in prison…"

"You love him"

"You've got no idea" You said opening the notebook in some random blank page. "Okay, treatment…"

Rick proceeded to list medications and instructions, when and how much of which medication to administer. He asked you to keep the wounds clean and dry, change the bandage at least once a day, and to check his vitals every hour at least until he woke up. You wrote everything down as Rick handed you the meds and a couple of syringes, some more IV fluids, gauzes and bandages.

"Thanks Rick" You whispered.

Before Rick could reach the door, you saw the rest of your friends rushing in the room, looking at both of you. Eddie passed out, shirtless and covered in bandages, and IV connecting him to the volume expander bottle hanging from his closet door, hair disheveled on the pillow. And you, sitting on the floor next to him, your eyes swollen and red, as you had a couple of cuts on your arm.

"Is he alright?" Steve asked, as you nodded.

"He's stable for now…" Rick said. "Anything happens, you give us another call, yes?"

"Thank you guys…" You purred. "Tell the doc," You sighed. "I'll…call him tomorrow morning after Eddie wakes up, and…I'll pay for…everything. Please tell him to not tell my parents…" You purred.

"They don't know you're back with your murderous boyfriend?" Rick joked, managing to steal a chuckle from your throat.

"They never knew. They would've never approved of Eddie, even though he's the best to have happened to me…"

"Yeah, I guess you must think highly of him if you're willing to go to jail for him…" Your friends all turned to Rick, confused and alarmed by his joke as you nodded. "Excuse me, guys…" Rick said moving along and leaving the bedroom.

"Hey," Robin said, as you looked up and met her stare. "He's going to be okay," She assured you.

Nancy walked and knelt besides you, hugging you. She knew what Eddie meant to you, and she knew how hard it was breaking up with him after you moved away, trying to keep a long distance relationship, while trying to get into med school was rough. She was the only one who knew Eddie had been your first many things, first boyfriend, first love, firs kiss, first time; and the good 3 year relationship you had. And she could only imagine how rough it was for you right now looking at Eddie like this.

You sobbed silently against her shoulder, clinging to her for comfort. While you were considerably calmer now, you still were hurting from seeing Eddie in such a state. Wishing you could speed up time until he woke up.

After a while, the paramedics had left, having to attend more emergencies after the unexpected earthquake, Steve, Nancy and Robin told you what happened. Eventually, Erica came to the trailer, letting everyone know what had happened to Max and that her and Lucas were on their way to the hospital.

"What?" Steve snapped at the news.

You spent the night at the trailer, barely letting Eddie out of your sight. Dustin and Nancy stayed with you, keeping you company, and offering to take turns to keep an eye on Eddie and check his vitals. However, the anxiety was keeping you awake, knowing that you wouldn't be able to fall asleep until Eddie woke up, or something else happened.

You kept track of time to check his heart rate, pulse, temperature, and breathing every hour, but you didn't really kept track of how long it had been. You felt stuck in a never ending cycle of obsessively looking at him, waiting for something to happen, almost as if you were watching the grass grow. It made you sick, and more often than not, you sobbed, scared that he might not wake up at all.

You finally felt your soul return to your body, as you were dozing off, leaning against the wall, next to his mattress. Eyes closed and breathing deep, and slightly asleep, although every single noise would make you flinch wide awake and immediately looking at Eddie. This time, what made you snap out of your sleepy state was Eddie’s voice.

"Babe?" His voice was deep, husky, even tired.

Your heart skipped a beat and raced instantly as you looked at him. Your stomach twisting with a tickling euphoria as tears immediately filled your eyes.

"Eddie," You whispered happily, as you leaned on your elbow against the mattress besides his head as you kissed his forehead. "How are you feeling?"

"Hmm…" He hummed closing his eyes, and grunting, "Funny…"

"It’s the morphine…"

"Oh, I’m on morphine?" His voice was coarse "Nice, I always wanted to try it…" He purred, making you chuckle softly.

"Well, your sense of humor is intact, so…that’s good…" you chuckled and kissed his forehead again.

"What’s the damage, doc?" He muttered weakly as you sighed and leaned back, looking at him. The blanket he had over his body was mostly covering him from his waist down, as he lied shirtless, and covered in stitches and clean bandages.

"Well, that sexy tattoo you’ve got on your ribs and the one on your chest are ruined…but you can get them redone after you’ve healed…the one in your arm and your bats are mildly compromised, but don’t worry, your Metallica tattoo is fine…" You joked, feeling your chest lighting up as he chuckled.

"The Metallica one is my favorite, so, I guess not everything is lost…" He murmured looking at you and smiling.

"You’ve got pretty gnarly wounds…but, I’ll help you get them clean. You’re currently on morphine, and will stay like that until tomorrow, a few more painkillers, antibiotics…Oh and you needed a plasma expander…"

"That sounds nasty…" Eddie sighed.

"It’s a kind of an IV fluid that’s a wannabe blood transfusion basically…" You explained as he frowned softly.

"Oh shit, it was that bad?" He said trying to sit up, groaning.

You immediately stopped him, resting your hands on his chest.

"N-no, baby. Lay back down…" You murmured, gently pushing him back on the mattress as he sighed defeated and rested his head against the pillow again. "E-Ed…" You purred. "At some point I thought you were really going to die on me…" You whispered, your voice shaking. "Your heart rate got so low, I gave you atropine, but…I should’ve done that earlier…I gave you CPR because your heart sounded pretty…slow and far away…"

"Oh…" He sighed softly, noticing the way your voice faltered and your eyes teared up slightly.

"Yeah…" You sighed as he reached up to cup your cheek in his hand.

"I’m sorry," He mouthed.

"N-no…don’t apologize…" You sighed, a tear managing to escape your eye as Eddie wiped it away with his thumb "I told you I was going to tear the world apart if I needed to, in order to keep you alive"

"You said that?" He inquired.

"You don’t remember?"

"I don’t remember a lot of things…" He began "I remember something about Blondie…And…verbs? Did we talk about school or some shit like that?" He asked, smirking as he kept looking at you.

You chuckled softly and leaned forward, kissing his cheek.

Truth was, he did remember that bit. He remembered telling you he couldn’t see himself with someone who wasn’t you, and how you’d told him to not use verbs in last tense. He just wanted to see you smile, and that soft chuckle, warmed his heart, making it beat strong.

"I love you, Eddie" You muttered,.

"I love you too, sweetheart" He purred. "Thank you…I’m here thanks to you…"

Your eyes teared up again and you shook your head. Leaning closer, your lips met his sweetly. Gently melting against his, as he moaned in surprise and instantly kissed you back. Lips locking shyly for the first time in a long time. Sure, your last proper kiss was the last time you came over to Hawkins for the summer break and went out with Eddie, reliving good times, going to the drive in movies, and making out at the back of his van, only to return to his place and finish what you started. But every kiss with Eddie felt like the very first one. The way you were so deeply in love with him, made it hard for you to lay eyes on anyone else, even after breaking up. His lips were soft and warm, and tasted like every good memory you both shared. The butterflies were still in your stomach,me even after all this time.

Breaking the kiss, you laid on the mattress. You snuggled next to him, slowly, trying not to hurt him as you rested your head against his chest and he wrapped his arm around you, keeping you close to him as he kissed your head. You ran your hand gently over his exposed skin, avoiding the bandages and the bruises, as he hummed, hypnotized by your touch.

"Hm, this is nicer than the morphine…" He murmured. "I missed you a lot, princess…"

"I missed you too, Ed…" you replied, kissing his chest, right next to the wound over his tattoo.

"It kinda sucks that we had to…see each other under these circumstances…but hey, I’m alive because of it" He added brushing his fingers delicately on your scalp.

"I know we both agreed to break up and perhaps try again after you graduated, but…it still sucked being away from you…" You whispered looking up at him.

"I mean, when you came over for the holidays we'd see each other…"

"I mean, yeah, but we’d hang out as friends" You chuckled as he raised an eyebrow and gave you a cheeky tired smirk.

"You do that with all of your friends? And do you kiss them goodbye? Damn, and I thought I was special…" He teased watching you roll your eyes.

"Shut up," you giggled. "You are special,"

"I know it’s not the best timing, and that I’m wanted for…god knows how many crimes by this point…but let’s get back together, babe…These two years have been…not the best…And when I’m with you, everything’s better…" He sighed.

You looked at him, and cupped his cheek.

"Your timing has never been the best, Ed. But that’s alright, it’s one of the reasons why I'm still in love with you…" You chuckled.

Looking into his beautiful black eyes, he smirked, winking at you. You leaned forward, kissing him again. Sweetly, slowly, the kind of kiss that made you melt with love and tenderness, making you think that you'd never be as happy with anyone else but him.

Surprised that the freak outcast metal head nerd Eddie Munson could captivate the heart of the straight A’s goodie two shoes you were. Despite the both of you being do different from one another, you two got along just perfectly. He reminded you to loosen up every once in a while, and humbled you down, reminding you how different backgrounds put you into a predetermined path, or made your life simpler or more difficult in certain aspects. You on the other hand, helped Eddie to keep his feet on the ground, and that sometimes enduring things that might be boring or too complicated, in the end rewarded you greately.

Nancy and Dustin knew Eddie had woken up when they heard the both of you talking. Wanting to go see him, but at the same time respecting your space, Dustin and nancy waited outside his room, as they had caught a glance of the both of you kissing, meliting into the sweetest kiss.

"I didn't know they were together…" Dustin sighed.

"Everyone in school knew…but she never talked about it outside of school…mostly because of our parents…" Nancy explained. "You've heard the things my dad says about Dungeons and Dragons…"

"Yeah…" Dustin sighed. "How long were they together?"

"Three years…" Nancy said "They actually had a reputation together. Eddie was the outcast, she was the sweet girl everyone got along with, and despite Eddie’s reputation, no one could deny they made the cutest couple…" Nancy explained.

"Why did they break up?"

"They tried keeping a long distance relationship…But because she wants to go into medical school, she spends a lot of time studying…And from what she told me, she felt like she was keeping Eddie from experiencing other things while staying loyal to her…They broke up, but I've never seen Eddie even in the slightest interested in seeing other women…"

"Yeah, Eddie never really showed interest in anyone…" Dustin sighed. "I'd never seen him like this. These last days, I mean, ever since we went to Skull Rock and they saw each other…He also said, several times, that he was going to move to Indianapolis after graduating…"

"Because she's there…Yeah. She told me…" Nancy sighed.

They looked back at the both of you, as you were snuggled together, foreheads bumped together, staring into each other with endless adoration.

The door was pushed open, Steve storming in, as Nancy and Dustin flinched lightly and looked at the door.

"Hey," You heard Steve’s voice echoing, followed by loud steps approaching the room and calling your name "How’s Ed— Oh," Steve stopped poking inside the room, as he saw you two cuddled on his mattress, his IV going from the back of his hand to the bag hanging from the closet handle.

"Hey Steve…" You murmured.

"Hey, man…" Eddie sighed.

"It’s good to see you awake, man" Steve said.

"Thanks Harrington…How did it go? Did the little bitch pay?" Eddie asked, as you felt a bitter taste in your mouth. Steve's face dropped.

"Yeah…about that…" Steve sighed and leaned against the wall, and crossed his arms over his chest. "We’re fucked…"

[shuttingupwards]

Mae’s issues. (NITW SPOILERS)

I should preface that I am a huge Mae fan, she is my favorite character. So there may be inherent bias however there are concrete things in the story that don’t have bias that I’d like to point out in the complexion of her own character. To start let’s say that Mae has many issues that kind of go under worked on. It’s obvious that she’s reckless, adventurous, and a little oblivious. However core issues seen in her is her lack of mindfulness, apathy, and general privilege.

Her black and white vision is troubling as she doesn’t think clearly on what is correct or true about other people. She lacks filter, she doesn’t have consequences and this is a huge part of her character. Her lack of consequences is due to her childish like nature and her privilege she has unlike characters like Bea, Angus, and Gregg. She is of course aware of some things, similar to how she is aware about the fact that her friends just deal with her because she is all they can get.

She’s learned not to ask for help, and this is mostly through some form of miscommunication through childhood. We see her parents to be extremely supportive. They talk to her and ask her caring questions, but It could be the possibility that she through her extreme tunnel vision was never clearly taught what to do. This is common in every parent to make, even small mistakes, but specifically with Mae was she grew up surrounded by reckless people and wanted to stay in that childhood. Where she could smash things and have fun, and not deal with the consequences from her parents. This is especially normal throughout people you see growing up.

However one of her largest flaws is her ineptness to ask for help. We see her rot away often despite the support she has, however this recklessness could quite be the same answer to explain this conundrum in her character. When characters grow so used to something, it becomes that coping mechanism. It could be very well that she genuinely believes help just isn’t something she needs. Just because it’s an option doesn’t mean a character is comfortable to take it. Mae likes short, easy things. She doesn’t like the long route, and because people around her have enabled her to have it she doesn’t see the point in reaching out. That even means helping others, which is why she’s so apathetic.

Mae is another thing, incredibly blunt. Not only does her black and white thinking interrupt any form of interaction with other people, she has odd dialect and views everything as something not as serious as it is til it effects her personally. She thinks Bea is “badass” for her moms death, or dealing with the shitty situation she’s in. This is a harmful mindset that she applies to herself. She’s extremely self destructive and stuck in her own head about her own fantasies.

This is most likely a cause of her dissociative disorder she seems to have. Dissociation is a feeling more then just feeling outside your body, it’s like being stuck in it as well. Even when your thousand of miles away you’re still stuck in your own bias. Mae realizes things often, but chooses to stay ignorant to them til it hurts. Like her knowing half the time her friends only stick with her because they are all they can get. They know her for her childish and dangerous attitude and know that it’s something that she needs to move on from.

Mae holds extreme privilege from everyone else in her life. Bea is poor and has to work emotionally and physically constantly for her father and the business, Gregg works a bad job with constant fear that he’ll lose Angus, while Angus is still dealing with his own emotional turmoil of his trauma but also his want for something more then where he is. All of them have that theme, wanting more then what they have but having to cling onto what they have no matter what happens. Which funny enough happens to be each other. They rely on what they are given, and they are given Mae who is to ignorant to be a genuine person around them. Half the time she’s a clueless asshole, but apart of her is charming in that it helps reflect a newer perspective to others. Which is half the reason the three stick around her.

Not only does Mae lack social cues with other people, but mindfulness of her own actions. She’s constantly self destructive and hating herself that little does she realize the pain she causes herself. It’s a painful process of self harm that affects other people in ways she’s not aware.

Now there’s the elephant in the room, which is her dissociative break in high school where she attacks a student almost to death. She doesn’t have consequences for this, rather is shifted into shitty solutions that heightens and again, enforces her mental anguish. She does not have the resources to help herself and doesn’t even know how to obtain them because of lack of understanding of how being a person works. This is definitely an important thing to remember about her is that she’s only broken the shield of ignorance when everything gets the worst that it gets.

Finally, when her consequences catch up to her and she meets the weird cat god and the cultists, does she have her realization. While in a realistic situation, having the realization after all of this isn’t recommended. Having to make sacrifices to realize something about yourself is an extremely destructive thing to do, but it fits Mae’s narrative and that’s why it works. It shows the theme of her own self destruction build up and finally bite her back down. As a story plot, it works that she only comes to the epiphany here. Then, does she apologize and work towards a better self. She feels bad for her actions and the way she’s been affecting Bea and Gregg especially. Bea seems the most affected as she has her always tagging along, and Bea has her own situation that with Mae’s blunt force doesn’t help.

I think what people forget about Mae is that she’s not a comedy joke and nor is she a good person. She’s done awful or just mean things to people because of her own mental issues, but that’s what is so important about her character. Is that she’s such a complicated and working person, that from there one does she realize her need for help and how she could help her friends.

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

What would a cw adaptation of Harry Potter look like?

Having not watched too many cw shows myself (I just hear about their nonsense), I phoned @therealvinelle who made the poor life choices of having watched much more of The Vampire Diaries than I have and watching any Supernatural.

The following is her beautiful response:

So for starters, we merge Snape and Tom's characters. This is because Snape isn't hot, and because Tom needs to be near the kids. Tom still looks like Tom Riddle, and he's a teacher who seduces Hermione. At no point are any thoughts about the fact that he's a teacher sleeping with a student had

Harry is a blond now, and he's also dating Hermione. A love triangle ensues, one where Tom will hover sexily but dangerously in empty classrooms and make vague threats that Hermione find very sexually arousing.

The love triangle is the focal point of this show.

Voldemort is Tom's evil alter ego, who killed Harry's parents over that prophecy. He wants to kill Harry as well, but it's not the season finale yet so he's not actually doing anything about it. Too busy seducing Hermione.

Instead he just does vaguely sinister things, like release a basilisk that Harry heroically saves Hermione from.

He every so often has charged conversations with McGonagall (Who has been aged down and is in her thirties. She's still considered ancient), implying they had an affair once.

Harry and Hermione piece together that Tom and Voldemort aRe ThE sAmE pErSoN.

(Piece together meaning that Dumbledore, who only appeared in the second half of the first season and the show never bothers to clarify what his job actually is, gets a focal episode where he tells them the story of Tom Riddle through flashbacks. Terrible flashback wigs and costumes galore.)

Tom will later, in season 3 where he goes full woobie and we learn that none of his evil deeds were ever his fault, reveal that there's more to the story. That orphanage he grew up in? It was a special school for muggle-borns where they trained a future wizarding militia. Tom was the only one who broke free of their oppressive regime. The other children... GREW UP TO BECOME THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX.

But I'm skipping how season 1 ended. The answer is that Hermione disavowed Tom in the season 1 finale since he was evil, he was too sexy bad boy to care except subtle wigglings of his eyebrow told the captive Tomione-shipping audience that he did in fact care. Harmione shippers think they're all delusional. She then jumped into Harry's arms.

Which was poor decision making on her end, because in season 2 Harry joins the dark side. This lasts for half a season, mostly because the arc featured so much filler. Tom, who was imprisoned in season 1, becomes Hermione's supportive pen pal through this ordeal and she starts to wonder if maybe there's good in him after all.

Sirius Black is introduced, he's a lawyer living in the Muggle world and he was in love with Lily. We get a flashback showing us how sad Sirius was when she married James, and there is buildup for an arc where Harry's paternity will be questioned. This arc is scrapped, and Sirius is written out of the show altogether, never to be mentioned again.

Ginny gets pregnant by Neville. Neville dies tragically shortly afterwards, killed by Harry because Harry is a dark wizard now. This is actually the spinoff door episode to the new show the CW is trying to launch, "The Weasleys".

Neville's death has no real consequences, Harry returns to the light and is forgiven in time to become the child's godfather.

Oh, and can't believe I forgot: they've all been aged up to 17.

End of season 2, Tom escapes prison.

Season 3, we get the whole "DUMBLEDORE is the real villain!" arc. Tom killing Harry's parents in season 1 is forgotten, the show doesn't outright retcon it but it doesn't want the viewers to remember it either.

Hermione is once again in a love triangle, only this time Tom and Harry have both done bad things (but we'll only bring up the 2 bad things Harry did (killed Neville and said a mean thing to Hermione) and none of the 282985204592 bad things Tom did) so Hermione has a hard time.

Hermione also discovers that she's a uniquely powerful witch. She has the power to make windows shatter, candles flicker, and wind blow all about. Everyone is frightfully impressed with this.

Mid-season 3 finale, Dumbledore destroys Tom's body. It's terribly dramatic, but then turns out to only be a mild inconvenience as he is resurrected four episodes later. He's resurrected by Hermione's window shattering powering, she closed her eyes very intensely and bam, he's back.

We learn about the horcruxes, which by themselves are shockingly similar to the horcruxes of the original books. The big change, however, is that this Tom didn't know he had horcruxes, those evil bastards at the orphanage split his soul in the night through ominous rituals (another flashback here). He has no idea where this other half of his soul is.

Season finale, we learn that Hermione is in fact his horcrux. This is why they had so much in common (they don't have anything in common) and why she got through his bad boy persona (he hasn't been a bad boy since season 1!). They were soulmates this whole time!

Harry despairs in the face of this, and he and Hermione have a teary conversation where she confirms that yes, the Tomione shippers won.

He also has a pleasant conversation with Tom, as a bromance has bloomed between the two.

Alas. The episode ends on a cliffhanger, as the door flings open dramatically. Dumbledore walks in, bearing proof that Tom made an Unbreakable Vow to always serve the Order, a Vow that was obliviated from him. He drags Tom kicking and screaming away from a crying Hermione, the season ends with her resolve to find a way to save him.

(Sorry, I'm on a roll here)

Season 4, a year later. Harry and Hermione have been searching ever since Tom disappeared. They've become closer than ever, but apart from three or four moments of extreme sexual tension per episode, Hermione is Faithful™

News of Tom's terrorist actions as an Order member reach them with regular intervals. Hermione remains convinced that he's being forced to do all this and doesn't actually want to hurt anybody, Harry's not so sure.

They catch up to him in Minneapolis (did I mention this entire show takes place in the states? All the actors are American.) and he tells them to stop trying to save him. Hermione, devastated, takes this to mean he never loved her, he was only ever a psychopath playing with her feelings. She tells him as much, and Tom confirms, yeah, he's a cold-hearted son of a bitch (Harry's favorite insult for him).

They break up, and Hermione gets back with Harry. They return to their home city in North Dakota.

At the very end of that same episode, Tom is able to visit Harry for 15 seconds in the form of a specter and very dramatically tell him how he does love Hermione but he's not good for her, better to make a clean break, yada yada. DON'T LOOK FOR ME.

Harry agrees, sure no problem, he can do that. Just one noble bro to another.

Tom nods, thanks for having sex with my girl while I rot in hell, bro.

It is in this same season premier episode that the show introduces the Blacks. Remember Sirius Black? Yeah, this is sexy family.

They become instant fan favorites, and one of them is shipped with Tom (the fans now hate both Harry and Hermione).

Pandering as always, the show lets said character run into Tom. And it's not Bellatrix, oh no. It's Athena, a CW original Black. She's indistinguishable from the original Bellatrix and it's unclear why she's not just Bellatrix.

Tom is ordered to kill her, but they have a moment of truly intense eye contact so he only injures her (the killing curse doesn't exist in this show. Don't ask how Harry got his scar. No really, don't ask, the show never explained it). Shippers go wild.

Tom is eventually able to break free of the Unbreakable Vow through the power of true love (book fans are sobbing, this show gets nothing right), and he returns to Hermione, begs her to take him back. She rebuffs him, and he goes to get drunk at a bar. This is where Narcissa (aged down to 25) finds him. They have sex.

He has a brief fling with her, only to get into a more serious relationship with Athena. This leads to Hermione getting jealous.

We're now dealing with a love pentagon, of sorts. Harry and Tom love Hermione, Tom also loves Athena, Narcissa wants Harry but she has undeniable sexual chemistry with Tom.

The show descends into back-and-forth-ing, and does not get renewed.

The end.

POST SCRIPT:

The oddly popular side character that the CW never wanted to be popular at all and keeps having to make mysteriously vanish for half a season so that the plot(?) can avoid being derailed is Draco.

He's super competent but the show will never admit that.

Later, Athena plays this same role.

- @therealvinelle

[rayofsunas]

s/o goes on a mission with them.

A/n: so, as you may or may not have seen by my recent “updates” I’m obsessed with genshin, and I’m pretty sure for one day I played for a solid 5 hours- my eyes hurt pls. but I did miss writing, I’ve just been unmotivated and busy with college stuff (mainly stressing, I haven’t even started my essay yet shh). n e ways, here’s an update, I hope this quenches your thirst 🙊

Summary: s/o goes on a mission with them. 

Parings: Kaeya/Reader, Diluc/Reader, Xiao/Reader, Scaramouche/Reader (all with a fem reader)

Warnings: crack, swearing, worrying Teyvat bois

Word count: 1.7k

Kaeya

when you’re assigned to be on a mission just the two of you, you assume he’s happy, and don’t get me wrong, he totally is!

usually you’re never on missions together, deciding it was better that way because you both get distracted (you realized after marrying, space was always nice too, space was healthy)

though the decision mainly came about because you two good around a lot... and other things 😏

no but deep down he’s worried when you go on this mission together, it’s been a while since the two of you have, a little too long, and the nerves came back

he’s always worried whenever you go on missions, and sure he’ll always be there to protect you when he’s with you (not that you need it) but anything can happen

sure taking out a bunch of Hilichurls was deemed easy, especially together, but he still worried

he never said a word about it though, he’d always keep a watchful eye on you (he does have a reputation to keep after all)

“Ya know, you did well today.” You said plopping down beside your husband, using your pyro ability to light the twigs and leaves in front of you.

“Of course I did,” he boasted, eye lighting up in the dark of the night. “What kind of Knight would I be if I hadn’t, babe.”

You groaned in annoyance, this was the ever so haughty husband you knew.

“Please, I could’ve easily wiped your ass if it weren’t for the fact that we haven’t been paired together in a while; I forgot about your skill.” You teased. The cryo user glared at you.

“Skill? Surely, I have more than one.” He snipped teasingly. Your head shook, feigning innocence. “Are you sure?” A hum sounded in your throat. “I couldn’t tell... Maybe if you hadn’t been staring holes into me every time I used my sword, I could see your progression.”

Kaeya visibly tensed, but he tried to make it go unnoticed, you saw his shoulders raise slightly. 

“Hmm?” You laughed wholeheartedly. 

“Don’t ‘hmm’ me, mister.”

Despite having been caught, a grin spread across his face, he was enjoying your teasing tonight it seemed.

“There’s a reason we don’t go on missions together, but, I did have fun with you today, despite the worrying part.”

Diluc

um, the ever so stoic and emotionless fire boy is WORRIED AF

and he accidentally lets it show

he’s totally fine if you’re only going against a few low-rank Hilichurls and Slime, but against any of the Hypostasis’s, he’s worried for your wellbeing (after a few days of trying to beat one of the Hypostasis’s I finally did, APPLAUD ME PLS, I was crying)

the very first mission you went on together, the job was done quickly and without much trouble, but before and after, he would not stop asking you if you would like to be escorted back to the Knights headquarters

he said it was his duty to protect any and every Mondstadt Citizen

you knew he was also just particularly worried about you

despite being worried, he is happy you’re here, though wishes it were under different circumstances other than battle 

he rarely sees you, so it’s a nice change to be placed on a mission together instead of alone, you missed each others company

BUT HE’S STILL WORRIED

“I’m a Knight of Favonius, I don’t particularly need to be escorted back, I appreciate your concern though.” Poor Diluc, the face he made looked like pure defeat, you used the Knight of Favonius card on him. And yes, you were capable, but he did know a certain Knights of Favonius Captain who he loathed a little too much,

“That’s why I’m worried.”

You scoffed at his jab, though it didn’t necessarily hurt too much.  

“Please, I can handle myself. We’re not all like Captain Kaeya, but even then give him some credit!”

“I know you’re more than capable but-”

”No buts! Let me do what I know how, please. Or else I could slip up, and then actually put myself in danger.”

“Okay...” You nodded, sending a soft thanks to your lover's way, but he just stared at you before muttering, “But let me escort you back to Mondstadt.”

👁 👄 👁

“I’m sorry, did you hear a word I just said?”

“I see your skills darling, but-” He paused, noticing how your arms folded across your chest. You were annoyed. “I’d much prefer if you took care of the greatest battle of all; Kaeya.”

“Kaeya does not need my assistance.”

“He’s probably in a ditch somewhere, and it would be much appreciated by Jean if we did not leave him to rot there,” Diluc explained. 

You had seen Kaeya earlier, and yes although he usually frequented the bars and whatnot, he was surprisingly sober. He hadn’t promised he would stay that way, but it would take hours for said man to get completely drunk to the point where he was immobile. You had only left Mondstadt four hours ago. 

“Amber can find him. She did last time,” He watched in disbelief as you sauntered off towards the hill in front of you, dead set on continuing your mission. “Come on I see an Electro Hypostasis ahead.”

“Also, you could’ve just said you were worried about me, instead of trying to send me back home! Kaeya is fine, worrywart.”

Xiao

it’s not that he’s worried about you and it’s not that he shouldn’t be worried either 

he can be both given the right moment

the only reason he doesn’t want you going with him is because he claims he focuses better on missions alone

you could understand where he was coming from, but you would’ve liked to have gone with him when he first left

you mentioned going on a mission with him in Liyue the night before he locked you in your Liyue Harbor Guesthouse room 

you were still asleep when he’d snuck out and had found a note in the sheets where he’d previously been sleeping hours ago

it read, went on a quick mission, be back soon. - Xiao

...one of the cleaning ladies had come to your rescue after seeing various lounge chairs from the hallway stacked and pushed against the door (she was supposed to clean the room that morning after having seen Xiao leaving, figuring it was empty to begin cleaning)

she was shocked to see you hurriedly throwing your shoes on and grabbing your spear, confused obviously

she’d asked if you were being held against your will or if you were in danger, but you’d dashed off before you could give her an answer

eventually after asking a few Liyue Harbor Merchants, you were able to get a rough estimate as to where your boyfriend went

when you finally caught up to him, out of breath, he was somewhat shocked to see you

“Hey!” You called after the ancient man, watching with glee as he turned around with wide eyes. “Locking me in the room seriously?”

“I didn’t think you’d catch up. I left hours ago.”

“I thought so too. But one of the Merchants gave me a shortcut to your destination.”

“Interesting.” He said, hand going to his chin in thought. 

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?!” 

“Interesting.” You mocked 

He stared blankly, without a doubt the gears working in his brain, spinning and ticking at an unbelievable rate. 

“No, one more thing... How did you get out of the room? I barricaded it.” 

👁 👄 👁

Scaramouche

you better be someone who can handle yourself, and you probably are, or else he would not be able to stand being with you romantically AT ALL

he’s had you practice with him, just to show him what you’re capable of, before he ever allowed you to travel with him

after deeming you a worthy opponent, he decided you would fair well with him

he would’ve never allowed you to come if he knew you’d be a burden, slow him, or get hurt

after you proved yourself, he does not doubt you so he’s not going to be worried at all

he’s only worried if you start slowing him down, then he’ll think you’re incompetent to be traveling together

if you slow him down, you’re being sent home, no questions asked

though because he does love you, you receive a bit of a less severe punishment for doing something wrong on a mission

he may ask you once or twice to keep up with him, or take your enemies out without less hesitation, but that’s if he feels particularly generous, most of the times he’s harsh and will not tolerate your mistakes, no chances given

fortunately for you, he felt extremely generous today

It was truly evident that you were slowly pissing off the sixth Harbinger and he was losing his patience with you. Yet you continued flirting with him to get a rise out of said man (yeah, same); he often reacted, and you enjoyed it when he did. You liked seeing him react and appear differently than always being so uptight and mean.

It was a common belief that he often traveled with a young woman, who had Pyro for a vision, and she was strong but often loved to distract and tease her fellow Harbinger. You were not so surprisingly, that young woman.

“Keep up, I won’t ask you again.” 

Today, you were on a mission together which wasn’t rare, but your other mission was to piss him off as much as you could. So, you purposely walked behind him, very slow. Pretending to take in the chilly scenery of Snezhnaya, although you had seen it thousands of times, acting as if it was something new. 

“You said that the last two times.” You said, cheerfully laughing to yourself when you heard him growl lowly. He didn’t pay any mind to your retort but began showing more signs that he was aggravated.

He hissed, “There’s not much to admire, you can barely see.” Yes, he was right, he’d caught onto your antics very fast, but that didn’t matter.

“As I said, if you keep slowing me down, I’ll continue without you.” Your eyes rolled. Would he?

“Leaving a member of the Harbinger behind wouldn’t be very honorary, but if I must, I will.”

A pout took shape on your lips. “Please, you wouldn’t leave your lovely girlfriend out here to freeze would you?”

“You have pyro abilities, you would fair just fine.”

“Hmm... I suppose so, but I’d get lonely.” 

“Then be quiet and walk faster.”

1.13.21, rayofsunas

[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.”