#To track it down and reread it I loved it
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I just want to say how much I loove your writing despite having found your blog only recently. The way you write the characters just makes them feel so real somehow
If I may make a request then maybe a little domestic Solomon fluff? I was rereading Nightbringer story recently and the way he's with MC in the begining just feels so cozy and warm and he's so fucking cute
I wish you a nice day!!
Ancient bones creaking, rigor mortis losing itâs grip, numbness faded away a dull and sharp pang of pain shooting through the back and neck, a deep trembling breath of life filling those collapsing lungs.
Slowly the wizard sat up. He kept forgetting how awful he felt after sleeping on his workbench. Slowly he stood, his muscles too stiff for comfort.
What time was it anyway?
Meandering across the room he paused for a moment, standing on his tiptoes, back arched, a great big yawn escaped him, sleepy dewy tears formed in the corners of his eyes, hands held high above his head as he stretched getting some of those air bubbles to make that satisfying pop sound before he continued.
Smacking face first into the wall and falling to the floor with a loud thud.
He didnât bother to get up.
At least he was awake now, but that meant he could think again. And all that did, was make him miss you.
Even now after, what? Months? Or was it weeks? He couldnât bother to keep track any more. Every last day at Cocytus Hall he cherished, marked down into his memory, chiseled into his heart. Although even stone eroded over time, at least he tried something to make sure that time stayed with him as long as his mind would allow.
His half hazy body still moved as if he were back there, the layout of that place, he could recall it, make a detailed map of it without a second thought, down to where you usually left your book bag or where you tended to lose your phone.
Not that he didnât like being here with Simeon and Luke but⌠it just felt too sudden, leaving that paradise.
Who was he kidding, it always would have been.
He learned long ago how easy it was to simply let go and move on, but not this. He never could, nor did he ever want too. But the price was this wretched heartache.
He couldnât help laughing.
It was so odd, to REALLY feel like he was human again. Or perhaps STILL human was a more apt wording. How could a man love such a pain so much.
Slowly he made his way out of his room and down the hall for the kitchen and living area. And since he was still dressed from last night, all he had to do was smooth out his shirt. Hopefully nobody would notice the wrinkles that had gotten pressed in from his awkward sleeping position, he didnât want to needlessly worry his roommates over his nonexistent health⌠again.
Well, he heard the scrapes of a spatula or something against the pan, now all he had was to hope the scraping was for a breakfast and not a lunch or even worse dinner.
But judging by the delectable smells, it had to be breakfa
.
.
.
Cautiously he drew closer. Wrapping his arms around from behind, squeezing you close, burrowing his face into the crook of your neck. He almost couldnât believe the feeling of your warmth seeping through his clothes.
âHey, enough of that, I donât need you getting a crick in your neck if you havenât gotten one already.â
And that playful tone. âAh, sorry. But Iâm still so tired.â
He had to be dreaming, your chuckle. âCome on, now youâre sounding like Belphegor.â Turning you head to better face him, he could melt from how soft your skin was against his, your cheeks pressed together. âNow shoo, get to the table. I promised Simeon and Luke I wouldnât let you blow up the kitchen while they were away.â
âAway?â
âYou poor man, youâre still out of it, arenât you?â No, he very well knew why, he just didnât think theyâd have left this early. But heâd take any excuse to hear your voice just a little more. Â âTheyâve left for some sort of business in the Celestial Realm, they must have told you about it.â
âuh-huhâ
Youâre really here? Right now? Just the two of you, no one to interrupt, no one for you to want to leave his side for? No one else who need you?
âBut they started getting worried about you, and your recent stint of late-night experimenting.â You looked to him, brow raised getting him to shrink a little on the spot.
âWell, maybe I need someone around to remind me how late it is?â
You scoffed, no bite to it, a delicate smile playing across your lips as you flipped over another pancake. âIâm your apprentice, not your assistant.â
âyour apprenticeâ
A giddiness came trembling through his whole body. âYes you are!â
âAnd Iâm also your babysitter.â
âEh?â
âDude. Ever since we got back Iâve been hearing nothing but about how youâve been working yourself down to the bone, staying up late. Itâs just⌠a lot more than beforeâŚâ
âI see.â Perhaps so.
âAnd here I thought you might have broken the habit, but apparently youâve been skipping out on dinner for instant noodles near midnight again.â
ââŚâ He couldnât. He didnât need to act afool in front of you again. At least then he had the excuse of alcohol making him loose lipped last time he spilled his guts.
âThat depressed without me?â Not that his feelings werenât obvious without it apparently. âWell, they asked me to keep an eye on you while theyâre away.â
He couldnât help smirking, resting his chin on your shoulder. âSo, youâll be staying the night?â Or was that too hopeful, knowing how possessive Lucifer was, especially over your âcurfewâ.
âThe whole time. How else am I to make sure you actually get to bed on time? Now, go take a shower and put on new clothes. I know your tricks.â
â⌠Maybe I need help showering?â
âHAH! Nice try, but I already took one.â
âI can tell, this bodywash is so nice.â
âRight? I⌠wanted to find something similar to the one I used⌠in the past, but they donât make it anymore⌠Anyway, get going,â You lightly shook him off, and the man reluctantly letting go. â-breakfast and coffee will be ready once youâre back. Oh,â With the spatula you pointed to the fridge. âIâve kinda used the last of everything so weâll need to do some shopping.â
âAlright, Iâll be back in a minuet!â And so he ran off, like some excited child about to go on a trip to the candy store.
âwait, N-NOT A LITERAL MINUET, RIGHT!? NO MAGIC, ACTUALLY SHOWER!â
âŚ
Only because you insist. Besides maybe youâd notice he got the same bodywash too.
And when go shopping, youâd have to hold hands, after all, in this time the streets are much more crowded, it wouldnât do for him to get separated from his adorable apprentice.
Not again.
A VERY quick, little something. Hope you like it, but if you want something little bigger you can always ask again, it'd just take a lot more time.
#obey me#obey me x reader#obey me fic#obey me ficlet#obey me imagines#obey me solomon#obey me solomon x reader#obey me solomon x mc#obey me x mc
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The Outsiders Neurodivergent Headcanons
Warnings: abuse, suicide, sorta drug abuse?
Ponyboy:
⎠audhd
⎠Modern AU once he gets medication heâs like âhuh so this is how youâre supposed to functionâ
⎠Was started on Adderall at first but they forced him to go off it because he started using it to stay up for hours writing or doing schoolwork
⎠Now on a non-stimulant adhd med that helps him think more clearly and forget things less
⎠Had a really hard time with eye contact as a kid so his parents started making him remember the colors of peopleâs eyes so heâd have to look in them (inspired by a jaidenanimations video Iâm pretty sure. Donât ask which one I watched it years ago and donât remember)
⎠Still takes note of peopleâs eye color even though no one quizzes him anymore. Someone will ask what color so-and-soâs eyes are and he can just tell them instantly
⎠When heâs having a sensory overload smoking helps because heâs able to focus on one smell, and breathing in the smoke calms his hyperventilating
⎠Special interest in Paul Newman movies. He can tell you every single fact about every single movie that man was in
⎠Hyperfixates on books and rereads them until heâs drained all the serotonin out of them before moving on. RIP Ponyboy you wouldâve loved AO3
⎠Extremely bad time blindness. Modern AU he has an alarm for every hour on his phone so he doesnât lose track of time as easily
Darry:
⎠heâs the kind of autistic that studies social interaction and copies it in his own behavior so he can get an good grade in being a person, which is both normal to want and possible to achieve
⎠Thinks everyone thinks like him and if heâs ever diagnosed heâs extremely confused because wdym not everyone is like that?
⎠Very very good at masking
⎠I donât have a lot for him tbh but I feel very strongly about this headcanon
⎠He also has OCD. Why? Because I said so
⎠His intrusive thoughts get really bad after his parents die and they usually surround death, like his brothers or his friends dying
⎠A lot of cleaning compulsions but not like âeverything has to be spotlessâ more like âif I fold these clothes in the right order or I do exactly five dishes right now everything will be okayâ
Soda:
⎠Adhd + dyslexia
⎠Thought he was just stupid for the longest time because he just couldnât figure out how to read like everyone else
⎠Also gets medicated in a modern AU but for him stimulants like adderall work really well
⎠Very forgetful. Has to write things down to remember them but then loses the paper he wrote it on and forgets anyway
⎠Loses everything and either has to spend half an hour looking for it or just gives up and finds it a week later in some random ass spot
⎠Stims constantly. He taps his feet, drums his fingers, bites his lip, etc. he needs constant stimulation or heâll burst
⎠Doesnât have any negative sensory issues but he loves to feel things. Soft shirts, grass, smooth surfaces, heâll just feel them up and down for a bit to soothe himself. He doesnât even realize heâs doing it most of the time
Johnny:
⎠autism and ptsd
⎠Specifically c-ptsd from his home life and traditional ptsd from being jumped
⎠Heâs very aware of his surroundings at all times
⎠He used to just have nightmares about his parents and learned to live with them, but after being jumped he started getting flashbacks and nightmares about that day and never really learned how to handle it
⎠He blames himself for his parentsâ abuse. He has no definitive thing to blame it on though, itâs more just a general feeling of âI mustâve done something to deserve thisâ
⎠One time he offhandedly says something like that around Pony and Pony is appalled and does his best to reassure him itâs not his fault. In the end Johnny just says he believes him but the feelings never really go away
⎠Issues with clothing textures. Always rips the tags off his clothes. Likes the feeling of jeans and his jean jacket, hates the feeling of leather
⎠Hates getting his hair cut because itâs a sensory nightmare
⎠Gets overstimulated very easily. He usually just discreetly slips away and goes somewhere with less sensory input until he feels better. The gang is used to him randomly disappearing and have stopped asking about it, they understand he just needs space sometimes
Dallas:
⎠Heâs bipolar because Iâm bipolar and I said so and also it fits his character
⎠In a modern AU heâs very resistant to medication. He hates having to take pills to be ânormal,â and even if he can wrap his head around that idea he just canât stand having to take them every single day for his entire life
⎠Absolutely a danger to himself and others when heâs manic. Incredibly impulsive, brash, feels like a god and doesnât understand why everyone looks at him like somethingâs wrong because he feels amazing
⎠He had depressive episodes before Johnnyâs death but that triggered his worst one ever. Heâd considered suicide before but never actually thought about going through with it, but after Johnnyâs death heâs sure itâs the only option
⎠In an AU where Johnny dies but he survives (I love thinking about and writing this AU the angst potential is amazing) - no one can get him to do anything after he gets out of the hospital. He doesnât eat, he doesnât sleep, just lays awake on the Curtisâ couch for hours on end. The gang take turns watching him and forcing him to at least drink water
Two-Bit:
⎠adhd for SURE
⎠in a modern AU heâd be diagnosed as a kid because heâd be the classic case where heâs constantly disrupting class and bouncing around the classroom
⎠Doesnât want to go on medication because heâs afraid heâll be less funny and less him, also just straight up forgets to take it half the time
⎠I donât really have a lot for him sorry :(
Steve:
⎠Audhd and c-ptsd
⎠I feel like we donât talk about Steve being a victim of abuse enough (as in, as much as we do Johnny)
⎠Hard time regulating his emotions
⎠He has rejection sensitive dysphoria (comes as a package deal with the adhd). He lashes out really easily when he feels like heâs been wronged, even if it wasnât the personâs intention. He also isolates himself a lot, especially when he feels like heâs done something wrong, which can stem from the smallest comment
⎠Time blindness on par with Ponyboy. Can work hours in the garage and not realize it
⎠Special interest in auto mechanics. As a kid he wanted to be a mechanical engineer, but he convinced himself he was too dumb to pursue it
⎠Very blunt without realizing it. He just says things as they come to his mind without thinking about how people will react to it, so heâs sometimes seen as rude or like he doesnât like a person but in reality heâs just pointing out things how he sees them. He doesnât realize how his words come across
⎠Expressive Language Disorder!! He has a hard time putting things into words. Heâs actually really smart but has a hard time expressing himself so in school he was never taken seriously. Got accused of cheating a lot at school because he would do great on multiple choice sections but wouldnât be able to put his thoughts into words for free response, so his teachers assumed he just copied off someone else
#Iâm projecting can you tell#the outsiders#the outsiders headcanons#ponyboy curtis#darry curtis#sodapop curtis#johnny cade#dallas winston#two bit matthews#steve randle#the outsiders gang
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or you could have a story that didnât require juggling
#So there were two reasons I stopped reading at issue 300 of Amazing as opposed to my initial plan of stopping with the clone sage#One Todd Mcfarlaneâs art I just cannot stand#and B they had this little thing set up where Peterâs suit was destroyed in like issue 50 of Web of so for like 50 issues he went from#Switching between the Black suit and the classic suit#To just wearing the black suit#it wasnât a tone thing it was just yâknow here is a decent suit#But then Venom was introduced and he traumatizes MJ so the black suit is a trigger now so he changesâŚ#And is too busy to make a new suit and has to deal with a store bought suit that doesnât even have the logo#And then like 3 issues later he is back without it being commented on except for a little caption box saying it was resolved in Web of#So I switch books to find context and justâŚ#In an off-hand panel MJ calls her fashion contacts to make him a new suit and it was just#Such an underwhelming thing of like#We are going to bring up loose ends you probably wouldnât care about and get your curiosity to check#And it is nothing#But major shit like fucking#Peter re-enrolling in college? No little caption box telling you when that happened#Peter deciding he couldnât do college with all his other responsibilities was a fantastic story one of my favorite character moments I need#To track it down and reread it I loved it
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Birthday Spotlight - Caleb Crawford
[9th April - Aries]
(Note, some of this information hasn't yet been posted on AO3, but has been written into Underline the Red!)
Caleb Crawford, an Indian-Australian alpha who works at Hillview as an alpha companion, is known for being the alpha that blows beta Faber Castle's mind during an ill-negotiated one-night-stand sex marathon that ends with Faber sore from overuse with a bad case of unrequited love, and Caleb uncertain why Faber rejected his offer to see each other again.
Caleb is a bold, well-educated, intense, and occasionally overbearing with his partners. He is most respectful to omegas and alphas, and displays some beta bigotry which is common among alphas and omegas in particular.
'I don't think you should be alone today. Just saying, when someone dicks you down as well as I just did, maybe someone should be looking out for you.'
Underline the Red
Underline the Black - Caleb first appeared as one of the alpha companions who is supervised by Dr Gary Konowalous. We first meet him via a supervision session between the two of them, and then later again when they share a conversation about his omega, Lucien, being ready to graduate, and Caleb admitting it will take some time for him to recover from the bond being broken.
Underline the Red - Also his main appearance, Caleb steals Faber's heart after a one night stand. They don't talk nearly enough, so Faber doesn't know that Caleb's doing an interview at Hillview to become a companion until the following day, at which point his heart is broken, and Caleb is shocked and horrified.
Over time, Caleb proves himself to be a competent omega companion who is still pursuing his PhD on Omega Studies, and despite Faber's best efforts, they keep being drawn into each other's orbits, time not soothing any wounds between them.
Small for an alpha, Caleb is Efnisien's height. He has medium-brown skin, and straight dark brown hair worn in a quiff. His hair is well-maintained and styled, and he cares a great deal for fashion. He has sharp, golden eyes, and wears thin gold-rimmed glasses, as well as button-up shirts and business shirts. He likes wearing bright colours with a dark ensemble.
30 years old.
Caleb's scent is earthy and clove-like, with glittery spikes that feel almost like poprocks.
It's joked that Caleb is arrogant enough and bold enough to be more like a peak alpha than an alpha.
Unlike many of other, softer-natured alphas at Hillview, Caleb is uniquely suited to a specific kind of jealous or possessive omega that is often at risk of murdering other omegas out of jealousy. As a result his cottage is kept more separate than the average cottage, to keep his omegas as far from other omegas as possible.
Caleb learns the skill of domestic discipline to deal with his latest omega, Lucien Beaumont, and ends up in the world of BDSM as a result.
Definitely most memorable for absolutely destroying Faber's ass and being cheerfully confident about it in a sex marathon that ends in Faber falling in love and Caleb developing enough feelings to be willing to not go to the Hillview interview to keep seeing Faber.
While it hasn't been mentioned yet, Caleb cares about fashion so much that he knew who Alois Flitmouse was before anyone else at Hillview, because he knew of his fashion and clothing and role as a Perth fashion icon.
Caleb's father is a well-known secondary gender-sex academic, and Caleb initially wanted to follow in the footsteps of his father and become a professor. He landed in Omega Studies and decided to interview for Hillview after a tour of the facilities for his doctorate. He paused his PhD as a result, and often continues to work on his PhD between omegas.
Despite Caleb's bold, arrogant, and sometimes crass nature, he is extremely thoughtful, calculating, and insightful. He often sees far more than he lets on, and he has one night stands to relax his over-active, busy mind.
I was always scared that Caleb and Faber wouldn't be strong enough to carry their own narrative, and started writing Underline the Red really scared of how it would turn out. As I wrote it though, I realised these two were a powderkeg that were ready to ignite over and over again. I can't wait for the journey these two are on. In some ways, it will be much bigger than the other journeys. For a start, some of the story will take place in another country!
You're the best thing in this town and you don't even live here. Maybe we'll see each other again one day.
Underline the Red
#birthday spotlight#caleb crawford#underline the red#underline the rainbow#faber castle#omegaverse#mm romance#queer romance#original character#original work#original writing#i love caleb#i think he may end up being controversial#because we're only - at least initially - seeing him from faber's perspective#i do think down the track that a caleb POV will be possible#but we'll see!#i ended up rereading a ton of Underline the Red and like#it made me realise that he speaks more in reaction to people than in monologues himself which i found really interesting#but also that#i cannot wait to share the rest of the Red chapters i have with you all
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yes⌠birds nestâŚ. itâs peak..
#i was listening to a podcast about vol 1 . of course i abandoned by drawing and went to reread the birds nest chapter#<- NOT biased because itâs schoolboy yaoi. itâs just goodâŚâŚ really good#i like comparing it to thomas because of how insane it is#Insane. idk if i would describe it but itâs Eventful Very#love how you can see the worst side of everybody in this one#edoallan lovers quarrel 10 million fucking dead because they had to involve everybody else in it#Yeah still good#the page where matthias wakes up from his gay vampire coma and lunges towards killian is like ingrained into my mind#matthias and killianâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚ. stubs cigarette out on my arm#also the thing where the vampirnella blood gets into killianâs system or something and is a recessive gene is really fucking funny to me#canât remember if the chapter where one of the classmates tracks down theo in search for killianâs whereabouts is in vol 2 or not#i donât remember if it actually said where the hell he was#anyways. the moral of the story is that you are not evil youâre 14 and also the fate of all bishounens is 2 either die or be miserable#forever#manuscript
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Yu Ijin: I've only had my sister for a day and a half but if anything happened to her I will destroy everyone in this school and then myself. Fantastic in just the first few chapters, thanks for the recommendation!
oh itâs so good!!! Iâm glad youâre enjoying it!!
I need to reread that one again, I binged the whole thing over a few days ago month or so ago and I wanna see ijin and his sister again I love them
#I just took my licensing exams last week so until I hear if I passed or not Iâm gonna hopefully start catching up on things#unfortunately I have not made any lists so I have no idea what I wanted to read/watch#got home from my exam and just laid on my bed for a while then watched like three pilot episodes to random things that popped up on Netflix#in the meantime Iâm rewatching fruits basket yet again#twas the first anime I ever saw so itâs sentimental#also I love tohru sheâs so kind I wanted to be like her when I was younger first watching#anyway this is very much off track from the original post sorry#it is late and I have zero filters when sleep deprived#but yes#Iâm glad you enjoy it!!#long story short I think Iâll reread teenage mercenary sometime soon#havenât used my tag for a while so letâs throw it on just for fun#sup nerds#sometimes I wish I came up with something more clever#but thatâs a ramble for another day I need to sleep#congrats if you made it this far down the tag ramble#I hope you have a great day/night/weekend/life!
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The best Merthur fan fictions (in my humble opinion)
I thought I would share my favorite Merthur fics here. I track all the fics I read (this year I've read 322 so far wohoo) and these are the best of the best the ones I will reread over and over and over and over.
That being said they are in no particular order and I plan on updating this, when I find new favs.
Gravity by BeautifulFiction
Hands down the best Hurt/Comfort fic I have ever read. It's not only stunningly written but the way Arthur and Merlin's relationship develops is so beautiful. Might be my favorite fic ever
Sorcerer's Bane by BeautifulFiction
This one is loooong and still I wish it was longer because I want to live in it. It has everything one could wish for and the author has created a true masterpiece with it amazing 15/10.
Lost and Found by Lex18
This is so precious. It's about Merlin and Arthur getting hit by the spell of some evil sorceress and when they wake up in the forest they are small children, with no memories of their adult lives. So we get to watch Arthur trying to protect Merlin. The scenes with the knights are so funny and ah I can't I love it. It's so soft and beautiful and I melt in a puddle of happy gay goo every time I read it
the sorts of things people burn by schweet_heart
Arthur saving his fav warlock and taking care of him. Loved the drama and the softness. It's so well written and yes amazing, pleaaaase read if you have not
In My Mind by Lona11
Merlin gets hurt when they are in the woods and get attacked by bandits. So we get to see Arthur panicking and the knights all trying to get Merlin back to the castle. By now you should know that I'm a sucker for pining Arthur who fears for Merlin's life, I mean look at this list. I do love the knights here, working together because Merlin is their smol
A king's hands by feyver (itsnautica)
It's technically not a Merthur fic but Merlin is stressed and Arthur wants to help him. He's also pining and in love but in that moment it's more important to take care of Merlin and make sure he gets a break and that mends my broken heart
No Night So Dark by Cithara
Angst. So SO MUCH ANGST. I don't want to spoil anything for this please check the tags but if you can read it. Believe me it's worth it. It's so well paced so beautifully structured and the development of the characters is chef's kiss.
Would You Take Me Home by Noel803
Merlin is turned into a kid and Arthur is trying to bring him home. But without his adult memories, Merlin is not sure if he can trust knights of Camelot to have his best interest in mind. I don't want to say any more but ah stunning. You really feel for Arthur in this one.
All Things Loved and Lovesick by horsecrazy
I reread it yesterday and had to add it. Merlin is a vet in this one and Arthur is a rich prat with a soft spot for horses. They are pining in this one. Both of them are so stupid and the love language is tea. However in between their idiocy there are little moments of them showing their feelings and WOW
#merlin bbc#bbc merlin#merthur#arthur pendragon#merlin#merlin x arthur#ao3 fanfic#fanfiction#fanfic recs#bbc merlin fanfic#merlin fanfic
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Little dreams P2 - LN4
*:ď˝Ľďž Summary: Lando and Y/N reconnect at the Italian Grand Prix, where a coffee date sparks the beginning of a heartfelt relationship. As Lando bonds with Leo and supports Y/N, their connection grows into something deeper, proving that love can bloom in the most unexpected places.
*:ď˝Ľďž Word count: 1775
*:ď˝Ľďž A/N: hello babes! As you all wanted part two of little dreams, hope you all enjoy this and that this was what you expected, love you lots!
masterlist / community / request / previous



๨ŕ§
The envelope with Landoâs note sat on Y/Nâs nightstand for weeks after the race. Sheâd reread it so many times she practically had it memorized. Every time she glanced at it, she felt a flutter of something she hadnât experienced in a long timeâhope.
Leo, of course, had been on cloud nine since the race. He showed off his signed hoodie and piece of the car to everyone, from his teacher to the mailman. Y/N couldnât blame him; the weekend had been a dream come true.
But for her, it was more than just a memorable race weekend. Landoâs thoughtful gesture and the note heâd written kept replaying in her mind. She wasnât sure if heâd meant it seriously or if it was just a kind gesture, but a part of her couldnât help but wonder.
One evening, as Leo was sprawled on the living room floor playing with his toy cars, Y/N finally made a decision.
âLeo,â she said, sitting on the couch and watching him race his little orange McLaren across the carpet.
âYeah, Mom?â
âWhat would you think about going to another race?â
Leoâs head shot up, his eyes wide. âReally? Are you serious?â
She smiled. âI was thinking maybe we could go to Monza next month. Youâve always wanted to see the Italian Grand Prix, right?â
Leo practically launched himself into her arms. âYes! Yes! Youâre the best, Mom!â
Her heart swelled at his excitement, but a small part of her was nervous. She didnât know if Lando would even remember them. But she couldnât deny that a part of her hoped he would.
---
The Italian Grand Prix was as electric as Y/N remembered. The Tifosi packed the stands in a sea of red, but Leo stood out in his bright orange hoodie, still proudly sporting Landoâs signature.
They had paddock passes again, and Leoâs excitement was contagious as they wandered through the bustling paddock.
âMom, do you think Lando will remember us?â Leo asked, clutching her hand tightly.
âIâm not sure, sweetheart,â she admitted, though her heart hoped otherwise. âBut if we see him, weâll say hi.â
As they passed the McLaren garage, a familiar voice called out.
âLeo!â
Y/N turned to see Lando walking toward them, his face lighting up with a genuine smile. He was dressed in his team gear, a headset slung around his neck.
âLando!â Leo shouted, letting go of Y/Nâs hand and running to his favorite driver.
Lando crouched to greet him, ruffling his hair. âHey, buddy! I didnât think Iâd see you again so soon. What are you doing here?â
Leo grinned. âMy mom said we could come! And I brought my hoodie again!â
Lando laughed, glancing up at Y/N. âGood to see you again, Y/N.â
âYou too,â she said, her cheeks warming under his gaze.
âYou picked a great race to come to,â Lando said, standing and gesturing to the paddock around them. âMonzaâs always special.â
Leo was already babbling about his favorite parts of the track, and Lando listened patiently, nodding along.
âHey,â Lando said after a moment, crouching back down to Leoâs level. âHow would you like to watch the race from the McLaren hospitality suite tomorrow? Youâll have the best view of the track.â
Leoâs jaw dropped. âReally? Are you serious?â
âCompletely serious,â Lando said, grinning.
Leo turned to Y/N, his eyes pleading. âCan we, Mom? Please?â
Y/N laughed softly. âOf course, sweetheart.â
Lando smiled, his gaze lingering on her for a moment. âGreat. Iâll make sure everythingâs arranged.â
---
The next day, Y/N and Leo found themselves seated in the McLaren hospitality suite, the perfect view of the track laid out before them. Leo was over the moon, and Y/N couldnât stop smiling at his joy.
When Lando stopped by before the race, Leo was thrilled to see him again. But it was the way Lando looked at Y/N, his eyes warm and his smile soft, that made her heart race.
âThanks for this,â she said quietly as Leo chatted with another team member.
âItâs my pleasure,â Lando said, his tone sincere. âI meant what I said in the note, you know. Iâd really like to see you again.â
Y/N blinked, her heart skipping a beat. âYou⌠you did?â
Lando chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. âYeah. I know itâs a bit unconventional, but⌠I like you, Y/N. Youâre smart, funny, and clearly an amazing mom. Iâd like to get to know you betterâif youâre interested.â
Y/N felt her cheeks flush, but she couldnât stop the smile that spread across her face. âIâd like that too.â
âGood,â Lando said, his grin widening. âThen itâs a date. After the race, of course.â
Y/N laughed, her heart lighter than it had been in years. As she watched Lando head to the garage, she couldnât help but feel that this was the start of something newânot just for her, but for Leo too.
Because sometimes, life had a way of surprising you when you least expected it.
---
The roar of engines and the electrifying energy of the race filled the air, but Y/N could hardly focus. Her mind kept drifting to Landoâs wordsââItâs a date.â
Leo, on the other hand, was completely absorbed. He cheered loudly every time Landoâs car appeared on the screen or zipped past their viewing area. His excitement was contagious, and Y/N found herself getting lost in the moment, clapping and laughing as Leo celebrated every overtake.
When the race ended, Lando finished P5âa strong result given the challenges of the weekend. Leo cheered like it was a win, his voice carrying over the crowdâs noise.
âMom! Did you see that? Lando was amazing!â Leo exclaimed, bouncing on his toes.
âHe really was,â Y/N said, her heart swelling at her sonâs joy.
A McLaren team member soon arrived to escort them back to the paddock, where the post-race buzz was in full swing. Lando was being interviewed by reporters, his race suit still streaked with sweat and grime, but he spotted Y/N and Leo waiting nearby.
With a quick smile and a nod, he finished his interview and made his way over.
âHey, Leo! Did you enjoy the race?â
âIt was awesome!â Leo said, his face glowing with excitement. âYou were so fast, Lando!â
Lando grinned, crouching down to fist-bump him. âThanks, buddy. Your cheering mustâve helped.â
Leo beamed, clearly delighted.
âAnd what about you?â Lando asked, turning his attention to Y/N. âDid you have fun?â
âI did,â she said, smiling softly. âLeo couldnât stop cheering for you.â
âThatâs what I like to hear,â Lando said, his grin widening. âIâve got to do some post-race debriefs, but after that⌠how about we grab that coffee?â
Y/N hesitated, glancing at Leo, who was now busy inspecting the paddock pass hanging around his neck.
âAre you sure? You must be exhausted after the race.â
âIâm sure,â Lando said, his voice warm. âBesides, I owe you for bringing my number one fan to the race.â
Y/N laughed, her nerves easing. âOkay. Coffee sounds great.â
---
Lando had arranged for a quiet cafĂŠ just outside the paddock, away from the crowds and cameras. By then, Leo was happily napping in a stroller the McLaren staff had kindly lent them, his little head resting on his hoodie.
Y/N and Lando sat across from each other, steaming cups of coffee between them. The atmosphere was surprisingly relaxed, and Y/N found herself smiling more than she had in a long time.
âSo,â Lando said, leaning back in his chair. âTell me more about you. I know youâre a Formula 1 fan, youâre an amazing mom, and youâve got great taste in drivers.â
Y/N laughed, shaking her head. âWell, Iâve been a fan since I was a kid. My dad used to watch every race, and Iâd sit with him, asking a million questions. I guess it stuck.â
âAnd now youâre passing it on to Leo,â Lando said, glancing at the sleeping boy with a fond smile. âHeâs a lucky kid.â
âThanks,â Y/N said, her voice soft. âIt hasnât been easy, but he makes it all worth it.â
Lando nodded, his expression thoughtful. âI can tell how much you love him. Itâs inspiring, really.â
Y/N felt a warmth spread through her chest. âWhat about you? Iâm sure racing keeps you busy, but what do you do when youâre not on the track?â
Lando chuckled. âHonestly? Not much. I play a lot of golf, stream some games, and spend time with my friends. Itâs a pretty simple life when Iâm not racing.â
âI bet itâs nice to have that balance,â Y/N said.
âIt is,â Lando agreed, his gaze steady. âBut I think itâd be even better if I had someone to share it with.â
Y/Nâs breath caught at the intensity in his eyes. She looked down at her coffee, her cheeks flushing. âThatâs⌠a bold thing to say.â
Lando leaned forward, his tone soft but sincere. âI donât mean to rush anything. I just think youâre amazing, Y/N. And Iâd like to get to know you betterâif youâre open to it.â
Y/N met his gaze, her heart pounding. âIâd like that too.â
---
What started as a simple coffee date blossomed into something neither of them had expected. Lando and Y/N kept in touch after the race, texting and calling whenever his busy schedule allowed.
He made an effort to get to know her and Leo, sending little gifts for Leo and even inviting them to a few more races. For Y/N, it felt like a dreamâone she hadnât dared to imagine.
And for Lando, it was a chance to connect with someone who saw him not just as a driver, but as a person.
One evening, as they all sat together watching a race replay in Y/Nâs living room, Leo looked up at Lando with a serious expression.
âAre you my momâs boyfriend now?â
Y/N froze, her face turning red, but Lando just laughed, ruffling Leoâs hair.
âWell, thatâs up to your mom,â he said, glancing at Y/N with a playful smile.
Y/N rolled her eyes but couldnât hide her grin. âI guess weâll see.â
Leo nodded, satisfied, before turning back to the TV.
And as Lando reached for Y/Nâs hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, she couldnât help but think that maybe, just maybe, they were on the right trackâtogether.
๨ŕ§
*:ď˝Ľďž Notes; thank you for reading, loveâs! Hope you all enjoyed it! If there is something wrong or need to be edited, let me know!
*:シďžtags; @gridprincess-04 , @justaf1girl , @charli123456789 , @lexiecamposv
#lando norris#formula 1#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#f1 x you#formula one x reader#formula one x you#lando norris fanfic#lando norris x reader#lando x y/n#lando norris imagine#lando x you#lando x reader#lando imagine#lando norris fluff#lando norris fic#lando norris x you#lando norris x y/n#lando norizz#lando nowins#f1 fluff#f1 x female reader#f1 x y/n#f1#formula one#paddock#lnfour#ln4
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Watch Yourself
Pro Hero | Bakugou Katsuki x (fem) Blogger Reader | Aged Up
-> This is a part 2 of âBehind the Screenâ
⎠â Ë。𦹠â・°⊠⎠â Ë。𦹠â・°⊠⎠â Ë。𦹠â・°⊠⎠â Ë。𦹠â・°âŠ
â
Your inbox is chaos.
Comments piling up, notifications buzzing like a hornetâs nest.
ââ
âWhere tf are you QUEEN?!â
âdonât play w us like thisâ
âno bc iâve reread it five times already. give us a BONEâ
âyou ruined my life now come back and do it againâ
ââ
Youâd be lying if you said the silence wasnât intentional. It was. Completely.
But it wasnât just strategyâit was survival.
Because ever since Bakugou read your last ficâthe one where he quite literally fucked you in his hero suitâ Youâve been distracted.
You two have been⌠talking. Texting. Flirting in that hot, volatile way that feels like standing too close to something explosive. Nothing overtly explicit, but every word between you dripped with the kind of tension that makes your thighs press together under the table.
Heâs been buried in hero workâlong nights, busted ribs, always tired. Youâve been pretending to stay calm. Composed.
But truthfully?
Youâve been writing. Touching yourself under the covers, laptop screen glowing in the dark as your free hand slid beneath your panties.
Drafting filth between gasps, imagining his hand around your throat, his voice in your ear, his body flush against yours as he makes you watch yourself fall apart.
You were supposed to be staying low-key.
You were supposed to be patient. But you were hungry.
And tonight? You feed the fire.
ââ
After editing, rereading, and working yourself up until your thighs were slick and soreâyou finally hit Post.
And this time, thereâs no warning. No tags. Just the excerpt, raw and dirty:
⸝
@/blastyourbackout :
âPro Hero Dynamight would so love to make you watch yourself get slutted out in front of a mirror.âHeâd drag your pretty body in front of it, make you stare at your own ruined reflection as he split you open from behind. One hand in your hair, the other around your throat, all while he whispers, âLook at you. Thatâs what I fuckinâ do to you.â
⸝
Thatâs all you post.
No context. No explanation. Just the filth.
You slam your laptop shut and walk away like you didnât just set your entire blogâand possibly even Bakugouâs sanityâon fire.
You donât expect him to read it that night and you definitely donât expect him to text you 45 minutes later.
Four messages. Rapid fire.
ââ
Katsuki :
You wrote that shit while I was out bustinâ my ass?
You fuckinâ serious?
You knew Iâd read it.
On my way.
ââ
You freeze, toothbrush still in your mouth, pulse suddenly in your throat.
Heâs bluffing.
He has to be bluffing.
Buzz. A location ping.
Your toothbrush clatters into the sink.
⸝
Heâs at your door in under ten minutes. When you open it, you think brieflyâhe might actually arrest me.
Heâs still in his hero suitâthis feels familiarâBoots tracking in dirt, gloves tucked under one arm, shirt stretched across his chest like itâs barely containing him. His face is flushed. Wind-tangled hair, a fresh cut across his jaw. And his eyesâFurious.
He doesnât speak. Just steps inside, kicks the door shut with his heel, and locks it behind him.
Then finallyâfinallyâhe speaks.
âYou really thought you could post that shit and not answer for it?â
Your heart skips. âIt was justâfiction.â He laughs, but itâs humorless. âYou didnât even fucking tag it right.â He stalks forward. âDidnât even label it as based on real events this time. Why?â
You open your mouth struggling to find the right words, âBecause it didnât happen?â
he gives you a sly smirk, âWell, itâs about toâ
Before you can answer, he catches your wrist and tugs you forwardâdown the hallâinto your bedroom. You know exactly where heâs going.
Straight to your closet mirror.
He doesnât stop until your chest is nearly pressed to the closet door. His palm slides up your spine, warm and commanding, until itâs cupping the back of your neck.
âLook,â he growls. âYou wrote that I made you watch. So fuckinâ watch.â
You meet your own wide eyes in the reflection. Your mouth is parted. Your skin flushed. You look like a girl seconds from being ruined.
He leans in behind you, voice low at your ear.
âYou wrote I pulled your hair,â he says, fisting a handful gently.
His hand trails down between your thighsâcupping the heat of you through your thin pajama shorts.
âIâm gonna do so much more to you.â
The cool air hits your bare skin when he pulls your shorts down, panties dragged with them. Your palms brace against the mirror, forehead bumping the glass.
Bakugou shoves your legs farther apart with his knee, one big hand gripping your inner thigh, the other steadying your hips as he sinks to the floor behind you. Youâre standingâbarelyâyour palms pressed to the mirror for balance, forehead bumping the glass, but your knees already feel weak.
âYou didnât even write this part,â he mutters, low and dangerous, right before he spits on your pussy. The slick sound echoes in the room. Then his thumb spreads it in lazy, taunting circles over your clit. âThat was a fuckinâ oversight.â
You gasp as his mouth is on youâravenous. Tongue plunging deep, nose pressed against you, his groans vibrating straight through your core. Itâs filthy. Wet. Heâs eating you out like heâs starving, and all you can do is hold onto the mirror and try not to collapse.
âLook at yourself,â he growls, dragging his mouth just low enough to suck your clit between his lips, then back again. You catch his reflection behind youâeyes locked on yours, lips glistening. âAlready fuckinâ trembling.â
You choke on a moan, head dropping forward against the mirror.
He keeps going, devouring you with slow, obscene licks, until your legs are shakingâslick and spit trailing warm down your inner thighs. He pulls away only when he knows youâre right on the edge, panting, ruined.
You feel the shift in his breath behind you. He stands slowly.
âDidnât write this part either,â he mutters darkly.
Clink.
The sound of his belt unbuckling is slow and deliberate, followed by the sharp zip of his pants. Fabric rustles. Thenâ You hear it.
And when he leans down, lips brushing your ear, he finishes, âGuess Iâll just have to make it up.â
Wet, heavy strokes. The slick sound of him palming himself, dragging his fist down the length of his cock.
He groans low in his throat.
âYou hear that?â he rasps, stepping close enough for you to feel the heat of him behind you. âThatâs what your shitty little story did to me.â
You canât move. Canât breathe.
You try to glance over your shoulder, desperate to see him behind youâbroad, flushed, jaw clenched in concentration. But you donât get far.
Without warning, a rough hand clamps around your jaw and yanks your gaze forward, slamming your attention back to the mirror.
âGod fuckinâ dammit,â he growls, voice gravel grinding against your ear. âIf you donât keep your eyes on that fuckinâ mirror, Iâll leave you hereâcunt empty and all.â
He drags his tip through your foldsâteasing, and cruel.
Then, he slams into you.
âFuckâKatsukiââ You cry outâone palm smacks the mirror as the other braces your thigh. The stretch is overwhelming. Deep. Perfect.
His hand tangles in your hair again, yanking your head up until youâre staring at your reflection.
You watch the way your mouth falls open, the way your body jolts with every thrust. You watch your own tears start to well. The way his hand wraps around your throat from behind, the way his hips keep slamming forward.
âSukiâ I canât take it an-anymoreâ you whimper again, voice barely thereâthin and cracking, tears threatening to spill as the pleasure tips into something unbearable. Your bodyâs trembling, your throat closing around the moans you canât hold in anymore.
âDonât start cryinâ now, sweetheartâyou deserve this.â
Itâs too much. Heâs too much. The mirror, the pace, his wordsâhim. Your chest stutters with a ragged breath and your lip quivers, trying so hard not to sob.
And for a secondâjust oneâhe softens.
His mouth finds your shoulder. Just a gentle press of lips, almost tender. His hands, so rough moments ago, ghost over your hips, up your sides, like heâs holding you together while he tears you apart.
He leans in, breath hot on your cheek as your tears finally fall.
âShhh,â he coos, so quiet it almost sounds sweet. âYouâre fine. Takinâ it so well.â
And just like THAT âhis grip tightens again, possessive and punishing. He growls it right into your ear, voice dropping to something feral, almost loving in how cruel it sounds.
He rocks his hips up again, dragging his cock slow and deep, making you sob out a sound so raw it barely sounds human.âYou made me sound like a fuckinâ animal.â he snarls.
Because he was.
Because he is.
âWere you writing that filthy shit with your hand down your panties?â he snarls, voice dark with disbelief and want.
Your breath stutters. Eyes glassy, cheeks flushed, mouth trembling as another thrust rocks you forward.
Youâd feel guilty if you said no.
ââŚYes,â you whisper brokenly.
âSay it louder babyâ
The sound of his balls slapping against your clit makes you whimperâeach thrust, each roll of his hips, makes the pleasure surge higher.
âYesâfuckââ you gasp, voice cracking as your head falls back to his shoulder. âI was writing it while I touched myself. Iââ you choke on a moan, âI came thinking about you watching me in the mirror. I couldnât stop.â
He groansâlow and wrecked, hips jolting hard enough to slap skin. You cry out, fingers clawing at the mirror for leverage.
Heâs fucking you harder nowâmeaner, like your confession unlocked something vicious in him. âSuch a needy little thing.â
You whimper. Your knees are buckling.
âGod baby where you want me to put it, huh? inside you? want me to fuckinâ bust a load in this tight pussy?â You canât speak. You just nod, gasping.âHeâs pounding into you now, brutal and relentless, your whole body rocking against the mirror.
He pulls you back against his chest, one hand on your stomach, the other cradling your jaw so you can still see yourself fall apart in his arms.
And when you comeâmessy, shatteringâhe groans like it takes him with you, it knocks the breath clean out of your lungs. You cry outâloud and brokenâand feel him pulse inside you seconds later, growling into your shoulder as he follows you over the edge. He empties inside you, still grinding his hips through the aftershocks.
⸝
The room goes quiet but for your shuddering breath. He holds you thereâpressed to the mirror, skin flushed and sticky, heartbeat stuttering in your chest.
He doesnât let you go right away. Just holds you there. Like you were meant to be ruined by him, and only him.
You watch the mirror fog slowly from your breath. Then, after a long beat, he leans inâmouth brushing your temple.
âWanna go on a date?â
You blink. âYouâre seriously asking me that right now?â
He chuckles, still catching his breath. âFelt right.â He nudges your thighs together, gently helps you upright, even as his cum drips out of you and slides down your leg.
âI donât want you with anyone else,â he adds softly.âDonât want anyone else to have you like this.â
You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. âYes, Katsuki. Iâll go on a date with you.â
⸝
Hours laterâafter heâs cleaned you up, made you eat something, kissed your thighs like he was worshipping themâyouâre alone again.
You sit at your laptop, skin still warm, fingertips trembling.
You open a new post.
Title: Correction: Watch Yourself
And you write. Every filthy detail. Just for him.
You posted the newâupdatedâfic five days later.
Tagline?
#based on real events
#yes he read it first this time
#yes the suit was on again
#no he didnât let me tone it down
#i still canât look in my closet mirror without shaking
#i got everything i wanted
⎠â Ë。𦹠â・°⊠⎠â Ë。𦹠â・°⊠⎠â Ë。𦹠â・°⊠⎠â Ë。𦹠â・°âŠ
#mha#my hero academia#bnha x reader#bakugou katsuki#bakugou x reader#mha bakugou#bakugou katuski x reader#botanicwrites#katsuki smut#bakugou katsuki x reader#katsukibakugou#bnha katsuki#boku no hero academia#bnha smut#katsuki bakugou smut#bakugou katsuki x fem reader#bakugou katsuki x you#katsuki bakugou#mha smut#pro hero dynamight#great explosion murder god dynamight#katsuki bakugou x female reader#katsuki bakugou x you
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Darlin' I'm Right Here
Sylus x gn!Reader
I wrote this at like 3am last night and because I wrote this at 3am last night and then went down a rabbit hole of rereading fanfics, I did not get enough sleep to do any work
Anyway I just think it would be neat if Sylus could carry me around please and thank you
Title from "Butterfly's Repose" by Zabawa
Warnings: hurt/comfort, fluff, domestic fluff, caretaking, kissing, cuddling, undressing (and redressing), casual intimacy, established relationship, crying
Word Count: 1,659
Main Masterlist
First - Second - Third Love and Deepspace Masterlists
AO3
Tag List Form
Sylus looks over as the door opens and quietly shuts again. He watches you, a silent observer, as you drop your stuff to the floor and push it aside with your foot. Your movements are sluggish as you pull off your winter coat and the sweatshirt underneath. A low sigh passes your lips as you work at undoing the knots in your boot laces - and that's when he comes over.
You see his shadow, feel his presence, and stand up straight once more. He tilts his head, brow furrowed slightly; you look so tired, so worn out, and moisture is collecting on your lower eyelids. Your pitiful sniff only confirms his suspicions.
He doesn't say anything as he kneels down by your feet. He unties the knots you struggled with moments ago, undoes the laces enough for your feet to slip out easily. You use his shoulder as support when he lifts one foot and slips your boot off, then the other. Both are set aside in a tray where they can continue drying off without dripping melted snow on the wood floors.
You watch him as though in a daze. He stands and your eyes follow, lacking their usual vibrancy and life. They only shine now because of the tears you hold back.
He bends down, gently guiding your arms around his neck. "Hold on, kitten," he orders softly. Your hands lock together behind his head. Your face finds its place tucked in his shoulder, tightly so as to block out the rest of the world around you. His hands hold the back of your thighs as he lifts you, wrapping your legs around his hips.
He feels your breaths just as you feel his. Hears each shuddering inhale and shaky exhale beside his ear. He tilts his head to the side to rest upon yours, rubbing his cheek against your head affectionately. He hopes it really was just a bad day that is upsetting you so much. If he hears even a hint of a whisper that someone said or did something to his darling lover, he won't hesitate to deal with it, permanently.
Each step is a gentle sway, a soothing rocking. You feel like a child clinging to their parent, pretending to be asleep as they carry you to bed. You feel small, but not in a bad way. Small, yet protected. Secure. You cling a little tighter to him and he adjusts your hips higher against him to keep you there.
The villa you've practically claimed as a home is smaller than his usual estates, though still quite large considering only two people live here at any one time. It's much larger than your old apartment. At least here he can actually move around the kitchen comfortably and shower without needing to duck under the spray of the shower head.
He carries you through the familiar floor plan to your bedroom, and then further into the ensuite bathroom. He's immensely careful when he sets you down at last on the countertop beside the sink. Though, he doesn't pull away. Doesn't force you to, either. Instead, he holds your hip and massages at your lower back, giving you the time you need. There's no rush. There's never a rush with him.
With a small inhale to give you strength, you finally pull away. Tears make tracks down your cheeks. A wet spot stains his shirt. He brushes away the tears on one cheek, and kisses them away on the other.
"Do you want to take a shower, sweetie?" he asks. You shake your head. He kisses your cheek again warmly.
Instead of a shower, he reaches into a cabinet and pulls down a washcloth. One handed, he turns on the warm water and holds his fingers under the tap as he waits for it to get to the perfect temperature. The cloth's fabric turns dark once he holds it under the water, soaked through. He squeezes out the excess and turns off the tap, before brushing it gently over your cheeks.
You close your eyes and give in to his tender care. With no sound aside from a sniffle here and there, Sylus wipes away the sticky tear tracks. He soothes the cloth under your eyes, easing out the tension and tiredness with its warmth. You shiver involuntarily when the cloth touches your neck, lightly wetting your throat with enough pressure to avoid tickling you.
Once he's satisfied with his work, he sets the cloth on the side of the sink. His hands, warm and lightly damp, find your hips, then your thighs, wordlessly warning you just before he lifts you up once more.
He doesn't carry you far, just into the bedroom. He rests you at the end of the bed, your legs hanging off to the floor while the rest of your body is laid back against the plush bedding. He kisses your forehead as he gently coaxes your arms from around his neck. "Wait here."
You crack your eyes open to watch as he goes to your dresser. With familiarity, he pulls out a few things, chief among them two types of pants and two types of shirts. He carries them over and sets them on either side of you on the bed. He holds up the pants first.
"Which one?" In one hand is a pair of long pajama pants. In the other, a pair of shorts. You point lazily at one, and he sets them down.
Kneeling down by your feet once more, he removes your socks and your pants. Normally, on any other day, there would be a heat in his gaze. A dripping, dark lust in his eyes as they roam your legs up to your underwear. Now, there's not even a hint of such a thing. He looks at your legs in the same way he looks at his guns as he maintains them, with an undeniable presence of care and dedication, and the warmth of wanting to take care of you in the best ways he knows how. He always claims to be bad at comforting people, yet he finds the perfect ways to tend to you every time.
He slips the pants you chose on you, pulling them up along your legs. You don't even have to lift your hips up - he does so for you with a large hand under your lower back.
"Do you want your fuzzy socks?" He smiles when you nod. You're always so endearing to him. You've perfectly curled within his heart, laying claim to it as your own. Its beats change with your emotions and actions. Right now, it beats softly, but steadily, as your eyes follow him back to the dresser to retrieve a pair of your fuzzy socks and then watch as he slips them onto your feet. It will beat louder tomorrow, heâll make sure of it.
He stands and lifts up the shirts. One is a baggy t-shirt you "stole" from him a while ago. ("Stole" because Sylus is not a man who often wears t-shirts. This particular shirt is one you bought for him and commanded him to wear for a couple of days leading up to your visit, whereupon you claimed it for yourself.) The other is a tank top. You choose which one you'd rather wear tonight and he sets them aside.
He playfully pulls you into a sit, tangling his fingers with yours and tugging you up to him. He leans down to kiss your head. Warm fingers brush your skin as he removes your shirt from today. It winds up in a pile with your pants and socks.
The shirt you chose is soon pulled over your head. Your arms are guided through just the same. He leans down to make sure it settles comfortably around your body, and you use the opportunity to draw your fingers lightly under his chin. All his focus is on you immediately.
He is completely pliant under your touch. You could do anything - have him do anything. He is at your whim.
With the barest pressure, you draw him in, meeting his lips in a slow, sweet kiss. His lips are always so soft and plush. They don't seek for more than you give, only taking what you decide to offer, without a hint of a complaint. When your fingers fall from his skin, he lightly pulls away, heavy-lidded eyes peeking open to search your face for answers, to know what you want. One more kiss, and one more, before you're satisfied. He pulls away.
Your dirty clothes are dropped into the hamper. The clothes you didn't choose are left on top of your dresser to be put away later. He goes to place you in bed properly, but is stopped by your slight frown and the flicker of your eyes over his clothes. He grins. He can feel your eyes on him as he changes his own clothes, trading them in for some sweatpants that rest low on his hips and a tank top that shows off his arms. You're smiling contentedly when he approaches this time.
He lifts you up, but does not set you down again. Instead, he slips into bed with you in his arms, holding you close as he ensures you're comfortable. Not that you complain; you keep him trapped there with the way your legs hug him and with your head tucked under his chin. He rubs up and down your back with one hand. The other holds your hand over his heart.
The day that upset you feels lightyears away as your body relaxes against Sylus's. The cold and snow outside don't exist as he kisses your head and stops rubbing your back in favor of massaging the back of your neck. No concerns for tomorrow. No worries about what will come next. Just the gentle coaxing of his breaths, luring you into a much needed nap.
---
Tag List:
@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one
#fanfic#fanfiction#sylus#sylus x reader#love and deepspace sylus#lads sylus#lnds sylus#love and deepspace#love and deepspace x reader#lads#lads x reader#lnds#lnds x reader#gn reader#x gn reader#gender neutral reader#x gender neutral reader#hurt/comfort
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hi, im in love with your writing, please don't stop
can you do something where Bucky can't find sunshine and nobody else is concerned because they know that you're okay? like you went to the mall or to get coffee, but didn't tell Bucky
oh! and I'd love some more sunshine and peter parker chaos. he's bestie material!
I need something funny and sweet after today, or I'll just reread old stories from you đ¤§
thank you đđđ
Caffeine and Chaos
Paring: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Fem! Reader (Grumpy x Sunshine)
Summary: Bucky's protective instincts are on display when he can't find you. But when you return, Bucky's frustration gives way to fondness, even if he won't admit it.
Word Count: Roughly 1kÂ
Warnings: Fluff, comical violence, teasing, banter, flirting, a little bit of Peterâs self-deprecating humor
Authorâs Note: This was such a cute idea; hope you enjoy :)
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Divider by: @strangergraphicsÂ
âWhere is she?â
Buckyâs voice cut through the otherwise quiet room.
The team didnât flinch, accustomed to his daily grumbling.
Clint lazily flipped through a magazine, paying no attention to the scene unfolding.
Steve was polishing his shield, attempting his best to mediate. âBreathe, Buck.â
Natasha sipped her tea and barely looked up. âSheâs fine,â she said, her voice unworried.
Sam barely stifled a laugh and leaned back in his chair. âDude, sheâs not your responsibility. Sheâs grown, man. You donât have to track her every move.â
âWhere. Did. She. Go?â Bucky repeated.
Tony was too busy typing on his tablet to care about Buckyâs panic. But the smirk on his face was undeniable.
He glanced up briefly. âBucky, c'mon. You know sheâs fine. Sheâll be back before nightfall.â
Just as Bucky opened his mouth, he closed it once more. The door to the room swung open, and there you were, bouncing in like a ray of sunshine, Starbucks cup in hand.
âBucky! Look what I got!â you chirped, instantly taking the edge off his simmering frustration.
His neck snapped around so fast you were sure you heard something crack. âWhere did you go?â His voice was almost too calm now; you knew that wasnât good.
You blinked, taking a sip of your iced coffee. âWe ran out of my favorite coffee creamer and I went to drop off my almost overdue books at the library because Iâm responsible.â
âBy yourself?â he demanded, his eyes narrowing.
âWell, no,â you replied. âI had Peter with me.â
Peter, who had somehow remained unnoticed in the corner until this moment, immediately regretted his existence.
âUh. Hey, Bucky,â he squeaked, his voice laced with panic.
Buckyâs intense death glare shifted to Peter. âYou let her leave?â
Peter looked back at you in betrayal.
âI told you heâd kill me; shouldâve never let you talk me into it,â he muttered under his breath.
You rolled your eyes. âIt was barely an hour.â
Bucky, however, didnât seem convinced. âAnd what if someone grabbed you, huh?â
You frowned slightly, raising the drink in your hand. âThen at least Iâd have my coffee?â You shrugged innocently.
Bucky exhaled so forcefully you thought he might pass out from sheer frustration. âGo. Sit. Down. Now.â
With a sigh, you obediently went to the couch and flopped down.
Peter tried to sneak away unnoticed, but Bucky was already one step ahead. He grabbed the back of Peterâs hoodie with a firm grip.
Peter sighed. âThis is it. Iâm a goner. Say nice things at my funeral.â
You couldnât help but laugh. âCome on, Bucky. It was just a coffee run.â
âNext time, Iâm coming with you,â Bucky muttered, his voice still holding that soft edge of fondness despite his grumbling.
You grinned, too pleased with yourself. âAs if you could keep up.â
âOh, I could keep up just fine, sunshine,â he shot back, his words softer now, laced with affection.
He let go of Peter, and the boy scrambled upstairs.
Meanwhile, Sam exchanged a knowing glance with Steve.
That was never a good thing.
Still polishing his shield, Steve muttered loud enough for Bucky to hear, âYou know, Buck, I didnât think youâd be the type to get whipped like this.â
Sam snickered, his grin wide. âYeah, man. Look at you. All tense when sheâs gone for an hour. Itâs almost cute.â
âShut up, both of you,â he grumbled, clearly trying to hide his embarrassment.
Steve, barely able to suppress his own laugh, added, âYouâre in deep, Bucky. Youâre one stop away from buying her flowers and writing a song about it.â
âI swear to God, Rogers, Iâm going to throw you off this fucking building,â Bucky threatened.
Sam leaned back in his chair, looking way too entertained by the situation. âYouâre already whipped, Buck. Might as well embrace it. The songâs gonna be a ballad, right? Something with violins?â
Steve and Sam laughed, ready to keep taking shots at Bucky.
Without warning, Bucky grabbed a vase from the nearby table and hurled it toward Steve and Sam.
Sam ducked behind Steve, who instinctively raised his shield, deflecting the vase with a loud clang. The vase shattered against the shield, sending shards of ceramic skittering across the floor.
However, not a single person flinched. It was like this kind of chaos had become second nature.
You tugged on Buckyâs sleeve, your voice soft but firm. âCome on, Bucky. Sit down,â you said, pulling him gently toward the couch.
He let out a long, aggravated sigh but obeyed, dropping down beside you. âThis is why I spend my free time alone,â he muttered under his breath.
âYouâre right.â You leaned into Buckyâs side. âWe should spend more of your free time alone.â
Bucky pretended not to shift to make you more comfortable against him. âNext time, Iâm coming with you,â he muttered.
You hummed in acknowledgement, curling into his side like a content cat basking in the sun, slowly falling asleep.
With a quiet sigh, Bucky threw a blanket over you, pretending not to notice Steve and Sam stifling their laughter as he ran his fingers through your hair.
Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!
Tags: @princess-lil-spidey @sapphirebarnes @mgchaser @sparklystarsandstrawberries @arcadia-smith @rnurse-kole @juliebluehufflepuff @sailorsenshiuranep @alexxavicry @ficcharsimp @winchestert101 @thatesqcrush @bamitzzsam @grubler @peaches1958 @helen-2003 @ickearmn @Kimmie113080 @Xgbtmdmx @buckysbunnie @Shower-me-with-roses @pigeonmama @civilbucky @piinksdoll @desimarie12 @sleepysongbirdsings @barnesb420 @Suffereroflife
If you'd like to be added to my taglist or just ask me, and I'll update it!
Much love x
- Maeve
#james bucky buchanan barnes#bucky barnes#beefy bucky#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes fluff#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes comfort#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky x reader#bucky x you#bucky x y/n#bucky x female reader#bucky fanfic#fanfiction#fanfic#tooth rotting fluff#grumpy x sunshine#grumpy and sunshine#comehomebucky#the kids miss you#Bucky and his sunshine#my babies
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jealous hard hot steamy rough sex??? đŤđŤđŤđŤ
((oh hell yeah! obvious CW// for jealous and rough sex. probably lots of mistakes bc it's almost 4am and I did not reread to check so bear with me.. also did not do the fancy coloured words for now bc its a pain in the butt... also this takes place at a time where they are aware of their own and eachothers feelings but arent "exclusive" yet, just to clarify))
It is no secret that you love getting a rise out of Caleb. It's not often that you get to see his carefully curated persona crack. Even when he's upset, he's not one to raise his voice against you.
But today you did it. You made him loose his temper. And now he's dragging you back home by your wrist, refusing to let you go.
It had started a few days ago when ran into an old college friend in Skyhaven. Jeremy and you couldn't hang out that often back then due to conflicting schedules, but now he had a few days of work and you were taking a holiday in Skyhaven anyway.
Jeremy had always been a bit wilder than most, enjoying parties every week, getting drunk on school nights and violating campus rules from time to time. Nothing changed, Jeremy was still the same guy he was back then, just with a big boy job now.
Caleb felt a bit off when he first met him, maybe it was his possible bad influence or maybe how comfortable he was touching you right in front of him. But you seemed to allow it and he didn't want to start a fight with a stranger in front of you.
His annoyance kept growing everytime you got a message and would giggle, engrossed in the conversation on your phone.
"who's that, pipsqueak?"
"oh.. just Jeremy!"
"what did he say?"
"nothing.. nothing..." you'd dismiss him, still giggling.
His emotions boiled over when he came home late at night one day, finding nothing but a note on the kitchen table.
'out with Jeremy, will be back by 12am :)'
It was already well past 2 A.M. and you weren't picking up your phone. Frustrated he opens his tracking app as a last resort. He had told himself not to use it unless it was absolutely necessary, but right now felt more than necessary.
He is still in uniform when he stalks into the club. Some people give him weird looks, but he can't be bothered to care. All he cares about is finding you and getting you out of here.
Thankful for his convenient height, he looks over people's heads until he finds you on the dance floor, Jeremy's body practically glued to yours as you dance under the flickering neon lights.
Suddenly you're snatched away by your arm. Dragged outside the club by a familiar figure. The bouncers, who Caleb had threatened earlier when they didn't want to let him in initially, shamefully look away, tails between their legs.
"Get in." are the first words he speaks the second you get to the car. There is no room for discussion as he basically forces you into the car with the use of his evol before making his way over to the drivers side.
He doesn't say a word as he starts the car and speeds off. Luckily the roads are empty because even you feel a bit nervous at his current speed, but deep down you know he would never put you in danger.
The ride home is quiet, a thick and obvious tension in the air and even if you're a little tipsy, you know now isn't the time to start a fight.
When you arrive at his apartment, he doesn't waste time. And now he's dragging you back home by your wrist, refusing to let you go.
"you're being too rough..." you mutter once inside. He looks at you with angered, darkened eyes, brows furrowed. Yet he let's out a sigh and loosens his grip. He doesn't want to hurt you, he can't.
"Don't go out with him again. Matter of fact, give me you phone. I will block him for you."
"what? no... i don't wanna."
"He is clearly a bad influence, you can't hang out with him again!"
"You don't get to choose that for me, Caleb!" you argue back.
He let's out a deep sigh, closing his eyes as he tries to suppress his emotions by himself, not wanting that damned chip to take over.
He steadies himself, his tone calmer and more composed.
"He was all over you, he was touching you in ways he shouldn't, I don't want you to see him again."
"...or what?"
That's it. You've done it now.
Before you even realise what has happened, you are slung over his shoulder as he stalks into his room and throws you on his bed, hoping you don't notice the way he softens your landing with his evol.
"Your safe word is apple. I don't plan on being soft or gentle, so use it when you need it." he says as he practically rips of his uniform until he's wearing nothing but his pants.
He reaches down, untying the ribbons of your lace up heels as he mutters some some words in frustration.
"You're always defying me lately. I'm trying to take care of you, I'm trying to make you as comfortable as possible and hold myself back... yet you're out there grinding on some guy I don't even know... it's pissing me off!"
You scoff. He's pouring his heart out and you fucking scoff.
He pushes you back down to the bed and yanks down the top of your strapless party dress. He hovers over your exposed breasts, hunger evident in his eyes before he surges down, capturing one of your nipples between his lips, sucking and licking the bud while his hand kneads your other breast.
You feel the urge to tangle your fingers in his hair but your hands are held above your head by his gravity evol.
He switches nipples, making sure both get equal attention. He loves the sound of your moans, the way you wither under him and desperately try to rub your thighs together.
He detaches his mouth from you breast, instead leaving marks all around the area. Light bites and purple marks are forming as he ravishes your skin, fondly looking at the art he's leaving behind.
"will he still touch you if my marks are all over your skin?"
He gets up, standing between your legs as he allows you to sit up. You're eye to eye with the tent in his pants. He pulls down the zipper, eyes never leaving your nervous ones.
"Suck." he commands when he fully pulls out his thick and hard member, his veins throbbing at the sight of you, his tip a muted pink and leaking precum. "If it's too much, tap my thigh."
Though as caring as ever, he leaves no room for objection as he slides his cock into your mouth. But you're struggling, mouth dry from the alcoholic drink you had earlier.
His thumb and pointer finger hold your soft cheeks as he leans down and tells you; "open up." You obey but are taken aback when he spits in you mouth, helping you lubricate before shoving his throbbing cock back into your mouth.
He gently fucks into you, hand on the back of your head as you can't help but gag a bit. But you don't tap out. Instead you feel yourself growing wetter at the lewd sounds leaving his lips and the way his face contours in pleasure as swirl your tongue over and around his member.
He looks down into your pleading eyes. It's clear you want to make him feel good and for a moment he debates on cumming in your mouth, making you swallow his seed, but he decides against it.
"Can't waste a drop when your pretty pussy hasn't even been touched yet..." he mumbles to himself more than to you.
You're pushed back down on the bed as Caleb now fully tug down you dress, leaving you in nothing but your black, lace panties with a little pink bow in the front. He lifts your legs over a shoulder as he slowly slides the off, revealing your wet hole ready for him.
He spreads your legs, after not so subtly slipping your panties into his back pocket for later, and enjoys the view of you practically leaking onto his sheets. Embarrassed by how exposed you are and how hungrily he's staring at your entrance, you try to cover yourself with your hands, but they are quickly restrained by his evol again.
"Nuh-uh... I can look at what's mine all I want..." he growls.
He puts your legs on either sides of his head, resting them on his strong shoulders as he takes his cock and slides it along your wet folds in a teasing manner. A shaky moan leaves your lips and it makes him feral.
No longer having the patience to tease you, he stretches you out with his thick cock, not stopping until he bottoms out fully. You're already clenching around him, trying to adjust to his big size.
"fuck... you feel so good, sweetheart..." he says as he slides out and slams back in. You squeal when his balls hit you, over and over again.
"He could never make you feel like this... only I can! this pussy was made for me, you know that right, pretty girl?" he grunts as his pace increases. you mumble an unintelligible agreement as he pushes you legs to you chest, hitting angles you didn't even know were possible.
You feel a strange warmth bubbling in the pit of you stomach. Your whole buddy begins to tingle from the tips of your toes up to the top of your head. You clench around his length as you come hard, spitting out mumbles that resemble his name.
He rides out your orgasm, not pulling out until your stuttering clenches have stopped.
You're about to close your eyes when you are suddenly turned around, on your hands and knees before he pulls your upper body against him.
"You thought I was done with you? after what you've been putting me through these past few days?" He scoffs as he aligns himself with your entrance again, one of his muscular arms snaking around you neck, keeping your face nestled between his muscles.
"I'm far from done... Gonna make sure your pussy is shaped like my cock, so no one else will ever feel as good and filling as I do. Gonna make you cum so hard, all you'll remember is my name and how good I make you feel. Gonna fuck you so good, you're legs will be like jelly so you can't run away from me..." His free arm sneaks around your waist as his fingers find their way to your clit.
He pushes in again. Your thighs are already weak, but the way he has trapped you makes it impossible to to escape your position and all you can do is hold on to his muscular arm. He smoothly falls into a quick and ruthless pace.
If your brains weren't getting fucked out right this moment, you'd probably think about how grateful you are Caleb doesn't have any neighbours, because the ungodly sounds you're making are loud. Moans, groans, curses, mumbles and eachothers names echoe through the room.
He's rough but it feels so good and the way his calloused fingers rub your clit is making you see stars.
"C-caleb! Gonna.. gonna cum!" you say as you feel that familiar feeling spread through your limbs again.
"Go ahead, baby... Cum on my cock, yeah? want your juices dripping all over it... want you to say my name, tell me you're mine alone..." his strained voice reveals he's not far from cumming himself.
The heat and tingles spread all throughout your body, even harder than the first time.
"I'm yours, Caleb! Only yours... oh my gosh... All yours, Caleb-!" the words leave your lips like a chant before turning into a mumbled mess as you cum again. You're clenching onto him so hard, sucking him in in a way that milks his own orgasm out of him.
You feel your juices mixing inside of you as he fucks both of you through it. The room is spinning and specs of light blur your vision. Your body goes limp in his embrace, but he doesn't let you down until he completely emptied himself inside you.
When he has nothing left to give, he pulls out with a plop. He gently lays you down on his pillow. Your brain is mush and you struggle to conjure up any real words. Caleb laughs softly as he shushes you; "it's okay pipsqueak, I gotcha'.. just lay down for now, okay? I'll get you some water and clean you up, yeah?"
He takes care of you as diligently as ever, wiping you down with a warm, wet towel, bringing you a glass of water and making sure you're okay before sliding into the bed next to you. He pulls you into his chest, gently stroking your hair as you listen to his calming heart beat.
"Does it hurt anywhere?"
"no... just a bit weak and sleepy..."
He let's out a soft, relieved laugh.
"'m sorry if I was rough.. just wanted to remind you you're mine..."
"did you ever doubt that?"
He is quiet for a moment.
"no... but I didn't like seeing that guy so close to you, touching you like that... he enjoyed it way too much..."
You snort.
"I doubt you'll have to worry about that... I'm not exactly his type."
"How could you not be? have you seen you-"
"He's not into girls, Caleb..."
There's a moment of silence.
"...oh."
You laugh as the realisation hits.
"besides.. even if he was, it wouldn't matter... because I'm yours, only yours..." you whisper as your eyes close and you drift into a soft slumber in your lovers arms.
"yeah, you are..." He says as he kisses your forehead. "...and I am yours."
03:11 A.M.
Jeremy: are u okay? he seemed really mad...
Jeremy: I just wanted to scare away that creep but seems I caught two flies with one stone lmao
Jeremy: u better tell me everything over coffee tomorrow ;)
#caleb#caleb x mc#lads#lads caleb#lnds caleb#love and deepspace#love and deepspace caleb#calebmc#caleb smut#lads smut#lnds smut#xia yizhou#xia yizhou smut
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TERRAPIN;
pairing: caitlyn kiramman x fem!reader
synopsis: what's a better day than cuddling up to your girlfriend and playing games while she reads?
VERY short. sorry. I have many completed drafts for cait and even ellie so ill be posting them very fast. But PLEASE feel free to share your ideas in my reqs. I'm more than happy to comply. smut might take a while bec I'm not very efficient when it comes to that. Still it's open for reqs!!
The evening settles around you like a soft blanket, the kind Caitlyn always drapes over your shoulders when she thinks youâre too cold. The warm glow of the bedside lamp paints the room in amber hues, contrasting with the cooler, bluish light of your phone screen. Caitlynâs beside you, sitting up against the headboard, one hand holding a book open while the other absentmindedly strokes your hair.
Youâre curled up against her side, legs tangled with hers, head resting against her shoulder as you tap away at your game. The soft rustle of pages turning blends with the faint, rhythmic sounds of your gameplay. Itâs a comfortable quiet, the kind youâve come to cherish with her.
"You're frowning," Caitlyn murmurs, her voice gentle, her lips barely brushing your forehead as she speaks.
You huff, still focused on the screen. "This boss is annoying."
She chuckles, low and affectionate. "Is it one of those fights where youâre being stubborn instead of playing smart?"
You lift your head to give her an exaggerated glare, and she meets it with an amused, knowing smile. "You donât know that," you grumble.
"I do," she teases, shifting slightly so she can kiss the top of your head. "You get that look when you're too deep in your pride to back down."
You sigh dramatically but donât argue. Sheâs right, after all. Instead, you let your phone drop onto your stomach and lean further into her warmth. "Whatâre you reading?"
Caitlyn tilts the book slightly so you can see. "Itâs a reread," she says. "One of my comfort books."
You donât recognize the title, but it doesnât matter. You like the way she talks about books, the way she gets this quiet reverence when she loves a story. You press your cheek against her shoulder, letting your eyes drift over the words even if you arenât really following.
"Read to me?" you ask softly.
She hesitates, just for a second. Then, with a slight smile, she shifts the book, her voice slipping into a low, soothing cadence as she begins. You close your eyes, letting her words wash over you, warm and familiar like waves against the shore.
Minutes pass, or maybe longerâyou lose track of time in the steady rhythm of her voice and the steady rise and fall of her chest beneath you. When she pauses to turn the page, you take the opportunity to press a kiss against her collarbone.
She hums in approval, the sound vibrating against your lips. "Distracted already?"
"Mm, not my fault," you murmur, pressing another kiss, this time against her jaw. She tilts her head slightly, giving you more room, and you take full advantage, trailing kisses up to the corner of her mouth.
Caitlyn catches your chin between her fingers, tilting your face up to look at her. Her expression is soft, eyes half-lidded with quiet amusement and something deeper, something warm. "You're beautiful."
You grin. "So are you."
Caitlyn sighs, but it's a fond one, her thumb brushing over your lower lip before she finally leans down to kiss you properly. Her lips are soft, slow, unhurriedâlike she has all the time in the world to savor this. And maybe she does. Maybe you both do.
When she pulls away, she lets her forehead rest against yours for a moment before nudging you lightly. "I thought you were fighting an annoying boss."
You groan, flopping back against her side dramatically. "Ugh, donât remind me."
She laughs, and you feel it in the way her chest moves against you, the way her fingers tighten slightly in your hair. "Come on," she says, reaching for your phone and placing it back in your hands. "Iâll hold you while you finish. No rage-quitting, though."
You grumble but settle back in, her arms wrapping around you as you refocus on the game. The warmth of her, the steady thrum of her heartbeat, the occasional soft kiss she presses against your templeâit all makes the fight a little easier, the loss a little less frustrating.
And when you finally win, she praises you like youâve just conquered something monumental, her voice full of pride, her hands cupping your face as she kisses you again.
"See?" she murmurs against your lips. "Told you youâd get it."
You sigh contentedly, letting your phone slip from your fingers as you curl into her once more. "Youâre so smug."
"Iâm always right," Caitlyn corrects playfully, pulling the blanket tighter around both of you.
You roll your eyes but don't argue. Instead, you nestle closer, pressing your face against the crook of her neck. "Read to me again?"
Caitlyn smiles against your hair, her voice softer this time, carrying you both into the kind of quiet that lingers, warm and safe and full of love.
#arcane x female reader#arcane x reader#caitlyn kiramman x female reader#caitlyn kiramman x reader#caitlyn kiramman#caitlyn kiramman x fem reader#caitlyn kiramman fluff#caitlyn arcane x reader#arcane fluff#arcane caitlyn x reader#caitlyn fluff#caitlyn x fem reader#caitlyn x reader#caitlyn x you#caitlyn kiramman x you
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U
Pairing: idol!Bangchan x fem!Reader
Other Characters: Jisung mentioned, Changbin mentioned
Summary: You break up with Chan, but he won't let you go that easily.
Genre: angst, hurt/comfort?
Content warnings: there's a break up happening, lots of heartache and crying
Word Count: 985
Screenshots: 3
A/N: *my life, my love is you* U is just a great song and it hurts me so good every time I listen to it. Also, this went through several rewrites, but I also didn't really proofread it lol. I almost cried writing it though because hurting Chan even in fiction is just cruel and it hurt my soul.
"Well, I'm sorry my passion is such an inconvenience for you!", Chan yelled. He was fuming, restlessly pacing through your living room. "That's not what I was saying and you know it", you retorted from where you were sitting on the couch. You were angry as well, but more than that you were tired. This was the third time this week the two of you blew up at each other. Once again you'd felt neglected, once again he'd gotten lost in his work, swamped with appointments, too busy being an idol.
And it was thoroughly exhausting to fight with him. Because you loved him with all your heart, you did not want to fight. But you also didn't want to feel left on the sidelines, like an afterthought. Things had been going downhill for a few months now. You wondered how you'd ever managed to balance the relationship and his profession. He'd asked you to quit your job and just follow him wherever he went. But that was not fair, you thought, that you had to give up your own dreams to be with him.
"This is not working, Chan." It hurt you in your soul to speak the words, but you felt yourself reaching a breaking point. "We are not working anymore." He stopped in his tracks and stared at you. "You don't mean that", he said, all his rage suddenly deflated. "No, I do, actually. Look at us, we're a mess. All we do lately is fight." "So what, you want to break up? Throw us away?" You felt the tears coming, felt your heart clenching painfully in your chest. "I don't know, Chan. All I know is that I can't do this anymore."
Chan took a seat on the couch beside you and reached for your hands, but you pulled away. "Please don't make this harder than it already is", you whispered as tears started running down your cheeks. "Baby...", was all he said as tears also filled his eyes. "I'm sorry, Chan. We tried...I tried....but I'm exhausted." "Don't do this, babe", he begged, reaching for your hands again. You didn't pull away this time, letting him grip you tightly. "I love you", he said. "I love you too", you said, "but it's not enough anymore."
***
The following weeks were torture. You went into survival mode, functioning at work and falling apart at home. You barely slept, and if you did, you were crying yourself to sleep. After three days of total isolation, your friends started to worry and showed up unannounced at your place. They kept doing that, making sure you ate and took at least somewhat care of yourself. They tried to cheer you up, tried you distract you, but all you thought about was Chan.
Everyday you asked yourself if you did the right thing. Everyday you reminded yourself of why you left, why you had to break it off. Everyday your thumb hovered at least once over the "unblock" button in his contact on your phone. Everyday you felt less like yourself, less like a person, less alive. It was as if breaking up exhausted you far more than fighting with Chan ever had.
Three weeks went by like that. Three weeks of you walking around like a zombie. Three weeks of missing Chan with every fibre of your being, missing his hugs, his voice, his love. And then you couldn't take it anymore, your thumb finally hitting that damned "unblock" button.
You were swamped by messages from him.
Your heart lurched in your chest with every message you read. You had to go over it several times, rereading every line, eyes blurry with tears. And by the end you finally realised what he was saying, so you got up and checked your mailbox. There was indeed an envelope in there, your name written on it in Chan's handwriting with a heart next to it.
Hastily, you went to the living room, opening the envelope on the way. There was a USB Stick inside and a small note.
Y/N, I miss you so much. I made this song for you to show you that I'm willing to fight for this relationship. Please give me the chance to fix this. I love you, Chan.
You stared at the note, thumb brushing over the handwritten words. A tear landed on in next to his name. You missed him so much. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, then you grabbed your laptop from the couch table and inserted the USB Stick. On it was one singular audio file: For Y/N
With shaking hands you opened it and the song started. You fill up my mind 24/7... It was beautiful, hauntingly so, the lyrics piercing your heart. When it was done, it just started over again, and you let it. You played it on a loop, again and again, your quiet tears turning into full on sobs, as you fell apart on your couch.
It took you a while to process the song. To process Chan's messages and the lyrics and the fact that he had dropped a USB stick in your mailbox just a mere hour ago, because it was the only way he thought to get the song to you. He'd been outside your door, so close to you yet so far away still.
When your sobs finally died down and your mind stopped racing at light speed, you knew what to do. You picked up your phone, Chan's contact still open, and pressed the call button. He picked up immediately.
"Y/N?", he said hesitantly. You stayed quiet for a moment, words stuck in your throat. "Please say something", Chan said, voice shaky. "I listened to the song", you managed. There was another pause. "Can you come over?", you asked. You could hear him let out a breath of relief. "Open the door."
Masterlist
#stray kids#skz#stray kids fanfic#skz fanfic#bangchan x reader#bangchan x female reader#stray kids bangchan#stray kids bang chan#skz bangchan#skz bang chan#skz chris#stray kids chris#skz texts#skz smau#stray kids texts#stray kids smau
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The Uptown Girl and The Brooklyn Boy
Pairing: Greaser!Bucky Barnes x Uptown Girl!Reader Summary: Everyone knows that all any Uptown Girl needs is a Greaser from Brooklyn to make her forget all about her uptown world.
A.N. - Here's a long awaited request from one of my dearest readers @oneofstarkskids, it definitely strayed a little from that initial request but i hope you enjoy! "just reread this and it's still so amazing đ do you take requests? if so, would you be inclined to writing a grease themed bucky au one shot?"
Bucky Barnes Masterlist | AnonymityIsFun Masterlist
Picture this... he's from the wrong side of the tracks. He's everything every mother in your neighborhood warned you about. His hands perpetually stuffed in his pockets, a cigarette hanging from his lips, scuffed leather jacket snug around his broad shoulders.
You're none of those things, the complete opposite. Pearls strung around your neck. Perfectly done up, lips painted the perfect rouge. You're as educated as a woman could be in your day and age. You're an Uptown girl. Capital O - Old Money.
Your friends are enamored with Bucky Barnes and his friends - though you all know they'll never do anything about. Not as long as their parents had anything to say about it. And none of them are prepared to give up their high class life. It's just fun for them. A way to sow some wild oats before their parents introduce them to their future husbands.
Every chance they get, they pester you to take the long way home. To walk by that mechanic shop where Bucky and his friends hang out.
They never approach those Brooklyn boys. No, they never offer more than a coy smile and a languid, flirty twinkle of their manicured fingers. They just relish in the attention they get from walking past them.
You hate it. You hate their arrogance. You hate the smell of nicotine that hangs around him. You hate everything about them, down to those oddly charming Brooklyn accents.
"Hey," a blonde boy calls as you and your best friend walk past their mechanic shop one day. "Hey!"
"I told you this was a bad idea," you hiss at your friend, locking your arm with hers. "Now, look."
"I think they want to talk to us," she squeals under her breath.
He picks up his stride, doing a half jog until he reaches where your friend holds you hostage on the pavement. "We see you ladies passin' through every once in a while. Thought we could be friends or somethin'."
Your friend is immediately entranced with the blonde boy. Her face flushes as she beams at him, "We would love that!"
"We have enough friends," you simultaneously reply.
"She's kidding," your friend nervously chuckles, elbowing you in your ribs.
The blonde boy laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, "Well, I'm Steve. My friend there is Bucky."
As if on cue, Bucky saunters up beside Steve with an equally arrogant grin. He tips his head at each of you. "Hello, ladies."
Your friend nods at the two of them, an ear to ear grin taking up her entire face. "It's nice to meet you, Steve, Bucky."
The brunette's eyes flash over to you, speaking through that infuriating smirk, "Pleasure's ours."
"Would you ladies like to join us for a Coke?" Steve offers.
"We'd love to!" she immediately replies.
You shoot your friend an intense, incredulous glare. "I'm sorry, could you excuse us for a second?"
"Sure thing." Steve nods, ambling away from you and your friend to give you a moment of privacy.
Bucky doesn't move an inch. He stands before you with that same arrogant smirk, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Oh, I'm good right here."
"Fine," you scoff, speaking as bluntly as you can. Despite your polite upbringing, you you find don't care about offending him in the slightest. "We are not staying here!"
"Come on," she pleads. "What's the harm?"
"Where's the good in staying?" you shoot back.
"They're just so handsome," she fawns, looking over her shoulder to give a coy wave to the blonde boy. "And there's one for the both of us, it's fate!"
"It's not fate. They're nothing but trouble."
Bucky snorts, rolling his eyes, "You remember that I'm still right here, right?"
You shoot a glare at Bucky. "I know."
He playfully clutches his chest. "You're hurtin' my feelings, Doll."
You can feel the anger raising your blood's temperature. You don't like how quickly he's gotten underneath your skin. "I'm not your Doll."
"Princess?" he suggests with an infuriating wag of his eyebrows.
There's an embarrassingly large part of you that wants to stamp your foot at him and yell at him to stop teasing you. You keep it together just enough to contain that visceral reaction you're having to Bucky Barnes. Mostly. "I'm not your anything!"
He crosses his arms over his chest. "What did I ever do to you, Princess?"
Your eyes narrow in accusation. "I know your type."
"Charming? Irresistibly handsome?"
"Horrendously arrogant," you seethe at him. You turn back to your friend, only to find her missing, "Now, can we please go-"
"Your friend ran off the second you were focused on me."
Your eyes flicker to behind Bucky to your friend, who sure enough is enthralled in a conversation with Steve. "I was not focused on you!"
"Then why didn't you notice your friend runnin' away from you?"
"You're incorrigible."
The corner of Bucky's lips twitch up. "Didn't they teach you in that finishing school that it's not polite to insult people who are tryin' to be your friend?"
"And how would you know that I went to finishing school?"
He quirks an eyebrow at you like the answer is obvious. His eyes rake over you. From the way you hold yourself. To the dresses that oozed quiet luxury. You and Bucky were as different as night and day. "I know an uptown girl when I see one."
"And I know trouble when I see it," you shoot back. "And you Brooklyn boys are nothing but trouble."
It only gets worse from there. After that first interaction, your friend in fully infatuated with Steve Rogers. There is no tearing her away from him.
And that means, as your friend's dutiful alibi, you were dragged down to Brooklyn far more than you ever wanted.
And worst of all, it meant you spent most of your free time in the presence of Bucky Barnes.
"Please, just be nice," your friend begs as you trudge up to their garage. "I'd settle for polite even."
You scoff at her, rolling your eyes, "I'm always polite - just like I'm always nice."
"Not to Bucky, you're not."
"I don't know what you're talking about," you grumble, walking into the garage. Your friend takes off, immediately falling into the arms of Steve Rogers. Leaving you with Bucky Barnes to sit with him on the the couch that's become your most constant companion on days like today. As you walk past Bucky, you snipe, "James."
Bucky quirks a brow, smirking at you, "Oh, so now I'm James?"
"That's your name, isn't it?"
He walks away from the bike he spends most of his time working on, snatching a rag from his tool bench and wiping his hands of motor grease. Your eyes involuntarily wander to his hands, the care he puts into wiping each and every one of his fingers.
You stare for a second too long for Bucky not to notice you staring at his hands. "Remind me to thank Steve for tellin' ya that."
You roll your eyes, finally snapping out of it. "It's far better than the alternative."
He flicks the rag over, resting it on his shoulder. "So you like my name?"
You softly snort as you settle onto the couch. "I didn't say that. I said it was better than the alternative."
That smirk only gets even bigger. "What else do ya like about me?"
You roll your eyes. "Not a thing."
He settles into the couch beside you. Far too close for your liking. You can almost feel the rough denim of his jeans through your skirt. "I just love these conversations of ours."
"I don't."
His entire torso turns towards you, mischief and amusement gleaming in those blue eyes, "I mean, why would I want warmth and affection when I could have blind hatred?"
"It's not blind hatred." In spite of easily Bucky gets under your skin, you can't deny just how unfairly handsome he is. Even now, you find yourself lost in the depths of his ocean blue eyes. "It's perfectly reasonable contempt."
He gently runs a finger down your cheek. "I love when you talk smart to me."
You swat his hand away from your face. "Don't patronize me."
"I'm not!" Bucky insists. "I really love it! I know it's just your way of flirting with me!"
You scoff, making no attempt to hide your offense, "I am not flirting with you!"
He tilts his head at you, that arrogant smirk once again tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Come on, just admit it, Doll. You're a little sweet on me."
"I am not your Doll!" You fly up out of your seat with an indignant huff. "And I most certainly am not sweet on you!"
"Don't think I haven't noticed the way you stare at me when I walk around here without a shirt. Or the way you were staring at my hands just now. What exactly were you picturin' my hands doin'?"
"I was not picturing anything." Your cheeks flame as you continue to bicker back and forth with him. Sure, he was possibly the most gorgeous man you'd ever laid eyes on. And yes, he could be incredibly charming. And sometimes, you found yourself staring at him in an not so innocent way. But you hated him. He infuriated you to no end. "And I was not staring!"
The grin is practically splitting his face. "And you've definitely thought about kissin' me."
"I would rather walk from here to Jersey than kiss you."
He slides up off the couch, taking a long step towards you. "You've got a hell of a temper, you know that?"
You refuse to back down. You press an accusing finger into his chest. You can't help but notice just how firm the muscles underneath that white t-shirt are. "I just think you're real good at pushing my buttons."
"Real good?" Bucky teases. "I think Brooklyn is startin' to rub off on you."
"You know what I think?" Your chest starts to heave with the anger and frustration you feel towards Bucky Barnes. "I think that you're the last person I would ever let rub off on me. I think that you're an arrogant smart ass that likes to spend his day running his mouth."
"And I think you're a repressed priss that couldn't take what she wanted 'less it's handed to her on a silver platter."
"You wouldn't know a damn thing about what I want."
"You wanna know what I think..." He leans closer, lowering himself to your eye level. "I think that you're pissed off because you know deep down those punk ass rich boys will never make ya happy, I think you're pissed off 'cause you're bored, and I think you're pissed off 'cause you want me - even if you'll never admit it."
You don't have a response to that. There's not a single word that comes to mind. You don't think you've ever been this mad before.
And because you can't think of a single word to assuage your heaving chest and boiling blood, you do something that a polite, good girl like you would never even dreaming of doing. Before you can think, you find your hand opening and winding back.
Before you can even make contact with his cheek, he catches your hand, gripping your wrist between his warm, calloused hand. He hauls you forward until you stumble into his chest.
For a moment, you can almost hear a pin drop. The tension is so thick the only air in the room Bucky's breath dancing across your lips. "I think I'm gonna kiss you."
A soft breath stutters from your lips. "And I think I'm gonna let you."
You weren't sure what it was, but after that first kiss, you couldn't get enough of your Brooklyn boy. Even after your friend and Steve had mostly fizzled out, you couldn't get enough of him.
You waited for the moment that they all talked about, the moment when you had your fill of the boy from the wrong side of tracks, when your wild oats were sufficiently sowed, but it never came.
Every time you laid eyes on him, the seal on your fate only solidified more and more. The more you saw him, the more you wanted him. And the more sure you were that you would never be able to let him go.
You weren't a stranger to the boredom and monotony of your upper echelon life, but this was different. This wasn't boredom, he wasn't a distraction. From the moment you met Bucky, you lost all interest in the upper echelon of it all.
Suddenly, you don't care what your friends think, what your parents would think. Suddenly, you were throughly repulsed by the thought of marrying one of those repressed, trust fund babies that littered your street.
And even your friends, the same ones that lived off their fleeting attention, didn't understand.
Your friend rolls her eyes again, a sigh of irritation leaving her lips as you ready to go meet Bucky, "Are you really going back up there?"
"You're the reason I met him in the first place!"
"I know. I know," she groans, clearly disappointed that you hadn't lost interest in Bucky like she had with Steve. "And I'm happy for you! I am! I just I want to make sure..."
Her tone finally gets your full attention. You put your bag down on the table, your eyebrow pulled together, "Make sure what?"
"You're just sowing wild oats, right?"
Your entire face puckers with distaste, "What?"
"That sounded bad," she backtracks, a guilty look painting her face. She takes a deep breath, resting a condescending hand on your shoulder. "You just - you know your future isn't with Bucky, right?"
You shake her hand off your shoulder. "What does that mean?"
"He's from a different world than we are. You know that."
"I can't believe what I'm hearing," you scoff. "I thought you, of all people, would understand."
"Come on, he's not exactly the sort of guy you can bring home to your parents."
You snort, turning away from her, "I have to go."
"You know I'm right!" she calls after you.
You didn't know that. In fact, the more time you spent with him, the more you saw why he was exactly the right person to bring home to your parents. He was everything you could ever bring yourself to hope for and more. Sure, he was different than you and your family, but he was a good man. He was perfect for you.
Surely, your parents could see that. Surely, they could see how good he was for you.
So that's exactly what you were going to do.
Bucky sighs against your lips, "I missed ya."
You don't know when that happened, but you've come to find a comfort in the scent of the faded leather of his jacket, in the feeling of his calloused fingertips trailing dangerously high on your upper thigh.
In the backseat of his beloved car, you curl closer into his side, resting your head on his chest, "Me too."
He kisses the top of your head, watching as you stare off into the distance, "What's goin' on in that pretty head of yours?"
You pull back slightly, lifting your head off his chest. With a furrowed brow, you ask him, "How serious are you about me?"
"Dead serious," he replies in an instant.
You lightly swat his chest. "Quit playing."
"'M not playin'," he swears. He does an 'x' over his heart, "Cross my heart."
His answer gives you all the reassurance you need. All there was to do was ask him. Still, there was a hesitancy. You worry that this will just make him realize that you two might just be insurmountably, irreconcilably different. You decide that the best way to ask is just ask. "Then what would you say about meeting my parents?"
"I'd love to," Bucky coolly answers.
You can't help the way your face lights up with hope. "Really?"
"Of course. Anything for my girl."
You really like the way that sounds. His girl. You could get used to being his girl.
The look on your face is worth it all to Bucky. He only hopes you don't see the anxiety in his expression.
He wasn't oblivious to how different your worlds were. He knew there was a good chance that this wouldn't last forever. It didn't really matter what he wanted or how much he was willing to fight for you, he knew the reality of it all.
He couldn't offer you half of what someone in your neighborhood could. Your worlds couldn't be more different.
And he's never been more aware of it than on the eve of meeting your parents.
Steve smirks at Bucky as he fiddles with his tie again. "You're really seein' this through, aren't you?"
Bucky smacks Steve upside his head. "Don't be a jerk."
"I'm just sayin'," Steve shrugs, settled into the couch of Bucky's family home. "I'm happy for ya, Buck. You really like this girl."
"I wouldn't be dressed like this for anyone else. Are you sure this is right?" Bucky tugs at his tie again. Maybe it was that the suit hadn't seen the light of day in a few years and was a little more snug than he remembered. Or maybe it was just that he'd only dressed like this for funerals and weddings, but everything about his getup today made him feel like a fraud. He was sure if your parents saw him like this, they'd see right through him. "I feel like I'm goin' to a school dance."
"Where does she live again?"
Bucky tries his best to hide his wince. He'd never been to your side of town, but he'd heard stories. Sure, most of them were made up, but there had to be some truth buried in the tall tales. "Upper West Side."
Steve pats his shoulder. "Stick with the tie, Buck."
He listens to Steve's advice and sticks with the tie. As he walks through your neighborhood, seeing houses bigger than entire apartment buildings on his block that line your street, he's pretty confident in trusting Steve up until the moment he sees you.
Your smile stutters as you see him waiting outside the gate of your home. It was just his luck that your house was one of the biggest on the block. Your eyes trail up and down Bucky's uncharacteristic attire. "What are you wearing?"
His heart sinks. He looks down, patting his blazer and tie. "Am I - Am I not this thing right? I knew it - I told Steve -"
"No, no," you quickly interject. "You look great! I've just never seen you... like this."
"What's wrong with this?" Bucky hedges.
Your soft smile up at him is the only thing soothing his knotted stomach. "Nothing, I - I just wanted them to meet you, to meet the Bucky that I know and - and I want them to know you. Not whoever this is."
"I - I didn't think they would like that Bucky very much," Bucky confesses.
It doesn't escape you that he's nervous, especially as he fiddles with this tie over and over again. You're well aware of how intimidating this all is. Even as someone who grew up in this social circle, in the thick of the upper echelon, you still found yourself scared of doing and saying the wrong thing.
You knew he was only trying to fit in as best as he could. Still, you missed the smell of his leather jacket, the waft of motor oil that often clung to his skin. "Well, I like you the way you are. Greaser and all."
"Thanks." It's comforting to him. Still, as his eyes rove over your house, he can't help but be glad he listened to both Steve and his mother. He holds out the bouquet of flowers in his hand. "My Ma told me to bring these for your Ma."
An endeared smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. He was really trying to win over your parents. He really was serious about this - about you. "My mother will love this."
"Your mother," Bucky corrects himself, doing his best to tame his Brooklyn twang.
"Just be yourself," you assure him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze as you make your way up the long driveway. "No one else, just you."
"Any other tips?"
"If you run out of things to talk about ask my father about his cars. He collects them."
It takes everything in Bucky not to gape like a fish out of water. "He collects... cars?"
You ignore his question, continuing to fill Bucky in on your parents, "And my mother, well, she's a terrible gossip. If you can get her talking about her friends, you've won her over."
"Okay. Anything else?"
"Just relax. They'll love you."
As he walks into your home, greeted by a man wearing a nicer suit than he is who offered to take his coat from him, Bucky's not quite sure he believes you.
Your heels click against the sleek marble flooring as you guide him through your home. He holds on tight to your hand, half afraid that you'll let go and he'll get lost in the labyrinth of pristine beige hallways.
Your father is the first to greet Bucky in your living room. He extends a hand out to Bucky. "You must be the boy we've heard so much about."
"It's nice to meet you both," Bucky returns the firm handshake before turning to your mother with the warmest smile he can muster through his anxiety. "You have a lovely home, ma'am. I brought these for you."
She takes the bouquet from Bucky's hand. "Oh, that's very kind of you..."
"Oh, it's Bucky," he supplies.
"Bucky?" your mother dubiously repeats. "How unique..."
"It's James, actually," Bucky corrects himself, already feeling himself getting flustered. "James Buchanan Barnes. 's where Bucky comes from."
Your mother nods, offering a tight smile, "How lovely."
As your mother hands off the flowers to one of the wait staff, he can't help but already feel like he's already made that dreaded bad first impression.
As though you can see the despair forming in the pit of his stomach and dampening the glimmer in his blue eyes, you give his hand a squeeze along with a smile.
"Dinner is ready," your mother announces. "Why don't we make our way to the dining room?"
"That sounds wonderful," you beam, leading Bucky into the next room. You stutter to a stop just before the dining table. You look at the table as you take your seat, your eyebrows furrowed at something that Bucky hasn't quite caught on to. "Mother? I thought we agreed on a more simple menu tonight."
As you speak you reach under the table, giving Bucky's hand an apologetic squeeze. Just from your inflection, Bucky can tell what awaits him will not be pleasant.
"Nonsense." She dismissively waves you off. "We have a guest."
"We talked about this," you admonish. "You promised."
"Bucky?" your mother calls. "Do you mind having a more formal dinner? I know it might be a tad unusual for you."
"Mother," you sharply warn.
"Um, no, ma'am," Bucky awkwardly lilts. "That sounds lovely."
A self satisfied smirk settles on your mother's face. "See? It's fine."
"Why are there so many forks?" Bucky whispers under his breath.
"Just work your way in," you reply as quietly as you can.
"Do you change forks every bite or somethin'?" It's half an attempt at a joke, half an honest question.
"In between courses."
"Courses?"
Before you can answer Bucky's question, your mother is already beginning her interrogation. "So, James, tell us about yourself."
"There's not much to tell," Bucky replies. "I was born and raised down in Brooklyn."
Your father snorts, "Really?"
You're not quite sure if Bucky catches the sarcastic lilt to your father's question or if he really does just try to rise above it. It's hard to tell with how he rolls with the punches. "Yes, sir."
"Any siblings?" your mother asks.
"I'm the oldest of four, ma'am."
"Any plans for your life?" your father finally pipes in.
"Dad," you hiss.
Your father shrugs, "It's an honest question."
Once again, it rolls off of Bucky's back. "Well, I'm workin' at a garage right now. Me and my friend, Steve, we're hopin' to buy it out. We've just about saved enough between the two of us to buy it from the ol' man when he's ready to retire."
"A man with a plan. I like that."
"Thank you, sir." You're sure that you hear Bucky's sigh of relief as he finds his footing. You can practically see his signature smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Your daughter tells me that you have an impressive collection yourself."
You weren't entirely sure how he pulled it off, but by the end of the night, Bucky is talking to your parents like they're old friends.
You're not even sure why you're that surprised, you hated him up until the moment you succumbed to his charm.
As the evening comes to a close, he stands in the doorway, shaking your father's hand again, offering your mother that charming grin once more, "Thank you for dinner. Everything was delicious."
"You're welcome back anytime, James."
"Thank you." You're almost shocked at your mother's open invitation. He presses a chaste kiss to your cheek. "I'll see ya later."
The three of you stand in the foyer of your house as Bucky walks down the steps and down the driveway with his hands shoved in his pockets. You look up to your father, face filled with hope. "So?"
"He's a nice boy."
You're not sure your grin can get any bigger. "I really like him."
"You'll grow out of it."
Your heart sinks the moment the words leave your father's mouth. "What?"
"It can't come soon enough," your mother groans. "You're far too good for him."
"You don't know him."
"We know his type, dear," your mother condescendingly sighs. "And good girls like you don't belong with boys like that, but I do think it was sweet of you to invite your little infatuation to dinner."
You feel like all the air has been knocked out of you. For a moment tonight, you really thought they were coming around. You truly thought it would all work out for the best. "Infatuation?"
"That's what this is, right?" your father asks, concern painting his expression when he sees the furiously determined look in your face. "You're just... rebelling?"
You look up at your father, shaking your head. "No, no, I'm not just rebelling."
You fought with them the whole night before you went to find him the very next day. They threatened you with everything they could think of. When that didn't work, they bribed you with everything they could think of. You didn't care for any of it.
The moment you see him, you know he knows. You're not sure if he realized it the moment he walked out of your door or if it took him a quick recollection of the night to realize it, but he knows all the same. It looks like he hasn't slept a wink. A deep frown replaces his usual grin. He looks entirely and totally distraught.
He notices you the moment you walk up to his garage just like you did all those times before.
This time, it's obvious is different. There aren't barbed words or verbal jabs. You don't bound into his arms. Even Steve offers you a sad twitch of his lips.
Bucky watches you for a long moment before you break the silence. He reaches into his pocket, lighting a cigarette in between his fingers. "Hi."
"They hated me, right?" He doesn't waste words. Your lips press together in a tight line. He takes a large drag from his cigarette. You can't remember the last time you saw him smoking. He shakes his head, hissing under his breath, "Damn it..."
"Bucky?"
He takes another large pull from his cigarette. Even from feet away, you can smell the nicotine in the air. "Just do it. I understand."
"What?"
"That's why you're here, right? Just get it over with."
Your eyebrows furrow. "I don't understand."
"I'm not an idiot, alright?" he spits. "I know I didn't pass their little test, so just call it already."
"Is that really what you thought last night was?"
"What else would you call last night? 'Cause I think I was the butt of the joke from beginnin' to end."
"You were not the butt of the joke, Bucky."
"Oh, please, I fell face first into their punchline."
You suck in a shaky breath, both your own hurt and the cloud of smoke around Bucky burning at your throat, "Is that what you think of me? That I was tryin' to set you up?"
"Yes! No- No! I just - I - Don't you see it?"
"See what?" you demand.
"That I'm not good enough for you!" he desperately exclaims, tossing his cigarette on the pavement. "And everyone else already knows it! Last night proved that!"
"My parents are assholes, Bucky. I came here to apologize for them, to tell you that I don't care what they think."
His voice quiets, the anger melts off his words until all that's left is a heartbreaking sincerity, "You should. You deserve so much more than what I can give you."
"They don't know you, but I do." You reach for his hand, lacing your fingers with his. "And I think you've got everything I want. I'm yours, Bucky. All yours."
"Do you mean that?"
"Every word."
"What did I do to deserve you? My perfect girl." He kisses the back of the hand he hods, using it to tug you closer to him. He quirks a brow at you when you pull away from him. "What?"
You wrinkle your nose at him. "I hate the smell of smoke."
"I'll quit," he immediately replies.
"You'll quit smoking? Just like that?"
"That surprise you?"
"It's just - Maybe you Brooklyn boys aren't as tough as you think you are," you tease.
He smirks. "Maybe we're not. Maybe I'm not - but I think it's because I'm in love with an Uptown girl."
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sure thing â part two.

pairing: yang jungwon x f reader
genre: coworkers au, underground boxer jungwon
part two word count: 10.8k
warnings:Â swearing, descriptions/depictions of physical violence, blood and minor injuries, jealousy, a bit of a love triangle I'M SORRY, a kiss or five
note: aaaand here's part two! thank you to everyone that left a comment/reblog on part one. this is the conclusion to the story. suffer with me while we daydream about blonde boxer jungwon and enjoyyyyy âĄ
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An employee in the marketing department of a large company, your days are filled with poorly worded emails, unrealistic deadlines, and passive aggressive friendly reminders from your superiors. On a particularly awful afternoon, a chance encounter with a coworker from the programming department down the hall is the first thing to make you smile in weeks.
But the more you uncover about Yang Jungwon and his mysterious injuries, flimsy excuses, and always occupied Friday nights, the more you begin to realize that you really donât know him at all.
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PART TWO
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Itâs been a while since you felt anything but dread opening your work inbox.Â
Monday morning, however, the first message that greets you is a reminder of a time when you did. When you used to keep your email tab open just in the hopes that a certain programmer would send you messages about a jammed printer for you to reread a dozen times.Â
This time, though, excitement is the last thing you feel. Itâs curiosity, more than anything, combined with an urgent need to know what the hell happened between your date and your coworker, that has you clicking on the message.Â
From: [email protected]Â
Subject: Printer Issue
Good morning, ___.Â
I hope this message finds you well. I am currently trying to resolve an ongoing issue with the workroom printer and was hoping you would be able to provide some input at your earliest convenience.Â
Thank you in advance,Â
Jungwon
Part of you wants to archive the message without responding and let him simmer in your rejection.Â
But spite has never held much weight against curiosity, and despite your better judgment, you soon find yourself walking towards the shared workroom.Â
As expected, itâs already occupied. This time, however, Jungwon is leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. The printer, just as you suspected, is in perfect working order.Â
Thereâs a fresh bruise on his forehead, and this time, you donât wonder where itâs from. It makes sense now. The bruises on his knuckles. The cut on his cheekbone. His seemingly intimate knowledge of head injuries that one fateful Monday afternoon he found you in this very room.Â
Theyâre all the result of his hidden hobby, you suppose.Â
As soon as you enter, some of the rigidity seeps out of his stance. Immediately, his arms fall to his sides, expression softening. â___,â he whispers, like he canât quite believe you actually came.Â
Where he softens, however, you cage up.Â
âYou have one minute,â you tell him.Â
âOne minute?â He echoes, brow creasing in confusion.Â
âOne minute to explain what happened Saturday night.â
Jungwon sighs. âIâm sorry. Really, I⌠I shouldnât have reacted like that.â
You donât say anything. An apology is appreciated, yes, but itâs not an explanation.Â
With your silence, Jungwon continues, âI was just⌠caught off guard. I didnât expect to see you there, and especially not with him.â
He pauses for a moment, biting at his lower lip. âLook, ___. I know it probably isnât my place, but I donât think heâs being honest with you. Jay isnât the person that you think he is, andââ
Your scoff cuts through his words, stopping him in his tracks. âThatâs funny,â you interrupt. But humor is the last thing on your mind. âHe said the exact same thing about you, you know. But it has to be bullshit. I mean, what could have possibly happened in middle school that two adults with jobs are still hung up on a decade later?â
Jungwonâs lips part in surprise. âHe told you about middle school?â
âWhy?â you prod. âIs there something to know?â
But now youâre at a stalemate, neither of you willing to disclose what exactly you know.Â
After another beat, Jungwon sighs. âLook, Iâm not trying to tell you what to doââ
âCould have fooled me.â
âBut I just want you to be careful, okay? Itâs⌠itâs important to me that youâre safe.â
âSafe?â You scoff. âIt was a boxing gym. I donât know why youâre acting like I was trying to push my way into the ring with you.â
âYou donât get itââ
âNo.â You throw your hands in exasperation. âI donât get it. But youâre not explaining it to me. Youâre just being evasive and acting like Iâm the one in the wrong. So unless you actually have something of substance to say, Iâm done having this conversation.â
â____âŚâÂ
Already halfway to the exit, the sound of your name is lost on you. Itâs bad enough that Jay has yet to reach out to you since last night. You absolutely do not need Jungwon bringing this issue into the office as well.Â
As if on cue, your phone dings with an incoming message.Â
Half expecting to see a virtual string of apologies from your coworker, youâre mildly surprised to see a different name instead.Â
You were right about the apologies, though.Â
Jay: Iâm sorry about last night. You were right about deserving an explanation and I want to give you one. I think this is a conversation we should have in person. Are you free Friday night for dinner?
Friday night. Two nights from now. Itâs soon enough that you wonât have to stew in resentment, but will give you both the time and space you need to think.Â
It doesnât take you long to consider, but you do wait another long minute before giving him the satisfaction of responding.Â
You: Iâll plan on Friday.
âŚ..
Friday morning comes with a vengeance.Â
Already teeming with nervous energy at the prospect of your upcoming date with Jay and the conversation that is sure to ensue, youâre a bit of a mess by the time you arrive at work.Â
Hair windswept, outfit mismatched, lipstick slightly smudged, you already know youâre in for a long day at the office.Â
But when you arrive at your desk, you find something that softens the blow, just a bit.Â
Grace, ever the instigator, is already learning over your cubicle by the time you notice it.Â
âWhew,â she whistles appreciatively. âSomeoneâs pulling out all the stops.â
And sheâs kind of right. The bouquet sitting front and center on your desk is massive. Overflowing with seasonal flowers that already emit a pleasant fragrance even from where you stand. The vase itself itâs gorgeous, too.Â
Imbued with a myriad of colors, it reminds you a bit of a stained glass window on a sunny afternoon.Â
Reaching for the small note tucked at the top, you open the envelope with slightly shaky fingers.Â
 ___, it reads.Â
I wish I had more to give you than an apology, but Iâve been told that flowers are a sure thing when it comes to brightening someoneâs day. I hope these are able to do that for you.Â
â J
Frowning, you read it once. Twice.Â
Jay has already apologized for the incident from a couple of nights ago, and the timing of this second apology seems odd, given your plans for tonight.Â
Youâre left to stand in your own confusion for a moment longer before a text message vibrates your phone in your pocket.Â
Reaching for it, the flowers suddenly start to make a lot more sense.Â
Jay: I am so sorry, but I have to reschedule our plans for tonight. It completely slipped my mind, but my sisterâs baby shower is tomorrow morning, and Iâve been voluntold to help set it up. I promise to let you know as soon as I can when Iâll be available
Jay: And again, I am so, so sorry
Sighing, you put your phone back in your bag. You canât blame him. Not really. His sisterâs baby shower is undoubtedly an important event, even if the timing is rather unfortunate for you.Â
Grace, blissfully unaware of your inner turmoil, is still gushing about your flowers. Turning to you, she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. âSo, what are those for? Got a hot date this weekend?â
You sigh, recently canceled plans still dampening your mood. Deciding thereâs no harm in telling Grace your woes, you say, âI wish. Jay just had to cancel on me for tonight.â
âNo.â Grace gasps. If you didnât know any better, youâd think she was personally affronted. âHe better have had a good excuse.â
âHe did,â you admit. Unlike someone you know. âFamily stuff.â
âAh,â Grace nods. âI suppose thatâs acceptable. Have you rescheduled?â
Frowning at the message you have yet to answer, you shake your head. âNot yet.â
âMm,â she hums, sensing your disappointment. âIâm sure something just came up at work, and heâll get back to you soon.âÂ
âYeah,â you nod hollowly. âIâm sure he will.â
You: I understand. Is there any chance we could meet Saturday evening or afternoon? Itâs important to me that we talk about it soon.
Itâs not as if you expect an immediate response. Like you, Jay is probably at work for the day. Busy and drowning in deadlines and assignments. Maybe even stuck in a meeting.Â
But thirty minutes pass. And then an hour. Two.Â
And your message is still completely unanswered.Â
The more time that passes, the harder it becomes to shake the funny feeling that starts to build in your gut. It builds and builds and builds, all the way until closing time.Â
And Jay still hasnât texted you back.Â
Thatâs annoying enough all on its own, but thereâs something else that just isnât adding up.Â
You canât quite put your finger on it, the thing thatâs bothering you so much. But even as you make your way towards after clocking out for the day, something still doesnât sit right with you. Opening your message thread again, you reread Jayâs last text.Â
Jay: ⌠my sisterâs baby shower is tomorrow morning, and Iâve been voluntold to help set it up.Â
Sisterâs baby shower.Â
Thatâs whatâs been bothering you. Because unless Jayâs sister is just finishing the shortest known pregnancy in human history, heâs lying to you.Â
You remember it now. The first time Grace mentioned Jay to you. She had just seen him for the first time since he moved back home.Â
At his older sisterâs baby shower.Â
Sitting in your car, you scoff out loud in disbelief. The ice he treads on has been dangerously thin since your run in with Jungwon at the boxing gym, and he had the audacity to lie?Â
Part of you wants to catch him in it. For your own confirmation and for the satisfaction of not letting him get away with trying to pull a fast one on you. But you need an excuse. Some reason to seek him out and find him where he isnât supposed to be.Â
Racking your brain, you try to think of a plausible explanation for turning up at his house tonight.Â
Still sitting in the parking lot, a car turns past you, headlights shining in through your windshield in a way that makes you squint.Â
In a way that reflects off of the tiny piece of metal jammed in the crevice next to your cupholder. Frowning, you reach down, tugging at it until itâs freed from its confines.Â
Youâre not sure what divine forces are working in your favor, but you make a mental note to properly thank them later. Because clutched between your fingers is Jayâs missing ring. The one that heâs been looking for since he messaged you about it last week.Â
Itâs perfect, you think. An absolutely perfect excuse to drop by his house, even if you should be under the impression that heâs not there at the moment.Â
Turning the piece of jewelry between your fingers, your eyes catch on an inscription on the inner band. Squinting, you can just make it out.Â
2013.11.13 King Pen
Youâre pretty sure the numbers are a date. November 13, 2013, to be exact. But King Pen. You have no idea what that is.Â
It sounds like it could be related to boxing, maybe. Pulling out your phone, you do a quick online search.Â
The results that flood your screen are mostly generic, nothing that gives you any real leads. You try a few different search combinations, including the date and finally, the name of your city.Â
That does send an old article to the top of your search results. Something published in a local newspaper in 2007.Â
Clicking on the link, you scan the article for anything relevant.Â
Samuel Kang, one line towards the beginning reads, shared his plans to open a boxing gym right here in the city. Although there are other similar gyms in nearby towns, this would be the first gymnasium dedicated solely to boxing in the area.Â
You skip down a few more lines.Â
When asked if he knows what heâd like to call his project, Kang just smiles and nods his head. âKing Pen,â he tells us. âI plan to call it King Pen.â
You frown. Your earlier search is proof enough that King Pen never came to fruition. As a final attempt at getting some answers, you type Samuel Kang into the search bar instead.Â
This time, the first article that pops up does carry an air of familiarity. Clicking on it, you confirm your suspicion.Â
Samuel Kang, as it turns out, never opened a boxing gym called King Pen. But he did open one called Kangâs Gym.Â
Looking through the photo gallery, the weightlifting equipment appears to have been in much better shape in 2008 than it was a couple of weeks ago. But even though the paint was still bright and the training pads were fully intact, it is undoubtedly the same exact gym.Â
Thereâs no reason for you to go there now. If anything, you should just drive straight to Jayâs house. But something still doesn't sit right with you.Â
Why does Jayâs ring say King Pen instead of Kangâs Gym? Especially since itâs dated five whole years after the gym opened under its actual name.Â
Besides, the gym is on your way to Jayâs apartment. If anything, itâs just a quick pit stop. A confirmation that youâre not going crazy.Â
Putting your car in drive, you set the ring on your passenger seat and drive out of the parking lot.Â
Itâs already dark by the time youâre pulling into Kangâs Gym. Switching your car off, you remove your key from the ignition.Â
Your automatic headlights still illuminate the strangely full parking lot in front of you. Frowning, you wonder why so many people are here. Even the night that you came with Jay, the parking lot wasnât nearly this full, and yet, most of the boxing rings inside were occupied.Â
Stepping out of your car, you close the door behind you softly. Youâre not sure why youâre overcome with the urge to tiptoe. Itâs not like you need to sneak around. Youâre not doing anything wrong, after all.Â
But the whole thing feels strange, has you on edge. You make it only a few steps before your eyes land on a familiar car.Â
âSister��s baby shower, my ass,â you whisper out loud to no one. Unless she decided to celebrate her new child at a run down boxing gym, Jay is absolutely lying to you. Because thatâs his sleek black car, right in front of you. Youâd recognize it anywhere.Â
And a few rows down, you confirm your other suspicion. Youâve never seen him drive it, but you have seen that particular navy blue SUV in the office parking garage before. Jungwon. Youâre sure itâs him.Â
For a moment, you hesitate. It might be easier, cleaner, to just take a picture of Jayâs car and send it to him. After all, that would get your point across clearly enough. Especially if you block him afterwards.Â
But heâs been evasive about everything related to this place since he first brought you here. And heâs not the only one.Â
Eyes falling to Jungwonâs car, you decide that catching Jay in a lie isnât the only thing you want to do tonight.Â
You want answers.Â
So the picture you take of Jayâs car remains unsent for now. Instead, you hike your bag a little further up your shoulder and continue walking in the direction of the gym.Â
Nearing the door, you brace yourself to be met with the large crowd that surely waits inside. Judging from the parking lot, this place must be near full capacity. But as you push through the unlocked door, the gym is completely and entirely empty.Â
Eerily so.Â
All around you, workout equipment and boxing rings sit untouched, devoid of life. There isnât so much as a sound to disturb the uncanny silence.Â
Frowning, your brow creases in deep confusion. Nothing about this makes any sense.Â
But you didnât come all the way here to add to your pile of questions. Instead, you push forward, past the rows of boxing rings towards the locker room where Jay left his bag a handful of nights ago.Â
It feels wrong to open the menâs locker room. But if no one is here, then surely it couldnât hurt. Warily, you start to crack open the door, inch by inch.Â
The locker room, to your unending puzzlement, is just as empty as the rest of the gym.Â
Youâre about to turn back to search the rest of the gym when you notice it. Just across from you, behind the first set of empty lockers. Thereâs another door.Â
Itâs probably nothing, you tell yourself, even as your feet carry you closer and closer. It probably just leads to a storage closet or a boiler room orâ
Pushing the door open, the first thing youâre met with is sound.Â
Voices. Loud voices. Lots and lots of them. In your surprise, you drop the door, and it clicks shut again.Â
Immediately, the sound stops. Plunged in silence again, itâs all you can do to not gasp.Â
Soundproof, you realize. Itâs soundproof. And not just the locker room. The entire gym was dead silent until you opened this door.
This time, when you push it open, you expect the cacophonous cheers that greet you. Youâre still too far away to make out what anyone is saying. Right now, it all blends into a wall of sound.Â
Vision is of little help, too. The only thing you see when you open the door is a staircase. In the low light, all you can tell is that it leads down.Â
Hoping that youâre not currently making the stupidest decision of your life, you place one tentative foot on the first step. Follow it with your other foot. And then you let the door close behind you, plunging you into complete darkness.Â
Immediately, a surge of panic claws at your throat. The lack of light, combined with the sheer volume of cheers and shouts, is enough to have you crawling in your skin.Â
Reaching blindly for the door handle behind you, you decide that sending Jay a picture of his car will have to be satisfying enough. But no matter how hard you try to twist the doorknob, it wonât budge.Â
No. No.Â
Youâre trapped. Effectively locked in.Â
As the reality of the situation sinks in, you feel the pit of your stomach begin to drop.Â
Part of you wants to just stay in place, wait for whateverâs going on to end and hope that a stroke of luck will set you free. But then another thought occurs to you.Â
What if this is the only entrance?
You donât know how many people are down there, but if the sound and parking lot are anything to go by, itâs a lot.Â
Youâre sure that Jay and Jungwon are among them, but stillâŚ
Both of their warnings start to come back to you.
âHeâs not who you think he isâŚâ
âI just want you to be carefulâŚâ
âItâs important to me that youâre safeâŚâ
Is this what they were talking about? Is this why Jungwon was so angry with Jay for bringing you here? Not because he didnât want you to see a boxing gym, but because thatâs not what this place is at all?
The more you mull it over, the more it starts to make sense.Â
Still submerged in darkness, you decide that the only way youâll confirm anything is by moving forward. Slowly, you reach for your phone, turning the flashlight on its lowest setting.Â
Keeping it clutched in your hands in case you need to shut it off at a momentâs notice, you begin to walk, descending down the staircase.Â
After two flights on uneven steps, you start to see a light in the distance, a clue that youâre getting closer. And with every step you take, the voices only get louder and louder.Â
On the third landing, youâre given two choices: continue down the stairs or move into a hallway that stretches to your left. Deciding that staying as far away from the crowd as you can is likely your best option, you opt for the hallway.Â
Youâve barely walked a few feet when you nearly stumble into a wall. Itâs not the end though â just a corner. The light from your phone confirms that the hallway takes a sharp turn.Â
Following it, you come to another door. This time, youâre even more hesitant. There could be people on the other side.Â
Pressing your ear against it, the only thing you hear is the same scrambled shouting, the same boisterous crowd. Itâs hard to tell for certain, but you donât hear anything that makes you think thereâs someone waiting on the other side.Â
Slowly, carefully, you begin to open the door.Â
The sudden light is nearly blinding. It takes your eyes a moment to adjust, but once they do, your mouth drops open.Â
You were right, thankfully. The small room you enter is mercifully empty.Â
But itâs also lined with windows that give you a direct view into the room one level beneath you. Jaw dropping, you take in the scene below.Â
There must be at least five hundred people crammed into the stands that encircle the room. All of them are on their feet, shouting jeers and cheering with equal fervor.Â
And in the center of it all is a boxing ring. On the side that faces you, bold letters give it a name:
King Pen.
Itâs empty for now, but youâre only left wondering for another handful of seconds before a middle aged man steps into the center, microphone in hand. With an open palm, he gestures towards the crowd, commanding them to listen.Â
Whoever he is, he holds weight here. With the flick of his hand, literally, the room all but falls silent.Â
âLadies and gentlemen,â he says into the microphone. âNext up is the fight weâve all been waiting for.â
He pauses for a moment as more cheers and shouts fill the room.Â
âI hope your bets are placed, because these two always manage to surprise us. Please welcome our first challenger to the ring. Back to the city for the first time in years, itâs Jaan!â
But itâs not Jaan. Or at least, itâs not someone you know as Jaan.Â
No, itâs Jay. The same Jay that took you to an art exhibition and convinced you to try sweet coffee instead of your usual bitter black. The same Jay that flirts with you over text and whispers sweet nothings in your ear after a long day of work.Â
The same Jay that lied to you about why he had to cancel your date tonight.Â
The crowd has barely died down when the man presses on, âAnd your second challenger, the reigning champion⌠Please give your warmest welcome for Jakah!âÂ
The alias booms around you, echoing through the room. And of course itâs him. Of course Jakah, the reigning champion, is someone you used to think would have trouble hurting a fly.Â
Someone you thought embodied gentleness, patience, with every ounce of his being.Â
But no matter how badly you want to deny it, no matter how much the cognitive dissonance wars inside your brain, itâs him.Â
Itâs Jungwon who enters from the other side of the ring.Â
âNow, remember,â the man addresses the audience again. âCheer for your favorite. Scream at his opponent. And donât forget our golden rule: in the Kingâs Pen,â he begins.Â
âAnything goes,â the audience shouts back in unison.Â
Anything? Your heart falls from your throat to the pit of your stomach. As if it wasnât bad enough that Jay is here, that he lied to you, that heâs fighting Jungwon.Â
Taking a closer look at the ring beneath you, you notice the odd, rust colored stains that nearly cover it.Â
Blood, you realize after a sickening moment. The ring is covered in blood stains.Â
It makes sense, suddenly, why King Pen didnât appear in any search results. Why this entire place is completely soundproofed. Why Jungwon wanted you to stay far, far away.Â
This isnât a sparring match. Itâs a duel.Â
One where, like the audience just affirmed, anything goes.Â
As the man steps out from the center of the ring, Jay and Jungwon start to circle each other, fists raised in anticipation.Â
Even from a distance, you can see the tight coil of muscle in their shoulders, the way their bodies prepare for the inevitable fight.Â
âSay it with me now, folks,â the man booms, now standing on the side of the ring.Â
âThree.â Jayâs eyes narrow, fists rising an inch higher.
âTwo.â Jungwon flicks a stray strand of hair out of his eyes.Â
âOne.â You feel your last bit of breath whoosh out from your lungs.Â
âFight.â
Itâs like a dance, you think. A sickening, deadly dance that you canât look away from no matter how much you want to.Â
Despite your lack of knowledge, it quickly becomes apparent to you why this is the main event of the evening.Â
Where Jay is sheer, brutal strength, Jungwon is all evasion. He moves with the agility of an athlete, the lightness of a dancer.Â
He makes it look easy, the way he ducks beneath carefully timed swings and always seems to predict what Jay will do next.Â
But even dancers stumble sometimes.Â
You canât help it, the gasp that slips out when one of Jayâs punches lands true. You watch, horrified, as Jungwon staggers backwards, adding to the crimson stains on the floor of the ring.Â
Slightly dazed, he brings the back of his palm to the broken skin along his cheekbone, assessing the damage. When he brings it in front of his face, it comes back red.Â
Jay takes no pity on his opponent. Following his retreat, he aims for another bruising blow. This one hits Jungwon just beneath the ribs. Echoes around the makeshift stadium with a dull thud you hear even from your hiding place.Â
Again, Jungwonâs sure steps falter.Â
The rise and fall of his chest is rapid as he struggles to catch his breath. But when he looks up again, thereâs a fire in his eyes. Pure, unadulterated hatred that permeates the scant distance between him and his rival and sends a shiver down the length of your spine.Â
Not one to take things lying down, Jungwon takes advantage of Jayâs momentary lapse in focus.Â
His fist connects with the bridge of Jayâs nose with a sickening crunch. Head falling backward, the immediate flow of blood is gruesome. It drip down his chin, landing on the floor beneath him in an arrhythmic pattern.Â
Thereâs little grace to it now. Gone are the remaining fragments of inhibition as both boys put away their judgment and leave the rest to instinct.Â
Itâs messy, sloppy, angry.Â
Theyâre so close; itâs hard to tell which blows come from who. Hard to tell whose wounds are multiplying faster, whose blood is falling more freely.Â
And then, just when you think you canât stomach watching any longer, itâs done.Â
Itâs so fast. You canât quite be sure how it happens. But one second, both boys are standing, and the next, Jay is flat on his back, Jungwon hovering above him.Â
Still, the crowd is silent. Everyoneâs eyes are on the ring.Â
Jay is down. Trapped beneath his opponent, itâs clear to you who the victory is. But then you remember the words the crowd chanted at the beginning of the fight.Â
Anything goes.Â
Your stomach twists with nausea.Â
Even from here, you can see the tension that still strains the muscles along Jungwonâs back. The rigidity of his shoulders.Â
For a moment, you think heâs going to do it. To strike again, even though victory is already in his hands.Â
You see his lips move with words you canât hear. Beneath him, Jay remains stoic. Thereâs still fight in his eyes, even if itâs been drained from his body.Â
Jungwonâs mouth moves again.Â
This time, Jay nods. Itâs a tiny movement, barely perceptible. But itâs enough.Â
With an agitated flair, Jungwon stands again.Â
Blood is still dripping from his face, his knuckles. Sweat covers his body, drenches his hair.Â
Heâs won, yes, but the expression on his features is not one of satisfaction.Â
ARound him, the audience begins to boo, throwing jeers and insults like extra change. They were hoping for more than a fight. They were hoping for cruelty Jungwon isnât willing to give.Â
Without a second glance back, he turns and leaves the ring.Â
Still reeling, you nearly jump out of your skin when the handle on the door to your room begins to turn.Â
If you had a stronger grip on your sense of logic, you would do something. Try to hide. Scramble to think of an excuse for your presence.Â
The door opens before you do any of it.Â
âOh,â Heeseung says, eyes widening as he finds the room already occupied. And then it registers with him who exactly is already occupying said room. âOh,â he repeats. âHe is not going to be happy about this.â
âŚ..
Heeseungâs fist rings out against the door in three sharp raps. For a moment, silence is the only response. And thenâ
âIâm not in the mood.â
âUh,â Heeseung glances at you sideways. âI think you should open the door anyway.âÂ
âIâm serious.â Jungwonâs voice is pure ire. âIâm not doing this with you right now, Heeseung.â
âOkay,â Heeseung concedes. âBut I really still think you should open theââ
âWhat?â
Jungwonâs glare lands on his friend before his gaze slides to you. Immediately, his features slacken in surprise. âOh.â
And itâs stupid, foolish, naive. But the first thing you feel when you see him standing on his own two feet is pure, unadulterated relief.Â
Heâs injured. Itâs obvious from the wounds that line his face and the way his breath is still shallow in his chest. But heâs okay.Â
Heâs here and heâs in front of you and heâs okay.Â
âYeah,â Heeseung repeats. âLike I said, I think you shouldââ
âGo away.â
âWhat?â Heeseung balks. âWhere am I supposed toââ
âAway,â Jungwon reiterates, eyes still locked on you.Â
Heeseung is sulking, but he follows Jungwonâs command regardless. And then itâs just the two of you.Â
You both speak at the same time, near identical questions overlapping with one another.Â
âWhat the hell are you doing?â
âWhy are you here?â
A beat of silence passes. Another.Â
As if he is suddenly remembering your surroundings, Jungwon looks around you, a new urgency in his gaze. You donât know what kind of consequences places like this carry, but common sense tells you itâs best that youâre not seen. âCome in,â he opens the door a bit wider, giving you space to enter.Â
You shouldnât. He hasnât lied to you, not exactly, but itâs not like heâs been particularly honest either.Â
And coworkers donât owe you the truth or the nitty gritty details of their lives, but itâs been a long time since Jungwon and you treated one another like coworkers. No matter what you want to call it, the relationship that youâve built between conversations in the workroom and email threads and kind gestures in the office feels a lot more like friendship. Or at the very least some iteration of it.Â
So youâre not mad at him for keeping this from you, not really.Â
But other emotions are swirling in your gut, and you donât know what to do with them. Most of all, youâre worried. For his safety. For his wellbeing. For him.Â
Obeying his command, you step inside the small room. You hear the door click shut behind you.Â
Looking around, there isnât much to see. Itâs a locker room, essentially, designed for one person. Thereâs a counter to your left with a small first aid kit and a chair in the far corner of the room.Â
A gym bag, Jungwonâs you assume, rests next to it.Â
And, of course, thereâs the two of you.Â
Glancing up, you take a look at him. A long, real look.Â
Heâs wearing the same clothes he entered the ring with. A white athletic shirt that moves with him, gives his long, lean muscles space to move. To flex and contract with every shallow breath.Â
Heâs still just as gorgeous as always, even with a split lip and a nasty cut that spans the length of his temple. Even with the bruising thatâs already begun to discolor his near flawless skin.Â
Sighing, you nod towards the chair behind him. âSit down.â
âWhat?â Confusion draws his brow downward, and he hisses in pain at the movement.Â
âDonât tell me your illegal fights have ruined your hearing too.â
âWhat? No.â Jungwon shakes his head. âMy hearing is perfectly fine, I mean.â
âThen sit.â You glance pointedly at the chair again. âDown.â
This time, he doesnât try to argue. You watch from your periphery, frowning at the slight limp in his left leg as he walks toward the chair, easing himself down.Â
Reaching for the first aid kit on the counter, you bring it with you as you move across the room.Â
Your steps are slow and even. They carry you all the way to the far corner, until youâre forced to stop.Â
Standing above Jungwon, your lips pull into a tight line as you begin to assess his injuries. Hesitation might be wise, but you canât find any of it left in you.Â
Your movements are sure, gentle but firm. Hands sliding to his jaw, you adjust his face slightly, turning the gash on his temple towards the light. Itâs an echo of the way he examined you in the workroom, long weeks ago.Â
This time, itâs him thatâs easily manipulable underneath your touch.Â
âWhat are you doing?â He whispers.Â
Your hesitation is gone, but so is your patience. âDonât talk.â Jungwonâs lips fall shut. Heâs pliant in your hands as you adjust him.Â
Reaching for the kit, the first thing you pull out is antiseptic cream.Â
âThis might sting,â you whisper.Â
âItâs okay,â he assures you. But he hisses at the contact all the same. âDoesnât even hurt,â he lies through gritted teeth, forcing a smile.Â
If heâs trying to be funny, his attempt at humor is lost on you.Â
Gaze still narrowed in concentration, you busy yourself by cleaning the worst of his wounds first.Â
As you move from his forehead to his lip, you donât think you imagine the sharp inhale he draws between parted lips.Â
âIt stings?â You ask him.Â
âJust a bit.â You feel the ghost of his whisper against your fingertips.Â
You look up for a moment, and you find his gaze already locked on yours. It takes a significant portion of your willpower to stop yourself from reaching up to brush his hair from his eyes.Â
It feels wrong, even if you call it friendship. Even if you and Jay never discussed exclusivity.Â
Your heart is fluttering, and thatâs what makes it all seem so illicit.Â
With no small amount of effort, you force your eyes down again. Standing above him, your fingers move from his face to his hands. His wrist clasped in your fingers, you sink to your knees in front of him.Â
Jungwon swallows audibly.Â
Pulling his hand closer, you examine the series of shallow cuts, of angry, violet bruises that line his knuckles. With another long sigh, you reach for the cream again, applying it generously before carefully wrapping it in a bandage.Â
After giving the same attention to the other hand, you lean back, assessing your handiwork.
For a moment, neither of you moves. Youâre still kneeling in front of him. He still sits above you.Â
And then, after a breath of hesitation, one carefully wrapped hand finds its way to your face.Â
Gently, with a touch so light you hardly feel it, he lays his open palm against the expanse of your cheek. Cradles it. Â
He whispers your name, and you canât find it in you to look up.Â
âI donâtâŚâ you trail off, not sure how to communicate the swirling mix of emotions simmering just beneath the surface. âI donât want to be mad at you.â
âBut you are,â Jungwon assumes. He accepts it, and he doesnât let it change anything. His hand is steady against your cheek. His thumb starts to draw small circles, just under your earlobe.Â
âIâm not,â you correct. âBut this isnâtâŚâ again your words die. Itâs frustrating, the way you feel like you can never be straightforward with him. The way you always feel like you have to navigate through subtext and half truths and partial reveals just to get a point across.Â
âBut you donât owe me anything right now.â
His thumb stills against your skin.Â
âWeâre coworkers,â you continue. âWeâre just coworkers, so it doesnât matter if you fight in illegal boxing matches. You donât have to worry about what I think of it, and I donât have to be mad at you for it.â
You do look up at him, begging for a bit of his understanding. âYou can be evasive with your excuses and reject all of my invitations. We can meet by chance in the workroom on Monday afternoons, and none of it ever has to mean anything. Neither of us ever has to feel anything about it.â
âBut,â Jungwon whispers.Â
âYeah,â you nod. Your cheek slides easily against the soft skin of his bruised hand. âBut.â
Jungwon is silent for a moment, eyes darting between both of yours. Then, tentatively, he asks, âAre you mad at him?â
He doesnât say Jayâs name, but the venom he wraps around the word is all you need to know who heâs talking about.
You shake your head, eyelids fluttering. âWeâre coworkers.â You reiterate the boundaries heâs always maintained with you. âYou donât get to ask me that.â
Jungwonâs hand slides to your neck, thumb tracing the length of your jaw now. âAnd if I want to?â
You shake your head again. You can only give him so much on a silver platter. If he wants anything to change, heâll have to find a bit of his own bravery. âThatâs not the question you need to ask me.â Looking up at him, you draw another line. âAnd not tonight.â
Youâve both been through enough. Heightened emotions rarely lead to good decisions, and the last thing you want is his indecisiveness. His impulsivity.
Quietly, you stand, his hand falling from your face as you rise to full height in front of him.Â
His eyes look wider from this angle, from above. Even shinier than usual. No matter how many boundaries you draw or how many ways you deny him, heâs someone thatâs hard to say no to. Hard to walk away from.Â
Steeling the last remnants of your resolve, you manage to look him in those dark, sparkling eyes when you tell him, âGood night, Jungwon.â
âGood night, ___,â he whispers to your retreating silhouette.Â
Closing the door behind you, you barely have a moment to catch your breath before a voice interrupts your wandering thoughts.Â
âYou like him, donât you?â
The gasp you give is out of shock more than anything. And the âWhat?â you ask is a knee jerk reaction.
 âYang.â Jay materializes from his position in the darkness, jerking his chin towards the door behind you. âYou like him.â
Immediately, you find yourself on the defense. Even if youâre just delaying the inevitable, itâs cagey when you tell him. âWe work together.â
Jay just looks at you. âMy favorite color is green.â
âWhat?â
âSorry,â Jayâs tone is flat. Heâs not annoyed, but heâs coming close to it. âI thought we were stating irrelevant facts.âÂ
With a sigh, he drags an open palm down his face. âI know you work together. But you like him, too," he sighs again, reading the horror in your expression. Mostly due to the fact that he read you like an open book when you thought you were keeping your feelings close to the chest. âIâm not⌠mad. It sucks, but itâs not like I was honest with you either. Iâm sorry, by the way, for lying about tonight.â
Itâs too much to process, all at once. Your head is swimming and your heart is pounding.Â
It was a shitty thing to do, yes, butâÂ
âYou donât have to say sorryââ
Again, Jay doesnât let you finish. âIâm not saying sorry because I have to. Iâm saying it because I am. I like you.â Heâs so honest. So blunt with his feelings. He makes things so easy. âI like spending time with you. I think we both know thatâs not enough anymore,â he casts another meaningful glance at the door behind him. The one that leads to Jungwonâs locker room, âbut itâs still true.â
âIâŚâ you trail off, unsure what to say. Heâs not wrong. In fact, heâs all but hit the nail right on the head. With deadly accuracy.Â
Heeseung was the one that found you, that brought you to Jungwon, but still.Â
Itâs not Jay that you checked in on fist. Itâs not Jay whose wounds you just cleaned. Itâs not Jay who youâre thinking about now.Â
Like he said, it sucks, but itâs still true.Â
Jay has bruises, too. Has cuts that line his knuckles and his jaw. Heâs here because heâs part of an illegal underground boxing ring. He lied to you about it.Â
But you just⌠youâre not mad at him about it. And thatâs the final nail in the coffin.Â
Jay just looks at you for a moment longer. For the third time, he sighs. âYouâre really gonna make me do this part too?â He inhales, steeling his resolve. âOkay, then. ___, I think we shouldââ
âI think we should stop seeing each other,â you finish for him. You can give him at least that much. âI had a great time getting to know you, but I think we want different things right now. I wish you all the best. Really, youâre a great guy, Jay.â
He is.Â
âI mean it.â
You do.Â
âThank you, ___.â
He means it too.Â
When Jay walks away from you, his shoulders are straight and his head is high.Â
You feel a lot of things, as you watch his retreating figure.Â
But no matter how deep you search, regret isnât one of them.Â
âŚ..
Monday morning brings with it a distinct sort of dread.Â
Partly because it marks the beginning of another long week. Mostly because going back to the office means potentially seeing him.Â
If youâre honest with yourself, youâre not sure if youâre ready for that. If youâre ready to face the feelings youâve been forcing down for months and the potential fallout they may bring with them.Â
So, when you open your inbox first thing in the morning, an unreasonable request from your supervisor isnât the thing youâre most afraid of finding.Â
Jungwon, however, isnât planning to stick to old routines. When he seeks you out, he does it in person.Â
Graceâs eyes are anywhere but on her own work when he walks through the door of the marketing department half past ten.Â
â___,â he breathes.Â
The wounds on his face are already fading, hardly even noticeable. You wish you could say the same for the turmoil raging inside of you. You canât decide if you want to throw your arms around his neck or tell him to fuck off.Â
In the end, you just look at him blankly.Â
âCan weâŚâ he trails off, visibly frustrated. He isnât sure how to do this either. âCan you help me with something? In the workroom. I think the printer is acting up again.â
The printer is fine. You used it five minutes ago.Â
But heâs not asking you to help him with work or the printer or anything else. Heâs asking for a bit of your time, a fraction of your understanding.Â
Itâs messy. It has so much potential for heartbreak, for complication.Â
But heâs here and heâs looking at you like your answer means the world to him. Like he might forget how to breathe if you donât say yes.Â
So, with a rising bout of uncertainty, you tell him, âLetâs go take a look at it.â
The printer, just as you suspected, is in perfect working order. Jungwon doesnât even spare it a second look.Â
Instead, he closes the door to the workroom behind you. And then he says, âI started boxing when I was a kid. I think I was eight, nine maybe.â
âWhat are youââ
âJust listen,â Jungwon begs. âPlease.â
You want to protest. Youâre not sure why, but the urge is strong. But after a moment of warring with yourself, you finally nod, giving him permission to continue.Â
âIt was just a hobby. Something to keep me busy on long afternoons when both of my parents were working in the restaurant my family owned. But I kept at it, and they could see how much I enjoyed it. By the time I was ten, my mom enrolled me in actual classes.â
Jungwon smiles, reminiscing on the tidbits of a happy childhood. But then his smile starts to falter. âA few months later, my grandpa died. It wasnât a surprise exactly, but it did have some unexpected consequences on the business. My family started to struggle. With money, more than anything.â
He sighs, and your heart hurts for a past version of him, too young to make sense of all of the sudden changes in his life. âI had to quit taking lessons. I kept practicing on my own, though. And when I started middle school, there was a free boxing club I joined. I met a lot of my friends there. Heeseung, who you met the other night, along with a few others. I also met Jay.â
Jungwonâs lips pull into a line. âI didnât hate him. Not exactly. He was nice enough, and we had a lot in common. But he had everything that I wanted. Money, mostly. His family never had to worry about it. He could take private lessons and always had all the nicest gear. He didnât flaunt it, but I noticed. And I envied him for it.â
Looking back at you, he continues, âHeeseung was the one that found the King Pen. He was like me, in a way. His family didnât come from money. We were young, too young, but we were good. We made them money, so they let us fight. Jay found out and wanted in too. It didnât matter that he didnât need the prize money. He just wanted to prove that he was better than us. That he was the best. It was me and him in my very first championship fight. He won, and I hated him for it.â
The ring, you realize. Jayâs ring that he dropped in your car. It was a championship ring.Â
Jungwon looks down at his hands. The bandages that you put there. âHe moved away once high school started. We didnât keep in direct contact or anything, but I always heard about him. Jay and his international boxing titles. Jay and his new sponsorship deal with a major boxing gym. It just added fuel to the fire that was already there. Made me resent him more, even if it wasnât his fault.â
No matter how you spin it, you canât imagine any of that was easy to deal with. Especially as a teenager.Â
âWith him gone, though, I started to make real money fighting. Good money. I lied to my parents and told them I got a part time job. Moving cargo so that they wouldnât be too suspicious when I came home with bruises.â
Jungwon flexes his fingers. âBoxing became my saving grace. I could give a good chunk of my earnings to my family, and the rest of it, I saved. It put me through university. Let me earn my programming degree.â
You understand him a bit more, then. Why he never seemed annoyed by his job. Why even things like jammed printers never seemed to get to him. Heâs thankful for where he is. Has nothing but gratitude for his job when he earned it with years of his own blood, sweat, and tears.Â
âI have a steady income now, but itâs just⌠hard, I guess. To let that part of me go. And if Iâm honest, part of me has always been afraid too. I mean, my parents had a steady income until they didnât, you know? I like knowing that even if something happens here, Iâll still be able to support myself. And them.â
It makes sense. It does.Â
âAnd then Jay came back.â Jungwon scoffs. âHeâd barely been in town for a full twenty-four hours when he showed up at Kangâs with all of his fancy gear and asked to be added to the roster for the next round of fights. And then he showed up there with you and I⌠I thought I was actually going to lose it.â
Even now, Jungwonâs shoulders are visibly tense. âThe actual gym is usually fine, safe for outsiders, but still. He shouldnât have risked your safety like that. He should have known better. And IâŚâ Jungwon trails off again.Â
You donât think youâre imagining the slight tinge of pink that starts to color his cheekbones.
âI was already having a bad enough time with the fact that you were seeing someone. When it turned out to be him, I just⌠Well, you know.â
Jungwon takes a deep breath in, releases a long exhale.Â
âI donât like making bets, and I donât like situations I canât predict. Things I donât have control over. I guess thatâs part of the reason why I always liked boxing so much. In the ring, I feel like I have a say in what happens. That even if I lose, itâs because I didnât move fast enough. I didnât think quick enough. Things I have control over. Things I can get better at.â
Jungwon looks at you. âI hate guessing. I hate having to wonder. I like sure things.âÂ
His chest is rising and falling a little faster now. Your breath is just as shallow.Â
âWhat are you saying?â you ask him.Â
âIâm saying that I donât just want to be coworkers with you. I want you to be mad at me for fighting in illegal underground boxing matches.â Jungwonâs gaze is imploring, pleading for your understanding as his eyes search yours. âI want you to call me when the printer jams and when you have a hard day and when you want someone to go to a stupid work event with you on a Friday night.âÂ
He takes a step closer to you, and you feel your spine press against the door of the workroom.Â
âI want you to be a sure thing,â he breathes, âeven if everything about you â the way I feel about you, the thoughts I have about you, the things I want to do to you â have always felt out of my control.â
âOh.â Your voice is small. Your mouth is dry. Caged in against the door, words are suddenly a hard thing to come by.Â
âOh,â Jungwon echoes. âIs that a yes?â
Heâs even closer now. Nose brushing against yours, he interlaces the fingers of his less injured hand with yours, reaching up until your hands are intertwined above your head.Â
âNo,â you shake your head.Â
âMm,â Jungwon hums, and you feel the vibration travel the length of your spine, settling somewhere deep, just beneath your navel. His lips brush against the corner of your mouth when he asks, âItâs a no, then?â
Again, you shake your head. Trapped in his embrace, the movement is tiny, restricted. Sends goosebumps scattering across your skin everywhere the two of you are touching.Â
âAn oh is just an oh,â you tell him. âThis is a yes.âÂ
There isnât any distance to close. Just pressure to add. He accepts it willingly, even if the sudden contact against the still broken skin of his bottom lip has him releasing a hiss through his teeth.Â
Itâs a discomfort he gets over quickly. His other hand, the one not currently tangled with yours, relocates to the curve of your jaw before heâs doubling down, pain all but forgotten as his lips part against yours.Â
A repeated motion. A rhythm thatâs stilted at first but starts to feel natural the longer you continue.Â
Over and over. Again and again until the action starts to feel useless. Until youâre not quite sure where his breath ends and yours begin.Â
Youâre in the office workroom, pressed against the door, and the printer is starting to beep in protest.Â
Youâre sure youâll be thoroughly embarrassed when you inevitably leave long minutes later with mussed hair and swollen lips and a certain programmer trailing behind you that canât contain his self-satisfied smile.Â
But for now, you get what he means. It feels good. It feels like relief, to finally know where you stand with him.Â
So instead of worrying about what your supervisor will think of your mussed collar and smudged lipstick, you pull him down a little firmer by the back of the neck, fingers tangling in the hair along his nape.Â
You sigh into his mouth, and the fervor he returns with leaves you well and truly breathless.Â
And for once, it feels like a sure thing.Â
âŚ..
epilogueÂ
Jungwon: SOS
Jungwon: Babyyyyyyyy
Jungwon: I know youâre reading my messagesÂ
Jungwon: PLEASE ___ I really need your help
You: Iâm BUSY what do you need
Jungwon: The printer is jammed again
You: And what do you want me to do about that? Call maintenance
Jungwon: Oh pleaseÂ
Jungwon: Last time I called maintenance they sent a guy that couldnât tell A4 from A3 this is not the job for them
Jungwon: Plus they donât have the magic touch like you
You: Literally what are you talking about
You: The last time I tried to fix the printer, I broke it so bad it was out of commission for two whole weeks
You: The entire floor was mad at me
You: I had to buy Grace coffee every day for TWO WEEKS
Jungwon: PLEASEEEEEE
Jungwon: Just try once and if it doesnât work Iâll call maintenance
Jungwon: I promise
You: âŚ
You: FINE
You: On my way
Tucking your phone back into your pocket, you sigh. The workroom door opens with little resistance, but as soon as you step inside, you frown.Â
Jungwon, for starters, is nowhere to be seen.Â
And the printer, at least from first impressions, appears to be working just fine. Completely jam-free.
Youâre not left in the dark for long. A moment later, the door opens behind you.Â
Tumbling in like an overexcited kitten, your boyfriend looks all too enthused to be dealing with a supposed jammed printer.Â
Gesturing towards the machine in question, you frown at him. âWhat were you talking about? The printer is perfectly fââ
He cuts you off with the press of his lips against your own, pushing you backwards until you run into the printer, spine arching against the copier tray.Â
âJungwon,â you protest once he finally lets you up for air. âItâs like you want HR to start a case against us. You have got to stop doing that.â
âDoing what?â He feigns innocence, even as he leans in again for another long kiss.Â
âMm,â you mumble, breaking free again. âYou know exactly what Iâm talking about. Faking printer emergencies as an excuse to make out. Weâre at work.â
Jungwon leans back, but the only thing he uses the space for is to let himself scan you from head to toe. Biting his bottom lip, he runs a set of fingers through the hair that falls across his forehead. âYou know, youâre a really terrible liar.â
âIâm not lyââ
âIf you actually wanted me to stop, you wouldnât fall for it every.â He presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. âSingle.â The top of your cheekbone. âTime.â The corner of your mouth. Â
And you hate to admit it, but he kind of has you there.Â
âWhatever.â You pout, but he just uses it as an excuse to plant another long kiss on your pursed lips. âIâm serious, Jungwon,â you tell him, even if youâre just as breathless as he is, despite the fact that youâre actively pulling him in by the back of his neck. âThis has to be the last time.â
âMm,â he smiles against your lips. âSure thing, ___.â
âŚ..
outtake â seven months ago.
The tinted window of Jungwonâs secondhand car is hardly an ideal mirror, but heâll have to make it work.Â
Giving himself a final once over, he straightens his already immaculate tie. Tugs at the collar of his button down shirt so that it lays just a little bit nicer, the edges of the folds just a fraction of a millimeter sharper.Â
Bending slightly, he smooths down his hair, pushing it away from his eyes. Catching his reflection again, he suddenly has second thoughts about the version of himself that he sees.Â
Bleaching his hair had seemed like a good â no, great â idea a few weeks ago. But now, dressed in business casual and about to begin his first day at a new job, doubts start to swirl through Jungwonâs mind.Â
What if they donât think the blonde is professional enough? What if it breaks some kind of unspoken dress code?
He knows it doesnât break the actual, company mandated dress code. Mostly because heâs already read through the handbook.Â
Twice.Â
With annotations.Â
Frowning slightly, Jungwon tilts his head to the side. Heâs gotten pretty good with concealer, but thereâs still a faint purplish tint that sits just along the edge of his jaw.Â
It takes a decent amount of effort not to wince at the memory. Sunghoon had gotten him good that day.Â
Jungwon forces his shoulders to relax. Forces himself to take one big breath in. Release it out slowly.Â
He has no reason to panic. He went through the same, brutal rounds of interviews as everyone else and was deemed to be the most qualified candidate. He graduated summa cum laude in the same field heâll be employed in now.Â
And itâs not like anyoneâs going to be looking at his face close enough to notice any slight discoloration. Or, at least, he doesnât think they will.Â
To be honest, heâs not really sure how this whole thing works. Office jobs, no matter how many online forums heâs scoured and articles heâs read, are still a bit of a mystery to him.Â
He hates it. Hates feeling out of his depth and ill prepared. Hates knowing that heâll have to ask too many questions and stumble through tasks until he gets the basics down.Â
But part of him is excited too.Â
He did it. Standing in the parking lot of an otherwise rather unremarkable company, it hits him all at once.Â
He actually fucking did it.Â
All those nights in the ring. Every bruise, every scar, every drop of blood. Every saved penny, every skipped opportunity.Â
They landed him here. An 8 to 5 office job that isnât flashy or anything special from the outside, but to him, means the world.Â
Heâll have it all: a steady salary, a place to be in the mornings, coworkers to notice when heâs not around. Itâs not much, but itâs his.Â
So, with one last deep inhale, Jungwon turns away from his car window and tracks a steady path on even footsteps towards the front door.Â
And a handful of hours later, when Terry from accounting is still talking his ear off about his sonâs latest hockey match in the doorway of the staff kitchen, Jungwonâs heart gives an unsteady lurch.Â
âHey, Terry,â you nod in acknowledgement, entering the kitchen in search of an early afternoon refill for your empty coffee mug. âHey, oh.â Your eyes meet his, lips parting. Your words die when you realize you donât know what to call him. When you realize youâve never actually seen him before.Â
And itâs not like Jungwon has never seen a pretty girl before, but â oh.Â
Oh.Â
Dressed in a rather simple, work approved ensemble, hair loose around your face, thereâs nothing specific that he can pinpoint. All Jungwon knows is that thereâs something about you that makes him want to keep looking.Â
âJungwon,â he supplies, a bit breathlessly.Â
Behind him, Terry is still regaling the details of his kidâs game-winning goal.Â
Eyes locked on him, a beat of heavy silence passes. And then â
âHi, Jungwon.âÂ
Your eyes. He thinks it must be your eyes. Or maybe your lips. The delicate curve of your cheekbone. His gaze canât decide where to land.Â
âHi,â he manages.Â
Eyes sliding over his shoulder to Terry, you release a small, amused breath. âHey, Terry?â
Stopping mid sentence, the middle aged man turns to you. âOh, hi, ____. How are you?â
___. Jungwon thinks it suits you. A pretty name for a pretty girl.Â
âJust fine, thanks.â You flash him a quick smile. Just a bare hint, and Jungwon feels his knees getting a little wobbly beneath him. âBut I was wondering if you could help me with something.â
âOf course,â Terry nods a little too enthusiastically. Fifteen years at the same company, and heâs the kind of person that still jumps at the opportunity to be needed. Helpful. Jungwon thinks itâs kind of sweet, even if he wishes the manâs gift for brevity in storytelling could be a bit more apparent.Â
âYou know the printer in the workroom?â
Terry nods.Â
âItâs jammed again,â you frown, the slightest hint of a pout pulling at your lips. Jungwon canât quite find it in himself to look away from the movement. âDo you think you could take a look at it for me?â
Terry beams. âOf course! Iâd be happy to.âÂ
And then itâs just the two of you.Â
âHe means well.â You smile again, softer this time. Like youâre discussing an inside joke only the two of you know about.Â
Jungwon is suddenly finding his breath a difficult thing to maintain.Â
âDoes the printer do that a lot?â He finally manages to ask. âJam, I mean.â
âAll the time.â You roll your eyes. âYouâd think a company raking in this much profit would have the cash to spare on a new machine, but no. This entire floor is just ill fated to sufferâ Thereâs an air of humor to your words, a slight hint of teasing, even if Jungwon thinks thereâs an undercurrent of truth to your words.Â
You smile again. Teeth tugging at your bottom lip, Jungwon can only describe your expression as slightly devious. âItâs not jammed now, though.â
His brow furrows. âItâs not?â
You shake your head. âI was given the gory details of Terryâs sonâs soccer game yesterday. Trust me, I saved you a headache and an extra thirty minutes.â You wink at him, and Jungwon really, really hopes the sudden heat in his cheeks doesnât look as obvious as it feels.Â
âI think it was a hockey match, actually.â
âOh.â You pause for a moment, considering. âRight.â
A moment of silence passes. Another. Jungwon has never minded the quiet, but heâs not quite ready for this interaction to end. Suddenly, he feels like heâs scrambling for something to prolong it.Â
âThank you.â
Your brow furrows. âFor what.â
âThe extra thirty minutes and the absence of a headache.â Jungwon taps two fingers against his temple. âI appreciate it.â
âAh,â you smile, and this time itâs a bit brighter, wider. Jungwon, not for the first time today, thanks his lucky stars that he was accepted for this position. That it landed him here, sharing a staff kitchen with someone like you. âAnytime.â
He hopes you mean it.Â
And when you turn away from him a few moments later, original mission to refill your coffee remembered, Jungwon looks up at the ceiling with his eyes screwed shut and takes a long, much needed breath.Â
âJungwon,â you turn back. Luckily, heâs just returned to a more natural standing position.Â
âYeah?â
âItâs nice to meet you. Donât let this place get you down too quickly.â You wink again. Jungwon does his best to keep his features neutral. âIâll see you around, yeah?â
âYeah,â he agrees, even though youâve already turned back to the coffee machine. âSure thing, ___.â
â.Ë⥠࣪ Ëâ.Ë⥠࣪ Ëâ.Ë⥠࣪ Ë
note: and we're done! thank you for reading! and thank you for bearing with me and the fact that this unfortunately had to be split into two parts. I hope you enjoyed this story, and as always, I would love to hear any thoughts you have. all the best âĄ
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