#and then got the mechanic and did it with i think 3 hearts left

[ganondoodle]

half the population of hyrule getting blinded for life after looking up into the sky at the end of the last fight

[seresinhangmanjake]

Come Back Together

Benny Cross x reader 

Summary in bullet points:

Now that Benny is back in your life, he is trying to be a better husband

Benny is insecure about his relationship and a barfight ensues

Reader is pregnant (three months)

Benny does a bit of pining and is emotionally vulnerable

Fluffiness 

Part 2 of Come Back Knockin’

Notes/Warnings: *Spoiler free*, angst and fluff, relationship struggles, physical altercations (fist fight), mention of blood and injury, mention of pregnancy, mention of alcohol, cursing, kissing, happy stuff, typos. I think that’s it. This took me forever to write for some reason and I was weirdly stressed about it. tf is wrong with me, right? Anyway…

Words: alright no one freak out…it’s 4300. Idk why it’s a lot longer than the first part but I always do that. If you’re willing to venture onward, I appreciate it :)

Benny Cross Masterlist

Part 3: Together and More

He stares at you incessantly. Which isn’t out of the ordinary—he used to stare at you all the time—but there’s something else to it now. He stares as if he thinks you’ll disappear the second he takes his eyes off of you. Like you'll slip through his fingers. Ironic, really, since disappearing in the blink of an eye is more his thing. 

“Can I make you something?” he asks, staring at you from his chair while you pull a carton of eggs from the fridge. “You should be sitting instead of me.”

“You don’t know how to cook, Benny,” you state matter-of-factly, turning your back to him as you switch on the stove and set a pan on the lit burner.

Cooking has always been your responsibility. It was one of the things you brought to this relationship. And you liked being the one to keep Benny fed, never chiming in when the other Vandals’ wives and girlfriends mentioned how exhausting it was to satisfy their man’s grumbling stomach. You liked that Benny appreciated you for it. 

Now you wonder if subconsciously you believed that as long as you fed him, he’d stay by your side, regardless of his wild nature. Kind of like a puppy. But Benny Cross is no puppy.

“I should probably learn,” he says. “You know, for the kid.”

You hum, cracking an egg on the edge of the pan. “Maybe you should stick to learning how not to ditch your family,” you retort, and immediately your features twist in a wince.

You can’t believe you let those words out of your mouth. You’d been doing so well at holding in the little jabs and remarks, no matter how hard they’ve pushed at your sealed lips. Not to say a few of them haven’t slipped through in the last month, they have, but each time they did, you received instant punishment in the form of Benny’s heart crumbling right before your eyes.

He’s never tried to make you feel guilty about your slip-ups, but he can’t seem to hide his expressions around you anymore. Ever since Benny returned, he’s been different. Your husband who was once so stoic has untethered his emotions from the piece inside of him that, for years, refused to let them show. His affection is more outward now, but unfortunately, so is his pain. So you made a rule to stop doing that to him; stop catching him off guard with words of hurt during a time of pending forgiveness. What he did was damaging, yes, but it’s unfair to pick at him when he’s been doing everything he can to show you he has value to this family; things he never would have done before. 

He wakes earlier than you to clean the most-used areas of the house—a poorly done job; you still find dust in spaces dust should have easily been wiped up, but he tries. He found work at a mechanic’s shop not too far from the house, and surprisingly, he has yet to complain about it—a decent job was always something he physically and mentally shunned. He got rid of everything in the spare room and has begun painting the walls from the deep brown left over from the prior owners to a soft, light green that matches the baby blanket he brought you. It’s cute, and significantly better than you would have done without him. You would’ve been too stressed to put together a nice nursery.

Benny awkwardly clears his throat, breaking up your thoughts and bringing you back to the present. The lingering discomfort from your snide tone is palpable, heavy, just short of physically formed, and you can’t escape it. 

“I didn’t mean that,” you tell him as you flip the egg. 

The sizzle in the pan is louder as uncooked egg hits the heat, but you can still hear his deep breath, easily picturing the weak smile on his face when he softly says, “It’s ok. I deserve it.”

You’re about to protest, but he doesn’t give you the chance. 

“I was thinkin’ about goin’ to a meeting tonight,” Benny says. “You wanna come with me?”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Oh…” he says, dejected. “It's been a while since you've been to one. I know you stopped goin’ when I was…away, so I thought…”

You set the spatula down and turn to face him, crossing your arms. “I wasn’t going to go without you. And considering everything, everyone just would have pitied me. I'm sure they still do.”

His blue eyes fall to the tiled floor. You know he hates that such a thought would enter your mind, but it’s not as if you’re capable of stopping it. He put you in a pitiful situation, and were the circumstances placed upon another woman, you would have felt those same feelings for her. 

“No one pities you, baby. I promise,” he says. “They miss you.” His head lifts so he can meet your stare. “But if you don’t want to go then I'll stay here with you. We can watch a movie or somethin’.”

Your eyes widen. “No!” you yelp. Benny’s head jerks back at the sudden outburst and you swallow to buy yourself time to sort your thoughts into words, but the best you come up with is: “You’re right, actually. We should go.”

“But you just–” His brow raises in skepticism. “Are you sure?”

If your options are club meeting surrounded by a large group of people or movie-watching with you and Benny alone, then yes, you are absolutely sure. The movie channels have rallied against you lately. Out of the five times you and Benny have watched a film since he came back, all five have been romances. All of them!

You don’t know if he scours the TV Guide without you noticing or if the television channels have simply rallied against you, but sitting beside your husband who you are trying not to give in to is made all the more difficult when watching Audrey Hepburn fall in love with George Peppard or Cary Grant or Greggory Peck for God's sake. You see them and it makes you forget things. You forget that you’re as upset as you are, and with Benny so close, your heart starts to pound and you can’t focus on anything else. You want to crawl right into his arms, let him hold you and kiss you and take you on the couch after what has felt like an eternity apart. But you can’t do that. It’s too soon. So no movies. 

“Positive,” you nod. 

An easy smile slides onto his face. “Well that’s great, baby. It'll be fun.”

“Yea. Sure.”

“Alright,” he says, standing. “I gotta get to the shop.”

He pauses as he passes by you, and you hold his gaze as he squashes the instinct to press his lips to your forehead. 

You weren’t married to Benny for long before he panicked and left—only a handful of months—but it was long enough for the two of you to develop your own set of rituals. And by the consistency and ease with which Benny performed those rituals, anyone would have assumed they’d been in place for decades. 

A kiss on the forehead after breakfast was one ritual. As was the bedtime cuddling with your leg slotted between his. And the way he’d stare at you in the mirror, his arms crossed and body leaning against the doorframe as he watched you brush your teeth with a grin on his face. 

But the one you miss the most is the hug from behind that you'd receive once he’d decided to come home for the night. He’d circle his arms around your waist and place a kiss on your neck, and then he’d chuckle because he was so determined to sneak up on you and give you a little scare but was never successful. You could feel him before he touched you, you could smell his cologne, but you didn’t want to ruin his fun, so you let him have hope that one day he would finally surprise you. 

Benny blows out a long breath through his nose. “I’ll see you tonight,” he mutters with a brief hint of a smile.

As the front door closes behind him, a carbon smell grabs your attention and you look over your shoulder at your breakfast. It’s charred, inedible, and you don’t even care, you just knock the pan off to the side to keep the house from burning down.

—

“Well, thank the lord,” Betty’s voice travels across the bar as she and Kathy approach you and Benny. “We weren’t sure we’d ever see you again, honey.”

Kathy draws you into a tight hug that rips you from Benny’s side. “Things have not been the same with you gone,” she says as she leans back, rubbing her hands up and down your arms. She smiles so sweetly and you breathe a sigh of relief. These women were your friends and you feel guilty for abandoning them just because Benny abandoned you. “Come sit.”

“Benny Cross, we are stealin’ your wife,” Betty declares, “And you don't get to whine about it.” There’s a dash of vitriol in her tone that nibbles at your gut and you hope it’s simply an effect of the alcohol she must’ve had prior to your arrival. 

“Oh,” Benny says. You glance at him, at the disappointed look on his face—subtle, but there. He wanted you by his side tonight, but he’s not going to force you to deny their offer. “Ok.”

Kathy and Betty each take one of your hands and lead you to a small rounded table. It’s the centerpiece of the room, and as one of three surrounding it, so are you, unfortunately. As Betty sticks a cigarette in her mouth and Kathy takes a sip of her beer, your eyes scan the low-lit space. 

Stares from the men lining the walls burn your cheeks. You recognize only half of them—the Vets, as they’re known—and they give you their smiles and nods in a ‘welcome back’ gesture, Johnny, in particular, sporting a rare grin.

The others—the Newcomers; out-of-towners who came specifically to join the club—look at you with something else in their eyes. Amusement? Curiosity? They seem to know exactly who you are and enjoy a little too much putting a face to the name. You, however, don’t know a single one of them. They’d arrived shortly before Benny left, and while some faces, those with distinct features, you can recall from nuggets of your memory, you’ve never spoken to them. You never got their names. 

“Why this table?” you ask your friends.

“Best view of the pool table, obviously,” Betty chuckles after snapping Johnny’s lighter shut. She nudges her head in that direction. “Nothin’ wrong with lookin’, I say.”

Flanking the table are Cal, Wahoo, and Benny; Wahoo watching and chattering from the sidelines as Cal and Benny alternate between shots.

Benny edges from one side of the table to the other, sizing up his options. Then, cue in hand, cigarette dangling from his lips, he bends at the waist and lines up the shot. 

He’s so stupidly beautiful. The lamp hanging above the table illuminates him, defining his muscles by highlighting the hills and casting the valleys into shadow. A haze of smoke coats your view, but his pure essence and magnetism break through it like rays of sun through parted clouds. 

Benny’s eyes flick up to yours and he winks as he shoots, driving two balls directly into their nets. 

Your mouth goes dry. You swallow sandpaper, leaving your throat all raw and scratchy.

“So, how’ve you been, honey?” Betty asks, and you turn your head. “How've you been feelin’? How’s that nausea?”

“Yea,” Kathy adds, leaning in close as if seeking out a secret, “and how’s it been goin’ with him? Any trouble?”

“Um, I'm fine,” you say, tucking a few stray strands of hair behind your ear. “Nausea’s manageable. 

As far as Benny goes, there's no trouble,” you tell them, “It’s just–” You pause. 

What can you say? That you haven’t fully forgiven him even though he’s working so hard to be a good husband? That some of the things he’s doing around the house are swoon-worthy compared to what most men you know would do but you’re too stubborn to express the depth of your appreciation? Any woman would look at you like you’re insane. 

When you think about it like that, maybe you are insane. 

“I don't know,” you say with a shrug and a shake of your head. “It's hard to explain.”

“Well, according to Johnny, Benny’s worried each day in the house will be his last,” Betty says, blowing a stream of smoke off to the side. “That boy’s so afraid he’s gonna mess up and let you down again that I'm surprised he hasn't lost his marbles. I read in Life that bein’ that anxious wreaks havoc on the body and mind.”

Betty’s always reading something in Life, and a good portion of the time you are hesitant to take her seriously. Not necessarily because you don’t trust what the magazine reports, but that Betty tends to exaggerate for kicks. 

You have a feeling she’s not exaggerating this time.

Your face falls. 

“Don’t you feel bad about it for one second,” Kathy scolds, placing her hand on top of yours. “You’re well within your rights to make him earn his place.”

“I know, but I don’t want him to be scared that I'm going to–”

You’re cut off by a male voice slipping through a brief lull in the cacophony of noise.

“If she don’t want Benny no more, she can bring her sweet ass right on over to me,” a Newcomer says in a slurring mess. “I’d sure take better care of her than he did.”

Every soul in the room falls deadly silent—the only remaining sound being the melody of Elvis's Baby Let's Play House from the jukebox—and the world around you freezes.

Cigarettes are held over ashtrays, their ashes yet to be knocked off. Beer bottles are raised to lips without the satisfaction of a sip. The bartender’s rag has only wiped up half of a drunken man’s spill. No one is breathing and everyone’s eyes are glued to either the Newcomer or your husband. Yours are on Newcomer, watching his features shift and tick as he soaks in the weight of what he just said, and what it’s about to cost him. 

Kathy sighs. “Oh, god.” 

The whole bar hears her—impossible not to; you could hear a mouse skitter across the floor—and her words seem to carry with them the wave of a green flag, because a moment later, Benny rushes the guy and tackles him to the ground. 

Chaos erupts. All at once, shouts, curses, and hateful name-calling explode like the impact of a bomb. Nearly every man in the club is taking sides in the war between Newcomers and Vets. Fists fly into faces. Faces are shoved against walls. Walls are cracked from bodies slamming into them. There’s the distinct sound of bone meeting bone. Blood splatters across your table.

“Jesus, fellas!” Kathy snaps as she and Betty hop up, dragging you out of the danger zone. 

In a panic, your head whips in all directions. You can’t find Benny, but you need to find him and you need to find him now. 

You’ve seen him throw punches at races and members’ houses but this is too public a space, and if the cops are called, he can’t be caught fighting again. Nor can he risk having fingers pointed his way for instigating. He already has a record, and though you didn’t know him during his few stints behind bars, you know he has exhausted the sheriff's leniency. If you leave now, Johnny will come up with something to excise Benny’s participation should questions arise. 

You take a step forward but Kathy’s grip is tight. “Where do you think you’re goin’?” she shouts.

“To get my husband.”

Betty gapes. “Are you crazy? You're pregnant!” But you ignore her, shaking Kathy off and heading into the storm. “Johnny! Johnny, grab her!”

You weave through fight after fight, stopping short when a body lands at your feet, but he’s up and out of your way in an instant, and you continue dodging and ducking until you spot a blond head. From what you can see, there’s hardly a scratch on him. The same cannot be said for the drunk guy beneath him. 

Before you can move another inch, an arm circles your waist and jerks you back. 

“Hey!” you snap. “Let go!”

“Not a chance, sweetheart. You stay out of it,” Johnny says, lifting you off the ground and setting you down in a safer area. He puts his hands on your shoulders and dips his head to your eye level, locking on to your gaze. “I’ll get ‘im, ok? I’ll get ‘im. Stay right here.”

You nod in agreement, your brows knitted and teeth chewing on your bottom lip. 

From this location, you have a better view of your husband and the friend who is trying and failing to break up the fight. Johnny yanking on Benny’s dominant arm is not enough to stop the attacks. Neither is the forearm locked around his neck. 

When Cal notices Johnny’s struggle, he pushes his opponent into a table and races over to take hold of Benny’s other bicep. Together they pull him off the man whose face no longer resembles a human’s. It’s a bloody mess. His nose is dented in, eyes swollen shut, lips split and mouth hanging open to reveal an empty space where a tooth used to be. 

Benny’s chest heaves. Murder is in his glare. He jerks against his restraints but struggles to break free with the force of two men weighing him to the ground. 

Then Johnny mutters something in Benny’s ear that immediately halts his thrashing. His breathing slows. The fire fades from his irises, returning them to their soft cerulean, and his eyes tear away from the beaten man to dart around the room in search of you. 

As Benny spots you, Johnny's lips move, seemingly forming the words ‘Get outta here,’ before he pats Benny on the chest and lets him rise to his feet. 

Benny comes to you and without stopping grasps your hand and leads you out of the bar.

— 

“You think you fractured anything?” You ask as you slide the key into the lock and turn.

Benny stretches and flexes his fingers. “No,” he answers, trailing into the house behind you and shutting the front door. “Are you upset with me?” 

He’s been wanting to ask that question since you left the bar. As he'd placed the helmet on your head and clipped the strap under your chin, you'd observed his lips, how they were parting as if to speak but unable to get anything out. And when he'd helped you off the bike in front of the house, his expression was far away, his jaw shifting, teeth clenching—the look of your husband in intense thought. 

At least he finally spit it out. Normally, he would have run his fingers through his hair and sighed, opting not to bother you with the question; a behavior that used to drive you crazy. It took weeks after you met for you to accept that while Benny was willing to share a lot with you—things he didn’t intend to share with anyone; a life, for instance—there were things best not to pester him into revealing. 

So you’re a patient partner. If it needs to be said or asked, it’ll be said or asked. And you're glad he decided this was one question that needed to be asked.

You sigh, hanging your jacket on the rack, and Benny follows, selecting the hook closest to yours. 

“I mean, you nearly killed him,” you say as you make your way to the back of the living room and open the closet that houses the first aid kit. 

On tippy toes, you can barely brush your fingers along the metal tin, and you grumble each time you unintentionally push it a little further back on the shelf.

A muscled arm reaches above your head to grab the kit. Benny places it in your hands before stepping back into the seating area and dropping down onto the footstool, his standard perch when you’re fixing him up. 

Blue eyes are glued to your body as you take a seat on the couch. 

You pull the lid off of the tin and riffle through it for the small bottle of alcohol—you’ll have to buy more soon, it’s getting low—and a clean rag. With the alcohol-soaked fabric at the ready, you slip your fingers under his warm palm, bring his hand close, and get to work dabbing the wounds and wiping off some of the dried blood. He doesn’t so much as hiss at the shot of pain that makes any other human groan and pinch their eyes tight.

“He was out of line,” he tells you.

“I’m not saying he wasn’t out of line, but I really don't need you getting in trouble and being taken away from me, Benny.” You’re focused on his injury, but out of the corner of your eye, he winces in shame. “Besides, he was just mouthing off.”

“Mouthin’ off about my wife.”

With a huff, you drop your joined hands onto your lap and shoot him a look. “I know, but do you honestly believe what he said could ever happen? Do you think I would leave you for some other man?”

You ask with the full expectation of a whip-quick reply—‘of course not, baby’—but Benny adam’s apple bobs, and his teeth clench as his eyes flit to the undoubtedly less interesting carpet.

“Benny…?”

He runs his uninjured hand down his face and looks up at you. “C'mon, baby, it's not that wild of a thought. Not after what I did to you,” he says, his thumb slowly running over your knuckles. “You are so much better than anything I should be allowed to have. But me? You could throw a rock in any direction and you'd hit a man better than me. One that wouldn’t have panicked and left you pregnant and alone for six weeks.”          

You shake your head. “That’s not true.”   

“It is true.”

“It is not, and even if it was, I don't want another man,” you confess. A beat passes as you exhale heavily to stave off the stinging of oncoming tears. “It hurts that you left, but I am working through it, we are working through it, ok? You’re not going to lose me, Benny Cross. Not unless you leave me.”

“I'm never leavin’ you,” he says. 

You place your free hand on his cheek. “Then you’re never losing me.”

Benny swallows hard and scans your face—each and every feature—lingering on your lips before meeting your eyes. As your thumb strokes his cheekbone, he wraps his fingers around your wrist, turns his head, and presses a kiss to your palm. 

“Baby, I miss you so much,” he mutters, his brows pinched in anguish. “I miss touchin’ you. I miss holdin’ you. I miss sleepin’ next to you.” He lightly shakes his head. “I know I don’t deserve you, and I sure as hell don’t deserve our baby, but I fuckin’ miss you.”

The unit that is your heart and body and soul feels as if it’s being cleaved in two. This isn’t what the past month of your lives was meant to be about. It was supposed to be about building trust, not dishing out punishment. And yes, you’ve messed up before, said things that weren’t fair, but keeping him at arm's length is more than that. It’s a deeper pain. Stronger. More potent. Not just for him, but for you as well, and now you can’t quite see the point anymore. Staying away from his touch does not help anything if what you want at the end of the day is to be together. And that is what you want. 

When you touch your lips to his for the first time in almost three months, you whimper. You whimper and you melt and the tears want to come back because it’s so much easier to resist desire when you haven’t entertained it in a while. But now you’ve given in. You’re tasting him like you used to, tasting the remnants of gin and cigarettes and the blueberry pie you made for dessert, and it’s all Benny. Benny, who is so shocked that you’ve kissed him that it takes a handful of seconds before he kisses you back and becomes the Benny you know. And then he’s curling his arm around your waist and pulling you into his lap, and his hands are everywhere. Squeezing your thighs, sliding over your ass, tracing up your spine, holding the back of your neck to guide you closer so he can kiss you harder, and yea, you are never depriving yourself of your husband again.

Benny stands, taking you with him, supporting your weight as he keeps kissing you and you keep kissing him. He blindly turns and settles into the comfort of the couch with your legs on either side of his hips. 

You lean back, breaking the connection of your lips. “Benny.”

He’s staring at you like you’re hypnotic, mesmerizing. Like he’s drunk on kisses. His fingers trace the curvature of your face. A thumb ghosts over the swollen pillows of your mouth. 

“Yea, baby,” he says, voice gravelly, just above a whisper.

“Do you want to be back in our bed?”

Benny stiffens and he blinks away that glazed-over expression. “You mean it?” He asks. You nod. 

“Are you gonna be in the bed too?” he says, sifting his fingers through your hair. “We're not just swappin’, are we?”

You smile. “No, we aren't swapping,” you promise him, your forehead falling against his. “I'm making room.”

---

A/N: I kind of want to do a time jump Part 3 with lots of Dad!Benny stuff. Let me know if you’d be interested in reading that. Thanks :)

Taglist (if you wanna join)

[livelaughlovesubs]

I need more Boothill... Maybe just taking orgasm after orgasm after orgasm... Mommy kink even...?

WAIT HUUUH?? BAE, YOU ARE REQUESTING SMT FROM ME? I’m fucking honoured I could cry also you are a switch? >:0

Anyway, hope this is to your liking <3

Dom!reader x sub!Boothill

Warning: mommy kink (boothill calls reader mommy), handjob, dacryphilia, praise kink, soft dom

His once cold metal arms were wrapped around your neck, holding onto you as tightly as he could. Legs spread as far as he can while he squeezed his eyes shut, unable to handle the overstimulation your touch brought him. “Too.. too much~” The male groaned into your neck, his hot breath tickling your skin. All you did in response was coo at him, whispering gently, “you are doing great, my love.” Each time your hand pumped up and down his sticky length, he could feel his body overheating and going feral. As if all of his systems shortcut, he felt how his limps went weak, at this rate he can barely hold on to you any longer.

Your hand was all dirty with the lube as well, smiling at him as you continued the same movements you’ve been repeating for the last hour. Up, down, up and down… just like that, a steady rhythm that made his mind go blank. You adored this man with all your heart, the only thing you want for him is eternal happiness and satisfaction. In your opinion, it was a blessing that you can make him feel good like this, make him whimper and cling onto you. “So good and so pretty for me, my baby.” A soft chuckle left your lips, eyes filled with adoration scanning over his mechanical body. He really was beautiful, every side of him, from his adorable personality to his looks. You swore to yourself that you’d always love him, his past, and his future. A future where you hope to be in the picture as well.

That lovely gaze of yours didn’t escape his sharp senses, those very loving eyes were what caused boothill to fall for you. He found comfort in them, solace and peace. It was indescribable. The moment you look at him with such tenderness he haven’t felt since centuries, he crumbles like sand with water. Somehow, you were able to make his nonexistent heart beat, causing him to year for you. All he could do was thank the aeons for granting him this comfort, since you reciprocated his feelings he tried so hard to suppress. “S-stop it with those uHhm~ dadgem compliments…” The cyborg scoffed, biting his bottom lip to keep his moans in check.

“But you deserve them, sweetie, and it’s only the truth. It’s what I think about you.” You mumbled against his head, using your free hand to stroke his long hair. “I really adore you.” You added after seeing his ears redden. Sometimes he thinks you are an angel, because of how nice you are, yet other times you were straight up the devil’s incarnation. Whenever you’d tease him until he’s whimpering and humiliated, that is. “Still.. stop it.” Boothill insisted, he felt way too embarrassed and aroused by just some praises that it was hurting his ego. His hands were bawled into fists behind your neck, sometimes when it got especially intense he’d also scratch your back.

Instead of nodding along, you just smiled again, picking up your pace on his length. His body has been warmed up by your body heat at this point, that’s how long you two have been going at it. How many times has he cum now? Since there are no physical signs of him reaching his orgasm, you could only guess from his other body languages. If you guessed rightly, it’d be three times already. When you suddenly started going faster, the cowboy cried out, pressing his face further into the nook of your neck as he begged incoherently, “please please please.., no-no more, mommy..” If it weren’t for his inability to, he would have cried from the excessive pleasure.

Poor boy was panting and gasping the entire time, mouth hung agape because he got no time to close with from all the moaning. The ecstasy was too much, way too much to handle, to the point even his fake thighs shook uncontrollably. How was it even possible for him to feel anything below his neck? He doesn’t know. He also didn’t know if this is a blessing or a curse since, fudge, you are driving him insane. “Hngghh… I can’t I can’t..! Ah, ahhH- mommy, please…” Boothill whined again, he was such a mess now, all due to you, only for you.

“Shh, it’s alright baby. I’m right here, mommy here with you.” You reassured him, kissing his forehead gently. The warmth of your lips was the last straw he needed to spill over the edge, eyes rolling back as a chocked out moan escaped his throat. “UghH- uhmmHg..!!” All of this was too much for him, he could feel new electricity crashing down on him in waves. Then a sudden sharp pain coursed through your body. His fingers dug into your back, crawling at your skin again, leaving behind new scratch marks. You bit his neck to bear the sensations, drawing out another pained groan from the boy, “ugh-nnNghhHH~..!”

After calming down a bit, you kissed his face. From his cheeks to his nose and lips, leaving behind little pecks for him to enjoy. “So good for me, my good boy.” You praised him again, ending with him turning his face to the side and avoiding you. What an adorable thing he was, of course you didn’t mind his bratty behaviour, instead you laughed before teasing him, “did you enjoy it? I mean, you even started calling me ‘mommy’.” Immediately the blush previously pestering his cheeks returned, and he yelled out a ‘fork you’. Once again you giggled, kissing the tip of his nose again, then saying, “aw, I thought it was very cute though.”

Never would he ever admit to have done something so.. embarrassing yet cute. Boothill thought this was finally over when you suddenly started rubbing his tip again, causing him to let out a squeak, “aghNhh..?!” You looked at him with expectant eyes, asking him, “what, you didn’t think I was done already, did you?” Right after you finished that sentence, you started jerking him off in the earnest again, and he moaned through gritted teeth, “nGHhhh~ fudge… please spare me, mommy~~ ♡”

[joeys-babe]

Joey B Blurbs: Drive My Car

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Summary: You still haven't learned your lesson… and are back with a Joe prank! Now it's calling your poor husband to tell him about your discovery of “Christmas gas”.

Warnings: Fluff, slight illusion to smut

Pairing: Joe Burrow x reader

Imagine universe: Into The Mystic

————————————————————————-

December 12th, 2023

I still don't know how Joe isn't tired of me and my tricks yet. After all of the pranks I've pulled on him I just keep finding more.

Bored in bed since Joe was gone, I found a prank I could do on him over the phone and immediately got down to business.

He was at his parent's house helping his mom build a new dresser like the amazing son he is while I stayed at home with Tyson and Miles. They weren't awake yet so I could put Joe on speaker while recording with his iPad.

After making my hair look decent I pulled Joe’s contact up and called him.

In usual amazing husband fashion, he answered in less than two rings.

“Hey Joey.” - you

“Hey, Mama. What's up? Do I need to step outside for this.” - Joe

Even though I loved Robin with my whole heart, I really didn't want her to think I was a ditz who thought diesel was “Christmas gas”.

“Uhm, yes.” - you

“Okay gimme a sec.” - Joe

A few moments later you could hear the back sliding door shut and Joe told you to keep going.

“Okay so the other day I saw this TikTok about this thing called Christmas gas and I wanted to try it. So I did. Now my car barely even got home and it was making a weird sound.” - you

“Baby… what? What the fuck is Christmas gas and where did you get it?” - Joe

“The gas station we always go to! It's just gas that's supposed to smell like pine wood for the holidays.” - you

I had to mute myself because I was dying laughing. Joe sighed and groaned out of pure annoyance before clearing his throat to speak.

“You actually put it in your car?” - Joe

“Mhm. Should I have not of?” - you

“I don't know, y/n! I've never heard of damn Santa gas or whatever the hell!” - Joe

“Christmas gas! It’s a limited edition!” - you

“Limited edition… baby why would they have limited edition gas?” - Joe

“I don't know. It was like three more dollars a gallon though and didn't even smell like pine wood.” - you

“Oh my god. y/n, was it coming from the green nozzle?” - Joe

“Yes! You have heard of it!” - you

“y/n, that's diesel babe! Did you put diesel in your car?” - Joe

“No, I put the Christmas gas in.” - you

“The green nozzle is diesel, y/n. That's why it was 3 more dollars than the regular gas, and why your car isn't working, because you put diesel in your gas car!” - Joe

“Are you sure? The gas station was decorated for Christmas and the green pump even had lights on it.” - you

“Yes, I'm sure! I'm gonna have to call the mechanic and take your car in when I get home later. Hopefully, your engine isn't ruined.” - Joe

“Is my car going to be ruined, Joey?” - you

“I don't know baby. You have to stop doing those stupid TikTok trends, y/n.” - Joe

“I’m sorry Joe. If my car’s ruined don't feel like you have to get it fixed.” - you

“That's BS. Imma get your damn car fixed. Just promise you won't do stuff like that till you run it by me because it might be a scam.” - Joe

“Okay, baby. I love you.” - you

“I love you too, just don't use your car till I get home. If you need to go somewhere before I do just take one of mine.” - Joe

“Thank you, just one more thing to tell you before you go.” - you

“Please tell me you didn't get your oil changed with reindeer piss.” - Joe

I busted out laughing and Joe giggled along with me, proud of how he was quick enough to make a funny joke.

“No! But… this was a prank.” - you

“Oh my god y/n! So your car is fine?” - Joe

“Yes. I haven't even left the house… or even the bed yet today.” - you

“Shit babe, you had me worried for a minute. Well, I'm gonna go. I love you.” - Joe

“I love you too! Kinda sad I won't get to see you play sexy mechanic though.” - you

“Pregnancy hormones?” - Joe chuckled

“They’re through the roof.” - you giggled

“I’ll help when I get home.” - Joe

I could practically hear his smirk in his lust-laced promise.

“Bye, Joey.” - you

“Bye, Mama. Don’t be buyin’ any gasoline from elves ya hear?” - Joe

“Yes, sir.” - you laughed and Joe hung up

That gorgeous man is a saint for putting up with me.

————————————————————————-

Authors note: this is my favorite thing ever?! Saw this request in my inbox and IMMEDIATELY started writing.

Request for this fic;

[mypoisonedvine]

emmet or bearded cillian who is dads best friend but is also a mechanic or something and he fixes your car and u thought it would be free but he wants a specific form of payment IF U CATCH MY DRIFT and everything is dirty and grimmy and maybe against the side of the car or inside whatever you like

i love your writing so so much im yelling any time you post something new, have a good day <3

THIS IS SO EMMETT CODED OMFG IT'S PERFECT

length: 1.7k

warnings: SMUT (18+ only!!), unspecified age gap (but everybody is an adult), semi-public sex, oral f receiving, creampie

"Well, I think she'll live," he announced with a laugh as he stood up, wiping oil-covered hands on a rag. "Just needs a new spark plug and probably a patch on the fluid exchange."

You chewed your lip as you pretended not to be a total idiot about cars. "How much is that gonna put me out for?"

He waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry about that too much, honey. Your dad's a good friend, we'll just call it even."

"No, Em," you sighed, stepping closer to him-- having to walk carefully so you wouldn't trip on any toolboxes left out on the garage floor. "Come on, let me at least pay for the parts or something."

He shook his head, giving you one of those smiles that melted your heart just a bit. "You've been too good to me already, sweetheart. Don't worry about me."

You felt a little awkward, realizing he was referring to how you'd helped him after his ex-wife moved out. There wasn't much you could do, of course, but you'd tried to show your support-- first by bringing some food over, first a casserole and then allegedly 'extra' cookies, even though you were a little worried he'd be offended by the possible suggestion that he couldn't cook for himself. Then, you'd given him advice on how to keep the zinnias out front alive, since their normal caretaker was too busy running away to California with her hairdresser to water them. He seemed to appreciate that, and your heart might have skipped a beat when your hands brushed against his while you were gardening together.

(Um, it was a male hairdresser, by the way. Not that it matters a whole lot...)

Maybe you would let him give you free work on your car, if you didn't happen to know that the auto shop was struggling at the moment. Sure, you figured he'd give you a deal, because that was just who he was, but you never expected to take his time and spare parts for nothing in return. "Em, please," you frowned, leaning against the hood of your car just after he'd shut it. "Let me make it up to you-- you're working so hard for me."

As his eyes fell on you, you suddenly noticed a new darkness in them; he was looking you up and down, making you shudder slightly as he leaned closer. "Jus' tryin' to take care of you, honey," he said, a little softer, and you fought the urge to bite your lip. "Can't let you drive around town in somethin' that might break down any minute."

"Well, I can't let you eat TV dinners every night," you smiled in reply. "How about I pay you back in meals, hm? You liked the chicken casserole, right?"

"Yeah, you're a good cook," he relented, "I guess I can't turn down an offer like that, can I?"

"Good," you grinned, "then I'll bring something over tonight."

"But what if I'm hungry for somethin' else?"

You got a little shaky all of a sudden, and tried not to get your hopes up-- you were probably imagining the sultry tone to his voice...

"Somethin' a little sweeter than casserole," he added, closing the space between you and lifting your chin so you would look up at him.

"...cookies?" you wondered with a weak voice, and he laughed softly.

"Don't get me wrong," he replied, "your cookies are great. But I think you know that's not what I'm talkin' about."

You didn't know how to respond to that... you weren't even sure if you supposed to respond. Apparently, he got whatever he needed just from looking into your eyes.

"Sit on the hood, honey."

He knelt in front of you as you did what you were told; he kept his eyes locked with yours as long as he could, until he started to spread your legs slowly and his gaze had to dart down under your dress.

"Oh, sweetheart," he sighed heavily, making you struggle not to press your thighs together to satisfy your sudden desire for friction. "Look at those cute little panties-- can I take 'em off for you?"

"Y-yes, please," you nodded, and he gave you a little smile as he reached up under your dress to slowly-- so painfully slowly-- pull them down your thighs.

You opened your legs perhaps a bit too eagerly once he'd slipped the panties off around your shoes and stuffed them into his pocket-- yes, you'd noticed that-- and he bit his lip at the sight, pushing your dress up just enough to get a good view. "Baby," he growled, "you're just too perfect."

You thought maybe he'd ask again, like he had before he took off your panties-- maybe just because he knew you'd say yes. But he didn't: he just dove right in all of a sudden, making you gasp and moan as his tongue and lips explored all over you.

He devoured you with every lap, humming and moaning between those beautifully filthy, wet noises the whole ordeal created.

"P-please," you gasped, running your fingers through his long, wavy hair.

"Oh, honey," he groaned proudly, pulling back slightly to look up at you before delivering a gentle peck to your swollen clit. "You sound too cute when you're beggin'."

Going back in again, he sucked harder on your clit until your thighs instinctively clamped down on his head-- which didn't deter him at all, anyway. "E-Emmett, fuck, just like that--" you choked out, holding tighter to his hair, "oh fuck!"

Groaning encouragingly, he slid his tongue inside you and shut his eyes tight as you started to rock your hips on his face.

He found a pattern pretty quickly, holding you steady by your thighs so he could force every sensation on you; he teased your opening with his tongue, but focused mostly on your clit until you were shaking all over. You kept trying to tell him you were going to come, but it was obvious by how hard you struggled to put a sentence together. When you did come on his tongue, it was quieter than you expected-- a silent scream, which broke into a long, low moan when you were actually able to breathe again.

His tongue on your clit became too much all of a sudden, and your hand in his hair started to push him away. Thankfully, he did stop, and you started to slowly come back to reality.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he stood up to face you again, starting to open his jeans quickly.

"Fuck, Em," you panted as you tried to catch your breath, blinking the blur out of your eyes to get a better view of his proud, tilted grin. "What'd you do that for?"

"Just needed to hear you scream, princess," he winked, reaching into his boxers. "And I figured I won't last long when I'm inside ya, anyway-- s'been a while..."

He pulled his cock out of his pants, instantly pressing the tip up to you and lining himself with your opening.

"And I like the idea of still being able to smell your pussy in my beard tomorrow," he added, just before he slid inside your waiting channel.

He grunted as he filled you, head falling back with a heavy sigh through his nose. "O-oh," you choked out, grabbing one of his shoulders to stay stable as he started to move.

"God, baby," he purred, "I was right-- fuck, I won't last. Sorry, but I've been waitin' too damn long..."

You wanted to tell him that you didn't care-- that you actually thought it was insanely sexy how affected he was by all this-- but when you opened your mouth, you could only moan desperately. Your previous orgasm had left your insides all sticky and sensitive, every thrust overwhelming you with tension and friction. And thank god for how wet it had made you, too, or you might have had more trouble fitting his generous girth inside you...

"Knew you'd be so good for me," he grunted, "such a good girl-- wanted you for so long, honey."

You whimpered behind a bitten lip, blinking up at him expectantly. "How long?"

He smirked a little, before leaning in to kiss your neck playfully-- teasing your pulse with the very tip of his tongue. "I shouldn't say," he mumbled.

"Please," you gasped, "god, Em-- I gotta know..."

"Before the divorce," was all he'd say, but that was enough to make you quiver inside-- you'd always wondered, hoped, that he shared your interest, but you had spent most of your time pretending you didn't have a crush on him since he was closer to your dad's age and, you know, married. At the time. "She used to get mad at me when she caught me lookin' at you," he admitted with a low chuckle that made chills run up your spine in delight. "She was jealous of how fuckin' pretty you are... how sweet you are... how good you are..."

"Emmett," you whimpered, clinging to him tighter, "Em, please, I'm so close--"

"Fuck, baby, g'na come again?" he taunted with a grin, one of his hands tightening its grip on your waist. "Go ahead, honey, give my cock a nice li'l squeeze, huh?"

"Yes, fuck, yes," you gasped. "Fuck!"

"Not too loud, sweetheart," he warned, "got another mechanic in the other garage-- don't want him hearin' you... don't want anyone hearin' those pretty sounds but me, okay, princess?"

But he found a much more reliable way to shut you up: he kissed you, hard and desperate, and you moaned against his lips as you tasted yourself on his tongue. Your whimpers of his name were almost unintelligible as he kissed you, but he clearly understood them: he fucked you harder, faster, deeper, grunting promises to come inside you and leave you dripping with his come for the rest of the night. You encouraged him as best you could while being totally speechless-- and with a whine, you came around him just before he filled you with a gruff purr of his own.

Sighing, he dropped his head onto your shoulder, running his fingers down your back through your dress to make you shiver in his arms one more time. "Beautiful," he praised under his breath, kissing softly beside your ear. "So beautiful, honey..."

You smiled softly, wrapping your arms around him in a lazy embrace. "You're the one that's too good to me, Em," you whispered. "When did you figure out I had a crush on you?"

"Sometime after you brought me the casserole, but before you came on my face."

[themorningsunshine]

Muffins

Pie - eyed over you - Chapter 3 

Mafia - Baker AU

Masterlist                        Series Masterlist

Previous Part 

Pairing - Mafia!Bucky x Baker!Reader

Summary - When a new baker in town refuses to abide by his rules, Bucky has no option but to go and take care of it himself. But nothing could prepare him for what stood on the other side. Nothing could prepare him for you.

Warnings - Mentions of murder, lots of fluff (gotta give the fluff before the angst for it to hurt more, yup I am evil), Steve and Sam being a menace 

Word count - around 6k 

a/n - So, after two delays, hell a lot of editing, and straight up changing the whole structure of this chapter and then combining it with another (hence the length), it’s finally here. Thank you so much to all of you for putting up with me. Please let me know what you guys think about this. Your kind words keep me going. 

You placed the muffins in a tray for display before making a note in your diary to buy more chocolate chips when you go to the market on the weekend. 

Running a bakery all on your own is a difficult job but you wouldn't trade it for anything else in the world. Even though you were not a morning person, the prospect of coming here and baking made it getting up from the bed every morning a tad bit easier. 

As you heard knocks on the door, you frowned before looking up, there was still some time left before it was time to open up the bakery. 

But when your eyes landed on the figure standing outside the door, looking like a complete misfit in his dark clothes and sunglasses and surprisingly, a baseball cap covering his forehead, a pathetic attempt at being discreet, you can't help the way your lips turn upward and your heart flutters. 

He was here just yesterday and yet it felt like you were seeing him after too long. 

Get yourself together. 

It's just a crush, it'll go away. 

You wiped your palms on your apron before walking towards the door to open it. 

You gave him a teasing smile before saying, "You're at the wrong place. Baseball convention is another mile from here." 

He rolled his eyes before stepping inside the bakery, bending a little, the door a little too short for him. "Hello to you too, sweets." 

You chuckled before walking towards the counter as he took his usual seat. Everything felt like a routine. Engraved in your soul as if it had always been there. 

"Gracing this bakery with your presence two days in a row. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Maybe I just missed my sweets." He shrugged as if it was obvious. 

"Continue this and you are going to get diabetic." You remarked with a smirk. 

"Not the sweets I was talking about, but okay." 

The smirk immediately left your lips as you could practically feel your heart beat out of your chest. He didn't mean it. He's just teasing. 

But no matter what you think, you can't help the way the red color crept up to your neck at his words. 

Okay, this crush is getting out of hand. 

"So, how's work?" You say in an attempt to change the topic. 

He tenses at your words. You had asked him what he did, and he had replied that he was a mechanic. It was becoming more difficult for him to lie to you. 

But maybe, he won't have to much longer. 

He was pretty sure Walker was on his way to screw things up. 

That son of a - 

"Earth to James!!" Your voice moving and your palm waving in front of his face brought him out of his thoughts. 

"I asked how was work." You said with a frown. James always got weirdly uncomfortable when you asked about work. Maybe he didn't want to talk about it, but you were no one to ask. 

"Oh, it's been fine. You know, the usual." 

"Yeah, yeah. Steve is a dorky idiot and Sam is an annoying prick. I know." You said imitating the words he had said to you not a long time ago. 

Bucky chuckles. Telling you about Steve and Sam was easier. Maybe sharing something about him which wasn't a lie, made him feel less guilty. 

He knew this was wrong. 

He was creating a web of lies that you will find out one day.

But Bucky Barnes wasn't a good man and he would take whatever time he has got before the inevitable happened. 

Which wasn't going to be today. 

He wasn't going to let Walker ruin this.

He will just sit there, hiding half of his face with the baseball cap. It would be easy. It wasn't like Walker would expect to see him here anyways. 

He was just here to make sure that he didn't hurt you. 

The both of you striked a conversation just like usual and you immediately felt better. You knew it was going to be a great day. Had started off on the best possible note, atleast.

The clock striked eight before you knew it and you got up from your chair to flip the sign at the bakery. 

"Why don't you hire someone to help you?" James asks, sipping his coffee. 

"Why, you're looking for a job?" You teased him with raised eyebrows. "Job at the garage doesn't pay enough for your baseball conventions?" 

He rolled his eyes. "When are you gonna let this one go?" 

"I think… never." 

He chuckled before asking again, "But, seriously, sweets, why not get a helping hand?" 

" 'Cause I am selfish." When he narrowed his eyes, you continued. "I know this sounds weird, but I don't like it when anybody else cooks the food. It's just never good enough." 

"So, why not hire someone to deal with the customers?" 

"That's literally the best part of the job." You half exclaimed. "People telling you whether they liked the sweets or not is the best part, James. Almost as good as getting to eat all the leftovers." 

James chuckled before setting his coffee mug down. "There is no pleasing you." 

You shrugged before walking behind the counter to get everything ready for the morning rush you were sure was about to walk through the door any moment now. 

When a few people came in, some regular customers and some students hoping to get in some caffeine to start the day, you saw as James involuntarily tensed. 

Bucky watched the front door with focused eyes as minutes ticked by. He knew Walker will be here any minute now. 

And he was proven right as he saw John Walker opening the door of the bakery and walking in with a smug look on his face, shoving away whoever came in his path. 

Bucky wanted nothing more than to pull him out of here, away from you and this warm place but he couldn't do that. There would be consequences, which he normally wouldn't give a second thought to, but the real nuisance would bring questions. 

He watched as you greet him with the same grin on your face that you used for all your customers, saying in a soft voice, "Hey, what can I get you?" And Bucky can swear Walker doesn't even deserve to breathe the same air as you.

"Why not start by paying off?" Walker said with a tone harsh and loud enough that a few customers turned to see what was happening. 

You frowned your eyes in confusion, "I am sorry." You were still speaking in a calm, soft voice, trying your best to get whoever this man was to calm down. You didn't want a commotion so early in the day. 

"Walker." He said as if it was enough of an introduction before continuing, "And I think you have an idea of where I am coming from. You owe us." 

James watched as realization dawned on your face and you stood straighter, your smile turning into a forwn. "I don't owe anyone anything."

He leaned towards you, keeping his arms crossed on the counter, speaking with a smirk, "Don't try to act smart, baby doll. Pay up and no one gets hurt." 

He watches as you cringe at the nickname  and almost take a small step back, discomfort clear on your face. 

Bucky almost gets up from his chair, his first instinct to slit off Walker's throat with the knife he had tucked in his jacket. He would make it less messy too, but painful. 

Control, he isn't going to hurt her. 

"I am not going to pay you a single cent, Walker. So, why don't you take your ass out of my bakery and leave me alone?" As you speak, your hand inches towards the knife that you keep below the counter for situations like these. Even though you hoped you'd never have to use it, it was better to be prepared than sorry. 

John clenches his fist as his eyes bore into your skull, "Don't make this difficult. You don't know who you are trying to mess up with. The people I work with wouldn't blink an eye before dumping your body in a dumpster. Just pay every month and we leave you alone." 

"I have said it before and I'll say it again, I am not going to pay you to let me live." It's as if something switches inside you. The slight fear or discomfort that could be seen in your features is completely gone now. 

Bucky watches as Walker growls in impatience before reaching for his jacket pocket. 

Nope, not happening

"Listen to me, you little bitch - " 

Walker is cut off immediately when a larger figure stands between him and the counter. 

James shields you from him, obstructing his view. 

"Leave her alone." The sound is almost a growl. And if Walker hadn't been too preoccupied he would have noticed how familiar that sounded. 

"And who the hell are you?" He spat. 

Bucky looks down at him and watches as all the color is drained out of his face when he recognises him. 

"S - si "

"Leave her alone and if you show up around here ever again, it will be you in the dumpster, cut into more pieces than you can count." 

Fear is obvious on Walker's face, as he completely forgets the weapon he was reaching for, trying to get his senses to work, confusion evident on his face.

Before he can ask any questions, Bucky takes a step towards him, with sheer coldness in his eyes as if he could slit Walker's throat right now and wouldn't blink. 

You watch as the man - who had introduced himself as Walker- saunters out of the bakery with quick steps. 

You frowned your eyes at whatever had happened here. 

You weren't going to pay the mob any money, you knew that. But you also knew that you couldn't have overpowered that man, especially if he had a weapon hidden under there somewhere. 

"You didn't have to do that, James." You said softly, in an attempt to get his attention away from the door he was boring holes in. 

He turned back and you watched as his expression turned into the soft one you were so familiar with. 

You walked from behind the counter towards where he was standing before explaining, "He works for the mob. Trust me, you don't want to get involved with them." 

Bucky's breath hitches at that. How could he explain to you that he wasn't just involved with the mob?

"It's okay, sweets. They won't hurt me." That was some truth. They were never going to hurt him, and before Walker could utter a single word to anyone about the events of the day, he would be fired. Bucky would make sure of that. 

"I know." You sighed, looking down at the floor as if contemplating something. It was silent for a moment before you looked up, "Thank you, James. It does mean a lot to me." You said with a soft, grateful smile on your face and your hand reached out to his. 

"Anytime, sweets." 

A moment passed before anyone of you dared to move. Your hand was now brushing his arm in slight touches. 

You broke the silence, "Come on, have some muffins. They are on me." You said before turning back and walking towards the counter. 

Bucky had to stand there for a moment because his skin had suddenly started to feel cold and empty. Like it wasn't enough without your touch, before walking back towards the counter and standing right in front of where you were taking out some muffins on a plate. 

"So, Ms Feisty, something against the mob?" He said, trying desperately for his voice to sound joking. 

You shrugged while passing the muffins to him and turning to pour some coffee for yourself. "I am not going to pay them money just because everybody else does. Why the hell do I pay taxes?" 

"But the way you were standing, you don't just want to rebel, sweets. You hate them." He said, an emotion in his voice you couldn't really place. He prayed that that wasn't the case, that he had read the situation wrong and maybe you didn't really hate the mob. 

"Hate is a strong word, James. I - despise them." You reply before looking up at him to meet his eyes, but he looks away, almost as if looking at you right now would physically hurt him. 

"I mean, they aren't really that bad, right? It's not like I know a lot about them but I have heard they protect the city." He tries.

"Uh-huh. They are not good people. You remember that day when we met? When it was raining and I had lost my way, and you were there - "

"I remember the day we met, sweets." He interrupts. Every part of that day was engraved in his mind.

"Yeah, yeah right. So, that day I was coming back from a friend's house. She has a daughter, Ellie, about 5 years old." 

He hums, nodding his head, not sure where you were going with this. 

"Both of them were switching houses. Leaving their home, that they had built, to live in a one bedroom apartment in the not so respected area of the town. You know why?" 

He narrowed his eyes. 

"Because her dad was killed." You took a deep breath, trying to keep the rage from bubbling up to the surface. "A 5 year old lost her father, James. And why? Because of some stupid mob feud." 

"What was her dad's name?" He asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer. 

"Jake" 

Bucky's moments halted as images came back to his mind's forefront. He had killed that man himself. Shot three bullets straight into his chest. He had felt no remorse then. That man was a traitor. Had joined hands  with the enemy, knowing very well what the consequences could be. 

He had felt no remorse then because he hadn't given a moment of thought to the people he might be leaving behind. It made his work easier. Pretending that there were no consequences to whatever they did. 

But now he could see the consequences. In the form of rage in your eyes at the tale and the hurt he felt in his chest, thinking about the girl. He knew how that felt. Being alone, and helpless. 

"She didn't deserve that. None of them did. Nobody deserves to lose somebody they love, James. But it hits the worst when it's unforeseeable. When the people who did it are out there in the world, as if their hands aren't tainted with blood, living their life and you can do nothing about it."  You say, swallowing the lump in your throat. Thinking about your friend and Elliot always brought you to tears. You tried to help them as much as you could, but there was only so much you could do. 

Bucky looks into your eyes and sees tears in the corner of your eyes. He wants to hold your hand, to comfort you, to tell you that they are going to be fine. But how could he, when his were the hands that were tainted with blood, that had taken the life of that man without a second thought. 

So, he just sits there, listening to you talk about the lady and her kid, even though each of your words is like a sword stabbed through his chest. 

When he knows you are fine, he takes his leave, bidding you goodbye before walking out and calling Steve. 

"Steve, I need you to do something." 

"What's up, Buck? Everything okay?" Steve replied in a concerned voice. Even after everything, his concern for his best friend never faded. 

"I am sending you some details of a lady and her kid. Send me the contacts of the person who bought their house." 

"Give me half an hour. But who are these people?" 

"They are going to be our responsibility, Steve." 

He cuts the call and sends a quick text with all the details he might need. 

He can't help but turn back towards the bakery to have one last look. He has made up his mind. He was going to tell you the truth. 

he didn't care if it meant you would hate him. There were many people in the town who despised him, what's one more?

But when he turns back and his eyes land up on you, handing a cup of coffee to a middle aged lady, talking to her with a softness unique to you. 

As if you can feel his eyes on you, you turn towards the window and as your eyes meet, your smile grows wider. A smile that's only reserved for him, he realizes. 

And he would have hated himself for how quickly his resolve fades away. 

But Bucky Barnes was not a good man. 

And maybe many people in this world did hate him, but he would be damned if you were one of them. 

He wanted this. The weekly bakery visits, the warmth, the sheer simplicity of it all, even if it was all this was ever going to be. 

And it was about damn time he got what he wanted. 

Why should he apologize for the monster he has become when no one ever apologized for making him this way?

Maybe, one day you'll find out the truth and hate him more for lying to you, but it wasn't going to be anytime soon. He will make sure of that. 

So, he straightens his coat and walks away from the bakery, choosing to not pay any mind to the inevitable doom that could leave the both of you shattered. 

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*

"James Buchanan Barnes" 

He turns back from what he is doing to find you, cross armed, shooting daggers at him. 

"How could you, James? It's like you're not even trying." 

He can't help the smile that finds its way to his lips at the way you look. Your christmas sweater that you had deemed "perfect" for the occasion and a scarf draped loosely on your neck, trying to look intimidating, just makes you look even cuter. 

You walk towards him and take the candy decoration from his hand, to place it exactly just an inch away from where he was going to, because it looked in your exact words, "more festive" 

Bucky just smiles at you as he watches you ramble more about Christmas decorations. 

When a week ago, he had heard you reminding Pietro that he had to come over to help you decorate, he had stepped in and offered his help. He was free that day anyways, he had told you. There was an international shipment that he had to sign off that day, but that could wait. 

When Pietro had shaken his hand and thanked him for 'saving him', he didn't understand, but now he did. You were extremely particular about how each and everything had to look for christmas and was not shy to tell the other person what a terrible job they were doing if it wasn't exactly the way you had wanted.

But if the cute pout on your face and the warmth that it caused in his chest was any indication, it was worth it. The cookies whose smell reached him even in the living room was just an added bonus. 

Right now, standing in the middle of your apartment, surrounded by incomplete decorations that signaled the arrival of a festival he wouldn't have cared the slightest about a year ago, being scolded by you for not hanging the canes correctly, he regretted nothing. 

3 hours and a lot of debates later, all of which you won, the house was finally decorated enough for the festival. 

"Here you go." You said, handing him a warm cup of coffee and placing a plate full of cookies on the table in front of him. It was your way of saying thank you. 

Bucky looks around your apartment. It's just above the bakery and much smaller than the mansion he lived in. But it felt different in a way he couldn't point out. 

A shelf filled to the brim with books standing in the corner, pictures adorning the walls, each telling a different story. Some soft music playing on the speaker, it was like a blanket of warmth stood over your house. A little messy, but beautiful nonetheless. 

His eyes then land on you, sitting across from him on the sofa, sipping your coffee with a warm, content look on your face, your scarf now lying on the table. 

As if you could feel his gaze, you turn back to look at him and your breath hitches in the throat at the way he is looking at you. 

It's as if the world could crumble around him and he wouldn't blink an eye. 

You can't get yourself to look away. So, you just raise your eyebrows, because you have suddenly forgotten how to breathe and if he didn't look away right now, you are not sure you will be able to survive longer. 

He just shrugs and turns towards his coffee, as if it was a natural occurrence. As if your whole world hadn't stopped spinning for a moment there. 

Bucky looks at you through the corner of his eyes and watches as red color creeps up to your neck and you try your hardest to not smile. 

He now recognises the feeling. 

Your apartment feels like home. 

And the next realization brings with itself questions and doubts he wasn't ready to answer. 

He wouldn't rather be anywhere else. 

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩

He clenches his fist as he drags his feet towards the bakery. 

It was pretty late. He knew that. 

But he just had to be there. 

He liked his work more often than not. The impending guilt and the danger aside, the reason that had initially brought him to this world still stood. 

It made him feel something. The adrenaline of each task, the satisfaction of seeing everything that belonged to his enemies burning down till there was nothing but smoke.  

The mafia world had welcomed the darkness that he had inside of him and made him one of their own, for which he will be eternally grateful. 

But for some time now, it hasn't been enough. 

The darkness that had surrounded and consumed him for so many years now was suddenly not enough. 

Something inside him changed. 

For the first time in as long as he could remember, he had thought twice before shooting that man today. The whispers inside him that asked him every time 'if there was any other way' had become louder now and even the noise of the bullets couldn't silence it. 

He knew what was happening. 

He was seeking the light.

And every single part of him knew that this could only end in disaster. In a fire that threatened to burn every single thing to the last piece. 

But that didn't stop him from taking the next step. Or the one after that. 

He was still walking to the one place that could silence away his thoughts and make it all go away. Like a moth attracted to a flame. 

Maybe this was selfish of him. Maybe he was tainting you with his darkness. 

He will think about that some other day. 

When the bakery comes into view, he realizes just how late it is. 

You would be about to close now. 

Maybe he could catch a glimpse before you retired for the night. It wasn't enough. It was never enough. But it had to do. 

As he reaches the bakery, he watches as the door slowly opens and a young boy steps out. 

He frowns before walking ahead, and his eyes almost widen with who he sees. 

"Peter, what are you doing here?" 

Peter looks up from the book he is currently holding and his eyes widen with fear at the figure who stands before him. 

"S - sir, I - I was just - " 

A voice from inside the bakery calls out to him. A voice Bucky recognizes all too well. 

"Peter, you forgot this." 

You step out of the bakery with a textbook in your hands as you hand it over to Peter. 

Peter opens his mouth to speak but then closes it. Too afraid about what was going to happen. 

You turn around and when your eyes land on James, your lips turn into a grin before you know it. 

"James, hi"

Peter's eyebrows shoot up as he looks between the both of you. You have a glint in your eyes as if you couldn't be happier by anything else and the man he had feared with everything he had for the last couple of years, had a softness to his features that made Peter wonder if he was somehow swallowed into an alternate dimension. 

"Hey, sweets." Bucky says almost on instinct, before turning towards the boy who is still looking at the both of them as if he just saw a dolphin flying in the air. 

You probably notice it too, because you then point towards Peter before saying, "James, this is Peter, and Peter, this is James Barnes." 

"James?" Peter says almost on instinct, confusion evident in his voice. 

"Wait, you know him?" You ask, looking between the both of them now. 

Peter looks at Bucky and almost crumbles with fear by the warning glare he is shooting towards him. But there is something else there too. Something, he can swear he has never seen in the mob boss' eyes. 

There is fear in them. A tiny flicker of it. He fears the answer he is going to tell you. Whatever it was, it was too important for him. 

"No, no. I don't think we have met before." 

"Oh, okay." You say, confused as to what had just happened here. "All the best for the test and tell MJ I said hi," You give him an easy exit from a situation he was clearly uncomfortable in. 

You watch as a small blush spreads across his cheeks before he bids you goodbye and glancing at James once, takes his leave. 

"He is a nice kid." You break the silence after Peter walks away, out of earshot. "Pretty smart. I was helping him with his test tomorrow." 

Bucky looks back at you and shrugs in response. "Good for him." 

"By the way, it's closing time, James." You say with a teasing voice and he is relieved that you don't ask any further questions. 

"Come on, sweets. You could make an exception for your favorite customer." 

You roll your eyes before replying. "What about this? You help me clean up, and I get you something special I made today." 

"Help you clean up?" 

"Aww. The prince doesn't like to get his hands all dirty?" You smirk. 

"This special treat should better be worth it, sweets." He huffs before walking inside the bakery. 

You walk in behind him while giggling. 

__

"And that's it." 

You look at him with a smile and silently clap your hands together with an impressed look. 

If any of his men would see him right now, wearing an apron with a bunny on it, hands covered in flour, working in a bakery with soft music playing in the background, their eyes would pop out of their heads. But he couldn't care less. 

"Great job for a first timer, Barnes. You have earned yourself a serving of something special." 

Bucky smirked before replying, "Something special, you say?" He leans in and sends a wink your way. 

You roll your eyes before turning towards the kitchen, hoping that it wasn't evident how flustered you were.

You take out something from a box and place it on a plate in front of him. 

Bucky looked at it closely with a frown. It was clearly made of chocolate and was shaped like a dome. He could swear he had never seen it in your bakery before. 

"Come on, give it a try. If I wanted to poison you, I would have done it ages ago." 

He picks up one and after a moment of close inspection, takes a bite. 

As the taste of chocolate invades his senses, he moans and puts the whole into his mouth. 

You watch as his head falls back in delight. 

Once he is done, which is faster than he would have wanted, he says, "Sweets, that was the best damn thing I have ever had." 

You chuckle, "You say that every single time, James."

"And I mean it every single time." 

You just smile at him before putting another on the plate. 

As he devours that one quickly too, he inquires, "What is it called?" 

You smirk before replying, "James." 

"Yeah?" 

"James. That's what it is called." 

His eyes widen and he takes a moment to reply, "You named a sweet after me?"

"Well, technically, you were the inspiration for this." 

He frowns. "How so?" 

"Well, It's full of chocolate and exceptionally sweet. It's exterior is hard but its insides are so soft, they practically melt in your mouth." 

Bucky looks at you, baffled and you look away, unable to meet his eyes. 

He opens his mouth to say something, but is suddenly shushed by you. 

"That's my favorite song." You whisper, as if not wanting to obstruct the soft melody. 

Bucky listens to the sound coming from your phone.

Wise men say

"Only fools rush in"

But I can't help

Falling in love with you

He looks back at you and at the way you have a soft smile on your face, your features highlighted by the soft glow of the kitchen light. 

You look at him and with a teasing smile puts your hand forward, indicating to him to take it. 

He looks between your outstretched hand and your face with a frown.

"Dance with me." Your voice is so soft, he just can't get himself to say no. But, who is kidding? He will set the whole world on fire and watch it burn with a smile on his face if you asked him to. 

He slowly places his hand in yours as the music continues. 

Shall I stay?

Would it be a sin

If I can't help

Falling in love with you

The both of you stand in the middle of the kitchen, the moonlight sweeping its way through the windows. 

Everything is brightened in a warm glow but you know nothing will ever shine brighter than the way his ocean blue eyes do right now. 

Take my hand

Take my whole life, too

For I can't help

Falling in love with you

One of his arms finds its way around your waist while the other holds yours. 

You place your free hand on his shoulder and he gently pulls you closer. 

The both of you stay like that for the rest of the song, swaying slowly to the music. 

Like a river flows

Surely to the sea

Darling, so it goes

Some things are meant to be

You don't know who  leans first but before you know it, the distance between the both of you starts decreasing. 

You hold your breath and your gaze move from his eyes to his lips. 

You would be lying if you said you had never thought of this before, of how his lips would feel against yours, how he would taste like. 

This man had occupied your thoughts since the day you had met all those months ago and you were pretty sure he had no idea of the effect he had on you. 

Take my hand

Take my whole life, too

For I can't help

Falling in love with you

For I can't help

Falling in love with you

Just as the song is about to end and there's nothing but an inch of distance between the both of you, the door to the bakery was suddenly pushed open with a force and the sound of the bells invaded the comfortable silence that had covered the room in a blanket. 

The both of you took a sudden step away, and you needed a moment to calm your heart which felt like it was about to beat its way out of your chest, before looking up to see who it. was. 

You squinted as two men, one blonde and the other dark haired, stood at the door, looking comically too big, having no idea of what transcribed in the bakery before they had not-so-smoothly barged in. 

The blonde one speaks, breaking the silence, "I knew we'd find you here." 

You watch as he steps towards James, who looks at him with sheer annoyance. "What the hell are you doing here, punk?" 

The other man looks at you and forms a smirk before stepping towards you. "So, this is where you always sneak off to? I guess I understand why." 

James huffs in annoyance and with a sten face stops him, "Shut up, Wilson." 

You look between the men who looked like they were in a staring contest when realization hit you. "Steve and Sam?" 

All the men look at you at the same time and you feel like a deer caught in headlights before you stand up straighter reminding yourself that no matter how intimidating the situation was, this was your bakery. 

"And you must be y/n l/n. It's great to finally meet you, Ms l/n" Steve says, smiling. 

"Please, just call me y/n." 

"Or we could call you beautiful." Sam replies before stepping forwards, stretching his hand to take yours for a shake. 

You let out a chuckle before shaking his hand. "Y/n is fine." 

"What are the both of you doing here?" Bucky speaks up, shooting daggers at Sam, his fists clenched. 

"There's an emergency. We need to go." Steve replies, a serious expression adorning his face. 

Sam interjects them "What's the hurry? I have heard so much about this bakery. We could eat something before leaving." 

Bucky spats at him, "This bakery has closed, Wilson. Time's up. Get your butt moving." 

Sam pouts and you chuckle at the antics of these grown men, "Why don't you come here some other day, Sam, I have something that I think you'll like." 

Sam looks at you, a childlike smile replacing his pout, "I like her already." 

Bucky steps forward towards Sam, pulling him away. "Don't listen to him, sweets." 

Steve and Sam turn their head towards him so fast. you are sure they will get a sprain later. Sam raises his brows with a smirk on his face, while Steve looks at him with a smile on his. 

James then quickly bids you goodbye before pulling the both of them outside the bakery. 

Once they reach the car Steve and Sam had driven in, they both look at him with amused grins. 

"Back off, the both of you. What's the emergency?" 

Steve's expression turns serious as he replies, "Our shipment from Iran has been stopped at Morocco and they are refusing to comply." 

Bucky narrows his eyes at the information. Who would dare to stop their shipment and risk getting on his bad books? "Who is it, Steve?"

"It's Alexander Pierce." 

Bucky lets out a breath before looking in the direction of the bakery once more  and then turning towards Steve and Sam. 

"Get in the car. We need to leave right now. This is going to be a long assignment."

Next part

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[gardens-light]

In The Name Of Love

Believing that chaos had settled down, you and the Autobots decide to hit the road again. Leaving the abandoned cathedral behind, and moving on- to where? Neither of you knew. For the next plan of action hadn't been thought yet. But chaos never rests. For little did any of you know, that something else was brewing- a danger so much bigger than yourselves was coming after you.

Content: Events takes place in Transformers- Age of Extinction, (Minor spoilers). Mild coarse language. Reader insert. Optimus Prime x F/Human Reader.

Sparkmate Series: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 7 (End)

A small hiss escaped your lips, feeling Tessa's confused stare as you wiggled into a new pair of jeans. Rubbing your behind and upper thighs, as you attempted to soothe the bruising that began to form.  

“What happened to you last night?"

"Nothing." You simply spoke, avoiding your sister's gaze as you packed your bag. "I uh... got up to get a drink. Must've lost my footing while going down the stairs."

"Oh really?" Tessa raised a brow, while crossing her arms. "Because I thought you told Dad, that you fell in the pool next door, and Optimus caught you."

A small chuckle left her, as you tried to hide your blushing face. Simply turning your back on Tessa, adjusting the backpack upon your shoulders.

"Th-That's what I meant." You lowly spoke, trying to hide the embarrassment within your tone.

"Here's a tip, Sis." Tessa teased, while patting your shoulder. "One, if you're gonna lie. Stick to one story."

You tilted your head a little, "and the second?" you questioned. Slightly hearing that there was more to your sister's statement.

But all she did was turned and faced you, giving you a cheeky smile. "And two... you're not as quiet, as you think you are..."

--- 

A sudden screech of Optimus’ wheels filled the air, as he swerved from an oncoming attack. Avoiding a missile, by entering the left lane of the highway.  

“What’s happening?” Tessa asked, as her body slid into you. Both of you pressing against the driver's door.   

Innocent bystanders blared their horns, as the Autobot cut them off. Causing his passengers to slide against his passenger door, dodging another attack from an unknown enemy ahead.  

The roaring sound of Drift’s and Crosshairs’ engines caught your attention, watching them overtake their leader with effortless speed. Returning fire at the enemy, while Hound and Bumblebee escorted cars off the highway and into the field upon the left.  

“What the fuck is that?” Shane’s voice yelled.  

Your heart raced a little quicker, breath getting stuck in your throat as your wide eyes gazed at the road ahead. Casually strolling towards the Autobots, an unknown Transformer of gun-metal silver caused your hair to stand on end. From what you could tell, no clear sign of Autobot or Deception marked their mechanical body. The two cannons adorning the metal plates of their forearms, caused your stomach to twist in a sickening knot, as the weaponry put Hound’s to shame.  

A scream escaped your lips, as Optimus harshly drifted towards the left. Tires screeching more and smoke emerging from the back of the truck, as his brakes pressed against the floor. Optimus’ plates began to shift and change, as he slowly rolled out of his altmode, causing Shane and Cade to fall out of the passenger side. Luckily having a somewhat soft landing as their bodies rolled against the grass.  

A low growl escaped the Autobot’s lips, as he clutched you and Tessa against his chassis’ with his free servo, Optimus tore up the tar road as his grip dug into it. Slowing him down just a little, leaving Cade and Shane a few meters behind.  

Kneeling against the torn-up road, Optimus looked down at you and Tessa, as he carefully placed the two of you onto the ground. “Are you girls alright?” 

“Look out!” but your warning came too late, as a missile from the unknown enemy ripped through Optimus’ shoulder. Green energon seeped from his wounds and onto you, as he tried to use his large mechanical body to shield you from the blast.   

“Prime!”  

Fear erupted through Optimus’ Spark, his optics widening in disbelief, as a familiar voice boomed from the unknown enemy ahead. Pain clutched onto his wires, as the sound of your sobbing voice called out to him. A scream escaping your lips, as your terrified gaze watched the Autobot take another hit.  

“Optimus! Optimus, get up!” You pleaded, reaching out for him. The ground trembling as he landed upon his back. His helm crushing the hood of the white SUV behind him.   

“I-I can’t... get out of here. Both of you.” His voice spluttered, groaning in pain as Optimus’ body had trouble moving.  

Looking over her shoulder, Tessa saw Cade waving his arms. Gesturing for you and Tessa to come back to him. Her heart ached from racing, breath stolen from her lungs, as her father’s panicky words filled the air. With tears streaming down her face, Tessa wrapped her arms around your waist tightly. Hugging you from behind.  

“We need to go, Sis!-” 

“I won't leave him!”  

With great struggle, Tessa started to pull you backwards. Forcing you towards the direction of the SUV behind Optimus.  

“We need to hide!” she protested.  

Pushing you into the back passenger seats, Tessa closed the door. Quickly wrapping an arm around your waist, while placing her free hand over your mouth. Muffling your cries.  

“Hello Prime.” 

“L-Lockdown?” Optimus’ worried optics gazed up at the bounty-hunter. Watching his old foe lower himself to the Autobot’s level. “What are you doing here? Who sent you?” 

But Lockdown just gave him a smug expression. “Collecting you... our creators want you back.” 

“Cr-Creators? What in Primus name-” 

“Haven’t you ever wondered where you came from?” a small scoff escaped his lips. “Did you honestly believe you were born? No, Prime. You were built! Built for a purpose. A purpose you’ve strayed from.” 

Lockdown’s green optics narrowed onto the SUV, raising a metal ridge as Optimus tried to discreetly push the veicheal away.  

“I feel sorry for you, Prime. Your allegiance to these humans. The trouble with loyalty to a cause, is that the cause will always betray you...” 

--- 

Cade’s worried gaze helplessly watched Lockdown return to his full height. The bounty hunter’s plates shifting and churning, retracting the cannon upon his forearm and revealing a holo-pad. Cade’s pounding heart jumped into his throat, as a daunting UFO emerged from the overcast sky. Hovering over Lockdown, as a small escape pod broke away from the ship.  

“No... No! Girls!” Cade screamed running down the road, as fast as he could.  

--- 

You and Tessa frantically watched a net deploy from Lockdown’s escape pod. Covering the SUV and Optimus.  The pair of you holding tightly onto one another, both of your voices calling out for Cade.  

“Girls! Girls! Get out!” Cade’s voice yelled, his hands slamming against the passenger window.  

“Dad! Help us!” your sister pleaded. Tears streamed down her face.  

Another slam met the back windscreen. Your wide eyes helplessly witnessed Shane’s bloody knuckles smear against the window.  

The engines of Lockdown’s pod fired up, dragging the net upwards. Causing you and Tessa to roll into the SUV’s trunk.  

“Girls! Girls! Break the window!”  

“I’m trying, Dad!” you spoke. Kicking the rear windscreen as hard as you could.  

As the net lifted higher, pain etched throughout Cade’s fingers as he tried to hold on.  

“Girls! Keep breaking the glass!” 

Tessa’s scared expression witnessed Cade’s sweaty hands. “No! No!” 

“I-I can’t hold on!” the burning caused him to hiss. His clutch begging to be released.  

“No! Dad don’t leave us!” Tessa pleaded.  

“Break! You fucking piece of shit!” your demanding voice roared. As you began to take out all fear and frustration onto the rear windscreen.  

“Break the glass, Y/N!-” 

“Dad!” you and Tessa screamed. As the pair of you watched Cade fall back down... 

In The UFO 

“Take those humans to the trash!” Lockdown ordered his small robotic minions.  

“No!” Optimus protested. Trying to struggle against his restraints, as the bounty-hunter dragged the Autobot by his pedes. “Lockdown! If you harm them, I’ll-” 

“You’ll do what, Prime?” he mocked, barely looking over his shoulder. “Besides, don’t you remember this ship?” 

Optimus took a slight look around. Strange prisons held other lifeforms, their snarls and groans filled the air. Parts of the ship looked broken- or more like torn apart. Gun-metal gray covered everything, like it was Lockdown’s signature colour. 

“It was built for all you Knights. The ‘Great Crusaders’ to explore the universe. But, as you can see I’ve commandeered it! Made it my own personal prison.”  

“Welcome back to the Knights Temeos, Prime.” Lockdown gestured at the center of the ship.  

Optimus barely recognized the once great hall, instead of impressive weapons of old. Circular cages and solid prisons with barred doors took their place. The ancient text long stripped away, allowing room for the decapitated heads of Lockdown’s past foes.   

“Y-You... You have disgraced it.” 

A scoff escaped Lockdown’s lips, as he approached one of the solid prisons. Turning a crank, making the metal bars raise and lock into place.    

“You should be grateful, Prime. This is only for the rarest of specimens.” Lockdown spoke with a smile. “The worst of the worst. It’s taken centuries, but I’ve collected all of the Knights. Including you.” 

Optimus struggled against Lockdown’s vice grip, as the hunter forced the Prime into the prison. The Autobot groaned in pain, as the hunter forced his arms above his head. Inducing further injury to his damaged shoulder. As the chains harshly nestled against Optimus’ wrists, the Autobot’s optics widened as Lockdown tilted his helm to the side.  

A low growl came from the Optimus, as he attempted to shift his body weight away from Lockdown. Trying to stop the hunter’s digits from playing with your iron ring.  

“Don’t touch that!” 

Lockdown examined Optimus’ course expression. His sly smile widening, as the hunter fiddled with the item. Finding pleasure of how much it annoyed his prisoner, “now why would you have something like this?” 

A dark chuckle escaped Lockdown’s lips, “don’t tell me... you’ve interfaced with a human!-” 

“Stay away from her!-” 

“Oh Prime... wait till your Creators hear about this.” Lockdown teased. “All this species mixing with species. It isn’t right... isn’t normal. It upsets the cosmic balance, and the Creators don’t like it-”  

“If any harm comes to Y/N, I’ll have your head!-” 

“You were built to do as you were told, Prime!” Lockdown snapped. “The Creators wants to wipe their chessboard clean and start a new. Beginning with you!”  

Lockdown’s digits wrapped around your iron ring, ripping it away from Optimus’ wrist and throwing it against the floor.  

“No!-” 

“You should be ashamed of how far you’ve fallen, Prime!” the hunter spat while exiting the prison. Turning the crank, causing the metal bars to fall down and lock into place. “For she’s just a human!” 

“She’s more than that to me.” Optimus lowly spoke, his optics watching your ring roll along the floor. Stopping against the barred door, “but I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand such thing...”  

--- 

You and Tessa remained hidden in the truck of the SUV. Slowly peering over the back passenger seats, frightened eyes looking out the windows. Trying to find some form of familiarity in the alien surroundings.  

Small robot minions dragged the vicheal into a circular room, the space of metal walls and floor was tight and small. As the large furness in the middle took up the space. Mechanical tendrils grabbed parts of random metal and junk, effortlessly pulling them apart and throwing them into the furness. 

“What the fuck is this place?” you whispered.  

“I don’t know.” Tessa climbed over into the back seat, “but I’m not waiting around to find out-” 

“Tessa! Wait!” 

She slowly opened the back passenger door, once the SUV stopped moving. But her scream filled the air as the sight of Lockdown’s robotic minions greeted her.  

A echoey but mechanical scream erupted from the minions, using their claws to try and grab Tessa.  

“Tessa!” 

She tried kicking one of the minions off her leg, as you clumsily climbed over the back seat. Grabbing a crowbar and smashing the minion's face.  

“Get away from my sister!” You yelled.  

Finally, achieving some distance between yourselves and the robotic minions, you grabbed Tessa’s hand and ran towards the nearest exit.  

“Optimus?” 

“Optimus? Where are you?”  

Your voices echoed throughout the large hall. Tessa’s grip refused to let your hand go, as your fingers wiggled. Trying to loosen your sister’s grip, as your palms felt hot and sweaty.  

Your worried eyes scanned your surroundings, trying to sense your way through strange halls and which direction would be best to follow. Please be alright...  

Back On The Ground  

“Come on! Come on!” Cade hurriedly spoke to Shane, as Bumblebee’s tires came to a screeching halt.  

Both exiting the Camero and running towards the railings of Mehigan Avenue's bypass. People abandoned their cars, as their yelling and screaming voices filled the air. The Autobots changed out of their altmodes, following Cade and Shane’s lead, while Lockdown’s ship hovered above the river nearby. 

“This is a bad idea.” Hound grumbled, shrugging his shoulders. “But hey, I’m all for bad ideas.” 

Drift helped give Shane and Cade a boost, climbing onto the roof of the ship. As its thrusters slowly picked up speed. All shakily making their way towards an opening within the ceiling of the ship.  

“This is crazy.” Shane breathed, slightly peering down into the ship’s metal interior. 

“Look.” Cade caught Shane’s attention, “you wanna cut and run? Now’s the time to do so, Lucky Charms.” 

“I’m not here to help your get your daughters.” Shane spoke, finding his confidence, “you’re here to help me rescue my girlfriend, and future sister-in-law.” 

Cade raised an eyebrow. Cocky bastard...   

--- 

“We’re behind enemy lines now.” Hound lowly warned, as he helped Cade and Shane onto the main platform of the ship. “Lockdown’s ship is bound to have booby traps. So eyes open!”  

“Beware of his bone grinders, brain blinders, flesh peelers.” Crosshairs flat tone sounded almost admirable, rather than a warning. As his green optics scanned the main bridge, “also chromosomal inverters, catatonic sludge, black hole trapdoors, and of course, radiation.”  

“We must be quick.” Drift encouraged, “we have the element of surprise. Let’s try and use violence as a last resort.”  

Most of the Autobot’s silently nodded, but a heavy sigh left Crosshairs. “Well, we looked. They’re not here. Let’s go-” 

“What?” Cade challenged, his eyes giving the green Autobot daggers. “Hey! I’m not going anywhere without my daughters-” 

“I’m unclear. What’s in it for me?” 

“What’s in it for you?!-” 

The whirling of Hound’s cannon interrupted Cade, causing him to fall silent and back away from Crosshairs. As the gray Autobot placed the barrel of his weapon, into Crosshairs’ neck. 

“Easy. Let’s use words.” Crosshairs spoke, holding his servos up in the air.  

“What’s in it for you, is that I don’t kill you.” Hound boldly spoke. “We’re getting the boss back, and the girls. Copy?” 

“Okay, okay.” Crosshairs watched Hound slowly withdraw his weapon, “very persuasive. Textbook machismo... well then. We’re going to need to sabotage something.”  

“Better hurry.” Drift warned, “because the dark-matter drives are preparing to take off. I give us... ten minutes.” 

“Is that what that sound is?” Shane’s panicky tone questioned. “The engines filling up? Are you telling me, that this thing is going to be taking off in ten minutes?” 

“Could be nine...” Drift shrugged his shoulders, “worst case... seven-” 

“Cade, Shane. Search the cell blocks.” Hound instructed, “we’ll find Optimus.” 

“Let’s stop this nightmare ship...” 

--- 

“Optimus?... Optimus?” 

Your voice echoed throughout the large hallway, the walls and floor looming over you and Tessa, making you both feel smaller than you already were.  

“Where are you?” 

“So... how did it start?” Tessa randomly questioned.  

You gave Tessa a little side glance, seeing the corners of her mouth turn up a little. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Right...” her teasing tone mocked, “because most people totally go from, ‘I’m going to take this alien apart’ to ‘I’m going to fuck it-” 

“Tessa! What the fuck?” you questioned between coughs, as you choked on your own breath. “What on Earth are you talking about?-” 

“Y/N, I’ve been sneaking around with my boyfriend for months.” Her tone teased, “plus, you’re my sister. I can tell when you’re lying.”  

Tessa lightly chuckled, as she watched the blush form across your features.   

“But seriously... how did it start?”  

A heavy sigh left you, knowing that she wouldn’t stop until you answered her. “I... wouldn’t be able to describe it.” You lowly admitted, trying to avoid Tessa as you felt her smiling gaze. “At first, all I wanted was to figure out how he worked. How I could use their technology to help with Dad’s inventions. Then Optimus came to life, and my thoughts kept reverting back to the reward money you spoke of. So as I begun fixing him, my mind thought that we could gotten more money by handing over a working Transformer, rather than a dead one.” 

“What changed?” 

“I did.” You simply answered, “the more we talked, the more I realized how wrong I was. The Cybertronians, they’re not simple-minded machines that the government would make us believe. They’re living beings with souls, life, dreams. You should have seen how Optimus spoke about his home world, the hurt and pain I saw within his eyes, as he told me about how their war tore it apart. And the joy that just... just radiated from his Spark as I fixed him. It was like, it had been a very long time since Optimus felt such happiness. Such peace...” 

“Kinda sounds like love at first sight.” Tessa spoke. 

A small chuckle left you, “I guess you could say that... kinda like you and Shane being Romeo and Juillet.” 

Tessa gave you a playful nudge, “I can’t wait to see Dad’s face when he finds out-” 

“He’s not- wait. Did you hear that?” 

Both of you stopped in the middle of the hallway, the low sound of growling coming to your ears. Hearts slowly picking up rhythm, as your hair stood on end. Eyes widening as the sight of four, mechanical dogs prowled towards you.  

“Oh shit-” 

“Run. Run!” 

Grabbing Tessa’s hand, almost dragging her as you both ran in the opposite direction. Yelps and screams escaped you and Tessa, as you ran from one hallway into another. The sounds of the dogs snarling indicated that they weren’t far behind.  

“Quick! Through this way!”  

You shoved Tessa through the bars of a cell, following just in time as the dogs tried to bite their way through the bars. The pair of you backed away into a corner, while the dogs continued to bark and snarl. Alerting the minions of your location.  

“What we do, Y/N?” 

“I’m working on it.” 

Both pressed yourselves into the corner, as your terrified expression helplessly watched one of the dogs squeeze itself through the metal bars. The others backed away, allowing the minion to shoot through the bars. Slapping a hand over Tessa’s mouth, muffling her screams as you shoved her into the wall. Using yourself as her shield. 

You closed your eyes tightly, preparing to feel the beast’s claws pierce into your back. As you placed a free hand over your mouth, trying to muffle a high pitch scream that slowly began to bubble in your throat.  

‘Bang!’ 

A gunshot echoed throughout the cell, followed by the sound of a canine whine. You and Tessa froze, breaths trembling as you nervously waited for what followed... 

--- 

“They could be anywhere.” Cade muttered. Looking around at his surroundings, as he entered a chamber just outside of the Knights Tomeos. Climbing over the center piece, weaving in and out of the swords that stuck out, as he tried to get a better view.  

“It’s like finding a needle in a haystack.”  

“We need to find them- whoa! Shit!” 

Losing his footing, Cade quickly grabbed the center sword. Slightly pulling it to the side, trying to stop himself from falling any further.  

Shane gazed at the floor, as a low rumble echoed beneath them. Cade glanced around as the metal plates of the chamber began to shift and change, walls caving in on themselves and statues of armored knights rose from the floor. The large feature wall behind them revealed an array of weapons. 

“Come here! Help me!” Cade shouted, jumping off the center piece and approaching the feature wall. “Grab something that we could use!” 

“Ahh... Cade?” Shane whispered after a while. Wide eyes looking at the red lasers scanning the room. “What’s that?” 

Strapping an unusual looking cannon to himself, Cade peered over his shoulder. Seeing the minions slowly approaching the entrance to the chamber. “I don’t know. But on my signal, run behind that center thing.” 

Silently counting to three, Cade quickly leapt away from the wall. Grabbing Shane and pulling him behind the center piece.  

“I’m not going down without a fight!” he groaned, holding the weapon and placing a free hand upon Shane’s shoulder. “They’re going to turn that corner, and we’re gonna take them! You ready, or you gonna bitch out on me?” 

“No! I’ve got your back!” Shane bravely spoke.  

“Are you ready?” 

“Absolutely!” 

The sound of the minions' footsteps came closer.  Causing Shane’s already fast beating heart to pulse a little more rapidly.  

“Don’t bitch out on me, Romeo! Are you ready?” 

“Yeah! Yeah!” Shane hurriedly spoke. Waiting for Cade’s count down from three.  

“Two! One!-” 

“Wait! Wait!” Shane cried, jumping out of his hiding spot. His terrified expression gazing at the minions who aimed their weapons at him. “I surrender! I surrender!” 

Fucking knew it! Cade’s thoughts hissed. Still hiding behind the center piece.  

Adrenaline running through his veins, Shane threw the weapon onto the metal floor. Quickly hiding for cover again, as the weapon fired. Causing a bullet to ricochet off the walls, and into the minions. 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!-” 

“What’d you do?” Cade asked, cutting off Shane’s frantic apology. “How’d you do that?” 

“I have no idea!” 

“What my daughter sees in you is beyond me!”  

After fidgeting with the weapon for a moment, Cade’s eyes lit up in excitement as the cannon whirled to life. Lighting up with a purple hue.  

“Stay here, Lucky Charms!” 

Moving away from the center piece, Cade unleashed a wave of gunfire upon the minions. Standing his ground, as his adrenaline beating heart surged excitement through his veins. Allowing the bullets to pierce into the mechanical beings, tearing them apart.  

“I’m so gonna patent this shit!” 

--- 

“That was Dad!” Tessa whispered.  

Tessa quickly maneuvered around the mechanical dog, its whines echoing throughout the cell. It tried to nip at your ankle as you stepped over it. But as you looked down, your heart ached a little as energon pooled beneath its body. A mixture of snarls and whines escaped its throat, orange sparks zapped out of its mechanical joins, causing the creature to wince in pain. 

The glowing of the Matrix caught your attention. Carefully pulling out the pendant from under your collar, eyes shifting between the pendant and the injured beast.  

Sensing your hesitation, Tessa looked over her shoulder. Pulling a confused expression, as she watched you kneel beside the creature.  

“What are you doing?-” 

“Hang on for a sec.” You whispered, “I just wanna try something.” 

Your hand hovered over the dog’s forehead, flinching a little whenever it tried to bite you.  

“That thing isn’t like the Autobots!” Tessa hissed, “Dad’s trying to find us!” 

“I just need a minute.” 

Your fingertips quickly scratched behind the beast’s ear, before bringing your hand back to hover above its nose again. Allowing the dog to catch your sent, between each testing pat.  

“You’re alright, boy.” You cooed, while scratching lightly behind its ear. Using your free hand to remove the necklace, allowing The Matrix pendant to carefully hover over the wound upon its belly. “Let me help you.” 

The Matrix glowed brightly, small blue sparks clashed with the orange ones, that zapped out of the dog’s wound. The beast continued to whine, its body twisting in pain.  

“Good boy. Good boy.” Your voice hummed, gently scratching underneath its chin.  

The Matrix hummed, spinning rapidly causing the chain to twist in your hand. Before a blue flash burst over the beast. A low pant escaped its mouth, as you watched the dog struggle onto its feet. The red glow in its optics fading and changing to a brilliant blue.  

You smiled at the creature, its mechanical tail wagging while barking happily at you.  

You turned back to Tessa, her dumbfounded expression gazing at you as her jaw hung low.  

“What? I’ve always wanted a dog.” You spoke with a smile, placing the necklace around your neck again. “Come along, Torgal.” 

--- 

“Dad!” 

“Girls! Girls! Over here!” Cade yelled, quickly approaching the entrance of the chamber.  

A huge smile spread across his features, as Tessa ran into the chamber. Opening his arms wide, preparing to embrace your sister.  

“Shane! I love you!” her voice cried, flinging herself into Shane’s arms. While Cade stood beside them with an unamused expression, “I love you! You saved me! You came back for me!” 

“Of course, I did.” Shane cooed into Tessa’s ear, running his hand through her blonde locks. “I will fight to the ends of the Earth, just to bring you back.” 

“Oh, yeah. He saved you. Sure.” Cade muttered, a small smile teased the corners of his lips, as your sweet chuckles came to his ears. “Y/N...” 

You wrapped your arms around Cade, feeling him embrace you tightly. “I’m so sorry, Dad-” 

“You have nothing to apologize for, Sweetie.” He cooed into your ear. “I’m just glad to have my girls back-” 

“Optimus!” You cried, catching a glimpse of the Autobot in his cell. As you looked over Cade’s shoulder. 

Cade winced as you accidentally shouted into his ear. Pulling away from his embrace and running into the Knights Tomeos. 

“Can’t you girls be happy to see me for once?” Cade sighed, raising an eyebrow as his eyes watched the mechanical dog follow you.  

You approached the bars, banging your palm against the metal. “Optimus! Optimus, it’s me!-” 

“Y/N?...” Optimus’ optics needed a moment to focus, before realization sunk in. “Sweet Spark!”  

“I’m here! Just hold on!-” 

“Big boy coming through!” Hound’s voice boomed from the hallway, “move! Move!” the Autobot demanded as he stormed through the entrance. Causing Tessa, Shane and Cade to scatter out of the way.  

“Boys! Boys, over here!” you shouted, banging your palm against the cell. As Torgal tried to claw and bite his way through the bars.  

“Nice find, Y/N!” Hound complimented, quickly approaching your side, as his optics roughly studied the barred door. “Alright, Little Lady. Back up-” 

“Hold on, boss! We’re coming!” Crosshairs called out.  

Letting out a grunt, Hound forced the door open. Allowing you to enter, as he quickly got to work of releasing Optimus from his restraints.  

“The arms of this Knight Ship detach.” Optimus spoke. “We can break fee. It’s a separate ship-” 

“Where’s the cockpit?” Crosshairs asked, “right or left?” 

“Right.” 

“I’m on it-” 

“Y/N.” You looked up at Optimus, his helm lowering as he tried to rest against your forehead. “Are you hurt? Did Lockdown do anything?” 

“No.” Your calming voice soothed his aching Spark, “I’m alright. I’m not hurt in any way.” 

“Not knowing what happened to you, my Sweet Spark... I feared the worst.” 

You placed your hand upon his cheek, caressing Optimus’ faceplate with your thumb. “Hopefully this would wipe away any fears.” 

A loving hum vibrated through Optimus’ Spark, as your lips softly enclosed over his. Both closed your eyes, as Optimus finally felt his arms fall free from his restraints. Wrapping his servo around your waist, as you melted into his embrace.  

“Break it up lovebirds.” Hound interrupted, “we’ve got a ship to catch.” 

“You’re right, Hound.” Optimus spoke, breaking apart from your lips as his servo lifted you up. Gently holding you against his chassis. “Lockdown would be in Deep Space before he realizes I’m gone.” 

Torgal sniffed at your iron ring upon the floor, barking at you as he got yours and Optimus’ scent. 

The Prime smiled down at the dog, as Torgal carefully picked up the item with his mouth. Dropping it into the palm of Optimus’ free servo.  

“Would you do me the honor of placing this back on?” 

You smiled, reaching for the iron ring and threading it through the cables of his wrist. “Of course, my love.”  

Tag List

@ursamajor17 @crowleysthings @k----a27s @lainekyuu @manticcashew @goreismyforte @imachaoticghost @person101lol @silverelfy-blog @nataliahemsworth @musicalmedli @buena-lili @imobssesedwithtoomanysheet @skylarstormheart @the-unhinged-raccoon @ag3ntsw8n @moonsua1 @unadulteratedwizardrunaway @silverelfy-blog @joanne-uwu

[alphabetboyluvr]

throttle │ jjk - two

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven

warnings - just a littleeee (read: mostly) smut... fingering, titty sucking (his fave <3), unprotected sex, multiple orgasms (female), creampie, post-creampie-pussy-eating, cum swapping, a little spitting i guess, titty worship, ?? more, maybe ??, idk, you get the idea. oh, and also dangerous driving and jk being down bad within like 5 seconds flat

word count - 13.4k

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

Jungkook's cheeks are red, his nose blushed from the chill of the wind by the time you reach his place. It's just on the outskirts of town, past the jewellers' district and out towards the station, and it has you wondering why he's always getting fuel from your neck of the woods. It seems inconvenient, and if you were sober, you'd be questioning it. 

Sober, you might have even made assumptions about it.

Hell, you know you would be making assumptions about it.

But you're not sober, and he's got a hold on your hand like you're one of the priceless jewels in the windows you've just walked past.

You're gold dust; a diamond in amongst the rough of downtown Daegu.

In fact, he's holding you so tightly that it's almost as if there's a price on your head, and he wants to be the one to reap the rewards. No sharing. His, all his.

He doesn't loosen his grip on your hand as he begins to punch in the code to his apartment door. It's steel, and robust, hiding everything that Jungkook is behind it. You don't know him, not really - not like you want to - but there's something so painfully intimate about being invited into his space. Has you thinking that maybe you'll get the chance to know him. For a few hours, at least.

The lock beeps, a mechanical whir sounding as the bolt retracts, but he pauses as he puts pressure down on the handle.

"Can you, like, close your eyes?" He grimaces, glancing back around at you. His tongue is tipsy, about to make admissions he never would do sober. "I left in a rush, and there are clothes everywhere 'cause I couldn't decide what to wear and I-"

"Wait, wait, wait," you grin, eyes centred on his. "Did someone get pre-date nerves?"

Jungkook presses his eyes shut, smiling as he rolls his head back. He's never nervous. Always cool, calm, collected - but he can hear your little drunk giggles, and his heart rate is up, and shit, he thinks he might be nervous.

He knows he was nervous before he left. 

"I just-" he says with a frustrated groan, too exasperated to finish his sentence before he starts laughing, too. 

You're both a little tipsy, swaying, drawing closer to one another. It's innate, the way your body leans into his, with zero resistance from Jungkook as your hands grip the front of his coat for support.

"Shuuuush," he whispers, all giddy and coy, holding his index finger to your lips. It's almost as if he gives a fuck about his neighbours.

He doesn't.

He's just using it as an excuse to get closer to you.

"You shush!" You whisper back, mirroring his actions and holding your finger to his lips, too. 

His smile is so big that his dimples are on full display. They're as deep as his eyes are dark, and you just know he must have broken his fair share of hearts in the past. His hands cup your jaw, thumbs resting on the edges of your smile as if he's framing a work of art. He'd argue that he is. 

You look so dainty in his hold, and he finds himself overwhelmed with the need to savour your pretty little laugh. It'll taste just like his, but he doesn't care. Thinks it'll be sweeter coming from your lips. 

And, so, somewhere between your simpering laugh and his darting eyes, as a flickering light in his hallway beats in unison with your hearts, his lips find yours. 

He's still telling you to shush as he does so, and you tell him it back -  but neither of you actually shush until your tongues are in each other's mouths. 

He fumbles the keypad of his door again, getting you both through the threshold and into his tiny studio before you can even look at the mess of clothes everywhere.

The nerves he once had are gone, because he's confident about this; about you.

The movements of your bodies bleed into one another, neither one of you taking the lead. Instead, it's as if you're a pair of figure skaters gliding through his apartment, eyes closed - not that it makes much of a difference. The lights are off, and a string of fairy lights left up since Christmas provides the only source of illumination. 

Jungkook hadn't entirely planned on stumbling home drunk with you, but he knew he'd be stumbling home in some capacity, so leaving them on had seemed like a good idea at the time. He's proven right.  

And even though this night hasn't gone exactly how he had planned, he's not complaining. Especially not when your hands begin to fumble with his jacket. You undo it, push it off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. 

Casual arrogance graces his lips as he smirks against you, unbuttoning the top of your skirt.

"I don't fuck on first dates," you tell him, but you don't stop him as he pushes the black denim over your hips and lets it fall to the floor. In fact, you're kind of giving him mixed signals as you reach for his belt, sliding the leather through its buckle.

"We've had, like, 300 GS25 dates," he mumbles into your lips between kisses, so casually that it's almost believable.

He pulls his shirt over his head, tosses it to the floor, and grabs your face just to kiss you again as soon as he can. 

It's about now, just after he's finished evaluating your 'dating' history, that you notice the pressure of two small metal balls flicking against your tongue. They're evenly spaced across the centre of his own tongue, and the mere acknowledgement of them has your legs clenching together. The lip ring was bad enough, but a tongue piercing? Fuck. 

He smiles as you moan into his lips, and assures you: "I think it's okay if we fuck."

Your hands are in his hair, his gripping onto your waistline before he rids you of your sweater, and all you can do is nod. Playing hard to get is a game for fools, and you're not really sure why you tried it in the first place. You're gonna be winning either way.

"Yeah, you're right," you mumble into his mouth. "We're basically married."

He laughs, and for a second you think that he must have been made by the Gods. It's the only way to explain how a human could be created so heavenly, even when they're about to commit enough sins to send them straight down to the pits.

"Happy honeymoon," he smirks, assisting you as you begin to push his jeans past his ass and down his thighs. Teamwork makes the dream work, after all.

You're both in your underwear, yet neither of you have even looked at the other's bodies yet. Too preoccupied. Too eager. Too consumed by the overwhelming need to feel one another.

His skin is warm, but the ridges of his torso are so hard that you'd be forgiven for thinking he's carved from stone.

Nudging his parted lips against yours, you gasp as his fingers curl in your hair.  Jungkook just claims your breaths as his own, pressing his lips firmly shut against yours.

One hand clasps your throat, keeping you secure, as the other trails up your thighs.

"Sure you wanna consummate this marriage?" He asks a little breathlessly, playing on the narrative you built up for this moment, just checking before he does anything he can't take back.

But you're impatient, and you don't think you could be any clearer even if you tried.

"Oh my god," you whine. "Just finger me already." 

Your words have him laughing all over again. He likes this, likes that you're not afraid to ask for what you want. He hadn't expected anything less, but it's satisfying to have his assumptions proven right. He kind of gets why you like making so many of them, now.

He fumbles about a little bit, not bothering to turn on the lights. It's not his first rodeo, and he doesn't think it's yours either - in fact, he knows it isn't. You wouldn't be so bold if it was. He doesn't embarrass easy, and knows that there are lessons to be learned with every new woman he acquaints himself with. You're no exception. 

"Gotta tell me what you like," he notes as he presses a kiss against your neck, the smell of your perfume so divine that he thinks you must be some kind of lorelei. It's like a meeting of black cherry and vanilla, but when his nose nestles into your hair, he can smell gasoline - and he thinks it might just be the hottest thing about you. 

You hum a response, the anticipation causing your heart to beat a mile a minute. He pushes the lace of your underwear to the side, his middle finger running between your folds. You're slick from his kisses alone, but so is he is. As you palm at the bulge in his pants, you can feel the wetness of precum leaking from his tip. He wants this just as much as you do.

"You can do better, little miss clutch control," he teases you. "Speak up."

Part of you wants to kick him in the balls. He's so sexy but so fucking annoying - he can hear how much you're enjoying his touch. He doesn't need confirmation - he just wants the gratification of hearing you say it. It's a power trip for him. You don't like giving men power.

"I like it when you shut the fuck up," you reply, hands in his hair, pulling him in for a kiss. If your words won't do it, then at least your lips will. The vibration of his laugh hums into your mouth, before he pulls away - only by an inch or so.

"That's more like it."

His lips return to yours, as quickly as they left, while he continues to roam. His fingers stay in your underwear, the very tip of his index finger mapping you out. Your body shudders when he brushes your clit, the direct contact a little too much.

He dips down to your entrance, pauses, and says "been thinking about this since the moment I met you," and then pushes two of his fingers into your cunt.

Your walls are tight and hot, but oh-so fucking wet. There's nothing about your pussy that he doesn't love. His thick knuckles are celestial inside of you, just as cosmic as the reflection of his fairy lights in his eyes, and you find yourself thinking that maybe those tattooed hands of his are something special, after all.

"Bra off," he husks, and you do as you're told. He'd have done it himself, but his hands are a little preoccupied. 

He adjusts the pair of you as your bra hits the floor, encouraging your legs around his waist.  Hoisting you up before you really have a chance to comprehend what he's doing, you're pretty certain that this is just an excuse to display his strength. You're impressed, so it's working, but you're also unable to really think about anything other than the way he feels inside of you.

Your back is against the wall, the weight of his body keeping you pinned in position as he fucks his fingers into you. There's no real calculation to his movements, just an awareness that he absolutely cannot fuck you yet. He'll simply finish too quickly. 

It's not that he doesn't enjoy a quickie - truth be told, he finds them far more convenient - it's just that it would be mortifying. 

He's not sure he'd actually be able to show up at the gas station ever again if you heard him whine like a little bitch and unload himself in five seconds flat.

Equally, he doesn't want you to dread his car coming into the forecourt. 

He wants you daydreaming about him, all hazy-eyed, like you are when you're drunk, waiting for his car to roll in. He wants you musing about the way his tongue feels against your neck, and your coworker asking why you're smiling so much. He wants you blushing as you try to think of a justification, and he wants you excusing yourself to go to the bathroom to sort out the wetness pooling in your underwear. 

So, yeah. A quickie simply won't do.

He grips onto the side of your neck with his spare hand as he sinks his fingers into your pussy again. The way you gasp is like music to his ears, every single one of his senses overrun by the entity that you are. 

It's mutual though. You're consumed by everything that he is; his scent, the sound of his laboured grunts, the taste of his tongue and the feel of his hands all over your body. The only sense he isn't violating is your sight - but it's only 'cause he's making you feel so good that your eyes are forced to rest shut. 

Jungkook, on the other hand, exclusively watches you. He marvels at the way your head leans back against the wall, neck exposed for him to leave a trail of pretty purple bruises. He knows he shouldn't. Knows he shouldn't leave a single mark on your skin. Knows better than to leave evidence of his crimes, but it's a sin he thinks he'd quite like to commit over and over again.

You're pretty good at faking it. A string of careless lovers, of whom you used to entertain prior to learning your worth, had helped you to perfect a moan. You can manipulate your body, make your chest heave with exertion, your pussy throb around their fingers, their cocks. You can make it leak, get yourself looking like a fucking mess for them, as if it's because of them. It's a fine art. 

Botticelli would admire you, you think. His Venus couldn't compete with you. Femme fatal; a kisser of jaws, a killer of the men you have to let down gently because they fall too in love with you for your liking. Understandably, given what you can do. You've mastered it. Mastered men.

And it's for this reason, that you don't fake anymore. If someone isn't pleasing you, you let them know. You view it as a way of helping humanity - or their future girlfriends, at least. Why waste time letting someone else think they're getting you off, when it's you doing all the hard work?

You'd gone into this prepared; ready to remedy what would inevitably be a disappointing shag with a near stranger.

But you're not throbbing around Jungkook's fingers - you're trembling. There's no self-made stutter in your chest, but there's one a little lower down, one that you've got absolutely no jurisdiction over. Y'see, the way you're gasping, like you're struggling against a riptide, caught in the wave that is Jeon Jungkook, can't be faked. 

It's what has him smirking as he puts pressure behind the kisses he's placing on your neck. It's the fact that every time you try and speak, even if it's just a curse or the sound of his name, it's cut short. You've no control. Fuck all. It's all on him, on account of him being inside you. If he's learnt anything about you in the short time that he's known you, it's that you're never speechless. Always getting that last word in. 

But you can't even formulate one now, his fingers pumping into you at such a speed, that the lewd wet noise is almost louder than your moans. Almost.

Jungkook isn't a jealous kind of guy, especially not when it comes to casual hookups - but he kind of thinks he's jealous of his own fucking fingers. 

Every single part of him wants your pussy; his tongue, his cock. You feel so good around him that he regrets not making a move sooner. Should have asked to fuck you as soon as you started talking about his car on his first visit to the gas station. Lord knows he thought about it.

His lips are on yours, not really kissing you, resting open, his breaths heavy and laboured. The way he's pushing into you, deeper, deeper, has you mirroring his expression, small moans pouring into his mouth. He wants to eat them up, devour them, use them as fuel.

You loosen the grip you have in his pale hair, gripping onto his neck with one hand, the other falling to his bicep. He likes the scratch of your nails against his bare skin, but there's a distance between you both that he wants to close. He pulls his hand from beneath your ass, relying on his core strength alone to keep you pressed into the wall, and reaches for your fingers. Intertwining them, he places his hand, with yours beneath it, back against the wall, above your head. 

The change in position has your chest lifting, almost as if your tits are begging to have his lips around them - and who is he to refuse?

His tongue finds your nipple, flicking against the hardened nub before sucking it between his lips. The vibration of his studs against your sensitive bud has your back arching. He sucks you further into his mouth, tongue lapping against you, before he releases your nipple - but it's so puffy, and wet, and perfect, and fuck- he can't help himself, teasing at it again with his tongue. 

So fixated on how you feel in his mouth, he's forgotten that he meant to be fucking you. His cock throbs beneath his boxers, as his fingers are kept warm by your walls, slick wetness creaming around the base of his knuckles and dripping down his palm.

His apartment is small, so it only takes him a moment to move you from the wall and toss you down into his sheets. There's a waft of his fabric conditioner as he does so, floral and soft. It's hard to imagine a man so broad, so handsome, so god damn irresistible, paying any attention to laundry - but you suppose it must just add to his charm.

"C'mere," you whine, as he takes a moment to take in the sight of you. Missing the way he feels, you pull him down onto the bed -  but he's scared that even just rutting against you will have him spilling himself all over your stomach. Instead, he places himself beside you, and gets to work.

There's a familiarity now, his mouth taking your nipple again, wet and wanting, as his fingers toy with your pussy. He's not sure which he prefers, your pussy or tits, but he's more than happy to play with them both. His thumb presses on your swollen clit, and you writhe beneath him. "You like that, huh?"

You try and respond, but his thumb begins to rub languid circles against you. If you couldn't muster a word before, then like fuck can you speak now.

"Huh?" he teases, teeth grazing your hardened nipple, now. His finger strokes at your walls as he sinks into you once more, on the hunt for something that no one has ever been able to find, except you. The way your legs are tensing lets him know he's close. 

"I asked if you like that." He's only a knuckle deep, stroking pretty little circles against your walls. Closer. You whine. "Don't go all shy on me now, doll."

Your body writhes beneath his, toes curling, teeth digging down on his shoulder in a failed attempt at keeping quiet. He hopes you'll leave a mark. His thumb presses a little harder against your clit, encircling it with pressure so deep that you're almost certain you'll die from his touch.

"Don't stop," is all you can manage. "Don't stop- fuck."

"Better," he says, pressing a kiss into your neck. You can feel his precum leaking onto your thigh, and the idea of him dirtying you has you insatiable. He can tell you're at his level now, so close to finishing that it won't be embarrassing when he's done in five-seconds-flat -  but the way you're putty in his hands has him unable to stop himself. He's gotta make you cum. Needs to. 

He presses his thumb down, fingers up, as if he's pinching them together, and then he's stroking and - "Oh, fuck it. Right there. Right fucking there." - he's found it. 

He's fucking found it, the little ridge in your pussy that up until now has been just for you. You've lied before, told guys they've hit your g-spot and faked a little something that convinces them of it - but it's never been like this. Ever. Not even when you find it. 

Jungkook follows your commands. He won't stop, doesn't stop, not even when your nails grab at his wrist because the pleasure is so unbearable, so intense, that it fucking hurts. 

"Like that," you encourage, knowing your grip probably says otherwise. "Like that, fuck."

He does as he's told, and keeps like that, lips latching onto your nipple, sucking just as hard as his fingers are massaging. The slickness of your walls compared with the texture of your g-spot has him going insane. He doesn't think it's his first time finding such a sacred spot, but it's never been this easy, and the reaction has never been this good. 

You moan out his name, 'cause he's all you can think about. Any and all articulation of your pleasure goes on him.

"Yeah, baby?" he asks, forgetting that he doesn't know you nearly well enough to be addressing you like that, but he doesn't slow down. You just moan. He can call you whatever the fuck he wants at this point. It's too good. Too much.

"Kook, I-" you try, but your hips are bucking, and there's fuck all you can do to stop it.

"Just a little more, baby," he promises you. 

He will make you cum. Will do whatever it takes, if needs be. The tip of his cock is red and leaky against your thigh, ready to fuck into you, but he doesn't give a shit. Your walls are hot. Burning hot. And then they're throbbing, and your torso begins to tense. You whisper his name like a secret prayer, legs trying to close around the welcome intrusion of his hand. 

"That's it," he keens. "Cum for me, doll. All over my fingers. That's it."

You're fucking mewling as your body shudders against his. There's no dignity left in your body. It's pooling in the palm of his hand, slick and slippery, just where he wants it.

"You're unreal," he hums, drawing the last of your little death from you. "Fucking insane, babe. So fucking hot."

Turns out the Grim Reaper had made an appearance that evening, just in the form of a 6-foot adonis, who knows his way around a pussy like he does a bloody electric switchboard. 

You're panting, and so is he, his lips curving against your skin. Neither of you speaks for a minute, both casually aware that it - this, the night - isn't over yet. 

And then Jungkook just thinks to hell with acting coy, or playing it cool. You're naked in his bed, and so is he. No point in beating around the bush (unless you're into it).

"Wanna eat you out," he says as he presses a kiss into your neck, placing himself more centrally over you. Your chest is still heaving, and the thought of cumming again makes you feel all dizzy. His elbows are rested by your head, cock stiff against your tummy. You wrap your arms around his neck, toying with his pretty blonde hair. "Wanna fuck you first, though."

There's a logistical step to be taken there. You're on birth control, and the subject of regularly testing had come up during a particularly suggestive conversation over dinner. You both know he'll be fucking you raw - which means he's finishing raw, too.

"But-"

"I don't care," he mumbles into your lips, a little rough, claiming them as his own. He really doesn't give a fuck if it means eating his own cum. Not like he hasn't done it before. He's probably just gonna spit it into your mouth, anyways.

He pulls his hips back to line himself up. The tip of his cock nudges into you slowly, gently, and then he eases himself forward. It burns, the thickness of his shaft spreading you in a way that his fingers couldn't. It's bliss. Divine. Heavenly, and yet absolute sin. 

He revels in the way you feel, for a moment, letting your walls stretch before he sinks into you fully. You curse as he does so, the pain overridden by pleasure. His hips begin to pick up pace, eyes on yours to make sure that you're okay as he ploughs into you. 

It's like he's digging for diamonds, almost. Funny thing is, when you gasp, eyes all wide and focused on his, it's looks like he's found them in your eyes. It's just the reflection of his fairy lights, but the illusion fools him.

Looking at you is too much for him to handle, so Jungkook kisses you as his hips begin to stall. He really wasn't kidding when he figured he'd finish in no time at all. His brows are creased, moans muffled against your lips. His torso shudders, abdomen as tight as his balls.

"Gonna make me cum," he drowsily mewls, fucking himself into you like it's where he belongs. 

His body is clammy against yours, stamina impressive but dwindling. His thrusts are getting sloppy, and so are his kisses, but you kind of love it like this; Jungkook so out of control he isn't even trying to keep a pace anymore. The rhythm of your body beneath his, the way he fits inside of you, how soft and warm your tits are as they pillow against his chest, it's all too much for him. 

He's so deep he's practically kissing your cervix with the tip of his cock, and yet he still hooks your leg over his elbow. He needs to be deeper. 

"Gonna make me cum so much. You want that, huh? Wanna be the reason I cum?" he grunts, and then his words become needy. "Tell me you want it, doll. Tell me."

He licks into your mouth, toying with your tongue before you even get a chance to respond.

"Don't want it," you pant, his harsh thrusts interrupting your words. He's about to be offended, all needy and pouty while he's buried inside you, but you're biting down on your lip and - oh, god - he's obsessed. "Need it. Cum for me. Want it so bad."

He smiles against your cheek as his hips move languidly between your legs. One of his hands comes down to your hip to help him control himself, but he can't. Not when he can feel you smiling, too. He laughs a little, soft and mellow against your skin - and when you do the same thing back, Jungkook knows he's absolutely done for.

"I'm gonna-" he rasps, unable to finish his sentence. "Where? Where do you want me?"

You don't say anything, just tighten the grip of your legs around his waist. You're a fucking mess, mentally, physically. He's ruined you in every sense of the word.

"Sure?"

"Sure," you pant against his skin, before repeating your earlier claim. "Need it. Need you."

It's a lie. You don't. You barely know him - but you feel so in tune, so aligned, when he's inside you that it feels like your pussy is the only place his cum deserves to be. It'd be wasted on your tits (though Jungkook would definitely disagree).

"God," he groans. "Don't say shit like that."

Jungkook has severely underestimated just how much of a little bitch you can be.

"Like what?" you pout as his thrusts get even sloppier, his skin slapping against yours. "What can't I say? How much I need you?"

He curses your name, lips showering you in pretty kisses. His tongue finds its home inside your mouth, but it's just an attempt to shut you up. A pretty good one, in all fairness. The way his studs feel against your tongue has you dripping around the base of his cock.

You can hear it; Jungkook slipping in and out of your soaked pussy like you're fire and he's ice.

"Need you," you simper again, just to fuck with him a little more. "Need to feel you fill me up."

"You want it that bad, huh?"

He pulls himself back a little, sitting up on his heels, holding onto your hips as he fucks himself into you. Your tits pillow on your chest, bouncing in time with his thrusts, hypnotising him, almost. You're smiling as your forearms cover your eyes, a little shameful of being caught in such a compromising position, but loving it nonetheless.

"Looking a little shy, there," he says, but his tone is so low it almost sounds like a growl. You pull your arms away, and he's amazed that you can still manage to raise a brow and throw him a pissed off glare even when he's balls deep in you. Truth be told, it just makes him want you even more. He's fond as he smiles at you. "There she is."

Even if you can't fake your orgasms for him, you can still fake annoyance.

"You gonna cum, or what?" You sigh, and then he's laughing, sinking back down, elbows either side of your head as he kisses you. "All men do is lie."

"Not gonna cum," he says, and you're right - it is a lie. "Just gonna keep fucking you forever."

"I have work tomorrow."

"Fuck if I care," he sinks his tongue back into your mouth, briefly, just to remind you who's really in control here. "Said I'll fuck you forever, so forever it is."

There's a bell chiming in your tummy, and you're not able to convince yourself that it's just another building orgasm. It's still him, though, in a round about way.

"We're not allowed to bring our pets to work," you deadpan. "No can do."

Jungkook stops thrusting, and pulls his head back, almost to look at you in disbelief. He's smiling, and he's so desperately turned on that his balls fucking hurt, but he's never been more perplexed in bed. You're equal parts a siren and a little shit.

You're grinning too, pleased to have rendered him speechless. "What is it, huh? Cat got your tongue?"

He smirks, now. "Nah. Not yet. But it will."

And then he's back at it, hips erratic, building such a pace that you can't even think, let alone come out with some dumb remark.  

"Still need it, huh?" He recites your words back to you, voice raspy and hushed, so close it feels like his body could give out at any second. He's edging himself, trying to make it last just a little bit longer, but it's so wet, and you're so fucking tight, and he's throbbing, and grunting and - fuck - it's so fucking good he might just die. 

"You're gonna look so pretty when I fill you up," he moans, before correcting himself. "Already pretty. So fucking pretty."

His hips slap against yours, once, twice, and then it's happening. 

He buries himself in you, body tense as a shiver runs down his spine. Your nails dig into his back, a hushed whine escaping from his mouth and getting lost in your hair. 

His cock unloads thick creamy spurts with every stroke of your pussy, coating you with the very essence of everything that he is. It's overindulgent and unrestrained. Fuck if it isn't the most full you've ever felt, ropes of thick cum spurting into you like he was built to fucking breed.

He pumps himself gently inside you for a moment or so, just to ease the remainder of his hot cum into you. The sound is lewd as he adjusts, his job very much done.

Neither of you speak for a moment, hedonism taking heed. The way his heart beats in his chest is unlike anything you've ever felt before. In fact, you're almost in a state of shock, and so is he.

Only for a moment, though. He's not actually done yet.

Your first orgasm was cute - but there's no way he's letting you see him that pathetic, that weak, without making sure you end up in the exact same state. 

He presses a few kisses to your damp neck, laughing softly. "Get what you wanted?"

Looking at you, brown eyes all big and sparkling, he pulls his torso back up, ass resting on his heels, before checking the state of his cock as he withdraws himself. 

You're smiling as you watch him stare at where the pair of you meet with such devotion that it's hard not to feel a little enamoured with him. Even if it is just a casual fuck.

"Got what I wanted." Your voice is light and airy, like you're a Disney princess waking up from centuries of slumber. Might not have had true loves kiss, but you bet none of them has ever had a fuck like Jungkook. 

You pout a little when he finishes pulling out, sad to have lost the feeling of fullness. He catches your expression, and smiles. 

"Cute," he says a little mindlessly, articulating a thought that wasn't meant to be shared.

"Shut up," you reply, embarrassed, but he doesn't mind. Not in the slightest. In fact, he loves that you didn't want him to leave. Kind of wishes that he could have kept his cock buried inside you, instead.

But Jungkook is a man of convictions, and a firm believer that he'll simply die if he can't eat you out.

You sort of think the moment has passed, that it was something he said in the heat of the moment. Figure now he's orgasmed, he's finished - but Jungkook is an endurance athlete, not a sprinter. There's still a hurdle left to jump.

He presses your legs apart so that he can look at you. Your hole is creamy and fucked out, his load slowly seeping out of you with every beat of your heart. His fingers dip just beneath your entrance, collecting his cum on them, before he pushes it back into you. He doesn't look at you, just your cunt, as he says, "told you you'd look pretty full of my cum."

The way he's staring at you, like a man who hasn't eaten for days being presented with a three course meal, has you feeling all hot and bothered.

You're satisfied. The sex you just had was enough. More than enough - but you're getting weak at the knees again, his desire infectious. You can't remember a time you've ever wanted someone as badly as you want him. Not for any deeper reason than the selfish fact that he makes you feel good. It's pure lust, no romance about it.

His fingers continue to push his cum into you, stroking up and down your walls, applying just enough pressure to let you know he's there.

He moves his body back, keeping his fingers snug inside you - and then he lowers his body, just a couple of inches from you. His breath feels cold against the slick wetness covering your pussy. 

"Also told you I wanted to eat you," he adds, as if you need reminding.

His spare hand strokes down the inside of your thigh before it reaches your hot core, and he begins to toy with your pussy. He spreads your lips open, just like he did your legs, and then he's studying you. Figuring out ways he can get your squirming. 

The first initial contact is brief; the tip of his tongue licking across the top of your clit. A parched moan escapes your lips, and he smiles. "There?"

"There," you moan, eyes closed, head pushed back into his pillows. 

He does it again, tongue a little flatter, a little firmer. You feel his piercing against you this time, smooth and hard. Your clit is snug between the two studs, like it was made to be there. He does it again. Wetter, deeper. And again. Slower, harder - and then his speed builds. 

He licks up and down across your clit, rolling it beneath his tongue, once, twice- and then you lose count, so lost in ecstasy that all you can think about is his tongue lapping at your cum-filled cunt, plugged with his fingers.

Occasionally, he sucks gently on your clit, just to earn a little extra moan from you. It works every single time.

You're leaking around his fingers at this point, so close to cumming again that it's impossible to keep your legs open. He feels the pressure of your thighs against his head, and it only serves to encourage him. His speed builds, both his tongue and his fingers meeting with your pussy at such divine speeds that you're sure you'll cum in such an undignified manner that'll he'll perhaps regret his choices.

As your muscles begin to tense, his head in a literal death grip, he smiles, dimples deep and lips pretty against your pussy. Jungkook is utterly enthralled with how it feels to have his face between your thighs. 

He keeps his eyes closed, letting himself experience the sensations of your body completely unadulterated. If he could see you, he'd be so obsessed with the view that he might not savour you in the way that he wants to. He wants to taste you, to smell you, to feel how soft and warm you are. If he wasn't obsessed before (which he was), then he definitely is, now.

The pressure builds, his tongue lapping against you, one of your hands tangled in his messy blonde hair, the other holding one of your boobs for a little moral support. 

You're too far gone to even let him know you're about to come undone all over again. He knows, though. He can feel you pulsing, and then you're gasping, and panting, and mewling and fuck, he loves the way you sound.

Your muscles throb as he brings you to orgasm. It's so undignified that you're certain you'll never cum like this again. Your abdomen flexes involuntarily, making sure your orgasm is signed, sealed, delivered to you. He pushes your legs apart again, glancing up towards you as he licks one final stripe up your exposed mess.

You ignore the slick on his fingers that's now coating your thigh as he spreads them apart, too busy with the fact his chin is soaked, hair a mess, nose blushed. He's watching your entrance seep; a mixture of himself and you. 

It's hard to know what belongs to who, but as he dips down and licks it up with the tip of his pointed tongue, the ownership is clear. It doesn't matter whose is whose, because your pussy belongs to him, now. 

It's all his. 

He gathers the creamy slick on his tongue, and then he pulls on your hand to encourage you into a sitting position.

You're putty in his hands, doing whatever he tells you, which is albeit very little. In fact, he doesn't say anything - just looks at your lips, then your eyes, and clasps your jaw. 

He opens his mouth and pools his tongue, letting the mess that you've both made sit prettily in his mouth, dancing over his studs. He nods gently, moving his thumb from your jaw to your pillowy bottom lip, pressing down on it. 

Open. 

He's insatiable. Wants his cum on your tongue, but wants yours on his, too.

You spread your lips apart, eyes exclusively on his. Your tongue flicks against his thumb.

And then you nod.

Please.

Jungkook is slow in his approach, tentative as he holds your jaw, bringing your closer to him. His tongue licks into your mouth, swiping against yours, swapping his cum between the pair of you. It's a languid exchange, slow and sensual, neither of you caring for the boundaries that are being crossed. 

He pulls away from you, hand gripping your jaw again. You open your mouth instinctively, just like he wants you to. Neither of you pay any attention to his phone, which is flashing on the floor next to his bed. 

Spit gathers in his mouth, rinsing himself of the pair of you as he draws you closer to him, your mouth still resting open. He spits directly into it. You whimper a little as he does so, his grip on your jaw keeping your mouth open for him to observe just how messy it is; all thanks to him.

"Swallow," he tells you, easing his grip, and so you do. 

Lips closed, you swallow everything; his spit, his cum, your cum, all of it. When he grips your jaw again, you know the drill, but it doesn't stop him from commanding you. 

"Open."

He's pleased when you do, mouth all pretty and clean for him to ruin again - but instead, he just kisses you softly, hands on your cheeks, pushing your bodies back down into his sheets. There's a tenderness to the way in which he touches you; as if he realises you sacrificed a little dignity for him, so he's trying to restore it.

He's hard again - had never really softened, in all honesty - but he's too sensitive to do anything about it.

"Stay," he mumbles against your lips. Your hands are in his hair, keeping him close, as your legs wrap around his waist. "Stay the night. Wanna wake up to this."

You moan into his lips. His cock is firmly pressed into your stomach, his naked body warm against yours. 

There's something about the weight of his body, the firmness of his muscular chest against the soft pillow of your own, that is unrivalled by any other sleeping arrangement you could think of.

And despite knowing exactly what he's saying, and being far too skeptical to think he means anything other than sex, you still choose to toy with him a little.

"Wake up to what?" You purr into his lips, aware that your hips are languidly rolling against him again. 

He kisses down your neck, laughing softly to himself. His smile vibrates against your skin, and, for a moment, it's your favourite feeling in the whole entire world.

"To you."

You're pretty sure he can feel the way your pulse skips a beat in your neck. But again, you're difficult. And this arrangement definitely isn't anything more than just sex.

"You mean to my pussy, right?"

He presses pretty little kisses back up your neck, along your jaw and into your lips. They're cute. Kind. Romantic, even. 

"Oh, a hundred percent," he grins against your lips, and then you're laughing too.

"You're so mean," you pout, as if you weren't the one to put the words into his mouth. There's a dimple etched into his cheek, eyes all hazy and sparkling as he shakes his head. He thinks you look adorable when you pout. So damn cute. He steals another kiss, and protests.

"Made you cum twice," Jungkook says, and has the audacity to scrunch his nose, acting all cute and shit. You're embarrassed, bringing your hands from his hair to cover your face, which you just know is flaming red. "I think that's actually pretty nice of me." 

He pulls one of your hands away from your face, and kisses your knuckles. His smile matches yours - because while yes, you're embarrassed, you're still riding the post-fuck high, too.

"You also spat in mouth," you remind him, and then he's cringing. Jekyll and Hyde have nothing on Jungkook when it comes to him and, well, him in bed. "That's not very nice."

He covers his eyes with his hands, but his teeth are still on show, smile prevailing. "Shut up."

And then he's kissing you again, 'cause fuck it, he just can't stop himself. 

It's been a while since he last got like this. In fact, he probably hasn't been this giddy post-fuck since he was a teenager. He's normally in the shower by this point, ridding himself of whoever he's been inside - but he doesn't have the compulsion to do that with you.

He knows that when he breaks from the spell you've cast upon him, he'll be back to reality. The fairy dust will settle on the ground like ashes, and the magic that once was will become nothing but malice.

There's a bridge to be crossed.

Jungkook has been fixing it up - repairing the cracks, making it sturdy - but he's not sure he wants what's on the other side, anymore. Not when you're in his bed, not when he can feel your chest wobble with every little laugh you do, and not when your nails are tenderly scratching at his scalp.

See, he likes being on this side of the bridge. Likes being with you.

But if he doesn't cross it, the trolls beneath it will inevitably come for him.

And so he asks you to stay again, but this time he says it like he means it.

"I want you to stay with me," he speaks quietly, rolling off of you and curling up beside you, reaching for the duvet that ended up at the end of his bed. He brings it back over your bodies, as if he's locking you in. You have to stay now.

You turn to face him, curling up too, mirroring him. Your fingers delicately tuck strands of his beautiful blonde hair behind his ear, ignoring the way his eyes are focused on you. Instead, you watch your hand as it moves, curiously touched by the fact he wants you to stay. You don't peg him as guy who often wants a girl to stay.

You're right to assume that.

Right to assume that he normally doesn't do this.

One night stands? Yeah, sure. He's had a handful - but never at his place. He doesn't like inviting people back to his apartment. It feels too personal. He likes being able to leave. He doesn't do the whole waking up together thing - no matter how much he likes morning sex (of which he does ( a LOT)).

But Jungkook's thinking about that bridge again.

He's thinking about the fact he knows shouldn't be at home right now.

He's thinking about the fact that you should be at home right now.

He's thinking about the fact his phone is on silent, and that Namjoon is probably cursing him out on voicemail right now.

But then you kiss him, and for a moment, he forgets again.

"I get grouchy when I'm hungover," you warn him, giving him an out, just in case he wants to retract his offer.

"Mhmm," he hums, pulling you into his chest. Your legs intertwine as he squeezes you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You're grouchy when you're not hungover."

You laugh, cheeks plump and full, resting right where his heart is pumping a little faster than usual.

"You're lucky you're a good fuck, or else I'd be out of that door ASAP."

It's a lie, and you both know it.

"Thank god for my cock," he says, grinning like an absolute twat. 

He decides that he's still really drunk. It's the only way to explain how his body feels all disjointed but perfectly together at the same time.

"Thank god for your cock."

────────────

You're still awake as the sun begins to rise. He's mumbling, saying something about how a town in Alaska has a cat for a mayor, while your head rests on his bare chest.

He's a little clammy, the smell of sex stuck to him. Neither of you have showered yet. You enjoy the way your bodies are a little sticky, skin on skin, as if you're made for his bed; for him.

Every now and again, his hands roam out of the realm of safety, and you find your breath hitching, toes curling, lips parting. It's always accompanied by the sound of an airy smirk from Jungkook.

You learn that he's obsessed with your chest. Your tits, more specifically. So pillowy, so soft. A gift bestowed upon you from Venus herself, he thinks, or at least he would, if he knew who Venus was.

He just wants to hold them forever. In his hands, in his mouth, he doesn't care. He'll put his dick between them too, eventually. Another time. He's too sensitive right now. But definitely one day, and definitely soon.

A little sunlight pours in, and you watch speckles of dust as they dance around in the air. When he laughs, soft and serene in the hazy atmosphere of a post-fuck come down, it's nice. You imagine that you'd quite like to do this again. You hope he feels the same.

"Just think it's funny," he says, toying with your fingers. "How a cat can do a better job than fully grown men."

"Pussy power," you smile, and so does he, before he presses a kiss into your hair. It still smells like gasoline and he still thinks it's the sexiest thing in the world. It's funny, 'cause if you knew it smelt that way, you'd feel insecure about it. It's why he doesn't mention it. Doesn't want you withdrawing from his touch.

He nestles down, shifts his naked body beneath his duvet but keeps you close. His legs interlock with yours and his lips find a home on the curve of your shoulder. "I'm really glad you said yes."

The comment seems out of the blue, but it's not. Your thoughts have been echoing in his mind, too. It sounds a lot like vulnerability. To him, it feels more like he's laying down a safety net. Making his intentions clear. Doesn't want you second-guessing. Not this, at least. He knows the way you like to theorise.

"You didn't really give me a choice," you rib, as if that chime isn't back in your diaphragm.

He squeezes you tightly. "Don't say that. You could have said no."

You shuffle down, tilt your head, and press a kiss into his chest, just between his pecks. Sweet like honey, your lips trail across, placing delicate kisses in pride of place.

His firm muscle; one, two. His dark nipple; a flick of your tongue, one, two. Just above his beating heart; one, two, three.

Your lips feather across his collarbone and land where tattoo leaks ever so slightly onto the top of his chest. You sign the art with your kisses like the ultimate thief. Stolen. Yours, now.

"You'd have still shown up regardless."

And you're right, he would have done.

Not for any grand romantic gesture, nor to coerce you into something you didn't want. He's just got a job to do, that's all.

He doesn't respond, but you don't really notice.

By the time you're dressed and leaving his apartment, the 503 is running. He offers to pay for your fare, but you tell him that it's fine, and hop on the bus as if your insides don't burn. It's been a while since you had a workout that vigorous.

There are a few old women and a middle-aged man in a business suit taking the same journey as you.

Your cheeks flush crimson when you start to think about the ache in the pit of your stomach, right beneath that little chime that likes to ding every now and again. That feeling? The one that made you quietly gasp as you sat down? That's Jungkook.

The acknowledgement ruminates. It's insidious. Has you feeling all dirty.

You wonder if they know. The people on the bus, the one's sat around you. They couldn't possibly know, not really, but you brood over the notion that you give off an aura; one that says you've just been fucked by the most beautiful man you've ever laid eyes upon.

You wonder if the old ladies glance at you and long for the days when they'd go home with strangers.

You wonder if the middle-aged man is responding to the pheromones you're releasing without realising it, cock a little plump in his pants.

It's a morbid curiosity, but one that makes you feel all hot, and sticky, and sordid. Makes you feel good, too. A little dangerous. A little bit like you wanna get off the 503 and leg it back to Jungkook's place.

It has you reaching for your phone, pulling up kakaotalk and clicking through on your most recent contact. There's still a message at the top of your thread, warning about spam, or fraud, or whatever it is. You don't read it. Too busy typing away.

You're about to press send on a poorly thought out message when your phone vibrates in your palm. You pause. Cringe. Are aware that Jungkook will have seen how quickly you read his own message that's just come through to you.

꾹:  i wanna do that again.

You: the galbi or the sex?

꾹: both.

꾹: mainly the sex, though.

꾹: the galbi i can take or leave.

Your legs press together, and realise you're squirming in your seat. It's subtle, but anyone who's looking at you must know.

You: funny, im the opposite.

You:  id die for the galbi.

You:  sex was alright.

꾹: wow, a glowing review.

꾹: can i add it to my tinder profile?

Like fuck you can, you think to yourself. If he's still active on tinder after the night you had together, you'll do the reasonable thing and learn witchcraft just so you can hex him. You tell yourself you're just joking, but honestly, the idea is tempting.

You: uh-huh.

You: you can put it right beneath a bullet point where you let them know how much you like eating your own cum :)

꾹:  technically, you ate it.

꾹: i just delivered it :)

You: thank you for your services.

꾹: any time.

You: tonight?

꾹: please.

And so he arrives at the gas station just before nine, hood up, angelic strands of blonde hair tickling over his eyes. He's got a mask on, like he usually does, a black turtle neck resting prettily around his throat. An earth-toned flannel shirt peeks out from the bottom of his jacket, where the hem meets a pair of black jeans. He has a charm about him that makes the world stop turning for a moment when you first look at him.

He's not really sure how to greet you. With a kiss? A high five? Neither of these seems like a good idea, so he just does an awkward half-bow, which leaves cringing.

"Just gotta cash up," you smile from behind the kiosk. "You walked?"

He shakes his head. "Parked around the corner again. Didn't wanna block the forecourt."

It's a reasonable enough excuse, even if a little weird. You finish what you're doing, cash up, give Jieun the keys (and ignore the way she's grinning at you) and then toss your jacket over your shoulders. He walks beside you as you leave the store, popping your hood up again just like he did the night before. "It's windy."

The forecast said it would rain, too, but Jungkook doesn't know this. Doesn't actually give a shit about the weather. Just needs excuses to put your hood up.

"So I've been thinking," he says as you make your way to the side lane.

"Dangerous," you quip, but he ignores it - though he does nudge you a little. You let your body move in accordance with his, swaying back into him slightly. Like a swinging pendulum, you're about to recoil, but Jungkook's arm drapes around your shoulders, keeping you close. The scent of his clothes is a mix of fresh cotton and WD-40. It makes you laugh, how much a walking juxtaposition he really is.

"I've been thinking," he reinforces, and pauses just in case you're planning on interrupting again - but you don't. You want to hear his thoughts. All of them. No matter how big or small. "What if... What if we skip the sex tonight?"

You don't respond immediately, walking around to the passenger's side of his car. He clicks down on his key, opening up the locks. The lights flood your features, illuminating you in warm hues, reds and oranges, as if to send Jungkook a warning: she's dangerous.

"Skip the sex?" You raise a brow, ignoring the butterfly atrium that has spontaneously constructed beneath your ribs. "You lured me here under false pretences, Mr Gimbap."

He doesn't question the nickname. Figures he'll find out its origins this evening. After all, all he wants to do is talk.

Talk about you, where you come from, where you plan on going. He wants to know more; what makes you tick, your favourite chocolate bar wrapper joke, if you really meant what you said about not fucking on first dates. Wants to know if he's special. Wants to know if he gets to you the same way you do to him.

He'll ask you about your favourite Shakespeare play, and he'll hope that you'll say Romeo & Juliet. It's the only one he's read.

You'll tell him that it's not a representation of love, and he'll say he knows. He doesn't - he just won't want you to think that he bases his idea of romance on such ill-fated endeavours. Thinks it's about stars-crossing, illicit affairs, love that prevails. Shit like that.

He isn't really sure what it all means, but he's seen the Baz Luhrmann adaptation, and that's enough.

You'll say that Romeo is an ass, and he'll feign offence and tell you that you'll never be his Juliet. It'll earn him a laugh from you. That's fine; you never wanted to be her.

You're a Beatrice in search of her Benedict, after all - and the way that the pair of you bicker, it seems like you might have just found him - even if he does think he's a Romeo. Twat.

"I didn't," he laughs in response to your earlier statement. "I just like to know the girls I'm sticking my dick in, that's all."

"Ohh, romance," you whistle through pursed lips, throwing him a coy smile.

He nods towards the buckle by your seat and tells you to do the belt up, as his key turns in the ignition. There's a small rumble, his exhaust rattling as fumes begin to bluster around the end of the pipe. He's listening again, revving the engine ever so gently, foot on the throttle.

The way he cares for his motor makes you laugh. He's so temperate, so careful - but you know he abuses the engine like no tomorrow whenever he races it. He treats it almost as if it's a racehorse; something with actual feelings.

You do as you're told, clicking the belt into place, and remind him to do the same.

"The girls?" You question as he passes you the aux. "Multiple?"

There's a static click as you plug it into your phone, before your playlist starts up again. His hands move like machines, smooth and automatic as he slips into first gear.

"The girls," he echoes, eyes flicking up to the rear-view mirror, and then over his shoulder to check the blind spots, before easing onto the main road.

"Charming," you say dryly.

It's not like you hadn't assumed this already. You had already decided that he at least had a friend with benefits lurking about (even if she had become too clingy (actually, no, especially if she had become too clingy)).

You'd figured that it was where he had been on the night that he was a no show - but then he'd shown up all apologetic and shit. You had let his innocent eyes win your skeptical mind over.

"Guys aren't really my thing," he follows up, sensing your discomfort. He knows he's beating around the bush, not giving you the answer that you want - and he also knows that you're getting in your head about it. Knows you'll be questioning what he means, and if he's sleeping with anyone else. He'd be within his right to. You barely know each other. Where he sticks his dick isn't really any of your business. "And I'm hardly a virgin, am I?"

"Gasp," you say. "You're not?! Could have fooled me."

He's smiling again.

You like how much he does that around you. Wonder if he's like that around other girls, too.

"Was I really that bad?" He flirts.

Jungkook knows how to fuck. He's been given enough positive reviews to know that he's anything but bad. Although... he kinda is. But in a good way. In the way that you want him to be bad.

"I've had better."

Liar.

"Ouch," he laughs as he presses down on his indicator for the next left. "Guess I'll just have to keep practising."

City lights cascade over the pair of you as his car rolls through the quiet streets, splintering like refractions of a mirror ball. He hates that he has to keep his eyes on the road. Wants to drink in the way you look almost as much as he wants to drink up the way you taste again. The night is dark, the moon hiding behind a fluffy cloud that looks like charcoal cotton candy beneath its radiant light. Jungkook loves nights like these; likes them even better with you in his passenger seat.

Green flashes over your features as he passes beneath a traffic light. You cross your legs, adjusting your posture. It's so subtle that you don't even realise you're doing it - but Jungkook does.

"On your other girls?"

There she is, he thinks. It's what he's been waiting for. Confirmation that the idea of him fucking other girls irritates you. He reaches across and taps your knee. He enjoys the predictability of you.

You resist the gentle nudge of his hand, the pads of his thumb and fingers resting on your kneecap. Your legs remain crossed, just as his hand remains on your knee. The stretch of road you're on is straight, requiring no gear change for a little while. He can play this game, if you really want him to.

"No," he says. There's pressure beneath his fingertips now. "Be a waste of time, wouldn't it? Everyone's different. If I wanna get better at fucking you, specifically, then I gotta keep fucking you."

He's not wrong. You can't fault his logic, and in all honesty, the way he's talking is so abrasive, so raw, that it's got you feeling all hot and bothered again. He may as well be stroking your pussy, not your knee, with the impact he's having on you.

His grip tightens, then pulls your knee back over. Commanding, not requesting. Your legs part for him, because of course they do. There's something about knowing he has options, knowing that he could be with someone else, but is choosing to be with you that gives you a little ego boost.

"Maybe I've changed my mind," you feign indifference, but Jungkook knows there's a handful of feelings beneath your words. "Maybe I don't wanna fuck you anymore."

He strokes his broad palm along the inside of your thigh. It's warm, wrapped in the sheer nylon cover of tights, and he'd obsessed with the way they feel. So smooth, so soft, so perfectly pristine. He wonders if you're making a mess of them. Hopes you are.

"I don't like maybes," he says. "Either you wanna fuck me or you don't."

"I don't like fucking boys who fuck other girls."

"Who said I was fucking other girls?" he smirks, and lets his hand trail a little further up. He squeezes the flesh of your thigh, getting a feel for you.

"You did."

"No," he corrects. "I said I've fucked other girls. Past tense. Never said I'm currently fucking other girls. You really gotta stop making assumptions, little Miss Clutch Control."

"I hate you," you say with a smile, and you really do mean it.

"I like girls who hate me. Makes the sex so much hotter."

"Despise you."

"Ugh," he grins, as he lets his hand reach the top of your thigh. He squeezes again, and you hum a little moan for him. "Doesn't sound like you hate me."

You giggle, soft and serene in the safety of his car. Reaching a junction, he pulls his hand back to change gear. You're at a four-way intersection, the light only just hitting amber, so he reckons he has a least a couple of minutes to toy with you.

When his hand returns to your thigh, just like you hoped it would, it's beneath your skirt. Right at the top. Right where it belongs. The pressure beneath his palm is firm, fingers sinking into the softness of your leg.

"But I do," you say, voice quiet, anticipation lacing your breath.

His pinky finger stretches out a little, just to stoke over the mound that rests between your legs. He can already feel the heat, but what surprises him - and excites him - is the slick that's seeped through your panties and onto the outer side of your tights.

"Doesn't feel like you hate me, either."

"No?" You toy. "Feel again."

And so he does. He points his index and middle finger, and holds them flat against you. They're instantly met with a slippery mess. He slides them up and down, once, twice, three times, and then cups your pussy with his palm. You're fucking pulsing in his touch.

"See?" You speak as if you don't wanna whine his name. "Loathe you."

"So you do," he mumbles as he presses his palm tight against you, inhaling sharply as he does so. One glance at his lap and you can tell he's just as turned on as you are. His cock is solid beneath his trousers, jeans tight, keeping him concealed. Part of you feels a little bad. Looks painful. He's too big to be confined by such unforgiving material.

"Still wanna skip the sex?"

Jungkook presses in index finger against where he can feel your entrance is. You're so wet that his fingers are already coated in everything that you are. He wants more. Wants your tights gone. Wants his fingers inside you.

But he's a stubborn asshole, and hates being proven wrong.

"Sex?" he pulls his fingers back, and rests the heel of his palm on the top of his steering wheel. They're covered in your juices. He considers licking them clean, but figures that might be a bit too brash - and then thinks fuck it, and does it anyway. There's a sweetness to your taste, one that has him holding back a moan. Absolutely fucking divine. You don't even realise that you're staring at his hands - the way they sink into his mouth - until he pulls them back out. He looks at you. Shrugs. "Yeah. Not really in the mood."

"Thank god," you say, not skipping a beat. Even when your need to fuck him is so intense that it manifests into a physical form and leaks onto his passenger seat, you're still able to bicker with him. It satisfies him like nothing else. Makes his cock so hard. "Me either."

The light turns to green, his hand is back on his gear stick. You stick to looking out the window, not favouring looking at him. The temptation to palm his crotch is overwhelming, but you're just as stubborn as he is. If you've said you don't wanna fuck, then you're damn well gonna act like you don't wanna fuck, until you simply can't take it anymore.

"Glad we agree," he says. "So let's talk."

You half wonder if this was his plan all along. You actually do think you hate him - but only cause he makes you feel weak. You don't enjoy that feeling, but you enjoy him.

"I'm an open book," you lie.

He flicks his eyes to the rearview and mutters under his breath, "shit."

"What is it?" you glance over your shoulder, noticing a pair of headlights flashing Jungkook. You can't make the car out. Its lamps are on full-beam. Blinding.

Jungkook leans over, the fingers that had been stroking against your pussy now pressing down into your buckle. There's a click as it releases, before he moves down and pulls up on the lever by the front of your seat, dragging you forward.

"Get in the back," he says, as if he isn't still driving. You go to question him, but he cuts you off. "In the back. Now. Middle seat."

You stare for a second, until he glances over to you, jaw tense, with no hint of a smile. "Don't argue with me, now. Middle seat. C'mon."

"Kook-"

"Now."

And as unsafe as it feels, you find yourself twisting, hands gripping onto the back of the passenger seat as you bring your legs up to crouch.

"Quickly, babe," he says, his hand reaching over to tap your ass gently. Your back is to the windshield, and Jungkook's terrified that the fucker behind him isn't gonna wait for a respectable start - but he's also anxiously aware of the fact he isn't explaining himself to you, and that it's gonna make you hesitant. "Please. Trust me."

And so you do. You wobble a little as your leg dips over the centre console, his hand still on your ass to keep you stable.

"That's it," he encourages. You make your way into the back, a little squeal as you leap soundtracking the move. "Seat belt. Now."

The leather of the backseat is cold against your tight-covered thighs, legs pressed together, feet firmly on the raised centre of the footwell. You do as you're told, all rather quickly.

"Hands on the seats," he tells you again, and you don't question it, even though it's all that you want to do. There's a time and a place for bickering with him, and while it's the perfect place, the urgency of his commands suggest that now isn't the right time. You grip onto the seats in front of you, and Jungkook reaches up to feel your hand, just to make sure it's where he wants it. His hand is clammy and warm, safe against yours. He lingers for a second, not wanting to lose the way your feel against his skin. "Hold tight."

He slows to a near stop, and you almost laugh when you realise where you are. That fucking bridge, again. The car behind you pulls up beside him, but it's hard to make it out through his back windows. They're so intensely tinted that all you can figure out is the rough shape. "Is that-"

"Yep," he cuts you off, knowing what you'll ask. "Car from the last time. It's cool. I got this. I will warn you, though, he's a little pissed with me at the moment."

"A little?"

You can hear the engine revving. Sounds more than just a little pissed.

"We're friends. It's okay."

Friends is a loose description. It would have been the right term, once. Jungkook thinks of him more as a colleague these days. A pain in his ass.

"Doesn't sound very friendly."

"I'ma need you to be quiet, babe," he says, voice soft. He isn't trying to be rude, he just needs to concentrate. Needs to win this. Needs to get Namjoon off his back. Needs to get you away from, well, here.

"Noted."

Jungkook watches the lights. It's how races like these work; the impromptu kind that first got him acquainted with Namjoon. They wait for the lights to shift, throttle teasing on amber, rubber-burning on green.

His gaze is on the lights and the lights only. The leather binding of his wheel almost squeaks as he grips against it, shoulders rolling back ever so slightly. Glancing over to the black SsangYong, he nods, and then his eyes are back on the lights. The lack of a flagger has never bothered them. In fact, Jungkook prefers racing without one. Fewer variables. Less chance of things going wrong. He knows the time of the lights. Trusts them. Trusts his muscle memory to do the hard work for him.

You can feel that chime in your stomach again - but it's different this time. It's a warning bell. The kind that tells you to get out of the situation you're in. Fat fucking chance.

There's a purr as the lights flicker into amber, Jungkook's rev count building. The sound of the SsangYong rips through the windows, letting you know just how powerful it is. Ain't no way Jungkook's fucking Pony is beating it. His grip adjusts, foot sinking further down onto his throttle. He builds it, 2, 3, 4 - and then the light is green.

The way Jungkook moves is as if he's at one with his car.

His movements are slick, well-oiled.

There's no hesitation, just an innate understanding of what needs to be done. His car tears from the starting line, and you forget all about the SsangYong he's racing.

It's hard to think about anything at all, in all honesty. Hard to comprehend the speed he's built so quickly; the control he has. There's a rush pulsing through you that you haven't felt since, well, ever. You don't enjoy racing, not really. You hate it whenever Yoongi rags his car about, but you trust him.

And you find yourself trusting Jungkook, too.

Maybe it's because you've already seen him tame his car when it's been out of control, or maybe it's because you've already trusted him with your body, so what difference does your life make?

His tyres are almost silent, moving at such a pace that there's no chance for anything to reverb. He grunts a little, pushing the car up to fifth, building, building and then -

"Corner," he braces you.

You're pretty certain you're going to throw up.

It's a route that Jungkook knows well, just a short circuit, over the bridge, sharp left out along the riverside road until they reach Kang's. Same every time. Hasn't yet thought about what he's gonna do when he gets there. Just knows he has to get there first to buy himself a little time.

He knocks the car into neutral, clutch down, brakes too, and then he's turning the wheel just a little. Not too sharp. Doesn't wanna oversteer. He coasts it round the bend, knowing better than to be in neutral, but he isn't thinking about that right now. He's thinking about the fact that Namjoon's car is fucking faster, and he needs every gain he can get.

Your hands grip into the padding of his seats, desperately trying to stop yourself from toppling over. Elbows locked, it's hard to determine the sheer amount of force you're putting behind your bones.

There's a screech as the tyres burn against the road, no doubt leaving thick black streaks on the tarmac. You're so used to seeing them on your way to work that you never really consider how they get there. Now you know.

He pummels the car forward, knocking it back into third, and then up into fourth. It's a miscalculation. Should have jumped right up into fifth - but he can lament that later.

He corrects his mistake. Strikes it into fifth. Namjoon is trailing. Jungkook has got this.

Eyes hard against the horizon line, Jungkook has no time to think. He flicks his eyes up to the rearview, catching sight of the SsangYong's bonnet. He's miles ahead.

Well, no. Not even a metre - but it may as well be miles. He just needs to keep up this pace.

Foot to the floor, he's tanking it. The shops you dart past become a blur of neon lights, nothing for your eyes to absorb other than the chaos of light beneath a dark sky. In the distance, you see Kang's.

"Shit," he hisses as the light at the intersection ahead begins to flash amber.

"Hold on," he says, as if you've even thought about letting go. Hands clammy from nerves, you adjust your grip. Tighter. So tight, your nails will leave prints in his leather.

He pushes further, further, further, but the lights are flashing quicker, quicker, quicker. "C'mon, beauty. C'mon."

He hits the junction line.

The lights are still amber.

And then he switches from gas to clutch. Easy does it.

Jungkook pulls the handbrake up. Clicks it into place. Pulls the car round with a single hand on his steering wheel.

He has full control over the vehicle as it roars into position right in the middle of the cross-section.

There's a blaring horn sounding behind you - but it's not directed at the Pony.

It's directed at the SsangYong, which has screeched to a halt. The oncoming traffic has been set free, lights fully changed. Jungkook made it just in time.

"He's stuck," you tell Jungkook, head over your shoulder, making sure that the SsangYong hasn't moved. "Can't get past the traffic. You're good."

You expect Jungkook to ease off the throttle, but he doesn't. He takes a sharp right instead, and begins to tunnel down back allies. Right, then left. Then left again, and another right. Takes so many rogue turns that you don't even know which direction you're facing in by the time he comes to a stop. It's been nearly five minutes since you lost the SsangYong - and yet he just won't ease off the gas. Not until he's certain Namjoon isn't lurking in the shadows of his exhaust fumes.

By the time he does eventually stop, his chest is heaving. Breathless.

You're down a back alley, across the other side of town. You don't recognise it.

Pressing down into the buckle, you undo your belt and clamber forward into the passenger seat again, feet up, body facing towards him.

He doesn't look at you for a while. Just stares ahead. Inhale, exhale. You can see his jugular vein beating.

"Hey," you reach out to his wrist, and stroke on his arm gently. He doesn't respond instantly. Just lets his eyes close. It's nice, the way you're so gentle with him, he thinks. So nice. So soothing.

And then his body acts before his mind does. He pulls on your wrist, grip firm, as his other hand pushes down the lever by the front of his seat. Weight on his feet, he pushes himself back, making space for you in his lap.

The way you clamber over the centre console is less than elegant, but he doesn't care. Just needs you on his thighs. Needs to suffocate in the scent of your gasoline tainted hair, and taste the sweetness of your tongue in his mouth. Needs to remember everything that you are, so he can forget who he is.

His hungry lips find yours, a hand in your hair, the other on your cheek.

There's really not enough room, your legs straddled over his, trapped by the door on one side, the gear stick on the other. It's tight and claustrophobic, but he likes it. Likes how ensnared he is by you. Wants to be even more trapped.

He licks against your lips and begs for permission to enter - as if you'd ever refuse. His tongue strokes against yours, the studs you'd (somehow) forgotten about making you whimper. He's rough and aggressive with his kisses, the adrenaline manifesting itself in the form of intimacy.

"I lied," he says breathlessly. "About the sex. I want it. Let me fuck you."

He wants to lose himself in you. Needs to.

"Backseat?" you moan into his lips as he begins to encourage the movement of your hips against his painfully hard crotch.

"Backseat."

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

[starrysvn]

place in me | jung wooyoung

pairing: chef!wooyoung x chef!gn reader

genre: angst, slow burn, fluff, ex2l

word count: 17k

warnings: angsty af, kinda toxic workplace, food, drinking, i know jackshit about cooking apart from hell's kitchen, masterchef and google searches, one (1) sex joke, reader is kinda dumb.

a/n: this has been in the works since march. i gotta stop procrastinating. anyhoww, i cited "m. butterfly" by david henry hwang and reworked one of my favorite quotes ever from "jane eyre" by charlotte brontë bc i luv her. hope u guys enjoy it <3

networks: @cromernet 🫶🏻

playlist: beside you by 5sos, finally // beautiful stranger by halsey, sparks fly by taylor swift, sorry by halsey, back to december by taylor swift, right where you left me by taylor swift, the winner takes it all by abba, haunted by taylor swift, amnesia by 5sos, place in me by luke hemmings

masterlist | navi

During quiet nights you worked best. It had always been that way ever since you were a student and you didn’t think things would change. Not when the kitchen was completely silent except for the slow rumbling of whatever you had on the stove and the swift swish of your chopping knife against the cutting board. You loved listening to music while cooking, but on nights like these, you preferred the muffled sounds of the city coming in from the cracked open window and the occasional humming that left your mouth. 

It was peaceful enough to remember why you loved cooking so much. Not that you ever forgot but, lately, it was hard to find joy in your job. The hustle and bustle of the kitchen kept you busy enough to render your work almost mechanical, punctuated by the quick rhythm of orders coming in. All the loud noises around you sent you into a frenzy more often than not. 

It was on nights like these - in the kitchen of your own apartment, off duty for the evening - immersed in the mellow atmosphere you created, that you wondered if it had all been worth it. The studying, the getting yelled at, Paris… If it had all brought you to this - working in a Michelin star restaurant you had only ever dreamed of setting foot in -  but could never get you anywhere past it. If this was your final dream, your last ambition, then why did it all feel so heavy? 

It was a question you could never answer. You took great pride in your work and in yourself for getting you where you were. You liked some of your fellow chefs, and the reaction your answer got out of people when they asked you where you worked. It lit a match in you, it felt like a pat on the shoulder to your younger self. But when you got home exhausted and so not ready to face it all again the next morning, doubt clung heavily to your mind. 

You turned off the burner with a sour taste in your mouth you knew only your cooking could melt away. Sat down in front of your gamjatang, you took a big breath before diving in. You had avoided the dish like the plague ever since then, but somehow tonight your hands moved for you when reaching for the ingredients. The circumstances couldn’t have been more different than when you last cooked it; you weren’t hungover, it wasn’t four in the morning, and you weren’t halfway across the world with him. 

A memory pushed and shoved to come to the forefront of your mind, one about warmth and love and understanding all washing over you in the tiny kitchenette of a Paris apartment where, with him, you tipsily laughed and slow danced to the music of your hearts beating at the same time.

It wasn’t surprising that it just didn’t taste the same. Recipe and execution-wise it was perfect, you couldn’t count the amount of times you cooked the soup. But it tasted off, somehow. And right now you didn’t have the mental capacity to analyze why. So you just ate in silence, a slight frown on your lips with every spoonful, grateful you only had to load the washing machine before going to bed, disappointed your peaceful night of cooking had been ruined. 

–

“What’s got your panties in a twist today?” 

Park Seonghwa was your favorite coworker. You two started working at Hwang’s at the same time and bonded pretty quickly. He was quiet and focused, a perfectionist when it came to his job and never really contributed to the migraine-inducing bustling crowd of chefs around you. He also would never dare to speak like this when you both were in earshot of the sous chef. You sighed. Apparently, you had woken up on the wrong side of the bed this morning and proceeded to grill your junior chef Jongho with more bite than usual. 

“Please don’t say that when Seo’s so close to us,” you flashed him a warning look which was met with a mischievous smirk. 

“We all know you’re aiming for his spot, with the scolding you just did he can only be proud,” the sous chef in your kitchen had the reputation of being even worse than head chef Lee, truly the bane of everyone’s existence. You didn’t want to be like him. 

“Oh, lord,” you shook your head, slowing down your chopping the slightest bit. You’d woken up with a headache after a fitful night of sleep, already frustrated with the world before even facing it. Missing the bus and clocking in late didn’t help either, not when you were greeted with a murderous glare from the head chef. You didn’t mean to be snappy with your junior, but things had inevitably piled up. 

“I don’t even know if I want the position anymore,” you grunted under your breath, earning a soft giggle from Seonghwa.

“Careful saying that out loud, or the vultures will try even harder to take you down,” he knew better than to bump his shoulder with yours, lest he interrupted your furious chopping and ended up being the reason you lost a finger, but did it anyway. The sweet gesture comforted you, surprisingly you didn’t feel the urge to bite his head off. 

“Let them,” you meant the words to sound a little less disheartened than they did, but all of last night’s thinking had seemingly gotten to you. Seonghwa gave you a confused look but could say little before being interrupted. 

“Executive Chef Kim needs to speak to you,” the eyes of the whole kitchen were on you as a sort of stillness descended upon everyone. Even Seonghwa beside you looked surprised, even if less than everyone else. You knew in his head he was probably cooking up some joke about you being the next tyrant sous. 

There were two ways this encounter could go: either fire you or promote you. A conviction that grew stronger when you entered the still-empty restaurant and sat at a table were not only the executive chef, but also the owner and manager, waiting for you. Why would they do this hours before opening? 

“Thank you for joining us,” manager Na said as soon as you sat down in front of them. “As you may be aware, chef Kim and chef Lee have had their eyes on you as a possible candidate to replace chef Seo once he retires.” Her piercing eyes stared deep into your soul. You nodded, almost afraid to speak, wondering why in the world you chose to work for such intimidating people. 

“I’m afraid you will not be taking that spot.” 

A low blow. Somehow, even when you were neither too hopeful nor too enthusiastic about becoming sous chef, the rejection still hurt. It still sent a jolt of disappointment and self-doubt shooting through you. Were you not doing a good job? Were you not up to their standards? 

“However,” you looked up again, your eyes now on executive chef Kim. “Mr. Hwang is opening up another restaurant.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” you mumbled, wheels slowly turning in your head. Manager Na smiled knowingly. 

“I would like to give you the opportunity to become head chef in my new restaurant,” Mr. Hwang said. “I’m told by chef Kim and chef Lee that you would fit the position better than the one of sous chef. I trust their judgment.” 

It took all you had not to let your jaw hang in front of them. Head chef? Had they lost their minds? Never had your mind taken the decision for you before you could even rationalize your thoughts. 

“Could I think about it?” 

“Time ticks fast here, you know that chef Y/L/N,” Manager Na’s intimidating eyes were on you again. “We’d like to have an answer in two days at most.” 

With a curt nod, they dismissed you. You didn’t think you had ever made a beeline for the bathroom so fast in your entire life. Surely, you couldn’t go back into the kitchen looking like your cat just died. Everybody would know something was wrong, they would know that the position as sous was still free and you had been shot down. And there was little they could do better than kicking a man when he was down. 

So you sat in the cubicle, trying to calm your shaking hands and regain composure. Act like nothing happened. Betray no emotion. Go back to dicing potatoes exactly one centimeter by one centimeter. Not a millimeter more, not one less. 

Assholes. All of them. They couldn’t have chosen a better moment to tell you this than the most hectic night of the week. And now you’d have to work through it. Through the eyes trailed on you, holding questions and spite and jealousy. Through chef Lee’s and chef Seo’s yelled reprimanding, making sure everything was just perfect for the critic coming in.

Just one more night.

Never had you held on so tightly to such meager consolation. 

–

“You look like you need a beer.” 

Seonghwa’s voice broke the silence of the back alley. After closing, you decided to stick around instead of fleeing home like you usually would. It had been a while since the last time you sat outside the back entrance of the kitchen, alone with your thoughts after hours of noise. 

“I need vodka,” you voiced, not looking up as he took a spot beside you.

“That’s stooping so low, what’s wrong?”

You knew the question would come. Somehow he had not asked anything when you entered the kitchen again with a blank face. A murmur had slithered past as you took your place and started working again. But Seonghwa had just shot you a look, resuming his work as well. 

“They want to make me head chef at Hwang’s new restaurant.” 

“But that’s great!” He was looking at you with those big, wide, excited eyes of his and a genuine smile on his lips. One would think the offer was made to him. You were almost sorry you had to wipe that happiness away. 

“I don’t know if I want that…”

“What do you mean?” He looked puzzled, but not surprised. You sighed. How did you explain this without sounding crazy? 

“I mean… I-” you grunted, hands in your hair. “When’s the last time you felt like cooking?” 

Seonghwa stared back with a slight frown in his brow, eyes bouncing around your face in an effort to understand. 

“Like, really cooking. Without walking into the kitchen and wanting to throw up, or dreading opening time and all the yelling. I know it’s how it is when you work for such big names but fuck. Everything’s too fast and I… it feels like I don’t care anymore, Hwa. They took my passion and stomped all over it.” 

“Didn’t you want to be a high end, gourmet restaurant chef?” 

You stared, mouth hanging open. Of course, you did. It was your biggest dream, your one ambition. It was excruciating that all the pressure was making you break, making you think that you weren’t cut out for this and you had wasted your time. 

“I did, I do.”

“But?” 

“But this isn’t it. This feels like a survival show, where everyone’s out for blood. I understand competitiveness, but I can hardly breathe when we start cooking. Chef Seo is a literal nightmare and I don’t think I can do it anymore in a place like this.” 

“I see…”

“You think I lost my mind,” you let your head tilt back, eyes on the starless night sky.

“Maybe you did,” Seonghwa said. “That doesn’t mean you’re wrong.” 

“I’ll be honest, I never thought I’d hear you like this,” he continued. “You hold such pride for what you do and how you do it. I think Seo might yell at you just because he’s irritated he’s got nothing on you. Half of the people hate you for how well you manage.”

“Gee, thanks,” you scoffed.

“My point is,” he bumped his shoulder with yours. “That it’s indicative of how much this place fucking sucks if they got you breaking. A Michelin kitchen, or any kitchen for that matter, shouldn’t burn out their best chefs.” 

“Jongho is so brave for junioring here,” you deflected, allowing his words to soothe your burning wounds. 

“Hey, we did that too!”

“Yeah, and look at where it got us,” you giggled, smiling for the first time tonight. Seonghwa huffed out a laugh. 

A beat of silence passed. You were glad for Seonghwa. Even though you often joked he was just your favorite coworker, you considered him a dear friend. One of your only friends for the matter. 

“What are you gonna do?” 

“I’ll quit,” you heard his surprised gasp and chuckled. “And I’ll refuse the position. I know head chef sounds better but I know them. Manager Na and Mr. Hwang will only hire straight up assholes and I’d have to deal with it, and not even as executive chef.”

“We’re not assholes!” his hand sat on his chest in mock offense, you giggled.

“We look like assholes and do our job quietly and damn near perfectly, that’s why we’re here.” 

Mumbling something along the lines of I guess so, Seonghwa accepted the heavy truth. In the quiet alley, sitting with your friend, you felt okay. The murmur of the busy city filled your heart as you quietly giggled and remembered your first days working at Hwang’s. Goodbyes were always hard on you, but not this time. You expected gut-wrenching pain and tears and the heavy burden of failure on your shoulders as you accepted your decision. But none of it manifested, not when Seonghwa had snuck one of the most expensive bottles of wine out of the kitchen and launched himself in a perfect rendition of Chef Seo’s latest meltdown. Maybe taking a step back didn’t mean failing, something you never would’ve believed mere months ago. 

-

The sound of freedom equated to the one of your blaring alarms each morning. It had been two weeks since you had quit your job, but you still refused to get a good night’s sleep. Well, except the night you told Seonghwa and you ended up drunk off your faces. 

You rolled over, turning off the annoying alarm, ready to start another day of not knowing what to do. There were few things you enjoyed doing, apart from cooking, when all you were left with was free time and silence. It was nice getting out of the house in the early spring morning to buy groceries, go for walks, and swing by your friend’s flower shop, but it got old quickly. Mostly, you didn’t like how sometimes, while cooking, memories you tried to never think of seemed to resurface on their own. 

When you finally got to the kitchen and there was nothing but eggs in the fridge – it was shopping day – you settled on an omelette for breakfast. Only, halfway through cooking, your mind wandered back there. 

When Chef Berrien asked you to make an omelette you wanted to laugh. You didn’t though, not when you saw the serious frown he was sporting. He was being serious? The absurdity of the situation made you question if dropping everything you had back at home just to fly to Paris to master your craft had been worth it. Maybe your mother was right, maybe you were crazy. 

“Omelettes are the easiest thing to spoil,” he stood resolutely in front of you all. “Only good chefs make good omelettes.” 

Oh god, your mother was right. 

“Good luck,” a smug voice sounded from beside you. 

If there was someone who could push you over the edge Chef Berrien shoved you to, it was Jung Wooyoung. In just two weeks of sharing your working station with him, you discovered that his bubbly personality clashed with your silent brooding. You preferred to work in silence and, apparently, he thrived in chaos. 

“You too,” you grumbled, getting your few ingredients ready. How in the world were you supposed to prove your worth with a fucking omelette? You closed your eyes and sighed, getting to work. 

“That definitely looks… simple,” Wooyoung mumbled as Berrien walked through the cooking stations, pulling faces at every dish. You looked down at yours - a plain, french omelette - then at his - all prettily plated and definitely cheese filled - and bit your tongue.

“He asked for an omelette, not a Michelin star worthy breakfast,” you hastily whispered, wishing he would just shut up for once.

“Aren’t we training to be Michelin star worthy chefs?” came his rebuttal, getting on your last nerve with that pretty smirk of his. 

Pretty? 

You scoffed and shook your head, straightening your back and clearing your throat as Berrien came close to your station. When the chef’s eyes landed on your omelette, a slight frown pulled his lips downwards. As he walked away, you did your best to ignore Wooyoung’s silent snicker and the burning in your cheeks. After the evaluation, you kept quiet for the rest of the day. 

It sometimes happened that you would close off to the rest of the world, and focused only on what you were thinking and the task at hand. Most often when you were cooking, which both helped and hindered your work. As much as you needed to focus on what you were doing, you also needed to listen to orders while doing it. You hoped to get better at managing it, it was why you were here, after all. Though, for now, after a full day surrounded by people, you were happy sitting alone with your back resting against the backdoor to the kitchen. 

“Is the silent treatment payback for beating you today?”

The door flew open, making you lose balance for a second, then came his question. 

“You didn’t beat me, Wooyoung, this is not a competition,” you sighed, keeping your eyes set on the wall in front of you rather than on his figure sitting down beside you. 

“Sounds like something a sore loser would say,” he bumped his shoulder with yours, no doubt with a shit-eating grin on his lips. That did it.

“Just because your omelette got a nod and mine got a frown, it doesn’t mean yours was better!” You all but exploded, finally looking at him. Indeed, he was wearing a smug grin. 

“Well, Chef Berrien would disagree,” you scoffed as he looked at you with shiny, distracting, eyes. Was it the light from the lamppost reflected in them or had the lack of sleep finally got to your brain? You shook your head, ridding yourself of the thought.

“Fuck you too, I guess,” you finally said, turning back around, earning a laugh from him. 

You didn’t want to stop and think about why his laugh pulled a snicker out of you, making you feel so light and at ease. 

“Does this mean you’ll go back to talking to me then?” He asked, sounding a little small. “You’re not mad?” 

Something pulled at your heartstrings, hearing him ask something like that. Did he really think you were mad at him? You probably looked like an asshole for the rest of the day after Berrien barely passed your omelette. 

“I’m not,” you said much faster than you anticipated. “I never was.” 

“That’s good,” he smiled, and you weren’t sure you liked the warmth that blossomed in your chest. 

You avoided thinking of your training in Paris with all your might, and he was the reason why. But it seemed that now that your whole world had turned upside down, your brain could do nothing but. Add that to the list of things you hated about unemployment. A funny smell pulled you from your thoughts, eyes focusing back on the almost burned omelette in front of you. Mumbling curses under your breath, you turned off the heat and plated it. This was why you never let your thoughts take over. 

You ate your spoiled breakfast in silence, deciding to get started with your day and your grocery shopping, mentally listing all the food you’d need. Anything, really, at this point to keep your mind occupied with something that wasn’t him.

It was still hard for you to wrap your head around what Jung Wooyoung meant to you. Or rather, you knew perfectly well and tried to avoid it like the plague. He was a closed chapter you didn’t want to revisit simply because it hurt. Because there was a point in time where he meant the whole world to you, where he was your whole world, and you decided to burn it all down only to choke on the ashes of what it used to be. 

You left wondering if he was still writing pages or considered the story closed and done as you did. Like you had to not to drown in guilt. 

While walking down the street, warm sunlight caressing your face, you asked yourself why it was all coming back to you now. A hollow of confusion had opened up in your chest, and of its own volition your heart chose to fill it with such memories. When Wooyoung came into your life, he did so by taking it by storm; randomly, upsetting all you had ever known, and maybe at the wrong time. That didn’t mean he didn’t leave a sign, a permanent one, on your heart. And now that you were crawling in confusion, he was barging in once more.

Wooyoung was late. It was teamwork evaluation day and your project partner was nowhere to be seen. Chef Berrien had sent daggers flying your way upon seeing the empty side of your workstation, not waiting a second longer to start the class. You wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole and also to strangle Wooyoung on sight. There must’ve been a logical reason why he still hadn’t shown up when you were supposed to finish your three-day project. If the fucker left you alone to finish cooking lièvre à la royale, you were seriously going to give him the scolding of a lifetime.

Anxiety started to claw at your stomach, twisting it in knots and tugging at them in a way that made it harder to breathe. Under the chef’s pointed gaze you could only stay as still as possible, hoping he’d prolong his very unsubtle speech about tardiness until Wooyoung got here, praying he would, and yet cursing him in your head. 

He still hadn’t shown up when he gave the class permission to start working. You sighed in frustration, walking to the fridge to retrieve the hare you’d cooked the day before with trembling hands. Back at your station, you realized that working while checking the door every three seconds would get you nowhere, and you weren’t about to fail the assignment even if half of your team was missing. 

When the meat was finally cleaned of the jellied liquid it had sat in overnight, and you were preparing to cut it into exactly eighty grams slices - not one more, not one less, Berrien's voice sounded in your head -  the door to the kitchen burst open.

In came a panting Wooyoung, his white chef jacket buttoned up a little crooked, who tried to make his way to your station unseen. It didn’t work.

“Jung,” Berrien’s voice resonated in the hot hair of the kitchen, making everyone stop working for a beat. Too bad no one had time to spare. You started slicing. “I don’t appreciate tardiness.”

“I’m very sorry, Chef-” he held his hand up next to his face, shutting up your partner. 

“You may start cooking,” you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding the whole time, shoulders almost sagging in relief. “But don’t think I won’t keep this in mind during evaluation.” 

The frustration you’d tried to keep at bay so far flared up once more, and your grip on the knife tightened. Wooyoung silently made his way next to you, washing his hands carefully and using the time to assess how far you’d gotten into the process. You didn’t utter a single word, fuming quietly as you focused on your task and he picked up on his. 

You couldn’t afford to lose time bickering now, and for the first time in a while, you cooked in complete silence, the air around you tense and devoid of the usual jokes he would throw around to lift your spirits. No banter, just instructions and cooking for the next five hours. 

Despite everything, Chef Berrien couldn’t hide how pleased he was with your dish, which didn’t end up at the top of the class only because of Wooyoung’s mishap. As soon as the chef dismissed you, you fled the kitchen.

“Wait!” Wooyoung’s voice called after you, who were already outside and determined to escape to your apartment to avoid cussing him out in front of your fellow chefs, who had already thrown confused glances at you the whole day. 

“Hey, hold up!” He caught you by the wrist, spinning you around. If he wanted to do this here, who were you to deny him? 

“What.” Wooyoung almost flinched at the harshness of your voice. 

“I’m sorry I was late, I really am, I just-”

“Save it,” you cut him off. “Day’s over, damage is done, and we ended up with an alright grade. I don’t want to fight.” 

It was true. For how mad you’d been, you didn’t want to make it worse. You could tell he was sorry by the way he’d cooked in silence, waltzing around you as if you were a bomb ready to go off at any minute. It had taken all your strength not to. You made to turn around and walk away, but he was determined to make you listen to what he had to say. 

“Can you come with me?” He sounded defeated despite the determination in his eyes. All you really wanted was to go home, wash up and rot in bed. You were tired, physically and mentally drained by the day. But your friend – because how could you deny that Wooyoung had become more than a simple classmate in the last month? He’d quietly snuck up on you, surprising you with his cheerful smile and awful jokes, and slowly but steadily carved his own spot into your heart, now beating to the rhythm of his screechy laughter and kind words – was pleading you with his brown, burning eyes and how could you say no? 

Sighing in defeat, you nodded, readjusting the strap of your backpack on your shoulder and watching as his frown turned into a soft smile. Wooyoung took your hand in his, going back into the building, and guided you up the stairs. Transfixed, you stared at your hands; his felt slightly rough from all the cooking but still soft. You ignored the warmth the simple gesture sparked in your heart and followed quietly; you could only hope he wouldn’t get the two of you expelled. 

Finally, you got to the last flight of stairs, legs burning and chest heaving. You hoped he had a good reason to be dragging you up six flights of stairs and potentially getting you in trouble for trespassing. He ushered you to the small balcony, apparently mostly used for storage, and nodded to a shaky ladder perched onto its wall, leading to the roof. You often did this at your apartment too, the one perk of living on the last floor, but suddenly your mouth went dry.

“How did you even have the time to find out about this-'' you climbed the small way up, thanking your lucky star that the building at least had a flatter roof compared to yours. But the words died in your mouth when you finally got your bearings and looked around.

Wooyoung emerged as well, now leaning against one of the chimneys. You sat down, amazed at the view all around you; as the sun set in the West, tinging the bluish sky with hues of warm orange and golden light, you spotted the Sacre Coeur sitting North and the Eiffel Tower immersed in a pink blush down South. A light breeze passed by, blowing a strand of dark hair into Wooyoung’s eyes, taking your breath away. Paris was quite the show from up there. 

“I really am sorry,” slowly, he made his way over, sitting down next to you as he cast his eyes onto the breathtaking view in front of you. “I overslept, couldn’t find my keys, then had to rush here and… I’m sorry.” 

You scoffed, not believing he almost failed the both of you because he didn’t hear his alarm in the morning. Actually, you could believe it, because it was such a Wooyoung thing to do. You couldn’t stay mad for long though, not when you turned to look at him and simply seeing his face bathing in the golden sun made your heart stutter in your chest. Not when his sorry eyes were melting like honey in the light. 

“I wanted to punch you in the face when you came in late,” overwhelmed by his gaze, you looked away. Faintly, you heard him scoff beside you. “But I was also relieved. I didn’t think Berrien would let you cook.”

“I was ready to beg on my knees,” you snickered, Wooyoung elbowed your side. “No, really, lièvre à la royale is a bitch, I wouldn’t have let you cook it alone.”

“Then why did you sleep through your alarm? I was seeing red and had a knife in my hand, do you have a death wish?” You joked, heart singing when you made him laugh. 

“Hey, I had trouble sleeping last night,” he defended himself, hands up as his laughter died down. With a furrowed brow and inquisitive eyes, you finally looked back at him, studying his face. Only then you noticed the purplish circles under his eyes, just a bit darker than usual.

“Why?” You asked, trying to sound less worried than how you felt. It was Wooyoung’s turn to avoid your eyes and look out at the Parisian skyline, starting to twinkle in the fast-approaching night. 

“I- well,” he sighed as you kept looking, feeling the air around you shift. The way Wooyoung was struggling to come up with an answer had you feeling like you were standing at the edge of a cliff, buzzing with expectation, hanging onto his every word. You didn’t ponder too long on why your heart was racing or why you felt like you could barely breathe. Finally, he looked at you.

“I like you.” 

Now you truly did find it hard to breathe. 

“I like you so much I can barely focus when we cook, and it’s never happened to me before because I love cooking and I always pay close attention to what I’m doing. I also don’t want to lose a finger, you know? But now you’re around and it’s like I can’t help but look at you. You’re so bright and so passionate, and when you’re chopping vegetables you scrunch your nose a little and it’s one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen-”

In seconds you had your lips on his, pulling him closer with a delicate hand on the back of his neck. Wooyoung froze for only a millisecond before kissing you back. His lips were so pillowy and soft, you kissed him slowly, like you had all the time in the world. Lightly, his hand traveled up to rest on yours, which had moved onto his cheek. Kissing him felt like coming home after a long day. Warm and pleasant like the flame that swallowed your heart, chasing away the menacing grip fear had on it. 

Wooyoung pulled away first if only to plant a small peck onto your lips before smiling. 

“I was speaking,” he said.

“You were rambling.” 

You both started laughing, hearts singing. 

“What I wanted to say is that you shine in your own light and I can’t help but bask in it.” 

The way he was looking at you, in ways no one ever could, could have melted you right then and there. You felt the flush rise to your cheeks, the hand that still rested on his cheek trembling lightly.

“I like you too, Jung Wooyoung,” you smiled. “More than I think I should.”

The quaint flower shop came into view, dispelling the memory, and a soft smile opened up on your lips. It didn’t look like there were any customers, so you stepped in. The colors of the pretty flowers that covered every inch of the walls always managed to put you in a better mood. You walked up to the counter, ringing the bell.

“Coming!” You heard from behind it, somewhere in the back, with a little shuffling and a loud thump. You jumped on your spot, giggling.

“You okay, Sang?” You asked, trying to peep. Your friend emerged a second later, clad in a white shirt, jeans, and his green apron, blowing a piece of his black fringe out of his eyes, a vase full of sunflowers in his hands. 

“Oh, hey, what brings you ‘round?” He smiled, setting the vase on the counter. 

“Just dropping by before going grocery shopping,” you shrugged, smiling back before you started playing softly with the leaves of the flowers near you. “How are you doing?” 

“I’m good, I should be asking how you are,” he raised a brow, crossing his arms over his chest, “it’s the fourth time you visit this week.” 

You rolled your eyes, used to his antics, standing to help when he nodded at you to follow him. The quietness of the shop eased your thoughts more often than not, plus, you enjoyed the company of your friend. Yeosang lived in your same apartment building and opened up his shop early in the morning, around the same time you had to leave for work. Oftentimes you shared a coffee before your obligations called. He complained about horrible customers and you complained about your horrible coworkers. 

“I actually wanted to talk to you about something,” busy with an arrangement, he nodded you to the water lilies to his right. You reached for them with an arched brow, passing them. “A restaurant is opening down the street, if you’re interested in paying rent this month.” 

You huffed a laugh, pretending to be offended. 

“I’ll have you know I save my money, thank you very much.” He stood again, having finished his composition, watching you with an amused expression. “But I appreciate it,” you conceded. Yeosang smiled now, going back behind the counter as you followed.

“You should really check it out, even if it’s just temporary. It’d do you good,” a customer walked in, interrupting your chat. You nodded, leaving him to his work, shooting him one last smile before walking out. His cheerful Have a good day followed you out of the shop and into the now busier street.

Yeosang was right, you knew that much, but you still hesitated as you left the flower shop. There was uncertainty in your steps as you dared to walk down the street, looking ahead to spot the restaurant. Maybe you could go later that day, you could start with something easy like the grocery shopping you needed to do, to ease your nerves. 

That was better, you decided, easing yourself into the day with your routine before upsetting it by facing something new. With newfound vigor, you resumed your walking, headed to your favorite greengrocer. A walk that lasted barely five steps, before you collided against another passerby. 

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t-” 

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to-”

As apologies spilled past your lips, your eyes finally caught sight of the person you so rudely slammed into. When you did, you stopped talking, just as your lungs stopped breathing for a long second.

His dark hair looked a little longer, and his smile was just as you remembered, if not a little softer. Breathtakingly dashing like the first time you saw him, even in his worst moments. Because the last time you saw him, things weren’t pretty. You threw around words you didn’t mean only to disappear from his life. Both of you were crying, eyes red and puffy, voice broken as you spoke. You thought you’d never see him again.

To your dismay, you realized right then and there that you weren’t ready to face him yet. You never prepared for the moment it would all come back, simply because you never thought it would. 

“Thought I’d never see you again,” Wooyoung huffed, his polite smile falling in seconds.

“Yeah, me too,” you croaked, still in shock. 

The moment stretched on for what felt like minutes, and was only probably seconds, as you desperately tried to come up with something to say, something that’d make sense. But your brain came up empty-handed, because what if he hated you? He should hate you. What if he just told you to fuck off and left? Just like you did years ago. 

“So, what are you up to?” 

And yet, here he was again, taking your life by storm. There was no way he was standing there, in front of you in the middle of a busy sidewalk, asking what was of your life. You blanked, producing a sort of confused and surprised noise. He had to be joking. You watched as a little amusement flashed in his eyes, the corner of his lips twitching upwards. 

“Would you like to catch up over coffee?” 

Your eyes must’ve been wide as saucers, not a single second of this was making sense to you. 

“U-uh… Sure,” you shrugged, despite yourself. 

Was this his way of showing you he was unbothered and had moved on? His long-awaited chance to brag about where he was in life? You didn’t know him as someone who would do that, but perhaps you deserved it. Maybe this was karma. 

Awkward. It was all so painfully awkward: walking in tense silence beside him to the coffee shop down the street, trying to make small talk about the weather, stumbling over your words when ordering coffee, waiting for him to join you at the table near the exit. Just in case. 

“You’re back home?” You finally asked as he sat down in front of you, desperate to find something, anything, to talk about and fill the silence that hung menacingly over your heads. After all, he wanted to catch up. Wooyoung nodded, slowly sipping his drink.

“Oh, you’ve been traveling then,” you mumbled, playing with your coffee cup, not daring to look up at him again.

“I was, yes.” It was hard to wrap your head around what was happening. In another life, this would all have been familiar. It could have been. Sharing a cup of coffee on a Thursday morning, talking about whatever, sharing cool recipes, and planning how or when to try them out. His presence wouldn’t make you want to simultaneously vomit and run and hide. Dug your own grave, huh? 

“Only big names I imagine,” you forced a smile. He shrugged with a huff, a little bashful perhaps. It was all you needed to know you’d guessed right.

“What about you? What brings you here?” Wooyoung asked, pulling you out of your reverie. Despite the small, polite smile on his lips, his eyes were unreadable. Though, deep down, you knew the answer he wanted to hear. That you traveled all around the world and did big things - still were - and worked for big names. Achieved your dreams at the expense of his. The lump in your throat made it hard to swallow, to speak. 

“Worked at Hwang’s for a while…” you managed to say through the bitterness. Wooyoung’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets, jaw hanging open.

“Really? Wow, that’s… amazing! Doesn’t it have two Michelin stars?” Some of your guilt evaporated at the surprise and excitement in his voice, a lightness that was quickly crushed by your own disappointment. 

“How’s it there?” There it was, the million-dollar question. You scoffed, bitter, looking at him, watching his face fall a little. 

“I quit.” You shrugged. 

“You? Quitting? What happened to the Y/N I knew?” Wooyoung was surprised, that much you could tell, but there was something else brewing in his brown eyes. 

“Dead, gone and buried, apparently.” 

Your words were nothing but bleak, with a little bitterness still in them. Sure, you did what was best for you and you were proud, but you couldn’t help but feel like you had let him down. And wasn’t that absolutely, wildly foolish? 

“They offered me a job as head chef in their new restaurant, but I turned that down as well,” you rushed to explain, feeling like you had to, missing his furrowed brow. 

“That’s…” 

“Crazy?” You offered, cutting him off. Wooyoung scoffed. 

“Well, yeah, but there must’ve been a good reason,” he shrugged. “You don’t have to justify your choices to me, Y/N.” 

Your breathing faltered at his words and the fragility they held. Wooyoung had muttered them so softly, you could’ve lost them in the bustling atmosphere around you, and somehow both stabbed and healed your heart’s wounds. 

A moment passed before he cleared his throat, speaking again.

“So, you’re unemployed,” you almost couldn’t fathom how quickly he got back to bubbly and upbeat. You nodded, still stunned.

“Great, me too.” Wooyoung smiled while you blinked repeatedly. Was he… happy? 

“My friend told me about this one restaurant opening down the street-”

“They’re not opening,” he said, watching as your face fell. “Not yet at least.” 

You furrowed a brow, confused, about to ask what he meant when he cut you off again.

“I still need to find a co-owner.”

For a moment, you didn’t hear the car, just outside, honking at a group of teenagers crossing the street despite the redlight. You missed the way a barista made a glass fall and shatter eliciting surprised gasps around the shop. You only saw Wooyoung in front of you, his expression between smug and daring to hope, eyes shining with a little fear. All you heard were the words that left his mouth and what they implied, along with your heart ringing in your ears.

“What do you want to do? Why did you decline the head chef position?” You blanched, head spinning, brain scrambling to form coherent words. His eyes burned with a fire in them that screamed determination, one you were used to seeing as he challenged a dish he was afraid to ruin. A fire you used to love so much and that, you found, still made your breath hitch. 

“I-I just want to make good food and not run a kitchen of overworked, stressed, miserable and spiteful people,” you settled on, not daring to look away, not even when he leaned back in his seat, a smirk on his lips.

“How’d you like it to open a restaurant?” 

“Let’s open our own restaurant,” you laughed at his words, turning your head to catch his enthusiastic smile and bed hair all over the place. He was so beautiful, bathing in the morning light of your room, that your heart jumped and hurt and sang all at once. 

“What?! Is this post-nut clarity?” Wooyoung laughed, pulling you with him.

“Way to ruin the moment, love,” he quieted down. “I’m serious, though,” he was looking at you with amusement dancing in his eyes, and such adoration that sometimes it was hard to fathom it was directed at you.

“Mixing feelings with work is the recipe for disaster, Jung,” you found yourself saying, giggling when he pulled you into him, his hands leaving goosebumps in their wake. It was quiet for a while and you reveled in the warmth of the moment. Wooyoung often made you feel like anything was possible, like right now, huddled in a tangled mess of limbs and sheets despite the impending class you needed to leave for. 

“I think we’d make it,” he whispered, quite believing the words he was saying. “And if it all starts falling apart we can hire chefs to cook and be the owners. Live somewhere tropical, rebuild our relationship…” 

“That’s so sad, we wouldn’t be cooking at all!” you laughed, hiding in his chest and hearing a fake offended hey! from him. “You dream too big, Woo.”

“And you dream too small, my love.” He guided your face in front of his with gentle hands, bumping his nose with yours before kissing you until you were left breathless. When you pulled away, you finally saw the stars dancing in his eyes.

“I do have dreams,” you almost whispered, treading lightly on your own aspirations, opening up your heart for someone else to see. Someone who would understand and not call you crazy. Wooyoung nudged you, an expectant smile on his lips. “I want to travel all around the world and learn from the best of the best. Life’s a classroom, I don’t think I’ll ever want to stop.”

“Never?” he asked, not quite surprised, but more like impressed. He understood. You let out an elated giggle, almost cursing yourself for behaving like a schoolgirl. 

“Never.” unable to resist, you pecked his lips once. 

“That’s a wonderful dream, love.” 

One of his hands came up to rest on your cheek, cradling it gently, looking at you as if you were the most prized possession of his. All over, warmth wrapped you up, and rose to your cheeks that he was still grazing his thumb over, light as a feather.

“I want to open a restaurant someday, ” he whispered, so close to you, looking into your eyes and sending sparks flying in your chest. “But I think I might just follow you to the ends of the world.”

His lips crashed on yours once more, sending your heart racing more than his words had. This might’ve been the closest you’d ever felt to heaven, with Wooyoung wrapped around you, canceling any and everything else. You knew, right then and there, that the fall was going to hurt like nothing had ever before. 

Consommé was the most devilish dish you’d ever had the displeasure of cooking. And yet, its intricate cooking process demanded every last bit of your undivided attention. That was why you were sweating away in the kitchen, trying to achieve the perfect result through your rusty memory of the process, although you had no need for it. Well, except not thinking of your morning. You’d rather remember Chef Berrien’s voice as he dictated the recipe and the endless ways you could ruin it, than your encounter with Wooyoung. 

A shiver ran down your spine, tingling all the way, when his words, the ones from earlier and the ones from back then, echoed in your mind; clashing, fighting, and leaving behind scorched earth. 

You could hardly believe this was your life right now. Accepting would mean tying yourself down to this place, to Wooyoung. You let the thought simmer in your head, waiting for the familiar claustrophobia to bloom in your chest, suggesting you to run and never come back.  

It didn’t come. 

Instead, the thought of leaving pulled at your heartstrings. You liked it here. You liked your morning coffee shit-talking sessions with Yeosang, you liked meeting up with Seonghwa on his days off, you liked your greengrocers and the walk back through the park near home. You liked your apartment, you finally liked the disposition of your tools in your kitchen. You liked the thought of working with Wooyoung. 

You dropped the ladle, splashing your skin with the hot soup. You hissed in pain, clutching your hand to your chest before assessing the damage. You walked the short distance to the sink, running your hand under cold water.

Well, you thought, there goes the clarification process. 

-

You skipped breakfast with Yeosang that morning. For one, you were late despite the alarms, and, most importantly, you needed to talk yourself into actually meeting Wooyoung at the restaurant. The day before you’d left him with the promise of letting him know about the offer. You preferred not to think about how, for just a moment, you could see the determination falter in his eyes. Again. Wooyoung saved his number in your phone before letting you go. 

After taking care of your slightly burned hand, you stared at your phone for all of twenty minutes before finally crafting the perfect text saying you’d meet him at the restaurant at ten. 

And now, five minutes to ten, you were running down the street, dodging people left and right, trying to get to the closed-down restaurant. You couldn’t count the amount of sorry’s you’d thrown around when accidentally running into someone. Finally, the sign came into view, and so did Wooyoung. 

“You made it,” he sounded vaguely surprised and you tried not to let it get to you, or to let it show on your face. 

“So,” you cleared your voice after nodding. “How’d you find out about this?” He gestured for you to follow towards the entrance, producing the key from the back pocket of his black jeans. 

���I used to like this place,” he easily opened the door, leading you inside the empty restaurant. From the outside the restaurant didn’t look like much more than a hole in the wall, but the inside was spacious enough. A small restaurant, fitting maybe twenty tables at best, but you liked the idea. By the looks of it, it must had been recently renovated. Wooyoung switched the lights on, allowing you to see better. “When I got back the owner told me he was thinking of closing, and I asked if he wanted to sell. He made a pretty good offer.” 

“Huh,” you were still looking at the anonymous white walls and the few sleek black tables left behind, making your way to what you knew to be the kitchen. Stepping in, you gasped. It was perfect; an island kitchen slightly bigger than you’d imagined. Almost gleaming in its silver glory it stared back at you, inviting you in. You didn’t even mind the checkered floor as you walked across the space and took it in. Wooyoung stood by the door, leaning against its frame with his hands in his pockets, watching. It looked like he was holding his breath, and you knew why. 

“What do you think?” his voice was just a little bit hesitant. You turned around with a smile. 

“I love it,” you offered, noticing how he seemed to ease up the slightest bit. 

“Ah, I knew you’d fall for the island kitchen,” Wooyoung scoffed, walking into the space as well.

“Not my fault it’s the best type of kitchen,” you raised your hands, hearing him snort.

“Debatable,” he muttered, now standing in front of you. There was amusement dancing in his eyes, a spark you realized just then how much you’d missed. 

It hit you then, square in the chest, how much you really just missed him. He still seemed to know what you wanted even before you knew yourself. It happened then and it was happening now. Being in the kitchen with him felt electrifying, your hands itched to start cooking. You looked around once more, seeing yourself bustling around in this kitchen, Wooyoung at your side.

Never once did you regret the choices you’d made; your love for food had brought you all around the world, learning and cooking in the most beautiful kitchens, earning your praise felt like the biggest reward. Believing in yourself and your skill, your craft, and being able to perfect it was all you really needed. Maybe it was time to stop and breathe for a while, and put your experience to use. Because, no, you never regretted where your choices took you, except losing Wooyoung. Your compass, the one who never lost sight of your heart. 

“Let’s do it.”

Wooyoung looked at you as if you’d grown a second head, letting out a surprised sound.

“I saved quite a bit in the last few years and we could ask for a loan. Quite frankly, I’ve always wanted to run a kitchen on my own terms,” you could hear it in your voice, the ambition faintly coming back to it, something you hadn’t heard in a while. You smiled seeing Wooyoung straighten up. 

“We’d be running it together,” he lifted a brow, crossing his arms over his chest. You mirrored his stance.

“That’s good with me,” Wooyoung smirked. 

“Then let’s do it.”

-

Oftentimes you asked yourself how you ended up here. You believed it almost impossible that you were, once again, sitting in front of Jung Wooyoung at an ungodly hour of the night, eating food you’d made as the radio softly played in the background. What was even less credible to you was how you were sitting in your restaurant, yours, discussing menu plans. 

A month strong into the planning and designing, you were proud to say that you and Wooyoung were… friendly. Like coworkers were. Almost like long-lost friends would be. But it was fine because you got to stress Yeosang nearly every morning about how sometimes you both would slip into old habits and bicker like you used to and how that would confuse you. Then you’d talk Seonghwa’s ear off one night a week in front of your drinks, rambling on and on about how you’d catch yourself staring at him, blushing like an idiot, stumbling over your words. 

Safe to say that your friends were tired, but deep down it surprised and comforted them to see you come back to life bit by bit. 

It was all hard to wrap your head around because the last time you saw him still burned in the back of your mind. It was the giant elephant in the room you could never address, you could never pretend to not see. But Wooyoung was great at turning a blind eye, you realized. And you couldn’t really blame him either. You never expected to be in this sort of situation, you had quite literally run from it. 

But you were afraid of misstepping, of crossing a line.

So, now, there you stood, at a crossroads; talk about it and watch this newfound truce crash and burn, or pretend like everything was fine. For now, discussing the menu with your co-owner would have to do. 

“I think we should add that!” Wooyoung all but yelled, slamming his chopsticks down. 

“And I’m telling you that I know the area!” You rebutted, swallowing your bite, before carrying on with your point. “There’s at least three other restaurants that do that, what’s missing is a gourmet place.”

“Will you let it go?” He sighed, throwing his hands up in the air. “If we get there, we get there, if we don’t, then we’re still making fantastic food!” 

Wooyoung had a point, you knew he did. A valid one at that. 

“You’re insufferable,” you conceded, rolling your eyes and resuming your eating, trying to hide the smile pulling at your lips. 

“You love it,” he winked, picking up his chopsticks. 

And just like that, he threw you back into your loop. How could you simply let it go when this felt so familiar? When it reminded you so much of how you were? Light and carefree. Happy. You hadn’t noticed your eyes roaming around his figure, taking in his long dark hair pulled back by a ponytail, the way his eyes seemed to shine in the dull light coming from the stupid lamp he’d insisted on bringing in. 

This was his dream, wasn’t it? You remembered, because how could you forget the endless hours he’d spend talking about his own restaurant, managing his own kitchen, creating dishes, and cooking his favorites? You could tell by the small smile he sported as he ate, looking around the room with star-filled eyes. 

You didn’t know quite how you fit into this. You never amounted that one conversation, years ago in your Paris apartment, up to anything more than daydreaming. Though, right now, the moment felt tangible, you could grasp it in your hands if you wanted to. He'd given you a new dream to chase right when you thought you were over. 

“You’re looking at me weird,” Wooyoung waved his chopsticks in a circle around your face, eyebrows furrowed.

“Sorry,” your eyes fell back to the almost empty plate, moving the last bites of food around. 

“I didn’t say it was bothering me,” his voice was lower, almost a whisper, and you felt your heart drop. When you looked up, you didn’t know what to make of his expression. It looked like he was contemplating his following words, and you were all but hanging from his lips. He stayed quiet, eyes downcast on his plate, and shot you a short smile. 

You let the radio fill the silence between you, allowing the thoughts to pester your mind. Though, like a cup overflowing, there was little you could do to cage them and push them down.

“Wooyoung, were you-” his eyes rose to meet yours, and you stopped for a second, mulling the question over, savoring its bitter taste in your mouth before spitting it out as if it were a seed that ruined your bite. “Who were you going to open the restaurant with?”

His wide eyes told you all you needed to know, and yet his stunned silence pulled another set of words out of your lips.

“You said you needed a co-owner first…” you rasped, almost shocked you were still talking through the cotton in your mouth. Wooyoung set his chopsticks down, trying to hide the way his hands started trembling, sighing.

“We made a good team, didn’t we?” his voice was quieter, wondering. He shot you an uneasy smile, so short and so small you almost missed it. “I know you’re a great chef and we want this to be a great restaurant.”

“Yeah…” you whispered, feeling the weight of memories unloading on both your shoulders, their presence demanding the unwanted plunging into deep, murky waters. “Does it have, uhm… does it have anything to do with-”

“Let’s not open that can of worms, mh?” He cut you off immediately, sounding a tad harsher than he had before, rubbing salt into your matching wounds. 

“I just-” It felt like you were gasping for air, grasping at any lifeline you were afforded, lost in the swirling sea that were his pained eyes. 

“I know.” 

A mangled victory, or a loss, the way his voice sounded resolute. It allowed no space for you to counterattack, to try and pry any other thought out of him. And you accepted it, simple and plain, with no complaints. You had no right to. Nodding, you averted your eyes, affording him space. 

“I-” Wooyoung sighed, running a hand through his hair. The conflict in his mind was reflected on his face clear as day. Before his eyes were back on you, they looked around the room. “I missed you.”

Bearing his heart, that was what he was doing. It felt like, despite everything, he was still offering you a small piece of it. Your breath caught in your throat. Three words that held huge implications and a heavy past. One right answer, a truthful one, that could sound highly hypocritical of you. But you had to say it.

“I missed you, too.”

Wooyoung smiled, small and tentative, but still as warm as sunshine. You smiled back. 

The night was as cold as you felt despite having his arms wrapped around you, offering you shelter from the biting wind. Tonight the twinkling lights of the city below you couldn’t offer their usual comfort. You knew what was going to happen as soon as you opened your mouth to speak; you’d be breaking his heart along with yours. But you had to, hadn’t you? Wooyoung would understand. 

“Don’t you want to stay here forever?” He mumbled in your ear, his warm breath making you shiver. You kept staring out at the Parisian lights, heart sinking with every beat. 

“I-” you sighed, squeezing your eyes shut, wishing there was a way to prevent the hurt you were about to put him through. Never mind about yourself, all you cared about was him. Always him. Then why are you doing this? Sounded something in the recess of your mind. You shushed it. The lump in your throat formed out of the blue, making it hard to utter the next words.

“I wish I could,” you whispered, hoping your words would get lost in the wind, bracing for impact when you felt him tense and pull away from you. A gust blew by, chilling you to the bone now that he wasn’t holding you anymore. The look in his eyes sparked burning regret in your heart, setting it aflame.

“What do you mean?” 

He had taken a step back, confused eyes searching for yours. You couldn’t bear to look at him, not when you were about to break all the promises you’d made right along with his heart. What a coward.

“I was offered a job in New York,” you began, hearing his sharp intake of breath. “I took it… I leave next week.”

When you finally mustered enough courage to look back at him, you saw betrayal shining clear in his eyes, swirling in disbelief, his mouth slightly parted in surprise. It was almost as if you could hear his thoughts, and each of them cut a deeper wound. 

How could you? Why didn’t you tell me? I would've been happy for you. We could’ve made other plans. 

“Were you just going to disappear from my life forever, then?” He spat, a little angry, a little sad. 

“No, Wooyoung, I-” you tried to reason, knowing very well that no excuse would hold. He scoffed bitterly, hiding his hands in the pockets of his jacket like a hurt kid. Already hard to talk through the burning in your throat, the tears springing in your eyes didn’t make the task any easier.

“Save it,” he cut you off, shaking his head. “I should’ve known. I hope you’ll find what you’re looking for there,” he made to go, but you couldn’t let him, not yet. 

“Wouldn’t you have done the same?” He stopped dead in his tracks; you’d said the wrong thing. But you couldn’t hide your hand now that you’d thrown the stone. “Is it not our dream to learn and travel when all of this is done?”

Wooyoung shook his head as if he couldn’t believe it, and to some extent, you couldn’t either. 

“No, I wouldn’t have, Y/N. It may be your dream but it isn’t mine. Not anymore, not since I met you. So, yeah, I would’ve given it all up,” he all but yelled, each word was like a punch in the gut. Despite the noise of the city below, the beat of silence that lingered sounded louder than any of it. 

“Go to New York, love. It’s your dream after all,” he conceded, voice dying down and broken, softer, like some sort of realization had dawned upon him. He blinked away his tears, still, you refused to let yours fall. 

In a second he was close to you again, his smell and warmth engulfing you once more. A sob broke through you when you felt his arms wrapping around you tight, and another was pulled from you when one of his hands came to softly rake through your hair. Wooyoung surrounded you with all he was, holding you tight, almost as if he loved you. Almost, you thought, because you knew the difference, for you had felt what it was to be loved – truly loved – by him. But you went and broke it. Now, you had to put love out of the question, and think only of duty. You had made your choice, after all, and he knew it too. 

“Goodbye,” in an instant you were left on your own, cold, and watched as he walked away from you, his whisper resonating in your soul, breaking it with each echo.

If you chose to follow your dream, then why did it hurt so much?

-

Sundays used to be your day off. You’d wake up at midday, usually to a ray of sunlight harshly shining into your face until you could no longer bear its warmth. You’d roll out of bed and lazily proceed to tidy your apartment and rot on the couch for the remainder of the day. Now, though, you were a restaurant owner and Wooyoung insisted you should stay open on Sundays because two out of three of the restaurants in your area were closed. So, you rolled out of bed, taking just one second to admire the first rays of sunlight shining through the fading, dark night sky. You sped through your routine and breakfast, having sacrificed that slot of time in favor of five more minutes of sleep. 

Despite the fast-approaching summer, the morning air was still rather chilly, and much quieter than the rumbling of cars and city rustle that you were used to. You didn’t have to squeeze past sleepy teenagers and angry old ladies on the bus and got to choose which seat to sit in. You didn’t mind early Sundays. 

In no time you’d open the restaurant. Today you’d convinced Seonghwa and Yeosang to drop by for lunch; you needed them to test out the menu you and Wooyoung had carefully crafted. Of course, at the mention of free food, both of them agreed, so there wasn’t much convincing involved after all. A sort of test run before the grand opening. 

The restaurant stood before you in the quiet street, looking close to the eye. You smiled proudly, producing the key from your bag, opening the door, and closing it behind you after walking in. The room was quiet, the only indication of someone being in there was the rustle and faint light coming from the kitchen. 

“Hey, Woo,” he was already there, setting out pans and pots. You walked in, reaching for your jacket. 

“Hi!” Although his head was hidden in a cupboard, you could hear his cheery voice loud and clear. “Are you ready?” 

When he emerged, he was sporting a happy smile, contagious enough to make you chuckle.

“As I’ll ever be.” 

Wooyoung smiled at you, beckoning you over to the station where a copy of the menu lay. You sure had your work cut out for the day. Up until then, between the furnishing and taking care of the more bureaucratic aspect of opening a restaurant, cooking together hadn't been common. You were thrilled to finally share the kitchen with him again. 

“Hey! The rolling pin is there to keep you off my half of the counter,” you huffed, trying your best not to let your irritation show. Not while you were trying to close dumplings perfectly. 

“Oh, come on!” He protested, “I can’t believe you’d still do that, look at how much space we have!”

“Yeah, and somehow, you’re still taking up most of it,” Wooyoung grumbled under his breath, finally moving a few of his bowls and pans to make space for you. 

“Gee, thanks,” although you weren’t trying to rile him up, you still ended up falling back into old habits.

“Oh my-” he rolled his eyes at your sarcasm, moving a couple more things, “You’re the bane of my existence.”

“You literally asked me to be your co-worker!” You laughed, shocked, but amused.

“And there’s not a day I don’t regret it,” with his nose in the air, trying and failing to hide a smile, Wooyoung resumed his meat slicing. You scoffed, not really offended. It was so easy to breathe when things felt as light as they did. A smile threatened to open up on your face, but you had an act to keep up. 

Silence used to be rare between the two of you, yet you liked it now. There was no awkward space to fill anymore, not a single word to be wasted. You worked in tandem, like a well-oiled machine, chuckling at Wooyoung’s occasional jokes and exchanging instructions. It felt good. It felt like it used to. 

“Are you nervous?” You asked him as you finalized the prepping for the second course. Wooyoung looked up, flashing that smile of his that could rival the sun.

“Not really,” he shrugged. “Are you?”

You nodded, avoiding his eyes and focusing on the bowl under your nose. The sauce you prepared to marinate the fish had a pungent note it shouldn’t have had. You didn’t notice him slipping closer to you, right at your side. Wooyoung was leaning on the counter, facing you. 

“You’ve got nothing to be worried about,” his voice aimed to soothe, and it did, sweet like honey. “Are you or are you not one of the best chefs in town?” 

You looked up at him, scoffing, ignoring the heat on your face that his closeness brought along. 

“See, now you’re exaggerating!”

“I’m not.” 

“Are, too!” A soft laugh escaped the two of you, and when he looked at you, eyes so full of hope and happiness, your breathing stopped for just a second. “But you’re right, it’s gonna be okay, I’m just… I don’t know, I want them to like what we made.”

“They’re gonna,” he shrugged. Only when you gave him a questioning look he answered. “Because we made it.” 

It looked like Wooyoung still knew what to say and when to say it to put your nerves at ease.

-

“Can I have some more?” 

“Me too!”

“You can’t ask that!”

“Says who?” 

“Alright, we’ll make it,” Wooyoung quelled the discussion that was about to start quickly, coming back into the kitchen with empty plates.

Two of his friends had joined yours for lunch, not that the food was lacking, but it seemed that Yeosang and San had promptly bonded over their love for one particular dish. Gamjatang, which wasn’t even on the menu, the two were just bottomless pits, apparently. The only one coming to your aid with restaurant etiquette was Seonghwa, whose reprimanding went unheard. Hongjoong stuck to silent side-eyeing, which barely helped. 

“Should we consider adding it to the menu?” Wooyoung joked, coming over to the stove where you stood, already heating up what was left of the broth from the previous batch. You thanked your lucky star you had some ready, or else they’d had to wait hours to eat.

“Let’s make it available only after eleven, though.”

He laughed, reminding you how you closed at midnight while washing and cutting up the mung bean sprouts, crown daisy leaves, perilla leaves, and green chilies you needed to add later on. You went for the pork bones, potatoes, and cabbage leaves.

Wooyoung set his bowl of vegetables close to the stove, ready for you whenever.

“Do you need more seasoning base?” He asked as you put your portion of ingredients into the pot. 

“Yeah, there’s not much left,” you looked at him, waiting for your word to start. “Thanks.” 

He smiled, getting to work quick.

As everything simmered and cooked, the two of you stood in front of the stove, silent, side to side. Outside, you heard your friends all talk and laugh, but they sounded miles away. Once again, you thought you knew what was running through his head. The night when he taught you how to cook the dish, the way he followed your every step with an encouraging smile. How your heart fluttered when he kissed your lips right after his first bite, saying that there was no way he was ever going to cook it again if yours tasted much better. How one night you tipsily tried to cook it together, almost spilling the batch of broth you saved in the fridge and ruining it all, but could only laugh until your stomachs hurt because somehow it was the funniest thing ever. After all, they plagued your thoughts as well. 

When the timer went off and he looked at you like a deer caught in headlights, you smiled, trying to ease away the tension that had bubbled up, going to kill the flame and plate the dish. 

You passed him a full bowl with shaking hands, praying he didn’t hear the way your heart was hammering in your chest.

“Maybe you should take away the wine,” Seonghwa sported a light frown on his lips when you made your way to the table with the other bowl in your hands. You furrowed a brow, noticing the way San and Yeosang were giggling a little too loudly, and how the former was particularly flushed, only after setting the dish in front of him. 

“Good idea,” Wooyoung snickered, scurrying back into the kitchen with the bottle. You watched him go, debating if to follow or give him space. You decided to stay, asking your guests how they liked the food. 

Seonghwa ended up giving you precious input and feedback, over the laughter coming from the opposite end of the table. It made you smile. Despite how interested you were in your friend’s recap of the things he appreciated the most about appetizers, you couldn’t help but glance a little worriedly at the kitchen doors from time to time. Wooyoung was still in there.

“Alright, we should go,” Hongjoong, who had simply complimented your cooking with a polite smile, spoke up after a while. San protested a little but stopped his efforts to stay pretty quickly when his friend said he was going to have no ride home. 

The two made their way to say their goodbyes to Wooyoung in the kitchen, leaving you with your friends. 

“We should go, too,” Yeosang stood, walking over to the doors with you and Seonghwa. 

“Thank you guys for coming,” you quickly hugged them both. “Drop by whenever.”

“You know I will,” Yeosang giggled, making you smile. 

“Keep it up!” Seonghwa said, walking out first. You waved them both off, and when you turned around, you were faced with San and Hongjoong. The former complimented your food, saying he’d bring over friends and family, rambling a bit. You giggled as he spoke, thanking him. 

“Thank you for having us, the food was delicious,” Hongjoong watched over San making his way out of the restaurant after saying his goodbyes, turning to you with a small smile. “Can I ask one thing of you?”

Your brow furrowed, but you nodded quickly. He sighed.

“I know you two have a complicated past,” he started, sending a jolt of anxiety through you. “And I see you’re doing great despite it, so, please, just… don’t hurt him again.” 

“I would never,” you were furiously nodding, suddenly your throat felt a little dry, hands all clammy. 

“Thank you,” Hongjoong smiled, walking out as well, leaving you dumbfounded and staring at their disappearing figures. 

You waited in silence for a while, mulling his words over in your head. When you turned around and saw Wooyoung leaning against the kitchen door’s frame with a bright, wide smile adorning his lips, the sight almost gave you a heart attack. He laughed loudly seeing your spooked reaction, making a smile appear on your face. His laughter only served to make your heart stutter like butterfly wings, having barely recovered from the surprise, making you giggle as well. 

Wooyoung looked so happy that you felt you could burst at the seams. 

“They liked it!” You could barely contain your excitement as you locked up and started to make your way over to him, almost with a skip in your step.

“They did,” he smiled back, eyes scanning your figure until you were right up in front of him. Not even thinking twice, you let your arms sneak around his shoulders, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. You even swayed side to side. Wooyoung laughed happily, his own arms around your waist to pull you closer.

“I’m so happy,” you murmured when your excitement quelled. Your chin was resting atop his shoulder, and his on yours. When he spoke, quietly, you could hear the smile on his lips right against your ear.

“I’m glad,” he said. “Me too.” 

It was quiet. For the first time since that morning there were no friends laughing at the table, no bickering in the kitchen along with the sizzling of the pans, chopping on the cutting board, and rumbling of the pots. 

Just you and him. 

Your heart was still racing, over the moon for the success of your menu, but also quickened by his close proximity. Once realization struck that you’d pulled him into you, you were quick to let go, though his arms around your waist wouldn’t let you wander far.

“Sorry, I-”

“It’s okay,” the look in his eyes was enough to send your heart to your feet, air stuck in your lungs, and take you back in time, just for a second. It was all it took for you to want to pull away from him as if you’d gotten shocked. You found that you couldn’t. Not when Wooyoung held you a little tighter, searching for anything in your eyes that would prompt him to stop leaning even a breath closer. 

Frozen in time, in your spot, your grip on his kitchen jacket grew impossibly strong. 

When his nose softly brushed against yours, as if he’d sensed your mind wandering far and wide and wanted to bring you back to him, and you saw how his half-lidded eyes were holding a simple question, you pulled back.

“Should we get to cleaning up?” 

Wooyoung’s eyes closed, for a fleeting second, before he started nodding.

“Yeah, we’re gonna be here all night,” he cleared his voice, arms falling from around you. He offered a smile so small that it barely showed, the moment gone as soon as it came. You watched as he disappeared behind the kitchen doors, shoulders dropping and eyes falling close. 

You gave yourself a moment, just one, to relish in his closeness. The closest he’d ever been to you in years, something that used to be so familiar and still sparked the same goosebumps, the same erratic heartbeat. You sighed, following after him. 

-

You couldn’t sleep. You hadn’t for a good week. 

Between the imminent opening of the restaurant and the newfound awkwardness between you and Wooyoung, your head was so full of swirling thoughts that, as soon as you closed your eyes, it prevented you from enjoying one singular night of rest. They just kept going, growing into a never-ending spiral of what-ifs and exploding into a hurricane of beating yourself up. 

By now you’d given up on trying to make sense of your feelings. All you knew was that you wanted to keep Wooyoung to your side, co-worker, friend, or lover, it didn't matter. Now that he was back into your life, you didn’t want to risk losing him again. Though, it got increasingly hard to ignore how you wished he would stay with you once you closed the restaurant. How you wanted him to hold you like he used to, how you wanted to tell him every day just much of your love and devotion he had. 

It was still dark outside when you closed the door to your apartment behind you. Almost without thinking, you’d thrown the covers off of yourself and gotten out of bed, put on the first clean clothes you found, and got out of the house. The cold, crisp air of the night hit you right in the face, waking you up like an icy splash of water would have. You pulled your jacket closer around your body, starting the walk to the restaurant. The keys jiggled in your hand, one of the few sounds in the lonesome streets. 

Your heart had decided the way for you before your mind could catch up.

You’d always found solace in cooking. It allowed your mind to relax, and think about what was right in front of your nose, slicing through all your doubts and worries like a knife. With each step you followed, each accomplished passage towards the perfect result, you felt lighter and lighter. Then Wooyoung came along. Never could you have predicted that something else in your life would’ve been able to bring you the same comfort and brightness as cooking. 

Whatever peace and happiness you’d found in your passion, you’d also found in him. He set you alight. You’d been dumb and wrong enough to think that the feeling that came along with him could be replaced. 

But how could it? Once you let go if it, of him, Wooyoung had haunted all of your what-ifs. All of your darkest nights could only brighten up if you thought of his infectious laugh, his soft kisses, and his kind words. 

Reaching the restaurant brought you back out of your thoughts. You were here now, by some fateful design, with him again. You’d do anything not to lose your brightest star again. 

“Couldn’t sleep?”

You closed the backdoor behind you with a jolt, not expecting Wooyoung to be sitting at a table, illuminated only by the light coming from his beloved lamp. 

“What’re you doing here?” 

Ever so slowly, you made your way to him, trying to calm your racing heart. He raised his shoulders, avoiding your eyes a second later, shrugging as if he had no answer to your question. You sat with him, noticing just then the few papers scattered on the wood. 

“What’s on your mind?” The question fell from your lips in a quiet whisper, almost afraid to disturb the silence hanging in the air. You still knew him, after all, maybe even more than you gave yourself credit for. He sported that furrow in his brow, the one that lightly creased his smooth skin, that only showed up when something had been bothering him. 

“I-” he sighed, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, they didn’t waste a single second to find yours. Your mouth went dry. 

“You know what I hate most? That sometimes I hate you, sometimes I hate myself, but always I miss you. And I never stopped torturing myself with the same questions over and over, why would you go? Did our dreams mean nothing to you? Did I mean nothing to you?” A bitter, void laugh fell from his lips. “But you’ve gotta move on, right?”

Oh.

Oh.

Heart in your throat, you were left speechless in front of his innermost thoughts. Thoughts you never imagined could be plaguing his mind still. But how could you miss it now? His eyes were begging for answers, after all this time, as if the dam had finally broken. You couldn’t bear to see them be so pleading, so misty. 

“That’s not true, I,” the words died in your mouth as you choked on them. “You must know it,” reduced to a whisper by the weight of truth, you tried to salvage what you’d so carefully rebuilt.

“Do I?” He sounded so helpless, your brain scrambled in all directions to find a way to convey how so untrue it all was. “You left me, Y/N, and sometimes I'm still there.” 

A gasp left your lips, his words squeezing the air out of your lungs. 

“We’re doing it now, isn’t it enough?”

Wooyoung shook his head, shoulders dropping in disbelief as he scoffed. Despite the dim light, from across the table, you could see his red-rimmed eyes begging you to catch on. You did, you had the second he started speaking, but you’d still said the wrong thing. 

“You’re so dense,” head thrown back, hands on his face, you waited for him to speak again. “Tell me why did you go.”

Not a question. Up against the wall, you felt the way your heart fell to your stomach, how nerves were tugging at it painfully. He needed this, and you were willing to give answers.

“I didn’t think,” you started, feeling so small under his gaze. “The only thing on my mind was that I’d made it. Selfishly, I thought you’d understand. I… I never meant to hurt you, and I know it sounds like bullshit, but it’s true. And when you told me to go, for a split second, I thought we could make it. I realize now how stupid I was. How there were at least ten ways in which I could’ve handled it better. I wish I’d fought for us,”

“I’m sorry. I really am, I-” Unshed tears started to run down your cheeks, wetting your mouth with salt. “There’s nothing I regret more than letting you go.” 

“We were meant to be, love,” his broken whisper was a sinking stone in your chest. Lifting your eyes to meet his, you saw the tear tracks on his desperate face matching yours. 

“But we were not meant to last,” there were few ways you could describe how your heart was hurting as you muttered the words, hand reaching forwards on the table. You didn’t think Wooyoung would hold on to it until he did. Fingers intertwined, you both held on painfully tight as if by letting go you’d get lost in the current the sea of your words had provoked. Each other’s buoy in a storm of unsaid words and unresolved, muddy feelings, so strong that with nothing they could tear you apart. 

You cried immersed in the dark silence of the restaurant hall, the place that crowned your dreams, listening to the other’s quiet sobs. 

“I’m sorry, forgive me,” you choked out again, trying to find his face past your tears. Wooyoung reached out to brush them away, his hands just as soft as you remembered, if not more careful. The moment his skin grazed yours, a shiver ran down your spine, electrified by such simple contact. His hand lingered for a long second, cradling your cheek before all you felt was its cold absence.

He stood up first, only to walk around the table and stamp a kiss on the crown of your head, his hand holding your shoulder. You froze, barely hearing how he murmured something about seeing you in the morning, barely breathing. What you did hear was the closing door, a sign you’d been left alone with your thoughts in the dimly lit room, knowing your ignorance had broken his heart again.

-

You didn’t know how to fix it. 

Standing and cooking side by side felt off again. You were walking on eggshells, treading on a fine line to avoid ticking off another bomb. If the weight of apologizing had been lifted off your chest, something much heavier now resided upon it. Knowing something had changed yet again, all because of how you’d acted. What you’d said. 

“You want to make ramen noodles? From scratch?” 

In the middle of cleaning up part of the station, you couldn’t help but let surprise seep into your voice. Wooyoung stared, nodding. 

“I thought we already made enough to last us at least two days…” You let your words fade out, not wanting to start an argument. His jaw set and you realized your efforts had been in vain.

“I’d rather be safe than sorry, at least until our new hires come in,” he shrugged, going to preheat the oven. He really was serious. 

You wondered why he was going through with this; you ran out of kansui, which was already hard enough to find, let alone expensive. In its absence, you’d need to prepare a substitute for it: baking soda that had to be baked in the oven for at least an hour to act properly instead of the kansui. It was such a waste of time when you had more pressing matters to attend to. Ones that didn’t need the help of your brigade. 

Breathing in deeply and deciding that keeping peace was essential, you assessed how Wooyoung was just lining the baking sheet with parchment paper and spreading the baking soda over it. You went to retrieve the whole wheat and bread flours you’d need in an hour, trying to keep frustration at bay. You’d think about the salt and riboflavin later. When you came back with the sacks, Wooyoung was already cleaning the rolling pins and pasta machine. With a grunt, you set them down on the counter, watching as he jolted in surprise.

“I’ll go call our supplier while we wait on the oven,” you really didn’t mean for your voice to sound so clipped. He seemed not to care, simply giving you a nod and going on with his task.

You left the kitchen almost stomping your feet in frustration, sitting down at the table furthermost from it. Whatever game Wooyoung was playing, it needed to stop now. You had tried time and time again, in the last few days, to get anything out of him. To try and patch things up and salvage them as best as you could. But you guessed he needed time, and with the opening just around the corner, you decided it was best to let him be. As long as you could work well together, everything would be fine.

Except the wall he’d put up was so high that you felt it was impossible to climb it or break through. 

The sound of the door opening brought you back to reality, reminding you that you needed to find the supplier’s contact and call, murmuring something about being closed to whoever had just come in. 

“I figured,” the voice made every hair on your skin stand, plunging you back into prickly, cold, anxious times. As you looked up, you could barely believe your eyes.

“Mr. Hwang,” his name left your lips in an incredulous whisper. 

“It’s been a while,” he looked around, coming in. His eyes were inspecting thoroughly everything they could lay themselves on, scrutinizing all that might be out of place, or all that wasn’t, and had the ability to spark envy in an enviable man. “Nice place.”

“How may I help you?” 

“I have an offer to make you.”

Wooyoung nearly stumbled on his feet. When he’d walked out of the kitchen to see if anything had come of your call with the supplier, the last thing he’d expected was seeing you sat at a table with your old boss, having a chat, exchanging laughter. He’d quickly retreated, leaving you to it, seeing red. He didn’t need to know what was going on, nor did he want to. Or at least that’s what he kept telling himself as he stared, unable to do anything else, at the timer of the oven ticking by. Every second you sat out there, was a second he needed to reason with himself and find out what the menacing grip that held his heart was. All Wooyoung knew was that he wished you’d walk through the kitchen doors, a bright smile on your face, ready to get back to work. 

And when you did, he couldn’t quite figure out the look on your face. He was dying to ask what Hwang wanted, no matter what it was, he needed whatever words you’d utter to soothe his burning curiosity. But you never spoke, keeping up your diligent work even past the timer dinging, through the kneading of the dough, its thirty-minute rest, and the several compressions through the pasta machine. He observed you carefully, like he always had, as you used a long knife to cut the noodles by hand as he was occupying the noodle cutter of the machine. Were you slipping through his fingertips again? His eyes on you had always felt like an encouraging, gentle caress. Always looking after and out for you. Wooyoung never noticed or wasn’t fully aware, that sometimes they still did. More often than not you felt the need to step away, or look away, under his gaze, caving in under his affection. 

You felt that you didn’t deserve to be looked at so tenderly, not anymore. 

He searched for words to say as the several pieces of dough were turned into noodles, but nothing came to mind. Nothing sounded right, not even in his head. Wooyoung let silence win this battle, preferring to let the whirring of the machine and the slicing of your knife talk, trying to work out all the tangled threads that were his thoughts. It was easy to mess up the noodles and have them stick together in an unsalvageable way; then you’d have to make them into dough again and put it through the machine, compressing it until it was ready to be cut up. He tried to treat his thoughts with the same care as noodles to avoid starting over. But Wooyoung wasn’t having the same luck. 

Your muttering from the other side of the kitchen prompted him to look your way, struggling to find some space in the refrigerator for your sheet-pans. He hid his smirk, tossing the last of his noodles with cornstarch.

“Why?” You turned around, hands on your hips, irritation barely at bay. Wooyoung raised a brow, doing his very best at pushing your buttons.

“Why did we make so many fucking noodles when we are stocked full?” 

“Because we need them,” he shrugged. “They’re tedious to make from scratch, it’ll make our lives easier.”

“Then you make space for them,” you huffed, hastily walking over to the dishwasher to start filling it with the utensils you’d just finished using. 

“What did Hwang want?” 

Wooyoung bit his tongue, watching how your back straightened at his question. He’d tried to sound casual, but the question turned out to be anything but. He couldn’t keep it in anymore, the longer he did, the more his nerves tested his peace of mind. Wooyoung watched as you froze, halting your movements, before turning to face him again. The furrow of your brow as you raked your eyes over him accelerated his heartbeat in mysterious ways, waiting with bated breath for your answer.

“Nothing important,” but it was to him. Wooyoung’s thoughts had taken him places he didn’t want to revisit. His heart had been swallowed with an all-consuming and unkindly familiar pain at the idea of you leaving him behind. Hwang had offered you a lot in the past, afforded you to realize your dreams, he knew that much. What could he give you, then?

“Then why did you take so long talking to him?” One way or the other, Wooyoung had to exorcize the sinking feeling in his chest along with the overpowering green monster resurfacing with all its might. The only way afforded to him now was to venomously spit his words to you.

“I’m not trying to put us in a hard place with our number one competitor,” you closed the loaded dishwasher behind you, coming closer to him, clouding his senses. He scoffed with a roll of his eyes and you lifted a brow, crossing your arms. 

“Fine, be that way,” you carelessly threw the towel that was resting on your shoulder upon the counter. “He came back to try and persuade me to work for him again.” 

And there they were, the words Wooyoung had feared the most. Someone who would whisk you away from him again as he watched helplessly, feeding into his fears. 

“I said no, Woo…” your voice put a halt to every thought drowning him, your eyes full of the same softness your voice was. Giving up the fight, extinguishing the fire of his worries, at the cost of your disappointment. You swallowed the bitter bite. “Did you really think I’d go back, that I’d leave this? That I’d leave you?”

His silence was answer enough. You nodded, pressing your lips together.

“Well, I wouldn’t.” 

You weren’t going to let him think like that, not now. 

“I wasn’t happy there, and there’s not a single thing he could offer that would make me as happy as you do.”

Wooyoung watched, stunned into silence, while you got rid of your jacket and murmured something about still having to call the supplier. The timid smile you gave him, eyes full of warm hope, moved something inside him that had been slowly waking up ever since you bumped into him down the street months ago. 

-

For so long, he’d tried to move on. In the end, it turned out that you wanted different things from him, and he had to accept that. Wooyoung couldn’t convince you to stay if you wanted to leave. So, with his heart aching and bursting at the seams with the hope that eventually you’d be back, he let you go. There was no way he could describe how he felt when he saw you again. Surprise struck him, leaving him disoriented for a long moment before his mouth spoke for him. As if his body had reacted to the presence of yours, remembering what it felt like to have you close. 

No, Wooyoung wasn’t surprised that he so readily welcomed you back into his life. You were trying, that much he could see, but he was, too. There was a battle going on inside his head that left him frustrated and confused when it came to you, to his feelings for you. His thoughts laid their armor down only in your presence. His heart knew you were the only one he’d ever truly loved. A love that bloomed at the wrong time, a fragile flower that didn’t survive the winter. Wilted and withered, you’d left him to mend the gashes. 

He did, only if it meant learning how to be without you, burning with the hope that one day, if the time was right, together you could grow flowers anew.

The chance was right there for him to take, and yet. It had taken him just a couple of hours after closing the kitchen to decide he needed to see you, and set things straight once and for all. 

“What are you doing here?” 

The sun was just about to set, gilded light flowing into your apartment from the window, bathing you in its gold. Wooyoung’s breath caught. For a fleeting instant, nothing else existed besides your confused pout and his erratic heartbeat. 

“Can we talk?” 

You nodded, opening the door wider to let him in, gesturing for him to follow to the kitchen. The sweet aroma hit him first, enveloping him, and he saw the cutting board in the sink after. It didn’t take him long to figure out you were making blackberry jam. 

“You’re stressed,” the words left his lips before he could realize he’d spoken them, your head jerking in his direction as you kept stirring the pot, only to nod right after. 

“Well, yeah, the opening’s just around the corner now and we-” your eyes fell back on the stove, briefly avoiding his. “What did you want to talk about?”

Wooyoung hesitated. He didn’t know. Rather, he was sure he needed to make things right. Clean the suffocating air of uncertainty when it came to you and what you were to him. What he was to you. You two were always good at dancing in the dark but now, in the light of day, it was hard to fall back into rhythm.  

“I’m sorry about the noodles,” he bit his tongue. Way to start. 

How could he say what he wanted to when his head was on fire? Still, you were there, waiting, occasionally stirring your jam, making his heart skip. Wooyoung sighed.

“I couldn’t stand the thought of you leaving.” 

Your hand halted its gentle movements, he saw your knuckles turning white. 

“Wooyoung-”

“No, let me say this,” he was pretty sure his lungs almost failed him when you turned to look at him, wide eyed, hanging onto his words. “I don’t really know how to act around you. At first, I wanted to be mad. Just a little bit, but found out quickly that after the anger was gone, there wasn’t much left. Just the part of me that wondered if you’d ever come back, if you missed me like I missed you. And if I push all the confusion back, it’s as easy as breathing. I never expected to want you with me as much as I do.” 

You turned off the flame, walking closer. 

“I never meant you any harm,” you were picking at your fingers, almost subconsciously, just like Wooyoung’s hand reached out to twine with yours, halting your nervous motions. “I‘m sorry that I let you down, and that I hurt you.”

“I know,” he squeezed your hand with a small sigh, eyes cast on them. “We weren’t meant to last.”

The words bitterly echo in the quiet kitchen, almost lost in the burbling coming from the stove. Wooyoung was tempted to let go of your hand and walk out the door, fragile like a house of cards, as if it cost him his whole heart to tell you the truth. To expose his confusion in fear it may be an imposition.  

“No, Woo, not when I was so confused and only put my dreams first. Not when we had so much that we would’ve held each other from,” your watery smile hit him square in the chest, your words feeding his worries. “But I think we were always meant to be. I still… I’ve always held so much love for you.” 

Wooyoung stopped breathing, letting the sweet taste of your words wash over him.

“Can we start over?” you asked, tentative, searching his face for any sign that you may have crossed a line. “I want to be by your side, at your pace, we’ll be whatever you want us to be. I wasn't ready then but I am now, and I know it'll take time but I want you to know that I'll be there. No matter how long, I'll always be there.”

The unruled hope, that he’d been fighting to keep at bay, finally broke free and sparked a fire in his chest that swallowed up his heart, holding it in a fierce grip, burning. Your hopeful, misty eyes told him more than words could, more than he could ever dare to imagine. He had longed to see them from this close again. 

“Didn’t you say that mixing feelings with work is the recipe for disaster?” 

Behind the carelessly amused shrug of your shoulders, your untamed smile shined with bright happiness. The hand that wasn’t holding his tentatively rose to cup his cheek and Wooyoung wasted no time in leaning in and basking in its warmth.

“I think we’d make it.” 

Your promise was enough for him. Wooyoung rested his forehead against yours, finding home in your sweet perfume once again. You were finally back into his arms, to hold and to love. Once your lips met his hesitantly, almost afraid at first but feverishly at last, the sweet and pleasantly tart taste of your kiss assured his head and heart that everything would be alright.

[railingsofsorrow]

do you need me?

[spencer reid x reader]

summary: the one where emily's death takes a toll on you. based on the prompt “don't come over, I can handle it.” from this prompt list.

pairing: s.reid x gn!reader

w.c: 3.5K

warnings/content: mentions of skipping meals; grief; mourning the loss of a friend; jemily (implied); blood; non-graphic descriptions of violence; character death (mentioned/not the MCs); addiction; intoxication; survivor's guilt; crying; unhealthy coping mechanisms; this is... heavy, be aware.

A/N: HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!! I wish that we all have an amazing 2024. here's the blurb you voted for. hurt/comfort at its best <3

navi

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❝ it did not kill me and it did not make me stronger. it simply was and always will be scorched upon my heart. ❞

— d.j

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You don't know who took Emily's death the hardest. Pain is not something that can be measured or compared, people deal with it in different ways. Some are quieter in their grieving, others are loud. And although each one of your teammates knows how to compartmentalize their feelings, there was a fog in their eyes, a heaviness in their shoulders more than usual. Things you could relate well after all that has happened. You wish you didn't. You wished all of that was just a strange and far-off memory.

JJ was different — you noticed it during one of your night outs.

Penelope had forced everyone to hang out after a case, to relax. It had been a few months after what happened to Emily and the team was still... sore. Rightfully so.

Hotch and Rossi left earlier, leaving you, Derek, Spencer, Penelope and JJ at the bar. The only ones who weren't intoxicated were you and Spencer. You were pretty sure the conversation Penelope and Derek were having in their own little world was not PG-13, anyway.

“Do you think she's alright?”

Spencer asked, casting a look towards JJ. It's been half an hour she was nursing a glass of water — you had purposely brought her this one since she'd lost count of her shots —, staring at it with her stare unfocused.

“She will be.” You had said and when he told you he was leaving, you asked if he wanted a ride home. You hadn't drank anything but orange juice. He refused it, hugged you and, before he left, he demanded that you'd let him know once you got home.

You ended up being JJ's designated driver that night.

It was when you first saw a crack through the mask she had put on. Emily and JJ shared a deep bond. You knew their friendship wasn't just friendship, even before Emily had revealed to you that she had feelings for the blonde a while back. When Emily was gone, you saw how JJ took it hard. Not that everyone else didn't as well, but the love from each person in the team carried for Emily was different from the love JJ had for her.

Between the gibberish she was mumbling in the passenger seat of your car, she let escape a faint “I miss her”. Her voice cracked and your heart ached.

“D’ you think...” She muttered as you were helping her into her bed. “D'you think she miss— a hiccup — misses us?”

You refrained from saying that dead people cannot miss anything. Instead, you waited for her to fall asleep, placed a cup of water and aspirin on her bedside table before leaving her apartment.

She pretended nothing happened in the next day and you did the same.

You thought JJ had it worst, until Spencer showed up at your door at 3 a.m craving for something he hadn't touched in three years.

Again, pain is not comparable. One does not hurts more than another; people deal with their hardships in life differently, even if they have gone through the same life-changing event.

Some let it show, others just know how to hide it better. You no longer knew if you were the former or the latter through the eyes of your friends.

The current case you were working on had rendered you mentally exhausted. A victim had been taken hostage and for two days you tried to negotiate with the unsub, but to no avail. You almost had it. Almost. When you thought you had succeeded in releasing the woman, she was shot right in front of you.

She died in your arms and there was nothing that you could have done to prevent.

Or was there?

There was nothing that you could have done. You have heard that before. Countless of times. People tried to inject that into your head as a way to make you feel better. And they have their best intentions, you do not doubt it. But it was no use if you couldn't bring yourself to believe these words.

This was just one of those days, when you didn't know how to cope with that overbearing sadness that crippled your mind.

There was nothing that you could have done. There was nothing that you could have done. There was nothing that you could have done. There was nothing that you could have done. There was nothing that you could have—

“Hey.”

You flinched, startled at the voice. As you came back to reality, Spencer turned up in front of you.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.” His face twitched into a grimace.

You cleared your throat, placing your stuff in your bag. You were so distracted that you didn't realise you had been holding the bloodied shirt you were wearing in the morning; you shoved it inside carelessly. I'm gonna burn it.

“You didn't,” you said. “What's up? I thought you had left already.”

Spencer leaned on the door, fingers playing with the strap of his satchel as he waited for you to leave the room. He followed you to the corridor, an unspoken silence that said a million things. His fidgety hands weren't just mindlessly stimming, he was nervous.

Everyone else seemed to have left, meaning the bullpen was fairly empty. You wondered how long you stayed frozen reminiscing as the minutes went by.

“I was waiting for you.” He responded as soon as the elevator doors closed.

You turned to him with widened eyes. “Why? I'm sorry I kept you waiting—”

Spencer quickly waved you off, “It's alright.” He gave you a soft smile. The one you felt warm inside. “I just wanted to know if you were okay.”

Oh.

“Of course I am.” You replied and you really hoped the tight smile you gave him was convincing enough for him to not question further. You weren't sure if you'd be able to not crumble down completely if he asked again.

“Are you sure?”

Damn, Spencer.

Yes, everything is good. I just need to get home, take a shower and have a good night sleep without interruptions.

Everything is good.

You don't know how many times you repeated that until he walked alongside you to the parking lot.

Arriving home was all that you needed to let your armour aside. God you were so tired. You didn't even reach your bedroom before the tears came like a waterfall. Falling into your couch, with no strength to stand, you finally stopped fighting against the sadness and let it lead you for the time being.

It's hard trying to be strong all the time, isn't it? Not admitting you need someone to be there for you because you only know how to be there for people. You tell them it's going to be okay. You let them be vulnerable. You say it's okay to not be okay.

Why can't you treat yourself the same way you treat the people around you?

You count every raindrop falling down your window, it helps you focus on reality. It was grounding and a few minutes later you have stopped sobbing your heart out.

It was raining hard outside. When you open the window, the cold slips right in and you stay there, enjoying the wind pushing your hair back.

You dial a familiar number tonight. And you don't hang up after two rings. You think about doing it in the fourth, but the person picks up, apologizing before they say hello.

It actually makes your lips twitch slightly. You don't smile, but you feel like doing it after crying so hard.

“Spencer.” You say through the phone interrupting his incessant apologies for taking too long to answer, your brows creasing after you hear how strange your voice is. “You don't have to apologize. I was the one who called you at one a.m. Why are you even awake?”

“I was reading. Lost track of time. I— have you been crying?” Well, shit. Too much for thinking he wouldn't notice through the phone.

“Why do you ask?” You ask rather pathetically. Why did you call him? Why did you bother Spencer at one a.m when he could be sleeping? You should feel sorry for yourself. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called—”

“I was thinking about you.”

Your breath hitches. You close the window and sit back on the floor and you feel like crying again, you don't know why. Maybe it's his voice. Maybe it's the fact that he makes you feel everything that you're allowed to feel.

He takes your silence as his cue to continue. “I know how much you love thunderstorms so I...” he trails off as if he's uncertain about what he will say. “I remembered you.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Spencer could take pride in saying he knew you better than anyone else.

He recognised the sound of your voice was different when your were excited about a particular topic and when you were discussing a case at work. He knew you brushed your hair behind your ear when you felt shy, but the same action could happen when you were uncomfortable. It heavily depended on the situation.

He was aware of your odd behaviour by the way you kept on touching your index finger throughout the day. The week, actually. Spencer could tell you were bothered by something, he could tell you were deeply upset. You skipped breakfast and you never had lunch with them. Not that past week.

And judging by the dark circles around your eyes, you weren't sleeping well either.

He saw himself in you a month back.

See, Spencer was the kind of person who didn't like being vulnerable around anyone. If anything, he mastered the act of not communicating his feelings, he just expected them to disappear, which didn't happen but he was getting better at understanding that.

After Emily's passing, the only one he opened up to was you. And it was the hardest and best choice he ever made. You made him feel seen. It was so easy to talk to you about anything that he didn't notice until a few days ago that you were a very good listener. Not that he didn't notice that before, no, it was not that. But you just listened. You comforted. You held.

Spencer was really concerned about your coping mechanisms, because he knew he didn't have the most healthy ways of dealing with things. He hoped you were better than him. He hoped you didn't let it build up until you were suffocating.

So when you called him, he wasn't lying when he said he was thinking of you. His lie laid on the reading part, he was trying to fall asleep but his concern was keeping him up.

I'm here for you too. He wanted to say. Please, let me be here for you.

“I know how much you love thunderstorms so I...” He sat down on the bed, shifting until he found a comfortable position. “I remembered you.” This is what he started with.

Your ragged breathing through the line cut off his rational thinking. So you have been crying.

He called your name softly.

“Hi. I'm here.” You say, forcing out an exhale.

“Talk to me.” He pleads.

He hears a faint sniffle, “I'm here, Spencer.”

No, you're not. You're far away.

“I'm here too. You know that right?”

“It's been a hard week.” You admit through your shaky voice. “I just needed to hear your voice.” You cut him off quickly. “I know that I saw you a few hours ago, but I—”

“Do you need me?” He was the one who cut you off this time. He couldn't bear you explaining the reason you called. You could call him as many times as you wanted. Every five minutes, every second. He wanted to tell you he missed you when your shift was over for the day even if he spent the entire day by your side, and that you never ever could bother him because he cherished your company. He wanted you close. And he just wanted you to be okay now.

“... It's one a.m, Spence.” There is some shifting through the line, sounds like you were moving around. “I— I can handle it. It's fine.”

“Do you need me?” He repeats, shuffling out of his room to the living room. He couldn't care less that it was one a.m. He found his coat hanged and didn't wait for your answer to put it on. Really, Spencer should have done it sooner.

He's half way on tying his left shoe when you breath out in resignation. Your voice much closer to his ear as if you were telling him a secret you should be ashamed of. “Yes. Yes, I need you.”

He let out a hum, standing up to grab his car keys and sprinted out of his home to go to yours.

“I'll be there in ten.”

You lived twenty minutes away from him, but he'd make in ten. He wanted to see you. More than anything, he wanted to tell you everything that you hadn't heard when you were too busy comforting people instead of yourself.

He stops short before knocking on your door, deciding on sending you a text to let you know he was there so you wouldn't be startled at the noise. He didn't get to click send as the door was yanked open. Your bloodshot eyes and swollen lips are the first thing he sees.

“Hi.” He says, slipping his phone into his pocket. As soon as he did that, your arms envelope his shoulders which caused him to let out a sound of surprise, but he quickly recover and wraps his own arms around you, squeezing your shaky body against his. “Hi.” He utters into the croak of your neck, his hand trailing up and down on your back gently. “I'm wet because of the rain,” he apologises halfheartedly. “Sorry.”

The laugh he hears through your sobs might just have made his day.

He was cold immediately after you slips out of his arms. You pull him inside your place and shut the door, claiming you would be back with a towel despite his protests that he didn't need it.

Spencer lost count of how many times he visited your place. He knew every corner of your apartment, every place you left books that you keep losing when you didn't found them on the shelves, every painting and drawing you had on the walls. The ones he happily convinced you to put on because you made them and they were beautiful, you just didn't believe it.

The two of you spent long hours on your couch, either reading a book and saying your favourite quotes out loud or just watching bad movies and TV shows to pass the time.

He'd ramble on and on about the inconsistencies of any plot and you'd engage in his refutations until you'd disagree and some bantering ensued.

“Here.” Spencer turns around to see you offering a towel for him to dry off. The middle of your forehead furrows slightly, he feels the need to smooth it out himself but he refrains from doing so. “It's dangerous to drive when the weather it's like this. I'm sorry that I made you come all the way here for nothing.”

“Nothing?” He shakes his head as if it's the most absurd thing you've ever said. “You're not nothing.” He accepts the towel and what he recognizes is a jumper of his he must have forgotten a while ago.

When he's completely dry, he walks to the kitchen where you had ventured off to make some tea.

Two mugs are placed on the kitchen counter, the smell of camomile slowly filling the room. You are lost in your thoughts again, mixing the honey in your tea with a spoon for forty-three minutes, your gaze unfocused. Lost.

His fingerstips trails down your wrist to your hand, proceeding to take one of your hands in his, thumb running across your palm. “Can you please look at me?” He requests softly, head tilting until you have no choice but to meet his eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“It” are a lot of things. But he doesn't know if you feel comfortable enough to talk about all of them tonight. He'll just follow your lead and respect your time.

“I don't want you to see me like this.”

He feels your fingers tighten around his hand and he squeezes back as a form of reassurance.

“Like what?” He can't help but ask. Vulnerable? Human?

“Weak.”

“You could never be weak in my eyes.”

This time, he does smooth down the frown between your brows with his thumb, surprised that you don't reject his touch but welcome it by leaning into his hand.

Neither of you drink the tea. Instead, you move back to the living room, settling down on your couch. You end up cuddling, which wasn't strange because you have done it many times before. Now it just feels more intimate. His hold never strayed from yours. This time, he listened. He comforted. And he held you.

“I'm used to blood, we see it all the time.” you carry on, speaking directly to his chest as he looks down at you. “But I... My hands. There was just so much of it and I couldn't, I couldn't save her.” Your fingers play with the straps of his jumper to distract yourself.

There was nothing that you could have done.

“She knows you did everything you could.” Spencer reassures. He was well aware that you weren't just talking about the victim that you had lost today. “Wherever she is right now...” He lifts a hand to cup your face stroking your cheek with the utmost care in the world. “She knows.”

Your bloodshot eyes study him carefully, searching for any indication that could make you not trust anything he just said. He knew how hard it was to believe that you had no fault in the loss of a friend. Maybe if we had gotten there sooner... Maybe if we had figured everything out sooner...

A little bird told him once that you can't dwell on the past for long or else you'll be stuck in it. And those words — your words — helped on his healing process. He hoped he did the same to you now.

You were laying on his chest, one of your hands positioned right where his heart laid as your other arm involved his middle. His arm wrapped around you as his fingers were trailing up and down your back in the way he knew calmed you down. Spencer felt the most rested he hasn't felt in months and he wasn't even sleeping.

“Tell me if I'm making you uncomfortable.”

He shook his head in response, finding that statement completely absurd because it was not possible for you to make him feel uncomfortable. He's not a fan of PDA, but he found that he didn't mind it with you. So he lowered down on the couch, moving your body with his to be more comfortable, lips grazing your temple in a soft kiss.

“You're not.” He says brushing your hair away from your neck. Your eyes were shut and he could feel your breathing evening out. “Try to sleep a little.” He let out in a whisper to not disturb your peacefulness. He knew you needed it.

“Don't go.” You croak out, tucking your nose in the croak of his neck, breathing into him.

The corner of his lips quirk up. “I'll be here when you wake up.” He promises as thunder rolled outside. Fluttering his eyes shut when you have finally dozed off, he ignores the warnings in his head about sleeping on the couch and how bad it is for one's neck.

No, he could deal with that tomorrow. For now, he would just hold you.

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❝ all I know of strength, I have learnt from breaking. ❞

— sahiba

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taglist: @lilyviolets

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

the abandonment issues au,,

where Sun and Moon gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss their way into ur heart

and then turn into sad wet baby kittens when u find out and call them out on it <3

(copy and pasted from the space aces discord, sorry fellas lmao)

abandonment issues au:

ok what if. fucked up au time

where. reader is the new daycare assistant or a mechanic or smthn idk theyre working withh Sun and Moon thats the important part

i think it works better if theyre like, Sun n Moon's handler? Bc they r closer that way and it makes it more fucked up lmaooooo

so basically. this takes place right after Sun n Moon had their best friend-handler person leave bc Sun n Moon had been acting increasingly volatile n buggy n rlly just having issues but the more the previous handler tried to talk to them abt it and fix it the more they got anxious abt getting decommissioned and would cover up the problems n act like nothing was wrong

and eventually one day the previous handler nearly got rlly hurt and knew they had to leave bc it wasn't safe for them and they left a detailed warning/report for the mechanics

(and they didnt say goodbye, not out of malice or anything just bc they didnt want even more reasons for Sun n Moon to act up/potentially hurt them or themselves)

so. the mechanics did a total clean up of Sun n Moon's system, basically left their memories but scrubbed their data of a lot of the 'feelings' they'd had- mostly wiping away the feelings tied to 'good' memories, and the only thing Sun n Moon could do to fill in the void of 'feelings' was assign different feelings in their place, so when they once looked back and felt happy or nostalgic, now they feel confused and angry and sad and betrayed bc why was all of that happiness taken from them?? why did their handler hurt them like this??

so the scrubbing of their systems, which was one thing they really really didn't want to have done for fear of losing their memories entirely, DID work in putting their issues on a much lower level,, but it didn't get rid of the issues entirely. Now they're just,, easier to hide or play off or ignore. They're careful around the kids, of course, but they do at times have trouble with their motor controls or their speech will glitch slightly, etc

a few handlers come and go, never staying for more than a week or so- none of them really care about the job, don't see Sun n Moon as coworkers but more like fancy 'machines' with no real thoughts or emotions, they normally leave after Sun or Moon has a glitchy moment and nearly hurts them or, in at least one case, does hurt them by squeezing their wrist too hard. more often than not, the ppl applying for the position read the list of warnings n cautions and are like 'hell nahh' and bail immediately

then. in comes,, reader. local dumbass. most endearing of idiots. a bit dense. very much clueless. dearly beloved

you're the first one to really treat them like your coworkers, making small talk and being friendly and kind and patient and laughing at their jokes. you smile when you introduce yourself, offering your hand for them to shake- not afraid of them or their little twitches at all. god, how they missed that. you remind them of their previous handler, if only in how you see them like theyre people and not machines.

and they make a mutual agreement to do whatever they can to keep you as their handler. even if it means dodging around company rules and policies by doing something like crumpling up the confidential 'warning' forms, ortelling the occasional white lie, like forging your signature onto the papers when your back is turned and making sure it makes it to your manager without either of you noticing who exactly was putting it on their desk.

you've already started calling them your friends the first time they have a glitchy moment. you're doing detailing work on their endoskeleton, really just cleaning dust away and making sure everything looks the way it does in the manual, when they break something- a tablet, a pen, your phone, whatever it is, it happens in an instant and startles you.

when Sun n Moon come to and realize whats happened theyre terrified. what if you use this as some kind of excuse to leave? What if you abandon them, just like their previous handler did? What if you start treating them differently, or you tell the staff that they need to be scrapped

so when you ask what that was about, they're frantic, quick to come up with something, anything that might make you shrug and forget all about it,

"Well, you WERE just working on their insides, right? That must have been something YOU did to suddenly make us do something like THAT! There's no way else it could have happened. Right?"

You take the lie hook, line, and sinker, apologizing profusely, promising to try harder to make sure nothing like that happens again. The relief they feel is almost euphoric. They pat you on the head kindly, reassuring you that they know you didn't do it on purpose, it was just a little mess up! You're fine, friend, we forgive you.

From then on, they dodge blame and truth alike, most often redirecting your attention to something you must have said or done to make something so strange and out of character for them happen so suddenly, and you believe them, full of apologies and careful words and actions and nervous worrying about doing things wrong and hurting them somehow. It's cute, how anxious you can get. It's cuter, how you melt for their comfort and reassurance. 

They play the song and dance with you again and again, weaving doubt and guilt into you more and more frequently. Until one day, you mumble something about how 'maybe i'm not cut out for this, maybe i should switch to be on the janitorial team instead, or some other department, i don't want to hurt you guys, or-or be the reason someone else gets hurt, i clearly dont know what im doing, and it's only gotten worse, maybe i should talk to my manager,,' and they panic

don't be silly, friend!!!! you can't just leave like that, what about the kids, what about that puppet show you had helped them plan, did you really want to just abandon all that?? so what if maybe they had the occasional hiccup, you were always there to smooth it over, who cared whether they dropped things from time to time, or- or broke a toy or two, that didn't matter, did it??? You were getting so good at being their handler, your little mistakes were normal, come on, you don't want to leave your very best friends. Do you?

and you cave, agreeing to stay, and they are so, so extremely careful to hide their little moments from you for several weeks, making sure you don't notice their tiny twitches or split seconds of glitchy voices, maybe keeping a closer eye on you than would be comfortable, watching over your shoulder each time you type up a report about the day, giving the manager a loathsome glower behind your back whenever they happen by,, and every time you leave you say 'i'll see you guys tomorrow!,' they grab onto your sleeve and respond with 'promise?' so you always know that they really, really do want you to come back

and then. one day,, you decide to go looking in their files for something small and silly, like what kinds of updates had been added to their pick-up protocols, and you find the warnings and cautions forms

and you see your signature on them, but you would definitely remember this and you are absolutely certain you have never seen these papers in your life. and you take the papers and you go to ask them about it.

"i thought you said you never had any problems before? you told me you never had any issues before but this- this is full of things that you- and you, you've been having these problems for that long??"

they stumble over their words, frantic, panicked, backpedaling on everything theyve ever said, trying meekly to grab the papers from your hands, piling excuses on excuses 

"you knew? you knew you were having these problems, and you didn't tell me? and you- you told me it was my fault!"

you're close to tears, hurt that they lied more than anything. you keep backing away from them, dodging their attempts to get the forms. they don't know which is worse- seeing that look on your face, or when they were left without so much as a goodbye.

"you could have told me. i thought i was the reason for everything, i thought i was hurting you, and you just... you lied right to my face and let me think that."

theyre putting on their best soothing voice, movements slow and gentle, wanting to comfort you and wipe those tears away and reassure you somehow that this- this isn't their fault, none of it is, it never was, they're fine and you're fine and nothing was ever wrong, and everything will be fine if only you calm down and stay

you can tell they arent really listening. you take a deep breath and turn away from them, scraping the tears from your face. you tell them you're going to go home and write up a report about all of this and when you come back you can go over it together before you send it to management, but right now you're leaving because you need space to breathe and time to think

but all they hear is that you're leaving, and they panic.

they don't hurt you, of course! but right now you're not allowed to leave.

you try to shut out the sound of them crying and apologizing and begging, even if it breaks your heart, because right now all you want to do is go home and lie in your stupid bed and have a stupid cry in your favorite pajamas. but you try every door you can think of- none of them open. you've sstayed past closing more than once, but the doors aren't normally shuttered for another two hours,, and you're pretty sure the night guard isn't even here yet

the entire time you're walking around the 'plex, Moon is trailing sadly behind you, waiting with the saddest, most pathetic wet cat look an animatronic can achieve, for you to turn and face them again

and thus begins what is probably the longest night of your life, spent trying to avoid your animatronic friends/coworkers who are acting like the worlds clingiest ex who just got broken up with and who can't stop dropping sad love songs in ur dms

by the time morning rolls around, they agree to actually go to parts n services and cooperate and try their best to get whatever is wrong with them repaired, even if it means they might get decomissioned. in the mean time, you promise to come back once they're fixed and work with them to help them get back to their old selves- or at least, back to how they were before any potentially dangerous bugs

basically this is the 'sun and moon have abandonment issues and gaslight you abt it' au

idk what else would happen tbh idk why i thought this au needed to exist either but here we are *lays facedown in a puddle*

[theblue6ook]

The Young Years PT 3

Summary: This is a prequel to "Shit Interview" in the "Out of My League" series. Read about Bruce and Y/N in their troubled teens. What about their past makes them work so well together? You'll find out. (Hint: they've both been through major struggles.)

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!reader

a/n: Death and blood. Also, Bruce is all the drama. [Eventual slow burn with Bruce]

Caught [B(19) Y/N(17)]

First, it was selling illegal car parts. Then, it was modifying cars illegally. Then, it was racing. Y/N didn't have to worry about money anymore, but she still kept appearances up at Dorthie’s Flowers with Carrie; she didn’t want to look suspicious. The house was paid off, the utilities were paid, and she started saving money for her brothers' school funds. She was set, and even better, she was a winner.

Ronnie taught her how to properly drive at 13. The lot for the mechanic shop was pretty big, and honestly, there were barely any cops in this part of town. The only rule was don’t go past the narrows. Once she hit 14, she was starting to get good. After modifying cars, she’d head out and watch the races, watch the different moves people made with their cars, recreate them on cars they were working on, and if they got fucked up, she’d fix them before anyone knew. 

By 15, she was in races. By 16, she was coming in second. By 17, she was dominating. The money she had saved was insane, but there was one problem. The races were moving out of the narrows, and the cops were cracking down, particularly Don Colley and his partner Jim Gordon. All she had to do was keep her head down. She should have stopped. She had money saved, but the rush was so addicting, and the money was so rewarding. In her eyes, as long as no one knew who she was, what was the damage?

Getting caught. Getting caught was the damage. 

The last race she was in was over by Gotham Harbor. She was in first, per usual, when the police swarmed. She was on her way out, swearing and huffing, when one of the drivers, trying to make a break for it, spun out and crashed. She didn’t even think. She stopped the car and ran out to help, but it was too late. It was a horrid scene. The airbags didn’t go off, and his car had smashed him into the steering wheel. His chest was caved in, and there was so much blood everywhere. It smelled like gasoline and death. There was no mistaking it, the driver that passed was David Colley, the Comminsioner’s son, and oh did he blame Y/N. She was caught on the scene and the only one he had to blame. Boy, did he fight hard when she went to court, lucky for her, Jim Gordan saw right through it, and so did the judge…

“You were a part of the Martha Wayne Foundation?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“You say you were doing this to provide a good home for your brothers after your mother left? Help your father pay the bills?” 

“Yes, your honor.” Y/N felt the sweat on her temple, and her heart was beating so quickly. She felt fucked. She felt like she ruined her life, but the judge only hummed and thought quietly. There was a pregnant pause before he spoke, and the entire courtroom was on the edge of their seats.

“Despite having the wrong motivation, I think you have a good head on your shoulders. You’re young,” he continued, “I don’t want you to throw your life away in jail. So, here’s what I’m going to do. Not only will you return the money won to the court, but you will also complete six months of community service. Pay two fines, each $1000. One for the drag racing conviction and the other for the illegal gambling. Is that clear?”

It didn’t go over well with Don Colley. He ended up stepping down from the position of commissioner as Jim Gordon stepped up…it didn’t go well with her father either.

“What are you doing with your life?!” he covered his face with his hands. “You know what, it might have been easier if you were in jail and not wasting my money, my time-”

“Your money?!” Y/N interrupted. “Who’s been running your business? Who’s been providing? You haven’t even stepped out of the house in years!”

“Will you shut up! Do you not understand you are ruining your life-”

“Oh, so now you want to be a parent?” Y/N was up in arms. After years of picking up after him, providing, and putting food on the table, this is what she gets?

"You know what, go fuck yourself. You don't want me as your parent? You can get the FUCK out of my house!"

“The house I paid for? The house I clean and cook in and drag your ass into when it’s snowing. That house!?” she shouted until her throat hurt. Maybe she shouldn't have, she knew she fucked up, but she was so tired. So tired of taking care of other people. Every sentence she punctuated with a step closer to him until she was up in his face. 

"You're unstable. You're not good for me. You’re not good for the boys. You need to leave," he looked into her eyes. 

"I may be unstable, but you've always been a shit father." That seemed to be the last straw.

“GET OUT!” he grabbed her by the hair and shoved her out the screen door. He had never in her 17 years ever put his hands on her. He had always been silently grateful. Silently watching as she keeps the house running. He had never shoved her the way he did now. 

“What the fuck-” she said, stumbling down to the ground.

“You don’t live here anymore. Tell Carrie to pick up your things.” He went to step inside but paused, looking over his shoulder. "You can't live here until you get your act together, and I can't live with you until I get my act together."

Her father stepped inside. She heard her brothers through the door asking what was happening and where she was. Y/N sat out on the concrete steps and said nothing. Was there anything to say? Slowly, she stood and made her way down the block.

-

Bruce wasn’t sure what to consider his position here. Was he a prisoner? Would they let him leave when the time came? At least they were training him. They’ve been training him for the past two years. 

It wasn’t hard for him to leave Gotham. When he was fifteen, he received his diploma. He had skipped enough grades to get it and had enough credits through online courses. That was the deal with Alfred. You can go and travel, but you’re going to be officially educated. He traveled with Alfred for some time. Moving to different places, training with different people, learning different languages. Then, things went sideways. He was recognized. He was robbed. He could defend himself at this point, but not from twenty people. That’s ridiculous. In the end, he ended up in a Bhutanese Prison. This is where he met Ras Al Ghul. A strange man who had broken him out of prison and asked him what his plans were. Bruce didn’t really have a choice, so he told him. Now he was here, but honestly, where was he? He had no clue.

He had learned so much. He would continue to learn so much. He would solve his parents' murder, and he would solve Gotham. That was the plan. If he can survive here, he can survive anywhere.

He looked up at the ceiling of his bunk. He was bunked with many other soldiers and assassins; he wasn’t sure who they were. He had thought about Alfred. What he might be doing? What he did do after Bruce had been taken? The door to his bunk had opened, and there was the strange man who had found him.

“It is time,” he said. Bruce stood and followed him out to the training grounds. He sparred with different soldiers, at some points, several at a time. Another trainee was sparring as well. Eventually, they were tasked with sparring with each other. Bruce moved flawlessly, and his master smiled. He fought easily and used his opponent's faults against him until he had him on the ground.

“That’s good,” he grinned. “Now kill him.”

Bruce’s blood went cold. He looked over at the man, startled. “I can’t - I can’t kill him. He did nothing wrong. We were just training.” 

“Training is to prepare you for real-life situations. You may have to kill someone, so it’s best to do it now. Kill him.” 

Bruce held his breath, and his sword rose to strike. Training. That’s what it was. If I want to clean up Gotham, there has to be sacrifice. I have to do this- 

You really think this is what your father would have wanted? You going to prison for the rest of your life? To kill someone? 

The sword came down hard and swiftly, puncturing the ground. His master turned toward him, angry. He grabbed Bruce by the shoulder, shoving him to the ground as he dug his own sword into the struggling trainee on the ground. “Is this what you’re so afraid of? Death. These are the necessary sacrifices we must make for the good of the world.”

Red stained the snow around them, and the smell of blood lingered in the air.

“Well, that’s not the way I’m going to do it,” he stood stubbornly. 

“How do you expect order? How do you expect to deal with the chaos?” 

“Fear.”

[fairytale-poll]

ROUND 1D, MATCH 2 OUT OF 16!

Propaganda Under the Cut:

Linh Cinder:

Her glass slipper is her prosthetic foot. She's a cool badass mechanic queen. She's named Cinder because her aunt set her on fire as a toddler but she survived. She's a a cool cyborg with psychic powers, and she's also a really good mechanic.

She's a cyborg and she's from the Moon

She is a badass mechanic who is also a cyborg and did not intend to get dragged into this mess. She becomes a fugitive of the law, running from the prince who is also her romantic interest and is just objectively the best.

I love a sarcastic character and I love a good confrontation scene and she's great with both

she's a cyborg she's a mechanic she's a princess she's a fugitive she's the best.

She's a mechanic she's the lunar princess she has two prosthetic limbs she's supposed to be dead. Her best friend is an android who's a fangirl of her boyfriend (Kai, the emperor). Her ball was actually her showing up to keep Kai from getting seduced by her aunt (who's queen of the moon) and then killed. Instead of losing her slipper she just lost her entire foot. (That's all just in the first book.)

look man, if you've read tlc you know why but if not: cinder here goes through a lot, from living in a shitty household to leading a rebellion and witnessing what's practically a massacre (TWICE), getting stabbed in the mc'freaking heart and surviving, being a wanted fugitive, Oh, and also, she loses her goddamn FOOT instead of a glass slipper lol (albeit the foot is a prosthetic, which i might've forgotten to add, her left arm and (i think) leg are metal due to getting BURNED as a toddler by her somewhat power hungry aunt)

She's SO cool she's a mechanic and really clever and also an amputee and her prosthetics are very cool and she has fun space adventures with her little gang of found family and is also the heir to the crown on the moon and is trying to get control of it from her aunt (who's a dictator) so she can help the moon people be less oppressed! tl;dr she's a girlboss

She literally got set on fire. Shes a cyborg. Shes such a girl boss that her love interest kept her severed prosthetic foot as a memento. She is a revolutionary [against her will] and a politician [also against her will]. Shes a skilled mechanic, and called the queen of a super-powerful alien race with the ability to manipulate people’s perceptions of reality ugly TO HER FACE. Queen does not give a shit and just wants to hang out with her robot bestie and her dork ass boyfriend who is also the leader of an entire country. Shes iconic, she is the moment.

she's a teenage cyborg who works as a mechanic and is secretly royalty - a badass and i love her!!

Kickbutt cyborg Cinderella princess

Cyborg and mechanic is a fun new twist on classic Cinderella! (At least when I read it and it was new). Plus she’s got her Prince/Emperor all wrapped around her fingers before the ball!

she's cool as fuck that's why!! cyborg cinderella in a cool-ass future sci-fi world, she doesn't have glass slippers so she loses her ill-fitted cybernetic foot, she has a gun in her cyborg hand (mostly uses nonlethal projectiles), she has cool sci-fi magic mind powers, she's from the moon, she's a mechanic & she's smart as hell, she literally forms a ragtag team of other fairytale inspired characters & dethrones the evil queen of the lunar monarchy. also her prince charming is cool & funny & they're so sickeningly in love their feelings could power the sun. anyway vote Cinder ✨️

cinder is a mixed cyborg mechanic who has acquired beef with both her stepmother (adopted) and her bio aunt (tyrant queen levanna) and manages to escape their attempts to keep her down (including arson when she was like. 3 years old) and ultimately overthrows her aunt in a revolution lead by her and the other fairytale retellings (red riding hood and wolf, rapunzel and her ‘prince’, and her cousin snow white and her prince) and establishes a democracy! i enjoyed the series growing up and i personally think that cinder is very cool :]

The first book in The Lunar Chronicles is a retelling of cinderella, and my gosh it’s amazing. Cinder is a cyborg and faces a lot of prejudice, and it’s interesting to see that even in the future, where the book is set, there’s still so much discrimination, and Cinder faces it so well. She’s smart and snarky, and has such character growth and cares so much and akhjfqwthbj

shes cinderella if cinderella was a cyborg and also secretly an alien moon princess. fucking amazing series everyone should read it. It's very common for Cinderella retelling that "girlboss" her end up sending the weird message that victims of abuse should simply stand up for themselves <3 I really like Cinder because she's spunky and snaps at her stepmother, but it doesn't. do her any good? It just makes her stepmother worse. Also one of her stepsisters is nice, I love Peony.

Cyborg Cinderella, long-lost princess of the moon, revolutionary against the evil queen.

she’s a cyborg! instead of losing her shoe on the steps of the palace her entire foot comes off 👍 thats hard as fuck she’s so cool

Cinderella:

Because she is so cute in this, I love her outfits before and after the transformation, and this movie is just such a good adaptation of Cinderella

the 1997 cinderella movie is the best one ever to me like. you have whitney houston as the fairy godmother and brandy is so so so pretty and she's such an amazing cinderella. 10 minutes ago the best cinderella song of all time ever she sounded so good<3

does this movie even NEED propaganda?

Brandy Cinderella with Whitney Houston! Need I say more?

Brandy plays one of the best iterations of Cinderella actually

I just think she's neat. Also she looked the best in the ball gown

One of the most iconic Cinderellas of all time, Brandy brought tenderness, earnestness, and heartfelt poignancy that transformed the story and emphasized its humanity and themes of dreaming for the future. Her voice is celestial! The power of her performance is undeniable! As a lifelong Cinderella fan she was always one of my favorites.

A lot of children grew up watching this movie around the holidays.

This is my favorite version of Cinderella and Brandy absolutely KILLS IT as Cinderella!! Her voice is so sweet and beautiful. And her dress!! I love her peplum. ALSO HER BRAIDS MAKE A BUN AND ITS SO ADORABLE. just look up the soundtrack for this movie PLEASE

[respectthepetty]

Pride Petty Watch - LiTA (Sky/Prapai) 2/3

It took me much longer than expected to make it through the first two episodes of Sky x Prapai's arc in Love in the Air, but Prapai called Sky his boyfriend out of nowhere, so now I understand that he is Manifest Destiny-ing his way to love, and for the non-Americans, that's bad. Like real bad.

Let me be like Prapai and keep marching forward even though all the signs are telling me to stop.

In my first year of teaching, I was told I couldn't want the grade more the student did. I was reminded that some students don't want A's. Some students just want to pass the course, and that's fine. I need to take that approach with Prapai because he held Sky while he clung to him and cried for the nightmares to leave him in peace, yet in the morning, Prapai slings it back in Sky's face and makes it callously sexual. Clearly, Prapai doesn't want points for Slytherin. He does not want an A in decency. He does not want to pass "Go" on the board. Whatever he wants is between him and the demons he is fighting because obviously this ho does not want to be saved.

"Let me help you" - Look at that! As soon as you let men go, they wanna come back correct. Asking to help instead of forcibly inserting himself. Wow! So you are capable of not making everything aggressively sexual?

I'm watching you like a fucking hawk, Slytherin, which if you want to pass this course, you will note that hawks eat snakes, so basically I'm telling you I will devour you whole if you make another wrong move.

"That's all I ask," he says as he asks for EVERYTHING. "I will not restrain myself next time." "You cannot escape me." "Has he blocked this number?" Sky, babe, hon, bestie, rob this fucking man in his sleep. Take the watch off his wrist, the money from his wallet, and the audacity out of his mouth. These are the queer wrongs I'm trying to support this month.

"You should be spanked" - So 🙃 . . . IGNORING THAT! As a lifelong member and advisor of Greek life (fraternities and sororities are different for BIPOC), every time I see these university rituals, I always wonder what is the equivalent of a compliance officer in other countries because This. Is. Hazing.

And now Payu and Prapai are just hanging out at university activities like THEY DON'T GOT JOBS! Payu has a room in a garage, a room at his house with a toy car collection, and a terrified mechanic hiding under cars, so the man has got bills. Prapai has companies (plural) to run, and an overworked and rightfully annoyed (always in red) secretary holding down the fort, yet he is on a little vacay. Women in GLs - big bosses and screwing at work on company time. Men in BLs - FORGETTING THEY HAVE JOBS!

*Regina George has entered the chat* So you agree? You think you're a bad guy to Sky?

Every time Payu or Prapai mentions getting a reward (for not assaulting the boy they are chasing after especially when that boy is in a vulnerable position), I think of the conversation between Uea and King in episode five (part one) of Bed Friend when King asked for a reward and Uea said "The fuck you just say? Get outta here with that noise" then he left. Uea would eat these men alive.

The thinnest of ice, Prapai. I can see the freezing water rushing underneath. That's how thin the ice is that you are on, sir.

Because Prapai is confessing to sleeping with three other people since he began stalking Sky (no shame, as one slut to another, I'm actually very proud he admitted to it), can we get a STI test? We got condoms, so miracles can happen.

*squints* Is that a heart on your chest, Sky? No, I'm not angry. No, you're not in trouble. No, you're perfect. I'm just working through my own stuff, so I'm gonna need a minute to process this.

If you wanna live that chismosa life, you gotta be aware of your surroundings. Amateur.

Yeah yeah yeah, the wind needs the windmill or whatever dumb shit Dangerous Romance said. Now go make the lapel pin of it, and GET BACK TO WORK! This reeks of nepotism because there is no other way you would still have a job.

Prapai calls Sky by his name, no honorifics. Prapai sleeps on the floor. Prapai asks his mom for advice on how to care for someone. *squints* This is sus af.

And now he is swerving advances and doing his job. *squints even harder* Are you actually trying to pass this course now?

I, too, would be sad if rope was spewing out of my shirt like that.

Prapai just swindled a key to Sky's apartment without asking Sky for it. WHY DON'T YOU WANT TO FUCKING PASS THIS COURSE?! I DO NOT WANT TO SEE YOUR ASS AGAIN NEXT SEMESTER!

I play with my ears when I get tired, so now I feel even more connected to you Sky, and PRAPAI IS KISSING YOU?! NOOOOO! STOP!!!!! HE'S TIRED! LEAVE MY BOY ALONE!

"I can't guarantee your safety if I stay" - It was a fake out, and I have lost years off my life because of this show. YEARS!

The first step is admitting you have a problem are the problem. *growth*

I'm not going to question the aerodynamics of riding with that project on a bike, but I will state that Prapai is the prefect example of the MAME Extremes I wrote about in the previous post because when he is good, he is really fucking good, but when he is bad, he is The Worst™ so can't we just find an in-between?

Don't you go pointing your scrawny finger at my boy like that! You're lucky he even still speaks to you. Shut up, five! A ten is thinking!

Prapai spending all his money on Sky. Prapai deleting all the numbers from his phone. Prapai getting the lapel pin. Prapai cleaning Sky's apartment. Prapai being honest about wanting Sky without being aggressive or crass. *squints so hard my head hurts* This is how Joe must feel with Ming in My Stand-In because I want to trust your ass, but my God, do you make it so fucking hard. I'm begging you to not screw up after this. PLEASE!

I've seen this scene eighty different ways from my dash, but hearing Sky tell Prapai to get bored with him quickly so he can move on while internally begging for Prapai not to get bored knowing what I know about his ex . . . it is salt in the wounds, poison in the wells, and the phone call from within the house. It is painful, deadly, and terrifying.

Prapai listening tentatively as Sky finally tells him what he actually likes to eat. Prapai responding with little tidbits he has learned about Sky along the way. Prapai giving shoulder kisses. Prapai asking about the ex. To quote RuPaul, "don't fuck it up"

Sig is the realest of all these boys, and I would give him the softest ear bites, the best thigh kisses, and the most amazing blowjob because that's what he deserves!

Prapai - Claim me. Own me. Mark me!

Sky - Gross.

While all of Payu's after scenes only made him look worse as he embraced the Manipulate-Mansplain-Malewife way into Rain's heart, all of Prapai's scenes make him seem like the biggest simp, and I am, once again, pleading for balance!

So now on to the next episo - - -

Wait a minute . . . I know this scene

This is where Sky gets in his head and distances himself, so Prapai breaks in and reads the journal. Oh no. Oh no no no.

*lays face first in a field of lavender*

I need liquor, ice, and a blender. They are all needed for different reasons. No, I will not elaborate.

[banjopolishh]

No place for lovers.

Stanford Pines, in all his years, never has experienced an inkling of romantic attraction. He never thought he would find the “right person”, as he didn’t think anyone’s intellect matched that of his.

That is until he met Fiddleford Hadron Mcgucket, expert in robotics and tech. The two met in college, exchanging joints and glances.

Fiddleford felt a deep sense of love for Stanford, one he was afraid of showing due to the times, but his love was simply undeniable.

Sadly, throughout the years, the two’s relationship became strained. Ford had his mind, heart, and soul set on making a portal.

He needed Fiddleford to help him, as he was “the only one he could trust”, in Stanfords words. Fiddleford agreed, and left his wife, a no brainer for him.

Fiddleford knew he was gay, he knew it all along, and so did Emma-May. The two were in a fake marriage, they married so the likelihood of Fidds being found out became none.

When Fiddleford arrived, a wave of nostalgic memories, and love washed over him. Stanford’s presence was blissfully safe to him.

Over time, as the two worked together on the portal, Fiddleford began noticing odd changes in his “colleague”; he was more erratic, nervous, staying up all hours of the night, and having panic attacks. This terrified the young mechanic, he was so afraid for his longtime companion, so he got right back to work on the portal.

Finally, after all their hard work, it was time to test it. Fidd’s had barely slept the night prior, wanting to perfect the portal for Stanford, he felt foggy and exhausted.

“3…2…1!”

They both let go of the test dummy, except, Fiddleford was still attached to the rope. His upper body went into the contraption, seeing everything on the other side of it.

What he saw?

A beast. Getting ready to feed. Exoskeleton, jaw wide open, teeth sharp and waiting to bite his head off.

He started screaming, begging for Ford to bring him back, his mind becoming scrambled.

“IVE GOT YOU BUDDY!” Stanford called and pulled him out with all his strength. Fiddleford fell to the ground with a thud, eyes wide and pupils huge.

Stanford held him, “What did you see!?” he begged, shaking him gently.

“When gravity falls, and earth becomes sky, fear the beast with just one eye,” Fidd’s spoke erratically, body still shaking. “This machine is dangerous. DESTROY IT BEFORE IT DESTROYS US ALL!” he grabbed Ford’s shoulder and pleaded with him.

Ford shook his head, “I-I can’t do that! It’s my life’s work! C’mon , you just have some interdimensional sickness!” he chuckled and went to reach for Fidd’s.

“YOU’RE THE ONE WITH THE SICKNESS!” Fidd’s shouted, he couldn’t believe this, Stanford was choosing a portal over him. A portal.

“I…I quit.” Is all Fidd’s said before leaving, wandering into the night.

lawl! i will be writing more fluff and stuff, just thought I’d test the angst … sorry 💔💔 forgive me

[dekariosmagic]

Memories of You - Gale x Tav

Paring: Gale Dekarios x Tav/Reader (Referred to as Tav)

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Word Count: 3,626

Description: Following Gale's use of the orb to save the city, Tav realizes she's been left with more than just a broken heart, and seeks out help in Waterdeep.

Based on this post from @dragonagitator (They wrote the first few lines 🙂)

Warnings: Mentions of possible canon death of a main character. Pregnancy. Sadness. Gale isn't alive in this. It hurts, but I tried to make the end a bit happier/hopeful.

“Morena Dekarios?” Tav approached nervously, her voice shaking. 

The stern-looking woman in front of her turned and looked her over with an expression of mild befuddlement, “Yes? Do I know you?”

“No, sorry, my name is Tav, and… I’m carrying your grandchild, and I don’t have anywhere else to go!” Tav blurts out, blinking back tears. 

The woman’s eyes widen, staring at her in shock as Tav instantly regrets her outburst. 

“I- I know Tara… and Elminster, if that helps,” she offers weakly. “They know Gale and are together. Were together…” she corrects and stares at the pavement trying to collect herself. 

“Give me your hand,” Morena finally responds, holding her own out. 

Tav quickly lays her hand in Morena’s palm. The older woman clasps it in her own, her eyes glowing blue as she stares seemingly through Tav for several minutes. 

As her eyes dim back to their normal shade, she takes a deep shuddered breath and pulls Tav into her for a hug, “Come with me dear. We’ll collect Tara on the way if she’s home.” 

She nods and wipes at the tears on her face and Morena takes her arm and leads her down the street briskly. “I’m going to want to know details. Later. What happened to my son,” she says roughly. “But not right here.” 

Tav’s gaze drifts to the buildings they pass as they walk in silence. Wondering how many of these buildings Gale had visited in all his years in Waterdeep. The city he grew up in and loved. The city he would never make it back to. 

He should have been the one to make it back here.

She fights back the tears again, spotting a library sign as they pass it, she locks her jaw in place. That building he’d definitely been in she concludes. Thoughts of him wandering through the aisles of shelves, the soft smile on his face when he found a book he wanted to read… the little expressions on his face as he concentrated on the words… 

The world gets blurry as the tears build in her eyes, scolding herself for losing it once again. She should be able to walk past a library without bursting into tears.

The buildings blur together, and she gets lost in her thoughts until Morena stops outside a building. Looking at it closer, she sees ‘Gale of Waterdeep’ written under the house number. Morena walks up the steps of the thin tall building, waving her hand to dispel a shimmer of magic and slots a key into the door. 

They hear the sound of hundreds of little mechanisms turning, and finally the door to the tower swings open. 

“Always a flair for the dramatics,” Tav mutters under her breath, Morena chuckles in response.

“Always, from the time he was a little boy. You’d think we’d told him he was to be starved and hung by the ankles because we wouldn’t get him a kitten. That he was so unloved and ‘punished unjustly.’ Then he summoned Tara within the week.” 

“I think he still took being told no on having a kitten as one of life’s great tragedies,” Tav laughs and steps up to run her fingers over his name on the building. “Anytime we would need to be stealthy anywhere, I might as well have just told him to run headlong into the build himself with how he reacted to having to sneak anywhere, we would not hear the end of it about his knees. Which to be fair, did crack quite loudly.”

“I always told him if he spent all his time sitting around reading, he’d regret it when he got older and lost youthful flexibility,” Morena says with a small smile. “Have you been here before?”

“Not… physically no,” she admits, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly. “He showed me illusions, would bring us here in our down time at camp. He… always would say how he’d bring me here one day when it was all over. Thoughts of this place pushed me through many battles.”

“Well, welcome to Gale’s Tower, officially,” his mother says, heading into the building and up a set of stairs. “You can look around if you wish, I’m going to look for Tara.”

Tav squares her shoulders, sets her jaw tightly, and steps through the doorway, swinging the door shut behind her. Almost immediately she’s hit with the scent of old books. A small smile pulls at her lip at the smell, the very one that seemed to always linger on Gale himself.

She wanders aimlessly through the base floor, discovering his kitchen at the back of the house. Surprisingly big for a one person household, but not particularly surprising for Gale. She runs her fingers over the cookbooks stacked on the counter, flipping one open to find notes stuck on nearly every page. His familiar handwriting with adjustments and comments on each recipe after he tried it. 

Setting the book down, she heads up the stairs to a small living area. A dark wood couch and chair with red cushions sat in the middle, surrounded by all manner of art work, statue, and knick-knack. And books. Of course books in every direction. 

Heading into the adjoining room, she freezes as she realizes it’s his bedroom. The big blue four poster bed he’d often conjured for them in the middle of the woods when they chose not to use illusions sits in the center of the room. 

She takes a few hesitant steps toward it, running her hand across the top blanket, clenching it in her fist as the familiar fabric touches her skin. Crawling onto the bed, she snatches one of the pillows and buries in her face in it, the scent of the shampoo he still always seemed to have on hand somehow during their travels still lingered on it. 

Her fingers tangled in his hair, his breathtaking smile, his teasing words.

Her eyes close as she sinks onto the bed, her arms shake as she clutches the pillow as tightly as she can. Her hand brushing another piece of fabric under the pillow as she moves. 

Lifting her head to pull it out, she finds a short sleeved bed shirt buried amongst the pillows. Plainer than the clothes he wore around camp, but a similar blue in color. Cradling the fabric in her arms, she collapses face first into the pillow and lets the tears she’d been fighting all day free. 

His home, his books, his bed, his pillow, his scent, his clothes. The tower equal parts comforting and devastating to be in. Laying here on the familiar bed she could almost pretend that any moment he’d join her. That the past few months had just been a nightmare she’d just awoken from to find his smiling face before her again. 

She brushes her hands over her belly, not exceedingly obvious yet, but not easy to hide. The only physical proof that their love had existed, that they’d gotten lost in one another countless times. That for a moment she knew what it felt like to be blissfully happy despite all odds. 

Everything else was gone or never existed. They’d always been together, no letters between them to be had. They hadn’t exactly sat down for a portrait, and the only people who really knew their love were dead or scattered across Faerûn by now. Tara knew, briefly. She’d not spent much time with the tressym, but Gale had told her later that he’d told Tara of their relationship in the few moments they took to rest and catch their breath. But it wasn’t as if Tara had lived at the camp with them.

“Tav?” A voice calls out, Tav lifts her face from the pillow in response to see Morena standing in the doorway, her own sadness evident on her face. 

“I’m sorry, I… I don’t know what to do. Or say,” Tav mutters softly, sitting up and moving to the edge of the bed. “

“Oh dear,” she says with the shake of her head, crossing the room to sit beside Tav and wrap an arm around her shoulders.

“How did you know I was telling the truth?” Tav asks as she tries to clear the rough sound from her voice. “I’m grateful, but I understand it sounded crazy.” 

“Oh it did,” Morena nods, stroking her arm. “I may not have pursued magic as he did, but I know a fair amount. And I can sense his magic.” 

“You could sense his magic on me?”

“Indeed. He left a message on you in a sense. It seems it was meant for Tara, since she’d have always been able to sense it on you. And also for you.” 

“A message?” She perks up immediately. “What did it say?” 

“If you would like, I can show you?” Morena asks as Tav nods immediately. They join hands once again, and Tav feels the same magic flow over her. “Close you eyes, count to five, then open.”

Eyes drifting shut, Tav tries to steady her breathing as she counts, but nearly gasps as she opens her eyes to an illusion of Gale.

The illusion of Gale smiles at her, gesturing with his hands nervously, “Well hello! Either Tara or Tav. I’ve placed this message on Tav in the event I don’t come back from our lovely little battle tomorrow. Tara, I’ve asked you to seek out Tav if you didn’t hear from me, and thank you for doing that. Any paperwork will be where you would expect it, copies amended as will be needed. Thank you for being my faithful friend all these years, I couldn’t have asked for a better one. I only made it this far because of you.”

The illusion shifts in his seat, glancing to the side for a moment before looking back at her. “Tav, my love, if you’re watching this… I’m sorry. I hope we do find another way tomorrow, but I know the reality is we may not. Or even if I’ve not used the orb, but met my end somewhere along the way. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to take you home, and that I’m going to miss that date we had planned. I want nothing more than to steal you away right now and run home to Waterdeep. Right now you sleep soundly beside me, I confess I used a spell on you to ensure you do, you of all of us need to be well-rested for what we’re attempting. 

“So I will get to my point my love,” his voice cracks with the words. “I love you, beyond words, beyond reason. I would spend the rest of my days beside you, no matter how long or short they are. If we make it through this, I plan to ask you to marry me. I want to be Gale Dekarios again, I want you to be Tav Dekarios, I want us to go back to Waterdeep and retire from all the blood and gore and danger. Wake up to you each morning, end each evening on the balcony with your form glowing with the sunset light. With my humble tower feeling even more like a home simply because you reside in it. 

“I want many things, and have precious little time for it with what may happen tomorrow. No matter how the day ends, never doubt that you were the single best thing to happen to me, and I don’t regret a second spent in your presence. You made me feel more alive in our time together than I have felt in an entire lifetime. That being said, the tower is yours. I told you it would be our home should you want it to be, and it is. Tara will help with any legalities of that, including, if you wish, being a Dekarios. Call me selfish or vain, perhaps just plain foolish to think you’d want to marry a man that can no longer be at your side, but should you have a similar sentiment, I’ve already signed the paperwork for that as well.”

He sighs deeply, once again glancing to his side where past Tav presumably sleeps beside him, “I hope I can remove this message from you at the end of the day tomorrow, and that you never have to see it. But should it come to pass that you are watching this, if there is another life we both come to exist in, I will find you. No matter how far I have to search or how different we are, I can imagine no world where my heart doesn’t desperately call out for yours. I love you, please take care of yourself my love.”

The illusion slowly fades away, leaving Tav sitting on his bed next to his mother once again, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. 

“Were you able to tell him about the pregnancy before, before he passed?” Morena asks quietly. 

“No,” Tav shakes her heads, squeezing the shirt still in her hands tightly. “I found out about a month after he passed that I was about two months along.” 

“Tara mentioned she ran into your traveling party outside Baldur’s Gate, and there has been news of, quite honestly insane reports of what happened there. I’m to assume that is where it happened, you two were part of this group saving the city?”

Tav nods slowly, “We all were fighting, but Gale saved the day. He… never wanted to worry you with the condition he had. A magical orb in his chest that craved magic, if it didn’t get that magic, it would explode. Mystra bid him to blow up the Elder Brain in Baldur’s Gate with it, but I convinced him to keep trying. That we’d find a different way.” 

She laughs bitterly and shakes her head, “We did for awhile. But in that final battle we were being destroyed. I was always the one with the plan, and I suddenly… had no plan. I could see no way out of it. He chose to use the orb to save us all. I cried and screamed and clung to him. Begging him to change him mind, begging him to let me at the very least die with him. But he wouldn’t let me. He told me he loved me, and to look to the sky for him. He teleported us outside the city, and did it. The explosion shook the city, took the Elder Brain out, and left the most beautiful aurora in the sky… the same as the night he told me he loved me for the first time. And he was gone.”

Morena sits beside her silently, her own eyes squeezed shut as she listens. She reaches over to gently grab Tav’s hand in her own. 

They sit in silence for several minutes absorbing the situation, Morena eventually speaking, “I watched the message. I know his feelings for you. You may not have married him, but he clearly wanted you to.”

She turns and grasps Tav’s arms to look into her eyes, “I am here for you, you are my family. Your child is my family, and I will care for you both. For many years it was just Gale, Tara, and myself. I’ve lost my son, but you are giving me a beautiful gift in coming to me and letting me be a part of your lives. I know Gale has left the tower to you, but you are also welcome at my own home. It’s not quite as large, but it is open to you.”

Tav practically dives into her arms, tears running down her face as she hugs Morena to her tightly, “You don’t know how much that means to me, I’ve had no idea what to do. I just… want our child to be safe and happy.” 

“They will be, my grandchild will be bordering on spoiled if we’re to be honest,” she smiles and pats Tav’s back. “Now how about we head upstairs and you can speak with Tara. She’s practically chomping at the bit to speak to you again, hopefully you have already accepted that you have a tressym in your life from now on. She intends to practically attach herself to your side.”

“After all the tales I’ve heard of her, I’m quite looking forward to that problem.”

-Seven Years Later- 

“Young Mr. Dekarios, you simply must set that down!” Tara chastises the young boy as he runs through the house with a large tome in his hands. 

Tav slips out of the next room and manages to snatch the book from his hands with a tut, “And just what do you think you’re doing with this? Advanced Wizardry isn’t exactly appropriate for you yet Orion.”

Orion stares up at his mother with his bottom lip protruded, flipping his long brown hair out of his face, “No it’s not! I can do it please!”

“No, right now the spells in here are too dangerous for you.”

“But you said I’m good at magic!” He shouts dramatically, throwing his arms out. 

She sets the tome down on the table beside her, kneeling down to his eye level she brushes his hair behind his ear, “Honey you don’t have to rush this. You are good at magic, but there is no shame in mastering each step before you take on something harder.”

“I- but I-,” he stutters, crossing his arms and staring at the wooden floor. “I want to be like father.” 

“Orion…” she says softly, reaching forward to pull her son into her arms for a hug. “You’re more like him than you know, but you don’t have to master his level of magic by now. He had years and years of practice and study.” 

“They talk about him at school,” Orion responds eventually, kicking at the floor as he hangs onto his mother. “He was in our textbook for inventing a spell. The other children made fun of me for not knowing it… I need to know more, I have to be the best or I shame him.” 

“I guarantee they don’t know the spell either, and they can talk as much as they want but you are his son. Magical ability aside, one day you will be able to do that spell just as well as him because you have his dedication to do it. There is no shame in not knowing a spell your father created in his late 20s, at age seven. Also I’m sure most of them can’t say they’ve learned some spells from Elminster himself.”

Orion pulls back with a laugh, “I learn more about cheese than I do magic from him!” 

“No one else needs to know that detail,” Tav teases and taps his nose. “But Elminster would not put his time into someone he didn’t believe in, as your father once said ‘you don’t get to be thirteen centuries old without becoming a sound judge of character.’” 

“How is he even that old? What kind of magic is that? Was father really old?” Orion asks, his eyes twinkling.

“Your father was most decidedly not anywhere near that old,” she chuckles. “No age altering magic for him, at least at the time. I wouldn’t have put it past him to have eventually looked into it. Whether he used it or not, he would have wanted to know.”

“Well I want to know!” He exclaims. “I could be the great Orion Dekarios, Arch mage and defier of time itself!” He leaps up onto the couch as he poses, muttering a spell under his breath to summon fire into his hand. 

“Alright put the fire away great mage,” she grins and stands up, ruffling his hair. 

“Arch mage,” he emphasizes, the spell disappearing from his hand as he turns to Tara. “With my trusty Tressym at my side, how could I fail?” 

Tara purrs in amusement, “Certainly Mr. Dekarios. You’ll need me to keep you out of trouble.” 

“Now you go get cleaned up,” Tav says ushering her son toward the hallway. “Your grandmother is going to be here soon for dinner.” 

“Grandma is coming?” He asks excitedly. “Do you think she has a new adventure book for me? Or chocolate? Or one of dad’s old things?”

“You should be excited just for her coming,” she teases him and shakes her head. “Not what gifts she brings.”

“Well duh of course I want to see grandma,” he rolls his eyes dramatically. “But she brings the best gifts too.” 

“Fine fine, you go get ready,” she shoos him off, watching until he disappears into a room down the hall. 

“He’s growing into a fine young man,” Tara says with a long stretch. 

“He is,” Tav agrees, picking up some of his books from the floor. “I just wish Gale was here to see it.” 

“Mr. Dekarios would be far proud of him,” she assures her. “And of you. You’ve done an exceptional job.”

“I try my best,” she answers with a soft smile, turning to look at the portrait of Gale on the wall. A younger Gale than she knew. In his late 20’s with no sign of grey yet in his hair. From a time Morena had managed to get him to sit for a portrait. 

She brushes her fingertips along his face, looking to the portrait of Orion hung beside it. 

Glancing behind her to see Tara had gone off to her own affairs, Tav turns back and leans up to press a kiss to the portrait of Gale, whispering words under her breath, “Thank you… for giving me the best times of my life, and the greatest blessing I could have ever imagined.”