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kookooluvr · 7 months ago

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Teach Me How To Love - Part 3

jeon jungkook, a fellow professor at yonsei university, is your friend, co-worker, and secret bed buddy. you have rules set in place to make sure there are no misunderstandings in your little arrangement. the #1 rule is as clear as day; no catching feelings. simple, right? wrong. let's see how un-simple it gets when a certain economics professor falls for an emotionally unavailable political science professor.

pairing: professor!jungkook x (fem) professor!reader, fwb to lovers

genre: fluff, angst, smut, fwb au, economicsprofessor!jungkook, politicalscienceprofessor!reader, slow burn, some emotional constipation, some sappy moments, lots of sexy moments.

rating: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

w/c: 6.7k

warnings: we get to know the besties a bit, jihyo and tae being our cutesie side characters <3 oc and jk both spill the beans to their friends,mentions of the infamous ex (booo, throwing tomatoes), oc buys and wears lingerie for jk, she sends him a photo in said lingerie, explicit sexual content; making out, oral sex (f. receiving), unprotected sex, missionary, squirting, soft dom jk, multiple orgasms, jk learns something new about oc, jk's in his feelings, my poor baby, jk's also a teeny tiny bit of a stalker...but in a sweet way if that makes any sense 😭😭😭

a/n: part 3 took longer than i would've liked bc my procrastination was kicking my ass. anyway, pls enjoy !!! things will start being a bit more eventful from part 4 onwards so bear with me 🥹 as usual, make sure to like, reblog and pleeeaaase share all your thoughts and feelings about these kiddos 🫂🫶🏼

taglist: @rpwprpwprpwprw @mimi1097 @livinluvl @bumblebee-21s-blog @koosluvss @sou-17 @puppybunnyjkay @svnbangtansworld @junecat18 @shrek-the-destroyer @tastykookoonut @sturniolowrld @palomanazareth

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It's been a week since Jungkook came over. You spoke here and there in passing but you haven't had a chance to actually hang out again after that night because you're both just too busy prepping for final exams before the long awaited summer break. This time of year is always a bit crazy for both the students and the educators, which leaves you with almost no time to mess around with cute economics professors.

You've been a bit stressed out all week, so you really weren't planning on spending your Saturday in a busy mall, looking through racks of lingerie, and yet that's exactly what you're doing. Why? Because Jihyo texted you saying she needed your help in buying something sexy to wear on an upcoming date she has with some guy she met at work. His name's Mark and from what she's told you about him, he sounds...promising.

Jihyo, unlike you, is looking for a boyfriend. Boy, is she looking. She's gone on about seven dates with five different men in the past couple of months and she is yet to find her Mr. Right. From what she's told you, she's looking for someone educated, tall, handsome, funny, and someone who can "match her freak". The closest she got to that was some guy she met at a club two months ago, who was lucky enough to get three whole dates before he eventually gave her the ick by referring to his mother as 'mommy'. For her own sanity, you hope Mark won't make that same mistake.

However, Jihyo's mind isn't on Mark right now. Oh no, she's much more focused on the man you're seeing.

"___, come on. We've been best friends since the fifth grade. Are you really going to look me in my eye and tell me you're not seeing anyone? And don't lie to me."

You roll your eyes, scanning the rack of pink satin and red lace, feeling the different fabrics between your fingers. One minute, you were asking her about Mark and how they met, and the next thing you know, you're being interrogated in the middle of a lingerie store.

"I'm not looking you in your eye. I'm looking at lingerie. Ooh, this is pretty."

Jihyo loves you, really, she does. You've known each other for most of your lives. That means she supports you in everything you do. That also means she can see right through your bullshit when no one else can. She's been suspicious of you and your apparent mystery man for a while now, and she won't stop asking you about him until she gets answers.

"I'm serious. I know you're seeing someone. You're not slick, babe. I know you inside and out, and I have really good intuition...and I might have seen a text I shouldn't have when your phone was on the table at the restaurant during lunch."

Dammit.

"I don't know what you're talking about." You feign ignorance, refusing to spill the beans even after practically getting caught. You and Jungkook both swore to keep it between the two of you. It's one of the rules. Who knows what will happen if you just start breaking rules all willy-nilly. Sure, it's not that big of a deal if you tell one friend, especially your best friend, but that's how it starts. You're breaking this rule, and then another and another until you're Robin Thicke and the lines are blurred.

"Cut the shit," Jihyo says dryly, crossing her arms over her chest, clearly unwilling to drop the subject. "Who is this mysterious 'prof jeon' and why was he asking you when you're free to see him?"

You let out a defeated sigh, looking over at her. You know that look on her face. She's just going to keep asking if you don't tell her and it's pointless lying about it. She can be a pain in your ass at times but she's definitely not stupid. And besides, she's your best friend. You'd be a bad best friend for not telling her that you're basically getting the best sex of your life, right?

Screw it.

"Okay, I'm not even supposed to tell anyone about it and it's really not a big deal but...I'm kinda sleeping with one of the other professors at work." You quickly press your lips together as soon as the words leave your mouth, looking back at the lingerie to avoid her eyes and all the questions you know you're about to be bombarded with in a second.

"What?!"

"Can you keep your voice down?" you whisper-yell, noticing a few people turning their heads to see what the sudden outburst was about.

"Sorry," she mutters with a snort, clearly not expecting that news. "Who is this professor? What's his name? Jeon who? Why didn't I know about this sooner? Since when have you-"

You cut her off before she can get the rest of her questions out.

"His name is Jungkook, he teaches economics, and before you ask, no, he's not my boyfriend or anything like that. I'm still not ready for that. We met a few months after I transferred to work at the university and we were just work-friends for the most part, but then we hooked up one night last year and it wasn't really supposed to happen again because we were a bit drunk but it was so good, and then it happened two more times and then...well, then we just agreed to keep having casual sex. That's it."

Jihyo is quiet for a moment, processing the information that was just thrown at her. How have you been sleeping with this man for a year and she had no idea? She's actually quite impressed that you could keep it a secret for that long.

"Wow."

"That's it? That's all you're gonna say?" you chuckle, turning around to look at her with a light blue lacey set in your hands.

"I just...I'm happy for you. I'm glad you're putting yourself out there again after Sunghoon. I really thought you were going to swear off men for the rest of your life after him."

And there it is. The reminder of the man you spent most of your teenage and early adulthood loving, the man who you thought you would grow old with, the bane of your existence. If it's not your friends or your mother reminding you of him, it's your own brain. You don't blame her for bringing him up, though. He is the main reason why you're so opposed to actually committing yourself to someone again.

"Yeah, well...it's not like Jungkook and I are dating or anything. It's just sex. No big deal," you mutter, not wanting to go down that road right now.

Jihyo knows your love life (or lack thereof) is a bit of a sensitive subject for you. She was there for you when Sunghoon broke your heart. She let you stay over at her apartment when you were too sad to be alone. She sat with you as you cried on her bathroom floor, so this is a big deal to her. This means that you don't spend your nights crying over that human shit stain anymore, and she doesn't blame you for keeping it private. All she really wants is for you to be happy.

"Still. It's progress, babe."

"Yeah, I guess it is."

"So, uhh... how is he?" She grins, gesturing to her genital area, wanting all the long, girthy, veiny details. She can't help but be a little nosey. Besides, what's the point of having a best friend of almost two decades if you can't ask her about the juicy details of her sex life.

"I'm not telling you that, you pervert," you laugh, holding the lacey lingerie out for her to take. She takes it without even looking at it, her focus solely on you and your professor friend.

"You have to tell me. Okay fine, just give me a number from one to ten then... Looks?"

You sigh but decide to indulge her anyway. "Ten."

"You lucky bitch," she scoffs, looking very impressed. "Skills in the bedroom?"

"Nine point five."

"And you're exclusively hooking up, right?"

You nod.

"Okay, ___, please explain to me why we're in a lingerie store and you're not buying something to make this man drool over you," Jihyo deadpans, looking at you like you're insane.

"Don't be ridiculous, we're not here for me. We're here for you and your date."

"And we're not leaving until we both get something." She starts looking through the racks with more determination. "You said Professor Sexyboots is a ten. You have to wear something sexy for him. At least for my sake."

"Professor Sexyboots? I'm sure he'd love that," you scoff, rolling your eyes at her ridiculous nickname for him.

Jihyo is about to respond when she looks up at something and freezes, her eyes widening, causing you to turn your head to follow her line of sight, your eyebrows raising. On one of the mannequins sits a stunning deep-red bra and matching thong, looking like something straight off a Victoria's Secret runway. It's gorgeous, with intricate lace detailing, and it's completely out of your comfort zone.

"No way, I can't."

"What are you talking about?! You'd look so hot. C'mon, it would be so fun. You could send him a little sneak peek and invite him over and he can take it off with his teeth," she snickers, having way too much fun with this whole thing.

You're not sure how exactly you let Jihyo convince you to buy the skimpy lingerie, but you did, which is why you're sitting in a rather suggestive pose in front of your floor-length mirror in your bedroom. It's silly to feel nervous about sending him a naughty photo. He's seen you naked more times in this past year than you can count, and yet this makes you nervous.

You take the photo and press send before quickly tossing your phone on the bed, letting out a deep sigh.

Jungkook is in the middle of watching some random show on Natural Geographic when he gets your text. He unlocks his phone and all the air gets knocked out of his lungs when his eyes land on the photo of you wrapped in the delicate dark red lace, muttering a breathless, "Sweet baby Jesus".

His fingers shake as he types out a reply, his heart hammering in his chest.

prof jeon [9:46pm]: i've never really been a very religious man prof jeon [9:46pm]: but damn, god is good 😳

You [9:47pm]: LMAO You [9:47pm]: come over

prof jeon [9:48pm]: aye-aye captain 🫡

He rushes to his room to get a hoodie, quickly putting it on while getting a confused look from a half-asleep Bam. He walks over to give the sleepy dog a quick kiss on his forehead and some scratches before getting his car keys, his body working faster than his brain. “Bam, daddy’s gotta go take care of aunty ___, okay? I’ll be back later.” And with that, he’s out the door.

He makes his way downstairs to the parking lot and gets in his car, fumbling with the car keys in a rush to get to your apartment. He knows he probably looks like a teenage virgin right now, but he doesn't care. You always manage to make his midsection tingle and his brain feel all scattered. When he finally manages to get the car started, it takes everything in him to stay within the speed limit as he drives over to you.

You're about to text him to ask how far he is from your apartment, when there's a knock at the front door. You wrap a robe around your body and go to answer the door, seeing a breathless Jungkook leaning his arm up against the wall in the hallway.

"Good evening, Professor," he grins, straightening up to walk inside, eyeing you from head to toe as you close the door behind him. Before you can get a chance to respond, his lips are on yours, his hands cradling your jaw as he kisses you, completely taking you by surprise.

You pull away to look up at him with wide eyes, letting out a little chuckle. "So just straight to the point? No small talk, nothing?"

"Is that what you want?" he asks, looking down at your robe-clad body. "Small talk? Want me to ask you how your day was before I spread your legs?"

"Not really, no."

"Yeah, I didn't think so," he mutters before his lips are back on yours. He picks you up by the back of your thighs in one swift motion, your arms wrapped around his neck as he carries you to your bedroom, eager to get that damn robe off.

He gets to the bedroom and gently lays you down on your back before hurriedly removing his glasses, pulling his hoodie over his head, his t-shirt following quickly behind. He leans down to hover over you, his lips kissing from your neck up to your lips, sensually licking into your mouth to taste more of you while his fingers trail up your thigh under the robe.

He pulls back to look down at you with heavy-lidded eyes, his fingers slowly opening your robe. "Can I take this off?"

You nod and your robe is off within seconds, leaving you in nothing but the skimpy lingerie. His throat goes completely dry. "Fuck. You're trying to give me an asthma attack."

"You don't have asthma," you laugh, rolling your eyes.

"The point is that you're fucking hot, ___."

You scoff and pull him back down to crash your lips onto his, his tongue slipping into your mouth with ease. Your hands lightly travel up his biceps and shoulders, the sensation sending shivers down his spine. You slide your fingers through his hair and give it a little tug, pulling a soft moan from his lips. He loves when you play with his hair, and he especially loves when you tug on it, whether it's while he's kissing you or eating you out.

You pull away slightly to press a few light pecks to his lips, his stomach erupting with butterflies. "You're so good at that," he mutters, gently tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth.

"At what, kissing?"

"Mm," he hums with a lazy little grin on his face. "Might need you to demonstrate again, just to make sure."

You laugh, placing another kiss to his lips, lingering there for a bit before pulling away.

"Mm, one more," he whispers before his mouth is back on yours, his tongue tangling with yours as the kiss grows more heated.

He reluctantly breaks away from your mouth, his lips trailing down your neck, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses on your skin.

He nips at your pulse point, his teeth leaving a little red spot on your flesh.

"Jungkook, I'm going to kill you if there's a mark," you mutter, but the huff of laughter he lets out tells you he doesn't care.

"You'll be fine," he chuckles, his voice hoarse with desire, his tongue tracing the mark he left behind. He leans on one hand while the other slowly trails up the side of your ribs, making its way to the back of your bra.

"This is so pretty," he whispers, giving your earlobe a little tug with his teeth. "Can I take it off yet?"

"Mhm," you nod, slightly arching your back off the bed to let him unclasp the bra. He slowly slides the fabric off your body and tosses it aside, kissing his way down to your breasts. He licks and sucks on each of your nipples before trailing slow, soft kisses down your stomach.

"Lift your hips for me, baby." You do as he says, his fingers hooking into the sides of the tiny lace thong, slowly pulling the fabric down your legs.

You spread your legs for him, showing him your glistening folds. The sight alone makes his sweatpants feel tighter. He kneels down at the edge of the bed, spreading your legs further apart. He kisses his way up your leg from your calf to your inner thigh, holding your ankle over his broad shoulder.

His lips inch even closer to your pussy, just a few centimeters from where you need him most. "Jungkook," you whine, your arousal growing by the second.

He chuckles teasingly, stopping at your inner thigh. "You're so whiny."

"Don't tease, Kook."

He grins, hovering his mouth over your pussy, his breath fanning over your folds. "Love seeing you all worked up for me," he murmurs, slowly licking his lips before pressing a feather-like kiss to your mound.

"Just shut up and eat me out."

"Yes, ma'am."

He starts slow with wet little kisses and licks to your clit, slowly building up a steady pace. He loves eating you out. He could go for hours if you let him, like a starved man getting a taste of his favourite food. Jungkook's always been more of a giver than a taker, your pleasure bringing him pleasure.

He's incredibly skilled with his tongue, knowing exactly what to do to have your legs trembling. He swirls and flicks his tongue, sucking and lapping at your clit to make your eyes roll back in your head.

"Fuck, Jungkook...feels so good," you sigh, your eyes fluttering shut.

He smiles against your pussy, feeling proud of every little sigh and moan he pulls from your lips. "You taste so good," he mutters before diving back in, licking a long stripe from your leaking entrance to your clit, his hands gripping your thighs to keep them open.

"Just like that...oh my god, don't stop..."

He looks up at you with a dazed look in his eyes, his tongue lapping at you with skilled precision that makes your toes curl, your fingers gripping the sheets beneath you.

"F-fuck, 'm gonna cum," you gasp, grabbing onto his hair to hold him in place, your eyes squeezing shut, your head spinning as the pleasure reaches a peak.

A few more sucks and flicks of his tongue and you're cumming, his hands holding you in place as he laps at your pussy, helping you ride out your high. He feels your thighs quivering, looking quite proud of himself. "You taste so fucking good," he murmurs, pressing a few soft kisses to your clit.

"Holy shit." You're breathless, your pussy pulsating, your heart racing.

He crawls up to hover over you, giving your lips a quick peck, his lips and chin glistening. "Still with me?"

"Mhmm," you grin, slowly opening your eyes to look up at him.

He smiles down at you, taking in your flushed cheeks, your disheveled hair, your pretty eyes. He gently brushes some of your hair out of your face, his thumb lightly stroking your cheek. "You're beautiful, ___," he whispers, his voice laced with tenderness.

"Don't say that."

He furrows his brows in confusion, puzzled by your reaction. "Why not? It's the truth."

"Tell me I'm sexy...not beautiful."

He chuckles, slowly shaking his head, his expression filled with amusement and affection. "You're gorgeous," he whispers, lightly kissing your cheek, his lips trailing over to your ear. "And incredibly sexy."

"You gonna fuck me now?" You tease, your lips curling into a soft smile.

He almost laughs at your bluntness, the way you just get straight to the point, never wasting any time if you want something. Your assertiveness has always been a turn-on for him, not just in the bedroom, but in general.

"That's the plan, yeah."

"Let's get this show on the road then."

He gets up off you and removes his sweatpants and boxers, letting it lay somewhere on your bedroom floor. He's already hard, his cock standing tall, the tip already leaking a bit. He stands at the end of your bed, his hand wrapped around the base, his eyes glued between your legs, slowly trailing up to your face.

He crawls back on top of you, sliding his fingers through your folds, gathering some of your slick and rubbing it over the head of his cock. "Ready, baby?"

You give him a nod and he slowly pushes into you, his hips gently moving forward. "Shit, you feel good," he groans, his voice coming out low and hoarse.

You sharply inhale through your nose, feeling that familiar stretch, your walls molding to the shape of him like it was made for him.

He thrusts slowly, bracing his forearms on either side of your head, his forehead resting against yours. His thrusts get deeper until he bottoms out, his breathing growing heavier, his moans going straight to your core. He buries his face in your neck, feeling your hands gripping the muscles in his back as he thrusts harder.

Your moans grow louder as he thrusts into you, your walls fluttering around him, your legs wrapping around his waist. "Fuck, that feels so good."

"Yeah? You like that, baby?" he grins, pressing wet kisses to your neck and chest.

You've never had a man make you feel the way Jungkook does. He knows exactly how to touch you, how to kiss you, how to have you like putty in his hands. Your skin heats up, your heart pounding faster as he picks up the pace, hitting that spot deep inside you that makes your back arch off the bed.

"Mmm, f-fuck...harder...h-harder, baby," you moan, feeling him lift one of your legs over his shoulder, the tip of his cock repeatedly hitting that sweet spot inside you, the new angle allowing him to thrust even deeper.

"Like that?" He grunts, sitting back on his knees, his thrusts hitting harder, his pace getting faster.

"Oh my god, right there...feels s-so good, Kook."

"Wanna cum again?"

You can barely form a coherent sentence anymore. Your moans mixed with the sound of his skin slapping against yours fills your bedroom, his thrusts making your pussy squelch.

"Use your words, baby."

"Wanna...wanna cum," you whine, feeling him hold your leg next to his head and press wet kisses to your ankle and calf, the pressure and pace of his thrusts feeling just right.

"Hold it." His voice is rough and demanding, a stark contrast to the gentle tone he usually uses with you outside of the bedroom, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

He ignores your whines and pleas for him to let you cum, thrusting as deep as he can go, his free hand reaching down to push his thumb into your mouth. Your body works on autopilot, sucking on his thumb. You swirl your tongue around it like you would do to his cock, causing his hips to stutter before he regains his composure.

"Such a good girl for me. Gonna make you cum so hard, baby."

He pulls his thumb out of your mouth to rub firm circles over your clit, the pressure paired with his thrusts making your head spin. The pressure starts to build in your lower stomach, and it feels different, better than it usually does, your pussy clenching down harder around his cock.

"Feels...f-feels like I'm gonna...p-pee..."

He lets out a faint chuckle, his hips moving with determination. "You're not gonna pee, baby," he mutters, his tone sounding almost teasing.

"H-how do you know?"

"Trust me, baby, I know. You're not gonna pee." He can tell you're close, your body practically begging for release as he rubs your clit faster. He looks down to where your bodies connect, seeing how swollen and puffy your pussy looks, the sight making his cock twitch. "It's gonna feel so good, baby, I promise."

"Gonna...gonna cum-"

"I know, baby. Let go for me...let it all out."

You cum with a loud cry, your body convulsing beneath him, your vision going blank as the pleasure hits you. It feels relentless, like nothing you've ever felt before, and he's made you cum many times before.

"Fuck, that's my girl." His thrusts slow down but they don't stop, keeping his pace steady to help you through it. "That's it, baby...ride it out..."

Your body trembles as you come down from your high, barely able to register him pulling out. Your eyes are half open as you watch him stroke himself above you, his face contorting in pleasure, his abdomen tensing. He finishes with a guttural moan of your name, painting your stomach and breasts with warm strings of cum.

"Fuck. I think I just saw Jesus," he breathes out, his chest heaving as he gasps for air.

"Yeah? What did he tell you?" You chuckle breathlessly, still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm.

"He said you squirted."

Your eyes almost bulge out of your head, looking down to find his lower stomach and pelvis drenched.

"Oh my god," you groan, your words muffled by your hands as you cover your face.

"Hey, don't be embarrassed. It was probably the sexiest thing I've ever seen," he murmurs with a faint chuckle, gently pulling your hands away from your face, forcing you to look at him, his face looking rather smug.

"You look very pleased with yourself."

"Can you blame me? I made you feel so good, you practically exploded all over me," he grins, looking down at the mess between your legs. "Ohh, she's so swollen now. She took a bit of a beating, huh?"

You let out bashful scoff, your cheeks heating up at his choice of words.

He quickly gets up to go and clean himself off in the bathroom, coming back to slip his boxers back on. He watches you slowly get up off the messy bed, your knees feeling weak as you clumsily walk off to the bathroom, needing a hot shower after that intense session. He sits on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his hands as he watches you stumble.

"Legs a little wobbly there?" he teases, unable to stop the amused smile from spreading across his face.

"Shut up," you mutter as you make your way to the bathroom, earning a little laugh from him.

While you're in the shower, he takes it upon himself to remove the dirty covers and sheets from your bed, looking for your lavender room-spray on your vanity. He knows you always spray it around the room after sex, and he knows you keep it on your vanity, but for some reason he can't find it there. What he does find, however, is a framed photo he's never seen before. You're in it, and it looks like it was taken on the day of your undergrad graduation ceremony. You're standing next to a younger-looking girl, whose face is quite similar to yours. She is just slightly taller with shorter hair. Jungkook doesn't know much, or rather anything, about your family, but he assumes the girl in the photo is your sister.

He picks up the frame and goes to sit down on the bed, inspecting it closely. He feels a bit guilty, like he's been caught red-handed for snooping when you come out the bathroom wrapped in your robe, your eyes landing on the frame in his hands.

"What're you doing?"

"Sorry," he murmurs, his eyes growing wide, feeling like a child that's been caught stealing. "I just...I was looking for your room spray...or mist, whatever it is, and... I, uhm, I don't know, I guess this just caught my eye. I've been here many times but I've never really looked around, y'know?"

You nod slowly, going to sit next to him at the edge of the bed.

"Is this...your sister?"

You look up at him, seeing the surprise on his face.

You and Jungkook have sex. You work at the same university. You're "work-friends" and that surprise on his face is a reminder of how little he truly knows about you, how little of yourself you actually share with him. He knows you have a cat, but he doesn't know you have a sister. He knows the way you take your coffee, but he doesn't know anything about your childhood. It's a stark contrast to how much you know about him. You know his favourite foods because he's very specific about where he gets his takeout from. You know his favourite brand of beer because he always has it stocked up in his fridge. You know all about his family dynamics because he speaks about them all the time, that his brother just had a baby, that her name is Mijoo. You know all of his hobbies and interests because you're quite observant and he's very open, never feeling the need to keep anything to himself. You're similar in some aspects of your personalities, and yet very different.

"Yeah, that's my sister, Yuna," you murmur softly, looking down at the photo with a tight-lipped smile.

He absorbs this new information, a mix of feelings swirling inside him. Part of him feels slightly hurt. Four years of knowing each other and a year of hooking up, and he's only just found out you have a sister. He's an open book, always sharing all these intimate details about himself with you, yet you keep so many parts of yourself hidden from him. He wonders if it's just in your nature or if you deliberately keep him at arm's length, preventing him from getting too close.

At the same time, a small spark of hope lights up within him. You're not completely shutting him down so that's good. Maybe this is a sign that you're actually opening up to him for once. It might seem minor, but he takes it as a huge step forward with you.

He has a million questions he wants to ask, but settles for, "What's she like?"

There's a beat of silence before you speak. "She's, uhm...she's three years younger than me, and she's probably the most extroverted person you'll ever meet, so we're...very different," you scoff, smiling fondly at the thought of your baby sister.

He listens intently as you talk about your sister. He wants nothing more than for you to let your guard down with him, and this is a start. It's small, but it's something.

"That must make for an interesting sibling dynamic, hm?"

"We actually get along great in spite of that. We grew up super close, so..." You speak softly, feeling a bit uncomfortable with showing even just a hint of vulnerability in front of him. "So, yeah. Now you know that about me."

"Yeah," he murmurs softly, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "Now I know."

You gently take the frame from his hands and walk over to your vanity, putting it back in its place. You pick up the lavender room spray and turn to him with a faint smile. "This what you were looking for?"

"There's the damn thing," he scoffs, the familiar scent filling his nose as you give the room a spritz. "Is that to get rid of the smell of me?"

You chuckle, but you don't deny it.

The room falls silent again, and he takes it as his cue to get out of your hair, seeing as it's already midnight and he doesn't want to push his luck.

"I should, uh...I should go. It's late and I don't wanna keep you out of your beauty sleep," he jokes, slowly getting up to put his clothes back on.

"I'll walk you out." He wishes, just once, that you would ask him to stay, but he knows you won't. He walks behind you, stopping at the front door. He so badly wants to reach out and take your face in his hands, to kiss your lips and ask you to let him spend the night with you, but when you open the door for him, he simply puts his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants and walks out into the hallway.

"Thanks for tonight," he mumbles, looking down at you with a soft look in his eyes. "It was fun."

"Yeah, it was," you smile, tilting your head to lean against the half-open door.

He just looks at you, not making a move to leave. He has so much he wants to say right now, but he swallows it down, just like he always does, not wanting to overstep.

"Well...goodnight."

"Night, Jungkook."

He takes a small step back, reluctantly turning to leave. "Goodnight, ___," he mumbles, looking back at you with a soft smile.

You chuckle, sensing his reluctance to leave. "Goodnight, Jungkook."

He turns and starts walking away, his feet feeling heavier with each step. Just as he's about to make a U-turn and walk back to you, he hears the soft click of your door shutting, the lock echoing in the empty hallway.

He sighs and walks over to the elevators, going down to his car. He mentally kicks himself for feeling so disappointed. He's always known that you keep yourself guarded, and he thought he could handle it, could play by your rules, could be content with a primarily physical relationship. He could before. But right now, sitting in his car in the silent parking lot, he's reminded of how weak he really is.

He leans his forehead forward against the steering wheel, the weight of his feelings sitting heavy in his chest, muttering a soft, "Fuck."

With a heavy sigh, he starts the car and drives home, his brain taunting him with the fact that romance isn't a possibility for you and him.

On Monday, Jungkook is back in work mode. He tries to squeeze in as many revision lectures as he can the closer it gets to final exams. It's around 3pm when he finally gets a breather, so he goes to his usual spot for lunch.

He sits in the empty lounge, like he does almost every day. Why this specific lounge? Because if he looks out the window, he has a perfect view of you sitting below, eating your lunch on your usual bench. Sometimes you're alone, sometimes you're with another lecturer, and on rare days you just have lunch in your office.

"There you are." He hears Taehyung's voice as he walks into the lounge, sitting down across from him with a huff. "You weren't answering your phone."

Jungkook doesn't respond, his eyes not wavering. He looks out the window with a dopey look on his face, watching you eat your gimbap. Taehyung follows his line of sight, catching on rather quickly.

"So... you taking an online course on how to be a stalker, or...?"

"What are you talking about?" He scoffs, looking over at Taehyung before his eyes inevitably drift back down to you.

"You're staring like a creep," Taehyung laughs, taking a bite of his sandwich. "Is she that professor I saw you talking to the other day?"

"Mm." Jungkook knows how nosey his best friend can be, and he knows exactly what's going on in that head of his.

Taehyung gives him a knowing smile. He doesn't even have to say much, already knowing it's only a matter of time before Jungkook spills.

"You have a thing for her, huh?"

Jungkook looks at him with wide eyes, feeling exposed without even confessing anything. "What? I didn't even say anythi-"

"Don't bother," Taehyung chuckles, "You're not very subtle, man. Your eyes give you away."

Jungkook feels his cheeks burn, knowing he's been caught. He hates how transparent he is, that his feelings are written all over his face. "Fine. But it's not a big deal."

Taehyung gives him a look that says, 'You sure about that?'

Jungkook looks at his friend, then down at his lap, twiddling his thumbs. There's a long silence before the word-vomit eventually spills out of him.

"We've been having sex for a year and it was just casual at first, well...it still is casual, and we set a few rules so that there's still boundaries between us, but then I started developing feelings and she's just so guarded, like, she won't open up to me and I know that if she finds out I have feelings for her, she'll pull away and it'll ruin everything," he rambles, the words tumbling out like he's been dying to tell someone. He knows it was supposed to stay between the two of you, but he trusts Taehyung implicitly and he knows his friend would never judge him or the situation.

Taehyung looks at him with raised eyebrows, listening to him ramble on about the whole situation, trying to wrap his head around it. He knows how much of a softie Jungkook is and he never thought he would ever hear him say he has a friend with benefits.

"Damn, dude...you look like you needed to get that off your chest."

"I guess I did, yeah," Jungkook murmurs with a little scoff.

"Okay, so, she explicitly told you she's not interested in you romantically?"

"Well, no, she didn't say it directly, but she doesn't have to," Jungkook sighs. "She's made it clear more than once that she's not looking for anything serious from me."

"Damn," Taehyung murmurs, his face full of sympathy. "Has she said why?"

Jungkook looks back out the window, looking down at you with a melancholy expression on his face. "I know it's something to do with her ex, but she won't tell me the full story, so I don't really know what happened. I know she's been hurt before and she's wary of it happening again. I know she's not ready for anything serious, and I respect that. It's just..."

"You thought it would be enough for you?" Taehyung asks softly, carefully.

"Yeah."

"But it's not?"

"Would it make me an awful, selfish person if I said it's not?"

"No," Taehyung says firmly, a soft smile forming on his face. "It would make you a human being with a soft heart and strong feelings."

Jungkook scoffs, feeling guilty for simply thinking of being with you in a romantic sense. He knows you've been through some hard things in the past, and all he wants is a chance to prove himself to you.

"Do you want to tell her how you feel about her?"

"I don't know," Jungkook mutters, a slight pout forming on his lips. "I keep going back and forth about it in my head. Part of me wants to tell her and lay all my cards out on the table for her...another part of me is scared of pushing her away even further."

Taehyung goes silent for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip in thought. "Is the sex good?"

Jungkook narrows his eyes at his friend. "You have the worst timing."

Taehyung chuckles, shrugging like he just couldn't help but ask.

Jungkook rolls his eyes but gives in, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, it's...it's really good. Probably the best sex I've ever had, if I'm being real."

"Wow," Taehyung scoffs, his eyes wide. "I'd say you should wife her but...y'know..."

Jungkook gives him a dirty look, once again getting a slap from reality, Taehyung subtly wincing at his friend's misfortune.

"Look, I want to say screw her and it's her loss because you're a fuckin’ catch...but I mean, I get that she's just being cautious because of whatever happened with her ex."

Jungkook sighs, nodding slowly.

"Yeah. I just wish I could prove to her that I would never hurt her, that I would respect her and treat her right." Jungkook mentally curses your ex for screwing things up for him. He just wants a fair shot with you. "She's such a beautiful woman and she doesn't even see it."

Taehyung nods, looking out at you through the window. "Yeah, she's very attractive."

"No, I mean, she's stunning, but...the way she speaks, the way she acts, the person she is...she's just so beautiful. I want her for so much more than her physical being," Jungkook murmurs softly, his heart yearning to show you just how lovely he thinks you are.

"Honestly, I think the best thing you can do for her is be her friend if that's all she needs for the time being and slowly try to bring down her walls little by little. And if that doesn't work, then I think you should keep your options open. I know this sucks, dude, but you have to think of yourself too. You can't try to mend her while breaking yourself."

Taehyung is a wise man, and Jungkook trusts his judgement. He teaches literature, for crying out loud. He reads Shakespeare for a living. He should be well versed in these things.

"Yeah," Jungkook nods, taking in Taehyung's advice. "I guess you're right, Tae. Thanks for listening to all my crap."

"Hey, you're my best friend. No sweat." He goes quiet before casually asking, "So, do you think she has a friend for m-"

"Tae-"

"Wrong time, my bad."

< Part 2 || Part 4 >

#jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook imagines #jungkook scenarios #bts jungkook #bts fluff #bts angst #bts smut #bts x reader #fic: tmhtl #kookooluvr

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itstheendofthegoddamnworld · 26 days ago

Text

Comfort for the Soul

Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolts*!Reader [REUPLOAD]

This is the reupload as I made the mistake of publishing it the first time round and it not being even finished, lol! Attempt no.2!

Part 2 out now!

A/N: Look babe, new comfort character just dropped! I've been loving these fics for Bob and wanted to add something myself! Not much to add apart from reader has no descriptions of what they look like but is afab.

I will be uploading a second part to this, so be sure to be on the look out! It'll also go uploaded onto my A03!

Summary: When you realise your supply of blood bags has run dry, Bob is more than willing to become your temporary blood bag.

Tags: blood, swearing, blood drinking, reader is part vampire (think Blade - daywalker), Bob is very touch starved, fluff.

Wordcount: 4,2k

E/C = eye colour

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

You stare down at the message your phone had lit up with, a simple message from your boss, Valentina.

If there was one thing you asked for from Valentina, it was to have the necessities: a roof over your head and some decent safety. It's not just that, it's that she's able to bring months on end supplies of blood bags, it's her buying a fridge just for the blood, buying the best quality cuts of steaks for you to eat rare or blue. She even got you herbal teas to help nurture your hunger temporarily.

In return, you provide your skills, your skills as a fighter, an assassin.

Looking over the message, your blood felt as if it was beginning to boil, nearly crushing your phone from the lack of explanation:

Y/N. The board is questioning the lack of blood bags. I can guarantee more to come in three day's time once we've figured things out. - V

"Just my fucking luck." You grunt, looking at your calendar on your phone; three days is simply too long to go without blood.

You're mad at yourself for overindulging in your supply. You had always been careful, counting what you needed daily, but you had decided to splurge out the night before, consuming two extra bags because your stomach wasn't satisfied.

A few days, she promised, though you doubted she was in any rush to fulfil that.

You check the clock, realising it's getting late, your accomplices/dorm-mates are up and you can hear that they're all in the kitchen grabbing breakfast.

Groaning, you grab a hoodie and a pair of sunglasses to shield your eyes from the sunlight. You can only thank those who experimented on you for giving you the gift of walking in the sun rather than burning.

You walk out, and immediately your senses are overwhelmed by the strong smells you could normally ignore. You can sense many heartbeats, and their scents differ from one another. Your ears seem to ring when you hear laughter, and your vision is hazy despite the shades to help.

Crossing the threshold from your dorms to the kitchen, you find out you’re the last person to be up.

"Ah, look who finally decided to rise from the dead." Walker is the first to 'greet' you, the triumphant look present on his face, revelling in taking you down a bit.

The smell of grease hits your nostrils before you can answer back, the strength of the coffee pot mixes to create a wavering nauseous stench, but you try to ignore both smell and words jabbed your way.

Walker doesn't seem to relent in his words, looking around the group to see if anyone else is laughing with him. Alexei is flipping bacon with his sous chef Bucky. Yelena is blitzing fruit up into some green concoction with the help of Bob chopping, and Ava is sipping her coffee, watching silently with a glint of amusement in her eyes.

"I mean," he continues, "has anyone actually looked in her room to see if she sleeps in a coffin?"

No one answers, but you can hear their snickering; there are eyes on you, waiting to see how you'd quip back.

"Maybe you'd like to sleep in one, Walker, it would really help with your attitude." you jab back, not as fierce as you'd wish, slowly moving round the table sluggishly, sitting yourself on the kitchen island table, opposite Yelena and Bob.

Yelena waves at you with the lid of the blender, "You look like shit, my friend."

"Yeah, I feel like shit." You mutter, looking over your surroundings, debating if you should grab a cup of coffee to help your nausea.

Bob is the only one who is silent, taking in both sides, listening intently, but his soft eyes do not leave you. There is visible concern in the way he looks at you.

"Hi," he awkwardly waves with the knife still in hand, putting it down. He looks as if he wants to say something about how you're doing, stopping from opening his mouth as he changes the subject, "Want a coffee?"

"That would be lovely, Bob. Thank you." You find yourself smiling easily when you're with or near Bob, eyeing him as he stands to go over to grab your favourite mug.

Yelena doesn't say anything, but she watches, a thoughtful raise in the brow, her eyes moving through between you and Bob. She knows something, she's thinking, but she's quiet and that is the scariest thing of all; not knowing what Yelena Belova was thinking.

The smell of black coffee brings your attention back, looking up at Bob as he hands you over your mug, a secret Santa mug you found out was from Ava saying 'Will this fucking day ever end?'

"Just freshly brewed." He smiles sweetly, your hands grazing over his accidentally as the mug is passed over, earning a collected mocking "Awww" to fill the room.

"It's so gross, I'm gonna puke." Ava fakes retches. Walker mimics kissing faces at you, but not in front of Bob. You're glad the large shades are hiding most of your face, or else the remaining warmth had made its way there.

It is only Alexei who seems to be 'supportive' of this. "Ah, young love! How it warms my heart."

"Yeah, if you had a heart to begin with," jabs Walker.

Bucky, who has been quiet in the room this entire time, looks over to John with a single look, but it doesn't stop the ex-Captain America.

"Is there anything else you'd like to say, John?" You chime in, lowering your glasses to stare directly at him. It's obvious that they have changed from their usual E/C to become a glowing red hue.

"Just surprised you haven't taken a straw to any of our necks whilst we're sleeping yet," he adds nonchalantly.

"Trust me, John. I wouldn't go anywhere near your blood- it reeks of 'I peaked in high school.'"

The snorts of laughter make you feel better, even Bob is laughing quietly to himself.

"Enough." Bucky starts before a fight can start in the kitchen area. The last one didn't go down so well. "I'm meeting with Valentina shortly. I can assume you can all get along without killing one another?"

"Yeah, sure, dad." Ava chimes in, and you nearly snort your coffee all over the place.

"Ha ha." Bucky rolls his eyes, strolling out as the remainder of you continue to eat breakfast, chatting about recent missions or new ones on the horizon. There's even talk of Bob going to his first one, but he is still reluctant in bringing forth the Sentry.

"If the day ever comes, Bob, you can always ask for me to be there." You say to him. This seems to brighten something within him, a hopeful look that burns brighter than any sun. "Really?" His face is one of relief and you can only wish you could bottle that look up forever.

Breakfast ends, and you ask to wash up, since you didn't need to eat, but no one made any argument against it.

Washing the dishes and putting them to dry, you're in your own little world, when you sense a fluttering heartbeat, a presence behind you-

"Sorry!" You don't know who jumps first, the loudness in Bob's presence or for you to nearly drop the plate in your hands.

"It's all good," you wave it off, turning to face him properly. "What's up?"

"The sunglasses-are you okay?"

"Oh, these?" You flip them off, revealing your more than normal eyes to him. "No, but I can assure you I'm not hungover." You laugh at your own joke pathetically, but Bob still wears a small smile, one that is still concerned for you.

"Yelena told me- you sometimes run out of... blood." He doesn't know where he's going with his words, and something shudders deep down in your chest. How Yelena knew and told Bob you don't know.

"Oh, I'm fine. Just a bit of crankiness-which doesn't help if I get pissed off by Walker."

"I mean," he continues nervously, "you... ran out? She told me about one time when it happened."

"Oh." You recall it, the hunger was a gnawing pit, constantly never satiated, even when it was filled, but that time... that had been pure torture.

You had personally confined yourself to isolation until that next blood supply arrived, nearly consuming half of the supply in one go.

You sense the spike in Bob's heartbeat, he's nervous about something, you can see a single trail of sweat on his forehead, focusing in on the vein in his neck that moves when he's tense.

You're hypervigilant on the small parts of his nervous system that you almost don't hear his next words: "Maybe... I can be of help? With-with the blood I mean-"

"No." You answer curtly, and the word stops him that he looks at you like a kicked puppy. "Oh," he answers back sheepishly, his fingers going to the hem of his frayed sweatshirt, "did I do... something wrong?"

Your stance softened, realising what you've done, how harsh you said. Way to go, Y/N. Scaring him off. You hesitantly step forward to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. You feel him visibly tense, not from your touch, but in worry you'll both be brought back to a old memory of yours. It does not happen thankfully.

"I'm sorry, I don't want you to hurt yourself, Bob. This stuff can be really dangerous- what if I were to lose control? Hurt you?" You whisper the last part, your heart clenched in fear. "I would never forgive myself, Bob."

"I trust you." he answers earnestly. It's the same way all these times you've spoken to him when he doubted himself. How you helped bring some clarity and reason to him, to make him feel safe, that he was a trusted member of the team.

No wonder you developed such a crush for him so quickly.

"Bob-"

"I trust you- you've done so much for me... why can't I help you for once?" You're thankful you're the only two in the kitchen now, for the gladdening look he has, the rosy tint to his cheeks... the glint in his pretty blue eyes, it's all too much.

You sigh, maybe in defeat, maybe from nerves, but your stomach is doing somersaults at the thought of having a meal. "Fine. Tonight, meet me here when everyone else goes to sleep. Drink lots of fluids."

"Of course," he's grinning and he’s so proud of himself and it's taking a lot in you not to kiss him all over his pretty face. "I'll be very prepared."

You however, don't.

It's gone midnight when people slowly begin to filter back to their rooms, another 30 minutes before Bob finally emerges from his room.

As quiet as possible, he contemplates knocking on your door, deciding against it to not rouse noise or suspicion.

Tiptoeing carefully barefoot across the cold floors, the darkness warps shadows across his vision, and he fears for a moment if the Void is one of them, waiting to grab him and swallow him whole.

He ignores that worry, placing it in the back of his head, as he continues towards the kitchens, listening out to any noises as he keeps the lights off for now.

It's only when he hears it: the soft rustling of pots and pans, a fridge being opened. He rounds the corner slowly, thinking it to be Alexei or Walker grabbing a drink when he's greeted with them.

Glowing eyes, watching.

'Tapetum lucidum': You had described the term to him when he accidentally caught you in the middle of the night, nursing a herbal tea to quell your stomach.

The lights were off completely like they were now, leaving poor Bob to almost drop his cup when golden-white luminated eyes jolted up to stare right back at him.

He was surprised he didn't wake the entirety of New York with his scream.

Now, they didn't as much scare him but fascinate him. There were many things that fascinated him, and sometimes he found himself staring for a bit too long at your eyes, the elongated teeth that glinted when you spoke, the way he thought you stared him down like he was prey-

"Hey," the figure whispered, and a small light from the kitchen illuminated you. Gone were the golden-white eyes, replaced by the lovely E/C ones Bob was so used to. "I'm glad you could make it."

"Me too." Bob smiled, looking around to see some items already gathered; some tissue paper, band-aids of all sizes. Bob picks up a certain item, its content jiggling it its small carton.

"Apple juice?"

"Helps to not make you faint, helps with blood sugar." You counter, gesturing for him to sit as you move around him. There is a nervousness to you that he rarely sees in you. It's frantic, not as controlled as it usually is when you're not starved out your mind.

"You sure you want to do this?" You ask as you stand next to him. Even sitting on a stool, Bob comes pretty much eye level to you, and maybe even smaller due to him slouching.

"I want to help." He says again with a certain smile, and that smile is enough to ground you, to let you know you're trusted.

"Stop me at any point when it gets all too much, and I mean it." You sigh, looking him up at down as if you're sizing him up. "Now, take your shirt off."

Bob is certain his face has erupted into a million shades of red, but thanks to the dimness of the room, it's not as noticeable. He averts his eyes from you shyly at your frankness.

"I can't believe you just said that so casually." He says, but obliges, lifting his shirt slowly.

It takes all in you not to ogle: the man is ripped in a way you cannot describe. You force yourself to look away, but your mouth goes dry when you see the sudden happy trail going down towards his trousers that he hides when his shirt is off.

Now, shirtless and carved like a Greek statue, Bob awaits.

You shuffle closer to him until his scent hits you, nerves but mixed with his everyday smell, a hint of mint in his shampoo, the laundry detergent from his clothing.

Your mouth waters, eyes brighten in the darkness of the room, fangs grow as you eye the side of his neck. "Promise me you'll tell me to stop?"

"I promise." He answers, but he's so enraptured by the sight of you, your fangs, the way your eyes glow hauntingly. He's scared he will be too occupied in looking at you to even notice.

You enter his space even more, situating yourself between his parted legs, your fingers grace over his skin carefully. Like a sculptor, Bob is carved like a God only a creator would be proud or, but you are also a lover of art.

Bob visibly shivers, his body tenses and untenses, but his blue eyes do not leave you. "So... how are you going to do it?"

"I'm going to bite you." You say matter-of-factly. Bob snorts lightly, his brown locks hide his eyes as he shyly looks back at you. "As simple as that." He takes a small breath in, tilting his neck more to the side, giving his permission.

You lean over him, and that is when his heartbeat is the loudest, the strongest. It rings like a bell in your ears, overcoming you from the sound of it. It is all you can hear, not the humming of the lights, nor the sound of the city outside, just him and only him.

Your hands find him gently, your face leaning over him, closer and closer to him, sniffing him lightly and unintentionally- his scent drives you wild.

Bob is as stiff as a statue himself, waiting for the long-awaited pain, and when your mouth finally comes into contact with his skin, he thinks it's not so bad, the curvature of your lips is so soft on him.

That's when your fangs sink in.

"Oh-holy shit." He grips the counter with an urgency from the sharpness of the pain, followed by the sound of heavy slurping. Bob is now suddenly aware that this is all that he wanted, but the suddenness of it, the sounds that are coming from him, are all very intense.

And you... The noises that come from you the moment you sink your fangs into his shoulder are like music to Bob's ears. You groan from the delight; blood fills your mouth as you greedily try to swallow as much of it as possible.

You don't feel close enough, and Bob almost yelps when he feels one hand move to hold him closer, the other moving to run through his hair.

He shudders at the light tug in his hair, turning his head further the other way, a moan of delight makes him shudder against you.

He's never felt this open with anyone before, and having you so close against him, his head swims with further hurried thoughts.

His hands don't know what to do, hanging awkwardly and playing with the string of his sweatpants, twitching to touch something-anything-to occupy his thoughts as he grows closer and closer to losing his mind. It's when he realises, he needs you- you're not close enough, he needs to feel you practically against him to feel whole.

How will he tell that to you: to ask so sweetly that he's begging. He feels himself growing warmer, beads of sweat trace down his back. His eyes are blinking back the bright lights of the kitchen.

Despite your mouth being attached to his neck, you notice his fidgety hands, drawing back lightly to murmur against the wet flesh of him, "You can touch me."

He doesn't need to be told twice, his arms wrap round your waist, pulling you closer than you thought could be possible, a shudder escaping his trembling lips. A wave of relief washes over him, how has he never before had you this close?

His eyes are squeezed so tightly, clinging to any part of you for that will give him comfort. It's not even the pain of your fangs in his flesh that hurts him anymore-rather, it's become a dull ache, but the need to have you as flush to you as possible.

"Ah-shit, Y/N." It's the first sign that he's getting overwhelmed, and astonishingly, you detach yourself from him. As quick as you're gone, Bob already misses the feel of your mouth on his skin.

You don't take much from him for his first, pulling back to look over him. His skin is flushed, his brown hair is clinging to the back of his neck as if he has a fever. It doesn't help that his body has slumped lightly, holding you as close to him until his head is pressed to your chest.

Despite this closeness, he sways lightly with you in his arms, and in a panic, you're quick with the apple juice carton, pressing the paper straw to sit on his bottom lip.

"Here, drink up. Don't want you passing out on me." You say sheepishly.

Groggily, his eyes open, staring up at you, adjusting to the dimness of the kitchen. Your eyes glow lightly when the shadows dance across them, otherwise, they are E/C; bright and bold and beautiful as anything.

It's not just your eyes that render him speechless, but the blood - his blood- smeared messily over the bottom part of your face. Your lips gleam with the redness as if you're wearing lipstick, with some having already beginning to dry over your cheeks and collecting at the tip of your chin.

You feel nervous with his eyes on you, wiping the blood away in a terrible attempt with the back of your hand.

To him, you're are a sight to behold.

Gingerly, he searches for the straw with his mouth, gulping deeply until his tongue is coated with the sickly-sweet substance of apple juice. Too sweet that it tasted artificial, he pulls back, his fingers dancing lightly over your hips, a light hum drawn from him.

"Are you okay, Bob?" He hears you ask him softly, sweetly, does he think you're some angel, and he's truly experiencing heaven. He feels everywhere and nowhere, sitting in a space that is so silent and peaceful.

He nods groggily, his eyes drift as if he's sleepy and it's caught up with him, his head leans forward until his forehead is pressed the night shirt.

"Mhm," it's the only thing he can say in this very moment; his skin is dull with where your fangs have pierced him, but he feels the most alive from it. "Do I- uh-how do I taste?"

It comes out clunky on his tongue, he internally curses himself for not wording that a bit better, but you smile at him to help with his nerves, teeth white against the red and he's gulping nervously.

"Call it corny," you haven't pulled back from him, he's noticed, in fact, you feel warmer now, a normal body temperature, "but you taste sweet."

"Sweet?"

"Yeah, very nice." He blinks and he misses it, that you've already cleaning him and yourself up. There's band-aids already on him before his brain catches up with him.

His shoulder feels stiff, but there is an element of thrill that he feels seeping into his veins. He thinks its endorphins, the happy kind that have brought him to feel so content with you being so close to him.

Bob stares at you dazed, as if he's witnessing some phenomena. There seems to be some rejuvenation that has flooded back into you, energy that you have when you drink from your blood bags. He feels a sense of pride that he managed to make you look healthy once more, rather than that sickly-feverish state.

He's starting to stare directly at the dribble of blood down your chin you've missed, and without thought, swipes it gently with a shaking hand.

It catches you off-guard for a second, and you observe him look at the smear on his finger. You can see the cogs turning in his brain, debating whether to take a lick, but he stops himself when he remembers who he's with, wiping it off onto his pant leg.

"That was... pretty nice." He breathes into your space, trying to take as much of you into him. He realised quickly he still has you wrapped in his arms, but you're not making an move away from him.

"Are you going to be able to make it back to your bed?" You ask kindly, tentatively stroking a piece of hair out of his eye. Bob thinks he's happy like this if he fell asleep like this, but he dejectedly nods. "I'll be okay."

It takes a bit to pry himself off you, to allow you to move around him and tidy, glancing back to him occasionally to make sure he hasn't fallen asleep at the kitchen counter. Bob has a giddiness to him now, this unspoken feeling that only you two have shared, and he wishes desperately for more.

He groans when he feels you soft fingers touching him back to consciousness. He's unsure when he fell into it and when he came back round, but as he stands himself up, the words come tumbling out from his dry mouth.

"So-Same thing again?"

"Oh, I don't know if that's right," you say, watching the light that is present in his eyes dies a little. He seems to be a bit down that he's been turned down; it's often that the two of you share time together, reading and sharing book recommendations, but this... this was a far more intimate albeit brief moment he doesn't think he'll ever have again with you.

It's you who brings him back, reaching out first, touching him, a care you have in your eyes that he feels so much that he thinks you're some otherworldly beauty.

"If we did do this again... we'd have to be discreet..." The thought of being caught is both a thrilling yet nightmarish concept; imagining anyone seeing you feeding off your crush. What ideas would they have in their head?

"I can be discreet." He's nodding, and the image of an energetic puppy fills your mind. You smile at that, and you nod yourself. "Okay, I just-don't want to overwhelm you. It's quite a lot, I get it."

Bob wants to interject, to tell you that it's the most exhilarated he's felt in some time, ever since he got the serum, but he stops himself, reassures you by hugging you tightly. He's gotten a taste of you being close, skin on skin, and now, he's addicted to it, yearns for more.

"I'll do anything to make you happy." He whispers, and your heart clenches at his words. He's too good and pure and lovely for you to need to tell yourself that he would never like you in the same way you do for him.

"Thank you, Bob." You whisper back, a temporary promise to be sealed.

#bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds #thunderbolts #the new avengers #thunderbolts*#thunderbolts fanfic #bob thunderbolts #itstheendofthegoddamnworld writes #robert bob reynolds #robert reynolds #marvel thunderbolts #robert reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x you #bob reynolds x y/n #robert reynolds x you

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creepyclothdoll · 7 months ago

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Condemned

Paul loved escape rooms.

He just loved them. The lovingly-crafted set designs and props, the electric buzz that came from finding hidden items and putting together puzzle pieces, the euphoria of cracking a code, the adrenaline of the ticking clock, and most importantly, the thrill of the escape.

His friends had long ago stopped accompanying him every week, sometimes more than once a week, to escape rooms in his area. Especially once he started driving hours out of town just to try new escape game centers for a fresh hit of that delicious escape puzzle challenge.

Paul now preferred to go alone anyway. People just bogged him down. He didn’t come to make friends, he came to win.

Months of hot anticipation finally bore fruit when the “Great American Escape” opened its doors to him, at long last. Great American, according to the billboards and posters strewn around town, was the primary attraction of an entertainment mega-complex which took the place of a long-disused waterpark hotel. It would be huge, he knew. Not just physically. His great fear was that it would blow up on social media– maybe even on his feed– and then the solutions would be spoiled for him. So he had to be first.

Great American Escape was so new the day he strode in there that there were still “CONDEMNED” notices stuffed into the recycling bins and old lists of health & safety violations stuck in the vents.

“One ticket for Mystery Escape,” Paul, slapped his money on the counter and smiled at the teen boy working behind it. He was a short, lithe, wide-eyed man in his thirties with dark greasy hair and one navy blue university sweater he’d kept in moderate repair for a decade and a half.

“No group?” The boy asked. When Paul confirmed this, the boy said, “You’ll have to wait until a group comes in. You need three people at least.”

“When is the next group coming?” Paul asked.

“We don’t have any groups booked today,” the boy replied.

“... So, you’re not gonna let me in?”

“... Um… yeah. I can’t. Sorry.”

Paul put down another handful of bills. This wasn’t his first rodeo.

“I’ll buy three tickets,” he said. He made sure to draw the boy’s attention to the extra $20, a little tip for a helpful front deskman.

The boy, who was thin and bored-looking with a patchy teen mustache and his elbow resting on top of a stack of I Escaped stickers, glanced at the security camera which flickered in the corner, its blinking red eye frosted over with a decade of dust. The boy took the $20 and shrugged.

“You won’t be able to escape,” the boy said. “It’s impossible by yourself. But if you want to try… I guess you can try.”

The boy led Paul towards a set of slightly rusty elevator doors, past posters and cardboard cut-outs of characters from “Rattlesnake Gulch Treasure Hunt,” “Escape From Venus,” and “King’s Dungeon Jailbreak.” Paul planned to return to these, but he’d start by going straight for the crown jewel– Mystery Escape, which had been advertised exclusively with nothing but an open doorframe leading to darkness.

The boy went over basic safety guidelines. The door wouldn’t really be locked, red things were real alarms, things that said “staff only” were really for staff only, etc., blah blah blah, boring stuff. Paul listened impatiently, but carefully, only because knowing what was “real” (and therefore inconsequential) would give him a leg up in the game.

“The game starts when the elevator door opens,” the boy finally said. “Floor 3. Good luck.”

The elevator bell dinged, and the doors slid open. The light flickered. Paul stepped inside.

He waved to the boy as the doors shut. He pressed 3.

The light above flickered. Paul could almost see his reflection in the red-rusted metal doors.

The elevator began its ascent, and right away, Paul could tell something was strange. There was a creaking noise, like a train braking. The light flickered. The light sputtered out.

The elevator stopped.

Paul was trapped. It was pitch black inside the tiny car, which made no sound or movement.

The first thing Paul did in any escape room was to check around for hidden props. Keys, ciphers, and puzzle pieces were often hidden around a room for players to find, which would then give them a clue as to what to do next. Paul checked around the elevator car for hidden tools. He pulled up the mildewy carpet by its frayed edge– nothing under there but more mildew. But wait! On the bottom of the carpet there were numbers and letters: EL1. What could that possibly mean?

The next thing Paul did in an escape room was to interact with anything interactable he could see. In front of him was a series of numbers, 1-5, a “door open” and “door close” button, and “emergency.” But “emergency” was red, and red things were inconsequential.

Paul pushed all the buttons but the last. To his surprise, the door began to open slightly– then jammed.

Paul mused about the possible meanings of “EL1.” E was the fifth letter, and there were five numbers… But L?

Maybe it was a cipher. Paul thought on this.

He started trying combinations of buttons. The cipher thing was the key somehow, he knew it. A cipher worked with a code. Where was the code? Maybe it had to do with the symbols, not the numbers…

Suddenly, it all made sense to him. He pressed a set of numbers and then hit the door open button.

To his delight and satisfaction, the elevator doors creaked open. And with them came light.

Paul could see well enough now to see that he faced a concrete wall, which took up the whole lower half of the exit. But above that half, Paul could see a hallway of a hotel, so tantalizingly close.

Paul had beaten escape rooms that had physical components to them before, so this was cake. He gripped the edge of the concrete ledge in front of him and pulled himself up. He let out a grunt as his head and arms made it over the threshold. He just had to find something to grip so he could drag the rest of himself through the gap, and then it was on to the next puzzle.

The elevator lurched.

There was a sound. A scrape, a crash, a wet squelch, a snap. It all happened at once, and it was the loudest sound he ever heard.

When Paul finally sat up, he was somewhere completely different. It was dark here. Darker than the elevator car. The darkness of this place was crushing, like the depths of the deep ocean. There was a smell of meat all around. Paul quickly dismissed the idea of trying to adjust his eyes– he’d navigate by feel.

Paul reached out into the darkness and felt nothing. He stood. His hands pushed him up from a strangely soft, lumpy floor. He noticed something strange about the sound of his movements, and let out an inquisitive “Hey!” to check the echo. It did not bounce. He was… outside?

No– he must be in the disused waterpark proper. The building was huge. Paul was delighted by this thought. He’d chosen the right room.

Paul felt around for a wall, a light switch, a puzzle. Anything.

“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here,” said a deep voice.

“Hello?” Paul said after a moment.

“You lived a selfish life, Paul. You cared for nothing and no one but yourself and your own pleasure. You were an idolater, a heretic. You raised the Escape Game to the heights of a god. Pity that from this place, there is no escape.”

Paul listened carefully to the monologue. Selfish. Idolater. Raised. Heights. These things might be clues.

“Paul,” said the deep voice, which seemed to come from above, below, and all around him, “You died a foolish death. Pity that you did not suffer. But now, you will suffer for eternity.”

Paul was already climbing up a staircase he’d found. It was the disused waterpark. Raise, he thought. Heights. The key was to go up.

He found a craggy, warm wall. There was something under his hand– a button? He pushed it in, hard.

Under his hand, a huge glowing red eye flew open.

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHH!”

The eye blinked in pain and fury, welling up with tears. A thousand more eyes flew open along the wall before him, and Paul saw that it was not a wall at all, but some kind of enormous creature. It stirred, its red gaze illuminating the space around them.

“Stupid man. You woke something up.”

But now Paul could see the entire room– or space, or whatever it was. What he’d taken to be the “floor” was a mass of flesh– human hands, it looked like, reaching up stiffly. The hands started to stir as the creature woke from its slumber. What Paul had taken for a staircase was not that.

Paul was making some real progress. As the hands clamored over each other, rising like tentacles from around the immense eyes, Paul hopped onto the face of the thing and started using the eyes as hand-and-footholds, which was their obvious use. Paul could spare no time on figuring out little things like that the honest way, he was on a clock. As he stepped on the creature’s eyes, it let out another unearthly roar and started to rise.

There was a hole in the ceiling. Yes– this was meant to be a cave of some sort, and it had an exit.

“You idiot,” the voice boomed. “You–”

Paul kicked the creature in the eye a few more times to make it rise faster. A tsunami of pale, writhing hands on wiggling stems shot up towards him to slap him away, but by the time they reached him, he was already through the hole.

Paul scurried through the tunnel as fast as he could. If it was a three-person puzzle, you couldn’t waste any time.

He came to the next room, which was well-lit– a nice reprieve. In this room, a sweltering cave, some props department had gone all-out carving little demon faces that stuck out from the sides. These gargoyle-like stone structures leered at him and grinned in anticipation.

“The flametongue is coming, kindling,” the demon voices hissed. “Ready or not!” Paul heard a splashing, gurgling sound up ahead. He took quick note of some of the quirks of the gargoyle faces– most of them had black scorch marks on them, but some didn’t. That was a clue. The light from the other end of the tunnel grew brighter, as did the gurgling. Paul realized what he was meant to do, climbed up the protesting gargoyles, and found a set on the ceiling which had no scorching on them. Below, a wave of red-hot boiling sulferous-smelling magma flowed down, passing over the other gargoyles, who screeched and sputtered in it. Another puzzle solved. Paul dropped down once the stones cooled, and hurried up the tunnel– no time to spare. Only one more wave of “fire” passed before he solved the gargoyle pattern and pulled the right ones out of the wall in sequence to reveal a hidden exit.

This escape room was huge. He made his way through a room which featured a river of moving knives, which he was able to avoid by memorizing the timing and patterns, and climbed up into a room full of blistering ice and animatronic zombies which lurched toward him, their bodies crackling as they froze just as soon as they’d moved, their lips split by the cold. This puzzle was a simple matter of lining up the giant shards of ice in the room so that the light concentrated and blasted a hole through the glacial wall.

Paul’s own body was profoundly frostbitten by this point, but he didn’t notice. He was on a timer.

By the time Paul finally made it past the “three-headed-dog on a chain” puzzle, that subterranean voice from the first room had caught up with him.

“Paul,” the voice said. “There is no hope. There is no escape. Do you understand? You are dead, Paul–”

“Ssh,” Paul said, gazing at the puzzle before him.

The door was immense. It seemed to stretch above him and beyond for miles. It was carved from stone older than the bedrock of earth, and above it, in an arch as large as the firmament, there was carved a phrase:

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

This was clearly important, because the deep voice had already voiced it earlier in the game. After checking the area for tools, Paul ran through anagrams. There were a lot of little props around the big door– lots of discarded holy texts, some bones, some strange bits of giant insectoid carapaces which Paul could not immediately identify. The bibles and such had bits burned and torn off of them in places. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. That was a ciper, maybe. He was sweating. He had to be at nearly an hour already. He started arranging the bones.

“What you are doing is futile nonsense,” the deep voice said.

Aha! By turning the phrase above the gate into numbers and then matching those numbers to the non-burned sections of each holy text, organized by the printing date, Paul had discovered an anagram which, when re-ordered, spelled out skeleton key prop, ds flo knemb yyuq. Paul had only bothered to spell out the first three words, however, due to the time crunch. That was all he needed to understand what to do, and he had done it: he had connected all the bones into one big key.

“I don’t think you understand, Paul. This is not a game. You cannot escape your fate. You cannot escape your death. You cannot escape damnation. You cannot escape from Hell.”

Paul slid the giant skeleton key into the lock. It took all of his strength to shove it to the back. Behind him, the host of hell scrambled over each other up the lip of the abyss– the thousand hands and eyes, the fire-spitting gargoyles, the lurching ice zombies, the great black dog, and many others, come to claim him for their own special torment.

Paul turned the key. There was a click.

Well– more of a thunderous clunk.

The deep, gravelly noise of the stone door opening reverberated all throughout Hell.

“What the–”

“Hell yeah!” Paul shouted. He ducked through the door.

The red eye of the security camera caught it all. The man, crawling through the gap in the elevator. The lurch. The fall. The split.

The hopeless paramedics, the traumatized front desk boy, the shaking venue manager, the anxious lawyers, the dozens of police putting up brand-new yellow “do not cross” signage around the old hotel.

The red eye of the security camera watched on as people in grim uniforms put the larger piece of what had been paul into a black bodybag and fetched the rest from the third story floor.

“Used to love this waterpark when I was a little kid,” said one of the paramedics to another. “Now I hope they tear it down.”

“Wasn’t this place a lawsuit magnet back in the day?” said the other. “I remember a kid–”

The paramedics both noticed at the same moment that the body bag was moving. A lot.

“Is he alive in there?” The first paramedic choked out, even though he understood that the answer had to be no. But then the zipper started sliding down. The bag was opening from the inside.

The headless body of Paul Gibson sat up. It reached out with its stumps of fingers, covered in cool dark blood, and rolled out onto the hotel lobby floor. Both paramedics screamed and leapt away as the decapitated Paul stumbled to its feet and lurched forward. It felt around without its fingers, leaving smears of blood on the front desk, the wall, the table, the “do not cross” tape, until it found the small white cooler on the floor. He pried it open with his mangled hands and lifted his own iced head out.

Paul put his head on top of the gristle that was his neck. He had it the wrong way around, but his eyes opened and he smiled through bloody teeth.

“I ss-ss-olved the b-a-ag puzzle,” the formerly dead man sputtered. “Did it a-all mys-self.”

He turned around to face both paramedics, so that his front side faced away.

“Uh… congratulations,” the second paramedic said.

Paul choked up more blood and grinned wider. He stumbled toward the front desk, toward the paramedics. They backed away from him in horror as he reached out the wrong way and grabbed a commemorative I Escaped! sticker from the top of the pile.

“Th-a-ank you,” Paul said. “I’ll be su-ure to come back soon!”

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exclusively0ccupied · 3 months ago

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(SPOILERS+FW WARNING!!) finally finished this woo!! i really like how it came out so please dont let this flop :[ comments are super appreciated!! lmk what your fav part is (ʘ ͜ʖ ʘ) some yapping about this under the cut!!

in the 'shes on the go' scene, with sou, its supposed to be him making an attempt to escape after the ch2 main game, when following the emotion route and keeping kanna alive. he hasnt got a collar in this scene, having previously taken it off. (thats def not me just being lazy and forgetting to draw it. def not.) i tried to make the lyrics sync with whats going on onscreen, like 'flowers for the sinking dead' gets kanna and 'with hospitals' is qtaro. for the yabusame siblings part, 'way too fast' was alice's since he, in his rage and grief over the ranger's taunting, acted way too fast and let his anger get the best of him. reko's was 'way too slow', since if she had acted a bit faster, maybe not let the fake get the knife or something similar, she may have been able to stay alive. 'shell turn to stone' refers to nao finding out she's the sacrifice, more or less bound to die or to kill everyone else. she hasnt got much of a choice, stuck where she is as if she were stone. 'somebody sighs who is not in disguise anymore' can work with several characters, but i chose kai and joe. they both in a way end up losing their disguise and have nothing better to do than sigh, knowing their fates were now set and anything they did would be impractical at best. kai lost his disguise of being a normal participant of the death game, having been revealed to have some connections with asunaro and also having been revealed to be the sage. joe lost his disguise of being the sage, having been revealed to be the sacrifice. the failure of their disguises is what inevitably led to their doom. for the end part, the joe and kai parallels, in the part with the hands the backgrounds have some significance. the joe one features sara's hand, holding the clicker given to her by miley. the background is dark, while a ring of light circles her hand. this was meant to symbolize how her action held hope, hope shed be able to save him, hope there was still something she could do, but ultimately she failed. she wasnt going to be allowed a chance in the first place, hence how the majority of the background is dark. the hope born by desperation, the light born by dark, ultimately failed and was proven to be purposeless. whereas kai's, the majority is light while the hand itself is surrounded by darkness, symbolizing how his action held despair and anguish, but was also a beacon of hope, his way of resistance and stopping the organization from taking away their freedom fully. he chose to die, on his own terms, and that action, although born from a sense of futile desperation, also gave him a chance to fight back in his own way, however measly that chance may be. ok i think im done thanks for attending my ted talk everyone, hope yall enjoyed!!

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nolita-fairytale · 2 years ago

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burn your life down | chef luca x fem!reader | chapter one

summary: leaving your old life behind, you move to copenhagen to follow your dream of opening a restaurant. almost a year after opening, luca's quest for inspiration brings him right to your doorstep.

warnings: fluff, eventual smut, eventual angst not use of y/n, second person pov, swearing, danish inaccuracies, very little connection to the world of the bear.

word count: 2500

a/n: remember when i said we'd get pastry chef luca fanfic whether we liked it or not? well, it seems i can't be normal about anything bc i have an outline of (potentially) 10 chapters right now based on this headcanon. while i try to keep reader characters pretty neutral so that you can picture yourself, i have this reader creating food from her own life experiences/cultures so do what you will with that. also, i tagged some peeps from my headcanon post, but please let me know if you'd like to be removed.

masterlist | part two

He’s in search of inspiration when he finds the restaurant – your restaurant.

It’s an American stagiaire and a single conversation that makes him realize that he’s missing something – that he’s been in need of something fresh, a new perspective– setting him on his quest.

The best things are inspired.

Luca stares at a blank piece of paper for what feels like hours, writing a few things down, sketching up an idea, before viciously crossing them out, hopelessly stuck on new ideas for the new menu. After a few half-baked ideas that go nowhere, It occurs to him that he may be in need of a little inspiration himself. He can’t think of the last time he’s taken his own advice, mulling over the carefully-chosen words of wisdom imparted to Marcus a couple of weeks ago, and he’s determined to change that.

A review in the paper, an old colleague’s recent trip there, and a glowing recommendation from a close friend are what bring him to the restaurant.

He’s not sure what to expect – having forgone any interest in cuisine described with the words trendy or fusion a long time ago – but Luca reminds himself that it’s the writer’s word choice, not the chef’s, when writing the article.

When Luca steps into the small home-turned-restaurant, he’s immediately inundated with a warmth, a homeyness, that takes him by surprise. From the open kitchen, to the golden lighting, it feels vastly different from the classic Danish-style, fine dining establishments that have swept the country.

But Luca reminds himself that the announcement of noma’s 2024 closure, has shifted the conversation around dining culture in Denmark, and already, he can feel that this is the breath of fresh air that he’s been looking for.

Luca’s seated quickly with care and hospitality by a highly-attentive host, which he only assumes is a symptom of the fact that he read somewhere that you’re an American. While Danish, the host is boisterous, as if he’s known Luca since childhood. Luca smiles politely in response, graciously thanking the man and his chocolate brown curls.

The menu is small, indicating that each dish receives enough care to be excellent and he likes that, despite being described as trendy and fusion-focused, your menu is creative. It’s different. It’s inspired.

He chooses the special of the day: the mapo tofu bolognese – a traditionally Italian concept done from an Asian perspective – and the suggested wine pairing.

It doesn’t take long for him to receive his glass of wine, or his food, and he’s pleasantly surprised by how efficient service seems. Stealing glances through the open kitchen, he watches as you and your sous lead dinner service with a kind of compassionate leadership and playfulness that warms him from the inside out.

“We recommend mixing the whipped tofu into the dish for a creamier sauce. Skal,” his waitress greets, with a warm smile on her face as she sets down the bowl of noodles.

“Cheers,” Luca replies, his eyes savoring every single detail of the dish.

It’s somehow elevated, thoughtful, and elegant, yet comforting all at once.

Luca picks up his fork, using it to collect a little bit of everything – a perfect noodle twirl with just enough sauce, and ground pork before running his fork the whipped topping – raising the fork to his lips for his first bite.

As the flavors hit his tongue, he closes his eyes, and it’s as if time has stopped, just for a moment.

The wheat noodles are perfectly al dente while the whipped tofu is almost ricotta-like, transforming into a silky smooth addition to the dish, cutting the tingle and heat of the Sichuan chili peppercorn-based sauce.

The corners of his lips turn up as he takes a breath, opening his eyes as he savors the delicate layers of flavors. With a crooked smile on his face, he decides that he’ll most certainly be back next week.

-------------------------------

You make peace with the fact that tonight is one of those nights – a slow night – as you finish washing your hands. It being a slow night, you’d encouraged your staff to up the hospitality at the pre-shift meeting. Treating guests with the utmost personal touches in an effort to build genuine connections would be the focus of tonight’s slow service. In fact, you and Mathilde, your sous chef, had been running dishes out this evening – something you rarely had the luxury to do.

“You should go say hello,” your sous encourages, nodding towards the dining room through the expansive window of the open kitchen.

“Thought it was your turn,” you reply in a casual tone, paying no attention to who she’s referencing.

“No, I think you should take this one,” Mathilde nudges you, causing you to look up. You shoot her a funny look, your eyes flickering over the mischievous expression she has on her face, to where she’s gestured towards.

“To-?” you begin to ask, before seeing exactly who she’s talking about.

“Ehm. Tall, blonde, and tatted!” she emphasizes in a whisper yell.

You don’t really need the description as you glance over at the dining room, easily spotting the man seated at a two-seater near the front window.

“You’re right. He’s become a bit of a regular,” you agree with a curt nod that means all business, no pleasure, as you move a few things as you walk and talk around the kitchen, tidying up.

“That’s not what I meant,” she scoffs with a playful eye roll.

“You know, Jesper thought he was Swedish because… look at him… but he’s apparently a Brit,” she gossips with you, her eyes stealing a glance his way. “We’re slow tonight. He’s here every week. Sure he’d appreciate a direct thank you from the chef!”

“I-,” you hesitate, wondering why she’s so damn insistent on this. “... yeah, alright. I’ll go.”

“That’s my girl!” Mathilde cheers, in a sing-song voice, she hands you the beautifully plated bowl of pasta to take out to the dining room.

As you walk over towards his table, you make a note that it seems as if the mystery man has made this a bit of a routine. He shows every Saturday at exactly 7 pm, week after week, for the past month or so, as if it’s a standing date he has with himself. After his first visit, you half-expected him to bring a date when he returned, or bring a group of friends, or for something different to happen.

But it hadn’t and you’ve watched him come in, week after week, with a different book each time. He always orders the special of the day and whatever suggested wine pairing Jesper’s recommended that week.

Most Saturday nights you're busy leading a kitchen or cooking on the line – having little to no time to fixate or wonder curiously over your weekly diner – but tonight’s pace affords you the luxury to spend more time at the front of house. Truthfully, you know it’s the thing that sets you apart. Sure, the hospitality here in Copenhagen is excellent, but you bring an American hospitality-style to this restaurant – and above and beyond mentality – that feels welcoming, personal, even, as if your restaurant itself is just an extension of your home.

You’ve heard your staff – front of house and back of house – whispering about him, all seemingly enamored and enchanted by the charming Brit. All any of you knew about him was that his name was Luca and that he’s always more than kind to your front of house staff.

He doesn’t say much when he comes in, you’ve noticed, but every Saturday at 7 pm, he’s pushing his way through the front door with punctuality and a gentle ease.

The whisperings from your staff had all revolved around who your mysterious regular must be: whether he was Danish or Swedish, that someone that good looking must already have a partner, that he doesn’t wear a ring.

You hadn’t paid much attention to the gossip (or at least that’s what you’ve told yourself) more focused on running dinner service then trying to piece together the story of your handsome, mysterious regular.

“Hello,” you greet him warmly. “I just wanted to come introduce myself and say thank you for becoming one of our regulars. Your support means a lot to all of us.”

“Hi, I’m Luca.”

You share your name with a smile as he shakes your hand.

Luca turns his attention down to the bowl you’ve put in front of him, his eyes taking in the beautiful presentation hungrily.

“Wow, this looks�� incredible,” he marvels, returning his gaze back to you.

“Thank you. I’m sure my front of house already walked you through this but if you’d like for me to-,” you begin.

“Yes, that’d be great, thanks,” he interjects, a crooked smile on his face that makes your heart skip a beat.

You have to pull your attention away from him, hoping he doesn’t notice that you’re quite possibly gawking at him.

He’s kind, charming, and he’s easy on the eyes (easy on the eyes, really being an understatement here).

“Today’s special was inspired by a childhood favorite of mine,” you begin, walking him through each component of the dish.

Crispy Rice. Caramelized marinated trumpet mushrooms and charred broccolini. Your mom’s sauce approached with classic French techniques, courtesy of your sous, Mathilde, a classically French-trained chef.

It’s a marriage of your story. Of the people around you. It’s your heart and theirs, put into a dish.

“You’re the chef?” he asks, unable to hide the surprise in his voice.

“Yes,” you answer, trying your best to get a read on him.

He balks, and you’re unsure of how you’re supposed to respond. Was he surprised that you’re a woman? That he’s been eating your food the whole time and expected a male chef? Before you can overthink it, Luca clarifies with:

“I’m sorry. It’s just-, I can't think of the last time I saw a head chef work front of house, let alone with this much care.”

Oh.

You let down your guard, wondering why you’d assumed the worst when the man’s been nothing but kind to you and your staff so far.

"We're a little short staffed tonight. And I love getting to talk to diners… especially on nights like this,” you explain, trying your best to sound like you hadn’t just assumed that he was a sexist asshole.

He shakes his head in disbelief, looking down at the picturesque bowl, then back to you.

Luca is impressed, and he has no intention of hiding it.

He picks up his wine glass by the stem, raising it to you.

"Cheers,” he says. “And thank you. This is a really beautiful dish.”

“Of course. Enjoy,” you reply, giving him a polite smile, before heading back into the kitchen.

-------------------------------

“Good service tonight, everybody!” Jesper, your front of house manager, announces while clapping a few times to signal to staff that it’s time for a post shift meeting.

As you all gather in the pristine front of house space. Some of your cooks have taken their aprons off, others haven’t had a moment to unwind from the shift yet – business picking up in the last hour or so of service.

Jesper goes through his nightly wrap-up notes, celebrating the wins of tonight, and making sure to celebrate how everyone rallied to pick up pace when business spiked. He’s gregarious, larger-than-life, the kind of person who can talk to anyone about anything, making him an excellent front of house manager, and even better sommelier. You really lucked out with the twins, you think to yourself – with Jesper and Mathilde – when they were more than eager to work with you on opening this restaurant.

“Oh, and before we go, a client left a gift… table number four,” Jesper says, in reference to Luca’s table. He pulls a tan-colored pastry box from another table, setting it down on a table where everyone can take a look.

“As a thank you. He requested for me to share. So have it and let’s make a note next time he’s in to really treat him like a VIP.”

One of your most-talented servers opens the box, eliciting a chorus of gasps, giggles, and excited whispers as soon as the assortment of croissants and pastries are revealed.

You and Mathilde exchange a look as everyone else busy themselves with unpacking the pastry box. Mathilde raises an eyebrow and you’re not sure what to say. Witnessing your silent exchange, Jesper makes his way over to the both of you, before extending his arm to reveal the card he’s holding.

“And this, my dear…” he begins, exchanging a look with his sister. “...is for you.”

“What do you-, just me?” you ask as you take it, hesitantly.

“I think so, yeah,” he nods, confidently.

To the Chef, the front of the card reads.

“Jesper, let’s check out some of these pastries, yeah?” Mathilde suggests, not so subtly hinting towards her brother.

He nods, giving you a little space so that you can read the card Luca’s left for you.

As your staff divvy up the box of laminated pastries, sighing with joy as they taste the decadent, hand-crafted sweets, you take a few steps away to open the note. His handwriting is pristine – perfectly neat in every way, like he’s written over carefully measured invisible lines.

Chef,

Thank you for all of the great meals. I'd like to return the favor, that is, if you're open to it.

Tomorrow. 5 pm. Dronningens Tværgade 2, 1302

While Luca’s gift has been more-than-generous, you find yourself overwhelmed by questions. Was he a chef too? And why had he not said anything? And what was this gesture all about anyways?

You read the card a few more times, turning the words over in your head as you try to make sense of it.

Mathilde can see your overwhelm, your eyebrows knitted into one confused expression as she saunters back over to you.

“What does it say?” she asks, curiously. “A love confession perhaps?”

“Mathilde, you really have to stop reading all of those French romance novels!” you tease her. “It’s giving you too many ideas.”

“It’s the only way I keep up with my French!” she defends herself with a lackadaisical shrug, earning a laugh from you.

“Uh no… it’s actually a thank you card… only I think he… wants to feed me,” you share with her, holding the card out so that she can take a look.

“He’s a chef too?” she asks, taking the card from your hands.

“I think so, yeah,” you reply, letting out an exasperated laugh.

“Oh shit!” Mathilde exclaims, as soon as she sees the address that Luca’s written down.

“What?” you ask her, wondering if there’s something you missed.

“The address… that’s AOC. I think he’s a chef at AOC, babe,” she gasps, shaking her head as she hands the card back to you, sending a ‘you lucky, bitch’ look your way.

Oh shit, is right.

#chef luca #will poulter #luca the bear #the bear season 2 #the bear headcanon #luca x reader #the bear hulu #the bear fx #the bear fanfiction #chef luca x reader #pastry chef luca #burn your life down

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grenadehearts · 5 months ago

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turn it up, baby! s.gojo x f.reader

warnings: suggestive content, mentions of alc and alc consumption.

summary: you go clubbing, with your boyfriend satoru gojo.

authors note: this is somewhat of a drabble using the term loosely, first time writing for gojo or any jjk character so super nervy. m.list here

Clubbing with Satoru Gojo is nothing like you’ve ever experienced before. You’re pacing in front of the mirror, nerves twisting in your stomach as you fret over what to wear. Memories of past boyfriends taunt you—their jealousy, their tantrums over you showing even a hint of skin or daring to step foot in a club. But not Gojo.

No, Satoru Gojo spent the entire day playing dress-up with you, his black card working overtime as he bought dress after dress, each one perfectly tailored to your figure. Now he’s lounging on the plush chair in your shared bedroom, legs spread wide, crystalline eyes tracking your every move as you slip each dress past your figure.

The faint hum of 2000s party music—Rihanna and Britney, his guilty pleasures—fills the room. He twirls a finger lazily in the air, that boyish smirk tugging at his lips. “Spin for me, baby,” he drawls. When you do, he claps like an overexcited stylist, showering you in praise.

Gojo critiques like one of the girls but never tears you down. “It’s not you, baby; it’s the dress,” he says dramatically, as if sculpting you into a goddess was his life’s work. And when he finds the one, he drags you in front of the mirror, hands trailing down your sides as if memorizing every curve. Open-mouthed kisses follow along your collarbone before he pulls back with a grin. “Perfect,” he murmurs, but not before dragging you to the kitchen and shoving food into your mouth. “Eat up,” he insists with a wink. “Can’t have my angel getting sick.”

At the club, Gojo is magnetic—a force to follow that draws every eye in the room without even trying. But he doesn’t notice or care to consumed by the need of making sure you’re shown off.

The bass thrums through your chest as strobe lights flicker across the dance floor in bursts of electric blue and violet. He cheers you on loudly with a playful “Work it, baby!” as you sway to the beat, his hands finding your hips with unerring precision when you grind back against him.

The air between you is thick with heat and tension as your bodies move together like magnets pushing and pulling against an unknown force. His touch is firm yet teasing as his large hands guide your movements—one splayed possessively across your hip while the other slides lower, fingers brushing dangerously close to where fabric meets skin. Your tiny dress rides up higher with every sway of your hips until it’s barely covering anything at all.

Gojo notices immediately and sprawls his hand across your ass to cover what’s his—not because he’s ashamed but because no one else deserves even a glimpse of what belongs to him. His grip tightens as his lips graze your ear, his breath hot against your skin as he murmurs, “You know they’re all watching us.” His voice is low and intoxicating, sending shivers down your spine.

The glitter he insisted on spraying over both of you earlier catches under the strobe lights, making your skin shimmer like molten diamonds as you arch against him. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon—your perfume—clings to him now too, mixing with the salty tang of sweat and alcohol that fills the air around you. But Gojo doesn’t notice any of it; all he can smell is you. All he can feel is you. The rest of the world fades away until it’s just the two of you moving together like magnets fighting for friction.

When his hand slides up to grip your waist tighter and pull you flush against him, it’s impossible not to feel how hard he is beneath those fitted black pants. You grind back harder in response, earning a low groan from him that vibrates against your neck as he presses a kiss just below your ear. “You’re gonna kill me,” he mutters with a laugh that’s more breath than sound.

And then there are them—the men who can’t stop staring at you from across the room. Gojo sees them all: their slack jaws and hungry eyes following every move you make. But instead of jealousy, it fuels him. He smirks wickedly as his grip on you tightens and leans down again to whisper against your ear: “Let’s give them a show.” His voice drips with challenge as one hand slides lower again, fingers brushing just beneath the hem of your dress while his other hand tilts your chin up so he can catch your gaze in the reflection of a nearby mirror.

Gojo doesn’t drink—he claims it dulls his senses—but he always orders a Sex on the Beach just for the maraschino cherry. He plucks it from the glass with his teeth and ties the stem with his tongue before feeding it to you with that mischievous grin that makes heat pool low in your stomach every single time.

By the time he notices you’ve had enough—the dress clinging to sweat-slicked skin and eyeliner smudged (which makes you pout but drives him wild)—he doesn’t hesitate to scoop you up effortlessly over his shoulder without so much as a warning. His hand stays firmly sprawled across your ass covering the lacy sapphire thong you’re wearing (courtesy of gojo) from being shown.

Back home, Gojo is still Gojo: equal parts smartass and sweetheart. He shrugs off his jacket in the car and drapes it over your shoulders like a gentleman before handing you water and pain meds for later. But when you're inevitably hunched over in the bathroom later, puking your guts out from too much alcohol, he's right there beside you holding back your hair with one hand while rubbing soothing circles on your back with the other.

“Told ya,” he quips smugly between soft coos meant to make fun of how messy you are tonight—but never once does he let go or leave until you're cleaned up laying in bed sound asleep, after regaining some steadiness that is.

p.s comms are open, so if you enjoy my work please feel free to commission me it would help immensly linked here COMMS INFO

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lunamania2024 · 1 year ago

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wind breaker with their Daughter/Son

◦❧◦°˚°◦.¸¸◦°´*♡◦¸¸.◦°˚°◦☙◦

Characters: Togame Jo, Umemiya, Sakura Haruka, Ren Kaji

Sakura Haruka:

Sakura Haruka prevented his daughter from being close to Sou because she claimed she wanted to marry Sou.

Togame Jo:

Togame Jo tossed his daughter too high, causing her to bump her head and cry. You ended up scolding him for hours afterward.

Hajime Umemiya:

Every time you baked cookies, you wondered why ten were always missing. One day, you discovered the culprits when you found both of them asleep with cookie crumbs in your shared bedroom.

Ren Kaji:

After taking a bath, you checked on your son in his room but didn't find him. Upon returning to bed, you found your husband cuddling with their toddler. He insisted the toddler was too young to sleep alone, but in reality, he just wanted to spend quality time with him.

_______________________☙

Should I write part 2?🤔🤔📝

REQUEST IS OPEN!

#kaji ren x reader #togame jo x reader #sakura haruka x reader #hajime umemiya x reader #ren kaji #windbreaker x reader #windbreaker anime #ren kaji x reader

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superstarzzzzz · 1 year ago

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So y’all fw some MORE Mr. Puzzles headcanons?

Cause I got some :]

Even though he streams his content, Mr. Puzzles hates streaming over normal television and believes it ruins the momentum. The only thing he appreciates about streaming is the lack of ads. No matter how bad the ratings are, Puzzlevision is an ad-free service!

To add, product placement is a no-go. Any products he might advertise on a show are all Puzzlevision branded, not that he’d advertise much. He’s a smart business man, which I’ll go in-depth with another time.

He’s all about authenticity with his actors an really hates big-time celebrities. Celebrities are snobbish and aren’t easy for Puzzles to handle. He also doesn’t want people to engage with his shows solely because of famous names. The day he hires a celebrity is the day he becomes a sellout, and the idea of selling out terrifies him.

Mr. Puzzles does an extensive background check of every single cast member he recruits. Not just because he’s trying to find the perfect actors, but because he’s trying to find people that wont be missed if they mysteriously disappear for long periods of time. After a cast’s likability begin to dwindle, Puzzles brings them back as if nothing happened. Previous cast members won’t remember their time at Puzzlevision and have a hazy memory for a bit before they adjust to normal. If they watch a show that they’ve been in, they’re so disconnected from the show that they won’t recognize themselves. However, Puzzles is careful to avoid reruns after switching casts.

He absolutely hates reality tv for multiple reasons. It’s the farthest thing from reality, everything is so fake, and the writing is HORRIBLE! If the audience demands it, he’ll make a reality tv show, but it would be one of the few things he wouldn’t mind not hitting 5 stars. The less creative impact he has on the show, the less he cares for it.

He prefers live-action over animation, but highly respects animated shows.

He likes movies but heavily prefers tv since television has always been frowned upon within Hollywood and the entertainment industry (It’s actually interesting to know the beef between movie studios and tv, I recommend checking it out. To put in into perspective, picture the Disney theatre movies vs the straight to video movies: there’s a huge difference and it’s somewhat obvious of the cash-grab tv movies/shows are. The purpose of tv has always been a quick cash grab, actually. Kinda like the first content farm, to an extent). Puzzles wants to prove that television is a respectable media outlet and shouldn’t be frowned upon within the industry.

He is familiar with almost any televised language. The only major issue is that, yes, he needs subtitles to completely understand. However, he can hold a relatively decent conversation in most languages, he’d just need a few refreshers.

Already talked about it last post but he likes to cook and really enjoys cooking/baking shows. Y’know that thing where you’re good at one but not as good at the other cause they’re so different (you cook to your liking vs following a strict recipe for the best dessert outcome)? I feel like Puzzles would be perfect at baking alone but any baking show he does goes to absolute shit. However, he’s not as great at cooking alone (since he can’t taste) but it much better with a sous-chef guiding him.

This was someone else’s hc (I don’t remember who’s, I’m srry), but they brought up that the order of shows Mr. Puzzles makes with the SMG4 crew reflect the shows he watched growing up (the kids-y shows, family disney-type movies, teen stuff like Scooby-doo, and gameshows). I’d like to add that he enjoys making gameshows the most because he can be the main character in every episode, and everyone’s reactions are the most genuine. The only thing I can see Puzzles not liking is the lack of creativity (similar to reality tv). However, it would be pretty fitting for a production company called Puzzlevision to make game shows.

This one’s gonna be a little bit more depressing. No matter how hard he tries or how good he thinks his writing is, Mr. Puzzles cannot write anything original. It’s the curse of seeing every piece of televised media to ever be produced. He tries his best to be original but as the puzzlevision arc continues, he gradually stops trying to be original, which is what ultimately causes him to lose. While Puzzles keeps trying to copy other successful media and failing, it’s the originality the SMG4 crew produce that gets them to 5 stars (and extremely quickly, too). Puzzles fails to realize that the shows he loves and tries to replicate were original, too, and that’s what got them to succeed in the first place. I feel like this success from SMG4’s originality is what sparked Mr. Puzzles’ envy in the first place.

To add to this, Puzzles has been canonically spying and interfering with the SMG4 crew for a while (selling them the showgrounds, the cursed keyboard in the ITS GOTTA BE PERFECT arc, the Western Spaghetti arc), and is almost a direct parallel to SMG4. They both was to succeed and produce original content, striving for perfection. The only major difference is that Mr. Puzzles has been alone for the majority of his life whereas SMG4 has his crew. Despite this, however, SMG4 still snaps and isolates himself similarly to how Puzzles takes complete creative control.

Not having a proper friend/support group is also what causes Puzzles to fail, isolating himself from the rest of the world. Even though we don’t see much of the studio, it’s still pretty run down and barren, implying that Puzzles doesn’t spend much time there, if at all. Puzzles spends most of his time in the shows, directing/acting/ect, and avoiding the real world where he doesn’t have control. When he’s in the real world and bored, he dissociates a lot, planning out his next big projects.

To add, he’s not a big fan of modern technology as a whole, and sticks to older tech (like the older computer model in the teaser between the scooby episode and the gameshow episode and his head being an older computer). Same goes for the studio. I can totally see him walking into the decrepit building with the real estate agent being like “this building hasn’t seen the light of day since 200 b.c,” and Mr. Puzzles ecstatically goes “I’ll TAKE IT!” He’d also do his own renovations and film it for an abandoned house-flipping series, scrapping it later because he sucks at renovating.

He can’t take constructive criticism if his life depended on it. He tries, but all he thinks is “well these people just don’t understand TRUE art in this world!”

He can play shows/movies in the back of his mind whenever, and often does if he’s not on set. Y’know that reddit/tumblr post about the kid who memorized Shrek so much that he could just watch it from memory and his dad would catch him at the 37:14 mark and be like “stop watching shrek and go to bed,”? Yeah, Puzzles is like that. Only difference is that he can’t pause it, only tune it out.

He’ll watch them, but found-family sit-coms depress him. Shows like Friends, It’s Always Sunny in Philly, etc remind him of what his life could’ve been if he could’ve made friends properly.

To add to this, y’know how he projects himself in his shows? What if he did that with shows like Friends, where he’s a part of the cast and laughing along. He’d do it in his sleep and not even realize it’s a dream until the episode ends and he wakes up alone. :,]

On a lighter note, older tvs release a light frequency that gets louder the older it gets. Mr. Puzzles probably hums a frequency without realizing it that people can only hear if they’re close and he isn’t babbling away. Older tvs also kinds adjust(?) where they slightly creek a lil. Mr. Puzzles probably does, to, and it’s the equivalent of him cracking his neck.

He’s also more prone to shock people slightly, depending on how manic he is. If he rubs his gloves together he’s practically a battery.

He has a daily care routine that involves him carefully wiping his screen with windex.

These ones are more show/content based. If these continue to do well I’ll post some more general and maybe relationship hcs :]. If you guys have any suggestions/questions/critiques please let me know!

#mr puzzles #smg4 puzzlevision #headcanons #mr puzzles headcanons #puzzlevision

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