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skzsauce01 · 3 years

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God’s Menu

Synopsis: Two chefs face off in the final dessert round. Who will come out on top, and who will be the next Cooking God? Cooking competition AU inspired by Chopped. Possible cooking/baking inaccuracies.

Warning: none

Word Count: 6.6k

Pairing: fem!reader x chef!Felix

“Who will win and become the next Cooking God?”

This is not a laughing matter, but your nerves about the situation think otherwise. The bright lights of the studio kitchen and the multitude of cameras pointed at you make your pulse thrum at an even quicker pace than the last two rounds. With your opponent in front of you and the host right beside you, you grow increasingly on edge. It’s becoming more real by the second — a chance to win ten million won, your dream of opening your own bakery being fulfilled, your future studded with three Michelin stars.

You would say you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at such a wild scenario, but clearly your body has already decided on that.

Since you’ve already bursted out laughing on the last two takes, you can’t exactly do it again. It’s so difficult though. The host Park Jae is chatty and humorous behind the scenes, but the solemn way he delivers the cheesy line is such a big contrast to himself. It doesn’t help that you can see his jaw trembling as he holds back his laughter. It’s almost an invitation.

With the grin on your face barely concealed, you say, “I will.”

In front of you, Chef Lee Felix replies, “Not a chance,” in an extra deep voice, his thick Australian accent shining through, taunting you to give up your cracking charade of calm.

“Chefs, open your baskets.”

“Cut!”

As soon as the clapper is dropped, all three of you let loose into peals of laughter. Jae and Felix clutch onto each other for support, and you grab the nearby edge of the work surface to steady yourself. It’s all so silly. You wonder if Jae is like this on all episodes of God’s Menu or if he simply finds you and Felix especially fun to be around. Felix is a charmer, but you’re not certain if you feel that way because he’s rather attractive, the head chef of the two Michelin star restaurant Levanter, or simply because you feel like your insides have been reduced to cotton candy ever since you stepped inside the studio. Either way, the combination of you, Felix, and Jae has not been easy for the filming crew.

However, as the director calls for you and Felix to head to your stations, you steel yourself for the most important part of the competition. You glance at Felix once more to see how he’s faring, and he mouths, “Good luck,” at you. You smile back and hope that it’s reassuring enough.

“And… action!”

Jae resumes his professional television persona from the far end of the studio where the judges are sitting. “Chefs, open your baskets.”

With unsteady hands, you pull apart the flaps of the giant wicker basket. Then you immediately grimace once you see the four ingredients you have to use in your dessert. Strange foods are part of the competition, but you are always surprised by some of the things the producers put in the basket.

“You have to make a dessert with camel milk…”

You have used cow milk, goat milk, sheep milk, even buffalo milk once, but never camel. Hopefully, it has a similar composition and taste to one of those.

“Rose syrup…”

This is an ingredient you use daily in the upscale restaurant you work at, so you can possibly modify one of your recipes if the other two ingredients aren’t too absurd. Macarons will take too long, so maybe a decadent flourless rose and chocolate cake. You could easily incorporate the camel milk into a dense, fudgy cake.

“Beer flour…”

Never mind on the flourless cake. The cake idea may still be possible, but what on earth is beer flour? If it tastes anything like beer though, you might have to nix the idea altogether.

“And jalapeños.”

They are bright red and thus, extra spicy. Your first instinctive is to candy them and to use them as a garnish on your maybe-cake. The spice would cut through the sweetness and richness of the cake as well.

“Forty minutes on the clock, and your time starts… now!”

Your previous nervousness dissipates completely. Compartmentalizing while cooking, or soon to be baking in this case, has always been a relatively easy feat for you; your mind forgets the rest of the world and refocuses on the task at hand.

While Felix heads straight to the pantry for his additional ingredients, you tear open the package of beer flour with your knife. Unfortunately for you, it smells exactly like old beer, so you forgo your initial idea. You warily eye the clock and calculate the time needed for the plan you have just created. If you’re quick in the kitchen, you could make a good tart. All the basket ingredients can easily be used for one purpose or another.

Yeah, you think you’ll do that.

As you rush to the pantry for some flour, butter, sugar, and vanilla for your shortbread tart crust, Felix walks past you with a sheet of puff pastry and a carton of cream. You wonder what he’s going to do with his repertoire of skills. Hand pies? Strudels? Something completely out of the box?

You push those thoughts out of your head and gather your ingredients for the crust along with the ones for the chocolate cream filling. The cameraman following you takes several steps back as you stack containers in your arms. You press down the topmost one with your chin and carefully balance them as you speed back to your work station. Fortunately, yours is the closest to the pantry.

While the flours, butter, sugar, and vanilla are being combined together in the stand mixer, you begin slicing your jalapeños before candying them in a pan with some sugar. After a moment’s hesitation, you add in a splash of rose syrup as well to further accentuate the flavors in the rose glaze. You hear a crash of metal on your left. Felix has set a pan on his stovetop and is dropping a handful of sliced jalapeños into his pan.

It’s never early too early to start getting your presentation dishes, is it?

You walk past him — “Behind, Chef” — and peer inside to confirm that he is also making candied jalapeños. It’s a little concerning that you and he have similar elements in this round since the judges may deem the idea “uncreative.” If push comes to shove, you can probably transform the peppers into something else, but you have no idea what else to do with them now. Instead, you grab four ceramic tart pans and head back to find that your dough is fully combined.

As you press a layer of the dough into the bottom of your pans, you overhear the panel of judges speculating over your and Felix’s desserts. Park Jihyo, a celebrity chef known for her wide variety of kimchi dishes, points out that both chefs appear to be making candied jalapeños. Jae mentions something about Felix possibly putting it between his puff pastry like a sandwich. Could he be making a dessert sandwich with puff pastry as the bread? You can’t help yourself. A quick glance over at Felix and then upwards towards the wall-mounted clock informs you that he is pouring something into his blender and that you have thirty-three minutes left, neither of which are helpful.

You place the pans on a baking sheet and slide the tray into the oven to bake. You take a sip of the camel milk, which tastes a little nutty and will work nicely in the pastry cream filling. As the milk and heavy cream heats up, you chop a dark chocolate bar to add into the mixture to melt. The main reason why you decided on a chocolate cream filling is because one of the judges, Lee Chaeryeong, is a self-proclaimed chocoholic as well as a renowned chocolatier and baker. If you can impress her with your dessert, everyone will flock to your bakery.

Being the head pastry chef at Hero’s Soup is fun, but to have full creative control and to make whatever you want, is what you truly desire. You have a menu already drawn up, paint colors selected, and even a storefront scoped out. All you need now is a lot of money to get it opened. Chef Lee Felix and his dish are the only thing standing in your way. He may have gotten his start as a pastry chef, but you have spent the last several years being one at a top restaurant. Only one Michelin star, you admit, but you know your work is superb. The critics at Clé magazine said so.

You whisk in the sugar and slowly add your beaten eggs into the chocolate mixture. You don’t want to risk having bits of scrambled egg in the tarts. After you mix it all until it turns smooth, you check your tart crust in the oven. It’s done blind baking, so you take it out to cool before filling it with your filling. In the meantime, you work on the rose flavored cream to be piped on top.

“Behind,” calls Felix.

As you run back to your station with a carton of whipping cream, Felix heads to the ice cream machine with his blender container. He pours his light pink mixture in. Rose ice cream, it seems, will be in his dessert. Rather unhelpfully to you and more for the cameras, Jae announces that Felix’s dish will feature ice cream.

“An ice cream sandwich maybe with the puff pastry he has in the oven?” he adds.

That certainly is a dessert sandwich. You can’t help but look at the judges’ reactions to that suggestion.

Ok Taecyeon, chef and owner of the Japanese restaurant Winter Hitori, seems pleased by that idea. “Or maybe a mille feuille,” he says as he cranes his neck to look at the ingredients at Felix’s station, “with ice cream instead of pastry cream.”

A mille feuille and a tart are pretty different from each other, but you don’t miss your dessert’s similarities to his. Unoriginality aside, this could become a direct comparison of technical abilities. You’re certain you’ve got him beat on that.

You pause on your rose cream to fill your empty tart shells with the chocolate filling. There is an audible gasp from Chaeryeong as she sees the silky smooth texture being poured into each pan. How can you blame her when you yourself are mesmerized by the shine of it?

“Chocolate’s on the menu!” Jae exclaims. “How do you think it will go with all of the mandatory ingredients?”

You suppress a smile at her excitement as she details the finer points of chocolate pairings. Without a doubt, she is the one you must impress. It won’t be an easy feat, but you think she’ll enjoy your dish.

You stick the now filled tart shells back into the oven to bake. Fifteen minutes left, and not only does the filling have to be baked through completely, it has to cool down with adequate time so you can pipe on the cream. The giant bowl of rose cream is completed and set aside.

Now the only thing left for you to finish are your candied jalapeños, which you should have paid more attention to because they are on the verge of being burnt. The sugar and rose syrup have caramelized into a dark brown mess around the edges of the pan, and the red peppers have gone mushy. At that moment, the camera leans in to get a closeup of the disaster and captures you loudly swearing at it.

They can censor that in post-production.

"Behind. All good?" Felix asks as he rushes by with a casserole dish for ice cream collection. You hope his ice cream base didn't work.

"Mostly."

Jae's theatrical whisper and the approved hums from the judges inform you that Felix’s ice cream did turn out beautifully.

"Behind," he says again.

"Heard."

With an exasperated sigh, you set the ruined pan aside and turn back to your cutting board. You had the foresight to not use all of the peppers, but two measly ones are not going to be enough for the amount you want on each tart.

“Hey,” you shout to Felix, hoping that he can hear you over the whir of his food processor, “you have any jalapeños left over?”

He pushes the plastic container with one finger a smidge in your direction as he pulls off the parchment paper over his freshly baked puff pastry. “Take it.”

With a sigh of relief, you walk over to grab them. You expertly chop them into neat slices and throw them into a new pan. A sprinkling of sugar, a circle of rose syrup, and a turn of the stove knob later, the jalapeños are being candied, hopefully properly this time. As you wait, you check your baking tarts. They are still not done yet, which is to be expected but bothersome.

“Ten minutes left on the clock!”

The nervousness is back, and you whisper, “C’mon, c’mon,” at the oven door like it will encourage the tarts to cook faster. After letting yourself stare for a few more seconds because maybe they’ll suddenly be done in that short time, you pop back up to check on your peppers. They, fortunately, are turning out well. You turn down the heat so as to not let the syrup turn into rock candy as you wait for those cursed tarts to be done. Why did you decide on something so risky? Why couldn't you have done a puff pastry crust and not spend ten precious minutes fiddling around with the dough?

Because of the beer flour and because your pride demands that you prove your skills to all the talented chefs, that's why.

Another minute passes, and you drain the pan of the liquid and let the peppers cool down. Felix keeps running back to the pantry for more ingredients, and the judges voice their disapproval at that. You feel a breeze brush across the back of your neck as he dashes back to his station. It’s never a good sign when chefs grab last-minute items; it either means they’re behind schedule, forgot a component of a key element, or about to screw up whatever they have already made in an attempt to fill up time. Or maybe you’re just being cynical. All your nerves are on fire at the moment. Jihyo and Taecyeon soon turn their attention to you when they realize that your tarts are still in the oven.

“You can’t just look at them all day!” Jihyo exclaims at your crouching position.

She’s right, so you make a quick decision: finish these underbaked tarts in the microwave. You flounder for a towel, pull open the oven door, and walk to the microwave as you fast as you can with a tray of steaming hot pans. As all of the tarts are being cooked, you run back to your station to fill a pastry bag of your rose cream. You have six and a half minutes left, and if you’re quick, you can stick the tarts in the blast chiller to cool a little bit. Never mind that putting hot desserts into a freezer is considered blasphemous, you have a competition to win.

The microwave loudly beeps, and you run back to cart them back onto the baking sheet and shove them in the blast chiller. They could still be underdone for all you know, but that’s a risk you have to take. It will still be delicious at least. Felix decides to grab yet another ingredient, and you watch with interest as he selects a bunch of basil. You can’t say whether rose and basil is a good combination, but you trust that he has an idea of what he’s doing. He flashes you a panicked smile as he runs back. It’s the perfect embodiment of your current emotions.

“Less than five minutes, chefs!”

You’re certain the judges mean well when they begin to shout at you about starting on plating, but it only makes you more anxious. You keep watch of the clock, precious seconds disappearing in front of your eyes. Once it hits two minutes, you’ll take them out. Piping pastry cream is so easy, you could do it in your sleep. Garnishing should be simple too. You can do this.

Taecyeon yells, “There’s no time! Get it together!” exactly when there are three minutes left. One more agonizing minute later, you take out the tarts and head back to your station with the same kind of balancing act you performed when you made a mad dash to the microwave. At first glance, it appears the chocolate cream filling has set and cooled, but who really knows? You pick up your pastry bag and start squeezing fat dots in a crescent on the tops of each tart. The pink cream looks beautiful against the dark chocolate.

“Less than thirty seconds remaining!” shouts Jae.

“I can’t watch,” Chaeryeong declares. “Hurry!”

With a slightly shaky hand, you place your candied peppers on each dollop, grimacing when some of them are just the tiniest bit askew. You quite literally have no time to fix them though. A millisecond after you finish setting the last one, Jae calls out for you and Felix to stop cooking. You throw your hands up, showing that you have stopped. Then with a sigh, you grasp the edge of the table and look down at the final desserts. They all look amazing, minus the imperfect pepper placements, on the outside, so you hope that the insides match, no gooey filling in the center. Out of curiosity, you glance over at Felix and catch him eying yours as well. His mille feuilles look stunning — light pink ice cream sandwiched between golden brown puff pastry, topped with a row of pastry cream, red jalapeños, strawberries, and basil so finely chopped, you can barely see it.

You and Felix meet in the middle and nearly collapse on top of each other. He pulls you in more a congratulatory hug, and your unease about your dessert disappears for a second. His hold is strangely comforting considering you have only met him today. You could stay here all day. Then you remember that all of this is being filmed and that you’re hugging Chef Lee Felix, and your pulse jumps.

“We’re done now. Nice job,” he says. He pulls away and observes your frozen expression. “No laughing fits yet?”

A giggle escapes — they’re back and even worse than before, you can already feel it — and you clamp a hand over your mouth, embarrassed. “They’ve just started.”

“Good luck on the judging.”

“Yeah, you too.”

The director yells, “Cut!” and the moment is gone.

You and Felix idle around by the judges’ table as the production crew takes close-ups of the food. Felix easily makes conversation with all of the judges, especially Taecyeon. He smiles at the right parts, adds anecdotes when appropriate, and you wonder how he is so unphased by the dessert round. It’s all you can think about, replaying every single action you made.

“I can’t wait to try that chocolate tart,” Chaeryeong warmly says to you. “It looks amazing.”

Now all you can do is stare at her in disbelief with the silliest grin on your face. Felix gently nudges you to remind you to speak.

“I can’t wait for you to try it,” you hear yourself reply. It’s uncharacteristically high-pitched, and you feel yourself growing hotter despite the lack of harsh studio lights.

“The fourth one is for me, right?” Felix teases. “I want a bite of that too.”

“Only if I get some of your mille feuille,” you say. “It looks amazing.”

“What about me?” protests Jae, making everyone laugh.

Once the close-ups are completed, you and Felix return to your stations and make the dramatic walk to the judges’ table. The lighthearted atmosphere from before is gone, and your nerves are back in a completely different way. The anticipation from the beginning of the round is nothing compared to the fear you feel now. You stand tall with your hands behind you, the perfect picture of confidence, but behind the camera, you are twisting and knitting together your fingers. Felix, on the other hand, is solemn. Lucky him.

“In the dessert round,” Jae recites, “you were tasked to create a dish with camel milk, rose syrup, beer flour, and jalapeños. Chef Felix, what did you make for us today?”

With a steady voice, he answers, “Judges, I have made for you a rose and strawberry ice cream mille feuille topped with a strawberry rose syrup crumble, candied jalapeños, sliced strawberries, and some chopped basil. I hope you enjoy it.”

There’s a pause as the judges cut into the dessert and try it. Like in the previous rounds, their expressions are indecipherable as they chew and deliberate to themselves. Taecyeon is the first to speak.

“First off, your presentation is beautiful. Everything is very neat and precise, which shows your attention to detail. I especially love the basil. Not only does it complement the rest of the dish, it’s a nice addition of color to the plate.”

Chaeryeong nods. “I agree. Strawberry and basil is a classic combination, and I think you balanced those flavors very well. However, neither of those ingredients were in the basket.”

You can almost feel the temperature in the room drop at that revelation.

“Yeah, you definitely focused more on the pantry than the basket ingredients,” Jihyo adds. “Strawberry is the star of this dessert, and I wish you highlighted a basket ingredient instead, especially since you had so many good choices available. And ice cream wise, I think it is too sweet. And I can just barely taste the rose syrup in there.”

“Where is the beer flour in this?” Taecyeon asks as he lifts off the topmost layer of puff pastry. “Is it in the crumble?”

“Yes,” Felix quickly replies. “I didn’t like the flavor of the flour, so I decided it would be best to hide it with the strong syrup flavor.”

“You definitely did that well,” Taecyeon continues. “And your jalapeños are great, help cut through the sweetness of everything.”

It’s clear that there is nothing more to be said. You note that the baker of the trio of the judges said nothing negative about Felix’s dish.

“Thank you, Chef Felix,” Jae concludes. “Chef Y/N, what have you made for us today?”

There’s another cut as the production switches out the half empty plates for your tarts. Sensing your increasing anxiety, Felix reaches over and pats you on the shoulder.

“Good luck,” he whispers. “You got this.”

You can only give him a tentative smile in return before filming resumes. Jae repeats his line to help the transition.

“Judges, I have made for you a chocolate tart with a beer flour crust, rose pastry cream, and candied jalapeños. Please enjoy.”

Chaeryeong is the first to scoop into the tart with her spoon. When the spoon comes out clean and with a pile of solid chocolate tart, you breathe a sigh of relief. She mulls over it as she takes another bite, but Taecyeon already has one ready.

“This is rich and delicious.”

You stop wringing your fingers together. A smile is beginning to form on your face, and it takes some willpower to remain calm.

“I love the way you cut the beer flour with regular flour because let’s be real,” he continues, leaning in conspiratorially, “beer flour tastes pretty awful. I can still get some hints of it, but it’s not overpowering.”

Jihyo nods in agreement. “You have good textures, from the crunchiness of the tart shell to the silkiness of the filling. My only problem with your dessert is that it’s heavy. There’s a lot of chocolate and then you top it off with something pretty sweet. Your candied jalapeños do help, but the ratio of cream to peppers is off.”

Your joy wilts as you take in her comments. As much as you want for her to be wrong, you didn’t get a chance to eat your creation, so you can’t exactly deny it. However, everyone knows that the judge with the weightiest opinion in the dessert round is Chaeryeong. When you look over at her to see what she thinks, she is still picking apart the tart.

Jihyo, situated in between Taecyeon and Chaeryeong, nudges her. “Anything to add, Chaeryeong?”

She looks up at you, and you realize that likely already made a decision on her first bite. Her words are clear and decisive. “I think you made a lot of good choices. Finishing it in the microwave, using dark chocolate, incorporating the rose syrup in the candying process. I do agree with Jihyo that this is a little too rich though. Your rose syrup cream feels unnecessary, but overall, it’s a delicious dessert.”

Your heart is pounding. Everything feels hot, and you are suddenly hyperaware of the cameras around, waiting to capture your reaction. You remember your fiddling fingers and stop moving them.

“Thank you, Chef Y/N,” Jae says. “The judges need some time to deliberate the winner. Remember that the decision will be made on your dishes from all three rounds. Chefs, we will see you after.” He nods at you and Felix, and as per the instructions from the producers, you and Felix walk to the green room.

No other takes are needed. You follow behind Felix, wondering how he is still so poised after all of that. Inside the green room, there is a cameraman waiting, ready to film some commentary from you and Felix. You settle into a stool at the table, and he sits in front of you.

“You did a great job,” he says in an overly produced way. You bet he was rehearsing this. That’s what you should have been doing during his judging. Now your remarks won’t come out as smoothly. “I definitely focused on the pantry too much, but hopefully the other rounds will help me out. The beer flour really confused me.”

You swallow and try to concentrate on him instead of the tabletop. If you don’t get this right, you’ll have to redo it. “Yeah, definitely a tricky ingredient. It was smart of you to use it in your crumble. But yeah, I think we both did pretty good. May the best chef win.” You stick your hand out for him to shake, and he does.

“Cut,” interjects a producer. “Alright, that’s all for that scene. Let’s start on your interviews.”

You nearly forgot about those. You and Felix share glances, both of which are reluctant goodbyes, before being whisked away into separate rooms. As you sit in front of a green screen, you recount what you did in the dessert round, walking the audience through the choices you made and the emotions you felt. There’s a frenetic energy about you this time unlike the previous interviews after the appetizer and entrée rounds. You are so close to the ten million won, you can almost taste it.

Your interview takes almost all of the time. Just as you swallow your last sip of water, the producers are informed that the judges have finished discussing and that you are needed back to the kitchen studio. When you stand up, you nearly knock over the stool you were sitting on. The walk to the studio is longer than it was before, and you want to push the dawdling production crew aside so you can get there faster. Your heart pounds erratically underneath your mask of serenity.

Felix smiles at you from where he stands in front of the judging panel. The signature cloche of God’s Menu sits ominously from its location on the table, two spotlights illuminating its silver shine. Taecyeon, Jihyo, and Chaeryeong are getting last-minute makeup touches, and Jae is idling around, rereading his script even though he has said the lines numerous times before.

“Hey,” you greet Felix as you take your spot beside him. “You nervous?”

“Yeah. It all comes down to this, right? Ten million won and the title of Cooking God.” He says the last part like Jae does, no theatrics spared, and you laugh. It feels good to do so, like a small bit of tension has been released.

Someone adjusts the lights, and suddenly you and Felix are in the dark. Feeling a little courageous, you tell him, “No matter what happens, I just want to say that it’s been an honor competing against you. It’s been a lot of fun, and I think I’ve learned a few things from your cooking.”

“Same here. You’re an awesome chef and an even better person.” The lights shine back on you and Felix, and he sneaks a glance towards you after a producer calls a warning to begin shooting soon. “I’d say ‘good luck,’ but with the way you cook, I don’t think you’ll need it.”

Your face is as hot as an oven. “Thanks. Same to you.”

The clapper goes down. “Action!”

“Chefs,” Jae starts, “the judges have finished deciding. Let’s see who is our next Cooking God and who is getting ousted.”

His hand wraps around the handle of the cloche, and you hold your breath in anticipation. The sound of your pulse in your ears is deafening. You’re not one to wish for someone else’s downfall, but you hope that it’s Felix’s mille feuille underneath. Everything you have worked for today all comes down to this. You can’t lose. You knit and twist your fingers behind your back, and keep your eyes glued to Jae’s hand.

When you see the dish on the table and the judge’s impassive faces, you begin to cry. Your chest tightens, your throat suddenly has a cherry pit lodged inside, and your vision goes blurry. How funny that you start the round with laughter and end in tears. It’s all too poetic for such a moment.

“Chef Felix,” Jae solemnly says, “you have been ousted. Judges?”

You don’t hear what the judges have to say about Felix’s dishes from the past three rounds. All you can focus on is the wood paneling of the judges’ table as you stifle your bubbling sobs. It shouldn’t be too difficult, right? You suppressed all your laughs in the beginning, so this should be easy.

“It was an honor to cook for you today, judges,” Felix says after he has received all of their critiques. He turns to you and wraps in a warm embrace, making your flimsy grasp on your emotions disintegrate. “Congratulations. I knew you would win when I saw your dessert.”

“Thank you so much,” you whisper.

After he heads down the hallway to the green room to film his exit interview, the cameras are back on you and solely you. The judges give you encouraging smiles, Chaeryeong’s the largest.

“Chef Y/N, you are the new Cooking God,” Jae announces. “Congratulations.”

You wipe away your tears with the back of your hand in a vain attempt to make yourself appear more composed. However, when the applause begins, it all comes pouring out — your thanks, your appreciation, your rambles about the bakery you have planned.

“I’ll be sure to come by,” Chaeryeong says. “Your tart was your best dish of the day. If you put it on the menu, I’m definitely going to buy one.”

“Your creativity in all of the rounds was amazing,” Jihyo adds, “but dessert is really where you shine. Give us a call when your bakery is open.”

Taecyeon compliments your appetizer and also agrees with the other two. “Chef, you should be proud of yourself.”

You beam through your tears. For a momentous occasion, you half expect confetti to start raining down and a symphony to start playing. However, there is only production orchestrating a few more shots of you shaking hands with everyone and a closeup of your face. The small celebratory scene is over soon as you are led to another room for your victory interview. This one is easy, simply you expressing your joy and partially promoting your future business.

When you’re done, you are told to wait in the green room while they set up some paperwork for you to fill out later. To your surprise, Felix is there as well, sitting at the table with a tired look on his face. His water bottle is empty, and there is an unopened one next to it. When he sees that you are there, he lights up.

“Hey there, Cooking God,” he says. “Congrats again.”

“Hey. Thanks again.” You sit across from him and slump against the table. “I thought you would have left already.”

“I’ve got some paperwork to do and one more interview to finish up. You know,” he says, propping himself up on his arms, leaning forward, “I never got to try your tart. I was really looking forward to it.”

You can see yourself reflected in his eyes. He has very pretty eyes. “I never got to try your mille feuille either. Do you think production will be mad if we sneak back in and eat the leftovers?”

“We might have to dig through the trash, but I’m down.” He pulls back. “What are you going to do with the prize money, if you don’t mind me asking? I don’t think Jae asked you about it during the judging.”

So you tell him all about it. You tell him of the empty building on the corner of the street you have been eying for the last year, the late night hours you have spent experimenting with recipes, the white banner and silver ribbons you have envisioned for the grand opening of your dream. He listens intently, nodding along and cracking smiles when you draw the details in the air.

“Wow, you’ve got it all figured out already.”

“Yeah,” you agree, feeling flushed and breathless. “It’s been a long time coming.”

There’s a knock on the door, and a member of the production team pokes his head in. “Chef Lee Felix, we’re ready to shoot the interview now.”

Felix nods and stands up from his stool, taking the both water bottles with him. “I guess this is goodbye then. Good luck with everything.”

“What’s your number?” you blurt out before the nervous laughter starts up again. You just finished one of the most grueling cooking competitions in the country; asking someone for their number should be a cakewalk, but said someone also happens to be a highly esteemed chef. “I’d love for you to be at the grand opening.”

His mouth splits into a grin. He tears the label off of the empty bottle and asks the staff member if he has a pen. Then he scrawls down the digits and hands you the label, the fresh ink against the glossy paper shining underneath the lights.

“See you during the opening,” are his last words to you before he follows production out of the room.

You clutch the edge of the label and mouth the numbers to yourself, trying to commit them to memory. A needless action, but it feels right.

When you are called for paperwork and logistics, you carefully fold the paper and place it inside your chef jacket’s pocket, right by your heart. The check for eight million won — taxes unfortunately exist for prize money — goes in there as well.

The grand opening is a grand affair: customers flocking to the street corner in droves, a giant banner and even a red ribbon celebrating the occasion, and display cases being emptied throughout the day. As promised, Chaeryeong and Jihyo show up to the opening. The day is nearly over when they arrive; only a few people linger around, buying last-minute treats. You decide to close for the night.

Even though the two celebrity chefs say they have finished filming a new episode, they are both in high spirits. They bring along a plaque for you to hang that reads “God’s Menu Approved,” and you are both mortified and thrilled. Chaeryeong wants you to put the plaque in the window, but Jihyo insists you have it behind the counter. However, you don’t really want it in either location. Your office seems like a wonderful place.

“How about a tart?” you ask to distract them. “On the house, of course.”

They nod enthusiastically at the offer, and you set down two familiar-looking ones. “As seen on God’s Menu, the Dessert Round Tart, chocolate with rose-flavored cream and candied jalapeños.”

The bell on the door chimes, and a voice you have not heard in months says, “Any left for me?”

“Felix!” you exclaim, rushing to him. He’s still in his chef’s uniform, and you can almost smell sriracha on him. “How are you here? I thought you said you had a shift.”

He shrugs and smiles boyishly at you. It makes you all sorts of nervous, and your stomach flutters with something that is not laughter. “Surprise!”

“Let me go get you a tart,” you say as you lead him to the same table as Chaeryeong and Jihyo, both who recognize Felix from the show.

You head behind the counter and reach for the last tart left in your hidden stash of desserts. You saved three for the judges, but Taecyeon isn’t here. He is apparently in the midst of opening a new location, and you understand. After all, you’re doing something similar. It all works out in your favor though since Felix is. With more care than the previous two, you place the tart on a small plate and set it down in front of Felix.

“Here you go. Enjoy.”

He cuts into it with the fork and savors the first bite. “It’s even better than I thought it would be. This is amazing.”

“Definitely agree,” says Jihyo. Hers is completely gone, only the smallest crumbs left. “You’ve really refined it.”

Chaeryeong, mouth full of chocolate, can only nod in agreement. You smile, flattered by their compliments. After some pushing from the trio, you sit down with them to eat the leftover desserts from the day and to catch up. Chaeryeong and Jihyo are predictably busy with the filming of God’s Menu and overseeing their respective establishments. Meanwhile, Felix is still head chef of Levanter and has been tasked with adding something new to their menu. You tell them all about the beginning of the day and how a dog almost tore apart the low-hanging streamers outside. Felix sympathetically pats your hand. You then join in on the laughter, yours of which is more induced by his touch than the memory of the dog.

Some time later, Chaeryeong announces that she has to go, and Jihyo follows. You send them off with some lemongrass cupcakes and lie about where you will be displaying the plaque. No matter what, it’s going in your office where only you can see it. Felix stays around, and with everyone else gone, it’s just you and him.

“Hi,” you say, suddenly feeling shy. “You’re not leaving yet?”

He shakes his head. “I wanted to ask you something."

"Oh, what is it?"

"Since you still haven’t tried my mille feuille from the show and since Levanter needs a new menu item, would you want to help me sometime?” He pauses and grimaces at his words. “Wait, you’re probably busy with your bakery now and—”

“I’d love to,” you abruptly say. “Probably only taste testing though, if that’s alright. Business conflicts and all.”

Your favorite thing about Felix, you decide, is the way he lights up, the way the excitement emitting from him is palpable. With a tinge of red across his cheeks, he says, “I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other soon.”

You let out a short laugh. “I guess we will. I’m alright with that.”

“So am I.”

~ ad.gray

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honeymoonjin · 4 years

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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 15.5k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: filmed sex/voyeurism/exhibitionism as usual, an extra lil tidbit of exhibitionism this time around though, thigh riding, choking/erotic asphyxiation/breathplay, degradation, dumbification, objectification - all consensual, but y’all wanted meandom jimin so i delivered, please read at your discretion - dom!jimin obv, sub!reader, oral (m receiving), throat fucking, punishment/discipline, footjob kinda (socks are worn, it’s not bare feet), aftercare as usual, mentions and implications of mxm

dedicated to my sfhs girls, everyone in the villa discord, and femboy friday

please note there are hyperlinks in this chapter ! they link to specific images that i thought might help you visualise some things ;) all links are safe

DAY NINETEEN

Your body clearly still isn’t right again by Friday morning, but it’s nothing a good breakfast can’t solve. Fortunately for you, Jin is more than happy to turn it into an occasion for a large, communal meal, and with barely any prompting, he’s whizzing away in the kitchen like a madman.

As you wait, you sip away at some vaguely herby-yet-fruity tea that he’d brewed you, watching his broad shoulders shift beneath his shirt when he chops vegetables, and his brows furrow in focus when he measures out spices.

“I don’t suppose I’d have time to- Nevermind,” Jin mutters at some point, carting a bladeful of crushed garlic from the chopping board to a simmering pan.

You sit up, ignoring the billow of steam from your mug. “Time to what?” He shakes his head, but you keep on him, watching his eyes dart to your figure leaning against the counter, and back at his work. With a gasp, you thrust the mug at him accusingly. “Were you going to put the moves on me?”

He scoffs low in his throat, but doesn’t respond.

“You were! Was making breakfast for me just a ruse, then?”

Jin turns around at that, lifting his brows and giving you a mock look of offense. “It was not! I’m just an opportunist, that’s all.” His shoulders sag. “But I don’t want the meat to burn, and it’s only time before the irresistible aroma of my delicious cooking reaches their doors and draws them down like rats to the pied piper.”

“Are you calling the others rats?” you ask with a giggle bubbling up your throat.

The cook pauses. “I suppose I’m not not calling them rats,” he allows, “but that’s not the point. I’m taking my time with you.” Perhaps the comment would be more sexy or romantic if he wasn’t using a kitchen knife to gesture.

Your interested piqued, you take a slow, thoughtful sip of the quickly-cooling dregs of tea. “You could always tell me,” you offer up, watching his head tilt in curiosity. “Tell me what you would’ve done to me if you weren’t worried about time. Or burning meat.”

His lips part slightly, a strange look in his eyes, like he’s appraising you. “You’re dangerous, you know that?” Though it’s probably meant to come off as a joke, his voice is too soft for it to carry. “If I tell you, I’ll have to change my plans for the prompt. Keep you on your toes?”

“Plans?” you question. “I thought you were an opportunist.”

Even though his back is faced to you, stirring some vegetables amongst the strips of meat, Jin speaks clearly, every word enunciated like it’s a mantra. “I’d kiss you ‘til you couldn’t breathe,” he begins, “and when you were overcome with need, I’d lift you on that counter and get to my knees. Eat you out like you were my last meal. Finally, if you still wanted more, I’d lie you down on the tile and fuck you well like you deserve.”

Your cheeks are hot, searing skin and throbbing pulse. Jin turns around to spoon the cooked stir-fry into a bowl on the countertop, looking far more unaffected than you. His eyes dart to you, a bemused and genuine smile quirking at his lips when he sees you flustered into silence. “It’s your turn,” he remarks in an easy drawl, placing the bowl beside you before he goes to the fridge to retrieve a carton of eggs. “What would you do if you weren’t worried about time?”

You take a breath, nostrils flaring at the rich mix of buttery vegetables and perfectly seasoned meat. “I’ll be honest with you, Jin,” you quip in a small, unobtrusive voice, “I’d probably get you to finish cooking first. This smells fucking incredible.”

Jin’s pealing laugh is punctuated by the cracking of an egg into the still-hot pan, and as the sizzling echoes through the room, you feel the air settle back into something lighter. Good timing, too, as it’s then that you hear footsteps behind you.

Before you can turn, your sides are crushed by a tight back-hug, arms wedged into your sides. “Feeling better?” a smooth voices asks, and you’re surprised to recognise it as Namjoon’s.

The academic had woken before you, so was fully coherent when you’d gotten up with a roiling stomach. With more than a tinge of concern, he’d let you shower first while he’d passed the message on to Jin, the only other awake member of the household. He now smelt fresh, like mint and citrus, and his skin still radiated heat from under his shirt.

He releases you just as quickly as he’d wrapped his arms around you, nothing more than a greeting, and Jin doesn’t even lift a brow at the affectionate display.

Before you can answer however, there’s a fourth party entering the room, a familiar sleepy drawl as Yoongi pads into the kitchen and beelines straight for the coffee machine. “Still sick?”

“Still?” Jin questions, narrowing his eyes in concern as he scrambles the eggs with the corner of a silicon spatula. “How long have you been sick?”

“Just since yesterday,” you deflect, “it’s probably nothing.”

Namjoon goes stiff beside you. “You don’t think it’s...you know? A problem with your birth control?”

Your eyes furrow in confusion before you process his words a moment later. “Oh, I- surely not? I have an implant, so it’s not like forgetting a pill or anything.” But the thought niggles in your mind, and you seek out Yoongi, who slumps against the counter while his drink brews. “It’s not like… morning sickness, is it?”

A disbelieving laugh leaves Yoongi’s lips. You gape at him, but he just waves a hand in dismissal. “Don’t stress about it. You have an IUD, right? They’re 99% effective, and morning sickness generally starts around the six-week period. When did you get the IUD?”

You think back. “Once I cleared all my tests for the show, I guess? I think it was a couple days before we came here. Why?”

Yoongi seems to wake up very quickly after that, face falling slack. “Wait- A couple days? First of all, unless you were having unprotected six roughly two to three weeks before you came here, I highly doubt you have anything more than a slight cold or at the most, food poisoning-” Jin shoots the doctor an accusatory glare, which Yoongi ignores in favour of abandoning his coffee and rounding the corner. “But I think we have a different problem to worry about.”

You blink, your sick stomach returning as his concern starts getting to you. “I wasn’t having sex at all two to three weeks before the show. But what’s the problem?”

Yoongi looks stern, what you imagine he’d look like in his clinic giving serious medical advice to a patient. “Were you on your period when you got the implant?”

Reflexively, your cheeks heat at the personal question, hyper aware of Namjoon, Jin and Yoongi’s collective attention on you. “No. Why?”

“Fuck,” the doctor curses. “Come with me.”

“What’s going on?” You take his outstretched hand, heart racing as he leads you towards the front door, away from the other two who wait in confused and concerned silence. “What’s happening, Yoongi, you’re stressing me out?”

Yoongi’s fingers squeeze yours reassuringly as his face softens, holding the door open for you. “I’ll explain when we get to Sejin’s van, sweetheart, you’re fine.”

Though the sun has well and truly risen, it’s relatively cloudy, and the two of you aren’t even wearing anything more than house slippers and socks as you rush across the gravel towards the production van. There are lights on inside, and Yoongi doesn’t bother knocking before he’s bundling you and him inside.

The van is relatively cramped, some modest floor space with a single bed and then every other surface filled with monitors, paperwork, and a bank of screens displaying the cameras inside the Villa. Sejin, with his bulky headphones around his neck and his chair faced towards you, clearly must have seen you coming, as your sudden entry doesn’t catch him off-guard.

“How can I help yo-”

“Did nobody do their fucking research?” Yoongi spits immediately at him, giving no introduction or pleasantries. “I know there are speakers in the rooms, I know you heard us, so you better start explaining otherwise if you’re not lucky you’ll be facing a massive fucking lawsuit.”

Sejin sighs, his eyes darting to you in sympathy, before they return to Yoongi. “The requirement was that Y/n was on birth control by the time the show began. She was.”

“Yeah, well, not effective birth control,” Yoongi counters.

“The IUD Y/n got is 99% effective. She and all of you signed off that using additional birth control such as condoms beyond that was your choice. If you’ve chosen not to, that’s legally not our responsibility. The condoms have been made available.”

You furrow your brows, finding comfort in his hand tightly cradling yours. “Yoongi, I don’t understand…”

The doctor sighs, pinching his brow, and turns to you. “Y/n, when you got the IUD, did they not warn you about the seven-day window?”

You feel the blood drain from your face, the feeling that bad news is imminent. “What window? No, the lady didn’t say anything.”

“Un-fucking-believable,” Yoongi curses, rubbing a palm over his face. “Well, listen up the two of you for a quick lesson in intra-uterine devices. If you aren’t currently on your period, they can take up to seven days to be considered effective. So while it’s highly unlikely that you have morning sickness right now, Y/n, I’m pretty fucking concerned for what may have happened during that first week.”

You bite down harshly on your lip as tears spring to your eyes, you naturally feel yourself wrapping your free arm over your stomach. “How do I- What do I do?”

Yoongi’s face softens at the action, and he turns to Sejin with a sigh. “You need to get an early detection pregnancy test, so that we can know for sure. Plenty of couples have unprotected sex without any pregnancies, so it’s not a definite, but we need to rule it out quickly so that Y/n can decide how she wishes to proceed. How quickly can you get one?”

Sejin, who had been looking greener and greener as Yoongi spoke, finally lets out a rushing breath, jumping up. “I’ll go down to a pharmacy now. Y/n; are you wanting to come with to do it sooner, or...?”

You sniff, shaking your head quickly. “Can you just bring it back here? I don’t want the others to think something’s wrong.”

Sejin nods stiffly, patting you once on the shoulder as he passes you. “I’m so sorry, Y/n, Yoongi’s right. We should’ve done more research. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Yoongi goes lax the second Sejin shuts the van door behind you, pulling you into a tight hug. “Either way, you’ll be just fine. You always have options,” he assures you, cheek pressed to your hair, rubbing your back.

Like your mind is desperate to find something to relieve your sudden crashing wave of stress, a hysterical laugh jumps out of your throat. “A fucking pregnancy scare,” you bemoan, “this is meant to be slutty Bachelorette but it’s just a slutty telenovela.”

Yoongi freezes when you begin laughing, but quickly falls in on the joke. “I even have a secret twin,” he jokes. “We better keep an eye out to make sure Jin doesn’t fake his death to steal the show’s budget.”

You sink further into his secure embrace, chuckling at his remark but quickly sobering up. “What am I gonna do, Yoongi? I can’t have a baby, especially not if it’s some- some mutant mix of seven different dads!”

“Sweetheart, please don’t stress yourself over it before you even know,” Yoongi pleads. “If it’s any consolation, that’s not how biology works at all. That would make for a riveting episode of Jeremy Kyle, though.”

You let out a groan. “God, how would they fit eight armchairs on the stage?”

Yoongi chuckles, smoothing a hand down your back before he gently breaks the hug. “Do you want to stay here, or go back inside and get something to eat? We don’t have to tell the others; Jin and Namjoon are mature enough not to ask pry, especially if there are others around.”

Your growling stomach answers the question for you.

Inside, Jin and Namjoon stay quiet just as Yoongi had anticipated, the former simply announcing that you were just in time for breakfast.

The table was set, most of them already seated, and you gape at the impressive display. The stir-fry from earlier, several individual small bowls of rice, a deep brown broth, scrambled eggs, and even some rice porridge fill the table.

Taehyung, Jungkook and Hoseok are on one half of the table, Jungkook looking like it physically pained him to restrain himself. Jin at one end, an empty space at the other, and the final long edge has Namjoon sitting beside two place for you and Yoongi. Just as you open your mouth to voice the absence, Jimin comes around the corner from the stairs and snags a place on the head of the table beside Taehyung.

You wish him a good morning as you sit, the smells of all the different dishes mingling in your nose the second your butt hits the seat. “Sorry for holding you all up,” you apologise, pasting a smile on your face even as your insides still wriggle in anxious tension. “Thank you for the meal, Jin.”

“Anytime,” he deflects, and like that word was a command, Jungkook bursts into action, shoveling food into his bowl like he’s on the verge of starvation. Jin sighs, reaching for the stirfry. “Quickly, before the vulture gets it all.”

Breakfast, once you force yourself to enjoy it and stay in the moment, is impeccably delicious and a lot of fun. As it turns out, Taehyung’s been making good use of his free schedule, and he regales the table with anecdotes of teaching Mango a number of ‘useful’ tricks like high-fiving, playing dead and turning in tight circles to beg for a treat. It’s while watching a video of the small white dog lolling out her tongue after Taehyung pretend to shoot her with his fingers shaped like a gun that there’s a sudden knock at the door.

Immediately, the thought of the pregnancy test comes to mind, and you’re rushing to the door before anyone else gets the chance.

What you don’t expect to open the door to, however, is a simple delivery worker, with a decently large box under one arm and a small electronic pad in the other. You stare blankly at the man as he consults the label on the box. “Looking for a Jung Hoseok,” he states gruffly, eyes barely reaching you from under a yellow cap branded with the company logo.

Your eyes widen, and you turn back, calling through to the kitchen. “Hobi, it’s for you!”

Rather than returning to your seat, you wait in rapt curiosity as Hoseok practically skips to the front door, smoothly signing off the package with an easy grin. Once he takes it and shuts the door behind the already-departing delivery man, you press against his shoulder to catch a glimpse at the label.

Though Hoseok tugs it away from you with a tut, and you aren’t able to read the packing sticker, you manage to take note of a dark red stamp inked heavily on the top left corner of the box. Two Rs, back-to-back with lush flicks on the outer downward strokes.

The dom parades the box around the foyer, making sure he’s visible to the rest of the guys at the kitchen table, before taking it upstairs with a spring to his step.

Taking a seat again, you let out a disbelieving whoosh of air. “I think it’s from his work,” you tell the others conspiratorially.

Jungkook’s eyes widen, his right cheek stuffed with meat he’s pushed to the side. “Like the Red Room? Kinky stuff?” he questions with a slight lisp, before chewing frantically and swallowing the food. “Are we allowed to do that?”

“It seems so,” Jimin murmurs, his eyes glinting with interest. “Just because we can’t go out doesn’t mean we can’t bring stuff to us, I suppose.”

Jin watches the two youngest with a strangely amused look on his face, twirling his chopsticks against the tabletop. “I’m surprised the two of you have kept quiet so long?”

Jungkook frowns. “Huh? Oh!” Suddenly, his and Taehyung’s faces light up in unison, glancing down at themselves.

Taehyung claps the table in excitement, staring at you, Yoongi and Jimin. “Do you know what day it is today?”

“Friday,” Yoongi answers shortly. “Is it a public holiday or something? It doesn’t really matter if we’re still stuck in here, does it?”

“No, hyung,” Jungkook enthuses, “do none of you go on TikTok? It’s femboy Friday!”

Jimin furrows his brows in utter confusion. “It’s what?”

In their haste to stand up, Taehyung and Jungkook just about tip their chairs over, knocking the table with their knees. Your mouth drops as you see instead of sweatpants or jeans, both boys are sporting skirts.

“Femboy Friday,” Taehyung repeats with a shy smile as Jimin’s eyes rake shamelessly over his figure, “we’re saying fuck toxic masculinity and celebrating feminine boys and proving that clothes don’t have gender all in one! Namjoon, don’t you love it?”

Namjoon, to his credit, manages to nod dumbly, but it seems like that’s his only remaining executive function as his jaw hangs slack, eyes wide.

You can’t blame him, however. You can’t stop looking at the two either. Jungkook has a casual, loose black t-shirt tucked into a high waisted skirt that’s the same shade. Tight around his hips and flaring in an a-line down his thighs, silver chains and buckles give it an edgier look. As he does a twirl, you catch a glimpse of the definition the fabric gives his ass, everyone watching with rapt attention.

Taehyung, on the other hand, has gone for a sweeter look, with a white blouse tucked in to a dove grey plaid skirt that falls in perfectly ironed pleats. It’s relatively cool inside, so he’s shrugged on a cream-coloured jacket somewhat reminiscent of a school blazer. It’s clear by the tentative smile and blushed cheeks that he’s more shy about the getup than Jungkook is; the latter stands tall with folded arms, like he’s daring you to say something.

Once the rest of you at the table get over the initial shock, followed by the silent awe and appreciation, it’s Jimin who speaks up first, his lips parted in a shocked pout. “Why did nobody tell me?”

Jungkook blinks. “Huh?”

Jimin pushes his chair back, brows furrowed. “Where was this announced? I wasn’t informed.”

Taehyung sends him a boxy grin, his skirt swishing with the slightest movement. “It’s a TikTok thing, Minnie! You should do it with us!”

Jimin tilts his head with a thoughtful hum. “I’m not sure that I have any skirts in my suitcases. Some lingerie, sure, but not-”

“Oh, I just got mine out of the little costume wardrobe in the cupboard,” Taehyung explains easily, jumping forward to tug at Jimin’s arm. “I got a schoolgirl one, but I saw a cheerleader one in there too, come on!”

Your mouth hangs open as the two rush away, and Yoongi splutters, clapping a hand on the table to punctuate his shock. “Wait, sorry, I must’ve- wait,” he babbles, shaking his head in disbelief, “Jimin has lingerie? I’m making tomorrow Panties Saturday.”

Jungkook giggles. “Hyung, that’s not how it works! Femboy Friday is like, a thing, you know? Tae and I made a video earlier and it’s already doing numbers. If we all did it, I bet we’d go viral!”

Yoongi winces. “In my line of work, ‘viral’ is not a good thing.”

You turn to him with a grin. “Come on, Yoongi,” you entice warmly, “it would really cheer me up.”

Keeping your mind off other things is definitely a priority now, and by Yoongi’s reluctant sigh of defeat, you know he knows it. “I don’t want to wear a skirt,” he states, “my legs get cold easily. Is there any compromise of some sort? Anything else I can contribute to the cause?”

It seems you and Jungkook get the idea at the same time, judging by the way his eyes light up.

Before Yoongi can voice his concern, a triumphant clearing of a throat catches the room’s attention. Looking demure in his schoolgirl-esque getup, Taehyung stands tall in the doorway, glancing behind him. “Announcing,” he calls out more noisily than is needed, “the head cheerleader himself, Park Jimin!”

When Taehyung had mentioned cheerleader, and again now, you’d expected the typical red get-up, maybe a sweeter, more innocent look, but at this point in the show it’s about time you realise that Jimin never restricts himself to the obvious route, preferring to defy expectations.

Stepping into the gap Taehyung leaves for him and resting an elbow casually against the doorframe, Jimin looks like the type of student that would run the team with an iron fist. Or, judging by the rings laden on his hands, a silver one. It looks like the only things he’s taken from the cheerleader costume is a pleated pink skirt and some white thigh-high stockings, slipping slightly on the foyer tile. A simple but sexy Gucci shirt is tucked into the obscenely high waistband. Though the logo is gold, red and green, stamped onto the centre of the white fabric, it doesn’t clash with the skirt, instead making an addicting contrast. Shrugged on top, loose around his arms, is a black jacket with red and gold detailing on the shoulders. His gaze is piercing and superior, wearing the skirt like it’s armour as he slinks forward and sits in the chair with a smug look on his face.

Your mouth feels dry. Reminded of the last time he wore more typically feminine attire, it’s like the temperature of the room has increased by several degrees. “I think this is my new favourite day of the year,” you admit quietly, though it carries well enough in the awed room. “You guys look incredible.”

Jimin smirks. “Who’s next, then?”

Jungkook brightens up, wiping the corner of his lip surreptitiously. “Yoongi! Hyung, we need makeup; lots of it.”

Yoongi blanches. “You what now?”

Jin sits forward eagerly. “Wait; if we’re all making ourselves look pretty, I want in. I’ve always wanted to look like the rich hot mom from Parasite,” he divulges openly, turning to you. “Y/n, do you have some jewellery I can use?”

You grin. “I guess so. I know Jimin has some too, and I think Jungkookie? We can get you iced up. Ah, I feel like a little girl dressing up paper dolls. Let’s go get some supplies and we can make a day of it!”

You stand up too quickly, head lurching and stomach protesting, and like the crashing of a freezing wave, you feel dread wash over you. Before you can even dwell on it, Jin’s behind you, steadying you and holding you upright against him.

“Alright?” he asks in a low voice as the others begin to discuss a game plan.

You nod. “Just stood up too quickly.”

Jin’s mouth twists, unconvinced with your answer. “Let’s go upstairs and raid your closet. Take a breather.”

Leaving the others behind, you let the noise drop away as Jin carefully leads you up the stairs and to your room, sitting you carefully on your bed.

You collapse back against the mattress, feeling weak now that the pressure in your head is beginning to recede. Unsurprisingly, Jin doesn’t immediately beeline for the wardrobe or set of drawers. The springs adjust to a shift in weight. Jin’s hands finds one of yours, wrapping it between the two and squeezing it in reassurance. You’re smart enough to recognise this as the start of a Talk, capital letter intended.

“I’m worried about you,” he starts softly, his voice warm and comforting like cotton. “You don’t have to feel obligated to tell me a thing, and I know I’m no medical expert like Yoongichi, but I do know a lot about sex and relationships, and I know that surprises and accidents can happen. I’m here for you in any capacity you need, Y/n. Any at all.”

You swallow, staring at the slightly uneven, off-white paint on the ceiling. “I might be pregnant. It’s a big might but, you know…”

Jin’s hand tightens on yours briefly at that word, like a flexing of muscle, and relaxes again. “The not-knowing is still scary,” he finishes lightly.

“Yeah.” With a frown, you focus your awareness inwards, feeling your stomach rise and fall with your breath. “I don’t feel pregnant. But then- how the fuck would I know what that felt like?”

Jin is silent for a moment. “That isn’t really something I could help with, sadly.”

You huff out a humourless laugh through your nose. “It’s fine, Jin. I appreciate your concern. Sejin’s bringing back a test soon, hopefully, and then I can just… deal with it then.”

“Do you wanna talk about what those results would mean for you? What you feel about the possibility of-”

“Absolutely not,” you cut in sharply, sitting up so quickly that your vision spots. “I’m refusing to dwell on it until I have an answer.” You swallow down the nausea that rises in your throat the more you think about it, turning to face him. “If you wanna help, Jin, and I can’t thank you enough for wanting to- then just distract me.”

Jin pauses, nods, then a grin stretches across his face. “Deal.”

“This is ridiculous,” Hoseok huffs for the hundredth time, nails digging in to the arms of the chair he’s sat at. “It could’ve been anyone else but him. Y/n, why didn’t you help?”

You beam innocently, watching as an equally tight-lipped Jimin settles on a stool in front of the dom, a palette of brown and beige pressed powders and a small brush in hand. “Minnie’s way better than me at it, Hobi. Don’t you wanna look pretty?”

“I chose to pass this in the truth or dare game for a reason.” Hoseok tenses and recoils violently when Jimin’s hand lifts suddenly towards his face. “He’s going to make me look ugly on purpose,” he accuses.

Jimin scoffs, hand falling again. “Are you going to keep talking about me like I’m not here?”

“Ideally, yes.”

The blue-haired man tuts, lazily swirling the soft, short bristles over a particular shade, collecting more pigment. “It would be easier to make you look ugly, but I always relish a good challenge. Don’t worry; you’ll thank me when I’m done.”

“I most certainly will not,” Hoseok pouts stiffly. “Just get on with it, Peaches.”

Jimin’s hand overshoots and streaks a thick tan line on the strip of naked skin between his short skirt and thigh-high stockings. “Fuck. Keep your mouth shut, Jung.”

“You said you’re just doing the base stuff, why does my mouth need to be shut?” Hoseok complains.

Jimin levels him a glare. “Because if you open it, I’ll shove this down your throat and use you as storage.”

“Kinky,” Hoseok banters back, but settles into silence, only flinching slightly when Jimin raises the brush to his face again, dabbing delicately at Hoseok’s dainty nose.

Like some sort of makeshift salon - the second time all eight of you had gathered together to do so - the dining table has been transformed. At the head, Hoseok and Jimin glare at each other with less than a ruler’s length between them. Jungkook and Taehyung have descended on Yoongi like makeup kiosk employees, gushing over his smooth skin and graceful eye shape as the man protests noisily but otherwise seems very content being fussed over.

Jin is wearing enough necklaces, bracelets and earrings that he jingles with the slightest movement, of which there are many as he compulsively makes the eyeliner on his lids longer and thicker and longer again. The brief moments of silence that descend usually consist of him holding up the hand mirror and staring intensely at his reflection, sometimes holding it close enough that his breath fogs it up.

And finally, you and Namjoon are in between the three parties, the academic patiently holding his hands steady as you file away at his nails, shaping them a bit. “I’m not hurting you, am I?” you check in.

Namjoon immediately shakes his head, leaning in closer to watch your motions and the dust shavings that pile up on the folded paper towel beneath your hands. “I’ve always wanted to get my nails done,” he says, voice a casual low timbre.

That surprises you. “Really?” you ask, gently tugging on his hand so he can present his thumb for filing.

“Well,” he amends quickly, “always since yesterday.” At your bewildered laugh, he cracks a sheepish grin and explains. “One of the fans sent in something mentioning it when I visited the confessional booth at lunchtime. It’s sort of been on my mind since then.”

“I’m glad I can help you fulfil this lifelong dream of yours then, Joonie,” you remark with a smile of your own. It’s impossible not to cheer up in Namjoon’s company, your heart always feels lighter in his vicinity. “Are you wanting a colour? I don’t have many, sorry; Jin’s hogging the white and the pink.”

“It’s for a French tip,” Jin calls out imperiously, never one to miss his name mentioned in conversation. You know he’s chosen to help himself so that he can quietly keep an eye on you, and the thought makes you feel more secure and unburdened, appreciative of his attempts to keep your mind occupied. “It’s high class fashion, baby.”

“Maybe in 2010,” Jungkook retorts without glancing away from the blush he’s patting onto Yoongi’s cheeks. “These days it’s all about nail art, hyung.”

Namjoon pipes up. “Like drawing pictures and stuff on the nail? I think some of the girls in my class get those.” He gasps, wriggling in his seat as he turns to you with as much urgency as he can while his hands stay still in your loose grasp. “Do you think you could do that?”

You laugh self-consciously. “I’m not really an expert,” you begin, but Namjoon’s look of veiled disappointment is too much to bear, “but I could give you some nail stickers? They’re just like, love-hearts and stars and leaf patterns and stuff, but-”

With a gasp Namjoon leans forward. “Can I have the leaf ones?” After receiving your confirmation, his knee jiggles under the table in suppressed excitement as you pick up a bottle of nude base coat, the colour of milky tea with a hint of pink to warm it up a bit. You’d used it many a time when you just wanted something plain, and it’ll serve you well today as a blank canvas. Namjoon holds his breath as you uncap it and hold up his pinky finger, carefully coating the smallest fingernail in the glossy polish.

His hands are warm, pliant under your grasp. As he goes quiet to let you focus, the sounds of the rest of the room fill in the vacuum.

“You get that away from my eyes,” Yoongi hisses at one point, making his two stylists tut in reproach.

“It’s just an eyelash curler, hyung,” Taehyung defends, Jungkook providing a resounding ‘yeah!’ in the background. “People use them all the time, it doesn’t hurt.”

“People wax and get tattoos and piercings all the time, Taehyung, and those are still painful. You will not be using that medieval torture device on any part of me.”

Taehyung huffs, and you hear a petulant clank as he drops it back onto the table. “Enjoy your boring straight lashes then, Min Yoongi.”

“I will, actually,” he retorts automatically. “Are you almost done? I feel like I’ve dunked my face in cake flour.”

“Not even close,” Jungkook responds cheerily. “Now it’s time for the fun part though, don’t worry.”

“And what’s the fun part?”

A familiar sticky thwack echoes through the room. “Lip gloss,” he declares with a pleased voice.

Just as Yoongi lets out a pitiful groan, Hoseok gasps from the other end of the table. “Jimin,” he squawks in offense, “why aren’t you giving me lip gloss?”

Jimin just about growls in response. “I said not to move,” he chastises, “now you’ve gone and fucked up the smokey eye, so thanks a lot.”

“I believe you’re the one that fucked up, Jimin,” Hoseok answers haughtily, “a poor worker blames his tools.”

“If you’re calling yourself a tool, I’d be inclined to agree,” Jimin responds, his tone clipped in a way that means he’s focussed. “Okay, that’s looking better. And we’re not doing lip gloss, it looks tacky.”

Finished with the bottom layer on both of Namjoon’s hands, you glance up in just enough time to see Jungkook gasp and turn Yoongi around violently, presenting him like a piece of evidence in court.

Jimin appraises him silently, Yoongi blinking and waiting for his opinion. Taehyung and Jungkook have done a great job, giving him delicate hints of pink shadow just under the outer corners of his eyes, short swoops of eyeliner and baby pink lips coated with a thick sheen of gloss reflecting the light. With an indignant tut, Jimin turns back to Hoseok. “It looks tacky unless you’re Yoongi,” he corrects.

Yoongi seems more content than Hoseok with the answer, and steals Jin’s mirror to inspect himself. He tilts it every which way, mouth slowly opening. “I do look kinda hot, don’t I?”

“See?” Jungkook cheers with a small pump of his fist. “We did good, right? Oh. Jin-hyung, do you need the mirror back? Wait, let us help you! We come highly recommended, Taehyung and I.”

Tuning out the others, you turn back to Namjoon. “Okay, let’s put on some stickers.”

It takes the rest of the morning for everyone to finish up, but none of you seem in a rush. Yoongi, routinely smacking his lips together to feel the texture of the gloss, starts getting different dishes together to make some lunch, and his two little helpers go over to make Jin look like the tiger mom of his dreams. Jimin can’t hide his pride at how well Hoseok’s smokey eye and peachy lip turn out, and Hoseok can’t help but admit that he likes it. Namjoon covers each nail in a thoughtfully selected and arranged sticker, and keeps cooing over them as you cover them in a clear top coat.

Finally, when all of your boys are prettied up and you’re just about to tuck in to lunch, there’s a knock at the door.

You rush up to answer, and this time it is in fact Sejin. He looks harried, chest heaving like he rushed to get here, and before you can even greet him he’s thrusting a brown paper bag towards you.

“Traffic,” he gasps out, “I’m so sorry about the wait, there was a hold-up. I got you it,” he murmurs, before raising his voice so the others - who are no doubt listening in with curiosity - can hear, “so I got you the ginger pills for your stomach, and then just some vitamins that the lady at the counter told me were good for immune systems. Take it easy. Send me a text if you need anything, or if you don’t need anything.”

His voice sounds so awash with concern, his eyes softened in sympathy even as he looks out of breath from getting back here as quickly as possible, that you throw yourself at his chest and wrap your arms around him in a quick hug. He stays frozen for a moment, then pats your back and squeezes your shoulders fondly once you pull away. “Thanks, Sejin,” you say with a smile, “I’ll be sure to let you know.”

When you shut the door lightly behind him and poke your head into the main room, where everyone’s acting like they were’t eavesdropping (Jungkook and Taehyung are thumb-wrestling, Jimin has grabbed Namjoon’s hand to inquire about the little leaf stickers, Hoseok’s turned his face a full one hundred and eighty degrees from you, staring wistfully out the window, and Jin and Yoongi share a look). “I’m just going to duck upstairs and take some of the ginger pills and the vitamins he got me, I won’t be long. You can start without me; don’t let it get cold.”

Though you try and stay calm, when you shut yourself in your bathroom, your hands are trembling. The thin cardboard box tears as you open it, a thick folded wad of instructions and warnings falling out. The longer you take, the more suspicious it is, so you just scan over them to get a general idea. Piss on a stick, you think to yourself, how hard can it be?

So nervous that your muscles lock up, it’s hard enough to actually do even that, but once you’re done, you wash your hands and the handle of the small white stick, and wait. Unable to look, you leave it on the counter and sit on the toilet seat lid, feeling your heart race a million miles a minute. Breathe.

A knock on the door makes you startle violently, a hand instinctively rising up to press against your chest. With a racing heart, you call out to ask who it is.

“It’s us,” Yoongi’s voice echoes through the door. “Me and hyung, I mean. Is it the- the test, sweetheart?”

Opening the door, you let the two men in with a silent nod, returning to your stoop. “Just waiting,” you explain when they glance at the plastic stick on the counter. Your voice has never felt so small and distant to you. It makes you want to curl into yourself and disappear.

Yoongi hovers near the test, checking his watch, but Jin immediately comes over to you, smoothing your hair back and pressing your head and shoulders against his torso. You slump into him, into the embrace that always reassures you. Jin smells still like his cooking, and breathing it in gives you some small comfort.

The three of you don’t speak. There’s nothing to say; not yet, not when you still don’t know. Yoongi stands by the test like a guard dog, not looking himself, and Jin rubs your back and strokes your hair, holding you close.

After what feels like a cold eternity, Yoongi consults with his watch again and clears his throat lightly. “Do you want to come and check, sweetheart?”

You get the thought of you leaving Jin’s hold, of going up there and taking the piece of plastic and seeing two blue lines, and you shake your head, pressing yourself more firmly against Jin. “Can you just… Can you check it and tell me?”

As Yoongi turns to pick it up, you feel yourself tense. Two blue lines, your mind chants over and over, and even as you’re terrified you’re going to somehow conjure that result by thinking too hard about it, you can’t stop.

The plastic rattles against the counter, and you’re watching his face, eyes narrowed on his expression with laser focus. He picks it up, looks at the result, and the slightest exhale gives him away. A tiny puff of breath, his shoulders dropping an inch and the line between his brows smoothing out. Your heart soars in raw relief even before he confirms, “you’re not pregnant, Y/n.”

Even though you’re happy, so grateful of fate working in your favour, the underlying fear of the past few hours comes crashing down on you like a tsunami, and you burst into tears, your whole body shivering and juddering with sobs that you muffle against the soft fabric and solid chest you’re leaning on.

“Hey, hey,” Jin’s voice calls to you in a soothing croon, “you’re okay, baby, you’re fine. You’re safe.”

The reassurance only makes you wail harder, feeling so unburdened, so unanchored, like you could float away were it not for your grip on his sleeves. He rocks you gently, back and forth as his fingers card through your hair and cradle your back. It’s not until you hear the hollow clatter of the test going in the trash can that you feel the ghost of your fear and worry leave you, and finally you go slack against him, tears dried up.

As you sit up and dab at your eyes, Yoongi passes you a tissue to properly clean yourself up and Jin pats your hair back down. “Sorry,” you pipe up with a croaky voice, “I got your shirt messy.”

Jin smiles softly and offers you a hand to stand with. “Never you mind that, young lady.” He’s quite a sight to see now; even with a soft expression, his eyeliner is sharper than the point of a knife and the imperious dark red of his lips makes anything less than a grin look pouty and dramatic. “Do you want us to let the others know you’re feeling under the weather? I can bring some food up here for you? Are you too cold? Too hot?” You giggle tearily as he lays his hand across your forehead and pinches your cheeks lightly, clucking in worry.

“I’m fine,” you reply. “I’ll take ten minutes or so to calm down a bit and then I’ll join you all. Can you just tell them I’m on the phone with a friend or something? I won’t be long.”

Jin furrows his brows. “Are you sure? If you need anything, I’m here for-”

“Hyung,” Yoongi chides gently, “let’s give her a breather.”

By the way Jin sucks in a deep breath and nods stiffly, it might be him that needs the breather. Yoongi drags him away as you thank them, and soon enough you’re once again alone in the bathroom.

Stumbling on weak legs to your bed, you all but collapse onto it, feeling totally devoid of energy. You just need a moment to recharge, that’s all. Just need a moment to acknowledge that no, there isn’t a life form inside you right now, and yes, everything can go back to normal.

And if it’s well over ten minutes by the time you make it back downstairs to reheat your portion of lunch, no one mentions it.

The afternoons are often a lazy affair in the Villa. Unless you’re off getting fucked (not uncommon, of course) you tend to hang around in the lounge with whoever’s in the mood for socialising, and put something on TV.

You’re starting to realise that perhaps there are better uses of your time, which is why when Namjoon asks how Jimin got so good at makeup, you enthusiastically accept Jimin’s generous offer to be his model.

Once again your communal area gets renovated into a mini studio fit for purpose. Two of the couches are pulled closer together, a tight arrow shape around the coffee table corner. As is often the case, Yoongi and Jin are noticeably absent, with Namjoon and Jungkook on one sofa, leaning forward in their eagerness, and Taehyung and Hoseok on the other, the younger looking like he’s just about to fall asleep on Hoseok’s shoulder.

You perch on the edge of the table between them with nervous anticipation as Jimin darts upstairs to collect his tools. “How come you’re wanting to learn, Namjoon?” you ask lightly.

The academic scratches his neck lightly, knee bumping against Jungkook’s as he shifts in place. “It’s interesting, and I love learning new things,” he states, his voice lilting up at the end.

Jungkook nudges his elbow into Namjoon’s side. “He thinks Jimin’s focusing face is hot.”

“I did not say that!” Namjoon insists, but the violent blush in his cheeks betrays him. “I enjoy watching, that’s all.”

“I’m sure you do, hyung, I’m sure you do,” Jungkook commiserates with a wise and somewhat sarcastic nod, but before Namjoon has any further chance to defend himself, you hear the thud of socked feet coming down the stairs.

Jimin’s skirt flounces around his thighs with every step as he rushes back in, a heavy-looking back held against his chest. He pauses in front of you, breathing slightly elevated. “Up you get,” he instructs.

You do so without thinking, but then stand awkwardly beside the coffee table as he takes your spot and dumps the makeup bag beside him. “Where do I sit?” you ask hesitantly, but Jimin just pats his thigh wordlessly.

Glancing out at the four onlookers, you suck in a breath and place yourself delicately on his lap, perpendicular so that your shoulder is against his chest and you’re facing Namjoon. Clearly it wasn’t what he was after, as Jimin clicks his tongue with a huff and grabs you under the knee, parting your legs so that you’re facing him, balanced on a single, stocking-clad thigh.

Your eyes widen as you’re suddenly face-to-face with him as he raises a brow at you. “Namjoon wants to learn, little mouse,” Jimin instructs, “so you’re going to be nice and still for me, right?”

You’re hyper aware of the pressure of his corded thigh against your core, even through your loose cotton shorts, and the four sets of eyes on you that are just outside your peripheral. “Yes, Jimin.”

His eyes darken in disapproval, fingers tightening on your knee. “A good doll doesn’t make any noise either,” he chastises. “Pinch me if you want out, otherwise stay still and be quiet.”

You swallow, recognising his introduction of a non-verbal safeword. But there are others watching, and he was just meant to be doing your makeup. Your eyes dart to risk a glance at the others, blurry in the very corner of your eye. They’ve gone dead still, Jungkook and Namjoon still leaned inwards towards you, Taehyung close to Hoseok but definitely no longer napping. You aren’t allowed to nod or say yes, so you give your lack of response as confirmation.

Jimin lets out a short hum and drops his gaze from you, unzipping the makeup bag. “Lots of steps in makeup have to do with personal preference,” he explains, glass, metal and plastic clattering together as he draws out a bottle. “But starting with primer is like prepping a canvas, so it’s always a solid first step.”

For a moment you’re confused, before you recall that Jimin’s teaching this all to Namjoon. He glances at the academic briefly, giving you a glimpse of his graceful side profile before he turns back and clicks open a narrow tube, piping some of the creamy formula on the back of his hand. When he dips a clean beauty blender into it, collecting it on the narrower end, you notice it glistens just slightly.

“I ran this under the tap upstairs to get it damp,” Jimin continues, and you fight the urge to flinch when you feel it begin to dab along your nose, spreading out to your cheeks. “These blenders are good because the sponginess is a good texture to make everything smooth, but they’re so absorbent that if they’re dry they’ll suck up half the product. If they’re a little damp, you won’t need as much.”

You can’t bring yourself to meet Jimin’s gaze, or even lift your eyes to his face at all, far too intimidated by the proximity. Instead, you watch the rhythmic way his chest rises and falls, rippling the Gucci logo on his white shirt. The afternoon had brought a low, hot sun, and all of you had stripped off any outer layers. Jimin was no different, ditching the jacket, and you can just make out his upper arms flexing past the short sleeves before the blender gets a little too close to your eyes, and you snap them closed.

“Once you’ve done that, I’d go in with a foundation…” Jimin lets out a small sigh through his nose. “This shade won’t really match exactly, but it’ll do. Finding the perfect shade is like finding a pair of shoes that fit just right, it can take ages but once you’ve got it, you’ve got it. Unless you go and get a tan.”

Slowly you begin tuning Jimin’s voice from coherent sentences into one smooth, lulling river. Soft whispers of brushes and cool swipes of liquid make your skin tingle, and the solid, unmoving presence of his thigh between yours anchors you in the moment.

After every step, or whenever there’s a specific technique to show off, you feel the searing heat of his fingers on you, turning your head to the side with a tight grip on your chin, displaying you to the others. Every time, that heat moves downward, pooling in your core.

“Eyes open,” a voice rings out, short with impatience.

Upon following his command, you focus on his face with a few blinks, just in time to see him come at your eyes with a narrow, pointed brush. Instinctively jerking away, you gasp when the movement causes you to grind against him slightly, pleasure blooming at the friction.

With an annoyed curl of his lip, Jimin uses the hand not holding the brush to grab your chin again, fingernails digging in and pulling you closer. “Stay still,” he hisses, and lets go after you freeze into place again.

This time, when he brings the brush back up, it goes not onto your eyes, but above onto your brows, and you remain obediently motionless as you feel the stiff brush press on something powderlike. As he explains its purpose and use to Namjoon, however - the other three watching just as intently - you don’t listen to his words, instead directing all your focus downwards.

If you move, just slightly, the smallest shift of your pelvis, you can press your clothed clit against the strip of bare skin between his skirt hem and the stockings, where the flesh is stiff with tensed muscle. You watch his face as closely as you dare, wary of a reaction, but there’s none.

It’s not much, and it’s not nearly enough, but you sate yourself on that dull pleasure as he finishes your brows, and begins working on some eyeshadow. He takes longer here, dipping into different shades with pretty names that you forget the second you hear them, because it’s riskier now, with your eyes closed again. You can’t see if he’s aware of your minute motions, but you’re too desperate to stop.

When there’s suddenly a sharp poke on your lid, your instinct takes over and you jerk back with a gasped yelp.

Jimin growls, and the noise makes you open your eyes in alarm. He’s holding a jet black eyeliner wand, and his face is tense, displeased. You even open your mouth to apologise, before quickly thinking better of it.

“Sorry for the technical difficulties, gentlemen,” Jimin states to the others stiffly. “Give me a moment to sort out my equipment.”

A rush of heat floods your core at the dismissive way he refers to you, and when you feel his hand tighten - not on your jaw, but on your throat itself - you melt into his grasp. The cold bands of his rings dig into the flesh as he inflicts just enough pressure to make your heart race.

Still able to breathe comfortably, just with that physical reminder of his strength and his control, you go pliant in his hold, eyes fluttering before they naturally settle shut.

“There we go,” Jimin murmurs, “now let me continue.”

Jimin uses your cheekbones to prop his hand up as he paints a delicate stroke of black across the bottom of each eyelid, his voice like honey as he walks Namjoon through every last detail.

The weak rutting had barely given you any relief before, but now with Jimin’s hand on your throat, it’s not even enough to keep you sane. Your brain knows there are four other people trying to watch the processes of applying makeup, but that logical part is being steadily overridden with primal need, a need that’s going unfulfilled.

Jimin has to remove his hand to show you off, then to turn your head back and reach for something else, the sticky sound of it opening, and the wet bristles that you can only just feel against the edge of your eyelids tells you it’s mascara.

“Look up,” Jimin commands shortly, tapping your temple. You follow command and glance up, curling your fingers into your own thighs to stop yourself from flinching when the wand comes so close to your eyes.

When he shows off his work this time, your eyes are finally open again, and so you find yourself facing the others properly. Namjoon’s doing a decent job of pretending he’s actually interested in the makeup, but his eyes spend too much time on the space between your legs, and Jimin’s face to be really focused. Jungkook’s got his feet up on the couch, with an arm shoved in front of his crotch, rocking against it to relieve some pressure.

On the slightly less affected couch, Hoseok sits back with his gaze hooded as he stares you down. Taehyung, shoulder-to-shoulder with the dom, has a swollen bottom lip pinned tightly under his front teeth. You don’t doubt he wishes nothing more than to be between you and Jimin right now.

Jimin pulls you back too soon, and as he retrieves the familiar short, round casing of a tube of lipstick, you can’t hold back any longer. No longer worried about accidentally being stabbed in the eye, you keep your face still but tighten your thighs around his, grinding your core against him.

You know you aren’t being subtle, but you’re beyond caring, just needing something to relieve the desire boiling over inside you.

As he uncaps the lipstick - a deep wine red that looks ridiculously expensive - he sends you a warning glare. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he chastises in a low tone.

You choose to ignore him, propping your hands on the top of his thigh, over the soft pleats of his skirt, to get better leverage, moaning between closed lips at the feeling.

“That’s disappointing,” Jimin admits, and as your heart begins to sink at his tone, his free hand lifts up once more to wrap around your neck.

This time, instead of his grip being an implication of consequence, he starts to tighten and tighten and tighten, slowly and steadily. You feel the pressure on the sides of your throat, where his fingers are, not on your voicebox, and it makes you start to feel a little hazy. He keeps going as you feel the first brush of lipstick against your parted lower lip, and there’s a heat in your face, a slight tightness. His fingers curl in more, just slight changes every time, but your brows furrow at the slight pain, and without you even reaching out to pinch him, he’s eased back to that sugar-sweet lightheadedness.

It’s easier to let your eyes flutter - not open but not quite closed either - as your lips are coated in red, hand moving with just as much case as his other. Although you can breathe, it’s thin, and you feel yourself go lax at the slight deprivation, like you’re floating above yourself. Once the cap of the lipstick clicks, his grips falls away, and you instinctively suck in a breath, your exhale sounding closer to a pleasured sigh.

You begin to sink forward, seeking out more contact as the endorphins of an oxygen rush lift you higher. Jimin hums, the lipstick clattering noisily on the coffee table as he grasps your shoulders and turns you slightly, so that you don’t faceplant into his chest. A strong hand keeps your chin up, air flowing so easily that you feel drunk on it, strength returning to your limbs.

“Isn’t my doll so pretty, Namjoon?” Jimin asks sweetly, before he ducks in and nips sharply at your earlobe, voice lowering to whisper harshly in your ear. “I only gave you two very easy, very simple commands. Be quiet and be still. And yet that’s seemingly too much to ask of you. I have no qualms about punishing you in front of everyone, little mouse. You’ve used up all your chances. If you make a single noise or move out of turn, I’ll discipline you right here without mercy.” His fingers are featherlight, tender as they turn you back to face him, pressing your foreheads together. His eyes dance in mirth, a smile playing on his lips. “Is that understood?”

You only just manage to prevent yourself from answering or nodding automatically.

Jimin laughs through his nose at the way your lips twitch, leaning back just a few inches. “That was mean of me, wasn’t it?” His smile falls in a second. “Then again, I think I’ve been going too easy on you lately. And I don’t make mistakes a second time.”

Blessedly, all he has left are delicate dustings of blush and highlighter, and some setting spray. He moves your face this way and that, tells you when to open your eyes and when to close them, and although it feels like your insides are vibrating hopelessly, you manage to keep still and silent, a perfect doll for him.

“All done.” When Jimin says those two magic words, and gives you permission to move again, you feel relief crash down on you, making your knees weak as you get up off him and collapse onto the couch in the gap between Jungkook and Namjoon.

Your relief is short-lived. “And what do you think you’re doing?”

You blink up at Jimin. “Um… You said we’re done.”

“The makeup is,” Jimin corrects, looking unbelievably intimidating even in a white t-shirt and pink cheerleading skirt. “We are not. You still deliberately disobeyed be, little mouse. You’re in trouble.”

On either side of you, Jungkook and Namjoon retreat, ducking out of Jimin’s line of sight so they can look on from the sidelines. You frown at him. “But I didn’t do it again, and you said you wouldn’t do it if I-”

“Goodness, were you so desperate that you stopped listening entirely? I said I wouldn’t discipline you in front of the others, Y/n. You haven’t earned absolution. You just get the dignity of privacy when I punish you. Go up to my room; now.”

There’s no protesting his command. There’s a safeword, or there’s obedience, and the choice is easy. You feel positively electric with arousal, excited at the concept of Jimin no longer going easy on you, and what that might entail.

You jump up, spare one glance at the four men that remain, open-mouthed on the couch, and make your way towards the stairs, Jungkook’s whines about ‘missing out’ fading away with distance.

Jimin’s room is relatively tidy, but it’s not the neatly made bed or overflowing tabletop of neatly arranged jewellery, watches and belts that catch your attention. At the foot of his bed, a heavy wooden armoire with his initials engraved is unable to ignore, a constant reminder of just how fucked you were. You didn’t know half the things he had in there, had only really experienced a few of them yourself, but something tells you that digging around inside it while you wait will just get you in more trouble; although you aren’t opposed to acting up for some extra attention, you’re in new territory with Jimin right now, and you want to get a feel for what you’re in for before you make things worse for yourself.

You’re proven right very quickly, when the door creaks behind you. “At least you know how to wait patiently,” Jimin’s voice calls in a sultry whisper. Turning around to face him, you can’t help but gulp at the glimmer in his eyes and the smirk that tugs at the corners of his mouth. “That lipstick shade looks so beautiful on you, little mouse. Mind if I try it on?”

With two smooth steps, he’s upon you, a hand winding around the nape of your neck and the other keeping your chin steady as he presses his lips to yours, forceful enough that your teeth begin to dig in to the delicate flesh. You exhale roughly through your nose, a whimper stuck in your throat at the sudden contact. As plush as his lips are, he kisses you with a ferocity and coldness that has your mind reeling.

When he pulls away, your eyes flutter weakly open, and that whimper makes its way to the surface. He looks like sin personified, that deep blue hair low across his brow, exposing a narrow triangle of his forehead, a smokey eye and those lips of his, stained with red. Of course it’s not a neat application - you imagine yours must be even more ruined - but the messy smears of colour across the middle of his mouth just serve to make him look wilder, a creature of lust and raw desire. “Jimin,” you say, voice hushed like a prayer.

His eyes narrow minutely. “Did I say you could speak? On your knees, shorts and shirt off.”

You follow without hesitation, just about scratching yourself in the haste to remove your outer layer of clothing. Though your ribs practically vibrate with how fast your heart races, your skin still prickes into goosebumps now that all you wear are your panties and a bra. The fibres of the carpet, though soft, scratch against the bare skin of your knees and shins as need makes your nerves extra sensitive. You look up at him and shiver at the sight this position awards you.

You haven’t specifically drooled over his thighs before, but now that they’re bared to you, directly in your line of sight, you feel yourself grow wetter. You knew he still had the corded strength of a dancer, too, and the thought of him using that power to fuck you into the floor makes you seek out some friction, crotch pressed to your heels and rocking against them. From this angle, you can’t see up his skirt, but the fabric is thin enough to expose the bulge of his cock beneath it. Looking up further, craning your neck to see his face, you appreciate how even from below, he has a jaw that could cut diamonds - especially when he’s clenching it, like now.

Your eyes widen, taking in the tensed look of disapproval he’s giving you. With a start, you realise your hips are still rocking back and forth absentmindedly, and you freeze with an apologetic whine.

His hand comes down to stroke back your hair, deceptively lightly compared to iron lines of his face. “Oh, doll, you really can’t follow any basic commands, can you? So needy for cock that you can’t even think?” He lets out a teasing laugh, the sound like windchimes. Slowly, he trails a single finger down the side of your face, then diverts inwards along your cheekbone and pushes down against the seam of your lips, making you naturally part them. “Such a mess already,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Shall we see how much more that lipstick of yours will hold up? See how long it takes you to become just a mindless little doll for me to play with, hm? Maybe you’d behave then.”

Your eyes plead with him as he toys with your lips lazily, running that finger inside, collecting your saliva to smear it over, your cheeks a hazy red at the humiliation. It only serves to make you needier, though, as you wait for him to do something, to use you like you know he will, and judging by the grin on his face as he messes you up, you know he’s well aware of his effect on you. But good dolls don’t talk, and they don’t move on your own, and so Jimin makes you sit and wait, letting him take his time.

When he finally pulls his finger away and wipes the drool - tinged pink with the dislodged lipstick pigment - on your cheek, you could groan in relief, but he still seems in no hurry, lazily toying with the hem of his skirt as he tilts his head to the side like he’s appraising you. “Look at you, trying so hard to follow the rules,” he coos, “did you not like me calling you cockdumb, little mouse?”

You bite down on the inside of your lip to mask another whine, blinking up at him as it takes all of your effort not to grind against your heels. You can’t answer, but it seems your response was explanation enough.

“Oh, so that’s it…” Jimin grins, eyes alight with the condescending mirth that makes you feel so deliciously small beneath him. “You like it a little too much, huh? I should’ve known. I’ve been spoiling you; Tae too. In fact, I bet every guy in this house has spoilt you rotten, and now the only thing on your mind is when you’ll next get some cock..” You swallow at the way he slowly begins lifting his skirt, knuckles grazing on the skin of his thighs as more pale golden flesh is revealed. His voice is sultry, addictive. “Rest that pretty little mind of yours, little mouse, you don’t have to think about a thing. Just open your mouth and be a good doll for me, and I’ll give you what you need.”

You widen your jaw and let your tongue rest on your lower lip before he’s even bared himself to you, and he chuckles as he holds the skirt to his lower abdomen, showing off the cotton-candy pink underwear he’s donning. The satin-like fabric is so narrow across his hips and between his legs that it’s clearly not meant to contain his cock, but he doesn’t seem bothered about the precarious way the weeping tip pokes out of the skinny waistband. There’s not much time to dwell on it, or even admire it, however, because he quickly reaches in with his free hand and pushes them down, letting his cock bob free.

Your eyes grow lidded with desire as he holds himself at the base with three fingers and taps the head against your awaiting tongue teasingly, drool quickly pooling there.

Jimin grins at your needy reaction. “I’d love to tie your hands back and fuck your mouth, but I want them to be free if you need to use them,” he states lowly, before shrugging, “maybe next time. For now; open up.”

You stretch your mouth even wider, wanting to obey his every command, and feel his cock begin to fill it, the salty tang of his precum sliding over your tongue. Focusing on breathing through your nose, you fight the urge to gag. Though he takes his time, and certainly isn’t as large as some of the other members of the house, he hasn’t have any qualms about burying himself to the hilt, making your eyes tear up.

“Fuck, just like that,” Jimin curses, and your heart sings with the praise even as you struggle not to choke around the intrusion in your throat. Unsure if he wants you to properly suck him off, but knowing the last thing you should do is move without permission, you just keep your jaw as wide as possible, lips pulled back slightly to cover your teeth. As he draws back with a pleasured sigh before beginning his slow drive back in, you think Jimin’s more than happy with what he’s getting.

He takes his time, but throat isn’t exactly something that adjusts like your pussy would, and so it doesn’t get any easier to stop your gag reflex from kicking in when you feel him past the base of your tongue. You can breathe through your nose, but there are so many things to keep track of that you don’t get quite enough air to your lungs, trying to make every inhale you do manage as deep as you can.

His groans and breathy praises are enough to keep your nerves on a livewire, so turned on you could cry - and, in fact, your eyes tear up as he gently but thoroughly fucks your throat, so that when you glance up at him, he’s blurry in your affected vision. That doesn’t stop you from knowing that he’s grinning, because you can hear it in the way he assures you that you’re being “so perfect, little mouse; just drunk on cock, aren’t you?”

You groan around him in your mouth, and feel a spot of wetness on your sternum, that you don’t doubt is your drool beginning to spill over. Even as your cheeks flush with humiliation, he doesn’t tell you to suck him off, or do anything but leave your mouth wide open, and so you stare up at him with tears in your eyes and remain obediently still.

It could be a minute, it could be ten, but at one point, when your nose is pressed to the waistband of Jimin’s skirt and his hand is gently cupping the back of your head to hold you there, you become aware of a foreign presence between your legs.

It takes you a moment to recognise it, that probing pressure that quickly seeks out your clothed core, but you blink away the sheen from your eyes and and close your thighs just enough to feel the outline, and it’s the textured fabric against your skin and the teasing way he wets his lips that helps you make the connection. The object moves again, a stiff drag right over your clit, and the sudden burst of pleasure makes you choke around him, spit running down your chest now. He’s rubbing his foot against you, the foot that’s covered in pretty white thigh-high stockings.

Jimin pulls out to give you a moment to cough and splutter, and thankfully doesn’t call you out on the involuntary breaking of the rules, but you barely manage to suck in two breaths before he’s clicking his tongue at you, telling you your brief respite is over. You clear your aching throat one last time and spread your mouth wide open again, but Jimin just hums and pats your cheek. “Could my doll handle one more command? You’re doing so good, taking me well like I knew you would.”

You nod straight away before freezing at your unintentional mistake. The blue-haired man just lets out a dark chuckle, pulling his foot away. This time, you at least manage to prevent a whine, biting hard on the inside of your cheek at the loss.

“That was mean of me, wasn’t it? I understand, little mouse,” he coos, crouching in front of you so that you’re at eye-level, “I do. It must be hard for you to remember all these pesky rules and orders, isn’t that right?”

His gentle croon of sympathy cracks you once again, your need to please overriding your better judgement, and you nod again.

This time, he openly laughs, making you shiver as he runs a line through the spit that’s fallen between your breasts. “Let me give you a deal, then,” he begins, voice dripping with apparent sympathy, “I’ll take away those rules. I’ll let you move, and moan, and say my name, but only if you promise that it’s because you’re too cockdumb to follow them, hm? Can you say that for me?”

You swallow, opening your mouth to take a heaving breath. What’s worse; not being able to move, or having to admit that you’re so desperate that you can’t stay still? “I’m just c-cockdumb, Jiminnie, can’t think about anything else but feeling you inside me,” you confess, and as he strokes back your hair and smiles at you like a prized pet or small child, something beloved but not all that smart, it’s strangely freeing.

Your sex drive had skyrocketed since coming on this show, and even with having sex almost once a day, sometimes more, you found yourself missing the feeling of each guy in the house while they awaited their turn. It had been what felt like ages since the last time you actually, properly fucked him, even though it couldn’t have been a week, and you longed for it. Admitting that you were too desperate to even follow basic commands, letting yourself be reduced to a creature of need, with no coherent thoughts alleviated any shame you had about that thought. Jimin was here in front of you, skirt barely covering his spit-slicked cock, lips still a sinful wine red, and he loved your need, your desperation.

Jimin stands back up again, and makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat. “That’s my good girl,” he praises, and any scant notion of tainted dignity that remained within you flies out the window. “I shouldn’t punish you, should I? When you couldn’t help it.”

“No, Minnie,” you agree with a whine, clenching your thighs together in a poor imitation of the stimulation you briefly had, “‘couldn’t help it. You don’t have to punish me.”

“And what would you want instead, little mouse?”

You widen your eyes in plea. “Fuck me, Minnie, I’m your good girl.”

He tilts his head to the side, and it’s the bemused smile that graces his lips that makes you realise he’s not going to give you what you want. “What a shame, then,” he murmurs, his fingers delving into your hair and tightening around a fistful of it, “that I have to punish you anyway. How else will you learn?”

You gasp as he steps backwards, pulling you with him by the grip in your hair. You’re forced to stumble forward on your knees and the tips of your fingers as he sits down on the edge of his mattress and settles you in front of him. “Minnie,” you whine, your own hands reading out to clutch at the fabric of the duvet in front of you.

“Y/n,” he teases in a singsong voice, “remember that new command that I wanted from my doll?” He spreads his legs open further, and the pink miniskirt rides up to expose his cock, smeared with a deep red from your ruined lipstick, dripping with saliva and precum. The hand in your hair tugs you closer. “It’s suck.”

Jimin isn’t gentle with you this time. Now that you have the advantage of responsiveness, sucking him down and swirling your tongue, he doesn’t bother sugar-coating it, and obscene noises emerge from your mouth as you swallow, gag and choke around him. He curses, using the handful of hair like a handle, guiding you up and down.

It’s barely any time at all before you feel a familiar sensation against your soaked panties. Jimin’s stockinged foot grinds against you with so much pressure you almost want to wriggle away from it. Your nerves are so touch-starved and your clit is so swollen that the slightest touch would’ve made you shiver, but the intense way he rubs the ball of his foot over your panties has you gargling hopelessly around him, mouth going slack.

He chuckles. “Too much? I can stop if you need, little mouse, I can’t have you getting distracted from your main use.”

Your hands detach from the duvet and wrap around his calf, fingers digging in and holding him there. Rutting your hips against it, you seek out the pleasure yourself but make sure to throw your efforts twice into blowing him, making him curse when you bob on his cock faster than your hips move.

“God, you’re fuckin’ filthy,” Jimin breathes out through a groan, “humping my leg like a fucking dog. Thought Tae was the pup, not you.” You’re unprepared for the hand that shifts and slips under your jaw, tightening around your throat so that you can feel his cock even more inside you. You gag, but swallow through it, the slight restriction of air bringing back that delicious heady feeling from earlier. Jimin catches your moan, even though it’s muffled around him. “Maybe I should get you a collar, little mouse. Make sure to buckle it tight.”

The thought makes your grinding falter, and you don’t doubt he feels the sudden rush of heat between your legs, because he suddenly kicks into action himself, grinding harshly against you as you cry out gutturally around his cock.

His grip on your neck loosens only to take a hold on the back of your head again, fucking your throat to chase his orgasm. The faster he snaps his hips, cursing lowly and groaning praises, the faster he jerks his foot against you, and it’s not long before the heat is gathering in a tight coil low in your belly.

You moan around him, jaw aching and lips stretched, and suddenly Jimin twitches inside you, spilling down your throat. Quickly, he pulls his cock out, and you only get the briefest taste on your tongue before he’s rubbing his tip across your swollen lips, spreading his cum across them.

His leg slows down as he releases, but you were so close to the edge yourself, and so you feel no shame in seeking it out, grinding yourself against him as you stick your tongue out to lick your lips clean.

Jimin groans, chest heaving, but lets you rut yourself against him, cum dripping down your chin, until finally you give a violent shiver as your orgasm runs through you. It’s mellow but toe-curling, and you clutch his leg to anchor yourself through it.

“Fuck,” you gasp out, head lolling forward onto his thigh, where the stocking turns to flesh, then the soft ironed pleats of his skirt.

Jimin’s hands are in your hair, stroking it away from your messy face and brushing out the tangles. “Oh, Y/n,” he chants softly, his voice a far cry from the dom that teased you before, “I love to play with you. How are you feeling?”

You feel drained, your entire body weight collapsed against him and the bed. “Mm.”

Jimin stifles a chuckle. “Could I have a colour, my little mouse?”

“Green,” you manage, “I’m green. But are we done now? If I don’t get some lip balm on now, my lips might just fall off.”

“Indeed we are,” he confirms, and bends down to slip his arms under yours, picking you up off the floor with ease. “As much as I love you being drunk off desire, I miss my clever, sweet, cheeky girl.”

Even with your body screaming in exhaustion, barely able to help him get you laid down on his bed and tucked under the duvet, your cheeks heat in a blush. “Don’t compliment me when I’m vulnerable, that’s cheating.”

“I’ll save them for later, then,” Jimin bargains with a tired smile, before he gets up and cringes, looking down. “As much as I’d love to collapse into bed for a nap with you right now, my sock is drenched thanks to you.”

Your eyes fly wide, and you manage to pull yourself up enough to glance over the side. Jimin isn’t kidding. All over the toes and top of his foot are dark patches in the stocking, clinging to his skin. “I’m so sorry,” you say with a wince.

“Don’t be,” Jimin assures, stripping it off with two fingers hooked into the fabric, “it was hot at the time. It just, uh, feels weird when it’s gone cold.”

Half the blood in your body has probably rushed to your face as you cover it with an embarrassed whine, burying yourself deeper in the sheets. “Maybe if you fucked me, I wouldn’t have gotten your sock wet,” you mutter petulantly, shamelessly deflecting.

“I’ll know better next time,” he quips, a grin evident in his voice. By the time you poke your head back up, he’s stripped down to just his white Gucci shirt, his bottom half totally bare as he retrieves a pair of boxers from the set of drawers. Stepping into them with no qualms about the temporary nudity - though, you suppose it would be stranger for him to be camera shy - he glances back over his shoulder. “And as much as I love to fuck you, we have just enough time for a cuddle before dinner. I miss you.”

Your heart warms, eyes soft. “Jimin,” you croon softly, “come here.”

He smiles, but hesitates. “Could I- I’m just- Should I text Tae?” he asks, lips twisting in uncertainty, still tinted a faded red. “I’m pretty sure nobody’s getting suspicious, and it’s not like we’re technically-”

“Text him,” you instruct with a beam. “I miss having you both close. We live in the same house; it sucks having to stay so separate.”

With how quickly Taehyung bundles into Jimin’s room after he sends the text, he must not have been far. He’s on you in a second, jumping onto the bed with enough vigor that the springs creak, and wriggling under the duvet beside you.

You seek him out with as much earnestness, if not enthusiasm, and hum happily when he lies back to let you rest your head on his chest. The bed creaks again, and Jimin’s body heat warms your back, his arm slung over your waist.

“It’s about time,” you hear Taehyung’s voice say, echoing through his chest, “I’ve been cuddling with one of Jin’s plushies these past few nights. It’s a sorry substitute for a whole human to snuggle.” He pauses to lift his chin, glaring imperiously at the blinking camera in the top corner of the room. “I missed having platonic cuddles with my friend Y/n. Cuddling is a favourite non-sexual pastime of mine.”

You giggle, curling into him and inhaling his comforting scent, like brown sugar or caramel. “I think you’re good, Tae.”

“Can we sleep now?” Jimin whines as he holds you tighter, face buried in the crook of your neck as he huffs. “I just had the soul sucked out of me.”

“I know, I know,” Taehyung grumbles, and if the comment strikes you as odd, it only takes the steady heartbeat and low hum of his breathing to blur the thought from your mind as you let yourself drift off.

Yoongi glances worriedly over his shoulder, ear straining to hear past the glass sliding door.

“They’re occupied,” Jin reminds, “besides, I doubt they can hear us all the way out here. Did we really have to come out to the patio just for a talk? It’s hot out here.”

The doctor shrugs, placing the package of fresh sliced beef onto the tabletop. “We’re having a barbecue tonight. At least this way we can pretend we were just getting set up.”

Jin narrows his brows, eyes softening in concern. Quickly, Yoongi drops his gaze, knowing it’ll just make him weak. “Yoongichi, talk to me. What’s up? What’s got you so nervous?”

Yoongi swallows. Thinks of what he rehearsed, of what he’d written in the notes app of his phone, read over and over that morning. This has been fun, but we’re kidding ourselves. Or maybe he’d skip the pretense and avoid beating around the bush. I can’t keep having sex with you while my feelings are on the line. “Um… A lot happened today. With Y/n.” Maybe he can beat around the bush a little bit, just to work up his courage.

“That it did,” Jin responds slowly, leaning against the outdoor dining table. Yoongi takes one of the wooden chairs, nails digging into the arms as he feels tension stiffen his body. “Though it seems like the others are doing a fine enough job of keeping her mind off it.”

Yoongi doesn’t miss the bitter tone in Jin’s voice. “Are you jealous? Of them, I mean.”

“Of course not,” the therapist answers immediately, “I have no right to be. She’s a free woman, and this is just a show.”

He frowns, heart sinking. “You said you wouldn’t lie to me about her, hyung. We started this so that you had an outlet. Physical or otherwise.”

Jin pauses for a moment. “I don’t think she would’ve told me,” he says finally, “if I wasn’t already there when part of it happened. If you hadn’t have asked me to look after her. She hasn’t told the others. Not even Namjoon, I don’t think.”

“And that bothers you?”

“It shouldn’t bother me,” Jin deflects.

Yoongi doesn’t miss a heartbeat. “That’s not an answer.”

Jin lets out a hollow laugh. “Since when you get so smart?”

Upon hearing those words, Yoongi feels a sudden shard of glass cut deep inside him, enough to make him wince. “I was always smart,” he replies stiffly. “I wasn’t dumb before I started fucking you, Jin. I didn’t get emotional intelligence through osmosis.”

At least Jin has the good grace to look pained. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to say you weren’t, I phrased that poorly. I just meant…” He trails off, seeking out the right words. “I suppose I’m realising how much you’ve learnt about me in the time we’ve been spending together lately. I feel like I don’t know much about you.”

Maybe because you don’t care about me like I care about you, Yoongi wants to say. Maybe because you only think about Y/n these days. “You could always ask,” he says instead, and curses himself for the pathetic way his voice wavers in the air.

Jin’s brows furrow deeper, and his hand begins to rub against his thigh. Self-soothing, Yoongi knows. Jin always started stroking at his own thigh when he was stressed. “It’s probably good that you asked to have this talk. I’m not sure this is best for both of us. I appreciate how you’ve stuck by me, and the support you’ve given me-” Yoongi wonders why he doesn’t just call it like it is, fucking, “-but it really seems like it’s doing more harm than good for you. Maybe we should put an end to this, Yoongichi.”

Yoongi sucks in a breath. He came out here to say that. He came out here to end it. But hearing it from Jin’s lips, it sounds abhorrent to think of. “Don’t,” Yoongi blurts without thinking, nails digging into the wood, “don’t take it all away from me just based on that. I know what I have with you, Jin, and I know that right now it isn’t ideal, but it’s better than nothing!”

Jin’s brows knit together as he shakes his head. “I don’t think this is healthy. It was irresponsible of me to lean on you in the first place, but I swear you aren’t just a substitute for Y/n. I care about you, Yoongi, it’s why I came to you.”

“You came to me because you knew I’d say yes,” Yoongi corrects, a sad smile on his face. “Because you knew how I feel. It’s just my shitty luck that you don’t feel the same. I mean, I’m crazy about you, you’re crazy about Y/n, fuck, I’m even starting to- starting to think about her and me like that too, and…” He takes a breath, feeling like a speeding train about to run out of tracks. “And I know Jimin and Tae and Jungkook are all head over heels for her and each other, Namjoon just about worships the ground she walks on, Hoseok looks at most of the people in this house like he wants to eat them alive in the best way possible, and it’s just- All these feelings are all over the place and it just seems cruel that you couldn’t just like me. To want me to still be in your bed when you wake up, to want to cook for me not just with me, to maybe kiss when we fuck, I don’t know, it’s-” Yoongi forcefully cuts himself off before he digs that particular hole any deeper. “I guess the odds just aren’t in my favour here. Do you even like men? Romantically, I mean? A good fuck is fine, but-”

“I do, yes,” Jin says with a wince.

Yoongi’s heart sinks. “Just me then,” he surmises in a hollow tone. “That’s okay.”

Jin frowns. “I’m not entirely sure what you wanted to achieve with this conversation,” he says, in a voice so soft it could shatter, in a voice that sounds like he’s worried Yoongi might be the one to shatter, “but it sounds like whether you want to admit it or not, this friends with benefits thing just isn’t right for us. There’s too many loose strings and it’s getting messy.” Yoongi goes to butt in, but Jin isn’t done, raising his brows to get him to pause. “I want to be fully honest with you, Yoongi. I don’t think it’s wise for you to put your wellbeing on the line for a possibility. We should end this.”

There’s a part of Yoongi that’s writhing in relief, at seeing a light out of the cave, an escape. But that part of Yoongi is drowned out by the majority of his being, the part that can’t bear a goodbye. “It’s not messy,” Yoongi blurts against his better judgement, “I told you I’d keep my feelings out of this and I will. I want to fuck you, hyung, and you want to fuck me, and I see no reason to stop when I’m perfectly fine.”

“Are you?” Jin asks dubiously. “I’m not going to continue this a moment further if I feel like you’re suffering because of this, Yoongi. It would be wrong of me.” He opens his mouth to continue, but is interrupted by a swooshing noise.

Yoongi jumps and whirls around just as Jungkook hops through the sliding door, grinning at the two of them. Yoongi sighs, relieved it seemed like the kid hadn’t heard anything. “This is a private conversation, Jungkook.”

“Is that, like, your code?” the youngest asks. “Wait, doesn’t matter. Anyway; I want in.”

Jin frowns. “You what?”

Jungkook’s smile just grows wider, exposing his teeth. “I want in, hyung, you two always sneak away to fuck, so I’ve come to join. I brought supplies.”

Yoongi’s mouth drops open as the black-haired boy pulls his hand out of his pocket to reveal a fistful of condom packets. “Do you just carry those around in hope, or…?”

“I specifically went upstairs to get them,” Jungkook announces proudly. “So can I join the sex pact now?”

Jin pinches his brow. “There is no sex pact, Jungkookie, and now’s really not a great ti-”

“You can join, Kookie,” Yoongi interrupts, ignoring the disbelieving stare Jin sends him. The older man wanted to be assured that Yoongi was fine? He could do that. “Come sit on my lap.”

Jungkook looks like a kid on Christmas morning as he scrambles over, shoving the condoms back in his pocket. He clambers onto Yoongi’s lap with a touch of clumsiness, but settles in proudly, back against his chest. Automatically, Yoongi wraps his arms around him, low over his hips like a seatbelt.

Jin still seems to disapprove, hand dipping below the table to rub at his leg again. “This isn’t a good idea,” he says with a frown, “things will get messy if we start involving more people.”

Yoongi grins, leaning forward to press chaste kisses against Jungkook’s neck, making him giggle and squirm. Proving he was fine was one thing, but making Jin jealous? Making him feel what Yoongi had felt every time he gushed about Y/n? Yoongi wouldn’t turn an opportunity like that down. “Come on, hyung,” he coos teasingly, one of his hands lazily pressing down on Jungkook’s quickly-stiffening bulge, “our pretty boy just wants to play. If you aren’t interested, I’ll just fuck him myself.”

Jin’s eyes flare, watching Jungkook wriggle in Yoongi’s lap as he begins to suck a trail of hickies over the sensitive flesh. “I’m sure we’ll give him a better time together,” he says in a gravelly voice, and gets up out of his chair, stalking over to the pair. “But first, don’t you want to put on a show?”

Yoongi lifts his head up as Jin’s fingers brush over his cheek, and in a moment he’s being kissed with bruising intensity, all tongue and teeth. Jungkook whines and clutches at Yoongi’s shoulder, wanting in, but Jin’s lips taste like possessiveness and jealousy, and Yoongi thinks they’ve never been so sweet.

#cypherwritersnet #bts smut #bts x reader #jimin smut #jimin x reader #jin smut #jin x reader #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #taehyung smut #taehyung x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #hoseok smut #hoseok x reader #ot7 smut #ot7 x reader

860 notes · View notes

unicyclehippo · 3 years

Note

would you consider dropping that pancake recipe?

no problem here we go

1 1/2 cup plain flour (all purpose flour)

3 1/2 TEAspoon baking powder

1 TEAspoon salt

1 TABLEspoon white sugar

1 1/4 cup milk (I used full cream milk, not sure how much it would change if you used light or oat or soy etc)

1 egg

3 TABLEspoon butter (approx. 42 grams but just use your best guess don’t bother weighing it or anything)

STEPS

Step one: Sift the flour, baking powder, salt, sugar into your mixing bowl. Mix them together. Make a well in the centre (ie push everything to the edges of the bowl a little bit so it’s like a cup or well for the wet ingredients). Pour in milk, egg, melted butter. (I did this by just cracking the egg whole into the centre but I think it would be better next time to beat it first. Didn’t seem to actually be a problem so you can be dumb like me if you like and it’ll still taste great!)

Step One & a Half: Melting butter is super easy! I do it on the stove, I’ve never done it in the microwave so I can’t help you there. For those unfamiliar: cut your block of 45 grams of butter into smaller slices and pop them into a small pot. You want to do a nice low heat to do it gradually otherwise it’ll burn instead of melting. It won’t take long so as soon as it’s all melted pour that into the mixture too!

Step Two: Get a frying pan (I don’t have a griddle I don’t really know what a griddle is but you can use that too) and lightly oil it. I used olive oil because it’s what I have but it will probably taste different if you use butter or something else. (Experimentation! Science!) Set it to medium-high heat. On my electric stove I used setting 6 out of 9.

I have a bunch of little cup measures so I took the tablespoon to dole out the pancakes. You can use something else—a ladle, hope and a prayer as you pour it direct, whatever you like. The little spoon measure was great because all of them were more or less the same size, which is cool.

You want to scoop the batter onto the HOT pan—don’t do it while it’s heating up. This is where the guess and check comes in. It doesn’t take long to brown the pancake but if you go too soon, it’ll be impossible to flip over because it’s still gooey. If you go too late, you’ve burned it. A good tell is that the batter will get a couple little air bubbles when it’s about ready to flip. Get your spatula and gently test the edge of the pancake. If it’s cooking nicely, it could slide underneath fairly easy.

After that it’s just a matter of perfecting your guesstimate of how long it’ll take and your flip! Practice makes perfect!

Step three: garnish! I used strawberries and maple syrup which was really nice but you do whatever you want

#cw food #food

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softholand · 4 years

Text

chocolate kisses - t.h

pairing: bestfriend!tom x youtuber!reader

words: 2.9k

warnings: none, just pure fluff

a/n: so... i did it again!!! i had this ideia after watching a video like this from one of my favorite youtubers. anyway, i really hope you guys enjoy and please do let me know what you think!! again, english is not my first language so that’s that. thank you @definitely-not-black-cat for proofreading this, you’re the best and i love you 💛 enjoy!!!!!!

You adjusted the lenses of your camera one more time, making sure everything was ready to start recording. Since you started making videos for the internet and became a youtuber, you were practically obligated to learn about filmography. Sometimes you had your friend Harry around to help, since he’s a professional but today he got a job to do, so you were on your own. In fact, you had another Holland around, the oldest of them all and your best friend since you were kids, Tom.

Ever since you made your youtube channel, your viewers have been begging you to bring Tom to a video, so when the opportunity came, you finally asked him and he was more than happy to accept.

“You ready?” You asked your brown haired friend.

“Yep!” He said, making sure to really pop the “p”, knowing you hated when he did that.

“Tom, I was being serious earlier. I need you to behave!” You said, feeling like you were talking to a child instead of a 24 year old.

But that was the thing about your friendship with Tom, when you guys were together it felt like time hasn’t passed at all and you were still two little kids, doing stupid things and constantly misbehaving.

“I got this! Don’t worry!” Tom answered, a smile wide on his face.

“Saying not to worry actually makes me worry even more, you know?” You huffed, making sure the memory card was in.

“It’ll be fine, y/n! I promise!” He said, looking at you with those big brown eyes that made you forget what you were even asking.

“Okay, I’m going to start!” You told, seeing him clap his hands excitedly, but the years of friendship had taught you that this was just a thing he did when he was actually nervous. “And go!” You said, pressing the record button and joining your friend behind the kitchen island, where you had all the ingredients for the recipe already measured.

“Hey everyone, welcome back to another video! This week we have another one of the baking series and if you couldn’t already see, I have a guest with me today. Ladies and gentlemen, the star of the moment and my very own best friend, Tom Holland!” You said enthusiastically, while he observed you with a big smile on his face.

“Hello everybody, I’m Tom and I’m really excited to be here today!” He said, giving a little wave at the camera.

“Today we’re making a chocolate cake with chocolate frosting. This is one of my absolute favorites and it’s actually your mom’s recipe, that she was kind enough to pass me so I could share it.” You explained, looking at your friend.

“I love this cake! Mum used to make it when we were kids but suddenly she stopped doing it, saying we were too grown up.” Tom pouted to the camera, making you laugh.

“Well, it’s your lucky day because we’re gonna start making it right now. You ready?” You asked, seeing him nod, looking at all the ingredients in front of him. “I know it seems like a lot but this cake it’s actually pretty easy and quick to make, just take a little while on the oven.” You explained, knowing he probably thought it was way too difficult for him to make a cake like that.

“Great! Where do we start?” Tom said excitedly, which again made you laugh.

“Okay, the first step is always preheat your oven, in this case at 180 ºC, for at least fifteen minutes before putting the cakes in. Then we can start creaming together the butter and sugar. I’m using a stand mixer today but you can totally use a hand one. It’ll work perfectly fine.” You said, pointing to the ingredients.

“This is such a pretty mixer, y/n! I wonder who could have given you something like that.” The boy beside you pointed to your pink Kitchenaid with a smirk on his face. “It was you, dumbass!” You said, shoving his shoulder.

“Wow, I’m such a good friend!” The smirk on his face grew even more, seeing you rolling your eyes at his antics. “Can you stop praising yourself and start making the cake?” You pleaded.

Tom nodded and after you told the camera the ingredients and correct measurements, he put them in the mixer, looking confused when he couldn’t find the buttons.

“It’s on the side, Tom!” You told him with a laugh, showing exactly how to do it.

While the butter and sugar creamed together, you took the time to observe your friend, who seemed completely entertained with it. A couple minutes passed and when everything was looking good, you told him to stop the mixer, so you didn’t have to shout at the camera.

“When you mix those two together, you can start adding your eggs, one at a time. Always remember to crack them on a separate bowl, to make sure you don’t ruin your mixture with a bad one.” At that, Tom’s eyes light up, as if you had said the most clever thing in the world. “You can turn the mixer on low while I’m adding the eggs.” You instructed Tom, who nodded and made exactly that.

“This is looking gross!” He said to you once he turned the mixer off.

“Yeah, it does not look pretty when you put the eggs in but as soon as we put the flour, it’ll all be fine.” You reassure him. “Also, stopping the mixer and scraping down the sides of the bowl will help everything incorporate much better.” You advised, giving a pink rubber spatula to your friend, so he could do what you just said.

“Still look gross!” Tom scrunched his face, making you laugh.

“Stop it, we’re going to add the rest of the ingredients now.” You scolded, which caused him to pout at you. “We’re going to put 1 tablespoon of baking powder, 1 teaspoon of bicarb, a pinch of salt and 1 cup of cocoa powder into the flour and mix it really well before alternating this with the buttermilk. Got it?” You asked him, making sure he understood your instructions.

“So, baking powder, bicarb, salt, cocoa powder, mixing really well.” He kept narrating his moves, which you found adorable.

“Okay, now we have to put the mixer on the lowest speed, otherwise we’ll have flour everywhere. And don’t look at me like that, we DO NOT want flour everywhere, Thomas!” The smirk plastered on his face was the same one of a child before doing something they shouldn’t be doing.

“I swear I didn’t think of doing that, y/n/n!” He stated, putting his arms up in surrender.

“Yeah, right! Like I didn’t know you for twenty four years.” You rolled your eyes, making him laugh.

Once he turned the machine back on, you slowly started to add the flour, followed by half of the buttermilk, more flour, more buttermilk and finally the rest of the dry mixture.

“Perfect! Now we can turn off the mixer and scrape the sides one more time, then turn back on for about a minute or so, just to make sure everything is really well combined.” You said smiling.

“That’s it?” Tom asked, as soon as you took the bowl out of the mixer. “That’s it, the batter is done! Easy, right?” You said and he nodded. “Now we can divide the batter into three separate pans that I already greased and lined with baking paper.”

“Baking paper?” He questioned, seemingly confused.

After explaining to him what baking paper was, you proceeded to put the batter equally into the pans.

Just as he was about to lick the spatula, you swatted his hand, making him wince. “Don’t eat that!” You exclaimed. “Why?” Tom asked.

“It has raw eggs and flour. It’s not safe!” You told him, sounding obvious. “Fine, I won’t.” He promised, putting the bowl and spatula aside.

With the pans ready, you told the camera you were going to put them in the oven, for about 40min or until a toothpick came out clean. While you were away, Tom looked right at the camera and sneakily gave the spatula a good lick, scrunching his face at the taste of raw batter. When you came back, you rolled your eyes at your friend.

“What?” He questioned, trying not to sound guilty. “Was it good?” You asked him with a smirk.

“What?” He repeated himself. “The batter, was it good?” You laughed, seeing him widen his eyes. “How do you know?” He asked, confused.

“You have some on your face, silly!” You said, throwing a towel at him. Tom flushed, feeling embarrassed for being caught. “It wasn’t even good!” Tom said, cleaning his face. “I told you!” You laugh at his scrunched face.

“Okay, now we’re going to clean this up and wait for the cakes to bake, then we’ll come back and make the icing.” You told him, walking to the camera and stopping the filming. “You’re such an idiot!” You tell your friend, making him laugh.

Even after you denied, Tom insisted on helping, but his help ended with him splashing and playing with water more than actually washing the dishes. When you finally got the kitchen cleaned, the timer of the oven went off, indicating the cakes were ready.

While the cakes cooled, you prepared the ingredients for the icing, which consisted in butter, icing sugar and melted chocolate. Once everything was ready, you joined Tom on the couch, where he scrolled through instagram on his phone.

“What are you looking at?” You asked plopping down next to him. “The comments on my last post.” He said, looking at you.

“Yeah? What is it?” You questioned, looking at your own phone, seeing a brand new notification. “It was you.” Tom answered plainly.

“What?” You almost yelled, quickly clicking on the instagram app, where you found a picture of you taking the cakes out of the oven. “Tom!” You exclaimed, sending an annoyed look at you friend.

“What? Everyone’s saying you look good!” He told you, making you groan. “Yeah, gorgeous!” You mocked.

“Oh, there’s one saying you have a great ass!” He smirked. “Thomas!” You send him a reproving look. “Not my words, darling!” He shrugged, the smirk he wore growing even bigger.

“They’re also saying we’ll make a cute couple.” Tom smiled, looking at you and catching your eye. “As if, Holland! As if!” You mocked, getting up from the couch and making your way back to the kitchen to check your cakes, while his eyes stayed on your body.

“You know what? They were right! You do have a great ass!” He smirked. “Can you stop being a flirt and help me finish this cake?” You asked, not believing the words that left his mouth.

Once your annoying friend joined you, you hit the play button again and started recording. “We’re back!” You said enthusiastically. “We’re back!” Tom repeated, making you laugh.

“Our cakes are baked and cooled, I’ve put them in the fridge now, just to make sure they’re completely cold when we put the icing, which we’re going to start making now.” You said to the camera, followed by the ingredients and correct measurements. “Once again, we’re using a stand mixer, but just as the cake, a hand mixer will also work. Now Tom, you can put the butter and sugar in the mixer, but be careful with the icing sugar, it’s very powdery and can go everywhere, so start at a lower speed and just go up when it’s fully incorporated.” You warned him.

“Right, boss!” He mocked, making you playfully hit his arm. “While you do this, I’m going to melt the chocolate, okay?” You asked and he nodded.

Just as you turned around to put the bowl in the microwave, you heard your mixer going on full speed. The sight that greeted you once you turned back to your friend, was unbelievable. Tom was covered with powdered sugar, from head to toes, his curls where white with the powder and the look on his face was one of pure regret.

“It really does go everywhere!” He said looking guilty.

“I can’t believe it, how old are you? 5?” You rolled your eyes.

“I’m old enough to do this!” Tom said before jumping at you and wrapping his arms around your body. “Tom!” You yelled, getting out of his grip.

“Now we’re equal!” The brunette winked, making your blood boil.

“You idiot! You know we’re gonna have to clean this mess, right?” You questioned, shaking some of the icing sugar from your clothes.

“It was worth it!” Tom laughed and hearing that sound made you chuckle too.

After a little bit of tidying up in the kitchen, you started recording again, this time hopeful that you could finally finish the cake.

“Now that the butter and sugar mixture is light and fluffy, we can add the melted chocolate and mix everything really well.” You informed, both Tom and the camera in front of you.

Tom helped you with the chocolate and after mixing the icing for a couple of minutes, you passed him a spatula to scrape the bowl and make sure everything was well combined. But, just as you were about to take the spatula back from his hands, he put it in his mouth, licking a stripe of the chocolate icing.

“Tom!!! Not the spatula that you’re mixing the frosting!!!” You yelled, seeing him roll his eyes. “Why not?” Asked the brunette.

“I’m going to eat that cake too!” You exclaimed, sounding obvious. “Oh, c’mon! It’s not like we never shared saliva before.” Tom smirked.

“You know I’m gonna have to cut this part off of the video, right?” You questioned, shaking your head at his cockiness. “Why?” He insisted, not taking that stupidly handsome smirk out of his face.

“Your fans already think that we’re a couple, they don’t need to know that we drunk kissed at my twentieth birthday party.” You stated, shaking your head to try and get rid of the memorie.

“Whatever, I think they would like it!” Tom winked, giving the spatula another lick. “Oh, they sure would!” You said, taking the object out of his hands and putting in the sink.

Back to the recipe, Tom helped you put the icing stuff away and bring the now cooled cakes, a knife, a cake stand and of course, a clean spatula to start icing it.

“Now with a clean spatula…” You said, glancing at your friend, that couldn’t help but laugh.

After filling the cakes, you helped him spread more chocolate icing on the sides and the top, before putting some sprinkles.

“It’s finished!” You screamed, making Tom laugh. “It looks really good. Can we eat?” He asked with hopeful eyes.

“Wait! I have to take some pictures first!” You warned, before taking your camera and snapping a few shots of the finished cake.

Once you were done, you finally let him slice the cake, putting the piece on a plate for you guys to try. “This cake it’s so good!” Tom moaned, taking another bite.

“It’s so moist and the icing is not too sweet. It’s just… perfect!” You agreed, also going for another bite, but Tom was quick to playfully take the plate away from you.

“Well, that was it! I hope you guys like the recipe and try to make it at home because it’s delicious. Thank you again for joining me today and helping with the cake, Tom!” You smiled, looking at your friend.

“Of course, thank you for inviting me and you guys for requesting this video.” He said, smiling at the camera.

“Don’t forget to subscribe and like this video, also leave your comments down below letting me know what other recipe you guys want me to make. I’ll see you next week. Bye!” You said waving at the camera, followed by Tom.

Once you finally finished recording, you and Tom got each one another piece of cake and went to sit on the sofa, where you eat it while watching some tv show.

Your attention was brought away from the show once you heard Tom lightly chuckled beside you.

“What?” You asked, already knowing he was up to something.

“You have chocolate on your mouth.” He said, pointing at your face.

“Of course I have chocolate on my mouth, I’m eating a freaking chocolate cake.” You rolled your eyes.

“No, I mean… outside of your mouth. Here, let me help you.” Tom offered, getting face to face with you.

And of course, just when you thought he was going to clean your face and just forget about it, he surprises you once again, this time taking you by the neck and sealing your lips together.

You were so startled that your first instinct was to fight, but once you realized the familiarity of his lips, you relaxed and kissed him back. Unfortunately, it didn’t last long but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t leave you wanting more.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done this…” Tom, being the gentleman he was, started to ramble and apologize for what he had done but you just rolled your eyes.

“Just shut up!” You smiled, leaning back in and kissing him again.

You knew that you two would have a lot to talk about after this but right now, all that you wanted were more of those chocolate kisses.

tagging some mutuals: @stuckonspidey @bi-writes @missnxthingg @peeterparkr @tomhollandthing @wazzupmrstark @screamholland @fallinfortom

#my writing #tom holland #tom holland fanfic #tom holland imagine #tom holland blurb #tom holland one shot #tom holland fic #tom holland au #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland writing

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ceilingfan5 · 4 years

Note

Ghost taako haunting the house that Kravitz just bought and they fall in love? Taako making food for kravitz to try because there are all these new *ingredients* and cooking devices that did not exist when he was alive! General ghostly romance stuff.

i went a little away from the prompt but here’s the start!

Kravitz probably should have figured there was a reason the house’s owners were eager to sell. He guessed it was mold, or termites, maybe bad neighbors, but certainly something...real.

“I AM REAL!” the ghost in his pantry hollers. Kravitz, ass on the floor, surrounded by scattered Cap’n Crunch, is in no position to disagree.

“Looks that way,” Kravitz says, still pretty sure he’s dreaming. The sticky crunch of cereal under his hands suggests otherwise, but denial goes a long way. “Is, uh, is there something I can do to help you?”

“You can get out of my house,” the spectre says, sniffing disdainfully. “And take your garbage food with it.”

“Well, I’m not going to do that.” Kravitz gets to his knees and tries to remember if he’s unpacked the broom yet. If he were a broom, where would he be… “You’re just going to have to deal with me.”

“I don’t know if you know anything about ghosts, buster, but we’re pretty accustomed to getting our way. I can outlast you, motherfucker, and I’m going to.”

“That’s nice,” Kravitz mumbles, kicking cereal out of his way and dusting off his ass. He’s going to feel that in the morning. “So much for midnight cereal. Maybe I’ll make an egg.”

“Are you even listening to me?? Don’t you even want to know my name?”

“I have a feeling you’re going to give it to me?”

“It’s Taako. And yours is Kravitz, I saw it on the paperwork.”

“Ooh, spooky,” Kravitz teases, getting his one frying pan out. He’s lucky he’s been to the grocery store so far, even though half his shit has yet to be unpacked. He cracks two eggs into the pan and flips on the stove.

“Your technique is atrocious,” Ghost-Taako says with a frown, coming to hover behind Kravitz like a backseat driver. “And you should have put some oil in that pan to start with.”

“Is this part of your technique? Driving me out of the house with helpful cooking tips?”

“No, shut up. If I have to watch you eat a rubbery egg, I swear-”

“It’s going to be fine.”

“Not if you don’t watch it!” Taako grabs for the pan, but his fingers slip right through. He glares at the stovetop like it spit on his own grave. “Fix it,” he demands, not even looking at Kravitz.

Kravitz shouldn’t feel bad about this ghost that fucked up his second cereal dinner. But he does look kind of pitiful, and he doesn’t want to eat rubbery eggs again. So he follows Taako’s instructions, and he comes up with...an actually decent, edible breakfast.

“Huh,” he says.

Taako folds his arms, pleased with himself and apparently no longer aware that his original goal was to get Kravitz out of the house. “You see. I’m- well, I was a chef. I’ve seen you eat a few times now and I’m embarrassed just to live with you. If you’re going to squat in my house-”

“I paid for it!”

“Then you’re going to eat real food, or you can leave. Now, tomorrow, you’re going to go to Bed, Bath, and Beyond, and you’re- start writing this down, you’re going to get...”

Kravitz didn’t sign on for a roommate. But he is sort of tired of eating frozen food. Maybe...just maybe, this could be worth the trouble?

#taakitz #taz #tazb #taz balance #the adventure zone #the adventure zone balance #fan5fics #sweep your damn floor krav

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subtract-me-from-your-heart · 2 years

Text

Hey all, and welcome to another episode of Sin Eats! Hopefully these will start to be a little more regular. Jay and I need to get back on track with healthier eating, and also quit ordering so much takeout, because that shit is expensive.

Today, Jay is finally going to try the recipe we've been talking about trying for over a month now.

TikTok Tofu

Although I am An Old, I do enjoy the time suck that is TikTok. And one of the things I really like are all of the recipes! I often get Japanese and Korean people cooking on my fyp, and I can't tell you how many recipes I've seen that I want (Jay) to try.

This one is from a TikTok by fujicochan (link here). Although Jay and I have an elementary-level understanding of Japanese, most of this will probably be based on visual interpretation and general guesswork. Can't wait.

Ingredients

1 pkg firm tofu

2 eggs

18g (1 Tbsp) red miso paste

6 oz frozen shrimp (about 10 shrimps)

85g frozen broccoli

40g (~1/4 c) mozzarella cheese

15ml (1 Tbsp) Aji-Mirin

45g (3 Tbsp) Mayonnaise (Japanese mayo would be the best, but we just used Miracle Whip honestly. Any port in a storm, my friends.)

Instructions

While you’re at therapy, have your lazy ass partner prep the tofu. Remove the tofu block from the package and wrap it in some paper towels. Place it between two plates and squish it down. Add a couple of heavy cans or a brick or whatever you have that’s handy (I found cats don’t work too well as they don’t want to stay in place) on top of the top plate to weigh it down. Let gravity do its thing for around 30 minutes, and it’ll squeeze out a good deal of the moisture.

Preheat the oven to 350°F (176°C).

Mis en place baybee! Crack your eggs into a small to medium-sized bowl and add the miso and mirin. Whisk together until smooth (or as smooth as you’re willing to make it). You can add a little warm or hot water to the miso and mix it up prior to adding it to the eggs to make it smoother. It doesn’t take a lot. Maybe a tablespoon or so.

Add tofu to the egg mixture and break it up with your whisk.

Grease a glass baking dish (Jay used the spray kind) and dump it all in. Double check your work breaking up the tofu and spread the mixture out in the pan so it’s all fairly even. Take a moment to complain about your poor spacial relations. It’s fine. Just do the best you can.

If you were smart and thawed your shrimp out the night before, good for you. However, if you also have ADHD, throw the shrimp into a colander and run cold water over them for a couple of minutes to thaw them out some.

Remove the tails from the shrimp and spread them out on top of the tofu mixture. Add a little pepper if you’re feeling fancy.

Add your broccoli to a bowl and cover with plastic wrap. Microwave for about a minute just to thaw it and soften it up a bit. The words, “Eh, it’s mostly thawed” and “it’s just a little frozen” did come out of Jay’s mouth, so I guess don’t worry about being too precise.

Cut broccoli into smaller pieces if needed and add to the top.

Sprinkle mozzarella on top.

Add the mayonnaise. If you can put it in a squeeze bottle, that’s great. Otherwise, just try to spread it out as best you can. Curse yourself for being lazy and not wanting to drive all the way to the H-Mart to get the good Japanese mayo. Ask yourself why you didn’t just order it from the Great Evil that is Amazon. It’s fine. Everything is fine.

Bake uncovered for twenty minutes. The lady who posted the recipe on TikTo literally said she didn’t remember how long she baked it, so we’re just winging it here.

Turn on your broiler (ours defaults to like 500°) and broil for an additional 2 minutes. You can go a little longer if you want your cheese to brown.

Serve up and enjoy! Jay added some gochujang to his.

Really delicious! Next time Jay said he'll probably marinate the tofu to add a little more flavor. It turned out kinda bland for our tastes.

#sin eats #food #recipe

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avengerscompound · 4 years

Text

Running to a Standstill - 14

Running to a Standstill: A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count: 3331

Rating: E

Warnings: Smut (MM, frottage, oral sex, anal fingering)

Synopsis: While on the run from an unknown organization trying to take your son, you meet two super-soldiers. While they try to help you get to the bottom of who is hunting you and your son, feelings come out and admissions are made that make your personal life even more tricky.

Chapter 14

Steve woke before both you and Bucky. He would normally get up and go for a run, but there was something too inviting about staying curled up in bed with both of you to resist.

Bucky had ended up in the middle, cuddled around you while Steve spooned him. Seeing him now, wrapped around you, reminded Steve of when they were still boys and hadn’t acknowledged how they felt. Steve would often wake up with Bucky draped over him. Steve had never liked feeling that small. He wondered if Bucky had liked being able to hold someone like that.

The bedroom door opened and a bleary-eyed looking Geo cuddling his tablet. He stuck his thumb in his mouth and just stared at the bed.

“Hey, G,” Steve said, softly. “You wanna climb in here with us?”

Geo shook his head and point at the door before shoving his thumb back in his mouth.

Steve smiled and untangled himself from Bucky. It wasn’t as easy as he thought, and Bucky grumbled and shifted closer to you. It was interesting. He’d walked in on Bucky sleeping a few times since getting him back and Bucky had always jolted awake and gone into a defensive position, prepared to be attacked. Yet here he was, deep asleep and not waking for either someone entering the room or being shuffled around. Steve wondered if Bucky was just more attuned to what was happening and who was with him, or he was just so relaxed that his usual expectations of being attacked had just failed to be set off.

Steve followed Geo out into the living room and the little boy went straight to the kitchen and pointed up at the cupboard where Steve kept his cereal. “You want some breakfast, buddy?”

Geo nodded and pointed again and Steve opened the cupboard. The array of cereal had definitely expanded since you moved in. He used to have granola, corn flakes, and cheerios. Now there were Honey Bunches of Oats, Rice Krispies, and Lucky Charms in there too. “Which one do you want, G?”

Geo still wasn’t talking. He just pointed again and Steve started to touch the boxes in the hope that Geo might nod when he touched the one he wanted.

“Captain Rogers,” FRIDAY announced. “Geo wanted me to tell you he wants Lucky Charms.”

Steve chuckled and got the box from the cupboards. “Thanks, FRIDAY,” he said. “You not ready to talk yet, Gee?”

Geo shook his head, his thumb firmly planted in his mouth.

Steve grabbed a plastic bowl and poured the cereal into it. “That’s okay. You don’t have to talk to anyone.”

He added milk to the cereal, grabbed a spoon, and set Geo up at the coffee table with a box of apple juice. He turned on some cartoons and Geo just sat quietly watching Scooby-Doo as he ate. Steve went back into the kitchen to try and figure out what he’d make for everyone else. He wasn’t really much of a cook. Or a cook at all. He liked to joke he could make a peanut butter sandwich and it would end up burned. While he considered what he could handle that was more than just toast and cereal, he put on the coffee.

You and Bucky emerged from the bedroom still looking like you were both not quite awake. Bucky came straight to the kitchen while you went and kissed Geo good morning.

“Were you trying to make breakfast?” Bucky asked.

“I was thinking about it,” Steve said. “It’s the thought that counts right?”

“You tell that to my stomach, pal,” Bucky teased and started pulling things out of the fridge.

“Thanks for getting Geo his breakfast,” you said, coming into the kitchen. “What are we making?”

“I was thinking omelets,” Bucky said. “We can put what we like in them.”

“Sounds perfect,” you agreed and grabbed a bowl and started cracking eggs into it. “So I was thinking…”

Steve looked over at you. There was an edge to your voice that told him you were overthinking things again.

“I’m really worried about Geo starting to see you as … well dads I guess,” you said. You spoke quietly, clearly not wanting Geo to overhear. “At least not until we’re all absolutely sure this is it for all of us. And it’s far too early for that. I was already concerned about him forming too strong bonds with everyone here. I don’t want him to start getting separation anxiety on top of everything else.”

“So what were you thinkin’, hon?” Bucky asked, looking up from the cutting he was doing.

“Well, I’m staying here because it’s not safe too. But ideally, I wouldn’t be living with Steve,” you explained. “I’m wondering if I should start sleeping in Geo’s room again. Not always. Just… so he doesn’t get the image of us in bed together connected with the way parents sleep in the same bed in TV shows. You know?”

Steve nodded, though he couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed.

“I think maybe you shouldn’t sleep over all the time either, Buck. Just … you know?” You said.

Bucky nodded too and rubbed your back. “I get it.”

“But I think this could be good for us too, because… I think we should also spend time together as couples. Particularly you two. I think you have to … explore some things together without me,” you explained. “You know what I mean?”

Steve couldn’t fault your logic. There had been so much he and Bucky had missed out on and even though he’d enjoyed the sex he’d had with you both, there were probably things they needed to try one-on-one too. It was good to make sure the bonds with each other were as strong as the bonds as a trio were too. “It makes sense,” he agreed.

“Good,” you said, sounding relieved. “So I don’t know, maybe some nights we all sleep here, some nights it’s just me and Bucky, and some night you guys sleepover in Bucky’s apartment. And we just… take turns with this being Geo’s home. Does that … is that okay?”

“It’s a really good idea,” Bucky agreed. “And trust me, the last thing we want to do is hurt Geo. So we’ll be careful.”

“Thanks, Bucky,” you said. “I mean, I want this to work…”

“Of course you do,” Steve said. “We all do, but you’re right to protect him.”

“So, uh…” Bucky said, getting a pan out. “How do we decide?”

“Yeah, that’s tricky,” you said. “Don’t want people to feel left out, so how about tonight, that is if you’re both available, you guys go on a first date. You have a lot of time to make up.”

“You really wouldn’t mind?” Steve asked.

You shook your head. “Geo and I can watch a movie and have an early night.”

“Alright, Buck? What do you think? Want to go out for dinner with me?” Steve asked.

Bucky smiled. It was genuine and Steve could see the love he felt reflected back at him. “I’d love to, Stevie.”

Steve took Bucky to a jazz club in the end. It was dark and loud and very difficult to talk, but Steve didn’t feel like he needed to talk to Bucky. He and Bucky had talked and talked and talked and talked. It was time for all the other things they’d missed out on. The holding hands on the table. The sharing bites of each other’s food. The cuddling. The stolen kisses. He needed to have the dance. He wanted the dance he had failed to get in all his years on earth.

The jazz club was perfect because of how dark and loud it was. He didn’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing or having people’s eyes on him. The food was good but not outside his comfort zone, so he didn’t have to worry about the wrong choice. Most importantly, he could dance to music that was familiar to him with the man he had been in love with since 1935.

Steve had chosen familiar foods. It was food he’d imagined would have seemed so fancy to him back when he was a kid. A shrimp cocktail for starters and rib-eye steak for his entree. He even ordered a martini, like he was playing at being a spy and this was the persona he needed to fit.

Bucky was a little more daring, ordering grilled asparagus with goat’s cheese to start and mussels served in a garlic and white wine broth for his entree.

It almost didn’t matter in the end though. They sat close to each other on their tiny table and they switched plates back and forth as they ate. Steve got all the things he’d imagined when he was young when he thought about going out on a date with Bucky. Only no one cared that it was two men sitting there, holding hands and stealing kisses. The floor was always packed with people swing dancing.

They were finishing up their meals when Bucky leaned into him. “Are you actually going to ask me to dance, pal?”

Steve smiled and his face flushed. “Will you lead? I still don’t know how.”

“Yeah, Stevie,” Bucky said, standing and offering Steve his hand. “I’ll lead.”

Bucky led Steve around the dance floor, spinning him and dipping him. The more they danced the more comfortable Steve felt and the better he got. Until they were both laughing and jiving together in the crowd of people.

The music changed from something up-tempo to something slow and sexy. For a moment Steve considered sitting down. It was one thing to jitterbug with Bucky, it was another completely to slow dance with him in front of all these people. Bucky didn’t seem to question it for a second, he just pulled Steve close and put his hands on Steve’s hips. They slowly swayed together on the dance floor, cheek-to-cheek. The smell of Bucky’s cologne, warm and woody, mixed with the salt on his skin, seemed to cut through the smell of sweat and alcohol and cooking that otherwise dominated the room. It was just him and Bucky, and while part of him wished you were here too to be part of this, he appreciated that it was just Bucky. It felt right.

“I want you to take me home,” Bucky whispered against Steve’s ear. Normally Bucky saying something like that would make Steve worry he was in the midst of a panic attack. There was something completely different about it this time. Something dark and sexy.

Steve took his hand and led him off the dance floor. He settled the check as quickly as he could and the two made their way back out and flagged down a cab.

Bucky kept nosing at Steve’s cheek and trying to initiate a kiss. Steve wasn’t ready for that yet. Not so publicly. It wasn’t Bucky. He’d be the same with you too. Public displays of affection made him feel awkward.

“Stevie,” Bucky teased, nipping at Steve’s earlobe.

“Just be patient,” Steve said, nudging Bucky.

The car pulled up at the front of the Avengers Tower and Steve paid while Bucky tried to drag him out of the back seat.

When they got into the elevator Bucky pushed him up against the wall and kissed him hungrily. Steve couldn’t stop smiling into Bucky’s lips even as the other man fumbled at his belt and dragged him close so their hips touched.

The elevator opened and Bucky practically dragged Steve down to his apartment. “So eager, Buck,” Steve teased as he let Bucky pull him through the door into his apartment.

Bucky’s apartment was always impossibly clean, but pretty homey. The couch was a soft black leather but most everything else was timber. A mixture of stained ash, cedar, and white paint. He had art on the walls. Mostly photography or vector art of cars or motorcycles, but there was a sketch Steve had done of the view down the street from Bucky’s fire escape. It was a recent one and done by memory. Something Steve had drawn in the hopes of prodding Bucky’s memory. There was also a calendar on the wall set on the wrong month with a print of Van Gogh’s Sunflowers.

“I just -“ he looked over to the bedroom. “-you know?”

Steve laughed and began to unbutton Bucky’s shirt. “It’s not like we did that very long ago.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, grabbing the waistband of Steve’s pants and dragging him toward the bedroom. “And it was good. And now I want to do it again.”

Bucky started to kiss Steve’s neck as he unfastened his pants and Steve pushed Bucky’s shirt off. Steve trailed his fingers along the scarring that connected Bucky’s arm to his shoulder. Bucky flinched and took Steve’s hand and moved it down to his side.

“Sorry,” Steve whispered, kissing Bucky’s neck. “Does it hurt?”

Bucky shook his head. “No… well yeah, always. But not more when you touch it. I just hate it. Don’t want to be reminded of it now.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said. He got it. It was a constant brutal reminder of what had happened to him. What he’d lost and how he’d been changed. Steve got sensitive about people pointing out his looks after he had the serum when they ignored him so much before it. The arm and the scarring would be much worse than that.

“Don’t worry,” Bucky said and brought his lips to Steve’s. They kissed passionately. Their lips moved against each other’s, as Bucky pulled Steve back towards the bed. Steve unfastened Bucky’s fly and pushed his pants down. When Bucky was down to just his boxer briefs, he pushed Steve back onto the bed and straddled his lap, kissing him hungrily as he ground his hips against Steve’s.

Steve was still fully dressed and his cock began to strain against his pants. He could feel Bucky’s erection with each roll of the other man’s hips. It rubbed against Steve’s and a little wet patch began to form on Bucky’s underwear.

Steve ran his hands down Bucky’s back and gripped his ass, pulling him firmer against him. “Fuck, Steve… I want you…” Bucky groaned.

“I’m yours, Buck,” Steve whispered.

Bucky began to frantically undress Steve, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt and the buckle on his belt. Steve lay back and tangled his hands in Bucky’s hair, letting him take the lead. When Bucky had finally stripped Steve of his clothes, he looked down into his eyes and ran his metal hand over Steve’s chest.

Steve was achingly hard but a little unsure what to do next and it looked like Bucky might be feeling a little lost too. Steve pushed Bucky’s boxers down and wrapped his hand around both their cocks and began to pump them in his hand as they were pressed together.

“Fuck, Stevie,” Bucky groaned. “That feels so good.”

Steve rolled them both over so he was on top. “I want you to feel good,” he whispered and began to kiss Bucky’s neck. Bucky reached over to his bedside table and fumbled around as Steve began to kiss his way down Bucky’s chest. There was a crash as the drawer fell to the ground and Steve looked up startled to see Bucky holding a tube of lubricant up almost triumphantly.

“What do you want?” Steve asked, taking it from Bucky.

“Stretch me,” Bucky said, the hint of pleading in his voice.

Steve nodded and slicked his fingers with the thick gel. Bucky wrapped his arms around his knees, lifting them so Steve had better access to his ass. Steve teased his fingers over Bucky’s tight hole and very slowly began to ease one inside. Bucky closed his eyes and his head fell back with his lips slightly parted. A soft low moan escaped his lips and Steve couldn’t help but admire how beautiful Bucky looked when he let himself enjoy something.

Steve dropped his head down, pulling Bucky’s cock into his mouth. He licked a salty bead of pre-come off the head of Bucky’s cock, savoring the taste of the man he’d been in love with for so long and appreciating the fact he was finally getting to have this. He eased his finger in deeper, moving it in and out as he slowly bobbed his head up and down on Bucky’s cock, testing his own limits as he tested Bucky’s.

Bucky gave himself to his pleasure. Relaxing into it. He squirmed under Steve and moaned loudly. It was happening very quickly. Steve had only gotten his finger into one knuckle when Bucky’s cock began to throb in Steve’s mouth. Steve kept the same steady pace. He wanted Bucky to enjoy this. No pain. No shame. Just pleasure. He moved his finger in and out, pushing it in a little more each time but never forcing it. If Bucky clenched, he’d pull back, when he relaxed, Steve would push in deeper.

He took Bucky’s cock deeper into his throat, gagging a little as he did. His mouth stretched around his thick shaft but he enjoyed it. His own cock was hard and leaking as he pleasured Bucky. Bucky’s moans became panting and his hips started to buck up into Steve’s mouth.

“Steve,” he moaned. “Stevie, I’m gonna come.”

Steve moved a little faster and sucked a little harder and with a loud moan, Bucky arched his back and came, his cock releasing straight down Steve’s throat. There was so much, and Steve swallowed it all, saving the thick and salty mess. He moaned as he pulled off and slid his fingers from Bucky’s ass.

Bucky almost jumped up pulling Steve into a passionate and frantic kiss. “Fuck, Stevie,” he mumbled between kisses. “I wanna do you. Can I?”

“Yeah,” Steve laughed, Bucky’s lips still firmly on his. “Yeah, Buck. I’d like that.”

Bucky guided Steve onto his back and scrambled down Steve’s body. He quickly slicked the fingers with the lube and dropped down, sucking Steve’s cock. Steve groaned at the warm, wet pressure of Bucky’s mouth. He kept his eyes locked on him, enjoying the view as Bucky sucked up and down his cock. Bucky massaged Steve’s asshole as he bobbed his head up and down on his cock. It sent a warm tingled running through Steve, and his head felt pleasantly fuzzy with it. There was a slight burn as Bucky’s finger eased in. Steve hadn’t been expecting how completely good that would feel, even the slight pain that happened the deeper Bucky pushed his finger was the good kind, like after a good workout. He groaned and began to roll his hips up into Bucky’s mouth. Bucky let him push in deeper and started adding a second finger. The burn was more but Steve enjoyed that too. He moaned loudly, letting himself really experience it.

As Bucky’s fingers moved deeper and faster in and out of Steve’s ass, Steve began to pant and his cock twitched and throbbed. Bucky moaned as it began to leak precum down his throat. Bucky’s fingers touched on this sweet spot inside Steve and Steve gasped and jerked his hips. “Fuck!” I cursed, and he came hard and without warning. His orgasm seemed to start in his gut, something he’d never experienced before. The intensity of it shocked him. Bucky choked and pulled back, spilling Steve’s come on his stomach.

Bucky pulled his finger out and collapsed down on the bed beside Steve.

“That was…” Steve hummed.

“Mmm,” Bucky agreed.

Steve sat up and kissed Bucky’s stomach. “Let’s take a shower.”

Bucky smiled and got up with him. As they went into the bathroom Steve felt warm and grateful that you’d given this time alone. You were right, you all needed that. But still, he was looking forward to tomorrow when it would be all three of you again.

// NEXT

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #stucky #stucky x reader #captain america #the winter soldier #captain america fanfic #the winter soldier fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #smut #running to a standstill

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kazuyumi1412 · 3 years

Text

[Previous Course]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Little Chef

[Course 2]

As she combined the butter-flour mixture in the pan, Amber couldn’t help but think of Noah again. She never got an answer about what he was, and there were still so many questions that she had for him even before she accidentally scared him again.

‘Well, it’s not like I didn’t deserve it up to some point,’ she thought as she kept an eye on the roux forming in the pan. ‘I’m not going to be surprised if I don’t see him ever again after that little incident.’

She tried to keep her hopes up as best as she could as she made her cream stew. She’d already gotten everything else cooking in a pot on one of the back burners, so all she had left to do was make the béchamel sauce to combine it with. Having three or so pots on the stove seemed a bit hectic at first glance, but it wasn’t an unusual occurrence to her due to working in a restaurant. Amber slowly poured the heated milk into the roux once it was ready, making sure that it was fully combined before she added any more. She wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

“And…there,” she said to herself as she finished up. “Just need to add it to the stew.”

Amber grabbed a ladle from nearby, scooping some of the stew broth into the béchamel sauce before incorporating the sauce mixture back into the stew. She let it simmer a little bit longer before turning off the heat and letting it cool down a bit. Grabbing two small containers, she set them side-by-side and portioned out the stew, sealing the containers and putting them in her lunch bag afterwards.

‘I hope he likes it,” she thought.

She paused for a bit as she looked at her lunch bag. Amber fiddled with the zipper, thinking back…

“Be grateful that you get to eat on their dime. Otherwise, you wouldn’t get to eat at all!”

“A cheese sandwich again? You really can’t afford to get anything else, can you?”

She opened up her lunch bag again, staring at the two containers of cream stew.

“Eat your food, honey. People worked hard to get you this meal, and I’m sure that some people dream about being in your situation.”

Was it really alright for her to be enjoying a meal like that? If there were others that dreamed about being in her situation, then what made her so special to be there in the first place? Why her?

No, not the best time to contemplate why she’s there at that point in time. She needed to head to work.

Zipping up her lunch bag again, Amber got ready for work and headed out the door, lunch bag in hand.

Work was rather uneventful that day — well, as uneventful as working in a bustling restaurant kitchen could get — and Amber continued to do the finishing touches on her cleaning. She glanced over at the pantry’s lock, curious about how it’d been acting up prior to then. Walking up to it, she closely examined the lock.

Huh. Something’s inside of it.

She tried to shake whatever was inside out of the lock, but before she could do much of anything, she heard a noise coming from behind her.

“Noah?” Amber asked. “Is that you?”

“So you’re the one that made him fear for his life,” an unfamiliar voice chastised her. “Do you know how terrified we all were?”

“We all?” — she let go of the lock and looked around for the source of the voice — “So there are more of you? Whatever you are.”

“Don’t avoid the subject! Even if what Noah did was reckless as all get out, that’s no excuse for terrorizing him!”

“Look, I didn’t mean to scare him like that. Hell, we were both pretty terrified at the time. I thought I’d have to deal with another mouse infestation! I didn’t expect to see a little person-”

“Borrower,” They cut Amber off so quickly that she could barely process what they said.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“We’re not ‘little people’, even if we are small. We’re Borrowers.”

“Oh. Sorry about that.”

They didn’t reply for a bit. “Anyway, what do you want with Noah? You’ve already given him enough trouble.”

Amber rolled her eyes, quickly developing a snarky tone in her voice. “Well, sorry for wanting to make up for scaring the hell out of him. I thought that he’d appreciate something that wasn’t from the scrap pile.”

“We’re fine, thank you very much. We don’t need help from-” — they trailed off, and Amber could hear sounds coming from the direction of the dishwashing area — “Hey, get back here!”

Amber looked over towards the dish racks, seeing something climbing down from it. A spider? No, too big to be a spider, and if it was one, she’d have already gotten the broom and smacked it. She got a little closer, only to see Noah rappelling down from the rack. Unfortunately, she kind of spooked him in the process, as he lost his grip when he saw how close she was to him. Thankfully, Amber was able to catch him before he cracked his skull open like an egg.

“That was close,” she said, gently setting Noah down. “If I wasn’t fast enough… Well, let’s try not to think about that for now.” — she glanced up to where the hook attached to the rope was, which turned out to just be thread and a paper clip — “How long have you and that other guy been up there?”

“Just a few minutes,” Noah told her. “I wanted to see if anyone else was here.” — his voice reduced to a quiet mutter — “You said you wanted to see me again.”

She smiled a bit when she heard that. “I’m glad you kept your promise.” — she grabbed her lunch bag, which she had set aside earlier, and brought out the second container of cream stew — “I didn’t know if you’d like it or not, but I thought that some homemade stew would be better than just cheese and a cracker.”

His eyes seemed to sparkle when he saw the container, but quickly became nervous. “I-Is it alright? For me to have some?”

“Of course—!” — Amber quickly stopped herself, knowing that she was going to spook Noah if she kept being that loud — “I mean, of course you can. The same goes for your friend. I just need to warm it up first.”

“Like I was going to say, we don’t need help from human beans like you,” the other Borrower rudely told her. “We don’t need your charity.”

Amber tried so hard to contain her laughter, but it escaped in short, sporadic chuckles as she covered her mouth with one hand. Noah seemed puzzled, while Amber couldn’t tell what the other Borrower’s expression was like.

“It’s human beings, not human beans,” She corrected them through her giggle fit.

“Whatever!” they snapped back at her. “You’re still a human bean to me! And my mind’s not going to be changed about the charity either!”

“But she made it just for us, Cay,” Noah said, “and I know that you’re tired of eating scraps too.”

“Cay?” Amber asked, puzzled.

There wasn’t a reply from the other Borrower until they heard a rough sigh accompanied by quiet footsteps. They quickly slid down the rope that Noah had used earlier, slowing down just enough at the end to make as little noise as possible on the metal counter. They had a grey cloak that was similar to Noah’s, but it was a bit shorter on their body and had a hood sewn on it. The person hiding under the cloak, however, was a whole different story. They towered over Noah, though they were still only big enough to fit in Amber’s palm, and had piercing hazel eyes accompanying well-kept red hair. Even despite their size difference, Amber couldn’t help but feel unnerved when they glared at her.

“You better hope that I’m not going to regret revealing myself like this,” They told her.

“Anyway…um…this is my brother,” Noah introduced him. “His name’s Cain, but we all call him Cay.” — he turned to his brother — “And this is Amber. I forgot what the full thing was, but that’s what she asked me to call her.”

“It’s Ambrosia,” Amber noted. “So, is it just you two? Sibling-wise. I’m just curious.”

He looked over to his brother. “Well, there’s Able too, but he’s-”

“Sprained ankle,” Cain cut him off.

Amber winced. “Yikes. I hope he gets better.”

Cain let out a huff as he looked off to the side. In any case, Amber quickly went to reheat the stew that she had brought, getting the smallest spoons that she could for the two Borrowers, which happened to be the quarter teaspoons. She set the spoons next to them and presented the stew, with it still steaming a bit from reheating it.

“Careful,” she warned them beforehand, “it’s pretty hot.”

Both Cain and Noah were hesitant at first, but they eventually took a slight bit of the stew and tasted it. While Noah’s delighted reaction was plastered all over his face, Cain looked extremely neutral.

“So…?” Amber slowly asked them. “You like it?”

“It’s amazing!” Noah beamed as he quickly took another spoonful and ate it. “I’ve never tasted anything like this before! The chunks are a little big, though.”

“I’ll try to break it up a bit more next time, but even I’ve got limits for how small I can cut things.” — she looked over at Cain, who still looked neutral — “Not even a reaction? Huh.”

Cain quickly looked her in the eyes. “If you’re trying to make me jealous of your cooking, then you’ve definitely succeeded,” he remarked.

Noah chuckled at his brother’s remark, and the two of them kept eating. Granted, there was enough stew there to feed the two of them for a few days straight, but that was probably because Amber didn’t have any smaller Tupperware to use. Either way, she was glad that they were eating something that she knew wasn’t from the scrap heap that normal people called the trash.

“You know,” she noted, “I could always teach you how to cook. Probably not gigantic meals like this,” — she paused for a second — “well, gigantic compared to you…but still something to eat.”

“Hold on, let me get this straight,” Cain said, seeming rather suspicious of her. “You, a human bean or whatever you’re called, want to teach Borrowers like us how to cook?” — Amber nodded her head, though this seemed to make him more suspicious — “You know that we’re not supposed to interact with each other, right?”

“Well, we’re doing it right now, you rule breaker. Doesn’t make much of a difference.” — Cain stopped in his tracks, knowing that she had a point — “Anyway, I’ve got to get going, and you two should too. You can pop by tomorrow if you want.”

“I’d rather not, with Noah already being in trouble and all.” — he glanced at his brother — “It’d be best if we lay low.”

Amber knew that Cain had a point, so she let them finish up before they ran off into hiding again. Taking the teaspoons and Tupperware, she made sure to clean them before returning them to their proper places, taking the Tupperware back with her as she thought of some new recipes.

#g/t

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archaneanscribe · 3 years

Text

A Fresh Brew Shared with You

(So I’ve been getting really into Trio of Towns, and spent about one in-game month throwing coffee at Wayne until he loved me, and I had a lot of time to imagine what was happening in game while I did sp, so enjoy the byproduct of that. I use my farmer’s name, farm name (Aime, and Bloom Farm) plus some animal names, but it’s pretty generic otherwise, as it’s focused on Wayne’s POV mostly.).

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

Bloom Farm hadn't always been the last stop on Wayne's postal route every morning.

When Aime had first moved in, she was solidly in the middle- he would work his way through the more local Westown residents, then mosey on down to Bloom, before taking the long way around to reach Tsuyukusa and Lulukoko. Back in those days, he would often catch a glimpse of her toiling away in her fields, maybe even snagging her attention long enough for them to exchange a wave. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Then the main bridges reopened, and during the ensuing reshuffling, he and Ethan had worked out that it would be best for him to stop at her farm at the very end to complete his loop of the crossroads.

And he stopped seeing her.

Well, that wasn't nearly accurate- he saw her throughout the day, running about like the busy bee she always was, and they might pass each other by at his other stops. But he no longer ran into her on her own property. By the time he arrived, she was inside her barns, milking the cows.

(He still remembers the taste of that glass of milk, so sweet, but not nearly as sweet as his host.)

It was simply how it panned out, but he couldn't help but feel a little pang of regret at losing those glimpses of her in her element, working the land like she dreamed for half her life.

And then Aime had to surprise him, as she always did.

It was an ordinary fall morning, the red dawn melting away to make room for the blue midday sky while he crunched fiery leaves beneath his boots. She only had one letter that day, which looked like nothing more than a materials invoice from Ludus. In and out, easy as pie. But when he got to her mailbox, he found a curious sight sitting right on it's flat wooden top.

A cup of steaming hot coffee.

He looked to both his sides, then around the box, then behind him, and finally at every which angle he could, resulting in him spinning around like a fool. Shrugging, he dismissed it as her forgetting her beverage in a rush. He pulled open the hatch-

-to find a note, with his name in large letters at the top.

DEAR WAYNE,

I know you walk your whole route and my farm is pretty out of the way. That made me start feeling badly about how much mail I get everyday, which gave me an idea: Since you like coffee, I'd start leaving you a cup! Please write on the bottom of this note how it tastes, and how you most like your coffee so I can try and make that for you.

LOVE, AIME

I'll be darned, he thought, unable to suppress a wide smile, Does that gal ever run out of ways to make my day?

He shook his head, gently placing the note back down like it was made of priceless crystal instead of hastily written on a torn piece of journal paper, and picked up the mug, still hot as all get out. That means he probably only misses her by a few minutes at most... Sniffing it, he took a tentative sip, smile instantly morphing into an ecstatic grin the moment his throat finished the first swallow.

"Delicious..." he said to no one in particular, punctuating it with another sip. It was your standard black coffee, straight from a packet, but this was brewed by Aime, for him, and she planned to do it every morning. There was no way it was going to be anything less than the best cup he ever had. Before he knew it, he had downed the whole thing, uncaring of the temperature, and was licking his lips to make sure he got every last drop.

Westown's famous playboy slobbering over his own face for any splashes of his crush's coffee. If only the town's gossip hounds could see him at that moment.

After his euphoria passed, he finally realized he was just standing outside her mailbox, letter in one hand and empty mug in the other. With no better solution in mind, he placed the cup back where he found it, before pulling a pencil out from his bag.

DEAR AIME,

Thank you kindly for the coffee, it was divine. My favorite has got to be mocha, but it's hard to get a hold of in these parts, so no need to trouble yourself. It's more than enough for me to know you're thinking of me.

- WAYNE

Content with his reply, he placed the note back in the box, covering it with her letter. He was mighty tempted to stay and wait for her, but his grumbling stomach had other plans. Oh well, he'd simply have to be satisfied with her coffee for now.

As he made his way back to his room at the Postio, the grin on his face was enough to make the birds in the treetops swoon.

----

Despite what he had written, the very next day, he found a mug full of Cafe Mocha sitting on top of the mailbox. This time, the note was held down by the mug itself, penned on much nicer stationary.

DEAR WAYNE

I know you said don't worry about it, but Caolila recently had a large shipment of cocoa, so I couldn't help myself! Especially after remembering how much you enjoyed Vivi's milk. I have a cup myself every morning, so I don't mind doing it at all. I hope you have a great day today.

LOVE AIME

One again he was no match for this lass' tenacity, it seemed. He was going to be on the receiving end of her kindness no matter what he said.

Well, there was no use resisting now. Fully reconciled with the idea of this being a daily occurance (not that he needed much convincing), he decided to savor the beverage today, taking slow, luxurious sips. It would have been a good cup 'o Joe, even if he wasn't steadily falling for the woman who made it. Smooth and creamy, it was the perfect intersection of sweet and bitter.

Despite trying to take his time with it, the experience was over before he knew it. He always enjoyed a good coffee, but he had never felt such a pain when it was over before.

...maybe he had it worse than he thought.

----

Two weeks into their caffeinated ritual, Miranda asked him a question that stopped him in his tracks.

"Thanks for the package as always, Wayne!" she paused, looking down at the box in her hands, before back up at the mailman, "Say... you never come by to buy coffee these days. Is somethin' the matter?"

"W-What? There's- Nothin's wrong, don't you worry."

Unfortunately, the fact that Wayne the Suave Postman tripped over his words was enough to tip just about anyone off that something was up.

She put her hands on her hips, and spoke in a tone that he was certain Noel had heard many a time in her short life, "Well I don't believe that for one hot second mister! Tell me what's eatin' you right now or I won't stop hounding you for the next week."

He knew she meant it.

"I've jus' been having coffee with Aime lately, is all. She makes too much, so she offers me a cup every mornin'," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. He wasn't particularly fond of lying, but if you told Miranda something worthy of gossip, it'd make the rounds by sundown, so he couldn't risk exposing his true feelings quite yet. Amie had to be the first to hear about them.

"Oh, is that so?"

...she seemed to know already, but at least had the decency not to make any accusations.

"I see now, but remember we've always got some in stock! Aime buys in bulk, so I always make sure I've got enough," she punctuated her statement with a wink. She definitely knew.

"...I'll keep it in mind, ma'am. See ya' later."

"Bye bye!"

Even if he wasn't totally convinced she was onto him from her words, by this point she definitely had to be, considering his face was as red as a rose right about now.

----

Another week after that, as he made his way down the slope that led into Bloom Farm, ready and eager for that day's mocha, it wasn't only a mug that he found sitting by the mailbox- it was Aime herself.

"Heya, Wayne!" she greeted him cheerfully, waving her arm in a large arc. He managed to successfully stifle his shock, though not so much his joy.

"Well, howdy there Aime. Shouldn't you be in that there barn by now?"

She smiled bashfully, "Normally I would, but Betsy the sheep is pregnant, so I've started doing it earlier in the day when I go to check up on her. Which means I've got some free time in the morning for awhile," she held up her own half empty mug, "So I thought I'd wait up for you. A hot drink is best shared with a good friend, after all."

"My grandma used to say the same thing," he replied, expression soft. Deciding to make himself comfortable, he pulled his bag over his head to place off to the side, laid his hat on a nearby fence post, grabbed the mug, and sat beside her on the porch steps. At first, not much was said, the pair instead choosing to mutually enjoy the warmth of the coffee in the crisp, chilly morning air.

"You talk about your grandparents a lot," she asked, cracking the silence like an egg, "What were they like?"

This took him aback briefly- it was his own fault, really, for keeping his past so close to his chest, but that was a rare question for him to hear.

"What were they like...?" he pondered aloud, blowing away the last wisps of steam from the steadily cooling mocha, "Well I'd reckon as nice as you could imagine. They weren't perfect people, nobody is, but they always tried their best to do right by each other, and everyone around 'em. Can't remember anyone ever having an unkind word to say when they were involved."

She giggled into the lip of her cup, shaking her head as she did so, "That sounds a lot like someone I know. You really take after them, if they were really like that."

"Shucks, that's mighty kind of you to say. I try and live like they taught me as best I can. Seems the only way I can repay 'em for all those years takin' care of me."

"Hmmm..." she brought her mug down to her lap, face pensive, "I'm sorry if this is too far, but... do you ever wonder if your life would have been different? If your parents stuck around, or even took you with them?"

He blinked blankly at her for a moment, at a rare loss for words, before quickly regaining his composure and shaking his head, "I can't lie and say I never have, but not for a very, very long time. I made my peace with it years ago. Maybe it wasn't the 'right' choice to leave me with grandad and grandma, but I couldn't imagine being very happy relocatin' all the time either."

That statement made her go quiet, and sent her gaze down to her feet, "It isn't very fun, you've got that right."

Shoot.

"I'm real sorry for being insensitive like that," he pulled the brim of his hat down in embarrassment, "I should have chosen my words more carefully."

"No no! You're fine!" she denied, frantically waving her free hand, "Our circumstances are totally different. We only moved every couple years, it wasn't constant travel or anything."

"Still, it couldn't have been easy on ya' if it was enough to make you decide striking out on your own was better than movin' again."

"That wasn't the only reason," she corrected, "It was just... what really spurred me to take to plunge. I figured the longer I was used to never settling down, the harder it would be when I was eventually able to follow my dreams. I was finally given my 'now or never' moment."

"Well," he knocked back his final sip of coffee, wiping his lips with his sleeve in exaggerated satisfaction, "Pardon me for sayin' so, but I'm glad it happened. You were the breath of fresh air these here towns needed."

She breathed out a quiet laugh, bumping her shoulder into his, the warmth of the contact even through cloth sending a pleasant tingle down his body, "You really are quite the charmer, Wayne. I'll admit to being a little slow on the uptake, so I didn't really get what everyone was tittering about you at first. But I definitely get it now."

If he were a lesser man, he would have tossed his hat into the air and hollered at that statement, but managed to resist.

But it was a close battle with himself.

"That so? Funny thing is, I feel like I'm at my clumsiest talkin' to you. You don't want pretty words or flattery like most folk. There's nothin' wrong with any of that, mind you, it's just easier than deep conversation."

"That's what I mean, silly," she replied with a dazzling smile, "Smooth talking Wayne is nice and all, you can't get to know everyone on a deeper level, but I definitely like the Wayne I know a lot better."

"What's this Wayne like?" he asked, dropping how voice down to his real flirtatious octave, "I'm mighty curious."

"He's earnest, very sweet, just a little bit silly, aaaaaand..." she dragged out the word, smiling growing to face splitting levels, before quick as a flash poking the tip of his nose, "...very cute."

Before he could reply, a nearly ear splitting BAAAAAAA arose from the nearby barn.

"Betsy!" she cried out, rising to her feet immediately, taking off in a run towards the sound, tossing only a single glance back at him, "Just leave the mugs there, I'll clean them up later! Goodbye!"

And with that, she was gone.

His hand rose to cover his nose like he hoped to trap the sensation there forever. His heart had thumped in his chest plenty of times for his other paramours, but it had never raced like a thoroughbred horse before he met her.

"Well I'll be," he said quietly to himself, "I'm in love with her."

----

The next time he was making his way to Bloom Farm, he had a very precious pendant hanging down from his neck which he could barely keep himself from fiddling with every few seconds.

Maybe it had been pretty obvious that their trajectories were in line for a crash, but he still felt like a million bucks knowing that she felt the same, enough so that it was her who had reached out to him.

The familiar fields came into view, and he immediately started searching the horizon for a glimpse of her, finally finding her dusting off her porch.

"Aime!" he called out, ditching any pretense of composure and sprinting towards her at full speed, which was worth it to see the joy on her face as he approached, "Mornin', darlin'."

"G'morning, Wayne," her grin had an edge of mischief, "Any mail today, or is this just a social call?"

"The only thing I have to deliver is myself today, I'm afraid to say."

"I think I'll be quite alright," her face softened, putting the broom aside and gesturing for him to come up with her, "Come on in, coffee's already brewing, and I tried my hand at making some cookies with Vivi's milk and Patty's eggs."

He nodded, following her with an expression he knew must have been downright lovesick.

Maybe Bloom Farm hadn't always been the last stop on Wayne's postal route, but from now on, it would always be the last stop for his heart.•

#sos 3ot #3ot #finally found out what tag ppl were using lol #3ot wayne #wayne 3ot #trio of towns #story of seasons #story of seasons trio of towns #sos wayne #wayne sos #wayne trio of towns #wayne x farmer #long post #3k words #its just shy of that lol #fanfic #inaugural post is smth so niche no one will give a shit lol

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chocoluckchipz · 3 years

Text

The Other You - 22

Read it on A03, FF.net, WattPad

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It didn’t make sense.

His head spun, the burning feeling in his chest intensifying with every passing moment.

It shouldn’t make sense!

Missing someone who was probably happy he was out of her life shouldn’t even exist as a concept.

It wasn’t fair!

She made him suffer like never before. She took his heart and trampled on it without a care in the world. Granted, he wasn’t all that innocent himself, but all he wanted was to help her. Why couldn’t she see that?

Yes, he wasn’t perfect. But she wasn’t either. Just look where he found her those few months back. At the end of her wits and her humanity. And yet he still recognized the goodness hidden deep inside her, accepted and loved her with all her peculiarities and flaws which weren’t many but still… Why couldn’t she do the same for him? Was he that unlovable?

Why did it take her so long to think about it? What was there even to think about? She either wanted him or she didn’t.

Adrien gritted his teeth, his fists tightening.

And why did he have to be the one stuck loving someone who couldn’t care less about him? He’d never asked to be so “lucky”.

Lump in his throat, he closed his eyes, trying to ignore the force that gripped his heart.

“You gonna sleep anytime soon?” Plagg grumbled from his bed. “I thought alcohol was supposed to knock you out, not make you even more restless.”

“Maybe I didn’t drink enough,” Adrien grunted and tried to sit up. “I’ll go get some more.”

“No!” Plagg zoomed to his face and glared. “You’ve had more than enough. Go to bed. Sleep it off.”

“But, Plagg. I’m sure a little more will help me forget—"

“Bed!” Plagg hissed. “Or I’m going to go get Ladybug and let her deal with you and your childish ways. Would you like that?”

Adrien pouted and plopped back onto his bed, covering himself with a blanket up to his head. “You’re so mean. I should’ve given you away too.”

“You should’ve,” Plagg grumbled, flying back to his spot. “But, since you didn’t, deal with it like a man. Not an overgrown baby.”

“I am a man, unlike someone." Adrien stuck out his tongue in Plagg's general direction and turned away, his eyes falling on the lucky charm Marinette once gave him on his nightstand.

Why hadn't he thrown it out yet?

He grabbed the string of beads and froze, the coolness of the material burning his palm.

Oh. Yes… Because he still loved her. Because he was still hoping she’d give him another chance.

Bringing the charm close to his chest, he curled in on himself, memories of Marinette vibrant in his mind. The evenings they spent together, those delicious meals she cooked just for him, video game competitions, bantering and joking around… The kiss they had shared, the softness of her lips, her scent… The feeling of her delicate skin under his fingers haunted his dreams on a nightly basis. She was his warmth. She was his light. His hope for a brighter future. She was his everything.

And he lost her.

He was so happy with her. Happy and loved and accepted. He was always welcomed and cherished at her home. At least he felt like he was…

Was it all an illusion?

Did he imagine it all?

The cursed lump in his throat grew bigger, making it hard for him to breathe. Adrien bit into his lip trying to suppress the tears that threatened to fall.

Gosh, he missed her so much!

He’d never missed anyone this badly.

Nothing had hurt him more than the absence of Marinette.

He wished she’d make up her mind already, whichever way it went, because uncertainty was killing him. The wait was quickly becoming unbearable.

“Listen, kid.” Plagg snuck under his blanket and cuddled to his chest. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes because this is getting ridiculous. I know you’re hurting but you can’t let anger and despair overtake you. Sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“I’m fine—”

A low rumble rolled against his chest. Adrien froze.

“Are you—”

“In your dreams! See? Alcohol’s getting to you. You’re hallucinating already. Go to sleep!”

Adrien quietly chuckled and cuddled Plagg closer. What a bad liar he was. Always refusing to admit he cared for Adrien. He shouldn’t deny that, though. Adrien loved his grumpy, cheese-obsessed kwami of destruction too much for his own good. Plagg didn't even have to threaten the destruction of Paris if Adrien were to surrender his miraculous to Marinette. Adrien wasn't even entertaining the idea in the first place.

Closing his eyes, Adrien let Plagg’s purring lure him to relax, sleep slowly overtaking him.

Good.

He needed to sleep.

He had to forget.

Perhaps, move on.

Get over Marinette.

He must…

He wasn’t sure he ever would.

***

Every muscle in his body hurt.

So did his head.

He could’ve drunk an ocean if given the chance.

He had to get up for that.

Adrien groaned, shifting in his bed, immediately regretting ever moving.

Perhaps getting drunk wasn’t the best of his ideas. He had to try, though, because binging anime and stuffing himself with junk food for days in a row didn’t help him forget or ease the pain. It didn't make waiting for her decision any easier either. He thought alcohol would do the trick, but it seemed all it did was intensify his already messed-up emotions for the evening, gifting him nothing but a headache and misery in the morning.

Bad choice. He’d think twice before going down that road again.

His stomach growled.

Plagg grumbled beside him. “Make it stop. It’s impossible to sleep with that earthquake in your belly. Go feed yourself or something. Don’t touch my beloved.”

Adrien closed his eyes for a moment. Perhaps he should put something in his stomach. Surely, he can still find something edible in the kitchen.

But water first.

Then, painkillers.

Adrien slowly got up, somehow stumbling to his en-suite. Splashing cold water on his face, he shuffled to the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboards. The dangerously sugary American cereal box was empty. Frozen waffles were gone. Ice cream didn’t appeal at the moment. A single egg and a few bacon strips lay on the top shelf in the fridge. Perhaps he could fry those. Marinette taught him once how to do that.

Painkiller first, though. And some water. He was dying of thirst.

“Don’t burn the house down.” Plagg flew into the kitchen as soon as Adrien cracked the egg into the frying pan.

“I’m not that hopeless,” Adrien deadpanned, the painkiller, thank heaven, starting to work.

“Sure,” Plagg mocked him, heading straight for his Camembert stash.

Adrien should probably buy him more. If he remembered correctly there was only one wheel left. Surprisingly, Plagg wasn’t complaining yet. Just as he surprisingly had yet to…

“You know, I’m impressed. It’s been a few days and you’ve yet to nag me with ‘I told you so’.”

Plagg yawned, cradling a wedge of Camembert in his paws. “Should I?”

“Well, yes. You did warn me. I didn’t listen and look where we are now. So, go ahead—lecture me all you want. I deserve it.”

“Kid, I’m the kwami of destruction, not a heartless monster. I’m not about to kick you when you’re already down.”

“Maybe if you lectured me more, I’d stay out of trouble.”

“You’ve had enough lecturing from your father for three lifetimes. Did it help? Give yourself a break. You’re human. You’re bound to make mistakes.”

Adrien didn’t answer, turning his attention to the pan. The egg started to whiten, so he salted and peppered it just like Marinette had shown him, and stared at it intently until it was time to flip it over. Once it was ready, he transferred it to a plate and started on the bacon.

“Do you regret it?”

“Regret what?”

“Getting involved in all of this.”

Adrien had never thought about it but if he had to give an answer… “Only that it didn’t work out between us. But otherwise, no. I can’t say I regret anything.”

Plagg quirked an eyebrow. “How come?”

Adrien shrugged, flipping the bacon. “We helped someone in a bad situation get back on their feet. And not just Marinette. A whole lot of people at Gabriel as well. I can’t regret that. Yeah, I got hurt, but I’m sure Marinette’s hurting more. Finding out it was me, going behind her back again, all while I knew she didn’t want me getting involved… She must be thinking I didn’t think she could do this. I must have totally destroyed whatever little trust she had in me.” He paused for a moment, his eyes focused on the bacon in his pan, but seeing nothing, his vision starting to blur. “I was stupid. I should’ve… I don’t know, done something differently, right? Perhaps—"

“Don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying.”

“How do you still have tears in you? You’ve been bawling your eyes out for days.”

“Plagg, I’m not—”

“Your bacon’s burning.”

Adrien quickly swallowed the lump in his throat, taking the slightly too-crisp bacon out of the pan. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths to calm down and get a grip.

In and out.

This was normal. Just another stage in his grieving process. He had a right to grieve. Because despite Marinette leaving him a message in which she apologized for her reaction to his reveal and asked for time to pull herself together, make sense of everything, and to think about her feelings and what she wanted to do next, Adrien felt that the battle was already lost. That tiny flickering of hope that still burned in his chest was growing smaller with each passing day, and soon he’d have to admit that he had lost both of them: Marinette, the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, and Ladybug, his best friend and partner for a decade. He had a right to mourn that.

Adrien headed to the washroom to splash some more water on his face and compose himself. A mess of a human being, a far cry from his former, glorious supermodel-self, looked at him from the mirror. Adrien closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing.

He had to get a hold of his emotions.

He couldn’t be like this forever.

He had to move on.

He would move on!

Unless she’d want him back…

Who was he kidding? His own father didn't want him and he’d done nothing but obeyed Gabriel his whole life. Why would Marinette want him after he’d repeatedly broken her trust and her heart? So, he’d better start working on getting over her with a proper meal of bacon and eggs instead of whatever garbage he’d been surviving on the last few days.

Five minutes later he was settling down at the table, a look of uncertainty in his eyes as he beheld his meal. It looked nothing like what Marinette would’ve made. The egg seemed decent, but the bacon was half-burned. He cut a little of the egg and tasted it, grimacing right away. Way too salty. Not enough pepper. A bit pathetic.

Just like him.

“Don’t worry. Not everything’s lost yet,” Plagg said, plopping on the table in front of him. “She hasn’t replied to your letter yet, so you never know. Maybe she’ll fly to your side soon enough with a pot of steaming stew and a warm pie in her hands and all will be great again.”

“Seriously?” Adrien glared at Plagg. “Not everything in this life is about food, Plagg.”

“Yeah, tell yourself that when there is a meal made by Marinette in front of you on the table.”

Adrien let out a disapproving grunt and pushed away his plate. “I’m nothing but a nuisance. She’ll be better off without me.”

“That’s your depression talking,” Plagg grumbled. “We’ve been over this already multiple times, and I'm not singing your praises again. Better get yourself together and get outside. That’ll do you some good.”

Adrien mentally protested. He didn’t want to go anywhere!

“Adrien,” Plagg kept on nagging. “I get that you’re hurting but you can’t bury yourself here. You have Gabriel to take care of and don't forget your teaching job is starting again in a few weeks.”

“I know,” Adrien grumbled, taking his plate and throwing the barely touched food out. It wasn’t edible anyway. “Not today, though. I don’t feel like it.”

Plagg flew right in Adrien’s face and grabbed him by his nose. “You’ll never feel like it if you don’t push yourself to change something. Go outside. You need fresh air. Meet with a friend. Give it some time, kid. It’ll get better. It will. I promise. But only if you stop burying yourself alive.”

A short moment later a soft sigh escaped his lips as Adrien cradled Plagg in his palms, bringing him to his chest for a hug. “Thanks, Plagg. I’ll try. For you.”

He did his best. Adrien forced himself to shower, wear something apart from his oversized t-shirt and lounge pants, and go shopping for groceries. Then, he called Nino and rescheduled the lunch he’d canceled yesterday for Tuesday. He even cleaned his apartment, going as far as packing all things related to Marinette in a separate box, kicking himself again and again for still hoping she’d forgive him. It was pathetic, he knew that. But he couldn’t just order his heart to stop loving the girl he’d been in love with for almost half of his life. No one could do that in a matter of days.

In the evening, Adrien transformed and ran a few laps around the city to unwind as fast as he could, making sure to stick to darker areas in case Ladybug was out. Marinette did ask him to give her time and space, but that didn’t mean Chat Noir had to disappear. Adrien just couldn’t do that. He loved being Chat Noir. He loved the freedom, the rush, the adrenaline it allowed him. It did wonders for his physical and mental health, and in his current condition, it would’ve been awfully stupid of him to give that up. So after much deliberation with Plagg, he’d figured that as long as he could make it quick enough to avoid being detected, he should be fine.

Standing atop the Eiffel Tower at the end of his run was exhilarating. Chat breathed in deeply and closed his eyes, taking in the muffled noise of the city below. He’d never be able to give this up. With a slight smile on his lips, he quietly bid farewell to the view and sprinted back home.

“What’s for dinner?” Plagg yawned as Adrien dropped his transformation upon entering his apartment. “I’m starving.”

“Your cheese is in the fridge.”

“And you?”

Adrien shrugged. “Not hungry.”

“You’ve got to eat, kid.”

“Later.”

Adrien plopped on his sofa and stared at the ceiling. His mind somewhat clearer after the run, he tried to think about what his next move should be. Were Marinette to kick him to the curb, adjustments in his life would be necessary to make. Chat Noir, for example, would have to go out in secret and as little as possible, and Adrien Agreste would have to sell his Gabriel shares and go back to teaching physics to a bunch of teenagers in a few weeks.

Adrien shifted, turning to lie on his stomach. Unexpectedly even to him, he had kind of taken a liking to Gabriel as of late. He’d always liked solving problems and once he got over the initial shock of being a CEO of a fashion empire, Adrien realized that running it was just a huge puzzle to be solved. And he liked puzzles. All he had to do was learn the rules of this particular one and the rest came to him naturally.

One of the things Adrien especially enjoyed was seeing how his changes transformed Gabriel into an effective and comfortable workplace, a far cry from the state his father had left it in. Its employees these days looked happier, less stressed, and more confident than ever, improving their output and the quality of their work as a result. Quitting slowly stopped. They had even hired new people recently, and Adrien predicted that after Fashion Week’s success, they’d easily be able to replace all of the people who left with qualified professionals.

He shifted again. Back on his back, he covered his face with his hands. The last thing he wanted now was to sell Gabriel off to some random stranger who might be looking at it as a money-making machine instead of the living, breathing organism requiring love and care that it was. Perhaps, he could interview the potential buyers himself and try to figure out who would be the best fit for the company. It wouldn’t even be about the money. Adrien had a decent salary from his teaching job and had inherited a fortune from his father, large enough for a few lifetimes. He’d have to talk to his lawyer first and see what options he had. Because if Marinette wouldn't want him in her life, he’d have no choice but to sell. He doubted she’d want to see him at her workplace, even if once in a while. He wasn’t sure he could handle that either.

His stomach growled for the umpteenth time. Plagg nagged him again. Adrien groaned and got up. Dinner it was, no matter how much he dreaded it.

He shuffled to the kitchen and opened one of the cupboards, taking out the last package of cup noodles. Kettle on, he glanced into the fridge. He’d forgotten to buy pre-packaged salads again. Oh well, not the first time. The water boiled. Adrien poured it into his noodles and sat at the table, waiting for them to cook. He wrapped his palms around the cup to warm them up.

“Plagg?”

“Trying to sleep.”

Adrien let a puff of air out. “Good night, Plagg.”

The kwami muttered something incomprehensible in return as Adrien peeled the cover off the noodle cup and picked up his fork. Tasteless and gooey. Mushy in places and hard in others. He didn’t enjoy them; he never did, but they were enough to survive on and that was all that mattered.

He shoved one more bite into his mouth and chewed. Marinette would never eat this. She’d cook something and no matter how simple or extravagant the dish was, it’d taste divine. His mouth watered at just the thought.

Their banter was even better than their meals. Marinette was always a great conversation companion, having tons of stories and opinions.

She was smart and funny. She made him laugh like he’d never laughed before. She was sassy and always had a comeback for every one of his smart remarks. She wore her heart on her sleeve. Her face, her voice, her body language always softened when she talked about her loved ones. And her passion? Excitement would be palpable in the air as she told him over and over again all about her designs and everything related to them. At moments like those, she shone her brightest.

He wiped away a tear. Another one slipped out of his other eye. Adrien put the fork down and pushed the noodles away.

He couldn’t stomach them anymore.

A glass of water didn't help and once again, he went through his bedtime routine on autopilot, hiding under his comforter right after. Her lucky charm clutched in his fist, Adrien swaddled himself in his sheets. His eyes drooping closed, he hugged his pillow close, finally letting his tears roll freely.

He’d get over her one day.

He knew that.

That day, however, hadn’t arrived yet.

***

Monday morning, Adrien contacted his lawyer and set up a meeting for that afternoon. An hour before their appointment, his lawyer called to reschedule, saying he had a family emergency and wouldn’t be able to meet up with Adrien until at least Wednesday.

The next few days, Adrien spent doing nothing in particular. At Plagg’s insistence, he got out of the apartment to take walks around the city and snuck out as Chat Noir after dark. He met Nino for lunch on Tuesday, discovering, much to his surprise, that Nino seemed to be blissfully unaware of anything going awry between Adrien and Marinette. He even invited Adrien to Alya’s birthday celebration in a few weeks, which Marinette was certain to attend as well. Adrien didn’t refuse, only mentioning that he might have to stay away if Marinette wasn’t comfortable with him, to which Nino replied that based on what he’d heard from Alya, Marinette shouldn’t have any issues with him attending.

On Wednesday at two o’clock, Adrien sat down with his lawyer in a VIP lounge of his favourite restaurant to brainstorm ideas and possible courses of action regarding a potential Gabriel sale.

After about an hour, both men concluded that to fully grasp all the peculiarities of the situation, they had to consult a few other professionals in the area.

“I’ll let you know what my accountant suggests in a few days.” The lawyer stood up. “Now, I must apologize and depart.”

“I hope your wife gets better soon,” Adrien said, shaking the man’s hand. “Can’t imagine how hard it must be for your family right now.”

“Thank you. The doctor’s prognosis is promising so we’re hoping for the best. I’ll see you soon, Adrien.” The man was about to depart when he remembered something and, opening one of his folders, pulled out a white envelope. “I was asked to give this to you by one of your employees.”

Adrien quirked an eyebrow. “Oh? Who?”

“I don’t know. I just stopped by your office to pick up a few documents before our meeting on Monday and some girl came in looking for you. I mentioned I’d be seeing you later that day, so she gave it to me but then…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Adrien put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Go to your wife. She needs you more than I do right now.”

“Thank you,” the lawyer gave him a smile and put the letter in his hands before departing.

Adrien sat down and opened the envelope, pulling out a single sheet of paper with cursive handwriting on it.

His heart skipped a beat.

He knew that writing.

He knew who put little hearts over all the ‘i’s.

He’d waited for it. He knew it was coming, but now that Marinette’s reply was in his hands, Adrien didn’t know what to feel or do or say or even think. One way or another, whatever she wrote in there would change his world. Without much thinking, Adrien read.

“Hello, Adrien.

I apologize for taking such a long time to reply, but I didn’t want to rush into anything. I wanted to be absolutely sure of what I’m about to say, so I had to really think this through. I’m also sorry for writing a letter instead of coming to you face to face, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to say everything I want to tell you in person. I’m not sure if you’re still willing to listen to me. So, a letter it is. I hope that’s okay with you.

Before I start, though, I wanted to thank you for your letter and for telling me the whole truth. I really appreciate it. I think it would be fair for me to share all of my secrets with you as well, just like you did.

I guess, technically, I have only one, but it seems to be big enough to cause all of this commotion. Because you see, I wasn’t avoiding Adrien because I hated him. I was running away because I was falling back in love with him—”

Adrien froze.

Did he read that right?

He reread the sentence a few more times.

She was falling back in love with him?

She didn’t hate him?

SHE LOVED HIM???

“… I was running away because I was falling back in love with him, and I couldn’t afford for that to happen. I loved Chat Noir. I was dating Chat Noir. I couldn't and didn't want to be unfaithful.

I do admit, I’ve spent years hating you for what happened back in the day. When you reappeared in my life, I still despised you; but then, I slowly started to see who you really are and what I saw wasn’t the vicious, petty man I’d painted in my mind. You were kind and protective, someone who made a mistake following his good intentions and sincerely regretted it. I must admit I didn’t handle that situation in the best way, for which I’m sincerely regretful. That’s why I didn’t want to rush into anything. I don’t want to repeat my mistakes and hurt you again.

After we talked about the past and made our apologies, I was starting to think that maybe we could be friends again. The day you took me out for lunch was the day I understood that ‘just a friend’ and ‘Adrien Agreste’ weren’t compatible in my head or my heart. I either had to hate you or fall in love with you. That wasn’t fair to Chat Noir who’d waited years for me to get my life together. I loved him. I couldn’t betray him. That’s why I pushed him to confess to Ladybug. That’s why I revealed myself. I thought if I was dating Chat Noir, my attraction and longing for Adrien would vanish.

I was wrong. Terribly so. Chat was pulling away and at the same time Adrien had become so irresistibly sweet and kind, and I just couldn't keep myself in check anymore. A little more and I don't know what would've happened. That’s why I ran. Not from you, Adrien. From my feelings. That’s why I said all of those hurtful things at the gala. You told me as Ladybug that you loved Marinette. So, I thought if Marinette were awful to you, if she cut you out of her life completely and destroyed all hopes for a relationship, then you’d move on to someone else and my feelings for you would slowly disappear.

I'm so sorry for my actions that night. You didn't deserve what I put you through. My only excuse is that I was desperate to stay faithful to Chat, but even so, I crossed too many lines in my blind quest and I hope I’ll be able to apologize properly to you one day.

And then, when you revealed yourself, I was so shocked I couldn’t move or talk or even think straight. I know I hurt you. I swear I wanted to go find you, but Tikki stopped me and, to be honest, I’m grateful to her for that. She said you deserved an answer to your question the next time we met, and that night I didn’t have one for you. If I had found you that night, I would’ve rushed into something neither of us might have been ready for, or I might have hurt both of us again. I don't know what would’ve happened, but I want to get it right this time, so I had to step back, calm down, and think about it all.

I do have an answer for you now if you still want to hear it, and I’m 100% certain of what I’m about to say.

Can I look at Adrien and tell him I love him just as much as Chat Noir?

Yes, I can.

I love you, Adrien.

He sucked in the air, his breathing halting. Heart threatening to jump out of his chest, Adrien couldn't keep a smile off his face.

She loved him.

She loved him!

HIM!

LOVED!!!

Adrien reread the last four words a thousand times before proceeding.

All of you.

The one who’s been by my side all of these years as my loyal partner and the one whom I’ve so unfairly doubted and cruelly hurt.

Adrien, I can’t even begin to express how thankful I am for our masks right now. Without them, I would've never spent years getting to know you as Chat Noir and never would’ve come to see the real you—the man beneath my biases and assumptions. Without the masks, I would've never fallen in love with your beautiful soul and your overwhelmingly kind heart. There is no doubt in my mind that you’re a good person, Adrien. The best one I’ve ever met.

I know I can trust you.

With my life and with my heart.

If you still want it.

So, there. That’s my secret. I’m leaving it up to you now. If you think we should give us another try, I’m more than willing to. I’m sure it won’t be easy, and we’ll have to learn to communicate and stop keeping secrets from each other… but I want to give us a fair chance. I don’t believe we had one.

If that’s something you want too, find me before Wednesday at 3 pm. I got a job offer from Muï Muï. My train for Milan departs at 3:15 pm from Gare de Lyon. I wanted to refuse them at first, but then I thought that if you didn’t want me back, I should be the one to step away. Firstly, because it’ll be easier to get over each other if we’re living in different countries. Secondly, because you can’t leave Gabriel, Adrien. You made such a huge difference in the company. People are enjoying themselves now. They are eager to create and become better because they know they work for someone who cares. You have a kind and compassionate soul. That’s all that’s needed to head Gabriel. Please, don’t leave them. If we aren’t meant to be together, let me be the one to leave. I’ll be perfectly happy in Milan. Gabriel may never have another leader as great as you.

That’s it. I’ll stop now. It’s getting late and I’m pretty sure I already wrote everything I wanted. I took a week off, so I’ll be home most of the time packing.

If, by some miracle, you find me worthy of a second chance, I’ll be waiting for you any time of the day or night. If you think it's better for us to go our separate ways, I’ll leave on Wednesday at 3:15 pm. If I don’t see you by then, I’ll know your answer.

In any case, thank you for everything. Thank you for helping me achieve my dream. Thank you for loving and respecting me so much you allowed yourself to be hurt. I am so, so sorry about everything again. I hope you can forgive me one day.

I love you.

Marinette.

P.S. Since you aren’t coming to collect the rent fee I still owe you, I’ve been freezing meals for you with reheating instructions attached. After I’m gone, you’ll find them all in your freezer. I also wrote down a few recipes of your favourite dishes and left them on the kitchen table. They’re pretty easy to make, so I’m sure you’ll be able to handle them.

P.P.S. Of course, you can keep Plagg. Just let me know how I can find him if I need to.

P.P.P.S. I’m also furious you kept self-akumatizing yourself for weeks. Do you even know how dangerous it is?! There are reasons there always, ALWAYS two people involved in this, and no, I don’t consider Plagg a full-fledged person no matter how good of a job he did de-akumatizing you. However, no matter how angry about this I am, I have to thank you. I could never have done this without ‘Felix’ and his help. So, thank you, but DON'T YOU DARE ever think about doing it again. If you do, I swear, I won’t care that you’re Chat Noir, my loyal partner for a decade, I WILL kick your butt all the way down the Eiffel Tower and then some.”

Adrien laughed. Ladybug was always so adorable when she was annoyed or angry at him. Reading the letter, he could practically see her glaring at him, her lips pursed, eyebrows knit in a frown, a hint of smoke coming out of her ears. She never was angry for long, though. She was too kind for that.

His eyes went back to the words before all of the postscripts, running over them again and again.

I love you.

She loved him!

His heart quickened its pace as he grinned harder.

Marinette loved him.

She didn’t hate him; she loved him! And she wanted to give them another try, to give him a second chance.

Why would she even think he wouldn’t want that? Who did she think he was? Silly girl. Of course, he—

His breath hitched, grin vanishing from his lips. He pulled out his cellphone and looked at today’s date on the lock screen.

No.

Wednesday.

3:00 pm.

He had fifteen minutes to stop Marinette before she left Paris thinking he didn’t want anything to do with her. Bone-chilling cold gripped his chest. Adrien shook it off, standing up and gathering his things.

He couldn’t let her go again.

Not when they finally had a viable chance at happiness. Dropping money for the lunch on the table, he ran to the nearest hiding spot, clutching the letter in his hand.

He could make it there in time, but he had to hurry.

“Plagg! Claws out!”

Chat Noir ran as fast as he could towards a big dome in the distance. Gare de Lyon. He could see it, but it would take him at least ten minutes to get there.

Chat pushed himself harder, hoping to defy time.

He had to get there faster.

He couldn’t let her go.

He couldn’t let her think he didn’t want her.

He couldn’t…

Trains came into his view. Out of breath, Chat dropped onto the roof of the building. Below him lay a labyrinth of train tracks, metro connections, shops, and people. Crowds, thousands of people walking around. How was he supposed to find her here?

He noticed an information bulletin and ran towards it. The train for Milan was leaving in a few minutes. Thankfully, the platform he needed was right there. He glanced at the entrance. Huge lines of people were scanning their tickets to access the platform. He had to get past them. He also had to get away from the people gawking at him and trying to get his attention. He had no time for fans right now. He had to find Marinette.

Using his staff, Chat got back to the roof and ran past the ticket checkpoint, descending into the underground pass between the platforms. He quickly found a nook to de-transform and ran out to the platform just in time to see the train depart.

His heart sank.

No!

NO!

Adrien ran after it.

“Marinette! Marinette, wait!”

The train didn’t stop, but when Adrien reached the end of the platform, he had to. Out of breath, he grabbed a nearby pole to hold on to, watching the train carry his love away.

This wasn’t fair.

This couldn’t be happening.

He came.

He ran!

As fast as he could.

Why?

“You can’t do this!” Adrien cried out after the train without thinking. “This isn’t fair! I had fifteen minutes! Fifteen minutes to get here!”

His vision blurred, but Adrien raised the letter in his hand and yelled again. “You can’t tell me all of this and then leave! I didn’t get to answer!”

His fists clenched. He didn’t care what the people around him thought. “You know what? I’m not letting you get away like this! I’m buying a ticket for the next train to Milan and I’m going to find you and give you my answer! You said it yourself we have to learn to communicate, so that is what I’m doing!”

Straightening up, he pressed his lips together and turned around, ready to fulfill his words, only to freeze in place. A few meters away in a red dress with her hair down, stood Marinette. Her eyes wide, cheeks flushed, she clutched her luggage, watching him silently.

Her name slipped from his lips.

He swallowed and held up her letter. “Is this still true? Did you mean it?”

“Every word,” she breathed out.

That was all that Adrien needed to hear. With an urgent stride, he walked up to her and, pulling her close, captured her lips in a kiss. The world around them vanished, erupting in a symphony only they could hear. She sighed against him, her hands on his shirt, tugging him close. Hot breaths mingling, their lips moved in unison. Adrien slid one of his hands to the small of her back and pulled her closer, holding her as though she were the most precious treasure he'd ever beheld. Her arms wrapped around his neck, a barely audible moan escaping her lips. Adrien groaned and deepened the kiss. She whimpered but allowed him the freedom. His heart threatened to burst, fire burning in the pit of his stomach. Adrien kissed her more fervently with each passing moment, getting lost in their closeness. Her scent, the warmth of her body, her burning touch. His knees were giving out, but he refused to let her go.

What if she disappeared on him again?

He wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle that.

He pulled her even closer, holding on as tight as he could. In vain. A few moments later, she pulled back, gasping for air. He tightened his hold on her, leaning forward so their foreheads touched. “Please, don’t go. Stay. I want you to stay with me.”

“I will,” she whispered, her cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling with tears. “I want to stay with you too.”

He lowered his head again, peppering her lips with sweet, gentle kisses.

Marinette giggled, losing composure. Her tears spilled as she buried her face in his chest and sobbed. “I’m so sorry. I was so stupid. I hurt you so much.”

“I wasn’t at my best either,” he whispered into her hair. “You’re right—we didn't really have a fair shot at this. But we’ll talk and figure this thing out, okay?”

She quietly nodded, her face still hidden in his shirt. “I was so scared you wouldn’t show up.”

“I only got your letter twenty minutes ago. I ran as fast as I could but it wasn’t enough. I’m sorry I made you worry.”

She shook her head, her hold on him tightening. “That’s fine. It helped me realize even more how much I want to be with you.”

A lump stuck in his throat, Adrien cradled her in his arms. “You didn’t get on the train.”

“I waited for you on the platform a minute too long.”

He smiled. “You knew I’d come?”

“I was really hoping you would.”

He kissed her again, light butterfly kisses at the corner of her lips, her nose, that pretty forehead of hers.

Wiping her tears, Marinette giggled, her voice ringing like tiny bells in springtime.

“Let’s go home,” Adrien said, pulling away, yet keeping her in his arms.

“We should. We have a lot to talk about.”

“That and I believe I owe you cuddles and kisses for all the times I held back. Ugh, that was so hard!” he bemoaned dramatically. “I wouldn’t wish the experience even on my enemies.”

She laughed, bopping his nose as she pulled out of his embrace. “We have plenty of time to catch up on that as well. I took a week off work and I heard you weren’t showing up either.”

“I needed some time off.”

“How convenient for us we both have no obligations for a few more days. Plenty of time to talk things through.”

He grinned and took her luggage. “Then let’s not waste a single minute, my Lady. This cat is at your service.”

She let a teasing smile play on her lips. “That’s a dangerous offer you’re making there, Adrien. What if I intend to capitalize on it to the fullest?”

“I insist you do.” He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Anything for you, Princess. I love you. I always did. I always will.”

“I love you too,” she whispered in response, pulling him down for another kiss. “With all my heart. Forever and then some.”

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#miraculous ladybug #marichat #adrienette #ml #chat noir #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien agreste #ladybug #the other you

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