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aeyumicore · 8 days

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☾ .⭒˚ exclusive tutorial ♡ zayne x afab reader

⋆.˚ ☾ pairing: zayne x afab!reader (very fem!reader)

☾ .⭒˚ genre: smut, pwp, pwf

⋆.˚ ☾ word count: 7.6k

☾ .⭒˚ content warning: mdni, explicit sexual content, pure pure filth, public sex, fingering with gloves, sex on a pool table, unprotected sex, creampie, cervix fucking, cum as lube, choking, rough sex, dom!zayne, kinda power play? not really zayne is just a daddy, teasing with a cue stick idk, lots and lots of dirty talking, just filth idk what else

⋆.˚ ☾ video link: not necessary to watch in order to read and enjoy, but i highly recommend watching the memory for context and a visual for the fic! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jrsqvis0jkqn

☾ .⭒˚ a/n: hiiii guys <3 this is my continuation on the new ‘exclusive’ tutorial memory with my fav zayneeee. i hope you guys enjoy, i miss feeding y’all with delulu thoughts. i wouldn’t say i’m back though, i haven’t wanted to write as of late, it was honestly hard to push myself to finish this one. i feel like because i write in such detail, it starts to feel really repetitive, like i’m just writing the same things from my other fics over and over.

i’ll try to write when i have inspiration! i love u guys pls enjoy <3

⋆.˚ ☾ 18+ only ☾ .⭒˚ minors dni ⋆.˚ ☾ 18+ only ☾ .⭒˚ minors dni ⋆.˚ ☾

The sound of billiard balls colliding with one another pierces the brisk air of the empty billiard hall, save for you and the dashing surgeon eyeing you from across the table. You do your best to watch the colored balls scatter, and not the way Zayne's gloved hands grip his cue stick, or how his muscles ripple under the blue tie he wears so devilishly handsomely.

You were a bit tipsy from the small bits of wine you’d drank at his alumni get-together, mostly to take the edge off from being in a room full of surgeons and doctors, all who knew Zayne in some capacity. It wasn’t surprising how well-liked, respected, and admired Zayne was amongst his peers, but it was a bit intimidating. Though Zayne never made you feel like it, sometimes it was hard not to feel small in his presence, and the presence of all his peers.

But he always took it upon himself to make sure you never felt out of place amongst all his med school friends and acquaintances, introducing you to everyone who approached him looking for a morsel of his time.

And there were a lot of people looking to be graced with even a second of Zayne's time.

Even so, Zayne always made you feel like the center of his world. Always side glancing at you with a small, almost imperceptible, quirk to the corner of his lips when he spoke to his colleagues. Or his broad palm, ghosting the small of your lower back as he nodded along to their ramblings of surgeries you couldn’t fathom understanding. Sometimes, even taking it a step further, whispering huskily against your ear amongst the commotion of the reserved club, letting his breath tickle your exposed neck, as he tucked your hair behind your ear.

Honestly, you weren’t sure if he’d been purposely teasing you all night. But either way, combined with the wine, you were feeling tipsy, bold, and pent up.

And what better way to relieve that tension than a friendly game of pool?

At his silent observation of you and the scattered balls, you tease, “Did I do something wrong, sir?” You purposely drawl out the last word, knowing how much it affects him when you let him take a position of authority and power over you. It was the perfect opportunity to tease him back, if even just a little.

If Zayne is affected by your words, he doesn’t let it show, much to your dismay. “You have more than enough strength. If you adjust your posture you’ll see better results.” You almost want to roll your eyes at how professional and proper he’s being, even in the emptiness of the billiards room.

Feeling emboldened at his attempts at stoicness, you only grin at him, “I need you to help me identify my weak spots via "Hands-on” learning, sir.” You giggle as Zayne clears his throat, rubbing the exposed side of his wrist in his billiard gloves.

“We’ll work on your posture, then.” He makes it over to your side, leaning over the edge of the table to show you how it’s done. “Like this. Place your right foot back…” Even in his demonstration, he looks so handsome and graceful in his black suit vest and dark blue tie. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to remind yourself that you’re the one teasing him. Attempting to, anyways.

You shake your head, doing your best to focus on the task at hand. You try to emulate his pose, but even without seeing yourself you can tell it’s not right.

Suddenly, his deep voice is right by your ear, “Relax. You’re too tense.” You force yourself not to yelp as the feel of his warm breath tickles the area under your ear. You don’t turn to face him, but you can tell he’s smirking faintly. You flinch when his fingers tap your lower back twice. Your body responds immediately, your back arching instinctively, almost provocatively.

Zayne's grateful your back is turned to him, because his ears tinge at the sight of you bent over before him, your perfect back arching so sweetly. He holds back a groan at the sight, "Now you’re too relaxed.”

You’re acutely aware of his cool hand still resting on your waist, “...It tickles.” you try to deflect from the irritating way your body responds to even his most gentle and innocent touches.

"Relax your left arm. Allow it to bend naturally,” he uses his knuckle to tap your forearm, "Your head, right arm, and the cue stick should form a straight line.” you follow his instructions, tilting your head to the left to align your posture.

"How is it?”

"It…hurts a little.”

You can hear the smile in his voice, "That means it's correct.”

You turn your head so you can see him, giving him a questioning pout, "You’re so harsh, sir.”

Zayne looks undeniably amused, "Don’t tilt your head, you messed up your posture again.”

You sigh in defeat, "Is there an easier way? Like something I can do without much trouble?”

Zayne smiles smugly at you, "Yes. But are you sure you want to do it?” you fight the shiver that threatens to overtake you. You honestly wonder where the professional and stoic Zayne went, as the undertone of his words fills you with an anxious anticipation.

But you steel your voice, hoping you won’t regret your next words, "Bring it on.”

"Don’t move for now,” Zayne's voice is husky as he repositions himself right behind you against the edge of the felt table, his hand coming down to cup yours. You can feel his heartbeat against your back, as he presses his hard chest into your back, skin exposed by the backless dress you wore for the occasion. Your breath hitches as Zayne once again regains the upper hand against your attempts at teasing him.

His breath is on your ear again, "Your rhythm with the cue stick isn’t quite there yet. You need more "Hands-on” training.” this time you actually shiver, as the double meaning of his words dawns on you. His crotch is pressed right up against your rear, his body fitting against yours like a puzzle. You’re sure Zayne is doing this on purpose, as he uses your joined hands to thrust the cue back and forth.

"Move the cue stick three or four times, then stop at the point closest to the ball.” you have a difficult time following his instructions as his gruff voice caresses your ear, his pelvis firm against your rear. Really, you can only concentrate on not folding completely underneath him, otherwise you might notice the hard bulge pressed snugly against you.

His gentle lips ghosting a kiss against the shell of your ear snaps you out of your reverie, "Did you get that, sweetheart?”

“...Yeah,” you whisper underneath him, doing your best to imitate the thrusting motion with your hands. But as Zayne shifts slightly, you finally feel his erection behind you, and your mind goes blank.

"Snap out of it. Are you even listening to me?” you can hear the smug amusement in his voice.

"Um, yes…pull back the stick…”

"Very good,” his voice is smooth, almost a purr, above you, "Just like that. Now strike.” your body trembles, basking in his praise, but you pull back your cue stick and let it fly. The clinking of balls colliding sounds as you watch the striped red ball sink into one of the pockets.

"It’s in!” you cheer, forgetting briefly about the compromising position Zayne had put you in as you both straighten up, "Did you see that? It was a great shot! I’m so cool.”

“I did. Your pool skills aren’t so much about technique, but rather, passion,” he teases, finding your excitement utterly adorable. He leans against the pool table, turning to face you, "All you need for pool is… a steady hand, precision, and a calm attitude.”

His hand reaches for your face, fingers grazing your reddening cheeks as he moves to tuck the hair that had fallen into your face when you were concentrating on the balls, tucking it neatly behind your ear and holding your jaw in his practiced fingers. The material of his gloves is smooth but deliciously rough against your burning skin, "Once you’ve locked onto your target, don’t let go.”

You quiver at his words, and can’t help but wonder if he’s possibly talking about something else. Your gaze wanders south when Zayne briefly glances away, and you eye the bulge that is barely noticeable through the dark fabric of his dress pants. Mischief and lust simultaneously overtake you.

"If a student does a good job, shouldn’t they get a reward?” you purr, gently batting your eyelashes as fiddle with the sleek wood of your cue stick.

You don’t miss the way Zayne's adam's apple bobs as he swallows thickly, "And what exactly does my student want?”

You grin up at him, gently tapping the tip of your stick against his broad chest, "It might be difficult to hit this next ball. Help me.”

Zayne seems almost taken aback, but chuckles as he raises his eyebrows doubtfully at you, "Is that all?”

You take a step closer, only your arms wrapped around your cue stick separating your bodies, "What’s wrong, Dr. Zayne? Are you scared?” you giggle internally watching Zayne scramble to maintain his careful composure.

"Provocation doesn’t work on me.”

You bite back your scoff, wanting to see him lose the slightest grasp on his calculated control. You walk to the other side of the table, where the white cue ball awaits, "Then come here.”

Zayne follows you cautiously, until he stands a foot to your right. You turn to him expectantly, reaching out to brush your fingertips along the exposed skin of his left hand, still clad in his leather billiard gloves, "Closer. Or else I can’t reach it.”

Despite Zayne's sigh, you can see the way his green eyes gleam with amusement as his adoring smile reaches up towards them. He inches closer to you, "What exactly…” you use that moment to gently push Zayne backwards onto the billiards table. He catches himself easily, but allows you to push him backwards, until his back is practically resting on the felt table top. You step forward until you’re resting in between his thighs, standing over his hard body. He sits up, using his elbows to prop himself up against the table.

"Look, the ball’s so far away. I think it’s time to use a cue rest,” you giggle, bringing up your cue stick to playfully tap them on either side of his shoulder, making a dramatic show of deciding which of his shoulders to use as a rest.

Zayne's voice is husky as he chuckles, "Using a cue rest would be overkill.” he sits up against your stick to stare at you with hooded eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a faint smirk. You smile innocently back, tracing the stick down to the middle of his chest, hooking it under his blue silk tie and pulling upwards, loosening it.

The man beneath you clears his throat, "And this is inappropriate.” but his words don’t quite match the timbre of his voice, eyes still twinkling with amusement under the dim fluorescent lights of the bar.

"But I think…you’re enjoying it, too,” you murmur softly, leaning forward until your body is flush against his crotch, your heat pressed right against his. You can feel him twitch underneath the restraint of his slacks, which subsequently causes your core to throb with an all-too familiar dampness.

Zayne chuckles, a rich and deep sound that rings in your ears, averting his heated gaze, “I shouldn’t have taught you so much.” you only grin at him, setting down your stick against the table, pressing your hands against his hard abdomen. You can feel his muscles flex under the material of his suit vest as he tries to sit up further. But you only push him down more firmly, with your hand on his naval right above where his erection sat, proud and wanting to be let out.

You glance up to be met with the rare sight of an absolutely flustered and reddened Zayne. His lips are parted, slightly damp as he pants against your touch, a noticeable blush painting his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears. His breath is bated, eyes dark and hooded as they track your hands carefully. You reach up to grab his tie, tugging, but not hard enough to undo the soft knot. You use it to pull him towards him, shifting in between his legs and letting your body rub tortuously against his erection.

Zayne looks almost pained as he grunts out, "Who taught you to use your teacher as a cue rest?” his eyes are locked onto yours, dark, hazy, and demanding.

"Well, this cue rest’s heartbeat is going to affect my accuracy,” you tease matter-of-factly. Zayne arches his eyebrow.

"Is it my heartbeat that’s affecting your accuracy or yours?” you ignore him, slightly embarrassed that he knows your heart is pounding wildly, choosing to inch your hand down further in retaliation. It doesn’t take long for your fingers to reach Zayne's erection, as its length stands incredibly tall against his abs.

Zayne sucks in his breath when your fingers wrap around him through his pants, "If you actually want to learn, I can teach you another way…” he trails off as he leans in closer to you, his breath fanning across your lips. As he closes the distance between your lips, you use your left palm to push him back by his shoulders, using all the willpower you have to deny his kiss.

Grinning cheekily at his dissatisfied grimace, "Sir, this…seems to be lacking ‘professionalism’.”

Zayne chuckles, "This is lacking professionalism?” he shifts, his dick twitching in your hands, as if reminding you who exactly was the unprofessional one between the two of you. It’s then Zayne decides he’s given you enough time to delude yourself into believing you have the upperhand. Before you can even blink, his gloved hand wraps possessively around your waist, pulling you down on top of him. Your feet dangle in the air as he holds you securely against his body. You yelp as your dress rides up and Zayne grips your bare thigh with his forceful fingers.

He chuckles huskily in your ear, your body resting atop his, "It’s a bit too late to back out now.” with that, he deftly flips both of you so that you find your bare back pressed against the soft felt of the billiards table, your knees propped up with Zayne standing smugly between them.

He smirks triumphantly, "Why don’t you let me show you?” he picks up his cue stick that had long been forgotten on the side of the table, expertly twirling it in his fingers so that it grazes your chest as he brings it up to rest against your exposed shoulder. You’re rendered a blushing speechless mess at the sight of him between your legs, towering imposingly above you.

His hand brushes against your bare thigh as he pulls back his hand to steady the end of the stick, "Watch closely. I’m only going to do it once.” you shiver as he bends down, so that your chests press together, his jaw clenched as he trains his eyes on the white cue ball. Your heart hammers in your chest as you watch his handsome face concentrate, pull back the stick, and unleash his move.

You crane your neck awkwardly to see that he easily sunk two solid balls, leaving him just the black eight-ball and one other solid left. He smiles smugly at your dumbfounded expression, but remains between your parted thighs.

"No fair,” you whine, "You’re a surgeon so both your hands are sturdier.”

His eyebrows raise in amusement, "Do you really think I need both hands?” something about the way he asks you makes you tremble in anticipation. He doesn’t give you a chance to answer before shifting his cue stick, trailing it down your shoulder to your chest, skillfully grazing your nipples that had hardened in all of Zayne's relentless teasing. The stick trails down to the hem of your dress, and then up your bare inner thighs.

You shiver uncontrollably at the foreign stimulation, "Z-Zayne, what are you – we shouldn’t…”

"Hah…all of a sudden you care about what we should and shouldn’t be doing?” he chuckles. "Besides, no one will interrupt us,” he murmurs as he finally ceases stroking your thighs with his cue stick, leaving behind a trail of blue powder residue. But before you can breathe a sigh of relief, his gloved hand snakes under your dress, gripping your thigh with his large outstretched fingers. The leather feels amazing against the sensitive plush of your inner legs, almost making you forget how very in public you were.

"Wh-what do you mean? How do you know?” you whimper almost pathetically as his cold fingers play with the lining of your panties, threatening to slip under and touch you where you want him most. You’re sitting up on your elbows, unable to shake his heated stare as he teases your body painfully slowly.

“I reserved this entire hall, in case you were feeling overwhelmed with meeting all my old classmates and you needed some time alone,” he murmurs, reaching his fingers under the flimsy material of your panties. Your heart swells at his thoughtfulness, always looking out for your well being, even when you yourself don’t think to. You’re snapped out of your adoration for the man before you when his fingers get dangerously closer to the wet mess you’ve been trying to ignore.

"But still, we shouldn’t – not on this table…” but your body betrays your words as you can’t stop from bucking into his fingers when they graze your weeping slit, eager to be filled by him, again and again. He’s careful to only touch you with the fingers not fitted into his gloves — just his thumb, pinky, and ring finger grazing your sensitive region. Even though you want more, Zayne wields his limited digits adeptly, already bringing you pleasure that you couldn’t even fathom. And with just 3 fingers, none of them even inside you.

"Why are you saying one thing, when she–” he dips his lengthy ring finger into your swollen lips, ghosting along your throbbing hole as his thumb presses at your clit. The sound of your arousal squelching against his hand is loud as it cuts through the thick sexual tension in the air. "Clearly wants something else?”

Your moans are unabashed as he expertly toys with you, but never quite entering you. Even so, you can feel Zayne's fingers working magic on your clit, having you seeing stars as he rubs inexplicable shapes around it, thumb lubed from your copious slick. You find yourself desperate to be filled by him, spurred on by the excitement that just down the hall are dozens of people just waiting for your boyfriend’s return.

"Z-Zayne…” you plead, grinding yourself against the length of his finger.

"What is it, my love?” his alluring voice teases as his fingers continue on their tortuous journey, "Do you need something from your teacher?”

"You know what I w-want!” you whine like a brat, trying to angle your pelvis so his finger slips in. He only halts his movements, instead bringing down one of his gloved fingers to squeeze your clit against his thumb. You yelp at the feel of the foreign fabric against the sensitive bundle of nerves, the feeling of it a conflicting mix of pleasure and hypersensitivity, bordering on pain. You could feel yourself quickly becoming addicted to the feel of his gloves against your more sensitive regions.

"A good student should be able to tell her teacher,” he muses, the mischief and arousal evident in his own features. He’s hell bent on focussing his teasing on you, ignoring his thick erection that is still pressed into you, painfully restraining against his slacks and desperate to be inside you. Zayne bends down to ghost a kiss along the shell of your ear, "You’re a good student right baby?”

You shiver at the filthy implications of his words, hooking your arms around his neck as he breathes against your sensitive ear. Doing your best to form coherent thoughts in your brain, you mumble, "Y-yes I’m a g-good student. I’m a good girl.”

Unbeknownst to you, Zayne bites his cheek at your words, his erection twitching eagerly at them. You most certainly were a good girl, his good girl. You knew that fact to be true, he knew it, and his cock definitely knew it.

"Yes, you are,” he affirms huskily into your ear, his warm breath making you shiver, "Let me show you that I only need one hand to get the job done.” the confidence in his voice turns you on unbelievably more as you attempt to piece together the meaning of his words. As he reaches to grab his cue stick again, his bare ring finger simultaneously slips into you, and you realize he was not only referring to the fact that he only needed one hand to play pool, but one hand for you.

You whine out at the welcomed intrusion, bucking against his leather clad hand between your trembling thighs. You fall back gently at the sudden ecstasy, back arching deeply as it rests on the table top with your legs settled against Zayne's body.

He hisses at the feel of your walls sucking his finger in at every pump, in awe of the way your body begs for him, "She’s so eager for me, look at her sucking me in. Does it feel good with just one finger angel?”

The slight condescension in his teasing words only turns you on more, your back arching deeper into his hand, "Zaaayne,” you pant, hands clawing at the felt, "Feels s-so good.” you’re hiccuping between your words, wanting more from him.

As always, Zayne knows your body even better than you do, because he slips his pinky in alongside his ring finger. His eyes never leave yours as he continues to pump himself into you. The stretch makes your eyes roll back, his thumb still pawing at your throbbing clit, threatening to burst from his expert touch. The sounds of his hands thudding against your wet skin cut lewdly into the limited space between you.

Zayne deftly twirls the cue stick in his one hand so that he rests it on your breast, perfectly aimed at the white cue ball. His fingers inside you pumps in and out in perfect rhythm, the length of them able to stroke your spongy g-spot at every thrust. Your eyes are screwed shut, your body trying to accommodate the pleasure, arousal spurred on from the risk of anyone bursting through the billiard hall doors.

You feel the tip of the stick tapping against your nipples, erect against the rough fabric of your cocktail dress. Your eyes fly open to find Zayne smirking down expectantly at you, his voice a deep seductive huff, "You need to keep your eyes on your teacher if you want to learn anything, Y/N.”

You force your eyes to stay and focus on his, though you can feel your eyelids droop as your brain fights to focus on anything other than the ecstasy Zayne is imposing on your trembling body.

"That’s it, my love,” he coos at you, speeding up his fingers in the process. Your head falls back as you moan shamelessly, feeling your gut tighten in response to his movements. You can feel your arousal dripping down your thighs, and you silently pray that it doesn’t drip onto the pool table.

Suddenly, Zayne's thumb presses harshly onto your clit. Your squeal filling the air as you sit up sharply, the sensitive ache bleeding into the immeasurable pleasure, only serving to intensify it further.

"What did I say?” he growls, "Eyes on me.” you nod obediently, desperate to please him. But you’re unsure if you’ll even be physically capable of following his demands. You watch the sharp jawed surgeon hovering over you, as he continues his assault on your core.

He positions his cue stick over your shoulder again, his thrusts increasing in intensity as he concentrates on the balls behind you. The sight of him, so precise in the way he pleasures you without a single care to whose prying eyes could possibly see, while simultaneously so handsome in the way he handles his cue stick makes the coil in your gut tighten quicker than normal.

"M-more, please,” you beg, feeling your release approaching and needing him to thrust you over the edge.

“I can feel you tightening, love. Are you close already?” Zayne murmurs, still lining up his stick meticulously. You’re careful to keep your eyes on him as you nod fervently.

Zayne smirks, "So quick, huh baby?” you ignore his teasing, grinding into his hand, desperate to release. He only chuckles in response, but curls his fingers inside you as he relentlessly strokes your clit. You can vaguely see him aiming his stick at the white cue ball, somewhere on the table by your head.

"Z-Zayne, m’so close,” you warn him, the friction between his hand and your core far too much for you to hold out any longer, "Gonna cum, gonna cummmm.” your fingernails dig into his covered biceps as you grip his arms, aching to feel his skin under yours.

"Yeah?” he briefly glances at you, shifting his gaze from the billiard balls, his pace on your cunt never faltering, "You gonna make a mess for me, all over the table, like a good girl?” without warning, Zayne brings his leather clad index finger down to pinch your clit between it and his thumb. Almost immediately you come undone over his hand, your moans and cries for him filling the billiard hall. You can vaguely hear the sound of pool balls colliding, the satisfying clack briefly entering your ecstasy clouded mind as you gush all over Zayne's gloves.

Zayne talks you through your orgasm, his fingers slowing but not stopping, "That’s it, that’s my girl. Look at you, ruining my gloves, huh?” you can only whimper in response, your clit trembling in his careful grasp. "So beautiful on this table for me.”

You’re a wailing mess, tears streaming down your face from the hypersensitivity of your orgasm. Zayne watches your face contort in pleasure, in complete awe of how beautiful and unbelievably sexy you looked beneath him. His cock stirs uncomfortably, almost threatening to burst through the zipper of his pants. You don’t see the way his eyes light up in complete adoration of the woman he loves below him, making a mess all over his fingers, still inside you. He hadn’t planned to take you fully here. But the sight of you underneath him, in all your fucked out glory, slick dripping down your plush thighs, whimpering for him, he couldn’t hold himself back.

“I need to be inside you. You can take me right, my love?”

Before you realize what’s happening, Zayne's strong arms are wrapped around your waist, flipping you effortlessly so that your stomach is pressed into the table, your ass molded perfectly into his crotch, his leaking cock pressed right into you.

"Z-Zayne?” you yelp in surprise, wincing slightly at the way your spend smears against your inner thighs and cunt. When Zayne doesn’t respond, you crane your torso backwards to see him bringing up his gloved hand to his mouth, shiny with your slick presumably coating them. Using his teeth, he brings his middle finger to his teeth and yanks them off his pale and scarred hand. All the while his heated gaze captivates your own, hooded with a need so dangerous your core ignites with excitement. The sight before you makes your knees weak, buckling in anticipation.

The sound of Zayne's zipper being undone snaps you out of your shameless thoughts, and you watch as he undoes his pants just enough to pull his cock out from them. You gulp, licking your lips at the sight of him before you. His veins bulge, almost pulsing with the need to be nestled inside of your cunt, as his swollen angry head leaks copious amounts of clear pre cum, enough that it almost looked like he’d finished inside his slacks when he got you off with his fingers.

Zayne loosens his blue tie, tugging at it until you can see the gentle bobbing of his neck as his hungry eyes drink you in. You squeak when he taps his angry tip against your exposed pussy, smearing his slick against your own, the warm liquid making you shiver as it mixes.

You croak, using your last waning bit of rational thought, "W-what if someone comes looking for you?” you moan deeply when you feel Zayne move your wet panties to the side, exposing your dripping slit to his hungry eyes and the air conditioned draft of the billiard hall.

He presses his bare tip against your soaked lips, and your knees buckle under the sensitivity of your fading orgasm. Luckily Zayne holds you steady, his large hand wrapped securely around your waist as he teases his engorged tip up and down your exposed cunt.

"Well then we’ll just have to be quick, can you do that for me love?” he lines up with your throbbing hole but waits for your consent before digging himself into you. The feel of his burning cock nestled in your core is enough to make you throw all inhibitions out the window, and instead of responding verbally, you grind yourself back onto him, trying to fucking yourself onto him.

You revel in Zayne's deep throaty moan, his voice hoarse with desire, "You drive me absolutely insane Y/N.” and with that, he presses his swollen tip into your waiting cunt. Your eyes screw shut and your fingers grip the wooden edges of the table top as your cunt does its best to accommodate his never ending girth. Your teeth bite down on your lips to try and keep your moans at bay, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention.

"Good girl,” Zayne grunts out, his large hands massaging your hips soothingly, "Perfect little pussy is sucking me in so well.” you flutter around him excitedly at his praises, to which Zayne hisses, digging his fingers into the fat of your hips.

"Not so tight, please,” he grits, stilling his descent into your warm cunt, "Let me in, my love.” he twitches inside you, wanting nothing more than to be buried to the hilt.

"M’trying,” you pant, looking back to see his cock stuffed halfway inside of you, "M’trying Zayne.” keeping one hand on your hip, grip so deliciously tight there’ll surely be hand shaped bruises the next day, he shifts his other hand to your front. His fingers snake up and under your dress, pushing your panties further to the side to flick against your clit.

You gasp out, the tension in your gut being forced to release. You feel the rest of Zayne's cock sink into you, brushing against your g spot as he gently hits your cervix. The delicious curve of his manhood causes his heavy cockhead to drag against all your sweetest spots as he begins to slowly move in and out of you. Your cervix is no stranger to the feel of his tip brushing right up against it, your body growing to love the feeling of his bruising pace against your deepest parts.

"Gripping me so tight,” he seethes, his hands weaving into your hair and pushing your face into the table, the smooth felt material rubbing against your cheek as he pounded you into the table. "You like it that much? Like the idea of someone walking in and seeing this beautiful little pussy wrapped around my cock?”

Your moans brokenly at his words, his pace intensifying. The threat of being caught coupled with the overwhelming way Zayne absolutely takes your quivering body is almost too much for you, definitely too much for you to form a response to his words. Your pussy can only tremble in response, as if not wanting to let him go each time he pulls out.

Zayne's fingers grip your hair harder, but still gentle enough that it makes your eyes roll back at the addicting sensation, "Tell me baby.” his voice is low and demanding, making you want to please him at all costs.

"Want someone to see you fuckin’ me,” you whine, cheeks heating up in embarrassment, "See that m’all yours.”

Zayne groans at your words, driving himself harder and deeper into your womb, "They’d be disappointed to find out that this pussy already belongs to me, huh?” his fingers at your scalp grip your head as the intensity of his thrusts have your eyes leaking tears of utter fucked out pleasure. "Made only for me.” his words hold such a possessive tone, making your stomach stir with butterflies.

"S-so big Zayne,” you ramble, your voice coming out as a mere whimper.

"Just take it f’me, yeah?” his voice is low, his hand inching down from your scalp to your bare back, pressing your arched spine further into the table. "Feels so fucking good when you wrap around me like this.”

You’re a moaning mess as he drills himself into you relentlessly, held up only by Zayne's firm hand pressed against your clit. Your mind is consumed with only thoughts of him and the ecstasy he rains down upon your body.

Zayne's groans are vaguely audible over the deafening sounds of your ass rippling against his exposed pelvis, "Can never get enough of you, my perfect girl.”

"Should see how well she takes me, love. Sucking me in like she can’t get enough,” he rasps, hand leaving your back to press on your tummy. "Feel me here, princess?”

"Y-yes!” you gasp, "Feel you s’deep, need m-more Zayne.”

Zayne chuckles, his laugh so beautifully rich against the erotic sounds of his skin against yours, "You really think you can handle more, angel?”

“I can! I can!” you chant hazily, wanting nothing more than to please him as he drives into you intensely, his cockhead dragging against your g spot repeatedly. Your eyes have a hard time staying open as Zayne pushes you closer to your second orgasm of the evening.

His vigor increases impossibly, his hand leaving your stomach to gently grasp your neck, pulling you up towards his hard abdomen. You gasp when your arched spine hits his chest, as he effortlessly manhandles you into his body.

"Will never get enough of you. Of this perfect little cunt,” he groans into your ear, nipping at your earlobe. His hand presses down on your throat, holding you securely against him like you might disappear at any moment. The smooth material of his suit vest soothes the singed skin of your back, absolutely zero space between the two of your bodies. Molded perfectly together into one.

"She was made for me, huh? Made for me to stretch every fucking night,” Zayne grunts desperately as he thrusts up into you, your mind going numb from the pleasure of Zayne's massive girth rearranging your guts, leaving you once again unable to form words. His hand against your throat tightens against your neck when you don’t respond, the fingers at your clit squeezing demandingly, "Answer me Y/N.” the leather brushing against your nerves forces your mind to clear.

"Yes!” you gasp out, doing best to see through the fog of intense ecstasy and form coherent words, "M’all yours z-Zayne, p-please don’t stop.”

"Good fucking girl,” Zayne pants, softly digging his teeth into your neck, lips latching on and sucking for dear life. Your broken moans of pleasure fill the room when his teeth sink into your sensitive pulse point, and then his tongue lapping soothingly at the tender skin. The sounds of his skin slapping against yours are so obscenely loud and erotic, serving to push you closer to your impending climax.

“I would spend my entire life buried inside you,” Zayne grits against your neck, absolutely drunk off you. "You can handle it right, my love? For me?”

His words drive you closer and closer to your release. His fingers are still wrapped deliciously against your neck, applying just enough pressure that you have to gasp for your breaths, "Y-yes! Yes!”

"Tell me what you want love,” Zayne demands in between sucking at your neck, leaving behind a string of hickeys and saliva. He glances down briefly to see the shiny slick pooling around the base of his length disappearing and reappearing inside your fluttering cunt. The sight of it makes him moan, gasping huskily into your ear. The sound of his desperation makes you clench around him, tip-toeing closer and closer to your release.

"Z-Zaayne,” you drawl, "M’so close. W-want to cum for you. Please let me cum f’you.” Zayne swears under his breath, grip releasing on your neck to hook around your waist. Zayne lifts you off his length and spins you around. You yelp, legs instinctively wrapping around his hard abdomen as he orients you to face him, ass resting on the edge of the pool table. Your elbows straighten behind you as your prop yourself up with your palms flat on the felt top.

"Need to see your beautiful face,” Zayne demands, his fingers reaching up to grip your chin, craning your face to meet his and bringing your lips to his. His lips are delightfully demanding against yours, tongue forcing its way in to claim your entire being.

To your dismay, he rips away, a string of saliva connecting your panting breaths. Zayne's eyes pierce yours intensely, "Tell me how much you want it.” your thighs clutch around him as his hand snakes down where your bodies are joined to rub at your clit again.

"S-sooo much Zayne,” you cry pathetically, tears forming in the corner of your eyes, "Please let me cum for you, m’a good girl, d-deserve to cum.”

Your begging drives him insane, the vigor of his thrusts reaching an all time high. The way Zayne thrusts up into your body makes you drool, feeling like his personal pocket pussy, and you love it. His hot throbbing length reaches all the deepest parts of your cunt, making your eyes roll back, your hands wrapping around his neck as his strong hands hold your thighs up against him, leaving finger shaped bruises. The undoubtedly expensive pool table underneath you shakes under the intensity of Zayne's thrusts, slightly scraping and sliding against the linoleum floor.

"Okay my love, anything for you,” he muses, leaning in to kiss down your collarbone, "Not too loud okay? Can you do that for me?”

You nod fervently, though you’re not sure if you can keep your promise. His lips on your chest definitely make those words seem far fetched.

“I-I have to cum,” you pant, unable to keep your orgasm at bay any longer, "M’cumming Zayne, p-please don’t stop.”

Zayne's lips abandon your neck, using the hand not on your thigh to cup your chin once more.

“I’m not gonna last much longer with you squeezing me like that,” he groans, "You gonna take it baby?” you do your best to nod, but that’s not enough for Zayne.

"Answer me, sweet girl,” he purrs, "Or do I have to teach you another lesson?”

"Y-yes, m’gonna take it all. Please Zayne,” you plead, needing to feel him fill you as you cum for him.

Zayne smirks, so devilishly handsome as beads of sweat form on his temple, "So damn gorgeous when you beg for my cock.” his lips capture yours again, tongue tasting every inch of you. You kiss him back feverishly, wanting to be filled with nothing but him.

He pulls away, instead kissing the tears that had fallen down your cheeks, "Who does this pussy belong to, Y/N?”

"Y-you! Belongs to you Zayne!”

"Good fucking girl. Now cum for me.”

The command in his words sends you toppling into the abyss as you cum all over him. Except this time it’s so much more moist than the orgasm you had when his fingers rearranged your guts. You can vaguely feel the gush of liquid against his expensive slacks as your mind goes blank, only able to accommodate the pleasure and no other senses.

Zayne's eyes trail down to where your bodies connect, watching in awe as you squirt all over him. The feeling of your cunt pulsating so snugly around his length, almost too tight if not for your fluids coating every inch of him, drives him to his own orgasm. His cock trembles violently as he buries himself to the hilt, emptying inside of you, endless streams of cum coating your throbbing walls.

Once the last of his essence has been absolutely drained from him, Zayne languidly thrusts up into you, obsessed with the feeling of your collective spend against his softening erection. You whimper at the feeling, gently tapping against this chest, "N-no more. S’too sensitive.”

Zayne chuckles, slowing in his movements and pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, "Sorry love. Just wanted to make sure I got it as deep as possible.”

You sigh contently, tightening your arms across the back of his neck and burying your face into him, inhaling the sweet scent of him. The two of you bask in the moment, with him still nestled inside of you.

"We should head back to everyone else Zayne. They’ll be wondering where you are,” you mumble into his shoulder, fingers stroking his soft raven hair. "There’s always a bright eyed doctor looking for you, wanting to sing your praises,” you tease.

"And yet the only person I want looking for me, is you,” he smiles faintly, rubbing soothing circles into your thighs, his large hands never leaving your body for even a second.

You blush at his words, trying to deflect, "You’re a flatterer.” and yet there is a sincerity behind his words that makes your heart thrum erratically. He only smiles warmly at you, nothing but adoration, happiness, and utter satisfaction clouding his hazel irises.

"For you, I’ll be anything,” and with his glimmering eyes on yours, Zayne carries you off the table, gently setting you back on the floor after making sure you’re able to stand by yourself.

He chuckles as your knees wobble, "Do you need me to carry you for the rest of the night?”

"Now, what would your colleagues think if they saw the esteemed Dr. Zayne carrying his female companion around in such a formal setting?” you tease him, wincing as your panties settles onto your soaked cunt, absolutely dripping and spent.

“I don’t think anyone would question me carrying you, if they saw the state you’re currently in,” he grinned, smoothing some of your undoubtedly disheveled hair behind your ears.

You teasingly smack his shoulder, to which he heartily laughs, holding your waist with his outstretched hands "Is it that bad?” you whisper worriedly, doing your best to smooth out your dress. However, there was nothing you could do about the slick dripping down your thighs until you found a restroom.

"It just means I did my job right,” he smirks at you, eyeing the plethora of hickeys littered against your soft skin. There’s a thoroughly ravished glow about you that he doubted anyone would not be able to notice. Above all, the smell of him and sex is so deeply etched into your scent, there’s absolutely no way people wouldn’t know where you two had disappeared off to. The thought of that fills Zayne with a deep sense of satisfaction and arousal.

You give him an unamused look in response. He chuckles lowly, holding his arm out for you to grab, ever the gentleman. It slightly irks you how annoyingly debonair, dashing, and collected he looks, not a hair out of place, even after your vigorous activities.

"Ready to go?”

You latch onto his outstretched arm, feeling exhausted but unbelievably happy to be here with Zayne. Hand in hand, the two of you head out of the billiard hall you were sure you’d never forget.

"Wait! We have to finish our game!” you exclaim, halting and dragging him back towards your table, where your cue sticks still sat.

Zayne only raises his eyebrow at you, letting himself be dragged along by you, "We already finished. I won.”

"What do you mean–” it’s then you notice all his solid colored balls are gone, along with the black eight ball.

"Wh-when did you do that!? I call foul play!” you whine, “I want a rematch.”

"Though I’d be more than happy to teach you another lesson,” his eyes shine with amusement, clearly referring to something else, "We need to make a reappearence before someone finds us in here. We look quite incriminating in here.”

You pout, knowing he’s right. Despite your best efforts, there’s no doubt you look like you’ve just been dragged through a wind tunnel. But you were so incredibly competitive. And an even sorer loser.

Zayne chuckles at your adorable grimace, your arms crossed over your chest. He gently pries your arms apart and holds your hands in his, “I’d be happy to take you home and give you a rematch of tonight. How does that sound?”

"Fine…” you sigh reluctantly, letting him guide you back to the main hall of the club, "Since when did you have a pool table at home?”

Zayne doesn’t turn to you, but you can see a slight upturn in the corner of his lip, “I don’t.”

tag list: @bitchykittenconnoisseur @queenashen @kttriangle @lyssa-211 @jeikeun @achicilove

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matrixbearer2024 · 2 months

Note

Tiny Vox part 2?

Idk if you'll use this but I just want to give it to you.

I kind of headcannon tiny vox the be dumber, because the unprepared small body can't load all his data very well. So I imagine Vox, being stupidly in love, trying the help them when they are doing the dishes or working on their hobby bit he is just making more of a mess and smiling dumbly in love. Like when reader likes to draw heb grabs a random coloured pencil and bring it to them. You know just adorable but unhelpful.

Pocket-sized Partner: VoxPet™️ Care Guide

Tiny!Vox x Reader

A/N: So uhhh- here's a teeny little Headcanon thing while I write the continuation for the VoxPet series because I love smol TV guy. That and I'm starting to slightly feel the burnout, well- I can't tell if that's the right term since I'm starting to look at my ideas and realize that they're starting to lack the coherence and polish they used to. ANYWAY! Here's a Headcanon list for the small guy before I post the continuation for it- so I hope you guys enjoy! Happy reading!

So given Vox's mostly bionic/mechanical biology, it makes sense that he doesn't necessarily regenerate the same as other more organic(flesh-based) sinners.

Instead, he has spare bodies to upload his consciousness and switch into if the one he's using gets damaged and needs repairs or is just not worth saving.

Hence he has a couple spares lying around.

It's just in this instance, the only spare he had left was in a less than desirable condition-

And the others were still broken or just beyond repair.

Having a his brain be it's own practical digital entity also plays into this, I'd think in his paranoia he'd have copies of his own data stored in cloud servers all over the pride ring too.

So it won't be easy should someone try to get rid of him.

Anyway, back to the body switching.

So this new body Vox took is a very underpowered and overutilized little thing.

Imagine running a Skyrim with over a thousand mods on the highest graphics using a 7 year old dell laptop.

Yeah. That's what Vox is currently doing.

The small body is already running at full capacity with his overload of data and it's not even all of it.

Just the basic necessities like his personality and habits.

Like, what make Vox- vox.

Everything else like his schedules, alarms, work, etc.

They're just uploaded to a cloud server with the rest of his complete data.

Oh I forgot to mention, in his haste to make this tiny cute form-

He totally forgot to give it the ability to form even basic speech patterns.

Hence the squeaking and beeping.

He actually can't talk, not that the small body would even have any more processing room if he did do that.

Vox merely figured that you'd probably find some enjoyment anyway in his predicament until the new spare parts arrived and he didn't want to keep moving around dripping coolant and blood accompanied by some sparking wires.

Let's not even mention the cracked screen.

His face being messed up was probably the least of his issues there too.

So you kind of had to take care of him as that small little guy in that hastily put together body.

Also, because it's so underpowered and practically at it's peak use-

Vox can't actually really use his powers much.

Which he didn't realize only until after he flipped out when Velvette and Valentino found him when the staff were panicking from him suddenly going AWOL.

In this tiny body, he only has his generally human memorization skills to recall important things.

Not his flawless computer memory, which was lumped in with the data this body couldn't hold.

He did thank his lucky stars that you weren't so upset about the state he was in though.

You'd often flip the hell out when he got hurt or just had blatant disregard for his own wellbeing.

I mean, when you can switch bodies like the socks on your feet would you be careful too?

I wouldn't, I'd try every single way to die just out of sheer curiosity and boredom-

Anyway, after you got over the initial shock of seeing your boyfriend all plushie sized and everything-

You better bet he got fucking spoiled.

Literally like a chihuahua in a purse moment.

Y'all know those build a bear clothes and accessories?

Yeah no you'd dress Vox up and down in those tiny things and he just couldn't stop you.

He could figure out how to delete all the photos you'd taken when he got back to normal.

But if being treated like a doll was all it took for you to just drown him in kisses and hugs-

You better bet this man would go ahead and pull something like this again.

Plus the compulsion to just aggressively cuddle the life out of him-

Well he's already dead but the point stands.

He can't help but soak up your affection like a thirsty sponge though.

You do eventually realize that he actually has to be plugged in to recharge though.

Plugged in by a port on the back of his teeny head.

What, where did you think he'd put it?

You're glad that Vox tends to leave all sorts of cords of different lengths around your apartment.

Something to do with his work?

You had half a brain to tie him up with those said cords sometimes-

It was irritating at first but after you organized them to keep, at least you didn't dispose of them since you needed them now-

For once the hardware spaghetti was actually useful.

And thank goodness for the long wire, because he'd become extremely clingy after all the attention and affection you'd given him.

Tiny dude was sitting on your lap being pet and coddled while charging.

All while you were reading a book.

Yep. He was a spoiled little shit.

You also realized that he didn't need to eat because of the charging thing-

But he could if he wanted to.

As proven when Vox just took a small part of your meal and slowly ate it.

It wasn't even a full bite for you but it looked comically big in his tiny hands.

He installed a proper digestive system but not a text to speech thing.

Sometimes you wondered if your boyfriend's priorities were a little more wayside that you originally took them for.

He was so cute trying to help you with the dishes though.

Couldn't really do much because of how small he was-

Not to mention the fact you didn't even want to risk any more damage to him since electronics and water are generally not a good mix-

But he tried, and you'd count him being adorable as helpful emotional support anyway.

Even if he really didn't do anything aside from play with the bubbles and smile cutely at you.

If he didn't have an empire and corporation to run you might actually just keep him like this-

Even when you were looking over at some documents his secretary sent over to sign-

You guessed it was because Vel mentioned that Vox was in your care for the time being.

He was wobbling around holding a pen that was probably half his size.

Again cute as hell, but an unhelpful distraction-

Now when you went to sleep?

You plugged Vox in again and just cuddled him against your chest.

The same thing happens when he "sleeps" whether big or in this form anyway.

Screen dims and then his company logo screensaver pops up.

Anyway, I say sleep in quotations because Vox doesn't actually sleep in the conventional sense.

It's just one of the many ways he can physically recharge.

So if he does sleep it's often by choice or because he just passes out.

If he wanted to keep going physically, Vox could just directly connect himself into a power outlet and not ever run out of juice.

Mentally though- it's why he actually needs our version of sleep.

Or periods of system shutdown where he can actually mentally recuperate.

Otherwise he'd be a cracked out delirious mf hyped up on caffeine.

Which he is sometimes regardless.

Either way, you'd pet and cuddle him until he fell asleep before you would also succumb to slumber.

When you woke up though, he somehow ended up cuddling your face.

You had no idea when that even happened.

He greeted you with a happy beep and a heart on his tiny face when you woke up though.

It was probably selfish as hell but now you really wanted to keep him like this just a little longer-

#hazbin hotel #vox x reader #vox #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel x reader #vox x you #hazbin vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox x reader

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starrysvn · 11 months

Text

place in me | jung wooyoung

pairing: chef!wooyoung x chef!gn reader

genre: angst, slow burn, fluff, ex2l

word count: 17k

warnings: angsty af, kinda toxic workplace, food, drinking, i know jackshit about cooking apart from hell's kitchen, masterchef and google searches, one (1) sex joke, reader is kinda dumb.

a/n: this has been in the works since march. i gotta stop procrastinating. anyhoww, i cited "m. butterfly" by david henry hwang and reworked one of my favorite quotes ever from "jane eyre" by charlotte brontë bc i luv her. hope u guys enjoy it <3

networks: @cromernet 🫶🏻

playlist: beside you by 5sos, finally // beautiful stranger by halsey, sparks fly by taylor swift, sorry by halsey, back to december by taylor swift, right where you left me by taylor swift, the winner takes it all by abba, haunted by taylor swift, amnesia by 5sos, place in me by luke hemmings

masterlist | navi

During quiet nights you worked best. It had always been that way ever since you were a student and you didn’t think things would change. Not when the kitchen was completely silent except for the slow rumbling of whatever you had on the stove and the swift swish of your chopping knife against the cutting board. You loved listening to music while cooking, but on nights like these, you preferred the muffled sounds of the city coming in from the cracked open window and the occasional humming that left your mouth.

It was peaceful enough to remember why you loved cooking so much. Not that you ever forgot but, lately, it was hard to find joy in your job. The hustle and bustle of the kitchen kept you busy enough to render your work almost mechanical, punctuated by the quick rhythm of orders coming in. All the loud noises around you sent you into a frenzy more often than not.

It was on nights like these - in the kitchen of your own apartment, off duty for the evening - immersed in the mellow atmosphere you created, that you wondered if it had all been worth it. The studying, the getting yelled at, Paris… If it had all brought you to this - working in a Michelin star restaurant you had only ever dreamed of setting foot in - but could never get you anywhere past it. If this was your final dream, your last ambition, then why did it all feel so heavy?

It was a question you could never answer. You took great pride in your work and in yourself for getting you where you were. You liked some of your fellow chefs, and the reaction your answer got out of people when they asked you where you worked. It lit a match in you, it felt like a pat on the shoulder to your younger self. But when you got home exhausted and so not ready to face it all again the next morning, doubt clung heavily to your mind.

You turned off the burner with a sour taste in your mouth you knew only your cooking could melt away. Sat down in front of your gamjatang, you took a big breath before diving in. You had avoided the dish like the plague ever since then, but somehow tonight your hands moved for you when reaching for the ingredients. The circumstances couldn’t have been more different than when you last cooked it; you weren’t hungover, it wasn’t four in the morning, and you weren’t halfway across the world with him.

A memory pushed and shoved to come to the forefront of your mind, one about warmth and love and understanding all washing over you in the tiny kitchenette of a Paris apartment where, with him, you tipsily laughed and slow danced to the music of your hearts beating at the same time.

It wasn’t surprising that it just didn’t taste the same. Recipe and execution-wise it was perfect, you couldn’t count the amount of times you cooked the soup. But it tasted off, somehow. And right now you didn’t have the mental capacity to analyze why. So you just ate in silence, a slight frown on your lips with every spoonful, grateful you only had to load the washing machine before going to bed, disappointed your peaceful night of cooking had been ruined.

–

“What’s got your panties in a twist today?”

Park Seonghwa was your favorite coworker. You two started working at Hwang’s at the same time and bonded pretty quickly. He was quiet and focused, a perfectionist when it came to his job and never really contributed to the migraine-inducing bustling crowd of chefs around you. He also would never dare to speak like this when you both were in earshot of the sous chef. You sighed. Apparently, you had woken up on the wrong side of the bed this morning and proceeded to grill your junior chef Jongho with more bite than usual.

“Please don’t say that when Seo’s so close to us,” you flashed him a warning look which was met with a mischievous smirk.

“We all know you’re aiming for his spot, with the scolding you just did he can only be proud,” the sous chef in your kitchen had the reputation of being even worse than head chef Lee, truly the bane of everyone’s existence. You didn’t want to be like him.

“Oh, lord,” you shook your head, slowing down your chopping the slightest bit. You’d woken up with a headache after a fitful night of sleep, already frustrated with the world before even facing it. Missing the bus and clocking in late didn’t help either, not when you were greeted with a murderous glare from the head chef. You didn’t mean to be snappy with your junior, but things had inevitably piled up.

“I don’t even know if I want the position anymore,” you grunted under your breath, earning a soft giggle from Seonghwa.

“Careful saying that out loud, or the vultures will try even harder to take you down,” he knew better than to bump his shoulder with yours, lest he interrupted your furious chopping and ended up being the reason you lost a finger, but did it anyway. The sweet gesture comforted you, surprisingly you didn’t feel the urge to bite his head off.

“Let them,” you meant the words to sound a little less disheartened than they did, but all of last night’s thinking had seemingly gotten to you. Seonghwa gave you a confused look but could say little before being interrupted.

“Executive Chef Kim needs to speak to you,” the eyes of the whole kitchen were on you as a sort of stillness descended upon everyone. Even Seonghwa beside you looked surprised, even if less than everyone else. You knew in his head he was probably cooking up some joke about you being the next tyrant sous.

There were two ways this encounter could go: either fire you or promote you. A conviction that grew stronger when you entered the still-empty restaurant and sat at a table were not only the executive chef, but also the owner and manager, waiting for you. Why would they do this hours before opening?

“Thank you for joining us,” manager Na said as soon as you sat down in front of them. “As you may be aware, chef Kim and chef Lee have had their eyes on you as a possible candidate to replace chef Seo once he retires.” Her piercing eyes stared deep into your soul. You nodded, almost afraid to speak, wondering why in the world you chose to work for such intimidating people.

“I’m afraid you will not be taking that spot.”

A low blow. Somehow, even when you were neither too hopeful nor too enthusiastic about becoming sous chef, the rejection still hurt. It still sent a jolt of disappointment and self-doubt shooting through you. Were you not doing a good job? Were you not up to their standards?

“However,” you looked up again, your eyes now on executive chef Kim. “Mr. Hwang is opening up another restaurant.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” you mumbled, wheels slowly turning in your head. Manager Na smiled knowingly.

“I would like to give you the opportunity to become head chef in my new restaurant,” Mr. Hwang said. “I’m told by chef Kim and chef Lee that you would fit the position better than the one of sous chef. I trust their judgment.”

It took all you had not to let your jaw hang in front of them. Head chef? Had they lost their minds? Never had your mind taken the decision for you before you could even rationalize your thoughts.

“Could I think about it?”

“Time ticks fast here, you know that chef Y/L/N,” Manager Na’s intimidating eyes were on you again. “We’d like to have an answer in two days at most.”

With a curt nod, they dismissed you. You didn’t think you had ever made a beeline for the bathroom so fast in your entire life. Surely, you couldn’t go back into the kitchen looking like your cat just died. Everybody would know something was wrong, they would know that the position as sous was still free and you had been shot down. And there was little they could do better than kicking a man when he was down.

So you sat in the cubicle, trying to calm your shaking hands and regain composure. Act like nothing happened. Betray no emotion. Go back to dicing potatoes exactly one centimeter by one centimeter. Not a millimeter more, not one less.

Assholes. All of them. They couldn’t have chosen a better moment to tell you this than the most hectic night of the week. And now you’d have to work through it. Through the eyes trailed on you, holding questions and spite and jealousy. Through chef Lee’s and chef Seo’s yelled reprimanding, making sure everything was just perfect for the critic coming in.

Just one more night.

Never had you held on so tightly to such meager consolation.

–

“You look like you need a beer.”

Seonghwa’s voice broke the silence of the back alley. After closing, you decided to stick around instead of fleeing home like you usually would. It had been a while since the last time you sat outside the back entrance of the kitchen, alone with your thoughts after hours of noise.

“I need vodka,” you voiced, not looking up as he took a spot beside you.

“That’s stooping so low, what’s wrong?”

You knew the question would come. Somehow he had not asked anything when you entered the kitchen again with a blank face. A murmur had slithered past as you took your place and started working again. But Seonghwa had just shot you a look, resuming his work as well.

“They want to make me head chef at Hwang’s new restaurant.”

“But that’s great!” He was looking at you with those big, wide, excited eyes of his and a genuine smile on his lips. One would think the offer was made to him. You were almost sorry you had to wipe that happiness away.

“I don’t know if I want that…”

“What do you mean?” He looked puzzled, but not surprised. You sighed. How did you explain this without sounding crazy?

“I mean… I-” you grunted, hands in your hair. “When’s the last time you felt like cooking?”

Seonghwa stared back with a slight frown in his brow, eyes bouncing around your face in an effort to understand.

“Like, really cooking. Without walking into the kitchen and wanting to throw up, or dreading opening time and all the yelling. I know it’s how it is when you work for such big names but fuck. Everything’s too fast and I… it feels like I don’t care anymore, Hwa. They took my passion and stomped all over it.”

“Didn’t you want to be a high end, gourmet restaurant chef?”

You stared, mouth hanging open. Of course, you did. It was your biggest dream, your one ambition. It was excruciating that all the pressure was making you break, making you think that you weren’t cut out for this and you had wasted your time.

“I did, I do.”

“But?”

“But this isn’t it. This feels like a survival show, where everyone’s out for blood. I understand competitiveness, but I can hardly breathe when we start cooking. Chef Seo is a literal nightmare and I don’t think I can do it anymore in a place like this.”

“I see…”

“You think I lost my mind,” you let your head tilt back, eyes on the starless night sky.

“Maybe you did,” Seonghwa said. “That doesn’t mean you’re wrong.”

“I’ll be honest, I never thought I’d hear you like this,” he continued. “You hold such pride for what you do and how you do it. I think Seo might yell at you just because he’s irritated he’s got nothing on you. Half of the people hate you for how well you manage.”

“Gee, thanks,” you scoffed.

“My point is,” he bumped his shoulder with yours. “That it’s indicative of how much this place fucking sucks if they got you breaking. A Michelin kitchen, or any kitchen for that matter, shouldn’t burn out their best chefs.”

“Jongho is so brave for junioring here,” you deflected, allowing his words to soothe your burning wounds.

“Hey, we did that too!”

“Yeah, and look at where it got us,” you giggled, smiling for the first time tonight. Seonghwa huffed out a laugh.

A beat of silence passed. You were glad for Seonghwa. Even though you often joked he was just your favorite coworker, you considered him a dear friend. One of your only friends for the matter.

“What are you gonna do?”

“I’ll quit,” you heard his surprised gasp and chuckled. “And I’ll refuse the position. I know head chef sounds better but I know them. Manager Na and Mr. Hwang will only hire straight up assholes and I’d have to deal with it, and not even as executive chef.”

“We’re not assholes!” his hand sat on his chest in mock offense, you giggled.

“We look like assholes and do our job quietly and damn near perfectly, that’s why we’re here.”

Mumbling something along the lines of I guess so, Seonghwa accepted the heavy truth. In the quiet alley, sitting with your friend, you felt okay. The murmur of the busy city filled your heart as you quietly giggled and remembered your first days working at Hwang’s. Goodbyes were always hard on you, but not this time. You expected gut-wrenching pain and tears and the heavy burden of failure on your shoulders as you accepted your decision. But none of it manifested, not when Seonghwa had snuck one of the most expensive bottles of wine out of the kitchen and launched himself in a perfect rendition of Chef Seo’s latest meltdown. Maybe taking a step back didn’t mean failing, something you never would’ve believed mere months ago.

The sound of freedom equated to the one of your blaring alarms each morning. It had been two weeks since you had quit your job, but you still refused to get a good night’s sleep. Well, except the night you told Seonghwa and you ended up drunk off your faces.

You rolled over, turning off the annoying alarm, ready to start another day of not knowing what to do. There were few things you enjoyed doing, apart from cooking, when all you were left with was free time and silence. It was nice getting out of the house in the early spring morning to buy groceries, go for walks, and swing by your friend’s flower shop, but it got old quickly. Mostly, you didn’t like how sometimes, while cooking, memories you tried to never think of seemed to resurface on their own.

When you finally got to the kitchen and there was nothing but eggs in the fridge – it was shopping day – you settled on an omelette for breakfast. Only, halfway through cooking, your mind wandered back there.

When Chef Berrien asked you to make an omelette you wanted to laugh. You didn’t though, not when you saw the serious frown he was sporting. He was being serious? The absurdity of the situation made you question if dropping everything you had back at home just to fly to Paris to master your craft had been worth it. Maybe your mother was right, maybe you were crazy.

“Omelettes are the easiest thing to spoil,” he stood resolutely in front of you all. “Only good chefs make good omelettes.”

Oh god, your mother was right.

“Good luck,” a smug voice sounded from beside you.

If there was someone who could push you over the edge Chef Berrien shoved you to, it was Jung Wooyoung. In just two weeks of sharing your working station with him, you discovered that his bubbly personality clashed with your silent brooding. You preferred to work in silence and, apparently, he thrived in chaos.

“You too,” you grumbled, getting your few ingredients ready. How in the world were you supposed to prove your worth with a fucking omelette? You closed your eyes and sighed, getting to work.

“That definitely looks… simple,” Wooyoung mumbled as Berrien walked through the cooking stations, pulling faces at every dish. You looked down at yours - a plain, french omelette - then at his - all prettily plated and definitely cheese filled - and bit your tongue.

“He asked for an omelette, not a Michelin star worthy breakfast,” you hastily whispered, wishing he would just shut up for once.

“Aren’t we training to be Michelin star worthy chefs?” came his rebuttal, getting on your last nerve with that pretty smirk of his.

Pretty?

You scoffed and shook your head, straightening your back and clearing your throat as Berrien came close to your station. When the chef’s eyes landed on your omelette, a slight frown pulled his lips downwards. As he walked away, you did your best to ignore Wooyoung’s silent snicker and the burning in your cheeks. After the evaluation, you kept quiet for the rest of the day.

It sometimes happened that you would close off to the rest of the world, and focused only on what you were thinking and the task at hand. Most often when you were cooking, which both helped and hindered your work. As much as you needed to focus on what you were doing, you also needed to listen to orders while doing it. You hoped to get better at managing it, it was why you were here, after all. Though, for now, after a full day surrounded by people, you were happy sitting alone with your back resting against the backdoor to the kitchen.

“Is the silent treatment payback for beating you today?”

The door flew open, making you lose balance for a second, then came his question.

“You didn’t beat me, Wooyoung, this is not a competition,” you sighed, keeping your eyes set on the wall in front of you rather than on his figure sitting down beside you.

“Sounds like something a sore loser would say,” he bumped his shoulder with yours, no doubt with a shit-eating grin on his lips. That did it.

“Just because your omelette got a nod and mine got a frown, it doesn’t mean yours was better!” You all but exploded, finally looking at him. Indeed, he was wearing a smug grin.

“Well, Chef Berrien would disagree,” you scoffed as he looked at you with shiny, distracting, eyes. Was it the light from the lamppost reflected in them or had the lack of sleep finally got to your brain? You shook your head, ridding yourself of the thought.

“Fuck you too, I guess,” you finally said, turning back around, earning a laugh from him.

You didn’t want to stop and think about why his laugh pulled a snicker out of you, making you feel so light and at ease.

“Does this mean you’ll go back to talking to me then?” He asked, sounding a little small. “You’re not mad?”

Something pulled at your heartstrings, hearing him ask something like that. Did he really think you were mad at him? You probably looked like an asshole for the rest of the day after Berrien barely passed your omelette.

“I’m not,” you said much faster than you anticipated. “I never was.”

“That’s good,” he smiled, and you weren’t sure you liked the warmth that blossomed in your chest.

You avoided thinking of your training in Paris with all your might, and he was the reason why. But it seemed that now that your whole world had turned upside down, your brain could do nothing but. Add that to the list of things you hated about unemployment. A funny smell pulled you from your thoughts, eyes focusing back on the almost burned omelette in front of you. Mumbling curses under your breath, you turned off the heat and plated it. This was why you never let your thoughts take over.

You ate your spoiled breakfast in silence, deciding to get started with your day and your grocery shopping, mentally listing all the food you’d need. Anything, really, at this point to keep your mind occupied with something that wasn’t him.

It was still hard for you to wrap your head around what Jung Wooyoung meant to you. Or rather, you knew perfectly well and tried to avoid it like the plague. He was a closed chapter you didn’t want to revisit simply because it hurt. Because there was a point in time where he meant the whole world to you, where he was your whole world, and you decided to burn it all down only to choke on the ashes of what it used to be.

You left wondering if he was still writing pages or considered the story closed and done as you did. Like you had to not to drown in guilt.

While walking down the street, warm sunlight caressing your face, you asked yourself why it was all coming back to you now. A hollow of confusion had opened up in your chest, and of its own volition your heart chose to fill it with such memories. When Wooyoung came into your life, he did so by taking it by storm; randomly, upsetting all you had ever known, and maybe at the wrong time. That didn’t mean he didn’t leave a sign, a permanent one, on your heart. And now that you were crawling in confusion, he was barging in once more.

Wooyoung was late. It was teamwork evaluation day and your project partner was nowhere to be seen. Chef Berrien had sent daggers flying your way upon seeing the empty side of your workstation, not waiting a second longer to start the class. You wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole and also to strangle Wooyoung on sight. There must’ve been a logical reason why he still hadn’t shown up when you were supposed to finish your three-day project. If the fucker left you alone to finish cooking lièvre à la royale, you were seriously going to give him the scolding of a lifetime.

Anxiety started to claw at your stomach, twisting it in knots and tugging at them in a way that made it harder to breathe. Under the chef’s pointed gaze you could only stay as still as possible, hoping he’d prolong his very unsubtle speech about tardiness until Wooyoung got here, praying he would, and yet cursing him in your head.

He still hadn’t shown up when he gave the class permission to start working. You sighed in frustration, walking to the fridge to retrieve the hare you’d cooked the day before with trembling hands. Back at your station, you realized that working while checking the door every three seconds would get you nowhere, and you weren’t about to fail the assignment even if half of your team was missing.

When the meat was finally cleaned of the jellied liquid it had sat in overnight, and you were preparing to cut it into exactly eighty grams slices - not one more, not one less, Berrien's voice sounded in your head - the door to the kitchen burst open.

In came a panting Wooyoung, his white chef jacket buttoned up a little crooked, who tried to make his way to your station unseen. It didn’t work.

“Jung,” Berrien’s voice resonated in the hot hair of the kitchen, making everyone stop working for a beat. Too bad no one had time to spare. You started slicing. “I don’t appreciate tardiness.”

“I’m very sorry, Chef-” he held his hand up next to his face, shutting up your partner.

“You may start cooking,” you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding the whole time, shoulders almost sagging in relief. “But don’t think I won’t keep this in mind during evaluation.”

The frustration you’d tried to keep at bay so far flared up once more, and your grip on the knife tightened. Wooyoung silently made his way next to you, washing his hands carefully and using the time to assess how far you’d gotten into the process. You didn’t utter a single word, fuming quietly as you focused on your task and he picked up on his.

You couldn’t afford to lose time bickering now, and for the first time in a while, you cooked in complete silence, the air around you tense and devoid of the usual jokes he would throw around to lift your spirits. No banter, just instructions and cooking for the next five hours.

Despite everything, Chef Berrien couldn’t hide how pleased he was with your dish, which didn’t end up at the top of the class only because of Wooyoung’s mishap. As soon as the chef dismissed you, you fled the kitchen.

“Wait!” Wooyoung’s voice called after you, who were already outside and determined to escape to your apartment to avoid cussing him out in front of your fellow chefs, who had already thrown confused glances at you the whole day.

“Hey, hold up!” He caught you by the wrist, spinning you around. If he wanted to do this here, who were you to deny him?

“What.” Wooyoung almost flinched at the harshness of your voice.

“I’m sorry I was late, I really am, I just-”

“Save it,” you cut him off. “Day’s over, damage is done, and we ended up with an alright grade. I don’t want to fight.”

It was true. For how mad you’d been, you didn’t want to make it worse. You could tell he was sorry by the way he’d cooked in silence, waltzing around you as if you were a bomb ready to go off at any minute. It had taken all your strength not to. You made to turn around and walk away, but he was determined to make you listen to what he had to say.

“Can you come with me?” He sounded defeated despite the determination in his eyes. All you really wanted was to go home, wash up and rot in bed. You were tired, physically and mentally drained by the day. But your friend – because how could you deny that Wooyoung had become more than a simple classmate in the last month? He’d quietly snuck up on you, surprising you with his cheerful smile and awful jokes, and slowly but steadily carved his own spot into your heart, now beating to the rhythm of his screechy laughter and kind words – was pleading you with his brown, burning eyes and how could you say no?

Sighing in defeat, you nodded, readjusting the strap of your backpack on your shoulder and watching as his frown turned into a soft smile. Wooyoung took your hand in his, going back into the building, and guided you up the stairs. Transfixed, you stared at your hands; his felt slightly rough from all the cooking but still soft. You ignored the warmth the simple gesture sparked in your heart and followed quietly; you could only hope he wouldn’t get the two of you expelled.

Finally, you got to the last flight of stairs, legs burning and chest heaving. You hoped he had a good reason to be dragging you up six flights of stairs and potentially getting you in trouble for trespassing. He ushered you to the small balcony, apparently mostly used for storage, and nodded to a shaky ladder perched onto its wall, leading to the roof. You often did this at your apartment too, the one perk of living on the last floor, but suddenly your mouth went dry.

“How did you even have the time to find out about this-'' you climbed the small way up, thanking your lucky star that the building at least had a flatter roof compared to yours. But the words died in your mouth when you finally got your bearings and looked around.

Wooyoung emerged as well, now leaning against one of the chimneys. You sat down, amazed at the view all around you; as the sun set in the West, tinging the bluish sky with hues of warm orange and golden light, you spotted the Sacre Coeur sitting North and the Eiffel Tower immersed in a pink blush down South. A light breeze passed by, blowing a strand of dark hair into Wooyoung’s eyes, taking your breath away. Paris was quite the show from up there.

“I really am sorry,” slowly, he made his way over, sitting down next to you as he cast his eyes onto the breathtaking view in front of you. “I overslept, couldn’t find my keys, then had to rush here and… I’m sorry.”

You scoffed, not believing he almost failed the both of you because he didn’t hear his alarm in the morning. Actually, you could believe it, because it was such a Wooyoung thing to do. You couldn’t stay mad for long though, not when you turned to look at him and simply seeing his face bathing in the golden sun made your heart stutter in your chest. Not when his sorry eyes were melting like honey in the light.

“I wanted to punch you in the face when you came in late,” overwhelmed by his gaze, you looked away. Faintly, you heard him scoff beside you. “But I was also relieved. I didn’t think Berrien would let you cook.”

“I was ready to beg on my knees,” you snickered, Wooyoung elbowed your side. “No, really, lièvre à la royale is a bitch, I wouldn’t have let you cook it alone.”

“Then why did you sleep through your alarm? I was seeing red and had a knife in my hand, do you have a death wish?” You joked, heart singing when you made him laugh.

“Hey, I had trouble sleeping last night,” he defended himself, hands up as his laughter died down. With a furrowed brow and inquisitive eyes, you finally looked back at him, studying his face. Only then you noticed the purplish circles under his eyes, just a bit darker than usual.

“Why?” You asked, trying to sound less worried than how you felt. It was Wooyoung’s turn to avoid your eyes and look out at the Parisian skyline, starting to twinkle in the fast-approaching night.

“I- well,” he sighed as you kept looking, feeling the air around you shift. The way Wooyoung was struggling to come up with an answer had you feeling like you were standing at the edge of a cliff, buzzing with expectation, hanging onto his every word. You didn’t ponder too long on why your heart was racing or why you felt like you could barely breathe. Finally, he looked at you.

“I like you.”

Now you truly did find it hard to breathe.

“I like you so much I can barely focus when we cook, and it’s never happened to me before because I love cooking and I always pay close attention to what I’m doing. I also don’t want to lose a finger, you know? But now you’re around and it’s like I can’t help but look at you. You’re so bright and so passionate, and when you’re chopping vegetables you scrunch your nose a little and it’s one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen-”

In seconds you had your lips on his, pulling him closer with a delicate hand on the back of his neck. Wooyoung froze for only a millisecond before kissing you back. His lips were so pillowy and soft, you kissed him slowly, like you had all the time in the world. Lightly, his hand traveled up to rest on yours, which had moved onto his cheek. Kissing him felt like coming home after a long day. Warm and pleasant like the flame that swallowed your heart, chasing away the menacing grip fear had on it.

Wooyoung pulled away first if only to plant a small peck onto your lips before smiling.

“I was speaking,” he said.

“You were rambling.”

You both started laughing, hearts singing.

“What I wanted to say is that you shine in your own light and I can’t help but bask in it.”

The way he was looking at you, in ways no one ever could, could have melted you right then and there. You felt the flush rise to your cheeks, the hand that still rested on his cheek trembling lightly.

“I like you too, Jung Wooyoung,” you smiled. “More than I think I should.”

The quaint flower shop came into view, dispelling the memory, and a soft smile opened up on your lips. It didn’t look like there were any customers, so you stepped in. The colors of the pretty flowers that covered every inch of the walls always managed to put you in a better mood. You walked up to the counter, ringing the bell.

“Coming!” You heard from behind it, somewhere in the back, with a little shuffling and a loud thump. You jumped on your spot, giggling.

“You okay, Sang?” You asked, trying to peep. Your friend emerged a second later, clad in a white shirt, jeans, and his green apron, blowing a piece of his black fringe out of his eyes, a vase full of sunflowers in his hands.

“Oh, hey, what brings you ‘round?” He smiled, setting the vase on the counter.

“Just dropping by before going grocery shopping,” you shrugged, smiling back before you started playing softly with the leaves of the flowers near you. “How are you doing?”

“I’m good, I should be asking how you are,” he raised a brow, crossing his arms over his chest, “it’s the fourth time you visit this week.”

You rolled your eyes, used to his antics, standing to help when he nodded at you to follow him. The quietness of the shop eased your thoughts more often than not, plus, you enjoyed the company of your friend. Yeosang lived in your same apartment building and opened up his shop early in the morning, around the same time you had to leave for work. Oftentimes you shared a coffee before your obligations called. He complained about horrible customers and you complained about your horrible coworkers.

“I actually wanted to talk to you about something,” busy with an arrangement, he nodded you to the water lilies to his right. You reached for them with an arched brow, passing them. “A restaurant is opening down the street, if you’re interested in paying rent this month.”

You huffed a laugh, pretending to be offended.

“I’ll have you know I save my money, thank you very much.” He stood again, having finished his composition, watching you with an amused expression. “But I appreciate it,” you conceded. Yeosang smiled now, going back behind the counter as you followed.

“You should really check it out, even if it’s just temporary. It’d do you good,” a customer walked in, interrupting your chat. You nodded, leaving him to his work, shooting him one last smile before walking out. His cheerful Have a good day followed you out of the shop and into the now busier street.

Yeosang was right, you knew that much, but you still hesitated as you left the flower shop. There was uncertainty in your steps as you dared to walk down the street, looking ahead to spot the restaurant. Maybe you could go later that day, you could start with something easy like the grocery shopping you needed to do, to ease your nerves.

That was better, you decided, easing yourself into the day with your routine before upsetting it by facing something new. With newfound vigor, you resumed your walking, headed to your favorite greengrocer. A walk that lasted barely five steps, before you collided against another passerby.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t-”

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to-”

As apologies spilled past your lips, your eyes finally caught sight of the person you so rudely slammed into. When you did, you stopped talking, just as your lungs stopped breathing for a long second.

His dark hair looked a little longer, and his smile was just as you remembered, if not a little softer. Breathtakingly dashing like the first time you saw him, even in his worst moments. Because the last time you saw him, things weren’t pretty. You threw around words you didn’t mean only to disappear from his life. Both of you were crying, eyes red and puffy, voice broken as you spoke. You thought you’d never see him again.

To your dismay, you realized right then and there that you weren’t ready to face him yet. You never prepared for the moment it would all come back, simply because you never thought it would.

“Thought I’d never see you again,” Wooyoung huffed, his polite smile falling in seconds.

“Yeah, me too,” you croaked, still in shock.

The moment stretched on for what felt like minutes, and was only probably seconds, as you desperately tried to come up with something to say, something that’d make sense. But your brain came up empty-handed, because what if he hated you? He should hate you. What if he just told you to fuck off and left? Just like you did years ago.

“So, what are you up to?”

And yet, here he was again, taking your life by storm. There was no way he was standing there, in front of you in the middle of a busy sidewalk, asking what was of your life. You blanked, producing a sort of confused and surprised noise. He had to be joking. You watched as a little amusement flashed in his eyes, the corner of his lips twitching upwards.

“Would you like to catch up over coffee?”

Your eyes must’ve been wide as saucers, not a single second of this was making sense to you.

“U-uh… Sure,” you shrugged, despite yourself.

Was this his way of showing you he was unbothered and had moved on? His long-awaited chance to brag about where he was in life? You didn’t know him as someone who would do that, but perhaps you deserved it. Maybe this was karma.

Awkward. It was all so painfully awkward: walking in tense silence beside him to the coffee shop down the street, trying to make small talk about the weather, stumbling over your words when ordering coffee, waiting for him to join you at the table near the exit. Just in case.

“You’re back home?” You finally asked as he sat down in front of you, desperate to find something, anything, to talk about and fill the silence that hung menacingly over your heads. After all, he wanted to catch up. Wooyoung nodded, slowly sipping his drink.

“Oh, you’ve been traveling then,” you mumbled, playing with your coffee cup, not daring to look up at him again.

“I was, yes.” It was hard to wrap your head around what was happening. In another life, this would all have been familiar. It could have been. Sharing a cup of coffee on a Thursday morning, talking about whatever, sharing cool recipes, and planning how or when to try them out. His presence wouldn’t make you want to simultaneously vomit and run and hide. Dug your own grave, huh?

“Only big names I imagine,” you forced a smile. He shrugged with a huff, a little bashful perhaps. It was all you needed to know you’d guessed right.

“What about you? What brings you here?” Wooyoung asked, pulling you out of your reverie. Despite the small, polite smile on his lips, his eyes were unreadable. Though, deep down, you knew the answer he wanted to hear. That you traveled all around the world and did big things - still were - and worked for big names. Achieved your dreams at the expense of his. The lump in your throat made it hard to swallow, to speak.

“Worked at Hwang’s for a while…” you managed to say through the bitterness. Wooyoung’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets, jaw hanging open.

“Really? Wow, that’s… amazing! Doesn’t it have two Michelin stars?” Some of your guilt evaporated at the surprise and excitement in his voice, a lightness that was quickly crushed by your own disappointment.

“How’s it there?” There it was, the million-dollar question. You scoffed, bitter, looking at him, watching his face fall a little.

“I quit.” You shrugged.

“You? Quitting? What happened to the Y/N I knew?” Wooyoung was surprised, that much you could tell, but there was something else brewing in his brown eyes.

“Dead, gone and buried, apparently.”

Your words were nothing but bleak, with a little bitterness still in them. Sure, you did what was best for you and you were proud, but you couldn’t help but feel like you had let him down. And wasn’t that absolutely, wildly foolish?

“They offered me a job as head chef in their new restaurant, but I turned that down as well,” you rushed to explain, feeling like you had to, missing his furrowed brow.

“That’s…”

“Crazy?” You offered, cutting him off. Wooyoung scoffed.

“Well, yeah, but there must’ve been a good reason,” he shrugged. “You don’t have to justify your choices to me, Y/N.”

Your breathing faltered at his words and the fragility they held. Wooyoung had muttered them so softly, you could’ve lost them in the bustling atmosphere around you, and somehow both stabbed and healed your heart’s wounds.

A moment passed before he cleared his throat, speaking again.

“So, you’re unemployed,” you almost couldn’t fathom how quickly he got back to bubbly and upbeat. You nodded, still stunned.

“Great, me too.” Wooyoung smiled while you blinked repeatedly. Was he… happy?

“My friend told me about this one restaurant opening down the street-”

“They’re not opening,” he said, watching as your face fell. “Not yet at least.”

You furrowed a brow, confused, about to ask what he meant when he cut you off again.

“I still need to find a co-owner.”

For a moment, you didn’t hear the car, just outside, honking at a group of teenagers crossing the street despite the redlight. You missed the way a barista made a glass fall and shatter eliciting surprised gasps around the shop. You only saw Wooyoung in front of you, his expression between smug and daring to hope, eyes shining with a little fear. All you heard were the words that left his mouth and what they implied, along with your heart ringing in your ears.

“What do you want to do? Why did you decline the head chef position?” You blanched, head spinning, brain scrambling to form coherent words. His eyes burned with a fire in them that screamed determination, one you were used to seeing as he challenged a dish he was afraid to ruin. A fire you used to love so much and that, you found, still made your breath hitch.

“I-I just want to make good food and not run a kitchen of overworked, stressed, miserable and spiteful people,” you settled on, not daring to look away, not even when he leaned back in his seat, a smirk on his lips.

“How’d you like it to open a restaurant?”

“Let’s open our own restaurant,” you laughed at his words, turning your head to catch his enthusiastic smile and bed hair all over the place. He was so beautiful, bathing in the morning light of your room, that your heart jumped and hurt and sang all at once.

“What?! Is this post-nut clarity?” Wooyoung laughed, pulling you with him.

“Way to ruin the moment, love,” he quieted down. “I’m serious, though,” he was looking at you with amusement dancing in his eyes, and such adoration that sometimes it was hard to fathom it was directed at you.

“Mixing feelings with work is the recipe for disaster, Jung,” you found yourself saying, giggling when he pulled you into him, his hands leaving goosebumps in their wake. It was quiet for a while and you reveled in the warmth of the moment. Wooyoung often made you feel like anything was possible, like right now, huddled in a tangled mess of limbs and sheets despite the impending class you needed to leave for.

“I think we’d make it,” he whispered, quite believing the words he was saying. “And if it all starts falling apart we can hire chefs to cook and be the owners. Live somewhere tropical, rebuild our relationship…”

“That’s so sad, we wouldn’t be cooking at all!” you laughed, hiding in his chest and hearing a fake offended hey! from him. “You dream too big, Woo.”

“And you dream too small, my love.” He guided your face in front of his with gentle hands, bumping his nose with yours before kissing you until you were left breathless. When you pulled away, you finally saw the stars dancing in his eyes.

“I do have dreams,” you almost whispered, treading lightly on your own aspirations, opening up your heart for someone else to see. Someone who would understand and not call you crazy. Wooyoung nudged you, an expectant smile on his lips. “I want to travel all around the world and learn from the best of the best. Life’s a classroom, I don’t think I’ll ever want to stop.”

“Never?” he asked, not quite surprised, but more like impressed. He understood. You let out an elated giggle, almost cursing yourself for behaving like a schoolgirl.

“Never.” unable to resist, you pecked his lips once.

“That’s a wonderful dream, love.”

One of his hands came up to rest on your cheek, cradling it gently, looking at you as if you were the most prized possession of his. All over, warmth wrapped you up, and rose to your cheeks that he was still grazing his thumb over, light as a feather.

“I want to open a restaurant someday, ” he whispered, so close to you, looking into your eyes and sending sparks flying in your chest. “But I think I might just follow you to the ends of the world.”

His lips crashed on yours once more, sending your heart racing more than his words had. This might’ve been the closest you’d ever felt to heaven, with Wooyoung wrapped around you, canceling any and everything else. You knew, right then and there, that the fall was going to hurt like nothing had ever before.

Consommé was the most devilish dish you’d ever had the displeasure of cooking. And yet, its intricate cooking process demanded every last bit of your undivided attention. That was why you were sweating away in the kitchen, trying to achieve the perfect result through your rusty memory of the process, although you had no need for it. Well, except not thinking of your morning. You’d rather remember Chef Berrien’s voice as he dictated the recipe and the endless ways you could ruin it, than your encounter with Wooyoung.

A shiver ran down your spine, tingling all the way, when his words, the ones from earlier and the ones from back then, echoed in your mind; clashing, fighting, and leaving behind scorched earth.

You could hardly believe this was your life right now. Accepting would mean tying yourself down to this place, to Wooyoung. You let the thought simmer in your head, waiting for the familiar claustrophobia to bloom in your chest, suggesting you to run and never come back.

It didn’t come.

Instead, the thought of leaving pulled at your heartstrings. You liked it here. You liked your morning coffee shit-talking sessions with Yeosang, you liked meeting up with Seonghwa on his days off, you liked your greengrocers and the walk back through the park near home. You liked your apartment, you finally liked the disposition of your tools in your kitchen. You liked the thought of working with Wooyoung.

You dropped the ladle, splashing your skin with the hot soup. You hissed in pain, clutching your hand to your chest before assessing the damage. You walked the short distance to the sink, running your hand under cold water.

Well, you thought, there goes the clarification process.

You skipped breakfast with Yeosang that morning. For one, you were late despite the alarms, and, most importantly, you needed to talk yourself into actually meeting Wooyoung at the restaurant. The day before you’d left him with the promise of letting him know about the offer. You preferred not to think about how, for just a moment, you could see the determination falter in his eyes. Again. Wooyoung saved his number in your phone before letting you go.

After taking care of your slightly burned hand, you stared at your phone for all of twenty minutes before finally crafting the perfect text saying you’d meet him at the restaurant at ten.

And now, five minutes to ten, you were running down the street, dodging people left and right, trying to get to the closed-down restaurant. You couldn’t count the amount of sorry’s you’d thrown around when accidentally running into someone. Finally, the sign came into view, and so did Wooyoung.

“You made it,” he sounded vaguely surprised and you tried not to let it get to you, or to let it show on your face.

“So,” you cleared your voice after nodding. “How’d you find out about this?” He gestured for you to follow towards the entrance, producing the key from the back pocket of his black jeans.

“I used to like this place,” he easily opened the door, leading you inside the empty restaurant. From the outside the restaurant didn’t look like much more than a hole in the wall, but the inside was spacious enough. A small restaurant, fitting maybe twenty tables at best, but you liked the idea. By the looks of it, it must had been recently renovated. Wooyoung switched the lights on, allowing you to see better. “When I got back the owner told me he was thinking of closing, and I asked if he wanted to sell. He made a pretty good offer.”

“Huh,” you were still looking at the anonymous white walls and the few sleek black tables left behind, making your way to what you knew to be the kitchen. Stepping in, you gasped. It was perfect; an island kitchen slightly bigger than you’d imagined. Almost gleaming in its silver glory it stared back at you, inviting you in. You didn’t even mind the checkered floor as you walked across the space and took it in. Wooyoung stood by the door, leaning against its frame with his hands in his pockets, watching. It looked like he was holding his breath, and you knew why.

“What do you think?” his voice was just a little bit hesitant. You turned around with a smile.

“I love it,” you offered, noticing how he seemed to ease up the slightest bit.

“Ah, I knew you’d fall for the island kitchen,” Wooyoung scoffed, walking into the space as well.

“Not my fault it’s the best type of kitchen,” you raised your hands, hearing him snort.

“Debatable,” he muttered, now standing in front of you. There was amusement dancing in his eyes, a spark you realized just then how much you’d missed.

It hit you then, square in the chest, how much you really just missed him. He still seemed to know what you wanted even before you knew yourself. It happened then and it was happening now. Being in the kitchen with him felt electrifying, your hands itched to start cooking. You looked around once more, seeing yourself bustling around in this kitchen, Wooyoung at your side.

Never once did you regret the choices you’d made; your love for food had brought you all around the world, learning and cooking in the most beautiful kitchens, earning your praise felt like the biggest reward. Believing in yourself and your skill, your craft, and being able to perfect it was all you really needed. Maybe it was time to stop and breathe for a while, and put your experience to use. Because, no, you never regretted where your choices took you, except losing Wooyoung. Your compass, the one who never lost sight of your heart.

“Let’s do it.”

Wooyoung looked at you as if you’d grown a second head, letting out a surprised sound.

“I saved quite a bit in the last few years and we could ask for a loan. Quite frankly, I’ve always wanted to run a kitchen on my own terms,” you could hear it in your voice, the ambition faintly coming back to it, something you hadn’t heard in a while. You smiled seeing Wooyoung straighten up.

“We’d be running it together,” he lifted a brow, crossing his arms over his chest. You mirrored his stance.

“That’s good with me,” Wooyoung smirked.

“Then let’s do it.”

Oftentimes you asked yourself how you ended up here. You believed it almost impossible that you were, once again, sitting in front of Jung Wooyoung at an ungodly hour of the night, eating food you’d made as the radio softly played in the background. What was even less credible to you was how you were sitting in your restaurant, yours, discussing menu plans.

A month strong into the planning and designing, you were proud to say that you and Wooyoung were… friendly. Like coworkers were. Almost like long-lost friends would be. But it was fine because you got to stress Yeosang nearly every morning about how sometimes you both would slip into old habits and bicker like you used to and how that would confuse you. Then you’d talk Seonghwa’s ear off one night a week in front of your drinks, rambling on and on about how you’d catch yourself staring at him, blushing like an idiot, stumbling over your words.

Safe to say that your friends were tired, but deep down it surprised and comforted them to see you come back to life bit by bit.

It was all hard to wrap your head around because the last time you saw him still burned in the back of your mind. It was the giant elephant in the room you could never address, you could never pretend to not see. But Wooyoung was great at turning a blind eye, you realized. And you couldn’t really blame him either. You never expected to be in this sort of situation, you had quite literally run from it.

But you were afraid of misstepping, of crossing a line.

So, now, there you stood, at a crossroads; talk about it and watch this newfound truce crash and burn, or pretend like everything was fine. For now, discussing the menu with your co-owner would have to do.

“I think we should add that!” Wooyoung all but yelled, slamming his chopsticks down.

“And I’m telling you that I know the area!” You rebutted, swallowing your bite, before carrying on with your point. “There’s at least three other restaurants that do that, what’s missing is a gourmet place.”

“Will you let it go?” He sighed, throwing his hands up in the air. “If we get there, we get there, if we don’t, then we’re still making fantastic food!”

Wooyoung had a point, you knew he did. A valid one at that.

“You’re insufferable,” you conceded, rolling your eyes and resuming your eating, trying to hide the smile pulling at your lips.

“You love it,” he winked, picking up his chopsticks.

And just like that, he threw you back into your loop. How could you simply let it go when this felt so familiar? When it reminded you so much of how you were? Light and carefree. Happy. You hadn’t noticed your eyes roaming around his figure, taking in his long dark hair pulled back by a ponytail, the way his eyes seemed to shine in the dull light coming from the stupid lamp he’d insisted on bringing in.

This was his dream, wasn’t it? You remembered, because how could you forget the endless hours he’d spend talking about his own restaurant, managing his own kitchen, creating dishes, and cooking his favorites? You could tell by the small smile he sported as he ate, looking around the room with star-filled eyes.

You didn’t know quite how you fit into this. You never amounted that one conversation, years ago in your Paris apartment, up to anything more than daydreaming. Though, right now, the moment felt tangible, you could grasp it in your hands if you wanted to. He'd given you a new dream to chase right when you thought you were over.

“You’re looking at me weird,” Wooyoung waved his chopsticks in a circle around your face, eyebrows furrowed.

“Sorry,” your eyes fell back to the almost empty plate, moving the last bites of food around.

“I didn’t say it was bothering me,” his voice was lower, almost a whisper, and you felt your heart drop. When you looked up, you didn’t know what to make of his expression. It looked like he was contemplating his following words, and you were all but hanging from his lips. He stayed quiet, eyes downcast on his plate, and shot you a short smile.

You let the radio fill the silence between you, allowing the thoughts to pester your mind. Though, like a cup overflowing, there was little you could do to cage them and push them down.

“Wooyoung, were you-” his eyes rose to meet yours, and you stopped for a second, mulling the question over, savoring its bitter taste in your mouth before spitting it out as if it were a seed that ruined your bite. “Who were you going to open the restaurant with?”

His wide eyes told you all you needed to know, and yet his stunned silence pulled another set of words out of your lips.

“You said you needed a co-owner first…” you rasped, almost shocked you were still talking through the cotton in your mouth. Wooyoung set his chopsticks down, trying to hide the way his hands started trembling, sighing.

“We made a good team, didn’t we?” his voice was quieter, wondering. He shot you an uneasy smile, so short and so small you almost missed it. “I know you’re a great chef and we want this to be a great restaurant.”

“Yeah…” you whispered, feeling the weight of memories unloading on both your shoulders, their presence demanding the unwanted plunging into deep, murky waters. “Does it have, uhm… does it have anything to do with-”

“Let’s not open that can of worms, mh?” He cut you off immediately, sounding a tad harsher than he had before, rubbing salt into your matching wounds.

“I just-” It felt like you were gasping for air, grasping at any lifeline you were afforded, lost in the swirling sea that were his pained eyes.

“I know.”

A mangled victory, or a loss, the way his voice sounded resolute. It allowed no space for you to counterattack, to try and pry any other thought out of him. And you accepted it, simple and plain, with no complaints. You had no right to. Nodding, you averted your eyes, affording him space.

“I-” Wooyoung sighed, running a hand through his hair. The conflict in his mind was reflected on his face clear as day. Before his eyes were back on you, they looked around the room. “I missed you.”

Bearing his heart, that was what he was doing. It felt like, despite everything, he was still offering you a small piece of it. Your breath caught in your throat. Three words that held huge implications and a heavy past. One right answer, a truthful one, that could sound highly hypocritical of you. But you had to say it.

“I missed you, too.”

Wooyoung smiled, small and tentative, but still as warm as sunshine. You smiled back.

The night was as cold as you felt despite having his arms wrapped around you, offering you shelter from the biting wind. Tonight the twinkling lights of the city below you couldn’t offer their usual comfort. You knew what was going to happen as soon as you opened your mouth to speak; you’d be breaking his heart along with yours. But you had to, hadn’t you? Wooyoung would understand.

“Don’t you want to stay here forever?” He mumbled in your ear, his warm breath making you shiver. You kept staring out at the Parisian lights, heart sinking with every beat.

“I-” you sighed, squeezing your eyes shut, wishing there was a way to prevent the hurt you were about to put him through. Never mind about yourself, all you cared about was him. Always him. Then why are you doing this? Sounded something in the recess of your mind. You shushed it. The lump in your throat formed out of the blue, making it hard to utter the next words.

“I wish I could,” you whispered, hoping your words would get lost in the wind, bracing for impact when you felt him tense and pull away from you. A gust blew by, chilling you to the bone now that he wasn’t holding you anymore. The look in his eyes sparked burning regret in your heart, setting it aflame.

“What do you mean?”

He had taken a step back, confused eyes searching for yours. You couldn’t bear to look at him, not when you were about to break all the promises you’d made right along with his heart. What a coward.

“I was offered a job in New York,” you began, hearing his sharp intake of breath. “I took it… I leave next week.”

When you finally mustered enough courage to look back at him, you saw betrayal shining clear in his eyes, swirling in disbelief, his mouth slightly parted in surprise. It was almost as if you could hear his thoughts, and each of them cut a deeper wound.

How could you? Why didn’t you tell me? I would've been happy for you. We could’ve made other plans.

“Were you just going to disappear from my life forever, then?” He spat, a little angry, a little sad.

“No, Wooyoung, I-” you tried to reason, knowing very well that no excuse would hold. He scoffed bitterly, hiding his hands in the pockets of his jacket like a hurt kid. Already hard to talk through the burning in your throat, the tears springing in your eyes didn’t make the task any easier.

“Save it,” he cut you off, shaking his head. “I should’ve known. I hope you’ll find what you’re looking for there,” he made to go, but you couldn’t let him, not yet.

“Wouldn’t you have done the same?” He stopped dead in his tracks; you’d said the wrong thing. But you couldn’t hide your hand now that you’d thrown the stone. “Is it not our dream to learn and travel when all of this is done?”

Wooyoung shook his head as if he couldn’t believe it, and to some extent, you couldn’t either.

“No, I wouldn’t have, Y/N. It may be your dream but it isn’t mine. Not anymore, not since I met you. So, yeah, I would’ve given it all up,” he all but yelled, each word was like a punch in the gut. Despite the noise of the city below, the beat of silence that lingered sounded louder than any of it.

“Go to New York, love. It’s your dream after all,” he conceded, voice dying down and broken, softer, like some sort of realization had dawned upon him. He blinked away his tears, still, you refused to let yours fall.

In a second he was close to you again, his smell and warmth engulfing you once more. A sob broke through you when you felt his arms wrapping around you tight, and another was pulled from you when one of his hands came to softly rake through your hair. Wooyoung surrounded you with all he was, holding you tight, almost as if he loved you. Almost, you thought, because you knew the difference, for you had felt what it was to be loved – truly loved – by him. But you went and broke it. Now, you had to put love out of the question, and think only of duty. You had made your choice, after all, and he knew it too.

“Goodbye,” in an instant you were left on your own, cold, and watched as he walked away from you, his whisper resonating in your soul, breaking it with each echo.

If you chose to follow your dream, then why did it hurt so much?

Sundays used to be your day off. You’d wake up at midday, usually to a ray of sunlight harshly shining into your face until you could no longer bear its warmth. You’d roll out of bed and lazily proceed to tidy your apartment and rot on the couch for the remainder of the day. Now, though, you were a restaurant owner and Wooyoung insisted you should stay open on Sundays because two out of three of the restaurants in your area were closed. So, you rolled out of bed, taking just one second to admire the first rays of sunlight shining through the fading, dark night sky. You sped through your routine and breakfast, having sacrificed that slot of time in favor of five more minutes of sleep.

Despite the fast-approaching summer, the morning air was still rather chilly, and much quieter than the rumbling of cars and city rustle that you were used to. You didn’t have to squeeze past sleepy teenagers and angry old ladies on the bus and got to choose which seat to sit in. You didn’t mind early Sundays.

In no time you’d open the restaurant. Today you’d convinced Seonghwa and Yeosang to drop by for lunch; you needed them to test out the menu you and Wooyoung had carefully crafted. Of course, at the mention of free food, both of them agreed, so there wasn’t much convincing involved after all. A sort of test run before the grand opening.

The restaurant stood before you in the quiet street, looking close to the eye. You smiled proudly, producing the key from your bag, opening the door, and closing it behind you after walking in. The room was quiet, the only indication of someone being in there was the rustle and faint light coming from the kitchen.

“Hey, Woo,” he was already there, setting out pans and pots. You walked in, reaching for your jacket.

“Hi!” Although his head was hidden in a cupboard, you could hear his cheery voice loud and clear. “Are you ready?”

When he emerged, he was sporting a happy smile, contagious enough to make you chuckle.

“As I’ll ever be.”

Wooyoung smiled at you, beckoning you over to the station where a copy of the menu lay. You sure had your work cut out for the day. Up until then, between the furnishing and taking care of the more bureaucratic aspect of opening a restaurant, cooking together hadn't been common. You were thrilled to finally share the kitchen with him again.

“Hey! The rolling pin is there to keep you off my half of the counter,” you huffed, trying your best not to let your irritation show. Not while you were trying to close dumplings perfectly.

“Oh, come on!” He protested, “I can’t believe you’d still do that, look at how much space we have!”

“Yeah, and somehow, you’re still taking up most of it,” Wooyoung grumbled under his breath, finally moving a few of his bowls and pans to make space for you.

“Gee, thanks,” although you weren’t trying to rile him up, you still ended up falling back into old habits.

“Oh my-” he rolled his eyes at your sarcasm, moving a couple more things, “You’re the bane of my existence.”

“You literally asked me to be your co-worker!” You laughed, shocked, but amused.

“And there’s not a day I don’t regret it,” with his nose in the air, trying and failing to hide a smile, Wooyoung resumed his meat slicing. You scoffed, not really offended. It was so easy to breathe when things felt as light as they did. A smile threatened to open up on your face, but you had an act to keep up.

Silence used to be rare between the two of you, yet you liked it now. There was no awkward space to fill anymore, not a single word to be wasted. You worked in tandem, like a well-oiled machine, chuckling at Wooyoung’s occasional jokes and exchanging instructions. It felt good. It felt like it used to.

“Are you nervous?” You asked him as you finalized the prepping for the second course. Wooyoung looked up, flashing that smile of his that could rival the sun.

“Not really,” he shrugged. “Are you?”

You nodded, avoiding his eyes and focusing on the bowl under your nose. The sauce you prepared to marinate the fish had a pungent note it shouldn’t have had. You didn’t notice him slipping closer to you, right at your side. Wooyoung was leaning on the counter, facing you.

“You’ve got nothing to be worried about,” his voice aimed to soothe, and it did, sweet like honey. “Are you or are you not one of the best chefs in town?”

You looked up at him, scoffing, ignoring the heat on your face that his closeness brought along.

“See, now you’re exaggerating!”

“I’m not.”

“Are, too!” A soft laugh escaped the two of you, and when he looked at you, eyes so full of hope and happiness, your breathing stopped for just a second. “But you’re right, it’s gonna be okay, I’m just… I don’t know, I want them to like what we made.”

“They’re gonna,” he shrugged. Only when you gave him a questioning look he answered. “Because we made it.”

It looked like Wooyoung still knew what to say and when to say it to put your nerves at ease.

“Can I have some more?”

“Me too!”

“You can’t ask that!”

“Says who?”

“Alright, we’ll make it,” Wooyoung quelled the discussion that was about to start quickly, coming back into the kitchen with empty plates.

Two of his friends had joined yours for lunch, not that the food was lacking, but it seemed that Yeosang and San had promptly bonded over their love for one particular dish. Gamjatang, which wasn’t even on the menu, the two were just bottomless pits, apparently. The only one coming to your aid with restaurant etiquette was Seonghwa, whose reprimanding went unheard. Hongjoong stuck to silent side-eyeing, which barely helped.

“Should we consider adding it to the menu?” Wooyoung joked, coming over to the stove where you stood, already heating up what was left of the broth from the previous batch. You thanked your lucky star you had some ready, or else they’d had to wait hours to eat.

“Let’s make it available only after eleven, though.”

He laughed, reminding you how you closed at midnight while washing and cutting up the mung bean sprouts, crown daisy leaves, perilla leaves, and green chilies you needed to add later on. You went for the pork bones, potatoes, and cabbage leaves.

Wooyoung set his bowl of vegetables close to the stove, ready for you whenever.

“Do you need more seasoning base?” He asked as you put your portion of ingredients into the pot.

“Yeah, there’s not much left,” you looked at him, waiting for your word to start. “Thanks.”

He smiled, getting to work quick.

As everything simmered and cooked, the two of you stood in front of the stove, silent, side to side. Outside, you heard your friends all talk and laugh, but they sounded miles away. Once again, you thought you knew what was running through his head. The night when he taught you how to cook the dish, the way he followed your every step with an encouraging smile. How your heart fluttered when he kissed your lips right after his first bite, saying that there was no way he was ever going to cook it again if yours tasted much better. How one night you tipsily tried to cook it together, almost spilling the batch of broth you saved in the fridge and ruining it all, but could only laugh until your stomachs hurt because somehow it was the funniest thing ever. After all, they plagued your thoughts as well.

When the timer went off and he looked at you like a deer caught in headlights, you smiled, trying to ease away the tension that had bubbled up, going to kill the flame and plate the dish.

You passed him a full bowl with shaking hands, praying he didn’t hear the way your heart was hammering in your chest.

“Maybe you should take away the wine,” Seonghwa sported a light frown on his lips when you made your way to the table with the other bowl in your hands. You furrowed a brow, noticing the way San and Yeosang were giggling a little too loudly, and how the former was particularly flushed, only after setting the dish in front of him.

“Good idea,” Wooyoung snickered, scurrying back into the kitchen with the bottle. You watched him go, debating if to follow or give him space. You decided to stay, asking your guests how they liked the food.

Seonghwa ended up giving you precious input and feedback, over the laughter coming from the opposite end of the table. It made you smile. Despite how interested you were in your friend’s recap of the things he appreciated the most about appetizers, you couldn’t help but glance a little worriedly at the kitchen doors from time to time. Wooyoung was still in there.

“Alright, we should go,” Hongjoong, who had simply complimented your cooking with a polite smile, spoke up after a while. San protested a little but stopped his efforts to stay pretty quickly when his friend said he was going to have no ride home.

The two made their way to say their goodbyes to Wooyoung in the kitchen, leaving you with your friends.

“We should go, too,” Yeosang stood, walking over to the doors with you and Seonghwa.

“Thank you guys for coming,” you quickly hugged them both. “Drop by whenever.”

“You know I will,” Yeosang giggled, making you smile.

“Keep it up!” Seonghwa said, walking out first. You waved them both off, and when you turned around, you were faced with San and Hongjoong. The former complimented your food, saying he’d bring over friends and family, rambling a bit. You giggled as he spoke, thanking him.

“Thank you for having us, the food was delicious,” Hongjoong watched over San making his way out of the restaurant after saying his goodbyes, turning to you with a small smile. “Can I ask one thing of you?”

Your brow furrowed, but you nodded quickly. He sighed.

“I know you two have a complicated past,” he started, sending a jolt of anxiety through you. “And I see you’re doing great despite it, so, please, just… don’t hurt him again.”

“I would never,” you were furiously nodding, suddenly your throat felt a little dry, hands all clammy.

“Thank you,” Hongjoong smiled, walking out as well, leaving you dumbfounded and staring at their disappearing figures.

You waited in silence for a while, mulling his words over in your head. When you turned around and saw Wooyoung leaning against the kitchen door’s frame with a bright, wide smile adorning his lips, the sight almost gave you a heart attack. He laughed loudly seeing your spooked reaction, making a smile appear on your face. His laughter only served to make your heart stutter like butterfly wings, having barely recovered from the surprise, making you giggle as well.

Wooyoung looked so happy that you felt you could burst at the seams.

“They liked it!” You could barely contain your excitement as you locked up and started to make your way over to him, almost with a skip in your step.

“They did,” he smiled back, eyes scanning your figure until you were right up in front of him. Not even thinking twice, you let your arms sneak around his shoulders, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. You even swayed side to side. Wooyoung laughed happily, his own arms around your waist to pull you closer.

“I’m so happy,” you murmured when your excitement quelled. Your chin was resting atop his shoulder, and his on yours. When he spoke, quietly, you could hear the smile on his lips right against your ear.

“I’m glad,” he said. “Me too.”

It was quiet. For the first time since that morning there were no friends laughing at the table, no bickering in the kitchen along with the sizzling of the pans, chopping on the cutting board, and rumbling of the pots.

Just you and him.

Your heart was still racing, over the moon for the success of your menu, but also quickened by his close proximity. Once realization struck that you’d pulled him into you, you were quick to let go, though his arms around your waist wouldn’t let you wander far.

“Sorry, I-”

“It’s okay,” the look in his eyes was enough to send your heart to your feet, air stuck in your lungs, and take you back in time, just for a second. It was all it took for you to want to pull away from him as if you’d gotten shocked. You found that you couldn’t. Not when Wooyoung held you a little tighter, searching for anything in your eyes that would prompt him to stop leaning even a breath closer.

Frozen in time, in your spot, your grip on his kitchen jacket grew impossibly strong.

When his nose softly brushed against yours, as if he’d sensed your mind wandering far and wide and wanted to bring you back to him, and you saw how his half-lidded eyes were holding a simple question, you pulled back.

“Should we get to cleaning up?”

Wooyoung’s eyes closed, for a fleeting second, before he started nodding.

“Yeah, we’re gonna be here all night,” he cleared his voice, arms falling from around you. He offered a smile so small that it barely showed, the moment gone as soon as it came. You watched as he disappeared behind the kitchen doors, shoulders dropping and eyes falling close.

You gave yourself a moment, just one, to relish in his closeness. The closest he’d ever been to you in years, something that used to be so familiar and still sparked the same goosebumps, the same erratic heartbeat. You sighed, following after him.

You couldn’t sleep. You hadn’t for a good week.

Between the imminent opening of the restaurant and the newfound awkwardness between you and Wooyoung, your head was so full of swirling thoughts that, as soon as you closed your eyes, it prevented you from enjoying one singular night of rest. They just kept going, growing into a never-ending spiral of what-ifs and exploding into a hurricane of beating yourself up.

By now you’d given up on trying to make sense of your feelings. All you knew was that you wanted to keep Wooyoung to your side, co-worker, friend, or lover, it didn't matter. Now that he was back into your life, you didn’t want to risk losing him again. Though, it got increasingly hard to ignore how you wished he would stay with you once you closed the restaurant. How you wanted him to hold you like he used to, how you wanted to tell him every day just much of your love and devotion he had.

It was still dark outside when you closed the door to your apartment behind you. Almost without thinking, you’d thrown the covers off of yourself and gotten out of bed, put on the first clean clothes you found, and got out of the house. The cold, crisp air of the night hit you right in the face, waking you up like an icy splash of water would have. You pulled your jacket closer around your body, starting the walk to the restaurant. The keys jiggled in your hand, one of the few sounds in the lonesome streets.

Your heart had decided the way for you before your mind could catch up.

You’d always found solace in cooking. It allowed your mind to relax, and think about what was right in front of your nose, slicing through all your doubts and worries like a knife. With each step you followed, each accomplished passage towards the perfect result, you felt lighter and lighter. Then Wooyoung came along. Never could you have predicted that something else in your life would’ve been able to bring you the same comfort and brightness as cooking.

Whatever peace and happiness you’d found in your passion, you’d also found in him. He set you alight. You’d been dumb and wrong enough to think that the feeling that came along with him could be replaced.

But how could it? Once you let go if it, of him, Wooyoung had haunted all of your what-ifs. All of your darkest nights could only brighten up if you thought of his infectious laugh, his soft kisses, and his kind words.

Reaching the restaurant brought you back out of your thoughts. You were here now, by some fateful design, with him again. You’d do anything not to lose your brightest star again.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

You closed the backdoor behind you with a jolt, not expecting Wooyoung to be sitting at a table, illuminated only by the light coming from his beloved lamp.

“What’re you doing here?”

Ever so slowly, you made your way to him, trying to calm your racing heart. He raised his shoulders, avoiding your eyes a second later, shrugging as if he had no answer to your question. You sat with him, noticing just then the few papers scattered on the wood.

“What’s on your mind?” The question fell from your lips in a quiet whisper, almost afraid to disturb the silence hanging in the air. You still knew him, after all, maybe even more than you gave yourself credit for. He sported that furrow in his brow, the one that lightly creased his smooth skin, that only showed up when something had been bothering him.

“I-” he sighed, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, they didn’t waste a single second to find yours. Your mouth went dry.

“You know what I hate most? That sometimes I hate you, sometimes I hate myself, but always I miss you. And I never stopped torturing myself with the same questions over and over, why would you go? Did our dreams mean nothing to you? Did I mean nothing to you?” A bitter, void laugh fell from his lips. “But you’ve gotta move on, right?”

Oh.

Heart in your throat, you were left speechless in front of his innermost thoughts. Thoughts you never imagined could be plaguing his mind still. But how could you miss it now? His eyes were begging for answers, after all this time, as if the dam had finally broken. You couldn’t bear to see them be so pleading, so misty.

“That’s not true, I,” the words died in your mouth as you choked on them. “You must know it,” reduced to a whisper by the weight of truth, you tried to salvage what you’d so carefully rebuilt.

“Do I?” He sounded so helpless, your brain scrambled in all directions to find a way to convey how so untrue it all was. “You left me, Y/N, and sometimes I'm still there.”

A gasp left your lips, his words squeezing the air out of your lungs.

“We’re doing it now, isn’t it enough?”

Wooyoung shook his head, shoulders dropping in disbelief as he scoffed. Despite the dim light, from across the table, you could see his red-rimmed eyes begging you to catch on. You did, you had the second he started speaking, but you’d still said the wrong thing.

“You’re so dense,” head thrown back, hands on his face, you waited for him to speak again. “Tell me why did you go.”

Not a question. Up against the wall, you felt the way your heart fell to your stomach, how nerves were tugging at it painfully. He needed this, and you were willing to give answers.

“I didn’t think,” you started, feeling so small under his gaze. “The only thing on my mind was that I’d made it. Selfishly, I thought you’d understand. I… I never meant to hurt you, and I know it sounds like bullshit, but it’s true. And when you told me to go, for a split second, I thought we could make it. I realize now how stupid I was. How there were at least ten ways in which I could’ve handled it better. I wish I’d fought for us,”

“I’m sorry. I really am, I-” Unshed tears started to run down your cheeks, wetting your mouth with salt. “There’s nothing I regret more than letting you go.”

“We were meant to be, love,” his broken whisper was a sinking stone in your chest. Lifting your eyes to meet his, you saw the tear tracks on his desperate face matching yours.

“But we were not meant to last,” there were few ways you could describe how your heart was hurting as you muttered the words, hand reaching forwards on the table. You didn’t think Wooyoung would hold on to it until he did. Fingers intertwined, you both held on painfully tight as if by letting go you’d get lost in the current the sea of your words had provoked. Each other’s buoy in a storm of unsaid words and unresolved, muddy feelings, so strong that with nothing they could tear you apart.

You cried immersed in the dark silence of the restaurant hall, the place that crowned your dreams, listening to the other’s quiet sobs.

“I’m sorry, forgive me,” you choked out again, trying to find his face past your tears. Wooyoung reached out to brush them away, his hands just as soft as you remembered, if not more careful. The moment his skin grazed yours, a shiver ran down your spine, electrified by such simple contact. His hand lingered for a long second, cradling your cheek before all you felt was its cold absence.

He stood up first, only to walk around the table and stamp a kiss on the crown of your head, his hand holding your shoulder. You froze, barely hearing how he murmured something about seeing you in the morning, barely breathing. What you did hear was the closing door, a sign you’d been left alone with your thoughts in the dimly lit room, knowing your ignorance had broken his heart again.

You didn’t know how to fix it.

Standing and cooking side by side felt off again. You were walking on eggshells, treading on a fine line to avoid ticking off another bomb. If the weight of apologizing had been lifted off your chest, something much heavier now resided upon it. Knowing something had changed yet again, all because of how you’d acted. What you’d said.

“You want to make ramen noodles? From scratch?”

In the middle of cleaning up part of the station, you couldn’t help but let surprise seep into your voice. Wooyoung stared, nodding.

“I thought we already made enough to last us at least two days…” You let your words fade out, not wanting to start an argument. His jaw set and you realized your efforts had been in vain.

“I’d rather be safe than sorry, at least until our new hires come in,” he shrugged, going to preheat the oven. He really was serious.

You wondered why he was going through with this; you ran out of kansui, which was already hard enough to find, let alone expensive. In its absence, you’d need to prepare a substitute for it: baking soda that had to be baked in the oven for at least an hour to act properly instead of the kansui. It was such a waste of time when you had more pressing matters to attend to. Ones that didn’t need the help of your brigade.

Breathing in deeply and deciding that keeping peace was essential, you assessed how Wooyoung was just lining the baking sheet with parchment paper and spreading the baking soda over it. You went to retrieve the whole wheat and bread flours you’d need in an hour, trying to keep frustration at bay. You’d think about the salt and riboflavin later. When you came back with the sacks, Wooyoung was already cleaning the rolling pins and pasta machine. With a grunt, you set them down on the counter, watching as he jolted in surprise.

“I’ll go call our supplier while we wait on the oven,” you really didn’t mean for your voice to sound so clipped. He seemed not to care, simply giving you a nod and going on with his task.

You left the kitchen almost stomping your feet in frustration, sitting down at the table furthermost from it. Whatever game Wooyoung was playing, it needed to stop now. You had tried time and time again, in the last few days, to get anything out of him. To try and patch things up and salvage them as best as you could. But you guessed he needed time, and with the opening just around the corner, you decided it was best to let him be. As long as you could work well together, everything would be fine.

Except the wall he’d put up was so high that you felt it was impossible to climb it or break through.

The sound of the door opening brought you back to reality, reminding you that you needed to find the supplier’s contact and call, murmuring something about being closed to whoever had just come in.

“I figured,” the voice made every hair on your skin stand, plunging you back into prickly, cold, anxious times. As you looked up, you could barely believe your eyes.

“Mr. Hwang,” his name left your lips in an incredulous whisper.

“It’s been a while,” he looked around, coming in. His eyes were inspecting thoroughly everything they could lay themselves on, scrutinizing all that might be out of place, or all that wasn’t, and had the ability to spark envy in an enviable man. “Nice place.”

“How may I help you?”

“I have an offer to make you.”

Wooyoung nearly stumbled on his feet. When he’d walked out of the kitchen to see if anything had come of your call with the supplier, the last thing he’d expected was seeing you sat at a table with your old boss, having a chat, exchanging laughter. He’d quickly retreated, leaving you to it, seeing red. He didn’t need to know what was going on, nor did he want to. Or at least that’s what he kept telling himself as he stared, unable to do anything else, at the timer of the oven ticking by. Every second you sat out there, was a second he needed to reason with himself and find out what the menacing grip that held his heart was. All Wooyoung knew was that he wished you’d walk through the kitchen doors, a bright smile on your face, ready to get back to work.

And when you did, he couldn’t quite figure out the look on your face. He was dying to ask what Hwang wanted, no matter what it was, he needed whatever words you’d utter to soothe his burning curiosity. But you never spoke, keeping up your diligent work even past the timer dinging, through the kneading of the dough, its thirty-minute rest, and the several compressions through the pasta machine. He observed you carefully, like he always had, as you used a long knife to cut the noodles by hand as he was occupying the noodle cutter of the machine. Were you slipping through his fingertips again? His eyes on you had always felt like an encouraging, gentle caress. Always looking after and out for you. Wooyoung never noticed or wasn’t fully aware, that sometimes they still did. More often than not you felt the need to step away, or look away, under his gaze, caving in under his affection.

You felt that you didn’t deserve to be looked at so tenderly, not anymore.

He searched for words to say as the several pieces of dough were turned into noodles, but nothing came to mind. Nothing sounded right, not even in his head. Wooyoung let silence win this battle, preferring to let the whirring of the machine and the slicing of your knife talk, trying to work out all the tangled threads that were his thoughts. It was easy to mess up the noodles and have them stick together in an unsalvageable way; then you’d have to make them into dough again and put it through the machine, compressing it until it was ready to be cut up. He tried to treat his thoughts with the same care as noodles to avoid starting over. But Wooyoung wasn’t having the same luck.

Your muttering from the other side of the kitchen prompted him to look your way, struggling to find some space in the refrigerator for your sheet-pans. He hid his smirk, tossing the last of his noodles with cornstarch.

“Why?” You turned around, hands on your hips, irritation barely at bay. Wooyoung raised a brow, doing his very best at pushing your buttons.

“Why did we make so many fucking noodles when we are stocked full?”

“Because we need them,” he shrugged. “They’re tedious to make from scratch, it’ll make our lives easier.”

“Then you make space for them,” you huffed, hastily walking over to the dishwasher to start filling it with the utensils you’d just finished using.

“What did Hwang want?”

Wooyoung bit his tongue, watching how your back straightened at his question. He’d tried to sound casual, but the question turned out to be anything but. He couldn’t keep it in anymore, the longer he did, the more his nerves tested his peace of mind. Wooyoung watched as you froze, halting your movements, before turning to face him again. The furrow of your brow as you raked your eyes over him accelerated his heartbeat in mysterious ways, waiting with bated breath for your answer.

“Nothing important,” but it was to him. Wooyoung’s thoughts had taken him places he didn’t want to revisit. His heart had been swallowed with an all-consuming and unkindly familiar pain at the idea of you leaving him behind. Hwang had offered you a lot in the past, afforded you to realize your dreams, he knew that much. What could he give you, then?

“Then why did you take so long talking to him?” One way or the other, Wooyoung had to exorcize the sinking feeling in his chest along with the overpowering green monster resurfacing with all its might. The only way afforded to him now was to venomously spit his words to you.

“I’m not trying to put us in a hard place with our number one competitor,” you closed the loaded dishwasher behind you, coming closer to him, clouding his senses. He scoffed with a roll of his eyes and you lifted a brow, crossing your arms.

“Fine, be that way,” you carelessly threw the towel that was resting on your shoulder upon the counter. “He came back to try and persuade me to work for him again.”

And there they were, the words Wooyoung had feared the most. Someone who would whisk you away from him again as he watched helplessly, feeding into his fears.

“I said no, Woo…” your voice put a halt to every thought drowning him, your eyes full of the same softness your voice was. Giving up the fight, extinguishing the fire of his worries, at the cost of your disappointment. You swallowed the bitter bite. “Did you really think I’d go back, that I’d leave this? That I’d leave you?”

His silence was answer enough. You nodded, pressing your lips together.

“Well, I wouldn’t.”

You weren’t going to let him think like that, not now.

“I wasn’t happy there, and there’s not a single thing he could offer that would make me as happy as you do.”

Wooyoung watched, stunned into silence, while you got rid of your jacket and murmured something about still having to call the supplier. The timid smile you gave him, eyes full of warm hope, moved something inside him that had been slowly waking up ever since you bumped into him down the street months ago.

For so long, he’d tried to move on. In the end, it turned out that you wanted different things from him, and he had to accept that. Wooyoung couldn’t convince you to stay if you wanted to leave. So, with his heart aching and bursting at the seams with the hope that eventually you’d be back, he let you go. There was no way he could describe how he felt when he saw you again. Surprise struck him, leaving him disoriented for a long moment before his mouth spoke for him. As if his body had reacted to the presence of yours, remembering what it felt like to have you close.

No, Wooyoung wasn’t surprised that he so readily welcomed you back into his life. You were trying, that much he could see, but he was, too. There was a battle going on inside his head that left him frustrated and confused when it came to you, to his feelings for you. His thoughts laid their armor down only in your presence. His heart knew you were the only one he’d ever truly loved. A love that bloomed at the wrong time, a fragile flower that didn’t survive the winter. Wilted and withered, you’d left him to mend the gashes.

He did, only if it meant learning how to be without you, burning with the hope that one day, if the time was right, together you could grow flowers anew.

The chance was right there for him to take, and yet. It had taken him just a couple of hours after closing the kitchen to decide he needed to see you, and set things straight once and for all.

“What are you doing here?”

The sun was just about to set, gilded light flowing into your apartment from the window, bathing you in its gold. Wooyoung’s breath caught. For a fleeting instant, nothing else existed besides your confused pout and his erratic heartbeat.

“Can we talk?”

You nodded, opening the door wider to let him in, gesturing for him to follow to the kitchen. The sweet aroma hit him first, enveloping him, and he saw the cutting board in the sink after. It didn’t take him long to figure out you were making blackberry jam.

“You’re stressed,” the words left his lips before he could realize he’d spoken them, your head jerking in his direction as you kept stirring the pot, only to nod right after.

“Well, yeah, the opening’s just around the corner now and we-” your eyes fell back on the stove, briefly avoiding his. “What did you want to talk about?”

Wooyoung hesitated. He didn’t know. Rather, he was sure he needed to make things right. Clean the suffocating air of uncertainty when it came to you and what you were to him. What he was to you. You two were always good at dancing in the dark but now, in the light of day, it was hard to fall back into rhythm.

“I’m sorry about the noodles,” he bit his tongue. Way to start.

How could he say what he wanted to when his head was on fire? Still, you were there, waiting, occasionally stirring your jam, making his heart skip. Wooyoung sighed.

“I couldn’t stand the thought of you leaving.”

Your hand halted its gentle movements, he saw your knuckles turning white.

“Wooyoung-”

“No, let me say this,” he was pretty sure his lungs almost failed him when you turned to look at him, wide eyed, hanging onto his words. “I don’t really know how to act around you. At first, I wanted to be mad. Just a little bit, but found out quickly that after the anger was gone, there wasn’t much left. Just the part of me that wondered if you’d ever come back, if you missed me like I missed you. And if I push all the confusion back, it’s as easy as breathing. I never expected to want you with me as much as I do.”

You turned off the flame, walking closer.

“I never meant you any harm,” you were picking at your fingers, almost subconsciously, just like Wooyoung’s hand reached out to twine with yours, halting your nervous motions. “I‘m sorry that I let you down, and that I hurt you.”

“I know,” he squeezed your hand with a small sigh, eyes cast on them. “We weren’t meant to last.”

The words bitterly echo in the quiet kitchen, almost lost in the burbling coming from the stove. Wooyoung was tempted to let go of your hand and walk out the door, fragile like a house of cards, as if it cost him his whole heart to tell you the truth. To expose his confusion in fear it may be an imposition.

“No, Woo, not when I was so confused and only put my dreams first. Not when we had so much that we would’ve held each other from,” your watery smile hit him square in the chest, your words feeding his worries. “But I think we were always meant to be. I still… I’ve always held so much love for you.”

Wooyoung stopped breathing, letting the sweet taste of your words wash over him.

“Can we start over?” you asked, tentative, searching his face for any sign that you may have crossed a line. “I want to be by your side, at your pace, we’ll be whatever you want us to be. I wasn't ready then but I am now, and I know it'll take time but I want you to know that I'll be there. No matter how long, I'll always be there.”

The unruled hope, that he’d been fighting to keep at bay, finally broke free and sparked a fire in his chest that swallowed up his heart, holding it in a fierce grip, burning. Your hopeful, misty eyes told him more than words could, more than he could ever dare to imagine. He had longed to see them from this close again.

“Didn’t you say that mixing feelings with work is the recipe for disaster?”

Behind the carelessly amused shrug of your shoulders, your untamed smile shined with bright happiness. The hand that wasn’t holding his tentatively rose to cup his cheek and Wooyoung wasted no time in leaning in and basking in its warmth.

“I think we’d make it.”

Your promise was enough for him. Wooyoung rested his forehead against yours, finding home in your sweet perfume once again. You were finally back into his arms, to hold and to love. Once your lips met his hesitantly, almost afraid at first but feverishly at last, the sweet and pleasantly tart taste of your kiss assured his head and heart that everything would be alright.

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mysterycitrus · 5 months

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Jason is my blorbo, my favorite, wretched, little guy and I love him so much. And I love all your posts about him! SO tired of people watering down his character, especially at the expense of other characters. Namely Dick and Tim. I know you're probably tired of talking about J so no hard feelings if you ignore this but I'd love to hear your thoughts and Dick and Jason's relationship. Past, present and where you'd like to see it go in the future. If anywhere. (Also your art is so, so good!! I especially love how you do faces and your coloring)

i actually really enjoy unpacking their relationship. it makes me think about that quote from diary of a wimpy kid - "you're my brother, but you'll never be my friend." idk how they should be written in the future because i think jason needs to be removed from gotham until he grows his personality back, but here's my thoughts on their brains -

from jason's end, there's so much resentment. a large part of his post-resurrection motivations come from the idea that bruce has dishonoured his memory and failed to grieve him, because bruce won't let him or anyone else kill the joker and therefore bruce doesn't love him. bruce rejects his manifesto for fixing gotham, bruce rejects his violence, bruce rejects his politics. would bruce have rejected dick if dick had done this? in jason's mind - no. dick grayson has shackled himself to bruce and is drowning with him. jason does not see that he has also chained himself to bruce and thrown away the key.

it's also worth mentioning that in outsiders 2003 and batman and robin 2009 (when written by winick), jason still fundamentally respects dick's abilities and experience. he think he's weak because he tries to suppress his anger, but i don't think jason would carry that same heavy, debilitating misery from seeing tim or cass or damian - people he was denied knowing by dying, and thus "replaced" by. jason, in some capacity, values dick as an ally. he trusts that dick, for all his flaws, is not a vengeful person (and i'll get to that).

there's a degree of what if there too - both dick and jason lived through a very specific period of bruce's life, which is the period before jason was killed. no one else (aside from babs and alfred) knows what that was like. no one else understands bruce, in that way. they have seen him before that grief in a way no one else who followed can. they're both poor kids brought into wealth. dick transcended into a legacy, and was then discarded. jason was, unconsciously, a tangible replacement for dick (and for robin), but died before bruce had the chance to leave him behind.

by comparison, we see dick reach out to jason, consistently. i'd say that unlike bruce, dick is a pragmatist. he frequently works with murderers. he ran the outsiders. he has, and will continue to, make calls that will questionably result in someone's death. to be clear, that is not the same thing as being a murderer - i think the guilt of that comes very close to killing him - but while he's an inherently optimistic person, i'd say he has realistic expectations for people's behaviour. it's what makes him so efficient as a tactician.

they're also very similar - they respond differently to anger, but they are both explosive. dick doesn't seek retribution on his own behalf, but he will lose control for the people he loves (which includes jason!). going to bat (haha) for jason, and jason then hurting the people he protects (tim, damian, the titans, etc), that's a line jason's crossed. dick won't ever stop swinging out to grab him, because he'll never let anyone fall, but that does not mean he'll be kind when they reach the ground

#when i finish my jason + dick brothers fic ohohohoho.... then people will see my vision #dick grayson #jason todd #nightwing #red hood #batfam #dc comics #the ask and the answer

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thegreatcaptainusopp · 3 months

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Having Zoro thoughts bc of that post and he really is such a great character like. He has such a rich inner life & experience but you only notice that if you’re paying attention. It’s so easy to write him off as this super cool loyal confident warrior that’s a little dumb but very driven which sure, he can be, but he’s so much more than that. This is a character who defines everything by love, everything he does is motivated by a deep & meaningful connection with someone else. World’s Greatest Swordsman may not have emerged solely because of Kuina but Kuina’s memory is the primary thing that drives him to achieve it. He thinks about her all the time…his favorite sword is just that because it’s infused with the memory of her. His staunch loyalty to Luffy is because he believes in him, yes, but also because he does love him, in whatever capacity you think that may be. He’s protective of the crew is because he believes it’s his job, yes, but also because he loves them, and you can tell because he always reacts emotionally whenever any of them are in danger in front of him. He wears his emotions on his sleeve when it comes to the crew. He’s a really emotional guy and it’s very evident but he’s also very cool and those things aren’t usually depicted as coexisting so I don’t think the general reader notices that.

#he keeps his circle small but he loves them a LOT #op #one piece #speaks #roronoa zoro

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shinsorokiri · 2 years

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y’know i know a lot of people talk about how they love shane and seb because they’re the damaged men in the game, and like same 100%, but i also see a lot of people kinda dismiss sam as a golden retriever, positive, happy character. but if you really think about it, sam fits into the same category as seb and shane too. like:

1. his mother expresses multiple times to the farmer that although she loves her children, she very much longs to have a life where she doesn’t have to constantly worry about kids. in a way a part of her deep down wishes that sam and vincent didn’t really exist and it tears her apart and vincent isn’t necessarily old enough to grasp the concept, but sam is and you know he notices it. this is the woman who raised him and (i at least headcanon him) as someone who is very observant. he definitely notices these behaviors coming from her. and idk about you, but having an inkling that your mother is unhappy with her life in any capacity would really screw me up personally.

2. his father went to WAR. like fully went to war and i’m thinking he was in the army for 2 and a half years at least because he has a corporal badge (even though it’s upside down) but that means that he was away for bootcamp, then deployed, and if sam is around what? like 19? 20? that means that he became the “man of the household” at 17 or 18. Because I personally believe Kent was away for three to three and a half years. Bootcamp for about 10 weeks, straight to a base for more training, and it seems as though the active war made it so he got deployed into action fairly quickly. So, not only did Sam have an absence where his father should have been during the years he became a young adult, but he has to adjust to his father coming back and struggling with PTSD and quite honestly being shellshocked. (i also believe kent was honorably discharged, meaning something bad happened to him in the war. perhaps it was the same event where he lost many of his friends, but i fully believe the war is still ongoing even when kent returns to the valley considering the traveling merchant is still smuggling things into the town.) all the memories he had of kent are just memories now because his father will never be the same as he was before. And sam KNOWS that! even vince notices it!

3. he’s literally a rebellious skater kid, one of his heart events is him getting in trouble WITH THE MAYOR because he’s skating where he’s not supposed to, AND he purposely tries to sabotage the soup for the potluck and leads in community service hours. he’s a teenage dirtbag baby! a misunderstood edgy kid who acts out because he doesn't know how to express his feelings! and on top of that, with his adhd he’s even more misunderstood and people don’t take him seriously at all. he gets scolded for things that he seemingly just can’t help all the time and that just hurts him and makes him act out even more.

4. sam is also a damaged individual - he’s just better at masking it. seb embraces the darkness and accepts that he is an outcast and doesn’t try to hide the fact he is. shane struggles with addiction and depression publicly and it’s not negative necessarily, but he can’t hide it from anyone. sam has a warped idea that he cannot show his ailments, physical or mental because he needs to be strong for his little brother and give an example of what he believes a man should be (and because of the patriarchal society he lives in he doesn’t know that he can be vulnerable because no one told him because the man who would have been able to explain that to him during the years he really needed to hear it wasn’t there). i fear he suffers a bit from toxic positivity and desperately tries to rely on hobbies to distract him from his reality.

long story short, sam is not just a silly guy, he has depth. i mean come on, he's best friends with sebastian for a reason! they’re similar in ways! he just doesn’t know how to talk about or express it. all this to say, sam is an interesting and deep character that shouldn’t be written off immediately by people.

sam supremacy! lmao

#stardew valley #stardew #stardew valley sam #stardew sam #stardew headcanon #stardew valley headcanon #woke up and thought i'd advocate for samson today #cause i love that guy #sdv sam #sdv

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fumifooms · 4 months

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so glad you posted that compilation cus i literally can't stop thinking about chilchuck's succubi... everyone else's have so much to be said about them and are so much less straightforward than just classically sexual, but then chilchuck's Truly goes straight for the jugular. when i saw that one panel i could not stop jawdropping at how explicit they went with that implication like it's actually insane to me. i feel like it says a lot about him, what you said about him enjoying the simple pleasures of life like alcohol and sex, and he's really such... a guy. but if this is the most alluring form to him he really should get that divorce even if he still loves his wife i have to be honest LOL poor thing

YEAH literally it’s insane 💀I feel like due to the tension and action of the scene and the way the page is paneled it’s soo easy to brush over it and focus on other things without our eyes actually processing THAT. I have no clue how they’ll make it in the anime without just making it straight up obscene lmao, a friend joked that the sucking sound effect should be like a straw and I’d die laughing if Trigger does that. Maybe like slurping noodles instead. No clue what they’ll do genuinely.

I do believe Chilchuck is just Like That™️, but yes I also like to think that it reflects how deeper connections have hurt him in the past so he prefers relationships where he’s just there to do his job or just there to have fun without thinking and not have to worry about betrayal etc etc. He’s not there to think and have emotions he just wants to feel good for a while and be seduced and those things (succubi, sex alcohol etc) sure do that.

I wouldn’t say that this is the line crossed for why he shouldn’t get back with his wife though!! I do get the feeling that he and his wife just aren’t compatible and that they don’t communicate well, and with Chilchuck saying "I don’t know if it’ll go as well as in the stories, but I’ll try" about reaching out to her, and with idealization vs the actual person/thing being a big theme in Dungeon Meshi where we don’t know just how much he loves her or if he loves the ideal/memories of her, I do feel like they should reconcile but not get back together. BUT! I think the whole "most alluring form" thing shouldn’t be treated as the ultimatum that people often treat it as, the succubus chapters really reflect a bunch of themes that are present in the whole series, like ‘irrational instinctive desire vs what you actually want and need’ and such.

Again I’ll be spoiling a future analysis I want to make but… If the characters were to have their full minds in those chapters, what they rationally want most is very different than the succubus they got, something can be alluring but you’d still refuse it, like idk a cigar, hence why the succubi need to freeze their victims by reading their irrational desires so well. Chilchuck has gone 4 years since his separation with his wife still being faithful to her!!! FOUR!!! Had he his capacities he would not be cheating on her no sir. He’s marriage man have some faith. Had they their minds Laios and Marcille would be imagining Falin safe and welcoming instead. It’s much like with the Winged Lion, where the desires it twists the characters into aren’t the one they actually pursue (well, in Laios’ case at least. It emphases on them a ton even when it is a desire they show in everyday life), the monster twists the desires to have the outcome they want, it’s manipulation.

If your point is that the succubi don’t look like his wife though like come onnn you can’t either be asexual or think your partner is the literal prettiest person on Earth supermodel-like level to be with them and truly love them and be devoted come on… If that new blackhaired half-foot woman is her, then we saw with the succubi that he does favor her kind of eye shape, and idk that’s so much more romantic to me than hair color 🥺 Come onn he’s just a lil birthday guy he wants pleasure but he can’t fantasize about his wife bc it’d make him sad come onnn come on don’t hold it against him come onnn… Oh although I do read his "All your succubi are blonde, is your wife too?" "Shut up, don’t bring her up now!!" as guilt, bc he has a hard time thinking of himself as virtuous so I imagine in that moment he’s like "Man maybe this is why she left me… Maybe I really am not a virtuous husband…" and it’s like BUDDY a monster is playing you like a fiddle don’t make yourself feel bad over it 😭😭 I did write a fic around that concept though hehe 👈 But yes just defending my guy’s VIRTUES a bit out there. I do agree his wife had it rough, it must be so lonely and a lil devaluating to be his wife and always waiting on him and he can’t even work up the emotional maturity to voice that he loves you regularly when he is home 💀 Man is NOT a storybook prince charming

#Ask #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #chilchuck tims #spoilers #dungeon meshi manga spoilers #chapter 58 succubus #Meta #analysis #I did it again OTL I just love the topic of him and his wife sm…#It’s always a “yes but also” around me about Chilchuck. Ty Kui for inventing nuance ily #Nowadays with asks i never know if it’s that one serial asker or someone new so I never know from what basis to build upon lol #Chil likes forward women bc he’s too tired to court someone lol #Chilchuck’s wife

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the-ace-with-spades · 11 months

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Silly idea but what if Jake's dad actually loves Bradley

So, they're together around flight school time and Jake actually has a good relationship with his dad (it's his mom that went crazy when he came out -- his parents are currently divorced because of it, too) so he introduces Bradley to his dad when they have a free weekend in Kingsville and drive up north to the Seresin ranch.

And Jake's dad instantly adores Bradley. Like, calls him son from the first day and tells Jake he has to marry him someday (when they're out of the Navy, obviously). They actually have a lot in common, same taste in old cars, same taste in oldie music, Donny Seresin absolutely adores that Bradley can play piano and sing, and they have the same old man taste in drinks and Bradley is quite good as a mechanic (repairs a tractor the first day he's there) and they just can talk for hours without feeling awkward since day one. And Jake's dad can clearly see that Jake's boy has been through a lot and he's as soft as Jake so he takes it personally.

Since then, Jake's dad and Bradley actually talk more often than he talks with Jake. Jake finds it hysterical but also a bit sweet that his old man and his boyfriend (who is mentally a bit of an old man himself) get along so well when Jake thought there would be shovel talks and treating to bury Bradley's body somewhere on their farm if he hurts Jake.

One day, Donny Seresin just tells Bradley to call him dad. Obviously, Bradley feels weird about it since he already had two dads and a pops and they're all just bittersweet memories so he's like, I'm sorry I can't call you that, my dads are just still---

Donny Seresin tells him to call me pa, then and Bradley does. Donny gets two father's day cards from Kingsville.

When he finds out Bradley's got no one to pin his wings when they finish flight school, he volunteers. Jake gets his pinned by his sisters and Bradley gets his pinned by Jake's dad.

Thing is, Mav is in the audience that day. He knew he'd be crossing a line if he showed up on the scene to do the winging but there's this strange man who's pinning the wings on his son and he can't take it, he's miserable and fuming and just so angry (with himself, mostly).

Jake and Bradley break up and Bradley stops calling Donny. Donny waits a couple of months before calling Bradley, on father's day of all days, saying I think you forgot to wish someone happy father's day.

And they start talking again. And Jake hates it. At first.

Their break up wasn't as explosive as people think --- one day Bradley was there, arguing about which cereals they should buy, the next he was packing his stuff and flying to Japan without telling Jake a thing, not picking up his phone. Jake reacts to even a mention of Bradley with disdain.

His dad says something about Bradley sending him Japanese whisky and Jake explodes.

Then a few weeks later, his dad mentions Bradley had an emergency sea landing and Jake is still pissed but also worried. Because he's still in love with Bradley.

So he allows it. Pretends he's mad whenever his dad mentions Bradley while secretly being grateful he can keep tabs on Bradley somehow.

Fast forward after the mission, Bradley and Mav (and Ice) reconcile and Jake and Bradley get back together.

Donny Seresin comes to San Diego for holidays and to visit his sons. Bradley takes it as an opportunity to introduce him to Mav and Ice and just to make their family meet officially Jake tells his dad all about how much of big names Mav and his husband are in the Navy and Jake's dad is like, well, to me they're just a pair of crap parents.

When they all meet, one could cut tension with a knife because Mav recognizes him instantly as the guy who pinned Bradley's wings.

And then Bradley calls Donny pa in front of everyone.

Mav is green with jealousy the whole evening (which later shapes into wallowing in self-pity) that this stranger got to be a dad to Bradley in some capacity throughout the years he didn't. Especially that Bradley is still feeling a bit wary and hasn't called them dad or pops again yet.

Meanwhile Jake is even more hysterical about the thing because he's just realized it means Bradley has four dads in total.

#bradley is just collecting dads at this point #hangster #mavdad #icepops too technically #i just don't like that icepops tag #tgm #q #charlie writes

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barneswinterraven · 2 years

Note

a small fluff piece about bucky based on a text my husband sent me (if you have the time!) : "i dont have the capacity to love anyone but you" it can have some angst, because the situation in which it was sent to me involved some, but it was a happy ending for us lol <3

Only You

Pairing — Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader Summary — bucky loves someone, but maybe it's not her A/N — my first request!!! i apologize for only getting to this now, my academics have been making me tired all day :') thank you @kingfleury for this prompt. it may have become longer than i intended to

It has been several days since Y/N had any kind of interaction at all with Bucky Barnes. Actually, it's been 5 days and 4 hours.

It wouldn't bother Y/N much if they weren't practically joined at the hip before he started ignoring her. She keeps thinking back to their last interaction and if she had said or done anything wrong to deserve this silent treatment.

"Hey Buckybear, are we still on for movie night later" Bucky only frowns at her question and sighs. "Maybe we could take a rain check on that? I'm still pretty beat from our last mission and maybe you should take a rest first, considering that you were almost shot to death." Y/N gives him a smile and nods as they both walked back to their own rooms.

Nothing. From that last memory, Y/N can think of nothing that may have offended him. It was normal for them to have a movie night and it was normal for Bucky to take a sabbatical from everyone after a hell-bent mission.

But ever since that day, Bucky would take extra measures to not be in the same room as her, to not even at the slightest bit acknowledge her presence. If anyone has noticed this weird interaction between the two, nobody said anything.

The first few days, Y/N thought nothing of it. She thought that maybe Bucky was having some personal days considering everything that he has been through. So she left him alone to give him the space she thought he was silently asking for.

But now, Y/N was frustrated, stressed, anxious, and even annoyed. All these emotions bottled up made her walk up to Bucky's room and demand he explain what the fuck is wrong.

Taking a deep breath, she put up her fist to knock on his door when she noticed that it was left slightly ajar. "Hey, Bu-"

"Look, I love you. Ever since that day I met you, my heart was already beating for you. And that moment on the train, I felt like my heart was literally gonna stop at thought of losing you. I can't even bear to think of another day without you in my life."

Y/N heard every single word come out of Bucky's mouth and shifted her eyes. Steve. He's sitting right beside Bucky on his bed.

With a slow intake of breath, Y/N now understands. How could she have not noticed. Best friends since birth, of course someone was bound to fall in love.

But this discovery and realization only shattered her heart in pieces. Because she has already fallen in love with James Buchanan Barnes, her best friend.

Not wanting to ruin the moment inside the room, Y/N decided to leave. And just when it cannot get worse, her hip accidentally knocks on the door, further opening it.

Both men looked in her direction, her face going red. "Y/N, what are you doing here?" Bucky utters out.

Y/N can only gape her mouth open like a fish, no word falling out of her mouth.

"I'll leave you guys to talk" Steve stands and immediately leaves the room while giving Y/N a slight smile and a friendly wink.

"Look Buck, I heard your confession to Steve. And don't worry about it, I won't tell anyone. I'm just happy that you guys can now be open about your relationship." Y/N meekly tells Bucky, shifting her eyes to not look at him.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Realization sets on Bucky's face after thinking back to the words he said before he saw Y/N at his door.

"Doll, honey, you got it all wrong. Yes, I do love Steve but definitely not like that" Bucky can only laugh at how ridiculous this situation is.

"Bucky, it's 2022. You don't need to hide your sexuality. There's no need to be asha–"

"I'm gonna stop you right there. Look, I didn't want you to find out this way but, everything I said that you heard, all of that was meant to be for you. I know I have been a jerk these past few days, ignoring you and shit. But my head has just been a mess ever since our mission on the train. Back there, you almost died. And all I could think was that I was gonna lose you when I haven't even had you."

Tears were welling up on Y/N's face at Bucky's sudden confession. "But why were telling Steve all that stuff?"

Bucky shyly chuckles, his hand rubbing the nape of his neck. "He was trying to help me out what and how I was gonna confess to you. And now I may have ruined everything."

"You're lucky that I love your dorkiness and that I do also love you." Y/N steps closer to him smiling so wide, her cheeks started to hurt but she does not care. No pain can undermine this happiness and love that is blooming from her chest.

"So you love me? Not Steve? Well, at least not in that way?" she jokingly asks.

"Doll, I don't have the capacity to love anyone but you and only you." Bucky whispers as he gently cups her cheeks and leans his forehead against hers.

#my writing #ask replies #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fanfic

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anincompletelist · 4 months

Text

wip wednesday :D

okay I am super late to the game today but THANK YOU @kiwiana-writes @theprinceandagcd @suseagull04 @nocoastposts @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @littlemisskittentoes @getmehighonmagic @cricketnationrise @zwiazdziarka @ninzied @eusuntgratie @happiness-of-the-pursuit @inekepp @heybuddy-drabbles FOR THE LOVELY TAGS! I really appreciate y'all being patient with me these past couple of weeks with the responses, I have not had the mental capacity to be as on top of things as I usually am but it warms my heart to see y'all pop up in my notifs and to read through your amazing words, even if it's a few days after the fact! hope you guys are all doing well! <333 xx

introducing yet another little guy that was not supposed to make his way onto the wip list but has weaseled his way in nonetheless (I wholeheartedly blame @bigassbowlingballhead and @firenati0n and @affectionatelyrs for the inspiration and enabling, thanks)

back to regularly scheduled programming next week but for now, I present to you the crack treated seriously (beautiful) nightmare of Jeff (bottoms) x Shane (minx) au --

“Sometimes I feel like I was born in the wrong timeline, y’know?” Shane murmurs, one arm folded beneath his head as he stares up at the stars after practice.

The empty football field makes Jeff feel like they’re under a spotlight, the only two left on the stage. The only two in the world, for these few fleeting seconds. Shane’s words are amplified here in the silence, and Jeff clings on to every one of them.

“What d’you mean?”

He rolls onto his stomach and lays his cheek on his own arm, content to look at Shane instead of the field or the sky, the unspoken pressure of their teammates in one and the weight of his parent’s memories in the other.

And then Shane, who’s never once pushed him to be anything more than himself.

“Like. I like the simple stuff, I think. Old fashioned, I guess. I’d much rather get all dressed up and take somebody out on a date instead of just, like, meeting through an app and having a one night stand,” he says slowly, thoughtfully, before his eyes widen. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that either. That’s also totally cool. Just— I think I’d want to take my time and I’ve just never met anyone who didn’t just immediately want to jump on me.” He sighs and then winces, shaking his head at himself. “I’m sorry. That sounds really stupid, doesn’t it?”

“It’s not,” Jeff tells him. He pictures Shane, buttoned up and cologned and maybe with some flowers or cheap wine, and rubs his cheek against his sleeve a bit to hide the way he flushes. Tries not to think too hard about wishing it was him on the other side of the door in that scenario. “It’s not stupid. I like simple.”

Shane’s hand that’d been draped over his own stomach moves down to his side, settling in between them. His pinky grazes Jeff’s elbow, just featherlight, but Jeff shivers nonetheless. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jeff smiles.

since this isn't *technically* rwrb (and brain not wanting to brain at the moment), I'm going to leave this as an open tag!!!!!! please please mention me if you take it so that I can come and scream at you (affectionately!) <3333

see y'all for another bridesmaids update on the 19th! :D

#wips

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west-brooke · 3 months

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Can you expand more on what would’ve happened if Leo/Mikey/Raph had been the ones to end up being taken by the brother Kraang? I love your work and I’m sorry to hear about your writers block! Hope this helps! ❤️

For sure! Thank you for the ask! I’m not surprised those concepts caught on lol so I think I’ll probably go into some more details on 1) the ideas of what would happen and 2) why I’m writing new hardware with Donnie and not one of the other bros lmao

Putting some of this beneath a cut bc this one’s gonna be LONG.

The Tear AU

In an AU where Leo is taken instead of Donnie, the Krang would have to work fast. Donnie has a tracker on Leo, and even if the tracker is taken out of him at some point, it would at least give the others a much smaller area they have to search. However, Leo’s use of portals would be able to help in this, since the ability to get Krang matter wherever and whenever the Krang wants could give them a huge advantage. It would probably be a much shorter story, since the turtles have a very limited amount of time to stop The Tear and the Brother before things just get absolutely out of hand, but they’ll be able to actually get there to deal with the issues and start fighting relatively quickly. Leo probably isn’t super conscious while any of this is going on, since even though he’s good at strategizing, the Krang probably wouldn’t see much virtue in Leo keeping his capacity for thought and just use him as a portal generator.

The Guard AU

Sorry Raph ily but this would be the least fun for me to write I think lol. You definitely CAN make the “Raph gets krangified again” plot work, but it’s not something I personally wanna dedicate too much headspace too. The whole of the movie was basically this plot, and it would mostly be Raph and the Brother trying to free the other Krang, get the key, all of that stuff. There could definitely be some fun angst of maybe with him critically injuring a member of his family, but most of what can be done here has already been done. There also wouldn’t be much of Raph fighting back bc the Brother Krang (or at least my idea of him) would just kinda. Turn off his brain since it’s not really useful to him.

The Battery AU

In the case of Mikey being captured, it’s probably the most interesting out of the three for me. Most likely how the plot would play out is that Michelangelo is captured, and the Krang probes his memory to find out about the bad future and decides to try and use that power. He brings Mikey back to his den and then there, uses Mikey’s powers to tear open a doorway to the bad dimension and to try and bring the successful Krang and their army in through the portal. Mikey either breaks out or is rescued at that point, and the rest of the story is focused on the brothers fighting off the Krang from the alternate dimension. Mikey being injured in some sort of way from having to use that power is definitely a possibility and some good angst too.

The way New Hardware works and the trope it plays off for me is the idea of the “smart guy” (Donnie, in this case) and what would actually happen in a way if they were removed from a plot. Over and over again in rottmnt and in other media, things can only “get started” once the characters have information to go on, either by convenience or by getting it from somewhere. Characters like Donatello are catalysts in the literal definition, speeding up the process of the plot by getting characters the information they need to go start kicking butt or getting into the action and all that.

Think about the movie, and think about what would have happened if Donnie wasn’t there, if he hadn’t implanted the trackers in anyone. It’s brushed over and then played as a joke that those trackers are there, but the fact it’s brushed over is just an example of how important those characters are to a narrative. They didn’t have to look for Raph that much, they just knew where he was and could focus their attention of fighting the bad guys to get to him instead.

The point of New Hardware is 1) because Donnie is my favorite character and unfortunately for him that means I like giving him angst and 2) to show what would realistically happen in a worst case scenario when characters don’t have that convenient information to go off of anymore. Information is a type power as people say, and without Donnie on their side, they’re at a big disadvantage when it comes to intel.

#westspeaks #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt new hardware #cw body horror

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rin-and-jade · 10 months

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Who am I.. : A post about being blurry

I got a few things to talk about here, while some of you are already aware of its struggles and have experiences around it, i’d love to add on more about this (it’s a long post) so don’t mind if i do;

To reiterate, being blurry means you’re in a moment where identifying who is out (at front) and who is currently talking (in co-con) takes huge effort or near to impossible in resolving this cloudy situation,, as well as having hazy + worser memory and lastly, bad internal communication that may occur.

There are some factors that are not limited to:

Exposed to stressors

Exhaustion

Lacking restful sleep

Dissociative mechanisms

Being overwhelmed

etc..

People may have different tolerance level and frequency that also could be out of natural reasons and lifestyles (as well as periods of alertness, yes, it shifts in different hours of the day), when having this once in a while its not a prob at all.. but what if it became more frequent than usual? Do you know what to do? If you do please reblog your own approach so it can help others. And for those who don’t i do have my own and i’ll give some of my approaches after i tell some potential effects that can happen when being blurry:

Having inconsistency in portraying outside

Dealing with confusion, can cause conflicts inside

Harder time in deciding or responding

Trouble around communicating with parts effectively and clearly

Memory gaps and losing track of time

These things aren't lovely, not even a bit.. so i have two ways to deal with it depending on context and situation,, Solve or Adapt. Solve is where you want to end the blurriness for good and Adapt is when Solve does not work or can’t be bothered to at first place.

Choosing Solve:

Using list of alters (especially pk bot) and go through each of them, seeing which one resonates.

Same thing but with music, make sure its the songs you know they (your other parts) listen to or from the provided playlist already.

Pay attention to a distinctive trait that pops out from all the meshed stuffs going on (specific way of talking or thinking or vibes, anything else)

Think of what clothing style you’d like to wear? Then check that with who would dress like that.

Choosing Adapt:

Give up with demanding tasks (unless if it’s important, just use your energy efficiently) and consider relaxing. This helps keeping mental load at bay.

Feeling unsure about who you are can be uncomfy, doing some comfort activities might do the trick.

Prepare a notes app and jot everything down to keep track of chores or work to do or remembering important things, don’t take it lightly because memory won’t be as helpful as usual.

Keep workload and stress at minimum, if it can be done later then put it aside, if not,, try breaking it to easier bits and commit to it with breaks if needed.

Last thing i want to tell is that I’ve seen my friends being blurry but not wanting to resolve it either due to not having enough mental capacity to deal with that, or having brain fog which makes it harder, or having way too much overlapping traits/identities that is beyond confusing which demotivated them, or not cut for it due to not enough understanding yourself/others to discern at the first place.. and thats okay, because im here if you need some help (or you can ask your trusted friend) and i hope this post is informative, stay slay guys.

- j

#did #actually did #did community #did system #did osdd #dissociative identity disorder #plural #system stuff #sysblr #Jeducates

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tennessoui · 5 days

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Hello! This might be positively deranged of me, but do you have director's commentary for this ficlet you posted nigh on two years ago (https://rb.gy/4epfmv)? I love it deeply.

I've been following you for a few years now, and I'm very impressed by how your writing has grown. I really love your stories/headcanons/aus. Thank you for everything you do!

(link to a prompt fill for "meeting at the ER") (gffa, vaderwan)

what an amazing memory omg i genuinely love this ficlet, even though it's a great example of how i enjoy taking a very simple prompt (meeting at the ER) and making it as complicated as possible (so obi-wan and vader are on opposite sides of the war and they get injured in the same battle and must recoup in the same med tent but obi-wan doesn't know who is on the other side of the curtain from him because vader's helmet is off so obi-wan hears the voice of a young man for the first time and he can't see him and vader slowly grows obsessed with obi-wan's kindness and obi-wan only figures out it's vader when dooku comes to break him out of the medical wing and vader kills the guy opposite them who told obi-wan to stop talking---)

i adore identity shenanigans in fics. i'm a simple bitch. look at my fics honestly, this shouldn't surprise anyone i have like. 2 fics where veils are used, 1 fic where time travel is used, 1 fic where obi-wan almost fucks an alternate dimension anakin without knowing it's anakin, 1 fic where anakin is deaged and put into obi-wan's care like. i love identity shenanigans SO MUCH it's so fun to write what would happen if pre-conceived notions about someone are forcibly abandoned and you're just faced with who they are as a human and who they could be to you and this ficlet encapsulates that perfectly

shamefully though this part:

“I hope you recover a day after I do, Anakin.” Anakin sounds caught off guard. “What? Why?” “If you are the first to leave, I think I should miss your company.”

is completely ripped off of that winnie the pooh quote about living to be 100 minus 1 day lol i think anakin would be such a winnie the pooh fan no matter how many years he's been vader.

anyway it's about the softness and the normalcy and the kindness obi-wan offers to him!!! when he thinks he's just a civilian who may have fought on the wrong side!! it's his capacity to sympathize and understand and how much vaderkin needs someone to sympathize and understand!!!! it's the power of making connection through small talk <3

there's no way this verse ends with anything other than obi-wan's kindness winning over vaderkin's most horrible actions and impulses and vader being dragged into the Light because he realizes he wants obi-wan's soft words. he wants obi-wan to ask him about his day. always.

(send me a "director's cut" ask!)

#asks #obikin #what a memory tho fr this ficlet never really became an au #but i also love it as is #and thank you!! for the follow over the years and also #honestly my writing has absolutely changed and grown so much #in good and less good ways #and im so happy you noticed <3

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behoright · 1 year

Text

beside you, somehow (love countdown series) l a. svechnikov

but you've got stars in your eyes / and I've got something missing tonight

summary: part 7 ! our smitten besties travel to Chicago for the first stop of the roadie!

wordcount: 4.6k

song: what a feeling - one direction because I know so many of you are former 1D girlies

warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff. soft andrei being in loooooove and confused. mentions of sex and just him being a horny mess.

a/n: I don’t love this chapter. ugh. in better news, I'm super excited for the next one..... tell me what you guys think always!

͏ 🫙 ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ꪆ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏𔘓 ⠀ ⠀ .

Andrei’s eyes opened at the feeling of the light seeping through the window. He ran his fingers slowly on the bed, feeling the now empty spot next to him.

Did he dream last night? Did you leave? Did he scare you off?

All of his worries were interrupted by the smell of breakfast coming from the kitchen. He thought if he walked out and he saw you cooking, he didn’t think he could have repressed his feelings for you anymore. After last night, he felt like he was floating. Completely in love with you.

Rubbing his eyes, he noticed your suitcase, opened in the room. A bra left neatly folded on top of your clothes. It looked like the same one he caught a glimpse of the day before.

Great. It was like the universe was playing tricks on him.

As much as he wanted to spring out of bed and go find you, he was once again, faced with a tent in his pants. He laid back on the mattress again, all of the memories flooding his head again. The game, the dinner, the tickling. And his dream. The dream of you bouncing up and down on his cock, with your head thrown back. He couldn’t shake the feeling of it.

Well, all this was definitely not helping his situation.

Sighing, he sat up and looked at the closed door, before swiftly tucking his hard cock under the elastic waistband of his sweats. This was going to have to do until he had a chance of hopping in the shower to have some alone time.

When he walked out, Andrei studied you for a few seconds before you realized his presence. Seeing you in his kitchen, making breakfast and dancing along to your own tune, made his heart flutter. He imagined for a second what it would be like to see this every day. To have the capacity of simply wrapping his arms around you every morning, being able to bend you over his kitchen island if he wanted to. To not wake up alone, but especially, to wake up next to you.

“Good morning” he walked up to you, hands in his pockets, hoping his arousal wasn’t showing through.

“Oh! You scared me!” you said, clutching your chest.

Andrei laughed as he got closer. You looked so beautiful at that moment, with your bedhead and wearing a big shirt that barely covered your ass.

Fuck it, he thought.

He let his hand slip around your waist, the other one finding its way in your hair, placing your head on his chest.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

“Mm-hmm.” you wrapped your hands around him and rubbed his back, relishing in his warmth. The tips of your nails running up and down his back make him melt more into you.

“Yeah? Did you sleep well?”

Andrei discreetly inhaled your scent, positioning his nose at the top of your head. He felt so good that he almost planted a kiss there.

And he really, really hoped you couldn’t feel how hard he was under the band of his sweatpants.

“Thank you for moving me to the bed.” you looked up at him, your bodies still in embrace. There was no way he was letting go of your head. Your eyes are bright, deeply locked with his.

“You remember?”

Andrei was trying his hardest not to caress your soft hair.

“A little bit. I remember asking you to stay.” your face flushed.

“You did ask me that, didn’t you?” Andrei raised his eyebrows at you, face just as red as yours.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, or anything like that. I-”

“Hey. It’s okay. I don’t mind it.” he said.

“You sure?”

“I love to spend time with you, Y/N.”

Andrei’s gaze locked on your lips. You were still fixated on him. He didn’t know if this was the right moment. He could have tried it but, perhaps ruining a friendship the day they were leaving for a trip wasn’t the right move. But then, the way you were staring at him, studying his face, with your bottom lip tucked tightly in your mouth. Your body felt so small in his hands, so soft and warm, and Andrei didn’t want to let go. He looked at you, intensely; maybe, just one kiss, to see ho-

“Oh god, it’s burning!”

Just like that, your body was ripped away from him, right as the smell of burning food overwhelmed his senses. You laughed, moving the pan with some very well done french toast away from the flame.

“Are you trying to set my house on fire?” Andrei joked around, doing his best at hiding how flustered he was after the moment you just had together.

“Sorry!” you covered your face. “You distracted me, you know?”

“And how exactly did I do that?” he teased.

“Seriously?”

His arms wrapped around you once more, now brave enough to kiss your forehead.

“Just a little longer before we have to get ready to go.” he said, turning his cheek onto the top of your head again, as your bodies were fully touching. “Just a bit longer.”

Best friends don’t do this. But after all, I don’t want her as a friend, he thought.

͏ 🫙 ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ꪆ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏𔘓 ⠀ ⠀ .͏ 🫙 ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ꪆ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏𔘓 ⠀ ⠀ .͏ 🫙 ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ꪆ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏𔘓 ⠀

“How long is our flight, Drei?”

More than half of the team was waiting in line at Chipotle. Ever since you got to the airport, Andrei made sure to keep a close eye on you to make sure you were comfortable.

“About 2 hours. Chicago is not too far.” he answered with a smile.

Andrei swore you were making the eyes at him a little bit extra since last night. That, or he was feeling much more confident with all of this. Either way, he’d take it. He had never felt so warm, and relaxed on a team roadie before.

You looked so soft and cozy in your white loungewear, opting for something more comfortable than the team, who always dressed to the nines for travel. Andrei dreamed about spending a Saturday off with you, lounging and cuddling on the couch. Maybe even fucking the whole day, the sun peering through his curtains to show off your naked curves under him.

Just the thought of it gave him an uncontrollable impulse to grab your face and make you his already.

Yeah. Maybe a chain restaurant wasn’t the right place to do that for the first time either.

He just simply couldn’t stop staring at you, even when you were doing something so banal as ordering your food.

He loved how kindly you treated everyone - he realized he had never appreciated how gentle you were with everyone you met, unlike his entitled “I’m dating an NHL player” exes.

Before you could get your card too close to the chip reader, Andrei finished his order and swooped close to you.

Another bold move, he thought, but maybe not really, considering you just slept together in the same bed not that long ago.

He quickly got behind you, one hand delicately placed on the small of your back, while the other tapped his card on the reader.

“Hey! What are you doing, crazy?”

Your faces were dangerously close as you looked at him, smirking.

“You’re on a team trip. I am not going to make you pay for anything, Y/N.”

“I know, I know, but it’s just some food, Drei! I have money, you know.” you raised your eyebrows at him, his face still peering over your shoulder, bodies close together.

“Do not worry, okay? See, it’s done already.” he said, eyes finally peeling off the reader and meeting yours.

As you whispered a thank you, the urge almost overtook Andrei, his gaze finding your lips easily.

“C’mon, lovebirds, you’re holding up the line!”

“You either kiss quickly or we lose our flight.”

The young player kicked himself for forgetting the whole team was with them.

God, his mind was so hazy around you sometimes.

“Shut up!” he yelled, a bit too loudly. “I am.. so sorry. Here, I help you, let’s go.”. He rushed to grab the bag and lead you away from the guys before they could say anything else.

The whole team erupted in quiet laughs and smirks, as they followed the couple walking away, and Andrei subtly flipped them off, face now a whole different shade.

“I’m sorry, they are just-”

“Andrei. It’s okay. They’re just boys” you smiled at him, shrugging.

He knew she was right. They were just messing around, they didn’t know anything.

They only knew how he really felt about you.

͏ 🫙 ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ꪆ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏𔘓 ⠀ ⠀ .͏ 🫙 ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ꪆ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏𔘓 ⠀ ⠀ .͏ 🫙 ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ꪆ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏𔘓 ⠀ ⠀

“I am… capable of carrying things, you know that right?” you smirked at the flustered player, who was doing his best to balance his suitcase, and yours, his backpack, and the bags of food.

“What? No, I know. It’s just… you are my guest. So I make you feel comfortable.” he replied, kindly.

He hoped he wasn’t making a fool of himself. But you could see how hard he was trying for you. So when you got onto the tarmac, right before getting on the plane, you placed your hand on his strong shoulder.

“Andrei, honey, let me grab the food, at least. Here.” you extended your arm out and looped your fingers under the handles of the bags, slightly pulling.

…honey.

Andrei couldn’t recall any time before you had called him a pet name.

No, he knew. He would definitely remember that.

He kept his gaze low, a feeble attempt at hiding his smile, as you guys stepped on the plane.

He walked in first, making sure to widen his eyes at the guys that were already sitting around, chatting.

He meant it - no funny business. He should have talked to them before.

They all seemed to get the hint, nevertheless, trying their best to hide their smirks and winks, keeping their conversations going.

“Here okay?”

“Wherever you usually sit.” you shrugged.

Andrei chucked and placed your bags in the overhead.

You couldn’t help but stare at the way his biceps so easily moved the suitcase above his head, his back flexing, showing through the white button-up of his suit.

“Ready to eat?” he turned, flashing you a grin.

The feeling of your eyes on him as he moved just added to the already growing confidence that kept rising within. Luckily, you didn’t notice he noticed.

“So, you guys don’t feel silly traveling with full-on tuxes every week?” you asked, fork digging into your bowl.

Martin, Seth, and Sebastian, who were sitting around you and Andrei, quickly looked up at their teammate.

“Woah, Andrei, you weren’t lying when you said she’s feisty.”

Andrei waited for that familiar look to appear on your face.

His smile immediately got bigger when you turned to him, mouth open, and shoved your shoulder against his.

“Woah! What did you tell your friends?” you asked, eyes wide.

Andrei couldn’t get any words out, opting to raise his hands instead, shoulders up to his ears.

“I like it - you’re funny.” Neci chimed in, saving the day for the blushing Russian.

“They’re not tuxes!” Sebastian rolled his eyes.

“I mean, I’m serious! It’s not uncomfortable to travel in suits all the time?” you chuckled.

“Many times, these are the clothes that fit us the best.” Seth said. “We hockey players, we have weird bodies. Our thighs don’t fit into anything.”

“I like to get ready. We obviously know what your plans for this flight are, considering how comfortable you look.” Andrei added, mouth full of food.

“Oh, as soon as I’m done here I’m going to knock. out.” you laughed, only looking at him.

The guys all side-eyed each other, doing their best to keep quiet.

It was like they weren’t even there.

“You want to know a secret? There’s always a pull-out bed on the plane. I can show you.”

Andrei said, looking up at you.

“Yeah, Andrei can show you where the bed is.”

All 5 heads snapped towards the aisle. Of course.

Andrei did his best not to punch his teammate’s arm, who was leaning on his seat.

“I’m Jesperi. Nice to meet you.” the young guy extended his arm, past Andrei’s face, to introduce himself.

He didn’t know what this feeling was. Something Andrei hadn’t felt in a long time.

A rumbling in his stomach, tightening in his chest. He noticed his knuckles turning white, the grip around his fork getting stronger.

Something about KK holding his arm out in front of Andrei’s face, so close to him, crossing him, reaching out to you made his temples twitch.

Was he… jealous?

He really needed to get it together. His friend was only introducing himself…right?

Andrei’s gaze snapped up to his teammate as you shook his hand, his jaw unwillingly clenched.

“I didn’t see you before we got on the plane, I don’t think.” you added.

Neci subtly kicked Andrei under the retrievable table they were all eating on, noticing the tension in his friend’s body.

“Oh, this psycho opted for a burger instead of Chipotle.” Martin chirped, raising his eyebrows at Andrei.

The scrunching of your face let Andrei’s body relax for a second.

“That should tell you everything you need to know about him, Y/N. He’s not okay in here.” Andrei grinned while tapping on your forehead. It got the most beautiful sound in the world out of you. There’s nothing he loved more than to hear you laugh.

“I don’t trust anyone who doesn’t eat Chipotle. It should always be a first-round pick.” you answered with a wink at Andrei, grabbing his finger and gently holding it while placing it under the table.

All the guys looked at each other, while Jesperi struggled to get any chirps out.

Andrei smiled at his friends before turning back to his bowl, your hand still wrapped around his.

Win.

Andrei looked at you, now facing the airplane window beside you. You were illuminated perfectly by the reflection of the vanishing sun. He thought about kissing you once again. Most of the guys were sitting with their friends, quietly chatting, or sleeping. It would have not taken much of him to turn you around, lock eyes with you, and touch your lips with his.

He wanted to let himself go in your presence, in your body. The lust he felt was simply that. A desire to be swept away in you, inside you, within your aura, your body.

The feeling of your head gently bumping his shoulder snapped him out of his daydreams. He took a peek at you, soundly asleep on his arm. He dared to linger his fingers on your other hand, which you moved to his thigh. Andrei looked forward, taking a deep breath for the millionth time in the past week. Seeing your delicate touch so close to him, close to the center of his want for you, drove him mad. At the same time, it felt so… comforting. It made him feel present, accounted for, and appreciated. Your hand was letting him know I see you, I feel you, and I remember and crave your touch even as I sleep.

He adjusted your head, wrapping his arm around you and placing you in his embrace, before letting sleep and bliss take him into slumber.

The team got to the hotel as the stars were just starting to appear in the sky. Andrei didn’t let go of your suitcase once, not after you got off the plane, nor when you got to the hotel, no matter how much you insisted. He walked steadily beside you, guiding you through the usual steps of his routine. Plane, bus, hotel, room.

Room. Room. To his shock, as you walked into your room, there was only one bed.

“Uh..”

“Maybe the other one is the couch?” you asked, raising your hands.

“No, no. There’s definitely a mistake. Let me call the front desk.” As he picked up the phone, he noticed his fingers were clammy. Life really felt like it was playing tricks on him.

“It’s okay if they can’t change it, Drei. I mean, we’ll figure it out.” you said, as he waited for the hotel manager. Andrei smirked. Did you want to sleep together? he thought.

“Calm down, calm down. I’m just saying, you know, if, if, there’s no rooms or something.” you said, noticing his grin. You looked down at your lap, totally embarrassed by your suggestion. Andrei loved to see you flustered, in those rare moments he could rattle you.

“The manager said they’ll change our room before tonight. Want some food?” he asked, extending his arm out at you.

“Let’s go” you grinned.

Andrei’s chest puffed as he walked you downstairs, hand in hand with you.

He totally had this in the bag.

“Have a drink with me.”

You raised your eyebrows at him.

“Don’t we have stuff to do tomorrow?”

“Yeah, but I’m not playing. It’ll just be team stuff, you know.” Andrei smirked.

“Just one?”

“Just one.” he shrugged.

While waiting for the room to be changed, Andrei offered to invite you to dinner at the restaurant in the hotel. This was the best opportunity for him to have you all to himself, at least for a little while, before you guys started all of the team activities in the following days.

“Andrei, I barely drink! I wouldn’t even know what to order.” you sighed, looking down at the menu.

“I can pick for you. Just trust me, okay?” he said, accent as thick as ever.

Andrei could have used some alcohol anyways. The thought of possibly spending another night in the same bed as you drove him crazy. He swore his hands were shaking as the waiter handed them their drinks.

“Thank you. Okay, now you try it and then tell me.” he said, taking a sip.

“This tastes too good, Andrei. This is, like, dangerous” you spluttered out, blushing.

“Oh, you’re such lightweight. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” he laughed.

“Promise?” you asked, looking up at him, straw still in your mouth.

He stuck his pinky out at you, which you carefully wrapped around his.

You’d never had this much physical contact as friends as you did in the past couple of days. Sure, you hugged and had countless playfights. He thought he could never get enough of this - every time he felt your touch on his skin, Andrei craved more and more. He didn’t want your hand on his shoulder, he wanted it underneath his shirt. He wanted to wrap his body all around yours, let your presence completely physically overtake his senses.

“Promise. I got you, always.” he said, reaching his thumb around to squeeze your hand from across the table. The expression quickly softened on your face, making his heart skip a beat.

“Ready to order?”

The waiter seemed to appear out of nowhere, interrupting Andrei’s plan to perhaps run his fingers down your arm, craving the bliss of your skin under his.

“…what?” you asked him, mouth full of food. He knew he was practically staring at you, as he had the whole trip so far, but he couldn’t help it. Your response elicited a chuckle along with the small blush that spread over his cheeks.

“There’s food all over your face.” he said with a smile.

And that’s when time seemed to still.

Andrei’s arms easily found their way over the table; one of his hands wrapping around the base of your head, intertwining his fingers with your hair. He brought your face up and forward, almost forcing you to look at him. Your heart dropped, the feeling of his fingers already causing heat to pool between your legs. His other hand, armed with a napkin, proceeded to wipe your face, eyes focused on your lips as he cleaned you up.

“There you go. That’s better.” he said. As if that wasn’t enough, his strong hand still firmly gripping the back of your head, Andrei held your chin and swiped his thumb on the corner of your mouth, tracing it over your bottom lip. “There was some, um, something left there.” he quietly said, looking down, as he fully removed his touch from you, scrambling to grab his fork and shove food in his mouth. However, he felt your gaze on him still.

“You’re okay?” he asked, still facing his plate.

“Yes, uh, I’m okay. Thank you, Drei.”

“Yeah, uh, no problem.” he chuckled. His stomach churned at the feeling that he was acting like such an idiot. Maybe he was taking it too far, too fast.

“So, what made you invite me on this trip?” you asked.

“Of course I invite you! You’re my closest friend, Y/N.”

“I am?”

“Yes. I tell you everything.”

Well, not everything, he thought to himself. Not how much he wanted you to be his, only his.

“It means a lot that you want me here, Svech. Thank you. So much.”

Andrei’s eyes fixated on you again. He prayed that you couldn’t hear his heart beating out of his chest.

“I’m not going to lie, I am feeling a little nervous.” he sighed.

“Nervous? I thought you didn’t get nervous.” you smirked.

“I…I want you to have fun. Sometimes I think my life is too different from yours. I think that’s why I haven’t shown you too much. I am going all the time, traveling, playing, and out with the team. I hope you like it, really.” Andrei admitted.

“Oh, Andrei…. we see each other all the time! And we can talk about anything, right? I am really curious to see how it is. I’m super excited, Drei.” you reassured him.

He looked at you, his arms taking up most of the surface in front of him, making his shoulders somehow look even bulkier.

“You tell me if you want to go home, okay?”

“Home?” you asked, taken aback. “Oh, no. You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Svech. I’m freeloading off of you as much as possible this week.” you laughed, and he flicked some water from his straw at you.

He was happy you could cut the tension between them so easily. He thought he had never felt so comforted before.

“For someone who doesn’t drink you finished your drink pretty quick.” he raised his eyebrows at you.

“It was a good drink.” you shrugged, flipping your long hair behind your shoulders. The action made Andrei’s breath change pace, rapidly.

“You…want another one?” he asked.

Your face dropped, shaking your head.

“C’mon, I have one with you. Just one more?” he offered. “You don’t have to, just asking.”

“One more, troublemaker. And then we’re done.”

“Should I go check if our room is ready? It should be by now.” he smirked at you, handing the check back to the waiter.

Two drinks definitely had changed your inhibitions. Andrei could see the flush on your face under your tinted sunscreen, your hair looking more disheveled and overall, a cute giggling he didn’t usually get to see.

“I didn’t know two drinks were going to get you tipsy. Dude, you need to come out with me more.” he said, poking your nose.

“I’m not tipsy! Just really, really sleepy.” you said, looking up at him.

“Let’s go to sleep then. C’mon.”

Andrei stood up, offering you his arm again.

You headed over to the front desk, limbs interlocked together.

“Okay, Mr. Svechnikov, here’s the key to the new room. Have a great night.”

Andrei tried his best to focus on the hotel manager in front of him, even if all he really thought about was your head leaning on his shoulder, arms wrapped around his bicep.

God, how cute.

In the elevator ride up, he realized how much he liked to see you so close to him. You looked like a couple. Like a real couple. The reflection in the mirror showing him what it would really look like if you became his.

He really, really could get used to this.

Head totally in the clouds, he didn’t notice Martinook and Staal walking towards him, at the opposite end of the hallway when they reached their floor.

Andrei nodded at them, hoping they’d get the hint to just keep walking.

They mostly did, except for Jordan, who gently stopped him, whispering in his ear.

“I heard about the room and talked to the lady for you. You’re so welcome.” he winked, and just like that, kept going, not daring to look back at his younger teammate.

What?

Oh.

Oh no, oh no, oh no.

Andrei scrambled to open the hotel door, your body still wrapped around his arm, clueless.

There it was.

One bed.

A bigger bed, for sure, but just one, singular mattress.

“Shit.” he whispered, running a hand through his hair.

The hotel workers even managed to set their suitcases in the closet already.

“Oh, Svechy, who cares. Let��s just go to sleep.” you said, softly, walking backward before falling onto the comforter.

Andrei was dumbstruck. Frozen. Staring at you, splayed out on his bed.

One random night was very different than a whole week.

“Is that okay with you?” you sat up on your elbows, extending one arm towards him.

“Uh, yes. It’s okay. Yeah, it’s fine.” he walked slowly towards you, melting as he grabbed your hand.

Good, you whispered, looking up at him, rubbing your thumb against his hand.

Your head fell back onto the bed, hard.

“Andrei, it’s so soft! I didn’t know you guys traveled this comfortably” you giggled.

“You’re just drunk, Y/N” he shook his head.

“Am. Not!” you said, throwing a pillow at his head.

“Woah, woah. This might not be the best move for you right now.” Andrei laughed, poking at your ribs.

“You just say that because you know I’m already getting stronger than you.”

“Ha!” he realized he was at a loss for words, seeing you laying down all flushed in front of him.

“Whatever you say, drunky.”

As he walked towards the bathroom, Andrei took a deep breath. Just the night before, he had cum in his pants from just a dream. He really couldn’t mess this up, let you see him like that - it would have ruined everything.

A plan, a plan.

He didn’t have one.

Cold showers, he guessed. A lot of blankets. And bathroom breaks.

He huffed, before opening the door. All the tension left him as he saw you curled up in the middle of the bed, sound asleep.

He wanted to wrap his arms around you, and kiss you all over until his eyes felt heavy.

Instead, he swooped your body in his arms and tucked you under the blankets. Again. And that cozy feeling spread all throughout his chest again.

“You’re such a good friend, Svech.”

A friend. Oof. Her sentence felt like a punch in the gut. Andrei leaned down and kissed your forehead.

Before he could head back into the bathroom, your arms leaned out to grab him.

“Another one.” you mumbled.

Andrei proceeded to plant another kiss by your hairline, inhaling the scent of your shampoo.

His heart beating overtime.

Were these mixed signals? Was he just confused?

Maybe you were just tipsy, and that’s why you were so touchy. Even though… he thought you had been like that for the past two days, completely sober.

Wait it out. See what happens.

That’s what his brother would tell him. So he caressed your hair, and moved to get ready for bed. He’d wait it out, he thought, your arms wrapping around him as he got into bed.

What he didn’t know was that this was going to go a lot better than he could have ever imagined.

#andrei svechnikov #andrei svechnikov x reader #andrei svechnikov fic #andrei svechnikov imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl #carolina hurricanes

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