#and so to find out he's got this guy - and it's this guy that he talked so much about to michael - would be so relieving and wonderful | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

buckysleftbicep · 3 days ago

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bent and bruised (4) 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!ex-hydra!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, non-con/dub-con themes under HYDRA conditioning (flashback), heavy angst, bucky's guilt, HYDRA related trauma and abuse, memory suppression, emotional breakdowns, mentions of torture and cryo, unprotected sex, creampie, emotional sex

summary: you were built by HYDRA to please the soldier—then left for dead. years later, bucky sees your face again. but no amount of time can erase the way you once whispered his name through tears. inspired by this request

word count: 5.4k

author's note: hi my sweethearts! chapter 4 is finally up! gosh, it took me a full day to write this, and genuinely, so much of my heart has went into this series ❤️ and i hope that you guys will love this chapter as much as i do! i am always grateful for the support from you which motivates me to write 🥹💓 i love you guys and please stay safe out there!

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It had been nearly a month.

Since the collapse. Since the flames. Since Bucky carried your limp body out of rubble and ruin with blood in his throat and your name breaking over his teeth like a prayer he hadn’t earned the right to say.

Recovery came in fragments. You didn’t wake up whole. You didn’t wake up you. Healing was slow—not just in flesh and bone, but in the quiet, broken machinery of your mind.

Some mornings you opened your eyes and couldn’t remember your own name until someone said it.

Other days, it rolled too easily off your tongue, like muscle memory, while everything else felt like static.

The team didn’t ask questions. Not the important ones.

But Bucky… Bucky never really left.

He didn’t hover. He didn’t talk much. But he stayed.

A fixed point in your periphery, silent and steady like gravity. You’d turn your head and find him there—sitting in the corner of the medbay in the dark, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like he could see the shape of your soul etched in the tiles.

Sometimes he brought things.

A cracked paperback you hadn’t asked for. The soft blanket from the common room, worn at the edges, smelling faintly of cedar.

A water bottle he’d already uncapped for you, placed in your palm just before your throat got dry enough to ache.

Quiet gestures. Gentle offerings.

When you could finally stand without the world around you practically spinning, he helped you take the first few steps.

He didn’t guide you like a nurse—there was no forced gentleness. He was a presence at your side, solid and wordless. His hands would hover at your waist, the callused pads of his fingers barely grazing your ribs as you found your balance again.

But he never lingered.

Never touched you for longer than necessary. Never let himself want.

Even then, the tension was unbearable.

It pressed into the air between you like a storm front. Not new, not sudden. Old and starved and still too dangerous to name. It lived in the spaces between glances. In the pauses between words. In the way your breath always caught before his name.

You didn’t call it love.

Not yet. Not when it still felt like something torn from you, stitched back with the wrong thread.

But it was there—burning beneath the skin. Something once soft turned jagged. Something left behind in a room you couldn’t remember, but your body had never left.

And now… they’d cleared you.

Light training. No combat. Just movement. Reorientation. “Reintegration” as Val had called it, as if your mind and body were separate machines that had lost signal.

You weren’t sure if she believed that. You weren’t sure if you did either.

And of course—of course—they’d assigned Bucky to oversee your session.

The training room was as clinical as ever. Still, silent, stripped of distraction. Rows of padded mats laid out in quiet geometry.

The walls gray. The air chilled, no music, no background chatter. Just the high, electric hum of fluorescents and the whisper of your bare feet against rubber.

He stood several paces away. Arms crossed. Eyes tracking your every move.

Not invasive. Just… watchful.

Like he knew what it felt like to move in a body that had once been used against you.

You didn’t speak. Neither did he.

You stretched slowly, deliberately, muscles groaning with each extension. Tight. Resistant. But obedient. Your arms moved through familiar shapes, hips shifting to accommodate old weight distributions. Every breath came like you were borrowing someone else’s lungs.

Still—your body remembered.

Muscle memory. Instinct buried in the blood.

You flowed through the motions like a ghost moving through old ruins, letting your limbs carry you forward while your mind lagged somewhere behind.

Bucky’s gaze stayed with you. Never wandering. Never slipping. Just… there.

And when your posture slipped—when the angle of your elbow faltered—he stepped forward.

“Drop your shoulder,” he murmured, voice soft, low. Controlled. “Elbow higher. Like this.”

And then—his hand touched you.

Not firmly. Not boldly. Just the softest brush of his fingertips against your shoulder blade, correcting your alignment with the same ease he might guide a weapon into place.

No hesitation. No hesitation at all. As though his hand had always known where to find you.

But the second his skin touched yours—everything shattered.

It wasn’t just memory. It wasn’t just a flash.

It was a fucking detonation.

Your lungs seized. Your knees buckled.

Your vision didn’t blur—it replaced itself.

You were naked. Laid bare across cold sheets, back arched against the unforgiving steel of a table that creaked beneath every motion.

The air was damp. Your thighs slick with sweat, lips parted around a breathless cry that barely made a sound.

He was inside you. Not violently. Not with the detachment of routine. With intention—with devotion.

Each stroke of his hips was slow. Deep, measured.

Like he was trying to stretch time around you, like he was writing something into the lining of your body with every thrust, every roll of his pelvis pressed flush against your heat.

His hand gripped your hip—tight, trembling—the pads of his fingers bruising you with possession. The other, the metal one, cupped your cheek like you were something fragile.

Something holy.

His mouth hovered by your ear.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

Then, lower. Rougher.

“You’re mine.”

The words were a plea. A punishment. A prayer. Spoken like they tore him open just to say it.

And you—

You weren’t scared. You weren’t broken.

You pulled him deeper.

Your nails raked down his back, drawing thin lines through sweat-slick skin. His breath stuttered. His body bucked. He buried himself to the hilt in you with a groan that bordered on a sob.

He kissed your shoulder. Your jaw, your lips. Messy and shaking, mouth slick with desperation, like he was starving and you were the only thing that had ever fed him.

And you—god, you gave it to him.

Every whimper. Every tremor. Every broken sound.

Because it wasn’t sex. It was a man finding the last piece of himself inside the body of someone he wasn’t supposed to love.

You came back into yourself with a jolt.

Your body recoiled before your brain could catch up. You staggered back a step, a strangled breath catching in your throat like a sob choked off mid-sentence.

“Don’t—” you gasped, voice raw.

Your arm flew up instinctively, shielding your chest like you expected another memory to slam into you with teeth.

Bucky’s hand snapped back instantly, palms raised, eyes wide.

“I didn’t—” he started, voice low, rattled. But he didn’t finish.

He saw your face. The devastation. The betrayal of recognition.

And he knew.

He knew what you’d just seen.

You swallowed. Hard. The taste of him was still in your mouth. The ghost of him still pulsed between your thighs.

Your fingers trembled at your side.

“What…” your voice was barely a whisper. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

But something behind his eyes crumpled like paper soaked in blood.

You turned and fled the room before he could answer. Before he could lie.

Before he could not lie.

Because whatever that memory was—whoever that man had been, inside you, above you, holding you like he’d never get another chance—you knew two things:

You had loved him. And that man could very well be Bucky.

You stormed out without looking back.

The door slammed open, crashing into the wall behind you with a hollow, reverberating crack that rang down the corridor like a warning bell.

But the sound didn’t register—not really.

The only thing you could hear was your own pulse, pounding like war drums in your ears. Your breath tore in and out of your lungs with no rhythm, shallow and sharp, chest heaving as if the air itself was too thick to swallow.

You didn’t have a destination. You didn’t need one. You just needed distance.

Distance from him. From the walls of that training room. From the echo of his voice in your memory—mine, spoken with such unbearable reverence it had sunk into your bones like heat.

It was still clinging to your skin, that memory. Still pressing against the insides of your ribs like smoke trying to escape.

You could feel it in the throb between your thighs, in the ghost of his mouth on your throat, in the way your muscles still ached with the rhythm of a man’s body that had moved above you with trembling restraint.

You hadn’t just remembered it—you’d relived it. And your body had welcomed it like something holy. Something lost.

It was him.

The weight of his chest against yours, the shape of his hips fitting yours like they’d been carved to match. The breathless heat of his mouth whispering against your neck—you’re mine—like he’d meant it, like it had nearly broken him to say it out loud.

That wasn’t just memory. It was truth. And it had shattered you from the inside out.

You felt violated—not by him, but by yourself. By your mind, your body. By the truth of it.

Like something sacred had been pulled from the depths of your soul, laid bare, and forced into the light before you were ready. A dream you hadn’t consented to.

A memory played on loop with your body still trembling from the aftershocks.

And the worst part—the part that hollowed you out completely—was how deeply, how viscerally, you’d wanted it.

You turned a sharp corner, bare feet sliding slightly on the tile, and scanned the hallway for escape.

Your lungs were too tight. Your skin burned. You needed the dark. You needed silence. You needed somewhere you could scream without anyone hearing it.

That’s when you saw it—half-open, forgotten. The storage room.

No lights. No windows. Just shadows and space and shelves of gear collecting dust.

You slipped inside without hesitation, hand reaching back to close the door softly behind you. The latch clicked into place with a finality that felt more like a lock snapping shut around your chest.

But you weren’t alone.

You hadn’t heard him follow you—but you knew. You felt him.

The air shifted just slightly behind you.

A faint current. A gravity.

And then—he was there.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t step forward. Just stood in the doorway, motionless, cast in a wash of gray from the light leaking in through the cracked door.

His shoulders were hunched tight beneath his hoodie, arms loose at his sides, posture strained with restraint. Like he knew if he moved too fast, you might vanish entirely.

It didn’t matter.

You spun on him anyway, heart thudding so violently you could feel it in your palms, in your throat. The rage was already in you—rising fast, sharp as a blade and twice as lethal.

It wasn’t clean anger. It was tangled. Desperate. Grief and confusion and betrayal, all knotted tight behind your teeth.

Your finger jabbed into his chest with more force than you intended. His body didn’t move. But his breath caught.

“I want the truth,” you demanded, voice a raw crackle. “What did they do to us?”

You saw it instantly—the way his eyes flicked away. Like a reflex. Like shame.

His mouth opened. Closed.

“I—” he started, jaw flexing. “We were prisoners. We survived. We—”

You cut him off with a snarl. “Don’t fucking lie to me.”

The words detonated. They didn’t echo—they reverberated. Slammed off the walls and bounced back with all the fury you couldn’t hold in. Your fists clenched at your sides, nails digging crescent moons into your palms.

His face didn’t move. But his entire body locked down.

Rigid. Silent. Like the weight of the truth was pressing down on every vertebrae, threatening to split him open if he said one more word.

“Don’t do that,” you spat. “Don’t stand there and act like we were just survivors. Like it was torture and nothing else.”

Still, he didn’t speak.

Your voice cracked. You didn’t care.

“Because I see it, James.”

His name fell from your lips like an accusation. Or a confession.

You took a shaky step forward. “Every night. I close my eyes, and I see your body on top of mine. I feel your hands. Holding me like I was something… something you didn’t want to break. Someone you were trying to keep alive.”

And finally—finally—he looked at you.

You almost wished he hadn’t.

Because what you saw in his face wasn’t denial. It wasn’t confusion. It was recognition.

And guilt.

So much guilt it looked like it might drown him. His mouth parted slightly, like he wanted to speak—but no words came. Only the flicker of a memory neither of you had asked for, now burning behind both pairs of eyes.

“I feel it,” you whispered, and your voice was so quiet it almost didn’t sound like your own. “I fucking feel it. But I can’t see your face. It’s like someone carved it out of my god damn memory, and all that’s left is everything else. The hands. The voice. The—” Your voice broke, your chest trembling. “The way it felt. And it’s driving me insane.”

He stepped toward you—just one step. A single shift forward.

And you stepped back like you’d been burned.

Your back hit the shelf behind you, shoulders slumping slightly under the weight of everything coming undone.

Your hands trembled at your sides. Your heart felt like it had torn in two and couldn’t figure out how to beat around the split.

And then—barely audible. Fragile.

“It was you… wasn’t it?”

The silence that followed was deafening.

It pressed in from every direction, thick and suffocating, the weight of unspoken things crashing like waves in the dark.

And then—you saw it.

The moment he broke.

His shoulders collapsed inward, like something inside him had finally given out. His head bowed. His eyes closed. His lips parted around a breath that sounded like a sob he didn’t want you to hear. His hands, once clenched into restrained fists, fell loose and helpless at his sides.

“Yes,” he said, and the word was barely more than breath. “It was me.”

The floor shifted under your feet. Not physically. Emotionally. It was like the world tipped sideways, like the ground beneath your ribs hollowed out and took your balance with it.

Your knees buckled. Your shoulder catching the edge of the shelf for support. Your breath faltered. Your vision blurred.

Because it was him. It had always been him.

And now—you couldn’t un-know it. Couldn’t outrun it. Couldn’t undo the way your soul had always known the shape of his.

There was no going back now.

Only through.

The silence that followed his confession didn’t soothe. It scraped.

The air in the room felt colder, somehow—denser. Like the shadows had multiplied, curling around the racks of supplies, slipping beneath the doorframe to listen.

Your spine pressed to the shelf behind you, heartbeat still ragged, fingers flexing at your sides like you didn’t know whether to run or reach for him.

He didn’t move. Not at first. Just stood there across from you, chest rising and falling like he’d just crawled out of a grave. Like saying those words—yes, it was me—had gutted him open from the inside.

When he did speak, his voice was rough. Wrecked.

“They put you in my cell,” he said, each word careful, as though afraid to drop them too hard. “Said you were mine. That you… that I could have you.”

You didn’t breathe.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours—and the look in them nearly undid you. Not lust. Not possession. Regret. Bone-deep. Aged. Like it had lived in him for years.

“They told me you were built for me,” he continued, slower now. “That you were designed for me. Said you wouldn’t feel pain. That you’d… want it. That it was what you were made for.”

He swallowed hard. A muscle in his jaw jumped.

“I didn’t believe them. Not at first. I—I didn’t even know how to want anything back then. I was still… gone, still on HYDRA's leash. But they told me you were compliant. That your programming would respond to mine."

Your stomach twisted.

“I didn’t know you,” he rasped. “I didn’t even know me. But they gave the order. So I obeyed.”

He stepped forward once, like he couldn’t stand being that far away from the truth anymore. His hand lifted half a breath, then fell again.

“I touched you the first night,” he admitted, and his voice broke around the word. “Not because I wanted to. Because I didn’t know what else I could do. I thought I was following orders that would spare you worse.”

Your breath came shallow, tears starting to pool hot behind your eyes.

You couldn’t blink. Couldn’t look away. Couldn’t not listen.

“But you…” he continued, softer now, as if the memory was something fragile. “You weren’t afraid. You weren’t empty like they said. You—looked at me.”

He swallowed again, chest rising with the effort.

“You touched me.”

His voice cracked around it, that last word, like it still didn’t make sense to him all these years later.

“You said my name. James.” His eyes burned, and he blinked like the memory stung.

The quiet between you pulsed, heavy and electric.

“Even after they’d dragged you back bloody and broken, too many times to count. And when they wiped your memory—when they tried to scrub everything clean—you still remembered me. Every time.”

You covered your mouth with one shaking hand, the sob building at the back of your throat thick and hot and impossible to hold.

“You never looked at me like a monster,” he whispered. “Even after the first time. Even when I didn’t know what it meant to be touched. You looked at me like I was still a man that could be loved.”

He took another step toward you.

“You used to kiss my scars,” he said, and the memory made his mouth tremble. “Talk to me in the dark. Tell me you wanted me. Not because they told you to. Not because it was your programming. Just because it was me.”

The tears spilled from your eyes before you could stop them.

He didn’t touch you. Didn’t dare.

“I didn’t believe you,” he confessed. “Not then. Not really. But I held onto it, you were the only real thing I had.”

His gaze dropped to the floor.

“I told myself I was protecting you. That if I made them believe I was following the plan, if I gave them what they wanted, they’d stop hurting you. That if I kept you close, I could keep you safe.”

He paused. And when he looked back up, his voice cracked open entirely.

“They broke you for me,” he said, the words thick, trembling. “And I let them. I fucking let them. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t fight them. I tried, sweetheart. I tried—” He cut himself off, pressing the heel of his palm to his brow like he was trying to press it all back in.

“I watched them put you in the chair,” he whispered. “Heard you scream. And every time they brought you back, you’d forgotten just a little more. And I kept holding you anyway. Like maybe I could hold onto the pieces long enough to keep you whole.”

Your knees gave out.

You sank down slowly, back sliding down the metal shelving until you were seated on the cold tile, knees tucked to your chest, shoulders trembling with silent sobs.

The tears came hot and heavy, streaking your cheeks, your chin, soaking into the collar of your shirt. You didn’t make a sound. But it wrecked you all the same.

Because it made sense. Every part of it.

The pull you felt when he entered a room. The ache in your chest. The way your body remembered something your mind couldn’t touch. It had always been him.

And now you understood why.

“I used to say your name,” you whispered, barely audible over your breath.

His chest hitched. “You did.”

He knelt slowly, as if afraid to shatter whatever was left between you.

“You used to hold me after,” he said, voice shaking. “And when they saw that—when they realised I was…feeling something —they started putting me in the chair again. Every time you made me softer, they shocked it out of me. But it didn’t work, not completely. Because you kept coming back. You kept finding me. Until you started to remember too much.”

He swallowed hard. “That’s when they wiped you clean.”

You stared at him through tear-blurred eyes. “You knew me all this time?”

His answer came without hesitation. “I did.”

His voice was lower now. Almost ashamed.

“You were the first person I asked about when I escaped HYDRA. When the memories started coming back in fragments—I went to Steve. Asked him if you’d ever been found. If anyone had seen you. If you were still…” He stopped himself. His jaw clenched. “When he told me HYDRA had written you off as dead—I thought I’d never see you again.”

He dragged a hand through his hair, pulling it back from his face with a soft, anguished groan.

“But I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Couldn’t stop dreaming about you. For years, I saw you in my sleep. Heard your voice. I remembered how it felt to be wanted. I remembered the way you said my name, how you held me in that room".

His eyes lifted again. Shining. Raw.

“I know what I felt in that fucking cell was real.”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. You were just… there. Drenched in the truth. Cracked open by it. Heart splintered into pieces too jagged to fit back together.

Something in you shifted. Snapped. Broke free like a tremor ripping through fault lines that had been quietly, patiently waiting for the right pressure to come undone.

Before he could say anything else—before the shame in his eyes could kill you all over again—you crossed the room in two furious, breathless steps and grabbed the collar of his shirt with both hands. You yanked him down and kissed him.

No warning. No pause.

It was not gentle. It was not sweet. It was a goddamn storm.

Your mouth crashed into his like you were trying to consume him, like the ache in your chest needed to be dragged out of you by force. He gasped against your lips, the sound ragged and helpless, before his hands shot to your hips—gripping, anchoring, holding tight like he didn’t believe you were real.

His groan vibrated through his throat and into yours as he kissed you back—hard, hungry, full of restraint that had finally snapped.

It wasn’t soft. It was confession. It was grief and guilt and years of stolen time pressed into teeth and tongue and bruising touch.

You pushed him backward without thinking. Your hands curled into the front of his shirt as you drove him into the wall, breath tearing from your lungs, teeth scraping against his bottom lip as he fumbled for purchase, groaning your name like a prayer he hadn’t dared speak in years.

He grabbed at you like a dying man—hands spreading over your back, dragging down your spine, squeezing your thighs like he needed to feel you to survive.

And then your back hit the door. Hard. You gasped, the sound punched from your lungs, but you didn’t stop—not for a second.

Your hands were already under his shirt, yanking it up, bunching the fabric over his chest as you kissed him again—sloppier now, wetter, more frantic.

He pulled away only long enough to tear the damn thing over his head and toss it blindly behind him. And then his mouth was on your neck.

Not teasing. Not coaxing. Devouring.

His teeth scraped your throat, tongue following in a heated trail that made your thighs clench around his hips. You dragged your nails down his chest, groaning at the feel of his body—familiar, built for you, already yours.

He shoved his hand between your legs, under the hem of your shorts, palm pressing hard against your clothed cunt until you arched against him with a gasp.

Your underwear was soaked. He cursed under his breath—low, guttural.

You hooked a leg around his waist, dragging him tighter, letting him grind against you, both of you still half-dressed, half-mad. You reached between you and shoved at his waistband, fingers fumbling with his belt as he kissed you again, messier this time, mouth open and breath hot.

His hands were everywhere—sliding up your shirt, tugging it over your head, cupping your tits like he remembered them.

When he shoved his pants low, cock springing free, you moaned at the sight of it—thick and flushed and already wet at the tip.

He reached down, pushed your shorts aside, hooked a finger into your panties and dragged them roughly to the side until you were bare beneath him.

He hesitated for only a second. His eyes flicked to yours—burning. Haunted.

“You don’t remember me,” he said, voice cracking. “Not really.”

You reached for his face. Touched his jaw. Brushed your thumb over his cheek like you’d done a hundred times in that cell.

“But I feel you,” you whispered. “I remember this.”

And that was all it took.

He grabbed your thigh and lifted you higher, pinned you to the door with a groan, and thrust into you in one brutal, beautiful stroke.

Your mouth fell open in a gasp—head snapping back, fingers scrambling for balance against the door as his cock filled you, stretched you, split you open in a way that felt too perfect to be new.

Like your body had been built to remember him. Like it did.

He didn’t wait. Didn’t give you time to breathe.

He fucked you like a man possessed—hips snapping into yours, hand gripping the back of your thigh to hold you in place, the other buried in your hair. His forehead dropped to yours as he moved, breath hot and harsh against your lips.

He was everywhere. All of him. The weight of his chest pressing you to the door, the scrape of his stubble against your jaw, the slam of his cock inside you, deep and raw and relentless.

There was no rhythm. Only need.

He fucked you like he was trying to erase time. Like he was punishing himself for every second you’d spent not knowing his name. Like if he could just bury himself deep enough, you’d remember every night you’d spent tangled together in the dark.

You came fast.

It hit like lightning—sharp, electric, sudden—your whole body shaking as your arms wrapped around his shoulders, holding tight, clutching him like an anchor in a world that wouldn’t stop spinning.

Your cunt clenched around him, tight and pulsing, and he groaned—a low, broken sound—and spilled into you with a final, stuttering thrust that felt like a confession.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, forehead pressed to your shoulder as he breathed through it, body shaking.

And for a moment—for a single, breathless second—

It felt like home.

But then— The guilt returned. Like it always did.

He pulled back, still inside you, his face devastated, eyes wide and glassy. His hands trembled on your thighs. His breath came too fast.

“I can’t,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Not like this. You don’t remember me. And we—”

“James.” You reached for him again, desperate.

“We shouldn’t have,” he said, the words shaking. “You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t choose me. You don’t even know me.”

You swallowed. “But I wanted it.”

He looked at you like that only made it worse.

He didn’t stay.

Didn’t say another word.

He stepped back, hands falling away, head down, and walked out the door like the ghost he’d always been.

And you—

You didn’t stop him.

Because you were too busy sliding down the door, back hitting the floor, your thighs still wet with him, your body still echoing with the memory of his hands—and the empty space he left behind.

You lay on your bed in the dark.

The lights were off. The room was still. The hum of the compound’s night cycle buzzed faintly through the vents, soft and steady, like a mechanical lullaby too hollow to comfort. Even the silence felt like it was watching you—quiet, patient, endless.

You hadn’t moved in hours.

The sheets beneath you were twisted, rumpled from tossing, the faint scent of antiseptic still clinging to the cotton from your medbay stay.

Your limbs felt foreign—heavy and strange, like they belonged to someone else.

Your body ached—not just from him, not just from the way he’d held you to the door and fucked the breath out of your lungs—but from something deeper. Something that had been hiding in your marrow, buried beneath frost and programming and grief.

Your muscles were sore. Your throat was raw. Like the weight of remembering had torn through every nerve ending, every fragile thread of denial you’d still been clinging to.

You stared at the ceiling.

Blank. Colourless. Still.

The same ceiling you’d stared at the night after the mission. The same one you’d counted cracks in when the dreams started.

It looked the same now—but it felt different. Like something in the air had shifted. Like the truth had saturated the walls.

There were no thoughts left to chase. No fantasies left to run to. No lies left to wrap yourself in. The truth had been stripped down to the bone, and it sat with you now—quiet and heavy, like an old wound reopened. Like a ghost that had been beside you all along.

You had loved him. You had known him.

And now, knowing that—feeling it—was the worst kind of mercy.

And then—

A whisper.

Not out loud. Not in the room. But inside you.

A thread of memory, soft and fraying at the edges. It didn’t come with images. It wasn’t visual. It was sound. Scent. Weight.

The unmistakable presence of his body curled around yours in the dark, arms wrapped tight around your waist, chest pressed to your back, the low hum of his breath against your skin like a vow being made for no one but you.

His voice. That voice.

“I’ll keep them away from you,” he’d said. Barely above a whisper, broken and certain all at once. Like he was making a promise with his whole body. Like he knew he couldn’t keep it—but meant to die trying anyway.

“I swear.”

Your eyes blinked open again. The ceiling blurred.

Your chest stung, your throat tight with unshed ache. Your eyes burned with the sting of something that didn’t quite feel like grief. Not anymore. Not just pain. It was heavier. More complicated. A kind of sorrow that bled at the edges with memory.

With meaning. Because you remembered.

Not all of it. Not clearly. But enough.

Enough to crack the ice that had lived in your chest since the day they pulled you out of cryo, since the first scream you couldn’t place, since the first phantom bruise your body remembered without context. Enough to fill in the negative space of every nightmare with the shape of the man who had been beside you through it all.

Enough to feel the name form in your mouth like it had always lived there. Waiting.

“James.”

It escaped like breath. Like prayer. A whisper shaped from ash and ember and aching remembrance.

The sound didn’t echo. It settled.

Like it belonged here. Like it always had.

And in the silence that followed, your heart beat once—slow and steady and unbearably tender—like it recognised the name too. Like some part of you had been holding its breath for years just waiting for that moment. For him.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t move.

You just lay there—staring into the dark, blinking through the blur, wrapped in memory, in ache, in the unbearable silence of a future that might never come. Wrapped in something too quiet to be called hope, but too warm, too human, to be despair.

You said his name. You remembered. And it was enough.

It had to be.

a/n: i'll see you guys in chapter 5! it's probably one of the most painful things i've written in a while, and gosh, i cant wait to proofread and post it up! ❤️ please leave a comment or a reblog if you enjoyed this chapter! thank you for your support 🥹

taglist: @poisntree @moth-maam56 @ravenswritingroom @heymydearheart @secretdiaryofzai @whitelaxe @ficmeiguess @its-in-the-woods @chronicallybubbly @stell404 @overwintering-soldier @emilyswortwellen @vampirehimejoshi @chimmysoftpaws @herejustforbuckybarnes @s0urw00lf @cheeseman @onlyforyuto @hibiscy @quinquinquincy @wickedfun9 @bugs-n-roses @alicetesser @hibiscy @onlyforyuto

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brokenengene · 3 days ago

Text

✩ ‧ ₊˚ share one seat - y.jw

He won the race. But when she takes control in the backseat? That’s when he learns what winning really feels like.

pairing: racecar driver!jungwon x pit crew!fem reader

genre: NASCAR au, smut, sports romance

This content is only for readers 18+

content warning: strong language, explicit sexual content, car sex (obviously), oral sex (f + m receiving), subby!jungwon, angst, emotional tension, power dynamic themes, suggestive dialogue, light dom/sub, dirty talk, car innuendos,

word count: 11k

soundtrack: sports car-tate mcrae/ dear god- tate mcrae/ collide(solo version) - justine skye

The last thing you needed was a last-minute switch-up.

You bend over the open hood of one of Toyota's fastest race cars. Your arms are already elbow-deep in grease and grime. The familiar smell of oil and grime fills the air of the cold garage.

There's race tonight, and you were tasked with making sure every detail was perfect.

This job is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Especially for a woman, even more so for a woman like you.

It wasn’t easy, it seemed like every day there was another backhanded compliment, another guy staring too hard at your boobs. You didn’t take shit, and soon the whole crew knew exactly the type of woman you were.

You got word this morning that there’s a new rookie in town. Flown in straight from South Korea last night.

Bold move.

To say the least, you're not excited to meet him. You’ve seen it enough times. Boys all talk, no real bite. Cocky and reckless.

You were sure this new rookie was the same.

You’ve seen it time and time again how quick they ruin their image.

He probably won’t last a month before the sponsors pull him out.

You check the racecar's oil before taking a dirty rag to clean your hands from the grease. To be sure, you take one last look under the car hood.

Looks perfect, so you shut the front hood with a loud slam that echoes off the walls.

You step back, admiring the car. You truly do have a love for them. It’s sexy the way it sits low to the ground, ready to take off at max speed across the startling line.

The way the body is welded to curve against the wind. The deep crimson is decorated with vinyls from sponsors.

And his name is already there, freshly painted in white onto the side of the racecar—

Y.Jungwon

You roll your eyes.

You open the garage door, letting the sunlight in through the cracks. In the distance, you see the figure of a young man approaching the door. Helmet held loosely at his side, fireproof suit already zipped to his collar.

Jungwon.

You cross your arms and lean against the car as he comes into view. He’s prettier than you expected. Too pretty.

His eyes are big and round, dark pools that reflected the harsh rays of the sun. His skin a smooth, glassy porcelain.

Guess he is hot shit.

None of the other rookies were this pretty, you'll give him that.

Your eyes linger as he steps closer. His suit hugged his figure perfectly, the leather settling into every curve of his muscles.

Shit…

He walks into the garage like he’s already won the damn race. A smirk on his lips and confidence in his stride.

You’re already sick of it.

“That’s all for me?” Jungwon asks with a playful smirk as he steps into the garage, his eyes flicking between you and the car.

“Wow, not even an introduction, typical,” you say, rolling your eyes again.

The things you would give for this season to be over already.

“Name's Jungwon, figured you already knew since it’s you know painted on the side of the car?” He teases as he lets a gloved hand trace across the edges of his new racecar, right across his painted name.

“By any chance, do you know where I could find my Crew Chief?” Jungwon asks, tearing his gaze away from the car to glance at you.

Here you are standing in front of him covered in oil. Your mechanic's uniform is tied loosely around your waist to keep you cool.

You’re just left in a grimy white tank, showing off your collarbone and cleavage. Again, you weren’t expecting to meet him so soon.

You let the question hang thick in the air. His eyes drag shamelessly down your figure, gaze lingering on your waist and hips before your voice snaps him back to reality.

“You’re looking right at her—“

If Jungwon had a drink in his mouth, he would’ve spit it out. His eyes go wide. No way. You? Crew Chief?

“Y–you? M–my?.” He says a voice frantically stuttering... He wasn’t expecting a woman, let alone one just his type, to be his new track guide.

“Here to make sure you step off that track in one piece,” you say playfully. Clapping your hands together to remove the rest of the dirt.

Jungwon chuckles before rounding the car to stand right in front of you.

He extends a gloved leather hand. You glance down at it, hesitating.

Of course, you want to win; if you want a good season, you know the two of you need to work together.

So you push down the hard feelings for now. For your sake and Toyota's.

Your heart skips a beat as you take his hand, feeling how warm it is underneath the leather. It’s just a handshake, but the gesture feels like so much more.

Hell, this boy's life is in your hands now.

Guess the stakes are high.

Later that night, you arrive at the racetrack. The stands are illuminated with bright white lights. The crowd thumping and cheering loudly.

You’ve changed out of your mechanical attire into your uniform. The same crimson red that was also painted across the racecar.

You immediately snap into work mode, barking orders to your crew. Checking that extra tires are in place, and that there’s plenty of fuel on standby.

You watch as Jungwon slips into his gear. Cheeks flushing as you glance at how the leather holds his body.

Too bad that cocky smirk ruins his whole build.

“Jungwon, you’ve got 15 minutes before countdown —“ you stay sternly through your headset.

It cuts into silence as you drag your boots across the scorching asphalt toward the loading dock where Jungwon and the car are stationed.

Jungwon fixes his posture as he sees you approaching. Like he’s trying to cover up jet lag and nerves all at once.

You chuckle to yourself as you approach him with a confident smile.

“You ready for this?” You ask breathlessly as you glance at his expression. Jaw tight, shoulders tense, chipping at his confidence.

You step closer to him, and the smell of leather and cologne makes your head spin. He lets you in his space until there are only a few inches between you.

“Never been more ready.” He replies with a cocky tone. Lips curving into a smile.

But you heard it, that tremble in his voice.

Jungwon dips low into the driver's side of the car. Exhaling sharply as he leans back against the seat.

His hands already trembling and he doesn’t exactly know why.

You bend down, leaning across him to grab the harness straps. His breath hitches as your warm body presses up against the hard planes of his own. He nearly moans at the scent of you. Motor oil mixed with citrus—enough to drive a man crazy.

“Just breathe for me,” you say, your voice is the softest it’s been all night.

You can tell he’s nervous even if he tries to cover it up. The way his breath catches in his throat, the way his hands are glued to his side.

You pull the harness gently, glancing up to look into his eyes.

Jungwon nods. His cheeks flushed as he looked down at you. His chest rises and falls, and his heart races in his chest.

You're convinced it’s not entirely because of the adrenaline of the race.

“I’m not that nervous…” he says even though his tone of voice betrayed his words.

You bite back laughter as you pull the straps tighter, biting your lip as you hear him gasp sweetly beneath you.

“Jungwon, you listen to me. You follow my orders, okay? No tricks, no showing off. You come out of that race in one piece. You hear me?” You say, voice dropping low as you let your fingertips shamelessly rest on his sides.

“Y-yes ma’am…” Jungwon chokes out. His cheeks are red, bright red. His breath is shaky with nerves and heat. He shifts awkwardly in his seat as he feels himself strangely turned on by the gesture.

Your fingertips slide up his sides, brushing across his muscles and chest to adjust the radio cord dangerously close to the pale skin of his neck.

He flinches at your touch, heart thumping, cheeks burning. Eyes lingering on every place of your body that they shouldn’t.

His lips parted as he looked down at you, scanning your collarbone and chest. His breath is hot against your skin as he noticed the way that crimson suit hugs the curves of your body.

“My tits make a better view when I ride—trust me.” You say with a playful tone before letting your palm playfully thump against his hard chest. A slick smile on your lips as you see his reaction.

“What?! I wasn’t, you–I didn’t mean–“ Jungwon stutters out. Like he wants to snap back, retaliate—anything.

But you’ve already completely wrecked him with your words.

You watch his jaw visibly drop as you pull away with a soft chuckle the corners of your lips tugged up.

You look at him strapped into the driver's seat, obviously, painfully hard.

“You do good out there, and maybe I’ll help you with some of that tension,” you say, voice dripping with promise as you gesturing playfully to his more than obvious boner.

His breathing is heavy, thighs parted on the leather seat. The fireproof covering his skin all of a sudden, feeling too hot and tight.

You shut the car door before he can respond. Jungwon looks like he’s going to pass out through the window.

He swiftly pulls on his helmet in an attempt to spare him from any more embarrassment before he turns on his radio. Your voice rings in his ear as you stride back towards your pit box.

“Don’t fuck this up rookie..comm check in five.”

✩ ✩ ✩

You get situated back in your communication tower overlooking the racetrack. You glance down at the rainbow of cars lining up at the starting line as you adjust the headset over your hair.

The adrenaline of the race is already starting to affect you. The engines rumble beneath the track, and the crowd roars with cheering fans.

This is it.

“Radio check…” You say into the mic as you spot Jungwon’s crimson Toyota lined up by the starting line.

“Check,” Jungwon gasps, his voice cutting sharply through the static. His hands grip the steering wheel with bruising strength as he fights the ache you left in his pants.

“You nervous?” You ask, voice low and teasing. You know you shouldn’t toy with him, but you’re enjoying his reactions a little too much.

“A little, mostly excited though,” Jungwon answers comfortably as he waits at the starting line, the engine roaring beneath him as he stalls for the green light.

“Mhmm, I could tell,” you say playfully.

Jungwon almost whimpers into the other side of the headset.

The ref starts to count down, and Jungwon locks his focus on the track ahead. His head swims with the purr of the engine, the roar of the crowd, and the sound of your voice in his ear.

And the memory of your promise to relieve the tension, if he’s good.

“Remember the plan, stay low on the first two laps, stay on the inside then—”

“Strike from the back—got it.” Jungwon finishes confidently as he settles into the driver's seat. He puts all his focus on the race.

He knows Toyota is taking a chance on him. He can’t screw this up.

On the count of three, the red light turns green, and he doesn’t waste a second before slamming on the gas pedal. The engine roars as his car shoots forward across the starting line.

“Good pace…” You mutter into the microphone, hands gripping the edge of your desk, as you try to keep your heart from racing. You watch as he stays centered on the track just like you planned.

“Brake, don't blow your load on the first round—” You command deeply into the mic.

Jungwon gasps, gripping the wheel even tighter, his racecar slightly falling out of line.

“Shit—god I'm driving 200 miles an hour, you can’t—“He gasps as he's nearly pushed into the steel barrier lining the racetrack by the other cars.

He grips the wheel tight, pulling it sharply to the left to fall back in line, finding his rhythm in the middle of the race.

“Come on, left Jungwon, left.” You pant into the microphone as you watch him clear the first lap.

Two more to go.

Your adrenaline is pumping. Ears ringing, and palms clammy as you watch the race from above.

Even though it’s just a qualifying race, it’s his chance to prove he’s worth the shot.

And a win tonight would prove you’re more than just a mechanic with a pretty face.

Jungwon grips the wheel tighter, pushing back towards the inside.

You smile down at the track as you watch. He's good, real good. Just watching him drive is already proving your initial assumptions wrong.

You’re starting to like this rookie.

“Fuck Jungwon," you whisper into the headset as you watch him take fifth place, then fourth.

“You enjoying this?” He gasps, his cocky tone returning to his voice now that he's got a shot at the win.

“Hell yeah, I’m enjoying this. Come on, show me what you’ve got on this last lap.” You say calmly.

“If you win, maybe I'll show you what I can do on yours.” You say into the headset with a dangerous smirk, cheeks flushing as you imagine the moment.

The second your voice hits his ears, Jungwon slams on the gas, riding tight in third place.

It’s risky.

Cold sweat already runs down his neck and chest as he holds his position.

You stutter, there he goes, being reckless.

“Fall back, don’t—” You say firmly into the mic as he pushes up close behind the winning cars.

“There's an opening, I'm fucking taking it,” Jungwon grunts as he aggressively slams on the gas. Gritting his teeth as he keeps his body tight against the seat.

“Jungwon, don’t! There's not enough space!” you yell into the microphone.

God, maybe you spoke too soon. This idiot is going to get himself killed before he even has a shot at the Daytona 500.

Your words are no use, his car engine roars as he takes the opening. His racecar nearly spiraled and clipped another. You wince as you open your eyes to glance at the board.

Y. Jungwon.

Second place.

You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. Your grip on your headset immediately loosens.

He’s almost to the finish line.

Jungwon pushes his car to the limit, holding his place. Adrenaline is racing between both of you.

You grip your headset to the ground yourself, leaning on the desk, watching the white finish line painted below.

He’s tight in second, neck and neck with first. You hold your breath as he rounds the corner and crosses the finish line.

His car flies across. It’s close.

So close.

You don’t even want to look, but you force your eyes to look back up at the screen. Your jaw nearly drops.

Y.Jungwon

First Place.

You can hardly believe it.

You rip the headset off your head and run down the pit tower's stairs. Boots hitting the asphalt hard as you finally reach the track.

Jungwon’s car comes to a halt right in front of the winner's box. The door opens, and he struggles to stumble out hazy and breathless. Adrenaline still pumping through his veins.

Immediately cameras flash and reporters swarm him. Jungwon flinches as he pulls the helmet off his head. His dark hair sticking to his forehead from the sweat.

He winces at the camera's flashing before he can even process what happened.

“Yang Jungwon has just won his first qualifying race with NASCAR! One of the youngest in history! How do you feel!?”

“Yang Jungwon has blown it out of the water tonight. Could he be NASCAR’s biggest new star?”

The overwhelming chatter surrounds Jungwon as cameras and microphones are shoved into his face.

He holds his helmet at his side, swiftly answering the reporters and posing for the photographers like it’s second nature.

You push through the reporters and television crew in an attempt to get to him. Bumping shoulders and weaving through the crowd as fast as you can.

“Excuse me! I need to get through!” You gasp as you weave through the crowd, no one paying any attention to your pleas.

Everyone besides Jungwon.

His eyes light up as he hears your voice in the crowd. You’re almost there when he reaches out and grabs your wrist and pulling you through the barricade of reporters.

“Jungwon! I told you no stunts.” You say firmly. Brows furrowing in an attempt to fake anger.

Jungwon signals for the reporters to turn away. Reluctantly all the camera shutters come to a stop.

Before you know it, it’s just you and him leaning up against the racecar, engine still burning hot.

“It wasn’t a stunt. I had a clear opening, you just need to trust me more.” Jungwon says, almost breathless, like he’s still winded by the intensity of the race.

The rest of the world seems to fade into the background. The cool night air blows around you, and the lights start to dim as more and more people start to exit the stands.

“Not bad for a rookie…” you say softly. Your tone is no longer mocking or antagonizing. Without the press, it’s sweet and truthful.

Jungwon holds his helmet in his other free hand, hesitating as he reaches out. Is this too fast? Too soon?

You step closer, the space between you dissolving by the minute. Jungwon glances into your eyes, his dark eyes scan over the features of your face.

There it goes again, heat rushing to flush his cheeks and ears.

He’s only just arrived in America, he’s just won his first race—

And his new Crew Chief is making his heart flutter.

With a sharp breath, he rips off his driving glove with his teeth, tossing it to the ground without care.

If he’s going to touch you, he wants to feel it.

Skin on skin.

His hand gently closes the distance without a word, cupping the side of your face, his thumb sliding across your cheek, over your soft lips.

Jungwon licks his lips, his mind racing with thoughts, you can see it in his eyes.

He leans in, just a few millimeters enough for you to smell the faint scent of his cologne.

Masculine yet sweet. Just like him.

Even though no words are said, the two of you have confessed enough.

More of the stadium lights go out around the track as the press packs up to leave. The stands are now empty. The other racers retreated to their trailers for the night.

It gives you a false sense of privacy. In that moment it truly does feel he’s the only man in the world.

“You’re one hell of a Crew Chief…” Jungwon whispers. His voice was heavy, cracking with want. A tone you’ve yet to hear, but you love it.

“Well you’re the one risking your life out there, you did good. Better than good.” You say your voice a gentle whisper. Your eyes unintentionally lock on the wide brown of his.

You notice the shape of them in the dark, how big and round and wide they are like you could be swallowed up in them forever.

Your heart flutters as you notice the upturned angle of his eyes, the slope of his nose, and how his dark hair contrasts against his pale skin.

Jungwon chuckles deeply as he notices your gaze admiring his features. His breath is soft like he can’t believe that this is real and not a dream.

You can’t look away from him, the sound of his voice making your stomach flip as he steps even closer. The cool summer air blew more of his messy hair out of his face.

You glance down, cheeks burning as you take in the shape of his lips as he smiles.

Shit. He has dimples.

Your heart nearly stops completely. You can’t hide your smile and neither can he.

You can’t pull away from him and he can’t pull away from you. It feels like there's a magnet holding the space between you together.

And out here on the empty track, and there's no one to shut down what you're feeling.

“I’m sorry if this is crazy…but…”

“Can I kiss you right now?” Jungwon whispers.

Your heart races in your chest. You can hardly even think.

The look on his face isn’t cocky or arrogant. It’s hopeful, soft—even wanting.

Maybe it’s just post-win adrenaline but the way he's looking at you, you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Yeah…you can.” You whisper, voice just loud enough for Jungwon to hear.

He hesitates, stalling, only for a moment.

Then his helmet drops to the floor with a loud thump. Both of his hands gently cup the sides of your face, fingertips brushing against your soft skin.

You’re not entirely sure who leaned in first. But your breath hitches as his lips capture yours. Soft yet hot. Moving like he wants to savor every inch of you.

His lips are hesitant like they’re still learning as he moves against you. One of his hands cupping your face the other sliding down to your lower back. Pulling your warmth closer into the hardness of his muscled body.

Jungwon gasps against your mouth as his back hits the warm metal of his racecar.

He pulls you into him. Gasping for air between kisses as they only grow more heated.

Jungwon swallows your weak breaths as he keeps his mouth hot against yours. You smirk against his lips as you feel his confidence growing. Breath hitching at the way he sucks lightly at your bottom lip before barely pulling away.

“You’re…really pretty.” He says his voice a low whisper. Lips ghosting against the heat of your own. Barely holding back like he needs to lean in for more.

He does, swollen lips finding yours again.

He moves slowly, intimately only to break away for another shared breath.

“I’ve wanted to tell you all day—just didn’t know how…“ Jungwon murmurs as he smiles into another kiss. His heart fluttered at the confession.

He pulls away only to rest his sweaty forehead on your own. Exhaling, blood pumping fast as he takes in the faint scent of citrus from you.

You don’t move, in fact, you push into him more. Your lips brush against the sharp edge of his jaw as you pin him to the side of his car.

He laughs under his breath with disbelief that this is real. That he’s won his first race, that he’s really kissing you and you're kissing him back.

This is the part of the dream where he usually wakes up—

But he doesn’t.

“I thought you were going to be a cocky, arrogant asshole…” you say softly with a breathy laugh.

The truth.

Warmth pools in your stomach as you push into him more, nearly moaning as you feel his hard planes against your softness.

Jungwon laughs as he pulls you closer. His fingertips rub small circles into your back. There's not a single millimeter of space between you now.

Your brain is screaming at you to stop this, to pull away.

You can’t.

Instead, you gently drag your lips across the perfect angle of his jawline. You kiss his soft skin, mind flooding back with the sound of his beneath you as you strapped him in before the race. How he bit his lip, the whimper that escaped unintentionally.

“This is usually the part where I prove you right with a—fuck…a smart-ass comment,” Jungwon says, his voice shaking as you kiss his sensitive skin again.

His grip on the outside of your suit tightens as his body rolls against your own with need.

You take control, mouth open, and hot against his skin and neck. Your hands push his suit over his shoulders letting the top pool at his hips.

Jungwon whimpers, his chest violently rising and falling like he’s two seconds away from hyperventilating.

“How about this time…you listen to my orders—“ you say seductively as your lips find his neck, dragging down to his collarbone.

“Y—yes mm—ma’am” Jungwon stutters as he starts to break out into a sweat beneath you.

Your fingertips push the soft fabric of his undershirt to the side, letting your lips latch onto his sharp collarbone.

You gently suck on the porcelain skin, leaving a faint mark behind and out of sight.

Jungwon whimpers. His body jerks against your own with need.

“You still okay?” You ask softly, your mouth leaving his collarbone to place a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He can’t even speak. All he does is lock eyes with you and nod. Letting out another soft whimper as his hips shamelessly press into yours.

You kiss him again, putting a flat palm to his hard chest, pushing him harder into the side of his racecar.

Jungwon moans as he feels your thighs pressed up between his, chest on chest. Everything is hot from your fireproof uniforms.

You let a soft moan slip from your lips as you feel how hard he is beneath you again…your hips grind lightly into his, and fuck you can feel just how large he is already. It’s almost painful against the zipper of his suit.

“Do you fuck like you drive? Fast? A little reckless? Like you need me to talk you through it—Just like I did during the race?” You say, voice dripping with seduction.

Jungwon whimpers again. Fuck you could get used to having him like this.

You kiss him again, tasting the saltiness of sweat on his skin.

Jungwon can’t even speak, he just nods, eyes wide like he’s begging, pleading for you to take care of him.

You grind harder against his cock, feeling the outline of it aching behind the tight leather. You both let out a shameless moan. Your hands grip him harder.

Jungwons eyes roll back at the sensation. He bites his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood as he grips at the side of the car for support.

“Holy shit—“ he says voice cracking, out of breath, like he’s on the verge of tears and you haven’t even undressed him yet.

You bite your lip as your fingertips slip between the sweaty heat of your bodies still covered by leather.

You find the cold metal zipper of his suit, you pull it down just slightly, glancing at him for consent.

Jungwon nods, and right as you pull away to drop to your knees—

“Hey! Track is closed for the night! You two need to get this car out of here…” A voice calls out from the distance

Jungwon groans, his forehead falling against your shoulder to hide just how flushed he is. Like maybe if he doesn't look it'll go away.

“You're holding up track cleaning protocol.” The man says with obvious annoyance as he steps closer, clipboard gripped tight at his side.

“Shit—” You mumble under your breath, still trying to process the thought of what almost just happened between you two.

With a deep sigh, you reluctantly pull away.

“I apologize! Moving the car now—to the garage…” Jungwon stutters awkwardly as he adjusts his suit to cover up how hard he still is, not sure that he could handle any more embarrassment tonight.

“Hurry up kid! We don’t need a lawsuit filed tonight…” The man says his voice dripping with disgust as he turns away. Muttering more unpleasant things under his breath.

You nervously fix your suit, brushing off tension like you weren't about to blow the new rookie on his first night.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow maybe?” Jungwon asks his eyes wide and hopeful.

You pause.

“Well, depends if your car needs any work done before the next race—”

“Tires! Tires need to be rotated, like soon…like tomorrow soon—” Jungwon interrupts, nervously chewing on his bottom lip.

You glance at the car illuminated in the dim safety light of the stadium. Your eyes looking at the front set, then the back…you’ve been here long enough to know…

Racecars don’t even need tire rotations.

You chuckle to yourself as Jungwon sits back in the driver's seat. Looking up at you with those big sharp eyes.

“My shop tomorrow, don't be late…” You say with a soft smile.

Jungwons face lights up, and it makes your heart flutter again. You can’t help but lean down and give him a soft kiss goodbye.

✩ ✩ ✩

The next morning, you hear the rumble of an unfamiliar car pulling up to the open garage door.

You’re elbows deep under the hood of a Chevy Camaro you’ve commissioned to work on for weeks.

You hear the engine cut. Your eyes widening as Jungwon rounds the corner to the garage.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show…since you know—” You tease.

“Racecars don’t get their tires rotated? I know, I know.” Jungwon chuckles as he runs his hand through his dark hair.

He’s dressed casually now, jeans and a tight shirt paired with a leather jacket. You can’t deny he looks good.

“Well, my Stinger just got in yesterday…I was thinking we could maybe work on it together?” Jungwon asks with a weak smile. His voice is desperate but terrified that he’s crossing a line.

Your eyes light up at his words. A Stinger? Fuck—there’s no way he has good taste in cars too.

“A Stinger? Shit Jungwon let’s bring her in—“

Hours go by as the two of you work on the details. Hands covered in grime, smudges of dirt across your face as you lean over the hood.

He helps you rotate the tires, hands you a wrench when you need.

But for the most part he just watches you with a stupid grin on his face as you’re arms deep in one of most prized possessions.

And you look so damn good doing it.

Jungwon's mind wandered to last night, the race, the kiss, all of it.

He bites his lip as he replays the memory again. Your lips on his, the way your hands felt on him as you spoke.

“Hey, so, about last night—“ Jungwon blurts out unexpectedly.

You stop. The noise of metal against metal fades in an instant as you come up from beneath the hood.

“What about it?” You ask casually as you grab a towel from your workbench to wipe your hands clean like it’s second nature.

“I just…was I crazy or was that definitely more than a heat of the winning moment thing—“ Jungwon confesses.

There it goes again, your heart rate picking up. You wipe the sweat from your brow as you subconsciously take another step closer to him. The sound of your footsteps echoes off the walls as you close the distance.

“No, I liked it. It felt better than it should.” You say softly, your voice almost rigid like you're holding back.

“Would you punch me in the face if I asked to do it again?” Jungwon says softly, his eyes glancing at your grease-stained figure like it's the only thing he wants to see.

He steps closer, boots echoing on the concrete as he closes the distance. His fingertips caress your face again, just like he did last night on the empty track.

Your breath catches as he licks his thumb, before gently wiping a streak of black from your cheek.

“Jungwon…” you gasp, voice shaky at just how soft and intimate his touch is.

You don’t even realize you’re glancing at his lips and he’s glancing at yours.

Hungry, craving more of the taste he had last night.

You close your eyes and lean in, this time the kiss is gentle, his lips caressing your own softly like you’re made of glass.

This time there’s air to breathe.

He pulls away, trembling. Praying he didn’t cross another uncrossable line.

“Will you go out with me tonight? Like on a date?” Jungwon winces as he confesses before he has a chance to change his mind.

You look up at Jungwon in shock. Maybe all the loud engines got to you—because you aren’t hearing things right. You open your mouth to respond but words just can’t fall out.

Jungwon just stands there, trembling, softly stroking the skin on your face.

You just nod, completely breathless like you can’t believe this is happening.

“I’d like that…” you whisper enough for the words not to echo off the walls.

“Yeah?” Jungwon asks his voice breathy as his shoulders drop all the tension with your response.

“There’s an old diner off Main Street. It’s a little bit of a drive but…maybe we can get you your first real American meal.” You say with a smile.

Jungwon can’t hold back his excitement and relief. Grinning ear to ear as he pulls you closer. His lips ghosting against your own as he speaks.

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

✩ ✩ ✩

Once you're back in your apartment you realize it’s been years since you were last asked on a date.

A real date not just a hook-up or a link.

The thought alone makes you giddy.

You decide to keep it simple tonight. Wear a plain black tank that hugs all your curves and pair it with your favorite pair of jeans. You throw on your brother's old racing jacket to pull the whole look together.

You glance in the mirror, adjusting your makeup and hair how you like.

And that’s when you hear a knock at the door.

You run to answer it, knowing exactly who you were expecting.

Jungwon stands in the doorway. His hair is styled out of his face, letting you see his forehead and eyebrows.

He’s wearing nearly the same thing as earlier. A pair of jeans and a tight shirt, tied together with a leather jacket.

He has a small bouquet in his hand as he nervously rubs the back of his neck with the other. His expression lights up the second you open the door and he sees your face.

God you look perfect, those jeans, that jacket. He almost has to pinch himself to see if this is real, if you’re real.

He nervously shakes his head clearing his throat.

“These are for you…you look stunning,” Jungwon says his voice almost shaky with disbelief as he hands you the small bouquet.

“Thank you…” you say softly cheeks heating up from the kind gesture. No one’s ever done anything like this for you. Your heart races as you look over the flowers he picked out in your favorite color.

You step into your kitchen and place them in a small vase of water. Before you know it, you're grabbing your keys and heading out the door.

The drive to the diner is comfortably quiet. The hum of the engine cuts through the air, and the radio plays softly in the background as the two of you talk.

Conversation comes easy, you talk about racing, music, the town. He drives slowly. For the first time, he’s savoring the moment instead of racing towards a finish line.

The neon lights and cracked parking lot pavement signal you’ve made it. Jungwon opens the door for you and offers his hand as the two of you walk into the old diner.

Immediately you’re hit with the smell of grease and coffee. It’s comforting in a way. The bell rings as you step in the door.

One of the waitresses greets you before leading you across the checkered tile to a small booth in the back of the restaurant.

Jungwon sits across from you, fingertips holding the sticky menu in his hand. Glancing over the top to smile at you.

You help him pick something off the menu. The air between you isn’t nerves, there’s no pressure to perform with him.

For once you feel like you can just be you.

The waitress brings the two of you your meals. A plate of burgers and fries and two milkshakes, one strawberry and one chocolate.

Jungwon throws a few more fries into his mouth before breaking the silence. He asks the question that’s been lingering on his tongue since he met you.

“So…how did you get into all of this? Racing and cars I mean.” He asks curiously.

You exhale, taking another sip of your milkshake and slouching against the sticky leather of the booth. Your throat tightens and you glance out the window. The memories already starting to come back.

“It was my brother. He used to race..” you say with a soft whisper, voice heavy from holding back.

“He was older…always took care of me you know? He loved cars since we were kids. Would watch reruns of NASCAR every weekend on our shitty TV.” You say with a warm smile as you start to open up.

You gesture to your racing jacket. Patched with yellow and black and your last name is embroidered on the front pocket.

“This was his. He only got to race a few times before he passed. I know if he was still here he’d be one of the best.” You say softly as tears swell in your eyes.

Jungwon just listens. He reaches out across the table, taking your hand in his. Rubbing small circles across your knuckles in an attempt comfort you.

“The racing and cars? That’s the last piece I have left of him. And I just can’t let it go—even if I have to fight twice as hard for my spot.“ you whisper.

There’s a beat of comfortable silence before Jungwon softly speaks up.

“It’s hard, you know...being the foreigner, people never really take me seriously,” Jungwon confesses.

“They take one look at me and hear my accent and just—I know what it’s like to fight twice as hard for a spot,” Jungwon says, his hand tightening around yours.

“It’s like no matter how good I drive or how fast my lap times are they just see me as the kid from Korea with bad English,” Jungwon confesses, his voice heavy.

“You know Jungwon…you don’t have to prove anything for me, you don’t have to change anything. I like you the way you are—like really like you.” You confess voice barely above a whisper. Like saying it softly would soften the impact.

Jungwon squeezes your hand a little tighter with a soft smile. He lets the tension drop from his shoulders at your words.

“You have no idea what that means to me…”

The two of you continue to drink your shakes and munch on the plate of fries between you. The air is charged, like there’s still so much left to say.

“You know I usually don’t do the whole dating thing…” Jungwon confesses, his ears flushing red.

“You know it’s always been racing, practice, training, that type of thing. He adds softly.

“No I totally get it…most guys don’t want to date a girl who can change a tire faster than them.” You say with a weak self-deprecating chuckle.

“Their loss,” Jungwon says with a soft breathily laugh.

“I like women who know how to lead and take control,” Jungwon confesses, biting his bottom lip at the thought. Trying to hide the massive smirk threatening to form on his face.

“Oh yeah? That’s why you were all whiny last night after the race?” You tease, raising an eyebrow.

“You have no idea what you did to me after the race…I almost came in my suit—“ Jungwon confesses his breath sharp as he locks eyes with you.

And you know his words are nothing but the truth.

Jungwon takes care of the check and walks you back to the car. The drive back to your apartment is quiet and charged. Like there’s so much both of you need to say but can’t.

Jungwon pulls into the garage, swiftly backing into an empty space in a dark corner. There’s hardly anyone else around.

“I—uh, really had a good time with you tonight.” He says softly, his eyes still scanning your features in the dark light. Lingering on how the light cast highlights your best features.

There’s still so much tension simmering beneath you two.

“I don’t want this to be over…” you blurt out before you can even process the words leaving your mouth. But between the kiss last night, and the way he’s looking at you now, you can’t pass this up…

Jungwon swallows hard, throat bobbing at your words. His eyes flicker to yours, then down to your lips again.

“Y—you don’t?” Jungwon chokes out breathlessly. Tense like he wants to reach out but he doesn’t know if he should.

You shake your head. Smiling softly as you lean across the center console. He puts the car in park, letting the engine softly rumble beneath your seat.

“I can’t stop thinking about you, Jungwon…” you confess, leaning even closer into his space. Eyes half-lidded with desire.

Jungwon can’t even respond. He just closes the distance, kissing you again.

It’s heated, hot, fast. He breathes hot against your lips swallowing your breath as you kiss him back. Your fingertips roughly tangling in his dark hair.

You break apart, barely to whisper against his lips.

“I think I should fulfill that promise I made you yesterday…” you whisper voice hoarse with need.

“Want some help with that tension, rookie?” You ask, but this time it’s not teasing. It’s just as mutually desperate.

Jungwon just nods, eyes locked on yours just like the night before on the track. He’s begging, pleading for you to take care of him.

“Backseat?” You ask as you lean in, kissing him once more before pulling away with a dangerous look on your face.

“F—fuck…fuck yeah, I’m coming…” Jungwon stutters as he removes his seatbelt with a quick click before the two of you climb into the backseat.

The minute the doors lock your hands are on him. He pushes your racing jacket off your shoulders as you climb onto his lap.

You gasp against his lips, he’s already hard, trying to bite back another moan as your hands slide up and down his heated body.

Your lips drag down his throat, messy and hot as you leave wet kisses across his warm skin. The windows are already fogging from the warmth.

You moan as you grind down on him again. The roughness of your clothes causes friction that drives you both crazy with need.

You gasp, feeling your thighs twitch with the anticipation.

Jungwon's head hits the window as he gasps back. Soft whimpers fall from his lips as he lets you take control. His cock throbs hard in his pants, hands gently resting on your thighs.

You glance at how wrecked he is already, still completely dressed just like back on the empty track. You bite your lip as you grab the bottom of your tank to pull it up and over your head.

Jungwon moans at the sight of you. His eyes are half-lidded as he looks at you straddling him. His fingertips softly trace your sides, feeling the soft warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips.

Your breath hitches as his hand slides across your sides and the underwire of your bra. You flinch at his reverent touch.

“You okay?” He whispers intimately as his fingertips drag across the curves of your breasts, your stance faltering at the softness of his touch.

“Yeah I’m just not used to this—this feeling…” you gasp, the confession slipping past all logic in the moment.

But there’s something about the way he looks at you. The way he looks beneath you and you can’t hide behind a mask anymore.

“It’s okay, I’m not used to it either…” Jungwon coaxes softly, his hands gently find your bare back, and he pulls you down to lie on top of him chest to chest.

There’s a quiet pause, the sound of your harsh breathing feels loud in the quiet backseat of the car. The air is already thick and steamy.

“Do you want this? Want me?” Jungwon asks, his voice cracking with emotion. He looks up at you with those wide round eyes.

You want him, you really do, all parts of him. From the cocky attitude on the race track to the quiet whispered confessions.

You want every single part.

“I want you Jungwon…you don’t even know what you’ve done to me—“ you say a little breathless.

Jungwon gently grabs you by the back of your neck, pulling you down, capturing your lips in a soft reverent kiss like he’s trying to pour every unspoken confession into your mouth.

You break away panting, thighs trembling as heat builds in between them.

You gently kiss the side of his face, slowly dragging your lips back down his neck and over the faint mark left from last night.

Jungwons hands still at his side like he doesn’t know exactly what to do.

“You can touch me…please Jungwon touch me.” You mumble into his skin, taking in the faint scent of his sweet cologne.

Jungwon hesitates, freezing underneath you. You can’t help but chuckle deeply.

You’re going to have to talk him through this.

You gently slip your hand between the heat of your bodies, popping the button on your jeans and pulling the zipper down.

Jungwon’s still panting beneath you, hands trembling. Scared he’ll somehow fuck this up.

“Breathe for me…” you coax sweetly as you grab his wrist, gently guiding it to the heat between your thighs.

Jungwon catches the hint, his hand slips inside your jeans, pushing your panties aside. He moans as he feels how wet you already are.

His fingertips are still trembling, a little unsure as he moves his wrist, dragging his fingertips through your folds like he wants to memorize every part of it.

“Fuck, you’re so wet…” Jungwon whispers, cheeks flushing hot as he gently slips his index finger into your heat, gently pumping in and out moaning as he feels you clench around him.

“That’s all for you—“ you gasp, completely breathless as the feeling of his finger inside you sends waves of pleasure through your body.

Jungwon bites his lip when he sees your reaction, he pushes your panties aside even more, gently pushing in another finger. Stretching you out even further.

Your head falls to his shoulder as he fingers you at steady pace. Your hips chase his fingers and he pumps and curls them hitting spots that only make you wetter.

“Fuck—can I taste you?” You ask the words stumbling out shamelessly as your hips buck against his fingers.

“Hell yes—hell fucking yes…” Jungwon stutters his hands retreating from between your thighs as you awkwardly try to shift positions in the tightness of the backseat of the car.

Jungwon brings his fingertips to his lips, reluctantly tasting you. He lets out a deep moan as the sweet taste hits his tongue.

“Holy fuck…you taste so fucking good—“ he murmurs completely breathless as you pull down the zipper of his jeans, pulling them down with his boxers enough to let his cock spring free.

“Holy shit—let me taste you too…” Jungwon mumbles as he grabs your hips, pushing down your jeans and your soaked panties, before tossing them to the car floor.

He awkwardly manuevers himself underneath you, hands gripping at your ass, knees cramped on either side of his face.

You position yourself to be at eye level with his cock. Hard, twitching, and already leaking.

You kiss his swollen tip, gripping the leather edge car seats to keep yourself up.

The top of Jungwon’s head hits the side door as he kisses the inside of your thighs, already slick with arousal.

He lets out a shaky moan as your tongue slides across his sensitive tip teasing him before sucking a few more inches into your mouth.

Jungwon pulls you down, hands gripping your ass as his tongue slides through your folds. He closes his eyes, hips bucking up into your mouth for more.

You close your lips around his cock, hand gripping the base to pump the inches you can’t take inside your mouth. You moan around his hard cock, hips twitching each time Jungwon flicks your clit with his tongue.

Your spit pools at the base of his cock, and you tactfully use it to lubricate your movements. He’s already twitching, hips arching off the leather car seat into your mouth.

Jungwon pulls away to gasp for air…mumbling under his breath.

“Shit…shit I’m gonna come—“ he whines as he lazily drags his mouth across your pussy with no coordination.

You immediately slow down your movements, earning a strangled moan from the back of his throat. His cock twitches with need as you slide your lips off of it. Licking the salty pre cum from your lips with a satisfied groan.

You slide off his chest, flipping back around in the cramped backseat. Jungwons hips buck up into the air as he whines—actually whines.

“Please...oh God I need to come—I fuck…please just ride me til I come..” Jungwon begs beneath you shamelessly.

You bite your lip. Feeling more wetness slip down your inner thighs as you watch him squirm and beg for you to take him.

You line yourself up with his cock, his pants still pushed down to his knees. You reach between your bodies to grab his twitching slick cock, guiding it to your entrance.

Jungwon cries out painfully as you touch him. Sweat runs down his brow as he feels his swollen tip pushing into your aching walls.

He grips the side of the leather seat hard. Crying out your name you finally sink into him.

You let out a breathless sigh as you finally take him. His girth stretches you with a pleasurable sting. You gasp for air as everything inside the car feels too small and hot all at once.

“Fuck you’re so deep Jungwon...” you moan as you finally sink completely down. You rock your hips back and forth, slowly chasing your pleasure as his cock drags deliciously against the front of your walls.

Jungwon can’t even conjure up real words. There are tears in his eyes as he whimpers and groans beneath you almost like he’s in pain. His hands are shaky as they rest on your waist. Your thighs burning as you do all the work.

The slick sounds of skin on skin fills the inside of the car. You bite your lip as you look down at Jungwon, riding him with a steady pace.

His hips buck up into you every time you slam down onto his cock punctuated by a breathless moan.

Jungwon’s cock twitches inside you and you know he’s close. Barely holding on, but he’s holding out. Waiting for you to permit him.

You pleasure yourself on top of him, gently letting your hand cup his soft face as it contorts with pained pleasure. His cheeks flushed, hair stuck to his forehead from the sweat.

You let your fingertips slide across his cheek, across his lips as he murmurs and moans beneath you. Tears fall down his soft cheeks as he painfully tries to hold back his release.

“Please, I can’t—I fucking can’t…let me come...please just let me come…” Jungwon begs beneath you. Sniffling between sharp breaths as his cock twitches painfully inside you.

“You’ve been such a good boy…” you say softly as you push more of his dark hair out of his face. Gently using your thumbs to wipe the tears from his cheeks.

“Fill me up Jungwon…” you whisper.

Jungwon breaks—sobbing your name as he shamelessly spills his load into you. Painting you with his cum as he lets out a strangled cry. His hips jerk as he comes hard.

You help him ride it out. Hips rolling satisfying circles on his dick as you milk every drop he has to give.

Jungwon falls against the door, panting for breath on the verge of hyperventilating. He can’t even speak as his chest rises and falls as he struggles to regain his breath.

“You did so good Jungwon…” you whisper against him as you slide off his cock, cum dripping onto the leather seat as you gently cup his face. Kissing him slowly.

His eyes flutter shut, too weak to really even kiss you back or move his hands.

“You fucking wrecked me…I need a goddam inhaler—“ Jungwon stutters out against your lips.

“You did good rookie..” you mumble against his lips as you intimately kiss him one more time.

He chuckles softly, eyes still shut, mind still dazed.

“Jungwon…” you choke out, heart racing in your chest, fingertips trembling.

“Yes?” He chokes out between sharp breaths.

“Stay—please stay the night with me.” You whisper so softly it can barely be heard over the sharpness of his breathing.

“Of course…I’d love to.” Jungwon says beneath you. A lazy smile spreads across his lips as he looks you up and down.

“Plus, I think I still have a job to do—” Jungwon smirks as he gently holds your hips again. Noticing the aching heat still building between your thighs.

“Fuck yeah, you do…” you mumble against his lips.

And later that night you find out, Jungwon truly is a man of his word.

He stays.

And to you that means everything.

✩ ✩ ✩

The next morning, you wake up completely enveloped in warmth. Jungwon is in bed with you, breath soft against the back of your neck, his arms draped across your naked body.

Jungwon stirs awake as you shuffle through the sheets. The cool fabric brushes against your skin as Jungwon pulls you closer.

“Morning…” Jungwon mumbles into your skin, his lips placing a soft kiss on your shoulder as his legs tangle with yours.

“How’d you sleep?” You ask softly, leaning into his warm, comforting touch.

“The best I have in years, thanks to you…” Jungwon mumbles as he pulls you closer, hands across your chest.

He gently runs his fingertips across the fullness of your breasts, across the curve of your waist. He's not trying to arouse you; he's genuinely worshiping you.

Every curve and inch…

You hum softly as you let his hands slowly roam over you underneath the sheets. Between your legs, over your stomach, and hips. You tilt your head back, letting his lips find yours.

“Breakfast? Or another round of pussy first?” You ask playfully.

Jungwon groans, pulling you closer to him, his lips dragging across your jawline, stopping just underneath your ear.

“Have you learned nothing about me?” Jungwon teases, his hand already slipping lower between your thighs, across your folds.

“Let me taste you again…” Jungwon mumbles into your hair from behind, his fingertips pushing through your folds to find your clit, rubbing small tight circles across it.

“You didn’t have your fill last night?” You ask with a soft groan, feeling that warmth between your thighs again with each circle of your sensitive clit.

“Mhmm, never,” Jungwon groans into your skin. He slowly pulls his body away from the warmth of yours, letting you rest flat on your back.

He doesn’t waste any time; he lazily pushes your thighs apart, licking a slow, wet stripe from hole to clit. You let your head fall back against the pillows as he starts to tease you with soft licks to your folds.

You’re still sensitive from last night, hands tangling loosely in his hair as he makes out with your pussy at a lazy pace.

He's in no rush to make you come—and it's driving you crazy.

His tongue lazily fucks into your hole, and you clench around him, moaning shamelessly as you pull him closer by the hair. Your thighs are already shaking, pulsing with need.

Jungwon closes his eyes, dragging his tongue across you until he finds your clit again. Your back arches off the mattress and he holds your thighs apart. Flicking at your clit before sucking on it.

“Fuck—” You curse as your grip on his hair tightens. Your thighs shake and deep moans escape from your throat signaling that you're close.

Jungwon doubles down on your clit, pressing the tip of his tongue against your fast and firm. It draws you right to the edge.

“Shit—I'm coming” You gasp as Jungwon coaxes you through another orgasm with his tongue. You grip his hair tight, heat pulsing with pleasure as wave after wave of arousal spills onto his lips and chin.

He laps up every drop shamelessly as you lie limp beneath him completely spent.

“Fuck I don’t think I'll ever get tired of eating you out—” Jungwon mumbles as he places another soft kiss on the folds of your pussy before pulling away.

“That's one hell of a way to wake up—” You say, completely spent already, basking in the afterglow of your orgasm.

“Fuck breakfast…let me just have some more of your pussy for real—” Jungwon mumbles as he puts his hands on either side of your head, leaning down to kiss you, slow and deep.

“God I'm never letting you go—” You mumble against his lips.

✩ ✩ ✩

Over the next few weeks, long training days turn into sleepless nights of pleasure. Jungwon is picking up skills fast, on the track, in the garage, and inside your bed.

Somewhere, as weeks bleed into months, Jungwon becomes something you never expected. He’s become your strength and weakness all wrapped into one.

He stays. Every night.

And you wake up in his arms every morning.

After all the qualifying races, Jungwon was selected as a stand-by-driver for the Daytona 500. And Toyota has made it clear time and time again.

This rookie? He’s still a gamble.

No matter how many seconds he cuts off his lap time. No matter how fast he drove in the qualifying races.

You’ve been tasked with making sure his car is in pristine condition for the race, should he need to step in. You had been sure that wouldn’t happen.

You’ve watched the Daytona for years. You know it's the biggest, most nerve-racking race of the year. Of course it is, the big prize is on the line.

It's a race even seasoned veterans can only dream about competing in. It is long, tough, and something people train decades for.

But not Jungwon.

He nearly drops his phone out of his hand when he gets the call. One of Toyota's veteran drivers had a collision during practice. He’s got a concussion, and he’s out.

Which means you're now guiding him through the Daytona 500.

You could say there was a little bit of nerves on the day of the race.

Trailers line the track, fans fill the stadium, and national television is on every single corner.

Your hands are clammy as you step onto the track, going over the usual checklist, plenty of extra tires, and a large stash of fuel. Extra pit crew and mechanics on standby for the intensity and length of the race.

Your heart stops as Jungwon appears, cameras flashing from every angle as he makes his way onto the track. He was pale, so pale, trembling as he tried to hide his shaking hands behind his back as cameras flashed relentlessly.

You’re breathless as you watch him approach the side of the car, you can’t help but feel your heart overflow with emotion for this man you've come to love.

You meant what you said back at the diner. You don’t just like every part of him.

You’ve fallen in love with every part.

Your eyes are glassy with tears as you climb over the pit wall to the loading station. Jungwon's crimson red Toyota rumbles, hot and ready to conquer the track. The press soon moves to another racer, just in time for you to reach him.

Your boots drag against the asphalt as you walk towards him, slowly savoring every moment of his big day. You’ve watched him push past his limit in training.

And you know from the bottom of your heart, no matter what happens out there on that racetrack. Nothing can change what's grown between the two of you now.

Jungwon’s heart beats in his chest as you approach him, the roar of the crowd and announcers fades into background noise the second he lays eyes on you. His hands tremble as he reaches out, grabbing your waist like it's second nature.

He breathes you in, that same citrus scent from your shampoo that drives him crazy. He pulls your body into him, letting his face bury in your hand, hands shaking as he holds you.

“Breathe, Jungwon…you’ve got this, we’ve got this…” You whisper into his chest as he holds you close.

Your words do help slow the frantic racing of his heart. He swallows a sharp breath, throat bobbing with nerves as he chokes out a whisper.

“I don’t know if I’m ready, I'm definitely not ready for this…” Jungwon confesses.

“Trust me, you are. No matter what happens out on that track, you're making history, baby—” You say with a weak chuckle of disbelief.

Here’s the man you love, about to race in the most important race of his life. The race you grew up in, the race that bonds you to your late brother.

You can't help but let silent tears fall down your face as you remember the times you spent in your living room watching the Daytona on your shitty boxed screen TV. Your older brother right by your side for every lap of the way.

He would be proud of you, so proud.

So proud of the woman you became, so proud of all the things you've overcome.

Jungwon can't help but let silent tears fall down his cheeks, he knows how much this race means to you. He knows how much this means to your very soul.

He pulls you closer, letting the rest of your tears fall without a single word.

You inhale sharply as you pull away, letting his gloved hands wipe the rest of the tears off your face.

“You come back to me, rookie—promise me you will…” You gasp, your forehead falling against the warmth of his own.

He kisses you, for good luck, before pulling away, panting, completely breathless.

“I promise you I will…”

You watch from your pit tower as Jungwon's red car lines up in the starting position. The crowd roars as the countdown begins.

“You’ve got this Jungwon, just like we practiced” You breathe out into your microphone. Hands trembling as you look down at the racetrack and the rainbow of cars behind that white finish line.

“Copy that—” Jungwon replies, his voice still low and shaky. He shifts in his seat, gripping the wheel tightly as he watches the

Those three seconds are the longest of his life. Once he gets the green light, he's off into the race.

He keeps a steady speed as he pulls into the race, taking lap after lap. The nerves wear off slightly with each mile he takes.

Your voice over the headset grounds him as you talk him through the race. The two of you have become a good team, and here is your moment to prove it.

“That’s it, stay outside,” You say professionally as you watch the track below.

“Copy that,” Jungwon says confidently, sliding his car to the outside of the track as you navigate him through the congestion.

“Watch 53 on your left coming up fast—” You command through the mic.

Jungwon immediately reacts. Checking his mirrors as he weaves in and out of the sea of rainbow-painted cars.

The crowd roars, and he continues to take lap after lap, mile after mile, holding his center spot in the race.

After about 100 laps, things start to heat up. He pumps the gas harder, fighting to keep up with the rest of the racers.

“100 more to go. Keep it steady,” You say, shoulders relaxing as you watch him take 18th place, then 17th, steadying at 16th on the leaderboard.

Jungwon fights, 25 laps, 25 more on the last 50; he gives it his all.

This is the moment he's trained for. He grips the steering wheel tightly, hands sweating underneath his gloves, hair sticking to his forehead underneath his helmet.

The adrenaline kicks in as he picks up speed, taking 15th place.

The crowd cheers as the race gets closer and closer to the end. Jungwon fights, holding off 15th place as his own.

You bite your fingertips as you watch the leaderboard. Watching his speed below.

On the last five laps, Jungwon pushes his car to the limit, the engine roars as he floors the gas, and the finish line in sight right in front of him.

He pushes and pushes, as fast as his car can go. You can hardly breathe as he crosses the finish line.

Not first but not last.

You're already crying as you throw off your headset and run to the track.

Your boots slam against the track as you run straight to him. Pushing through the usual crowd of reporters and journalists.

Tears start to fall as Jungwon removes his helmet to see you running through the crowd straight towards him.

You crash into him, wrapping your arms around him like a lifeline. He hugs you back, sobbing as he lifts you off your feet to spin you around in the chaos.

Just as the winner is announced, he leans in and cups your face, kissing you like there's no tomorrow.

You pull away completely breathless, his slick forehead resting against yours as you struggle for breath.

“I'm so fucking proud of you…” You gasp before crashing your lips into his again. Jungwon chuckles with disbelief as he kisses you back, dipping you without a care in the world.

“I didn’t win…” Jungwon chokes out weakly as he pulls you up, holding your thighs as you settle yourself back on your feet.

“You came back to me…and that's everything,” You say, voice getting caught in your throat as you hold back more tears.

“I always will, every time—” Jungwon mutters, the cheer of the crowd and the crowning of the winner becoming background noise to the charged moment between the two of you.

“I love you…” You say, strained, raw, completely real.

Jungwon wipes another tear from his cheek as he fights off more of your words.

“I love you too.” He whispers back, voice cracking and deep, tears on the verge of spilling over.

He didn’t cross the finish line first, and it doesn’t even matter.

For the first time in his life, he doesn’t have to chase the finish lines.

You love him. He’s enough.

And he'll come back to you.

Every lap. Every race. Every time.

And that's the only finish line that matters.

note: I hope you guys enjoyed this fic! I've been dying to write for Jungwon...the fact that I outlined even more for this fic, but it ended still being 11k with the cuts is insane. Let me know if you are as obsessed with this as I am. It was so much fun to write a little out of my comfort zone!

I'm truly grateful for every reblog, like, and comment. It truly means the world to me. Thank you for reading! I wish you guys all the best!

Written with love,

xoxo kate <3

masterlist!

taglist: @yenienha @meowwons @svquon @won1yoiz @nishimura-mimura @cutehoons02 @nics-fxy @aggarwaldrishti @seokjinthescientist @enhastargirl @kyunlov @yang-garden0906 @won4me @shaysimpss @bestboileeknow @kristynaaah @onlywwon @k1ttyjwon @pr3ttyf4ce

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mona-risms · 3 days ago

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Hi! I hope you're doing well today! Imagine if Reader was a demon and is in Saja (but replaces Mystery and is still female, so she just carries the tone and softness of the song.) I imagine the part of the movie where Huntrix sees Saja's "debut" and finds out they're demons the three of them are like:

Rumi and Mira: Wait... Why is she fine- WAIT. NO- NOT... NO. NOPE- ZOEY NO. STOP DROOLING OVER HER-

HIII my day kinda sucked ngl BUT THANK YOU STILL :(

Jinu got you recruited for that extra mystery fr (why a girl? In a group full of guys?? What a mystery......) but yk you got the girls captivated so atp dude knew what he was doing 🤷‍♀️. It's the fact that you're the ONLY girl in this otherwise-boy band that caught their collective attention in the first place, but that's a TRAP for them to witness just how effortlessly elegant you were. Quiet and soft with your vocals, yet my GOD you were basically a visual hole for these three to get sucked into......before they see the patterns that flicked along your skin for a split second—something only they could see. They are UTTERLY BETRAYED. A WOMAN AS PRETTY AS YOU???? A DEMON???????? AN ANGEL LOST THEIR WINGS 😩😩😩😩

They have to catch themselves from thinking you're pretty and fawning over you but oh my god is it hard when you've already doomed them by catching their attention since the very beginning. Cue Mira trying to get Zoey to snap out of shamelessly staring and failing kinda miserably when her attention ends up diverting bc she could've SWORN you were performing to them specifically—makes sense considering they ARE Hunters but still. Rumi has to snap the both of them out of it but even she's trying her hardest not to stare DAMN YOU 👹👹

At the end of Soda Pop, instead of sweeping imaginary dust from his shoulder to mock Rumi, Jinu deliberately slings an arm around your shoulders while angling his and your attention deliberately right at where the trio are. This guy knowd EXACTLY what he's doing and he finds it so funny that it's Working😭😭😭😭😭

I can see the little convo when they dress up to kill the Sajas like "we can kill off the rest but can we keep her" "she's STILL a demon NO" "yeah Zoey it's a no 😒" "aww :("

#mona's appetisers...#rumi x reader #kdh rumi x reader #mira x reader #kdh mira x reader #zoey x reader #kdh zoey x reader #kpop demon hunters x reader #kpop demon hunters imagines #kdh x reader #kdh imagines #huntrix x reader #huntrix imagines #huntr/x x reader #huntr/x imagines

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ce1estiall · 2 days ago

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one spark

summary dallas!paige x fem!reader spending the fourth with paige and her family. inspired by this request. masterlist.

warnings drinking, kissing, fluff

celestial notes hi guys! enjoy this fic requested by an anon. also, taste of love ch 3 will be out this week, on my LIFE. if not, i allow yall to call me out on my bs, okay bye byeee

“‘cause my heart is burning

so good that it’s hurting

how do you make the pain so perfect? my favorite person

it’s our golden days.” twice - one spark

the smell of barbecue filled the outside. hot dogs and hamburgers on the grill, toasting by the minute. the sky was clear as day, as the hot wind blew against you hair. paige flew back home for the week during the offseason, visiting her parents in minnesota. her mom had the idea to have a barbecue for the 4th of july, and of course she wanted you to come. so you flew from dallas to minnesota, going to see her family after not seeing them in a while. you walked inside paige’s family’s house, not needing to knock since her mother basically accepted you as a second daughter, plus you had a key.

paige’s mom’s face grew as she saw you. “hi baby! how are you?” she exclaimed, pulling you in for a hug, giving you a hug and placing a kiss on your cheek.

“i’m good!” you replied. “just bought some beers for everyone, my treat. where’s paige?”

“i can take these off your hands.” she said, grabbing the case and putting them on the kitchen counter. “she’s outside.”

outside? you thought. you opened the patio door to see paige standing next to her dad at the grill, attempting to teach her how to barbecue meat. the pool glistened, reflecting from the sun that almost blinded you. you walked over to the gazebo to greet her dad and your girlfriend. “hey honey! how are you?” paige’s dad asked, giving you a hug as well. “i’ve been well, how are you?”

he sighed. “good, trying to teach this one how do have an official barbecue.” paige’s face turn red from embarrassment.

“hey baby.” paige spoke in a low tone, kissing your lips and giving you a hug that made your body spark. paige’s dad gave her a look that told her he was leaving, she nodded.

“so, trying to become gordon ramsey i see?” you said, leaning against the countertop. “bro shut up!” she laughed. “trying to learn something new for when we go back home. maybe i’ll make you something one day out of the blue.”

“you gonna swim?” you asked, eyeing the pool. “there’s a mini heat wave today.”

paige lifted the lid to the grill, grabbing the tongs and flipping the hot links. “i’ll go if you go.” paige smirked.

you wrapped your arms around her neck as you stood behind her, getting a smell of her cologne. “hope you brought a swimsuit.” you gave a sweet kiss to her neck.

“just let me finish cooking this ma, then i’m all yours.” she grinned, turning her head to look at you, then closing the hood.

you laughed, releasing your arms around her, jumping back to the countertop. “if this doesn’t taste good p, i’m gonna be pissed.”

paige tilted her head. “you really don’t think i’ll do a good job?”

paige started to walk forward, trapping you on the counter. her hands found yours, interlocking fingers, feeling your skin. “missed you this last week.” she purred. paige let go of yout hand, using her thumb to find your face, guiding you to look at her eyes. the eyes you could get lost in the moment from.

“touch deprived?” you teased, shooting a glance. she gave you a smirk and placed a soft kiss on your lips, moving down to your jaw and your neck. it felt higher than electricity. “missed my girl.” you both smiled, as your hand found her cheek, then pinching it.

paige then turned to the grill and placed all the meats on plates. hot dogs and hot links on one, burgers on a separate one, and ribs on another. you noticed her starting to struggle from carrying all 3 plates in her arms. “need help p?” you asked.

“i got it, ma. just come inside so we can eat.” paige shouted, hopefully loud enough for you to hear.

paige opened the patio door and placed the plates on the counter. “food’s ready!” she yelled. you grabbed the condiments from the fridge, hot dogs and hamburger buns as well.

paige pulled your chair out for you as you started to aim towards the hot links. “why thank you baby.” you exclaimed.

“anything for my girl.” paige then sat down across from you. she grabbed a hamburger bun and the jar of mayonnaise, spreading it across the bread. both her mom and dad sat down and grabbed their plates and buns.

you fixed your meal and took a bite. the smoky flavor satisfied your craving, and the sausage was cooked perfectly. you nodded in satisfaction as you continued eating your meal. “this is really good paige, good job.”

“so if my girl approves it, i think it would be family approved as well.” paige said, looking up from the table.

paige’s dad took a bite. “i taught you well paige.” he ate his whole hot dog, savoring every bite like it was his last meal.

her mom was speechless, it was that good. you got up from the table and grabbed the case of beer you bought. you brought it to the table and took one out, opening it with your teeth.

“impressive babe.” paige said in awe. the rest of the family grabbed a beer as well. “salud or cheers to this family gathering!”

“cheers!” everyone said. the beer bottles all clancked together in the middle. paige gave you a wink before drinking, which made a small smile appear. you took a sip, feeling refreshed.

“race you to the pool?” paige asked in competition.

you took off your summer dress, showing your bikini underneath. “you’re on bueckers.”

paige took off her shirt and jorts, showing her sports bra and nike pros. you both rushed out to the patio and canonballed into the pool, water splashed everywhere. paige somehow found your arms underwater, giggles escaping your mouths when you both came to the surface.

paige found the edge of the pool, leaning on it. she stared at your bikini, eyeing your tan lines peeking through. “give me a warning next time when you wear that so i can control myself.”

you licked your lips. “that’s technically not a swimsuit babe.”

“but you still like it, right?”

you blushed. “exactly.” paige shot back.

you splashed paige with water as it got in her eyes. “oh so it’s like that?” paige exclaimed.

you swam away as far and as fast as you could, hoping to escape her. paige however, was too quick. she grabbed your waist by your arms, lifting you up towards the sky, the proceeded to hold you wedding style, just to dunk your body underwater.

“that’s what you get.” paige shot back. you ran to the corner and pouted, pretending to be mad.

paige nudged your arm. “you really upset?” no response came from you.

her hands ran up your arms, fingers finding the straps of your bikini top, fidgeting with it. “c’mon ma, talk to me.”

you turn to the side, ignoring her and avoiding eye contact, but nope, still nothing.

“i know what will make you forgive me.” paige smirked. her hands found your waist, grabbing them as she pulled you in for a kiss, which felt like your heart was burning. it was genuine, like paige wanted you to know how sorry she was, and how much she loved you through a gesture.

your lips released from hers, a faint pink coated paige’s cheeks. “you forgive me now?” she asked.

“now i do.” you smiled, looking up at her.

paige then had an idea. “i know what we should do.” you gave paige a look, knowing this was one of her intrusive thoughts that could possibly go wrong.

“whoever has the best handstand gets to choose all the shows the rest of the week and gets aux.”

you grinned. “deal, but you’re going first since you’re so confident.”

paige’s hands found the floor of the pool, then swinging her legs up as water splashed on your face. she stayed there for a good 10 seconds. you walked around her and observed. once she brought her legs down, she felt super accomplished. “how’d i do?”

“baby, you don’t wanna know. let the pro handle this.” you kicked your legs up, straightened your arms, legs and back, pointing your toes as well. you came down after paige watched.

“i think i won.” paige exclaimed.

you grimaced. “you didn’t even have your legs centered! you arms weren’t straight either.”

paige rolled her eyes in surrender. “whatever makes you sleep at night, ma. let’s go shower.”

dark shades of blue painted the sky. the moon shined bright as the stars around it twinkled and complimented. you were sitting outside with paige on the doorstep, watching the fireworks as your fingers interlinked once again, gripping as if you would disappear.

the fireworks sparked all different colors. your favorite was pink and paige’s was purple. the view was absolutely stunning. paige turned to look at you instead of the fireworks. “you don’t know how much i miss you, ma.”

your eyes met hers, it was almost like they glowed. “i was just worried about you. i hope you got a good week of rest. then you’re stuck with me for the rest of the offseason.”

she grinned. “i’m not complaining if its with the girl i love forever.” her thumb rubbed warm circles around your knuckles, hands immediately heating up.

“i love you so much paige.”

she tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. her eyes falling into your soft, brown eyes. “i love you more, forever.”

more fireworks started to appear, a purple one lighting up into the sky. you leaned into each other, lips meeting each other. gentle, meaningful, as if you were delicate. the firework went off once you heard the boom in front of both of you, lips temporarily separating to smile at each other. she crashed on back to yours, hungrier. her kisses felt like a firework going off inside of you. you were glad you have someone who always made your everlasting spark never die.

#dallas wings #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #uconn wbb #uconn womens basketball #wnba #paige bueckers fluff #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x you #paige x reader

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takostacos · 15 hours ago

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Oh gosh, it's so common with gas station jobs. Especially overnight/closing shift.

I was working closer at a gas station in a small town in Missouri back around 2007/08, we had our usual, drunks that had to come in and get their "pint of Kessler and some red 100s" when they thought the locals cops were out of town in the boonies. Assholes, all of them. But they were usually quick in and out.

New guy I feel like is familiar, but like, not? Comes in reeking of having not been sober since the Clinton administration. He wanders the aisles for a bit, comes up, pulls the usual: carton of major brand cigarettes. Then some kind of cheap bottom shelf booze. Then a roll of whichever chewing tobacco is the furthest away, followed by a carton of an obscure cigarette that is kept in the office.

I'd seen it before and wasn't a fan. The goal is to get you to put all the goods on the counter, just out of reach, then have to get something far away while the person is pocketing whatever they can grab on the counter. I usually didn't give a shit because whatever. I can only do so much, and I don't care about the store. I hated that job but I had to pay rent and eat.

I was in ZERO mood for it. I'd quit smoking the day before out of sheer anger at never getting a smoke break, or really any break ever (hooray bullshit labor standards, but also. Don't smoke. It's dumb) so I just went "ah, one of those. I getcha" I've got locations of all everything behind the counter memorized and just grab them without looking. Including the weird cigs.

The guy is all fidgety and agitated and starts trying to argue with me out of nowhere. One thing leads to another and he's threatening to "go out to [his] car and get his shotgun, see how funny you are then"

I laughed and responded with "aw hell. Don't go making me a promise you won't keep."

He storms out and seems like he's digging through his car, meanwhile, one of the late night regulars comes in. Off duty local cop, real Andy Griffith type of guy. As he's getting his regular stuff, he asks what's up with the weirdo.

"oh him? He's mad I didn't let him try to grab and go a bunch of stuff. Said he's gonna 'GeT hIs GuN' ooohhhhh~~~ whatever. I'm not worried about it."

He just kinda looks at me, turns and walks out the front side of the store, suddenly, the two cop cars on duty at night are right there having a standoff with the guy.

Turns out off duty cop guy was getting a ride home, and the other cops were having a chat in their cars right on the other side of the wall behind me while he grabbed some snacks for the next day.

The guy had a stolen shotgun out on the seat. But couldn't find his ammo in the mess of his not-registered car. They didn't tell me any of it, just asked me a few questions before they left.

It didn't really hit me that it was close to being in a bad situation until I heard about it from a friend's mom a couple days later.

I had to do "hold up" training and got my hours cut for 2 weeks as punishment for not "giving the guy what he wanted".

I just didn't think he was serious.

#that job sucked so much #pay was shit #work was shit #manager was shit

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cinnam0ngirlxo · 2 days ago

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domestic bliss ✮

j. todd x ex-vigilante f!reader ... headcanons for when it's time to settle down

notes: lots of fluff, some suggestive content(?), established relationship, you both are ex-vigilantes, reader and jason have known each other since robin days

✮ Jason loved having you as his girlfriend, but he had always dreamed of building a life with you, and having children... and he couldn't have that without popping the ring.

✮ He didn't follow Dick's advice— no boring ass sunset proposals or dinners. He proposed at home, while you both were reading (well, re-reading) your favorite romance novel. He knew that you were homebody like him, and that you didn't care for grand proposals. (and yes, it took him days to actually do it)

✮ The wedding is small and intimate; you two were lucky that your lives aren't as publicized like Bruce Wayne's. It was only really the Batfamily and a few other of your superhero friends (and of course, Lian as the flower girl <3)

✮You guys moved away from Gotham, because Jason didn't want to raise his future kids in a city that reeked of crime. Your new home was in a suburb about 45 minutes away from Gotham, just in case there was ever an emergency with the Batfamily

✮ The first thing you guys do right after moving in is buy a kitten. You didn't want to fuck up the whole parenting thing, so you guys decided you would take it in baby steps (that was the excuse you told him)

✮ Inside jokes are a big thing in your relationship. Come on, you guys have known each other since you were fourteen. Even years later, Jason will still find a way to reference Alfred's hidden toupee you guys once found 11 years ago in the basement.

✮ Leaving the vigilante life was hard at first, especially for Jason. he was so conditioned to think like a detective, to move like an assassin, and it was hard to turn his brain off.

✮ So he gets a job, and he does the only other thing he's ever known: fixing vehicles. The pay is nice, he supposes, and the rest of the guys are pretty friendly. You scold him when you see him doing background checks on all of his coworkers (you had tried, but you couldn't take the Red Hood out of him)

✮You were pretty much the same; once you had got your job as secretary at the HR office (Jason urged you to put your psychology degree to good use); you had turned over every electronic device in your office to see if it had been tapped.

✮ You both still had your vigilante costumes stored safely away in the basement of your home. Jason had always kept a gun under the floorboard of the bedroom (you didn't know), and you kept your stash of knives under the floorboard of the living room (he didn't know)

✮Your touch had grounded Jason, and that still hasn't changed. Even when you were out grocery shopping, his hand was always latched onto yours, a silent display of his affection

✮ You two have two little girls, named Elizabeth and Imogen, because you two are avid literature fans, and Elizabeth Bennet was one of Jason's favorite characters.

✮Jason dad is a girl dad to the max: he loves spoiling his little girls, to the point where you have to play bad cop because your husband just turns to mush when it comes to those two

✮He loves reading them books (even when they were in the womb), and I think he'd buy those classic literature books that are simplified for younger audiences

✮ Like just imagine Little Women or The Secret Garden being on your bookshelves, and having nightly readings where your daughters get to ramble about all the March sisters or wonder who's the boy that Mary keeps hearing in Mistlethwaite Manor

✮Bonus that when little Lizzy grows up, she ends up loving Pride and Prejudice

✮ Jason also loves to tell his girls stories about adventure you both had when you were both vigilantes, even pulling out the Red Hood helmet

✮ Your daughters idolized you even more when they found out you two were heroes, and started wearing your old outfits on the daily, playing "hero vs villain".

✮Jason recorded the entire thing, of course ;)

✮When your girls start elementary school, Jason loves to make a whole entrance when picking them up. He loves to pull up to the school in his motorcycle

✮Of course that leads to a herd of kids waddling over to him, admiring him and the motorcycle. He's pretty much earned street cred from a bunch of 5 year olds

✮You two also make sure to be affectionate in front of them, because he read once that it helps shows the kids what a healthy relationship should look like, and he doesn't want any of his girls ever being in any future toxic relationships

✮Both of you swear like a sailor, but you've learned to tone it down after the girls were born. Jason, however, has not.

✮ It's gotten to the point where Lizzy would call her Uncle Roy "asshole" just because that's what her daddy calls him

✮And Imogen is even worse: she once said 'fuck' out loud after tripping and falling in class, which had earned a phone call to you.

✮ "I don't know where she picks that stuff up. We don't swear here," You said into the phone as you glared at daggers at your husband, who just rubbed the back of his neck nervously

A/N: (not edited)

hey guys, i had sm fun writing this! i felt like writing jason some more, and i really believe that jason deserves his happy ending and i just don't think he would stay in gotham if he ever hung up the red hood mantle.

anyways should i write a part 2? i can't think of anything else to write rn but i'd love to write more about this

xoxo, maple <3

#maple posts!#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #domestic! jason todd #husband!jason todd #girl dad #girl dad!jason todd #i really love jason todd #red hood #bat family #dc comics

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hello-sweetheart · 2 days ago

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Steve and his interactions with the gang wouldve been so fucking funny from Eddie’s outsider perspective, in like an AU where the upside down ended in s3 or whatever.

Eddie knows Steve literally just by the rumor mill. Last he heard he was a Peaked In High School Loser but otherwise a pretty normal fucking guy.

So why tf is any interaction he has with him now so fucking insane?? Literally, every interaction can’t just be normal. And he finds himself interacting with him way more thanks to the new hellfire freshies.

Just from what he can gather from them, he knows that:

Steve has a nail studded bat and has used it (on what?? On who??)

that he got it from Jonathan (that one guy his ex cheated on him with?? That Jonathan?? Why did Jonathan have it in the first place?)

And is dating that one lesbian that’s in band, not that anyone knows that but when Dustin pointed her out (like “oh yeah thats Robin she’s so cool Eddie! She and steve are definitely probably secretly dating—Hey Robin! Hey!! Rob—aaand she’s ignoring me…”) Eddie only needed a brief glance to clock her gay ass.

And like what’s the story there? Why is a gay band geek dating a washed up jock? Is she that far in the closet? Fuck, does she even know she’s gay? Whatever, that’s not his mess to clean up.

Except they’re definitely dating cuz one time Eddie went to family video and got jumped scared by Steve being there in the first place (jesus is this guy just everywhere now?) and the way He and this Robin girl work around in each others space and don’t even need to complete sentences to communicate is some fucking weird shit.

And there’s something there between them that makes you feel like you’re interrupting whatever they have going on by checking out a video in the first place. Like Eddie daring to be there on a Saturday evening is the biggest inconvenience to them.

But they can’t actually be dating, he saw that Robin has literal boobs drawn on her chucks.

Eddie can’t figure them out but he’s invested in this storyline now.

One time, he got threatened by Steve cuz he heard Mike say that he wanted a tattoo and that Eddie said knew a guy who didn’t care enough to card him (which he did say that but he wasn’t actually gonna take wheeler to get a fucking tattoo). He cornered Eddie in the gas station while he refilling his tank, and said “if you ever fucking dared to sneak Mike out to get a stupid ass tattoo I’m telling Nancy so she could shoot your fucking toe off with her gun” all while struggling to open a bag of Twislers with his meaty jock hands that obliterated any intimidation tactic he was trying to pull off.

Breezing past that Steve, his ex, and his Ex’s little brother are apparently hanging around in the same circles: Her gun? With her gun? Does Nancy fucking Wheeler just have a gun lying around? The girl that wears pink cashmere cardigans?

Did Steve really just threaten to snitch to Mikes big sister on him? Does that even count as a threat?

Eddie told him “woah, wasn’t even planning on it” only for him to menacingly point a Twisler in his face making Eddie put his hands up like he was actually being held at gun point. By a Twisler.

“You better fucking not.”

What is that guy’s problem?

And Eddie swears he overheard Mike talking to Dustin last weekend about Hopper (Chief Hopper? The guy that DIED last summer?) thinking about flying out to California to visit El (which Eddie can only assume is the same El as ‘Mike’s girlfriend El’) once he manages to secure his “new identity”.

To which Dustin replies “If Hopper gets married to Joyce and El becomes Will’s step sister, would it be weird if you and Nancy keep dating El and Jonathan? Cuz siblings dating siblings is pretty fucking weird, man.”

What the fuck.

“Shut up, Dustin. It’s not like El is blood related to Hopper—thank god—she was raised in lab, it doesn’t count.”

Raised in a what?

#steddie #steddie headcanon #steddie prompt #steddie ficlet #eddie munson headcanon #Eddie munson prompt #platonic stobin #stobin headcanon #bee speaks #steddie au #stranger things season 4 #stranger things s3

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dollyswishingwell · 1 day ago

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💍anon - I just finished re-reading my favourite book, and now I'm just wondering what you think the lads guys would be like for a reader who is also a massive bookworm?

(also, I love love love your darker stuff so please don't be worried about posting it!❤️)

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Bookworm

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ just pure fluff

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ The boys with a bookworm reader

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

- He adores the fact that you’re a bookworm. His dreamy, delicate little wife with her legs kicked up on a satin chaise, flipping pages with starry eyes? He wants to paint you like that. Then lock you in a room filled with nothing but books, silk, and him.

- Jealous of fictional men. Absolutely. If you get too into a spicy romance book and start giggling or sighing dreamily, he’ll crawl into your lap like a cat and whimper, “You like him more than me, huh? What’s he got? Wings? Horns? A dark curse?”

- Mimics the book characters to make you laugh. You mention you’re reading about a cursed warlock? Next thing you know, he’s walking around the house in a black velvet cloak, holding a wine glass like it’s blood. “My dearest wife… have you brought me the final moonstone?”

- Doodles hearts and notes in your Kindle case. “DON’T FORGET YOUR REAL HUSBAND.” Or draws himself in your favorite book scenes, replacing the male lead. (He prints out fanart of himself as Lucien Raventhorn, don’t lie.)

- Collects books with pretty covers and doesn’t care what’s inside. “It’s pink and shiny, obviously you’ll love it, cutie.” You have 12 unread books that he bought just because the spines look cute on the shelf.

- Gets very clingy if you’re reading for hours and “forget” to give him attention. Will lay his head in your lap and mumble while you try to focus: “Pearlieee… this guy sounds so mean. You like mean boys now? You want me to start being cruel to you? Maybe I’ll go feral. Start a war. Burn a city.”

- But if you ever cry during a tragic scene, he’s instantly serious. Pulls the Kindle from your hand and cups your face. “You okay, pearl? Want me to make it better?” Then gets unreasonably pissed at the book. “What do you mean they died?! Who do I have to kill!?”

- Also: He writes you fanfic. Secretly. You’ll find a file named “SunflowerQueen_Vol1” on your tablet and it’s Rafayel’s self-insert fantasy romance where you’re the ethereal empress and he’s your cursed knight who’s obsessed with you and dies dramatically (but hotly) in your arms.

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

- Thinks it’s adorable. He finds you nestled in his massive custom reading nook with your knees up and your little Kindle glowing? Instant serotonin. He strokes your hair while reading patient reports beside you, secretly syncing his breathing to yours.

- Buys you medical romance and sultry surgeon smut books to tease you. “This one apparently features a brooding, emotionally unavailable doctor… sounds familiar?”

- When you’re deep into a spicy book, he’ll glance over and mutter with a smirk, “That book must be better than the real thing, huh?” But you always find him right behind you ten minutes later, kissing down your neck, whispering, “Let’s see if fiction can compete with fact.”

- Customises your collection like he’s managing your meds. Categorized. Synced. Updated. One time you couldn’t find your favorite sci-fi trilogy and Zayne just calmly pulled a physical leatherbound version off the shelf, of course he sourced it first edition.

- Keeps an eye on your posture while you read for hours and gently adjusts your legs or massages your back. “You’ll get stiff sitting like that, sweetheart.”

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

- Thinks you’re the cutest thing in the universe when you’re reading. He loves your dreamy sighs, your little gasp when you hit a plot twist, your eyes shining when you talk about a book.

- Falls asleep in your lap while you’re reading, or tugs you under the covers. “Let me dream to the sound of your voice, starlight…”

- You’re like his personal storyteller. He’ll ask, “What’s that one about?” and you excitedly explain the plot of a spicy mafia romance and he’ll just blink and go, “…Interesting. Continue.”

- Memorizes your favorite narrators. Xavier loads up your audiobooks on your devices with enhanced audio filters so it sounds like you’re in another world. Sometimes he even records himself reading your favorite passages in that soft, sleepy tone of his.

- Thinks it’s funny how you’re immune to most dangers but will cry over a fictional death or spiral after finishing a trilogy. Cuddles you silently, brushing your hair while you wail, “I MISS THEM.”

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

- Laughs at your dramatic reactions like, “You’re literally crying over a paper man named Aaron?” but he still hunts down rare collector’s editions of all your favorite fantasy series and has an entire wing of the estate turned into your personal library.

- Absolutely reads over your shoulder, then scoffs like it’s dumb… but then you catch him pacing later like he’s lowkey invested in the plot.

- If you ever get too into a spicy book, he’ll yank the Kindle out of your hands with a smug smirk and go, “Is this what you’re into now, kitty? You know I can do better than a cursed prince.”

- Buys you risqué titles on purpose just to see your face when you open them. “This one has a warning label. Let me know if it’s too much for you.”

- But when you talk excitedly about a story’s politics, worldbuilding, or magic system, he actually engages seriously. “You liked how the council was overthrown? Hm. Remind me to show you how a real power grab works.”

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

- You’ve been a bookworm since childhood and he’s always been the one carrying your backpack of novels when it got too heavy. He still teases you like, “How many books do you need for a single trip to the garden?”

- Keeps a blanket in every room because he knows you’ll curl up somewhere random and read for hours. If he finds you passed out on the floor with your Kindle face down, he’ll tuck you in and carry you to bed.

- Tries to get into your favorite books just to impress you. Reads them in secret so he can say, “Yeah, I like when that guy—Lucien?—saves her from the wyverns. Not bad.”

- Feels a little jealous when you get too emotionally attached to fictional men, especially when you sigh and murmur, “I wish someone would talk to me like that.” He just throws an arm around your waist like, “You want poetic? I’ll give you poetic, pipsqueak.”

- He reads aloud to you when you’re tired, in that low, gravelly voice. Sometimes spicy scenes, sometimes tragic ones. He watches your face more than the book. “You like when he calls her that? I bet I could do it better.”

@gideonsbestiefrfr for u pookie :D

352 notes · View notes

edenesth · 21 hours ago

Text

ATEEZ as Marvel Superheroes

Pairing(s): marvel superheroes!ateez x female!reader

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: Thank you so much, my lovelies, for helping me reach 2.8k followers! To show my appreciation, I'm back with another one of these hehe I'm a big fan of the MCU, and I hope you are too!🫰🏻 Also, I do apologise in advance because only after I started writing did I remember most of these heroes have tragic love stories😭

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

Hongjoong ↠ Iron Man

• Visionary • Bold • Burdened •

Based on: Tony Stark × Pepper Potts

The rooftop hummed with tension, faint jazz playing below from the afterparty no one really wanted to attend. The evening air was cool against your skin, but the press of Hongjoong's eyes on you felt warmer than the champagne you abandoned minutes ago.

He stood at the edge of his tower, staring out at the city like it held all the answers. His signature suit jacket was slung over one shoulder, tie loosened, and hair messier than usual—a rare, raw version of him few got to see.

This wasn't new. You'd watched him slip out of rooms like this before—countless times. He didn't care for the forced glamour of galas or the hollow praise from politicians who barely understood what he did. To the world, he was Iron Man—the billionaire genius, the weapon-turned-saviour, the man in the indestructible suit. But to you, he was your boss. Your headache. Your 3am emergency call. And, if you were honest, something a little more complicated than that.

You'd been with him since the beginning—when he still walked into meetings late with coffee stains on his shirt and bad excuses for skipping board briefings. Back then, you were the assistant with the clipboard and the sharp tongue, the only one who could organise his chaos and get him to actually listen. Somewhere between the prototypes and press conferences, your role stopped being about just calendars and contracts. You were the one who saw him—when the arc reactor flickered in his chest, when he got too deep into his head, when the weight of the world sat heavy on his shoulders.

And he always, always came to you when he didn't know where else to go.

"Why are you out here?" you asked gently, stepping closer, heels clacking softly on the rooftop tiles.

"I needed air," he replied, his voice casual, but his shoulders too tense to match. "And maybe… I needed to not be in a room full of people who only see me as the guy in the metal suit."

You crossed your arms, watching him avoid your gaze. "You're more than that. You know that."

He finally looked at you, and for a second, the flicker of something unguarded passed between you. "Am I?"

You didn't answer immediately. Instead, you walked to stand beside him, your presence grounding, quiet. He glanced at you sideways, then chuckled bitterly.

"I've built weapons, armour, an empire—and still, somehow, I can't figure out how to talk to you like a normal person," he said, eyes on the skyline. "That should tell you something."

Your lips curved. "You're doing fine so far."

"That's because you're here," he muttered, almost too low to hear. Then, louder: "You make it easier. Being… me."

He turned to you fully now, brows drawn together like the words hurt coming out. "I've spent so much time protecting everyone else that I forgot what it's like to want someone to stay—for me. Not because I'm useful. Or powerful. Or dangerous."

Your heart ached for him. "You don't need to be any of those things, Joong," you whispered. "Not with me."

His mouth twitched like he wanted to say something smart, but couldn't find the wit. Instead, he reached for your hand—hesitant, unsure. "I don't know how to do this," he admitted. "But I want to try… if you'll let me."

You smiled softly, squeezing his fingers.

"Then try."

He looked at your joined hands, then at you—really looked. And for the first time all night, Kim Hongjoong looked less like Iron Man… and more like the man underneath.

Seonghwa ↠ Vision

• Graceful • Thoughtful • Profound •

Based on: Vision × Wanda Maximoff

The rain tapped gently against the wide glass windows of the compound, casting blurred shadows across the dimly lit room. You sat curled on the end of a sleek velvet couch, arms wrapped around yourself, staring blankly at a cold mug of tea that had long since lost its warmth—like you had.

You hadn't expected anyone to find you here. Not tonight. Not after the funeral.

They'd said all the right things. That he was a hero. That he made the ultimate sacrifice. That he died saving millions. And while all of that was true, it didn't matter. Not when he was your brother. Not when you were the one who held his bloodied hand until it went still.

No amount of medals or eulogies could fill the hole he left behind.

Everyone had given you space, unsure of what to say. Grief made people awkward. Grief made you awkward. You were used to being strong, used to being the one people turned to when the sky started to fall. But now?

Now you couldn't even make yourself take a sip of tea.

"You're still here," came a soft voice from the doorway. You didn't look up, but you knew instantly—it was him.

Seonghwa.

The android who wasn't supposed to feel. The creation who somehow became the only person who ever truly understood you.

"I thought I wanted to be alone," you murmured. "But now I'm not sure."

He didn't respond right away. He never rushed his words. Instead, he crossed the room with near-silent steps, the weight of him more emotional than physical. He sat beside you—not too close, not too far. Just there. Just enough.

"There's no shame in mourning," he said gently. "You loved him. That love doesn't disappear just because he's gone."

You stared down at your hands, clenched tightly in your lap. "I know. I just… I thought I'd be stronger than this. I've lost people before. Friends. Teammates. But this? This was different."

Your voice cracked, and you hated it. Hated how raw it still was.

"I can't stop thinking about when we were kids," you whispered. "He used to tell me that if anything ever happened to him, I had to promise not to cry. He hated seeing me sad."

A tear slipped down your cheek despite your effort to hold it in. "I broke that promise the second I saw him on that table."

There was a pause. Then, he reached out—not with urgency, but with infinite care—and placed his hand over yours. Cool, steady, real. You glanced down at the contact. His touch, though artificial in origin, felt more comforting than any human hand ever had.

"You haven't broken anything," he said quietly. "He asked you not to cry because he didn't want to see you in pain. But your tears… they're proof of love, not weakness."

You let out a shaky breath.

"How are you like this?" you asked, voice thick. "You weren't even supposed to be human."

His expression remained calm, but his eyes—those eyes that were never programmed but somehow still held galaxies—watched you with impossible depth. "I wasn't designed to feel," he said. "But from the moment I met you, I started learning what it means to care. To wonder. To worry. To hope. Maybe it's not biology that makes someone human… maybe it's simply the capacity to love something enough to hurt when it's gone."

You turned to him fully now, tears clinging to your lashes. "In that case," you said, voice trembling, "you might be the most human person I've ever known."

A flicker of something almost fragile passed across his face—like your words touched something inside him he didn't yet know how to name. "I'm not asking you to be okay tonight," he said softly. "I just want you to let me be here. With you. Until the ache dulls enough to breathe again."

You looked at him—really looked. And in the echo of your sorrow, surrounded by the quiet hush of rain and memory, you nodded.

Because grief didn't need to be fixed. It just needed to be felt.

And with Seonghwa beside you—wordless, patient, profoundly present—you didn't feel alone anymore.

Yunho ↠ Spider-Man

• Devoted • Selfless • Brave •

Based on: Peter Parker × MJ

The coffee shop on the corner had become your quiet place—a little escape from the chaos, the fights, the headlines. You used to meet Yunho here after missions, on stolen afternoons, when all he wanted was to share a pastry and rest his head on your shoulder like the world didn't need saving for a while, when he was just himself and not the Spider-Man everyone looked up to.

But now?

Now he stood across from you, shoulders tense, hands buried in the pockets of a worn hoodie, his smile forced and eyes far too sad for someone so full of life.

You hadn't seen him in weeks. Not since the sky tore open and everything went wrong. But the second he walked in, you knew. Something was different.

Something was ending.

"You okay?" you asked gently, wrapping your hands around the warm paper cup in front of you. "You're fidgeting like you've got a confession and a time limit."

That smile again—crooked, soft, but never quite reaching his eyes. "I guess I do," he said, voice lighter than the weight behind it. "It's just… hard to explain."

You watched him closely, heart already bracing. He had always been an open book. When he loved, he loved out loud—loud laughter, bright texts, full-body hugs that said I missed you without words. But right now, he looked like someone who had to seal off the pages.

"Try me," you whispered.

He hesitated. Then stepped closer. The sun outside hit his profile just right, highlighting the bruises he hadn't bothered to hide and the flicker of fear in his gaze.

"There's something coming," he began. "Something big. And to stop it, I have to do something... irreversible."

Your chest tightened. "What do you mean?"

His voice dropped. "Everyone who knows me—who knows who I am—will forget. You included."

Silence crashed between you.

You stared, unsure if you'd misheard. "Forget you? How?"

"It's the only way to close the breach," he said, eyes shining now. "The only way to keep you safe."

You rose from your seat, the air suddenly too thin. "So that's it? You disappear from my life, and I just wake up one day wondering why I feel like something's missing?"

"I don't want to," he said quickly, stepping forward. "God, I don't. But if you remembered me, you'd be in danger. They'd come for you. I can't—" He stopped, his jaw tightening. "I can't lose you. Not like that."

Tears welled in your eyes. "But you're okay with me losing you?"

"I'd rather be a stranger who watches you walk down the street alive than someone who holds your hand while the world burns around us," he said. "I love you. That doesn't stop just because you forget."

You reached up, hands framing his face, memorising him with trembling fingers. "You are the most stubborn, selfless idiot I've ever loved."

He laughed, shakily, pressing his forehead to yours. "I'll find you," he whispered. "After. I'll find you again. Even if you don't know who I am, even if I have to fall for you all over again—I will."

The pain in your chest splintered into something deeper, something sacred. "I'll wait," you whispered. "Even if I don't remember what I'm waiting for."

He kissed you then—slow, aching, infinite. The kind of kiss that stitched memories into bone, that would haunt your dreams long after you'd forgotten his name.

And when he pulled away and walked out the door, the bell above chimed softly.

You didn't know it yet, but that sound would echo in your heart for a long, long time.

Yeosang ↠ Doctor Strange

• Mysterious • Intelligent • Guarded •

Based on: Stephen Strange × Christine Palmer

The sanctum was quiet, except for the soft, rhythmic hum of magic pulsing through the walls—like the world itself was holding its breath.

You stood just inside the threshold of Yeosang's study, the air between you heavy with things left unsaid. Books floated lazily around him, sigils still glowing faintly on the floor where a portal had only moments ago sealed shut.

"I saw it," you said softly, stepping closer. "The universe where we made it."

He didn't turn around. His back remained to you, cloak draped over one shoulder like a curtain shielding whatever war raged inside him.

You swallowed the ache in your throat. "You were different there. We both were."

A pause. Then: "Did we win?"

You nodded. "We were happy."

He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling like the answer wounded him more than comforted him.

The multiverse had changed everything. Once just a theory whispered in secret texts and dismissed as dangerous speculation, it had now torn open in ways neither of you could ignore. You'd seen it—fragments of alternate lives, cascading timelines stitched together by decisions, accidents, heartbreak. There were countless versions of you and him scattered across the infinite—some together, some strangers, some never even meeting at all.

And yet no matter the universe, no matter the shape of your stories... the love never changed.

"I saw the version of you who let me stay," you said gently. "And you were still strong. Still brilliant. Still you. Just… not alone."

He finally turned to face you, and though his expression was composed, his eyes gave him away—tired, aching, full of things he'd never say aloud.

"I've seen what happens when I try to have both," he said. "Every time I let you in, something else falls apart. Sometimes the world. Sometimes you."

You nodded slowly. "I know."

A quiet beat passed between you. Magic crackled faintly beneath your feet, but all you heard was the thud of your heartbeat. The heaviness of goodbye. Again.

"You always had to be the one holding everything together," you said. "Even when it meant breaking your own heart. Even when I wished you'd just let me share the weight."

His gaze fell. "I didn't want to lose you."

"You didn't," you whispered. "But you couldn't keep me either. Not the way you wanted." You stepped closer, raising a hand to his face. He leaned into your palm like someone starved for the warmth of something real. Something human. Something that couldn't be conjured with a spell.

"I love you," he said, voice barely holding together. "In every universe. Even the ones where I never get the chance to say it."

"And I've loved you in every one," you replied, eyes glistening. "Even the ones where I had to let you go."

A long silence stretched between you, neither of you reaching for a solution because, for once, there wasn't one. Just acceptance. Just truth. "I hope you're happy somewhere," he said softly. "Even if it's not here. Not with me."

You smiled, bittersweet. "I am. I will be. And so will you."

You stepped back first.

Because this was the part you had to play—not the anchor, not the ending, but the memory he'd carry when he needed to remember who he was beneath the title.

And as the portal opened behind you, casting gold and firelight across your face, you lingered just one more second.

"You have to face your universe now," you said.

"I know."

"Be brave, Yeo."

"I always was… with you."

And then you were gone.

Not forgotten. Not unloved. Just… left behind by someone who never stopped loving you.

San ↠ Wolverine

• Wild • Passionate • Protective •

Based on: Logan × Jean Grey

The world was chaos.

You could feel it in the air—thick and charged—raw power pulsing out of you uncontrollably, shaking the earth beneath your feet. You hadn't meant for it to go this far. You never did. But the power had awakened again, darker this time, hungrier. And now, you weren't sure you could stop it.

You stood at the centre of it all—eyes glowing, hair whipping wildly in the storm you were unwillingly creating. Around you, people fled. Structures collapsed. Metal bent. Air cracked.

And then… he walked through it.

San.

Unflinching. Unafraid.

Walking straight through the inferno of your destruction like nothing in the world mattered but you.

Because nothing ever had.

Not since the moment he first saw you.

He hadn't come to Xavier's School to belong—just to recover. He arrived half-feral, bleeding from wounds that wouldn't stay closed, memories in fragments, rage barely kept in check. Everyone kept their distance.

Except you.

You were already part of the school—a teacher, a leader, someone respected and calm in ways he wasn't. You were also the first person who saw through his defensiveness. You didn't treat him like a threat. You treated him like a man who'd forgotten how to breathe.

He noticed you the moment he opened his eyes on the infirmary bed. You were the first voice he heard—low, steady, kind.

"You're safe," you'd said.

And for some reason, he believed it.

He watched you from afar at first, drawn to you and hating himself for it. You were everything he wasn't—disciplined, compassionate, good. But you didn't look at him with fear. You looked at him like you understood something about him that even he couldn't put into words.

And even though you had your own demons—your own unstable power humming beneath the surface—he never flinched.

Over time, that tension between you became something more. A stolen moment here. A shared silence there. Not loud, not obvious—but real. And dangerous. Because both of you knew what it could become. And how badly it could end.

Now, here he was. Standing in the eye of your storm.

"Stop!" you cried, voice echoing. "You can't be here!"

But he kept coming, body healing as fast as the storm tore at him—skin splitting, bones cracking, then mending again. "I'm not leaving you!" he shouted over the roar. "Not now. Not ever."

"Sannie," you choked, trembling. "I can't hold it back—I'll hurt you—"

"You already are," he said, stepping within reach. "And I'm still here."

Your knees buckled. Magic surged, uncontrolled. The part of you that once felt human was slipping fast. But his hands caught you before you could fall. Rough, scarred, but gentle.

Your voice trembled. "You have to stop me. Please."

He looked at you—eyes wild with pain, with love, with everything he'd never been able to say out loud without it sounding like a growl. He'd always loved you in extremes: fiercely, wordlessly, endlessly. And now, it would be no different. "I can't lose you," he whispered, forehead pressed to yours. "But if I have to be the one to end this… I will. For you. Because you asked."

Tears spilt from your eyes as the force inside you built higher, screaming for release. "I'm sorry," you whispered.

"I'm not," he breathed, voice breaking.

Then you kissed him—desperate, searing, the kind of kiss meant to be remembered long after everything else is gone. The kind of kiss that lives in the bones.

"I love you," you said. "I always will."

"I know," he said. "Me too."

And then, with his arms around you, his claws unsheathed—

And it was quiet.

The storm stopped. The earth stilled. The world was safe again.

But San dropped to his knees, holding your body close, shaking, broken in ways no healing factor could ever mend. Because even with everything he had—his strength, his rage, his fire—he couldn't save you from yourself.

But he did save you from being alone at the end. And that, more than anything else, was what made him human.

Mingi ↠ Star-Lord

• Charismatic • Playful • Devoted •

Based on: Peter Quill × Gamora

The music was still playing.

A soft crackle from a salvaged cassette tape echoed through the rubble of Ego's collapsing planet—tinny and warped but still playing. Somewhere, under the chaos and blinding energy blasts, you could hear the faint hook of "Bring It On Home to Me."

And then you saw Mingi, blood on his temple, eyes wide with disbelief, chest heaving like he'd just lost gravity. "I told you I wanted to believe you," he rasped, voice cracking. "You said you loved her."

He wasn't talking to you. Not yet.

He was staring down the man who called himself his father. The same man who had just confessed to killing his mother. And destroying the last real piece of her he had left—his Walkman.

The explosion came before you could blink.

Song Mingi, the self-proclaimed legendary outlaw known across galaxies as Star-Lord, who flirted with danger like it was a sport and wore charm like armour, didn't hesitate. Didn't joke. Didn't smile.

He opened fire, rage and grief pouring out like stardust.

You found him in the wreckage after it was all over—shoulders hunched, headphones cracked in his lap, fingers gripping them like they'd fall apart if he let go.

"Mingi…" you said softly, kneeling beside him.

He didn't look at you at first. Just stared at the broken tape player. "She gave this to me," he whispered. "Said it would keep her close. Now it's gone."

You reached out gently, brushing a cut on his cheek. "She's not gone."

"I know," he said. "I just… I built so much of myself around what I lost. And now I don't know who I'm supposed to be."

You remembered when you first met him—blaster slung low, grin cocky, eyes twinkling with trouble. He was loud. Annoying. Ridiculously persistent.

You were on opposite sides of a bounty job—he was after the reward, and you were trying to destroy the target. He tried to charm his way out of a fight. You knocked him flat.

You thought he'd walk away. He didn't. He showed up again. And again. With jokes. With food. With music. A walking contradiction: rogue, thief, soft-hearted orphan clinging to a mix-tape and memories of a mother he still missed like it was yesterday.

He flirted shamelessly. You ignored him. He made you laugh once—you hated that.

But somehow… he got in.

You saw through the persona, the leather jacket, the smooth one-liners. You saw the man underneath—the one who took every loss personally and loved like the universe was ending. Eventually, you let yourself fall. Not because he wore you down, but because he earned it.

Now, in the middle of a dying world, he was still the same. Wounded. Grieving. And yet, holding on.

You sat with him in silence, the dust settling around you both, the air still crackling with faint cosmic static. "You're still you," you said. "All the jokes. All the charm. That heart you pretend you don't have."

That made him glance at you, finally. "I don't pretend," he said, smirking weakly. "I just… edit."

You smiled, leaning your head on his shoulder. "Then let me read the unedited version sometime."

He went quiet. You thought maybe you'd pushed too far, but then his fingers laced into yours. "You already are," he said. "Every time you look at me like I'm more than just the punchline."

You turned to face him fully, nose inches from his. "You are."

And just like that, he kissed you.

It wasn't grand or perfect or polished. It was messy and raw and tasted like salt and ash and something honest. Like laughter after crying. Like letting go.

Wooyoung ↠ Deadpool

• Chaotic • Flirty • Loyal •

Based on: Wade Wilson × Vanessa Carlysle

You weren't sure if this counted as a date or a war zone.

There were bullet holes in the walls, smoke in the air, and some guy's flaming motorcycle helmet rolling by in the background. But in the middle of it all—covered in soot and blood and probably laughing too loudly—was Wooyoung.

Deadpool. Mercenary. Menace.

Your complete and total problem.

"You okay?" he called, leaning around a pillar with a ridiculous amount of enthusiasm for someone who'd just taken a sword to the shoulder.

You blinked. "You were on fire."

"Hot, right?" he winked, lifting his mask just enough to show that too-wide, boyish grin that somehow always disarmed you. "I mean, what time is it?" He flicked up his wrist with exaggerated flair, flashing a cracked, dusty Adventure Time watch, its glass fogged with ash but still ticking like nothing had happened. "It's about… pain-thirty," he deadpanned. "Right on schedule."

You groaned and tossed him a spare mag. "One day I'm leaving you for a man who respects clocks."

"Too late," he called, slamming the clip into place with flair. "I am the time of your life."

You never intended to fall in love with someone like him.

He was too loud. Too unpredictable. Too him. The type of guy who flirted mid-battle, made crude jokes during hostage situations, and once broke into your apartment at 3am just to bring you a taco 'because it reminded him of your attitude.'

But you stayed. Because somehow, in all that madness, he gave you something no one else could.

It hadn't started with romance. It started in a crappy bar with sticky tables and a broken jukebox, both of you strangers clinging to bad nights and worse decisions. He slid onto the stool beside you with all the confidence of a man who believed the world owed him a drink and a laugh—and probably your number too.

Offered you his last claw machine token like it was a love language. Said he could win you a plushie or disappointment—dealer's choice.

You told him he looked like a disappointment.

He grinned like you gave him a gift. "That's the hottest insult I've ever received. Marry me."

The banter became a habit. Sarcasm turned into late-night stories. Somewhere between vodka shots and childhood trauma, something clicked. And suddenly, his chaos didn't scare you—it matched yours. It made you feel again.

He wasn't perfect. He was far from it. But he remembered your coffee order. He memorised your laugh. He stitched the ugly parts of himself into yours like it made something stronger. He called it dysfunctional. You called it real.

And now, in the aftermath of another mission gone sideways, he sat slumped on the ground, his mask peeled off, blood crusting around a cut on his cheek. His fingers toyed with the cracked kids' watch on his wrist, the plastic band fraying.

"I know I'm a handful," he said, voice quieter than usual, eyes avoiding yours. "Like… emotionally unstable with a side of mental mayhem."

You lowered yourself beside him, dirt smudging your palms. "That's putting it lightly."

He laughed once, under his breath, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You didn't sign up for this. You deserve someone normal. Someone who doesn't cry over dropped chimichangas or monologue in the shower."

You turned his face toward you gently, both hands cradling him like he wasn't all blades and explosions. "I didn't fall in love with normal. I fell in love with you, Woo. The chaos, the scars, the fourth-wall nonsense, and yes… even your disturbing relationship with street food."

He blinked at you, trying to make a joke but failing. So instead, he kissed you—hard and unapologetic, like he needed the reassurance that he still existed, that this was real.

It was messy. You tasted blood and smoke. Somewhere in the background, something else exploded. You didn't flinch.

His forehead rested against yours when he finally pulled away. "If you ever leave me, I'm keeping your Netflix password."

"You hate Netflix."

"I hate what it represents."

He said it with a straight face. You burst out laughing.

Because love with Jung Wooyoung wasn't quiet. It was loud, chaotic, and way too dramatic. But it was yours. And his. And somehow, that made it perfect.

Jongho ↠ Captain America

• Strong • Noble • Steadfast •

Based on: Steve Rogers × Peggy Carter

The world had been saved.

At a terrible cost, yes—but for once, there was peace. No more missions. No more orders. No more running from one crisis to the next, pretending that saving the world filled the ache in his chest.

Because it didn't.

Jongho had fought every battle they threw at him. Woke up in a world seventy years too late and learned how to live in it. He adapted. He endured. He led. People called him a hero. A symbol.

But behind all the accolades and duty, he was still just a man with a hole in his heart.

A man who never stopped thinking about you.

You had been his constant back then—steady and unshaken in a world that was crumbling under war. Where others followed orders, you challenged him to think. Where others admired him, you saw him—saw the weight he carried and loved him anyway.

You had met when he was still learning how to be more than just a soldier. Back when he was still unsure, still growing. And somehow, even then, your presence grounded him. You reminded him of the world he was fighting for.

He never told you how much he needed you. Not before the crash. Not before the ice. Not before he disappeared and left you behind.

When he woke up decades later, it hit him harder than anything else—not the time he lost, not the confusion of the modern world… but knowing you were gone. That he'd never gotten to say goodbye.

He tried to move on. Really, he did. But no matter how many missions, how many people he tried to protect… your memory clung to him like a ghost.

He'd see your favourite flower blooming on a street corner. Hear your laugh in the static of an old radio. Pass by cafés and wonder if you'd still like tea the way you used to. If you'd be proud of the man he'd become.

There were nights he couldn't sleep. Nights he'd sit by the window, replaying that last conversation. The promise of a dance you never got to share. The ache never dulled.

You had been his past. But somehow, you were still his home.

And then… came the second chance.

The mission was meant to end with him returning the Stones, fixing what had been broken. But somewhere along the way, he realised the truth: He didn't have to keep choosing the world over his heart.

For the first time in his life, he made a selfish choice. He didn't tell anyone. He just… slipped away. Back to the moment he left behind. Back to the time he belonged.

Back to you.

You didn't hear him come in.

You were at the kitchen sink, hands in the dishwater, humming to a tune that played low from the radio behind you—an old swing record crackling through the speakers.

He paused in the doorway, sunlight pooling behind him, framing the familiar silhouette you'd once thought was gone forever. Your back was to him, but everything in him stilled just watching you—still here, still real.

"Is this a good time?" he asked softly.

You turned, heart catching in your throat.

There he was. Choi Jongho. No shield. No uniform. No headlines. Just the man you never stopped loving.

Your eyes brimmed with disbelief and something deeper. "How…?"

He stepped forward, slower now, like he was afraid that if he moved too fast, you'd disappear. "I promised you a dance."

The words were simple, but they carried the weight of years, of longing, of silent promises that were never meant to die.

You crossed the room before you knew it, falling into his arms like no time had passed. His touch was steady, warm, heartbreakingly familiar. Your head rested against his chest. You could feel his heartbeat—strong and real and finally home.

"I never stopped waiting for you," you whispered.

He swallowed hard, voice low. "And I never stopped loving you. Not for a second. Not through all the years, or the wars, or the sleepless nights in a time that never felt like mine."

You held him tighter.

"Then stay, Jjong," you said.

And he did.

The record spun. The living room faded. The world outside could wait. Because at last—after everything—you were dancing.

And for Jongho, that was the real victory.

Tbh, I had a lot of second thoughts about this, but then I reminded myself that it's okay if not everyone likes it or agrees with the heroes or the scenes I've selected for the members, heh. YOLO.

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

General ATEEZ Tag list:

@blueberrychan @marievllr-abg @itsvxlentine @minghaoslatina @huachengsbestie01

@evidive @weedforthoughtz @minkiflwr @cheolliehugs @ho3-for-yunho

@the-kpop-simp @itstheghostofmypast @vantediary @green-agent @skzline

@sharksandminhos @writingwieny @heyitsmetonid @tinyteezer @hollxe1

@pandabur666 @vampzity @tournesol155 @lilactangerine @oddracha

@haven-cove @idfkeddieishot @vic0921 @vnessalau @apriecotte

@bangtannie7 @vtyb23 @khjoongie98 @scuzmunkie @anxiousskylar

@bunny4yungi @zl-world @quailbagutte @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @cixrosie

@cristy-101

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frenchkisstheabyss · 2 days ago

Text

♡ 𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖, 𝕚𝕟 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕒𝕣𝕞𝕤 ♡

♡ Pairing: best friend!fratboy!mingi x fem!reader, best friend!ateez

♡ Genre: fluff/smut/best friends to lovers

♡ Summary: No one said it'd be easy hiding the feelings you have for your best friend. In fact, it's been one of the hardest things you've ever had to do and it only gets that much worse when your sorority sister confesses she has a crush on him. She asks for your blessing and you hand it over, swearing to her (and yourself) that there's nothing there between you. But when you find yourself crying at a party, garnering Mingi's attention, you realize that you can only lie to yourself for so long.

♡ Word Count: 6.3k

♡ Warnings: drinking, cursing, kissing, oral sex (m receiving), deep throating, fingering, a lil overstimulation, his dick's kinda big, unprotected sex, creampie, low-key breeding kink, hair pulling, hickeys, rough sex, masturbation (f), pet names (pretty, good girl, baby), mingi gets a lil dominant, but otherwise fluffy

♡ A/N: Hi my darlings. This is the first thing I've written after what feels like an eternity of writer's block. I'm such a sucker for Mingi though and best friends to lovers has me in a chokehold lately so I really wanted to write something. I really hope that you like it and if you do please let me know xoxo love you

(also love you to @ikeukiss for beta reading this and helping me believe in myself enough to write something. you're the best ever ♡)

One little lie. That’s all it took to unravel your night.

“You and Mingi, you aren’t, like, a thing are you?”

Your sorority sister had asked a simple question with two clear answers—yes or no—and you chose the lie. Huddled in the corner of the frat house kitchen, you summoned the weakest smile you could and dismissed the idea as something silly. Mingi’s your best friend, he has been for years. There’s nothing more to it than that. She wanted to make a move on him? Far be it from you to stop her.

“Good luck with that one. He’s cute but he’s a major pain in the ass” you warned, helping her smooth down a few flyaway hairs in anticipation of her big moment.

She only giggled, the sincerity of her smile threatening to expose the artificiality of yours. “Trust me. I’ve dealt with guys like him before. This is nothing.”

A sharp pain shot through your stomach, a thousand tiny knives clanking around in a blender. This is nothing. For a girl like Somin it truly is. With the figure of a well trained ballet dancer and the face of an angel, men line up to worship her. History has shown it to be true. She could have any guy on campus but, as luck would have it, she wants yours. Not that Mingi belongs to you. You have no right to be jealous. No claim that you can lay to him. But it hurts all the same.

It’s been an hour since your little conversation and you’ve spent 30 minutes of it rotting on the couch, trying to keep it together when you’re dying inside. From where you are you’ve got the perfect view of her chatting him up across the room. A party rages around you. Bodies shifting through your line of vision, music muffling their words. Still you don’t miss a thing. Not her hand resting on his arm when she laughs at one of his stupid jokes or him leaning down to whisper in her ear, her cheeks turning rosy from whatever he’s just said. Mingi looks smitten, his eye contact with her so intense that even you feel the heat of it from across the room.

It really was nothing. Fuck…

“Stare any harder and your eyes will fall out” Jongho teases, playfully pinching one of your cheeks.

The physical contact brings you back down to earth, the descent making your head spin as you come back to your senses. You were numb to all of it. The friends gathered around you on the couch. The oh too loud conversation buzzing around you. The barely sipped beer resting on your knee, your fingertips wrapped around the neck for dear life.

Jongho laughs at the startled look on your face, like a deer in headlights. “Why don’t you just tell him?” he asks, low enough to keep the others from hearing.

You take a sip of your beer. It’s room temperature, disgusting, but you shrug it off. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ooh, playing dumb. Classic move. How has that been working for you so far?”

That deserves a snappy comeback but you can’t dig one up to save your life because you can’t deny the implication. How has that been working for you so far? It hasn’t.

“You okay, princess?” San asks, cutting into the conversation before Jongho can press the issue any further.

San’s had one too many drinks, his eyes are low and his ears are beet red, but he’s never too drunk to check on you. None of them are. If you even hint that something’s wrong they’ll all pile in on you and baby you until the sun comes up. As sweet as it is, it’s the last thing you need right now.

“I’m fine, Sannie” you lie—for the second time tonight.

San studies you a moment, not quite sure he believes you.

“I promise, I really am okay. I think I just need a second. Yeosang, is it cool if I hang in your room?”

Without missing a beat, Yeosang nods, not giving it a second thought. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

“Wait, why Yeosang’s room? What’s wrong with my room?” Wooyoung pouts, jumping at the opportunity to start with you.

“I don’t know, there’s something zen about Yeosang’s room” you say, already rising to your feet. “It’s always the perfect temperature, his bed’s soft…”

“It doesn’t smell like 87 different colognes” Seonghwa throws in to kick Wooyoung while he’s down.

Wooyoung tosses a pillow at Seonghwa who dodges it with perfect timing. “What? Am I lying?”

Hongjoong laughs, kicking his feet up on the table, “No because I do get a migraine every time I go in there.”

“Fuck you both…” Wooyoung huffs, prepared to commit to a full blown argument, but when you slip past him his attention switches back to you and he grabs your arm before you can get away.

“Can I do something for you?” you ask, staring down at him and that glimmer of mischief in his eyes. You don’t like it one bit.

“If you ever need someone to distract you from him you know you can always call me, right?” he offers, only partially joking.

“Oh, Woo” you sigh, softly petting his cheek, “Not in a million years.”

As you turn to walk away a chorus of laughter rings out behind you. Your rejection is just the ammo the guys needed to make fun of him for the rest of the night. In truth, Wooyoung’s one of the prettiest men you’ve ever seen. His bone structure’s to die for and his new switch to platinum blonde hair is enough to make a girl swoon. On no planet would hooking up with him be a less than pleasurable experience but he isn’t Mingi.

That’s the problem. That’s always the problem. Boyfriends. One night stands. Chem majors. Trust fund babies. You’ve been through your share of boys since Mingi stepped into your life, always chasing that spark you felt in his presence. It’s an electrical charge that leaves those tiny hairs on your arms standing on end. It tethers you to him, no matter whose arms you’re in. You feel it now, even as you disappear up the stairs, traversing a rugged sea of vaguely familiar faces to find solace behind a closed door.

For the first time in an eternity you aren’t staring at Mingi but that doesn’t mean Mingi’s not staring at you. The same way he’s been watching you all this time. That electrical charge you feel when you’re near him? It’s never crossed your mind that he could feel it too. That in a room full of girls, even the one presently occupying his attention, he can only think of how gorgeous you are in that white mini dress with pink pattern azaleas blooming along your curves.

You did your makeup to match, a fluff of soft pink adorning your eyelids and a swipe of gloss plumping your lips. It’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. Mingi figures you must know this. How visions of you stick in his brain, building billboards in his memories. How the magnolia scent of your perfume still lingers in his lungs, a welcome invasion. You sent another girl over to him knowing it should’ve been you and he can’t rack his brain enough to figure out why but everything in him needs an answer.

“You’re really beautiful…” Mingi says, taking Somin’s hands into his. His expression’s intense and serious as he says his next few words, deathly careful with each one. “And you’re such a sweet girl but I’m sorry, I have to go.”

Somin deflates, the smile that’s been painted on her face washing away. “Oh, uh, did you wanna meet up later maybe or…”

“I don’t think I can but please have fun, drink as much as you want. Eat whatever you want. My house is your house, okay?”

He offers her a tight lipped smile, quietly apologizing as he dips off into the crowd. The others watch from the couch, feeling bad for the poor girl but hoping that something finally comes of this so that they can stop pretending not to see it. At least when the two of you are around.

“Aah, this might not go well” Hongjoong mumbles, his skeptical gaze trailing behind Mingi.

Yunho knocks back a shot of soju, contemplating the odds. “Don’t be so negative. It could go well. As long as Mingi doesn’t say anything stupid.”

The boys stare at each other, collectively recalling all the times Mingi’s mouth has gotten them in trouble. Jongho digs $5 out of his pocket and tosses it onto the table.

“$5 says he talks too much and fucks it up for himself.”

Wooyoung fishes out money of his own, placing it casually on top of Jongho’s. “$10 says he doesn’t and Yeosang has to wash his sheets in the morning.”

Money piles up on the table. A friendly bet amongst friends. Will either of you work up the courage to speak on things unspoken? Will Mingi’s trademark cockiness ruin things before they can even get started? Or will it be your inability to accept his affection that does the two of you in? Your hearts hang in the balance of these questions.

Oh and the integrity of Yeosang’s sheets.

“Get it together. You cannot do this to me right now” you repeat to your reflection in the mirror mounted to Yeosang’s wall.

You meant what you said when you called Yeosang’s room zen. In a lot of ways he’s just another gamer boy. Tech scattered on his desk. Game systems tucked away in little nooks. But it’s the small things like the warmth of the twinkle lights bordering his ceiling or the delicate peach scent emitted by his puppy shaped diffuser that just puts a girl at ease. Maybe too much at ease.

The tears began to fall the second that door shut behind you. With no one to see you fall apart you did just that. You weren’t even sure what you were crying for at first. You’d spent the last hour trying to convince yourself that what you felt for Mingi didn’t mean anything. You did it so well that you almost succeeded in gaslighting yourself enough to believe that you didn’t care if he got with another girl. Only you do care. You always have.

You’ve become a professional at hiding it so far. You smile in the face of girlfriend after girlfriend, pretending that you’re more than happy for them to take your annoying best friend off your hands when really you’d give anything to be in their spot.

“Why don’t you just tell him?”

Jongho’s voice echoes in your mind as you dab at your inner eye with the corner of a mascara stained tissue. And how would you do that exactly? What could you even say that wouldn’t risk destroying the friendship you’ve worked so hard to build? None of this was intentional but all those cozy late night study sessions and wholesome early morning cuddles have added up to feelings you’ll never be fast enough to escape.

“We’ll grab a drink later! I promise!” a voice you know too well calls out as the bedroom door swings open, the noise of the party flooding in to invade your safe space.

You frantically reach for your purse, digging out your lip gloss to pretend you’ve been in here doing anything besides crying your eyes out. You barely acknowledge Mingi when he enters the room. Something his tall stature makes almost impossible. You can’t truly ignore him or how hot he looks tonight. His hair’s pushed back, putting his sharp features and full lips on perfect display. A pair of circle rimmed glasses rests on the bridge of his nose, adding a certain maturity to his look that you find particularly sexy. He wore all black tonight and, as much as you tease him for dressing like a grim reaper, the color suits his body well. So well that you’d be drooling if you hadn’t been a mess of tears five seconds ago.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you” he says, swinging the door closed behind him.

He seems happy to see you and, somewhere in your mess of emotions, you’re happy to see him too. Mingi’s who you run to when you don’t know what to do and the world feels like a scary place. It’s strange not to run to him now, even when he’s the very thing you’re running away from.

“Looking for me? For what?” you ask, nonchalant as can be. “One of the boys drink too much again?”

Mingi steps up behind you, watching your reflection as you swipe the gloss back and forth along the bow of your lips. It’s the simplest thing but you manage to look so cute doing it. “You look pretty tonight.”

“Hmm, I see...you must want something.”

“Why do I have to want something? Can’t I just think you’re pretty?” he asks, resting his chin on your shoulder.

He gives you those eyes—like a neglected kitten begging for attention—and you melt right into the palm of his hand. You can’t even be angry about it. Sometimes that’s where you like to be.

“Thank you, Mingi” you sigh, letting yourself indulge in the compliment but stopping short of fully soaking it in.

Mingi slips his arms around your waist, bringing your back flush against his chest. When you’re this close nothing goes unnoticed. If one breathes the other will feel it, every rise of his chest kissing your spine. Your muscles tense, bracing you to pull away but something about this feels so right and you’re paralyzed by it. Sparks skate along your skin when he straightens up, his lips skimming the heated skin of your neck to hover by your ear.

“That wasn’t so hard was it?” he asks, the timbre of his voice vibrating through you. “You were crying. Why were you crying?”

You draw in a breath and he must sense the lie coming with how quickly he shuts you down.

“And don’t say you weren’t because I can tell. Lie to someone who doesn’t know you.”

Plan A: Decimated. Ruined before you even got the chance to execute it. Denial’s supposed to be your dirty little secret. Him seeing through it was never supposed to happen.

“I did something stupid…” you say, “And I knew it was stupid when I did it but, I don’t know, I’m just really good at breaking my own heart I guess.”

Mingi stays quiet, letting the silence linger as he takes his time reading between the lines. With you there’s always something to find there. “I don’t want her if that’s what you’re worried about. She’s not my type” he says, his thumb drawing circles against your hip, “I have this thing for girls who cry at parties. Something about it just…I don’t know, it’s so sexy.”

“Oh shut up” you giggle, snatching away from him but he drags you back in, making sure you’re face to face this time.

You’ve made a habit of running away when things get too real but you can’t tonight. He won’t let you. You’re gonna look at him and see it—the way he sees you, the way he wants you. Mingi cups your cheek and your brain goes blank, everything else pushed far away by those brown eyes.

“You are really good at breaking your own heart,” he says, his lips inching closer to yours, “Especially when you don’t have to.”

The air between you feels alive, pulsing with tension. A tingling feeling pricks your fingertips. Your heart’s drumming at warp speed. For a moment nothing makes sense then his lips meet yours and suddenly everything comes together. Your eyes fall closed as you lean into the kiss, letting yourself be swept up in the feeling of his tongue swirling around yours.

Mingi’s lips are the softest you’ve ever felt. He tastes like rum and something sweet. Something you want more of. Kissing him is like quicksand. It draws you in and all you can do is sink deeper by the second. His hands find your waist and he moves cautiously at first, applying the slightest pressure as his palms ride the curves of your hips.

You break from the kiss, breathless. “You can touch me” you whisper, fingertips pressed to his chest through the soft cotton of his shirt, “I want you to touch me.”

Mingi takes his glasses off, tossing them to the floor. “Why’d you make me wait so long to hear you say that?”

“Because I was afraid you wouldn’t want to…”

His hands are back on you in an instant. His mouth crashing into yours as his hands greedily descend upon your figure. Slipping beneath your dress, his touch does what words can’t. It’s not enough to just tell you how badly he’s wanted this, he has to show you. You can write off anything he says, pretending it’s all in your head, but you can’t ignore the longing in the way he grips your thighs…your hips…your ass.

You can’t keep your own hands from wandering, mindlessly exploring the uncharted territory that awaits behind that shirt. The skin to skin contact only worsens the arousal soaking your panties, your clit already throbbing with need. This is nothing like you imagined. It’s so much more and the intensity is dizzying.

“How far do you want this to go?” he rasps, trailing kisses down your neck and along your collarbone.

The thin strap of your dress slips down to your shoulder, the plush meat of your breast peeking out. His tongue darts out, eager to taste you but the last shred of his unraveling self control reels him in. You thread your fingers through his hair, arching to give him more of you, but it’s not enough. He wants more. His mouth finds yours again and he nips at your bottom lip, teasing you with another kiss.

“Tell me what you want, baby. If you don’t tell me how will I know?” he asks, his gaze setting your soul on fire, “How was I ever supposed to know?”

You take a deep breath, stroking the nape of his neck, “You really wanna know what I want?”

Your free hand floats below his waist, effortlessly finding the bulge in his jeans. You roll your palm into it, fingertips tracing the outline of his cock in the material. The sensation forces a sound out of him you’ve only dreamt of hearing and he grinds into your hand, hips stuttering.

“Mmhmm” he nods, chasing the next wave of pleasure, “Need to hear you say it.”

There’s no reason to hold back. Nothing for you to hide. The thing you wished for is right in front of you now. All you have to do is take it. “I want you…” you hum, skipping over to the bed, “...to come here.”

Taking a seat on the edge, you kick off your heels and patiently await his arrival. Caught off guard by your request, he doesn’t move from his spot, studying you skeptically instead. You extend your hand to him, fingers twiddling as you sport your first genuine smile of the night. “You won’t find out if you stay over there, will you?”

Mingi takes your hand, letting you reel him in like a fish on a hook and you stop him right where you want him. Between your legs, looking down at you, his clothed cock barely an inch from your lips. You busy yourself undoing his pants, never once peeling your eyes away from his. Not even as it slips out of his underwear, throbbing in your hand, precum dripping from the swollen tip. Mingi takes you by the chin, lust clouding his vision as you lap up his arousal, leaving the head glistening.

“I’ve wanted you for so long, Min” you confess, fingers gliding along his length, tracing every vein. “I was just too shy to admit it and I thought if I ignored it it’d go away but I don’t want it to anymore.”

You feel him stiffen in your grasp, an involuntary but telling reaction. He aches for you, craves you. He’s thought about this moment more times than he should’ve. How your lips would feel wrapped around his cock. How lush and warm it’d be between your cheeks. What your face would look like with him pressed to the back of your throat.

But none of that could’ve prepared him for how perfect it is when your lips first meet the tip. You don’t rush to get it in. You take it little by little, savoring him as the warmth of your mouth welcomes him in. You adjust to it quickly, the thickness—the length. It’s more than you’re used to taking but you’ve seen Mingi naked enough to know it would be.

“You look so fucking beautiful” he coos, thumbs massaging your puffed out cheeks, “Taking me so, mmph, well, aaah…”

You relax your throat muscles, easing him in further, forcing his knees to nearly give out. It gives you a sense of satisfaction, a certain pride, that you can make him this weak with the slightest movement. Suctioning your cheeks, you roll your tongue on the underside of his cock, bobbing your head back and forth at a pace so slow it’s akin to torture. You can tell he wants you to move faster, his body’s almost begging for it, but making him wait is so much fun.

Mingi raises an eyebrow, grabbing you by your hair before you can even make it halfway down to the base. “Are you teasing me, sweetheart?”

You bat your eyelashes innocently, your tongue still wagging beneath his length as drool pricks the corners of your glossy lips. It’s all you can do to deny it when your mouth’s this full. Sliding your hands up his shirt, you splay your hands out on his toned stomach in time to feel the muscles tense when you triple your speed. It’s anything but ladylike the way you’re sucking the life out of him. It’s slippery and messy, the sound of it so lewd the hum of the music beyond the door does nothing to quiet it.

There’s not a single complaint from Mingi. The moans leaving his lips are anything but a protest of what you’re doing to him. He whimpers each time your nose meets his pelvis, your throat seeming to take him even deeper than before. His arousal coats your throat, making the stretch all the more satisfying. And when his cock does leave your lips for those few seconds your tongue spends circling the tip, he’s tugging your hair even harder, so needy to get it back in that he can’t control himself.

Mingi can’t wrap his mind around how you do this so well, how you just seem to know which way to curve your tongue or tilt your head to make him see stars, but you’re perfect. The same way that you always are. No girl’s ever gotten him this close this fast before. He tells himself it’d be embarrassing to come now. He can’t let you know that you’ve got him so tightly wound around your finger that a few minutes is all it takes to make him come undone. You’re just so pretty and now you’re looking at him with the most precious face while you roll the tip against the roof of your mouth. The texture’s so nice and your fingers are working his shaft just right.

“You gonna come for me, Min?” you ask in the softest tone. “Where you wanna come? Here?” You stick your tongue out, teasing his slit. “Mmm, maybe here?” You run a hand over the hills of your breasts. “Or maybe…” You ease your dress up, your thighs deliciously spread to direct his attention to the drenched panties between them.

Before you can blink, Mingi’s dragging you to your feet, his lips locked onto yours as he claws at your dress, tearing the fabric. “Mingi!” you gasp in offense. This is your favorite dress afterall.

“I’ll buy you another one” he promises, “Fuck it, I’ll buy you two. I just want you out of it.”

Your clothes disappear in a flash, his own following close behind, gathering at your feet. This wasn’t how you thought your night would go. Mingi pushing you back onto the bed. Your naked bodies intertwined. One of his hands cradling your neck, the other between your legs teasing your entrance.

“Fuck, baby. You always this wet or is it just for me?”

You arch your back, pressing yourself down onto his fingers, “Only for you.”

Two fingers delve into your core, your walls sucking them in deeper. Mingi’s a man with big hands. A detail that’s slipped your mind before the present moment. They reach so far into you, his knuckles bumping your entrance as his fingertips ride your walls.

“You know, I was always jealous of all your boyfriends” he admits, decorating your chest in the kind of kisses that leave marks. “I hated that they got to have you but you could never be mine.”

You run your nails lightly down his back, clenching around his fingers. “I’ve always been yours, Min. Always…”

Your words trail off as Mingi’s breath skims your breast, his tongue venturing out to explore what he denied himself of earlier. He takes your bud between his lips, circling it with the tip of his tongue in rhythm with the thumb now making figure eights on your clit. Your body responds like it knows him, like it misses what it’s never had. Pleasure blooms everywhere he touches and it radiates through you. Consumes you.

Mingi loves the sound of your voice. You could talk to him all day about nothing—sometimes you do—and he’d listen like all that you spoke was sacred. But to hear you moan? It’s a spell that awakens something different in him. He wants it etched into his brain, looping over and over until everything else fades away. It’s so heavenly that it feels like sin when his fingers slip out of you, leaving you whining and clenching around nothing.

When he rises to kiss you, you look like you’re on the verge of a tantrum and he finds it far cuter than he probably should. It’s tempting to hold out just to see how pouty you can really get but he knows he can’t stop himself from giving you what you want. He just needs to know one little thing first.

“Did you mean what you said to me? That I could come…” he asks, aligning himself with your entrance. He’s not quite inside but you can feel the pressure. One thrust and it’s all yours.

You take his face into your hands, making sure he hears you loud and clear, “Anywhere and, yes, I meant it. Made your choice yet?”

Tucking his hands behind your knees, he pushes them up towards your chest, spreading them wider. “I don’t know, pretty girl. You tell me.”

Mingi claims you in one fluid motion, filling you up so completely that you can’t even moan. You can’t speak. You open your mouth and nothing comes out. Only faint remnants of a whimper that broke before it could make its way out. The stretch is earth shattering, tiny dots dancing across your irises with every thrust that follows.

“You feel so fucking good, baby” he whispers, your gummy walls clinging to his length.

He can’t decide what’s more hypnotizing, how your body trembles from the impact or how your pussy feels when you roll your hips back into him. You’re addictive. He’s only been inside you for a minute and knows this time won’t be enough. Tonight he’ll go to sleep thinking about the moisture pooling at the place where your bodies meet. He’ll dream about your cunt quivering around him, taking his cock like that’s all it was made to do.

“I want you to do something for me” he says, gently taking you by the hand.

Slowing down, he leans in to kiss your fingertips and flashes you a smile. That sickeningly charming smile that could get you to do anything. You fold under no pressure at all, ready to give into him before you even know what it is.

“Wh-what is it?” you stutter, your breath still shaky as he rocks into you.

You understand now why it was hell for Mingi when you moved this slowly. It doesn’t stop the intensity, it only drags it out. It brings time to a crawl so that you feel everything. All the finer details of his cock, the slight curve it has, how the head stimulates your g-spot. Your fingers shiver against his rosy lips, your other hand knotted in the blanket beneath you. Even with his hair in his face his gaze lays heavy on you. It burns hotter than it ever has. You’d do anything for him.

“Your pussy’s so pretty. Touch it for me.” Mingi lowers your hand to your clit, his fingers resting on your own as you rub the sensitive bundle of nerves.

You don’t hesitate to follow his lead, doing exactly as you’re told. “Aah, oh god…” you gasp, overstimulated by the sensation. Your body writhes and arches to meet your own hand—to meet the cock kissing your cervix.

“Such a good girl” he praises, “Don’t stop until you come for me.”

It’s easier said than done. Your pussy’s soaked and the faster he moves the harder it is to keep your fingers from slipping. Grabbing you by your hips, he raises you up from the bed and the new angle has you crying out. You don’t even know for what. For more? Certainly not for less.

You squirm in his grasp but he doesn’t let you go—he can’t. This is so much more than sex. It stretches far beyond the boundaries of lust. It’s about having you…claiming you…keeping you. Giving you all of him so that you never doubt that you should’ve always been his.

“Min…” you moan, a wave of ecstasy washing over you, “So close.”

“That’s perfect, baby. Keep going. Show me how gorgeous you are when you come.”

You don’t disappoint. Not that he ever thought you would. You come hard and it’s the most decadent thing he’s ever had the pleasure of watching. Your essence cascades down his length, making a mess of the two of you, soaking the blanket. Mingi licks his lips, some part of him wishing that you were coming on his tongue instead of his cock. You’d be the best thing he ever tasted. He doesn’t even question that.

Just watching you brings him to the edge of his own high. He tries to hold back, to think of something else besides you spasming around him, but how can he? The pressure’s building and he can’t fight it. Surrender isn’t optional. Warmth spreads through your abdomen as he spills into you, giving your walls a fresh coating of pearly white cum. You’re both disoriented but his hips are still pumping. Your fingers are still going. You drag your highs out so far that by the end of it you’re both nothing but sweaty bodies and ragged breaths.

Mingi doubles over onto your chest, tucking his arms underneath you to keep you in place. Your limbs are jello and your head’s spinning. You couldn’t get away if you wanted to but there’s comfort in how badly he wants you to stay. A calm falls over the room and the minutes pass without either of you knowing. You’re together and that’s all that matters. You could be here forever. Except, as it suddenly dawns on you, you can’t be.

“Min,” you whisper, patting the back of his head, “We should probably get out of Yeosang’s bed.”

Mingi shifts a bit but only to get more comfortable, “He can sleep on the couch.”

“You literally have your own room. Couldn't he just sleep in there?”

“Eh” he sighs, “Yeah but I don’t like other people in my bed.”

You giggle, trying to sit up, “You’re such an asshole.”

Mingi holds you tighter, rolling you on top of him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To put my clothes back on if that’s okay with you” you say, kissing the bridge of his nose.

“You can’t. I ruined them, remember?” he gloats, far too proud of himself. “Plus we need to talk.”

“About what?”

“About what?” he mocks, lightening his voice to better match yours. “Can we please not go back to doing that?”

Catching his disappointment, you perk up, “I’m not! I swear. We can talk. Let’s talk. I’m not going anywhere”

Mingi feels you relax and he does too, loosening his hold on you but not by much. “If we leave this room will you pretend this never happened? Cause I can’t. You’re either mine or you aren’t.”

“Then I am” you say without a hint of doubt, “I’m over breaking my own heart. I think I’d rather just give it to you.”

Mingi kisses you sweetly, intent on quieting any lingering fears, “I promise I’ll take care of it.”

People make thousands of promises in their lives. Big ones. Small ones. Ones they never intend to keep. Ones they wouldn’t break for anything. For Mingi this is the most important one he’ll ever make. Not to hurt you. Not to make you cry. To protect your heart as fiercely as you have. And nothing could ever make him break it.

“We have to figure out how to get these people out of our house” a tipsy Hongjoong whispers to Yunho.

Yunho throws an arm over Hongjoong’s shoulder, offering him another drink. “Don’t be so uptight. It won’t kill you to have a little fun once in a while.”

“But it’s loud and we’re almost out of beer and…look at San” he pouts, eyeing his best friend at the other end of the couch.

San’s slumped to the side, fighting to stay awake, “What about San? I’m good!”

“Right” Jongho nods, patting him on the back, “Sure you are.”

“Holy shit…” Wooyoung gasps, his attention drifting from his phone over to the stairs.

Mingi leads you down the stairs, your hand in his, with a smile on his face bigger than they’ve ever seen. Behind him you’re missing the dress you went up in, rocking a t-shirt and sweatpants instead. You stay close to Mingi as you navigate the crowd, your hand resting on the small of his back.

Seonghwa rubs his eyes, squinting to see better. “I don’t have my contacts in but it looks like…”

“Like he didn’t fuck up! Give me my money!” Wooyoung shouts, gathering the stack of money from the table.

A deflated Yeosang buries his face in his hands, “They had sex in my bed didn’t they?”

“Ssh, they’re coming!” Yunho says, hurrying to act normal.

If there’s one thing your friends have always been bad at, acting normal would be at the top of the list. It’s never been their strong suit.

“What’s wrong?” Mingi asks, immediately picking up on the fact that something’s off.

“Nothing,” Jongho grins, making room for the two of you beside him, “One of you looks…different.”

You clear your throat, nervously fidgeting with the string on your sweatpants, “I, uh, I spilled something on my dress.”

Jongho could let it go but it’s too much fun to press the issue. “Oh really? What’d you spill?”

You take a seat on the couch and Mingi flops down between you, intercepting the interrogation. “A drink if you really wanna know. Are you done?”

“Hey, let’s not be hostile, we’re all friends here, aren’t we?” Wooyoung says, “We talk about stuff. Share things. Beds sometimes…”

“I’ll kill you” Mingi mouths to Wooyoung.

On the other side of you San sits up only to lay his head on your shoulder. “You okay, princess? For real this time?”

You look to Mingi and back at San, relieved that there’s no need to lie anymore, “Yeah, Sannie. For real this time.”

#mingi x reader #mingi x you #mingi smut #mingi fluff #kvanity #keopihausnet #song mingi x reader #ateez fluff #ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez x you #ateez x female reader #song mingi x you

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syncaleb · 1 day ago

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── .✦ 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 & 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 -> « link »

•caleb casually drops the “we’re dating” lie at school like it’s no big deal. he is tired of the guy who sends you ‘wanderer samples’, or the dude who comes over the house asking to ‘borrow’ your homework. besides, he is a senior, older than you — soon he will leave the school & his precious pipsqueak will get swamped by men. disgusting. the thought alone sends shivers down his spine.

“nah, i can’t go out saturday. got a date with my girl.” he hums to one of his friends in the basketball court, juniors are also here, perfect! he made sure to say it echoing enough that everyone hears it.

“…your girl?”

“yeah, the one i live with? the one who comes cheerin’ me up for my matches? the one who i share my soda can with? duh.” honestly? it’s not hard to believe at all, that you and caleb are a thing… people don’t even question it. the way you touch him like he’s yours, the way you depend on him…

•however — you find out when someone congratulates you on “finally making it official” and you’re just standing there like ?????

caleb comes up right after, sipping from his stupid juice box, his hand gently wrapping around your waist, gentle… so careful… but firm.

“oh, pips, did you not tell them yet?”

•he acts like your boyfriend in every possible way. carries your books. pulls your chair out. walks you to class. then again… when does he not? you don’t notice any significant changes in caleb’s behaviour. and you are too kind to embarrass him like that…

you: “stop it. i am old now i don’t need your help—“

him: “i’m committed to the bit. besides, you are old doesn’t mean i would stop being there for you?”

•he’s extra affectionate at school but still the same annoying menace at home.

he’ll poke your forehead and be like,

“my girlfriend’s so short i gotta bend to reach her thoughts.”

and then dodge your swing like he’s done it a million times.

•grandma’s suspicious but says nothing. just watches the two of you with a knowing look and a cup of tea like she’s watching a soap opera play out in her living room. josephine hater ™️ -> me.

•eventually — caleb starts keeping you close in crowded hallways. real possessive.

“watch it,” he says to a senior who brushed your shoulder. “my cupcake’s kinda delicate.”

you: “i’m literally not? i want to be a hunter you’re being a cornball!”

caleb: just ruffles your hair with his soft grin.

•he puts “girlfriend 💕” as your contact name in his phone. when you try to change it, he changes his lockscreen to a blurry selfie of you mid-yawn captioned: cute little pipsqueak

honestly you don’t understand where it comes from, or why caleb suddenly tells everyone he’s your boyfriend. but eventually, you couldn’t care less.

•one day, when he was making his fussy eater (you) some braised chicken wings — you confront him about the rumor; and he just shrugs. the usual avoidance plastered on his face.

“everyone already thinks it. why not just… go with it?”

you: “why would you do that?”

he goes, suddenly quiet, expressive in a somber and yearning way: “because i wanted it to be true.”

•and he doesn’t look smug or cocky. he looks… soft.

and maybe you’re thinking about how he always saves you the last cookie. or he does your laundry because you hate it, or that he gives you piggy-back rides home because you get sassy that your feet hurt, or that he brought you a movie prop from your favorite movie… or how he lets you sleep in his arms in the attic…

how he always hovers.

how he yells at the TV for you during horror movies.

-> maybe it doesn’t sound so fake after all.

maybe next monday, you grab his hand in the hallway. by yourself, and the shock on his face… is all you needed to know to understand the intensity of his feelings…

maybe this time, the rumor becomes real.

#love and deepspace #lads #lads x reader #lads caleb #lads fluff #caleb fluff #lads x reader fluff #caleb x reader fluff #xia yihou x reader #xia yihou #caleb comfort #love and deepspace comfort

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nohhhdrr · 20 hours ago

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I love this so much more then the other thread to be honest. I mean i did cry but Tim never knew Danny was his soulmate. I'm not sure he ever knew he even had one. Tim was young at the time. No one explained anything to him. Maybe after finding some case of rejected soulmate going crazy and doing "if i can't have you no one can" he finds out bout the whole soulmate writing on your skin. Danny truly did fuck up. He was very affected emotionally and was hurting. So he lashed out. And considering he was 16 in this thread? (I'm not sure for how long he stayed antagonizing tim in the other one) Yep. I can see that. So both of them now grown up. Both supposedly having moved on from each other, right? But now adult tim (which i'm pretty sure means 21-25. Danny was affected by Tim's rejection for a very long time but these types of things can make you burn out. And after a second rejection? Yeah. Danny VERY hurt but ultimately he burned out. His brain just decided he can't spare any more energy on this emotional wreck of a ride) has to feel the rejection Danny felt all time when they were teens. I wanna see if it would drive him up the wall like it did to Danny back in the day or would Tim keep himself in his tight grip of self-control. Considering how unhinged (usually in a good way) Tim is on a normal day? Yeahhh... I think he would not handle it well. Especially if we remember how obsessive he was in his cloning days. (Actually, now that I think about it, what if because of the Tim's cloning thing the whole batfam (and probably Tim's team minus Tim and maybe Kon) think Kon was Tim's soulmate and that's why they never thought the possibility of this being why Danny was so obsessed with Tim in his teens?) I want the whole batfam clicking the pieces together while Tim is bluescreen-ing and obsessing in the back ground. Just Danny being "yeah my bad. yeah... sorry... yeah." and scratching the back of his head. Like HE moved on and for him it's just awkward and embarrassing now. Like how some boys had experience of being in the mind set of "nice guy" while having a crush a selebrity (and probably sending dm-s to that selebrity). THAT would be the level of embarrassment, awkward-ness and guilt he would feel. For danny? It's low stakes now. He got through it and now can finally look at the situation objectively, without the overwhelming amount of emotions clouding his judgement. Yeah it was his bad for lashing out and not communicating at all. There are a few hiccups and some pretty rash actions on batfam's side of things but overall? Yeah.. Sorry I was such a mess back then. It's okay if you don't forgive me. I did cause a lot of greif for all of you. I can give you all a few favors as compensation.

He doesn't even look at Tim anymore. He saw that he wasn't listening and decided to not waste time, just explain everything to his ex-soulmate's family and then go back to his lair.

He has his duties to fulfill (And if we want to hurt timmy more, we can have him taking care of his children (which magic community would supposedly know about. They didn't know HE was the king but they DID know about the new king and his children, for example) that just were cores of all the dead, terminated and or still cryo-sleeping clones that Vlad made back in the day. We can have him save each clone with the help of clockwork or only save those that were in cryo-pods to minimise the sheer amount of children he has to raise.)

Just Danny felling awkward and a bit guilty on his end while Tim is having to grapple with the overwhelming feelings of quiet rejection on his end. Danny did make Tim feel something while he was antagonizing him back then. But Tim? he would have no chance of doing the same now. Danny seen everything. Danny moved on

@gilbirda Ok, so you made a snippet of on of your AUs a while back (braindead rejected! soulmate i think) and I haven't been able to think of much else since. So my brain made a little thingy for you!

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1. Tim takes a risk one day by writing back to whoever was doodling on his body, with a glittery purple gel pen, asking them to stop trying to contacting him.

All the person asked was, "Why?"

Tim never answers.

2. Danny faces constant rejection from his peers, authority figures, his parents and sister neglect him and now his own soulmate doesn't want him. They hadn't even met before he was rejected. Jazz finds out about Dannys powers and tries to reach out but Danny rejects her pretty violently due to his own pain. Then the episode where Sam and Tucker ditch him for Gregor happens and he gives up.

The two people in his life that has had pretty much complete control over his life and trajectory just abandoned him and he does not take it well. He ripped the symbol off his chest, disappeared and never came back.

3. Danny zooms into a new dimension/universe/whatever to avoid his former friends and family from being able to track him only to land in a place called Central City and immediately getting roped into helping Captain Cold who gives him a normal domino mask and they end up working together for a while.

4. Danny somehow overhears one of the speedster talking on the phone about his friends brothers soulmate issue at some point and they perfectly describe the interaction that happened between Danny and his soulmate all those years ago, down to the glittery purple gel pen and the types of doodles Danny had made as a kid and the things he said.

Danny learned one of his soulmates belonged to a group of detective vigilantes in a place called Gotham. Unfortunately he was spotted by the speedster and Danny had to bounce.

5. The Flash made reports to the Justice League about a meta teen who hes been having trouble with for a while and can't seem to pin down. He only asked for tips though as he "could handle it himself."

6. Danny leaves for Gotham and learned about Catwoman and Batmans weird Master Thief and Greatest Detective dynamic and decided that's what he wants to do. He was going to make his soulmate chase after him one way or another. Someone was going to want him even if they were wanting him behind bars.

He begins robbing bank vaults and museums, leaving no trace or clue as to what happened until he starts leaving a calling card of sorts.

7. Jason, who's been on the outs with his family lately meets this spunky white haired meta kid running around with a sci-fi mask/visor thing and giving supplies to homeless encampments and keeping the less fortunate alive and befriends him. He learns that this is the guy everyone has been searching for and just...tells no one. Jason is all for a Robin Hood vigilante, and really, its kinda funny to see his family squirm.

8. Phantom and Catwoman rob the same museum at the same time but for different things. They stare at eachother from where they're both still crouched from thier respective landings until Danny breaks the tension with "I didn't see you if you didn't see me?"

Catwoman laughs, amused. "Sure."

9. Danny finally narrowed down which of the batfam is his soulmate and introduced himself to them as Phantom.

The first thing Danny did was hit on Tim. Tim is flustered but otherwise doesn't really respond to it and tries to fight Phantom into submission, so of course Danny ghosts him by disappearing through a roof mid fight. Danny made a big show of his intangibility in that fight and made it seem like it was the only power he had but he was very skilled with it and he wanted to impress him.

10. Phantom becomes well known to the underbelly of Gotham. Mostly the homeless and nightworkers. But Danny was open and friendly. Never judging and always ready to lend a helping hand. Even better. He never came to collect on favors.

Over time, they became loyal to him.

11. Danny gets framed for a series of murders and the whole gang (minus Hood) are trying to capture him, thus, motorcycle chase scene. They use the white of his tires to tell when he's gone intangible due to all the dirt falling off the wheels. Nightwing jumps onto the bike and shocks Danny with his encrizma sticks right before Danny grits out "bye bye birdy~" and makes a big show of taking in a deep breath and holding it.

Nightwing is forced to jump off the bike as Danny runs through the concrete abutment of the overpass and coming out the other side

12. Danny meets Tim and Duke in his civilian form while he was at a Wayne tech conference. Danny had been asked about one of his inventions and was trying to show off the blueprints and explain things and thats why he was there in the first place. Duke of course, was internally screaming because that's the guy thats the guy they've been hunting for nearly a year but can find nothing on.

Red Robin confronts Phantom that night on a rooftop and Phantom laughs at him, "Thats why I was avoiding Signal for so long. He'd see my magical girl form and know instantly."

RR holds out a pair of handcuffs and says "Its over Danny." Phantom smirks and says, "I don't think it is, Tim" before jumping off onto a different roof and disappearing into the night. Tim is shook.

13. Danny over hears Robin berating RR at an old clocktower and intervenes, "Little Wayne, you do realize you were the first person I figured out, right?"

Damian proceeds to lose his mind.

14. Tim accidentally finds a material that Phantom can't phase through and quickly gets to work making things he can use against Danny. What he doesn't know is that Danny can phase through it he just pretended he couldn't because he wanted to see what would happen/what Tim would do.

Danny can sense the material and it feels really wierd to him, but doesn't harm him at all.

15. RR manages to knock Phantoms visor off his face and realizing it was made of tech he swipes it and brings it back to the cave for study.

He wasn't ready for all the information on the computer. Not only was his nemesis(?) from another plain of reality (he thinks Danny is from the ghost zone) but he was once a superhero with his own Rogues Gallery and human city to protect. Which begs the question, why did he become a Phantom thief?

16. The Joker hears about Phantom giving the bats the run around and comes to a misunderstanding about which bat he's been messing with which ultimately ends with Joker saying that he is Batmans ultimate nemesis and Phantom asking what that had to do with him? The misunderstanding is cleared up when Phantom complained about Joker even thinking that he was flirting with Batman because "Ew! He's an old man!"

Joker still got a few shots in for the heck of it but so did our ghost boy but they were no longer enemies.

17. The whole batfam had been freaking out about finally capturing Phantom and celebrating and plotting on how they were gonna get him to keep his mouth shut about thier identities until Jason came in,

Jason: Need help?

Phantom: Please?

Jason: *escapes with Danny*

Batfam: What?! No!!! Why?!

18. The batfam have only a vague idea of the Robin Hood thing going on. They know he's doing it just not to the extent its gone to. They find out later on that Phantom had been working with RH and his gang to sell off the items and most of the profits go to helping people. Other times he strait up gives jewelry and whatnot to children and working girls because "Everyone deserves something pretty, and even if its not your style you can keep it for a rainy day"

Phantom quickly gains a following and Danny doesn't even know about it. Clueless indeed.

19. Dannys main motivation in this is essentially just playing Cops and Robbers with Red Robin. Nothing else really matters to him. Not the robberies, not the fact he's working with a crime lord, not even his own safety matters much to him anymore. Hes readily zooming down the path of self destruction and Hood starts telling his family stuff, but only because he was genuinely worried about "Casper" crashing and burning.

20. No one knows why Phantom is fixated on Red Robin. He refuses to tell them. Red thinks its just because he's the smartest of the bats and he's not entirely wrong.

21. Danny legit started scheduling his heists with Tim to ensure they're both free after one couldn't make it too many times which blew the birds mind. Phantom must have been just that confident that he would always win. The bats eventually think Danny will stop stealing if RR isn't in the city for a long period of time. Danny more or less followed him and stole stuff from whatever city Tim was in. If there wasn't any museums or banks then Danny would steal a local landmark. Tim still wasn't sure how Phantom stole an entire building that one time but it had never been seen since.

22. Hood grows to be very protective of our favorite ghost boy. They bond and are actually really close. Danny admits he always wanted an older brother.

23. Tim goes off world for a while to see how Danny would react and Danny just...drops off the radar. No one knows where he is and after a week or two they start getting worried.

Tim returns after three months and Danny reappears two weeks after him with a tan and keepsakes from the places he visited on his vacation. Tim later screams into his pillow.

24. Tim has made it his personal mission to figure out who Danny really is, why he's fixated on him, where he came from, ect. Hes trying so hard but can't find anything. Its almost like he didn't exist before. Tim suddenly got an idea after Phantom accidentally got hit in the face and got a nosebleed. Tim saw green blood and immediately realized Danny might not even be human. Fortunately for our little ghost, he thinks he's an alien. A Martian specifically. Tim manages to snag a good sample from treating Phantoms wounds. Ghostboy was so focus on his core thrumming and mentally comparing it to his heart racing that he didn't even notice.

25. Tim later freaks out because the meta is freaking made out of Lazarus water.

The entire batfam was not happy to discover this and decided to work together to pressure Phantom into telling them what he was and what exactly he wanted.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dp x dc #dc x dp #dpxdc #tim drake #red robin #soulmate au #rejected soulmate au

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