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bvidzsoo · 3 days ago

Text

Through your colours

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: artist!Kim Hongjoong x barista!reader

੭ Warning: recreational drug use (weed), alcohol consumption, swearing ੭ Word count: 11k ੭ Rating: nc-17 ੭ Genre: fluff, angst-ish, slice of life, strangers to lovers, a hint of simp Joong? post university setting ੭ Summary: A broke barista and a broke artist meet in a student infested dingy pub, what do they have in common? The desire to make something great of themselves, to live a fulfilled life. But first impressions can go wrong, deterring people from each other. You're probably lucky that's not how your story with Hongjoong goes, though.

A/N: Hello, hello, my lovelies! I present you another story that was supposed to be a drabble but instead turned into...a smaller oneshot?? I consider anything that's below 15k a drabble because my oneshots just go over 20k all the time, save me! This idea came on a random whim while my pinterest suggested three photos lol, and it took me some time to write it, but it's here at last. Your feedback is greatly appreciated, let me know what you thought of this little story, and I hope you enjoy it! divider

Gustav Klimt had once, sometime during the nineteenth century, stated that, “Art is a line around your thoughts”. This could be interpreted many ways, of course, but for an artist it was just as plain and simple as Mr Klimt had said. Whatever was on your mind, you could give it life by putting it on a piece of paper by the brush of ink and feather against the parchment, or by the swift twist of one’s wrist as their brush coloured their canvas. Art comes in many forms, many thoughts, and many interpretations. After all, everyone relates to it based by their own experiences, based on the emotions they feel and have felt before…and overall, their capacity of seeing beyond what’s shoved in front of their eyes. Maybe that’s why Hongjoong would stare at a painting or picture for hours on end without growing tired. He liked to see everything, he wanted to understand every stroke of brush, or why the lightning fell in that specific way on the item in the picture. Hongjoong wanted to feel the same emotions the author of the creation had felt while creating their piece. It helped him draw inspiration, expand his horizons towards new possibilities. Hongjoong liked new challenges as long as they were about his art. In life, he preferred the steady and sure lifestyle, the one that was predictable enough that it wouldn’t send him into an existential crisis over the smallest inconvenience.

Hongjoong needed order in his life since his art was all over the place, judged by many and often misunderstood. He didn’t paint just for the fun of it, sure, there were passion projects he started on a whim without much of a goal in mind, and usually those were well received by his professors, by his colleagues. But whenever Hongjoong wanted to say something through his art, he’d get scrutinized for it. He yet had to find that one person that saw beyond what others called a mess. He’s never thrived for attention or validation, but it had gotten lonely after a while when he realised nobody really understood him. He felt like he was the odd one even in a crowd full of odd people. He’d always been different, more open-minded and receptive to the changes in the world, and he’d always been judged for it. Here, instead of being frowned upon due to his character, he was sometimes ignored because his art was either dull or not good enough. Nobody seemed to understand that art is relative and subjective, that whatever lay on the canvas made by Hongjoong was his and would always be. That he had dipped his brush into a touch of colour from his soul, displaying it for the world to see on the once blank canvas. He became vulnerable for them and yet nobody had appreciated it yet. And so, Hongjoong got used to not being seen for his art, but for who he was.

Quirky with questionable fashion taste to many, bold because he wasn’t afraid to try out new styles—much like with his paintings—and intimidating because no matter how many times he tried out something new, he’d instantly make it his, owning whatever concept he had in mind. Hongjoong knew not everyone was against him out there, but it was easy to fall hostage to such thoughts when he was alone. It would make sense for an artist to have a mind clouded by questions and rarely answers, a mind that worked too fast and yet never good enough. Doubts and fears pulling one down, Hongjoong loved expressing it through his paintings, his hand nothing but a guide to the brush clutched tightly between his fingers, calling out to him even when he chose to step away. Hongjoong was in it for life, and he wondered whether the weeping willow tree by the river bank in his framed painting was a premonition for how his life would look like.

The bar was busy like every other night in this student-infested town. It wasn’t even a surprise anymore, you should have known better than to wear your boots with high heels. There were no seconds to waste and even less time for breaks between preparing drinks, cleaning the bar, and running around the room to clean the tables too. Nobody wanted their hands sticky because someone had previously spilt their drink, and you were more than ready to clock out for the night. The only problem was, however, that you still had three hours left of your shift. You sighed as you averted your eyes from the clock, realising you hadn’t started preparing the drink the drunk college student had asked for on the other side of the bar. His eyes were glossy and he was swaying in his spot, you debated filling his cup with water rather than Vodka, but you couldn’t risk getting a complaint since your boss was a stinky little fucker. Your hands worked fast, and years spent doing this kind of work were showing as you did a few tricks, hoping you’d get a nice tip. You doubted the college guy would leave a huge tip, if anything at all, but at least you tried. It was all about trying in places like this one. Trying to stay calm when a customer was rude, trying to remain sane when night after night the DJ played the same playlist for the drunken students, trying to smile and hide the fact that you hated when these frat boys flirted with you. And also try and hide the fact that you were fed up with people, and needed at least a month away from civilisation.

But if one wanted to achieve something in life, one had to work for it to happen since it wouldn’t fall from the sky. Going abroad and starting a new life over there wasn’t for free, and it especially wouldn’t happen overnight. You were well aware of that, that’s why you were working day and night, taking up shifts that were probably too long to be healthy. But the dream you had in mind demanded such sacrifices, and if it meant working hard right now for a comfortable life in the future, you were willing to spend your nights sleepless and surrounded by annoying college students. You had been like them once, after all, but that was a few years ago, and since then, the harsh reality has awoken you. What was the purpose of a degree you couldn’t do anything with? Yeah, you could’ve laughed at yourself, but then it would soon turn into hysterical crying and you weren’t strong enough to deal with such emotions. You’ve cried enough, it was time you took action now. You sighed as another rush of bodies crowded the bar, asking for shots and long cocktails. You weren’t a fancy place by any means, but you served the usual sweet cocktails that could be found in every other place. Your hands worked fast as you catered to everyone’s likes, your coworker, Hanni, was somewhere lost between the students as she had gone to clean up the tables. And even in your rush, it seemed like you couldn’t satisfy everyone. It shouldn’t have phased you, but you’ve had a rough day today.

“Hey, babe, think you could work those hands faster, maybe?” You ignored the question and smiled as a group of girls paid for their pink cocktails, leaving a bigger tip than most men would. You felt grateful and felt your smile turn genuine when the tallest in the group winked at you before they became part of the rowdy crowd again. Then, you could face your impatient customer. He didn’t look like a student, way too old to be in a crowd filled with students, but who were you to judge? Some people go to college at a later age, maybe he wanted to get the full student experience. Although, you doubted a thirty-year-old had anything in common with young adults on the brink of maturing, if they managed to mature during their upper-level study days.

“What can I get for you?” Your voice was raised since the music was booming, and unfortunately, you also had to lean over the counter to hear the man better. For some reason, that made the man smirk as he leaned forward as well, eyeing you up as if you were a piece of meat. You ignored it as your teeth ground together, you’ve seen men like him before, he wasn’t the first to act like this and you knew he wouldn’t be the last one either.

“How about…you, sugar?” Your expression didn’t budge as his smirk became shit eating as if he had accomplished anything by saying that. You waited, without blinking or reacting to what he’s said, hoping he’d catch on that he wasn’t hilarious nor flirty.

“Don’t we all wish to have a piece of the pretty barista?” That managed to throw you off as your head whipped to the side, eyebrows furrowing as you just now noticed the newcomer. He was…well, something else for sure. He wore no casual or ordinary clothes, nothing you could compare to the annoying frat boys or just the other dudes with a regular fashion sense. His hair was dark but it looked a little fried, as if it had been bleached already one too many times before. His white blouse was loose and tucked in at the waist, his black pants wide and reaching below his ankles. A thick belt was secured around the guy’s petit waist, and if you looked harder, you swore you could see a dark blue bow tied to it. His brown vest seemed to elevate the outfit even more, the pleated brown choker sitting at the base of his throat with a few other silver chains, a ruby pendant hitting his pecks as he was leaning against the counter lazily. His hip was jutted out and his painted nails tapped against the side of his head, cat-like eyes blinking slowly as he watched you. The hat he wore looked something like you’ve only seen in Peaky Blinders, and for a second, you almost chuckled. He looked peculiar but not in a negative sense, it’s just that you haven’t seen someone like him stumble inside the pub before. He didn’t seem to belong with the crowd and that would’ve been something you’d appreciate on any other day than today.

“I don’t think we were talking to you, no?” The cocky man in front of you raised a mocking eyebrow at the other guy, and you rolled your eyes for a second. But before you could answer, the other guy did for you.

“You threatened my game is better than yours?” The artsy-looking guy asked with a chuckle, his tone was more on the higher side, and you found yourself not irked by it too much. But you weren’t here to have men measure their cocks by who can get the barista’s phone number faster, so you interrupted them before they could piss you off even more.

“Listen, fellas, I don’t have all night. What do you want?” Your tone was sharp, straight to the point, and shut down all attempts at flirting as the man in front of you scoffed, shooting a dirty look at the peculiar-looking one. You tilted your head as the older man finally faced you, trying to downplay his irritation as he plastered on a charming smile again. It made your jaw tick again, but you said nothing more.

“Do you have whiskey?” You were already reaching for the bottle of Whiskey before the man was finished talking, your other hand grabbing a glass as Hanni finally returned to the bar, her tray filled with dirty glasses.

“I’ll just wash these and come help.” She said as she passed by you and you nodded, filling the man’s glass with ice and whiskey, not too much but not too little either. Who even drinks Whiskey in a place like this one? But you didn’t care as long as he’d be out of your hair, so you placed the glass on the counter, but before you could tell the guy how much it was, he had already slid a bill on the counter, sauntering away. You grabbed it and pushed it into your fanny pack, taking a step back to take a deep breath. You could do this, Hanni was back and maybe you could ask her to cover for you for five minutes. A bathroom break was allowed at any time, after all. Your small moment, however, was interrupted by a scoff. You blinked your eyes open and looked towards where the sound came from, eyes narrowing when you realised the other guy was still lingering around.

“What a pig, he didn’t even tip you.” You had to agree with his slurred words but instead walked over with an impassive expression. You weren’t here to be nice or to make friends, and you never failed to make it clear to your customers. These entitled dudes thought they could get your number and get in your pants with just a few—fake—nice words, you could confidently say you hated them all and that they made you wish you never again encountered their species. But alas, that wouldn’t happen tonight, so you headed over to the pompous guy, raising an eyebrow. He was intriguing, you couldn’t deny that, but you also knew not to mingle with guys who frequented the pub. So, even if one sparked your interest, at the end of the day, you’d still walk home alone and relish in the quiet of your room.

“What can I get for you?” You tried to keep your tone level as your hip pressed into the counter, feet aching now even more. You were ready to chuck your damn boots at the wall and call it a night, but as Hanni flashed you her typical sweet smile, you knew you couldn’t leave her alone in the wolf's den. She was too sweet and too naïve, smiling and laughing along to the shitty jokes of the frat boys who were eyeing her up with little regard for the fact that she was visibly uncomfortable.

“Something sweet like you.” You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, telling yourself to keep your cool. He wasn’t saying anything offensive, unlike many other men, he just kept calling you sweet and pretty. That could be considered even nice, but not tonight.

“The menu is literally behind me, you can choose anything from it.” You pointed a finger behind yourself, where you knew the menu was hung high on the wall so that everyone could see it. The peculiar guy just gave you a look of confusion before looking past you, blinking his eyes lazily once again. You tapped your fingers against the counter, waiting for his choice, glad that you could take a breather now that nobody was crowding to get their drinks refilled. Hanni whizzed past you when she noticed a smaller group of girls approaching, her smile reaching her ears and already talking to them, beckoning them closer. Hanni was an excellent barista, she kept her customers entertained and always engaged with them…unlike you, but that’s why your duo worked so well. You were the stoic one and she was the sunshine, but you were both quick on your feet so your boss couldn’t complain.

“Uh, I’ll take a Cosmopolitan.” The guy finally decided and you quirked an eyebrow, grabbing the shaker.

“That’s not sweet.” It was unlike you to make conversation, but the words were on the tip of your tongue so you couldn’t ignore them. The guy chuckled, letting his elbows rest on the counter as he placed his chin in his palms. Your eyes raised for a second to look at him, and you were taken aback by how cute he looked. But as he blinked slowly again, a small smile spreading onto his lips as he watched you, you quickly focused your attention on his Cosmo.

“I know, I was just trying to make you feel better.” He sighed, tracing a manicured finger against the dirty counter. You had to clean that too. As you grabbed some olive to stash on a toothpick, you followed his finger with your eyes and noticed the two silver and shiny rings on his finger, his nail done a neon yellow with a black smiley face painted on top of it.

“What do you even know…” You scoffed to yourself, placing the martini glass on the counter for the guy to take. He was still looking at you, his eyes hazy, and you allowed yourself to take in his features. He had a petite and sharp nose, pretty and well-fitting with his sharp jawline and otherwise intimidating eyes if it wasn’t for the smile in them. His lips were more plump than thin with a pretty Cupid’s bow, slightly pouty as he gave you a small frown.

“Well, I bet you don’t plan on wasting your life away here.” The way he spoke had an airy feel to it, as if he wasn’t really thinking before speaking, “And by the looks of it, it seems as if your degree didn’t take you too far as of now, which is not a big deal, people change their minds all the time.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as the guy reached for his Cosmo, your fingers brushing together since you hadn’t retracted your hand yet. You ignored how warm his fingers felt, the softness of them as they lightly brushed against yours, “It’s just sad to see talented people waste their lives away in places like this one, you know? I mean, we all go to college to make something of ourselves, but then we end up in a dimly lit and smelly bar, selling alcohol to entitled pricks, forced to listen to their attempts at flirting, or them berating us for ‘not’ doing our job. Sure, it’s honest work, but at the end of the day, when you walk home after an ungodly long shift, you still hate yourself, so…”

Something in you broke at his last sentence, making you gulp hard. You still hate yourself, the guy had said with the most easy-going expression on his face, a slight smile pulling at his lips as he continued to blink lazily at you. What did he even know when he was clearly wearing designer clothes to a pub where alcohol could be spilt on you, among many other things? Who was he to assume you couldn’t do anything with your degree, rubbing it in your face that he knew people ended up like this when he clearly came from a rich background with all those accessories on him, his tone airy and almost mocking. Your jaw clenched again as you realised you had tears in your eyes, and your hand came down harshly on the counter as the guy slipped a bill towards you, way over the price of his damn Cosmopolitan.

“Go fuck yourself.” You snapped as you threw the change back at him, watching his expression fall, his eyebrows raising comically high. You didn’t sit around to listen to him trying to get your attention again, you brushed past Hanni and leaned down to tell her that you needed five minutes. She gave you a worried look before nodding, letting you head to the bathroom as a few tears spilt down your cheeks. Today was complete shit, you couldn’t wait to get home and ignore all the responsibilities and problems you had. You were doing this for a better future, this was just a small fragment of your life, and it wouldn’t last forever. At least you really hoped so.

You released a long sigh as the cool air hit your face, eyes stinging from the sudden coldness as the red backdoor slammed shut behind you. Hanni and you kept telling your boss to change the hinges, but he had more important things to take care of, of course. Stepping aside so that the door wouldn’t slam into your back if any staff member decided to come outside at this moment, you leaned against the cold wall, pushing your hands into your pockets. You didn’t bother grabbing your jacket, although you should have given the fact that your skin was now covered in goosebumps, teeth slightly chattering. It was always a whiplash coming outside from that parched pub, having to forcefully push through the bodies too busy to notice your approaching form. It was another busy night, the weekend was approaching so the students were coming in waves that the pub could barely house. You’ve been telling your boss that you should put a capacity limit, but he wouldn’t make as much money like that as he was making now, so of course, he said no. He was a greedy monster and he didn’t even try to hide it.

Just as you closed your eyes, you heard a loud tsk followed by a hiss, and your head jerked to the side, your eyes widening. You hadn’t realised there was someone else here with you, too taken by your own thoughts of wondering what you’d cook for dinner…if you make it home at a decent hour, which was looking less and less likely to be. With your eyes narrowed and head turned, you tried to find the source where the sound had come from, eyebrows furrowing when you noticed someone crouched down right by the door, their head lowered over their knees. It wasn’t your business what anyone was doing, really, but if a client was feeling unwell and would need assistance, you’d feel guilty if you just walked away without a word. So, sighing to yourself, you pushed off the wall and took a few steps to approach the person, eyes taking in the black messy curls on the top of his head. The person had a baby mullet growing out, framing his pale nape. You cleared your throat and reached down, gently poking at the guy’s shoulder.

“Hey, you good?” You asked unsure, eyebrows furrowing when the guy grunted only. Tilting your head, you realised he was shielding his left hand, his right thumb trying to roll the sparkwheel of his lighter, but to no avail.

“Yeah, this bloody thing won’t work.” The guy groaned, shaking his lighter as he tilted his head back, a hand-rolled cigarette hanging between his lips. Your eyes widened as you realised the face was familiar, having seen him just yesterday. The guy’s eyes looked innocent as they rounded, recognition flashing in his too. You gulped and straightened up, your expression slightly hardening as the guy’s harsh words from yesterday rang through your ears. He seemed pretty fine to you, but before you could step aside and go back inside, he spoke up.

“Hi there, pretty barista.” He then grinned, a lazy pull of his cherry-red lips, his tone easy. You didn’t expect him to be so easy-going after what you had said to him, but it almost looked like the guy wasn’t bothered by you cursing him out…maybe he really wasn’t, “You on a break?”

You crossed your arms in front of your chest, watching as he struggled to get his lighter to work. You had one in your pocket, but you found a bit of satisfaction in watching him struggle. Maybe if he asked whether you had one, you’d let him use yours. But people who didn’t ask wouldn’t get help, that’s what your father taught you, at least.

“Obviously.” You muttered matter of fact as the guy hummed, grinning wickedly when the lighter finally sparked to life, allowing him to light his cigarette. You watched as the flame danced in front of his face, making his dark eyes appear amber-like, sharper from this angle. You realised, alarmed, that you were appreciating his looks so you quickly stopped, looking away as the guy puffed out a whiff of smoke.

“You want some?” The guy asked, reaching his hand toward you as you eyed the cigarette, its smell hitting you. It was too herbal to be a normal cigarette, you belatedly realised as you watched the guy take another hit of his joint.

“What’s in it?” You decided to ask, just to make sure. If you were wrong and it was a regular cigarette, maybe you’d accept a smoke. You didn’t usually smoke but you were still tired from yesterday’s shift, and something that could loosen your nerves would be highly appreciated.

“Good stuff.” The guy grinned, giggling even a little, and the sound almost put a smile on your lips, but you caught yourself in time and instead shook your head, pushing your hands into your pockets again.

“I’m working, so, no.” The guy just hummed as he looked up at you again, taking a drag of his joint as you gulped and everted your eyes. It felt like he was gazing right through you and into your soul as your eyes had met, and given the fact that you were still butt-hurt over what he had said to you yesterday, you refused to look at him too long…you’d only admire his beauty, either way. He wore a fuzzy yellow and pink sweater today, his brown dress pants looking way too thin for this weather, but the guy didn’t seem to mind. His nails stood out with their unique design, and he wore fewer rings today but more earrings than yesterday.

“Hey, yesterday…what I said at the bar, I didn’t mean to berate you.” The guy gulped, his eyebrows furrowing as you looked back at him, slightly taken aback to see such sincerity on his face. You’ve never met someone so easily readable before, ��My intention wasn’t to hurt you, I was smoked out too so I was just running my mouth, I do that when I’m high, sorry…”

A beat of silence passed as the two of you shared an apprehensive look, making you bite your bottom lip. You cleared your throat and at last averted your eyes, kicking a few pebbles towards the guy without meaning to, “Right, I shouldn’t have cursed you out either…I’m sorry too, I guess.”

The guy hummed, a smile slowly appearing on his lips before he took another drag of his cigarette, his eyes boring into yours again, “I’m glad the pretty barista doesn’t hate my guts anymore.”

You have no idea what took over you, but your cheeks were suddenly flushing as if you had been noticed by your crush for the first time, your skin prickling. You weren’t one to care about the compliments your clients gave since most of them were only trying to get in your pants, but this guy seemed to be genuine. He didn’t try to hit on you, he was just calling you pretty, and it was getting to you. You hummed and turned towards the door, hand reaching out for the knob when suddenly the guy spoke again, “Humans are easily susceptible, you know? We judge without knowing first, and we rarely apologise and recognise our mistakes. I hate people like that, rude people for no reason too. I don’t stand for all that bullshit, so I’m glad you told me to fuck myself instead of smiling at me like you do with all the other assholes. I appreciate your hard work, we all have to make due somehow and you aren’t less for working in this pub, pretty barista.”

There he was again, making your chest feel heavy as you huffed, a sarcastic smile pulling at your lips. Once again, what did he know about you? Maybe you loved this damned job, maybe being a barista in a shitty pub has been your lifelong dream. You almost scoffed at yourself, eyes narrowing as the guy took more drags of his joint, seemingly waiting for an answer that you didn’t exactly want to give. But you didn’t want him to have the last word, much like yesterday, so you plastered on a sarcastic smirk, “There you go again, blabbering your mouth when you’re smoked out.”

You didn’t expect the guy to start laughing loudly, his head falling back as it landed against the wall, his eyes crinkling at the corners. You didn’t mean to gape, but he was beautiful and painfully honest, it was refreshing in a world full of fakeness. He was an intriguing person, and you would’ve allowed yourself to become interested in him if only you had met in a different setting. With a hum and lingering eyes, you pushed the door open as the guy nodded at you in goodbye once he realised you were leaving for good. And with a faster beating heart, you willed yourself to focus on the few hours that you still had of your shift.

It’s been quite a while since you had the chance to wake up at the crack of dawn without feeling tired, or without having to rush in for an early shift. Through hard work, you had earned these two days of break, and while you wished you had been given a full week, you made sure to utilise these two days wisely. You had always been an early bird, wishing to wake with the sun, opening your windows to hear the song of the birds, but it was too cold for them to hunker down in front of your window today. You didn’t mind, you’d take a stroll after your breakfast and check out the new art store that’s opened not too far from your apartment. You’ve heard great things about it, the prices seemed to be reasonable, and it had an adjoint bookstore and a coffee shop as well. A quick check on the internet showed you just how cozy it was, so you thought you could buy a book from your to read list and settle down in the coffee shop. It sounded like a great plan to destress and forget for a bit about work and all the idiots that kept you up at night, quite literally.

Your scarf was thick as you buried your nose into it, trying to keep it warm from the cold chill of the early morning. The city was awake with you, orange sun rising on the horizon and blinding you as you were walking towards it, you couldn’t help but smile. It warmed your cheeks and body, feeling the sun on your skin during cold season always felt like a blessing, you would always relish in it as much as you could because you knew it wouldn’t last for long. You exhaled as your eyes remained squinted, watching the people around you as you walked towards your destination. Kids were rushing to school, parents by their sides guiding them, and traffic was as crazy as ever, impatient drivers honking and disturbing the little peace everyone had. You paid it no mind and felt thankful that you were able to wake up so early instead of just going to bed, all tired and wishing for your boss to fire you. But if he did fire you, you would be in trouble, so you didn’t actually wish for that to happen. And suddenly as you turned the corner, the guy’s words from the bar managed to ring through your ears once again. Working at the pub was just as much of an honest job as it would’ve been working anywhere else.

You sighed, realising you were thinking about him again. You’ve been doing this a lot lately, letting your mind wander to his peculiar fashion sense and even more peculiar way of thinking. He seemed almost raw with his words and thoughts, unafraid to say them to your face. It was refreshing and intriguing, but you couldn’t let yourself be sidetracked right now. You had a purpose, and that was working until you had enough money to move away. If somehow a guy came into the picture right now, you felt like that would mess up all your plans and vision of the future. Under no circumstance would you stay here, but you knew your heart would betray you and try to keep you here for longer, with your lover. You didn’t even want to think of the guy as a potential love interest, you didn’t even know each other, so you shoved these thoughts to the back of your mind as you reached the art store, eyes widening at its exterior.

You haven’t seen anything quite like it before, the windows reached from ceiling to floor, a clear view of what was going on inside. There was a spiral staircase that led to the higher level which was littered with bookcases and low hanging retro chandeliers, bean bags spaced out on the floor as people sat around with books in their hands. To the right was the coffee shop with a separate entrance if you were only here for coffee, but you could also enter through the art store. And the art store was gorgeous as you made your way inside, the double doors opening easily. A sweet scent hit your nostrils as you walked further inside, your eyes wide as you took in the whole place. Paintings were hung on the walls, blank canvas placed underneath as many shelves housed all kinds of art supplies. The clerks were all smiley and they welcomed you warmly once they noticed your arrival. Maybe you could find a nicer workplace, something like this one. The workload seemed less strenuous and the people that came here to shop were less rowdy and rude. As much as you loved admiring the fine arts, you didn’t have the talent for drawing or painting, you could mess up even something as simple as a cloud. It was embarrassing, but arts have never been your forte, so you headed for the staircase to look for the book you had on your mind.

Navigating around the many shelves seemed a bit intimidating at first, but then you noticed they were sectioned on different genres, the tags hanging low from the ceiling with an arrow pointing towards the section to help you out. You smiled to yourself as you unrolled your scarf from around your neck, the warmth of the store helping your frozen fingers as you turned down a corner, two tall bookshelves on your sides. At the end of the row sat a younger girl with a manga in her hand, another one pressed to her lips as she seemed to be giggling. You felt yourself smile as you came near her, looking at the titles of the books. Asking for a clerk to help you find the book you were looking for would’ve helped enormously, but you found yourself wanting to stroll around in the warmth, fingers grazing the spines of the books. The girl giggled just a bit louder and blushed when you glanced her way. This wasn’t a library, so she wasn’t disturbing anyone, but she was still mindful of those around her. You turned the corner once again, finding the High Fantasy section, having made your research beforehand, you knew you were in the right place. It took a bit more cruising down the row to finally find the book you were looking for, and you grinned when you found it, taking it off the shelf.

You thought about strolling around the store more just to discover it further, maybe they had cheap trinkets you could buy. You even thought about paying a visit the coffee shop as well, maybe they had one of your favourite patisserie delicacies. You wouldn’t turn down something sweet right now, you didn’t have a sweet tooth necessarily, but there were days when your cravings got the better of you. With that in mind, you headed back the way you had come, sneaking another glance at the younger girl as she gasped, manga now clutched tightly in both of her hands. You chuckled before you rounded the corner, now back on the main aisle that led to the spiral staircase. You noticed that most people who were inside the store looked to be college students, their outfits mismatched colours and patterns, hair coloured something vibrant as most of them had piercings you never even thought possible before. You really liked their style and found yourself staring at them, blushing when a girl caught you and raised an eyebrow before she smiled. You nodded your head and hurried down the stairs, flustered and a little embarrassed. They oddly reminded you of the guy from the bar, you thought he’d somehow fit right in with the people inside the store. It looked something he’d enjoy, not that you knew anything about him besides that he smoked weed, wasn’t afraid to speak his mind, and had a nice sense of fashion.

You were looking at the hard cover of your book as you got to the base of the staircase, taken by the pretty illustration and completely unaware that someone was headed straight towards you, just as taken by items in his hands as you were by your book. The collision could’ve been avoided if you both had been paying attention to where you were going, but alas, you gasped loudly as you felt a hard body collide into yours, items spilling loudly onto the floor. Your head shoot up, eyes wide as you looked at the equally startled man and—wait, it was the same guy from the bar! You gulped, suddenly feeling nervous as your cheeks burned, but the guy hadn’t noticed you yet as he had crouched down to collect his items off the floor. You felt bad and hoped the expensive palette on the ground hadn’t been broken, so you crouched down too and reached for it to inspect it. The guy still hadn’t quite noticed that it was you out of all people, but as you reached for the same brush, his head raised sharply. Your smile was apologetic as the guy’s eyes widened, recognition flashing on his face. This was the third time you met this week, the sheer coincidence of meeting outside the pub was a bit jarring…especially since you’ve been just thinking about him.

“Pretty barista from the pub!” He motioned towards you then chuckled, letting you pick up the brush. Your book was placed on the ground next to you so your hands were free to help.

“Hi,” Your voice came out a lot shier than you had intended it to be, and you chewed on your bottom lip awkwardly, “Sorry about this, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Don’t worry,” The guy chuckled, scooping up the small canvases, “I wasn’t either. If it makes you feel better, it was both of our faults.”

You hummed and grabbed the last item off the floor, standing at the same time as the guy. His arms were filled with his items, and you wondered if you handed over the four in your hands how he’d be able to carry everything. Despite the cold weather outside, he was underdressed. He wore a simple turtleneck with a brown knitted vest over it, long flowy plants and mismatched tennis shoes. As you both stepped aside from the staircase to make way for others, you cleared your throat and averted your eyes once you realised you were staring again. But you hadn’t seen him wearing glasses before, and with the curly strands falling over his forehead, he didn’t only look handsome but cute as well.

“What brings you here?” The guy made conversation as you tried to figure out how to hand him his items without making him drop them all again, “I say this without meaning to be rude, but you seem like the last person who’d be interested in art.”

You huffed, not bothered by his honesty, “While that statement is incorrect, I’m not here due to the art section of the store. I was looking for a book.”

“Right!” He exclaimed, glancing down at his own chest, “Oh, sorry, you can hand me those, I can carry them!”

“Are you sure?” You asked as he nodded enthusiastically, so you complied. You stepped closer to place the other four items in his arms, watching as he clinched the smaller canvas underneath his chin to keep it from falling. You would’ve laughed and offered to help until he got himself a bag or something, but the guy looked pretty content like this. Like it wasn’t his first time doing this…

“Are you collecting them?” The guy’s incomplete question left you raising a confused eyebrow at him, “Sorry, I saw you’re buying The Hobbit. It’s a pretty famous reprint, the covers are gorgeous, my best friend is collecting them so I assumed you are too.”

You glanced down at the book in your hand and bit your bottom lip, trying to brush off your embarrassment. Why were you feeling like this all of a sudden? It made no sense, but you didn’t want to leave a bad impression on the guy…even though his perception of you might already be fucked since this wasn’t your first time meeting.

“I’ve, uh, so, uhm, I have a to read list for books I’ve never read while growing up, so now I have a little tradition that I buy a book from the list each month and read it.” You spoke quickly, avoiding eye contact as the guy listened to your ramble. His intake of breath was sharp and you chanced a glance at his face, finding his eyes wide and his mouth rounded.

“Wait. Are you saying you haven’t read The Hobbit before?!” He sounded incredulous and alarmed, and your cheeks grew hot once again, actually managing to sour your mood a bit. Not having read the book didn’t make you less by any means, but you had a feeling this guy was well-versed in literature, so it felt like a jab and even a subtle scrutinising.

“Yeah, not everyone likes reading while growing up…” Your tone grew cold and voice snappish as you continued to avoid eye contact, looking towards the front desk so that maybe the guy would get the hint that you were done with this conversation. But it didn’t actually surprise you that he continued speaking without noticing you didn’t want to keep conversing anymore.

“That’s totally cool, my brother hated comic books growing up and now he’s obsessed with them.” The guy chuckled, expression innocent and tone genuinely excited, “I think you’ll love the book, it’s filled with adventure and otherworldly creatures. It’s a nice step back from our grim reality, I feel like you need that right now.”

Okay, there he was assuming again that he could just…psychoanalyse you or whatever, “Can you stop doing that? I’m not a painting you can interpret to your liking.”

The guy blinked, face going blank before his cheeks flushed, his gaze averted now from yours, “I…have I been doing it all this time?”

“Ever since we’ve met.” Your answer was sharp and quick and the guy blushed even more.

“Oh, sorry, I just…I’ll stop doing that,” Then he smiled awkwardly and held eye contact with you, “I’m Hongjoong, by the way, I don’t remember introducing myself.”

Because he hadn’t. You repeated his name in your head, finding yourself liking the sound of it, it seemed like a fitting name for him. You hummed, extending your hand.

“I’m Y/N.” But you and Hongjoong glanced down at your extended hand and then his occupied ones at the same time, chuckles leaving your mouths as he seemed flustered.

“I’m shake your hand the next time we see other.”

“If there will be a next time.”

“I quite like the pub you work at, pretty barista.” You cleared your throat and avoided looking at him because as corny as it was, it kind of made your heart flutter. What was happening? The chiming of the doorbell reminded you that it was time you left and took care of other errands you had in your schedule, but before you could say goodbye to Hongjoong, he asked a question that took you off guard, “Wanna grab a cup of coffee with me?”

Then he turned sideways, nodding towards the adjoined café, and you hesitated for a second. You could actually slip in a little time to have coffee with him, but you felt reluctant. You had met him at the pub, after all, and you still couldn’t decide what type of person he was. Of course, he was handsome, and so far, has showed a good character, but there were little moments when he somehow managed to ruin everything with his words. And he was still a complete stranger, so, listening to your rational mind, you slowly shook your head.

“I don’t like coffee, but thanks!” Your smile was easy, Hongjoong’s face morphed into something knowing as he hummed with a nod.

“Sure, I’m glad I caught you here.” Then, as you were about to take off, he added, “The pretty barista now has a name, I can say my morning was successful.”

You tried to huff and look irked, but the blush betrayed you. You just shook your head before heading for the front desk, “Goodbye, Hongjoong.”

“See ya!” His smile was radiant as he turned around and headed for the café instead, and you realised he was underdressed because he had come from the coffee shop, his things already there. And with Hongjoong on your mind, you followed his distinctive walk as he sauntered over to his table with an elegancy yet swagger you hadn’t seen before.

Now, a week ago you probably would have said no to a preposition that involved you following home a complete stranger whose name you had known for a maximum of four days, but tonight had been literal shit and you were on the verge of tears when Hongjoong had sauntered over to the bar, his Chesire like smile blinding. You had one more hour left of your shift and you’d be clocking out, not even staying behind to help Hani clean up. Your cramps were terrible and a guy who hit on you for the whole night had spilt his drink on your favourite blouse, calling you a bitch as well for shunning him away, so, when you saw Hongjoong approach the bar with mischief in his eyes, you were ready to scream at him and tell him to get lost. Except that you didn’t do all that because his question completely threw you off guard.

“Y/N, do you like art?” He had a rolled-up joint resting at his ear, his hair pulled to the side and clipped back with colourful hair clips. Your laugh that bubbled past your lips sounded incredulous and tired, but you nodded.

“I do, do you want something to drink?” Hongjoong shook his head, leaning across the bar despite it being wet from spilt alcohol.

“When does your shift end?”

“In an hour.”

“Wanna see some of my art?” Then Hongjoong grinned, looking proud of himself, “I’m a painter.”

Something came over you and didn’t even let you ponder over your decision, “Do you have weed?”

The answer was obvious as you glanced at the joint and Hongjoong laughed, tilting his head in a way that sharpened his features under the neon lights of the pub.

“Obviously, got some on me right now. Want some?” Not while you were working, afterwards, however, you were free to do whatever.

“After my shift, yeah.”

“Cool, I’ll meet you in the back. See ya.”

And that’s how you ended up at Hongjoong’s apartment, not even ten minutes away from the pub. Your feet ached and your cramps were so bad you felt like doubling over and emptying your already empty stomach, but you tried to hold yourself together in front of Hongjoong. There was a nervous flutter in your chest as you had followed him up the steel staircase, the building old and dodgy. However, the second you walked inside his studio apartment, it felt like you had entered a different realm. He was the true definition of an artist, you came to realise, with canvas strewn around the apartment, most finished but some blank, oil paint tainting the wooden floor and even the walls. The colours were neutral, beige with a slip of sage green here and there, the curtains sheer and pulled to the side as Hongjoong hurried over to the windows to push them open. There was an earthy smell in the air mixed with something sweet like vanilla, and you couldn’t help but marvel at the cosiness of Hongjoong’s studio. You recognised a few prints on the walls, they were the paintings of well-known painters who no longer lived, and the décor Hongjoong had used was rather vintage than modern. His huge wardrobe was open, and he pushed the door closed with little care as he picked up a hoodie off the floor. You were surprised he even owned one of those.

You flinched when it collided against your head, confused as to why he had thrown it at you. Hongjoong chuckled as he shrugged his coat off, trying to tidy his messy bed but quickly giving up when he realised you didn’t look like you cared. Truthfully, your apartment wasn’t in a better shape, the dishes in the sink had been there for three days and your bathroom was in dire need of a deep clean.

“We can’t smoke weed with closed windows, so it’ll get colder.” Hongjoong suddenly explained, shrugging on a cardigan that looked very soft, “Wear my hoodie, it’ll keep you warm.”

You hummed, glancing down at it before you stepped out of your shoes, shrugging your jacket off and wearing the hoodie. Its scent was sweet but potent with something musky, and you blushed as your nose buried into its fabric, drinking in its soft material.

“Make yourself feel at home!” Hongjoong grinned, walking over to the small kitchen section to grab two cups, “Do you want tea?”

You shook your head as you walked towards the small bean bag, pushing it with your leg to try and get it more gathered together. And then, just as you were about to sink into the chair, you heard a faint sound come from the kitchen. You turned your head and were met with a small black creature blinking at you in wonder.

“You have a cat?” You asked in surprise, staring back at the little pet. Hongjoong chuckled, looking down at his pet as the electric kettle started whistling.

“Is it so surprising? I found him near a dumpster a few years ago, he’s been by my side ever since.” You couldn’t help but gaze at Hongjoong with admiration as he spoke, pouring hot water into his cup for the tea, “His name is Woo ‘cuz he reminds me of my friend. They are both rascals and really loud.”

As if on cue, the cat meowed loudly and you chuckled, finally easing yourself into the bean bag. Your lower back protested and your spine cracked as you allowed yourself to lean back, arching your back. You could’ve cried at the relief, thankful to finally be off your feet. You couldn’t wait for the weed, it would dull your cramps and help you ease up after the day you’ve had. You were probably in dire need of a shower since you smelled like alcohol, but you didn’t feel comfortable showering at a guy’s place you barely knew. Which, now that you thought more about it, realisation started setting in. You weren’t too smart for following Hongjoong home, but he had never creeped you out, so you decided to give him the benefit of the doubt tonight. You stared at the cat as Hongjoong mixed honey into his berry-flavoured tea, the warm mist hogging up his glasses. The cat, still at Hongjoong’s side, stared back at you and then slowly walked towards you, its head tilted in wonder. You smiled at it and let it smell your fingers, taking you off guard when it unceremoniously climbed into your lap, starting to make biscuits against your lower abdomen.

“Ah, of course, you’re already in the lap of the pretty barista.” Hongjoong mused with an amused smile on his lips, “You take after Wooyoung more than one would think.”

You had no idea who this Wooyoung guy was, but it sounded like he was a flirt if Hongjoong wasn’t bluffing.

“I like your apartment,” You blurted out as you started petting the cat, smiling down at it when it started purring, “It’s got character, much like you.”

“That’s the first time you said something completely honest to me.” Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked up at Hongjoong, the joint from his ear now gone as he grabbed some matches to light it up. You didn’t think that was true, but you didn’t say anything as Hongjoong came nearer, sitting down on the floor across from you. You looked at him as he took a long whiff of his joint, then extended his arm for you to take the weed. It’s been quite a while since you smoked any, you knew it would hit you faster, but you hoped it wasn’t too strong or you’d become sick. You took a careful drag of it as Woo settled into a slumber in your lap, and the earthy taste of it made you grimace. But you kept the smoke in your lungs for a bit before exhaling, taking another drag as Hongjoong watched you with a lazy smile. He looked so…handsome. You’ve had a few days to yourself to think about Hongjoong after your encounter in the art store, and you realised you were attracted to him. It was mostly physical since you liked his looks, but his brutally honest character also had you intrigued even if you’d get offended at times by what he was saying.

“I find it hilarious that you decided to come home with me after you declined to have coffee.” Your eyes met Hongjoong’s quickly just as you were about to hand over the joint, “Do you really don’t drink coffee? Or did you just want to get rid of me that day?”

“I…” You licked your lips as Hongjoong took the joint from you, grinning as he took a long drag once again, “Both, actually. I just…I don’t know you well enough and we’ve also met at the pub, I don’t like meddling with clients. Those frat boys are horny and only want to sleep with me.”

“Good thing I’m not a frat boy then, right, Woo?” Hongjoong grinned and ruffled the slumbering cat’s fur, looking back at you with an understanding look, “I’ll be done with my master’s degree in just a few months.”

You hummed, picking at the sleeve of Hongjoong’s hoodie before you saw the joint handed to you again, “And after that? What do you plan on doing?”

Suddenly, Hongjoong had a pensive look on his face as he leaned back on his arms, staring up at the ceiling. You took shorter drags of the joint now but kept the smoke in your lungs until it started burning.

“I want to travel the world, visit art galleries and drink a lot of expensive wine.” That didn’t sound bad at all, Hongjoong continued before you could tell him, “It’s hard breaking into the industry as a painter even though some realtors have already approached me to buy my paintings and put them on display.”

“And? What did you say to them?” You felt genuinely curious, the cat sighed loudly in your lap and Hongjoong looked at you two, reaching out for the joint. Your fingertips brushed together and Hongjoong’s hands felt too cold, but you didn’t comment on it.

“I turned them down,” Hongjoong smiled, but it looked almost sad before he shrugged, taking a drag, “I don’t want just anyone owning my creations. I want someone who understands what’s on that canvas to contact me, I want someone who genuinely loves art and isn’t just doing it for the money. It’s hard to find people like that nowadays, but I’m willing to wait as long as it takes…even if that makes me broke.”

Hongjoong scoffed out a chuckle, sounding bitter by the end of his sentence. For someone who was so good at reading others and commenting on their lives, Hongjoong seemed to be having his own demons he had to fight. You hummed, closing your eyes for a second as you felt your muscles ease up, your cramps less torturous. You were glad the weed was slowly kicking in, your cramps would’ve had you crying if not.

“So how do you plan on travelling if you have no money?” Maybe the question was insensitive, but you were curious. Hongjoong didn’t take offence as he smiled, looking at you with sparkling eyes.

“There are art courses all around the world, I might sign up for one and leave, never look back…”

“Do you hate it here?” The question tumbled past your lips before you could stop yourself, “Because I don’t.”

Hongjoong didn’t look surprised as he nodded, handing back the joint so you could finish it. Three drags and it would be gone, so you took your time savouring it.

“It’s not the worst, but I don’t see much of a future for myself here.” So, Hongjoong was just like you then, “When are you leaving?”

“How did you know?” You sounded shocked as Hongjoong shrugged, averting his eyes.

“You and I are rather similar, you just fail to see it, Y/N.” Well, maybe he was right, maybe he wasn’t. You couldn’t read Hongjoong as well as he could read you, you needed more time to feel out his character.

“Six months and I’m out of here, never to come back if life’s kind to me.” Your voice was quiet as you didn’t look at Hongjoong, smoke wafting through your lips as you finished the joint. Hongjoong hummed, a low and warm sound, as he reached for the stud to take it from you. Your fingers brushed together once again, and you looked at Hongjoong when he held your wrist.

“You’re stronger than you think, you’ll make it big out there, Y/N, have more faith in yourself.” You found yourself smiling now, head a little hazy as you nodded, finding it easier to believe whatever Hongjoong told you.

“You’re the artist between the two of us, you’re the one supposed to make it big.” Hongjoong chuckled and stood, headed for the kitchen.

“Can’t we both make it big?” He raised an eyebrow as he threw the stud away, turning around to face you. You hummed, not entirely agreeing with him, but you decided to nod. Then, Hongjoong turned towards where his bed was and grinned, “You’re here to see some art, no?”

“Right, I almost forgot about that.” Hongjoong chuckled, then beckoned you over. You grabbed the cat in your lap and pressed a kiss against its small head, placing it on the bean bag in your spot. Your feet felt light as you headed towards Hongjoong, who had sauntered over to the desk pressed up against the wall underneath the open windows. He turned the small lamp on, and suddenly you were looking at small canvases filled with colour and abstract shapes. Somehow they looked like an organised mess, even in the overflowing swirl of colours, you managed to find a pattern that seemed to never end like a loop. You turned your head to look at Hongjoong, and suddenly you realised his art was a perfect reflection of who he was.

“I can tell you made these.” Perhaps phrasing it like that was offensive, but Hongjoong only looked curious. He hummed, raising an eyebrow.

“How come?” His voice was quiet, curious.

“I can see you in these.” You pointed at the canvas with orange and yellow as the more prominent colours, circling a deep blue that looked almost black, “The blue is you at your core, dark and perhaps scared of the world. And then all that orange and yellow? I think that’s how you see the world, how you wish it treated you, hoping it would lighten all that darkness that looms over you all the time. And this one? I wonder if it was a coincidence you hid so many infinity symbols in the background, this burgundy is gorgeous, by the way. I think everyone is afraid of disappearing without leaving a trace of themselves in this fucked up world, and I actually…I admire you for being so honest and straightforward, very few people are like you.”

Hongjoong’s eyebrows were furrowed the longer you spoke, but he remained silent as you smiled, looking down at the white canvas, unfinished but with light blue swirls creating the illusion of a clear sky, “I wonder what this will turn into. So far, it reminds me of serenity, of the calm before a storm. Life’s like that too, don’t you think? It’s quiet and gentle, and then it turns into a scary thing that can destroy us if we let it.”

Hongjoong just gulped, his eyes clouded but his heart racing. He was positive no one had been able to interpret his art for what it was before, and he wondered how much of him you could see through his eyes if you could read so well what the trail of his brush had left on a blank canvas. It made him feel seen like never before, not even his biggest supporter, Wooyoung, could see beyond Hongjoong’s intentions when he sat down to paint, to tell the world his pain and rage, yearning for someone to just finally see him.

“You’re…” Hongjoong gulped, his throat feeling dry as you smiled at him, curious if you’d been right, “You are a person I should cherish more from now on.”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise, your heart skipping a beat once again. What did he mean by saying that? You wanted to ask, but Hongjoong stepped closer, his tone breathy as he spoke up again, “‘Whoever wants to know something about me – as an artist which alone is significant – they should look attentively at my pictures and there seek to recognize what I am and what I want’…that’s what Gustav Klimt once said. And so far, you are the only person who’s managed to do that.”

Your mouth gaped open, and you both heard Woo stretch and meow loudly, his soft footsteps loud as he walked towards Hongjoong’s bed, jumping up and finding a new spot to sleep. You didn’t know what to say back to that, but you felt your heart race as your cheeks flushed, shy all of a sudden. Hongjoong was looking at you with a softness no man has looked at you with, it was a bit hard to take it all in without freaking yourself out that this wasn’t real, that it was just the weed, or that maybe Hongjoong wasn’t as genuine as his expression showed.

“Y/N,” You didn’t flinch when his hand wrapped around your wrist, his tone still soft, “I think you already know that I find you pretty, and I…I might have gone to that dingy pub for so long just to see you, actually.”

Those words had your heart racing even wilder as you looked up, finding Hongjoong’s face closer to yours as his eyes now bore into yours, “I should’ve been more specific when I asked you to have coffee with me. I meant to ask you out on a date, but I panicked because I knew I had slightly upset you, but…”

He gulped nervously and you felt so curious to hear what more he had to say, perhaps a smile would encourage him, so that’s what you did, offered him a small friendly smile. He released a breath and cleared his throat, his hand slipping from your wrist to your hand, “Can I kiss you?”

If this was anyone else but Hongjoong, your answer would have been an instant no. But the longer you looked into his eyes, the more excited and giddy you felt, so you just nodded your head and licked your lips, trying to ignore the deep flush of your cheeks. Hongjoong chuckled, suddenly looking shy, but he started leaning in, his eyes fluttering closed just as your lips met. It was careful, it was sweet and it made your heart roar as you stepped just a bit closer, your noses brushing together as your lips moved slowly and carefully, mostly just testing out the waters. Hongjoong’s lips were soft and sweet, and surprisingly didn’t taste like weed but like peaches. You wondered if he used any sort of lip balm to have them taste like that. His hand settled on your cheek and he gently caressed your cheekbone with his thumb, making your heart roar once again. It’s been long since someone had treated you with such gentleness, and you told yourself to remain level-headed, but it would be just so easy to fall in love with Hongjoong. You couldn’t help but smile as you two pulled apart, Hongjoong tried to hide his own grin as he sucked his lips together, but his eyes gave him away. You chuckled and he giggled, and suddenly you felt the urge to pull him into a hug.

“So,” He cleared his throat as he let his arms rest around your torso loosely, “If you don’t like coffee, what do you like?”

“Delicious cakes.” You didn’t hesitate to answer and Hongjoong chuckled, patting your head.

“Well then, would you like to go on a delicious cake-hunting date with me?” You closed your eyes to contain your excitement, but the weed had not only eased your muscles but your always worrying mind as well.

“Yes!” You didn’t mean to squeal, but it was hard not to when Hongjoong startled giggling sweetly once again, nodding his head.

“Good, I’ll make sure we find the best spots in the city then.”

And perhaps not just in the city, but also in foreign countries while you attended Hongjoong’s art expositions, an expensive bottle of wine waiting for the two of you back at the hotel.

੭ Masterlist ੭

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buryhny · 3 days ago

Text

One Night Stand ; 44 ⋆.

➥ rundown ; as if the unexpected twist of a one-night stand turning out to be your CEO boss wasn't surreal enough, the situation takes a more challenging turn when both of you discover that you're expecting his child.

→ genre ; enemies to lovers | CEO au | pregnancy trope | slowburn

☆ jungkook x y/n ☆ contains smut, fluff and angst ☆ chapter forty four ; wc | 8.8k

primarily on Wattpad

index ⇢ next chapter

Jungkook comes home looking totally wiped out, his eyes half-closed and barely able to stay open. He starts heading upstairs, probably thinking about a shower to relax. But that's not gonna work for your plan. You rush to stop him, not even sure what you're about to say. Whatever it is, it better not make him suspicious and mess everything up.

"Jungkook!" you yell, maybe a little too loudly-okay, it's more like a scream. He freezes, spinning around with wide eyes, looking genuinely freaked out. "What's wrong?" he asks, his voice full of worry, clearly not expecting you to shout like that.

"Uh..." you blink multiple times, looking around the living room, trying to scramble to find words, your mind racing. "Yeah?" Jungkook prompts, his tone soft and curious, a yawn slipping from his lips as he steps closer to you. "Like... um, I was thinking..." you stammer, your voice faltering as you try to piece together a coherent sentence.

He nods patiently, encouraging you to go on. "Maybe we could spend some time at the pool...?" you finally suggest, a nervous smile spreading across your face as you bite your lip, unsure of how he'll respond. He raises his eyebrows at your question, a soft sigh leaving his lips as he thinks about it. "Baby, I'm... tired, and as much as I'd love to spend t-"

"Pleaseeeee!" you whine. You really, really want this surprise to work, and it's just a matter of 3 hours. You hope you can keep him awake till then. You're gonna give your everything to make this work. Jungkook's eyes roam over your face, noticing how badly you want this-how much you want him to spend time with you. And honestly, he does too. Probably even more than you. But he's so drained, he feels like he could pass out any second.

You grab his hand, giving it a little squeeze, and hit him with your best puppy eyes. He glances at the hazel in them and feels himself softening instantly. With a quiet sigh, he thinks maybe he should give in. Just for a little while. For you. "Alright-" "Yay!" you mutter like a child, and he can't stop smiling at how cute you look and sound when you talk like a kid. "Can we go now, please?" He nods and walks with you as you drag him with his hand in yours.

"What about our clothes?" "We can get them later, come on." You both discard your clothes and place them on the chair. Jungkook gets in first, his body finding relief in the warm water of the pool. He helps you get inside, carefully. You both pick the corner and settle there. "I wish the water was slightly warmer," you say and play around for a bit. "Well... it can be,"

he gets closer to you and gives you a back hug. His warmth radiates to you, and you moan in relief. "Oh my god, how are you always so warm?!" He chuckles at this, placing his head on the crook of your neck, he softly sighs in pleasure. "It's not a good thing, you know? I'm always drenched in sweat." You play with his fingers, humming at his words, lightly tracing your fingers over his.

"I don't care. It's perfect right now," you murmur, leaning back against him. His warmth feels comforting, especially with the extra strain on your body lately. Jungkook's lips brush against your shoulder, not quite a kiss, just a gentle touch that makes you shiver despite the heat radiating from him. "You're always so dramatic," he teases softly, his voice low but playful.

You twist slightly in his arms, careful of your bump as you face him. "Oh, come on. You like it," you shoot back with a small smirk, poking his chest. He grins, his eyes softening as they flicker down to your belly for a moment before meeting yours again. "Yeah, I do," he says, his hand moving to rest over yours where it cradles your bump.

"You and the little one make everything better. Even when I'm dead tired." Your heart clenches, and you blink up at him, warmth flooding through you. "Jungkook..." But before you can say more, he shifts slightly, dipping you both just a bit deeper into the water. You squeal, gripping his shoulders tightly. "Careful! What if-" He laughs, the sound light and carefree, cutting you off.

"Relax. I've got you," he reassures, holding you steady, his other hand instinctively resting protectively over your belly. "Always." You smile and almost blush at his words. You love how he's so protective, even if he barely shows it, you know it's there, and it makes the butterflies inside you flutter around. The bond between him and the baby is just fine, and you know after tonight, it's gonna be better, better than ever and better than what you both have too.

Jungkook has made his mind; he's gonna ask you a few questions today, and he's not gonna back out. He needs answers to them, and he also wants to tell you about the conversation he had with your mother. You've got the right to know, he wants you to tell him your point of view. The night is so nice, calm, and chill. The water is just warm, and having you beside him is everything he needs. It's quiet, and since you're not facing Jungkook,

you don't know what he's doing. You assume he must be asleep since it's been a really long time, and he's too... quiet. But he's not. He's deep in his thoughts while his fingers play with yours. You're worried about the time. Your eyes keep looking at the clock, and time is so fucking slow. Why is it just 11pm? There's an hour more to waste! If Jungkook decides to go to his room and you can't find any excuses, you're just gonna let the surprise begin.

Jungkook thinks that this might be the best time to ask. It's quiet, the both of you are close. Should he speak? On the other hand, you don't want this surprise to be... too much of a surprise. Whatever you have planned can be too much to consume, and even though you're ready for everything, is he? Should you make things easy and slow? "Y/n-"

"Jungkook-" The both of you speak at the exact time, and it's left you both in a giggly mess. Since he's got his hands wrapped around you, your body jiggles when you laugh, and it's goddamn cute when not just your boobs but your bump is bouncing too. "Fine, you go first," he says, and you shake your head, gesturing him to go first. "Ladies first! So you tell me."

You chuckle and nod. You turn to face him, hands wrapping around his neck. He looks so good with his hand down and wet. His arms flex as he wraps them around your waist, while his eyes look at yours and dive in. "I was thinking..." you begin. Your fingers push his hair away from reaching his eyes, and he already feels something. You take a deep breath.

Your eyes don't leave his, and his don't leave yours. It's like you both know what's coming next, and you're anticipating it. "You were thinking...?" He murmurs softly as you bite the inside of your cheek. "I was thinking... maybe we should give ourselves a name?" you say, your voice hesitant. He knows exactly what you mean-he's been waiting to bring it up too. His eyes brighten at your question, and he fights back the urge to grin widely.

"I've been thinking about that too," he admits. "Have you?" you reply, your tone anything but ordinary. It's not direct or loud; instead, it's soft and teasing, each word drawn out with a sensual lilt. Your fingernails lightly graze his skin, and the smile you give him is completely different-teasing, playful, and way too much for him to handle right now.

"So... what are we now?" you ask, your tone making his stomach churn. He feels like he's spiraling. He didn't expect this, not when you're both stuck in the pool, the cold night air biting at his skin, and your touch making him shiver for entirely different reasons. Oh, and he really needs to pee. "This is so bad," he mumbles under his breath. "Bad?" you repeat,

raising an eyebrow, obviously amused by his misery. He tries to focus, forcing himself to meet your gaze. "I mean... aren't we already a lot? Do you really think we're stuck in some teenage hormone kind of thing?" You burst out laughing, and he swears it's both humiliating and endearing at the same time. "Obviously not," you say, shaking your head.

He relaxes-just a little-but the way your eyes soften keeps him on edge. Because you're both definitely not in that giddy, first-love phase anymore, but you're also not in that really old, comfortable stage either. You both still feel the butterflies... a lot.

"I don't think I love the idea of calling you my girlfriend..." This offends you, visibly. Jungkook sees the frown sitting on your forehead when he says it, but he didn't mean it that way. The lines on your forehead deepen, and he swears he wants to hug you and tell you that he's so sorry.

He fucking loves the idea of calling you anything! Girlfriend? It's nothing! You attempt to push him away, which then breaks his avatar, cause he immediately pulls you back to him and gives you a big hug, laughing inside your neck. "Leave me!" "I'm "I'm sorry, baby, that was not what I meant!" "You're mean! Leave-leave me!"

You try to pull away from him, but his grip is too tight that you can't do anything but punch his arms and chest with all your might. "Darling..." He cups your face and looks at you, admiring you. The pout, those eyes, the wet cheeks, and hair. Fuck. His eyes bore into yours, like he's giving his soul to you when he says this,

"The girlfriend tag is too boring for someone as special as you. You're my world. You're the stars that light up my dark sky, the running waves that bring life to my plain oceans, you're the warmth to my coldest nights, the melody to my quiet moments, and the spark that keeps me alive. You're not just a part of my life-you're the reason it all makes sense."

He whispers. Your heart stops-not in the metaphorical sense, but literally. Your breathing deepens, matching his, as though the air itself has grown scarce. It feels like neither of you can breathe on your own, drawing life instead from the soft exhales shared between you.

You thought you could only ever find these words in books and movies, but here you are, standing so close in front of this man, who's uttering each and every word for you, which seems like it's taken out of a Shakespeare poem, and he expects you to... take it in? Heck, you can't even believe your ears. So, Mr. Jeon is not only a CEO, he's also a poet?

"Jungkook-come with me." You don't say anything, you don't give an answer to his words, neither do you recite a poem of your own for him. You tap his shoulder, only saying one thing, "Come with me." He doesn't understand why you didn't give him any reaction. He wanted to kiss you and-just spill everything out, but here he is, helping you out of the pool and getting out himself.

"Towel-" He hands you one and you wrap it around yourself, holding his hand, pulling him with you. He's confused, yet he walks with you, following you like a puppy. After his confession, you don't think you can keep it all to yourself now, whatever the time it is, you're showing him your surprise, you're confessing and doing everything that's planned because you. can. not. wait.

"Y/N, slow down-" He doesn't want you to slip on the stairs, especially with water trailing down your body as you hurry up. You lead him to his room and stop in front of the door. He watches you, puzzled. "There's something I want to show you..."

you say, and he nods, though the crease in his forehead remains as he studies you. Your eyes flick between his, and you keep licking your lips in anticipation-something he definitely notices. His head tilts slightly, skepticism flickering in his dark eyes.

"And I want to tell you... a lot." The crease between his brows deepens, almost ridiculously so, as if he's trying to solve a puzzle only you understand. You inhale, steadying yourself. This is it-you think as you take a deep breath.

"Is everything okay? Are you-" "Shut up..." you whisper under your breath, not wanting him to ruin the moment with worry. You're so nervous, God, you don't want to mess this up. You open the door and walk inside, gesturing for him to wait. The room is dark, the lights haven't been turned on yet as it's waiting for you to do the honors.

"Y/N..." He calls you out as you disappear, then you turn on the light in the count of 1... 2... 3. "Happy birthday... to you..." You walk towards him with a cake in your hands, candles lit up, and there you come, wearing a silky robe in a rich mauve color.

"Happy... birthday to you..." you whisper-sing as you walk closer to him. The curved gold candles and the black icing covering the heart-shaped cake are so close to him right now. He's standing right in front of it, his eyes don't believe what he sees, his face carries no expressions.

You hold his hand and bring him inside the room that has been decorated in red, rose petals sitting on the bed, the floor, and every couch of the room. He had never thought he would come home to this someday. "Make a wish..." you mumble, biting hard on the insides of your cheeks because you can see how taken aback Jungkook is.

He looks like he's going to cry, and you love that. He looks at the cake, closes his eyes, and makes a wish before he blows on the candles, and the fire vanishes away.

"This cake is no ordinary birthday cake..." you begin.

"This has something really special inside." Jungkook swallows a lump in his throat as he listens to you, he can feel it in his veins, he knows what it is...

"Here... cut it." You set the cake down on the petal-covered ground, your fingers trembling slightly as you reach for Jungkook's hand, guiding him to sit beside you. The mix of anxiety and excitement is nearly overwhelming, but you force yourself to stay composed. The silence between you is thick, heavy, and it unsettles you-because the last thing you want is for him to cry.

"Go on-" you begin, but he cuts you off.

"We do this together," he murmurs, pushing the knife aside. Instead, he reaches for the two glasses on the counter. You watch as he picks them up, his movements deliberate. Of course, you can't drink whiskey, so you made sure to have a bottle of soda just to match the mood. And now, here he is, bringing both drinks over so you can cut the cake together, side by side.

He takes a deep breath as he looks at you, his eyes flicker to your bump, then the cake. The goosebumps on his skin rise and he can't word this, but he's so over the moon to know what's inside the cake. You both squeeze each other's hands tight, shutting your eyes as you flip the glasses upside down and press them into the black-iced cake.

The glass slides in so easily, sinking all the way down. Your breaths are heavy, the moment thick with anticipation-until a small giggle slips from you. And then, his does too. Slowly, you pull the glasses out.

"Ready..." you whisper. "Yeah," he mumbles, and you both open your eyes. But before you even get a good look at the color, you hear the glass slip from his hands, crashing onto the floor. Then, in the blink of an eye, Jungkook throws himself at you, arms wrapping around you so tight you almost topple over. He's crying. No-he's full-on sobbing, holding you like he never wants to let go.

"Oh my god-oh my god-" he keeps chanting, voice all wobbly and breathless. You laugh, confused as hell. "Jungkook, wait-let me see the color! I didn't even-"

"It's a girl!" he practically yells. "It's a fucking girl! Oh my god-I think I'm gonna pass out-" His grip on you tightens, face buried in your shoulder as he shakes with emotion.

You blink, still processing, because out of all the reactions you expected from him... this was definitely not one of them. He's crying, a river. He's unable to breathe, his nose and ears are red, his cheeks are so pink, the tears flow down so much, it's... it's overwhelming.

They don't just fall-they pour, soaking his cheeks, dripping onto your skin, his breaths coming out in these choked, uneven gasps like he can't even get enough air. His nose is red, his ears too, and his cheeks are flushed such a deep pink that it almost looks like he's feverish. He's crying a river. An ocean. A storm that won't stop.

You feel his fingers digging into your back, clutching at you like he's afraid you'll slip away. His whole body is shaking, his chest heaving against yours as he tries-fails-to catch his breath.

"I-" He tries to speak, but his voice breaks apart, shattering into another sob. He pulls back just enough to look at you, and god-his eyes. They're glistening, glassy, completely drowned in tears, but they're also filled with something so raw, so devastatingly pure, that it steals the breath from your lungs.

Your eyes search his face, unable to grasp his reaction because it's just not what you expected. You laugh at his reaction because it's too emotional to handle.

"You-" He swallows hard, his lips trembling, his entire face contorted with emotion. "You don't get it... you don't even get it," he chokes out, shaking his head, his fingers tightening against you like you're the only thing keeping him grounded.

You cup his face, wiping at his tears, but they don't stop. They won't. "Jungkook," you whisper, feeling your own throat tighten, your own eyes sting. He lets out this wet, broken laugh, his forehead falling against your shoulder as he grips you even harder. "She's real," he whispers against your skin, voice trembling, words barely even there.

"She's real, and she's ours." And just like that, your own tears spill over.

You nod at his words, his palms hold yours that cup his face, as he leans to place a kiss on it.

"She's ours..."

You whisper and place your forehead on his. Both of your tears mix as they fall on your bump. She's real, she's yours, and she's his. She's everything you both didn't want to, owning the two of your worlds.

Jungkook places his palm on your tummy, rubbing it, feeling it. He just can't believe you're carrying his little girl, his child, his baby, his family. You wipe away his tears, admiring his rosy face. He looks adorable—you could kiss and cuddle him all night long, but you've planned something else. And as much as you would love to talk about the little girl all night long, you don't want to forget about his birthday gift.

"Jungkook..." you call his name, and he looks at you like a lost pup. "Don't you want your birthday gift?" "I thought this was—" "This is one of them. The real one's... right there." You present yourself to him, and his lips part before he cracks up into laughter.

"No, you're not—" "I am the gift, it's me!" The both of you laugh together. "But aren't you tired—" "Jungkook..." Your tone shifts, the playfulness fading, and he sees it immediately. His smile falters just slightly, his eyes scanning your face. "Don't worry about me. I just want to give you the best birthday I could, and... I really wanna do this for you. I think I can feel it. As I'm getting closer to the due date, I can feel it being different now and—"

"We don't have to—" "I want to do this!" You cut him off, your voice soft but firm. "I'm just telling you that since it might get difficult later, I want to have all the sex I can tonight, and the best excuse is it being your birthday." you chuckle, and the sound is light, playful, easing the tension. He laughs too, shaking his head, the weight of the moment softened by the humor between you.

"You're crazy, you know that?" But there's warmth in his eyes, a kind of understanding that goes beyond the words, as if he knows exactly what you mean. "Tell me something I don't know, honey?"

You brush your fingers under his chin, pulling him for a kiss with stupid smiles on each other's faces. Jungkook cups your cheeks as he pulls you into a deeper kiss, your hands wrapping themselves around his neck. You're so glad no one apart from the two of you lives in this house—the messy, sloppy sounds of the kissing are far too loud, and if someone heard you two, they would surely think you're on a mission to unalive the other with a makeout.

Jungkook taps on your thigh, gesturing for you to climb on his lap, and you do. He very carefully pulls you up and lifts you off the ground, taking you to the bed. "Hey—are you good?" he questions in between the kiss, asking if you're comfortable as he lays you down.

You're quick to nod, then get back to kissing him.

Jungkook takes a moment to look at you. You look so gorgeous, he can't take his eyes off you. And that silk mauve robe—you look divine, angelic, and he wishes you'd wear that every single night. Not only does it look comfortable, but it complements your skin tone and makes the bump look sexy too. He thinks he might need some help right now.

You look at him while he admires you with a smirk on his face. "Whatcha looking at?" you ask, and his eyes flicker to yours before focusing on your body again. "You did this on purpose, didn't you?" he questions, his eyes dark as he watches you raise your eyebrows. "Of course I did. I had to look tastier than the cake."

This breaks his character of being a serious, horny guy. He chuckles, but you don't. You're so in character—which he loves. You're just so confident. God, he didn't know he loved girls like you. "And you do. The cake isn't as delicious as you look." "Okay, stop! That damn cake is delicious, you just didn't try it yet!" "Baby, let me take a taste of you first."

He unties the knot of your robe, letting the silk glide effortlessly down your body. He had seen you earlier at the pool, but now, with him hovering over you in the dim lighting, the bed adorned with rose petals, and red helium balloons floating against the ceiling, the atmosphere feels entirely different—intimate, enchanting, and undeniably seductive.

His voice is raspy, and those eyes... those eyes... you're so excited, you know you're already a wet mess. But Jungkook is such a tease—the way he lets his lips place soft kisses on your skin, trailing down your body.

"Oh my god, Jungkook, stop teasing and get into it." He chuckles. You're so impatient. You've always been, and it's kind of a bummer because he really wants this to go the whole damn night—no rush, just slow, so you both can feel it, feel it real good.

"Baby... my birthday gift, yeah?" A brow raised at you as he asks you this very obvious question. You heave a sigh, rolling your eyes at him. "Yeah, yeah, birthday boy."

"Then do this boy a favor and listen to him.... give him the best gift ever... mm?"

He gives you a pout and widens his eyes. "Fine, take your time." You give up, and that was all Jungkook ever wanted. He gently strips the wet black clothing off your body. It's sticking too much to your milk skin, and he wants to get it off you right now. You push yourself off the mattress so he slides the garments from your body.

You're naked under his gaze. You're raw, and you feel so comfortable. You love how you can be yourself with him—there's nothing to hide, nothing to feel insecure about. Because Jungkook doesn't see you the way others have—like just another woman.

He looks at you as if you truly matter, as if you're someone irreplaceable. And you love that look—the way his eyes hold you like a muse, a siren, a fawn. He's so deeply in love with you, and tonight, he knows it's time. He's ready to confess, to lay everything bare—to tell you, to show you exactly what you mean to him.

Jungkook presses his lips to your own, your jaw, your neck, your collarbones, your breasts—and that, that's something else. He'd never really been a boobs guy—always more into ass—but God, you're perfect. Fuller, rounder, fitting so effortlessly into his large hands like they were made to be there.

He's in awe, completely wrecked by the sight of you. He thinks—no, he knows—you're the sexiest you've ever been. Sure, back then, when he first laid eyes on you, you were a total model, the kind of woman who made the world feel like it revolved around you. You had him hooked from the start.

But now? Now, you're something else entirely. Better. The best.

His hands feel like they're on fire just touching you, every inch of you radiating something almost too powerful to handle. Pregnancy has done something to you, something he never could've imagined—but damn, he's never wanted you more.

He places a wet kiss on the top of your boob first, then made his way down to your nipple, just to place one there, but he couldn't resist. He can't control his crazy male hormones when you're just right there, those nipples so erect and just staring back at him, waiting to be suckled on.

So he does. He sucks on them while his hand works on the right boob, making sure to pinch gently, even though you want him to just wreck you.

"Mmf." The moans the both of you make are loud. Jungkook doesn't even hear you moan because he's so focused on sucking you out. He feels a sort of milky taste on his tongue, which he pushes away, but when the taste gets so prominent on his taste buds, he realizes you're lactating. This makes him pull away, taking a moment to check on you.

"Hey... I thin-" "It happens, I give birth later this month, remember?" He frowns, yet his fingers momentarily move their way to your buds. "But I thought it only happens after you give birth?"

"Women are a wonder," you say, and the two of you giggle. He gets back to doing his thing, making his way now to your bump—your very, very grown bump. He places a kiss there, visualizing an image of himself placing a kiss on the top of her head. Her. Oh god, his child is a daughter. He pushes this away because if he thinks about it one more time, he could possibly ruin a very sexually heated moment with a crying outbreak.

Jungkook makes his way down to get between your legs, placing a kiss right at your inner thighs, then at your entrance.

"Jungkoo-"

"Yes, baby, I'm getting there," he murmurs as he slows his further kissing and decides to take some action. He places two fingers at your clit, scooping up the wet liquid that runs down to the bedsheet, leaving a beautiful stain.

"So wet," he mumbles under his breath as he coats his fingers just enough to allow him to slide in effortlessly. You're disgustingly wet, and it shows because you're swallowing his fingers whole, clenching for more.

"More... please."

"On it, baby."

He carefully allows his other fingers to join the party. You're so good at taking him that he has all of them inside you in no time. Maybe this is good practice for you, he thinks. Your lovely mewls and moans fill the room, and it has just started. There's so much he's got to do—god, you can't even imagine.

Jungkook pushes his fingers inside, curving them in a come-hither motion, rubbing against the perfect spot that brings out all the sweet whines and cries. Jungkook's towel is long gone; he's left in his very wet boxers that don't help because the air conditioner doesn't just make his neck hair stand—it's so cold that it makes his boner shudder too. Not that he didn't get one because of you, of course, it's you, but the cold environment isn't helping. He's shivering and is in need of warmth. He wants to be inside of you so badly, yet he makes himself suffer just because he wants to.

He looks at you very carefully with his dark eyes. He notices each movement, each sound, and every change in expression as he moves. He just knows what he has to do, where he has to hit, how long, how fast, and how deep. Jungkook puts all his effort in. This isn't just sex to him; this is a whole procedure of love and care for you. He wants to treat you right, and most importantly, he wants to keep you happy.

"Jungkook—please."

"Please what, bear?"

You're squirming under his hold and crying. You're about to cum, and it hurts—hurts so good. He knows it's time. He feels the tight clenching around his hand, he knows exactly what he needs to do—to hit you right there again and again. His right hand isn't just laying around; it's working too, on your little bud, making this climax just another level of heaven.

"I'm gonna cum," you mumble, and he nods, his hand leaving your clit for a second to give you an encouraging pat on your thigh.

"You can do this, baby. Come on, cum," he mutters, which is totally the opposite of the magic his hands do. They're going at a monster's speed, yet his voice is like he's baby-talking to you.

"Come on," he comforts you as you feel the gush on your lower belly form. Your eyes shut at the feeling of pressure, with him hitting that spot and circling around your bundle. The pressure stops, and the pleasure takes over. You let out a groan, your body shivering at the feeling of heaven. Jungkook pulls his hand out of you and gives you reassuring rubs to your hips.

"You okay, baby?" he whispers, and you nod with a smile. "I'll get you a gl-" "I need you right now, or I'll go crazy," you mutter. Jungkook looks at you with a soft smile, but you're not having it. "Fuck me right now!" you say louder, which makes him laugh. "Calm down now, we don't fuck, okay? That's not what we do."

"What do we do then?" He gets closer to you, carefully hovering over you, admiring the features on your face. "You and I..." he starts. His sticky index finger points at your chest, then at his own. "We... don't fuck," he whispers. "We make love. And that will always be what this... is about." He shakes his fingers back and forth. "You and me, we make love. No fuck and all that bullshit. That's not... for you. God, not you,"

he murmurs, his voice carrying this seriousness as he speaks. Like he's telling you he's not playing these games. The 'fuck me' times are gone. Him and you are different. It's not a game. You're not anyone else, and whatever you both have is not casual.

You look up at him, his eyes sparkling with love. "Understood?" You nod, at which he smiles and places a kiss on your lips, then your cheek. "I'll get the condom-" "No..." You hold his hand, not wanting him to go. "No condom, please," you pout, and he sighs, thinking about it.

"What? Your load has already given us a child. There's no need for a stupid plastic that didn't even work the first time," you say, rolling your eyes, making him chuckle. True that, though, the flimsy plastic didn't work anyway. Here you both are, though... glad that it tore.

Jungkook laughs and gets back on the bed. Plus, he loves it raw, so win-win.

He sits between your feet first, prepping his member by stroking it. You would love to do it for him with your own hands, but you don't want to move an inch—you're tired and lazy. When it's erect and perfect to slide in, he hovers over you carefully, trying the missionary position because he can't just hover over you right now when that damn belly is super huge. He doesn't reach your face like he usually would, and he hates it, but this will work... for now.

He places it at your entrance, sliding his finger inside and prepping you too. "Go in, Jungkook." "I'm doing it," he says, putting his shaft inside, allowing a slow moan to leave his lips. You're so wet that he slides through easily, even though you're tight.

"Fuck..." you moan, gripping the silk sheets tight since you can't hold his arms. Jungkook is careful—he slides in and out slowly. He knows you like it faster, but he's scared. "F-Faster, please," you mutter, and he adjusts his speed. But somehow, he isn't hitting you right, and you can't break his heart, but you need to tell him.

When he doesn't hear from you, he asks, "All good, baby?" "Jeon—stop."

You need to tell him that this isn't working. You feel good but not too good—not the way you want it. And you both are open, right? Open to talk? So you tell him. "It's not working," you say, and he immediately pulls out. "No—that's not what I meant," you soon say, because you know that his first thought was that he's hurting you.

He examines your face, trying to find more words because, clearly, you should've told him at the beginning. "What is it, darling?" He comes closer to you, cupping your cheek to check on you.

He's worried, and you find it cute.

"Did I hurt you, or was I—" "You were fine..." you calm him down, his face flushed red. "I just... want to try a different position? This... wasn't it."

You whisper, and he nods fast. "Sur—sure! Of course! What do you want to try? We can do anything. You wanna... maybe um? I don't know—what's the best pregnancy sex position? Let me check Cosmopoli—"

He's freaking out, trying to find his phone, which, by the way, is all the way downstairs. You just want to kiss him right now, so you do—pulling him in for a chaste kiss that makes him confused. "Calm down, babe." He sighs as he looks at your palm that sits on his chest.

"I just... want you to enjoy." "And I want you to enjoy more. The birthday boy deserves a treat, sooo..." You slowly sit against the headboard, placing a pillow before moving to the center of the bed. "I want you to sit right there and let me ride you."

He frowns, surprised at your instructions but also excited as you're dominating him now. he's always loved how you can just control him. "Go on," you say, pushing him to sit where you were, and he does. You part his thighs, and almost instantly, his softened length begins to harden, which makes you bite back a giggle. His boner is so hard at this one action, he's embarrassed—his face flushes crimson.

You crawl to his lap, and Jungkook helps you sit carefully. "Hold me here." He guides your hands to his shoulders, as if you need direction. You scoff, tilting your head.

"I'm a pro rider, don't teach me, Jeon."

"Well yeah, pardon me for caring," he mutters, making you chuckle. You hold his length, placing it right at your center. He's begging for attention—so red and hard, he's waiting to be swallowed by you. And you don't hesitate.

You don't even bother to make him beg because you're way too impatient. Jungkook grips your waist, steadying you in place.

A deep groan rumbles from his chest as you sink down, and the moan that escapes your lips is so raw, so deep—his length hitting that spot so perfectly, you nearly come on the spot. Jungkook did not expect this to be so damn good, and he loves it because you're in control and whatever you do not only feels good for him but yourself too, and that's what he wants the most.

He can't even look at you because he feels so good that he drops his head back to the bedhead and moans. He's not just vocal but loud in bed too, and that's such a turn-on; it shows that the man is enjoying it, and you love that about Jungkook. You loved that the very first night too. His grip on you tightens, and you're sure it would leave marks, but you don't care.

He places his head on your chest, sucking and kissing on your open collarbones that stare at him to be marked. Jungkook has always been one to mark territories, and he's never done them before, you know? Like marking random women, he does that because he likes how it looks, but he's never had the intention to 'mark'—he'd only ever done that to women he liked or found to be... something. He'd done it to you too, the first night.

He likes to think that he leaves imprints on hot women so people know that they'd been played with, only that you never allowed him to leave open hickies, so he only ever did it on your boobs the first time, but right now... there's no need to mark, there's only need to love, and these aren't hickies anymore, they're love bites now, and he doesn't suck the shit out like he used to, even though the rougher the better.

He's now sucking, kissing, and making sure that you wake up with beautiful art on your skin, like he'd left his paint on your empty canvas, like a lover's ink so you know he's always with you. Even if the ink fades away, he's gonna keep it alive, not just on your skin but your soul too.

The both of you are breathing so heavily, the room is so cold, yet here you two are, poured in each other's sweat, love, and sex. You're going so fast, you're hopping. If he wasn't so deep in the mood, he would've called you a bunny. You're so into this, you don't even realize Jungkook crying in pleasure.

The both of you are waiting to release, and he knows just how good this is gonna be that he does not even stop you. Your breasts move along the sloppy, messy beats, it's so attractive, this body that you own. See how he thinks, 'you own,' because he doesn't think he owns you. Sure, he loves to think that you're his, so what's yours is his too, but he can't 'own' you.

You're not a doll, you're not his toy, and he loves that he sticks to his feelings whenever he thinks about you. He loves how he feels differently for you because when he fucks some other woman, he loves to say "I own you this night," but with you... truly, you own him.

Not just his body, his heart, his soul, his breaths, and not just today or tonight, every day, every hour, and every minute and second. If anything, it's you who own him. Never the other way around.

"Jungkook—" "Baby, let me cum." "Cum all you want—" "Inside you?" "Fuck yes."

Your grip on his shoulders has surely created bloodstains, and his grip on your waist—purple. "Fu-fuck!"

The two of you cum at the same second. You can't breathe, neither can he. His head lays on your chest, and you place your chin on his head. The two of you take your time to breathe in the oxygen, instead of each other's sex and moans.

Jungkook hugs your waist, although... it's slightly difficult to hold you completely. He hears your heart beating so loudly, it soothes him; he could sleep any minute, but he doesn't. Not until he says what he's been holding on to for the longest time.

"Baby..." he whispers, to which you hum. "Baby, I wanna—" "It feels weird when you're all soft inside me." You cut him off, which makes him chuckle, but he doesn't pull out or move.

"Baby...." "Yes, Jungkook... I'm listening, tell me." You let your fingers play with his hair while he mumbles his words, even though it's kind of incoherent because his face is glued to your chest. "Baby..." "That's the fourth baby in a row—" "Y/n—"

"Baby is fine." You say it, and he laughs immediately, the sound filling the air. You can't help but giggle too, your chest rumbling with the soft vibrations. Your fingers scratch his head, soothing him to fall asleep, even though it's quite sticky down there, and he really needs to clean you up so you don't feel sick. It's cold too, and you're naked. He doesn't want you to catch a cold or anything.

"Baby..."

"Yes, babe." You know he's gonna doze off any moment because he sounds raspy, he sounds like he's drunk, he'll pass out any second.

"Baby... I—"

"I love you~"

You say, cutting him off completely as you whisper the three crazy words. Jungkook stills, he stiffens, his heart stops, his breathing slows down, and he visibly freezes. You don't... your fingers keep moving through his hair like you didn't say anything, but inside you're dying. The silence fills the room.

Jungkook does not know what to say because you said it before him. He pulls away from you; he meets your smile, not your eyes, because they look down, like you're nervous, like you've said something you weren't supposed to, and it slipped out. Jungkook frowns, he looks at you, stares, waiting for you to look up at him and... do something, but you don't. You just play with your fingers, looking down. He then tilts his head down. The words in his mouth are stuck; he doesn't know what to say either.

"What?" he whispers... he couldn't even hear himself speak. You gulp as you keep looking down. You don't even know why you're acting like this. Jungkook tilts your chin when he figures you won't look at him. You glance at him and look away when he settles your face right at his.

"Baby... what did you say?" he asks, but you're suddenly shy... you've become someone you don't even recognize.

"Y/n... did you really say it?" he can't believe what you uttered, only because you did it without a warning. Maybe you figured he was gonna say it—that can't be possible.

"Y/n—"

"I said I love you, okay? I love you so much, and I can't keep it to myself anymore. I keep delaying it, waiting for the perfect moment, and I think this was it. I can't hold it in any longer. I love you, and I want you to know that, and I don't want you to say it back because I just did so... please don't do that." You mutter all in one breath, releasing what you had been caging in for weeks.

Jungkook is awestruck, he does not know what to do because you just told him not to say it back, and of course, he wouldn't say it back just because you did, because that's not the case. In fact, he was gonna say it before you, but you blurted it out so randomly without preparing him, which made it come out as a shocker. He can't contain his happiness, but he's so damn taken aback that he doesn't know what to do. So, he just looks at you without blinking while you pout, looking away from him.

"Don't—don't look at me like that..."

"Like what?"

"Like you want to marry me..."

You whisper as a joke, and that damn word breaks his entire self. He doesn't even know what to reply to that. He's lost all his words. All of them. So, he smiles, the one that shows off his little dimples. Yeah—that one. He scoffs, then looks down at your bump, watching it for some time. He... so badly wants to say it too, the three magical words, but so much has happened this night. He thinks he'll save it for another day, besides, you told him not to say it. He might make you mad by doing so, that's why he opts for it.

Jungkook nods his head, then caresses your thigh.

"Shall we shower? Together?" he asks, and you nod. Carefully and slowly, you move from his lap, and he holds you as he gets out of bed and helps you get to the shower. He tells you to sit on the toilet lid until he fills the bathtub so the bath could be relaxing. It's already quite late, and Jungkook decides to take the day off. He's gonna make the most out of his birthday.

Until the bathtub fills, he wraps you up with a towel and wears his boxers, cleaning the mess on the bed so you both can walk out of the shower and jump right on and sleep. When the water is warm enough and the bubbles have been made, he sits down inside and gently makes you sit between his feet. You moan at the feeling of the warm water, resting your head on his chest and closing your eyes.

"That good?" he asks, and you nod. You both just stay there for some time. He caresses your arms as he presses his cheek on your head and looks at the walls.

"You know... when you said that, I... froze," he says, being open about what he felt that moment.

"I know, I felt it... that's why I—got awkward, I guess."

"No, my love. You don't ever have to be..." His hands gently cup your breasts as he speaks. "That moment was so special to me that... I just wanted to grasp it in, you get me? I wanted to take it into my mind, heart, and I just wanted to hear it echo in my head."

You smile at that. He's such a poet, you never thought he could say such stuff so easily, like he's written a book of words, and he's by hearted them and is using it on you.

"I don't want you to think that you could've waited longer or that this moment wasn't perfect enough. Because whatever moment you chose to say it, it becomes perfect already. Every moment is special and perfect to me when you're there.... you just have to be there," he murmurs, as he places a kiss on the top of your head.

You feel so loved right now. You can't even say it in words. It's like he's created this new emotion for you, like a Kookie flutter or some shit. Because you don't even know what you're experiencing right now. Happiness? Excitement? Love? That's all cliché, lame shit. You've experienced these with him every day, but today? Tonight? It's something else. Just look at the way he's talking to you right now? That's unreal.

"You talk so well..." He giggles at this. You tilt your face to look at him. "Just know that I've never spoken to anyone the way I do with you." "You're a poet."

"Guess love changes people,"

he mumbles yet another sentence that takes away your heartbeats. "Don't make me hop on you in this bathtub." He laughs. "Turn around, let me clean your back." "Shampoo my hair too—" "No, you're gonna get sick," he says firmly, knowing you can get stubborn about silly things. You pout and play with the bubbles floating on the water.

"I'll wash your hair in the morning, okay?" he asks, placing a kiss on your shoulder, though it was soapy. The shower was lovely and relaxing; you needed it for the longest time, and he gave it. You spend extra time, just staying in the water with your back meeting his chest.

"I think I want a home delivery."

"Takeout? Sure we c—"

"No..." you laugh at him. "I meant birth, I want a home birth," you tell him. This has been in your mind for a long time, and with some research done, you think this would be the best option for you, even with its risk. You want this.

He frowns at your words and looks at you. "How?" Confused, he doesn't really know what that means. All he's ever known is you give birth at the hospital, and that's it.

"Water birth... but I don't really know if it's safe enough. I liked that option more than the hospital." You've read about it, and it sounds nice; even the procedure doesn't scare you like the ones at the hospital do. As a matter of fact, you've obviously been feeling nervous about delivery, and if an option makes you feel comfortable and less anxious, you might want to go ahead with it.

"You think so?" He asks, "Yeah, but we have to talk about it with the doc and... the expenses and all—" "That's not your worry. If everything is safe and you want to do that, we'll do it. I'll make arrangements for it. Just... let's discuss this when we both are fresh," he tells you, and you nod. Jungkook places his arms protectively around your bump, feeling it. "She's good?"

"She's great. Feel her, she's right there." You place his hand on the side of your belly, a hump-like thing, strong, sitting on the edge, almost popping out. "That's her head, it's quite heavy on this side. She's probably sleeping, been a good girl the whole night."

"Well, she knew it was her dad's birthday—" You soon turn to look at him. "You wanna be called dad?" He hums, closing his lips tight, thinking about it. "Haven't really thought about it, I just said it... depends, what do you wanna be called?" "I'm confused between mama or mommy."

"If you choose mama, then I'm papa, and if you choose mommy, then I'm daddy." "But you should choose what you wanna be called." You whine that he's choosing this according to you and not his own liking. This makes him giggle, his palms rubbing your bump softly under the water.

"Then I think Appa... I just— I like papa too, but also maybe Appa?" Your features soften at his words. Of course, he would want his baby to call him by his native language. The way he hesitates, stumbling over his own emotions, makes your chest tighten. He's trying—trying so hard to hold onto the parts of himself that feel like home, to pass them down to the little life growing between you. Even though he has never had a home before and hadn't had someone to call Appa.

You swallow past the lump in your throat and reach for his hand, placing yours on top of his. "Appa, then," you whisper, watching the way his eyes flicker to you. "She'll call you Appa."

He smiles like a silly teenager. "Come on, let's get out of here, you need some sleep." He gets out of the bathtub, wraps a towel around his torso, and helps you get out too, wrapping a towel around you gently. He helps you wear your underwear and puts a camisole on for you. You look silly because camisoles looked very sexy on your pre-pregnant body and now... the beautiful bump sits.

"You look so cute," he mumbles when he catches you looking at yourself a little bit too long. You giggle and jump on the bed with him. He pulls up the fresh blankets to you and slips in. "Where's the personal space?" you joke when he gets close to you, spooning you and kissing your neck. "Down the drain," he mutters, making you laugh.

"God, I'm tired," he whispers under his breath as you draw circles on his palm that cups your breasts. "Good night, Jungkook..." "Night night," he whispers as his eyes close. The cold air, the fresh sheets, and of course, the cuddly you lull him to sleep.

"Happy birthday, baby," you whisper, making him smile as he places a kiss on your shoulder and snuggles further into you.

"Best birthday ever, god i just love you~"

next chapter ⇢

hey guys!! i hope you enjoyed reading this chap, i was super nervous about the smut but i hope it's fine...? anyways lemme know! and i post on wattpad way earlier than tumblr because wp is my primary platform so i apologise if this update took time to be posted here.

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#one night stand #bts #bts fanfic #btswritersclub #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook series #buryhny

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somerandomcockroach · 2 days ago

Text

*stretches, breathes fresh cold air in, waters eyes, sits down* Here we go again ~

MMMMMMMMM Prowl's birth and existence starting and being described as nothing AHAH, EVEN MORE, the way to kill him if something goes crazy. MAN, MY BOY, YOU WERE BORN COLD AND COVERED IN COLD ALREADY Wait is it like. Half Prowl's pov. I know it can be described this way but I just, loved how the "Warm hands on his head sounds", more like explaining how it feels for him than a simple fact *sudden cackle* Didn't know translation of hitherto and it sounded like a funny mispelling.

*INHALES* I listen to "Steel for Humans" and it beat SO WELL I've got shivers "He wasn't nothing. He was a void, but suddenly that void had a direction, no matter how meaningless it sounded." NOT A NOTHING, but still not a something, void created out of will just to serve and not have a will "He became his purpose" I SO MUCH WANT TO SEE IT INSIDE HIS HEAD

G[PDFGOPFOWWJ

OH THIS IS SO TASTY. OTHER VIEW ON TAC NET, SO DAMN TASTY AHEFHJADGH. I WOULDN'T HAVE PAID ATTENTION BUT. "HE CALLED HIM PROWL" NOW THAT DOESN'T QUITE MAKE SENSE PFFFHT OF COURSE HE TOLD HIM TO DISAGREE WITH HIM. OF COURSE HE TOLD A CREATION THAT WAS BORN TO SERVE AND AGREE TO BE AND DISAGREE.

AJHEGHRESJGERS OF COURSE WHY NOT. BREAK HIM.

GOOD JOB, MY BOY, GIVE THEM HEADACHES AHAHA

I need them in one room more often, his own scientific amusement and observation Ah so his very first purpose was to help him bring a peace. YES IT IS A NANNY AHAHA

FRIENDSHIP WILL NOT GET YOU TO COUNCIL FASTER OH THERE ARE OTHER GOLEMS. I kind of was wondering if Orion is the only one who will just... make it different Naaaahhh Prowl is already a big bunch of emotions even if not the happiest ones, no wonder he isn't like them "Not allowed artifacts" *Looks at Shockwave* HGASHDGAEHGEAHG I assist Orion and help him, agree.... actually, do not agree anymore, Ratchet now looks like a good friend to help me keep Orion in place. So golems are widely spread occasion. Keeping places clean and other easy stuff. Double-bottom trap. DAMN I LIKE BODY LANGUAGE DETAILS JAHGGEA not sure if Prowl just now made a joke or stated a fact about processor.

NOW, THIS IS A DYNAMIC WITH THEM I LOVE TO SEE

EWHGFHEWFGEWH OH EHWGREHG MMM OH I LOVE HOW PROWL IS JUST. NO WAY TO GET THAT HE IS A GOLEM. NO MORE.

WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEZEEEEE W- WAIT. F*** YOU. YEEEEEEEEEEESSSSS HIS STUDENTS ARE SAVAGES SAVED AND GOTTEN TO SHOCKWAVE YEEEEEESSSSSSS “Can read, write, speak, even makes music.” Who's that pokemon? ........Okay here comes the bits of their future destruction... and the fact that they will just. Accept it. Of course! Why not! *lies down* ....PROWL. PROWL NO. PROWL WRONG. NOT THIS WAY. NOT LIKE THIS NO.

PROWL STOP THIS IS A WRONG CHARACTER GROWTH

"When...when a mech commits especially terrible crimes against the will of Primus, the very magic of their spark rises up against them and turns them into a demon. And I just learned today what a...demon looks like." lET Me just. There is no shit like "Primus' will. Primus hangs out with atheist and smiles when someone says that Primus isn't capable of everything. It is the council. AH. Council is capable of extracting the spark. CAN THEY ALSO F**KING TURN OTHERS INTO DEMONS?!? ORION THIS IS COUNCIL I DON'T BELIEVE THAT IT IS PRIMUS, ORION YOU ARE DOING RIGHT THINGS.

This bit. Prowl has done things. He has done and might be chased for it. But he doesn't have a spark. I wonder to whom he resembles with the "I hope he doesn't"...

“I've done something wrong again. It's not moving.”

There was a lot of stuff spread out in front of him. Old spare parts, pieces of armor, tools. Lots of warped plates.

And his creation. A real golem. An entity woven of metal and magic.

Shockwave walked around the table and stopped right above the head of the figure lying on it

“Golems exist to serve, my friend. It won't move unless you ask it to.”

Orion clutched his servos. The figure remained stone still. There was no ventilation noise, no engine sound, not even the barely audible spinning of a spark. It could just as easily have been a long-cooled dead body lying in front of him.

“Wake up.”

___________________

Magical Golem Prowl anyone? ‘,:) This story exists in the same universe as Spellbound au. and Monster hunter au and ties them together so I highly recommend you read all of them.

The fic under the cut⤵️

He seemed to be nothing.

The emptiness that infinitely defined his nonexistent self bounced off the metal plates and glinted in the droplets of still-warm energon. He was nothing, but there was so much around him that the space was like an infinite buzz of cluttered noise. The voices above him sounded excited. The metal slab beneath him was cold and hard.

“Good. Now you need to put a piece of your armor on this. Somewhere it will be in plain sight and easily reachable.”

“Oh...wouldn't it make more sense to hide it under the armor? I mean, it's an obvious weak point.”

He idly thought, his hands felt numb.

“No no, that's the whole point. You're using an artifact you haven't fully studied and you don't know exactly how it's going to turn out. If it goes crazy and becomes dangerous, you should have an easy way to destroy it. Where's the artifact by the way?”

The tinkling of metal.

The sound of a crystal clattering against armor.

Warm hands on his head.

“Here.”

“Excellent. Now. This will be the base on which the entire spell will be held, so you want to hide this artifact very well and secure it carefully so it doesn't break by mistake.”

Did he have hands too? He was nothing, why did he have hands? It didn't make sense.

Orion took a couple steps away from the table and stood pensively.

“I've done something wrong again. It's not moving.”

There was a lot of stuff spread out in front of him. Old spare parts, pieces of armor, tools. Lots of warped plates.

And his creation. A real golem. An entity woven of metal and magic.

Shockwave, hitherto distracted by an almost invisible spot on his shoulderplate, glanced leisurely over Orion's shoulder

“Golems don't need much to function. You made a good shell. The magical structure is strong as well, I see.”

Orion hesitantly pointed to the golem's forehead, decorated with a neat sharp chevron.

“I added some things that weren't in your instructions and I think I made a mistake somewhere.”

“Golem making is a complex skill, don't give up if it doesn't work right awa...you know what, actually no, you did everything right.”

Orion shrugged in frustration.

“Then why won't it move?”

Shockwave walked around the table and stopped right above the head of the figure lying on it

“ Golems exist to serve, my friend. It won't move unless you ask it to.”

Orion walked back over to the table with a quiet “oh” and nervously clutched his servos. The figure remained stone still. There was no ventilation noise, no engine sound, not even the barely audible spinning of a spark. It could just as easily have been a long-cooled dead body lying in front of him.

“Wake up.”

The emptiness that forever defined his nonexistent self stammered. He wasn't nothing. He had a purpose and that purpose shaped him, put strength into his numb limbs and molded his lack of thought into naked intent.

He wasn't nothing. He was a void, but suddenly that void had a direction, no matter how meaningless it sounded.

He stopped being just nothing. He became his purpose. And it felt so right that it was unclear how he could ever have been anything else before.

He opened his optics.

Orion, who apparently hadn't expected that the thing he'd made specifically for it to move would move, jerked back with a funny sound.

On the opposite side, Shockwave nodded proudly, returning to the spot on his armor that even in the bright lights of the workshop only he could see.

“I believed in you.”

_________

“Oh my god! How do you sneak up on me so quietly every time?”

He wasn't nothing anymore. He was a whole long list of instructions and rules. His creator sat him down at a table and meticulously listed everything he could and could not do. Handed him many books and ordered him to attend a huge number of lectures. He now knew who to bow to if he passed them in the hallway and who to avoid. He had learned hundreds of names and thousands of titles. Learned how to pretend to be a real Mech, even though he wasn't.

The world around him was complex and confusing, but he found that this complexity had its own patterns, linked together in a bizarre web of systems and sequences. It was worth pulling on the right end, and the meaningless facts organized themselves into something much more manageable.

Everything made sense. The planet revolved around a star. Mechs rejoiced when they got something that improved their quality of life. Energon burned, producing energy. Big things tended to be heavier than small things.

The world was divided into Mechs and monsters...and him.

He was inclined to be...quiet.

His creator - he'd asked to be called Orion - twitched when he found his creation standing right behind him.

He was very talented at finding Orion wherever he was. And very light compared to most things his size. Like everything else it made sense. He wasn't a Mech, he was just an empty shell. An armor summoned to life by magic. His footsteps were as quiet as a mini bot's. Whatever Orion called it, he wasn't 'sneaking' on purpose.

A few cycles later, Orion accidentally bent one of its finals when he turned around too quickly, startled by the quiet footsteps behind him.

He named him Prowl. It was...not exactly logical, but there was a certain sense to it. Prowl nodded and agreed. He always agreed with everything Orion said, even if it didn't make sense at all. Orion's opinion took a higher priority than anything else.

Until it didn't.

Until Orion gave him a focused look and told him that he should argue if he thought it was necessary.

Until Orion put the servo on his shoulder and said something along the lines of....

“You can disagree with me if you think my opinion is wrong. I'm not asking you to go against me. I'm not perfect and I can't be the one absolute point of reference for everything. You can and I'm sure will be smarter than me about many things. I want you to tell me if I'm wrong and what I should do about it.”

Like…well….like an absolute fool.

This concept was new. Prowl wasn't built to argue. He was made to obey orders and to serve a function.

Orion smiled slyly. At least it was probably a smile behind his mask that made the corners of his optics lift.

“It wouldn't be considered a disobedience of my order if I ordered you to disobey it. Don't you think?”

Prowl opened his mouth to agree out of habit, but then changed his mind mid-motion and closed it back. It...it didn't make sense. It made sense that was breaking under its own weight. It was mercilessly mixing up all of his pre-learned patterns for talking to Orion. If he agreed with that logic now, it would mean accepting its use. If he protested, it would also mean accepting it, but in a bit more embarrassing way. Just when he was thinking of simply retreating silently to the nearest shadow and banging his head against the wall, he heard a quiet chuckle and realized that Orion had been amusing himself for some time now, watching him struggle.

Prowl decided that verbal responses might be overrated and frowned his face in the most believable expression of displeasure he could portray.

Orion broke out into laughter.

________

“What exactly is my goal?”

Orion looks. Curious. He stops talking to Shockwave and leans back on the bench.

“Right now, to study these journals. I already told you.”

Prowl nods to indicate he heard him and continues

“Studying serves a future purpose. Studying for the sake of studying would be meaningless to me. What is my final goal?”

“To assist me” Orion says slightly confused. ”Within the best of your ability of course.“”

“Аh. Assist in the fulfillment of your goal.”

“Well. I'd say so, yes.”

Prowl nods

“And what is your goal?”

Shockwave, who has been sitting next to them the whole time looks like they're a couple of previously unknown to science species he's just personally discovered.

Prowl ignores him.

“I...you remember the separation between Mechs and monsters, right?” asks Orion cautiously.

“Yes.”

“Mechs...are unfair to monsters. Monsters are cruel to Mechs. It's a needlessly violent situation that I want to...try to. Fix.”

Prowl frowns to indicate that the information isn't completely clear.

“You're a member of the order of hunters. And...” he shakes his head toward the nearest window ”...you have a considerable number of hunters under your command. Your job involves destroying monsters.”

Shockwave makes some sort of quiet amused sound and props his chin up with his hand.

Prowl ignores him harder.

“My job is to bring peace.” says Orion “You don't have to kill monsters to do that. You can negotiate with them. Find a compromise. Coexist. I...I guess basically, I'm trying to make the world a little better?”

Prowl doesn't look impressed. He's actually making a special effort to not let Orion think in any way that he might be intrigued by the whole endeavor.

“You do realize that's a disproportionately large goal for just one Mech, right?”

Orion shrugs awkwardly

“That's why I made you.”

__________

Ratchet puts aside his tools and critically examines his work.

“Don't touch that and it will heal normally.”

Orion smiles gratefully

“Thank you.”

Ratchet is important to Orion. They are close and very valuable friends to each other. The two of them look peaceful now, despite the fact that Ratchet threatened Orion when he first showed up in Sick Bay, so Prowl decides it would be a socially acceptable moment to start talking

“Orion, you're wanted at the Council.”

The second half of his line is drowned helplessly in two startled exclamations at once. Orion, to his honor, calms down almost immediately, but Ratchet continues cursing for a while.

Prowl doesn't wait for him to finish. The Council meeting is earlier than usual today and Orion has already had a few occasions of misbehavior. It's in his best interest to at least show up on time this time.

“Shockwave asked me to tell you to hurry. I will add that showing up at the last minute will not be good for your reputation if you are still hoping to convince the council to let you take more units.”

Ratchet .....stares.

“Primus' rusty hinges, Orion, who's that? Did they assign a nanny to you?”

Orion twitches his finals playfully and immediately crinkles in pain, remembering that one of them should have been left to heal.

“Remember when I wanted to find an assistant? Well...”

Ratchet casts an increasingly more suspicious look at Prowl. Prowl decides that friendliness is overrated and limits his expression to a barely perceptible tilt of his head in response.

“...Shockwave recently helped me figure out how to create golems and I figured if I couldn't find anyone I could trust, I might as well...make one. So. Ratchet meet Prowl.” finishes Orion awkwardly.

Ratchet glares at Prowl for a while longer. Then he turns away and starts tidying up Sick Bay.

“I'm not buying it. I don't know where you found this guy, but you're not playing me. Nice poker face by the way.”

One of Prowl's wings twitches

“He wasn't lying.”

Ratchet snorts grumpily.

“Those...” he waves toward the next room ”...are golems.

There, behind the wall, several golems scurry around. They have medical staff symbols painted on their shoulders, and there is not a trace of thought in their eyes. Two are scrubbing the floors, another wiping the shelves and window sills clean of dust. They occasionally mumble softly under their noses or utter an inane “excuse me” every time they accidentally bump into each other. Prowl knows that if you ask any of them a question with more than one variable, they start babbling guiltily and shrugging their shoulders. They're stupid, but they themselves don't seem to care about that at all. They are their purpose. And their purpose is to keep things clean. They are pride because they are good at their job.

Prowl frowns. He's a headache. Because his "purpose" has been distracted by his conversation with Ratchet and will probably add another tardy to his list in the near future.

Orion begins (thank goodness) to move toward the door

“I've made improvements. There might have been...some not exactly allowed artifacts.”

Ratchet rubs the bridge of his nose tiredly. Prowl can see that his face is already starting to wrinkle in that spot. Patient antics probably age Ratchet far more effectively than the passage of time itself.

“I...you know what...go before the Council sends a search party to look for you.”

Orion sighs and without further distraction finally walks out the door.

Prowl decides that Ratchet might be a good ally when it comes to managing Orion.

He nods politely goodbye before leaving.

______________

“I am different from them. Why?”

Orion puts down the document he's been working on and looks first at Prowl and then, over his head, at the other golems scurrying down the hallway with brooms and rags. He doesn't need to interject exactly who he thinks Prowl is different from.

“Do you want a philosophical answer or a technical one?”

Prowl reaches out and pokes somewhere in Orion's document

“ You missed a comma. Both.”

Orion obediently puts the comma in and folds up the document. His finals are twitching faintly. It could be a sign of concentration as well as distraction. Prowl has already figured out that Orion's body language is a double-bottom trap. For a Mech with this level of expressiveness, Orion is surprisingly difficult to read.

“Sometime quite a while ago during one of my expeditions, I found a unique artifact. A fascinating item, granting wisdom to anyone brave enough to use it.”

“I have a feeling a ‘but’ is coming.”

“You're right. The artifact's unique gift was also its curse. It fed so much information through the Mech's heads that it literally caused the processors of its owners to melt.”

“Oh. Good thing I don't have a processor then.”

Orion laughs quietly

“Indeed. You won't have that problem. And about the other part....Think of all the Mechs you know who are savvy enough about politics and available to work together at the moment.”

Orion gives him a moment before continuing.

“ What is the likelihood that the most trustworthy of them would betray me, for their own gain or out of fear?”

“ Twenty-eight percent,” Prowl informs.

And then hesitates a moment.

Orion is obviously a smart Mech. Not smart enough to single-handedly dominate the political arena, definitely not with his ideals and ideas of what's right. But smart enough to realize it. He knows what he wants and he also knows he can't achieve it alone.

Prowl looks at Orion, who just stands there, eyeing him, without in any way trying to continue the conversation.

Orion is idealistic, and therefore often mistaken for stupid. He isn't. Orion doesn't just know that he can't succeed alone, he knows that everyone else knows it too. He thinks this knowledge will be used against him when the opportunity arises. He's right. By Prowl's count, at least three suspiciously clever Mechs were going to sweet-talk their way into becoming Orion's assistant one way or another before... he appeared.

One of the janitor golems runs past them down the corridor. He doesn't turn around, doesn't even slow down or cast a curious glance. His only goal, his only interest is cleaning. The rest of the world might as well not exist at all.

Prowl thinks he's not that different.

Orion apparently reads the understanding from his face, because he nods contentedly and starts walking further down the hall.

“You didn't take yourself into account when you made the statistics, did you?”

Prowl follows him silently on his heels. Not close enough to be familiar, but not so far away that the conversation stops being private.

“The sampling condition was all mechs. I am not one.”

“That's true” Orion shrugs “You have no loved ones that the Council could use to influence you. You have no desires to be bought by their fulfillment. And while I cannot say with absolute certainty that you will never be capable of going against me...” Prowl starts to open his mouth to object but Orion gestures him to stop, “...no no no no, let me finish. And while I can't be sure you'll never betray me, I at least know for sure that before you met me you had no reason to do so. Do you understand?”

Prowl understands. It makes sense. He still feels the need to argue back, because it is part of his function to do that.

“I would never betray you. I'm not capable of it.”

Orion twitches his finals. Without seeing his face Prowl assumes it is a sign of doubt.

“You are a creature of intellect, Prowl. I am a Mech of ideals. Those two things don't always combine well.”

______

“Foolish and presumptuous.”

Prowl ponders that his function could be much easier if he didn't have to constantly try to balance what is right and what is right in Orion's eyes.

“If you were spotted, the Council would have good reason to assume this isn't the first time you've done something like this.”

“No one noticed,” Orion tries, but Prowl doesn't let him finish that thought

“No one has seen you, because you're lucky. You can't count on it being a permanent occurrence! You undermine your own position by giving the Council grounds for suspicion, you...”

Prowl stops, still pointing his finger accusingly somewhere on Orion's chin. Shockwave, who has witnessed the scene, makes an impressed face and steps closer.

“I swear, you're probably the most capable golem maker I've ever had the pleasure of teaching, Orion. If I hadn't seen that guy on your assembly table, I would never know.”

Prowl takes the statement as a compliment, but doesn't feel the need to show it outwardly. Shockwave, as one of the few who knows about him not being a real Mech, doesn't take offense to it in any way.

“Did I interrupt something dramatic?”

Prowl snorts, because the gesture maintains just the right amount of judgment for his situation.

“Orion is once again harboring a monster instead of killing it or letting it escape.”

This news immediately enlivens Shockwave's posture. Prowl knows he's an even bigger fan of collecting suspicious side projects than Orion. Their friendship, frankly, will one day bury either one or both of them. Prowl just hopes his presence will be enough to sway the percentages when that happens.

Orion doesn't try to deny anything.

“One of my squads encountered a ghost near the northern border. I couldn't... listen Shockwave, he's a good guy. He just needs to be given a chance to show it.”

“Can he talk?” there's almost visible stars in Shockwave's eyes..

Prowl slumps his shoulders helplessly, already knowing what's coming next. These two have done this dance a hundred times before. One of Shockwave's favorite side projects was a school for, as they called them, magically gifted and extraordinary Mechs. In fact, it was the largest den of various monsters that Prowl had ever seen. Every time Orion's hunting squads found a monster that could even remotely resemble a normal Mech, Orion would rush with happy optics to hand it over to Shockwave for care. There, the monsters were taught everything they needed to fit into the society of normal Mechs, but more importantly, they were given documents. Precious pieces of paper that granted their holders rights, freedoms, and protections as Shockwave's apprentices.

Prowl could appreciate the noble endeavor. He could also see clearly that with each addition, this school would become more and more of an inconvenient thorn in the Council's side. Just like Orion, Shockwave was happy to paint a brighter and brighter target on his own back for many cycles.

Orion, insensitive to danger that is not immediate, cheerfully begins to recite

“Can read, write, speak, even makes music.”

Shockwave nods happily

“Introduce us?”

Prowl wonders how far Shockwave can stretch the definition of “magically gifted Mech”. One day Orion will pick up a Kraken on the street and then they'll both probably have to do a lot of mental gymnastics to make it's documents. Ugh.

When Orion had asked him to calculate the probability of betrayal, the most reliable mech he was evaluating at the time was Shockwave.

Twenty-eight percent...

Prowl wonders how many students must be on the opposite side of the scale from Orion for Shockwave to choose in their favor. Speculation is actually useless. If the Council decides to nail Shockwave, they will of course use his entire school at once.

In fact, they probably won't even have to force Shockwave to choose between the school and Orion, because Orion himself will choose a bunch of monsters over himself.

This ridiculously dangerous social construct they call friendship rests entirely on their reputation as honest and honorable mechs. Prowl stares at Shockwave's back and wonders how one mech could have so much charisma, that he gets away with keeping a huge number of Council enemies right under the noses of that same Council.

_________________

Orion gently lifts the now graying shell of what was once a monster from the ground

He doesn't even turn toward Prowl.

"Did you kill him?"

Killing...it's a stretch. Does the act of helping a murderer qualify as murder? Or the lack of action that could have saved the now murdered person? In most cultures and languages, “murder” refers to the act of ending someone else's life, but the context implies a physical act. Did you put a knife in his back? Did you push him off a cliff? Did you cut him with a sword?

By those criteria. Well. Prowl never killed anyone. Nor is he likely to, for he has neither the skill nor the strength to do so.

Did he cause death? Absolutely.

Orion's always had this heroic streak that wouldn't let him just pass by the distressed and disadvantaged. Orion has always had a great spark of kindness and principles as strong as titanium alloy as to what is right and what is wrong.

In Orion's world view, murder is wrong. And murder in conditions where it was possible to solve everything by peace is immoral and unacceptable.

Prowl's worldview tells him that Orion could do much better if he stopped wasting his potential on helping those who will only drag him down in the long run. Orion's life depends entirely on the Council's opinion of him. A Council that has been watching him closely lately. Even if Orion doesn't like it, it's Prowl's job to make sure they like what they see.

Orion turns to him, shaking him out of his thoughts.

"Prowl. That mech tried to escape. Past you. And now he's dead. Were you the one who killed him?"

"No," says Prowl, "he ran into one of the patrols."

That statement is missing a good half of the details. Like mentioning that the patrol wouldn't have been there in the first place if Prowl hadn't sent them an anonymous lead.

Orion doesn't need to know that. Orion lives under the idea that every life is precious and, even more inconveniently, equal.

Prowl sometimes feels like yelling at him for it. Because that shiny perfect picture is simply unsustainable outside of Orion's head. The monster, whose graying body now lies on the ground, would be of little use to society. Likely left free, he would have simply continued to attack and kill travelers.

Whereas Orion spends his life making the world a better place. This is an objective fact confirmed by numerous observations.

They are not equals. And they probably never will be. Orion's life is much. Much heavier on the imaginary scales of statistics.

Orion squints at him suspiciously. He's clearly hesitant.

"You could have just let him go instead of killing him."

The trap is honestly too obvious.

"I didn't kill him" Prowl repeats "he ran into a patrol. You can't blame the hunters for doing their job."

Orion places a hand on the dead creature's forehead in a respectful gesture of regret while simultaneously averting his gaze. It's a habit by now.

Look the other way, don't let the council know what you're doing. Sympathize but not in plain sight, help but in secret.

"They had no right to attack him.This is neutral territory. He has the right to run wherever he wants."

Prowl's mouth is twisting with the urge to argue. To say that according to existing information, this monster would have just continued the attacks if he'd stayed free.

He says nothing. Orion is clearly in no mood to argue right now, and he's already questioning Prowl's claim. It's not worth pushing any further.

Prowl only nods, showing that he's heard Orion's point of view.

__________________

He is surprisingly good at lying.

Of course the skill doesn't just come naturally, but he's been known for his straightforwardness. Mechs automatically expect him to either remain silent or tell the unpleasant truth.

All he has to do is give only certain bits and pieces instead of coherent information without changing his usual behavior in any way and the mechs won't be inclined to verify it, filling in the gaps themselves. As a golem, he can't lie, but he can get others to lie to themselves.

He exploits this a lot. Probably more often than Orion would approve, but Prowl doesn't ask him to confirm. Conversations with Orion tend to narrow down his list of options. Because Orion is a real living mech. With a spark. With feelings. And his complex moral code revolves entirely around what he feels to be right.

Prowl has no spark. Prowl has an empty armor that he considers his body and a wisdom artifact that he considers his worth. Both his and Orion's understandings of what is right...overlap...sometimes.

Not always.

______________

"I saw a demon in person for the first time today."

Prowl politely shifts his posture to show he's listening

"A …demon?"

"Demon" Orion repeats "When...when a mech commits especially terrible crimes against the will of Primus, the very magic of their spark rises up against them and turns them into a demon. And I just learned today what a...demon looks like."

Prowl remains silent, waiting for a continuation that never comes. Orion seems gone in his thoughts....

"And what does it look like?" prompts Prowl.

"Creepy. It looks creepy and unnatural and terrifying. Primus' wrath has a very ugly shape..."

"Ah...I see...what did that mech do to be met with such punishment?"

Orion frowns

"I'm not sure. But what we're doing can't go against Primus' will, right? I mean, all beings are his creations! He can't condemn us for trying to make peace between mechs and monsters..."

Prowl is familiar with the concept of punishment for wrongdoing. But something about the very idea...the idea that punishment will find you no matter how well you hide because you can’t run away from your own spark...he has to admit it's disturbing.

"I hope he doesn't."

——————————

Thoughts?👁

Ahsjfjfj

This is the first half of the fic btw because I don’t have enough time to translate the whole thing in one day. I’ll try to post the second half tomorrow🤞

#oh my god no wonder I read so slow if I take time to just comment everything in my head #my eyes are closing they have been staring at screens non-stop for 3-4 days in a row I better go #I swear to god if the second part #is the Shockwave #I might kill someone #out of pure emotion #I like it #Prowl's characterization....#*lies down*#wow....#I so much want to kiss writers recently you all keep gems in your heads and forge them into beautiful rings

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shdysders · 3 days ago

Text

no one noticed

pairing: jenna ortega & female reader

summary: in which you fly across the country to surprise jenna, holding onto the hope that things will go back to the way they were.

word count: 6.0k

author’s note: no one noticed - the marias

You couldn't tell when it had all started.

You didn't even know what it was.

All you knew was that it wasn't like it used to be.

Jenna used to notice everything. It was the way her gaze would linger a little longer than anyone else's, searching your face like it held all the answers.

She'd catch the smallest changes in your mood, the tiniest cracks in the facade you showed the world.

No one else noticed those things—not when you were quieter than usual, not when your smile didn't quite reach your eyes—but Jenna always did. She'd tilt her head, her brow furrowing in that way that meant she was piecing together a puzzle, and ask softly what was wrong.

It wasn't just your emotions she picked up on. It was everything. The way she'd notice when you'd changed your perfume, leaning closer and smiling as if it were her favorite secret.

Or how she'd spot the faintest smudge of eyeliner you'd tried to wipe away, running her thumb gently along your cheek without a word.

You hadn't even realized how much it had meant to you at the time, the way she saw you in ways no one else did. How she made you feel like you were someone worth noticing.

It had been effortless for her, her attention so natural and constant that you never had to ask for it. You'd be talking about something insignificant—some show you'd watched, something you'd read online—and she'd interrupt with a soft laugh, telling you how your eyes lit up when you were excited. She'd make you feel seen in a way that no one ever had, as if every little thing about you was worth treasuring.

Jenna had always been the person who noticed, even when no one else did.

So when that started to change, you wondered if it was all in your head.

At first, it felt small—just a few moments here and there that you could shrug off. Like when you'd been quiet during a phone call, and Jenna didn't pause to ask if something was wrong. Or when she'd missed the faint tremor in your voice, something she'd once been able to pick up on like a second language.

You told yourself it wasn't a big deal, that you were overthinking. But then it started happening more often. Little things piled up until they didn't feel so little anymore.

Still, you didn't want to blame her. Instead, you turned it on yourself, convincing yourself that you were imagining it. That you were making something out of nothing.

Maybe you'd just grown too used to her attention, you thought. Too dependent on the way she always noticed things no one else did. You felt almost ashamed for needing that kind of validation, for craving it the way you did.

There were nights when you couldn't sleep, lying awake and wondering if you'd lost your mind. You told yourself that she hadn't changed, that you were the problem—that you'd become hypersensitive, searching for cracks that weren't really there.

And since no one else seemed to notice it, you couldn't help but feel like you were wrong. Like you'd made it all up.

Jenna still said the right things sometimes. She still asked how you were, still smiled at you like you were her whole world when you were 'together'. But it didn't feel the same. There was a distance now, subtle but unmistakable, like a thin layer of glass separating you.

You told yourself that if no one else could see it, then it couldn't possibly be real. But deep down, you knew.

You knew, even if you couldn't admit it to yourself yet.

You'd told yourself over and over that things would get better.

Every time Jenna's name flashed across your screen, every time you saw her face smiling at you through a grainy video call, you felt that flicker of hope. She'd always say the right things—how much she missed you, how she couldn't wait to see you again. For a moment, you'd believe her.

But then the call would end, and you'd be left staring at your reflection on the dark screen, feeling emptier than before.

It was getting old, this routine of clinging to a connection that didn't feel real anymore. The virtual version of Jenna wasn't enough—it never was. You didn't want to see her through a screen; you wanted her here, next to you, holding you, laughing with you, noticing you.

But instead, you sat alone in the silence of your room, waiting for a text that might not come.

There were moments when you hated yourself for feeling this way. For needing her so much. You tried to rationalize it, telling yourself she was busy, that her work demanded more of her time now. You knew she wasn't doing it on purpose—but that didn't make the loneliness any easier to bear.

You'd catch yourself staring at your phone, half-hoping she'd call, half-hoping she wouldn't, because you didn't know if you could stand hearing her voice and still feeling so far away.

The distance wasn't just physical anymore. It was in every text that felt shorter than it used to, in the FaceTime calls where her eyes darted off-screen as if she had somewhere else to be. You'd thought, more than once, about asking her why she always looked like she was about to disappear. But you never did.

You'd told yourself it was because of work.

She loved what she did, and you loved that for her. How could you not? She'd always dreamed of it, always thrown herself into it with a passion that had drawn you to her in the first place. So, of course, she was busy. Of course, there were long days, packed schedules, and late nights. You'd whispered those words to yourself so often they became a mantra.

She's not ignoring you. She's just busy.

You told yourself that was the reason for the less frequent texts, the shorter calls, the way her replies came hours later now—sometimes not at all. It was work. It had to be. And you couldn't blame her for it. You wouldn’t blame her for it.

But that didn't make it any easier to bear.

It was getting old—lying awake in bed, phone clutched in your hand, fighting the pull of sleep just in case she'd call. Some nights, you didn't even know what you were waiting for. The sound of her voice? The comfort of knowing she was thinking of you? It never felt like enough.

And yet you kept waiting, night after night, feeling the ache of loneliness settle deeper into your chest.

You used to think you were strong, that you could handle the distance because it wasn't permanent, not really. But now, you weren't so sure. You felt yourself slipping, losing the ability to pretend everything was fine.

Maybe you'd lost it.

Maybe you were losing it—overanalyzing, clinging too tightly, wanting too much.

It wasn't like you could explain it to anyone else either. Nobody else saw what you did. Nobody else noticed how the little things were falling apart. So maybe you'd imagined it all.

And yet, lying there alone, staring at the darkened screen of your phone, you couldn't shake the nagging feeling that it wasn't just work.

It was something else.

You felt awful for even thinking it. The thought alone was enough to make your stomach churn and your chest tighten with guilt. But sometimes, late at night when the silence felt too heavy, the whispers in your mind grew too loud to ignore.

What if Jenna had found someone else?

She'd been gone for months now, busy with filming, constantly surrounded by new faces, sharing spaces and moments with people you didn't know and couldn't see. You knew it wasn't fair to think that way. She was away for work, doing what she loved. But still, the idea crept in like a shadow you couldn't chase away.

What if she'd found someone who could give her the things you couldn't? Someone who could be there for her in ways you weren't able to, offering physical comfort while you were hundreds of miles away?

You hated yourself for even entertaining the thought. It felt like a betrayal of her trust, an insult to everything you shared. Jenna wasn't like that. She wouldn't do that. But still, the ache of doubt lingered.

So instead, you turned the blame inward.

Maybe you were the problem.

Maybe this was all in your head, some twisted fabrication of a restless mind desperate for attention and reassurance. Maybe you were losing it—grasping at straws and creating problems where there weren't any. Or worse, maybe Jenna really was pulling away because of you.

Maybe you were too clingy, too needy, too pushy. Maybe she'd grown tired of the late-night calls, of your questions about her day, of you trying to hold onto something that felt like it was slipping through your fingers.

You'd lie awake in bed, turning those thoughts over and over until your chest felt tight and your eyes burned with tears you refused to let fall.

But you couldn't let yourself think that way. You couldn't let yourself spiral.

So you shoved it all down—every fear, every doubt, every whispered insecurity. You buried it beneath forced smiles and reassuring words, convincing yourself that it was just your mind playing tricks on you. You'd wait for her call, for her text, for any sign that things were still okay.

You had to believe it was just work.

Because the alternative would break you.

It made sense to keep it to yourself too. You avoided bringing it up—not to family, not to friends, and certainly not to Jenna. What would be the point? You'd perfected the art of acting like everything was fine, pasting on a smile that didn't falter even when your chest felt tight and your head felt heavy with unspoken worries.

Around others, you acted normal. You laughed when you were supposed to, nodded when the conversation called for it, and deflected any questions that veered too close to how you were really feeling. Because, in the end, nobody could read your eyes.

Nobody even tried.

Nobody but Jenna.

At least, that's how it used to be. Once, she'd been the only one who could see through the cracks in your facade. She could look at you and know instantly when something was wrong, even when no one else had a clue. She wouldn't even have to ask; she just knew. It was something you'd always loved about her—that quiet attentiveness, the way she cared so deeply and effortlessly.

But now, it didn't feel that way anymore.

There was no point in letting the cracks show, no point in spilling everything when it felt like she wouldn't notice, or worse, that she didn't want to. So you kept it buried, tucked away behind your smiles and your carefully constructed responses.

You wished it weren't true. You wished you could believe she still saw you the way she once did. That she still noticed the things no one else did. But as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, that belief became harder and harder to hold onto.

And you hated yourself for it. For doubting her. For doubting what you had. For doubting the one person who had once been your constant.

It wasn't like you had proof. Nothing you were feeling, none of the doubts gnawing at the back of your mind, were confirmed to be true. That's what made it worse—the uncertainty of it all. You were acting like everything was fine, smiling through conversations and going about your days like you weren't slowly unraveling inside, but the truth was, you didn't even know what you were holding back anymore.

You didn't know if Jenna really was pulling away, or if you were just imagining it. You didn't know if the long silences and the hurried calls were a sign of something deeper, or just a product of her busy schedule. You didn't know if it was you, if maybe you'd been too needy, too much, or if it was something entirely out of your control.

And yet, you were pretending like you were fine. Around family, friends, even Jenna during the few moments you got to speak to her, you tried your best to act normal. Because if you couldn't even be sure of how you felt—if you couldn't even figure out what was real and what wasn't—then how could you explain it to anyone else?

It was easier to push it down, to keep the doubts and the worries locked up where no one could see them. Easier to smile and nod and go through the motions than to let anyone in on how you were really feeling.

Because deep down, you knew there was no point. Nobody had ever tried to read you, not really. Nobody but Jenna.

And that was what scared you the most. Because if she wasn't noticing now, maybe she never would.

Nothing about this felt right. The distance between you and Jenna was like a heavy fog, clouding every thought, every action, every word. Should you ask her about it? Should you speak up, lay everything bare, and risk hearing what you were most afraid of?

It felt like the logical choice, the brave thing to do, but even the thought of it made your chest tighten. What if she confirmed your worst fears? What if she told you it was over, or worse—that she hadn't even noticed anything was wrong?

But keeping quiet didn't feel right either. Pretending you didn't feel the cracks widening between you, ignoring the ache of unanswered questions, felt like a betrayal to yourself. And yet, every time you tried to muster the courage to bring it up, something held you back.

The words would sit on the tip of your tongue, heavy and unspoken, while you sat in silence. You didn't know what to do, caught in this limbo where every decision felt wrong.

And maybe that was why you kept spiraling—because the loneliness of it all was unbearable. Lying in bed at night, staring at the empty space beside you, the silence felt deafening.

You tried to convince yourself it was fine, that this was normal, but the truth was that loneliness had a way of magnifying everything.

Every little doubt, every unanswered text, every distant call felt like another brick in the wall building between you.

You hated how much you overanalyzed everything, how your mind wouldn't let you rest. Every time your phone vibrated, you'd hold your breath, hoping it was her.

Every time it wasn't, your heart sank a little further. The quiet ate away at you, and the more time passed, the more you felt like you were the only one fighting to bridge the gap.

But forcing her wasn't an option either. It didn't feel right to demand more of her, to pull her into a conversation she didn't seem ready to have.

If you confronted her, if you said everything you'd been holding inside, what would happen? Would she tell you that you were right, that she'd already started to drift away?

Would she admit there was someone else, someone who could give her the kind of presence and attention you couldn't?

You couldn't bring yourself to think about it, let alone ask. If she wasn't yours in the way she used to be, you didn't want to know.

The idea of forcing her to stay, of begging her for something she wasn't willing to give freely, felt wrong in every sense. And yet, the thought of losing her entirely was unbearable.

So instead, you clung to the hope that time would fix it. If you didn't say anything, maybe things would fall back into place on their own. Maybe Jenna just needed space, time to navigate her busy schedule, and she'd eventually find her way back to you.

If you waited, if you were patient enough, maybe she'd realize what she had with you and want to hold onto it again.

But the waiting was agony. The longer you stayed silent, the more it felt like you were watching the clock, counting the minutes until something changed—or until it was too late. Time was supposed to heal things, wasn't it?

So why did it feel like the more time passed, the more everything unraveled?

There were moments when the thought crept in, uninvited and unwelcome: What if Jenna was pulling away because she was leaving? It lingered at the edges of your mind, whispering possibilities you didn't want to believe.

The way her replies had become shorter, her texts less frequent, the way her calls felt rushed, like she couldn't wait to hang up. Was it just the stress of her work, or was she trying to create distance before breaking things off completely?

It felt absurd, cruel even, to think that way about her. But those doubts had a way of twisting everything, making every interaction feel like a confirmation of your worst fears.

Still, you clung to one fragile belief: it couldn't be that easy for her. Jenna wasn't the kind of person to let go without a fight. She wasn't the kind of person to give up on something she cared about.

And wasn't she still calling, even if less often? Wasn't she still texting, even if her words felt half-hearted? Surely, if she wanted to leave, she wouldn't be holding onto these threads of connection.

Surely, she couldn't just walk away from everything you'd built together. It wasn't that simple—was it?

It can't be that easy.

But even as you thought it, the uncertainty lingered. Because sometimes, it was easier to leave quietly, to let things fade without confrontation.

And what if that's what she was doing? What if she was pulling away so subtly that by the time you noticed, it would already be too late?

You didn't know what scared you more—the possibility that Jenna was leaving or the thought that, deep down, she might already be gone.

You didn't know what scared you more—the possibility that Jenna was leaving or the thought that, deep down, she might already be gone. The uncertainty clawed at you, feeding off the spaces between her words, the silences that stretched just a little too long.

Every time you hung up the phone, you'd sit there, staring at the darkened screen, trying to convince yourself that you were imagining things. That there was no way she could leave without a word.

But then she mentioned it. Casually, like it wasn't supposed to mean anything at all.

"We just wrapped the last scenes today. I'll be flying home soon," she said one night, her voice smooth and even. It was the sort of news that should've lit up your entire world, something that should've made you count the days until she walked through the door again.

But as much as you wanted to believe her, there was something in the way she said it that didn't sit right.

Her smile—soft, rehearsed—didn't reach her eyes. Her voice carried the right notes, hitting every expected beat, but none of it felt real. Not the way it used to.

She said she couldn't wait to see you, to hold you, to console you after being apart for so long, but it sounded like a line from one of her scripts—memorized, polished, and distant.

And the way her eyes darted away from the camera only added to the weight in your chest. You watched as her attention flickered to something else, something out of reach—a notification, a script, maybe just the corner of the room she was sitting in. It didn't matter what it was. What mattered was that it wasn't you.

She looked like she was about to disappear, like she couldn't wait to hang up.

The thought clung to you, sharp and unrelenting. You wanted to believe her, to hold onto the version of Jenna who used to make you feel like the center of her universe. But that Jenna was slipping through your fingers, one short call at a time.

Still, you smiled through it. You nodded when she said she'd be home soon, when she promised things would feel better once she was back. You told her you couldn't wait, forcing enthusiasm into your voice even though the words felt heavy on your tongue.

What else could you do? Confront her? Push her to say something she might not even be ready to admit? You didn't know if you were prepared to hear the answer, especially if it confirmed the worst of your fears.

So you kept quiet. You waited, holding onto the hope that maybe this time, when she walked through the door, she'd prove you wrong. That she'd wrap you in her arms and make you feel like everything was okay again.

But that hope, thin as it was, didn't erase the nagging feeling in the back of your mind. It didn't stop you from replaying her words over and over, searching for something that wasn't there.

And deep down, you knew—this time wasn't like every other time.

And deep down, you knew—this time wasn't like every other time. But that didn't stop you from trying to convince yourself otherwise.

If she was coming home, maybe things could go back to how they used to be. Maybe the woman who noticed every small detail, who could read your emotions before you even knew how to name them, was still there. You clung to that possibility, desperate for it to be true. It felt like your last thread of hope, fragile and fraying, but still holding on.

Unable to sit in your spiraling thoughts any longer, you booked a flight to her city. It wasn't a decision you made lightly—flights weren't cheap, and it wasn't like you had money to throw away.

But logic didn't matter anymore. You told yourself it was worth it, that seeing her in person, surprising her as she was about to board her flight home, would make her remember what you had. It was reckless, maybe even unnecessary, but you didn't care.

You told yourself it was about the surprise. Showing up unannounced at the airport, catching her before she stepped on the plane home—it felt romantic in a way that you hadn't felt in months. A grand gesture to prove, not only to Jenna but to yourself, that there was still something worth fighting for.

If she saw you there, waiting for her at the airport before she even boarded her flight home, maybe it would remind her of what you had. Maybe it would remind her of the love that had once felt so natural, so easy.

You weren't packing bags or planning to stay; this wasn't about extending your time together. It was about showing her that you still cared enough to make the effort. That even when everything felt wrong, you were willing to fight for what you had. And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to remind her why she had once fought for you, too.

You spent the entire flight running through scenarios in your mind. She'd see you across the terminal, and maybe her face would light up the way it used to when you surprised her.

Or maybe she'd be confused, unsure why you'd gone to such lengths when she'd already promised to come home. And then there was the other possibility, the one you couldn't bear to entertain for long: what if she didn't seem happy to see you at all?

What if her smile didn't reach her eyes, and she asked, gently but firmly, why you'd bothered?

Still, you clung to the hope. It was all you had left.

The plan was simple: show up unannounced, surprise her at the airport, and make her feel the way you used to. You pictured her running into your arms, her words spilling over with apologies for how distant she'd been.

Maybe she'd tell you she'd missed you just as much as you'd missed her. Maybe this would be the moment everything changed, the turning point you'd been waiting for.

But beneath that hope, there was a voice you couldn't silence. It whispered doubts you didn't want to hear: What if she'd already let go? What if this trip wasn't the romantic gesture you'd built it up to be, but just another reminder of how far apart you'd drifted?

You tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the idea of seeing her again. That was what mattered. She was coming home, and you were going to make sure that this time, it felt like coming home to you.

When you arrived at the airport, the rush of excitement coursing through you made your hands tremble.

The overhead announcements blended with the distant hum of engines and the chatter of travelers, but all of it felt like background noise. Your focus was sharp, your mind singular: find Jenna.

You moved through the terminal with purpose, your eyes scanning every face in the crowd. Each time someone walked by, your heart jumped, only to settle back when it wasn't her. It was almost overwhelming—the sheer volume of people, the endless possibilities of where she might be.

But you didn't let it deter you. You kept walking, your sneakers squeaking against the polished floors as you weaved between bustling families and travelers clutching their luggage. The excitement hadn't dulled; it thrummed in your chest with every step.

You were just excited to see her face.

There was something surreal about the thought of seeing Jenna in person again. For months, your interactions had been reduced to grainy screens and lagging calls. The details of her face—once so familiar—had started to feel distant, like a memory that wasn't quite sharp anymore. But now, you'd see her clearly. No pixelation, no delays, no guessing whether her tone matched the look in her eyes.

You found yourself craning your neck, peering through the crowd, your pulse quickening with each new face that wasn't hers. Every person walking by seemed to blur together, but you didn't care. The anticipation was too strong, too consuming.

She'd be here soon. You were sure of it. And when you saw her—when she looked at you and realized you'd come all this way just to surprise her—you felt certain everything would fall back into place. You'd wrap her in your arms, and she'd smile that smile that made you feel like the only person in the world. Everything would go back to normal.

Your excitement only grew as you kept moving, your gaze darting across the terminal. The weight of the past few months seemed lighter here, replaced by the spark of hope that seeing her again brought.

You were so ready to leave behind the grainy screens, the clipped conversations, and the gnawing loneliness. Soon, you'd have her here—right in front of you.

Every brunette you spotted sent a rush of anticipation through you, only for it to fade as you realized it wasn't her. But the thought of seeing her in person kept you moving, your steps light despite the weight of everything you'd been carrying inside.

Then, you saw her.

For a split second, you felt like the air had been knocked from your lungs. She was just ahead, standing near one of the boarding gates, her familiar figure unmistakable even from this distance. Your heart swelled with relief and excitement, your hand twitching at your side as if it already itched to reach out to her. She was right there, and everything you'd been holding onto—the doubts, the fears—seemed to melt away.

But the joy that had begun to bloom in your chest withered almost instantly.

She wasn't alone.

There was someone standing next to her—a blonde, their features partially obscured by the way they were leaning close to Jenna. The scene in front of you felt like a punch to the stomach, your body freezing as the sight registered.

It wasn't just the proximity of their bodies; it was the way they seemed so at ease with one another. Jenna's laughter rang out, soft and warm, a sound you hadn't heard in weeks.

You took a shaky step closer, trying to convince yourself that there was some reasonable explanation. Maybe it was a colleague, a friend—someone who worked with her.

It had to be.

But the way Jenna tilted her head toward the person, her gaze soft and unguarded, made it impossible to ignore the intimacy between them.

Your breath caught when she reached out, her fingers brushing a strand of blonde hair away from the other person's face. The gesture was gentle, almost tender, and it felt like someone had grabbed your chest and squeezed. You couldn't tear your eyes away, even as your stomach churned with a sickening mix of disbelief and hurt.

She hadn't looked at you like that in months. Maybe longer.

The thought hit you before you could stop it, an unwelcome truth that only deepened the ache spreading through your chest. You tried to rationalize it—tried to tell yourself that you were overthinking, that you didn't know the full story—but the way they leaned toward each other, the way Jenna's lips curled into a smile that felt entirely too genuine, shattered every excuse you could muster.

You stood there, rooted to the spot, the bustling crowd around you fading into the background. Your fingers clenched at your sides, the hope you'd clung to so tightly now slipping through your grasp like sand.

The excitement that had carried you here dissolved, leaving behind a hollow ache that spread through your entire body.

You didn't know who the blonde was, couldn't make out their features fully, but it didn't matter.

All you could see was the way Jenna looked at them—the way she leaned in to whisper something, her expression so open and free. It was a look that once belonged to you, and now, it felt like a memory you could barely hold onto.

Your mind raced, your emotions a whirlwind of confusion, anger, and heartbreak. Part of you wanted to march up to her, to demand answers, to ask her why she hadn't looked at you like that in so long. But another part of you—the quieter, more vulnerable part—knew you wouldn't.

Because what if the answer was exactly what you feared?

So, you stayed where you were, your chest tightening with every second that passed. The Jenna you'd come here to surprise, the one you'd hoped to reconnect with, felt farther away than ever—even though she was standing just a few feet in front of you.

You had wanted so badly to see her face, to feel like everything could be okay again. But now, as the scene played out before you, all you could think about was how foolish you'd been to hope.

You couldn't look away, no matter how much it hurt. It was like watching a glass shatter in slow motion—every crack and splinter dragging out the inevitable.

Jenna didn't even glance around the terminal, didn't seem to notice anyone but the blonde in front of her. Her focus was entirely on them, like the rest of the world didn't exist.

You tried to remind yourself that she couldn't have been looking for you—there was no reason for her to. She didn't know you were here, waiting, desperate to surprise her. Still, it didn't dull the sting. It didn't stop the ache in your chest as you watched her laugh, completely unaware of your presence. She looked so... comfortable. So at ease. She didn't even flinch when someone brushed past her shoulder, her attention glued to the person in front of her.

You felt rooted to the spot, your legs heavy and unwilling to move. All you could do was watch it unfold—the way her smile seemed unguarded, the way her body tilted slightly toward theirs as though pulled by an invisible string. It didn't matter that you couldn't hear what they were saying; their body language spoke louder than words ever could.

You wanted to believe that you were overreacting, that there was some innocent explanation for what you were seeing. But the longer you stood there, the harder it became to convince yourself. Jenna didn't look like someone who was holding back. She didn't look like someone who was keeping anyone at arm's length.

And it hit you—how easy it all seemed for her.

Maybe leaving you really had been that easy for her.

The thought clawed at your insides, tearing through the fragile hope you'd carried with you. You'd thought it wouldn't be simple for her to drift away, that the bond you shared was too strong to break so easily. You'd convinced yourself that, deep down, she'd be struggling as much as you were, that her distance was temporary, that she still cared.

But now? Watching her like this, so at ease, so unbothered, you couldn't help but feel foolish. Maybe it really hadn't been hard for her to let go. Maybe she'd been letting go for a long time—so slowly, so quietly, that you hadn't even noticed until it was too late.

Your chest tightened as the realization sunk in. You'd spent weeks, months, holding on to the hope that she would come back to you, that the distance between you wasn't as wide as it felt. And yet, here she was, looking happier and more present than you'd seen her in months—just not with you.

You blinked rapidly, your throat burning as you fought the urge to cry. It wasn't supposed to feel like this.

Seeing her again, being here, was supposed to remind you why you'd fought so hard to hold on. Instead, it was like a door being slammed shut in your face, a reminder of just how far apart you'd grown.

The irony wasn't lost on you: she was finally here, right in front of you, but it felt like you'd already lost her a long time ago.

You stood frozen, watching Jenna and the girl, their conversation seeming so effortless, so natural.

Their laughter was soft, shared like a secret, and it pulled them closer. You didn't need to hear what they were saying to know where it was heading.

The way Jenna leaned in just slightly, her head tilting toward the blonde, was enough to make your stomach drop.

You'd waited so long for this moment—for Jenna to come home, for her to hold you again, to console you with promises that everything was going to be okay. But as you watched her now, it was clear that wasn't going to happen. Not here. Not now. Not with you.

Your chest felt heavy, a knot tightening in your throat as you took a shaky step back, then another.

The world around you blurred, but it wasn't until you felt the wet streak on your cheek that you realized you were crying. The tears came slow and small, a quiet betrayal of everything you'd tried so hard to hold in.

You couldn't watch anymore. You couldn't stay there, hoping for something that had already slipped through your fingers. Without a second thought, you turned and started walking, weaving through the crowd with no real direction, just an aching need to get away.

You left before Jenna could see you, before she could ever know you were there.

And as you disappeared into the throng of travelers, you felt the weight of it—the emptiness, the quiet finality of leaving without a trace.

#jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #vada cavell x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x fem!reader #wednesday addams x reader #mabel x reader #melissa barrera x reader #sam carpenter

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imsofreakingtired · 2 days ago

Note

sevika gets drunk and ends up forgetting about her own wife and ends up in the brothel, and reader end up knowing all, but dont have courage enough to confront her, but she noticed the changes on your behavior like, dont wanting kisses often, dont wanting to cudlle at nigh or worried when she tells you that she have to work and etc.

(I am obsseeeed how you write angst, mwah mwah)

- 🧸

ohh absolutely. i love that idea<3 also tysmm!

leave you with nothing

content warning(s): idiot lesbians (slight angst) (not too bad i swear)

"are you sick of me? would you like to be? i'm trying to tell you something something that i've already said"

~~~

i think she would get drunk only when work was really stressing her out. or if her sense of self-worth is just at an all-time low (i’m thinking of the time silco dead up ordered her to help with a dead body, which was shocking even to renni, who was literally the mother of the victim.) when she feels trapped, hopeless, powerless, like the enterprise isn’t getting zaun anywhere closer to its ultimate goal. she doesn’t want to confide in you about this, she wants to keep up a front of stoic confidence to you, because she’s afraid if she reveals herself to be vulnerable you will leave her.

so she drinks her troubles away and tells herself she’ll clear everything up to you in the morning if you ask why she came home late, she tells herself she’ll just play a round of cards or two with her drinking mates, that you’ll never know the difference (never thinks she’s more sober than when she’s stinking drunk.)

one drink leads to another and she’s vaguely aware of her desire for something else that night - a woman’s touch, a woman’s voice, someone to hold her and tell her she is doing alright. she’s too drunk to remember where she’s felt this before, who has held her like this, and all she is aware of is an all-consuming loneliness that threatens to devour her alive. she’s thrown back into the old days before she met you, when all that awaited her after a hard day’s work was an empty apartment strewn with emptier liquor bottles. she doesn’t want to go back to this home.

so she makes her way to babette’s, incredibly calm and collected—she’s good at playing sober when she wants to, and babette is surprised to see her check in— isn’t she married? — but she asks no questions and Sevika sees a woman who kind of looks like you. the eyes. the shape of the face. the hips, the way she moves in the dusky light. she picks her immediately.

she’s too drunk to care about how it might look, asking the woman if it’s alright if she just lay with her head in the woman’s lap. telling her to stroke her hair and let her sleep for a while. even on the walk here she was hot with desire, but now she just wants to rest and hear the pretty words you would whisper in her ear when you thought she was asleep.

she comes home at around 4 in the morning and promptly passes out on the couch, not even bothering to change. smelling of someone else’s perfume. you find her there in the morning and she doesn’t remember a single thing except that the coins in her pocket are gone.

you know the signs; you’re not stupid, but you don’t want to think the worst. until you overhear Chuck talking to some of the patrons at the last drop.

“yeah, Sevika was here, swept the table and then left in the middle of the round talking about Babette’s.” “Babette’s?? doesn’t she have a wife?”

you wander through the rooms in a daze for the rest of the day as you wait for Sevika to come home. you’re furious at first, then you’re cold with dread. was it you? had you done something wrong to make her want something else, someone else?

you don’t want to confront her, you’ve convinced yourself by now that whatever it was, it must have been something you did wrong, and even though you can’t think of a single time Sevika seemed angry or even unhappy with you, you can’t bring yourself to start the conversation.

she comes home tired and her eyes light up when she sees you. when she tries to kiss you, you turn your face away. her hand reaches for your waist, you dodge her touch.

“baby, what’s with you?” she asks. “i smell funny or what?”

yeah, you smell of babette’s. you smell of liquor. you smell of lies.

“nothing. i’m tired. you want dinner?”

“i ate already,” she says. “i’m going to bed.”

okay, so we’re playing ignorant, you think. two can play at that game.

as the days go on you avoid her more and more. you still clean up after her in the apartment, cook her meals, wash and mend her clothes as usual. but you don’t stay up waiting for her to come home, and you don’t let her kiss you in bed. Sevika’s at a complete loss—she’s never seen you this way before. unlike you, she’d never wonder if maybe she were at fault. if she feels she hasn’t done wrong, she’d stick to that conviction to the bitter end. but it exasperates her, the way you elude her touches, answer her with monosyllables, stare at her with a strange apprehension in your eyes when you think she isn’t looking.

“i’m working late tonight,” she tells you one day. “don’t wait up.”

you feel your heart drop. she’s already a regular for someone at babette’s, you know it.

“what time do you think you’ll be back?” you ask, a little too quickly.

she looks at you oddly. you’ve never asked her this before. “i’ll be back when i’m back.” her brows furrow in concern. “why, is something wrong?”

“no,” you say.

after she leaves you pace the apartment for about an hour before making up your mind and running out into the street. hood over your face so you won’t be recognized, you run straight to Babette’s and burst through the doors, ignoring the strange looks you receive. no one deters you—you were also a frequent patron before you met Sevika, but you see the workers look at you and whisper to one another. it only confirms your suspicions. you reach Babette’s office and she looks up at you in surprise.

“can i help you, hon?”

“Sevika,” you say breathlessly. “how many times has she checked in here?”

her brows lift. she checks her records. “i don’t do this for anyone, you know - confidential information. but since you’re her wife…”

“how many times, please?”

she looks up at you. “just once. a month ago. she seemed inebriated. stayed only for two hours.”

just once? and drunk? Sevika, drunk? you couldn’t imagine it if you tried.

you walk back out of the brothel, barely thinking of where you’re going, barely thinking at all, when you hear a familiar voice call out your name.

Sevika’s walking swiftly down the street towards you, her eyes dark.

“what are you doing here?” she asks, grabbing your wrist.

“what am I doing here?” you shoot back. “i’m here finding out what you were doing here!”

she looks up at the sign of Babette’s place, as if she can’t understand what you mean. “i haven’t stepped foot in this place,” she growls.

“Babette’s records say otherwise.” your voice is cold.

then it all comes back to her at once. Sevika’s lips part slightly as she recalls that night, the desperation, the way she had lain in another woman’s lap.

“baby,” she says. “listen.”

“i’m done listening,” you snap, and turn on your heel. you walk away from her, leaving her behind on the street outside Babette’s.

~~~

note: idk why this idea struck me as so funny i think i'm sleep deprived lol. obviously she will explain herself as best as she can and you'll forgive her. she sleeps on the couch tonight though.

~~~

taglist~ @notlores @demothers-empty-blog @theyluvbix @archangeldyke-all @prettyinpink69 @beatdariceee @sevikaaaalover @intrnetrbl @00valentina-writes00 @zelluna @mamas-evil-hag @sevikassluttywaist @justhereforsubsevika

#sevika #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika fanfic #sevika headcanon #sevika angst #sevika x you #sevika x female reader #song: lovers rock by tv girl

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greynatomy · 2 days ago

Text

the space between us

ingrid engen x reader

hi, it’s been a while

———

You met in the strangest way—one of those encounters that should have been fleeting but instead rearranges the entire landscape of your life. It wasn’t a grand romance at first, just a quiet unfolding, a slow realization that her presence fits into the empty spaces of your days. In hindsight, you realize it was never small. It was everything.

At the time, you didn’t know how brief it would be.

You met on one fateful day, losing your grip on your dog’s leash, he rushes to a person sitting at a cafe.

“Oh, hello little one.” She reaches down to pet the dog’s head.

“Benny!” You chase after him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to let go of his leash.”

She looks up to meet your eyes and you swear time stopped.

“Well I’m glad you did.”

“Y/N.” You reach your hand out. She gives you a smile, taking your hand in hers.

“Ingrid.”

It starts with a text. A ridiculous, unfiltered thought they send late at night that somehow finds you in the middle of your sleepiness.

“Did you know that your brain blends out a lot of noises your body makes?”

“Huh?” You reply, squinting your eyes from the brightness of your phone.

“If you were able to hear it, you would slowly drive yourself insane.”

You smile in the dark, the glow of your screen paints soft shadows on the wall.

“That would absolutely drive me insane.”

And just like that, a door is opened.

That night, you talk for hours. About anything, everything and nothing all at once. About her childhood fears. About the way you pick at your nails when you’re nervous. About how some songs feel like home even if you don’t know why.

“You ever feel like you’ve met someone before even when you haven’t?”

“Like déjà vu?” she replies, her voice drowsy through the phone.

“No. Like…fate.”

She didn’t reply after that, you heard the way her breathing evened out, knowing she fell asleep.

“Goodnight.”

The days that followed are filled with stolen moments, with messages slipped into the space of obligations.

You were on call again late at night. You knew she was half asleep but you couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“Can I tell you something?” you ask.

“Anything.”

There was a moment of silence as you find the courage to speak.

“I think I’m scared.”

You can hear her bedsheets rustling. “Of what?”

“Of how much I feel this. How I don’t wanna lose you.”

There was another moment of silence.

“You won’t lose me.” she whispers.

You don’t reply right away, but when you do, your voice is barely there, your vulnerability can be heard.

“Promise?”

Ingrid promises, but sometimes promises aren’t enough.

The unraveling happens so slowly that you don’t notice at first. Maybe neither of you wanted to.

She signed with Barcelona, promising that nothing will change and distance is just a small obstacle.

But the texts become less frequent. The calls grow shorter. The easy and effortless way she once reached out to you becomes hesitant, uncertain. You tell yourself that she’s just been busy. That nothing is wrong.

But something is.

“Are we okay?” you ask one night, after yet another day of silence.

She hesitates.

“Yeah. I’m just… I don’t know. I’ve just got a lot going on.”

You want to believe her. But there’s a distance in her words now, something slipping through the cracks.

“You know you can talk to me, right?”

“I know.”

But she doesn’t . Not in the way she used to.

And then one day, they just… stop.

Not in a dramatic and catastrophic way. Not with a fight, not with a storm of angry words. Just a slow fading, like ink dissolving in water.

At first you make excuses. She’s busy. She’s tired. She had a long day. Everything will go back to normal again.

But it doesn’t.

You try once more, sending her a short message.

“Goodnight, sleep well. I love you ❤️”

It sits there, unread.

And you know.

The absence settles into you like a ghost. You still catch yourself reaching for you phone, expecting her name to light up your screen. Some nights you find yourself scrolling through old messages, rereading conversations that once felt infinite, listening to the many voice notes she used to send.

You tell yourself that it was brief. That it shouldn’t hurt this much. But it does.

Because it was real. Even if it was short.

Even if it’s over.

One night, much later, you find yourself looking up at the moon, remembering a moment a few days into her move to Barcelona.

“Oh wow, the moon is beautiful tonight. Not as beautiful as you, but still beautiful.” you tell her as you stand outside, earphones in your ears.

“Thank you.”

“How’s your moon looking like?”

“Beautiful.”

“Do we have the same moon? Wait. Duh. There’s only one moon.”

She laughs. “You’re so cute.”

As you look at the moon, you wonder if she’s thinking of you too.

If somewhere in the quiet of her own loneliness, she remembers the sound of your laughter.

If she ever misses you the way you miss her.

If she ever looked at her phone, just for a second, and almost reach out.

But she does’t.

And you don’t.

So, instead, you whisper a goodbye to the sky.

And let her go.

#woso #woso x reader #woso community #ingrid engen #ingrid engen x reader

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somerandomcockroach · 15 hours ago

Text

*sets the sofa, sits down* AND WE RIGHT AWAY START FROM THE PROWL IS AND WILL BE A MURDERED STATEMENT. GOOD AHAHAH Love how much Prowl improved in reading emotions. Orion. You ask Prowl something that he probably memorized from the book and he of course will tell you a book definition. Don't cut it with your merely "It's a massacre" Still wonder at the fact of how much functionists had to f*** up the whole situation for the beasts, who are more than capable of intelligent thinking and just different by their mode or different things that can not even appear in them in the first place, for this whole situation to appear that even the "compromise" seems like a hardly reachable option. I understand if other monsters who are, more bests than mechas. But most of them seem to be, decent, normal, minding their business, just trying to find a fuel/food, yeah, this last is easily solvable.

Yeah, Orion, exactly, let me sit with you

Oh, here we are, Orion snaps at Prowl. Do it, he went in a different direction, the one leading to murder and blood, you know. The problems that are solved hard way are never logical ahah, good luck, Prowl *looks at Orion trying to see a glimpse of emotion from Prowl for at least his own death to crack his logic* I need a minute Orion for god's sake could you like, fake laws and give him your own written full of ponies and funsies?? You were giving him official books with laws, I'm sure a lot of written by Functionalists and you expect to break the logic that was based on it??? OH RATCHET. PROWL CAN DO NOTHING. OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAYOKA YAOKAYAOKAY. OKAY. NO ONE SAID RATCHET??? RATCHET, COULD, JUST, ARRRGHHHHHH BASTARDS ORION AND SHOCKWAVE MAXED THE "LOOK AWAY IN TIME" ABILITY BUT NO ONE TOLD RATCHET? OH YES. GETTING RID OF YOUR OWN SIGHT AND LEAVE. I BET THIS IS NOT A LOGICAL THING TO CONSIDER FOR PROWL EHEHHEHEE OH MY GOD sorry I need to sit because. Yes clean floor is an easy goal. But Prowl. You are. About to get such a big and complicated to reach goal that it is so mindblowing to now look at you and consider other golems. (Eh, sudden thought of someone getting off his artefact) Prowl. on which side you play I don't understand anymore. Are you trying to make a god out of Orion to scare functionalists by actually making good for them or what.

PROWL YOU COULD. YOU COULD COME UP WITH SUCH GREAT PLANS OF MASS MIGRATION OR AT LEAST BETTER HIDINGS FOR THEM. TRICKING ALL THE TROOPS. YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO FIGHT EVIL, NOT JOIN IT. oh, CONGRATS, your education went to the point where it became wrong! Congrats, Prowl, we are on a changing point ahah! YES IT IS HIS ARMY. HIS ARMY OF POWERFUL, MAGICAL, SAVED AND THANKFUL BEASTS WHO CAN FIGHT FOR SHOCKWAVE, AND I ACTUALLY WISH THAT THEY DID. I WISH THEY DID BEFORE IT WAS TOO LATE. PROWL CAUGHT HIS BEFORE HE EVEN STUMBLED. PROWL MAKES WRONG THINGS BUT. BUT THE FACT THAT HE ACTUALLY COVERS HIM THIS WAY NO MATTER HOW BAD IT IS. I'M SURE ORION IS NOT HAPPY. SHOCKWAVE HAS NO ONE TO COVER HIM WHERE IT COULD KILL HIM. BUT EVERYTHING AROUND HIM IS BUILT WITH GREEN WALLS THAT ARE MUCH STRONGER THAN DENSE WALLS OF BLOOD.

I have several levels of uncomfortable feelings from this part

YOU DID NOT JUST GO TO SHOCKWAVE'S ACADEMY. THEY ARE NOT THE BEASTS YOU CAN TOUCH. EVER. OH MY FRICKING GOD OKAY HERE I CRY FOR REAL. THE SCENE OF HIM. SWORD AND BOOK. PROTECTING WITH EVERYTHING HE HAS. STANDING LIKE A MOUNTAIN AND THE PRIMUS ITSELF

THE COUNCIL WOULDN'T LET HIM DO THIS.... ..... what...... The burns are from?..

............ I just understand that. That I'm sure the way Shockwave "changed" is so many times harder and more powerful because of who he is and what he is capable of... Get Prowl, Orion nd Ratchet at one table and ask them if what they do will find a punishment from Primus.

............

....................... When Orion is in troubled feelings Prowl searches for Shockwave. All goals are tangled, lost and complicated. His goal became something he cannot reach no more since it evolved too hard. Oh my god I wanna see how... how that goal, something he cannot reach no more, just becomes a part of him, like a self forged motor heart of his, just to keep living. Are they... Shockwave's students?... F** THEY ARE I AM CRYING AGAIN SHIT F** YOU KEF I CANNOT NO MORE DON'T JSHDEDC AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA OKAY BREATH, COMEONE. LAST WILL. *INTENSIFIES CRYING* F*** YOUUUUUUUUUU THEY. EVERYTHING. HE LEFT EVERYTHING TO ORION. SKIDS???? THUNDERCRACKER?? OH DID ORION NEVER HOLD SHOCKWAVE'S SWORD??? or just became too weak from all the events... OH MY GOD THE SCENE OF KNEELING, THE SCENE OF THE STUDENT OF THEIR PASSED MASTER ON THE VERGE OF CRYING AND ALL THE STUDENTS OF HIS DEAR FRIEND KNEELING BEFORE HIM. I AM DEAD NO ONE TALK TO ME. PROWL LOOK. LOOK WHAT AN ILLOGICAL LONG TERM EFFORT MAKES. IT MAKES LITERALLY INEFFICIENT MIRACLE. THE MIRACLE THAT IS WORTH ALL THE PERCENTAGES. YOU DO NOT KILL AND WORK FOR IT TO BE MORE THAN ONE DAY MERCY I mean Ratchet got a boyfriend this way come on

WEHGEHGEWFHWFEWE HELP. I imagined that Shockwave had a score system or something for Skids to actually say "Best student" as something not of a brag level SHOCKWAVE YOU SMART SWEET ROLL I LOVE YOU. HE KNEW HOW TO DO IT RIGHT. SUCK IT COUNCIL AND COUNCIL DARE YOU TO TRY TO USE IT IN YOUR ADVANTAGE.

PROWL I SWEAR TO ALL THE GODS

(side note can I kiss you for just... rotating every possible side of Prowl? Like, I am just, suddenly understood that just a thing of Prowl assuming that Shockwave could betray Orion is something so fittable for him since he considers everything but just... when you look at it from the side of coming up with it. I wouldn't??)

SHOCKWAVE WHAT DID YOU DO.

They are still not executed. So I am sure it isn't about the saving monsters thing. I think Prowl leads the idea in the right direction. I am confused though at why Shockwave turned into demon at this exact time. What was the trigger. I am leaning closer to the dark magic than betrayal anyway

THE GOD MUST BE WRONG

RIGHT DIRECTION, PROWL.

ARE YOU... did you just... led him straight to mimics plotline....

Part 2 of Golem!Prowl AU!

_____________________

“I hate it,” Orion sighs.

“It's understandable. But you can't change the system from the inside without becoming part of it first.”

“I was hoping I could become part of it without becoming a murderer.”

“It's okay” says Prowl ”You don't have to. That's what you have me for.”

Orion twitches.

Part 1. Next->

The fic under the cut⤵️

Orion looks...sick. Worried. Scared.

“Prowl, do you know what the Great Hunt is?”

Prowl tilts his head keeping up with the lists he received from the Council.

“Traditional raids on monsters made to consolidate control over the land holdings of regular Mechs.”

Orion rubs the bridge of his nose

“It's a massacre.”

Prowl twitches his wing.

“It is a measure of intimidation against creatures that cannot be negotiated with. Brutal, I don't deny that, but experience shows it works. The destructive activity of monsters lessens considerably if they know their actions can be followed by punishment.”

Orion stares at him. For a long time. Silently.

Tensely studying him, as if seeing him for the first time.

“You think killing them instead of finding a compromise is...right?”

Prowl thinks he must be treading on unstable ground.

“I think it works. That is all. Monsters do a lot of damage with their existence. They kill, destroy and pillage. If periodically reducing their numbers reduces their damage, it confirms the effectiveness of the strategy.”

“They just want to live. Primus' sake, they want to eat.”

Prowl sighs. More for appearances than for any real effect.

“I suppose I can't judge them for wanting to survive. It makes sense.”

Orion nods.

He looks oddly pensive.

“Ratchet keeps picking up wounded...” he stammers, apparently trying to find a suitable alternative to the word monster “...wounded beastformers. I've been to his house. It's generous, but I'm afraid of what will happen if he gets caught doing it.”

Prowl frowns

“He should have stopped.”

“You wouldn't understand.” sighs Orion ”Him. Shockwave. We want to help. To make things better. I don't need you to chide me for disobeying the rules, I need you to figure out how to change them. Ghosts and insecticons deserve freedom as much as we do.”

“But...”

Orion looks at him angrily.

“No. Whatever you're going to say in response to that. No. I know you're driven primarily by logic, but I need you to remember it well. All sentient beings deserve to live free. Do you understand? All of them. Period.”

Prowl rolls up the lists and interlocks his fingers in front of him. There are small scuffs on his thumbs and index fingers from constant writing. He occupies himself with running his fingers over them, feeling the difference in texture.

“Mech's freedom in such a case ends where someone else's hungry jaws begin. You can't expect monsters and Mechs to just coexist in peace if you give them freedom.”

“No” sighed Orion ”That's why I support Shockwave's idea with creating an academy for magically gifted Mechs. He's helping to show the world that so-called 'dark creatures' can be as civilized citizens as any Mech. He teaches them to find that compromise. We can't just expect centuries of hate and fear to be forgotten once the laws change. We must direct this process. To help the Mechs understand and accept each other. Guide them, you might say.”

Prowl feels a headache coming on, as it always does when Orion requires him to logically solve a problem the answer to which lies in the feelings rather than the intellect. He's not built for this. It irritates him.

Orion stops right in front of him and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Tell me what you think of this. If...let's pretend for a second that my morality fiddles don't matter anymore. That the problem of Mechs and monsters coexisting is something you alone need to solve. And solve it in such a way that the outcome is optimal for us as a society. To maximize the number of happy citizens. What would you do?”

Prowl is silent for a moment.

Orion squeezes his shoulder lightly before continuing.

“'Free from my judgmental conclusions, Prowl. From the standpoint of pure logic. What should we do?”

What to do...Prowl's thought process finally finds a direct and understandable train of thought. Monsters make up a paltry few percent of the population of all living Mechs. The numbers fluctuate depending on which region is being considered of course.

In some cities, some types of monsters are considered just fancy Mechs. Some monsters have risen from the status of savages to being respectable Mechs over the course of history. Even Orion's best friend, Shockwave, could be regarded as a mystical creature in some regions due to his gift of flight.

Nevertheless. The percentage is still minuscule.

But even that tiny percentage takes a significant toll on the economy and quality of life, because just one uncontrollable creature can terrorize an entire city.

He notes the weight of Orion's hand on his shoulder. Not judgmental. Orion promised he wouldn't judge.

“I'd get rid of the monsters.”

“Oh” Orion blinks ”Locked them in cages? Chased them away? Killed them?”

Prowl twitches his wings

“Banishment will only move the problem in terms of space, and imprisonment isn't secure enough. It would make sense to get rid of the monsters. Once and for all. It wouldn't be pretty or merciful, but it would greatly improve life for everyone, at the cost of a tiny percentage of living beings who were already of no use.”

“And you believe that would be a good outcome?”

“I believe it would.”

“But you're not a Mech yourself.” Orion reminds “Would you be willing to be exterminated along with the rest of the creatures if your plan were put into action?”

Prowl tilts his head slightly. Just to make it easier to look at Orion.

“You created me to, as you put it, help you make the world a better place. Sometimes in order to improve something you have to cut out the factors that get in the way. It's simple logic.”

“You didn't answer my question” Orion points out ”How would you feel if I decided to take your advice and destroy all mystical creatures, including you?”

“I am not made to feel” straightens Prowl ”My job is to find solutions to problems. I gave you a solution.”

“You don't include yourself in the reckoning.” snorts Orion “Again. You talk as if you will never be affected by anything.”

As it should be, Prowl thinks. He's a conscientious worker and a ..seemingly law-abiding citizen. He does what he can to make Mech's lives better. Even though he may not be a Mech, he's doing the right thing. Why would something happen to him?

Orion removes his hand from his shoulder and shakes his head.

“'Alright. I've heard you. But I want to make it as clear as possible - what you suggested is immoral, cruel, and should never be implemented. Do you understand me? Never. If you want to build a better world, you cannot and will not build it on other people's deaths. Have I made myself clear enough?”

“Perfectly clear.”

“Good.”

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

Ratchet looks...many words could be used to describe him.

He's standing in the center of the trial room with a lot of emotions written all over his face. But if Prowl had to describe - he'd say Ratchet practically radiates rage. Not violent. More of a powerless one.

The rage of a Mech who knows he's cornered, but refuses to even consider giving up and admitting defeat.

Prowl sits in a far dark corner, silently documenting the whole process.

The council is furious. They apparently discovered that Ratchet has been dragging wounded monsters to his house and healing them all this time.

Which is ... very much as expected from Ratchet.

Prowl wants Orion here, but both Orion and Shockwave are now on a diplomatic mission a few days away, so the only support Ratchet has is...Prowl. Who can't help in any way, so he just sits there and meticulously documents the whole process so that Orion can then be informed of every single detail.

The council doesn't look happy. They say that Ratchet is sabotaging the hunters' efforts to contain the monsters by his actions.They are angered by Ratchet's absolute determination to insist that he was doing the right thing.

Prowl would be impressed, if only Ratchet's stubbornness made sense.

It's simple math. Ratchet saves lives. Monsters take them.

Thus Ratchet's life has much, much more weight and is more valuable.

If Ratchet would just accept the Council's decision now and promise to stop curing monsters, the whole problem would be solved as efficiently as possible.

But Ratchet, of course, persists. Probably just because that's his nature.

Ratchet can also afford to be so stubborn because his skill level makes him incredibly valuable to the Council. Prowl knows for a fact that if any other medic were in Ratchet's shoes right now - they would have been sentenced to banishment or execution by now.

When Ratchet realizes exactly how the Council caught him, his rage is instantly replaced by shock.

This revelation is enough to startle him and make him back down. To nod and numbly swear that he will end his "blasphemous hobby."

Prowl carefully folds the scribbled scrolls into the case as the Council doors close behind both his and Ratchet's backs.

“Orion will be happy to know that you were prudent enough to avoid death.”

Ratchet shifts his gaze to him

“You knew? Knew they could see through our optics? Did you know they could find out anything about any Mech at any time?”

Prowl tucks his hands behind his back and nods politely

“Knowing things is my job.”

Ratchet sighs. Heavy. Exhausted. Doomed maybe.

“How does Orion deal with it...”

“Orion has a reputation with the Council. They consider him a decent, law-abiding Mech, so they see no point in keeping tabs on him.”

“Are you kidding?” Raetchet raises his eyebrows “Orion can't do everything he does and remain ‘decent’ in their eyes. He and Shockwave practically cuddle with every possible creature every day and all they get is a little reprimand????”

Prowl tilts his head

“Orion learned to look away in time. And he has me for everything else.”

Ratchet doesn't answer him. He rubs the bridge of his nose tiredly and starts to walk away.

His shoulders look oddly tense. He looks defeated, but not in the way a Mech would describe a slain turbofox. No. There is a deep-seated, angry determination.

A willingness to act dictated by desperation.

The news of the surveillance has thrown Ratchet off balance but not knocked him off his feet as the Council had hoped.

Prowl looks at his back and walks off in the opposite direction. The problems of living, feeling Mechs have always been and will always be mysterious to him.

Ratchet does what no one expects him to do.

He doesn't stage protests. He doesn't accept the verdict.

He leaves silently, taking with him only medical supplies and an old lantern.

The council is furious, turning over every stone in an attempt to find him, but all in vain.

Prowl's daily duties now include “keeping track of any possible news related to Ratchet.“

And then, no matter what he finds, report to Orion that he's found nothing.

Put on a little regular show for all concerned. Show the Mechs in the Council that Orion remains loyal and does his best to find and bring to justice any blasphemer whether it's a friend of his or not.

He is his purpose. But the more time passes, the harder it becomes for him to trace the path to the fulfillment of that purpose. He envies the golems whose only function is to scrub floors. Their lives are understandable. A clean floor is a temporary but easily attainable goal. They are happy to fulfill the goal for which they were created. And then they're happy knowing their job is done well, until the floor gets dirty again.

Prowl is walking towards his goal, but it's not getting any closer. He knows what he needs to do to get there, but the variables are constantly changing and he has to adjust his course of action each time according to new information, conditions, and Orion's opinion on them.

Politics is infinitely more complicated than mopping floors after all.

————————————

Orion doesn't turn around on him as they walk down the hall. But Prowl can physically feel the attention focused on him.

“Prowl. Did you know I was awarded today for my ''outstanding service'' by the entire Council?”

“I did not.

“They've gone through all the reports and discovered that according to the logs me and my mechs are performing excellently when it comes to eliminating mystical threats.”

“Congratulations.”

“It's funny that you feel the need to congratulate me too” Orion continues ”Because I certainly didn't give orders to eliminate anyone.”

Their pacing doesn't falter. They continue to walk calmly down the hallway as if nothing is happening. But Prowl can practically taste the increased tension.

“Prowl” says Orion “Why is the Council rewarding me for murder? And where are the Mechs they think I killed now?”

Prowl checks the scrolls. Not because he doesn't remember. Just to buy some time to formulate an answer.

“They were the inevitable casualties. I took charge of their destruction. On your behalf.”

“You know how I feel about killing.”

“I know.” nods Prowl for some reason. Why? Not that Orion can see it “I also know how the Council feels about Mechs showing suspicious activity. They would have started watching you as soon as they noticed you were letting monsters slip away from you suspiciously often.”

Orion...sounds... conflicted. He sounds struggling.

“You killed them.”

“I gave the order. As any other hunter would have done in my place.”

Orion stops so abruptly that Prowl doesn't catch the moment and bumps into his back.

“We're supposed to be better than other hunters Prowl! How can you still not grasp that concept!!!”

Orion looks furious. Prowl discreetly looks around.

Around them is a relatively empty hall. Windows covered by heavy curtains. The cleaning golems scurrying back and forth.

“I understand” he says “But let me remind you that you cannot test their trust infinitely. Your 'being better' rests on your reputation. And it's my job to make sure your reputation lives up to it.”

Orion looks at him...Prowl isn't even sure how to describe it. Usually he has to argue with Orion's logic, proving his point but this time...Orion is the one arguing with him.

It feels strange. Uncomfortable.

He's doing everything Orion wanted him to do, but for the sake of it he has to do something Orion can't stand.

Orion clenches and unclenches his fists helplessly. Rubbing the fabric of his cloak.

“Shockwave can save lives without killing anyone.”

“Shockwave is one unfortunate act away from serious consequences” shakes his head Prowl “His academy is looking more and more like his own small army every day. His students are not loyal to the Council, they are loyal to Shockwave. And the Council knows that. And will use it. And it won't be pretty when it happens.”

“No...” shakes his head Orion, not addressing anyone in particular ”No no no no no...”

Prowl can understand why Orion is upset. But he also knows he's right this time. Shockwave may look like a fine example of mercy, but he walks on the very edge of the law and any wrong move will instantly turn him from “out of the box thinker” to renegade.

The Council will come for his head and the Council will get his head because Shockwave will have nothing to prove his loyalty with.

Orion will. Prowl made sure of that.

Orion can bend the rules, can borrow the Council's trust, can do all sorts of reprehensible things. He can stumble and fall and then fall a couple more times and find that it doesn't hurt him because Prowl caught him even before he stumbled.

He did it at the cost of lives. Yes.

But Orion's life is far more valuable than the lives of monsters.

Society doesn't need monsters to become better, but society needs Orion. Monsters need Orion. Because if Orion is gone, no one else will care about his idealistic goal.

“Sometimes I forget how creepy you can be...” mutters Orion ”You're going to betray me sooner or later.”

“I could never betray you.” Prowl twitches his wing.

“You've successfully betrayed what I believe in.”

“It's fine with me if you hate me for it. As long as you are alive, safe, and can continue your quest.”

Orion falls silent.

He turns away to stare at a strip of light from a nearby window. There are beautiful, wrought iron grates that cast an intricate, curved shadow on the floor and walls.

A golem janitor hurries past them.

“I hate it,” Orion sighs.

“It's understandable. But you can't change the system from the inside without becoming part of it first.”

“I was hoping I could become part of it without becoming a murderer.”

“It's okay” says Prowl ”You don't have to. That's what you have me for.”

Orion twitches.

Shockwave falls.

Prowl isn't there to see for himself, but a lot of rumors reach him. Lots. Lots of rumors.

The Mechs say the time of the Great Hunt has come.

They say that when the hunters arrived on the Academy's doorstep, Shockwave didn't let them in.

They say. He stood in front of the gates.

With sword in one hand and the Primus Covenant in the other, and declared that his school was a sanctuary for all living beings in need of protection.

Claimed that anyone who dared set foot inside with a weapon would have to go through him.

“And they retreated!” gestures Orion frantically ”They didn't dare test him! They backed away from the walls of the Academy. I don't know how many monsters were left alive in the forests that night, but none of Shockwave's students were harmed...”

Prowl listens with a healthy dose of wariness

“The Council wouldn't just let him do that.”

Orion begins nervously winding circles around the room.

“You're right, you're right. You're right now and you were right back then. They're going to bring him before the Court by tomorrow, and...”

“There's no chance of that ending well,...is there?" Prowl finishes his thought.

Orion looks pained

“They'll be going through everything he's been up to. Every forged document, every enrolled Mech who by all criteria should be considered a monster. Every time he sheltered them from the Council instead of destroying them. They'll realize what he's been doing and they won't like it at all.”

Prowl...trying to sound reassuring.

“Shockwave has tremendous support from his Academy. There's a chance the Council will be afraid of invoking their wrath and won't judge Shockwave too harshly.”

Orion continues to walk in circles

“You think so?”

“There is a good chance.”

Prowl finds Orion in Sickbay. Which is very disturbing and wrong, because Orion was supposed to be at the Trial. Supporting Shockwave and begging the Council to relent.

But Orion is in Sick Bay. When he shouldn't be.

And he's covered in ugly dark burns. From something Prowl can't recognize.

This is all wrong. It's all--

“What happened at the trial?”

Orion sounds. Startled.

“There was no Trial.”

“What?”

Orion sounds as if something inside him has cracked. In every sense of the phrase.

“The Trial hasn't even had time to begin. He...” Orion clutches his trembling fingers, hoping to still them, but it has no tangible effect. His shoulders are trembling.

He looks like his whole body could be torn apart with one careless touch. “They asked him if he would plead guilty to aiding and abetting dark creatures. All they had time to ask was if he realized he was wrong.”

An uncomfortable, prickly feeling settles in Prowl's mind.

"And?”

Orion squeezes his fingers so hard the creaking of hinges becomes audible.

“It...I...Prowl, his very spark began to ooze dark magic. It was horrible, it was like.. it was eating him from the inside. The entire courtroom became darker than night, many Mechs got burned. I've never seen anything like this before! He..It.. started attacking Mechs and destroying everything...it was like it went crazy...it attacked me and I had to...Prowl I had to fight it! I didn't...I'd heard about it happening but I believed until the last minute that I wouldn't have to face it...”

Gears of chaotic detail fall into place in Prowl's mind.

“Shockwave...turned into a demon...?”

Orion nods shakily

“The Council didn't even have a chance to sentence him or spare him or even sort out what happened.....

He stated that he did not consider himself guilty for what he had done and...Primus was the one who made the judgment before anyone else could...”

That's... terrifying really. For a number of reasons. Losing a close friend is awful, being subjected to such merciless punishment is awful, but also...

What sends a chill down Prowl's back is the moral implication that such punishment carries.

Orion, as if reading his thoughts, raises his gaze to him

“Is what we are doing...wrong? I don't...does Primus think helping monsters is worthy of punishment?”

Now that's a really reasonable question.

Shockwave would say that Primus is merciful and would never condemn a Mech for an act of kindness. But Shockwave ended up being condemned.

Ratchet would say that he doesn't care about Primus' opinion because Primus isn't real. But Ratchet isn't here.

Prowl wants to say that it doesn't matter whether or not Primus thinks they're wrong, what matters is that he can at any moment force his justice on any living spark, so his concept of right has to become Orion's too, or else he's doomed. But Orion is definitely in no state to have a philosophical argument. He looks shattered and Prowl almost instinctively is about to go and find Shockwave, but remembers that option is no longer available.

He's not made for this. Shockwave has always been the one to cheer Orion up on a bad day. Not Prowl, no. Prowl isn't sure what to do so he just sits down next to him and gently places a hand on Orion's shoulder. The one where he can't see the burns, so it shouldn't hurt.

“I don't. I'm used to always relying on your point of view as a reference for what's right and what's wrong.”

“I know” runs a shaky hand over his face Orion “But it's not like I'm perfect. I try, god, I try but just like with the logical part - my vision isn't flawless. Have I been...wrong all this time? Trying to disrupt Primus' intended vision? Maybe what I've been trying to fix never needed fixing. Maybe it's just me being so stupid and not understanding things maybe...???”

Orion cuts himself off mid sentence, realizing that he's started raising his voice and waving his arms around again. He sits back down on the medical bed and curls back up into a miserable ball.

“What should I do....”

“I don't know,” Prowl repeats awkwardly.

He is his goal. But his goal ..doesn't exist anymore?

He doesn't know where to put himself.

Golems are made to fulfill requests. But Orion's request system has been evolving and complicating for so long that Prowl can't tell where its boundaries are anymore.

He feels lost.

——————————

Orion stops cold.

“What...”

Prowl, standing at his right hand looks equally puzzled.

They are in a spacious courtyard bordering directly on the Council building. It's a very beautiful, open and spacious place because it was originally built with large crowds of Mechs in mind. There's wide walkways, a massive circular plaza with fountains and statues.

And right now, it's filled to the brim with Mechs, most of whom Prowl is seeing for the first time. They're all wearing knight armor and carrying weapons, however still kept in their scabbards.

They look like a small army. A very, very diverse army, Prowl realizes. Because there are almost no regular Mechs among them.

Orion looks... distraught.

Mechs? Monsters? A few knights separate and come closer, bowing their heads respectfully.

“Orion Pax.”

There is so much grief and disbelief in Orion's eyes that it physically hurts to look at him.

When he begins to speak his voice sounds hoarse, like someone has poured sand down his throat.

“What...what are you doing here...?”

The knight standing in front of everyone ceremoniously places his palm on his spark.

“We are here to fulfill the last will of our mentor and your friend. Shockwave has decreed in his last will that in the event of his death his legacy must pass to you and those of us who wish to carry on his work must publicly pledge our allegiance to your will.”

Orion clutches his hands together to keep them from starting to shake again.

“But...I was there. I...your mentor was slain by my hands...how can you..."

"It doesn't matter. Everything that was his is now yours." smiles the knight sadly "We will make sure his legacy lives on. And even if the Academy falls - you can always count on us."

At the same time as he finishes speaking, the knight in blue armor drops to one knee, pulling Shockwave's sword from its sheath and holding it out respectfully to Orion... who looks like he's about to start crying.

He dazedly accepts the sword, twitching in surprise when it turns out to be heavier than expected and probably tries to say something, but all that comes out is a short sorrowful sigh.

He just.

Clutches the sword to his chest, watching in disbelief as all the arriving mechs get down on one knee following the blue knight. There aren't that many mechs, but at this point - they seem to rival the sea.

Prowl knows some of them. Many of them made their way to Shockwave after Orion found them. There's the harpy over there who nearly ripped Orion's head off the first time they met. A few ghosts he can remember the faces of but doesn't know the names. He'd had a long argument with Orion that day, trying to convince him that he shouldn't take their word for it when they promised to make it up to him.

And now they're all here. In beautiful new armor. Executing their mentor's last will and testament.

Just like regular Mechs, only a little eccentric looking.

The crowd of hunters that has come to find out what's going on looks as speechless and dumbfounded as Orion.

" What" Orion also gets down on one knee to be on the same level as the knight "what's your name?"

Prowl squints warily from behind Orion's shoulder. The blue mech looks normal, but to be honest, there's no way someone coming out of the Shockwave Academy is going to be an normal plain mech. There has to be a catch somewhere.

"My name is Skids," smiles the knight shyly. "I am...was...Shockwave's best student."

"You are very brave Skids" smiles Orion sorrowfully "I promise to do my best to take care of Shockwave's legacy. And you."

Orion drops his head on the table tiredly.

"This is crazy..."

Prowl pulls an important document from under Orion's head

"It's also quite devious. Shockwave told them specifically to swear to you where all comers can see it. So there's no way for the Council to accuse you of purposely swaying an army of monsters to your side. Everyone saw that this gift was given by force. Now you have many allies with unique skills who are loyal to you and the Council won't try to take them away because they are firmly convinced that you are loyal to the Council."

Prowl examines the document for damage before setting it aside.

"It is..."

"Shockwave gave you an opportunity."

"And I don't know what to do with it!" raises his head Orion "Shockwave was smarter than me and made a lot of plans in case of...I don't know...anything?? I didn't...Prowl. We've been down this path for so long and I was always sure there would be something good at the end of it. Or at least better than it is now..."

Orion rubs his chin and shakes his head awkwardly

"...But if there's only the wrath of Primus and endless darkness at the end...I can't ask anyone to follow me there. I'm not sure if I can keep going myself..."

He sighs helplessly

"I'm not even sure if that even matters."

"The chance that Shockwave would try to use you in some way was about twenty-eight percent."

Orion twitches

"What?"

"I understand that you're hurt by his...fate." Says Prowl "But have you considered the possibility that Shockwave was being punished for betraying you rather than the Council?"

Orion doesn't even answer at first. Just looks at him dazed and bitter.

"Prowl...no. He couldn't have."

"I'm just speculating" shrugs Prowl "Shockwave was punished but as far as I know God didn't bother to name the exact charge. We don't know one hundred percent what exactly caused his...sentence. He may have betrayed the Council's ideas, or he may have betrayed yours."

They both just exist in silence for a while. Processing the information.

"If...and I mean if!!! If Shockwave was convicted of harboring monsters, then everything we've been doing all this time can be considered useless blasphemy..." says Orion slowly "...but if he was punished for something else..."

"...then that would mean there's nothing wrong with your idea." finishes Prowl.

Orion frowns

"It would also mean that Shockwave lied to me..."

Prowl nods. The situation is ugly no matter which way you look at it.

Shockwave, as Prowl knows him, would hardly have framed Orion, but Mechs tend to go to great lengths to avoid execution.

If Shockwave had shifted some of the blame to Orion then, it would have partially saved him. Was that what he was going to do? Was this what Primus had stopped him from doing?

Orion's finials twitch slowly

"I don't know Prowl. I don't know what to do. I don't want anyone else to get hurt because of my fantasies."

Orion is hard to read, but right now he's an open book.

Prowl tilts his head

"You're scared."

Orion looks. Defeated. Crumpled.

Discolored.

" I am."

Prowl can't work with that. He's used to solving logical problems and making lists and strategies.

He doesn't know how to get someone to stop being scared.

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I don't know." mutters Orion "I don't know, I have no idea. It's too much...All these new knights, this whole council situation and now you're also saying that the mech I treasured the most could actually be a liar and...just leave me alone."

"But..."

"Just go away!" shakes his head Orion "Go find something else to do, find a hobby, I don't know! Get out of my head and out of my personal life!"

Prowl nods silently.

Places a couple papers in their places and silently walks out the door.

Gestures a greeting to some mech passing by.

And is completely unsure of what to do with himself.

Orion's too stunned by everything that's happened to give him a clear purpose. And without a purpose, he...he's gone.

He continues to stand by the closed door.

A thought runs obsessively through his mind.

If Shockwave was sentenced for something no one knew about, then punishing him the moment of that trial was a truly terrible decision and even worse timing.

But if Shockwave was sentenced for helping monsters...Prowl isn't sure why his mind resists the idea.

Maybe he's not being objective because he shares Orion's views and aspirations.

Maybe because he has looked at the entire square filled with dangerous monsters and has seen nothing but sorrow and respect in them.

The idea comes naturally.

Then God must be wrong.

He looks at the cleaning golems again. He envies them.

They are peace and contentment.

They are a clear and simple goal.

Probably the biggest stress that happens to them is random mechs passing by and interfering with their cleaning.

And then there's Prowl, standing by with no meaning or purpose and wishing he could throw something heavy because the one who gets in his way is an indefinable force of nature and a complex system of values and beliefs created by millions of years of cultural development....

But Primus can't stop him, can he?

Prowl is not alive. He has no emotion so that his intentions can be categorized as evil, but more importantly he has no spark so that its magic can turn him into a demon.

He is his purpose. His purpose is his god. And Primus stands in his way.

He turns around and walks away.

#I might be not as goo at it but I am jumping on my sit in every book comic or story #where the religious topic is risen in the way that can screw your head #and how f**ked up it is #I am having a mountain of good food right here beside Prowl's mind #oh my god #okay I'm dead #I love it #inspiration #Just....#so many things....#I am out of words....

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