#off heat and begin to season him with more than just salt and pepper

[glitchedcrisis]

I hate him /j

/hj

/srs

[middenska]

Today’s prompt was from TikTok, username yourdailywritingprompt.

“Write a scene between two characters who are making something together.

Here are your rules:

1. They both have feelings for each other but haven’t TOLD each other yet.

2. Include a brief moment of physical contact.

3. Have one of the characters say “I love you” without saying those words.”

Here’s my response to the prompt, LoiYor infused steak ;)

I have been sitting on a Yorloid fic for SO LONGGG but I have no idea where I’m going w it so this prompt is a good idea for where it starts

d(*<*)b

Yor stood beside Loid, watching carefully as he took the pan off of the hot eye.

“You’ll want to take it off the heat right before it’s medium. It’ll keep cooking after and won’t dry out as quickly.” His forehead was powdered with sweat, which he quickly noticed and wiped off with his strong hands. He turned to his wife, asking, “Do you think you can do this?”

“Well, there’s no way to know but to try,” she responded, with reluctant enthusiasm. He nodded as he removed the cooked steak from the pan and placed it on the She attempted to replicate the steps, first cutting off some meat from the oversized raw steak. It was quite a bit thinner than Loid’s, but he didn’t seem to mind. She patted the steak dry, as he had, and seasoned it generously with the two seasonings- salt and pepper- on hand. She stifled a sneeze and continued cooking. She put the steak in the pan, and, hearing its sizzle, felt more confident. “I haven’t messed anything up yet,” she thought, “maybe I don’t have anything to worry about.” Loid thought the same. Though it wasn’t much, she got past cutting and seasoning, which was more than usual. He let himself look away from the food and toward his wife. Her face was fixed with concentration, her brow furrowed. She was staring so intently at the steak that it was cute. He caught himself beginning to smile and, contrary to what he believed he should have done, he let himself smile. He stared at her sleek and shiny hair, her glowing eyes, her supple cheeks and he enjoyed every second of it. He would have kept staring, but he was interrupted by the smell of smoke. Back in reality, he wondered just how long he was staring at her. He looked back at the pan to see Yor still basting the same side of meat.

“Yor, you’ve got to let the other sides cook!” He tried not to yell, straining his voice in the process. He quickly handed her the tongs from off of the counter. As she attempted to flip it on the thinner side, Loid saw the black bottom of the steak. He sighed and relaxed, realizing that nothing could be done. The steak was already so thin that if the burnt part was cut off, it’d be ten times as difficult for her to make anything edible. Its lack of girth was already the reason why…

“With the size of the steak, I can understand why you’re struggling. Let me help.” He stood behind her and placed his head on her shoulder. His hand fell on top of hers and began turning the steak over with her. “Let’s just use the edge for support.”

“Ah… thank you, Loid.” Her face warmed up with her husband that close to her. She would think normal couples did stuff like this all the time, so why did she feel so bashful? Loid’s face was a little pink as well, though he didn’t catch it. He let go and stood beside the stove again.

“You’re doing good.” He wanted to creep closer, to put an arm around her waist, but Twilight would not let him. Twilight thought that even that amount of contact was too much for a spy. But he had done similar things before with other women, so why was this different? Twilight was silent.

The rest of the cooking process was fairly painless. Yor’s face didn’t cool down until she finished cooking while Loid was a bit dazed himself. No matter, he would still try the steak. He scraped off the burnt bits, as the rest was quite well-cooked.

“How is it?” Yor asked. With a smile, Loid responded,

“It’s beautiful.” Whatever that meant.

The end! I almost didn’t finish it today because i was blanking for some parts ;b

Hope you enjoyed!

[boriys-a]

Silco’s comment about having a seat to sit on was met with a raise of Boris’ eyebrows, the younger not quite sure whether he meant it honestly or sarcastically. ❝What? Did you think I would make you sit on the floor?❞ The thought of inviting his boss over just to sit on the floor with him—as if the mattress he had was so much better—caused a small fit of giggles to spill from between his lips. In his eyes though, the mattress really was much more acceptable, but he also didn’t have any stiff joints or muscle aches that came with aging.

After returning the steaks that he wouldn’t use to the fridge, he grabbed two cold cans of beer from the stash he kept on the top shelf. One he kept for himself, and the other was brought over to Silco, who had at least tried to make himself comfortable on the mattress. ❝Vodka is in the freezer too, if you would prefer that.❞ Shrugging, he returned to the kitchen to grab a pan and place it atop one of the skillets, which he would proceed to turn on to allow the pan to heat up. While doing so, he was listening carefully to what Silco was saying to him. Even when in a more casual situation such as this, there was a sort of mode that was hard to turn off. This was his boss, someone he didn’t want to disappoint, and someone who could destroy him if he so wished.

❝Yah, a couch will come next. Wanted a TV first, because what good is having a couch but nothing to watch from it? And is so expensive! Much too big to steal.❞ Most of his money was spent on things like cocaine and acid and opioids, which made saving up for things rather difficult. Food was also usually shoplifted rather than bought, along with other small items. Stealing from civilians was a big no-no for him, but stealing from big companies who robbed the people? He couldn’t care less.

Now, onto the topic of cooking. ❝Spices?❞ An uncertain glance, lips pressed into a hard line. ❝Nyah, I don’t have any of those.❞ A small knife was held in his hand to make cuts in the packaging and peel the plastic back. Once the pan was hot enough, he would drop the steaks onto it to begin searing them. ❝Well, not yet. Unless salt and pepper counts? Am not very good at cooking, I admit, so I figure—why get these things that I won’t use?❞ These days, he mostly just relied on microwaveable meals since they were so much easier than figuring out ingredients and seasonings and all these different things that went into preparing food. ❝If they don’t turn out so good, don’t worry, because I can make us pizza pops! No problem. Have you ever had them before? Takes only two or three minutes! Very easy, and delicious.❞

╰┈➤ ⚛ 【 ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴏꜰ ᴏᴘᴘᴏꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ 】 THE APARTMENT IS SO BAREN that his eyes almost wish that this was still Zaun, the sheer depressive state of the living room reminded him that he must pay this child in such a poor state that either he blows his money on useless drugs or he saves it for bills ; it's honestly a reason he attempted to keep Jinx away from drugs as best he could -- although he doubted he had much effect on that regard. Still, he would be amiss if he didn't attempt to persuade her otherwise ; seeing her in a dingy apartment with nothing to its name because of a bad habit would be the epitome of discouraging... Ugh what was he saying?

       As he watched the young man appear with a mattress in his grasp, Silco felt his eyebrows furrow. Oh, no, was he serious -- ah, he was. Somehow, and he meant this without attempting to sound ungrateful, he would have preferred the window... Still, he didn't speak aloud, steadily stepping forward to place himself atop the surface, mindful of any stains that might be present, hands placed in his lap for good measure ; it almost felt like he'd fallen backward in time to the grimy basements of his youth, nobody around but the coughs of his mother and the overwhelming stench of a hard day's work on his clothes. The cigarette scent was a new one, but the strong underlying alcohol that lined its borders wasn't ; he could find some comfort in this memory, even if he'd much rather have brought his own chair.

       ❝ Ah, a seat to watch a movie on. ❞ If he could call it such ; he wondered how long before they became uncomfortable from the lack of lumbar support, but he'd digress... To become too much equal to the chembarons back in Zaun would make him a hypocrite of a human being, and he'd rather own up to his own misgivings than lie down and become complacent in his wealth. Moving legs to cross them, his hands would smooth on to his knees as he watched him with the steaks, carefully. ❝ Do remember to place the extras you have into the fridge ; I am taking them home with me later ; I doubt I'll use them all, so you'll likely see extra returning to you in the future. ❞

       Gaze shifted, fixated on the television, a hand reaching forward to touch its surface. It was newer than the ones he witnessed in Piltover, yet it was likely still beneath the technological advances they had there. Times in Piltover...were always changing. ❝ I'll have to see you give yourself a couch one of these days ; this doesn't even qualify as a futon with how you've set it up. Your back will ache if you continue with this sort of seat for yourself. ❞ He'd pause before adding: ❝ What kind of spices do you have for cooking? ❞

[missallsundaes]

Sanji x Male Reader — Amateur Chef

2111 Words • CW dealing with repressed bisexuality

When Luffy heard your self proclaimed cooking skills in the town market to a friend, he immediately invited you on to the ship, even without trying your food. A bigger crew needs more cooks, was his reasoning for Sanji. Sanji wasn't exactly happy about the new addition to his kitchen, possessive about his things and how the kitchen was maintained. And he was sure that you wouldn't take the same care as he did. At least you had your own set of knives, he thought with a sigh.

The first night cooking together proved to be...a challenge. He was paying you no mind, working in his own entrees for the crew, but the haphazard slap of the kitchen knife against the chopping board, well he could only stand it for so long before his temper got the better of him.

“What the fuck are you doing over there, amateur?” He seethed, turning to face you.

You sheepishly set down your knife on the counter, stepping back to show Sanji the vegetables you were cutting. His heart skipped a beat, seeing your rough cut shapes and uneven chops.

“What are you doing to that poor food!” Worded like a question, but spat at you like an insult. He approached you cutting board, staring down at the mangled shapes of potato, carrot and celery, hand frustratingly pulling through his hair.

“Well I'm just making soup..” You started, you were a bit offended but the chef in front of you was too intimating to talk back to. You'd heard enough stories about Black Leg Sanji to know when to keep your mouth shut.

“So you decided to torture your poor ingredients?” He reached for his own knife, wiping it clean with a cloth before trying to salvage the vegetables. You watched in awe as he saved first the potatoes, then the celery. He looked at you before touching the chunks of carrot on the board.

“You taking notes, amateur?” He said. His voice was softer now though his tone was still harsh. He raised the visible eyebrow, “Come over here and learn how it's done.”

He waved you over to stand in front of him, placing his hand over yours on your knife, he guided your left hand into place, showing you the gentle fist to protect your fingers without losing grip on the vegetables. He started slow, chopping motions in cool even bursts, slicing the chunks of carrot into perfectly measured cubes. You tried to pay attention but the beating of your heart in your throat, his warm hand over yours, and his firm chest placed against your back was all that your mind could focus on.

When the carrot was taken care of he let go of your hand, leaving you feeling you were missing something. You watched him cross the kitchen again, standing again in front of his own prep, you watched him skillfully pull the bones from a huge fish in one movement, running his hand over it to make sure it was all removed, looking for even the smallest of bones.

You hadn't heard about how gentle he was. How careful in the kitchen with perfect mannerisms. He looked at you, and you realized how obviously caught up in watching him you were, jumping to peel the garlic in front of you for your soup. He laughed, turning back to his prep, beginning to make a marinade with fresh lemons and cracked pepper for the fish.

“You're not a chef are you?” He said, looking at you briefly as he squeezed the lemons of their juice.

“No not at all,” you said sheepishly, ”I know a few recipes but when a wanted pirate grabs you and tells you you're going to be a chef on his crew you listen, you know? It's not like I was in a position to refuse..”

He sighed, knowing exactly how enthusiastic Luffy could be when he set his mind on something. “Don't worry, you can be my sous chef. I'll teach you what you need to know. We'll start with more knife practice for breakfast tomorrow, I hope you're okay getting up early.”

You thought briefly of how much you were not a morning person, though this was not the time to mention that. You nodded, “Thanks for helping me. You're a kind man.”

Sanji's face flushed at the genuine compliment, turning around quickly as if there was a pressing matter in the fridge to attend to. “N-nonsense it's just the right thing to do.” He stammered, head buried in the fridge, looking desperately for an ingredient to pull out that would make sense.

///

He kicked your hammock in the men's cabin, foot still perched on your side as you swayed back and forth, trying to regain your senses, shaken from a dream about your new crewmates, the one in front of you in particular.

“I thought you could be up early,” he laughed.

The room was still full of the snoring of the other men, the only light from the lantern in Sanji’s hand, casting golden light across him. He was already dressed in his slacks and dress shirt, looking primed for the day. You were sure that you looked the absolute opposite, feeling the drool caked to your cheek and knowing your hair was probably a wreck.

“Uh, about that,” you chuckled, climbing out of the hammock and hopping to the floor of the cabin. “I may not be as much of a morning person as I said.”

“I figured as much when you didn't wake up the first few times I kicked you.” He said, “Though I bothered you enough for you to say my name in your sleep.”

You turned from him, hiding your face by searching for a clean set of clothes, forcing an awkward laugh, “Oh yeah I must have subconsciously known you were trying to wake me.”

“Well hurry up, these idiots won't be asleep forever, and you do not want to see Luffy without his breakfast.” He left the room for you to get dressed, and you trudged to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

When you met him in the kitchen, he had a multitude of fruits set up at your station. You could smell bacon in the oven already, and he was whipping a large bowl of eggs for what you could only imagine was the biggest omelette of all time.

“Took you long enough.” He said, though he had a smirk on his face, his harsh attitude from yesterday softened.

“Am I chopping these?” You said, lifting your knife to slice the strawberries laid out on the board.

“Ah ah wait. Hold on I'm almost done.” He said, setting down the bowl of whipped eggs on the counter. He approached you, watching over your shoulder. “Do you remember the lesson from yesterday?”

You nodded, ”I think so.” you put your hand in the position he showed you, holding the knife how it felt under his guiding hand, breathed in and started slicing the strawberries.

The difference in your cuts from yesterday to this morning was leagues away. He adjusted your elbow, his firm gentle touch making your heart flutter, and just the adjustment of your arm made your slices neater. “Breathe,” he said, his own breath hot in your ear and making you catch your breath instead. You struggled to retain your breathing, but your cuts were messier now. He took your hand again, your heart beating through your chest. “You're making this so much harder than it is, watch. Breath with me.”

You times your breathing to match his, his firm chest pressed into you, his hand over yours. You felt your chests rise in succession together, making you feel as one. His hand held yours in place, but you were doing the work.

“Exactly like that,” he praised, you felt like you could melt right then and there. “You're doing great.”

He let go of you, stepping back to the stove top to heat a huge skillet for his omelette. “You've got it from here I presume.” You watched him for a moment, testing the temperature of the pan before adding his eggs and watching them diligently. “Most of breakfast is ready, so just get the fruit cut and plated and then we can wake up the crew.”

You nodded, “Thanks again, Sanji.” You said, continuing to chop the fruit in front of you, plating it up on the large platter he had set out.

///

The next few weekswent the same, Sanji waking you in the morning. Him teaching you new techniques to use in the kitchen. Making three meals a day together, not including if someone wanted a snack, getting closer and closer until you couldn't bear it. Your feelings for the man were definitely growing, you had a sneaking suspicion that he had similar feelings for you, but the constant doting of the girls on the crew made you doubt yourself, fearing that he wasn't into men the way you were.

You had already made fresh baked bread together that morning, as you watched his hands knead the dough tauntingly slow, his strong hands rolling it out and beating it down, his sleeves rolled up you could see the flexing of every muscle in his forearms.

You were cracking about two dozen eggs into a large skillet to fry, trying not to think about how close he was to you, chopping chives to put on top of your fried eggs.

“Sanji,” you said, rinsing your hands of the raw eggs in the sink.

He didn't look up from his work, now slicing pieces of smoked salmon, “Eh?” He said.

“I think I might have a problem,” you said, trying desperately not to look at the blond sharing the kitchen with you. He set down his knife, immediately checking your eggs over, the stove temperature, any kitchen error he could think of before looking you incredulously in the face. “It's not my food.” He looked more relieved than you expected and you laughed.

“What is it then?” He said, curly brow peaked with curiosity.

“I think I fell for one of my crewmates since I've been on the ship.” You flipped your eggs carefully, trying not to break your yolks.

“Oh? Nami? Robin?” He said, going back to work at his salmon. He wasn't jealous, per say, it's not like he really expect to feel this way about you. Plus the girls were gorgeous in every way, how could a red blooded man not fall for them. He still didn't know how to accept his feelings for you, forcing down any hint of bisexuality that he ever felt, blocking out those feelings, usually with anger.

“Uh no,” you said, turning off the heat on the stove and letting the residual heat finish your eggs as you seasoned them with salt and pepper. Beginning to set up the crews plates with thick slices of your fresh bread, two eggs each (four for Luffy and Zoro), sprinkling the chives on top, and passing the plates to Sanji to top with smoked salmon and hollandaise sauce.

After a moment of silence so thick you could slice it with the kitchen knife next to you, you continued, “Sanji, it's you.”

He almost dropped the plate he was holding, and you both moved quickly in reaction, hands one on top of the other under the plate. “What,” he said, worded like a question but tone flat in disbelief.

“Just, spending all this time with you has meant so much to me,” you withdrew your hand, looking away from him to hide the tinge of crimson on your cheeks. “Having you close to me, your guiding hands. Your strength. I can't help it.” He was still frozen in place, thoughts racing. “Just don't worry. Never mind, forget I said anything!” You said, plating the last of your half of the plates.

“Wait,” he said, as you were leaving the galley to wake the crew, “I think I fell for you too.” You stopped in the doorway, turning back to face him, but his back was to you. “I grew up not allowed to be who I wanted and even though I can now it's still hard to accept who I am. But I want to learn and be better. I want to be with you.”

“Do you mean that?” You said, letting the door swing back closed.

“Yeah,” he laughed, he turned to you smiling with tears in the corners of his eye. “Yeah I definitely mean it.” He wiped his eye, “Come on then, let's go wake up the ravenous beasts.”

[magpie-to-the-morning]

Sundress Season

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 3.5k

Tags: Fluff, Domestic af, Hurt/Comfort, Nothing major the Reader got some scratches gardening and Frankie is Concerned, p in v sex, wrap it before you tap it, Size Kink, Sort Of, Exhibitionism, If You Squint, A little, Dirty Talk, mostly just tooth-rotting fluff (plus a little loving smut),Triple Frontier, Frankie “Catfish” Morales, Domestic, Gardening, Outdoor Sex, No Beta

Summary: You and Frankie have just moved into a farmhouse fixer upper and are enjoying the first warm day of spring. A lazy afternoon nap turns into something... more.

Read on Ao3

Leaning the shovel against the white picket fence, you stand back to take an appraising look at your handiwork, squinting against the midday sun. You’ve taken advantage of one of the first truly warm days of spring to plant some blackberry bushes along the boundary of your new home. Sweat slides down your spine and you can already feel a dull ache spreading through your calves and along your forearms, but you toss aside your leather work gloves with a grin, proud of your morning’s work. You brush your hair away from your face with the back of an arm, leaving a trace of dirt along your forehead. “Frankie, come look.”

“One sec.” His answer is muffled, even considering it’s coming from inside the old farmhouse the two of you have just moved into, and you realize he must still be working on the kitchen sink.

You enter the house, surprisingly cool and dim after the sunny warmth outside, and walk to the kitchen. Frankie’s legs jut out from beneath the sink, and all you can see of him are his work boots, khaki pants, and a glimpse of his soft stomach where the rusty red t-shirt he’s wearing has ridden up. You lean against a nearby counter, the smooth stone lip pressing into your lower back, and smile down fondly at him. “How’s the sink coming?”

The house is a dream come true for both of you, but it’s also needed a ton of work both inside and out. You’ve already sanded floors, patched up creaking stairs, painted most of the rooms, and ripped out overgrown hedges that had threatened to take over the yard. Once you’d cleared them out, the yard and gardens became an invitingly open canvas, just waiting for you to make your own.

The two of you had spent several late winter evenings curled up in front of the stone hearth, seed catalogs and plant nursery order slips laid out in front of you, arguing pleasantly over how to cram in every plant both of you want. You’re determined to line the yard with fruit trees and shrubs, while Frankie is surprisingly invested in the beds where he plans to cultivate tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, and a variety of herbs. At least you both agreed to leave the large, well-established lilac trees bookending the house, and you’re currently waiting to see who will win the bet about what color the sprawling, thorn-covered rose bushes will be. You’re hoping for a buttery yellow to complement the lilacs, while Frankie is holding out hope that they’ll be the same pale pink as the roses he’d brought you for one of your first dates.

This morning, just when the two of you had made plans to tackle some of the new plantings, the kitchen drain had backed up. You’d decided that job would be better handled by Frankie and headed out to start the landscaping yourself. “Almost there, I just need to…” Frankie’s deep in concentration, and you swear you can almost see him sticking the tip of his tongue out as he focuses. There’s a final sound of metal scraping against metal, followed by a victorious “ha! Try it now.”

“You sure? I don’t want to soak you.”

A muted huff echoes from the space below the sink. “What, you don’t trust me?”

“Ok,” you shrug. “Just don’t blame me if you get a faceful of water.” You turn the tap on slowly and watch as the water spirals easily down the drain. “Hey, you did it!”

Frankie braces a hand along the top of the cabinet and pulls himself to his feet. “Don’t sound so surprised,” he teases. “Told you I could do it.”

“My hero,” you say lightly, crossing the floor to kiss his smiling cheek. His scruff scrapes lightly against your face, and you find yourself lingering, especially when he captures your lips for a proper kiss. “Now I can wash some of this dirt off- I feel like I brought half the yard in.” After the hours you spent planting various shrubs and a few small fruit trees, your arms are streaked with dry soil.

“Here, let me help you.”

Frankie steps behind you, his broad form leaning against yours as you stand at the newly repaired sink. His thighs press lightly against your own as his arms encircle your waist. He leans his chin on your shoulder and his messy curls brush against your ear while he begins to run soap over your forearms. You laugh, his efforts mostly just splashing dirty water around, but the cool water is a welcome relief. “Frankie! I can do it myself.”

You can feel him smiling against your neck. “I know, I just- oh.” His voice turns suddenly soft, with a note of worry.

“What is it?”

“Baby, you hurt yourself.” He steps alongside you, examining the delicate skin of your inner arm with a concerned frown. “What happened?”

“What?” You look down and see a few thin, angry red lines streaking the length of your forearms. “Oh, it’s nothing. The blackberry branches were thorny, that’s all.” You’d been wearing one of Frankie’s flannels for a little extra protection, but it had grown too hot and you’d stripped down to just your t-shirt. “It’s fine, they’ll heal fast.”

Despite your reassurance, Frankie ducks into the bathroom while you pat your arms dry with a clean dish towel and comes back holding some ointment. “They’ll heal better with this.” He flips open the cap and looks up, seeking permission.

You nod, unwilling to deny him anything, especially with that melting brown gaze trained on you. It’s not necessary, but you have to admit- you love that he takes such good care of you. Frankie takes his time, gently stroking a dab of ointment over each small scratch. His light touch quickly takes the sting out of your small hurts, and when he’s finished you catch his hands, bring them up to your lips for a grateful kiss. You adore his hands- so much bigger than your own, strong and capable but still so deft. He ducks his head and smiles and your heart clenches with love for this quiet, loving man.

------- After changing out of your dirt-streaked jeans and into a clean sundress (which, of course, Frankie also offered to help with), you head back to the kitchen to grab a drink from the fridge. The cold glass bottle begins beading almost at once, and you hold it against your slightly sunburnt neck. “I was going to go read in the yard for a bit, care to join me?”

“I’ve got a couple more things to finish up here, you go ahead.” Frankie drops a kiss to your temple as you pass, on your way to get a book and an old quilt to spread out on.

“Ok, see you in a bit.” The old screen door swings shut behind you, bouncing slightly before it catches the latch. A project for another day, you think. The two of you have already done plenty, and for now you just want to enjoy the rest of the sunny afternoon.

You spread your quilt out under a flowering magnolia tree which offers just the right amount of shade and lay down on your back. A light breeze stirs the green grass around you and sets the flowering tree branches swaying, a few pale pink petals raining down. Sunlight dapples your face as you relax, enjoying the surroundings of the garden you and Frankie are making together. The book is good, but you find yourself distracted, listening to nearby birdsong and watching billowing clouds scud across the bright blue sky. With the sun warm on your face, it’s not long before your eyelids are drooping.

-------

When you wake up, shadows are lengthening across the yard and Frankie is sprawled out next to you, having come out and dozed off at some point after you did. You lean into his shoulder, still warm from the heat of the sun, and smile against him. There’s a patch of skin just below his hairline and above his collar, and you lean in to kiss him just there. He tastes faintly of clean sweat and you press your tongue against him, seeking the slight taste of salt.

Frankie stirs and sleepily cracks one eye open. “Can I help you?” Try as he might to sound long-suffering, you suspect he enjoys your touch.

“Nope, I’m good.” You toss your book aside and drape yourself over his back, enjoying the slight movement below you as he shifts to accommodate you. It’s getting a little cooler now as the sun slips towards the horizon, but Frankie’s warm, solid presence grounds you. He tenses a little when you lean your head on his shoulder and you pull back at once. “Is your shoulder still bugging you?” He’d pulled it while you were moving and as hard as you try, you don’t always manage to wrest the heavier chores away from him, so it’s been a slow recovery process.

His answer rumbles quietly from below you. “A little. Working on the sink probably didn’t do it any favors.” You lean up at once, straddling his waist so you can massage his neck and shoulders. “Poor thing, you are tight here.”

He hums in agreement, though you can feel the tension begin to leak out of him as you knead his tense muscles. You work a stubborn knot, fingers digging into the meat of his shoulder, and as he sighs you can feel him relax further.

You lean down once more, careful to put your weight on your hands, braced against the ground,  and drag your mouth lazily over his neck. Your seeking licks turning to more intent kisses and when your teeth close over his pulse point, Frankie lets out a low groan and bucks his hips. You feel the movement all through him, especially where you’re seated against his ass.

“You want me to stop?” You ask teasingly, getting the expected shake of his head in response. You grind slightly against him before returning to nose at his neck. By the time you trace the shell of his ear with your tongue and nip gently at the cartilage, Frankie has had enough.

He rolls the two of you over with a smooth motion that ends with you flat on your back, and him smiling above you. “Oh, are we done fooling around?” You look up playfully. “I can show you the blackberry bushes before-”

He stops your mouth with a kiss, nipping at your lower lip before licking his way into your mouth. Delight shivers through you and you deepen the kiss, your tongues tangling languidly. You run your hand through his tangled curls, scraping your nails against his scalp. This pulls a soft noise from low in Frankie’s throat as he leans into your touch. His nose brushes yours and he nudges your cheek, trails kisses down your jaw.

Heat is pooling low in your belly and you spread your legs to invite him closer. Frankie takes the hint, canting his hips to drag the growing bulge in his pants against your core while you push back into him. “We should head inside,” you gasp as he moves lower, sucking at the delicate skin of your neck.

“We can if you want, but who’s gonna see?” His large hands cup your breasts and he dips his head to brush kisses over their swells. You arch your back, desperate for his touch even as you look around cautiously. He has a point; there’s no neighbor on this side of the house, just a patch of woods, and you’re well back from the road.

“Good point.” You reach down to tug at the hem of his shirt. Grinning, he sits up for a moment to help you. As soon as he’s shirtless he gets straight back to the task at hand. Frankie’s fingers make quick work of the buttons running the length of your sundress and he pulls the fabric aside, exposing the creamy lace of your bra. Your stomach flips at the sweet, eager look on his face. You’ve been together so many times, but he always makes you feel special, cherished. Despite being outside, potentially exposed, you feel completely at ease in his arms.  

With a quick glance up to check that you’re ok with it, Frankie unclasps your bra and helps you shrug out of it. The air is slightly cooler now, but his warm, broad palms encompass your breasts before the chill can even register. You sigh as his thumb brushes your nipple, and downright shudder when he wraps his plush lips around the stiffening peak. Your legs are writhing almost of their own accord now as you grow desperate for more. “Frankie,” you groan, tugging at his hair.

You feel his lips curve into a smile and his tongue darts out to flick against you. It glides along your swollen bud and your pussy aches for more so you hitch your leg over his hip. Frankie grabs your thigh to hold you close and rolls his hips sinfully against you, drawing a desperate noise from deep in your throat. “You like that, baby?”

You nod frantically. “You know I do. You know it drives me crazy when you put your mouth on me.”

Frankie chuckles and sucks your nipple into his mouth, pulling much of your breast along with it. The tugging sensation sends a bolt of desire straight to your cunt and you whine. You seize his jaw and glare, your eyes blown with lust. “If you don’t touch me soon Francisco I swear I will go inside without you and finish the job myself.”

You’re all talk and Frankie knows it. “I am touching you, sweetheart,” he says innocently.

You give an irritated huff and seize his hand, directing him where you want it. His composure slips when his fingers brush the crotch of your panties, already soaked with your need. His gaze flicks to yours, a lovestruck look in his eyes as he asks softly, “is this all for me?”

Biting your lip you nod. “Yes. I need you Frankie, please .”

“Shh, I’ve got you baby.” Frankie hooks a finger in the waistband of your panties and drags them over your legs. You kick them off, nearly sobbing in relief as he drags a single finger through your glistening folds.

Frankie closes his eyes reverently. “Shit honey, you weren’t kidding.” His finger comes away coated in your juices and he sucks it slowly before replacing the digit. He adds another finger, the pads slipping just inside your entrance to collect more of your slick before circling your clit. You tip your head back, grasping his shoulders as he gently fingers your slit. Just when you can’t take it, when you’re ready to beg for more, he pushes those fingers into you, stretching you out perfectly. Mewling, you buck your hips, chasing the feeling of him fucking you open.

“Mm, that feels so good. Don’t stop.”

“Never. Think you can take another?”

“Yeah.” Your answer comes as a breathless whine.

“Good girl.” Frankie adds a third finger and you swear it makes you see stars. He curls his fingers to stroke that spot deep inside and you find yourself skating the edge of your release. You’re so close, could so easily tip right over that edge, but it’s not until you hear Frankie murmur “come for me, beautiful” that you actually do. All that gorgeous tension he’s been winding up unspools in a rush of pleasure, your legs shaking and your hips bucking as he works you through it.

You’ve scarcely begun to come down before Frankie’s blazing a trail of kisses down your belly, his hands gently parting your thighs wider to settle between them, keen concentration suffusing his handsome face.

“Wait,” you breathe, catching his jaw with a deft hand.

Frankie draws back at once, concern creasing a furrow between his brows as he gazes up from between your legs. “Everything ok?”

You sit up, already nodding to reassure him as you draw him forward and kiss him deeply. “Everything’s perfect. I just want to come on your cock this time.”

Frankie looks down at you in amazement before pulling you into a crushing embrace. He tilts your chin up to give you a searing kiss, his arm wrapped around your waist. He leans his forehead against yours, his breath tickling your lips as he rasps “You’re perfect, you know that, right?”

You giggle, moved by the awestruck look on his face, and drop your hands to unbuckle his pants. He’s already barefoot, making it easier to push his pants down, followed by his boxers. You glance around again, reassuring yourself that the coast is clear. Clocking what you’re doing, Frankie chuckles. “Don’t worry, baby, we’re good.”

Smiling a little sheepishly, you nod. “I know. Just protecting your honor.”

Frankie begins to laugh softly but the sound is cut off by a hiss as you lick your palm and wrap it around his shaft. “F-fuck.” His eyes roll back in his head as you tighten your grip, working his cock. You brush your thumb over his weeping slit, collecting the pearly bead of precum glistening at the tip. “Now who’s being a t-tease?”

You look up at him innocently through your lashes. “I don’t know what you mean, Frankie.”

“Sure you don’t,” he huffs, his breathing already picking up. “C’mere, baby.” He pulls at your waist, encouraging you up into his lap.

You’re happy to oblige. With a few quick movements, you’re settled above him, his cock lined up with your entrance. Throwing your arms around his neck, you lower yourself slowly, taking him inch by inch. Frankie buries his face in the crook of your neck and meets you halfway, thrusting up to seat himself fully inside you. He always seems even bigger when you’re on top, and he gives you a moment to adjust to being so well-filled.

“You good?”

“You have no idea.”

He smiles at that, clearly pleased. “Then tell me,” he urges, kissing you just below your ear. “Tell me how much you like me stretching you out on this big dick.”

Your eyes flutter closed at this. He knows what dirty talk does to you, knows exactly when it will be the most devastating. “It feels so fucking good, baby,” you assure him. “You’re so thick and you hit so deep. I can’t get enough, want you even deeper. Please, Frankie.”

He sucks hard at your pulse point, his tongue laving your neck as he begins to thrust up into you. “Anything, baby. I will give you anything you ask for. You know that, right?”

Gasping, you nod quickly. “I know, love. I know.”

His fingers tangle in your hair, his strong arms bracing you as he fucks up into you. You match each thrust, grinding yourself on the base of his cock. The two of you find your rhythm and you lean back, allowing him to hit at an even deeper angle. Frankie leans forward, able to reach your breasts now. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, all wet heat and slick tongue moving against you. You whimper and arch your back, trusting him to support you.

He does.

Frankie’s eyes are screwed shut as he pounds into you, determined to take care of you before finding his own release. Your whimpering cries plateau and he can tell you’re not quite there yet. He rests his forehead against yours without missing a beat, opening his eyes to gaze into yours. “What do you need, baby?” He asks it softly, reverently, his large hands cradling your face as if you’re something holy. With him looking at you like this, you almost feel that way.

“Talk to me, Frankie,” you gasp. “Want to hear how much you like this.”

Your want pulls an answering moan from him. “God, you know I fucking love this. You’re so tight, and you take me so well, baby. I could pound this pretty pussy all day.” He snaps his hips, driving himself deeper inside you as if to prove his point.

Your breathing comes faster, your cunt clenching around him as his words drive you closer to your edge. “Fuck, yes, just like that. I’m so close, baby,” you whine.

Frankie cants his hips, hitting that devastating spot deep inside you. His voice is even huskier as he urges you onward. “You have no idea what hearing that does to me, sweet thing,” he pants, sweat dampening his hairline. He runs the back of his hand distractedly over his forehead. He’s not about to let go before you do and he leans in close, his warm breath ghosting against your ear. “ Come for me. I know you want to. I can feel you clenching around me so be my good girl and come for me, sweetheart . ”

And just like that, a wave of sweet pleasure rolls through you. You clutch his shoulders as the two of you ride it together, Frankie moaning against your lips as he finds his own release.

Your head drops to his shoulder, your limbs quivering as little aftershocks zip through them. Frankie holds your limp form easily, dropping lazy kisses over your face and hair while you drift back to the present. Finally, you draw back, a dazed smile tugging at your lips. You blow out a breath along with a tired, please laugh. “That was-”

Frankie chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, pleased to have pleased you. “I know, baby.” His kisses are easy, unhurried, and still make you feel nearly drunk with happiness as the two of you linger lazily in your afterglow.

By now, the sun is truly setting, the horizon taking on a purple hue as the first evening stars begin to appear. Even in Frankie’s arms, you start to shiver as the breeze whispers over your rapidly cooling skin. In a deft move, he tugs at the edge of the old quilt, rolling the two of you into it, creating a cocoon of private warmth. As the sky darkens and more stars appear, the two of you stay wrapped up in each other, making plans for your future in the peaceful space you’re creating together.

[lightsovermonaco]

A Decent Workout (NSFW Pierre Gasly)

Masterlist

Completely and utterly self indulgent fic inspired by how damn GOOD Pierre looked over preseason testing. Beta read by @acollectionofficsandshit

The buzzing of an alarm woke you not long after the sun had risen over the deserts of Bahrain. You groan, rolling over and smacking the solid shoulder of your boyfriend, startling him awake as well. “Turn it off, Pierre.”

He does as he’s told, then clumsily tucks an arm around you and pulls you to his chest. Voice rough with sleep, he murmurs, “Good morning.”

“Morning,” You echo, nuzzling into his warmth. You curl your frigid hands against his chest, utilizing your personal space heater to the fullest extent. “How long until testing?”

Pierre rests his cheek on your head. His hand traces lazy circles on your shoulder blade like you have all the time in the world. Your eyes slide shut again, sleep beaconing on the horizon. “About an hour.”

You sigh, suddenly awake. “Not much time for lounging around then."

Eagerness mingled with disappointment in his reply. “First day of the new season.”

Pierre's excitement had been palpable the entire week. Buzzing about like a honeybee on the first day of spring, he had prattled on about the specs of the AT02, what changes he was most excited to see, and his predictions on how the car would compare to others in the paddock. You offered your thoughts when prompted, but were just as happy to listen to his happy ramblings and share his enthusiasm. 

It had been his idea to arrive in Bahrain early, allowing the two of you a few precious, uninterrupted days with each other. From now on, his weekends would be packed. No more last minute trips to ski resorts or visits to Charles in Monaco. Starting today, his primary focus became Formula 1. He would travel around the world to compete in a total of 23 grand prix this year, and you would follow faithfully to cheer him on.

You lay tangled in each other for a few minutes, trading sweet kisses. “I have to go,” Pierre murmurs against your lips. You tighten your grip around his bare middle, determined to make him stay a little longer.

“You’ll be gone for so long though,” You whine, pouting. The last few days had spoiled you. He smiles and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Eleven whole hours without a beautiful Frenchman to keep me company.”

“I’ll be back before you know it. And besides, you can watch the entire session from the comfort of our suite.”

“It’s not the same as being in the garage.” Damn the personnel restrictions the FIA had imposed for the upcoming season. You wouldn’t be allowed in the paddock for a single race. You understood and respected the decision, but it bothered you that you couldn't be there when he inevitably made it on the podium this year.

“I know.” Pierre tapped your arm in silent request. Reluctantly, you release your death grip and allow him to slide out of bed. He turns his back to you and stretches, granting you a moment to drink him in. He had packed on a significant amount of muscle during the offseason, filling out in all the right places.

Deciding there was no use trying to go back to sleep, you rise and join him at the dresser. He rummages through it, finally settling on a plain tshirt. As usual, you can’t take your eyes off him as he effortlessly slides the fabric over his head. How did he make an everyday act so inherently sexy?

Catching your stare, he fights the smile playing on his soft lips. “What?”

“Just admiring the view,” You say simply. Going up on your tiptoes, you press a meaningful kiss to his cheek. “Be careful out there, okay?”

He holds out his pinkie to you. You smile, wrapping your own tightly around it. “Promise.” He allows you one more passionate kiss before he slips out the door to make his way to the track.

At least one perk of staying in a suite was the fully stocked kitchenette. You grabbed an apple before brewing a cup of strong coffee, taking in the view off the balcony while it percolated. You could just see the track from here, something you knew Pierre had specifically requested. Although it was early, heat already rippled from the pavement. Hopefully his Alpha Tauri would stay cool and not throw a tantrum in the intense temperatures.

After a quick shower, you threw on one of Pierre’s extra shirts and let the comforting scent envelop you. Settling into bed with your coffee in hand and a laptop humming on your legs, you wait for the testing livestream to begin. In the meantime you scroll through your phone, reading the comments on the pictures of Pierre arriving at the circuit. 

His carefully selected outfit had caused quite a stir and honestly, you understood why. A loose blue shirt, white skinny jeans and sunglasses. On anyone else, it wouldn’t have been impressive in any way, but on him… He somehow always managed to deliver exactly what his fans - and most importantly you - craved.

And when the livestream started and he stepped out on the track with his white and navy Alpha Tauri suit half undone, the moisture-wicking underlayer practically painted on… You damn near lost it.

In the months since last season, you’d forgotten how mouthwateringly attractive he was in a race suit. The underlayer left nothing to the imagination, clinging to the hard lines of his torso. The famous Bahrain heat didn't help your sanity either, the sweat soaked fabric turning slightly translucent in places. Your eyes stay glued to the screen as it flips between cameras, desperately praying for another glimpse of your frenchman. 

How were you supposed to wait nine more agonizing hours for him to return?

As if picking up on your neediness, you didn't see another shot of Pierre for twenty minutes. The camera cut to the Alpha Tauri garage, where Pierre’s car waited in the pit lane. The closeup of him geared up sitting in his Alpha waiting patiently made you slap a hand over your mouth. Those eyes. You knew the little quirk of his brow he threw at the camera was meant solely for you; a way to unravel you when he wasn’t physically there.

You silently cursed him for how well it worked. 

Moments later, the tire blankets are peeled off and his car is lowered to the ground. Gasly was one of the first drivers to head out onto the track, giving him plenty of clean air to lay down fast laps. He completes seventeen laps in the first hour, and by lap twenty he holds the second fastest time, less than a second behind Verstappen. 

You try to focus on the precision and skill Pierre is displaying, but your mind keeps wandering back to the image of him standing on the track in his race suit. The consuming need to strip him out of it is incredibly distracting. It doesn’t help that your social media feeds are flooded with images of it either, offering you no reprieve.

By the end of the second hour, Pierre edges past Verstappen to take the fastest lap and go purple. He nearly holds onto it at the end of the session, just a few tenths slower than Ricciardo and Verstappen. It doesn’t matter; pride and love swell in your chest when he finally pulls back into the garage, his excitement evident before he even pulls his helmet off. The Alpha mechanics share his excitement, the camera showing them congratulating him before cutting to post session interviews.

As much as you tried, nothing could make you focus on Max or Daniel’s interviews. You spun the ring on your pinkie impatiently, waiting for Pierre to make an appearance. Ages later, he finally took a seat at the press conference. He took no mercy on you. Again dressed in crisp white and navy that accented his sun kissed skin, the ring twin to yours back on his finger… 

“Fuck me,” You groaned, throwing your head back. Even with half his face covered, he was still breathtakingly gorgeous. He carried himself with an easy confidence that no one else on the grid could match, on top of the world and determined to make it everyone else’s problem.

The entire time he spoke, you dreamed of running your tongue up the column of his neck, right over his Adam’s apple. You could taste the salt settled in the hollow of his collarbone, hear his breath catching as you worshipped him. 

Only half an hour until he came home to you.

The interview finally ended and you snapped your laptop shut, tossing it to the chair at the bedside. The second he came through that door, you’d pounce on him. Ten hours of straight torture, being forced to endure watching other women on social media drool over him and being unable to congratulate him on his amazing morning session at the garage. 

And fuck, would you congratulate him.

Minutes dragged by as you mindlessly scrolled through your phone, the endless pictures of Pierre not helping your desperation. You started at the sound of a key fitting in a lock. Throwing your phone aside, you scrambled from the bed, launching yourself at the door as it opened.

“Hey baby-”

You cut him off with a feral kiss, your lust boiling over. To his credit, he didn’t hesitate in dropping his bag and kicking the door shut behind him. He caught you when you jumped, broad hands cupping your ass as you wrapped your legs around his waist. 

“I love whoever designed Alpha’s suit,” You mumble between the open-mouthed kisses you pepper along his stubbled jaw. “You look fucking amazing in white.”

“I’ll be sure to pass your thanks along.” Tangling your fingers in his hair, you pull, exposing the thick column of his neck. Your tongue darts across his skin, savoring the softness. He groans, his grip shifting to dig his fingers into your thighs.

You don’t pause when he lays you on the bed, mouth continuing its needy exploration down to his shoulder. He settles over you, his solid body a familiar and welcome weight against you. 

“I couldn’t concentrate on anything once you stepped out onto the track,” You tell him, hands slipping under his polo. “Do you know how many women were talking about you today?”

“There’s only one that I care about,” He murmurs, pulling back to strip off his shirt. You take advantage of the power shift to wriggle out from under him. “Where are you-”

“Lay down,” You say, quiet but firm. The corner of his mouth quirks up but he obeys, taking his sweet time. You don’t mind; watching his shoulders ripple as he settles back against the downy pillows.

“Miss me much?” He taunts, the deep baritone resonating with some primal part within you and sending a shiver down your spine. “Usually our roles are flipped.”

You bracket a bare leg on either side of his with a wicked grin. “Do you really think I’d let you set the pace when you tortured me all day?” You bite your lip and let your gaze wander over the hard planes of his pecs, down his sculpted abdomen, finally coming to rest at the line of muscle disappearing beneath his waistband. You don’t miss the way his attention dips to your thighs, your center barely covered by the hem of his band tee you wore.

Pierre grins, folding an arm behind his head. “Do your worst.”

Your shirt joined his on the floor, piercing blue eyes eating up your newly exposed skin. You sink forward, eye to eye with him. You tip your head to the side, letting your hair slide forward to tickle his shoulder as you lean in to whisper, “I will.”

Lips, teeth and tongue float over his skin, leaving small, easily hidden marks in your wake. You let your hands slide across his abdomen as your mouth makes its way down his sternum, pausing to delight in his rapidly beating heart.

Fingers brushing the waistband of his riot-inducing white jeans, you press a tender kiss just below his belly button. "Why do you always insist on wearing white?"

"D-drives you wild," He gasps out, stumbling over the simple words. You hum against his skin in response, cock twitching against your shoulder. One of his hands flies back to grip the headboard, veins in his forearm bulging. 

Only when his eyes slide shut in anticipation do you finally undo the button, unzipping his fly agonizingly slow. Your name is a breathless plea tumbling from him as you ghost your fingers over his length. He lifts his hips just enough to allow you to slide his jeans down his thighs, followed by his boxers. The tip of your finger runs along the underside of his shaft, causing him to groan. The headboard creaks under his crushing grip as he tries to stop himself from shattering at your barest touch. 

Flicking your tongue over the tip, you spread the bead of precum that had gathered there. Slipping into French, Pierre swears viciously, his free hand tangling in your hair. He may know how to make you squirm from across the city, but you knew how to return the favor tenfold.

"You gonna win for me in two weeks, my love?" You purr, curling your fingers around his cock. 

"I'll w-win every race if it means you'll fuck me," He replies immediately, wholly submitted to the promise of your touch. 

You hum noncommittally before taking the tip of his cock in your mouth, swirling your tongue over the head. His hips buck, but you're already reacting in anticipation of that very movement. He groans in frustration when your mouth leaves him. A welcome change from your normal games, when it was his head between your thighs, his teasing tongue flicking across your center, your hips rocking in frustration. You enjoy his frustration for a few breaths, lazily drawing circles on his hip like he had done to you that morning.

"I think that could be arranged."

Bracing your hands on his chest, you position yourself so your slick folds brush against his cock. Arching your back, you grind your hips against him, your own chest heaving in time with his. The hours of anticipation had left you dripping wet, evidence of the effect he had on you. You silently praised yourself for your restraint; you wanted to drag out his need and tease him like he had done to you all damn day.

 "Mon amour," he murmurs, and you damn near lose your mind. Two words in his native tongue, dripping with honeyed softness but spoken with such rawness, it sets your soul on fire.

You reach a hand back, guiding him into as you sink down. Your pussy stretches to accommodate the thickness of him, and you have to give yourself a moment to adjust to the fullness.

Sweat beads on his golden brow as you begin to ride him in earnest, his hips rolling to meet yours. Panting, you dig your nails into his forearm, leaving angry red crescents behind. No matter how many times you fucked, it always felt like the first. The perfect fit never ceased to amaze you, the angle of your hips putting delicious pressure on that magic spot inside you with every thrust. 

"Pierre," You breathe, head falling back. His own thrusts become more frenzied, the wet sound of skin on skin sending a bolt of ecstasy through you.

His breathy moan of your name guides you over the edge into oblivion, your orgasm slamming white hot over you. Your desperate movements begin to slow, Pierre stilling beneath you as you struggle to regain your senses. Limbs shaking, you roll over, allowing yourself a moment to steady your breathing before turning back to him.

Pierre jerks when you take him in your mouth once more, tasting yourself on his cock. Hollowing your cheeks while taking as much of him as you can, you wrap your hand around the rest of him.

"Fuck," He mumbles, over and over as he thrusts his hips into your mouth a handful of times before his release finds him. His hips jerk as he cums, your tongue coaxing every last drop from him. You let him finish before swallowing the salty liquid, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

Sighing blissfully, you collapse onto the pillow next to your beloved. His arm hooks around you, still sticky with sweat but you don't care.

“I would say that counts as my workout for today,” He jokes, voice shaking in the aftermath. You laugh, wrapping an arm around his chest.

"Tomorrow, I choose your outfit."

Pierre’s laugh rumbles through you, setting your toes curling. "As long as it makes you attack me when I get home, I'll wear anything you ask me to."

[jlalafics]

20 & 31 mashup please 🙏🏻

20. warm soup

31. journaling

I hope you enjoy, Anon! 

_______

Today, it rains in Victors’ Village.

Katniss clumsily cuts the pieces of carrots and celery before dropping them into the broth that is boiling on their stove. She’s not the most skilled with cutlery or even with cooking, but Peeta’s leg has been bothering him with the cold weather so she’s insisted on making their dinner for tonight.

It’s not much, but she can certainly make a simple vegetable soup.

Going to their cupboard, Katniss grabs the salt and pepper to season, shaking them vigorously into the pot before checking on the rolls that she’s heating up in the oven.

They’re a bit dark—but well, she’s always enjoyed a little crunch.

Quickly taking them out, Katniss plops them onto a plate that she’s set on their kitchen table.

Covering the pot, she heads to the living room, finding Peeta on the couch with an open book in his lap and a pencil in his hands. His prosthetic is propped along the seat and Katniss reaches for a blanket on a nearby seat to cover him.

“Soup is just warming up,” she tells him. “What are you working on?”

“Just some journaling—” Peeta replies with a secretive smile. “—how is it going in there?”

“It’s going well.” Katniss doesn’t mention the color of her soup, a muddled green, and the fact that she almost forgot to peel the carrots. “Don’t worry, okay? I have everything under control—”

The sudden thick smell invades her nose, and she rushes away into the kitchen—where the soup is bubbling over. It’s overflowing and seeping into the flame of the stove thus the charred scent.

Turning it off, Katniss peeks into the pot, relieved to find that she didn’t lose too much of the soup.

She might not to be wholly domestic but doing this for Peeta is the one thing fills her with pride.

Grabbing the bowl that rests on the table, she takes the ladle she was using to stir and pours a good amount into it. Everything is arranged onto a tray: bowl, bread, utensils, and a cloth napkin.

Katniss looks proudly at her work.

Because as much as she doesn’t want to admit, she wants to take care of him—heal his hurt, hold him when the nightmares come, kiss the pain away.

Two years since their return to District 12 and Katniss has come to understand the gravity of love.

She may not be able to say it well, but she can show it—even if it’s just a warm bowl of soup.

Lifting the tray, Katniss heads back slowly to the sitting room where Peeta continues working on the journal, brow furrowed and tongue sticking out in concentration. She places the tray on the coffee table across from his spot before joining him.

He puts the journal down and looks to the tray.

“Looks good. I’ll just wash up.” Peeta reaches for his prosthetic and rolls his pant leg up to place it back on seamlessly. He leans down to press a kiss to her lips. “Be right back.”

He heads down the hall toward their downstairs half-bath, his lumbering gait getting softer until she hears the soft click of the door closing.

Reaching for the journal, Katniss pages through the entries done by them both. Haymitch has even contributed his own words and experiences, his entries full of drunken, sometime hurtful truths. Her earlier additions are stilted, reluctant words about her pain but as she pages through, Katniss sees herself slowly opening up and allowing the hurt to seep into the journal as she heals.

Then there is Peeta—an open book from the very beginning.

His words and drawings are a clear eye into who Peeta Mellark is. He doesn’t shy away from painful narrative, an early drawing of a young man crouched into the corner of a dark room bringing tears to her eyes.

As she continues through, the words become lighter as do the pictures. Katniss smiles at a picture of a furrowed browed Haymitch, fingers on his chin in thought, a chess board in front of him. She sees pictures of a new Mellark Bakery, a dream that they’ve talked about as they laid in bed together.

She sees pictures of herself, fragments of their relationship presented through joined hands…a portrait of her smiling over her shoulder at him…her grey eyes full of hunger…

Then…primroses…the last few pages are filled with them, except for the last page—

It’s a hand—his hand—holding out a simple band with elegant ivy carved along its surface.

Elegant but effective.

“Katniss.”

Looking up from the journal, her heart stutters at the sight before her.

Peeta kneels before her, the ring from the journal in his fingers.

“I wanted to do this in a more romantic way,” he tells her. “But I realized that you’re not that kind of girl. To you, realness is a romance language. So, I thought why not ask you to marry me in the home we created with one another.”

“Are you asking?”

Peeta chuckles, reaching for her hand. “Katniss, will you—”

She’s nodding, her jaw aching from her grin. “Yes.”

Then he is reaching for her, pulling her onto his lap and her mouth finds its way to his, tasting their tears as they celebrate this moment.

It’s been in the making longer than either of them has known—since that moment that he heard her sing the Valley Song…since the moment he threw her the burnt bread…since they held hands and were presented as the Tributes of District 12—

“Katniss?”

His lips have wandered onto her neck, nipping at the skin, and causing rivulets of pleasure to course through her.

“Yes?”

“I just smelled the soup—please don’t make me eat it.”

Katniss chuckles at his words. “It can’t be that bad.”

She moves off his lap and reaches for the spoon.

Taking a bit onto it, Katniss tastes her creation—

“There’s a definite taste of…” She licks her lips before grimacing. “…sewer.”

She wouldn’t subject her worst enemy to this.

“Let’s make sandwiches together,” Peeta says, helping her to her feet. “After.”

“After?”

“After, I take you upstairs to celebrate,” he tells her plainly. “I’d like to add a few more drawings to the book to record this moment.”

Katniss brings her hands to the buttons of her shirt, undoing them slowly to make sure he sees the sliver of skin as she continues down.

“Why go upstairs?”

Peeta reaches for the journal quickly.

He has never been so inspired.

FIN.

[norman891]

...

@sleightlyoffhand

“Pardon me?” Edward bristled at Haigh’s tone.  Again, he heard the man mumble something that could be mistaken for a less than genuine apology before wandering away down the beach. He looked at what he assumed had once been a pheasant and glanced at Victor.

“And what does he expect us tae do wi’ this wee birdie?” he asked sarcastically.

Victor shrugged, then took the bird and seasoned it with salt, pepper, and some dried herbs, including some strong-smelling rosemary and sage, then put it over the fire to cook. “The captain will enjoy this.” he remarked, knowing Hook’s fondness for tender white meat. “I’ll be glad when we can go back to ship.  Is too damned hot on this beach.”

“Aye mate,” Edward agreed.  “Bugger all this heat.”

“What did his nibs say to ye?” Victor asked.

“Not quite sure about that,” Edward replied, watching Haigh grow smaller the further down the beach he strolled.  “I think it were supposed tae be an apology of sorts, but it was a back handed one if any at all. He did nae mean a word of it either.” He snorted. ” We’ve been busting our arses for almost thirty hours, and he thinks a pheasant will do for his penance?”

“Bloody assassin,” Victor grumbled. “Tis a mistake the captain took him on, in my humble.”

“Or not-so-humble,” Edward grinned, and Victor laughed.

The bacon was finally cured to Edward’s liking as well as the two turkeys and some of the cuts of venison and wild boar.  The meat was wrapped in cheesecloth or flour sack towels until it could be properly stored on board.

The longboat had returned from delivering its first load to the Jolly Roger, and Victor set about loading it with more provisions with help from the crew. Several men brought the stretched hides to be taken out and set out on the ship’s deck and the boat headed back to the ship to be unloaded.

Hook’s tent and accoutrements were loaded into a second longboat, leaving room for the captain to be seated at the stern. All other frames were taken apart and stowed between two downed trees and covered with leaves for future use. Once a smokehouse was done with, several crewmen would carefully disassemble the large sheets of bark and frame and hid them in a niche under the outcropping of rocks Haigh had been perched on.

The longboat returned from the Jolly Roger a third time, waiting for the Victor to decide if the large venison and boar hams were smoked to perfection. Finally, he gave the word and the last of the meat was wrapped in cheesecloth and loaded into the longboat while the last of the smoke houses were broken down and stored.  The pit the pig had been cooked in had been filled in last night and to the uniformed viewer, the only evidence the pirates had been there were the ashes from their fires.

Victor returned to the ship with the longboat on it’s last ferrying of meat and tools. His remaining pots and pans were on board as well as the cast iron roasting spit. He had stored the roasted pheasant in one of his Dutch ovens with some of the roasted vegetables to serve Hook for his evening meal.

Now that hard work began for the crew. The four cannons were rolled back to the longboats and loaded back to be replaced on the Jolly Roger.  Hook watched his dogs working in unison with high spirits, even more satisfied with Edward’s hunting prowess. He watched the man kicking sand over the last two small fires that had fueled the smokers and dust his hands in a most pleased manner. The two boats with the cannon shoved off and began rowing back to the ship, leaving Hook, Smee, and Elijah waiting on Joe Haigh to return.

“If you don’t mind, Captain,” Edward started, “I thought I’d take a quick dip tae get the sweat off me.”

Hook nodded his approval.  “Of course,” he said.  “Why should I mind?”

“Anyone else mind?” Edward asked the remaining hands.

“Go ahead,” Hook insisted. “You’ve worked for over thirty hours. Please, refresh yourself. I understand the water is comfortably cool.”

Edward needed no further prodding.  He pulled his shirt off over his head, shed his kilt, and strolled in until he was waist deep in the ocean, then dove into the waves, scrubbing at his scalp. He washed under his arms, after a fashion, and rubbed the sweat from his chest, then reached down and cleaned his undercarriage. Satisfied he was clean, and muchly cooled off, he sauntered stark naked out of the waves and reclaimed his kilt, which he always wore regimental style. He retrieved his shirt and walked back to the last longboat where Hook and the others were waiting on him. The breeze had quickly dried his torso and arms, so he pulled the thin white linen shirt back on.

“And where is Mr. Haigh?” Hook asked, annoyed.

“He mumbled something about digging clams and went off down the beach,” Ed replied, running his fingers back through his damp hair to keep it out of his eyes.

Hook glared down the beach angrily.  Unless the man was hiding behind the cluster of boulders, he was nowhere to be seen. “Damn that impertinent son-of-a bitch!” he swore.  “I distinctly told him to make himself useful in camp.

“Oh, he did bring several armloads of firewood, and a single pheasant, but that was the most of it,” Edward answered. “That’s when he said something about digging clams and I’ve no seen him since.

“Well, I’m not waiting all evening on him to return.” Hook snorted, climbing in to take his seat. Smee, Elijah, and Edward all pushed the longboat into knee deep water before assuming their places; Smee and Elijah at the oars and Edward sat beside his captain.

“Di’ nae fret about him,” he said to Hook.  “He has a wee boat he can row back in when he’s done wi’ whatever devilment he’s up to.”

“What makes ye think he’s up to no good,” Smee asked, pulling on his oar.

“Because he’s out o’ sight and in defiance o’ the captain’s direct orders.” Edward pointed out. “I know I’m only the cook’s helper, but I know a rat when I lay eyes on one, be it two or four legged.”

“I am beginning to share your opinion.” Hook said angrily.  “There will be retribution for this, whenever Mr. Haigh decides to grace us with his presence again.” He sat staring out at the open ocean beyond his ship, wanting to up anchor and leave this cursed island, and leave Joe Haigh on it. But as many times as they’d tried, no matter what course they set, the island always reappeared on the horizon.  He was trapped here so long as Pan lived, and Haigh was not doing the recon on Peter’s hideout as promised.

“Tis a shame those brats hobbled you, Edward. I think you’d have had the imps hunted down in a matter of days. That was some damned fine hunting you did. Damned fine shooting too.”

“Thank ye, sir.” Edward felt himself blush. “Just doing my part to help out.”  He looked back over his shoulder at the empty beach, wondering just where Joe had gone and what he was up to

Once back on board the Jolly Roger, Edward collected his baldric, carbine, and bow and stored them in their appropriate corner of the pantry.  The room smelled heavenly: warm, smoky, and spicy. The scent of smoked meat was heavy, with meat hanging from hooks in the ceiling. Victor’s crocks lined the shelves and there was still fruit and vegetables to be dealt with. The apple barrel was full as well as a barrel of oranges and several bushels of pears. He smiled, rolled up his sleeves, and headed to the galley to help Victor. Smee passed him on the way out, taking the captain his dinner.

[exosmutfactory]

Six Phases 005 Pt 2

Who knew it nearly took 6 months to win your heart, and 6 phases for Baekhyun to lose his mind.

[ contains: romance, fluff, angst, & smut ]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3  P(1) P(2) | Part 4 P(1) P(2) | Part 5 P(1) P(2) ✓ | Part 6 P(1)  P(2)

•⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •

Orginally posted by sefuns

I'm starting to wonder when that talk will happen—if ever. It's been two weeks of us in the same dynamic as the start of our relationship. If I had known we would resort back to this point all those months ago, I would have left that night of our first kiss and never looked back. (Says this with my full chest as if my heart would allow such a thing. I'd just continue sitting and staring up at the ceiling with disappointment squeezing the mess out of my poor muscle).

A buzz pulls me from my miserable thoughts, turning my attention to my phone dangerously close to falling off the side of my bed. I catch it just before it tips over the edge.

//

I'm outside

1:30pm

//

Puffing my cheeks while sending a reply, I stand up from my pile of blankets. Temporary safe haven left for my return in a few days.

Smoothing out the fabric of my blue jeans, I move to slip into my simple black and white converses; making sure my phone and charger are safely tucked into my silver purse. Taking one last look around the room still containing Jenny's messy array of clothes on her bed, my lips quirk up into a quick smile. Some things never change.

Choosing to go down the stairs today, I make sure the door is locked behind me; shoving my hands into the pockets of my dark gray hoodie with quick strides. The hallways are packed with students preparing to leave for the long weekend as well. A few barely familiar faces waving me farewell.

I slip through the door someone carelessly walked out of moments before, not even to look back to check if anyone else was coming out in their haste. I’ve hit my face a couple of times from instances like these. Never again.

Shaking my head, I pick up my pace at the sight of a familiar shiny black Audi parked out in front. The visual of Baekhyun's form clad in a black t-shirt, white hoodie, and an off-white coat leaning against the expensive car is nearly enough for my heart to stop. And the smile he sends my way could melt me into a puddle all together. "Hey." His voice is tentative like the hand that gently tucks hair behind my ear.

"Hi," My voice is barely above a whisper as he moves to open the passenger door, the way his brown eyes watch me has my own shyly lowering to his ripped blue jeans; carefully maneuvering around his brand new multicolored gray shoes to step into the car. I take a peek at him walking around to climb inside as well; smiling at his little shiver when he opens the door in wake of a chilly breeze.

"You're not bringing anything?" He inquires once he’s settled in the driver's seat, looking over at me while the engine purrs to life.

I simply shake my head, observing how the colorful trees pass by the window, turned into an array of different hues in the wake of the best season there is; Fall. It may only be the beginning of September, but the signs are all there. Late sunrises, chillier nights, and the scattering of fallen leaves across the ground. The season of pleasant walks without the hinder of bees, sneezing fits from pollen, or the unmerciful heat of the sun.

We barely say a word as the rest of the world flies by, but there is less tension in the car. I hesitate a bit before reaching for the stereo, pausing when Baekhyun beats me there; turning the radio to our favorite station with a knowing smile.

It's about a 3-hour commute from campus to my home. Tall innovative buildings gradually morphing into more humble structures; brick walls versus floor to ceiling windows.

I direct Baekhyun down a few back roads that his GPS struggles to navigate, taking pleasure in how his eyes widen the moment we pull up to the house. "Whoa…"

Rose bushes I helped my grandmother plant are still in full bloom out front in the spacious yard; ruby reds and pretty pinks basking in the unshy sunlight beaming from above. The familiar scent of freshly cut grass greets my nose the moment I step out of the car, glancing back at Baekhyun when he goes to retrieve his duffle bag from the backseat.

"Baby!"

Spinning back on my heel, I open my arms on instinct, receiving a tight hug from a fast moving small person with a quiet ‘oof!’ "Hi Mom." I mumble through my restricted breath, her short hair tickling my chin.

She pulls back a bit in realization, grinning sheepishly up at me before her brown eyes flicker somewhere behind me, hardening into that classic protective mother bear look. "You sure haven't been calling much this week."

"I was busy," I try to justify, a slight whine in my voice that seems to startle Baekhyun. The loud thud of what I assume is his head hitting the roof of the car makes us both turn to him. He's gingerly rubbing the back of his head, the expression of a kid being caught doing something they shouldn't on his reddening face.

"Busy, huh?" Her eyes narrow in suspicion.

"Yep! I had a few assignments to finish up in advance," I chirp; mindful to keep the nervousness out of my voice, easing her up a little as Baekhyun carefully makes his way over to us. My hand comfortably slips into his despite the swarm of butterflies in my stomach under her watchful stare. "Mom, this is Baekhyun." Peeking over at him, I look back to her, motherly instinct still visible in her eyes. "Baekhyun, this is my mom."

"Hello, Mrs. Parker," His tone is similar to the one he uses when greeting associates; calm, respectful, and observant of her fiercely yet wary mannerisms while sliding the duffle strap further up his shoulder before holding out his hand to her.

She squints down at his hand, meets his eye, and grips his hand for a firm handshake; pops of his bones being squeezed audible to all our ears. "Mr. Byun." After one last look to size him up, she swiftly turns away.

"Did I ever mention she's ex-military?" I whisper in his ear as she walks back up the short driveway leading to the house.

"No," He replies just as quietly with wide eyes, slowly flexing his fingers.

"Well then! Let's go," Holding his hand more firmly in mine, I venture after my mom, quick to catch the door before it closes behind her. "There's someone else you should meet."

"Your dad?" He inquires stepping over the threshold.

"Shoes go over there," I point to a rack stationed next to the large carpet that we keep in front of the door, slightly shaking my head. "No, men rarely enter this house."

His lips part along with the furrow in his brows, question at the tip of his tongue, "Wha-"

"Honey bear!" I turn just in time to be wrapped up in another tight hug, resting my free hand on their back. "Hi Grandma," My voice comes out muffled in her shoulder, the comforting scent of lavender and her shoulder-length salt & pepper hair tickling my nose.

She pulls back to look me over with a warm smile, sending the same sentiment Baekhyun's way before taking my other hand. "Come on, I'll whip up something for lunch."

Baekhyun's eyes light up a bit at the prospect, his shoulders losing tension as he neatly sets down his duffle bag on the couch, letting her lead us further into the house. A few family pictures on the wall catches his eye along the way. I gently cup his chin to distract him from the more embarrassing ones, why the hell is there a photo of me completely destroying my dinner in my high chair on the front wall!?!

"Grandma," I start the second we step into the kitchen, placing my hand on my hip, "What happened to the cream curtains?"

"In the closet," She lifts up the blinds of the blue-curtained window above the sink, making her way over to the refrigerator. "I forgot. We can put them back up later, have a seat."

Taking my designated seat at—arguably—the tail end of the rectangular table, I shoot a smile over at Baek settling into the seat to my right, sliding my hand back into his under the privacy of the autumn-themed tablecloth.

The distinct smell of chicken and relish reaches my nose, dragging my attention away from admiring the warmth of his brown orbs. "Grandma? Are you making chicken salad?"

Her reassuring hum makes me squeal a little, my gaze shifts back to Baekhyun when he lightly squeezes my hand, shooting me a fond smile. "Chicken salad?" He inquires, sparkly eyes full of curiosity.

I nod, softly playing with his fingers, "It's canned chicken, relish, and mayo."

His brow lifts a little, "I thought you hated mayonnaise?"

"I do," I mumble, sneaking a quick kiss to his cheek when no one is looking, feeling my heart leap a bit at the unexpected act of affection. "It tastes better than it sounds, trust me."

His cheeks redden, and even more so when mom's voice rings out in the quiet room.

"Kissing in the kitchen now, huh?"

"Mom," I weakly protest, hiding my red face behind my hand as Baekhyun directs his gaze to the tabletop. She swiftly enters the room with a teabag in hand, opening the fridge while Grandma stands by the countertop, mixing all the ingredients together.

"Perfectly fine," Mom comments, coming back out of the fridge with a small glass container in her other hand, walking over to our side of the table while cheekily adding, "Not in front of the food though."

"Kimberly," Grandma chastises, making her way over as well. Mom just sets down the dish with a playful smile, "I peeled you a few carrots when I heard you were coming."

"Really?" I perk up, receiving and thanking them for the food while Baekhyun shyly gives his gratitude as well; I can't help smiling at the bashful expression playing at his handsome features, looking totally out of his element. Who knew he'd be this reserved? It's cute.

"Here," I quickly retrieve a packet of crackers from the shelf stationed against the wall behind me, opening them up as Baekhyun looks over the food curiously. "We usually eat it with bread or crackers," I pause, taking a good look at him then, "Do you want bread instead?"

He lightly shakes his head, the motion causes his long hair to dangle into his eyes, creating an even more adorably shy expression on his cute face. It's hard containing my fond smile while giving him some crackers and scooping chicken salad on his plate. "We ate this often back in the US," I murmur, handing him the spoon before grabbing another. "Chicken salad. Sometimes with soup."

"She'd toast her bread," Grandma sits across from Baekhyun, digging into her own small portion of tuna salad; the potent smell of onions filling the air.

"And drown it with mustard," Mom mutters, phone in one hand and steaming cup of ginger tea in the other. "She puts that shit on everything, I swear."

"Hey!" I shoot them both a mock look of betrayal as she takes the remaining seat, setting her phone neatly on the table. "Why must you two gang up on me?"

"Gotta make sure he knows what he's getting himself into," She mumbles, sipping her tea, turning to face Baekhyun then. "Does she still leave leftovers if it's more than a sandwich?" She inquires, eyeing him evenly. "And her eyes sparkle at the mention of ice cream?"

"Ah, well…" He falters, eyes briefly flickering to the ceiling, a thoughtful expression on his face. A little smile forming on his lips before looking her way again. "Actually, yes." He utters softly, sparkly orbs peeking over at me.

I start taking a bite out of my meal with my hand blocking them from view, pretending as if they—and myself—are not here.

"Still got the appetite of a little kid." Grandma chuckles, glancing over at me while spooning tuna on her bread. "How is Sehun doing, sweetie?"

The shy feeling in my chest eases away. Perking up at the change of topic, I chirp, "Great! His gym is going well, and he just moved in with his lover into a new apartment.~"

"Really?" Her smile is visible even from her blue eyes alone, aged hand brushing away wild strands of salt and pepper hair from her forehead. "That's good, I'm glad."

Mom makes a noise over her cup of tea, arching a brow as she utters lowly, "Y'all not thinking of moving in together are you-"

"Mom!" I shake my head, waving my hands around. "No, no. We're not at that point-"

"We're not?" Baekhyun mumbles, a petulant tone to his quiet voice.

We all fall silent at that, wordlessly looking at him. My blush dying down in an instant.

"Ah, Kim," Grandma pushes away from the table, sandwich clutched in hand. "I need help with that thing I told you about earlier."

"Thing?" Mom's brows furrow, pure confusion on her face, "What thing-"

"The thing," Grandma emphasizes, urging her to stand, already leading the way out of the kitchen. "Let's leave the lovebirds to their meal, they must be tired from their journey." She throws her arm over Mom's shoulder as she continues to grumble in confusion, glancing back at us with knowing blue eyes as they turn the corner and flashing a wink.

I relax back in my chair, sinking down a little with a shaky sigh. Heart jumping at the fingertips tentatively searching for my hand.

"You good?" Baekhyun murmurs, warm breath caressing my cheek.

"Yeah," My eyes lazily drift back over to him. The dazed look in his eyes makes me straighten up, "I should be asking you that. You okay?"

He hums, dabbing his lips with a napkin. Crescent moon eye-smile giving away the hidden curl of his lips. "I'm a little surprised, is all." He murmurs.

"Really?" My eyes widen, heart-squeezing uncomfortably in my chest. "W-Why?"

"You," Baekhyun mutters, setting down the napkin. Slender index finger smoothing out the furrow between my brows, "You're a spitting image of your mom and a carbon copy of your grandma..." He tilts his head, brown orbs twinkling thoughtfully; a little smirk forming on his lips, "With a dash of rebel spirit."

"Yah," I complain, batting his hand away from pinching my cheek. He isn't wrong though, I only let my mom boss me around. And even then, I always find loopholes within the rules she sets out for me. Thanks, Grandma. But it's hard playing the role of a good daughter with him around. Do I behave like the person he knows or the one he hasn't seen? This weekend will be full of testing the waters, it seems...

Baekhyun just chuckles, going back to his meal.

"Do you wanna go somewhere?" I mumble after a few minutes, holding a cracker topped high with salad and carefully cupping it with my other hand while stuffing it in my mouth.

Baekhyun hums, brown eyes shifting from the last few bites on his plate to focus on me. "Where do you wanna go?" His words come out muffled, cheeks adorably stuffed with food.

"There's this nice park in town," Neatly tucking our leftover crackers into a sandwich bag to keep them fresh for later, I add, "It has biking trails, a playground, and a mini water park-"

"Your stomach hurts if you walk too much after eating," Baekhyun raises a brow, swallowing the rest of his food. "And you hate getting your hair wet."

"I know!" It's hard containing my smile. I'm flattered that he remembered such trivial things. I rest my head on his shoulder and hug his arm, looking up into his sparkly brown eyes. "We could go swing for awhile?~"

Baekhyun looks me over for a long moment, lips quirking up as he reaches to dab the corner of my lips with a napkin as well. "Okay," He mumbles, adding fondly. "Only for you."

I bite my lip to fight back another smile, stacking our empty plates and taking his hand. Gently setting them in the sink before leading him deeper into the house. "Mom? Grandma?"

"In here, honey."

Following the sound of Grandma's voice, I rest my free hand on the open door frame, peeking into her bedroom. Finding mom clicking around her old computer while she stands by the open window. "I'm gonna show Baekhyun around at the park, we'll be back for dinner."

"Okay, baby," Mom mumbles, brows furrowed in concentration. Grandma shoos us away with a little smile.

Smiling their way, I glance at Baekhyun, squeezing his hand before walking back out into the living room. We retrieve our shoes from the rack, slipping into them again. His quiet chuckles filling the room while steadying my wobbling body before I fall over; cursing gravity while struggling to pull on my right converse.

A few neighbors are out in their yards as we make our way to the car, some men that go to the same college I do. The sight of them and their cat-calls has me flinching, quickly hiding behind Baekhyun. Peeking with an embarrassed expression over his shoulder as he glares at them. I swear I've seen them at Jongdae's party… My face bursts into flames, even more so at the way Baekhyun gives me the side-eye as if he has a good idea of why they are like this as well.

I meekly climb into the Audi, gently closing the door behind me as Baekhyun starts the engine. Throwing his arm over the back of my seat while backing out of the driveway in an unfairly attractive manner. His brown eyes flicker over to me with a blank expression on his face. I just sink down as far as possible in my seat.

The ride to the park is dead silent, not even the radio is on to defuse the stifling tension in the air. I fight the urge to keep taking glances over at Baekhyun. His tight grip on the steering wheel is enough of an indication of the current mood he is in. What has him mad now? I don't know how much more of this I can take…

We finally arrive at the park, I slip out of the car the moment he pulls into a parking space. Not even waiting for him before venturing down a familiar walking trail. The sounds of his shoes hitting the pavement has me quickening my pace. Adrenaline fueling me forward.

"Riley!"

Nope nope nope. The last few weeks bombard me all at once, causing a lump to form in my throat along with the tight squeeze in my chest. I crouch down under the weight of my unrelenting thoughts, wrapping my arms around my knees. Why did I let him come home with me? How do I face them now when we are like this? One look at my face and they'll know everything.

/

"How do I know you were with her?"

The bitterness in his voice perfectly matched the cold of his dull eyes. The bite of his menace full words.

"You were out fucking Jongin."

/

My heart practically shatters, feeling pressure behind my stinging eyes. Will we always be like this? Are we just going to continue down this road of destruction until… until—

"Riley."

I flinch away from the hand resting on my shoulder, head snapping up to see him through blurry eyes. The concern written all over his face nearly enough to send me to tears.

"I told you not to push yourself," He mumbles, thumb gently swiping beneath my eye. Brown orbs a complete 360 from what they were earlier. "Come on," He urges, crouching down to my level, looking all over my person. "Let's go sit down. You wanted to swing, hmm? I'll push you."

I slowly nod, my stress ebbing away as he wraps his comforting arms around me, carefully pulling me up to stand. His distinct scent makes me soften further within his hold; my gaze focused on our respect shoes as he leads me toward the playground with his arm over my shoulders.

"No one is here today?" I look up at his question, briefly taking in the confusion on his face before sweeping my eyes over the vacant area. "Strange," My response is simple, hands shoved deep in the front pocket of my hoodie.

Baekhyun glances down at me, brushing his thumb over my jaw. "Pick which one you want, love."

Wordlessly moving away from the warmth of his embrace, I plop down into the swing I always go to when no one else is using it. The leather seat is visibly higher up from the ground than its twin, a fresh patch of lighter shaded dirt underneath. Less strain for me later when I try to stop myself instead of having to stretch my legs towards the dug-up ground. And white sneakers be damned, I need this.

The scent of vanilla tickles my nose, Baekhyun's lean form in my peripheral vision as I tighten my grip on the metal handles. Butterflies fluttering in my stomach while he pulls me back, my feet lifting off of the ground.

He gives me the lightest push forward, and I scoff, shooting him a glare. "You can do better than that, Byun."

His lips twitch, a mischievous glint in his eye while I'm swinging back towards him, tucking my legs to make sure my shoes won't dirty his jeans. His next push has significantly more strength behind it. I squeak at the croak of the old chains, laughing loud as I launch myself along with the motion; soaring towards the sky. There's nothing quite freeing like the weightless feeling that comes with swinging. Aiming higher and higher until the chains drop heavily under my weight on the way down. Nothing to worry about except the wind in your hair and falling out at a scary height.

"This is so fun!" I yell, beaming with bounds of delightful adrenaline; glancing over my shoulder at Baekhyun. My smile dims when he isn't there.

"Baek?.." I slow down to a stop, burying my converses in the dirt. Twisting around in my seat for any sign of the silver-haired man, a sense of panic steadily rising in my chest. Where did he go? He… didn't leave or anything, right? It's getting a bit harder to breathe.

"Baekhyun? Baek-" I yelp at the sudden tug on my swing, looking up at the man in front of me with wide eyes.

Baekhyun holds the eye contact with dark brown orbs, slowly pulling me closer until our foreheads touch, his breathing steady compared to my slightly labored one. He looks so eternal against the backdrop of the sun beginning to set. Stunning pink, purple, and orange hues framing around his heart-stopping features like the most beautiful portrait, painting him in a hypnotizing glow. The way his eyes constantly flicker down to my mouth makes me gulp, my face heating up against the cool fall air.

Baekhyun licks his lips, meeting my eyes before leaning in. I release a shaky breath, eyes fluttering shut at the brush of his soft pillows to mine, grip tightening on the old sturdy chains of the swing.

The kiss starts out soft, his lips tentatively moving with mine, but then the mood shifts. His hands grabbing my hips and my own tugging on his silver hair, our tongues battling for dominance in a knee-weakening dance. The loud clearing of someone's throat breaks us from our spell.

Baekhyun remains unphased, shamelessly taking his time to pull away with a wet smack of lips. "I think we have an audience, love." He chuckles, licking his bottom lip in a way that has my insides quivering. I avert my gaze from the stranger's heated glare, focusing on our dirty shoes instead.

Baekhyun tucks his finger under my chin, bright orbs twinkling in amusement. "Let's go?" He mumbles, raising a brow, holding his hand out to me.

I nod quietly, still a bit breathless as he helps me out of the swing, my shaky knees buckling under me. Baekhyun's hands rest with familiarity on my waist, holding me up as I struggle to get my legs working properly again. His naturally addictive scent and alluring eyes don't help my current situation at all. Do I ever get a break from falling for this man? Literally!?

"Let's get you home before your mother skins me alive," He murmurs humoredly, his brown eyes alight, leading our way back to the car.

The smell of fried fish greets us at the threshold of the door. I perk up at the sound of boiling hot cooking oil, hastily slipping out of my shoes. Leaving Baekhyun to neatly place them back on the rack while running to the kitchen. "Grandma, you didn't!~"

"Grab a plate." She chuckles, setting a fresh batch of fish in a serving tray. The sight of fries and home-made onion rings making my eyes widen in glee. I skip over to the sink to wash my hands, quickly getting two plates from the high cabinets and heading to the stove to grab the desired pieces of fish. Setting a few of the biggest ones on Baekhyun's blue striped dish.

He joins us at the stove with washed hands just as I'm biting into an onion ring, pressing a kiss to my temple with a little hum. "Careful, baby!" He exclaims as I fan my burnt mouth, catching the ring in his palm before it can fall to the floor.

"Same little Riley," Mom shakes her head, handing me a cold glass of water with a pacifying hug.

"I'm not little!" My words come out weird around my throbbing tongue, wildly gesturing between our height difference as Baekhyun chuckles, taking our plates to the table. Grandma shortly joins in on the embrace, "Hush and go eat your food."

"That's what got me into this predicament in the first place," I grumble, wiggling away after a few moments.

We all take our seats, respective plates containing appetizing food. No one cooks Southern delicacy quite like Grandma. I swear, give her fresh meat or cans of anything and she can create a masterpiece. My mouth is salivating just at the thought of the perfectly seasoned meal in front of me. Baekhyun's knowing look keeps me from taking a bite of the steaming fry held carefully between my nails. Right, a repeat of a few minutes ago isn't the wisest idea. I set it back on my plate with a pout.

"Ooh~ she went for the onion rings again." Mom teases, drawing everyone's attention to me reaching for the ketchup bottle. "Expect to get a few mouthfuls of seconds," She continues, amused eyes drifting over to Baekhyun.

"Here," Grandma breaks off a few paper towels, handing them to me. I take them shyly, carefully breaking my pieces of fish in half, "Picky little eater. She gets it from her mom." She gestures to the other end of the table, Mom pausing mid-break of her fish.

"I like to know what I'm eating," She justifies, munching on a fry, "Can you hand me the mustard, baby?"

"Mmhm!" I stretch with the yellow bottle across the table, starting to stand up to walk around to her side instead when Baekhyun gently takes it from my hand, politely giving it to her.

Conversation flows easily after that. Both of them taking turns asking Baekhyun questions regarding his work and home life. I watch them carefully, swiftly steering the conversation away from a handful of embarrassing childhood memories. No way in hell I'm letting him hear any of that. My gaze shoots down to my plate, the last little half of my fish makes me wince at the thought of eating anything more. Realizing this, I shyly tug on Baekhyun's shirt, trying to inconspicuously get his attention, "Baekhyun…"

"Hmm?" His cheeks are puffed up with the last of his food, the attentive look in his eyes makes me bashfully lower mine.

"Do you want the rest of my food?" I meekly utter, worrying my bottom lip.

He chews a few times, swallows the food in his mouth, and dabs at his lips with a napkin before leaning to kiss my forehead, flashing a reassuring smile at me. "Yes, baby."

"Do you know she's afraid of the dark?" Mom sips her drink, grinning knowingly my way. Oh no.

Baekhyun hums thoughtfully, shaking his head. "No, she never mentions when she stays-" My muffled squeal draws his eyes back to me, innocent orbs widening, "Over."

Mom faces me then, "Do you need-"

"I'm sleeping with the lights on, yes," I interject, not missing a beat. A few decent nights of rest is needed before my first day of work on Monday. The thought alone makes me shiver. Why do I have to do this adulting shit again?

"See?" She complains, a whine to her loud voice. "I can't get her to sleep with them off for the life of me!"

"Scary stuff happens in the dark! You've said it yourself!" I rebuke just as dramatically, hands firmly planted on the table. Grandma and Baekhyun just laugh watching us.

"Lights out and sharing leftovers…" She mutters, idly swirling the contents in her glass, a little smirk hinting at whatever flustering thing she will say next. "When's the wedding?"

I seek an escape within my folded arms on the table, hanging my head in mock defeat as harmless laughter echoes around the room.

///

I insist on helping them with the dishes after dinner, Baekhyun being shooed out the room by Grandma and fixed with a stern stare from Mom. He goes on to take a shower while sheepishly ruffling his hair.

"So..." Mom gives me the side-eye, hands deep in soapy water. "You've been dating this man for a year and haven't made a peep about him-"

"Half a year!" I clarify, mindful of her disapproving tone while wiping at the damp plate with a brown square pattern dish towel in my hands. Listening carefully to make sure the shower down the hall is still running before lowering my voice. "Plus I wanted to make sure he was worth mentioning, Ma," I whine, shrinking back at the stern look she gives me. "Or bringing home…"

"Well, he seems like a nice young man," Grandma inputs, neatly setting dried plates up in the cabinets.

"Sure..." Mom mutters, handing me a glass, going back to washing the dishes. I send Grandma a grateful look over her shoulder, she just winks at me.

"Riley?" Baekhyun's gentle voice breaks through the quiet atmosphere of swaying water and silverware clinking together. I glance over my shoulder, turning fully at the sight of his hair dripping non-stop onto his black t-shirt. "Baek, what have I told you about drying your hair?" I tsk, walking over with quick strides. Pulling the towel hanging around his neck and reaching up to gently dry his silver locks. "It's not good for your health or your dyed hair." I can't help but grumble, carefully detangling the delicate strands. "Are you tryna get sick or go bald?"

"No..." He mumbles, head tilted down as I smooth out his hair.

"What am I gonna do with you…" I sigh, resting my hands on his shoulders, taking in the sheepish expression on his face. My weak heart softens, "Will you be alright out here for the night?"

He nods, putting the towel back around his shoulders, "It's not my first time sleeping on an air mattress."

My lips quirk up a little, sending him an apologetic look. An all-women house means all women rules—no men are allowed in our rooms in the rare instance they stay over. For good reason too, I'd throw a fit if either Mom or Grandma pulled that shit—keep your relationship business out of my earshot!!! For fuck sake.

I follow Baekhyun over to the mattress in the middle of the living room floor, stacked high with some of my own pillows. (The watchful stare I received from mom while tugging them out of my room… Worth it). And a thick comforter. It's that odd time of year where it's late to turn off the air conditioner yet too soon to switch on the heat. Subjecting us to many cold nights and hot mornings.

"You can kiss, we won't look," Mom's teasing tone floats from the kitchen doorway, Grandma not too far behind. The noise of protest I squeak out is too high pitched for my own ears, nearly jumping off my perch at the edge of the bouncy mattress.

Baekhyun laughs in that adorable way of his, cheeks rosy and eyes twinkling in delight as he wraps an arm around my waist. I hide my red face in his broad shoulder instead.

My family heads to sleep early for the night, lucky with being able to venture to the realm of dreams just as their heads hit their pillows. Must be nice, it takes hours of endless social media scrolling to catch up with friends before I can think of catching a wink of rest. Sehun sends me a meme so damn ridiculous I have to muffle my laughter in fear of waking everyone else up.

I don't settle down for sleep until well after midnight. The temperature in the room seems to have dropped 10 degrees within the last hour, making me shiver, quickly grabbing a fleece pajama top to pull over my butterfly printed sleeping shirt. After countless hours spent tossing and turning, I decided to get out of bed, walking over to open my door on light feet; peeking around to make sure no one else is awake.

Tiptoeing out into the hall, I avoid the creaks in the floorboards, smiling tiredly at the adorable sight up ahead in the living room.

Baekhyun is tucked under a pile of blankets, nothing but his silver-haired head exposed to the chilly temperature in the house. 70 degrees in Autumn is a complete 180 from 70 degrees in the Summer here. Thanks a lot, climate.

I ease my way into the room, taking a quick glance towards the dark kitchen that sends a shiver going down my spine.

"Baekhyun?" I whisper, trying to see if he's awake or not. Receiving no response, I inch closer; crouching down to rest my hand on his back, "Baek—"

He flinches, air mattress squawking under his weight, "Shit... Baby?" He chuckles, leaning upon his arm, running a hand through his ruffled hair. "You scared me."

"Yeah?" I whisper, biting back a laugh, "I can see that." Smiling softly at his weak glare, I shuffle closer on my knees.

"What are you doing?" He mumbles, sleep evident in his droopy eyes, low vocal octave, and the fabric indent on his cheek.

"Couldn't sleep," I shrug, watching him with a smile. "What about you?" I ask, hands resting comfortably on my knees, my eyes widening. "Are you comfortable? If your back hurts or anything we can sw—" A warm hand cupping my cheek silences me. I blink a few times while meeting his gaze; the fondness I find there warming up my sleepy form from the inside out.

"I'm alright," He mumbles, thumb rubbing over the curve of my cheek. Smile growing on his lips as I lean into his touch.

"Good." I hum, closing my eyes and nuzzling his palm.

"Come here," He sweetly requests.

Humming again, I focus on his comforting touch; squeaking when I'm suddenly being pulled onto the bed.

"Shh!" He hushes, laughing under his breath at the disgruntled look on my face; coaxing me to lay by his side.

I do so grumpily, heart still racing a mile a minute until the familiar scent of vanilla and Baekhyun wraps around me like a warm blanket. The racing of his own heart under my palm brings a smile to my lips. Quiet mutters under his breath has my eyes peeling back open to meet his, "Hmm?"

"It's not the same sleeping without you." He murmurs, softly squeezing his arms around my waist, a hint of shyness on his sleepy features.

"You seem to be doing just fine these past few weeks," I can't help but remind him, pointedly arching a brow.

Baekhyun sighs, pressing a lingering kiss to my forehead that causes my cheeks to warm. "I'm sorry."

"All talk, where's the action?" I play it off as a joke, teasing grin contrasting the war raging in my heart and the depths of my worried mind.

He looks me over for a while, tucking a stubborn lock of hair behind my ear. "I am. Starting…" He leans closer, soft lips hovering over mine, hot whisper making goosebumps rise on my skin, "Now."

//

"Sneaking around, huh?"

I barely give a response, snuggling closer to the pleasant heat of the pillow wrapped up in my arms only to pause when it vibrates under my touch, an all-too-familiar chuckle tickling my ear. My eyes snap open with a squeak, ducking under the covers at the sight of Baekhyun's lazy yet attractive smile. The feeling of his warm hand on the back of my bare thigh sends my cheeks aflame. How hard do you have to blush before catching on fire? I fear I am nearing that point.

"Here I was thinking I'd catch you both in your room this morning, but this-" Mom continues as I poke out my head, shooting her a grumpy look.

Grandma enters the room from the kitchen, lightly smacking her arm. "Leave them be." She scolds, smiling sweetly at us. "Good morning, lovebirds. Come, breakfast is ready."

And with that, Baekhyun and I swiftly began the new day. I offered to go to the store with Grandma to pick out something nice for dinner—and to sneak a peek at the dessert aisle. Who am I kidding, I got a cinnamon bun flavored tub of ice cream sitting in the cart right now. The description alone enough to make my eyes sparkle, according to Grandma.

"So," She begins, placing lettuce in the cart, "What was the fight about?"

"Grandma!" I splutter, nearly dropping the cucumbers in my hands along with my startled heartbeat. See what I mean? Can't hide shit in this house!

"What? You're both tiptoeing around each other like guilty little kids." She holds open the plastic bags as I drop the fruit inside with care. "It's not good to leave a fight unresolved, you know?"

"I-I know, it's just…" He's one of the most stubborn men alive—"Heart to hearts is not really our strong suit..."

"Do you want this relationship to last?" She looks me dead in the eye then, seeming to find an answer despite my silence. "A relationship cannot work without communication and trust." Her statement is firm, but her tone softens, "You've seen what happens when those are lacking."

I go quiet for a while, taking a peek at the grocery list, "I'll go pick the spaghetti noodles." With that, I venture off on my own.

My pace is slow, dragging my feet deeper into the store. A chew toy left in the middle of my path nearly sends me falling on my face. Texting and walking who? More like no thinking and walking, I've become a walking hazard here.

The desired aisle is easy to find, an array of noodle brands with tomato sauce on the opposite side. I scan the shelves, making sure every product matches the pictures on my phone. Mom is funny about what she eats.

I'm debating over which sauce is the right kind when a long fingernailed hand is digging into my shoulder. I spin around with a hiss, ready to tear into whatever fucker had the audacity to put their filthy hands on me only to pause, blinking at the woman standing in front of me.

"Oh good, it is you," The raven woman drawls in a high pitched yet raspy voice, smelling heavily of smoke. "I need to talk to you." Recognition takes longer than usual to set in. It's that fucking ex-fling of Baekhyun's—

Or is she an ex? That small part of me wonders, a lump suddenly forms in my throat. I ain't got time for this shit, and I swear her hair changes more than the seasons. What did Baekhyun ever see in her—don't answer that. Shut up.

"I'm casually gonna walk away," I utter blankly, swiftly turning on my heel only for her to end up following me.

"I need to tell you something."

My eye twitches, counting backward from 20 in my head. "I don't give a flying fu-"

"I know what Baekhyun refuses to tell you." She drops, stopping me dead in my tracks.

Slowly turning to her again, I look her over suspiciously, tucking the packet of noodles in the crook of my arm. "Like what?"

"Ever wondered why Baekhyun is notorious for getting around?" She looks me over for a moment, amusement twitching at her annoyingly red-painted lips, "Oops, I mean was sorry."

"Can you hurry the fuck up?" I snap with narrowed eyes, already done with her bullshit.

She looks at me for a long moment, the smirk melting off her face entirely. "Baekhyun has a lot of skeletons in his closet. And you know," She chuckles, shooting me a fake pitying look, "It's entertaining, seeing which one will jump out at you next."

She's walking away before I can respond, the stinging scent of her perfume and the annoying clink of her heels left in her wake along with my disturbing thoughts. What does she mean by skeletons?.. And how does she know that… He—

"Riley."

I snap out of it, turning around with wide eyes and my heart in my throat, "Oh! Grandma." I exclaim, jumping back with a hand over my heart, sighing shakily in relief. "It's just you."

"You okay?" Her brows are furrowed, concern shimmering in her blue eyes.

"Y-Yeah," I mumble, rubbing the back of my neck. Growing more uncomfortable the longer we stand in the middle of this damn store. "Just spaced out for a second."

She looks at me for a moment, pushing the cart towards the cash register. "Come, let's get you back home."

"Hopefully it's still in one piece..." I mutter, heart pounding furiously in my ears.

"I'm sure it is." She chuckles, sending me a reassuring smile. "I'm sure Baekhyun's missing you too."

Is he? The thought comes so suddenly, I freeze. Do I… Am I doubting him now?

Has a lot of skeletons in his closet...

I shake it off or at least try to on the journey home. But not even Baekhyun's warm smile and open arms can lift the sinking feeling weighing on my heart.

Dinner goes by in the blink of an eye along with a popular comedy movie we decide to watch together. The clever jokes and hilarious scenes distract my overthinking mind for a while. Enough for me to find peace in Baekhyun's embrace despite my growing anxiety and the obvious giggles coming from Grandma on the other couch across the room.

"Thanks for having us." I put on a smile for Mom as they send us off at the door, one she can easily see through with a frown, but that's okay. It's enough to fool Baekhyun while he receives a fist bump from her and a tight hug from Grandma. Their own unique ways of showing approval before turning to pull me into a three-way hug. I almost don't want to leave their loving hold, or this house I call home. Taking a year off of school was a good idea, but… is dating Baekhyun?

I can feel the negative energy coming off of me in waves, fuck, time to go.

Our walk to the car is quiet compared to the chaos going on in my head; warm fingertips brushing against chilly palms. I'm so lost in thought, the next time I look up we are on the highway again. An endless stream of vehicles traveling alongside us. The sunset has a reddish tint tonight, giant fluffy clouds attempting to hide the glowing star from view. Almost like the stunning man next to me, so close yet so far like a fading dream, just out of reach. Slipping out of your hands before you can fully grasp it and print it into your memory.

Something you hope for, but can never have.

"Baek…" I can only manage a mere whisper. My heart still hasn't left my throat, anxiously apparently in my restless hands. Every word I utter takes all of my strength to get out.

"Yes, love?" He briefly glances over at me, steering the car with a confident hand. The heart-softening endearment he uses only causes my heart to squeeze even more.

"Can I go home with you?" I can't bring myself to meet his eye, something he seems to pick up on, shifting uneasily in his seat.

"Of course, baby." He tries to soothe, free hand searching for mine. I shove my hands deep in the space between my thighs, keeping my gaze focused on the city lights streaming past the window.

Nothing else but the radio and the fast pace of cars fill the silence. I can just imagine the hurt expression on his handsome face, busying myself with bending shapes into my hair-tie; not brushing rebellious strands of hair out of my face despite how annoying it dangles in my eyes.

All too soon, Baekhyun is parking the Audi in his designated spot, pink lips parting unsurely, "Are you-"

"Inside, please." I utter quietly. Climbing out before he can respond; calmly closing the car door behind me and remembering how to breathe. I think it's about time… I tell him some things. And hope he feels comfortable enough to open up in return. —Or run if shit gets bad, Sehun's number is looking mighty tempting right now.

The walk up to his apartment is a long one. Standing on opposite sides of the elevator and footsteps echoing across vacant halls. He has that blank expression on his face again; lips downturned and brown orbs full of questions. Hopefully, I can answer them…

His apartment comes into view, the sight of the familiar door brings back memories of the last time I was here. The heated words spewed and frustrated feelings shared. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath as Baekhyun unlocks the door. Tentatively stepping into the cold home.

"Do you," He falters when I turn to face him; gulping before continuing, "Do you want to talk now?" The crack of his voice gives him away, looking more like a frightened child than the strong man I've come to know.

"Yes."

"O-Oh." It's a bit funny how much impact that simple word seems to have on him; an even more fearful expression takes place on his features. Sock clad feet shuffling awkwardly in the middle of his living room, voice as quiet as a mouse, "Okay…"

I close my eyes; hands gripping the bottom of my shirt. Here goes nothing. "I had a few boyfriends before you. And...they didn't leave the best impression on me." My eyes flutter back open, meeting his shaky ones. The words come a bit easier after that. "They'd chase after me for months—sometimes the whole school year—and as soon as they got with me, They…" I bite my wobbling lip, inhaling sharply. "They never wanted to be affectionate in public. Never wanted to tell their friends, and…"

Baekhyun steps closer, carefully holding out his hand to me. I place my trembling palm in his, inwardly cursing my nerves.

"All of them ended up cheating on me." Flickering my gaze up to his softened features, I gulp, nodding at the comforting squeeze of his hand before continuing. "I was...treated like an object, for lack of a better word." I chuckle bitterly, haunting memories playing behind my blurry eyes like a tragic film. "A bet of who would sleep with me first among a large group of friends. A group that I had trusted for years."

I shake them off, focusing on our joined hands instead. "Besides that… my last straw was my best friend at the time trying to convince me to go against my mom. 'You should go out more.' 'Tell her you want freedom'..." I scoff, laughing a little. "What an asshole. Acting as if he wasn't in on the dare as well. My mom has kept me out of more trouble than you would ever know. But to have my own best friend bad mouth her to my face and then say 'Well, you knew I was a jerk.' When I tried opening up to him about it…" Meeting his eyes, my heart aches a bit at the odd look on his face. He nearly looks in pain. "If it wasn't for Sehun, I would have been okay, but I wouldn't have been...you know." I shrug, laughing weakly, "More than a party animal if you know what I mean."

Baekhyun's brown orbs glisten as he pulls me closer to his chest. Strong arms wrapping me in his protective embrace, yet all I can think about is…

He didn't say a word.

Originally posted by exo-stentialism

What is even left for me to do at this point? I… feel as if I have been fair. I've given him a whole month to say something. Anything. And yet here we are, continuing with our daily lives as if there aren't unanswered questions weighing on our hearts—unless… D-Does Baekhyun even care? Is he really just going to sweep this under the rug?

…

Okay.

Okay, if this is what he wants, it's what he gets, right? Mr. Big shot CEO, holding onto his own vulnerability through thick and thin. I thought we had moved past keeping things from each other in our long talk all those months ago, but apparently… That isn't the case.

So okay. Let's pretend as if he doesn't get jealous over every man in my life and I don't feel insecure by just looking at the dresses that were once my favorite now hung up in the back of my closet. Because I love him—because I don't want us to fight. Am I just dating myself now? Is that what this is? Guess I better enjoy this ride before it crashes and burns, huh. Peachy. Mother fucking peachy! But hey, there is no peach like the cute curves of his cheeks or stars like the ones ever-present in his mocha eyes.

Fuck you, Byun Baekhyun. In more ways than one. But just your luck that I am a woman of many talents, hmm?

I don't need some tight-fitting dress or painfully high heels to grab his attention. No, the way I carry myself out on the dance floor like no one's business is more than enough to lure him close. As long as these hips don't lie, he's mine. And at the end of the day, if he decides that all the attention I give—all the unconditional love I fucking shower him with—isn't enough, then fuck him. What he could consider walking away, I take it as a favor. But no other fucking woman in their right mind would put up with his shit as I do, but then again… Who 'in her right mind' fell in love with the notorious, multi-millionaire playboy studying off-campus…

"Are you sure you want to go clubbing tonight?" Baekhyun's voice is soft enough, green orbs eyeing me carefully. Funny how he is asking this as if he didn't already have plans to go out tonight. Dressed casually in black with a subtle, middle part of his freshly dyed silver hair. When did he even get those contacts? It's funny how much of someone's life you can miss in a few weeks of little to no dates.

"Yes, baby," I purr, smoothing out my lip gloss in the reflection of my hand-held mirror. Making sure not a strand of hair is out of place. There's nothing like pairing my soft, blue button-down denim shirt with black shorts, and my hair parted the right. A few spritz of hair-spray doing a great job of keeping it durable yet mobile. Perfect for my plans for the night.

Baekhyun looks over at me from the driver's seat, adam's apple bobbing in his throat before he steps out into the cool night. Meeting me on the sidewalk. We walk into the club hand and hand, the booming bass of music pumping adrenaline in my veins.

"Do you want a drink?" His honey-smooth voice is nearly drowned out by the loud atmosphere, pinks lips brushing the shell of my ear. I simply nod, yelling, "The usual!" To his back as he gravitates to the bar. The sight of grinding bodies brings a smirk to my lips, hidden behind the glass Baekhyun hands me minutes later.

"Come," He murmurs, leading me over to an empty booth. Sitting down and pulling me into his lap. I slowly move along with his urging hands on my waist, savoring my drink. Relaxing against him with an appreciative hum, curiously watching him sip at his glass. The reddish concoction looks similar to my own.

It's rare that I take the time to observe the scene of drunken bodies dancing under the neon disco lights without the urgency to join them, but tonight is a special occasion. And with that comes uttermost care. Running my hand through Baekhyun's hair and pushing my ass against him while leaning forward to set my drink on the table.

"Want to dance?" I inquire, already finding the answer within his droopy brown eyes. The lazy way his slender fingers card through his silver hair enough of an indicator.

"No thank you, baby." He mumbles, dropping a lingering kiss to that sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder. I fight the urge to shiver under his touch, inwardly praising my self-restraint; shortly moving off of him to venture out into my home away from home—the dance floor. A carefree atmosphere after my own heart. The beginning of a familiar Latino song captures my attention.

¿Cómo te llamas, baby?

A little mezcal got me feelin' spicy

I know that we don't speak the same language

But I'm gonna let my body talk for me (Talk for me)

Raising my hands while swaying my hips side to side, I let the music take control. Spinning around to face Baekhyun with a cheeky nod, running my hands through my hair.

Hola, me llamo Katy

A little mezcal got me feelin' naughty (Let's go)

I know that we don't speak the same language (Woo)

So I'm gonna let my body talk for me (Talk for me)

I take my time strolling through the crowded dance floor as catchy Spanish lyrics ring through the air, glancing over at him every now and then.

Dress up with my girls, on the hunt tonight

Got a feelin' I'ma catch a wild one

I mouth along to the words, cooly dusting off my shoulders as I move around, trying to entice Baekhyun to come over with every sway of my hips. "And I know that I'm not typically your type. But you never had this kind of stimulation"

Trying to find a dance partner is proving to be difficult, I seek out eye contact with someone. Anyone. But everyone seems to lack rhythm tonight. Too many out of tempo movements and whiskey painted breaths. I push through to locate Baekhyun again, meeting his dark brown orbs from across the room.

Con calma

I see you're lovin' the way I work the floor now

I got the poom-poom, boy

You could be my Puerto Rican dream, and I'll be your California gurl now

I got the poom-poom, boy

Fuck it. I'll dance by my damn self. No one is up to par with my standards except the stubborn man seated across the room who's having way too much fun watching me struggle. But it's alright. I got something for his smug ass.

Con calma, yo quiero ver como ella lo menea (Con calma)

Mueve ese poom-poom, girl (Girl)

Es un asesina, cuando baila quiere que to' el mundo la vea

I like your poom-poom, girl

I pop open three buttons of my shirt, taking a few steps back towards the center of the dancefloor. Just far away enough to be partially hidden from view. Baekhyun leans forward, taking a hard swig of his drink. Fingertips playing with his bottom lip.

Come with a nice young lady (Let's go)

Intelligent, yes, she gentle and irie (¡Fuego!)

Everywhere me go me never lef' her at all-ie (¡Dile! ¡Ja!)

Yes-a Daddy Snow me are the roam dance man-a (Ay, Papi!) (Snow)

Once again raising my hands above my head while swaying my hips fluidly like a hypnotized python to a tamer, I run my hands down my body in time with the beat; eyes still locked on his. The clench of his jaw and tightening of his grip on the glass in his hand curling a knowing smirk on my lips.

Roam between-a dancin' in-a in-a nation-a (Prr-prr-prr)

You never know say daddy me Snow me are the boom shakata

I strut around the dance floor with attitude, flicking my hair while beckoning him over with my eyes. Baekhyun hastily sets his empty glass on the table, swiftly making his way over to me.

Con calma, yo quiero ver como ella lo menea (Menea)

Mueve ese poom-poom, girl (¡Woo! Girl)

Es un asesina, cuando baila quiere que to' el mundo la vea (Oh, yeah)

I like your poom-poom, girl

He meets me move for move, gripping my hips. Firm chest pressed to my back and erection prominent every time our bodies brush against each other. My laugh is swallowed up by the rest of the song.

Con calma

I see you're lovin' the way I work the floor now

I got the poom-poom, boy

You could be my Puerto Rican dream, and I'll be your California gurl now

I got the poom-poom, boy

Baekhyun spins me to face him before the song even fades into the next. Gathering me to his chest in a searing kiss.

We take a cab back to his apartment; the Audi was taken under Jongdae's and Chanyeol's care for the remainder of the evening. The travel takes much longer than usual with Baekhyun insisting to stop at every hidden corner. Endless kisses and impatient hands.

"B-Baek," I bite my lip, cheeks heating up under his lustful stare.

"Tell me how you want it," He mutters, ripping off his shirt before caging me to the bed, "Tell me how you need it."

I want to—boy do I want to. Every part of me is screaming for me to do it, but…

My palms slide up his back, getting a good grip before switching our positions, pressing him against the messy sheets instead. I have other plans.

Baekhyun looks up at me, a little smirk on his lips that fuels my determination to do everything in my power to wipe it off. I take my time pulling down his jeans, eyes locked on his dark ones while brushing my lips over his newly exposed skin. Chuckling at the goosebumps left in my wake. "Someone is excited," I murmur, tucking my fingers under the waistband of his boxers; running the tip of my tongue up the length of his clothed cock.

"Riley..." He breathes, pupils blown, desire twitching under my touch.

Deciding to put him out of his misery, I tug down the thin fabric to set him free, gasping when I'm nearly smacked in the face when his cock springs to attention. This is the first time I'm seeing him up close, and damn this man for being stunning all over. Even his cock is pretty with its flushed red tip and prominent vein running up the side. Drops of precum sliding down his shaft quickly collected by my eager tongue.

"Fuck." He hisses, tangling a hand in my hair as I take him into my mouth, being mindful of my teeth. "Baby."

I hum, something he seems to appreciate as more of his precum drips onto my tongue. His thighs tense up under my hands as I bob my head, gradually working him into my throat.

"B-Baby," His voice wavers, lips shaking when I glance up at him. He thrusts further into my mouth the second we make eye contact, causing me to choke, pulling a whiny noise from him that I've never quite heard before.

I keep up a steady pace, wrapping a hand around his base to massage his balls while moving to swirl my tongue around the head. His hips buck once again, grip tightening on my hair, a gruntle moan falling from his kiss-swollen lips.

After a while, he tugs on my hair again, rougher than before. I pull off of pulsing cock, looking at him with wide eyes as he urges me back up his body, "Wha-"

His lips smash to mine, hands roughly pulling at the rest of my clothes. "Let me see you," He murmurs, lips brushing over the sensitive spot on my neck. I slip off my shirt without hesitation, assisting him in taking off my shorts; pushing them off the side of the bed. He takes a brief pause, looking me over as my heart hammers in my chest, cheeks warming when his eyes meet mine once again. "Beautiful." His breath fans over my breasts, slender fingers tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, "Baby?"

"Hmm?" I tilt my head to give him better access, whimpering at the way his teeth graze my nipples.

"Sit on my face," He murmurs, hands urging me forward before I can even react.

"W-/What?/" I look at him, wide-eyed and thighs clenched around his waist, feeling my arousal pool in my underwear.

Baekhyun licks his lips, smirking at the way I stare, squirming above him. His large hands gently squeeze my waist, "Do you trust me?"

Gazing into his earnest yet lust-filled eyes, I nod, gulping. "Y-Yes."

"Come here," He murmurs, helping me slip off my lace panties.

I slowly climb further up his body, feeling immensely aroused yet a bit apprehensive as he helps me forward; shaking a little when my thighs rest over his shoulders. Having yet to find a stable position when his hands flex around my hips, warm wet tongue swiping between my folds.

I jerk away with a squeak, glaring weakly down at his chuckling form, "Baek!"

"Hmm?" His tongue brushes against me again, teeth tugging at my hypersensitive folds as I let out a soft moan. "You were saying, baby?"

My eyes don't stray far from his, heart and pussy pulsing in sync at the way he watches me crumble under his touch. Strong hands holding me steady as my breathing shortens; panting for air at his tortuous circles around where I need him the most.

"...Please," I mumble.

"Hmm?" He obnoxiously smacks his lips against my wet core, causing heat to rise onto my already flushed cheeks. Those brown orbs of his twinkling mischievously, "What was that, baby?"

I curse under my breath, hastily tangling my fingers in his hair, "You really are something-"

He gasps, looking up at me with wide eyes when I yank his head back, bending over to stare him down.

"What's the matter, baby? Hmm?" I muse a smirk curling at my lips. The shocked expression on his handsome face boosts my confidence. "You're not afraid I'll show you up in giving oral, are you?"

Baekhyun's eyes narrow, a switch seeming to flip in him before he's pulling me down to his open mouth. My gasp interrupted by his own moan, pink lips wrapped tight around my aching clit. "F-Fu—aah," I whimper, thighs shaking from the direct stimulation.

He chuckles, pulling back to lick his lips. "What's wrong, my love?" His warm breath fanning over my core makes my legs tremble more, whimpering as he tightens his grip. "Coming already?"

"N-" My eyes roll back as his tongue slides inside of me and fucking curls towards my sweet spot, damn near making me shatter around him right there and then. "No." I grit out between clenched teeth, bucking at the way his nose rubs against my sensitive clit.

"Mmm you're so wet," He groans, triggering my own moan when his teeth graze my clit. "Making a mess all over me. Do you like sitting on my face, baby?"

"Baekhyun…" I can hardly speak at this point, slowly grinding myself against his mouth, feeling breathless with every flick of his tongue that touches my quivering core.

"Fuck." His sudden grunt has me opening my eyes, looking over my shoulder at him stroking himself. The cute mole on his thumb is a complete contrast to the leaking cock in his palm. "I can feel you throbbing…"

My orgasm sneaks up on me before I realize it; thighs quaking and back arching so high Baekhyun is quick to steady me, continuing to pull me along his stiffened tongue as I cry out his name.

"Fu—ha," I tighten my grip on his hair, trying to get my shaky limbs to cooperate enough to lift off of his unrelenting mouth. "Baekhyun, please-"

"Mm-mm," He protests, landing a swift smack on my ass that makes me release a small cry, thighs clenching around his head. "Stay right there."

"B-Baek..." I'm slipping here—literally. My shaky thighs refusing to cooperate.

He takes a few moments to notice, lifting me off of his face before I feel a brief breeze, finding my back against the silk sheets. "You're perfect," He breathes, making me blush, gulping at his hands running up my trembling inner thighs. I hold myself up on my elbows, watching him press kisses up the length of my body.

"Baby," He looks at me with those dark eyes, sliding a hand down my abdomen, "lay back."

My heart is promptly set into overdrive. I do as told, relaxing against the pillows only to buck my hips with a gasp when he slips a finger into my core.

"Soaking wet for me," He murmurs sucking on a new spot on my neck, sliding another finger in with ease.

All I know is his name at this point, calling for him between hoarse whimpers and breathless gasps; feeling that knot forming in my stomach again as his fingers brush over my sweet spot. I reach down to wrap my hand around his wrist, clenching around his digits as he speeds up, obscene noises of my own desire sounding out amongst our shaky moans and heavy breaths.

"Look at you," He muses, watching me squirm under his touch, free hand pressing on my lower stomach to keep me pressed to the bed. I cry out when he hits my sweet spot head-on, "Taking my fingers so well."

"Bae…" My words falter, head thrown back when his thumb joins into the mix along with a third finger, the blissful stretch combined with firm taps on my clit sending me over the edge.

"Fuck." He grunts as I slowly open my eyes, not even realizing I had closed them while he slips his wet fingers between his lips, groaning loudly as I bite my own. He notes the expression on my face, attractively raising a brow while pressing his body back to mine, "I want to drink on your sweet." He murmurs, tone dripping with lust as he leans over to the nightstand.

"N-No." I pant, grabbing his forearm.

Baekhyun pauses, looking at me with wide eyes, brows furrowed in concern. "Do you want to stop, love?"

I shake my head, running my hand over his back as he leans down to me again, littering my jaw with soft kisses. "N-No I just…" I gulp, wrapping my thighs around his waist. "I don't want a condom."

Baekhyun freezes, and for a moment I consider backtracking, but he just cups my face in his hands. "Are you sure?" He looks me over, nibbling on his bottom lip.

"Yeah," Noting the concern still playing on his features, I reach up to brush my thumb over his cheek. "I'm on birth control, idiot."

"What!?" His eyes widen comically as I nod, "Since when?"

"The first time," I mumble, cheeks warming at the memory of our first night together. The deer caught in headlights look on his face makes me giggle, "I love you, but I'm not ready to have a baby with your Byun. Haven't you noticed?" I continue a bit quieter, gesturing to myself, "I got bigger..."

"No," He shakes his head, taking my hands into his own, staring at me with sincerity in his shining eyes. "You're just as beautiful, if not more so." His voice lowers, taking on that sexy lit again while nibbling my earlobe, warm hand soothing rubbing over my waist, "And sexy as hell."

My face damn near bursts into flames. Flustered giggles at his ticklish kisses on that sensitive spot behind my ear morphing into gasps as his cock brushes against my folds.

Baekhyun leans back a bit, taking a hold of himself while sliding his cock around in my arousal, making me whimper every time his head brushes over my clit. He pauses after lining it up with my entrance, looking back up at me from behind damp strands of silver hair sticking to his forehead.

I nod, biting my lip as he slips inside, my head falling back when he pushes into the hilt.

"God." He groans, starting to pull back out.

"W-Wait," I gasp, pressing my hands to his chest. Baekhyun tenses, looking at me with wide eyes. "You okay, love? Shit. Did I hurt you? I'm so-"

"Baek!" I laugh a little, cupping his cheeks so he'll look at me, shaking my head. "No," I murmur, a smile curling at my lips. "I just…" I hesitate, bashful under his attentive eyes. So sweet. "I want to top."

He relaxes with a gulp, strong arms wrapping around me before switching our positions. I carefully straddle him, finding a comfortable position on my knees before lifting up, letting him line his cock up with my entrance. He meets my eyes, smiling softly as if sensing my nerves, large hand lightly squeezing my hip. "I got you, baby."

Releasing a shaky breath, I nod, slowly sliding down onto him, taking pleasure in the way his jaw drops, head of messy silver locks thudding against the pillows. It's a tighter fit with him in this position. It feels so good I'm almost afraid to move at risk of coming again.

Baekhyun's fingers twitch against my hips when I move, tentatively lifting up to the tip before sliding back down again. My slow pace pulling the prettiest of moans from his red lips.

"Baby," He breathes, quickly licking his lips, eyes focused on where we are joined, "Faster."

"I don't know~" I smirk, lightly dragging my nails down his torso to pull a gasp from him, "I think I like seeing you like this."

That shift happens in his eyes again, giving me no time to prepare for his tightened grip and buck of hips, cock hitting a spot that falters my pace, leaving my thighs trembling. "And I like making you cum," He murmurs, smirk of his own on his lips while continuing to thrust into that spot, our bodies coming together with satisfying slaps of ass against his thighs.

"So fucking wet," He groans eyes drifting back to our joined parts, licking the pad of his thumb and bringing it down to rub quick circles over my clit.

"Fuck-" I gasp, trying to stay upright as he quickens the pace. "Baek-"

"Come for me, baby." He mutters in a breathy tone, thrusts tripling in speed until I'm coming hard around him, falling onto his chest in a heap. He slows down to a stop while I recover. Just when I think we are done, he's flipping us back over. "Baek-" I stop, whimpering as he pushes back into the hilt.

"We're not done, baby." He murmurs, lips brushing the shell of my ear. My pussy quivers at the thought of another round.

"I…" My eyes drift over to the glowing red clock sat on top of the nightstand; the timestamp of 5:00 am causing my eyes to widen. "D-Don't you have work in the morn…" I falter, arching my back when he circles his hips, thick cock stretching out my tight walls, "...ing?"

"Baby," He chuckles, tucking a wet strand of hair behind my ear, meeting my eyes, "We can stay up."

"I…" Biting hard on my lip, I press myself into his sneaky fingers lightly rubbing around my clit, just enough to get me soaking the sheets even more below.

"I'll go easy on you." He promises, moving to sit up only to pause, meeting my gaze again, adding softly, "Tell me if it's too much and we'll stop, okay?"

Smiling at him, I nod, accepting his sweet kisses when he leans in with a hum. "Okay."

Baekhyun's smile morphs into a more serious expression, concentrating on slowly moving within my walls to give me time to recover. He pauses when I lift my hips to meet his movements, reaching to place my right leg on his shoulder, the shift of position pulls a loud gasp from my lips. He moans in turn at my vice-like grip around his cock, steadily picking up the pace.

"Fuck, what a naughty girl you are." His grip tightens on my hips, tilting them up to better accommodate his thrusts, "Letting me fuck you raw in our bed."

My heart raced at the use of the word 'our.' A sense of belonging in this house; this room; this bed with him brings me to a dangerous peak. It feels more intense than all the others before and I don't know if I can handle it.

Baekhyun takes notice, holding my hips down to the bed. "Come on, baby." He slides a hand down to hover over my clit, "Come for me, give me one more." A mere brush of him over my sensitive bud and I'm gone, vision going black as a distinct ringing fills my ears.

"Fuck." His loud groans and wandering hands bring me back down to earth, thankfully he's slowed down the pace of his thrusts.

"Shit, you're squeezing me so tight." He says through gritted teeth, grinding against me as my walls don't let up their grip around him. "Mmm. Do you want me to cum inside you?" He breathes heavily, cock throbbing deep within my spasming walls with his slow yet hard pace. "Hmm? Do you baby?"

"Y-Yes!" I can't even recognize myself at this point, meeting his steady thrusts with my shaky movements.

"I know you want it." He grunts, snapping into me so roughly I give a small cry, clutching the bedsheets. "I know you need it..." He falters, pace taking on sloppy thrusts as I feel him harden even more inside of me. "Fuck," His eyes search for my own, the desperation in them makes me clench around him. "God, baby, can I?"

I nod quickly, wrapping my thighs tightly around his waist as he trembles. "Come for me, Baekhyun." I murmur, rubbing my hands down his heaving chest, "Come inside me. Make me yours."

My words seem to trigger him, the brand new feeling of warmth spurting inside of me pulls another loud gasp from my lips and whiny moans from his; his shaky forearms holding him up before his body weight can overwhelm me as I'm filled up to the brim with his cum full of lust and love. I hold him close, rubbing over his back as we catch our breaths.

Baekhyun nuzzles in my neck, letting out a long sigh. "God, you're trying to kill me."

"Me!?" I exclaim incredulously, giggling at his playful kisses peppering my heated skin. "Who's the one pulling four orgasms from my poor body?"

"You loved it," He mumbles, soft smile pressed to my skin.

"I did," I admit without missing a beat, giggling more at the blissed-out expression on his face.

Baekhyun hums, brushing my hair out of my face, a fond look in his sparkly brown eyes that makes my heart squeeze and soar at the same time. "I'll be right back," He mumbles, planting a quick peck on my lips, getting out of bed to head into the bathroom.

Sighing softly, I relax back against the sheets; nose scrunching up at the aftermath of our—cue the blushing—activities dripping down my thighs.

Baekhyun comes back with a towel in hand, gently cleaning me off with the damp material before throwing it into the hamper across the room. Snuggling back in the warmth of my worn-out body. "I love you," He utters, pressing a kiss over my heart.

"I love you too." My reply is instant enough; his satisfied hum evening out into deep breaths. Eyelashes caressing the tops of adorable mochi cheeks.

I point my gaze to the ceiling, feeling the tell-tale sign of tears brimming my eyes. Is this really the beginning of the end?

•⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3  P(1) P(2) | Part 4 P(1) P(2) | Part 5 P(1) P(2) ✓ | Part 6 P(1)  P(2)

Thank you for reading this long asf chapter. Let me know what you think! Even if it’s with pitchforks lmao. Have a beautiful Sunday.

[mostlycompetentwriter]

God’s Menu (one-shot)

F/M Pairing: Y/N x Seo Changbin (SKZ)

Warnings: Language, and some mentions of smut

Genre: Enemies to Lovers AU

Word Count: 9K

Summary: Y/N is a critically-acclaimed chef at New York’s premier five-star restaurant, The JYP Organic Cafeteria. However, when a new restaurant across the street begins attracting attention (and paying customers) because of it’s young and handsome head chef, Seo Changbin, Y/N grows furious at her dwindling reviews. When she confronts this new chef, she’s appalled to realize that he’s nothing short of arrogant, and they both engage in a fierce competition to determine who the best chef really is in NY.

A/N: I wrote this in one day, such a crazy experience, and it’s all thanks to Changbin. Also, why not, I’ll dedicate this to @lordseochangbin​, the biggest Changbin Stan I know on this site.

The art of cooking involved a delicate sensibility that I had taken great pride in perfecting, especially after I graduated from culinary school. Thereafter, I worked tirelessly as an assistant for some of the greatest chefs in New York City, and I had the pleasure of working next to them under their great tutelage. Subsequently, their talents and well-intended advice shaped my own style of cooking, and my finely-tuned skills helped catapult me to the very top of our industry. 

Likewise, I gained instant fame when I became the head chef at JYP’s Organic Cafeteria in the heart of New York City. People from all over the state came to my restaurant to try my cooking, and word spread fast about my immediate rise to stardom. As such, I started modeling for cooking magazines while receiving warm reviews from even the staunchest food critics, and I had a legion of fans in the form of paying customers who often lined the sidewalk outside of the restaurant to wait for an available table.

I also had some of the most promising chefs working directly under me. For example, my sous-chef, Bang Chan, was a very skilled man when it came to experimenting with some of our more expensive offerings. He had a natural talent for measuring ingredients, even without the assistance of a recipe, and his taste was nothing short of exquisite. His assistant, Felix, was a captivating presence among the staff, and he moved around the kitchen like he had been born to cook for the hungry masses. Felix also had a knack for cutting with his impressive collection of knives and cutlery, and he enjoyed trying the recipes that Chan and I worked tirelessly to perfect. 

There was also Han Jisung, our kitchen’s pastry chef, whose delicious cakes and sweets were touted as some of the finest cuisine in North America. He prided himself on making the best cheesecakes, and our customers enjoyed a variety of unique flavors that could satisfy even the pickiest of palates. Jisung also never hesitated to include fun and interesting additions to our menu, even if that meant he had to stay up all night to prepare the ingredients. 

Finally, our saucier, Jeongin, brought a degree of youthful exuberance into the kitchen, and he was adept at evolving his soup recipes and incorporating the freshest ingredients from the local marketplaces. He was always smiling, despite the recurring dinner rush, and he was quick and efficient with his hands, especially when handling our ingredients.

Together, we formed an intimidating team, and I was excited to continue growing our successful restaurant while bringing our talents out of state and to the rest of the world. Of course, it was important to perfect ourselves at this stage in our evolution, and tonight would be another step in the right direction. As such, when I glanced out the window overlooking the main dining room, I immediately spotted the important food critic talking pleasantly with one of our waiters. “Jeongin!” I shouted to attract the younger’s attention.

“Yes, Chef,” he returned, pausing next to me at the revolving doors. 

“Tell everyone that the critic is here,” I said. “And make sure that I cook her order.”

“Of course, chef,” Jeongin agreed, and he addressed the rest of the kitchen with a commanding presence that made me feel proud because he had once been too shy to elevate his voice.

In the meantime, I started to prepare my station, ensuring that everything was clean. “Felix,” I said, turning to the silver-haired chef as he tossed up a pan of vegetables. “Get me the best ingredients and tools.”

Felix smirked, returning the plan to the stove before bowing slightly. “Right away, chef.”

Meanwhile, I carefully adjusted the sleeves of my apron, pulling them high above my elbows. For the most part, I was fairly consistent with my cooking, but I always put in extra effort when it came to potential reviews that would show-up in distinguished magazines. It was a well-known fact throughout the city that, in our competitive line of work, those reviews meant everything to the clientele we targeted. Thus, whenever a critic came into the restaurant, I liked to handle their meal preparation myself with the utmost attention.

“The order from the critic, chef,” Jeogin announced, following Felix with a bright smile.

I took it from him with a long exhale. “Garlic butter chicken,” I read. “I could do this blindfolded.”

However, I was somewhat relieved about the order because chicken happened to be a specialty of mine that I often took extra care in preparing. It was the first dish that I ever perfected in culinary school, and it often earned me the most acclaim when I was nothing more than an apprentice. And I’m sure the critic in question expected something truly mouth-watering, which is why I started immediately with every ounce of my concentration focused on the task at hand.

The first step was to clean the chicken thoroughly, and I usually requested that Jeongin wash the ingredients, but I was serious about preparing this dish myself. Next, I seasoned the chicken with an appropriate mixture of salt and pepper before allowing it to simmer on the stove while the butter melted in a separate skillet over medium heat. The familiarity of my movements was both exhilarating and reassuring.

Yet, despite just starting the early stages of the dish’s preparation, sweat was perspiring against my forehead, falling in long rivulets down the sides of my temples. It was a mixture of the kitchen’s oppressive warmth and my own nervous anxiety that combined together to create a fascinating effect on my person. But I was undeterred by any obstacle. 

Instead, I turned to the sauce, recounting the ingredients inside my head: garlic, red pepper flakes, and hot sauce (a special invention of mine). Afterward, I had to sauté the heady mixture for 30 seconds until the garlic became aromatic. I grinned triumphantly because the smell was nothing short of delectable, and I could practically taste it on my tongue as the flavors excited all five of my senses. Finally, I deglazed the skillet with the chicken broth and brought it to a much lower simmer. “Stand back,” I said, throwing the ingredients together inside a separate pan and tossing it above the heat to ensure that every piece of chicken was evenly coated with the delectable sauce. “Jeongin, it’s time for plating.”

“Yes, chef,” Jeongin said, hustling to the surrounding shelves of our finest decorative serving dishes, assisting me next to my station as we carefully plated the chicken specialty. I watched as the delicate lines of steam rose from the top before requesting that our waiter bring the food to the awaiting critic.

With a steady exhale, I joined the rest of the chefs as watched the waiter disappear out the revolving door before we all crowded together to observe the critic’s reaction from the window. “She looks impressed,” Jisung remarked, and I smiled at his comment.

In the proceeding moments, the critic unfolded her napkin over her lap and reached for her fork and knife, studying the dish with close scrutiny. I swallowed hard when she lifted a bite to her awaiting mouth, chewing thoughtfully as she appraised my offering. Thankfully, I knew that it was successful when her eyes lit with a familiar warm glow, looking down at her plate with evident pleasure. As if on cue, everyone around me started clapping at once, and their shouts of praise and encouragement certainly fed my ego while we watched the critic enjoy the remainder of her meal.

It was another successful evening.

In the mornings, I often walked to the restaurant because the weather was nice this time of year, and I was left alone with the company of my thoughts. However, after such a grueling night of dinner prep, I was also excited to see the fruits of my labors in the form of a new review that might appear at any moment courtesy of the satisfied critic who left the restaurant with a grateful salutation. My stomach was practically doing somersaults just thinking about it, and I was in a fairly good mood when I saw the JYP sign shimmering up ahead in the distance.

However, as I grew closer, I realized that there was also another sign for the previously empty building across the street, and it stood a little taller in comparison. Consequently, I paused outside the recently renovated space, peeking in through the glass window to discover a restaurant set-up waiting inside. “When did this get here?” I wondered, taking a step back to appraise the building. The enormous banner across the front spelled out the name of the establishment. “Dwekki.”

I released an exhausted sigh because I wasn’t ready to process the implications of what this might mean for JYP’s business. However, I was caught off-guard by the unexpected sound of approaching footsteps. “Doesn’t open for another hour, sweetheart,” came an unfamiliar voice.

I turned around to confront the man whose attitude clearly exposed his underlying arrogance. “Excuse, me?”

He smirked, and it made him look even more handsome. In contradiction to his dark-colored eyes, his blue-tinted hair glowed beneath the sunlight, and his arms crossed over his broad chest to experiment with the limits of his thin t-shirt. “We don’t start serving lunch until 11:00.”

“I’m not interested in eating here!” I glowered.

“That’s a shame,” he replied, and I was taken aback by his flirtatious tone, watching as his eyes appraised me.

“What are you doing?” I demanded.

“Sweetheart, if you wanted an autograph, then you should’ve just asked,” he replied, and I instantly recoiled.

“I work over there,” I said, jutting my thumb behind me. “I’m the head chef for JYP.”

“Really?” Changbin asked, and his eyes reflected a newfound interest. “I’ll be more formal, then. My name is Seo Changbin, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“I wish I could say the same,” I said. “I’m Y/N.”

Changbin chuckled. “It sounds like you don’t like me, Y/N, which doesn't seem right since we just met.”

“Well,” I huffed. “I always like to keep an eye on potential competition.”

“Competition?” Changbin snorted. “Sweetheart, there won’t be any competition when they taste my food.”

I bristled at the challenge. “Is that so?”

“I have the best cuisine,” Changbin said. “I’ve been told that my food is the best in New York City.”

I gasped at the insinuation. “Listen here, Changbin, I have the credentials to back up my food! I’ve been voted Food Critic Magazine’s most promising chef for three years in a row.”

“Well, it was a good streak while it lasted,” Changbin said, and he seemed amused by my inability to offer some kind of witty comeback in return.

“Fine!” I managed. “I’ll just have to prove it to you.”

“I look forward to it, sweetheart,” Changbin replied, and I held my breath when I pivoted around, storming away from the horrible man with a new purpose guiding my steps.

Graciously, I found Chan waiting outside of JYP, looking up at me with a bright smile that disappeared when he realized that I wasn’t happy. “What happened?”

“There’s a new restaurant opening across the street and its chef is a complete asshole!” I shouted, fumbling with the restaurant keys in my hand. “He thinks he can say those things to me? Nobody’s food is better than ours!”

Chan blinked twice. “What the hell is going on?”

“It’s a war, Mr. Bang!” I declared passionately, holding the door wide open. “We’re going to prove that man wrong!”

Chan sighed because he was already used to my dramatics. However, what he didn’t realize was that I was serious about the declaration, and I had no intention of holding up the white flag of surrender anytime soon!

Of course, despite my initial confidence, it was hard to maintain my earlier enthusiasm when, after a week of operation, I had started to notice that more people were wandering into Changbin’s restaurant and ignoring JYP. “His food must be killer,” Jisung remarked off-handedly one day, wincing when I slapped him on the back of his head. “What was that for?”

“He’s the competition,” I seethed, pacing back and forth in front of the open window at the front of the restaurant. “It’s just because he opened recently and people are curious.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Jisung huffed, rubbing his head with a pout.

“We’ll just have to keep a lookout,” I insisted, and I knew that I sounded mad when Jisung hesitantly took a step back away from me.

“Aren’t you taking this too far, Y/N?”

“Too far?”

“Woah! You know that I’m just kidding!” Jisung chirped, anxiously power-walking his way back into the kitchen while I continued to maintain my post as JYP’s head chef and silent guardian.

Eventually, I returned to the kitchen since I was expecting the usual dinner rush to commence. However, the longer that I spent chopping way too many carrots without a ticket request for our finest appetizer soups, the more I began to realize that something was amiss. I reached for Felix’s arm and drug him away from the others. “Why aren’t we getting any ticket requests? Is the waitstaff missing people?”

“Not exactly,” Felix said, and his eyes darted back and forth as if he was withholding valuable information.

“Well?” I insisted. “What’s happening?”

“There’s not many people tonight,” Felix said, and he quickly tried to reassure me when he noticed my sharp intake of breath. “It’s Monday, Y/N, and most people don’t like to eat out when they have work the next day...”

But I ignored Felix’s attempts at rationality, leaving the kitchen with heavy steps to instigate some preemptive sleuthing of my own. “What the hell?” I grumbled, crossing my arms when I noticed that there was some sort of commotion going on outside. Yet, when I stood in front of the window, I still couldn’t believe what I was seeing. “What’s wrong with these people!” I exclaimed, watching as the line outside of Changbin’s restaurant continued to grow even longer.

“I heard it’s good,” Han offered unhelpfully, and I didn’t even notice his approach because I was too distracted by the horror-show playing right in front of me. My literal worst nightmare coming to life with one preemptive swoop!

“This is terrible!” I said. “We’re losing business t-to them!”

“Y/N, it’s okay,” Jisung said, laying one hand on my shoulder. “Most of our regulars are here.”

“It’s not okay!” I said, shaking off his hand aggressively. “We need to get to the bottom of this!”

Jisung flinched when I turned around sharply on my heel, finding my way back to the kitchen where I clapped my hands together loudly to attract everyone’s attention. “Listen up, people!” I started. “The place across the street has just become enemy number one. That means we need to investigate! We have to infiltrate the restaurant and figure out what the hell is going on!”

“Y/N,” Chan sighed. “Is this necessary?”

“Oh, it's completely necessary! We’re going undercover,” I said, pointing between Felix and Chan. “You two are coming with me.”

Chan shook his head. “Y/N, do we really have to do this?”

“Yeah,” Felix whined. “You’re just gonna do something embarrassing again.”

I offered them both a glare. “Do you like working here?”

“Yes, chef!” Felix immediately shouted, holding up his hand to his forehead in a military salute.

Chan rolled his eyes. “I think you’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

“We’re losing customers, Chan,” I said. “We need to figure out why.”

“But do we really have to go over there?”

“Can’t Jisung go instead of me?” Felix asked, jutting out his bottom lip like it might garner him some kind of sympathy.

However, I was completely set on my resolution. “You’re coming, Felix, and we’re going to get justice for JYP!”

“Justice for JYP!” Jeongin shouted while raising his fist in the air to demonstrate his solidarity with my outrageous claim.

In the meantime, I had removed my apron, dusting the flour from my jeans while grabbing my purse from the backroom. “Now!” I said, dragging a reluctant Chan and Felix behind me as we exited the restaurant through the back door.

I had never been more determined in my entire life!

“How many are in your party?” the hostess asked when we stepped inside Dwekki for the very first time.

“Three,” I replied while scrutinizing every feature of the interior.

“One moment please,” the hostess said, leaving her podium stand to enter the dining room. I stood on my toes to look inside, but I only caught a faint glimpse of an overhanging chandelier before the doors closed again.

“Fancy,” Felix remarked, but I ignored him while observing the main lobby.

“How pretentious,” I muttered, taking in the elegantly tiled marble floors and freshly painted white walls. 

“Says the person who charges 30 dollars for chicken,” Chan retorted.

“Whose side are you on?” I asked him, but a potential argument was quickly interrupted by the hostess who re-emerged from the dining room.

“Right this way,” she said, grabbing three menus before encouraging us to enter the literal lion’s den.

Immediately, I decided that I didn’t like Dwekki. It screamed money and finesse, and I wasn’t impressed with the elegant set-up, disregarding the shimmering fountain and the open kitchen that revealed dozens of chefs working tirelessly to prepare their dishes.

“Thank you,” Felix said politely when our hostess brought us to a small table near the kitchen’s entrance, offering us our menus before returning to her post outside the dining room. “You guys, it smells like chocolate in here,” Felix said, whining when I reached over to whack his arm with my menu.

“It smells like desperation to me,” I said. “Look at all this unnecessary decor. Who the hell needs a water fountain in the middle of their restaurant?”

“I think it’s nice,” Chan said with a sarcastic attitude on clear display.

“You’re the worst sous-chef,” I told him.

“But what would you do without me?”

“I’d put another ad in the paper,” I said, and he gasped in dramatic fashion that was clearly meant to mock me. 

Meanwhile, I had barely noticed the arrival of our waiter until his voice interrupted my playful banter with Chan. “Good evening, folks, welcome to Dwekki, my name is Hyunjin and I’ll be your server tonight. Would you like to start off with an appetizer.”

“What do you recommend?” I asked, taking note of Hyunjin’s taller stature and the way he tied back his long hair into a neat style. 

“Our chef’s choice is the scallops,” Hyunjin replied, and I inwardly groaned at the mention of the restaurant’s chef.

“Yes, that’s fine,” I said, and Hyunjin had barely left the table before Felix was opening his mouth again.

“He has literal angels working for him, Y/N,” Felix said. 

“Do you really have to say that?” I asked.

“He certainly has class,” Chan added, and I felt their betrayal deep inside the center of my chest. “Do you think he might recommend his decorator?”

“Our restaurant is more family-oriented,” I said, bringing my water glass to my lips because I was suddenly parched.

“He’s coming back,” Felix whispered, and I was taken aback by Hynjin’s reappearance, holding a bottle of wine in his hands.

“This is for you,” he said with a knowing smile.

“Pinot noir!” Felix gasped, snatching the bottle from Hyunjin who barely flinched.

“Compliments of the chef,” Hyunjin explained, and I hesitantly glanced over my shoulder to see Changbin watching us from the kitchen’s entrance. I returned my gaze to the table, fanning my flushed skin. “He also insisted that you should try tonight’s house specialty.”

“That’s fine,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief when he finally left us alone.

“Does he know who you are?” Felix asked curiously.

“I ran into him the other day,” I said.

“She nearly had a heart attack,” Chan said. “It was the day we declared war or something on this place.”

“Like battleship?” Felix asked, and I actually regretted not listening to his plea from earlier to have brought Jisung along instead. At least my pastry chef was entertaining.

“The food is probably mediocre,” I said. “Nobody can have an ego that big unless they’re compensating for something.”

“Y/N,” Felix teased, raising his eyebrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Not whatever you’re thinking,” I said, wincing at the idea. “Look, I know that you both think this whole thing is stupid, but the restaurant is really important to me, and I care when our customers start eating somewhere else.”

“Is it really about the customers or your pride?” Chan asked, and I hated it when his questions turned philosophical.

I tossed my menu in his direction. “Study the dishes, Chan. We’re here to gather important intel.”

Chan smirked, but obeyed my command, browsing quietly while Felix took his job too seriously and started capturing screenshots using his cellphone. Meanwhile, I leaned back in my chair with a heavy heart because it was starting to look like we were hopelessly outmatched. I mean, just the interior of the dining room itself was far more impressive than our cafeteria-style, and I was actually envious of that stupid fountain because it looked magical underneath the stupid chandelier.

Thankfully, the arrival of our food temporarily paused my morbid thoughts, and the smell of our appetizer scallops actually had my stomach grumbling. Felix and Chan immediately grabbed a scallop for themselves, and I forced myself to take one of the delicious smelling rations. My mouth started watering when I brought a small bite closer, and when I chewed against the tender meat, my entire facade cracked because it was absolutely wonderful.

Of course, to make matters even worse, the head chef had decided to leave the kitchen and gloat before I could even swallow my food. “What do we have here?” Changbin asked, and I trembled at his approach. “It can’t be the head chef of JYP! I’m honored.”

“Why are you out here?” I hissed.

“I saw you come inside,” Changbin replied. “I figured I should be nice to our new neighbors.”

I watched as Changbin took a step to the side, crooking a finger, and Hyunjin joined our table once more with the entrees. “The veal,” he said, placing a portion in front of the three of us.

“It’s one of my most popular dishes,” Changbin said with a tone laced with his smugness.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” I said, stuffing a bite into my mouth and immediately regretting the way that my body reacted positively to the food. Like I was suddenly back home and enjoying my mother’s home-cooked meals.

“Do you like it?” Changbin asked.

I gritted my teeth as I pushed the dish away from me. “It’s okay,” I said, sighing when I noticed that Chan and Felix were practically devouring their dishes.

“You see that critic over there?” Changbin asked, and I followed his gaze to a strikingly familiar face. Because it was the same woman who had just eaten at our restaurant several nights ago, and she looked way too pleased with her current meal. “She told me that my chicken was the best she had ever tasted.”

I held my tongue to keep myself from retorting. “That’s impossible,” Felix said over a mouthful of his veal. “Y/N has the best chicken dish in New York.”

“Really?” Changbin asked, leaning down so that he was speaking right into my ear. “Maybe we should put that to the test.”

“What do you mean?” 

“There’s a food competition this weekend on Good Morning, New York,” Changbin said.

“I love that show!” Felix said, and I rolled my eyes at the unnecessary observation.

“They’re inviting local chefs to participate,” Changbin said. “I already reserved my spot, but maybe Y/N could try her luck as well.”

I slammed my fork down against the table. “You’re on, Seo. I haven’t lost a food competition since culinary school.”

“May the best chef win,” Changbin said with a pleased smile. “Enjoy the rest of your meal.”

“Whatever,” I grumbled, forcing another bite of veal into my mouth because I was growing more and more frustrated with my impending crisis.

The next morning, I walked inside the restaurant to see a group of my chefs crowded around one of the tables. “What’s going on?” I asked, and they immediately began to disperse. “Hold on!” I said, jogging over to grab Felix’s apron sleeve. “What are you holding?”

“It’s nothing!” Jisung squealed from further away, but I still jerked the magazine away from Felix’s hands. It was a copy of the Food Critic Monthly magazine, and they published reviews of the most popular restaurants in New York City. 

“Y/N,” Felix said, and his voice was unusually deep. “It’s one person’s opinion.”

I shook my head as I opened the magazine, flipping through the pages until I found our restaurant’s name in the heading. “JYP remains consistent, although they could certainly benefit from a change in their normal menu. I’ll give them a score of 9 out of 10,” I read aloud, fuming when I realized that Dwekki’s review was on the next page. “This hot new restaurant has some of the finest cuisine that I’ve ever tasted, and its head chef holds the potential to be the greatest in New York. My rating is a solid 10 out of 10.”

The room was quiet when I finished. “Y/N?” Jeongin tentatively inquired. “It doesn’t matter, we can impress them next time.”

“Next time?” I repeated with barely constrained rage. “It’s the opinion of one of the biggest food critics in the city!” I retorted. “Of course, it matters.”

I took a deep breath, closing my eyes for a moment to center myself. “Y/N?” Jisung said. “What are you gonna do?”

I looked at him with newfound determination. “Someone needs to schedule me for that Good Morning, New York show. I’m gonna beat him in front of the entire city!”

Jeongin nodded his head quickly. “I’ll make the call, Y/N.”

I rolled back my shoulders, pausing when I noticed that Chan had stopped in front of me. “You’re going too far this time, Y/N.”

“I need this, Chan,” I said, shoving my way past him. “I also need freaking break from this place!”

That afternoon, I sat behind the restaurant with a cigarette in hand, puffing smoke into the surrounding space. Unfortunately, whenever I felt particularly stressed, I turned to the nasty habit that I had trouble completely dismissing from my life. It was truly disgusting, but sometimes these situations forced me to do things that I normally wouldn’t even consider.

“You shouldn’t do that.”

I held the cancer stick up to my lips. “Why the hell do you care?”

“Maybe I think you’re too beautiful for bad lungs,” Changbin said, and I finally met his gaze from across the alley.

“What do you want?”

“To show off?” He shrugged, resuming a business-like demeanor when he walked in my direction.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” I said, watching him as he took a seat next to me.

“Look at this,” Changbin said, holding up a black folder. “We have reservations scheduled for the next month.”

“A month?” I spluttered, taking the folder from him. Sure enough, I ran my finger down the list of names occupying time slots that filled the remainder of June. As a result, I let my head fall back against the brick wall of my restaurant. “This is private property, you know.”

“Oh?” Changbin chuckled. “Look, Y/N, whatever I’ve done to offend you, I want to apologize.”

“Really?” I said. “It doesn’t feel like you care.”

“Actually, I really admire your work,” Changbin said. “I read some of your reviews when I had just graduated school, and I even based one of my dishes from your Parmesan.”

“Fuck that makes me feel old,” I complained, but there was no way that I was more than a few years older than Changbin. 

“You might feel younger if you stop with these things,” Changbin said, and I only frowned when he took the cigarette from me. 

“I booked myself on that show,” I said. “I hope I don’t offend you when I kick your ass.”

Changbin smirked, leaning in closer with a dangerous smile that somehow managed to send my heart fluttering inside my chest. “I look forward to it.”

Unsurprisingly, Jeongin was a cheerful presence even when the sun hadn’t quite risen above the New York City skyscrapers. He had previously agreed to come with me to the show as a support system, and I could use his infectious energy when it came to my biggest challenge to date. “I even made you a sign,” he said as I drove us along the crowded streets.

I laughed. “I don’t think you can bring those inside the studio.”

“I’ll still cheer the loudest!” he said, and I wanted nothing more than to wrap him into a secure hug.

However, I also had to resist the softer side that Jeongin always tended to bring out in me because I needed to focus solely on this competition. My entire reputation was hanging by a thread, and this show offered me the chance to redeem my dwindling reviews. 

Graciously, upon my arrival, I noticed that most of the other competitors weren’t nearly as intimidating, and I offered them polite greetings while doing my best to ignore Changbin and the ridiculous smile that he sent in my direction when I entered the studio. “Keep talking to me,” I instructed Jeongin. “Maybe that will keep Satan away.”

Jeongin nodded his head. “I believe in you, Y/N.”

“There’s a great evil threatening our existence,” I said solemnly. “I just need to focus.”

“Woah!” Jeongin suddenly cheered. “They have soft batch cookies.”

“Hey!” I said. “Are you really letting that distract you?”

“Sorry,” he whispered, bowing respectfully when the Good Morning hosts approached us.

“We’re excited to have you here, Y/N. It’s been a while since you’ve participated in something like this.”

“Well, I need a change every once in a while,” I told them.

“We’ve assigned your station next to Seo Changbin’s,” they said. “You two are the best in the kitchen, and our viewers will love it!”

“I bet they will,” I said, smiling sweetly while pulling Jeongin along next to me. “Let’s make sure it’s spotless,” I instructed him, and we both started cleaning the station with prompt attention.

“Oh, Y/N,” Changbin said from his station next to me. “I saw a comment on social media this morning. Someone said that I shouldn’t even bother wearing anything under my apron. What do you think?”

“Pervert,” I muttered under my breath, wiping down the counter with far more aggression than necessary considering how the surface was practically glimmering.

“Alright, everyone!” a producer suddenly announced. “The show starts in five minutes.”

However, I was unprepared for the way that my stomach twisted uncomfortably because I had never felt this nervous before in my entire life. “I can’t breathe,” I told Jeongin, and he immediately started fanning my overheated skin with one of the frying pans.

“You can do it, Y/N,” he said, and I only nodded in response while I watched him join the crowd gathered behind the cameras.

“3...2...1...action!”

Fuck, why was it so hot in here?

“Good morning, New York City!” one of the hosts began, holding out her arms in grandiose fashion. “We have six of New York’s hottest young chefs ready to cook for us this morning.”

“That’s right, Kathy, and when we get back from our commercial break, we’ll determine the best of the best in a fierce competition. Let’s introduce today’s chefs.”

Kathy smiled in our direction, holding up the microphone as she spoke briefly with each chef in turn, coming closer and closer in my direction. “Mr. Seo,” she said. “You’ve scored tremendous reviews with some of the city’s toughest critics! What inspires you to create such gourmet dishes?”

“Well, recently, I’ve been inspired by someone who managed to capture my heart,” he said, sending a discreet wink in my direction.

I scowled at his blatant sarcasm. “Oh, she must be a lucky lady, then,” Kathy said, taking a long stride to stand next to me at my station. “What about you, Y/N? You’ve been at the top of New York’s finest chef’s list for years!”

I found Jeongin at the back of the room whose sweet smile managed to lend me some semblance of confidence. “I’ve always been competitive,” I said, and the answer summoned a chuckle from Changbin.

“Well, I guess we get to see for ourselves right after these brief words from our sponsors!”

“Cut!” the producer yelled, and I sighed in relief.

But it was a short-lived reprieve, and Changbin leaned in closer to shorten the space separating our stations. “I don’t want to embarrass you, sweetheart,” Changbin grinned, and it took everything I had to resist the temptation to hit that perfect face.

“Shut the hell up,” I muttered, briefly glancing up to see Jeongin offering me a cheesy thumbs up from behind the camera.

Tragically, this time I didn’t feel any reassurance from his warm presence. Instead, I anxiously waited in profound expectation until the recording lights started to flash green, and I put on my best poker face for the camera. “Chefs, today you’ll be making your best dish to impress our judges! We’ll be looking at three categories: taste, presentation, and creativity. You have twenty minutes to finish your dish.”

Twenty minutes?! I was freaking out, running over my best chicken recipe inside my head while the hosts started a vicious countdown that slowly destroyed my resolve. “Go!”

I immediately launched myself into action, running to the fridge to pull out a package of freshly cut chicken. I was relying on years of experience to guide my actions, resorting to my most basic cooking instincts when I cleaned and seasoned the chicken while blocking out the commentary in the background. 

Sauté, sauté, sauté, I chanted inside my head while I heated the olive oil and tossed in the chicken strips to cook over the warm stove. Since I had such limited time, I gave each side exactly four minutes to cook before I was moving on to the next step, glancing over at Changbin’s station to watch him slice several ingredients with precision.

Jesus, he looked really hot doing that!

“Stop it, Y/N,” I whispered to myself, rolling up my sleeves while I grabbed my mixing bowl to prepare the honey and balsamic vinegar base for the sauce that I planned to glaze on top of the chicken. I added some garlic to my chicken skillet before stirring in the stock that would elevate the chicken’s natural flavoring.

“Ten minutes, chefs!”

My heart was pounding against my breastbone, and I decided to add rice at the last minute, even though it was a risk since it might not cook thoroughly in time. However, I also knew that it would add some color to the dish, and I was ready to pull out all the risks to reap the benefits. 

The kitchen was loud with the sound of sizzling skillets and boiling pots, and I was overheated and flushed because of the rising steam. The smells of intermingling dishes were overwhelming, and I resisted the urge to check on Changbin’s dish because I couldn't handle that pressure. 

“Five...four...three...two...one...stop!”

With a long exhale, I threw up my hands and retreated away from my plate. My nerves were still sending trembles along my spine, and I was pretty sure that I could pass out from exhaustion at any moment. Yet, beneath it all, I was also exhilarated from the challenge, and I couldn’t help but smile proudly at my dish sitting at the edge of the counter.

“We’ll let our judges decide,” Kathy said, and several assistants came to collect our plates, bringing them to the panel sitting somewhere off-screen.

I watched their reactions greedily, noting how they maintained neutral expressions for every dish with a certain degree of professionalism. “It was very close,” one of the judges said. “However, we made a decision.”

“The top three,” another continued. “Third place goes to Mr. Lee for his delicious pasta!”

I wasn’t sure if I should feel relieved or not, watching one of the hosts place a shiny bronze medal around the young chef’s neck. Surely, that meant Changbin and I were taking the top two positions, but I was desperate to hear them call out my name above his. 

“We’ll announce first place,” the judge began, and I was practically hanging from the edge of the counter. “Seo Changbin!”

Unfortunately, there were no words to describe the way my shoulders instantly deflated, and a feeling of existential dread gripped tightly to my heart because of my failure. “Second place goes to Y/N.”

I was shaking, but it wasn’t out of anger for once. I pretended to smile, accepting the medal with a bile taste at the back of my throat. I managed to hold myself together until the show went off air, and I slowly removed my apron while trying my best not to reveal just how affected I was by everything that had happened. “Hey, Y/N,” Changbin said, and I turned around with a sigh.

“Save it, Changbin,” I said. “I don’t need you to rub it in.”

“I’m not,” he said, sweeping his bangs away from his eyes. “Will you just look at me?”

I offered him my full attention. “Well?”

“It was really close,” he said. “You did a good job, and your dish was amazing.”

His words were earnest, and I saw the honesty in his expression. Yet, my pride was still wounded, and I wanted to creep away into the remote corners of my lonely apartment and lick my wounds. “You don’t really mean that.”

“Not everything has to be a competition, Y/N,” he said, giving me a meaningful look that I couldn’t quite understand.

However, if the competition could be considered another step towards my total demise, then I shouldn’t have been so surprised to see the next day’s issue of a popular magazine. “Food Critic Daily,” I screamed, snatching the magazine from a sheepish Jeongin. My eyes grew wider when I saw that Changbin had the privilege of gracing the front cover. “This reviewer insists that you listen to everyone who tells you that Seo Changbin’s dishes are some of the finest cuisine in New York City. Perhaps nobody can compare.”

I dramatically fell back against the counter because it was too much for me to handle. I took a deep breath, channeling that emotion into anger as I grabbed the magazine from the top, ripping it slowly in half while my chefs looked on with barely disguised horror. “The insanity stops now!”

“Are you sure about that?” Jisung asked.

“We just have to try something different,” I said, looking around at my gathered chefs.

“Maybe not right now, Y/N,” came Felix’s gentle response.

“Why?”

“Changbin’s here,” Felix whispered, pointing at the kitchen door.

“What?” I growled, immediately turning around to face my kitchen staff. “Listen up! We have to be on our best game tonight!” I pointed at Felix who immediately froze to the spot. “I’m cooking his meal. Send his order to me.”

Felix nodded, relaying the instructions to our waiter while I approached my station with malice. “Y/N,” Chan said softly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I grunted. “I can do this.”

“I didn’t say that I doubted you,” Chan said. “But I’m worried that you’re pushing yourself too much.”

“I can handle it,” I snapped, reaching for my discarded apron. 

“Here’s the order,” Felix said, returning promptly. “He asked for the garlic butter chicken.”

I snorted. “Of course he did.”

Nevertheless, I cracked my fingers and got to work, arranging the pots and ingredients across my station. I quietly sharpened my knife, glaring at the revolving kitchen door where I knew that Changbin waited outside in the dining room. Despite the repeated blows to my self-confidence, I was determined to impress him tonight.

After I had sent off Changbin’s order, I returned to the back office to try and rest after pushing myself to the limit. I resisted the familiar urge to grab a cigarette from my bag, looking up at the ceiling in an attempt to distract my mind. However, my efforts were in vain because Jeongin eventually started knocking on the door, looking at me with wide eyes. “Changbin said that he wanted to speak to the chef.”

I huffed an annoyed sigh. “That isn’t surprising.”

I slowly lifted myself from the chair, following Jeongin back into the kitchen. I was aware that the other chefs were watching me like I was some kind of wild animal ready to pounce. “Stay here,” I said to Jeongin, pushing my way through the revolving door to enter the dining room.

It wasn’t hard to find him, sitting with his waiter, Hyunjin, at one of the tables near the front entrance. I lowered my head when I started for his section, aware of the weight of his gaze on me the entire time. “You asked for me,” I said, looking down at Changbin with my eyes narrowed.

“My compliments to the chef,” Changbin said. “The food was surprisingly good.”

I chose not to react to his passive-aggressive comment. “Will there be anything else?”

“Just a moment,” Changbin said, reaching into his jacket pocket to produce a folded card. “What do you think?”

I snatched it from him ungracefully, smoothing out the surface before I caught the unforgettable name of Kim Seungmin listed across the card. “The Kim Seungmin?” I asked, and I didn’t bother to hide my excitement.

“I can get you an interview with him,” Changbin said. “What do you think?”

I frowned. “What’s the catch?”

Changbin laughed. “Maybe I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart.”

“Yeah, right,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Just tell me what you want.”

His smile was gone, replaced by a look that I could only describe as sobering. “You should go on a date with me, Y/N.”

It only took me a moment to start laughing. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Changbin sighed. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” I replied, watching him as he stood from the table.

“I don’t want you to see me as a competitor,” Changbin said. “I think you’re amazing, and we would be so much better as partners.”

Regardless of his kind words, it still felt like he was mocking me, even if his tone suggested otherwise, and I couldn’t swallow down my pride and bruised ego long enough to acknowledge the truth. Instead, I hardened my gaze, looking at him as someone who continued to ruin our business each day I prepared our menu selections in the kitchen. “I think you should leave.”

“Y/N-”

I took a step back, bowing in front of him before I returned to the kitchen with his eyes burning a hole into the back of my head.

After our regular closing hours, I lingered behind in the kitchen office, staring at the blank computer screen. I couldn’t stop thinking about Changbin, and that was a problem. It was his fault that I was feeling so defeated, and I couldn’t imagine allowing him access to my personal life. 

Thankfully, the familiar tone of my cell phone forced my attention elsewhere, and I answered the call with a distracted greeting. “Y/N!” an excited voice announced from the other end. “It’s Jeongin!”

“I have caller ID.”

“Oh, r-right,” he stuttered. “Anyway, I just got off the phone with one of my friends, and he said that his company was looking for a place to host their anniversary dinner this weekend. I mentioned our restaurant because I think the attention might help bring some interest back to JYP!”

I listened intently, feeling a familiar spark of hope. “What company?”

“It’s a huge TV network! The same one that programs Good Morning, New York!”

“How many people?”

“Uh, maybe like a couple hundred?”

I hesitated because I knew how difficult it would be to handle that many guests at one time, but I also knew that Jeongin had been right when he suggested that the publicity could be the push that we desperately required. “Tell them we would be more than happy to host.”

I hung up the phone with a loud exhale. What the hell was I doing?

The weekend approached fast, and I was slowly experiencing the numbing effects of panic when I realized that several of my chefs would be unable to help with dinner preparations for the party that we were hosting. “It might be pushing our limits, Y/N,” Chan said, and he stood next to me while I examined our depleted numbers.

“We can do it,” I said. “Everyone, let’s start preparing the main dishes!”

“Yes, chef!

I took a deep breath because we wouldn’t have a single moment of reprieve to accommodate the orders. But I had convinced myself that enough early preparation would help counter our severe lack of help in the kitchen. Subsequently, I was working my ass off to ensure that everything was progressing smoothly.

“Y/N,” Jeongin said. “People have started to arrive.”

“We can start serving soon,” I said. “Tell the waitstaff to get themselves ready.”

Jeongin nodded, but I could tell that he was nervous, and his lack of confidence was noticeably debilitating. Nevertheless, I encouraged everyone to work harder, trying to pay less attention to the accumulating orders. “Y/N, table eight has been waiting for twenty minutes on an appetizer.”

“I got it!” I shouted back, approaching the front counter with the shrimp plate in question.

“Y/N, what about the crab cakes?”

My heart was skyrocketing inside my chest. “It’s coming!”

“We need the chicken for table six!”

“Y/N, people are starting to ask me about the soup?”

“Y/N!”

“Fuck,” I cursed, trying to settle my breathing because there were dark spots building in my peripheral vision.

Chan graciously reached out for my arm, holding me steady with his strong hold. “We’re understaffed, Y/N, and Felix is crying in the bathroom!”

“Just hold on one second,” I said, pacing back and forth nervously across the kitchen floor.

“Y/N,” Chan said, shaking my shoulders. “We have to call Changbin for help.”

“Changbin!” I yelled, gripping the counter. “Are you serious?”

“We need extra hands,” Chan said. “Changbin told me the other night that he really wanted to support the restaurant.”

“He said that?”

“Call him,” Chan insisted, shoving the kitchen phone into my hand. “Please.”

I released a defeated sigh as I dialed his number, finding it listed in the phone book that we kept in the office. “Hello?” a gruff voice greeted me.

“Changbin,” I said, swallowing hard. “It’s Y/N.”

“Well, this is a surprise,” Changbin’s smooth voice responded from the other end. “Did you change your mind about our date, Y/N?”

I groaned. “No, but I actually have something to ask you.”

“Really?” Changbin said, and his tone was playful. “It’s always hard to resist you.”

“I need your help Changbin,” I said, but there was a nasty taste left in my mouth after the words had already come out. “I’m hosting an important party at the restaurant, but my staff can’t keep up.”

I held my breath, waiting impatiently when I heard nothing from the other man. “Give me ten minutes,” he replied before I was greeted with the sound of the dial tone.

Changbin’s arrival was, for once, a breath of fresh air, and I ushered him into the kitchen with eager hands. He had also brought half a dozen of his own chefs, and they fell into order with my staff like a well-oiled machine. It was reassuring, and I felt myself grow lighter on my feet as I moved through the kitchen, filling orders at a much faster speed.

“Let me handle that one,” I said, grabbing one of the tickets from Jisung before rushing back to my station. I started cutting vegetables with a speed that I hadn’t seen since my early culinary school days.

“You look sexy doing that,” Changbin remarked from next to me.

I grinned because the comment was strangely endearing. “You’re just saying that.”

“I really mean it,” Changbin said, and his presence was somewhat intoxicating.

“Focus on your work,” I said, but I could feel that I was blushing. 

“That’s cute, Y/N,” he said, reaching out to poke a finger against my cheek.

“Hands to yourself,” I added, and Changbin laughed before he grabbed the handle of his skillet to toss the contents of his dish.

“I think we’re finally caught up,” Jisung announced from the front of the kitchen and there was an audible sigh from my staff in the kitchen.

“What, is this a regular thing, Y/N?” Changbin asked. “How have you survived without me for all these years?”

“Perseverance,” I responded, turning up the heat on my grill and enjoying the accompanying sound of the chicken frying in the sauce mixture.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” he said, and I couldn’t help but shiver while I tried to figure out if he was talking about me or the dish.

Eventually, serving hours were completed, and most of the chefs had started to clean the mess that we had made of our dwindling supplies. Meanwhile, I studied the satisfied patrons from behind the revolving doors, and I felt proud of everything that had been accomplished. Even if that meant finding help in an unlikely ally who was engaged in polite conversation with Chan and Felix.

“Jeongin,” I said, drawing the younger’s attention.

“Yes, chef!” he saluted, and I bit back a smile.

“Find us some champagne from the back,” I said. “Bring glasses for everyone.”

“I’m on it!” he declared, and I watched him hurry to the back while I took one last look at the lingering party guests.

I wandered through the kitchen, occasionally offering to help clean one of the stations. At the same time, I couldn’t resist a persistent desire to glance at Changbin, watching him from the corner of my eye. For the first time since we had met, my attention wasn’t focused completely on the restaurant.

“I think it was a huge success, Y/N,” Jisung interrupted my musings when he returned from the dining hall. “I spoke to the CEO, and he said they would definitely consider us again as a future host!”

“Hopefully, we’ll have more help,” I said, reaching over to pat Jisung on the shoulder. “Thank you.”

Jisung’s eyes widened. “Are you sick, Y/N?”

“No,” I laughed, and my gaze immediately locked with Changbin’s. “I’m just grateful.”

Thereafter, Jeongin returned with a bottle of wine and several glasses. I quietly instructed him to give everyone some of the champagne. “Make sure the restaurant clears out,” I instructed Jisung who nodded obediently.

Meanwhile, I watched Jeongin flitter between the kitchen staff, holding out glasses and filling them to the very top with delicate bubbles. “Are we celebrating, Y/N?” Chan asked, pausing next to me.

I smiled. “I think everyone deserves it.”

Finally, Jisung made his return after sorting everything out with the CEO, carefully assisting our waitstaff in sorting out the evening’s conclusion. Thus, I held up a glass of champagne since the restaurant had finally cleared out, waiting patiently while the chefs gathered together for a short celebration. “Thank you,” I said. “To everyone because I was really in over my head.”

“That’s an understatement,” Chan snorted.

“Also, I’m glad that Changbin and his staff were able to help us,” I said. “We couldn’t have done this without you.”

“Cheers!” Jisung shouted, and I brought my glass to my lips to enjoy the cooling effects of the alcohol as it slid down my parched throat.

It was late when I started to send most of the chefs home. I made sure to thank everyone again, smiling brightly because I was incredibly proud of their efforts. “We’re almost done with clean-up, Y/N,” Jeongin said, approaching me with an exhausted yawn.

“I’ll clean the rest,” I told Jeongin. “Everyone else can go home.”

Jeongin nodded, looking up at me with sleepy eyes. I grinned as he trudged out of the kitchen, and I took his place at the counter to wipe down the surface until it was spotlessly clean. “This is very dedicated of you, Y/N.”

I smirked at Changbin’s comment. “It’s the least I can do after tonight.”

“Well, you seem like a very ambitious person,” Changbin said, and I could feel him behind me.

“It’s just...been hard lately.”

“Why?”

I closed my eyes. “Honestly? I was a little worked up because we were losing a lot of business to your restaurant. It hurt my pride.”

“The novelty will wear off,” Changbin said. “People enjoy new things, but they always eventually look for what they really like again.”

“Are you trying to be wise?”

“Maybe I’m still trying to impress you,” he said, and the deep tenor of his voice sent a shiver down my spine.

“What?”

“I really like you, Y/N,” he said, and I felt his lips right next to my ear and the warm sensation of his gentle breathing. 

His hands smoothed down the fabric of my apron, holding my waist with an unrelenting grip. I shivered when his lips found the sensitive skin of my throat, placing teasing kisses wherever he could find space. He eventually turned me around in his arms, and I was lost in the endless pools of his eyes. 

“Are you going to push me away?” he asked.

“Not anymore,” I replied, and it was nothing short of satisfying when he finally kissed me, and I could feel my head spin while my mind tried to process everything that was happening.

I could feel the counter digging into my lower back, and I hopped onto the clean surface while keeping our lips firmly attached. I also grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him between my legs to sear our lips together in a passionate display that stole every bit of oxygen from my burning lungs. He moaned when I let one hand tease the front of his dress pants through the fabric of his jeans and chef’s apron. “Does this mean I can have my date?”

I smiled, curling my fingers into his hair. “Whatever you want.”

“I just want you,” he said, and I seared our solemn declaration with another heart-fluttering kiss.

One Year Later

I had been dreaming, but there was one person who could always summon me from the clutches of my REM cycle. “Sweetheart,” his gentle voice whispered into my ear.

I groaned in protest, rolling over onto my side to avoid Changbin’s persistent wake-up call. However, it was hard to ignore him when I could feel him pull back the covers to settle between my legs. “Don’t do that,” I whined.

“What?”

“You’re trying to convince me to wake-up,” I said. “Let’s sleep longer.”

“Are we gonna skip the opening tonight?” Changbin asked with a husky chuckle.

I sighed, looking up at him with barely-opened eyes. “It’s still so far away.”

“That’s why I’m doing this,” he said, running his hands along my thighs, creeping past the barrier of my shirt.

“Binnie...”

“Y/N,” he said. “I’m gonna fuck this little pussy, and then we’re getting dressed for tonight.”

My eyes shot open immediately. “You better keep that promise.”

Changbin growled low in his chest, pressing a kiss to the front of my panties, and I curled my fingers into his hair because I wouldn’t be able to walk when he was finished with me.

Needless to say, it was a beautiful day for a grand opening, and I studied the front of our new restaurant with pride. It had been a while since the incident that brought us all together, but I enjoyed every day that I spent with Changbin by my side. I had also met so many interesting new people, and our staff finally felt like one giant family. Therefore, we had agreed to open a place together, equipped with a combination of our best staff and servers, and I was excited to welcome tonight’s guests.

“Y/N, should we start kitchen prep?” Jeongin asked, looking at me from inside the front entrance.

“Sure,” I told him with a nod. He clapped his hands together rapidly, disappearing behind the door with my favorite smile. 

“Are you not going to help them?”

His teasing voice only brightened my mood, and I felt his arms wrap around me from behind. “I just wanted to see everything before we opened.”

“What do you think?” Changbin asked, looking at me for approval.

I nodded my head with a smile. “It’s perfect.”

[philicheesecake]

(U.L.) The Last Hunt

Synopsis: Three hunters seek out the trace of an unknown monster, only for the hunt to take a dangerous turn.

Warnings: THIS STORY CONTAINS FATAL VORE. IF YOU DO NOT LIKE FATAL VORE, TURN BACK NOW. 

((Phili’s note: Though Wendigos are mentioned in this story, the adaption mentioned here are not the ones from folklore. The Unseen Legion discovered creatures with similar appearance and behavior that resembles the wendigo folklore and nicknamed these creatures after them, not having a better name for them)) ((Also sorry it took forever to get this posted! I was super nervous about posting fatal, but y’all have been warned anyways, so hopefully it should be fine))

---

There was a click as the magazine slid into place. The trunk of the big red van slammed shut. Footsteps tracked away from the gravel earth. A wind bristled through the canopy above, shifting the flecks of warm evening light that fell across the untrodden trail. Branches and dead foliage crunched over the three pairs of boots as the small hunting party began to search. 

The mid-autumn air was crisp and chilly in contrast with the sun’s dull warm glow, and the fiery colors of the foliage that shifted at the change of season. The three figures were equipped with boots and jackets, and the tallest held a pack full of spare hunting gear to make sure all approaches to some unknown threat were covered. 

“They’re more active at dawn and dusk, so we’ll have to watch our backs more as the sun sets,” the oldest of them, Josiah spoke to his trainee. He had dark baggy eyes and salt and pepper hair. While his features were much older and weathered, she was much shorter and younger, barely out of high school, with curly black hair pulled back into a big ponytail. 

“How many wendigos have you killed?” The girl, Ruth pondered. 

“Gah, lost count. Maybe seven?” The older man shrugged. “What about you, Rubin?” He glanced at the other hunter joining them. He was short for her age, but had a good build and curly brown hair and a goatee. 

“Haven’t met one yet. This one would be my first. I tend to stick around the rowdy moon puppies mostly,” Rubin responded. 

“I’ve always wanted to hunt a werewolf, I just have too unsteady hands to pierce their heart,” Ruth said. “I’m just sticking to the bigger targets until I can get a better skill with my gun handling.”

“Good idea. I don’t think it would be fun to come back from a hunt with puppy ears,” Rubin chuckled. “I bet werewolf bites don’t tickle.”

“I’ll bet,” Ruth said with a grin. 

“Hey, wait here,” Josiah stopped ahead, holding out a hand as he crouched down to the forest floor, seeming to inspect a mark on the earth. The soil was unruly, but a faint mark could be made out. A footprint? But it was too large, even for a wendigo. Even then, it was difficult to make out whether it actually was a footprint, and not just some uneven ground. 

“What do you think, Rubin?” Josiah glanced at the tracking expert of the hunting party. 

Rubin bent down near the print, taking a good look at it as he took in a deep breath. “Don’t recognize what it came from, but it couldn’t have been here more than a day ago. This ain’t like anything I’ve seen before.”

Ruth glanced at her father pensively, taking a few steps ahead to try to see more tracks. Sure enough, about six or seven feet apart from the other print was another. “Guys, over here. There’s more.” 

Josiah paced over to where she stood, glancing down at the new track. He could see it a bit more clearly. A left footprint. It was strikingly similar to a human’s own footprint, though there were indentations at the front of the toes that tore up the ground, distorting the front of the footprint by the disturbed earth. It was nearly a meter long from heel to toe. 

“Rubin, is the one over there a right foot?”

Rubin glanced up from the track after a moment, nodding. “Yuuup.”

Josiah shook his head in awe. “Two meter strides. Damn. This thing must be huge.”

“Do you think we should head back?” Ruth asked. “If we don’t know what it is, it might be dangerous.”

Josiah frowned, picking at a mole on the back of his neck as he always did when he was deep in thought. Maybe nervous. Calculating their odds. 

“We’ve been following these hunting patterns like a wendigo. Been twelve years since the last round of victims in this town, and three towns over, staggered at similar intervals. If we lose this chance, it might hibernate again and our chance will be lost. Chances are if it isn’t a wendigo, it’s still a close relative, and we can still kill it. We can follow the prints to at least learn about it, and if we get in over our heads, you can retreat.”

“Probably shouldn’t be relying on horror movies to predict the outcome for this, but...” Ruth looked at her father cautiously. “Going in over our heads is probably what’s going to happen if we don’t know what this is.”

The three hunters continued through the woods, finding the messy footprints leading in a rough direction deeper into the forest. The sun was beginning to set, overshadowed by the looming mountain range before them. On the mountainside, there were rocky cliffs and crevices looking over a small frothy stream that flowed noisily throughout the forest like a winding white serpent. The stream was shallow enough to wade through easily, though the mountain water must be very chilly. With a careful footing, one could cross by hopping from the slippery stones. 

“I can check out the cave first and call you over if the coast is clear. Watch out for each other, ‘aight?” Josiah dug through Ruth’s backpack briefly before drawing out the flame thrower. He began to wade through the stream, shivering as the cold water soaked through his trousers and chilled him to the bone.

“Be careful, dad,” Ruth said in a low voice. 

Josiah crossed over onto the opposing bank and stepped past the underbrush, making his way along the rocky wall against the bank. He passed further along towards the cave. At first, there seemed to be no trace of anything there. He began to move deeper into the dark crevice of stone, holding out his flame thrower warily. His boot bumped across a large leather sack, at first thinking it was a boulder. It was as big as he was. It had a long leather strap and leather buckles. It was weathered and looked as though it had been patched together over a dozen times. 

He looked down at it, frowning slightly in thought. He crouched down to get a better look. 

WHOOSH-

A massive hunched figure dashed out of the darkness. A clawed hand swept over, smothering his face to suppress the hunter’s shout of surprise. The flame thrower clattered to the ground and was quickly crunched beyond usage by an unseen force. It was completely silent and instantaneous. Josiah was dragged backward into the darkness by the cruel grip. He struggled, slipping his knife off of his belt and tried to jab it at the thing that held him. Large clawed fingers pinned his arms to his sides, rendering his attempts useless. His knife was quickly snatched and tossed aside. 

He tried to shout for the others, but the pressure over his face silenced him, rendering it difficult to even breathe. A warm breath puffed on the back of his neck, making his hairs stand up. The wendigo. He felt something hot and slimy drip onto his shoulders and shuddered. What was that? He struggled harder to slip free from the grip. just hoping he could get free before this thing killed him or stored him in some dark tunnel to snack on later. 

The warm air grew closer until he grew aware of a glistening thread of liquid drip down from in front of him. Something began to descend across his vision. Fangs. He choked in a startled gasp as the pressure loosened around his face, only allowing him to make a brief shout before his head was enveloped into the dark maw. 

Drool soaked through his skin as the tongue roughly rubbed against his face and hair. The grip shifted around him, holding him firmly as it pushed him in deeper combined with a strong gulp. Josiah felt dread settle into his chest. This creature was going to swallow him whole?! He tried to shout for Ruth and Rubin, but that only got that disgusting slime into his mouth. The smothering tight walls of the throat made it impossible to even breathe! He felt more and more of him dragged within the suffocating passage as he heard the creature begin to gulp and swallow him the rest of the way down. The creature’s head tilted back, changing gravity to a disorienting angle as Josiah was completely upside down. He distantly felt his shoes being yanked off and let out a muffled yelp of pain, being some heavy duty hiking boots that couldn’t really be removed easily. He thought the creature must have broken his feet or something, because he definitely felt something snap in there. 

His head soon pressed through a crushingly tight ring of muscle and passed into a slightly more open space. He immediately gasped for air, but the air burned his lungs immediately from the intense heat. He choked and coughed, feeling like he could never really catch his breath with how much each one hurt, and how the throat crushed his rib cage too tightly to really draw a full breath. 

The rest of him soon followed into the tight chamber. At first, it seemed too tight, almost impossible for him to fit entirely, though it somehow stretched and groaned as it managed to engulf him entirely with relative ease. As soon as he was down, he could hear his captor’s loud breaths from its cleared airway. He gasped, kicking against the tight confines. He reached for his knife, only to remember the beast had taken it from him. He was trapped.

The air was so hot in here. It was difficult to even breathe. It was so tight and slimy. The puddle of fluids that would soon be his demise was already a few inches deep in the pit of the stomach. He could feel a strange numb sensation from mere contact. He sucked in nervous gasps. “Ruth! Rubi--” his voice was muted as the walls seemed to clench tighter around him, additionally with a foreign pressure from the outside that pressed down harshly over him. It was impossible to shout, or even breathe! He struggled to try to fight the walls off of him just enough to battle for weak gasps of air. 

***

Ruth sighed anxiously as she looked down, checking the area while keeping her gun close. Her dad wasn’t gone for long, and she trusted his level of experience, though a part of her was still nervous about how unusually large this wendigo was perceived to be. 

Rubin was sitting against one of the logs, messing around with their supplies and making sure everything was ready in case of emergency. He suddenly stood up with an alert expression. “Your dad. Something happened.”

Ruth gave him a confused expression. “What? I didn’t hear any—”

“Stay here. I’ll go ahead. If I’m not back in ten, get the dickens outta here.”

Ruth’s brow furrowed and she opened her mouth to protest, but the older hunter was already heading across the stream and towards the cave. She waited behind, holding her shotgun at the ready. Although she was more of a cautious person when it came to hunting, there was no way she was leaving here without her dad and Rubin. 

Rubin approached the mouth of the cave with his gun in hand. He listened out carefully. Josiah’s voice was gone, but he could hear breathing. 

There was a sudden dash of movement from the side and a huge hand rammed into him, pinning him against the cave wall. The wind was knocked out of him and he gasped, looking up at the monster. It looked almost human with its features, though something was off about it. The dark markings around the eyes, slit pupils, long, pointed ears, sharp fangs and claws. It towered at easily forteen feet tall. What the hell was this thing?!

Rubin snapped out of his stupor, struggling against the grip. Until now, his eyes had been focused on the thing’s face, then he glanced down for a moment and his blood froze. There was a squirming bulge in its gut. It just ate somew--

Josiah’s voice. Josiah’s voice was coming from in there--

The hunter’s eyes widened in dread. The creature’s snarling lips were drawn back to bare its teeth as drool hungrily poured over its lips, dripping onto his face. Rubin panted and grimaced. His heart raced as the creature brought him closer… He could feel his friend past the wall of flesh, squirming for his life… trapped. “J-Josiah--” Rubin stammered. The creature bent down, opening its jaws wide and its gross slimy tongue dragged across the hunter’s face, getting a good taste. Rubin shuddered, gritting his teeth. He had to get out of here. He had to get that machete and cut his friend out of this. Things were going far too south far too quickly, and he didn’t even know how long Josiah would last in there. The thought made him nauseous with dread.

“Do you miss your friend?” The giant’s voice rumbled, vibrating to its core. It could talk? Well-- it looked human enough… “Let him go, Goliath! S-seriously, mate--” “No thanks. I have a better way of reuniting you.” The giant’s jaws opened wider, beginning to descend over Rubin’s line of sight. His breaths hissed frantically through his throat and he struggled harder. 

BANG!

A deafening gunshot cracked through the echoing chamber of the cave, skittering off the rocky walls. Ruth appeared at the cave entrance with her shotgun. Her fearful eyes were narrowed, trying to mask the emotion with confidence, but there was a shakiness in her figure. She had missed. 

In a swift motion, the giant’s grip readjusted around Rubin. He was now practically pinned against the squirming bulge of his friend, and a claw was held at his throat, barely pricking the skin. He froze.

“L-let them go.” Ruth stammered threateningly.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea, little treat. I think my claw might slip before you pull the trigger.” The giant’s voice was unphased by her threat. She seemed too afraid to pull the trigger with Rubin that close anyways. He was practically a meat shield. “Put the gun down and we can chat about this over lunch. Deal?” 

Ruth grit her teeth, her face paling. She was shaking badly. She probably couldn’t hit the giant if she tried. 

“Ruth, j-just get out of here.” Rubin pleaded. “I’m not leaving my dad.”

“I’m not giving you many options. Unless you want to join him.” The giant grinned through his fangs. “Be my guest.”

Rubin clenched his jaw nervously, watching Ruth’s expression as she glanced around the environment, trying to find some other way or loophole, or trick she could use to get them all out of there. For a split second, her vision was directed away just long enough for Rubin to act. 

It went by in a blur, but suddenly the giant’s fingers were bleeding, he was free from the giant’s grip, and he was running straight towards Ruth. Ruth gasped, lowering her shotgun to the side for a moment before his hand grabbed hers and he tried to get her to run. “No!” She jerked back, firing the shotgun. The giant leaped after them, tackling her to the floor and snapped the shotgun clean in half. The squirming bulge of her father could be seen in clear view, practically above where she was pinned. Rubin gasped, ramming himself against the giant’s arm to shove him out of the way. He drew out a knife and jammed it into the giant’s shoulder, just missing the throat. He didn’t waste another moment before grabbing Ruth’s arm again and took off running. He didn’t realize until and that she was bleeding from her head. The impact must have concussed her. 

The giant roared in pain, grabbing the knife out of his shoulder and pressed his hand against the wound. He could only glare daggers at them as they fled. He didn’t need to pursue them. He already had his meal. 

Ruth was out of it, swimming in and out of consciousness as she was vaguely aware of a sizzling sound in her head. Trees passed over her blackening vision. The darkened sky. Then the back seat of the car. The low rumble of the engine was lulling to her foggy mind. Tears bit at the corners of her vision. She was too tired to think though… Must sleep…

***

Josiah was faintly aware of what was going on during the fight. Feeling Rubin’s form pressed against where he was captive. It was impossible to breath. The goopy, slimy fluids that smothered him threatened to suffocate him with each pulsating clench of the living chamber. He curled up tighter, feeling a heaviness in his chest. At least Ruth had escaped. 

The heat was incredible. Every bit of the harsh environment was sapping him of his energy. He couldn’t keep fighting. He had stopped struggling after the first half hour. It was too exhausting to go on. The deep puddle of fluids wasn’t stinging at least. It was numbing at most. He couldn’t feel his fingers. He didn’t even know if they were still there. He didn’t want to know. 

His body fell limp against the rhythmic pulsing of the walls as the puddle grew deeper. His breaths were heavy. The burning air felt like it weighed a ton on his lungs. His consciousness grew further and further away. The loud gurgles, breathing, and heartbeat of the monster were the last sounds that met his ears before they became muffled. His head sank beneath the pool. A final breath choked out, gagging on the fluids that invaded his lungs before life fled his twitching limbs. 

***

Ruth opened her eyes. Her head hurt. She could see the plain white ceiling above her. She closed her eyes again. She just wanted to sleep. 

“Ruth,”

There was movement next to her. The ground she was on shifted slightly. It was a couch. Someone just sat down next to her. 

“Dad…” Her voice came out quietly. She didn’t want any of that to be real. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

She sniffled. Her eyes opened again. Rubin was sitting next to her. He was disheveled. Blood was on his fingertips. His scarf was lopsided, barely concealing an old scar on the side of his neck. She sat up. The small movement gave her a headache. Whatever the giant did to her had really hit her bad. She could feel bandages wrapped around her head. 

“N-no. We… we can still save-“

An arm wrapped around her shoulder and pulled her into a hug. She froze. Her voice choked off. She stared numbly ahead, not knowing how to believe it. 

He let her take a while to process this and go through the emotions while offering what comfort he could give. “Your dad told us to watch out for each other, so that’s what I’m going to do.”

She leaned her head into his shoulder and sobbed.

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

Link to the rest of the series can be found here.

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Toiletries and Territory

Telly @usedhearts notices that Alastor's been gradually stocking Telly’s bathroom with a full stock of Alastor’s own toiletries, Alastor explains that it’s convenient since he’s been spending so much time on Telly’s ship, and Telly accepts this; but it makes him wonder where exactly it is Alastor lives? Telly’s never seen his place.

And, well, you see—Alastor is extremely ashamed of the answer.

Sir Pentious

He'd just been going about his normal morning routine-- brushing his teeth, oiling his hood, etc-- when he happened to glance at the second sink. There, surrounding it, were quite a few more toiletries than Telly remembered being there last.

Curious, he slithered over, picking up a couple to look at. Hair gel and other such products-- these weren't his....Hm.

"Alastor? What's all this?" He called, hoping his partner-in-crime could hear him all the way in the kitchen.

Alastor

“What’s all what?” Alastor jogged in from the kitchen—in his pants but still wearing his undershirt—carrying a saucepan with a floating fire underneath it. He looked around the sink and then asked, puzzled, “My hair stuff?”

Sir Pentious

Telly took a moment to glance at the pan and floating fire-- why hadn't he just left a shade in charge of it while he came over? Nevermind. He shook his head and set down the two products he'd been holding.

"Yes. There's just a lot of it-- where did it all come from? I hadn't noticed it all here before."

Alastor

It’s delicate! Right now the sauce is mostly butter and flour! He’s got to monitor it so it doesn’t burn.

“Oh! Well, I thought—you know, since I’m over so much—” (at this point, nearly every night) “—it would be more convenient if I had some basic toiletries here so I don’t have to leave to get ready.” He nudged Telly lightly. “Like the toothbrush you got me!” He beamed. He’s still as giddy over Telly getting him a toothbrush as if he’d been given a new car. “Does it take too much space? I’ve seen these little waterproof baskets people put their toiletries in to move them around the bathroom, I could get one to keep mine contained.”

Sir Pentious

He grinned too, at Alastor's beaming, and gave him just a little hip nudge back-- he didn't want to ruin the sauce, after all.

"Oh no, my hart, it's fine. I was just curious! This second sink is yours to do with as you wish, and I'm more than happy to have your things around it. Just don't mind if the Eggs organize it from time to time, they _are_ the ones that are in charge of keeping things tidy, after all."

He leaned down to kiss his cheek. And then a thought occurred to him.

"Say, what about your own place? Is having this all being over here going to make it troublesome when you don't sleep here?"

Alastor

*My hart.* His heart fluttered every time he heard that. “That’s fine, as long as they leave everything up top. If they start sticking my things in cabinets I’ll never find them again.”

He shook his head at the question of his own place. “Oh, no, no no, not a problem! If I need some supply I don’t have a duplicate of, I can just reach through to grab it! It’s more or less what I was doing here before I moved my toiletries, anyway.” He got up on the tips of his hooves to peck Telly’s cheek. “I’ve got to get back to the kitchen, I need to toss the stock and wine in.” Off he went!

Sir Pentious

Telly nodded, smiling at the kiss. He touched his cheek after, heart aflutter. So odd how a tiny little thing like that could still send his heart humming like the first time they kissed. He adored it.

He followed after, slithering into his seat at the table to watch Alastor cook. A thought swirled through his mind, abstract as he pondered idly, until it finally coalesced.

"Alastor, love, where do you live? We've spent every night together here, and while I certainly don't mind that, I'm just wondering....Are you just very private about it, like Leclerq is? If so, then, I won't push! But a snake begins to wonder...."

Alastor

He froze in the middle of adjusting the heat on the stove, his blood running cold. “Oh,” he said awkwardly. He forced himself to turn the dial and resume stirring. “It’s—nowhere remarkable, really. Certainly no stupendous flying airship.”

Sir Pentious

"Is it one of the radio towers? I know that Kyxs lives in the one Leclerq gave to him." He idly trailed a pattern with his clawtip on the table.

"You know, I don't mind if it's not fancy or anything. I've been in plenty of....non-fancy places before...."

Alastor

“No! No, I’ve—I’ve never understood the sense of that, a Radio Demon with a radio tower. I *am* a radio tower, why would I need another? It’s—it’s like a seven-foot-tall man in a nine-foot-tall room wearing a pair of stilts. Not that I begrudge my alternates their towers, if it makes them happy then more power to them, but...” A shrug.

Sir Pentious

"I see. Do you stay at the hotel, then?" His head tilted, and he leaned against his hand.

Alastor

“God no! Can you *imagine,* living full time in a *hotel?*” He laughed humorlessly. “I’ll give a pass to guests who have officially signed up for the whole redemption project, silly as it is—but *me?* No! No.”

Sir Pentious

Telly frowned, his brow furrowing. His eyes squinted and he put his elbows on the table, setting his chin on his folded hands.

"An apartment then? Or do you have a house in the Cannibal Colony?"

Alastor

“N... mm.” He was silent for a few seconds as he started up another sauce in a second saucepan. “I’m—between places��at the moment.”

Sir Pentious

"Between--" His face fell slack and he let out a little 'oh'.

"Alastor, do you....not _have_ a place to live?"

Alastor

His shoulders stiffened. He wished he could just lie. Lying to anyone else was easy. “I don’t want you to think I’m out on the street, now! I have...” vague gesture, “... places. Just not a... a primary... you know.”

Sir Pentious

"You have no home." He said it so frankly, and almost immediately regretted the way he phrased it.

"Though, who of us can say we have a home in Hell of all places, yes? It's Hell after all! Ha....hm...." He deflated after his attempted levity, and looked away.

"I'm sorry...."

Alastor

He flinched at the accusation with a noise like a branch snapping; he had to quickly check his sauce pans to make sure the sound was him instead of breakfast.

“I don’t need pity. Don’t think I *can’t*—I mean, I’m the *Radio Demon,* if I *wanted* I could snatch up any property in the ring. But I just—I don’t—I don’t... I don’t see a point in it.”

He snatched up one of the eggs he’d left on the nearby counter and cracked it into a bowl. The egg shell shattered and crumbled into the bowl. Under his breath, he muttered, “I’m going to ruin my hollandaise sauce.”

Sir Pentious

"Oh, I wasn't-- I was apologizing for my poor attempt at humor. Not...Not pitying you." He slid from his seat and slithered closer to Alastor, gently putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Why do you see no point in it?" He asked, as he moved next to him, reaching to start gently plucking eggshell from the bowl. It seemed the least he could do to help...

Alastor

He flinched away from the touch, avoiding looking at Telly. “Well—well, you said it, who can say we have a home in Hell.” It was a stupid excuse. Most people had a home in Hell. He gestured across the counter. “I’ll... I’m going to need that tomato sliced. About this thick.” He held his fingertips about half an inch apart. “And then salt, pepper, and Parmesan them. Please.”

Sir Pentious

The instructions momentarily derailed his thoughts, as he tried to make sure to remember how thickly Alastor said to slice the tomatoes. He could do that, right? Surely he could. He got a knife and began to very, very carefully slice them.

"So, do you just....hop from place to place, then? Never found a place you liked enough to stick around?"

Alastor

“More or less,” he said, with a tone that implied it was closer to “less” than “more.”

Sir Pentious

Telly made a small noise, finishing with the tomatoes. He seasoned them as Alastor instructed and set them on a plate for whatever he was using them for.

"...You don't like talking about this, do you?"

Alastor

“Who wants to sound like a homeless bum.” He’d managed to crack a few eggs successfully. Back to the stove. “That’s—that’s not the sort of family I come from, I’ll have you know. *Both* sides of my family. We didn’t rent our homes, we *owned* them. I couldn’t do that in New York, but I was never behind on rent, not once. Even through the Depression, I kept a good job! But here I am in Hell—with more power than any sinner has walked through the gate with—and...”

He trailed off. Then opened the stove, picked up the plate of tomatoes, slid them in, and shut it. “I—It’s never been a priority. That’s all. I’m busy.”

Sir Pentious

"I can understand busy. But usually, I am busy in one spot. Or the spot moves with me. Or I have multiple spots that I can hop around to. I'm just....well, I suppose I'm just curious why, that's all. I just want to understand."

He watched him put the tomatoes into the oven-- hm, interesting. "Is there anything else you want me to help with for breakfast, darling?"

Alastor

Alastor sighed. “It’s never been a priority,” he repeated, shrugging awkwardly.

But he had to do better than that or Telly would just *stay* curious. “When I got down here, it was... you know, it was fun, for a while, not being tied down anywhere. Knowing I could knock on almost any door and they’d let me in for the night. It wasn’t like I had many possessions. *Can’t take it with you* and all that. And I learned pretty quickly how to stow it on another plane and carry it with me...” *Carry it with me,* like he really was just a hobo with all his worldly possessions on his back. A flush crept up his neck. “Anyway—and then I started doing jobs with your alternate, and—well, when you’re going back and forth across the ring, here one day and there the next, hopping between different hotels every night—who has time to put down roots anywhere? Why buy a house you’ll see once every two months? And after that...”

After that? After that?

Another awkward shrug. “I... never had a good reason to.”

Something else for Telly to do. “Could you toast a couple of sliced biscuits?”

Sir Pentious

He nodded, getting the biscuits out. He sliced them and then stuck them in the toaster oven to heat.

"I see." He crossed his arms, leaning back against the counter. "Darling, there's nothing to be ashamed of. It all seems reasonable to me. It does make me sad, but only because I care about you and thinking about you not having a place to call home is, well, saddening. And I'm sorry you never had a reason to stick around anywhere in that sense."

Telly moved closer and leaned down to press a soft kiss to his cheek. "I think that's enough of stressful questions for this morning....let's have breakfast, yes?"

Alastor

A vague nod. Nobody said *there’s nothing to be ashamed of* unless there was. “It’ll be a few more minutes. I’ve got to get the bacon, too.”

Sir Pentious

"Alright, darling." He took the biscuits out of the toaster over and set them aside for him.

Alastor

He was silent the next few minutes as he finished the bacon, then piled everything on the biscuits.

“Eggs Hussarde,” he said, setting a plate in front of Telly with less than his usual proud chef fanfare. “Eggs Benedict with a *marchand de vin* sauce, basically.” He plopped down in front of his own plate.

Sir Pentious

"Oh. It sounds delicious," He said, picking up his fork and knife, taking a bite. He made an appreciative noise. "Thank you, darling."

Alastor

A nod. He took a couple bites to check for taste. He hadn’t ruined the sauce after all.

“... You’ve always lived in your airship down here, haven’t you?”

Sir Pentious

"Here. Other places when here was.....out of commission, or it was too dangerous." Read: When his airship had been completely destroyed.

"I used to have safe houses for times like that but most are in disrepair now."

Alastor

Alastor grimaced. Safe houses. “After my alternate abandoned you?”

Sir Pentious

"I abandoned a number after that, yes. There were ones he didn't know about, I kept those. And stayed in one for a good while, whilst building a new ship from scratch." He sighed a bit and took another bite, swallowing before he continued.

"It was a....rough few years, after he failed me."

Alastor

A nod, staring down at his plate. “... I still stay in them sometimes. The empty ones.”

Sir Pentious

"....Oh." He suddenly wondered how many of his own old safe houses overlapped with those of his alternate. He didn't know if he _truly_ wanted to know or not.

"Over there or over here?"

Alastor

“Over there. My universe. They’re abandoned property; there’s no reason I couldn’t just take over one and call it mine. Clean out the mold and mildew, get the lights back on...” He shrugged. “I haven’t, though. I just watch them crumble.”

Sir Pentious

"I....see." He finished his breakfast-- he wasn't scarfing them down like a starved man anymore, but his eating was still far from slow.

"Was it out of guilt? That he might reclaim them sometime?"

Alastor

“Maybe guilt,” he said, although not convincingly. “I certainly didn’t think he’d reclaim them. I knew where they were, he’d never go back to them.”

Sir Pentious

"....Longing, perhaps, then." He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin before setting it on his plate.

"Well, once I get some of mine fixed up, you're as welcome there as you are here, darling."

Alastor

“Perhaps,” he said, also not convincingly. He picked at his food a moment longer.

“I’m bored easily,” he finally said—convincingly this time, but in a way that suggested maybe “bored” meant something else. “I’ve always got to—go somewhere new, do something new. I think maybe if I’d gone home to the same walls every night for fifty years, I would have blown my brains out on them.”

Sir Pentious

Telly opened his mouth, and then shut it. He slid out of his seat, slithering over to Alastor. He set his hand on his arm, stroking his thumb there.

He didn't know what to say to that, so he did what he could: try to show he cared and understood, at least a little.

Alastor

He didn’t meet Telly’s gaze, but he put his hand over Telly’s. “Maybe that’s it.” A shrug. “... Sorry for spoiling breakfast.”

Sir Pentious

"You didn't spoil anything." He pressed his forehead to the side of Alastor's head, and sighed softly. "I'm glad we can have these kinds of talks. Even if it....hurts to talk about. I'm glad that we can do it."

Alastor

“Mmh.” Alastor shut his eyes and leaned into the touch. “I... don’t usually think about it this much.”

Sir Pentious

"Sometimes, one needs to think about these things. Not all the time, certainly, but every now and then." He pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Were you going to finish eating, or did you lose your appetite? Do you want me to make you some coffee?"

Alastor

Alastor squeezed Telly’s hand and gave him a wan smile. “Thank you.”

He glanced at his food. That was *his* food. He picked up his fork again. “If you wouldn’t mind starting the coffee.”

Sir Pentious

He smiled back, giving him another cheek kiss. "Of course. Did you want to try one of the new ones I picked up, or did you want your super duper caffeine one?"

Alastor

“New ones?” You have his attention, sir.

Sir Pentious

"Yes! I've got...." Hold on he needed to get them from the cupboard. There's three brand new bags.

"One with hints of cocoa and cedar with a smooth finish, one that's a sumatra blend that's said to be earthy and herbal with hints of licorice, and then one that's a blend with french vanilla flavor!"

Alastor

“Ooh, the earthy one.” He scarfed down one biscuit half and got up to retrieve his French press. (Yet another thing he was now keeping at Telly’s place.)

Sir Pentious

"Earthy it is!" He left that one on the counter and put the other two back up. And then got down a coffee bean grinder.

"They're whole bean-- I find that fresh ground coffee expresses the flavor better." No, he hasn't be researching this, what gives you that idea.

Alastor

Look at his smile. Just look at it. It’s so much smile. “You know, I find the same thing.”

Sir Pentious

Telly beamed right back at him, and started grinding the coffee. "I still don't like the amount of caffeine in it, but the flavors have been growing on me."

He passed the ground coffee over to Alastor.

Alastor

Hold on. Hold on a second, he’s gotta hold Telly. Just give him like, fifteen seconds of hugging.

Sir Pentious

Oh, alright, they're hugging now. He purred, his arms wrapping around Alastor. This is good, this is nice, he likes this.

Alastor

Okay. He’s got his dose of hugging. For now. He can let go.

He took the ground coffee over to his French press. “Do you know what I thought to myself when you got me this thing?” He tapped a nail on the side.

Sir Pentious

"No, what did you think?" He smiled, feeling warm from all that hugging. He did very much like hugging Alastor.

Alastor

He loaded the press with the coffee and then (magically instantly boiling) tap water. “I thought, ‘good God, what a gift! And he hardly knows me! Why, the only reason he’s lavishing me in gifts is because I’m nice to him. But in a couple months he’s going to figure out just how much I really like him, and then he’s never going to speak to me again.’” He gave Telly a wry smile.

Sir Pentious

Telly laughed, smiling back.

"Do you know what I was thinking when I gave that to you?" He slid closer, reaching to stroke his knuckles down Alastor's cheek.

"I was thinking how nice it was talking with you, and that maybe, if I gave you gifts, you'd stick around." He gave a soft laugh. "Little did I know that I hardly have to ply you with gifts to get you to keep coming back."

He leaned down to kiss him. "Must say it was one of the best decisions of my death."

Alastor

Alastor burst out laughing, just in time to be caught in a kiss. “All that coffee you got! If you’d known, you could have saved a fortune!” He slung his arms around Telly again. “I’m glad you didn’t. I like my press.”

Sir Pentious

"Indeed I could have. But here we are, with my first present to you now serving to make you coffee after spending the latest of many nights with your snake. I wouldn't have it any other way." He purred, pulling him close. He wanted to hold him now.

Alastor

“*Second* gift.” Without letting go of Telly, he summoned his clockwork zebra into one hand, and lifted it up to hold it over Telly’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, either.”

Sir Pentious

"Oh, yes. I forgot whether I gave that to you before or after the press." He smiled fondly, reaching to take the zebra. He set it on the counter, before winding it up to let it paw at the ground and snort.

"I should make you another of these...."

Alastor

“The zebra was for Christmas and the press was for my death day.” He watched the zebra pawing, cheek pressed to Telly’s chest. “Can I ask for a snake this time?”

Sir Pentious

Telly chuckled and stroked a hand over Alastor's hair. "Yes, I think that would be more than fine."

He hissed a laugh.

Alastor

He shut his eyes, focusing on the hand on his hair. “Thank you. Again.”

Sir Pentious

"Of course. Anything for you." He said it so softly, so tenderly, before leaning down to kiss Alastor's temple.

Alastor

God, it felt so good. He could almost cry. “And for you. All of Hell and Heaven.”

Sir Pentious

"It's a deal." He grinned and tucked his hand under Alastor's chin. Telly tilted it up and kissed him, deep and slow.

Alastor

Alastor pressed into the kiss. It was a deal, then.

This was the closest he’d felt to being home in a long time.

[foreficfandom]

Mystic Messenger - Cooking For MC (Headcanons)

--- Zen ---

He spent the last decade never having to cook, and instead relying on South Korea’s amazing take-out culture to survive. One only has to pay just a liiiitle bit extra when buying meals from convenience stores, or from specific take-out eateries. 

But now he has a significant other! And he’s already made a big fuss about how he believes he’d ‘make a good husband’, so now it’s time to prove it. How hard can cooking be? 

Unfortunately, Zen quickly realizes that making good meals demands more than throwing rice into the cooker and boiling some sweet potato leaves. Different types of meat from different animals and different cuts needed to be cooked differently, vegetables need to be washed and paired with the right heat and oil, not to mention knowing what spices go with what.

His cooking odyssey starts when the two of you began to get more domestic with each other, and he wanted to surprise you with a home-cooked evening meal rather than going out to eat like the two of you always did up to this point. 

Good thing he started early in the afternoon, because his first attempt was a disaster. The catfish fillets kept flaking and getting stuck to the pan, the rice was way too soggy from being overwatered, and he accidentally seasoned the green beans with pickled plum powder instead of white pepper. 

Googling saved his ass and he instead steamed the fish with ginger and scallions, fried the beans in sesame oil and garlic, and the rice came out fluffy. By the time you came home, you were greeted with a romantic home-cooked dinner for two. (He didn’t know to remove the stems from the green beans, though)

As time goes by, Zen really steps into that supposed ‘husband’ role and learns to cook properly. His meals are almost exclusively healthy options of whole grains and lean proteins, with no excess salt or oil. 

--- Yoosung ---

He can cook! He’s a pretty good one, too. At least, compared to most other students. He doesn’t burn things, or over-salt them. But he never made complicated dishes, mostly due to a lack of time or energy. Still, he did enjoy making the occasional dish of omurice in his dorm. His plating tended to look a bit sloppy, but they always tasted fine.

Once you enter the picture, he finds himself daydreaming about cooking for you, and serving delicious meals over a candlelit home dinner with a sweet dessert to top it off. He imagined being a loving husband wearing an apron, peacefully tossing vegetables in a pan while you came behind him and wrapped your hands around his waist. 

And then he’d turn to his pile of dirty dishes still sitting in the sink for the past four days and realize that he’d have to step up his game if he wanted to bring that fantasy to life. He may have the ability avoid food-poisoning in his dishes, but that’s not good enough for you!

So his renewed interest in life was largely spent re-focusing on his studies (while also spending his spare time with you), and after he finally got his diploma and began getting internships, he moved out of the dorm and into a real, actual apartment with a stove that had more than one burner! And also an oven! 

When he started cooking for the both of you, he began simple; store bought tteokbokki and gochujang, and into which he’d chop scallions, onions, and clams - kinda like the Korean equivalent of boiling dried pasta, and adding your own ingredients to the store-bought jar of marinara sauce. 

He got older and with age came a greater patience for homesteading. His dishes became more complicated, and also better! You always looked forward to the days when he’d cook. And he couldn’t help but brag sometimes about how good of a boyfriend he was, because of his abilities in the kitchen.

--- Jaehee ---

She grew up in a household that almost exclusively dined on home-cooked meals, so it was with great internal shame that she had to resort to take-out when she began working at C&R. Take-out can be filled with preservatives, sugar, and salt, not to mention the depressing image of eating off plastic trays all the time.

Before the two of you began living together, but after beginning plans of opening a cafe, Jaehee began cooking a lot more. She’d experiment with cafe recipes of sandwiches, baked goods, desserts, and artisanal coffees. You were her favorite taste-tester. 

As the cafe managers, you and Jaehee don’t cook everything sold at the cafe, and most of it is too sweet or carb-filled for Jaehee to serve it at home. So she busted out her family’s old notecards (or, like many families, nobody ever wrote down classic Korean dishes on notecards so she had to call her parents to ask how to make sundubu jjigae) to serve to the both of you.

She truly believes in the value of home cooking. It’s so much healthier and wholesome. And being able to cook something for the both of you to sit down and enjoy is so domestic and peaceful. 

You two manage the cafe takes up many days of the week, but usually not the whole day, so there’s time for at least one cooked meal at home every day. Sometimes you cook, but mostly she does. She missed the freedom of this particular creative expression.

Her favorites are replicas of dishes she grew up eating - hand-made dumplings, beef noodle soups, roast dakjjim, seaweed salads. Her mood is just so much better since leaving C&R, and she’s gotta believe that’s partially due to her improved diet. You being in the picture is another big part of it!

--- Jumin ---

Surprisingly, this pampered 1% CEO-in-line can indeed cook some specific dishes. Home-ec was part of his schooling, and he’d retained the lessons he’d learned to this day. During the first few days you stayed in his penthouse, he had made a stack of strawberry pancakes that tasted perfectly fluffy and sweet, almost mathematically calculated to maximize their pancake-ness. 

And technically it was in fact calculated, since that’s how Jumin approaches cooking. Measurements are precise and exact, temperatures to the perfectly right point. Which is also why Jumin knows how to cook, like, four different dishes and nothing else. He was more interested in treating you to his private chef’s gourmet meals, and only wanted to cook when he thought a personal touch would be appreciated.

Pancakes were one of the recipes he learned in junior-high home economics. The other three were; beef stroganoff, frosted cinnamon rolls, and tteokguk. He can cook them to exact perfection ... which is, they don’t taste gourmet nor mind-blowingly fantastic, but instead ‘perfect’, with perfect temperature and perfect seasonings. Nothing more, nothing less.

He’s aware that he can’t cook something that has anything particular to offer. He’s always struggled with being creative, and his cooking is no different. It’s hard for him to deviate from established tried-and-true recipes. It’s even harder for him to tackle new ones.

Living with Jumin means little opportunity for him to cook. Or for you to cook, for that matter. If Jumin’s chef isn’t booked for the day, chances are the two of you are eating at some five-star restaurant. His penthouse does have a very fancy and equipped kitchen (is that a soda gun??) so one day you decided to encourage Jumin to exercise his creative skills a bit more.

With your help, he modified his pancake recipe for the waffle maker, and customized a fruit syrup using his gut feelings and not a written recipe. It came out fantastically and lovingly delicious. He was so happy to have created something special for once, and named the dish after you.

--- Saeyoung/707 ---

He never had any reason to cook before he met you. He lived off of a trash diet that only the nastiest of gamer geeks would stoop to. But when his life turned around and you entered the picture, he realized that he needed to clean up his act sooner or later.

You’ll almost certainly cook more than he ever will, but he’ll step up to the plate once and a while. “Seven, work today was brutal and I’ll be coming home late. Can you cook up something for the both of us?” 

“Ah, never fear! I’ll make sure you’ll be fed something nourishing and delicious. Trust in your god 707!”

By ‘nourishing and delicious’ he meant pulling out a box of buchimgae mix, and frying it with sliced zucchini and onions before serving it with dipping sauce. He had to cheat and quickly buy a box of barbecue chicken wings to go with it. 

It’s a simple and quick meal, but it tastes perfectly decent. And simple dishes are as far as he’s willing to go, ‘cause he never wants to make something gross and force you to eat it out of gratitude. 

He has a list of easy recipes stored in his brain in case he’s assigned to cooking duty - ham fried rice, oven-roasted chicken legs, Japanese curry, anything that has less than five steps to complete. And he pays little attention to things like sugar and salt levels, so its no concern of his if a meal is less ‘healthy’ than another.

If you’re a cooker, he ends up absentmindedly copying your recipes and methods for when you need him to make meals, and he’s pretty good at backwards-engineering a dish to figure out how to make it himself.

In the beginning, he kept making weird noob mistakes in his cooking, like accidentally leaving the small stickers on the ginger root he’s boiling in the broth, and not knowing you should peel daikon before stewing it.

But he’s perfectly satisfied with the fact that he eventually settles into a position of ‘decent emergency housecook’. But he’ll always prefer to eat what you prepare for him UwU

--- Saeran --- 

Back during Mint Eye, Ray had tried his best to make the most beautiful and delicious meals for you. And he mostly succeeded, carefully following recipes for marinated apricot pork, butternut squash ravioli, and lemongrass scallops the best he could. 

It was a steep learning curve. He hadn’t really cooked before this point, so for your sake he decided to run before he knew how to walk. But he’s a smart dude, so his dishes always turned out pretty okay at the very least. He was so happy seeing you enjoy them.

So when Saeran settled in with you, he began cooking again. He found it therapeutic after a day spent hacking. Very quickly he started getting into even more complicated dishes just for fun; roast duck, elk medallions, fluffy angel food cake from scratch. Sometimes things failed, but mostly his dinners were something to look forward to.

He doesn’t cook a whole lot, and in the beginning he even skipped the meals you’d prepare for the both of them, because he’s depressed and sickly and it’s hard to summon up the appetite for regular breakfast and lunch. And even afterwards, he keeps odd hours which meant dinnertime might overlap with his work, leaving the job to you.

But the times where the two of you can actually sit down to a meal he’s made are some of the most peaceful and happiest moments of the day. He still loves caring for you, and creating food you truly enjoy is a particular source of love for him.

Surprisingly, he’s a lot less talented when it comes to baking. His cookies come out mealy and stiff, his cakes dense and eggy. Something about dedicating so much of the process to the oven just messes up his ability in the kitchen. Even though his stovetop cooking always turn out pretty freaking amazing, he can’t be trusted with desserts.

And unfortunately, he always hates cleaning up afterwards. It’s a pet peeve of his. Why can’t dishes ever wash themselves? He and his brother purchase like, two different dishwashers, and overclock them as well, so he can avoid washing dishes as much as he can.

--- Jihyun ---

A trustworthy cook, who loves to replicate recipes he’s tasted from abroad. But he can’t backwards engineer dishes like Saeyoung can, he has to rely on a recipe for most of the cooking process.

And it can be somewhat a struggle to find the proper ingredients for dishes he wants to make, such as fresh green cardamon for Tibetan lentil soup, or anchovy syrup for authentic Italian pizza. When you began living with Jihyun, the kitchen slowly became packed with foreign spices and ingredients. “Jihyun, what the heck is this thing I found in the freezer??” “It’s a pack of frozen chorizo I’m planning to make into a mash, put it back before it defrosts!”

Grocery shopping involves 40% of buying the essentials, and 60% of Jihyun walking up and down the isles, hunting for rare and obscure ingredients. If he finds something, he likes to excitedly drag you over and show off the hidden package of blue stilton cheese he managed to find, and talk about his memories of visiting the United Kingdom, and learning about how historical and special this cheese is.

Life as an established photographer means his work schedule is pretty irregular. Sometimes, he has huge stretches of days where he has nothing to do, and sometimes he’s got entire weeks in advance where his professional skills have been hired. Not to mention his own schedule involving traveling the world and finding new subjects to photograph. So the times when he can cook for the both of you are kinda unpredictable.

When he does, he always insists on cooking from a culture different from any recent meals you two have had. If it was American potato salad yesterday, its Moroccan tangia tonight. If yesterday’s lunch date was spent in a traditional Japanese cafe, then today’s home-cooked lunch is gonna be Swedish potato pancakes.

And of course, he takes pictures of his especially successful dishes, to put on his personal instagram. If he can get your hand, or other subtle pose in the shot, it makes him 300% happier. 

[general-mahamatra]

Spalbert being domestic? Love your writing!

Spalbert, eh? fuck yeah dude

i’ll admit... i went a bit overboard and its more like “cooking with albert with some added heated making out” but what can i say? i couldnt stop myself

Pairing: Spalbert

Genre: Slice of Life

TW: Suggestive/Mildly Graphic NSFW

Wordcount: 3862

Note: I went overboard please send help. Also, sorry I can’t shorten it! Tumblr hates to work with me when I make these posts and edit them

Cooking dinner was not a common occurrence in the small Conlon-DaSilva apartment. It was rarer than the sight of them doing anything romantic in general.

But their one year anniversary was coming up and Albert wanted to do something special.

He stood in the doorway of the tiny kitchen, hands clasped together just under his chin. He had no idea what he was doing. Despite his years of friendship with Racer, all of the knowledge Albert had gained fell through. The guy barely retained information; he was lucky if he could remember what happened the day before. Hell, he didn’t even know what he had for breakfast that morning.

...did he eat breakfast?

Albert wasn’t too sure about that. His mind drew a blank the harder he thought, only resulting in a minor headache to begin his descent into misery. This wasn’t going to go well, was it?

His eyes slipped shut as he took a deep breath. Slowly, he exhaled, allowing the air to seep out at its own pace.

He can do this. He has the ingredients. He just needs to be careful with instructions and find the recipe Race had given him months ago. It shouldn’t be too hard.

Opening his eyes, Albert let his hands fall to his sides. 

Spot’s not gonna be home for another hour at least. That left plenty of time for Albert to figure out how he was going to do this. After all, last he checked pasta doesn’t take that long to make. Not even the recipe he swore Race sent him. 

Stepping into the kitchen, the ginger was slow. Taking his time to cross the wooden floor. He winced at the cold that rushed against his bare feet. How the hell could wood be so much colder than carpet?

Wait, that’s a stupid question. One of the stupidest Albert ever wondered.

Of course the wood is gonna be colder, it’s not made to be warm.

He padded across the kitchen, eventually making his way to the barely-cleared counter. Neither of them were ones to cook. While there were plenty of different things in the fridge and their cabinets, the most they did at home was make sandwiches. Hell, Albert’s rarely seen Spot eat anything but a sandwich of some sort at home.

Albeit, they would go out a lot. It was the perks of Spot being a personal trainer and Albert working as an electrician… in training. They made enough to support themselves and go out and spend some money for fun. Not a lot, of course. Spot was much more minimalist than Albert, leading to them barely having a stocked fridge.

Albert didn’t mind that. Although he grew up with a decent amount of food in the house, it was nice not to worry about stuff constantly going bad. Christ, they had an entire empty shelf in the door just because they barely had anything.

Except it made it hard for Albert to hide the stuff he bought.

Thankfully, Spot never commented on it.

Not that Albert cared too much. He would’ve brushed it off as wanting to try something new sometime and that’s that. Not like they started dating a year ago and he wanted to make something nice for the guy. Just a simple experiment.

He leaned against the counter with a small huff. If he was going to get anything done, he would have to find the recipe. And by God would that take a long time.

Pulling his phone out of the pocket of his sweatpants, Albert went ahead and pulled up his text messages with Race. It was nice how they never actually texted “normally”. Majority of their conversations were on Snapchat. That meant whenever they sent each other important things, it wouldn’t be lost to chat history.

Of course, that didn’t mean they never sent each other things via text. Even now, it was clear the link Race had sent was drowned out by way too many messages.

It took ages for Albert to scroll through everything. How much time had actually passed was beyond him. It was likely it was maybe a minute or two but to him it felt like way  more. It was stupid, so stupid. Why didn’t he just click the link to save it like a normal person?

Because he’s an idiot, that’s why.

Finally. Finally, he found it. 

He clicked on the link, selecting the option to force it to pull up in Safari.

He’s not gonna lose it and be forced to scroll again. He refused.

By the time he had the link fully pulled up, Albert turned around, setting the phone on the counter. His eyes scanned over the words, a small frown setting into his features. This was far too much work just to make a simple thing of noodles.

Work that would be worth it in the end.

But dear God, there was so much stupid writing in the beginning. There were some helpful tips, yeah, but why did there have to be so much extra stuff? He’ll never understand the world of cooking.

With the page pulled up, Albert moved to the fridge and cabinet respectful, grabbing what he needed to make it. Noodles, vegetables, tomato paste… far too much shit.

Why did he follow through on actually making the sauce from scratch?

This was going to be a shit show.

A shit show that better be worth it in the end.

Albert tapped the screen when he realized it went dark so he could continue reading. Approximately 45 minute cook time, 6 servings. Yeah, that should be fine. They both ate a decent amount and it could be used for leftovers.

Though…

His eyes trailed over to where he had some ground beef thawing from earlier.

He wasn’t sure if he actually wanted to add any meat to it. As much as he knew Spot liked red meats, Albert himself was pescatarian. Which meant he only ate fish. Sometimes he would cave and begrudgingly eat hotdogs or cheeseburgers, but that was only if they were stuck at some sort of arena event.

But he didn’t wanna take that away from Spot. After all, he was prepping the entire meal for him. It shouldn’t matter what Albert liked. He could deal with some beef in the pasta for the sake of his boyfriend.

So, Albert continued on as normal.

He scrolled past the ingredients, already knowing he had everything. The sooner he started the sauce, the better off he would be.

What sucked was the fact he would have to begin immediately with the meat.

Pulling out a decent-sized pot, Albert set it on the stove. It felt a bit weird having to cook meat in it, but he was just following the recipe. It was just going to be awkward for a while.

Taking the bottle of olive oil, he measured out the allotted amount and dumped it into the pot. Then, with a swift motion, he turned the burner on to the designated heat. 

When he went to grab the thawed meat, he paused.

This was the moment where it was all or nothing. As soon as he started cooking the meat, he would have to deal with it for the rest of the meal.

He grabbed a steak knife out of the holder before picking up the package. With a simple swipe, the plastic was sliced open. Setting the blade down, Albert pulled the packaging open.

There was no turning back now.

He carefully dumped the ground beef into the pot before setting the empty plastic to the side. Grabbing a wooden spoon, he looked back at his phone. Upon reading ahead, he was so glad he precut everything. He would’ve dropped dead right then and there if he had to chop anything now.

As the eight minutes passed by, Albert continued to follow the instructions. Soon enough, he was adding the onions before letting it simmer.

Idly, he stirred the pot from time to time. His eyes were mostly glued on his phone, scrolling through TikTok like his life depended on it. It was a nice way to pass the time.

By the time Albert was on the final step with the sauce, he had calmed down a bit. Not that he was too antsy, he was just… nervous. He wanted this to be perfect. The two weren’t able to go out anywhere fancy since apparently a lot of people have anniversaries in June. Either that or people were a bit too eager to go out to eat during the sixth month of the year.

After adding in the tomato paste and garlic and a select few other ingredients, he made care to stir it for almost exactly a minute. It wasn’t too hard given the next video he watched was just barely 50 seconds, so there was a plus there.

Jumping back to the recipe, Albert scanned over the next step before setting the phone down, screen up. He needed to add water, some crushed tomatoes, salt, and a “generous pinch” of pepper. Then all he had to do was stir it and let it simmer on low for 25 minutes. Not too bad.

With a quick glance ahead, Albert took note he had to start cooking the pasta itself 10 minutes in. Alright.

He followed the instructions, scraping the meat and veggies off the bottom of the pan before officially letting it simmer. With a quick set of the timer, Albert turned his attention back to his phone. 

Opening YouTube, it didn’t take long for him to find a 7 minute video.

He stood there, hunched over the counter with his elbows propped up on the stone. Occasionally, he would move back to the stove to stir the sauce. Of course, he didn’t pay too much attention.

When the video finished, Albert jumped into action with the pasta. There was 17 minutes left on the timer, meaning he had a couple minutes to spare. Maybe then he could figure out how much salt he’s supposed to put in the damn water.

In the end it wasn’t too hard to gauge. He just dumped a decent amount into the half-full pot and set it on the burner diagonal from the sauce. Turning the handle away from the main walkway, Albert turned the dial to let it boil and stepped back. It wasn’t going too bad.

Turning back to the sauce, he picked up the wooden spoon and stood there for a moment. The website had mentioned that he should taste it from time to time, make sure it was properly seasoned.

But the stuff was hot, he didn’t wanna burn his tongue.

He pursed his lips, staring at the red sauce as it continued to simmer on the hot burner. A small taste wouldn’t hurt. After all, he can just blow on it and be on with his life. He just didn’t want to have to suffer through dinner with a burnt tongue, unable to taste what he made.

Albert dipped the spoon into the pot, scooping a small amount of the pasta sauce.

With one simple taste, he was surprised to find it didn’t taste half bad. He did pretty good for his first try.

Now that he was content, Albert went back to watching YouTube. 

It wasn’t long before the water was boiling and he had to grab the noodles. 

With the box in his hands, Albert read over the directions on the side to get a good grasp of how long to cook the pasta. The label stated 10 minutes, which meant he would have to start testing it at about 8 minutes. That wouldn’t be too hard.

He opened the box and dumped the noodles out. It felt oddly surreal seeing the long noodles stick straight out of the pan. As much as he had seen spaghetti cooked in videos and on TV, he had never actually witnessed the process.

It was at that moment anxiety decided to hit him like a truck. Full on, straight into his chest. It was almost like a physical force had knocked him into an altered form of reality. Suddenly he was hyperaware; his clothing rubbed wrong against his skin, he heard every noise in the apartment along with the sizzling of the sauce and faint blabbering of the video. Everything was shoved full force into his senses.

Albert stood there, box in hand as he tried to process it all. 

His heart pounded against his ribs, ramming against it as if it were trying to break free. At the same time, a shiver coursed through his body, adding to the bizarre sense of consciousness.

His racing heart was what made his thoughts move a mile a minute.

What if Spot doesn’t like it? What if he came home with some fast food takeout like a normal day and it was all in vain? Does Spot even like pasta?

Fuck, is Spot allergic to pasta?

God. Shit. Fuck. He forgot to check what Spot was allergic to. What if he grabbed something and used it and Spot broke out into hives? God, that would be the worst anniversary ever.

A small whimper made itself heard and Albert was thankful he was alone. It was a pathetic sound, one of worry and panic that he never allowed the public to hear.

He finally set the box down, his vision blurred and unfocused as he stared at the cooking food. It’s going to be fine, it’s all going to be fine. Spot’s his boyfriend, he would know if the guy was allergic to something. 

But… What if Spot lied? Or… What if he doesn’t like the meal?

He didn’t put it beyond Spot -- or anyone for that matter -- to pretend to like the food and just order something later in the night. Anyone with a sense of decency would wait until Albert had long since fallen asleep.

Albert closed his eyes, taking a shaky deep breath through his nose.

Everything’s gonna be alright.

Nothing will go wrong.

Albert peeked one of his eyes open to glance down at the cabinet next to him. Quickly, as if he were worried about embarrassing himself, he knocked on the wood.

By the time he managed to get himself to settle down, the noodles were nearly done. It was a bit odd knowing he had spaced off for almost 10 minutes, but it happened nonetheless. He just hoped the stuff didn’t need to be stirred too much.

Following the rest of the cooking instructions, he ended off with strained pasta being tossed into the pot of sauce. With a quick stir, Albert stepped back and sighed. It was basically done. He did it.

A small smile tugged at his lips only to be whisked away.

There’s still so many possibilities of him fucking this over.

He could spill the sauce, overcook it as he waited for Spot, forget to dress up nice… but he had plenty of time. There was at least 15 minutes before his boyfriend was home.

Albert rested his arms on the counter, allowing his head to lul forward as he shut his eyes. It was almost 7 P.M., it was barely evening. At this point on a normal day he would’ve been wide awake playing video games or watching videos. Hell, maybe he’d even be harassing Spot, who knows.

But this isn’t a normal day, it’s their fucking anniversary. And now he’s exhausted for no fucking reason.

How much worse could it possibly get?

He pressed one of his hands to his face, letting out an exasperated sigh. He stayed like that for a while, ignoring the blaring time on the stove. He knew better than to assume he’d be in a position like that for much longer than a minute.

The light click of the front door closing went unnoticed by Albert. Despite how aware he had been earlier, suddenly he was ignorant. Everything that went on around him was ignored, purposely or not. His fatigue was enough to keep him bent over the counter, his eyes shut and head resting in his hand for support.

He didn’t notice the rustling just outside the kitchen or the heavy footsteps that followed. Hell, he barely even realized there was a presence nearby before a strong pair of hands settled on his hips.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise?”

Albert practically jumped out of his skin. He tried to spin around but only ended up knocking his hand against the knife holder. He hissed out a few colorful words and in the end, didn’t turn.

His boyfriend’s arms slid around his waist, allowing the familiar feeling of the shorter man being pressed against him be made known.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you in the kitchen,” Spot teased, resting his chin on Albert’s shoulder.

The simple, solid touch instantly made Albert relax. Tension he didn’t even realize he still had faded away and left him loose against his boyfriend. It was nice.

“Well, jokes on you, here I am,” Albert said back, smiling slightly. He tilted his head a bit as he tried to look at the brunette. 

A small hum came from the shorter man, the vibrations sending a shiver down Albert’s spine. “And what brings you here?”

That was when the panic returned.

Every inch of Albert tensed up, his attention darting over to the spaghetti. Fuck, he didn’t even prepare it. It’s still in the pot and he hasn’t even gotten dressed.

As if he noticed the tension, Spot gently caressed his thumb along Albert’s side. “Hey, it’s fine. You good?”

Albert tore his gaze away from the food and forced a small smile. “Yeah, I am.” Once again, he managed to relax. The feeling of Spot trying to offer physical comfort being enough to loosen him up. Though, it didn’t necessarily take off the edge.

What did was the sly movement of hands reaching up his shirt, running along his skin until they were on his lower back. The feeling of calloused fingers barely grazing his body made his breath hitch. He bit his lower lip, forcing himself to focus on that instead.

It wasn’t a surprise that Spot knew just what to do to get Albert’s mind off of things. The way the brunette moved along his body was distracting enough. It was even more to have the man reach up higher, almost as if he were exploring.

Except, is it even exploring if it’s already known?

“If you say so,” Spot said with yet another hum before leaning in.

A soft kiss pressed against Albert’s neck, causing his eyes to flutter shut. It was a pleasant feeling, one that spread warmth throughout his body. The warmth gradually grew fiery as the kissing continued. They were rougher than the initial one, eliciting a slight reaction from the ginger.

He tilted his head, hoping to allow the man more access. Despite it being from behind, Albert was mildly surprised the reach the brunette had.

It was always difficult for him to think about how exactly any of this was possible.

The rough hands that still held his body slid down to his hips and held tight. For a short moment, Spot pulled away just enough to spin the taller boy around. The movement was enough for Albert to glance down, offering a smile.

Said smile was immediately cut off by lips crashing into his. Once again, Spot was pressed up against him, pinning him against the counter.

Instead of returning to his upper body, Spot slipped his fingers just below the waistband. His thumbs pressed low, just enough to get Albert to try and squirm. It wasn’t unwelcome. In fact, it was far from it. It just happened to be foreign yet again.

It was hard to focus on the chapped lips that moved so perfectly against his own, not with the small pokes and prods from Spot. There was so much going on at once that Albert didn’t know what to pay attention to or when.

Spot’s kisses trailed away from Albert’s mouth, pressing against his jaw as he slowly made his way to the ginger’s neck. Each one made him shiver, sending a shock down to the rest of his body.

Without the constant action, Albert was free to let his lips part as he basked in the moment. It all felt so wonderful, so… nice. He didn’t want it to end and he wanted more.

It was the first nip along his throat that extracted a quiet squeak from the taller man. The rush that ran through him at that very second nearly made Albert go limp. He hadn’t realized how deprived he’d been until then. And by God, was it amazing.

Spot’s hands dipped further, causing Albert to let out one of the most pathetic noises he’d ever made.

It was almost hilarious considering just how tough he likes to make himself seem. All stoic and angry and yet Spot always managed to do the perfect thing.

He could practically feel the smirk against his neck, making his cheeks heat up way more than necessary. Of course Spot would be cocky about it.

Any thought Albert had was cut off by the abrupt feeling of being groped. He hadn’t even realized the shorter man had moved one of his hands. With his focus on the bites, any other action had gone unnoticed.

A stifled moan slipped out of his mouth.

God, this was far better than the spaghetti.

The pleasurable heat that emanated from his groin was enough to let Albert forget about the food. If he could just get Spot to do more-

Wait.

The spaghetti.

Albert’s eyes shot open and he scrambled to push Spot away. The brunette backed off as some as Albert began to push, knowing better than to try and continue. He frowned at the ginger, his brows furrowed with confusion and worry.

“You alright?”

Albert nodded, shifting a bit as he tried to regain any composure he had prior. “Yeah, don’t worry.” He spun around, stumbling a bit as he scrambled to turn the burner off. He didn’t need the pasta overcooking. 

Sheepishly, he turned back to Spot. “I just… I didn’t want to keep it on too long.” Spot tilted his head at the comment. “I wanted to cook something for tonight and I didn’t want it to be overdone.” Albert bit the inside of his cheek for a moment before continuing. “I’ve never done this before. Cooking, that is, obviously.”

Realization washed over Spot’s features as the shorter man smiled up at him. That smile shifted into a grin within seconds when his eyes fell onto the pot. “Then let’s eat. We can continue later.”

Albert would’ve been perfectly fine if Spot didn’t wink right after that.

The sheer action nearly kicked his knees out from under him.

“Yeah,” Albert managed to say, swallowing as he tried to form words. “Later. Definitely. Yes.”

Spot smirked at the reaction, a bit too pleased with it in Albert’s eyes.

Maybe it would be a great anniversary after all. 

[junghelioseok]

delicate.

↳ some say three’s a crowd.

◇ hoseok x reader x jungkook ◇ smut | angst? | poly!au ◇ 5.1k [1/1]

alternatively: new relationships are hard, but you and hoseok are determined to make sure that jungkook knows that he belongs with both of you.

notes: i guess i have a poly!junghope mini series now? thanks a lot, @bendthekneetobangtan!!! this took forever to write and made my head hurt, but i think i’ve finally reached a point where i feel okay about it and that’s just gonna have to be good enough for now! 

⇢ based on the relationship in my fic, tryst, which you can find in my masterlist under the series name pomegranate. 

warnings: minimal editing on my part (🤷🏻‍♀️), a wee bit of angst, insecure!kook (he’s a shy bub really), oral (male and female receiving), dom!hobi, sub!kook, a lil cumplay, threesome (mfm, mmf!!!)

There are few things in life that you love more than arriving home after a long day of work. Especially when you open the front door to find your boyfriend prancing around the kitchen, belting out an over-the-top rendition of “Bohemian Rhapsody” while wearing a flowery pink apron that clashes horribly with his cherry red hair. He’s oblivious to the world around him, completely unaware of your presence as you step inside the house, and when he raises his spatula like a microphone, you almost laugh out loud. It’s absurd and ridiculous and he’s more than a little off-key, but your heart still swells with warmth at the sight, all thoughts of the wintry air outside forgotten.

“Hi, Hobi,” you call, raising your voice slightly to be heard over the music. Your boyfriend whirls at the noise, eyes lighting up when he sees you.

“Babe!” Hoseok exclaims, turning the music on his phone down before waving his spatula happily in greeting. “You’re finally home! How was your day?”

You shrug tiredly, allowing him to pull you into a hug. “It was fine. What about yours?”

Hoseok hums. “Pretty good. Taught a few classes at the studio this morning. Jimin agreed to take the rest of the afternoon and evening ones, so I owe him big time.” His chest rumbles with laughter. “Worth it, though. I’ve missed you.”

“Did you?” you tease. “Or are you just excited to see him?”

He laughs. “Why not both?”

You grin. Tugging him down, you press your lips to the corner of his mouth, giggling when he tries to deepen the kiss. “Later,” you promise. “Shouldn’t you be checking on our dinner?”

Hoseok lets out an affronted huff. “Shouldn’t you come help me?”

“Shouldn’t you let me change first?” you retort, tugging playfully on the hem of his flowery apron.

That earns you another laugh, high and bright. “Go on, then,” he says. “Just don’t keep me waiting too long!”

With that, Hoseok returns to the kitchen, humming under his breath. You make your way to your shared bedroom, shucking off your coat and fishing a loose tee and shorts out of the dresser. Changing quickly, you head into the kitchen to join your boyfriend, peering around him curiously to see what’s on the stove.

“That smells good,” you murmur, winding your arms around his waist from behind.

Hoseok turns in your embrace and lifts a spoonful of food to your mouth. “I think it’s missing something, though. What do you think?”

“Maybe some more pepper?” you suggest, accepting the bite and chewing thoughtfully. “Or something spicy. Cayenne? Chili powder?”

He hums and grabs a bottle off the spice rack, adding a few dashes before giving it a quick stir and extending another heaping spoonful toward you. “Now?”

“Perfect.”

Satisfied, Hoseok returns to stirring the pot. You take up residence at the counter beside him, gathering up the array of washed vegetables in the sink and placing them on a cutting board. “How do you want these cut? Sliced? Diced?”

Hoseok glances up briefly, pursing his lips. “Diced,” he decides after a few seconds’ consideration. “Thanks, babe.”

“Sure thing.”

It’s comfortable, cooking with your boyfriend like this. After three years of dating and nearly two years of living together, the two of you work seamlessly in the kitchen. It’s a small, narrow space, but you’ve learned to adapt. Hoseok brings you a bowl to put the vegetables in before you even think to ask, and when you approach him to add them to the pot, he steps aside without even needing to look.

Hoseok is in the middle of seasoning the meat when the doorbell chimes. He almost drops the salt shaker at the sudden noise, and you giggle as you watch him fumble with the little porcelain Snoopy figurine. “Don’t drop Woodstock too,” you tease as you head for the entryway, earning a playful scowl from your scaredy-cat of a boyfriend.

When you swing open the front door, you are greeted immediately by a flurry of snow—a few fat flakes settling on your nose and cheeks. Brushing them away, you turn your attention instead to the young man standing on your doorstep, his shoulders dusted with white. He’s staring down at his phone, forehead creased, but straightens up with wide eyes when you clear your throat. “Oh! H-hi.”

You grin. “Hey, Jungkook. You wanna come in, or are you planning on staring at your phone some more?”

His cheeks flush. Sheepishly, he tucks his phone into his pocket and steps inside, toeing off his black Timberlands when he spots the shoe rack leaning against the wall. You take his coat, hanging it up neatly in the closet, and when he unwinds his scarf from his neck you hang that as well, returning his murmur of thanks with a smile and a squeeze of his hand. His answering smile is shy and hesitant, but he doesn’t let go of your hand. Instead, he twines his fingers with yours, his thumb brushing along your knuckles and sending warmth bubbling up in your chest.

Hoseok chooses that moment to poke his head out from the kitchen, his face splitting into a grin when he sees the two of you approaching hand-in-hand. “Hey, Kookie! You’re early!”

Jungkook’s eyebrows fly up to his hairline. “Oh, god. Sorry.” His gaze darts down to the watch on his wrist, and you see his eyes widen even more when he realizes that he’s arrived nearly twenty minutes before the scheduled time. “I must’ve—well, I definitely overestimated how long it would take to get here.”

Hoseok waves off the apology, his face melting into laughter. “Don’t worry about it, man. I’ll be done here in a few, if you wanna take a seat and make yourself comfortable.”

“Do you want anything to drink?” you ask, releasing Jungkook’s hand so you can inch around Hoseok to get to the cup cabinet. “We have wine, Sprite, milk, water… and that’s it.”

“Water is fine,” Jungkook says, leaning against the doorframe. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Filling two glasses, you are about to hand one over when the soft yellow glow of the oven light catches your attention. “Hey, Hobi?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “What’s in the oven?”

“Chocolate chip cookies,” Hoseok replies nonchalantly.

You blink. “Chocolate chip cookies?”

“Yeah.”

“You made cookies. Cookies.”

The red-haired man chortles, turning around to wind his arms around your waist. “Don’t believe me? See for yourself.”

Disbelievingly, you peer into the oven, eyes widening when you see a baking tray lined neatly with balls of dough. They are just beginning to brown at the edges, and upon opening the oven door, the smell of warm vanilla immediately fills your nostrils.

“You’re gonna let all the heat out,” Hoseok points out, laying his hand atop yours and urging you to shut the oven. “Do you want raw cookie dough? Haven’t you heard of salmonella?”

“Are you kidding? I always want cookie dough,” you reply with a laugh. “Besides, these are basically done. Where’s the oven mitt?”

Hoseok grabs it off the counter and hands it over. Carefully, you put it on and pull the tray of cookies out of the oven, inhaling deeply as the delicious smell wafts over you. Hoseok moves an empty pan off the stove so you can put the tray down, and snorts out a laugh when you almost drop it.

“It was hot!” you whine, smacking his shoulder with your mittened hand. Hoseok pretends to stumble back, clutching his arm as if mortally wounded, and you giggle as his back hits the counter. Pulling off the oven mitt, you throw it at him playfully. It bounces off his chest and falls to the floor, and Hoseok follows its downward trajectory before looking back up at you. “Now you’ve done it,” he growls, raising his hands in mock threat, his fingers hooked like claws, and you shriek when he bounds across the tiny kitchen in a single step and begins tickling you. “Hobi! Haa—oh my god, I can’t—”

Hoseok, however, is merciless. He clutches onto your sides as you try to wriggle out of his grasp, holding on until you are reduced into a mess of flailing laughter, still uselessly trying to bat him away. “Give up yet?”

“Fine!” you gasp between giggles, trying to get some air back into your lungs. “You win!”

Chortling, Hoseok releases you, fixing your shirt where it had ridden up during his attack. “Don’t I always?”

You roll your eyes. Opening your mouth, you are about to respond when a sudden movement out of the corner of your eye catches your attention. In the frenzy, you’d almost completely forgotten about your guest.

“Jungkook?”

The dark-haired young man freezes mid-step and turns back around sheepishly, scratching at the back of his neck. “I’m sorry,” he rasps. “I should go—you probably don’t even want me here, and it’s getting late anyway…so I should just go. I’ll leave. I’m so sorry.”

“Wait—you don’t think we want you here?” you ask in disbelief. “Jungkook, I… why would you think that?”

The dark-haired young man shuffles his feet and gestures around vaguely. “It’s just that you—I mean, you have all of this, and I’m just—” He sighs, dejected. “It’s weird. I feel like I shouldn’t be here. Like I’m intruding, or something.”

Your heart sinks at his honest admission. Slowly, you take a step forward, taking his hand in yours and giving it a soft squeeze. “I understand,” you tell him, and it’s the truth. Your relationship with Hoseok carries a certain air of comfortable ease that can only be attained with time. And considering how Jungkook had only come into your life a mere three weeks ago, well, you want to kick yourself for your carelessness. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “This can’t be easy for you. But we like you, Jungkook. We like you a lot.”

Jungkook exhales shakily, gnawing on his bottom lip. You watch as his gaze flickers over to Hoseok, who is slowly making his way over, coming to a stop a few feet short of where you are standing. “We want you to be here, Jungkook,” he assures softly. “Wouldn’t have invited you over if we didn’t.”

You nod in agreement, exchanging a glance with your red-haired boyfriend before turning back to Jungkook. You can practically see the gears whirring in his head as he considers your words, shifting his weight from foot to foot. But then again, maybe words alone aren’t enough. He hasn’t tried to pull his hand away from yours yet, and you take that as a good sign. Slowly, you run your thumb along his knuckles before tracing a translucent blue vein up to his wrist. And when he sucks in a soft breath, brown eyes flickering down to meet yours, you lean in and press a soft kiss to his cheek.

To your surprise—and delight—he doesn’t move away. His fingers tighten around yours as if in silent encouragement, and you are more than happy to oblige. Carefully, you press him backward until he’s seated on the couch again. You lay a hand on his denim-clad thigh, and, upon encountering no resistance, shift until you are settled firmly in his lap with your legs on either side of his muscular thighs.

“Is this okay?” you ask, squeezing his hand.

He swallows, his throat bobbing harshly. “Y-yeah. It is.”

You smile. Slowly, you drift closer until your noses are almost brushing, glancing up at his eyes for any signs of hesitance or discomfort. Finding none, you press closer still. You can hear his breath coming in soft pants and feel the warmth of each exhale against your cheeks, feverish and uneven. And then slowly, ever so slowly, you close the distance between your lips.

He tastes like cinnamon—sweet, yet with a hint of sharpness. His movements are tentative but firm, and by the time you finally pull away for air, his pupils are blown out and blacker than the night. Emboldened, you lean in again to press your lips to his jaw, kissing a trail down to the hollow of his collarbones and sucking lightly at the delicate skin. Your hands smooth along the taut ridges of his abdomen, and when his muscles tense, you can’t help the smile that settles on your face.

“Still okay?” you murmur softly, letting your fingertips drift down to his belt buckle.

His gaze flits down to your hands before meeting yours again. “Yeah. Still okay.”

“Good.”

Jungkook watches raptly as you unbuckle his belt, working the leather free so that you can pop the button of his jeans. His breath hitches when you brush your thumb along the growing bulge in his pants, and anticipation flares up in your belly when you feel how hot and heavy he is even through the worn denim. Slowly, you lift yourself off his lap, lowering yourself down to the floor and urging him to spread his legs so you can situate yourself between them. Your knees are digging into the carpet and your back is against the edge of the coffee table, but you can’t even bright yourself to care because Jungkook is gazing down at you with darkened eyes, completely entranced by the way your hands smooth up his thighs and to his waistband. Obediently, he lifts his hips so that you can tug his jeans down, and lets out a quiet hiss when his cock finally springs free.

“Gorgeous,” you breathe, relishing the flush that overtakes his cheeks at your remark. He isn’t fully hard yet, but grows rapidly underneath your fingertips as you reach out and give him a few languid strokes. And when you lean forward to give the tip a kittenish lick, he lets out a low, cavernous groan that sends heat straight to your core.

Emboldened, you take the head of his cock between your lips, sucking lightly before dipping your tongue into the slit at the tip. Jungkook’s hips stutter, sending his dick deeper into the warmth of your mouth, and you indulge him by flattening your tongue and sinking down until he’s reached the back of your throat.

“Oh, fuck—” Jungkook rasps, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. His thighs tense up as you slide your tongue along the vein running along the underside of his cock, his fingers twitching toward your head but stopping just shy of tangling in your hair. Instead, he finds the swell of your cheek, stroking along the soft skin with the pad of his thumb. “Jesus, {Name}.”

Pride wells up in your chest when you hear the desperation lacing his voice. Glancing up through your lashes, you meet his gaze, his eyes dark and hooded and staring down at you with wonder. Deliberately, you let your hand slide up his thigh, savoring the way his muscles twitch beneath your touch. Reaching his hips, you trace his pelvic bones gently before dipping beneath the hem of his shirt and pushing it up. Jungkook moans when you run your fingers along the dips and ridges of his taut stomach, and you, determined to ruin him even more, pull off of his cock only to flatten your tongue and lick a stripe along the vein on the underside, all the way from the base to the tip. Then you envelop him back into your mouth, until he’s hitting the back of your throat and you can swallow around him.

Jungkook’s head falls back with a hoarse groan. “Fuck. Fuck, that—that feels so good—”

“Don’t let him come, princess.”

Hoseok’s voice suddenly sounds from your right. Warm fingers trail down your spine, and you shiver when you feel him kneel down beside you, pushing the collar of your shirt aside and pressing his lips to your exposed shoulder.

“Stand up,” he orders softly. His warm breath raises goosebumps on your skin, and immediately you are releasing Jungkook’s cock, watching it flop against his stomach as you clamber to your feet.

Jungkook blinks dazedly. You can see the unspoken questions swimming in his eyes—confusion and disappointment written across his face at your sudden abandonment. But it’s quickly replaced by heady anticipation, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips as Hoseok makes himself comfortable on the coffee table.

“Come here, princess,” he murmurs, patting his thigh. One hand settles on your hip as you sit down, squeezing gently before pushing the thin material of your shirt up. “And this—I think it’s time we got this off. What do you think, Jungkookie?”

Jungkook nods slowly, too busy drinking in every inch of your newly exposed skin to give Hoseok a proper answer. Hoseok doesn’t seem to mind, though, chuckling softly as he tugs your shirt over your head. His hands return once he’s tossed it away, cupping your breasts and skimming his thumbs across your nipples until they pebble under his touch. Sighing, you let your body relax into his embrace, electricity dancing up your spine when laughter rumbles through his chest once more.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Hoseok breathes against your ear. “But I bet Jungkook’s cock will feel even better, stretching you open and filling you up. Don’t you think so?”

You nod, shivering when Hoseok’s hands trail south, sliding down your stomach and coming to a stop at the waistband of your shorts. “Stand up for me,” he commands, tugging the material down along with your panties to pool at your feet. Experimentally, Hoseok slides his hand between your legs, and when he pulls away, his fingers are glistening.

“Drenched,” he remarks, so casually he may as well have been talking about the weather. Deliberately, he spreads his fingers apart, admiring the way your juices string between them before letting his tongue dart out for a taste. “And so fucking sweet. You always taste so good, princess. Why don’t you let Jungkookie get a taste too?”

In an instant, you find yourself pulled down onto Hoseok’s lap again, your legs forcibly spread wide. The exposure is enough to have your cheeks flushing with warmth, but your embarrassment is nothing compared to Jungkook’s—his desire for you warring with his lingering hesitance and culminating in a rosy blush that blossoms across his cheeks and stays there, even as he allows Hoseok to grab his hand and tug him until he’s kneeling between your spread thighs. Dark, beseeching doe eyes meet yours, silently asking for permission. His hand, still twined with Hoseok’s, is warm on your knee.

Gently, you reach out, twining your fingers until all three of your hands are interlocked. Jungkook squeezes yours, and you squeeze back.

And then he’s leaning forward, his soft lips closing around your clit. He lavishes the sensitive nub with attention—flicking at it with the tip of his tongue before sucking gently, and then harder when that doesn’t garner an immediate reaction. The sudden burst of stimulation has your mouth falling open in a moan, and you feel his mouth curl up into a satisfied smile at the sound.

Hoseok chooses that moment to mold his hands around your breasts again, tugging at your nipples before rolling them between his fingers. Your head lolls back against his shoulder, your chest heaving, and he presses his lips to your cheek before seeking out your mouth, kissing you with a fervor that leaves you desperate for more.

Something is coiling in the pit of your stomach, winding tighter and tighter like a spring. Your thighs clench around Jungkook’s head, his hair tickling your skin, but he’s quick to spread you back open and dive in with renewed vigor. He alternates between licking long stripes along your entrance and circling your clit with his tongue, and when he suddenly slips a finger inside, you gasp and break away from Hoseok.

“Jungkook!”

“Wanna make you come,” he says, pulling away from your pussy just long enough to mumble the words. Then he’s sucked your clit back into his mouth, adding a second finger and curling them upward with each thrust. You keen out his name again, threading your fingers into his hair. Your body tenses.

And then you’re unraveling, clenching so tightly around Jungkook’s fingers that he’s forced to stop his movements entirely. Instead, he flattens his tongue and lets you grind against him, drawing out every wave of pleasure until you’re falling limp in Hoseok’s arms, completely and utterly breathless.

It takes you a few long moments to realize that Hoseok is speaking again—and to you, nonetheless. “How are you feeling, princess? Think you can take Jungkook’s cock now?”

The thought alone has you salivating. “Yes,” you breathe, watching the dark-haired man straighten up and wipe his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Why don’t you lay down on the couch, then?” Hoseok suggests, nudging you forward and giving your ass a playful smack. He relaxes back onto the coffee table as you make yourself comfortable on the soft cushions, freeing his hardening dick from his jeans with one hand. “I could use a show,” he adds with a wink.

Jungkook glances from you to Hoseok, and then back to you again. Uncertainty begins to overtake his expression, but you grab his hand and pull him down onto the couch beside you before he can say anything. “I want your cock so bad, Jungkook,” you murmur, reaching out and running your thumb over the head of his erection, slick and hot. “Please.”

“Christ,” Jungkook rasps, his hips stuttering and his eyes darkening to obsidian as he glances at your hand wrapped around him. “You can have it, baby. You can have anything you want.”

You aren’t sure who leans in first, but the next thing you know, you’re kissing. It’s sloppier than the first time, all tongues and teeth as he clambers over your body and cages you against the couch cushions with an arm on either side of your head. You can feel his cock against your thigh, hot as a brand against your bare skin, and the reminder of what’s to come has you murmuring his name like a prayer. Your fingers tangle in the silky hair at his nape, and when he groans and presses himself flush against your body, you smooth your hands across his shoulders and down his muscular back.

“Jungkook,” you breathe, tugging at the soft material of his collared button-up. “Shirt. Take it off.”

He obliges, fumbling with the buttons for a moment too long before you decide to help him, starting with the bottommost buttons while he starts at the top. In seconds, his shirt is discarded and forgotten, joining the ever-growing pile of clothing scattered around the room as you pull him back in for another kiss. Your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his back, and Jungkook must sense your desperation because he pulls back with a soft laugh, reaching down to palm his cock. He lines himself up and pushes inside, and you keen as he nestles deep inside your core.

“God,” you warble, clutching helplessly at his shoulders as he rolls his hips. The hot, heavy drag of his cock along your walls is enough to send all rational thought flying out of your head, your body reveling in the way he pulls back only to ram even deeper. “Your cock feels so good,” you gasp, nails raking across his back when he picks up his pace. “So, so good. Fuck, Jungkook, oh my god—”

Jungkook grunts, his grip on your waist tightening. You can see sweat beginning to line his temples, matting down the hair at his nape and around his ears. His breath is coming quicker now—but he’s not the only one. You are short on air yourself, and when you glance over at Hoseok, you see that he isn’t faring much better, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths as he strokes himself.

“Jungkook,” the older man begins, his voice thick. “Can you handle me joining in?”

The younger man’s rhythm falters slightly, his throat bobbing as he nods slowly in assent. Hoseok stands up, shucking off his jeans, and you vaguely hear the crinkle of a condom wrapper before he lets the denim fall to the ground. Carefully, he kneels behind Jungkook, whose breath hitches when Hoseok’s hands trail down his spine. His dick is still inside you, but his movements stop entirely as Hoseok prepares him.

The sound that leaves Jungkook’s lips when Hoseok finally slides home is nothing short of sinful. Caught somewhere between a low whimper and a sharp gasp, it catches in his throat and jolts his entire body forward, sending his cock even deeper inside you.

“Oh, fuck.” Your fingers fly up to clutch at his shoulders, nails digging crescents into the skin when he thrusts forward involuntarily. His head falls forward onto your shoulder, his nose buried in your clavicle, and for a few moments, there is only the sound of Jungkook’s ragged breathing. You know from past conversations that the younger man has never done anything like this before, and both you and Hoseok had promised to take it slow. Hoseok squeezes his hip gently, giving him ample time to adjust to being pinioned between the two of you, and you rub along his tense shoulders, massaging the muscles until you feel him relax.

It isn’t long before Jungkook is raising his head, sweat-dampened hair falling into his eyes. Gingerly, he rolls his hips, his mouth falling open when he sinks back into your aching heat. Your back arches at the surge of fullness, savoring the way his heavy cock drags along your walls with every thrust. He works up a gradual rhythm, his thumb finding its way to circle your clit, and you soon find that the familiar coil in your tummy is beginning to tighten once more.

When Jungkook’s pace stutters slightly, you know that Hoseok has started up his own rhythm, timing his thrusts perfectly to drive the younger man even deeper inside you. Words are long forgotten—the room filling with groans and whimpers and the obscene sound of skin against skin. It’s the sound of three becoming one—you can no longer tell where your body ends and theirs begin—and you wouldn’t want it any other way.

Jungkook reaches his high first, his fingers digging into you waist as he floods you with spurts of creamy warmth. He collapses with a low groan, his breath warm and sticky against the crook of your neck, and you laughingly crane your head so you can press a kiss to his temple. He nestles closer, seeking out your lips like a flower in the sun, and it’s only once he’s licking lazily into your mouth that he suddenly freezes.

“Wait, y-you didn’t come,” he stammers, eyes wide with alarm as he pulls away to glance between you and Hoseok. “And neither did you… oh, fuck, I—”

You can’t help it—you giggle. “Baby, I feel amazing,” you tell him, stroking his cheek before pressing a soft kiss to the little scar that sits high on his cheekbone. “You don’t have to worry about a thing. Besides, I already came once on your tongue, remember?”

“Plus,” Hoseok adds, “now I get to finish her off. Bet it won’t take much, right, princess?” Experimentally, he presses his thumb into your clit, huffing out a satisfied chuckle when you jolt at the pressure. “Thought so.” Turning to Jungkook, he gestures for the younger man to sit back. As soon as he’s out of the way, Hoseok shifts until he’s kneeling between your spread legs. Jungkook’s cum is beginning to dribble out of your ravaged pussy, slicking along your thighs, but Hoseok is quick to gather some onto his fingers and push it back inside.

Your head falls back as he sinks a third finger inside you, curling them upward until he’s found the spot that’s sure to send you into oblivion. He strokes his cock in time with his thrusts, his thumb coming up to rub messily at your clit, and it isn’t long before you’re tightening around his fingers, your hips bucking against his hand as the coil in your tummy snaps. A wave of pleasure crashes over you, rendering you utterly boneless beneath him.

“Where… where do you want me?” Hoseok grunts as he quickens his pace, his thumb gliding over the swollen head of his cock. His jaw is tense and his teeth are gritted, and you know that he’s getting dangerously close to his own high.

“Doesn’t matter,” you tell him breathlessly, reaching for his free hand and interlacing your fingers. “I want you everywhere. I want you all over me.”

Hoseok groans at your incendiary words, his throat bobbing harshly. “That’s my girl,” he rasps, squeezing your hand. And then he’s coming, thick ropes of white spilling onto your stomach and thighs.

For a while, everything is still. Hoseok falls lax against the backrest beside Jungkook, taking the younger man’s hand in his free one. You cannot find the energy to sit up, so you remain sprawled on the other end of the couch. Somehow, your feet end up in Hoseok’s lap.

At some point, Jungkook stands up and disappears into the kitchen, returning with a damp paper towel. He kneels down beside you, wiping at your sticky skin with such tenderness that your heart swells in your chest. “I’m glad you decided to stay,” you whisper, smiling tiredly up at him.

Jungkook smiles back, rewarding you with a flash of his adorably prominent teeth. “Me too.”

///

Dinner is cold, but that’s okay.

The meal passes quickly in a flurry of conversation and laughter, and you and Hoseok opt to do the dishes while Jungkook wipes down the dining table.

“So, how do you think it went?” you ask, peering at the dark-haired man from out of the corner of your eye. He’s humming softly to himself while he works, the veins in his arms bulging as he works on a particularly stubborn speck of food.

Hoseok follows the direction of your gaze, fiddling idly with a half-washed bowl. “I don’t know,” he says with a sigh. “He was ready to leave at the beginning of the night. That’s not a good sign.”

“But he didn’t,” you point out. “He stayed.”

The red-haired man nods. “Yeah. Tonight he did. But who knows what will happen later?” He pauses, studying his soapy sponge carefully before speaking again, this time in a voice that’s barely above a whisper. “You remember how Taehyung didn’t work out.”

You nod.”Yeah. I remember.” Your gaze skitters over to the young man in the dining room again, who is now singing under his breath. “But I think Jungkook will.”

[whumptopia]

The Angel Within

d&d oc ladywhump commissioned by @pixels-and-paperweights

content warnings: female whump, mentions of animal death (horses), graphic murder, blood, memory loss

—

Morning breaks over the peaks of the mountains, and even after traveling all through the night, Fayde Rithindren and her companions still haven’t reached their destination. The mountain pass they’ve been tasked to clear is far from most towns, but the feral orcs occupying the passage are still a threat to the merchants, travelers, and hunters in the area. Fayde and several others have been tasked by the Emerald Enclave to deal with the orcs, a job that involves traveling on horseback for days, venturing past the safety of civilization into the mountainous wilderness.

Fayde enjoys missions like these, for the most part. She gets the chance to absorb the world around her, and the straightforwardness of the task grants her the control she so desperately craves. She was the one to suggest they power through the night in order to ensure they battle the orcs in the daylight as opposed to in the dark. The heightened visibility will give them an advantage in the coming fight. She’s proud of herself for her practicality, but some of the others in her group are not as pleased. Her girlfriend Seren has bags underneath her eyes, but she’s too polite to accuse Fayde of robbing her of precious sleep.

Maul, on the other hand, has no such qualms.

“By the Gods, what I wouldn’t do for a cup of coffee right now!” the human man announces loudly to the group. They packed limited provisions to keep their packs light, and coffee didn’t make it onto the list of essentials. They don’t have time right now to stop and brew a pot, anyway. Maul is just trying to entertain everyone with conversation.

“After we slay those goddamn orcs, I’m going to lie down right there in the road and sleep for an entire day,” he declares, twisting his torso around on his horse to look at Fayde, his amber eyes meeting her cerulean ones.

Seren rolls her eyes—brown orbs speckled with flecks of gold, ceaselessly enchanting—at his antics. “If you do that, we’ll have to leave you behind, and you’ll be eaten by wolves.”

Maul laughs boisterously instead of mustering up a false front of insult. Some of the other travellers look back at him inquisitively. Fayde doesn’t know any of them by name, content to stick to her small, tight-knit group of friends instead of familiarizing herself with the entirety of her local Enclave. Maul combs his hand through his short salt-and-pepper beard, a dangerously contemplative expression on his face.

“What now?” Fayde asks, even though she probably doesn’t even want to know. He grins.

“I was just thinking…” he begins, but Fayde isn’t listening. She recognizes the markers along the trail as the ones they were told to look out for. They must be close to the pass.

Fayde shares a look with Seren, and the half-elf woman nods. Fayde tugs on the reins, slowing her horse, and readies her weapon, grasping the staff of the halberd with both hands. She’s fought worse than feral orcs before, but she can’t help but remain prepared at all times. Maul teases her for being anxious, but she likes to think of herself as simply “reasonably cautious.”

The Enclave member at the head of the group lifts his arm, signaling for all of them to stop. The air is quiet except for the heavy panting of the horses in the heat and the whistling of the wind. The leader of the pack proceeds slowly, rounding the corner.

Fayde listens to the sound of hooves on packed dirt as he scouts ahead. She doesn’t expect much to come of it—the orcs aren’t likely to be standing around in the middle off the road, they’re feral after all—but she tightens her grip nonetheless. Seren shoots her a reassuring look. “We’ve faced worse before. This job will be easy,” her expression seems to communicate. Fayde nods and steadies her nerves with a deep breath.

Suddenly, a howl pierces the air, setting her nerves alight. A scream comes from around the corner, cut short too soon.

Fayde absorbs all this in the span of a second, charging forward with the flick of her wrist before she even realizes what she’s doing. Her entire group acts on instinct as well, their horses rushing around the bend, not stopping. They don’t stop, even as Fayde scans the path ahead and sees the slaughtered orcs. Over a dozen bodies, soaked in their own blood. A glowing, shrouded figure stands above one of the fallen, ringed by a pack of hellhounds. Fayde spots the scout and his horse, their corpses charred by the beasts’ flames.

Her mind works fast. The pass has already been cleared by a dangerous acolyte and their hellhounds. Whoever they are, they clearly intend to wipe out her and her companions. Fayde hardly has time for the realization to form before the monsters descend upon them. Armed riders collide with the pack in a thunderclap of violence. At the front, one mare bucks off her rider, sending the armored woman soaring into the air, but she raises her sword mid-flight, carving into a leaping beast as she lands. The mixed sounds of shouts, snarls, and clashing metal pollute the air. Fayde falls into the familiar motions of battle, her blood thumming with energy, her vision hyper-focused. She swings her halberd, and the double-edged axe at the end of her weapon swipes the side of the nearest hellhound, knocking him astray before he can pounce on the back of Maul’s mount. Fayde jumps off her own horse, knowing she can fight better on her feet than horseback, and the stallion breaks off in a sprint toward the woods. She barely spares it a sliver of a thought, stabbing the sharp point of her halberd into the hind leg of a hound that’s snapping at Seren. The fiend rounds on her with a ferocious growl, lunging at her. She sidesteps it, knocking it aside with a grunt.

A strange crackle in the air sends a chill up her spine. She locks eyes with Seren. Her girlfriend’s pupils snap wide open, terrified black spilling into her irises.

“Get down!” she screams over the roar of battle, and Fayde ducks just as one of the hounds releases a cone of flame from its gaping maw. Her auburn hair is singed by the heat, and she gasps in pain as the skin of her back is roasted hot, even through her armor. The shrieks of her ignited comrades and their burned horses ring in her ears, and she covers her head with her hands for protection, eyes shut tight as she’s blinded by the light.

When the inferno subsides, Fayde barely has a moment to rise before one of the creatures rushes at her. It successfully dodges her attack, and its claws manage to break through her armor. She hisses as talons slice her bicep, but the injury doesn’t slow her onslaught, and she strikes down the beast with a fierce cry. Her line of sight is splattered with red, crimson and fury flooding her vision. 

Ruthless, she cuts into the hounds, aided by those who’ve not yet fallen. Seren and Maul find her side and stay there, the three of them taking brutal blows and dishing them out in kind. They’re seasoned warriors, but surviving an ambush of hellhounds is no easy feat. As their comrades gurgle and choke on their own blood, their throats torn out by sharp canines, tumbling to join the blackened corpses of their roasted fellows, an unfamiliar panic builds in Fayde’s chest. She’s much less confident right now than she’s comfortable with.

A hound tackles Seren to the ground, the monster snarling above her, snapping at her face, and Fayde throws herself atop the beast, raising her halberd above her head and bringing it down hard enough to stab through the creature’s skull. She rolls off, bringing the impaled, twitching body with her, and Seren crawls out from underneath. 

“Fay—!” Seren yells, her voice cut off by Maul’s battle cry. Fayde spins around just as he bodily slams a hound that got too close to ambushing her from behind. His trademark jovial expression has been replaced by a more grave look, and Fayde’s heart drops to her stomach at the sight. Their comrades are dying all around them, and if something doesn’t change right now, Fayde and her friends will be next.

With a growl, she scans her surroundings, slicing at any creature that comes too close, and her eyes fall on the hooded figure standing away from the heart of the fight, their arms raised and illuminated by magic. They’re likely controlling the hounds. Maybe if she takes them out, the hellhounds will be less organized and easier to kill.

Determined, she cuts a path through the carnage. Maul covers her six without prompting. They’ve been fighting together for so long, they know each other’s moves well. As she engages with a monster that’s blocking her way, it bites her shoulder, sharp canines breaking through her armor. With a scream, she guts the hound and pries it off before its teeth can pierce too deep. Panting, she slouches over, one hand braced on her knee. Her nose is plagued by the scent of blood and smoke.

A shrill cry commands her attention, and Fayde straightens herself, spinning around to face the sound. Several feet away, Seren is wounded, blood gushing from her side, her face contorted in agony.

Fayde’s heart stops.

If you asked almost anyone, they’d tell you that Fayde Rithindren is human. “Of course she is,” they’d say, “She looks human. What else could she be?” But despite her best efforts to appear otherwise, Fayde isn’t entirely human. “Aasimar,” they’d say if they witnessed her wings and celestial powers. She’s embarrassed by her heritage, skeptical of godly beings and unwilling to associate herself with them, so she goes to great lengths to keep her identity a secret. Her girlfriend doesn’t even know who she truly is.

Seren has never screamed like that before, though, and it shocks something in Fayde’s system, something primal that responds violently to the massacre around her and the pain in her closest friends’ expressions. She’s dimly aware of the faint glow emanating from her, growing brighter and brighter until—

Her wings. She hasn’t felt them in so long, but they’re as familiar to her as the palm of her hand. They burst forth from her back, breaking apart her armor, black and skeletal and undoubtedly terrifying. Her eyes throb like she has a headache from staring directly into the sun, and she knows they’ve dissolved into pools of black. She’s unleashed her necrotic shroud. The air around her buzzes with her power, and the hellhounds in her vicinity freeze, visibly startled. She takes advantage of their fright and cuts them down, emboldened by her own celestial powers. They snap out of it quickly enough, but she’s undeterred, swinging her halberd indiscriminately. She’s lost all train of thought, her mind silenced in favor of immediate action. One hellhound opens its mouth, orange sparking behind its tongue, but she cuts off its head before it can douse her in flames. She marches ahead, straight toward the hooded figure. The acolyte stares right at her, taking a wary step backward… and then they aim their glowing hands in her direction. 

Fayde’s dodge isn’t quick enough: her bitten shoulder is struck by magic. She screams as electricity laces through her wound, sending searing pain all the way down her arm. Gritting her teeth, she gathers herself before her enemy can summon another curse, dealing a fatal blow with a brutal slash of her weapon. The figure crumples with a cry, collapsing in the dirt in a bloody heap of robes.

Not stopping to revel in the glory of victory, Fayde turns and slays the remainder of the hounds, luring the beasts away from where Maul is crouched over Seren, pressing hard on her bloodied side. Distracted by the sight, Fayde takes a gash to the thigh, but she kills the creature before it can even think of finishing her first.

Limping, she makes her way over to where her friends are, surrounded by smoking corpses of people, horses, and hellhounds alike. She locks eyes with Seren, and even in her trance-like state, Fayde notices her girlfriend shiver when their gazes meet.

She lowers herself to the ground, drops her weapon, and reaches for Seren’s wound.

“Don’t,” Seren gasps, “You’re a mess, you need to stop before—!”

Ignoring her warnings, Fayde presses her healing hands on Seren’s injury. Her skin glows, the world around them glows, and everything fades to white until all Fayde can see is her own pulse behind her lids, and then—

Nothing.

—

When Fayde wakes, she wakes slowly. As she rises out of unconsciousness, she notes the stiffness and heaviness of her body. She must’ve been out for a long time. She cracks her eyes open when she can muster the strength, her lids heavy. Her surroundings are blurry and bright, making her wince. A familiar voice says her name, but she can’t quite place the source. Blinking repeatedly to clear her vision, Fayde groans and tries to lift her arm.

She can’t lift her arm.

“What…?” she mumbles, her voice rough and dry. She glances down at her thoroughly bandaged right arm and shoulder, the entire length of the appendage wrapped in gauze. When did that happen?

“Finally!” another voice shouts, one she instantly recognizes. She looks up, squinting in the sunlight, and spots Maul standing at the foot of her bed. He looks a little worse for wear: there are heavy purple bags underneath his tired eyes, his left arm is in a sling, and cuts cover his cheeks.

“Maul?” she asks, trying to sit up in bed but discovering she can’t, pain surging through her at the slightest movement. Grimacing, she continues, “What happened? Where are we?”

“You passed out after healing Seren,” Maul starts, and the name fizzes in Fayde’s mind like something she should know. “We had to get you to down a health potion right then and there to keep you from dying. We rounded up some of the horses that had run off into the woods and headed straight back to town. The healers here have been helping us out, but you’ve been unconscious for the past…” He pauses, counting on his fingers, “Been almost a week now, I think.”

Fayde tries to absorb this new information—and it is new, all of it. None of his explanations sound familiar at all. The fabric of her bed rustles somewhere to her left, and Fayde realizes there’s a half-elf woman sitting beside her. She doesn’t look visibly injured, but she’s staring at Fayde with intensity, her striking brown eyes flecked with gold. Her dark brown skin, round cheeks, and dreadlocks are all so familiar but… there’s something missing. Fayde knows this woman, but, at the same time, she’s acutely aware she’s lost something.

“How are you feeling?” she inquires, voice soft and soothing. “Do you want me to go get the healer?”

“I’m…” Fayde searches through her memories frantically, finding giant empty holes where recent events should be. “You’re… Seren. We’re together.” She manages to remember bits and pieces of their relationship, but the woman is still whittled down almost nothing in her mind.

Seren’s brows reach for her hairline, her mouth falling open in surprise. “You don’t remember me?”

Fayde shakes her head, her head throbbing at the motion. “No, I do, I do… mostly. We haven’t been dating for that long, right?”

Seren grabs her left hand from where its resting limp on the bed and squeezes tight. “Nine months.”

Fayde frowns. “Oh.” That’s not right at all. “I don’t… what day is it?”

“This could pass,” Maul cuts in, striding across the room to place one hand on Seren’s tense shoulder. “There’s a lot going on in her system right now, and she might’ve hit her head. It’ll be alright.”

Seren is trembling. Fayde feels awful. Confusion, anxiety, and guilt fight for dominance as her mind whirls. She grabs Seren’s hand when she moves to pull away, intertwining their fingers.

“I’m hurting you. I’m sorry for hurting you,” she says softly. “I’m not sorry for healing you, though, if that’s what pushed me over the edge. I remember that I care about you, so...” Fayde trails off. Judging by the distraught expression on the woman’s face, her words aren’t helping at all.

Seren sucks in a breath. “You’re Aasimar. You had… wings. I think that’s what did it. You pushed yourself too far, Fayde.”

Fayde winces, glancing between the two of them awkwardly. They both seem to be struggling how to deal with the revelation.

“Things must’ve been pretty bad if I…” she swallows, “I don’t like to show that part of myself.”

Maul scoffs. “No kidding. I’ve known you for years, and you never told me anything.”

She can’t tell if he’s actually bitter or not. She’s too sore, aching, and out of it right now to pick up on subtle social cues. “I’m sorry. I… don’t like who I am, so I never share it.”

“It’s okay,” Seren reassures. “Let’s just focus on getting you better right now.”

“Okay,” Fayde agrees, eager for the conversation to move on. Seren moves away, and this time Fayde lets her go. 

“I’m going to get the healer,” she announces, exiting the room before anyone has the chance to respond. Fayde sighs, her heart thumping loud beneath bruised ribs.

“It’ll be alright,” Maul promises, clapping a hand on her shoulder. She hisses in pain, and he pulls back with a chuckle. “Sorry! That’ll heal soon. And the rest…”

She looks up and meets his amber eyes. He gives her a smile. “Well, like I said. It’ll be alright.”